“Take this ruby, Adept. It will alert you to attacks on Horde settlements. Oh, and your shift is over.” The Blood Knight gave Faern an odd look out of the corner of his eye, a look mixed somewhere with disgust, wary respect and pity. Someone that young should not have the rank she did. Someone that young should have fallen apart and died long ago (actually, her medical record proved she had done that multiple times). Someone that bloody young should not be prancing around getting hacked at by axes (or wield a mace that looked like a sea mine on a stick).
The adept took the stone without question, saluted and left the room. The Blood Knight remained, still peering at Faern.
Faern peered back. There wasn’t really much else she could do. She couldn’t walk, talk or even move her arms at the moment. She had absolutely no way of communicating, and was as such very frustrated. And completely unable to do a single thing about it. Both arms were in plaster, and the muscles of her legs had not yet recovered from trying to take on an axe. It didn’t help that she was watched almost around the clock to stop her being stubborn and running off to be heroic (or limping, most likely).
Faern could have sworn that the Knight smirked as he walked towards her, plate armour clinking against the chain mail joints for flexibility, shining a perfect blood red and black in the light. Hmph, silver was better in Faern’s opinion. It looked less blatantly violent. She tilted her head to watch as he placed the gem on the table beside her bed, scowling. Out of reach. The bastard. The Knight noticed her sulking face and patted her patronisingly on the head; Faern opened her mouth to tell him to do something unpleasant with a cactus, but no sound came out. Her throat was still damaged from a previous evening, and might never fully recover.
“Aww, don’t you worry lass. You’ll be up and fighting some day.”
Faern chewed the inside of her cheek with frustration and rage; nothing else much she could do, then yelped silently as she accidentally bit too hard and broke the skin. Gah! There was nothing else she could do to vent anger, really. She detested spitting at people; some days it felt like she was walking through a autumn storm she got spat at that much.
The next Adept walked in and stood by the door, saluting with a clunk. The Knight turned away from Faern, returned the salute and sauntered out, leaving her to a few more hours of boredom, pain and frustration.
Damn Tyroll. Damn world.