Frankly, he hadn't expected the Iron Roses to be individually so much stronger than each member of Prince Erion's retinue as they were. It seemed their training had borne fruit after all. But that mattered less in the face of the opposing knights' impeccable squad tactics and coordination. Renar grit his teeth in irritation as his killing blow was blocked by the compatriot of his target, a shield interspersing itself between poleaxe and head seemingly from out of nowhere.
This was fine. He could adjust. His ears caught the various shouts across the battlefield, and Renar stepped back from an arcing slash just in time to briefly keep an eye on the bigger picture. The Talderians were blocking in formation in order to render Gertrude's fireballs useless in direct assault. As a distraction, though...
"To the flanks! Clear the firing line!" Renar shouted to his fellows, backing up to give Gertrude a clear shot between herself and the knights that he, Fionn, Gerard, and Fleuri were facing. "Follow my lead!" He'd be an idiot to just shout his plan in the midst of battle. The other three were all competent enough to get the gist as soon as he would move, anyway.
The moment after Gertrude's fireball would impact against the Talderians' shields, Renar would step in, crouching down to deliver a sweeping strike to the feet of as many knights in the shield wall as his poleaxe could reach. Easy meat for the others to deal with should they trip and fall.
The downside to such a team-focused approach was that it was rendered far less effective with each casualty. In theory, they just had to keep bleeding the proverbial beast until it lost its strength.
This should prove to be quite the challenge, he thought. Even with half of Erion's knights sitting the battle out, they still outnumbered the Roses, and their uniform appearance suggested to him that they were accustomed to fighting in formations. They weren't even being challenged to actually defeat the knights, just get within striking distance of the Last Prince of Talderia.
The strength of the Talderian knights was their uniformity. The strength of the Roses would have to be their variety.
With the smoke and confusion of the witch's bombardment and Rolan's alchemical mixture, it would be up to the line-breakers- Renar, Gerard, Fionn, and himself- to crash against the enemy's ranks.
Renar commanded Fleuri to support him at the front, with Fionn and Gerard supporting them. He wordlessly nodded beneath his helmet, and took up his position. He charged forward, sword raised. Fionn circled around Renar, creating a wedge formation, and demonstrating a new trick- a spell to enhance his longsword into a greatsword. Quite a useful trick, Fleuri thought. Being able to enhance or alter one's weapon in such a manner opened up many new possibilities in combat.
He swung his sword at the first Talderian in his way, striking from outside the range of their own one-handed sword but consequently not having a lot of force behind the attack. It was no matter- his intention was to keep them on the defensive for just a moment. As he advanced, he spun around, picking up more momentum so when his greatsword came swinging around, it would hit with much more force against a now-closer foe.
Instead the blow was intercepted by the shield of the next-nearest Talderian, taking the brunt of a strike and leaving their companion open to counterattack the Iron Rose. Before coming to this world, Fleuri might be able to deflect the blow. But after training with Florian, after facing so many foes as recalled by the Mirror Knight, he found himself instead deflecting and attacking in the same movement, catching the foe's blade on his hilt as his blade was rotated and swung towards his foe.
These warriors were indeed formidable in their cooperative formation fighting, and it'd mean that he'd be having to fight multiple foes at once throughout this battle. And while Fleuri would probably never be able to take on two knights at once quite like as Florian could, he was nonetheless confident in what the Mirror Knight had taught him.
Suddenly, Renar commanded them to follow his lead and get out of the way. He didn't take a moment to look at why they were being told to do it- this was a time for action, and even a moment's hesitation could be disastrous. Besides, for all of his bad blood with Renar, he trusted the man on the battlefield. He moved in Renar's direction, only then realizing the exact meaning of his words- to give the witch a clear shot for a spell.
The moment Renar would resume his attack, Fleuri would appear at his side, striking at any that were unbalanced by the polearm blows.
Though the fireballs weren't doing as much as Gertrude had hoped, they at least weren't killing anybody, and they were forcing the knights to stay in place and block. It wasn't a bad outcome, but still really annoying. By the time Rolan had caught up to her, Gertrude was in between seething at how heavily-armored the knights were and seething that the dunderheaded boor from the other day had any capacity to perform magic whatsoever (it was stupid people magic, but magic nonetheless).
Gertrude growled as Rolan had the gall to suggest literally any course of action to her, but softened a little at what small reverence he placed upon her abilities. It was the first bit of praise she'd gotten thus far from these fools, even though she'd deserved far more.
"Notice how that pompous popinjay seems to have brought twice as many troops as he'd intended to use?" Gertrude responded, sneering, "my guess is that if I go too hard and kill everyone in the middle, the awaiting flanks will swoop in while the initial crew revive and rotate out. Big waste of mana. The trick is finding a way to maim them just enough, or at least get them out of the way."
She needed something a bit more impactful than fireballs, so the next step up would be...
Ah, there it was. Straight from the Captain's mouth. Adoration. At least, a little.
"Surely you can praise me more, mistress," Gertrude responded, smirking as she got on her broomstick sidesaddle, "we'll see if this gets you any headway. If not, I may just have to start killing the minimal amount."
Gertrude lifted off into the air as Gretchen finished chanting. The other knights had summarily gotten out of the way for her, so the entire area ahead of them was open for the fully-charged spell she had been working on.
"...Shooting Stars!"
It wasn't a high-level spell, but the more you put into it, the more you got. It would be perfect for disruption, maiming, and knocking unconscious any number of the knights directly ahead of her own allies-
Her own tools.
Though it was a bit novel, not having everyone be your enemy.
A countless number of magical bullets rained down on the Talderian knights from above. Those that were quick might raise their shield to the sky, which would leave them open from the front. Those that were not quick might find themselves unconscious or dead from the sheer number and force of the stars. Either way, it was on the Roses to capitalize.
Even in the face of the sudden, almost unexpected bursts of strength their two-pair wedge had brought to bear upon the massed shields, the Talderian Legions' legendary cohesion was on full display— to the point where their numbers had shored the gulf in physicality well, two or three men lending aid and pulling those that had borne the brunt behind their ranks all but immediately. Gerard had to click his tongue, but in turn could hardly help the smirk play across his face as he harried off a pair of fangs from either side, one apiece intended to crush into the lefthand flank of their wedge. He'd swapped with Fionn as almost afterthought, but it was proof of their foes' poor luck today—
"Well aren't we spoiled, Fionn— we've got professionals to deal with for a change."
They weren't dealing with a patchwork cell of four singular gorillas. Perhaps their shifts weren't as uniformly honed as the princeling's cohort, but he was thick as thieves with each of these three, and needed little more than impetus to work among them. When Renar called for them to break off and clear the line for Gertrude and Gretchen's Shooting Stars, it was a mere call of "Bounding left!" and an extra push off Fionn's passing shoulder to swap position with his fellow ex-merc, letting the man with the big magic blade cover the wide arc their moving diamond had to concern itself with behind.
Renar's working theory was easy enough to intuit with his clearer head— funnily, it echoed the favored tactics of the Old Lord of his home province. Rather than getting bogged in, encircled, and (however slowly) cut to ribbons by posting four blades against fourty, they took advantage of their greater mobility and smaller unit by fading away and crashing into other edges of the Talderian lines, wolves exhausting elk. Each clash would see the point hit them with all the momentum, and force two or three men behind the wall at best— like yanking at the seams to see what would pull loose.
"So this is what having real magic on call is like," he breathed, longsword biting deep into those that had busied themselves with guarding against the shower, a blender of thrusts and hews that ensured a line of steel was always there to keep their outer wing solid. No getting zealous, no getting carried away, just tight, effective work to punish indecision or overcommitment. Vom tag falls into Zornhau, fades back in Wechsel, covers space with a Mittelhau when they try to follow the retreat... flow, breathe, and just cut what they give you. Whatever they don't, the twins are probably gonna pound flat. "Could get used to it. Big fan of fireworks."
Beating their way deeper into the Talderian lines had proven both a quicker and slower prospect than he'd imagined; quicker in that the strain was showing on each individual warrior among their midst far faster than he'd have expected, though their skill at fighting in formation was proved far more of a counter to the knights' individual prowess than he'd hoped for. Thus, slower. Overall the groups found themselves fairly evenly matched, though it was no secret which would tire first.
Renar led the way as they naturally formed into a small wedge, driving the push into the Talderians; Fionn hadn't let up on the momentum once since his first swing, falling into a rapid rhythm of alternating mandritto and roverso fendenti hammering downward into the uplifted shields and blades of the foes before him as they slowly pushed in, careful not to let his footwork carry him away from the other three. Gerard was there to watch their backs and keep any opportunistic fighters from penetrating and breaking the wedge, and the only protection he had on his other flank was Renar's own furious assault.
The Talderians took blows, tried to riposte, took more—fell back, and more came and took their place instantaneously, flowing back in like water.
Or pushing forward like sharks' teeth renewing, depending on how aggressively they came in.
Gertrude's fire continued raining down; he continued to attack, taking advantage of each opportunity to force another legionnaire to be pulled back, another to replace them at the front. If it had to be attrition for the moment, then so be it. He had more tricks up his sleeve.
"I've got the rear, lads!" he growled in response to Renar's urging them to reposition. Gerard pushed off of him as he turned to more squarely face the wide arc of soldiers left behind; he let his last cut carry his blade down below the midline of the assault, the tip coming low left, whirling back up in an arc—thrust forward rapidly at the first Talderian to advance, who retreated again instantly. The blade fell back, tracing the reverse of its prior path under Fionn's guiding hands, and he covered their retreat with a series of rising steps nearly the exact inverse of his prior assault. Roverso sottano with the false edge, mandritto sottano with the true; the blade became a shield wall all its own, both warding the enemy's blades with its speed and heft and presenting enough of a threat from the same that they didn't dare come too close.
Gertrude flew high above them, raining a hailstorm of magical blasts down upon the Talderian host. Fionn's blade rose again from his lower left; this time he didn't turn it fully for the pattern, instead only coming down partway before redirecing into a rapid mezzano from the right to fend off a legionnaire who'd escaped the initial starry assault and send him back to his allies. His blade redirected again, up into a high guard, posta di finestra sinestra. Point forward, but not thrusting again; Renar lunged forwards, swiping low horizontal at their legs, Fleuri just beside him.
Fionn lunged forward as well, capitalizing on the sudden threat of his allies to advance. Gerard was barely a step behind joining the attack, and Fionn wouldn't be left lacking by the other three. He advanced as well, one step, two, turning his blade to be ready for a fierce downward blow and regathering his breath and energy as he did so—and he delivered a forceful lunging stomp into the ground, with an accompanying bark of "Krini!" His training with Erich had helped him to capitalize on the knowledge that Fiadh had imparted to him so abruptly, even that of her own, nature-focused fae magic, such that he could direct it more effectively. With more intention.
And just as he'd intended, mana poured out from his foot, setting the ground to shake and destabilize immediately beneath the feet of the same front row of Talderians that Renar and Fleuri were aiming to topple and dispatch.
Mandritto—Initiated from the attacker's outside line, aimed at the defender's inside line. From right to left for the majority of attackers.
Roverso—The reverse of mandritto. From the attacker's inside line to the defender's outside line; left to right from the attacker's perspective, normally. Southpaws begone.
Fendente—A sharply angled (as in the text above) or vertical descending cut. Can be done with either the true or false edge.
Sottano—A sharply angled (as in the text above) or vertical rising cut. Can be done with either the true or false edge.
Mezzano—An attack between a fendente and a sottano. Can either be diagonal with a shallower angle, or completely horizontal. Here, horizontal.
Posta di Finestra Sinestra—The left window guard. Point forward, hands held high, cross protecting the head. Here held more forward and up, more akin to a left ochs from the German school than the traditional Italian stance of posta di finestra.
And for Snow:
Vom Tag—"From the Roof;" an offensive high guard in German school longsword fencing. The point is high, with the blade either on the shoulder, or held higher with the crossguard and forte protecting the head, or even held almost directly vertically over the head in preparation for, most commonly, an Oberhau or Zornhau.
Oberhau—An overhand, descending strike. Essentially the same thing as a fendente.
Unterhau—The reverse of the above. An underhand, ascending strike. AKA sottano. Either an Oberhau or Unterhau can be with the true or false edge.
Mittelhau—A very shallowly angled or horizontal strike from either right or left. Roughly equivalent to a mezzano, though the Italian mezzano encompasses a wider range of angle to the strike than does the German Mittelhau.
Zornhau—Wrath Strike/Wrath Hew/Wrath Cut. The first of the Meisterhauen, or master strikes, of German longsword fencing. Still an Oberhau, but not quite as steeply angled—the attacker steps offline, bringing their blade down at a nearly forty-five degree angle, usually aimed towards their opponent's arms when done offensively. Can also be aimed for the opponent's blade, either offensively to force it off the center line, or done defensively as the response to an attack, beating aside an opponent's Oberhau to enter the bind and deliver a thrust in response—the Zornhau-Ort. Very brief overview, ask me if you want more options of how it can be used, I can talk for at least fifteen minutes on just how to do a good Zornhau.
Wechsel—Another guard; right foot forward, with the blade held low with the point out to the left, hands close in to the body with the false edge facing the opponent. Can be mirrored on the left. Usually the ending point of a Zornhau. Can be thought of as a wider variation of Alber.
Alber—the "Fool's Guard." The blade is held low, with the false edge facing up towards the opponent, the point is forward rather than off to the side like Wechsel. This is the ending point for a full length Oberhau from either right or left; a full right Oberhau ends in left Alber and the mirror follows.
With their individual strength now being focused more effectively, it was clear that this downsized portion of the retinue was increasingly on the back foot--although, admirably, they were still stubborn about not allowing being physically and magically knocked to the ground to disrupt their co-ordination, still covering enough that they could just about start rising again.
But, if things continued this way, it was inevitable that they would lose. And this lead to some sort of discrete signal being passed amongst the group.
The next time one of them was going to fail to block a blow, nobody stepped in to protect. Oh, no; instead the wounded, likely dying, soldier clung on to the weapon impaling them, using their own life as a trade to let one of their companions attack instead. Why focus on avoiding the rain of spellfire if you could lure someone else into its path?
After all, as the Iron Roses had surmised: they had greater individual strength, and could win just by slowly picking off the Talderians. But that went the other way; the retinue would still be victorious even if they suffered more losses, as long as there was someone left standing at the end.
Probably two someones, if they were considering both the maid mages to be a threat.
"Perhaps, nobility always loves its shows of station and power. It always ends up biting them in the collective ass in the end though, a fact they will find out should you have their measure accurately."
Rolan had sent the alchemy fire tipped bolt in as planned, watching it cause its damage among the ranks of the knights, while the Iron Roses continued to pivot and maneuver, the Captain calling out that he was right and shifting their tactics to align with his intention. Well, this plan was much better now, and observing the Roses in melee certainly solidified the overall improvements that had been found during their training. Well, he assumed as much, he hadn't the exact luxury to fight alongside any of them before now, which was something that he would think about later. Rather, it seemed that the enemies were determined to, if dying, drag down the Roses in melee with weight of their corpses to create openings. Harsh, but a clear example of their dedication to a cause, but the solution to that was simple as well. Simply kill them outright instead, rather than wound them mortally. Easier said than done for those stuck in the melee, mind, but easier done than said for him. He had the confidence in his marksmanship to make it happen, commenting as he reloaded his crossbow.
"Dragging down weapons and arms with their dying breaths and grasps. Grim but potentially effective, but we cannot have that. I don't think they truly appreciate the grand works you are quite evidently capable of Lady Gertrude, rather insulting of them isn't it?"
Rolan shouldered his crossbow, taking aim rather than consider throwing out another alchemical mixture or creation. No, too many allies in close range to risk anything else that covered a wide area. Unlike magic, his tricks were indiscriminate so needed a touch more finesse in their application. However, he always prided himself on firing into crowded situation and hitting his mark, and began sending crossbow bolts into the ranks of the Talderian Knights, taking an extra moment for each shot to line up killing blows. That meant the head, as even the throat would leave moments to grasp and claw at the engaged Roses. No, he couldn't afford the luxury of slow deaths and disruption now. Now was the time for precision and efficiency. He would focus his efforts on preventing enemy knights from getting a chance to try and drag down the Roses, having to trust they would recognize the danger of the shift in tactics
Renar gave a savage grin from beneath his helmet as he brought a Talderian knight low, skewering them on the spike of his poleaxe. That grin quickly turned into an irritated frown when the stubborn fighter kept themselves impaled, which morphed into hurried realization as the Bastard of Brias came to realize exactly what was going on:
Suicide tactics. The knights that fell were giving openings for their compatriots to finish the job. And in fact...
He saw the angle of attack in his mind's eye. Exactly where someone seeking to take advantage of his sudden slowdown would strike. In their position, he'd do the exact same. But that just meant Renar knew what was coming. He released his poleaxe and drew his arming sword just in time to parry a thrust from the Talderian's shield companion, stepping closer into their space before quickly slipping a dagger into his off-hand to drive into said assailant's throat. A quicker death. No chance for last second interference from this one.
All the while, Renar plotted their next course of action. If they kept to their current course, victory was certainly a possibility. But the Talderians changed tactics for a reason. Any casualty inflicted on the Roses was worth magnitudes more than each of the Prince's men they kept killing. In terms of grinding attrition tactics, their suddenly suicidal foe had the edge. The next move would have to be decisive.
"Regroup and form up!" Renar cried out to the rest of their little quartet, shoulder-checking another Talderian away before sheathing his blades and yanking his poleaxe out of the initial knight's fresh corpse. "Pivot around and charge, as one! We only need to pierce through the line to achieve our objective!"
He'd been doing well to harry off any errant attempts to crumple their left side within the flow of the battle as it stood thus far, the physical gulf more than wide enough between him and any two or three Talderians able to fit within that angle effectively. Where they had the numbers, he had the force and speed to manage their sequenced blows in turn— some staggering of their tempo necessary in the tight conditions to keep their blades from accidentally crossing, and killing them both by having to disentangle so close to his own biting longsword. In afterthought, he imagined this to have been something like what Jeremiah, or the old man Cazt, had felt along the other end of the Roses' own coordinated tactics—
But the comparison swiftly faded. The Roses had never, even with his intrepid ass among their number, given themselves to a plainly suicidal gambit like this. Another man might have found something admirable in the singular dedication to the cause, but Gerard's long mercenary experience left a different, gilded shade.
He clicked his tongue, frustration spiking, as the Talderian spearman in front of him responded to his silvery point ramming through the abdomen by clutching the crossguard as though the last embers of his fading life depended upon it, far too close in now to use the polearm he'd dropped in the act. Unlucky bastard. Didn't know how many Boars Gerard had crossed blades with in his day. He accepted that much as part of him, immutably. No longer as an obstacle to his goal— simply instead a pool of method, seasoning, and motivation to help him achieve the ideal.
Bogging him down from the front would leave his flanks open to either of that man's peers. He needed to move quickly. Wrenching power out of his hips, trunk, and torso, Gerard let go of his hilt with the rear hand as he pivoted on the heel, bringing the dying man crashing into the path of his compatriot's thrust on the right, biting steel suddenly contending with a wall of ancient armor and inert muscle beneath.
That freed left hand swiftly drew the sword at the dead man's hip free and forward, lashing out and finding the second attacker's throat, before he could completely return to his guard after the sudden interception. He'd leave it there, if they were going to pull this bit out. Enough time and space with that to finally pry his blade free, about-face, and let a swing crash onto his guard—
The heavy thrum of a faraway crossbow killed that exchange, as the deadeyed hedge knight embedded in the main found his mark in that second and a half bind, catching the visor. "Thanks!" Gerard called, prying the second Talderian sword of the day free from the suddenly limp grasp before bounding to rejoin the wedge. Best to always keep a disposable on hand until further notice— and all through his career thus far, he'd proven no stranger to turning the enemy's equipment back onto them. "We'll pry them open! Capitalize!"
No more time for playing careful. At this point, they’ll win off of pure attrition instead of combatting us outright. For the past few minutes, Vier had been trying to figure out a way to get through the Talderian line. They were better trained than him, and certainly more zealous to their cause. All he could think of at the moment was to pepper the left flank with a few wind spells: a more recent addition to his arsenal after his most recent bout of training.
He realized that it wasn’t enough, as Renar began to rally a few of the other Iron Roses for a charge at the near edge of the wall. While a rather bold move in his eyes, it did cause an idea to begin to emerge. The goal isn’t to go through them, but just to make it past them. Vier cracked a smile beneath his helmet, pushing up the visor and sheathing his longsword.
He took a few large steps back, looking for the proper place to make his move, until he found his path: at the borderline between the left and far left of the Talderian line, while four of his brothers in arms were engaging the enemy. ”For the Roses.” He took no time to prepare, using a small burst of wind magic to remove the need for acceleration, as he made an attempt to vault over the shield line, using own of the guardsmen’s shields as a way to propel himself over them. Should he land, Vier would promptly begin helping Gerard from the opposite side, taking out the opposition as they made attempts to attack his fellow knights.
Oh no, Fleuri thought as a Talderian knight, impaled on his greatsword, suddenly gripped the weapon and held it to them. He knew exactly what was going on- this fellow was using the last of his or her strength to hold Fleuri in place for a companion to strike at. Indeed, out of the corner of his helmet's eye slit he saw another Talderian moving in on him.
This wasn't the first time this happened to him. Back during the War of the Red Flag, when Fleuri and his paladin mentor confronted the necromancer behind the body-snatching of both the loyalist and traitor dead, the evil mage proved quite adept at controlling his undead servants. A zombie managed to grab hold of his sword as it ran out of momentum cutting through its torso, while another dead soldier came at him with a mace and if it weren't for his mentor stepping in, Fleuri might have died then and there.
It was fortunate that training with Florian and Rui had allowed him to work on improving his footwork. In battle, being mobile was key, and being immobilized could mean swift death. Fortunately, Fleuri wasn't immobilized- only the end of his sword was. He rotated around the hilt of his sword away from his assailant, taking cover behind his weapon and deflecting the incoming spear with the hilt and crossguard. He then gripped the hilt with all of his might, ripped it from the grip of the first Talderian, and swung it at the second with intent to decapitate, and continuing back around to hit the impaled knight in case the hole in their chest hadn't yet caused them to collapse. Merely fatal blows would no longer suffice- their strikes must be to kill or incapacitate.
Upon hearing Renar's command, he complied and formed up, following the other knight's lead in his attempt to punch through the Talderian knights' lines. As Renar pointed out, victory here was not to defeat the Talderians, but to get past them.
Fanilly had only been engaging briefly, forcing a knight back just long enough for them to be pushed back by one of Gertrude's spells, but she could tell her knights' efforts were paying off.
Individually, they truly were more potent. But their opponents knew that.
Killing them was now resulting in simply being bogged down, as Erion's Knights used their own bodies as a method of catching their blades.
It was gruesome, but it only made sense. This was a world where they could not perish permanently, and even if they could they were fighting as if this was a true battle rather then a test of skill.
How else could this be a true test, after all?
Fanilly's blade slid along the blade of a tall silver-armored figure. But rather then aiming for a gape in his armor, she instead forced his sword aside and pushed him into an awkward position, leaving him wide open one of Gertrude's shooting starts to send him reeling.
Their line was weakened. From deaths or even momentary incapacitation.
Her knights' efforts could open a hole, but it needed to be fast enough.
To hit hard enough.
To open the gap long enough to reach Prince Erion, for the mere chance to strike at a legend.
Fanilly sucked air in through her teeth and stepped back.
"Lady Gertrude!" she called, "There! The line is weakest there!"
Her knights had made sure of that. Everything had lined up for this moment, this opportunity.
They'd break through, and reach him---!
Death wasn't necessary. The line only needed to break completely for just long enough.
"Show them what you can do!"
Appealing to her pride had worked the first time, so Fanilly had to guess it would work the second.
"What only you can do!"
With that, she was already running. The very instant Lady Gertrude's spell struck, before Erion's Knights could recover, that was when their moment would come.
The longer they tried to fight it out, the more opportunities to keep them back would arise, so now was their chance---!
At last, it seemed that the Iron Roses had broken through the resistance just enough: the Talderians' numbers were growing too thinned to continue maintaining a numerical advantage against everyone, and those who were still upright were forced to address the attempt Renar was leading to flank them by shifting what forces they had--something made all the harder when having to try and spare attention to avoid being shot in the head. Or, as the case may be, Vier's surprising decision to leap over them and attack from the back.
It made them rather less available to react in time to plug the gap Gertrude opened and seize Fanilly before she could sprint past.
Turning to chase her was even less of an option--if they left their backs open, that would only grant the Roses more opportunities to cut them down, and in this the famous retinue seemed to have a measure of indecision, caught between fulfilling their mission and not getting themselves killed to fail it even more.
Something resolved upon their captain's reaching Erion: both the bodies and the still-standing soldiers were immediately moved to the sidelines with their fellows, the defeated carefully climbing to their feet. As for the knights? Dragged over to Fanilly, the prince congratulating them on their success.
"—Unfortunately, I cannot say what your next challenge is, or when it will arrive," he continued, frowning, "Perhaps Thrinax would know, to look for a signal, but if he watches, he must be beyond human vision."
They would have to wait, then, for the second challenge the witch was setting to reveal itself. Yet even as the prince clarified this, there was the slightest glimmer of blue, an azure gleam—
When the magical torrent stopped, those that were caught were fortunately once again alive, the introductory shot apparently not counting as part of their next challenge. But where they had once been stood, a wide trench was gouged into the earth, continuing onwards and downwards to some deep pit, lined on all sides by some thick layer of glass. The angle and way the trench eventually tapered off could only mean that the caster was aiming down at them rather than straight towards the walls, and surely enough, that way lay a hill, two figures just about discernible from this distance—one much taller than the other.
At least whatever mage was behind it didn't seem interested in following up the shot with another of the same kind—although there was certainly some magic at play.
A few seconds later, a missive appeared, the sheet gently drifting down: "Reach the top of the hill. You will be safe until you start climbing."
Rolan felt a brief, confident smirk on his face when he interrupted the clashing of blades between Ser Gerard and one of the opposing knights, the echoing call of gratitude back towards his current position not lost on the man, though he didn't waste his breath quite yet on shouting back. No, his efforts were proving effective, and he would keep up the fire while adapting to the new approach by the frontline knights. It was like he had considered when he first agreed to join the Roses, that so many of them were front line fighters. Sure, their individual tactics and skills were varied and unmatched at this moment in time, but in the thick of a brawl, it was hard to observe what was going on beyond the next incoming blow. Of course, the opening was finally exploited by the Captain, mirroring the shield running leap by another of their contingent. What he wasn't braced for was, when the Captain reached the Prince, that all the opposing knights were shunted to the sides, and they were all collectively hauled in front of the throne for...congratulations.
Rolan wasn't content to just stand around and listen to Prince Erion, rather he was scanning the surroundings, looking for the next challenge even as the Prince explained how he did not know what was next. Rather, the best bet would be that Thrinax would possibly know, although if he was watching it was out of their sight. Speaking of, there was a glinting that caught his eye. Azure gleaming, and his instincts took over where his mind processed what it was seeing. He barked a single word warning as he made to get off the path as fast as possible. Sure, death was cheap in this place, but that didn't mean he was going to just accept dying. "MOVE!"
Rolan collected himself as he moved back up on the remains of the path, having rather unceremoniously dashed and threw himself out of the incoming attack. Even with agility, it had not been an elegant maneuver, but he was still standing so to hell with elegance. Even if it was apparent that, anyone too slow or too central to the incoming spell to evade it, had returned as well. So it wasn't a part of the challenge, but simply to get their attention. Two figures on a nearby hill, one notably taller, but he couldn't identify them from here. The goal became apparent, climb the hill, and no further strikes would be coming until they began working up the hill. Given the power of the spell, attempting any sort of formation maneuver would be asking to be obliterated. Rolan was already scheming, wedging the second of his caustic smoke flasks to the end of a crossbow bolt. Blind the casters and take advantage of a scattered, multiple pincer approach.
"Rude method of getting our attention, wasn't it? My suggestion is we approach the hill from multiple directions, force their attention to be spread out. Tight knit formations will get obliterated by spells like that. I'll draw attention first, try to blind them, and focus on holding their attention to buy the rest of you time to start running up that hill. Any disagreements?" Rolan was looking at the hill while he spoke, preparing to get moving towards the hill assuming no one disagreed with his thinking. They had time to plan before simply rushing in headlong like a bunch of fools. He would be ready to move out on a moment's notice, even if it was because one of his fellow knights took off unceremoniously.
