For a few moments, Fanilly found herself caught in shock at the sight of a man's body cut completely in half by the undead knight herself. While she had certainly seen blood before, and even death, seeing a man cut in half right in front of her was something truly different. But... no, she couldn't simply remain there. Taking advantage of the defensive position that the heavily-armored knight had taken, the young captain turned swiftly. Now. Now was time to command, to prove herself...!

"Stand firm, their numbers are small!" she declared. Even now, at the immediate response of the knights(and the presence of even more forces beyond them), the bandits quickly faltered as some of their number was slain so rapidly. And one man even bisected entirely... It was clear they hadn't expected the Iron Rose Knights!

While she had a moment, she cast a quick glance at Julianna before returning her gaze to the downed man. No, as much as he needed help... she was a captain. "As son as this battle is over we can tend to your injuries!"

She turned to face Julianna immediately. Now this... this was a situation where she had to act swiftly.

"Keep him safe. As... as Iron Rose Knights, it is our duty," Fanilly said, swiftly. Truthfully, she did not feel right leaving him. But if he was defended, then she could take her position as Captain. She had to. If she did not...

Even if there numbers were small... she had to show she was worthy of being captain. That meant defending the civilian and leading the knights in battle.

Many of the archers had been dealt with. Fanilly moved forward swiftly, and as she met another bandit he took a wild, frightened swing at her. Catching it in her dagger, the short blonde thrust her longsword forward and drove it through his leather armor, deep into his chest, piercing through his back. He fell with a gasp and lay still as she drew her sword from him.

The few remaining bandits, their numbers already so thinned, were breaking.

"We... we have to report back! The... the Iron Roses...!"

There were few left, and some were starting to try and flee. A few others remained, drawing bows and raising their weapons, albeit deeply shaken.

"Do not let them retreat!" cried Fanilly, "They will report our presence and prepare for an attack!"

"Poison might not be cheap, but that depends on your definition of poison," Tiral remarked, fully thankful for the assistance... Regardless of how eccentric that assistance was. Continuing to go and block the attacks, the young knight nodded as his situation became less numerically tilted against him. With a short huff, Tiral quickly moved to attack, pulling back his sword as he started to chant.

"Extend and freeze."

The blade of his sword, now sheathed in a layer of ice, shot forward, catching the bandit off guard as the weapon sliced through his midsection as if it was butter before returning back to its original state. Flicking the weapon to clear it of any remaining water, Tiral turned his attention to the captain's shouting.

More escapees? Oh, for the love of--!

"I'll handle it!" Tiral shouted, sheathing his sword and pulling out the little dagger from underneath his armor. "Just keep me safe a while longer!"

Tiral eyed the bandits who were turning tail, albeit just barely, through the woods; four were slowly starting to scramble through the underbrush, which was all he needed to know.

"Let mine enemies cower in fear. Let them freeze in their tracks, lamenting their own fate. Let them despair, knowing they have crossed the Iron Rose Knights! With their power behind me, I decree: move no longer!"

With a hearty cry, Tiral swung his dagger in an arc in front of him before swinging it downward. Immediately, four lines of ice began to snake out from his feet, hungrily seeking the would-be escapees. Once they found their mark, the ice seemed to crawl up their legs and lock them in place. Struggle as their might, the ice did not seem like it would budge. It only grew worse, though, as the ice continued its way up, shards of it now digging into their targets' flesh and dyeing itself an odd hue of reddish-pink.

The beads of sweat now dotting Tiral's face showed but a glimpse of how taxing such a spell was on him. Though by no means an end-all be-all solution, it would at least prevent the enemies from shoring up their defenses in time.

"I... Believe this should suffice...?" he asked rhetorically, a halfhearted smile on his face before turning to Sult. "Thanks for earlier, though... Not the sort to handle fighting more than one at a time..."

Katrina was halfway through sawing another bandit in half when the captain's voice rang out. It seemed she was finally getting herself involved. At least she hadn't completely lost her nerve and panicked or something, which would have been an outright death knell for her career...at least as far as Katrina was concerned. Finishing off the bandit she had been working on, Katrina heard the ones that wanted to report back. Katrina was about to set upon them even before the captain made an extremely obvious order. But her efforts were unnecessary, as their resident ice mage Tiral saw to the fleeing cowards. Katrina was a little disappointed, but there were other targets to be had; in particular, some of them had the nerve to carry on fighting.

Katrina immediately set upon the closest bandits that still gripped their weapons tightly. Before, she had been taking her time with her kills, performing excessive flourishes to get more out of it. But with them looking like they wanted to run, she figured it was best she cut them down swiftly. Three of them fell, one after the other, as Katrina guided her double sword through their soft armor and even softer flesh. They might have had the guts to keep fighting in the face of all this, but Katrina had just fixed that problem; their guts were now displayed on the ground for all to see.

"Disappointing, really..." She murmured to herself. She had fun, but it was over a little too quickly for her liking. "...fortunately there's more to be had." Thinking beyond the present scene, she knew there laid a whole slew of other bandits. Of course, they had yet to see this jumped up "Bandit King Jeremiah". Katrina wanted to take his head personally. Not for the glory, but so she could rest easy knowing she had cut the head off this serpent.

Tyaethe's choice to act as a vanguard was vindicated when a lone bandit, already barely involved in the fighting, attempted to turn tail and run. Had he been a bit closer to the rest of his downed fellows, it would have been the ice that caught him. He was instead run through by the blade of a massive sword and carried by the undead knight towards the main group.

One bandit was actually displaying a surprising amount of resilience, desperately engaging a knight and surprisingly not dying. This lasted all of a second before a heavily booted foot slammed into his back with a disturbing crack and the knight took full advantage of the opening to finish him as Tyaethe moved back to the captain's side.

As if her initial bisection of the ambush's leader wasn't alarming enough, her sword still had the mortally wounded man impaled on its length and, barely, conscious. The heavily-armoured knight didn't particularly care how gruesome her method of transport was as long as it kept the man alive for a precious few seconds more so that he could (hopefully) answer a single question. Lowering her blade so his feet rested on the ground, she growled, "Are there any more ambushes?"

The direction of attempted retreat showed them the way to go and they just needed to know if there was going to be another 'surprise' attack before they got to the bandit 'king' and maybe a harder fight. Something to test the newcomers more and give them a taste of real fear.

As her comrades made quick work of the ambushing Bandits, the remaining unfortunate souls were either captured or outright executed. Marianne watching with a look of disgust and revulsion. Since childhood, valiant and heroic stories of the exploits of the Iron Rose Knights were told to her at her bedside at night. As she matured, she thought she had a clear understanding and picture of what the Iron Roses stood for as symbols of hope. That they were all shining Knights worthy of praise and the utmost respect, who could do no wrong. Not these...barbarians. The way the bandits were dispatched was effective, to be sure. But, was it completely necessary? It appeared to Marianne that some of the other Iron Roses even relished in the cruel bloodshed and carnage. Swallowing dryly as she lowered her bow and relaxed her hold on its drawstring, she could feel her stomach churning and feeling ill.

When she came of age, Marianne participated in what was called Éveil or Awakening. A rite of passage for all future Delacroix knights. As children, they selected a piglet to become their companion as they grew older. Taught how to care and raise their new friend as if they were their own family member and was even so far treated as such. Eating together at the dinner table. Sleeping in the same bed. Even bathing together. All to culminate in a single day when the Delacroix child was given a knife and told to butcher their years-long friend, forced to watch as their beloved pet squealed and screamed in their death throes. Bleeding and dying before their very eyes all to allow them the reality of war. The cold harshness of combat and how brutal and filthy it truly was. That was the only time Marianne had seen bloodshed. The only time she truly witnessed the death of any other living creature, to prepare her.

Yet, she hardly felt prepared for this. Marianne fully aware of how relatively inexperienced she was on the battlefield, she slung her bow and watched as her fellow Knights began their interrogations of the captive Bandits. To her, though they were her enemy and threatened her life, the bandits were still human beings. She couldn't know who they were in their own lives. She didn't know their names or even what led them to live such a horrid life of crime. But even still, at their very core they were still her fellow man. She could hardly bare witness to their swift slaughter, having felt a pang of guilt with each arrow that found their homes in a bandit's throat or chest.

Sighing wearily, she held onto her composure. Smoothing the front of her skirt and kneeling on both knees, Marianne clasped her white gloved hands together and bowed her head low as she closed her eyes. Uttering a soft and sweet prayer, for the bandits they had slain, their victims, and the future bloodshed to follow. As it was Delacroix tradition after battle. After all, bandits or not...

They weren't pigs to be butchered.

Marianne was determined to uphold her Knightly vows and traditions, to preserve their purity. If not for the sake of ritual, then for herself. It was very clear that she did not approve of the ways her fellow Knights conducted combat. Having been trained herself in fighting techniques meant for swift and clean executions to allow her foes retain their dignity and honor in death.

The fight was disorganized, without order, and somewhat brutal to behold. Julianna watched sourly while thinking to herself if they had strong leadership the operation would have gone a lot more smoothly. Still, she had a job to do now and that was to keep the man safe; thankfully that was not too difficult to do as within only a few minutes the remaining bandits were either fleeing, dead, or dying, like the poor sod stuck on the immortal's sword. It was cruel and effective, but not really a sanctioned method of interrogation by the order, so Julianna made sure to keep this incident in mind for use against her later to lower her credibility when the inevitable day came for the Silvern family to make its move.

"How quickly the order has degraded, and while not entirely Fanilly's fault her presence certainly isn't helping situations." Julianna thought to herself as she made sure the man was alright. As soon as she was certain no more arrows would be coming their way she started applying first aid to the man. First she cleaned the wounds as best she could with some alcohol that she kept on hand for medical purposes, then applied make-shift bandages with what materials she could find as she tried to carry as little as possible aside from what she needed on her. The man's wounds were not superficial however and without real medical treatment he was sure to bleed to death.

The man couldn't really speak anymore but she could see the sorrow in his eyes at having lead them into a trap in the first place. He attempted to talk but only managed to cough, causing Julianna to hush him. "Shhh, just stay still and don't do anything, save your strength." She clutched his aged hand which had almost no grip left. "Don't worry, the Goddess Mayon is watching over us and won't allow the Iron Rose Knights to lose." With her other hand she put it over her breastplate in reverence.

The man managed a weak smile and closed his eyes. For a moment she thought he had breathed his last but he was just barely there, having fainted from his wounds. The man was in bad shape and needed real medical attention, but considering they still had to take out the so called, bandit king someone was going to have to stay behind and provide treatment, or send him to a real doctor if he had any chance to survive. Even if they did either of those options there was still a good chance the man would die anyway, still she could not in good conscious leave the man to die but neither could she just leave the Iron Rose Knights during a crucial mission.

Thankfully she would not need to personally see to the man after the coast was clear since the Iron Roses had their own support personel to take care of things. She signaled for some of the more medically inclined staff to come over and take care of the man once she deemed the coast was clear. As the ambush had been effectively routed it was not long before she was able to hand over the dying man to the helpers.

"Take care of him to the best of your abilities while we go cleanup this mess. We have a bandit king to trounce." She gave one last look before joining the others on their crusade against the bandits.

And so, Sult devoted herself to the slight mess she had to take part of, after having answered the call. The Ice mage could pull some interesting tricks, like extending ice blades and whatnot. She had to resign herself to stab bandits with the pointy end. While she had fared reasonably well in training, these weren't dummies (although their swings certainly were sloppy), and the terrain was uneven, so Sult staggered ever-so-slightly while trying to keep several opponents off the mage's neck.

Not very knightly. But then again, they were bandits... The female novice knight sighed, as she switched tactics. A clumsy feint...and then.

CRACK

One of the bandits yowled, tumbling down upon having his knee rightfully smashed with a clever kick on his side, courtesy of the blue-haired combatant. Before he could react in any other way besides pain, the blunt end of the knight's horrid green shield crushed the back of his neck like a vice, ending his life in a single blow. Sult knew where to aim. Setting all those bones, and sneaking out at night to study and cut corpses were finally paying. It wasn't pretty nor knightly, but it was effective.

"What the..." One of the remaining crooks yelped at Sult's side, startling her so slightly, and causing her to awkwardly backpedal, before her legs moved in a strange fashion, causing her to spin around herself.

And cut the poor man's head by mere fluke, her face and chestplate becoming splashed with blood. Before she could ever register the fluke that had just happened, the bandits were running, and were promptly caught by an impressive display of ice magic of her temporal teammate.

Ice Jerk knows his moves, doesn't he?

"Good Reon, I actually need to learn how to do that." Sult cheered so slightly. "That was great! Maybe I should ponder offering you assistance in...other ways." The knight teased, before rubbing her face, sploshing crimson on her gauntlet. Ah yes, bandit blood. She could probably try to coo someone. Like Sir Garret. That ...wonderful slab of muscle.

Or tease Sparky. But she was apparently praying?

Or tease the mini captain.

"Captaaaiiin... I got rat bandit blood all over my face... can I go change?" She added, putting some really pitiful expression.

With a heavy sigh Garrett pushed the visor of his helmet up and stared at the carnage left behind. “Damn.” Who would have thought the green horns had this much skill; let alone the stomach to do some of the stuff they had just done. Looking down at the bandit he had trapped against the ground Sir Garrett grimaced. “Oh for goodness sake.” Grabbing the young kid by the front of his jerkin Garrett hauled the kid up in front of him. The Bandit smelled of piss and sweat. No wonder really given what had happened to him. Grimacing again Garrett growled at him “How many are in the camp.”

It didn’t take long for the kid to spill his guts to Garrett given that his destroyed knees meant he wouldn’t be escaping regardless. After he had extracted all of the information he wanted from the Bandit; Garrett slung him over the saddle of Ash. Turning from the now unconscious bandit Sir Garret started towards the Captain maul in hand. As Sult’s wail split the air Sir Garrett half grimace half chuckled. The grimace was largely out of embarrassment for her but Garrett doubted she’d really cared about embarrassing herself; hence the chuckle.

“I think you’ll live, Oh Vocal One.” Approaching the Captain Garrett shouldered his war maul before he nodded in respect to Fanilly. "I couldn't get much out of the bandit that I capture. I think a combination of fear and dehydration has made him less than helpful." Eyeing Tyaethe's sword with a look of distaste he continued with his report "Beyond that I doubt the kid has much useful information I suspect it never crossed his mind to count the number of bandits living in the camp and no doubt it varies based on raiding parties." Wrinkling his nose again Garrett slid his war maul into a loop on the heavy harness around his waist and waited patiently, if not uncomfortably due to the undead knight's presence, for the Captain's orders.

Before Tarrya could do so much as draw breath to start barking orders, the knights of the order charged willy nilly into the ambush, spilling blood with an eagerness uncharacteristic of a supposedly charitable order. She smirked, so much for all that righteousness and airs of nobility. The knights seemed to relish the slaughter as much as some of the bloodier mercenaries she had had the displeasure of working with.

It occurred to her that the trap might well be a part of a larger trap intending to draw them in with a small ambush and close the jaws around the bulk of the force and attack them from all sides. She’d seen it happen many times before, even sprung a trap just like that once or twice herself - amusingly enough also on a force consisting largely of nobles and their retinues.

She turned around, content to let the knights enjoy themselves as she gave a series of short, sharp blasts on a whistle - four groups of four, to be precise. At the sound a group of the archers and men-at-arms trailing behind the knights broke off, jogging towards her as she waved them over. Not long after being assigned to Garrett’s retinue she had gone through the ranks of the the other soldiers, figuring out which ones would be willing to take orders from her regardless of the wealth of her parents and training them to act as a cohesive, disciplined individual unit, conditioning them to recognize certain patterns of whistle blasts and hand signals to take certain maneuvers. The four groups of three specifically were a signal to break up into small groups of four - two men-at-arms and two archers, to act as individual entities.

Another signal from the whistle, this time a long, shrill blast followed by a series of hand signals and three short staccato peeps saw her and the selected soldiers blend into the woods to the flank. She gave another blast of the whistle, signaling to two of the teams to split up further and scout ahead as the main body followed close behind. The knights were too busy bathing in the blood of their foes to have noticed one of the bandits had gotten away. A young boy clearly too frightened to join the general attack. By the time she’d seen him it’d been too late, and so she marched her group off into the forest. The knights could keep blundering on ahead, preaching about “valor” and “honor”, as if such things existed in war.

She would be setting up an ambush of her own for the bandits to stumble into. And, unlike some disorganized feudal levies, the troops she had trained were almost all veterans and instilled with an iron discipline. Garrett had been with her during several of the training sessions, and she had explained the signaling system to him in exhaustive detail - hopefully he would remember and tell the others of her plans so they didn’t stumble into her force and ruin the surprise. She marched on, looking at the troops fondly. They would not be prone to rookie mistakes that would open them to an attack by the so called bandit king. Nor would they flee at the sight of blood spilled, be it their enemies’ or friends’.

Thankfully, the skirmish did not last long. Several bandits were immobilized by ice magic, and the majority simply lay dead. Fanilly relaxed, slightly. While the battle had been disorganized... there had not been much time to plan, and her orders had at least been followed. No bandit, so far as could be told, had escaped. Unfortunately, the live bandits did not seem inclined to give up any information. Fanilly felt the reason behind this was... well, likely because they knew their fate already. They had murdered innocent people. They had killed soldiers. They had even used an innocent farmer(who was thankfully being treated) as bait for a trap. That meant that their fate was execution, and there was nothing they could do to change it unless they escaped. Cooperation, in their eyes, was useless.

This was not true for the man Fanilly saw next. To her horror, he was still alive, ran through by the undead knight's enormous sword, on his feet and spitting blood. She extended one hand, opening her mouth to try and stop such a brutal treatment of the enemy... and then he shook his head in response to her question. There were no further ambushes.

Fanilly could only watch as the enormous blade left his body in a flash, and took his head with equal speed, letting his body tumble to the ground in a bleeding heap.

Her hand fell to her side. Deep down, she felt that... something had been wrong there... and yet the man would have died the same way anyway, would he have not? Perhaps with the beheading it was a quicker and more merciful fate... The teenaged girl took a deep breath.

"... There are no injured among our number, are there?" she said, lifting her head and turning to face her knights. Before she could have this fact confirmed to her, however, her eyes fell on another still living-bandit, lying at the feet of one of her knights. His belly had been cut open to spill his innards...

Fanilly thought she had seen Katrina fight in such a manner during the battle, but she had hoped she was mistaken. But this...! Clenching her fists, she strode over to the knight, smoothly drawing her sword once more. She hesitated only a moment, before her blade flashed and the bandit was released from his suffering.

"... We are Knights of Justice and Mercy," she said, a tremor in her voice as she faced Katrina, "While we are here to kill these bandits... such cruelty is completely unnecessary! That man was simply left to suffer! We are all trained knights, are we not?! Such cruelty should be easy for us to avoid!"

She rounded on the other knights, turning to ensure no such brutality had been committed elsewhere. It was at about this moment that Sult complained of the blood on her armor and clothing, wishing to change, that briefly took the girl out of her anger.

"... I... what?"

Tyaethe's finishing off of her temporary prisoner was as painless as she could make it, since her intent had never really been to make the man suffer. The luckless bandit had been the only obvious choice to ask and consequently had his life extended for another agonising minute. Better than some of his companions had faced and definitely superior to the terrifying wait a criminal sentenced for execution would have to put up with.

Though it wasn't the battle that she had been expecting, now still served as a good time to inform all the newcomers about her status, since the hangers-on from outside the order had headed forwards and taken the risk of their spilling her secret with them. Stepping back so as to be in front of the assembled knights, Tyaethe lay down her weapons and seized a spear dropped by one of the bandits

"Listen up! As we are about to head into a more serious battle, you newcomers need to know something before you do something stupid," the paladin said, raising the spear for attention. 'Stupid', of course, meant supplying assistance to someone that was hard to hurt and even harder to kill, "About how I still fight with this order! About why I can do this!"

With that, she spun the surprisingly sturdy spear to point towards her own stomach and with a sickeningly practised motion shoved it inwards, using brute strength and her own lack of resistance to overcome her armour's protections. Not that she stopped then, with her hands only stalling when the blood-soaked head came out the other side, clearly having passed right through her abdomen. Then she continued speaking with the same force as before, as if there wasn't a weapon going through her.

"In the Battle of Adrageinne, Saint Elionne and I were the last of our group. We were outnumbered, tired, surrounded... and faced certain death. There I, Sir Tyaethe of Mayon, died!" Tyaethe continued, lowering her voice. She could remember the battle clearly, how the exhaustion built and small injuries lead to large and how, even with her continued movement, she became a walking fountain of blood and weapons, "But I had sworn to protect and serve the Captain. No matter what happened, allowing Elionne to come to harm was unacceptable.

"Since then, I have continued to serve the Knights in undeath. Bear that in mind before putting yourself at risk for my sake; injuries matter far less to myself. Remember, too, that this is not to be shared with those from outside the Iron Roses."

She felt somewhat guilty for adding this to the obvious discomfort one of the new recruits was already feeling, particularly because it interrupted her prayers.

"Ah... no, no, combat aid will be enough," Tiral hastily stated towards Sult's suggestion, waving his hand no and shaking his head in a similar fashion. Though she was certainly quite a character, anything that girl implied had a tendency of being on the risque side of things... And, well, to be frank, given her recent actions, she was probably just trying to mess with him like she did everyone else.

God dammit, he fell for it; hook, line and sinker.

"...In any case, with that out of the way--" he began to say before becoming quiet at the captain's outburst. His eyes slowly drifted over to the disemboweled corpse on the ground, and a look of disgust crawled up his face. Even if fighting wasn't glamorous, scare tactics like this...
What difference did it have compared to the tactics that had just been used by those that had just attempted to kill them? That was the sort of thing serial killers did, was it not?

Turning away and shaking his head, Tiral turned to the fist bandit he had caught, who was currently bound up in ice. Out of all of them, he was probably the only one who had escaped injury... But in some ways, the fear of imminent death might have been worse.

Well, he had brought this on himself.

Tiral took pause once more as Sult took to complaining about blood on her armor, a sigh leaving his lips as he brought his hand to his face in mild exasperation.

"Just go wash it off or something before it rusts; it'll be bloody again soon enough anyhow."

Wiping the sweat off his brow, Tiral quickly placed the ceremonial dagger before looking at the carnage in front of them. It was... Well, quite frankly, a massacre. The least they could do was cremate the bodies after taking the weapons off them. Animals getting accustomed to the taste of humans would only breed more trouble in the future. If not that, then tossing them in a ditch and burying them would work just as well...

And then Tyaethe promptly ran herself through with a spear. Tiral's jaw may as well dropped to the ground as he stared on in shock. What really gave him pause, though, was the fact that the knight was, in fact, quite dead by their human standards. So the immortal knight was actually far from it?
...
Wait, wasn't that necromancy?!

The mage almost spoke out in objection before calming himself. No good would come if he continued to stall their progress here. he could complain... Later. On the way back, preferably.

"Regardless, we have a job to carry out, and with all due respect, we cannot spend time loitering around feeling remorse for what has already been done. I shall inquire about your condition later, but right now time is of the essence; I wouldn't be surprised if the enemy knew something was amiss if the group we annihilated here does not report back," he stated towards the captain before turning in the direction of the four formerly-fleeing bandits whose legs were still bound in his ice prison. Given the general position of their legs as they were frozen...

"They're this way... Am I correct?"

Julianna laughed under her breathe as Tyaethe made her astonishing demonstration of just what kind of creature she was. Shoving a spear through one's own body was quite the convincing image of the undead nature of the 'immortal' knight. She was not 'immortal' just a remnant of what she once was no longer bound by the same rules of death the living were.

There had been many rumors over the years and certainly she had considered the idea of her being undead but due to her usually cautious nature about always being fully armored her family informants could never quite say for certain how the woman had lived for so long. Now the truth had been revealed plain as day to her and many of the Iron Rose Knights, as soon as this mission was over she would make her report back home. If possible it would serve as critical evidence if she could send in that spear as proof of Tyaethe's nature. No doubt her family would believe her without it but, some of the other on the fence nobles would want undeniable proof, which this spear could now give if examined by the Clergy.

Now that this had been revealed to the knights Julianna made sure to keep a close watch on everyone's reactions to having an undead in their order. While she thought all this she also found herself comforted by the fact that one of them was actually using sound tactics, the low-born Tarrya who had quickly organized some troops under her command for recon and mop up operations.

Fanilly was obvious quite upset about what had transpired on the battlefield and while she managed some good repremands she was still mostly just flailing about. Things needed to be changed soon.

"We should quickly reorganize and move with haste as we don't know how often these ambushers were expected to report back to the main camp. Enough time has been wasted her, captain if you would be so kind as to give the orders..."

Rolan had remained in the saddle for the duration of the brief skirmish, feeling it was a safe enough action with sir Garret on the move, the hulk of the man made him a living and breathing target for most ambitious archers. Instead he busied himself with mustering the riderless horses into a small cluster, backed up against a heavy thicket, with his self as the only thing between them and the fighting. Gods I hope I'm doing right. He fretted in his mind, his grip tight yet relaxed on the hilt of his sword, holding it ready as a challenge to any would be contenders.

In the end he saw little of any combat, the knights quickly securing a messy yet effective victory over the ambushers, it was only until the bandits morale broke and the remainder of their foes unceremoniously attempted retreat did Rolan have to act, urging his horse forward to block some would be thieves, upon interception he could see that they had dropped their weapons in their mad rush to freedom, but this didn't stop Rolan from performing his duty. An upward arc of his blade caught one in the chest and sent him falling back to the earth, bleeding and gasping for what air he could til Rolan vaulted from his saddle and plunged the blade through the mans ribs, ending his life. The other bandit used this to his advantage, attempting to dash past and make a grab of his horses reigns, just beginning to climb into the saddle as Rolan seized his shoulder, and with a grunt, threw him into the muddy earth. Steadily he approached him as the bandit scrabbled about in the mud, looking for a foothold to stand whilst his hand closed around a heavy stone.

"Yield!" Rolan demanded hoarsely, holding his sword pointed out before him.

"O'right o'right,... I yield to ya sir." was the reply, the bandit giving up his struggle in the mud. "I'll be ye' prisoner." He added in a sullen tone.

Rolan found he was breathing quite heavily as he lowered his blade. "Don't you bloody well try anything, or I'll run you through, you hear?" He warned, stepping toward the bandits left side, while his eyes watched for any unwanted movement. "yessir." Was the bandits assent as he lowered his head down further til he was practically kissing the mud. Clasping him by his shoulder, Rolan hoisted him to his feet, getting a better look at the fellow. He was a brute of a man with a rough face and a square jaw, his beard and hair were a wild, tangled mess that was as brown as the mud that covered him from head to toe. Rolan was just about to order him toward the rest of group when a snarl twisted the mans features, too slow was Rolan to reply as the man closed the gap, shouldering Rolans blade arm out of the way as he swung his own arm to bludgeon him with the stone.

Rolan hit the ground with a heavy thud and a loud grunt, his world a mix of pain and confusion. The earth beneath him seemed to spin out of control as he tried to focus on what had just happened, from the corner of his eye he could see the bandit fleeing toward the horses. Dizzily Rolan got to his feet, his head felt like it was on fire, and he was sure he would throw up, his sword lay somewhere off to the side forgotten, the fleeing man was all he could see as his vision steadied. With a roar of determination he went after the man, quickly catching up in all his fury as he tackled him from behind, sending both men hurtling toward the ground once more. Desperate was their struggle in ones attempt to flee and the others attempt to hold on, Rolan slowly dragging himself up the mans body so he could rain down blows on his head while firmly seated above him. He landed blow after blow with devastating effect until he bandit drove his knee into Rolans side, rolling him off the top of him and securing the position for himself, taking up the same merciless beating he was receiving just moments before. Each hit brought a new wave of pain over Rolan as he struggled beneath his opponents body, his vision growing shaky and blurred as the assault continued, in a moment of desperation Rolan was able to free the dagger he kept sheathed at his back, gripping it tightly as he plunged it into the bandits side. The bandit howled and writhed with pain atop him, so again he plunged the blade into his side, and again, and again, and again, until he howled and writhed no longer.

With great effort he pushed the dead man off him, taking a moment to recover as he lay in the mud, heaving a sigh as stared up at the blue sky above him, a peaceful haven that seemed to contrast harshly with the scene below. Gingerly he rose to his feet, his whole body an aching mess, accompanied by a splintering headache. Slowly he looked around, trying to regain his bearings, the battle seemed to be over with most of the knights gathered about their commander, hauling back what prisoners were caught, whilst at the same time one of the senior knights, Tyaethe he believed her name was, impaled herself with her own spear, continuing with whatever speech she had been giving like nothing had even happened. "I've damn well gone mad..." He reflected quietly, straining with pain as he bent down to gather his things, almost certain the weapons would merely flow through his hands like water and when he would look up the rest of the world would take on an equally surreal nature. But alas the dagger remained firm and a sense of normalcy returned to Rolans mind as he shuffled over to the horses to ensure their numbers were the same as he left them. All seemed to be accounted for and Rolan gave a small grin of satisfaction before returning to his horse, walking a few short steps before wincing at the sharp pain that arced up from his right ankle. I've really done a bloody number on myself this time. He grimaced, continuing toward his horse with a limp, much to Rolans future chagrin his count of the horses moments before had been wrong. The struggle with the muddy bandit had unnerved one of the poor beasts and sent it bolting into the woods without his knowledge, luckily for Rolan the other horses hadn't followed suit atleast.

Marianne Delacroix

Marianne had completed her prayer just in time look up and witness Dame Tyranthe impaling herself with a spear, eyes widening with shock as she covered her mouth with her hands. Was she mad? Had she decided that she was done with this world and finally given up on her long, extended life? Marianne stood to her feet and thought to rush to the Holy Immortal's aide, until she realized that the revered icon continued speaking and moving as if she didn't have a bloody spear lodged midway through her body. Realizing she had reached out with her arm for some odd reason, she lowered it as she listened to the Holy Immortal's explanation. So she was, or rather is, Undead. Now, that explained a lot of things. To be truthful, Marianne suspected it was something along that nature but decided against saying a word. Though the display was rather dramatic, and like most every other event that recently occurred wholly unnecessary, Marianne's high regard for the Holy Immortal did not falter. Simply, she now knew the truth, but would not let that alter her respect for the living legend.

Looking down at the front of her skirt and knees, she dusted them off as the other Knights discussed politics and battle plans. She stood around, listening to each Knight respectfully before losing interest. Having nothing to add to the conversation and quite frankly holding no interest in doing so. She was no word-smithing politician and far from a great tactician, as inexperienced as she is. She wasn't looking to embarrass herself any further by opening her mouth. Instead, she desired nothing more but to return to her horse and prepare for the next course of action. Allowing the more experienced Knights to come up with a decision, deciding to learn from them as she went along.

Walking over to the Knight that took responsibilities of minding their steeds, Marianne gave him a smile. Though he looked worse for wear, she was again glad that they suffered no losses. As she looked around at the horses present, her bright expression slowly faded as she realized that she did not see her steed. Blinking, she frowned slightly.

"Sir...Rolan, I believe?"
She revived her smile as she addressed him.
"Do excuse me, I'm still taking my time placing faces to names." She laughed.
She looked around again, maybe having missed sighting her steed.
"But...Might you know where my steed has run off to? I do not see him present.."

Rolan gave a hollow chuckle in reply to her address. "I'm no knight.. I don't need no 'sirs' before my name." He informed her, his chuckle dying away due to the fresh wave of pain that seemed to roll over him. Carefully he rested his arm on his horses saddle, trying his best to focus on her, instead of the various agonies he was experiencing. She was an odd one in his eyes, far too pretty and perfect, her noble blood shining through in the way she held her self, her very air and graceful manner of talking. It all seemed too strange after the recent savagery he had just partaken in and he couldn't help but frown at her in bewilderment.

"But...Might you know where my steed has run off to? I do not see him present.." she inquired, much to Rolans dismay. Shit.
With much effort he craned his neck around to check the various horses that milled about where he left them, his eyes scanning across to count their number. With a weary sigh he returned his gaze to her briefly before casting them to the floor.

"Apologies my lady." He began, bowing his head. "It must've ran off during the fighting, mayhaps I might..." He suggested, trailing off as he looked about the area, completely unsure of which direction it took, the various tracks in the ground masking its own. With a grunt he dismissed the idea, continuing to frown as he examined the dirt beneath his fingernails, thinking of a way to make amends.

"Here." He started suddenly, gently pushing off his horses saddle to grab its reigns, limping slowly toward her as he offered her to take them with an extension of his hand. "You can take him til we find your horse or we make it home, whichever comes first." He explained. "I hope you didn't lose too many personal effects." He added, untying his old helmet and one of the saddle bags from his grey palfrey. He offered an apologetic smile briefly before remembering how ghastly he must look covered in filth with his hair matted to the side of his head with blood, dropping the smile he gave a curt bow of the head in its place.

Marianne Delacroix

Marianne blinked, tilting her head ever so slightly in momentary confusion when Rolan made it known that he was actually not a knight part of the Iron Roses. Of course not all of them were Knights, there had to be squires and knaves amongst their numbers. The thought just hadn't crossed her mind until this very moment. Even still, she couldn't just simply address someone without a proper title. She frowned with concern when Rolan cringed in pain worried that he was not completely well, as he made it appear.

It was a little disheartening to learn that her horse had fled, though it didn't bother her very much. She had no close bond to the creature, and all that the horse carried on it were a few provisions. Arrows, a day's worth of food and water, a few medical supplies. Not much else and nothing detrimental or supercritical to their mission at hand. She could always scavenge what was left behind by the Bandits, or pick their corpses. The thought of raiding a dead body for its supplies sent a slight tremor and chill up her spine, however.

She was a little startled when Rolan offered his own horse for her to use.
She put up her hands and shook her head, politely declining.
"Ah, there is no need.."
She frowned again, looking to the ground for answers. Struggling to find the proper title for the gentleman.
"Squire Rolan?"
She wasn't sure if that was accurate, but maybe it would suffice for the time being.
She smiled, laughing softly.
"I am not above walking on my own two legs, papa et maman did not raise such a spoiled daughter. I did not lose much of import so truly, it is quite alright. It is no fault of your own that I am unable to keep accountability of my belongings."

Truth be told, it may have been better for her to remain close to the ground. After all, it appeared that she was one of the few, if not only, dressed in nearly all white. If she remained on horseback, she would just highlight herself as target. With her "small" stature, she would even more than likely appear to be the 'weakest link' of their party and targeted first. Though she would probably struggle with keeping up with the other Iron Roses, she thought positively. If anything, it would be a bit of conditioning. A work out even. She was not above shedding a little sweat. One could simply just bathe and change afterward. Delacroix nobility weren't like other snobbish, pampered nobles in many more ways than one. As a Knight, it would be foolish and ridiculous fearing a little physical exertion and dirt.

Thinking their conversation finished, Marianne respectfully bowed her head and curtsied in return to his kind gesture. Turning, she walked away to regroup with the rest of the Iron Roses.

The forest was the maw of a great beast of the earth and into it the company of knights had strode. The shadows danced around the marching horsemen who rode in tight formation with lances raised. Behind them a corps of pike men marched with bowmen following their lead. The old knight Eadwig sat upon his courser overlooking the order of the mounted and unmounted knights and the speed of their two supply wagons and a third for prisoners. His face soured at the sight of the small dirty wagon. If there were as many bandits as King Jeremiah had bragged, then they were sorely under prepared.

Eadwig dug his heels into the side of the horse and urged her back toward the head. Bandits always lie it was a fact of life. The last great bandit king in these woods was handled by Eadwig and five knights by accident on a night seven years ago. They had rode hard for a day to return Tennelberg to answer the call of the Iron Rose captain and when they at last decided to make camp, they were set upon by fifteen bandits in sack cloth wielding broken swords and farm tools. They turned the survivors over to the bailiff in capital and made for the Iron Rose. ‘You were beset by bandits?’ They had asked. ‘Fifteen of them. We cut down eight before they came to realize they had made a mistake,’ Eadwig had answered. ‘Did you kill a man named Evan?’ ‘Nay, but Evan was one of them. How’d you know?’ They all laughed, ‘That bastard was a bandit king. He said he had two hundred men. Why do you think we called the knights back?’ ‘For something important,’ Eadwig smiled, ‘Tell the rest of the Order that the five of us defeated two hundred.’ The thought brought a fond smile to Eadwig’s face. A good memory and one of the few to be had in the time leading to the War of the Red Flag.

“Sir Aethelmund,” a light armored scout named Philin came beside him as he reached the head of the column. “Captain Fanilly and the vanguard have defeated an ambush.

Eadwig grunted, “Aye, we are getting close then.” His fist raised and the column came to a halt. “Ride to the rearguard and inform them. Tell them to have riders fan out in search of flanking forces. I want a second rider moving between the center and the rear. Go.” The scout nodded and pushed on at a gallop. Eadwig wheeled around and looked over the small force that made up the center. “I want another scout on our flanks,” He shouted over a low din of conversation and swiftly two young men broke off from the main force and into the forest. “Cavalry split in two and take the flanks.” He pointed out individual standard bearers to their flanks then looked upon the infantry, “Archers take the lead and pike men keep the center, eight of you to the rear just behind the wagons.”

In a moment the knights were a flurry of movement and activity. Eadwig scanned the forest for just a moment. It smelled as green as the vanguard, but earthy with a tinge of distant smoke. The forces were kicking up dirt in a shuffle of lightly clanging steel and iron. Very few among the knights were in plate armor; it was prohibitively expensive for all but the wealthiest of them, and like Eadwig, most of the men wore coat of plates or brigandines. There would be casualties. He knew this, most great fights had casualties, and King Jeremiah most definitely had more than the fifteen men Evan did.

“Jeremiah’s band is near.” He called hoarsely over the shuffling. “Hold to your formations, hold to your training and remember that you are not heroes but a unit. They will break on our pikes and beneath our arrows and lances, and this will be over before sweat starts falling from our brows.” Eadwig beat his chest with a fist, “Iron Rose!”

“Iron Rose!” The knight’s repeated in unison.

“Slow march!” He ordered and the archers started forward with their bows in hand, and the pike men followed in lock step with shields forward. Eadwig rode to the rear of the main to a unit of four mounted knights, “Sir Luthor, take the lead of the main for now. I am riding to the van to speak with the Captain. I will return.”

“Aye Sir Aethelmund,” Luthor nodded.

When Phillin the scout returned from the rear, Eadwig waved for the boy to accompany him. They rode at a quick trot toward the vanguard through. Around them the forest started to close in around them. The branches knitted together above them like tightening loom, and the trees around them were an army of earthen pikes reaching into the sky. Eadwig grimaced, their maneuverability would be hindered.

He could smell them before he could see them. There was blood in the air, and quite a bit of it. As Eadwig entered, the carnage was readily visible. Twelve bandits lay dead at the feet of the knights, one was cut clean in half. There were five prisoners. Four of them had been frozen in place and Sir Garrett had the fifth. Tarrya had already ushered the bulk of the van into battle formation, and a smile crossed Eadwig’s lips. Tarrya and Garrett showed tenacity. Eager to prove themselves as commanders, Eadwig had already found the two to be exceptional knights in the training yards. His head nodded toward the two and toward Tyaethe who had been giving her undeath speech. Eadwig recalled his first undeath speech from her and nodded to himself.

“Captain Fanilly.” Eadwig Aethelmund looked down upon the girl from atop his courser. “The middle and rear are at the ready for the engagement. How do you wish to proceed upon their camp?”This was her fight, not Eadwig’s or anyone else’s. Her first battle would be her most important, and it would seal her reputation among the knights for most of her life.

The sound of hooves caused Garrett to turn just enough to see a Knight approaching from behind. Turning he heard the familiar voice of Sir Aethelmund. A huge grin split Sir Garrett’s face as he turned to face the older Knight. By far one of the most respectable members of the Iron Rose; Sir Aethelmund and his soldiers were certainly a welcome sight given the current state of things. The older Knight respected the new Captain much like Garrett did and it was all too clear the two Knights held much in common. At the question to Fanilly about how she wished to proceed Garrett turned back to the young Captain.

Tyaethe’s speech had done little to increase Sir Garrett’s opinion of her. If anything it had made him even more leery of her. What manner of foul Necromancy held her in this state of undeath? Sometimes the tribesmen had to clear out precursor barrows in the foothills. It was always a mess since the Barrow Wights were some of the nastiest creatures he’d ever met. They were Sir Garrett’s only experience with the undead. Tyaethe’s demeanor and actions were slowly forcing the conundrum of her undeath to the forefront in Garrett’s mind. It would probably be best to determine a means for killing her incase it came down to it.

The memories of the stench of decay, confined spaces and burning flesh came rushing back as he stared at Tyaethe was something akin to fascination and abject horror. It didn’t matter how one dressed it up. The Immortal Knight was a monster in paladin’s clothing. The thought of snapping jaws in the darkness reeking of disease came to the surface and Garrett shivered. It was quickly followed by the memories of huge pyres of burning flesh as the destroyed Wights were piled in a stack to be burned to an ass and scattered to the winds.

It finally dawned on Sir Garrett that his face was twisted into a mask of hatred as he stared right at Tyaethe. There might not be a reason to destroy her yet but if she gave him a reason he needed to be ready. Garrett smoothed his expression and turned to look at Sir Aethelmund again before resuming his at ease posture waiting on Fanilly’s orders

Fanilly's attention was once again ripped away by Tyaethe's speech. Oh... certainly, she had already known, but the sight of the armored knight forcing a spear through her own body made her flinch, cringe briefly in a way unlike the similar injuries that had been inflicted on no small amount of the dead bandits. After a few moments, she found herself slowly nodding towards the ice mage, Tiral, before stepping forward. Yes... many of the knights were asking her for the next course of action. As disgusted as she was by the unnecessary brutality several men had died in, there was no time to dwell upon the matter.

She took a deep breath before turning to face them.

"The bandit camp is not far ahead," she began, "The smoke from their fires is on the air, I am certain I am not the only one who can smell it."

She sheathed her sword at her side.

"So we must act quickly. While we do not have the numbers to completely encircle their camp, I feel a simultaneous strike from four directions will ultimately be our path to victory," she continued, "We will be splitting into four groups, to take up positions around their camp and move inward. I shall lead the first, who will take position ahead of their camp."

She turned to regard the heavily-armored undead knight.

"Sir Tyaethe, you shall lead the second, to take position to their left."

She turned to face the older man who had approached her. He was a venerable figure, and Fanilly had this in mind as she made her next decision. "Sir Aethelmund, you shall lead the third, and take position to the camp's right."

Fanilly glanced between her next choices had hesitated. She had to admit she did not have someone immediately in mind to lead the fourth group. The first two choices had come to her easily, but the next... She wanted to place faith in the newer knights, as well as the old. Surely there were those among their number who held tactical knowledge to this purpose, wasn't there? A group of armsmen had already proceeded ahead as well...

"... Sir Tiral, you will lead the fourth, which will advance from behind," she said, finally, after some hesitation, "We will move in on my signal. Shields in front, to defend the others from arrows. I'll give you time in order to get into position, but as we are in a forest it will be difficult to signal to one another in a way that will not alert the bandits."