Lein

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Location: Cae Mayl
Interactions: @Conscripts @Psyker Landshark

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Safe. Maybe. If this melting pile of bones ever did so much as to shiver, Lein would burn this entire hill and forest to ash. Lein stepped on a trickle of tar that was escaping from the disintegrating corpse and kicked up a small mound of dirt to contain whatever malignant essence these things carried with them. Perhaps it would do nothing, but for now Lein couldn't summon the effort to put the care in. The battle was over, and these Boars had lost not just their leader and a slew of troops, but their reputation and dignity as well. Weren't much of a sporting threat after all, when they had to stare down something as big as them. Feckless upstarts, never did test their mettle till their arrogance broke them.

"I'm fairing splendidly horridly. I just set up the perfect finish and these blasted things just had to ruin the coup de grace. Can't even take a trophy from this muck. Let me use your back." Without a further word, Lein climbed onto Steffen's back and rested his head on the Ingvarr's shoulder. As the rush of the battle left him, Lein was left with a listless ennui that had taken residence in his mind for the better part of the last couple days. Boredom was a part of it, but some unwanted tendril of fatigue had clung to him, far past the period on top of that castle wall. "One of these days, we're gonna go somewhere nice for once. Good clean air, green grass, a nice view of the beach cliffs with a nice cloudy sky. And not a damned necromancer in sight."

"We'll drain the castle's stock of mead and hunt the local boar packs to extinction, and light up the sky with the biggest bonfire known by the goddesses." Then, with a teasing smirk toward Renar, "And we'll invite all the ROses too. But only the nice and pretty ones." Though Lein wasn't sure if such a frantic celebration would even be in Renar's favor. He had seen that man rest, for sure - but relaxing was a different story. Drink was one way for many men to take the edge off, but perhaps for the vengeful Brias violence was its own kind of reward?

"I'm happy to meet half-way and settle for Aimlenn right now." Lein said as he flicked off a slick of tar from Steffen's armor. "Let's get this over with and get some answers out of the darling Cazt heir."

---

"Yeah, yeah. I'm certain we'll get our peace at some point, a brief moment of respite from continuous work and fighting." A weary smile formed after the long sigh, as he felt Lein's subtle movements on his back and shoulders, having mostly used to his 'backseating' shenanigans on a fine normal day, but battle fatigue's slow crawl was making that a lot more apparent. "Aimlenn sounds good, but..."

His occasional concerned side-glance at Sir Renar's little rant converted back to direct contact, as Steffen was asked what to do. More of a nudge than anything. Renar's tone of voice and the previous personal tirade made it pretty clear where his sentiment lies. "Yeah, seems like these are just lowly pawns that they clearly don't know how to use. Our only lead at this point is...well..." He gestured up to Lein on his shoulders and what he just said. "...or that now dead commander, whatever they could extract outta him."

With that he began to walk back, but not without a last glance at Renar. "And let's hope to the goddesses that this isn't another word dance routine like back in the fort."

@PigeonOfAstora@Psyker Landshark

Fleuri Jodeau

They had been victorious once again. While it could be argued that this entire ordeal was so far shaping out to be overall a defeat for the Kingdom of Thaln, there was no doubt that this particular skirmish was a smashing victory for the Iron Roses. Even with their monstrous abominations, the Golden Boars had been slaughtered without inflicting any casualties of their own- aside from the evidently immortal Haelstadt.

Fleuri feared that this was just an opening act to something much larger. The shard was still unaccounted for, as was whoever had hired the Golden Boars. And as for the Boars themselves, this was clearly much more than a simple mercenary job. To attack the Iron Roses, to attempt to abduct Veileena, to make use of such twisted cursed mutants in their ranks, suggested that their role may be more deeply involved one than merely swords for hire in this instance. Fleuri wasn't sure just how many men and women they could call upon, though- perhaps Gerard may have a good grasp of the malignant mercenary company's overall size.

For now, however, he suspected that they'd be heading back to the city. There was much information and news that needed to be to be conveyed to the kingdom. There were many questions that still needed to be asked of Veileena, and of those also involved with the shard. Lastly, and with the day coming to a close, the knights would need to rest and regain their strength.

Speaking of Veileena, she seemed none too pleased at being detained, and was asking for someone to help Haelstadt recover their head. With most of the knights conversing with one another, and with Tyaethe standing still, Fleuri decided to assist.

"Don't worry, Lady Cazt, I'll help find it," he spoke as he trudged to the general area where he had glimpsed Haestadt's head going flying. Theirs was not the only severed head, or severed body part, but none of it could be confused for Haelstadt's black helmet. The head wasn't where he thought he had seen it fall, however, and with night having fallen, the head might not be particularly easy to spot. It'd be a lot easier to find if the head could speak, but Fleuri couldn't recall ever hearing Haelstadt speak even when their head was attached.

Hopefully, the head had stayed inside the helmet, because he had no idea what Haelstadt's uncovered head looked like.

@VitaVitaAR

"A... mask?"

Fanilly reiterated Dame Amy's words to herself in her mind. A cold pale mask, inscribed with a single staring eye.

She didn't recall ever hearing about anything like that. It was entirely unfamiliar before. Certainly, there were certain cults who used an eye as their symbol, but beyond the most basic knowledge of their existence Fanilly knew nothing of them.

Was one of those cults involved in this situation? One that worshipped the shattered blade or its wielder? Or was it something else entirely?

Fanilly hadn't the faintest idea. And yet, in spite of how vague it was, the mask with its staring eye was still their best possible lead. It gave them some sort of clue as to who might be responsible.

Even if he couldn't speak, the dying Boar Commander had managed to give them a path forward.

"Thank you, Dame Amy," she addressed the half-demon with a nod of her head, "Please, go and get your injuries tended to as soon as possible."

To be truthful, she hadn't quite been able to focus on what Clarice had been saying, so she was taken by surprise by Sir Fionn's demand for an apology.

So, apparently, was the curse-wielding mage herself.

"Apologize?" she asked, shrinking back only slightly from the shock of Sir Fionn's anger, "For... for what?! She dragged me over here without even explaining anything! It's not like I didn't help or something, you know!"

It was quite clear she didn't see any issue with her words or actions.

---

As the moon slowly rose, little on the battlefield seemed to change.

However, one thing was noticeable.

The remains of the final curse giant, the black tar that had melted clean off of its twisted bones into a slurry of curses, was beginning to fade away. Dissolving, the moonlight purging it from the sacred place as it dissipated into a shadowy vapor before vanishing from site entirely.

Though a battle had raged there, such wickedness would not remain in Cae Mayl.

---

It would take some time, but eventually Sir Fleuri would locate a face-down, pitch black helmet, thankfully still containing the head of its wielder. While there was no sound from the head when it was lifted, Haelstadt would suddenly stop, shifting to their knees and raising their hands in the air in hopes of getting the knight to come closer.

It was clear that the towering figure's head had been located.

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

Ser Gerard offers to handle cleanup, a request I'd normally deny but under the circumstances I have little choice. I hiss as I stand upright, blood going straight to my head. My arm dangles limp.

"See you soon, mercenario." I call after Gerard, hopefully received as lighthearted as intended. My arm feels like a throbbing weight but I'm still well and able enough to make my way over. I spot Amy on the way, stopping to give a somewhat delirious salute.

@6slyboy6 @VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow

Gerard Segremors

@Krayzikk@ERode@VahkiDane

"Heh," unseen but doubtless heard, a smirk played across the Reonite's slashed face, sharing the good humor through (or perhaps in light of) the sorry states both men had allowed of themselves. Hearing his redder counterpart drag himself to his feet was a good sign— often, as the rush of wartime settled down and fled the body it took one's strength and balance along for the ride when dealing with a broken limb. In his own right, Gerard tended to find himself plagued by the headaches of a starved man, as though fatigue came crashing down upon his skull all at once.

The solution to both ends, of course, was keeping yourself moving, keeping yourself talking. He shuffled forward at a pace he could keep steady, moonlit blade at the ready to confirm those that had passed beneath Mayon's gaze, and to bring her mercy to those that may have yet suffered. His response carried the same jesting lightness, but a firm element beneath— declaration of intent as much as it was everything else.

"Cavaliere, amico. Won't be long."

You picked your share of words up, following whichever winds smelled like coin.

A slight tilting of the head, listening to something that wasn't there--

And small fingers closed around Gerard's wrist. Strong for only a second, but only the strength of a child after.

"You needn't do that, not here," Tyaethe said, eyes flickering over to meet Gerard's for a second, "Anyone still breathing can be healed. Will be healed.

"Rest. We have the time."

@HereComesTheSnow

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@VitaVitaAR@6slyboy6

---

As though Fanilly's words had been the cue they'd been waiting for, one of the healers who'd followed up to the scene quickly stepped in, and Fionn handed Amy off as he looked back up, glare focusing on Clarice. "She dragged you over because I called for it, because there was something important, something lying right in your specialty. Alette sent you along to help us, did she not? To work with us? Is that the answer you needed repeated to you the entire time we were travelling here?" He stood, stepping forward quickly where Clarice had shrunk back for the moment.

Better to keep her on the defensive, rather than let her have some opportunity to claw back some shred of dignity. It was ultimately pointless, certainly not the most rational thing, and Fionn knew that, but between the personal insult of his chosen fight getting ripped from him at the last second, and the far greater travesty of a halfways-honourable duel like that getting cut short by some assassin's trick, his patience to put up with the woman's continual disrespect of Fanilly and his fellow knights was entirely spent.

"Alette might have been willing to put up with you being so thoughtless as to reveal why the group of you had been at the fort, but I can't imagine she'd put up with this constant insolence. I can't imagine she'll praise you as soon as any of us tells her how much of a spoiled, whiny, arrogant brat you've been, no matter how hard you try to make her. And that's without even mentioning that you were so impressed with yourself at finding her—" and he lifted his sword to point back in Veilena's direction, stepping closer still to bear down on the diminutive spellcaster before him—"That if she hadn't been paying attention, the Boars' ambush damn well could have worked! Is that what Alette pays you for? To be so convinced of your self-importance that you put everything else at risk? Or do you actually do your job when you're with her?"

He let his blade drop, though his furious, unblinking glare was still focused firmly on Clarice's own eyes. "That is what you need to apologize for, Clarice Kastin, all of it. I don't know you well enough yet to decide if you've made a mockery of yourself, but you've certainly made a mockery of the faith Alette placed in you, and have thoroughly disrespected our captain far more times than I can put up with."

---

~Cae Mayl~

As she was handed off to the healers, Amy felt her body ache in protest, the mere idea of moving around making her sore. Still, she was in good hands now, and she did her best not to fall as the burning sensation from wound on her leg made every step hell on earth. Amy hardly regarded herself as a damsel in distress, but as the exhaustion and pain hit her, she would've dropped the tough act if someone offered to carry her in their arms. Right now she wanted to be done with walking... or being awake.

Seconds passed by in the blink of an eye, and she clung tightly to the healer helping her walk. She overheard some of Fionn's complaints towards Clarice, but she felt too confused to really think them over. She could hardly even remember what had happened to herself during the battle, much less towards the curse witch that accompanied them. Still, she could feel the anger come from Fionn, a sharp contrast to the support she experienced earlier from the knight. It seemed like the others weren't lying: the loud knight was quick to anger, and equally quick to come to someone's aid. A good thing to remember for the future.

Then, the sound of silence over the battlefield drowned out the noises of the argument, as her mind began to slip once more. Somewhere along the way back to the healer's tent, Sergio ran into them, and they came to a halt as she looked up at the knight with a hazy glance. His arm hung by his side, his stride weak, but his spirit seemingly as high as ever. The atmosphere after the battle was one of confusion and mixed feelings, but she found it funny that Sergio seemed mostly unaffected, giving off the same energy as he did when he first offered assistance to her after she fell out of the saddle.

The thought made her snap out of her little trance and smile, a chuckle too far of a reach in her condition, her head shaking gently as the man offered a salute. "Please, lower your arm Sir Sergio, you're in no condition to salute anyone, much less a mere cleric like me. But I appreciate the thought." Amy explained in a weak, but nonetheless amused voice as she looked over the knight.

The day had been long and tough on the spirit of the young cleric, but she remembered Sergio as one of the few knights who made an effort to help her fit in. It was a welcome sight on her first mission, especially when it turned out as brutal as this one. She'd beckon with her arm for Sergio and flash him a soft smile. "Come, join me on this... journey to the healer's tent." Amy exclaimed and laughed softly, a decision she regretted immediately as her lung flared up in pain and she covered her mouth to muffle a hearty swear. She took a moment to regain her breath before she looked back up at the knight with an apologetic smile. "Sorry... I hope Mayon didn't catch that one, else she'll be mad at me. And right now... I could really use her guiding light to get me though the rest of this night. And-" Stopping for a second, her gaze scoured over the knight's armor, and the many dents and splatters of blood and viscera covering it. "Something tells me you need it too. More than me. Let's return, and say a prayer for the souls of the fallen whilst the healers do their wonderful magic on us, okay?"

---

@VahkiDane@The Otter

Fleuri Jodeau

This must be the head, Fleuri assessed. The helmet encasing it was a perfect match to what he had seen Halestadt previously wearing, and the tall knight reacted upon picking it up.

Fleuri didn't try to peek at what was inside the helmet. Whatever Haelstadt's reason for concealing their face, he'd respect it. He in fact had a certain fondness for the romantic trope of anonymous, helmeted knights taking the field in tournaments or on battlefields. It wasn't exactly a realistic depiction- for any tourney of any worthwhile prestige, there tended to be a number of roadblocks to entering (as Renar could very bitterly attest to), and no organizer would let some random stranger hiding in a suit of armor take a precious competitor slot, but regardless, it was a concept that Fleuri liked. His own ancestor, Armand Jodeau, had a reputation for rarely showing his face to others, to the point that the paintings of Armand in both the Jodeau manor and Candaeln depicted him helmeted.

He had no idea what Haelstadt was- some sort of undead, perhaps? Generally, decapitation was effective in eliminating the threat of undead, but perhaps there were some for which it was merely an inconvenience? Whatever the reason, while Reon generally disapproved of undead, exceptions such as the Roses' very own Tyaethe was proof that they couldn't just run around and condemn people for not dying when killed.

Again, it was none of his business, and it was generally prudent to not pry too hard into an immortal knight's business.

"Here you go," Fleuri spoke, handing the helmet over to the black knight, careful to not let the head fall out. He was unsure what'd happen next, although he was a little curious as to whether Haelstadt would be able to simply reattach it by sticking it on their shoulders, or if they'd have to carry it back to have it fixed later.

@VitaVitaAR

Gerard Segremors

@Raineh Daze

He blinked, then turned, gilded irises meeting her crimson gaze.

His circuit had seen, so far, a stayed hand— most Boars to speak for along the path had already expired in combat, or were deeper beneath the line of the trees. The swaying pilars of blue-black hardwood were thus caught in the midnight wind, carrying whispers of the earth and night that slipped through the voidlike quiet that always followed the roar of battle leaving his ears.

By the time he'd registered that one of his wrists was lagging behind his stride, and the pale smear in the corner of his view, the First and Youngest had already allowed her grip to slack, her message already sent.

He took a breath. Two.

"...Ma'am."

And gave a tired nod, as the third breath took a certain tension with the wind— his posture a little less carefully, pointedly ramrod. His torso ached. Lungs? Heart? Who could say... He then gazed up to the full moon, past the canopy.

"It'll be between them and Her, then."

I raise an eyebrow as she responds, beckoning me over and inviting me on the journey to the healer's tent. Silly to say, I flash a smile in the midst of the deafening pain. It is often the simple things that raise you after such an ordeal.

"Your magic may have won us the battle." I say, simply, lowering my arm anyway. I hobble with as much faux firmness as I can muster, oozing the last dredges of confidence buried in. The broken bird act was a pitiful one, and not one I'd ever employ.

"There's much I rely on Mayon to...forgive me for, eh?" I chuckle, watching Amy's hoarse curse beneath her breath. "But there's much we give her for her to be thankful. I think that's true."

A nod as she looks to my own injuries. "A good meal would heal my injuries faster, though."

It is truly a dire time when imagining the smell of Father's pasta dish is hard.

@6slyboy6

"Tch, that's... I did my job plenty! I crushed dozens of those ugly pigs, how dare you say I didn't do my job!"

Clarice was clearly not used to this situation, especially given she was quite convinced she had contributed plenty. Why apologize when she was responsible for the deaths of so many of the enemy?

To the curse mage, it simply didn't make sense.

As their head was returned, Haelstadt raised it and placed it back upon their neck. There was a strange, fleshy sound, and after a few moments it appeared to be reattached.

Without speaking, the black knight bowed their head to signify their thanks, before swiftly returning to Veilena's side.

"Hmph, you should have just stayed still. It's not like you were going to find your head on your own, you know..."

While the battle had been won, they hadn't found the shard.

And their only clue was that white mask.

---

It had been a day since they returned to Candaeln.

The prisoners were being interrogated, as she understood. Most of them were bound for the gallows, but at least they were given the opportunity to repent for their sins and die in peace.

Lady Veilena had insisted her actions were not in error, though Fanilly wondered if she really meant that or if she was too proud to admit she had made some mistakes. Either were equally likely, when it came to the prodigy mage.

On top of all of this, they would have to speak with the mages. After all, they had apparently been hinding a shard of Angroron. A dangerous artifact with the potential for untold wickedness. Who could be seeking such a thing?

Fanilly had the faintest idea.

A white mask, with a staring eye...

It didn't sound familiar to her at all. But it was their only lead.

Initially, she had desired to head to the library and carry out some research. Candaeln's library was, after all, said to be second only to that of the Mage Academy.

But as it turned out, the Knight-Captain could not focus on such things. Perhaps it was some level of stress and worry.

Maybe this was the reason she found herself in Candaeln's garden, among the splashes of purples, blues, reds, and yellows, trying to sort her thoughts out.

It was a bright, sunny day, the warmth of Reon's light reaching down to her, and yet she could not simply enjoy it.

But nor could she easily focus on performing further research.

It was a frustrating state of mind.

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

On their return, Tyaethe had disappeared briefly before returning to her usual window spot. That, on its own, was perfectly normal. Expected, even; it was stranger to find her some place else, especially immediately after leaving for a few weeks. What made it a bit less usual was that she had seemingly chosen to not move at all since then, eyes looking over the relics arrayed in the entry hall. Or at least in their general direction, with the lack of correction there was basically no chance that she could see any of them.

Continuing the departure from norms, she was actually dressed in something other than a light dress, with or without accompanying shawl or the like. For reasons known only to the vampire, she'd gone for the full robes of a Reonite priest... which, whilst something she was perfectly entitled to wear, was not the sort of thing a paladin was expected to go about in for their day to day business. Still, the red and gold attire wasn't even the strangest thing: she'd brought out the stuffed rabbit.

The only thing that really indicated she wasn't doing her best statue impression was the way her thumb was idly moving back and forth across the toy's head.

---

@VitaVitaAR

---

With some more choice words from both sides, the argument erupting between Fionn and Clarice passed relatively quickly—his frustration mounting to the point that he knew staying to continue would only lead to an attempt for further bloodshed at either of their hands. He directed one of the junior knights to strip the commander's corpse of its armour and weapons, much like they'd been doing with the other dead around the glade, before going off on his own, staring silently into the pool as it reflected the rising moon.

His ride back to Aimlenn passed in sullen silence, as he dropped far to the rear of the train rather than maintain his customary place near the front. A silence that persisted for the entire day after their return, the normally gregarious knight rapidly retiring to his room rather than socialize with the others; he was even curt at breakfast the next day, finishing his daily work out in the training yard without much to say before moving to pace around the castle.

As absorbed in his own thoughts as he was, though, he wasn't too blind to notice someone else lost in the same.

"Brooding doesn't really fit you, captain," he said in lieu of a greeting, though he waved as he walked up. "Too short for it. Not really the right place for it, either. Have you tried atop our tallest tower, or is there a good cliff nearby that you can glare out over?" In spite of the way he'd been since their last battle ended, he grinned in response to his own jokes. "We should probably trade places, though if we did that I'd have to worry about Renar and Serenity finding me and making fun of my attitude. What's got you all troubled like?"

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

A patch upon his face, shielding a fresh scar from the gentle sun until the freshly healed skin was ready to taste air.

The dark clothes on his frame, while soaking up Reon's soothing grace in a comforting way, concealed many of its kin— scaffolding to cover an array of bruises, scrapes, slices, and soreness from the long night before, each a lesson most men only ever were afforded the chance to learn once. But his head had always been hard, sadly— and for all the good it did in shrugging off wounds, it showed equal obstinance with everything else.

And so, in spite of his sudden battlefield clarity that had seen him leverage the strength of his peers against an old, hated foe, the damage had long been done— and he'd enjoyed a cold, stinging, and sore ride home for it. He'd been lucky to escape truly serious injury, but by the same token that had meant their detachment of the Healing Corps had rightly placed most of their focus on those worse off— Sir Sergio and his broken arm, for instance. It wasn't until later that the combined forces of magic and medicine had gotten their hands upon him.

Closure of wounds, balms for pulled muscle, a brace on the forearm where he'd been bitten, just in case there was a crack in the bone.

Everything had been taken care of in short order, to their credit— but his cavalier attitude towards anything he could feasibly ignore had earned him an earful twice over. Doctor's orders were strict and straightforward— "Take a damn day to get your strength back, idiot".

So.

He was mostly fine, save for these precautions.

He had the day to himself. A rare thing. He'd preferred filling time by honing his body in some way— training, conditioning, strength exercise, sparring, all things that were, for the moment, off the table. His hands hated being idle.

For a time he'd drifted over to the library, plucking free Fechtbucher to skim through and return in short order, still very much a physical learner— he'd keep the newer tricks in his head for a proper time, but if he'd taken them with him the urge to try and meld things into the greater fold of his technique would doubtless overcome his better sense.

Instead, he'd left with a few rolls of spare parchment in hand, a piece of advice on the mind, and way too many hours to fill— all those lesser-kept activities arising in clarion call, now freed from the monolith of "training" that had squashed them beforehand.

...Do I really sound like this when I've got nothing to do? Reon's rays, Sagramore, quit rambling.

He'd found himself marching through the gardens at a pace not quite determined or swift, nor exactly that of sightseeing or smelling the roses. He didn't have a destination in mind, so much as a specific person to hunt down— one Dame Serenity had mentioned off-hand as worth recruiting for one such Task Previously Avoided.

A shame he had such preoccupations, really— He was a farmer, not a florist, but the full palette that seemed eternally in bloom was a backdrop few would argue unworthy of some appreciation for. There was a beauty in the vibrant arrays that he had rarely gotten to see in prior life, one whose fragility doubtless required constant maintenance, lest it be lost to wind, sun, or in the cold that was yet to come.

He rounded a bend, looking past all of this, aimlessly searching.

"The one day he's not working on his damned mill when I nee— Ah."

Goddesses knew what Fionn was doing here, in all places, but that solved that problem.

"There you are. Hey, I got a favor to ask. You buuuu..."

Around now was when his mildly frustrated glower drifted down to contemplate the shock of gold that had sat in the foreground, between he and his fellow mercenary alum— the shock of gold set into a crown braid, whose station demanded more respect than this, whose frustration was already evident upon her face.

"You're busy."

He wiped the look from his bandaged visage as though blinking away smoke, and nodded deferentially to her before he made more of an ass of himself. "Apologies, Captain. Morning."

Lein

---

Location: Garden Shrine
Interactions:

---

The shrine amongst the garden did not wear grandiosity in its sleeve. Two rows of large stained glass panels oversaw a pool of water and a flame, enchanted to burn with eternal endurance atop a carefully raked pile of charcoal. Cultivated along the steps toward the shrine's center were rows of roses and lilies and beyond those, a small area for seating. Among a tucked seat in the corner sat a cross-legged Hundi, head resting on the wall, ears pressed down in waned attention.

He had woken up in his dormitory, the haphazard chaos of the room reigned in somewhat by a tentative hand. Lein had apparently slept through the whole return journey, falling behind the slew of preparations Lein had cultivated in a single stroke of drowsiness. It should have been a cause for panic. But instead, Lein found himself simply falling back into simple routine. With a fumble to find his control over his legs again, the Hundi pushed through the throngs of off-duty knights and toward the sloping roofs of the garden shrine.

He was there to loiter, as usual. The plucky presence of the Hundi had occasioned the shrine many a time before, well past the sun's reign and sometimes holding a pack of cards and gaze combing the attendees for the eagerest accessory to his irreverence. At times the gardeners would confiscate the cards and chase the Hundi out of the garden and hand his scruff back to whatever duty he escaped from. Others, they would entertain the Hundi for a while, nursing their own boredom and curiosity with Lein's insouciant tales of his own tedium. Whatever attitude they held the rogue element, Lein would usually show up in a couple days in the exact same fashion, waving a different set of cards to whoever would partake in the entertainment.

This time, though, both the Hundi's hands were empty. They held instead an anxious void, the digits pressing into each other and marking a crescent redness where flesh yet permitted. The sounds of the Knights outside leaked in dribbles, but the quiet crackling of the eternal flame yet prevailed. Someone had cracked open one of the smaller windows, allowing a small patch of roses to enjoy the sunlight directly, uncolored by the decor of the stained glass murals. It swayed ever so slightly in the timid gusts of breeze, and a little more vigorously as a knight wandered in to offer his prayers. And Lein, for once, wouldn't be the one to disturb the quiet. His two green eyes just idly followed the knight through his movements.

Strange, how thin the difference between boredom and solace was. Lein had too much struggle telling apart one from the other, like a drunkard whose fondness for ale had slaughtered his sense of taste in anything that wouldn't knock his senses stone dead. So Lein would usually excise the whole lot and aimed for a day full of every event he could dip his tail into, burgeoning with the beck and call of a hundred different faces. This time, though, it would only be his own blank face, staring back at him from the undisturbed surface of the pool.

She had allowed herself the privilege of a late morning that day. Not because the encounter with the Golden Boars had exhausted her, but simply because she had been riding for so long beforehand. No, it would be best to keep the Golden Boars out of her mind. They and theirs had been a disappointment, too similar to the bandits of that uncrowned ‘king’, ultimately unable to force any real challenge unto anyone.

She remained in a liminal, transitional space, unable to see where she stood. Unable to have something that caused the blood to properly boil, unable to find ferocity reciprocated in equal measure. It was strange, how her desires had become so malformed once she had joined the Order, once she surrounded herself with allies who were only her equals or were legends far out of reach.

Stranger still, that her enemies became ones who were either not worth the blood they spilt upon her steel, or whom her steel had no hopes of leaving a mark upon. Perhaps she should’ve hunted for a worthy head. Perhaps she should’ve left others to handle themselves in those battlefields. Perhaps…

Serenity withheld a sigh within the shade and heat of Candaeln’s forge. She inspected the buckler once more, checking for any dents or nicks, any flaws to fix up, but there weren’t any. Her sword had already been cared for, sharpened and oiled, while her armour only required some surface cleaning to remove the viscera. It was busywork, really. Even as someone who was proud of keeping her equipment in pristine condition after every fight, she understood that this was all just busywork. Something to take her mind off the strange sense of futility that had slipped into her mind over the past few weeks.

What are you trying to be?

A knight.

So lost in her thoughts was Fanilly, that she hadn't realized Sir Fionn was approaching until he spoke.

"Ah, Hello, Sir Fionn."

Turning to face him fully, the Knight-Captain bobbed her head in greeting. The former mercenary had been in an irritable state ever since the conclusion of the battle at Cae Mayl, after the enemy who was behind the curse hounds and the abominations presumably also murdered the Golden Boar force's commander to prevent any information from being revealed.

But it seemed as if now he was at least somewhat more cheery. Fanilly was at least a little glad to see he was doing better, no matter what other thoughts distracted her.

She paused another moment before answering his question, when she noticed that Sir Gerard was approaching as well. For a moment it seemed as if he had some manner of business with Sir Fionn, but decided to put it off for now.

"And Sir Gerard," she nodded her head in greeting towards them as well. He'd been injured during the battle with the Golden Boars, but as far as she had understood it was nothing serious and the healers had already set him on a swift road to recovery.

There was no reason to behave in any manner below her station, no matter how frustrated she felt, so she quickly did her best to banish the look of irritation from her features and compose herself.

To be honest, she shouldn't have been spending her time out here like this. And there was no need to preoccupy her knights' time with their Captain's complaints.

"It's-"

And yet, she hesitated. It was her frustrations, yes, but it did matter to the good of Thaln's people...

Fanilly sighed.

"It's just, I... we didn't learn anything," she said, with a heavy sigh, "Aside from the vision of a white mask, we didn't find anything out. I don't know where to look next. I was going to go to the library to try and do some research on the potential locations of Angroron's shards, or what could be done with them, but I don't even know where to begin."

@The Otter@HereComesTheSnow

An unknown face appeared at the entrance to the forge, looking around with a searching gaze. At first glance, he seemed to be a squire of some sort, a blonde teenager just a few years younger than Serenity, clad in a gambeson and with a simple arming sword sheathed at his side.

A glance around showed him only Serenity in the immediate area, and he approached, an easy smile on his lips.

"Excuse me," He raised a hand in greeting, patiently waiting for Serenity to finish up her work before speaking to him. "Apologies for bothering you, but I'm looking for someone. Have you seen a knight with brown hair and an orcish cloak? Usually carries a poleaxe? I've been looking all over Candaeln for him, and considering he wasn't at the training grounds, this was the next best thing."

The boy gazed at Serenity curiously after finishing, his expression betraying no mockery or malice.

"Are you one of the apprentices here at the forge? Or a squire like me? I'd been under the impression your order didn't take squires, barring some exceptions."

@ERode