ghastlyInc

Champions Have Arrived in the New World: A Problem Children and No Game No Life-Inspired Isekai RP

Leith Walton

• Name: Leith Walton, Professor of Machina, Ph.D.
• Age: 23
• Gender: Male
• Race: Human
• Appearance:
• Personality: Leith is a man powered by ego and ego alone. He loves nothing more than to be showered with (in his mind) the much deserved attention his work provides. Thankfully, he’s long since come to the conclusion that it is easier to catch flies with honey, as it were, devoting much of his efforts to improving the lives of those around him. Both to gain their admiration and to show them how “amazing, magnanimous, attractive and humble” he truly is.
  
  He also has a tendency to get overly involved in things he should really let others handle his work, often sometimes to disastrous effect. It’s hardly HIS fault you primitive savage’s farm caught fire. He’s invention would have totally worked if you hadn’t messed it up somehow. But don’t worry! He’ll help you clean up your mess.
• Abilities:
  Better Living Through Machina: Leith is a natural inventor and tinkerer. Given the right materials and a thorough understanding of the core principles, he can theoretically construct just about any machine imaginable. From autonomous farming golems to world destroying doomsday weapons, all he needs is an unlimited budget and books to read.
  As such he prefers to make more simple gadgets; Replicating various abilities he’s seen in the new world to lesser extents. At the moment though, he only has his favorites on hand including…
  
  Shockwork Cane: An advanced and compact clockwork generator that Leith uses as his primary means of self defense. While its wielder is passable at best with his...swordplay, the difference is made up for as the cane delivers painful electrical shocks to whomever he bludgeons. Secretly he has named it ‘Bettsy’ and can sometimes be heard complimenting it during its daily hand winding.
  
  Foam Bombs: A set of refillable brass canisters that fit comfortably in the palm of ones hand. When a small switch on the side is flipped, two internal chambers mix together and form a compound made from simple starches and gelatins, which burst out from a release port. The result is a thick, fast drying foam that is surprisingly durable, one canister’s worth being able to hold up to a thousand pounds of weight. With only the occasional accidental discharge to watch out for.
• Skills: Engineering,metallurgy, chemistry, machining, praising himself. and dashingly handsome in a suit. Or a dress, if you shove enough alcohol in him and ask nicely.
• Backstory: Born in the city of New London, Leith was the son of famed Minister of Frogien Taxation, Sir Bradly Walton; also known as the Queen’s Gentlemen for his harrowing life of manly adventure, stiff upper lip attitude, and impeccable manners in the service of Her Majesty. Being the son of such a respected man, you might expect that Leith’s childhood was one of strict discipline and noble doctrine.
  
  ...but you’d be dead wrong. Sir Walton was, at least privately, a known softie. Leith and his five sisters were basically spoiled to their core, the grizzled veteran basically buckling to even their slightest whims. So, for much of his early life, Leith enjoyed lavish parties, expensive boutique dresses(more a whim of his sisters, not that he seemed to mind) and suits. However he grew bored as he entered his teenage years, finding little joy in the material pleasures that had sustained him for so long.
  
  Eventually, while out on his morning walk, Leith came across a public demonstration of the submersible golems used to trawl the Thames for debris and instantly fell in love. There was just something engrossing about the polished brass beings that begged for his attention and it was not to be ignored.
  
  Quickly he enrolled in the University of London’s School of Machina Arts and Sciences, his lackluster performance from prior years in school being thankfully ignored thanks to a generous donation from Daddy. It was...a difficult adjustment period to be sure. For one, while he was certainly...an enthusiastic learner, he was pretty much ignorant of any sort of mechanical knowledge when he began his attendance. That, combined with his fellow students regarding him with little more than an eccentric spoiled party goer with a passing fancy, left him with few friends.
  
  It took Leith three years to finally pass his freshmen courses. Three years of the most regiorous study of his life, not just of machina but all the sciences he could get his hands on. And in that time, the dismissal of his peers had evolved to outright mockery, even well respected teachers advising him that (perhaps) this was a poor career choice for him. The act had all but insulted the young Leith who, now finally competent enough to understand the basics of his craft decided to redouble his efforts.
  
  It took him only two more years to finally finish his degree and an additional year to obtain is Doctorate, buoyed not by his fathers influence and wealth, but sheer desire to spite those that had insulted his greatness. After graduation Leith took a teaching position with the University, devoting huge swaths of his time to researching and improving upon the works of his ‘contemporaries’ for quote ‘the public good’. His lectures often devolving less into actual machina and more into the immense design failures of his fellow teachers and alumni.
  
  While many outside his craft lauded him with praise (all deserved) he’d garnered something of a cult of hate around him. This scarcely bothered Leith, who was more than eager to feed their annoyance and throw their collective failures back in their face at every opportunity.
  
  But as they say, Pride cometh before the fall. During his final year in the world of New London, Leith supervised the construction of several high pressure distilleries for local spirit manufactures in London. While it wasn’t his normal vein of work, he’d taken the job largely so a particularly annoying peer would be denied the chance to have it. But the workload of refitting and redesigning three dozen facilities at one time was just too much for one man to handle on his own (despite his insistence otherwise). So...he cut a few corners on machining tolerances here and there. It was just a distillery afterall, what was the worse that could happen.
  
  Apparently the worst that could happen was flooding the streets with scalding alcohol, thankfully claiming no lives but injuring hundreds. The scandal that followed all but ruined Leith’s reputation. To the point that even his father suggested he take time to...distance himself. So that the familys honor might be maintained.
  
  When that mysterious letter arrived Leith all but slammed his seal of approval on the blasted thing. Even if it was a joke, a chance to escape his embarrassment and provide his considerable talents to those worthy of them was an all too sweet chance to pass up.
• Origin: The World of New London. An alternative history where the British Empire never tired and became the world government during the early 1400s. Here, with little conquest left to the world, the Empire turned its attention to rapid advancements in the sciences, eventually (by pure happenstance) developing a sort of psuedo-perpetual motion machine. Where in the amount of work put into their simple clockwork systems was significantly less than the amount of work such a system could turn out.

Champions Have Arrived in the New World: A Problem Children and No Game No Life-Inspired Isekai RP

Interested, I shall make an isekai'd person.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

The trip back to Aimlenn was...reasonably uneventful, all things considered. A few rebellious prisoners that needed to be reminded of their situation had provided him with some much needed entertainment. It....wasn't much. But it was always fun to put the fear of Reon into the hearts of bandits. Coming back to the capital was far less so.

As their procession rode through the street the common folk gawked at them, their eyes wide with religious and patriotic awe. To most of them at least. Gillian for his part, being one (if not the only) member of the order whose preferred mount was, in fact, as much an ass as its owner garnered more than a few confused stares mixed in with the reverie. Gillian hated the attention. Not because he was something of a comedic figure to them. But because it was the same mindless admiration that put a girl barely older than he was when he first began training in charge.

So, needless to say, getting back Candaeln was a welcomed reprieve. A quiet shelter of stone away from those who were too smitten with a virginal maiden protector, even if it was the home and hearth of such tripe.

Thankfully, Fanilly had either the wisdom or the impatience to relieve them of duty pretty much the moment they step through the gates. Saving everyone (herself included) the hassle of some grand speech about their victory in lieu of good old fashioned R&R. He'd just finished stabling his donkey when he spied...a younger knight speaking to a rather finely dressed woman.

The Knight (Jarde?@PaulHaynek Jarret? Gillian was sure it was one of the two names) was understandably brusque with the woman. No Rose, no matter how fanatical in their loyalty, was exactly thrilled to receive new orders first thing after coming home. Gillian choked down a small laugh, making a mental note to pull the blonde aside later. If only to gently remind him that shooting the messenger (even if unintentionally) was sort of Faux Pas. Especially when said messenger was working for Royalty.

He coughed loudly to catch the girls attention, sparing a moment to nod at Ser Ban@jdh97 to let the man know he'd handle it. Ban was...a creepy bastard. A creepy bastard who could shoot like it was nobodies business, but a creepy bastard none the less. Leaving Gillian as the only (massively under) qualified individual give the Iron Roses Formal reply to the request.

"I apologize for my fellow knights....curt response Ma'am." He offered softly, taking a moment to bow slightly in apology. "He's too new to know the formalities. And perhaps still shaking out the nerves from our last mission." He added, fibbing a little to save the younger knight some face.

"Please inform her Royal Highness that we of the Iron Roses will attend happily. You've my word as a Reliquary the letter of her request shall be law." He said, tone light and pleasant despite how much he loathed this sort of pedantic crap. But when the ruling family said jump...you didn't really get away with saying just 'yes sir'.

...All that said, the courier was very much not royalty. And, therefor, very much a viable target for a little amusement. "...I certainly hope to see you there." He said cheerily as he crossed his arms. "I'm a bit surprise the Princess would send one of her Lady's in Waiting to deliver the message." He adds, voice lilting a bit as he gauged her reaction. He very much doubted she was anything close to a Lady, in waiting or otherwise. But flirting was no fun if you didn't make an effort to flatter a bit. "I apologize Miss, what did you say your name was...?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

VV can attest to my hereness, though that was lacking a little while back.

Fate/Eternum

Assassin-Lucius

Lucius dutifully set up the easel in the private booth, enjoying the feeling of heavy wood as it slotted into place. God the people of this era were spoiled for choice when it came to, from his perspective, high quality equipment. Sure, it was hardly a noble phantasm's level of quality (not that he was even sure what an easel shaped noble phantasm would even be made of...) but the easel was a good oaken construction. The grain was even and healthy, free from knots, and its construction almost clinical in its cleanliness. Honestly it was amazing how much had changed since he....died?

Yeah, that covered most of the bases he was pretty sure.

Still for how much things had changed...

"...the more they stay the same..." He noted looking out from the booth and over the spectators. The crowd practically vibrated in their seats, their mewling voices that brayed for the forth coming combat drowned only slightly by the thin veil of glass that separated him and his master from the plebeians. "Hmph. Atleast in my day we conducted ourselves with a little decorum. Atleast nobodys naked and being violated by a lion..." He lamented, stepping away from the easel to allow his master to prepare her work.

Looking down at the combatants did little to ease his annoyance. So these were the legendary Knights of The Round Table? So far, not so impressive. "I thought this was to be a battle of knights? I was expecting to see the shining glory of the northern barbarians greatest heroes...not a little girl and a blonde woman in a suit." He grumbled halfheartedly. In truth he could see little wrong with either opponents form as they readied themselves. It was just he'd rather be the one doing the fighting than watching from the side lines. As grateful as he was to Master Lalaurie for bringing him back into existence, it was a...frustratingly domestic one in so far.

It was not without its upsides, sure. With no grail to fight over he could actually enjoy the little things again. Like a sense of being...and breathing! But he was a warrior and had...needs. Needs which, right now, could only be experienced vicariously.
"I'll bet a fiver on the blonde finishing it before three clashes. Ginger's out of their depth." He said idly, hoping to drag his master into a game. Already trying to sort out what sort of embarrassing nick knack he should buy to annoy her with when he won.

@Rune_Alchemist

Fate/Eternum

Lucius Septimius

• Name: Lucius Septimius
• Class: Assassin
• Appearance: The False One
• Personality: One would be hard pressed to consider Lucius an assassin at first glance. He is an open and honest sort, with an air of easy companionship to any who might wish it. He values shows of loyalty and honor and rarely actually sneaks about like his class would suggest, preferring to draw his opponents to an equal battleground when he is permitted by his master. He is, however, immensely greedy. He may try and ignore his masters orders until some form of payment (either in coins, which he seems to have an obsessive fondness for, or other bribes such as fanciful cakes or wines). And, if he feels the payment is sufficient, may even abandon his more honorable tendencies if his masters orders conflict with them, though not without a sincere apology to whomever is to be the victim. It doesn't do to be rude afterall.
  
  All that said it would be a mistake to try and bribe Lucius against his master. Once his word is given to them, his will is that of steel. No matter how much he may try to nickle and dime them.
  
  These days he's something of a lay about, content to stay out of the chaos modern life provides in favor of long naps and watching TV, especially magical girl shows.
• Stats:
  
  • Strength: A
  • Endurance: B
  • Agility: A
  • Mana: D
  • Luck: E
  • Noble Phantasm: B
• Class Skills:
  • Presence Concealment: A.
• Personal Skills:
  • And Salvius Was There: A. A rather odd ability for an assassin, but strong none the less. When Lucius is engaging an opponent, the agility stat of surrounding allied servants raises dramatically. Increasing their odds of coming to his aid unobstructed.
  • Riding:C. While the Gabiniani were predominately infantry comprised of Roman citizens, they were also supported by Auxilia of Germanic and Gallic cavalry.
  • Independent Action: B. In the service of the Pharaoh Ptolemy XIII, Lucius executed the assassination of Pompey The Great, however the means and methods were left to his discretion.
  • The Fate Of Septimius Is Not Recorded:EX. Owing to the various fates he has suffered in literature and the lack of historical evidence, if Septimius were to no longer maintain his hold on reality, either through grievous injury or lack of a master, any who interacted with him will have a different account of his fate. They will believe this account to be wholly true and no evidence, no matter how convincing, will make them believe otherwise.
• Noble Phantasm(s):
  
  • Once Under Pompey:
  • Rank: B
  • Type: Anti-Unit
  • Appearance: N/A
  • Effects: When Lucius targets a servant they subconsciously find their defenses relaxing. Their bodies regarding him as a familiar and trust worthy friend, even if their mind is perfectly aware that he is a threat.
    
    If the target is struck by Lucius while under the effect of this Noble phantasm, the spears of both Salvius and Archillas will be summoned. These weapons float about the target, attempting to stab it viciously until it is either dead, the effect is canceled, Lucius loses sight of his target, or the target takes refuge in/on a body of water.
• Alignment: Lawful Neutral
• Changes:
  
  -Removed Mana Burst as it did not suit Heroic Origins
  -Replaced 'Far From Rome' with the Ride skill, as it conflicted with canon rules of staging. Ride skill selected to better reflect the military make up of Gabiniani.
  -Removed 'Gabiniani Contract'. As it is redundant to Command seals.

Fate/Eternum

@VitaVitaAR
Alrighty, Edits were made and added to the change log. Couldn't really come up with a good alternative for the Contract that didn't feel redundant so we'll just do the one phantasm. Thanks!

Fate/Eternum

Lucius Septimius

• Name: Lucius Septimius
• Class: Assassin
• Appearance: The False One
• Personality: One would be hard pressed to consider Lucius an assassin at first glance. He is an open and honest sort, with an air of easy companionship to any who might wish it. He values shows of loyalty and honor and rarely actually sneaks about like his class would suggest, preferring to draw his opponents to an equal battleground when he is permitted by his master. He is, however, immensely greedy. He may try and ignore his masters orders until some form of payment (either in coins, which he seems to have an obsessive fondness for, or other bribes such as fanciful cakes or wines). And, if he feels the payment is sufficient, may even abandon his more honorable tendencies if his masters orders conflict with them, though not without a sincere apology to whomever is to be the victim. It doesn't do to be rude afterall.
  
  All that said it would be a mistake to try and bribe Lucius against his master. Once his word is given to them, his will is that of steel. No matter how much he may try to nickle and dime them.
  
  These days he's something of a lay about, content to stay out of the chaos modern life provides in favor of long naps and watching TV, especially magical girl shows.
• Stats:
  
  • Strength: A
  • Endurance: B
  • Agility: A
  • Mana: D
  • Luck: E
  • Noble Phantasm: B
• Class Skills:
  • Presence Concealment: A.
• Personal Skills:
  • And Salvius Was There: A. A rather odd ability for an assassin, but strong none the less. When Lucius is engaging an opponent, the agility stat of surrounding allied servants raises dramatically. Increasing their odds of coming to his aid unobstructed.
  • Riding:C. While the Gabiniani were predominately infantry comprised of Roman citizens, they were also supported by Auxilia of Germanic and Gallic cavalry.
  • Independent Action: B. In the service of the Pharaoh Ptolemy XIII, Lucius executed the assassination of Pompey The Great, however the means and methods were left to his discretion.
  • The Fate Of Septimius Is Not Recorded:EX. Owing to the various fates he has suffered in literature and the lack of historical evidence, if Septimius were to no longer maintain his hold on reality, either through grievous injury or lack of a master, any who interacted with him will have a different account of his fate. They will believe this account to be wholly true and no evidence, no matter how convincing, will make them believe otherwise.
• Noble Phantasm(s):
  
  • Once Under Pompey:
  • Rank: B
  • Type: Anti-Unit
  • Appearance: N/A
  • Effects: When Lucius targets a servant they subconsciously find their defenses relaxing. Their bodies regarding him as a familiar and trust worthy friend, even if their mind is perfectly aware that he is a threat.
    
    If the target is struck by Lucius while under the effect of this Noble phantasm, the spears of both Salvius and Archillas will be summoned. These weapons float about the target, attempting to stab it viciously until it is either dead, the effect is canceled, Lucius loses sight of his target, or the target takes refuge in/on a body of water.
• Alignment: Lawful Neutral
• Changes:
  -Removed Mana Burst as it did not suit Heroic Origins
  -Replaced 'Far From Rome' with the Ride skill, as it conflicted with canon rules of staging. Ride skill selected to better reflect the military make up of Gabiniani.
  -Removed 'Gabiniani Contract'. As it is redundant to Command seals.

Hey all, decided to try my hand at making a servant for the shits n giggles.

Was trying to make an assassin that hadn't been done in the main series before, but kind of went off the rails. Stats are closer to a Lancer (since he was a mercenary and only really famous for an assassination that was effectively three soldiers beating an old dude down).

Let me know if there are concerns or requests you'd like me to make!

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

Gillian trudged through the smoldering battlefield about as casually as one might expect him to, occasionally punting a lost scrap of armor to the side to clear a path towards its heart. Though strangely his gait was...a little faster than it normally was to those that knew him. Perhaps the dismissive way he treated the carnage hefted upon the area was a mere facade to hide a deeply hidden empathy for his enemy...more likely though it was the chittering noble man at his flank. The man's manner of speaking was grating at best, seeming to have divorced itself from common tongue in ages long past despite still using words from it. Not helped at all that the man was apparently an avid collector of 'knight accoutrements and paces of valorous noteliness' and VERY much eager to speak to the closest knight at length of his collection. The knight in question, sadly, being Gillian.

"I can see why these ruffians did set up camp here, old boy!" Mortimer said, continuing on a rant that Gillian had largely relegated to white noise. "This particular cleavage of land has something of a history of being the dogs where staging grounds are concerned."That caught Gillian's attention, if only because it the only half coherent thing the man had said in the last few minutes. "What do you mean?" He asked hesitantly, unsure if he dared wake the sleeping giant that was this mans ability to talk his ear off. On his other flank, Gillian could practically feel the other two prisoners eyes on him, their warning silent but far too late.

"Oh my yes. Good wood in these parts you notice? Lots of hardwoods..." He said and Gillian took a quick look around. The man was right. The bulk of it was oak, but a few birch trees were stubbornly poking through the shrubbery. "A biggin part of the local eneconomy's tide to the timber craft. I fancy a bet a good portion of the capital her self source its timbers from here around."

Gillian nodded his understanding before speaking. "Doesn't explain why this is a good staging ground." He said flatly. "More over, if the lumber here is so profitable why hasn't this area been cleared? I see a flaming tree atleast a thousand years old that would have turned any mill an obscene profit."

Mortimer shrugged. "Would if either side could. We're on a boarder between two major groups of holdings, so jurisdiction on who has ownership of the land is a bit...fuzzy. None helped by the highway that runs through 'er. Trust me, if'n there was any way I could give the go ahead and strip the land without four or five other nobles having a giraffe I would. If any of us tried to kick up a fuss about it, the Royal family is liable to get involved. Or worse...the buggers at the chamber of trade..." He added, spitting the last words as if they were particularly vile. "As it stands we mostly use it for sourcing saplings for larger plantations and game for the peasantry. "

"So nobody can work the land and everyone stands to lose a profit if too much attention gets brought to it. And as a result, even though a highway runs through it, the local nobility doesn't really monitor it closely. So its a great spot to organize troops without being too cut off from a supply line..." Gillian finished running a hand down his face. It was so calming to find out that this was, atleast in some small part, due to people not wanting their coin purses to be short a few silver.

"We give as good as we get." The Dandy huffed, obviously having told this particularly tid bit of info enough times to know what some might think. "Since none of us commit troops or resources this far out of our holdings, if the surrounding villages or even our estates are captured, its still a good days ride to here. Its just as good a staging ground for the capital as it is for invaders. If not better." He said with an air of certainty.

"Why, during the Red Flag Wars your previous captain even used this region for her own ends." He added smuggly, twirling his mustache with no small amount of pride. Gillian stared at the man for a moment, eyes widening at the implication. "Captain Sylvia fought here?" He asked, somewhat stunned. While he'd never met the woman, she was still a hot topic among the order. Especially these days.

Mortimer deflated a bit. "Ah well.." He began, the characteristic enthusiasm of the man dulling a bit as he was caught in the white lie. "Less fought and more commanded forces here. A few minor skirmishes only I'm afraid. It was why I was out here in the first place. I was out getting the old elbows greased and looking for historical pieces when I spied the camp. Thought I'd found something important and decided to have a dekko." He explained halfheartedly.

Well...that certainly explained how this idiot had gotten caught. Gillian wasn't really sure if he should chalk that up to good or bad luck.

He was about to ask more when he spied the child captain, currently being loomed over by several others. Gillian's hand practically shot out, grabbing another knight by the collar and quickly (and unceremoniously) dumping babysitting duty on him. Mortimer, for his part, looked immensely pleased just to have someone new to talk to.

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@HereComesTheSnow@OwO@VitaVitaAR

"Don't think the tree had a name Larette." Gillian said, sauntering up to the group and only pausing to give Jarde a brief (but respectful) nod. "But if you're asking about the half a man under it,...Rick?...Mack? It escapes me at the moment but I remember it being short for something..." He said as he spared a glance to their fallen brother in arms. He rubbed a claw across his chin for a second, as if to think hard. "Ah no wait. It was Jack. Poor Jack. To be felled by lumber..." He said, eyes lighting up with amusement.

In truth, Gillian couldn't remember the name of the knight. Mostly as he never bothered to learn it. It made things...easier. Their life wasn't exactly safe and they were all aware of that. Even on milk runs like this, things happened and sometimes those things killed you for no good reason. Larette seemed like the type to cope with remembering the dead, which was fine. But he wasn't. The fact that his method probably enraged her probably also helped.

"I recovered the other prisoners by the way,...you know. Before they were consumed by the fires. You're welcome, by the way." He said flatly, waving a claw to as though to dismiss the dead man from his presence. The half corpse stubbornly remained in view of all. "They're fine. A little shaken and the girl needs some decent food in her, but otherwise fit to travel." He reported, more addressing the group than reporting to their 'captain' directly.

Looking the girl over tough...she wasn't too much worse for the wear. Apparently the battle with the bandit leader was more hetic than Gillian first thought it was. There was a light haze of purple on her neck, likely bruised from a strangle attempt, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. But there were other things...smaller and long forgotten by the majority of the Knights here. The small shake in the brats fingers, the eyes slightly too wide for the emotions behind them. The Brave mini-captain, it seemed, was coming down from her first combat high.

Gillian released an annoyed sigh, rubbing his face and biting back a back handed compliment he'd just thought up at Larette's expense. They seriously hadn't even bloodied this kid before putting her in charge? He wasn't sure if that was a product of the blind faith some had in this asinine little tradition or just old fashioned cruelty. He would bet on it being both though. "Danbalion." He huffed, voice free from its normal din of sarcasm for once and instead tinged with the brusque tone normally reserved for recruits.

"Go sit on your horse. You're gonna feel like warmed over shit in a couple. That's a good thing. It means you got the job done." He adds, locking eyes on the younger knight and crossing his arms, signaling that refusing wasn't an option. As it stood, he'd half a mind to throw the kid onto her mount before she got a chance to answer. "Jarde's got a good head for this. If he asks you something, agree. Otherwise just...ride this out." He says, voice softening just a twinge at the end as he turned his glare back to Aria. If his little comment about the other knight hadn't gotten to her, then he was pretty sure this would. The ride back to Aimlenn was going to be a long one for him, and he was pretty sure she'd make sure of it now.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gillian

Gillian had followed Tyaethe's lead when the charge had started, comfortably jogging behind the vampire as she tore into the bandits with contemptible ease. It took all of about thirty seconds before he became bored of the whole..brawl wasn't really a word. These bandits were an honest to Reon joke. "Kerfuffle." He said to himself, deciding that was the more apt phrase as he darted away from the evolving melee, only just catching a quick glimpse of something akin to sexual climax flash in the vampire woman's eyes as she spotted her next victim. ...good for her.

Darting into the small labyrinth of tents (now somewhat bisected by a tree fire) Gillian found little resistance, but he'd largely accepted that was going to happen. Adding further to the slaughter was hardly going to be productive, and with Tyaethe around...he didn't really see much point into finding this Garry-mima or whatever his name. The more pressing (or atleast interesting) matter to attend to was freeing the hostages of the bandits before they were endangered further. Either from the fire or the bandits.

"Mayon's slick button Garric hurry up!" someone yells over the din of combat, drawing Gillian's attention as he skidded to a halt to duck behind a small stack of crates. Peering over he spied a trio of bandits, attempting to smother a small blaze that had begun to encroch on their tent. "I'm trying man!" One of them whines, presumably the aforementioned Garric. "This is bullshit. If those whores die Jeremiah's gonna fucking kill us..." he continues, throwing a heavy blanket over a growing patch of flame.

"Correction. He'll kill you. I aint fuckin' telling him." the third says, standing guard with his spear held casually to his side while his companions worked to snuff the flames before they became a problem. "The fuck I got to tell him?" Garric whines back, shooting the spearman a heated glare. "Cause fuck you. I'm a virgin, I got shit to live for." The spearman snarks back, smoothing back his dirty blonde hair.

"Cram it both of ye." The oldest among them barks, smothering the last of the blaze before wiping the sweat from his forehead. The other two go quiet as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small set of keys. "We're movin' the three of 'em to the meetin' spot." He says, voice firm with a borrowed authority.

"Actually..." Gill says, stepping out from his hiding spot and watching as the two of the three men draw their weapons. The oldest, a human with salt and pepper hair mumbled darkly to himself, though it was impossible to hear him at this distance. "I think I'll take ove-." He says, his stride towards the trio being interrupted as he threw himself to the ground, narrowly dodging a spear of ice as it flung itself from the oldest mans hand.

"Sloppy." He thinks, quickly standing to meet the other two as they charged him. The third remained back to begin his chanting again. He should have known better. The crossbowmen from earlier were clue enough that these bandits weren't without their few brighter minds. He'd written off a witch being among their ranks out of arrogance and only Parnella's panache for surprise attacks and the mans lack of aiming experience had saved him from an embarrassing death.

The spearman was the first to close the gap, planting his feet firmly and thrusting. Gillian swatted the blow aside, before stepping back as Garric charged in, swiping at him with surprising speed. "They've got training." Gillian noted, throwing an elbow that clipped Garric's shoulder and sent him into a roll before returning to his feet. Not the sort of recovery a bandit just learns through trial and error.

Gillian swatted away another thrust by the spearman, who had circled to the left to cut him off from charging the witch. "And they're familiar enough to work as a group." he thought, having to quickly draw his arms in to block another swing from the swordsmen. Normally he'd just set himself on fire and tear through them. But...the risk of setting the tents on fire and accidentally killing one of the prisoners made that not an option.

As much as it pained him to admit it, and though he doubted it was an intentional manuever on the bandits part, they'd actually manage to put him into something of a bind. The spearman and swordsmen's spacing and pressure were perfect. They lacked the technique to really land a blow on him, but he couldn't really deal with one without the other attacking and diverting his attention. The witch though...that was a different problem. That spell wasn't exactly high art, even to Gillian's rather abysmal knowledge of the arcane, but it had power behind it.

Looking over at the old man, it was clear that it wasn't without its draw backs. He was still chanting, carefully attempting to muster forth the energy needed to cast the spell again. So smart enough to know how to cast, but not smart enough to know how to fine tune his control. Good. That was a weak link Gillian could exploit.

Gillian kept on the defensive, blocking blow after blow as the two martial bandits slowly drove him back, only occasionally swipping out at his assailants. "Fuckin hell Barnaby!" The spearman yelled as his spear pinged off Gillian's arms once again. "You fucking napping back there? Kill him already!" He added, stepping back as Garric rushing the knight, swinging for Gillian's neck.

Gillian had to resist the urge to thank the nameless spearman for being so kind as to provide a cue, stepping back out of the blades reach and shooting his hand forward, clipping Garric across the shoulder once more and sending him into a roll towards his companion.

Barnaby the witch flung his spell forward, a lance of frozen hate propelling itself towards its target...before slamming into the back of Garric, who was just popping up from the roll he'd just entered. Gillian took in the look of shock on the poor swordsmen's face as his eyes glanced down at the blossoming pain in his chest before he crumbled to his knees, the ice lance wedged between his ribs holding him aloft as his torso began to lean forward.

His surprise spread to the spearman, who turned his gaze away from Gillian to shout at his remaining ally. The knight wasted no time in rushing the distracted man, his three clawed hand slamming itself through the mans throat and silence the protest before it began.

Barnaby stared at the scene for a moment, his knees buckling from beneath him as the last of his mana left him. His eyes widdening as the knight before him inched closer, a demented grin spreading across his lips. "So as I was saying..."

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Escorting the prisoners to the edge of the camp was uneventful...if a bit worrying. In the tent Gillian only found three of the four supposed hostages. Bruised and perhaps a bit irritable from their rough treatment, but otherwise healthy enough to follow him to the camps perimeter. It was a boring couple of minutes, mostly consisting of the older woman reassuring the girl that they were safe now that the knights were here and no, the man covered in gore who let them out is definitely not a bad person. Gillian wanted to argue that point, if only to kill time as he watched the melee unfold before them.

All in all, not a horrible showing by the baby captain for her first venture...he supposed. Admittedly by the time Gill had brought the three to safety the fight against the bandit leader had descended into an obscenely one sided dog pile. The lone male prisoner, a fine dandy of a man with a well trimmed mustache that seemed no worse for wear despite his capture, seemed somewhat amused by the whole display, asking Gillian if the Roses were always this passionate when they, quote, 'saw fit to bring low the enemies of goodliness.'

Gillian really didn't have the heart to tell him that this was them exercising restraint...