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The redblooded troll looked out over the battlefield to be, his mouth set in a firm, grim line. He knew from Twinhorn that this one would be particularly bloody, the voices of the immanently deceased all clamoring in his head. The psychic said that he would win, but he would loose a lot of men. Rioter had long ago learned to accept this.
He turned to his armies, men and women from every color caste had chosen to follow him. Him with his mutant blood that stood outside the hemospectrum. He looked over them and knew that they truly believed in this battle, that none who had followed him would begrudge a death on this battleground.
With a deep breath, he turned to face the ranks of blue and violet blooded trolls in armor, on foot and on the backs of their lusii. He could barely make out the stalking forms of several greenbloods. He raised his sickle high over his head, and smirked as he heard the voices of his followers rise up until the ground was nearly shaking with the roar of so many voices shouting the same thing.
His sickle dropped. His people rushed forward.
The battle was quick and bloody, as Twinhorn had said it would be, and Rioter did not escape without injuries of his own, though the sight of his candy red blood only seemed to drive his troops to higher and higher points of martial prowess. But they won. It was one more step towards the Empress's Hive, one more step closer to everything he was working towards.
Rioter allowed himself a triumphant grin as he rested against the rough stone wall of the cave they were all hiding from the sun in.
Twinhorn came and settled beside him and Rioter turned a lazy golden stare to his friend, moirail, and adviser's mismatched eyes.
"You know you won't alwayth win." Even now, after sweeps of effort to train it out, Twinhorn still carried a faint lisp.
"Yeah, but neither will they." Rioter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone. He brought one hand up to swat at his unruly hair before just letting it fall where it will.
"You know what the prith will be."
"And I'll be the one to pay it." Rioter reached over and awkwardly patted Twinhorn's knee. He seemed to be entering one of his depressive cycles, and Rioter needed him to stay sharp.
"It'th all going to be pointleth, you know." Definitely in a downswing.
"You said yourself that it won't happen for sweeps. Until then, enjoy our victories, Friend."