Snippet #1478042

North-Ridge

As the night drifted off into restless sleep, the preparations came under way. The Spring rains continued unabated and the wildlife hid in their holes while the Legion girded itself for war. Over the next several days legion upon legion joined the Black Guard in the North-Ridge camp. Inbetween setting up ballistae, battle-carts and siege rams the soldiers began to mix. This socizlization created new, if strong bonds between the rapidly swelling ranks of the legionnaires. By the ninth day, fifty legions had amassed in the camp. Wrath looked on in approval. An army. No, he thought. His army.

Dressed in only linen pants, the general was propped up on top of a tall beam of wood with only one hand to keep his balance. The rising sun casted orange and red streaks through the maze of tents and awakening soldiers. Of those early-birds milling about, Sid trotted up and cast a wary eye up at Wrath. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It would appear that I am honing my body, Grimsmirk." he replied with a cool edge. "The better question is, why aren't you taking morning inventory." The halfling held up a half-crumpled scrap of parchment and scoffed.

"Done. An hour ago. When did you get so into 'honing' and start giving a damn if I do my duty?" in response, Wrath vaulted off of the pole with an acrobatic skill that Sid had not known that the man posessed, landing in front of her with a neutral expression on his face. She noted how that pendant hanging from his neck cast a slightly green light as opposed to white when reflecting the sun's rays.

"My apologies, captain," there was a poorly veiled tone of sarcasm, "But I merely figued that, as the commanding officer, it was my duty to make sure what needed to be done has been." the general walked past Sid without sparing her another glance. Behind him, she seethed with rage and confusion. It was as if he became an arrogant...well, militaristic ass over night! Did rank really do that to a man? Wrath's voice met her ears one more time before he left, jolting the halfling from her thoughts. "Sid. Make sure everyone is ready for tommorow. We've failed enough as a unit. Even once is too many. This time, we set the standard. Not lower it."

Sid turned to watch Wrath leave for his tent and stared after him. Slowly, she nodded and went about the camp for rounds.

---

"That one doesn't need those--"

"Shaddap, I say it goes on and that's fina--"

Sid placed a hand on each of the twin's shoulders and raised an eyebrow quizzically. Both humans began a bout of flailing limbs and words that blended together in their frantic attempt to talk over one another. Sid smiled and pointed at Turha, the younger of the Mialee siblings. The dusky-skinned man grinned in triumph and began his explanation. First, he slapped the metal hide of the Darkguard that they had practically torn apart.

"So we're refitting these things for multi-terrain combat, and I'm thinking we need to be as lightweight as possible without compromising structural integrity, but-" Gurgen, the elder Mialee chimed in before he could finish.

"I just want to paint some flames on 'em! Seriously, the entire paint job adds barely half a pound!" Gurgen whined.

"That's a half-pound more of energy that the constructs have to compensate for before..."

Sid didn't care to hear the rest. It was all jibberish the to halfling anyway. She marked their names off of the list and continued on down the path to where the rest of what had been the Fortieth was probably still asleep. The first tent she checked was arguably the oddest. Floating sigils of strange power and books floated in the air within the enclosure. Amidst them all, a hairless, white-skinned woman was muttering and glancing about frantically looking for something within the aerial text. Before Sid could call out to Beelzes the woman's skin came alive with a multitude of ebon tattoos and she cried out in exultation. "I have it! Little Shanir! I have it!"

---

"Faera, wake up!" Beelzes squeezed the dark elf girl's cheeks with the force of an elderly woman upon a child and squeeled in delight. "Look! I have it!" she held up a vial of blood--Faera's, though how she aquired it was a mystery, and uncorked the glass to place a few drops on her flawless skin. "Normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Look again!" the warlock willed one of her infernal markings to place itself on the skin under the blood. Instantly the crimson liquid sizzled and hissed, popping violently and radiating a faint golden light before evaporating completely. "Sensetivity to Avernus! It's remarkable--wait. You didn't see that did you? Um, your blood just got pissed off at touching my hell-brands."

The deep human placed both hands on either side of Faera's head and grinned savagely. "You're Plane-Touched! The ability to heal and cast arcane magicks with only the barest level of comprehension for either, your unnaturally light skin, the aura of good that wafts off you so much I can smell it!" her voice lowered to an almost reverent state. "You have an angel somewhere in your bloodline, and for some reason you inherited some of their traits. Why not your sister though, I cannot--" that was when the howling began.

---

Sid proceeded to watch the deep human go sprinting out into the foggy morning, crashing into Faera's tent and screaming something about plain-touching. Before she lost interest. The next tent on the list was also rather...strange. Caine lay sprawled out on his bed, dead to the world, while the new elven girl Mikana sat on the bedside just looking down at him. The scene reminded Sid of a mother watching over her sleeping child. It was when the elf reached down to touch Caine's scarred wrist did the halfling depart. Before she could make it to the next set of troops though, a blood-curdling scream rent the air.

Sid bounded through the camp towards the sound, and passing by other soldiers did not notice their non-chalance although someone was obviously in dire need of aid. The call rang out again, this time closer and more discernable. A man, she thought. The voice sounded somewhat familiar too...Sid skidded to a stop when she reached the clearing that the legion had gathered in nine-days prior. In place of the bonfire was a makeshift gibbet, on which Gilleas writhed in agony. The structure had been gifted with some malign enchantment that caused it's ropes to lash and tear at the man with horrid ease, separating flesh from bone without pause. The sight was horrific. Still, those soldiers who stopped by to watch only did so with passing interest.

The halfling ran up to the cloaked figure presiding over the torture and nearly bowled him over. "What's the meaning of this!?"

The executioner glanced down and quickly saluted. "Captain. This man is a deserter. As you know, the punishment is death."

Sid nearly screamed and turned towards the gibbet, intending to tear Gilleas down with her bare hands if she had to. Then she noticed...the cries of anguish had ceased. Gilleas Arkha hung by his arms from the gibbet, the entire lower half of his body piled on the ground in a gore-strewn heap. The executioner started forward to clean up the mess and Sid could only turn away in sheer terror. That was the first time she had witnessed the punishments the Legion of Ashes meated out. Could that have been her, at some point? Thanaros simply watched, his arms crossed. After a while the orc trudged off in the other direction towards the sparring grounds. The rain suddenly started up again, drenching the entire camp.

---

From inside his tent Wrath listened to the patter of rain against his tarp. He sat on the bed, still only in his pants absorbing the sounds of the world. It was still an hour before he was required for active duty so he decided to take off the necklace. Instantly, the world seemed to dull and he felt...heavier. His thoughts were no longer crystal clear, in such focus. "Almost like a drug." he muttered to the darkness of the tent.