ERode

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@HereComesTheSnow}

Farewells spoken, Serenity finished off the rest of her work in the forge, tapering the point of her spearhead before going over each individual piece of armor one by one, fixing up dents and scratches, polishing it all until it shown, and re-linking what portions of her chainmail needed repair. It was quick work, once she didn't have any conversation to attend to, though she certainly caught the gaze of more than one apprentice as she did so.

It wasn't as if it was all that rare a sight, but she supposed she must still have been an oddity by those whose eyes wandered habitually, to be doing her work without even having gotten herself changed out of her armor fully yet.

The afternoon passed, inviting in the dappled magenta of evening, and Serenity strode through the streets of Aimlenn with all the purposeless poise that a noblewoman could possess. Some of the irritation from the previous day persisted still, enough that solace was better found in relative anonymity than in the same space that both gloryhounds and the pious shared. There would be toasts, no doubt, to the late Sir Rickert, and there would be stories too, to tell, of the mounting of the griffin. She could imagine it already, the boy Lucas jumping up on the tables, riding on Sir Fleuri's back as the Flower wiggled his plumed helmet about. Two buffoons joined as one, clowning about in a gesture of their newfound brotherhood.

Honestly, that'd be funny to see. She'd hate it, but it'd be something to talk about down the line.

Still, the call of the night drew her out further. Lamps cast warm glows, and music flowed from open doors, taverns alive with laborers eager to spend their coinage. Pristine as it was in the morning, Aimlenn was still a city, after all, one where life was peaceful and prosperous enough to enjoy freely. And Serenity herself was dressed for enjoyment. Her flaxen hair was braided for the occasion, a silver ornament tied to the very end, and she sported an indigo tunic to complement her dark green stockings, while her arming sword hung from her leather belt in an embellished scabbard. It was a good night indeed, with Mayon's grace unobstructed by clouds. A night to enjoy oneself, before she began her nightly, knightly training. Another spot of bemusement. She allowed the smile.

Now, what establishment would inspire her patronage today...

"Ah, Gerard."

Average though he may have been, there certainly was no day labourer who looked nearly as disheveled as he, nor one that possessed such a conventionally handsome face, and she approached, sniffing the air once.

"You stink," Serenity spoke flatly. "Been out training til now?"

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

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

That was a neat trick, wasn't it?

Shadows retreated in the presence of purifying light, and this time, Ilena fled with it, dissolving into an amorphous blob of darkness as she slid between the legs and limbs of those that still fought, narrowly dodging through the gaps of the giant's furious strikes. So long as the paladin continued to expel its light so greedily, the shadow-witch had no reason to approach. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the Gorebats, so plump with blood that it was a shame to waste it on mere servants when the lords starved, but she stifled her hunger and instead turned her thoughts within.

Within the black abyss that she had kept her two Exsanguinating Skeeters, Ilena began her profane surgery, stripping away carapaces, refolding wings, weaving together flesh and nerves, and instilling it all with shadow and bone. Flesh was but a weapon. And no matter how bright a light was, without heat it could not sear away a monster.

From the puddle of darkness extended a slim hand, pointing towards the paladin's back as Dragan closed in from the front.

"Dragonfly."

And with the buzzing of six wings designed only to propel one forwards, a spear made of insect flesh bloomed outwards from that extended arm, ready to smash through ancient armor with nothing more than physical force.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Ah, I see why you’re not happy with this.

It’s because you didn’t make him into a beeg lady. ;3

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@Psyker Landshark@The Otter}

"As an Order," Serenity spoke up, "the Iron Rose Knights have little in the way of a hierarchy. As such, in the absence of a Knight-Captain, the one responsible for accepting others into the Order is likely to be Paladin Tyaethe. If you'd like to learn her reasoning, Sir Renar, I'm sure she'll be obliged to it."

Though the fact of the matter was that in the eyes of a centuries-old relic of war and blood, shadow and magic, there was likely no discernible difference between Renar and Lucas. All that mattered, after all, was the Knight-Captain, if one took the stories told of the First and Youngest to heart. The Immortal Dragon Slayer, so inundated by the boons of circumstance that she's unmatched in Thaln despite having yet to even leverage the full weight of her talents.

"I find no reason to leave their learning to luck though. What's the point in discussing Lucas's education, if we're not to point out his faults?"

Still, the matter was dropped, forcibly, and as if aiming to stoke her own ire, Renar brought up the topic of Fanilly Danbalion instead, his second remark a naked attempt to toss fuel to the flame. If he was to be so obvious with it though? "If she fancies herself a knight, she ought to redouble her efforts as a swordswoman." Which Serenity would gladly join her in. "And if she fancies herself a Captain, she ought to better her ability to command under duress. Though I reckon that would be hard, if Captain Fanilly continues to be ambushed."

The flaxen-haired knight paused briefly as she leveled her hammer to drive a nail through the socket of her spear and into the wood beneath, then continued.

"But perhaps the Iron Rose Knights are such that all we need to be is individually competent? Certainly, the legends of our predecessors leave behind only anecdotes of singular glory, rather than united efforts." She hefted the spear up once more, though there wasn't room enough to swing it as she wished. "Thoughts, good sirs? Sir Villis, certainly, was just running ahead of the rest, but how did the Paladin and the Knight-Captain function as leaders?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@Psyker Landshark@The Otter}

"Our roles end when our foes drop their swords," Serenity remarked. "I rather believe, Sir Fionn, that Sir Renar holds a vendetta towards executioners and judges. Why else would he be taking their roles into his own hands?"

She pressed her thumb against the edge of her sharpened sword, stopping just at the verge of her flesh being cut. Just need some oil now, to keep the rust away.

"After all, the less bandits arrive to trial, the less judges needed to sentence them, and the less executioners needed to execute them. And from there? The plot unfolds, as the kingdom no longer sees it fit to employ so many of them, and Sir Renar dines well that night, in knowledge that yet more men have been forced to seek other trades." A cloth ran up and down the length of the mirror-polished sword, removing excess oil. Serenity flourished her blade for one fanciful moment, before sliding it into the scabbard with a definitive click. "A revenge cold mayhaps, but undoubtedly sweet."

Better to imagine what dark machinations Renar had than to dwell upon how far the Iron Rose Knights have fallen, to accept those such as Lucas as full-fledged members of the same rank as the late Sir Rickert. What value was there indeed, when the only one who possessed the mythological capability that made the Iron Rose Knights subject to so many epics was an unaging vampire? Her expression didn't darken though, not this time. "Alas, the boy won't accept becoming an archer. I've doubt he would even handle a spear, except for a joust. Or self-pleasure."

...

Serenity coughed.

"Regardless, Lucas idolizes Sir Gerard, no? He's more liable to listen to one he respects than a girl his own age, if we speak of someone to instill sense in him." From a rack, Serenity pulled out a length of wood, a good deal taller than herself. Its heft was fine, its length could be better. It was wood though, disposable all the same, so she didn't think too much of it as she prepared to mount her spearhead upon it. "Or perhaps the Flower's taken him under his wing. Reckon he's the lucky sort?"

Or would their individual idiocies become magnified, until the fools leapt skywards to skewer themselves upon pike formations?

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@Psyker Landshark@The Otter}

Serenity raised her shield up, rotating it slowly as she inspected the rim, her fingers feeling for imperfections. Fionn's own reflections and ruminations spoke well of his intellect and experience. Indeed, there was a lot worse that a Bandit King could do to be a thorn in the side of the Iron Rose Knights, if he so wished. Her gaze caught Renar briefly, wondering if a less honorable knight would come to the same conclusions as herself. There were stories of orcs who would strap children to their bodies as they charged into battle. Stories of slavers who forced their prisoners into outfits of straw, so if it came down to it, they could threaten immolation. Stories too, of poisoned fumes, of pots of fire powder, of all the dastardly arts in war that the Iron Rose could not answer in kind.

"Jeremiah," she replied, "was a man of low birth. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been a mercenary, and lived his days out as such. But just as some mercenaries find themselves as members of the Iron Rose, others of similar talents find themselves in the employ of noble houses." An eyebrow raised, and she brought her hammer down on her shield, striking out the dent in it. "You two would remember, of course, how mystified Sir Gerard looked when we first broke bread together at the mess hall? Jeremiah was likely to have experienced something similar, and as the conspiracy of House Cazt began to unfold, he was just as likely to have entertained grander dreams."

Dreams that never could be, once the horse he bet on turned out to be a loser. The life of a bandit was miserable, a misery forever accentuated by memories of plenty when one served as the lapdog of a lord. And there would be no respite either, not as a traitor. A swift beheading was the most one could ask for, even if they showed remorse.

"A man of such strength could have slain our Knight-Captain on the backswing. A man of such strength would have received his own set of armor, if the traitor nobles had any sense. A man of such strength would be doomed, no matter what path he took." Little glory to be had in slaying an untested Knight-Captain, after all. May as well have slain a squire. "Your intuition is correct, Sir Fionn. Jeremiah chose to make an impression before he died, and now? He'll live on in your memory, as someone to aspire to match, someone whom you never even witnessed at his best."

There was a sudden venom then, a forcefulness that caused her to stop mid-strike, lest she damage her own armaments.

"That's the trouble with such thoughts, no?"

She laughed. A short bark of mirth, as if to scare away her own thoughts.

"Compared to that farce though, I suppose the griffin put in effort enough for a beast. Sir Fleuri and Lucas leapt at it from above, the former with his cloak as a hood, the latter with a length of chain as the collar. Both, perhaps, entertaining dreams of becoming a griffin rider. I would have expected that out of the boy who chased after Sir Gerard, but for the Flower of the North too?" She kept the smile, but a exhalation hissed out from clenched teeth. "A beast, cornered to that extent, would fight to the last, and so, died. Tis a shame, in truth. Even the bandits' steeds bore more sin than that fowlbeast."

Serenity set her shield aside, and then brought her longsword to the whetstone, sharpening it in long, controlled strokes.

"That being said, I don't quite recall where Lucas ended up while Sir Fleuri was entangled with the griffin. Wouldn't suppose the lad had joined your efforts in becoming the seven-man-slayer, Sir Renar?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@Psyker Landshark@The Otter}

"Sir Fionn."

Serenity stopped, turning to face him as the Veltic man hailed her. Further away, Renar approached as well, the Bastard of Brias already spoiling for the swapping of gossip. She waited for a couple moments longer, then turned to continue her own journey towards the smithy.

"Alas, my work's never done," the young knight replied. "There's plenty more who ought to be cowed before nightfall, lest they dream sweetly of only their vainglorious accomplishments."

Stepping through the stone doorway that lead to a well-maintained forge, one supervised by a steely-eyed master smith and tended for by a motley collection of apprentices and church orphans, Serenity acknowledged them with a nod, before she set her own arms down for an inspection. In the end, the entirety of the bandit battle had been one that did not see her armor doing what it was meant to do, but her shield had certainly been warped by the heat of arcane flame, and one's sword always needed proper care, regardless of how much one used it. It was both offense and defense, after all, tempered steel balanced by a smith's intuition and sense, sharpened such that it could cleave through bone.

A quarterstaff too would have to be whittled down to make for a new spear. And while she was at it...

Serenity removed her helmet, her neck cracking as she rolled it from one side to the next. The gauntlets came after, then the pauldrons. The rest would be more trouble than it was worth to remove, but she may as well buff up the designs while she was here. Reaching back, she tied her hair into a tight ponytail once more and pulled a leather apron over herself, before helping herself with the smattering of tools left on the rack. The smell of the coal fire beckoned happy memories, and the clanging of hammer and anvil made for a familiar rhythm.

Ah, but she couldn't fall so easily into an unsociable silence when her fellow knights were around, no?

"It'd be fair, Sir Fionn, if you would regale Sir Renar and I with tales of your own valor first. Dedicated as I was to the noble cause of disemboweling an oversized fowlbeast, I was hardly able to catch a glimpse of the storied champion that Jeremiah must have been. He must be mighty, no? To have slain three hundred trees with the block of metal he calls a sword."

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

"Yup, happy hunting, Maira. I'll meet you by the bear after this."

A shrine due east. But what was east? Atzi wracked her brain, but while she generally knew the woodlands around Dawn, she never even traveled so far as the Sage's Lake before. The old lady had to be a nice person though, if she kept fit even at her own old age and if she was willing to trust the safekeeping of the key to her competitor!

Well, either that, or, once again, she had some shifty designs.

Regardless of what occult conspiracies mounted up, however, the dark-skinned woman was the type to charge headlong into the fray! And in this case, what did that mean?

"Alright, let's get this started!"

With that proud proclamation, Atzi rolled her shoulders, stretched her legs, hooked her wooden club onto the loop of her belt, took in a breath, and...immediately grabbed the old woman. With a firm, but not forcible grip, she held the hag in a bridal carry, and then took off into a smooth run, uncaring for whatever crumbs scattered onto her.

"Thanks for the headstart," she said, "But I think this is a bit more fair. The woods are still plenty dangerous over here, miss. And calling you miss is awkward too, so what's your name anyhow?"

Was the smile she had on her face fearless? Guileless? Or did Atzi too hold designs, bundled up inside that knotted heart of hers?

"Ah, and you can call me Atzi."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

_{@Psychic Loser}

Serenity shook her head, but it wasn't as if Dame Katerina was looking to begin with.

The song faded from her heart, replaced once more by the crackling of flames, the death-twitches of the beast, and the false remorse of bandits and bastards.

She wrenched her hatchet from the griffin's skull, inspecting its edge for nicks with a disinterested gaze.

Not her kill.

...

Resplendent!

Serenity paraded alongside the rest of the Iron Roses, her armor gleaming once more in the brilliance of sunlight. She wore her helm still, but with her visor up, the knight's brilliant eyes matched the sky itself, an azure offset by flaxen bangs and fringes that framed her noble face. A knight was a lion, and a lion had to look good. Ever-gallant, she smiled at the commoners that had flocked to enjoy their victory march, her gaze just focused enough that it could be construed that she was looking at an individual while she swept through the collective. The people of Aimlenn had reason to celebrate, after all. A flawless victory over the Bandit King, even with an inexperienced commander and the retirement of most of the old guard prior to this, was cause to celebrate.

It was good that the corpses of the fallen were wrapped up and placed discretely in a separate wagon. Better that healing magic allowed for injuries incurred to be hidden beneath sparkling plate and polished boots.

Sir Rickert was dead. Dame Shanil was missing.

A flawless victory, nonetheless.

Off on the other side, Serenity caught a glimpse of the griffin's plumage, pinned to Sir Fleuri's helmet. Loyalty to Reon, and loyalty to the Iron Rose? No, beyond noble pretensions, it appeared the Flower remained.

A smirk surfaced. It was a bright day, but still, it was cold.

...

"Dame Morianne."

The approach had been sudden, a storm broiling into being from once-clear skies. Serenity had waited just long enough for the knights to scatter before she strode towards the elven troubadour, cornering her before slamming a hand against the wall, inches away from Morianne's elongated ears.

A thunderclap, with a gaze like frozen lightning, though her facade remained composed still.

"You are a talented artist and a caster of repute," the younger knight spoke, her voice low. "But I've no interest in being the object of your spellsongs. Save them for someone who...possesses more idealism than battle sense." A pause, a slight loosening of expression. It would be easy enough to envision the most appropriate candidates, under such descriptions. "Please."

If there was nothing of import that Morianne had to say, Serenity would retract her extended arm, take a step back, and smile.

"Ah, and good kill."

With that, she spared not one more glance as she strode for the smithy.

Bible of Ichor: Septet for the Dead

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

Dissipation?

No.

To grab at shadows was to grab at air: one could close their hands over a form that looks so real, only to pass through nothing. Ilena writhed beneath the undead paladin's grasp, splattering like paint against the ground before the burst of holy light chased those congealed shadows away. To presume that darkness could be slain by light was foolish. They moved at equal speeds, forever chasing after one another, and though her form was broken, to return once more was as simple as molding mud back together. As the paladin turned, lunging towards Giselle, the black mud rose out of his own shadows. Limbs, too long to be of humanoid nature, wrapped around his, wrenching joints backwards to expose the paladin's head and chest.

If he wished for Giselle's blade so dearly, then let him have it.

Amethyst eyes emerged within the nightmarish silhouette and narrowed in their assent.