Snippet #2466737

To imply that Oriana had only eyes, no gusto or how-to, and that Arkas would do all of the hard work meant that this barbarian truly lived up to his stereotype - stupid and uncultured. Bless his soul, she thought, but said nothing, a grin spreading wide over her lips as she quickly brushed past him to enter the Cathedral first.

The crunch of grime and bones and debris beneath her stiletto boots was satisfying, and for now, it was the only sound reverberating in the grand entryway. She kept both crossbows poised, her eye catching the last of the undead army drifting into a corridor. "This way," she said, picking up her pace in order to catch up.

The tell-tale feeling in her gut rose up, and she tightened her grip on the handles of the crossbows. Beneath thick leather gloves, her knuckles turned white, and the glow of her Nephalem eyes intensified. In her haste to find the necromancer (and her anxiety of having entered the Cathedral again), she was caught off guard by the chittering of a bat and sent a volley of arrows into a darkened corner. When the rest of the colony of bats came flying out, seeking refuge from the seemingly crazed demon hunter, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, crossbows lowered, in obvious disappointment.

"I'm sorry," she grumbled, now even more frustrated that she'd found it necessary to apologize to Arkas. She only begged that he wouldn't ask for an explanation as to why she lacked such cool resolve, and why she seemed to be biting her nails with uneasiness. "Let's just move on," she suggested. But she hardly waited for his response, quickly - almost at a run - moving ahead.