Gaven Embershard

Name: Gaven Embershard

Titled Name: N/A

Age: 17

Personality: Gaven is a strangely mature young man for his age, frequently serious, but once used to a person he gladly adopts a more playful attitude. In his short life he has endured both stigma and loss. Through these hardships he has learned to be independent, adaptable, and resourceful. One is not fully able to label him timid or bold; if in need he will ask for aid or offer his service for whatever he requires to live, but otherwise he is an observer of the world and people around him. He can be counted on to do a job to the letter if he has the necessary knowledge, tools, and means to do so. Gaven has an adventurous spirit that has on more than one occasion gotten him into trouble both innocent and otherwise.

Birth Place: Deepwood Motte

House Of: Embershard

House Sigil: None

Mental: Gaven constantly weighs his options, considering what would be best for him and to better his way of life. Certain things can and do get in the way or cloud his judgement for he is far from perfect. Some assume he is motivated by selfishness or self-preservation, which may or may not be true on a case-to-case basis. What is assured is if there is a benefit to him, or if it assists any whom he calls a friend, Gaven would gladly take the risk.

Physical Skills: While Gaven’s physique could be considered lanky, his time as a blacksmith’s son has made him stronger than he appears. He has some knowledge of wielding a sword and use of a bow, but received no formal training. In the outdoors Gaven is in his element – rarely does this young man truly find himself lost, for after a time of wandering he is able to gain his bearings. His lonely trek through the Wolfswood to get to Winterfell taught him how to survive in the wild and on the open road.  

Social Skills: Gaven is wary of strangers, and can even be rude to them if he doesn’t like them or if they pry into his business. He feels himself to be a self-made man with his own code to follow, which is led by the inclination to help those in need whenever he can spare it. There is some underlying trickster elements in his character, but overall he is kind. Gaven is especially polite to women and those who treat him decently. Once Gaven considers anyone a friend he is staunchly loyal to them... but should that trust be broken it will be nearly impossible to regain.

Family:
Natural Father – Bran Wayfinder (unknown to Gaven and his family)
Natural Mother – Mariah Embershard; deceased
Stepfather – Rodrik Embershard; deceased

Brother – Wayn; deceased
Sister – Sarra; deceased


Rumors:
In Deepwood Motte they say that Gaven set the fire to his family’s cottage, and rescued his mother out of remorse for what he had done. This isn’t true and is what ultimately sent Gaven to traverse the Wolfswood to Winterfell.

During Gaven’s short stay in Winterfell certain people believed he was a sorcerer’s assistant due to his basic herbal knowledge and the frequent catching, and eating, of frogs. He may have also played a prank on a bullying urchin that at first glance might have appeared to have been magical, but was really a trick of illusion.

Known In Public: Gaven is a secretive young man who tends to observe people before approaching them. He notes and recalls a person’s actions far more readily than he recalls rumors, social status, and the like. Gaven learned a long time ago that he could learn volumes about a person purely by watching them.

Some people say that Gaven is aloof or reclusive, preferring to stay on the fringe than join a crowd. This isn’t necessarily true, for once he becomes familiar with a person or group of people he will gladly join the camaraderie. Although Gaven has a reputation for keeping to himself he is also known to be kind, generous when he can spare it, helpful, and when the occasion calls for it, brave.


History:
Gaven’s story begins some years before his birth. Bran Wayfinder, a charming young thief with no parents, set eyes upon a seamstress’s daughter named Mariah in Deepwood Motte. Bran spun a magnificent tale for Mariah, claiming to be the son of a rich merchant that frequently sailed to and fro across the Narrow Sea. Mariah quickly fell for the man, and almost married him. What stopped Mariah was a host of rumors that the man wasn’t what he seemed, and several small but curious incidents Bran had with the law in her presence. Maria’s suspicions were confirmed not through Bran confessing his true nature, but in being gifted a trinket that belonged to a friend she had never told him about. Mariah took back the trinket and forbade him to return to her parents’ house ever again.

Three years later, Mariah married Rodrik Embershard. Rodrik was one of several blacksmiths in the area; a man as brutishly strong as he was tall. For Mariah, Rodrik was her gentle giant. Although they desired a large family it took years before she finally conceived a child; a daughter, whom they named Sarra.

One fateful night Rodrik was drinking at the local tavern while Mariah was at home with her one-year-old daughter. She had no idea that she was being watched through the windows. Ever so silently a familiar face, Bran Wayfinder, crept into the home. He stole many of the Embershard family’s belongings right under Mariah’s nose. Instead of calling it a grand haul and leaving, Bran Wayfinder instead assaulted Mariah in the worst way possible. He completely ignored the screaming baby girl and fled the scene soon after.

Rodrik came home to a wailing daughter and a shaking, bleeding Mariah. She told her husband all that had happened, though in her fright through the whole ordeal she could not remember the man’s face. Rodrik put the local militia on alert, but their stolen items were never recovered nor the criminal responsible found.

It didn’t escape Mariah’s notice when she missed her time of blood in the weeks that followed. Three months after the horrific event, Mariah noticed that she started putting on weight as she had done for Sarra. The woman broke into tears when it was clear that she was with child again. Her tears were not of happiness but of despair, for she had not been with her husband in all of the weeks since the crime. When the true news reached Rodrik he was disgusted and wanted his wife to get rid of the child in her belly. Mariah approached a healer and told him the entire tale, but after looking at the woman he had nothing but bad news: if the healer went through with the procedure Rodrik desired, it was doubtful that Mariah would produce more children. Rodrik and Mariah decided not to take the risk. Rodrik started drinking more, and Mariah despaired at her husband’s silent but obvious displeasure.

Gaven was born in the mild springtime of 261 AC, in the dark of the night. Right away Rodrik could confirm the suspicions that the child wasn’t his: the babe possessed neither the ginger hair of Rodrik nor the green eyes of Mariah. A tuft of brown hair and brown eyes marked the child – the general shape in face of his mother, but all the coloring of the unknown father. Mariah loved her son, but there was an ever so slight hint of favoritism for Sarra. With Rodrik it was different: he refused to hold, speak, or interact with the baby. Rodrik did not show the bastard child his love.

A third child was given to the Embershard family a year after Gaven’s birth. This time it was a natural-born son. Rodrik named the boy Wayn, after his grandfather. Although Gaven barely understood how or why, he could tell that Rodrik loved and favored Wayn over him.

The moment Gaven was old enough to lift a light hammer, Rodrik put the boy to work at his forge. At first Gaven would do little more that clean the tools and put them in their proper place, or stoke the fire. It was clear to the boy that Rodrik didn’t like him much. The long hours at the forge, the way the old man spoke, the way he acted, even the way he looked at Gaven all told him that for some reason his father was less than fond of him. Nothing Gaven did was able to please the hard-hearted Rodrik, either. Wayn, who followed not long after, was shown every step in the process of smithing and how to perform it properly.

Gaven’s growing years were largely uneventful. He learned to smith, but his brother Wayn was far better at it. Rodrik took both of his sons hunting every year. Even though Gaven’s arrow often struck the larger prey, Rodrik insisted that it was Wayn who drew the shot. Gaven resented the favoritism, disrespect, and more or less taking the blame for his brother’s mistakes. On Gaven’s tenth nameday, after a particularly brilliant act of mischief, Rodrik shouted at his son and revealed the truth about the boy’s birth: that Gaven Embershard was no son of Rodrik’s, but a bastard and product of violence. Whenever possible Gaven stayed out of his father’s way after that.

Four years later, in the middle of the night, Gaven awoke at the sound of Sarra screaming. Flames licked the wooden cottage walls and threatened to burn every one of them and everything they owned to the ground. The young man leapt out of bed and tried to reach Sarra, but a flaming crossbeam from the roof fell in his path. Rodrik appeared on the other side of the room, grabbed Sarra, and seemed to lead her to safety. Gaven looked for his brother but couldn’t find him. Eventually he found his mother and did his best to guide her through the smoke, soot, and flames. Once outside and away from the burning wreckage, Gaven realized that his father and siblings were nowhere in sight. It was too dangerous to go back into the ruined house. In the morning villagers helped Gaven and Mariah pick out any salvageable goods from the wreckage. Backed into a corner were three charred bodies: Rodrik huddled with Sarra and Wayn. It was clear that Rodrik had been trying to protect them from the fire even though it meant his own death.

Days after the fire, Mariah took ill. Rumors flew around the village in Deepwood Motte that Gaven had started the fire in order to be rid of the father that wasn’t his. The youth didn’t much appreciate the rumors and did what he could to quash them. It wasn’t enough, though, for some believed his vehement denial only solidified his guilt. Gaven lost his mother barely two weeks after the fire; the healer told him that she had consumed too much smoke and burning soot.

The fourteen year old didn’t want to live in a place where he would be blamed for something he didn’t do. He was tired of people calling him “bastard” or “the blacksmith’s burden”. Gaven gathered up what few belongings he had left, sold what he could carry out of his father’s shop that he wouldn’t need, took a shortsword, bow, and arrows from said shop for his own, and set out on his own in the dead of night through the Wolfswood. It was a long and dangerous journey, but it was the quickest way to Winterfell than traveling the old roads. He quickly learned which plants he should and shouldn’t eat, what plants helped him recover from a mistake and which ones made him sicker. Gaven hunted for his food, and clumsily learned to butcher the game he took down.

At long last, after several months, Gaven arrived at Winterfell. It was such a huge place to him that he felt sure he would get lost no matter how many namedays he spent there. He stayed on the outskirts of the town, venturing inward only when he needed something. The people seemed friendly enough, but some of them were also too curious for their own good. Gaven avoided the questions as best he could and snapped at others when they continued to persist. It didn’t take long before he discovered that even the Lord Paramount’s city had its bullies; a young boy around his age was being repeatedly bullied by a bigger one. Gaven stepped in and helped get rid of the bully with a clever trick; it was so clever, in fact, that the bully thought for certain that Gaven was a sorcerer’s apprentice. The fact that he gathered herbs for the healers and herbalists, and could be found on any given day roasting the legs of captured frogs for his dinner did little to discourage the rumors.

Gaven spent six months in Winterfell before deciding to leave. The place was far too busy a place for him to want to call it home. A map at the local inn showed a little village just three days from Winterfell – probably the closest settlement to the capitol, and likely the easiest to get to. He set out for Blackberry Shrine on the dawn of his fifteenth nameday.

The people of Blackberry Shrine were warm and welcoming – so much so that Gaven was struck speechless by it all. He sold the furs of animals he had hunted along the way for coin, purchased some essentials from the merchants in the area, and saved some money for a room at the inn. It was a slow and arduous process but Gaven worked his way into enough money from the odd job here or there and being a scout for the local militia to buy a tiny cottage. He has lived and worked in as well as around the village ever since.

Gaven strode the cobblestone street into Blackberry Shrine. By the sun it appeared to be around midday, and bathed the many little cottages and shops in golden light. Sounds of people chatting and haggling met his ears. From the distance he had come, the village seemed to be exactly what he wanted: a fairly small, quiet town.

Deeper into the village, Gaven spotted an older man trying to repair the wheel of a vegetable cart. It wasn’t going as planned based on the muttered swears he overheard. The older man threw down his tools and went back inside. Gaven quirked an eyebrow at the sequence of events, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and walked towards the cart.

A quick inspection of the cart’s workings revealed the problem. The man had all the tools he needed to fix the wheel, so what frustrated him so? Gaven couldn’t figure it out. He propped the cart up, balanced on one of the man’s hammers, and wrapped the broken axle with a strip of leather he had on hand. It wasn’t a complete fix, but it would hold for a little while longer at any rate. It was nothing after that to secure the wheel that had fallen off. Once Gaven was certain the cart was road-worthy again he lifted it up, pushed the hammer out from underneath the cart with his toes, and set it down. A test push... a slight hitch in the wheel he had put on, but there was little to be done for it without making a new one. Gaven shrugged; that was the best he could do with what he had.

“You! Get away from my cart!” shouted the old man as he hurried to the roadside where he had left his cart. “These vegetables aren’t for taking!”

Gaven had just set the man’s tools in the cart and jumped at the hostile voice. He took a step away, startled more than anything else. “I wasn’t taking your vegetables. I just fixed your wheel.”

The old man scoffed. “Likely story... Now be off with you. This is my cart and my vegetables.”

Gaven sighed. “If I’m lying, try pushing your cart. Your axle broke and the wheel needs to be replaced, but I patched it up so it’ll manage one more trip to wherever you’re going.”

A pair of cloudy blue eyes locked onto Gaven. The young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Reluctantly, the old man gave his cart a push. It squeaked a little, but the wheels spun smooth across the stones. The farmer’s jaw dropped in amazement, staring at the cartload of vegetables. He looked back to Gaven. “My ’pologies, stranger. Thought you were one of the scamps stealing my vegetables. Take this for your trouble.” The old man rifled through his cart for an assortment of his crops, enough for an armful, and gently pushed the reward into Gaven’s arms. The farmer walked away with his cart before the youth could utter a response.

Gaven blinked at the amount of vegetables in his arms. It was enough to keep him fed for a few days, and far much more than the work was worth. “...What is this place?”