Jarde knew that Tyaethe was no human but when she showed off her own teeth, the fangs were undeniable. Was she a vampire? Weren't vampires unwelcome in the Churches? Then how was Tyaethe a Paladin? Jarde promptly stopped thinking about it. He was no adept in the rules and teachings of Reon and Mayon so there was probably some exception that he was not aware of.

More than that, Tyaethe shifted her appearance as they made their way to the baths. Turning more adult and becomes a mature woman as they arrived. More things that Jarde did not know that the Paladin could do. Just what was the extent of her abilities?

"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."

"I-Is that so?" Jarde was not sure about that. Two hundred years ago, the Iron Rose Knights had just started out so they could be forgiven for being... unusual in formal events. But now they're a fully-fledged order, respected by all of Thaln. Appearing like a ragtag bunch would not do well for the Iron Rose's image and, by extension, dignity. At least that was what Jarde thought. Perhaps the Iron Rose Knights were always known as being unorthodox.

"It seems that the captain's already in the baths. If she's nearly done I'll let you tell her the news."

"U-Umm, Lady Radistirin. Please, I don't need to be the one to relay the message." Jarde said as Maritza entered the baths. "You can just be the one to tell the Captain and everything will be dandy."

"Well, if you're insistent..." Tyaethe said, shrugging and thinking, "Well, if you don't want to wait around for the captain, then maybe you could spread the news around? Anyone trying to get some exercise in would need time to prepare."

With that, the vampire shrugged and headed into the antechamber, divesting her clothes before following the naga into the baths proper. If one were to compare their differences in physique, they would have to come to the conclusion that there was no way that Tyaethe could ever be a knight; there was far too little muscle, far too soft and pampered around the edges. And the scars... any knight of her vintage should be a veritable collection of them, not easily mistaken for someone who had never even done a day of labour in their life.

Such was the upshot of getting regenerative abilities at a young age, even with all its other downsides.

Therefore, when she slid into the bath beside Fanilly, there were two quite disproportionately sharp and pointy things to take notice of.

Her teeth, of course.

@FlappyTheSpybot@PaulHaynek

Indrau almost, but not quite, audibly groaned. He had hoped to not encounter the maids here, optimistic that perhaps they might be with Fanilly upon her return. Those hopes were dashed with the scene he walked in on. Unfortunately they noticed he was there before he could make a swift withdrawal, interrupting whatever they were doing just to greet him despite how often he had told them not to.

"I would like to have a light meal to take to my rooms."

If they hadn't been present he would have simply prepared something himself but since they were already there it was better not to. He had already made the blue haired one cry in the past by attempting to help with the cooking. Of the three the pink haired one bothered him the least, if only because she was lazy enough to be content in letting him actually do things for himself.

He walked over to a counted and leaned against it, crossing his arms and letting the cane rest against his thigh.

Gillian bit down his reaction as the girl revealed herself to ACTUALLY be a Lady in Waiting. Part of him shouldn't be surprised. "First time I use that old line and I get it in one. Part of me is starting to suspect Reon does this shit on purpose..." He thought, chuckling despite himself. He'd expected the girl to get flustered as the 'oh so noble knight' made a pass at her or perhaps see the obvious flirt for what it was and slap him. But this was perhaps more amusing.

"Rest assured Alisha,..." He said, comically mimicing the girls curtsy with hem of his tabard. Less out of not knowing how a gentlemen was supposed to respond to such a gesture (not that he did as there were probably stumps more gentlemanly than him ) but more in the hope that he might squeeze a laugh or two out of the girl. "We appreciate the pageantry. Even if not all of us are so well versed." He adds with a laugh as he righted himself unsteadily, apparently having dipped lower than he really needed have for that curtsy.

"I am Gillian Reynaud of La Reine, Living Reliquary of Twined Arms of Dawn and Grace. Successor to Patrica Tailguard of the same. And so on.." He said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. The full title was as long and dull as its beginning suggested and he'd not subject the poor woman to it as he had. Not that he could remember much after that first part. "But please just call me Gill. And I hope you think it not too forward of me but I've two small request I'd hope you see to on behalf of the order."

He stands to his full height, a stern look crossing his face as he does so. For a brief moment, one could be forgiven for thinking him actually of some merit to his rank. Back stiff, shoulders squared and artificial arms folded comfortably behind him radiating their beauty and threat in equal measure. Like the outspread wings of a hawk as it delivered a killing blow. "The first being that, as I recall, Her Highness wished to see the weapons we carry. If it pleases The Lady I ask that a space be put aside for us. Not every weapon we cater to is as....precise as a blade." He said firmly, raising one hand (well away from Alisha) and allowing magical flames to engulf it but spread no further. "If a demonstration is to be in order, I would wish to see Her Highness' work is not wasted due to an accident. However that minor chance that may be." He said, adding that last part quickly. If only to reassure the girl.

"The second..." He said, voice dark and grim as though he were about to ask of her some terrible deed. He postured lowered itself, so as to bring his eyes level to her. Though maintaining an arms (well...her arms atleast) distance. "Is that you do me the honor of the first dance of the evening." He chirped, voice immediately dropping its hard edge and returning to its normal levity. Hey...It wasn't everyday you were in a position to score a dance with one of the Princess' retinue. "Or be squarely slapped by one." He thought, realizing he'd given Alisha an optimal position to do just so with no small amount of amusement. Either way, win win for him.

"Ah..."

For a few moments, sitting in the warm, soothing water, Fanilly was silent. She'd never actually experienced a real battle before now. Certainly, she had read about them. She'd trained in battlefield tactics and how to conduct oneself in combat. But...

She'd never actually set foot on an active one. Oh, certainly, when she was a child her family had taken her to visit the site of the last battle against the haedlings on the fields of Vausa, one of the earliest battles in all of Thaln's history, that in the opinion of many a scholar marked the beginning of one of the most prosperous periods in Thaln's history. But it was a far, far cry from actually fighting in one.

The purple markings around Fanilly's throat from where Jeremiah had attempted to strangle her into unconsciousness were already fading from the healing properties of the water.

"It was... I've never experienced anything quite like it, I suppose," she said, averting her eyes slightly. It had been hard not to eye... well, she'd never seen a naga naked before. The way the scales met the human body, almost framing it in a v-pattern, was hard not to notice simply due to how different it was.

"... I'm not certain of how I performed... no-one should have di-hiiii!?"

Fanilly was quite taken off-guard when someone managed to get in behind her and bite her neck. For a few moments her brain was incapable of comprehending what was occurring, until she managed to piece to and two together.

"T-T-Tyaethe?!"

@FlappyTheSpybot@Raineh Daze

---

"Of course, Sir Indrau," the maids said in chorus once more, swiftly splitting off from one another to begin work. Well... the blue-haired maid and the brunette maid did. Alaree instead chose to sit back and watch them.

"... Really?" commented the blue-haired maid, looking over her shoulder as she did, "You can't even help make Sir Indrau's lunch? How lazy are you?"

"U-um... the help would be pretty nice..." stammered the brunette, shifting a little uncomfortably as she did.

"Too many of us would make it a little crowded, wouldn't it?" replied Alaree, with a shrug, "You don't need three people to make a light me-"

"GO TO THE PANTRY AND GET SOME MEAT!"

"Aaah, fiiiine!"

Alaree clearly wasn't pleased, but at least at this point she finally departed for the meat locker.

@TheFake

---

"Ah... I'm glad our efforts are appreciated..."

Alisha gave a little bit of a chuckle, unable to help herself, at the sight of a knight returning her curtsy like that. It was... odd, to say the least. She definitely hadn't expected it, and it was certainly on the funny side. But it was still quite... odd to watch.

What caught her attention far more was the display of flames across those limbs... While she had certainly seen magic before, this was something else entirely. Not that it wasn't magic itself, but it was certainly different from what she was used to.

"Ah... I will speak about having a place set aside for such a demonstration, indeed," Alisha said, with a nod. "As for the dance... We'll see."

It was better than nothing.

@ghastlyInc

"...Died?" Mari says, finishing the young captain's sentence as she watches Tyaethe's antics with passive amusement. "...How you performed?..." The Naga murmurs, thinking aloud as she takes a moment to ponder the question; more or less ignoring the vampire's shenanigans with a slight shake of her head. "Well... For an un-blooded, I assume you don't hunt, teenager who's only experience has probably been sparring practice and classroom lessons... you did just fine. None of us knights are expecting you to be a master swordswoman, expert strategist and charismatic leader; not right away that is. That kind of skill set takes time and experience to build. Don't stress yourself about it. And finally, ask for help if you need it. None of us want you to fail." Mari finishes, resting her hands behind her head with a stretch and a yawn.

To Fanilly, the seconds ticking by with a vampire latched onto her must have seemed unbearably long before she pulled away, licking the neat marks and resting back in the water with a catlike smile, looking between the two. No reaction from the naga; that was a shame, she had been hoping for at least some expression of surprise. Still, that left the captain as an easy target for some teasing. "Everyone has to take a turn sooner or later, and how could anyone resist a cute girl in this situation~?"

There, maybe she would stop fretting so much.

Battles... well, Tyaethe's first "battle" had been nothing but a massacre. After that, her first proper battle had been a doddle. She had lots of secondhand experience dealing with first battles, but her own? "It was exciting, let's go again" was a sentiment that most knight didn't share.

Gerard Segremors

He was going to collapse the moment he reached his bed.

Gerard had, in truth, no real idea of how long he'd spent drilling. It was one of those purely repetitive tasks that made one lost to time, minutes feeling like hours whilst hours passed seemingly in minutes. Intellectually, he knew it couldn't truly have been that long; an entire hour of moving around as though in combat whilst wearing his full kit was intense enough, even disregarding added factors such as the battle the night before, would be taxing as all hell.

And yet with Reon's rising sun only growing stronger upon his brow and beating against his frame, each swing felt like eternity. He had, at this point, abandoned his theorycrafting against what he had remembered of the aforementioned raid's notable enemies. He could feel he was getting too sloppy in his footwork. Positioning was of utmost importance in his school of fighting— If one could call it that without smirking. To rep out his entrances, evasions, and exits was one thing, but after a certain point of fatigue...

Putting it simply, it would bake bad habits into him, and get his head lopped off in battle. Segremors had no deficiency in courage, he was certain of it, but a proper knight didn't make such clumsy mistakes.

So he had returned again to the simplest of all his cuts, the Oberhau— a sign of his tiredness indeed. Wasn't even bothering to translate their names any more. A seemingly endless series of downward hews, consistently patterned in three angles— descending from above his near shoulder, then above his head, then his far shoulder. This, at least he could still do. Though he made sure he was still minding the subtle things such as the shifting of his weight to maximize striking force, his maintenance of steady balance in both stance and blade, it was almost simply conditioning. Just burning it further into the back of his brain...

Those words were popping up a good bit.

Baking. Burning.

Hot...

After what he had guessed was his fiftieth repetition of that three-cut pattern, the knight felt his shoulders slump. He was panting, ragged, and drenched, like a hound that had to cross a rushing river. His skin cried out for the cool morning air that tore against his overworked lungs, for its own chance to just breathe and suffocate no longer, and he could feel his heart thudding against the bone of his chest.

Even Sagramore Gellert, so furiously driven to improve, could see the writing on the wall: He was done.

"Guh..."

His voice and tongue were unresponsive and sticky. Maybe even swollen, on account of how much he simply felt them. Far too dry to speak right now, not until his breathing had calmed down in the least. Felt like a pinecone had lodged itself in his throat...

Goddesses, he'd let himself get parched. Better do something about that.

He slowly returned the longsword to its sheath and wiped what sweat he could off his brow, wanly realizing that it was going to return in an instant until he got himself out of the armor and into a cleansing soak. If he recalled correctly, the antechambers of the Baths had something in the way of refreshments— surely some drinkable water wouldn't be hard to find. Perhaps after that he'd visit the kitchens and fill his empty stomach. Neither were terribly far, thankfully.

He didn't really know. Maybe he'd end up wandering into bed first. He had no doubt that once his blood stopped surging through his veins with such a spirited fervor he'd begin to feel all he'd done today and yesterday.

Whatever would come to pass, he trudged onward, toward respite. In doing so, he passed one familiarly dour and quiet figure, shaking off the same listlessness that he'd begun to feel descending upon him as they were attended by one of the healers. Normally, he would be content to mutter a small greeting, even if it was just a grunt, and continue on his way.

But as it happened, he owed this one an apology. He'd nearly forgotten.

"Sir Jerel," he said, voice still rough but now working after the walk had taken him into the halls, "How's the shoulder?"

"Most gracious." Gill chuckled, snuffing the still burning fire on his arm out before anything caught fire. Fire safety when you were self immolating was really only a lesson you had to learn once or twice. "Well regardless, thank you for the message. If you have anything else you need please don't hesitate to come find me. Normally on the training grounds or the Butcher's Block when I'm in the keep." He said with a small wave as he turned around, walking towards a...strangely understated set of small buildings. They shared much in the way of architecture with the surrounding keep, though bore little in the way of decoration.

The Butcher's Block wasn't its true name. Gillian very much doubted the three or so buildings, two being barely a story tall and more or less used as glorified storage, constituted having a name at all. It was more an informal title, granted by the more suspicious of their order, to where the various priestesses who oversaw the restoration and maintenance of Reliquaries resided. And, though not as often, were Living Reliquaries were made.

It was honestly a bit rude when he thought about it. The priestess' that oversaw his care didn't EXCLUSIVELY cut people up or work on old magical holy limbs. If they did, he'd imagine it be a fairly boring career overall. It wasn't like there was more than a handful of Living Reliquaries at any given time, and an artifact in storage probably only needed the occasional touch up anyway.

"You're late." A young woman said, voice dark with agitation as she leaned on her staff, glaring daggers at Gillian. Gillian shrugged, making to move past her without a word before her hand shot forward, grabbing the collar of his armor and pulling him to a dead stop. "You're late." She said again, the normal warning in her tone now reaching a fever pitch.

"Hilda. The trip was lovely. I missed you as well. Just counted the minutes till we were reunited." Gill drawled, making no effort to escape. It would have been a lost cause anyway. Once Hilda had spotted him, it was pretty much a guarantee he was going to end up on a table. And, sadly, never in the fun way. Try as he might.

"Thats SISTER Fristone." She scolded as she dragged him into one of the buildings, spare furniture pushed to the side and a wide table placed at its center, a small shelf sitting beneath it with a variety of arcane tools Gill couldn't begin to understand the use of. "Disrobe. How are your arms? Did they perform adequately? Any lag in motion or discomfort?" She asked, releasing him finally.

Gillian spared her the comment about it being traditional to buy him dinner before asking him to strip and began to doff his armor. "Damnedest thing Hilda. They fell off mid fight. Ran right off into the sunset. The captain had to fashion me new ones out of fairy dust and horse ejaculate." He huffed as he struggled to free himself from his undershirt, his arm length making the task far more difficult than it had any right to be.

"As charming as ever. Hold still." Hilda scolding, helping him free himself. The otherwise embarrassing assistance being somewhat old hat to both of them at this point. "With an attitude such as that it is a wonder you are unwed. Lie down."

Gillian obediently followed the command, flinching as the cold wood brush against him. "I hardly think you of all people should be criticizing my sex life." He grumbled as he felt hands brush along the overlapping plates that connected to his spine, carefully lifting each. It didn't hurt as such, but it was still too alien to ever fully get used to and he found himself forcing the instinct to flinch away from it out of his head.

"Do not mistake my lack of interest in sex as inexperience in other avenues of romantic conquest. Clench your left fist." She said, examining mechanism that Gill was deadly certain he didn't want to know about in action. She reaches into the small shelf, pulling out a thin wand with an odd green yellow crystal on its end. "My vow of abstinence shouldn't be confused for your vow of obstinance. You're lagging slightly. Which is why you shouldn't take skipping our sessions so lightly."

Gill scoffed but didn't argue. He couldn't feel the lag but if Hilda said there was lag, there was. "Skip these? And miss out on the riveting conversation? I would never." he said as faint ghost sensations rumbled through him as the wand began its work. They sat in silence for a moment, both so the Priestess could concentrate on her task and so Gill could concentrate on not leaping from the table as the Mayonite fiddled with what he was pretty sure was the second most important part of his nervous system.

"So...who was the girl you were speaking to in the court yard?" She asks, finally putting away the dreaded wand and flicking his spines closed. "Princess' attendant. Apparently we're going to a party. Totally into me. Jealous?" Gill chirpped, happy now that the worst of it was over and flexing his left hand once more, feeling the almost slight improvement.

"That statement might bear more weight were you a woman. In more ways than one." Hilda snipped back, moving to examine his arms. "You're attending then? I can have the formal dress for a Reliquary sent up to your room."

Gill groaned, burying his face into the grain of the table. "Mayon's Button no." he said, Hilda reaching up and pinching his cheek painfully as reward. "Language." She said coldly. "And its traditional. And you would look handsome in it."

"I will LOOK..." Gill rebutted, shooting the woman a pouting glare. "Like the worlds most fanciful amputated asshole."

"Reon's Burning Sphincter of Might is both dignified and deserving of your respect. It is no less a Reliquary than your own." Hilda responded, stone faced as she met Gillian's shocked and dumbfounded stare.

"I...that....that is a thing? We have something like that!?" He asked, suddenly feeling VERY grateful for his arms.

"No. That was a joke and you are an idiot. You ARE wearing the formal robes. End of discussion." She said, standing and leaving to retrieve the offending garments in question. Leaving Gillian to sink into the table and wonder if the Captain was going to have this hard a time with the news.

....And giving whatever hopes he might have had of actually impressing Alisha a summary execution.

Fanilly would perhaps have tried to respond to Maritza in almost any other scenario. However, this was rendered considerably more difficult by the fact that the oldest knight in the order was nibbling on her neck. It only hurt very slightly, just the barest twinge, but there was no denying the feeling was there.

Fanilly found herself letting out a highly-embarrassed whimper as she slowly opened and shut her mouth over and over, cheeks burning hot. What was this? Why was this happening?! Oh, she knew that due to her nature Tyaethe needed blood, but it had never occurred to her that this was how she was going to get it!

She was only able to pull away, ears still burning from how flustered she was, when Tyaethe released her deliberately.

"D-D-Dame Tyaethe y-y-you... wh-why didn't you..." she stammered and stumbled over her words for a few moments, trembling in the warm water. A part of her, deep down, realized that a vampire feeding in these waters blessed by Mayon's priestesses, would leave no marks on the neck of the one she chose to feed from. After all, such small injuries would be healed quite easily by the water's properties.

".... Y-you could have s-said something..."

The short blonde girl trailed off for a few moments.

"... A-ah, er, Dame Maritza, I'm sorry... er... I... I understand... er..."

Ah... this situation was a mess, wasn't it, Fanilly had become so embarrassed it was hard to properly respond to the naga's words...

@Raineh Daze@FlappyTheSpybot

With an amused sigh, Mari shifts slightly, bracing herself against the rim of the bath, her lower half moving to separate the cat-like vampire from their rather overwhelmed Captain. "You know, if a drink is what you needed, the polite thing to do is ask." The naga dryly directs at Tyaethe, as she deposits the older knight across from Fanilly. Waving her hand, Mari casually dismisses the young Captain's sputtering. "Stop worrying so much about it all. No one is perfect, and accept that you will make mistakes, but dedicate yourself to learning from them." After laying there in the bath for a moment, the Naga blinks, and shakes her head in amusement at herself. "That was far more succinct. It appears your little interlude was helpful Tyaethe." She says, giving a nod as an apology of sorts.

Sir Jerel Ban

The healer was rubbing a poultice into Jerel’s arm with glowing hands. It reeked, heady and herbal. The sort of odour that carried, that you might smell for days after its source was gone. It was not even the strongest smell in the wing.

“Sir Gerard,” Jerel answered with a level stare. The knight looked haggard, sopping with sweat. Jerel’s mouth twitched, but he could not muster a smile, so instead arched his brows and nodded at the healer as she tied a bandage firmly about his arm and shoulder. With a will too tired to resist, Jerel bobbed with motions.

“‘Tis but a scratch, I’ve had worse.”

The healer finished what she was doing, scribbled something in a ledger, and hurried off into the fog of coughing and groans and too-easy snoring.

A silence settled, dust upon an open page; Jerel knew he could end this chapter now, say no more and close the book. But he knew that he wouldn’t, that he shouldn’t. Here was a chance to not sink further into the quagmire brewing in his thoughts. All he had to do was blow away the dust and read on.

“I fear the greater injury was to my pride,” Jerel said, raising his eyes from the flagstones, “But from the looks of you, you know something of that.” Everyone dealt with their stresses differently, and Sir Gerard was far from the only knight to beat them away. He was, however, among the most consistent. Jerel envied those that strove for improvement, for their seemingly unfaltering direction. They were like landmarks muddled into the wrong places, for they made Jerel feel all the more lost.

The ward curtains seemed ethereal in the light that swam down through thin windows, rolling in the breeze stirred by bustling bodies.

Jerel pulled on a shirt, restricting the motion of his bandaged arm as much as possible. He stood, and smoothed it down.

“Have you heard the news?” He slung his bow over his good shoulder, knowing it unlikely that Sir Gerard had, and looked down at his armour, discarded, a shell. A costume.

“There’s to be a ball. Being one of our dear Captain’s chosen, one might expect an invitation is headed your way.”

With a flick of the wrist, Jerel caught a servant’s attention and gestured at his armour. They nodded, and, presumably, went to find somebody else less busy, trailing steam from a bowl of hot towels.

“I’m sure there will be plenty of women there who have never held a weapon either.”

@HereComesTheSnow

Gerard Segremors

"Glad to hear it, at least regarding your hea— Hm?"

As the older knight rose, his following query elicited a raised eyebrow from Gerard's face. Indeed, he hadn't heard. A ball right after the mission, eh? Truly never a dull moment within the Iron Roses... Though it seemed his compatriot may have had a few ideas that he didn't exactly echo, personally. A thoughtful frown passed across his face.

"A ball, huh? I've been to one or two of those before..." he began, even going so far as to cup his chin between his fingers before speaking again much more glibly. "As hired muscle."

He hadn't even been let inside the doors— no privileges on the job for rank and file grunts. Just as well, too, if he was to be honest. Though he was a rather reserved sort compared to his fellow mercenaries, he also had no experience with truly polite society's minglings. Even if it were just him, that was a recipe for unwittingly stepping upon toes. To say nothing of what would happen if the same opportunities were offered to the men who much more closely befit the stereotype.

Hiding the laugh at imagining his former comrades in such a setting behind a smile, he continued on.

"To your earlier point regarding pride, my friend, I can scarcely imagine my appointment back then was the result of anything more than haste on her part. Whether I like it or not, I'm ill-suited for either setting. Too hotheaded for proper leadership, and far too clumsy with my social graces for a ball. There's still yet much for me to learn. I hold no delusions regarding it."

It wasn't even necessarily that he didn't want to, but there were realities he couldn't avoid.

Gerard folded his arms, rolling the idea over in his head. Women who had never held a weapon? He barely felt up to scratch doing anything else. He'd probably bore them to tears, no matter how different his life may have been to their (likely) gilded cages. He was little more than a common fighter of common birth, and was certain he'd have no idea as to how to talk to someone whom wearing one of those church bell dresses was a simple matter of course.

Jerel Ban was indeed right about him, in that he was the type of man to do little more than throw himself at the grindstone whenever he was troubled. It was a useful quality in a warrior, to always seek to hone one's craft, but knighthood was more than the swinging of steel. Were it such a thing, it wouldn't have held nearly so much prestige in the minds of the people. In those such as Gerard himself. They were so much more, weren't they?

So much more than he. At least enough to live beyond the blade. Jarde had his jokes, Jerel had his books, Tyaethe her centuries of life experience. Gerard had... much to cultivate. Little more than the pithy life of a boy from the boonies.

Attending such events, however, is expected of me. If it comes to that, I'll need to put on a brave face again and take it in stride. I just hope I'm not to dance anything other than a Csárdás...

And even then, he didn't think that tradition extended anywhere close to south enough for the capital. Balls were very slow and elegant, from what he understood. Totally different in tone for certain. Perhaps something so folksy would be mildly entertaining at least, before an attempt to spare the Iron Roses' good name hammered down upon his skull.

Indeed, Segremors imagined there were many who would much more smartly take such a place rather than he.

"I mean, the last time I talked to one such girl she nearly took your head off, remember? Sorry about that one." an apologetic, somewhat self-effacing chuckle escaped his lips. "Like I was saying, I don't tend to think terribly straight in the middle of a fight. Hopefully I'm not given more authority than due in the future."

He'd have to talk with the Captain about that, but it seemed he'd wait a while yet for the proper timing. A big social event like this wasn't right for it either, assuming Sir Jerel's prediction came to pass.

"But the reactions are always so much more interesting if I don't ask," Tyaethe said, making a big show out of pouting before relaxing fully into the bath. There was always the additional drawback that people liked to say "no" when asked if they wanted to let a vampire nibble on them. As if she was going to take a dangerous amount; it wasn't as if the paladin was a half-starved beast with no self control.

"Oh yes, there's a ball tomorrow night, Fanilly. Seems like the princess wants to meet the new captain and asked for you to come along and bring some of the knights. Weapons expected."

@FlappyTheSpybot@VitaVitaAR

Indrau stood watching the maids interactions with eachother for a moment before straightening and grabbing his cane. Instead of approaching to help, which usually leads to tears from the blue haired girl, he took a couple of steps to the door that Alaree had just exited through and slid his cane through the handle, effectively locking her inside.

He glanced back to the other two maids and smiled.

@VitaVitaAR

Sir Jerel Ban

“Bah!” Jerel barked, waving away the apology like a bad smell, a wry smile twisting at the corners of his mouth, “If she could then she’d have been doing you all a favour.” His pride twinged beneath the joke; it wasn’t too far from reality. It echoed in his wounded arm.

Breaking eye contact, he looked over at a far corner of the room whilst talking; the plaster whirled between the stone in circular patterns. The smile fell away. “I do not think what you did was wrong. Sadly, our captain exists as something more than us mere mortals; to have not rushed to her aid for the sake of some lowly girl?” Jerel shrugged, as though shifting under a heavy pack, “At least you left her with a fighting chance. However small.”

“I have my doubts,” Jerel went on, “Whether many others would have thought to do such a thing. Whether they cared, even, for the one thing that kept the fight going, or if they just wanted to wet their blades.”

His eyes snapped, to Gerard, as though remembering he was not alone. “Forgive my blathering. I should not talk of my comrades so, certainly not after..." he motioned at his injured arm to finish his sentence, he bobbed his head downwards with a long blink, a minute bow, and said nothing more of it.

It was then that a young servant boy skittered up to them and began gathering Jerel’s armour. He bowed deeply upon arriving and departing, but Jerel scarcely paid him more than a glare.

“Besides, I do not think you need to learn the subtleties of court,” Jerel glanced sidelong at Gerard, “Unless you plan on carving an illustrious career for yourself, but that takes more than simple deeds. No, I think our lot go there as entertainment, something exotic for the circles of higher society to look at, maybe a bard’s tale or two spun overtop. Clumsy social graces might serve to make you more outrageous of an attraction, so erratic are their tastes.”

From his stomach came the growl of a neglected beast. Trail rations and marching weren’t great sustenance for healing. As before when he could not muster a smile, his brows arched.

“I think the kitchens beckon. Walk with me? If not to the kitchens,” he said, looking the sodden Gerard up and down with exaggerated distaste, “at least until our paths split to the baths?”

@HereComesTheSnow

Fanilly wank into the warm, deep blue water, until only her head and neck were above it. For a few moments, she was taken by how comforting it felt, like a warm embrace.

But it didn't ease her mind.

Dame Maritza was right. She couldn't let herself dwell on past mistakes. But when a knight had died because of them... She didn't know what to think. She had to be the perfect Captain, the shining figure that lead the Iron Rose Knights. She had to do everything she could to make sure no-one among their number ever perished again.

She had to.

That was the role the captain had to play, wasn't it? Fanilly couldn't call herself Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses if she failed. The words of some of the nobility would be fully warranted.

And then another set of words cut through her mind.

"A... a ball? Tomorrow night?"

Ah, she... this was kind of sudden! It was another duty of the Captain of the Iron Rose knights, though. It was something she should have expected. Maybe not so soon but still...

"E-er, yes, er... a ball, I'll... I'll have to prepare as soon as possible, er, and accompanying knights as well..."

The blonde girl fidgeted in the water. It wasn't as if she had never been to a party before. Far from it, as a noble's daughter it was pretty much expected. But this... was different.

@FlappyTheSpybot@Raineh Daze

---

The brunette clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with shock the moment she realized what Sir Indrau had done.

The blue-haired maid, on the other hand, placed one hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. As far as she was concerned, Alaree could use a bit of a lesson...

After a few moments, the door rattled.

"... Eh?" came Alaree's voice from the other side, "It's not opening? Hey, er, is something on the other side of the door?"

When the brunette went to respond, the blue-haired maid stopped her.

"H-hey, I got the meat! ... Er... Let me out? Seriously!" Alaree was getting somewhat more panicked, now, attempting to force the door open, "Hey! This isn't funny at all!"

At this point, the blue-haired maid chose to speak up.

"So it was funny when you stole all of my undergarments and claimed it was the work of the Witch-Queen?" she asked.

"... Y-yes?"

The blue-haired maid folded her arms.

"No, no it wasn't. Serves you right for causing so much mischief and slacking off!"

@TheFake

"Well, if you're insistent... Well, if you don't want to wait around for the captain, then maybe you could spread the news around? Anyone trying to get some exercise in would need time to prepare."

Jarde actually hesitated. It was a chance to talk to Fanilly herself. He debated internally but ultimately, he decided to go. Waiting to greet a girl after she had just come out of the bath would be creepy, he thought, especially if it was entirely optional. Best his duty be left with someone more appropriate. "Well, I shall see you later then, Lady Tyaethe." Jarde bowed before heading off.

The young knight began spreading news of the ball, checking room after room for knights and telling them to prepare should they be chosen to come by the Captain. Lady Tyaethe mentioned heading for the knights trying to get exercise and so Jarde did, going to the training rooms and speaking to the knights there. He was sure Sir Gerard was there but apparently not. Perhaps he had already left. Jarde wondered what he would do once he was done. Maybe he could still have time to explore the capital, perhaps pass by the baths to see Lady Tyaethe and tell her the job was done.

Reaching the kitchens, he spotted the knight named Sir Lothar Indrau. Jarde did not know much about the guy, only that his left leg was weak and sported a cool eyepatch. There were also three maids there cooking a meal of sorts. "Sir Lothar." He called to the knight. "Just letting you know that Captain Fanilly and the Iron Rose Knights have been invited to a ball tomorrow. Captain will be choosing who to come."

Seeing the busy maids made Jarde ask. "So what are you girls cooking?"

Gerard Segremors

"I need both," Gerard replied, a chuckle escaping his lips as he registered the jab. "The order doesn't matter, so long as you can stomach my company."

Holding the friendly smile, the younger knight swept his hand outward in a clear gesture of "lead on". It wasn't a lie— mercenary life often entailed sharing meals in full gear at the encampments. He was far from unused to eating directly after even pitched combat, let alone training. Perhaps that would be one of those oddities of his life that he could "entertain" the nobility with recounting, but in truth such concerns had simply already drifted from his mind.

He had very consciously decided to hold his tongue as Sir Jerel spoke of men only wishing their swords to drink deep.

While it was true that he'd wrested command over himself long enough to commit to the safety of that young farm girl he'd all but stumbled upon, and it was true that he was proud of such a deed... How far off the mark was that assessment from the trance of combat that had lead him to her? Even now, he was speaking of being far better suited to simply diving headfirst into the fray rather than take any position of responsibility, wasn't he?

I wanted to scatter them to the four winds.

In seeing the blood on their blades, wasn't he ready to find their blood on his? The heat that had risen from his chest was one that overtook his thoughts, time and again. Descending upon evil like a starved wolf was, if not all he wanted, then certainly all that he had made to do. Tear through those brigands. Cut down the slaver and slavedriver. Drag he who would tear freedoms away into the light by their ankles, no matter how much they kick and scream, so they could be judged rightly.

How far removed was his righteous fury?

...If one thing was clear, it was paradoxically that he could find no clear answer. He was certain that men far wiser, far more intelligent, and far longer-lived than he had grappled with such a question for ages already. They had come before him and would doubtless come after. To mire himself, so simple as he was, in that debate seemed foolhardy. It would consume him.

He needed to discipline his impetuous impulses, nothing more and nothing less.

He doubted he could rid himself completely of them, but he could certainly ensure that he would always be able to do what he had done that night again.

He started forward as his senior lead him on, casting those troubles off in the wake of their passing.

Watching the Captain sink back into pensive brooding, Mari sighs again before reaching out to briefly dunk her superior officer. As Fanilly comes up sputtering, the Naga boops her on the nose. "You were doing it again. Keep worrying like that and you will make yourself sick with stress. So either let it go, or speak what is on your mind. I would be happy to offer any advice that I can, and I am sure all the other senior knights would as well, but none of us can do anything if you just silently stew in your own self doubt." Mari finishes, leaning back in the bath. "So, what is eating away at you?" She asks, prompting.