Snippet #1478270

For Talae, the last few days had been spent in what few sorts of preparation she could help with, which didn't amount to much more than general equipment maintenance and the manufacture of poisons. The latter was something most often conducted by herself anyway, since she knew of few others with uses for debilitating chemicals and acids. They might even be beneath some people, if she bothered to take the time to check. Obviously, she did not, for they were one of the most effective tools of her trade and she was well-used to the scorn of others should they find her profession disagreeable. She was a pragmatist that way.

Of course, she also needed much more practice with her new sword, and so she readily volunteered if anyone decided they needed someone to knock around for a while. She was sore when she awoke every morning, but used vigorous stretching and the loosening provided by the movement of a match to work out the pain, at least for a while. It was getting to the point where she didn't notice much anymore.

This morning, she was facing off against Alistair, who despite her best efforts always seemed to somehow be up earlier than she was. He was also quite clearly taking it easy on her, which might once have insulted her very deeply, but presently was welcomed. She'd get nothing out of this if he took her out first thing- just as she'd have been less-than-useful if Caine had decided to use berserk-mode in their match. He did make a point of taking fatal swings anyway, but his control was fine enough that he could give her small nicks instead of slashes, reminders of places she needed to guard or move.

"Watch your left," he informed her mildly, and she moved in just enough time to fill the area with the clang of steel-on-steel instead of the much quieter sound of yet another averted fatality. "Your reflexes are getting better," he observed, and she wondered just how he managed to appear so completely pleasant about everything. She could manage neutrality most of the time, but Alistair was downright nice, and it had thrown her off at first. Well, that and his appearance. She had to admit that if she hadn't heard Faera call him sir without any degree of uncertainty, there might have been an awkward moment in there somewhere.

Before she could launch her planned counterattack, though, the camp was filled with pained howls, and she turned, intending to rush to the scene of whatever was going on. Had there been some kind of attack by the Children? Why was nobody sounding the alarm? Talae was stopped only by a hand on her shoulder, and the white-feathered harpy shook his head. "You do not wish to see that, Miss Talae," Alistair informed her quietly, and she raised a speculative eyebrow.

"Oh, and why might that be?" As far as she could tell, there was no reason for them to be standing here while a Legionnaire was in obvious agony some small distance from them.

"The Legion does not take kindly to the crime of desertion," was the reply, but the taloned arm moved away, freeing her to act as she would. "Look if you must, but be forewarned." It was something Alistair had seen enough times to not be even the slightest bit inclined to glimpse it again. Instead, he took to wandering the camp, avoiding the central area not from fear, but the sort of grim resignation that needed no explanation, perhaps hoping to bump into someone who felt the same. Conversation was ever a welcome distraction from the more shadowed corners of one's mind.

---

Talae followed the sound of yelling until she reached the source, which had died out just a moment ago. Perhaps that word choice was a tad too accurate, and she had to stop herself from cringing at the sight. Captain Grimsmirk looked quite distressed, and eventually turned and left, along with the half-orc she recognized by this point as Thanaros.

The sight was disgusting, and that was from someone who had watched victims writhe in all kinds of agony before they died as slow-acting toxins took hold of the body's systems. That... was decidedly different than this, and even she did not stoop to what would have amounted to torture. Fitting, perhaps, that the sky chose that moment to break open and drench everything in sight. Talae shook her head in disgust and began the grim walk back to the dining area. She needed something to eat, and she needed to do it in the company of people who were very much alive, and when she came back, the water would have washed the earth clean of the traces of what happened to deserters.