HereComesTheSnow

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

Really don't know why I feel like I have such trouble balancing my character consistency with not being rote. Need to work on nailing down what I've already established so I can avoid this "am I just retreading?" sensation. Hate all this second-guessing

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

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

Evening again.

As luck would have it, apparently Sir Jerel had a far better grasp for their young Captain's mind than Gerard did: he had ridden out once again into the tawny orange and gold of dusk at the behest of Fanilly Danballion, just as the falconer had predicted. Maybe he shouldn't have doubted his position after all. Maybe it was just a mere coincidence. In any case, at least this time was towards a simple social outing, rather than combat...

So you'd think it would feel.

While the ball offered much lower stakes than even a straightforward mission like that of two evenings prior, and the reassurances of his fellow knights that the many intricacies of polite society were not so expected of him in this setting as he had believed, he still couldn't quite shake an unease within himself. The Spikes of Aimlenn, despite being full of attendees that were doubtlessly eager to see the Iron Roses, were an isolating place. So much finery, livery, and nobility. So little here that he knew beyond his own comrades. Half of the people here would have employed him seven months ago, and now he was milling about as honored a guest as they. If he was thankful for the familiarity of riding to battle, then this stuffy atmosphere only served to further highlight the sentiment by contrast.

A stranger in a strange land.

As if it were not embossed enough by his attire. That hadn't changed much, either.

Sagramore Gellért, at heart, had never really expected himself to so quickly be attending a party so prestigious as one hosted by the Princess. Even after being accepted into the ranks of the Iron Roses, the young man's mind was awash with reasons as to why he wouldn't be selected to make such an appearance: he was a newcomer, he was a humble villager by blood, he had been a rowdy mercenary by trade— the list was exhaustive. He most definitely was of the impression he would have much more time to prepare himself truly formal garments.

A hand, adorned in plates of painstakingly polished steel, adjusted the rust-colored cape that hung over his left pauldron, tied in a manner almost akin to a fancier and less warming scarf. No wind to catch it and make a mess of things, but surely getting it just a bit more out of the way would be fine. Just enough to ensure no entanglement upon anything, come what may.

It was a blessing that the Princess had evidently wished to see some of the knights' arms and armor on display tonight. How gracious of her to offer such a perfect sidestep of needing to buy some gaudy tunic out in the city earlier that day, all epaulets and frills and price and garish dye. He'd need to get it done one of these days, but for now he could make do after cleaning up what armor he had to the utmost. All it really took was a little more attention put into the usual daily maintenance of this warfighter's ensemble, and he was... at least presentable.

I think. Certainly it's what I know, but I think I've made it look nice enough. Though, steel and leather at a Royal Ball is probably always going to be an oddity.

He smirked dryly, sipping from a glass he had picked up at some point. A crisp sweetness to the liquid came with a hint of spice beneath that carried warmth down the back of his throat. Best be careful of that.

"At least the Captain's harness is suitably ornate... Not to mention complete."

As for Gerard himself, he had been well fed, well bathed, and well rested in the day they'd had to prepare. A little less fatigue beneath the eyes and a little less chaos in his short black hair made for, in his mind, the best he looked all week. There was little that could be done regarding scars, but they were thankfully small and faint upon his skin, and mostly covered by either gauntlet, gorget, cape, or cuirass.

Ah, well. Here we are.

He had done what he could to prepare. What happened now was all up to Reon's guidance and his own instinct. He had faith in one, but hoped neither were so capricious as to lead him into playing the fool. He wouldn't dare do the court jester's work for free, after all. Better to simply be as he was, not swerve into another's path.

All the thinking was making him peckish. With any luck, one of his fellows would be scouring the platters of food too— certainly some camaraderie would help the night go by much more smoothly. If he was to be in such a crowd, the least he could do for himself was to not feel so alone.

Plus, some of that pie looked tasty as hell.

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

I’ll go with the flow

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

all good man, stay safe out there

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

maybe this'll help out

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

Gerard Segremors

@jdh97@VitaVitaAR@PaulHaynek@TheFake

"The Bandit King? He was..." he began, searching for the words across a moment. Even with forgiveness for his humble upbringing leaving a man of plain speech, it took him a few moments longer than he would have meant— The smells of the kitchen were now dancing upon the air in force. Overpowering even the pungent herbs of Sir Jerel's bandage and the musk that clung to Gerard's own armor, the knight found himself suddenly cognizant of a ravenous hunger that had crept upon him. It was a yawning chasm within his gut, and with it he could feel the beginnings of a similarly hollow ache upon his head.

Always after a fight, when his blood had calmed. That he had compelled himself to train afterwards would only make this worse, like diving into the fray again with an empty stomach. He was lucky that he'd run into Sir Jerel— now that he was aware of how his body hungered, Segremors had no idea how he would have survived a bath with a head feeling like a log beneath a woodsman's axe.

Opening the door to the kitchens, he continued.

"It was trying to fight a storm. I only made one real attack before Artificer Elodie set him ablaze and our assorted group fell upon him, but he was strong, like an angry bear. If I had taken a swing of his with any power upon my sword it'd have snapped clean in two— I got lucky enough to only get parried the once, at the start of his movement."

Flashing images of smoke, steel, and sparks passed through his mind as he inclined his head in greeting to the wily veteran Sir Indrau, and a moment later spied the familiar blonde locks and casual gait of Sir Jarde. The former he had not had much chance to speak with, but knew to respect his obvious tenure in spite of his injury. To simply still find oneself on the battlefield alive, after all his years, was proof enough of the wealth of experience that the eyepatched knight possessed.

As for Devaron—

A brotherly clap on the shoulder for him.

"His strength by itself would have made it a questionable fight for me, were I on my own." he continued, inhaling deeply through the nose as the telltale savory aroma of searing beef filled the air, accompanied by some bevy of herbs and spices he couldn't name— well, aside from Paprika, but the Kitchens of the Iron Roses were far more expansive than that.

The maids are working some magic, huh?

"But what struck me was that he possessed more than just raw force. Not only did he carry a blade the size of... well, you or I; he was quick enough to react to three, maybe four attacks from wildly different angles, and deft enough with that man-chopper to turn each aside simultaneously. He may not have been a proper knight, and I don't even know if I could tell the difference between his and my technique in either potential direction— but he wasn't braindead. Be it through training or just some base, bestial instinct, the bastard knew what he was doing."

He allowed an open grimace to show, exhaling just as fully as he had inhaled.

Or, perhaps he simply couldn't help but show it.

"If I learned anything, it's that I need to grow much stronger if I want to face monsters that walk as men like him without backup. If I have to, I should say. Paladin Tyaethe could likely have handled him, from what I know of her— but a fighter like me has much worse odds. I'd need to find a perfect opportunity, after a perfect approach. Anything less and I'm cleaved in half along with my sword."

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

black friday week. will post if i survive

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

Gerard Segremors

@jdh97

"I need both," Gerard replied, a chuckle escaping his lips as he registered the jab. "The order doesn't matter, so long as you can stomach my company."

Holding the friendly smile, the younger knight swept his hand outward in a clear gesture of "lead on". It wasn't a lie— mercenary life often entailed sharing meals in full gear at the encampments. He was far from unused to eating directly after even pitched combat, let alone training. Perhaps that would be one of those oddities of his life that he could "entertain" the nobility with recounting, but in truth such concerns had simply already drifted from his mind.

He had very consciously decided to hold his tongue as Sir Jerel spoke of men only wishing their swords to drink deep.

While it was true that he'd wrested command over himself long enough to commit to the safety of that young farm girl he'd all but stumbled upon, and it was true that he was proud of such a deed... How far off the mark was that assessment from the trance of combat that had lead him to her? Even now, he was speaking of being far better suited to simply diving headfirst into the fray rather than take any position of responsibility, wasn't he?

I wanted to scatter them to the four winds.

In seeing the blood on their blades, wasn't he ready to find their blood on his? The heat that had risen from his chest was one that overtook his thoughts, time and again. Descending upon evil like a starved wolf was, if not all he wanted, then certainly all that he had made to do. Tear through those brigands. Cut down the slaver and slavedriver. Drag he who would tear freedoms away into the light by their ankles, no matter how much they kick and scream, so they could be judged rightly.

How far removed was his righteous fury?

...If one thing was clear, it was paradoxically that he could find no clear answer. He was certain that men far wiser, far more intelligent, and far longer-lived than he had grappled with such a question for ages already. They had come before him and would doubtless come after. To mire himself, so simple as he was, in that debate seemed foolhardy. It would consume him.

He needed to discipline his impetuous impulses, nothing more and nothing less.

He doubted he could rid himself completely of them, but he could certainly ensure that he would always be able to do what he had done that night again.

He started forward as his senior lead him on, casting those troubles off in the wake of their passing.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Taking Five

@Write@Plank Sinatra@FlitterFaux

The epilogue, or maybe punchline to this story.

Before I could even begin to make that cheeky string of words a tradition, I'd already rebelled against it. Whether or not I hold enough disdain for bookending my retelling with the same line over and over isn't something we need to dwell upon right now. Not in the face of an epilogue like this. Or even any "punchline" I looked for.

Simply put, there really isn't one at all.

I'm not saying this because there's no story to begin with, either; my third mission most definitely happened. In fact, I'd say there's way too much ground for me to cover if I were to make such a leap. Even if I'd be tripping over myself to tie the affair up with such a pithy turn of phrase, it'd still be less embarrassing than falling flat on my face with such an iniquitous lie.

It's something we'll have to revisit in the future, but for now, I'm going to have to condense it a bit to move us into the "present". Though, that's the crux of my point to begin with.

A denouement ties everything up neatly into the past.

Matters are settled.

Questions are answered.

Things clear up.

Even if all three did happen, there was hardly any finality in how they came about. Each question I had answered found another taking its place. Each time I wrapped something up, I found more thread beneath to work with. To tell the truth, I was struck much more by everything that started rather than ended.

Forget a capstone, epilogue, or even punchline. If anything, I was mid-transition in a story still going strong.

We'll call it that, a transition piece.

Or, if you'll indulge me: an intermission.

We dropped in through the ceiling as planned, more or less. Jericho and Evangeline made for a particularly effective pair of distractions, but it was with good reason that we didn't go into the facility unarmed. Even with a chaingun's ruckus at the front gate, our dismantling team couldn't be spared from dealing with several of the higher level "executives".

We dove headfirst into that battle, not hesitating in the slightest. If you'll recall, I made a point about doing so a while back— about removing the shackles of overthinking and paralyzing myself with doubt and fear. It wasn't the easiest thing, and I got myself into a fair bit of trouble trying to get out of that previous mindset. I was caught between overextending and overcorrecting from it.

I got every bit of the field test I could ask for of Crow's Beak, and could tell one thing right off the jump: I have catching up to do. The weight was different from everything I knew, the tactics were different, and that didn't even begin to touch upon what I needed to learn to truly maximize its penetrative force.

I even, despite my leaky sieve of a mind, managed to give Veronique Pressman my earnest thanks, right at the end. After the rush of discovering synthetic dust-fueled power armor, busting up would-be crime lords with a kitschy beat cop impression, and a series of impromptu field exams in what I had begun to learn in Dust Apps, I'd not blame anyone for thinking I'd lose sight of it in the mayhem. I certainly would have expected myself to forget the whole thing completely.

But I didn't.

And because of that, because I came through in the eleventh hour and put two and two together long after anyone would expect me to, I'd made a new friend.

So in sum, my first steps were stumbles into uncharted territory—

But I was doubtlessly moving forward.

My whole paradigm was shifting. Inch by inch, Lucas Schwarz felt himself treading new ground.

I couldn't possibly, in that light, call this any sort of epilogue.

What a bad joke that would be.

Nearly as bad as almost nodding off in a Waffle King after such an exciting morning. Night. I didn't really know by this point, having just come down from that whirlwind mission and really begun to feel the effects of the all-nighter I was pulling. Even an experienced gamer, an internet-addled fiend like me... We fell victim to such vices when we threw ourselves into such a taxing and high-tension affair. Even when we'd otherwise laugh it off and say we could grind out twelve more matches without even a blink.

A soft weight settling itself upon my shoulder broke me out of my stupor, and returned me to the present. Propping my elbow upon the table like that and staring down at my plate of food for a moment was a mistake. I'd given my chin somewhere to rest. More than even a mountain of syrup-glazed and butter coated chocolate chip waffles, I guess my body wanted to stop doing much of anything for a while.

"Hn?"

I slid my eyes somewhat placidly over to the side, in search of the culprit—

"!"

And stifled a surprised recoil as my eyebrows made to pull the rest of my face up with them. I knew Bianca and I were teammates now, friends now, but had we already bonded to the point of so casually leaning on eachother? Of taking advantage of the moments we let our guards down, and trading healthy shocks to the system?

If I was moving through life with a shaky step forward at a time, then she was launching in full-force! This woman didn't hold any trepidation in her heart!

How brazen!

...How cool.

Honestly.

"Yeah."

To think she looked ready to break only seven nights prior... and now here she was. Toasting in our gallant name as perhaps the proudest member of the wayward quartet that was JBLS. A broken bird, brought to earth and locked in an iron cage, the most pitiful figure I'd met in a long time.

She was to never fly again.

She was to never hunt again.

She was to never chase dreams again.

Her tale had tragically ended. Cut mercilessly short, with all but the final nail in its coffin.

Even so, here she was now, soaring ahead as if it had never happened. If I had even half the strength, half that resilience, I probably wouldn't even be me anymore. There was no way I couldn't be impressed. No way I couldn't be heartened.

"I'm honored to call you guys my team." I said, smiling as I raised my glass in turn. "It's been a bit of a revolving door lately, but I really do hope we can finally settle into a groove together, for what that's worth. Maybe we can start a few traditions of our own."

From shambles to pride. From torment to contentment. From despair to determination.

I had to smile.

To hell with endings.

If we really needed a punchline, I guess the joke's on me for even bringing it up.

"So, how'd the Stripes set that up, anyway? The special, I mean. Just always coming in?"

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

post is on the way, just second in the queue