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


@Crimson Paladin



Perhaps unsurprisingly, István had declined to accompany Cadmon right away, and instead elected to go for the kitchens; with a shrug, Cadmon parted ways with his brutish retainer, rapidly returning to his suite so as not to leave the griffin-riding knight waiting. Beyond that, there were still certain matters to sort out after the last excursion—what to do with the horses his men had captured being one of them. Unlike their riders, Morahti horses were valuable and worth keeping, but that still left divvying out suitable mounts to suitable people, quartering them, what to do with the other horses in the meantime, and the like. An increase in work load that Cadmon only had himself to blame for, given that the horses were captured on his orders.

He hadn't been long perusing the information given him on the captured beasts before a knock came at the entrance to his suite, however. With a glance and a nod, he sent one of his servants over to answer the door and usher the knight back to the young earl's study, cage and papers in tow. "Sir Falkner," he greeted with a nod as soon as the knight was before him, taking the envelope and pulling it open. "Not a short missive, then? Well, you have my thanks for the errand. You can set Sirona down and open her carrier; I hope she didn't cause you too much trouble—"

He trailed off slightly, frowning down at the first paper he held from all those sent in the envelope that Roger had handed to him.

"Falkner, you aren't acquainted with a Baron Bridger, are you?"
Cadmon Demet


@HereComesTheSnow@Crimson Paladin



Sorting out the villagers was fast, sorting out the supplies that the bandits and their Morahti allies had pillaged from the local villages was a longer, more annoying process—even in the face of a rescue, there were always a few who would strive towards any sort of material gain they could wring out of their situation and benefactors. Thankfully, their fellows were disinclined to let them sour the moods of their saviours so rapidly, but none of them could simply drag the raided goods back home through the dirt or carry them on their backs—so it fell to Cadmon to divvy out men and animals for the transport, before they could rejoin the main column and their advance back towards Castle Hraesleg reach full speed.

At least he was glad to be back at the castle, dissimilar as it may have been from his home. Proximity to Lord Hraesleg meant an opportunity to figure out just why he'd been sent to accompany Velvetica, rather than accompany the man himself or her elder brother. It also meant a proper bed, more interesting food, and—

"Ah. Right on time." Peering up near the tallest tower of the castle, he could see the unmistakable outline of a griffin coming to its roost. "Care to join me in my suite, István? It seems Sir Falkner's back, and I doubt he's come empty handed. He should have news of home, and I've no doubt you'll want to review it with me."
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR



Fionn's charge slowed for a moment, first hearing the trees cracking near him; he turned his head to glance at what was making the sound, only to have time for a muttered curse and to leap out of the way. Grossly swollen fists crashed to the ground where he had just been standing, clods of dirt flying up around them as the beast bellowed out in mindless rage. The Boars had moved to clear space for the giant, unwilling to allow themselves to get crushed in its maddened advance, to say nothing of the other four that were making their way for his fellow knights.

He rolled once, coming back up on his feet hastily. Out of the way of harm from the beast, for now, he wasn't safe yet—charging into the Golden Boars' lines meant that there was no lack of enemies around him, and not all of them would be so surprised by their sudden allies not to try and take advantage of his lonesome status. Light glinted in his peripheral vision, reflecting from something off to his left; he threw the shield outwards instinctually, batting aside a spear that was thrust at him. He lunged forwards, driving the rim of the shield into the face of the Boar that tried to stab him; dead or unconscious, they fell, and he released the shield, ramming his sword back home and hefting their spear.

The giant turned, lured by the clashing sound so close to it, knowing that its prey had evaded its initial attack. Any Boars that had considered stepping in to try and finish Fionn off instead chose to back away, rather than risk utter pulverization. "And I thought I was crazy," he muttered, now that he had a clear look at the beast. It was clear that it had once been human, though whether one of the Golden Boars or some unfortunate captive of theirs he couldn't say; whatever had been done, the body was too mangled and distorted for it to matter any longer. Limbs and torso on the verge of bursting, and a head, lips pulled back in what he could only imagine a grimace of pain, blinded from destroyed eyes, nearly swallowed into the chest by the ballooned muscles surrounding it.

"In ainm Mayon, agus Reon..."

Whether forced into this transformation or an enemy who willingly took it upon themselves, the creature before him now was nothing but an object of pity. Ending its existence would be a mercy. An important work to see done before tearing these Boars' captain's head from his shoulders. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he called out to it, standing firm as the space cleared further, forcing himself to breathe, stay relaxed. This was no mere boar or bear he might defeat by holding his place against any charge, let the beast impale itself and get stuck before it could actually reach him. This giant would likely crush him under its weight if he tried such, not to mention he didn't even have the right tools for the job.

Lure it in. Get it to charge. From there, speed, agility, and technique. No different from any other fight, that.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze



Unsurprising that the Boars' leader was content to hide behind his men. Let them rush on, force Fionn to tire himself fighting through them. A coward's strategy, and not even a sound one at that, even if he did intend to fight through all on his own. Not that he entirely did plan on that, of course. "Tyaethe!" Fionn barked, turning his head slightly toward the vampire not far behind him before they got swarmed again. "Help cut me a path!"

No time to contemplate whether or not she'd hear him and do as he asked, or if she'd see something else that needed taken care of; by that point more of the Boars were upon him. The first jabbed a spear his way; he beat it down to the ground, stepping on the haft to keep it down before the Boar could withdraw the weapon. He brought his blade back up, slicing down at the spearman's lead arm; their hand cleanly separated from their wrist, and they fell back clutching at the bloody stump. He kicked the spear up, catching it and plunging its butt spike into the gut of the next one to run at him.

A third came in from the side, swinging a hammer down at him; he pulled back hard on the spear, lifting it and ducking beneath to catch the blow. The haft split under the blow, and he twisted the front half of the spear around and stabbed it into the Boar's armpit as he raised his hammer for another blow, driving it in hard enough to send the mercenary falling off to the side, useful at least to trip up any of his comrades that might come up. He turned back again, facing the better part of the mercenaries standing between him and their commander.

"Care to make way?" he asked them, his tone light and conversational. In the face of their inability to get through a single knight, he could see some of the mercenaries starting to doubt their choice of battle, especially when considering the struggles they had with the other knights. The hounds, their one real surprise and advantage, had rushed the others, trying to find their way to Veilena's throat; where he stood, it was just Golden Boars filling the space between him and their leader. "Might be you lay your arms down, the others give you a chance, an opportunity to repent, at least a trial. I just want your commander."

They stood silent, for a moment, before one broke ranks and came at Fionn, axe in hand. He stepped in, thrusting forwards, and the point of his blade pierced through their shoddy gambeson, sliding between their ribs. Undeterred, however, they rushed into him, trying to tackle him and let the others tear him apart. He released his sword, wrenching the axe from the dying man's hand instead; he punched forwards at the next to rush him, the strength of the blow and the weight of his gauntlets caving in their forehead and sending them falling limply. Then he turned, throwing the axe at a third; they ducked, raising a shield to try and deflect the blow, and screamed as the axe bit in, pulling the shield along with it and wrenching their shoulder out of its socket.

He grasped at the hilt of his sword, planting his foot on the corpse it was buried in and pulling it smoothly back out. From another he reached down, claiming a shield that had been lost in the melee; and, bellowing some unintelligible war cry, he sprinted forwards himself, shield out, to knock aside or trample any Golden Boar foolish enough to stand between him and their leader.
Cadmon Demet


@Octo@HereComesTheSnow



"I'm glad to make such a good friend as you, miss Lirrah," Cadmon replied blandly as the diminutive merchant fluttered her eyelashes at him and did the best she could to squirm out of the disadvantageous position he had her in. As she handed over the vials to István, he set her to the ground, giving a small, formal bow. "We'll heed your warnings, of course. I'm sure my man here would rather test these on the enemy, not one of our own." As she scampered off to attend to whatever it was that the griffin rider was asking her about, he glanced back at Kayliss's rapidly retreating form.

Unfortunate. He didn't like having to simply trust that she'd make a point to release the horses before the camp was completely surrounded, lest they put their own at risk of a trampling...but trust he would have to. At least winning one over on Lirrah had helped to raise his spirits a bit; trade was preferable to war any day, and as one of the lords entrusted to watch the borders of Velt, he'd had no choice but to become experienced in both, whether the tactics used were fair or underhanded—like holding an already-embarrassed Nem multiple feet off the ground and getting her to relinquish her goods for free. "Distribute those how you see fit, István. I don't know that I've the stomach to use them myself. I'm going to have Gawen gather up some of our best riders before things start—it'd be a shame to waste good Morahti horses."




Sure enough, Kayliss and Falkner made sure to execute their stage of the plan while there was still an opening for the horses to retreat through. At the sight of panic and a trampled tent in the firelight of the camp, Cadmon knew that the four men he'd set with horses, lassos, and spears would take off after any that escaped their handlers and bring them under control using tricks they'd learned from other eastern horsemen. Confident in those he'd set to the task, he charged ahead into the camp itself. Resistance was minimal at best—few of the Morahti were in a state to even lift their weapons, let alone actively fight, not that he had any qualms about ensuring they never would again.

He'd studied their language, of course. His father had made him learn at least some of it, learn who they were. Their March had seen the raiders come through, and wherever an outlying village declined to fight, their people were taken instead. Abominable in every respect, but at least those had the twisted honour only to take those who they supposedly conquered, rather than engaging in simple trade like one might see at a cattle auction. It had been necessary to learn some of their language, to issue warnings and demands in a way that they couldn't pretend not to understand.

Not once had he known of any to be willing to offer themselves up. Knocked unconscious, forcibly taken prisoner, or the like, perhaps—but never willingly had he known of one to enter into the servitude they seemed to think was due to those who defeated them.

Gods and Goddesses willing, these would at least have pride enough to refuse the same.

He stepped out from between a pair of close-set tents, back into the firelight, to see a pair of the foreign mercenaries off to his left. One of the raiders seemed nearly catatonic; another, trying to rouse his comrade, futilely trying to encourage him to fight or run in the face of the giant coming their way. Neither had the chance; the mystically sharp blade of Cadmon's inherited weapon puncturing one's heart and severing the other's brainstem in a single downward thrust.

"Dramatics again, István?" he asked of his comrade, who had been bearing down on the hapless Morahti before Cadmon came behind them. "Sometimes I think you're trying to see if you can just scare one to death."
Fionn MacKerracher


@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR@Psyker Landshark



"Curse hounds, you said?" Fionn asked just as the Boars' forces began to show from the treeline, already stepping towards the one that seemed clearly to be the leader. "That's good, actually. I was worried I might have to behave myself. Renar, be a good lad and keep an eye on her, will you?" His blade slid smoothly out its sheathe as Tyaethe lunged forwards and Gerard yelled over at the north end of the clearing, his own pace quickening as a grin grew beneath the shadow cast by his helmet.

The fetid, distempered imp that had tried to attack the princesses hadn't been a fight at all, and dreams and training did not make up for actual combat. If these Boars wished to rush to the slaughter, then he would try to be accommodating to their needs. It's only polite, after all.

He sprinted wide around the whirlwind that was Tyaethe as many of the mercenaries tried in vain to overwhelm her with numbers; one of the faster hounds leaped at him, and he ducked low, its snapping jaws going clear over his head where they'd been aimed for his throat. He straightened quickly, driving his shoulder into its ribs and sending it up in the air; a relaxed backhand swing with his longsword neatly opened its back half, the hound landing in a spray of its own black ichor hissing and smoking on the ground as it thrashed around in its death throes. One of the Boars ran at him next, swinging a mace at his chest.

Fionn lunged forwards, first putting his left forearm against the Boar's weapon arm to stop it before slamming bodily into the mercenary and sending him toppling over. He wasted no time; the most the fallen Boar got was a single stomp to the now-open throat as Fionn carried along. A second, too much of a spendthrift to even afford a back to match his breastplate, had ribs and spine severed as the Veltic knight surged onwards, the tip of his blade coming back fowards, quick as a viper and coated in red. A scream punctuated the roars and yells of the fighters, and Fionn glanced back in Tyaethe's direction for a moment.

His left hand shot up, grabbing a severed forearm that had just flown his way, a dagger still tightly clutched in its hand. He hacked outwards at another of the mercenaries that stepped in close to him, splitting that one's hand in half, sending them quickly retreating and clutching at the flood pouring from their glove, before wrenching the dagger out of the loosening fingers, disarming the dismembered arm.

"PIG!" he bellowed at the Boars' leader, arm cocked like a spring; at the slightest hint of recognition, he sent the dagger flying for the man. "Get over here and at least pretend you're worth that armour!"
Fionn MacKerracher




Between the moment when he'd managed to finally stifle his laughter at Renar's apparent inability to read his moods—inconceivable, that, given that Fionn had had reason to get just as stern with the man himself a time or two—and when he'd slid from his horse's back ready to search the area, the heir to the Cazt name decided to come in from the shadows herself. "Well, at least she could pick a good crew," he muttered to himself, looking over to where Steffen and Gerard had begun to search the north side of the clearing.

If only he'd been able to visit here when there wasn't something nefarious afoot.

"Clarice, don't just gawk at her. There's bound to be more coming, and I doubt Alette will praise you at all if you get back to her all shocked and bloody like." Unlikely that they'd managed to beat any of the Boars here, unless more of them had managed to expose themselves to the madness of the shard and lost track of their goal—but none of them had seen any such signs on the ride to Cae Mayl.

"Best you come to us now, girl, even if you didn't before," he said to Veilena, looking pointedly at her. "One bodyguard isn't going to be enough against a half-mad patrol of Golden Boars trying to kill everything in sight, and if you're going to be working with us now, I'm sure we'd all feel a lot more comfortable having you further out of harm's way."
Cadmon Demet


@Octo@Psyker Landshark@Eisenhorn@HereComesTheSnow



The plan was a reasonable one, other than one clear mistake in the order of operations. Something that would be easily rectified, if the assassin and the mercenary would be willing to see it done. First, though, to follow up on what was just being said around him—while most of the time he wouldn't agree so readily with István's proclivity towards violence, in this case, Cadmon found himself all too willing to indulge the large man's impulses. Relative cultural acceptability had no bearing on the abomination that was the Morahti's practice, and if they were willing to set foot on Veltish soil and continue their ways, then they deserved every consequence.

"Mmm. Perhaps, in a moment," he said to Lirrah, after she'd finished speaking. "Might myself and Sir Shilage get some of that acid, say, as a trial run? Repayment, perhaps, for helping you avoid complete embarassment?" He leaned his halberd against the nearest available vertical object not named István Shilage, before lifting his helmet slightly as he looked down towards the Nem still held in one of his arms. "A favour for a friend, even?"
Cadmon Demet


@Octo@Psyker Landshark@Eisenhorn@Raineh Daze



A talking doll wasn't one of the things he'd expected to run into when first he set out to join Velvetica's father's forces, though by this point, Cadmon didn't have it in him to be entirely surprised anymore. A former assassin, a Nemish merchant, a faulty mage...there was no end to the abnormal among this band of misfits. "Do we, perhaps, have an even smaller doll that this one can carry? I don't think that my cargo has become recursive enough yet." Not that there was much time to really contemplate how much further the act of carrying another person-shaped thing could go before the business at hand reared back.

Cadmon looked down at the coin Urden held out to them, frowning as Lirrah recounted what she knew. Once she got past expounding on the relative values, though, the rest that she spoke of quickly started coming together in his memory. Fancifully braided hair as a rule, decorating their armour in crimson, and as Roger quickly returned to their midst and began reporting to the captain...

"Well, that explains taking the captives," he muttered to the three nearest him, uncharacteristic venom in his voice. "Morahti. Mercenaries from the plains north of Asharaad. The ones who come here are warriors as a rule, but their perverted sense of honour leads slavery to be common among them, usually from those who they capture in battle themselves. Buying these prisoners instead, it seems this lot is more debased than most of their kind."

If it weren't for the bevor in the way, he'd have spat at the gold coin.

"They're worse by far than most I have to deal with at the border. We should slaughter them like the mongrels they are."
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @Crimson Paladin



"Cut the return flow? Means they didn't want him to go too quickly. More cruel than we'd normally expect." He looked back up, over to Fleuri. "Help me carry him back?"
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