1 month ago:
Everyone had a craft. Most followed their parents craft, but some would apprentice to others, and follow their dreams and passion. Regardless of either, all could only choose one craft, and the majority had no choice for what oath they would take, since their parents or masters would lead them to the desired path before they were old enough to choose.
Jizht never bothered to wonder if she would've chosen something different if she had been able, because such a thing was pointless, her craft she had practiced since she she could walk. And she walked before she spoke a word. There were 9 levels of apprenticeship 9 levels of master and 9 levels of magnate. As for what was beyond that, no one knew. Although your life was extended quite a bit when becoming magnate of your craft, there was none that had been able to reach even the 8th level, since each level increased in difficulty compared to last and tripled between master and apprentice and magnate from master. As for past magnate... Although it could extend your life by more than 50 years each level, it wasn't usually enought to make it to the next one.
It would take an average person of adulthood merely a few hours to a few days to reach the first level of apprenticeship, but several years for the last and thus although some never became a master at their craft, the majority became a master around 40-50 years of age, the talented by 20s, if they lived that long.
Her father was barely over 40 and already had 8 levels of mastery. So it wasn't surprising when they had just finished preparing the cart to take to town to help the common bring their dead to the burial fields, that he stared down the road from their humble shack bordering these fields, muttering that a group was heading their way.
She had no doubt he would be a magnate one day, as her great great grandaunt had been, before she finally passed, at 132, a year ago, this was good considering few made it to even 60 in Yenth. She would be 15 soon, easily marriageable age, and had yet to be a master like her father, stuck at the peak of the 9th level of apprenticeship for more than 8 years. Her father had told her she needed that 'catalyst' to break through. Depending on your craft, would determine your catalyst. But she was only frustrated. She had been only 7 when she reached the 9th level, better than even her great great grandaunt (21) or father (19), in fact, she had yet to meet a person who reached the 9th level of apprenticeship faster, and yet, she had barely made any progress since. The catalyst for her father had been the death of his dog, her great great grandmother the death of her lover and later her children.
Her eyes laid themselves on her father at that thought, whosse eyes were still set on the horizon as a troop of men and women came over the hill. She hoped it wouldn't be him that would be her catalyst, nor her elder sisters who had already found spouses and moved out. If it was, she didn't think it was worth it, and her father had told her, the catalyst was oftentimes what was most precious to oneself. The one thing they couldn't give up, and since their craft involved death, the catalyst also probably involved death.
"It will be trouble." Her father finally finished, shaking his head. "There is nothing dead in that group." Feeling the nearness of anything dead also came as an added benefit of mastering their trade. She could feel the dirt rumbling beneath her feet from the carriage, as he had felt it even farther away, but whether what was approaching was alive or dead, she would have to probably touch to be certain of no witchcraft. But within 3 meters she would know there was no breath. Breath was life, and breath was above the soil, not beneath where they put the dead.
Sure enough the well-decorated carriage followed by a troop of people, many dressed in ornate white mourning gowns or armor, with white bands around their arms and feet, stopped before their humble abode. Behind those in white, was a large, but somewhat haggard trail of common people, with the guards constantly waving for them to dismiss.
Her father stepped forward, bowing politely. "How might we be of service to you?" If they knew him they would have heard the mockery in his voice, but they had never seen nor known him before much more than to when he was summoned with his elder brother to the palace every now and then to coordinate a royalty's gravesite construction, although more times than not it was just his brother that helped with these more decorated layings. But her uncle was not here this week. The other grave digger families were also gone, in cities and towns with their families, currently celebrating in the fortnight-long harvest festival. But her father didn't know holidays, nor cared to, and Jizht liked to follow her father around in everything.
A man in an overly ornate gown, far too pretty to feel it was for mourning, stepped forward, waving the black staff with a snake on the end, a signifier of one that carried the king's authority.
He just smiled though. "We are here to drop off the 4th prince's body for burial."
Her father remained stoik. "Mysh returns tomorrow evening, he organizes royal burials."
The slimy man just kept smiling. "The fourth prince died today."
"Dead have all the patience in the world to wait."
"I can grant you the honor of that patience as well."
The body was brought into their workshop. It was decided it would be put to rest on the morrow, when her uncle returned but would spend the night at their workshop until then, with a cohort of 10 guards to ward off grave robbers from the luxurious coffin.
She watched, almost completely unnoticed, as the troop of people brought in the coffin, finishing latching up the donkeys to the cart, but as they passed her, she felt from the earth as someone stopped behind her.
"You the undertaker's son? Where's the outhouse here?"
"We're not undertakers, that's my uncle." She turned around, and led him to the shed with a pit dug beneath it, farther back behind the other homes. Most nobles couldn't care less if those that took care of the dead were respectful.
"Oh, you're a girl." He commented it in an even tone, but she saw the look flash across his eyes, and the way they were suddenly fastened to her. She was dirty, her hair a rats nest, and her clothing baggy rags, but it still couldn't fully hide her underlying beauty. He smirked, reaching out to grab her shoulder, as they stopped before the outhouse. "You help dig it?"
She smirked, turning back, "Yes." And pulled her shoulder out of his grasp, as he chuckled at her reply, to walk away.
"Stop." She had to stop. Nobles loved making heads roll, or cutting out tongues and eyes.
She turned around again, this time, she met him square in the eye, her feet planted, shoulder length apart, they were somewhat similar in size, but her build was a little slighter, and her eyes were at his chin.
"You are rather strong, are you a master already?"
"No." He was a master, but not strong enough to keep her in his grasp if she willed it. She had been stuck on the cusp so long that she easily displayed strength beyond it for some things.
He backed off. " I won't fight, neither of our professions are for fighting after all, it would be an awful sham, it would, but girlie." He grabbed at her face this time, she let him. "You're kinda pretty, come to my place tonight, it's the red house, three homes down from the palace, and I'll wash you up, give you some pretty things to match it..."
She reached up, grabbing his chin, brushing her dirty finger over his lips.
She smirked, stepped forward, as he let go in disgust. "I'll offer you the same." Her voice was low, and seductive, but that didn't stop her smell from wafting over him.