[hider=Fanilly and Cyrus Collab]“A-ah, er, yes, I was, I just… we’re done now, you see…” Fanilly coughed awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. Somehow, it was harder to talk to the founding knights when they weren’t trying to train. Faced with Sir Cyrus, alone, she found it a little harder to talk, a little harder to get her thoughts together. Though, at least it wasn’t as difficult as with Dame Sescille. Ah, that’s right. That’s what she wanted to ask about. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say it was one of the things she wanted to ask about. There were all sorts of questions running around in Fanilly’s head, and since these replicas of the founding knights retained all their memories it was the perfect opportunity. Focusing on that question in particular, Fanilly took a deep breath. “Is… is it true that Dame Sescille joined the knights like that? By being defeated by Saint Elionne, after collecting hundreds of weapons in duels?” “Mostly true!” Cyrus answered, leading Fanilly on towards the kitchens, “It was only a hundred weapons. Still enough to cause us a little bit of a problem but not quite enough that Sescille could outfit an army on her own. “See, the [i]big[/i] problem after the captain had won was what to do with all the weapons she’d already collected. Most of the people that they’d been won from where nowhere in the area even if we could make Sescille give them up and she refused to consider it–she’d gotten attached and given every last one of them a name.” The blond man quickly ducked his head into the kitchen and called out for… something meaty? It wasn’t a dish below their station, Cyrus had been a knight of the crown even before the Iron Roses, but it was definitely something out of fashion now. Then he took a seat, gesturing for Fanilly to sit opposite. “So, we had a hundred weapons and a redhead that promised to kick up a fuss if she didn’t get to keep them, and no way to get them to their original owners. There weren’t even that many of us there!” Fanilly wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It sounded almost like the behavior of a very ill-behaved child being told that they had to give a borrowed toy back. “What… what happened next?” He gave a shrug. “In the end, we just carried them back. We couldn’t hang around forever and there was no way Sescille could lug a bundle that awkward on our own. A hundred weapons is more awkward and pointy than heavy, after all.” For a few moments Fanilly stared. A hundred weapons was still a lot, how did she even carry them all herself? Maybe she just stored them somewhere. At her camp, maybe? Beating a hundred people in single combat in a relatively short period of time after simply appearing out of no-where, too… “Did… did she ever say why she did it?” Fanilly found herself asking. She couldn’t help her curiosity, now. “Oh, she gave some story about how it was to show up the nobility especially, and even the common soldiers in general, and it was probably true for a while,” the blond man shrugged, “‘Cept that by the time we showed up, she was just fighting anyone who came her way with a weapon. She probably just had way too much fun with it; I’m surprised anyone ever kept her on a leash after the captain disappeared.” It wasn’t exactly a secret that Dame Sescille was a particularly aggressive person. But the idea that she had been fighting so many people just for the sake of her own amusement was stunning. It wasn’t as if Fanilly didn’t understand how duels that ended without a fatality were fun, but so many? As far as she understood, it hadn’t even taken very much time for her to win that many challenges. And yet— “That… that makes sense, honestly, eh-heh…” Fanilly responded. Truely, base on what she knew about the knight, there wasn’t really any other explanation that made more sense than that. “I suppose being half-Serokai might have motivated her at first, but after that…” The Serokai were loosely-associated clans of hillfolk associated with Thaln’s northern borders, and the border between Velt and Ithillin. Due to some of their clans associating with historic enemies of these nations, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for all Serokai to be painted as ruthless barbarians. Thinking through historical anecdotes she recalled, there was one that she hadn’t asked Dame Tyaethe about, one that was shrouded in enough mystery that many people weren’t even sure it had happened in the first place. “Is it true you once faced down the Midnight Hunt?” “Ahahah…” the man scratched his head, about the same time that their food was brought out. It mostly seemed to be meat, and bread, along with [i]some[/i] sauce that was thick and sticky but at the same time not [i]quite[/i] familiar. Not that it tasted bad, and he took a bite before continuing. “It’s true, though the start of the story wasn’t a heroic one. The Hunt had been seen around the Veldt border more often than normal but there were enough churches that it wasn’t a real concern. And what were you going to do, anyway?” Cyrus said. The Midnight Hunt–a motley assortment of angry spirits and the unseelie fey–was the sort of thing where one just had to survive, or seek sanctuary on blessed ground. “But Tyaethe and Sescille had been talking, and not just arguing about cultural grudges for once, and thought that trying to [i]fight[/i] the hunt sounded like fun.” Fanilly stared in mute silence for a moment. Putting aside the comment about cultural grudges, of all the reasons to face the Midnight Hunt— “It sounded like [i]fun[/i]?!” she found herself exclaiming. Certainly, she did enjoy dueling, that was something she couldn’t deny after her extensive training throughout her childhood. But at the same time there was a world of difference between that and facing the cavalcade of wicked spirits and unseelie fey that composed the Midnight Hunt. “You [i]have[/i] spoken to the shorty, right?” he laughed, “Really into slaying or driving off dragons, goes after big monsters all the time?” “...” Fanilly considered Dame Tyaethe’s demeanor for a few moments before responding. “O-okay, you have a point,” she said, finally. If there was anyone in the world who would do such a thing, it was probably the diminutive vampire. And given what she’d heard about Dame Sescille, maybe that wasn’t too shocking either. Fanilly took a deep breath. “But, what happened?” “Someone had to make sure they’d actually run away if it came to it, so I volunteered to go along too. Sescille was happy, since it meant having more weapons available. We spent a while traveling and fixing some minor issues…” Cyrus continued, pausing for another bite, “... and then we found the Midnight Hunt. “They actually seemed a bit confused at first. They’re a [i]Hunt[/i] and aren’t used to their quarry looking for them for a fight. But it’s not like the Knights of the Hunt don’t know how to battle when it calls for it.” The Knights of the Hunt; unseelie fey with bronze armour, too tall and lanky to ever pass for human, and eerily silent. Not quite the worst of their kind to meet in isolation, but when they all gathered together to form the majority of the host… “It’s easier to fight back than you might think. The Nithyr tagging along think it’s hilarious to switch sides and ‘keep things interesting’, which at least kept things a lot more balanced. Of course, you’re also fighting fairies, so staying in any one place too long will give them a huge advantage. We spent half the night fighting and half of it just running before the wilds themselves overran us. “At the least, those two were satisfied with lasting the night, even if we never managed to pin down Lord Rozenalt long enough to defeat him and end it early. Didn’t have to retreat all the way to a church, either, but I was feeling it for weeks,” he concluded. Through a combination of historical and fictional sources, it wasn’t as if any of this information was all that surprising to Fanilly, at least in terms of the nature of the Hunt. It was relatively well-understood that the most numerous of the hunters were the Knights, though there were other beings making it up. It was well-understood that the Nithyr, the petite yet dangerous and unpredictable female forest-dwelling fey, would tag along with the hunt. But— “L-Lord Rozenalt?!” Fanilly cried out it shock when the story concluded. The Bloody Lord Rozenalt was a stock figure popular as a villain across all sorts of historical fiction. [i]Fireheart[/i] included him as a major antagonist. But there was considerable debate over if he was ever real in the first place. The fact he was verifiably fought, the legend of his shade leading the Midnight Hunt actually true, meant— “He really existed?!” Memories of the vivid description of the Red Antechamber, of the Unshackled Men, and the Nine Honored Ones rose in her mind. All of them appeared in [i]Fireheart[/i], and all of them were considered part of the Lord Rozenalt ‘character’. And on top of that, on top of their already legendary nature, Dame Tyaethe, Dame Sescille, and Sir Cyrus had nearly defeated someone she hadn’t even thought existed until now?! “Well, the name, the armour, the antlered helm–those were real,” Cyrus said, having gone through his food at a lightning pace and now mopping up some of the sauce with the bread, “I can’t say how many of the stories about his life are accurate, he [i]was[/i] a malevolent ghost by our time. “Of course, that’s not to say there might be nobody around here who can tell you more. Erich Cazt is a bit too old for it, and you’d really want someone from Veldt or Ithillin anyway… you might be best off asking Prince Erion, he tends to keep track of everyone. Or Sescille, if there’s any warriors from around then, she’ll have fought them.” Given how she already felt about speaking to the legendary founding knights of the Iron Roses, speaking to Prince Erion by herself felt like a completely overwhelming task. She couldn’t even imagine it. But on the other hand— Dame Sescille… Her cheeks reddened. She’d already tried to circumvent having to speak with her for a few reasons. Taking a deep breath, the Knight-Captain tried to steel herself. “R-right, thank you, Sir Cyrus,” she began, “I-I’ll… I’ll ask D-Dame Sescille!” “Don’t worry, she won’t bite. Probably. Unless you ask?” the blond man said, laughing and ruffling Fanilly’s hair… well, as much as her hairstyle allowed for it, “You can come find me as much as you like.” … At least, if nothing else, Sir Cyrus really did feel like a comforting presence. No wonder Dame Tyaethe liked him so much. No wonder all the stories spoke about him like that. Fanilly managed a slight smile. “Th-thank you!”[/hider]