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.