Snippet #1478386

Neira grimaced and rolled over onto her back, not particularly caring that this made it impossible to maneuver her wings. Wasn’t like she was totally dependant on the things like a harpy or something. She did not much appreciate being woken by tortured wails first thing in the morning, but maybe that was what you got when you signed up for the damned Legion of fucking Ashes. The nightmarian was not a morning person, which since they were all sort of expected to be up at around the same time every day really just meant that she was extra-sadistic and probably best avoided until after breakfast.

She had no idea what was going on, and at this particular point in time, she could not particularly say she cared. Nobody was sounding an alarm, and all motion in her general vicinity was at normal pace; nobody was rushing into battle, which meant there was nobody for her to obliterate and all was normal in camp. Save the screaming, obviously. Which was really just giving her a headache.

Donning her armor, Neira yawned and stretched, contemplated throwing her black robes on over the leather, but then decided that it was going to rain soon and thus this would be unwise. She wondered if that little elf with the big sword wanted to fight again today. Hopefully not; Neira rather hated hitting to bruise. It wasn’t really any fun, though it had been something of an amusing challenge for a while. She had been surprised anyone had enough guts to ask her actually, but she doubted many would after how it had turned out.

“Hmm…” she thought aloud, stepping outside to the first drops of rain. She contemplated going to eat, but she wasn’t really in the mood. Well, there was one thing she could do- this early in the morning, he was probably unoccupied. She wondered if he’d be the awkward one or the arrogant one today. Psionically, she knew what was to blame for the newly-minted General’s odd mood swings, but she had thus far chosen not to share this knowledge with anyone else.

Shrugging to herself, she decided to let it surprise her and headed for the command tent. Since situations where she knocked tended to result in a swifter exit than she wanted to bother with, she didn’t, simply stepping inside instead, crossing her arms and leaning against one of the framing poles. Wrath’s back was to her, and she noted the blackish plate there with a raised eyebrow. So, it’s as I thought…

“You wished to see me, O General?” she asked sardonically. The title meant absolutely nothing to Neira, and frankly, she thought all of them were pointless. If someone was leader, fine. Let them be. But the trappings that came with it were wholly unnecessary.

---

Faera rarely dreamed of anything pleasant, but she was almost certain she was not woken from a nightmare when someone grabbed her face. Knowing with stark certainty that Talae would not do that, she sat bolt upright, narrowly missing contact of her head against Beelzes’s own. It took a few seconds to make sense of all the sensory information that was flying at her, so she focused on the warlock’s voice.

"Look! I have it!" Her friend and sort-of teacher sounded much more enthusiastic than usual, and so Fae assumed that ‘it’ must be rather important indeed, though what qualified, she could not guess at.

“Umm…” she was pretty sure Beelzes would soon realize the futility of such an imperative, but wondered if she shouldn’t point it out anyway.

"Normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Look again!" There was a sizzling sound, and Faera picked up the scent of blood, very close. She wondered for the briefest moment if Beelzes was trying out some new form of magic that involved making acid out of blood (because it really was about five seconds since she’d jolted awake and that made about as much sense as anything).

"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." Well, that certainly was interesting, though she didn’t really get what it meant. Sensitivity to Avernus? Why would her blood possibly react any more violently than a normal person’s to relics of the underworld?

"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! 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--"

Faera was about to explain that she and Talae were in fact half-sisters, because really that was the only part of any of it which she knew how to respond to at all, but Beelzes was cut off by a very loud, human shriek, and Faera shuddered. That was not a good sound. Even the ones on the battlefield were less bad than that. It smacked of drawn-out wounds or something. But why would such a sound be made here, of all places?

“What’s going on out there?” she asked, as mush to the air as to Beelzes. All thoughts and questions about the deep human’s recent revelation fled her for a moment, at least until the screaming ceased. To get any closer to the scene really wouldn’t help Fae figure anything out, so instead she simply listened- and it was uncanny how usual everything seemed in the wake of whatever had occurred. The dark elf swallowed audibly and shook her head. “Explain more at breakfast?” she asked, seeking for something to do that didn’t involve thinking about it, whatever it had been.