Snippet #1479032

The Deep Human continued to sleep late and wake up early. His internal clock, molded by centuries of ancestors living underground left the Deep Human unable to sleep comfortably even now- ten years after he arrived on the surface. Rubbing his eyes when the faintest of light had broken over the horizon, he was affixed with energy and knew he would be unable to go back to sleep even if he tried. He got up, and dressed lightly. He went over to a tent, and washed his face. He then crushed a bitter-smelling herb in his hands and washed his mouth with it. Spitting out the water in a ditch, he decided to rake his fingers through it until it looked acceptable (he had no comb) and left. He dressed in his soldier's pants and wore a light white tunic. Tying his butterfly knives to his waist, he slipped out into the quiet morning. He brought his new crossbow to the firing range, and spent most of his time trying to perfect his aim with the new weapon. By the time he felt that he had increased his efficiency to a satisfactory level, the camp was starting to buzz with activity. He retrieved his bolts one final time and brought his long-range weapon back to his tent.

He moved over to the mess hall, or tent rather, and grabbed a plate. The server noted that he was rather early, and Kisikoni merely joked about it. "I'm nocturnal." He said, as the food was dumped onto his platter. They shared a short laugh and he went to take a seat. There were several other deep humans, all of them looking tired and grumpy. He sympathized with them- and quickly consumed his breakfast. There was a slight racket as he exited the tent, a man being locked into a gibbet. He walked over, curious but hesitant.

It was the man that vanished since the battle, Gilleas Arkha. He had made acquaintance with him in the Inn. One look at him and Kisikoni was sure the man was oblivious to his presence. He was marked as a deserter- and they had found him. The deep human was very well aware of what the consequences were during his decade of service. Unlike most who walked by interestedly and then left in some form of disgust, Kisikoni remained to watch. The last thing anyone wanted was to be regarded as scum- just another criminal in war. He remembered that these punishments used to call for full attention- nowadays it was hardly practical. It was his kin, his little brother in a sense, hung up on that Gibbet. To not honor his death was something Kisikoni would never do.

So, Kisikoni watched until Gillieas Arkha finally had passed away. His face had remained stone-like throughout the entire scene, his howls bouncing off his exterior. He cupped his left fist into his right hand. "O, lord of earth. May your holiness find in way to have mercy on his soul. Accept his blood, spilled in vain. May your child live peacefully." He prayed softly. He turned away and started forging a path toward the sparring area. The rain came down, as if the lord himself cried for it's son that wanted to survive- but found death in it's place.

The people of the sparring area had remained rather undaunted by the weather, continuing to wrestle in the mud and duel while soaked. Most have already left to take a bite to eat. He got up, moving over to a wooden dummy. It had three protruding blocks arranged in a downward pointing triangle of wood to act as outstretched arms, and a 45 degree bent block to act as a leg. Raising his arms, he began striking the wooden arms, practicing what he did best- hand-to-hand combat. The sharp clacking of wood drowned away all thoughts of the deceased deserter, as the deep human's movements became faster and more precise. He noted that this particular dummy has not been used much- as dust would be expelled from the surface during the first few hits.