Hawthorne

The Prince's Royal Guard

Balthazar was silent, not speaking a word until the young swordsman was finished speaking. The old man mentally catalogued every pertinent bit of information and filed away everything else. Thankfully, Acrius was at the very least thorough in his report, and by the end of it, the spymaster simply scoffed.

"I will not mince words. It was foolish of you to leave that job to a bystander like that. You had no way of trusting them, and his Majesty paid the price." He said plainly. "In that situation, you should have put the Prince's safety above all else."

"In any normal instance, you would be tried for failing to protect the Prince, however..."

The old man then sighed. "...The fault does not lie squarely upon your shoulders. If it is as you say, Naysein should have done something, and the other members of the Royal Guard should have been there to assist. Even the Prince was careless." He explained. "And moreover, despite my informants telling me otherwise, it seems this 'advisor' to the Orc Chief is able to field his own team of assassins." They weren't exactly good assassins (in a team of nine, six captured in a single mission is an impressively bad track record)... but as far as unexpected weapons went, they certainly were able to accomplish their goals, even if at least partially.

Balthazar pondered this. He cannot afford to waste resources on punishment, and despite Acrius' shortcomings, it would be foolish to put aside such an asset merely to assuage his bruised ego.

"...I will speak to Naysein and Faira. In the meantime, you are to stand guard over the Prince as he recovers." It was a boring job, but a necessary one. "His oath to the gods and his paladin training will protect him from the worst of the poison, but in his weakened state, he is still vulnerable."

The old man's steely-grey eyes were focused with intent. An implicit threat was hanging in the air.

Do not fail me again.

With that, the man turned to the Drow. "...as for you, Zatana..." He looked to her, and then to the prison cells down the hall. Balthazar's grin was nearly sadistic.

"...I believe it's best if you get to work quickly."

The Prince's Royal Guard

Co-GM IC:

The Keep - Courtyard

---

Merik and Manald were easily able to drop off the men they've captured to the nearby guards, and while some were a little suspicious at first, they were quickly convinced once they noted the various tools of the trade that a normal peasant wouldn't have. Moreover, as members of the Royal Guard, they held greater authority than those of the city guard, beastman or otherwise. Thus, it didn't take long before someone claps the assassins in irons and hauls them off to the dungeon.

Most of the guards, however, avoid disturbing you both unless you have questions. A younger guardsman, apparently undeterred by your appearances, stepped up and spoke. "Good work out there-- the Captain and some of the Royal Guard are down in the dungeon, I believe." He says. "You're welcome to join them if you like." Though as members of the Royal Guard, you had the jurisdiction to do whatever you pleased at this point.

Perhaps it would be prudent to meet with the Prince, the Spymaster, or the Duke, if you so pleased. Though if you went off to do your own business, you're certain people wouldn't mind much.

The Keep - Dungeons

---

Clarisse let out a dry laugh, even as she bled from the corners of her mouth. She still reeled from the backhand from earlier. "It doesn't matter. Our job's done, and our lives are forfeit anyway." The assassin said in defiance. "I'm not telling you anything." The two guardsmen, the guard captain, and the two members of the Royal Guard present were speaking amongst themselves, and to the prisoner, but before anyone can get in a word edgewise, the doors to the room opened.

Stepping through the oak doors was the wizened old spymaster, and while he looked unharmed, his countenance was even more dour than usual. He gave the prisoner on the table a single, disdainful glance, before shaking his head.

"Throw her in the cells with the rest of her ilk." He commanded. Naturally, there were enough cells for each one of them.

"...the rest of us?" Clarisse replied.

It's then that the old man took a bit of a grim satisfaction as he made his response. "Yes. Of the... nine members of your team of assassins, it seems six were captured alive."

He didn't need to speak-- his expression said it all.

I wonder which ones will break first..?

The woman fell silent. She knew it was only a matter of time before she and her five companions would be interrogated. Even if she could hold out... what about the rest of them? As Clarisse despaired, the guards moved to put her in the holding cells. Balthazar turned to his subordinates once the prisoners were out of earshot.

"We have much to discuss, but we do not have the luxury of time on our side." He started. "First thing's first..." The old man turned to the guardsmen present. "You lot are dismissed. Have a watchman posted at the Duke's bedroom, and bring the healer a sample of the poison they used. I doubt they will strike a second time tonight, but I'd rather not take any chances." The Spymaster strode towards the nearby desk, where items had been confiscated, before handing the man a vial of clear liquid and sending him on his way.

Once they were gone, Balthazar then turned his gaze to the two members of the Royal Guard in the room, before focusing it towards Acrius. "And you... I expect a full report. What in the Nine Hells happened out there?" His eyes were like daggers, and his voice was cold... but expectant. He was frustrated and angry at the turn of events, but he knew better than to take it out on his subordinates.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Right, sorry for the delay. I really wanted to write this earlier, but it took longer than expected. You know how it is.

In my post, I kind of moved things along quickly to try and get to the Pandora sooner rather than later. If y'all prefer to have another round of posts before take-off, lemme know and I can edit my post to slow my roll a bit.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

---

<<Roger that, Pandora.>>

Holden made mental notes of the status of his squadmates, looking to the Battle Net for more details when necessary. It seemed aside from the Ajax and a few others, the damage that the other orbitals received was negligible, or none at all. Better him than them, he figured-- the Grecian Hero was well-suited to take the heat... and to dish it out when it needed to.

<<You heard 'em, boys and girls.>> The Saturnian spoke into his comms. <<Pack your bags and prep for exfil.>>

The mission ahead was more than a little worrying, but Holden wasn't too shaken. The fact that they would be sweeping through an ancient space station and ship that was supposedly the source of the strange data dump was concerning, but he had experience on the ground and in the cockpit; to him, this was just another day at work.

As he pondered this, his communications suite had patched through someone speaking on their (supposedly) secure channel. A rather familiar voice, in fact.

<<We read you, Starstrike.>> Holden replied. Though it seemed the system was having difficulties letting the Skyhammer join their network, there were other ways to send information.

<<We're heading out soon-- rally on us.>> Castle said simply. <<Watch for the signal flares.>>

On cue, the Akon Long-Range Missile System sputtered to life. Though it was damaged from the energy fire a while back, it still had enough functionality to fire off a few explosives. The autoloader swapped the rockets out for a few airborne flares, before launching it into the atmosphere. Soon, the sky above lit up with orange-red smoke.

After some time had passed, it was time to roll.

"Begin pre-flight checks." Holden said aloud. The onboard computer flared to life.

STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY:

BOOSTER 1: OK
BOOSTER 2: OK
BOOSTER 3: OK
BOOSTER 4: OK

ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.

<<Launching. We are Oscar Mike.>>

On cue, the four boosters attached as a supplement to the Ajax's Talaria Jump Jets began to roar. Dust and sand near the launch site was blasted away as the Grecian Hero began its ascent towards the cosmos. Were he Bellerophon or Icarus, perhaps he'd be struck down for such hubris, but it was man's destiny to defy the gods eventually. The hull rattled as the Orbital attempted to make it past escape velocity, and even as the enemy's metal carcass threatened to break apart from the stress of it all...

They held on-- man and machine alike.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard [Pt. 2 - Open] ~

Unamused.

_{December 30th - Rear Trench}

---

The marksman watched as another man entered the room. He was tall, had pale skin, and was quiet and disciplined. When he did speak, he did so with a thick Imperial accent-- he definitely seemed to have lived there for quite some time. Elliot pondered this; perhaps the man was a deserter or defector, or maybe he was a POW pressed into service in a desperate bid to bolster the ranks of the army. Both are uncommon situations, but it certainly would not be the first time either has happened.

Meanwhile, the Darcsen gunner stormed off in a huff, the threat of being court-martialed apparently too much to bear. She certainly didn't leave quietly, and though Elliot said nothing, he couldn't help but sigh. The woman was clearly volatile-- he'd have to be careful around her. From there, a number of things happened. The Oceanic woman, drink in hand, went after the Darcsen, and Michael, thinking to lighten the mood, let loose a one-two combo of terrible puns.

Elliot chose not to dignify the attempt at levity with a proper response.

The meeting room seems to have been particularly busy, though. The sergeant chose to focus his attention on the bearded man. There was no doubt about it now, these two had a history. The NCO in question essentially shooed the squadmates present away, and the marksman was more than happy to oblige him.

Without a word, Elliot gathered his things, secured his belongings, and made his way outside. The marksman didn't wait to see if he was followed, but he figured that if he waited out near the front of the tavern, they'd come over. It was far enough away to give the two men their privacy, and close enough that the other members of the raiding party could spot them. The marksman donned his ushanka, and tugged it close.

"So." He started, speaking to nobody in particular. "What kind of history do you think those two share?"

Elliot wasn't really one for gossip, but he figured it was a decent way of breaking the ice between the quieter members of his squad. Plus, he was genuinely interested in hearing their thoughts.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Hey, I'm just glad you're still alive. Sorry to hear about your fam, but it's good to hear they're recovering. Hyped for the next posts! Will try to get a post out by later!

The Prince's Royal Guard

@Borosev@Inertia@LadyRunic@Fetzen@ReusableSword@Forett

Hey guys, making another wellness check on y'all. It's been... five months since the last one, and in that time, activity on both the site and the Discord server has slowed somewhat. This is fine-- stuff happens to everyone, and in time, interest waxes and wanes. I'm mostly posting here to see if any of y'all are still interested in keeping this going. If any of you feel like no longer joining, then hey, that's no problem at all. Just be sure to let us know.

Failing to respond in a week or two may result in us moving on without you (if at all). Thanks in advance!

The Prince's Royal Guard

Co-GM IC:

The Keep - Second Floor, 10 PM

---

As Balthazar walked through the halls of the keep, he could not help but feel a little worried. Normally, when the Sending Stones are used, the recipient of the message can send a reply if they so wish. Without a reply of acknowledgement, the old man could only assume the worst, and that the assassins were at least somewhat successful. This worried the man; how could he return to his Emperor-- his friend-- knowing that he had failed to uphold his promise?

Still, the man took a deep breath. If Leonidas had even a fraction of his father's resilience, a bit of poison wouldn't be the end of him. It was, of course, exceedingly problematic that the Orc Warband not only had a non-orc advisor, but a group of assassins, too. The fact that they were willing to go as far as to attempt to take the life of such high-profile individuals showed how dangerous this group could truly be.

...even if the assassins in question were not as competent as their master would like.

The spymaster spotted an unassuming man walking down the corridors-- presumably in search of him. Their eyes met, and the servant called out to him. Balthazar remembered this man from before: he was one of Duke Manuel's attendants... 'Morgan', the old man believed his name was. The butler was first to speak, politely bowing before the noble in question, before speaking.

"My lord, the Duke has fallen victim to assassins!"

"So I've heard. Where is he now?"

"In his bedroom, my lord. The doctor is treating him as best as she can."

"Good. I need you to locate one of our companions-- a cleric of the Sacred Order known as Lady Turash. See if she has recovered from her fatigue enough to wake. Her healing skills may prove essential soon."

"As you wish, my lord."

The two parted ways soon after, walking splitting off at an intersection. Morgan went to find Drana, while Balthazar moved towards the master bedroom to check on the Duke's condition. The old man found the correct door soon enough, took a sigh, and knocked twice before entering the room. The man nodded to the healer in the room, before slowly approaching the incapacitated man in bed.

"Duke Karstilli." Balthazar said quietly. "How does he fare?" He asked the healer, though the pause in the air gave the Duke in question enough time to respond, if he so wished.

The Keep - Courtyard, 10 PM

---

Manald easily disabled the assassin that he had grabbed. A few broken bones, and a massive kick to the groin is all that was needed to truly put the man down. Still, although the dagger stung more than a little bit, and the poison felt somewhat painful... a poison that was potentially fatal to a regular humanoid could not even hope to overpower the hardiness that a lycanthrope provided. Still, it was more than a little annoying. If they had the ability to use more poison, or perhaps a stronger one, then perhaps he'd truly be in trouble.

Merik's quick action also helped prevent his friend from becoming injured. The crossbow-wielding assassin couldn't help but let out panicked screams as the eight-foot-tall lizardman pounced on him. At this range, he had no hope. With a few strikes to vital areas, the man was quickly subdued.

The pair of beastmen didn't know what these assassins were here for, but it was certainly nothing good. Now all they needed to do is haul them off to the dungeons, or hand them off to the guards.

The Keep - Stables, 10 PM

---

Zatana's initial approach was quite successful-- even with the man having freed his cloak from that wicked mare, the enemy assassin was not able to anticipate the feint. As her blades opened up the man's inner thigh, and cut a slash across his dagger hand, her attacks only compounded his injuries. With his injuries from the previous battles, and his exhaustion, this fight was as good as finished. It was clear that these assassins were not anticipating such resistance.

But the Drow was nothing if not thorough. She easily disrupted the man's footwork with a sweep of the leg, causing him to collapse onto his (comparatively) better knee. This is all it takes, and Zatana's ruthless, calculated barrage of fists to the man's various vital points easily incapacitated the man. He let out a long groan of pain as he quietly curled up in a ball to avoid any further damage to his nethers (and the rest of his body).

It was clear that the assassin wasn't going to be able to move for a while, even if he wanted to. A quick survey of the area reveals that it is relatively safe-- though the mare seemed to want in on the action herself. Regardless, one thing was for certain: Zatana had the man at her mercy.

The Trade Square, 10:30 PM

---

The Crown Prince now thoroughly unconscious, Acrius hefted the man onto his shoulders and called for help. Thankfully, Petyr, who was nearby enjoying the festivities, was nearby to help. Together, they carried the Crown Prince to the barracks. Many guards gave the trio strange looks, but once they realize that the Crown Prince needed assistance, moved aside to let them through.

A healer was dispatched to help assist the Prince, and although the doctor was not able to cleanse the body of the poison, he was able to stabilize Leonidas and prevent his condition from deteriorating further. Soon enough, a carriage and an armed escort of guards would come to bring the Crown Prince (and any other members of the Crown Guard) back to the Keep, where it is safer for him to recover.

Naturally, after word of the Prince's poisoning had gone around, the festivities were put on hold. The party was dispersed, and an impromptu curfew was imposed. Everyone was to return to their homes.

City Streets, 11:00 PM

---

Rudolph, Fullar, and Gordon quickly neutralized the saboteurs walking the streets before looking amongst themselves. Were there more? With one dead, and another unconscious, they had little recourse. The guards would bring Clarisse to the Keep for questioning, while Captain Helt had ordered the remainder of the guard to sweep the city streets for assassins and saboteurs.

They would not find any more.

...but at least, they have managed to prevent further damage to the city's infrastructure. The amount of damage truly done would not be evident until the next day, when the people of the city would go out to draw water from the well. In the end, it was only a single well, so it wasn't that bad, but the fact that these opponents would go so far as to attack infrastructure was... troubling.

DIVINE INTERVENTION

---

Alistair continued his spinning dance of death, twirling and whirling as steel sang its bloody tune. He managed to catch the injured cultist in a downward diagonal swing, the heretic too injured to properly evade. Even as the blade was blunted by the armor plating, it kept its supernatural edge. He cleaved downwards until the blade stopped moving, before kicking the lifeless body away, barely managing to face his other opponents in time.

Before he could return to the fray, however, the tense atmosphere seemed to shift... becoming more oppressive and pervasive. A lull in the battle now becoming evident, Alistair threw a glance at the door and spotted a new arrival. She was a beautiful woman about his age, with a strange demeanor to her, wholly unsuited to sisterhood.

And yet, here she was.

First the priest, and now this woman... Alistair elected to push those thoughts out of his mind, and focus on the battle before him. Against multiple opponents, he couldn't get distracted, or he'd lose his head. As he tangled with the three of them, the Russian priest from a while ago had sprang into action, quickly dispatching of one of the heretic swordsmen, leaving two more. The Vatican priest said nothing, only opting to give his companion a thankful look.

Two-on-two were far better odds than three-on-one, after all.

As Dhzon tangled with one of the cultists, Alistair swung at his own opponent as the cultist attacked, and causing them to lock blades with one another. Now that the numbers were even, he didn't have to worry about being constantly on the defensive-- a sword bind like this was no longer a potential death sentence, but instead an opportunity to deal some damage.

Contrary to popular belief, when it came to HEMA, you didn't need to be fast or strong when wielding a blade. Weapons were the great equalizer that allowed even the lowliest peasant to fell a mighty knight if they hit the right spot. Instead, techniques were extremely reliant upon the user's skill and form. It was certainly possible for Alistair to overpower his opponent's strength with his own, but there was no finesse in that-- there were proper techniques to perform when swords bind, and he was more than willing to execute them.

As they locked blades, Alistair moved to gain the three advantages: the true edge, the forte upon the debole, and the crossing. To finish, however, the Vatican priest performed a crossline step, moving his sword around his opponent's. The man pivoted using a compass motion, and thrust his blade through the opponent's side. With a bit of effort, the priest cut deeper and deeper until he reached bone, and then tore the blade away with a yell of exertion.

With his opponents defeated, the priest gave his fellow swordsman a nod.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard [Pt. 2 - Open] ~

Weapon of choice.

_{December 30th - Rear Trench}

---

The marksman was as reserved as ever, even as the sergeant moved to admonish the other Darcsen for her remarks. When his superior's gaze turned upon Elliot himself, the boy merely nodded in acknowledgement. "Aye, sergeant." He said in a calm tone. Elliot wasn't the type to do any of that stuff anyway, but officers tended to appreciate a response over silence.

With warnings out of the way, Elliot watched on as Michael and the tall woman exchanged words. Talks of sidearms, shovels, and other melee weapons. The marksman's face was as impassive as ever, even as the sapper told a bad pun and waggled his eyebrows (though Elliot did resist the urge to shake his head in mock disapproval). As the Oceanic woman worked on her incendiary solution, the young man observed it from a respectable distance. Though he wasn't well-versed in chemistry, there was little doubt in his mind: that concoction was incendiary-- a firebomb.

...It'd certainly be effective in the battle to come. A surprise attack was hard to deal with, but when you throw fire into the mix (literally, in this case)... panic tends to spread rather quickly. The morality and ethics of incendiary weapons aside, its effectiveness could not be denied. The marksman took a mental note of its presence, accounted for its potential impact, and moved to observe other things.

In the meantime, Elliot turned to the other new arrivals: a redheaded man of average height-- a shocktrooper, judging by his loadout. The man in question simply opted to stay silent and ready himself for the battle ahead, which was something the marksman could approve of. The next man to step through the door was taller, with brown hair and a scraggly beard. He moved to report in, before suddenly stopping. Curious, Elliot looked at the man's expression, before following his eyes... to the sergeant smoking a cigar near the table.

It seemed that they had a history of some sort. What it was, Elliot was uncertain, but it was not like he had any business in the matter anyway. Still, he was more than satisfied to watch this unfold from the sidelines.

For now, anyway.