There was a certain elegance to watching Nelrathyr on the field of battle. For all the reasons she provided Redros to have an interest in her, watching her fight was toward the top of the list. The two of them were so similar, but fought so differently; Redros had lost most of his elven grace through years in the War Machine. Even the swordsmen that were put beneath his command had a habit of fighting like him. They were all well-armored, well-commanded and prepared to do as much damage as possible.
While one might dance across the battlefield, the warrior was like a battering ram. Where Nelrathyr might thoroughly run an enemy through, Redros was taking on several at once, hacking and slashing at them like a rabid animal. The jagged, sharp teeth on his greatsword were relentless, and cut through undead flesh like a knife through warm butter. "My sword always seems to be sharper when it's against the undead," Redros barked aloud. "-- Like rotten fuckin' meat," he added crudely. Like many things, his vocabulary had changed over the years. Some would say he curses like a sailor; a fellow comrade even mentioned offhandedly that he'd fit in with all the pirates and ship-captains that inhabit the Pathfinders.
Nelrathyr didn't bother responding. She wasn't boastful in any venue of combat; she was calculating and methodical. Redros considered fighting the scourge a game, albeit a deadly one still. He was nonchalant. He was having fun. The spellbreaker used a boot to peel an undead corpse from her axe before finally chirping, "Don't boast. It's not the place or time for it." All Redros could do was smile, though, what with the banners raising off in the distance. They did nothing to demoralize the undead, but the troops that surrounded him knew what it meant. The troops of House Sunblade had seen their fair share of casualties, but for now, their success was in hand.
The Undead lingered off in the distance, preparing themselves for another strike - they were relentless in that way. Of their advantages against the living, they had the ability to just press on. The ranks of the Sunguard had to rest eventually, but those that have once died have no need for sleep. It's hard to say that the undead would ever really retreat, because it's simply not a train of thought that they process. They all had to be destroyed, Redros thought, and even with victory in tow, he wanted more.
"Don't--" Nelrathyr blurted before Redros charged forward. He was a slow starter giving his frame, but with enough distance, the warrior could manage a tremendous amount of momentum. Sometimes, it was hard to tell that this elf was once a member of the Royal Thalassian Military. With all of the spikes that adorned his savage armor, he looked more like something that the War Machine would launch out of a trebuchet at their enemies in hopes to reave as much damage as possible in little time.
He lowered his shoulder before colliding with his first enemy, and the force from his gathered momentum was enough to shatter the undead's limbs right from its rotten frame. With it too went Redros, tumbling through the dirt and grime that covered the battlefield. He was a wild man, and one that cared little about getting messy. When he rose to his feet his sword moved with him, windmilling upward like a guillotine in reverse. The jagged end of his sword served as some form of detonation device, because the undead had a habit of exploding upon impact.
Redros carved, sliced and hammered his way through a group of shambling corpses; if they had the will to think for themselves, they'd probably be terrified of such a display. He was a wild man at heart, and the field of combat was the only place he was truly unfettered and left to do as he pleased. The sound of victory echoed in the distance with a horn, and this time, Redros complied with the call. As much as the rage within him begged to cut a swath through the undead army, he was still a man that kept living as a high priority on his list.
The warrior drew his massive sword against the dirt; it was his attempt to clean off a layer of undead ichor, but it only proved to dirty his blade further. "Fuck's sake," he said before sniffing in a breath. "You should've known," Nelrathyr called out smugly. She was crouched nearby, giving her own weapon a proper cleaning before heading out to do battle once more. He spares a cursory glance at his counter-part before his attention shifted to the weapon. "Yeah, probably. Doesn't matter. Just gonna dirty it again anyhow."
Still, his gaze couldn't help but gravitate toward the raised banners of the Sungaurd and House Sunblade. The colors clashed against a battlefield covered with corpses, and the banners seemed that much more vibrant on such an occasion. He gave an effortless flick of one big, plated hand toward the myriad of colored banners before saying, "Nice pay day waiting for us, I figure. Just in time to head out to Booty Bay for the weekend." Not even off the field of battle, and the warrior was already thinking about the festivities that were to come from such a victory. While many soldiers were overjoyed with the fact that they survived, Redros was captivated by the prospect of gold and victory.
"We haven't even gotten home yet," Nelrathyr retorted, and there may as well have been a slap to the back of Redros' head with the cutting words. He tilted his back enough to look at his companion before blurting a simple, surprisingly amiable response, "Yeah. But we will be soon." He swung the end of his greatsword against the tainted soil beneath him like a scythe - for all the theatrics he made about cleaning his weapon earlier, he didn't much care for its current cleanliness. Nelrathyr knew that without expressing so. The two spend enough time around one another that even the most annoying of traits become endearing. Most disciplined Sin'dorei would find Redros' battlefield decorum deplorable, but Nelrathyr appreciated it. He spoke and moved with such a zest that it had a way of affecting those around him. Though he didn't outright say that he was happy to be alive, it was obvious in the way that he carried himself. It was an infectious trait.
The pair of them walked along a path of clear ground carved through by those ahead of them. His gaze occasionally found itself on the corpses nearby; some were friends, and some were foes. It was a shame to think that with time, all of them would likely be enemies. Of all of the undead's scare tactics, the most effective was using a soldier's friends and comrades against them. Countless soldiers of the Sunguard and of Quel'Thalas had perished in this battle, and they would all be raised up to fight against them if their bodies weren't hurried from the field. "So I got a plan, and just listen to me here," he began. Whenever he gave that gold tooth of his a flick with his tongue, Nelrathyr knew that the words that followed likely carried some idiocy to them.
"-- You think ol' Lady Sunblade would give a bonus if I brought back a head and told her it was some undead commander? I'm real good at bullshittin' a story, you know that. Take one right off the shoulders of one of these around," he continued, and used a hand to nonchalantly point at the casualties that they made their way past. "Think it'd work? Not that I really need the gold, but it'd be nice. You know nobility, they got a way of just throwin' around gold for the smallest reason."
Some of Redros' comrades found the plot amusing, but his companion didn't share a laugh. Nelrathyr shot him an incredulous look before replying, "Not a chance, Red. Not a chance. Quit worrying about gold and let's get home." With a dejected huff, the warrior heaved his greatsword up and over to place on his back once more. With the threat momentarily repelled, he had no need to be on guard. "Yeah, fine. Keep it in the back of your mind, though. I might still do it sooner or later."
Her hand was subtle against the side of his frame, only to have a few fingers prick at a newly-discovered wound. The blood that stained his armor didn't even register as his own, and the pain wasn't apparent until Nelrathyr pointed out. "Fuck's sake," he mumbled. A crooked smile sat on Nel's face. "Let's get home and get cleaned up. You smell terrible." He continued on the path in relative silence before eventually chiming in, "...Yeah. Probably do."
