Snippet #1568533

It was dark, and the acute sense of expectancy that pervaded the air was so thick Neira could nearly smell it, or taste it maybe. The soft clicking of her armored joints as she flexed her fingers was strangely overaudible in her ears, as though she were for some reason hyperaware of herself in relation to everything else. There was an understanding of space there that had not existed before. Her space, the space of her comrades, empty space. The space between herself and her next objective. Headspace.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the next, watching with a facade of lazy non-interest as everyone formed up. There was the blind one, little white lizard in tow. Looked like a bloody dragon as far as the nightmarian was concerned but if nobody was going to say anything about it, she certainly wasn't. Surprisingly enough, she had no irrational hatred for dragons. She disliked them only slightly more than she disliked anyone else, and that was only because the possibility of being killed by a slaying spell meant for her entire species put her on edge. She might have more cause to hate them soon. Shame, since she was just now reaching the stage where such vitriol would do her absolutely no good.

The elf-child on the construct passed her and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was a war, not a circus. Oh well; at least flying provided ranged sorts with a vantage point. The angry-man looked like he was already halfway to killing something, which was unfortunate considering there was as yet nothing in the way of acceptable targets. The white-winged harpy stood calmly, as did Thanaros. She was taking a cue from them on this front. The older Shanir and the one with way too many k's and i's, she was used to seeing practically attached at the hip. They seemed to have taken the whole teamwork speech more seriously than most, but they made for an odd trio with the halfling healer. She had no idea what was going on with that.

Beelzes joined the formation on the back of something that looked like it could have been a very distant relative, and Neira wondered where the hell the mantis had even come from. Actually, maybe 'hell' was accurate. Wasn't the woman a warlock of some kind? She didn't go much in for venerating demons or angels or deities; a habit passed down from her mother of all people. Oh dead flaming dragons, no. She was not going to think about her mother right now. That was the last thing she should be dwelling on if she wanted to remain calm.

Right... something else then. But what? Hmm... ranged units going first... what exactly were they going to be dealing with here? The Children were a given, but chances were they'd have to deal with townsfolk as well. She wondered if that meant more nonlethality. Not killing people that charged at her with the intent to gut her was something of a challenge for Neira, but she hadn't heard anything about it. Did that mean the orders from last time still stood? She supposed the problem was easily solved by seeking out the Children instead. Twenty years ago she would have been impatient and fidgeting by now, and she could see signs of it in some of the others, but she had since learned to wait, even if she did detest it.