by qwill. » Sun Dec 28, 2014 7:06 pm
❀--Aria Mier
elf ❀ healer ❀ water ❀ open
Aria walked along the cobbled road, letting the crisp morning air carry her past the other elves caught in the bustle of the morning. Although the kingdom was at war, Aria couldn't help but feel...at peace. She had saved the life of a crying child early this morning, barely an hour old. It had changed the life of the child's mother. It was the small things like that, the things that seemed mundane to Aria that made life worthwhile. And so she walked, watching as many seemed worried and anguished over the battles that moved around them like a hurricane, but not feeling as though she were part of the storm.
Slowly, Aria found herself wandering through the center of the city and past the palace, where she saw in a blur of motion the captain of the guard whisk past, most likely to the training ground. Being fond of water, Aria had never quite understood the myriad of emotion that followed the powerful elf around. The women was nearly as fiery as the flames she manipulated; Aria herself was like glassy water, sparkling in the sun. She watched for a moment, wondering of the trouble that seemed to be shadowing the dear captain. Sitting on the edge of a sparkling fountain, Aria absentmindedly moved her hand, coaxing the glistening water into shapes. Horses galloped across the smooth surface and birds leapt from tier to tier. With a splash, Aria let the shapes fall back into the basin, melting like snow in spring.
A clang and a smash caught Aria's attention, drawing her out of her silent reverie. The noises were coming from the arena, where she was sure Faelyn had disappeared not moments before. Perhaps it is not my place to bother the captain, Aria wondered lightly, walking towards the noise. She had never been one to shy away from those in need, and by the sound of the arena, Faelyn was in need. Gliding like a spirit, Aria waltzed past the training guards, feeling their gaze burn into her back like the flames many of them possessed. Healers weren't normally welcome in the soldiers' barracks, but Aria had somewhat of a knack for appearing places that she shouldn't be. Peering around the edge of the door, Aria smiled as she saw the elf hurling knife after knife into the practice dummies. "My, I'm glad I'm not of Verbroné," she said, leaning against the door frame. "Is there anything I can do for you, Faelyn?" Aria asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Then again, this might not be the kind of wound one could heal with a simple trick of water. The captain's pride might bear scars even Aria could not erase.
➸--Raoden Marx
human ➸ captain of the guard ➸ open
Raoden paced his quarters, hands tucked neatly behind his back and brow furrowed. The border skirmishes with Cymbiir were...concerning, to say the least. He knew that the ambush on the border patrol was a startling advantage, but still...concerning. Raoden had not ordered the attack. A few of his more devoted soldiers had taken it upon themselves, in their lust for battle, to "protect the royal family," as they put it. It had angered Raoden, but he didn't let it show. How could he? The entire kingdom expected him to act as their savior; for all they knew, he had executed the ambush himself! News may travel fast, but it often didn't travel well. Raoden stopped pacing momentarily to glance out the window at the impending tree line, not a kilometer away from his barracks. Being the captain of the guard, Rao could afford his own place, but he liked to be close to his company, especially after the stunts they had pulled a night ago.
Pulling on his forest green cloak, Raoden walked down into the training arena, where many of the more dedicated soldiers were already up and working. Walking around the perimeter, he corrected form and checked posture, making sure each soldier was in top shape. After all, they were only human to the grace and beauty of their fantastical competition. Secretly, Raoden wondered how the people of Verbroné could ever win this war. They were fighting elves, for god's sake! It almost seemed hopeless; Rao sometimes couldn't even remember the match that had sparked the conflict in the first place.
Raoden walked through the sword arena to the archery range, checking up on his ranged soldiers. He nodded, approving at the whistle of flying arrows, each hitting their mark exactly. Rao especially admired the archers; he was moderately okay with a bow, but he never had the concentration or the skill to release with such accuracy. It really took patience and time to practice, something Rao was recently running short of.
Walking back out into the main arena, Raoden walked back to the battlements, observing cautiously. He knew it was no good to yell at the soldiers who had disobeyed his orders; they already thought him weak for showing mercy. He thought them selfish for refusing to see justice. Many of the citizens of Cymbiir had done nothing wrong. And then there were those who were supported him, if only because he gave them hope to continue on after his unlikely rise to power. Rao sighed inwardly. More and more, it seemed as though his own army was dividing beneath him.
