[h3][img]https://41.media.tumblr.com/976f00aaee9165a2d3739a881c8429bf/tumblr_njxb8xIzw51qg3ba9o1_100.png[/img][/h3][sub] featuring [color=lightsteelblue]Kane's Guard[/color][/sub]
[hr]
Kane and his troop were discussing matters and plans of action following the round-up of the wights, beside the statue of King Victor of House Draco, which was bent over, out of its original position. He, and the G-2 guardsmen Sten Vellen, Alexander Xerxes, and Oscar Gene – Kane’s once squire, John March, was already off establishing safe zones throughout the city prior to their arrival here in the square. The situation looked bleak, despite the hope Kane sought to instill in the city’s people.

“First and foremost,” Oscar offered, “we have to make sure that the citizens here are out of immediate danger. Victor has got plenty of his own personal guardsmen to keep his precious castle safe, we needn’t waste our time with that.”

“I agree,” said Sten, “I think we should just keep doing what we’ve been doing. We can’t kill them or force them out of the city, chaining them together in place seems like it’s the best precautionary measure.”

Kane heard his men, but he still looked solemn, pinching the skin at the bottom of his chin in thought. “It seems so,” he said, “but I still worry. The king and the knights are so full of pride that they cannot see this situation has fallen out of our hands. The people need a full-scale evacuation. It should have happened before things ever got this bad.”

“If we hurry, we might still have a chance.” Alexander proposed.

“Perhaps, Alex,” Kane muttered as he looked back up, “perhaps... but it never should have been left up to chance.”

That familiar chiming tone, that wretched, stomach-churning bawling of the head knight himself – Sir Fallon came riding up, making a fool of the knights with all of his honeyed words of his love for the Child King, his cries for victory was a presumptive, childish assay at pleasing the crowds. As practiced as he may be, he was but a hollow man. It was a wonder that Kane was unable to see through him until only three months ago.

Fallon had ordered his men, the Knights of the Ram, to put their shields up and renew the charge to push the wights out of Maceron’s gates. Kane’s eyes lit up, and shot his hand forward – “Wait, don’t!”

But alas, it was too late for him to object to Sir Fallon’s commands. The Ram listened not to a disgraced knight, only to their [i]great[/i] leader, for clearly, Sir Fallon was an [i]infallible[/i] tactician. For look how gracefully he would ignore assessment and order the [i]very actions that had failed prior times before![/i] So full of pride was he, he would attempt the most hopeful remedy where so many had failed before him... right from where he sat before, upon his horse, wishing not to get his hands dirty.

Like the many times before, the knights with their shields up, with all their attempts at pushing out some of the loose wights outside of the city, they were soon being overpowered by the skeletal abominations. Some men were trampled beneath their feet, others scrambled for safety. Kane watched as that naïve hope from Sir Fallon’s eyes flicker away as his precious plan had crumbled before him. But his pride was as such, that he wouldn’t let his own visage of nobility be tarnished, nay, he wouldn’t deliver the truth to the deserving citizens. He would have it so that they lived ignorantly beneath incapable rule at the face of inescapable odds. If there was ever a parallel to Maceron’s corruption, there was none closer than the metaphor taking place now. Kane felt his temper flare as Fallon ordered his knights to round up the citizens and escort them to their homes – as if that was the safest place they could be. He turned to his own men, who noticed his angered expression immediately.

“Men, be on standby for now, help the people if you can. I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Sir Fallon.”

They nodded and watched Kane march towards the Ram’s headmaster as he dropped from his horse.

“Sir Headmaster Fallon!” Kane called, a fist pressed to his chest in salute, and a bow of his head – disgraceful that he should have to honor a man such as he – he continued forward, lifting his head back up and dug his eyes into Fallon’s.

“With all due respect,” Kane said with a sharp tone, “their [i]homes[/i] are not the safest place to be. We should be issuing a full-scale evacuation! We [i]cannot[/i] contain this many wights!”

Meanwhile, Kane’s men were either watching what was developing or keeping an eye on the surrounding area, or taking care of the people – assuaging their fears, advice, whatever they could do. After Oscar, the curly red-haired knight decked in particularly heavy armor, looked to be in his mid thirties, took to bringing an old woman’s belongings to her home, bore witness to an exchange before a foreign Dorak and one of the Ram’s knights. The knight, while not laying a hand on them, did not handle the situation Oscar felt was accordingly. The Ram knights were a proud lot – Oscar was no exception to that rule, neither was the rest of Kane’s Guard, they worked very hard to get to their positions – but they didn’t let it blind them like many of the Ram did. Oscar stepped forward, addressing the knight that had bickered with the Dorak.

“Good knight,” he called, prepared to handle this as tactfully possible, “as capable as we may all be, this is not a problem that the Knights can handle alone. Talbor is strongest when we all work together!”

Oscar finished his plea upon the knight on the happiest of notes, throwing his arms out and a great grin on his face. The knight, howe’er, turned about and looked upon Oscar’s face with an insulted look, measuring the red haired man up and down.

“I need not the counsel of a traitor,” the Knight declared, “haven’t you kittens to be saving from trees? The real knights will take it from here.”

Oscar’s smile dimmed, but in Oscar’s classic style, he did not let the knight ruin his optimism. There was an unspoken acknowledgement among the troop that Oscar’s only expressions were varying degrees of smiles, but each with their own smile. A faint smile in the face of injury would be akin to something along the lines of an ill wish upon their well-being, but nothing so severe. Rather, “I hope you drink sour milk.” He turned to face one of the newcomers in town, the Dorak that had gotten into that mishap with the knight just before. He met him with a wider smile, and nodded his head with his fist pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry for the lack of warm welcome, newcomer. As you can... [i]clearly[/i] tell, we’re in something of a crisis.” Oscar said, shrugging. “Sir Gavin is also kind of a dick, but what can you do? I’m Sir Oscar... Ah, guh! Just Oscar now, I’m sorry! Old habits die hard, eh?”