Snippet #2620871

"Does this amuse you, Usurper?" The elder princess questioned pointedly at Isabella, whose green eyes narrowed at the petulant woman.
"Julia don't." The younger wisely cautioned but the elder sister was having none of it, clearly more pride than sense.
"Quiet!" she hissed at her younger sister before turning back to Isabella, "Do we amuse you? You haven't spoken a word since you've been, why is that, are you lame?"
"Julia, stop this, does she look friendly to you?" The younger, and clearly more intelligent sister, continued to caution, trying to save her sister from harm and Isabella from the attention.
The elder ignored her and continued, trying to degrade Isabella with her words, "You must be lame, as it is clear the men want nothing to do with you."
"You are going to get yourself killed, Julia..." The little one warned but otherwise did nothing to stop the foolish womans tirade.
Isabella said nothing, simply meeting the gaze of the spoiled brat and glaring her down with the assistance of her long dagger. There was the sound of horses and barking orders from outside, distracting the two hostages and giving Isabella a blessed reprieve from the princesses stinging remarks.
She would not give her the pleasure of knowing how deep her words cut.

Outside, the chaos of battle had finally died down to the crackling of fire and the bellow of orders, as the Modran army re-ordered itself and began the arduous task of regrouping, assessing the damage to the city and restoring order to the panicked population. Through it all rode the instigator of the invasion, the king of Modra and now, the conqueror of Whitecastle, King Decimus Madror, flanked by his personal guard. Decimus surveyed the chaos around him, his own ornate armour and weapons untarnished and unused. Decimus was no warrior, but he was a strategist. By spearing straight into the heart of Whitecastle, both through the country to the capital, and through the city to the castle, ensured that the head of his opponent was severed before the body even knew it was under attack.
The smell of burning hair, blood and smoke assaulted his senses and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The smell was incredibly off putting, but He rose through none the less, surveying the destruction his actions had caused. A Modran Captain rose up her him, his armour dented and dirty, blood flecking his face and streaming from a cut on his brow.
"My lord, Captain Kalith of the 9th infanrty regiment, there are resistant military forces retreating to the south, Captain Regnald and the 4th mounted are in pursuit, otherwise, we have secured the city limits."
"Good to see your still alive Captain," Decimus said, reigning in his horse to speak with the officer, "Is the castle secure?"
"As far as we are aware, the Harrowers have delivered on their word and secured the castle. No reinforcements have moved out of the city and there are dead Whitecastle messengers piling up at the gate, all stuck with black arrows."
"Excellent, go tend to yourself and your men Captain, the battle is won, now we must consolidate. I will continue to the castle."

Ramas stood on the parapet above the castle gate, surveying the destruction in the city below. The Battle was all but won, burning buildings and the sound of organising military units had replaced the racket of clashing swords and screams. The Harrowers maintained their vigil though, ever watchful of any who approached the castle gate.
Modran and Whitecastle soldiers were easily distinguishable, but the Harrowers did not get their reputation from lax or half-assessed responses to orders.
Those wearing Whitecastle attire were shot on sight.
Modran soldiers were given a single warning.
A new group of individuals approached the gate, mounted on horseback and carrying the kings banner, their armour untarnished and pace unhurried. Ramas knew who it was who approached, but as said, Ramas followed his duty to the letter.
"Halt!" his voice boomed out over the gate and down to the grou below, "Who approuches Whitecastle?"
There was a temporary silence as the group came to a stop, before a single voice responded, "King Decimus Madror seeks audience with the leader of the Harrowers, Da'Karro Misantri, to celebrate their success in the taking of the castle and their part in the battle for Whitecastle."
Ramas was silent for a moment, listening intently to every word spoken by the young king.
"... Welcome King Decimus," Ramas boomed back, nodding at a nearby Harrower to open the gate, "The Castle is yours, and your twin prizes await you inside."
The gate opened with a grinding squeal of metal, and the group rode through, the Conqueror finally entering the castle of his enemy, as its possessor.

Da'Karro met the King as he rode into the castle, his armour still bloody and dirty, contrasting sharply to the kings immaculate ornamental plate.
"Your Majesty." Da'Karro said curtly, standing at attention with his hands behind his back.
"Misantri, I trust your infiltration of the castle went smoothly." Decimus said with a slight smile.
"Yes your Grace, minimal casualties received and maximum inflicted. The castle guard has been completely neutralised and both Princesses were captured without harm. They await you inside guarded by one of my best."
Decimus widened his smile and nodded, "Excellent, Come Misantri, this is your victory, not mine, I would like you to be by my side for this."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."

Isabella watched as the large doors of the throne room opened and in walked the now most powerful man in Whitecastle. King Decimus strode down the long hall side by side with Da'Karro, and flanked by his personal guard, his expression was cheerful and welcoming, as if he wasn't the man who had just lain a city to waste.
"Greetings! My name is King Decimus Madror," He said, stopping before the twin thrones and bowing a deep, mocking bow, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."