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| - Grand High Overqueen Kalaith, Mistress of All She Surveys, Undisputed Ruler of the Hearts and Minds of the Ruins of Draenor, High Consort and Bride of Kil’Jaeden the Deciever, woke up. And as a result was forced to recognize that she was in fact merely Noncomm-without-portfolio Kalaith, Mistress of some half dozen imps and a small squadron of heavily armed broken having made camp while sneaking through Nagrand. It was a vital mission, and one she’d taken entirely upon herself. The Azerothian and Traitor forces which had fortified Shattrath city were empowered by the Naaru, but they still needed to eat. If her forces could sneak into and demolish Telaar and Garadar, their only outpost would be Halaa, where they would fight each other sufficiently that it would take only a token force to finish them off, severing Shattrath from its primary supply of fresh meat. That would make them dependent on Zangarmarsh, which was steadily growing more barren as the naga drained the swamps. It wouldn’t be long before they were almost completely dependent on felboar for food, and well, just WAIT until those mortals found out what happens on a steady diet of nothing but felboar... It was the main thing she felt that set her apart from her sisters, and in fact, marked her for Greatness. She was well aware of her capabilities, and dedicated them wholly to specific goals. She had no doubts that her plan would succeed, and be promoted by those of her superiors not wanting there to be “unfounded rumour” that they had been utterly uninvolved in it at any stage. Whether or not she might become one of Kil’Jaeden’s inner circle was dubious at best, though she was sensible enough to know that the other portion of that dream should remain but a dream. Sure, ideally one wanted to go out with a bang at the peak of one’s career, but not quite like that. And today, today was when it would all begin. She went over the plan again with the imps and her broken. By now they could probably even pull it off without her, it was simple enough, the imps would pretend to be attacking the broken who would give the appearance of refugees, right up until the moment that the demolition charges would destroy most of the buildings and kill their griffons, depriving them of any safe place to land reinforcements, or means of escape, at which point they could be handily slaughtered via the effective bottleneck bridges they had been using for defence. Garadar would be more difficult to secure, but not impossible with the reinforcements SHE could expect upon Telaar’s downfall. As she finished, she flinched, feeling an inexplicable sense of tension, entirely unrelated to her understandable nervousness. It developed into an overpowering sense of being gripped, pulled even. And then she realized what was happening. Of all the times! Oh, being summoned by some mortal who thought they could wield the Legion’s powers against it was usually rumoured to be a cushy gig, a delightfully twisted soul to nibble on and savour while corrupting them into a fairly significant weapon for the Legion to use against their former neighbours, but she was BUSY. Still, they could definitely lay siege to and starve Telaar without her, and she’d be more prepared to overwhelm and conquer her summoner, likely in some handful of days, if she didn’t fight the summoning itself, but just the binding. She wasn’t in the mood to play games, and with only a little luck she could be back in time to orchestrate the Garadar offensive. She relaxed, letting go of that particular bit of awareness that anchors the self in relation to its surroundings, and with her mind no longer providing and enforcing a sense of her location, her location rapidly changed. “The HappyShell Magics Omnisymmetrical Ovoidiculum Super Matter Apparatus Procuration System has dispensed one Weighted Companion Succubus unit.” What? That... well, it sounded like gibberish, really. Is that what Azerothians heard when her kind spoke in feltongue? She stayed quiet for the moment, getting her bearings. Eurgh. Undead. Oh, power is power and they were useful at times, but the SMELL. “Ey, senorita, are you okay? That was an even more disjointedly convoluted sentence than usual.” That voice certainly didn’t SOUND like it came from the throat of something that used to be human or elven... Still, the initial gibberish had sounded technical, maybe if she tried the same sort of approach as one needed to deal with Gan’arg? She got as far as “Kn-“ in ‘kneel before me, worm, and perhaps you might prove worthy of survival,’ before the patella in question slammed into the pit of her stomach and caused her to pitch forward to the ground. “The Weighted Companion Succubus will never threaten to stab you, and in fact, cannot speak,” came the other, sing-songish voice. She tried to stand back up, only to have a wide scrap of leather pulled tight across the lower half of her face, the warning tingle of energy passing from it to her, anchoring in none-too pleasant ways. It was impossible! A Binding couldn’t happen that quickly! Not even with physical foci! “If the weighted companion succubus does speak,” This mad warlock took advantage of her trying to tear the gag from her face to clamp horrifyingly heavy metal manacles around her forearms, from each of which trailed a long chain ending in another shackle which wound up just above her hooves, “HappyShell Magics strongly urges that you disregard its advice.” She flailed helplessly at her captor, but she couldn’t so much as curse her, let alone swing her whip properly.
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