Ivanthe

[Ivanthe]

Ivanthe

, son of no one

Ivanthe
Appearance • Concept • History
Skills • Knowledge • Accounting
Housing and Employment
Possessions • Companions • Wealth
Fame • Devotion • Threads

[Ivanthe]

Ivanthe

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Name: Ivanthe

Age: 10 Arcs

Race: Human

Date of Birth: Zi'da 23rd, 707

Marks: N/A

Factions Joined: N/A

Languages Spoken: Fluent common, broken Ith'ession

Partners:

[Ivanthe]

Appearance

At first glance, that's a simple huntsman's boy. Short black hair and clear blue eyes, on the tall side for his age but not unusually so. Perhaps he's a bit skinny, but huntsmen tend to live lean anyway and he clearly isn't starving. His clothes are dusty, but look how well-maintained they are; someone definitely takes the time to clean those boots every day––those boy's parents must be teaching him the right way of things. He's just a tad jumpy, sure, but what do you expect from a huntsman's boy? He doesn't seem completely sure of things, but he's doing his best; look how shy he is. He'll do alright, someone will probably be along to fetch him soon enough.

Ivanthe works hard to keep this as the first and only opinion people have. It isn't until one spends time with him that they notice the subtle limp or the nervous twitch whenever a hand moves his way. His voice is soft to begin with, hardening only slightly when someone begins to ask too many questions. It is true that he is shy, skinny and clean as can be managed, but it is also true that he is careful, calculated and suspicious; he never ventures within reach of someone's arm if he can help it, and he never volunteers more information than absolutely necessary. His smiles are brief flickers, and eventually one might notice how empty they are––if they manage to keep him around long enough.

[Ivanthe]

Concept

Ivanthe is a manipulator. While still rough and only confident in twisting truth rather than outright lying, he has a firm grasp of how to flash a shy smile and earn information; the world is a dangerous place for a child on their own, and he is very aware of what help he needs and what help he doesn't. That is not to say he takes pleasure in manipulating others, though he has no strong aversion to it; to Ivanthe, morals are a means of survival and are flexible when needed.

To this boy, being used is simply the way of the world and is to be expected. The kindest people are those who are honest about it upfront, and Ivanthe appreciates honesty––when he believes it. To him, all people will look out for themselves first and foremost, but that doesn't mean they can't band together to serve themselves more efficiently. With this in mind, he sees almost all relationships as more business transactions than anything, and will immediately distrust any freely given aid if he can't see what the other party might gain from helping him. As for being used himself, Ivanthe doesn't hold grudges unless his user refuses to pay him for it. In the event he uses someone else, Ivanthe is usually compelled to compensate the other party as best he can, and will be confused if that party is somehow offended. He might even consider himself a good person for doing so, though he doesn't have much time for idle contemplation on a day to day basis.

Though he works hard to hide it, Ivanthe is at heart a deeply confused and insecure individual. A short lifetime of Empathic tampering has left him unable to trust his own mind; any emotions he feels are seen through a lens of survivalistic logic, even though he refuses to let anyone close enough to touch his Tangle again. He also has difficulty trusting his own memories, and will look to others for the truth of an event even if he was there when it happened. His actual ability to remember is perfectly fine––he has quite a sharp one––but he simply does not trusts that he remembers things correctly unless he sees physical evidence or someone else corroborates it. He funnels this constant anxiety into every day rituals; his camp is always spotlessly kept and his possessions meticulously clean at all times. He doesn't know how to deal with horses quite yet, but he's a quick learner when he sets his mind to it and wants to care for his animals as thoroughly as he cares for everything else.

Ivanthe trusts women a fraction more than he trusts men, trusts children a fraction more than he trusts adults, and trusts animals far more than he trusts any people. His most treasured friend is his horse, whom he will defend to the point of endangering himself.

[Ivanthe]

History

It was a perfect family on the move. An older field medic who was traveling the world and selling his skills to caravans, excited to show the world to his young and starry-eyed apprentice who was keen to listen to traveling companions. Always polite, always helpful, always affectionate with one another, they were the very picture of a happy traveler planting healthy wanderlust into his successor.

If there is one thing Ivanthe has always been cynical of, it is how easily others take a family at face value.

Yaren had a good way with people, always able to make them believe exactly what he wanted them to. He could even fool himself into believing the picture he painted, and thought he was genuinely doing his best to take care of his charge. Whenever something went wrong, or when another traveler began feeling something just a bit off, or when a few coins went missing from a companion's purse–––that was always Ivanthe's fault. Such a foolish little boy he could be, and yes, of course he would be punished. The punishments were always real.

Ivanthe has no real sense of where he came from or how he came to be in Yaren's care. Whether or not they were related by blood, Ivanthe was never told, and truthfully that information would have changed nothing; he belonged to Yaren and that was the only thing that mattered. To others, it was simply a master and apprentice; when by themselves, it was exactly as a real family should be. So said Yaren, and he had the most experience in these sorts of things. The parent provided protection and security, and the child helped them do that. Ivanthe wasn't quite sure what Yaren got off to when the time came to set camp or settle in a city, but the boy knew his place like he knew the back of his master's hand. While Yaren was off doing the providing, Ivanthe repaid him by keeping their 'home;' it was Ivanthe's place to pitch the tents when he was strong enough, mind the fire when he was wise enough, feed the horse and unpack the wagon when he was big enough. And then when time came to move, it was his job to pack it all up again, to make sure they had enough food, to make sure the dishes were clean and the herb supplies stocked. He was to make sure Yaren always had food to eat and something to smile about, even if he had to beg from other travelers; Ivanthe's attempts at cooking were sure to land him a bruise or two. And when the dishes were clean and the fire burned low, Ivanthe was to thank Yaren for his guardianship, to say "Good night, I love you," and then wake before sunrise to prepare for the new day. This was what all children did for their parents, Yaren said, and Ivanthe was an idiot for not making every task perfect every time––idiots deserved punishment for failing such "easy" and "simple" things like caring for their parent's wellbeing.

They were both good at hiding Ivanthe's endless mistakes, and the bruises on his body. He was such a clumsy boy after all, always tripping and smacking into things; traveling companions would laugh good-naturedly when Yaren told the story behind one of the few bruises that showed from under the long sleeves, and Ivanthe would grin sheepishly and nod along––of course he had tripped; Yaren was practically his father and would never lay a finger on him. As soon as they were in public, reality was defeated by Yaren's stories, and Ivanthe would always be on the cusp of believing them. Until the next mistake, at least.

Every once in awhile, one or two of their companions would tilt their head oddly. Their gaze would linger on Ivanthe for just a bit too long, their questions for Yaren just a bit sharper and more prying than before. Those tiny changes were always followed by a dark mood falling over Yaren, and soon enough the time would come for the master and apprentice to move on to new grounds.

Things were easier when Yaren was away. Things seemed clearer, though Ivanthe's mind was always filled with questions. Why was he here, why did he stay, why did a loving family hurt so much, why wasn't he allowed to be anything but happy at all times––it all boiled down to an endless hurricane of why, why, why. But then Yaren would return, and sometimes it felt as if he could read Ivanthe's mind and would punish him for merely thinking unwanted thoughts. So Ivanthe learned that his own mind was not safe, and didn't dare let the questions stay more than a moment at a time.

He turned instead to others in their various traveling parties, always maintaining the facade of perfect apprentice as he searched for ways to occupy his time. The scouts and hunters were his favorite; they asked the least questions about Yaren. It started as merely tagging along on supply walks, which would turn into fractured lessons about the world around them; plants and animals, what leaves to eat and avoid, how to find water and shelter.

His shortbow was a gift from one of the more perceptive hunters when Ivanthe was eight arcs of age, although he soon began asking the sharp questions that meant it was time to leave. Ivanthe kept the bow, and mindless practice became his best way to avoid committing thought-crimes. It was mere chance that he brought the bow along with the next party's scout, but she noticed his alertness immediately. With her gentle coaxing and encouragement, Ivanthe was able to shoot a squirrel out of the trees above them and bring it home to Yaren.

It was the first time Ivanthe had ever seen real pride on Yaren's face. Now, medicine wasn't the only skill they could peddle; Ivanthe could hunt, and every good traveling party needed a huntsman. Never mind that he struggled to pull the full weight of his bow, or that his arrows were half as tall as he was; he could hunt anything anyone could need. That Ivanthe dared to ever come back empty-handed only spoke more of how ungrateful and incompetent he was, and how fundamentally flawed of a child he was––as if the skill could somehow be punished into him.

He was eight when Rhiena joined them. She was more girl than woman, but mature enough not to raise eyebrows when Yaren introduced her as his wife. Ivanthe was never told what deal Yaren struck for her, nor did it really matter; she simply came back with Yaren one day and Ivathe was told she was staying. He wasn't thrilled about having to adjust his routine around a whole new person, but knew better than to argue.

Rheina turned out to be just as much a prisoner as Ivanthe was, but she was different. She had once had freedom and tasted its loss bitterly, and she strained against the subtle ways Yaren kept them both leashed. It was always hard to say no when he was physically with them, but when he was gone was when Rheina began speaking her mind. At first she hated them both, but that passed quickly when she realized how tightly woven Ivanthe was to his master. Her anger turned immediately to pity, and pity to kindness––the first unselfish kindness Ivanthe had ever known, made all the heavier by the fact that she truly knew what his life felt like. When Yaren was away and their seemingly endless jobs finished for a moment, Rheina would coax him into letting her touch his hair, not with violent fists like Yaren but with smooth, gentle fingers and soft words that made the rest of the world disappear for just a small while. She spoke of her home in Rynemere, of kings and adventurers at first and then of her family––a loving mother and father and a litter of siblings crawling over their farmstead. It was the first time anyone but Yaren had told Ivanthe anything about family, and it disturbed him greatly. When the boy finally mustered the courage to ask, Rheina kissed his forehead and whispered, No, Ivanthe, this is not how a family is supposed to be.

It was only a few months before Yaren stopped trusting the way Ivanthe relaxed around his "wife." When he finally decreed that they were to stay away from each other, Rheina's defiance enraged him so greatly that she was left bedridden for two days after.

A nasty fall from the wagon, Yaren said to those who asked.

That was when Ivanthe actually began learning Yaren's craft of medicine. The old man had things to do, he said, and Ivanthe could obviously manage something as easy as nursing a patient. Ivanthe first learned how to care from the bedside, mostly picked up from snide comments thrown around whenever Yaren was present to criticize him. As soon as Rheina was back on her feet, however, Ivanthe was quick to pick up basic first aid and wound care; Yaren's way with words would only sway his 'wife' for as long as he was physically present, and as soon as he was away she would unthink all of his thoughts and be ready to challenge him again when he returned. Cuts and bruises never kept her down for long; she barely seemed to feel them. Ivanthe almost admired her stupidity, but never dared comment or take either side. He would simply become a shadow and think of other things until the fight was over, then creep over to tend Rheina's injuries.

When Ivanthe was nine, Yaren was at his wit's end but still refusing to let Rheina go free. He decided that the solution was to create a second helper––a real apprentice.

The explanation was long and thorough, peppered with phrases like "You should be grateful," and "I expect you to repay me." They had stopped in a village for a brief time, and were safe enough for master and apprentice to spend the entire night across from each other. For all his history, Yaren was a deftly gentle threadworker, and he sewed his Spark into Ivanthe's soul with utmost care. It was almost tender, Ivanthe thought. Perhaps it wasn't Yaren's first time.

When it was over, the two were linked in a way Ivanthe couldn't explain. He had power now, real power, but he was bound to Yaren more tightly than ever before. That he now knew how Yaren manipulated did not make the manipulations any less real; his Tangle was still at the old man's command, and he commanded Ivanthe to command Rheina. It was never anything grand or obvious; the art of Empathy lay in carefully chosen words and careful observation. Working together, they were able to slowly tame Rheina's wildness––Yaren through intimidation when he was present, Ivanthe through soft pleas when he was not. Ivanthe was new to magical hunger, and Yaren was diligent in fanning it to a compulsion.

Of course, Empathy was one more thing Ivanthe was expected to be perfect at. Rheina would always fight her way back to anger at one point or another, and it was always a failing on Ivanthe's part when that happened. If anything, Yaren's anger towards his apprentice only increased after the initiation, as did the anger toward Rheina.

Once season before his tenth birthday, Rheina took a knife and attacked Yaren the moment he came back to camp in the hope he wouldn't be able to convince her otherwise. That was when their facade of the perfect family finally broke.

The merchant caravan couldn't move on the next day when they learned of Rheina's condition. It was Yaren who told them, wrapping it in a story of a wild animal attack that even his own powers of persuasion could not quite make compelling. But they were deep in the wilderness, trials from the nearest village, and Rheina could not travel. Yaren was forced to turn all his attention to keeping her alive and getting her back on her feet, demanding Ivanthe convince their companions of the story. Ivanthe didn't dare say that the suspicions were too strong, the disbelief to rampant for him to do anything about––all he could do was slow things down and pray it was long enough to reach a town and move on to another group.

It took a day for Rheina to come around, and one more for her to begin moving again––enough to sit on a wagon at least, which was good enough for Yaren; he left Ivanthe in charge of packing things up while he went to tell the caravan leader the good news. The moment he was out of sight, there was a blinding pain in the back of Ivanthe's head and then darkness. When he woke up, his ankle was broken and Rheina was gone.

But his shortbow had also been placed into his hands.

It all felt somehow inevitable, now that the facade was cracking to pieces and falling down around them. Ivanthe knew that the other caravaners would never believe the stories Yaren would try to weave. And because there was no alternative, no other group in the wilderness they could join, there was nowhere they could hide from their own truths.

Yaren came back with two other caravaners in tow, perhaps intending to have Rheina back up his story of wild animals. Ivanthe was hidden by then, bracing against the wagon with one leg where he had enough time to prepare. Yaren and the caravaners went to Rheina's tent and found it empty.

One deep breath, one moment of complete emptiness, and one arrow was released into the air. Yaren's throat was torn open before he had the chance to attempt an explanation.

All three saw him then, but it was Yaren he couldn't look away from. His master survived a few moments after the shot, grasping his neck and trying to say something––perhaps even reaching for his magic in some vain hope that it could change what had happened. But it was only a moment; the old man fell to the ground in his time and died twitching, blood pooling in the dirt around him.

The caravaners said nothing; they simply turned away as if nothing had happened and returned to the rest of the caravan.

Ivanthe already knew the ritual of travel by heart. The wagon was packed just as it was every morning, the supplies and equipment all stored perfectly in their places and the horse connected to the back of another wagon. As for Yaren's body, it was left untouched exactly where it had fallen.

The rest of the trip would have felt unreal, if not for the pain. Ivanthe was able to clean his ankle and bind it, at least for the three trials it took to reach the next village where a real healer could properly look after it. The other caravaners had said little to nothing until that point, when their leader offered to take Ivanthe along on the journey away from Etzos. Ivanthe refused, partly knowing that he needed rest and partly unwilling to owe anyone anything.

His story begins here, Cylus 718, among the villages of Etzos as he steps alone into newfound freedom and premature adulthood. Scarred inside and out, he seeks first to find his footing in a world without a master; what follows next remains to be seen.

Starter Quest

Yaren is dead… isn’t he?

Not in Emea, he’s not.

Soon after moving to Etzos and starting work at the butcher’s, the nightmares begin. They start slow, one every few nights, as if hoping to help you build a tolerance for them. It’s not long, however, before they begin to show up on a nightly basis. Always the same dream: Yaren, skewered like a rabbit, clutching at his throat, gushing rivulets of cherry blood and staring accusing daggers into your soul. Always, he begins to walk. Always, he comes for you. Always, he says the same word: “Shattered”. Over and over and over again, he says the word, until you feel as though you might be driven crazy with its repetition.

And then you wake up.

Night after night, Yaren returns to you. How will you learn to cope? How, even, will you make the nightmares go away…?

Cylus 718

[Ivanthe]

Housing and Employment

Though he is prone to roam in search of prey and information, Ivanthe returns home like tide to the ocean. His entire life has been lived on the road, and his camp is set with such a practiced pattern that it clear the boy prefers life under the open sky to sleeping in a city.

He pitches down no more than a quarter mile from the nearest settlement if he can help it, close to other campers if they are there. A two-person tent faces the south, right in line with a dug firepit lined with rocks. To the left of the tent stands a wagon, very well organized with empty gaps waiting for the tent and supplies to be packed up and moved. To the wagon is tethered a pretty palomino mare, given a long lead to graze as she pleases without wandering too far. If Ivanthe has been in one place for long, there is likely wood and tinder piled underneath the wagon to keep it out of the weather.

All in all, Ivanthe's camp is the home of a practiced traveler, ready to be pulled up and moved at a moment's notice should the need arise.

Cylus 718

Ivanthe has landed in Etzos and plies his trade as a hunter. His employer is Farlin, owner of the Chopping Block, who does not question Ivanthe's motivations or lack of family so long as Ivanthe meets his quote regularly and on time. Thus, his work sees him range away from Etzos proper and into the surrounding lands to find prey, which suits him just fine.

[Ivanthe]

Skills

Skill	Points Acquired	Total Points Spent	Proficiency
Ranged (Shortbow)	25/100	(25/251)	Novice
Empathy	20/100	(20/251)	Novice
Stealth	15/100	(15/251)	Novice
Fieldcraft	15/100	(15/251)	Novice
Hunting	15/100	(15/251)	Novice
Medicine	15/100	(15/251)	Novice
Intelligence	10/100	(10/251)	Novice
Deception	10/100	N/A:FT	Novice
Disguise	10/100	(10/251)	Novice
Meditation	5/100	(5/251)	Novice
Mount	5/100	(5/251)	Novice
Animal Husbandry	5/100	(5/251)	Novice

[Ivanthe]

Knowledge

Skill

Acting

Acting: believe your own lie
Acting: this is my brother

Butchery

Butchery: boiling water equals easy plucking

Deception

Deception: guarding your answers
Deception: How to tell a white lie (RM)
Deception: know when to abort
Deception: physical evidence is key
Deception: stay plausible
Deception: really, I'm fine
Deception: the convenient father

Discipline

Discipline: calm under questioning
Discipline: cold is temporary
Discipline: fighting through fear
Discipline: pain creates focus

Empathy

Empathy: honesty within a Tangle
Empathy: Initiation (RM)
Empathy: Knot (SP)
Empathy: Strum (SP)
Empathy: the color of honesty

Fieldcraft

Fieldcraft: animals know where resources are (SP)
Fieldcraft: blocking the wind however possible
Fieldcraft: hay makes for a warm night
Fieldcraft: How to build a makeshift shelter of branches (RM)
Fieldcraft: How to build a teepee fire (RM)
Fieldcraft: marking time by star movement

Hunting

Hunting: How to identify deer tracks (RM)
Hunting: lure the prey to you
Hunting: prey flocks to water sources (SP)

Medicine

Medicine: burdock as disinfectant
Medicine: honey as disinfectant
Medicine: How to bandage a cut (RM)
Medicine: proper poultice making
Medicine: saliva, nature's disinfectant
Medicine: setting a broken bone (SP)

Negotiation

Negotiation: Tit for tat (RM)

Ranged: Shortbow

Ranged: Shortbow: relaxed and at attention
Ranged: Shortbow: waiting to draw

Stealth

Stealth: always keep an ear out
Stealth: few targets look up
Stealth: hiding in the hay
Stealth: keep to the shadows
Stealth: stay still, stay quiet

Unarmed Combat

Unarmed Combat: strike at the limbs
Unarmed Combat: surprise as a weapon

Location

City: Rynmere (RM)
Location: Foster's Landing stables
Location: Foster's Landing bakery
Location: Etzos: has a market for ne'er-do-wells
Location: Etzos: the Chopping Block

People

Farlin(NPC): appreciates punctuality

Finnegan O'Connor: young and up to no good
Finnegan O'Connor: knows more than he tells
Finnegan O'Connor: a friend in dark places

[Ivanthe]

Skill Accounting

Magic EXP

Thread or Skill Name	Points Awarded	Points Spent	Running Total
Ranged (Shortbow) [RB}	25[RB]	25	..
Starting Package	50	..	50
Empathy	..	10	40
Hunting	..	10	30
Fieldcraft	..	10	20
Meditation	..	5	15
Deception	..	5	10
Medicine	..	10	00
Hunting	5 (RM)	..	00
Field Craft	5 (RM)	..	00
Medicine	5 (RM)	..	00
I Won't Tell If You Don't	15/15	..	15
Empathy	..	10	05
Stealth	..	5	00
Cold Fledging	10/10	..	10
Disguise	..	5	5
Intelligence	..	5	0
Honeychild	10/10	..	10
Intelligence	..	5	5
Stealth	..	5	0
The Pledge	15/15	..	15
Deception	..	5	10
Disguise	..	5	5
Stealth	..	5	0
The Ratfinder	10	..	10
Mount	..	5	5
Animal Husbandry	..	5	0

[Ivanthe]

Possessions

2 sets of clothing

• 2 shirts
• 2 pairs of pants
  2 pairs of boots
  2 sets of undergarments
  1 thin wool cloak
  1 thick wool cloak

1 knife
1 shortbow
12 arrows

1 waterskin
1 tent (2-person)
1 bedroll
1 wool blanket
100ft hemp rope
1 tinderbox
6 torches
1 fishing pole
30 fishhooks
4 rucksacks
1 toiletries set
2 rags
1 compass

1 riding/driving horse
1 wagon (1-horse)

prized possession

Silver ring, engraved with the image of a falcon just about to fly, a single small black opal for its eye. It still shines like new, being too big for Ivanthe and having only rarely been worn by Yaren for special occasions. Ivanthe keeps this mostly out of curiosity and habit, having no idea where Yaren acquired it or if the hawk has any significance.