_{With: @PigeonOfAstora @Psychic Loser @Saiyan @Rune_Alchemist}

As she lowered her hands and dropped her gesture, the Witch-Knight slumped forwards, stammering as she barely caught herself as the whole weight of her body -- armour and all. The incendiary delight above her lightened, turning forth into a swirl of embers almost with Cecilia's apt words cutting the maelstrom to a marisque tourbillion. Embers hummed around her in a dervicious dance, each passing rotation amplifying the exhausted demeanour to the half-elven dame. Katerina clearly grew visibly fatigued from the battle, growing into panting chants as she maintained her magics, the cyclone and her allies' ward. She held an instinctive, uttering hymn to her swaying movements, even as she was about to collapse, route and pressed into her mind.

"Eh? That's a bit too much fire don't ya think, Katerina!?"

And finally, as the words from Cecilia's comments registered unto her, her cigarette dropped from her mouth. A dead, heavy croak from Katerina beckoned her answer:

"No -- Not hardly."

She dipped into a lower position, scanning around the battlefield before her -- every gale-winded pass the mighty griffon made brazened a heat wave unto her back and front, drenching her in blankets of dust and sweat like blasts from the desert winds. The Lady could feel the embers sear into her back with every rancorous pass and daring dive. But, there were some larger affairs at play than whatever were to come of their two-pronged threats. Her friends would need much more than just her, as well.

Her heels dug into the dark earth before her, dropping into a heavy incantation. The embers which surrounded her joined to her cantar, growing in their dance as they conjoined and converged to her instruction. With a heavy wave of her arm, a blanket of molten flame blanketed above them, a drape of fire covering over their heads like a great tarp over a firetrap. And with any hope, blast the damnable beast into little more than a well-seared dinner worthy of the post-battle feast.

Fanilly coughed as she clutched at her throat. Immediately, her spot fighting the massive figure that was Bandit King Jeremiah was taken by Sir Gerard and Sir Fionn, swiftly taking the injured brigand's attention away from her entirely. Her dagger was still in her hand... she'd not done so intentionally, but the fact the wound wasn't stopped by the blade would mean that Jeremiah was still bleeding.

He'd killed Sir Rickert... but he wouldn't take any more lives. Not today. She just had to catch her breath, she couldn't let herself fail again, she had to rise and help as swiftly as possible...!

There were bruises on her neck, but with her heart hammering and her veins burning, the petite Knight-Captain wasn't focusing on the tenderness and lingering pain.

She had to help.

To prevent another life being taken by the monstrous figure that was Jeremiah.

"So you're the fools who follow that wretched little bitch?!"

Jeremiah snarled. Even one-handed, his command of the enormous blade was impressive, twisting his wrist as he used its flat like a shield and ran it across his front to deflect the incoming blows. But as he shifted, twisting his body, metal on metal ringing out, it was clear he was struggling. Certainly, his shield-like usage of his enormous sword allowed him to defend even his leg from Sir Gerard's blow, but he was forced to take a step back, forced to take up the defensive instead of the offensive he most clearly desired.

His lack of armor didn't equip him to maintain this for long.

And certainly, he wasn't ready for Fanilly to suddenly rush in from his right side, darting around her knights and forcing him to defend with a sharp thrust towards his side, metal on metal singing once again.

She had him occupied, she had forced him to focus on her again! Could he recover fast enough to attack, or defend from the other knights...?!

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

"Quite rude, ah! To omit our involvement, Ser Renar!"

It was at that point that the pointy end of a warpick sent itself crashing into the tin hat of an assailing bandit, bones and metal yawning under the impact, gore spewing from the jagged hole as the wielder yanked the weapon from its temporary resting place. With a quick twist, the opposite end of the weapon cleaved through the neck of another marauder, finally sending itself back by its master's side just after.

The user, was, unmistakably, the Knight of the Harvest Moon. As was somewhat trademark for the gentleman, he'd appeared to...well...appear, unannounced but very much noticed. He easily sidestepped another dirk thrust from an angry brigand, backhanding the talentless thief with the front of his shield, leaving it ambiguous as to whether the Knight had instantly killed him or simply left him as good as dead.

"Thugs. Were I to kill for money, it would only make sense that I'd invest in brains, as well as steel." Sergio sighed, tutting several times as he rolled his shoulders, the front of his now extra red tabard whipping behind him in the process. "But again I talk. Hurry up with the beast, comrades!"

The renewed offensive, and change of focus, broke whatever spell the charm had woven over the griffin's mind, and its response to Serenity's repeated advance matched the creature's prideful display far more. As fast as its talons whipped out to drive the spear aside, it had still been delayed too long to do more than turn the thrust into a graze along its flank--bleeding freely but hardly a reduction in the creature's strength.

It turned out that griffins could look surprised.

For a moment, Fleuri and Lucas landing on its back seemed to leave it completely nonplussed. Sense immediately reasserted itself, and the griffin's attention was diverted to trying to dislodge the pests that had decided to land on its back, wings beating, beak snapping, and as unwilling to stand still as an unbroken horse. It made for a challenging target, and Lein's bolt only found solid meat, not the tendons. Enough to hobble it? Maybe if it were trying to flee, but not enough to entirely stop the creature.

All thoughts of dislodging Lucas and Fleuri seemingly forgotten, the eagle head swivelled around, the creature smarter than most animals and fixing a steady golden gaze on Lein. One step. Two steps. And then, even with the injury, it leapt. Not enough to achieve true flight, not with two passengers weighing it down, and the great wings hardly beat at all. As quickly as it had gone up, it was already going in for a dive, talons reached to grab the mutt that had dared sneak around and hurt it. Only a moment to prepare, before the entire mass of the griffin came down to try and crush him, following up with a bite that could cleave through plate.

Unwittingly, this also moved it out from beneath the blanket of fire. Fortunately for its passengers.

They had dove it from above, and didn’t even have the good sense to stab it?

Lucas, she could understand, if only in the way that any immature buffoon could be expected to bungle about. But Fleuri? Had the Flower of the North seriously been infected by the younger knight’s madness? Had the heat gotten to them both, driven more hot blood than good sense into their brains, compelling them to do something like this?

An element of chaos had been introduced into the combat, one such that even Lein’s own shot went wide. Another superficial wound marred the bucking beast, and now? Serenity didn’t have eyes behind her helm, but she had heard Dame Katerina’s words clearly enough, could parse together meaning from archaic incantations and foreign accents. Reon’s tits, these stupid fucks!

And then, the griffin made a choice.

It stilled its movements and set its gaze past Serenity.

Intelligent, it was. An apex predator in the natural world. Most knights of the Iron Rose could be vanquished by one of its kind if alone. But the heat too had gotten into its head, and it had gone out of its way to ignore her.

A flash of anger struck, a bolt of lightning she grasped. Dame Mori’s song thrummed in tune to her beating heart; years of discipline imprisoned her volatile mind, forced it through a single gap, ending up against a single decision.

A decision that Serenity changed.

The griffin leapt, fearless.

The lion stepped, dauntless.

And as it soared overhead, a perfect, powerful arc, so too did another arc crest underneath. A bright flash, fearsome as lightning, sliced deeply for the soft underbelly that it had so willingly exposed, intent on disemboweling the griffin like a common fowl.

Whether it did or not, Serenity followed through with her step, and with a nonchalantness almost insolent, raised her shield over her head, welcoming the molten flame that spilled from the heavens. Her spear, discarded, would not survive the bombardment. Her sword, held in her hand, would require but another sharpening.

@PigeonOfAstora@ERode@Raineh Daze@Richard Horthy

---

"That really seems like a lot of fire!" Cecil shouted, seeing Kat's incantation as completely, and utterly, reckless! Was she trying to burn their comrades, too? Of course, perhaps she had little to talk about in such a regard, recounting a few times she had, on occasion, perhaps got some in collateral damage with her own spells. Thankfully, though, it seemed like the griffin was of the same mind - avoiding the blast of fire and subsequently taking its passengers with it.

"Jeez, alright whatever." Well, then...just one more thing to do here. Since normal arrows did nothing against it, there was just one more thing she had to do here. She could have let the others deal with it, sure. Serenity likely had it covered, the flashing steel of her blade in the embers of fire shone brightly as it aimed for the beasts underside as it leapt towards Lein. And if she was going to be attacking it from below, Cecil would attack it from above, since it had given up the advantage of aerial flight.

She sprinted towards the beast, knocking an arrow.

"Shael...!"

A fierce upwards gale sprouted beneath her feet as she'd leap several feet into the air, wind coalescing on the arrow as she'd twist her body, aiming her weapon towards the beast.

"Gale Peirce!" The arrow was released, the twang of the bow lost in the currents of air as the arrow ripped through the air, its wind blessed speed aimed right for the Gryphons skull. Hopefully it would be enough to pierce whatever defenses it had.

---

@Raineh Daze

The axe found a target.

Not its intended one, but it found one all the same.

Steel cleaved right through flesh and bone, the bandit that had attempted to flank the paladin soon taking a good look at his own body as his head was removed from his shoulders. As for the one wielding the axe? He'd find his body failing him, blood seeping from his wound until he'd collapse onto the ground, just as dead as the other bandits that were falling under Tyaethe's merciless blade. More bandits were trying to quell this threat, but their numbers were quickly dwindling, either from the vampire herself or from the rest of the Iron roses stalwart assault.

The remaining ones, were perhaps, starting to hesitate as well as the innocent laugh broke through the din of battle.

The knife was yanked from the spearman, he'd clutch his side, grimacing under the stinging pain of the blow as he'd pull it free from his side, tossing it back towards the ground. He was down, not out, as he'd redouble his assault on the Paladin, initially going for a low strike towards one of Tyaethe's legs, but at the last second swerving the weapon upwards in an attempted feint.

Others seeing the opportunity made another attempt, one using a shield to charge towards the paladin, in an attempt to either knock her off her feet or otherwise disorient her.

"Really...?" Tyaethe asked, eyebrow cocking at the attempted stab. Feint or not, it hardly mattered: her sword neatly cut through the spear's shaft, leaving the injured spearman without any effective means to threaten her... or defend against the way it flicked up, its weightlessness to its wielder eerily deceptive as it transitioned into a throat-piercing stab. For all the effort the paladin seemed to put in changing its course, the zweihander might as well have been made of air and it was easily pulled back to rest over her shoulder.

Which left the shield.

Whatever he was expecting, it undoubtedly wasn't for the vampire to whirl around and counter his charge with a punch, mana blazing a bright red as the two collided. It was hard to tell which really got the worst of it; the shield absorbed the blow admirably and its wielder merely had to brace, no matter the emphatic dent made upon it. Tyaethe, on the other hand, seemed to have broken not only her knuckles but her wrist, although those were visibly restoring as she set both hands upon her blade's hilt once more.

"If you're not going to co-ordinate," the girl wondered, enthusiasm dampened and body lowered, telegraphing for anyone with the slightest combat experience her intention, "Then we're done; this won't be fun after all."

The broad slash was obvious. There was no way it couldn't be, Tyaethe had even paused in position before starting the attack. The question was, what could common soldiers do against it? Veterans or not, common sense would dictate using one's shield or armour, maybe trying to deflect the blow entirely. Common sense assumed that you weren't trying to block dwarven steel fuelled by unnatural strength, fast on the heels of an injury that should have barred raising that sword at all. All that common sense gave you was an instant to appreciate your doom.

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

The mountain moved. Impossibly, on the back foot and down one of his main levers, the Bandit King wrenched his massive blade over to cross his own body, easily knocking Gerard's low cut aside with the flat.

Unreal.

The knight grit his teeth. That was the sensation of striking a stone wall, not the sword of an enemy soldier— No, not even. With one hand, the wrench of his trunk, and the mass of that ridiculous weapon, he hadn't just checked his attack, he had forced it back— Less a wall, more the winds of a mighty storm. The longsword's false edge bit into the top layers of the earth as it skirted back into Gerard's guard in that instant, small plumes of dust knocked into the air, and despite himself— he marveled even as his fury spiked.

To think this man was their foe... If this much he could manage in so crippled a state, there was no doubt in Gerard's mind that he would have his humble blade snapped clean in half if he went strike for strike with Jeremiah at his height, and his body then torn asunder, just as Sir Rickert's. Even with initiative firmly torn from his grasp, he was still swinging that heap around with the right timing and angle to deflect both— no, all three of them.

"So you're the fools who follow that wretched little bitch?!"

This was more than brute strength. This was skill. This was ferocious battlefield instinct. Proof that his fighting ability was the real thing, even so disadvantaged. An angry bear was no trifle. Three hundred... likely not just empty boasting. Not with the speed, not with the strength, not with the danger. His hatred wasn’t steeped in the blood of the innocent for her, or him, or Fionn— it was for all that their Order was, all that it stood for. That was the root of this vicious rampage. One man, willing to wage his war at any cost.

And he was going to turn it all on more innocent people.

The wolf's snarl deepened, as the rushing flood of action filled him again. It washed the awe away, filling him with the purity of the Instant. No more thought. Just purpose.

He had to keep this man from swinging that thing around. Any swipe he took could spell their end. Giving him space was deadly, giving a chance to read tendencies would open the door. Gerard would keep them safe from this. They had him off-balance already— He had to pry open that crack and take him down!

As the Bandit whipped his body and blade back around to block their returned Knight-Captain's thrust, Gerard dipped low to the ground. His grip on the longsword slacked as his left hand came free, sinking into the earth. This was a vulnerable position. Suicidal if he were a duelist. Bent like this, he wouldn't be able to dodge much of anything. If his foe had even a moment, he’d be flattened or cleft in twain. The only thing keeping him alive was the threat of his comrades tearing away Jeremiah’s attention.

"No wonder you lost—"

And, fearlessly, the disdainful growl rising from Gerard's throat called it right back to him. Such considerations made for smart fighting, yes— but as Verloren, they wouldn't be allowed to be an obstacle to the mission. His, at its very core, was a gambler's trade. Skill and daring in equal measure. Where his skills hadn't been enough...

At the next shift of Jeremiah's torso, that free hand whipped skyward, flinging fingers open.

The words had surely reached the vengeful brute's ears, and through them, his mind. He'd rise to it. Gerard knew. The man's hatred, sick and twisted as it was, ran deep enough to stage all this. Salting the wound would do it.

"You talk too MUCH!"

...Let daring shore the gap.

And when he did, a thick spray of dust and dirt would fly into his eyes, taking his vision. Either that or he'd have to block— and put something in the way of the eyes regardless. It would buy Gerard a moment. He wouldn't bet on any more than that...

But such was all the opportunity in the world, and he'd seize it.

His form obscured by the cloud, Gerard's right hand clenched tight around the handle of his longsword. There wasn't any time to shift to a proper grip, nor to return to a right stance. The Instant would pass them by. Jeremiah would bring his heavy blade around and close off the body on this line. The gambit would fail.

So instead, with all his being behind it, Gerard locked his eyes upon the Bandit King's torso and lunged.

With a flash of caught blaze, the wolf's fang streaked through the night.

Amidst the volume of noise, he thought he heard his name. It was so hard now he was mid-fall with the wind in his ears. However, what was easy to notice, was the sudden lightness of his body. So accustomed to managing his own weight in the air, it was unmistakable.

A spell. It had to be.

Lucas landed on the back of the griffin with both a comfortable accuracy and a comfortable impact. The heavier Sir Fleuri landed a split-second earlier. The two had earned a moment of surprise in their aerial ambush - a moment to steady themselves for a wild ride ahead. The griffin began bucking and thrashing around, trying to dislodge them. It's massive wings flapping might've been doing more to thwart Fleuri, who was in front, but for Lucas they were only a huge distraction. With his excellent balance, Lucas adjusted his weight this way and that, riding the storm, until it finally calmed.

The calming was so instantaneous, there must've been a reason. But Lucas didn't think on it overlong. He only sensed his chance to rise up onto his feet and started gathering up the length of the chain, until it was only just long enough to go around the griffin's mid-section. Then it started moving again, just as Lucas began to start swinging, whirling the chain above his head, like a lasso. Whirling such a steel chain was hardly easy, and it's first rotation was close whacking Fleuri in the head. Fortunately it was high enough to clear him.

One step, the griffin took. Lucas maintained his balance, looked over the shoulders of Fleuri at the head of the griffin, and followed it's focus to it's new target. It was Sir Lein - the Hundi archer was not the most difficult to recognize. The chain picked up speed on as it progressed it's 2nd rotation.

Two steps, the griffin took. Wobbling but righting himself again, Lucas realised he had to act quickly. With a roar, he lashed the chain down. It whipped down... around, under... and back up...

The griffin leapt into the air just as Lucas caught the chain's end. Had he not caught it, he would've been thrown off the griffin's back, but now he had makeshift reigns to hold him fast in position as the griffin sailed up into the air. For a brief moment, Lucas had a view of the slowly burning campsite. The height the griffin had leapt, lowered the volume of battle just a little. At the zenith of the beast's arc, Lucas used the drop in g-force to snap a set of manacles from the end of the chain onto the length of it. As he let go of the end, the chain pulled tight to create a noose, tight around the griffin's body, the pulling force keeping it firmly locked in place.

Here we go, was the single thought as the griffin began to fall just as quickly as it had risen.

With just one single, steel strand to hold him in place, Lucas knew whatever happened, the landing was going to be rough. One hand held the chain fast as he plummeted to the ground, feet firmly on the broad back of the beast. Knees bent slightly, muscles coiled like springs, ready for the perfect moment to explode. His free hand threw off the bandoleer of steel around him, and just as the mythical beast hit the ground, Lucas dove off to it's left side.

His grip loosened, the chain ran through his hand fast and furiously. He flew off the griffin's back and hit the ground - feet first taking a painful portion of the impact - rolling several yards across the dirt before crashing into the steel cages nearby. "Ugh!!!"

He didn't know what hurt more. Was it his shoulders? His back? His legs? All muscles and bones felt like they were pounding with pain. His skull felt like a church bell that'd just been rang. All he could he hear was a constant single-tone buzz through his head. All he could feel was a broken body's agony.

Lucas lay hurt, a little away from the griffin, Fleuri and Lein. Out of sight and out of mind, hopefully. Fortunately, the chain had lashed through the air, the right way to land near him. He reached out groggily toward it - eyes rolling to the back of his head a moment - but it wasn't close enough. He'd have to move. But he couldn't.

Move!

One limb willed to movement at a time, Lucas got on all fours. He was not so out of it that he didn't know what he'd crashed against. Steel. Heavy steel. There was a perfect tether point right behind him. He crawled to the chain, his shoulder in so much pain that he face-planted into the dirt as he grabbed the chain. Another burst of willpower and he pressed up from the floor, then struggled to his feet, almost keeling over as he swayed back towards the steel cages with his griffin leash. In agonizing wrenching motions, he pulled the chain through the steel bars.

Wrap. Pull. Wrap. Under. Over...

He tied the special knot he'd been taught for when it was his turn to help put up the circus tent pavilion. He'd done it a fair few times. Enough that he could manage it under such duress. Reon, it wasn't even six months ago that he'd last done it. If the griffin had stayed close enough, for long enough, he would manage it.

As his vision slowly sharpened and the loud buzz in his head quietened, his surroundings became clear.

"Help us!"

"You there, let us out of here!"

Lucas blinked a few times, trying to fully regain himself, and saw that the cages he'd tethered the griffin to, were full of prisoners. He stumbled backwards a couple of steps to view them - their pleading eyes, their crying voices. Then the awareness of the griffin behind him became his reality. The rising temperature, the burning tents in the background. More fire than before. And more still to come, no doubt. He had to get them out of here. There was no waiting for the battle to be over. It had to be now!

He stumbled over to the cage doors, saw the padlocks, then looked around for something heavy. To add to his luck, there were corpses nearby - dead bandits with arrows sticking out of their faces (compliments of Cecil and Lein, no doubt.) Lucas raked up a dead bandit's longsword, went over to his chain knot, then planted the sword right through it, to create a final lock that would keep the griffin here, in place, to be killed. He took up the next dead bandit's weapon next: A battle axe.

Lucas brought the two handed axe around, up and down on the first padlock. And then again. The padlock smashed apart. He moved to the next cage door and attacked it's lock... "Argh!!!" ...until he'd managed to smash that too. The slide-bolt doors were opened and all of the prisoners came out, some rushing, some tottering, others limping.

"Stay together!" Lucas shouted to be heard above the din. He did his best to corral them as he looked about for the safest passage through the camp - through the fiery battlefield. They were practically in the centre of it all, and there was no shorter route to choose. East was certainly out of the question, for the giant tree trunk, ever burned and ever barred the way. "This way!"

And so Lucas, with all the prisoners from the cages, tried to move west-ish, through the burning camp and to freedom. The young knight put himself between the prisoners and the griffin. The beast was busy dealing with Sir Fleuri and Sir Lein, but Lucas would rather be the first to take a hit, if the creature managed to turn about and see them.

The path was not clear, but it was there. Past the griffin, over the corpse-strewn, ember-strewn ground, past Paladin Tyaethe's team and out to safety.............

---

@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow

---

There was no surprise at seeing the onslaught denied. By this point, Jeremiah would have to have lived through dozens of battles—no matter what the odds, no matter what wounds he took, and based on his scars he'd certainly had his fair share. Showboating aside the man knew how to fight, how to survive. This was nothing new to him.

No doubt, if he still had the use of his off hand, the three of them would be on the defensive, not Jeremiah himself. As comically oversized as the sword was, the 'Bandit King' clearly knew how to wield it with some modicum of effectiveness, both offensive and defensive. He wasn't a fool relying on a large weapon and fear to compensate for a lack of skill, and he wasn't going bare chested out of base overconfidence. If he hadn't managed to cut himself off from the bulk of his own forces, then even the mistake he'd made with the captain might not be enough to bring him down.

But mistakes and errors had a habit of piling on top of each other at the worst times.

Jeremiah ducked away from Gerard's thrown dagger, the series of furious thrusts that Fionn had started his assault with ringing out with a cacophony of scratches and clangs as the brute's blade was interposed. The last was sent wide as the bandit shifted entirely, moving to deflect Gerard's cut; Fionn whirled the bardiche around in a fast arc, choking up on the haft and switching his grip at the last moment. Jeremiah moved to parry both the whirling blade and the thrust from Fanilly, but his defense only found the second, Fionn's shifting grip having momentarily broken measure and voided the man's deflection entirely as Gerard roared his defiance.

A spray of dust rose up from the right, followed by a glint of steel in the firelight. Fionn's point came back on target, Jeremiah's blade still off to the right, his inside line wide open, and Fanilly recovering from her parried thrust. A single free moment, one in which they could sever the head of the snake in one swift blow. A multitude of options, but only one unorthodox enough that it might slip past the man's own tactical acumen.

Shouldn't have let us get so close, Jeremiah. Go hIfreann leat!

Fionn stepped in close, swinging the blade of his bardiche not at Jeremiah's momentarily exposed torso, but at the arm wielding his massive sword, and stepping through in the same movement he raised his foot for a swift kick between the slaughterer's legs. It left him unbalanced, but any level of damage to either target would suffice for his goals—and more importantly, it meant that his entire person was between Jeremiah's blade, trying to parry their blows, and Gerard's own two-part attack.

More for the bandit king to try and force out of the way, or to retreat from. Delay his defenses, preserve any opening, back him into a corner if necessary.

Time's up, amadán.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri landed on the griffin with a thud, right onto its upper body behind the griffin's neck. Even with the beast's feathers somewhat cushioning his fall, it was quite an impact, but he had managed to stick it. He wasn't able to see Lucas, but he heard the younger knight successfully landing behind him.

The griffin wasn't going to have any of this, and it bucked and struggled to dislodge them. It wasn't really surprising- even horses would refuse to be ridden if they had not been broken and trained, and griffins were notoriously proud creatures. Fleuri held on tightly, digging his heels into the beast's neck and using his arms to hold on. He had competed in enough jousts to know a thing or two about avoiding being unhorsed, but this was almost nothing like that. There was no saddle or stirrups to hold him in place, but on the other hand, at least this time he could use his hands to hold on.

Even with the beast's struggles, he was able to see a rather alarming sight further ahead. Katerina, the half-elven witch-knight, was preparing a rather powerful-looking fire spell, and was probably going to fire it right at the griffin- with Fleuri and Lucas still atop it. On one hand, she could certainly be forgiven for assuming that she wouldn't need to worry about hitting anyone riding the beast, because by all means this was a crazy stunt that the others couldn't have anticipated. On the other hand, if it hit, it was probably going to hurt a lot.

Suddenly, the griffin stopped and turned. Something else must have caught its attention, and it wasn't the impending blast of fire or the archer Cecilia. As it turned its head, Fleuri saw what the subject of its focus was- it was Lein, a Hundi knight, bow in hand. There was little doubt in Fleuri's mind what had happened- Lein had fired an arrow at the griffin, and the pain of the shot was more noticeable than the weight of the two unwanted passengers upon its back.

The Reonite knight maintained his tight grip as the griffin bounded towards its target. It was a relief that this distraction had spared all three of them from the fire spell, but for a moment, as it began to descend, Fleuri's grip slightly weakened and he was worried that he might be thrown off. This was unlike any horse I've ever ridden, he thought to himself as he felt the considerable impact of the landing. From the sound of it, Lucas had dismounted the griffin, but he dared not distract himself by looking behind him to see what the other knight was doing. Nor did he pay too much attention to what Lein was doing- assuming, as Fleuri hoped, that the Hundi knight had gotten out of the way.

This was his chance- while it was focused on another opponent and not jumping around, Fleuri took his cape and pulled it over the griffin's head, covering its eyes. He brought the ends of the cape together under the griffin's jaw and tied them together. If it couldn't see, it should diminish its ability to fight effectively. Not to mention that it wouldn't be able to fly away- or in the very least, Fleuri dearly hoped that it wasn't going to try and fly while its sight was obstructed.

After his cape was wrapped, the knight would resume holding on with his left arm, and draw his sword with the right. The griffin would likely fight and struggle with all its might upon having its sight obstructed, and Fleuri anticipated that he would have to fend off its front claws.

@PigeonOfAstora@Raineh Daze@Saiyan@Richard Horthy

"Omitting?" Renar scoffed in response to the assist from Sir Sergio, taking a moment in the reprieve that the Knight of the Harvest Moon afforded him in order to sheathe his backup weapons and retrieve his poleaxe. "I can hardly call it that when that move was the first I've seen you make all day, now can I?"

Renar's new compatriot was a familiar face. Sergio was something of a known quantity to him, having trained with himself, Gerard, and Fionn on several occasions. While Renar admired most of the man's attitude, such as his practicality and general mindset, he took pause with some of the man's more...honorable tendencies. It'd lead to a clash down the line between the two for certain, but right now, it was little to be concerned about. They'd cross that bridge when they got there, as Renar would have to do with most of his comrades and acquaintances.

For the moment, Renar was more concerned with sticking the spike of his poleaxe into the throat of the next bandit that tried to charge Sergio, covering the Knight of the Harvest Moon from the flank.

"How does the battle find you, Sir Sergio?" He asked conversationally even as he slipped back into a guard stance. "Unfortunate that we've drawn poor lots on having to cover our comrades instead of engaging either of the larger threats, but that's how the heat of battle is-" Renar chanced a look back towards the griffin while there was a lull, and found himself gawping at the sight of Lucas and Fleuri chaining and mounting the beast, and then not even having the good sense to stab the fucking thing.

"Goddesses help us, what are they doing?!" Renar murmured aside to Sergio as he turned his attention back towards the battle, but not before shouting behind him at the top of his lungs so that Fleuri could hear him. "Plunge a blade into the back of its damned head already, Jodeau! It'll stop going after the others once you kill it!"

Lein

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Location: Bandit Camp, Near Griffin
Interactions: Griffin @Raineh Daze

---

"Gotcha."

Lein had missed; but his split-second aim had been enough to still hit his quarry, snapping it out of its jagged pouncing. The slug had buried itself into the griffin's legs, instantly sending a shock of heat to the prideful beast. A volatile mixture of rage and surprise coated the griffin's piercing gaze towards him - the measly dog that had dared to punch up the food-chain. Or perhaps a cold calculation that though one arrow was not enough to cripple it, the risk of more iron burning inside of it was far too dangerous.

As the griffin turned to face the Hundi archer, invariable fear pumped through his veins, the deepest recesses of instinct wrestling for command. It was familiar, the pounding sense of fire, coiling itself around his muscles. It came with a title, the purpose that was ascribed to Lein the moment he had ever stepped unto a training field. 'Bait', for the runt of the pack who had to rely on cheap tactics to get his way. Unfortunately for Lein, he was good at dodging both wild animals and enraged opponents. Bated breaths and claws scraping the fur off his ears had become commonplace, to be expected.

Fortunately for Lein, facing down the beast barrelling towards him, he had become very good at his job indeed. The last possible moment. Don't let them look away. Make them fully commit. And then do the only thing that the bait had to do - survive. Lein shifted his heels into the ground, assuring itself of its grip on the ground. Then he stared right back into the acidic yellow eyes filled with predatory wrath, his expression inadvertently grim but steady.

"Here I am." Lein's breath soured as he pressed the weight against the ground, thighs as taut as bowstrings. The ash was denser closer to the ground, but Lein kept his eyes trained on the griffin's stare all the same. "Nothing but me."

The griffin's powerful legs lurched itself off the ground, its injury not enough to hamper its leap, surrendering attention to all else but to tear its prey apart, to satiate the pain of its wound through vengeful hunt. It flexed its wings as it soared, throwing up a sheet of smoke that cast a dark fan of shadow that almost engulfed Lein's vision in its entirety. Lein had not expected the griffin to risk the leap with Fleuri and Lucas weighing it down, but no matter -

Nerves fractionated seconds. Movement into moments.

Just before the talons would find a fountain of warm Hundi blood, Lein twisted his weight and launched himself directly sideways, diving shoulder-first into a roll and fluidly breaking out into another leap to create as much distance as possible. All the while, Lein's fingers kept a fresh metal bolt against the bowstring, threatening the griffin with another slug should it ever tear its attention away from him. Lein just had to hope that his compatriots would do their job now - there was little chance that the bait would get out unscathed if the trap didn't spring.

It was completely unreal. The Bandit King was a monster, a beast loosed from the pit that could turn away any attack set upon him, even deprived of one of his arms. Even having experienced it first hand, having fought him alone before inflicting that crippling injury with her dagger, Fanilly was still stunned by the sheer combat prowess the massive man betrayed. Deflecting these attacks so easily, massive leg stepping back, drawing him out of the way of that sharp kick as he moved to parry the bardiche with the flat of his blade...

But even mountains can fall.

The dust in his eyes caused him to stumble, struggling to reorient himself as his crippled arm came up in a bid to clear it from his eyes, his blade lingering far longer then intended in one spot.

Sir Fionn's attack, and the ash and dust flung for his eyes, had done its job. Forced to defend against the former, unable to anticipate the latter, and now blinded even if only for a moment...!

Realization struck Jeremiah as he managed to clear just one of his eyes. The razor edge of Sir Gerard's blade pierced the night, tearing through the open air towards his torso.

No matter how powerful Jeremiah's body was, muscle couldn't easy stop a sword.

Silver and red bit through flesh, burying itself up to the hilt in the Bandit King's side. His entire body tensed, muscles contracting, eyes wide now, unclouded by debris as his grip on his blade tightened.

Skin, muscle, organs, undeniably the damage caused by Sir Gerard's blade was severe. Lethal.

And yet the Three-Hundred Man Slayer wasn't ready to die.

Fury in his eyes, he roared, swinging his sword into the air, over his head, now disregarding his own safety. If he was going to die, he'd take this damned knight with him...!

Fanilly sprang forward, thrusting upwards and inwards. Her blade joined Gerard's sinking deep into Jeremiah's flesh, piercing beneath his arm, into his armpit and burying her sword just as deeply in the massive man's body. His right arm feel loosely at his side, enormous blade clattering to the ground.

She'd seen her opening. That split second before the blade swung down. To finish him more quickly, speed him to his end and remove the threat he posed to her knights.

She couldn't hesitate.

She couldn't allow Sir Gerard to take the blow.

Gritting his teeth, Jeremiah let out a gasp, a rattling sound escaping his lips.

"Damn you.. Iron... Roses...!"

Fanilly stepped back, drawing her sword from that massive body.

Once Sir Gerard freed his blade from Jeremiah's flesh as well, the hulking figure would fall.

Bandit King Jeremiah hit the ground with a resounding thud.

It was the end of the Three-hundred Man Slayer.

But there was no time to take in what had just occurred. No time to mourn Sir Rickert's death.

The battle had to end.

Fanilly inhaled deeply, the small blonde knight filling her lungs in a bid to ensure her voice would carry as far as possible over the din of combat.

"The Bandit King is dead!" she cried, thrusting her bloodstained sword into the air, "Surrender, or suffer his fate!"

Throughout the camp, those bandits who had heard the captain's cry hesitated. Some fell to their knees in surrender, while others stopped in uncertainty.

The most experience veterans among their number, however, would have to be cut down.

Fanilly's blade lowered.

Her eyes drifted over the huge, muscular frame of the dead Bandit King. His eyes were wide and unfocused, the count from Sir Gerard's blade piercing him through his side, the other from her blade under his arm, crimson flowers blooming in his flesh.

Her gaze left his still body, and came to halt on the bisected corpse of the knight the man had slain.

"... Sir Rickert..."

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

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@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow

---

Fionn's face broke into a grin as Jeremiah moved to counter his attack. His kick met a solid thigh, his bardiche was turned aside once again by the gigantic blade the man wielded, and the spray of dirt caught the bandit full in the face. Overcommitted, with no way to develop enough momentum to protect himself and with too many opponents on too many sides, he couldn't avoid Gerard's point getting buried in his ribs. When he raised his blade and roared, Fionn quickly interposed his own to protect both himself and his fellow former mercenary—

—Only for Fanilly to capitalize on the next opening, and fully finish off the bandit king. His sword dropped without direction, and his body soon after. Fionn took the moment to catch his breath as the captain called out to all of the bandits still fighting, calling on them to surrender. Still leaving, as problems, the veterans who would refuse to surrender, and the griffin, which was...

"Bloody..." Through the fire, he could just manage to see what was going on with the griffin, the result of a sequence of events he might never be able to understand or find any semblance of sense in, as it was full of just too many possibilities for collateral damage. He shook his head, turning back to Fanilly as she stared down at Rickert's corpse. "Not yet, captain," he said, clapping a hand down on her armoured shoulder to pull her attention aside. Some of the few knights that had wound up on their side of the tree were finishing their individual battles, and he waved a couple over to keep watch over their fallen comrade's corpse. "There's too much left to do. Coordinate dealing with those who surrender, I'm going to go reinforce..."

He glanced back across the flaming tree, away from the griffin.

"The ground team, I guess." With that, he quickly took off towards where he'd last seen Renar in the thick of the fighting.

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

His blade sank deep into flesh, and he knew it was nearly over. The Bandit King would be dead within moments, steel slipping between his ribs and into soft tissue beneath— and their objective here complete.

So saying, as he felt the sword be wrenched over by the twist of his foe's torso, massive blade swinging high into the air, Gerard neither ran, nor tried to twist himself out of the way. Such evasions were an afterthought. He had the man mortally wounded, but not quite dead. The fury in his eyes told him as much.

Stop the enemy's attack by killing him. Finish the job.

As the mountainous man's body reared up high to bring the massive blade down, Gerard's free hand returned to the pommel of his longsword and pressed it in as he surged upward in his wake. His footing wasn't great, but if he could sink it even another inch deeper, the wound would doubtlessly bleed a death rattle out of his foe. The timing was going to be tight here, no question...

The furious gaze from above locked upon its golden kin below, every bit as determined to see the man they beheld die, regardless of cost.

He was replaceable. Victory was not.

For an instant, it seemed this was where his duty would reap what it had sowed six years ago—

And then, flashing through the corner of his eye, a second sword buried itself into the man's frame. The Captain, darting between Fionn and Knight's Doom, and sending her sword deep into his right armpit, hitting the muscle, the vein, possibly the spine. With a thud and a plume of dust, the massive greatsword crashed to the earth as it fled the dying grip upon its handle.

The Lamplighters dimmed their candles.

As the weight fell into him in time with his Captain yanking her sword free, Gerard felt the pulsing in his head recede even as he fully forced his way up to his proper height with a grunt. He took a moment to glace at Jeremiah's eyes again—

"Damn you... Iron... Roses...!"

—And saw the light truly fade.

He didn't offer a rebuttal to the curse, only a ragged exhalation as he shunted the massive body off. The burly corpse toppled to the floor at long last with a dull thud, the fresh blossoms of crimson spreading across his frame looking almost blackened in the firelight. He hadn't the wherewithal to offer a parting insult, no matter how much the man had earned it. It'd likely have fallen on deaf ears to begin with, he reasoned.

Not like he doesn't know it's him who's damned.

He blinked and breathed deep, savoring the sudden ache in his bones as so much of that ferocious current that propelled him so forcefully left his blood. His thoughts were returning now that the storm of anger had begun to part, and they propelled him elsewhere from Sir Fionn, who he caught a glimpse of racing back across the smoldering log. Back into the fray, hm? He'd be there before long, but first things first.

"Captain," he breathed, in a voice hoarser than he'd expected. "Good kill. I owe you one."

He followed her gaze down to Sir Rickert's stricken form, still lying where both ends of the torso had fallen. Grisly end. From what Gerard had known of him, far too good and just a man to have earned a death so brutal. That said...

"This is what war is, ma'am. No matter how hard any of us try, this is part of it."

They had chosen this life of their own volition, save her and the tradition that stuck her here as their leader. To pledge oneself as a warrior meant resolute acceptance of one's own death. He'd been pleasantly surprised by her ability to keep herself alive thus far... but he knew she'd also need to know how to bear the responsibility of the position without crumbling beneath it.

He did not chide, nor berate, nor coddle in saying this. It wasn't his place to do any of that, as her subordinate.

But as someone who'd seen hundreds of comrades die speaking to someone who'd seen her first...

"Sir Rickert knew it too. We all know we might not see the next day. If we didn't accept that for ourselves, we wouldn't be here."

The results of Serenity's attempted disembowelling were hard to see. Obviously, the creature hadn't escaped entirely unscathed--the ground was wet with its blood, after all--but at the same time, its ferocity didn't appear to be dimmed at all, as if it was determined to avenge itself upon someone before it bled out. Unfortunately for Fleuri, having temporarily blinded the griffin meant that it couldn't continue to pursue anyone scrambling away, and it couldn't easily reach around to its own back. Particularly with his attempts to blind the griffin forcing its head out of the way of the oncoming arrow, instead thudding into one of its shoulders and making him even further out of reach.

Holding on and anticipating to fight was the wrong choice when its only remaining effective weapon was its own bulk. After all, how else would it try to dislodge the pest except by rolling onto him? Of course, with the weight with which it flung itself down, it was more likely to break something and trap the knight, but at least then it wouldn't have a rider when it got up.

If it got up. After all, the wound was deep, no matter how tough it might be.

---

She got a glancing blow all things considered. She had been hoping to at least put it out quickly, but things rarely went as expected on the battlefield. A she'd easily land on her feet, Cecil sighed. She was feeling a bit tired, all things considered, and there was very little need for her at the moment. A brief respite as the battle around her started to otherwise die down was just fine. She had did her job as well as one could expect, so slacking off a bit now was fine.

"...man, this fight was a mess." Cecil grunted to no one in particular.

"A griffin is a mighty fine prize. I am not surprised they didn't wish to miss the opportunity."

Cecil didn't respond to Shael, only planting her bow into the ground and leaning on it, a keen eye mostly keeping out for surprises.

---

@Raineh Daze

And appreciate their doom was all they could do. The bandits that had engaged Tyaethe were quickly realized that this singular paladin, this little girl, was completely outclassing them in every single way despite their number advantage. The one with the shield watched in terror as the entire thing was simply stopped by a mana fueled fist right to its dent the thick steel of the shield. Felt like his own arm had broken two from the impact.

As Tyaethe's sword came down, he'd brace himself once more against the blow realizing only too late, that was an incredibly bad idea. Dwarven steel and supernatural strength cleaved right through the armor, a deep gash carved onto his chest as his forearm was completely severed. Blood oozed from the wounds, splattering the ground as he'd fall backwards.

And as Jeremiah fell, the remaining bandits, if there had even been any had already decided to cut their losses and choose desertion and flight over facing any sort of justice at the hands of the Roses.

With the battle winding down, Tyaethe simply gave the fleeing bandits a half-hearted glare and leant against her sword, firmly planting the blade into the ground once again. There were enough knights around that they'd be caught before they got too far; maybe they'd even do the smart thing and realise they should surrender. Oh, it was almost certain they'd meet the same fate in the end, as disappointing as it was... but they'd still have the chance to make their case, and maybe someone would be truly repentant and get another chance. The least they would receive would be multiple opportunities for repentance and guidance after death. She hadn't denied anyone that, yet, and she wasn't about to start.

The vampire's eyes flicked around the battlefield. For an assault on a fortified camp... well, maybe she could take some claim to why there were so few injuries. Things were mostly positive. The captain was definitely still alive and not slowly dying to poison.

It didn't seem like they'd be getting a chance to tame a griffin, though... what a waste. Could a griffin even be properly tamed, or would it still always be a threat to everyone around it? Husbandry wasn't remotely within her skills, but she would have loved to try...

With only her line of sight betraying the reason, Tyaethe let out a disappointed sigh.

He only heard Fanilly's cry of triumph as he was running a bandit through. Judging by the reactions of those before him, it seemed it wasn't a lie. So their new captain had steel in her after all. Good. Still, that just left the matter of what to do with this lot...

Renar's musings were cut off by the majority of the bandits losing heart and throwing their weapons down, with very few having the presence of mind to either go down fighting or retreat. The ones in front of him were all surrendering, though. Renar regarded these kneeling men with some measure of disgust, mixed with pity. Didn't the fools realize they were just delaying the hour of their death? Men like these would receive nothing more in judgement than hanging. Retreat was a far more sensible option than kneeling.

The bastard of Brias looked down at the men before him, aware that he wouldn't be able to handle this how he would like to. It would be a mercy to simply kill these men right here, but most of his fellow knights wouldn't understand. Instead, he planted the haft of his poleaxe into the dirt, raising his voice.

"If any of you wish to die now, come forward. I can assure you, it will be quicker and more merciful than hanging."

Plus, it would mean less warm bodies to transport, contain, and feed during the trip back to the capital. A win-win, really.