Just some background fiction. Your characters haven't seen any of this.
Mors Gotha liked to watch Cronn practice with his axe.
He liked to practice at the foot of the bed they occasionally shared, stark naked. If they had taken a maiden from one of their attacks, brought back for Cronn's pleasure, the maiden usually was chained up near the bed, and he was in full sight of her as he practiced. The maidens always were chained such that they could not look away. She would know what her fate would be, would know that, after Cronn was done with her, she would die under that axe.
Today there was such a maiden. Normally the maidens' cries pleased Mors Gotha. but, for some reason, Mors found this maiden's cries most annoying. She tried to focus on Cronn, on his magnificant body and his superb axe technique. His body pleased her. She watched him from the bed, her hands under the covers. She tried hard to ignore the maiden's cries.
“Swing louder, Cronn,” she half-pleaded, half-commanded. “Swing that axe harder and louder. Slice the air with the blade. Make the woosh of your strokes drown out the wench's cries. Or just kill her now, and be done with it.”
“Before I have had my fun, woman? Do you not know me?”
Mors loved to hear Cronn's voice. Mors had taken lovers native to conquered world before but, until Cronn, never had she had one whose eventual fate she feared she almost would regret when the time came. “Oh come now, Cronn. You had three yesterday. Surely we can just skip to the good part this time.”
Cronn laughed his mighty laugh. His muscles rippled when he laughed and Mors Gotha smiled. Her hands tensed under the covers. “Their deaths are the only 'good part' only for you, my Kingslayer.” Another lover, from, was it three worlds ago?, had called Mors Gotha “his.” He was dead before he hit the ground. But for some reason Mors Gotha let Cronn get away with it. No lover save the other fellow and Cronn had had the gall to try it. “Me? I enjoy it all. The screams, the cries, the fleshy pleasures, and their eventual deaths.”
“For me, Cronn? Please?” She did enjoy her own fake pleading.
“You test me woman?” he asked angrily. Mors Gotha's pleadings were feigned, but Cronn didn't seem to know that. and his anger was not feigned.
Keep it up, lover, Mors Gotha thought to herself, and you won't last until dawn. “Hmm. Maybe.” She winked at him.
Cronn got on the bed with her, on top of her, with only the sheet between them.
“Tell me again, Cronn, what is best in life.”
“To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of the women!”
Mors gasped in excitement to hear her lover speak these hostile, angry words. “And there will be many, many lamentations when we claim this world for our Lord....”
“Yes there will be.”
“But perhaps not enough.”
Cronn stopped his advance on Mors Gotha. “What do you mean, woman?” he asked hostilely. The maiden tied up in the corner continued to cry.
Mors Gotha smiled. “Are there ever enough lamentations?”
“No, woman, there are not.”
“Is there ever enough blood.”
“No, woman, there is not.”
“Then there you go!” Cronn calmed down. It amused Mors Gotha how easy it was for her to control and manipulate Cronn's volatile emotions. For all his cunning, for all his strength, for all his practiced ability with weapons and the other tools of violence, his heart remained that of an evil, selfish child. “Tell me again our plan.”
“Simple. We attack their non-core cities, the cities of their outremer. Their cities not on their mainland. We keep them off-balance, make them have to defend those cities, have to defend their outremer until it weakens their core. When we are ready, we strike their King's castle with our Blackrock weapons. Those weapons will cut through the castle's magical protections. We then enter the castle....And do as we wish with their King.”
“That could work but.....I think it requires more.” The maiden continued to cry her pitiful, annoying cry, but Mors Gotha noticed less and less.
“What do you mean, woman?”
“I think we they will require more....Softening up. Especially in their capital city. They should be filled with terror. They will think that it will make them stronger, more-prepared, that what does not kill them will strengthen them, but I know better. I have conquered many worlds, caused many lamentations. Killed many people. I know how people react under pressure. They think they're sharp. But they're wrong. They become at once dull and twitchy. Too on edge to be as the sharp blade of a sword; too sharpened to be the dull shield of resistance. To be sure of victory we must both distract them and bring terror to them, both at once.”
“Then, for you my Kingslayer, I will bring them terror. I will bring the terror to their capital, as well as their outremer.”
“Not you.”
“No?” The axe was still in Cronn's hand. The maiden switched from crying to screaming; Mors knew not why, but the maiden's mood had changed from despair to immediate terror. Perhaps she could tell her death was closer at-hand than they'd thought.
Cronn threw the axe, casually. Out of the corner of her eye Mors Gotha saw the maiden's skull cleaved by Cronn's expert throw. Saw the maiden's blood and brains begin to seep out, painting her face in milky liquid, part red, part gray.
Mors withdrew one of her hands from under the sheet, touched Cronn's face with it. He shivered at her touch. To Mors Gotha it was his reward for following her wishes and killing the maiden, even though he hadn't done it right away. “No, not you. You and your forces will attack the outremer. For the capital.....That demon of your people whom you summoned.”
“The Mutilator?”
“Yes. Send his cult and his demons to their capital. Let them ravage, slay, and mutilate, let them turn their capital to mush, as you attack the outremer. They won't be able to conquer it, but they won't have to. That will be our job, later, at our leisure. After their king is dead, his castle in ashes. After their lamentations reach their apex.”
Cronn smiled at this. “As you wish my Kingslayer. I shall bring confusion and chaos to the outremer, and the Cult of the Mutilator shall bring terror to their capital....”
Mors Gotha liked to watch Cronn practice with his axe.
He liked to practice at the foot of the bed they occasionally shared, stark naked. If they had taken a maiden from one of their attacks, brought back for Cronn's pleasure, the maiden usually was chained up near the bed, and he was in full sight of her as he practiced. The maidens always were chained such that they could not look away. She would know what her fate would be, would know that, after Cronn was done with her, she would die under that axe.
Today there was such a maiden. Normally the maidens' cries pleased Mors Gotha. but, for some reason, Mors found this maiden's cries most annoying. She tried to focus on Cronn, on his magnificant body and his superb axe technique. His body pleased her. She watched him from the bed, her hands under the covers. She tried hard to ignore the maiden's cries.
“Swing louder, Cronn,” she half-pleaded, half-commanded. “Swing that axe harder and louder. Slice the air with the blade. Make the woosh of your strokes drown out the wench's cries. Or just kill her now, and be done with it.”
“Before I have had my fun, woman? Do you not know me?”
Mors loved to hear Cronn's voice. Mors had taken lovers native to conquered world before but, until Cronn, never had she had one whose eventual fate she feared she almost would regret when the time came. “Oh come now, Cronn. You had three yesterday. Surely we can just skip to the good part this time.”
Cronn laughed his mighty laugh. His muscles rippled when he laughed and Mors Gotha smiled. Her hands tensed under the covers. “Their deaths are the only 'good part' only for you, my Kingslayer.” Another lover, from, was it three worlds ago?, had called Mors Gotha “his.” He was dead before he hit the ground. But for some reason Mors Gotha let Cronn get away with it. No lover save the other fellow and Cronn had had the gall to try it. “Me? I enjoy it all. The screams, the cries, the fleshy pleasures, and their eventual deaths.”
“For me, Cronn? Please?” She did enjoy her own fake pleading.
“You test me woman?” he asked angrily. Mors Gotha's pleadings were feigned, but Cronn didn't seem to know that. and his anger was not feigned.
Keep it up, lover, Mors Gotha thought to herself, and you won't last until dawn. “Hmm. Maybe.” She winked at him.
Cronn got on the bed with her, on top of her, with only the sheet between them.
“Tell me again, Cronn, what is best in life.”
“To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of the women!”
Mors gasped in excitement to hear her lover speak these hostile, angry words. “And there will be many, many lamentations when we claim this world for our Lord....”
“Yes there will be.”
“But perhaps not enough.”
Cronn stopped his advance on Mors Gotha. “What do you mean, woman?” he asked hostilely. The maiden tied up in the corner continued to cry.
Mors Gotha smiled. “Are there ever enough lamentations?”
“No, woman, there are not.”
“Is there ever enough blood.”
“No, woman, there is not.”
“Then there you go!” Cronn calmed down. It amused Mors Gotha how easy it was for her to control and manipulate Cronn's volatile emotions. For all his cunning, for all his strength, for all his practiced ability with weapons and the other tools of violence, his heart remained that of an evil, selfish child. “Tell me again our plan.”
“Simple. We attack their non-core cities, the cities of their outremer. Their cities not on their mainland. We keep them off-balance, make them have to defend those cities, have to defend their outremer until it weakens their core. When we are ready, we strike their King's castle with our Blackrock weapons. Those weapons will cut through the castle's magical protections. We then enter the castle....And do as we wish with their King.”
“That could work but.....I think it requires more.” The maiden continued to cry her pitiful, annoying cry, but Mors Gotha noticed less and less.
“What do you mean, woman?”
“I think we they will require more....Softening up. Especially in their capital city. They should be filled with terror. They will think that it will make them stronger, more-prepared, that what does not kill them will strengthen them, but I know better. I have conquered many worlds, caused many lamentations. Killed many people. I know how people react under pressure. They think they're sharp. But they're wrong. They become at once dull and twitchy. Too on edge to be as the sharp blade of a sword; too sharpened to be the dull shield of resistance. To be sure of victory we must both distract them and bring terror to them, both at once.”
“Then, for you my Kingslayer, I will bring them terror. I will bring the terror to their capital, as well as their outremer.”
“Not you.”
“No?” The axe was still in Cronn's hand. The maiden switched from crying to screaming; Mors knew not why, but the maiden's mood had changed from despair to immediate terror. Perhaps she could tell her death was closer at-hand than they'd thought.
Cronn threw the axe, casually. Out of the corner of her eye Mors Gotha saw the maiden's skull cleaved by Cronn's expert throw. Saw the maiden's blood and brains begin to seep out, painting her face in milky liquid, part red, part gray.
Mors withdrew one of her hands from under the sheet, touched Cronn's face with it. He shivered at her touch. To Mors Gotha it was his reward for following her wishes and killing the maiden, even though he hadn't done it right away. “No, not you. You and your forces will attack the outremer. For the capital.....That demon of your people whom you summoned.”
“The Mutilator?”
“Yes. Send his cult and his demons to their capital. Let them ravage, slay, and mutilate, let them turn their capital to mush, as you attack the outremer. They won't be able to conquer it, but they won't have to. That will be our job, later, at our leisure. After their king is dead, his castle in ashes. After their lamentations reach their apex.”
Cronn smiled at this. “As you wish my Kingslayer. I shall bring confusion and chaos to the outremer, and the Cult of the Mutilator shall bring terror to their capital....”