The Dragon Slayer

The Starry Sept

The grey stallion Aemma was riding on was being painted with blood as she cut her way through Ser Criston's army. They stood no chance, it was a slaughter and one Aemma welcomed. Daemon would of loved to see the look on Ser Criston's face when she spoke of bringing her mother his head.

Aemma had gone mad, many would say it, fore in this time she was. Mad with rage, and pain and betrayal and worst of all, her grief. Maegor with teats they styled her mother, yet Aemma had grown worst than Maegor himself. Her rage was her downfall, she could not quell the fire breathing inside her.

Aemma's horse was cut down, she fell with the horse  as he went down she jumped off just out the way of him falling onto her. Aemma scrambled to her feet sword in hand. She cut down the first man she seen, one by one did she kill her enemies as if they were hogs readying for a great feast.

Shrykos shall have a great feast tonight.

Aemma thought to herself, blood splattered on her face, her body, her clothes. Her hair was stained with blood almost as if she had dyed the ends from the amount of blood, that had found itself in her locks.

A blade ran across her forearm, slicing the fabric, blood seeped through. Aemma whipped around to look at the man that had cut her. He was a bit taller, yet weaker than her with his short brown hair and dark eyes. He held a look of anger, he assumed they would battle together.

Instead, Aemma laughed like a mad man, it was as if she did not even feel the cut on her arm. She touched her free hand to the wound letting the blood soak her face. The man stumbled back as Aemma took her hand and ran it down the middle of her face, staining her face with blood or rather painting it.

"You are...sick...mad." The man took more steps back this time in fear. She could smell the terror on him, it ran through her like a feeding frenzy. Aemma followed his steps stepping forward, suddenly he turned and ran away from her. She reached at her back for her dagger throwing it sticking it in his neck.

"Yes. Yes I am." Aemma laughed more as she grabbed the dagger that was dug in his neck, he was dead already.

The battle was done and won. This was not much of a battle, but a slaughter. One by one did they slaughter every single person in the army. And so it was named, Butcher's Ball.

The battle took the most part of the day and after it was done, Aemma allowed Shrykos to eat her fill and the rest was left for the crows. A warning. For the greens. A warning for what is to come.

"You fought well, Princess. As well as any warrior. I must say, I was not expecting you to fight anywhere, but dragonback." Longleaf the lionslayer spoke up as Aemma stared ahead at the army of bodies from the ridge. Her body stained with blood still, it made her feel invincible, as if the blood covering her was armor. "Perhaps you might stay a while, we could use you in the battles to come."

"I wish i could, but duty calls me elsewhere. I have some unfinished business with an old friend, a debt I still owe. It is time I pay it." Aemma had revenge on her mind, her heart calling for blood as if that would fix what was broken inside of her.

"Then I wish you luck, Princess and here I shall bid you goodbye. It is unlikely I shall ever meet your like again." The lionslayer took a look at Aemma, Shrykos roared in the distance from the field below.

"Goodbye, Longleaf. I shall remember the man who slayed my mother's greatest foe. Do me a kindness, huh? Have his head sent to my mother. I hope it will give her peace." Peace. A word so foreign. Perhaps once Aemma knew what peace was, and now? This was war and war knows no peace, only bloodshed.

"At once, Princess." Longleaf left Aemma alone, she wasted no time walking down the ridge. The moon had risen high in the sky, yet she could not be seen for the clouds blocked her way. Aemma climbed onto Shrykos riding for Old Town. She would pay Otto Hightower the debt she had promised.