HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Octo

"Oh, hey, she does a little Csárdás. That's cute." an idle observation floated in from behind, in the undertone of the others who stepped forward and said their piece. Fundamentally, the Moonlit Queen's implicit demand for intrigue crashed against the iron wall of Gerard's own self-concept and summation of his time beneath Reon's Light— his prized humble origins working as a grand detriment against him, in a way he had forgotten they could. "I didn't know you could breathe animus into little dolls this way, too. I'd figured it was just blasting things with shooting stars."

His words were cloaked in no facetious slime, nor anything that could be believed artifice— he had even now only a piecemeal knowledge of how magic worked and what one could do with it, beyond "grand and terrifying marvels"— but one of the pieces of truth he had managed to glean, in some respect, was that most practitioners did have their special niches they tended to stick to. Having seen the breadth between this tiny little wonder and the overt destruction the false maid could wreak in battle, the former mercenary, current knight, and eternal oaf found himself locking the memory away, for the next time he thought he had her or anyone here completely figured out.

He closed his eyes, and exhaled through the nose. Even if he had little to offer, they couldn't risk a potential insult that came in holding silence. And what was more... there was a way to phrase what he could speak to that just might have piqued the interest of someone with the Moonlit Queen's personality, as he had heard it spoken and seen in action.

When a lull allowing it appeared, the scarred knight spoke evenly, some warmth upon him.
 
"As my friend said just a moment ago, I too hold a lifetime on the battlefield as the main locus of my skillset. It was once my trade, and is still my craft. Before that I was a peasant boy from the fields to the west, and you surely have seen scores of men like me in that regard. If I were to put this to words..."

What she coveted, regardless of the tacit relationship between the object and true value, were things that signified the grandeur of her station and title. The moonlit queen was most covetous of symbols— that which projected her image of strength, wonder, and dominion. He had a guess that it was why she had taken the Duke's rationality only after he had, if he was hearing this right, brushed off her summons. He'd cited his duties as being of more import, in so many words. To offer collateral against that demanded attention, then maybe... the part of him he refused to let go, so mundane in the world of man, might hit the mark of what the Moonlit Queen sought.

"I would say I am set apart most from everyone here in how I behold them. I am a humble man, of humble means, hailing from a humble home. I have been blessed to bear witness to wondrous things each day, and am routinely amazed by what company I keep. At times I can hardly believe myself as standing among them in my own right, rather than watching from below a high pedestal."

A little florid, especially for somebody like him, but a sentiment that still rang true enough. If the Moonlit Queen wanted her greatness to not go unacknowledged, then the best idea Gerard could muster was to invoke a core part of the man he'd become, the one his friends within the Order had rightly tried to see him pare back—

"I know quality when I see it. And I think the world of these people. I apologize it is so meager in the face of them, but I could at least offer you captive audience for your words and deeds. That which Duke Thedric couldn't manage."

He was effusive with complimenting those around him, and stingy with complimenting himself.

For a fae that had been slighted by being considered second fiddle to anything, there was a chance this could resonate.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Busy weekend, many drinks and sporting events after work— with UFC and what japan allowed me to see of K-1 cleared out i’ll be trying to get my post out too you and a couple others before the game today

sorry for the delay!

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark

Silence...

And then pandemonium.

The sinking feeling in his gut, wrenching and cold, had proven itself right— and with the moment's passing, Rudolf felt some small part of him die. By the time Eliane's bullets were loosed, and Isolde ordered their capture... he couldn't even let out the frustrated snarl that had been building at the back of his throat. He had to bring his blades to bear and step past the crumpled remains of that vain hope that they could avoid this. One it seemed not even Robin had been willing to hold. Normally, he'd have blamed that on her boiling everything down to easy and thoughtless trope instead of muddy reality. But time after time, that same simple way of looking at it all seemed to keep her eyes clearer.

His vision was getting hazy.

Sparks flew, as steel edges collided and his exhausted frame screamed in protest as he wrenched the hasted thrust of a longsword to the side, and he put all his might into a one-handed swing of the greatsword. On the wrong end of the speed dynamic he had just minutes ago enjoyed like this, he was dismayed but far from shocked to watch the white-robed Templar fade back behind the line of his peers, two men bearing spear and shield that barely felt the impact upon the barriers surrounding their frames, let alone any mar upon their iron curtain.

It was probably always inevitable, anyway. He had been careless... and he had already seen the lesson he learned in action only a few days before, when they thought that Isolde was at least one Grovemaster still on their side. He knew how any negotiation involving Drana Asnaeu and Skael on opposite ends of the board went— they'd done a dry run already in Brightlam and made a complete mess of it. He didn't know where the hell Eliane had gotten it into her big empty head that a glorified guard had any authority to declare war, but they'd foolishly gone and given her the biggest gun they could find and a majority vote in favor of using it.

"Ngh." His eyes flashed as he saw the instant their torsos shifted, throwing himself back as a pair of spears blinked into existence in the space that had been his kneecap a second ago. Behind's no good— a familiar voice called, almost soon enough to prepare him for the jarring shield bash to the back of his skull from a knight he'd not seen get around his guard—

Hell with it. The gun, the beam of light, the threats preceding, they'd all just happened. Didn't matter. Here they were. Maybe he had no leg to stand on.

That they were in this situation at all was every bit as much proof that he was no sterling judge of character, or the hand he was trying to play at the table. Irresponsible gambler, shocked that he'd burned a hole through his pocket once again, tale old as time. It was all fucked. They just needed to push their way through it now. No time or energy for anything else. Just focus on twenty four Galahad-level problems in front of you, twice as fast as probably still faster than you. Wield my armaments. Make openings. Get us out. That's already more than I'm ready for. Focus goes there. Burn what it takes.¹

Blood flew from his mouth, the inside of his cheek or tongue bitten open by the sudden jarring collision. The sharp pain and taste of copper was a small blessing in that it kept his head from swimming— enough to plant his boot onto the sturdy point where the two hafts hafts crossed, push off, and leap clear overhead of the two knights, in the direction of Izayoi. Twisting through the air to try and game a couple extra feet out of the momentum, he swung down with the greatsword as his body rose higher, willing a curtain of black flame through the arc to screen their vision that extra second—

You're on your own there. I'm not risking it.

And instead was treated to the horrifying silence of a good five feet of blade bouncing harmlessly off of a top-class magical barrier. He landed and surged ahead, mind racing, into the space where she had managed to force a gap in their tight group. He was lucky, in a small respect, that he already was really familiar with how damned useless the thing was. It meant he could plan around it much more quickly, leverage what little strengths it had. Even a rubber Montante still took up space, and this one at least looked like steel. He could dissuade approach.

He swung wide, forcing a few helmeted men back, holding the gap she'd made— but hasted as they were, the Templars were quick to adjust after a few words between them all blurred together. That was another problem. They communicated well. While he had a hard time making out the words, especially in the rush of desperate combat, he had caught the directionality— the two behind.

The templars forced back in almost immediately, redoubled confidence behind the nearest one's mace. They had to have told eachother that it couldn't get through the barrier, he realized, barely catching the ringing blow on the flat, braced against his shoulder— strong as his body was, he still felt the ground crack beneath his heels with that one, and his joint nearly dislocate. He shoved the larger man away, filling the space in his wake with another forceful, vicious-looking swing—

Sure enough, a second and third came in behind his arc, practically on top of him an instant later and finding the point of his knife rammed into his eye as the faux-sagramori spun through fully, and his sturdy sabertooth dagger proved far better at piercing their bestowed defenses (at least when they unexpectingly ran into it). Wrenching it free, his right side blossomed in pain as he registered impact— the hammer end of a pollaxe had slipped past his guard. His teeth grit, and he ripped another line of long steel through the space around him, desperate to rebuild momentum and initiative—

"THESHORTBLADEISTHETRUEDANGERBROTHERSHEWILLWEARHIMSELFDOWNIFWEKEEPLETTINGHIMSWING"

And his ears just about made out the words of the man he had relieved of an optic nerve not even a second ago, Regen and Reraise leaving him no worse for wear in the slightest. This was impossible against opponents of this number and caliber. They were too fast, too unkillable, too observant and coordinated to even have a hope of dealing with fresh. The numbers alone had been against them— this wasn't stacking the deck so much as holding a crossbow to the brow demanding all the chips outright. He'd hold this opening as well as he could, but they needed to be decisive if they wanted to pull a win or even escape out of this.

His heart hammered. His muscles screamed. His bones creaked. His head swam. His vision dimmed. His sword barely scratched anything on a good day. He was certain he was two steps from falling apart. How many bones had he already given up? How much blood?

His knife, that too-often relied upon last resort, punched through, at least. But...

The next Templar it bit into grinned, and grabbed Rudolf by the wrist for a mere instant, as he saw the wound it gave begin to close around the blade before his eyes. He bought himself a moment with a headbutt to the nose, and wrenched the handle while bumping a shoulder to the breastplate and kicking the man's leg out from under him—

... It wouldn't be enough to get anything more done, and they were already wise to needing to take it from him. He was not a siege engine to punch through the gate, so much as a lone soldier trying to wedge his back into a gap in the portcullis.

Hopefully, at least, the others would fare better and be able to use that gap to get out of here before they were all overrun. He was done even pretending he ever liked his odds on anything. Let alone this. I may as well be in Hell already.

He struggled on, buying what time and space he could.

---

---

• _{1. Not. Happening. After that dispel, I'm taking no chances. She still wants you alive. She may get what's going on in here, but when one of these upjumped zealots catches even a whiff of what I do they're going to claim we were an "incidental casualty" at the very best. They do not play about blasphemy. They aren't here because they believe in people like you pulling yourself out of a hole the way she does. I'm an accessory to murder, not to suicide.}

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Friday it is then boys

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

There we go. See? Let the guy who's trained for this do the talki—¹

A wave of holy energy passed over him as Isolde released her Dispelja, and while he himself felt little more than a light buzz at the ends of his hair, the same couldn't be said for the presence written atop his soul.² For the first time since he had forged that contract, he felt something recoil and writhe, as though the blackened flame itself had been stabbed³ without warning. Around him, the assembled Eidolons faded, as well as Esben's fairies— banished. From what little he understood of White magic, it was similar in principle to the way magically-sourced ice wouldn't have done them much good in the desert, that conversation seeming an eternity ago now— it weakened the aether structures that tethered the eidolons to the waking world. Seeing how it had left Eve, and her erstwhile Bahamut-aspected state, in such disarray...

His eyes narrowed, as he focused on getting his breath back under control. With the sounds of Cid's hurried exit ringing from behind him, the Kirins were now, truly, alone against these two dozen elite warriors of the Church, Isolde at the fore and stacking them high with every enhancement magic in her repertoire. He was pretty sure that even though he hadn't fully donned the aspects of whatever his shady passenger was... there would be at least a little bit before it had calmed down enough to manifest again.

And even then, he was very aware of what he'd burned up already. He'd be shocked if he won even a single coin toss for the next six months. If not worse. He'd been completely dumping it after guarding everything zealously for five years— there was no telling how it scaled at this point. He had no pool of reference beyond the general downturn that had come of the initial signing.

"...He's not lying." the young man spoke at length, still too rattled to really rebut anything the Grovemaster had said further than Esben had already managed. In a way, he wasn't sure he could— for all he took umbrage with the shade's implication that he hadn't had his share of schooling in how to handle his speech... it wasn't as though he couldn't, in part, see her point of view. They were the only ones fighting the oncoming storm openly— the only representatives mustered from each of the four nations in plain view. Even when you acknowledged that the Kirins had righteous cause... he knew better than many what staring down long odds looked like. It was a fool's errand to totally ignore that kind of practical calculus in her position. And then there was the matter of Cid...

"We don't have any way of knowing where he went. It could be anywhere a church lies on the continent. That's a demand we can't meet, even if the man is the liar you say he is."

His teeth ground. Before them, twenty-four men of fine training, armored in quality half-plate bolstered by protection, arcane barriers, their wounds sure to regenerate before his eyes even if this came to blows, to the point where they could even stave off death. And before even that... he had just earned himself a firsthand experience with what Haste meant for a well-trained warrior. Outnumbered nearly three to one atop that, and a skirmish had the makings of a disaster by his count. Even if he darted straight back, trying to get ahold of the Crane's Wings (presuming they were where he'd left them instead of washed away by all the rushing water of the battle), the nearmost church militant would probably have gotten to him quicker. With Leviathan dispelled, he now realized, there was nothing that Valon's spear would be stuck in—

Save for the bottom of the sea, far below the cliff. Even if he was of only middling skill in its use, it was sobering to realize that it was off the board entirely.

His grip on the Sagramore Rondel shook. The odds were long, long, long indeed. And their only hope against facing them down, at least from where he stood... was banking on talking Isolde off the ledge. On playing to that small, sad smile she wore, so long as it wasn't a mask.

"You have to know how unreasonable that is. And even then, he did save us from certain death. You're asking us to hand you someone who risked his life against one of Valheim's reanimated monsters to save ours. Betrayal, Isolde. If you can't at least see that, then... we're all just doubling down, I guess. And I want to trust everything you had told me, regarding that."

Had it been the same, then, back at camp? When talking over irresponsible gambles... and committing to the harder path after thinking things through?

Had this been what she meant? Was that wan expression from his answer affirming this path, or was it from knowing this was coming regardless?

Or was it just nothing? Artifice, and another layer of manipulation, then and now?

...That was cruel. Far, far too cruel. Any of those were. He felt sick even considering the possibilities, and squeezed the bone hilt in his off hand until he could drive them out of his wild nerves. They told him to flee, flee now, dive over the cliffside and disappear from all this. He stilled himself.

And tried to pierce the glowing discs set upon her face one last time.

"... Is this really how it has to go?"

---

---

• _{1. AAAAAAGH FUCK}
• _{2. OW, FUCKING CHURCH BROADS, EVERY TIME! JUST TRY AND ERASE YOU WITH NO WARNING! THIS IS WHY I SHUT UP AROUND CID! I KNEW I'D STILL FEEL THE BURN!}
• <sub>3. UPTIGHT LITTLE CUN— Okay, alright, allow me to "reclaim some dignity". Imagine for a moment, dear reader, you're minding your own business inside a willing, contracted, supposedly robust corporeal vessel and then somebody comes along and finds a way to make your very essence turn into a collection of white hot knives, all trying to stab eachother at the same time. It's a, "comforting", sensation— and the reason why I think White Mages have pulled the finest hustle of the past thousand years, if not more. Don't let their ability to heal injury fool you. They're sadistic, volatile pieces of shit the moment they see anything that looks less human than most Mystrel or the rare civilised Viera— and hating them like any other mage is totally, completely, morally justified. I will not be taking arguments at this time, if you do try to convince me otherwise, let me hit you with some timely slang from my host's generation: "Consider the Rope".
  
  Now then, I have a cold-burning sensation to purge. I'll be back.</sub>

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

The shift in atmosphere when traversing between each realm was as palpable as it had ever been. On one hand, there was a comforting return to normalcy after they had been farewell by the fair lady of the woods and lead back out of her grove to Brennan, the full breath of sun upon his skin once the four had returned to the clearing a welcome reprieve from the cage of old oak.

They had made swift tracks to the rest of the Order with key in hand, a quick rundown on their present goal hot on its heels. For his money, Gerard had to agree that Fionn and the Captain were the two primary choices to lead negotiation— as much as he had overperformed even his own expectations of the meeting with the moonlit queen's aforementioned younger sister, that was luck a wise man didn't push. Doubly so, when they were about to run into a mind much less inclined to be immediately sympathetic to a mission or grateful for any incidental services rendered.

Best to at the very least cede the opening to she who held rank and he who held experience and poise. Admittedly, he had almost trapped himself into contributing to their key gambit somehow once the ball really got rolling— having personally made that promise, his sense of responsibility was likely to flare before he sat idly by the whole time and rode upon their coattails.

He couldn't help it. Even if part of him didn't think the powerful fae he had somehow won over would be able to simply pierce through him with those sapphire eyes and read the sloth upon his soul if he returned having done nothing, he would know that he'd talked a big game, and not tried to back it up.

So as they strode through the snow and came upon a paradoxically tiny elder sister, his resolute intent served to buffer him against the mental unsettlement that came from traversing the Moonlit Queen's realm. He could still feel the quiet discord at the end of his perception, his senses grappling with each obscured stimulus in the background as they marched— but when the tall beaked figure appeared behind, his mind was as alert as ever. While the Moonlit Queen dominated the spotlight, fitting with the way her sister described her personality, the wolf-pelted knight eyed the other actor on the stage as he listened in.

Raven head. About the same height as Faolan and the other knights in the Lady's court. Height concealed beneath a deep black cloak... no telling what was exactly beneath. Not moving much, letting her talk, loyal enough that he wouldn't be a problem before she was.

A moot point by then, being totally honest.

"A shame we missed that," he noted conversationally, turning his eyes to take a gander at the newly inlaid and newly marred runes upon the blade in Fionn's grasp. "All I got was a Gannek."

At this point, he didn't have a lot more substance to bring to the table. He'd reinforce Fionn's "good work" bit with that and then let him work.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

roughly four thousand years ago when men of the northern steppe first domesticated the horse i think

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

I let the boss do the talking while I run a bit as background commentary for my horse (he likes me because I pick out the good apples at the market)

EDIT: The horse. Not Aubri. Aubri likes me because I can kill if he needs me to, these are different likings

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Arrowfell Vice about to go so fucking insane

Secundi Lux

---

The big girl bore the words flying about like the mountainside did the wind, drinking them as rainfall on her slopes while her eyes remained pinned upon their newfound Priority Target, ready to leap ahead of them all if their hushed tones had a fifth set of ears playing audience where they'd only run the program for four, and one of those lasers turned upon their number prematurely.

But luck, however nominally in a situation like this, was on their side tonight— their brief exchange of deliberations went off uninterrupted, information clearly relayed and decisions rattled off on as quick a tempo as they needed. It was as though the choices all fell into place on their own, once all the cards had been laid onto the table. Ten people trapped further within the compound. One enemy at the fore, at the very least equivalent to any one of them in raw destructive capability. The generators and structure themselves, already so damaged by the attack. She weighed odds, concerns, and ability—

And with an encouraging clap between the shoulder blades, nodded sharply and sent their lovely maestro out onto the stage with no other well wishes than the timeless, ceaselessly faithful "Knock 'er dead." That was one task delegated out as a matter of course— the tip of Kheper's spear. Behind it came the weighty oaken haft, driving that brilliant point home— nothing better than a tree like her to play that role.

"Alright, ladies, I have a plan."

Swiftly, in the instants where Rivka revealed herself, Selma circled 'round to the fore and wrapped her burly arms round the shoulders of her remaining two teammmates, favoring each with that classic cocksure grin as her furs and frame shielded their eyes from the premature sunrise that was the opening salvo. Her mossy locks were tossed by wind and flame, but her back was straight and solid as ever even as she leaned forward, keeping her voice low even as she tapped one sabaton of arcane steel to the stone beneath.

"You two are better suited for rounding the survivors up, ja? Smaller, faster than me, probably much more quiet. Between the both of you, coordinating and protecting people should be plenty doable. The two of you can definitely kick the ass any problem that comes knocking. Given the disarray this place is in already, I might get more in the way than anything— Better I stay here." she jerked her head back, to the fireworks over her shoulder building their opening stanzas note by note. "Keep an eye on die komponist. If things get hairy for her while you run exfil, I can jump in right away. Not to mention..."

Another tap, the pulse running pointedly through their boots as a clear image of the space around them drew itself upon the mind's eye of the big girl. Following that up, she raised one gauntleted finger to brush away a lock of green that covered her earpiece. Part of her wanted to be miffed that she didn't indulge her instincts to brawl, to venture forth, to be at the front either saving lives or shielding them—

But it was the strong and mighty branches that bore leaves, fruit, and flowers. The stalwart wood of the trunk that rooted these beautiful things to the stable earth, lest the careless wind and rain rip them away. Her teachers had been thorough in this idea that she should foster her strength in support—

One in particular, needing no introduction, had been exacting.

"I can still keep an eye on you girls from this position, too. Once I've got your heartbeats and footfalls to work with on-site, I can warn you if I'm imaging any destructive interference near you or any of our hostages you're running into. That should buy you a little more room to focus on finding and transporting the people. Quickly now, while we still have time to move and I have time to get dug in where that thing won't see me— this makes sense?"

Her trust was resolute. The four of them had been through hell together and hell apart— they could more than handle themselves without her needing to rush and clear the front. Even with Rivka already being spoken for, Crystal and Chie had both, in their own ways, told their brasher counterparts as much. She and Rivka had been selfish about that, in some respect.

So long as she held them high and gave them space by spreading her branches wide, they could surely blossom all their own.