**Inspired by the Daedric princes of Skyrim for the story, the names of the Daedric Lords and the realm name belongs to Bethesda Softworks. No copyright infringement intended, all credit for the inspiration goes to Bethesda Softworks.**
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/41/fd/bd/41fdbd3042b71a20c38e17c36f36cdbd.jpg
Photo of Ville Valo. Reference to the demeanor of Jyggalag.
"Get your acts together," he growled, the sound of his roaring voice sounding through the training field. His hands clasped behind his back, metallic gloved fingers curled around the menacing helmet of his bulky armor suit. He walked in a straight line, from one end to the other, barking orders to his soldiers. "Do you think you're going to stand a chance on the battlefield against Sheo? Our side of the Isles will be taken by that idiot of a bloody madman with sloppy footwork like that!" He growled, seeing one of the soldiers working lazily in his swings and footwork, hardly seeming to care at all.
Heavy footfalls thudded to the sodden ground as he approached the soldier, who in turn clearly hadn't expected their General to actually made a move against one of his loyal soldiers. Clearly, the man underestimated the brutality of the Daedric Prince of Order. There was no such thing as death for the Daedric Princes, nor their minions. When "death" came, they were merely sent back to their realms. Immortality at it's best, or with rulers such as Jyggalag... the worst. That just meant you couldn't escape his punishment. Only take a meager break from it. The clawed metal glove wrapped around the throat of the soldier, lifting the man well off his feet as he struggled in the General's grasp. Fingers clawed at his arm, legs flailed in the air but made no compact to the Prince. "Worthless, utterly worthless." Jyggalag growled, in a single jolting motion the man's throat was crushed between the gloved fingers and the lifeless body was cast aside, bouncing once then skidding along the ground.
"I would suggest the rest of you work harder, else you will meet the same fate as him." He barked, hands moving back to clasp behind his back as his long stride continued along the field. Eyes holding that of terror pushed themselves harder, muscles straining as they swung their weapons and feet moved more steadily and sure. "That's better." He mused, an angular chin lifting in the air as cold, emerald orbs watched either in approval.. or to some disappointment. Those that didn't fit his quota of effort met different fates. They would be back, they always were. And they would work harder to impress their General, or he would repeat the process until they got tired of dying.
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/41/fd/bd/41fdbd3042b71a20c38e17c36f36cdbd.jpg
Photo of Ville Valo. Reference to the demeanor of Jyggalag.
"Get your acts together," he growled, the sound of his roaring voice sounding through the training field. His hands clasped behind his back, metallic gloved fingers curled around the menacing helmet of his bulky armor suit. He walked in a straight line, from one end to the other, barking orders to his soldiers. "Do you think you're going to stand a chance on the battlefield against Sheo? Our side of the Isles will be taken by that idiot of a bloody madman with sloppy footwork like that!" He growled, seeing one of the soldiers working lazily in his swings and footwork, hardly seeming to care at all.
Heavy footfalls thudded to the sodden ground as he approached the soldier, who in turn clearly hadn't expected their General to actually made a move against one of his loyal soldiers. Clearly, the man underestimated the brutality of the Daedric Prince of Order. There was no such thing as death for the Daedric Princes, nor their minions. When "death" came, they were merely sent back to their realms. Immortality at it's best, or with rulers such as Jyggalag... the worst. That just meant you couldn't escape his punishment. Only take a meager break from it. The clawed metal glove wrapped around the throat of the soldier, lifting the man well off his feet as he struggled in the General's grasp. Fingers clawed at his arm, legs flailed in the air but made no compact to the Prince. "Worthless, utterly worthless." Jyggalag growled, in a single jolting motion the man's throat was crushed between the gloved fingers and the lifeless body was cast aside, bouncing once then skidding along the ground.
"I would suggest the rest of you work harder, else you will meet the same fate as him." He barked, hands moving back to clasp behind his back as his long stride continued along the field. Eyes holding that of terror pushed themselves harder, muscles straining as they swung their weapons and feet moved more steadily and sure. "That's better." He mused, an angular chin lifting in the air as cold, emerald orbs watched either in approval.. or to some disappointment. Those that didn't fit his quota of effort met different fates. They would be back, they always were. And they would work harder to impress their General, or he would repeat the process until they got tired of dying.