Snippet #1475728

The sparring match finished. It was rather surprising, the intuition of the Beserker. Of course, this was the first time he had seen both fight, but due to the pure mass of the human he was fairly surprised he managed to hold his own against such a quick member of the Fourtieth Legion. Well, for all he knew, he could be holding back. A beserker wasn't called a beserker unless he/she was in a flying rage when fighting. A few cuts wouldn't slow this behemoth down.

As they picked themselves up from the mud he was asked by Caine, with all sarcastic intent, his thoughts on the show. Kisikoni didn't really care, but he nodded rather enthusiastically. "It was very enlightening, comrade." He replied. He realized he had been clapping softly, and stopped as the dark elf passed him. What was surprising to the Deep Human, was that she thanked him, of all things. He decided to take it in stride. He was just as grateful for her presence, as if he had been attacked by multiple Children in the earlier battle he would have died long before the translocation was declared. "I only did what partners were supposed to do." He replied, waving off the thanks. Kisikoni was naturally humble, because something he feared was corruption. This was why if he were offered a promotion, he'd consider it but ultimately he might refuse.

"This is General Derenthi of the Legion of Ashes. Every unit not assigned to this outpost is required to report to the bonfire located in the middle of the tent masses immediately. Those who fail to do so will receive martial punishment to the fullest extent."

The deep human had been walking back to his tent to begin sharpening his butterfly swords when the announcement had been made. He noted that he had to pass through the bonfire to get to his tent, so he might as well stop there. He sadly regarded his nicked swords and promised them treatment later. He gathered, like everyone else at the center. He looked at his captain. He looked very different. A brilliant cloak rippled like water from his back, and his posture- very casual before when he had seen him, was now strong and cold. Two exotic swords hung from his waist.

Suddenly, he was given a high honor in the army- a position in the Black Guard. Kisikoni stared at the center, hoping this was some sick joke. Hidden potential? He barely managed to fend off just one child. He almost laughed, but it would be rude. However, when the Golems pulling carts entered the scene, he was sure they were serious. "No. Way." He gaped, and his jaw only dropped further when the carts revealed the best of the best equipment. Something even the armory here couldn't match.

However, the third point struck home. They were to lead the fight against the Dragons. This was going to be too much. In ten days, they will walk the territory of the fire-spitters. Luckily the golems would march with them, and they would receive more reinforcements. What relieved him was the increase in rations. It paid to be able to eat well- as it affected morale on the battlefield. Smart move. And with that, they were dismissed. The Lamia certainly brought back memories of the Child that so nearly killed him, and he looked no different. His humble nature rejected the charismatic outlook he gave out, and he struggled to accept him as part of the group. The elven archer gave off a sense of innocence, which while Kisikoni didn't particularly condone, it would probably be dangerous for her. He decided to meet them later. For now, the carts awaited him.

He rummaged through the carts, and pulled out a beautiful-looking crossbow. To his surprise, his bolts fit the thing perfectly. It held nothing compared to his lost customized crossbow, but it was long, accurate, and similar to what he was used to firing. This would be a fine substitute for his missing weapon. He hung it over his back, and found himself a very decent dirk dagger- double-edged and easy to hide. It was more for utility uses, but it could be thrown in a pinch and was strong enough to be used in a fight. He sheathed it and tied it to his boot. He took a skin of water, which smelled pure and the skins seemed to be devoid of all scent and taste. That meant as it went on, the water held in the skin wouldn't taste like cow hide. Thank the Earth. He took a fresh whetstone, and the lightest and most durable live leather armor he could find. Armor only hindered the methodical deep human in a fight, who relied on close-quarter fast strikes. The leather was strong enough- arrows would not penetrate them, unlike chainmail. He saw two short swords, but nothing like his butterfly swords.

His original swords had served him very well over the years he had been fighting the war, so he saw no point in taking the short swords, which he was unfamiliar with. He did, however, find some odd scroll that gave instructions on a one-time spell that would drastically increase the durability of his weapons. It was not something that required magical talent, rather just an alchemic transmution with the paper containing the circle- and the supplies in a pouch tied next to it. All he had to do was activate it. Very useful.

At this point, the Deep Human was ready to rest. All this information needed time to sink in, and he just wasn't ready to soak it in yet in a conscious state. He grabbed a uniform that the golem offered to him (it was odd, but oddly flattering) and made for his tent. It was time to prepare before he went to bed.

The first thing he did, was open the scroll, take his swords, and lay them in the circle. He took the bag and dumped the contents (most of which was a strange powder and some hunks of metal) onto the circle. He read the instructions carefully, then placed both palms on the edge. He focused, not too sure what to expect, but suddenly the paper consumed itself in a fire that burned white. Kisikoni flinched away from the light and when it cleared, he saw his two butterfly swords. They looked like new, almost better than new. He took them, and found that they were sharpened too. He grinned like a madman, testing them out. Perfect.

After rearranging his supplies to fit whatever he snagged from the cart, he placed his bag next to his cot and lay on it. His mind was buzzing so quickly, he couldn't sleep. He remembered that there was also a few new additions he forgot to greet. The harpy looked much older than he was- though it was very difficult to discern male from female. He decided to pay a visit. After asking around, he located the tent. Curiosity coursed through his veins.

He knocked on the frame once. "May I enter?" He asked.

---

"Really now." She replied interestedly, almost eagerly. "That's just terrible." Mercy too drank the rest of the contents in her glass, but with several more to go she wasn't finished yet. Suddenly, the made the annoucement. Mercy decided wholeheartedly to blow off th damn thing. If they thought they could bring her over just because they wanted to blow wind on stage or something, they were wrong. A pause, and the voice of Nhil Derenthi said:

"That includes you Yan'vega."

"Damn it." She whined, nearly spitting out the drink in her mouth. "I don't want to go." Before she could gather her wits and make a nice comeback to the Dragonfly, she had left. "Toodles." She called after in a lopsided voice. The bartender looked at her worriedly. Before he could ask, the Nightmarian spider waved him off. "I'm fine dear, thanks." She stumbled out the tent, leaving several mugs of drink and many other empty glasses. She made her way, very slowly, toward the bonfire- hampered by her unconcerned demeanor. She could walk just fine if she concentrated, but didn't care enough to. She was definitely the last to arrive, just as they began to speak.

She looked over the crowd, and when she spied Wrath, carrying his hooked swords and brilliant cloak, she began to cry. She held her face in her hands and just sobbed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She keened softly. The words went in through Mercy's left ear, and out the other. She was in no mood to be listening to the General's worthless blathering. "They're all doomed." She muttered through her tears. "It's happening again."

It was only when Mercy was "swear-to-drunk-I'm-not-god" that she acted like this. She could barely see anything now, her voluminous red eyes all erratically blinking. Suddenly she felt the tug of magic on her bodice and recognized the cold, gaunt spell that took her away an instant later. She hoped Derenthi had a damn good explanation for this.