Snippet #1860422

Neira watched without the slightest hint of pity as the terramancer encased his foe in an earthen fist, following up with blows from his own, much fleshier ones. If he was in danger of killing the fool, she supposed she would intervene, as dead men told very few tales, at least to anyone but that Darenthi bastard.

A series of wet cracks and pops were all Torga received for his trouble as it seemed the brigand was not speaking. With a whispered sigh, she approached and placed an hand on the orc’s shoulder. “This is accomplishing nothing.” She squeezed a bit, and her facial expression, mostly neutral but quite serious, made clear the double-intention of the gesture. She was at present standing with her hand over a vital pressure point, which she could manipulate at her leisure, and he would stop his assault on the prisoner. “I recommend you save your vengeance for those against whom you need the edge, not the hapless souls already at your mercy.”

With a shrug, she released him as soon as he backed off and oversaw the transport of the fool, now thoroughly subdued, to where Xeron was working his psionics on a few more prisoners. Interesting; not an isolated incident, then. That made sense, as while quite confident in her skill, Neira was not terribly important in the grand scheme of this army, and targeting her alone would have been beyond stupid.

Xeron’s verdict surprised her somewhat, but she did not question it. If that was what he’d seen in their minds, then that’s all that was there. She knew well enough that he was skilled in his trade, and no such folk as these would be hiding anything from him. The fact that they had yet to capture the captain was somewhat disheartening, or it would have been if she considered herself to have a heart at all.

“Chances are, he’s around somewhere, though… I think there might be bigger problems to deal with.” She eyed the group of approaching civilians speculatively, then turned to the general. “Might want to use your words here, Captain. Unless you’d rather I talk to them?”

Dead gods knew that wouldn’t go over well.



Talae, thrown from the moving cart, landed rather less jarringly than she’d been expecting. Her vision swam for a bit, though she was acutely aware that the only injuries she’d actually suffered were blunt traumas, and she wasn’t bleeding anywhere. Still, she lingered on the cusp of consciousness, scarcely able to make out the swirling shapes of the black tattoos that moved as if alive across the fair skin of Beelzes’s face.

As soon as her breath was once again properly situated in her lungs, Talae squirmed out of the warlock’s grasp, feet alighting on the ground without difficulty. When she attempted to support her weight, however, she lurched forward, only able to compensate with years of training in balance and fluidity. She wasn’t doing herself much credit right now, but that was a matter to be ashamed of later, not now.

She cast her glance to the side, noting her unconscious opponent. “Thanks. That one… back to General Wrath,” she garbled, then shook her head slightly. “Koni. Where is he? I think he was shot. I need to tell him…” she’d forgotten what, exactly, but she’d remember soon enough. Right now, her priorities were to reassure herself that he was alive, then drag the prisoner back to camp. Then, maybe, she’d actually go get those supplies she needed.



Chaos had erupted inside the tent, and Fak’ir could only surmise that the blinded assassins were being roundly dealt with. He wasn’t exactly sure whose dwelling this was, but as soon as one of the former combatants was ejected from the premises covered in spider silk, he had a pretty good guess. Of all the targets… the fool should count himself lucky to be alive.

Not that this would necessarily remain the case for long. Relinquishing his cover of darkness, the sun-darkened halfling approached the confined man, who had taken up shouting while trying to free himself from his bonds. Unamused, the desert-dweller dealt him a measured blow to the temple with a knife-hilt, rolling his viridian eyes when silence at last reigned once again.

Were he a different kind of man, Fak’ir might have complained about doing janitorial duties for someone else, but as it was he was a soldier till his last breath, and so he saluted the tent (or rather the half-sane nightmarian inside it) and set about moving the gift-wrapped assailant to the center of camp without protest, figuring that Captain Yan’vega was unlikely to bother doing so herself. For someone of his diminutive stature, he was no pushover, and transport was more a matter of finding the leverage than the strength. Eventually, though, muttering a string of colorful oaths in a lilting language quite different from the common tongue, he was able to roll the unconscious man into a line of similarly-indisposed individuals awaiting mental examination by the weird dark elf man who had apparently defected from the Children.

He caught the nightmarian’s words and scowled. “Probably won’t make a difference,” he pointed out pragmatically. “You ever known the populace to listen to reason once they have it in their heads to lynch a body?” He spoke from bitter experience, but masked it with general gruffness.

---

Three days after their powers were bestowed upon them, the Aesr were deployed for the first time, transported to a location just outside what was once a thriving trade center in the Imperian, and an early conquest of Nihalistrix. Aesr herself, presently shaped much like a dark elven woman, had been at the forefront of this conquering army, and had expected the sight of the town to bring her much satisfaction.

As it was, she was screaming like a banshee and like to tear someone’s eyes out. They’d arrived at the periphery of the town before she’d known that anything was wrong, but when her suspicions had been confirmed, she’d been positively incensed.

There was nobody here. The entire town, still intact and standing, bore not one trace of mortal life, and it was as if they’d all spontaneously vanished. Doors to buildings hung open, swinging eerily on their hinges in the westbound breeze, and though her eyes darted back and forth over the landscape, Aesr could not pick out the reason for the desertion.

“What is the meaning of this?” she shrieked to nobody in particular. This was not how her first solo command was supposed to go. They were supposed to march in, crush the small Paragon resistance that resided here, reestablish their hold on this place, and leave again, blooded and ready for greater things. Glaring about at all of her soldiers, she grew increasingly frustrated when none was able to provide her with a satisfactory answer. Not even that idiot- wait. Where was her Captain? “Tao!” She grit her teeth when there was no immediate response, and rounded on Carmen. “Where is he?”

The Silenced’s ridiculously-blue eyes went wide, and she shook her head emphatically, holding both hands up and in front of her in an attempt to placate the angry dragon. Aesr realized that a trail of smoke was coiling from her nostrils and took a deep breath. Turning back around, she bumped right into the object of her search, who’d apparently heard her summons and appeared. Aesr’s hands curled into fists; she was surrounded by imbeciles. Her angry tirade was forestalled when the deep human pointed at something. Following the trajectory of his arm, she noted scorch marks on the ground not too far from where they were.

“The rest of the city is likewise marked,” he informed her, and he sounded so inappropriately chipper about that that she considered tearing one of his arms off. No, no, he’s more useful to me whole. They all are. It was a few moments before she realized exactly how humiliating this particular revelation was.

Her mouth worked for a few seconds with no resultant sound before it caught up with her brain. “Of course,” she said, covering her shame with arrogance. “Magical interference. Fine; we march further, then. We’ll find who was responsible for this, and punish them.” Her words were firm, but the Captain raised a speculative eyebrow. This was directly contradictory to her mother’s orders; they were supposed to avoid no man’s land. But, untested as her soldiers might be, Aesr was approaching desperation to prove herself, and beyond the tactical repercussions, she cared not how many she had to lose to do it.

Tao himself shrugged and motioned to the rest of the troops, setting out at the front of the group. Ordinary march pace, problematic only to those who weren’t used to it. Carmen fell back to mingle with the others, allowing her presence to soothe in the way it sometimes tended to. Besides, she was not much of a combatant: though holy magic did have destructive capabilities, she was not accustomed to using them, given the rarity of proper healers. She wound up beside the knight from the other day and the pretty purple moth-woman.

Shasarra marched a distance behind, being one of the only people comfortable walking within ten feet of Zulii, though she hadn’t tried making conversation since the second day of training, and that hadn’t gone too well. Instead, she spoke to Jivven. “Something tells me this wasn’t the original plan,” she drawled with a hint of sarcasm. That much was obvious from the fit Aesr had been throwing, but she wasn’t exactly sure what they were supposed to do now.