Immortal Creed

North began his journey to the woods whilst he glanced back at the town from time to time. The town sat nestled in a shallow valley, bordered by the thick green wall of the Deepwood Forest to the west.

Beyond the forest, the jagged peaks of the Stonereach Mountains pierced the sky, their snow-dusted tips glinting faintly in the sunlight.

The land between Oakhaven and the forest was a patchwork of grasslands, dotted with wildflowers and small, uneven hills. The earth was firm, but occasional patches of dry, cracked soil hinted at summers harsher than the present spring.

North walked with a steady pace, his thoughts swirling as he made his way toward the forest. The ground crunched softly under his leather boots, the scent of dew and wild grass filling the air.

His shirt clung slightly to his back, damp from the morning effort, while the breeze rustled his dark hair. He didn't mind the walk; it gave him time to think.

The outer edge of the forest wasn't dangerous, and for that, he was thankful. The deeper layers, however, were rumored to hold beasts no townsfolk would dare encounter.

When he reached the forest's edge, the towering trees loomed over him, their canopy filtering sunlight into soft beams that danced on the moss-covered floor. The air here was cooler, filled with the rich scent of wood and damp earth.

North ran a hand along the bark of a tree, his expression contemplative. He needed wood—wood strong and flexible enough to withstand the tension of a slingshot.

For hours, North searched. He examined saplings and branches, running his fingers over their surfaces and testing their strength by bending them. Each time, something felt wrong.

One branch was too brittle, snapping in his hands like dry twigs. Another was too soft, bending almost like wet clay. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the quiet forest.

"Is there even such a thing as perfect wood?" he muttered, with frustration. His doubt weighed heavily on him as he leaned against a tree, staring at the ground. The forest seemed endless, each tree blending into the next.

But just as he considered giving up, something caught his eye—a slender branch from a tree slightly taller than the rest. Its surface was smooth, the grain running in even lines.

North's heart quickened as he approached. He bent the branch gently, feeling just the right amount of resistance. A faint smile crept onto his face. "This is it," he said.

Using the small knife he carried, North carefully cut the branch free, taking care not to damage its natural shape. He held it up to the sunlight, inspecting it with a sense of accomplishment. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

He was no expert on wood but what he had discovered, was truly perfect in his eyes. It would have to do for the time being, otherwise if he discarded even this, then he might just end up wasting precious time in the forest.

The sun, at this moment was high in the sky when North returned to his cottage. The midday warmth had dried the dew from the grass, and the air was filled with the sounds of insects.

Inside his modest home, he placed the branch on the wooden table and sat down, staring at it as if it were a puzzle. The room was simple—a hearth on one side, shelves filled with jars of herbs and dried food on the other. Light filtered through the window, illuminating the branch's pale wood.

North traced his fingers along its surface, imagining how the slingshot would take shape. He smiled faintly, but his excitement was interrupted by the realization that he lacked the proper tools. His knife wouldn't be enough for the precise shaping he had in mind.

"I'll need to borrow some tools," he said to himself, standing up and grabbing a small pouch. He made his way out, heading toward the carpenter's shop near the center of Oakhaven.

****

The carpenter's shop was a humble structure made of sturdy oak, its walls decorated with wooden carvings of animals and trees. Inside, the air smelled of sawdust and resin. The carpenter, an older man with a thick beard, was working on a chair, his hands deftly smoothing its surface with a rasp.

"North, what brings you here?" the man asked, looking up.

"I need to borrow some tools," North replied. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I'm working on a… project."

The carpenter raised an eyebrow. "What kind of project?"

"It's hard to explain," North said, scratching the back of his head. "But I promise to return everything in good condition."

"That's not how the world works boy. Me tools, me decisions. Otherwise, don't waste my time…" He sneered as he continued, "Promises…hmph! What do you think this is? A charity."

He said as he continued with his carpentry work. North had expected as much, old man Garel is a real handful. Customers come to him every time for complaints, but he would hear none of it.

To him his work was perfect and anyone that says otherwise can eat his shit for all he cares. Due to this personality his shop hasn't been doing well lately, interventions have been but ultimately it was decided to just the leave the old guy alone to his own devices.

North was not the least bit bothered by his personality. At some deeper level he understands the old man. You work hard all day and people fail to appreciate you; heck I reckon anyone would develop a foul personality over time.

"Old man. Say Less. Look what've got for you…" North's voice trailed as he handed Garel a pouch containing money. Money makes the world go round, and tugs at the strings of men and women no matter in which world.

The pouch rang with clatter of coins. Old man Garel's face lit up as he stopped what he was doing. He grabbed the pouch and opened it counting a stack of coins, 1..2…3..4… till five copper quids.

He closed the pouch, and he gave a slight cough his voice gruff and deep. He stared back and forth between North and the pouch. Clearly, he was impressed by the boy, impressed that he wasn't daft in the head.

He stood up and ruffled the saw dust that stuck to his clothes and hair. He glanced at North again and asked in a tone that lacked the previous bitterness and sternness...

"Speak, what is it that you need?"

North gave a slight chuckle but also a slight pang assaulted his chest. He was very poor, so him giving up five coppers caused a dent in his finances. He didn't linger on that thought though as he more or less got what he came for.

"I need, a sharp knife or if you have a chisel even better, an elastic rubber band, a tool for making holes, a rasp, a leather strap oh and a single loom or thread. That will be all." He listed the tools he required. Old man Garel went out the back to fetch what the young'un had 'requested.'

He couldn't help but wonder though what those tools could possibly create, the combination didn't make sense to his years of carpentry, he half thought that the kid was fooling around however, since he gave a generous donation, who was he to stop the kid?

He came back with the tools wrapped up nicely in a small leaf belt pouch.

"Thank you and may you have a great day my goodman." North quipped with a happy expression and he gave a courteous bow as he made his way out the door.

 "All right. Just bring them back when you're done." The carpenter nodded.

"The kid's gotta screw loose. Probably taking it too hard cause he wasn't chosen. No no, not my circus not my monkeys." Garel couldn't help but mutter under his breath as he watched North scamper along the cobblestone streets of the town.

***

Back in his cottage, North laid the tools and the branch on the table. The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. He picked up the branch and inspected it again, mentally planning his next steps.

First, he measured the branch. He cut it down to about a foot in length, leaving a slight curve at the center. Using the finer knife, he began shaving off the bark, revealing the smooth wood beneath. Each stroke was deliberate, the sound of the blade scraping against the wood reverberated in the room.

Next, he used the rasp to smooth the surface further. The repetitive motion was calming, and he found himself losing track of time as he worked. The once-rough branch began to take on the shape of a slingshot, its ends gradually carved into prongs to hold the band.

When he was satisfied with the shape, North picked up the drill-like tool and carefully made two small holes at the tips of the prongs. These would hold the cords for the band. He worked slowly, ensuring the holes were even and clean.

Finally, he fashioned the handle, carving grooves to make it easier to grip. The wood felt warm in his hands, as though it were coming to life under his touch. By the time he was finished, the sun was beginning to set, casting darkness across the room.

North held up the slingshot, inspecting it from every angle. It wasn't perfect, but it was his. A sense of pride emerged in his chest as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface.

North carefully grasped the leather straps, feeling their texture between his fingers. He tugged gently at one end, watching it stretch before releasing. The leather creaked under the pressure, but it didn't snap. He pulled harder, testing its tensile strength, his brow furrowing in concentration.

The straps held firm, the fibers straining, but they showed no signs of breaking. North nodded to himself.

This was the right material—strong enough to withstand the tension of the slingshot without snapping too easily. It was imperfect, but it would do. His fingers traced the edges, measuring with his hands, already planning how he would use this to create the weapon he needed.