Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

Lost in the dull roar of the battleground, Gerard made little note of the rising heat at first— between the pumping of blood in his veins, the boiling tar flowed forth from deep within his breast, and the torchlight strewn about by the commotion of the raid, it all was to be expected. Dozens of days on the front lines hadn't taught him any different, especially when his rhythm within the song of steel was a far more pressing concern.

Now that the banditry had time to react to the raid in fuller force, their mustered contingent had produced some tougher nuts to crack within the lot. By Gerard's rough count, one in every three or so that he ran into wore patchwork armoring from the crown's men, and moved like they had fought before— remnants of the rebellion, more than the opportunistic scavengers who'd thrown in with the strongest gang they could find. Between the skills he'd honed over the five years prior and the backing of his fellows, he still tended to make reasonably light work of them, slipping the tip of his blade through soft targets or connecting with jarring blows to the brain via mordhau or pommel strike within just a few traded blows.

But with their presence it couldn't be denied— the knights were hitting the meat of the encampment's troops. They were markedly better than the fodder, that much was clear enough. Even though he lacked the willingness in the first place, each exchange amply reminded him that the gulf wasn't so massive he could be lazy in his work. A long-learned truism— if he slipped, he died. Even here, when he was a cut or two above his foe.

Gripping his sword halfway along its length in his gauntleted hand, he twisted the crossguard 'round the haft of an axe, its heavy blade skirting over the edge of his pauldron as he stepped off the center line and in close, top of his head smashing into the bridge of his opponent's nose beneath an ill-fitted burgonet. The man grunted, seeing stars, and reeled back— a motion that Gerard used to rip the weapon free from his grip entirely, yanking the sword back until his crossguard caught the beard. Arms rechambered as the weapon fell to the earth, the knight wrenched his weapon back down, its point shearing the jugular as he slammed it home behind the pilfered gorget. Gurgling, the rebel fell.

Could that have been the reason the Crown's soldiers had the trouble they did, being totally routed? These men... sharper than the rabble, perhaps, but were they really enough to waylay the fighting men of the garrisons like that? He couldn't imagine it. They weren't dumb enough to underestimate former fighters of the Red Flag War. No. What they'd shown so far...

His instincts said much otherwise— and he was still alive because he'd long learned to trust them. It had to be this Bandit King. The beast and the Jeremiah were what tipped it over the edge. So where in the hell was he?

For that matter, where was—

"LOOK OUT!"

A high voice, piercing the air in time with a deep, snapping crack that took him back to the day he first watched his father gather firewood from the forest. He knew this sound, he knew the rush of air as a screaming blur of orange filled the left side of his vision. He knew the impact upon the earth, a colossal thud that shook the whole camp and he felt in his boots. A crackling line of wood and flame, drawn through the length of the field and tall enough to obscure the speck of blond he'd caught when she shouted.

With it came a wave of heat that buffeted the melee, forcing the combatants to contend with the sudden change in landscape. Caught in a momentary lull, Gerard's eyes narrowed as he watched both forces blossom out from the new boundary that stood. The Captain was now separated from their cohort save a lone figure in full plate.

He bent down, gripping the handle of his last kill's battleaxe. It had good weight to it— even a glancing blow had chewed off a bit of his pauldron. As he rose, he felt the momentary pause begin to fade away, as those awestruck by the tree's falling on the first bite of steel into wood now swung upon eachother again. He knew this sensation as well, the grim purpose flooding his body anew. His old calling seemed inescapable.

He needed to rejoin them. Not just for the sake of continuing his observation of Fanilly Danbalion, not just for the need to be present for whatever new orders she'd have regarding this—

The flash of metal above the blaze froze his blood, the top of an impossibly high arc.

He recognized the sound that came next all too well, as an impossible mass of metal shore through steel, heedless of its construction, or the flesh within. It fell to the earth as though it could never have even slowed.

—But because he knew this was where their target lay.

Jeremiah.

His knuckles went white beneath steel and leather. The shock of cold left as quick as it came, replaced again with a redoubled surge of burning, rushing, furious heat as he vision focused on the spot he'd last seen the Captain. Ahead of that was the log. Ahead of that was as pitched a melee as you liked. A lot to get through in a single charge, possibly too much. He had every reason to believe that the moment he got across, he'd be staring down a foe that just smashed straight through armoring much, much better than his own.

Reon, guide me. Old habits die hard.

The kind of situation you sent in the Verloren for, if such ever really existed.

"FIIIIOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!" rose a bestial howl from deep in his gullet, furious knot on the brow as he launched forward, boots chewing up distance. "WE'RE ON HIS ASS!"

He crashed through the bandits in his way as if cavalry, furiously cutting, whirling, cleaving, shoving, and sprinting— technical exchanges took a backseat to raw momentum. He knew his fellow mercenary would have his back. He knew their duology. Sword and shield. Those he didn't slay were knocked into the waiting jaws of his fellow knights in Fanilly's division, until his charge took him to the face of the blazing trunk.

Having seen it drink its fill of blood, the knight hurled the battleaxe deep into the burning wood, gritting his teeth and ignoring the waves of heat that blasted his body. Against a sword the size of Jeremiah's, something that could fell a tree like this, it wouldn't have the reach to contend to begin with. Better served biting through the blaze.

Giving a foothold.

Planting his boot onto the handle, Gerard didn't hesitate as his stride pushed off the makeshift stairstep, carrying him clear through the blaze and over the tree in one motion.

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@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow

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The bandit at Fionn's feet gurgled for a moment in response, blood pooling around the haft of his axe where he'd planted the butt of it through the brigand's throat. He withdrew it with a jerk, shaking off some of the blood, as the ringing in his ear subsided and the rest of the battle's din came into sharper focus. Not only the roars of combatants, the noise of metal on metal, or the screams of the dying...but the crackling fire growing louder than it should have, and the unmistakable, rhythmic impact of metal on wood.

Fionn halted in his advance, stepping back slightly as he turned to where the noise was coming from.

"Look out!"

Fionn reacted purely on instinct, grabbing out at whoever was nearest him, bandit or knight, with a diving tackle away from where they'd previously stood. In the breath after, a thick, gnarled limb landed in the vacated space, crushing those too slow or unlucky to avoid it. Those who weren't killed outright soon let loose their own screams as their clothing and flesh began to burn and char, Fionn scrambling back to his feet before either flame or foe could try to lick at him.

A hand caught at his ankle; he glanced down, and saw that the one he'd saved was a bandit. Not only that, they were already digging out a dagger to try and stab at his legs with. With a disgusted growl, he kicked their helmet, stunning them long enough to remove their head with a lazy swipe of the bardiche. He glanced back up, looking through the flames back to where Fanilly had been.

Surely she wasn't crushed...?

Scanning across the field of those who were shocked, stunned, or only just rising from their mad dash out of the way, his eyes settled on Fanilly and Rickert, before an unbelievably massive blade cleaved the latter apart. The flame rose up, forcing him back and his vision away as he grit his teeth, just as he heard the bandit king's grandiose self-introduction.

The Terror of the Red Flag. There was no time for relief that Fanilly had avoided the falling tree, not when she was faced by a man that even the Band of the Red Hands whispered about in a mix of awe and fear. He turned on the ball of his foot, swinging his purloined weapon wildly to clear a path back to his allies from where he'd lept. "Gerard!" he barked, knocking aside another bandit. "Where are yo—"

"FIIIIOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!"

More relief. A bandit ahead of him fell to the side from a shoulder tackle, giving way to Gerard's blood-splattered half-plate. He nodded once, falling in behind his comrade as they charged, lifting the blade above his head and spinning it in a wide circle. Momentum quickly took over from the initial effort needed to get it started, his hands just guiding it along as he followed behind Gerard, any mercenaries seeking to cut in between the pair or off to either side shying back instantly.

To their credit, none of them were foolish enough to try and rush in against such a weapon. Even with heavier armour the weight of the axe's head alone, coupled with its momentum, would be enough to shatter bones and cripple anybody who tried to stop their advance. Once they came close enough, though, he split off to one side; where Gerard used an axe as a step to vault over the tree, Fionn rushed up, planting the butt spike of the bardiche into the bark and pole vaulting over it with the weapon, wrenching it out once he was guaranteed to sail over.

The flames caught at his cloak, which he tore off the moment he landed, revealing the glistening mail beneath, as of yet unrent by any blade. With luck, that might hold true to the end of the battle. Behind, he heard the piercing screech of the loosed griffin, as it joined the frey as well; but where it had been the center of his focus before, that had now shifted entirely to the bare-chested brute that harried his captain. At a flash of movement to his right he swung out once more, the flat of his bardiche connecting with the helmeted head of one of the bandits that had managed to wind up on Jeremiah's side of the tree; the man fell in a clatter of ill-fitting stolen armour, sprawling senseless against the ground.

Unharried for the moment, Fionn cast his gaze about the sparser side of the battle, ignoring the bandits and knights engaged with each other as he sought out his targets. His feet started moving the instant he saw the hulking warrior engaged with their diminutive leader, and faster when he recognized the corpse a few paces away. The look in his eyes and face as he advanced was like that of a man possessed, an open threat to anybody foolhardy enough to get between him and Jeremiah, even as his broad chest heaved with a roar:

"BUAIDH NÓ BÁS!"

-mistaaaaaake

And there it was. Damnation and hellfire. Renar had just enough time to witness the flaming tree splitting the knights off from each other before he was accosted by a warhammer-wielder. Worse still, it was evident from the first stroke that his foe very much knew exactly what he was doing. Even as Renar stepped back from the attempted sweep at his legs and retaliated with a swipe of his poleaxe, his foe raised the haft of his hammer to parry the blow.

Even as the pair exchanged practiced strikes and parries from various guards, the griffin's cry still had Renar's blood run cold for a moment. He recognized the sound, of course, but could take no opportunity to confirm it for himself as he shifted to the boar's tusk stance in response to his foe's guard of the lady. The enemy hammerer grinned, thinking he had the knight, and drew his warhammer back behind his shoulder, preparing to bash Renar's head in. Renar stepped forward, the veteran bandit brought his hammer down, and the bastard of Brias made his move. Renar shifted after he stepped, narrowly evading the bandit's downward smash with a sidestep, and thrust his poleaxe under the man's arms, straight into a thin joint of the man's armor. With one hand still keeping his poleaxe stuck in the bandit's side, Renar took the other and drew a dagger, plunging it into his enemy's throat and finally felling him.

A breath. Two. Renar afforded himself but a moment to catch his breath as he made sure there were no foes approaching before he ripped his dagger out of the bandit's throat and sheathed it, kicking the man's fresh corpse over and onto the ground. Going by Dame Tyaethe's words back before the charge had begun, they were to deal with the primary threats with all due haste: those being the griffin and Jeremiah. The Bandit King was out of the question at the moment: he was simply too far away for Renar to reach in time. As for the griffin...

Renar's planning was interrupted as he saw one of his fellows struggling for an instant. Ah, right: Lucas Storm. He was losing to his foe. Unsurprising. For a moment, Renar was genuinely tempted to let the boy die. He'd never proven himself as an Iron Rose. Never accomplished any great feat for admission like every other member of the order had. Should Lucas fall, that simply meant he'd never been cut out for this life to begin with. But there was always a chance someone was watching, even in the midst of a pitched battle. So with a look of resignation beneath his helmet, Renar hefted his poleaxe up and started to charge forward to save the idiot boy's life. Only to find out that he didn't need to. In a stroke of blind luck, """Sir""" Lucas managed to save his own life...and immediately move to throw it away again by running full tilt towards the griffin.

Lamplighters take him, this was absurd. Renar hadn't been the only one to notice Lucas's mad charge, either. Another pair of veteran bandits spotted the boy knight charging the griffin and brandished their weapons, preparing to take him from the side. With a heavy sigh, Renar dashed forward to intercept, his own charge taking one veteran completely off guard as they prepared to execute their rush. As Renar bashed that man's head in and began to duel the other in earnest, he bellowed out in Lucas's direction.

"Watch your damned flanks, boy! Next time, I'll let you die if the griffin doesn't have you first!" He snarled even as he continued to exchange blows with the second veteran, all subtlety and tact gone in the heat of battle.

Lein

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Location: Bandit Camp, Forward Position
Interactions: Serenity @ERode Lucas @Saiyan Renar @Psyker Landshark Griffon @Raineh Daze

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Lein spared no time with the opportunity opened by the other knights, arrows cleaving paths through the rain of blood and fire. Had it not been in the middle of the battle, he would have permitted himself a moment of grim awe at the display of magic before him. Perhaps he would have thrown out a joke or so, shooting a jealous look at the enchanted crystalline bow and pitying himself at the mundanity of his own bow, had it not been for the shriek of fear that rang out from the cage before him, the ripping of sheared metal, and the flurry of claw and plume that heralded the beast to emerge from the cage. It would be more than easy to give it its name - but the silhouette needed no name to command attention from all those who saw it.

What was a man to react to the emergence of this towering beast, whose wings were stitched against the banners of so many claims to regality? Would it be a reaction of sheer instinct, the undeniable impulse that racked the cores of a prey facing a predator? Would it be awe at the macabre magnificence, violence infused with wild pride? Perhaps it would be sane to be riddled by both, as many that surrounded Lein already were, watching half-entranced as the beast swooped down and with a twist of its beak, tore a man's neck clean from the body.

But not quite for Lein, who had paid his fair share of flesh to let his guile speak louder than his instincts. Even as the griffon let out its piercing cry, electricity coursed through Lein's nerves, overriding all that would set him running and setting his mind alight. He ducked and flattened himself against the ground as the griffon sent waves of ember and ash crashing around him, eyes darting sharply at his surroundings as his prosthetic hand caught the heat flying across his face. Breath in. Out. Griffon. Serenity. Two knights, still alive. Four bandits, dead or disarmed. More beyond that, stunned.

As soon as he felt the wind die down across his ears, the Hundi ranger sprang from the ground and ripped free the iron bolts that had been fitted across his band-quiver, digging his heels against the perforated ground and fluidly kicking up the dirt before him. As soon as he was out of the range of the griffon's swipes, Lein flicked another arrow into his bow and unloaded it against the shoulder joints of a nearby bandit rushing towards them. Griffon against Serenity - they needn't any more distractions.

Flanking them, Lein tracked the two knights rushing towards them, themselves flanked by yet more bandits that had by now shaken off their own shock and were converging on their location. One white haired knight in particular was still looked dazed, face flushed with both confusion and determination. Lein furrowed his brow. What was this one doing? Wasn't this the same knight who rushed headlong into the ambush? Mania - ignorance - arrogance - or - Lein's ears picked up the clinking of chains, and there was no need for further explanation.

Lein breathed sharp and deep, tasting the bitter air through his teeth as he strode in an arc around the beast, flanking it directly opposite to the white knight's trajectory. A flaring orange at the corner of his eyes confirmed what he had been looking for - fire. Lein threw the bolts into the flickering hearth, the steel crackling as it met the heat inside. Lein loaded the last into his bow, locking the metal firmly betwixt his thumb ring and bowstring. The bowstring cracked its approval, limbs steadying its sway as Lein's eyes guided the glinting arrowhead down the battlefield against his mark. The most painful, the most crucial part of the beast. With one explosive exhale, Lein let the bow roar an acceptance of the beast's challenge, an iron dart poised to pierce the griffon's wings joints.

@PigeonOfAstora@ERode@Raineh Daze@Richard Horthy

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Wind, followed by a storm of fire.

Katerina's spell igniting the air, the storm of fire feeding from her own spell, fiery ash being lifted and falling elsewhere, spreading more. Well, she was certainly glad the Dame was on their side if nothing else. The bandits would fall beneath the assault, surrender, or burn. Not a very fortunate fate, if she had to say. Still, she couldn't leave this half done, no? No merc worth their salt half-assed anything if they wanted a good reputation -

"Eh? That's a bit too much fire don't ya think, Katerina!?" Cecillia shouted, as the great, dead tree began to tumble, ancient wood creaking, groaning, burning as it came crashing to the ground with a resounding thud as the wings of a great predator burst from the cage, illuminated by the orange, smokey light of the fire as it took to the skies, eyeing them with all the great pride and strength of a proud beast.

"Jeez," The gale sailed past, Cecilia stood unbothered. "Sorry beastie there's only one person I'll kneel too, hahah." Cavalier of an attitude as ever, Cecil repositioned herself just slightly to the beasts flanks. It might be able to fly, certainly, and that would give it quite a difficult advantage...but only as long as it could fly.

"Serenity! I'll see if I can cripple its wings!" She'd shout, pulling an arrow. She had never fought a griffin before, so she wasn't sure what to expect...so she'd start off small. Several arrows fired in quick succession, pinpoint accuracy aimed right for the beasts wings.

Fire. War.

Morianne heard the tree crack under its own weight long before she noticed it hit the ground. A fiery wall now separated the battlefield. However, the troubadour's mind was occupied with a separate danger, the griffin. Morianne had heard the tales of such a mighty creature before in her childhood. Stil she was stunned. Not once in her life did she think she'd ever see one face-to-face.

Morianne was shocked. She stood motionless as she watched the creature with awe. She had to play! She had to do something! There had to be some kind song she could use against the beast.

Think, Mori! Come on!

Morianne's thoughts were interrupted by a bandit entering her peripheral vision.

She was too slow to draw her shield, only managing to narrowly redirect the tip with her sword.

She felt the spear's tip strike her in the thigh. Had she missed her timing entirely, it surely would have ended her.

Doing what she could to retaliate, Morianne sprung on top of the bandit, tackling him to the ground.

She sang a note.

A crystalline sword fell from above, impaling the bandit through his mouth. It killed him instantly.

Morianne rolled off his dead body and onto the ground. She looked up at the sky; the smoke and embers obscured any possible details. Surely she could just play dead for a moment. It'd give her enough time to sing.

Damn it. The troubadour gritted her teeth in frustration. If you don't think of something quick Mori, you're going to die out here. She sighed. So much for elves being talented and graceful…Wait! Graceful. That's it!

If she could charm that big, dumb bird, she might be able to get it to sit still for someone else to land a killing blow. The griffin should be dumb enough for that to work, at least, Morianne thought so.

Fleuri Jodeau

For a moment it seemed to Fleuri like the knights had control of the situation. Suddenly, however, a massive tree burst into flames and fell, splitting the camp in half. This had to be the doing of one of the bandits- probably Jeremiah himself. Fleuri noted that Fanilly had been on the other side of the tree- if he had to guess, it'd be that Jeremiah was moving to try and decapitate the Iron Roses' leadership. It'd be up to her and her accompanying knights to stop him. With Tyaethe's group cut off, there wasn't much they could do for them. He dearly hoped that they wouldn't lose their captain so soon after her ascension to the position.

This would not be the only consequence- as if some higher force wanted to complicate things further, a piece flaming wood was launched from the impact into the cage, causing the inhabitant within to muster enough strength to break free. Any chance of him and Lucas slaying the creature before it escaped was dashed by this freak occurrence.

Fleuri was in awe of what emerged from the tent- it was a griffin, a powerful flying predator commonly depicted in heraldry. From what Fleuri had heard, they preyed upon horses and other similarly sized creatures. This one was clearly quite agitated, and would pose a threat to everyone in the camp, be they knight, bandit, or prisoner. It was also probably quite hungry too, if all the bandits fed it were rabbits. In its current state, it was going to pose a threat to everyone present, be they knight, bandit, or prisoner.

The simplest plan of attack would be to battle and inflict wounds upon the creature until it fell or retreated, but there was another complication to consider- the knights' horses were nearby and undefended. There was a chance that the griffin, upset and presumably starved from its diet of rabbits, might lose its nerve and flee. If it was allowed to get away, Fleuri feared that it could prey on the Iron Roses' horses, and the knights wouldn't be able to do anything about it while the battle in the camp raged. Even if its wings were crippled, its feline hindquarters would no doubt allow it to outrun the knights on foot.

Fleuri's conclusion was that this thing had to be subdued. Whether they'd kill it or not, they had to ensure that it doesn't get the opportunity to fly away. Fleuri had an idea of how to accomplish this. As a noble, he had a bit of knowledge of the art of falconry, and how to pacify a falcon and ensure it couldn't fly off on a whim. In theory, with the griffin's avian head being so similar to that of a falcon, the same concept ought to apply here. If someone forced something like a falconry hood into the griffin's head, it would make the beast easier to subdue or kill.

But first, however, they'd have to get past a very tough-lookin group of bandits. Their worn armor marked them as soldiers, veterans of the recent war. Holdouts who refused to give up when the rebellion was crushed and its leader slain. Any pretense of fighting for a cause was gone, they were now nothing more than brigands who murdered and enslaved innocent people.

The Reonite knight lagged behind the others as they advanced and slew the bandits. Before he could come to aid Lucas against the halberdier, Fleuri was intercepted by a veteran spearman, who sent a flurry of thrusts at the knight. Fleuri attempted to cut the blade from its shaft, but this warrior had clearly fought swordsmen before, and handily deflected the sword with the winged spearhead, the lugs helping to catch the blade and push it aside. The ex-soldier then followed up with a riposte aimed straight at the eye slit of Fleuri's helmet. The knight managed to move his head to the side and narrowly avoid the attempted killing blow, and could hear the spear's blade slightly scraping against the "wing" of his helmet.

The spearman attempted to withdraw the spear, but Fleuri wasn't going to let that happen. A dark gray gauntleted hand grabbed the shaft of the spear and held it in place. The lugs on the back of the spearhead, intended to prevent skewering too deeply when used against men, and to stop defiant boars from pushing their way up the shaft, now prevented the spearman from pulling the weapon free of Fleuri's grip. It was a little trick that he had learned in tournament combat, to grab an opponent's weapon, and while it was a bit riskier against blades that weren't blunted, the shaft of a soldier's spear was just as safe to grab as that of a tournament fighter's spear.

Not this time, traitor.

Before the brigand could come up with a counter-move, Fleuri swung his sword, cleaving into the man's neck but not managing to decapitate, due to being swung with only one hand. Nevertheless, it proved fatal, and the man fell to the ground. His opponent dispatched, Fleuri followed after Renar and Lucas towards the griffin.

Up ahead, the two younger knights already found themselves intercepted by more bandits. By the time he got there, Renar had managed to slay one and was engaged in combat with the other. Fleuri flanked the remaining bandit, swinging his claymore at the man's legs with the intent to hamstring him. They didn't have time to play with these bandits, they needed to reach the griffin before it could hurt any innocents.

"Judging by that chain, I take it you have a plan to deal with the griffin," He spoke to Lucas, noting the chain he was carrying. "I have an plan of my own. If I can get on its back and cover its eyes, that ought to greatly hinder its ability to fight or fly."

They couldn't just rush at the massive creature with a bunch of different plans, such would only likely end in disaster. They would need to work together as one if they wanted to prevail.

@Psyker Landshark@Saiyan

The enormous sword came down again. Fanilly's body lurched to the side. She could feel the air rushing past her, the narrow miss of the enormous hunk of steel's edge.

Sir Rickert's body, cut in half, lay just a few meters away.

Her fault.

If he'd been able to pay attention, maybe he would have evaded it.

If he hadn't been concerned about her.

But now he was dead. A noble knight in her command, dead.

"Do you know why I'm here, little girl?"

The man's booming voice came at the same time he raised his enormous sword, bringing it down.

This time, Fanilly couldn't move swiftly enough. All she could manage, just barely, was to raise her own blade in a bid to put something, anything, between her body and the enormous hunk of steel.

Her vision flashed white, pain shooting up her arms just from the impact like a bolt of lighting, and she was taken entirely off of her feet.

The small blonde gasped as she hit her back with a gasp, barely maintaining a grip on her own sword.

It was her fault.

Jeremiah advanced, raising his blade skyward, over his head.

As it came down, Fanilly ignored the protest of her limbs and rolled, the tip of the huge man's weapon slamming into the spot she had just occupied seconds earlier.

A direct hit, even if it couldn't fully pierce the dwarven-forged plate, could mean death.

"The Iron Rose Knights slaughtered my men at Gervohnnen!" snarled Jeremiah, "Butchered them, one after another! It only makes sense to return the favor, doesn't it!?"

His sword was still stained with Rickert's blood.

Fanilly could see it in the fire's glow.

Her fault.

But...

That was no reason just to fail.

This man, Jeremiah, was a monster. A hunter who preyed on the weak. Was it all for the sake of drawing them here, just so he could take this revenge for the men who died during the Red Flag Rebellion.

Fanilly didn't know. But the site of the stolen armor cladding the bodies of the bandits, of the injured farmer who had callously been used as bait, the prisoners caged, in chains...

"... E... Enan Ilisir."

For Justice's sake.

The old words in Talderian, spoken again and again by every Captain since Saint Elionne herself, left her lips.

"Hah, so killing my men was justice, is that it?!" Jeremiah declared with a laugh, raising his blade.

The deaths of the rebels who sought to overthrow the crown, slay the royal family, incited by Ansel Cazt. The rebels who would kill anyone in their path.

It was justice.

And there had to be justice here today, too.

For the soldiers killed. For the prisoners.

For Sir Rickert.

Fanilly tilted her blade forward, the tip of her sword pointing towards the huge, muscular man. She was no captain if she couldn't stand before him. She was no captain if she couldn't do all she could in the name of a slain knight.

In the name of justice. In the name of victory.

"Hah, very well then!"

She pushed forward, as his blade swung, missing by a hair's breadth.

His abdomen was exposed.

But she couldn't reach it. The side of Jeremiah's enormous sword struck her in the side, the blow reverberating through her sturdy plate and forcing her to the ground. The blonde knight gritted her teeth, breath hissing through them as she staggered and hit the ground, trying to roll over and bring her sword to bear immediately.

A huge hand slammed into her helmet, and she couldn't suppress a gasp as it was wrenched from her head, that same hand suddenly wrapping around her throat and hauling her into the air, gripping tightly. Her sword hit the ground below as she was lifted upwards by her neck.

No... no, she couldn't let this happen... she couldn't...!

"The ultimate humiliation for the Iron Rose Knights wouldn't be to kill you," commented Jeremiah, a fire burning in his eyes, "It would be to take its captain as a trophy. A plaything. I'll break you down. Your mind, your will. You'll be a broken doll who can only dance to my desires!"

His fist was tightening. It was getting harder to breath. Fanilly's legs kicked, her heart hammering, eyes wide as her breathing grew more strained by the second.

It was growing harder to see. Harder to move.

Then, a voice. Even now, over the din of combat, she could hear it.

Sir Gerard. Then, Sir Fionn.

"What?"

The Bandit King's eyes left her. He hadn't expected anyone to get here so quickly.

Fanilly's hand found her dagger on her hip in that split second of distraction.

In seconds it was thrust upward, embedded deeply into the flesh of left arm.

With a gasp of pained surprise, his grip loosened.

Fanilly was free.

Coughing, she hit the ground, falling to her knees as she caught her breath, air rushing back into her lungs. Her right hand reached out, snatching the hilt of her sword as she sprang back, just barely evading the edge of that massive blade. Once more.

His left hand was stuck open, the fingers twitching weakly as rivulets of blood ran down his muscular arm.

"You little bitch!" he snarled, now forced to wield his enormous sword one-handed.

She was still trying to recover her breath.

But now she wasn't alone.

@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@ERode@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@Rin

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@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow

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"What?"

He heard the low growl of Jeremiah's voice, a sharp contrast from the boasting moments before, as he ran forwards. Fanilly wasted no time taking advantage of the distraction, driving her dagger into the bandit's arm and severing muscle and tendon enough to render his off hand useless. Even if he did still manage to properly control and direct the momentum of his massive blade now, it would require more effort, be more tiring, and redirecting was nearly out of the question. He was still devilishly quick, and with a single hand his reach was longer than before—but it was another advantage on top of the numbers.

"I'll make you an opening!" he growled at Gerard, before breaking off and circling around towards Fanilly at Jeremiah's front, a roar of "Traitor!" on his lips as he came to his captain's aid. As Jeremiah started to withdraw his sword and prepare for another strike, Fionn launched inwards, jabbing his bardiche towards the brute's chest and gut . Force the 'bandit king' onto the back foot, make him retreat or try to parry, and then use that momentum to his advantage to whirl the axe blade around and continue the assault.

Draw as much attention as possible to himself. Let Fanilly catch her breath, let Gerard get in and try to pull off a good thrust or hamstring the giant bandit. If Jeremiah wanted to lash out against the world like an animal, then Fionn took no issue with pulling him down like a wolf pack with their prey.

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

A flash of steel carved open the billowing curtain of flame as Gerard sailed over the felled tree, sword in hand— and in that same instant that form and shadow emerged from the void between the orange, his being went alight as he took stock of the scene before him, mind and instinct melding beneath the spike of his battle rush.

This brought much into focus.

The Bandit King held a stature that eclipsed even such a boastful title— mountainous, standing taller, broader and denser than any man he'd seen on the field. Built for warfare, for shieldbreaking, for slaughter of the weak. His incredible blade was much the same. It felt almost wrong to call it a sword— it was too thick, too heavy, too rough, too outright big. More a heap of iron, given enough an edge to split plate like an axe. That much weight moving at the blurring speeds he'd caught above the fire would snap his sword in two, and him along with it.

He wore no armoring, despite being a notable veteran of the War of the Flag. It spoke to confidence. Skill? Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, it would mean that he had no defense for any attacks that slipped past his guard. Muscle couldn't turn aside steel. It'd also mean he'd have less chance of succumbing to exhaustion and overheating in the midst of this blaze, however— an advantage for somebody swinging something so massive around. Getting past it would be a big "if". Reach, speed, and the ever-present threat of certain death.

Its power wasn't to be trifled with. Nor was his. Their combination felled this tree, shore through Rickert's armor— a full harness of far finer make than Gerard's cuirass. No mistaking it: If Gerard was struck, he would join his compatriot.

Somewhere within this eternal instant, he noted the man's face. The gleeful snarl. The boasting rumble in his voice, vowing to make the Knight-Captain a broken toy for his whims, vengeance upon the Order. He took joy in it. The slaughter. The carnage. Treading upon the backs of the helpless, toying with those he saw beneath himself, callously chopping in twain good, honorable men to sate his bloodlust— The King of All Bandits, a monument to their savagery.

"What?"

Everything Gerard had expected.

His quarry's eyes turned, leaving the Knight-Captain as the pair's blurring forms entered the fray, first clocking Fionn. The Veltic man's voice was a roar at this point, screaming some litany in a language Gerard only knew bits and pieces of— But promising retribution. He'd fought on the Crown's side. Even if whispers of the Terror had reached Gerard's band, operating further north... Fionn was staring down a demon he'd known for years. His fury would be unmatched.

They then flicked to Gerard's, ascertaining what no doubt seemed a lesser threat as he landed—

Seven foot sword. Two hundred eighty pounds of muscle.

Three hundred mean dead to his name. Countless more innocents.

Pillaging. Murder. Enslavement.

This Will Not Stand.

—and within them, met the burning Sun.

The target howled as the Captain, so briefly forgotten, slipped her knife into the meat of his arm and wrenched herself free from his grasp. The pulse in Gerard's skull returned, a pounding hammer calling for reprisal, and deafening his thoughts with the roar for combat. He launched forth, leather boots chewing up distance as the last of his reason forged a gambit.

Fionn had rushed to the front of the now-crippled warrior, bringing his pilfered bardiche to bear as he blocked Jeremiah's path to the captain, still recovering from near-strangulation. Loud, imposing, two arms on one to make up for a difference in the size of weapons. Important to deal with. Commanding most of the immediate attention. One angle.

As he rushed straight in, a surging approach that took him towards Jeremiah's left flank, his left hand drew the large, weighty knife from his belt. It was made for utility, hunting, clearing brush, not necessarily throwing—

He would work with it, as Fionn planned— multiple threats made openings force themselves apart as attention split. Fionn was big, burly, forceful and loud. Impossible to ignore.

—But regardless, he whipped it forward, the light of the blaze catching the steel edge as it sailed, end over end, towards the bandit king's top half. He'd aimed for the head, but anything in that area would do. A veteran fighter would notice this, out the corner of his eye. He'd have noticed Gerard too. A flash of danger in the midst of the ferocious assault, coming out of what was almost a blind angle—

It'd grab at his battlefield instincts. He was an experienced fighter, a survivor of a bloody attempt at a coup. He'd have to acknowledge it, somehow, take some form of action. But that could force an opening for Fionn in turn. Caught between the two, he'd need to deal with mitigating their threats in turn. A Second Angle.

High and middle threatened. Important organs there. Heart. Gut. Brain. Dead if he doesn't guard them. Needs to manage disparate attacking directions. Assumedly doable. Fine if he does.
_Vor
Seize Initiative.

Attack a Third.

Even if it kills you, force his defense open!

The knight dipped his sword low as he came upon the larger man, drawing an upward line of across the back of the bandit's thick-set calf muscle and knee. If he could cripple him here, rob him his base, no sword that large could get up to speed. Not even a demon like him.

Not on one leg.

The arrows, expertly aimed for the beating wings, intended to cripple the beast's means of escape while it was on full display... missed. Not through any lack of aim, but through the same force that the griffin used to try and demand submission. No different than shooting into a sudden squall, the currents of air threw off the careful shots as it dropped back to all fours, golden eyes staring piercingly at Serenity, some avian intelligence accusing her of attempting to take advantage of its display, even if the attack hadn't worked.

Its advance was reserved, though, no matter how fast its talons lashed out at the offending spear to try and snap it--perhaps, then, this griffin had experience with hunters, or the bandits had employed their own weapons to force it into the cage, letting it learn what a human's claws and beak were. Yet, something was holding it back, its actions still fighting for dominance rather than going for the throat. Morianne's music, perhaps, was having an effect, no matter how much pride and rage it had.

@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@ERode@Saiyan@Rune_Alchemist@PigeonOfAstora

"Watch your damned flanks, boy!" "!!!" "Next time, I'll let you die if the griffin doesn't have you first!"

Lucas had turned about to see Renar fighting one of Jeremiah's elites. The reprimands and the view, together, told the story that he'd just had his ass saved. Again. In the back of his mind, he took on board the criticism and warning, but at the forefront of his thoughts was helping the orc-slayer in return. His legs charged back along the route of the trailing steel chain, it's clinking sounds minute amidst the chaotic cacophony of violence, until he was past the steel's end and the snake-like trail began to take form once more. It wasn't that Renar needed the help, exactly. The man was as accomplished as they come - beyond these lawless rebels, for sure. But it was something to have his comrade quickly back in the battle elsewhere, wherever he might be needed (who knew in this chaos, not Lucas.) And then there was the feeling that he absolutely had to at least attempt to repay the favour. First Fleuri had saved his life in the previous skirmish, and now Ren-

Speaking of Fleuri...

When the darkness of night contrasts with raging fires of hearths, trees and magic, a person's visual perception may not be at it's highest. This goes especially for young men who lack experience of the madness of battle, on top of all that. And thus, fleet-footed knights dressed head to toe in black armour, tend to come seemingly out of nowhere.

Lucas skidded to a halt - sword still raised and poised to strike - his heart jolting in his surprise as the massive sword of Sir Fleuri swept into vision (followed by the knight himself) and damn-near cut the elite bandit's legs off. "Reon," Lucas swore under his breath, feeling like if he'd not been slowed down by the weight of the chain, he might've lost his own bloody leg!

"Judging by that chain, I take it you have a plan to deal with the griffin."

"I... well..." Lucas turned briefly back to toward the position of the griffin. It was still engaged with Serenity. Then his eyes went to the tower, before his attention was brought back to Sir Fleuri, who's tone and demeanour suggested that he didn't have time for the stuttering young knight. And who could blame him.

"I have an plan of my own. If I can get on its back and cover its eyes, that ought to greatly hinder its ability to fight or fly."

"Yes," was the response of approval. With the watchtower in mind, his own mental cogs were turning. Pity that they were the cogs of an inexperienced maniac. "Yes. And I can lash this chain around it's body so we might tether it the ground and prevent it's escape." He looked about Fleuri's person to see the knight had nothing yet to cover it's eyes with. "I'll get into position, to be ready to mount it, when you are. The watchtower," he said, pointing behind himself. "I'll drop from there. As soon as you make your move, I'll make mine. Hopefully we should ambush it in unison."

He forgot to even wait for an affirmative, nor assuring the knight that he was quite capable of sticking such a landing without hurting him. In his excitement, he just rushed off, chain trailing behind him.

The heat seemed to intensify as Lucas approached his target. Perhaps it was Katerina's spells magical residue. Maybe running with the heavy chain was just taking it's toll. Either way, the boy was sweating. He ran through a scorched battlefield, avoiding the many pocket's of fighting. It seemed that the Iron Rose knights were winning the overall battle. Still no sign of Captain Fanilly. Smoke plumed and tiny embers danced through the air. Bloody but not beaten, Lucas ran on.

He gave the griffin a decently wide berth as he closed in on the adjacent watchtower. Within sight of the ladder, he was suddenly jerked to a complete halt by the chain. He fell over, then felt the chain being pulled on. Looking back, he saw a half dead bandit staring at him, helmetless, burns and boils covering every inch of his face. A survivor from the destructive magic earlier. The sorry state of a man had managed to grasp the trailing chain and tried to use it to pull himself free of some burned and collapsed supply crates. Lucas was in a rush, he didn't know how long he'd have before Fleuri was ready to go, so he scrambled to his feet, and wrenched the chain from the dying man's grasp. Once it was free and clear, he hit the ladder and started climbing.

He heard the tower guard, shouting his head off, well before he'd gotten to the top. The bandit was trying to call reinforcements to the relevant quarters of the field, while firing a few crossbow bolts off too. In his loudness, he failed to hear his doom rising up behind him. He only knew it had come when a blade burst from his chest.

Lucas surveyed the battlefield, not daring to spare a moment to look over the felled tree and search out Captain Fanilly and her team. He could only hope that they were doing okay. He didn't want to miss his queue on the plan, he'd never forgive himself if his failure to live up to his half, here, got a better knight killed. The griffin was right below him, but the black-armoured knight was much more difficult to track down. It took some time but when Fleuri became visible, it seemed he was ready to go. Lucas carefully lowered the end of the chain down the side of the tower, then climbed over the edge and attempted to climb down the side, as slowly as required to stop the chain from making noise. Once he was as low to the griffin as possible, he hung there, easily, from one hand, feet planted against the tower supports, as if he was simply stuck to the side of the thing. He would attempt to spring from the tower and land on the griffin, right beside Fleuri, as the older knight mounted. A more-than risky manoeuvre but he'd done similar things with horses, back in his circus days, before he was a full-time main eventer. It wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility, even if the circumstances (and the bloody beast in question!) were different.

He was primed, waiting for Sir Fleuri to make his move.

And when he did, Lucas let go and swooped down on the griffin, as if giving it a taste of it's own medicine.

The firelight flashed across the face of the young knight, as he fell through the air, to light up wide eyes and a teethy open-mouth grin.

@Raineh Daze

---

The veteran bandit seemed to gain even more confident as just one of his strikes found its mark as the sound of weapon hitting plate rang against Tyaethe's armor. What he was not expecting though, was the paladins rapid advance. Only a scant few seconds later it was his head that was ringing as her fist slammed into his face, interrupting his own follow up as the paladin forwent any favor of defense and caution as her blade aimed to gut him. The sword, would find its mark. Slicing right into the mans guts with a wet, bloody, squelch. His eyes widened, grunting before he'd determinedly grab his axe again, raising it overhead and trying to bring it down on the armored warriors neck before he expired, while her blade was uselessly stuffed in him.

Tyaethe was certainly doing her job of distracting them, more quickly advancing in on her position leaving the rest to deal with the griffin and Jeremiah himself. One, thought'd it'd be particularly bright idea to try and grapple the armored warrior, approaching her from behind in an attempt to pull her off the one she had just gutted.

More bandits were engaging the rest of the Iron Roses, the moonlight dimmed by the smoke from the fire, long shadows cast as steel clashed against steel.

---

Well, she was honestly expecting that. What she wasn't expecting, was Lucas jumping from a nearby guard tower and onto the bloody beast itself! Well, someone was certainly feeling brave! Not wanting to interrupt him or get involved in Serenity's melee, Cecil opted to do something she could do just somewhat as well as their resident bard if it involved such a risky maneuver. Normally it was something she reserved for herself, but for their allies? Well, a little insurance never hurt, now did it, especially from a beast that could seemingly command the wind to an extent as well.

"Lucas! Catch!~" A shout over the cacaphony battle, hopefully he'd hear it. She just needed to give it to him. A little blessing of wind, as one could say.

"Ugh, you know I don't like doing this..."

"Either that or I catch him like a princess when he falls."

"I will cause you two hundred and thirty five days of terrible windswept hair!"

"I offer thee a blessing, of wind and fair weather," She drew her arm back, knocking a seemingly invisible arrow in the bow as she'd quietly recite. "Sweep away all misfortune!" Instead of something like an arrow, it was more of a strong, very targeted gust of wind right towards Lucas as he plummeted towards the Griffin. His body would feel just a tad bit lighter as he fell towards the beast, a barrier of fast moving wind protecting his body. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, but if he did, it should at least deflect a single blow from that beast and prevent him from getting hurt too badly.

Things, certainly, must have been happening all around Serenity. Her field of vision wasn't so hampered by her visor's slits, her sense of hearing wasn't so deafened by her helmet's steel, that she was completely numb to anything around her, after all. But they were perfunctory concerns, the flames and the chaos, the bloodshed and the Bandit King. She had decided already that his head was worthless, and the Iron Rose Knights numbered over one hundred, many of whom were veterans, some of whom were legends.

Their young Knight Captain would be well-protected. If she died even in this circumstance, then she was never meant for anything more. And as for Serenity herself?

The griffin's talons swept out, a cautionary swipe that did not suit the prideful proclamation that it had made, and yet even that did not meet its intended target; the young knight, her grip near the butt of the shaft, had simply flicked her wrist. The motion was magnified along the length of her spear, manifesting in the tip itself dancing beneath the griffin's swiping talons before righting itself once more to pierce for its chest.

Its advance may have become reserved within the seconds it took to realize just how many knights were headed towards it, but Serenity's own advance remained unchanged: stalwart, resolute, straightforwards.

The one creeping up behind her probably thought they were so stealthy, trying to go in for some sort of move amidst the din of battle. Maybe, with how much the helmet restricted her peripheral vision, they actually were being subtle. It wasn't like she would know; she'd never had any practical experience of fighting in armour back in her childhood, nor did Tyaethe particularly care for the secretive approach herself. All she knew was that the pounding of her would-be assailant's heart was the most obvious sound of all to her.

But with her sword still temporarily entrapped in the foe ahead of her, and the onrushing axe, there was very little that she could easily do to fight back and stop it. No matter how easy it might be to break out of some attempt at a grapple afterwards, it would only lead to being dogpiled... so it was best to avoid it and the axe in a single go.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the paladin's armour melted away into nothing, a slender girl instead neatly skipping out from between the two veteran soldiers, letting the last-ditch attempt to decapitate her crush into the sneaky one and pilfering a knife from the axe-wielder.

She had to give the one with the spear some credit; he hadn't been shocked by the sudden change in size, thinking to stab out at her all the same. But he had been the one Tyaethe was looking for, and the strike found only a few loose strands of hair as its target was suddenly beside the spear, shooting him a toothy grin and resting one hand casually on the shaft. "Too slow~"

The vampire gave a tug, yanking the bandit forwards as he chose to hold onto his weapon, and giving all the opening she needed to dance forward and stab the knife into his side. Not fatally, she reckoned, neither the spearman's armour nor the knife doing exactly what they were meant to, but the injury made a welcome distraction to back off and wrench her sword free, the small girl once again being dwarfed by the blessed blade.

And there were still more coming? Tyaethe let out a dissonantly innocent-sounding laugh. Ah, this was fun after all; maybe more than playing with the griffin would have been.

@Rune_Alchemist

The First and Youngest wasn't the only flame the bandits were flocking to. While Fleuri had taken the initial pressure off Renar with his assist, now the Bastard of Brias found himself contending against yet more brigands as he guarded the backs of those knights that were handling the griffin.

The growing stack of corpses around Renar wasn't quite nearly as large as Tyaethe's, but that was a measure he'd always known he wasn't going to reach today. Plus, it wasn't as if he had much time to even realize it or even compare. The latest pair of bandits to rush him had actually managed to knock his poleaxe from his hands, sending it spinning through the air and landing with the axe head stuck in the ground a good distance away. His foes thought him helpless and left themselves open as they moved in for the supposed kill, leaving Renar able to draw his arming sword in one hand, his dagger in his off-hand, and thrust each into a bandit as they drew back to swing their weapons.

In truth, the forced weapon swap may have helped him more than it hurt. While Renar would always prefer the poleaxe above all else, wielding a weapon in each hand left him better able to deflect and parry blows from multiple opponents at once on his own. His sword found most of its use on defense, turning blows aside while his dagger plunged in for the kill.

As another small party of brigands fell before him, Renar chanced a look back to see what progress was being made by his fellow knights on the griffin.

"Do hurry up back there!" He bellowed, turning back to face yet another bandit looking to ambush the knights with backs turned to him. "The longer you take, the more of this rabble comes to stop you! I'll not be able to hold them forever on my lonesome."

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri nodded at Lucas as he heard the young man's plan as he looked up at the watchtower. It was a crazy plan, to jump from the watchtower onto a griffin. It was also quite in line with the impulsive, foolhardy boy's previous actions. All the more reason, Fleuri thought, to do whatever was necessary to keep the boy alive.

Fleuri followed Lucas to the tower, coming up with a simple plan on the move. As he made his way there, he unlatched his white cape and wrapped it around his arm. The slightly dirtied white cloth was stained red as it came into contact with the blood that had splattered on him. It didn't bother him too much- if he wasn't willing to get bloodstains on a white cape, he wouldn't have worn it into battle, and with what he was planning, he'd probably have to replace it regardless. He then put away his greatsword- he wouldn't need it at the moment, and couldn't easily climb the ladder with it in his hands.

Upon reaching the watch tower, Fleuri climbed part of the way up the ladder, but instead of making his way all to the top like Lucas did, he stepped off the ladder onto a horizontal wooden beam, holding onto the wood above to maintain his balance. The top of the tower was a bit too high for him to jump, he needed to get over the griffin from a lower point. The beam creaked audibly under the weight of the armored knight, and Fleuri had to exercise caution as he made his way through the tower's underside to above where the griffin was.

By all accounts this a risky plan, but he couldn't let Lucas down.

Speaking of which, Lucas had used the chain to lower himself from the top of the tower, and now the two knights were almost at the same level. It'd at least make communication easier.

The knight took a second to assess the situation. The griffin was facing off against Serenity, striking against her spear with its claws. It appeared to be holding back- it seemed to target the spear itself rather than the wielder, and it made no attempt to lunge with its razor-sharp beak. Not wanting to risk being noticed by the powerful predator and its armor-crushing jaws, Fleuri opted to wait for a moment when the griffin could not afford to split its attention, a moment where looking up or turning around would jeopardize its well-being.

"Be ready to jump," Fleuri said as he prepared himself. He used his free hand to unwrap his cape as he watched for an opening. The moment that Serenity lunged her spear at the griffin's chest, Fleuri jumped down, aimed at the beast's back. His goal would be to pull his cape over the griffin's head, covering its eyes.

@Saiyan

---

@Crimson Paladin@Saiyan

---

The troubadour brought herself back to a stand albeit slowly, with the aid of her sword, which she used as a crutch. Using her free hand, she did her best to snap the shaft off the spear embedded in her thigh.

Morianne smirked. She could tell that her song was doing…well…something to the griffin. She assumed that if she kept her song going, possibly even issuing a few commands to the beast, it would die soon enough.

"Hold still!" Morianne hoped her command would reach the griffin, but it was hard to tell how effective her magic was on the beast. She thought that she might have to repeat her cast again.

However, just as she was about to continue her song, Morianne was distracted by the sight of fellow knights, Lucas and Fleuri, diving from the tower towards the griffin.

Maybe it's time for a new strategy. The troubadour thought. Her effectiveness against the griffin itself was questionable at best anyway. Regular people, on the other hand…

She knew what she had to do; she'd choose a knight and enhance their physical ability. Then...whatever they're doing...might actually work. It was probably a bit of a stretch for her enhanced strength spell to give a more general performance boost, but Morianne was already stretching the limits of what she could do.

The question, however, still remained. Who to sing for? She'd have to pick someone. At her current skill level, Morianne could only cast her spell on a single target. She watched as the two came closer and closer to the griffin. She panicked.

"Come on Mori! Don't screw this up! Don't want anyone becoming griffin chow."

With her time running short, Morianne just sang and hoped for the best end result. She couldn't pick a target in time. It was too stressful to focus. If things went right, well...who knows. In her time with the roses, she'd seen people use her enhancement spell to do some impressive feats of raw physical strength. But without a defined target, Morianne had almost no clue what the end result might be. If she had to hazard a guess, the spell might just fizzle out and do nothing. Still, she had to try, right? After all, if charming the griffin didn't work like she'd hoped, what options did she have? It wasn't like she could throw fireballs or anything.



Morianne tumbled back to the ground.

"Fuck," she groaned. "That hurt cast. That couldn't have been good for my mana."

Lein

---

Location: Bandit Camp, Flanking Griffon
Interactions: Lucas @Saiyan Morianne @Psychic Loser Griffon @Raineh Daze

---

Lein ducked again as the griffon knocked his - and Cecil's - arrows off their marks, leaving the griffon unscathed and still very much lively. Lein huffed an air full of hot smoke as the gale caught him as he drew another bolt, and he had to cough out his curses among his growls. "Files de pute, should've seen that one coming..."

Although Lein failed to get its aggression, the griffon had nonetheless become occupied by the gleaming spear-point of Serenity's advance, too distracted to address the two knights that had circled around toward the beast's back. Or was it because of the faint lilt from somewhere within the chaos, beckoning command? Ah wait, I know you'll always be on top? You'll know I'll always be…on top? Lein knew only one person who'd sincerely sing a string of weird double-ententes out and think to try it on some flailing mass of a beast, and that'd be the resident troubadour Morianne. Though Lein was the fool this time, watching the griffon's weave of swipes against Serenity become ever so slightly disjointed and hesitant.

Lein's eyes kept a trained attention back to the pile of darts he had cast into the fire. The slick iron darts had now become a dull crimson, ever so lightly glowing within the heat. Perhaps he had missed the chance to be the bait, but he could still be the trap. The griffon, as keen as its senses may be, was nonetheless a beast - a predator built on instinct and reaction. Surprise would break its focus, its first impulse to throw the ambushers off its back. That moment. That would be the split second Lein needed to punch some damage into the griffon.

The Hundi hunter scanned his surroundings warily as he switched his firing arm, his left now holding the bow while the other, metallic counterpart wavered hawkish above the flicker of the flame, the carved bone digits undeterred by the rising heat. Maybe I should get my other arm ripped off. Lein thought, some part of him darkly amused by the fact that his prosthetic was the one that could even enable him to grab these charges.

A bulk of the bandits had converged to the far side of the battlefield, leaving little to harass his line of fire. His timing had to be perfect. Knock it too late, and the griffon could regain purchase over itself and knock his bolts from the air again, or worse, have a chance to retaliate against the ambushers. Knock it too early, then he'd have to risk the searing heat of the bolt burning his bow and arm. Not that he'd need that time to actually draw - his aim just had to be perfect without lining up his sight.

The rear leg. The back length of it, carrying the major tendons. A big enough target.

Rope coiled, the potential motion stored firmly within the tension. An intricate collection of pulleys and enchanted metalwork clicked and confirmed its readiness.

As soon as Lucas' figure sprung from his nest, the machinery exploded into action, digits kicking up embers as it snatched a bolt from the fire, bowstring cracking dis-harmoniously with the sizzling of iron, and the bolt itself, trailing faint white smoke as it rocketed toward the griffon's leg.