From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
The crunch and crack, the bone’s futile resistance, ensured they were likely done for the day. Loren’s wild swing clipped around his hips, and the beast made no measure to counter or maneuver away from it, justifying the bruising as he watched the Firebrand stumble back, and then subsequently fall over, blood tarnishing the snow. Not to be the first, nor the last time, amidst the training grounds.
So he shook his head and sighed, recalling Loren had literally asked for a training session of this magnitude, and any guilt or shame he might’ve held was glossed over, gone, and away moments thereafter. “This has been enough,” he rumbled, maneuvering forward, extending a gruff, calloused hand, enabling the other man to find his bearings and feet again.
A silent request unfurled through bonds and adornments, and Zuriel came through the open door, a snort, a sigh, unbidden in the ensuing motions. Clearly unimpressed, and likely tired of having to heal the Sword so frequently, he arched a brow, indicating the offer with Loren stood first. He’d likely be capable of mending on his own, but the extension was there all the same.
Groaning, Loren rolled onto his back, tilting his head this way and that as he tried to find an angle where his nose didn't throb. Grunting in acknowledgment of Deimos' statement, the healer reached up with one hand to his face. Blinking away tears that threatened to freeze on his cheeks, his fingers curled around his nose as he set it.
Hissing against the pain of that, he sent a quick burst of healing magic through his body. In a flash his bones mended and his bruises faded and he sighed. Taking a handful of clean snow, he scrubbed the blood from his face. Only then did he take the hand the General proffered.
"Thanks for the offer," the Firebrand told Zuriel as he found his way upright again. He inclined his head to the unicorn, then did the same for the Sword. "And thank you for the training." Loren's lips quirked up. "Apparently I have a lot to learn."
A grand contortion to the Sword wanted to insinuate that Loren had asked for it, but left the words to simmer, seethe, and flicker off into silence behind his teeth. With the offer of healing not taken, given Loren’s own predilections, the beast was forced to endure Zuriel’s unimpressed, nearly loathing, contemptuous stare – he opted to look elsewhere while her head bent and horn touched over flesh and bone. The nature of her powers adorned and set him to rights, just as they always had, and a generous pat was given to her nape, even as she sneered.
At the Firebrand’s insinuation, Deimos arched a brow. “You are welcome. The barracks are always open.” The mender would be allowed to take that as he wished; training applied to all ranges of abilities, nuances, and skills, and perhaps he wouldn’t be left bleeding by the end of them. He wasn’t certain what Loren had learned, save for not to request being punched in the face, but hopefully it had come to be of some use.
At that, the General waved Loren off, returning to his rounds, and inspecting the guards’ expertise.
