Talking down the kid was proving to be as difficult as Mari had feared it was going to be. For all her sweet-talking, the kid still hadn't said anything and was only expressing some wary curiosity. Though Mari figured that the latter was only due to the fact that she wasn't human. With the motion behind her, the kid's eyes snapped to the new arrival.

"You said you need a blanket, Dame Verenna?" Fleuri asked as he put down his sword and helmet, then unclasped and removed his white cape, which had remarkably remained unstained throughout the battle. "Here, will this do?"

Taking the offered garment, Mari nods. "Yes. this should serve the purpose nicely. Thank you, Sir... Jodeau." The Naga says taking a moment to recall the name of her fellow knight. Folding up the cape, Mari slowly reaches into the cage and carefully deposits it halfway between her and the kid before pulling back. "Go on. wrap yourself up." She says, gesturing to the cape. "You must be freezing with only that tunic to keep you warm."

Something close to a rational look flickers through the kid's eyes as they glance between Mari and the cape before snatching it up. Burying themselves in the cape, the kid pokes their head out, warily watching the two knights with a feral sort of curiosity. At the sight, Mari resists cracking a grin. If it weren't for the circumstances, the scene would be almost amusing; a serious faced kid holding a knife while bundled up in a knight's cape. "Finally. Some progress. If you aren't going to try and stab me, I don't need all this armor anymore." The Naga says, unbuckling and removing her plate armor and chain mail.

"..."

Fanilly was silent for several moments.

Then...

"Rickart. His name was Sir Rickart," she said, finally. She hadn't known him very well. She hadn't known many of the knights very well, not yet. And now, in Rickart's case, she wouldn't get a chance to know him any better at all. Had she performed better, had tighter command of her forces, would he have perished?

In spite of the others' words, she didn't move immediately. The blonde-haired knight was silent. But... no, she was Knight-Captain. She had to keep pushing on. Sir Rickart's death couldn't be allowed to stop her, because there was no way any knight of the order would want such a thing to happen.

Fanilly took a deep breath.

"Ensure the wounded are properly transported and cared for," she ordered, ""Prisoners are to have their hands bound and be transported in a single file line. Do not harm them, they are already facing punishment for their crimes. Causing them pain is pointless cruelty."

She paused for a moment.

"... Sir Rickart's body is to be returned to his family."

---

The return trip was rather uneventful. The prisoners were utterly crushed, defeated by the loss of so many and the slaying of their leader. Who could ever have prepared them for the Iron Roses? The injured were transported with care, thankfully there were very few with any serious injuries. But that was to be expected, really, as the Iron Roses were an order of legend.

Fanilly traveled at the head of the Knights, upon her white mare. The farmer who had been used as bait by the bandits seemed to be capable of making a full recovery. His injury had looked worse then it actually was, apparently, though it was still bad enough that, if they had not found him, he would have perished.

To the young captain, it felt entirely too long to reach their destination.

But it was dawn when they came upon their destination. The walls of the capital loomed ahead of them.

Aimlenn had been built long, long ago, construction having begun shortly after Thaln itself was founded. In spite of the country's embattled history, the capital had never wavered, never fallen. Its tall, strong walls held fast. Aimlenn, among the people, was known as the fortress-city, as the white-grey stone walls, lined with sturdy towers, were a sight known far and wide across the land.

The immense steel and wood gate stood before them. In this time of peace, it remained open, and Fanilly led her knights through it.

The streets bustled with activity, merchants transporting goods, citizens going about their business, and as they headed in further, nobility and the rich with their entourages of guards, maids, and manservants walking the street. What was universal to all these people is the glance they cast up as the Iron Roses entered. Many, especially the average citizens, looked on in awe as the knights of legend proceeded in, taking with them what could only be those bandits who had hurt and killed so many.

The guards, many of them soldiers of Thaln, cast dark glares towards the prisoners.

Fanilly did her best not to react to any of it. Even when it was looks of awe, she was Captain of the Iron Roses. She could not let anything distract her from her duty.

The stone fortress that was home to Aimlenn's garrison and prison soon received the bandits. Their fate was essentially sealed, an execution would greet them. Barring some sort of sudden reprieve(which seemed highly unlikely, to say the least), they were set to die for their murders and thefts.

But Fanilly did not remain there. Instead, she lead her knights further down the winding streets.

The Iron Rose Knights were based near the Royal Family's castle. It was an impressive building, blue tiles lining the roof and windows of stained glass, displaying roses. The Iron Rose itself was displayed above the entrance, gleaming in the morning sun. The structure itself was known as Candaeln.

Within, the wood floors were spotless and clean, and the plastered walls displayed portraits of past Captains, and another notable Iron Roses. Display cases of weapons of previous knights lined the walls, but one was placed above all.

The Saint's Blade, the Starlight Sword, Bane of the Vos Korvungand. The sword that had taken the head of Meryn the Kinslaughterer. The weapon that had pierced the heart of Volkstraad the red dragon. The silvery, almost ethereal-seeming blade of the Starlight Saint of Roses, Elionne herself, stood in the center of the room, carefully locked inside of glass case. It was the only thing that remained after the first captain of the Iron Roses had vanished. The blade was strong, but elegant, a sharp tip and a razor edge with a star-shaped crossguard.

Fanilly turned to her knights.

"Take the injured to the healers," she ordered, swiftly. The healers were to the left of the entrance hall, stationed in their own wing of Candaeln. "For everyone else, I would take some rest. You've earned it."

Fanilly glanced towards the stairs, and began to approach them. As she ascended, she had to admit to one desperate thought:

The Captain of the Iron Roses desperately desired a bath. There were many other thoughts that weighed on her mind, though she had already dispatched a messenger to Sir Rickart's family. She tried her best to change gears, to focus on recuperating instead.

Of course, moments after she left the sight of the others, a courier would arrive at the front of Candaeln.

Oh, dear. What timing.

@HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze@Asuras@jdh97@Click This@OwO@Animal@TheFake@ERode@Crimson Paladin@ghastlyinc@PaulHaynek

@jdh97@VitaVitaAR

He took it in silently. The Knight-Captain, numb to the world for a moment, had not responded to anyone save Aria Larette's almost mercifully direct query regarding what was obviously dominating her mind. He looked downward to the bisected man, regarding him with a solemn neutrality.

Sir Rickart...

He hadn't known him well. Perhaps they had traded a few passing blows on the training grounds, or greeted eachother amiably when their paths through the many halls of the Iron Roses compound crossed, but for all of Gerard's contemplation, he could not truly speak of the man knowingly.

It was a shame. An uncomfortable inevitability in the theatre of war that each man who made it their trade was forced to accept, but all the while a shame. Men he would never know lost their lives on the same field as he. Men he would never get the chance to properly remember. It was the reality of being a mercenary, and it was a reality that he had known would extend to knighthood. Hardening one's heart to the guilt of not knowing was a skill he had to learn quickly. Without it, anyone would break.

His eyes flitted to the Captain for a moment, before settling back upon Rickart's body.

If I can spare a thought for hardened criminals, however, I can surely offer the same to a comrade, known or not.

May the Goddesses bring your soul a peaceful rest, Sir Rickart.

I'm sure you've earned it.

With orders to carry out and nothing left to merit his idling, he then pushed off the branch, and set himself to work.

---

The ride back was, all told, a slow and quiet one. Luckily enough, his earlier assessment had proven largely correct— no lives lost within the number of knights assigned to him, and comparatively few injuries atop that— the most major of which being Sir Jerel's shoulder. Beyond that, nothing of real note— everyone was able to fight, to say nothing of ride or march. Including, he noted with some amusement, the girl he'd found and armed. He owed the aforementioned older knight an apology for her nearly taking his head off, but was glad that he'd all the same ensured her safety as things drew to a close.

Finding Sir Jarde a horse had been mercifully easy once that was all said and done— a simple matter of convincing one of the bandits' to carry the young man. Thankfully the blonde didn't wear much in the way of armor, so his weight wouldn't prove too unfamiliar to this undoubtedly less trained animal. Once they were satisfied with how that had played out, Jarde more or less managing to strike up a kind of understanding between himself and his new horse, it was time to depart.

...He had been very fortunate indeed that it all went so smoothly, he realized in review as the first glimmers of dawn peeked above the horizon. Both in that none in his command had been grievously wounded in spite of his singular determination to fight, and that he himself had not suffered any harm in the face of that recklessness— even the bruise he'd suspected to be upon his shoulder had faded from his senses as the hours had passed. All that was left then were his thoughts. His singular understanding that he had much to learn from this mission.

He turned his eyes upwards towards alabaster towers as they passed through the mighty oak and steel gates of Aimlenn. The Capital city was still a somewhat awe-inspiring sight for him, a man hailing from much further north, close to the border with Velt. To think human hands could build structures so massively high, and yet at the same time so elegant... It boggled his bumpkin mind to this day. He knew of cities, of fortified, high walls of stone. He's seen plenty with his ragtag band of sellswords, and was no stranger to the concept itself— but nothing could match the capital's scale. Aimlenn absolutely dwarfed anything else he'd ever known.

Yet more proof that the world was still far bigger than him.

Not to mention, this Order as well. He thought, offering a wave to awestruck children that watched their passing. It's strange how being the one gawking at knights feels so simultaneously a short and long while ago.

That used to be me down there. I wonder if they would follow my path, should it mean a chance to ride with us?

He hoped not.

He wouldn't trade the opportunity nor the honor for the world, nor even the much larger weight of time that he had experienced in an unscrupulous trade to lead him to them, but he hoped not.

He hoped that any prospective Knights would be far better prepared than he for many facets of this. That they would be stronger in body and mind than he. That they wouldn't make so many mistakes, whether he had escaped consequences this time or no. He had much more work left to his name before he could truly become the knight he decided was his goal, seven years ago. Far from mastering himself to the degree it required, half the time he wondered if he had truly earned the right to step foot into that hallowed compound.

The Knights entered the Candaeln, their home base, and the tiny Captain stiffly ordered them to disperse towards either healing, or some rest. That they'd earned it.

That much was true. They, collectively, had earned more than their share of a good morning's sleep. A surgical night raid that had resulted in a dominating victory, vanquishing a scourge upon the land's people as well as a fairly powerful enemy fighter at its head. Good work by any metric, regardless of how disdainfully they had all entered the mission. She, as much as anyone, had done enough to merit such. Looked for all the world to be ready to follow her own advice.

But Gerard, inexorably, found himself drifting towards the Training Wing rather than his quarters.

His mind had not yet settled. He intended, in the simplest terms, to hone himself until fatigue would do it for him.

Replacing Jarde's horse was a simple matter. The bandits had plenty and they weren't going to be using them anytime soon. Sir Gerard helped too and he said that the replacement horse should not have a problem with Jarde since the young knight was similar in weight as the bandits, having little armor and all. The horse's apparent opinion made Jarde raise an eyebrow but he was not going to turn down a free ride.

The trip back to Aimlenn was uneventful. Still, Jarde was one of the knight keeping an eye on the prisoners although he could see that the captured bandits had no will to fight any longer. They knew they were defeated and had no intention to struggle against their captors. Jarde saw how crushed they were, how they surrendered to their fates. He wondered if the future had something like this in store for him. He hoped not. If he were to die, he'd like to die fighting and not sitting in a cage with a blank look on the face waiting for execution. Of course, he'd much prefer not dying at all.

At last they were back in Aimlenn, the capital of Thaln. The city was just as majestic as Jarde first saw it and when he joined the Iron Rose Knights. As a fortress-city, its white-stoned walls were high and its towers were sturdy and overlooked the rest of the capital. Its immense and wide gate was laid open for anyone to enter. There were guards, of course, but it was peacetime and Aimlenn was in no danger of a siege.

The arrival of the Iron Rose Knights and their captives caught everyone's attention, from commoner to noble. They glared at the bandits but they looked in awe at the knights. The shiny, flashy, famous ones at least. Especially the non-human knights like Dame Maritza. Jarde, having no shiny armor and nothing to his name, was mostly ignored. The citizens probably thought he was just an auxiliary to the knightly order. He did not mind, though, and understood why.

After depositing the captive bandits at the garrison, Captain Fanilly led the knights to their base, Candaeln. The headquarters was decorated with stained glass depicting roses with the entrance emblazoned with the symbol of the Iron Rose. Within, the walls were hung with portraits of notable figures of the Iron Rose Knights. Its previous Captains and famed members. Jarde was sure Fanilly would end up there someday, but hopefully not very soon.

And then there were the weapons of these figures, sitting in display cases and immortalized like their owners. The most famed one was the Saint's Blade, the Starlight Sword and other names Jarde couldn't remember. The sword was silvery and had a crossguard in the shape of a star. Its tip was sharp and had an ethereal-like aura around it. It was as beautiful as it was deadly, but Jarde was no sword connoisseur so he did not fully appreciate the weapon.

"Take the injured to the healers, For everyone else, I would take some rest. You've earned it."

The Captain ordered. The Iron Rose Knights began to walk away to their own businesses but Jarde really had nowhere to go but back to his room and rest. He was tired, but not that tired. The uneventful trip from the bandit camp serving as a break of sort. He could always train to hone his skills, maybe spar with someone. Or he could go outside and wander Aimlenn a bit. He hasn't exactly familiarized himself with the capital yet.

Jarde decided to do just that and went to the exit. Just as he got outside, though, a courier had appeared in front of Candaeln. "Good news or bad news?" The young knight got down to it with a question.

Tyaethe, as ever, looked fairly disgruntled on the way back into the capital. Oh, partly this was due to her own lack of fanciness; a pony and light clothes looked far less impressive than a horse and shining armour. The main reason was, of course, the sun. Angling a parasol to block the dawn light wasn't the most trivial of tasks when threading a horse through streets and a de facto parade. The stares from people that didn't know better and had to ask, just to confirm a centuries old piece of trivia, didn't make it any more comfortable.

All in all, the white-haired paladin was happy to be in Candaeln, making a beeline from the front entrance to the sword not far beyond. Such a delicate, beautiful sword... nothing like hers, but one every bit as familiar. Not that it had done anything except sit here in living memory, gathering dust in the metaphorical if not literal sense. It wasn't like there were many people who had a key to open and dust it, but magic was useful like that.

"Well, the new captain's made a good enough start, even if it was just some thug with a sword..." she said, using the sword as a stand-in for its wielder whilst giving her report, "Probably an 8 or 9 by the adventurers rankings? Strong for the order with standards as they are, but the only death was a sneak attack. But if they don't get better soon, they'd better hope nobody like us shows up on the other side of a battlefield, Elly."

Though, talking to herself or not, Tyaethe was still within earshot of the door and the courier Jarde was speaking with.

@PaulHaynek@VitaVitaAR

Sir Jerel Ban

At last, they were back.

The familiar low din of Candaeln bounced about the hard surfaces with weird acoustics that made it seem all the more cavernous and empty in light of ringing in Jerel’s ears, which expected something more. He hadn’t realised how loud the streets had been, until they were locked away behind walls and closed doors. All those faces twisted by the current of their collective emotions; adulating and wide, like a polished lake reflecting the heavens - the Knights filled them with hope, their captain most of all; then the ripple of disquiet that sunk smiles here and there for only an instant, when they saw Jerel’s wound and realised even Legends could bleed (he did not let his chin drop until he was inside Candaeln); and then the anger, the anger at the prisoners. It wasn’t blatant and bestial, but insidious, like spiderweb cracks on thin ice hiding waters deep and dark beneath. In those black mirrors, Jerel swore he could see their thoughts, entertaining fantasies - their own perversions of justice and revenge and glory, as if they never would have been swayed if their lives were at stake. As if they weren't thinking the very thoughts that shone in their eyes.

Ter was outside in some private perch, but Jerel could sense him, and took comfort that his bird had not fallen afoul of any moral sundries. Just tired and relieved. Jerel suspected his bird would find sleep far easier than him.

The swords that adorned the room only seemed to taunt him. All these greats in their order and he had been injured by a desperate man likely no more trained than any farmer. And he had killed them too, and that thought more than any other kept coming back; he had killed them and felt nothing and yet now he wanted to throw-up and remove the weight that seemed to be crushing his chest.

Books had softened him. That must be it, he thought as he trudged towards the healer’s to check his wound for bad blood or infection. Too many hours spent reading and not enough training.

But that wasn’t it. What it ultimately came down to was a shift in his view of the world, and perhaps the histories and accounts in the library were responsible for that. Killing, even for the kingdom and Order to which he was Oath-sworn, filled him with remorse. It shouldn’t; he should have every confidence what he was doing was the right thing. Should.

Am I fit to be a knight? I feel I am just some dreadful imposter.

Surely this was no new conflict, and it was likely just the events catching up with him, compounding, or a malaise introduced by his wound. And yet, he felt that he had a decision to make. It’s just, he couldn’t decide if that was -

"Good news or bad news?" (@PaulHaynek)

Jerel stopped at the archway, leaning with one hand upon the wall. He turned to look at Jarde, at the courier. It could have been destiny, or confluence, or coincidence. Perhaps they were all the same.

Still, Jerel waited to hear the answer.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri kept his distance from the prisoners during the return trip, instead riding closely to the rescued captives. His armor was He didn't like looking at the broken expressions and defeated postures of soon to be executed brigands. The knight instead preferred to focus his attention on the people that had been rescued, a deed that not only felt more spiritually fulfilling, but also helped lend meaning and justification to their grim task of ferrying the bandits to their eventual executions. Just as Reon and Mayon were inseparably connected, the Reonite duty of bringing justice to the guilty was interwoven with the Mayonite duty of protecting and aiding the innocent.

Even in our darkest duties, it is comforting to look upon the real reasons we fight, to know that we make a difference to the people of Thaln...

From beneath his helmet, Fleuri glanced at the child that he and Dame Verenna had rescued, still wrapped in the Reonite knight's white cape. He had no intention of asking for it back, letting the boy keep it was the least he could do. Perhaps it might even inspire the child to aspire join the Iron Roses someday, he thought.

There was one other matter on his mind- the death of Sir Rickart. While the death of one knight may seem minor especially compared to the number of brigands they had slain in turn, the loss of any Iron Rose was always a tragic affair to the Order. This was a dangerous line of work and it was expected that knights would perish from time to time, but such assurances provided little comfort. Fleuri wondered how Fanilly would handle it. To his knowledge, was the first death under Fanilly's command, and no matter how adept a commander she may prove herself to be, it would not likely be her last. He didn't envy the burden that her station as Commander carried.

The knights made their way through the capital city of Aimlenn like a grim parade consisting of blood-stained knights, wounded and rescued men and women, and carts of doomed criminals. While Fleuri was no longer the glory hound he once was, the awe and approval of the common folk was a welcome relief to him. It was an even greater relief when the prisoners were handed over, their fates now out of the Iron Roses' hands.

When the knights returned to Candaeln, there were a number of things Fleuri needed to do. He would need to remove his armor and get the bloodstains washed out. He also needed to thoroughly inspect his arms and armor for damage sustained during the battle. Lastly, he needed to get some rest. The first thing Fleuri did, however, was walk along the hall looking upon the weapons and portraits of past knights. I wonder if Sir Rickart will be honored here, he wondered. His gaze eventually came to a specific portrait, a painting of his ancestor Armand Jodeau, the first of the family to dedicate himself to Reon, and supposedly one of the first Reonites to join the Iron Roses. There was no display case for his armaments, for they had not been seen since the day he ventured out on by himself on a quest that he never returned from. The Jodeau family had at times sought to find out what happened to Armand and even constructed a place of honor in the family crypt in hopes of someday properly interring his mortal remains, but they lacked the wealth to fund a thorough search, and to this day no Jodeau knight had managed to pick up his trail.

I know I've made some bad mistakes, but wherever you are, I hope I have managed to live up to your example.

Down the hallway, Dame Radistirin, the First and Youngest, was standing in front of Elionne's legendary sword, speaking to it as if she was conversing with the Starlight Saint herself. Fleuri could not discern what she was saying, but he had no desire to butt in. Even further down the hallway, he could see two of the other knights speaking to a visitor. Unwilling to approach the new arrival in his blood-stained armor, he headed to his quarters to clean himself up.

With a long sigh, Mari slithers through the doors of Candaeln. After the young captain had dismissed them, Mari glances over her shoulder, the kid still fast asleep riding piggyback. Once she'd gotten some food and water into him, the kid finally let his guard down. At that point, he had gone headfirst into Mari's arms and refused to let go. After a bit of coaxing, she'd managed to get the kid to ride on her back, making the trip back to the Candaeln significantly easier.

Heading over to the healers, Mari carefully brings the kid down from her back and passes him to one of the waiting healers; a priestess of Mayon. "This one has been through a lot and has not said a word since we recovered him. I would recommend ensuring they stay asleep until after you have cleaned him up to avoid any extra complications." She says quietly, as to not wake the kid.

That piece of her responsibilities take care of, the Naga moved to tending her equipment. Retrieving her discarded armor and extra weapons from one of the carts, the Naga passed by the courier without a second thought, heading to her quarters. Sir Jarde appeared to already be handling the situation and Paladin Tyaethe was just inside the main entrance if somebody with more seniority was needed. Besides, while her fellow knights were more or less comfortable around her, the 'civilized' folk around the capital tended to not be so much.

After several minutes of cleaning her gear to ensure there wouldn't be any rust come morning, the Naga groans and stretches, fighting exhaustion. "Bath first, then sleep." Mari grumbles to herself before grabbing a couple of towels and heading for the women's bath. If there was anything to be said for civilization, it was the luxury of hot running water.

Gerard Segremors

He cut.

Clean steel flashed as it sliced through the open morning air, parting an imagined head from its shoulders. The knight, not quite completely out of his fighting kit, stepped off to the outside angle as he followed the motion through, blade tightly arcing back around. Just before it returned to his guard, he brought it down from the roof, an overhead strike from the new angle, splitting the helm of another visualized foe. Perhaps one charging in as the first fell. Something of that nature.

He cut.

This process continued as he witnessed again every man he had fought before, their shadows testing his technique. His sword was already long-used to most of the motions, so now came refinement. Honing everything to a keen edge, tightening and ironing out every minor imperfection. Mind balance and position. Don't throw anything off-kilter. Don't overextended but don't under-commit. Be assured, be swift, and be precise. Refine it. Refine it. Refine it, because there was so much left to work on.

He cut.

Quickly, his blade was pulled back as he drew his lead foot inward, a massive visualized sword inches away from shattering it and tearing straight through him. As the tall figure within his mind's eye brought that absurd sword to bear, Had he given enough ground? Could he afford to? Was he too slow, or simply tired from the night prior? ...That didn't matter. He wouldn't have the luxury on the field of battle. He needed this. He needed to be able to fight well even drained. He needed to grow much, much stronger.

So he would cut a thousand times more, or until he could no no more.

Whichever came first.

Then he could rest.

The home of the Order or Iron Roses was truly massive, befitting the grand scale of Aimlenn. Gerard had always marveled at it much as he had the city itself, but the chord Candaeln struck was much more personal in that he was certain his village could comfortably nestle itself within its walls, or at least come very close. Home of the entire order, he like all the others had found himself still working to familiarize himself with its entirety— but he knew the Training Yard all too well.

The wing was filled to the brim with all manner of equipment, everything from the classical straw dummies and sparring rings to entire sections dedicated solely to refining physical capability— gymnastics, weights to lift, everything he could imagine and likely more. Its reach even spread to part of the courtyard that dominated the compound's center, a general free space where one could practice form to their heart's content— and if one was bright and early like Gerard, in relative solitude.

Plenty of open room to work, when one simply wanted to throw themselves wholeheartedly into simulating swordplay. He doubted any of his fellows would be quite so rambunctious as he was, either in the midst of waking themselves or returning from this mission as he was. Drilling with another body was out of the question— and likely just as well.

He was here because that battle was eating away at him. He could not be satisfied with where he was at now. If he did so, the next fighter of Jeremiah's caliber that they faced would be his last. The last of countless more. Perhaps it was simple selfishness disguised as altruism, but for the sake of his comrades if not himself, he needed to be able to rise to such a challenge. A knight was the one who stood against the dragon for the sake of those that couldn't. They donned their armor to take on any danger that threatened those that couldn't. It was why they even bothered wearing it in the first place.

The world was much bigger than he.

The massive form of Knight's Doom, a silhouette of savage power, loomed over him as the other men he faced melted away. He had no trouble with their ilk. He hadn't for years. But even in his mind's eye, he could scarcely find his way inside the Bandit King's range and reflex. It was this that he chased, even as he ran through every defensive gap, as though possessed.

His sword whirled and bit out around him, searching each potential angle. Thwarting Hews, overhead strikes, thrusts from the Ox guard, even the displacing Crooked Hew— everything possible. Sequence after sequence of strikes lashed against what he remembered of Jeremiah through the brief times their swords met. Against an impossible, mountainous force that promised certain death, should he ever linger for even a moment too soon.

Sharper. Faster. Waste no motion. He was not the only one out there. There would be others to face.

He cut.

He cut.

He cut.

A respectable sheen of sweat glistened upon the young man's brow, and his hair was once again damp. A deep, raspy burn had begun to build in his lungs, adding a texture to his sharp, short breathing. He was warm all over, and his shoulders in particular were beginning to ache in protest, even more than the rest of him. He felt his heart race as it tried to keep up with his mind ordering his muscle around. There was no denying that he hadn't come in fresh, and yet...

Would he really be able to bring a great evil like that down if he gave up here?

He began again, taking his pace a notch further. His master hews, all in the order they had been learned, sprung to life. Bread and butter techniques. Reliable. Tried. True. Seven years ago, he had taken the first step on this journey to become an ideal knight, one he could proudly declare himself as. Countless miles were ahead, now more clearly than ever—

He had many swings left in him this morning.

Rest could come after he had shortened the gap a bit.

As Jarde opened the door, what greeted him was the sight of a girl in her twenties, with long, blonde hair and a slightly tanned complexion. She wore a rather elaborate outfit with a quite puffy hat upon her head.

"Ah, hello, I was expecting the Captain, er," she gave a slightly awkward laugh, "No matter, I'm certain a loyal knight can pass along the information to her."

She cleared her through, then reached into a pouch hanging from her waist and withdrew a sheet of parchment. Unraveling it, she read it aloud.

"The Presence of Knight-Captain Fanilly Danbalion and her Iron Rose Knights is cordially requested tomorrow at Princess Eliabelle Tanenway Falthaen's Royal Ball," she began, "The Princess understands that you may not be able to bring every knight, and as such you may choose whomever you desire from your order to accompany you. Please come in your finest attire, though the Princess desires to see Knight-Captain Danbalion in official wear, and eagerly desires to see an assortment of weaponry used by knights."

---

Her mind had drifted from topic to topic. While she still felt guilt from the death of Sir Rickard, she couldn't deny she wanted a bath. She wanted to get clean. To try and focus on what was ahead.

Fanilly was not necessarily an expert on other lands, but as far as she was aware there was a similar practice in distant Akitsushima. However, that was less out of necessity(they simply din't have enough room for every single bath they'd need to give everyone their own) as it was in Candaeln and more due to a cultural belief. Regardless of the reason, Fanilly became abundantly aware, as she stepped into the room, that she had never used a communal bath before. She had used private bathes before, and even bathed in front of a few of her maids(though that made her feel somewhat awkward as she got older as well), but that was... different.

Fanilly stood in the room designed to accommodate equipment and clothing for those who wished to bath, and stared, unmoving for several moments, towards the bath. The water was said to be blessed by Mayon, and as far as Fanilly knew it was blessed by her priestesses at least, a gift given during the Iron Roses' past as a religious order. This was signified by a few matters: It was a dark, crystalline blue, it was always clean no matter how dirty those who bathed in it were, and it kept its warm temperature even on the coldest day.

A few knights were already in the expansive bath. Fanilly was having trouble even taking a step towards it, or shedding her armor. Despite its elaborate design, one of the many bonuses of the armor that Fanilly wore as captain of the Iron Roses was that it was relatively easily removed by her own hand. As she stood there, the girl became more and more aware of how unclean she felt. Sweaty and hot from battle and travel.

Finally, she relented to her desires of cleanliness.

A few moments later, Fanilly's armor was set aside. Its remarkably light weight was now fully apparent, she'd lifted it only with light effort to place it down. All her clothing was gathered and placed to the side, even as the small blonde blushed furiously in embarrassment, her hair now hanging loosely down to her waist. Beneath, she was pale, and almost had a fragile look to her. Certainly it wasn't entirely what one would expect from a captain of such a famed knight order.

She looked small, and harmless. Not like someone who had, not too long ago, fought and killed men and led the knights to the righteous defeat of those who would kill the innocent.

In a rather meek, silent fashion, the girl slid into the lightly-steaming waters and sat silent, attempting to work through her embarrassment and not look totally meek.

She was captain. She had to. She couldn't let this get to her. She had enough to think about without this weighing on her mind as well.

@HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze@Asuras@jdh97@Animal@TheFake@Crimson Paladin@ghastlyinc@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot

Jarde sighed. Looks like his capital-exploring will have to wait another day. "I'll make sure Captain Danbalion receives this message." He told the messenger.

Returning inside, Jarde wondered where Fanilly would be. After ordering the knights to rest, she simply disappeared upstairs and with Candaeln's size, she could be anywhere. Spotting Tyaethe, Jarde was relieved he could ask someone reliable. "Hey, Lady Radistirin." He greeted Tyaethe. Quite informally, but Jarde hoped the slip went unnoticed. "Do you know where the Captain is? I have a message for her. Well, it's the Princess that has a message which she relayed to a messenger who relayed it to me, just outside the door."

Since Tyaethe was the senior knight in the Iron Rose, Jarde felt it would be fine to share the details of the message with her. "It's from Princess Ellabelle Tannerway Falthaen." He butchered the name. "She invited the Captain and the Iron Rose Knight to the Royal Ball tomorrow. Since the entire order can't come, the Captain can choose who comes or not. Also said to come in our finest attire, but the Captain needs to be in her official uniform. And I think she wants to see our assortment of weapons."

"I'm sure you'll come to the ball, Lady Radistirin. Unlike I, someone who just got here." Jarde laughed.

Tyaethe turned around, having caught the tail end of the conversation, and now Jarde was approaching. The apparent child took it in with interest, tilting her head to listen. A royal ball, huh? It had been a while since the knights had been invited to any of them, and it was probably due time to "politely" remind some nobles of her opinions on their interference with the knights. Maybe she could even find time to tease the princess for her mistake in the last one... mistaking the paladin for someone of her own age.

She would definitely make sure that mistake wasn't happening again.

"I think she went in the direction of the baths... it's going to be hard for you to deliver the message in that case," Tyaethe noted, looking him up and down, "Unless you're a lot more girly under all that than I expected. Come along anyway in case she's not done."

The hand seizing his and pulling wasn't hard enough to be forced, but it was pretty insistent that Jarde come along, "I don't see why you shouldn't attend, you took the message. One of those nice privileges of being the first to hear. And it's always better to bring some variety to the party... the nobles can be so boring."

Or maybe she just liked annoying them for messing with things. Walking quickly, someone else caught her eye on the way to the baths.

"Hey, Maritza, want to come to a party?"

@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot

Stripped down to her casual wear, the naga twists, looking over at her fellow knights. "A... party?" Mari blinks in momentary confusion, briefly looking between Paladin Tyaethe and Sir Jarde before her tired brain connects the dots. "I'm flattered that you would consider inviting me, but I can't say that I would be the most welcomed of guests. I think it has something to do with the teeth." She says with a wry grin, showing off her carnivorous nature. "Also, while I do have my decorative ceremonial gambeson, it isn't exactly formal court attire... Though if I polished up my plate armor, I suppose it could work..." The naga trails off, musing to herself.

Shaking her head to clear it, Mari looks back at Paladin Tyaethe. "Apologies, fatigue has addled my head. So who is hosting this event and for what occasion?" She asks, getting to the question that probably should have come first.

The trip back to Aimlenn was...reasonably uneventful, all things considered. A few rebellious prisoners that needed to be reminded of their situation had provided him with some much needed entertainment. It....wasn't much. But it was always fun to put the fear of Reon into the hearts of bandits. Coming back to the capital was far less so.

As their procession rode through the street the common folk gawked at them, their eyes wide with religious and patriotic awe. To most of them at least. Gillian for his part, being one (if not the only) member of the order whose preferred mount was, in fact, as much an ass as its owner garnered more than a few confused stares mixed in with the reverie. Gillian hated the attention. Not because he was something of a comedic figure to them. But because it was the same mindless admiration that put a girl barely older than he was when he first began training in charge.

So, needless to say, getting back Candaeln was a welcomed reprieve. A quiet shelter of stone away from those who were too smitten with a virginal maiden protector, even if it was the home and hearth of such tripe.

Thankfully, Fanilly had either the wisdom or the impatience to relieve them of duty pretty much the moment they step through the gates. Saving everyone (herself included) the hassle of some grand speech about their victory in lieu of good old fashioned R&R. He'd just finished stabling his donkey when he spied...a younger knight speaking to a rather finely dressed woman.

The Knight (Jarde?@PaulHaynek Jarret? Gillian was sure it was one of the two names) was understandably brusque with the woman. No Rose, no matter how fanatical in their loyalty, was exactly thrilled to receive new orders first thing after coming home. Gillian choked down a small laugh, making a mental note to pull the blonde aside later. If only to gently remind him that shooting the messenger (even if unintentionally) was sort of Faux Pas. Especially when said messenger was working for Royalty.

He coughed loudly to catch the girls attention, sparing a moment to nod at Ser Ban@jdh97 to let the man know he'd handle it. Ban was...a creepy bastard. A creepy bastard who could shoot like it was nobodies business, but a creepy bastard none the less. Leaving Gillian as the only (massively under) qualified individual give the Iron Roses Formal reply to the request.

"I apologize for my fellow knights....curt response Ma'am." He offered softly, taking a moment to bow slightly in apology. "He's too new to know the formalities. And perhaps still shaking out the nerves from our last mission." He added, fibbing a little to save the younger knight some face.

"Please inform her Royal Highness that we of the Iron Roses will attend happily. You've my word as a Reliquary the letter of her request shall be law." He said, tone light and pleasant despite how much he loathed this sort of pedantic crap. But when the ruling family said jump...you didn't really get away with saying just 'yes sir'.

...All that said, the courier was very much not royalty. And, therefor, very much a viable target for a little amusement. "...I certainly hope to see you there." He said cheerily as he crossed his arms. "I'm a bit surprise the Princess would send one of her Lady's in Waiting to deliver the message." He adds, voice lilting a bit as he gauged her reaction. He very much doubted she was anything close to a Lady, in waiting or otherwise. But flirting was no fun if you didn't make an effort to flatter a bit. "I apologize Miss, what did you say your name was...?"

"I think she went in the direction of the baths... it's going to be hard for you to deliver the message in that case. Unless you're a lot more girly under all that than I expected. Come along anyway in case she's not done."

"Oh, well do you mind-- Wait, what?!"

Jarde was interrupted when Tyaethe grasped his hand and began leading him to the baths. "My lady, wait--" The young knight was sure that he really should not be the one to intrude upon the Captain in her bathing. He did not attempt to stop Tyaethe, however, not wanting to disrespect the veteran Paladin by resisting. "Lady Tyaethe--"

"I don't see why you shouldn't attend, you took the message. One of those nice privileges of being the first to hear. And it's always better to bring some variety to the party... the nobles can be so boring."

The young knight wanted to retort. Taking a message surely was nothing special. And even then, Jarde has never been in a royal ball. He did not know how to act in one or how to interact with those present. He'd heard stories, sure, but the world of nobility was something out of the minds of the commoner. As a knight though, Jarde should've known he would be attending to nobility sooner or later. But he never thought it would be now, he was just a rookie knight. A newcomer. He doesn't belong in a ball with the Princess present.

But before Jarde could respond, he and Tyaethe ran into Dame Maritza in her casual wear, heading to the baths herself.

"Hey, Maritza, want to come to a party?"

"A... party?" I'm flattered that you would consider inviting me, but I can't say that I would be the most welcomed of guests. I think it has something to do with the teeth. Also, while I do have my decorative ceremonial gambeson, it isn't exactly formal court attire... Though if I polished up my plate armor, I suppose it could work..."

That too, realized Jarde. As far as he went, he was already wearing his finest attire. And while he has little knowledge about noble wear, he was pretty sure what he's wearing was no ball attire.

"Apologies, fatigue has addled my head. So who is hosting this event and for what occasion?"

"I-It's Princess Falthaen. It's her Royal Ball." Jarde gave the most basic gist of the invitation but explained further. "Captain Danbalion and some knights, who would be chosen by the Captain, are invited."

At the teeth remark, Tyaethe shook her head and flashed a grin of her own. Aside from showing off a remarkably nice, and definitely intact, set for someone of her age, the elongated and curved fangs were quite unmistakeable. "See, you're worrying too much about what's proper and what's not. The Iron Roses are a knightly order based on merit and not just another prestigious holding pen for noble brats, everyone expects a few rough lot to come along each time."

The girl was practically skipping backwards now as they got closer to the baths, slowly and strangely growing on the way... well, not much taller in height, but seemingly to visibly age over a matter of seconds, "Now, people are all too eager to forget this, but we've never been the best at fancy parties. The very first time the Iron Roses were invited to one...

"Well, Elly was wearing a borrowed dress too big for her, and I was the only other knight at the point. There's nowhere to go from up from a peasant girl who's never had that much fine wine around and a vampire."

At this point, they reached the baths... Tyaethe had definitely reached her adult appearance now, and looked around a few times to make sure, "It seems that the captain's already in the baths. If she's nearly done I'll let you tell her the news."

@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot

He wiped his blade clean on the shirt of a dead bandit before sheathing it. He stood solemnly over the battlefield for a moment and then turned to return to his mount. The well trained warhorse didn't shy from the scent of the blood that cover the front of his coat and his arms to the elbows. It was also disciplined enough to keep its place in formation on the road back to Aimlenn, letting him doze in the saddle.

---

Indrau winced as he dismounted, leaning on his horse as he pulled his cane from it's spot on the back of his saddle. He handed his mount off to a groom and limped into the main building, practically stabbing at the floor with his cane. The ride back had left him sore and irritable but the one saving grace was that he had caught a few moments of rest. He had once considered renting a cart but his pride wouldn't allow it. Imagine, an elite knight riding to battle in the back of a cart.

In his room he stripped off his vambraces and coat, tossing them onto a table to be cleaned later. Indrau washed his hands in a basin of water and then threw on a fresh shirt. He left his room a handful of minutes later, heading to the kitchens to see if he could acquire some food without any troublesome maids trying to serve him.

@VitaVitaAR

"Ah..."

The girl bowed her head.

"Her Highness believed it was for the best," she began, smiling slightly as she did, "To send one of her own retinue, you see. A formal invitation to the Captain of the Iron Rose Knights deserved proper presentation, she told me."

She paused for a moment, somewhat uncertain and surprised at being asked her name. Perhaps she hadn't expected it? However, moments later she managed to make a response.

"My name is Alisha Pelvir," she introduced herself, curtsying, "Lady in Waiting of her Royal Highness Princess Eliabelle Tanenway Falthaen."

@ghastlyInc

---

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

There were three maids.

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

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

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

She trailed off into silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

@TheFake

Sir Jerel Ban

A Royal Ball. Faces of those within earshot looked up, or at each other, smiles creasing their faces and putting light back behind their eyes. Mostly. There were those whose brows creased downwards and who left with a jumping jaw muscle or as though trying to pound holes in the floor with their feet. Some did not react outwardly at all, apart from a flinch they couldn’t contain, or a quick flit of the eyes, to the messenger and back again.

Jerel saw this, and more. Even with his world receding inwards, despite even the dull ache in his chest and the throbbing in his temples, he saw, and he cursed his eyes.

He nodded back at Gillian. He knew the connotations carried by that mere gesture.

As the knights broke away into their islands, Jerel stood alone on his.

Perhaps he could have chased the dourness away by meeting the eyes of another of the knights, one of those he considered more than a comrade, and letting loose the words out that bubbled up beneath his breast. Most of those were gone now. He would not have anyway. Even when he should be mourning the loss of a knight he considered only himself. It would have made him feel better if that came as a surprise.

With his features hammered into stony indifference he turned his back on the hall, its display cases and knights, and strode with measured paces to the healers’ wing. He kept his eyes ahead and his mouth a taut line.

He did not remember how many lives he took.

What did they look like? His eyes might not miss much but his memory was as fallible as any other.

His legs carried him forwards, his face remained untouched by his thoughts. Just how, Jerel was unsure.

Far away, outside the stony halls, up and up, were his birds, his books. They were waiting for him. He could feel them pulling at him, urging him to run and lock the door on the world. A Royal Ball.

He had a duty, an oath. He was a warrior in his tribe and now in this kingdom. The others, they would not question so much the justice they dealt. They wouldn’t let themselves get injured by a greenhorn bandit either.

How many?

“HmmmNn mhmm nnnrr?”

The world came back to him. Acrid tinctures and the low complaints of pain and illness. Hard wood bit into the backs of his thighs. Jerel was on a bench.

He raised his eyes to the healer, ready to catch the words if they came again.
@VitaVitaAR

Pausing for a moment to take it all in, the Naga offers a shrug. "Well, in that case, If I am invited I will attend... Now, if you will excuse me, I really do need to clean up." She says, slipping into the Baths. Discarding the remainder of her clothes in the antechamber, Mari slithers into the bath proper, enjoying the onrush of steam with a tired sigh. Out of her armor, Mari's human upper half is well muscled from a hard and physically active life. In addition an odd patchwork of scars are scattered across her body, mementos of various dangerous mistakes and lessons learned the hard way over the years.

After taking a look over the bath, Mari slips into the water across from Fanilly. Letting the silence sit for a few moments, the naga speaks up. "Was that your first real battle, Captain?" She asks simply, lounging back in the water with one eye open.