HereComesTheSnow

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

week's been pretty brutal, but i'm here. i'll get a post in the next day or two and then we can move to collab

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter

A grunt heralded narrowed eyes and a low, simmering knot to the brow, as the newly polychromatic knight quietly made an effort to adjust to the new distractions in his field of view— the eyes knew how to filter out the blurry, dark lines of black lashes more than well enough after twenty-one years' practice, but the sudden phosphorescence that had been laid onto them was wreaking havoc on his saccades. From the sound of things, that peripheral vision would need to be back up to snuff as quickly as it could.

"The Midnight Hunt." he repeated dryly, testing to see if slicking his bangs back would provide a little relief from the burgeoning headache of his eyes forcing themselves to figure out relative brightnesses all over again. "If I heard that one a year ago I would have damn near lost my mind, let alone hoped to recover another's."

Her tone had given away the error in his approach— it was less sore that she no longer had somebody in the role of herald, or witness, or whatever, but more... well. If someone he'd met four seconds ago had implied they could replace one of his friends just by doing the same things, he was certain he'd also react poorly. Granted, he didn't have the ability to turn every single hair on their head into a rainbow, but he'd probably just deck them and then swing a few more times until he felt better.

In realizing that? This was far from the worst he could have gotten off when stepping onto a rake of that proportion— and he'd at least learned the value system a little more completely than the admittedly mostly blind guess he'd gone in with. To be honest, he was largely basing things off of the vibe he'd gotten from her Sister—

It's getting really annoying making references through relational abstraction like that. When we get out of this, I need to find a way to get that lady's name without pissing her off like I did this one. Maybe if she offers up a small boon for retrieving the token of authority. I'd take that.

A glance to the side, eyeing the pinkest man he'd seen in his life so far.

"You always told me you managed to nick one of their helmets, Fionn. If you were screwing with me, I'd better know before I ask for advice."

In Shilage, the Midnight Hunt was a bedtime story you told kids that you were angry enough with to wish nightmares upon. You rarely heard anything more about surviving, let alone defeating them, than "you'd need Reon herself to step in and put her finger on the scales to pull that off, little shit".

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Oh, don’t threaten him with a good time.

Falling Skies

LTJG ROY KILMER, CALLSIGN "COMMIE"

---

Panting as he ripped his flight helmet free upon the Shrike's return, Kilmer took a moment to wick away the sweat that had built up near his brows before slicking back his straight blonde hair, letting the recycled air refresh and fill the cabin, then his lungs. He sat there for a moment, letting the various aches and pains of high-g aftermath settle in across his frame— luckily, a quick patdown told him that he'd not pushed himself super hard. Some sorties, he came back spewing up a little more crimson than Vulture ever appreciated.

Given this was a multi-phase assault, good thing he'd avoided that old bit, this time. Satisfied, he clambered out of the cockpit in short order, standing at attention as the Captain and Commander both gave their quick debriefs. He declined to comment on Sab's pushups— she was here long enough to know that Vulture never let you get away with 27 or 28 forever when he'd demanded 30. On his end, instead, he just folded his arms.

"Three hours." he chuffed with a shrug. "Just enough time to grab a Barq's and sit through my earful from the Boeing rep. I'll be helping the ground teams fine tune some stuff down here if I'm needed."

Offering the others a nod, he ambled away, intent on finding just where the hell they'd stashed his jacket.

---

A hand rose.

"What air cover are we expecting to run into for the descent? Standard fare?"

Kilmer was hardly worried about the typical flak nets, SAMs, and so forth. The book had been written on them before manned spaceflight, but there was no way the mass drop wouldn't muster heavy orbital opposition. If they were peeling away, he had an inkling that he might get his pound of flesh after all, after having missed out on the Fafnir earlier.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

For his part, Rudolf had largely kept to himself and his thoughts, mainly focusing on contributing to the effort to source food with largely fruitless sojourns inward for the first day, save a couple birds. On the second, however, he'd come across a promising set of tracks, and let them take him deeper into the bush than he'd gone before. His passenger seemed to have grown similarly silent, in the daytime, but he seemed to be having his share of trouble resting once night fell.

Regardless, he departed quietly the second morning.

Bear, Necessities

If you cannot avoid failure, you have to deconstruct it thoroughly after the fact and learn from it. That is the foundation upon which all human knowledge is built. With trial comes error. After error comes repeated and further informed trial. To ignore this fundamental facet of the human experience is to court death, destruction, all manner of ruin. It is said that every empire which falls does so because it is built upon the backs of the mistakes of those that fell before it did, and, inevitably, believes itself incapable of having those same mistakes cut it down in turn. The definition of insanity is rightly said then, at least in common parlance, to lie within the act of doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result.

A lone figure, slight of frame despite clear, rigorous honing of the muscle packed upon it, stalked through the brush, his steps careful, considered, and bolt-steady upon a path that had been errantly trod by his prey. In his right hand was a knife, a constant companion, twinned fangs of bone and steel, savagery and civilization melded into one. He had freshly sharpened the requisite edges as best as he was able— though it had already proven itself willing to survive stabbing straight into the earth and be made a high-torque centrifuge, he wasn't about to take his chances with the aftermath of that new practice. His free hand busied itself with keeping the course he charted clear, guiding errant arms of young foliage to the side to allow him through then easing them back where they'd hung. Minimizing errant sound that would interrupt his careful listening, minimizing any trace of his presence that would give him away early. He was close now, the wide claws at the tips of the feet he followed having freshly cut into the moist earth.

He breathed slowly, fighting to still his heart even as his mind spun. The past 48 hours had been trying, to say the least— It was about all they could do to simply collect what was left of their strength into a tiny pile while licking their wounds so that they might forge onward, after...

Well, no use beating around the bush. After an abject failure. The party had botched their time in the jungle-choked nation thoroughly enough that the spiral down to this point would be one for the books even if they managed to turn things around. Everything, from the first moments after their landing to the confrontation with Isolde, had been marred by their number being lead around by the nose and letting the heat get to their heads more than cooler reason. That was part of how they had danced to the Grovemasters' tune, no matter how much certain people among them seemed to abhor the very idea of cooperation in the first place, they were all the same acting on naked impulse and emotion. Critical thinking at an all-time low. Easy to manipulate, easy to outmaneuver.

He could hear it breathing in the distance, big lungs snorting and chuffing as it scraped heavy claws through the bush just a few dozen meters away. Foraging, most likely. With any luck, he could have just been lead to a good haul of non-poisonous berries to bring back alongside the kill. The meat was going to be pungently gamey no matter what— strong sweet and spicy flavors would be vital to help offset that. At least it wasn't blighted— his hosts in Edren had learned the hard way that meat of any such tainted beast was worse than useless. Devoid of the natural aether of all living things as it was, it would fill the stomach, but drain your strength like poison sooner than replenish it. There were some theories as to the specific mechanics at play being passed around, but they weren't important— the key takeaway was that blightmeat was worse than simply devoid of nutrition— it was actively toxic.

Key takeaways. That was what he needed to pry out of this scrapped pile of ideas and half-formed plans, reactions, and reflection. Or else, this would happen again. And again. And again. Just as it had already. For all the thought of present company's obeisance to their base emotions and impulse over structure and reason had frustrated him over this past... month or two, at the very most, he had to admit one thing first before attacking anything else. He was every bit as guilty as they. If he wasn't, he would never have made it into the party to begin with. Somebody more capable, like Wulfric or Otto, would have been the ones to answer the call to arms— the former as initially intended without a doubt. The latter... likely not being so safeguarded as he sure was now. After all, it was Rudolf's own base impulse, and unchecked emotion, and reckless disregard that had nearly blown his head clean off when he was no more than six months returned from war. Even though he had less of a specific tendency to try and torpedo the idea of diplomacy right out the gate—

The image of two impenetrable discs of reflected firelight passed through his mind. He shook it clear, the point proven to him already. He was no less impulsive than any of them. It was a waste of energy, then, to try and stand when you had no leg to do it on. at least they had been right in the end, even if the reasons that got them there weren't—

He wasn't so lucky as to even be able to claim that much. Why else did he try to appeal past the conviction that the High Caretaker was supposed to be hundreds of years dead, and the man they had indebted themselves to twice over was some kind of Lich, a demon wearing his skin, a heretical force that shouldn't be? He should have known better. Already, he had seen firsthand how impossible it was to sway someone like her when they believed the truly occult and blasphemous had rooted itself in. Why did he think he'd have any better luck with someone off the back of only one good conversation— one he had just asked a favor in, no less? His own mother hadn't...

The sound of splitting wood interrupted his train of thought, somewhere only ten meters behind him, snapping off the train of thought and sending a shock of ice through his blood. A furtive glance over his shoulder revealed the cause— a young sapling had fallen, one he had seen deep gashes within after his quarry had casually swatted it out of its path. Of all the rotten timing, and what was worse—

There was a hitch and a pause in the snorting up ahead, and he heard something big shift its weight on the other end of the thicket. Two snorts heralded a low rumble. There was a chill on the wind that caressed him from behind, the last wisps of the sea breeze that could make it through the coastline bush. As the growl rose into a rumble, Rudolf swallowed a deluge of curses and brought his Rondel into a tight guard, eyes darting to check the surroundings in the last few seconds he had. His ambush was completely scuttled even in spite of his careful approach, it definitely had caught his scent on the wind. And if it was foraging before, then it was surely hungry— and a lone man was as good eating as any. A stark reminder that he really, really, couldn't count on luck any more at all—

It was pretty much against him, outside of a complete miracle.

So, he had established his problem. A repeated pattern of behavior where he believed himself too easily influenced by emotion, a good conversation, a sweet-seeming deal— all pointing towards recklessly poor judgement, despite his masquerade of being more than a meatheaded, stubborn child. A naive view of the world, too focused on what he feltsomething should be, as opposed to what he could do with the knowledge in front of him. It had played out enough twice over. His misreads of Galahad, of Ciradyl, of Isolde, of himself. The times he'd missed crucial details because he'd let his heart get in the way of his head— The consistent interest in Cid, the state of his first swords when he brought them down on Robin's trap, letting it slip ahead that he knew Valon's name when he never heard it announced. Whether it was large or small, a mistake was a mistake. And there was no nobility in making them. And just as little in forgetting the lessons you learned once already.

A crash through the trees ahead, thudding that shook the earth through his feet. Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, he sprung back as the beast finally burst into the small gap in the grove, gold face stained purple-red and giving way to a brown coat atop a frame as tall at the haunches as Rudolf— a Sol Bear. A big male, at that. Native to the coastlines of Drana Asnaeu and the northernmost tips of Edren, they were named such due to their ranging in such warm locales— and because they never denned to hibernate, the way the more familiar grizzlies and polar bears from the south did. A deep, bellowing roar rang in Rudolf's ears as he raised the blade he'd brought and ran through his options, trying to keep his heartrate down. Without the element of surprise on his side, he'd have to take this big bastard down in a straight fight or run for the hills. He really, really wanted that second option. It was a rare man of Edren that wasn't familiar with the many tales of bear hunts that had gone south after first contact, and ended with a stuffed beast and a mourning family. that was with the native brown bears no less— Sol Bears weren't quite as big, but they were twice as hungry, twice as active, twice as mean. given that they were a year-round threat where they ranged, too...

It charged forward, a paw as wide as his skull swiping through the air where he'd been moments ago, his reactions still feeling a tad dull in the wake of that doubled haste on the cliff. His heart leapt into his throat, even as a slash with the dagger covered his retreat and he ran the numbers. In a dead sprint, he was willing to bet that their paces would be roughly similar, maybe giving an edge to the bear on all fours. He'd have to utilize his smaller frame and greater agility to put proper distance between him and it. Cut a path through thicker bush. After all, the dense fur and thick, leathery skin beneath had left his hurried swipe with maybe a hair or two shorn off the beast to show for it. Yeah, running felt right here...

Or.

His breath grew short, but his eyes stayed keen as the two warily considered eachother. He couldn't return empty-handed after going off on his own. Nor could he accept an injury when they were strung so thin as it was. Eos and Miina had all but worked overtime on him in the aftermath of the battle at the temple, and the others were scarcely better off. energy would be short, and they could hardly do to waste any more. That was why he had sought his usual solitude, when confronted with a reflection of himself he didn't like, in doing something useful instead of just sulking as he had on the Scurvy Fishman. It was why Izayoi and Galahad were trying their hands at fishing, no doubt, back at camp. He'd probably have joined them in that effort, if he had any ability to keep his damned rod still.

A Sol Bear was a strong, proud warrior beast, ravenous and vicious. As much as it was a fearful trial to overcome, no less so than the sabertooth he'd killed years ago, there would be nothing better to rekindle the fires of Himstus within himself and his comrades. More than ever, they needed their fighting strength returned to them— Isolde's cohort had no doubt survived through at least one person, odds were, and by now they'd have ample opportunity to spread word of what happened through the broader Church. They'd be hunted, taken alive as she had ordered at best if they were caught. A compounded pressure on all their issues already. So. If he truly sought to quench that which had gotten in his way when trying to exercise sound judgement... no better place to start than here, and now.

Scars on its face showed in thin white lines through the paler fur on the snout. He watched its gaze settle on his blade as it snarled, and circled on all fours. He mirrored its path, waving the blade to test that hypothesis, watching its beady eyes dart between him and his weapon. It had to have encountered armed resistance before, then. Some hapless adventurers had given it a healthy respect for naked steel... and no doubt made it a man-eater.

He had established form of his problem. He had a set of tools at his disposal to leaf through when the time came. Training, schooling, study, experience. He needed now to determine the structure, test it for holes, and find where he could use those tools to fray it down, until he had a way to start tugging it apart. Break the big problem down into a smaller one. Break the small problem down into something that was no longer a problem. Move onto the next. Everything had a frame, and everything could be broken down into something manageable. You just needed to look for it with a critical eye, and act upon it with a sound system. Observe, analyze, infer, then synthesize and solve. If trial and error was the foundation of learning, then critical thinking was the foundation of how you proceed to the next trial after each of those errors. He'd learned that too many times, from too many men, to ignore it the way he had. Understand the enemy. Understand the structure. Break it apart, and the problem dies. Whether it's outside of you, or inside.

A small part of him asked itself if this wasn't just another way of running from things that hurt. The seclusion of the hunt was for certain, but what about this conclusion he'd reached? Twice now, after Izayoi revealed all that to him in Costa del Sol. Was this necessary adaptation, or just a convenient method of self-denial?

The bear lunged again, swatting with both arms in quick succession now. He darted past each strike, the second dodge taking him outside the burly, long arm. Pivoting quickly as his left hand framed on the elbow joint as it swept past, the claws inches from ripping him open from hip to shoulder, he jammed the dagger into the joint even as his ears were filled with that head-splitting roar deep from the beast's belly. Before he could determine whether it was pain or anger that had sparked it, the thing wrenched that arm back, flinging him through the air as though waving away a stinging hornet. He had ripped the blade free in the nick of time, at this point as wary as any man alive of the dangers of losing one's weapon to the uncaring whims of fate.

For instance, he was damned sure he would love to have Valon's Spear right around now. Even a bear was a step down from a dragon, for all the traits they shared, and if it could punch through the latter's hide, then the former too would surely be brought low. They made regular spears for bears already to begin with—

His back hit the tree, shaking loose leaves and rattling his spine. He glanced to his knife... while he clearly hadn't killed the joint, the reddened tip proved that his fang could get through the leathery hide. His heart raced, his mind fought to keep itself steady. He could do it. He could win. After Leviathan, he was certain that if he did have the spear he'd have tried to end it one thrust, something similar to the Gungnir. Probably get him in more trouble than he bargained for. He didn't have that luxury with the symbol of his host village, but at the same time... it was good that he'd brought it.

He had established the two bounds of needing to return with at least as much energy as he spent in the hunt, and to minimize the damage he took in doing it so he didn't stretch their healing base any further. With something that required more precision, tighter movement, more attention... he had a very, very good dry run of what he wanted to do going forward. He couldn't afford to sell out, he needed to keep his movement and strikes contained and efficient. It'd force him to adapt to the new framework. Break the thing down.

Its lips peeled back into a snarl, the bear rose to its full height, towering over him. His blood ran cold at the sight, he felt ice in his veins, but his eyes caught a hitch— the bear's left arm had buckled after it had forced itself upward, and the paw hung lower than the counterpart on the other side. So the big bastard was feeling it after all. This in turn was an intimidation ploy. Well, it worked. He was plenty scared. That's why I've gotta take you out. I have things I'm even more scared of after me.

GROAAAAAAAAR

Legs? Short and stubby, but powerful enough for it to both stand like this and attack with those explosively fast, lunging swipes. Getting low enough to hit them would be a gamble. Strong as he was, being trapped under a giant animal notorious for wrestling with things its own size was too much risk. The gut would likely be the most heavily matted with that fur and the hide beneath, and if he pierced it too soon, he would run the risk of spoiling most of the kill. Throat? Maybe. Tough from this angle for many of the same listed reasons, but asphyxiation was a relatively reliable way to kill these damned robust things. Keep thinking. The body plan wasn't all that dissimilar to a human. How would he break a man down?

He reached for the pouch on his hip. There was one materia left in there after he'd handed Shield off to Arton, and he wasn't on a hunt where he was trying to prove his valor to a bunch of bloodsoaked swordsmen. He was bringing back food. No qualms in using it save for how to do so best. If it had to rear up... it'd have to come down. Wait for that shift, then add two tons of pressure out of the blue onto that weak limb. Wouldn't kill it. Would give him time to—

The bear tensed, opening its maw as though it aimed to clamp down on his neck and rip his head off. Probably close to the mark. Regardless, both arms spread wide as its barrel chest allowed, and it stalked forth with heavy steps on the two hind legs. One step, then another, the arms framing out as if holding up a net, and then it pounced.

Now.

Purple sparks flashed, and a goliath impact hit the earth even as the young warrior's feet left it. The Sol bear's jaw slammed shut as its skull hit the dirt, and it heard the sound of its opponent's boots tamping down somewhere near its armpit, towards the side where he'd bitten into the elbow. Reeling from what felt like thrice its weight hitting it, it attempted to rise and catch the agile morsel. Its forelimb burned, bled, but began to work... and then there was only white, as the last thing it felt was that sabretooth fang biting again at the base of it's skull.

— Give him time to find its neck, as he'd forced the head back down and felt for the vertebrae. He'd felt his blade slip through the joints of the spine, but you could never be too sure— a few more heavy-handed stabs into vital areas would seal the deal. Another through the spinal cord, then sever the throat, then one through the eye socket, praying he reached the brain directly. Through all of this, the beast remained limp— either dead, or on its way and past any point of return. He loosed a breath he didn't know he'd held, and fought to still his shaking hands. It felt... more opportunistic than thorough in truth, but at the same time, it was every tool at his disposal put to use. A fair enough start.

Like anything else in that manner, he had to pry at the threads for a bit. Couldn't resolve it all in one go, so... onto the next small problem he'd broken off the big one.

A quick pat-down revealed him to have escaped major injury. His shirt had been torn by the edge of a claw, though. Ruined. There might have been a scratch or two beneath that, but nothing bad enough to hurt—

A green wind washed over him, all the same. He glanced in the direction he'd come, and realized that he still needed a whole lot of work on his awareness, as a tiny spot of green revealed herself upon a branch the tree just past the young sapling that had fallen. Of course. Esben had sent her to tail him the moment he'd departed on his lonesome. In the SEED's position, it had likely seemed pretty damned obvious what he was up to, in the aftermath of that boondoggle. Why believe in chance, or luck, then, when he could make sure, right? A good example to follow. He clicked his tongue, but strode forward all the same, in the sapling's direction.

"Alright, Eos, help me get this big bastard back to camp. I'm gonna need help packing it out, don't wanna do it here."

That small problem, of course, being close to a full ton and a long way to drag.

---

---

"Oh good, Goug and the birds got out." a hoarse grunt sounded from inland, a few seconds after Miina had made her answer. Ahead of it was the now-familiar green hues of one of Esben's fairies, shepherding the voice's owner back out of the treeline and into the cove—

And he looked like he'd walked right out of a nightmare, coated in a glaze of bright crimson from his head down to most of his bared torso. He'd left with a shirt, but now it seemed to be repurposed. Tressed up with the fabric behind him, upon a sapling he'd propped up onto his shoulders, was the source of the drying blood. Not his own, as Eos was quick to reassure, but rather his kill's. His "promising tracks" were evidently a bear— for all his insistence that he was from a village of swordsmen first, he'd gone and brought home a monster, anyway. And after dragging it at least a mile through the brush...

"Hey, can I get a hand here? This thing's heavy as sin even after being mostly bled down. Probably gonna need the cart after we pack it out. And a lot of sharp knives in doing that, but at least we'll have a lot of meat to work with once we're done."

... He honestly didn't care to try and die on that hill this time. He had too much sticky red stuff in his hair; felt like it was gonna be stained forever, at this rate. Supposedly, the Sagramori tribe had earned their red and wild locks by anointing themselves with blood and fire both, as fealty to Himstus. The blaze of their souls fanned from the spark he gave all warriors, the blood of mighty man and beast alike they spilled in his name anointing them as that much closer to his divine prowess.

By contrast, Rudi was just pretty exhausted, and pretty sure he was gonna... be kinda pinkish for a bit. Nothing nearly so bold as the old legends, for sure, but he could live with it so long as he at least got to get clean. even so, Drana being as warm and wet as it was, he was up against clock with the meat, and hide if they could get away with it— seeing as he didn't like his chances trying to break it down properly as one man with one knife, he needed to haul the thing off to the others. May as well do what he could to extend that shelf life by bleeding it en route. That was the thinking.

"And Esben," he grunted as he finally staggered over, onto the sands, dropping the carcass back-first as he was content to drag it the rest of the short distance to their coveside camp. "Eos was a big help. She told me to tell you that."

Whatever protestations the little pixie had would go largely ignored, as he trudged off to search for his other, better-for-butchery knives.

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

We love throwaway details around these parts

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

There's "subtle", and then there's "fun". A job like this really demands enjoyment from the practitioner. After all, if we're not having a good time with it, how will La Principessa?

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Amerigo Spadoni

Nordor, Golden Grape Fields
@AWildSquirtle@Estylwen

---

"Ah, were we so obvious?" a breezy smirk asked in response, stemming from the taller of the two men on horseback, mop of silver hair touched lightly by threads of wine-scented wind as he rode close quite well enough. The two representatives had been given their favor to do with all urgency the good Countess had left to muster, and left swiftly that night, the barely-contained scarlet blaze still at their backs. "We were in quite a hurry after all the time at sea, that much is to be sure. How does this day find you, my friend?"

In truth, the fast tracks they'd made had probably not been the best for Aubri's condition— the older man from the Republic hadn't said much on the way, at least by Amerigo's measure. Part of him had believed that the bearer of the Letter was simply settling into the new air in his lungs, but maybe he was putting on a braver face than the swordsman had first believed.

What a shame that was, too... the rolling hills and verdant fields of wine country this time of year were some of the most storied landscapes to find one's way through that any country had to offer, let alone one so ravaged by war and upheaval as this one. The golden grapes of Nordor had a reputation that preceded them well, the sweet taste on the sun-kissed wind sparking a dreamlike glow to the fields and a playful, creative mind's eye— ample precursor to the boons of drinking the wine they bore. Between that and the picturesque, pristine vistas one rode through in getting here, and Amerigo found it little surprise that these fields were so treasured by patrons of the arts.

Even in the Republic, in the captain's quarters of many a ship he'd sworn protection to for a voyage, there was never a canvas awash in the greens of the vine, the golds of the grapes, and the vibrant blues of the open Nordor sky very far from view. Perhaps it spoke in part to their mission here that their employers sought slices of such splendor from afar— and their interest in keeping an eye on where they were forged, in keeping such a relationship fruitful.

Pardoning the pun.

He eased his horse to a stop, reaching over to Aubri's reins to ensure his steed wouldn't stray too far while they spoke to the sharp-eyed farmhand. With his free hand, covered his heart and inclined his head, almost passing for genteel in spite of humor in his eyes— that of a child coyly letting you in on a secret joke.

"Charmed, sir, either way. Ma chiamo Amerigo. We're on our way to meet a friend of a friend— a mutual acquaintance of ours told us she's been having trouble with a rough crowd recently— hoped we could see to it that she knows she's safe, while we're out here seeing the sights."

The sword on his hip gleamed hungrily in the sheath, having never been quite so far from the sea in its life before. Brief pleasantries were fine for the better rider of the two to handle, most likely, and as the hired protection there was ssome assumed level of being the one who handled day-to-day interactions with common folk—

But Amerigo was also no fool, despite how he allowed the man with the hoe what likely amounted to a wink-and-nudge as his cover story. At the very least, he would draw this out until he had given Aubri ample time to collect himself and set the tone for what they truly wanted to give away.

As the man with the diplomatic schooling, surely his charge had also read the quick identification, knowing wink, and sure feet the man before them had offered as well as Amerigo himself— whatever had seen him take this role in this place, the man they beheld was far from common. His gaze was too sharp, his mind too schooled. Just as he could taste a wonderful fantasy on the passing wind, Amerigo could taste the poise from this figure before him—

He did not hail from so small a world as his tool suggested.

"Tell me. Has there been much trouble about the fields these days?"

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!