Thursday, September 28, 2006
Mine. Chapter 1 Part 4
Mort was a tall man, taller even than his father. He shared his father’s serious countenance, and sharp features. Augmenting his hawklike nose, were piercing ice blue eyes, the only feature he had inherited from his mother. The people of the land respected him as much as Norwin, due to his fastidious and meticulous ways. He was fair, and respected everyone for their attributes.
Yet, there were few in Grippa that could meet his gaze. Most that tried, felt as if Mort was peering directly into their soul, their feelings and thoughts all laid bare for his perusal. They would hold his gaze for a few seconds, and the feeling that Mort could see everything about them would engulf and override any other thought. People that interacted directly with him daily, quickly developed a habit of talking to his chest. Of course, the fact that Mort’s chest was the same height as most men’s eyes helped this seem natural.
In addition to his height, or perhaps in direct contrast to it, were Mort’s speed and lithe movements. Most large people are a bit ponderous in their movements, always seeming to be careful not to squash those around them. Mort moved with a fluid grace. Trained heavily in combat since he was a small boy, every move he made seemed to flow into the next. Mort was easily the strongest person in all of Grippa. He had won the Test of Strength contest held every year at the Grippan Faire since he was 14, no one else even coming close to his feats of prodigious strength.
At 24, Mort had not even peaked physically. He continued to train daily with every known weapon, and without any weapon. As the eldest child, it was expected that he would take over the baronet of Grippa when his father no longer performed those duties. Mort was well versed in every aspect of the land. He had long since learned everything his tutors, both mental and physical, had to teach. His former weapons masters would spar with him, sometimes in multiple pairs, honing their skills, and still be clearly overmatched. His former tutors, instead of testing him with bits of language, or philosophy, or math, would come to him when they had need of a mind greater than their own.
Mort was, in truth, the epitome of a mythical Hero, come to life.
Onieda called him Mooky.