The Otter

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

Imagine coming in with a plan to IMPROVE your gear.

Only stasis or downgrades for this lad.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk

---

If Fionn was surprised that Renar had even heard what Maletha had said to him earlier, he didn't show it. "Stalwart ball knight," he corrected, doing his best to maintain a perfectly straight face—at least the humour would hopefully be to the princesses' benefit. Assuming they didn't find the ability of two experienced veterans to crack jokes so shortly after the shock of a sudden attack utterly offputting.

He turned away and stood back up, looking over to Adeforth. "This necromancer already has us on the back foot. While we might have given them something else to deal with, we don't know the capabilities of any of their co-conspirators, or the fullness of their own. Anything we can do to retake the initiative is worth it, I think." He gestured over at the court mage. "He's just finished strengthening the defenses, and could make illusions to cover our leave. If nothing happens on our way to Candaeln, that at least makes this place the perfect decoy after we've gotten out. Unless they're watching the exit or have everything between here and Candaeln crawling with undead and assassins, we should all be more than enough to escort the princesses to the rest of the Roses."

Assuming they agreed to it, of course, but allaying Adeforth's misgivings and giving Elisandre more information to consider should help in making the decision. "I'll even take point if we go. Make sure the way is clear."

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

Disaffected Kid

Cadmon Demet

• Name: Cadmon Edricsson Demet
• Age: 19
• Gender: Male
• Race: Human
• Appearance: Nearly two meters tall and twelve stone in weight, Cadmon stands well above most of the populace, with an almost-perpetual frown that, even on his youthful face, helps to contribute to what is—at first look—an imposing figure. First appearances can be deceiving, however. Even as tall as he is, he trends more towards the thin and soft sort of build, rather than the statuesque appearance that many seem to expect. He has some few scars to show for his years, but they're clearly more the result of play and training than any actual fighting for his life. His red hair falls messily to his shoulders, looking perpetually as though he only rolled out of bed moments ago, and it's clear to anybody who looks for more than the briefest glance that he is far overdue for a shave; even his eyes seem dull, but for the brief spark of life in them whenever something moves him to roll them in exasperation at whatever is occurring.
  
  More than anything, beneath the dress, beneath the general noble bearing, Cadmon looks tired, as though some great burden is constantly sapping away his energy and will to live, no matter how stubbornly he continues along.
• Personality: While he often gives off the sense of being a taciturn and detached indiviual, this sort of impression only lasts until you get to know Cadmon beyond the basic level. Rather, he is better described as sullen and melancholy. He feels, perhaps all too keenly, the weight of life's unfairness upon his shoulders, and raher than rise above it he seems to have let it drag him down and it often finds some way to pierce through into his words, often in the form of some sort snark or biting sarcasm. Not that it's all hopeless for him—he has his own hopes and dreams that he wants to pursue, if he ever gets the chance, and he's far too committed to his sense of duties and obligations (and, though he isn't likely to admit it, far too committed just to the people around him) to shirk them entirely in favour of pursuing his own interests and leaving everything else high and dry.
  
  His interests, perhaps, are the best way to bring some light back into his face. While he's put quite a bit of study into tactics, managing people, and the like, at heart he's more a patron of the arts than a general of the battlefield or a machine of politicking. He greatly enjoys literature and the sciences above most other things, though he has, perhaps, read a few too many popular novels, given how much he secretly wishes he could leave his noble life behind and go off to live as a free burgess within a city or have some small manor out in the countryside.
• Brief Backstory: Cadmon Edricsson Demet was born to Edric and Amelie Demet, his father being the earl of one of the northern border fiefs of Velt. As such, he grew up away from the city, more familiar with the hamlets and villages that surrounded the town that sprung up around his family's keep than with the amenities more centralized nobles could call upon. He was not, however, lacking in education; whether general, artistic, or especially necessary given his family's place and fief, military. The duties and obligations of his status were made quite clear to him even from a very young age.
  
  Perhaps unsurprisingly, this rapidly weighed down on him, and he regularly took to the family library after his lessons and exercises as a way to escape into a more comfortable, idealized world. With the constant news of infighting between the nobles of various countries, the omnipresent border skirmishes with Ithillin, and similar, he also found himself growing more and more dissatisfied with the ruling class in general, even as his father and tutors hammered home the concept of noblesse oblige in his learning—a concept that it seemed many had utterly missed. Rather than take it as an opportunity to be better and show a better way, though, it seemed Cadmon only took it as more reason to escape into his books and dream of leaving his life behind.
  
  A dream that could never come to pass—while they were off as guests of another family along the coast, Cadmon's parents perished at sea shortly before his seventeenth birthday. Without even time to grieve, Cadmon found himself crushed under the weight of managing his new fief and demesne. Other than hastily squirrelling himself out from a proposed arranged marriage, there was little good that seemed to come to him out of it; however, while that may have been the perfect opportunity to cut and run, leaving the inheritance to one of his cousins, he was far too committed to his father's memory and the sense of obligation instilled in him to leave, even were it for his own benefit.
  
  After the passage of a couple of years of this, with the border disputes between Velt and Ithillin growing ever closer to outright war, a summons came—one evidently lacking in information, as it was the Lord Hraesleg summoning Edric to fulfill older bonds between their families and support the effort along the border.
  
  Imagine the surprise when Cadmon arrived with his kit and what supplemental force he could levy without leaving his own fief undefended, answering a summons that wasn't even addressed to him for little more than it being a matter of honour. With Lord Hraesleg unsure of what to do with the young man—barely more than a boy—Cadmon found himself assigned under Steel Princess Velvetica's command, finding himself worn down more and more through the regular battles, politicking, and general strain of what leadership was expected out of him, let alone awaiting whatever news came from the cousin he'd appointed to manage his lands while he was absent.
• Equipment: Barring his choice of brigandine rather than a more normal cuirass and a cabasset rather than sallet for a helmet, Cadmon wears a fairly standard full harness into battle. He also carries a falchion, rondel dagger, and a small buckler as sidearms. His primary weapon, however, is a curious sort of short polearm, roughly the same size as an average knightly poleaxe, though with a head design that appears like the cross between an ox-tongue spear and a halberd—useful to cut and thrust with, though lacking in a hook with which to pull riders off their horses, should he be dismounted and forced to fight with it.
  
  More noteworthy even than its odd design, however, is the enchantment placed upon it. Most recognizable is that it seems to require almost no maintenance—the blade itself accrues damage very slowly, and even then mostly minor barring certain extreme use, and even the haft gains some extreme resistance to wear and tear. More than that, however, is the primary effect which led to one of Cadmon's ancestors earning the family's fief for his young son and all descendants thereafter.
  
  If the wielder of the blade should feel the odds are utterly against them, they need to speak the blade's true name and anoint it with their own blood. In return, the blade shall empower them to hold the line against nearly any resistance for a time, their reactions heightened, their strength increased, and their constitution such that they continue to persist even through otherwise deadly wounds, short of being decapitated or utterly destroyed in a single stroke.
  
  This act denies any possibility of retreat or survival, however; the effect, channelled through the blade, is powered by the consumption of any and all energy and life the wielder has, rapidly burning away the tether that binds their soul and their mortal body. In the physical sense, this is shown by the wielder's blood itself being burned away, consumed as fuel for the fire that the blade grants its wielder—and which is also used by the enchantment to repair the weapon from the very slow accrual of damage it sustains over the years, in the most active showing of such occurring, though a willing offering of blood at any time can effect at least partial repair if needed.
  
  The enchantment is a guaranteed self-sacrifice in the pursuit of any goal, and is thus only used in the most desperate of defences or assaults. It also does not grant one person the capacity to annihilate an army; even were they unable to end the assault, the one making use of this enchantment would still tire and fall after the passage of eight hours' time.
  
  Moreover—should the blade be stolen, it is not specifically bound to Cadmon's bloodline. For this reason, the true name of the weapon is a closely-guarded secret, to prevent it from falling into hostile hands, though there is little telling what sort of information a truly determined enemy could gain, through whatever means they were willing to undertake, be they mundane or utterly damning for their soul.
• Skills: While he did not shirk his training, Cadmon is no great artist upon the field of battle—for any art from him, you'd be better off giving him paper and charcoal. He is, however, competent with it; but his true skill in battle lies in his understanding of tactics and placement, advising the one giving the actual commands to their forces.

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

Disaffected Kid

Cadmon Demet

• Name: Cadmon Edricsson Demet
• Age: 19
• Gender: Male
• Race: Human
• Appearance: Nearly two meters tall and twelve stone in weight, Cadmon stands well above most of the populace, with an almost-perpetual frown that, even on his youthful face, helps to contribute to what is—at first look—an imposing figure. First appearances can be deceiving, however. Even as tall as he is, he trends more towards the thin and soft sort of build, rather than the statuesque appearance that many seem to expect. He has some few scars to show for his years, but they're clearly more the result of play and training than any actual fighting for his life. His red hair falls messily to his shoulders, looking perpetually as though he only rolled out of bed moments ago, and it's clear to anybody who looks for more than the briefest glance that he is far overdue for a shave; even his eyes seem dull, but for the brief spark of life in them whenever something moves him to roll them in exasperation at whatever is occurring.
  
  More than anything, beneath the dress, beneath the general noble bearing, Cadmon looks tired, as though some great burden is constantly sapping away his energy and will to live, no matter how stubbornly he continues along.
• Personality: While he often gives off the sense of being a taciturn and detached indiviual, this sort of impression only lasts until you get to know Cadmon beyond the basic level. Rather, he is better described as sullen and melancholy. He feels, perhaps all too keenly, the weight of life's unfairness upon his shoulders, and raher than rise above it he seems to have let it drag him down and it often finds some way to pierce through into his words, often in the form of some sort snark or biting sarcasm. Not that it's all hopeless for him—he has his own hopes and dreams that he wants to pursue, if he ever gets the chance, and he's far too committed to his sense of duties and obligations (and, though he isn't likely to admit it, far too committed just to the people around him) to shirk them entirely in favour of pursuing his own interests and leaving everything else high and dry.
  
  His interests, perhaps, are the best way to bring some light back into his face. While he's put quite a bit of study into tactics, managing people, and the like, at heart he's more a patron of the arts than a general of the battlefield or a machine of politicking. He greatly enjoys literature and the sciences above most other things, though he has, perhaps, read a few too many popular novels, given how much he secretly wishes he could leave his noble life behind and go off to live as a free burgess within a city or have some small manor out in the countryside.
• Brief Backstory: Cadmon Edricsson Demet was born to Edric and Amelie Demet, his father being the earl of one of the northern border fiefs of Velt. As such, he grew up away from the city, more familiar with the hamlets and villages that surrounded the town that sprung up around his family's keep than with the amenities more centralized nobles could call upon. He was not, however, lacking in education; whether general, artistic, or especially necessary given his family's place and fief, military. The duties and obligations of his status were made quite clear to him even from a very young age.
  
  Perhaps unsurprisingly, this rapidly weighed down on him, and he regularly took to the family library after his lessons and exercises as a way to escape into a more comfortable, idealized world. With the constant news of infighting between the nobles of various countries, the omnipresent border skirmishes with Ithillin, and similar, he also found himself growing more and more dissatisfied with the ruling class in general, even as his father and tutors hammered home the concept of noblesse oblige in his learning—a concept that it seemed many had utterly missed. Rather than take it as an opportunity to be better and show a better way, though, it seemed Cadmon only took it as more reason to escape into his books and dream of leaving his life behind.
  
  A dream that could never come to pass—while they were off as guests of another family along the coast, Cadmon's parents perished at sea shortly before his seventeenth birthday. Without even time to grieve, Cadmon found himself crushed under the weight of managing his new fief and demesne. Other than hastily squirrelling himself out from a proposed arranged marriage, there was little good that seemed to come to him out of it; however, while that may have been the perfect opportunity to cut and run, leaving the inheritance to one of his cousins, he was far too committed to his father's memory and the sense of obligation instilled in him to leave, even were it for his own benefit.
  
  After the passage of a couple of years of this, with the border disputes between Velt and Ithillin growing ever closer to outright war, a summons came—one evidently lacking in information, as it was the Lord Hraesleg summoning Edric to fulfill older bonds between their families and support the effort along the border.
  
  Imagine the surprise when Cadmon arrived with his kit and what supplemental force he could levy without leaving his own fief undefended, answering a summons that wasn't even addressed to him for little more than it being a matter of honour. Unsure of what to do with the young man—barely more than a boy—Cadmon found himself assigned under Steel Princess Velvetica's command, finding himself worn down more and more through the regular battles, politicking, and general strain of what leadership was expected out of him, let alone awaiting whatever news came from the cousin he'd appointed to manage his lands while he was absent.
• Equipment: Barring his choice of brigandine rather than a more normal cuirass and a cabasset rather than sallet for a helmet, Cadmon wears a fairly standard full harness into battle. He also carries a falchion, rondel dagger, and a small buckler as sidearms. His primary weapon, however, is a curious sort of short polearm, roughly the same size as an average knightly poleaxe, though with a head design that appears like the cross between an ox-tongue spear and a halberd—useful to cut and thrust with, though lacking in a hook with which to pull riders off their horses, should he be dismounted and forced to fight with it.
  
  More noteworthy even than its odd design, however, is the enchantment placed upon it. Most recognizable is that it seems to require almost no maintenance—the blade itself accrues damage very slowly, and even then mostly minor barring certain extreme use, and even the haft gains some extreme resistance to wear and tear. More than that, however, is the primary effect which led to one of Cadmon's ancestors earning the family's fief for his young son and all descendants thereafter.
  
  If the wielder of the blade should feel the odds are utterly against them, they need to speak the blade's true name and anoint it with their own blood. In return, the blade shall empower them to hold the line against nearly any resistance for a time, their reactions heightened, their strength increased, and their constitution such that they continue to persist even through otherwise deadly wounds, short of being decapitated or utterly destroyed in a single stroke.
  
  This act denies any possibility of retreat or survival, however; the effect, channelled through the blade, is powered by the consumption of any and all energy and life the wielder has, rapidly burning away the tether that binds their soul and their mortal body. In the physical sense, this is shown by the wielder's blood itself being burned away, consumed as fuel for the fire that the blade grants its wielder—and which is also used by the enchantment to repair the weapon from the very slow accrual of damage it sustains over the years, in the most active showing of such occurring, though a willing offering of blood at any time can effect at least partial repair if needed.
  
  The enchantment is a guaranteed self-sacrifice in the pursuit of any goal, and is thus only used in the most desperate of defences or assaults. It also does not grant one person the capacity to annihilate an army; even were they unable to end the assault, the one making use of this enchantment would still tire and fall after the passage of eight hours' time.
  
  Moreover—should the blade be stolen, it is not specifically bound to Cadmon's bloodline. For this reason, the true name of the weapon is a closely-guarded secret, to prevent it from falling into hostile hands, though there is little telling what sort of information a truly determined enemy could gain, through whatever means they were willing to undertake, be they mundane or utterly damning for their soul.
• Skills: While he did not shirk his training, Cadmon is no great artist upon the field of battle—for any art from him, you'd be better off giving him paper and charcoal. He is, however, competent with it; but his true skill in battle lies in his understanding of tactics and placement, advising the one giving the actual commands to their forces.

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

yeet

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk

---

Fionn's response to the sheer, freezing sense of evil radiating off the twisted thing he caught was simply to grasp it tighter, no matter how much that cold threatened to seep through his gauntlet and devour the warmth of his body. The creature's claws thrashed wildly, but fruitlessly, against the rings of steel that covered his arms and chest, hissing and howling its rage against his stern glare. He twisted the dagger, opening the wound further before pulling the weapon back out; had Nicomede's spell not struck when it did, he was moments away from smashing the monstrosity's skull against the floor.

Instead, its writhing and flailing ceased as it screamed again, the holy water penetrating and wounding its form beyond any hope of survival. Fionn contemptuously tossed it back out, landing in the hallway barely past the door itself. "But under the control of the one who engineered the first attack," he replied, finishing the court mage's sentence for him. "I take it this attack must mean our fellows have given this necromancer reason to worry."

Not that he had much chance to take any real pleasure in that thought; he had no way to know whether this curse was just some easily-triggered reprisal against Tili for failure and betrayal, or if the necromancer had skill and knowledge enough to call forth a similar attack rapidly and direct it against them without any sight or mark. He glanced over to Adeforth, looking for the older man's eyes, before turning his head back to the court mage.

"I'd rather not let our enemy give us as much reason to worry, and part of that would be having every possible defense present that we can get, whether it's against any similar curses or any similar such beasts that might be summoned and sent to harry us. Perhaps you could stay nearer to us, until the night's work is done?" Tyaethe could lead any further exorcisms or brute force her way through any similar problems that might crop up, Nicomede could split between magical and mundane duties, and Fionn and Renar could cover for immediate physical threats; still, having a specialist in magical arts present would be one more base covered, so far as he was concerned.

Whether the mage would agree or not—somehow, Fionn doubted Adeforth would really give him the opportunity to refuse, if he even was the sort to try—Fionn quickly turned to the princesses, where Tyaethe had caught the pair. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the pair—even the elder was scarcely more than a girl, and both of them had been pushed and pulled around, tackled to the ground like an old leather ball. Still, his goal now was to keep them protected, and he'd heard their footsteps coming up to the door to see what was happening. He kneeled down before them, blocking their view of the creature's immolation, his voice low.

"Your highnesses. I understand that you chafe at this lockdown, anybody would, but we need you to curb your curiosity if anything else like this should happen. It's not worth risking your lives over." Had he not been in place to catch the monstrosity, had Renar not shoved them aside in time, had none of them been able to grab and subdue it in time...the blades that pierced it barely seemed to make that much of a difference in its attack, and it likely would've continued on to savage the princesses. "Please, keep back from anything we're dealing with."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk

---

The fire was a bit of a surprise, but not as much as the twisted creature that started to come into view as it was enwreathed in flame. He took a step backwards, through the door, making sure he was still directly between whatever monstrosity this was and the princesses. "Keep behind us," he bade the girls, any attempt at formality dropped even as Renar sought to be the one giving them encouragement. "This may still prove—"

Dangerous, he would have said, if it hadn't immediately sprung for the princesses behind him. But for a single step backwards he stood his ground, even as Renar sprung into action, shoving the princesses aside and lunging for the creature's throat. Good. At least if it goes straight through me they aren't there for it to land on. Not that Fionn was content to be merely a bodily shield and nothing more. No, now that this assailant had been rendered corporeal, he intended to test its mortality as well; standing firm, he thrust forward with his right hand, the point of his dagger seeking the thing's abdomen, his other hand grasping for one of its arms.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk

---

As Renar quickly gathered up all the most immediately accessible items—a pitcher of water from the princess's bedside, candles for reading when light got low, and even taking oil from some of the lamps along the hallway walls—Fionn reached up beneath the hauberk and arming jacket he'd pulled over his fine clothes, taking off the silver rose badge he'd had pinned to his outerwear and setting it next to Tyaethe. Then—with a slightly apologetic shrug in Elisandre's direction—he claimed the pot of lilies growing next to the balcony exit and brought it over as well, though keeping the princesses and that balcony both in his vision the whole time.

Renar wasn't the only one worried about a follow-up attack. "If such an attempt comes, then I think we'll be the best equipped to handle it," he replied as Renar finished speaking. "Let them handle the magic, and we handle the follow-up, aye?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

---

After a quick glance through the crack he'd opened at the choking Nem, Fionn drew back from the door, turning towards the bed.

"This is one for you, ma'am," he said quickly to Tyaethe. "Someone's magically choking our Nem. If you can break it, I've got the door for you."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

---

Fionn nodded along to the elder princess's recommendations after Adeforth stepped out of the room to oversee the knights under his command out in the hall. Not long after, though, any reply that Renar may have been about to make in turn was rapidly cut-off by some commotion and Adeforth's bellows ringing clearly even through the heavy doorway. He sprung across the room in an instant, at the door before the eldest Crown Knight's words had even stopped, trusting in Renar to watch the balcony entrance.

Not one to leave things to chance, his dagger slid out of its sheathe, as he firmly planted himself behind the door and cracked it open a sliver, peering out and calling:

"What's happened?"