[dom]Gravedigger Quantt

-a spear would pierce the center dot of a bulleye target from 20 meters away. Alongside it were targets that yielded not-so-great results. The sender of this perfect throw was Deconte Zollner, standing beside his siblings with an arrogant smize. This was how it always was, and how it always ought to be. For how poorly he was treated at home, he excelled in these activities. Even as a cursed one he needed to stand out somehow, and praise from the variety of teachers would replace the warmth he was missing from his father. His mother loved him, but he craved the acknowledgment of his father. 

In a spar, he'd best the majority of his siblings even the adults, but that was because of his natural size and obsessive need for practice. The children's destiny were already carved out for them. These were all natural results. They were to become military chaplains, doctors, and pages. Deconte, well.. He'd find himself in his father's office for once.

"You are a representation of me. This means you are a representation of the crown I so fervently serve." He paced from behind his desk. The sunlight breaching the window would cast a shadow over most of the man's body, only giving visage to a silhouette decorated in medals and ribbons. He was of honor, he was of nobility, he was a man who sparked awe in those he was in the presence of. To be acknowledged by such a person. It was all Deconte could want. 

"Sir." He was to keep his response short unless asked a question or spoken to directly. 

"You will become a Task Master one day... and it's to my hope that you bring great honor to whoever you become in that role." The pacing stopped, as did his talking. This pause seemed to press onto on the child like gravity. What was he supposed to respond with? Before he could think of something, his father would return to his pacing. "You excel in combat, and hunting animals. All the laborious tasks are easy to you in comparison to your brothers and sisters." The man's eyes were piercing as they finally made contact with Deconte's. The boy had always felt small in this family despite his size, but in front of this man, he felt miniscule. For a rare compliment to arise, the son slowly lifted his chin and kept a calm expression. On the inside, he was jumping up and down. "You are good, your instructors may say great, but I require excellence of you. Are you able to fulfill your end of the bargain as my son."

"YES SIR!" 

"Sixteen."  The man would be met with a tilted head and a confused expression from his son. "By sixteen, you are to arrive in front of me as an excellent man. It will be the start of your life."

"Sir..?" They didn't prepare him for this conversation. He thought all this training was just standard with being in this family... -and it was. His father wouldn't go into much detail since the boy was only 10. It was a sufficient age to give a child an understanding that their life path would be different going forward. 

"To be an excellent man, one must know their weaknesses. What is something you struggle with?" It was a rhetorical question on his father's part, more geared to get the gears in Deconte's head turning.

"Magic! A-and... Etiquette." He lowered his chin. Admitting faults wasn't an easy task, but this conversation seemed important. Honesty was the primary focus, it seemed.

"Then we shall change your routines, and begin your walk into manhood. You may leave." The pacing stopped once more, and the mysterious man would finally take his seat at the desk and return to his paper work. 

A shovel dug deep into the soil as the grunt of an older Deconte heaved it into a pile with the rest of the dislodged dirt. Mud... It was raining again, but at least it wasn't snowing. He was told to dig about four graves this morning in preparation for patients who wouldn't make it. This was an everyday thing. Death was common here and so was the shitty weather. The young man watched as condensation escaped him with his hard work. A clink could be heard with that final scoop of dirt. A golden necklace hung from his shovel, causing him to smile wide. 

He'd always find things like this. They were treasures of old. They were treasures left behind by the war over this land, and beneath that the mysteries of a time before the kingdom even expanded this far. No one would miss this necklace, and no one would even see him pocket it through Nill Grave's trademark cold fog. When he was done digging, he'd add it to his collection of treasures. Finding things like these was almost as valuable as the books he received. 

That's just how things were for him. He was an outcast in his home. His room was the furthest from family, and closest toward the help. He was treated like a grown adult at such a young age. Unlike his siblings who all were model scholars, Deconte would be held to a soldier's standard. The schedule was strict, but this was the life he knew. He was fated to be a taskmaster,  and as such, he would be worked to the bone since birth. Early hours were for grave digging,  mid-day for training, and late night was for meals and study. As he got older, etiquette, weapons training, and magic were wedged into the schedule. Few moments existed where he had time to himself. 

These were the moments he'd miss in the coming future. 

"17 years old. It's passed the time we agreed upon..." His father would address him in the study once more. Deconte Zollner a noble of the Zollner house would finally be considered a man. "Have you become excellent?" A simple question, though the meaning ran deep. The man was asking if the boy were ready to become an assassin. 

"I know you no longer wish to keep me here, Task Master or not." It seemed the boy grew some base in his voice as well as some back bone. He kept eye contact, and simply waited. Deconte had always been treated poorly, if anything becoming a man now meant freedom. He'd never be able to follow his siblings in becoming a medic, or priest. It was always in the cards for him to become a killer for the crown. Task Master, pffff. If he had to carry on with such a title, he'd do it by his own metrics. 

"Mmmmm, it seems you understand your position better than I thought. It's not as though we wish to treat you this way. It's the fate of the cursed to deviate, so I wish to give you a bit of agency." Deconte stared at the man. It was hard to gather exactly what he meant by that. Surely, it was best to pitch his son somewhere that he could die and be forgotten. 

"You've been working the graveyards for quite some time, why not become "The Gravedigger." Suits you well enough." Marcel mused outloud even though Deconte hadn't replied. "Well, you'll be needing a name. As a man, a Zollner, you'll no longer be." The family wouldn't want to be held liable for any assassins it pitched to the crown. It was understandable. However, for Deconte, this was the same as politely disowning him and selling him off to the capitol's secret society. 

"Quantt Nill." Deconte would reply. His father would go ahead and jot the name down, but it seemed to stump him as he wrote it.  

"Nill, what a horribly old name. The reason we rule over this principality. As the first task master, I suppose he's worth paying homage to, but there are so few books about him. I doubt any clout would come of it. Perhaps you'd prefer a different name." Marcel would seal the letter despite his words and stamp a seal onto it. It seemed he was fine with his son being a nobody. In this family, he already was.

"You know, boy... if you refuse this duty, you'll be just a name in the wind. You're service won't begin until you accept your first contract." Marcel would tuck the registry in his breast pocket. It was something he'd send to the capitol soon. He paused before showing the boy a suitcase. Quantt would take it without a word, and be on his way. The longing for approval that the son once craved had died quite some time ago. The fear and respect were replaced with hatred and pity. The Zollner was a secretive house of frauds. These feelings and insight. It all stemmed from a single book.

He found this book while fumbling around the mansion a few years ago. He'd snuck into the attic, and was perusing around for anything intersting. The book was covered in dust, and likely hadn't moved since it was placed there. It sat atop a chest full of old pelts. After finding the pelt for himself, he popped it open. The pages were sensitive, and faded. Much of the writing was smudged and hard to make out, but it was clear it was a collection of notes, stories and spells from some one of those olden times. Those accursed traits he possessed weren't cursed at all. They were marks of a pure-blooded Nill.

The Zollner magic he struggled with... -it was because these weren't actually his household spells to learn. There were spells that General Nill and his ancestors possessed. There were a few spells, though they seemed to be written in some sort of ancient script. Between how poor the conditions of the book were and how faded or smudged some of the ink was, the chances of actually learning any spells from it were slim to none. Instead, he'd commit the symbols to memory so that he could write them in front of a proper page. 

Sure, he could become an assassin whenever he found a contract, but finding a page with knowledge of old came first. His destination would have to be Vargan, or at least find a mage who hailed from there. He could worry about this silly Task Master business later. As this would be his final time seeing his old home for a while, he'd give it one last look. He didn't know where Vargan was, but he had an inkling that he'd find more information in the Capitol. 

He needed time to prepare. In the suitcase was an outfit he'd don often. It wasn't all that different from a common theif, even coming with some minor armor and weapon outside of his spade of choice. He was lucky to have kept his wolf pelt. It would give the outfit some class. He'd sulk around Nill's grave where his face still had some value for another year before finally making the leap of faith. The day he'd return would likely be the day, he'd pierce Marcel's heart. At the very least, he'd be sure of that. 

He'd hitch a ride on a carriage that promised him a trip to Galt. The detours were numerous and painfully time-consuming. He wouldn't reach the Capitol until close to a year later. The journey for Vargan would begin here...