Giggling softly to himself, Jalagang holds the leather boot above his head and drains the last bit of blood from it, smacking his lips loudly. He sets the soft boot aside for later, the soles were nice and flavorful now and not to be wasted. Standing and skipping down the halls, he begins singing, "Boots, boots and blood! Boots, boots and blood and absolutely no mud! I'd make a soup, if only I could find a spud!"
Stopping at a corner, he cocks his head and bites his lip. "Yes, I would love to dance, m'lady!". Sketching a stiff, jerky bow, he leans down and swiftly scoops up a boneless corpse from the ground before once again proceeding down the marbled halls. Picking up a tune again, he glides smoothly over the palace floors, spinning in intricate steps as he holds his lifeless partner, her red-blonde hair spilling over his arms. Aside from the merry singing and the soft footsteps, the halls are eerily quiet.
"Alas, my darling, here I must leave you" he murmurs as he gently sets the corpse down aside an armored body, settling her head to rest oh-so-softly in the crook of one massive, plated arm. Nodding grimly to himself, he turns and begins to skip again, the tune reverberating noisily throughout the halls. Every so often he stops and bends, arranging a lifeless corpse just so. Eventually he comes back to his newly claimed dining hall and, talking incoherently to himself, he takes a seat at the head. Glancing up and down the table, he picks up a spoon and gestures violently across the table, "You there! Pass the beans, if you please.". Giggling to himself, he embraces Saidin and whisps the plate of bloodied beans towards him, serving himself generously before returning his gaze to the table. Cocking his head, he considers the long, oaken table and the myriad of severed heads set upon it for several moments in complete silence. Then, with a maniacal laugh, he begins eating his bloodbeans.
As the tall, skinny man leaves the table, he sets a small note upon the surface before making his way out of the palace. Blood flows from the severed heads and pools, slowly soaking the letter. It reads:
As the "High Captain" cowered behind closed doors and yelled profanities and reeked of urine, the royal palace of Andor was cleansed. One fine young lass from the Shining Walls did present a defense, but she was quickly and thoroughly rejected. Even whilst this tender young heart fought to defend the massacring, Andor's cowardly finest hid in his own feces and attempted to ignore the bloodshed being committed around him. I pity a nation defended by such as these and truly fear for its future. My work will be even easier than I imagined, it appears.
Signed in a flowing script,
Jalagant, Lord of Ravens