Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri lowered his sword as he entered the fort and saw what was within. The inside the fort was a grisly sight to behold. The soldiers within the walls were dead, killed in a variety of violent, gruesome ways. This wasn't the first time Fleuri had seen the aftermath of a battle before- back when he was a squire, he and his mentor beheld the aftermath of several small battles and skirmishes of the War of the Red Flag They walked upon the ground where just days or even hours before, soldiers fought and killed one another, with bodies left to the scavengers.

While his past experiences had steeled Fleuri for this terrible sight, it didn't do anything for the bewilderment he felt when he looked at the scene. Unlike those battlefields, this fort didn't appear to have any corpses of an opposing force- the bodies all appeared to be Thaln soldiers. Furthermore, the position of the bodies was such that the soldiers had never managed to mount a defense against an attacking force. Lastly, there was no getting around the seriousness of this- an entire fort slaughtered within a day without having managed to put up any resistance against whoever or whatever did this, beyond a dying, maddened messenger. If Fanilly's band of Roses were to run into it, could they hope to fare any better?

When the door to the interior of the fort suddenly opened, Fleuri immediately readied his weapon, startled but ready for a fight. The newcomer to the scene (even if technically, she had no doubt been present at the fort longer than the knights) was a young woman of short stature, carrying a red spear. For a moment he thought that they'd have found another band of bandits, but the girl's words suggested she was just as confused at the fort's state as the Roses were. Still, Fleuri kept his guard up, ready to back up the captain as she demanded the spearwoman's surrender.

Fortunately, things did not escalate. The shark-toothed woman had no interest in fighting the Iron Roses, and perhaps more interestingly, some of the other knights recognized her. Sir Gerard called her by name- Alette the Shark- and identified her as part of a mercenary band that normally operated further north. Sir Fionn took it even further- he addressed her as an old associate or friend whom he knew personally.

It was definitely advantageous that they had with them a few knights with mercenary backgrounds.

If she's okay by their standards, she's okay with me, Fleuri thought as he complied with Fanilly's orders to search the bodies. A cursory examination yielded a rather disturbing find- the soldiers appeared to have killed each other. Many of them had wounds made by the weapons held by the corpses beside them. Other corpses gripped the weapons that fatally injured them, as if they had killed themselves. No wonder there were no outsider bodies here- the soldiers were the only combatants when this happened.

While examining the bodies generated as many questions as it had answered, some of the knights brought up was one other matter that still hadn't been explained- what was Alette's band doing here? Fleuri turned back towards the mercenary, curious as to what the answer would be. Alette probably wouldn't just give away her employer, but perhaps she could at least give some context as to why she was here.

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark

Almost.

A spike of annoyance ripped through the air as his hands moved, a brief hitch in their shakedown of the intertwined corpses the tell for any who lacked preternatural affinity for the emotions of others. His teeth ground for a moment beneath the firm line of his jaw, a vein thudding over the temple. The knot of his brow tightened—

"Naturally."

And with a snort, set itself again to that slightly looser posture. In spite of long experience in the field she came from, in spite of knowing her demeanor through reputation as well as anyone not named Fionn MacKerracher (he was from the more northerly reaches of Velt, it made some sense), he'd almost let her get under his skin. Maybe the tense situation. Maybe her performative coyness in tone. Maybe, simply, the blatant dodge of the question— regardless the reason, there was a retort to the inimical tune of "Asshole, I asked how much." being bitten down in that moment. Though she sold her skills to the highest bidder rather than pledge them to a cause or kingdom, Alette, like any of his peers past and present, doubtless had sharp eyes to survive on the field this long. She probably caught that moment from him, and knew she'd thrown him off the game in it. He would have to let her have that win— so long as he gave up few others.

Focus. Focus and poise.

His search turned up a picture that was, by any measure, grisly. The corpses mirrored many of their fallen kin. Intertwined with one another as though frozen in the steps of a macabre waltz, it took no trained eye to stitch the wounds together with their causes. Bruising on the skull that matched the impact from a broken haft of a spear clutched in a dead man's grip. Laceration through the throat, rough-hewn by the serrations of the reverse edge of the utility knife once holstered on a nearby belt.

"'Enough' is right— Whatever the sum, we can assume it's well outside your normal asking price."

The blood that had been spilt had already dried beneath a full day's sunlight, but within the crevasse of most any laceration he could spot, there was still the faint glisten of of some still fresh. He laid the pair down gently, even in his disquiet respectful of the dead, and stalked over to Sir Sergio's side, dropping down again to his haunches to investigate the corpses here. Ligature marks and light bruising around a throat matching a belt. A missing sword from the scabbard close by on the grass— and just aside where it had no doubt slipped free from a dying grip, the legs of the man that had been strangling the victim, pockmarked with lacerations of wild flailing until one caught the femoral artery.

"Given the risks of whatever drove these men rabid enough to turn on eachother still being around, given you clearly knew we were coming, given you're putting on this show for us in spite of how it all looks at first glance..."

They said the truth revealed itself in slips of the tongue. "Enough can send me", "You must be", and so on. Through her cavalier veil of noncompliance, there was something to be cut through and uncovered beneath.

They had been mustered quickly, obvious as that might have been given they'd gotten here first. Their employer must have known this would happen ahead of time— the blood was, what, two days old at most? Not enough to catch wind of something happening before the Roses themselves had. In addition, the way he read things? The woman was all but expecting the moment she'd strutted out and said hello. The band's employer knew the Roses were gonna be coming in hot on the heels of the disaster as soon as word had come.

That had to mean whatever happened here would be something that necessitated the Order as a response. Traditionally...

Well.

Gerard'd grown up on hand-me-down legends of the Saint, of Agrahn, of Cyrus, of slaying dragons, demons, the Vos Korvugand raiders— existential threats. In modernity... the closest candidate in recent memory was the Cazt family rebellion. Jeremiah was his first sortie, savage and cruel terror to the commonfolk and more than worth putting down. He was not upon that caliber of civil war, mythical beast, or hated scourge.

That was something to account for. They had, of course, become more mundane as an order since the passing of that first generation. Did that then mean they were dispatched once word had reached Aimlenn? Impossible. Notified once the Roses had begun to move? Maybe less so... possible through arcane means, at a guess.

Either way, 'a lot of damn resources to throw around' seemed the answer on that front. Mix that with the Order-specific forewarning...

"'Willing to risk us not asking questions' type coin." he concluded, rising. "Definitely a noble throwing that around. Probably someone we know, since they know us."

That didn't mean shit. Not really. Realistically speaking, anyone able to hire a band of her caliber to begin with had a certain degree of status to have access to funds, and considering the cost-effectiveness of all this crap she was happily going along with, some rich fucker from the capital was all but guaranteed. But depending on how she reacted in the coming moments, it might have been a toehold.

As a man who used to cover his face every damned day for five years straight, it wasn't comfortable having your concealment probed at, and feeling like you mighta let anything slip. It may have also helped to mount pressure, considering she had about five different people grilling her in turn— to the point that, for now, he felt good to withdraw.

"Captain," he breathed now, no longer projecting his voice. "Are we good to move up if she doesn't show her hand here? I'm not Fionn, but I should at least have an idea of who to expect further inside."

---

Scenes of mass fatalities weren't necessarily new to him, being a war veteran himself and having at least some experience with cleaning up grisly sight that would shaken the most hardened of observers. The shock factor of the mangled corpses, tangled together in blackened blobs, bloated and rotting in tropical weather of Thaln were relatively quick to dissipate. That was not the wrenching part that Steffen was afraid of.

Seeing Lein and his allies examined the remains of what were strong and capable soldiers of the kingdom, to see what had turned such souls into something Steffen wouldn't wish upon his enemies, the Ingvarr searched what these soldiers had. Not just weapons, many of which thrust and remained firm in another's body, but also any belongings they might have had on them that survived the massacre. Flasks, to see if any of them might have been poisoned. Letters and correspondences, to see if there might have been foul play involved. Anything that could shine more light on the haunting mystery that befell an otherwise unremarkable fort.

And that is when the feared emotions settled in, slowly and insidiously. Examining a body was just that: a body, lifeless just like many others. But examining their belongings was more personal and intimate, one that gave him windows to a life: what they might have liked in happier times, who their loved ones were, what their aspirations may have been. Compassion may not be of use here in an investigation, but it was impossible to feel detached from a victim when looking at a small woven doll soaked in the blood of its owner.

The information retrieved was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of sorrow, and Steffen quietly just stood up and padded elsewhere inside the fort. He noted the woman by the main group, but didn't bother joining. There were already too many prying for information from her, and given her mannerism thus far, he trusted the former mercenaries to do the talking. Now, he just needed a few minutes.

Planting the spear onto the ground, his now two free hands crossed one another, but his palms grasped on his upper arms in a self-hug. He observed the bloody scene from a distance, as well as his knights and the strange blue-haired lady. She seemed to have a history with both Gerard and Fionn, but otherwise quite aloof to the questioning. Steffen didn't really expect faithful cooperation from her either. Maybe the friendly relationship between her and Fionn then could lead to something fruitful.

Seeing Amy coming in from outside the fort, having just passed her earlier and remembering the state of panic she was in when he passed in a hurry, Steffen formed a weak smile and waved at her. It was pretty clear he was in low spirit, a quiet and suppressed one, but dispirited nonetheless.

"How are you feeling, Dame Amy?" He said, crossing his arms again. "You don't have to look if you don't need to. We basically got whatever we could from there." His eyes perking up at Serenity just behind her. "We're just seeing if that lady over there has anything to do with this. You can try your hands, but I don't know how much it'll help at this point."

@6slyboy6@ERode

The men here had killed one another...

Fanilly's hands tightened. Her heartbeat quickened. This place had already felt so wrong, even before she saw the bodies. As if some sort of shadow was cast here.

And now that feeling had only deepened. These were loyal men of Thaln. Soldiers who swore their lives to the safety of the land and its people. Why had they done such things? Why would they have killed one another in such a manner? It was an abominable sight. She felt something rising inside of her, almost up her throat, and she clutched at her neck, breathing heavily.

The fort felt sick. It was the only way Fanilly could have described it.

"Grim sight, isn't it?" commented Alette. Her playful, cheery tone had vanished, for the moment. Whether it be a facsimile of sympathy or the genuine article, it was difficult to tell, "I haven't the faintest idea what happened here, but it isn't pretty."

She sighed.

Fanilly cleared her throat, taking another deep breath.

"You... call them out. As my knights said," her voice was somewhat stilted, "The others. We know they're here."

The Shark shrugged.

"Fine, I was gonna do it anyway. Abigail! Bors! Maethen! Clarice! Gather everyone and get on out here."

They weren't names that Sir Fionn would recognize, at the very least.

The first of those to appear had to be Abigail.

"Ah, I was merely lamenting the brutality, dear Alette..."

The figure who emerged from the doorway deeper into the fort was tall, and deathly pale, with hair that almost seemed bleached of color rather then white. Her eyes were yellow, and there was an air of beauty about her that, even now, Fanilly could not deny. Her unblemished, bleached white skin looked almost like it had been carved from porcelain, and her features were delicate and refined.

And yet it did not feel like natural beauty.

"So many deaths, without a hint of elegance," said the woman with a heavy sigh.

She wasn't disturbed by the violence, but rather the 'lack of elegance'? What kind of person...?

It was hard to remain focused on the woman when the one who was likely Bors appeared.

At first, Fanilly took him for an iron golem.

He was enormous, emerging from within the fort by barely squeezing through a doorway. Not a single glimpse of flesh could be seen, as he was concealed head to toe in dark grey plate armor. All Fanilly could glimpse a flash of green eyes within.

"I am here, Lady Alette."

His voice was like a rumble of thunder.

Maethen had to refer to the next figure. He was tall, though not nearly as tall as Bors, and possessed brown skin and orange eyes, with slender, refined features. The gray hair and pointed ears...

An elf of the near east? Desert Elves were an exceedingly rare sight in these lands.

He said nothing, but simply peered at the assembled knights.

And the final figure... was...

Fanilly stared blankly.

The others were clad in armor. The others were prepared for battle. They appeared as one would expect a mercenary to.

What was this ridiculous girl, shorter then Alette, wearing an elegant, frilled dress? A parasol in one hand, a book clutched to her side? Her purple hair in curls like that? No-one would mistake her for a child with that figure, but...

"Can we leave already? It's probably not here, and simply being present in this fort is a loathsome feeling. We can leave cleanup to them, can't we?"

The makeup. Everything. She looked utterly unsuited to a fight.

If the situation were different, Fanilly could have seen herself letting out a cry of exasperation.

But it only made the grim absurdity of the situation within the fort all the more detached from ordinary reality.

There were others who came with the four the Shark had called upon. Quite a few men and women, armed and armored in a manner one would expect of a high-quality mercenary band. Many of them with grim expressions.

In all of that, there was something Fanilly could latch onto.

It.

What was it? What probably wasn't there?

"... What is it? What were you sent here for?"

Fanilly echoed the sentiment of the others.

The way Alette winced when the girl named Clarice spoke implied she wasn't pleased to have it mentioned, but now being questioned from so many angles she had no choice but to speak.

"... We were sent her to meet with someone associated with our employer, if you must know," Alette said with a sigh, "To retrieve something. But when we, arrived, well... you can see what happened."

Alette gestured towards the soldiers' corpses.

"But your knight does bring up an excellent point, doesn't he? We're both here now, and it's not pleasant work to search through a mountain of bodies on your own," the Shark added with a smirk, "Why don't we search this awful place together? We're both looking for something out of the ordinary, I'm guessing. You for a cause to this senseless violence, and us for clue on how to earn the rest of our pay."

Fanilly could guess that Alette didn't believe the item, whatever it was, remained here. She was clearly unwilling to say what it was, probably because she wanted to try and avoid giving any hints towards the identity of her employer. So she was looking for clues as to where it may have gone?

But what was it?

What would have been at this fort?

What caused all of these deaths?

"... I... see no reason to reject the offer..."

@Rune_Alchemist@HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze@ERode@PigeonOfAstora@Conscripts@Crimson Paladin@Creative Chaos@The Otter@Krayzikk@Psyker Landshark@6slyboy6

Lein

---

Location: Abandoned Fort
Interactions: @VitaVitaAR @The Otter @HereComesTheSnow

---

Unusual aggression. If they weren't standing in the middle of a corpse pile now, that would be a little easier to tell. Most of his compatriots seemed to be burying their reaction to the grisly scene well (or entirely uncaring of it, for some). It wasn't too uncommon for someone who looked all clammed up on the outside one moment to snap the next moment and try to bite out someone's eye. That was before the possibility of an actual malevolent mental manipulator here. "...Right. I'll let you know if I start hearin' voices outside the usual ones."

Lein kept a cautious but neutral stance as more mercenaries tumbled out into view. Colorful bunch. Some of the names and their associated reputation he recognized, but none of their apparent dis-affectation was surprising. All sorts of bloodthirsty madmen tumbled into the sell-sword business, and these parasol twirling lunatics were dime a dozen. But as much as these dolts loved to grandstand about their strength and asking price, blood for hire was nothing that a rogue noble or two with enough money and resentment sloshing around couldn't afford.

"I see one." Lein interjected quietly, careful to not let any of his advice leak. "If they were here to just retrieve something they wouldn't have brought their whole bloody contingent armed here. Whatever they were 'retrieving', they were taking it with or without permission. They just got beaten to the punch."

A dozen or so plus a couple more better armored lieutenant types. Outnumbered but not necessarily outmatched, and if it came down to it the Knights would have the right to attack. But shedding more blood into the sluice was hardly advantageous, especially if there was indeed a third party watching. "We've all rights to kick them out and deny them a closer look to this place, or pin this mess on their hands. They obviously know more than we do, and I don't fancy playing catch up on info if we can help it."

Lein as mostly an unknown quantity won't hold much water if he was the one to press for more information. The former mercenaries of Fionn and Gerard, however, probably could eek something out. That is, if Fanilly didn't decide to concede easily. "But hey, you two seem to know that toothy bundle of sunshine, you think she's not gonna filch from us the moment they find what they want?"

The reinforcements filing out were... interesting. Very interesting. Oh, the one who obviously wasn't in some sort of armour, and carrying a parasol, had to be some sort of mage, but that didn't particularly matter, it wasn't like mages were some exotic rarity. Much more interesting was the pale one, for reasons that nobody else would be able to tell from this distance: she had no pulse. Where everybody else was detectable off that alone, someone walking and talking without it... oh, if they had time, she'd have needed to investigate. A name and mercenary band to go on the list once they were done, see if anybody else could vouch for her; Tyaethe herself was evidence that undeath and its ilk wasn't a death sentence, but some of the methods used were.

She still found the half-giant more interesting, though. Who made a full suit of plate that big? How expensive was it? How could you possibly afford that on a mercenary's pay, no matter how good your group was? Could she sit on his shoulder? How much fun would it be to fight someone like that, with all the size and strength that her speciality was relevant, but the equipment and bearing of a soldier?

Quite an impressive group, all things considered, but not an insurmountable one.

With Lein now moving over conspiratorially--or something of the like, the point was she could hear whispering from up here, if not the details--and nobody having stated what was going on for apparently being self-evident, the vampire jumped off of her perch, landing quietly behind the hundi.

For all of ten seconds.

"We are not framing the mercenaries. Do you know how many oaths to uphold the law and protect the innocent I've sworn? I would be testifying in their defence," Tyaethe drawled, pausing for a second, "Now, can someone tell me what happened?"

With the captain quickly bringing her up to speed--and saving the need for her to go stick her face up against every corpse to make out the details--the vampire fell momentarily silent. No, this didn't speak of some sort of magical spell, somebody would have resisted or reacted unexpectedly. A violent bloodbath like this would have to be something much worse than a caster could conjure up. A grand ritual might be able to do it, but there was again no motive for something like that--if you could drive an entire fortress into a frenzy, you could achieve your aim of stealing something with a lot less difficulty and a lot more subtlety. This seemed like it involved whatever object the mercenary group was after... and whatever that was, it was enormously powerful and got past your defences somehow.

"Before we start looking, you tell us everything you know about this item. If it's still here, we don't need a repeat of this," Tyaethe stated, looking at Alette and gesturing around, "Because you left something out and we set off another massacre."

Well, fortunately for us, unless Alette had men in her number that she's keeping concealed, we outnumber them. Even if that great thing of prodigious size very well might count for three or four of us. Not that mass dissuaded the sharpened blade, by any means.

Surprisingly, Tyaethe appears to be contributing something meaningful to the discussion - knowing the mercenary band's quarry would alleviate a lot of my concerns, but would they volunteer that information willingly? We certainly couldn't let them keep the object if it was stolen - or worse.

That said, more eyes should never be rejected. I squint at the Shark, and then at Gerard beside me.

"Do you trust her?"

Ser Gerard struck me as a perceptive Knight, but he also crucially had no personal relationship to Alette in contrast to Ser Fionn. I wanted his opinion before I cast my own vote to the Captain.

@HereComesTheSnow @Raineh Daze @VitaVitaAR

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@PigeonOfAstora

"She brought them out. I trust she's not an idiot." came the careful reply, as Gerard elected to keep his eyes locked, naturally, on the figures that had emerged. Certain lieutenants in patchwork armor in the back ranks had, naturally, slipped beneath his professional radar. Their faces were tight, their posture wary— being called up to stand off with a retinue of the most storied knightly order the country had to offer would do that as a matter of course. Each by necessity dangerous, wily, and experienced— but as he was now, the erstwhile Verloren favored his chances against any of them. Not to be ignored...

"Ah, I was merely lamenting the brutality, dear Alette..."

"I am here, Lady Alette."

"..."

"We can leave cleanup to them, can't we?"

... But his attention was, doubtless, drawn elsewhere. Like their commander, the four that had taken position upon either flank of her had reputations that preceded them— each one the face to a name that had been passed around the Forlorn campfires with the healthy respect you afforded a dangerous beast.

You could kill a bear, you could be the one to drag the bear from its cave and help your team beat it to death— but even those with that breed of madness had to respect what a bear was. You rush in half-drawn, you get swatted away with a broken neck. You know what you're in for, you don't get surprised by how quick it can be.

"Force wouldn't be worth it for either of us."

Abigail the Stingray. Tall, ghostly pallid, adorned with knives that glittered about her person in the rising moonlight. Her fascination with elegance in administering death may not have been facade, but the horror her poisonry could inflict upon the body, the blood, the senses... no less horrific than the imagery they lamented. Each edge that was strapped to the leathers she wore was said to be coated in some measure of toxin— it was just as well that none of them had run into her unaware.

Next came Bors, long-rumored to be descendant of giants. It wasn't hard to see why— he would have towered over Jeremiah, over Erich, easily over Agrahn. Ten feet, at least— all of it coated in thick plates of steel, each a masterwork by virtue of simply being shaped properly to his frame. Gerard had expected him to be some kind of Ingvarr that the rumor mill had blown out of proportion, a counterpart to someone like Sir Steffen— but instead, Bors was a mountain, and spoke with the rumble of a far-off avalanche. Built to answer the question Gerard had silently nursed for weeks— "Who the hell would Jeremiah's sword actually have been made for?"

Aside him, the khamsin from the east, Maethen. The curved swords on his hip were a whirlwind in battle, but here he was still, sharp-featured, setting his gaze upon the Knights. Quietly evaluating their number, same as Gerard, that silence mirrored the sparse details surrounding him— enigmatic beyond his proficiency in a fight, and his uncommon heritage. For a mercenary, in fairness, what else did you need?

Finally... Clarice, the one with all the frills. Anyone dressing in such a pointedly bourgeois getup within the midst of a band of mercenaries was one of two things— their benefactor, or a proficient enough mage to eschew armor. After the Shark's caginess... this one had to be the latter. It lined up. The most recent thing he'd heard of them, before his life had changed, was that a caster of worrying ability had joined their ranks. Little else beyond that, but like Maethen before, her spells spoke enough for her.

As a mercenary, it would be a poor sight across from you on the battlefield, this ensemble.

As a knight?

"Having us on her tail would be bad for business."

The Order he'd joined had quality and numbers enough to match her in force, but conflict carried the possibility of bringing much, much more onto the heads of her band and employer. Whoever was paying her would immediately want to wash their hands of whatever the hell had happened here.

"We should be able to cooperate here, as soon as we know what we're looking for."

Professional experience can often trump intuition - though Ser Gerard is a rare kind of man that possesses both.

Still, I feel to be a fool if I am to disregard my instincts entirely; something deeply evil happened here already. Sense may very well be thrown out of the window.

I’ve heard enough to say my piece.

“If they inform us on this object as Dame Tyaethe suggested, Lady Captain, I’d trust an alliance. If at least to excise time wasted, hmm?”

My sight falls on the mercenaries once again as I finish talking. I only hope they are as forthcoming as Alette has already been.

@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow

---

@VitaVitaAR @Raineh Daze @HereComesTheSnow @VahkiDane @PigeonOfAstora @Psyker Landshark

---

As the others alternately joined in on the conversation with Alette or spoke with hushed tones between themselves, Fionn's eyes narrowed at the others that Alette called out to join them. Had it been any of the ones he'd travelled alongside when first he knew Alette, he might have been willing to drop his guard a bit, and may have found it easier to accept the offer to work together cleaning up the fort. In the face of these others, however, considering the reputations that preceded most and the scene that had awaited all of them in the fort, it was hard not to think it a trap.

Damn the girl, but she'd always been devilishly smart; seeing her so talkative and lively, compared to the reserved and quiet kid he had known, did nothing to reassure him about anything going on. Rather, it made him all the more wary about the group in front of them.

"No reason to send all of you if this sort of thing wasn't expected. Your fee's too high for a simple courier job but you didn't bring enough people to fight through the fort—or entirely the right sort to try and steal whatever you were sent for without getting caught. I know you plan too well to make such amateurish mistakes. You're just being coy still." He nodded off to the side at Tyaethe. "Answer her question, then we might can make a deal."

And, unspoken, with a short, disapproving glance back at the Captain...

Please listen to us and don't be so easy to sway, for the love of Mayon...

Quite the motley crew. By appearance alone, they were likely dangerous. The girl in the frilly dress most of all. Renar didn't know any of them by name or appearance, possibly by reputation from what Gerard and Fionn had said in the past, but such a getup only pointed to mage. Any good battlefield tactic demanded that mages be eliminated from the board first, given their ability to turn the tide of battle with but a single good spell. The others were a concern to get past, of course, but it depended on who managed to sucker-punch the other first.

But enough about planning to kill people the instant he met them. The captain seemed amenable to an alliance, though Renar doubted she would take adequate precautions in case of betrayal. Just because he was willing to work with them, doesn't mean he was going to trust that they were on the level. For that matter, the First and Youngest did speak sense.

"I also concur with Dame Tyaethe. For the sake of this brief alliance going smoothly, it would be in both our best interests if you answered honestly about what you were doing here." Renar said before walking off to the side, gripping Fionn's shoulder and starting to whisper in his ear. To an outsider, it would seem that he was trying to restrain the man from being more hostile. In reality...

"Let this go through. If the worst occurs, we'll have our blades at their backs first." He whispered as quietly as possible.

@VitaVitaAR @Raineh Daze @HereComesTheSnow @VahkiDane @PigeonOfAstora @The Otter

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri had seen many interesting people in the tourneys, but he had never seen a group quite like the mercenaries that Alette had with her. The pale woman, the giant armored fighter, the well-dressed woman, they were not what he expected to see of a mercenary company. Fleuri glanced over at Gerard and Fionn- they were more what he anticipated when it came to soldiers-for-hire. Fionn knew Alette- did he know these folks as well?

Fleuri wasn't able to hear what Lein was suggesting, but Tyaethe's rebuke of him told him all he needed to know. Fleuri shook his head in disapproval at Lein's evident suggestion- the very notion was downright appalling, and hoped that Lein meant it as a joke. It might be prudent for the Roses to keep an eye on him, lest he try to drag Fionn and Gerard down to his low standards of behavior.

Tyaethe made a good point with the question she asked- if whatever the mercs were retrieving was the thing that caused this massacre, then it'd be prudent to know what it was, lest the knights unknowingly run afoul of it. If these men and women at the fort were unable to resist its power, most of the knights- barring Tyaethe- would likely fall under its power.

There wasn't much else to say- Fionn and Renar did a good enough job backing Tyaethe.

Fleuri stayed silent but kept a close eye on Alette and her mercenaries, in case they refused to acquiesce to Tyaethe's demands and things went south.

That was everyone accounted for then.

Without saying anything, Serenity passed a small waterskin towards Amy as the half-demon stood upright once more. No need to mix flecks of vomit and bile with the interior of a flute. No need to linger too long upon the expression that was developing on Amy’s face either, so filled with righteous fury. How many times had she seen herself in those eyes, reflected by puddles of dirt-water, back in those days when everything was new? Even a wholesome faith could create shards to pierce flesh, if struck with a sufficient impact.

The lioness repressed that unwelcome smile she felt bubbling up. Even a cleric could become a demon, depending on the interpretations of the texts.

And so, it was for that same reason that Serenity allowed Amy to take her wrist, to work her magic, to share a sliver of the root of that terror. T’was an abyss, rotten and fetid, pulsating with cancerous growths that sucked one inwards unto their demise. The mind, a bastion of rationality, rebelled against such self-destruction, but that same mind became the vehicle for the morbid enticement. The void called. What would it be like to answer it?

She had seen once, a man fall off from the window of a tower. Panic, replaced by resignation, replaced by tranquility.

She had wo-

The connection broke, leaving nothing but the black of the night and the stench of blood, seeping out from the open doors of the fort. She breathed in. Breathed out. Felt the earth beneath her feet once more. Focus her eyes once more on Amy. And, after a moment of deliberation, shook her head.

“If there is any who would benefit most from such protection, it would be the Knight-Captain.” The position as one who would inherit all that a Saintess was could not be besmirched. “Stay by her side, Dame Amy.”

And, with that, Serenity entered the Fort once more. Not behind the cleric, but beside her.

...

A stand-off.

Hah.

So eager to protect their client's identity that they would keep their silence, even in the presence of such a storied Order, one that served the rulers of this Kingdom directly? Did these sellswords forget upon whose land they tread upon?

Her toes tapped a rhythm within her boot, entirely inaudible.

No need for words, no need to act.

But that need may change, depending on Fanilly's next decision.

Fanilly took a deep breath. She'd nearly accepted the offer before learning anything about what they were actually looking for. It had almost felt like the eyes of her knights were boring into the back of her neck as she spoke with the mercenary captain.

Perhaps that's what reminded her to press a little harder than she had.

"... There's no reason to deny your offer," the Knight-Captain continued, "If you'll tell us just what you're looking for. You're right, it makes sense to work together if we're both trying to figure out what happened here. But it doesn't make sense to keep withholding details from us if you really want to work together."

Alette's crimson eyes narrowed.

Then they travelled. Across the knights, lingering briefly on Fionn, before drifting over her four lieutenants.

Abigail seemed to simply be admiring her. Bors nodded. Mathen said nothing. Clarice let out a sigh.

Alette's eyes returned to Fanilly after a few moments.

"You're right, it doesn't make much sense, does it?" the blue-haired mercenary suddenly grinned again as she spoke, "And I don't think it'll make our employer too upset regardless, it's not as if we know that much either."

She stepped forward.

"You're right, 'Sir Fionn', we did expect some problems. Turns out there might be some other parties interested in the item we're looking for. If you want quality protection for something valuable against some violent and unrestrained types, you hire the best," Alette continued, waving her free hand as she spoke.

She paused for a moment before continuing.

"The object we're looking for is black, and looks a bit like a shard of glass. Supposedly it's poisoned, or cursed, or something like that. Touching it is out of the question, at least with your bare hands, but wrapping it in cloth will keep you from coming into direct contact with it," explained the Shark, "So Clarice prepared some warded cloth specifically to add another layer of defense."

A smug expression crossed the parasol-wielding girl's features.

"When it comes to curses, there's no-one in this world who can claim they're better than I am."

That single comment made Fanilly feel even more wary.

"All of these dead, though... I can't think of a curse this strong, so something else must have happened..." Alette trailed off with a sigh, "Well, in any case, we were here to meet with a contact in the fort, acquire the object, kill the other party pursuing it, and return with it to our employer. Speaking of the other party... Bors!"

She looked back over her shoulder.

The hulking armored figure had already reached behind him, pulling out another corpse and tossing it to the ground. The dead man was wearing Thaln's colors, but...

"The mark on the back of his neck should tell you exactly who we're dealing with."

Indeed, tattooed on the deceased man's neck was the image of a ferocious gold and black boar.

"If we can't find it here, those bastards might already have it, but we can't walk away until we know it's gone."

@Rune_Alchemist@HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze@ERode@PigeonOfAstora@Conscripts@Crimson Paladin@Creative Chaos@The Otter@Krayzikk@Psyker Landshark@6slyboy6

There was a brief pause where Tyaethe didn't move at all, too busy interpreting that description, before the paladin stabbed her sword into the ground and stood glowering at it, anger barely not verging into the visible. If the now-pacing paladin wasn't a visible enough sign of anger, the swearing probably was, although the rapid "Merde, merde, merde!" gave more away from the language.

Along with the promise to find whoever was stupid enough to conceal this and make sure they never saw daylight again. Not that this was all that helpful, even if one could understand Ithillane fully--or at least hazard a guess based on the similarity to Thaln--for working out what it was that was stolen. Tyaethe seemed to know, but she wasn't exactly explaining.

"Ah."

Naturally, it had to be them. I spare a glance to Gerard and then to Fionn - I myself having no personal encounters with them means I have to rely on their knowledge on the truth of our revealed enemies reputation, again.

But if any signs are pointing any which way, Dame Tyaethe's use of language almost completely begins to railroad me. The canary in the coal mine is now choking to death.

By appearances alone, though, many of these hard cases appear to have fallen to each other's blades already. Unless their employers didn't adequately warn them of their quarry's effects, it appears somebody got careless. Either way, as barbarian as these animals might be, they're unlikely to be in very good shape even if any of them survived.

Still, the anxiety persists. Alette is right - no curse I've ever heard of had this macabre and grand effect. I'd almost suspect sabotage.

I pull my visor down for the time being - the stench of blood is probably beginning to contribute to the unease.

@Raineh Daze @VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow @The Otter

Well, now. The Golden Boars? This had just become far more interesting. The clarification on what exactly had happened here certainly didn't go amiss, of course. A cursed item, plus some other mystery? Wonderful. If it weren't for the fact that an entire fort had been wiped out, this would have been an assignment more suited for a band of hapless adventurer types to get themselves killed investigating. Still, some action was better than none at all. Hopefully, there would be more individual opportunities to raise one's star throughout this. For now, there was still the task at hand to attend to.

And wouldn't one know it, Dame Tyaethe seemed to know something about what was going on here. Sometimes, the goddesses managed to cut him a break. If it weren't for the need to show solidarity in front of the mercenaries, Renar would have already been needling her to cut her temper tantrum short and get to the point already. He'd still do so, of course. Just more politely.

"Well, well, well." Renar looked to Fionn and Gerard. "Congratulations, you two. It seems we'll finally fulfill your dreams of killing as many Golden Boars as possible one of these days. In the meantime..." His gaze shifted to Tyaethe in turn. "Dame Tyaethe. What can you tell us about this threat we're facing? Judging by your reaction, you have at least some idea of what's going on here."

@VitaVitaAR @Raineh Daze @HereComesTheSnow @VahkiDane @PigeonOfAstora @The Otter

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Psyker Landshark@The Otter

Impossible to touch without the protective medium of another object between it and the handler.

He frowned as the terms, finally, were relinquished by their counterpart.

Oblong, black as night, like glass from a broken window... He had heard stories of mountains that sprayed fire from their summits, far off lands showered with glass sharp as arrowheads. None of these tales, though, carried with them a curse. Nothing that could set men of rank and file, all beneath one banner, into enough of a blood frenzy to tear out eachother's throats.

No, there was something familiar about it... closer to home.

He had been raised on the oft-twisted myths of heroism and chivalry. Even through the natural folding of half-remembered sentences passed between each generation, part of it rang clearly.

"Shard of glass..." he murmured beneath his breath. "So it's a fragment of something. What was it that was shattered long ag—"

A body was flung into the space between the standoff, crashing back to earth in a heap. His eyes snapped to attention again—

"The mark on the back of his neck should tell you exactly who we're dealing with."

...

And held, as a black heat rose from somewhere deep in his gullet. He knew that not far off, Fionn would feel the same spike of disgust and fury. This was the crest of brutes, of slavers, of kin-killers, of scum. Alette was right— It did tell him who. The visage of that razor-backed beast was all but burned into the back of his skull. A brand of devotion to their fetid suicide cult of a company above all else— blood, sense, even their fellows.

He'd stood across the field from these freaks time after time— as Verloren, many had drawn comparisons between he and his fellows and their ranks, those within the wider Regiment. The new ones, who believed that they had common ground in their willingness to go for the long odds.

Each time, one of them had slugged the man running his mouth across the jaw.

He'd lost dozens of comrades to this mark. Even the day that had earned him his ticket here, into the Order that seemed a distant ideal beyond his common reach, he had to tear through them. Watch the depths to which they sank, licked by flames of hell and only digging deeper. Using the chained as shields. Cutting down their own before routing. More.

A wad of spit flew.

"Of course it's the fuckin' pigs." he snarled, tone dripping with open, acrid contempt. The knightly airs had no chance, not at this point. "Well, if you're right, Renar, color me stoked. Sergio,"

A nudge on the Knight of the Harvest Moon's shoulder, then a steel-clad finger levelled onto the keep. Clear as any statement of intent.

"We should get digging. If it's not here, the last thing we need is giving those freaks any more time to scurry away with."

---

After some minutes of recollection, Steffen gathered what was necessary to approach the main group. And he promptly lost it again once the deceased man were dropped in front of the group, but this time for the opposite reason. The tidal wave of emotions that he tried hard to keep down and away slowly slid back into the ocean, leaving a cold raised eyebrows in response to the corpse.

It's these folks. It's these beyond the pale folks. The Golden Boars. Infamous for being nature's mistake. It wasn't enough that there were essentially no redeeming quality to these cults disguised as a mercenary company, but Steffen had the horrible misfortune of being on the other end of their blade, and having once helplessly seen their sickening deeds towards his own compatriots back in the dark days, he felt a dull but altering burning sensation in his chest, but the Ingvarr kept it within himself as he looked at the colorful group of mercenaries.

"Where did you find this man?" He looked at Alette, but directed the question at no one mercenary in particular. "If they're responsible for this mess, they might not have gone too far."

Or they might still even be in the vicinity, hiding, listening. If so, good. He wanted to kill every single one of them, and his only disappointment would be he could only do it once.

@VitaVitaAR

---

@VitaVitaAR @Raineh Daze @HereComesTheSnow @VahkiDane @PigeonOfAstora @Psyker Landshark @Conscripts @Crimson Paladin

---

Before he could give his own retort to Renar's suggestion, the captain spoke up again, this time taking some of their own protestations more to heart. Pressing Alette for more of an explanation, which, thankfully, she gave—though between the description of what it was they'd come to retrieve and Tyaethe's immediate urge to cursing in response, he didn't feel any measure of relief at the explanation. "No one in this world," he echoed under his breath.

Peasant farm-boy that he was, he'd never had much in formal education, and far, far less in magical matters, but even Fionn could recognize that what had transpired at the fort was something more than extraordinary. Not that he figured it would be an impossibility for a strong enough mage, or perhaps a group of them, to levy such a curse—but if any of that sort were after whatever this artifact was, they would likely have better ways to obtain it. For an item itself to spread such instead, for the normally-reserved Paladin of Reon to start making such a clear show of anger, and for it to prove so contested...

He almost felt a hint of pity for the Boars that had found their way into this mess. He could think of some number of things that might stir up such a general fuss and reaction, none of which he'd ever thought were actually real, but if Tyaethe's response meant anything then they just might be. Whoever had hired those mercenaries had sent them in to deal with something far beyond their capabilities.

"Wherever one sounder of Boars goes, more are soon to follow," he agreed with Steffen. "Lein, do us a favour and get up high again. Keep your head as low as you can and make sure there isn't anybody else coming for the fort." He twisted his head back around to Alette and her group, pointing over at the keep with his sword. "You all, what spots haven't you touched here? Unless you've all started losing your own minds, there's no point doing anything more than a quick spot check of whatever you've already covered."

For a moment, he was about to turn away, grab one of the others and disappear into the keep, before his eyes fell on Alette specifically once more. "If any more of them show up, no playing with your food while we're around. Fleuri, let's you and I check the captain's quarters. See if there's anything they've made note of lately or anything hidden away in there."