Snippet #1444477

The Jurial Plains

Faera followed the distinct light tread of the halfling named Sid, mindful not to bump into anyone by accident. This was considerably easier than one might expect, when you could hear the minute sounds of breaths and rustling clothing and distinguish one set from another. She couldn't quite imagine what it would be like to be a blind human- without her species's enhanced sensory apparatuses, she would truly be afraid of making a serious nuisance of herself.

There wasn't that much talking going on. In her case at least, that was because there was a fair amount too much marching. Her feet were sore, and the reverberations of each step seemed to climb her legs and send their aftershocks up her spine. It was, quite frankly, a miserable experience, but one that she'd have to get used to. This sentiment was precisely the reason she'd chosen not to ease the ache, but to endure it, in the hope that in a few weeks or months, she wouldn't even notice it anymore.

She was, needless to say, unspeakably relieved when they all stopped moving, and she listened intently to the instructions she was given. She really didn't have any idea what she was doing; this was Tala's world, not hers. But Faera knew that, too, had to change. The fact of the matter was, she frequently worried herself sick when her sister was away fighting, and this was the best way she knew to do something about that.

Still... none of it sounded very pleasant. The Captain and Lieutenant Sid both had interesting voices, she decided, but the words themselves were discouraging at best. Don't speak unless spoken to, don't use anything but titles with them, your life belongs to Norr... it was all a bit harsh. Did Tala really deal with things like this all the time?

The creature on her shoulder shifted, perhaps sensing her discomfort, and she absently laid a hand on his scaly back as the first half were sorted. There was a low trill in her right ear, and Faera smiled. The Captain was getting closer, though, and so she shushed her friend and waited, not wanting to be the only person who already couldn't follow instructions.

She felt the disturbance in the air as a hand was waved in front of her, and she tilted her head slightly, waiting patiently. Many people did this sort of thing, and she didn't much mind. Blindness was an uncommon disability, since generally it wasn't good for your shot at survival these days, but Faera had always managed it all right. She was assigned to the same group as her sister, and let out a breath she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding. That much was a relief, anyway; it would be unfortunate to face her first battle with only strangers.

When they were dismissed, Fae bowed shallowly, unsure if that was what she was supposed to do but erring on the side of courtesy anyway, and followed the chime of Tala's movement, an easy sound to pick out even in a milieu of them. Sometimes, she suspected that was the reason for her sister's odd choice in hairstyle, but she never asked about it. The older Shanir sibling was likely to deny it even if it were true.

"Tala... where are we going?"

-=-
Laeral

Gods, could this swill taste any worse? Neira tilted the ceramic mug to get a better look at the so-called alcohol within. She might have inquired after it (rather rudely, she might add), from the owner, but she wasn't really in the mood to argue with idiots today.

What she was was bored, and she scanned the room with inhuman eyes, seeking out something to entertain herself. The long digits of her left hand, encased in smooth, hard exoskeleton, tapped a lazy rhythm on the bar, and noted from her peripherals that the man next to her was giving them a look of horrified fascination, apparently just having come to the correct conclusion: those were not gauntlets. That could be interesting.

Slowly, she turned her head to face him, and she had no doubt her eyes confirmed what her hands had suggested. Neira watched with a half-lidded, almost bored expression as he tried to figure out exactly what he was looking at. The hooded cloak she wore concealed her translucent wings well enough that it might remain a mystery for a bit. Watching the gears crank in a half-intoxicated mind was one of those things that was always mildly amusing.

The spread of her trademark sadist's grin was slow, but he seemed to recognize that it boded badly for him, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's rude to stare, you know," she said, and she knew her high, almost childlike pitch confused him a bit. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if Nightmarians really were still so rare a sight; it did not seem that he'd understood just yet. Mmm... small town. I had rather forgotten that little detail.

Not two minutes later, the man had hastily paid for his drink and left, making his excuses to the barman, who shot her a mildly-reproachful look, which she returned with a flat stare. Neira resisted the urge to sigh. Now she was bored again, and this whiskey wasn't even good enough to get drunk on. she hoped something interesting showed up soon; she'd been rather bereft of amusement for too long if she was taunting barroom oafs.