Up North there was a small village, one of many in the Northern Wastelands as many would call them. Around ten tents made roughly of the skins of what the inhabitants hunted. Paints here and there aligned the tents, depending on the men of each tents cause to the tribe and each mans importance. A couple of large homes made from frozen cobble and sweat were scattered here and there, for the elder and the occasional visitor. The extra home was made to impress their visitors, and to make good relations with any other tribes close around. Though the nearest one was weeks away, but how should they know that? They never moved, nor did they travel far from the 'safety' of their encampment.
Two small, naked hands streached from the dephs of one of the tents, painted with red, grey and brown. The fingers grasped the flaps of the entrance and slowly pulled them apart to reveal a young face, no old than sixteen winters. The eyes were as a light fog in the morning, but stronger, harder, though what lay behind them was much less complex. A simple mind, with simplistic thoughts. The young man was outfitted in a grey wolf pelt fur, his red wavy hair covered by a ceremonial wrap made of mommoth hairs. The boy himself, thought he looked very rediculas, like he was being made fun of. And indeed if one outside of the tribe saw him, they would have to fight the strong urge of unending laughter. Slowly and grudingly did the boy trod forward, his booted prints leaving marks in the fresh blanket of snow left on the tribe the night before. This was a sign of beauty, luck, importance. As the boy walked he saw ahead of him the large fire, burning wickedly, it's sparks bounding out like spears and its smoke raising like a warning to those that would approach. A decorated stone lay at the foot of the fire, upon it many braclets and neclaces, each decorated and painted differently, all made of bone.
The young boy stepped up to it, sourrounded by his tribesmen. Elder Holnhvechii sent him a curt and brief nod and a friendly smile from the other side of the stone. He guestured with his hand for the boy to take from the stone one of the braclets made of bone. The boy slowly looked them over, his eyes shrouded in boredom and pity for himself. His gaze stopped however on one of the braclets made of bone, the one with the jewel of grey and milky complection. His eyes locked with it, mesmerized by the beauty that he'd not seen before, by the glimpse of calm he'd never felt. So he took it in his hand, and the elder smiled, the boys father groaned in bluntness. The certain braclet was a sign for those who enjoyed lifes pleasures, who enjoyed life itself, one who would do anything that was needed to survive and anything to reach a certain goal. Though that goal was not spoken as it was commonly understood by the tribesmen. The boy placed it on his wrist, not really carring for it's meaning as it held none to him, it was just a braclet after all, something that women wore. After the feast of mouthwatering meats of the snow and the occasional sneaked ale from the small man he headed home. Returning back into his tent with his new importance, and his new pipe. With a clouded head, from the ale he enjoyed, that his peers frownded deeply upon.
