[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zQXUPoA.png[/img]
[sub][@PigeonOfAstora][@Richard Horthy][@Rune_Alchemist][/sub][/center]

Bolts, steel, then arcane, pierced throats and eyes, well-placed shots by Sir Lein followed by an eruption of gale-force wind to scatter those who remained still. Dame Cecilia, her spellcraft creating the conditions for Dame Katerina’s firestorm to truly [i]feast[/i]. The bandits may not have been felled completely by their efforts, but it mattered not. Their numbers have been evened enough that Serenity could run through the rest of them on momentum alone. She readjusted her grip, held her shield affront, and…

…[i]heard[/i] the thunk of steel through wood, a clean sound accompanied by the felling of a flaming tree, crashing dangerously close to the cage. It was an all-consuming sight through the slits of her visor, all fire and ash and sparks, the rush of the conflagration stalling her just enough to admire the beast that the bandits had somehow managed to corral into a cage much too small for such a majestic creature. A griffin, its size rivaling even the towering warhorses of the famed Velt Cavalry. Scholars have spoken of what musculature would be required for men to fly the way of birds; seeing it up close, Serenity could marvel at the fleshiness of the beast, the scornful disdain that it held to all present.

A prideful predator, burning with the shame of captivity, blinded by the smoke and firelight. But not a bandit. Would a knight skewer the enslaved for acting out of fear? Would a knight strike down a beast, panicked by circumstance?

The gale swept past, broken into eddies by shield and stance, the lady knight unmoved by a creature so fantastical as to be mythologized into the heraldry of Thaln’s knight-nobles. She recognized the challenge there, the cry of indignation mixed in with it, but not all duels ended in death, and this was no pitiful mongrel, dancing to the will of its miscreant master. So she advanced, steady paced at first, then charging forth, spearpoint at the ready, ready to attack, to defend, to take initiative and to draw its ire!

And within the thunder of her one-woman cavalry charge, so too came that paradoxical cry. [b]“Give it a way out!”[/b]

If it wished to offer its heart to the tip of her spear, then so be it. But if all it took was the draining of some of its bad blood to get this beast to spread its wings and fly away? Then that too was good.

After all, House Arcedeen had its fair share of griffons already, mounted upon plaques above hearths and dining rooms.