The Knight glanced down, stepping back slightly as Lein spoke to him - frowning slightly at the dabble in blasphemous language.

"Lein. Perhaps refrain from the foul words, were I a Paladin you might be due for a hiding." He scowled briefly, only to grin with a twinkle in his eye. "Luckily for you, eh, I am only a student of Mayon."

He brought a thumb to his chin, looking the Hundi over.

"Anything planned for your days of rest, hmm?" He prodded with his other hand at the wooden container stowed away on Lein's back.

@PigeonOfAstora

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

That's what Elven sounds like? Huh... Lilette? Lilette, Lilette, that's not a name I've—

"... Anyway!"

Whatever, don't worry about it. Got it.

He eyed the not-actually-at-all-young woman cautiously as she rose up, straightening her back and pinning him with eyes that seemed just a touch too bright in the shade, her refuge from Lady Reon's disdainful eye. Though her deathly pallor and lynx pupils were proof enough that she was far from an ordinary girl... he still found need to remind himself that this was the same person who had donned that towering harness of plate, and swung around what was only now the second largest blade he'd seen in five years on the field.

It was hard to link them. Such different visages arcane helms and girlish frills could present.

"Oh, that."

He folded his arms, and loosed something halfway between a sigh and a ragged grunt. Now, it was his turn to look into the middle distance for a moment, searching for his phrasing. He didn't take terribly long to arrive on it— now that it didn't quite feel like he was about to be chewed out, there wasn't so much need.

"Trying to settle my mind, I think." he ventured, looking back to her beneath a furrowed brow. "Whenever I look back on Jeremiah... We did kick his ass, the Captain, Fionn, and I. But if it was just me, I'm not so confident. Think I get torn in half more often than not."

All told, it was a markedly casual assessment of such grim odds. He'd already faced them.

"So I want to start working right away, before we have to face someone or something like that again. I might be on my own for it, y'know?"

"Sir Fionn."

Serenity stopped, turning to face him as the Veltic man hailed her. Further away, Renar approached as well, the Bastard of Brias already spoiling for the swapping of gossip. She waited for a couple moments longer, then turned to continue her own journey towards the smithy.

"Alas, my work's never done," the young knight replied. "There's plenty more who ought to be cowed before nightfall, lest they dream sweetly of only their vainglorious accomplishments."

Stepping through the stone doorway that lead to a well-maintained forge, one supervised by a steely-eyed master smith and tended for by a motley collection of apprentices and church orphans, Serenity acknowledged them with a nod, before she set her own arms down for an inspection. In the end, the entirety of the bandit battle had been one that did not see her armor doing what it was meant to do, but her shield had certainly been warped by the heat of arcane flame, and one's sword always needed proper care, regardless of how much one used it. It was both offense and defense, after all, tempered steel balanced by a smith's intuition and sense, sharpened such that it could cleave through bone.

A quarterstaff too would have to be whittled down to make for a new spear. And while she was at it...

Serenity removed her helmet, her neck cracking as she rolled it from one side to the next. The gauntlets came after, then the pauldrons. The rest would be more trouble than it was worth to remove, but she may as well buff up the designs while she was here. Reaching back, she tied her hair into a tight ponytail once more and pulled a leather apron over herself, before helping herself with the smattering of tools left on the rack. The smell of the coal fire beckoned happy memories, and the clanging of hammer and anvil made for a familiar rhythm.

Ah, but she couldn't fall so easily into an unsociable silence when her fellow knights were around, no?

"It'd be fair, Sir Fionn, if you would regale Sir Renar and I with tales of your own valor first. Dedicated as I was to the noble cause of disemboweling an oversized fowlbeast, I was hardly able to catch a glimpse of the storied champion that Jeremiah must have been. He must be mighty, no? To have slain three hundred trees with the block of metal he calls a sword."

---

@ERode @Psyker Landshark

---

He'd have to ask if they could drop the constant formality at some point. Honorifics were all well and good in certain situations, but being a peasant from Velt raised to the knighthood for his ability, rather than by virtue of his birth, the constant sirs and dames and such were starting to get grating. The presence of the master smith and his crew of apprentices and servants (among all the others in the keep), all of whom would likely be somewhat shocked if the formalities were entirely dropped in their presence, notwithstanding.

"Or to carve through a man's armour as easily as I could drive my knife through butter?" he rhetorically asked back, his tone level but with a clear undercurrent of disapproval. "I wouldn't make light of the title he called himself by. The man was proper beastly, like; I'd heard tell of the Terror of the Red Flag, the Three-Hundred Man Slayer with the free company, but I didn't have a name to attach. Seeing him in person..."

Fionn rolled his shoulders slightly uncomfortably, giving one last look at the bardiche before setting it against the wall. "It's a rare man who makes me feel small. Rarer still can wield a blade like that. Then you consider that he went in bare-chested, and even with only one hand was still mounting an effective defence against three of us, even if only for a short time? I've little doubt the reputation was well earned."

And yet he didn't fight like a man who intended to achieve his goals. He should've expected that this disquiet would return, even after the effort he'd done to push it away on the return trip. Thinking too much about Jeremiah and the fight, however, brought it back quite easily. "There'll be a lot of work before any of us—excepting the First and Youngest, of course—can singly match up to his level, I think. There might have been some things I could try were I fighting him alone and uninjured, but as it was, it seemed most prudent to take advantage of the situation, force him onto the back foot, keep him unable to attack back. Eventually Gerard put his point between Jeremiah's ribs, and before he could lash out one last time the captain did the same from the other side as I moved to constrain his blade."

How much to reveal of his inner thoughts, though? What reaction might it be met with? From Renar he was certain he'd receive some understanding, but Serenity might prove more of a risk. Still, if he was going to work alongside them so often, he might as well put a bit more trust in both. "His removal is a worthy achievement, I think, but I don't feel much satisfaction in it. Even if he was singularly focused on revenge against the order for defeat suffered in the past, he did not fight like a man who wanted or planned to win, nor did his band, and I have trouble reconciling his reputation with his actions." He nodded at Serenity, once.

"Dropping the tree. Unleashing the griffin. Endangering his forces and cutting himself off from them, with no heed to the concept that the captain wouldn't be similarly cut-off, that her forces might join her far sooner than his might him. The show of going in with no armour...even trying to send a message by killing or breaking the captain, whether he ultimately won or lost, doesn't seem to fully fit. No doubt, in some way, he wanted to express his sense of superiority, but I can't help but wonder that he might have just been trying to choose how he died, in some corner of his soul."

A concept that, unsurprisingly, did not help Fionn feel in any way good about the success he'd helped to achieve, protecting the captain and Gerard while enabling them to finish off such a foe as Jeremiah. He shook his head. "But, enough of my reservations over the results of that particular part of the battle. What of yours? And more importantly, what were they even trying to do jumping on that griffin?"

Serenity raised her shield up, rotating it slowly as she inspected the rim, her fingers feeling for imperfections. Fionn's own reflections and ruminations spoke well of his intellect and experience. Indeed, there was a lot worse that a Bandit King could do to be a thorn in the side of the Iron Rose Knights, if he so wished. Her gaze caught Renar briefly, wondering if a less honorable knight would come to the same conclusions as herself. There were stories of orcs who would strap children to their bodies as they charged into battle. Stories of slavers who forced their prisoners into outfits of straw, so if it came down to it, they could threaten immolation. Stories too, of poisoned fumes, of pots of fire powder, of all the dastardly arts in war that the Iron Rose could not answer in kind.

"Jeremiah," she replied, "was a man of low birth. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been a mercenary, and lived his days out as such. But just as some mercenaries find themselves as members of the Iron Rose, others of similar talents find themselves in the employ of noble houses." An eyebrow raised, and she brought her hammer down on her shield, striking out the dent in it. "You two would remember, of course, how mystified Sir Gerard looked when we first broke bread together at the mess hall? Jeremiah was likely to have experienced something similar, and as the conspiracy of House Cazt began to unfold, he was just as likely to have entertained grander dreams."

Dreams that never could be, once the horse he bet on turned out to be a loser. The life of a bandit was miserable, a misery forever accentuated by memories of plenty when one served as the lapdog of a lord. And there would be no respite either, not as a traitor. A swift beheading was the most one could ask for, even if they showed remorse.

"A man of such strength could have slain our Knight-Captain on the backswing. A man of such strength would have received his own set of armor, if the traitor nobles had any sense. A man of such strength would be doomed, no matter what path he took." Little glory to be had in slaying an untested Knight-Captain, after all. May as well have slain a squire. "Your intuition is correct, Sir Fionn. Jeremiah chose to make an impression before he died, and now? He'll live on in your memory, as someone to aspire to match, someone whom you never even witnessed at his best."

There was a sudden venom then, a forcefulness that caused her to stop mid-strike, lest she damage her own armaments.

"That's the trouble with such thoughts, no?"

She laughed. A short bark of mirth, as if to scare away her own thoughts.

"Compared to that farce though, I suppose the griffin put in effort enough for a beast. Sir Fleuri and Lucas leapt at it from above, the former with his cloak as a hood, the latter with a length of chain as the collar. Both, perhaps, entertaining dreams of becoming a griffin rider. I would have expected that out of the boy who chased after Sir Gerard, but for the Flower of the North too?" She kept the smile, but a exhalation hissed out from clenched teeth. "A beast, cornered to that extent, would fight to the last, and so, died. Tis a shame, in truth. Even the bandits' steeds bore more sin than that fowlbeast."

Serenity set her shield aside, and then brought her longsword to the whetstone, sharpening it in long, controlled strokes.

"That being said, I don't quite recall where Lucas ended up while Sir Fleuri was entangled with the griffin. Wouldn't suppose the lad had joined your efforts in becoming the seven-man-slayer, Sir Renar?"

Self-improvement, then? It was a worthy goal, especially as she had herself been worrying about the skill level the current knights presented. It was a good goal... but that didn't make it any less distracting for Gerard to be flinging himself up and down the length of the courtyard almost as soon as they had gotten back. Tyaethe leant against the door frame, thinking about this for a moment.

"While I cannot disagree that your individual abilities could do with improvement, one such as Jeremiah should have been easily handled," she said, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, "How, exactly, do you propose to leverage running back and forth down the courtyard to assist you in this? Was it your endurance that was in question when fighting against him?"

The vampire looked away, down towards the end of the courtyard where the chapel and its adjoining gardens could be found, "I can't claim much experience with physical improvement, but I don't see how this exercise relates to the problem you're facing. If you were running through the city, at least obstacle avoidance and your reactions would be tested. If you were focusing on your strength or technique, that would directly help. But what does running earn yourself?"

The vampire also gave him an amused smile, "I've also been led to believe over the years that physical growth can't come without rest. Travel rations and the length of a day's journey are hardly the best, so at least recover from the journey before starting on the exertion. The library has enough manuals and handwritten notes over the years if you wish to learn some less-standard skills."

@HereComesTheSnow

Lein

---

Location: Outside Castle Candaeln
Interactions: Sergio @VahkiDane

---

"If the Gods took offense against every blaggard in town, half of our men should've been smited to dust already." Lein said, maintaining his careless smile and shifting the wooden box away from Sergio's prodding hands.

"I'm going nowhere of import. Just a hovel to indulge a few old fellows is all." Lein gave a tug at Serigo's jacket, a far finer garb in comparison to Lein's coarsely made tunic. "At least, nowhere a fine coat like this belongs." Bright red jackets like these were liable to be stolen in the older streets, and would surely mark him as a target of wealth. Though even if it were stolen, the fence was out of town anyway.

"Now, if you'd excuse the curiosity, where do you plan to head?"

Sergio gently swiped Lein's hand away from his jacket, raising an eyebrow at the mention of a hovel.

"I have...ah...no commitments." His eyes closed as he tilted his head in thought, red tail dangling behind. "Though monotony is the enemy of a warrior, no?"

His irises were open now, blazing and narrow. "If it is indeed nowhere of import...perhaps I could accompany you."

@PigeonOfAstora

---

@ERode @Psyker Landshark

---

"Mmm. Most true enemies have something to aspire to, in my experience, or at least something to learn from." If there was one decision he'd made since he first set out from home, it was that he'd never underestimate any opponent. That was the path to complacency, and complacency meant a dagger between the ribs. "But I don't know that such was really his goal. More of a consequence of everything else that transpired."

Even Fleuri attempting to jump on the griffin and ride it...it was ridiculous, and well beyond his own penchant for ridiculous action. Maybe the Flower of the North still had a love for performance in him after all. Lucas doing such was, of course, unsurprising, if a bit worrisome. The lad shouldn't be in the front lines like us. He'd been sure of it for a while, he was more sure now after Lucas had finally tasted combat. He'd just have to find something to do about it.

Of course, considering the front lines: "Probably more than seven, if I had to guess...but did I hear right about the offer you gave them as they were surrendering? Trying to pad the numbers a bit, lad?"

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri rose to his feet after tumbling off the griffin and removed his helmet. He was fortunately unharmed aside from being perhaps a little dinged up hitting the ground. One of the "wings" on his helmet had been notched by that one bandit's spear, but he didn't see any other evident damage.

They had won and defeated the bandits, but it had a cost. Sir Rickart was dead, killed in such a horrific manner that they'd have to bury him in pieces. Fleuri hadn't interacted much with him, but he knew that Rickard had been fine veteran knight, and a good inspiration for the younger ones. It was not unexpected for Iron Roses to die, and those who picked up the sword did so with the knowledge that they may die very suddenly and violently, but it was still a mournful event when it happened.

The griffin had been slain too. In truth, Fleuri had hoped to merely subdue it into unconsciousness, and it could have lived, or at least be stabilized with healing magic, even with the wounds from the other knights and injuries from flailing about, but Serenity was determined to put it down. He didn't question her choice to do so- after all he had rather foolishly jumped on its back, an act that nearly ended in disaster at multiple points. Besides, from what he heard, griffins were proud creatures and he couldn't help but wonder if it would have sought to avenge its shame if it recovered.

In any case, it was very clear that Fleuri would need to learn to cooperate with the other knights, because this fight was a hectic, arguably self-sabotaging mess. He evidently still hadn't completely shed his tournament fighting mentality, but he knew he needed to. This wasn't a game, and Sir Rickart was a nauseating reminder that there were real and gruesome consequence for making any mistake. He also felt that it'd be important to set a better example for Lucas- he didn't want the young, impulsive knight to get hurt due to Fleuri's own failure to demonstrate common sense.

Still, they had won, by either divine intervention or freak luck his crazy actions hadn't gotten him injured, and there was one less horse-eating beast out there, he mused as he plucked a few fine-looking white feathers from the griffin and took a moment to attach them to the wings on his helmet, as a memento of the battle and to honor the beast that very nearly broke him. If he ever faced another one of these creatures again, he would play it much more safely.

The trip back was without any incident, and fortunately for Fleuri, if he had gotten any griffin scent on him from his stunt, his horse didn't seem to react. The knights made their way through the capital city of Aimlenn like a grim parade consisting of blood-stained knights, wounded and rescued men and women, and carts of doomed criminals. The surviving bandits would no doubt end up being hanged for their crimes, and Fleuri couldn't feel sympathy for them. These weren't down-on-their-luck woodsmen and poachers who turned to robbery to make ends meet. They were traitors who refused the mercy of the crown and continued to shed blood for a lost, dead-and-buried cause.

When the knights returned to Candaeln, there were a number of tasks Fleuri needed to do before the day was through. The first thing Fleuri did, however, was walk along the hall looking upon the weapons and portraits of past knights. I wonder if Sir Rickart will be honored here, he wondered. His gaze eventually came to a specific portrait, a painting of his ancestor Armand Jodeau, the first of the family to dedicate himself to Reon, and supposedly one of the first Reonites to join the Iron Roses. There was no display case for his armaments, for they had not been seen since the day he ventured out on by himself on a quest that he never returned from. The Jodeau family had at times sought to find out what happened to Armand and even set aside a place in the family crypt in hopes of someday properly interring his mortal remains, but they lacked the wealth to fund a thorough search, and to this day no Jodeau knight had managed to pick up his trail.

I know I've made some bad mistakes, but wherever you are, I will strive to live up to your example.

Following his contemplations, Fleuri made his way to his quarters after fetching a rag, some soap, and a bucket of water. Due to his family's relative lack of wealth, he had learned to take basic care of his own armor, and it was something he never really stopped doing. The dark gray, almost black armor was something he had purchased during his tournament days, and even if he regretted many of his actions, he recognized that raising the wealth to purchase proper equipment was not something to be ashamed of. He undid the straps on his armor and removed the protective plating piece by piece, and carefully washed the dirt and blood from each part. He would later send it over to the blacksmith to be looked at by a professional, but this should suffice for now. He also took the helmet and fiddled with the griffin feathers, taking the time to ensure his new adornments were symmetrical, clean, and wouldn't detach from the helmet's wings.

Fleuri changed into his casual clothing- a shirt, pants, boots, and white surcoat bearing his heraldry- and made his way to the mess hall to feed himself. It was to his fortune that Sir Lucas- the very person he wished to speak to- was already there. After obtaining some food, assembling a meal a bit smaller than that of the younger, still-growing knight, he headed over to where Lucas was and sat down.

"Sir Lucas," Fleuri greeted him, "It's good to see you're unscathed. That battle got rather hectic, didn't it?"

@Saiyan

The smithy wasn't Renar's first choice of venue for exchanging gossip while maintaining his weapons, what with the blacksmiths and apprentices being able to listen in, but he supposed that the noise and the work the smiths were doing would go some way to ameliorating that issue so long as they kept their voices low. So while Serenity began to work on her shield, Renar set about the business of sharpening and oiling his weapons, pulling out a whetstone, a file, oil, and cleaning cloth from the satchel he'd brought along.

He listened to the conversation as he worked, chiming in when he felt the need to say something. Fionn's musings on Jeremiah were interesting, but in the end, inconsequential. Renar understood why the bandit's motivations disquieted his friend, but to him? He understood.

"I don't disagree that he wanted to die." Renar said plainly, working on his poleaxe first, wiping the head down. "I simply think it's not something to worry over. The man knew he had no future after throwing in with the wrong side and not throwing his sword down after all was said and done. Were I in his position, I can't say I would do the same, but I can understand his thought process. Personally, I would have fled the country and tried to eke a living out as an adventurer or sellsword in another nation. But Dame Serenity is correct. Best to move on."

The conversation flowed on to the matter of the griffin, and Renar allowed his expression to warp into a scowl as he sharpened and oiled the ax head of his poleaxe.

"Unfortunately," He responded with venom to Serenity's query first, keeping his voice low so that the clangs of the smithy obscured his words to anyone on the outside listening in. "The idiot turned out alive. I don't know where he went, and frankly, I don't care. The boy still isn't cut out for this. I watched our illustrious Flower save him from getting killed from a bandit, and I had to step in to make sure others didn't flank him." As much as Renar would have liked to express how he should have just let the fool boy die, he wasn't quite so stupid as to express some of his more...severe thoughts out loud.

Fionn's own inquiry towards Renar had him roll his eyes only slightly. This again? Goddesses help him, how many times would he have to explain himself?

"Hardly. But we all knew those men were bound for the gallows anyway. I simply wanted to expedite the process. One would think I should be thanked for trying to make things just a bit more efficient for everyone involved. Less men to spend time judging, less hangings to conduct, and less space and provender to waste on dead men."

---

@ERode @Psyker Landshark

---

At Renar's rolled eyes and explanation of himself, Fionn couldn't keep the smile off of his features. "Your altruism never fails to astound," he said after a moment of stifling a small laugh. "Nobody ever does think about the headsmen, or the people that have to maintain the gallows in all this, do they?" He ought to try and reinforce the point that some of the others had made, likely, if only from the standpoint of personal faith...but he had a sneaking suspicion that trying to do so wouldn't have the intended effect.

Taking the opportunity to poke fun at Renar, however, was a path that should always be taken when presented so clearly. That wonder answered, it was back to the more pressing topic. Disquiet about Jeremiah could wait, wondering just what had gotten into Fleuri's head could wait. The other...

"I don't know that Lucas will ever be cut out for this, at least not the way we are. He wasn't raised to it, he isn't inured to it, and his skills don't suit the knight he's trying to be. That could change with some hefty training, but..." He glanced around, nodding at a growing pile of arrowheads that one of the apprentices was forging. "Someone ought to impress upon him that he could better serve in a different role. He could be a capable scout, I've got no doubt that he could make a fine archer. We just need to make him realize it, and make him actually think before he rushes into the middle of things, otherwise he will get himself killed."

Easier said than done, of course; Fionn wasn't even a full decade older than the youngest of the knights, but even that time was enough for him to look back and recognize just how little sense or planning went into anything he did.

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

"You're right, he should've." the erstwhile mercenary agreed readily, almost tonelessly, amber gaze following hers into the middle distance. "And the next one like him will again. Whether it's a trio of us, or just me."

He had to ingrain the goal. He had to visualize the state in which he matched him blow for blow, strike for strike, strength for strength. If it could be achieved, it was there— Sir Agrahn. Sir Cyrus. Could he measure up to them, legendary titans of the field? He didn't know. He certainly didn't feel like a once-in-a-lifetime warrior... But the type of greed to chase those mythical figures had gotten him this far. And if he reached even a fraction of their ability, the Bandit King he'd fought would be trivial. Of that, Gerard was certain.

As for her query, he nodded along his understanding— to be turned into a supernatural, superhuman entity at the age it seemed she had, it did stand to reason that she'd not have much cause to worry about honing the body, when it was already so empowered. Lucky him. It was a rare day anyone got to elucidate the honored Paladin.

"It's a drill from my past life." he began, "We used to sprint uphill to improve our dashing ability. It gets the legs used to exploding forward for harder and longer— the way I fight is all pace and pressure, so being able to crush distance quickly, suddenly, and keep swinging hard, time after time, is as important as it gets. It is endurance work, in a way— but it's also just building up the strength that gives you raw speed. Doing that, over and over, so I could keep swarming a defense like his until it breaks. It took us a bit to crack him open."

A wry grin played over his face, mirroring that of his comrade. "If only we had a hill. Pushing up from below hits you twice as hard."

He knew she had a point, regarding recovery. Nobody could work themselves endlessly, grinding truly down to the bone, and expect to gain much. If you had nothing left to build upon, then your house was sure to crumble— If you endlessly sowed your fields the same way, never feeding the soil, your crop would dwindle with each passing month.

He'd felt it firsthand on march, years ago. Roving between battlefields made for rough living, and with strictly constrained meals, at times it was a miracle the Regiment hadn't strung themselves out completely. He'd lost friends that way. Hunger was a powerful motivator, but exhaustion made mistakes appear where they never should've.

But...

"Thanks for the concern, ma'am. And the advice— I'll be sure to peruse it after this. Right now, I feel able enough to at least manage this much."

He had to strike it hard and fast. Attacking one's own weakness was rarely so easy as the day you were both able and not only willing, but driven. Rest could come in a few more laps.

"If you wanted to sprint uphill..." Tyaethe said slowly, giving him a look befitting explaining something very simple to a child, "You could consider going outside of Candaeln. The city isn't flat."

It wasn't as if she could say much else about exercise; when your body wouldn't actually change no matter how much work you put in, there was little else to do except focus on technique and how to best use magical energy to get the necessary physical capabilities. But pointing out every relatively steep location in Aimlenn? She could do that in her sleep. Hm, although there was one thing she could suggest if he ever wanted an unusual exercise...

"As for strength training, if you want something challenging, there's a pretty heavy statue of Mayon inside the chapel. It's also been magically reinforced," entirely because of doing this before, naturally, "So dropping it doesn't do anything. There's also a nice flat spot on the chapel roof that gets a lot of sun."

The implication of how these could be related (if you got some sort of rope) was quite obvious. And that particular exercise had good memories... even if it originally wasn't an exercise at all, just an idea she got Cyrus to go along with.

@HereComesTheSnow

"Our roles end when our foes drop their swords," Serenity remarked. "I rather believe, Sir Fionn, that Sir Renar holds a vendetta towards executioners and judges. Why else would he be taking their roles into his own hands?"

She pressed her thumb against the edge of her sharpened sword, stopping just at the verge of her flesh being cut. Just need some oil now, to keep the rust away.

"After all, the less bandits arrive to trial, the less judges needed to sentence them, and the less executioners needed to execute them. And from there? The plot unfolds, as the kingdom no longer sees it fit to employ so many of them, and Sir Renar dines well that night, in knowledge that yet more men have been forced to seek other trades." A cloth ran up and down the length of the mirror-polished sword, removing excess oil. Serenity flourished her blade for one fanciful moment, before sliding it into the scabbard with a definitive click. "A revenge cold mayhaps, but undoubtedly sweet."

Better to imagine what dark machinations Renar had than to dwell upon how far the Iron Rose Knights have fallen, to accept those such as Lucas as full-fledged members of the same rank as the late Sir Rickert. What value was there indeed, when the only one who possessed the mythological capability that made the Iron Rose Knights subject to so many epics was an unaging vampire? Her expression didn't darken though, not this time. "Alas, the boy won't accept becoming an archer. I've doubt he would even handle a spear, except for a joust. Or self-pleasure."

...

Serenity coughed.

"Regardless, Lucas idolizes Sir Gerard, no? He's more liable to listen to one he respects than a girl his own age, if we speak of someone to instill sense in him." From a rack, Serenity pulled out a length of wood, a good deal taller than herself. Its heft was fine, its length could be better. It was wood though, disposable all the same, so she didn't think too much of it as she prepared to mount her spearhead upon it. "Or perhaps the Flower's taken him under his wing. Reckon he's the lucky sort?"

Or would their individual idiocies become magnified, until the fools leapt skywards to skewer themselves upon pike formations?

Lucas was like a well-oiled machine - head down and spoon shovelling - as he devoured the last of the pottage. It still amazed him, just how tasty something so simple could be. Like the grand gates and entrance of castle Candaeln; it would never get old. As the food in the bowl disappeared and the spoon became ineffective, Lucas dropped the utensil and picked up the bowl itself, pouring the last of it down his throat. He was in heaven already, and he hadn't even gotten to his favourite; Lamb on the bone with roasted potatoes and gravy.

"Reon, lad, save some for the rest of us, will you," was the comment from one knight, a few seats down and across the table. He was with two others and had been distracted enough from his own conversation to interrupt Lucas' bliss.

After putting the bowl down, Lucas scratched the back of his head sheepishly, closed eyes and a smile. It was met with some laughter.

"You eat like it's your last meal."

That resonated with Lucas and he bounced back, "Well, you never know when all this will come to an end. One minute you're flying high. Next; you're carrion. Or worse."

Worse, for Lucas, would be being thrown out of the Order, left on the streets to live with his failure. Dying for the cause would most definitely be preferable. It was all borrowed time, anyway. He should've been dead already, or a slave in unknown lands. His entire existence, at present, was a free shot at honour and glory he was never born for. Never worked for. In spite of the relatively small hardships that had come in his few months of being a 'Sir Lucas Storm,' it still all seemed to good to be true. Perhaps it was partly why he threw himself into the very front lines of the vanguard in his first battle - to use his own life to spare a more deserving knight from the fate of a probable death.

It was certainly partly why he got as much of this gourmet cuisine down his gullet as humanly possible!

"Aye, that holds true for any warrior," another of the three replied. "As good a reason as any."

Lucas wasn't far into his third course when Sir Fleuri joined him at the table.

"Sir Lucas," Fleuri greeted him...

"Flueri," he announced joyfully, before realising himself and awkwardly correcting his words. "Sir Fleuri... I mean."

"It's good to see you're unscathed."

"Thanks, you too, my friend." It was satisfying to think that he might've bonded with a comrade after standing shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield. It was more likely that Sir Fleuri was simply being polite, but Lucas couldn't help but romanticise the situation. Before this, his only experience of battle was in romanticised books, after all. As far as he was concerned, they were gods-damned warrior brothers who'd daringly took on outnumbering odds, plus a beast of legend.

"That battle got rather hectic, didn't it?"

"Sure did," was the reply. "I still can't believe we got through all that fire... fire both metaphorical and literal." He laughed, the lamp chop in his hand, dripping gravy onto the table. Gypsy table manners didn't exactly measure up to the standards in castle Candaeln. "But of course, I'd have been dead before the battle had even begun, if it wasn't for you." He was referencing the first skirmish, where his impulsive charge had left him in no man's land and the jaws of death. "I appreciate you looking out for me. Can't wait to return the favour... Well, hopefully I won't have to but... you know." The young lad laughed again, unashamed of making a fool of himself.

He took a chomp of his lamb chop and chewed it for a moment before speaking again. "Unfortunately I missed the griffin being taken down. I ended up with my hands full with Jeremiah's prisoners. I had to get them out of there before they burned to ash along with camp. When I got back, the beast was dead. What happened?"

And also, "I managed to leash the griffin. And tie the chain down. Did it help at all?"

The answer to his last question was dripping with hopefulness. Whether 'yes' or 'no,' Lucas would make no effort to hide his reaction - either great pride or disappointment.

Ah, yes, of course. Jests and japes. Fine. If that was how they were going to be regarding what he said, Renar wouldn't push the issue. If they didn't have a real point to rebuff him with, there was little need to continue the debate. Instead, he fell back on companionship and gossip to pass the time while he moved on to sharpening the spiked butt of his weapon.

"Does anyone even know who exactly allowed the boy into the order? Because I'd like to thank them profusely. Thank the goddesses that no one outside the order's caught on to the fact that we let some fool boy in with no training or feats to his name." Renar continued to grumble in response to Fionn and Serenity.

"Do as you want with that plan, Fionn. But I'll have no part in it." He said flatly, wiping the spike down and moving on to maintaining his arming sword. "The boy's sheer presence in the order spits on everything I've worked to achieve. On everything any other Iron Rose has done to simply be considered for candidancy. And frankly? I hope the Flower will be his new mentor. It only means he'll get himself killed quicker. As for Sir Fleuri..." Renar stared down at his sword, choosing his next words with deliberate care.

"His skill backs up his absurd thinking. Had anyone less adept attempted that nonsense with mounting the griffin, we'd have had to haul back another corpse. Would that he'd just killed it outright once he'd gotten atop its back, but I suppose our tourney champion desired a shiny new steed for himself." Renar sighed, shaking his head as he seemed to slump somewhat. This was why he didn't like to think about the Flower of the North too much.

"Enough with all that. Your thoughts on our new commander, Fionn? Considering she'd managed to slay Jeremiah with the slightest amount of aid from yourself and Gerard, I assume that she at least meets expectations?" Renar's gaze flickered to Serenity for just a moment, as if testing her reaction.

---

@ERode @Psyker Landshark

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"Renar."

His tone was recognizably sharper than it had been with Serenity moments earlier. He understood where Renar was coming from, of course, but he couldn't—wouldn't—hide the disapproval he felt at the man's words. "It isn't our choice to judge, nor to feel insult at. Clearly they saw something in him, we should try to keep him alive and grow his strengths into a worthy knight. If we're lucky, he and Fleuri will both realize their mistakes in that absurdity of a fight."

The formality was fully dropped in that moment; in the face of such clear ill-wishing for one of their own, Fionn's own temper would take precedence over his paying lip-service to propriety. The attempt to so quickly change the topic, especially after saying as much as he just had, didn't go unignored either; if anything, it just contributed to his willingness to immediately reprimand Renar's attitude.

Same actual rank or no; friends or no. Some things just shouldn't be allowed.

"The captain, for her part, was managing to hold out until we arrived, and doesn't seem too worse for wear. She'll manage fine, I think, so long as we can keep her from walking into any more ambushes." The flickering glance at Serenity didn't go unnoticed either, but he wasn't about to let her thoughts on the captain stop him from delivering his own. He'd just have to hope he wouldn't have to get in an outright argument with either of them when all he'd been looking for was confirmation that the battle was as insane on their ends as he'd thought.

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

For a brief instant, something flickered behind his eyes as he took in Tyaethe's suggestion. He respected her titles and accolades, and all the experience that had forged them. That much would always ring true. But for Reon's sake...

"Alright, alright, you don't gotta be a kid about it."

He knew when he was being mocked. He affixed her gaze with a blunt, level-browed exasperation of his own, albeit much less rooted in the sentiment of slowing down your words for a stupid kid. He was a stupid kid, fair enough, but he'd held conversation fine thus far. Screwing with the cadence was just obnoxious.

A snort escaped his nostrils as he took a step away in a half-turn out, towards the direction of the Candaeln gate, and rolled on. Whatever. He'd dealt with worse from worse people, though maybe that was what had made them so much easier to ignore. Who the hell cared about what people you didn't respect thought?

"Aimlenn's a big city. Most everywhere on the main approach here is flat enough— I didn't expect anywhere to be a terribly steep climb further in." he relayed his reasoning simply, neither crumbling beneath embarrassment nor stoking the flare that had come and gone. No point in either. Own the mistake, take in the correction, and move on. That was the only way forward.

"I'll go hunting, Ma'am." When his head turned back to face her, it held no tension as he inclined it in gratitude. "Thanks for the tip."

With that, the young man pivoted on his heel fully, and strode further into the sunlit yard, new objective in tow. Not like she had any reason to lie about it. Over his shoulder, he threw her a hearty enough wave...

"I'll swing by the chapel when I'm back!"

... And a reassurance that he'd listened to everything, in spite of the gripes.

Either she was in some sort of good mood... or maybe couldn't summon the motivation to do more than glare at the age jab, because Tyaethe just rolled her eyes. "Head south, away from the gates. There's a watchtower looking over the river, up on the cliffs. Careful, the buildings are crowded."

It was also where the city's ancient fortifications had been, going by old records, and while the predecessors to Candaeln and Castle Aimlenn itself had originally been closer to the river crossings, the modern structures were now set well back from the floodplain. They really just looked over the land approaches to the city nowadays, with the castle proper having an unobstructed view of the land route to Ithillin and close to the eastern gate they had used earlier.

Directions given, the vampire returned to her usual spot. While she had originally gone to stop Gerard to get some peace to focus on her reply or whether she should even write one, the hunger it had exacerbated wasn't going to go away on its own. Maybe she should go find someone, then; there were always a few who were more willing to help, whether out of altruism, or a feeling of obligation, or fear. Or who wanted an excuse to get out of some sort of physical activity the next day. At least there wasn't anyone in the order at the moment who seemed to actively enjoy the idea, that got awkward...