Sundance - Taking out the Trash

Grak bowed his head in aquiesence. She continued her glare for a full second before she whirled away.

"Stupid, show-off orc," she muttered to herself as she stomped her way to the dazed-looking survivors. "How am I supposed to top that? Inconsiderate, I tell you." She kicked a downed body in the plate armor to get their attention.

She gave a satisfied smirk when every last one of them cowered away. A small part of her brain realized that they thought she was the one who'd thrown lightning at them, but she ignored it. "Well, I can't help but wonder why you fine men were chasing after us with bare steel," she kept her voice just loud enough for all of them to hear.

She waited until the whimpers died down. "Now, seeing as  you're a bit... indisposed, if you should begin hobbling back the direction you came, we won't feel the need to finish what we've started. Deal?"

She stood imposingly while every last man turned tail and limped away. The fact that a twelve-year-old weaver's apprentice would be intimidating to them didn't trouble her in the slightest. She watched them until they disappeared into tiny specks on the horizon.

Then she stomped back to the orc. "Well? Keep walking."

Sundance - Taking Turns

She raised an eyebrow at Grak. She opened her mouth to say something, anything. The words, when they finally came, were choked and disbelieving. “Small magic?”

He shrugged. “I did not get them all,” he said apologetically.

Kajivar pulled her short sword from the saddle sheath, unhooked the small round shield.  “Well, it’s only fair that I get the rest, right?”

Grak started to protest. “But, Warrior, you-”

She glared at him. “Stay here,” she snarled.

Sundance - Small Magics

Grak lowered his head in acknowledgement, and turned away. Kaj started stripping away her furs. She tightened the ties on her body armor, adjusted her pauldrons, and readjusted her war skirt so it was no longer quite so personal. She tied her hair back with a strip of leather.

A chill down her spine was the only warning before lightning struck. Heat flashed across her back a split second before thunder crashed through to her bones. Her hands felt frozen, halfway between her hair and her weapons.

The smell hit her first, the odor of seared meat churned into nausea in her gut. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.