Snippet #1483801

Talae's eyes followed the pair of lamia out of the mess with a shake of her head. Really, some people made things so obvious. Maybe it was the constant threat of death that did it. The aftermath of their passage sent the plates on the end of the table off onto the floor, but Talae managed to grab hers in time to steady it. Fae and Beelzes took off, apparently to practice something, and Talae smiled to herself. A rare expression, on her face anyway, but she was glad her sister had found someone to help her figure out her powers. The elder Shanir was completely useless when it came to matters of the arcane.

She noted that Caine and the mute elf were eating together, and that he seemed to be talking a great deal more than usual. Odd, but not a bad sign. If he was willing to speak to someone about what bothered him, that was surely a good thing. Especially since she had no idea how to go about extracting such things from people. Conversations with Talae were always somewhat on the stilted side, probably because of her own reticence to give away too much information. Trust issues, perhaps.

She shrugged to herself and stowed away her dishes, righting the toppled table before heading out of the mess tent back into somewhat-rainy daylight. Frankly, she didn't have much of anything to do at the moment; her stock of poisons were currently in a stage where they had to be left alone for a while, she'd practiced this morning (and would later today as well, no doubt), and all her equipment was in good order. The weather didn't exactly make "walk around aimlessly" the best of options, but she decided it would work anyway. Actually, maybe taking a run in this weather would help increase her stamina? It was worth a try, and she made sure to stretch liberally before setting off around the perimeter of camp at a trot, glad of the fact that live leather was waterproof.

---

Alistair was distinctly uncomfortable around crying females, but his near-infinite patience and general ability to remain calm perhaps made him well-suited to handling it. Of course, the fact that she was undeniably right didn't really help matters. The harpy shook his head subtly, laying a taloned hand on the Captain's shoulder. "No, nobody deserves it. But... the situation is desperate enough that someone felt that a clear message was necessary. It is true that he was killed, and terribly, but if it stops even one person from meeting the same fate... at this point, the Legion cannot afford desertions. The numbers are thin enough as it is, and one deserter hurts not only himself, but the people he signed on to fight with." It certainly didn't justify what had been done, but Alistair liked to think that it at least a sign that the thought process might not be completely without redeeming features.

He half-smiled, placing both hands back beside him, when she brought up the not-so-delicate matter of his age. "Well, I suppose that depends on how old you are, Captain," he replied lightly, though he knew that the average life expectancy of halflings was not that far removed from humans'.

Her next question brought up something of an old wound, though, and he sobered quickly, clearing his throat somewhat uncomfortably at the words 'orcish love-bites'. He really didn't want to know. Still, the question itself was valid enough, and he gave it some consideration. "We were termed the Savage," he agreed, "but perhaps the designations enemies give each other in war are not the most appropriate, eh? Truthfully, primah races have always been thought of as relying a bit more on the instincts nature gave them, and if that should be seen as 'savage,' then the moniker is accurate enough. Ultimately, though, I see as little difference as you do. A pity it took a common enemy and the threat of mass extinction for others to realize as much, is it not?"

Truthfully, Alistair still had a few old wounds from the war, and seeing those who had fought his people in it was always a bit difficult, but he chose to set those old feelings aside for the sake of the present. Sometimes, he thought it might be nice to be a human; he would be entering the twilight of his life, and perhaps be able to forget that there were still enemies to be fought and killed, allies to be protected. A failing body might grant him a measure of peace. But alas, he was as young and strong as he had ever been, and would remain so for quite a while yet. Such was the way of it.