---

As silly as it looks, the Ingvarr simply just let Lein lad to latch onto and sit on his shoulders freely. Well, it's not exactly the first time some people ask to ride on his shoulders and hold onto his horns, but it's a little different when it's a grown knight holding onto the top of him. "Please don't pull it so much." He noticed as the Hundi was settling in. It was ticklish and sensitive, but it was only for a moment as Lein sat straight up, so he held back on saying anything else. The Hundi was kinda right with why he's obsessed with horn size, but for the wrong reason though.

But at least at the moment, they were both able to listen closely on the interrogation of the assassin. It seemed that the co-conspirators of this whole attempt was in the traitor's mausoleum, a thing that for some reason still existed, with skeleton soldiers. Though if this was supposed to be an assassination, why use skeleton soldiers and barricade in that place? Given that the plot was supposed to succeed, what was the necromancers and undeads role in this? A coup to takeover? It could be; the Cazt's faction doesn't exactly hold a lot of power as the livings, so using the dead is probably their only shot. And a mausoleum is quite an easy place to hide them. Normally, he'd be skeptical to why they would even use the undead for their insane plan, especially considering they could easily fail like they just did, but it made some sense here. Did they even expect to fail, that's also a question.

Steffen watched as his fellow knights decided to pick either to follow the Knight-Captain to the mausoleum or guard the princesses in case any of those conspirators had any funny ideas. The Ingvarr instinctively felt more comfortable in the castle guarding the princesses. Keeping watch on things was what he always do. He did this a couple times albeit never with the royals. Most of the time, it was peaceful, nothing too much to get worked up on. He was certain that his more senior knights would know how to handle these skeletons well.

After Sir Renar volunteered for guard duty and departed for the armory, Steffen felt like it was time for him to declare that too. "I'd like to volunteer for guard duty as well Captain. The safety of the crown comes first-" He said before being interrupted by a hand patting his arm. It was the knight that gave him the order just earlier when he arrived.

"Sir Steffen, no need, I will perform guard duty of her highness." He said, taking the Ingvarr back a little. "It's been a while since you fought, I'm sure a strong hand will not be unnecessary."

It had been a while. Actually longer than a while in fact. Having been stuck in that corner of the Candaeln does make time feel a little meandering. Despite the seeming incompetence of the knights when it came to paperwork, and that it often fell on him to take care of, his actual responsibility and the main reason why he was here in the first place, rather than somewhere else in this chaotic fragile world, was to preserve peace, if that meant to fight for it. He wouldn't want to be rusty when accompanying that task, would he?

"Very well then." He bowed slightly and carefully, with Lein still on his shoulders, taking care not to rock the Hundi too much, before trailing behind the other knights to the armory. On the way, the bored Lein blurted out the question. The Ingvarr glanced up both at the Hundi resting on his head and for his own thoughts too. Between Sir Fionn and Sir Gerard? Hmm...

"Hard to say, they're nice people..." He leaned his head slightly, looking at the two from behind. "If Sir Fionn's happy, I would say him. Though he might give me extra for a treat or something, and it gives me a bit of guilt taking it." Usually he wouldn't mind doing that sometimes, but he likely would use it to buy flowers from the town to decorate the Candaeln garden.

"I can't say I know them too well though. How about you? I heard you were with them for the raid on the bandits." Steffen asked, as they neared the armory. "You seem to trust them enough about your weapon choices." He seemed comfortable enough to bark vague requests at the others. Even Steffen wouldn't be like that who his favorite smither.

Once they arrived at the armory, the Ingvarr stopped by the door and patted the Hundi's leg slightly, if he wasn't obviously aware that the door was a bit too tall for both of them, and also it's time for him to change out of this ballroom outfit that he didn't get to use at all. Having little time to set out before the conspirators were potentially alerted to the failed assassination, Steffen didn't get to bring his armor nor his specially forged spear, not that he would want to use such a weapon in a mausoleum anyway. He'd have to contend with gambeson, shoulder plate armor, elbow armor and leather gauntlets and boots. As for weapons, given that he was facing the undead, he'd prefer to go with the war hammer strapped to his side and a small metal shield, a hidden dagger on his belt, though he tended to use them more as tools than weapons. It seemed a little lacking, but it was quite light and nimble.

The Ingvarr was just finished when he heard Sir Fleuri mentioned about the graveyard trip. Anti-undead equipment? He had heard something about magic being used against the undead, but to him, bashing them was the easiest option, so he was at least curious. And Fleuri might need a little hand. "I can go with you. It'll help make it faster, if it is any bulky."

@PigeonOfAstora@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR

"I'll be staying with the princess, and the assassin," Tyaethe said, giving no explanation as to her choice. If pressed... well, they were planning to go into a mausoleum, which was hardly the roomiest place, and if she borrowed your everyday two-handed sword, it would only be a matter of time before she destroyed it on the walls. There simply wasn't time to trot all the way back home, pick up a sword impractically sized for a ball, and come back over here.

The rather less-stated reason was that she would have to try and find a change of clothes. This dress had been made and sized for her adult figure; it would just fall off if she were to go back to normal. That would be embarrassing, and 'hey can you find appropriate clothes for a page who's going to run off and get into a fight' would definitely take a while, even if they were here.

Besides, she wanted to know how this little assassin had managed to sneak in without being detected. Being a nem was one thing, but you still had to get through the doors, and a tiny hooded assassin rather stood out.

The Iron Roses had to move, and they had to move quickly. The cemetary, thankfully, not as far as it could have been had the conspirators choosen a different spot to lurk within. There were two in Aimlenn, the other was further south and typically housed more common folk or those who achieved their status with business, while knights and other nobles were most often interred in this location.

It made it all the more curious that they were able to make their hideout here of all places.

The elaborate gravestones, some depicting Mayon reaching down towards the grave of the dead, a few similarly constructed, but with Reon instead. Others showed family symbols, or conveyed what the dead interred there had done in life. Some were simple, wishing the deceased a good afterlife, and many were adorned with images of Lamplighters and other divine spirits in service of the Goddesses. There were lanterns, flower offerings on many graves, both to help guide the dead to the afterlife and to offer the favored blooms of the goddesses to help ensure the dead made it there.

And then there were the mausoleums. They stood larger then the other graves, and what was visible was only a small component. They stretched underground as well, holding generations of dead. Fanilly admitted, privately, that she found being in a graveyard at night rather disconcerting, but she couldn't show such a thing.

She was Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Something like this couldn't make her falter.

The Cazt Family's tomb was rather easily-recognized. Above the door was the eight-point star, a symbol of the Cazt family's pride in their martial, magical, and military heritage. As Fanilly knew, each point symbolized something more specific, but she had never learned what. Veilena had refused to allow her father to be interred there, and had stripped him posthumously of his status as a member of their family.

The tomb looked unguarded, from the outside. But gods knew what was going on down there.

Fanilly turned back to the others.

"Our enemies are undead," she began, "They will be less coordinated, but also unable to feel pain. Strike without mercy, cut them down and free them from their wretched enslavement."

The idea of using necromancy to manipulate the bodies of the dead was an abominable thought to Fanilly. Slavery was an abomination, but to reach beyond death and use the bodies of the deceased, disturbing their rest...

The Necromancer would answer for his crimes, one way or another.

But more importantly then that...

"The hostage, if she's still alive, must be rescued," she continued, "Her sister may have attempted an assassination, but she is a victim of a cruel and strange plot. We are the Iron Rose Knights, and we fight for the sake of the crown and for those in need. It is our duty."

Their strategy was admittedly simple. Provided the information still held water, they would cut through the undead, and kill or capture any of the living conspirators that they could.

Now they came to the unguarded doors of the mausoleum.

Next...

It took some effort, but forcing them open did not prove to be impossible.

Immediately a figure clad it tarnished, thin armor lunged for them. It was thin, desiccated, its skin peeling in some places to show bone beneath, its jaw hanging open and gnashing as it raised a jagged blade-

And fell backwards, head taken off in a single swing of Fanilly's blade, the edge cutting through the night air. Its flesh was dry and decayed, but the armor would still be able to put up some resistance if the other walking corpses still possessed any.

Indeed, beyond the doorway, a dozen or so shambling, animated bodies turned to face the knights already. Their empty sockets were alight with an eerie purple glow as they raised swords, spears, axes, and shields.

"Iron Rose Knights! If you can't cut off the head, aim for the arms and legs to disable!" declared Fanilly, "Then cut them all down!"

There was no opportunity to be subtle here.

@Creative Chaos@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@VahkiDane@HereComesTheSnow

---

As three of the Throne Knights, including Sir Adeforth himself accompanied the Princess and the Roses who had chosen to stay behind to defend her headed into the back halls and up the stairways, it was as if they were taking a stroll into history. Portraits of notable figures, and of course the royal family, lined the walls.

One in particular stood at the end of the hall. It was by far one of the largest paintings, depicting a rather striking sight. The first was a scene that every adherent of the goddesses would know. The towering, black knight, a crown of spines rising from his helmet and clutching an enormous sword . A single, ethereal-seeming young woman in armor, clutching a silvery blade. Both of them on a rock jutting high above a plain. The battle raging below.

The Duel between Saint Lilianna and Orodrunn was the end of the war between all peoples of creation and the forces of the second dark lord. She had in the end miraculously shattered the black blade, Angroron, and pierced his armor to slay him. It was a scene familiar to all those who worshipped the Goddesses.

There was a single blank spot on the wall among the portraits of members of the royal family.

Prince Meren, still clad in his gleaming, royal-seeming armor, had butchered his mother, father, and his brothers by surprise in the night, all save his younger sister, whom he had become obsessed with. Elionne challenged him to battle, In a bout of furious combat after which Meren believed 'he would make his sister his own', Elionne slew the mad Prince by piercing his heart, and the Royal line survived through his younger sister.

The reviled madman's portrait had been removed from the walls and burned long ago.

Elisandre turned to the left, and soon enough they reached her room. Within, it was rather lavish, with a four-poster bed laden with pillows and blankets, a large bookcase full of various volumes, a desk, a body-length mirror, a nightstand, and even access to a balcony. The glass and steel doors leading to the balcony were shut.

Sir Adeforth leaned against a wall, as the other two Crown Knights took positions outside of the Princess's bedroom. He did not need to speak of their failures any longer.

Elisandre, desperate for some form of normal conversation, headed to the bookcase and took a red-bound novel from a shelf.

"S-so, have any of you read Fireheart?"

It was a hundi-written novel, about a young hundi on her coming of age journey. It had become quite popular in recent years.

Maletha, meanwhile, had found her way to the bed and sat down, her arms wrapped around a large plush dragon as she remained staring at the floor.

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri trudged through the cemetery, torch in hand. He was taking a quick detour to his own family's resting place, a short journey that should not delay their arrival at the Cazt Mausoleum. It'd be a quick stop, then they'd meet back up with the rest of the knights. However, even with the proximity to his brothers and sisters of the order, the eerie calm of the cemetery and the dance of the shadows of the trees and headstones against his torch frayed his nerves, made all the worse by the knowledge that there was a necromancer and his thralls in the area. Fleuri recalled the advice of his mentor, the paladin whom he had served as a squire during the War of the Red Flag.

It is normal for even devoted servants of Reon to feel apprehension or fear when faced with the prospect of battling the undead. What truly matters is that you carry out Her will regardless. Through devotion to Reon, knowledge of our enemy, and experience in facing them, we have the strength to stand and fight when others would falter and flee.

Another important lesson his mentor had taught him was the importance of preparation when facing necromancers and undead. Failure meant not only death, but the very real possibility of one's remains being desecrated, reanimated, and used against your allies. With the situation as dire and urgent as it was, the Iron Roses hadn't have much opportunity to prepare. Fortunately, Fleuri knew of a way to mitigate this problem, because his family had already prepared for this scenario.

It didn't take long for him, and whoever accompanied him, to arrive at one of his destination- a modest above-ground structure with a heavy door of tarnished bronze. Two particular details distinguished this particular tomb: Armand Jodeau's sun symbol above the door, and the two statues of Reon flanking the door, their slightly mismatched shade of stone compared to the rest of the structure making it clear that they were later additions. This was not the entire tomb, of course- behind the door, flanked by the sarcophagi of House Jodeau's founders, was a stairway that led to an underground crypt where the rest of the family- minus a few shameful disgraces- were interred. To Fleuri, it was a grandiose reminder of the power they once wielded, and of what they had become since then. It was a little somber to look upon, knowing that someday he too would be laid to rest within.

"This is the place," he announced. "First, I better make sure the door is still sealed."

It was fortunate he didn't need to go inside, because with his nerves as rattled as they were, he would have to muster a great deal of courage to set foot in his future burial place. He examined the door, checking to ensure that its lock had not been broken. The door did not budge, its lock holding it tightly shut. Relieved and satisfied at the knowledge that the tomb had not been broken into, Fleuri then began examining the statues more closely.

"When Armand Jodeau pledged himself to Reon, he was concerned that the enemies he'd make might be willing to desecrate his family's tomb in order to get to him." he explained. "Some time after he joined the Iron Roses, he commissioned some changes to the mausoleum to ensure that his kin would have the tools to put their ancestors to rest if it ever came to that, even if they lacked his specialized training as a paladin. According to my father, these tools are hidden in a compartment in one of the plinths."

The statues, depicting a goddess known for her small stature, were much shorter than the ones they replaced, and stood on conspicuously tall plinths in order to maintain the same profile. In theory it was only supposed to be used if their own tomb was desecrated, but the circumstances now demanded otherwise. Besides, Fleuri was sure that it would displease both Armand and Reon to let these tools go unused when a nearby mausoleum was in need of cleansing.

"Let's see, this looks like the door. There should be a button around here...ah!" Fleuri pressed a button hidden on the back of the left plinth, causing a stone door to open on the side. The knight reached into the recesses of the cache with one hand, using the other to illuminate the dark space. For all he knew, this might be the first time in a century that it had been opened, and he was curious to see what was within.

"Let's see, this must be Candlestick, Armand Jodeau's first paladin weapon," he announced as he removed a modest-sided arming sword and unsheathed it in front of the others. "He switched to a larger longsword later in his career, which he continued using when he joined the Iron Roses. It looks like it's still in decent condition after all this time." He wasn't sure if it was a magical effect that kept it pristine, or if members of his house had been secretly maintaining it.

"Next, this has to be Dawn's Break," he said as he pulled out a spiked morningstar, featuring a brass or gold plated head. "When Armand expressed his desire to join the Iron Roses, the Church of Reon requested that he undertake a special mission first- to defeat a black knight who had been riding around a crossroads north of Aimlenn at night, murdering anyone who came along after the sun had set. According to a survivor, the knight had taken a spear right to the throat to no effect, so the church believed he or she was an undead. For this mission, they gifted Armand a blessed morningstar to more effectively combat such a heavily armored foe. They never did learn the knight's identity, though, because in the resulting duel, Armand smashed and scorched their face and armor beyond recognition." He placed the morningstar and sword on the ground, offering them to the others. He could've used either of them, but was more comfortable with his own sword.

"Looks like there's also a few vials in here," he continued as he pulled out two glass vials full of a clear, colorless liquid. "Must be Reonite holy water. Throw it, or apply it to a sword or arrows, and it should burst into flames on contact. At least for undead that have Reon's ire- I'm sure it'd have no effect on someone like Tyaethe. By itself, not much use against the more powerful forms of undead like vampires, but if you get it on their wounds, it should make it harder to regenerate. I doubt we'll run into anything like that, though- probably just some mindless skeletal remains raised from the mausoleum's sarcophagi. Still, necromancers can be full of surprises, so you can never over-prepare when going up against one." He attached one vial to his belt for his own use, and placed the other one on the ground.

"That looks like everything. Let's meet back up with the captain before she reaches the Cazt tomb. And while it goes without saying, I do expect Candlestick and Dawn's Break to be returned to the tomb after we're done tonight." With that, Fleuri rushed back back to rejoin Fanilly and the others.

---

The interior of the mausoleum was what Fleuri had expected- shambling, mindless undead. Such dreadful foes might prove somewhat troublesome for the weapons and more easily frayed nerves of ordinary soldiers, but the Iron Roses were no ordinary warriors. Assuming these corpses didn't hide any surprises, this wouldn't take long.

"For Reon! For the Roses!" Fleuri shouted as he charged into the tomb. He came to a stop just outside the reach of an undead's axe and swung his sword horizontally, intending to bisect it- and any other undead close enough to get hit- at the waist. He'd probably only get one swing like this in before the confined quarters and the presence of the other charging knights would require him to resort to more careful attacks.

With the battle having begun, they had to dispatch these undead quickly before the conspirators below could have a chance to react. The Nem had given some information on what sort of foes that they'd be facing, and assuming her information was accurate, they'd also have to fight their way through two warriors, a mage, the necromancer himself, and lastly, the fifth man who was a complete mystery. Whatever the case was, Fleuri was certain that these walking corpses would be merely a warm-up compared to whatever lay deeper.

@Conscripts@HereComesTheSnow@VitaVitaAR

On the way to the bedroom, Tyaethe had somehow commandeered a sword off a guard. It was, in her opinion, rather on the small side, but just having it nearby ought to do in the event of anything happening... which seemed quite unlikely at this stage, and even then they'd have to get past Adeforth first. He might be old now, but that didn't make the man any less of a challenge to tackle with.

"I think I read the untranslated version," the vampire said absent-mindedly, looking at the rather more distraught younger princess and tilting her head in thought, "Given many of the hundi I've met, I'm not sure if it was actually a work of fiction to start with..."

Looking once more at the plush dragon, the vampire flopped aimlessly onto the floor, dress settling around her in a way that swamped the diminutive girl, the expensive fabric half sliding off her shoulders. Maletha was treated to a cheery grin from a paladin that now seemed younger than her, asking "So, does this dragon have a name? All the ones I've met have. They really like to make sure you know it if you're brave enough to find them."

And, in most cases, brave enough to fight them. Egos the size of mountains, the lot of them.

@VitaVitaAR[@@The Otter]@Psyker Landshark

And lo behold, the Mausoleum of House Cazt, bedecked with the Eight-Pointed Star, the Eight Legacies of the besmirched family. Sealed by stone, the stench of undeath that dwelled within did not pervade outwards, but the interlacing of fortunes and circumstance, of knowledge and anticipation, nevertheless rendered the tomb a den of dishonor and disease, one wholly separate from the noble bones that had once been laid to rest within.

Serenity herself, rendered anonymous in borrowed arms and armor, stood before the tomb, beside her Knight-Captain. There had been no need to plunder her own family’s graves for such an incident, nor need to rely on the relics entombed by another family for the sake of the purging of undeath. Indeed, it had always been an era of sorcery and steel. Steel, heated and hammered. Steel, formed and quenched. Steel, the truest distillation of civilization. Against a cabal of grave-crawling pests, that was all that was needed. That was all that they deserved.

And regardless, even if those villains did think to coop themselves up under a rock, it was foolish, after the battle against the Bandit King, to allow the Knight-Captain to be by her lonesome once more. Even if the amount of incompetence thusly displayed by their faceless foes made them out as even greater fools than Jeremiah, the Knights themselves would simply be ever-greater foes if Fanilly were attacked while some were absent.

So Serenity remained. Listened to her Captain repeat banal statements. Measured her breath, felt the weight of her weapons. How the straps and handles dug into her flesh. How weight shifted as she twisted. The condition of her body, the juxtaposition of sensations of fine silk underclothes against the roughness of padded cloth and leather. She felt too, the weight of the stone doors, giving way to her might as she pulled them open and allowed the magenta light of sacrilege to spill out upon moon-stained graves.

Nameless soldiers, wrestled from their deserved slumber, shambled to meet them, and the young Knight-Captain’s sword gave them the example as to how such corpses ought to be treated. Fleuri’s charge was Fanilly’s refrain, a second sword swinging wide, but as for the third to act...there now needed to be order and cooperation.

The bascinet was indeed a good decision. Serenity’s gaze was uninterrupted, and the illumination of the undeads’ own ghastly countenance illuminated their immediate destination. What was appropriate then, except for a charge? And if there were to be a charge, then it came to measure.

“Dame Cecilia, a bolt of wind to scatter them!”

Archers to lock down their movements.

“Sir Steffen, Sir Gerard, we’ll trample them underfoot!”

Cavalry to break their formation.

“And Sir Vier, Lein, reap what remains!”

Infantry to clear out what remained in their wake.

And always, always, moving forwards.

Shield raised up front, mace resting upon her shoulder, the lion felt the ground beneath her boots, dug her toes into her soles, and waited for the storm that would herald the lightning.

It seemed Sir Adeforth and the Iron Rose were to be the last line of defense for the princesses, should things take a turn for the worst. Still, judging by Felix's performance, it just might have to come to that in the end. That was just fine by Renar, really. He'd hoped this night wouldn't pass without another opportunity to display his worth. To that end, Renar kept a watchful eye out as they hurried to the princesses' chambers, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword at all times. It was a shame he didn't have the time to truly appreciate the royal family's portraits and paintings, but that was the price of performing his role adequately.

And then they'd reached Princess Elisandre's personal chambers. Much less extravagant than he'd expected of royalty, though it was clear that every article within was of the highest quality. And then the older girl revealed that she'd read Fireheart. Renar resisted the urge to snort even as his gaze flickered briefly over Tyaethe comforting the younger royal. If she had that well in hand, he may as well respond.

Truly, Renar hadn't expected the novel to be so popular as to make its way into a genuine royal's hands. He'd read Fireheart himself some time ago, if only to see what the latest buzz was about. In his opinion, the book was...passable. Too much focus on romance and the main character's various potential relationships for his taste, but that was what made it so popular among the literate masses, he supposed. There had been plenty of potential to describe hundi court intrigues in between all the duels and romances, but the author hadn't quite seen fit to delve particularly deep into the matter. A shame. Well, if she wanted a distraction, he may as well provide. After all, Renar wasn't quite sure if Fionn had ever read the book. To the best of his knowledge, recreational literature had never quite come up in their conversations.

"Indeed," Renar nodded towards Princess Elisandre, still in a ready stance despite shifting his gaze briefly. "Though I didn't much care for all the focus on the wandering knight in the second act. All that time and effort wasted, because he wouldn't take what opportunities were given to him. Still, I suppose he would have been a better choice of partner than who the protagonist did end up wedding."

---

Steffen quietly admired the mausoleum that Sir Fleuri showed him. It was not as grand as the best he had seen, but more of the rich history that laid the foundation to these structures. Mausoleums may be just as common as seeing grass for the residents of Thaln, but in the land the Ingvarr knight had come from, the dead would be cremated instead. The most prestigious would return to the earth on a boat with all their precious possession, symbolizing their return to the Grand Raegenhere. Some others would get cremated on a pyre and their ashes scattered from mountaintops. Most often is the case for the latter, due to costs and/or urgency. There were virtually no threats of necromancy because there were no bodies to work with. Their spirits belong to the Wolf Father and the Thunder Lord rather than some sacrilegious renegades. But it is their way of honoring the dead, and as an outlander, Steffen had no intention of disrespecting that. Besides, they were unique, dynamic, symbolic and made for interesting stories, and he was all for that. The chilly moist that accompanied these sort of places didn't unsettle Steffen much. After all, death shouldn't be something creepy, but more of proof of their existence, and even to the valorous fallen they would belong to the warm paradise of the sun if they were to belong to the Reon's. Given the description of his ancestors, he had the feeling they belonged there.

The weapons that Fleuri retrieved also were of great importance, as he requested its return. The history were as worthy of reading as any, but given their importance not just for the prestige of the Jodeau house, but also for the mausoleum's sake, Steffen was a little hesitant on taking on it. Steffen was known for breaking weapons, and yes these were magical weapons, but that didn't mean it wouldn't break. He had asked the Rose's blacksmith for a tougher weapon that isn't his family spear, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. He would take several vials of holy water, and would carry both weapons back to the Knight Captain, but only would take on the weapon if no one else wanted it.

---

The stench was obviously different compared to the Jodeau's mausoleum. The tombs are being desecrated, and the smell of rotten flesh removed what remained of who it used to be. The war hammer was drawn way before the first undead fell, but he was not the first to charge in. Aside from the hotheaded Fleuri, it seemed to be coherence in battle plan, and for him, he had the mass and brute, he were to bear the brunt as Dame Serenity commanded.

Steffen nodded silently and quickly moved to the front with his shield and war hammer before the wind bolt by Dame Cecilia was fired. He felt his heartbeat getting louder, but at the same time slower. Any miscellaneous sounds around him began to fade out, as if the wind that carried it was sucked into the magical arrow.

'Feels just like yesterday...'

Everything seemed to fall instinctively to him. The moment that arrow hit the ground, Steffen rushed forward. He skipped any undeads that were incapacitated and on the ground as a result of the arrow, letting his fellow knights to take on the easy prey. Those who were still standing, in particular one with a shield and sword raised to meet the Ingvarr's towering approach, were his to take. He picked up the pace for the last few strides before planting one foot firmly on the ground, raising the other's knee as high as his shoulders, before delivering a vicious front kick into its shield, sending it flying, leaving a visible dent on the shield. Another undead charged at him with an axe, but both his hands were raised in response. One left hand with a shield block, and one right hand swung overhead to send the war hammer directly into the visible skull. He had no swords to cut off their heads with, but their bones are no longer the great warriors and nobles that embodied them: weak and crushable.

@ERode@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

---

Content that Gerard would see to his self-preservation, Fionn quickly settled to gathering up gear for himself and those others of their group who hadn't followed along to the armoury. It was rather simple for him, at least; an aketon, a hauberk that fit over it, simple greaves, vambraces, and gauntlets that fit. Strapping the belt that held his knives back on over the hauberk to take some of the weight off his shoulders brought him roughly back to his standard battlefield wear. Strapping a sallet on under his chin finished his preparations quite quickly, leaving him free to pack other items on the cart to take back.

Though Lein didn't end up with half as fancy of a quiver as he had asked.

After reconvening in the great hall, he followed along silently to Elisandre's personal chamber, the paintings passing by unnoticed as his eyes roved the halls ahead of them for any sign of an attack. Other than his walking the most sound that came from him was that of his devouring the few mincemeat hand pies he'd grabbed before setting off. Fighting on an empty stomach, if it came to it, would be a terrible idea.

Of course, he'd also made sure to swipe a small bowl full of the candied fruits that Maletha had seemed so enamored with, to help cheer the poor girl up a bit. Given that they made it back to Elisandre's room unmolested, it seemed like the chances of that were better than he might have expected; as Tyaethe took up conversation with the younger princess, Renar with the elder, he wordlessly set the sweets on the nightstand near the bed and took a position near Adeforth, able to split his attention between the doors to the balcony and the exit to the hallway as Renar finished his critique of the novel at hand.

"I haven't read many books. Is it one you'd recommend, your highness?"

Gerard Segremors

@ERode@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@VitaVitaAR

A breath pulled in, as the shot whizzed past the assembled vanguard's heads from the rear. Spinning end over end, and cloaked in an unknowable sheathe of luminous, arcane wind, the stuff of sylphs and storm, the arrowhead was a streak of white as it tore its path into the purple glow of the chamber, tailed by Gerard's gaze. The tomb of the traitor and his kin was far beyond tarnished by this cabal of necromancers— the amount of shambling, rattling corpses given new, unnatural life by the sickly lavender pouring from their eye sockets had to be tantamount to desecration. He was no holy man, granted, but...

The dangerous points of Dawn's Break, a hallowed morningstar once wielded by such a devout figure as the Paladin Armand, seemed to hunger as they caught the point of white upon the gilded head. His grip around its haft tightened as the projectile made final descent, his weight shifting forward in turn for the charge. In his left hand, one of the rondel daggers retrieved prior from the Crown's armory. A point, a line, a rod of steel that could turn a strike away, catch a blow upon its sturdy diamond-shaped edges, a wedge to pry a guard open. He wasn't an expert by any true measure, but expertise wasn't needed. Ideas would do, so long as they served the purpose of breaking down the dead that walked.

On his back, the longsword that had served him, always. Should he need to leverage skill where ferocity and momentum faltered, it would be there.

Perhaps against whatever lieutenants waited beneath. For now, all Dame Serenity's plan needed from him was thunder, to chase the lightning. To her, and to Dawn's Break, he was more than ready to oblige.

The meteor hit the tile flooring, and outward exploded the howling wrath of the storm, a blossoming wind that scattered their reanimated foes' number throughout the chamber, leaving as many standing as it knocked aside, but all off their balance.

He breathed out, and felt the rush pass through him as his gold eyes shone beneath the visorless sallet, familiar and comforting as anything could in battle.

Then his boots shoved off the stone, and he surged forth in lockstep with Sir Steffen, hammer to the massive anvil at his side. Few presences would be as welcome as the Ingvarr's, a titan of strength and craft in even measure. There were few better suited to smash into unsuspecting enemy lines with—

He swung the morningstar with grit teeth, bearing shoulder, torso, and hips behind the unfamiliar weight as it bit deep into the skull of the nearest. It caught for a moment in pallid skin, spikes crushing cranial plate...

And then, rushing forth as the bone beneath crumpled into a spray of fragments, there bloomed a wave of sacred, shining flame that engulfed the corpse as it crumpled back to the crypt's floor, animus once again severed. Even after all these years out of service, the blessings placed upon the weapon were as strong as ever... Good.

They'd be needed for much more than this fodder.

Another approaching, carrying some blade the body had been buried with. It swung limply, as one would experct of its shambling gait. However, if there was any indication given by the breaking dawn in his hand...

With a clash of sparks, the edge of the swinging blade was caught upon the dagger, and shoved aside, opening the centerline of both combatants.

Though given new life by magic, no amount of puppetry would match a body that still lived in speed. Gerard brought the head of his borrowed bludgeon back around in a backhanded swing, a dull percussion line sounding as its weight pulverized the undead's ribcage. Even ignoring the damage, the raw torque was enough to knock it clear from the path of their charge, easy pickings for those that followed. No longer a concern.

And their crashing, crushing charge wouldn't stop here. An old hand at this, Gerard knew well that the whole idea was defeated by arresting momentum.

There were a few more ahead. Between him and his peers, their sickly lease on life wasn't long for the world.

Steel flashed. The blessed weapons that had been taken from the tomb of Fleuri's forefathers proved especially destructive, undead crumpling, burning with each strike. Even glancing blows were proven effective, their decrepit flesh burning away, bodies collapsing. Unlike the fires of simply enchanted weapons, the divine solar flames of Reon-blessed weaponry were red-gold in color, and made short work of the undead they fell upon.

The own blade finely-crafted but lacking such enhancements, Fanilly stuck to aiming for the head, hewing it from the shoulders of another undead. The head, the limbs, those were the best targets to strike on an undead without the advantage of a blessed weapon.

And it seemed her knights were well aware of this fact. However, the orders one of her very own knights had issued... had she made a mistake in not being more explicit? She had assumed such enemies, as foul as the were, would be best dealt with by allowing the knights to perform their work swiftly and without much interference. But was that the wrong approach?

The legs cut out from one undead, and then its head slice from its neck.

It was among the last that fell in the entrance chamber to the mausoleum.

Fanilly inhaled deeply, straightening as she regarded the aftermath of the battle. The corpses were dry, those that were not burning away into ash didn't shed any blood.

"There is surely much worse awaiting us below," she began, looking back over her shoulder towards the others as she began to approach the stairs, "Not to mention the conspirators themselves. While they're outnumbered, a necromancer and a lightning witch are-"

The gleam of silver light suddenly exploded from the darkness ahead of her. It was only in the scant seconds that Fanilly found herself even aware of the incoming blow, only notified by the sound of rattling plate armor, that she was able to throw herself just out of the range of the glowing axe as it slammed to the stone floor below.

Hitting the ground a meter away, she stumbled back to her feet just in time to witness the edge of the axe blow brilliantly and explode, obliterating the stone beneath it and leaving behind a smoking crater.

The axe raised from the floor, its handled gripped in two armored hands, alight with runic inscriptions.

The weapon was wielded by a tall, broad figure, clad head to toe in elaborately-carved, rune-inscribed plate armor. The carvings were unlike those Fanilly was familiar with. Some were horned, grimacing faces, others ghoulish beasts.

A long beard hung from a shadowed face beneath the helmet.

So this was one of the conspirators.

"Iron Roses," even as her heart hammered in her chest, the man taking one step forward, Fanilly had to keep their mission in mind, "Keep him preoccupied, prevent him from barring the way forward. I will take the remainder of our forces deeper into the mausoleum."

She had to remain calm. To think clearly. If they wanted to end this, to cut the enemy down here, and to save the hostage, they couldn't allow themselves to be caught up here.

They outnumbered him, but the enchanted nature of his equipment was obvious. Still, he was only one man.

And they had to push deeper!

@Creative Chaos@Rune_Alchemist@Saiyan@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@VahkiDane@HereComesTheSnow

---

Elisandre's voice, when she spoke, was filled with relief. It was clear she was desperate to find something normal, something commonplace, to talk about.

"Ah, well, y-you see," she began, taking a deep breath, "Sir Arsene might not have seemed very important in some ways, but I think he got so much focus because of the hundi reverence for the concept of the Knight Errant. Besides, he did play a big part in helping when Brigitte and Chantilly got attacked by Rozenalt and the Redmarch Knights outside of Hervard's Glen, and I loved his relationship with young Lord Regis!

Her attention shifted to Sir Fionn.

"I'd definitely recommend it!"

While her grip on the book still seemed somewhat tighter then it should have needed to be, at the same time the First Princess was speaking quite freely. It seemed talking about literature was a passionate subject for her, and thus would serve as an effective distraction. Fireheart was a standalone novel, of course, but characters such as Bloody Lord Rozenalt and the Redmarch Knights were popular antagonists who appeared frequently in folklore and myth. The same could be said of the Midnight Hunt, or the mysterious Wyzal.

When what appeared to be another child sat down in front of her, Princess Maletha shifted awkwardly, still holding the plush dragon tightly for a few moments before deciding to speak.

"Um, it's... h-he's... he's Thrinax," she said, after a few moments, nestling her chin against the stuffed dragon's head, "Like the one from the story with P-Prince Erion."

Prince Erion, the Last Prince of Talderia, was another figure often mythologized. Some stories, such as the founding of the Erion Knights and their Fortresses of Caron Lyn and Erhan Lyn outside the Black Pit, were definitely true. Others were less likely to be so. The truth of his friendship with the prideful Thrinax was difficult to verify, but a dragon with that name did once exist, and possibly still did somewhere in the world.

Given the dragon's noble heart beneath his arrogant exterior, perhaps there was no surprise the shy Second Princess would name her plush toy after him.

"U-um, do you have any friends like Thrinax...?"

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter

Thrinax, huh...? She had to wonder if that one was still alive, but she'd never really had a reason to try and find him... really, most people only ever sought out dragons when they were causing problems. "I once went where Erhan Lyn used to be, but I didn't see any sign of him."

Which was only to be expected. The fortress had been destroyed for years, she'd been looking for a particular vampire at the time, and dragons preferred mountainous regions. Talderia had been low-lying even before the entire city became a pit in the middle of southern Ithillin; not exactly the place a dragon was likely to be hanging around. Unless he was bound to some sort of promise to come to the fortresses' aid, but she hadn't heard any stories that would suggest that was the case. Or maybe they'd never been under sufficient direct attack before Erhan Lyn was lost? It was hard to say.

A blush stood out incredibly clearly on her pale skin. "W-Well, I don't have any friend as impressive as Thrinax. But Elionne got me a bunny once, and we named it Elei."

Which was, in turn, part of the name of a minor rabbit-eared folk deity. Probably some lesser divine spirit that hung around the elves a lot, with the full name being Eleinwyl.

---

More undeads fell, not few were as forgiving as the Knight Captain's clean and elegant swordplay. The Ingvarr felt little satisfaction as he smashed the joints of one of the last undeads who were willing to put up a fight for their wretched masters who forcefully disturbed their spirits, before brutally stomped on their skull, the bones cracked like corns to fire, the amethyst fire raging extinguished for good. They felt no pain, but the livings would feel no pleasure hearing this was the final end to their ancestors. But only this would guarantee their eternal rests.

However, the path forward was still not yet clear. Something within his sixth sense immediately stabbed at his heart the moment that gleaming light sliced through the darkness, perhaps just as fast as the Knight Captain's, but unlike her, he was too far away to act. Thankfully, it was the Knight Captain, and she managed to slip from danger by a hair's breadth. Twice.

Suspicions fired off the more this new enemy made himself known to him and his fellow knights. The titanic structure of a man, the large clunky axe, glowing mythical luminescence, the long beard, and most importantly the fancy armor. The hellish beast decoration were not just for intimidation. They looked unfamiliar to Thalnese inhabitants, but these patterns were more common sights for the northerners, especially for those familiar with Barukstaed.

A land older than time, harder than a serpent scale, untamed and hellish cold...

Fanilly wanted the new enemy to be at least kept occupied, as it was pretty instinctive that neutralizing this armoured hulk of an enemy was not going to be easy. As the man took a step forward, the Ingvarr too stepped a foot in front of the Knight Captain, his action conveyed just as much as his unspoken words of volunteers. He would take this fight. For the mission, but also for his curiosity. He wanted to confirm what he likely already knew.

Steffen stopped right outside of the axe strike range of his enemy, the only part of his body close enough would be his right foot, which he put down without a sound. Glaring straight at the steelclad conspirator for a brief second, the foot that seemed indecisive one moment earlier immediately dug into the stone. Within an eye-blink, Steffen was deep in his strike range, his war hammer already on a downward swing right towards him. However, his opponent read his palm, as both weapons slammed into one another with mighty reverberance, creating a lock. A titanic force against an unbowing mountain.

Steffen pushed his strength forward down, seemingly gaining the upper hand, but quickly realized his mistake. His opponent was trying to slide the hammer into an uncomfortable position before retaliating with his own immense strength. Thus, the Ingvarr very swiftly broke the lock on his own terms and quickly moved away from any counter attacks.

"This feels familiar..." Steffen mumbled. This strength...he'd be here for a while.

"I'd need a helping hand, to be certain." He turned to his knights. He could probably go neck in neck with him in a duel, but this is not supposed to be a duel. There is no honor to be had here, nor is there any that Steffen wanted. He wanted this person neutralized, the hostage rescued and the tomb cleansed. Nothing more. "Oh, and Captain, take these." He took out the vials from Sir Fleuri's and tossed it to Fanilly. "Knock them dead...again."

@VitaVitaAR@HereComesTheSnow@ERode@Crimson Paladin

---

Now why had she gone to a crypt again?

This place was ill-suited for an archer like her, wasn’t it? Cramped hallways, poor vision…but even so, her mind was elsewhere. She had been put in well, not a bad mood but certainly one of mild brooding. Part of her felt relieved at seeing her again, but on the other hand another part of her wished she hadn’t. She wanted to put that whole thing behind her, after all, and getting involved with them again wouldn’t be any good.

“What’s the matter Cecil? Do I need to give you a kiss or something to cheer you up?”

“For once, I’m the one that feels annoyed by such a comment.”

“Tsk, did meeting her really put you in that bad of a mood? You should have stayed behind if it was going to bother you that much.”
“And do what, Shael? Introduce myself as a wanted fugitive and traitor like the rest of my family?”

“What would they do, hm? I’d rip that entire palace to shreds with a storm if they tried to harm a pretty little hair on your head.”

“...you can be surprisingly overprotective sometimes, can’t you?”
“Tsk. You say that like Im the reason you haven’t died an ignoble death yet.”

She didn’t respond, Serenity’s shout pulling the archer from her thoughts. Despite the instructions and the clear, commanding voice of Serenity’s though, Cecil was a bit too late to react. She hadn’t drawn her bow yet, nor even knocked an arrow or even started flinging any spells by the time the others had engaged. She had been far too focused on her own thoughts, distracted and in the following seconds it took her to prepare herself the other undead had swiftly been dealt with.

It was a good thing she had collected herself enough by the time this large, hulking mass of a man appeared wielding what seemed to be an enchanted axe of some sort.

“I’ll help escort the captain further down!” Cecil shouted. Her arrows wouldn’t be particularly effective here, either. Too cramped. Too many people. Still, she could at least help provide some form of distraction for this behemoth of a man and make it a bit easier to push past him.

—-----------
@Conscripts

Steffen engaged the man first, weapons mightily clanging against each other as they made a contest of strength out of it. As Steffen pulled himself back out of retaliatory strike range, the armored man didn’t so much as flinch or allow himself to slow down. With nothing more than a battle cry, he charged towards Steffan, the runic axe glowing with arcane power as it swung towards Steffan.

As it made contact with either his opponent, the ground again, or another blade, a powerful explosion would send anything flying if not outright severely injuring an opponent.

The First Princess really did enjoy speaking of this book a tad too much. Still, Renar couldn't fault a sheltered teenager for panicking and holding on to some sense of normalcy. Still, if Sir Adeforth wasn't going to shut the conversation down, he took it as tacit approval to keep on with this line of talk. Sun and Moon, he couldn't imagine Felix trying to hold a conversation with the Princess. The idiot would probably either try to aggrandize himself or just be a sycophant.

Renar shifted his gaze towards the windows, keeping an eye out for intruders as he spoke. Nothing yet, but if the Crown Knights had the door well in hand, the other primary entrance point to these chambers would be the tower window, no matter how difficult it was a climb.

"Yes, I would say Fireheart had one of the better depictions of Rozenalt and the Redmarch." He stated, his tone still light and conversational. Hmm. Dame Tyaethe still had the younger princess well in hand, it seemed. "Of late, it seems authors have tended to portray the Bloody Lord as more of a joke and one-off than a proper threat. At least Fireheart did some justice to the character."

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri turned his full attention towards the newly arrived warrior.

"This must be the very large warrior that the Nem mentioned," he remarked to his fellow knights. Indeed, the man before them was quite large, and even if his axe wasn't bearing a dangerous enchantment, he looked to be quite a formidable foe.

Fanilly ordered for a few of their number to deal with this warrior so the others could push forward. The Ingvarr knight Steffan was the first to volunteer, moving to engage the bearded axeman. His opponent wasn't going to go down easily, and with that enchanted weapon in an enclosed space, it was too dangerous to leave this to one knight.

Fleuri didn't have the opportunity to vocally convey his intention to stay, because he needed to act immediately. As the warrior charged at Steffan and swung his magical axe, Fleuri moved to flank from the right side. The moment that the explosion finished its course, the knight moved in and thrust his greatsword at the warrior's torso just beneath the arm, aiming to stab his sword between the armor joints while the man's arms were extended forward. Whether or not he was able to penetrate the man's armor, he'd immediately withdraw his sword and step back after making the stab- he needed to stay out of the range of that axe, because attempting to block or parry it would end in disaster.

@Rune_Alchemist@VitaVitaAR@Conscripts

A warrior of the north, armored with ensorcelled plate.

If this was all they had to fight, then she would gladly partake. But for all the might, all the prowess, all the wealth that this barbarian possessed, he was not a necromancer, nor even a hero on the battlefield. He was a nameless axeman who fought on the commands of a desecrator of the dead, a blasphemer of Reon’s decrees.

Two of the Iron Rose splintered off from the rest, forcing back the barbarian from his point at the entrance to the inner crypt. Sir Steffen and Sir Fleuri, a stable enough composition, so long as Flower reined in his more impulsive decisions. Even if they could only hold back the barbarian, that would be enough. Dame Cecilia called out her own positioning, and Serenity herself stepped in as well. The Ingvarr staying behind meant that, once more, there was only one shield to be ‘shared’ amongst all the remaining knights.

Her shield.

So she, of course, stepped to the front, shield raised for the unknown dangers further down.

“Captain, stay in the center with the archers. Sir Gerard, cover the rear.”

For worse, they were running out of proper knights to hold a formation with. For better, they would all have a greater share of the glory in the end.

Those descending into the mausoleum swiftly found the space opening up once more, the clean marble surrounding them surprisingly well-lit by runic enchantments that flared to life on their entry. Alcoves lined the walls, flush with tombs of minor family members, many with lifelike effigies laid atop. Others, meanwhile, remained unadorned--its inhabitant perhaps represented by one of the many statues that stood between the alcoves. The entire environment was surprisingly colourful, from the uncannily lifelike figures to the repeated banners of House Cazt and its former cadets.

It also transpired that they were not alone, a figure emerging from an empty tomb with nary a sound in but a second, and leaning against a statue with a cocky grin. A statue with quite the resemblance in features--although dressed in the formal regalia of yesteryear, not the stylish clothing of a young gentleman, and with distinctly amber eyes rather than the vibrant red ones that affixed the knights. The pointed ears were a notable difference, too.

"I welcome you to my family's tomb, Iron Roses. I was quite concerned that the little assassin would find where I slipped the note and dispose of it for her sister's safety," he said, shaking his head in disappointment. Nothing about his posture seemed immediately threatening, but it was impossible to ignore the sabre casually resting in one arm... or the weighty, equally loaded crossbow in the other hand, "But where are my manners? Damon Cazt, at your service.

His eyes scanned the small group, before he let out a disappointed sigh, "The paladin stayed behind? Or did she choose to stay up top and fight Alfrid? No matter; it seems my planned distraction isn't here, so one of you shall have to do. The captain simply must go on, therefore..."

A finger tapped against the sabre's gilt hilt for a few seconds, before the blade swept up, idly dancing between Cecilia and Serenity, settling on the latter. "You! The presumptuous one. You stay here and fight me for a little while, everyone else can go on ahead and clear up the necromancer defiling our tomb. Nobody will be surprised for me to get sidetracked by an attractive thing like you, and they simply lack in boyish charm."

He paused for a second, looking at Lein. "And I've done well to avoid Hundi marriage proposals, I'm not going to start now. Now, the rest of you, shoo! A little friendly fight between us two is far preferable to staining this tomb with your blood."

@ERode

Vier had a few options as he just finished cleaning the undead gunk and viscera off his twin swords. It was an odd habit, but his father taught him that a dirty blade was as bad as a dull one. He stopped for a moment to wait for more threats or new orders as the other Roses killed got rid of the other undead.

Then the bright silver light appeared, Vier wiping his eyes afterwards to adjust. He watched as the axe streaked by, taking a step then jumping back as it exploded. ”What now?” The exasperation in his voice was obvious as he watched the rune-clad knight come forth. Vier tossed his now-dirty rag away, slowly twirling his blades to get his blood and mana flowing, them now glowing a soft red and blue.

”Well. Any ideas?” Vier moved into a defensive stance, knowing there was no conceivable way he could outmuscle the giant. So, he waited for it to make a move, moving in for a counterattack when the man began to swing the axe. He would aim to slice into the giant man’s wrist to keep it from causing further damage.

Gerard Segremors

@ERode@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist

From the rear, as ordered, a hand fell upon the lion's broad shoulder as the amber-eyed wolf leaned in behind it, speaking in tight, but measured undertone.

"You gonna play along?"

A question of intent, at the very least trying to couch little else behind its timbre. It was all he meant to ask.

In his opposite side and held low at the hip, he rolled his wrist and tested again the weight of Dawn's Break, the blessed morningstar's brilliant sheen already hidden beneath a banquet of the formerly-reanimated, old blood's burgundy blackened by the low light. Knowing her... she would, normally, happily oblige such a duel— a perfect instance to prove merit in the skill she prided herself upon to the point of battlefield asceticism. A formal challenge like this would be the perfect venue to stand out...

And yet.

His eyes narrowed in quiet suspicion as they regarded this "Damon Cazt", cockily waving the rest of them along as though a herd of armored sheep. His ears were pointed, curving up into knifelike tips. His skin was pallid, as though he'd not steeped out of this crypt and into the light for years. His strength was eminent in the single hand that managed his hefty crossbow, far broader and more robust than normal variants and already drawn taut.

Finally, and most obviously, his eyes. They were a searing red, far brighter than any should be even beneath torchlight— they almost seemed to glow. Gerard had seen that before, exactly once— upon the face that so disappointed their new obstacle to not behold among the raiding party's number. Blood rubies by any other name.

A duel with a vampire was far, far more lopsided than those between scions of noble houses. With his blessed armament and uncompromisingly aggressive tactics, Gerard knew that he could serve as enough of a stand-in for a Reonite Justiciar to be a key equalizer here. If it were him in her shoes, he'd likely appreciate such support.

Yet, it wasn't him. It was her. Whatever choice she made, he intended to follow. Dame Serenity of House Arcedeen was a singular knight, that much was clear in everything she did. A "challenging foe" alone wouldn't be the reason she might balk, and step away from the cliff's edge she made a point of walking along with her methods. If the First and Youngest was what they had to manage vampiric expectations, even knowing she was likely exceptional among them... this would eclipse "challenging" by a good margin.

So he wanted to know—

Was this, too, within the reach of her pride?