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The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter Three
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<blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 7379038" data-attributes="member: 6799460"><p><strong>Aftermath</strong></p><p></p><p>Annit knealt and took a few deep breaths as the immediate threats collapsed to the ground. Looking across to Metea she almost smiled a little. Annit decided she quite liked the Tiefling. The rumors of city dwellers were surely not true. She was charming and beautiful, and oozed a sense of danger that was quite captivating.</p><p></p><p>Beyond an awe of her colleagues in their many shapes and forms however, the youthful rogue held some grave concerns. Companions were injured. They’d already faced a battle that could have easily swung either way. Her own effectiveness was… questionable. Almost embarrassing that thus far her arrows had failed her, and luck with the dagger had not been overly kind. Still though, at least she’d sorted the trap earlier? She might perhaps have known more than the others about this place, but her companions were far stronger. Definitely more gifted. She was glad that it was with them, that she’d do her darnedest to finish this task. Picking pockets and avoiding capture on Kalair’s narrow streets was a whole different world. Down here was… unfamiliar territory, packed it seemed with unfamiliar risks that sought to snuff out their breath at every step.</p><p></p><p>“Are they going to be alright?” She’d ask, standing to walk over and talk to the priest quietly. The injuries left by the beasts were ragged and ugly, and she only hoped the half-orc might have some healing powers spare. What a magnificent gift, to be able to heal. Dolstian Law seemed so twisted to her now, seeing Carthum’s abilities. How many souls might have lived without suffering, if such power hadn’t been forced underground?</p><p></p><p>Speaking of underground and power, nearer the cracks where Metea was sifting through Otiroth’s earlier incineration of waste, came a sudden cold draft. It smelled both sweet and treacherous. An aroma of both arcane power and death.</p><p></p><p>Annit avoided Jeovanna for now, the woman’s ferocity had scared her somewhat. It seemed wise to let the fighter cool off. Instead she turned to Dain. “You’re still bleeding,” she stated but with kindness and concern in her voice. Then her curious eyes moved upon the ranger’s bloody sword. Something changed in her face. A few intricate designs in the damascus steel had obviously caught her attention. For a moment she just stared.</p><p></p><p>Otiroth’s words snapped her out of it. The young man was right. They needed to stay alert.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="97mg, post: 7379038, member: 6799460"] [b]Aftermath[/b] Annit knealt and took a few deep breaths as the immediate threats collapsed to the ground. Looking across to Metea she almost smiled a little. Annit decided she quite liked the Tiefling. The rumors of city dwellers were surely not true. She was charming and beautiful, and oozed a sense of danger that was quite captivating. Beyond an awe of her colleagues in their many shapes and forms however, the youthful rogue held some grave concerns. Companions were injured. They’d already faced a battle that could have easily swung either way. Her own effectiveness was… questionable. Almost embarrassing that thus far her arrows had failed her, and luck with the dagger had not been overly kind. Still though, at least she’d sorted the trap earlier? She might perhaps have known more than the others about this place, but her companions were far stronger. Definitely more gifted. She was glad that it was with them, that she’d do her darnedest to finish this task. Picking pockets and avoiding capture on Kalair’s narrow streets was a whole different world. Down here was… unfamiliar territory, packed it seemed with unfamiliar risks that sought to snuff out their breath at every step. “Are they going to be alright?” She’d ask, standing to walk over and talk to the priest quietly. The injuries left by the beasts were ragged and ugly, and she only hoped the half-orc might have some healing powers spare. What a magnificent gift, to be able to heal. Dolstian Law seemed so twisted to her now, seeing Carthum’s abilities. How many souls might have lived without suffering, if such power hadn’t been forced underground? Speaking of underground and power, nearer the cracks where Metea was sifting through Otiroth’s earlier incineration of waste, came a sudden cold draft. It smelled both sweet and treacherous. An aroma of both arcane power and death. Annit avoided Jeovanna for now, the woman’s ferocity had scared her somewhat. It seemed wise to let the fighter cool off. Instead she turned to Dain. “You’re still bleeding,” she stated but with kindness and concern in her voice. Then her curious eyes moved upon the ranger’s bloody sword. Something changed in her face. A few intricate designs in the damascus steel had obviously caught her attention. For a moment she just stared. Otiroth’s words snapped her out of it. The young man was right. They needed to stay alert. [/QUOTE]
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