The necromancer had very little time to do much of anything. In a moment, he went from a smug feeling of triumph to shock as hands latched onto his robes and pulled him downward. There was a crunch as Tyaethe's head hit his mask, and cracks ran through the surface. He staggered back, clutching his forehead as it splintered and fell away, revealing a pale, scarred face. The knife in the small undead girl's back splintered, crumbling to nothing and soon dissipating into dust.

"G-gah!" the necromancer clutched his forehead, blood trickling down from his dark, shaggy hair. "You... damn you, you bitch...!"

Zalo raised a hand, lightning crackling up his gauntlet, but let out a howl of pain as a rusted sword embedded itself up to the hilt in his arm. The nem sisters had gathered the weapons of the fallen skeletons and mounted an attack immediately, and this left the lightning made unable to defend himself for a brief moment. Nero's hand slammed into his cheek with an earsplitting crack, and the divinely-empowered blow sent him reeling, slamming into the opposite wall and knocking him unconscious.

The remaining skeletons were soon enough dispatched, the last of their number falling in bony heaps. A final skeleton was cut in half by a quick strike from Tili, who used a rusted sword to sever its spine.

It was a few moments later that Fanilly arrived on the bottom floor.

For a few moments, she stared in shock and confusion. Some sort of... thing was launching itself at Marianne, there were two Sults, one of them nearly naked, and two Nem, identical. A cloaked man was reeling and bleeding form his forehead... the blonde girl did the first thing that came to mind, sprinting for Marianne and attempting to pull her away from the strange attacking force as fast as she could.

---

The Princess tilted her head to the side in mild confusion at a few of the statements from the Hundi... but really, the tales of the warrior race's noble quests were what got her interested. After all, it had been the entire reason she read Fireheart! However, she was stopped short of actually touching the fluffy ears when she noticed what was going on...

Bethany stared for a few moments in confusion when Rinaldo began to speak to her, blushing simply because she was being spoken to for a few moments. "E-er... um... I-I'm not very interesting e-er..."

She trailed off for a few moments.

"... A-ah, in shape? U-um... I'm... n-not good at exercise um..."

Eliabelle proceeded to stare daggers at the older man.

Tyaethe used the man's stagger as a brief opportunity to survey the flow of battle. Everything was in hand, now: no more undead, knights were filtering down from above, and the other mage had been incapacitated. She was now free of the restrictions from having to defend or focus on their enemy being perfectly certain to survive. The feral grin that split her face was alarming--for the split second before she attacked.

It was an attack without finesse but finesse would have been a waste against defensive wards. The enormous blade swung in as a club, trying to break through the defences by force alone... again and again. If the necromancer was even standing for long, finding a way to assist in the fighting would have meant being in nearly as much danger from the rebounding steel as he was. The only signal to stop the onslaught was his being smacked into a wall and crumpling from the injuries.

Unless her blade snapped. Durable and weighty as it was, there were still things that could be tough enough to buckle after it, with the force being imparted.

"Understood, Captain," Tiral stated flatly, slipping the dagger back into its usual hiding spot before following his superior further into the crypt. The walk down was a lot less treacherous than it probably would've been otherwise (mainly thanks to the other Knights that charged ahead like bucks in heat towards the enemy), which gave the mage a change to catch his breath. His heart was still pounding from that last encounter, but at the very least he had more than enough stamina to spare. Was it the excitement that was keeping him strung-up right now?
...
Probably.

Following the Captain onto the bottom floor, Tiral stopped for a moment and looked at the scene with a blank stare. Two Sults (one completely naked), Marianne being assaulted by a weird pile of floating armor, and... What appeared to be the remaining enemies either out cold or in the process of being knocked out cold (or killed; he could care less, honestly).

"...What in the name of the Goddesses am I looking at?!" he cried out amidst all of the chaos, staring at the group with a look of disbelief before sighing. "Honestly, you'd think an order of knights would have a bit more dignity..."

Rolling his eyes, Tiral walked around the edge of the room, quietly chanting under his breath as he moved up the the lightning mage that was lying out cold on the floor. With a wave of his hand, the enemy's body was quickly encased in ice, save for his head. Shattering the body was certainly an option, but... Well, if they could interrogate him, then all the better.

...

But how the hell was he supposed to help handle the mess that the Captain had just thrown herself into?!

Like a dark cloud the demonic pieces of armor swooped over, their trajectory being barely altered as they descended upon the hapless Marianne. Darkness invaded everywhere she saw, as a choking sensation invaded her. Inching closer, closer... uncomfortable and clingy kind of close. Like wet loincloth, the armor itself strapped to Marianne, leaving a rather awkward sensation in each pore of the body.

"A contract is made! Wow." The impish creature was positively delighted at this turn of events, dropping all booming pretenses and all seriousness. "You really are prime grade material, more than that Nero harlot! Say, what do you think of my power? Do you want it? For a small fee of your delicious lightning mana... I can give you more power than you ever imagined!" The creature said giddily, as the dark scales covered Marianne from head to toe... granting her phenomenal strength and speed.

And being awfully ticklish.

"What's that? a little girl? The impish aparition chimed? Too bad, little girl, you don't have enough mana to wear me, the great Soulscale! NOW, my REALM OF TERROR AND GLAMOUR STARTS! I mean... master Marianne will do it!" she added as she vanished.

Meanwhile, Nero stared in disbelief. More knights were pouring in gazing at her nakedness. She had been utterly disgraced now, exposing her greatest secret! Just because she had felt like helping Sult. The grown woman shook her fist menancingly and then, in all of her ragged nakedness charged after the armor with an ear splitting scream.

"No!"

But alas, her frantic speed was once again stopped by the might of the Captain of the Roses herself. Merely by being in her way, collapsing to a heap in the middle of the fight.

Meanwhile, Sult breathed deep. The skeletons were all gone, and despite Nero's jerkassedness, things were turning out okay. Sort of. She dropped her sword, and looked at the newcomer.

"Well let me say. Lightning Mage, Tyaethe without armor, a Necromancer, old me, Nero WITHOUT her armor and in her naked glore, Marianne with Nero's armor, two Nem twins..."

"...and the mini captain." She answered as she looked at Fanilly. "But we could use more help, really. I mean, we probably need to get that thing out of Marianne or something." She paused as she breathed in. "I could if I had mana but i'm out of it..."

Ian's ear twitched in disappointment at the lack of affection and he leaned back when Eliabelle's attention shifted to the older rogue across the room. Though with her distracted he saw an opportunity that may get him some petting after all, most likely slapped, but there was a chance of petting all the same. He shifted himself a bit to lay down again, only this time he rested his head in the Princess' lap while she glared at the old man, using her thigh as a pillow with his ears in easy reach.

---

Alaric followed down to the final chamber after the Iron Roses, though when he got there things seemed in hand, sort of, there was some peculiar business with a pair of twin knight, one of which was naked, going on but that wasn't his concern, He was focused on the necromancer. He stood back as one of the Iron roses attempted to finish the necromancer, only staying to ensure that Reon's will was done. once the necromancer was killed, or at least captured by the roses, he would take his leave of them and the dungeon.

"Say, is this where you lost your original arm? I couldn't help but notice it. You see, people have ticks, and certain movements they do... but your left arm and your right arms faint movements are slightly...off." The old man grinned.

Gillian glared at Rinaldo long and hard while Ian did his level best to entertain the young princess. He'd always favored his left hand after the accident, though he was dominate on the right. Even learned to write with his off hand, though noticeably messier than his strong hand. He'd never imagine someone could figure him out just by his gestures. "haha. Well aren't you perceptive for an old pervert?" He asks, his polite tone belying his annoyance. "I suppose I can tell you. I wanted to speak the court mage when I had a chance and this seems as good a any."

He turns back to the princess and the hundi, whose head was currently resting in her lap. He wasn't sure he was more jealous of. "You'll have to pardon him your highness. Hundi groom socially, so he's just trying to be friendly. That said, if you wont pet him I shall!" He teases as he stands up, gently unbuttoning his shirt.

"I was born in the now defunct township of La Reine on the lands of the...venerable Lord Amaury." he says, barely containing his urge to spit the name. The lord in question was anything but venerable. He was well known for his love of wine, wealth and girls who were not yet women. Sadly, he'd only the final vice held in high supply. Knights were all well and good,but in the border lands near Thaln they could only do so much. Men of great virtue can be forged in such a place, but all too often can the lesser qualities of themselves be tempered.
"Orc attacks were infrequent and unorganized. Local tribes were small and fairly equally matched. Meaning no one dominated over the other. That and the township was sat comfortably against a dense forest, providing favorable terrain and lumbar for fortifications. We traded what root vegetables would grow in the area, but it was largely a furring town. At its peak, it was home to a hundred and twenty residents, though in my time there it held a maximum of thirty able bodied men and about twenty elders and children."
"That changed when I turned fifteen. A orc leader by the name of Nash Skulldrinker, a clever name for an orc to be sure, began to terrorize he way through the region. Orc raids were rarer, but they were hitting bigger towns and becoming more organized. News like that travels slow in the country side though, and La Reine was a long way away from anything you or her highness would consider a reasonably sized town. So we knew little besides to avoid the mainroads and post a watch at night."
"A group from the order were sent out to scout the area, possibly cull the tribes were it possible. Among them was my mentor, Sir Seigward Parnella, who lead them. Fall had set in, a low time in trade and farming but high times for furrers. It also meant we could expect fewer attacks, the tribes needing to sort out their own food supplies for the coming winter. Despite the expected lull, none had come for the better part of three months, abnormally quiet." He continues as he finishes unbutton, taut with muscle and now his own nervousness. he did not like telling this story, but now was as good a time.
"hm..don't remember that scare." He says, examining the small faded tear in his gut. "Always learn something new when you look in a mirror. Anyway, I'm getting off track. As Parnella came into the town, there was little we could tell him. Most ignored him as an outsider who knew no better than to question good luck, not knowing an attack larger than we could have thought was on the horizon. He fortified the town to the best of his ability, and much to the peoples displeasure. It was the hunting season after all, and game of foxes, deer, and even mink were afoot.”
He sighs as he begins to take off his gloves. “When they came, they numbered one hundred and twenty strong. It was no longer a band, it was a small army of orcs. With twenty nine villagers and twenty trained knights at his disposal, Parnella did well. He managed to keep the ranks in line and repelled the attackers, killing two to one. And after Nash was felled the orcs were demoralized and retreated quickly. All in all, La Reine lost twenty men and women and only seven knights. Considering the odds, acceptable losses. Fantastic even.”
“Of course, as I said, there were thirty to start. I...I was young.” He says, stopping his disrobing for a moment as he calms himself. “Even with the knights there I was still a boy. Barely even one summer romance to my name. “ He heads with a cheap chuckle. If the joke was meant to be funny, he certainly didn't find it so. “More accustomed to hunting than combat out right, I fled into the forest as the orcs charged through the early lines of defense. Senses abandoned for fear. But I knew of an abandoned shack, where I thought to find out. But one of the band followed me on boar back. Perhaps to punish my cowardice, perhaps for sport of a fleeing target. I cant say.”
He stares off into the distance for a moment, trying to recollect his thoughts. “...I don't remember much of what happened. Its a blur of branches, grunts and wild flails of my spear. Somehow though, I'd manage to best the rider and trample him under his own boar. But not before I lost my right arm. Were it his ax or the tusk of the creature he rode that wrenched my arm from its home, I don't know.”
He finishes taking off his gloves, placing them on the nightstand. His right hand gleamed black in the candle light, the chitinous appendage at odds with the pale man. “ Bleeding, confused and still fearful, I limped to the shack. As I began to sub come to death a woman stepped from behind a tree, offering me aid in exchange to return the favor. I agreed before I even knew what that would have entailed. As darkness ate away at my vision, I'd only time enough to see some great horned figure skulk from the brush and examine me. By the time I awoke I had...this” He says, taking off his shirt. The full arm matched much the had, a hard black shell over a softly glowing blue membrane.
“I learned that village had repelled the attack as I limped back home, though my family was among those killed. The village...turned on me. I cant say I blame them. Though I don't know if the woman had a hand in the attack, I cant say for certain she did not. And by that point...the people needed something to blame. I just happened to be the excuse. Parnella took me in, to keep me safe from their wrath and maybe help undo this...thing. But in my time with him, we've found no mage, witch, scholar or priest who knew how to undo it, were that even possible.”

“And...thats the story. I guess of how I ended up in the knights and of how I lost my arm. If any of you...” He says, nodding to the court mage, “have some insight as to its origin, I'd appericate the lead. Eight years of not having answers can be a bit of a downer. Mind, its not all bad. It does have a few...interesting tricks. Like so. Larmes!” He says, hand glowing with blue light as he points it at Rinaldo. A small sigil that resembles a wounded deer enclosed in circle forms on the mans breast pocket, slowly oozing a glowing orange liquid. A small spot of harmless revenge for the older man coaxing the story from him.

The Necromancer's eyes widened in horror as the weapon was swung at him like a club. With a crunch, he hurtled into the wall, old stone cracking from his impact. He fell forward limply, with a gurgle and a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, either dead or unconscious. Either way, he was no longer a threat.

Zalo... did not particularly notice as his body was encased in solid ice. He was a bit too unconscious for that. Instead, he continued to lay there limping, uncomprehending of how his fellow Conspirators had been utterly crushed with quite a bit of finality. Indeed, all six were no longer capable of fighting. For the most part, they were dead.

In mid-stride, desperate to try and save Marianne from whatever was overcoming her, Fanilly found herself hitting the gorund. Her armor clanked and rattled and for a moment she was confused and disoriented as she hit the ground... And... and... Sult? One of the Sults... the... the one with much less clothing on. In spite of the situation, Fanilly found herself growing bright red, heat rising in her cheeks and filling her fast, before she tried to squirm away, shoving at Sult... or.. .the Sult or... it was hard to understand what was happening there.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry!" she cried, "But Marianne is... is..."

What... just what was happening to Marianne? She was being covered in armor...?

---

At Candaeln, many of the knights, even those who had not attended the party or anything else, were quite preoccupied. However, there were several individuals who had been left with nothing to do.

As such, when Indrau entered the kitchen(an expansive room with a wide variety of implements intended for cooking, and quite an expansive area for the storing of various foods in order to keep them from spoiling), he was greeted with a rather unusual sight.

There were three maids.

The shortest one, with her pink hair and pigtails, was seated at a table, kicking her feet as she watched the other two, smiling. One maid, the taller one with blue hair, was rapidly chopping vegetables with an exceptionally sharp-looking knife. Finally, the brunette was quietly preparing a pot to use for cooking.

"Remember!" declared the pink-haired maid. None of them had noticed the newcomer. "It's only worth it if there's meat! Lots and lots of meat!"

"Er, m-maybe you could help, then, Alaree," replied the brunette, looking back over her shoulder at the pink-haired maid, "I-I'm sure i-it would go faster, too..."

She trailed off into silence.

"You both know I'm bad at cooking!" came Alaree's cheerful response, "So I'll supervise! Supervising is important too!"

The blue-haired maid sighed. "Your 'supervising' is just an excuse to-"

It was about then that she noticed that one of the knights had approached. Immediately, she stopped what she was doing and curtsied. the brunette swiftly realized as well, and, blushing in embarrassment at her inaction, curtsied herself.

Alaree noticed, but didn't make any move to get up and curtsy until the blue-haired girl gave her a rather intense glare.

"Hello, Sir Indrau," they said, nearly in unison.

They were Fanilly's maids, but all the knights were to be treated with respect, obviously.

Marianne Delacroix

Writhing on the ground against the demonic armor, it took all of Marianne's willpower to resist against it. Her struggle made more difficult by the tightness in her chest as she felt its darkness clutch at what she was sure was her soul. As her body was coated with its black scales, violating her as it clung tightly to her skin, her chest heaved and strained as she drew ragged gasps for air. She was almost hyperventilating as she was quickly being overwhelmed by whatever demonic force gave the armor power and form. An unseen weight crushing her and suffocating her very essence as her skin crawled and tingled. Marianne could almost detect a lecherous intent within the armor as the scales then receded and reformed themselves to match her current attire and armor. Though, giving it a blacker color and thicker plating. Her heart and mind still fighting against obscene urges that she had never felt before, Marianne's eyes were shut tight as she let out a pathetic whimpering. Its voice echoing within the recesses of her head as it spoke, resonating within her to a disturbing tone. The grand Heiress to her family name reduced to nothing but this.

Unheard to anyone else but her, small voices whispered to her sweetly, offering temptations. Sweet, but empty promises of great strength easily given and not to be hard-earned. One of the few areas she desperately lacked in as far as her prowess as a warrior was concerned. One of her deepest desires, a goal she had hoped to attain one day among other things. Eyes snapping open, Marianne realized she was panting heavily as she stared at the ground. On all fours, she examined the dark brick underneath as her breath slowly steadied. Her body was becoming accustomed to 'wearing' whatever it was that clung to her skin, or was she the one being 'worn'? As the sickly and revolting sensations gradually ebbed and faded, her breath came easily to her all of a sudden. In place of all of her feelings of fear and dread, she felt...

Free..
Liberated...

Blinking through the thin sheen of sweat that she had broken out in, she lifted a gauntlet-sheathed hand and examined herself.
Turning her hand over to examine her clawed fingers and palm, wisps of black smoke emanating from her newly transformed self she took a moment to relish and even enjoy the new feelings that flooded through her veins.

Power..
Strength...

She felt that what the sweet voices were uttering to her ears and to her ears alone spoke of the truth.
Clutching her fist tightly, she lifted herself to kneel.
Eying a spot on the ground, she decided to test her new gifts.
And with a sudden slam of her balled fist, she punched straight into the ground and buried it deep.
Shattering the rock as the earth itself cracked under her new might.
Removing her hand from the ground with a jerk, she watched as the rubble fell off of her gauntlet as if she had merely punched at a dirt clod.

Mesmerized and in awe, she wondered if this must've been how the other Sult girl felt at all times.
And yet it seemed to be wasted so on the imposter.
Her eyes locking on her semi-naked form, an emotion displayed within her that was indecipherable.
All of this...was quite nice.
With this, she possibly rivaled even the Immortal Knight.
But it was not her's to take ownership of.
Nor did she want for it.

Gritting her teeth, Marianne's rage quickly flared as she clutched at the top edge of her new breastplate.
"No."
Marianne said with heat and finality.
"No such contract has been made, demon."
She despised such an idea.

The idea of just easily and simply taking a power that wasn't yours and claiming it for yourself.

A power that you did not work hard for.
A power you did not earn.
A power granted by an outside source.
A power given to you.

How dare such a dark creature assume lesser of Marianne, to think that someone of her pride and bearing would accept such a lowly present. Marianne's strength was her own, and no one could ever take that from her, no matter how little some may think of her strength. How dare it make a mockery and a fool of her, Marianne V. Delacroix? As tempting as it seemed, Marianne thought better. Using the armor's granted strength against it, combined with her own fiery rage, Marianne started to grip the breastplate as hard as she could. Nearly crumpling it as her long black hair began to levitate, crackling with her lightning mana.

"If you believe that someone of my stature would require such a craven tool such as yourself, then you are sadly mistaken, demon. If you do not remove yourself from my body, then I will forcibly remove you myself and destroy you with all that I have."

Turning to Fanily, she gave her warning once and only once.
"Captain. I would advise you and my fellow Iron Roses distance themselves from me."
Marianne speaking as if she struggled to restrain her ire as her body began to angrily crackle with arcs of electricity.
Her mana demanding the demonic equipment dismiss itself at once.
She spoke as if she would use her mana to self-destruct.
All the while gripping at the armor with both of her hands and digging her fingers into the crevices of the metal as she attempted to pry and rip the plates off. Not entirely sure if her mana surging would be counter-intuitive to her aims.

She was practically growling as her expression twisted into one of intense and deep-rooted hatred.

Sir Indrau groaned and wiped a hand across his face. Gone was his chance to sit, drink and brood in peace. They should know well enough that he hated titles, especially when applied to him. He never considered himself a Knight, with a capital K. Indrau was merely a knight, one that followed and supported (and called people idiots when they really needed it). Even the captain only warranted being called by her last name. They must enjoy tormenting him, to act in such a way.

Of course, how low would he'd have sunk if he became angry with the maids. He sighed and unbuckled his sword belt, setting it in a corner by the doorway. The bracers and pauldrons came off next, these being dumped unceremoniously on the floor next to the blade. Indrau now rolled up his sleeves and limped over to the counter, grabbing a knife. He pointed to the pink haired maid with his opposite hand.

"Go fetch the meat then. Beef. Has to be red meat. Good for the blood and builds muscle."

He didn't like being treated like anyone special but they wouldn't be happy with him helping. And that short one certainly needed to be given something to do. He had been tempted to leave, but that would be to admit defeat and the Crippled Lion wasn't one to walk away from a battle.

With all of the enemies well and truly dealt with, Tyaethe was able to watch along with everyone else as the suit of demonic armour apparently chose now to molest and be worn by one of their knights. Now, had the demon asked politely and gotten some agreement, this would have been mostly inappropriate because of the time and location. But the irritating sprite was being rather forceful...

Not that there were many options on how to help. Stabbing it repeatedly with her sword might work, like it did with most other things. Stabbing Marianne repeatedly to get the armour off of Marianne was counter-productive, for certain. Stepping in to pull it off... well, Tyaethe wasn't sure that she'd be able to get purchase, not with the lighting. If she was going to be pushing mana into it then there was always the chance of running dry before succeeding at what she chose to do, particularly after fighting through to the bottom floor and the display in the ball earlier.

That was something she could help with. Doing the exact opposite of 'clearing the area', the white-haired paladin stepped forwards and reached one instantly-numbed hand to Marianne's head and, for want of a more technical term, pushed: a steady and deep supply of more, mana unfiltered by any magical inclination or study. It was the source and support for those that insisted her unnatural survival must have been due to some act of magic or necromancy on Tyaethe's part; the knight had enough mana to have conceivably done such a thing without the support of sacrifices or alternative mana sources.

"We're an Order of knights. Don't force yourself to do something alone."

The Sult Fanilly had crashed into, or rather Nero, gave the captain of the Roses an ugly look, after seeing her fumbling and flailing. Unceremonously putting one of her hands directly in Fanilly's face, she also pushed to untangle herself of the mess both were into. "Don't get in the way, midget!" She snapped as she tried to crawl towards Marianne.

Sult's expression frowned, upon seeing her twin brazenly manhandling Fanilly. She gritted her teeth, whispering something under her breath "That's it." But she made no further comment on that regard. Not now.

The demonic armor shifted and clicked in place. With an ominous silence, it moved at first like a second skin on Marianne, allowing the knightly damsel to fully explore the demonic boon it had granted. And yet, she quickly disregarded it, being infuriated. But the armor didn't make a response. Not even to the increasingly hostile answers, nor the posturing.

The armored hands of the knight tried to tear the rest of the armor off, but the monotonous clanking denoted that it wasn't working at all. And the electricity crackled and roared... and yet, the armor seemed to not be dented on the slightlest... instead, it was as if the lightning itself was being devoured, like the fading thunderbolts amidst the dark clouds of a storm. It was then when it shifted so slightly.

"Uh...hey..." The demonic voice hesitated.

And then, a second figure started to pour mana, as if it was the most skilled and obvious thing to do. More mana that coursed through Marianne, but pure in essence, and still...just mana. Which the armor also took in, with no signs of changing. It shifted slightly, puffing up at first, then it spoke.

"Siiigh... You. Are. Idiots." The armor spoke with solemnity. "You think you can destroy me like that, you'll only earn yourself a trip to the healers due to mana exhaustion that way. And you, the other one. The undead with the core swelling with mana. You're as hopeless as a monkey when it comes to magical theory. You can't really fix everything by throwing mana around. Which is rather tasteless, by the way." The armor shifted, and begin to shift.

"Okay. You win. I'm out of here. You guys can't be more pathetic and uninformed even if you tried. Order of Knights? I've seen barbarians with more poise!" The armor snapped in annoyance as it became airborne once again, detaching itself from Marianne quickly and hastily, as if it had been some kind of unpalatable food.

It was then when it caught notice of Nero, and giving a shrug... or whatever it was that kind of gesture, descended upon Nero once again after her short escapade.

"I SHALL GRACE YOU WITH ANOTHER CHANCE---wait, what are you doing?" The armor, who quickly reformed around Nero, granting her the aspect she had before of a man questioned.

"You told me the contract is over, and hence... I shall use my Holy mana as I please, you coy demonic scrap..." She (he?) smiled. "Now how was the spell my sister used before...?" She mused. "Ah yes..."

"Wait...wait...Nero, old friend..." The armor flailed as it tried to detach, but one of Nero's hands got a grip on it, preventing its escape."We...can talk...I mean...we make a good team."

"O...holy Reon...mother of the Sun." Nero began to chant, her voice still retaining her female quality. "In this woeful hour, we prayeth. In thy name, I beseech to thine burning passion. Let this haven be a dwelling of thy power. "

"NO, NO, NOO!" The armor flailed, as it tried to escape, Nero grunting to prevent its release.

"Let Thy LIGHT SHINE THROUGH THE DARKEST PIT! LET OUR FOES, KNOW THE MIGHT OF THY NAME! LET THEM KNOW OF THINE SEARING WRATH, AND NEVER LAY A HAND UPON THINE SERVANTS!" Nero said as she drew a sigil on the armor. Blessing the demonic armor. "WARD OF REON!" She yelled, as she and the armor were propelled in different directions, the magical reaction explosion emitting a deafening roar.

What was left of the armor impacted on the wall with a loud thud... quickly piecing together as the impish figure she once had manifested as. "YOU, BITCH!!"

"..serves you right." said Nero, as she panted, blood trickling from her nose. "I despise traitors." Her sight rested on Sult, albeit briefly, as she gave Nero an ugly face. "They're the worst, aren't they?"

"Nero..." Sult, who was besides Tiral, tensed, almost snarling. "How dare you touch the captain like that?" She snarled.

"Oh, and what are you going to do? Fight me? Here? Silly Sult." Her elder sister coughed as she got straight up.

"No. But when we're out of this tomb... mark my words. A duel. Will. be. Waiting." The youngest sister snarled.

"Fine by me. I am at wits end too... specially seeing how half your order has seen the very bountiful bosom I would rather not have revealed." Nero snarked back, getting her blade. Even though things seemed quiet, they wouldn't be for long.

"Oh... fetch the meat?" asked Alaree, one finger running up and down her cheek as she looked upwards and away, "Um... But I don't handle the cooking, so I don't know where-"

The blue-haired maid, looking rather irate, grabbed her by her shoulders, turned her around, and shoved her towards the doors at the far end of the kitchen. "Yes you do! Now go!"

"Uwah!"

Stumbling from being shoved so hard, Alaree took only a moment to give the taller girl a reproachful look before proceeding through the doors into the storage area. The girl sighed, arms folded, before turning to face the knight again, head bowed slightly.

"I apologize for Alaree, Sir Indrau," she said, clearly so thoroughly self-conditioned to refer to everyone here in such a manner that no amount of complaints would be able to dissuade her. "She clearly was feeling rather... unprepared."

She cast a glare back towards the doors, where the pink-haired maid was gathering beef. Soon enough, however, her gaze returned to the knight.

"Is there anything you would like us to prepare? Mistress has asked for us to treat all knights as our Masters while we are here," she continued.

The brunette knight was now retrieving a pan for the meat, in order to sear it when Alaree returned.

---

Seeing what was going on, Fanilly managed to push herself up a little... only for Nero to grab her face and shove her back, sending her onto her rear. For a few moments, she sat there, mildly stunned by being shoved like that and by the comment that had been directed at her. But now wasn't the time to dwell on such things, and after a few moments of awkward shuddering the smallish blonde girl forced herself to her feet. It seemed like, thankfully, the matter of the armor had been handled quickly. It had ejected itself from Marianne's body and then been promptly subdued, and... forced into a human-like form?

No, no... in fitting with the armor's apparent nature, that was absolutely a demonic form. She may have looked like a harmless little girl, but there was no question of what Fanilly was looking at. Though she had never seen a demon before, such specific features, the horns, the batlike wings, the spade-tipped tail... doubting the childish girl's nature would have been quite foolish.

For a few moments, Fanilly was unsure of how to react.

"... We... we need to gather the incapacitated and the surrendering and return with them as prisoners," she said, finally. "Sir is wounded above and will need to be transported back as well. And, er... other Sult... will need clothes..."

An inspection of the necromancer would reveal that something critical inside had broken, and he was indeed dead. Though perhaps his corpse would reveal something if inspected.

"As for... the... the demon," Fanilly continued, we'll... have to take her along as well," she added. There wasn't any way she could simply... leave something like that here, but the knight-captain had no idea what to do with her. "And... ah, the Nem..."

The twin Nem sisters were beside most of the knights. Tilli was hugging Kyphi tightly, the mute assassin trying not to hide that she was crying. She'd been terrified for her sister's safety, and the moment she had failed earlier had sent her into a spiral of despair until she learned that the knights were willing to help. Fanilly knew that the attempted murder of the Princess still needed to be punished, but... that could be left up to someone else. And it wasn't a topic she would broach now of all times.

"They'll need to come with us too, unarmed," Fanilly concluded. After a few moments of hesitation, Tilli dropped her weapons. As she did, so did Kyphi.

"... Whatever my sister did," Kyphi began, "It's my fault for being captured. I can tell you that she never would have done it, ever, if I hadn't been captured... so if you punish her, punish me as well."

Eyes wide, Tilli grabbed Kypi's shoulder and shook her head. It was clear she didn't like this idea.

Tyaethe paid all the attention to a talking suit of armour that it really deserved: none at all. Who was going to be naive enough to go around listening to clothing as if it had something useful to contribute? Demonic armour, in particular, was probably just doing its best to annoy you with unsolicited opinions. Only when the armour was actually off and Marianne had no chance of knocking herself out by using every drop of mana she had did the paladin budge--going back to check on the necromancer.

Great, he was dead. If that was even him and not just some possessed body... and her arm was still too numb to pick the body up and carry it out with her sword. So she stood and waited.

"...Um. Hm. Yeah, I'm not getting involved in this mess."

Tiral took a single glance at how everything was playing out and decided that regardless of what was happening right now, the situation seemed to... Not be putting the Captain at risk, at least. Though he could've tried to jump in a few moments earlier to help peel that demonic set of armor off, with the situation as strange as it already was, he had decided that adding himself into the equation might've only caused everyone to fumble about a bit more.

So instead, he sat by the frozen body of what was probably the only living conspirator left, if that person with their skull bashed in was anything to go by, and watched as the rest of the Roses frantically (and somewhat dramatically) tried to handle that problem. To be fair, everything seemed surreal to the point where he could probably rewrite everything that had just occurred and spin it as a comedy. With all the insanity and... Somewhat-random nudity, it would probably pass off for a comedy. Either that, or a really weird fever dream.

When he saw the naked-Sult mandhandle the Captain, though, Tiral's eyes widened in shock, his mouth now drawn into a frown. Regardless of what had to be done, there was only so far a person could go when disrespecting those with higher authority.

That line, it seemed, had been crossed.

But before he could make any action of his own, the other Sult had decided to jump in and take matters into her own hands.
...
Well, that was fine, too. But that sort of personality... It was certainly one he would prefer not having to deal with in the future.

With that matter handled, the Captain's orders to move back to the surface were incredibly welcome. The dark, damp, and cold atmosphere of the crypt was starting to mess with his nerves, and though the last of the three traits was mostly his fault to begin with, if everything was resolved, then they could leave this godforsaken place sooner.

"Understood, Captain," Tiral responded, rising to his feet and flicking his hand upwards to drag the unconscious body along with him.
...
"This is going to be really inconvenient, dragging this bastard up the stairs..."

With a few moments of through, Tiral snapped his fingers as an idea came to his head. He could just drag the body back overhead with magic ice, right? Without another fight to have to deal with, his magic reserves were topped off well enough for that.

And so he did. With a quick chant, Tiral caused a giant claw made of ice to stretch down from the ceiling, which then proceeded to pick up the bound body of the man before retracting a bit and moving towards the stairwell.

"They should have some spare clothes near where we left our mounts earlier. She'll be fine until then," he said, glaring at the naked not-Sult for a moment before standing near the stairwell for the others.

"...Actually, demons are too dangerous to leave unbound. You're about as exempt from this as he is," Tiral mentioned offhandedly, motioning towards the man already being carried before another claw of ice descended from the ceiling to pick up the imp from its current location. Once in its grasp, the claw moved along the ceiling to a brick right behind the claw that was already active, at which point it stopped for the moment.

"Well. Shall we leave this accursed place?"

The knight grabbed a handful of vegetables and set to work peeling and chopping them. As Alaree left the room and Viora made her apology he looked over his shoulder.

"Was there a discount for hiring you in threes?"

Without waiting for a response he went back to finishing his self assigned task. After a moment he pushed the prepared vegetables into the pot that brunette had prepared earlier.

"Thank you, but I'll eat with he other knights. Lady Viora. I am content to assist you however I can."

Indrau then moved to the storage area himself and returned with a bundle of firewood under one arm that he fed into the stove.

Jarde made one gulp before knocking thrice on the door into Candaeln and entering the place.

He encountered no one yet which made him wonder where anyone was. The knight order's home was undoubtedly large but Jarde was sure there were a lot of people in the Iron Rose Knights. Or at least he thought so when he took a glance at the roster. He thought maybe he was mistaken or maybe the order just was out on a mission somewhere.

However, Jarde did hear sounds of activity somewhere inside the Candaeln. He decided to go and find it and establish proper contact with the denizens of Candaeln.

Tracking the noise, Jarde found himself in the building's kitchen. It appears that there were some maids preparing food along with a man who looked like a grizzled veteran. "Hello there, ladies... and man." He said out loud to announce his presence. "Cooking for yourselves, I see. Though, I think lunch time has already past..."

Viora, the blue-haired maid, stared in muted shock as she watched the knight proceed about to actually assist in the preparation of food. Chopping the vegetables, moving them into the pot... not even asking for assistance. For a few moments she was completely silent. However, that silence was broken.

Not by Viora, but by the third maid.

For a few moments, the brunette's mouth hung open, her eyes wide. Then, dropping her pan, she fell to her knees and buried her face in hands, tears welling up in her eyes.

"W-we... we're f-failures!" she bawled, quivering where she knelt.

"Ah, Beatrice...!"

Viora swiftly hurried to the slightly shorter maid's side, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We're not failures! We didn't do anything wrong!"

"B-but... h-he started h-helping, so... s-so we have to have screwed up..." sobbed Beatrice, quaking as she looked up from her hands. "I-if we're doing a good j-job, n-no one else should join in!"

"That's... not..." Viora trailed off. Beatrice was... sensitive.

"Oi!" declared Alaree's voice, as she returned from the storage area, several steaks packaged in her arms, "Who made Beatrice cry?!"

Needless to say, this sight was likely an odd one for the newcomer.

As for the newcomer's experience, many of the knights and staff were still around, obviously, as only those at the party had left.

Vari drew no attention as she drifted down the hallway toward the kitchen, sparing almost no focus on the pattern in her breath. As long as she had been doing it, Breathing While Walking took almost no concentration, so she had plenty of attention to spend on the conversations unfolding ahead of her.

Originally, she had been coming down to swipe a snack to go with her book (she didn't need to eat, but she still enjoyed the taste of food). However, the maids on duty sounded upset over something, and she didn't need to add missing food to their list of troubles. Instead, she balanced her breathing to a regular pace and walked into the kitchen as any normal person would.

It was indeed a bit of a mess in there. One of the maids was having a panic attack while another tried to calm her down, and the third seemed ready to fight someone at the slightest twitch. There was also a few Knights strewn about the room besides herself.

Clearing her throat, the diminutive Knight called a bit of attention to herself. "Is this a vad time to fix myself a snack?" She asked, falling into her old accent.

Pholus was finally done with his long-term project of procuring more supplies for his equipment. He returns to the Candaeln, stretching and checking out his new rapier that he was working on.

"Hm...where is everyone? Seems so empty here again...maybe they all went on a mission without me? Damn it, Professor would get mad at me."

He checks out the main hall one last time as he hears more noises in the kitchen. Pholus quickly checks it out, peeking his head inside to see a large commotion of maids and knights. He heads in and grabs a piece of bread to munch on as the others continue to talk and apparently have an argument.

"You guys...alright? Everything here seemed a little too quiet so this is quite the sight to see. Need any assistance? Though...I'm more so on the side of making tools instead of food."