Fanilly had found herself in the same room as Tyaethe's lesson shortly after having her somewhat belated breakfast of Eggs Chauntressy, on the way to the shrine in Candaeln's gardens. She remembered that the vampire knight had wished to tell her about something that had happened at the party, but obviously the prior night had been quite a bit too full to handle the matter. So instead she witnessed the tail end of the lesson.

Fanilly herself had known at least some of this, a part of her education had featured learning about various types of creatures of varying levels of removed from humanity. Vampires had been among them. She understood most of how vampires functioned and the manner in which they were created, but obviously fighting them was a different matter entirely. What she'd caught of the lesson fell in line with what she had learned.

She couldn't help but wonder just what had happened in the fight with Damon Cal to lead to this lesson, however. She'd heard a little of it afterwards, but she had been far below and unable to witness the fight directly at that point. On top of that... Damon Cal. Had it merely been because it was his family's tomb? Had that been why he was involved? Was there something more going on?

The petite blonde had know way of knowing, and in the wake of the previous night there was so much to think about. But first.

"Dame Tyaethe? If you lesson is complete, ah..." she paused for a moment, "I understand there's something you wanted to speak to me about?"

@Raineh Daze@ghastlyInc@PaulHaynek

The class discussed about Vampires some more. Apparently, there were different levels of being a Vampire. Well, that was how Jarde saw it. Magic was a Vampire's greatest strength so a Vampire Mage who has matured and refined into their new race was someone nobody should be fighting. There were other details, Jarde was sure, but he really couldn't keep up with all of it.

They then talked about weaknesses. Holy water seem to be effective in causing Vampires pain. Jarde would know, he was saved by one. Alas, Sir Gillian revealed that those simply inconvenience Vampires. A way to distract them, so to speak. Ways of killing a vampire include excessive maiming that they couldn't regenerate. If that didn't work, then flaming weapons or blessed weapons would do. Reon's stuff was already on fire but Mayon can freeze and frozen body parts can't regenerate. One can also use magic, but that would require being more than adept at the mystical arts.

Bottom-line was: Vampires were powerful beings, much like grand wizards or giant dragons. Taking these kinds of threats head-on was tantamount to suicide. One should be well-prepared before facing such adversaries. "You know, if these guys are nigh-immortal, why don't they team-up and just start, you know, kicking ass and taking names?" Jarde mused, absent-mindedly. "I'll bet they'd be amazing, they can cover each other's weaknesses and all."

It was then that Captain Fanilly entered the room, mentioning that the teacher Paladin had something to say to her.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri considered Gillian's words carefully, and the advice he offered. While he had trained under a paladin, he never really picked up on the nuances of countering the powers of powerful magical beings beyond the general advice of "if dismemberment isn't stopping it, burn it". It wasn't unsound advice, but clearly there was much more to be known about how to deal with vampires. While Fleuri felt that Gillian was an uncouth, foul-mouthed troublemaker with terrible taste in literature, he couldn't deny that the living reliquary was quite knowledgeable. As for Gillian's antics, Fleuri couldn't judge him for it- after all he himself had done a lot of similarly irresponsible things during his time as a tournament fighter.

I never knew that a vampire's heart was a weakness, I figured they'd be as unfazed by organ damage as other undead, Fleuri thought as he listened to the Living Reliquary describe in detail how he'd kill a vampire.

Gillian's next advice was about using fire or ice to kill them, and perhaps the most relevant part of the lesson for Fleuri because being neither a mage nor a Living Reliquary, obtaining an enchanted or blessed weapon seemed to be the most feasible option to improve his ability to combat undead. Perhaps, being a devout Reonite, the Church might be willing to provide him with a blessed weapon, or bestow a blessing upon his own sword. Not that it would've helped against Damon, since he was using a borrowed Crown Knight weapon at the time, but it could give him an extra edge in any future confrontations with vampires, or those liquid undead for whom a mundane sword would be utterly useless against.

Tyaethe confirmed most of what Gillian said, explaining how the previously mentioned countermeasures stifle a vampire's regeneration, and how magic wasn't worth using, at least not for martially-focused knights. Her take away was that they needed to be cautious when facing powerful magical beings and not just rush in. It was actually a little weird to see Tyaethe and Gillian getting along, the living reliquary almost acting like a teaching assistant to the unliving paladin.

What stuck with Fleuri was the concern that the recent battle illustrated a troublesome lack of magical specialists within the Iron Roses. Their fight with the necromancer was only resolved as smoothly as it was because his co-conspirator betrayed him, and they certainly wouldn't be relying on her again. Perhaps they could ask the college to lend the service of one of their mages, or request the church to send a combat capable healer to support the knight. It wasn't Fleuri's call, of course, but he intended to voice his concerns to the captain when he got the chance.

Speaking of which, Fanilly arrived just then. She wanted to speak to Tyaethe about something, which was probably his cue to leave. He had no idea what they needed to speak about, but it wasn't any of Fleuri's business.

"If we are dismissed, I will resume my duties," he spoke to Tyaethe as he rose out of his chair. "Thank you for this lesson, it has been quite enlightening. And captain, might I speak with you later when you have a free moment?"

@PaulHaynek@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze@ghastlyInc

It had been a week since the attempt on Princess Eliabelle's life. An interrogation of the remaining conspirator had offered relatively little information, save that Damon Cal had arrived without much care for the conspiracy itself, pledging his assistance shortly after their base of operations had been selected seemingly from no-where. The Nem sisters were currently housed in relative comfort, though a decision on Tili's fate had yet to be made, save that she was not going to be executed. As far as Fanilly knew, apparently there had been some pushing for that regardless of the situation that had resulted in the assassination attempt.

The Iron Roses had received little rest. Many of their number had been deployed to keep watch on the castle and to ensure there was not another assassination attempt. While this particular conspiratorial group had seemingly been dealt with, the possibility of another most certainly remained. And so, Fanilly had sent many of her knights to be put on guard, greatly bolstering the palace guard with their numbers and skills. Only, this morning, they had received a strange cry for help.

The messenger told them he had been sent from Fort Daelantine. Or, rather, the message they received told them that. The messenger had, according to the city guard, dropped dead shortly after his arrival. His note was hastily scrawled, a desperate plea to immediately send the Iron Roses to assist.

Other details were scarce.

Fanilly could not in good conscious recall the knights guarding the Princess. And so, she put together a small force of knights who had proven themselves in the past or in recent combat, and set out for for Fort Daelantine. It was much of the day before the outline of the fort's towers appeared in the distance. From here, it seemed there had been little to no disturbance. Around them the plains were wide and flat, the fort the most notable landmark.

"We're almost there," Fanilly called to her knights, from atop her horse. "As we have little other information, we must proceed with caution."

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

Slowly making her way to the head to the column, the naga paused to catch her breath and survey the land before them. For this assignment she'd chosen to take her longbow and newly acquired axe, her quarterstaff remaining behind. In light of her service at the incident in the catacombs, Mari had been able to keep the armored gauntlets she'd borrowed from the royal armory; either that or their absence had gone unnoticed. For the former nomad, the difference was irrelevant.

Still too far out to clearly identify anything, Maritza grimaced behind her helm. "We're not close enough to tell what happened. If there has been a hostile takeover, storming the gates is going to be pain, even with the help of Lady Radistirin or a mage... Captain, permission to scout ahead? If I take to the tall grass, I ought to be able to slip close undetected." She finished with an irritated tone, clearly ill at ease with their lack of information.

It had been a week since the incident with the princess, the Nem sisters, the necromancers and the Damon Cal. Little was gleamed from the prisoner about the conspiracy and the trail ended there.

But the Iron Roses would not have a chance to rest, many of their number were deployed as extra security to the castle and the royal family. The rest, meanwhile, would be called to action not long after. A messenger from Fort Daelantine arrived, dying as soon as he came, clutching in his hand a hastily-scrawled note calling for the Iron Rose Knights to come to the fort's aid. Fanilly selected a group of the remaining knights and quickly ventured out to Fort Daelantine.

Jarde was among them. In all honesty, he felt this was some sort of trap for the Iron Roses. One fell swoop to wipe out a number of their order in order to weaken them enough for a more decisive strike. As to who or why? Well, Jarde had not thought it that far. There was too few information to go on, after all. The only way to resolve that was to investigate Fort Daelantine itself, and maybe spring the trap should there be one.

"As we have little other information, we must proceed with caution."

"We're not close enough to tell what happened. If there has been a hostile takeover, storming the gates is going to be pain, even with the help of Lady Radistirin or a mage... Captain, permission to scout ahead? If I take to the tall grass, I ought to be able to slip close undetected."

"Allow me to accompany Lady Verenna, Captain." Jarde trotted his horse over. "As you know, scouting is my thing and dare I say, I have a much more... conspicuous form than Madam Maritza here. Err, no offense."

The order's resident vampire was giving a distinct impression of not wanting to fight, for once, with her posture on a pony being more slouched than anything, and with the parasol propped carefully to block the sun when it ventured out between the clouds. It was quite odd to see such a large sword strapped to the size of such a small horse.

In the current flattened shadows, with the sun hiding behind the clouds, the entire getup appeared like an unfinished picture, horse and rider all black and white.

"Unusual for something so close to the capital to be threatened... anything like orcs would have more warning, and there aren't any external threats." The whole situation was strange.

Fleuri Jodeau

The last week had been relatively uneventful after the excitement of Jeremiah and the conspirators. Many of the Iron Roses had been ordered to help guard the palace to ensure the princess' safety, but Fleuri had not been one of them. His last few days had been spent keeping his skill sharp, reaching out to his contacts in the Reonite church to inquire about the possibility of obtaining a blessed or fire-enchanted weapon to better combat supernatural foes, writing to his family to inform them to restock their mausoleum's emergency supplies, voicing his concerns to Fanilly about the order's seeming shortage of magical specialists, and cleaning the blood stains from his formal attire. He had just been able to settle in Candaeln's library to get some reading done when he was summoned to take part in a mission to Fort Daelantine.

The details of the situation were scant. From what he had been told, a messenger showed up, dropped dead after arriving, and on his body there was a scrawled message, requesting that the Iron Roses' assistance at Fort Daelantine. Other than that, they knew nothing about had happened or who they'd be up against. It was all quite strange, and Fleuri couldn't dismiss the possibility that it was a set-up. On the other hand, the Iron Roses couldn't afford to let lives potentially be lost on such a suspicion, and whatever the truth of the matter was, it was their duty to bring the malefactors to justice. Fleuri's only gripe was that he'd have to wait until he got back to read the next part of the Saga of Halfhorn.

I could have brought it along, but last time I tried something like that, it didn't end well, for multiple reasons.

As the fort came into view in the distance, Fleuri took note of the surrounding lands. If someone was besieging the fort, the flat plains would serve as ideal terrain for a cavalry charge, and would afford no concealment for ambushers. The current state of the fort wasn't clear at this distance, however, beyond the fact that it was still standing. The Iron Roses would have to get closer to see what was going on, and two of the other knights, the rookie Jarde and the naga Maritza both volunteering to scout it out first.

"It won't be easy to approach unnoticed, not with flat plains on all sides of the fort," Fleuri remarked to the captain. "On the other hand, we know nothing about the situation at the fort, so I concur that it'd be wise for someone to get a closer look at what we're dealing with before we get close enough to make ourselves known."

@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot@VitaVitaAR

Interacting with: @PaulHaynek@Raineh Daze@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR
"Could be internal." Gill huffed at Tyaethe from atop his ass, the ignoble beast chewing a dirt clodded tuft of grass casually."A coup isn't unreasonable, even if its a small one. Poorly thought out one to if it is, seizing a fort like this."

Gillian casually cast his gaze over the fort, his mind picking out approaches for himself automatically as he took in the terrain. "Dealetine's not exactly critical...alteast right now." He said, somewhat louder than necessary for the benefit of the more green recruits (captain included). "It's more a staging ground for military actions coming from the capital than anything else. Hell, its practically fed by the capital. Worse comes to worse we can siege them out until they starve to death, though that's unlikely."
He pauses as a few of the younger knights ask permission to scout ahead, stretching his arms out as they argued who might be best suited to the task. More power to them, he was better suited to skulking around during the chaos of a fight than anything else. "Bear in mind kids; if a force is good enough to take a fort undetected this close to the capital, then they're good enough to make sure there are no survivors. A shiny copper piece says that our messenger was allowed to live to lure us out here." He says, leaning forward and lounging on the donkey as if it were his primary method of relaxation. "Which means, we're walking dick first into a trap. Scoutings not a bad idea, but its somewhat predicated on the opposition not being aware of you. Personally I say we walk up and spring it, info be damned. Lot faster and they're less likely to expect it."

Gerard Segremors

@ghastlyInc@Crimson Paladin@Raineh Daze@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot@VitaVitaAR

"Doesn't even need the messenger," Gerard's tight voice floated in from the rear, twin furnaces of amber locked upon the eerily silent walls ahead, scanning for movement. "The plains have already made our approach clear as the daylight on our backs. If there's even a single lookout awake for whatever's garrisoned in there, they can see us if we can see the fort. Enough of us here for it."

His week had been much as the others. Early rise, hard work, keeping his head down and striving to improve. His encounter with Nicomede the dawn after the raid on the Cal crypt had left as many questions as it had answers— further proof that he couldn't remain complacent if he wanted to stand on the battlefield among his fellows for long. There were things out there beyond either of them. He spent much of his day in the training yard, taking his rests in the barracks with a nose in what manuals he could hunt down in Candaeln's library. Horsemanship. Swordplay. Wrestling. Anything and everything.

He knew in the back of his mind that this would exacerbate the issues of feeling alien in courtly society, putting it off once again, but this continuous mobilization was hard to argue with as the more pressing matter. The knights needed him as a soldier, not as a gentleman. Otherwise he would be on reserve duty, posted at the palace rather than out here to take the fight to a potential insurrection.

His aggression was needed. It was what brought him here.

"I agree with Sir Gillian. More time spent waiting gives them more time to assess our force and mount defenses. Catching them flat-footed is the best chance I can see, given our inability to conduct a surprise raid as we did with Jeremiah. In lieu of covert action, create chaos and seize the opportunities it fosters."

It had gotten him this far, after all.

"Hitting hard and fast is paramount."

Fanilly considered the proposals for approaching the fort. While getting close with stealth was undoubtedly an ideal approach, it seemed difficult even utilizing the long grass... Though perhaps the naga was more capable of stealth simply due to her nature? But if they delayed longer, then it was possible that there was no way that whatever force currently occupied the fort would be able to prepare...

... But...

... Something was strange. Something didn't make sense. If the fort was being occupied... where was everyone? At this distance, it should have been possible to see someone on the walls, someone somewhere.

But there was no-one. For that matter, there was seemingly no sign the walls had been sieged at all. The fort seemed as if it was almost untouched from the outside... Just what was going on? Surely if there had been an attack...

Something didn't add up.

"... Very well, go ahead and take a look. If anyone spots you, signal us immediately."

Once Dame Maritza and Sir Jarde had proceeded ahead, Fanilly found herself sinking deep into thought...

... What if they were too late? What if something had gone terribly wrong? What if everyone in the fort was dead already?

Unfortunately for the scouting team, there was little more that could be discerned on approach and thus nothing to be reported. Without going too close to avoid being seen, it seemed as if the north door was intact and there was absolutely no-one on the walls.

When they signaled to approach...

The knights were able to proceed right up to the north gate without being stopped. On closer inspection it wasn't even shut...

But within...

The first and foremost among these details was what had been done to the south gate. The doors were reinforced, capable of barring entry to anyone but those using siege weaponry or potent magic. They had been destroyed, splinters of wood scattered across the ground, one of the doors even smashed off its reinforced hinges and lying on the ground. And within...

Corpses.

The bodies of the soldiers who had occupied the fort were visible, now. Not all of them, but enough to make it clear what had happened. Bodies lay strewn across the fort's open entryway. They had died through various means, more and more discernible as the knights approached. Some had been stabbed, others riddled with arrows, some burned... and some seemingly hit with extreme force, limbs at odd angles. Whatever the case had been, the fort's soldiers had been absolutely massacred.

And inside, Fanilly could see a man wearing Thaln's colors frantically raising a crossbow. Spurring her horse on, she tried to get to his assistance...

A crimson spear pierced his chest before he could even aim.

"You could have just surrendered, but you had to throw it all away, didn't you?" said a voice, as the spear's wielder came into view. It was a strange tone, somewhat... squeaky in a way that might be endearing if not for the situation. The wielder's appearance was that of an extremely pale, petite girl with dark blue hair in pigtails, her eyes as crimson as her spear. The armor she wore was light, leather, overlapping to provide better protection. "What a wasted life."

Almost immediately, Fanilly drew her sword, cold fury in her eyes. This girl... she was responsible for this...!?

"Drop your weapon immediately, or the Iron Roses will kill you where you stand," she said, her tone cold and piercing. This girl had just slain a soldier of Thaln right before their eyes. If she did not immediately surrender, her execution would be immediate rather then after imprisonment.

"... Ah?" the spear-wielding girl looked up, resting her weapon on her shoulder. "... Ohhh, those Rose knights, huh? Heh, your captain's just as cute as I heard. I wonder if that's why you all follow her so closely?"

In spite of the situation, the leather-clad girl grinned.

"You don't have to be mad," she continued, "These aren't the noble soldiers of Thaln you think they are, or whatever the blazes you were thinking. Just go inside and you'll see what's really going on."

She shrugged.

"I dunno what happened here either, to be honest. Fuckin' bloodbath if I ever saw one."

This was... they weren't Thaln's soldiers? But they were wearing the colors, the armor... what was going on? To Fanilly, it sounded like a trap. She'd just seen her kill a man in Thaln's colors, and yet she was expected to believe that this girl wasn't actually killing a soldier of Thaln?

It didn't make any sense, but if it was a trap... then it also was a rather poor one...

The blue-haired girl sighed, cocking her head. Her pigtails bobbed. "What, are you going to attack me? Fine then. But it's not going to magically make your assumptions right."

She snickered. If they had taken this entire fort, there were surely other fighters somewhere around here...

@HereComesTheSnow@TheFake@Crimson Paladin@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot@Raineh Daze@ghastlyinc@Krayzikk

The vampire sat up on her mount, taking in the carnage... and then slouched back down again, apparently having decided that immediate fighting wasn't going to happen for any other reason. Not that her observation of the scene was entirely helpful... albeit accurate, "Captain, this broken gate leads to the capital and has a good view of the road."

Not, in and of itself, necessarily indicative of much--but they had been travelling for most of the day, and the dead messenger must have set out late yesterday. Something, one might expect, that would have forced them to head past this entrance either directly or bypassing it. If it had been under siege by this girl and whoever was with her... well, how did he get all the way to the capital, then?

Sliding through the battered gates, the naga unlimbered her rune-lined axe as she took in the carnage. "Whomever the attackers were, I don't think they were ordinary." Maritza commented aloud as she leaned down to inspect one of the more exotically killed soldiers. As she continued inward, the knight serpenta nervously shifted her grip on the axe. Nothing about this made any sense. It was clear enough that they were heading right into a trap, but the unanswered question of why raised the naga's nerves more than anything else.

When they encountered the spear-wielding girl, Mari rushed forward. "Captain! Wait! This doesn't add up. The battle is over, better to clearly assess the situation than to start another on limited information." She called out before turning her attention to the unknown girl. "And you. Why don't you tell us who you are, what you're doing here, what happened since you arrived... and this may be an odd request, but show us your teeth." Maritza finished coldly as she watched the pale-skinned and red-eyed girl closely.

Fleuri Jodeau

The entrance of the fort looked normal enough, but upon entering, Fleuri beheld a gruesome sight. There were corpses all over the place, killed in various ways, and all of them appeared to be Thaln soldiers. It seemed that the fort had provided little defense against whatever had attacked, because the south gate had been destroyed and none of the bodies appeared to be those of the attackers. At least there appeared to be one survivor, perhaps they could get some information out of him.

Anything that can knock down a fort's gate and kill a garrison of soldiers without taking casualties could be a serious threat even to us, Fleuri thought to himself as he followed behind the captain. Any hope of getting some context to this attack from the survivor, however, was dashed as the was skewered from behind before the knights could reach him. Anticipating a fight, Fleuri discarded his lance and drew his greatsword, then waited for Fanilly to give the order.

To Fleuri's surprise, however, the assailant did not attack; in fact, she didn't even ready her bloodied spear. She simply and casually claimed to the captain that these weren't Thaln's soldiers and that the bloodbath had already happened before she got here.

She doesn't look like she's expecting a fight. She's either very confident, or she's set us up for an ambush. Fleuri nervously looked up at the walls, half-expecting expecting hidden foes to emerge and start pelting them with arrows from all sides, but he saw nothing of that sort. Just what was going on here, he wondered.

"I don't see anyone on the walls, Captain," he conveyed his observation to Fanilly. "If this was a trap to lure us in here, I think they'd have sprung it by now."

@VitaVitaAR

Jarde and Maritza were permitted to scout the fort, spot anyone or anything that might give a clue or hint as to what took over Fort Daelantine. Alas, they spotted nothing. There wasn't even any guards or lookouts manning the ramparts. The two returned to Captain Fanilly and reported their findings, or rather, the lack thereof. From there, the Iron Roses moved in into the seemingly deserted Thanln fort through the open north gate.

Jarde walked in without his horse and his eyes widened as he beheld the sight. It was a scene of carnage, the aftermath of a battle... or a slaughter. The southern gate was busted open and around the breach were the corpses of the Thaln defenders. Jarde sighed at the amount of death around him. While he did fight the bandit group and there was plenty of death there, sights like these still gave the young Iron Rose knight pause.

Then, a surviving Thaln soldier appeared with a crossbow but was instantly killed by a spear that belonged to a pale-skinned, petite girl with dark-blue hair tied into pigtails. Her leather armor did not indicate her allegiance. A mercenary, perhaps? Jarde brandished his weapons like his fellow knights and Captain Fanilly demanded surrender. The leather-clad girl, however, replied that the corpses weren't Thaln troops despite their uniforms and emblems.

The other Iron Roses began to interrogate the girl. Jarde did not join in, figuring they got that handled. Instead, the young blonde knight silently sauntered to a nearby corpse. He would bring the corpse up, wincing at the viscera and gore, before looking for any signs that this dead soldier was no Thaln defender. Tattoos or ritual scars or marks or anything like that.

Gerard Segremors

Gerard's longsword slid free of its scabbard, the noise of steel against leather befitting the tension in the air. It had been more than enough to see the strewn, mangled bodies scattered about the interior of the walls as they approached the thoroughly destroyed gate opposite their entrance— limbs bent the wrong ways, armor roughly shorn from bodies, the telltale signs of flame that ravaged skin, and enough arrows to pincushion what unlucky soldiers fell prey to them...

Yet no occupation. No sign of the supposed cohort that had clearly stormed through the front, despite the clear carnage that had been inflicted. No cannon to blow the gates open. No occupying archers, littering the walls and fortifications to pluck their lives as they came to investigate. Nothing to cause the burns, no oil or errant flame. It didn’t add up from the perspective of standard military affairs as he knew them. Something different was afoot. Magical, maybe, but nonetheless impossible at this point to place.

Being off his guard wouldn’t do at all. A split second was all he might have to steal life away from the reaper’s claws in this increasingly treacherous-seeming fortress. To spend it drawing a weapon was suicide compared to spending it fighting with one. Readiness decided everything. For a man who lived by taking the fight to his foes as he, it was the best he could do under the circumstances, much as he hated to admit it. Striking hard and fast was still his modus operandi, but such was impossible when you could not find your target.

So when the small girl with a crimson spear brazenly impaled a man wearing Thaln’s colors moments after they had entered the outer walls, it was only the fact that he had been placed at the rear of the formation that stopped him from lunging forward and ridding her of her head before that almost saccharine voice began to drip out of her irreverent mouth. Pallid, young, and with eyes like fresh blood, she almost reminded him of the First and Youngest that rode alongside their Captain. Hers was a demeanor that wholly disregarded the overbearing force of their small company in spite of her apparent age and stature— one that screamed of either extreme ignorance or danger. Practically mocking them to their faces, defying them to take action for what they had plainly seen in front of them, offering only the most token of defenses for her actions..! Did she really think that anyone would buy—

“Cool your head, Segremors, you impetuous—”

The third knight he had roughly shouldered past caught him by his collar, momentarily stopping the march in its place as he yanked the building inferno of a swordsman back. Unexpected as it was, the younger man blinked— and saw nothing.

Nothing from his fellows. Despite the girl not having offered much beyond “it’s not what you think” as a defense… None of the other knights were keen on exacting retribution that, to his eyes, had clearly been earned. Not Dame Maritza, who he knew to be viciously protective of the innocent. Nor Sir Fleuri, a man of a paladin’s character, training, and courage. The Knight-Captain, who just moments ago held ice in her veins, had been given enough pause to not yet make good upon her threat when it was clear the spearwoman refused to comply. Even Dame Tyaethe Radistirin, whose battle experience equaled everyone else’s put together at a conservative estimate… She seemed reclined. Even relaxed. A fight wasn’t even near her consideration.

He wouldn’t be getting the orders.

The mental machine that was Gerard Segremors jammed.

“How are we supposed to believe this, based only on the word of an enemy?”

His voice was tight, taut, caught between fury and flummoxing. That she had little else beyond the disdain for assumptions as defense was not helping matters. Not for him. It made no sense— But seemed to be the hand he had been dealt. He felt the grip loosen upon his neck after he spent the next second or so in motionless silence, his senior having seemingly been content with halting his advance. So at least he didn’t mind the suspicion.

He stared daggers at the diminutive killer before them, the sounds of his comrades leaking in as he tried to work this out. Her identity and purpose were good lines of questioning, but he wasn’t sure there would be any clarity in her answer after this initial reaction— to say nothing of truth. It was true that the walls were unmanned, and that luring their force into the open killing field would be ideal for an ambush if there was to be one. But what of the keep itself, where the supposed truth of the matter lied? It was about as simple to bar the door from the outside and roast them alive in the interior, or blow them away.

Again, he returned to the bodies they had seen. To the girl’s indifference to their cohort of prestigious cavalry, many of them veterans, bearing down upon her— presumably as a whole. Whatever had reduced an entire garrison of soldiers here to mere wreckage… That was what they faced. Was it her? Or something they’d yet to see?

His grip upon the blade, beneath his armor, turned yet again white-knuckled. None of it was trustworthy. The Knight Serpenta was best fit to lead the questioning— if he and his temper jumped in, things would derail. Sir Jarde was already investigating one of the bodies. Probably to look into the idea their current adversary had put forth. His eyes were usually good— if any proof of deception existed, he’d surely find it.

Gerard was stuck upon a hair trigger, without anything to set himself to. His head swiveled, scanning their flanks and rear. The gruesome scene caught a lot of attention, but even if he assumed the worst, he couldn’t see her being the cause of everything before them. Something else, surely, had to be lurking somewhere in the fortress.

He would keep his vigilance. Act as rear guard. Not break formation...

Stay ready.

Fanilly hesitated. It was clear some among their number did not immediately buy the girl's... lacking explanation. But at the same time... things here simply didn't add up, did they? The manner in which the door had been broken down, to start with. Why would attackers come from the same direction as the capital? Why would there not be a single sign of anyone who died on the walls? But then why was this girl even here, killing someone dressed in Thaln's colors... then relaxing in the face of the Iron Rose Knights?

Nothing made sense. It went against all of Fanilly's instincts, and to be frank part of her wanted to simply draw her sword and attempt to force the girl to surrender, or kill her if she resisted... but she held back.

There was too much unanswered, too much that simply didn't make sense.

"Haaah, my teeth? What, is this how snakes flirt? Comparing fangs?" the girl cocked her head to one side, then casually buried the tip of her spear in the dirt, yet another action that spoke of shocking naivete or unwavering confidence. Shedding one of her gloves, she hooked her finger into the corner of her mouth and pulled, revealing...

Certainly, her canines seemed a little pointed, but not to the extent that would be expected of a vampire. Perhaps more tellingly, she seemed to suffer no ill effects from standing beneath the sun.

"That doesn't address any of the other questions, and all we have is your word," Fanilly swiftly said, a cold tone in her voice as she regarded the girl, "Who are you, and what happened here?"

The blue-haired girl released the corner of her mouth.

"My name? Alette," she said, tugging her spear out of the dirt and draping it over her shoulders, "Alette the Shark."

She grinned.

Alette the Shark... Fanilly thought that sounded somewhat familiar, but she couldn't remember the specifics. Mercenaries from the North? Particularly well-known ones, though Fanilly knew little of their reputation.

Those perhaps more well-informed would know of Alette the Shark and her band of deadly mercenaries, a bloodthirsty girl possessed of impressive agility and a spear that seemed to(metaphorically) fed upon the life of its victims.

Jarde's search would turn up something rather unusual. The body he investigated, one that had likely been killed by Alette's spear, judging by the wound to the neck, bore a tattoo depicting a red-eyed boar with golden tusks on the upper left shoulder. And another body would share the same tattoo, nearby. In fact, all the freshest corpses bore the same tattoo.

Any with experience with mercenaries would recognize the symbol as the mark of the Golden Boars, another band of mercenaries known for taking rather unsavory jobs. While they would sometimes shed their purple-and-gold colors to move without being noticed, the boar tattoo served to 'brand them as a Golden Boar for life'. By the reputation of the Golden Boars' leadership, this seemed as much to unite the men as it also served to identify anyone who fled from battle or betrayed them, marking them for lethal retribution.

But there was more then that.

The oldest corpses had been killed in far more uniform fashion... some seemingly by their own weapons, judging by the blood. Equally as grimly, some of the bodies seemed to have been killed by the dead soldier laying right beside them.

It was a pattern that held true for all of the oldest bodies. After the initial shock of the sight of so many dead, anyone who investigated would find it far more obvious many of them had been stripped of their gear as well, leaving them in their underclothes.

"When we got here, Bors smashed the doors open 'cause it was obvious something was wrong," Alette answered, cocking her head towards the smashed gate, "Came across some bastards stripping the dead, so we dealt with them. A lot of dead though. It's worse inside."

Fanilly was struggling to understand. If the guards in the fort were already dead... what killed them? Had it been the 'bastards' Alette mentioned? But why didn't there appear to be any sign of a siege?

"... Search... search the bodies, everyone," the blonde knight-captain ordered, "But ensure someone is keeping an eye on Alette at all times, and do not let your guard down."

"You still think I'm lying, standing here in front of you alone?" Alette responded, cocking her head to one side, "Yeeesh, not so trusting, huh, cute stuff?"

Fanilly glared at the spear-wielding girl, who simply grinned.

@HereComesTheSnow@TheFake@Crimson Paladin@PaulHaynek@FlappyTheSpybot@Raineh Daze@ghastlyinc@Krayzikk

Interacting with: @VitaVitaAR

"Yeah, calling seniority dibs on not searching the corpses..." Gill huffed, shooing the closest rose away from him as he dismounted. The reliquary rolls his arms a moment, jostling free of the stiffness which had settled in during the ride. Casually, he sauntered over to the captain and the mercenary, content to keep his guard only halfway up. "You'll have to forgive the southerners Alette." he said, limply offering a hand to shake in greeting. "No fucking manners in the lot of them, and half as friendly." He added with a laugh before dropping into a dramatic bow.

"On their behalf, greetings. I am Gillian Reynaud of La Reine." he says, voice rich with mocking formality and a lilting imitation of the accent of Thaln's aristocracy. "Living Reliquary of the Iron Roses and Lord of Schmucks dumb enough to cut their arms off and all that." He adds, rising from his bow as his eyes scanned the battlefield, content enough with the Shark's reputation enough to not be too concerned with a sneak attack.

"And for what its worth..." he drawled, brusquely kicking a corpse onto its back to make some room to stand comfortably, dimly catching glimpses of the tattoo's his juniors were starting to uncover. "Thanks for clearing out the chaff, saves us the trouble at least. And fucking fair play to you, seems you live up to every bit of ferocity the rumor mill throws at ya..." He says, idly noting that none the soldiers had been liberated of their purses while he let the compliment settle in. Not that he would stoop so low as to rob the dead, but that in and of itself was telling.

"But The Shark aint exactly a name that inspires image of generosity and altruism. Not saying you should give up your employer." He said, waving away the issue and knowing she likely wouldn't anyway. You didn't get a reputation like Allette's by being unprofessional and, as far as Gill was concerned, it'd be a waste of time to test that. "But it'd be helpful to know what you ARE here for? Can't imagine you come knocking down the door of a Thaln fort to get your rocks off. Unless you do, in which case, kinky but I'd suggest Fireheart instead."

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@ghastlyInc

As the ranks dispersed through the field to begin a thorough examination of the corpses, a rough sound seeming caught at the halfway point between a growl and a sigh loosed from the rear, a somewhat miffed, deflated swordsman approaching the fore to investigate a corpse near the Captain. His face was still a more or less serious knot of furrowed brow and stern lines, especially near the jaw, but the inimical fire behind his eyes had receded greatly.

"Not to overstep rank and dole out orders, Captain," he grunted as he turned over the corpse of a fighter that had been blown aside by a force great enough to invert his elbow joints. "But it's best you just let it roll off your back for now. Mercenaries are all like that. Especially the leaders. Builds trust within the unit."

Alette the Shark. That recontextualized essentially their entire encounter. Hailing from the North, her band had campaigned multiple times in Velt and Estival as well as the nation the Roses called home— consequently, there was a significant overlap in "stomping grounds" between them and the company he'd been picked up by. He'd never had the dubious pleasure of seeing the Shark in person, but he knew her well from the perspective of a professional rival— or perhaps more accurately, as someone under the employ of one.

Wasn't like I was the leader out on recruitment drive or negotiating contracts against her, after all..

Just one of The Faceless.

It was clear enough that her reputation's preceding her was some measure of mark towards character— completely untrustworthy scum didn't last terribly long on the field, nor as a unit. Warfare was their business first and foremost: to join a band like hers or his meant that the enlisted troops trusted them to get food into their bellies. As such, leaders needed certain qualities to hope for any success in bolstering their ranks.

Martial prowess was always beneficial. One wouldn't be remiss to call it the rule in a mercenary band, and Alette had plenty at her disposal— the crimson lance she toted was almost as revelrous in battle as she, and her storied agility made delivering its (supposedly) accursed, lifestealing strike all too easy against a long, long list of enemy combatants. Clearly, she had strength covered, but it was a foolhardy soldier of fortune to ignore her aura as a leader.

Was she successful?
Was she dependable?
Was she on the side of her employers, or her soldiers?

Your life was on the line when you made that choice. You were no patriot, nor champion, nor revolutionary. The question was whether you would be risking your life for the sake of your comrades, or whether you would be reduced to a simple pawn. That she had enjoyed continual success over the years meant she definitely needed to be doing something right on that front, near as he could tell.

The smell of dried blood, the clanking of armor as his comrades shifted bodies to uncover boar tattoos similar to the one he found himself staring at, the air thickening with the gloom and tension of recent, massed death... His body knew it all well. Before Candaeln, this was the scene of home— the field of a battle, recently concluded. Many comrades dead at his feet, alongside many of the enemy, known or otherwise.

His intra-company unit was what they called a "forlorn hope" in Thaln— a corruption of the words for "lost troop" found in most military manuals. Those amongst the wider company who held the unenviable role in the battlefield of vanguard— on the front of the lines and the very first to clash with enemy ranks. Those that threw themselves into the meat grinder to gain a toehold the rest of the troops could utilize and fall in behind to reinforce. Increased pay for increased risk— so it usually went.

High mortality rates, even given the company captain's disciplined and measured leadership informing the tactics of their deployment. Legend amongst those that survived along side him, the veterans that had brought him up into their ranks, said that the black leather masks the company wore into battle originally were only issued to the Forlorn, then disseminating out into the entirety of the enlisted ranks as their Captain's career continued.

They said he meant to foster the boldness of the Forlorn into the whole of the company, increasing uniformity and cohesion within his troops. Emulating the archetypal Doppelsöldner en masse in this manner quickly became the calling card of The Black Regiment, leading to another moniker altogether being bestowed upon them.

And it always concluded that we actually became "Franz's Faceless" so we cared less about living and dying as a result.

At his end, he wasn't convinced he had been on the right side of the "loyal comrade" and "unwitting pawn" equation. Perhaps he would have been better served, if he had the luxury of shopping around, in a group like Alette's. If he remembered correctly, her band had a higher focus on singular, quality troops— in the league of a less scrupulous adventuring group as opposed to his company's larger masses of rank-and file, militaristic regimentation. It was entirely likely that she, for all her universally attested brutality, had built her band upon more personal connection than that.

Things may have been so.

They may also have not.

He couldn't take any of it back now, and as a Rose, he knew where he stood. The present served to be the morning he'd trudged through that hell in the past for. He was dwelling on the latter rather than focused on the former. Enough. The soldier he'd inspected had indeed bore the same tattoo the others had reported upon the fresher bodies— a boar with burning eyes, and gilded tusks growing from its jaw. That...

That could have been coincidental.

"Sir Gillian." he said in greeting as he approached after a moment, dropping to a knee to closer inspect the body the Reliquary had casually kicked aside while striking up conversation with Alette. "Marking on this one too? Ah. There it is. Swear I've seen it somewhere..."

He didn't wait for an answer— the ink was the same. Gold tusks and red eyes... The men around him all reported likewise. No mistaking it: these men were The Golden Boars. Among the most unscrupulous companies on the market today, they typically garbed themselves in purple and gold coloring as uniform, but even during covert operations, those tattoos served to brand their allegiance into their skin. A lifelong employment, where duties sank so low they reached the flames of hell. Unfortunately, there was no way out of facing the fire— deserters would get sent there personally by their brethren's swords.

"They're more mercenaries, Captain! I recognize the brand!" he barked immediately upon confirming the second brand upon the neck of the fallen sellsword, voice clipped and pointedly professional above his mounting confusion. "She's not lying about 'em."

His sword was still in hand as he did so, something he was sure any present wouldn't fail to notice, but so long as he'd not raised it to her he doubted Alette would quite take it as picking a fight. To enjoy and welcome battle was one thing, but he was hard pressed to imagine her to particularly appreciate her chances against this contingent of well-equipped knights by her lonesome.

She had a point in reminding her captain of that.

However, since they'd determined the cause was an enemy group of mercenaries, ones that had no qualms getting their hands as dirty as they needed, it raised its own share of questions.

"Now that we've figured that out," he intently into their conversation this time, releasing his left hand's grip upon the collar of the fallen body. His tension had not yet left him— the setting didn't allow for it. Nor did his trust in her. Now he knew who she was and who the men she had killed were, more or less. But the image was still woefully incomplete, especially if this would amount to the entirety of the answers they could get from the pigtailed spearwoman.

Firstly, this couldn't be the full battlefield. There were important people missing.

"Where'd you send the rest of your cohort? They dealing with whatever brought the Boars here further in while you greet us at the gates?"

His amber gaze searched her face openly, his speech reverted to the gruffer, direct tones of his former profession. The messenger making it here, the timing of this scene, the lack of a protracted siege to cause it, the older bodies of the soldiers suggesting them to have turned upon eachother with staggering uniformity— what on earth was this? Had they walked into a ritual suicide's aftermath? How had the Boars managed and infiltration of this scale? Had they done so under orders of some client? Were they deserters?

Did you really come here because things looked off, or because these men were marked for death by their Condottieri?

As much clarity as could be lent to the picture, the knights needed. Even if she didn't have the full scope of things, hers was still a damn sight more complete than theirs.

"I'd have figured you and that spear of yours to be at the center of the action."

For her part, the vampire just glanced at the corpses--the smell of old blood was strong enough, annoyingly, that it was clear the violence had started yesterday. And yesterday, a mortally wounded man had come racing from this fortress to the capital to report that something was wrong. Obviously, whatever was going wrong had finished by the time they got here, unless the previous mercenary group had spent all night and most of the day slowly killing the soldiers stationed here. Though with the chaos here? That seemed unlikely.

As for other indications Alette couldn't have done it... well, they weren't necessary, but the gate was probably the biggest one. If she had been the one behind this distress signal, how would a slowly dying man have taken a horse and fled down the straight path towards the capital without being caught or pursued? Her group would have been waiting outside ready to grab anyone who tried to get past. Besides, if they outright broke in--whether by a mage or a half-giant or even a full giant--then it would have been obvious to the defenders and far more of bodies would be here, not to mention--again--the unlikely scenario of taking over a day to do it and then still being at the gate to meet them.

Not important, now, aside from what else it told them. This gate, and the road beyond it, went straight to the capital. You would have to be extremely unwise to traipse an armed band around the countryside here, let alone come past a supposedly-active fort where you could be detected. Since Alette had broken in from this side rather than further out, which would be more reasonable...

"You came from Aimlenn. Who sent you?" Because whoever was behind her presence must have known about this before the messenger came in.