Oh, she was being so coy.

And mocking.

How presumptuous of her.

Was she really that worried about the wolves? Could she just take the encounter seriously? Avalon's eyebrow began to quiver as she slowly began to realize just how badly the mood was between them. Myria looked at her with a somewhat foolish expression, but she did so out of a jeering state. "There are no nicknames!" Avalon sharply replied, stamping her foot on the ground. It was hard enough to make the birds scatter, who had come to watch the show. When the noise died down, so did Avalon's quick burst of childish frustration. It took only a moment for the professional air to return entirely. Avalon had no time to fall into Myria's game, instead she narrowed her eyes.

"I have a hunch," she began, "if I was a soldier enlisted to hunt down criminals and I had all these details about my prey, wouldn't you pay attention to the signs?" 

While she began to explain herself, she knew not to let her guard down. The woman had a fearsome instep as noted by her exhibition here, the Sorcerer's Games, and the notes left behind by her future victims. Enma's presence began to creep its way into existence, Avalon noticed while she began to call forward the listings--the gruesome scenes left by Myria in question. A dire wolf's corpse left wayward gave imagery to the description, much more than anything that a record keeper could. Bodies ripped asunder, blood spilled haphazardly, and an echoing laugh left to greet anyone who came to investigate. One moment of reprieve and Avalon could suffer a fatal blow. Despite the confidence in her fighting capabilities, Avalon knew that any Grimm Troupe leader would not give any soldier of any rank the time to brace themselves. 

"A person who reeks of bloodlust out in the middle of a forest but they're not hunting. They're not even sparring. If I saw someone killing these creatures the way you have here?" Avalon gave a glimpse of the bloodthirsty smile she herself bore, "then I would think they're having too much fun."

"Take that and just switch the victims."

Avalon felt her eyes widen; she knew her words would upset the balance.

"From wolves to citizens and you can see my point."

---

Aster Villin

Avalon would be somewhat of an extension of Aster's hand. The Warden, a person who hold the fate of many prisoners can be an exceptional tool in handling any affairs involving other people. And especially with a young girl who idolizes her and aims to please at every turn. 

A casual thread could do, where it's in the fashion of Aster calling Avalon in to tell her about some of her secrets. Meanwhile, Avalon's just standing there like a happy puppy because Aster gave her the time of day, let alone such valuable information. 

When she put it back on, her hand rose to the hilt of her blade. Fingers wrapped around lightly but remained there enough for an Iaido strike. She didn't try to hide the fact that she was preparing for any sort of combat. Looking upon the battlefield, it was apparent that Myria's nature was one drenched in violence, flesh, and death. Even more so, she felt as if Myria could simply come after her once the dire wolves left the premises. As Avalon observed them, it seemed that they were giving up on trying to fight anymore. A soft whimper escaped a few of them, where their sense of survival began to overwhelm their pride. Avalon then let out a hint of her own presence, not enough to show anything more than a threat to the creatures. With the mix of Myria's carnage and Avalon's will, they began to leave. Yet, one strayed too close to Avalon and she grabbed it by the scruff of the neck. She calmed it down with a friendly but stern hand. If Avalon needed to leave, at least she can make the fauna recognize her. 

Whispering some words to the hound, Avalon let it free. The wolf ran off into the deep woods, following their family. With all of the wolves gone, Myria had no other victims to...engage with. Avalon's eyes settled on Myria, accusatory and analytical. From what she saw earlier, Myria's technique was expertly crafted. She must have practiced her style endlessly, and the whole world were just ways to test herself. Combat was inevitable, Avalon thought, but there were other venues. Yet, Avalon took a sniff of the air. Beyond the obvious carnage left in the wake of the swordswoman's boredom, she remembered something. Avalon came out to the Waas Forest to find tracks of someone who had been wandering from the hand of the law. 

"A man with snowy hair with the ability to control ice. His nature is lethal, one found in an effective way of execution. He's a newer leader, but many of his enemies, both in and out of the Grimm Troupe, had been found horrifically murdered. The bodies were probably left as either a message or because the man didn't care enough to discard them more. His name is Meztli Citlati. I believe several captains are required to take him down. If encountered, please try to send a message out for reinforcements. He's not allowed to escape, but we must do our best to keep casualty numbers down."

Avalon recalled one of the opening speeches of her enlistment at the Trench. The former Warden spoke to the new recruits about the Grimm Troupe. They were the premier threat of the land and they had to be dealt with extreme prejudice. Avalon believed in that notion with all her heart. They were terrorists without any regard for human life and the sanctity of the state. Here, in the center of a lost kingdom, Avalon studied the woman before her. Soon, the passive expression Avalon had begun to grow into a ruthless smirk, her fangs bearing not far from the dire wolves that Myria faced earlier. 

"I can only assume she is keeping a tally of how many of our soldiers she has killed."

Stumbling across the Warden's room, they were communicating with some operatives over the repeated offenses of another Grimm Troupe leader.

"She revels in combat, more than anyone else that I've seen. I'm unsure if we'll ever catch her unless we sent out a splinter force entirely dedicated to her demise."

Myria's smile, seeping in a glee found only in her sadism. Her pale eyes resonated with a latent want to hurt others. Violence was her vice of choice and she didn't wish to seek any treatment. If she wasn't so dedicated to the Grimm Troupe, she would be gorgeous. But here, as Avalon stood as the Warden of the Trench, she only saw a monster needing to be exterminated. 

"Some call me sir. Some call me demon. I've heard the title of The Soldier of the Red Mist. But it matters not to you. You can call me the Warden. I am Avalon of the Leomagne Clan!"

Avalon couldn't help it. She let some of her own cruelty seep out in her grin.

"I'll allow you to give you your name, even though you'll be giving me it later when I drag you to the Trench."

---

Myria of Blades

The sounds of whimpering, dying creatures wasn't exactly new to Avalon. All kinds of wildlife inhabited the Great Reclaim, truly aligning the name to their all-encompassing residence in the former kingdom. The young Warden made her way throughout the forest, catching wind of escapees potentially making refuge among the foilage. Cowardice like that couldn't exist in her world--not anymore. If one couldn't survive the brunt of their punishment, then they had no need to live anymore. She shook her head as she continued over a log that was a tad too large for her. A sound of effort escaped her before she caught the same noise of a wounded creature. Though, something was different. The chorus of anguish wasn't simply animals doing battle with themselves. No, they were long, drawn out. Someone or something was savoring the battle. Avalon's maroon eyes narrowed, focusing on the closest way to get to the source.

Avalon didn't bother with stealth. If someone was out here, it was someone like her.

A hunter of beast, man, or both.

The Warden did battle out here numerous times, such as when she was first testing out her abilities. There was a clearing, perhaps when an old building once stood proudly. As she encroached on the area, something in her turned. Avalon's steps became a tad quieter if only to ease up on her usually authoritative approach. As she came closer, her foot slowly turned to a red shade, blood creeping its way there and sullying it. Avalon ignored the thought because a more pressing matter arose. The blood came from the corpse of a dire wolf, torn asunder by a blade. Luckily, it died upon the first strike, lasting mere seconds in the incredible pain of being cut into pieces. Avalon's nose turned at the grisly sight, not for any reason but someone was practicing.

Having a blast.

Potentially getting in the way of her recon mission.

And of course, Avalon decided to come alone. She sighed to herself upon seeing another dire wolf's life end in an instant. The sigh was in retort not to the brutality, but to its culprit. A smile reveling in the madness of gruesome battle greeted Avalon's sight. A woman stood in the clearing, in the center of everything. She was the one, Avalon knew, that started the fight. Avalon saw the other dire wolves of the pack on the perimeter. They knew they had to fight for the sake of their territory, but their innate senses told them to stave away. Death stood in the flesh of their brethren, willing to deal out more at her own volition.

"Should I come back at another time?" Avalon spoke loudly, announcing her presence.