Gerard Segremors

Soulless, huh?

Well.

A light snort puffed from the ex-mercenary's nostrils, ghost of a smirk playing across his face as he approached the tall, wide archway that lead to the inner gardens of the Crown. The interrogation continued behind him unabated— it seemed as if there was no immediate threat of a retrieval party, or the tying of loose ends and loose lips. That was good— without worrying about more bolts flying at more heads, answers would hopefully be forthright.

You tempt fate pointlessly, Gellert. It's already proven willing to bite. It could happen at any point.

Well, of course.

A half-step before the posted guards, he paused the string of regimented, direct strides that had brought him there, meeting the eyes of each before glancing at their crossed polearms. He didn't expect them to permit his entry, to raise the X-shaped gate of steel that was before him— if they had, the Crown was wasting their resources.

No need to worry about that, at least.

"Some party, huh?" he huffed sardonically, turning on his heel and unbuckling the leather strap around his chestplate.

He wasn't terribly worried if he never received a response from the pair, either. Instead, he simply planted the tip of his (still sheathed, mind you, these were the royal family's floors) longsword into the carpet, and cast an amber gaze onto the whole scene before him.

Should the soulless come, as Nicomede mentioned, Gerard would know, and act.

The equation with them was really quite simple compared to this, anyway. No point in capture or questioning.

Just simple threat erasure.

"Me, know the palace? They like to change the wings around every other generation, I don't have a clue what's going to be in use," Tyaethe said, cocking her head to look at the nem again. It wasn't like she was used to moving in past the public rooms--it could generally be considered a bad thing if anyone was going on that required her presence. She wasn't on most guest lists either, "Besides, if we just push people back it's not like anyone is going to read what our would-be assassin can write."

Still, it seemed like there was a fairly... obvious oversight being made here. "You killed her"? It wasn't like the knights had any reason to have killed nem recently... and why did that lead to trying to assassinate the princess? The royal family wasn't known for going out of their way to kill people since the rebellion...

"Who have we killed?"

Fanilly's mind raced as she tried to consider who could have been killed. If it was someone close to the assassin, would they have been a nem? She didn't recall ever seeing a nem before. Was it someone from before her time? Or were they even a nem? Was it someone who had been slain by the crown instead? All of these questions ran through her mind rapidly as he gaze remained focused on the tiny pale girl. But it wasn't just that... the horrendous manner of silencing her couldn't have possibly been done by the same people who had trained her to perform assassinations, could it? Such a grievous, awful, cruel injury could far too easily have killed her.. and on top of that it was almost too terrible to look at. The mere thought of someone, even someone who had tried to assassinate royalty, enduring that... who would do such a thing?

'SISTER'

Her sister.

They had killed her sister?

The nem was trembling as her hands clutched the paper and quill, she was quaking even though she didn't attempt to struggle. There were tears in her eyes... Had it been recent...?

"... Who killed her? How did she die...?" Fanilly found herself asking. It was the only possible way they could discover some kind of lead, some way of understanding what was going on...

There was a few moments of silence as the quill scraped paper once more.

'NOT DEAD YET'

'DOOMED NOW'

'YOUR FAULT'

The Princess had turned away at the sight of the grievous injury to the nem's throat, hand over her mouth. For someone unaccustomed to violence, a grisly sight like that even if it had long since healed was enough to turn someone's stomach.

"... I-I'm sorry, she... she... wh-who could have done that? Wh-why...?" she stammered, her body shaking as her eyes slowly drifted back towards the diminutive girl...

The guards did not lower their weapons. One was shorter then the other, and more slender. The other was an absolute mountain of the man.

The shorter of the two, a young woman, spoke.

"I'll admit I'd hoped the night would go far better than this."

"What is going on?" a much sharper and much younger voice came from nearby. The source was the grey-haired young girl, Veileena Cal. Beside her stood the silent, black-armored figure of Haelstadt, seeming perhaps ever so slightly more tense for action.

The both of the had apparently been rather distant from the assassination when it had occurred, and given the Lady Cal's youth and small size the sight had likely been obscured from her entirely.

"I have heard cries of an assassin," she continued, "If such grievous action against the crown has been conducted, I am certain that all those capable of combat should be made avaliable, should they not?"

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

Gerard Segremors

Almost imperceptibly, the charcoal-haired man's grip upon his blade's pommel tightened.

"I believe we all did. I suppose, at least, they can only get better from here." came the reply cast over his shoulder, before he met the pair of approaching footsteps with a brief, flinty glance. A silent, immense knight clad in ebony plate strode alongside a girl, easily young as the three from before. Her bearing alone suggested nobility, to say nothing of her dress or apparent guard. His face was of course unreadable behind the visor he wore, but Gerard could at the very least divine that the man was alert. Good.

"We've got her detained and are in the process of interrogation. The more experienced and cool-headed Roses than I are handling it, so for now I help guard." he replied, jerking his head to indicate the ring of Iron Roses that still encircled the scene, and the Princess by proxy. "Once we know who sent her and why, I can't imagine our response would marshal anything less than our totality. This won't stand. That I promise."

He spoke with only tempered steel, as if the words served to reinforce his already-held convictions as much as they were to inform the pigtailed girl. Out of the corner of his eye, the impassive goliath was a pillar of onyx.

A shortsword on the hip. A Zweihander on the back. It was though he were loomed over by a blackened specter of Fleuri. He supposed this to be plain enough proof of yesterday's determinations— there were many such monsters like Jeremiah strewn about the world. Could this man measure up to that awe-inspiring display he'd borne witness to? Segremors saw no reason to doubt it. It was a blessing that he seemed to be on their side, but it was all the more reason to keep honing oneself.

There were doubtlessly many that would not be so welcome a sight on the field, yet would appear nonetheless.

He continued to stare into the hall.

"You are?"

'SISTER'

'NOT DEAD YET'

'DOOMED NOW'

'YOUR FAULT'

...No. Not revenge... The naga thought to herself grimly, a low feral growl subconsciously growing at the back of her throat. If revenge had been the motivation, the Nem would have fought harder, struggled more, possibly to the death. The Nem's words coupled with their lack of resistance and obvious emotional state left Maritza with only one other conclusion; blackmail. ...And a fair bit of emotional manipulation & mind-games too by the look of things. Goddesses' help me, when I get my hands on the one's responsible for this, I'm going to...

A terrified look from the Nem shook Mari out of her reverie. Taking stock of herself, the Naga realized she'd been staring a death glare into the back of the would-be assassin's head; feral growl, half snarl and all. With a deep breath, Mari takes a moment to compose herself before leaning down closer to the Nem. "Let me guess; they said they would spare your sister's life if you killed the Princess? Who put you up to this? Where did you meet them? Do you know where your sister is now? Tell us everything."

Tyaethe's thoughts ran along the same path as Maritza's. That made sense, she could hardly think of anyone they might have fought recently to get a mute nem assassin after them in vengeance even with some extra time. But if it was a family member being held hostage awaiting completion of the assassination attempt, then that made it simple. They could solve the problem of what to do with the assassin later, for now...

"Guards! Make sure nobody leaves the palace," Tyaethe shouted, daring anyone to countermand that order. They couldn't have anything getting back to the perpetrators yet, that would ruin it. "This might just be the first time coming to a ball has been worth it. We've stopped an assassination and now... it's time to show people what we can do."

"I hope everyone's ready to get moving as it is, it would take too long to go back and get everyone's armour. We'd be spotted instantly."

Fleuri Jodeau

So if her ramblings are true, she only did this to save her sister. I wasn't expecting this, not at all, Fleuri thought to himself as he read the words written by the assassin. Judging by the simplistic messages she scrawled, she was clearly quite distraught.

The captain seemed to be almost as upset as the assassin by this revelation. Fleuri himself was a little more conflicted. It was easy to be sympathetic and merciful when your foe looked like a cute human child with a sob story and a heart-wrenching injury upon her throat. He started to wonder- did any of the nobles who backed Phoran Cal, or the peasants who turned to banditry and joined Jeremiah have similar motivations, committing their terrible deeds for the sake of family?

Just then, Fleuri heard a most unlikely bystander speak. "What is going on?" Fleuri turned his head and immediately recognized the new arrival, accompanied by her bodyguard Haelstadt. It was Veileena Cal, the scion of the Cal family, daughter of the infamous Phoran Cal, arriving as if on cue from the mere thought of her family. Fleuri was a little surprised to see her her attending the ball. She had nothing to do with her father's rebellion, but the wounds and scars of the conflict were still fresh.

"I have heard cries of an assassin," Veileena continued, "If such grievous action against the crown has been conducted, I am certain that all those capable of combat should be made available, should they not?"

"Assuredly, Lady Cal, this heinous act will not go unpunished" Fleuri replied to her. "It may be wise, however, for you to return to whatever remains of the party. If the other nobles see you present at the aftermath of an attempted assassination, they may get the wrong idea."

Tyaethe was ordering the palace to be locked down. Normally this wouldn't be so bad- after all, it was a royal ball- but the assassination had cast a shadow over the entire affair to the point that it seemed doubtful that the lockdown would be particularly pleasant. There was one thing she spoke that caught Fleuri's attention.

"I hope everyone's ready to get moving as it is, it would take too long to go back and get everyone's armour. We'd be spotted instantly."

Hold on, I don't even have a weapon aside from this pitifully small Nem blade. Does she even remember that the rest of us can't regenerate injuries or conjure armor? He almost opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself at the last moment. No, Fleuri, it's not worth it.

Still, he needed some equipment, and the castle should have an abundance of it. With this in mind, Fleuri approached the princess, careful as to not get too close or make any movements that'd agitate the Crown Knights.

"Your royal highness," he addressed her as he bowed, "Might you allow some of your Iron Roses to temporarily borrow from the castle's stockpile of armor and weapons? We have no time to lose to stop those who wish you dead, but many of us are currently without proper equipment."

@VitaVitaAR

Everything made much more sense, and was much more horrible now. Such a desperate assassination attempt, even if she hadn't been detected... no wonder she'd gone to such lengths. But that also meant she likely felt animosity towards those who were holding her sister hostage. It meant that they could save her sister.

Fanilly took a deep breath.

"Dame Tyaethe is right," she began, "If this is to be successful, no-one must leave this party."

There was some commotion among the guests at this declaration. It seemed as if at least a few among the nobility didn't like this idea. One of their number, the first voice to speak up, was Lord Velbrance.

"Is that truly appropriate, oh Knight-Captain?" he began, stepping forward, "Surely, there's no way you can expect everyone to wait here until you find the perpetrators. Besides, how can you be certain the little assassin is truthful?"

He shrugged.

Fanilly winced. Could they really simply hold everyone here? Was it right to simply make such demands? But if they didn't...

"I don't think you can expect everyo-"

"Silence, Velbrance!" a voice bellowed over the crowds. It was an older man, and with the clank of armor the tall form of Adeforth Balsung, the seventy-year-old captain of the Crown Knights, strode forward. Face lined with age and boasting a large white mustache, his armor still gleamed as if it was brand new. "Or do you seek to place the Princess's life in further danger? Mayon's Ice, did you father ever drill some sense into that skull of yours?"

"Hmph, I'm merely-"

"Merely trying to be the center of attention? Merely trying to make the duties of the knights sworn to the crown more difficult? Hold your tongue, you blasted fool."

"... You shall hear of this later, old man," spoke a seething Velbrance, glaring towards the aged knight.

"... As I was saying," Fanilly began again, "If word leaves this castle, not only is it likely another attempt shall be made on the Princess's life, but the perpetrators of this vile scheme will kill this nem's sister. Not a single person must leave this party until we are certain both the hostage has been freed and the Princess is no longer in immediate danger."

The nem assassin was wide-eyed with confusion. It was rather clear, even if she couldn't speak, that she hadn't expected this at all.

Fanilly wasn't sure if it was right to place their trust in the assassin, but at the same time she doubted that they had any other options.

"... As Dame Martiza said, we need to know all we can about the ones who took your sister," she said as she turned towards the nem, "What can you tell us?"

Almost immediately the nem was writing, even as her tiny body trembling, tears in her eyes.

'THEY'RE IN THE CAL MAUSOLEUM. SIX OF THEM AND THEIR MERCENARIES. ONE NECROMANCER'

That was all they needed.

"... I will divide the knights' numbers. Some of you must remain here to help guard the princess," Fanilly said, straightening, "If you must, gather weapons from the Castle's Armory. With your permission, Sir Adeforth?"

"Aye, my permission indeed," the old knight nodded, "Anyone who would threaten her Royal Highness must face steel."

Fanilly nodded, turning back to the assassin.

"... Can... can you guide us? If they have any traps in place..."

The nem nodded.

Fanilly took a deep breath. She didn't know if this was right, but...

"Let's go, Iron Roses!"

As the Roses mobilized, Princess Eliabelle nodded weakly.

"Y-yes, er, as Sir Adeforth said..." she trailed off, "Er..."

The silvery-haired young girl huffed, her knight still an ever-present, silent figure.

"I am Lady Veileena Cal, as your compatriot noted," she began. With that in mind, it would likely become more clear who the dark knight was. It was said that the remaining daughter of Phoran Cal was never without a black knight, after all, "And this is Haelstadt."

Haelstadt didn't say a word.

"I understand your concerns, Sir Knight," she continued, glancing toward Fleuri as she did, "But that is all the more reason to offer my assistance. That traitor who once called himself my father shall not hold any sway over my decisions, thank you very much. I offer my assistance in safeguarding the Princess. As long as I live, Haelstadt will never waver, let alone fall."

---

The Iron Roses had to move, and they had to move quickly. The graveyard was, thankfully, not too far away, even if it was a rather haunting sight to behold in Fanilly's opinion. The elaborate gravestones, some depicting Mayon reaching down towards the grave of the dead, a few similarly constructed, but with Reon instead. Others showed family symbols, or conveyed what the dead interred there had done in life. Some were simple, wishing the deceased a good afterlife.

And then there were the mausoleums. They stood larger then the other graves, and what was visible was only a small component. They stretched underground as well, holding generations of dead. Fanilly admitted, privately, that she found being in a graveyard at night rather disconcerting, but... she couldn't show such a thing.

The Cal Family's tomb was rather easily-recognized. Atop it was the eight-pointed star that symbolized the Cal family. As Fanilly knew, each point symbolized something, but she had never learned what. They had refused to allow Phoran Cal to be interred there, and had stripped him posthumously of his status as a member of their family. He was so hated that his surviving daughter had refused to call him by anything other than 'traitor'.

His tomb looked unguarded... from the outside. But gods knew what was going on down there.

Fanilly turned back to the others.

"Once we're inside, Vosahnn will lead the way," she said, nodding her head towards the Nem assassin. Her name, as she had written while they were preparing, was Tili Vosahnn. "We'll take out as many of them as we can on the way to the bottom floor. Once we're there, we'll need to act quickly in order to ensure her sister's safety, and slay the necromancer before he can act."

It was around that moment that the door to the Cal Mausoleum slowly creaked open... and a guard stepped out.

He'd need to be silenced quickly. They wanted to get inside before there was an alarm.

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

Gerard Segremors

From Captain Fanilly's right, the sound of steel sliding away from leather heralded a burst of motion, directly through that short distance left between the raiding party and the doors to the Cal Mausoleum.

The departure from the ball had been thankfully swift, the erstwhile assassin completely forthright once they'd established a method of communication with her. A kid in over her head, put up to this rather than born into it, and so unlike his initial assessment in the heat of the moment. Vosahnn wasn't at all the professional killer he'd believed her to be, not a cold blooded assassin— but a girl trying to save her sister. Forced into the unthinkable role of exchanging an innocent life for an innocent life.

If that could even be trusted. As if these vile men would give up their grasp upon the girl's actions so easily. Either she would be locked into their service forever, the her sister's life always upon the edge of the knives she would feel no choice but to use— or they would both be killed. Loose lips sink ships in all walks of life— and those depraved enough to push a child this far had no qualms about sealing them eternally. Those fetid wretches would never let either girl see freedom again.

As dire as the circumstance was, and for all the white-hot inferno it lit in his veins... There was one solace he could take in what the Captain's briefing had entailed.

Only the breaths between moments were allowed for reaction, just long enough for the hapless Guard, likely mercenary, to process what he saw. He needed to choke the distance in that time. He was already no stranger to dead sprints in all his armor— after all, he'd just proven it earlier that night. It would have to be enough. He would have to run him through, because every instant after that the man before him would be reacting. He could flee, he could draw the blade at his hip, or worst of all, he could raise some form of alarm, letting every wretch in those catacombs know they were coming. They deserved not the courtesy of announced presence.

I will be denied no longer.

His rage now was, beyond all doubt, right.

To be faced with a child and to be faced with a cult of necromancy were two entirely different prospects for an ardent Reonite indeed. Where one was a grim reality of the battlefields he had waded through, one that even at his angriest left him no satisfaction to fell, the other... A divine duty. He cherished, respected, worshipped, and feared the Goddesses both. For one to exist without the other was an impossibility, their domains so complimentary in their dualistic nature. There was but one religion, despite twin goddesses. He was no stranger to Mayon, but—

His sword, long drawn and low as he'd surged to meet the nameless, faceless, utterly unrelated to his former corps mercenary on guard duty, rose as a wordless snarl peeled his lips away from his teeth. One more step. His blade was now held in a white-knuckle grip, tight to the body, as its biting tip aimed right for the sternum. All that momentum wouldn't be wasted. He'd ram it through. Quick death. Violent, but quick. Necessary.

—It was Reon and her teachings that had brought him to knighthood at all. They had instilled in young Gellert that a man's highest calling was to hunt down the wicked. Drag them into the light, so they may be judged. Pursue with all conviction and fury the Slaver. The Corrupted. The Demonic. Rest not until they are shorn from those they would hurt. Cleave and Smite, until it is done. This world was full of darkness. In it hid all threats to the people, to innocents, to honest life. There they could skulk without fear of reprisal, surround their prey with impunity, with the gentle shield of Moonlight being all that stood between them and free reign over their would-be victims.

Mayon's gift protected many within the refuge of her gaze, doubtlessly so. To suggest otherwise was idiocy. But moonlight could only do so much to pierce the deeper shadows in which true evil hid. And in Dark Times, there were so many Dark Places where Mayon's protection could not reach. Dens of evil much like the catacombs beneath Gerard's feet, a place that once interred those passed of a respected name, now so blackened by the acts of one traitor. Places like this.

Until Reon, from her seat upon the Burning Sun, gave all Fire to bring brilliant, purifying light to them, so they may be vanquished.

He entered range, and the fang of moonlight he held flashed in the dark, followed by the burning suns in his eyes as he plunged through those final few feet behind the point of his sword.

No more.

Jarde's guess was way off. Way too off in fact that he shrunk away from the interrogation in shame and tried to blend into the background as he could. To be fair, a declaration like that could mean anything. Could he really be blamed for coming up with that conclusion? Such was Jarde's rationale to absolve his rather offensive suggestion.

The Nem assassin cleared things up. Apparently, she was forced to attack the Princess since her sister was being held hostage by hostile entities hiding in the mausoleum of the Cal family. Six mercenaries and a necromancer. Well that was a problem. A person that can raise the dead in the middle of a graveyard? It was pretty clear what was going to happen.

Fanilly gave the order to mobilize. The Crown Knights would remain with the Princess, as they should, while the Iron Roses would go to the graveyard to deal with the menace and save the Nem's sister. Jarde wondered how seven people managed to sneak into the graveyard and hole up there without anyone noticing. And why did they get an unwilling Nem girl to be their assassin? Probably to keep themselves safe while the poor innocent Nem takes all the fall. Quite insidious, Jarde thought. Good thing their plan got derailed.

---

The Iron Roses only had little time to prepare. Luckily for Jarde, he already had his sickle weapons so all he had to do was shed his armor and he was good to go. The Nem girl was tagging along too, introducing herself as Tili Vosahnn.

Their destination was the graveyard, not too far away from the castle. Jarde saw how beautiful their graves were with the finely sculpted tombstones and elaborate statues of the goddesses. Not to mention the large mausoleums that some families had here that kept the remains of the family's ancestors. Man, these upper-class people were rich even in death. That said, a graveyard's a graveyard and walking through one in the middle of the night was admittedly spooky.

The knights were soon at one of the mausoleums. One that belonged to the Cal family as it bore their symbol, an eight-pointed star, but right now it was the lair of an evil necromancer.

The mausoleum entrance door opened and out came an unfamiliar person. One of the mercenaries no doubt, out to patrol and momentarily oblivious to the group of knights descending upon him.

Jarde readied. A swift knee to the face should knock the guard to the wall and knock him out. The young knight was about to make his move when another knight dashed past him. It was Sir Gerard, sword ready and with one quick thrust, he plunged his blade into the guard. It was a silent kill. Jarde winced at the act and was also a bit peeved that his target was taken so suddenly from him.

They were at the entrance and Fanilly had ordered for Tili to lead the way. "So, Til." Jarde began as the Nem approached. "What kind of welcome are we expecting?"

Tyaethe hummed to herself as the lookout was summarily dispatched, her only concession to their location appearing to be a dagger filched from somewhere. Master of her sword she might be, but the paladin was well aware at how such a long weapon could prove less than ideal in confined spaces--though from the wealth and prestige of the Cal family throughout the years, she expected that the mausoleum was going to be anything but cramped once they got inside.

"As is their wont, the defiler lurks away from the moon and sun, hoping that the Goddesses' reach is but that beneath the sky," the apparent child said, swinging her blade to rest on one shoulder again, the words halfway between a recital and a prayer, "But all that ever was touched by Their light carries it within them. And to those that would pervert the dead to foul cause, we carry the solar fire to cleanse and purify, the lunar waters to wash away the lurking taint. To the dead we bring the stillness and crushing weight of the deepest sea; for the living we rescue the gentle warmth of the sun."

Red eyes looked up at Gerard, then back towards the open door. "Don't forget we're here to rescue, Segremors."

The Naga had taken advantage of the castle's armory. Leaving her quarterstaff behind in exchange for a bearded ax. Maritza had also taken the opportunity to borrow a few pieces of armor. In particular, a pair of spiked heavy gauntlets and a open-faced sallet helmet, oddly lacking in her usual choice of a visor and bevor. Briefly watching Gerard take down the guard, Mari turns towards Fanilly and the vampire, her face a coldly impassive mask.

"Captain, Tyaethe, aside from anyone who looks important, are there any of the kidnappers we should try and capture alive?" She asks, one gauntleted hand resting on the head of the ax tucked through her belt. There was something unnerving in the Naga's tone. A coldly inhuman predatory desire, like some great hunting beast quietly straining against the end of it's leash.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri trudged through the cemetery, alone but earshot of the other knights, torch in hand. Even with his relative proximity to his brothers and sisters of the order, the eerie calm of the cemetery and the dance of the shadows of the trees and headstones against his torch frayed his nerves, made all the worse by the knowledge that there was a necromancer in the area. It wasn't a matter of if, but when they ran into the reanimated dead. Fleuri recalled the advice of his mentor, the paladin whom he had served as a squire during the War of the Red Flag.

It is normal for even devoted servants of Reon to feel apprehension or fear when faced with the prospect of battling the undead. What truly matters is that you carry out Her will regardless. Through devotion to Reon, knowledge of our enemy, and experience in facing them, we have the strength to stand and fight when others would falter and flee.

Another important lesson his mentor had taught him was the importance of preparation when facing necromancers and undead. Failure meant not only death, but the very real possibility of one's remains being desecrated, reanimated, and used against your allies. With the situation as dire and urgent as it was, the Iron Roses didn't have time to properly prepare. Fleuri himself only had enough time to grab a claymore, cuirass, and helmet from the Crown Knights' armory. Fortunately, Fleuri knew of a way to offset their lack of preparation, because his family had already done it for them.

Fleuri arrived at one of his destination- the Jodeau mausoleum, the resting place of his ancestors. Two particular details distinguished this particular mausoleum: the Jodeau Sun symbol above the door, and the two statues of Reon flanking the door, their mismatched shade of stone compared to the rest of the structure making it clear that they were later additions. To Fleuri, it was a grandiose reminder of the power they once wielded, and of what they had become since then. It was a little somber to look upon, knowing that someday he too would be laid to rest within.

It was fortunate he didn't need to go inside, because with his nerves as rattled as they were, he would have to muster a great deal of courage to do so. He examined the door, checking to ensure that its lock had not been broken. The door did not budge, its lock holding it
tightly shut. Relieved and satisfied at the knowledge that the tomb had not been broken into, Fleuri then began examining the statues more closely.

The statues, depicting a goddess known for her small stature, were much shorter than the ones they replaced, and stood on conspicuously tall plinths in order to maintain the same profile. But Fleuri knew that there was another reason that they made the plinths so large- preparation. When his family devoted itself to Reon, there came worries that they would begin making enemies of the practitioners of the profane practice of necromancy, and that their family tomb would become a particularly tempting target for wicked mages. Thus they had prepared for this eventuality, by placing a cache of blessed anti-undead equipment inside the hollow spaces hidden in one of these plinths, so that if their duty to Reon and to family ever demanded that they place their ancestors to rest again, they would have the weaponry set aside to do so. At least that's what Fleuri was taught- he didn't actually know what the equipment was. In theory it was only supposed to be used if their own tomb was desecrated, but the circumstances now demanded otherwise.

It should be around here somewhere, Fleuri thought as he fumbled around looking for any sort of secret compartment in the plinths with his torch as his only illumination. Ah, there we go. Fleuri opened a hidden sliding door on the back of the plinths and reached inside, pulling out a small satchel. Really? Is this all we had stashed here? he thought to himself, visibly let down that the only contents were was two flasks of Reonite holy fire-water. It was useful weaponry against undead for sure, but not nearly enough of it to make much of a difference. I suppose it's better than nothing, he thought, as he hastily slung the satchel onto his shoulder and dashed back to the rest of the group, hoping he didn't miss anything.

A mausoleum wasn't the best place to fight, but there was never any question of where Nicomede would go.

The Princess had guardians enough and more. Men and women whose overriding purpose in life was the safety of their monarch to be, no matter the cost. The would-be assassin had gotten so close only within the context of such a boisterous event, one that no watchful eye had any reason to expect violence within. Not that measures wouldn't be revised now he was sure. The Knights had been available to stop her but the Princess' own guardians wouldn't soon forget how close they had come.

Here, however, was a girl with no one but the Knights that marched to her rescue. Mayon taught the defense of all life but especially that of the innocent. What this necromancer had done was despicable, setting aside even the distaste Nicomede had for his Art. No, the monster would have to be put down. Of that there was no doubt. He felt the rage instilled upon his countryman, even if he hadn't spoken much with the man. And he concurred. Despite all of the perception in the world a Mayonite need not be soft, for water was not. It was a mistake to confuse tranquility with passivity, to conflate serenity and pacifism. The ocean did not care for the deeds of man, it has been there long before man found its shores. But rivers and oceans had killed more men than all of the fires in history.

No more could you fight the ocean than put out the sun.

Water could heal and nurture, and Nicomede would stand up with the most devout paladin in his defense of the necromancer's captive. She would walk out of the crypts below his feet alive and without a scratch more. But anyone that stood in his way, man or disturbed dead, would be swept away by the tide.

"Segremors," He started softly, once the man had dispatched their first foe. His own spada had been drawn for some time, complemented by the much more seldom drawn blade in his off hand. The paired weapons could not have been much more suited to such conditions if he tried, for they had always been meant to be worn (and if need be used) indoors. "Are you familiar with fighting in such enclosed spaced?"

Sir Gerard's blade pierced armor and flesh and bone, the mercenary wholly unprepared for such a swift attack. He let out a rasping gurgle before crumpling to the floor, his blood leaking out onto the stone below.

Fanilly relaxed, only slightly. While she was certain that it would be nearly impossible to remain unnoticed all the way to the bottom chamber of the mausoleum, they could potentially mount a surprise attack on the guards below.

One thing she could be thankful for, at the very least, is that it didn't appear as if any of the other crypts had been broken into. As unnerving as simply being in a cemetery could be at night, the young knight-captain was glad(if somewhat uncertain as to why) the necromancer hadn't disturbed any of the other mausoleums... was it to remain unnoticed more effectively? The idea of unearthing the bodies of so many dead simply to serve as slaves... it was a terrible thought. Necromancy was something that had always made Fanilly's skin crawl. Manipulating the dead simply for one's own gain... oh, she did know of the more benevolent uses of the often-dark art. Preserving severed limbs to be reattached, keeping 'dead' organs functioning. She had once heard of a knight whose heart had died, but with the quick thinking of their magic-wielding companion managed to live for many, many, many more years due to necromantic arts used upon their heart. Fanilly did not know how that tale ended, however. But it was far more frequent that necromancy was used for darker, more fiendish purposes.

"... We should try and capture at least two of their number if possible, of the leaders," Fanilly said, as she drew her sword and carefully approached the doorway of the mausoleum, "But only if it does not mean endangering the life of Vosahnn's sister."

That was paramount. Striking down the conspiracy to assassinate the Crown Princess and rescuing the young nem's sister. Whatever she would face for an attempt on Princess Eliabelle's life was irrelevant now. All that mattered was ensuring her captured sibling was rescued and ensuring that none of the people who were behind this plot escaped.

If nothing else, Fanilly was certain of this.

She inhaled deeply as she approached the doorway. What she was not so certain of was her ability to achieve these goals... but there were no other entrances to the mausoleum.

That meant they could pen their enemies in.

And they had to save the nem's sister...

As the group approached the doorway, carved with the visage of Mayon extending her hand towards those below, Vosahnn swiftly scratched out a message in response to Sir Jarde's questioning.

'NECROMANCER AT BOTTOM'

'SEVERAL DOZEN MERCENARIES'

It wasn't much new information, and the necromancer being at the bottom of the mausoleum was obvious, but it was at least enough to know what to expect.

Fanilly slowly pushed the door open.

Within, the mausoleum was dusty, but it was clear that people had been here. There was a table with a small amount of offerings placed upon it, as if only one person had been giving them.

Among them was a knitted doll with buttons for eyes, that looked to have been there for a few years now. Maybe three.

Fanilly stepped into the crypt, beckoning the other knights to follow her.

As she did, the light of a torch was visible advancing up the right side of the twin staircases that lead downwards.

The bearer was revealed quite quickly, a dark-haired man clad in light leather and steel, a longsword on his hip and a torch in one hand.

There was no-where to hide, certainly not for a group of armored knights. And so...

"Argus, your shift is-Wh-what?!" cried the mercenary, "The... the Iron Roses?! Damn it...! Everyone, there's-"

Fanilly took a deep breath and ducked low, sprinting forward with her own blade held in both hands. As the man realized what was coming immediately, but was unprepared for it to come so quickly. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, drawing it, but it was quite simply too late.

She'd driven her blade up and through his chest, aiming squarely for the heart to kill him as quickly as possible.

The small knight stepped back, letting the body fall limply with one final gasp, the torch hitting the floor and rolling down several steps...

But the sound of feet rushing up from below was already clearly audible.

There was no further time for any kind of stealth.

"Iron Rose Knights, charge!"

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

Indrau had elected to stay at the palace to watch over the princess, along with Captain Balsung and his Crown Knights. He was growing to like the old mans no-nonsense approach. They had moved the princess to an inner room with only a single door offering the only approach that a potential assassin might use. He stood just behind where the door would open, sword drawn with it's tip resting on the floor to nullify any potential magical attack.

He doubted a necromancer and some mercenaries would provide much difficulty to his colleagues, even as ill prepared as they might be. A thought struck him, remembering that the knights were requested to arrive with their weapons. Perhaps the party wasn't merely what it appeared on the surface.

"I am hoping that the assassins hideout in the Cal mausoleum is merely a coincidence." He turned to the Crown Knight's Captain. "Has the Crown heard any rumors of Phoran Cal's associates reappearing?"

'NECROMANCER AT BOTTOM'

'SEVERAL DOZEN MERCENARIES'

"Several dozen, huh?" Jarde read the scratched reply. "Looks like they're having their own party down there."

Fanilly led the Iron Roses into the crypt and ended up in the first room of this mausoleum. It was dusty old place with a single table of offerings. There were signs of activity and it was no mystery as to why.

The knights had entered stealthily, not a single light or sound from them, in an attempt to catch the enemy by surprise. Unfortunately, they immediately ran into a mercenary with an illuminating torch ascending the twin staircases that led to the lower chambers. The Captain was quick to dispose of him but the body and his torch rolled downstairs. The jig was up, there were already a lot of steps ascending the stairs.

"Iron Rose Knights, charge!"

"It's gonna be a bit cramped fighting on the stairs." Jarde remarked with only his fists at the ready. Fanilly had ordered for two of the enemies to be spared and captured and he intended to do just that.

As soon as the first mercenary reached the top, Jarde would tackle the intruder into the ground. He learned some hand techniques during his training that allowed for non-fatal takedowns. Striking certain points on the neck and head should knock the mercenary out cold but without much harm.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri spotted the mausoleum ahead, its location revealed by dim light emanating from its interior. He had extinguished his torch as to not risk compromising the captain's plans to handle this mission stealthily, but without a light source and his eyes not adjusted to the darkness, he had not been able to navigate the cemetery as quickly as he had liked. As he got closer he could hear brief shouting coming from inside, and discerned a distinct order coming from a very distinct voice.

"Iron Roses, charge!"

In his rush to answer his captain's command and rejoin his fellows, he didn't notice the dead man lying near the entrance until he almost tripped over it. He reeled instinctively at the unanticipated sight of the corpse. It took only a moment for him to regain his bearings, slightly ashamed at being spooked by something so mundane and routine for the Iron Roses. Even in the darkness, he could tell it wasn't one of theirs- the Iron Roses would never just leave a fallen brother or sister lying on the ground like this. It must have been a sentry that the others had dispatched.

Fleuri carefully stepped over the dead man and entered the mausoleum where the others were gathered. The interior of the above-ground antechamber was decorated as expected for the burial place of a noble family of Thaln with statues and carvings depicting Mayonite and Reonite iconography, and a central altar. A light peeked from down the staircase leading into the underground sections of the tomb, and the sound of frantic footsteps made it clear that someone was coming.

"I'm back," he announced, drawing his claymore. "Have I missed anything important?"

Gerard Segremors

"I won't, Ma'am."

He punctuated his reassurance with pulling his longsword free from the man's sternum and allowing him to slump, stony expression unmarred. Perhaps a valid concern. He had more than once shown his hand tonight— that of an unyielding marauder, to be directed towards something that needed to be brought down. Given he'd held his own concerns regarding fury overwhelming discipline, it wasn't hard to see where the small Paladin was coming from, that much he would readily admit. He could determine friend from foe fine.

But could he quell a raging inferno if it risked burning her, too? That seemed to be her order. Her words were not something so frivolous as worrying he'd accidentally take her head home with him. Their vampiric comrade was far more wise than that. Priorities were absolute when they included a child's life. It meant to account for bargains, compromises, the thought of a hostage taking precedent over imparting justice to her captor.

That was the message. Never trade the former for the latter.

"Am I familiar?" he parroted to Sir Nicomede next, stepping aside to allow their Captain through. He met the duelist's eye, searching beneath the still waters... He held his temper quite well. His blades, suited more for thrusting than just cutting, had long been drawn— a peek past the veneer. Mistake not the calm for proof that no storm comes. He was a respected knight, and despite differing theological stances, it would be short-sighted to claim that Nicomede or any other did not feel the same as Sagramore.

His longsword met the palm of his free hand, shrouded in sturdy fibers, about halfway up the length of its blade. A knightly technique that saw more use for fully armored combat than specifically enclosed spaces, but it achieved the same end. Now with a second point of control along the entirety of the blade, he held what amounted to one part spear and one part sledgehammer, shortening the necessary length of the weapon.

"Familiar enough, don't worry." He grunted, nodding and falling silent as his fellows passed, one by one, in to the mausoleum after their Captain. He couldn't simply shoulder in, unfortunately. Too much roughhousing would mean too much noise—

A voice from up ahead drew his attention, causing his posture to instinctively tense, and the sound of drawn steel shattered his concerns for noise. Any struggle in there would doubtlessly echo down the stone walls of the crypt. At the closest opportunity, hot on the heels of the previous knight to enter, he hooked himself 'round the frame of the door in a dash.

"Iron Rose Knights, charge!"

As the glow from the torch faded, clattering down stone steps ahead, Gerard's eyes were aided by the rush of imminent combat in adjusting to the soft lighting of the mausoleum's gloomy interior. Everywhere he looked he saw religious icons carved into smooth coffins, effigies of the twin Goddesses sheltering their dead. A rose here. A sunburst there. Lamplighters throughout, guiding those slain to peaceful rest.

Apologies, but you'll be working a little more than usual tonight.

At the sound of a stumble, he couldn't help but whirl away from the footsteps clamoring up the stairs. Had they been pincered? Trapped between two foes? His sword whirled with him, to face...

"I'm back," Sir Fleuri Jodeau announced, drawing his requisitioned claymore. "Have I missed anything important?"

Gilded eyes darted between the senior knight and the body directly behind for a moment, before Gerard elected to scrub the pratfall entirely from his mind. In its stead, he tasked himself with keeping his senior up to speed. He turned again in doing so, stalking forward as he relayed everything pertinent he'd overheard to his esteemed senior.

"Necromancer's at the bottom. Several dozen mercenaries rising to meet us," he spoke in clipped tones, drawing a large knife from his hip. "Orders are to capture two leaders, but prioritize the Sister first. Rescue, not Raid."

Drawing even with Sir Jarde, fists raised, he wordlessly offered the blonde the pommel. It would be better than nothing. Knives could be held against throats, slipped between the gaps of armor, set in the way of swords to knock them off-line. It was no weapon of war, true, but it was far better than one's own body and little else.

Once his hands were free, he held his longsword in half again, and surged towards the stairwell opposite, leftward when entering the chamber. What they needed now was no longer stealth, but a violence of action— the one battlefield virtue in which he genuinely excelled. Attacking from two different angles would be a boon to whomever had the thought— should the enemy rise through here and fall in behind them within the confines of the right stairwell, even the Roses risked being crushed.

Segremors dove in, ready to make his displeasure with the notion undeniably known.

"Iron Rose Knights, charge!"

At the command, Maritza launched into action with a visceral growl. Uncoiling with a violent ferocity, the naga charged ahead of her fellow knights down the staircase to the right, armored fists at the ready. Naga's were a rare enough sight in Thaln, even more so within the capital itself; so one could forgive the mercenaries for being caught off-guard when the Knight Serpenta came barreling down the stairs at them like an out of control freight wagon.

Slipping under the hastily erected guard of the first merc, Maritza opted to simply tear his throat out with her teeth as she lunged back upwards. As her first target toppled backwards with a gurgling scream, Mari spat red in the face of the next closest goon. With her opponents reeling, the Naga grabbed a torch sconce to arrest the movement of her human half. The sconce's metal frame shrieking in protest, Mari whipped her tail down the stairs and into the onrushing mercenaries. With a heavy crunch, the Naga crushed a couple of the mercs against the stone pillar of the staircase itself and sent several more tumbling backwards into their comrades.

Not giving them a moment to recover, Maritza dove back in. A whirlwind of armored fists, bloody teeth and emerald scales, the Naga pushed the offensive in a coldly calculated berserk fury. Terror and intimidation were the name of the game, so Mari overwhelmed her opponents with brute strength and pure ferocity. Heads were smashed into walls, exposed flesh was ripped asunder and limbs snapped between her scales.