Snippet #1459883

Jurial Plains: Seven Miles from Laeral

Faera heard a few of the icicles hit, though the knowledge brought her no measure of joy. Rather, she felt a little sick, but ignored the stirring in her stomach as best she could. The woman next to her made a joke, and she seized on the thought, giggling slightly. "I'd always heard that vampires were horrid, but you seem an 'ice' enough person," she replied, feeling a bit silly, but deciding that was far and away better than 'about-to-vomit.'

The creatures were still coming, though, and she picked up on Sid's conversations with the male harpy. That didn't sound good at all. Thirty of them, and only three dead after all that? It sounded like they were going to need a lot more firepower- and quite a dose of good fortune.

The sound of broiling flesh hit her ears a millisecond before the awful smell reached her nose, and she did retch then, but not badly enough to bring up breakfast- not yet anyway. She realized with trepidation that both were issuing from Laila and gasped, picking her way over the ground between them to the other woman's side. Faera's heart began to race, and her blood thundered in her ears. It was too familiar- the smell, the sound, all of it. It was just like the last attack on the village; she was helpless, she was despicable, it was all her fault, she- no!

Berating herself for the train of thought, Faera forced herself to focus on what was going on in the present, and began the litany for a complex healing spell. Her hands once again orchestrated the gathering of the power required, and her gestures appeared to pluck magic from the air and gather it together before spreading it, palms down, in the air over the injured area. Flaring her fingers, Faera set the spell in place. When it worked, it was a bit on the slow side, but the pain should start to subside almost immediately. At least, she hoped it did.

"I'm sorry, Laila; just lay still for a while. They haven't broken the line, yet- you should be okay until you're ready to move again. I have to go now, though; we're not doing so well." She bit her lip and stood, trying to regain her bearings. Everyone was much closer together now, which made her job a little more difficult. Her best bet would probably be single-target spells, aimed at Children who were off to the side for some reason or another- most likely already somewhat injured.

-=-

The wet crack of bones was a satisfying sound. The first time she'd beaten a foe to death, Neira had been sickened with herself, not for having done what was necessary, but because she had enjoyed it so damn much. Now, sadism was just another tool of survival. It prevented her from succumbing to something much, much worse and getting herself or someone else killed. Blood and gore spattered her face, but she simply smiled past the crimson stains, unrelenting.

The lamia upon whom she was laying her particularly slow brand of agony was not about to give up, though, and that only made it better. So much more satisfying when they didn't go down like weak maggots, writhing in the dirt and returning from whence they came at the slightest touch. No, this was most excellent indeed-

Neira hissed and muttered a string of oaths under her breath, using her wings to propel herself from the gout of fire with rapidity, though she did not miss the heat on her face. Seeing that the idiot was self-immolating, she assumed people would be smart enough to avoid him until he was nothing but a heap of ashes and hovered overhead for a moment, looking for another opening to take advantage of before she became a target for arrows or something. No cure for stupid, and if he wanted to be all kamikaze about it, she wasn't going to stick around.

Spotting the most likely bet- a black-clad lamia and harpy were beset by no less than five sodding Children- she made a beeline for them, landing noiselessly on the ground behind the fire-breathing freaks. She grabbed the nearest one's head and wrenched, intending to break its neck cleanly. One was making a swing for the harpy, and she decided that the numbers were enough to justify the annoyance of scrambling brains in an entirely different sense.

You don't want that attack to land, she projected into the Child's mind. Usually that was enough to do the trick. At the very least, there would probably be some minor hesitation, even if her suggestion were eventually dismissed or rejected. That was the thing about psionics- she couldn't actually force anyone to do anything, but most hated the feeling of having their minds invaded. It was almost laughable, actually- she'd met people who shied away from her the minute she mentioned this little sub-specialty of hers. As though she wanted to spend time in their boring minds or something.