"We cannot be certain of their numbers," declared Fanilly, when she heard Klaus questioning the number of the enemy orcs. While she had, obviously, never faced orcs in battle, it was impossible to read any decent history without running across some mention of the foul creatures. Technically, orcs were a single race, but it had become commonplace to refer to the larger and more physically strong members of the race as orcs, and the smaller and more wiry among them as goblins. Trolls were a cousin, larger and much more lacking in any form of intelligence. These were the things that the blonde-haired Knight-Captain knew of orcs. There were other facts, of course, some that were so unpleasant she almost found herself questioning how beings so foul had come to exist. The rampant cannibalism and the consumption of flesh of other races repulsed her to no end. She also knew of the orcish hatred for elves, dwarves, and... just about anything else that wasn't an orc, though orcs working with particularly repugnant humans wasn't exactly unheard of.

She could at least relay what she knew could be helpful, even if she had never faced the barbaric creatures in combat.

"It's likely these orcs are lead by a particularly powerful chieftan," she began, as she climbed astride her white mare, silvery armor gleaming. There was no time for further planning, but she had to do her best. "It's just as likely that if he is slain the entire raiding party will scatter."

One didn't need to be a history buff to know that this had occurred many times before. Any time the force driving an orcish war party was destroyed, the remaining orcs were likely to scatter in fear. They had rallied in their greatest numbers around Orodrunn, and Hidroroth before him.

"We cannot allow anyone to fall prisoner to them," she began, "If we discover that anyone has been taken by the raiding party, our top priority becomes their rescue."

You didn't need to be some kind of expert to know what orcs tended to do to prisoners.

Lyrie, meanwhile, was already on edge. She hadn't expected to be called to serve so quickly, but she was now one of the healers set to accompany the knights on this latest mission. Her horse was graceful, and while most horses used by the Iron Rose Knights were swift hers seemed to be of a faster sort. After all, healers were not as capable of defending themselves. But Lyrie's chief concern was in ensuring that she would be of any use at all. She had to try her hardest...

The small girl jumped when Klaus suddenly approached her, and nervously backed away.

How was it that she looked like her cousin? Certainly, they were both blonde, but surely Fanilly was prettier and more impressive and all around just better...

Regardless, it was not much longer before the Iron Rose Knights departed.

The trip to Brennan would be relatively swift, and they absolutely had to make it there as quickly as possible.

---

It was late evening when they reached the town of Brennan. Given its name, it was perhaps obvious that the settlement would be close to the Brennan forest, just outside the expansive wilderness. But the nearly-vanished sun served only to highlight just what they would be facing. It was not a vast army, but the torchlight from the orc raiding party camped outside of the sealed gates of the town was a sight to behold. Fanilly could discern, even from this distance and in this dim lighting, the lumbering forms of trolls slamming into the walls of Brennan in a bid to knock them down.

The young Knight-Captain had to do her best to quickly concoct a plan before those walls gave way. She couldn't allow the surprising size of the orc raiders' force to stun her into inaction.

"Archers, magi," she began, looking back over her shoulder. There were not many whose focus was the arcane among the Iron Roses, but those among them would know when they were being addressed, "Stay at range. Focus your attacks on the raiders closest to the walls, bring down the trolls if you can."

With that, she began splitting the knights, advancing on her mare.

"To all others: You are with me. Will shall make a charge into the rear of the enemy forces, while they are focused on attempting to bring down the walls!"

It was around now that she was beginning to get a better estimation of the number of orcs they were facing. While it could not be called an army, it was undeniable that this force outnumbered the knights, though not by an extreme number. But a surprise attack at range from their archers and magi, and then a cavalry charge to the rear of their raiding party...

The wouldn't be prepared, and perhaps the raiding party would be forced to flee!

The smallish, blonde knight guided her division of knights down the ridge

In a matter of moments...

Fanilly's blade flashed as it left its scabbard.

"Iron Roses, charge!"

The rear of the orc raiding party was unprotected, unprepared for a cavalry charge by armored knights. The thunder of hooves certain gave away their presence, but too late for the orcs at the back. Their armor was crude, black and angular, made of cheap steel. What could be seen of their bodies was varying shades of green or grey. Fanilly's mare bowled one orc over and trampled it, and while she couldn't be sure if it perished, she knew another had taken the blade of her sword across its chest.

They had to kill as many as they could before any kind of retaliation could be mounted, or the trolls could be pulled from the walls to counterattack!

A small raid of orcs and trolls, some sight of the borderlands. Klaus has a bit of history with those beings back when she worked as a mercenary. She had slain enough of them to know that they aren't much of a problem to deal with. But, warbands appearing here is already unusual enough, and Klaus had a hunch that its something more than just an orc raid. For that, she isn't letting her guard down. Just like that old Knight said, its better to work together, someone with strong defensive stances would help a lot, I know!

"Fleuri, cover my back," Klaus turned to have a brief glance at Fleuri, as she sent herself for the cavalry charge. The training in the morning proved to be the key towards mastering her own style. Her sword looks alive, the edge of her sword slicing the orcs apart as it rips through their armour with little wasted movements. What is left of their armour was a huge hole behind their fatal wound, as if something have bitten through the armour. My cuts aren't clean enough, I'll need to train more... Klaus clenched her teeth in her own dissatisfaction .

It didn't take him long to get ready. Just a few moments to return to his room, grabbing a leather satchel of clay tiles etched with runes. Chain and leather wasn't as heavy as full plate so he rarely started a day without his armour.

~

As the charge was sounded he unlimbered his sword and pointed with it.

"Squad with me! Hold your lances in reserve!"

It would be suicide to close into sword range with a troll. Barbed lances have more reach and would stick in to impede movement. So he had taken enough of these lances for those lesser knights that he didn't entirely hate. These were his skirmishers and he lead them in a loose line at the right side of the enemy group, away from the center to avoid disrupting the attacks from the friendly mages.

The flying wedge abruptly wheeled to the right as they made contact. Indrau swung down with Silence, feeling it strike home again and again as he lead the unit along the edge of the group of orcs, savaging those along the edge. It was a well practiced move that allowed his men to engage the enemy but not get bogged down and be unable to respond to enemy movements. When they reached the wall they wheeled again and resumed the attack, trampling those already fallen and cutting further in.




Salz was swift as well in retrieving her armour. A complex combination of plates, chain and leather in the green and red of her homeland. Along with her own large iron clad spear she took a handful of smaller, human sized, spears to avoid being caught without a ranged weapon again.

~

Despite being on foot she lost only a handful of paces to the lead elements of the charge. Rather than use her spear point first she slammed into the closest orcs with her shoulder, knocking back even those four ranks ahead. Then her spear lashed out. heavier than a sword and with greater momentum and leverage it tore weapons from hands and shattered limbs ever as the point found throats and gaps in armour.

Marianne Delacroix

The hooves of her steed restlessly clacked as it shifted about. With the winds blowing at their backs, Marianne's long dark hair flowed gallantly with the drafts. Marianne's own version of a war banner, if one were to look at such a thing in such a way, symbolic though it may be. Dark eyes focused on the horizon, Marianne held her bow in hand at the ready. Her veil in her opposite, prepared to channel her mana. At her side, a far larger and more opposing target than she, Sir Ricard sat on his haunches. His own glorious and luxurious fur waving in the winds as he surveyed the distance with her. Ears swiveling at every sound he could pick up, cold snout sniffling at familiar and new scents. The giant beast would've been a mighty force to be reckoned with during the inital charge with the Iron Roses, but he had other plans. He cared little for the other knights, and stubbornly stayed at Marianne's side. Though she was positioned in relative safety, Sir Ricard was not one for chances and gambling. His large body would be her shield and as well sword if need be.

Saying to no one in particular as she kept her eyes trained ahead of her, Marianne smiled slightly.
"It is time to place my new training to the test, no?"
Sir Ricard glanced side long at her.
He could see that she was nervous, as she trembled slightly.
Why, he couldn't tell. But the canine had his ideas.
"Better now than never, I suppose."
Marianne let out a breath, a sigh, as if to expel her rattled nerves.
She placed a hand on her chest as she shut her eyes briefly.
What was she worried about anyways?
She was in the rear.
Perhaps it was the practical application of her magical ability that worried her.
Perhaps it was her worry of accidentally going too far and placing herself out of commission.
To become a dead weight for her comrades to have to burden.
Either way, none of that mattered. The time for such worries and talk had long past.
Opening her eyes and lifting her head, she saw her fellow knights in the distance.

Steeling her resolve, she placed her bow across the tops of her thighs and gently placed her veil against it. Lowering her head and shutting her eyes, she began her incantation created for the purpose of mana control. Softly uttering its phrases in her native tongue, in hushed tones.



Her horse stirred anxiously as Marianne's hair lifted and crackled with ferocious electrical arcs, though it remained unharmed. Her bow glowing with a bright golden light as it was imbued with her power. Opening her eyes and affixing her veil to her hair where she could, she grabbed her arrows which were also infused with her mana the moment she touched them. Assuming a good stance once her horse had ceased its trotting about, Marianne tightened the muscles in her upper back and nocked multiple arrows at once as she pulled the her bow's drawstring back, the tense string audibly creaking with her effort. Her brow furrowing, eyes burning with determination, she unleashed her volley.



With each release of an arrow, the air cracked and boomed. A light flashing each time she set free a lethal arrow from where she sat. Unrelenting and without rest, she fired off one well-aimed arrow after another. Attendents and squires to her rear were at the ready with excess arrows, keeping her constantly stocked.

To the opposing force facing the head-on charge from the Iron Roses, it would appear as though a lightning storm itself was backing the knights. The sky screaming and howling as Marianne's arrows pierced through the wind, her lightning arrows miniature versions of her hand-thrown javelins. To which veterans of the Iron Roses would know their terrifying power. Truly, it was a sight to behold as essentially Marianne herself was a one woman siege, demonstrating the might of the Iron Roses led by their Captain. Hundreds of arrows soon filled the skies above. Goddess be with those at the frontlines, for no mercy would be shown.

Tiral was silent as the knights rode forth towards their destination, quietly mulling over the situation in his head. It was obvious that there were bigger forces at play, and he was sure most of the other knights had come to a similar conclusion, but the fact of the matter is that they didn't know what that force was. Obviously, interrogating the orcs wasn't an option, much less the trolls, so all that was left to be done right now was eliminate them all.

Once the rest of the more melee-oriented knights charged forth into battle, Tiral quietly took out his dagger from its hiding spot and held it out in front of him. The sight of Marianne's own attack made him feel some sort of joy as a pseudo-mentor, but not was not the time to be acting so amused by something of that nature. There was a large enemy and it would take a while for their own knights to reach the enemy, which meant that bombardment without worry of friendly fire could only be done now.

Rapidly chanting under his breath, Tiral closed his eyes as he began to give form to the attack in his mind. An attack with enough damage to sow chaos into the enemy ranks from the start, with enough range to reach enough of the battlefield, and to make use of the bombardment out of the field already. There was already an idea in mind, and it didn't take long for his own magic to start taking form. One after another, icicles shaped like ornate blades that seemed to shimmer in the light like glass began to launch from behind him. One after another, almost as if they were in tune with the galloping of the horses to their front, the ice soared through the air and, catching the light of the lightning arrows above them, created a dazzling and chaotic distortion of light as they landed. The bodies of the orcs near the enemy raid's rear were run through before long, leaving a wall of weapons made of ice blocking their retreat.

The attack had eaten through a considerable amount of his own mana stores, though; luckily, by this point he had become used to finding ways to regenerate enough to keep in a fighting state. If would be foolish to only contribute this and nothing else, of course.

There was no doubt as to where the paladin was going to be found in the instance of a charge: right at the forefront, taking full advantage of a sword nearly long enough to double as a lance, ploughing through an orc... and then seemingly making one of the most novice errors possible in a charge and being thrown from her horse. Of course, to call it a novice error would imply that it was unintentional, as the paladin rose to her feet, raising the orc she'd run through and flinging it aside into the carnage.

And kept going. The others would be able to cut through the mass of orcs easily in time, Tyaethe was only interested in bringing down their trolls. Those could do some damage if they were all allowed to get in close... which meant getting to them as quickly as possible. Something made harder if she stopped to cut down each and every foe that got in the way.

So she employed a tactic more at home in a crowd or a brawl, elbowing and shoving her way deeper into the chaotic mass. She was stronger than the orcs, heavier than them--and those that tried to hit her from the front found that she could still smash the shield into them hard enough to crunch bones. Anything that turned around to hit her from behind? Almost guaranteed to get killed by the rest on her side. Shockingly, before she had reached the trolls, something seemed to manage the implausible--piercing armour and body, though not so much as to be incapacitating... and was ignored. Orc or some of the magic falling around her, it mattered not. She was at her destination.

With her sword gouging into the troll's leg, the paladin looked up. Time to refresh her memory on how tough these things really were.

---

As embarrassing as it was to be sidelined so easily, there was just no way around it--she was not suited for cavalry charges, or fighting mounted at all. Chasing a fleeing foe to run them down, or harassing archers were more in line with her abilities. This massed charge at infantry would have put her in mortal peril whilst contributing almost nothing... and so, she had been positioned back with the mages, keeping an eye out for any orcs that might slip by--or any reinforcements that might come up.

It certainly gave a front row seat to the magic.

Fleuri Jodeau

As the enemy came into view, Fleuri could see that, bless Reon, the city's walls had managed to keep the orcs and trolls at bay. It was a relief that they were not too late, but they had no time to lose- the walls would give sooner or later, and the knights had a narrow window of opportunity where they had the element of surprise, an advantage that they surely could not afford to waste.

At first glance, the enemy forces were considerably more numerous than the knights, but were more poorly equipped and in all likelihood, much more poorly coordinated. If the knights were able to get the jump on the orcs, they'd be hard-pressed to promptly react, and if the knights could identify and kill the raiding band's leader, the enemy would break and scatter. The trolls would be another story, as they would likely be too stupid to retreat, and they'd definitely make trouble once the orcs could bring them to bear, which made it all the more important to break the orcs as swiftly as possible.

Heeding the Captain's orders to charge and Klaus' request to cover her, Fleuri kicked his horse into a gallop and lowered his lance. His greatsword would be of little use on horseback, so he had opted to take a lance, a weapon which he had plenty of experience using mounted. Following behind Klaus in a wedge formation, he struck several orcs as they cut into the enemy's loose formation. His lance had yet to break, and with any luck they'd be able to do further damage before the momentum of their charge was used up.

The Knights crashed upon the orc raiding force and tore through them. Unprepared for a sudden attack from the rear, the raiding orcs were falling in mass numbers. Fanilly's blade took one orc's head from its shoulders, sending the corpse to the ground. But even with their initial momentum, the numbers of the enemy were enough that most of them were unable to reach the walls. Indeed, Fanilly found herself swiftly caught in melee, fending off orcish attacks as the enemy turned and attempted to fight. Still, they had decimated the backline of the orcs, slaughtering many of the beastly raiders in the initial charge.

Fanilly slashed once more, piercing through the black, angular armor of one orc and dashing off its helmet. Beneath were the pointed ears, grey skin, sharpened teeth, and gnarled, mangled face expected of one of the barbaric monsters as it fell dead. Their armor, while clearly made for intimidation, was not particularly strong. A finely-crafted sword such as Fanilly's was easily capable of cleaving through the cheap metals and delivering a lethal blow. No, the issue came in their numbers, not in their individual power.

Just how many orcs had reached this place? Their numbers seemed to reach at least five hundred. How had so many gotten so close to the capital, so quickly?

Fanilly's mare reared, its hooves coming down to bowl another orc over, sending in snarling to the ground. However, as she prepared to urge her horse forward, the blonde girl suddenly felt something sharply impact her side. Even through her armor it knocked the wind out of her, forcing her off her horse and to the side.

Rolling onto her back as she hit the ground, Fanilly cursed herself inwardly for not being aware of her surroundings. She'd gotten unhorsed in a cavalry charge... one that she'd been leading. However, there was little time for self-castigation, as an enormous blunt object suddenly came careening towards her head.

Rolling once more, catching herself and getting back to her feet, the blonde girl felt the rush of air as the club slammed into the dirt beside her.

Before her was the largest of the orcs she had seen so far, large enough that it seemed like it had perhaps been the product of one troll parent, as disturbing as that was to imagine. It let out a roar, then something in the harsh orcish tongue, before hurling itself towards her and forcing her to dodge and backpedal. Her parrying dagger wouldn't be any use against such a large weapon...! There were the other orcs to be concerned about as well...

Near the wall, many of the orcish forces had fallen dead, pierced by ice, lightning, or arrows. The trolls, as well, had taken their share of damage. But their hides were thick, and their pain dulled by drugs fed to them by orcish chiefs.

They were huge beasts, with almost rocky, grey skin. Vaguely apelike-faces were also equipped with sharp teeth, their arms longer then their legs, long enough to nearly trail on the ground.

The trolls were now beginning to turn away from the wall. There were ten in total, the hulking creatures towering above their allies as they began to thunder towards the attacking knights.

The one Tyaethe had attacked, however, let out a bellow and turned towards her, raising both hands and balling them into fists before swinging them down towards the paladin.

Klaus shook the blood off her blade after making short work of the group of orcs, her pair of eyes fixated against those walking siege engines: the trolls. She knew better not to wrestle them in brute strength. Not to mention, they don't respond to pain. Fortunately, that works both ways for them, they are pretty dumb on the bright side.

Klaus extended her sword forward, the tip pointing a bit higher than her usual stance. The gigantic trolls arm are as good as a Zweihander. She angled her blade with a slight slant, with the intention to receive the trolls attack.

The troll swung its arms down her. Klaus raising her sword, had the troll's arm slide against the side of her blade, gently redirecting the troll's attack away from her head. The troll's right wrist that had missed the intended target had severed off in an arc at the end of the first exchange from the one slash from Klaus. If it was a fight with a human, the battle would conclude like this. But they're trolls... She has to disassemble the troll bit by bit. Their head are far away from her sword's reach, the arms are the easiest target right now. Its as troublesome as working on a wooden puzzle, she has to take out the pieces one by one before she could literally get to the heart of this.

The paladin's response was madness of the highest order: she didn't dodge, didn't make any attempt to get out of the way. It wasn't with the deer-in-the-headlights expression of somebody that had no idea how to deal with an opponent like this, but with the absolute certainty that nothing it could do would harm her. Into her raised shield the fists slammed, Tyaethe holding firm as her whole arm absorbed the shock. Then, with the creature overextended, the counter-attack began: her sword hacked swung through its arm without pause, unavoidably coating the knight in a layer of dark red as she kept forward, keen to keep cutting away whilst it was still trying to use the now-missing hand.

The blows that followed had no such intent to maim or disable the creature cleanly; every strike was just to gouge out another chunk of flesh. There were many ways to approach something with such a thick hide even over more sensitive areas: go for the eyes, the mouth; to mass ranks and confront it with so many points it would unavoidably impale itself was a common tactic. Tyaethe, with a far larger blade more than capable of just cutting through had her own way of dealing with these beasts: get an opening, then keep cutting into its torso until it bled out or she finally split it right open.

Of course, it still had one hand, but that was fine. Her shield was on that side.

---

From the sidelines, there wasn't much more that she could offer, the orcs too busy being run through to escape around to come target the more supporting elements of the knights, though she wasn't about to abandon her role and stop checking for an enemy to come up behind them. Except, that is, to offer tactical advice: "Yevan, your Grace, do you believe that you could cleanly bring down a troll each? If not, then it would be recommended to impair them in some manner, as even injured they can take many men with them before succumbing to wounds."

For instance, not repeating the magical equivalent of the paladin's brutal approach. At least that troll got to focus on her lunacy rather than any that this pair couldn't kill.

Marianne Delacroix

Marianne's ears perked when she heard herself be addressed by 'your grace' over the din of the combat in the foreground, as did Sir Ricard's. The giant direwolf turned his snout to menacingly glare at the Iron Rose that dared speak to his beloved Duchess. Breathing heavily, she momentarily ceased her long-range assault/bombardment and placed a hand onto her canine companion, a message for him to stand at ease. Looking over her shoulder to eye her comrade that made such a suggestion, one could see Marianne's cheeks were flushed red from the exertion of maintaining such an impressive siege. Sniffling and wiping at her brow as her long black-hair continued to flow behind her, the squires at her side ready with additional arrows looked to one another in bewilderment. Turning away from her fellow Iron Rose, she surveyed the battlegrounds once more. Not so proud as to ignore the recommendations of others, she took the spoken words to heart and began to think.

She was right after all, the longer the battle drew on, the less effective her lightning arrow siege would be. Not to mention over time the increased risk of accidental friendly fire mishaps. The longer those trolls stood, the more casualties would be had. As large and intimidating those trolls were, their lethalty mostly existed with the creatures throwing their massive weight around. They weren't necessarily fast nor the smartest. Surely her sword could behead one or two, especially with Sir Ricard at her side. But that would mean her abandoning her post as Rearguard and support. The petite Captain Fanily was preoccupied with fighting her own troll, so it wasn't as if Marianne could send a messenger to the Captain to relay her intentions. One never has the luxury of time on a battlefield. One had to act intelligently, with little to no hesistation. Make a decision, and then act upon it with confidence. She made up her mind. Reprimand her after the battle was said and done, but Marianne would not stand by if there was more she could do to hasten the efforts of the fight and save more lives.



Collapsing and taking down her bow, she nodded to herself quietly. Yes, she already had a plan of action in mind. "Sir Tiral, I leave Rearguard support to you. Forgive me for having you increase your efforts. Send word to le capitaine of my actions as soon as is possible!" Unstraddling her horse, she leapt off of her steed with a soft thud of her boots. Placing a hand Sir Ricard's side, she looked up at the monstrous direwolf's eyes. "Sir Ricard, nous chassons!" The direwolf snarled and seemed to nod once, turning his gaze to the horizon. With a toss of her hair to the side, Marianne jumped up and onto her companion's back and laid down on him as closely and tightly as she could. "Sir Ricard, we're going after the trolls! Stay low! Move swift! Allons-y!" Hackles rising as the gargantuan direwolf's stance grew rigid, the canine lowered its snout and dug its paws into the earth. To those around, it would even appear as though the direwolf was smiling. With a thunderous and booming bark, Sir Ricard exploded forward with a surreal and unbelieveable speed for a creature his size. Arrows and spears flew at the new and blatant target, but they mattered little to the giant wolf. His fur and hide were too thick to be penetrated by crude and minature weaponry such as that, Marianne safe on his back. WIth his sheer size, weight, and speed alone, the direwolf crushed and stomped his way through the orc ranks. His erratic zig-zag pattern of motion made it difficult for any serious weaponry or war machines to be targeted at him and his precious cargo. Once he had cleared a sufficient enough path, the wolf then locked onto an absent minded troll and barrelled towards him. With full intention to ram into the troll, Sir Ricard lowered his snout and then raised it to the skies to bellow out a bone-chilling howl as he closed the distance on a troll...

Preparing for another pass, he spotted Knight Delacroix charging on her own. Driving deep into the enemy formation could leave her cut off. He pointed his squad in that direction.

"Follow her in, widen the gap!"

Indrau lacked a lance, unable to grip his mount with he knees well enough to steady the weapon during a charge. Sheathing his sword to avoid dampening out whatever she might try. Instead he rode along the line, directing knights towards gaps and weak points. Really the job of the commander but she had disappeared into the melee.




Somewhere in the battle her spear has lost its tip, snapped off in the body of an orc. She discarded it, drawing one of the small, 'child sized' weapons and resuming her rampage. They broke, of course, along with the others she carried just as she came up against one of the trolls.

At least they didn't have any weapons. Maybe their drug addled minds couldn't comprehend their use or the orcs didn't trust them enough. At least it put them on even footing. She ducked the first clumsy swing and hammered a fist into it's ribs, which did nothing and felt like punching a tree. A few more blows confirmed that it was well beyond feeling the pain that such blows would deal.

Salz staggered back out of range, breathing heavily but not otherwise exhausted yet.

Fleuri Jodeau

The orcs had been scattered, but the trolls- ten of them, from the look of it- had now turned their full attention to the attackers. At this point it was doubtful that they could actually turn the tide, but they could no doubt inflict considerable casualties among the knights if not swiftly dealt with. Fleuri had never fought such creatures before, but he knew enough of them- they were immensely strong and durable, simple-minded and probably non-sapient yet intelligent enough to be trained as war beasts by orcs. The orcs had probably drugged the trolls to remove the sensation of pain and any sense of self-preservation (not unlike the human bandits whom the Iron Roses had fought), meaning the beasts would fight until they were physically incapable of continuing.

I suppose we'll see soon enough if this horse was trained correctly, he thought as he eyed one of the beasts in the rapidly dimming lighting and formulated a plan of attack. He had only obtained this horse today, but it was likely he had nothing to fear- the martial traditions of the kingdom and the threats it faced ensured that any properly trained war horse would have been trained to not shy away from the often vile scents of creatures such as trolls- but it was always a bit of a leap of faith to actually put the training to the test.

Reon, guide my lance that I may strike true, Fleuri silently prayed, before kicking his horse into a canter, and then a gallop as he drew closer to the troll, aiming his lance at the troll's head. His horse's training proved sound, continuing along the path as it drew closer, providing a margin of relief to the knight. As he finally closed the distance, he struck the troll squarely in the head, his lance outraging the troll's fists. The considerable force of the collision caused the lance to break with a sharp audible crack, showering its wielder with fragments, but Fleuri had enough jousting experience to avoid being unhorsed by the impact. Still gripping half of his shattered weapon, he looked back as he turned his horse around to see the result of his blow. The troll was lying motionlessly on its back with the other half of Fleuri's lance, still bearing the knight's scarlet banner, jutting upward out of its head like a battle standard.

Relieved that he had prevailed in his charge, but a bit frustrated that his lance was of no use anymore, Fleuri scanned the battlefield as he trotted along, hoping to spot the captain, to no avail. What happened to her? Was she unhorsed? Upon reaching the walls of the town, he dismounted and drew his zweihander; he would have to continue the battle on foot.

Tiral glanced over at Lilianna as his initial magic barrage came to a stop, and the mage lowered his arm as he took the suggestion into account. Of course, removing the trolls would ordinarily take priority, but the initial assault had to be dealt with in order to cause the chaos needed to enter the fray in the first place. It wasn't like he was daft enough to continue the onslaught; that'd ruin his mana supply above all else, after all.

"You act as if I could keep up a magical assault like that all day. If the knights are to enter the fray, then is sowing chaos into the enemy forces not a useful ploy to make it easier to do so?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders as he realized that Marianne's own assault had also stopped. As soon as he turned over, the young man took note of his companion's words and sighed.

"There's only so much hot-bloodedness I can take in one day..." he thought to himself as both Marianne and her wolf charged into battle. In the end, it really did seem like focusing his efforts was the only thing left to do.

With another rapid incantation, Tiral stretched out his dagger once more, this time at a lone troll in the distance, before another wave of ice blades formed behind him and fired out. Unlike the last set, though, the weapons seemed to come out from a far smaller area at far greater a pace. The consumption of mana with this, at the very least, would be far less than it had been mere moments prior. Now, though, it was only a matter of if the weapons could pierce through and take the creature down.

Of the trolls, several had now been engaged in combat. The one that had attacked Klaus roared and attacked in a blind, drug-induced fury. Any injuries that were not lethal would not halt the creatures, and one of its mighty swipes sent one of the orcs that had formally been its handler flying, sending him to the ground with a sickening crunch of breaking bones and splitting flesh.

The troll attacking Tyaethe had not yet realized it had lost a hand. So addled by drugs was it that it continued to attempt to use the bleeding stump as a bludgeon, slamming it to the ground. This tactic, of course, only caused the beast to lose more blood, spewing dark red onto the ground beneath it as the paladin hacked away at its thick hide, cutting into its flesh with each blow. It staggered, losing more blood by the moment... but still it attacked, lashing out with its remaining hand in an attempt to grab the armored target.

Sir Ricard's charge, orcs crushed underfoot or scattered, was a successful one. The troll he chose to attack was bowled over, pinned under the massive wolf's bulk. It was not killed by the impact, however, its hands grasping at the enormous wolf. While trolls were stupid, and not fast, their immense strength was legendary. Ricard would have to take care not to allow its grip to grow too strong before it was dispatched.

Salz's attack had, seemingly, managed to surprise even the drugged troll. But it wasn't enough to harm it, not noticeably at least. Letting out a snarl, the rocky-skinned beast grasped an unlucky orc in one hand and reared back before hurling it directly at the half-giant knight, before promptly charging her.

One troll had been slain, a lance piercing through its eye and buried in its skull. The others were steadily engaging themselves in the swarm of knights... though as icy weapons pierced the hide of one of the hulking creatures, it turned and roared, slowly beginning to pick up its pace towards the archers and magi some distance away... It was clearly being harmed by the weapons piercing its flesh, but it was not yet slowing down, picking up its pace...

Fanilly darted to the side as the orc's club slammed down. Even as she did, another of the barbaric creatures charged towards her. Taking a chance, she spun and took the orc's head as the larger of the two pulled its club from the earth. She had to wait for it to attack again before she could strike... if she could get one solid blow towards its body...!

The orc snarled and charged towards her, raising its club. Fanilly swiftly darted to the side once more as the club swung down and-

It was swatted to the side, and something struck Fanilly in the chest and knocked the wind clear out of her. Letting out a gasp, the blonde knight landed on her back and skidded backwards. It was quickly obvious her new attacker was one of the hulking trolls charging towards the Roses...

It was distracted, for just long enough for Fanilly to stagger back to her feet. A troll... she had to try and take it on. Her armor hand managed to protect her from harm, its dwarven make rendering it incredibly sturdy. But any more hits like that...

And then, next to Tiral, there was a voice. The voice of a girl, a child, saying...

"The Captain may need your help soon~"

But there was no-one there.

Klaus was glad that the trolls are as stupid as usual. Stupid enough to attack someone from the wrong side. The only thing good about them is their brute strength. But, their attacks are so blind & predictable that they look like a still target to the white haired knight. And here she thought the fiendish forces have grown. That overcomplacent mindset was what she would have years ago, but the foul shards are at loose, borders had been threatened, and now orcs could even make a surprise attack here.

Pieces by pieces, Klaus disassembled the troll's right arm, her piercing blue eyes maintaining sight towards the one-armed troll. She tensed her grip on the handle, trying to treat the fight with the troll as if she was fighting Sir Tyaethe. Though the difference between the two is like the sky and the earth, she was trying to be alert for anything out of the ordinary. "Troll meat don't taste very good." As much as a glutton Klaus is, she wasn't going to feast on those disgusting stuff again.

Marianne Delacroix

With thunderous crash! the two beasts, one canine and one of troll's-blood, collided with what could be considered bone-shattering impact. Marianne winced as she braced herself against the force, still clinging perilously to thick silvery fur as she laid on Sir Ricard's nape. Sir Ricard viciously and voraciously snapped his fangs at the troll. The brutish wolf forcing the equally brutish troll to its back as slobber from his snout flew about wildly with his barks. With a heavy thud!, the troll struggled against the canine's might as dust kicked up from its fall. A weighty paw on its chest as Sir Ricard attempted at its neck with his fangs.

"Ricard! Bring it to its feet!" the Delacroix duchess cried out, voice clear and firm. Heard audibly even over the cacophony of combat.
Sir Ricard's ears twitched but he dared not give the creature any leeway in gaining the upper hand in their grapple.
He had heard her commands, however.
As the troll went to wrap its grubby mitts around Sir Ricard's neck, the wolf took the chance to open his maw and crunched down against one of its fore arms. Snarling hungrily as flesh was pierced, blood spurted, and surely bone cracked.
On his back, Marianne uttered her incantation to her blade.
Her veil in hand as she pressed her finger tips against its flat.
With a sudden jerk of his head, Sir Ricard roughly forced the troll up in a clumsy half-standing posture.
A second, more violent jerk of his head and the great direwolf used the troll itself as a weapon.
Tossing its body into a group of hapless orcs to be smushed by their own ally.
A flash of white leapt off of Ricard's back, lightning itself as her sword as Marianne landed.
Immediately shooting towards the now bellowing and enraged troll.



Sir Ricard switched to a defensive mode, making sure Marianne had an avenue of escape as she did her surgical work. Spinning on the spot to throw back a horde of orcs, Ricard caught one unfortunate orc between his teeth. Their crude armor might as well have been wet paper, as with one closing of his jaw he killed the orc and spat him out like the refuse he was back at his comrades. As he did his work staving off the enemy forces Sir Richard saw a human male, an Iron Rose knight, clear a direct path towards the pair with his men. The canine's eyes narrowing as he took the gesture into account, he would remember this later. Turning to pop the head of another orc under the points of his fangs.

A veritable beacon of light, Marianne moved swiftly towards the troll. Darting from side to side as she deftly evaded the attacks of the orcs and beheaded each one cleanly with her blade as she passed. Bearing down on the troll and closing the distance unsurprisingly fast, the troll struggled to keep up with her movements. Roaring, it sluggishly swung at her with its arms, even its injured one. Drugs having nulled the pain from even such a wound as one gifted by Sir Ricard. Ducking easily under its simple attacks, Marianne was careful to gauge her spacing against the troll's reach, strength, and speed. "Disable, disarm! And then! Decapitate!" the memory echoing within her mind as she dove between the troll's legs. The troll grabbed after her, but was dumbfounded when it looked at its hands to find it was unsuccessful in snatching her. Should she fail, she would at least succeed in taking the troll out of the fight.

With flicks of her wrist and lightning-bright blade slicing through the air, Marianne attacked at the tendons and muscle just behind the knee of the troll. "Bring it to its knees!". Switching targets, she then swished her blade at the tendons and muscle in its ankles. "Allow it not to stand!". The troll roared in anger and whirled its arms at her, desperately trying to stop her. But, she was far too quick for the hulk. Rolling safely through the attack, Marianne's blade hissed as it began slicing through the flesh of the troll's arms. She attacked the wrist, the inside of its elbow, underneath its pits, snapping apart the connective tissue that held its muscle together wherever she could. "Disarm! Allow it not to be a threat!" Marianne told herself. Standing in front of the troll, she panted heavily. Her white clothing covered in dirt and orc blood. Sweat making her equipment stick to her body in uncomfortable ways. Strands of her long black hair stuck to her forehead as her eyes burned with determination. She waited for the troll to fall under the effects of her assault, to collapse in a useless heap of ignorant meat. She prayed to the holy Goddess Reon that her blade strikes cut deep enough. Sir Ricard buying her time as he kept the smaller orcs from getting too close to her.

With a loud cry, Marianne gracefully leapt into the air with all the strength she could muster. Spinning in air as she did, her skirt fluttering outwards. Rearing her sword back in midair. She went for the troll's neck, with every intention of beheading it in one fell swoop.

The incoming troll's attack was slow--too slow, too harmless. She could have avoided the grab, dropped down or dodged out of the way; a troll well on the way to losing half its blood simply didn't have the reaction times to keep up, even with the drugs keeping it on its feet. That, however, would have gotten in the way of attacking. And so, with the shield on her right hand, she broke its fingers. Though, in the heat of the moment, she'd rather forgotten that wouldn't stop it from trying to grab, even if it could no longer do so...

Another hand dropped to the floor. It wasn't long before the troll itself followed, chest split by the repeat blows and no amount of drugging able to keep it going once its heart was split in two. Yet the paladin was already on the move before it was still, cutting down an orc and looking for another of the beasts--if, indeed, they were still up. At least they weren't much of a threat to her.

---

How did any of what she'd said translate to "run at the nearest troll?"

The trolls were beginning to be engaged and taken down one by one. He stood up in his stirrups and reached into the leather satchel he had taken with him. The single clay tile inside had an inverted form of the rune he had used to heat his tea earlier. This absorbed heat and even now it was coated in a layer of frost.

Indrau unwrapped it carefully and threw it over the heads of his own troops. He noted the positions of Tyeathe and others within the orc formations and galloped over to a flank furthest from them. He threw it out and when the tile smashed it let out all of the stored heat, everything from sitting in a forge fire overnight.

The orcs nearest were incinerated in their armour, steel melting. Others were knocked down by the blast and burned.




She spun out of the way, avoiding most of the impact and taking the rest on her shoulder. It's reaction told that it was possible to break through the haze of drugs. As fast as its charge was she had an easier time avoiding it than she had the airborn orc.

With one hand she grasped one of its arms, pulling to add to its momentum. On the other side she met the charge head on. With her elbow.

The result was a stomach churning crunch as it met the trolls face and sent a jolt up her arm. Unsure if the blow would have enough of an effect she followed it up with an overhead strike from her other elbow.

The troll dropped like a humongous sack of bricks. Salz stood over it, panting slightly through the mail covering her face. Underneath was an expression of rage. The orc that had been thrown at her moved and she stepped over to it, delivering a kick that snapped its neck and sent its helmet flying.

Tiral nodded quietly as he watched the troll that he had been focusing on begin charging towards him. He had already accepted that the possibility of getting it's attention was almost 100 percent, and so it was almost a given that his barrage of magic would continue on. One after another, the magical weapons continued to fly out at the troll, turning the enemy into a walking pincushion. Ideally, someone or something would topple it from the back to send all the weapons through its body (or, at the very least, cause them all to shatter and cause internal collateral damage so that others could finish it off), but until that moment came he would continue here.

The moment he heard the voice of a child, though, Tiral's head immediately snapped to face the source. With no trace of anyone having been there, though, all the mage could do was try and make sense of the very obvious warning for the Captain's safety. Pausing his own magic for a moment, Tiral turned towards the battlefield and squinted in an attempt to find the Captain in the middle of the chaotic battlefield. Luckily enough, it wasn't very difficult to differentiate between the two forces, though they were off in the distance, and it didn't take long for the mage to pick out that the Captain was indeed engaging with one of the enemy trolls.

Unlike some of the crazier Knights, though, she wasn't particularly built for dealing one of those monstrosities alone. After thinking for a moment, Tiral turned his magical barrage towards the troll attacking Fanilly before shouting at the people around him.

"Listen up! The second we get that second troll's attention, we're going to begin to move around and drag them away from the rest of their main forces! Do not, under any circumstances, stop attacking them! If we remove the larger threats and allow the rest of the Knights to clean up what's left, then we can systematically clean up the rest! Are we clear?" he declared, not waiting for an answer before snapping the reins of his horse with his spare hand. With the dagger still aimed at the other troll, Tiral calmly began to move his horse around, his eyes snapping between both targets in case any of them moved into a lumbering sprint.

Hopefully, they wouldn't be able to in their state, but it was never bad to be safe here.