Carmen Auset had long abandoned her prey, helm buried within the sand, every follicle and grain parting to welcome a temporary tomb of slumber and malice bidden by silvery claws. She had risen slowly like a demented pursuer of dreams, blades lax, figure poised as she regarded the mortal betwixt her bladed feet sunk deep into slogged sediment. It pinged a fickle memory, a ghost of a past; the figment phantasm of a man knelt before her stance under her pursuit and conclusion.
The Imperial Paddock had not been kind to the souls of the damned, the kind caught and reaped and pillaged for entertainment within the rings of that malformed arena; the most dangerous were used for sport against the lesser offenders.
C'mon pet, we got another one for you. Meaty this time too.She sweeps the exterior of her claws through sallow threads, dispelling the voice crinkling through the breadth of her mind, where The King growled low in memorial, invading the recesses of her experiences and torture; starved for days, led to the flesh of man by leash, and bidden to tear through fragile barriers by the reaping of her mere teeth.
She didn't even realize the threat looming yonder her perception, leveling a shot towards her, and didn't even become aware until the avid and tantalizing scent of one she found within favourtism bloomed across her wanting lips, summoning a reflex of a pirouette as she turned and met mirth and benevolence. Had he
saved her, as anyone could be saved with the enemy thwarted by their intended shot? Did he desire favour and fortune by her grace she wondered swiftly, a wreath of a smile adorning her features, full of teeth and bite and the sultry wink of gratitude that followed hence.
There was no time allowed for a rejoiner, as the air was rife and thick in the coiling temptations of blood and flame, but she could thank him later; her gracious reply and quip would be swift in the execution of travel, she mused briefly and willed her gaze else where. Bodies were dispatched easily, most knocked out cold in the preferred method, but had some had been slain and Carmen's fangs ground against one another.
The objective was to avoid death, now Archadia had bodies to be lain to rest, names to strike from the record and families to inform. Justice for the fallen would be demanded, for there wasn't
supposed to be a war, just a mere sentry. They didn't
know what SOLDIER was, how were you explain injury by medieval talons and weapons and wounds seared, life siphoned by demented beckon and pull. Carmen watched men fall and pried open her orifice, banshees of the maelstrom wailing aloud, her eyes aglow in terrifying hails of power as winds of ebon colour and intent just as dark descended. Sired from The King at those who were to defy the given task, the court of jesters, knights and advisers falling under their own desires rather than the wants and needs of the true ruler.
And then she
screamed.
Whatever men had been left by her comrades that - only some - lacked mercy, fell to their knees, warped and wreathed in blackened winds and silenced by the terrible gale that destroyed their wills and surrendered their weapons to sand and ruin.
The banshees of her maelstrom only then silenced when all had fallen and her wailing command waned, with only fickle whorls of wind remaining by the fluctuating breadth of her heart and The King within her soul. There thrived an eternal wealth and desire of subjugation and she could taste the immortal wrath of wronged rule and might, the lingering touches of madness bidding and demanding until Carmen forcefully tempered down The King by a promise of blood later. She would have to feast later, soon, to placate their terrible appetency.
"Stand down, SOLDIERS." She commanded, rapidly flicking her clawed gauntlets, every flex and digit grinding the blades together and creating an infusion of sparks. Carmen took stock of the air, her tongue falling afar from her lips, tasting beyond flame and blood to gather those who remained.
"The Infiltration has moved out, least we haven't failed that." She cast a pointed glower towards the Berseker.
"Now we need to move along the shore, take out any more sentries we see. They know we are here, better make use of the attention while we can. The Infiltration needs to secure a route," she gestured yonder, further within the land, where trees loomed and forestry wreathed alive within abundance of coverage.
"We'll follow and meet close to Faelan." Carmen cast a last look towards the canal, where the Shyp had finally met the bottom of the waters and had stilled. There were bodies in the water, possible links to the Govern with the Galbadian wears connecting them to the central influence. She glanced to those of her troupe, dismissive and probing, wondered if they witnessed the dead as well as she had, and then she commanded:
"Set fire to the Shyp boys, the flames shall draw attention from our travel, but will also burn away any possible connection we might have to the Govern. We need to salvage what methods of secrecy we can."The shores of Arcahdia fell in line with the forest, the banks consumed of roots and vile tangles of deadened reeds and various flora, all in suffrage from the Maridum sea that banked to the East; the coldest and darkest of the oceans Viera possessed. The paths to Faelan were usually traversed by Shyp ways and transports from the outer establishments, as the land was best suited to thwart those attempting ill-fortune to the city. These shores were, at best, forgotten and gone without tending or civilization, no domiciles were within sight or refuge, and perhaps - Carmen personally speculated - purposely left to the wiles of nature that teemed these sands and waters.
The thick, arched claws of her footwear easily sliced through the deadened reeds attempting to tangle themselves amidst her swagger, and perched easily on roots rising high from the sand, snaking their paths towards the forest bordering alone their trek. The canopy here was consumed of an emerald green that darkened and shifted to bruised violets, thick and teeming and adapted to the coldness that swept Eastward by the wind and wiles of the sea. The tide was out, at least, allowing them to traverse with mild secrecy, any of the Archadian militia wouldn't dare come across here, not with the bank infested as it was, but would skirt across the forest when the tide would come back by the pull and manipulation of the Viera moons.
Every so often Carmen would pause, perched and reclining, claws embedded and impaled within deadened wood and plants and carefully gauge the air with parted lips and flickering eyes, gathering scent and visual. The winds were ripe and full of salt and the teeming life of unfurling growth, mingling with deadened blood from the others and the constant flavour of her favourite. She had almost forgotten about him, she reflected, when she had found a new odor to canter after with baited smile and want, and opted for a quick glance in his direction. To distract didn't mean to sneak across the lines of the border, but so long as Corbyn and the others secured their route, the plan would commence without flaw.
"Nothing so far, Archadia doesn't drift out this far it seems. Let's cause some more fires," she lashed out with her claws, hammering down with the blades of her footwear to break pieces of the root serving as her temporary perch.
"We can use these, start small, lots of smoke. If we can draw their attention to the fires, it'll prevent any from finding the others." 
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