The Gift: Chapter Two

The Gift: Chapter Two Completed

[COMPLETE] With the gods dead and dragons slowly spreading their dominion over the land, will you fight for something? Or die with nothing?

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Setting: Norr2011-03-26 20:48:34, as written by Kurokiku
Laeral, Boulon Brother's

This... inn is a very loud place, she thought to herself. It was not as though Faera had never been to an inn before, but perhaps not one quite so full to capacity downstairs, and she had never lingered for long. No one individual was making a nuisance of themselves or anything, but... there were so many people, and even speaking at reasonable volume, it was very loud all taken together.

It was making it harder for her to get her bearings, actually, and she was grateful when Talae grasped her elbow, guiding her to a seat. Her sister seemed to have an instinct for things like that, not that she'd ever say so aloud. Something about reputations or impressions or whatnot, Faera wasn't really sure.

Tala struck up a conversation with someone she seemed to know, and from the proximity of his voice, Faera guessed they were seated with him. She didn't know anyone that Tala knew; well, not many people anyway, but her essential nature was a friendly one, and any friend of Tala's was a friend of hers, as far as she was concerned. He had a human's voice, which were a bit different in cadence from an elf's or an orc's, for example. The inflection implied surfacer, or at least not-subterranean. She hadn't met that many surface humans, not with how scarce they were becoming.

There was a stirring of some form of magic a distance off, but warped, like there was something in the way, like a wall. She had the distinct impression of rustling leaves, the press of the scent of pine upon her nose. Odd... her brows furrowed together, and her head turned in the direction of the window, but she could make no sense of it.

Shaking her head, she refocused on what was going on more immediately, and caught the return of Tala's initial question. "Oh, we've been here and there, too," she replied, not really aware that this sort of answer was generally considered evasive. We decided to join the legion about a month ago, and just got our first assignment recently. Exciting, isn't it? Everyone seems so... different. I don't think I've ever met so many humans in one day before."


Neira eventually became sick of trying to treat bad alcohol like it was good alcohol, and ordered something decidedly more expensive. So much for getting piss-drunk and forgetting everything. She grimaced in distaste; that was not her ordinary method of wasting an evening. Generally, she preferred to pick fights until she was tired of the effort it took to throw punches and insults with equal viciousness. I need a more sustainable flow of morons to pummel, she reminded herself with a roll of her eyes.

The bartender, perhaps assuming that she was about to comment on the booze again, gave her a look, but she hardly noticed. A minor commotion over at the employment board had become irritating enough that she was now paying attention to it, and she watched the single most bizarre recruitment poster she'd ever seen deface what was otherwise a perfectly inane board. Legion of Ashes, huh? It should say, 'shit pay, shittier jobs, and one retirement package- a nice, scenic hole in the ground.'

She turned around again, entirely bored by this point, and knocked back another glass of brandy. Harlot's arse, and people actually make this a habit? They need better hobbies. Hell, she needed better hobbies, and she knew it.

"You should sign up for the mission!" For a moment, Neira was uncertain if she was actually being directly addressed, but when she turned her head to the offending party, she was rather surprised to discover that yes, someone had actually decided they had the spine to issue her an imperative. She stared blankly at the half-orc for a few seconds, until he apologized and retreated. Red irises surrounded by uncanny yellow flicked back to the recruitment poster, and she shook her head at her own train of thought.

Not like I've got anything better to do, I guess... and a nice, scenic hole in the ground might be just what I need at the end of the line. The morbid thought only made her smile, though, and she stood, paying the bartender and advancing upstairs. Room 15... Room 15... ah, there it was.

Not really heeding the hour (which had just hit midnight or so), Neira rapped on the door, the sound distinctly different from what a fleshier knuckle would produce. Normally, she would hardly have bothered; you stopped caring about stupid shit like that after a while, but then not everyone thought so. She could be polite, in the sense that she knew how, she just didn't.