Georg Dijkstra

The dead must be treated well. And being left in the rubble of the Palace, the shell of a corpse itself, is not right – this, Georg knows. And he does his best. He does not work alone, but Georg is the one to find those who are buried in the rubble first, and he leaves them to the right people. Those who know how to honour them. Eventually, everyone is recovered.

He returns home. A person isn’t constrained to just one trade, but it is to his apprentices and his children to whom Georg entrusts his studies on sorcery; most potent with blood, he finds, but a contract may take many forms. His youngest daughter takes to it most naturally, once she’s old enough to learn.

He carves it into wood, and finds that he can make small charms: little amulets of protection for his family, well-wishes and luck burnt into wood. He manages to stem the flow of blood from the manifestation with some blood dripped onto one such carving. It stops being a bother, at least.

One day he thinks to test the limits. A spell for himself, to prevent his fated end – more curiosity than anything.

But alas, some fates were already foretold. An accident with an apprentice at the workshop is enough to separate Georg’s head from his body, and he died; his fate fulfilled.

His youngest never had to bear the burden of a fate. And so she writes this in memory of her father, a man who did not let others pass through this world undignified. Who was curious, and careful, and a loving father. He was a carpenter, and the greatest man I knew.