This takes place a fair bit of time before he became the armored front-line battle healer you may have seen before, back when he was a simple traveling Mender, as he'd come to be known. But not all who need aid are able to reach him, a reality that troubles him deeply. Until one day, a new journey began. . .

At times like this, Xevren wished he could do more.

Oh, his services as a healer, both of the traditional and the magical, were greatly appreciated by soldier and militia alike. And though fewer would openly admit it, he was sure many of both the wounded and able-bodied were thankful for his counseling. Xevren knew, as many would overlook, that the mind and spirit could be wounded as easily as the body, and in many cases, could be even harder to heal properly. It seemed those services were needed more here, in this camp, than he was accustomed.

As he had learned upon inquiring shortly after his arrival, local bandits were getting bolder under some new leadership that was proving worryingly shadowy, and the barbarians of the mountains and foothills, which had left the area largely alone for some time, were becoming more aggressive. Travelers weren’t safe, and it was feared the town would be overrun in time, plundered for what little they had. The local monarchy had sent troops to aid the militia in dealing with the matter, but what was hoped to be a simple quelling was beginning to resemble a siege. His offer of assistance was quickly accepted, and now this outlying, fortified camp had become something of a temporary home.

Nearly every day, people were sent out to try and root out the bandits and their leader, or repel a barbarian scouting or hunting party that proved overly ambitious in their pursuits. As such, every day there was someone for him to heal or care for. But as he tended to those stuck in their makeshift beds, expediting the healing of those hurt worst with magic and patching up those whose wounds would need to heal naturally, the raccoon-taur couldn’t help but feel that if he could be out there with one of the expedition groups, the mend them in the field and keep them fighting that much longer, that fewer retreats would be needed, fewer lives would be lost, and this whole depressing situation could finally be resolved.

Unsurprisingly, the situation drew the attention of more adventurous sorts, soldiers of fortune and champions of virtue alike. Xevren watched them, wisps of envy at the back of his mind. Sometimes he even pictured himself armed and armored, but it never looked right to him. He was a Mender, a healer of body and soul, and he was where he belonged.

And yet, the doubt still lingered…

One day, a war band descended upon the camp, one the scouts apparently missed, and it was only good fortune that it was a day in which no one had been sent out on some assignment. The barbarians were met on the field rather than the camp itself and Xevren, at the protest of the other healers, prepared himself at the gate instead of the tents. There, he watched the battle unfold, being as close as he dared to be the first medic the wounded would reach being brought back. It was there he saw the smaller band circle around the main fighting, going either unnoticed or kept from interception by their fellows. Even a small band like that could devastate their camp with nearly all the able-bodied now on the field, and for a moment, Xevren feared he was the only thing standing in their way.

That was, until a black clad draconic figure broke though a line of fighters, cleaving through them with a scythe to reach the band. It seemed doubtful a lone warrior would be enough, but with another sweep that took out the legs of one that tried to run around her, he realized who it must be. He had seen her arrive earlier in the day, donning black plate armor with a skeletal visage. Between that and the scythe, the guards had at first barred her entry, until it was clear she wasn’t there to start trouble. In fact, she was looking to sell her services, and not looking for the payment upfront. So long as she was given fair trade for her services, she would be satisfied. It was an offer they weren’t willing to turn down.

Some of the barbarians turned to face the threat, thinking to eliminate it quickly rather than risk being run down from behind. Their mostly crude weapons clattered against her armor, while her blade seemed to meet little resistance against their hides and leathers. But not all of the band had turned their attention on her, with two still racing towards him, seeking to cause havoc and destruction even if they never made it out of the camp alive. Even as Xevren thought desperately on what to do, he saw her reach out a hand, wrapped in a subtly black aura that could be easily missed, and one of the two collapsed to the ground, writing in pain. Though no wizard, it was a form of magic he recognize; the inverse of his very own healing magic.

But the other still came, undaunted by his fellows fall, and the warrior was forced to regrip her scythe to deal with her remaining adversaries. Xevren dared not stand the barbarian’s way, and as he realized to his shame that he was in fact instinctively moving aside, giving the savage free access to all those he considered in his care, a part of him noticed that the charger’s direction did not alter. Surely, they were after supplies of setting fire to the tents. But Xevren still out-massed him, so maybe…

With a resolved he’d hardly been aware of, as the barbarian tried the run past, Xevren hurled himself sideways, almost too late, but connecting solidly with his hindquarters into the side of the would-be marauder. Xevren wasn’t sure who actually felt the impact more, but the raccoon taur remained on his feet whereas the other did not, actually rolling a few feet once they hit the ground. The surge of adrenaline quickly faded when the barbarian rose to their feet, murder in their eyes. Out of ideas, Xevren scrambled to think of what he could do with the barbarian’s ire now solely on him.

A black streak of arcane energy brought that thinking to a stop, as Xevren watched the barbarian jerk in surprise before falling limply to their back, pools of blood slowly forming at his sides where the bolt had cleanly shot through one end and out the other, destroying the heart in the process. Xevren stood there, paradoxically relieved and distraught by the death that had occurred right in front of him. He was only broken out of this state by metal politely thumping his hindquarters.

“I appreciate the assistance,” the warrior, Bliss he finally recalled, said. Still unable to find his tongue, Xevren only managed to nod in acknowledgement, and he couldn’t tell if she understood or was offended by his lack of vocalizing with her helm completely covering her face. As she made her way into the camp, the soldiers and militia were soon to follow, reminding Xevren that his duty was only just beginning.

It wasn’t until the next day, with too many convalescing to even consider a foray against either barbarian or bandit, that Xevren was able to pry himself away to speak with the dragoness. Once the critically wounded had either succumbed or been stabilized, with fortunately many more of the later than the former, Xevren had found his mind wandering to that warrior. To display such skill in not only martial practices, but two different forms of magical workings was impressive, to say the least. It was as though she was the inverse of himself in all but temperament, as his true inverse would likely refuse to help others no matter any sort of gain. Perhaps, he felt, he could learn a few things from her.

She was certainly more approachable outside of her armor, her predominantly light blue coloration more inviting than the grim black of her combat attire. A touch to his chagrin, though not entirely surprise, that proved to be the only approachable thing about her. She wasn’t rude, but her phrasing and demeanor gave him the impression that she would rather be left alone. As the dialogue proceeded, it was almost like a strange social skirmish in a strange way, with Xevren trying to reach out to her without pressing. As attempts at small talk transitioned to compliments to her study, to his own actions the day before, she didn’t become more open, so much as became more amicable of his company. So when he finally felt comfortable broaching the subject of learning some basic combat techniques, at least some self defense pointers, she actually gave him a little smile.

“Hmm, I suppose I may owe you a favor for your assistance yesterday,” she told him. “That one may well have gotten in the camp and out of my line of sight if you hadn’t acted as you had. I suppose some instruction on proper defense seems a fair trade, yes?”

Xevren agreed, and a bit to his surprise, she immediately departed on that. When his gaze followed her to the little sanded circle the troops used in equal parts training and minor competition, he realized his body should follow in kind. He really hadn’t anticipated her making good on that right then and there, but as she grabbed a wooden practice sword, it was quite clear that was exactly her intent, and her demeanor told him that asking to hold off until later would be ill advised.

She instructed him to choose a weapon, and hesitantly, he picked up a club from what little selection there was. He’d heard that there were techniques, and even enchantments, that could make for disorienting rather than bone crushing blows. As Bliss took position at the other end of the circle, Xevren hesitated. Just as he had out massed the barbarian, he clearly out massed her, even if her muscles were more tone, and was tall enough that he genuinely did need to look down to her, as he did with most folk. All it might take was a lucky swing and he could genuinely injure her even with a training weapon. As he shuffled his feet, his brain stuck between leaving before things got out of hand and advancing to learn what he was sure he needed to know, he expressed his concerns.

Her amused smile told him everything he needed to know. He wasn’t going to be able to hurt her, even unarmored, if he tried. Xevren had the sinking feeling that he was going to be soundly bruised before long, but hopefully, wiser for it.

_________________________________________________

Xevren belongs to me

Bliss belongs to  lunarmagic

Art by  Angellsview3