Whatever response she had for Velbrance evaporated at the assassin's presence. Hooded, certainly, but where had she come from? How incompetent did the guard detail have to be to not notice such an obviously suspicious figure?

And how utterly idiotic did the assassin have to be, to decide that this was the best opportunity they had to assassinate a princess? When the Paladin and the Gentle Blade, as well as a whole squadron of knights were present? Even if Dame Lilette had not caught the bolt, any number of them would have gladly taken the shot for Princess Elisandre.

Serenity could feel it. The flame in her stomach turn into steel, echoed details harmonizing within her mind. The chaos of the ballroom, guests making way while the knights flooded in, broiled like a sea in storm. She couldn't make a throw from here, and pursuit would only add to the chaos now. Her eyes flickered towards Veilena. The prodigy of the Mage's College wasn't casting. Haelstadt charged forth, but agility fit not the frame of a giant, no matter how skillful. The Crown Knights were in a better position here, especially when the assassin themselves already had a headstart on the Iron Rose, through the merits of a ranged weapon.

She knew what she would do, but she wasn't Fanilly.

"Captain."

Her hand clasped upon the small girl's shoulder. Enough force to ground their inexperienced Captain.

"A drop of royal blood is worth more than an assassin's lies. The Crown Knights and their mages can track the assassin, but we need to clear out the area and get Princess Elisandre and Princess Maletha away from here." What stupidity would inspire an assassin to take a shot that would undoubtedly have failed? Perhaps not stupidity then. A diversion. Eyes focused on tracking one elusive form, while another blended into the chaos of pursuit and danger, to draw their own blade and reap the only lives here that had value.

A simple, but effective scheme.

And one, admittedly, that still looked likely to fall flat on its face, considering the proximity of both the Paladin and the Gentle Blade. Except, of course...

Serenity released her grip on Fanilly, azure eyes already finding another's.

"Sir Fionn, Lein; escort Her Highness over! Sir Sergio, cover one side of Princess Elisandre; I'll cover the other."

Mayon above, what she'd give for a shield right now.

The vampire's response to the entire attempted assassination was... to nearly raise her hand fully before putting it down again as the Lilette moved faster, and then draining the glass. Somehow, in the confusion, she even managed to pull off swiping one from someone else as the crowd parted, looking around for the assassin. Hm, couldn't see them. But was that because the assassin was short, or because she was? It could really go either way.

"No, Arcedeen," her voice was loud and clear, despite the din, "The princesses will be safe with Lilette and me; you all capture the assassin. We need to know what's going on now, not give them a week to try again and cover their tracks."

After all, she could stop an assassination attempt without running around. Chasing down the assassin? No chance. And she really didn't have time to stop and explain that to the other knights in this situation. Just point at a very confused and aghast-looking crown knight and... yes, she had a sword now. Lilette was guarding Elisandre, so she she'd just have to go fetch Maletha and escort her over.

It was a stroke of luck that Renar had even noticed the crossbow being drawn by the small, hooded figure. He'd been idly glancing around the party to avoid paying too much overt attention towards the royals, even as he listened in. By the time Fanilly shouted in alarm, his sword was halfway out of its scabbard as he started rushing forward. Unfortunately, he was nowhere quick enough to intercept the crossbow bolt. Fortunately, the Gentle Blade had that covered. He'd halted for just a moment to confirm the princess's safety before taking off in a sprint after the assassin.

Serenity and Tyaethe's words echoed in his ears, and he noted with some amusement that Serenity wasn't even bothering to give him orders. Fortunately, the First and Youngest's sentiments echoed his own in this situation. The priority was to go for the capture. Stopping an assassination was all well and good, but these sorts of things had to be cut off at the source. Someone wanted a royal of Thaln dead, and depending on who made the commission, it could result in war.

With this in mind, Renar thanked the sun and moon that the assassin was rather short. Agile, yes. But he was gaining on them, thanks to the difference in the length of their strides. In the corner of his eye, he noticed the massive wall of black armor that was presumably a knight, and he settled on his plan.

As Renar sprinted past an alarmed serving boy, he snatched the empty, circular serving tray the man was carrying with his left hand, his right still clutching his sword.

"I'll be borrowing this." He said hastily as he tore after the assassin.

As Haelstadt moved to cut the killer off, Renar took the tray and hurled it like a discus, aiming for the fleeing figure's back. Even as he threw, he poured on the speed in one final burst, aiming to catch the assassin and tackle them to the ground while they were occupied with dodging or being hit. Oh, to imagine Felix's face if he pulled this off...

Vier had a flurry of emotions running through him after the assassination attempt. The main one was disbelief that someone would try something so blatant in a ballroom filled with warriors. That disbelief was curbed with the realization of how small the assassin was, and who they targeted. Vier was mostly frozen until Fanilly’s call to arms, snapping him into attention. He saw Renar run off to grab the assassin, and weighed the option of following him.

On one hand, there’s not many places safer that by the Gentle Blade’s side, and there might be more assassins who’d like to try again. If he simply stayed here and sipped champagne, no one would really blame him. But on the other hand, there’s no way his pride would let him faff about, twiddling his thumbs while others did the rough work. So, he got up, unsheathed both his swords, internally smacking himself for not bringing armor to the ball. He had thought he might not need it for once. He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

So he followed Renar, staying a small distance behind him in case the assassin or his fellow Iron Rose did something drastic.

Sergio found himself envious that Gerard had brought his battle weapon with him.

Instincts smashed gears together in his machine of a brain, moving into overdrive, he silently disobeyed Serenity's suggestion in favour of Tyaethe's. The Knight's concealed dagger dropped from his sleeve into his hand as he sprinted, not too far behind Ser Renar, after the assassin. His eyes flashed as the threat came close.

@VitaVitaAR @Psyker Landshark @ERode @Raineh Daze

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

The front lines of any mercenary corps were a hellish, chaotic mess. They engulfed you in a storm's eye, surrounding your every sense with a tumultuous flood of stimuli. To survive long in such a hellish quagmire day in and day out required skill and instinct in equal measure— No amount of pure swordsmanship, an art that was made through sight and touch, would save a soldier from an attack that came from a blind angle.

"Down, down, down! Under the table, all three of you!" Gerard roared, pulling steel free from the blackened leather sheath that had never left an arm's reach away. With his left hand he reached forward as though to beckon the trio behind him or shepherd them towards safety, but his head had long snapped onto the diminutive frame of the would-be assassin, and belied his true mentality.

The thrum of a loosed bolt from a crossbow, however masked by the party's chatter, was unmistakable.

To spend five years in that aforementioned hell unscathed required an ability to separate signal from noise that bordered on uncanny, and the quickness of action to match. He would waste no more of it on talk. No more on anything short of action.

There was danger to snuff.

In that instant the stiff, uncomfortable candor had left him, and the soldier of a hundred battlefields returned, eyes ablaze with golden purpose. With it came that familiar rush of flame through the body, the same that slowed the world and hastened his eyes.

He surged forward past them, chewing up the distance between their place at the banquet and the center stage of the unfolding drama. Ahead of him, his fellow knights, those who had rushed to greet the Princesses had already assumed offensive posture— Sir Renar in pursuit, lobbing a serving tray. Sir Sergio in his wake, steel of a rondel gleaming in the chandelier's light. A moment later, Sir Vier, blades in tow.

They'd get there first— assuming the assassin stayed put. They wouldn't. Three grown men at a dead sprint, though, would counter their quarry's assumed agility with greater athleticism and stride length, covering more ground in less time.

That tower of onyx that had been shadowing a young noble (no older than the three he'd been accosted by) was already moving as well, away from his charge and Serenity by extension. His direction would take him past the fleeing midget— not a bad idea.

The Crown was covering exits. Fionn, Dame Serenity, Paladin Tyaethe, and the elf who'd caught the bolt were covering the targets of the attempt. With as far as his group had been in the moments prior, he would be late to support either of the other auxiliary roles— But had good lateral positioning from the angle the diminutive figure had shown themselves.

With a sharp exhalation, he slammed his boot into the carpet and cut a broad angle. He could move to shut down their left flank. Boxing them in would kill their escape. The sprint would carry him into position quickly. Trying to pass him would be an invitation to be wrenched into the ground.

Gerard would, of course, quite readily oblige.

---

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@ERode@Psyker Landshark@PigeonOfAstora@Crimson Paladin@Raineh Daze@HereComesTheSnow@Rune_Alchemist@Creative Chaos

---

Fionn's confusion over the cake was interrupted almost instantly by Lein coming to his side once again. "Oh, bother," he muttered, thinking about having to re-tie the Hundi's laces again, before his fellow knight's conspiratorial whisper reached his ear. His brow furrowed immediately, one hand reaching down for the sword at his belt, the other pulling Maletha in closer. "Why would I—"

His gaze, scanning over the ball, snapped back to one small figure they'd slid over moments before with nearly no recognition. Past the other princess and those surrounding her just ahead, the glint of light coming off the tip of the assassin's weapon caught his full attention faster than he could even complete his reply to his comrade. Even Jeremiah hadn't been able to render him speechless so quickly.

No mercenary who had survived even a single battle came out of it without a healthy respect—if not fear—for the capabilities of a crossbow.

Longbows were bad enough, and anybody well-trained with one could fill the air with arrows at an astonishing rate; at close range, with a heavy enough bow, an arrow could even penetrate a helmet or dent a well-made breastplate. At their most useful, however, they were used to soften up formations, take out unarmoured infantry and the like, and they could be countered by another force of archers. What crossbows lacked in sheer rate of fire, in usefulness in pitched, open battle, they made up for in ease of use and surprise.

Any farmer, even without any useful experience, could be trained to use a crossbow with decent accuracy in a matter of hours. One who was at-all dedicated to their craft could prove as accurate as many master archers within weeks. Moreover, one could be held at the ready nearly indefinitely. This made them fantastic implements for picking out higher-value targets, for manning defenses during a siege, and especially in an ambush.

Fionn had personally seen some of those he used to fight alongside have the necessity for proper scouting, situational awareness, and just general readiness drilled into their heads far more literally than was ever needed for himself—all due to advance skirmishers armed with crossbows.

"Stop her! Stop her now!"

The hand that had been creeping towards the hilt of his sword struck out suddenly, shoving Lein roughly off to the side. In the same movement he dove off to the other side, wrapping Maletha up with his other arm and turning so that he was covering her should the bolt miss Elisandre and come in their direction. The unmistakable snap of the weapon followed as soon as the pair hit the floor, and he was already on his feet rushing towards the heir apparent, Maletha still wrapped in one arm, as the captain and Sir Adeforth started bellowing orders over the din of the frightened nobles. Veilena's oversized knight, Renar, Vier, and Sergio all peeled off in an instant in pursuit of the diminutive assassin; the roar and following heavy footfalls behind him made it clear that Gerard was doing similar.

Serenity's words went unheeded as he was already rapidly approaching; Tyaethe's met with a single nod, although he didn't move to comply with her command, either. "Captain!" Fionn barked, to get Fanilly's attention his way as he set Maletha down near Tyaethe, drawing his blade and nodding in the direction of the dais and beyond, where the rest of the keep and the royal residences could be reached from. "If one assassin could make it past all of our watch here in the great hall, there could be more throughout. With your leave, the four of us—"

Meaning Fleuri, Lein, and Serenity, the only others who hadn't yet taken off to bar an exit or intercept the assassin.

"—will join the Crown Knights to make sure the path is clear for the three of you to evacuate the princesses back to the royal apartments." A better place for them by far than in the middle of the hall, surrounded by five current knights and one former.

---

"I see, I see." Cecillia replied with a small smile.

"...are you feeling jealous, Cecil?"

"Yes, incredibly jealous Shael why do you ask?"

"You know, you could have kept in contact after-"

"Ahaha, well, its always fun to meet someone from new lands." She'd ignore Shael, focusing on the two people in front of her. "Met all kinds of people in my time as a mercenary you know. Never had the pleasure of traveling outside of the country myself, but I've heard lots of wonderful stories." She'd offer a drink to Annika and lord Bashar. "I can tell you all sorts of stories from my time as a mercenary and of the recent-"

Unfortunately, it seems fate had other plans.

The sound of an alarm. An assassin? Cecil swiveled her head immediately towards the source of the commotion. A hooded figure. Small. Inept. Why on earth would an assassin try getting this close unless they were confident? It'd be far better to make a shot from afar...but then again, she supposed not everyone had a spirit of wind on their side.

"...it seems I must cut our conversation short." Cecil smiled, unable to hide a tinge of reluctance to it. "Duty calls and all that. Perhaps we can speak more later." With that, Cecilia would take off.

"Shael, I need speed!"

"Yes yes, order me around after ignoring me why don't you I don't mind that at all, hmph."

Despite her sass, Cecilia would have her lightened steps. Being likely the fastest and agile of the iron roses present, her goal was simple - get ahead of the assassin. Cut her off by any means necessary. She'd

"I'll try and cut her off!" She'd shout to her comrades.

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri's warning had come none too soon. Just a few moments after Tyaethe and Lilette had the chance to hear whaat he had to say, Fanilly sounded out a warning. A moment later, Lilette stopped an incoming projectile with just her hand, with the reflexes and precision expected of an elf of such legendary reputation.

Normally Fleuri would be giddy to meet another of the original Iron Roses, and even moreso to see her in action. But this was the middle of an assassination attempt of the crown princess, and the only things on his mind was the safety of the princess and the subduing of the assassin- preferably alive.

As the Crown Knights moved to bar the exits, several of the Iron Roses took off in pursuit of the assassin. Meanwhile, the younger princess was quite literally in good hands. Fionn rushed over to the captain and remaining knights carrying Maletha in one of his arms. Having concluded that he'd be of any use in the pursuit with so many knights already chasing (although admittedly, he probably wasn't much use here either, considering the considerable skills of Tyaethe and Lilette), and unsure as to whether the assassin had accomplices within the crowds, Fleuri drew his sword and stayed where he was, ready in case there was more danger lying in wait.

"I'm ready to move if that's what you want," Fleuri spoke to Fanilly regarding Fionn's proposition. The former mercenary had a point, there could be other assassins and the princesses weren't out of danger yet.

@The Otter@VitaVitaAR

Fanilly hesitated a moment when she felt the hand on her shoulder. On one hand, ensuring the safety of the Princesses was obviously the most important thing. On the other hand, losing the assassin would also lose them their only potential source of information on just what was going on.

They had to capture the assassin and make sure the princesses were safe. Sir Fionn had already handled Princess Maletha. She would be a far more difficult target when his body formed a shield, the little girl trembling and covering her eyes under his arm before being set beside Dame Tyaethe.

Princess Elisandre had fallen backwards, wide-eyed with shock and terror at how close the end of her life had come, trembling. Fanilly stepped closer to her, offering her a hand before pulling her onto her feet.

"We won't allow you to be harmed, your Highness," asserted the knight-captain, "Nor your younger sister."

She took a deep breath.

They had to protect the Princesses. They had to capture the assassin. That was it.

"We have to ensure the safety of the Princesses, but if we allow the assassin to escape, the possibility of another attempt on their lives becomes a guarantee. We have to find out where they came from. Sir Fionn, I'll remain here as the other knights escort the Princesses to safety!"

And that meant capture. But if there were other assassins, were they concealed in the crowds? How had this first assassin managed to get in? Certainly their small size would have been an asset, but there were no easy entrances, nor should they have been able to get so close to the Princess while armed.

Was there a traitor in their midst? But even with that in mind, how would the assassin be able to simply walk up to the First Princess and take a shot?

None of it made sense, and as Fanilly called for the knights nearest to the Princesses to form a barrier and begin guiding them deeper into the castle, the others were able to pursue the assassin.

A pair of golden eyes peaked out from the darkness of their hood, and a brief flash of gritted teeth as the small figure took a sharp turn, then another, darting in and around nobles even as they attempted to clear the floor. While their size surely impacted their speed, the sheer agility of the would-be killer was remarkable. They were so small, and yet so swift.

But there were others who could move faster.

Indeed, the first one to come out ahead of the Assassin was Cecilia.

Then the wall of black steel that was Haelstadt.

Then the uniformed Crown Knights, barring the door.

Golden eyes darting to a nearby window, the assassin turned-

-And was taken to the ground by Renar.

Silently, she hit the floor, jolting from the impact, her hood falling back.

The assassin's small size and agility were almost immediately understood when her face was revealed. The almost-childlike features. The golden hue of her eyes. The pale skin and black hair.

In human lands, Nem weren't exactly a common sight. And yet here one was, a Nem girl clad in leather and cloth, a scarf wrapped around her neck.

The crossbow skittered away across the floor, with heavy black steel descending upon it moments later as Haelstadt crushed it beneath their foot.

The nem did not struggle.

She lay on her back, looking away without a sound, beneath Renar. For all her attempts to escape, she was no longer doing so.

@Creative Chaos@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow

---

For the great work the knights of Iron Roses do for every day people, bookkeeping and administration was not necessarily their strength. In fact, the last year or two, paperwork had been ramping up significantly. Being the few who is willing to tolerate the mundane, brain and leg-numbing work known as equipment management was a blessing and a curse for Steffen. On the one hand, he's always with work to do, on the other, he participated in less actions, including the raid the previous day. Whichever is a blessing or a curse is for others to decide. Steffen was living just fine in the small corner of the Candaeln library.

Despite the work, Steffen never was in any lack of sleep. He diligently finished his self-arranged schedule early before taking to bed at the exact time as any day, and then up at daybreak. Breakfast was modest, the morning tea was healthy, a quick workout was serene. Then it was back to doing more paperwork. However, today things were a little different.

A messenger visited him in the morning, informing him that he was selected to join the Knight-Captain at the Princess' Ball. It was a little unexpected, but Steffen agreed. If it was the Knight-Captain, he could not possibly refuse. He'd push the non-important tasks for the next day or ask Sir Ishild to take care of what he couldn't. That was no big deal, but the next messenger to arrive was not as interesting. Carried with him was a familiar-looking sword.

"Please take this out of our record, if you don't mind. No rush." The messenger was a fellow knight Steffen had met a few times. A nice lad. But he looked grim.

"This sword, is this from Sir Rickert?"

The knight nodded, his eyes closed solemnly, letting the silence convey the message. The Ingvarr stood up from his chair and reached over the table to pat the man on the shoulder. "It will be done. Thank you for your time." He said softly, giving him an understanding nod. "If you want to chat later about it, I can always make time."

"I will be ok, thank you so much Sir Steffen." The knight rested his hand on Steffen's, gently lowering it. "May his soul rest in the goddesses' embrace."

"Indeed, may the goddesses watch over his soul." Steffen did not concern much with religion, but these people do, and he knew to always respect that, especially in grave moments. "May you have a good day, Sir Rostam."

The knight bowed and left, leaving the Ingvarr with melancholy. But it soon turned to duty, as Steffen took the weapon that once belonged to a great knight, gave it a thorough wipe before placing it in a redwood box embroidered with rose imagery and coat of arms. Though some family would prefer to use their own ceremonial auxiliaries, usually the higher class ones, it was still standard procedure for a knight's procession. Then the equipment would be carefully examined and the records edited. It normally didn't take too long, but Steffen often found it to be a little too...cold. So he took some extra time with it.

"Sir Steffen?" Another knight popped into the corner he sat on, wearing a much more formal attire, prompting the Ingvarr to stop writing for a moment. "You were invited to the Princess' Ball right?"

"I am. Is it time?" He asked

The knight nodded his answer. "It already started." Oh dear, time flew by while he was working. He hadn't even gotten dressed yet.

"Oh, thank you for the reminder. I'll be there." The knight bowed and was about to leave when Steffen raised his hand to stop him. The knight looked curiously as the Ingvarr wrapped up the piece of paper in front of him, put it in a light blue letter envelope embroidered with flowers, sealed it and placed it in a redwood sword box. There were a few more envelopes like it in there too. "Can you give this box to Sir Ishild as you pass by her? It's for Sir Rickert's family."

"Certainly." The knight nodded, took the box and left before Steffen could say thank you. It was good to know that there are some comfort for them.

---

The day went on, and Steffen hurried back to get himself dressed. He chose an all-black tuxedo with black pants, shirt and pants. The only light-colored piece of clothing on him would be the white cravat with a small rose at the top by his neck, and several embroidery on his coat. He jogged to the castle to save time, but slowed down by the gate so as to catch his breathe and not sweat. He was already late anyway, so better to be late well-dressed than late and looked dead.

As Steffen made his way to the ball, he saw the moment when something was going wrong. All of a sudden, there were distant movement of the knights in various directions towards the ballroom, as the door slammed shut. A couple others also arrived outside the ballroom.

"Ah, Sir Steffen, it's good that you're here." One of the knights said as he saw the towering outlander over him. "There's an assassination attempt. Go check the path to the royal quarters."

"Understood." Steffen nodded firmly as he dashed back to the first hall. He cursed himself for forgetting his spear back home.

In truth, Renar hadn't expected his move to have worked as well as it did. Going for the takedown had really just been to force the assassin's hand and manuever them into a position for any of the knights chasing the hooded figure to be able to catch them. But as he brought the attempted killer to the ground from behind, Renar certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Even as the assassin went down, Renar flung his sword hand out, sliding his blade out of his grasp and along the ground. It wouldn't do for them to get any bright ideas about suicide in the face of capture and interrogation. With both hands freed, Renar proceeded to grasp both of the tiny figure's hands and lock them behind their back, even as he applied his body weight down on their back to keep them pinned. Even though she wasn't trying to get away, he wasn't taking any chances with the nem.

"I need bindings, now!" Renar called out to the crowd around him, hoping that one of his fellow Iron Rose or even a Crown Knight had something usable on them. "Rope, twine, cuffs, it doesn't matter!

Once he was inevitably brought a method to keep the assassin's hands bound, Renar proceeded to drag her up to her feet and frogmarch the nem to a safe distance but still within speaking range of the princesses, Fanilly, and Tyaethe.

"Your Highnesses. Knight-Captain." He expressed deference as best as he was able while restraining the assassin, which amounted to a deep nod of his head. "What do you wish done with this person? I don't suppose you've an interrogator on retainer?"

"Have you learned to read minds in the past hundred years?" Tyaethe asked, looking over at Lilette with a half curious, half bored expression... and receiving a shake of the head. Well, that ruled out the easy path, unless there was some passing demon or something who could tell them all this nem's desires. Though then they'd likely only find out she really wanted to get out of here... and they'd have far more questions about what a demon was doing attending a royal ball.

Carefully positioning Lilette to block the princess off, the vampire stepped forward and crouched. Ah, it was nice to be the bigger party for once, without relying on a suit of armour to do it. So small, and she did wonder what sort of flavour nem blood had as a whole, it wasn't like they came round much to check... ah well, now wasn't the time.

Instead, with Renar holding the girl back, the paladin gave a thoughtful look... and then decided to start tickling her.

Someone was going to pointlessly suggest torture, so they might as well check if the assassin could even feel something first.

With the Princesses seemingly out of harm's way for now given the knights surrounding them, and no sign yet of another immediate assassination attempt, Fanilly stepped forward, her entire body now tensed. She could see Sir Adeforth towards the entrance, demanding to know how an assassin had managed to slip into the ball.

But the Crown Knights seemed as bewildered as anyone else.

"We have to find out what she knows, as soon as possible," the Knight-Captain asserted, "Ideally, we could interrogate her on the spot, but..."

She hesitated for a moment. Not only did she not desire to engage in torture even by proxy, but a nem was so small it seemed far too easy to go too far with such a thing.

The nem made no effort to resist when she was pulled to her feet, simply dully staring at the floor, golden eyes looking rather dim. Nor was any move made to attempt some form of suicide.

Fanilly could not begin to understand why Tyaethe chose that particular course of action.

"D-Dame Tyaethe?!"

And neither did the assassin, who flinched and pulled back immediately, even if that met pressing against her captor. Now her golden eyes seemed to alight with anger...

But perhaps notably she did not make a single sound the entire time.

@Creative Chaos@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow

His head twisted in confoundment at Tyaethe, disregarding it once it had finished by taking the initiative and simply grabbing the Nem by the scarf on her neck, raising her up as he held his blade firm in icepick grip in his other hand. His fiery eyes burning right at her, two blood moons in the sky.

"You understand us talking? Eh?" Words angled to be delivered as clearly as he could manage, with enough sharpness to them to cut through any language barrier in the way.

@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow @Raineh Daze @Psyker Landshark

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark

From the edge of the captive Nem's vision, a dark, towering stormcloud would emerge from the vague splashes of colors that were the partygoers. In the looming mass's grip, growing bolder and deeper as it slowly stalked forward to fill the gap it had been managing during the pursuit, a bolt of caught silver lightning glinted, sharp and thirsty, in the gilded glow of the chandeliers overhead. What it may have lacked in booming thunder, the deliberate, tightly restrained rhythm of each stride thudding against the flooring heralded its slow approach with similar omens.

It was clear that she wasn't going anywhere right now. Pinned beneath the weight of a knight three times her size, both arms restrained behind the back and kept by a grip stern as iron, no amount of wriggling or writhing would see the Nem released— squarely checkmated by the quashing of whatever mechanical advantage she may have mustered. To her meager credit, she did at least seem to recognize as much, all but going limp until prodded by the First and Youngest, whose wriggling fingers prompted a grimace and recoil— but nothing that reached the thunderhead's sharpened ears.

Nonetheless, for all the formality that the slow, deliberate crushing of the last fraction of space that could have been an avenue for escape had been reduced to, his stride didn't hitch. If she, for whatever reason, took notice to the swelling image in her peripheral in the midst of a knife being held to her, it would continue to grow until it seemed to swallow the light and color of the crowd behind, save for the lone line of steel. The footfalls of the steady march seemed to carry ahead the same bundled fury that blazed in the golden suns opposite Sergio's blood moons, and the blade drew closer, closer to her face, until she could almost smell the fresh oil of its latest polish—

And with a stern thunk that must have seemed a mere inch from her ears, Gerard planted his blade into the flooring beside her head as he dropped to one knee, expression all knotted brow and smolder. He wasn't the right one to handle a true interrogation— experience had told him as much, but he understood the value of closing the cage of bodies around their captive in its totality, no matter the redundancy. The difference between an incredibly unlikely escape and an impossible one was too important to waste— and, in some small way, the show of force worked off the top end of the head of steam his brief role in the chase had built.

When he spoke now, his voice was clipped, rather than clearly drawn taught with tension. He glanced over to the Paladin at his side, and voiced the question beneath the fire.

"What was the idea behind the tickling, besides annoying her?"

He was back in the driver's seat, so to speak— alert, but present enough that the brutality he had so steeped himself in wouldn't rear its head here. He knew that here, now, and in knowing him, it was important to convey as much— questioning her methods, while one part seeking her answer genuinely, served the broader purpose of displaying he held his own reigns.

To put it simply, in her position, Gerard knew he wouldn't trust him without that courtesy. Not when he could feel the white fury that burned inside, and knew that she'd see it plain in his gaze.

"I mean, we didn't even get a laugh out of it, did we?"

...

Wait.

He blinked, turning the idle observation over again.

No laugh, no pained grunting when dealing with the entire tackle by Renar, nothing from either his or Sir Sergio's naked threats with the blades they held. He had believed before that he may have lost the sounds in the commotion, but Renar's full weight had hit her— and elicited nothing at all? From one this young?

Didn't make sense. You couldn't get that kind of discipline from a kid no matter how hard you tried. Her silence was weird.

So much as naked blades naturally drew attention, Sergio's in turn drew Gerard's eyes to her scarf, unseasonable even for night in Thalnic summers, and the throat that lied beneath. They narrowed, a suspicion growing. His background had left him with many things to shake off with time, like earlier— but exposure to such unsavory corners of the world had also left him with many, many experiences involving the punished, the crippled, the many ways a body could be broken down.

Slowly, he reached for that scarf, intent on exposing the neck beneath.

Lein

---

Location: The Royal Ball
Interactions: Fionn @The Otter Steffen @Conscripts Younger Princess @VitaVitaAR

---

Nevermind. I miss Ithillin.

Lein had disappeared briefly after the rest of the knights took off in a mad dash for the assassin and resurfaced a few moments ago, makeup gone and his clothes changed completely from a fancy ballroom dress to a sailor's getup, acting like he had been there the entire time (and also ignoring Serenity barking at him the entire time). Complete with a navy jacket, red scarf and buckled pantaloons, one of his sleeves was rolled back to give his prosthetic arm the full range of motion. It was tentatively still 'refined', but it straddled the line between appropriate for high class company and something fitting for a seaman scrapping over the last barrel of rum. The only part of his previous costume that remained was one of the white gloves filled with pebbles as a makeshift bludgeon hoisted over his shoulder, and a couple flecks of Lein's eyeliner hastily washed off. It was quite the hassle to have coordinated how to fit all the disguise under cover of the dress, but it would seem that the preparation was to be paid off, if not in quite the way that Lein had planned. For what it was worth, 'Lady Cteline' was out and 'Lein' the underhanded braggart was back in his usual demeanor. And that demeanor right now was bored.

Lein was quite annoyed with the so called 'assassination attempt'. Combined with the poor showing of the bandits the Knights had routed a couple days back, it was worrying to see the underbelly of society be so meek at their craft. Sneaking an entire crossbow into the ball through the security was a right go, Lein had to say, but to set that up to just...shoot a princess with the bow? No distractions or mis-directions? If the assassin was dumb enough to just shoot a bolt and run off expecting not to be caught, at least they could have had the decency to let Lein have a bit more fun with it. Now it was just the most boring bits of an assassination - the cleanup, ferrying some princesses and nobles off to their quarters, clearing rooms and a whole lot of sweeping. Maybe Lein was getting everyone way too much credit with their conspiratorial capabilities with his paranoia. Soon he'd probably see a bandit asking if they could please pretty please take their money off them if they could be so kind.

Feh. Lein cheered himself up at the possibility that in clearing rooms he'll have a chance to misappropriate some of the royal treasures. Oh, and hopefully the assassin poisoned her arrows or something so they'd give the clerics a bit of a fright. He moseyed a look on over at the assassin. A tiny Nem girl. Another tiny girl. So the total was, let's see - the two princesses, that Cazt girl, the girl-totally-not-witch, this Nem assassin and technically their own Knight Captain. Fate had somehow conspired to drop the entirety of Thalnese power in a children's tea party. Okay, maybe now Lein was starting to understand why so many of these plans were half-baked.

Lein yawned and took another scan of the room. A couple of nobles were still a bit shocked, they probably won't miss a necklace or two... Oh. His eyes settled on a pair of antlers swinging through the crowds. Well, that was a new face, huh? Steffen, if Lein recalled correctly. A little suspicious he was the only one showing up late right after the assassination, but the bookworm was probably the most straight-laced of all that Lein had placed an eye on. Boring, but the easier kind of boring. Lein waved down the giant with a whistle. "Hey there, big man! Whatever's kept you, made you miss all the excitement! Some girl took a shot at Her Highness, got messed up. If you wanna join the rest of the louses hitting up the assassin, you're welcome to try your luck back there." Lein jabbed over to the crowd of knights, his high-class act dropped along with the costume. Though looking at how they were fooling around, probably would get through in approximately three moons.

Lein landed a heavy backhand on Fionn's chest (given that he couldn't actually reach anywhere higher) as a gesture of referral and a petty payback for the earlier shove. "You're also welcome to sit squat with Fionn and I, in case someone tries something on the little one." Lein's bored expression broke out in detached amusement, a fanged smile. "Orrr, you could let me ride on your shoulders and we could root out some would-be regicide together with our combined height? Fionn's hands are full and all."

The fact that there still seemed to be no other assassins present was both a relief and concern to Fanilly. It certainly meant there was no immediate attempt on the elder Princess's life, but on the other hand that could have just meant they were hiding elsewhere. Especially given that this assassin in particular was somehow able to enter the ball entirely unseen until she took the shot.

... And just who had warned her about the assassin in the first place?

Her hands tightened a bit when Sir Sergio lifted the Nem assassin into the air by her scarf. On one hand, she didn't want to stop at anything to uncover the truth of what had happened. On the other, going too far with a prisoner wouldn't help either.

Her train of thought was entirely derailed when Sir Gerard removed the scarf entirely.

The assassin immediately attempted to look away and obscure what had just been witnessed, but with her hands behind her back it simply wasn't possible to hide it.

The pale flesh of the nem's throat had long healed by now. But it was clear what had been done to it so long ago. The gristly, jagged white scars that indicated the grotesque butchery that had once been carried out on the girl was impossible to miss. At some point, her neck had been hacked open, and thought it was impossible to see inside, her utter silence made it quite clear that her vocal cords had been damaged beyond repair or even entirely torn out.

Needless to say, it was now clear they weren't going to get an answer like this. With her secret handicap revealed, the nem's eyes were rather downcast.

However, she seemed to slowly take note of the rose brooch on Fanilly's breast.

@Creative Chaos@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow

"Well, I was sure someone was going to suggest torture, or get pointlessly violent," Tyaethe answered, reaching up to tap Sergio's arm as an example, "So I thought that tickling would be the easiest way to tell if she was going to respond. You don't do any harm you have to fix, it doesn't make it impossible to respond, and you get to see if they respond to physical sensation. Plus, I've met way more people who can ignore any amount of pain but will flinch at being tickled."

And it was kind of fun.

Of course, the revealed neck made it clear that shouting and demanding questions wasn't going to work. Hm, was this going to become a game of charades, or was their would-be assassin literate? The damage might be healable, but from everything she knew about healing magic (not that it was a huge amount, since it wasn't something a vampire really needed), fixing an old injury like that would be a laborious process if it was doable at all. Not great for getting an answer now.

Hm, some random noble was still standing by the captain. He'd been trying to say... oh, something about tongues or checking for teeth, which wasn't entirely a bad idea until this point, but he really wasn't necessary or contributing. "If you're going to stand around, you might as well bring the drinks over. No point letting the party food go to waste."

Veilena's knight destroyed the crossbow.

And Serenity held back the desire to let that spark any further suspicion.

With the assassin secured (Renar looked to be getting even more of a spotlight now), the rest of the guests settled down as well and it was easy enough to guide the two Princesses to a well-armored detachment of Crown Knights. Properly-equipped knights, with proper shields. Alongside them and Dame Lilette, there was little need for the Iron Roses to flock any longer, so her attention flickered towards Lady Cazst, sparing a smile that seemed almost apologetic, before striding off to join the Knight-Captain in her...

"So I thought that tickling would be the easiest way..."

Serenity drew in a deep breath. Purged that particular bit of knowledge from her mind.

A nem assassin was a dime in a dozen, considering the boons that the Night Goddess bestowed them. One that was unwilling to cooperate though, and with a throat scarred beyond use? A disposable pawn, but not one hired off the streets for a fistful of coin. Regardless, extracting answers from them would be difficult without the expertise of a mind-seer. Which meant too, that there was no need to delay further with this.

"Knight-Captain. Even if this assassin gave us an answer, without further information, the veracity of their claims cannot be confirmed, and to act upon it would be inefficient. It would be best to hand this over to the Crown Knights."

The Iron Rose were neither judge, jury, nor executioner. If not for their image as protectors, perhaps Renar would be justified in simply the diminutive nem's hands and legs. But Sir Felix, that half-brother of Renar's, certainly was eager for a share of the glory, even if it was only the aftermath. He came over as well, dull iron manacles in hand, ready to take in the assassin. No doubt eager to lead the nem away as if he had been the one to stop her.

Law and politics. That was the duty of the Crown, after all.

"Ours is the shield and sword, safeguarding the weak and slaying the cruel. As for the extraction of truth from voiceless tools? That is the domain of those who watch over Aimlenn's dungeons."

Though their beliefs were misaligned, Serenity agreed with the Paladin on that point alone: torture and interrogation was pointless. Not only was royalty present, but so too were guests from all across the kingdom, from beyond the kingdom.

This was not the wilderness, where they could do as they wished against blackhearted bandits marked for death. Here, within the Princess's ballroom? They had to be exemplars.