Snippet #1566781

The deep human smiled hesitantly, then looked at his arms. By the undergods, did they thin? How long was he out? He was lucky they weren't useless twigs. "Yes. Let's get suited up." He repeated, his tongue feeling gummy and foreign in his mouth as he formed the words. Slowly, he sat up and pushed himself off bed. The sudden rush left him lightheaded, but he quickly regained posture and followed Pel out of the tent- as dignified as a half-insane man could appear to be. He walked to the armory, still trying to make sense of what the being had mentioned to him. He was already being noted as mentally unstable- confessing this to anybody else would just land him in the loony-bin.

He touched his butterfly swords, held on a rack unclaimed due to the chains that kept them secured to the rack. The chains magically unlocked at his touch, and he took the blades and belt. He took a fresh suit of Live Leather armor, allowing the form-fitting outer layer to fit with his old one, which had been rapidly deteriorating through his battles. It wasn't really a new set altogether, as the leather seemed to magically merge to restore the old one to a more former glory. He donned it, securing the straps around his torso. His uniform was fitted to him earlier, and he looked down at the Black Guard uniform, as if expecting something from it. It was just a different color- yet it marked him as the highest honor in the army. The boots, the clothes, the weapons- they were all top tier, but so little of it made so little of a difference on the battlefield.

He strapped his weapons belt on, sheathing his swords to the belt. He grabbed a short combat knife, something he handled familiarly due to his devotion to close-quarters combat. Sheathing it into his boot, he picked up a crossbow and slung it across his back, still lamenting the specially made one he had left behind back when the Black Guard had simply been known as a group of misfits sent off to die in a war. He took a quiver of bolts, strapping it to his waist and donning a pair of gloves. Oddly, he had never been too fond of concealing so much of his skin- now it was just as comfortable to him as donning shoes, which was a thought looked down upon by other Deep Humans. Kisikoni realized at this point that he could never return to the caves and live comfortably. He wondered if he would even get the chance to choose not to.

Under the watchful eye of Pel, he quickly grabbed a elastic securing the bolts and tied his hair back, as it had been undone sometime while he was unconscious. He quickly uttered a prayer to the gods of the earth before turning and facing the battle medic. He was lead into formation, where he contemplated utilizing his power. Despite his extreme reluctance, the Deep Human knew that battles were the only times he could experiment with this. A closed area captured attention. The chaos of battle masked many irregularities. He just hoped he wouldn't be labeled as an enemy.

Fear is always an enemy. the cool voice remarked, apparent in the fact that it had been listening the entire time. Kisikoni paled slightly- not even his thoughts were safe anymore. I care not for your personal thoughts, Deep Human. I have little interest in the thinkings of prey that I will soon consume the voice reassured indifferently.

How polite. He decided to divert his attention into looking for Talae in the crowd of formed units instead- knowing that in this state, he would need his partner more than ever. He felt something in his gut clench.