Fleuri Jodeau

The knights' blows struck true, cleaving off the vampire's arm and leg as he leapt back. Any satisfaction at this successful attack, however, quickly disappeared when Fleuri saw how quickly Damon recovered. Blood emerged from his stumps and linked with the severed limbs, pulling them to Damon and snapping them back into place as if he had never been hit. Fleuri knew that vampires could regenerate, but he had never realized how rapidly they could do so. He had hoped that they would be able to disrupt the regeneration, but it happened so rapidly there had been no opportunity to do so.

To make matters worse, Damon seemed completely unfazed by this ordeal, showing neither pain nor irritation at the momentary setback that dismemberment presented to him. To the contrary, he almost seemed like he was enjoying this.

By Reon, he's toying with us, Fleuri concluded as Damon readied his crossbow. Fleuri reflexively raised his sword in front of his face to try and deflect the blow. Damon had probably missed his first shot on purpose, but now that he had his chance to show off his vampiric abilities, this shot would likely struck much more true.

"Tagliare," spoke Nicomede, channeling a stream of water formed from the vampire's blood upon his sword to strike the crossbow, thwarting Damon's attempts to shoot Fleuri. Nicomede pressed the attack, swinging his sword at Damon aggressively.

"Sirs Fleuri, Jarde! Sever its limbs!" shouted Nicomede at his two companions.

He was right, they needed to press the attack. Severing the limbs might not be enough, however. A vampire's control over his own blood was not something that'd be easily nullified, although Nicomede's water magic should be able to at least slow down the regeneration. They would also need to ensure he couldn't just leap to a safe distance long enough to pull himself together without fear of being interrupted. Fortunately, they had someone who had just the equipment and skills to do so.

"Jarde, can you restrain him?" Fleuri asked, remembering the long chain weapons that the young knight carried. "We have to keep him from moving around." Fleuri unfastened his cloak and approached Damon with his sword in one hand and the cloak in the other, drawing close enough to intercede if the vampire counterattacked Nicomede, but keeping just enough distance that Jarde should have a clear shot.

Between the three of them, they might just have the skills needed to put this fiend down.

@Krayzikk@PaulHaynek

Jarde watched as Sirs Fleuri and Nicomede both attacked the vampiric Damon Cal. The latter moved to counter but the Iron Rose Knights emerged the victor in the clash when they managed to hack off the vampire's limbs, specifically an arm and a leg. Victory was guaranteed, but Jarde thought it to be too easy.

And his fears would come true, Damon landed as if he had lost nothing. Jarde was momentarily confused but a chill ran down his spine when the blood the vampire lost from his missing limbs condensed and solidified. They then acted as threads that connected the arm and leg to their stumps, moving to return the limbs to their proper place. In a moment, Damon Cal was restored fully. The efforts of Sirs Fleuri and Nicomede seemingly for naught.

The vampire aimed and fired his crossbow at Sir Fleuri but the bolt was intercepted with a shot of water conjured by Sir Nicomede.

"Sirs FLeuri, Jarde! Sever its limbs!"

Hold on. Did that not work? Perhaps Sir Nicomede had a plan. Jarde trusted his fellow knight and prepared to move.

"Jarde, can you restrain him? We have to keep him from moving around."

Restrain? How-- Jarde quickly realized he was talking about the chains attached to his sickle weapons. "That's not their true use but alright."

Jarde released the locks that connected the sickles to the chains. He elongated his chains by letting them fall off his arm and rushed forward. His plan was simple, throw his chains around Damon and hold him there for Fleuri and Nicomede to tear him apart. He wished he could do something more extravagant but they needed to restrain him and that's exactly what Jarde would do.

As soon as he was close enough, Jarde would throw one of his chains at the vampire in an attempt to wrap and bind. Damon was more than capable of deflecting the oncoming chain attack so Jarde would delay throwing his second chain just in case the first one was blocked. Obviously, he would need to be there to hold the chains together but he doubted he had the strength to resist Damon's. Jarde was a speedster, not a brute!

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

The only reply the armored man received came in the form of yet another crash of steel, as the knight's sword beat itself against his hurried defense. He had done well enough, given the lame arm, to intercept each strike without faltering entirely. That much, Gerard could in hindsight give credit for— but it made for a protracted exchange, which did not favor him. He was panicked, forced to react rather than press, and growing weaker by the second beneath that heavy suit of plate.

That said, he was still managing just enough to elude capture, to escape disarmament, to avoid being toppled. Taking him alive was proving a troublesome prospect. While he seemed a cut above the riffraff the majority of the Roses had been carving through, and thusly liable to be one of the correct targets for interrogation... It came down to a matter of economics. Resources such as energy, and time, precious time, were the currency in knowing how cost-effective pursuing this idea of his would be. And in all honesty, beneath the clamor of steel and sparks between them as he fought, beneath even the crimson haze that his mind had allowed to cloak itself, Gerard had not missed mention of an incoming magus.

The calculus was quite simple. Even a backwoods hick given a sword and a task could do it.

They did not have time to waste, with arcane might soon to be leveled against them.

Enough of this. He had tried. The girl was more important.

Maybe if he were stronger, he could have beaten him down sooner and taken him.

But he wasn't, so it needed to end here.

Another oberhau fell upon the mercenary's guard, a comet crashing to Earth, and for the briefest moment the man's shoulder buckled as it absorbed the force. Tiring. Overheating. Succumbing.

A new, lethal light entered Sagramore's amber glare. Before, he promised pain unto his foe, but not necessarily death— There was no ambiguity now. His strength seemed to redouble, a growl escaping his throat as he ceased concerning himself with this man's life. He pressed down for a moment, forcing great strength into the bound blades as he left the man no choice but to contest it—

Then all at once whipped it around once— then again on the opposite side, a great, long fang of steel biting into the earline of the exposed head of his foe. Insurance. Even if he managed to redirect his weapon from up, as forced by surviving the bind, to side, the first zwerchau quite readily set up the second. His instincts had been beaten into him well, in this regard—

Keep pressure.

Strike again and again.

He's losing strength.

Don't let him back into this.

He will die.

—they handled the technical minutiae for him in times like these. It was a luxury that he did not always like relying upon, but beggars could not be choosers.

It did not matter how he achieved it, all that mattered was that he did everything he could to save those threatened by this heathenish lot.

It was at this point that the paladin finally turned around at the scent of blood--lots of blood--and watching Damon Cal pull himself back together. How... unimpressive? What sort of combat were you getting into if you regularly found yourself cut into pieces enough to need a way to attach everything back together quickly? He definitely wasn't showing anything of that one's blood magic, so it wasn't like it was some extension of a greater set of skills.

Not that she was perfectly sure what the trio were trying to do. Restrain him...? If there was one piece of advice she had for dealing with a well-fed vampire then it was to not engage in a contest of raw abilities. She had to be conservative for moral reasons. Whoever this guy was... that probably wasn't the case.

As the berserker finally collapsed, Maritza found herself in a lull in the battle; fighters on both sides having chosen to give the northman and the vampire a wide berth. Taking advantage of the opportunity, The Naga wrenched the rune-lined axe out of Barukstaedian's death-grip. Expertly giving the axe a couple of quick spins, Mari looked the weapon over with a bloody grin.

"Alright. Now this I can work with."

Once more diving back into the fray, the Naga moved to support Capt. Fanilly and break the skeletal horde. With broad sweeps of her tail and newfound axe, Mari scattered the mindless undead back, buying them a moment of breathing room.

"Push ahead Captain. I'll handle this."

She says, shattering a rather dusty pelvis with a back swing from her axe, before pushing forward to crush more of the skeletons beneath her scales.

Dame Maritza's sudden appearance, wielding the hefty axe Fanilly had previously seen in the northman's possession, heralded a sharp turning point. No more could the skeletons reassemble unless Fanilly delivered a solidly destructive blow. For the axe seemed to shatter bone and leave the skeletons as nothing but useless fragments in a single blow. Even when, for example, an upper body managed to continue to move, it was far less dangerous then a fully assembled warrior.

Fanilly nodded.

"I'm counting on you, Dame Maritza!"

With that, taking Tili with her, Fanilly sprinted forward... moving deeper without support was dangerous, but at the same time there was no way to tell how much time that they had.

As for the mercenary...

At this point, with his injured arm and the situation turning against him so strongly, there was little hope. And this was reflected in the outcome of the battle.

His blade failed to catch Sir Gerard's as he attempted to respond to the second attack, steel sliding against steel. The edge of the knight's sword bit through flesh and bone, and in an instant the man's life left him with nothing more then a rasping death rattle

With the skeletons well in hand, the only path forward was deeper.

---

The vampire was not so easily dealt with. He was quick to raise his crossbow and avoid its destruction, springing backwards and landing on his other foot.

"... The serpent woman is gone? A shame, I found her quite lovely," he commmented, cocking his head to one side as he did, "Ah, but you handsome gentlemen haven't escaped my attention in the least."

He glanced towards his leg. Ah, he'd been injured at some point? It was quite a deep cut... and had to heal.

"... Hmm... ah, testing your willpower against mine, I see? Hahaha, bold! How bold!"

The chain slung towards him was swiftly deflected with his shortsword, but the second struck true, wrapping around his left arm and pulling tight.

But the vampire hardly seemed bothered by this.

Licking his lips, he yanked firmly with his arm, displaying strength that a human being would be unable to naturally attain, in a bid to drag Sir Jarde into arm's reach, his fangs flashing in the light of the torches.

His goal was rather obvious. His injured leg was healing, now, as well, the vampire willing the injury shut even as Sir Nicomede attempted to slow it, even as he tried to pull Sir Jarde into reach of his fangs.

It was plainly clear these efforts had failed to work. But perhaps a more concerted and united assault...

@HereComesTheSnow@Asuras@jdh97@Animal@TheFake@Crimson Paladin@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot@Raineh Daze@ghastlyinc@Krayzikk@Heartfillia

Fleuri Jodeau

It had seemed that Fleuri's plan had backfired spectacularly, with the vampire reeling Jarde in like a great fish pulling its angler into the water. As he saw the young knight pulled closer to the vampire's fanged maw, Fleuri felt a wave of terror wash over him at the realization that Jarde could be injured or killed because of him. Because of his plan.

The obvious answer to this vampire was to rush in, corner him in the cramped tomb, and overwhelm him with their superior numbers. But with things as they were, Fleuri hesitated to charge, lest the vampire use Jarde as a human shield. He had already taken a girl hostage to force her sister to commit regicide, there was no low he wouldn't stoop to.

We have to get that monster away from Jarde, Fleuri thought. No more holding back- he needed to make things right and ensure that Jarde did not suffer for the mistakes of another, especially one whom he seemed to look up to. He dropped his cloak and reached into the satchel slung across his shoulder, pulling out a sealed glass flask.

Fleuri had hoped he wouldn't need the flasks here, and if he did, he had planned to use them to nullify any further attempt at the vampire to reattach his limbs. It was clear by now that it had been a mistake to hold anything back when fighting a vampire. But with Jarde's life on the line, it was time to pull out all of the stops.

Forgive me Jarde...I swear by Reon I'll do I can to spare you the consequences of my mistake...

"Nicomede, if you can, use your water magic to shatter this in mid-flight," he spoke to the other knight, brandishing the water-filled flask. A second later, he hurled the container. He wanted to explain everything fully to Nicomede- that this was holy water blessed by Reon, meant to harm vampires and undead- but there was no time, and he didn't want to tip Damon off, lest a well-placed crossbow bolt shatter the flask in Fleuri's hand.

When the glassware took flight, it did not head towards Damon- instead, its trajectory was in the direction of Jarde, aimed squarely at the knight's borrowed breastplate. The goal was not to harm Damon- indeed, with his leather armor and lack of open wounds, the holy water wouldn't do much except burn his face. Instead, Fleuri's intention was to protect and bless Jarde by splashing him and his weapons with the fluid. With Damon so close, it would be inevitable that he'd get splattered too. If the vampire didn't free himself of Jarde's chain and disengage, he'd get a face full of Reon's opinion of him, and in either case, the young knight would no longer be in immediate danger and all three sould have openings to attack.

Once the flask went flying, Fleuri placed both hands on sword and began to bolt forward, not wanting to give Damon any leeway.

@Krayzikk@VitaVitaAR@PaulHaynek

Meanwhile, back at the castle, Gill managed to finally tear his eyes away from the...frankly distressing wealth the room had on offer to spare an odd glace at her highness. Fireheart was...well, not pornographic as such. Saucy, to be sure. But frustratingly flighty on the whole copulation front of things for his taste. That said, it was definitely not something he'd expected someone from high society to have read, much less use as a clumsy conversation starter.

"She's just survived an assassination attempt." the distant part of his mind that oversaw his rarely used sense of TACT reminded. "Makes sense she wants to do something better than wallow in fear of a second attempt."

Inwardly, Gillian groaned with a deep despair, regretting he had elected to stay with the Princess instead of braving his chances in the tomb. A coup he could handle. A necromancer? Harder, but he was a Living Reliquary and so was probably well suited to the task. But being a comforting presence to literally anyone with a pulse (or without as the case may be)?

Not. His. Wheel house.

Still, it was probably a job best left to him. Indrau was...well, Gill was pretty sure the Crippled Lion didn't fear much. Too pragmatic like that. With a soft sigh he spoke. "I have..." He said, keeping the timbre of his voice calm and even as he drew a chair from the desk, sitting opposite from the Princess while keeping the balcony within his eye line. "I like how supportive Johana was of Keldi, despite the lack of reciprocation on her part." He said, huffing perhaps a little over dramatically, hoping his feigned ease would relax the girl.

"Frankly it's annoying that the story ended with Keldi and Tri marrying just because she had the nerve to challenge first! I mean, Tri came in...what? Two third's of the way into the book? Just after Chorus of Ingvarr." He added, one arm gesturing wildly (albiet with more care than the grotesque limb ought to be capable of) about the room."We went from a jaunty tune about breasts to a sulky raven haired thug stealing Keldi away from her first real friend. Whiplash doesn't even begin to describe it!" He groaned loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked to the ceiling, as if it might offer some divine explanation.

As he dragged his hands down his face he glanced at the Princess, hoping he wasn't over selling the act. His fellow Knights probably already knew that, but this wasn't really for them. If she found a little comfort in him making an ass of himself...well, he'd done worse things with his time.

@TheFake@VitaVitaAR

Nicomede was furious, if he'd had the time to really feel it.

All that power, and all he seemed to do was run away. He had Jarde now and a long detached, dormant instinct came to life anew. Like an ember fanned, a dislocated limb popping into place, or a crossbow bolt locked in. A realignment of body and mind in an instant. There was a young man in danger, a comrade, and he could do something about it. Hatred of evil was a powerful motivator, a reason to fight all its own, but the protection of a peer? That was the goal of a Mayonite, surely. That was the goal that had lead him to his disgrace, and he would make the choice again, and again, and again because the consequences were worth the lives he saved.

Sir Jarde deserved no less.

He abandoned the disruption; not because it could not work, it had clearly slowed down his regeneration, but because the monster simply had so much more strength to burn. Without the chance to exploit the disruption he was simply throwing energy into an abyss. But that meant he was free to do as Sir Fleuri asked; when the jar grew close enough he muttered the word again and it shattered, spraying the water at Jarde. And with any luck it would ruin the vampire's day, too.

Nicomede himself charged, seeking to bring the monster into range and keep him there. His spada and his off dagger were both kept in close, ready to strike or defend as the opportunity arose.

The first chain was deflected but the second chain was successful. Unfortunately, the vampire's strength was many times Jarde's own. With one mighty tug of the chain, Damon sent Jarde flying right towards him. Jarde thought that they really should've seen this coming. He saw the vampire's teeth already bared and he dared not imagine what could happen to him in the undead's clutches. Was this going to be the end of him?

Probably, but Jarde won't go down without a fight. The vampire may be speedy, but so was him. As Jarde flew in the air, he quickly unsheathed his remaining weapon: A shortsword. In a second, he was in Damon's grasp but then something splashed over him and the vampire. Some sort of water? He didn't have time to think about it. With the blade, Jarde attempted to jam it right up Damon's head.

Vampires can heal mortal wounds, but surely this has to do something, right?

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

"Captain! Path's open!" Gerard called, a moment after his fallen quarry took his last shuddering breath. His own came in short bursts, unintentionally forcing his voice to resonate in the cavity of the upper chest— his call became a rough shout. Doubling back after pulling his blade free of skull, blood, and brain, Gerard scanned the ground, amber searchlights trying to focus upon— there. A small trinket upon the ground, catching the dim light in just such an unnatural way.

He ran a three and a half strides and scooped up the talisman the man had brandished, moments before little Tili's knife had made a home within the hinge of his elbow. Whatever it did, this alien arcane focus could not be allowed to fall back into the hands of the enemy. Deny them their strengths. The very basest of a warrior's principles, one that extended to all levels of combat— from man-to-man to nation-versus-nation. At a guess, it commanded the reanimated dead that the Captain and Knight Serpenta had been bogged down by. Perhaps not the key to their twisted mockeries of a second life at their cores, but likely that which directed whatever ghost lied within the machine.

Could he use it against its former masters?

No.

As a man of faith he would not stoop to it, and as a man of practicality, he could not waste time chancing it. He probably would need to turn his back upon the Goddesses if he wished to harness this power, turn towards something blackened, turgid, evil. It would be a trifle in exchange for something unforgivable. He was wholly unwilling.

He dropped the trinket, its garnet glittering as it clattered again to the floor—

And crushed it beneath his boot, grinding his heel into the stone tiling until he heard something give before setting off further down. Whatever was happening down there wouldn't stop itself. Hopefully his fellows could rejoin him soon, but as it stood now, he needed to take this opportunity he'd earned. To gain more ground for them all.

Ah, that ought to get past his defences--if nothing else, this wasn't the environment someone could really show off speed to consistently dodge every attack coming this way. Especially the water on top of everything else... well, that was more an irritation and minor inconvenience but if it let something slip, great.

"Make sure to cut things off!"

Because this time, there was no way using blood to pull himself back together would work.

When Gerard crushed the gem, it would be quite surprising that it gave way almost immediately. Almost like it was meant to break...

The following, faint, feminine laughter was likely quite concerning too... but nothing came after it. At least, for now.

Fanilly ran into another skeleton as she sprinted down the stairs. But this time, before it could even raise its weapon, she immediately ducked and ran into it full-force with her shoulder! While skeletons were difficult to harm permanently without a heavy weapon, that didn't mean they were very stable!

The little nem was at her side, the lowest chamber of the crypt was ahead, all they needed was-

Suddenly the nem gripped her arm and pulled back, as hard as she could.

"Vosahnn? Wha-"

There was an earsplitting crack, and a bolt of electricity suddenly tore through the air just ahead of her, from the chamber below.

"Haaa? Someone got all the way down here?" a rather harsh female voice called from inside? "Mayon's tits, what are we even paying those bastards for? Yeesh... Ah damn, can you stop holding her by the neck at least, you freak?"

"You choose now to question my methods?" a calm male voice responded.

"I've been doing a whole lot of questioning this whole time."

Fanilly took a deep breath. She could judge that the female voice was likely the source of the lightning, thus indicating she was a mage. And the calm male voice... did he have Vosahnn's sister?

She had to move forward.

Taking a deep breath, Fanilly broke into a sprint, and was immediately in the light of the bottom chamber!

Before her were two figures. One was a woman, young but certainly older then Fanilly herself, with silvery-white practically standing directly up, her eyes bright blue.

The other was a man. In front of him were eight skeletons, these ones still bearing armor. His features were obscured by a white mask with two shadowed eyeholes and no other features, his body concealed in a heavy cloak.

Fanilly could see him toss a girl of around Vosahnn's size and shape behind him.

"In the name of the Throne, surrender immediately," Fanilly ordered, straightening, her longsword raised. She would give them the chance. But that was it. If they killed Vosahnn's sister, they would lose what little leverage they had, but now...

A circle of blue light ignited around the mage woman's fingertips.

"That's real brave of you, but pretty damn foolish, y'know?" she commented.

But Fanilly wasn't alone... they could do it!

---

This, the vampire wasn't prepared for.

Damon Cal let out a hiss, air passing through his teeth as he was forced to try and deflect the water with his arm, ceasing to tug Jarde closer. Even he couldn't ignore the facefull of Reon's opinion of the undead.

This is when Jarde's sword buried itself in his palm, erupting from the other side in a spurt of blood. Holy water still sizzling on his skin, the vampire stepped back, his words practically a growl.

"Clever! Clever! Far more clever!"

The window of action was tight, as he whipped his hand free of Jarde's blade, the blood condensing into what almost appeared to be a spike. But he was hurt, he was on his back foot. If someone could strike him the moment before he attacked...!

---

For a few moments, the Princess's room was filled with silence, and no small number of blank stares.

But then...

The princess herself stifled a giggle. Ah... while she didn't necessarily agree with all of the opinions he'd expressed, this knight...!

"Ah, ah, you know... I always found the Chorus of Ingvarr so strange," she commented, once she had recovered from her fit of giggles, "I understand it was meant to be a humorous interlude after the deadly serious encounter with Advard, but still... singing about breasts like that... how bawdy! Ah, I wonder if the Ingvarr do truly sing songs like that..."

She'd never actually met one of their number, the horned people of the far north known for their incredible strength and combat abilities. She knew they associated with the northmen as well, but beyond that... well, the Princess simply hadn't learned much of them.

@HereComesTheSnow@Asuras@jdh97@Animal@TheFake@Crimson Paladin@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot@Raineh Daze@ghastlyinc@Krayzikk@Heartfillia

The use of a spike, a grim parody of Nicomede's own preference for water magic, was insult too many.

The range was a little long. But the window couldn't be missed, and in defending Jarde Fleuri had provided the tool that might bring the vampire down. When the flask burst, as he advanced rapidly, Nicomede snagged the water that would have splattered uselessly to the ground with his magic. Its movement arrested, tracing languidly the path of his off dagger, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

The vampire was assured, perfectly confident that he could handle. That he would still prevail, despite his current discomfort. That water, however, might be the only thing they had that could pose a serious problem for his regeneration. He just had to get it to the right place. He flicked his wrist, the little globule of controlled now by his spada like his other attacks had been. It spiraled faster and faster, forming the same conical pattern at the tip, and as soon as the range was low enough...

"Lancia."

He flicked his wrist and the holy water lanced towards, and hopefully through, the vampire's eye into his brain on the same course that his blade would momentarily follow.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri's attack worked. Nicomede's magic shattered the flask mid-flight, the liquid splashing on Jarde. Damon moved to shield his exposed face from the water, and in doing so he let himself go from Jarde and opened himself up to a counterattack by the young knight. The resulting blow did not appear serious, but the holy water covering the blade ensured it'd cause Damon more trouble than a normal stab wound. Most importantly, the vampire was injured, distracted, and was no longer in a position to use Jarde as a human shield. In other words, it was the optimal time to strike.

Nicomede was also charging, and was currently using his water sorcery to recover some of the holy water to form into a weapon. Fleuri couldn't help but be impressed with the man's aggressive use of Mayonite magic; he had always sort of written it off as weak as an offensive weapon compared to the fire magic of the Reonites. He wouldn't subscribe to that misconception anymore.

Fleuri raised his sword, careful as to not strike the tomb ceiling, and swung a diagonal downward blow aimed at Damon's neck, intent on ending this with a decapitating strike. The knight would have preferred to strike the neck at a shallower angle, but with Nicomede and Jarde also attacking, there simply wasn't enough room to swing his claymore horizontally. This time, he wasn't going to give Damon a chance to pull himself together. If the attack was successful, he would use his remaining flask on the stump.

@Krayzikk@VitaVitaAR@PaulHaynek

This time, she wasn't going to let him pull back together... well, if he could even manage it from a strike like that; the number of people with some sort of immediate preparation to deal with decapitation was quite small. One person, perhaps, she'd ever met had any ability to deal with that without thinking too much about it. Damon Cal? Well, he wasn't going to get the chance, not this time.

"This is why you don't play around with the Knights," the smaller of the two vampires said, grabbing the decapitated head by the stump and lifting it aloft, practically daring the currently disconnected head to waste even more of its precious blood stabbing her or something to reconnect, "You never know when they'll surprise you.

"Well, not that you're getting another chance."

Still, Tyaethe was certain he wasn't dead yet, not quite, but comparatively harmless now. If it had been something else targeted... that could have been quite messy. Maybe she should give lessons on how the more esoteric forms of undead worked, even if people found it weird that she knew some of these things when they didn't apply to vampires. But how else were you supposed to kill them if you didn't know the basics?

The liquid Jarde's allies splashed him with burned Damon Cal. Holy water, Jarde realized. What else liquid could burn undead so? Oil probably, but that was besides the point.

The vampire had to shield himself from the holy water, putting his arm up and unwittingly blocking Jarde's strike to his head. Instead, his sword stuck to his hand and jutted out of the other side. He was impressed at their moves and while the holy water still burned, he whipped his hand to dislodge Jarde's blade and the Iron Rose himself. Jarde and his blade was thrown to the side and the knight tumbled a bit before recovering.

Jarde saw that Fleuri and Nicomede were on the offensive, lunging at the injured vampire. He should be on the move too and so Jarde picked up his sword and got up. However, he didn't join the two Iron Roses for a frontal assault. Instead, he attempted to move behind Damon and strike from the back.

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

"That's real brave of you, but pretty damn foolish, y'know?"

As the woman's hand rose, alight with elements bent to her arcane will, so too did that of Gerard, clad in shaped metal. Any monkey with two specks of gray between his ears to rub together would understand that she needed to be dealt with immediately— to allow her to blast them with the wrath of storms unimpeded was tantamount to suicide. It was an afterthought to him that she had been given the chance to surrender— it came as no surprise that it wasn't taken. They were in too deep to be argued back.

Nobody in this chamber was so foolish as to not have readied themselves for force's entry into the equation. Hell, if one wanted to speak with honesty, it was already far, far behind them.

A flash appeared before him, the gleam of tempered steel, spinning towards the witch with all of his might behind it as his arm whipped down and forward. His knife, large and sturdy as it may have been, was not particularly balanced for throwing. He himself was not a particular specialist in the dangerous art of throwing knives at people. The distance between them was enough that she felt quite safe in gloating as she began to cast. Chances were that she would be able to stay out of the way without incident, with all these factors working in tandem.

Within his next breath, Gerard burst forth with longsword in hand, a loosed arrow within the knife's wake. He knew little of the nature of magic in even a general sense, let alone its many schools. He knew nothing of whether or not this woman required arcane incantations, specific motions, or certain materials to ply her trade. He was a total stranger to the realm of wizardry.

He was no stranger to warfare.

The fact of the matter was that it didn't need to be accurate, it didn't need to be a direct threat. It simply needed to be distracting. Something to snap her attention off the knights that would secure the little girl, towards a more immediate problem. In that moment, her mind would not be set upon blasting away the Captain. Her reflexes would take over in some respect to the whirling, gleaming blur headed her way from just out of focus— and that would be his opening.

The sound of leather boots upon old stone were a staccato thunder as he surged forth, ravenously devouring distance between the silver-haired woman and he. The mage hadn't gloated without good reason— fast as even he was, there was ample space between them for her to see him coming and adjust her aim to him, should he have not rattled her concentration so thoroughly as to cause the spell to fizzle in her hand. To put things plainly, he was staring down the point of a spear and charging it. A tall order for anyone whose only method of attack from afar was already spent.

That doesn't matter, though.

Even if I earn a bolt for my trouble, that's the point to begin with.

Every second I can make this woman focus on me is another my fellows can use to focus on him.

So long as they have the opening they need...

I'm not afraid of what I must do.

Gillian barked with overdramatic laughter, hiding the fact his eyes swept across the room once more for a threat. "Go to any bar in the world Princess and 'bawdy' is the name of the game." He said grinning at the young lady. "I'm from up near the Velt Boarder, and I've only seen one family of 'em. Nice enough folks, even if the horns are a little distracting when talking to them. Just uh...don't recommend staring. The daughter nearly broke a man's jaw after he got an eye full for longer than is considered polite." He added, deciding to omit just exactly what part of the Ingvarr woman he'd been oogling....and that he was the one slapped.

"So..." He said after a moment of futilely attempting to wrack his brain for a conversation or story he could tell (preferably one that didn't involve his, upon consideration, frankly astonishing ability to incite anger in any woman he attempted to flirt with). "Where's Alisha?" He asked, leaning back into his chair slightly. "While I am doubtlessly the most handsome and scintillating conversationalist to ever grace your presence..." He says, adopting an, in his mind at least, an elegant and dignified pose while his voice dripped with clearly faked ego. "I'd figure you'd rather have one of your Ladies in Waiting to talk to than a creepy old Reliquary. Much less one as well versed in romance novels."
@VitaVitaAR

Scattering the last of the skeletons, Maritza spared a glance towards the fight against the vampire. With Dame Tyaethe holding their opponent's head aloft, the Knight Serpenta pressed forward without a second thought. That fight was in the bag. Crushing a couple more skeletons on her way down the stairs, Martiza slid into the light of the bottom chamber's entrance.

Time seemed to crawl as Mari glanced around the room. In front of her stood Captain Fanilly and the Nem, poised on the charge. Ahead of them was Gerard, already at a full tilt toward the mage. To the sorceress' left were a cadre of armored skeletons guarding a masked man who stood in front of a girl who could only have been Vosahnn's sister. As the Knight Serpenta set her eyes on small crumpled figure behind the masked man, Maritza felt her rage boil over; washing away the last vestiges of her restraint in a sea of red. A primordial war howl roared past the Naga's bloodstained lips as she launched herself once more into the fray.

Sliding forward like greased lightning, the Naga slipped around Vosahnn and Fanilly, her newfound axe blurring in a whirlwind of motion. With inhuman speed, Mari charged the armored skeletons. Swinging with a two-handed grip, the former Barukstaedian's axe snapped back into focus as it collided with the foremost skeletal foe. An earsplitting crack echoed through the catacombs as the armored skeleton in question ceased to be. A horribly crumpled chestplate clattered off the back walls of the chamber while the rest of the bones and armor went flying in all directions.