"We will stop here for the night."
As the third day of their march wore on toward night, Altanis spoke the simple directions aloud. The two troops flanking her, who had taken it upon themselves to fashion themselves as her direct aides — Morgans and Faurin, as they had introduced themselves — nodded virtually in unison and gave a swift salute before Faurin quickly turned and scurried off. By now, it had become simple routine that her orders would be handed out to the rest of those under her command by one of those two.
They were an irritant, to be sure, with the way they constantly hovered so closely and paid such careful attention to anything and everything. They were also, however, valuable enough in their own right.
Morgans was a young woman of indeterminate age, though covered with a grisly network of scars and burns that left her looking far older and more haggard than she probably was. The eyepatch over one eye hinted at some other less readily apparent injuries, but it was one thing which seemed to immediately get under her skin if someone even came close to mentioning. For her part, Altanis had been more than content to focus instead on the absolute absurd number of assorted explosive and incendiary devices that she sported, to say nothing of the number of knives (and other assorted sharp objects) and assorted pistols.
She looked every bit like some absurd child trying to look 'cool' and intimidating. Were it not for the dull gleam in her remaining eye, hinting at the fact she actually knew how to use that absurd level of ordinance for something other than showing off, it would have been entirely ridiculous. She was not exactly what one might call...friendly, though was eager to be close at hand so as to be one of the first to know the moment 'it was time'. She was almost violently enthusiastic about their chances to deal a serious blow to the forces of the unmaking, even here in this little contest.
Faurin, on the other hand... He was much more lightly, and some might even say 'sensibly' equipped. A light and maneuverable armored suit, complete with a helmet and visor concealing his face. A large, heavy-bladed machete hung in a sheathe at his back under a draping cloak. Most often he held his weapon of choice, some kind of energy rifle, in his hands or resting against one shoulder. The man spoke very little, and was quiet even when he did so. More often than not, it was easy enough to entirely forget he was even there. But he was observant and seemed intent on being useful, and his ability to remain silent made him one of the less annoying aspects of this unit she had been assigned to lead. The fact he was one of the few who could actually be called any kind of combat veteran among the forces under her command was also a definite plus, and reason enough to keep him close at hand.
"Morgans." The tactician spoke up after a moment to let Faurin get on his way. "What do you think of our progress so far?"
"....with all due respect, ma'am, I don't think very much of it." As always, the woman was blunt and straight to the point. "It's been nothing but a slow and steady march so far. The only progress we've made is in terms of distance from the castle."
"Hmm." Altanis's expression remained neutral as she took in the words. They were, of course, entirely correct. So far it had been nothing but a steady march onward. This island was far from small, and it wasn't as if they had expected to encounter any enemy forces quickly, but...
"Personally, I'm starting to get annoyed," Morgans went on. She scowled darkly, one hand fidgeting with a grenade at her belt, fingertips drumming on the handle. "It's been three days so far without a sign of anything not part of our army. You said we were going to lay some serious hurt on those unmade freaks, and so far you haven't exactly lived up to that."
"Recall for me, if you will, my dear..." Altanis spoke up softly, though her voice was cold and sharp as ice. "...what my exact words were, if you can."
The scowl on Morgans' face grew, if anything, deeper as her face scrunched up. It had already been shown that critical thinking and keen memory were not among the woman's strong suits, but she was always one to make an admirable effort.
"....I dunno," she finally admitted, in a huff. "Something about sure success and survival if we didn't fuck around too much, and followed your orders."
"Yes. Precisely." The tactician slowly turned her head to peer down at the other woman beside her. "I promised assured victory, and ample vengeance for you. I promised survival. What I did not promise, however...was that it would be done on your time table." The woman started to speak up again, but the hellion cut her off by simply raising her voice "I believe I made very clear from the outset this would not be quick. If anything, it will be a very slow ordeal. We do not have the numbers to engage in senseless, direct violence and destruction without being immediately slaughtered. Even I could not hope to hold out against an entire army."
"Even when we do finally encounter our enemy of choice, we will not be able to simply rush in. As much as you and many others might wish it so, it is simply not an option." Altanis slowly leaned forward, exerting the imposing presence granted by her height as she towered over the woman below her, golden eyes gleaming in silhouette against the fading daylight. "If you want any hope of seeing any kind of actual vengeance and payback, you would do well to remember that my orders are to be followed. To. The. Letter."
For a long, silent minute Morgans' stubborn courage held and she stared defiantly back at the centaur, eye to eyes...before she twitched and looked away. "Y-Yeah...whatever. Long as I get to wreck some unmade's shit, I don't care."
"Good. Now..." The tactician gave a dismissive flick of one hand. "Go pass along an additional message to the rest of the troops...tell them to fully relax for the night, and remind them of our end goal. It may not be swift...but every day is one day closer to it."
"Tch." Morgans scowled and spat off to one side, but turned to angrily stalk away toward the rest of the unit just as Faurin came jogging back up.
"Ma'am." He snapped off a quick salute as he spoke up in his soft, easygoing voice. "Got a little something unexpected to report...heard about it from the others when I was passin' along the message."
"Something important, I hope," Altanis murmured with a weary sigh.
"Dunno." The masked man just shrugged impassively. "Just that we got company to the north."
"Company?" This drew the hellish tactician's full attention. "What sort of company?"
"Couldn't tell for sure. Didn't look like enemies, but light's not exactly good enough to get a clear look without gettin' closer."
"Hmm. Very well, then..." She sighed heavily. "Go and keep an eye on them. At least to determine if they make any sudden moves, or depart in any direction. I have other business to attend to."
"May I ask what, ma'am?"
"I should go inform our dear General." The words slithered out of her mouth with a clear note of venom to them. "At the moment, the authority on whether to go and investigate further lies with him, after all. I wouldn't want to overstep my bounds."
Perhaps detecting the dangerous, seething aura of his Lieutenant, Faurin just nodded, snapped off another quick salute and turned to hurriedly dash back toward camp and the relative safety of being somewhere not within mangling distance of Altanis.
Meanwhile, for her part, the hellspawn simply growled and ground her teeth in a silent snarl as she worked to calm her nerves and get her thoughts properly in order. She had, after all, a report to make. And with no small amount of open, violent distaste, she turned to quickly trot off toward the easily spotted sight of the forces of her general, Strazio Rockwell.
They had yet to interact directly, but the thought of doing so after what she had observed did not fill her with any joy. It would be lucky if they didn't try to rip each other's throats out then and there. As much as that might liven things up, it wouldn't exactly be proper. So it would likely be on her to keep things calm, with what she had seen of the other man.
"How wonderful..."