Vanity

Vanity is a plague. Superiority a delusion. Only fools think their definition of beauty made them worth more than others and aye, Ichor came from a long line of fools. His family was less of a tribe, and more of a collection of bloodlines who prized their own looks, each generation more stuck up than the last. Worst of all, Ichor’s father. There was no love in his father’s eyes when he gazed upon his only child. He saw only what would be the most beautiful of all the toskals within their group, had it not been for his.... deformity.

No, Ichor’s father never could forgive him for being born with such horrendousteeth that stuck up and out past his lip. He’d even attempted to file them, and nearly lost a hand.

So be it. Whatever female he would wed, an arranged marriage of course, would have to look past the flaw. After all, his children would be more beautiful than him.

Ichor resented his father, his family, and their ideals for as long as he could form thoughts. He was scolded and punished as a pup when he tried to wrestle with the others of his “tribe.” Such a barbaric practice was beneath his status. Many things were viewed this way, as he would come to learn.