Headed by a Snake

**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**

Scarmother Megaira took the moment to gaze into the eyes of the faithful scout... and at his more interesting parts.

He looked... delicious, wearing nothing but warpaint and the blood of the Flame-worshippers... his excitement from the battle clear for her to see. It lit a fire within her that she could barely stifle-- something that worshipping the Eternal Flame never could for her.

It was a gods-damned shame, though... She wasn't afforded the time to partake in him.

If Megaira wanted Orcus to reward her properly, she had to keep her focus on the mission.

She grabbed the young man's chin... and gently stroked his rough-shaven chin, "Spit it out, boy. Or I'll cut the answers from your flesh."

The man grinned for a moment... but his face quickly twisted into concern, "We've encountered some resistance on the southern streets-- a Tyrion mercenary guild with a Kasydonian banner."

A tinge of fear gripped Megaira's heart... soon replaced by a burning curiosity. She and her forces had moved quickly and stealthily with the help of the Oathbreaker's magical stone.

Yet... a military force had responded within mere bells? How did they know?

Could she have been betrayed by her faithful? No... After being indoctrinated, their minds were no longer entirely their own...

Was this Orcus' doing? Was this a test of faith? It was the only logical answer.

If it was... then the Oathbreaker was supremely confident of their victory. The Kasydonians were simply higher-quality sacrifices for the snake god.

Scarmother Megaira had nothing to fear.

"Tell me of our enemies, Scout."

"There's about thirty of them active... with another twenty or so in reserve-- injured, with a few long-range casters."

"Thirty?" Megaira seethed, "THIRTY?! How DARE THEY!! We have literally HUNDREDS of faithful! We number in the THOUSANDS, with so many under the thrall of the Oathbreaker's domination curse!"

She grabbed onto the man's throat and slammed him to the ground... She could take him... right here. And he wouldn't be able to do a thing about it.

But no... it wasn't the time.

She mounted the scout right above his groin, licking the blood off of his naked chest as he shivered in anticipation. She was wearing armor, but wore nothing underneath her fur breechcloth...

She'd only need a few minutes...

"Tell me more."

"Y-yes Scarmother," The Scout moaned as Megaira gyrated her hips. "There is... ahh... a Legionnaire with one arm... a Ranger with a metal wolf... and.... hrrgh.... and a powerful Cleric amongst their number."

"A cripple, a dancer, and a witch? Mmm... very well." Megaira bit into the man's shoulder, drawing both blood and a yelp of ecstasy. She felt a wetness on her rear... and a limp bit of flesh...

Pathetic.

She stood up, her frustrations fast-approaching a murderous rage... "Fetch the Warlock and that so-called Champion."

The Scout sat up, shame and disappointment evident... "Y-yes, Scarmother."

"NOW!!" Megaira sharply kicked the man on the side of his thigh.

"YES, SCARMOTHER!!" The man stood, hurrying off with a limp.

"Someone else!!" She shouted, "Give me someone else! A male!! No... Anyone will do!"

Megaira turned, hearing the heavy-footed clomps of one of her armored faithful... "Ah, yes. You're just who I needed.."

It was Champion Narkissa, wearing her unique set of dark green, heavy-plated armor. Her visor was lifted, revealing her youthful, scarred face-- not as scarred as her own. Her horse-cleaving blade rested on her shoulder, though not as heavy or as impressive as her own greataxe.

Narkissa was easily the most mushroom-brained fool she knew-- but she was useful for two things... breeding and battle.

She could solve Megaira's problems... both of them.

"I have need of you, Champion..." Megaira licked her lips, "Specifically... I need your sword... inside me."

She approached Narkissa and kissed her deeply, sucking on her sumptuous tongue. The other woman barely reacted-- braindead and confused, as always.

No matter. The fool would always do as Megaira commanded. She had participated more than once in Orcus' brainwashing rituals. She had even ravaged Narkissa herself, whenever she was granted the privilege.

Megaira laid herself on the dirt and spread her legs, "And be quick about it, will you? We have some Kasydonians to fight, afterward."

Narkissa held her sword forward, staring down with hesitation.

Megaira chuckled to herself, closing her eyes and rubbing herself furiously... "Hurry up... I need it... I need it so very badly..."

She waited... so very patiently... and she felt--

ARGH!

Megaira's eyes shot open, shocked by the pain. Narkissa's sword had penetrated deep into her abdomen, "AUGHHH! YOU IDIOT!!!"

She grabbed onto the blade, cutting the flesh of her hand in the process, "Wrong end!! WRONG GODS-DAMNED END!!"

"No, I'd much rather the sharp end than otherwise."

That was wrong. The voice did not belong to her fool Champion. It belonged to a man.

"Y-you're not Narkissa!"

...

"Astute observation," Tycondrius mused. Applying a moderate amount of force, he twisted his lengthy blade, eviscerating the scarred woman's insides.

He didn't think it would be so easy. He had infiltrated his way into the heart of the enemy forces and assassinated what appeared to be their leader.

He had chosen his glamour well.

Assuming that the green-armored individual in the tower had some influence, Zuko had volunteered to cast an illusion spell to transform into the woman's likeness.

It allowed him to walk confidently amongst the cultists, uncontested.

What poor security they had.

Then again... the cultists were too busy butchering and ravaging townsfolk to notice him.

'Break the strong, scatter the weak!' They'd shout.

'Pillage and burn! Death to the nonbelievers!' ...That sort of thing. It was just as annoying as the battlecries of the Flame-obsessed Tyrions.

At times, Tycon wondered if Zuko had cast an invisibility spell on him, instead of the illusory glamour he'd requested.

Grabbing the dead Warlord's axe, he decapitated her with minimal effort.

After tying the severed head to his waist by the woman's filthy, unwashed hair, he turned to see a score of cultists surrounding him. They wielded shoddy weapons in hand and their eyes burned with a desire for vengeance.

Briefly glancing down at his armor... it seemed that Zuko's illusion spell had expired.