[h3]Giselle de Farry[/h3][i]Undead Princess, de Farry[/i]

[hr]
Considering her experience with her previous encounters with the mindless undead of Alavaris, Giselle was not too surprised to see that despite hitting her marks, they were not as fatally debilitating as she wished the projectiles to be. In the past, she would pour more energy into the bullets if she so wished for a far more devastating effect, but that was then and not now. Still, it was enough to make a difference for the others to finish them off, even if she wasn’t the one to personally deal the blow herself. 

It seemed the fracas had done what was expected and drew the skeletal monster back out into the open. Giselle hasn’t seen the creature previously, but from its size, appearance, and armor she had no issue believing that was their mark… until she and the others realized the distinctive lack of silver sword. She frowned from her vantage point. Had the cleric been wrong again? It would not be the first time. 
Additional intelligence from the mad cleric gave her some more pause. The two ‘Society’ humans were still in the vicinity, together with what sounded like a second creature, and with the sword to boot? Giselle’s encounter with Rikard didn’t give her the impression that he was a necromancer aside from his vials of blood, or that he was manipulating the skeleton beasts, but the presence was a concern. Perhaps they would take the sword for themselves? She supposed it would be a valuable relic in this lost age.

The sword itself mattered little to her. Unlike others who took unsilvered weapons for granted, she was a vampire that preferred to treat any weapon as potentially lethal out of an abundance of caution. 

Not that she ever had to be concerned of being attacked overmuch until the end days. 
[b]
“Let us deal with this swiftly, then. Damaging the structure would be unfortunate, but even a relic such as it is less important than our lives at this juncture.”[/b] They were, after all, resurrected by Ichor for this mission. A mere building paled in the face of that. 

She reloaded her weapon, taking a few moments to place each bullet into the cylinder of her new revolver one-by-one. As Luna worked her song, Giselle held her fire, waiting to see what control the songstress could wrest. She would save her shot for when the skeletal creatures would come into range. Once it did, she would fire at its head and gauge a reaction— or otherwise find its weakness. She sorely wanted to engage it more meaningfully rather than plinking away with a sidearm, but she knew better.