April, 907 E.C.

Nalista leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh as her bones creaked and popped and relaxation rolled through her body. It was as though all at once all of the tension in her form was flooding out of her, one of the rare instances where she wasn’t in an army camp and instead surrounded by the plush finery of civilization. Whatever she desired would be provided to her almost instantly, her needs and wants the highest concern for the noble lord of Lylaserien. 

There were a series of frightened little squeaks below as her feet rolled along the plush carpeted floor, the human slaves leaping out of the way as she curled her pale flawless digits into the fibers. The pitiful little things looked nervously at the feet of the Grand General of Elsira, a woman that could crush them into stains and not have a single protest levied at her. Who cared about the deaths of a few playthings after all. 

She rested her feet on their heels, her mature sole forming slight wrinkles above as she curled her toes again for a moment in the free air. The command was implicit. Every human in Elsira knew what command she was giving, almost a bred and beaten in instinct by this point. They crawled along the floor meekly and got to work. Some rubbed at her heels while others swallowed hard and made the climb up the sides of her feet toward the toes above. They were there for a purpose and it wasn’t to stand around gawking at their natural superior.

Their march back to Ostreach had been diverted along the way straight to Lylaserien after they had encountered a group of maimed elves. Survivors from the garrison. The mages had been very much made so they couldn’t do much of anything. The fighters were missing their dominant limbs. Elsiran compensation for loss of limb in the line of duty was generous but she doubted coins would make those life altering injuries any better. It had been a message more than anything. A message that Albar would not tolerate its people being used as toys and those that did so would pay a high price. 

She had honestly half expected Ostreach to be burned to the ground. It was the move that made tactical sense. The Prince couldn’t use it, but he could remove it from play for the elves and disrupt their invasion plans. For now, his ploy had worked. Nalista had to retreat further back and consider the situation and their next plan of action carefully. Which in the end was what she suspected he wanted. Time. Time to rally the forces of Albar and give the country time to react to their invasion. 

She curled her toes, the digits catching a couple of her little slaves as they got between them. She idly squeezed ever so, not enough to crush, enough to be considered a slight fidget. They squirmed and writhed below in a particularly pleasing manner before she released them and allowed them to get back to work. They whimpered and a couple started licking the webbing between her pristine toes, hoping only to not incur her wrath. Her mind couldn’t have been further from them really. 

There was a knock at the door of the rather impressive suite she had been provided. “Enter.” She allowed. 

The door opened and in stepped her right hand, the shorter dark haired Dalia. She set her hands behind her back and bowed her head ever so to the Grand General. She waited a tick as was proper before lifting her head back up. There was a slight gesture from Nalista’s fingers that she fall at ease and the other elf allowed her posture to relax ever so. 

“Dalia. I take it you finished with your interrogations of our guests?” Nalista asked. 

“Indeed, your grace.” The dark haired elf reached down behind her uniform and pulled up a chain necklace from between her breasts. There was a ring adorning it and upon the ring was a very tiny human spread out with limbs bound to the ring. His head was bent and his lips quivering as he was reduced to mere jewelry for Dalia to display. 

“This one was quite helpful. A captain under the Prince evidently. So very fiery and defiant. Then I removed a few bits he won’t be needing. Stepped on a few insects in front of him. Really didn’t take much to get him to sing.” She said. She dropped the necklace back between her breasts. 

“The play by play is quite unnecessary, my dear, I know how you enjoy your off hours quite well.” The blonde remarked as she arched an elegant brow. “Tell me what we now know.” She said as she gestured to the chair across from her. 

“Of course, your grace.” She said as she slid onto the chair across from Nalista and crossed her right leg over her left. 

“Prince Rickard Albar III is the second line for the throne of Albar. Rather an effeminate appearing man, it earned him the nickname the Black Rose of Albar as a rather crude joke. He responded by taking a black rose as his sigil and his armies march with the symbol held high. He evidently fought in a war against the Grand Duchy of Rothethia to the south and was quite a competent commander, managing to rally one of their armies and extract them from an otherwise disastrous defeat. He regrouped and managed to strike a number of impressive victories that saw Albar attain victory and some of their formerly lost territory.” Dalia started. 

She reached down and idly pulled off one of her boots, tossing it to the side. She used her toe to pull and tug her other foot free before stretching her legs out before her. Nalista noted a pair of toe rings, one on either foot. Stretched around the bottoms of them in a very uncomfortable manner were a pair of chained humans. No doubt they had been in there for most of the day and the cool air was akin to a whiplash. Dalia was a competent right hand and logistics officer, a lovely lover, as well as a woman that could put any human in their place Nalista had found. 

“So a man that is rather fine with turning jokes at his expense into strength and skilled in the arts of war. I suspect there is more to it than that. Go on.” Nalista prompted. 

“Yes. While his success on the field has earned him much fame but he is in fact not much of a fighter himself. A middling swordsman at best, his older brother, Prince Grimnar is known as a very powerful and strong warrior. His strength lies in the realm of the tactical and logistical sides of things. I’ll be honest your grace, the more I learned the more I regretted him not being taken in battle. I’d be delighted to have him in my collection of playthings.” Dalia laughed at the end there. 

“Perhaps I’ll allow it. We shall see. So a thinker rather than a fighter. Not much of a warrior. What does your necklace have to say about his failings?” 

“Evidently he is softhearted and has a reputation of hesitating to make morally questionable decisions to advance his objectives. Something of a moralist I’m told.” She responded. 

Not so much that he couldn’t do what he needed to do judging from those maimed elves. Still it was something. Morality in war was an interesting paradox. As a general one’s words often sent many to their deaths on both sides. Nalista had long since grown numb to this over her centuries. Even seeing her own people in such states did very little to move her anymore. Some would say she had lost sight of her soul, but rather it was that war had been what she trained for and all she knew. 

“Does he appear to be an aggressive commander or mostly conservative? Is he unwilling to spend the lives of his troops? As well, what are his general opinions on our empire?” To defeat one’s enemy, one must know them. 

“Believe it or not, your grace, most of his knowledge on the ways of war comes evidently from studying your tactics and battles over the years. Imported Elsiran literature made up a good portion of his library. He is very much familiar with the elven language both written and read. As for his troops, he is well known for abhorring waste and will avoid spending unnecessary lives.” Dalia stated. 

Nalista blinked. Her? The thought had honestly never occurred to her. The idea that one of the humans had studied her tactics and methods… she wasn’t sure how that made her feel. Her gaze turned toward one of the struggling things squirming between her toes. The same species she considered absolutely lesser to her and all of the elven race was also one that probably had studied her weaknesses and strength. He had a wealth to pull upon. It was probably how he had felt confident about his move. Due to her age and her fame that ultimately put her at a disadvantage here. All she could pull upon for him was secondhand knowledge. She curled her toes around that little human between her big and second toe, feeling a pop of a spine after a few moments. 

She let the tiny form of the human man fall away from the tops of her toes and to the carpet below before she smirked. “A human with an edge on me. What a novelty.” She felt something in her veins at the thought. A rush. 

“Your grace, I’m certain he is no more a match for you than an ant is to your boot.” Dalia assured, silenced by a raised hand. 

“No, no. I rather find myself hoping he is a match for me. So many years now without a decent challenge. Once I remember fighting actual wars, the threat of loss or a plan not going perfectly always a threat. Now that is a fiction, an illusion. I’ve ground out so many beneath my steps in the name of Elsira. I wonder if this man will help me recapture that feeling. That rush. The feeling that I might lose at any moment.” Nalista grinned, standing up as she did. 

This had rather dire consequences for those working at her feet. Those before her heels had the least time to react to her suddenly shifting to her feet. The tiny little half inch tall humans let out little squeaks of fear before they were pressed down beneath her bare heels. A couple were broken and crushed outright while others were saved by being pressed into the plush carpet. The ones between her toes were scattered out before her as she stood. 

She turned to walk toward a little table. As she lifted her foot up the imprints of her large and flawless feet were left in the carpet from the bent carpet fibers. The humans sprawled out in the impressions left behind either dead or very dazed from being stepped on by the massive elf. Nalista poured out a shot of whiskey into a pair of glasses. Both glasses had a pale little human at the bottom that was caught up in the harsh booze. 

She walked back over to Dalia and offered her a glass. She held hers up. “To dreams of a good war and glory for the Empire.” She said with more good humor than most had seen from her in a while. 

“To you, your grace, and to your trampling steps upon the back of those that stand before you.” Dalia returned. 

Both elves pushed back their shots. The humans inside their glasses had moments to let out screams before vanishing into their vast maws and being swallowed down with the fiery booze. Nalista tossed her glass down to the floor, the force of the throw enough to shatter it even upon the carpet. Glass shards flew around and a few scored her flawless feet but she didn’t even wince from the easily healed wounds. 

*Don’t disappoint me, Prince Rickard.*