Bethany was mostly silent, for now, as she listened to the story and tried to stay out of the gaze of... everyone but the Princess, really. Eliabelle had stopped glaring at Rinaldo, and was now watching Gillian. Once his story had finished, her eyes drifted away from his arm after a few stunned moments and towards the ground. Orcs... Eliabelle had heard of them, though she had never seen them. Taking names priding themselves on slaughter. Murdering and... even eating other races... horrendous barbarism. Worship of spilt blood, worship of dark, dead things that had once sought to subjugate or destroy everyone who lived on these lands.

"Sir Gillian," she began, looking up, "Father will strive to destroy any orcs remaining on Thaln's lands. It is a purpose he has dedicated himself to. And... when it is my time, I will continue his work. And... I... I am so sorry for what happened to you."

She looked downwards. It was a sad tale, the kind of thing Eliabelle wanted to see halted. The sort of thing she wished she could prevent from happening ever again.

Bethany, on the other hand, looked with wide eyes at the strange, insectile arm. Immediately she approached, her shyness momentarily forgotten, as she scanned it with her eyes. However, there was no way she could bring herself to use her hands to inspect it. It was still part of someone.

"This... this is..." she trailed off, then took a deep breath. "This is no magic. The only thing that could create something like this is something like one of the ancient spirits that came with the gods. But... no, it's different then that too... I think this arm was made by a demon."

Rhydsar seemed to trudge, rather than march, to his destination. A soldier might not have proper morale or nourishment to march in proper time, and a child may lack the discipline to walk with a proper aristocratic stance, but Rhydsar’s pace seemed to reflect his mental state rather than his work ethic. The weeks of traveling had made him more reflective, philosophical—distracted. Introspection is really the only thing that can be counted on when you find yourself alone at nightfall.

Pholus came into view due to his stark contrast with the castle, giving Rhydsar time to reflect, as he approached, on what he saw: a boy, he observed, and not much older than himself. The large sword belonged to an intimidating warrior, but the rest of the boy did not measure up to it. Were Rhydsar able to look in a mirror, he would no doubt say the same about himself. It was not until the lordling edged closer to the gate that he saw this boy was tense, on edge, waiting for a battle to come. As he approached the boy, Rhydsar spoke with very clear and commanding diction.

I see you’ve been waiting for me. Are you the valiant knight who keeps the unworthy from tainting your hallowed halls?

Pholus looks up at the newcomer...and laughs a bit. He kinda predicted someone else but this person was a newcomer of sorts. If anything, not the person who was supposed to show up from the letter. Getting up from his spot and offering a handshake, he shakes his head at the person's assumption.

"Me? I'm just guarding the entrance here as an Iron Rose Knight. I heard there was someone or something coming sooner or later but I don't think it's you. Nevertheless, welcome to the Candaeln. Not really a tester or a guard from keeping you out as long as you aren't a bad person...and judging from your armor and such, you don't seem like one. Though the armor must have been a pain to march in, you should really think about getting out of it and carrying it in a bag. If not, I am crafter of sorts and I could probably tinker with it a bit to make it at least more comfortable during long travels. The name is Pholus...so who are you? Oh and did you notice anything strange as you came by?"

He keeps studying the man's armor, noticing a few loose ends here and there including a few gaps in between certain area. Pholus shakes his head and sighs, hoping the man has some sort of chainshirt of sorts underneath to add an extra layer of protection.

"You needn't apologize your highness." Gillian says in a still slightly appreciative tone. "I've long made peace with what happened to my former home." He shrugs slightly as Bethany examines his arm. "It would be like apologizing for a windstorm that swept through the region. You've only so much control on the primal and rabid elements of nature, orcs among the most vile of that lot."

Gillian stayed quiet as Bethany made her examination, listening as carefully as possible. "hm." He says as she makes her claim. He was not overly surprised. Suspicions on the origin of the arm had been thrown about by some of his own sources, though they lacked the depth of knowledge to confirm it. "Given that the maker has such....unique qualities, do you think you'd be able to use divination to locate them? Or atleast might you have an idea of how to...replace it with its former self."

Rhydsar is pleasantly surprised by the gesture of a handshake and enthusiastically grasps it.

Nice to meet you Pholus, my name’s Rhydsar. No, I haven't seen anything on the way here. Should I have?

Pholus looks behind the man and nods his head approvingly. He really hopes that he can figure out this problem so he can stop his curiosity and go back to tinkering with his tools. Then again, he was very tempted to test them out regardless while on his "guard duty. Showing the note that he forged earlier, he tries to see if he can gather any extra information from the newcomer.

"I found a strange note earlier among the maids and now they're busy preparing for something...I know it sounds strange to suspect something was up but they wouldn't accept any help nor was it a normal note. I mean look at it! It's a beast mark...and I'm standing guard here to find out...care to help me out? I'll really appreciate it."

Although Rhydsar has to wonder to himself what exactly Pholus was doing searching among the maids, if it’s a serious threat it doesn’t matter. On the other hand, if it isn’t at least nothing's lost.

Happy to help out any way I can, Maids through, hardly conjurers of evil spirits are they?

"I know...it's just that, it seemed so weird. It was suddenly so rushed and the way the maid reacted when I asked her about it...I don't know. That nagging feeling of wanting to find out is really getting to me. Besides, it's better to be safe than sorry...and sorry for roping you into this. The other knights are for some reason fascinated with the kitchen. If you want to leave and join them, it's alright."

Pholus kinda knew that most people wouldn't be interested in a solving things...especially in a Knight group. They were heroes and warriors, not all are really...fascinated with mystery and logic. So he was lenient on the man and didn't mind letting him go if he so desired. After all, it was him wanting to find out the major cause of what caused that maid to rapidly head off. That and he could claim solving a mystery no matter how small it is, and send a letter about it to show off to his professor.

Rinaldo clicked his tongue as he carefully withdrew from the presence of the court mage, eyes answering the princess' admonishment. With a slight curtsy, he understood what that kind of glare meant perfectly. He was beginning to outstay his welcome, specially in the tracts of land who apparently, were part of the crown's possession.

And then the young lad exposed his story, having been probed by the old man's rather cheeky tongue. He eyed curiously as he undressed. "Hmm, so you want to show it in images? My good fellow, I am flattered but I don't swing that way..." He paused for a brief moment. "Usually."

It was then when he decided to practice magic with him as a target. Rinaldo stoically stood there, taking the blow with an exasperated sigh, before shaking his head.Oh, so you want to be the cool guy by using an old man as a target for your sorcery. Bravo sir, bravo. Having fun with your magic? That's why I find holier than thou nobles so annoying. And, no, it seemed that whatever he had done, it'd drip off his shirt for who-knows how long.

The conversation about the arm, however, did ring a bell in the old man's face, and seeing the eager interest of the court mage, cogs began to work in Rinaldo's mind.

Although nobody seemed to pay him attention, so he began to spin around himself like a graceful dancer."Run and run in circles about your predicament, that's what you have done. But fret not, the generous arcane arts of our court mage have the solution." He said. "Or maybe, just maybe this old man can claim he has seen something similar." He added, as he advanced in his dance towards the only female who wasn't crown property or the princess herself. The shield lady. The old man smirked, and with lightning quick reflexes, grasped her waist with one hand, and a hand in the other, as if it was some improvised dance couple.

"Yes, I've heard a tale. Of a demon armor, old and forgotten, who decided to dance with a little girl. It looked similar to yours, and it operated on demonic magic." He added as he moved deftly Christina around, before ending his dance and spinning her around her axis back in her resting place. "Soulscale... is its name. Maybe it knows about yours. But then again... I am a very forgetful old man, and my memory fails sometimes." He added, a hint of chagrin in his voice.

---

Nero shivered, as she clung to the last, perhaps literal shreds of dignite. Her eyes stared at the floor, still computing what had happened. Fanilly's orders were but a blur. She had helped her sister, and just because she had that kind of queasy feeling about the two nem, who had reminded her of she and Sult when they were younger. Gritting her teeth, she eyed Fanilly, and then the armor.

"That piece of armor is still part of the Raven Knights. But do what you want. That piece of scrap isn't worth even to plow the soil of a barren land now." She grunted, as she wobbled walking through the tomb. At some point she even forgot to cover her shameful bits, her hands still gripped into fists as she ascended. She was hardly alone, though. In her back, her very own reflection, Sult Sunfield. Gone was the playful attitude and glamorous visage. This Sult looked haggard, and dishevelled, and simmering with barely contained rage.

"Noo! It's waaay to cold and damp! Gross gross!" The demonic entity flailed about as it was encased in ice, putting a rather impressive fight by eating as much mana as it could, but it was clear that the holy seal had done quite a number in its power.

Nero's eyes darted to the sisters, before bursting into laughter, tired and battered. "This is quite ironic, you know. Twins. Just like us, Sult." She finished as she kept going upwards.

The sight of two knights, tending to one wounded man and a half-naked, battered giantess covered in bandages greeted the group upstairs, as their expectating sights tried to find Nero, the captain.

"Hey, you. Sult Sunfield." One of the knights rudely gestured as he threw the cape. "Where's the captain Nero?" Bobd addressed, sternly as he glared in the half naked figure of Nero. However, he did not so for long, as a rather sudden elbow in his ribs from his brother drew more attention.

"Bobd..." He ventured to say, pointing in the direction of the armored Sult.

"Oh Reon they're multiplying..." Bobd mused, his eyes darting from Nero to Sult and viceversa. "What the hell is this supposed to mean? And what's with the demon encased in ice?" He added, reaching for his blade.

"Like, are you daft?" The chirpy shrill voice of Mariah came from behind, her eyes looking at the half naked of the sisters. "Captain Nero! You lost your armor! So did Mariah..."

"EH!?" Both brothers double blinked.

"Mariah knows, Nero is a girl, okay? Like, we took baths together, um. Mariah also made her underwe..." Maria ventured to ramble, but she was cut short by a finger shoved in her lips. Nero's finger.

"They get the idea." Nero snarled, as she huddled herself in the cape. "Well, don't keep ogling, you two! Help the Iron Roses to pack up!" She said, her voice laden in tiredness.

Eyes on the Nem twins, Fanilly's gaze drifted low. While Fanilly and Efienne were not twins, the pair put her in mind of her younger sister. She hadn't seen the girl in several months, now. Supposedly, her family was coming to visit in the coming months, but the blonde girl couldn't deny she missed her sibling. She was eight, in a few months she would be nine. Her birthday would be much sooner then Fanilly's, to say the least. Fanilly had only turned sixteen this year. Fanilly hoped that she wouldn't be busying when it came, but... well, if she had duties to fulfill, she could not simply abandon them, even for her little sister. However, if Efienne was in danger... she wouldn't stop for anything to keep her safe.

As she gazed at the Nem assassin and her sister, the Captain of the Iron Roses found herself sympathizing. She took a deep breath. In the end... even they were victims, weren't they? So they deserved at least some small comfort.

"... I'm sure that you'll be treated with lenience," she said, finally, in an effort to reassure the twin Nem, "Even if you made an attempt on the Princess's life, you also assisted us in destroying the conspiracy against her."

She gave them a weak smile. "I'm certain that whatever punishment is leveled against you will be lessened because of that."

The Nem sisters were silent for a few moments, and then Kyphi returned to hugging Tilli, whispering words of reassurance in a language that Fanilly didn't recognize. She guessed it was probably the Nem language.

To be truthful, didn't know. But she could hope, at least. The short girl took another deep breath. Above, Sir Garret was injured... had she failed him? The memory of the man who had died during their previous mission came rushing back to her. Such a thing could have happened again. It was only luck that it hadn't. But she couldn't let such feelings show. She had to stay strong, for now.

They would learn what they could from the remaining conspirator.

"Let's go, Iron Roses," Fanilly said, turning towards the others, "We need to get the wounded back, and the prisoner."

As they ascended, Fanilly was rather stunned to learn that the second Sult was, indeed, the previously-believed-to-be-male Nero. For a few moments that snapped her entirely out of her concerns, leaving the short blonde in stunned silence.

However, there were matters to be attended to.

---

The trek back to Candaeln was hardly a long one. As Fanilly returned, she dispatched one of the Servants, a courier, to immediately head to the castle and notify the guards of what had happened. The prisoner, in this case, was to remain in the hands of the Iron Roses. For now, at the very least. For their safety as much as the safety of others, the Nem twins were also to remain in custody until more could be done about them. There was quite a bit to be done, but Fanilly's limbs felt heavy. She needed rest, after all this commotion. And a bath. She very much wanted a bath.

But, she couldn't do such things yet. Taking off her helmet and placing it aside, Fanilly waited in Candaeln's meeting hall.

To speak with those who had been the source of all this commotion, and to explain what had happened.

There were people...approaching? Then at the front, Pholus noticed the captain and the group of people pass right by him and Rhysdar...watching them with a very confused face. The situation got even more interesting as a frozen demon girl of sorts passed by as well, and all of a sudden other guards came to take over his position. He was immediately saddened that his job was over with and tells Rhysdar that he'll be in the main hall to see what this new commotion was about. Hoping to find some clues to the letter, he heads inside and shows the one that he made.

"Captain...um don't know if you remember me but I'm the crafting guy called Pholus. Your maids seemed to have gotten this weird looking letter with a creepy as hell monster marking on it. That and there were quite a few explosions in the kitchen plus several new people...and what's with the demon girl in ice? It's...kinda freaky and alive. Man...that is not what one would expect as a souvenir just pointing that out if you were going to gift it to someone."

Pholus was extremely curious about the group and really wanted to know about them...though was muttering small things he found wrong with all their armor and equipment...

Things were going rapidly downhill in the kitchen. The situation with Fanillys maids had improved but things were rapidly running out of control with the addition of several people that he hadn't seen before and one that looked strangely familiar. Indrau stood and offered a somewhat stiff smile.

"I think that you should ahve things firmly in hand from here. I should go try to meet the others when they return."

He picked up his gear from the corner and hastillyput it back on in the order that he had taken off. Sword at his hip and cane in hand he strode out into the main hall to see one of the newcomers involved in a conversation with the captain. He stood a comfortable distance away, leaning easily on his cane.

Marianne Delacroix

And her Seven Deadly Lovely Maids

Call it terrible timing. Call it bad luck. Whatever you called it, when the return announcement of the force of Iron Roses that left under Captain Fanily's charge was made, Marianne's maids froze in their tracks and immediately stopped whatever it was that they had set out to accomplish. Leaving their tasks unfinished, each maid had a look of utter worry and dread as they all hiked up their skirts and swiftly trotted their way back to the main hall to greet the Iron Rose Knights. As they passed by Captain Fanily, they each curtsied and bowed their head low to the girl out of respect before they all swarmed around a very tired and 'done' looking Marianne. Of course, they immediately began to bombard her with chatter like a flock of excited birds.

"Lady Marianne, Lady Marianne!"
"We're so glad you returned safely!"
"We have important news to share with you!"
"We're so sorry, the message came so soon we didn't have time...!"
"We didn't get anything done..."
"Do you think he'll be mad?"
"You didn't see him on his way in?"
"Please, Lady Marianne. Reason with him, we tried our best!"
"Honestly, we did!"

Marianne couldn't understand them, her head ached and pounded painfully as they all spoke over one another rapidly and loudly. Shaking her head, she placed a hand on her forehead attempting to silence them and quell their noises. She just wanted to continue on and get out of her equipment, bathe, eat, and go to bed. She didn't have the patience to deal with her girls.

"Ladies, ladies. Please, one at a time, I...I don't...Who are you talking ab-...ladies, quiet down."
Marianne's shoulders sagged as she sighed heavily, she had half a mind to just walk through them and ignore them.
But, the senior maid as always was on top of her game and sharply clapped her hands together once.
The sound causing the rest of them to fall silent.
It was the senior maid's time to speak.
Turning to Lady Marianne, the senior maid slipped out and produced the message and gave it to her.
"We received this message from your family, Lady Marianne. As we had just received it today, we had little to no time to prepare for his arrival before your return from your current mission. Our deepest apol-..."
The senior maid froze up just as she was about to hand the parchment to Marianne, it just so slipping from her fingers and landing softly on the ground. Her eyes wide as she took a step back away from Marianne. The other maids followed her gaze, the doing the same as their senior. Color draining from their already pale faces as they distanced themselves from their beloved Lady, backing up.

Marianne looked at the paper on the ground, blinking. Not yet having noticed how her ladies were behaving.
"Oop, it dropped."
Marianne commented, plainly.
Blinking she looked up and saw each of the maids taking multiple steps away from her, eyes looking up at...something.
"Girls? What is it? What-..."
Turning to see what it was they were gawking at, Marianne's mouth hung agape slightly as she also became rooted to where she stood.


The streets remained cleared from the parade of Iron Roses, the townspeople casting terrified gazes towards the creature that towered and loomed ominously over them as it strode past. Its shadow cast upon them blanketing them in its darkness as it moved with the silence and grace of a ghostly being. No one dared utter a word lest the being they were in the presence of took it as offense and acted upon them with ill intent. It shadowed and followed the path the Iron Roses had made to find its way to its goal after having traveled for so long and from so far. The creature's guest a cherished and honored friend, after all. She was deserving and more than worth the minor inconveniences it had encountered in its journey.

It shouldn't have been possible, how swiftly and quietly the creature moved. The monster as if it were something from one's nightmares or dreams. Its hide catching the light and casting a brilliant and breath-taking shimmer, like the stars themselves were sprinkled upon its fur. Cascading beautifully across its silver-white fur and giving the beast an ethereal appearance, like that of a mythological or legendary animal. Its form easily twice the size of a full-grown horse, eyes as blue as the ocean as it peered from side to side at the commoners and plebeians. But soon, the entrance to its final destination was in sight.

Thankfully, it was glad that it wasn't greeted in the normal fashion whenever his kind left their lands for whatever reasoning. Perhaps it had timed its arrival just right, or the people were so fear-stricken that they knew not of how to react to him. He meant them no harm, he was peaceable enough. The guards had seen him coming, and cowered before him. He could see their armor and weapons in their hands, but they did not yet act upon him with hostilities.

Seated on his haunches as he peered down at the guards, he turned his head to bite at one of the scrolls from the leather pouches he had with him. On his back was a saddle of sorts, with pouches containing various things such as his belongings. Mostly items required for his safe and comfortable travels. With a piece of parchment gently between the beast's fangs, the creature lowered its head to present the scroll to the guard. Who, looking at his partner with confusion, stepped forth and took it with trembling hand. Unfurling the scroll, the guard read the elegant and swirling loops and swirl of the script. Written by a dainty hand for this creature, it simply read.

"I am vavassour and honored guest of Lady Marianne V. Delacroix. I am here to see her."

The guard blinked and looked up at the magnificent beast that seemed to glare down at him with a withering power, watching his every move and action with scrutiny. Swallowing dryly, the guard turned to his partner and handed him the same message. The two shared a look and a shrug, before finally stepping aside and granting the beast entrance. Good, thought the creature. Standing to all fours, the beast entered Candeln. And just his luck, there was his cherished and beloved companion. Her maids were there even. Striding until he was a good distance from her turned back, he sat down on his haunches as he waited for her to take notice of him. Though ,it would be hard not to, if it weren't for his stealthy tendencies.

Marianne had finally realized that she had a visitor, and turned to face him with a blank look on her face. Her silly maids had given away and space to his Lady and lined up behind her. Though, they greeted him not with a bow. But by kneeling on one knee, bowing their heads low to the ground, and one fist against the ground. A gesture that he recognized to be customary amongst a particular group. But, of course they were. Was only fitting and smart, after all.

However, Lady Marianne took far too long to make recognition of him.
Oh, how she hurt him sometimes.
Were there really any others that even resembled him?
Other than his own kind, of course.

"S-...Si"
Lady Marianne stuttered, taking a step towards him with outreached hand.
The beast closed his eyes and lowered his head to where it was lower than Lady Marianne's head in a bow.
"Sir Ricard?"
Marianne said with a breathless and dry chuckle.
The gargantuan Direwolf very slightly nodded its snout.
"SIR RICARD!"
With a girlish squeal, any fatigue Marianne had within her body faded away and she bounced up and down a few times before sprinting forward to wrap her arms around Sir Ricard's snout in a tight hug.
Gone was any maintained persona of one that held noble blood within her veins, or that of an honorable Iron Rose knight. No, in this brief moment of extreme glee and happiness, she was neither Lady nor Dame. She was simply a little girl again and her very large canine companion.
"Sir Ricard, how are you! Mon petit chiot! I haven't seen you in ages! What are you doing so far south of Barukstead! Ma déesse! Did you really come all this way just to see me? Oh, never mind all that! I'm so happy to see you!"

Just the biggest and happiest smile was plastered on Marianne's face, especially when she moved around Sir Ricard to hug his fluffy body and bury her face in it. Her arms barely able to even fully wrap around his giant neck. Sir Ricard didn't react much to her squeaks and squeals of joy, but his tail wagged once or twice, betraying that he too was happy to see her. Nothing but love existed in the bond between these two. The maids all breathed a relieved sigh, at least for the moment. Glad to having been witness to this heart-warming moment. But soon, they would be able to speak and they could only hope and pray to Reon herself that Sir Ricard would pay no mind to their ill preparation.

Rhydsar looked at the scene unfolding at the gate, and although he did eventually go inside to start exploring his new home, he first took note of the captain. While he noticed her age and how she was surrounded by an entourage of doting knights, he didn’t pay her that much mind aside from seeing she is in charge. Leaving his comrades post abandoned, he makes his way into the keep to find an old friend.

With both the unconscious man and the demon locked up in ice, Tiral quietly followed alongside the rest of the Iron Roses as they made their way back to Candaeln. Delicacy, of course, was not a priority, and so those two ended up being lugged back with the rest of the luggage. With all of their stuff bouncing around in there, it was a miracle that the man didn't wake up. The same couldn't be said of the demon, who probably wasn't having much of a time with all the spare gear knocking it in the face.

Once they finally stopped off at base, the two prisoners were handed off in short order, and as the Captain went off to go explain to everyone left behind about what had just occurred, the ice mage quickly moved to withdraw to his room. The Court Mage's note's were still lying around, and the sooner he could analyze them, the better.

"But clairvoyance, huh...? Well, it'll certainly be of use if I can figure it out. After that mess today, a bit of study would do me well... Huh. I never thought I'd ever say those words in my lifetime," he mused to himself, silently slipping through the halls and towards his destination. Once there, he slipped inside, careful not to disturb anyone with any semblance of noise, and changed into a less battle-ready set of clothes. While the outfit he wore for the banquet before was still lying on his bed, Tiral decided against moving to change that yet.

"...Should I also be doing some research into vampires? After what happened today..." he muttered, sitting down at his deck and collecting the papers into a single neat stack. "Well, it's not as if it matters much. Everyone else can grab me if they need me. I'll just study until the next meal arrives, I guess."

As Rhydsar stepped out into the cloisters, and then upon the garth enclosed therein, Gütta was at his knife-play, sinking the steel slivers, greyed with age but gleaming at their edges (much like their master), into his swinging bullseye. The sound struck Rhydsar, for it was one which he associated with the man, and he wanted to stand and watch awhile as this nostalgia's fingers plucked at his brain. But the road had fatigued him, and the master and man-at-arms had not seen each other for many months. Impatient, the old boy, nearly a young man, crossed his arms.

"Gütta, it's been a while," he said.

Only then, at the lord's beck, did the mercenary, aging gracefully like a fine cheese, notice his presence. To apologize for having his back turned to the boy, he planted his knee in the dirt, and thus, genuflected. "It has, m'lord," said Gütta. "You took longer than I expected."

"Indeed. I was delayed." The words slipped through lips curled up in a smile, much too boyish for Rhydsar's austere face; for he stared Gütta sternly in the eye as one would with a penal disposition. He sat, leaning himself up against a pillar. "Rise. What have you discovered in your time here?"

"Yare, yare. It's always business with you." Gütta turned back to the bullseye, poising himself to throw: his feet spread, his shoulder twisted back and his hand, clutching a knife, slung over it. "Frankly, m'lord, I think trouble follows the Order, not the other way around."

"Bad luck? Or something they can fix?"

The mercenary hummed a long syllable, stalling for time as his words coagulated upon his tongue. He threw, and with the muffled thud of steel impaling wood, the knife hung now from the bottom edge of the painted circle. The bullseye shivered. "It's like a carriage on the road," he said at last. "It's surrounded by men-at-arms and scouts, so you know someone important is inside. Maybe the Order brings trouble with it because troublemakers know we go where there are princes, sheriffs, priests—in a word, treasure."

He was walking at that point toward the bullseye, to wrench his toys from the wood. Rhydsar watched the man's small, sinewy figure as it strode away from him. "Then who's really in charge here? The girl is the one in the carriage, but she cannot really be running the show."

"Have you met her, m'lord? She's supposed to be with the royals, attending a feast."

"She's back now. She hurried off to a meeting with her knights, so I will wait for introductions."

Graveness drained the color from Gütta's cheeks, his mind deluged with rowdy thoughts doing battle against themselves. He lamented that he never seemed able to walk the fine border between boredom and chaos; not without tripping. So just as soon as he'd whittled his morning away with yawning entertainment, aching for excitement, suddenly he feared that very excitement, of the breed which followed the Order's oligarchy, their breed which slept belligerently in his stomach as nightmares in his skull whensoever he feasted of it. He wanted naught to do with the pandemonium which they wrought.

"Can I explain on the way to the library? Peace and quiet are rare treasures indeed when she's leading her puppydogs around," said Gütta. "Besides, that's where I've hidden your present."

"A present!" Although Rhydsar had grown and his voice had fattened up, growing rich and manly over their distant years, it seemed now to have faintly thawed, and Gütta recognized the childish excitement instill therein. Yes, he was the same boy, though even at first glance, as Rhydsar stood, Gütta saw that he had grown taller, stronger, and of course, more headstrong. "By all means, lead the way."

"There are three rules of survival in this place," Gütta said, gathering his knives in coalition in his fist. Some, biting rather deeply at their target, he tugged free with a quick struggle. Where his pollaxe and sword leaned against a pillar he also had placed a leather satchel, and he endeavored himself toward that place. "That's the first: if you care about something, don't leave it unattended in plain sight. Not in the barracks; not in the armoury. Nowhere. We've got a few 'pranksters' running around. As far as I'm concerned they're saboteurs."

"'Saboteurs!' Doesn't someone get the shit kicked out of him if he pranks someone bigger than him?"

though Gütta sighed again, he released this breath in a disjointed stagger, a phantom of a shadow of a halfhearted laugh. "Punishment is unheard of here," he growls, "except by insubordinates. Ignoring orders will turn people against you quick. The Captain maintains law and order through popularity contests, not through discipline."

"And the senior knights listen to her?"

Gütta by then had placed his pollaxe on a rack in the armoury. He carried his sword tucked into a cat's skin wrapped around his waist, and in the satchel, pressed possessively against his belly, his throwing knives. He had led Rhydsar underneath the shelter of the cloisters, and was leading him down the open walkway. For many tantalizing moments he was quiet, rallying and organizing his words cautiously.

"I guess so," he deigned to say. "I can't imagine any of these goody-goodies having sunk their talons in her. No shadow governments here."

"So what is she like, as a person?" Rhydsar tried to ask casually. Feeling he failed, though noticing that Gütta had noticed himself, he offered forth no clarity of purpose.

"Typical woman, really: too weak to fight her own battles, so she surrounds herself with boot-lickers." Gütta spoke with a sneer nestled into the wrinkles of his nose, bleeding down into the corners of his mouth. "Beyond that, we haven't met much."

It was Rhydsar's turn then for a lengthy pause, awkward and frigid. "...What is she looking for in a henchman?"

"Be here for the right reasons, m'lord."

"I am." The aristocrat was back, tucking the giddy little boy gently away into some corner of his heart, and locking the door. "What are the other two rules?"

"Did you hear the explosion? Thunder, fire, the wrath of the screaming damned?"

"It must have happened before I got here."

"Well, rule number two is: run toward the strange noises only if you're a hero or a madman. We've got plenty of both running amok in this place, so I mind my own business. Nothing good comes of being curious about what the witches are up to, nothing at all."

On any other day Rhydsar may have smiled at Gütta's warning, asking him whether father had bribed him to say such a thing; keeping the boy out of unnecessary troubles. Needless to say Rhydsar did not totally heed these words. The mercenary of course wore in his features a collected calm, a slight swagger in his steps, like he hadn't a worry in all of Thaln; quite contrary to his dire words. "And the third," Rhydsar ordered.

"And the third; well, this one's for me, really. You may want to amend it." Gütta, Rhydsar noticed, was suddenly skulking. They had come to one of the cloister's many doors, and the spunky mercenary seemed wary suddenly of what lied beyond.

"What is the third rule?" Rhydsar asked again.

"Don't disobey orders," said Gütta, pressing his eyes to keyholes, peering through the seam between them, "but don't volunteer for shitty jobs, either. There are no promotions here. No medals, no treasures. All you'll accomplish is getting the taste of the Captain's toes stuck between your teeth."

"You're right. I might change that one." Though Rhydsar watched this display with curiosity written conspicuously across his face, he made no gestures to question it. "This 'insubordination'; what is it like?"

"She keeps her hands clean. Acts all skittish and weak while her lapdogs do the fighting for her."

"Worse comes to worst, then, she's not the one who will slit my throat."

"You've met them in the courts, m'lord: royal sycophants. Kissasses. The people who defend her because she's the leader, not because what she's saying is true."

"Aye; I've met them. And I've had a few of my own. If she's worth her salt then she will know how to take advice, and thank them for it. And she deserves better people around her if they're afraid to speak out against her."

Gütta did not reply verbally, typically a sign of acquiescence. Perhaps he felt a sting, an accusation, in that phrase: I've had a few of my own. Whatever the case, he was standing again, and he had placed his hand at the doorknob. He prepared to turn it with slow deliberation, and the hinges squeaked with their arrival into Candaeln's halls.

Fanilly gave the engineer-knight as somewhat bleary look as he spoke to her, then took a deep breath. No, she couldn't let on how tired she was. The battle against the Barukstaed warrior had been a rather intense one, and when she'd returned all the exhaustion had hit her all at once. She really wanted to have a bath and get some sleep, but of course she had to explain the situation as much as she could to those who hadn't been there.

"The kitchen seems unharmed, I've been told that someone involved with that wants to speak to me," she began, after a few moments. The fact that there had been explosions was... worrying but from what she had been informed there wasn't any actual damage. Just some... particularly strange occurrences.

"As for the... the demon girl," Fanilly continued, hesitating a bit as she spoke. She'd quite frankly never expect to ever see a demon, so the fact that she had was almost overwhelming. But no, she had to keep herself calm. "She... came from the armor of an ally from the Raven Knights. That's all we really know about her for now, which is why we've chosen to hold her for the time being."

After a moment's pause, the short blonde continued.

"Are there any other questions? I know there were those who wanted to speak to me," she added. Hopefully they would come forward quickly and Fanilly could clean herself up and sleep soon.

---

Beatrice stared blankly for a few moments, uncomprehending of what was being said to her by the foreign rabbit girl. Then, it occurred to her. She'd been mistaken for Fanilly? Ah, no! She wasn't Fanilly! She was not a knight, and certainly she was no-where near as pretty and-she definitely wasn't Fanilly was the point!

"A-ah, no, I... I am not Mistress Fanilly," stuttered the brunette girl, blushing and averting her eyes nervously.

Viora decided to take over at this point. "Mistress is on a mission, though I believe they may have just returned."

Alaree, who had set the steaks aside on the counter, frowned. "Ah, jeez, that means we're gonna have to help out, right? Though I guess there's plenty of perks when it comes to helping Mistress with her bath... But what are we gonna do about these steaks?"

Viora sighed, suppressing the urge to bury her face firmly in her palm. "They'll be fine."

Gillian's attention turned to the old man. In part because he was worried the old an was going to get himself hurt by laying his hands on the shieldknight. The woman did not seem the kind to take such offense lightly. But his rambling...disturbed him. Soulscale? It....it never occured to him there might be others with this afflicition. Much less a young girl. Though, thinking back on it, that seemed likely. Who but a desprate child would trust a demon. "What in the name of Mayon's ti-" he begins to ask, before a palace guard opens the doors to the chamber.
"I apologize for the intrusion my lords!" He says, cutting off the knight. "Our good Captain Danbalion has quelled the conspiritors this night. She has asked that you return to Candaeln." He finishes, bowing to the elite group. A tight knot formed in Gillians stomache, he wanted to stay if only to grill the elder assassin further. "...Understood." He says, eventually, anger barely contained. Orders, however inconvient for him, were orders.
He collects his things in silence, bowing to the princess and her mage companion. "Though I pray by the grace of Mayon that you never will, if you've ever need of our services, feel free to ask for me by name. It would be a honor to to act as your guard again." He says with a curt bow, voice blunted with forced formality.
As he walked back to Candaeln he reflected on the evenings events. Unmittigated disaster came to mind. Still, the captain did well in her handling, given the circumstances. He wondered if he should make good on his promise to leave for the forrest again, the sequestered life suited him better than this. "No...." he mumbles to himself as he pushes the door the great hall open, by passing the guards without so much as a glance. "this soulscale is too much of an opportunity. If the ravens know of something, I should investigate them to the full-" He is cut off as he bumps into something warm and fluffy. He raises his eyes, nearly balking at the sight before him. The Delacroix woman sat, craddling the head of a giant wolf (who seemed equally eager to display his love for her), as seven maids knelt before them.
He remains silent, watching them for a moment. "...the Iron Roses are indeed a strange order..." He mumbles again. He walks around them, addressing the maids. "I apologize, but I am retiring for the night. Please inform the captain that her highness is well and that there were no incidents after their departure." He says, curtly before walking to the barracks. Mental exhuastion wearing on him, he decided he'd speak with the Raven's captain in the morning. Would be easier to extract information from the younger man than that elder lech. And, if nothing else, he had a connection with his fellow knight Sunfield. She might be willing to devulge something. Still, that was for tommorrow.


Nori bows again, ears flopping slightly. "I apologize. I was told that Mistress Fanlily was a young woman of no small beauty and just assumed. If you could direct me to a eeting place where I might greet her formally and allow my own mistress's projection to explain our presence in your fortress formally I would be very greatful" the long winded explination is ended in a rasp. It seems the person has some sort of alignment.
(EDIT at GM approval)
Nori followed the trio of maids to the meeting hall of the fortress, the projection of following closely behind. It was certainly a grande hall, Nori would admit that. Though the dressings were alien to the rabbit, and their effect was some what wasted on them. Nori eyed a small woman, blonde and clad in armor. That should be the captain, if apperances are anything to go by.
The approval to approach her was all the rabbit needed, and they quickly closed the distance. "Pardon my intrusion captain Danbalion. I am Nori Ito, vassal to the witch-knight Merillia. Mistress Merillia is concerned with the situation and sent me in her place to evaluate the situation." They whisper, bowing as silvery ears flop. Ears of their kind seem to do that a lot. "I humbly ask that you provide me and the projection of my master the opportunity to explain our presence here at this time."

"Well, that's good to know that you got a gist of things. You guys don't seem to need me for anything...and um have fun with your large hound friend. If you guys need me, I'll be out in the training fields, got a few things to test out and train a bit."

Pholus heads out rather quickly and doesn't seem to enjoy the presence large beast in the room. He didn't really trust it and had a strange feeling it would end up really bad. The problem is that he didn't enjoy wasting resources on a fight like this, so he was going to leave it to the others to deal with it. Heading out while seeming to pull certain switches on his metal gauntlet...going out with a rather strange smirk as he passes by the large beast.

Whilst others might be tired by the day's exertions, Tyaethe was back in full form on the way back. Her blade was hefted to catch what moonlight it could and begin the process of regenerating its broken tip and, internally, the paladin groused at how the interrupted assassination attempt made her dressing neatly for naught: there hadn't even been time to get a good meal at the ball. The ball that, hopefully, nobles would now be allowed to exit when reports of the Knights' success got back to them.

That ought to silence the doubters about Fanilly's ability to serve as a captain.

There wasn't time to get away and to her room before something entirely unexpected happened: Merilia, floating in the air behind some... was that an Alphiine? No, it couldn't be, and she'd met a few dignitaries from Akitsushima in her lifetime--enough to recognise the outfits. Not that she'd seen a rabbit from there from there, either.

The rabbit was a minor point compared to the witch. There were a lot of things that she wanted to say and wanted to ask... but... just a projection. From further away than ever before, but she recognised the signs from campaigns in the past, when the knights had split up. Half of what she wanted to ask was pointless without the small girl actually being here.

"Captain, if Merilia sent her then she should be safe. If she wanted to cause real problems, she would come here in person," the white-haired girl said, turning on one foot for the stairs. It was time to get her armour on; she felt even more exposed with that one watching.