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10 mos ago
Current why does legend? because evil is a foot
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1 yr ago
alright kids make sure you keep your mercury pills on hand
2 yrs ago
are we sure that kneecaps are real or has big ortho gaslit us all into believing in them
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2 yrs ago
1.5 oz gin, 1.5 oz sweet vermouth, 2 to 4 dashes orange bitters
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2 yrs ago
dra til helvete

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Let's finally do this, shall we; enjoy my rambling.

Cecilia: Fionn had a bad experience once where one of the company archers almost shot him by mistake. This made him, perhaps, immediately biased against the fire support from the rear ranks from the beginning; but Cecilia's lack of anything that Fionn would recognize as devotion, discipline, conscientiousness, or the like didn't do her any favours there. At least she's a far better archer than he's dealt with in the past, which is progress of some sort. If it weren't for the fact that they're comrades, not just random acquaintances, he might appreciate her personality a bit more, as her general sense of humour is something he'd probably enjoy quite a bit more. He does have other reservations about her, however, beyond just his thoughts on her work ethic—while some might say (perhaps rightfully) that he is lacking in sense, Fionn strives to be very socially conscious and perceptive of the people around him, both for their moods, needs, and anything else that comes across, and he can recognize the purposeful omission that comes out when Cecilia talks about herself, and the uncertainty with which she carries herself. He just hasn't yet decided if he wants to reach out and see if she needs help with anything, or if he should just continue to keep an eye on her.

Renar: One of the first that Fionn met of the order, by virtue of their being inducted around the same time, Fionn found a fast camaraderie with Renar. He appreciates the man's abilities, both in purely physical prowess and also when it comes to his skill and his mind, viewing them all as equally valuable assets, and, at least when they fight together, he trusts Renar implicitly. Off the battlefield is a different matter. He fears that Renar may put too much stock in the circumstance of his birth, and has too harsh of a view of the world, either because of or in some relation to it. While he can't deny that Renar's ruthless practicality gets results, Fionn would rather see a bit more idealism and focus on proper conduct creep in than just a focus on pure effectiveness, if only for Renar's assured long-term wellbeing. Luckily, the friendly interactions he's had with Renar—alongside some of what he's observed with Renar interacting with others—gives him hope in that regard, and for that he's willing to call the man a friend.

Tyaethe: Fionn certainly respects Tyaethe, her skill, her abilities, and her place in the order—it's impossible not to—but the first feelings to come to his mind regarding her aren't just those of respect, but of sympathy, though he never intends to voice them outright, as he doubts it would go over well. Still, even with having been alive for barely over a tenth of the span the First and Youngest has seen, he's had his fair share of farewells to both friends, simple acquaintances, comrades, and the like, and has felt each one keenly, whether the parting itself was a good or a bad thing; Fionn is a firm believer that such things weigh on a person, and he can't imagine the weight that such has left on Tyaethe. As such, at least in that regard, he can understand her choice to seemingly hold all the rest at arm's length most of the time, though he feels that is the worse decision to make when faced with the situation she's in. One of his primary goals is to befriend her, to help warm her demeanour and raise her general opinion of each new group of knights, as he would rather she be able to keep finding and making connections beyond the captains, rather than let the faces slip on past and disappear along with each passing year.

Gerard: Surprisingly enough, for as friendly as he tries to be, through most of his tour of duty Fionn didn't particularly like most of the mercenaries he worked with. He respected them, certainly, and made sure to learn what he could, but the majority of them were either too cutthroat or too self-centered for him to want to get to know them as anything more than coworkers. A hazard, perhaps, of being a mercenary who aspired to greater than the next paycheck. It was fortuitous, then, that he met another former mercenary with similar ideals and goals. He quickly moved to pull Gerard into the center of his personal circle of acquaintances within the order, as their shared experiences, complimenting skills, and very similar outlooks and ideals made for a bedrock on which Fionn felt he could build a very solid friendship—not to mention that being able to bring in a bit more idealism to counter some of their more cynical fellows would be a good thing. Now, if he can manage to help Gerard relax, come out of his shell more, and stop thinking of himself as the completely expendable nigh-suicidal vanguard, he'll be very happy.

Lucas: Lucas doesn't worry Fionn...but Fionn worries about Lucas. While the younger man has his skills, they're ones that Fionn considers wholly unsuited to taking to the melee of a battle; and yet, whether it be pure youthful foolhardiness or some attempt to prove himself, Lucas seems intent to do so. While he appreciates the gymnast's humour and antics he would rather see Lucas's mind put to use for the benefit of the order, or use his skills in a different way than letting him rush into something that he has not been trained for or had experience in. Maybe he'll be able to convince Lucas of such, or get Gerard to do so. Hopefully before Renar or Serenity lose their patience entirely with Lucas.

Fanilly: To some extent, Fionn views their fresh-faced Knight-Captain in the way he might view a little sister, though he strives to remain careful not to let that lull him into undermining her authority where it counts. He has a great respect for tradition and the way it helps to establish identity, and in that regard fully supports Fanilly's place amongst the Iron Roses; there's enough of a wealth of knowledge and experience within the order that he doesn't fear her lack thereof. More important to him is keeping her protected and giving her the guidance and time needed to truly grow into her role and flourish, a view that he thinks quite a few of the others would be well-suited to take on and he isn't afraid to say as much if his opinion is ever asked—or if other opinions are being freely given. Much like with some of the others that he is closer to, he wants to help grow her confidence and surety, but he also thinks she is caught a bit too strongly between who she truly is and who she is expected to be, and as part of her growth wants to see her—help her, if able—find a way to combine both facets into a healthier, happier identity.

Serenity: Fionn's views on Serenity are similar to those on Fanilly, although Serenity worries him quite a bit more. Anybody who has as large a chip on their shoulder as she does—large even compared to Renar's, who sometimes makes Fionn wonder if he's carrying the entire block rather than just a chip—can't be doing entirely well, and he takes the extreme levels of independence she tries to cultivate as a symptom of the larger problem. To his mind, she seems to be caught worse in the tug of war between the self and the role than Fanilly even is, a growing identity almost entirely subsumed by the demands and expectations of her family; he would pity her, if it weren't for the fact that she is still, like most of the batch of knights he interacts with most often, quite young. He hopes that the distance from her family will help her grow into herself without as much effort needed to soften her edges as Renar might need—but he can't help but feel some trepidation seeing the two of them together. As it is, though, he's well aware that she has chosen to keep him a bit more distant, and perhaps use him if either of them make an effort to get closer to the other; if such should pass, he hopes he'll be able to turn the tables and make some progress. For now, he keeps a close eye on her interactions with Renar and Gerard, and gives her more leeway than he would the others with some of her comments about the captain, knowing that neither of them really had any opportunity to choose who they were forced to become.

Fleuri: If there's anybody in Thaln, or just past the borders, who hasn't heard tell of the Flower of the North or his equally-famous ancestor, Fionn will be amazed. More important to him than Fleuri's reputation, though, is the man's actual personality, and the faith and humility his rededication fostered in him. While Fionn would never deny that he's always willing to test himself against such a prominent tournament champion on the training yard, it's the way that Fleuri recognized his own faults and failings and moved to better himself—rather than simply give in—that makes him a respectable, even admirable figure, and the fact that Fleuri is so straight-forward to interact with and similar in his views only makes it all the better.

Sergio: Fionn appreciates the Knight of the Harvest moon for similar reasons to his appreciation of Fleuri; his skill, his devotion to action, and his honourable demeanour are all points that earn Fionn's respect, as well as Sergio's generally elegant, well-put-together demeanour. The knight is an easy one to be friendly with, and though their tools are different, their shared view on how best to serve Mayon makes it very easy for Fionn to count Sergio among those knights he's willing to put quite a bit of trust in. However, the way that Sergio draws away from the others during downtime, even to the point of taking meals entirely solitary, gives rise to some concern and makes him take pause from trying to bring Sergio too deep into his circle, at least until he can figure out a bit more of why Sergio pulls back and how best to address it. Fionn has too many other "projects" within the order to constantly add to the list.

Morianne: She likes the colour green, so she can't be all bad; beyond that, Fionn's heard worse than she's ever dished out, so her bluntness and wit don't bother him. She's not the first young elf he's met, and every single one seems to blend both the best and worst aspects of human youths and elders. He respects her magical abilities, though his musical tastes and hers don't seem to align, and is perfectly willing to be friendly with her—though given their differing specialities, their paths don't tend to cross much beyond the field. Perhaps it's better that way; from what he's gathered of her past, he'd be hard pressed to resist adding her to the list of people he specifically wants to watch out for and try to help when he's able.

Katerina: Finally, someone who speaks a civilized tongue! That alone merits appreciation from Fionn, even as much as he worries about Katerina's lungs. While she's certainly a bit more grim and standoffish than he is, he can certainly recognize aspects of their personalities that overlap quite a bit—though as with Morianne, their paths don't always cross much, given that their skills lie in utterly different areas. He hopes she's growing to appreciate her current position well and isn't too tied to her past—and if she ever asks and somehow hasn't yet, he'd likely suggest cutting her mother off, just for her own peace of mind.

She gets bonus points for being willing to make lamb far more often than most others he knows cook among the group.

Alodia: He appreciates her skills as well, more magic users rarely being a bad thing, and her cheery, helpful disposition. What he doesn't appreciate is the utterly disarming nature of how her magic has slowed her growth and aging, something he found much easier to accept with the literally-undead Tyaethe, and her penchant for overenthusiasm with the strength of her spells and the collateral damage that can cause. Collateral damage is never a good thing in his mind, and that's enough to make sure he keeps at a safe distance and not in the direct line of fire from Alodia. The accusations of heresy, however, are a non-issue to him; as much as he does care about his faith in the Godesses, Mayon in particular, he understands that Alodia was simply misguided, not actively malicious. To take persistent issue with her over that when it was seen fit to assign her to the Iron Roses as "penance" would be simply ridiculous.

Lein: If Fionn's relationship with Renar can be considered a bubble waiting to pop as a result of their differing views on chivalry and proper conduct, then his interactions with Lein may well be a powder keg. What makes it hard is that he does appreciate the young Hundi's mischievousness, humour, and sense of loyalty to the others on the group, as well as the skills he has to offer, bias against archers aside; he'd greatly appreciate if Lein and Cecilia could pull Lucas aside and induct the boy into their ranks and put his skills to use in their area, for example, and he likes Lein and Lucas's personalities for similar reasons. However, the arrogance that shines through at times, as well as the fact that it seems Lein almost purposefully strives to act, not only not as a stereotypical honourable Hundi, but just dishonourable in general, greatly rubs him the wrong way. He tries to ignore it as much as possible, but Fionn has little doubt that at some point, something will happen that brings things to a head between him and Lein, and hopefully it won't be an unsalvageable mess after all is said and done between them.

Fionn: He's based, clearly.

Fionn makes sure to remain well aware of both his strengths and his weaknesses, and how best to ameliorate those, either through work or through the enlistment of his various companions in the development of a sound strategy. As much as he makes a point to stay keyed into the wants, needs, strengths, and faults of his various companions, he's not so foolish as to think he's without his own; however, with himself as with the others, he's much more forgiving of faults of personality than he is faults of action or duty. Even then, one that progresses to the point of a fault, though he may never realize it as such, is how strong his drive to help or guide others is. Even as much as he starts to worry if he's bitten off more than he can chew with the company he now surrounds himself with, he feels so comfortable with himself and his place that he sees it almost as another duty to help them if he's able, and just to try and be a good example if not. As much as his personality can veer from one extreme to another very quickly, it still remains to be seen whether or not he can keep that under control enough to avoid causing more harm than good.

One thing to his credit, though, is that he doesn't harbour any doubts to his fitness as a member of the Iron Roses or as a new knight in general; he doesn't let it feed his ego or grow into any sort of foolhardy behaviour, but his confidence is very secure, both in himself and those he chooses to be confident in, if only he can make some of them see it.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


Fionn's face broke into a grin as Jeremiah moved to counter his attack. His kick met a solid thigh, his bardiche was turned aside once again by the gigantic blade the man wielded, and the spray of dirt caught the bandit full in the face. Overcommitted, with no way to develop enough momentum to protect himself and with too many opponents on too many sides, he couldn't avoid Gerard's point getting buried in his ribs. When he raised his blade and roared, Fionn quickly interposed his own to protect both himself and his fellow former mercenary—

—Only for Fanilly to capitalize on the next opening, and fully finish off the bandit king. His sword dropped without direction, and his body soon after. Fionn took the moment to catch his breath as the captain called out to all of the bandits still fighting, calling on them to surrender. Still leaving, as problems, the veterans who would refuse to surrender, and the griffin, which was...

"Bloody..." Through the fire, he could just manage to see what was going on with the griffin, the result of a sequence of events he might never be able to understand or find any semblance of sense in, as it was full of just too many possibilities for collateral damage. He shook his head, turning back to Fanilly as she stared down at Rickert's corpse. "Not yet, captain," he said, clapping a hand down on her armoured shoulder to pull her attention aside. Some of the few knights that had wound up on their side of the tree were finishing their individual battles, and he waved a couple over to keep watch over their fallen comrade's corpse. "There's too much left to do. Coordinate dealing with those who surrender, I'm going to go reinforce..."

He glanced back across the flaming tree, away from the griffin.

"The ground team, I guess." With that, he quickly took off towards where he'd last seen Renar in the thick of the fighting.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


There was no surprise at seeing the onslaught denied. By this point, Jeremiah would have to have lived through dozens of battles—no matter what the odds, no matter what wounds he took, and based on his scars he'd certainly had his fair share. Showboating aside the man knew how to fight, how to survive. This was nothing new to him.

No doubt, if he still had the use of his off hand, the three of them would be on the defensive, not Jeremiah himself. As comically oversized as the sword was, the 'Bandit King' clearly knew how to wield it with some modicum of effectiveness, both offensive and defensive. He wasn't a fool relying on a large weapon and fear to compensate for a lack of skill, and he wasn't going bare chested out of base overconfidence. If he hadn't managed to cut himself off from the bulk of his own forces, then even the mistake he'd made with the captain might not be enough to bring him down.

But mistakes and errors had a habit of piling on top of each other at the worst times.

Jeremiah ducked away from Gerard's thrown dagger, the series of furious thrusts that Fionn had started his assault with ringing out with a cacophony of scratches and clangs as the brute's blade was interposed. The last was sent wide as the bandit shifted entirely, moving to deflect Gerard's cut; Fionn whirled the bardiche around in a fast arc, choking up on the haft and switching his grip at the last moment. Jeremiah moved to parry both the whirling blade and the thrust from Fanilly, but his defense only found the second, Fionn's shifting grip having momentarily broken measure and voided the man's deflection entirely as Gerard roared his defiance.

A spray of dust rose up from the right, followed by a glint of steel in the firelight. Fionn's point came back on target, Jeremiah's blade still off to the right, his inside line wide open, and Fanilly recovering from her parried thrust. A single free moment, one in which they could sever the head of the snake in one swift blow. A multitude of options, but only one unorthodox enough that it might slip past the man's own tactical acumen.

Shouldn't have let us get so close, Jeremiah. Go hIfreann leat!

Fionn stepped in close, swinging the blade of his bardiche not at Jeremiah's momentarily exposed torso, but at the arm wielding his massive sword, and stepping through in the same movement he raised his foot for a swift kick between the slaughterer's legs. It left him unbalanced, but any level of damage to either target would suffice for his goals—and more importantly, it meant that his entire person was between Jeremiah's blade, trying to parry their blows, and Gerard's own two-part attack.

More for the bandit king to try and force out of the way, or to retreat from. Delay his defenses, preserve any opening, back him into a corner if necessary.

Time's up, amadán.
italian emancipation
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


"What?"

He heard the low growl of Jeremiah's voice, a sharp contrast from the boasting moments before, as he ran forwards. Fanilly wasted no time taking advantage of the distraction, driving her dagger into the bandit's arm and severing muscle and tendon enough to render his off hand useless. Even if he did still manage to properly control and direct the momentum of his massive blade now, it would require more effort, be more tiring, and redirecting was nearly out of the question. He was still devilishly quick, and with a single hand his reach was longer than before—but it was another advantage on top of the numbers.

"I'll make you an opening!" he growled at Gerard, before breaking off and circling around towards Fanilly at Jeremiah's front, a roar of "Traitor!" on his lips as he came to his captain's aid. As Jeremiah started to withdraw his sword and prepare for another strike, Fionn launched inwards, jabbing his bardiche towards the brute's chest and gut . Force the 'bandit king' onto the back foot, make him retreat or try to parry, and then use that momentum to his advantage to whirl the axe blade around and continue the assault.

Draw as much attention as possible to himself. Let Fanilly catch her breath, let Gerard get in and try to pull off a good thrust or hamstring the giant bandit. If Jeremiah wanted to lash out against the world like an animal, then Fionn took no issue with pulling him down like a wolf pack with their prey.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


The bandit at Fionn's feet gurgled for a moment in response, blood pooling around the haft of his axe where he'd planted the butt of it through the brigand's throat. He withdrew it with a jerk, shaking off some of the blood, as the ringing in his ear subsided and the rest of the battle's din came into sharper focus. Not only the roars of combatants, the noise of metal on metal, or the screams of the dying...but the crackling fire growing louder than it should have, and the unmistakable, rhythmic impact of metal on wood.

Fionn halted in his advance, stepping back slightly as he turned to where the noise was coming from.

"Look out!"

Fionn reacted purely on instinct, grabbing out at whoever was nearest him, bandit or knight, with a diving tackle away from where they'd previously stood. In the breath after, a thick, gnarled limb landed in the vacated space, crushing those too slow or unlucky to avoid it. Those who weren't killed outright soon let loose their own screams as their clothing and flesh began to burn and char, Fionn scrambling back to his feet before either flame or foe could try to lick at him.

A hand caught at his ankle; he glanced down, and saw that the one he'd saved was a bandit. Not only that, they were already digging out a dagger to try and stab at his legs with. With a disgusted growl, he kicked their helmet, stunning them long enough to remove their head with a lazy swipe of the bardiche. He glanced back up, looking through the flames back to where Fanilly had been.

Surely she wasn't crushed...?

Scanning across the field of those who were shocked, stunned, or only just rising from their mad dash out of the way, his eyes settled on Fanilly and Rickert, before an unbelievably massive blade cleaved the latter apart. The flame rose up, forcing him back and his vision away as he grit his teeth, just as he heard the bandit king's grandiose self-introduction.

The Terror of the Red Flag. There was no time for relief that Fanilly had avoided the falling tree, not when she was faced by a man that even the Band of the Red Hands whispered about in a mix of awe and fear. He turned on the ball of his foot, swinging his purloined weapon wildly to clear a path back to his allies from where he'd lept. "Gerard!" he barked, knocking aside another bandit. "Where are yo—"

"FIIIIOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!"

More relief. A bandit ahead of him fell to the side from a shoulder tackle, giving way to Gerard's blood-splattered half-plate. He nodded once, falling in behind his comrade as they charged, lifting the blade above his head and spinning it in a wide circle. Momentum quickly took over from the initial effort needed to get it started, his hands just guiding it along as he followed behind Gerard, any mercenaries seeking to cut in between the pair or off to either side shying back instantly.

To their credit, none of them were foolish enough to try and rush in against such a weapon. Even with heavier armour the weight of the axe's head alone, coupled with its momentum, would be enough to shatter bones and cripple anybody who tried to stop their advance. Once they came close enough, though, he split off to one side; where Gerard used an axe as a step to vault over the tree, Fionn rushed up, planting the butt spike of the bardiche into the bark and pole vaulting over it with the weapon, wrenching it out once he was guaranteed to sail over.

The flames caught at his cloak, which he tore off the moment he landed, revealing the glistening mail beneath, as of yet unrent by any blade. With luck, that might hold true to the end of the battle. Behind, he heard the piercing screech of the loosed griffin, as it joined the frey as well; but where it had been the center of his focus before, that had now shifted entirely to the bare-chested brute that harried his captain. At a flash of movement to his right he swung out once more, the flat of his bardiche connecting with the helmeted head of one of the bandits that had managed to wind up on Jeremiah's side of the tree; the man fell in a clatter of ill-fitting stolen armour, sprawling senseless against the ground.

Unharried for the moment, Fionn cast his gaze about the sparser side of the battle, ignoring the bandits and knights engaged with each other as he sought out his targets. His feet started moving the instant he saw the hulking warrior engaged with their diminutive leader, and faster when he recognized the corpse a few paces away. The look in his eyes and face as he advanced was like that of a man possessed, an open threat to anybody foolhardy enough to get between him and Jeremiah, even as his broad chest heaved with a roar:

"BUAIDH NÓ BÁS!"
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


Hmm.

So, the captain was as unsure as he was. That wasn't the sort of thing to inspire a lot of confidence in dealing with the beast itself; while they would undoubtedly manage, Fionn's goal was, as ever, to minimize friendly casualties as much as possible. Facing some unknown predatory beast that may-or-may-not-be planned as a beast of war against any reprisal wasn't particularly conducive to that goal, and without any concrete information to mitigate that which they couldn't control, they'd have to rely on their ability to think on their feet.

Unfortunately, in Fionn's experience, most of the high-born sort he'd dealt with as a mercenary were woefully inept at being forced onto such a reactive position. Many had earn their ranks and command by dint of their birth, rather than through experience, and most who showed particular skill and knowledge in tactics and battle had taken positions with the military or other knightly orders instead. Thus far, at least, none of those he'd interacted much within their fellowship seemed to fall into such a trap; with luck, the same would go for Captain Fanilly, even though she was thrust into command by tradition rather than proven skill.

"My thoughts exactly," he replied with an affirming nod as she mentioned keeping the beast—or its corpse—contained. "In fact, in the absence of a blade like Dame Tyaethe's..." He trailed off mid-sentence, the rest of his thought going unspoken. Not that it would make where he was going any less obvious, as he cast his eyes downward, looking among the lost weapons of their enemies, and picking up a crude-looking, but brutal bardiche to take the place of the sword sheathed at his hip. "Those of us who prefer their blades mounted on sticks might prove the best prepared, eh?"

He bent down, wrapping one arm over the chest of their late informant's corpse, dragging it over to meet its head on the rapidly-growing pyre.



As carefully as they had approached, at this point they couldn't entirely afford to simply skulk through the night lest they lose any possible surprise they had left after the advance party failed to report back. It was no wonder that members of the night's watch had gone about waking as many of their fellow warriors as they could after noticing the knights encircling their camp, but the simplicity of their plan and the efficiency with which they prepared for it meant that the camp wasn't half as ready for such an assault as it would need to be to stand a chance of repelling their attack.

Not that the knights could afford to be complacent, of course; just that they had the advantage of speed and focus, even if their surprise wasn't quite as much of one as would be ideal.

At the Captain's command, he sprung forward with a grunt, loping strides quickly catching him up to Gerard as they fell upon the enemy. When the other mercenary bound up with an archer, and as the other knights around them fell into similar positions clearing a path through the bandit forces, Fionn's eyes quickly caught a swordsman advancing towards one of his detachment. Another springing stride brought the blade of his commandeered bardiche hammering down, taking the bandit down with it with the sound of crushing vertebrae and collarbone. He charged over the fallen warrior without a moment to observe the work—he'd let someone else clean up behind him if the brigand was only paralyzed, not killed—bringing up his weapon slightly to displace the thrust of a spear even as he lunged in and flung his weapon forwards, the reinforced point splitting rings, tearing cloth, and finally puncturing a lung as the next bandit fell before him.

No time to put the man out of his misery; a furious bellow and glint of steel off to his left caught his attention before he could. Quickly shifting his right hand ahead of his left, he whipped his blade over to that side with a cross-step backwards, the sudden movement smacking aside the blade of a halberd that sought to take advantage of his lowered position with an overhand strike.

He let the momentum play to his advantage, bringing his right hand back to meet his left at the rear of his haft as the blade whipped around his head with another advancing step, shearing through the opened jaws of the halberdier who'd thought to take advantage of his extended position. Hoping, perhaps, that he'd thrusted too deep, that his blade would hang up within the body of the spearman and leave him open. A worthy tactic, certainly, against the common soldiery or average bandits; but Fionn had not spent so long working up to an elite position within his mercenary company, let alone being accepted into the Iron Roses, to fall prey to such an elementary mistake.

A pity. Some of these enthusiastic, opportunistic bandits might at least have made good pikemen, had they cast their lot with the right side.

The top half of the halberdier's head bounced once as Fionn switched his hands again, blade high and rushing with a roar at a still groggy-looking swordsman who hadn't yet been engaged. Whether due to sleepiness, shock, or poorly-judged distance, the rebel cut high, his blade clanging uselessly against the side of Fionn's helmet, before the entire side of his neck was opened with a pushing cut. Grimacing against the fresh ringing in his left ear—an unavoidable consequence of choosing to take such a strike, even though no true damage would be done thanks to his armour—he swiped the bardiche from left to right repeatedly, warding off the bandits closest while the others made their advance up to his position.

As surely as the sun would rise in a few hours, the bandits were corralled deeper into the camp, even as the rear ranks of the knights cleaned up any stragglers who avoided death in the initial charge or who had managed to flank past it. Up ahead, the covered cage loomed, dominating far more of Fionn's focus than the empty throne beyond it. Even if Jeremiah had fled and would survive the night, the chances that he could recover and mount any worthwhile opposition following the destruction of his main band were nil; assuming he made any such attempt, he'd be met with nothing more than the total failure and death that he merely postponed, with the loss of a veteran force.

In that light, the beast was far more concerning.

The momentary lull on their end of the field was shattered as an arrow snapped against the shield of one of the knights near him; with Gerard returning to the front in the corner of his vision, he charged forwards again. One bandit evaded the tip of his bardiche, only to be bowled aside and knocked from their feet as they were caught by a quick shoulder tackle and sent to the ground to be hacked apart by the others.

The next wasn't so lucky, catching the point inside the thigh, just between the tassets and above the cuisse. That one fell to one leg with a spurt of blood, muscle and femoral artery both severed in a single stroke. A kick sent them sprawling backwards, even as some of the other bandits retreated. Fionn spared the fallen man a glance as he stepped over.

"Hope it was worth it," he muttered, before slamming the butt spike of his weapon down into the bandit's uncovered throat.
Fionn MacKerracher



@VitaVitaAR



Fionn stood impassively behind the bandit as he spoke as to the state of their camp and what might be found within it, though he did give a small nod at Renar's swift execution. "Good strike," he murmured approvingly. Not that the man had been likely to last long anyways—Fionn was almost certain he could smell the wine mingling with the blood pouring out the man's abdomen—but not everyone to sustain a gut wound was lucky enough to have it be immediately fatal...most were left begging for their comrades to end them instead, after a few days.

He shook his head at the thought, glad for the mail under his cloak.

However, at least that was a known possibility. Animals being captured and used by the slavers wasn't one he'd thought to keep in mind, beyond the usual horses and dogs. Larger than a bear, fed on rabbits, and quite literally kept under wraps. He pursed his lips as he bent down, picking up the head that Renar had so cleanly severed. He weighed it thoughtfully in his hand for a moment, before twisting to see where the others were piling the bodies. It was a bit far for a toss, but midway along...

"Sir Gerard!" he called out momentarily, before spinning on one foot and putting the head in his direction, where it would land and roll to the younger man's feet. He'd drag the rest of the body over in a moment, but first, he needed to see what information he might be able to gain for his own personal peace of mind. Fanilly seemed unharmed, luckily, so one of his possible worries was stricken out.

"Captain, as you're no doubt already aware, I'm still somewhat unfamiliar with Thaln. Is there some sort of odd and rare animal that makes its home around here, or that you've known to be brought through on trade? One that would actually interest these villains?" The possibility of rushing into a trap was one that always remained at the front of his mind, and he was even more focused on it than usual after the skirmish they'd just experienced; he somewhat doubted that these bandits were inclined to expand into exotic poaching when their speaking prey had proved so profitable for them.

That meant that the animal was, most likely, a weapon, by his estimation—and if it was larger than a bear and made some unrecognizable shrieks and other noises, he could only imagine how thick its hide might be, or if it was possessed of some sort of natural armouring. Everybody knew dragons were real, of course, but there were other beasts he'd always thought were mere myth...

Could he be wrong?

"Even if this advance party was ill-prepared, given what the bandits have already been dealing with, I can only imagine they've been putting in preparations to deal with continually escalating force, whether that be larger numbers of soldiers or sending in people like us. I've not made much study into what is and isn't used, but I don't like the thought that they've procured some obscure beast of war to harry us, especially as we've had to abandon our mounts and lances in this forest."
Fionn MacKerracher



@HereComesTheSnow @VitaVitaAR @Psyker Landshark



To say that Fionn experienced some disappointment as the ambushers utterly broke would not be remiss; as much as he cared about the success of the mission and the well-being of those around him, he was ever in search of more opportunities to test himself, to prove and improve his skill, and it had been some time since he'd been on the field of battle. He'd hoped that the lot that faced them would have a bit more mettle, even with Morianne's workings—not enough to present a significant danger, but some worthwhile exercise.

Instead, moments after he'd told Gerard his quick plan, they force that had waylaid them was reduced to a scant few frightened survivors surrounded by the dead and dying that had previously been there compatriots. With a sigh he broke off to follow the Captain's orders, turning first to the bandit he'd left on the forest floor with a dent in his forehead, twitching slightly but otherwise completely limp. He pondered the form for a moment, before shrugging with a small sigh. "Sorry, lad," he muttered, before driving his blade into the heart of the man, twisting as he pulled it out. "Not that you were in any state to even realize you weren't breathing right, but still." From there he turned to the rest, picking through and finishing off any who needed the small mercy.

Caught up in it and the disappointment as he was, he didn't notice much of the conversation started to spark back up, until he heard his name called. He quickly glanced over, seeing Renar turned his way. "Aye, I'll be there," he called back, wrenching his blade out of another bandit's chest. Bending down he quickly wiped it off on their trousers, before sheathing it and walking over to the only-mostly-dead one that Renar had found.

With a quick glance, he surmised that this man was a bit luckier than he might have been for the wound he'd taken, speared in the gut and with something more than blood lost as the weapon came back out. If it weren't for the good fortune to have a vein severed in the process he'd have been looking at a few days of agony at the least. "Just drag, or try to lift him?" he asked Renar after the short observation. "It's going to hurt quite a bit no matter what we do, but at least if we get you up in the air we can go over the other bodies rather than having to snake you through them to the Captain."
Fionn MacKerracher



@HereComesTheSnow @ERode @VitaVitaAR @Psyker Landshark @Psychic Loser



Undoubtely, there were bandits in the forest about them—but even Fionn hadn't accounted for the tree above them, thinking that even the bandits wouldn't be unwise enough to rely on such a tenuous momentary advantage. Against the untrained, certainly, dropping from above could prove useful, but such a tactic was better reserved for one dropping other objects upon those below, not trusting in their control of their fall, the necessarily-tight formation of their opponents, or any other of a number of variables required to make the strategy work.

Muscles taut like coiled springs in anticipation, when the branches creaked above and the first shape hit his peripheral vision falling from the tree he twisted aside on one foot as Gerard broke off, his blade already in motion. One man landed between the two of them as they split, though instead of crouching to absorb the shock, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground in a heap.

The blood that dripped immediately down upon the ambusher's twitching corpse made it clear why; bringing his sword up and around sharply into the window guard, Fionn's false edge had smashed into the man's skull as he landed hard enough to cleave through it nearly down to the brow. He stepped forward, straightening his torso as he shifted into the long guard with a thrust into another's throat as they tried to turn back towards the Captain, sending them toppling as well into the bodies that were already beginning to clutter the field.

No time to reposition; as he'd withdrawn his blade from the thrust, a third quickly stepped in at him, swinging a crudely-made kriegsmesser straight downward with both hands. He parried the strike so close he could nearly smell the bandit's breath, before wrapping his arm over their forearms, stepping past them and turning as he did so; the lower half of his hilt sliding over their blade added immediate leverage, and before the bandit knew what a poor choice they'd made their weapon was sent flying off towards a pair of their compatriots as they were thrown to the ground.

And as Fionn straightened back fully upright, a contemptuous swipe with the tip of his blade silenced the shocked cry that the bandit had just started to make.

"We can't expect much elegance in their dance," he added in to the light-hearted conversation the others were having in the midst of the bloodshed. "Hard to tidy up our own when the partners are so—" He cut off suddenly as Gerard stepped in near him, another bandit mustering the confidence to rush him again with their axe. At least it was a proper war axe, though this young man's technique was anything but befitting the weapon; even worse than the previous, he had already led with his fist, not with his weapon.

Fionn's arm shot out, forearm against the bandit's wrist, halting their strike. Before they could withdraw he wrapped it over their elbow, pulling his fist into his own chest. The ligaments in the elbow snapped instantly as the bones were forced out of their proper place, the bandit's axe falling uselessly to the ground as they cried out in pain. "Terrible form," Fionn quickly growled, before a swift punch forward slammed his crossguard into their forehead and sent them limp to the forest floor with another loud crack, this time of shattering bone.

The rest of the bandits were either engaged with the other knights as they fanned out to surround this advance ambushing party, or holding back warily from the party in the center, their fallen comrades and Morianne's song countering their resolve to throw themselves into the slaughter for the moment—and with every moment they waited, the rest of the force was cutting off their few remaining routes of escape, just as was intended for their main camp.

"As soon as he says 'aye,' we charge them on foot," he told Gerard, as soon as he'd finished admonishing Rickert into movement. "Renar and Serenity can guard the others, we'll part the waters for them!"
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