In a moment of calm amidst storms, Fengye realized that this she understood. Amidst the grandeur and power of this mighty demon lord hid a simple fact: He was a soldier. A creature who functioned as a military. Who interacted with the world in soldiers and invasions and battles. And she was trained specifically in military sabotage.

A bureaucratic functionary of the Dominion's Thousand Scales was intended to assist with all forms of military administration. It took eminent technique to maintain military superiority in lands as distant, and in terrain as dangerous, as the Flower Kingdoms, and an upright scholar knew the techniques to plunge an organization into chaos as surely as to keep chaos from her own door. 

This enormous demon general may be a superpowered monstrosity, but then, so were the Lords of the Dominion. This was no different. He was just bigger, but that was all on the outside. His size meant nothing compared to the righteous conviction of the Dominion's true warriors. So the Texts said, and she kind of needed them to be right given the alternative.

Her third arrow connects with the knotted wood at the heart of one of the doll soldiers, sending it crumpling into a heap of discarded clothing. Fengye snatches up the helmet and snaps into place the breastplate, working a cantrip of a spell to adjust the rank insignia up several notches. She swallows hard, and then urges her horse to approach the General from behind and too his right.

She closes her eyes. Listens to the yells, the horns, the refrains. The clashing noise of war, the noise that kept away the silent wind. Let her mind pick out the patterns and dialect of the General's organization. Having a head for languages and accents was another key duty of the upright scholar, for the Lords of the Dominion could not be expected to learn the muddle of every lesser language.

She clears her throat, still scratching from all the yelling she had done so far today, and bellows in her best impression of a demonic centurion: "Ho, Lord! Grant me your scepter and I shall lead your troops who marshal to cross the sea! Grant me your scepter and I shall wage a war that will live forever in your memory! Grant me your scepter, for it is for glory that we fight, and to deny me glory now would spell the end of your oaths and your army both!"

[Call Upon A Toxic Power: [b]12[/b]]