goon squad

He panted through the stench of his mount as he finally arrived at the smoking hilltop. Aloys was a city boy, not used to charging across the endless Antivan countryside for days waging war. His horse, if it could still be called a horse, had been alive earlier this month, before Nyllian had her way with it. Flesh dripped off its flanks in bloody smears and its ribs were visible beneath the tatters of its hide. Lost and vacant of its former personality, at least it was easier to ride now. Aloys patted his notebook and inkpot - still there and more difficult to recover if lost - before grabbing his swords and swinging off of his mount. The ladies gotten ahead of him again. He stalked over to them with some reluctance, looking for a flat surface to set up the ledger and take account.

Glancing around briefly, he huffed at the wanton destruction. 

A lot harder to make records of the spoils when it's all buried in rubble, he complained to the two mages with a cross look. He could never quite keep up with them, unable to push (or beat?) the dead horse faster than a slow walk.

Flames danced away from Avorra's hands as they consumed the burning hilltop. She cackled manically as her fires grew and grew, flickering and pulsing with each beat of her psychotic heart. Oh, what fun it was to finally be able to let loose! Her magic had been festering like pus in a wound as of recent, needing to burst out into the world and submerge it in pestilence. It reminded her of the old days, when she felt the need to consume ever last arcane object, when magic ebbed and flowed through her without a leash, lest it consume her. Nowadays, it was kept mostly under control. Except for days like today, when she needed the release.

Deary, if it were not for the rubble, archaeology would be that much more boring. Avorra said, replying to her colleague since her recent "employment opportunity" with Elgar'nan. Do not frown so much, your face will get stuck - then you will be looking like your horse.

She didn’t always enjoy the company of others, but the woman accompanying her was of like mindedness. She too had been chained, collared like Nyllian once for her destructive gift. Nyllian’s magic was more subtle though, the weave of magic that surrounded her also a draining force yet by an intimate, cold touch.

Nin watched on as Avorra enjoyed herself, wrecking havoc and destruction on the hilltop while she prowled the fallen, raising them to serve anew, their loyalties bound to none but her will. At a short distance away stood a Revenant, stoic and tall, the ethereal glow of Nin’s necromantic energy emanating as a soft pulse. It stood at ease, the hit of its sword clasped between hands while its tip rested above the ground.

She snickered as Avorra chided the little one. [color=#b20080]“Now, now, Avorra. I made those mounts. Aloys here, just lacks the skill to keep his from falling apart.”[/color] As she drew closer, the Revenant would match, following unless further instructed. [color=#b20080]“Besides, what’s wrong with having a little fun and letting off some steam, Mhm? It’s been ages since I sucked someone dry, do you want us to turn our appetite for destruction on you dear Aloys?” [/color]

Aloys continued to frown at Avorra like a dead horse, before sliding away from Nyllian as she drew closer.

I'm already mostly sucked dry, he said flatly, but he looked as though he were biting his cheek after he spoke. Then he looked back and forth between the two ladies, scrutinizing them. 

You know, you can just say 'I'm hungry Aloys,' or 'Would you please pass me a ration, Aloys.' I know life's been hard for you both, as for I, but eventually, this is all meant to be a society, isn't it?" Aloys pulled out a couple bundles of biscuits and tossed one at each of the women. He needed to set up his ink and his quill, summarize their excursion for the the day, and have it sent Elgar'nan's headquarters. A letter of sorts. All news of note. He would have to ask them, since he missed most of it.... but first, better to let them get comfortable with the idea of stopping and taking a break to get it all put down. There was no rush if it meant doing things right, thought the Orlesian

Avorra raised an eyebrow at Aloys. Almost sucked dry? I could fix that for you. Avorra said in a completely deadpan tone, her facial expression entirely neutral. Hoping to embarrass him further, she continued. Why, my darling Aloys, I'm hungry. She said, this time with a more seductive tone. Perhaps I could have some of your... rations? She ended the request with a suggestive growl.

She grabbed the biscuit from the air, staring Aloys in the eyes as she took a slow, ravishing bite out of it. A fire grew around her, slowly with each bite it grew. When she was finished with it, she was glowing like a sun having crashed onto the land. Of course, the fire was meant to represent her aroused emotions, even if they were faked. One of her favorite past times was toying with males, like a predator playing with its prey. It was a fun hobby, making her associates and sometimes strangers uncomfortable, making it a game of how hard she could make them blush. Once she was done having her fun, the fire on her skin died out, and her expressions returned to neutrality. She stretched as she let her magic take a momentary break. All this pillaging and incineration was beginning to bore her.

Nyllian chuckled, eyeing him with an amused smirk with his uncomfortable distancing from her. Like Avorra, Nyllain was also hungry. She hungered for more corpses, farming them for battle or to just mildly inconvenience the peasantry. It amused her how they fled, only to be chopped down by a long deceased loved one. Regardless, she was not hungry for real food, her appetite ruined from countless years begging for scraps in the dungeons of Antiva. She’d nibble at it later, slipping it into a pouch across her waist.

She could never understand the need for the paperwork though. Perhaps because she had no experience with such things and her education limited to the point that even her reading comprehension was stunted. It was merciful, the God of Death had whispered secrets and tricks to pratice with. Turning towards the undead sentry, Nyllian wordlessly called the Revenant over. “I assume we are tarrying here a little longer because of your little report?” she’d scoff, rolling her eyes a little. “You think that’s going to get you into Daddy’s good graces? What does he care how many are dead, they barely matter at all when I repurpose them.” 

Tsk Aloys said so lowly under his breath that only Nyllian - who was closer - might have heard it, while he became fascinated in picking some dried mud off of his trousers. They loved their little jokes, perhaps, they needed them in some way to feel a little more in charge if laying waste to western Antiva wasn't enough. Aloys still didn't know which of the two women had the final say.

As far as colleagues went, though, he'd suffered their types before. Avorra, she reminded Aloys of a blacksmith he knew who fixed slave chains.

Nyllian, shem-hating as she was, had so much in common with an elderly Elvish woman who returned to work for her master after he freed her. Odd how their personalities overlapped.

Aloys flicked his attention back towards Avorra as she twisted her voice out of dryness and into softness. Like a shocked snake backed into a whole by a mongoose, her attempt at sexuality made her seem less like a whore and more like a cannibal. A moment later, he gathered himself, tilted his head to the side, looking her up and down, and then, he smiled toothily.

A pleasure to be of service, sir, I live to please. His grin grew shit-eatingly, as he let his Orlesian accent hang looser, and he rose and swept into a courtesanly bow. You honor me with your fiery appetite. There has been no greater day, not even the day of my freedom.

But a second later, Nyllian wailled to him about how his whole job got in her way of slaying and necromancing, puttering with all sorts of extra words and long bored expressions to emphasize her point.

You could interview me about my political ambitions and whatever a lowly man as I would know of the importance of intelligence for military strategy first, if you want this to take even longer. Or, I could just say, it is so our leader can hear from his precious generals, and all about the great feats they have done in his name. As he spoke, he found a bit of flat rubble and spread the ledger smooth. He meticulously piled rocks and bones onto the corners to hold their edges down from the wind. He pulled out a pen, fussed with the nib, then selected a fresh one with a grudge on his face. Which do you want?

Avorra rolled her eyes at Aloys' attempt at sassiness. How boring. Until he brought up mentioning her accomplishments to the All-Father. Why, yes, dotting down my wondrous feats for His Worship would be an excellent task indeed. Better get to it. Avorra said, as she made her way down the hillside. She found a field of crops, somehow left untouched - until flames danced away from her fingertips and engulfed the field in a blaze.

Avorra parted her flames, making an entrance as she walked through them, and began dancing in the burning field. She took great care in making sure the flames didn't actually touch her, lest she be consumed by her own idiocy. She continued dancing manically, enjoying herself in the moment. As her performance came to a beautiful climax, she extinguished the flames and took a bow towards Aloys and Nyllian on the hilltop.

I believe I spy a village due east of here. Shall we spread our carnage? Avorra shouted to the hilltop, hoping the pair could hear her. She looked eastward, seeing the dots of buildings on the horizon. The dots weren't smoking, so obviously they hadn't experienced the wrath of Elgar'nan, something Avorra was all too willing to correct. Without waiting for confirmation, Avorra summoned her horse and began trekking towards the village.

While Avorra showed annoyance, Nyllian chuckled dryly at the attempt, the sound uncanny and wrong. A general? Nyllian doubted it. The more time she spent with Death, uncertainty had crept further, deeper under her skin. While completely loyal to the one who’d freed her, their waning efforts were mounting.

Do as you will. It’s funny, that paper isn’t going to stop an arrow though. But don’t worry. I’ll put your corpse to use, scribe.

Turning to watch Avorra dance manically in the field, the duo was soon joined by the Revenant just as the mad witch below bellowed up. Well, wasn’t that just perfect. A private smile swept across her face, teeth flashing along with a light glow glimmering in her eyes. Within a moment the Revenant behind was levitating and moving ahead at a greater speed. Indeed, she’d call back. Let's spread some more terror. Hanging her head, Nyllian tilted and turned to look at Aloys. Need me to stay? Or will you be happy with an undead companion to mind your back… from arrows? Her chuckle was almost a cackle, complete with sinister undertones, How long will this report take?

Aloys felt like a toppled castle of cards knocked over by a trite little ant. (Not that Avorra was an ant, but because he was so close to obtaining a proper report, only for his smart, urban mouth to sabotage him. He buckled himself back into creamy courtier dialogue: )

I need you to stay. Please won't you, Lady Nyllian? he replied to her, the kow-tow dry and chill, with a peachy soft aftertaste. Five minutes, at most. He bowed where he sat, but stopped mid-bow to protect the sheets of paper from the jostling of the wind.

Anyway, I don't understand what arrows you speak of. Everything is dead for a mile around, isn't it? He gazed perplexed at Nyllian, then at Avorra frolicking away. She left him quite speechless - a prankster one second, in her own world the next. Fairy-like, or child-like, or madness-like? Whichever one, she shook him when she acted in satire of her age most of all. It suggested the thought that any grown woman could harbor a being like hers in secret. It suggested a great deal about Nyllian, too, with how successful the invasion was going when they worked together.

Either way, they were all Elves. He too had his demons. Who was he to judge if another seemed kicked in the head at times? At the end of the day, Aloys was responsible for ensuring the Eth were executing a respectable military maneuvre, as it certainly could not be written as a murder-clown fiesta in the history books.

He raised an eyebrow towards his remaining superior, wondering if Nyllian could sense his protectiveness of Avorra as they watched her leave. He guessed it was evident in his refusal to speak of their ways with any true criticism. For despite her queerness, he considered these monsters beside him just a product of a terrible world that desperately needed to change.