The Westerguard way of life; make a plan, have that plan fall apart, make another plan, go back to the first plan, then hop to a third, then just go balls-deep, so to speak. This, too, was custom. You have an inherit duty, as a brilliant tactician, to show your opponent the foolishness of their actions, "As you know, our custom is to send our princes into foreign countries, infiltrate and..." Baragor smiled.
Illyana groaned in silent misery.
The Black Spot pirates had been utterly ruthless with her, guaranteeing she would never walk or talk like a human again. Burns covered her body. But the worst art was knowing she would never be free again. That depressing thought hurt more than the spikes they had driven into her holes.
"Well, you know. And here you are, paying the price of your womanhood. It's your own fault, if you think about it. We men have had to fight and fight and fight while you girls," He smacked her face, "You did nothing!"
He turned his back on his servant. Better her than him. Much of the resentment of the crew had borne itself against her, taking the blame from him. But soon an even juicier prize awaited them.
The Arrendelle queen, in her arrogance, had accepted his invitation. She would come to him, willingly. He seriously questioned her sanity. Elsa had escaped destruction before by luck and confidence. But the final chapter was coming in on them both. Elsa had to suffer and die for being such a stuck-up tart, and once she was gone, it was only a matter of time until Hans went back to his old ways.
The more he thought about it, the happier the Westerguard became.
There was the outside chance of being surprised by the oldest enemy of the Westerguards- love. Those ancient tomes written about his incredible family had taught Baragor one lesson; never trust a man in love. He had long suspected that Hans had hidden intentions towards his queen, but the idea that he would lay aside his authority was unthinkable. Nevertheless, when given the chance, Hans had given Queen Elsa protection, power, and some measure of independence. Hans, the selfish, uncaring monster, who had killed so many Black Spot pirates, provoked such strong emotions within the wretched rank of horrible rapists. Someone had to die in order to satiate their bloodlust. Baragor had his back against the wall here. The pirates wanted blood, fresh blood on their hands for the humiliating defeats they had suffered. It could be Baragor's- preferably Hans'- but Elsa would do as well.
Just as long as everyone acted out their predictable roles in this insane world. And, if, for once, things actually went according to plan. Baragor had his fill of surprise attacks. Hans or Elsa. One of them had to die.
Illyana made a whining noise.
"Quiet!" Snapped her master, "Don't make me regret sparing you. And thanks," He patted her blood-covered arm, "For the information...!"
Soon the Southern Isles would feel his wrath. It was, after all, the Westerguard way of life!