HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@ERode

"Speed, Gerard... C'mon, speed!"

For all his worries of unfamiliarity with the city laid before him, Sagramore found that eager strides made short work of the directions given, even in spite of a walk's slower pace. The sun had only just passed its zenith when he'd set forth from the outer gates of Candaeln— and still had plenty of time to weigh upon him like an anvil as he ran. Tucked away from the usual bustle of city life as this hill was, a little grunted self-coaching wouldn't garner many odd looks.

"Agghh...motherfucker." a ragged gasp tore itself from his burning lungs as he crested the hill and fought to keep his urge to keel over locked away.

The concern of recognition from the parade had flickered through his mind after crossing the moat, but it was quickly allayed as he'd stepped into the throng. It was the pomp and circumstance and fantasy that had drawn the eyes— so much of them had affixed onto his unusually polished armor, or more likely the immense trophy he'd been waving around. When it came to his face, he clearly still had no trouble melting into the crowd, even now unmasked.

I guess that's the upside to having so far to go, his stream of consciousness mused, taking thought's place while his heart hammered. Won't be recognized until I'm ready for it.

...

The moment he'd been allotting for rest came and went— and, ever dutiful, he descended the slope to start anew, each step down closer to a jerking catch of the weight than the last.

The day drew on as he continued like this, sun sliding closer and closer to the earth as the knight threw his nose into the grindstone. Each sprint would shorten, each rest would lengthen, but it would not be until the low light matched the amber of his eyes that his will finally relented and listened to the protests of his body.

...

The walk back to Candaeln, given the pounding his calves had been put through, was by necessity a leisurely one. For the first few blocks his legs had felt to be made more of gelatine than bone and sinew, each step being a labor in its own right. Consistent a worker as discipline had forged him into, even he now found himself admitting that his fervor had pushed things... a little hard.

But, that consistency proved a virtue in equal measure— by the time Reon's blazing glory acceded to Mayon's gentler, calmer light in Aimlenn's cloudless air, he could walk normally in spite of the soreness. Recovery came quickly when the conditioning was maintained— a wisdom any proper soldier would have drilled into them first and foremost.

And just as well, too. Rounding a lamplit corner, the flash of a flaxen braid catching the glow was hard enough to miss on its own. His posture, instinctively by now, straightened. The frank, flat appraisal and prim bearing that accompanied were unmistakable, especially when they came from right at eye level.

"And as ever, you're fresh as a daisy, Serenity."

There was no heat on the reply, and a cordial nod followed it quickly. It hadn't taken much time at all within the Order to realize that the young noblewoman was quick to get a read on him— and while he didn't consider himself terribly difficult in such a regard, he had to admit he readily appreciated the honesty she brought with it. A mentor to an unfamiliar world such as knighthood was a blessing, one he dared not overlook.

"Guilty as charged." a humble smile played across his face as he gauged her attire. Casual and light, moreso than he'd usually taken her for— but still carrying her blade on her hip. Smart. You never knew. "Been out on the hills near the wall, running myself ragged. What about you, just on a stroll?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

South from gates. Simple enough.

Destination set, Gerard's steady march saw him float through the grounds of Candaeln at a pace not exactly leisurely, but far from the prior explosions of speed he'd torn through the yard with.

If it overlooked the river, she was probably intent on sending him right by Calnahen's banks, outside of Aimlenn's sturdy walls. Admittedly, Gerard couldn't place the watchtower in question from his memory— in the few times he'd had the privilege to see the city from afar, such as this morning, he was always most drawn by his awe at the immense spires, letting the surrounding farmlands sort of fade into the foreground.

But, her directions had left it clear, even if his sense for the city landmarks was lacking— just get out of the gates and follow the river as it flanked the southern face of Aimlenn. Any idiot could manage that. The watchtower she spoke of would show itself soon, if it were tall enough to appreciably be counted as such. Up on the cliffs, surrounded by a crowding of other buildings... By all rights, it oughta be impossible to miss.

River cutting through the land would make for muddy soils as well as a certain grade. Maybe not the rolling hills of central Velt, but the slick would more than make up for a gentler incline. For all the long walk it'd be, hard to ask for anything more true to life.

By now, his advance had taken him onto the drawbridge across Candaeln's moat. He glanced down, taking in the brackish, murky, and very still water below. He'd seen his fair share of moats in battle too, if one wanted to speak on "true to life".

His eyes narrowed, the mind behind them thinking for a long, silent moment.

...

Shaking his head as if disappointed in himself, he kept walking. There was a whole city to get through, and half the day'd been spent parading.

At least the riverbed wouldn't get him poisoned.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

It’s still not too late

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

For a brief instant, something flickered behind his eyes as he took in Tyaethe's suggestion. He respected her titles and accolades, and all the experience that had forged them. That much would always ring true. But for Reon's sake...

"Alright, alright, you don't gotta be a kid about it."

He knew when he was being mocked. He affixed her gaze with a blunt, level-browed exasperation of his own, albeit much less rooted in the sentiment of slowing down your words for a stupid kid. He was a stupid kid, fair enough, but he'd held conversation fine thus far. Screwing with the cadence was just obnoxious.

A snort escaped his nostrils as he took a step away in a half-turn out, towards the direction of the Candaeln gate, and rolled on. Whatever. He'd dealt with worse from worse people, though maybe that was what had made them so much easier to ignore. Who the hell cared about what people you didn't respect thought?

"Aimlenn's a big city. Most everywhere on the main approach here is flat enough— I didn't expect anywhere to be a terribly steep climb further in." he relayed his reasoning simply, neither crumbling beneath embarrassment nor stoking the flare that had come and gone. No point in either. Own the mistake, take in the correction, and move on. That was the only way forward.

"I'll go hunting, Ma'am." When his head turned back to face her, it held no tension as he inclined it in gratitude. "Thanks for the tip."

With that, the young man pivoted on his heel fully, and strode further into the sunlit yard, new objective in tow. Not like she had any reason to lie about it. Over his shoulder, he threw her a hearty enough wave...

"I'll swing by the chapel when I'm back!"

... And a reassurance that he'd listened to everything, in spite of the gripes.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

"You're right, he should've." the erstwhile mercenary agreed readily, almost tonelessly, amber gaze following hers into the middle distance. "And the next one like him will again. Whether it's a trio of us, or just me."

He had to ingrain the goal. He had to visualize the state in which he matched him blow for blow, strike for strike, strength for strength. If it could be achieved, it was there— Sir Agrahn. Sir Cyrus. Could he measure up to them, legendary titans of the field? He didn't know. He certainly didn't feel like a once-in-a-lifetime warrior... But the type of greed to chase those mythical figures had gotten him this far. And if he reached even a fraction of their ability, the Bandit King he'd fought would be trivial. Of that, Gerard was certain.

As for her query, he nodded along his understanding— to be turned into a supernatural, superhuman entity at the age it seemed she had, it did stand to reason that she'd not have much cause to worry about honing the body, when it was already so empowered. Lucky him. It was a rare day anyone got to elucidate the honored Paladin.

"It's a drill from my past life." he began, "We used to sprint uphill to improve our dashing ability. It gets the legs used to exploding forward for harder and longer— the way I fight is all pace and pressure, so being able to crush distance quickly, suddenly, and keep swinging hard, time after time, is as important as it gets. It is endurance work, in a way— but it's also just building up the strength that gives you raw speed. Doing that, over and over, so I could keep swarming a defense like his until it breaks. It took us a bit to crack him open."

A wry grin played over his face, mirroring that of his comrade. "If only we had a hill. Pushing up from below hits you twice as hard."

He knew she had a point, regarding recovery. Nobody could work themselves endlessly, grinding truly down to the bone, and expect to gain much. If you had nothing left to build upon, then your house was sure to crumble— If you endlessly sowed your fields the same way, never feeding the soil, your crop would dwindle with each passing month.

He'd felt it firsthand on march, years ago. Roving between battlefields made for rough living, and with strictly constrained meals, at times it was a miracle the Regiment hadn't strung themselves out completely. He'd lost friends that way. Hunger was a powerful motivator, but exhaustion made mistakes appear where they never should've.

But...

"Thanks for the concern, ma'am. And the advice— I'll be sure to peruse it after this. Right now, I feel able enough to at least manage this much."

He had to strike it hard and fast. Attacking one's own weakness was rarely so easy as the day you were both able and not only willing, but driven. Rest could come in a few more laps.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

That's what Elven sounds like? Huh... Lilette? Lilette, Lilette, that's not a name I've—

"... Anyway!"

Whatever, don't worry about it. Got it.

He eyed the not-actually-at-all-young woman cautiously as she rose up, straightening her back and pinning him with eyes that seemed just a touch too bright in the shade, her refuge from Lady Reon's disdainful eye. Though her deathly pallor and lynx pupils were proof enough that she was far from an ordinary girl... he still found need to remind himself that this was the same person who had donned that towering harness of plate, and swung around what was only now the second largest blade he'd seen in five years on the field.

It was hard to link them. Such different visages arcane helms and girlish frills could present.

"Oh, that."

He folded his arms, and loosed something halfway between a sigh and a ragged grunt. Now, it was his turn to look into the middle distance for a moment, searching for his phrasing. He didn't take terribly long to arrive on it— now that it didn't quite feel like he was about to be chewed out, there wasn't so much need.

"Trying to settle my mind, I think." he ventured, looking back to her beneath a furrowed brow. "Whenever I look back on Jeremiah... We did kick his ass, the Captain, Fionn, and I. But if it was just me, I'm not so confident. Think I get torn in half more often than not."

All told, it was a markedly casual assessment of such grim odds. He'd already faced them.

"So I want to start working right away, before we have to face someone or something like that again. I might be on my own for it, y'know?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

"Huh?!"

He called back out with about the only thing he could manage as reply, eyes pinning down the shock of white hair a half-beat after he heard his name, in its standard Thalnic form, called out in an accent he couldn't even begin to place. The First and Youngest, naturally— nobody else had quite so distinctive an appearance in the order. Ditto the vocal tone.

If only he could tell whatever the hell it was that tone was saying as it hollered down the courtyard. It was bad enough that his own breathing was getting ragged, but now he could barely make out one word from the next coming out of the diminutive vampire's mouth. Seriously, he hadn't heard any of this in Velt, either...

She seems annoyed.

That much, at least, was clear. And since his legs were starting to burn out, and the wind growing ragged in his lungs...

Alright, what'd I do?

Might as well get this one over with.

As he veered off to close distance between them, he slowed to a jog, then a canter, then a full stop before her, shoulders rising and falling above burning lungs as he began to control and modulate each breath he took.

His gaze met hers, and he made no attempt to hide his befuddlement.

"You... need something, ma'am?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

Golden eyes locked themselves upon the Spikes of Aimlenn anew as the procession of knights rode past the mighty steel and oak gates of Thaln's capital, seat of their Order's home and the crown they served. At first light this morn, their jagged sihlouettes had torn into the sky from afar, as if a crown cast upon the city in the faraway horizon. Impressive once you devoted a little thought to it, sure, but nothing compared to up close. Here, he marveled at the way the alabaster towers loomed over everything around them, stretching into the midday blue further than all but mountains.

Human hands, however long ago, had built this. These soaring structures, immense and beautiful in equal measure... made by men. People no different than he, save for what they knew that he did not. He knew of many a fortress city in his long 5 years prior to now, having been on both ends of their high walls of stone as one of many who sold their swords. But, even spanning three countries, nothing could truly measure up to the scale and splendor of Aimlenn. It could house any other city he'd known within its walls, he was certain— a fact that would doubtlessly have him awestruck for years to come.

It was proof of just how big the world really was... as was the weight rested upon his shoulder. Jeremiah's sword had been passed around the procession as proof of victory like a ladle full of stew as their column had rode through Thaln's townships and villages on the return trip, but it had most commonly found itself, tall and hefty as any of them, in the grasp of he and Fionn. Their right of conquest, maybe, as two of the three that had felled the Bandit King personally? Their selfsame responsibility to lug the thing around, instead? He didn't really know.

To tell the truth, he thought, letting the sound of the cheering commoners wash over him. I never thought about what it would feel like being on this side of the fanfare.

How long ago had it been since he'd been one of those kids up at the front, clamoring to see over one another and catch a glimpse of chivalry? Wishing so desperately to capture the storied magic of dragons and demons and knighthood for himself?

"Feels like ages."

His words came at a low murmur, likely only reaching his own ears.

Left unsaid was the fact that it wasn't so long ago at all.

That though he was one of them, he prayed they never became him.

Better the others. Rise to knighthood the right way.

He let his gaze slide over the celebration for a moment, taking it in, before returning its focus towards the path ahead. The figure he cut was doubtless reserved compared to the jollity of Fionn and the gallantry of Serenity, his scarring and tension leaving him little favors. He could never meet so many eyes at once, not nearly so easily. He'd have to learn through more victories like this, he wagered. For now... he'd make do by riding with a strong back and head held high. For all this alien feeling, Gerard wasn't returning a beaten man.

He adjusted the weight of the greatsword in his grip, heavy pommel resting in his palm like the head of a mace. If he were to want to learn his proper parading smiles... he'd need to take the lessons the battle had wrought from him, first. The man they'd slain for this unwieldy thing was an anomaly, but if one of him could exist...

He rode on, into the Candaeln gates before he knew it.

From there, things proceeded without thought. The dismounting and stabling of the horses, the stiffly delivered order to rest and recuperate from their Captain, herself similarly else-minded, and floating to his humble quarters, however fascinating it may have been to have them to himself, and doff his armor. His casual wear, however many of his seniors had talked him into buying fancier things befitting the newfound station, was simple— A black shirt made of simple, sturdy linen, and trousers of treated hide.

This wasn't a social outing, anyway. Those clothes were fashionable, as he understood it. Best not to get 'em dirty.

Soon after, his leather boots found themselves on one far end of the central courtyard, digging into the tranquility as they pressed hard into the grass.

Try as he might, the battle continued to play over in Gerard's head and leave him with a quiet, brow-furrowing dissatisfaction. For all the skill he'd cultivated in five years, all the craft, all that their advantage in numbers had stacked the deck... Jeremiah had still very nearly killed him, even in the aftermath of the gambit that had done the brigand in. Before that, even in spite of losing a working hand, that monster of a man had been mounting a defense against all three of them attacking him in sequence. He had been freely wielding that giant hunk of steel that their parading had left Sagramore intimately familiar with now— truly knowing how ridiculous such a feat was.

He crouched low, breathing in deep through his nose as fingertips pressed into the earth beneath—

If one of Jeremiah existed, so incredibly powerful... Then surely there were more. As Iron Roses, elite defenders of the realm, it would fall to them to meet such foes more often than not. This was but a beginning. Preluding things to come.

Gerard didn't for a moment believe he would always get so lucky as he did that night, to have numbers supplementing inefficiency in skill.

—And tore off into a dead sprint, each stride chewing through the distance between him and the far wing of Candaeln. High knees and strong swings of the arms would compensate for the flat ground here— He preferred training his explosive step-in, his rushing charge, uphill. That way'd be truer to life, building his legs stronger and forcing his mind to dig deeper into the body.

But that was the crux of it.

If monsters like that existed, he needed the power to leverage those skills against them.

Onward he surged, until he could surge no more—

And then, after a minute's rest and no more, he'd start off again.

Secundi Lux

---

"Wuuuuu-u-u-u-u-u-u-uu-u-u-u-uuugh." Selma rumbled in response to the dinging notification from her phone, nestled within the length of her fingers. Theirs was an all-important job— securing her one true connection to the world outside this room into place, as oft-misplaced as its history with the academy had seen it, and to shield it from any potential jostling from the vibrations beneath. The earth was solid and sure, yes, but even it could rumble, could shudder, could quake."Do-o-on't b-e ma-aki-n me g-e-e-t u-u-u-u-u-u-u-up Ch-i-i-i-i-i-e..."

Emerald eyes squinting, she peered closely at the screen she held aloft, arm reluctantly leaving the worn leather upholstery it rested upon. She wasn't gonna lean forward here, even if the churning motors ended up kneading her back into dough. She had told herself, all through the jelly-legged walk back from today's Operation, that she'd earned this much.

Where she was during all this happened to be not terribly far from Chie, in the grand scheme of things— esconsed within the halls of the Nova Lux Dormitories there was a paltry, quaint little gym, not all too dissimilar to the type you would seen in a hotel's ground floor. Not a place for real serious work, as Selma understood it, but nice enough. Its treadmills could support an urge to run, its small cache of dumbbells a good source for potential zombie apocalypse bludgeoning weaponry, it had the little niceties—

Tap it over to percussion now, I think.

And one BIG one.

The motor buzzed as a thudding staccato rhythm pounded her rhomboids beneath the thin mesh veneer on her back, as though the many millions of feet that stomped upon the base earth, and she, impossibly, seemed to sink in further to the cushioning. A massage chair, frankly, wasn't in most hotel gyms. Not the kinds like the Dorm's was based off of, at any rate— and according to legend around the residence halls, it wasn't supposed to be, either.

She'd heard it was lifted in the dead of night from the finest suites in Palmyra by a graduate with the Elementum of Shadow, a silent heist that made her parting gift to the school that had fostered her. Others called it a gift from an anonymous Duodecim, believing mankind's defenders worked better with proper R&R. Others still claimed it was found in a junkyard and its refurbishment was cobbled together as a group project, made in secret, by the second and third floor residents some dozen years back, kept in secret until properly integrated too well to make removal worth the hassle.

Hell, there was a story about the Academy trying to remove it, too, but being forced to back down at the sudden prospect of the entire wing up in arms against them. That one was her favorite— especially on a day like today, when the weight of a hundred years of robotics research had narrowly lost to every fiber of muscle she had. The kinda beating that workload gave you would be insufferable without some of this tender deep-tissue care.

Her thumb, absently, tapped its familiar patterns along the screen in response to her roomie's query: Something non-committal, as she'd genuinely spent more time hearing how the rumors about them had started permutating, but felt it too on the nose to mention. A joke about how she didn't think batting back a missile would end too well for either the Magi nor the Missile, for one.

What appeared in the group chat...

>weoildnt itb lowr upminthere faxce.?

>god da,mm#it

... Was less witty.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

His blade sank deep into flesh, and he knew it was nearly over. The Bandit King would be dead within moments, steel slipping between his ribs and into soft tissue beneath— and their objective here complete.

So saying, as he felt the sword be wrenched over by the twist of his foe's torso, massive blade swinging high into the air, Gerard neither ran, nor tried to twist himself out of the way. Such evasions were an afterthought. He had the man mortally wounded, but not quite dead. The fury in his eyes told him as much.

Stop the enemy's attack by killing him. Finish the job.

As the mountainous man's body reared up high to bring the massive blade down, Gerard's free hand returned to the pommel of his longsword and pressed it in as he surged upward in his wake. His footing wasn't great, but if he could sink it even another inch deeper, the wound would doubtlessly bleed a death rattle out of his foe. The timing was going to be tight here, no question...

The furious gaze from above locked upon its golden kin below, every bit as determined to see the man they beheld die, regardless of cost.

He was replaceable. Victory was not.

For an instant, it seemed this was where his duty would reap what it had sowed six years ago—

And then, flashing through the corner of his eye, a second sword buried itself into the man's frame. The Captain, darting between Fionn and Knight's Doom, and sending her sword deep into his right armpit, hitting the muscle, the vein, possibly the spine. With a thud and a plume of dust, the massive greatsword crashed to the earth as it fled the dying grip upon its handle.

The Lamplighters dimmed their candles.

As the weight fell into him in time with his Captain yanking her sword free, Gerard felt the pulsing in his head recede even as he fully forced his way up to his proper height with a grunt. He took a moment to glace at Jeremiah's eyes again—

"Damn you... Iron... Roses...!"

—And saw the light truly fade.

He didn't offer a rebuttal to the curse, only a ragged exhalation as he shunted the massive body off. The burly corpse toppled to the floor at long last with a dull thud, the fresh blossoms of crimson spreading across his frame looking almost blackened in the firelight. He hadn't the wherewithal to offer a parting insult, no matter how much the man had earned it. It'd likely have fallen on deaf ears to begin with, he reasoned.

Not like he doesn't know it's him who's damned.

He blinked and breathed deep, savoring the sudden ache in his bones as so much of that ferocious current that propelled him so forcefully left his blood. His thoughts were returning now that the storm of anger had begun to part, and they propelled him elsewhere from Sir Fionn, who he caught a glimpse of racing back across the smoldering log. Back into the fray, hm? He'd be there before long, but first things first.

"Captain," he breathed, in a voice hoarser than he'd expected. "Good kill. I owe you one."

He followed her gaze down to Sir Rickert's stricken form, still lying where both ends of the torso had fallen. Grisly end. From what Gerard had known of him, far too good and just a man to have earned a death so brutal. That said...

"This is what war is, ma'am. No matter how hard any of us try, this is part of it."

They had chosen this life of their own volition, save her and the tradition that stuck her here as their leader. To pledge oneself as a warrior meant resolute acceptance of one's own death. He'd been pleasantly surprised by her ability to keep herself alive thus far... but he knew she'd also need to know how to bear the responsibility of the position without crumbling beneath it.

He did not chide, nor berate, nor coddle in saying this. It wasn't his place to do any of that, as her subordinate.

But as someone who'd seen hundreds of comrades die speaking to someone who'd seen her first...

"Sir Rickert knew it too. We all know we might not see the next day. If we didn't accept that for ourselves, we wouldn't be here."