Astrid could not preform another amputation. Eyes crafted from the palette of maritime storms scanned for the last pieces of the loom. Disoriented in the flux of the otherworld, harsh lighting and odd phrases made the acquisition a puzzle. Limbs laden with apprehension, she trudges on in search of a solution. In the libraries of daydreams, she paces in bespoke shoes of tan leather hide, entranced in scholarly bounty. Large scrolls minted with advanced sciences trace invention in a sea of blue, gleaming mysteriously in the sunlight.
Situating herself at a Mahoghany community table, she pulls materials from a crocheted satchel of roughly spun wool. Interested eyes briefly gloss over her, pausing on an inevitable path to dismissal. Short and unruly ash blonde hair spirals over murky eyes set in a galaxy of freckles, she uncorks her inkwell. Just one more urban oddity in funny clothes, basking in abnormality as if life is installation art, a jaded librarian tuts. Spreading the parchment out with the long and battered fingers of a craftsman, Astrid dips her simple quill into the reservoir.
Painstakingly copying every detail of the blueprint, she remembers the woman's face once more. Stricken in the separation of her gift, she locks eyes with Astrid as if she's been eviscerated, clutching the end of the thread that marks her life. The silence of the library is deafening, gritting her teeth against the familiar nausea of the memory, Astrid double checks her work. This is her last chance to get it right, or... She sees the woman fall to her knees, griping her rust-colored hair with white knuckles. No, she will return to Rúnsala with something groundbreaking this time.
Checking that the cork is soundly in the inkwell, Astrid rolls her replica sketches up and secures them with a narrow strip of hide. Packing them gingerly in with a stack of mechanical books, she pauses with the jar in grip. Brow furrowed in the bleak feeling conjured by giving up precious glass, she leaves the risky well on the table with a huff. There is no room for chance on this excursion.
Stretching the tension from her knotted shoulders, she exhales release with arms that reach over the conclave of ash blonde ringlets crowning her. Refocusing, she squares her small shoulders. She's spent half the day in a different world than the one she woke up in, but the day is far from over. Glancing over a scrap of parchment covered in her loopy scrawl, she mentally prepares herself for the linguistic battle ahead to secure the items on the list.
The barrier between worlds clutches Astrid in an unsympathetic embrace, sucking the air from her heaving torso. Gasping as she hits the ground, her body surrounds the parcel with the resolve of a protective mother. Quickly rolling away from it, she loses what's left of a meager breakfast on the cavern floor. "Don't yak on the damn thing after you've made me wait for it!" Mikkel barks from without, his slender frame silhouetted in the brilliant light streaming through the caves entrance.
A shaky hand wipes her delicate mouth, she looks small and innocent as she blinks towards the gravelly voice with dazed eyes. Astrid knows she is anything but such, a pilgrim on a trek to repentance that could never be granted, she is a demon. All other magic was a gift wrapped in secrecy in the northern territories, it had a place in the ceremonies of community. Her magic was it's bane; the ability to amputate the blessings bestowed on others, she knew what she was.
Two months earlier
Repetition is a gateway to meditation; Astrid falls into her mind with each stroke of linen against the hammered grooves of the washboard. Squeezing the water from a simple tunic, the earth spins beneath her feet. She's thrown into the sensation of pulling mana from a convulsing body, she wants to stop but it is too late. Deep breaths, don't lose focus... she brings herself back to the present moment in slices, leaving the broken red-haired woman in the shadows of memory.
The thaw of a harsh winter is more challenging than the initial snow in a mountain village. Astrid pauses to rest her eyes on the peaks of the three sisters, whom her dwelling sits between. Soon she will be able to venture into the caverns housed in their depths, to travel to the otherworld once more. Before winter stifled her efforts in sheets of snow, she had managed to lay the groundwork needed to satisfy Mikkel's cupidity with borrowed technology. Steadying herself, she considers the bones of her plan for the thousandth time, as an early spring gale whips her pale curls about.
"If you want your mother to stay tucked in tight in that sickbed, you're going to share your gift with this family!" Mikkels eyes are yellow from decades of ale, greed lets him forget he speaks about his sister. He once had a northerner's spirit, smashed and shoved away in the desire for southern coin. He is not ashamed to have a Rune Witch for a niece, Astrid is his golden goose. There is nothing too taboo to leverage her, there is no remorse in the bounds of his avarice. The shell shock of the girl following the first contract was an insignifigant price to pay for the wealth of it.
Astrid had fiercely made her case for another route- what if they became successful through a business instead? Surely that would be more profitable, and less dangerous! After all, mages with her skills were extremely rare. Before too long, those with greater resources would covet her talent, perhaps attempting to pry her away from Mikkel. She felt herself ramble on under his beady gaze, he knew she was lying but she charged on. Telling him of the technologies she had witnessed in the otherworld, she paints a picture of Mikkel as a well-respected inventor. Miraculously, he goes for it, and so she begins to transport machinery across worlds.
The dilapidated walls of the barn warped in their effort to hold the weight of the ceiling. Hay left stagnant for seasons permeated the space with the odor of mold, that incense attempts to fight as it smolders in the rafters. A scrawny grey dog huddles amoungst bins of spun wool, its ear twitching up in curiosity as the gears of the invention come to life. A mechanical sway that dances like pooling gold in Mikkels eyes slowly churns out the finest textiles Rúnsala has ever seen. Astrid breaths deeply for the first time in months, this really could be her way out.
As the zenith of summer beckoned Astrid into the delusion that she could retire her magic, Mikkel prepared for his journey south. Loading the textiles up that would secure him a small fortune, his spirits were disturbingly high considering his default state of malice. Astrid could not be bothered by it, and soon found herself celebrating the season with her peers, blissful in his absence. Savoring fresh honey and jams at the festivals ushered in by gentle weather, she brings delightful baskets home to cheer her mother in bed. For a wonderous few weeks Astrid forgets she is a beast, as she's carried away in the adventures of youth. She gets to just be a girl, if only for a little while.
This is my submission for the Sitka World character backstory contest hosted by the Scholar and Scribe community. I started my journey in Sitka World's immersive discord experience, which is like a choose your own fantasy adventure! I then drew inspiration from reading I am the North (which is free in many forms), as well as from this document, which outlines Sitka World cannon. @jfuji wrote this great post on what Sitka world is, as well as its benefits to the Hive community. You can find all the information to participate in the links above! This was a thoroughly engaging write up, I hope you've enjoyed it :) Thanks for reading!