Salv lived his life looking up to his father, the captain of a fierce patrol ship. Seeing him only infrequently, Salv was more familiar with his father's deeds than his face. And so he bore proudly the sort of hero worship that young boys often carry for their fathers, glamorizing and romatacizing every deed and doing.
From the time he could toddle across the floor, Salv would conduct imaginary sword fights. It did not matter that his mother hid the cutlery, Salv would find a convenient wooden spoon and use that as a sword. It did not matter that she banned him from the kitchen, he would wander the rocky beaches and shallow waters looking for anything that could be recklessly slashed through the air to defeat imaginary enemies.
It was on one such day that the storm swell found him. The treacherous waves came up quickly, and dashed him off of the slick rocks before he knew what was happening. Immediately submerged, his head bounced off of a coral arm, and he never woke up again. His body washed ashore the next morning, gray and lifeless, his flesh shredded from his bones by the razor sharp coral fingers lingering just under the water's surface.
No jokes I take it about heavy or dark sabres.
I had to physically restrain myself from making him from the desert island of Tilth. Because it was the only location I wrote about during Summer Camp and so it was just right there. But no, no. It would have been just too much.
Haly, the Moonlight Bard
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That would certainly have been fun