[27 Harvestmere, morning, with Cauthrien ]
True to her promise, Cordelia had woken early. Well, her dreams had woken her really. While she had gathered that her time following the Joining was not as rough and nigh unbearable as some, there was no escaping from the discomfort that swirled in her blood. The preceding night had been full of strange dreams, horrid creatures mixed with familiar faces. Her sister morphed into the demon from Kinloch Hold, her fellow Grey Wardens broke into dust that reformed into ogres and shadowy, spiked hounds that chased her until there was nowhere else to run.
Someone less responsible might have used it as an excuse to dally and linger in bed, seeking solace in bed covers and their warmth but Cordelia rose with a practiced poise and began preparing for her day. She changed into her armor, something she was not entirely comfortable in yet, and then spent some time brushing her hair before fashioning it into an immaculately braided low bun. The mageling was no fighter but knew enough that she might receive some sort of lecture leaving her hair down during training. Pleased, perhaps a bit too much, that she was likely to be the most put-together Grey Warden in the compound she broke her fast with a two eggs and a plate of fruit before making her way out to the training yard with her staff.
The yard was not so clear as to be empty but there was enough room for her to practice comfortably and after the lightest of calisthenics—there was no need to get to sweaty, after all—she began to work through some basic forms with her staff. The Fereldan Circle had made something of a practice style in these matters, a utilitarian form meant to direct spells with straightforward results. Any student's propensity for excess flair was quickly stamped out by watchful Enchanters. Let the Orlesians or, daresay, the Tevinter Magisters make a show of their magic. Cordelia moves gracefully in spite of this, although she had never taken to her lessons with quite as much zeal as some of the other students. Which was not to suggest that she was unskilled; it was simply that staff manipulations were less imperative when you were practiced enough to create miniature swarms of flame with your barehands. Something the young woman was exceptionally good at.
Cordelia had worked up a focus far in excess of what she might have summoned in the Circle, however. She knew, if only through the instinctual calling in her blood, that the future would hold true battle against the most perverse of creatures, twisted and formed by the hubris of men who had defied the Maker. They would run and swarm and draw close, which meant she needed to be prepared for the times when she could not simple scorch them from across the room. Silently, she all but cursed her sister's misplaced affection which had brought her into the Grey Wardens. If anything else, she would not currently be thinking about bloody combat if she were still back within the Circle. Yet, that distraction faded as she slipped further into the motions of her forms. It would pass the time until her first day of proper training could commence.
True to her promise, Cordelia had woken early. Well, her dreams had woken her really. While she had gathered that her time following the Joining was not as rough and nigh unbearable as some, there was no escaping from the discomfort that swirled in her blood. The preceding night had been full of strange dreams, horrid creatures mixed with familiar faces. Her sister morphed into the demon from Kinloch Hold, her fellow Grey Wardens broke into dust that reformed into ogres and shadowy, spiked hounds that chased her until there was nowhere else to run.
Someone less responsible might have used it as an excuse to dally and linger in bed, seeking solace in bed covers and their warmth but Cordelia rose with a practiced poise and began preparing for her day. She changed into her armor, something she was not entirely comfortable in yet, and then spent some time brushing her hair before fashioning it into an immaculately braided low bun. The mageling was no fighter but knew enough that she might receive some sort of lecture leaving her hair down during training. Pleased, perhaps a bit too much, that she was likely to be the most put-together Grey Warden in the compound she broke her fast with a two eggs and a plate of fruit before making her way out to the training yard with her staff.
The yard was not so clear as to be empty but there was enough room for her to practice comfortably and after the lightest of calisthenics—there was no need to get to sweaty, after all—she began to work through some basic forms with her staff. The Fereldan Circle had made something of a practice style in these matters, a utilitarian form meant to direct spells with straightforward results. Any student's propensity for excess flair was quickly stamped out by watchful Enchanters. Let the Orlesians or, daresay, the Tevinter Magisters make a show of their magic. Cordelia moves gracefully in spite of this, although she had never taken to her lessons with quite as much zeal as some of the other students. Which was not to suggest that she was unskilled; it was simply that staff manipulations were less imperative when you were practiced enough to create miniature swarms of flame with your barehands. Something the young woman was exceptionally good at.
Cordelia had worked up a focus far in excess of what she might have summoned in the Circle, however. She knew, if only through the instinctual calling in her blood, that the future would hold true battle against the most perverse of creatures, twisted and formed by the hubris of men who had defied the Maker. They would run and swarm and draw close, which meant she needed to be prepared for the times when she could not simple scorch them from across the room. Silently, she all but cursed her sister's misplaced affection which had brought her into the Grey Wardens. If anything else, she would not currently be thinking about bloody combat if she were still back within the Circle. Yet, that distraction faded as she slipped further into the motions of her forms. It would pass the time until her first day of proper training could commence.