Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

MaeA The brightness of her smile ought to be answer enough. Maea clapped in delight at the simple yet profound change in her stone, from a simple pebble on the ground to something pretty, a potential treasure in every sense of the word. "It's lovely!" she assured him, and leaned in close to admire the simple yet elegant design. "You're quite the artist, aren't you? I bet you could make a living off of that, if you wish." Scouring the ground for a few more pieces of gravel - plain and gray, with none of the polish the first one possessed - Maea raised them up and began to juggle them through the air, describing lazy circles and sudden swoops that looked effortless but required quite a lot of concentration. "There are different abilities... I can move things, you make items, and there are others who can heal and make fire and grow plants... what we acquire is quite random, but there is always a way to grow better at it. Just don't push yourself too far too fast if you practice... The kickback if you do can be rather nasty. Headaches, nosebleed, that sort of thing." Letting the stones drop back to the ground Maea smiled again at Peter, her pale eyes bright and full of a deep rooted joy. Using her gift always made her feel good. you're so cold, but you feel alive.