Warm Your Bones
10-18-2022, 04:42 PM
OOC: Changed my mind and decided Mitros needed the skill points more then Acacius does!
Mitros had come from admiring the fog-shrouded statue in the nearby woods before heading off to the main festival region to craft and deliver preparations for the feast. It was the most important part in his mind - wolves needed to eat and drink more than statues needed a headdress or cape. His talents would be best put to use on living creatures who could appreciate his gifts and not adorning piles of old stone.
The familiar form of one of many of his family members caught his eye as he traversed the river, easily convincing him to adjust his path. What was the difference if he finished his craft here, with company, rather than at the stone steppes where it was to be delivered? "Grand uncle!" Mitros greeted with a grin, tail wagging slightly behind him. Since Fireside had disbanded he'd hardly seen a trace of his family - being a loner was, well, lonely. It was nice to see a familiar face once more. "What are you working on?"
Taking a seat beside the man he pulled for his own satchel, withdrawing from it the bundle of short sticks, obsidian shards and vine that he'd scavenged earlier. Drawing one stick in between his paws, he began to fasten the obsidian stones to the stick in the first of many decorative short spears. The sticks he had already soaked and spent time slowly bending and now each curved deeply. When placed all together, Mitros intended them to form a sort of bowl shape - something suitable to hold an offering of meat or something, functional and decorative as the spearheads jutted outward.
"Speech"
Mitros had come from admiring the fog-shrouded statue in the nearby woods before heading off to the main festival region to craft and deliver preparations for the feast. It was the most important part in his mind - wolves needed to eat and drink more than statues needed a headdress or cape. His talents would be best put to use on living creatures who could appreciate his gifts and not adorning piles of old stone.
The familiar form of one of many of his family members caught his eye as he traversed the river, easily convincing him to adjust his path. What was the difference if he finished his craft here, with company, rather than at the stone steppes where it was to be delivered? "Grand uncle!" Mitros greeted with a grin, tail wagging slightly behind him. Since Fireside had disbanded he'd hardly seen a trace of his family - being a loner was, well, lonely. It was nice to see a familiar face once more. "What are you working on?"
Taking a seat beside the man he pulled for his own satchel, withdrawing from it the bundle of short sticks, obsidian shards and vine that he'd scavenged earlier. Drawing one stick in between his paws, he began to fasten the obsidian stones to the stick in the first of many decorative short spears. The sticks he had already soaked and spent time slowly bending and now each curved deeply. When placed all together, Mitros intended them to form a sort of bowl shape - something suitable to hold an offering of meat or something, functional and decorative as the spearheads jutted outward.