[IC] Blades of Iron Roses: A fantasy Knight RP (Page 6)

Sult bit her lip, as she watched the effect of her little trick miss her mark, but not entirely. It was all a moot point, though, as both the undead and Sir Garret restarted the assault with renewed strength, as if two wild beasts smelling the blood from a wounded prey. She snapped her head at her surroundings, noticing a cold draft enveloping the trunk.

Wow, certain ice jerk is really useful to come around. She pondered, wondering briefly how many people she would have to offer displays of gratitude today. Better make a list or something. It was then when a second sensation crept up in the back of her neck, as she stiffed slightly and huddled against Fanilly, shielding her captain once more with her body. Her eyes peeked at the figure of Marianne, reading something that seemed more overcompensation than any spell proper.

Well, looks like you're done for. I love when I don't have much to do! She thought, but for a second she shielded Fanilly's view from the gory explosion. She was a captain, but that wasn't something kids should see. Heck, not even adults should see that.

"Woah, Sparky. That um...was impressive. It almost makes me feel like stealing a kiss from your maiden's lips!" Sult publically anounced, while crouching down and quickly reaching the ear of her captain.

"Well, captain, we somehow got through. We need to regroup and report. And there is that piece of museum who will keep judging you, so do your best gameface and give them praise, asking for a report aswell. Hang in there, okay?" She whispered, probably crossing several lines while doing so. It didn't matter. She was the dead last of three girls and four boys, and never had a little sister to counsel. "We'll talk later." She said, before unfolding and releasing the captain from her protection, her face quickly assembling in her slightly smiling of a visage.

"That was a BIIIG rat." Sult whistled to everyone, looking at the corpse. "Oh, but sir Garret, you're wounded. Stupid rats and their fangs, yes? But you're kind of a good sport...so maybe Sult has a freebie for you."

The knight damsel advanced upon the barbarian, and winking slightly, she recited.

"O Lady of the Sun. Bathe thine children in thy divine light, and banish the decay upon this body." Her hand started to glow in a warm gold, and the wounds began to close in the sculpted physique of the barbarian. Although it seemed somehow that her hand lingered far too long in some parts, aswell. 

She then flicked her hair, proud of her handiwork. "I normally hate showing off my priestess training, so consider yourself fortunate."

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That was disappointing. There was no other way to put the way that bout had ended, though with the number of people involved it was inevitable that he would have been brought down so easily. The battlefield never allows for a fight to be savoured. To be sent to hunt something down alone once again...

The church seemed to feel no need to call on Tyaethe for any other obligations and so she shoved it to the back of her mind, taking stock of the battle winding down. Someone had put the tree out, interestingly, which meant they might have proper magical support in the future rather than these tricks. To make sure any bandits still fighting on the other side of the trunk realised how little chance they had, the undead knelt and grasped the knight slayer's body, hefting it before shunting it to the other side of the tree. They could pick it up in a few minutes if Fanilly wanted to take proof.

One of the newcomers seemed to have shielded the captain from the view. A strange choice but, with the number of people cut in two today, probably not an unwelcome one. Tyaethe continued to emulate a statue and watched her for some reason come over. The grey-armoured knight twitched at the unnecessary battlefield flirting... but the healing was interesting. Priestess training? Maybe the order wasn't entirely devoid of the faithful after all.

Now that things were finished, however...

"Captain, I would prefer it if you did not send me to a separate flank in future. Had this bandit been armoured..."

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Marianne Delacroix

Prior to the fall...

Having seen her chance as Sir Garrett and Dame Tyaethe reengaged with the blood-lusting boar of a man Jeremiah, Marianne cocked back her arm and took her proper casting stance as she truly finished her incantation. 

"In the Goddess Reon's name, I pray!
Steady my hand!
Let my aim be true!
May my enemies fall before me!

Lightning-bolt Javelin!"

With all of her might she launched the mighty spear. With another explosive blast that mimicked a thunderclap heralding its flight, the spear of light screamed and screeched through the air as it rocketed towards Jeremiah like a furious demon. The aftershock leaving behind a trail of disrupted winds that threatened to blow Marianne off of the tree that she knelt on and forcing her eyes shut. Her long black hair flapping and fluttering in the wake of the spell. Opening her eyes at the exact moment the spell found its mark, she felt a burden lift off of her shoulders. With a relieved sigh, beads of sweat freely dripped from her as her vision began to swim.

After the fall...

With trembling hands, Marianne very carefully tugged her 'white' gloves back over her fingers. Reattaching the white veil to her hair as sparkles of electricity continued to arc from her body, wreathing her figure in a semi-protective barrier. Breathing ragged and heavy, her vision faded in and out more and more as the spell had drained much of her mana. Her head pounded painfully as the world around her spun. She should've known better than to cast that spell after an extended engagement with the bandit forces. As black shadows edged the peripherals of her sight, Marianne reached out to grab at her sword to use as a tool to help steady herself on the tree. Looking up in the distance, she heard a female voice call out to her but she couldn't make out the words clearly through the fog and haze of her muddled senses. Though, Sir Tiral was closer and she was able to somewhat hear him more clearly. Turning her head to see his offered hand, she smiled slightly and reached out to take his hand.

Her breath left her and her eyes shut closed as she fainted.
Falling off of the tree and straight into Sir Tiral.
Body still crackling and snapping with remnant arcs of lightning.

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Tiral's eyes widened momentarily in shock as he noticed the young woman beginning to collapse. Mana exhaustion...?
Well, there was no other logical explanation, now was there?
Chastising himself for even wasting a moment more, though, the ice mage bit his lip and moved over to catch the falling knight in his arms rather than with just a single hand. Regardless of his state being not too far off from Marianne's own, it wasn't as if he could allow needless injury to happen right in front of him. Needless to say, he wasn't quite prepared for what was to come.

Almost as if some omnipotent being was having their fun with him, the residual electricity that he had been seeing remnants of had NOT, in fact, dissipated. With his arms now conducting the rest of the energy, it took only the slightest of contact with his arms before Tiral felt an intense pain coursing through his body. To say nothing of the water in the area making things any less painful, but with his strength as it was it would be a miracle if it didn't cause him to scream. Only by forcing out a last bit of willpower did the mage keep his voice in check, and though his legs staggered under the increased weight (he REALLY wasn't hit for any sort of heavy-lifting!), he had to at least put the girl down gently.

"Ah... Mana exhaustion. Only reason why I didn't rush into battle sooner. That spell... Too inefficient in terms of consumption and incantation time. Unless she trims that thing down, it'll leave her a sitting duck in the future..." he grumbled, carefully leaning Marianne's unconscious body against the frozen log before slumping down himself. He hadn't a clue how to speed up the recovery process, but... Well, time healed all wounds, right?

"...Yeah. Just gonna... Sit here a bit until they call me up. Got enough just in case we need some emergency barriers, so I'm not completely dead weight... Yet," he stated quietly to himself, as if justifying his actions now. "She'll be awake in time for us to get out of here. Hopefully. I'm not strong enough to carry her back..."

With a sigh, Tiral flicked his dagger to free it of any remaining water before slipping it back into its usual place. Cleanup wouldn't take too long, given how everything had turned out...

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Fanilly didn't see what happened. Her view was entirely taken up by Sult, who had guarded her at first, then covered her eyes. Initially, Fanilly didn't understand why. What had happened? Besides, she was the Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. To shy away from the deaths of those who hurt the innocent... it wasn't something such a person should do, was it? And then, after speaking about giving a report, Sult released her.

"I... very well..."

Fanilly had heard the thunderclap, but hadn't realized what had caused it until she saw the aftermath. The gaping hole that pierced clear through Jeremiah's body was still smoking, even as Tyaethe lifted the corpse up and tossed it over the log, to show the bandits what had become of their leader.

Moments later, any of them that remained fighting were in their knees in surrender. Fanilly took a deep breath. It had quickly become clear to her what had happened here. On their own, the bandits were weak and unskilled. But with Jeremiah as their leader, he had bolstered their wills. The whole time all he thought of was killing the Iron Rose Knights, however, and when he finally had a chance at his goal he abandoned them to whatever fate they would meet.

In the end, however, he perished at the hands of the order he had sought to destroy.

As she turned to give a report, she heard Tyaethe tell her not to send her away again.

"... I am sorry, but I had believed your expertise would lead your flank to victory," she said, after a moment's pause. The memory of Jeremiah's hand around her through was still in her mind. But for now she had another duty to fulfill.

Striding towards the now-frozen log, she spotted one of the areas that had melted. Placing her hands upon it, she pulled herself up and got her feet under herself, standing where she could be seen fully.

"We have met victory. These criminals have either been slain, or subdued, and will never hurt another innocent again," she began, "Well done, Iron Roses. But first..."

She glanced towards the faint Marianne, and the clearly-hurt and worn out Tiral.

"I need a report from each flank leader I have not already spoken to, and we must arrange transport for the wounded in order to return home."

Fanilly knew at least one soldier had died, but she could not be certain if any others hand. She felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of the man who had been sliced in half, and the potential fates of others if they had perished, but felt hopeful that Jeremiah's victim was the only casualty. No-one aligned with the Roses should have died here, but hopefully it was only one man. Especially among the knights.

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Julianna was quite taken aback when she felt a hand on her shoulder as well as the harsh criticism that followed.
 
"You are not captain yet, nor are you of a leadership position within the Order or this battlefield. Do not go issuing commands as if any of these things are the case."

Juliana looked back and realized who the man was quite quickly, Iowerth Rhydderch, a noble from a much older house than her own though perhaps not as influential at this point in time.  In any event he was certainly not someone to ignore.  At first Julianna felt quite angry at this chastisement but then he continued with some good advice.

"It would be wisest not to show your ambition too openly before you've gained more support."

He was right of course, she grudgingly admitted to herself and thankfully do to her training had managed to remain calm throughout the entire talk.  She took a breathe to calm herself, this was acting ratherly foolishly at the moment; although in her defense most of the 'leaders' at the moment had been occupied so she was just temporarily filling the role until they could take over.  Still, it was the prudent course of action to step back in line for now.

Julianna nodded in acknowledgement and replied quietly, "You are right of course, it seems I forgot myself during this course of events."  Julianna rebuked herself internally for acting so out of line, despite her experience in court and other minor battlefields she had let the adrenaline get to her and effect her judgement.  Despite the nastiness of having been rebuked she was grateful for the man reminding her of her ultimate goal, and what was needed to obtain it.

Having said her peace she made sure not to say anymore as she returned to just being a knight of the order as the battle was being wound up.  A captain had to be able to take criticism with poise and respect after all.  A lesson was learned that Julianna was sure to not forget again.

"Obey flags of surrender! No quarter to the rest!"  

Came the man's voice which had the power of a noble's command to it.  At this point things were pretty much over and before long everyone was starting to come back together as Jeremiah was killed by some pretty flashy magic, a pity he couldn't be captured but it couldn't be helped.

The day was won, now it was just the aftermath to deal with.

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Ian stayed down where Marianne had set him, keeping his crossbow ready and watching out in case he needed to use it. He wasn't able to see the fight going on past the tree but he was able to see the massive flash of lightning coming from Marianne's spell, followed by her fainting and falling back to knight Tiral. At this point all the fighting was beginning to die down so he tapped one of the soldiers set to guard him and told them that he should be fine from here and sent them to help with what's left of the bandits.

He again looked over to where Marianne and Tiral were. Pushing himself off of the debris he'd been behind he carefully limped his way toward them, coming up behind Tiral to kneel by them both. "Tiral was it? I can watch over her, even carry her back if needed. You should help round up what's left of the bandits, they may already have it handled but couldn't hurt to have everyone on it" Sir Tiral was more combat capable than him at this point, what with his injuries. He also wanted to return the favor for Marianne's help just before. While kneeling there he made to put his good arm on her shoulder, unaware of the lingering electricity. He flinched when he felt it shock him and let out a sigh when he saw it make some of the fur on his tail stand on end. Taking his hand off Marianne to avoid more shocks and shifting to a seated position he curled his tail around in front of him and idly stroked his fur back down while he kept his eye on her. 

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"Teller"

Anton Duboi

Teller had been unable to participate in the battle with the bandit king. It was all he could do to help the wounded, those suffering from a stray arrow or crossbow bolt, and even a few who had severe wounds from a sharp sword or axe. He hadn't liked it, but Anton had been forced to choose between the healing or the harm that ruled his actions and nobody could do both at the same time. Everyone had no choice but to dedicate themselves to one or the other, or they risked doing neither. 
Anton was relieved when the fighting had come to and end and had overseen the wounded being rounded up and deposited near the formerly burning log. Now occupied by high ranking members of the Iron Rose, Fanilly herself, and other strong members, it was easier to give aid where it was needed. The man who had been cleaved in half by the remorseless king of the bandits still bled somewhere on the field but that was fate. Save what you could. 

Anton was crouched over a young woman, around the age of 27, her armor had been stripped off after a short sword had gouged her painfully in the ribs. A cloth covered her chest area as the doctor administered first a sedative to ease the girl into a short and painless sleep, and a small amount of his healing salve had been rubbed onto her wound when he had finished cleaning off the dirt and sewn the wound up tight. Within a few hours her wound would be healed but her broken ribs would need to be done with either a priests magic or naturally over time.
Teller waved at two men standing nearby to come over. They complied with haste when they realized he was the doctor. 

"I need both of you to gather up some stretchers. Anything can be used as long as its sturdy material. Tear up tents, find cots, strike the limbs off the nearby trees, whatever you have to do. If you find carts laying about that are still in working order please bring them too. The wounded might not be able to ride a horse back home." 

The soldiers saluted and gathered a few extra hands before leaving to do their duty as members and friends to the injured. Teller wrapped the womans lower torso in bandages as best he could to prevent dirt from getting into the wound again, and with help from another, managed to put the womans shirt back on. 

The next patient was older. 45. Male. Graying beard and short haircut. Small gash to the forehead. Other injuries included a few scraped, a painful burn to the left leg where he had fallen into a campfire, and a barbed crossbow bolt had ripped through his wrist. The bolt was still in his flesh when the doctor approached. 

"You the doc?" The man asked from his seated position, back resting on a nearby stump. 

"What gave it away." 

The man sighed and lifted his arm for the doctor to see. "I know the procedure. Save the numbing stuff for the ones that really hurt." 

Teller oblidged and crouched down on his knee, the other knee was up so he could place the mans injured arm over it for a bit more stability. Grabbing the bolts head he looked at the man and nodded, waiting for the patient to brace himself. To his credit, the knight grabbed a piece of wood and stuffed it in his mouth and gave the nod.
Teller snapped the head off the flimsy wood stock of the bolt, eliciting a stifled groan of pain. Grasping the opposite end, he pulled out the arrow from the wound. Thankfully it was not heavily bleeding and nothing appeared to be fractured, so Teller again cleaned off the wound as best he could before applying a drop of the salve and wrapping the wound from his supply of bandages. At the going rate, he mused there would be just enough for everyone. 

"Anything you can do for the leg?" The old man spat out the piece of wood and panted, bringing up his burned leg. The metal plating of his armor had suffered the most, sporting an oily black coating across what used to be polished metal, the leather straps had caught fire and fallen off as the other hard leather below the plating caught fire too. 

"Not gonna like this. Gonna have to cut the leather around your knee and peel it off the burn. Cleanin' this up isn't gonna be easy either so you're gonna have the stifle yourself a little longer. Sedative this time would be a good idea." Teller rambled as he reached into his pocket to grab the sharp scalpel. 

"Do what you gotta do, I guess." The old man grabbed the wood again and steeled himself for what was to come.

Anton worked with his usual enthusiasm and skill, neatly cutting the leather before sliding the knife down the leg. The blade was razor sharp and tore the leather with ease until he finally managed to get the burned remains seperated enough to peel off the burnt area it had almost fused to from the heat. The skin below was an angry red and sensitive, sending painful spasms whenever just a slight breeze hit it, eliciting more gasps from the patient. The needle was in his thigh and numbing him to a point where it was safe to operate without fear of a twitch ruining his steady workmanship. Barehanded, Teller peeled off the burnt scraps methodically and applied a small amount of his salve across the afflicted areas as he went until the last bit of leather was removed. Bandages applied, wounds cleaned, and the soldier unconscious, the doctor moved on.

His next patient was a bit of an oddity. 

Marianne Delacroix was not injured in any way he could see but still was slumped over. Over exertion? Something to do with her magic? It was hard to tell as he approached. It was only thanks to the ramblings of one Tirel Yevan that Teller had any idea what the issue could be. So the mana exhaustion was the issue and likely a bit of physical exhaustion coupled in. They had just been in a fight. 

@VitaVitaAR@harinezumikouken

Teller approached steadily, the hawk-beaked mask and the glass lenses hid any facial features but it was clear he wasn't an enemy. Taking in the scene rather quickly he spoke up as he crouched down next to Marianne, careful not to touch her after he noticed a tiny bit of static electricity spark on her hair. Glancing over at Tirel, he quickly surmised why he was sitting too.

"No physical wounds visible on Female patient. Breathing appears to be normal, armor remains undamaged on the front end. Static electricity has rendered second patient in a similar downed state. Second patient appears to be in his very early twenties. Fatigued but otherwise no worse than the first. First patient however is not conscious."

Teller turned from Marianne and Tirel to view Ian. Now there was a piece of work. 

"Broken arm. Wounded pride?." Teller addressed Ian like livestock, approaching the cat earned fellow. "Something I can help with?"@zetsuko

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Sir Garrett

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As Sult’s hands lingered Sir Garrett gave her a pensive look although it was taking all of his concentration to keep a look of disgust off of his features. It really wasn’t Sult’s fault but he could never get over how much magic felt so damn unnatural to him. As she mentioned her training as a priestess Sir Garrett relaxed slightly. 

At Least the magic is the result of a God...not that it really makes it all that much better.

Looking down at her hands his eyebrow raised and he gave her a half grin as she finally took her hands off of him. With that finally turned to survey the damage. It looked like they hadn’t lost any of the knights although there appeared to be plenty of wounded as he say Alex approaching the other side of the log. 

Shooting a glance over at Fanilly he saw that Tyaetha had been reunited with the Captain which mean that his job here was done for the most part. As the effects of the magic faded Sir Garrett took his sword hefted it onto his shoulder. Jumping from the ground in front of the log onto the top of it so that he could see the rest of the battlefield Sir Garrett took note of the others still there.

Who threw that lighting bolt?

Looking down the Hill Knight took in the individuals sitting against the log. Sir Tiral was a mage but a known Ice magic which only left… Sir Garrett’s face contorted into something between anger and disgust as he realised who had thrown the bolt of lightning. Of course it’s you, why do all of the newer knights rely on magic? It's a handicap not an advantage. With a heavy sigh Sir Garrett jumped from the top of the log to the ground on the other side. Looking at Marianne the Hill Knight pursed his lips and eyed the doctor who had apparently passed her over leaving her to recover on her own. The savage part of his brain that was born fighting the barrow undead of his homeland told him to walk away and do his best to stay as far away from this witch as he could. Still...no one had bothered to wake her up…

With a heave Sir Garrett drove his sword into the ground next to his foot before he carefully knelt over Marianne. The static that was left covering her did not scare the Hill Knight as he gently reached down and pressed his leather gloved hands onto her shoulder and gently shook the young woman. It took all of his control to not run from her as she lay there. 

What the hell am I doing? There are plenty of others here who could take care of her. Hell that is what Teller is suppose to do.

Rolling his eyes at his own borderline cowardice Sir Garrett gave the girl another gentle shake. “Dame Marianne, I can see you’re still breathing. Nap time's over” 

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Sult inhaled so slightly, looking at the perspective of things. Fanilly seemed to compose herself quite neatly, and compensated the lack of height with the log's own. She would've looked majestic, if she wasn't just a simple teenager. Still there was hope, as the orders were sound and solemn.

However, deep in the trickster's mind, other things sprung to mind. I was thinking too much with my loins it seems. Why did I reveal my magic at the worst possible moment? Now everyone will want Sult's miracle touchy cure, and I'll be all drained and tired, and sweaty... and so much for this easy quest. I wanted to slack off a bit...

The former priestess-in-training, blithe spirit, and knight by vocation just resigned herself to her fate, looking at her surroundings. Well, she wasn't that heartless to deny her magical blessing to the people who needed it after a first checkup by the resident creepy doc. Specially that Hundi. Puppy eyes were a most dangerous weapon in her mind. Yet, something else caught her attention first.

Sir Garret was gently nudging Sparky, trying to wake her up from her mana overexertion.

"Maybe one should kiss the sleeping beauty." Sult shrugged as she advanced. She pouted so slightly, and then as if struck by a revelation, she suddenly grinned.

"I know! I'll use a new magical revival spell!" Sult added, with a mischievous grin, as she plucked out some small icicle of the log, advancing towards the unconscious Marianne. "Let's see." She paused.

"Wakey wakey, sparky." And then, without further notice, she slid the chunk of ice in the other damsel's back of the neck "Seriously WAKE UP OH MY REON THERE IS AN ADDER CRAWLING IN YOUR ARMOR." She added, her tone raising in feigned alarm.

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With the captain acknowledging Tyaethe's suitability as a bodyguard and the injured being tended to, Tyaethe sheathed the sword on her back and looked around for the bisected knight. Whilst the injured needed a lecture on how it was ridiculous to get yourself hurt in a fight against common bandits, and some lessons to drive the point home, it was obviously the wrong time to address them. Instead, gather up the dead--though anyone dying in this fight was even more unreasonable in the paladin's mind--and start the journey home.

Fortunately, nobody had trodden over the body in the rush to get to Jeremiah and the undead was able to identify the man. A veteran of the War of the Red Flag, he should have been a more than capable guard for the captain in her temporary absence--'should' being the key word. A surprise attack from an enormous sword was capable of felling almost any foe, and she should know. "Enjoy your rest in the Twin Palaces, my friend."

Now carrying the man--both halves--she waited for the doctor to be finished with his work, or for someone else to come along so they could fetch the shield. Best to connect the two parts before checking if one of the magic users could preserve the dead before heir burial.

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Marianne Delacroix

It wasn't until Sir Garrett laid his hand on her shoulder to shake her, ignoring her cloak of electricity with his leather-protected gloves, that she started to rouse from her impromptu slumber. Eyelids slowly fluttering open, her vision blurry, Sir Garrett's face gradually came into focus. In any other situation, she'd be extremely uncomfortable with how close he was to her, but with her head still pounding she couldn't be bothered. He was saying something to her, but his words came across muffled and unintelligible as if she were underwater. Wincing from being lightly shaken, she softly groaned and her eyes closed shut again. She was felt absolutely exhausted. More than likely from the combination of mana over exhaustion and head trauma.

However...

All of this was immediately ignored and forgotten the moment she felt an intense chill shoot from her neck down her back. Waking instantly as her eyes snapped open and she let out a sharp gasp, Marianne got to her feet and tried as best she could to reach behind her to grab whatever it was that gave her such a fright. Yelping and letting out little anxious cries as she 'danced' and hopped about, even more so after hearing something about a snake from Dame Sult. It wasn't that she was afraid of snakes, she just didn't like being touched by unknown creatures. Especially to have one crawl on her. 

It wasn't until she finally grabbed the offending piece of ice and held it in her hands to look at it to realize that a slight joke had been played on her. Looking at the partially melted icicle, her mouth hung open as she looked up to Dame Sult and stared at her with an incredulous expression. The blood in her cheeks immediately heated as she turned a bright red, mortified and embarrassed at such unbecoming behavior of herself. She wasn't mad at Dame Sult as she was simply trying to help wake her, and it worked quite effectively, she  just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for a little while. Quickly tossing the icicle aside and smoothing the front of her clothing and skirt, she desperately attempted to regain her composure. Clearing her throat, she strided over to her sword which lay near where she had fallen and returned it to its sheath.

She looked at all who had seen her little display and politely bowed her head to each of them.
"Th-...thank you all for...waking me. N-now if you'll excuse me, I must...uphold Delacroix traditions..."
Straightening herself up a little more, she cleared her throat once again. Remaining silent about the little show that she just gave.
Her cheeks still burning an intense red, she turned her back to the group and walked toward the center of the camp where the dead were being gathered and captive bandits. She couldn't walk away fast enough.

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Gillian’s face was slightly flushed, both from the heat of the battle and its conclusion for their flank. The movement, for their part, had been entirely pointless, and he swore he heard at least one knight describe it as ‘being caught with their dicks in their hands’ by the end. While they effectively missed out on the second portion of the battle, none of them were dead, and he would gladly take the embarrassment of poor command over the alternative. He collected his abandoned spear while the remainder of the flank celebrated or swept across the battlefield, performing the normal mercy killings for those too injured to take captive. The captains charge still weighed heavily in his thoughts, how could that child be so damned foolish? Were there more to the ambush than just the tree and some crazy bandit ‘king’ they could have well suffered greater losses. Still, were he to admit that to Klien, his old friend would surely tear into him for focusing too strongly on the hypothetical. 

He is pushed out of his thoughts by a sharp twang of pain coursing through his artificial arm. He grabs the offending appendage, hissing curses while the wave of pain washes over him. The Adrenalin of the fight had since worn off, and the minor hit now began to show its true colors, the socket of the arm audibly grinding in his ears as he moved the arm. He sighs, knowing that going to the doctor should be made a priority, though the thought filled him with more anxiety than any battle could. The only one he knew of was the odd fellow in the plague mask from earlier, and little about the man screamed ‘warm beside manner’.  Lifting up his gauntlet a bit, the young man whispers into the black chitenous wrist laying underneath, “Le Vrai Nom”.  He shuddered as the cold rush of magic shot through him, watching as the hard black shell of his arm fades into pale flesh. It would hardly hold up to the scrutiny of a trained medicine man, but it should be enough to avoid causing too much of a scene. 

 "Th-...thank you all for...waking me. N-now if you'll excuse me, I must...uphold Delacroix traditions..." he hears as the approaches the now frozen log, as the young Delacroix rushes past, face flush, evidently fleeing some social fuax pas between her and the two knights who had rushed to aid the young captain. Teller was not far away, already tending to the hundi knight. “Is…this the line for the good doctor then?” he asks the two, clutching his arm at  the shoulder. 
@atomicnut @Themerlinhawk

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FujiwaraPhoenix Archer Inferno

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Tiral gave a slight nod towards Ian, his body still aching like it had been run through by a bolt of lightning. Which, to be fair, it just had been, so there was still a considerable amount of pain that he had to deal with. With his mana almost gone right now, even standing up straight was a bit of a chore. Even so, with the captain's orders, he would have to give a report... Even with his current situation, there would be no excuses if he didn't.
...
Well, assuming the orders would be brought down with a firm hand, at least. He wasn't incapacitated unlike Marianne, after all, so that was one less excuse to pull.

Before dragging his body upright, the ever-strange doctor came over to evaluate the damage, with two of the knights who had been involved with the fight with whatever the hell Marianne had just run through with her magic following suit (albeit from the opposite direction). They woke her up in short order, to which Tiral shook his head in disapproval. Regenerating her mana would probably have gone better if she wasn't exerting herself, so at the moment she wasn't much better off than him. Well, minus the shock and all that.

With that out of the way, Tiral gritted his teeth and got to his feet unsteadily as he used the frozen log for support. Step by step, he brought himself over to the Captain's position, where he attempted to put on a brave face before nodding.

"Tiral Yevan reporting. No casualties on the southern flank. Enemy casualties, uncounted."

That was all he could muster before falling to one knee, his face contorted in pain.

"Damn... This is why I really don't like electricity..."

Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Themerlinhawk

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Bio

Sir Garrett

Themerlinhawk 

Sir Garrett frowned as Marianne scurried away after dancing around trying to get the icicle out of her armor. The trick had been a cruel one and Sir Garrett could s3e by the color of her face that it had humiliated her. Giving sult a chastising look, Sir Garrett stood up and began walking away from the group of Knights. There was no reason to do such things to their own. 

Crossing into an open area the Hill Knight tugged off his glove and stuck two fingers in his mouth. With a loud long whistle Sir Garrett called The Ash. The big horse made its way through the brush at the treeline approaching it's rider with a long gentle gait. Reaching up the big man took his old friend’s face in his hands and began scratching down The Ash’s neck. With a final pat to the side of the horse's neck Sir Garrett climbed into the saddle and began riding towards the Delacroix girl. 

As he rode by where he'd taken a crossbow quarrel earlier Sir Garrett leaned down out of the saddle and scooped up his warmaul and slid it into its loop on his saddle. Reaching down again the big knight scooped up his scabbard and rode back over to the log where with a smooth move he plucked the sword from the ground. Resheathing the blade he slung the hand and a half sword on his back. 

Wheeling The Ash around Sir Garrett frowned as he saw Marianne still standing away from everyone, still flushed. With a heavy sigh sir Garrett clicked at The Ash and started towards her.  Patting the horse's neck Sir Garrett reigned back a bit causing his horse to stop right beside Marianne. 

“You know once this huge grass scorpion crawled into my bed roll while I was sleeping. The damn thing grabbed me, thank the gods it didn't sting me, and I went tearing out of the tent I was sleeping in. Mind you I was totally naked but I went bounding through our camp and swatting at myself until it finally dawns on me the scorpion fell off outside my tent and I'm standing in the middle of our night guards and the women who were doing the preparations for the next morning's cooking. Suffice to say there was a lot of giggling and plenty of commentary from the guards. In the end they started calling me dances-with-scorpions as a joke. When I finally joined the Knights they stopped calling me that and started calling me the Scorpion Knight. Something about my reflexes and my capacity for dancing.” 

Folding his hands on the pummel of his saddle Garrett looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You appear to be missing your horse. Can I help with that? I have some skill with horses. If not I'm sure we can find a means of getting you back. 

@harinezumikouken

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Marianne Delacroix



She had managed to calm herself down some, having done her best to push what had happened out of her mind. Lost in the world of her own mind as she stood some distance away from the rest of the knights, it wasn't until she detected the presence of a living creature slowly taking its place next to her that she returned to reality. Nearly jumping with a start. Placing a hand on her chest to still its elevated beating, her eyes followed along until they met with the horse's rider. Seeing who the knight was she looked away, quickly brushing and tucking her long hair behind her ears. Making other minor adjustments to her attire. Distracting herself by smoothing the front of her skirt again, it wasn't until Sir Garrett went off into telling his own story that she realized what he was doing. Taking comfort in listening to him recall an embarrassing moment in his past, she couldn't help but smile and feel a little better as she finally met his gaze. Giving him her undivided and rapt attention. For the moment.

She made the mistake of attempting to visualize the events as they transpired, as described by Sir Garrett. Though, who could blame her. Most people with imaginations typically did. So, it was only normal that when Sir Garrett just dropped the fact that he apparently slept in the nude, Marianne had to immediately turn her head away so that he couldn't see her face. She had calmed down considerably up until that point, but for whatever reason only known to Sir Garrett he left that little detail in when it was completely possible to leave such a minor fact omitted and still achieve the desired effect. Even still, Marianne had to struggle to fight back the heat that returned to her cheeks and push the image out of her head. She couldn't view any of her comrades like that, it would be simply unbecoming and unprofessional. She couldn't imagine if something like that happened to her. She would've thought to just die on the spot from the sheer embarrassment. When he mentioned his given nickname, she couldn't help but giggle. At least it wasn't something silly. Like "Lightning princess." Sir Garrett's seemed like a rather respectable or even intimidating moniker. 

Taking a deep breath, she managed to relax enough to where only her cheeks were slightly tinged pink and turned back to face Sir Garrett. Him sharing his own little personal story with her meant a lot to her, and helped tremendously with her regaining her composure.
"Thank you for that, Sir Garrett. The secret of the 'Scorpion Knight' remains safe with me. I appreciate it, really I do."
She nodded, as if to reinforce how thankful she was.
Looking around, seeing her second horse nowhere in sight, she softly sighed when Sir Garrett mentioned her severe lack of one.
"Yes, it appears so."
She said in agreement, when he offered to aide her in locating another horse Marianne was rather surprised at how kind he was. From appearances, she took Sir Garrett to be a terrifying brute and crude animal of a man. While that was clearly evident in his combat abilities, she was pleased to learn that it was only in combat. The smile she wore grew a little more.
"That would be very kind of you, Sir Garrett. You know, that is the second horse I've lost today."
Tapping at her head and placing her hands on her hips, she laughed at her own expense.
"While I'm not the best rider around myself, I'd like to think I have decent skill with horses too. If only I could keep track of my mounts."
Crossing her arms under her chest, she looked off towards the distance.
Watching a pair of knights carrying a body, her eyes grew sad, a somber expression washing over her as she remembered what it was she was supposed to be doing at the moment.

@Themerlinhawk



Optional Theme:

Walking towards what was essentially the center of the camp, Marianne faced towards where the Sun would be setting and carefully kneeled on the ground on both knees. Moving was becoming more and more difficult due to her bruised and possibly broken ribs, breathing even more so. Adrenaline had worn off and the terrible pain in her head had returned. Even still, for as long as there was breath in her lungs and blood flowing through her veins, she would always conduct this ritual. 

Removing the white veil she kept in her hair, she bowed her head low and closed her eyes as she clutched it. Holding it close to her chest as she softly uttered the prayer that had been ingrained within her ever since she was a little girl. Only speaking loudly enough for her own ears and the Goddess Reon to hear. As she recited the prayer over and over for the sake of the fallen and injured allies, in her prayers she included the bandits who were slayed. Yes, even the bandits that were to be corralled only to be put to 'trial' and executed later which she knew was inevitable. Yes, including even the bandit leader Jeremiah whom she had ended by her own hand. With all of them in mind as she whispered her gentle words, she grew emotional. Anyone close enough could see tears welling up and eventually falling to the ground and on the front of her skirt. With each sob, her body shook painfully from her minor injuries. But, she did not falter. Reciting her prayer over and over until she was satisfied, until she believed it was enough to save their wretched souls and offer them a chance at salvation in the afterlife.

---

The tears continued to fall, her shoulders trembling as she continued to sob through her sacrosanct ritual. Within her mind, a memory was dredged up from her past. As with all Delacroix children who wished to become knights, as part of their final training they all take part in a ceremony called 'the Awakening' or 'Eveil'. Though heatedly criticized as too cruel and unusual to force children to endure, ultimately the old guard of the Delacroix nobles deemed it a necessary sin as part of Knighthood. It was a moment within her past Marianne could never forget, having been such a major turning point in her development and maturity into a proper Delacroix Knight.

There was even a special chamber dedicated for young squires and knights-to-be to participate in Eveil.
For everyone to bear witness.
Even secret wagers were placed on certain children.
Would they accept the cruelty of the world and move forward with their training?
Or would they abandon their flighty illusions of grandeur and fade away into the darkness to seek other paths in life?

Marianne could remember how much she was shaking, as if an earthquake had been forced into her little body for her to attempt to contain. Thunderstorms raging in her mind as she stared at the center of the chamber where her beloved piglet Jacques was bound to a post. Still able to run around, but not escape. She remembered how difficult it was to see, not for want of lighting. But for the fat tears that ceaselessly streamed down her cheeks. Staring at the sinister ceremonial knife that she was given to kill her cherished friend. How many precious friends had it taken from other Delacroix knights, for all of its false ornate beauty and keenly sharp edge? Turning round, to face her papa and maman. She looked for guidance, though they would offer none.

The ceremony was no well-kept secret, its details were made well known. Delacroix knights-in-training just chose not to believe it. Thinking it all a simple mind game and farse. Making the truth more soul-shattering when they stood with the ceremonial dagger in hand, feet away from their companion that they reared and raised.

Marianne, dressed in one of her favorite dresses for the day, realised how wrong and mistaken she truly was.
Hiccuping as she spoke through her cracked sobs, she cried out towards her parents.
"Papa! Maman! Say it isn't so! That it isn't true! I can't kill Jacques! I love him! He is my little brother! Mon petit frère!"
She wiped her arm across her eyes, but it didn't help stem the free-flowing tears.
She had set herself up for failure since the very first days he chose the piglet Jacques.
She didn't call him her pet. She didn't consider him her friend or companion. To her? The little pig had become as close as a brother. Being the youngest of three, she always dreamed of having a little brother or sister to care for.
But never thought she would have to take their lives. Not like this.
"Papa! Maman! Please, say something! I can't do this! I won't!"
She flung the dagger against the ground, though it did not travel far as it clattered loudly, echoing through the chamber.
She squared herself up, balling her fists as she tried to make herself seem as intimidating as possible. Though it was pointless against her giant tree of a father. She was angry, angry that such a terrible practice was required to become honored as a Delacroix Knight. She couldn't understand why.

Her father's face grew severe, enraged that his daughter acted with such impunity, with such insolence.
"Silence! Marianne Vanessa Delacroix, you will pick up that dagger and do as is required or you shall cast away all that you've worked for!" His voice was typically clear and booming in its tone and volume normally, but the design of the chamber amplified noise made his bellowing all the more impressive.
Marianne jumped, startled. Her father never raised his voice at her. He had never needed to. So, to hear her father berate her, caused her bravado to wither away as her form shrunk in both mind and body.
"In your future endeavours as an honored Delacroix Knight, you will have to commit terrible and atrocious acts! You will kill! You will end the lives of a few wretches to preserve the lives of numerous innocent! Goddess Reon forbid it, but the life you may have to take will be of those closest to your heart! This world knows no bounds in its cruelty and you must accept that fate! You will either accept that fact, or you will die in the battlefields of war!" Her father's face grew red as his shook from the sheer force of his words.
Young Marianne continued to sob and cry, shaking more out of fear for her father than anything else at the moment.
But her father wasn't done teaching her a lesson.
"How many years have you dedicated yourself already to your training!? You dare let that all fall to waste!? The stories you read and read over and over each night before bed! Stories of the venerable heroes belonging to the Iron Roses! If you cannot commit the simple act of killing, whatever in your naive little mind makes you think you are deserving of joining their ranks!? Pick up the dagger Marianne, or walk away from ever becoming an Iron Rose!"
Her father wasn't ever this mean or brutal, it all in part truth and part act for the ceremony.
Unseen to Marianne's teary and reddened eyes, her mother gently touched her father's arm as a signal that it was enough.
The rest was up to Marianne to figure out.

Marianne gasped, freezing up as she took in her father's words and thought hard.
They were right.
Though she knew the historians would never allow stories of infighting, treachery, and betrayal to taint their books...
That didn't mean that they never occurred.
How many heroes did the Immortal Knight have to put down?
Did she hesitate?
Did she struggle with the decision before ultimately committing?
Would her demons eat away at her for the decades upon decades that she had been alive?
Turning to face the knife only a few feet away from her, she slowly reached out with a shaking hand towards it. 
Grasping it tightly in her little hands until her tiny knuckles whitened.
Turning to face her 'little brother' the piglet Jacques, she swallowed dryly as she began to take her first few steps towards him.
The pathetic creature had no idea what was about to happen to him, and he cowered away from someone he was normally excited to see.
The sight pulled tightly at Marianne's heart strings. Intense sorrow gripping her heart as with each step, a fond memory shared with him flashed through her mind.

Continuing her careful stride, she looked up at the faces of the family members and friends that she knew surrounding her and Jacques in the center. All dressed in their finery for such a special occasion. The women had their makeup on and hair put up into beautiful styles. The men groomed and cleaned to a shine. Each of their faces brought about a certain sense of anger in Marianne, how dare they treat such a horrid affair as if it were some show. Catching the face of one of her mentors and trainers, the woman's eyes shifted left and right before making it look as though she were scratching an itch on her neck. But as Marianne continued to observe her, she noticed her drawing a line on the side of her neck. A parting bit of advice for the little girl.

Nodding ever so slightly, she turned back to Jacques, only a few feet away now.
Kneeling, she sweetly called out to the frightened piglet.
Beckoning him to come closer.
"H-hello, Jacques. I-I-I know...you're scared, little brother. C-come give your sister a h...hug..."
The piglet refused to come close, terrified and straining to run away from Marianne as his bindings tightened against him.
The tears came even more easily, seeing him in such a way. Knowing what she had to do. Her voice cracked every time she tried to speak so, the needed breath never coming to her as she sobbed pathetically.
Clutching the knife in one hand, she hid it behind her back as she reached out with her other hand towards Jacques.
"P-p-p....lease..."
With the knife out of sight, the piglet seemed to relax and itch just a little closer to her. She seemed distraught and needed some comfort.
As soon as the piglet's snout touched the tips of her fingers, Marianne lunged forward and wrapped her arms around the now-screeching and squealing piglet. The noises it made forever haunted Marianne as it made her blood-curdle and run cold.
Struggling and straining to maintain her hold on the piglet, Marianne begged the poor thing through her sobbing.
"S'il vous plait, mon petit frere! Please, don't make this any harder for us! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
As the piglet screamed, Marianne raised her knife quickly and plunged it into Jacques' neck. With a rip and slice, the act had been committed in seconds. A spurt of blood splattered against Marianne's face and stained her dress as it began to flow with alarming speed, pooling on the ground and on the front of her dress. As the piglet's struggling slowed to a stop and its shrieks died down, Marianne's sobs grew only more intense and loud as she embraced her 'little brother' in his final moments of life.
"What did he do to you! He did nothing wrong!" She screamed at everyone in the room.
It was over in seconds. She would have to think to thank her mentor later.
Smushing her face against Jacques, she kissed his dying self over and over and whispered apologies to him as she sat there with him in his arms.

The room then broke out in applause, as if Marianne had done such a wonderful thing. Looking up and around at them all, Marianne's mouth hung agape as she was just unbelieving of what she was witnessing. The whole scene sick and perverse to her. Catching the eye of her mentor yet again, she saw her close her eyes and bow her head. Hands clasped together in prayer. Marianne wiped a bloodied arm across her eyes which only served to smear more of Jacques' blood on her face, but she didn't care. Nodding slightly, she gently set Jacque's body down on the ground and kneeled in his blood. Looking up, she saw that her parents had both vanished.

Clasping her blood-covered hands together, she closed her eyes and bowed her head as she prayed for Jacques' soul. She prayed for mercy on her own soul, and for the sick souls of the Delacroix nobles who thought the slaughter of an innocent creature a game to enjoy.
"The worst is yet to come, Marianne. You must steel your heart and your resolve." She told herself.

It would take her months to finally recover enough to resume her training as a knight.

---

But these bandits, no matter what atrocious acts they had committed. They were no animals. They were no pigs to be slaughtered. They were human beings just the same as her, though born under less than desirable conditions. Who were they? What were their names? What happened to them that caused them to become murderers and thieves? Were they victims of the world, of a broken system, or had they willingly chose this life? No matter the reason, Marianne thought that each of them could become saved. Each of them could be offered a chance at redemption and salvation. She refused to believe that a person existed that did not have 'light' and 'goodness' within their hearts.

And so, she continued to kneel there for an undetermined amount of time.
Praying for them all out of an all-encompassing love for them.
Pleading and begging to the Goddess Reon to be just and fair in her judgement of their souls.
Praying for her own soul, that the horrors of war never consume her.
Praying through her tears, that she may never hesitate in battle or still her blade out of remorse.

To Marianne, they were all like Jacques. Simply victims of the cruelties of life, the world, and human nature.

Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Zetsuko

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Ian began to chuckle at the display Marianne had made upon waking, at least until his attention turned to the doctor asking about his injuries. "Aye, just need my arm set properly" He undid the makeshift sling and held him arm out limply, ignoring Teller's tone. Once the bone was set and the arm in a proper sling for now he nodded at the doctor and left him to tend to the rest of the injured, setting off to recover his lost shields.

Spotting one he made his way over to it and bent down to pick it up, nearly flinging it in the air when he lifted it with more force than was necessary, it being lighter than it should have been. He took a surprised second look at the shield and found that it wasn't his, in fact he thought he saw one of the other knights, Tyaethe if he wasn't mistaken, wielding it. She was over in the battle with Jeremiah, so he carried the shield with him toward the fallen tree, slipping it up on top and climbing up after it, winding up next to the captain. "Fanilly" he gave her a quick nod before reaching to pick the shield back up and unintentionally dropping it down the other side, sending it clattering to the ground. His ears stood straight up as he looked down after it. "uh...Knight Tyaethe" he looked toward the knight and gestured at the shield "this was your shield right?" He was on his hand and knees on top of the tree, his tail wagging in the air behind him and one of his ears turning at the sound of Fanilly calling for reports and sir Tiral giving his.

@Raineh Daze

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Fanilly's eyes traveled over the battlefield. There were injured, yes, but it looked as if it was nothing that would be too difficult to tend to, and on their return healers could finish the job if their injuries were too difficult to mend here. That was a relief, at least. As she awaited a report, she watched, surprised, as Sult dropped an icicle down the back of the unconscious Marianne's armor... and... well... it was kind of funny... The smallish girl forced herself not to laugh. That wasn't appropriate, at all, even if levity in the aftermath of a fight seemed like it may have been an asset.

She was surprised to see Tiral get to his feet, and force himself to give a report even though he was clearly feeling unwell due to the electrical shock he had suffered.

"Ah, Sir Tiral, you were among those who I didn't require to report, er..." she waved her hands. Fanilly hadn't meant for those whose conditions would make it difficult to make a report, at the very least. However, it seemed that hadn't stopped Tiral, even as she watched him slump on one knee.

"... Transporting the injured back is a necessity," she began, feeling somewhat foolish for stating such an obvious fact, "Prisoners are to have their hands bound and be transported in a single file line. Do not harm them, they are already facing punishment for harming the innocent. Causing them pain is pointless cruelty."

The return trip was rather uneventful. The prisoners were utterly crushed, defeated by the loss of so many and the slaying of their leader. Who could ever have prepared them for the Iron Roses? The injured were transported with care, thankfully there were very few with any serious injuries. But that was to be expected, really, as the Iron Roses were an order of legend.

Fanilly traveled at the head of the Knights, upon her white mare. The farmer who had been used as bait by the bandits seemed to be capable of making a full recovery. His injury had looked worse then it actually was, apparently, though it was still bad enough that, if they had not found him, he would have perished.

To the young captain, it felt entirely too long to reach their destination.

But it was dawn when they came upon their destination. The walls of the capital loomed ahead of them.

Aimlenn had been built long, long ago, construction having begun shortly after Thaln itself was founded. In spite of the country's embattled history, the capital had never wavered, never fallen. Its tall, strong walls held fast. Aimlenn, among the people, was known as the fortress-city, as the grey stone walls, ornately adorned with symbols of Thaln, were a sight known far and wide across the land.

The immense steel and wood gate stood before them. In this time of peace, it remained open, and Fanilly led her knights through it.

The streets bustled with activity, merchants transporting goods, citizens going about their business, and as they headed in further, nobility and the rich with their entourages of guards, maids, and manservants walking the street. What was universal to all these people is the glance they cast up as the Iron Roses entered. Many, especially the average citizens, looked on in awe as the knights of legend proceeded in, taking with them what could only be those bandits who had hurt and killed so many.

The guards, many of them soldiers of Thaln, cast dark glares towards the prisoners.

Fanilly did her best not to react to any of it. Even when it was looks of awe, she was Captain of the Iron Roses. She could not let anything distract her from her duty.

The stone fortress that was home to Aimlenn's garrison and prison soon received the bandits. Their fate was essentially sealed, an execution would greet them. Barring some sort of sudden reprieve(which seemed highly unlikely, to say the least), they were set to die for their murders and thefts.

But Fanilly did not remain there. Instead, she lead her knights further down the winding streets.

The Iron Rose Knights were based near the Royal Family's castle. It was an impressive building, blue tiles lining the roof and windows of stained glass, displaying roses. The Iron Rose itself was displayed above the entrance, gleaming in the morning sun. The structure itself was known as Candaeln.

Within, the wood floors were spotless and clean, and the plastered walls displayed portraits of past Captains, and another notable Iron Roses. Display cases of weapons of previous knights lined the walls, but one was placed above all.

The Saint's Blade, the Starlight Sword, Bane of the Vos Korvungand. The sword that had taken the head of Merrn the Kinslaughterer. The weapon that had pierced the heart of Volkstraad the red dragon. The silvery, almost ethereal-seeming blade of the Starlight Saint of Roses, Elionne herself, stood in the center of the room, carefully locked inside of glass case. It was the only thing that remained after the first captain of the Iron Roses had vanished. The blade was strong, but elegant, a sharp tip and a razor edge with a star-shaped crossguard.

Fanilly turned to her knights.

"Take the injured to the healers," she ordered, swiftly. The healers were to the left of the entrance hall, stationed in their own wing of Candaeln. "For everyone else, I would take some rest. You've earned it."

Fanilly glanced towards the stairs, and began to approach them. As she ascended, she had to admit to one desperate thought:

The Captain of the Iron Roses desperately desired a bath.

Of course, moments after she left the sight of the others, a courier would arrive at the front of Candaeln.

Oh, dear. What timing.

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by harinezumikouken

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Marianne Delacroix



The sight of Aimlenn's walls always took her breath away, in a good sense. There was something about the sheer size and grandeur of the fortress-city that inspired a sense of awe within her. But most importantly for Marianne, it meant that she could now rest. If only for a little while. Following Captain Fanily's lead, she sat as tall and as straight as she could with her head held high. Expression stoic as she could feel the gaze of many as she filed along with the rest of the Iron Roses and accompanying knights. A deep and satisfying feeling of pride blossomed in her heart, and she couldn't help but smile.

Even through her pain and misery, her breathing still laboured and head still aching dully, she decided drop the act and upkeep of appearances. Seeing excited little children rushing out into the streets to see the legendary Iron Roses, she couldn't help but turn to the little ones to give them a little wave of her hand and flash each of them a warm smile. After all, a Knight served the people. It made no sense to her that they had to appear to be these cold and hardened warriors. They had to show a little compassion and kindness every now and then. It couldn't hurt to build a rapport with the people. Besides, she could see herself in some of the little girls. Why not be a role model for them?

Once out of the eyes of the public and arriving at the entrance of the Royal Family's castle, Marianne couldn't help but break away from the formation and their ranks to linger about. Taking in the gorgeous and wonderfully designed architecture of it all, admiring their craftsmanship that completed such a grand breath-taking image. Satisfied with sight-seeing for the time being, though she would come to familiarize herself in the future becoming well-known to her, she headed towards the stables.

---

Arriving just in time to see Sir Garrett busying himself with removing his equipment from his horse, Marianne thought to thank him for having located her original horse. Though she held no strong bond for the creature, it would've been a hassle to replace all of the equipment and supplies she had brought along to prepare for the mission. But, for some reason she couldn't bring herself to make her presence known. Instead, she elected to busy herself with removing her equipment with the aide of the stable hands in silence. She made a note to thank him at a later time, once they all had a chance to relax and decompress.

The stable hands insisted on carrying the bulk if not all of her supplies and equipment as she made for the main building that the Iron Roses called their home and base. Refusing to allow Marianne carry a single thing other than what she had on her body. Not wanting to insult their generosity, she caved and accepted their kind gesture. Of course, as with each time she entered, she always had to stop and admire the encased weapons and portraits of past Iron Rose Captains. She wondered if the weapons that were on display were only of those belonging to the said prior Captains. Standing close to the glass case that housed Captain Elionne's sword, she wondered if other notable Iron Roses would have their own weapons enshrined. The light reflected off of the beautiful blade and twinkled in her own dark-brown eyes. Her own sword nothing special, but possibly in the far future?

Shaking her head, she looked up as Captain Fanilly issued her order. Her Captain's voice breaking her free of her wandering mind. To have all the Iron Roses that sustained injuries seek treatment with the healers. Simple enough, and an order that Marianne would happily oblige. Once she had her things in order and bathed first though.

With the stable hands still in tow, Marianne made her way to her room. The heels of her solleret clacking resoundly against the wooden floors. As she rounded the corner into the hallway that would eventually lead to her room, she was greeted by the sight of her seven handmaidens waiting diligently in front of her door for her return. Each in their traditional maid outfits and silver domino masks. At the sight of her, the seven handmaidens lined up in front of her and each bowed their head low as they curtsied. In unison, the seven spoke.

"Welcome back, Lady Marianne. We are pleased to see you home safe."
Marianne chuckled and smiled, bowing her head and curtsying in response to them.
"Thank you. I am glad to be back."
As the seven maids returned upright, they saw the stable hands gawking at them and immediately moved to liberate them of Marianne's belongings. Shooing them off once they had her things in hand, they then ushered Marianne herself into the room and shut the door behind them locking it seconds after closing it.

Her handmaidens always worked and moved with an almost feverish intensity. Setting forth to quickly put away her things and once done with that task, they swiftly moved onto the next task of removing Marianne's worn equipment to be maintained by their hands at a later time. Marianne couldn't help but giggle at the sight of how efficiently they moved. She was glad her family from back home thought to send them with her after she had been officially ordained as an Iron Rose Knight. Not that she wasn't completely capable of doing everything herself, but having her friends around made things awfully convenient.

As Marianne stood and her maids worked at quickly removing her equipment, she could slowly feel her body lighten a little and relax. Waves of trapped body heat escaped from her as she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Lady Marianne! Lady Marianne!" One exclaimed.
"Tell us, how did your first mission as an Iron Rose go?" a second one asked.
"Was it hard? Did you have to go somewhere nasty?" a third asked.
"Did you have to fight? Were the enemies tough?" a fourth asked.
"What else did you do, what else happened while you were gone?" A fifth pleaded.
"Oh, please tell us the details Lady Marianne! We were worried sick while you away!" A sixth demanded.
"You'll tell us how it went, won't you Lady Marianne? Please do, we're all aflutter to know the story of your first incursion as an Iron Rose!" The seventh one cried.

Like chirping birds, hungry for the 'seed' that was 'gossip', they bombarded her with questions with excited expressions. Marianne couldn't help but laugh a little, being careful not to laugh too hard until she had her visit with the healers.

"Ladies, ladies! Please, one at a time! I cannot speak and answer you all as fast as you ask me! I have just returned home! I desperately need to bathe and seek treatment for my injuries!" She said cheerfully.

Each of the seven handmaids looked at one another, and then to Lady Marianne.
"Injuries?" One quietly asked.
Marianne slowly padded over the tall mirror she had in the room to stand in front of it. Lifting up the blouse she still had on, she turned and looked at her sides in the light to see a large and ugly dark bruise marring her skin. The sight of which elicited multiple shocked gasps from the maids. A few of them covering their mouths. Stepping closer to the mirror, Marianne lifted her long hair up and examined the sides and backs of her head to see that there was dried blood from when her head had impacted with the ground after being dismounted from her horse. Sighing as she let her hair fall freely, the next question was which came first.

To bathe?
Or to have her injuries looked at? 
Preferably not by that gruesome Doctor Teller.
She thought about it for a moment.
"..."
"Bathe." Marianne decided, nodding at her reflection in the mirror.
She had made it this far and felt fine if not a bit sleepy and hungry.
Besides, she couldn't possibly get seen by a healer or doctor smelling like she probably did. As dirty and sweaty as she had been.
That would've been mortifying.

So, she turned back to her maids and smiled yet again.
"I'll be taking my bath first, I look and smell like Death!" she joked.
Which of course, set off the firestorm of maids, her energy a sign to the maids that she was well.
"Lady Marianne, tell us about the other Iron Roses!"
"How is the new Captain?"
"I heard she was but a little child!"
"Did you have to hurt anyone, Lady Marianne?"
They all then stopped and looked at one another as Marianne gathered what was necessary for her bath, partially ignoring them. Until...
"Lady Marianne...How are the men?"
Marianne froze, her face reddening out of a mixture of false anger and some reason, embarrassment.
The maids all squealed and flocked to Marianne, surrounding her as she struggled to push past them. To escape.
"How cute are they, Lady Marianne!"
"Are any of them looking for a bride?"
"There must be some handsome ones in the Iron Roses, Lady Marianne!"
Like a hivemind, they all stopped for a moment. Marianne groaned, knowing that any brief silence meant that they all synchronized in their thought patterns. Anything that came from their mouths from that moment on was positively dreadful, she knew.
"Is there anyone you are interested in, Lady Marianne?" they asked in unison.

Marianne's face could not flush any redder than it already had. Unlocking and throwing the door to her room open wide, she stormed out. A little too loudly declaring. "I'M TAKING MY BATH.", her voice echoing down the hall as the flock of handmaidens all laughed and giggled after her like giddy schoolgirls with the rest of Marianne's things.

Hidden 8 yrs ago → 8 yrs ago Post by Themerlinhawk

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Themerlinhawk

Aegis Kai Doru

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Sir Garrett

Themerlinhawk

As Marianne walked away Sir Garrett chuckled to himself. The little flush at the mention of his nakedness had been a bit of a surprise. Wheeling The Ash he started towards the treeline. Reaching into his saddlebag he pulled out a single ripe apple. The Ash’s ears flicked and his nostrils flared as Sir Garrett sliced the apple against the edge of his Khopesh which had an exposed blade on the left side of the Ash’s flank. 

Whistling lowly and popping his lips Sir Garrett made for an edge of the forest that had disruption in the low brush with snapped branches. Moving The Ash into the treeline Sir Garrett continued popping his lips and whistling gently. After another few feet of riding he pricked his ears as the Ash’s flicked towards a cluster of trees. 

As Sir Garrett rounded the edge of the group of trees he could hear the sound of low fearful whinnies. Sure enough; as Sir Garrett approached he saw a mare tugging at the branches of a tree where her bridal was caught. With a smile Sir Garrett lead the Ash over and offered the skittish mare the two halves of the apple. After much prancing and snapping the mare finally calmed and took the apple from his hands. 

With a swift stroke Sir Garrett cut through the branches the bridal was caught in with a heavy axe that hung from the left side of his saddle. Snatching the mare’s reins Sir Garrett began leading her back. 

Approaching Marianne from behind he waited patiently for her to finish again. “I think I found your horse Dame Marianne.” With that he smiled and let the reins go so she could take the horse. “Please feel free to call on me if you need anything else. I’m happy to help.”

With that Sir Garrett turned the Ash and started back towards where the Iron Rose Knights were forming up.

Sir Garrett broke from the line of the Iron Rose Knights after they entered the outer courtyard of the Candaeln. The big fortress had been his home for quite some time and he’d grown accustomed to the stone that forever impeded his view of the horizon. It was not easy since he craved the blue sky and it was forever hidden from his view save for when he went to the stables and when he sat in the window in his room. 

Leading The Ash over to the stables Sir Garrett dismounted and chuckled as the stable hands quickly made their way over to him helping with The Ash. Reaching up Sir Garrett took the big saddle and settled it so that he could begin the process of collecting his weapons. With deft hands he unstrapped the large Khopesh and tightened the leather cords hanging from it so they would not drag on the ground. Setting the weapon aside he gave it a half smile. It had been years since he’d fought solely with the weapon. Now it served purely as a cavalry weapon. Replaced by the weapons of the Iron Rose; the Maul, the Bastard Sword. How I have changed. I don’t sleep under the sky anymore, I don’t fight as I was taught, and I wear armor of metal. What would my siblings think of me now?

Taking the shortbow and quiver of arrows from one of the stable hands that had removed it from the Ash’s saddle. Slowly wrapping it Sir Garrett considered the past the bow had survived through: the kills, the battles, triumph and folly. The bow had followed him longer than the damn Khopesh and still it endured. Carefully unstringing it Sir Garrett wrapped it up with the quiver and set it next to the Khopesh. Reaching over to the saddle Sir Garrett unlooped the set of four fine silk cords that ran from the pummel of the saddle to the end of four lethal looking short throwing spears which had nasty hooks that ran the length of the spear heads. They were used for running down animals and beast alike, those who fled. They were also used for unhorsing other riders. They had not been used regularly since he’d arrived as they were not considered…Knightly.

With practiced hands Sir Garrett wrapped the cords and wrapped the spears in a heavy cloth. Accepting the heavy single handed axe that the astable hands gave to him. Bundling up all of his gear Sir Garrett walked over to The Ash. With the stable hands help Sir Garrett removed his gloves and helmet before he began brushing down the horse and carefully grooming the massive stallion. The whole affair took some time and by the time Ash was fully groomed Sir Garrett was growing tired of the heavy armor. Shoulder still aching Sir Garrett collected up his weapons and made off towards the main building on foot. 

Catching the very end of Fanilly’s speech Sir Garrett simply sighed and began walking off down one of the corridors. The trek to his room was a long lonely one and when he finally got there battle exhaustion was finally setting in. It use to be that once he could ride, fight, feast and bed woman for days on end. Now with the Knights much of his time was spent training and attending social functions. It was rarer that he was in the field; not like when his clan rode from barrow to barrow, home to home and battle to battle. Pressing open the door to his room he hauled the gear into the room. The rather large room was for the large part unadorned save for his collection of weapons and armor. 
Carefully unwrapping his gear Sir Garrett looked at the walls, musing as to if he wanted to deal with his weapons now or later. After a long pause he set the pile of gear on a table and went to fetch a squire. The process of removing his armor was another lengthy session the man had to endure with a tired brain and sore muscles. Really the armor was another thing that had been a serious change. As the squire helped him removed the plate he stared off into the distance his gaze fixed on the skull half mask on the wall where it hung above his original set of armor. Layered boiled leather, segments of chain mail and small plates of metal hung from heavy straps that had held the whole of set to him. Beneath it was a set of warpaints which had filled in the gaps in his armor. 

Sending the damaged piece of his armor away with the squire to be repaired Sir Garrett sent for water. Standing in almost nothing looking out the window Garrett waited for the servant to finish drawing his bath before finally walking across to the bath and climbing into it. Funny enough he’d never had a bath before joining the knights. The warm water worked miracles on his stiff muscles and perhaps part of the reason he had grown so soft was this sort of life. Looking across the room he contemplated a pole axe head been meaning to test out. The whole weapon was banded with metal and the axe head had a wicked curve and a nasty spike on the reverse side. Perhaps next time he could make use of it and one of the flails. With a sigh Sir Garrett remembered he need to send for a new shield. 

Closing his eyes he leaned back on the tub and just as he was starting to drift off a knock at his door caused Sir Garrett’s eyes to snap open in annoyance. Ofcourse.

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