the key to success {geebs}

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knuckles
Librarian

4,870 POSTS
Pronouns: he/him
last seen Apr 25, 2024 8:58:53 GMT -5

probably flailing over something

the key to success {geebs} Jan 20, 2017 14:48:50 GMT -5

Post by knuckles on Jan 20, 2017 14:48:50 GMT -5

Ivar Hammerfell
Seventeen | Male | District Two

Cracked nails dug into the ground pulling himself forward. Mud splattered across his face, yet Ivar never stoped moving. His hair was soaked from the rain falling from the sky, and he watched it bounce from the ground into the holes. All it took was a mental note to stay away because he didn't want to drown. Throughout his entire life he wondered what his purpose was, and now he had the chance to learn. The young Hammerfell wanted to prove a disability couldn't stop him from succeeding in life despite his brothers rubbing it in his face every second of every single day. He had a lot weighing on his shoulders, but with the ground being so up close and personal, Ivar didn't have a long way to fall before rock bottom caught him. Year after year he watched as another Hammerfell journeyed through the arena. He thought they would succeed, however, he watched them fail. It motivated him to do his best, yet he was constantly underestimated, and nobody gave him a chance.

He had nothing left to lose as he crawled into the training center for what might be his last possible time. The floor was far easier to move across compared to the concrete ground, yet he still was careful. He reeked of body odor, and his hair was a matted mess, but who had the time to shower when it took a miracle to even bathe?

A sword was his weapon of choice, yet he needed to learn something more, something to keep him alive when he was just a sitting duck. Anyone could chase him down because speed wasn't on his side. Maybe a bow and arrow to fight from far away, but even that didn't satisfy him. He wanted to learn more. Ivar Hammerfell wanted to survive when he had nothing left to give. A crown would one day call his name, and he wanted the chance to wear it. Hvitserk didn't deserve it. Sigurd and Ubbe wouldn't steal it from him. No, he would steal it from them. It had his name etched into the stones, and he would carry it with pride.

But first he had to learn.

Ivar was a snake slithering across the ground weaving between the feet of people scattered throughout the gym until his eyes rested on the swords hanging in front of him. The corners of his lips twisted into a cocky grin as he placed himself into a seated position. His legs were limp as he moved them forward making himself comfortable. He was going to stay for a while, and perhaps someone would help him. All the boy needed was some tips on how to survive when putting it all on the line.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

Last Edit: Jan 20, 2017 14:51:06 GMT -5 by knuckles

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

sbeeg
Retired Staff

3,503 POSTS
Pronouns: she/they
last seen Nov 1, 2023 5:54:37 GMT -5

the key to success {geebs} Jan 22, 2017 18:30:35 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Jan 22, 2017 18:30:35 GMT -5

The warehouse was full of sounds that afternoon. A symphony of metal clanging, fists connecting, and tried shouts. Sometimes Eedun would close his eyes and just listen to the music training made. What an orchestra he'd think.

The man had been standing with the archers for the last twenty minutes trying to get a 12 year old boy to hit anything. It was the boy's first day of training and didn't appear to come from money or any experience. He had burst into the tears the second his arrow smacked into the ground instead of the target and Naka had spent the last portion of the hour talking him up to try again. With a tear stained face, the boy tried again and missed once more.

"Again, boy. You won't hit it unless you try again," he said, exhausted by tears and excuses. Eedun turned to survey the rest of his students when he saw a figure dragging themselves across the ground. The person was covered in mud, their hair a dirty mess of braids and knots. The boy sat next to the swords, positioning his limp legs so that he might reach up and grab one.

Huh.

He crossed the gym, suddenly aware of his own long legs carrying him easily around. He came to a stop by the sword rack, leaning his elbow on the metal and looking down at the boy. He didn't know what to expect to see in the boy's face but he was surprised anyway. There was a determination there, hidden behind the mud. A aura of strength that made what pity had been gathering in his heart to vanish.

"If you want a sword, young man, get it yourself," he said, gesturing to the rack beside him. It would be easier for Eedun to remove one and hand it to the boy, but he wanted to see how'd he do it.

knuckles
Librarian

4,870 POSTS
Pronouns: he/him
last seen Apr 25, 2024 8:58:53 GMT -5

probably flailing over something

the key to success {geebs} Jan 23, 2017 23:16:18 GMT -5

Post by knuckles on Jan 23, 2017 23:16:18 GMT -5

Ivar Hammerfell
Seventeen | Male | District Two

Blue eyes locked on the swords resting above him, and Ivar wanted to hold one. Out of every weapon residing in the facility, he chose the hardest. He could've took the easy way out by looking at throwing knives, throwing axes, javelins, or bows and arrows, but that wasn't like him. All he wanted was a chance to prove that he was more than a cripple. For a moment he sat still listening as weapons clashed against one another, yet not a single one of them caught his attention. But something else caught his attention. A man stood over him, and Ivar couldn't help the sinister grin twisting across his face.

But not once did he offer a helping hand. The man offered a challenge, and Ivar never turned down a challenge. All his life he was handed everything that he ever needed, and now was his one chance to show the world that he was strong, and that his legs wouldn't hold him back. He didn't move from the spot he was sitting in.

Slowly his gaze shifted from the swords hanging above his head to the man. He clicked his tongue before rolling onto his stomach. One leg after another, he found himself resting in the position he knew best. The ground was his best friend because he found nobody to hang out with. His own brothers didn't want to share stories, and nobody wanted to spend time with a cripple.

He slithered closer towards the weapons, and he placed his hands on one of the shelves hoisting himself into the air. Gritting his teeth, he blocked out the pain he lived with. Despite not having use of his legs, he positioned them allowing the bones lingering inside to hold his fragile body. Ivar raised himself up as high as he could, and he kept one hand planted on the floor preventing himself from falling over. He wasn't weak, and he wasn't strong, but he knew how to survive. It took strength and willpower, and the crippled teen had both. Fighting was part of his life, and he wouldn't stop fighting now. The tips of his fingers pushed the hilt of the sword until it loosened from the rack. He drew himself closer inch by inch until he pushed it from the handles holding it in place, and he watched as it fell from place.

Grasping the sword, he lowered himself to the floor, and he stayed on his belly curious of what would happen next.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe