The sun was setting on Revantusk Village as Anjasa arrives by windrider, strutting with purpose down the long dock, her heels making clacking noises on the wood. Dressed in a full suit, top to bottom, of all black leather, her face is covered but for her eyes. As her feet touches land, she crouches, slinking into the shadows, moving out through the village and up the long, steep hill towards the wilds.
Moving as quickly as she can while remaining unseen, she perches atop a hill, looking over a settlement of Witherbark trolls, switching their guard in the twilight. Anjasa stays perfectly still, watching and waiting until she spots what she had came for. The goggles she wears this evening had been made with a special attachment, allowing her to see clearly into the far distance; to study what she was seeking. A petite, girlish troll moved out of the gates and looked around, speaking quietly to each of the members of the guard. Her green skin and hair looks darker in the oncoming night, though it was easy to tell, even to Anjasa, that she could be considered attractive.
She slinks forwards; her feet light on the soft, grassy ground, moving around one of the corners of the gate, unseen by any others, and readies herself. The moment the troll walks around the corner, Anjasa springs into action, shoving a poisoned cloth into her mouth, plugging her nose as the woman’s sharp tusks pierce into her palm. With her other hand, the elf hugs against her slender stomach, waiting for the poison to intrude into her body.
As she sags in her arms, Anjasa moves to grab her legs, her elven body deceitfully strong, quickly moving back into the shadows.
It is a small room that smells of earth and rotted foods, lit only by a single candle and the glow of Anjasa’s cigar. Cramped, with shelves of dirty bottles and soured meat, a permanent damp chill in the air, it was obvious they were in an underground storage cellar somewhere. The troll lay, still passed out, her body numbed by the poison, while Anjasa waits and watches.
She had tied her wrists and ankles, stretching her body across the room, her limbs raised slightly off the tiny stone slab she rests on. She still wore the green robe she had been accosted in, though it was ripped and dirtied from the journey, her body scratched and bleeding in some areas from the wooden branches, some still sticking in her hair.
Anjasa gets up and growls softly, bored of having to wait on her prisoner, standing and looking around the storage area before moving over to the slab, stepping on it and straddling her stomach, glaring down at the troll with hate-filled eyes.
This was not a typical night, and this was not a typical victim. Jumwa was not with her, and this night was anything but a fun time for Anjasa. Unfortunately for her, she needed a stand in for her target, and this troll just happens to be her fill in. Lowering her long, leather covered hands to the trolless’ throat, Anjasa continues to stare, her eyes narrowed into slits.
“Wake up,” she growls, her voice sounding foreign to her as she tightens her grasp. “Wake up, bitch.”
The troll shudders slightly, her eyes still rolled up in her head, her breathing shallow. Anjasa tightens her grasp further, her thumbs pressing down on the troll’s throat, growling animalistically at her before moving one of her hands from her throat, balling it up into a fist and slugging her roughly against her cheek, then punching down onto her nose, screaming “wake up!” over and over, tears beginning to stain her leather helm.
Harder and harder she squeezes and punches, getting more careless and savage as she goes, shouting loudly at her unconscious victim. The troll began breathing more and more faintly as Anjasa began pounding her body in a fury of fists and elbows, quickly pulling out a dagger from her boot, shouting, “If ju don’t fuckin’ wake up, I’mma kill ju, WAKE UP!”
Her voice quivered with her outrage at the troll’s disobedience, unable to notice that her chest no longer rose or fell with breath as she lowered the blade, thrusting it into her chest. Pulling it out and staring at the gushing blood, she almost smiles, lowering her gloved hand to touch it, holding it up to her face and staring for a moment, panting.
Looking back down at the dead troll, her eyes once again narrowed in rage, she brings the tiny blade to the girl’s throat, slicing the soft areas before carving into the bone, grunting loudly as she does so, her rage giving her ample force to cut the slender neck.
Tearing the head from the neck with a sickening slurp, she smiles at it sadistically, getting up quickly and putting her blade back in her boot, still trying to catch her breath.
“Jou’ll make a lovely gift,” she grunts, her voice low and hard, filled with malice, as she turns and blends into the shadows once more, leaving the rest of the battered body in the cellar.
She buys a thick box and some wrapping paper, lining the inside with a thin sheet of steel and netherweave before dropping the head upright inside, along with a letter. She walks swiftly and with purpose towards Jumwa’s temporary residence, knocking on his door, shouting ‘Trick or Treat,’ waiting patiently for him to answer.
Anjasa smiles sweetly up at him, kissing her finger and pressing it to his cheek before placing the gift wrapped box into his hand. He looks at it curiously, not accustomed to such a small box weighing so much, looking at her curiously.
“It’s about time I brought ju anod’er treat, hm,” she whispers softly, her voice gritty from her lack of sleep, “don’t open it until I’m gone. An’ do it in private.”
She smiles up at him lovingly as he watches her, “love ju Jumwa’jin. Don’tchu forget that,” she smiles wider, flashing her teeth at him before stepping back into the shadows, moving quickly away.
Jumwa stares at the area she disappeared into for a while, confused, before shutting the door and walking to the table, placing it down and tearing off the paper, opening the box swiftly.
He stares down at the troll head before reaching in and hauling it out, looking at the bloodied and bruised face, squinting slightly before hearing a bit of paper drift to the table.
He reads the note, in Anjasa’s curvy and feminine writing, before dropping the head and closing the box, a faint twinkle in the corner of his eyes.
If you decide to take her as your mate, I will do far worse to her. She will live for days, weeks, before I finally kill her and send you her head in parting. Jumwa’jin will have no mate as long as I live.