Snippet #1471719

Jurial Plains, North-Ridge

After being caught in a crushing embrace with a nightmarian and expending every prayer she had asked her patron for that day, Pel was more than ready for some sleep. Padding along the loamy ground, the halfling was only a few feet away from her tent when a high voice caught her attention. Pel turned around slowly to lock a set of sleep-deprived eyes on Faera. "You realize that there's nothing left to do but wait, right?" Her heritage getting the better of her, Pel closed on the dark elf and allowed the barrier between her brain and mouth to thin.

"I thought you were a mage. What kind of mage has healing spells? You do realize that a body can only accept so much magic before it begins to reject it, much like an antivenom can be lethal with the wrong dosage, otherwise we'd all be in tip-top shape 24/7. Guessin' you haven't healed much more than superficial wounds before? Back on the mage thing, how can you heal? A better question: How can you study healing magic without your offensive magic suffering greatly? Why in the name of Avernus would you not specialize--"

"That's enough." an alabaster hand patted Pel's head, ceasing the endless flow of questions. Beelzes shooed the halfling off into her tent and spun on her heel to smile brightly at Faera. She still wore her tinted eye-glasses, as did many of those unaccustomed to sunlight, and rubbed her shaved head in mock exasperation. "Well! I figure you've had your fill of..." Beelzes scowled, leaning in close to Faera's face. Had the dark elf been gifted with sight, she would have seen the various tattoos writhing across the warlock's palid skin. Behing the shades, her eyes were alight with sudden understanding. "My word! Little Shanir! You're blind!"

---

What should have a been a quiet sigh of exasperation became a sharp intake of breath. Something in his chest produced a heated itching sensation and it was all Wrath could do to keep a straight face as he met Neira's eyes. The papers he had been writing on were pushed aside. Out of sight. The nightmarian's words were heard only distantly, and Wrath forced a rueful smile. "Lady...Noir? Forgive me if I did not...get your name correct. If nobody told you, we...the Fortieth, is a 'dump' legion. We are the very definition of expendable." Wrath took a steadying breath and wiped away the sweat beading at his forehead. "That is why we rarely do solo missions that require a good amount of skill or expertise. As to why this particular mission went so badly, despite having succeeded, I have sent an inquiry to high-command--"

"Should I not have come then?" A youthful deep human waltzed into the tent with a slight smile. It was pouring outside, and his leathers had not even a drop of water on them. He glanced at the mercenary and waved jovially. "Hello! You may want to step outside. I have something to discuss with captain Liu-Wen." wisps of white flames licked at the soles of the newcomers boots as he sat down on the bed facing Wrath. "So you say that there are magic-using Children of Fire now?"

As Neira would leave, a large lamia with ivory horns and a tall elf woman appeared through the doorway and moved to join the discussion.

---

Forest, ???

"Damnit..." The corpses littering the forest floor were numerous at first, but grew more scarce as Yanis made his way through the trees. His stump of a hand proved to be less of a hindrance than an annoyance, pulsing with a sickening ache with every heartbeat. The halfling was halfway to the tower now and approaching his goal. "Damnit..."

He had seen it. Seen it with his own eyes. Earlier when it was still dark, Yanis was skulking through the underbrush trying to meet up with commander Yan'vega. The Children captured her, and the elf stood over her with his eyes locked on hers. Something strange...alien passed between them, and Mercy appeared to faint for a moment. The elven Child smirked and said, So that's where they were spying from...north. Set the next trap and we shall move. I want to be at the tower by..." Somewhere around that time was when Yaris had been detected and his hand severed. The last time he laid eyes on Zakair, the elf flashed a toothy smile and said: "She won't remember."

Looking back on it, his meaning was obvious. Mercy's mind had been tampered with via psionics. The knowledge of the entire scouting mission she had led was wiped from her mind, so in the unlikely event of a successful rescue, she would be of no import to the Legion. So the task fell to Yaris, the last carrier of the vital intelligence that would save thousands of lives. Perhaps more. If only he could get to the tower to send the signal...