I disembark following the others, content to accompany the Captain for the moment. The newcomer had been ordered to do the same by Dame Serenity - an order I didn't disagree with. Her magic could be one of our few genuine tools, at least as far as I was concerned.

Glancing at Fanilly, I stretch my neck. The long ride has left me cramped.

@VitaVitaAR @6slyboy6

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Krayzikk

The unspoken prayers rung out in chorus, so many of the Order devotees of the paired divines honored here. Gerard, for his part, had always found it odd that the Silver Stones were so much closer to his predominantly Reonite home than the Golds, off on the other end of the country— but maybe it was meant to be that way. Ancient shrines standing to remind that the pair were inseparably intertwined— following the teachings of one never excluded the other.

I hate to trespass hallowed ground so fired up, Lady Mayon, but I promise it isn't irreverent. Not like the pigs we're hunting. If you'll watch over us, we'll rip this bad omen out of your shrine before you know it.

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Sir Steffen," the former mercenary chuffed as he dismounted, shaking the ride out of his thankfully sturdy legs— half a lifetime's marching had conditioned them enough that a day's ride hadn't sapped him so completely as to be useless out here, however he lagged behind in cavalry experience."I'll focus the north edge. Riding in from the east like this, it'd be natural to try and encircle us from the flanks. They're dumb, Boars, but they ain't braindead."

With that, the wolf shut up, watched, and listened as he began to walk.

They had to have known that they'd be tailed here the moment one of their number got killed in the massacre at the fort— from what their short debrief had gone over, it seemed the depiction of the Stones had been pretty widespread among those disguised. They had to know someone was gonna pick up the scent— whether or not they'd expected Roses didn't matter.

The wind shifted, sending the branches that ringed the edges of the clearing to sway in the lowering light. The shadows cast on the far side from Cae Mayl flickered and danced like arms of shadow, growing longer by the minute as Reon's warmth sank overhead. That was where evil lurked— the dark that Reon cast aside, that Mayon gave the weary a haven from. That was where he'd find them, preparing to spring their trap.

His gaze locked onto the gloom, below the dancing canopy, searching for those shadows he was certain he'd find, flitting from trunk to trunk.

He'd need his night eyes before long anyway— focusing on the shining stones or glimmering pool or dancing foliage would dull the vision.

He believed his instincts when they told him that they were going to be welcomed by far less respectful interlopers all too soon.

Fleuri Jodeau

It had been a while since Fleuri had visited Cae Mayl. Not since shortly before he had joined the Roses, in fact.

The shrine was just as beautifully serene as he remembered. It showed no sign of desecration or vandalism, and according to Tyaethe, there was no whiff of corruption. If they weren't on such a dire mission, he'd be tempted to stay and pray for a bit.

Even if Tyaethe didn't sense any corruption, if the evidence that they pulled from the fort was any indication, there may be some evidence of someone having gone here, a trail that had not yet gone cold. Another possibility was that since corpse that contained the location had not lived to come to this location, perhaps their contact or contacts might still be lurking about, waiting nearby for their agent to arrive.

Fleuri had no magic and no skill at tracking, so the most he could do for now was to keep watch of the surrounding area and utter a silent prayer to Mayon.

Mayon, Goddess of the Moon, please watch over us and grant us your favor, that we may find the accursed shard and have the strength to stop these evildoers before they can bring harm to more of Thaln.

...and guide our captain that she may lead the order according to your will...

Fanilly let out a sigh of relief at the news that the shrine had not been tampered with. Indeed, she had felt none of the oppressive, heavy atmosphere of the cursed fort. Instead, it felt just as relaxing to be here as she suspected. Even with the heavy thoughts of the shard on her mind, it was hard not to feel somewhat soothed in the presence of one of the oldest places of worship in Thaln. Had they not been performing their duty, she would have paused to offer a little prayer and relax at a safe distance from the edge of the Moon Pool.

But they did not have time for such things.

Either the Boars and whoever else was working with them would be meeting here, or they had already met here and perhaps left evidence behind. Regardless, this location was their only potential lead.

"Ah! They're still here!" declared Clarice, suddenly

... What?

Fanilly wasn't certain what she'd just heard. 'They're still here'? But there was no-one visible.

Unless...

"I didn't even need to look very hard, there's another mage here! I bet they're using a perception-blocking enchantment!" declared the curse mage, a smug look on her face, "You should praise me. I'll make Alette praise me too when I'm back. I've solved this whole thing for you dunces immediately!"

Putting aside her attitude, that meant that... could the enemy mage actually be here?

"Where? Where are they? We need to stop them before they can-"

There was a sound like a ringing bell.

The first figure that appeared was a tall, black-armored one.

A familiar one.

Haelstadt.

"The Iron Rose Knights? I guess I didn't expect you, but I suppose..."

And the one who followed...

It was unmistakably Veilena Cazt. There was no mistaking her. It shouldn't have been surprising given Haelstadt had appeared first, but the fact she was there...

"Lady.... Lady Cazt?!" cried Fanilly, "What... what are you doing here?!"

It didn't make any sense. Why was...

"... You?!" Clarice cried, "You... you... why are... did you not have any faith in us?!"

The Cazt heir sighed.

"Well, I suppose there's no point in hiding that, anymore," she commented, flatly, "... I'm not your enemy, if my word even matters to any of you right now."

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

There was a long moment of total inaction from the paladin before she took a step forwards, grip tightening around her sword. "Why did you not tell us? What possessed you to wait for a theft and then contact mercenaries? Mercenaries? Why not come straight to the Iron Roses, or tell the church of this missing piece?"

Sword dropping, the paladin sighed, voice flat as she continued, "Or you could have just come to me. You should know history, there were things like this to clean up before..."

Even without any of the other reasons to think that going to this particular paladin would be a good idea for retrieving a missing shard in Veilena's case. What was Tyaethe going to do, turn down a meeting with a duchess over her father's rebellion? Of course not, that was stupid. Maybe the girl was just oblivious? Magical prodigies, honestly...

Behind the face-concealing visor of his helmet, Renar stared incredulously at Veilena Cazt and her bodyguard as they emerged, the dots connecting in his mind as Clarice spoke. She was the one who had wanted this shard in the first place? This was...unexpected. If she claimed to not be the enemy of the Iron Rose, that left precious few reasons why any of this even occurred. Without knowing much of the girl's mind, Renar's best guess was personal responsibility. Perhaps a member of her family was the reason this shard was even loose in the first place. Perhaps it had been her father's crime. His grip tightened around the haft of his poleaxe at the thought. Utterly ridiculous. But they lived in a society where children were judged on the actions of their forefathers, after all.

"Words are as wind." Renar said flatly, stepping to the side as he sized up Haelstadt. The giant was the same as ever. Renar lacked the advantage in reach and strength. Against such a foe, only guile remained. Assuming he would be hostile, of course. But he'd be a failure of a knight to not prepare for such an eventuality.

"Quite the puppet show you've put on, Lady Cazt. It only cost the lives of an entire fort's worth of the Crown's men-at-arms. If you were our enemy, I'd almost be impressed. Of course, if you truly aren't, we could at least hope for your complete and total cooperation in this manner so as to resolve it with minimal waste of life from here on out?"

---

Between the moment when he'd managed to finally stifle his laughter at Renar's apparent inability to read his moods—inconceivable, that, given that Fionn had had reason to get just as stern with the man himself a time or two—and when he'd slid from his horse's back ready to search the area, the heir to the Cazt name decided to come in from the shadows herself. "Well, at least she could pick a good crew," he muttered to himself, looking over to where Steffen and Gerard had begun to search the north side of the clearing.

If only he'd been able to visit here when there wasn't something nefarious afoot.

"Clarice, don't just gawk at her. There's bound to be more coming, and I doubt Alette will praise you at all if you get back to her all shocked and bloody like." Unlikely that they'd managed to beat any of the Boars here, unless more of them had managed to expose themselves to the madness of the shard and lost track of their goal—but none of them had seen any such signs on the ride to Cae Mayl.

"Best you come to us now, girl, even if you didn't before," he said to Veilena, looking pointedly at her. "One bodyguard isn't going to be enough against a half-mad patrol of Golden Boars trying to kill everything in sight, and if you're going to be working with us now, I'm sure we'd all feel a lot more comfortable having you further out of harm's way."

Veilena's eyes widened the moment she heard the fort's garrison was dead.

"What?"

For a moment her typical cynical, somewhat arrogant demeanor crumbled.

"Th... that's not possible. That shouldn't be possible. Even if someone had touched it..."

Her pale hands clenched.

"I-it should only have been able to affect one person at most," she insisted, averting her eyes, "Even if someone had managed to find it and unwrap it, I can't understand..."

Fanilly took a deep breath.

"Lady Cazt," she began, "What were you doing? Why was the shard in the fort to begin with?"

By this point, it at least seemed as if the Cazt heir had truly intended for her actions to he helpful in some way. But Fanilly hadn't the faintest idea how. None of it made any sense to her. How was there even an Angroron shard present in the first place? What was she doing here?

Veilena paused for a moment, before taking a deep breath.

"That assassination attempt on the First Princess," she began, "Isn't it strange how quickly the conspiracy behind it crumpled? It's as if it was intended to do so from the very start."

Certainly, there were a lot of questions about the conspiracy. It seemed to have been doomed no matter how far it got, from an assassin only participating due to blackmail to the violent hatred brewing between the conspirators. But how could that possibly have any relationship with the shard? With any of this?

"Because it was. The entire thing was a distraction. I'm sure many of their feelings were genuine, as twisted as they were," Veilena continued, "But they were just being used. The very same night, that fragment of Angroron disappeared from the possession of the Mage's College. While no-one was there to intervene."

What?

That was... In the first place, the Mage's College had possession of a shard of Angroron? But how did Veilena even know all of this? Fanilly was completely taken off-guard.

"Heeeh? Heeeh? Were those crusty old geezers in charge of the college planning something baaaaad~?" Clarice leaned forward, one hand to her lips.

Veilena's stare was clearly unimpressed.

"... Get out of my face, you walking pair of udders, before I have Haelstadt remove you."

Clarice soon joined Fanilly in a state of shock, albeit for different reasons.

"I already suspect something as a student, so I-"

She stopped.

Haelstadt's sword sang as the immense blade was drawn from its sheath.

"You. Alette's spare set of breasts. You're an expert in curses, can you feel that?"

"D-don't call me that, you little brat!" Clarice cried with a scowl, ignoring the fact she was about the same height as the Cazt heir, "I'm Clarice Kastin, Shadowy Mistress of Curses! ... Er... but I do feel something..."

Fanilly's hand flew to the hilt of her her blade. While she certainly couldn't sense any sort of magical disturbance, she could tell the atmosphere had changed somehow.

And then they appeared.

They were similar to dogs, though earless and eyeless, their gaping maws filled with jagged, serrated teeth. Emerging from the foliage, a black mist seemed to emanate from their emaciated-seeming bodies.

"Curse Hounds?" Veilena's eyes narrowed.

Fanilly drew her sword.

"Iron Rose Knights, form a perimeter around Lady Cazt."

From beyond the Curse Hounds followed a considerable number of figures, in black armor with golden detailing. Those bearing shields were adorned with boars.

"Attack with the hounds, and we'll be done nice and quick" declared a particularly bulky figure, in full plate, "We're here for the Cazt girl, so take her alive!"

It was the Golden Boars, that much was certain. But how were they here without anyone having noticed? And who had provided them with these 'curse hounds'? Fanilly thought she had heard the name before, perhaps as some sort of mage's familiar.

"Don't let them reach Lady Cazt," Fanilly spoke as she took as step forward, both hands on the hilt of her blade. They were outnumbered, but not by an overwhelming amount.

She had to lead them to victory. And then they had to find out what was going on.

The hounds lurched forward.

The Boars charged.

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

Was suicidal overconfidence a recruiting requirement for mercenaries, or was it merely the unpleasant ones? It should have been easy to tell who they were and realise that backing off was the right idea. Yes, yes, they brought some nasty little spirits along, but their physical bodies weren't that impervious to harm. The Boars didn't have anywhere near the numerical superiority to consider taking this fight. Even if Tyaethe hadn't been there, she had enough confidence in the rest.

And the best way to stop them from getting to the girl--one who would have to reminded of the importance of not trying to recover ancient evils without telling the people who need to guard it--was obviously to attack. Or, the best way she could contribute. Break any attempt at a cohesive line, force them to fight the paladin in their midst...

Being armoured in plate was a bit of an impediment to her, but hardly a lasting one. Tyaethe was a dragonslayer, and a hunter of any lesser beast beside--some mercenaries with bits of metal bolted to them were hardly going to slow her down for long.

Most would attribute it to vampiric strength. After all, she could heave around stone statues several times her size without any difficulty from its weight, only the teensy problem of how to hold the thing and having short, twiggy arms. Surely, someone with enough brute force to move statuary and toss grown men around like sacks of flour would have no difficulty dealing with armoured opponents? But if that was it, then most of the damage would be through smashing and bludgeoning, using overwhelming force to pound her unfortunate enemies into submission. Her blade was no sharper than any other, for all that it wouldn't dull; it was still ultimately a tool for cutting flesh and muscle, not a butcher's cleaver or a glorified pickaxe.

Anyone that knew enough about bladework to get that far would attribute it to some sort of technique, then. If you learned and studied enough, corrected every slight error in your form, then you too could achieve the physical mastery necessary to single out a weak point in the armour and cut through it with ease. The paladin was certain that this was a component of how Lilette dealt with her enemies so effortlessly, but it was only a part of the whole. Tyaethe wasn't singling out weakpoints, or using some form perfected to the point that it alone was instrumental in cutting through steel.

Confidence. It was absolute confidence in your ability that she felt was key, and it didn't matter what path you took to get there. You could constantly strive for improvement and identifying flaws until you were sure that it should work, could work, and then reinforce it through further successes until you forgot why you ever doubted its possibility in the first place. If you were egotistical enough in the first place, had the ability to keep up with anybody that challenged you long enough to swing such a foolish attack, it might even come as naturally as breathing. For herself, there might be a ring of truth in the idea of her strength being a factor--as a young woman, Tyaethe had cut her teeth on slaying monsters, challenging them blow for blow. If she could cut through mighty boars and enraged wyverns, why should a man's armour be any different?

The counter to that was an accusation that this was the mage in her speaking, that she actually used mana to do the same. As if she was the only one to pull this off, or who had ever considered it. Sescille could have done it all the same, and she was forever swapping weapons, with nothing more magical than her perfectly-maintained figure to say. Adeforth and Lilianna didn't even have the benefit of being legendary figures to the current generation, and the pair of them were scarcely slowed by armour, with only a token regard for choosing a good target. If magic was at play, it was the weakest, lowest expression; the universal magic that came from being alive, from having a soul, from being a person. With enough confidence, enough skill to erase your self-doubt, then the world would give just a little.

Just enough to cut some hapless fool in two, confident that his armour was enough.

If you wanted that protection, get something magical. Get something that pushed back against the world and reinforced itself. Or stick to playing with people who fought by the same rules as you did.

It was a lesson that the Boars were learning right now, part of their charge interrupted and with one now ex-member rather blatantly sliced in two. Although, to give the slavers some credit, at least they had responded with enough discipline to attack Tyaethe rather than panicking... for all the good it was going to do. At most, their own efforts were just buying time by making it difficult to follow-up with another swing. Maybe they'd get a few injuries in?

On the plus side, this did give a venue to vent some of the frustration around this entire scenario. That was neat.

Fleuri Jodeau

There was going to be a lot to discuss the many revelations rising to the surface. About Veilena's role in this. About her hiring of these mercenaries to investigate these matters behind the crown's back. About the Mage's College secretly holding into a shard of Angoron. About her claim that the assassination attempt was just a distraction to steal the shard. In the face of a threat to the entire nation, the right hand of Thaln wasn't being made known what the left hand was doing.

However, those concerns would have to wait, because a much more pressing issue had reared its ugly head.

The Golden Boars.

The infamous mercenaries weren't alone- they had brought with them some supernatural support in the form of Curse Hounds. Fleuri had heard of them- summoned creatures, not quite as taboo as undead, but nonetheless associated with darker things. He recalled his mentor warning him long ago that these creatures could inflict curses with their bites.

Don't let them wound you, and strike to kill. Easy enough, Fleuri thought as he adjusted his helmet and readied his sword. He took up a defensive position around Lady Cazt, heeding the captain's orders to defend the girl.

The Golden Boars had picked the wrong fight. Between this and the fort, these already infamous mercenaries were now an explicit enemy of Thaln and for all the knights knew, accomplices of this terrible conspiracy. With that in mind, this probably wouldn't be the last time the Iron Roses would cross blades with the Boars.

The first hound to get within sword range of Fleuri would find its head split in two by a downward swing of his greatsword. As much as he preferred going on the offensive like Tyaethe was currently doing, his orders were to protect, and that is exactly what he would do.

Besides, he didn't have the luxury of a vampire's sheer durability, or the immunities that undeath conferred.

---

~Cae Mayl~

Ever since they have left the accursed fort behind, Amy felt as if a thick veil had been lifted off of her mind. She could think and see clearly, in ways that were previously impossible during their stay in that gravesite of a fortress, when the fog of anxiety and fear swamped her thoughts. Not that this was all good though: she realized she had done very little to actually help the knights in their mission during their stay. She just so happened to be in the right place at the right time to find the shard with the knight captain, but other than that she felt woefully inadequate as a knight. The thought did push her to prove herself though: should the boars try something once they arrived at the location of the meeting, she'd be read for them. During the trip she was preparing herself mentally and physically, brandishing her flute like the other knights would their sword, and whispering quiet prayers for protection to Mayon.

Still, Amy wondered: with the uneasy alliance between them and the mercenaries, was she really the only one who didn't trust them at all? I sounded too convenient and too hard to believe that they would be there JUST as they arrived too. Surely they had been tipped off well before the knights were about the location of the shard: and if they weren't, it meant someone close to the Iron Roses was the one who contracted them. Maybe... maybe she was overthinking things. Usually her senses didn't lie, but this time she wasn't sure if her own paranoia about meeting these unknown mercenaries on her first mission out wasn't clouding her judgement. Still, just to be safe she spent a good part of the ride towards Cae Mayl sizing them up and thinking of ways to deal with them each should the need arise. Of particular interest was their mage: it seemed like they were the only two magic users in the larger group, and Amy was afraid her less than lethal spells would have a hard time keeping her at bay.

By the time they arrived at the shrine Amy felt quite exhausted. Riding for such a long time wasn't something she was used to, and she was eager to finally get off her horse once they stopped. Managing not to fall off the saddle as she dismounted this time, she stuck close to Fanilly just as she was instructed by her fellow knights. Clutching her flute close to her chest, she was on the lookout for any hostile intentions she might pick up on her senses, but she didn't feel anything for the time being. She paid little attention to the actual dialogue between the knight captain and Veilena Cazt: despite not sensing any immediate danger, she was expecting trouble to arrive at any moment.

Arrive, trouble did.

Amy was on the lookout for the mercenaries in their retinue and not any Golden Boars that could be laying in wait, but when the curse hounds emerged from the foliage surrounding Cae Mayl she was ready for them. Already twitchy from taking her job of staying by Fanilly's side a little too seriously, she'd swing around on her heels and scooted closer to Sergio and Fanilly as she counted the number of golden boars and hounds in her head. "Captain, Sergio, please stay close! I'll use my magic on the enemy soldiers, you focus on keeping the hounds at bay!" She exclaimed, and watched as the boars quickly approached, their charge halted momentarily as captain Tyaethe threw herself into combat and already cut one of them down before the fight had even begun.

This was her opening.

This was her chance to show the knights she wasn't just some hapless half-demon that they would have to babysit.

Amy closed her eyes and raised her flute to her lips, her mind becoming silent in the moment as she ignored all the noises from the outside and focused on her magic. Slowly, graciously, it reached out into the void around her, tendrils that wrapped around the beings around her that she could sense. All that hostility, all that confidence she felt from the Golden Boars, they made easy targets for her to focus on as the tendrils finally constricted around the attackers.

The flute began to sing it's enchanting lullaby, a somber song that filled all those who heard it with a deep melancholy. Slowly the song picked up in volume and intensity and Amy opened her eyes, her sights set on the Golden Boar that had previously shouted orders. One by one, the affected boars in the front rows of the charge began to slow down and doze off, hitting the ground as they fell asleep from the spell's effect. Their charge had been halted once more, but as the sweet lullaby of Amy's flute crept into the ears of the fallen Boar's comrades, the quickly realized what was going on. She simply didn't have the magic to put all of them to sleep at once: the ones further back quickly caught on, and she could feel the connection to them break. Once they figured out her trick, that was all she could do to such a large crowd. At least she'd keep the ones already asleep in a deep slumber, in a fake coma that would be hard to wake up from. As long as she could keep playing, they'd have that much less to worry about.

---

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Krayzikk

"They" were still here, cried the curse-weaver, demanding praise atop praise for her mysteriously-divined insight. As ad-hoc lookout patrol, Gerard's circuit of the vague perimeter the trio had set kept him within earshot, more or less— surreptitious exchanged whispers were lost on him, but it was enough room for either party hear at a yell. Her cocksure braying counted for that much.

Steel slipped from leather over the shoulder, as Gerard's free hand drew a circle to the pair behind him. Perimeter. If any one or two of them could respond to an emergence on either flank, their chances of allowing the Roses to be caught on the back foot would be much, much slimmer.

Those that slipped out from the gloom, however... Well, Clarice was, again, loud— her surprise was emblematic enough. The Cazt heiress and her retainer out here? That raised suspicion, even if she asserted that she'd not shown up as their enemy. Her intent was enigma, but Clarice had revealed that Alette's band was under her employ to begin with.

As well,

"Movement— NORTH TREELINE!" he howled, snapping his blade into a tight ochs guard as he dug his heels into the soil beneath, letting oncoming war sharpen his senses, sharpen his movement, sharpen his breath.

All that squawking had also revealed that those two weren't the ones she'd sensed loitering, else she wouldn't have been so surprised. Luckily for her, the instincts of the Roses cohort were a little sharper— a little more focused on the task at hand.

The hounds at the front, cloaked in a black haze and nightmarishly ugly, were already lunging forward, chewing up distance with wild abandon. Judging from their name, it was easy to expect curses on their breath. Don't get bitten by bared fangs. The Boars close behind, gaining until they drew even.

The wolf surged forth to meet them, trusting those at his back to fall in and drive weight behind his speartip, every bit a biting fang himself. There was a point to be made here, about straying from knightly temperance, sure, but hell— it was the Pigs. This was an occasion— why not bust out the Doppelsoldner routine, for old times' sake?

The charges collided, and Gerard threw himself into the mayhem.

He swung his blade in the wake of a jolt to the side, gladius skirting the edge of the plates near his midsection, rewarding him with a dark spray as the pig fell forward onto his shield, staining the gilded filigree crimson. An axe flashing in the moonlight, drawing a silver blur as it crashed downwards from overhead— shoulder-checked as the knight dashed well inside the arc of the swing, a pommel slamming into his windpipe. As he fell, gagging, Gerard reached for the knife on his torso bandolier—

Only for his arm to flash high, framing a guard of his throat as one of the hounds lunged for his carotid.

Reon, this damn thing was like a vise!

He jerked back, trying to wrench his arm free, but a hellish snarl was all that escaped from the Hound's maw— and the sound of creaking metal.

It was gonna chew through treated steel if he let it—

Once, twice, he brought that same pommel down on to its skull, smashing at the snout hard enough that he felt the impact through his own body again—

No dice. He stunned it each moment, but he had to kill it—

A flash from his peripheral, flying steel through the air— they were trying to kill him in the meantime.

He whirled leftward, sword arm stuck on the other side of his body—

And was rattled to his teeth as the mighty crash of a warhammer, swung fully in both hands by one of the burlier of the mercenaries' number, broke something. Through the rush of battle, so much pain had already fallen away that his arm was already likely half-numb—

"Shit, you're kidding!"

But that moment of disbelief as jaw fell limply from his gauntlet, as the Boar realized he'd shattered it and not Gerard's skull in the confusion, gave Gerard enough time to send the knife hurtling into his shoulder, disabling him.

He looked down.

The hound, even after all that, still had movement left in its body— its jaw was twitch as its shape began to clome back to—

With a snarl, the heel of his boot slammed into its neck, meteorically driving the sabaton down until he felt a snap.

Limp.

He drew in one ragged breath—

And met the furious roar of the Boar, having ripped the knife free from his now-limp arm and charged again, with a murderous stroke through the clavicle, tip of his blade nicking the throat. The other man fell, icepick grip faltering as the point met Gerard's pauldron. Spiteful fucker.

No time to waste.

He scooped up his knife and returned it from the bandolier as another knight fell upon the next closet boar and dispatched them, buying him enough of a moment to return it to his bandolier, and snatch the forgotten warhammer from the earth.

Simple make. One end blunt and heavy, the other hooked and sharp like the beak of some bird of prey.

It smashed through hard things pretty good— there were more hounds on the field, and more boars decked in better armor than these schmucks— closer to his own. That one Commander's was better.

It'd do.

No time to waste. He stepped forth to the whirlwind again, as from somewhere behind, a dirge began to play—

Amy?

Maybe. He didn't know.

It was making their reactions slower. Set him up to parry, to cut, to crush, to carve apart, to kill. Kill every last goddamn slaver that was put before him, with all their cultish fervor.

They would be dulled. He would be yet sharper, as the knights tore through them.

That was all that mattered.

No tracks that could mean anything, not really.

But with enemies like these, even the greatest miracles of stealth would be wasted on them.

Mongrels emerged from shadows, the vanguard for lesser men of foul stock. Serenity’s gaze swept over Lein for a moment, wondering if the goddess had deigned to split the foulest aspects of the archer before her and make that the Iron Roses’ foe for the night, but there was no value in speaking such things right now. No, if such monstrosities already trespassed upon inviolable territory, there was no point in decorum, now was there?

So, with a natural swing and no small amount of effort spent, the flaxen-haired knight grabbed her companion and threw him to the tops of the ancient stones. He would land on his feet, with some fortune. He would have a vantage point and more neighbouring rocks to engage in his hit-and-run tactics, if so he chose.

But honestly, Serenity simply wanted some quiet.

And, as light died, as shadows grew long, as devils whispered into the ears of the headhunters, instigating treachery and inhumanity, she slid her visor on once more, enclosing herself within tempered steel. Her heartbeat could be heard once more, a steady beat that thrummed with a growing intensity.

Buckler in left, longsword in right.

Her instruments for tonight.

…

In the organized fray, it was easy to see the landmark that Steffan made, horns and a naked head peaking out from the swath of the common lot. Gerard, bloodsoaked already, was nearby too, a violence-lusting trance consuming the former mercenary. Nicomede, wielding water instead of wine, was the sole symbol of a knight’s sophistication there, and Serenity swept forth, her own blade matching the wind-song of a half-demon as she cleaved through fur and flesh to reach them.

Not the usual suspects, certainly. Renar and Fionn must be making their move elsewhere.

“Last time I take Sir Fionn’s advice,” Serenity shouted at them, her voice carrying merrily through the bloodied field. “Should’ve brought a real shield instead of this dinner plate!”

A Cursed Dog leapt and ended up having a taste of the dinner plate before she slid her blade across its throat and tossed it at an approaching Boar, running them both through with a single thrust.

"Ought to be a mage here, with these beasts and that sudden appearance. Guide us, Sir Nicomede, and we'll advance to glory!"

---

He was glad the former-mercenary lad had the same idea, though he hoped Gerard would have taken a few companies with him. It is a pretty easy position to be encircled, like he himself said. If he got into a fight, he'd be in trouble.

Steffen took a bit longer to get his own patrol going, calling upon a few other knights to form up before moving. He also took the northern edge, trailing behind Sir Gerard from a distance, being ready to cover for him in case of an attack, but also to cover anything the young knight might have missed.

He could hear bits and pieces of the commotion that was happening with Fanilly: the mercenary mage with Lady Veilena, with the towering Haelstadt behind one of them. Nothing surprising, aside from the two latter individuals being here for some reasons. Worth a deep investigation into it for sure. But soon, the attention was snapped to the treelines. Movements, a lot of them.

Ah, the mystery of yesterday showed up. With new reinforcement this time.

"Behind me." Steffen instructed the knights that accompanied him. They were outnumbered, but the confidence of victory laid with the knights, as they moved slowly in Gerard's direction.

For many years, the Ingvarrs achieved a degree of mysticism that preceded them and accompanied Steffen every step of the way, more often an annoying stigma to shake off, but today, just today, in front of the despicable slavers, the murderers and the abominable, he would gladly embrace that image, to demonstrate the dread that these northern warriors would instill deep into the nightmares of soldiers and combatants across the continent.

One of the charging hounds would immediately find its heads ruptured from a quaking overhead slam of the metallic spear. The aftershock of such a blow allowed him to impale the hound through the forehead for a quick finish. In the time the hound dissipated, another would make its jump on him, only to be bashed in the face with the crescent shield and swiped aside in the same movement. The Ingvarr didn't even bother finishing it off, his comrades would.

Behind the hounds was a Boar's human member - the ones that would actually feel pain and terror. Right now, there wasn't any yet, as he fearlessly bellowed his battle cry and charged. At the same time, a juxtaposing lullaby echoed, which saw Boar's speed slowing down. His movement lacked the same energy and precision as before.

He was going to just stab this Boar with the spear, but no. That would be too kind.

His spear shifted left to his shielded hand, leaving his right hand bare. As the Boar fell and made its swing, its speed and ferocity had been dampened considerably that allowed Steffen to easily intercept and grab hold of the blade's handle, forcefully removing it from the Boar's grip, which in this case was not very strong. The Boar having just realized this, could only register one more thing before the Ingvarr skewered him in the chest with his own sword in an uppercut motion. The force exerted was so powerful it knocked him off his feet and fell on their front, the sword handle impacting the ground first, driving the blade further in his ribcage.

The spear swapped hands again, and the Ingvarr kept moving. His was a silent but disciplined march towards a loud barbaric horde of slavers and monsters. His voice was reserved for the blood-soaked mercenary in the carnage.

"Sir Gerard! You're straying far, get back!"

Looks like his reputation for recklessness was true.

@HereComesTheSnow

---

@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR@Psyker Landshark

---

"Curse hounds, you said?" Fionn asked just as the Boars' forces began to show from the treeline, already stepping towards the one that seemed clearly to be the leader. "That's good, actually. I was worried I might have to behave myself. Renar, be a good lad and keep an eye on her, will you?" His blade slid smoothly out its sheathe as Tyaethe lunged forwards and Gerard yelled over at the north end of the clearing, his own pace quickening as a grin grew beneath the shadow cast by his helmet.

The fetid, distempered imp that had tried to attack the princesses hadn't been a fight at all, and dreams and training did not make up for actual combat. If these Boars wished to rush to the slaughter, then he would try to be accommodating to their needs. It's only polite, after all.

He sprinted wide around the whirlwind that was Tyaethe as many of the mercenaries tried in vain to overwhelm her with numbers; one of the faster hounds leaped at him, and he ducked low, its snapping jaws going clear over his head where they'd been aimed for his throat. He straightened quickly, driving his shoulder into its ribs and sending it up in the air; a relaxed backhand swing with his longsword neatly opened its back half, the hound landing in a spray of its own black ichor hissing and smoking on the ground as it thrashed around in its death throes. One of the Boars ran at him next, swinging a mace at his chest.

Fionn lunged forwards, first putting his left forearm against the Boar's weapon arm to stop it before slamming bodily into the mercenary and sending him toppling over. He wasted no time; the most the fallen Boar got was a single stomp to the now-open throat as Fionn carried along. A second, too much of a spendthrift to even afford a back to match his breastplate, had ribs and spine severed as the Veltic knight surged onwards, the tip of his blade coming back fowards, quick as a viper and coated in red. A scream punctuated the roars and yells of the fighters, and Fionn glanced back in Tyaethe's direction for a moment.

His left hand shot up, grabbing a severed forearm that had just flown his way, a dagger still tightly clutched in its hand. He hacked outwards at another of the mercenaries that stepped in close to him, splitting that one's hand in half, sending them quickly retreating and clutching at the flood pouring from their glove, before wrenching the dagger out of the loosening fingers, disarming the dismembered arm.

"PIG!" he bellowed at the Boars' leader, arm cocked like a spring; at the slightest hint of recognition, he sent the dagger flying for the man. "Get over here and at least pretend you're worth that armour!"

Dogs follow the curse hounds. Black armour and gold lining. They look like sun cooked pieces of merda carrying blades, but it is a mistake to underestimate them. They'd caused enough of a mess already - mind controlled or not. Many of the others fear Mayon's retribution for the blood poised to be spilled on her holy ground - but in my heart I trust she knows that evil has little consideration for sanctity.

I wipe my mouth with a thumb before my visor clamps down, my field of view tightening like a vice. I move to guard position in front of Amy at her behest (and my own), keeping the Captain's flank as secure as possible. From the fog of war one of the canines jump at us - snarling and spitting, only to be quickly and unceremoniously ended by my weapon arm - twitching in the increasingly blood sodden ground. The beast's throes are illuminated by a strong, alluring melody close by - I needn't break vision with the enemy forces to know Amy's trump card is finally in play. One by one, several of the boars sink to their knees and then collapse entirely. An entire swathe, in fact, become momentarily inebriated before succumbing to Amy's spell. I half wonder if they are ever to wake again.

But more still erupt from the treeline - with much more sober and aggressive movements. Amy's spell had eliminated a fraction, but a sizeable one.

I hold fast. An advance is tempting, but it would leave the Captain, and arguably more importantly, our cleric, quite literally to the wolves.

@VitaVitaAR @6slyboy6

Renar almost smiled when the Boars showed their faces. Finally. While he didn't share his best friends' utter animosity towards the Golden Boars, he was simply glad to finally be done with the tedious investigation and questioning. He dropped into a ready stance, taking up his poleaxe as he joined Fleuri in covering the Cazt girl, as per the captain's orders. No time for personal distaste. They had a battle to win and an objective to meet.

He did smirk as Fionn and Gerard ignored orders for once and tore off, chomping at the bit to slaughter as many Boars as they could. Good to see he hadn't lost his touch in reading people, after all.

"If you insist." Renar gave a bereaved sigh towards Fionn in response, though not without getting one last statement in before he tore off out of range. "At least try to take the leader alive. We need answers." With that said, he stepped forward, taking one hand off his weapon as he reached into a belt pouch.

"Sir Fleuri, I'll cover the right flank. You take the left. Lady Cazt, do try to stay behind your protectors, yes?" He said, rancor absent from his tone as he focused on the battle before them. The Curse Hounds charged, and Renar threw a brace of caltrops a ways into the ground away from the defenders. For anyone wearing decent footwear, they'd barely be an impediment. For a pack of madly charging dogs with soft paws? That was a different story. The first hound to approach stumbled and yelped in pain as it ran through the caltrops, and Renar cleaved into its head with a single swing of his poleaxe. His backswing smashed another's brains in with the hammer head, and the third hound tried to lunge at him, only for the Bastard of Brias to punt it in the snout. The demonic beast crumpled, and Renar's plated greave came crashing down into its neck.

Then came the actual human wave. A pair of Boars rushed at Renar, and his expression behind his visor turned into one of manaical glee. His off hand reached into his belt pouch once more, and pulled out a pair of vials. He crushed them within the palm of his gauntlet, and hurled the contents out towards the Boars when they came into range. Fine sand, metal shavings, and the crushed glass of the vials went flying into their eyes, leaving them screaming and writhing for mere moments before Renar unceremoniously executed them with thrusts to the chest.

"Come, come!" He laughed mockingly, brandishing his poleaxe in a defensive stance. "They say you Boars will do anything for victory, and yet you can't even manage that at this moment! Worthless!"

@VitaVitaAR @Crimson Paladin @The Otter

Profane.

It was too pale a word, too bloodless, to describe the atrocity of bringing violence here. But it was also the only word to describe what these men had done, what they had brought not just upon this place but upon their own souls. And men they were. He felt the temptation to label them monsters, beats, something inhuman but that denied the true vile depths of their depravity. An animal knew no better, a monster did what it would always do. These bastards knew right from wrong. As mortals, creatures of choice and free will, they chose to do evil. They chose to desecrate this holy place with their presence, chose to consign their souls to the infinite darkness and despair that surely awaited them after death.

They could reflect upon that in the void.

The hound, perhaps believing in whatever mind lay behind that eyeless visage that he was vulnerable, chose to leap upon him while his blade was not bared like the teeth that sought to rend his flesh. His hand was closing around a canteen, not the hilt of his blade, but the beast chose wrongly. Nicomede’s right foot dropped back, he twisted to bring his shield to bear and in the same motion the blade within sprang open. The gaunt creature’s lunge drove the blade into its own chest, deeper, deeper, deeper stopped only by the knight’s armored fist. It wailed its dying rage and pain, scrabbled against the shield and tried in vain to find something, anything, to sink its teeth into before it died. Spittle flew furiously, driven by the throes of its demise dying down only when Nicomede deliberately twisted the blade impaled to the hilt through the cursed beast. But there was no blood, not one drop; not at the entry, not at the exit, not all along his blade’s length.

It was such a small, irrational thing. But he refused. He refused. No matter how much blood would here be shed, no matter how much sank into the ground at his feet, he would not shed one drop. Not now. Not here. His soul revolted at the very notion, no matter how unreasonable. Right here, right now, he was just an unreasonable man. Mist clung to his sword, the moisture in the air reacting to the supercooled metal that spread frost through the hound like virulent plague, freezing the tissue surrounding the wound. He withdrew his blade easily and pulled the cap from his canteen with his teeth. Upended the water flowed free, but did not reach the ground.

“Goddess of the Moon, Lady Mayon,” Somewhere before it would reach his feet the water slowed and stopped, gathering before him in a rough sphere that shifted and distorted along its surface like a thing alive. The spell was nothing grandiose, merely the prayer of the faithful for protection suffused with devout sincerity. Rage lurked in the depths of his voice, a raging river masked by winter’s ice, but it only contributed to the words forceful conviction. It was a spell. It was a prayer. It was contrition for the violence he was forced to commit upon Mayon’s land to stay true to her spirit. “Wreath those about your work in your embrace, warded by your holy love for the righteous. Let no harm befall them so long as your light remains.”

“Purifica nella luce!”

The gathered water, reflecting the half moon high above in its depths, filled with a soft, luminous glow in the half second before the mass dissipated into mist that flowed about his fellow knights at the fore of the fray. It clung to them, barely visible bui hauntingly, beautifully luminous in shadows deep and dark as such evil brought within itself. It was protection, protection from curse and malignity as he could. He was no paladin, he carried his own disgrace, but he believed in every word. He believed in Mayon and her benevolence, and here in this place he believed that counted for something.

And if belief failed him he would make up for it with ice and steel, sword and shield. He needed no encouragement, no command, he threw himself into the fray with his own mirror of Gerard’s fervor. Serenity’s words could not have reached more receptive ears. Frost clung to his blade, to his armor, the chill showed his breath in the night air with every exhorted breath. The Boars nearest grew sluggish, easy targets; where his blade pierced it froze, afflicted flesh facing the peril of frostbite’s necrosis. If the targets were to live any longer. The goddesses were good and they were just, and in their benevolence there was hope for mercy.

Not from Sir Nicomede. They had stepped too far into the darkness and he no longer sought to find anything in their hearts but cessation. Where they fell to the ground, lulled by magic from behind him, he did not leave them incapacitated. He left them dead. By blade, by boot, by cleat of ice; if they were within his reach they died. These men and women held no regard for life, so he had none for them.

For there to be anything in their future but unending darkness they would have to use their last thoughts to plead for mercy from the goddesses they profaned.

”Forward then!” He roared, the voice so reserved now rough with the fury of battle. “A toast to glory when our work is done!”

@ERode @HereComesTheSnow

Fleuri Jodeau

In contrast to the captain's orders, many of the knights rushed forward to go on the offensive against the Golden Boars. Fleuri saw the rationale- he himself generally felt that the best defense was a strong offense, and a counterattack like this would break their charge and demolish their momentum. However, the captain had ordered the knights to form a defensive perimeter to protect Veilena, not go rushing off into the fray.

With Tyaethe, it was understandable. She had centuries of experience, was a contemporary of Elionne, and had all the supernatural durability that came with being a vampire. From what Fleuri had observed, it was more or less expected that Tyaethe would use her own judgment in any battle. With the others however, such as Gerard and Fionn, it looked like they had just flagrantly disobeyed their captain's orders. Someone more versed in philosophy, tactics, and strategy could probably write entire texts discussing when and where it might be be justified to ignore an inexperienced 16-year-old's orders, but to Fleuri it just looked like they just didn't care for obeying the commands of their knightly order's leader.

At least Renar, unpleasant fellow that he was, had the sense to obey Fanilly, barking to Fleuri to cover their left flank while he'd cover their right. Fleuri didn't think that the Bastard of Brias, of all people, would be the one that'd have his back. A Curse-hound leapt over Renar's caltrops at Fleuri, only for the knight's greatsword to impale it right through the mouth. The beast swiftly disincorporated, freeing up the sword just as the human wave of Golden Boars closed in.

"I can do that," Fleuri responded to Renar as the first Boar came at him with a morningstar, while a second one came behind him readying a spear. The knight swung his sword downward, catching the weapon's head and diverting it down to the ground. He then gripped his sword's ricasso and smashed the crossguard right into the mercenary's face, stunning him. Just then, the second mercenary thrust his spear past his companion at the knight, only for Fleuri to dodge and catch the spear by the shaft with his left hand. With the weapon caught, Fleuri spun around, pulling the spear towards him and swinging his sword in a full circle, decapitating the off-balance spearman when it came back around.

The first mercenary, however, had managed to regain his senses quickly enough to duck under the swing, and as soon as the sword came over his head, he rushed at Fleuri, raising his morningstar high in an attempt to strike the knight's helmet before he could bring the blade back to him. Instead of blocking with the blade, however, Fleuri shifted both hands to the ricasso and caught the incoming morningstar on the hilt and crossguard. As this happened, the mercenary failed to notice Fleuri's right hand going down to the dagger hanging on the knight's belt. A split second later, he took a step forward and plunged the dagger into the man's neck.

"You clearly do not believe in a fair fight in battle," he spoke to Renar, sheathing his dagger and assuming a stance with his sword. "Neither do I."

@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

The snapping jaws were like beartraps. One leaping curse hound has sprang towards her. She felt its weight, the power, as its jaws clamped shut.

But Fanilly caught its bite on the edge of her sword. The beast was powerful, but not as heavy as a human, though it nearly took her off her feet.

For all its strength, it was far lighter than even an ordinary dog of its size. Perhaps this was due to its essence being something as fundamentally nebulous and lacking in physical presence as a curse.

Regardless, Fanilly gritted her teeth, forcing the beast down to the ground as she used her leverage over it. Its bite loosened as her blade slid free from its grasp, and she adjusted her grip immediately as she wrenched her weapon from its jaws.

The swing back down severed the hound's head, black fluid pouring from its neck as it collapsed to the ground.

The knights who had gone on the offensive were certainly cutting into the Boars' numbers, and enough remained to maintain a defensive perimeter. Especially given many of them had become sluggish, some even passing out on their feet, due to Dame Amy's song.

But that wasn't enough on its own. It certainly lessened the enemy's number, but it wasn't enough to completely eliminate the threat.

They had to keep Lady Veilena safe!

Fanilly took a step forward, meeting the nearest Golden Boar as he attempted to find a weakness in their defenses. She swiftly slipped past his thrust spear and drove the tip of her blade into his throat, beneath his helmet.

He fell moments later.

But Haelstadt...

In the opening moments of the clash, Haelstadt had caught the nearest hound in a single hand, gripping its head like a vise and squeezing. With a crack, the black knight had crushed the creature's skull, tossing the body to the side and placing both hands on the hilt of their blade.

Just how strong was Haelstadt, to be able to do such a thing?

"Hah! Even alone, Haelstadt would be more then a match for every single one of you!" Lady Veilena declared, her voice carrying over the din of battle, "All you've done is choose the spot where you'll die!"

The towering knight's thrust Zweihander pierced a stunned Boar's shield, shearing clear through it and the armor behind it to impale the Boar. Haelstadt lifted him clear from his feet and flicked their blade, hurling the corpse into his fellows as an improvised projectile.

Even with their ruthless reputation, the Golden Boars facing the towering black knight seemed to hesitate.

Not that it did them much good, as the Zweihander cut a man's head in half moments later, shattering the blade he'd attempted to use as a defense.

But Fanilly knew that a single warrior defending a single person, even one as powerful as Haelstadt, was fighting an uphill battle. They all had to fight their hardest to protect Lady Veilena.

Cae Mayl was no place for a battle like this. But they had no choice.

A curse hound lunging for another knight was greeted with Fanilly's blade, hacking into its spine and sending it to the ground with a pained snarl. A second blow ended its life, black, hissing fluid pouring from its corpse.

While the man seemingly in charge of the Boars' attack was certainly faltering somewhat at the sight of the stern defense, his steel, Boar-bearing shield was swiftly brought to bear, deflecting Fionn's dagger as his black mace raised.

"Consorting with monsters, hm?" he bellowed, "Such noble knights, I see! We'll take our prize, and leave you dying in the darkness!"

Foul as he was, he didn't seem to balk at the challenge.

Clarice's response to battle, unlike her rather sour reaction to nearly everything else so far, was a grin as she swept her hair back, the book she was holding drifting from her grasp and opening.

The vague, phantasmal image of a wailing face that rose from the grimoire heralded nothing particularly pleasant.

"Filthy little piggies, I don't even have to play nice with scum like you~!" she declared, gleefully, raising her parasol in her free hand as she did, "Let's go with... that one. Wither."

The tip of her parasol flashed, a purple-black light erupting from the tip and striking the unsuspecting Boar just as he was engaging with another knight.

With a strangled cry, the mercenary hit his knees, clutching at his throat, crying out frantically as something began to affect him.

In all likelihood, it was nothing immediately lethal, but perhaps that was not a consolation for the afflicted boar.

Near the back of the Golden Boars' formation, there appeared to be some commotion. One of their number broke off, retreating into the foliage...

It wasn't so very likely he was attempting to flee.

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