The bones rattled to that, scattered across the floor under the blows of the knights. But any skeleton that did not suffer major damage to its structure had already begun to rise again, pulling itself together and gripping its weapon to fight once more.

One such undead was greeted with the blade of Fanilly's sword, striking its skull, cutting into the bone and sending it stumbling before a followup with the pommel caved its head inwards, causing it to collapse to the floor once again.

Indeed, for Necromancers, the benefit of skeletal undead was the difficulty with which to permanently disable them. On the other hand, they were also quite easily knocked apart compared to their fleshier counterparts.

The numbers of the initial group of skeletons were dwindling. The burst of wind from Cecilia's arrow had caused many of them to collapse to the ground and tumble apart in pieces, forced to pull themselves together in order to rise once more. This made them easy pickings, and considerably cut the number of those that posed an immediate threat.

Even still, Fanilly found herself knocking another skeleton apart as it raised its rusted sword, cutting into its spine in order to make its attempt at rising just a bit more difficult.

"We're almost through!" she called to the other knights. But even as she spoke, another group of skeletons marched up the steps, brandishing their weapons as their jaws opened soundlessly.

That wasn't all, for alongside them was a large, grotesque figure. It was an undead of some description, but larger then any of the others seen before. Bloated was perhaps the best way to describe it. In one large hand it gripped a hefty, rough-looking black iron hammer, its head obscured entirely by a ragged hood. Aside from pants, it was without any further form of armor, but its bloated form would make it harder to cut apart. Its warped, decaying figure did not appear to be entirely human-like, but its exact nature was difficult to make out.

"Iron Roses!" called Fanilly, "Disable the skeletons and then cut down the giant abomination! Finishing the skeletons can wait until it's been slain!"

If they could disable all the skeletons, then cut down the massive undead, then that would make the followup far easier.

But beyond the skeletons, and the bloated undead, was another very much alive figure. A man clad in leather armor, appearing to be in his late twenties perhaps, several daggers on his waist and a gleaming red gem hanging from his neck. He was eyeing the Roses warily, using the skeletons and the massive undead as a barrier between himself and the knights.

That mush have been one of the other conspirators. It fell in line with what Tili had described!

But without finishing the undead off first, reaching him simply wasn't a possibility.

@Creative Chaos@Rune_Alchemist@Crimson Paladin@Psychic Loser@VahkiDane@HereComesTheSnow@Erode@Conscripts

---

As the knights assembled beyond the door, the Princesses both approached, trying to peer beyond it and see what was going on. The moment that Elisandre caught a glimpse, she swiftly grasped Maletha and covered her eyes.

Whatever was going to happen, she had guessed that it wasn't something she should be watching.

The moment the oils ignited, a hideous shriek seemed to arise from the very air itself. A hazy form appeared above the nem, its shape impossible to fully make out as it warped and twisted in the air. All that could be discerned was two long-fingered hands, wrapped around Tili's throat.

The screeching grew in volume, until the finger seemed to shimmer strangely and finally release the nem's through, leaving her sputtering, coughing, squirming on the ground.

The exorcism had been a success.

The hazy, misty figure was somewhat more distinct now. A skull-like face perched upon a long neck, a hunched, skinless figure exposing bone and sinew, a mane of hair stretching from its head and down its back. It was not much larger then Tili herself, but its hands were as wide as dinner plates and possessed long, thin fingers tipped in sharp nails.

"Then it was a wicked spirit," Adeforth's eyes narrowed, one hand placed on his blade, "It's lucky we had one of the clergy at our disposal. If no-"

The creature sprang into the air, suddenly hurling itself towards the princesses. Was this some sort of backup plan? If it wasn't intercepted in time...!

@Krayzikk@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze

---

On one hand, the skeletons were proving easy enough to deal with.

On the other...

"Ahahah, Looks worse then Lord Autmere does." Cecil laughed to herself, before shaking her head. Focus, she had to focus. Thankfully though, that hulking monstrosity might have its size...but it made it a much easier, much bigger target to hit. "Alright big guy, lets see how well you stay put together." Fill it full of enough holes, use wind to rip and tear at its flesh, it could be easily done.

First, cripple that arm of its.

Another wind burst arrow, this time aimed for the things shoulder that was carrying the hammer. It was followed by deftly knocking a few normal arrows, towards its legs, hoping to slow it down even slightly.

The man from Barukstaed
@Crimson Paladin@Conscripts@Creative Chaos

---

As Steffen rushed towards the Barukstaedian, the hulking mass of a man seemed to make a calculated movement himself. After all, if he had no weapons, then he was going to have to get close. Real close. Which meant a large two handed axe wouldn't be all that useful in such close quarters if he got past it. He made a movement that made it seemed like he was going to strike, but the sound of metal grinding and the catching of his axe on something caused a moment of bemusement as the blade did not move - leaving him right open to a flurry of punches from Steffen.

"Guh-" the man grunted, impact after impact swiftly being delivered to his armor. The runic armor taking the brunt of each blow more than most armors could. He struggled only briefly with freeing his axe, before deciding that he had enough of Steffen. Releasing the axe with one hand, he'd deliver his own blow right to Steffen's face with a left hook in the moment the Ingvarr also struck, the force momentarily dazing the Ingvar. This was followed by him grasping the axe again with both hands, twisting it and managing to unhook it from Flueri's lockdown.

He'd follow it up with a step forward, a knee aimed towards Flueri's midsection, and a horizontal swing with the axe, its runes glowing with arcane might.

---

”Gods, the smell of this place is enough to make the dead walk away.” Vier actively resisted the urge to gag at the smell of rot and decay, but his general discomfort with being around the rotting dead was obvious. It dredged up memories he’d rather not have to deal with in the middle of a fight, so he repressed them for the time being. It was unhealthy, but it was also the best he could do in the moment. For now, he assessed the situation.

Between getting tossed like an old toy, and having to hit zombies until they decided to get back to being dead, Vier was not having a good time with the battle. To be frank, Vier wanted to just beat on the giant until it stopped moving, but he took a shallow breath and calmed himself down. Magic took focus, and using it in combination with swordplay made that even more important. Alright, this is an absolute behemoth of a man. His armor is runic, so I can’t just batter him until it gives. I’ll stick with the more reliable method: cutting the tendons.

He noticed the armored man swing his runic axe at Fleuri and moved up to deflect the strike with his right sword, imbuing it with reinforcement magic to make sure it doesn’t shatter on impact. He would use some of the inevitable recoil to make a quick swing at the armored man’s dominant wrist, heating up the blade of his left sword to make the stab easier, and in case of leather padding underneath the runic armor.

“A true relic of the past, to be so blasé about intimacy with a stranger.”

And it was indeed, a vampire’s nature to justify their own existence. A rescue opportunity, at the cost of a Princess’s life? For the sister of a conspirator? There were oaths to be fulfilled, indeed, but Serenity understood too: the blood of a royal was worth more than the life of a peasant. Thaln could not function upon principles of equality, no matter the ideals of the church, the virtues of the crown. If the vampire had thought himself to be ‘good’, then it would have ended at the end of his own sword. Such was the might of an immortal nightcrawler, possessing strength both physical and magical that belittled the efforts of the mortal.

If Damon had considered it, and decided that he was incapable of it, then Fanilly was doomed to fall, alongside two archers of remarkable skill and a warrior who had yet to realize his goals. If he had considered it, and decided that he didn’t want to do it?

Then he was just a vampire.

But words transmitted through tongue and breath had no meaning now. Now, it was but the death-dance, one that demanded the entirety of her attention, no matter how carefree, how flippant, her foe was. And so, the world blurred away, elaborate statues rendered into grayscale shadows, brilliant walls made to vague boundaries. In that world, only Damon appeared in full-detail, raising his arbalest upwards.

The trigger was pulled. A heavy bolt whizzed past her, Serenity sliding one foot back to shrink her profile. The wall cracked from the force of the shot, her legs coiled up. He was fast, but she could read the starting movements still. The bending of knees into a lunge, a thrust. She had already become the smallest target she could, and with that, the trajectory of his sword’s point could be read as well.

So she advanced too. One step before he’d expect his sword to reach. The heft of the mace warded off his thrust, diverting it offcenter. Her shortsword swung under her leading arm and she caught the crimson flicker in his offhand. Visual guides to strike for. Vampires could heal. Weapons couldn’t.

The shortsword swung for the tautening string of the crossbow.

And whether or not it truly found its mark, Serenity finished her step regardless, pivoting on her feet to face Damon once more.

Renar was going to have watched the windows even before Tyaethe gave her order. It made sense, after all. The corridor was manned by Crown Knights already, and there weren't any other points of ingress besides self-made ones. And at that point, the idea was so insane that even a defense against it would be needlessly wasteful in any other circumstance. So he did as he was bid, and returned to guarding the princess's room, sword drawn and planted against the floor.

He did nod politely to Princess Elisande as she shielded her younger sister's view from it, though that certainly wasn't helping with the unearthly howling. Gods be damned, feigning charm and decorum throughout the entirety of the ball had been exhausting enough already. And he was terrible with children to begin with. Fionn really should be handling this, but if the other knight wasn't going to jump on the situation, Renar would.

"Cover your ears should you find the ruckus unpleasant, Highness." The Bastard of Brias briefly crouched down at Princess Maletha's side. "Dame Tyaethe is doing exactly what she is supposed to. This is just proof that it's working." With that said, he stood back up and resumed his vigil, shooting Fionn a pleading gaze to take over with the child.

Renar did sneak a peek at the exorcism now and then, just to make sure that nothing was going wrong. Fortunately, judging by the reactions of everyone involved, it looked like this was supposed to be normal. Just some sort of wicked spirit, according to Sir Adeforth-

The thing moved.

He saw it out of the corner of his eye, and reacted immediately. Renar dashed forward, his free hand shoving the princesses out of the way of the creature's lunge, even as his sword hand thrust out and plunged the tip of his blade straight for the spirit's throat. Oh, this had better work. He wasn't dying for anyone else this day, not even a royal.

Lein

---

Location: The Cazt Mausoleum
Interactions: @HereComesTheSnow @VitaVitaAR @Rune_Alchemist

---

Risky plays, here. Lein was all about the flashiest ways to win, but pushing ahead without the Lioness was risking playing into their opponent's hand. Eh. On the bright side, Lein did promise the Cazt heiress the head of the necromancer.

First, rotting corpses. Now skeletons. With no meat to chew, Lein was on the flat-foot here. Even if he was to shatter a bone or two with a well-placed arrow, he noted with a snarl of disappointment, the skeletons just decided to shamble toward them regardless, one less intact bone but with unremitting rigor. Mausoleum was the wrong play. Lein would've liked to quip something about having liked the dancing with live nobles than dead ones, if he wasn't already busy shielding himself from the fetid dust that blew back through him and dodging a stray blade that sliced the air just in front of him. Gah. Probably should keep the snarkiness in till he wasn't inhaling what would definitely rot his lungs.

No magic to provide firepower, and Lein definitely had nothing comparable to the raw physique and apparent righteous rage that Gerard used to crush his way through the crackling bones. Even as he scavenged a stocky mace from one of the fallen skeletons (discarding the still twitching couple of finger bones clutching the handle), Lein would just have to take the fact that much of his tactics worked on much more lively, sentient enemies. Leave the glory up to his much more befitting companions. Lein mainly relied on pressing up close against the other knights, filling the space in-between their vanguard Gerard and Cecilia's distant fire with defensive swipes of the mace and careful arrows to shatter exposed kneecaps.

As they whirled to face the new monstrosity, Lein took stock of the... creature. Corpses would often bloat as they rotted, but those bloats would be pus and blood. This one looked a lot more solid, somehow. Why a hood? None of their other challengers had anything to obscure their identity, and one of them proudly sported their Cazt blood. Was this one different? If nothing but a strike of terse curiosity, Lein lined up a shot directly against the place Lein guessed should be a skull. He waited up until Cecilia loosed her enchanted arrow, and chased after it with an arrow of his own.

The strike for the string was avoided, whether by happenstance or design, as the vampire turned to face Serenity in profile. On the plus side, there was no reasonable way he could actually aim and fire it in such a position, making the weapon a rather distracting weight... well, for a normal person. For him, perhaps, it was merely something to keep in his other hand.

He was also laughing. Not an amused chuckle, but a full-throated laugh. If it hadn't been from an undead nobleman in the middle of a tomb, it would actually have been quite pleasant. "Relic of the past? My dear, you are simply another noble ingenue, repressing any desires you have to play the part of a good daughter. Put on a disguise some evening and go to the taverns adventurers frequent, or the inns merchants stay at. There are entire swathes of the population far more desperate and more forward than I."

Damon seemed happy to keep attacking in a relaxed fashion, keeping as much distance between them as possible. Always looking for a better angle to attack from, yet not pressing with all the speed and strength he obviously had. His form was marginally tightening up, if anything he was getting warmed up, but he was just probing at her defence constantly. Playing. Waiting for Serenity to do something.

@ERode

---

Plans do tend to fail, especially when one gets punched in the face.

It was somewhat what Steffen was trying to bait his opponent into. A counter-attack to be counter-counter-attacked, leading to both of them stunlocking each other and the axe. The punch was stronger than he expected though, landing on his cheek bone and veiling his vision with a blur. Nevertheless, with several stumbles backward, he kept himself upright again, maintained alertness with both hands in front of him for any follow-ups. If his sights weren’t working, he’d have to hear it.

But the axe man did not come. Steffen wondered why, but he did not sense anything else. He was seemingly a big target, dazed and seemingly confused, but there was no follow ups.

Ultimately, he took a moment to regain his senses. Seeing that the Barukstaedian had directed his fury over to Steffen’s two brothers-in-arms, he wasted no time charging back into the fray. No more assessment, he had to act quickly. He’d have to make sure that axe never makes contact with a solid surface again.

When the Barukstaedian turned back around, he’d see a huge silhouette coming at him with no signs of stopping. While the runic armor would perhaps give him the ease of mind, the Ingvarr's intentions were clearer when he was close enough. He’d attempt to ram shoulder-first into his opponent. If that were to make contact, and whether that actually managed to tackle the axe man or not onto the ground, one or both his hands would shoot out to try and hold tightly onto the man’s gauntlet. Once again, it would open him to more of the Barukstaedian attacks if his opponent could manage to, but he was ready to quickly counter the easier ones, or take them all head on. All Steffen wanted was buy precious moments for his two knights to attack.
@Rune_Alchemist@Crimson Paladin@Creative Chaos

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist@PigeonOfAstora

Two arrows loosed, their flight heralded by the deep hums of once-taut string. Cecelia’s to the hooded goliath’s cannonball shoulder, wind magic sheath primed to knock the joint open should the head catch into whatever hammer-swinging muscle lied beneath. A beat later came Lein’s, sent into the murky depths of the hood itself, towards eyes, nose, maw, a harassment of any sense still left in the wake of its former life. A one-two punch that would give most foes pause, if even for a moment, if defended or allowed to sink home.

A third arrow, propelled by a change in orders, was instead sung its approach by clattering, smashing, and pounding drums. Sir Gerard, ever impetuous, strove to make good on his word.

His sabatons pounded the damp, musty tile. Sparks flew as his shield caught the the beard of a swinging axe upon its metallic border, only to be shoved aside as steel, sinew, and speed collided with strung-up bone. A human battering ram, knocking all clear from his path.

His golden eyes flicked ahead, noting the trajectories of his comrades’ shots and he selected his own target in turn as he bore down upon the hulking undead. Another time might have seen him realize that as proof of his continued training within the Order, no mean feat that having the eyes to react to flying arrows was—

Face. Shoulder. Two targets. Just like Jeremiah. Win by forcing third. Kill joints. Kill base of force. Kill options.

—But the fight had now taken him, and left nothing in pride’s place but battlefield rigour.

His charge was swift, and in the span of three breaths he had cleared a line to the giant undead and was upon it. Its black hammer was heavy, its form distended and bulbous beyond humanity. A deep, threatening mystery of what horror they faced lurked within the shadows of its hood as it towered over him, further accentuated by his sudden drop in posture. Intimidating. Plainly and simply so.

He grit his teeth, an open snarl.

He came in the wake of two arrows, loosed by some of the land’s most skilled, aimed true and thus surely giving him this instant he had seized. He held in his hand Reon’s own thunder, cast in the visage of Her Morning Light and still burning with her blessing.

He had but one fear in his heart, knowing the task that stood before him.
All others had been burned away. The boy from the farm that would have once balked, gagged, fled this abomination was dead. There was no room for him any more. For too long, there had not been. In his place stood a man, forged by war, who refused to falter.

Victory would expect nothing less.

He swung Dawn’s Break into the monstrosity’s kneecap, looking to land just after the arrows did, and do it with authority.

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk

---

The fire was a bit of a surprise, but not as much as the twisted creature that started to come into view as it was enwreathed in flame. He took a step backwards, through the door, making sure he was still directly between whatever monstrosity this was and the princesses. "Keep behind us," he bade the girls, any attempt at formality dropped even as Renar sought to be the one giving them encouragement. "This may still prove—"

Dangerous, he would have said, if it hadn't immediately sprung for the princesses behind him. But for a single step backwards he stood his ground, even as Renar sprung into action, shoving the princesses aside and lunging for the creature's throat. Good. At least if it goes straight through me they aren't there for it to land on. Not that Fionn was content to be merely a bodily shield and nothing more. No, now that this assailant had been rendered corporeal, he intended to test its mortality as well; standing firm, he thrust forward with his right hand, the point of his dagger seeking the thing's abdomen, his other hand grasping for one of its arms.

For so valuable a commodity time's purchase could be so variable. Priceless minutes to save Tili's life cost only water and energy, a bargain by any measure. Then the moment shifted, a flare of violet flame the only symptom of the changing fortune, and minutes couldn't have been gained by love or money. Only seconds, infinitely fleeting and just as vital. The confrontation shifted from the arcane to the physical quicker than blinking and Nicomede, his hands empty for the ritual, had neither blade nor armor at the ready. His fellows were better prepared in that respect, poised to pierce its unholy— and now corporeal— being.

However poor the odds looked on paper Nicomede would have comfortably taken them any time. He was no paladin, no cleric, no clergyman, but Dame Tyaethe was close enough. Spread before him was a wealth of blessed water. His empty right hand, palm up and fingers curled complacently, swirled gently at the wrist as though inspecting a wine's color. The water before him, still glowing softly with the energy infused, spiraled into the air in time with each swift rotation.

"Laccio," The knight hissed, flicking his wrist. Holy water shot forward with the motion, aimed to splash across the lunging beast. "Contrarsi!"

Wherever it had landed the water froze inwards, sending needle sharp spines of frigid holy ice into exposed and afflicted muscle.

@VitaVitaAR @The Otter @Raineh Daze @Psyker Landshark

Seated in position, Tyaethe was perhaps the least ready to leap into action after the exorcism--but she needn't have worried, the other knights arresting the spirit's assault. Really, there wasn't much for her to do, lest she get in the way, wielding a weapon scarcely suitable for attacking into her allies. No, all she had to do was--

--Catch the princesses as they stumbled from being pushed to safety, easily supporting their weight in an arm each, despite the size difference. "You don't need to worry, we'll deal with this."

It was maybe more reassuring than it normally would be, the vampire reassuringly warm after the impromptu ceremony. Not the warmth of a body, but the warmth of a summer afternoon, of sunlight through glass. The lingering echoes of a goddess' power, converted from her own mana--the faster action the real advantage the magically-inclined had as priests.

With the skeletons largely knocked to the ground, disabled or destroyed for the most part, the moment to focus on the great undead was at hand. Fanilly had judged it the greatest threat in the room, even more dangerous then the living conspirator beyond it. As the arrows were loosed, she was already moving alongside Gerard, to reach the monstrosity and do as much damage as possible to it before it could make a move.

The air-coated arrow struck the creature in its shoulder just as it prepared to swing. Immediately its arm twisted a skin tore and flesh ripped, pressurized wind erupting through its corrupted anatomy to rip through its decayed flesh. The sheer force of its descending arm falling to the side caused the head of its hammer to pulverize a wayward skeleton, crushing it into the stone floor even as the limb was nearly entirely severed.

When it attempted to move its arm once more, the last remaining strands of tissue snapped, and it fell free entirely.

And the arrows to its legs, two, caused it to stumble, stagger, briefly hitting one knee as it was disrupted. It made no sound, even when Lein's arrow struck it in its unseen face, but even if was incapable of feeling pain it was clear that its movement was at least briefly ceased.

As such, it was unable to do much to halt Gerard's attack, and the sound of the mace striking it in the leg was that of an ugly crack, as bone almost certainly shattered, flesh smoldering from the divine weapon's impact.

It was strong, but slow and mindless. Fanilly had judged their opponent correctly! This monster would go down swiftly, and then they'd be able to advance to the final level!

The Knight-Captain sprinted forward as the undead creature raised its remaining hand, her blade cleaving through the stale air and biting into its wrist. The arc of her swing parted flesh and slipped through bone, and in a flash, trailing foul green and black fluids, the creature's hand went sailing through the air.

With all its offensive options taken from it, surely there was little more threat it posed.

Fanilly drew her sword back.

"We-ah?!"

Something suddenly erupted from the stump of the undead's arm, wrapping around her wrist. It was followed by more of its kind, like so many red worms, swiftly attempting to encase the girl's sword arm.

"Wh-wha?!"

For a few moments, Fanilly couldn't help but panic. The red tendrils, what appeared to be the monster's weaponized muscular tissue, were encasing her arm swiftly, traveling towards her shoulder and attempting to reach her face. Her heart hammering, her eyes widening, for that moment her composure had entirely shattered as she desperately attempted to tug herself free.

It was trying to reach into her head and kill her, it was running across her and trying to find any space it would be able to tear her open and kill her. It was trying. It was so close. She wasn't able to cut it. She couldn't-

Fanilly's body tensed as she slammed one foot back, bracing herself, as she positioned her body as far back as possible to make room for a clean blow to cut through the muscle tissue tendrils.

An order wasn't needed here.

Needless to say, she was still afraid, but even without waiting for her knights she was reaching with her still-free arm for the dagger on her waist. The faster she was free the faster she was away from it the faster they'd be able to kill it...!

From the the monster's ruined shoulder, more of the red tendrils emerged, coiling through the air in a sickly crimson mass.

With this in mind, it was likely a decisive blow was required to end the beast.

Either the head, or destroying as much of the torso as possible.

@Rune_Alchemist@VahkiDane@HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze

---

When Fionn came in direct contact with the wicked spirit, anywhere his skin touched it was struck with a sensation not unlike burning. But it wasn't the warm fire of Reon, scouring wickedness and evil from the world.

It was cold. A burning, furious cold, an absence of light and life. Not the soothing coolness of Mayon's waters, or the chill of her ice as it sealed away darkness.

It was a howling darkness, the dead of winter when nothing stirs.

But even this creature was not immune to harm.

First the blade to its throat, which did not kill it but caused it to writhe, disrupting its attempts to claw through Fionn in order to reach its true target. Then the second blade, the dagger to its abdomen, causing a dark mist to emerge from the injury around the blade as it let out another shriek.

But the final blow was Nicomede's weaponization of the remaining holy water. Its entire existence a wicked thing, and with the fires of Reon already licking its spiritual body, the holy water suddenly coating it before freezing inwards and piercing its body caused it to let out a truly unearthly sound, one that was more akin to the howling of wind or the rattling of dead branches then anything produced by a living thing.

"D-Dame Tyaethe..."

Elisandre was still hugging her younger sister close, covering her eyes as the vampire paladin caught the both of them. The warmth of her body was in sharp contrast to the almost palpable frigidity of the thing as it fell to the ground, spasming, twitching, a blue flame now beginning to spread from the center of its body as it started to break apart.

The Princess looked away, unable to watch any longer.

"... Well, it scarcely looks as if my assistance was required," a new voice spoke.

It belonged to a young man, clad in purple and black robes, one hand with its fingers wrapped around a smooth dark grey staff. It was tipped with a spherical purple gem. His features were perhaps best described as beautiful rather then handsome, and he wore his dark purple hair long and straight.

Some would perhaps recognize him as the court mage, Arken Heartwood. His family was of some reknown, son the court mage and daughter having made some name for herself even though she was still a student.

He was accompanied by the Crown Knight who had been sent to fetch him, eyes lingering on the spasming shape of the wicked spirit's dwindling corporeal form.

He approached without hesitation, kneeling beside it.

"Hmm... Interesting. A wicked spirit, certainly, but..." he commented to himself as he examined what little remained of it.

@Krayzikk@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze

Watching the ensuing decimation of the undead and the monstrosity, the shadow hovering in the back hastily threw a knife--hardly caring at what it was aimed, although with the smooth throw, it was going to hit somebody if not dealt with--and backed off towards the stairs, scrambling at something about their neck. Some sort of pendant, by appearances.

If anyone grew close enough--or had exceptional hearing--they would hear a man's voice, muttering. "Damon, you bastard... break it for a boost? How?"

"Maybe not required," The knight said smoothly, watching the unholy creature begin to burn and dwindle. "But perhaps you might have handled this a little more cleanly."

With the danger's passing something of Nicomede's ease went with it. Familiarity was a blade with two edges. He knew this setting and its rules, and that knowledge came with awareness that his place in it was changed. Uncertain. He knew the rules, how the game was played, but not from this angle. Covering for it wasn't difficult. He'd had years to practice. The same cuffs he rolled up to work came back down with a few quick motions, buttoned properly around his wrists and the wrinkles twitched smooth.

"A broom, si?" Nico motioned to the burning creature, and the mess their impromptu exorcism had left behind. The quiet question was addressed to the Crown Knights, or perhaps to the court mage, but it seemed open-ended anyway. "I think the scene is distressing enough without leaving the ash to settle where the princesses can see it."

@VitaVitaAR @Raineh Daze @Psyker Landshark @The Otter

---

@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk

---

Fionn's response to the sheer, freezing sense of evil radiating off the twisted thing he caught was simply to grasp it tighter, no matter how much that cold threatened to seep through his gauntlet and devour the warmth of his body. The creature's claws thrashed wildly, but fruitlessly, against the rings of steel that covered his arms and chest, hissing and howling its rage against his stern glare. He twisted the dagger, opening the wound further before pulling the weapon back out; had Nicomede's spell not struck when it did, he was moments away from smashing the monstrosity's skull against the floor.

Instead, its writhing and flailing ceased as it screamed again, the holy water penetrating and wounding its form beyond any hope of survival. Fionn contemptuously tossed it back out, landing in the hallway barely past the door itself. "But under the control of the one who engineered the first attack," he replied, finishing the court mage's sentence for him. "I take it this attack must mean our fellows have given this necromancer reason to worry."

Not that he had much chance to take any real pleasure in that thought; he had no way to know whether this curse was just some easily-triggered reprisal against Tili for failure and betrayal, or if the necromancer had skill and knowledge enough to call forth a similar attack rapidly and direct it against them without any sight or mark. He glanced over to Adeforth, looking for the older man's eyes, before turning his head back to the court mage.

"I'd rather not let our enemy give us as much reason to worry, and part of that would be having every possible defense present that we can get, whether it's against any similar curses or any similar such beasts that might be summoned and sent to harry us. Perhaps you could stay nearer to us, until the night's work is done?" Tyaethe could lead any further exorcisms or brute force her way through any similar problems that might crop up, Nicomede could split between magical and mundane duties, and Fionn and Renar could cover for immediate physical threats; still, having a specialist in magical arts present would be one more base covered, so far as he was concerned.

Whether the mage would agree or not—somehow, Fionn doubted Adeforth would really give him the opportunity to refuse, if he even was the sort to try—Fionn quickly turned to the princesses, where Tyaethe had caught the pair. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the pair—even the elder was scarcely more than a girl, and both of them had been pushed and pulled around, tackled to the ground like an old leather ball. Still, his goal now was to keep them protected, and he'd heard their footsteps coming up to the door to see what was happening. He kneeled down before them, blocking their view of the creature's immolation, his voice low.

"Your highnesses. I understand that you chafe at this lockdown, anybody would, but we need you to curb your curiosity if anything else like this should happen. It's not worth risking your lives over." Had he not been in place to catch the monstrosity, had Renar not shoved them aside in time, had none of them been able to grab and subdue it in time...the blades that pierced it barely seemed to make that much of a difference in its attack, and it likely would've continued on to savage the princesses. "Please, keep back from anything we're dealing with."

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri leapt back as the axe came towards him, catapulting himself away from its glowing head. He had seen what that thing had done to stone, and it was imperative that he not let get hit by that thing when it glowed like that. When his feet returned to the ground, he stumbled for a moment, unbalanced by the frantic dodge.

If this was a one-on-one duel, it would have left him vulnerable to a follow-up attack, but the other two rushed in and ensured that the warrior would be occupied. Steffen charged and attempted to grapple the warrior, while Vier sought to deflect the axe and strike at the man's hands. It was fortunate that Fleuri had such faithful knight-brothers having his back. It reminded him of all the times his mentor had saved him.

As soon as he regained his footing, Fleuri moved forward and thrust his sword at the man's neck. With Steffen trying to hold him in place and Vier dealing with his axe, it was an opportune moment to attempt a lethal blow. He would not make a mistake like the fight against the griffin again- from now on, he would strive to fight as one with his brothers and sisters.

@Conscripts@Creative Chaos@Rune_Alchemist

"It was probably a way of clearing up after loose ends, he just didn't expect the would-be assassin to give him up so easily," Tyaethe guessed, reaching up to absent-mindedly pat the princesses heads, "I find it unlikely that he could organise anything else on short notice or at a distance, but..."

The vampire looked thoughtful, regarding the court mage, "How are you at illusionary duplicates?"

"The back passage still comes out in the direction of Candaeln, right? Nobody moved the exit?" she asked, attention drifting to Adeforth, "The moat would keep out any spiritual attacks, and there's still over a hundred knights there with nothing else to draw their attention."

Not to mention easy access to her sword, or the chapel, or even the baths. It might not have the defensiveness against a siege, but if you wanted to avoid assassination attempts...

Fortunately, it seemed all went well. The spirit, or whatever it was, was slain, and the princesses unharmed. Unfortunately, the Court Mage chose only now to show up. Why he wasn't sent for the moment a necromancer's involvement was mentioned was honestly beyond Renar. Shaking his head, he bit his tongue and remained silent as the man set about his work, instead choosing to focus on their charges.

Fionn was in the middle of lecturing the two girls about staying out of the damned way, and Renar couldn't bring himself to disagree. Hopefully, neither of them nor the Crown Knights would object too harshly to his shoving them aside just now. After all, it did save their lives. Still, Renar supposed that he may as well chime in.

"Highnesses, you're unharmed? Good." Renar nodded as he kept watch over the immediate area for any more possible threats deciding to jump out. "In any case, Sir Fionn speaks sense. I would advise taking the advice of...what was it, again? The ball knight?" He sent a brief smirk in his comrade's direction, unable to resist the chance to rib him briefly.

Lein

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Location: The Cazt Mausoleum
Interactions: @HereComesTheSnow @VitaVitaAR @Rune_Alchemist

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Lein had no chance to respond as the tendrils of muscle came flying out, spitting putrefied fluid as it snared the mace in Lein's hand. He instinctively let go and darted his hand back, moments before more of the roiling mass could grapple unto his arm. Going melee with this thing was no question. If he let it gain purchase, Lein would have no way of cutting himself loose. And it would be unquestionably, undeniably, disgusting. He was never going to wear this swashbuckling outfit anyway, but Lein would probably have to burn this jacket too. Lein retreated far back through the room, letting Fanilly and Gerard ward off the encroaching skeletons and taking a leap up unto a nearby pillar base to find an elevated angle.

It didn't need to look to actually track people. He had planned to obscure its vision if it showed signs of requiring eyes. But it did feel pain, and it looked like made of mere muscle. And Gerard's charge had actually managed to halt it, demanding its fall by crushing its leg. Resilient, but not unbreakable. Lein rattled the quiver behind him, measuring the amount of arrows he had. He was pretty conservative with his participation so far, and now would be the time to cache in.

Lein threw down the length of rope to free up his shoulder, and planted one foot back and shifted his quiver forward, the bundle of arrows leaning out for faster access. He couldn't hit its comparatively small hooded head with guarantee at this range at this pace, but he certainly could hit its oversized torso. And he'll put in his entire quiver into the thing. Cut its muscles loose or, even better - "Cecil, I'll make sure that thing's eaten its fair share of iron, yeah?" Lein said - blow it up.

Lein lined up an arrow through the quiver, waiting until the entanglement of bones and weapons cleared enough for him to take in the full view of the ugly, shambling thing. Lein sucked the stagnant air in with its rot-stench. The bone fingers of this prosthetic twitched as Lein loosened his shoulder. Three, two - "Gerard! Watch your head!" Lein shouted a warning, and only gave seconds before he loosed an arrow against the creature's torso, followed immediately a torrent of flying metal, a flash-made waterfall all crashing directly toward the soft flesh of monster's bloated body.