Snippet #1530402

"...Dancing? But I don't know how to- oh. Oh." It took a second, but Fae figured out that he was mocking her. Of course, what might have been outright embarrassment was marred by confusion, since she had absolutely no idea how he would even know this. She might have been straightforward enough to ask, but Tala chose that moment to exit their dwelling and begin taking it down, and she was pretty sure that whatever had happened, she didn't exactly want her sister to know about it.

Just an instinct, but she'd grown used to listening to her intuition.

---

More rain. Fae had always enjoyed the rain- she felt more connected to the world when it was raining, because you didn't see it as much as you felt it, the droplets pattering against your skin and scalp. Even the chill that gradually seeped into your bones was another reminder that you were alive. But it was a sensation that tended to lose the shine of novelty in the face of such constancy, even for her, and she really wished that she could be enjoying the crisp smell of evening air on its own instead.

Her live leather boots found purchase in the mud, but even she could not stop herself from sliding around a bit. She could only imagine what those without naturally-ingrained grip and balance would be dealing with. It was probably even worse for the harpies, though- it couldn't be easy to fly in these conditions, could it. She could hear the sound of the Captain's shuddering intakes of breath, and realized that a person as small as Sid must have an even lower tolerance for this unnatural chill than she did. So Fae being Fae moved to stand beside the woman, murmuring a warming spell beneath her breath, a small thing, but one that would perhaps help a little. It caused her to give off an uncanny amount of body heat, so maybe at such proximity it would warm those around her, also.

She caught the murmured words sent to General Wrath, and bit her lip. Casualties. They honestly hadn't suffered many of those, given the nature of their work. Maybe it was only to be expected that this would change eventually, but she really wished it weren't, not that the sentiment alone would do her any good. The terse response was quick in coming, as were Sid's corresponding orders. The mage simply nodded in response, fanning out with the rest and selecting a spot close to the edge of the semicircle. Darkness was of no hindrance to her, after all; if anything, it gave her an advantage, since she knew how to listen rather than look.

Her hand brushed the trunk of a tree, and Faera had an idea. Swinging quietly as she was able up into the branches, she selected a spot and crouched there, waiting for the sounds of the warning to go off. At least the rain meant plenty of opportunity for water and ice-based spells. She was fairly good with those. Hidden in the foliage, Fae took a slow, deep breath. Waiting was never easy; sometimes she thought it might be harder than the actual fighting bit. Even so, at least nobody got killed just waiting. Well... maybe the chances were just lower.

Slowly, she began gathering the raindrops from the leaves, forming them first into a liquid orb and then a sharp icicle, which she kept in the air just beside her head. If an archer could notch a projectile, so could she, right?

---

Neira shifted her weight from one foot to the other, flexing her armored digits idly while she and the other heavy infantry (and one flier) waited on their orders. Perhaps in stark contrast with the ease of her body language, her eyes were fixed in the direction of the enemy camp. Only sixty? No, there's a catch somewhere here, and I wonder if the Thane's the only one... She might love a fight more than was strictly healthy (mentally or otherwise), but she was no fool, and she knew that it was often when things seemed their simplest that they were actually more complex than any of that.

The general was wearing that trinket again, and she didn't like it. What kind of person relied on the strength of another to fight his battles? She understood of course the sheer utility; she had not missed the marked abilities that doing so gave him. No, it was sound strategy, but that didn't mean she cared for it all that much. Not that her opinion was of much consequence anyway.

Autonomy, huh? She could do autonomy. The poison was a little silly, though. Shrugging, she slathered some on her armored forearms. It wasn't like she had a sword to use instead, after all. It was somewhat viscous and sticky, which was not exactly pleasant, but it would do just fine.

To tell the truth, she was looking forward to this confrontation. Not for the usual reasons, but rather because it would give her an opportunity to try some of what she and the half-orc a few places over had discussed. Nothing too major yet; just a little more... control. It promised to be less fun than wild abandon, but perhaps a bit more effective in the long run. Either way, she'd be finding out soon enough.

"Go." The command wasn't loud, but it was sufficient, and Neira did just that, following in the general's wake until they reached the outskirts of the camp, then veering off sharply to the left, intent on rending a different line in the enemy ranks, if one would. The first tent shredded betwixt her fingers at about the same time as the two men within were barraged with mental agony. The trick would be maintaining both fronts of attack at the same time.

Her assault on their minds wavered at about the same time as she sliced the first neatly along the throat, and she had to raise her knee to block a blow from the other, who recovered. Stomping hard on his foot, she lashed again with psionics, which caused him to hesitate. Just enough time for her to wrench his neck around and drop him to the floor. As promised, the poison had laid his companion low, and she ran him through with one of his tent poles.

Not stopping to take a breath, she transitioned to the next tent, this one occupied solely by a Child. Perfect... let's see if I can't get this figured out.