57th of Ymiden, arc 717
Kaelserad
Morning breaks
He had to admit, it was tough, only lying there in bed waiting to get better. He was feeling better, and most of the pain was gone, but the injuries remained and he was told to rest. He wanted to go out there, be out there, do things, not just sit waiting for something to happen, but alas, that was what he needed to do, for the cuts to his chest and back were simply too much for him, or for any mortal, to handle.
Alistair did a good job of patching him up, and Aeon was grateful for it, but he still hated the fact he was just supposed lay there and be quiet. He wasn’t good at lying down and being quiet. He was good at moving, and at killing things, as he had shown when he killed the Scalv Ziemia. What definitely didn’t help the golden-haired boy was the fact that the still-fresh wounds itched like nothing else, and he had to keep himself from opening them by scratching from boredom.
Eventually, actually, not that long after he got to the place, the young swordsman was too tired of simply lying down, not losing the irony for one bit. He shifted his balance from his right to his left foot just to get a feel for it, seeing how he hadn’t walked without assistance in a trial, maybe it was two? His weight seemed like a much more powerful force that pulled him down, attempting to drop him to his knees, as his wooden hand grabbed the shirt that stood waiting for when he did finally get up.
The shirt was already of bad enough quality, now it had a giant hole on the front, and one on the back, so it was pretty much gone. He would need to buy a new shirt, probably new pants too, considering he came so close to shitting these ones during his battle with the giant snake that he didn’t know whether he did it or not. Buying clothing, the only activity more boring than sitting and doing nothing, he thought.
Aeon put the black eyepatch around his head and over the hole where his left eye once stood, and covered his bare chest and back in a gray coat. His armor stood there, on a table not far from the bed, ripped completely open and unusable, and tears nearly came to his face at the sight. It was some of the best crafted leather one could acquire in all of Idalos, and it was gone just like that.
Opening the door to the outside, the boy was blinded by the morning rays of sunshine coming from the Ymiden sky. He was always a fan of colder weather, he thought as he stepped outside, not quite sure where he was going. Perhaps to find Fridgar and Alistair, perhaps to take a walk. In reality, he wasn’t relatively sure where he was. He knew what Aedirn was, but there didn’t seem to be a city around the building, only some trees and a lake.
Who even cared when Alistair could teleport him back to Uthaldria in an instant anyways, and there he was, the noble mage. Or at least the boy thought so, considering he could only see a black silhouette approaching him. He did, however, know that it wasn’t Fridgar, as the silhouette wasn’t tall enough, and the closer it got, the less it felt like it was Alistair who was approaching him. If it wasn’t Fridgar, nor Alistair, who could it be? The boy asked himself as he put one hand on his forehead to shield his eye from the sun.
Kaelserad
Morning breaks
He had to admit, it was tough, only lying there in bed waiting to get better. He was feeling better, and most of the pain was gone, but the injuries remained and he was told to rest. He wanted to go out there, be out there, do things, not just sit waiting for something to happen, but alas, that was what he needed to do, for the cuts to his chest and back were simply too much for him, or for any mortal, to handle.
Alistair did a good job of patching him up, and Aeon was grateful for it, but he still hated the fact he was just supposed lay there and be quiet. He wasn’t good at lying down and being quiet. He was good at moving, and at killing things, as he had shown when he killed the Scalv Ziemia. What definitely didn’t help the golden-haired boy was the fact that the still-fresh wounds itched like nothing else, and he had to keep himself from opening them by scratching from boredom.
Eventually, actually, not that long after he got to the place, the young swordsman was too tired of simply lying down, not losing the irony for one bit. He shifted his balance from his right to his left foot just to get a feel for it, seeing how he hadn’t walked without assistance in a trial, maybe it was two? His weight seemed like a much more powerful force that pulled him down, attempting to drop him to his knees, as his wooden hand grabbed the shirt that stood waiting for when he did finally get up.
The shirt was already of bad enough quality, now it had a giant hole on the front, and one on the back, so it was pretty much gone. He would need to buy a new shirt, probably new pants too, considering he came so close to shitting these ones during his battle with the giant snake that he didn’t know whether he did it or not. Buying clothing, the only activity more boring than sitting and doing nothing, he thought.
Aeon put the black eyepatch around his head and over the hole where his left eye once stood, and covered his bare chest and back in a gray coat. His armor stood there, on a table not far from the bed, ripped completely open and unusable, and tears nearly came to his face at the sight. It was some of the best crafted leather one could acquire in all of Idalos, and it was gone just like that.
Opening the door to the outside, the boy was blinded by the morning rays of sunshine coming from the Ymiden sky. He was always a fan of colder weather, he thought as he stepped outside, not quite sure where he was going. Perhaps to find Fridgar and Alistair, perhaps to take a walk. In reality, he wasn’t relatively sure where he was. He knew what Aedirn was, but there didn’t seem to be a city around the building, only some trees and a lake.
Who even cared when Alistair could teleport him back to Uthaldria in an instant anyways, and there he was, the noble mage. Or at least the boy thought so, considering he could only see a black silhouette approaching him. He did, however, know that it wasn’t Fridgar, as the silhouette wasn’t tall enough, and the closer it got, the less it felt like it was Alistair who was approaching him. If it wasn’t Fridgar, nor Alistair, who could it be? The boy asked himself as he put one hand on his forehead to shield his eye from the sun.