HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@PigeonOfAstora

"She brought them out. I trust she's not an idiot." came the careful reply, as Gerard elected to keep his eyes locked, naturally, on the figures that had emerged. Certain lieutenants in patchwork armor in the back ranks had, naturally, slipped beneath his professional radar. Their faces were tight, their posture wary— being called up to stand off with a retinue of the most storied knightly order the country had to offer would do that as a matter of course. Each by necessity dangerous, wily, and experienced— but as he was now, the erstwhile Verloren favored his chances against any of them. Not to be ignored...

"Ah, I was merely lamenting the brutality, dear Alette..."

"I am here, Lady Alette."

"..."

"We can leave cleanup to them, can't we?"

... But his attention was, doubtless, drawn elsewhere. Like their commander, the four that had taken position upon either flank of her had reputations that preceded them— each one the face to a name that had been passed around the Forlorn campfires with the healthy respect you afforded a dangerous beast.

You could kill a bear, you could be the one to drag the bear from its cave and help your team beat it to death— but even those with that breed of madness had to respect what a bear was. You rush in half-drawn, you get swatted away with a broken neck. You know what you're in for, you don't get surprised by how quick it can be.

"Force wouldn't be worth it for either of us."

Abigail the Stingray. Tall, ghostly pallid, adorned with knives that glittered about her person in the rising moonlight. Her fascination with elegance in administering death may not have been facade, but the horror her poisonry could inflict upon the body, the blood, the senses... no less horrific than the imagery they lamented. Each edge that was strapped to the leathers she wore was said to be coated in some measure of toxin— it was just as well that none of them had run into her unaware.

Next came Bors, long-rumored to be descendant of giants. It wasn't hard to see why— he would have towered over Jeremiah, over Erich, easily over Agrahn. Ten feet, at least— all of it coated in thick plates of steel, each a masterwork by virtue of simply being shaped properly to his frame. Gerard had expected him to be some kind of Ingvarr that the rumor mill had blown out of proportion, a counterpart to someone like Sir Steffen— but instead, Bors was a mountain, and spoke with the rumble of a far-off avalanche. Built to answer the question Gerard had silently nursed for weeks— "Who the hell would Jeremiah's sword actually have been made for?"

Aside him, the khamsin from the east, Maethen. The curved swords on his hip were a whirlwind in battle, but here he was still, sharp-featured, setting his gaze upon the Knights. Quietly evaluating their number, same as Gerard, that silence mirrored the sparse details surrounding him— enigmatic beyond his proficiency in a fight, and his uncommon heritage. For a mercenary, in fairness, what else did you need?

Finally... Clarice, the one with all the frills. Anyone dressing in such a pointedly bourgeois getup within the midst of a band of mercenaries was one of two things— their benefactor, or a proficient enough mage to eschew armor. After the Shark's caginess... this one had to be the latter. It lined up. The most recent thing he'd heard of them, before his life had changed, was that a caster of worrying ability had joined their ranks. Little else beyond that, but like Maethen before, her spells spoke enough for her.

As a mercenary, it would be a poor sight across from you on the battlefield, this ensemble.

As a knight?

"Having us on her tail would be bad for business."

The Order he'd joined had quality and numbers enough to match her in force, but conflict carried the possibility of bringing much, much more onto the heads of her band and employer. Whoever was paying her would immediately want to wash their hands of whatever the hell had happened here.

"We should be able to cooperate here, as soon as we know what we're looking for."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark

Almost.

A spike of annoyance ripped through the air as his hands moved, a brief hitch in their shakedown of the intertwined corpses the tell for any who lacked preternatural affinity for the emotions of others. His teeth ground for a moment beneath the firm line of his jaw, a vein thudding over the temple. The knot of his brow tightened—

"Naturally."

And with a snort, set itself again to that slightly looser posture. In spite of long experience in the field she came from, in spite of knowing her demeanor through reputation as well as anyone not named Fionn MacKerracher (he was from the more northerly reaches of Velt, it made some sense), he'd almost let her get under his skin. Maybe the tense situation. Maybe her performative coyness in tone. Maybe, simply, the blatant dodge of the question— regardless the reason, there was a retort to the inimical tune of "Asshole, I asked how much." being bitten down in that moment. Though she sold her skills to the highest bidder rather than pledge them to a cause or kingdom, Alette, like any of his peers past and present, doubtless had sharp eyes to survive on the field this long. She probably caught that moment from him, and knew she'd thrown him off the game in it. He would have to let her have that win— so long as he gave up few others.

Focus. Focus and poise.

His search turned up a picture that was, by any measure, grisly. The corpses mirrored many of their fallen kin. Intertwined with one another as though frozen in the steps of a macabre waltz, it took no trained eye to stitch the wounds together with their causes. Bruising on the skull that matched the impact from a broken haft of a spear clutched in a dead man's grip. Laceration through the throat, rough-hewn by the serrations of the reverse edge of the utility knife once holstered on a nearby belt.

"'Enough' is right— Whatever the sum, we can assume it's well outside your normal asking price."

The blood that had been spilt had already dried beneath a full day's sunlight, but within the crevasse of most any laceration he could spot, there was still the faint glisten of of some still fresh. He laid the pair down gently, even in his disquiet respectful of the dead, and stalked over to Sir Sergio's side, dropping down again to his haunches to investigate the corpses here. Ligature marks and light bruising around a throat matching a belt. A missing sword from the scabbard close by on the grass— and just aside where it had no doubt slipped free from a dying grip, the legs of the man that had been strangling the victim, pockmarked with lacerations of wild flailing until one caught the femoral artery.

"Given the risks of whatever drove these men rabid enough to turn on eachother still being around, given you clearly knew we were coming, given you're putting on this show for us in spite of how it all looks at first glance..."

They said the truth revealed itself in slips of the tongue. "Enough can send me", "You must be", and so on. Through her cavalier veil of noncompliance, there was something to be cut through and uncovered beneath.

They had been mustered quickly, obvious as that might have been given they'd gotten here first. Their employer must have known this would happen ahead of time— the blood was, what, two days old at most? Not enough to catch wind of something happening before the Roses themselves had. In addition, the way he read things? The woman was all but expecting the moment she'd strutted out and said hello. The band's employer knew the Roses were gonna be coming in hot on the heels of the disaster as soon as word had come.

That had to mean whatever happened here would be something that necessitated the Order as a response. Traditionally...

Well.

Gerard'd grown up on hand-me-down legends of the Saint, of Agrahn, of Cyrus, of slaying dragons, demons, the Vos Korvugand raiders— existential threats. In modernity... the closest candidate in recent memory was the Cazt family rebellion. Jeremiah was his first sortie, savage and cruel terror to the commonfolk and more than worth putting down. He was not upon that caliber of civil war, mythical beast, or hated scourge.

That was something to account for. They had, of course, become more mundane as an order since the passing of that first generation. Did that then mean they were dispatched once word had reached Aimlenn? Impossible. Notified once the Roses had begun to move? Maybe less so... possible through arcane means, at a guess.

Either way, 'a lot of damn resources to throw around' seemed the answer on that front. Mix that with the Order-specific forewarning...

"'Willing to risk us not asking questions' type coin." he concluded, rising. "Definitely a noble throwing that around. Probably someone we know, since they know us."

That didn't mean shit. Not really. Realistically speaking, anyone able to hire a band of her caliber to begin with had a certain degree of status to have access to funds, and considering the cost-effectiveness of all this crap she was happily going along with, some rich fucker from the capital was all but guaranteed. But depending on how she reacted in the coming moments, it might have been a toehold.

As a man who used to cover his face every damned day for five years straight, it wasn't comfortable having your concealment probed at, and feeling like you mighta let anything slip. It may have also helped to mount pressure, considering she had about five different people grilling her in turn— to the point that, for now, he felt good to withdraw.

"Captain," he breathed now, no longer projecting his voice. "Are we good to move up if she doesn't show her hand here? I'm not Fionn, but I should at least have an idea of who to expect further inside."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

Fresh as advertised, barely more than a day old at most— not even enough time had passed for the corpses to truly begin rotting beneath the now-setting sun. The violence that had been rendered unto the garrison spoke for itself, extending past the mangled and rent corpses and cloaking the air— by the time they'd drawn upon the keep proper, he had no need of Paladin Tyaethe's enhanced senses to all but taste the blood on the air.

As though a grand ritual of sacrifice had been conducted to desecrate the place. This would have already been enough to set his nerves on alert, the cause still undiscovered, but then things...

"Nothing but corpses."

Things took a twist.

A tiny woman, scarcely bigger than their captain, was nothing much—

"Hey, Fionn." he breathed, voice colored by a strange mix of suspicion and intrigue. He recognized this one, if not by personal meeting— in their shared circles, her reputation had carried a fair distance beyond her person.

Blue hair pulled tight into pigtails. Crimson eyes, though not radiant with the unnatural light that Damon, Paladin Tyaethe, or any other vampire possessed— as far as he knew, no clearer-sighted in the dark than his own. A long, jagged spear of reddened steel alloy, as clear a battlefield identifier as any— tall tales spoke of it stained by blood, others as pulled from the maw of some vicious beast off the coast. Regardless, it wasn't congruent with half the wounds on display here— and too clean by half to cause the ones it might have been able to match.

"Alette the Shark," he began, locking eyes with the diminutive lancer as the tip of his sword was held aloft, point catching the last of the sun as it leveled onto the general direction of her face. His head tilted to the side, matching hers. "and her band— They don't operate this far south normally, far as I remember. Closer to your side of Velt, right?"

A professional rival, of sorts— every band was one to the others, as tradesman working the same market. The Regiment's stomping grounds and hers had the vague overlap one would expect of damn near anybody that campaigned in Velt or Estival. While he had no real antipathy here, it was good sense to keep tabs on competition. That she was here was... alarming.

It was clear enough that her reputation's preceding her was some measure of mark towards character, rather than against— completely untrustworthy scum didn't last terribly long on the field, nor as a unit. Warfare was their business first and foremost: to join a band like hers or his meant that the enlisted troops trusted the leadership to get food into their bellies. If she could build up ranks at all, she needed that much at the least.

It'd be remiss of them to ignore that facet of her station. In looking for work, her martial prowess would speak for itself. In looking for company, though... no matter how much it weighed odds in one's favor, it was a foolish soldier of fortune to overlook the other questions he should present to his leadership.

Are you successful?
Are you dependable?
Do I trust you to side with me, or with the employer?
Am I a comrade, or a pawn?

...

That last one bit at a thread he didn't quite like.

Regardless.

Your life was on the line when you made that choice. You were no patriot, nor champion, nor revolutionary. The question was whether you would be risking your life for someone who was worth trusting it with. That she had enjoyed continual success over the years meant she definitely needed to be doing something right on that front, near as he could tell.

Enough to hear her out. Enough to know she wasn't supposed to be so rock-brained as to bring the entirety of their order onto her head.

Lowering his blade, at the Captain's orders he stalked forward and began to inspect the nearest corpse, searching through for signs of... whatever it was she alluded to.

As he did so, his voice rang out to punctuate the point with direct address.

"Long way from home like this— The hell sort of take coulda coaxed you out?"

He asked his question bluntly, for the moment shedding his effortful airs of chivalry— pulling back from the five-year-deep well of experience that he'd dug in the common ground between them. He didn't expect to get a name from her— professionalism would dictate against that, but any hint would help them start to get a picture drawn.

By all rights, her being here was an anomaly.

The Lion's Banner: A Fire Emblem-Inspired Anime Fantasy RP

István Shilage

Automatons, motion breathed into vague facsimiles of blessed, incarnate form, arose as a swarm around the Lions, a dervish within the tomb. Blades flashed, clattering and clicking artifice threatened to engulf the force, a death by a thousand cuts to herd their troop into the wooden golem the witch had chosen as her initial champion.

Iron whirled. Streaking comets fell upon the shadows. Sparks flashed as the dolls tore against a mighty shield, only to receive a crushing blow to scatter them in turn.

No matter how sharp or chaotic the wind that surrounded them, it would break upon a wall. Istvan knew well the value of harassing from the flanks, encircling, nipping at heels to tire and overwhelm a foe, pulling their attention and strength apart thread by thread. It was how he had built his prestige within the Demet lands, how he had wrangled common brigands into dedicated raiders, how he had hunted mighty stags in the forests, flanked by well-bred hounds.

He knew the game, and how it in turn was broken.

"I have your backs!" he called, bashing aside another of the lessers as he stomped over to guard the rear of the party, filling the hole left in the "vanguard's" rear line as they focused on the largest of this Witch's examinations. Between his large frame, crushing blows, and sweeping range, he was sure he could lock this area down.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze@6slyboy6@VitaVitaAR

"I smell it too. Garrisoned forts aren't this quiet— old massacres are." a tight-voiced affirmation floated in from behind as Gerard cautiously stalked forward, a wolf with hackles raised. He and those like him among their number, veterans of countless battlefields, knew this feeling well— an echo of bloodshed left upon the land. It hung in the air like smoke, deepening shadows, choking sound, turning the tawny palette of dusk into an oppressive blaze.

He had neither of their preternatural abilities, obviously, but half a decade of honed instinct and experience were a fair substitute.

Peeling away from their burning search through the monolithic walls of stone for a moment, the twin furnaces behind his golden eyes spared a glance at the slight form of Amy as he passed by. A newcomer, arriving within only the past week, he wasn't quite sure what exactly to make of her yet— a half-demon illusionist raised by Mayonite clergy, if memory served. A heady mix, that, for anyone like him to wrap their head around. He'd kept his distance until now, when the mission had brought her all but immediately into their ranks.

He was no authority to pass judgement, least of all regarding anyone's birth. As strange as it was to reconcile so many of those classically demonic features with an ally... she was an ally. One of their number. Accepted and vetted in spite of it by the same arbitrators he'd been blessed by. By the sound of things, her arguments were on their face better than his own, even.

Mistrust between soldiers would get both killed. There was no room for it here.

His eyes flickered back to the walls as he continued on. Unmarred, yet barren. No breach of the gates that he could see— this place wasn't besieged from the outside. That was clear enough to anyone— whatever caused this graveyard ambience did so from within. If it was an insurrectionary force, an infiltration, a coup, something human like that...

"Can't say I've ever known one to leave the place it happened so untouched, though. What the hell..."

His scowl deepened, and his hand floated to the hilt of his longsword as though reflex.

If the culprit was still here, horses in any appreciable mass like their own were loud enough to hear coming, the setting sun against the steel of their armor clear to see upon the flat plain. No chance the Roses would be here by surprise, if there was any lookout posted. No sense waiting for the welcoming heralds to get into position any further.

A puff of air through his nostrils, expelling trepidation and steeling nerves.

"May as well find out."

Blade sliding free, he marched slowly through the threshold, ready to scan the field.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter

"Yeah, no, the technique showed on its own." Gerard commented, eyes pulling in the sequence as Fionn relived his bout with their masterful forefather, reading the shadow the other man projected onto the void as well as he could— surprising in its fidelity. A testament to his peer's visualization and technical recall, sure... but funny as it was, the stanzas recounted the Mirror Knight's words as well. Like Agrahn calling me 'desperate'.

Gerard wasn't sure if that was what lent itself to the mind's eye here or not, but insight was insight.

"You don't play this slow a game with me, do you?" an observation, rhetorically made— both well aware already how the harmony of their spars registered, beyond opportunism's swinging tempo adding subtle variance. "You were keeping everything in tighter."

Studying.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter

"I sent my knife through a spell-slinger's eye, that was one of the highlights." He countered, free hand whipping forth in the motion every mercenary knew, most were good at, and a select few fully mastered. Being in the second cohort was good enough for most anyone. Good enough for him, so far. "I couldn't get out of the way of all the arrows from the Talderians, but their ace couldn't get the dent from the Mordhau out of his helm. Bought me time to do the old gorget can-opener."

Best fight of his life, even with all they'd done... Gerard wouldn't expect anything less. Even the Demonbreaker, towering, glimmering juggernaut of holy steel that toyed with he and Serenity like children... the wraith that he had been paled to his life, and paled to Agrahn as well.

"Florian... I would bet." he grunted, "Wish I'd gotten him, might have gone out something cleaner... Agrahn was a monster. Spent the whole time wrecking me with each swing. Took all I had just to keep him from cutting through me outright. I think the only thing I got in on him was..."

A finger brushed an errant lock of coal aside from his gaze. Long, he remembered thinking at the ball, longer than ever. The brow beneath echoed with a soreness it never earned.

"Well, he told me my head was pretty hard."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter

A rough laugh, tension going slack as an all too familiar sentiment was shared. This was why he could loosen up 'round Fionn— they were, at their cores, the same kind of animal.

"Fuckin' wolves got me." Gerard replied. "Some shiny Illithane Knight too. Plus—"

He paused, considering things...

"Talderians, I think. The really really old style emblems gave 'em away and breastplates. They had an archer cohort, too. Never thought I'd get to see anything like that, but..."

He felt the rush of blood, the flicker of battle-flame in his breast. The showers of sparks as steel danced against steel. The grin he bore spread wider— pulling at the corners, showing fangs.

"Fun's the word for sure, our honored forefather's disdain aside."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter

His eyes slid up to meet Fionn's, preempting a half-turn of the head. Within the amber depths that greeted the Velt native, there wasn't any artifice to be seen— instead, a quirk of intrigue similar to his own. His suspicions were well-founded: it was something new, rather than slipped free from hidden depths.

"Too well, actually." he began, grimacing as he rolled his wrist, sending the held length of steel into spiraling patterns of infinity, an eight knocked to the side. Weak cuts, but perhaps sufficient to parry a lighter strike. Nothing sufficient to defend against him... but work for familiarizing the grip. These days, he thought often of sword and axe.

"A bowl of dust turning into a field of steel and blood. As if I'd gone back."

Between them, there was no need to elaborate where "back" meant. The sober recount continued.

"Only I woke after Sir Agrahn, straight out of the painting in the hall," he pointed with the tip. "Punched a hole straight through my gut. Felt the whole thing. Before that, felt how easily he could have crushed me at my best."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter@Krayzikk

With a half-hearted wave and a pensive frown, Gerard sent the man on his way.

"Guess we've all been on edge," he huffed, fiddling around with the blunt as it laid in the sun-warmed grass, a bed of soft, forgiving green that made the long-stomped earth beneath find new life. It certainly seemed to hold true to his eyes, if nothing else— the exchange here, his own inability to get out of his own head accelerating to the point even Sir Renar seemed to note it as abnormal...

"Damned dreams."

It came as a mutter in undertone, happening to fall in a lull between the morning breezes as his grip closed around the hilt of his feder, holding it aloft ahead of him in a hand. The flashes ran through his mind— insurmountable pressure above, agony erupting from below. Cold words washing disdain over the burn of the rising thrill.

'Fighting desperate' indeed.