Sergio breathed in as Gerard lifted the scarf, glancing to Tyaethe with an annoyed look as she tapped him. He'd been too quick on the draw. Unbefitting.

He slowly let the Nem down, twirling his dagger in his other hand as he looked to Dame Serenity, suggesting they hand her over. He quietly nodded, eyes softened as they moved to the Knight-Captain.

"May I take a moment?" He asked of Fanilly, tone of voice lowered considerably.

@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow @Raineh Daze @Psyker Landshark @ERode

Well, Renar wasn't exactly going to suggest that they torture the nem in plain view of the princesses. They had dungeons for that, after all. Still, the girl's slashed throat suggested that this path of inquiry would lead to no results. That said, if this assassin's handlers saw fit to mangle their own agent, it seemed likely enough that her loyalties to her employer and superiors would be less than sterling.

As for extracting information out of her, Renar did notice an avenue they'd not taken yet. Just as he was about to start, Felix came in from the side as if to try to seize credit after doing absolutely nothing. Oh, for the love of...

"Wait your turn, buffoon." Renar hissed near-silently into Felix's ear, out of earshot of Fanilly and the princesses, at the very least. "If you want to interfere, you can do so after we're finished here."

"One moment," He said politely to his superiors and the royals as he began to pat the nem assassin down. Hopefully he'd find something on her person that would provide a clue. A competent killer wouldn't leave anything incriminating on themselves in case of death or capture, but judging by her haphazard attempted shooting, they weren't exactly dealing with a master criminal here. Whatever he found, he'd turn over to Tyaethe first.

---

Despite his anxiety circulating through his body at the unknown event currently happening inside the ballroom, Steffen carried out his duty principally, walking up and down the hallway to the royal quarters looking for any movement or individuals that might be hiding from plain sight to finish off what couldn't. He only knew that it was an assassination, but on who and who the assassin was was not known to him, until the third and final time he returned to the ballroom to check on the situation, that's when he saw a wolf-eared individual, whistling from beneath the sea of noble heads, making his way over to him. He recognized the Hundi lad. Sir Lein. He hadn't interacted with him much but his name popped up several times in his records for not exactly great reasons. However, from what he heard, he's otherwise a mischievous and interesting one.

"On the princess? That's daring." He gave a concerned look over in the direction of the attention, not seeing clearly what was going on, but given the lack of major movement, it looked like the assassin may have gotten subdued as Lein said. If that's the case, he saw no need to work on something someone had already worked on. Besides, he found no pleasure in torturing or interrogating the perpetrators. "I think there's enough hands, and will be enough soon."

He wasn't sure what exactly they are doing, it didn't seem like hitting up the assassin, but the most important part was that she was in custody, so they should be able to extract information from her sooner or later. The other most important part at the moment was to get his Highness to safety, and it was exactly what the knights assigned him to do. "I've been checking the hallways, it seems safe, but nothing wrong with going over it again with a clear eyes. And umm..." Steffen's finger tapped on his shoulder a little reservedly. "If that is favourable for you, Sir Lein, you're welcome to."

Steffen was not aware of Hundi's riding on shoulders for fighting or for better visions, maybe it's just a thing for Lein, but he was fine with it either ways. They were light, and he was strong enough to not be impeded much by their weight. Maybe...he never had to fight with someone on his shoulders yet.

@PigeonOfAstora

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@ERode

Another day might have seen him do more than simply leave his reply to Tyaethe's reasoning for tickling a flat, dry, momentary look. While he could see the framework of logic beneath it, there was a certain specificity to the act that was... well, two hundred years probably developed a peculiarity or two.

He blinked, and turned his gaze back to the matter at hand, satisfied that whatever she'd done had gotten results. As for his act, he pulled the soft fabric free from the nem's throat, no larger than that of a child...

And wordlessly took in the long, ragged white scar that greeted him, the insignia of his creeping suspicions. No wonder they couldn't even get a grunt of pain out her; with that butcher job done on the windpipe it was frankly a miracle she could breathe. Certainly, no willful silence. And if one were to assume that this was the work of her employer...

"Old wound." he noted aloud, ignoring the brief tingle upon his jaw from a similarly faded scratch. He wasn't any form of healer, but reading the color and edge of a scar by sight was a skill almost impossible to avoid in soldiery. If the wound really was linked to the hit, then obviously, "They sure took their time sending you here, didn't they."

It wasn't quite a question. Asking those was the job of the clear-headed and sharp-witted. Instead, he rose to his full height and took a step back, following her gaze with his own as it came to rest upon the silvered rose resting on the Captain's lapel. His eyes then narrowed, shifting between the two. What, did she not know what she was in for, attacking this crowd on this occasion?

Didn't track. Didn't make sense. He was going at this from the wrong frame of mind somewhere— that'd bog down the process for those better suited to the task. A half-baked interjection was an unwelcome distraction in the best of cases.

He yanked his blade free from the carpet, long rendered unnecessary, and held it at his side. He'd left the sheathe behind, by the table.

Hm. If he needed it, he'd grab it.

But to know what he'd need...

For the second time that day, he mirrored Sir Sergio, and now met the Captain's eyes in full.

"Looks like you might get somewhere, Ma'am, if we pursue this." He spoke, indicating the pin with the tip of his sword for a moment before lowering it once more. "Very least you'd be better than me— I'll head where you need me."

A fairly level self-assessment, one said less with effacement and more as a matter of fact. Nobody here would have bought any pretense that he didn't squarely fall on the "Sword" end of Dame Serenity's supposition, and while he largely agreed with her ideals on the Order's duty, he couldn't deny his desire for something like actionable information to emerge. Without getting in the way of those already better suited to its coaxing...

Was there much else to be done aside from tighten the net, until that time?

"I'm pretty sure the Velt Adventurers' Guild hasn't started taking assassination contracts," Tyaethe said, looking over the recovered items with some curiosity. One was a badge for the aforementioned guild--definitely not something that would usually be taking such contracts, and definitely not to take out royalty. Plus, if they had, she would have expected more than one nem assassin... no matter how sneaky she might end up being.

The other thing of interest was a note. "Oh, if she's carrying this, I'm pretty sure she's literate."

"'Fail and she dies'..." the paladin read out, tilting her head out of interest. Well, that was another wrinkle to it, it didn't look like their hired assassin was all that hired after all. Maybe if they could get her to write something, the handwriting could be compared? It would be a smart move to try and make it seem like you weren't responsible.

But with all the interest the even-tinier girl was displaying in Fanilly's pin, ah... how did it go? She'd used to say it a lot, and it was easier to remember things like that with Lilette around. "Why, yes; we're the Iron Roses. Defenders of the Kingdom, Slayers of Monsters, Saviours of the Weak, and Rescuers of Fair Maidens." Ah, even the way the elf buried her face in her hands hadn't changed. "Well, maybe that last part's just me. It used to be Elionne, Parvan, and me."

Among the Nem's possessions were a variety of somewhat expected items. A few easily-hidden knives, a dagger that was more like a sword for such a diminutive individual, a set of short-range crossbow bolts for the now-destroyed weapon, and a package of tools likely used for the purpose of disarming traps and opening locks.

But the strangest items among them were the Veltan Adventurer's Guild Badge and the sheet of paper. Fanilly was aware of adventurer's guilds, of course. While Thaln's was rather small, she understood how they could be used to handle issues not necessarily within the realm of the soldiery's duty, or that of knightly orders. Some adventurers would even collaborate with their nation's military. And indeed, sometimes these adventurers would cross the border of a country in order to fulfill a job they had taken.

But just as Dame Tyaethe said, assassinations were hardly among their typical duties. Perhaps it was a forgery, or even taken from a real adventurer? But then coupled with the sheet of paper...

It would have seemed a little to convenient, even to Fanilly, save for the way that the nem girl's eyes widened in shock when she saw it. After only a brief moment she was squirming, trying to use her head to gesture to the paper. For how still and cooperative she had been only moments before, she was suddenly far more active. And yet, still not attempting to slip free.

"... Sir Gerard, fetch charcoal and a piece of paper," Fanilly said, after considering her options for a few moments. It was still possible this was a ruse, but maybe the nem's handwriting would help them discern the truth.

When allowed to take the paper and charcoal, the nem swiftly set about writing. She was swift, making it rather likely that she had communicated in this fashion plenty of times before, and on examination her handwriting didn't resemble the note's bold, harsh strokes. The script written by the nem girl was thin and hasty, but clear, in spite of how much her hands seemed to be shaking, her entire body trembling.

Iron Roses

Tyli Vosahn

What happens to me doesn't matter

Please save my sister

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

Vier had simply been standing around and watching, as he wasn’t much good at interrogation. But he stayed on guard while the others did their squabbling and guesswork. He has his own thoughts about the situation, but his focus was the Nem assassin.

Who gave her the crossbow? Who cut her vocal cords? And who was smart enough to plan and set up this scenario? That last question stumped him to no end. Someone has to either sneak her in, or leave a way for her to get in. It’s something that he’d have to look into once the buzz of an assassination attempt died down and everyone was calmer.

What the prisoner intruder wrote down got his attention. ”A sister? Mind giving us a bit more detail on that. You did just try to kill a princess, after all.” His tone was quiet and relaxed, but his expression was a lot more serious.

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@ERode@Creative Chaos

Far from the tallest or broadest figure in the room, Gerard nonetheless loomed over the Nem's hunched, shaking frame. Each stroke with the charcoal he'd retrieved was a frantic streak of black against the stark white of the paper, thin and brittle beneath the weight of the forming words. His own hands freed once more, his grip upon his trusted weapon began to tighten, face cast from stone.

Iron Roses

She could name the Order. This message would be for them in particular, likely. It would explain perking up at Fanilly's brooch. What kind of overture to expect from an Assassin, though?

Tyli Vosahn

A name. Hers? Her employer's? In either case, it wasn't familiar, nor did it sound like a standard naming scheme from anywhere he'd been— Thaln, Velt, Estival. It was a foreign sound. Maybe nem-specific.

What happens to me doesn't matter

...

Please save my sister

A cold wind brushed against the back of his neck as he beheld the final, desperate plea in her message to the assembled Order. It passed down his back even through the gaudy formal wear, prompting a sharp intake of breath through teeth he had unknowingly begun to grit. Beneath the leather of his gloves, the knuckles of his sword arm had quietly gone white. Save my sister. Save my sister. Everything locked into a different, unmalleable place now as the cogs began to turn anew, with this added perspective. Save my sister.

He could have burned a hole through the page with his gaze alone.

Stepping a quarter-turn away, the former sellsword began to run the fingers of his free hand along the length of the blade, feeling for anything amiss in its form even as he took this in. Any who were paying attention would likely note that no small amount of color had drained from his face.

They had just apprehended her for attempting to assassinate the Crown Princess. She must have been truly desperate, to make this last request likely in the full knowledge that today may have been her last under the sun. To make it to her direct opposition. She had nowhere else to turn but them... now that she had failed.

To meet the cold on his skin, a heat began to rise from the belly. Though her palace had long disappeared behind the veil of the earth, Gerard believed this blaze that which Reon gifted. Upon his lips, in something lower and sharper than any whisper, he offered her a brief prayer.

This Tyli didn't have employers. She had extortionists. She had her sister's life in the balance at the whim of whatever agenda she was locked into serving— a slave in all but name.

Bear light for the chained, bring flame for their captors.

He had little sisters, too.

Why else be a knight, then, if not to purge such wickedness?

Why else be a knight, then, if not to answer these desperate pleas for help?

Why else be a knight...

If I could even consider saying no?

"Where's she being held?"

Fragments.

Misshapen pieces that only fit together clumsily. An adventurer from Velt. A mute bearing an old scar. A sister threatened, and a mastermind so idiotic as to leave a note at that. Not a note that exposed their location, but a note that, for whatever reason, served to exonerate this assassin, if only partially. This was a nem who could not even notice the proximity of the Paladin and the Gentle Blade. Understandable, for a foreigner. But to not know too, that this was Aimlenn, where the Iron Rose was headquartered? To not know this, but to think it reasonable to make a plea after they had offered their head to the axman?

Serenity let out a sigh. One that was almost seething.

Who the fuck was stupid enough to think this up and decide THAT was the way one could rid themselves of a Princess? Fragments indeed. Fragments so warped that they lead to an idiot, a buffoon, a clown with too much power and not enough sense, who thought that a disloyal assassin was their best piece to play.

There was a wetness in her palm. A warm wetness.

Serenity looked down. Her fist was clenched, her knuckles white, fingers digging deeply enough into creases that even blunted nails broke skin. Another sigh. Sir Gerard and Vier had asked what was needed. She, then, needed to simply take a step back.

So she did, and instead, turned her eyes towards those outside the circle that had clustered around this assassin. Nobles and retainers, Crown and Rose, servants and performers. And windows, lined with knights but still exposed to peering eyes.

Searching, always, for surreptitious movement, for the spark of magic. There had not been a second assassin to take advantage of the chaos of the first. But even in the absence of that, there needed the presence of a handler. Someone to hold the assassin's leash, to ensure that they didn't choose to seek help before this. Someone to ascertain their success or failure, to reprimand hints of betrayal. To silence them if necessary. And if they didn't even have something like that...

Goddesses above, if only every villain were so incompetent!

Ah. Fresh drama. Renar almost snorted in contempt as the nem's effects told one story to be reinforced by the use of actual writing. Clearly, a hapless adventurer manipulated into an idiotic, near-suicidal assassination attempt through a hostage situation. This couldn't have been the entire plot. What were this nem's employers banking on? That desperation would result in a suicide attempt? The trick with assassinations was that it was remarkably easy to kill someone if one didn't care to continue breathing afterward. A good assassin lived to tell the tale and not give away any clues afterward.

Frankly, Renar didn't care one whit for the assassin's little family drama. The girl's story seemed to move Gerard, goddesses bless him, and likely Fanilly and Fionn as well. But frankly, Renar only cared for finding who was pulling the strings. This wouldn't end until they were caught.

The Bastard of Brias's grip on the assassin stayed firm even as he glanced down at his captive.

"Names and places." He said after Gerard made his inquiry. "If you want your sister safe, we both have a vested interest in ensuring this mastermind is found and secured."

---

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

---

Lein's smack on his chest met with a raised eyebrow, but Fionn declined to comment either on it or on the idea of the diminutive Hundi riding atop Steffen's great shoulders. The Crown Knights had quickly surrounded the princesses and started escorting them back deeper within the castle; while he'd been inclined to follow along very shortly, the assassin's capture and Steffen's own comment about having looked through the halls before arriving in the great hall gave him reason to believe things would remain...calm enough for the next few moments, at least.

No matter how strange it all was, as even the short evacuation seemed to grind to a halt given the peculiarity of the overall situation. The snippets of the conversation from around the assassin reaching back to his ears only reinforced how odd it all was. "Lein, you're quick and slippery. Keep close to Steffen and keep your ears open if you go looking around—if you can't see any sort of special or hidden entrance, you might still hear something from the other side. I'll keep a finger on things here...there's something very strange about this, like, and I've got a feeling that there really is going to be more to deal with before the night is through."

Something about a sister, the Nem couldn't speak, something about a mastermind. Coercion, then? A sick practice, threatening the family of one to force them to do such dirty work, though he couldn't deny his own disapproval of the Nem's actions. Rarely could the sorts who used such tactics be expected to uphold their end of the bargain. It was just as likely that the would-be assassin and her sister got killed afterwards for all their trouble, to tie up loose ends and let the plotter make good on their escape; why, then, bother to harm an innocent when there was likely no real gain for it?

But at least, in her failure, the Nem had opened up the chance to have her sister saved. Some small good came out of the attempt, misguided as it may have been.

With Lein and Steffen dismissed (if they so chose to take the chance to go and search), Fionn made his way up to the rest of the group, drawing a handkerchief from one pocket and holding it out wordlessly to Serenity as he came up just within her peripheral vision. Her clenched fist and the hint of red starting to well up in her palm was as easily noticeable to him as the rest of her body language in reply to what was going on. One of the rare benefits to practicing swordplay as one's life's work—it made reading people into a force of habit.

"Captain." As Renar and Gerard made their inquiries, he focused his attention back on their leader. "If we're to remain here much longer, whether or not this can be pursued tonight, we'll need equipment. Shall I go ask Sir Adeforth if we can access the Crown Knights' armoury?"

Fleuri Jodeau

The assassin wasn't loose for long. Renar tackled her to the ground as she tried to flee. Not that her escape attempt would have done much good, with the Crown Knights blocking the doorway. She might have been able to get through a window, but given her small size, she'd probably just hurt herself if she tried.

Once she was knocked to the ground, Fleuri lost sight of her. With the danger seemingly passed and the Crown Knights having the situation under control, he decided it'd be a good time to get a good look at this assassin, see how this would-be murderer would react. He could tell so far that it was a female Nem, but not much else beyond that.

When Fleuri reached the Nem, she was in the process of writing something down with charcoal, surrounded by the other knights, her confiscated effects nearby. From what he could discern from the assassin's trinkets, she was a member of the Velt Adventurer's Guild, likely a Coin based on the rogue's tools that she had been carrying. Curious, he thought. The Veltan Adventurer's Guild was a respectable, prestigious organization that would never stoop to attempted assassination of a Crown Princess. Perhaps she was doing work on the side. But why take a job so clearly out of her league, and one where her chance to escape and collect her payment was almost nonexistent?

As Fleuri watched what the Nem wrote down, however, the answer became evident.

Iron Roses...she's addressing us.

Tyli Vosahn...probably her name.

What happens to me doesn't matter...sounds like she never expected to make it out of this

Please save my sister...ah, that'd explain it.

Based on the Nem's written words, it sounded like she had been coerced into this. Someone wanted the Crown Princess killed without anything leading directly back to them, so they abduct the sister of a Veltan adventurer, and threaten to kill her if said adventurer doesn't pull off this job- a job that'd almost certainly result in being either captured or branded the most wanted criminal across several kingdoms.

Fleuri could somewhat understand the girl's motivation, but it wasn't something he'd ever do. His own sister Lisette would be aghast at the very notion of one of her siblings committing such a dark deed, even to save her life.

On the other hand, it also meant that they were relying on someone clearly out of their depth, and someone who'd sell them out immediately after being captured. Surely their wicked plan wouldn't hinge all of its success on one unwilling participant? It might not, Fleuri thought- there could be more surprises in store in case this one failed.

Even so, it was clear what their next task would be. Wherever the masterminds behind this attempt might be hiding, they'd likely be holding the Nem's sister as leverage. Once the would-be-assassin pointed them in the right direction, it'd be the Iron Roses' duty to bring these conspirators to justice and rescue the Nem's sister.

"Captain, might I assume that this is the beginning of a new mission for the Iron Roses? It was fortuitous that the princess had asked the knights to bring their weapons.

@VitaVitaAR

It didn't make very much sense at all. Why would the note be on the Nem girl in the first place during the assassination? But at the same time, her behavior alone lended credence to the idea she was telling the truth. Certainly, Fanilly wanted to believe it. And if it were true, that meant that they likely didn't have very much time to ensure that they would be able to save the girl's sister.

The expression on the would-be assassin, Tyli's, face was one of resignation. A morose and downcast gaze, as if she hardly expected this to work in the first place. Indeed, she was asking knights who served the crown to help her sister, after she had attempted the assassination of a Princess.

However.

The Iron Rose Knights were knights of justice.

And even in this situation, wickedness could not be allowed to persist as long as they had the ability to do something about it.

The Knight-Captain took a deep breath.

"If we're going to save her, and put an end to this conspiracy, you must tell us everything you know," said Fanilly.

The nem's eyes widened for only a moment, before she immediately set about writing. Her script was somewhat more shaky now, but still legible.

The graveyard. Large tomb with a star heraldry

Fanilly paused for a moment. Was that...?

"They're in the Cazt Mausoleum?" she asked aloud.

Almost immediately a small figure pushed her way to the front of the crowds. When the huge black knight noticed her, they swiftly joined her side.

"What?"

It was Veilena Cazt. She'd lingered past the other nobles, and heard much of the conversation as a result.

"If there's a crowd of traitorous bastards in my family's tomb, I refuse to simply stand by and allow them to defile it with their mere presence," she angrily asserted.

But Tyli wasn't done writing.

Necromancer leads them with many undead. Two warriors, one is very large. A mage woman. There's another man, but I haven't seen his weapons. Fyna is at the bottom

Fanilly didn't need to say any of it out loud this time, as Veilena had already read the message.

"Necromancer!? That's... Knight-Captain, I demand to accompany you to snuff out these criminals. I may not be able to fight, but Haelstadt shall gladly cut them down in the name of my ancestors' rest."

Fanilly hesitated a moment. Of course, she could understand the Cazt girl's anger. More then that, she had to wonder how a conspiracy like this had even gotten there in the first place. But at the same time, endangering her life for such a purpose...

"... Sir Fionn, speak to Sir Adeforth, obtain whatever arms we made need," Fanilly began. Her sword had been brought along with her, but the same could not be said for the others, "We will slay these monsters where they hide."

She hesitated again before addressing the fuming Cazt heir.

"... I'm sorry, Lady Cazt, but for the sake of your safety I believe it's best you remain here, with your bodyguard at your side."

She braced herself for an angry response as Veilena opened her mouth.

"That's-..."

To her surprise, the smaller girl trailed off after a few moments, glancing at Haelstadt before clearing her throat.

"Fine."

The frustration in her voice was evident, but surprisingly it seemed that she accepted.

"If you happen to find a single one of my ancestors among the Necromancer's rabble, then do your best to capture that death witch alive," she continued, "For I should like for them to live to answer for their crimes and suffer the punishment, rather then be released by death."

It wasn't a request Fanilly was sure she could fulfill.

But they had to stop this conspiracy to kill the First Princess. And they had to rescue the nem girl's sister. So many details were strange, so many things didn't add up. And yet Vosahn's behavior seemed genuine.

So they had to try.

"Once you are equipped, I want to leave a few volunteers behind to help ensure the Princesses' safety."

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

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

"No promises."

Spoken in undertone and likely too quiet for any but the nearest or sharpest ears to hear, Gerard echoed his Captain's unspoken reservations. The Cazt heiress's demands may have been noble in intent, he would understand that much— but their targets would, realistically, hang for the crimes anyway. Conspiring to assassinate the Crown Princess. The kidnapping and coercion of these Nem. Necromancy. To guarantee he would be able to stay his hand, to quench the flame of battle that had already begun to rush through him...

No, they were not at all want for evil. The leather of his gloves creaked as he thumbed the crossguard of his blade, its hungering glint matching the spark of fury that dwelled beneath his amber gaze. While ill-crafted, this attempt to off the royalty had a silver lining to it, in a twisted sense. He was no Paladin, like Tyaethe, nor the former Squire of one, like Fleuri. He could not speak to any directly hallowed element to undertaking this cause... but it was Reon and her teachings that had lead him down this path, kept him from straying even when his hope had bottomed out.

Brave the darkness to drag the wicked into the Sun. Hunt all evil that threatened innocent, honest lives. That was the calling of Knighthood, the ideal his whole life had seen him hope, desperately, to achieve. It had guided his first swings of a sword, given him direction and clarity even through the grey smoke of hired soldiery. He had stared down the abyss. The sun on his back had given him the strength not to blink. Every moment of those five years was kept alive by that faith, and that desire to join the pursuit. To enter the crypt of the Traitor's family, already blackened from their once respected standing by his actions, and be faced with those that would skulk in its shadows flanked by their risen dead?

She had brought him good hunting, indeed.

Having seen and heard enough, the wolf turned and stalked ahead, quickly swallowing the distance that was left in Fionn's wake until he drew up on level marching cadence. Reaching across with his free hand to bump the brawnier man on the shoulder, he spoke in a breathless growl.

"Two pairs of hands will be better than one. I need armor anyway."

A professional fighter and swordsman, he knew Fionn would be able to plainly read that he was coiled like a spring. That was fine. Out of any of the knights here, the Red Branch alum was far and away the one Gerard trusted most to understand him. On a fundamental level, their shared backgrounds had given Fionn insight that cut to the core of his mentality, to that of Verlorene Haufen. He knew what came from living at the tip of the spear.

"The sooner we can arm everyone, the sooner we deploy. Give those dumbasses the fight they courted and crush 'em."

He could speak without artifice, honing his focus for war.

Lein

---

Location: The Royal Ball
Interactions: Fionn @The Otter Steffen @Conscripts Veilena Cazt @VitaVitaAR Gerard @HereComesTheSnow

---

Well, now Lein knew the Ingvarr in front of him was not some poser. No-one else other than their resident bookworm would take Lein's suggestion seriously. But now that he did, why not take the opportunity? With a light hop off the nearby dresser, Lein leveraged his arms up onto the Ingvarr's shoulders, then quickly positioned himself to sit on Steffen's shoulders and rested his arms on the horns. The diminutive Hundi's tail patted against Steffen's back as it wagged. "Now I understand why so many of you Ingvarr are so obsessed with the size of your horns. I can look down on all these smooth-skulled dolts from up here!" Lein remarked, pleased with his newfound height advantage. Two feet on the ground and close enough to breathe in the smell of steel was more Lein's style, but for now Lein could just enjoy being able to look over the tops of crowds for once.

Necromancy. Was Lein hearing correctly? Apparently it wasn't unheard of, even if Lein's closest contact to the practice was deranged witch doctors who thought twitching frogs' legs was the sign that they found the secret that broke Mayon's sacred covenant. Oh, and that time he nearly got bisected by a ticked ghost hunting the person who filched their mug. Oh, and the Roses had the quintessential undead among their ranks. Hmm. Quite believable, then.

Though it still meant they were taking the waif's word as it was, and risking defiling a major family's mausoleum for what could very well be simply foul air. The conversation had already flown to coop, however, and their heist had already been finalized. Roses would storm the Cazt tomb and root out the menace of this night with Cazt staying back. Made sense, since it could also very well be Cazt behind this entire nonsense. Pity. On some level, Lein was excited to see the famous Haelstadt take a swing. Lein grinned as he gave a salute with his steel arm in Veilena's direction. "I'll bring back the ne'er-do-well still wearing her favorite bathrobe, Miss Cazt! Though I can't promise she'd come free of steel and arrows." Of course Lein couldn't make sure of that. But if the honor-bound Knight Captain won't make that guarantee, Lein as the rambunctious braggart (and currently wearing a decidedly un-knightly attire) certainly could.

"Do bring back a decent shortbow! Not those crappy Thalnese longbow that won't bite a charm. Oh, and I won't mind one of those fancy engraved quivers, aye? Hear they're quite the piece!" Lein called after Fionn and Gerard. Lein didn't mention that he wasn't looking for the practical use cases of the quiver, but did give a glance of excited expectation to the more pliable of the two. Err, actually, who was that? Lein tossed up what he knew of the two blockheads bumbling away to retrieve their gear. Fionn, Lein had already pulled into his gig multiple times, though that was still 'Cteline' doing it rather than 'Lein'. He did feel like the one friend with a temper, but would still carry out one's wishes to the letter. Gerard looked like the fanatic type who always took the straight path to his goals, but Lein never did take a close enough look.

"Hey Steffen, if you had to convince one of those two to lend you a change of coin, who'd you be able to tip over first?" Lein asked idly to the Ingvarr.

---

@VitaVitaAR@PigeonOfAstora@HereComesTheSnow@Conscripts

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With a short nod, Fionn spun on his heel and strode over in Sir Adeforth's direction. The ranking Crown Knight agreed to loan out arms and armour without much hesitation, given the current state of things; with little more than a glance in their direction, he also summoned the help of a pair of castle staff to help transfer the equipment with a hastily-cleared kitchen cart. Still with his ears trained on the planning and interrogating happening behind him, Fionn was rapidly tallying up the equipment that they could afford to take the time to equip themselves with before their targets might be too suspicious of the time elapsed...or just run off entirely.

Focused as he was, and with the other sound still filling the great hall, he was almost shocked to suddenly feel Gerard's hand on his shoulder. He gave another nod, thankful for the extra help, before continuing to follow behind the staff leading on to the armoury. "Just shirts of mail, this time around. Padded garments. Gauntlets that fit well enough and the like. We don't have time for any stock plate." Lein's call reached his ears as he spoke, going almost entirely unheeded; he already knew what the Hundi liked to work with as it was. "Unless it's half-plate like we've seen, maybe."

Barely more than a breastplate, that at least might go on with some speed. "Oh, Gerard—"

A firm grip fell on the other fighter's shoulder, forcing him to slow his pace for a moment. "Don't forget how things have changed now. Prepare to give yourself up if needed, not to throw yourself away."

Nothing stood out to her, but that could just as easily mean that the handler themselves would be biding their time. Or that the handler didn’t exist.

Ah, that was the problem with stupid idiots. One was liable to overthink basically any answer or possibility now, because the statement ‘surely they wouldn’t be so idiotic as to…’ could always turn out to, in fact, manifest such imbecilic things into reality. But a mausoleum was perhaps the smartest choice that they could’ve made, under such circumstances. Indeed, if Serenity was such a Goddess-spiting bastard, she would’ve used the mausoleum as a deadfall trap. Manipulated this Tyli into feeding old information to whomever she sought out help from. Lead any good-hearted knights into this crypt, baiting them with the sister’s cries. And, with befouled sorcery, collapsed the mausoleum upon them, adding more corpses to the graves.

It was a ploy that could work even if the assassination had been successful. And it was a ploy too, that still seemed to have too many unanswered questions. How much of everything was connected? How much planned? It was convenient enough for the Bandit King to have made a loud enough ruckus to draw out the Iron Rose from Aimlenn, but even in their absence, the Crown Knights should have remained vigilant, and that wasn’t even accounting for the Mages’ College. And a group of five, to be present in a graveyard that housed the bodies of nobles and royals, undetected? How much of this was due to cooperation, how much to incompetency?

Murmurs grew louder. Serenity’s ears caught the whispers that rippled outwards. Lady Veilena was quick to jump to her own defense, but her own proclamation was loud enough to be heard by the others.

Criminals hiding within the traitors’ graves.

Many of those present may be insipid, but none of them were uneducated. They could infer well enough, though they were blind to how prejudices colored such inferences. It lined together easily, conveniently. Who else could sneak a necromancer into the crypt of the Cazsts, if not their heir? And even if true answers could be divined from those tomb-dwellers, being exonerated by the law was not equal to being exonerated by society.

The assassin would hang, lest a precedence be set.

The sister was hopeless, her fate sealed either as hostage or corpse.

And as Knight, as Arcedeen, her path too was set. It mattered not, what ploys were in place, what traps were set, what evils lurked beneath. If it existed, she would challenge it. Dress or not. And so, she too stalked behind the staff leading to the armory, heels clacking against stone.

The gloom of the armory was inviting, the torchlight casting an amber hue over the armaments. It was standard-issue equipment, a full set worth less than her sword, but she took to it quickly anyways, waving off the staff that moved to offer her assistance. Gambeson and chainmail, tightened around her hips with a belt. A dagger was drawn against the side of her dress, slicing open the confining fabric to allow for wider movement of her legs. Heels swapped out for boots, gauntlets for her hands. A bascinet without a visor; wherever they were going would be dark, and a visor would render her wholly blind. As for armaments…

A round shield strapped to the left, and a flanged mace in the right. A shortsword for nimbler foes, and a set of daggers to accompany them. A hatchet, always.

“Pants too.” Serenity spoke, though she wasn’t expecting the armory to have a wardrobe too. “That would be good.”

Necromancy? In the Cazt family's tomb? Well, at least whoever was behind this had some sort of political sense. The murmurings from the crowd aimed at the young Cazt girl certainly weren't particularly charitable. Or perhaps the perpetrator just had a sense of humor. Regardless, what Thaln's bluebloods thought of a traitor's child was of little interest to Renar. He empathized with her, of course. To be marked by the sins of one's progenitor was something he knew all too well. But she wasn't exactly of much political use to him, nor did they have any connection on a personal level. No point coming to her aid.

Nevertheless, Renar retrieved his sword and slid it back into its sheathe before he saluted Fanilly once her orders were given. A choice between going to face the necromancer or guarding the royals, eh? The highest possible payoff for him would be if he were the one to slay the necromancer. But that was far from guaranteed. Staying back as a guard would pay more consistent dividends for his reputation at court, even if it meant having to endure being in proximity to Felix for that much longer. Now, how to spin this...?

"Then I'll volunteer as one of the guards, Captain, if we can't all go. I'd hate to deprive some of our fellows of delivering justice to enemies of the crown. We'll return shortly, then." He chuckled as he fell in line with Fionn and Gerard on the way to the armory.

"Can't very well leave the princess's newly appointed favorite knight to guard her on his lonesome, now can I?" He leaned in to mutter to Fionn before observing Gerard. Wound as tightly as usual and likely overthinking the scope of his duties. Renar sighed, raising a hand to clap the former mercenary on the back. "Breathe. And try not to die. Good knights aren't disposable, and I'd hate to see who you'd be replaced by. Now let's see about borrowing some arms, yes?"

Within the armory, Renar quickly tucked on a gambeson and breastplate, as well as a pair of metal vambraces. There wasn't time for much else. As for armaments, he already had his sword and dagger. Still, there was something to be said for anti-armor. With that in mind, he tucked a flanged mace onto his belt before motioning for Fionn to follow him back to report in.

Fleuri Jodeau

According to the assassin, the conspirators were hiding in the Cazt Mausoleum. If they had chosen that specific place to hide, it was likely that they were more rebel holdouts, seeking revenge against the crown for their faction's defeat. It made Fleuri wonder- could this be connected to Jeremiah? Might this be part of a greater organized effort by the rebels to regroup and strike back against Thaln? Just how many more of these rebel groups could still be lurking about in the shadows?

The mention of a necromancer was a rather dire piece of information. While a few controlled instances of necromantic magic were tolerated, the works of most necromancers were an abomination against Thaln, heresies to be stamped out. Fleuri had fought against their ilk before, although this previous group owed no allegiance to Cazt. To the contrary, they snatched and raised the traitors' dead as readily as those who fell fighting for Thaln. In fact, during the investigations, Fleuri's mentor had even somehow managed to convince a few soldiers loyal to Cazt to temporarily ally with them against the necromantic coven, because even a few of the traitors' rank and file were appalled at the notion of their dead comrades being desecrated in this manner.

Once again, Fleuri would be going up against a necromancer and their undead minions. It was likely that given the nature of their hideout, that most of the undead they'd run into would be the animated bones of long dead members of the Cazt family, nothing particularly menacing. However, necromancers could be full of surprises, and given the location of the mausoleum, it was possible that this wicked mage might also raise the dead from other graves and crypts in the area- including potentially his own family's burial vaults. All the more reason that Fleuri was determined to join the rescue team and, Reon willing, bring these conspirators to justice.

When he was brought to the armory, Fleuri wasted no time equipping himself in the Crown Knights' armor. As much as he wanted to put on an entire Crown Knight plate harness, time was of the essence. He grabbed a visored helmet, cuirass, gauntlets, and greaves- there wasn't enough time for everything else. He made a point, however, to put his tunic back on over the cuirass to serve as a makeshift surcoat. He wanted their enemies to see his heraldry.

"If anyone wishes to follow me once we get to the graveyard," he proposed to the other knights reading themselves, "My own family mausoleum keeps some anti-undead equipment stored in the event that we ever need to put our ancestors to rest. I don't know exactly what's there, but it might prove useful against whatever awaits us in the Cazt mausoleum."

For this particular mission, Fleuri was not going to head into it unprepared.

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter@ERode@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin

At the first returned touch upon his shoulder, Gerard snorted, made to click his tongue—

And at the second, though, and Sir Renar's accompanying advice, he relented, opting to nod after rolling his shoulders. There was tension worth releasing there, for what it was worth. Tight muscles would sap energy. He didn't intend on losing his alertness in any respect, but if this was enough for two of his fellows to speak upon it, to try and calm him like a hound with hackles raised... He had, likely, best listen to their words. Stubborn though he may have been, burning though his convictions surely were, his respect for them ran every bit as deep.

Despite continuing to lock his gaze upon the task ahead, looking through the path to the royal armory as though an obstruction, there was a release in his tone as he replied, softening the tight edges of the steel.

"You're right. I know. Those days are behind us. Promise."

Only if it were absolutely necessary.

Hearing another pair of footsteps fall in, a quick glance over the shoulder revealed the twin exemplars upon which he had foisted his highest regard, and wished to emulate in the ideal world. Hm. It seemed the scions of Jodeau and Arcedeen wished to oversee their equipment personally— probably a wise move, all things considered. Who better to determine what would play to their strengths than themselves in the few minutes they'd have?

Locked within the depths of the Castle, the armory's doors opened to hit the assembled cohort with a wave of stale, damp air, tinged with the flavors of cold metal and religiously warmed torches. There was oil, too, to maintain the health of the steel. Stone for its edges. The smell was at once alien in the refinement it spoke to and familiar, comfortably familiar, in the craft it served.

He marched into the murky torchlight. If Sirs Fionn and Renar had seen fit to ward away the anger, he knew that their peers from higher nobility would expect better by a full measure, having been so patient and earnest in humoring his dreams.

Fortunate that the rituals of preparation came universal, in that light. Who better to talk shop with?

"Rondels here," he noted, slipping the diamond-sectioned dagger into a loop on the belt that molded in his thick gambeson. "Warriors might have armor."

To speak of such, he quickly donned a cuirass after judging the (roughly) correct size by eye— a task he'd grown into an old hand at ages ago. It, and the vambraces Renar had tossed his way, were barely more than munitions grade at honest appraisal. Nothing of overwhelming quality... but even that much was more than he'd ever scoff at. He'd done far worse in his time.

"Greaves too," he spoke again, following Dame Serenity's point as he moved to fasten them onto his trousers. Putting aside that she was working against the dress mobility had forced her to slice apart... "If they're at the bottom, we'll be fighting downhill. Legs enter range first."

That raised perhaps the chief concern about the confines they were headed into— weaponry. While Gerard was thankful he'd brought his longsword at the Princesses' request, tight confines were to be expected in any sort of tomb, even the larger ones he assumed of most noble houses. He was a serviceable hand with half-swording, if it came to that, but if he expected raised dead... putting it plainly, he wanted more mass and contact area than a crossguard.

Something compact and crushing, worth leaving the longsword on his back for... A bar mace would do good here.

He stalked across the chamber, muttering in undertone as he scooped up an unvisored sallet from the rack nearby, before pausing at Sir Fleuri's offer. He gave it a moments' thought as he maneuvered the leather chinstrap...

"How long would that take, you reckon?"

They were splitting their forces soon, here. In his mind, the strength of sacrosanct weaponry or tools against the very affront to Life and Death that the Goddesses so abhored would doubtless prove a game-changing boon for the knights.

In his heart, he knew that he was incredibly leery of splitting up more, of potentially missing any of the action. They needed to stick together as much as they could, every one of them. The front was where he belonged.