Tyaethe drew back as quickly as possible once the mage died, not wanting to risk any residual traps or flames harming her further. A quick inspection of the damage, and a consideration about the lack of pain put the injury somewhere above annoying and into 'actually inconvenient'; she wasn't going to be able to hold her blade with two hands until the damage had healed itself. Unarmoured and down to having to attack with only her non-dominant hand... this would actually be hard in her current state.

The difficulty was never going to slow the paladin down, however, and she once again took off in a rush to get to the bottom. In the worst case scenario, all she had to do was hold out whilst the knights chewed through the obstacles--and she had a lot of experience at self-sacrificial protection.

As the half-giant suddenly took the paladin off his feet, Alvor did not hesitate in taking an advantage of their distraction. The runes oh his armor gleaming brightly, he brought his shoulder low and charged the both of them, slamming into the half-giant girl and knocking the two apart. His strength was enormous, now, likely augmented by the rune-scrawled armor. His axe, too, gleamed with runes, and he raised it immediately in order to attack the downed giant girl, in a bid to plant the blade in her chest.

As he swung, however, Fanilly's sword went clear through his arm.

She'd seen what was happening. How the half-giant girl had flown into a rage at the paladin's reckless attack, and now they were at each other's throats... but she hadn't been sure how to stop it, not until the hulking armored man had intervened himself. But then he'd made his own attack... she'd had to stop him. And so, while he was distracted, Fanilly put her sword clear through his arm.

Alvor roared in pain and swung his arm, turning his focus immediately on the blonde girl, slapping her aside in an instant. Fanilly let out a cry of shock, pulling the blade from the Barukstaedan warrior's arm and hitting the ground once more, rolling once before trying to steady herself. Alvor's arm was now bleeding profusely, she'd pierced something important. His followup was delayed, and the small blonde managed to get to her feet far before he had managed to strike back at her. She lept back as his axe slammed into the ground, shattering stone.

The vampire stood, stunned for a few moments, as his hand hit the ground, the stump spewing blood. He almost didn't have time to react to the shield-charge of the two brothers, but moments before impact he managed to dive back, skidding to a halt now firmly behind the knights. His shocked expression had now turned into a grin, even as blood spewed from his arm. He licked his lips.

"Delicious," he commented, simply, "It's been a good many years since someone managed to injure me, let alone take off my hand."

Even as he spoke, however, his hand suddenly was dragged back by streams of blood, reattaching itself. Noticing Garret's blood on his fingers, the vampire them a lick, savoring the taste of the knight's blood.

"Do you think you can actually put me down?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, "You're mistaken, but I'd like to see your try yourselves against me. Come on, now, let's see you do your best to kill Damon Cal."

Damon raised his sword, his grin increasingly wild. If anything, losing his hand for a few moments appeared to have exhilarated him. Anyone familiar with the Cal family would know that Damon Cal had vanished around fifty years before Phoran started his rebellion. Was this why they had selected the Cal Tomb as their base of operations?

It burned. It burned! It burned! Mariah gritted her teeth, as surges of pain flared on her skin, but she didn't falter in the slightlest, as her rage still overpowered her to a point that pain was a minor consequence. Her fingers kept digging in the supposedly Holy Man's neck, as she changed her strategy, beginning to lift the man by the neck and about to smash his head against the ground repeated times.

Fortunately for the man, a sudden force pushed her out, sending her sprawling around. The effect of the blow was almost instantaneous, as she hit the stones with her head first, rattling his brain quite a bit. For good or bad, Mariah twitched and turned, knocked out inconscious and gravely injuried, blood oozing from several blows and cuts.

Meanwhile the twins stared in disbelief as how their opponent had become able to reattach his own limb, despite receiving the full force of the barbarian of the Iron Roses' attack. A monster it was, beyond human comprehension. Terror began to set in at first, but their sights crossed. They swallowed, and clenched their teeth, as both poised themselves for another flanking attack. They couldn't help Mariah or the others before they got rid of this guy... "Can't be helped. Wolfpack." One of them solemny announced within earshot of Garret and his other brother.

And then the surname Cal was mentioned. The effect was almost instantaneous. "Oh, no doubt we will. After all, it was because a Cal we were thrown out of aristocracy." Bõbd muttered underneath his teeth, as he gave a temptative spin to his sword, his steps careful as he began to advance towards Damon Cal, his guard high and in a defensive position, but his blade firmly aimed at the vampire.

More steps could be heard, this time on the vampire's opposite side, as his brother Bobd advanced in a similar stance, slowly but steadily inching and circling closer. It seemed when the sight of the vampire rested in one of the brothers, the other would crawl towards. A brisk shuffle, a simple step closer. There was no way to know who would initiate the attack.

There was no need to know. Such was their synchronization they could afford withholding the strategy until the last moment. And then it came. Bõbd made a sharper than usual step, his blade being thrown forward in a thrust, only to retreat quickly after. As such, a similar attack from Bobd would come...

Except it was no blade what Bobd was thrusting. It was the discarded crossbow that Damon Cal had dropped earlier. He had gotten it while Damon was giving his speech, and Bõbd had given its reply. Planting it against the ribcage, Bobd fired, in hopes it would reach his heart.

"How is that for trying, leech?" He snarled, as his other brother then charged against the vampire, regardless of the result.

---

Sult eyed the situation warily, as the remainder of the skeletons had been smashed. Marianne had recovered significantly, and there were no casualties nor injuried among their group, barring some cases of freaking out and dagger-happy assasins. She clenched her teeth as a prayer, yes, a prayer escaped her lips in thanks of having been able to brave through it. Yet, more things concerned her. There was the question about the trigger-happy assasin guide they had brought doing more harm than good in her quest for revenge, and all of the other missing corpses.

"Hum, about that. Marianne, I advise caution. I might be wrong but, the numbers don't add up." Sult voiced her concern out loud.

"Heh, your flapping of gums is wasted." Nero answered, glaring at the group. He was still pretty shaken by his earlier behaviour and how his baby sister had the galls to have been ordered around. "She wants to stick to tradition. Like be pretty at the frontlines, and show everything the world has to know with grace and elegance." He said in a sarcastical tone, as he waved his hand. "Bah! Delacroix style only works for pretty nobles and ladies who play wargames. The real world is quite a lot grittier than just knight tales of noblesse obligue."

He eyed both of them. "You should've accepted the advice of Dame Dante, Sparky. After all she seems to know a whole lot more of how things work beyond the court walls." Nero added, hoisting his sword and making his pace swifter. "But hey, if you insist in taking point, I'm happy. You get to be the fodder, Tet de la Croix..." The knight captain of the Ravens spewed. "...this is a cakewalk compared to the Barrow Men, anyway. But still, we shouldn't call it easy yet..." He added, eyes glaring at the assasin.

Marianne Delacroix

Marianne halted in her tracks when she heard Sult call after her, warning about a potential danger that she had yet to see or perceive herself. She turned, just about to thank her comrade when her...twin decided that now was the best time to invoke her wrath. As she stood listening, she couldn't believe her ears. Did the 'other Sult' sustain a traumatic head injury? Or did they truly and honestly believe someone as prideful as Marianne would let such insults be spoken in such a mocking tone? Her jaw setting, she tightly clenched her fists as she let the 'other Sult' spew out their honest thoughts and feelings. Letting them get it all out before she acted. She hated herself for allowing herself to become angered so easily, to lose her cool. It wasn't becoming of her. But, that was part of the reputation she earned for herself back home. Kind and compassionate to all, until given reason to act otherwise. Her fury matched only by her eldest brother Paul, and the Goddesses have mercy upon your soul if you were in their path. Then, she took action.

There was a flash of light.
A metallic ringing, vibrating musically in the air.
If one blinked, they would've missed it.

But, as a true testament to Marianne's ability, she had drawn her sword and had its flat pressed against the 'other Sult's' neck.
Right where the carotid artery lay, under only a thin layer of skin and muscle that if cut spelled one's death within mere seconds.
Marianne's eyes stared straight into the "other Sult's", an intense and passionate fire burning behind her dark-brown eyes. Her body and face mere inches from theirs. How far away had she been? How fast exactly had she moved? No matter the details, Marianne could've ended whomever this person was in the fractions of seconds they had taken to so much as breathe. It was clear, Marianne hid some of her true skill and ability from her comrades. Or was it out of want to preserve herself in combat?

For a few tense moments, Marianne remained like that. Her mana furiously crackling and snapping in the form of visible electrical arcs all across her body and throughout her now levitating hair. Biting and stinging at the fool that dared speak ill of the Delacroix and of their ways. After having asserted herself and made her stance clear on how she felt about what was said, she finally broke the silence. Never once blinking or breaking her gaze away from the idiot as she spoke.

"Speak ill of we Delacroix again and you shall have more to worry about than reanimated corpses, as those words will be your last. To lay unfinished on your tongue as you join these undead legions."
Marianne's tone of voice taking on a certain coldness unlike any had ever heard her use.
"As I can see, you do not carry the title of Iron Rose. Possibly due to being unworthy of the honor. As such you are no ally of mine, though you fight alongside us. I will not hesitate to strike you down if given the reason to. I hold no allegiance to you, whoever you are."
Marianne leaned in closer to drive home her message.
"My title Tet de la Croix is not to be taken lightly. True leaders stand at the front, so know this. Lead, follow, or get out of my way."

Taking a few steps back, her erratic mana calmed as she removed her sword from the "other Sult's" neck. Sheathing it in a more formal and traditional manner as if to say that it was tradition and mastered old practices that gave her the upper hand in what could've been an instant execution for such horrendous speech. Marianne would not stand for such a thing. Tossing her long mane of dark hair over her shoulder, she then turned her head and spat off to the side. To rid herself of the bitterness as she continued to walk. Her tone then taking on its usual softness, she looked over her shoulder at the Sult she knew and smiled.

"Thank you for the warning, Dame Sult. Though, do explain. What numbers do not add up?"
Marianne thanked her, carrying on as if the little 'incident' was beneath her. Any more consideration and time taken up by such, unnecessary.

@AtomicNut@harinezumikouken

Dante listened and rolled her eyes as the 'bad twin', as she was referring to her now, began to squabble about Dame Delacroix. Sure, the good things he said about her made her feel good about herself, but that didn't make up for the fact that he was being a prick. As he finished his spiel, Dante turned around to tell him that just because her training didn't suit the situation, didn't mean she wasn't an amazing warrior.

"You should show a li-"

As she opened her mouth Delacroix was across the room with her blade to the throat of the 'bad twin'. Dante held her breath. She was surprised not only by these 'Knight's' willingness to kill without regard, and how quickly she had moved.

How did she do that... Man, that would be so useful.

Dante walked forward to try and see if she could defuse the situation, when Dame Delacroix gave the one of the most chilling threats she'd seen, and put her sword away. When she gave an inquiry as to the other sister's warning Dante finially spoke up.

"I believe she's talking about the empty coffin to skeleton ratio. There weren't nearly enough skeletons for that to have been all of them. And your... equipment isn't the best to take on the undead."

She turned to the Twin who Delacroix had called Sult.

"Am I right? Because if not, I'm going to be pretty embarrassed for saying anything."

Alaric coughed for a short moment after getting knocked out of the giantess' grasp, recovering to see that she had been knocked unconscious by whatever hit them. He rose and continued maintaining his flame cloak as he approached her body, planting a flaming foot upon her head meant to finish her off.

It was there for a second before his attention was drawn to Alvor slamming his axe down as he attacked Fanilly. Forgetting about the giantess that attacked him, he quickly rushed toward Alvor, picking up one of the giantess' axes along the way and setting it ablaze, and plated a foot on his axe to keep it down and aimed for his neck. Whether or not the blow decapitated him the combination of fire weakening the haft and the force of the blow would shatter the axe Alaric acquired, sending burning splinters flying.

---

Ian lightly chuckled as the princess' sudden shift in attention and went off to the side to rearrange two unoccupied chairs so that he could comfortably lay across them, Taking up that spot as Gilian told his story. Even though he was sprawled across both chairs with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, his ears still twitched as they listened for anything out of the ordinary. They were there to guard the princess after all.

As the knights in Marianne's group(and the assassin) proceeded downward, they would come across shattered stone, and scorched walls. There had obviously been a battle here... and that fact became even more obvious when the site of a dead man came into view. His neck was snapped at an odd angle, his corpse laying near the center of the room. He was, likely, one of the conspirators. Tili eyed his corpse dispassionately. Another one of the conspirators who had taken her sister hostage lay dead, now. But it wouldn't be enough until her sister was safe and all the rest had suffered the same fate.

However, there wasn't much time to focus on the corpse, when there was a thunderclap from below.

---

Tyaethe reached the bottom chamber in short order. Within, there was a man, clad in a porcelain mask with no features save for the eyeholes, one marked with a black tear and some stylized designs, and clad in a body-concealing cloak. He tilted his head to the side as he watched the girl's approach. Around him stood several animated skeletons, some of which were clad in old, but still functional, armor. Behind him there lay a small, pale figure, identical to Tili, with her mouth gagged, her legs bound together, and her arms bound behind her back. Her red eyes widened as she saw someone enter.

"Zalo, take care of her," said the masked necromancer, with a wave of one armored hand.

Something landed behind Tyaethe almost immediately. It was a young man with white hair and wild, almost orange eyes, a grin on his face. He wore a jacket and gauntlets... and lightning crackled around his right hand, a blue magic circle forming in his open palm.

"Hey," he said, grinning, as a bolt of lightning tore from his hand.

Tyaethe paid the lightning user minimal heed, slamming her sword in the way and glaring at the necromancer. The bolt crashed into the mighty blade and... failed to do any harm to the wielder. The handle was wrapped, after all: gripping bare metal was a terrible idea when it would inevitably get slick with swear (though sticky blood could balance that out).

The paladin clamped down on her anger for the moment, keeping the returning glow dim, and issued the more important one with an ultimatum: "Necromancer, surrender or be cut down. Your crimes against the goddesses are vast but there remains a chance to redeem your soul before the crown decides your fate. Both you and your accomplice are further charged with conspiracy to murder."

He wouldn't accept it. They almost never did, and even then it was usually a trick. But every second they spent talking was one where her arm could regain more functionality and once that was healed, she could finish them. Someone else might even make it down. Plus, once they had their eyes on her...

Imperceptibly, as she couldn't get any more tense, Tyaethe prepared to spring.

Words were never said. Sult contained her breathing as Marianne, whom she had been talking moments before, had a sudden case of explosive temper and decided to put her blade in the neck of her offender. Well, granted, Nero was a rude asshole, and he probably was trying to fish that specific reaction but still. Her eyes somewhat wide in disbelief as the Delacroix reassured her authority with her mighty and high attitude.

A shiver went down her spine, and she didn't know why. Her eyes stared at Nero's. The rude bastard was there, eyeing Marianne with contempt and restrained anger, as she went in her spiel. An eerie feeling came from the armored warrior. Marianne was deadly, and she was more capable than making that threat come true, but yet... somehow. It seemed that even a punctured carotid wouldn't stop Nero. Nero was about to open his mouth to say something but in the end he just refrained, smiling a smile that would make a hyena proud.

A realization hit her, as she eyed her twin and the creepiness around him.

Magic. She bit her lip. Dante offered a timely distraction to Marianne's post-offense denial attitude, as she looked at both in the eye.

"Yes, the numbers of coffins are far more than the bodies... plus the coffins, seems that they were empty for some time, and undisturbed." Sult pondered as she eyed the group.

"And you're fucking stupid. BOTH OF YOU." She eventually blurted out, as she clenched her sword. "Oh, look at Me, I'm fucking NERO, I GOT SASS TO UPDO EVERYONE AND LET ME INSULT THE FUCKING DELACROIX WHOSE STICK IS SO UP HER ASS SHE HAS TROUBLE SWALLOWING." Sult finally exploded as she eyed the group, beginning to trudge.

"You're an idiot who makes threats that she'd rather not follow. She's a knight captain and her father's a duke, idiot!" Sult snarled back at Marianne as she trudged forwards, her face frowned. "You're a fucking murderer!Corpses don't talk, imbecile!" She added pointing at Tili. "And you are a whiny bitch who has been using ENCHANTED ARMOR since we got here." She narrowed her gaze at Nero, as her twin did a double take, wiping out the snarling, cynical grin he had moments ago.

"And you...!" Sult said, pointing at Dante. "You're cool. Help me with this peanut gallery, please, with sugar on top." She finished as she trudged over, her eyes peeking on the remains of a battle. She winced upon seeing the corpse of another assailant, the neck bent in an odd angle, and with grip marks of a small hand.

"Either we have a monstrous tiny vampire, or this was Tyaethe." Sult said upon gazing the dead man.

And there was the thunderclap.

"!" She looked alarmed at her companions, deciding wisely to wait for a more skilled vanguard to investigate it.

Gillian laughs sheepishly at the young woman's excitement. “Sad to say that's probably the most knightly tale I’ve got. You’d be positively amazed how much time as a knight is spent on the mundane parts. Most of it marching.” He says, leaning back in his chair a bit more, getting comfortable. “More over, a lot of the tactics I used I learned while I was an apprentice furrer. So more...peasantly valor than knightly.“ He grins to himself a little. “When I got back, Parnella...the knight who sponsored my induction into the order” He says, explaining the name drop.

“But when I got back and told him about it, the man looked near ready to blow a blood vessel that I’d run into that fight without backup AND injured. Got a lecture for the better part of a fortnight after that.” He says, eying the windows (looking for any suspicious intruders who might be slinking in the dark) before sighing a bit. He missed working with the old man, though he’d be the first one to stop him if the elder so much as threatened to mount his horse for battle. He shakes the nostalgia from his head, turning his gaze towards Ian. “What about you Ian? Handsome young hundi like yourself surely got a story or two for her highness.” He asks, not wanting to move the story telling back into the old rogue skulking in the corners hands. Atleast not yet.

Ian stirred when Gillian talked to him, slowly sitting up and looking between him and the princess. "Well, I certainly have a story or two, though I doubt they'll be as 'knightly', after all I've only even been a knight for less that a year" he chuckled "though I believe the princess had wanted to hear about my kind before, no?" He looked at the princess "Which would you like Eliabelle, shall I find some tale of my adventure worth telling or did you want to know about the Hundi?"

Marianne Delacroix

Marianne glared at Sult as she walked past. She had figured she could find a friend in the Sult that she knew, but apparently she felt differently if her outburst was anything to go by. Sure, thinking of it now, Marianne did not carry herself appropriately in that moment of weakness. But she could never stand it whenever anyone spoke down of the Delacroix. She had a deep love of her family and is proud of their cultures and histories. She, herself, would never speak ill of another family's name so she had an even harder time understanding why anyone else would say or do such things. Turning over her shoulder to look at the 'Other Sult', she made eye contact as she thought to herself. Realizing her immaturity, she thought to do better in the future. She would have to remember to apologize to the Sunfields when this was over. After all, as proud of a woman she is, she was above such pettiness. What was she thinking? Openly threatening someone who was here out of a want to aide them? She was past such childishness, or so she had thought. As her features softened, eyes saddening, she turned away and continued onward.

---

Coming upon the corse of supposedly another one of the conspirators, Marianne stared at its crushed neck with a sense of disgust. Covering her mouth and nose with a hand. Had someone from their merry band of Knights already rushed ahead? Someone strong enough to combat a mage by their lonesome? But, the only one she could possibly think of capable of doing such a thing...

A booming sound startled her, interrupting her thoughts. As the group shared a look, Marianne as expected rushed ahead. Giving the Sult she knew a look as she passed by, her black hair trailing behind her. She almost wanted make a passing remark along the lines of the slowness to take action being a Sunfield trait, but she dismissed the thought. It was unlike her to think such things. Merely turning away as she travelled deeper into the crypt, saying not a word. Instead, she thought if her mentors saw her now, how they would reprimand her for being too swift and hot-headed in rushing into dangerous situations. That was one part of her training as a Delacroix Knight she did poorly in. Her and her brother Paul. Delacroix Knights were far more careful and methodical, like her brother John.

---

There she was again, that odd little girl that bore a maddeningly familiar sword. Her body glowing and emanating a well-known aura to those who practiced magicks. Seeing a magic caster standing between her and her assumed ally, Marianne decided to take advantage of the element of surprise and provide a bit of a distraction. Breaking out into a sprint towards the white-haired man, Marianne leapt and sent her feet out aimed at the man's back in a flying kick. If she were successful, the velocity and weight of her body was enough to send the man tumbling far enough away to provide enough safe distance. Her skirt fluttering and hair fluttering as she glided through the air to connect with his spine. Landing with trained grace and balance.

Taking her place by the girl's side as she kept her eyes trained on the masked/cloaked man, the white-haired magic caster, and the accompanying skeleton horde, Marianne figured now was a time to be rather forward and direct.
"Before we continue any further, I must ask. Who are you?"
Marianne said, looking down at the girl who wielded the giant sword before her eyes looked back up and saw someone whom she could only assume was the sister to Tili.
Taking a knee and kneeling down, Marianne removed the white veil she wore in her hair and unsheathed her sword.
With her veil in hand, she grabbed at the blade of her sword and began to focus her own mana.
Now was not a time to hold back and she didn't have the strength nor energy to fight in such brutish ways.
Might as well cut through them with a little bit of magical intervention, eying the armored skeleton warriors.
She recognized the booming sound from earlier reminiscent of her own lightning spells.
Though she was still at a disadvantage against another caster, she couldn't help but wonder if her own lightning was more powerful.
She had never met another caster that ever came close to the power of her Lightning-bolt Javelins.

With the attention of the combatants fully off of him by now (even with his constant meddling via freezing and unfreezing water under the hostiles), a bitter smile crept its way onto Tiral's lips.

"You know, I should be happier that I'm not even being registered as a threat. Let other people do the work for me and all that. Even so, though... We have little time to waste, so I guess it's about time to speed things up..." he muttered to himself. Having watched the fight unfold in front of him as it did gave the magician some time to analyze the vampire's movements. The axe-wielding enemy, on the other hand... Well, the Captain seemed to be doing well enough.

With one hand retaining the interference setup and the other to his side, Tiral began to chant as unassumingly quietly as possible. Below that second hand, a large spear of ice was gradually forming, taking shape as he slowly aimed at the vampire.

"Steady... Steady... Now!"

With a flick of his hand, the spear shot towards the vampire, covered in a layer of frost. If that blood-reattachment pseudosurgery was something to deal with, then he just needed to freeze the blood in the damn vampire's body over. That was all, right?

This was getting them nowhere and Sir Garrett could feel a rumble from beneath his feet. With a snarl he reached up and grabbed the boarding axe on his back before sheathing his hunting knife. Driving the axe into the seams of the floor it left the end of the axe pointing up from the floor. It was tipped with a metal end cap which could be used as a crude spear. This undead was causing a lot of trouble because of its mobility and it was time to end that. Drawing his knife Sir Garrett lunged at the Vampire moving to the left he met it blade on blade using the two weapons in his hands to make up for his lack of speed.

With smooth steps Sir Garrett worked his way around the creature. There was no way he was going to match its sheer strength and speed for long so it was time to level the playing field. With a lunge and a savage roar Sir Garrett battered aside the creatures sword and suddenly closed with it. With a primal surge of speed and strength Sir Garrett dropped his blades and dipped low. Threading his right arm between the vampire legs; Sir Garrett lifted the creature on his right shoulder as he wrapped his left arm behind its right arm to prevent it from immediately sticking its sword in his back. Surging forward Sir Garret slammed the crown of his head into its face before taking off down the short length of hallway towards the end of his axe.

Roaring like a crazed animal Sir Garrett heaved the Vampire and launched himself backwards. If everything went according to plan the vampire would be impaled through its back on the end of the axe planted in the stone floor. The whole maneuver provided an opportunity for the vampire to catch him with its sword on Sir Garrett’s way out assuming it survived being impaled. Regardless of the result Sir Garrett leapt backwards twice until he was where he started. Without taking his eyes off the Vampire Sir Garrett knelt and felt around for his blades before rising with them in either hand.

"Ah, is that so? I take it one of my relations was responsible?" Damon Cal asked, grinning wildly, "Hearing about the misery he'd sewn, it's almost intoxicating."

He licked his lips. "It almost makes me thirsty, and ah, I have so many options, don't I...?"

The sudden attack from one of the brothers was deftly deflected with a single blow, the vampire's blade and the blade of his attacker clashing, as he set the sword off-course almost immediately. However, as a result, he didn't really have a chance to deflect the crossbow from being jammed into his chest.

When the trigger was pulled, he suddenly staggered back, head lowered as he slammed his feet down to shatter the ice that continually formed. Had the attack worked?

As he raised his head, just that had happened became visible. Damon Cal's lightning-fast stagger had actually been a dodge. In his hand he now clutched the crossbow bolt that had been fired directly at his chest.

"NICE SHOT!" He cried, grinning wildly, "LET ME RETURN IT FOR YOU!"

His arm blurred, gripping the bolt in one hand, the point now facing towards the knight who'd fired it. It was so incredibly fast, how could anyone hope to deflect it?!

Moments before it made contact, a spear of ice pierced his arm, just below the elbow. The razor sharp tip punched deep into his flesh, and the force of the shot tore his arm lower arm clear of the rest. Blood sprayed from his stump, spattering across the ground, as the ice spear finally hit a wall. Due to its magical properties, rather then shattering, it pinned the arm there. Before Damon Cal could attempt to pull it back, ice was already forming on the severed limb.

The vampire's eyes widened, as the stringy streams of blood connecting his misssing limb to his body failed, falling loosely to the ground. Immediately Damon Cal spun to face the target.

His gleeful demeanor was gone. Now his eyes were wild with mad rage as they immediately fixed on the perpetrator, Tiral.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" he snarled, breaking into a charge, his remaining arm raising its blade.

He was stopped before he had a chance to reach the mage. The barbarian knight's lift and toss had succeeded, and the vampire let out a choked sound as his back hit the sharp point, and it pierced his body deeply enough to come out the other side.

"... So... so that's it...?" he mused, eyes still wild, "That's how it is... heh..."

Slamming his feet on the ground, Damon Cal wrenched himself off the spear. Blood spurted from his chest wound as it began to mend, and he leaned forward, the stump of his left arm still spewing blood.

"I'LL TEAR YOU HEARTS OUT!" he shrieked, lunging immediately at the nearest target.

Meanwhile, Fanilly lept back once more, sparks flying up from her armored feet as she darted back to avoid another swing from that huge axe. But the Barukstaedan warrior's attacks weren't as coordinated now, were they?! But in the back of her mind, she'd noticed what that man had tried to do to the unconscious Mariah before getting distracted again. That man was no paladin. Fanilly had heard stories of paladins. One was even a member of the Iron Roses. A paladin didn't murder surrendering prisoners or attack allies.

But her momentary distraction had let Alvor mount another attack! His swinging axe just barely missed this time. Even less coordinated, he was still difficult to approach unless distracted! She had to get in and end this soon, before things could get any worse... And then she saw her chance.

As the 'paladin' attacked, fiery shards of burning metal scattered, forcing Alvor to raise his arm and shield his eyes, stepping back. As he did, his foot caught an icy patch on the floor, and he stumbled.

With a shout, Fanilly rushed forward, thrusting her sword before her as she did. His armor was strong, but steel could only be so strong even with those runes powering it! A weak point, some kind of chink in his armor like she'd found in his arm...!

There!

Fanilly's blade bit into Alvor's side, piercing his chest and sinking in up to the hilt. The hulking warrior let out a cry of shock and pain as it went from his right side, to deep into his chest. His axe hit the ground with a clatter.

"Blasted... Roses..." he uttered with a wheeze. As the small blonde drew her sword out from his body, he toppled back and landed with a tremendous thud.

From there, he lay still. The huge warrior was dead.

As soon as Sir Garrett had his blades in hand he’d started back towards the Vampire. With a primal snarl he sheathed the hunting blade and gripped the hand and a half chopping sword in both hands. Hopping sideways he moved the blade in a wicked U shape starting from his shoulder level to about the vampires knee level. The creature was incredibly fast and agile but given that it was just now pulling itself off the back of his boarding axe the arcing cut would give no room to duck the stroke. It would also bring Sir Garrett back to his axe and mace lying on the ground.

The cut came in at an angle as the Vampire struggled free and unless it managed to dodge out of the way the sword would lop off any offending limbs or appendages with the force of Sir Garrett’s arm. Die you damn bastard. Fanily needs our help and I’ve been locked in combat with this damn thing too long. I should have taken this ameature in far less moved. Relying on your supernatural abilities you coward. “I wonder what it will take for you to stay the hell down you bastard.”

At the termination of the brutal cut Sir Garrett halted the blade and kicked his hips backward bringing it in a downward stroke aimed at the back of the creature's neck. The cut would easily separate the creature's head if it made contact given the power of Sir Garrett’s arms and the leverage he had making the cut with the shift in his weight. Failing the cut also meant that he was within easy reach of his axe, regardless of how the exchange ended he would free his axe with his off hand.

The necromancer sighed, though it was impossible to see what his expression was beneath the mask.

"Zalo, I said take care of her," he commented, simply. The lightning mage's gauntlets crackled, clearly some form of magical tool he was using to bypass the need to cast a spell.

"I didn't expect a little girl to react that fast, y'know," he commented with a shrug, before raising his hand again. Only his second attack never came. An armored foot hit his back with a crack of impact, and his eyes widened as he tumbled forward, hitting his side and rolling once before lying still, on his front. At least, for a moment. He quickly pushed himself up off the ground, eyes burning with anger and wide with shock. "What the hell, how'd you get down here so fast?!"

"Markas must have fallen," replied the necromancer, simply, with an unconcerned shrug, "I imagine Caloh must have been slain as well, looking at how many of them are here. How bothersome."

He sighed again, shrugging his shoulders. Zalo, who had gotten back to his feet, seemed stunned at the news.

"Both of them?! No way..." he exclaimed, shaking his head. He raised one crackling gauntlet. "How the hell did you bastards manage that?! I'll fry you!"

Waves of lightning erupted from his fingertips. As they did, the necromancer simply snapped his fingers to send the skeletons charging.

Meanwhile, Tili ducked low, her eyes still fixed on her sister, now. She had to save her, she had to get to her, but between her was the lightning and the skeletons...!

Kyphi squirmed in her bindings, letting out some muffled sounds when she saw Tili.

They'd chosen to fight, as predicted--but the timely intervention of Marianne had bought the extra few seconds needed and her arm, whilst still horribly burnt, actually had functional muscle again. Tyaethe forced herself to grasp her sword properly and took a moment to clear up any doubts about her identity: "Don't call me a little girl! Don't you idiots recognise the sword? I'm Sir Tyaethe!"

Despite the frustration evident on her face and in the luminescence, the paladin took a deep breath as the skeletons moved in and charged herself, ducking under one skeleton's swinging axe and barging another with her shoulder before it could attack. Her focus seemed to be entirely on the necromancer, with the paladin drawing the sword back for a clear thrust... but the thrust never came, only a cursory swing to ward off an attempt at getting too close as the run came to a dead halt.

The paladin had weaved through the beginning of the melee and the one conspirator they would absolutely have to take alive--in order to take up a position guarding their hostage. If the Knights foe had no leverage, then everyone else needed no reason to hold back.

Tiral smirked as he saw the vampire's arm get frozen to the wall, the regenerative effect stopped dead in its tracks as the blood uselessly tried to drag the limb back to its original position. Sir Garrett's followup attack gave the mage just enough time to jump to his feet in preparation for another attack, though; with their opponent now in a murderous rampage (and the other now dead, thank the gods), things seemed to be going a bit faster than he had expected.

"Hm. Well, now this means you're at a heavy disadvantage, now aren't you?" Tiral asked the vampire, not expecting a response in the midst of the blood fury that the enemy had gotten themselves into. With all that blood dripping out of the body, it was only a matter of time before things closed themselves out, right?

"Captain, rest easy for a moment. We'll handle the rest," the mage said, chanting a bit before stabbing his dagger into the ground. The water that had since been lying around in between the cracks in the stones quickly began to gather below the vampire before spewing up like a geyser. The water itself, though, seemed to freeze mid-eruption. If it caught the vampire in it, then all was well and Sir Garrett could finish the job. There were more opponents to worry about further ahead, anyhow; it'd be best if he could preserve some of his Magil for later...

With the help of the tiny captain the Steel-clad axe-wielding man was finally slain, cursing the Iron Roses with his last breath. In the momentary reprieve Alaric reacquired his Hammer, though with no danger of being attacked by the giantess again and the party of Iron Roses capable of finishing the vampire he took a moment for himself. He planted the pommel of his hammer on the ground and rested one hand atop the head.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm himself, when he suddenly began quietly speaking "hmm? yes I know I got out of hand, it isn't usually a problem, you know I'm not used to fighting alongside others...well it doesn't help that the undead are involved...of course I'm going to be more careful!"