No matter what sort of spell had been assisting the cultists, no matter how they were bolstered by their lack of fear and pain, such a thing can take a fighter only so far. As time wore on, more and more of their forces fell to the blades of the Iron Roses. Eventually, when the dust had settled, not a single cultist remained alive. A few allies of the Roses had taken injuries, but Fanilly's heart rose when she realized that none of the civilians were seriously hurt.

After that point, the injured were gathered to be given attention by healers, and the escort moved forward. The cult, it seemed, had committed the bulk of their forces to this attack and now lay in ruins.

To say that this mission had been a success was, perhaps, an understatement. It was regrettable that anyone had been hurt, but not a single innocent perished in the ambush.

They arrived at their destination safely.

The trip back home to Candaeln was a rather joyous one, though by the time they returned it was impossible to say that the Captain was anything less then exhausted. She slowly proceeded upstairs and was quick to take a bath, her maids assisting her as she did(Aralee, as usual, was somewhat grabby).

Given how tired Fanilly was, it shouldn't have been surprising that she overslept the next morning.

Perhaps it was up to someone else to awaken her.