so many returning vets, oh me oh my
HereComesTheSnow Member
dehydration expert
STATUS: Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric 22 days ago
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Just ran a stale yellow. Nobody on this website is doing it like me, sticking it to the man like me, blazing a trail against tyranny like me. the only thing revolutionary about you is your rhetoric
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Takeru Segawa is the type of man they made myths out of. Intensely privileged to be able to say I watched him burn so bright as he did before going out with a win. I’ll miss you, hero.
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a frayed thread on the colorful tapestry of our existence, begging to be yanked until the whole thing unravels, a suggestive, inviting golden glow around the idea of leaking my buddy's DMs to his wife
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I'm like the "conspicuously modded with multiple trojan backdoors skyrim save on your friend's screenshare stream" of white boys
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Completely fucking up my field sobriety test as i clamber out of the honda fit i've wrapped around a lightpost, staggering everywhere, before finally scoring a big fat goose egg on the breathalyzer
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Most Recent Posts
So I’m probably sticking with the half-plate in the picture for now, got it. Thanks, that’s what i had figured
Noticing the various descriptions of the other members’ armor has me thinking— Are the knights expected to fund their own ventures into purchasing full suits, or would the Order have some sort of “base” kit offered to those who don’t have their own? Seems like a dumb question because I’m almost certain it’s the former, but better to remove any doubt before I set out towards the old “saving money to get properly kitted out” arc in the off chance it isn’t.
Name: Gerard Segremors
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
At roughly 5'10, the young man is of middling height for a warrior, with an athletic build to match his many years spent living by the blade. His hair is coarse and coal black, and just barely reaching down towards his amber and world-weathered gaze. He has a somewhat reserved disposition outside of combat and his face often hosts a thoughtful, but not wholly unapproachable expression.
Personality: Gerard is a man who seems beyond his mere twenty-three years behind the eyes. Despite having a history as a mercenary, and being used to just as many tavern brawls and rowdy atmospheres as one might expect from the profession, he carries a far more calm demeanor in his day-to-day interactions and life. He is not entirely familiar with courtly manner, but he is perfectly polite in personal interaction and humble in his presentation, with a sort of earnest air about him. He holds great steel within, however, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. Enough for him to take up the sword once more to put them to an end, and drag evil into the light.
One way or the other.
Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.
And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. The band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.
Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise).
Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable.
In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
At roughly 5'10, the young man is of middling height for a warrior, with an athletic build to match his many years spent living by the blade. His hair is coarse and coal black, and just barely reaching down towards his amber and world-weathered gaze. He has a somewhat reserved disposition outside of combat and his face often hosts a thoughtful, but not wholly unapproachable expression.
Personality: Gerard is a man who seems beyond his mere twenty-three years behind the eyes. Despite having a history as a mercenary, and being used to just as many tavern brawls and rowdy atmospheres as one might expect from the profession, he carries a far more calm demeanor in his day-to-day interactions and life. He is not entirely familiar with courtly manner, but he is perfectly polite in personal interaction and humble in his presentation, with a sort of earnest air about him. He holds great steel within, however, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. Enough for him to take up the sword once more to put them to an end, and drag evil into the light.
One way or the other.
Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.
And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. The band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.
Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise).
Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable.
In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.
heres my lad
Name: Gerard Segremors
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
At roughly 5'10, the young man is of middling height for a warrior, with an athletic build to match his many years spent living by the blade. His hair is coarse and coal black, and just barely reaching down towards his amber and world-weathered gaze. He has a somewhat reserved disposition outside of combat and his face often hosts a thoughtful, but not wholly unapproachable expression.
Personality: Gerard is a man who seems beyond his mere twenty-three years behind the eyes. Despite having a history as a mercenary, and being used to just as many tavern brawls and rowdy atmospheres as one might expect from the profession, he carries a far more calm demeanor in his day-to-day interactions and life. He is not entirely familiar with courtly manner, but he is perfectly polite in personal interaction and humble in his presentation, with a sort of earnest air about him. He holds great steel within, however, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. Enough for him to take up the sword once more to put them to an end, and drag evil into the light.
One way or the other.
Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northeastern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.
And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. The band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.
Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise).
Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable.
In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.
Name: Gerard Segremors
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance:
At roughly 5'10, the young man is of middling height for a warrior, with an athletic build to match his many years spent living by the blade. His hair is coarse and coal black, and just barely reaching down towards his amber and world-weathered gaze. He has a somewhat reserved disposition outside of combat and his face often hosts a thoughtful, but not wholly unapproachable expression.
Personality: Gerard is a man who seems beyond his mere twenty-three years behind the eyes. Despite having a history as a mercenary, and being used to just as many tavern brawls and rowdy atmospheres as one might expect from the profession, he carries a far more calm demeanor in his day-to-day interactions and life. He is not entirely familiar with courtly manner, but he is perfectly polite in personal interaction and humble in his presentation, with a sort of earnest air about him. He holds great steel within, however, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for good. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. Enough for him to take up the sword once more to put them to an end, and drag evil into the light.
One way or the other.
Brief Backstory: Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northeastern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.
And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. The band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.
Equipment: A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise).
Skills: While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various Fechtbücher beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable.
In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.
In
Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP Potential Reboot
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Cool! Got an idea for a former man-at-arms who managed to get out of the mercenary life and into a genuine order, is there a quick rundown on what somebody of ignoble birth and/or profession might need to do to join? Anything noteworthy in the way of screening applicants for backstory?
In
Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP Potential Reboot
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Holy shit Reonite Paladins look RIGHT the fuck up my alley. This being a former Mayonite order, would there be anything necessarily weird about a more Reon-leaning swordsman joining? I assume the simplification to Iron Rose as opposed to maintaining Mayonite is indicative of a more broadened philosophy.
In
Warped Earth, Twisted Air (An Urban Fantasy Dungeon Crawler RP) — Now Open!
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
"Yeah, you usually want some good boots at least thigh high before you go walkin' around the bayou." the wrestler agreed, drawing up alongside the pair as he himself took in the murky depths before them. Much could be said as to Kirk having a more educated eye than the rest, being intensely familiar with the terrain, but you had to remember— this was a rift. These new worlds may have sometimes mirrored the landscapes and vistas of their home dimension, but there was no telling as to whether or not they were a one-to-one match.
"Sunumma..." he mumbled beneath his breath as his gaze, following Daichi's, traveled up, up, and up some more as he tried to see the top of a tree that dwarfed even the oaks on campus. Silently, he echoed the international's sentiment— even with a full belay system that one would be challenging, and considering they didn't even think to bring waders...
"Anyone got a good sized stick around?" He asked, changing gears. "We can use that to poke around in the waters, see how deep anyplace might go before we step in it."
In
Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP Potential Reboot
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
I've been wanting to play a good, straightforward knightly type for a while now. I'd be willing to give this a go, if you'll have me.
Ryuji Igarashi - Hitting Traffic - District 19
@Krayzikk@1Charak2
The girl flew.
More spectacular than even that in one moment she wasn't there, and the next she was, she did so with one powerful leap, soaring clear over his head and the beast's both and comfortably, gingerly landing behind him. Her takeoff started at the balcony, at least some three floors up, just ahead of him— far too exotic a height for anyone their ages to be casually jumping from. As the flash of white and gold skimmed the very top of his vision, he placed her voice immediately even through his awe. Between that unusually familiar tone and manner of address to the slightly foreign accent on some of her vowels it could be only one person—
It was clear now that there was more to the girl's infallible answering of the door right as he walked up to it than sheer good timing. He had always been told District 19 was a rough one, and now he owed everyone back at Luigi's an apology. The "normal chick" he delivered to there?
Not so much.
"Beyond the police" indeed. She was holding out on him hard. For shame, Sieglinde! You couldn't just let a young guy think you're just an exotic foreigner when you had some form of ability up your sleeve! In Academy City no less— having preternatural jumping power and impact dampening alone could get you far here!
As soon as his backwards slide had started, it stopped— and through the wonders of Newton's third law, reversed back forward a ways as he pretty much just bounced off the girl's back as she stood to her full height from the landing.
He came to a halt of his own volition the instant after.
They pivoted in turn not even a second later, her to fully face the walking sludge, and he a half-step to keep the two in view. She made no show of noticing the collision, offering her glasses with a chipper grin and a hand on his shoulder. After feeling her measured grip, bouncing off of that unshakeable stance, and experiencing the rush of wind in her flight's wake, he amended his assessment of this girl— she was Strong. Not "strong", Strong.
He looked the girl in her shining cobalt eyes, for all in tents and purposes even with his own...
Except for the fact that one was focused on him. The other straight ahead—
A quick glance the other way drew the line between that "unfocused" eye and the antagonistic mud. Worth asking about later. For now—
He had another question for the beautiful blonde that had just swooped in to save him from a horrifying construct that actively defied nature.
"Yo. Sure. Did I die?"
I've lived a good life, right? Seems like a Heavenly setup.
He returned the greeting as casually as he got it, gingerly plucking the frames from her fingers and stepping off to the side. A touch more seriously now, if only throw a lower tone of the voice, he began to relay info once again. "Careful, when he screams it hurts the hell out of your brai—"
As if called for, the mud began to advance, shrieking again in a sickening charge that continually assaulted the senses. It took all the pizza boy had to not drop to his knees again in pain—
"yeah it's a lot like that, I think it directly goes for consciousness"
But he didn't. And through grit teeth and a scrunched up face, he belted out the end of his precaution.
He couldn't say he was ready for it to come without warning, but he could say he was beginning to adapt. Forcing one of his eyes open, he looked on as the thing barreled towards them, all flailing arms and horrible noise. He didn't know what the Nordic girl's full capabilities were—
But if there was one thing Igarashi did know, it was the importance of making a read. And for that, you needed information.
How did this thing fight, then? What was the plan for a melee?
@Krayzikk@1Charak2
The girl flew.
More spectacular than even that in one moment she wasn't there, and the next she was, she did so with one powerful leap, soaring clear over his head and the beast's both and comfortably, gingerly landing behind him. Her takeoff started at the balcony, at least some three floors up, just ahead of him— far too exotic a height for anyone their ages to be casually jumping from. As the flash of white and gold skimmed the very top of his vision, he placed her voice immediately even through his awe. Between that unusually familiar tone and manner of address to the slightly foreign accent on some of her vowels it could be only one person—
It was clear now that there was more to the girl's infallible answering of the door right as he walked up to it than sheer good timing. He had always been told District 19 was a rough one, and now he owed everyone back at Luigi's an apology. The "normal chick" he delivered to there?
Not so much.
"Beyond the police" indeed. She was holding out on him hard. For shame, Sieglinde! You couldn't just let a young guy think you're just an exotic foreigner when you had some form of ability up your sleeve! In Academy City no less— having preternatural jumping power and impact dampening alone could get you far here!
As soon as his backwards slide had started, it stopped— and through the wonders of Newton's third law, reversed back forward a ways as he pretty much just bounced off the girl's back as she stood to her full height from the landing.
He came to a halt of his own volition the instant after.
They pivoted in turn not even a second later, her to fully face the walking sludge, and he a half-step to keep the two in view. She made no show of noticing the collision, offering her glasses with a chipper grin and a hand on his shoulder. After feeling her measured grip, bouncing off of that unshakeable stance, and experiencing the rush of wind in her flight's wake, he amended his assessment of this girl— she was Strong. Not "strong", Strong.
He looked the girl in her shining cobalt eyes, for all in tents and purposes even with his own...
Except for the fact that one was focused on him. The other straight ahead—
A quick glance the other way drew the line between that "unfocused" eye and the antagonistic mud. Worth asking about later. For now—
He had another question for the beautiful blonde that had just swooped in to save him from a horrifying construct that actively defied nature.
"Yo. Sure. Did I die?"
I've lived a good life, right? Seems like a Heavenly setup.
He returned the greeting as casually as he got it, gingerly plucking the frames from her fingers and stepping off to the side. A touch more seriously now, if only throw a lower tone of the voice, he began to relay info once again. "Careful, when he screams it hurts the hell out of your brai—"
As if called for, the mud began to advance, shrieking again in a sickening charge that continually assaulted the senses. It took all the pizza boy had to not drop to his knees again in pain—
"yeah it's a lot like that, I think it directly goes for consciousness"
But he didn't. And through grit teeth and a scrunched up face, he belted out the end of his precaution.
He couldn't say he was ready for it to come without warning, but he could say he was beginning to adapt. Forcing one of his eyes open, he looked on as the thing barreled towards them, all flailing arms and horrible noise. He didn't know what the Nordic girl's full capabilities were—
But if there was one thing Igarashi did know, it was the importance of making a read. And for that, you needed information.
How did this thing fight, then? What was the plan for a melee?
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