ERode

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

"Now that is rude," Atzi snapped back. "I'll have you know that Maira's voice is lovely!"

There was something odd though. Though she may be oafish and silly, Atzi wasn't completely unable to pick up cues. An old woman, who just happened to have found this 'key' at the same time that they arrived? And who maneuvered events towards something so out-of-place as a race to a shrine that Atzi had never even heard of? She let out a breath. Shrines in forgotten places. A nostalgic sort of thing indeed. And the ornament of a deer as well? If one thought of shrines with deers, if one thought of ancient places forged by the land itself, one Elder Beast came into mind.

Then again, since when did the deer god start playing tricks on young maidens?

"I'm good for a race then," she spoke, shooting a smile in Maira's direction. "So long as it's an actual footrace, alright? But if I'm racing, and you're racing...give that rock over to Maira for safekeeping, alright? It wouldn't do if I raced you, only to find that you ran away instead, lady."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

And so the flames came, bathing her world a bright crimson, a brighter orange, and finally, plunging it all in relative darkness, leaving nothing behind but a strange, almost comforting warmth and the certainty that she would have to restitch the charred cloth that her ribbons had become.

She would have to check herself for burns too, after the adrenaline drained away.

Blinking the searing light out of her eyes, Serenity cast her gaze over to the griffin once more as it slammed its back against the ground. Another arrow snapped off from its shoulder, while its guts spilled out from its stomach. Sir Fleuri himself managed to dismount moments before being flattened. In the distance, the Captain's voice sounded out as well, high-pitched over the low roar of dying flames. The Bandit King had died, his Bandit Knights would soon be too, and his Pet will soon let out its death throes. Prisoners were being freed from their cages, the flaming tree had turned to a blackened husk, and above the moon rose, casting its alabaster light.

Dame Cecilia was done. Dame Katerina was done. So too was Dame Mori, while Sir Lein was still tumbling off the ground, and Sir Fleuri joined him as well. Upon reflection, despite how easy this raid was, how utterly expected the final result was, it was still a clusterfuck and still a disappointment. She'd have earned greater merits if she had held off the veteran bandits alongside Sir Renar or claimed the Bandit King's head while he crowed about how pathetic Fanilly was.

Alas, there was no merit, no honor, involved in putting to rest a dying beast.

Serenity drew her hatchet, felt its heft in her palm. Much steadier than a dagger, with a curved haft that made it a pleasure to grip and a wicked edge that sank deep with every swing, every throw. Her arm reared back, her eyes sighted the target through the visor, and she allowed all extraneous thought to exit her mind.

The griffin had lost its escape when it chose to fight. The griffin had lost its guts when it chose to strike. And now? The griffin had lost its mobility when it chose to struggle. Each of those choices, Serenity could understand, and yet...

"Time and place."

The hatchet spun through the air with a path that would not err, to a target too blind to see a projectile that was just about to cave its skull in.

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

_{@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist}

No silver sword in sight, only a necromancer wearing the armor of the Silverlight God.

"This isn't the paladin."

A simple, cutting phrase. It was a decoy. If death alone was enough to cause a paladin of that abominable order to abandon their blade, then those zealots would have been so much easier to deal with. Ilena turned her gaze to the others. Dragan, instrumental for preventing them from being overwhelmed, and Luna, who assisted him with her emotive manipulations. Giselle and the Rime-Winged Vermillion Angel maintained the high-ground advantage, raining projectiles down below. And Akyasha herself, in this instance, looked to be most suitable for the task of tracking down that silvered blade.

Fine.

She wasn't hungry, and this was not a hunt worth expending any energy on, but Ilena would do it regardless. She sighted her target, gathered her might, and...pounced.

A black wolf bearing two sets of buzzing wings, dove downwards from the top of the gate, its form as fluid as ink, as mud. But its fangs and claws were very real, and the shadowmeld weapons scattered the undead beneath the beast, before the beast itself sank into their shadows. Snaking through the chaos of the disorderly horde, it circled around the armored lich as nothing more distinct than a puddle of mud, before bursting out once more to strike at it from behind, jaws opened to take its head clean of its shoulders.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

For a moment, Atzi was relieved that all that happened was Maira getting caught up by an old woman.

Then, that relief turned to concern, about whether or not it was even a good idea to go for the 'hide the stone' plan if even an old lady in the woods could just come across it within the few days it had been since it was hidden.

And finally, as the hag laughed, Atzi's concern turned into suspicion. She seemed...familiar, somehow. Not in the same way that those cultists had. No, those speech patterns were wholly different. Instead, it was like seeing the physical habits and quirks of a friend reflected onto a total stranger. Disturbing indeed, but not entirely offensive. Who knew. Maybe this was Soyala's crazy grandma.

More importantly, however, since Maira didn't turn towards violence, Atzi wouldn't either. The dark-skinned woman loosened her grip on her club, and smiled. Just think of her as an annoying, childish elder, and this won't be so bad! "Sure, if that's what you'd like in return. I'm pretty strong, and that's pretty impressive, I'd say, but Maira here?" A bit of mischief sparkled in her eyes. "I heard her singing voice was to die for!"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

They had dove it from above, and didn’t even have the good sense to stab it?

Lucas, she could understand, if only in the way that any immature buffoon could be expected to bungle about. But Fleuri? Had the Flower of the North seriously been infected by the younger knight’s madness? Had the heat gotten to them both, driven more hot blood than good sense into their brains, compelling them to do something like this?

An element of chaos had been introduced into the combat, one such that even Lein’s own shot went wide. Another superficial wound marred the bucking beast, and now? Serenity didn’t have eyes behind her helm, but she had heard Dame Katerina’s words clearly enough, could parse together meaning from archaic incantations and foreign accents. Reon’s tits, these stupid fucks!

And then, the griffin made a choice.

It stilled its movements and set its gaze past Serenity.

Intelligent, it was. An apex predator in the natural world. Most knights of the Iron Rose could be vanquished by one of its kind if alone. But the heat too had gotten into its head, and it had gone out of its way to ignore her.

A flash of anger struck, a bolt of lightning she grasped. Dame Mori’s song thrummed in tune to her beating heart; years of discipline imprisoned her volatile mind, forced it through a single gap, ending up against a single decision.

A decision that Serenity changed.

The griffin leapt, fearless.

The lion stepped, dauntless.

And as it soared overhead, a perfect, powerful arc, so too did another arc crest underneath. A bright flash, fearsome as lightning, sliced deeply for the soft underbelly that it had so willingly exposed, intent on disemboweling the griffin like a common fowl.

Whether it did or not, Serenity followed through with her step, and with a nonchalantness almost insolent, raised her shield over her head, welcoming the molten flame that spilled from the heavens. Her spear, discarded, would not survive the bombardment. Her sword, held in her hand, would require but another sharpening.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Atzi grinned, giving her left arm a flex.

"Feeling jealous, Maira?" she winked. "Goes to show that you should've ate more cheese and veggies back when we were kiddos."

More serious matters put a bit of a damper on the otherwise beautiful situation though. Despite the threat that the larger critters created, the Sage's Lake really was a perfect place to relax in. Winter made it so that even the afternoon sun had no warmth in its rays, but the kaleidoscope of color cast by the reflection of light from the waters gave it a hue unmatched. It was beautiful enough, even, that Atzi scrubbed at her bloodstained skin with snow rather than water, unwilling to pollute the lake more than necessary. Perhaps, once all this was over and the village's short summer arrived, they could all go on a picnic here. Maira, Akando, Lazhira, Calra, Bolcha's boys, Nylah, heck, maybe even Vammy if she promised to behave herself, and Lissa, if that Raam stuck around long enough.

Sauces made from summer berries, goatmeat fattened from good grazing, maybe even a bottle of wine from Mie's stock. The village back on track, the forest's bounty rejuvenated, their days monotonous and content...

Atzi traced the scars on her body. Felt the burning ache of the arm she lost.

Those days weren't going to return. Those days, perhaps, had never come about to begin with. And the blood of the bear had tinged the Sage's Lake with a murky darkness, the fish flocking towards it in greedy schools.

She pulled it out, buried it in the deep snow, and picked up her studded club once more, her single-eyed gaze set on the ruins, the stone stairs that Maira had set out for and had not returned from. Breath escaped between clenched teeth in terse bursts. Paranoia made even the light of the afternoon noteworthy only for the length of the shadows cast.

The Storyteller held no direction for her, only an immature pity gracing the goddess's rounded mien.

So be it.

Atzi stalked off, following the footsteps of her friend.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Things, certainly, must have been happening all around Serenity. Her field of vision wasn't so hampered by her visor's slits, her sense of hearing wasn't so deafened by her helmet's steel, that she was completely numb to anything around her, after all. But they were perfunctory concerns, the flames and the chaos, the bloodshed and the Bandit King. She had decided already that his head was worthless, and the Iron Rose Knights numbered over one hundred, many of whom were veterans, some of whom were legends.

Their young Knight Captain would be well-protected. If she died even in this circumstance, then she was never meant for anything more. And as for Serenity herself?

The griffin's talons swept out, a cautionary swipe that did not suit the prideful proclamation that it had made, and yet even that did not meet its intended target; the young knight, her grip near the butt of the shaft, had simply flicked her wrist. The motion was magnified along the length of her spear, manifesting in the tip itself dancing beneath the griffin's swiping talons before righting itself once more to pierce for its chest.

Its advance may have become reserved within the seconds it took to realize just how many knights were headed towards it, but Serenity's own advance remained unchanged: stalwart, resolute, straightforwards.

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

_{@Asuras@Psyker Landshark@Pyromania99@Click This@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist}

"No need to destroy its arms," Ilena spoke, favoring the younger vampire with a sideways glance. "Removing its sword is enough, if it has lost its divine magics."

Past that point, a paladin would be nothing more than a brute of considerable strength, one packed in an unfitting frame. To some, it would have been impressive, but to the shadow-witch? It would be food to fit her belly. She exchanged a nod with Luna, the bewitching priestess's words carrying a weight that suited not their present circumstances, nor their present capabilities, but some would yet be emboldened, encouraged, by her flattery. Ilena herself stalked off, feeling yet the children that writhed beneath her flesh. It would be good to collect more. It would be good too, if she had the chance to consume that Est and her own hoard.

There was no true benefit, after all, in defeating an undead paladin. She would have to make up the loss elsewhere.

It was doubtful, of course, that any loss could be made up for at the gatehouse, not when more creatures of putrefied and dessicated flesh laid beyond, and shriek of the undying paladin sounded only to call forth even more of those ragged bones towards them. Her amethyst eyes flickered from one companion to another, before Ilena made her decision.

"Excuse me."

Dragan was a necromancer himself. Luna's wiles permeated through any obstructions. Akyasha's bloody flora could drain nothing from emptied veins. So it would be Giselle and the 'Rime-Winged Vermillion Angel', both of whom could feel Ilena's hand rest against the back of their necks. Could hear that once-inaudible whining grow louder and louder, before...

...two sets of translucent insectoid wings burst out from the shadow-witch's back, their crystalline veins almost beautiful if not for the black viscera still staining them. They twitched, flexed, shaking off the fluids of mutant-birth, and then buzzed at maximum speed, launching all three vampires up to the top of the gatehouse in mere seconds, where Ilena deposited them afterwards.

There was a vantage point now. The high ground, so to speak.

And from that high ground, the shadow-witch began to allow her shadow to seep downwards, a slow-crawling mud that was so much less picky than herself, a Black Tide that would be jubilant for even bones dry of marrow, after so many centuries of neglect. Down, down, down it crept, living darkness that pulled all into the witch's swamp.

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Its response was swift, perhaps even instinctual, and in the face of that primal, desperate fury, the fury of a beast that wished only for revenge rather than survival, Atzi allowed her toothed club to fall out of her hand on the first swing. The heavy weapon disappeared into the brush, and in the same move, she met the bear head-on, her shoulder tucking against the underside of its jaw as her arms, one of flesh and one of bone, wrapped around its chest. In a contest of strength, even Atzi couldn’t expect to go up favorably against such a mountain of muscle, but if all she had to do was survive?

The Grove Bear’s jaws were powerful, but she was too close for it to bite down at her, not with her shoulder forcing it up. The Grove Bear’s claws were long, but she was too close for it to get a full swing off, and her cloak was thick enough that the blunted tips could only snag against the treated leather. The Grove Bear’s strength was tremendous, but she was clinging to its underside, and no matter where it charged, it could not reach her.

So all it could do was fall, the blood flowing ever faster out of its mortal wound, the bear collapsing over Atzi moments later. And that too, she was prepared for. In smothering silence, in fading warmth, the woman waited until the heartbeat she felt had stopped, until the weight she felt had deadened, before she slowly pushed herself off the great beast, caked from head to toe in blood.

Not her blood.

Slicking her hair out of her eye, she rubbed the back of her shoulder and sniffed the already-congealing gore on her skin. “Think I can take a quick dip in the lake, Maira? Maybe finish bleeding out the bear too?”

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@PigeonOfAstora@Richard Horthy@Rune_Alchemist}

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 feast. 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…

…heard 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. “Give it a way out!”

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.