For a moment, just a moment, Fanilly's focus on the entire situation left. Marianne taking her hand confused her for a brief period of time... and then she felt the older girl's lips pressed to her skin. For a few moments, the girl was dead silent... and then her cheeks reddened deeply almost immediately. In fact, it almost seemed as if steam was pouring out of her ears, though obviously this wasn't actually occurring. Still, it was obvious she was embarrassed, especially when the girl began to mumbled incoherently. She only got redder as her hand was pressed to Marianne's chest.

"A-a-a-apology accepted!" Fanilly stammered out, before quickly turning away, pulling her no longer tingling hand away as she did, her cheeks still furiously red. no, she had to calm down. She had to stop thinking about what had just happened. There was a girl to save. "W-we have v-very little time, s-s-so... so only take time to don your armor if you can d-do so quickly!"

Fanilly took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. No. Calm down. Relax. Breath in, breath out.

She was Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. She couldn't look so easily disrupted. She couldn't let herself look that way. She had to live up to what anyone would expect from such a person.

"The assassin's punishment is up to the Princess," she said, having managed to calm herself down for the moment. It appeared that Nero's knights had arrived as well, though they seemed somewhat... odd, Fanilly was not about to reject the assistance as long as they could fight well. That was the important part.

"And..."

She trailed off when an older man commented on Marianne's... backside. Images she needed to immediately banish from her mind filled her brain, and she shook her head desperately to cleanse then, blushing once more.

"T... Tyaethe is right," she said, turning to face the child-like knight as she did, and finally noticing the fading green glow around her. What was that...? "It's best to bring the assassin along with us."

The assassin herself had been staring incredulously at the proceeding events, before swiftly writing out her message.

I'm no liar. Anyone who would lie about a relative in danger is disgusting.

Moments later, a few servants brought a change of clothes for the smallk night, as well.

Fanilly took another deep breath.

"Then we'll be moving out as soon as everyone is prepared."

---

As the Princess attempted to calm her mind and proceed to the base of the stairs(and not quite realizing Sult was among her guards given her current mental state), the Court Mage caught up to her and the other knights.

"Ah... Y-Your Highness, y-you're well, aren't you?" she said, panting slightly. A short jog had worn her out so easily?

"Bethany? Yes, of course, the Iron Roses... they've kept me safe," she replied, nodding as she looked back over to the somewhat older girl.

"I-I'm so glad..."

Thanking the Court Mage as she left to be at the Princess' side, Tiral quickly moved off towards the location he had been directed towards, constantly reminding himself that time was definitely of the essence. Though the issue had already begun to get a bit messy, he could at least catch a few snippets of the conversations popping up left and right around them. Regardless of how... Vulgar some of them were, the fact that they had a necromancer in a crypt to deal with now?
...
Well, that wasn't exactly the most heartening of things to hear. Any sort of magic specializing in the dead whilst being surrounded by skeletons was something that just screamed 'disaster in the making' to him...

And he was fairly certain that controlling the hordes of undead wasn't going to be any easier. So long as there wasn't any sort of skeleton army marching at their doorsteps, though, it could probably be workable.

Walking through the doorway to the room and checking over the desk, Tiral found a small stack of papers piled neatly in a stack. A swift motion later, and he walked straight out of the room, now carrying said papers in his hands as he began to leaf through them. A few more frivolous things were written on a few papers in the mix: ones that were more suited to aiding the populace in a more rudimentary manner. But...

"Ah, here we are. Magical wards..."

Muttering to himself as he began to read the notes in detail, the ice mage stopped before the captain and, hearing the announcement to move out, frowned a bit.

"Er... Pardon, Captain, but shouldn't we return to base before moving out, then? We're not exactly ready for combat dressed as we are now, after all. I understand that the situation requires us to be quick, but at the same time..."

Christina glanced at the newcomer joining their group and her mood visibly darkened. She could recognize the Court Mage by description, and her presence bothered the Knight more than anything else that had happened that night.

"Mage," she acknowledged tersly, though the single word was laced with barely restrained venom. It was the first crack in her passivity that had shown itself since she had arrived in the capital, but she kept herself under control.

Gillian turned his gaze to the crowd as the small crew and the princess headed out from the room, glaring a path through the crowd. In the back of his mind, he was grateful the hundi had seemingly taken up the reigns in easing the princess. People seemed at ease with the dog eared folk, though he himself could never figure why. Perhaps it was just he was always more a cat person? Regardless, he was doing a better job of it than Gillian. Food wasn’t a bad idea, and one he should also take up on. The ale he had slugged earlier now sat in his gut like a rock, agitated from the stress of the night and the lack of a proper meal before the ball.

“We should have someone send for our equipment at the barracks while they are at it.” He adds to the trio of knights. “Or at least have them send up some breast plates, shirts, swords and trousers from the royal guards armory.” He adds. While Sult and Christina looks lovely in their gowns, he’d rather them in something a little more suited for their professions for the night.

As they approached the stairs, Gillian heard the soft thump of footsteps, his hand quickly shifting itself to the hilt of his blade, ready to draw. The woman certainly had a uh…bounce to her chest as it were. As she huffed her greeting, he recognized her vaguely as the court mage. His hand did not move, she was as much as suspect as anyone else. Doubly so, given she was a practitioner of magic.

Christina’s icy greeting, however, brought him out of that. Magic user aside, she didn’t stand much to gain with her own assassin caught, and the barrier from earlier looked too impressive to have been the work of some dabbling noble or a knight of their order. Moreover, the princess seemed to be comforted by her presence (though, if that made her more or less a risk he couldn’t say for now). He starts to speak, wanting to put the curt greeting of ‘mage’ behind them quickly. “We are very grateful for your assistance earlier ma’am…If that was you. With the barrier. I think the ice was one of ours.” He starts, etiquette failing slightly. Thanking a court mage for helping stop an assassination was more complicated than knowing which fork to use during which course of dinner. “But we should really be escorting the princess back to a secure location. So not to be rude, but I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you both walk and talk.” He says, not wanting to turn the mage away just yet.

Marianne Delacroix

Marianne smiled, nodding in affirmation when Fanily answered her. Not exactly sure why the little Captain seemed so nervous all of a sudden, but she paid it no mind and thought nothing of it. Realizing there was a presence behind her when an unfamiliar voice spoke up, Marianne turned her head expecting to see someone standing behind her. Only to find that the source of the voice belonged to some older 'gentleman' squatting down giving her rear quite the inspection. It wasn't until she stared at him for a brief moment, that what the man had said processed in her head.

Like a switch, her electrical aura surged back to life as she went from pleased and happy, to enraged and offended. Blood rushing to her cheeks, foreign profanities spewing rapid-fire from her lips, she drew an open-palm right across the strange and perverted old man's face. Awarding him a swift electrified slap and setting just the greatest first impression ever. Needing to get a move on and calm herself down, Marianne stalked away from the group as a whole. Cursing and wildly gesturing with her hands as she scooped up the cut skirt and sleeve remains of her dress. As she left, she happened to steal and glance at Sir Garrett who had been apparently eying her himself. Only serving to increase the volume of her curses and deepen the redness of her cheeks.

"The nerve!"

Her foul language unbefitting of someone of her station, she didn't quite care.
It wasn't as if many would understand her anyways.
Non-stop in her vulgarities, she reminded herself that she had to move quickly to equip herself.
She needed to calm down to preserve as much mana as possible, which was fast seeping from her body thanks to her erratic emotional state.

@Themerlinhawk, @AtomicNut, @VitaVitaAR

As Marianne caught him eyeing her and her temper flared the barbarian Knight rolled his eyes and stood up from the chair. This was going to be a cluster if he’d ever seen one before; Turning he walked across the ballroom towards one of the other exits wasting no time. While he was certainly not ready to go to war The Ash was. Moving through the nobles once again he pushed through the doors of the ballroom making a beeline towards the stables where her had left his charger.

With practiced motion Sir Garrett pulled the long coat he was wearing off his huge frame and folded it over one arm. Striding into the stables he looked left then right before locating his horse. Passing surprised stables hands he walked right up to his horse. Taking the Ash’s reins he lead the horse from the stables and into the open air. While the Ash was lacking Sir Garrett’s full set of weapons the big horse was sporting some of Sir Garrett’s more off color weapons. Plucking a large broad bladed single edged weapon from the horse's saddle Sir Garrett belted the wipe blade to his left hip. The weapon would be next to useless against armor but it would go through, bone, muscles and leather like butter. Unbundling a set of thick boiled leather pieces Sir Garrett pulled on a set of hardened leather armor over his dress clothes. Again not his preferred choice in armor but it would suffice given that they were fighting throw a tomb of undead.

Reaching up he lifted a broad blade spiked boarding axe from its straps on the Ash’s saddle. Between it, his own axe and the sword it should provide sufficient killing power for the undead. Humming to himself Sir Garrett contemplated before he removed the axe at his hip and slid it into the Ash’s saddle. Removing the flanged mace from the right side of the Ash’s saddle Sir Garrett nodded. The blunt weapon would be of more use against creatures that were not injured through normal methods. Crushing impacts could incapacitate more efficiently. With his arming complete Sir Garrett put his coat back on over the leather armor and returned to the ballroom.

Striding back through the nobles they were even faster with parting from his way now that he held a hefty boarding axe in his left hand. Tonight had been a real mess but at least now things were getting interesting. Using his right hand Sir Garrett plucked his leather gloves from his belt again and tugged them on over his right hand using his teeth before switching the axe to his left and repeating the process. This was going to be an ugly fight. Undead. Underground. Sir Garrett fought off the hellish thoughts that fluttered at the edges of his consciousness.

Are you afraid dear brother

Sir Garrett approached the group of Knights again. “Give the word Captain.”

Turning he searched the crowd for Marianne. A pity, he really shouldn’t have gawked given her temper. That and it hurt her opinion of him. Something Garrett had discovered during the walk back that he actually cared about.

@harinezumikouken@VitaVitaAR

"I know, Sir Tiral, but we have no idea how much time we have before they figure out their assassination attempt failed," said Fanilly, her composure returning somewhat more strongly as she turned to face the mage-knight. "We have some time to get ready, but beyond that we have to move as soon as we possibly can."

The blonde girl turned towards the exit... and couldn't help but notice the electrical slap that Marianne had delivered to the old man. She took a deep breath, shook her head, and cleared her thoughts. No. They had to get going. For the Princess, for the assassin's sister, and to stop the defilement of a tomb.

"Let's go, Iron Roses."

---

For a few moments, Bethany couldn't understand why one of the knights had greeted her with such a tone, shrinking back slightly. however, at the other's words, she blushed slightly in embarrassment, rubbing at the back of her head and averting her eyes.

"I-I had to act q-quickly... s-so..." she trailed off. At the time, all she'd been thinking about was keeping Eliabelle safe. Given the Princess was already being defended, the next best option was to place a barrier over the doorway and ensure there was no escape for the assassin. That had certainly paid off, as it was far easier for the Iron Roses to corner her like that. If Eliabelle had been killed... Bethany didn't want to think about that.

The Princess nodded to Gillian's statement, and they continued up the stairs. The castle was lavishly decorated, a splendid showing of the Royal Family's power. Paintings of notable nobility, heroic scenes from history, and of course, members of the Royal Family, lined the walls.

Two in particular stood at the end of the hall. They were by far some of the largest paintings, both depicting a rather striking sight. The first was a scene that every adherent of the goddesses would know. The towering, black knight, a crown of spines rising from his helmet and clutching an enormous sword . A single, ethereal-seeming young woman in armor, clutching a silvery blade. Both of them on a rock jutting high above a plain. The battle raging below.

The Duel between Saint Lilianna and Orodrunn was the end of the war between all peoples of creation and the forces of the second dark lord. She had, in the end, miraculously shattered his black blade, Angroron, and pierced his armor to slay him.

The second painting was of a scene more familiar to those born and raised in Thaln, that fit rather well with the scene beside it. Elionne stood clashed in furious combat with Merrn the Kinslaughterer. Prince Merrn, still clad in his gleaming, royal-seeming armor, had butchered the other members of the Royal family by surprise in the night, all save his younger sister, whom he had become obsessed with. Elionne, another object of his obsession, had challenged him in battle. In a bout of furious combat in which Merrn believed 'he would make them his', Elionne slew the mad Prince by beheading him, and the Royal line survived through his younger sister.

The moment in which the reviled madman met his end was a popular subject, as it also symbolized the survival of the Royal Family. It was at once a horrific tragedy as well as a message of hope.

Eliabelle turned to the left, and soon enough they reached her room. Within, it was rather lavish, with a four-poster bed laden with pillows(and a stuffed dragon toy) and blankets, a large bookcase full of various volumes, a desk, a body-length mirror, a nightstand, and even access to a balcony. The glass and steel doors leading to the balcony were shut.

Bethany remained silent, still blushing faintly and shuffling her feet. Eliabelle, desperate for some form of normal conversation, headed to the bookcase and took a red-bound novel from a shelf.

"S-so, have any of you read Fireheart?"

It was a hundi-written novel, about a young hundi on her coming of age journey. It had become quite popular in recent years.

---

A brief stop had been made to account for anyone who could prepare quickly, but time was of the essence. The Iron Roses had to move, and they had to move quickly. The graveyard was, thankfully, not too far away, even if it was a rather haunting sight to behold in Fanilly's opinion. The elaborate gravestones, some depicting Mayon reaching down towards the grave of the dead, a few similarly constructed, but with Reon instead. Others showed family symbols, or conveyed what the dead interred there had done in life. Some were simple, wishing the deceased a good afterlife.

And then there were the mausoleums. They stood larger then the other graves, and what was visible was only a small component. They stretched underground as well, holding generations of dead. Fanilly admitted, privately, that she found being in a graveyard at night rather disconcerting, but... she couldn't show such a thing.

The Cal Family's tomb was rather easily-recognized. Atop it was the eight-pointed star that symbolized the Cal family. As Fanilly knew, each point symbolized something, but she had never learned what. They had refused to allow Phoran Cal to be interred there, and had stripped him posthumously of his status as a member of their family. He was so hated that his surviving daughter had refused to acknowledge that she shared his blood.

His tomb looked unguarded... from the outside. But gods knew what was going on down there.

Fanilly turned back to the others.

"Once we're inside, Vosahnn will lead the way," she said, nodding her head towards the Nem assassin. Her name, as she had written while they were preparing, was Tili Vosahnn. "We'll take out as many of them as we can on the way to the bottom floor. Once we're there, we'll need to act quickly in order to ensure Kyphi's safety, and slay the necromancer before he can act."

It was around that moment that the door to the Cal Mausoleum slowly creaked open... and a guard stepped out.

He'd need to be silenced quickly. They wanted to get inside before there was an alarm.

Marianne Delacroix

Before arrival...

Ignoring the odd looks and stares from others as she stormed back to her room, she threw open the door and was greeted by the sight of her maids doing their daily cleaning routines. Seeing her enter, they all stopped what they were doing and thought to move to line up, prepared to give their usual greeting to their fair Lady. However, Marianne put up a hand to halt them, the seven maids stopping in their tracks.

"Lady Marianne! Are you okay?"
One exclaimed, inquiring about her rather flustered appearance.
"There has been an incident, I need my equipment now."
Marianne replied as the maids all looked at one another in confusion.

She stopped and thought for a moment. She thought to spill the beans and reveal the truth of the matter, but she remembered Captain Fanily's explicit decision. Her maids would see through her lies and falsities, but they would understand. In fact, they could possibly even help.

"The princess has been assassinated. The Iron Roses are moving to bring the ones responsible to justice."
Marianne simply said, in a rather monotone and cold voice.

A collective of gasps from the maids. One dropped something, the object shattering loudly on the ground. A few covered their mouths as if to contain their screams and shock. However, the older and wiser maids looked Marianne dead in the eyes. They understood, nodding ever so slightly.

All at once, the maids scrambled to collect Marianne's armor, battle dress, and weapons. Within minutes Marianne had stripped out of her formal attire, which had earned her a few curious looks from some of the maids when they saw the damage to it. But, they said nothing on the matter currently. They would fix it later while she was away. 100% combat ready and dressed, Marianne left as quickly as she had arrived. The maids bidding their salutations to her as the door shut behind her. Once she had left, a few remained behind to continue cleaning. One set about repairing Marianne's dress. The remaining maids left to spread the word. Soon, the rumors would spread like wildfire.

---

After arrival...

Hawk-like eyes noticing the door opening as soon as Captain Fanily finished her speech, Marianne stepped to the side and drew her bow. Locking its collapsible parts in place with a dramatic hand motion. In a single fluid motion, Marianne then took aim with her bow and nocked an arrow to let it fly straight at the guard's throat. The arrow silently whipping through the air and finding its target almost immediately as he had presented himself. The arrowhead pierced through, jutting from out the back of the guard's neck as it tore through the carotid artery to fill his trachea with blood to prevent any screams or cries for help. Killing him in seconds from the blood loss and subsequent sanguine asphyxiation.

One look at Marianne's stone-cold expression and you could tell she was more than ready to accomplish this mission. She was ready, and she meant business. No one would dare plot against the Crown and escape her wrath. Not on her honor as an Iron Rose knight, not as a Delacroix Knight.

Tyaethe wasted no time once the servants had brought clothes, slipping away from the party for but a minute... and emerging from under a tablecloth, dress in hand but still wearing the golden scarf. The dress got pushed into the hands of someone she trusted to simply take it back to her room when the knights left the party. That was when the paladin stated her intention to make certain that none of the graves near the mausoleum had been disturbed and split off before anyone could stop her.

The paladin's blade glowed dimly as she wandered through the darkened graveyard; the moonlight sharpened its dulled edge and reforged the damaged tip after her drama at the ball. Possibly a giveaway with a vigilant enough sentry but in this circumstance, her small form let her hide behind the grave markers and escape notice. The check took some time but turned up fortunate results: none of the graves had been freshly disturbed except for the very newest, which suggested merely a recent burial.

Still wary, she headed towards the mausoleum. A skilled magician could easily hide the traces of their misdeeds but the only way to tell that would be to find the undead themselves and make an estimated guess or to force it out of the necromancer in question. The timing of her search was impeccable: Marianne's arrow had barely been loosed before she came in sight, emerging from between the graves with sword in hand and ready to push through the chaff to get to their objective.

"The graves aren't disturbed, so we don't have an army to fight."

Tiral took the Captain's prompt answer as a sign that he should stop acting like a fool and actually return to change into the necessary garb. Thankfully, it seemed as if his suggestion hadn't fallen on deaf ears (or, rather, it felt as if the Captain had already been aware of the face and that he might've accidentally belittled her for no good reason), and so he at least had a chance to change into something more... Suitable for combat. Of course, the mage had as little time to prepare as any other knight heading out on the expedition, so without any further frivolities he tucked his knife away under his armor, grabbed his sword, and left with the rest as they headed out once more.

However much he said about fighting living men, though, meant nothing against those of the undead. To say nothing of the Immortal Knight, of course, though the idea of necromancy was still something he frowned upon heavily.

"The dead should stay dead, though. Mortal men abusing the bodies of the deceased is something even I cannot tolerate..." the mage cursed inwardly as Marianne took out one of the guards exiting the crypt with a well-aimed arrow. Convenient.

"Well, that's all well and good, but we might want to at least drag the corpse out of the way. If it's a necromancer we're dealing with, another dead body on the pile would only end up being another liability... Am I wrong?" he asked, staring in contempt as the blood slowly continued to leak out from the man's neck. "The option to leave it there also exists, but... Well, being flanked from the rear might cause us to lose momentum in the near future."

This felt better. Much better. None of that frilly nonsense anymore, now she was dressed properly. The weight of chainmail on her shoulders never failed to reassure Martina of just who she really was. To the other races, dwarfs could be many things; they could be miners, they could be brewers, they could even be merchants. But every dwarf knew these were only secondary designations. Every dwarf knew there was only one thing they truly were at heart.

Dwarfs were warriors, tough and rugged to the very last. At least, that's how Martina saw it, but then she always had an overly-idealized view of what was considered "dwarfen". Being only half-dwarf, she sometimes tried a little too hard to express this view. To her, when faced with an enemy, a true dwarf wouldn't bother with such concepts as subtlety; subtlety was an elven concept, after all, and any true dwarf would just casually toss the idea aside as they charged into the fray, screaming a battlecry at the top of their lungs.

So it was probably a good thing for everyone else's sake that Marianne had swiftly taken care of the guard before she could even tighten the grip on her hammer.

"Hmph, if you ask me we should just charge right in and give that wazzock of a warlock a good hammering," she grumbled, before sighing as reason washed upon her. Sometimes, it payed to have a human side to temper her dwarfen nature. "...And I would've done it too, if they weren't holding that Nem hostage like the filthy cowards they are. Bloody wizards, can't trust the bastards at all." She spat contentiously, even as she readied herself the order to move out.

After a moment without response Ian shrugged and followed the Princess in relative silence, with the only other chatter being between the other knights and the court mage, until they reached the Princess' room.

His attention was immediately drawn to the bed, not because it was fancy, but because of the small dragon toy sitting on top. He walked over and picked it up, a smile growing on his face as he looked at it before unconsciously giving it a childlike hug, fond memories brought back by it. He dropped it back on the bed a moment later as Eliabelle asked if they had read Fireheart.

Still smiling he responded "I have, well most of it. I used to read it on my travels but before I could reach the end I lost my copy to the flames of a real nuisance of a pyromancer" His ears drooped a little when he mentioned that.

---

A figure made it's way past the group of knights, completely disregarding them other than a quick passing glance, bound for the same mausoleum as the knights. The figure, clad in a red traveling robe with gold designs marking him a Reonite paladin and bearing a large maul, walked straight up to the door and kneeled down to examine the body of the guard that had been shot. After examining the corpse for a moment the paladin stood back up and planted the end of his hammer's hilt on the ground and tipped his head slightly over the head of the weapon. He might've appeared to have been praying but anyone drawing closer would be able to hear part of what he was saying.

"...Finally arrived, yes I know it's taken longer than expected travelling here has been difficult, bandits on the roads, they were very annoying...Of course Reon, I'm can handle it, these necromancers shouldn't be a problem..."

“I stopped reading after the young Lord Fice challenged the heroine for her hand in marriage. “ Gillian says, double checking locks on the windows and doors. Once satisfied he heads towards the desk, stripping off his jacket and cravat and dumping them unceremoniously in the desk chair. He huffed in relief as he felt a rush of cool air, free now from the sweltering wool coat. He begins to roll up his sleeves, “After that had to ship out and ended up staying in Western Thaln for about a year.”

He plops down into the chair, still soaking in the relative coolness of the air. “How did that turn out anyway?” He asks, watching as their own hundi’s ears drop. “I think I’ve still got a copy in my bunk, though I’ve not touched it since.” He says, off handedly. What did he care if the hundi desired to take the tome? He wasn’t likely to finish it after all.

Grace didn't answer the mage, instead crossing the room with a few strides and inspecting the door. She sighed, wishing the room was a little more secure before drawing breath to recite the Barrier spell. Before she began speaking, however, she changed her mind and spoke her other protection spell instead.

After a few seconds of muttered chanting, the metal in the balcony doors shimmered slightly as the ward settled in. As the spell ended, Grace took a few heavy breaths. The barrier She had cast over the princess earlier had been taxing, and on top of that she was now maintaining the barrier on her tunic and the ward on the doors. She already knew she was going to get a headache from this, but she hoped that would be the worst of it.

"Princess, it would help if you stayed away from the windows. My magic won't stop a sling stone through the glass."

Sometimes, one could see their own doom, their own demise. It couldn't be helped. As the wrath of heavens descended and embedded deep into his flesh, the man who had withstood a hundred battles and braved a thousand risks, couldn't help but smile faintly.

Worth. It.

SLAP!

Like a puppet without strings, Rinaldo fell down to the ground, his head bent in the direction of the blow, all of his limbs sprawling, and his legs slightly twitching. This probably was a bad way to end one's journey through life.

Unfortunately for Marianne, and fortunately for the Raven Knights, the old man seemed to have been imbued with the resilience of a cockroach, and after twitching a couple of times more, he deftly sprung back to his feet, rubbing the red hot mark of his cheek. "Same temper as all Delacroix women, too." He said faintly, before starting a brisk pace again, staggering just once.

To the eyes of the casual observer, it appeared as it had been some sort of residual damage, as his knee bent near the Nem woman, but the reason for that was different. A small voice, almost imperceptible whisper was conveyed to the woman.

"I'm stepping out of this, up to you, kid. Call it professional deference. Nobody in our job likes to be used as bait." He conveyed, as he quickly got up, and pondered what to do afterwards...

---

Sult frowned so slightly, as she eyed the small, petite piece of metal in her hand. Dressed in a lovely gown, with just a dagger, she wasn't much of a knight in guarding duties, was she? However, the paintings did offer a small consolation, as they actually rekindled her love of history and old tales. She recalled how many times she had taken a quick trip to the library, to keep reading the stories of people past, only to fall asleep under a pile of books.

Eliabelle, now having recovered some of her wits, was attempting to bring some sort of conversation. She mentioned Heartfire. Sult knew of the book at passing glance. Famous. Somewhat entertaining, but trite, soapy and far from a masterpiece.

"Meh, Doggy Tales or How I learned not to fear the Adult World is a half-adequate past-time." She snorted, her arms folding somewhat. " I personally am partial to the Waltz of the Maddening Prince." She said, citing a rather antiquate but highly regarded cultural masterpiece of several volumes long about the tragedy of Prince Mern the mad. "It is much better if you can handle the obscure languages."

There was something else that caught her attention then, more vividly than any past history, or book. Her eyes became transfixed and wide, seeing the court's mage qualities up close and in the flesh. Her hand moved quicker than her mind in that regard, and not heeding the call of her wits, firmly planted herself in the ample bosom of the magician.

"By Reon's tits.These.Are.Real." Sult added, jaw widening in awe. She had just thought the light had been playing games, or the boredom up until that point.

And then it was when it hit home. She was manhandling the Court Mage, in front of the Princess she hated so much. As if bitten by a snake, her hand retracted quickly, red flushing to her cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't m-mean to....be...it's just that...Don't get mad..." She, Sult the tease, felt overwhelmed by her own embarassment, and she wished something did happen.

It was then, when an even more outrageous thing happened. Three plates with stacks of pancakes, all covered in lime jam were floating outside the princess window, guided by an outside arm. And then a body. And then the characteristical old man face and long moustache.

"Heh, the door was closed, but I guess i found another way in, uh?" The man excused himself, as he cheekily opened the door, depositing the stacks of food in the princess room. "Some food won't hurt now, after some much happening, eh, your highness?"

"What the hell are you doing here? How? When?" Sult snapped, her dagger tightly wrapped.

"Oh, my sweet Sult, don't blame an old man for wanting to take a rest while the youths do war, and stuff." The rogue smiled. "Besides, a crypt with necromancers is within your domain. Weren't you the one supposed to have priestess training? So leave this to me, and go save your sweet sweet little thing of a captain from them undead munchers."

Sult flared up once more, as she raised her hand. She was going to slap the old man, but then, it all clicked in her mind. She had to go. A crypt was better than reminiscing old vendettas with a princess. She brushed her dress, and offering some sort of hurried curtsy, she excused herself.

"Ifyou'llexcusemehighnessI'llhavetogonowbye!" She finally said in a quick succession, as she hurried up for the nearest exit.

And, of course, Rinaldo was having an eyeful as she did so, as much as his attention was divided between the Royal jewels, the Magician's tomes, Christina's armor plating, or Sult's own Sunfield rear.

"Mmm, such a cute backside. Doesn't lose to Nero in that regard..." The old man said, twirling his moustache, and before waiting for an answer clapping.

"So, Highness, ladies, gents, who wants some pancakes and some interesting stories of an old rogue?" He smiled.

---

Sult cursed under her breath, as she readjusted her armor. She was wearing something crude, and inelegant. And above all, similar to Nero's. She couldn't find her own armor in time, so someone had prepared one for hers. She blamed her sibling for the Raven Knights knowing her exact sizes and measurements.

I don't like to look like that jerk. Glances were stolen at Nero and Fanilly, respectively. She couldn't help but tighten her fist at how regal Nero was looking, instructing his own troops. Her attention was drawn upon Marianne's vicious and accurate bow shot, dropping the guard in an instant.

"Sparky is quite worked up tonight, isn't she?" Nero whispered to her ear.

"Shut up." The tricky knight sulked, as she looked at the mausoleum as if it was an horror. I don't like this one bit

Meanwhile, Martina would see a single Raven Knight, with pink ribbons attached to her armor, giving the dwarf a thumbs up. "Like, I like that plan. Smash bad guys!" Mariah added, twirling twin daneaxes in her hands, and earning a slap from Bobd.

Eliabelle was pleased to hear that at least a few of the other knights had read Fireheart. She had no delusions of it being a grand work of literary significance, but not everything needed to be of that nature, did it? Sometimes, it was nice to just read a good story. In her mind, this is exactly what Fireheart was, and why it deserved the popularity it had gained. She did give a brief nod to Christina, as the windows were quite breakable, but she did not move. She wasn't particularly close to them, after all.

... And the hundi boy was hugging her stuffed dragon, that was quite endearing...

... and then Sult spoke up.

The Princess frowned. She'd known Sult from when she was quite a bit younger, and... at the moment, memories of the cake incident were not exactly what she needed. Besides, recalling the horrific and tragic events surrounding Mern the Kinslaughterer, well... even passing by that painting sometimes gave her an uneasy feeling. She knew her parents liked it, and that the death of the madman was a popular subject... but the way that someone sharing her blood had become so deranged as to desire his younger sister, still a child, and Saint Elionne...

Before she could comment on all this, however, Sult did something... well...

Eliabelle could only give a blank, wide-eyed stare as the older girl's hands latched onto Bethany's chest.

Bethany herself froze for a few moments, feeling the taller girl's grip. Her cheeks immediately went scarlet, and her body vibrated slightly.

"Wh... wha... I... I... I... I..."

It appeared, quite simply, that her brain had stopped properly functioning. So many people were looking at her, while she was having... something like this happen... Even after Sult's grip was released, the court mage continued to tremble, practically glowing red.

And then an old man barged in with food.

And then Sult rushed out.

And the old man commented on her rear end.

For a few moments, Eliabelle was speechless, though she did proceed over to Bethany and place a hand on her shoulder in a bid to calm the girl down.

"... S... stories? I... er... very... very well..." she trailed off for a few moments. She was already off after the attempt on her life, but now... Well that entire sequence of events had been incredibly awkward, to say the least.

---

Fanilly saw the arrow meet its mark, piercing the guard's throat and sending him limply to the ground. It was gruesome, but Marianne had done her job. He didn't had a chance to raise the alarm. While the short girl didn't believe stealth would be plausible or applicable to this occasion, there was certainly the possibility of leading a surprise attack. They'd be less prepared and more easily dealt with in this way.

She gave a small nod to Tyaethe. That was good. The idea of unearthing the bodies of so many dead simply to serve as slaves... it was a terrible thought. Necromancy was something that had always made Fanilly's skin crawl. Manipulating the dead simply for one's own gain... oh, she did know of the more benevolent uses of the often-dark art. Preserving severed limbs to be reattached, keeping 'dead' organs functioning... she had once heard of a knight whose heart had died, but with the quick thinking of their magic-wielding companion managed to live for many, many, many more years due to necromantic arts used upon their heart. Fanilly did not know how that tale ended, however. But it was far more frequent that necromancy was used for darker, more fiendish purposes.

"If... if I'm not mistaken," Fanilly began, when Tiral brought up the possibility of the corpse being reanimated," if the necromancer is at the lowest level of the mausoleum, he won't be able to animate a corpse this high up."

Fanilly hesitated. Of course... she could have been mistaken. Moving the body likely was the best choice in any case...

Martina, however, was rather eager to charge in and slay the conspirators. The Nem girl, Tili, shot her a glare, but quickly relented when she mentioned ensuring the safety of her sister. Her glare returned to the girl with the ribbons in her armor, however.

"But there's no more time to lose. We need to get in, and now," she said, finally.

With that, Fanilly swiftly advanced. Soon they had reached the doors of the Cal Mausoleum, already slightly ajar. Blades already drawn, Fanilly carefully pushed it open wider and proceeded inward. The crypt was dusty, but well-lit. It was clear that there were people inhabiting it as of now.

And then some stranger showed up, in Reonite colors, to talk over the corpse.

"Ah? What's-"

Fanilly was cut off by a shout from deeper in the crypt.

"Knights?! What are they doing here?!" cried a guard from below, down the stairs. Swiftly, Fanilly turned, and saw a pair of guards who had come up the stairs that lead deeper into the crypt. They were men, wearing basic steel armor.

"Damn it, they must have found out! Summon the others! I'll-"

It was only a few steps. It was likely the guards already knew, but...

Fanilly had cleared the distance swiftly. The first man barely had time to raise his sword before her blade cut through his shoulder and down. His armor was of poor quality, likely bought cheap to avoid too much attention, and gave way.

He fell to the ground with a gasp and lay still.

There was no more time for stealth.

"Iron Roses! Charge!" Fanilly cried. Now that the guards knew they were there, it was simply time to kill them all as quickly as possible. Only those who surrendered would be spared, and for their part in a plot to assassinate the Princess it was certain their sentence would be death. But even still, slaying a surrendering man was abhorrent, and nothing an Iron Rose should ever do.

Already--already the plan to creep through eliminating everything on the way had been scuppered by inconvenient guards. Fine, there was no time to deal with the inexplicable Reonite presence in the graveyard tonight, the knights would just have to cut their way through to the rescue and then fight their way out. That was Tyaethe's plan, at least--everyone else could take their time and methodically chew through the guards.

Her attitude to the admirable problem of having guards in the way was masterfully exemplified by making an attack, not even caring if it actually cut him or he dodged, and continuing to barrel for the stairs without concern for such things as gravity or running down them. It was an impressive bound down the lot of them, considering there was a landing halfway.

That was about when she made it clear that, outside of the armour, she was quite acrobatically capable, pushing off with the flat of her blade and landing the right way at the absolute bottom of the stairs. Of course there were more guards but that wasn't going to appreciably stem her assault; anyone that wanted to engage in combat would need to come within the reach of that enormous swinging blade. Anyone that didn't come within reach, or backed off to avoid the attack, was going to have a hell of a time hitting such a small target at full pelt.

The mausoleum contained a necromancer and a hostage. The captain was safe due to their numbers and that made those two all that mattered in this, not hacking her way in.

Thus, for once, Tyaethe's wake was remarkably light on bloodshed.

Marianne Delacroix

Following close at Captain Fanily's side, as quickly as the guards showed up Marianne greeted them with a swiftly nocked and loosed arrow. Dropping them outright if not forcing them to take cover as she temporarily provided defense for the other Iron Roses. Hardly allowing many to get too close for comfort as her arrows flew non-stop. The only breaks in between were to recover her used arrows from the fallen or stealing from those who had quivers of their own. As always, every movement she made with certain grace and flow. Efficiently applying the pressure to the enemy forces and not wasting a single motion. It was as if she was on autopilot.

As she worked, she also thought. Things as always did not go as planned and they were already off to a messy start. The enemy forces already knew they were here and were actively moving to route the Iron Roses, though they would be unsuccessful in their attempts. However, there were two parts to this mission. First and foremost, to bring the conspirators to justice with a swift execution as their punishment. But they were also here as part of a rescue mission. If the enemy already knew they were present, what would happen to their captives? If it had been up to Marianne, she would've thought to secure the captives first and ensure they were safe within the protection of the Iron Roses. After that had been taken care of, the final step would be to crush the conspirators in one fell swoop. But alas, the best laid plans of men. Or rather the best intentions of a certain Delacroix woman.

"Captain Fanily! If I may borrow your ear for a moment?"
Marianne called out to her beloved leader in between arrow shots.
"Whilst you and the others work towards locating the conspirators, I request that either myself alone or a small detachment work towards locating the captives and ensuring their safe return!"
A guard rushed her, he was met with an effective arrow through the eye socket.
"What say you, Captain? Complete our mission all at once!"

While this meant she may not be contributing to ending the lives of such fiends, it would mean she would be able to save an innocent life if not lives. A fair enough trade, in her mind. Vengeance wasn't everything, after all. And if the conspirators were skilled mages especially in the realm of necromancy, Marianne would be of little help. She didn't have the magil levels to trade blows back and forth with other, more skilled mages.

Nero sighed, as he unslung his weapon, and quickly leapt in succession after Fanilly, his blade cutting the other guard's head in a deft move. Releasing his breath, his eyes were set on the budding chaos that ensued. Knights. Now that smelt suspicious. Very much so, in fact. But he had no choice to follow. His eyes turned to the three knights who had followed. "Bobds, cover Mariah."

"Mariah, dear..." Nero said, as both knights began their charge. "I authorize you...to use your full strength." He added.

The knight in black and pink laces, made a high pronounced squee, as she brutally swung her axes with impossible forces, charging like a raging bison on heat, and twirling the blades, so that whatever stood in her path exploded into mangled limbs and gore.

"LIKE, LET's PLAY! LITTLE PALADIN! LET'S PLAY TAG!" She added, her eyes set on following and shadowing Tyaethe's own rampage funnily enough, the brother knights struggling to follow her wake, but doing so in perfectly syncrony with eachother.

"Well, here goes the plan." Sult grimaced as she watched the events unfold, gripping her blade tightly, she followed Fanilly, her sword describing her dance as she went for the neck of an opponent, failing when said opponent had managed to parry her blows in quick succesion, and deliver a couple of hits with the hilt which made her stagger.

"Pitiful" Nero commented, as a well timed kick sent the twerph careening against a wall. "You've slacked off, dearest sister of mine. Unlike Marianne over there."

He sneered, after seeing the Delacroix closing Fanilly in with a plan. "In fact you should follow our cousin Delacroix's plans, maybe you can learn something." Nero spat, as another foe tried to sneak his back, receiving a sword in the gut as punishment.

"Why don't you do it?" Sult replied in anger, as she smashed another one's face.

"I might. See, my reputation is also in this. And without the old man, well..." He grinned, it's up to me to do something.

"...I'll go too. I don't trust you. Nor this situation. Reonites, why!?" Sult said as she rushed towards Marianne, while Nero did so.

"I second the motion, Captain Fanilly. I shall help with the rescue aswell." said Nero, with a cheeky smile as he approached both.