Ronin
Active Member
Aaro shrugged at Luca's comments, stuffing his face with cinnamon glazed fruitcake - a Genarium favorite. "Beats me," he managed between bites, "I guess that'd put them on even ground, right? Izaic's still sorta recovering from his fight with the Bear." He swallowed. "Not sure if you guys heard, by the way, but he's going back to Iveria - the Bear that is. His surgery was only marginally successful. Apparently he's getting some sort of druidic healing remedy to fix his leg. Magic and stuff."
He scratched behind his head. "Not sure who I'm rooting for, honestly. I was talking to Jimmy about this last night. Izaic is Monastic, sure, but he's kind of a dick. The Warden seems like a nice guy, at least. Sportsmanlike." He sighed. "I was rooting for Celeste, but..."
He didn't say anything more on that topic.
---
"Don't count on it."
The gruff rumble of Sir Savien Durandet made an ugly compliment to Perrin's laughter, not unfitting for the veteran paladin's condition. Savien walked up to his comrades with his left arm still in a sling, just barely fighting the hitch in his leg that would have reduced him to limping. He wore, as always, his half-visor helmet. A canvas of gauze covered an entire half of his face. What little skin was visible appeared pale and bloodless.
There had been stories, of course - rumors of the paladin who had faced Nox alone and had paid a terrible price. In the scant days since Savien had confronted the Caer, he had seen no one and had refused all but the most essential medical attention. Looking at him now - armor and all - it seemed Savien was far from recovered. Perhaps he was getting worse.
"Aurelion. Peregrine." He swallowed, his throat dry. "Thought you two might be up here." He nodded at each of them before looking out into the arena. "...can't believe they're going through with this. With all of... this..." He made a vague gesture at the festival. A tremor of pain bloomed from one of the puncture wounds in his chest, but he mastered himself in time and only shivered. "...Light..." His blistered lips pursed, teeth clenched tight in his mouth.
Savien cleared his throat, shrugging off the pain. "Look. I need to ask a favor of you two."
He scratched behind his head. "Not sure who I'm rooting for, honestly. I was talking to Jimmy about this last night. Izaic is Monastic, sure, but he's kind of a dick. The Warden seems like a nice guy, at least. Sportsmanlike." He sighed. "I was rooting for Celeste, but..."
He didn't say anything more on that topic.
---
"Don't count on it."
The gruff rumble of Sir Savien Durandet made an ugly compliment to Perrin's laughter, not unfitting for the veteran paladin's condition. Savien walked up to his comrades with his left arm still in a sling, just barely fighting the hitch in his leg that would have reduced him to limping. He wore, as always, his half-visor helmet. A canvas of gauze covered an entire half of his face. What little skin was visible appeared pale and bloodless.
There had been stories, of course - rumors of the paladin who had faced Nox alone and had paid a terrible price. In the scant days since Savien had confronted the Caer, he had seen no one and had refused all but the most essential medical attention. Looking at him now - armor and all - it seemed Savien was far from recovered. Perhaps he was getting worse.
"Aurelion. Peregrine." He swallowed, his throat dry. "Thought you two might be up here." He nodded at each of them before looking out into the arena. "...can't believe they're going through with this. With all of... this..." He made a vague gesture at the festival. A tremor of pain bloomed from one of the puncture wounds in his chest, but he mastered himself in time and only shivered. "...Light..." His blistered lips pursed, teeth clenched tight in his mouth.
Savien cleared his throat, shrugging off the pain. "Look. I need to ask a favor of you two."
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