---

@VitaVitaAR@HereComesTheSnow@Conscripts

---

Now it was Fionn's turn to look confused. Serenity had pointed Gerard at him to help with writing a letter? If Serenity was encouraging Gerard to write in the first place, he'd have first assumed it would've been to personages noble or important enough that she'd rather be the one that help write it. She knew the right way to phrase it all, after all, and—Gods and Goddesses watch over his soul—she was often more genuine than Renar with such things.

Even the friendliest letter in the world from the latter might still be best treated as a threat, warning, business contract, or all three at once.

"Aye, I suppose I can," he replied at last, a dubious shift to his normal rhythm and intonation. Given that it was entrusted to him to watch over, likely it wasn't any of what he'd first imagined—but Gerard should be more than capable of writing a letter back home without any aid. "By your leave, captain. I doubt he wants to talk over any private letters with you and Steffen right here to listen in."

"About time it stopped pissing down rain, was getting tired of wringing out my cloak..."

Rolan Herzog was resting at a small campsite, the sun low in the sky as the day grew close to its end. He had been on assignment, looking into reports of particularly evasive troublemakers that were reported to have ties to the wrong side of the War of the Red Flag. His orders had been to go investigate, and if they were indeed tied to the rebels report back and join the contingent sent to sort them out. If they didn't, he had been given liberty to deal with them himself. It had turned out that, in fact, they had been using the name without any ties and, with that report sent back to Candaeln so he could focus on cleaning up. It had been a busy few weeks, tracking them was tricky under good conditions, and it had been pouring rain for almost the entire time. He had just finished up cleaning out the last of the troublesome individuals, leaving him too late in the evening to depart immediately, instead resting by a campfire on the outskirts of town. While officially grateful, Rolan knew full well that taking advantage of that would go poorly, so he made camp outside the town and planned to depart at dawn. While restringing his crossbow, he found his mind wandering to, once again, how the hell he had found himself as an Iron Rose.



This had been a year ago, and Rolan had been kept incredibly busy chasing and tracking problems ill suited to more conventionally noble knights. Rolan had been careful to keep his family name out of the knowledge of his fellow Knights, simply claiming he had no family name prior to joining the Iron Roses. No one had called him out on it yet, either out of courtesy or genuine lack of knowledge, but it didn't serve him any to make a troubled family history known to his fellows. Fortunately, when out on his own and at camp, it was easy to muse on such things. Especially since, well, it beat just sitting around with an empty head. Satisfied with the maintenance on his crossbow, he stood and rigged his surroundings with some rudimentary alarms. An old trick he learned before the Iron Roses, but anyone not paying attention would trip over them and cause some loosely balanced camping supplies to topple over loudly. Of course this would wake Rolan up, ideally, and it was part of his standard practice when he couldn't take turns standing watch on the times he had company with him. With camp secured, he retired to sleep. He planned to make an early morning of it, and get back to Candaeln. It was almost two weeks out on foot, and the sooner he started the better.

---

It had been a long two week's march back to Candaeln, though to call a lone Knight returning from a fairly inglorious tasking a march was generous to say the least. What had made it a long march was the fact the damned dream was still keeping him from really focusing his mind on anything else. Had he been going mad already, after only a year of formal service? He would have to discreetly poke around with some of the other knights once he returned to Candaeln. Rolan had slept off the exhaustion that came from that initial day, though he couldn't afford to slow down on that first day, in fact he had made double time back to Candaeln, to look into whether this dream was just limited to him or any of the other Iron Roses. By the time he reached his destination, he at least looked as well rested as someone who just spent weeks on the march.

Rolan stretched as he strolled along, keeping an eye out for anyone of sufficient rank to report back to. Returning to Candaeln was quite the luxury compared to moving through the villages, though he never felt exactly at ease in the seat of the Iron Roses. Sure, he was a Knight and was officially quartered here, but it didn't feel like a home or even a base to operate out of for him, it never had. Hence why he always volunteered for longer, far flung missions that took a bit more of a delicate hand than an armored gauntlet might otherwise offer. Still, it wouldn't take him long to end up passing the Candaeln Shrine, and spot a Knight only the blindest fool would miss, and a complete stranger alongside her.

"Well, good as time as any to report my return. Get a measure for this new person too..."

Approaching the shrine, Rolan made no efforts to try and stall any further. Might as well check in, see what he missed, and if he was lucky get a new set of marching orders. Unlikely, he would probably have to at least check in with the Knight-Captain given how long he had been on assignment, but at least he could get everything in motion right now. He announced himself upon entering the shrine properly, hand raised in casual greeting. Tyaethe was a well known face, even if he spent more time away from the other Iron Roses than most, but he honestly did not recognize the smaller, pale woman. Horns, pale skin, pale hair, like someone had pulled a plug and drained the color from her. He had better things to do than gawk and judge though.

"Tyaethe, found yourself a new friend, looks like. Finished that clean up job, my last report on them not being related to any remnants of the rebels made it back here I assume."

@6slyboy6@Raineh Daze

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter@Conscripts

Gerard caught the expression, offering Fionn a slight, barely perceptible shrug as response— communication that was a signal horn between Faceless, but for normal, better adjusted people? It did everyone involved the favor of expressing "hey, I don't really get it either" with some subtlety. It'd be enough for the attentive. He turned his head to the Captain, throwing her a nod to affirm.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to waste your time. Especially now that you're working a lead on the important stuff."

---

There was a long pause as she waited for Tyaethe to respond to her question, but the closer she leaned towards the short vampire in anticipation, the longer the silence was held. The knight was giving her an unmistakable look of confusion, one which Amy would not accept in place of an answer, not this time. As moments passed and turned into seconds, Amy was afraid she'd have to resort to other means to convince Tyaethe, but then a new figure caught her attention who had just entered the chapel. A servant? No, a fellow knight it seemed, one whose eyes were filled with a single-minded focus as he stared at Tyaethe. Probably not here for a prayer, Amy figured. Leaning back and giving her superior some space, she made sure to smile at the newcomer and take a good long look at him. She'd do well remembering the faces and emotional auras of her fellow knights, just in case she ever lost control again.

Listening in silence as the man saluted Tyaethe and reported to her, his words made her soft smile much wider. Nodding enthusiastically once he finished, she'd stand up and offer a small bow towards the knight before reaching out to shake hands with him using both arms. "It's great to meet you, my name is Amy! And why indeed you are quite observant! Me and Tyaethe are toooooootally friends, one could argue the best of friends! Isn't that right, bestie?" She asked with a mischievous grin as she looked at the vampire, a happy glint in her eyes as she enjoyed her little teasing. This fellow knight was precisely what she needed to break the metaphorical ice between her and Tyaethe, and a chance to change the somber mood into something she felt more comfortable with, more playful and cheery.

"I was just finishing teaching Tyaethe some Mayonite prayers, so maybe the moon goddess can bless her with a personal raincloud during the day and save her from a tan." She exclaimed, needing considerable effort to save herself from a laugh as she twirled her fingers and summoned a miniature cloud right above Tyaethe's head with her magic, complete with tiny raindrops and the occasional thunder. Now that she looked at it, it seemed to perfectly match the bored look of the vampire that she was used to. "Maybe you'd like to join us in a silent prayer and receive the blessing of Mayon too? A job well done deserves the praise of the moon goddess after all." Though she was a knight, for the longest time she was training to become a priest. Even if she was an unusual cleric with her antics, she was very much devoted to her faith, and a prayer with her fellow knights would surely tighten her bond with them AND her goddess at the same time. A few more prayers and friends, and she'd have no reason to worry about her powers anymore. "So what do you say, friend? A quick prayer never hurt anyone."

---

@Eisenhorn@Raineh Daze

Tyaethe's reaction to the raincloud was a stream of muttered cursing in Ithillane--intelligible enough to tell that the girl clearly wasn't happy about this turn of events, but distinct enough from Thaln that it wouldn't be clear exactly what she was saying without speaking the language.

"This one is a new recruit," she said, sighing. "I feel like we've just gained a dog instead."

Well, whenever the knights had had dogs for various reasons, they were generally better trained... although, she hadn't been too involved in that side of things. She couldn't train people, let alone puppies. And they were too cute to subject to any sort of training that might come to mind.

"Unfortunately, we can't keep hunting down any last rebels, recent events in the capital suggest we're going to need all the strength we have available..." What followed was a brief summary of everything from the assassination attempt onwards. Jeremiah, after all, had been part of the same extinguishing of rebels.

"So, yes, as Amy suggests, a prayer might be in order. Though I hardly think it should be celebratory..."

---

@VitaVitaAR@HereComesTheSnow@Conscripts

---

As Gerard addressed the other two himself while Fionn waited for a response from the captain, he turned, idly glancing across the garden. Then he squinted.

Did it suddenly get a little darker inside the chapel's windows? And was that muffled thunder he was hearing, on a clear day?

"Do you ever wonder if something bad might be brewing just out of earshot?"

The first thing Rolan noticed about the pale horned woman was how chipper and kind she presented herself to be. Between the bow, sudden two handed handshake of a greeting, and her rather intense focus on teasing Tyaethe, well, it was fairly apparent she was peculiar as far as knights were concerned. Of course, he had no room to talk, still dressing and conducting himself like a crossbowman rather than a knight, but given the unique situations the Iron Roses seemed to routinely find themselves facing, having some individuals who were atypical would be a useful boon to have, as far as Rolan was concerned. As far as he could tell, the two couldn't be more different, but her antics still got an amused snort out of the former bounty hunter, which rolled into a chuckle when the vampire started grumbling. "A pleasure to meet you Amy, name's Rolan. I tend to spend a lot of my time on farther flung assignments, but you might catch me between tasks situation depending. From the sounds of it Tyaethe, you got yourself a certified rain maker of a pup right here."

Rolan leaned into the teasing, though mostly lightly piggybacking on Amy's own shenanigans. Once Tyaethe began catching him up to speed, that casual smile faded a notable bit. Assassination attempt, strange relics that shouldn't have been in the nation being stolen, and a consolidation of the entire order in the face of what was to come. Leave it to formal knights to miss the assassin, especially as described, but he couldn't really judge. He had been chasing troublemakers through the wilderness and hills, not standing by the core contingent of the Iron Roses. As the vampire wrapped up her brief summary, Rolan crossed his arms and whistled briefly. "Hell, things have been even busier than I would have wagered. Here I was hoping that strange dream would have been the most concerning thing to happen for the foreseeable future..."

He felt sorry for the Knight-Captain, given everything that occurred and how much blame would be heaped on her. He still believed no one that young should be forced into such a role, but he didn't hold that against her nor say it out loud. His train of thought was interrupted by the mention of prayers to the moon goddess, either for celebration or necessity. He wouldn't have considered his most recent activities praise worthy, it was clean up duty that someone was going to have to do, and while he had never been devout, there was a saying his father, loathe as he was to remember it, was fond of saying. No such thing as unbelievers in battle lines, and even if he rarely ever prayed or even considered the divine beyond when the subject was brought up around him, he understood that, between a wall and a towering brute, anyone would throw a prayer to whoever they thought fair. Besides, like was said, it couldn't hurt. "I would say the two of you drive a hard bargain, but its not much of a hard sell. I'm rusty on my prayers, so I'll let one of you lead the way in that regard."

@6slyboy6@Raineh Daze

A lily, still kissed by morning dew and first rays of gentle gold, was plucked from the garden with a farmer’s care— truthfully so, not as coy language for the ripping away one reserved for unwanted weeds. He had selected it, after brief perusal, for the least damage to the rest of the growth, cut the stem cleanly with the knife ever-present on his belt, even in peacetime, even at leisure. In his heart, he knew she would forgive this— Lady Reon was a guiding hand just as she was a fierce justiciar. All the passion in her heart that burned into fury for the sake of the enslaved, for seeing their torment avenged was too shared in gentle warmth among the grains, the flowers, the men of the land that tended them, coaxing out their potential and bounty. It was said love had many faces. As the one who looked upon all the world in the wakeful hours, hers was doubtless even-handed whether a man served her in taking life or giving it— having walked both paths, Gerard knew it must have been so.

Often he saved the visits for later in the morning, preferring to spend the first glimmers of sun at a half-marathon beneath the pearlescent golds and greens. Lapping Candaeln, usually, at a steady pace well below those maximal bursting sprints the evening often saw. Drinking in the distance, building his wells of long term stamina. For the march, for the ride, for the melee. What it lacked in the specificity that made every technique more efficient over time, it regained in the broad strokes. Additionally, for a man who lived in his own head so often that even his peers took note, the morning runs served well as meditation— to get thoughts in order before the day presented him with questions anew.

With his good arm, he pressed into the doors of the garden shrine, a small but nevertheless artful building of arch and spire— his was a poor head for appreciation of beauty as far as he was aware, but the glow of dawn was caught within the stained glass murals of twinned lilies and roses, the tiered gardens were opening with the light into vibrant bloom, and the eternal flame and sacred pool were pristine and deep as always. It would be harder to find it dull. He entered thus with his head bowed, and his stride light. He had strict orders, at least for today, to find better things to do with his time while the body rested.

Two, three, four… within a handful of steps he was before the silent tongues of red-flecked gold, a fragment of the same mother blaze that Her Paladins drenched their weaponry, in some respects their very souls, within. In sharing that root, this fire was every bit as sacred, every bit as connected. There could be then no better conduit for those that wished to be heard.

He cast the lily into the flame, bandages on the arm drinking the warmth, and dropped quietly to a knee with hands clasped. Habitually, he would mutter his daily prayers in undertone, tending to have slotted into a moment of solitude within the shrine more often than not. Here, he held his tongue— Perhaps his switch in schedule had lined him up with another by coincidence.

Perhaps it was Her Providence that brought two of her adherents here together at First Light.

Sleep had not come easily to Fleuri last night. Ever since yesterday, the knight had found himself afflicted by unease. The gravity of this situation with the shard, it was not something he had ever expected to face. At the time of his knighting, he had been certain that Cazt's rebellion would be the most dire and history-worthy event that he'd have a chance to be involved in, that he would never live to see and participate in anything of such high stakes for Thaln. Back then, he deeply lamented that he had missed out on the glory of fighting and defeating Anzel's traitorous forces, and was utterly convinced that he would not live to participate in anything comparable. Suffice to say, those beliefs and predictions were very, very wrong.

This was worse than Cazt's rebellion. Usurpers could be fought by steel and courage, and even if they could not be defeated by sword and spell, they would inevitably succumb to the passage of time. But the shard of Angroron was a threat and a foe that could not be defeated by worldly might. Even the greatest of the elves was only able to delay this threat, and it was only by the intervention of both Reon and Mayon that it was ultimately defeated. This might not be the entire weapon, but even this mere shard had proven to be capable of terrible destruction in the wrong hands.

This was beyond the ability of swords and axes to handle. They would need the goddesses.

Fleuri's morning had been spent speaking to the blacksmith about the prospect of some new gear. A new sword with a durability enchantment- and some improved armor. It'd cost him, for sure, but with such a terrible metaphysical threat on the horizon, now was not the time to hold anything back. Whatever Fleuri could still afford, whatever wealth and resources he possessed needed to go towards preparing for whatever was to come.

At the current moment, he was heading to the shrine with a hand full of lilies to pray to Reon. He needed some time to focus on spiritual matters. Ordinarily he would have come earlier in the morning, but the blacksmith matter had delayed him.

However, it appeared there was already someone here- Gerard the former mercenary. Fleuri knew of Gerard's devotion to the Sun Goddess, but had never spoken to him at length about it. In fact, he so far had rather limited interaction with the commoner-born knights, aside from Renar, whom he did not like interacting with.

But this knight was most certainly not Renar.

"Good morning, Sir Gerard," he addressed the knight as he slowly strode into the shrine. "It appears I am not the only one come to pray to Reon this morning."

“Good Morning, Sir Fleuri,” he replied, tone still a little hushed as he pulled it forth from the depths of quietened prayer. A standard greeting in any other parlance or setting, but here in shared reverence of the Goddess of Sunlight, it felt like it took new gravitas, blessings upon Her faithful. Meeting the other man with an inclination deeper from his bowed head for a moment, it wasn’t long before Gerard’s gaze slipped back towards the red flecks in the gold.

“For what it’s worth, I’d say you rarely are— we just tend to miss eachother.” he explained, breaking the clasp in his hands momentarily to display the network of cloth covering his forearm. “I tend to spend the initial hour or so of first light training my stamina. I’d guess that usually puts me in here a bit after you, but as you can see…”

A smirk, light on humor, as he stared into the flame, burning gold caught in his amber eyes. It was clear that sitting on his haunches when he was so entrenched in the routine being discussed wasn’t a comfortable position to be in, nor one he was terribly fond of.

“I’ve had some pretty harsh orders not to push myself, so I’m a bit earlier than usual for the morning conversation. I’m sure she won’t mind the switch.”

As far as Knights of the Order went, Fleuri had always ranked high in Gerard’s mind on examples to take note of, their backgrounds every bit as similar as they were different. On the surface alone, there was plenty to pick at between those two extremes… but little of it worthy compared to exchanging words with the man.

Somehow, he’d found scarce little time to do so, in more than just passing pleasantries.

“You seem much less the disorganized type than that, though. Am I wrong?”

"I'm not exactly on my normal schedule either," Fleuri replied. "Not with this shard matter suddenly rising to the surface."

It wasn't so much a physical difficulty to maintain a schedule- after all, the knights still had their castle, and had the freedom to choose how their mornings were being spent. Nonetheless, it felt to Fleuri like the world had been turned upside down, and the full effects of the proverbial inversion had yet to be felt. Perhaps it was foolish to make the assumption that his knighthood would be served in a peaceful era of rebuilding, but he had never expected something like this would come up.

"I never anticipated that we'd ever be facing a threat anything like a shard of Angroron. I too would normally come to the shrine earlier, but with what changed between now and a few days ago, I've found myself needing to attend to other matters."

In addition to the possibility of obtaining better equipment for the times to come, Fleuri would also be spending time today sending letters out. His family needed to be informed of the danger present in Thaln, and Fleuri also wanted to give some old friends and rivals from his tournament days some assurance that he made the right decision joining the Iron Roses. He wondered if Gerard had any similar business of his own.

"But no matter the worldly matter to address, we must find time to commune with the goddesses. After all, it was they who granted the power that shattered Angroron and saved the world the last time."

Gerard blinked, realizing he’d either been misinterpreted or much more likely made an incorrect assumption regarding the regiment his compatriot’s daily goings-on followed, and decided quickly to shelve the matter rather than let it start bogging things down. Such would be impertinent in the midst of communion with their shared Goddess, probably—

But as a more direct concern, talking in circles would be to give voice to those very same thoughts that had so often taken his focus from the world around him in these quieter moments, pulled him away from direct action towards the lofty goal of true knighthood.

“True,” he breathed. “Their blessings come in every form. Often I’m here to ask for simple clarity in their light— fruitful purpose to the labor that awaits as well as the labor I’ve already done.”

A holdover from his days in the fields. The village of Shilage had always held Lady Reon in high regard, making their daily vows to her as the Crop-Raiser moreso than the Scales and Spear of Justice. That he had invoked her as Breaker of Chains on that fateful day…

Their will worked in strange ways with fate, but he could not doubt they tugged upon the threads. His faith had kept him from the brink. What else could he do, but stay the course?

“It goes without saying that their wishes regarding the shards don’t need a lot of guesswork, though— Shattering the thing the first time is plenty clear. I’m dumb, but I’m not that stupid.”

That said.

His gaze slid over again, to regard the other man— He had said the words in passing, but…

“I was raised on stories like that one, like Elionne’s, like that of the Witch-Queen. Only the most fanciful of the legends make it as far out as the border villages, maybe. But… What did you expect, coming in?”

He had an ancestor that had sworn into their Ranks, Gerard knew that much— had Armand not left his family any such tales?

"Surprisingly, not much," Fleuri answered. "I figured that with the War of the Red Flag over, the kingdom would be entering an era of peace and consequently, the Iron Roses' duties would be mostly peacekeeping. Stamping out banditry and rogue mages, dealing with occasional orc incursions, and maybe the odd Cazt holdout. It's actually the reason I didn't join the Roses earlier, because at the time all I was thinking about was glory and believed there was none to be had with them at this time."

Fleuri leaned against a wall, as he mused about his past.

"We definitely did have stories of the Roses among our house," he continued. "Armand Jodeau is probably the most notable, but my grandparents were both Roses. When I was young, they'd regale me tales of those days, of their deeds and adventures. As a child, their stories made me want to join the Roses, but as I got older and more foolish, I became fixated on how unsung their tales were outside of their tellings."
The knight paused, appearing somewhat saddened and regretful. The last time he had attempted to speak of his regrets in his past, all it succeeded in doing was making Renar hate him even more. But Gerard seemed a more understanding sort, despite his association with that un-knightly knave.

"Suffice to say, I was wrong about the lack of threats this era would face, and I was wrong about the importance of being remembered in the troubadour ' tales. I only hope that what I gained from my foolish years- the experience, the money, and such- will be able to do some good in the coming days."

“Well, we’ve all got our paths, I guess. I’d be remiss to claim mine any less foolish or naive.”

Through the retelling, Gerard’s expression had remained in neutral cast, quietly taking things in, as was his habit— Fleuri was right not to expect the snap judgements their peers might have offered. He’d been seeking perspective, after all, and over the years had learned it best taken in its full breadth before speaking. Inference from half-formed thoughts had a way of leading him astray.

If I learn to fight with these soldiers, I’ll be able to cut down more evils than I ever could without. A sword against the wicked, like any good man is.

Earning money and serving Reon hand in hand… that’s basically halfway to knighthood already. Nobility means money, doesn’t it? If I save enough, build enough, that opens doors even to commonfolk like me.

Sir Agrahn was a common soldier too. If I walk his path with all my being… maybe I’ll be accepted into similar company.

Words passed through him, echoes of such empty-headed days. He shoved them down. The past was the past… If he had as much intention of growing past it as he claimed, it by all rights needed to be kept there. He couldn’t change it— what could be changed was himself.

“I feel pretty similar about my past life. So far, I think the time at war’s kept me alive, if nothing else. Training’s training, no matter your motive for it, no matter what in life granted it to you— So better we’re here late than never, no? Better we had our time in the trenches, making mistakes?”

He’d been telling himself these things for a while, when grappling with the winding path his life as a warrior had taken. He wondered how that stacked up against Sir Fleuri’s views, as a man who had all the potential and ability and standing he may have needed at any one time, once of eligible age. Would he see it the same way, as someone who seemed to believe his choice was the only thing that had stood in his way?

For Gerard…

“If I had to talk personally, it’s the hard lessons that stick the best when you learn them. Maybe it’s because I’ve a thick head, but I can’t say it’s all for nothing. You didn’t keep hounding the tournament ring forever, right? At some point, you realized you’d found your mettle wanting. You knew you had to change and did it.”

There was a steel in his words, beneath his usual deference and respect for those that, in his mind, were further along the road he walked towards that ideal he held dear. Conviction that there must be some truth here.

If there wasn’t, where the hell would it leave him?

“I’m not a mercenary any more… but I was for six years. Everyone seems to appreciate that I’m here in spite of that, having come into knighthood off a one in a million chance. So are you still a fool, Sir Fleuri? Or are you here in spite of what you used to be?”

"I can't say for sure I'm not a fool," Fleuri replied, "But I want to think I'm less of a fool than I used to be. And every morning, I intend to be even less of a fool than I was the previous day."

Just the last few missions felt like they had imparted some very meaningful lessons. And that was before Merilia's dream and everything that had happened since.

"You're right about the hard lessons, he continued. "Whatever our paths may have been, they've led us here, and helped us to become what we are today."

And for what it was worth, his time wasn't entirely wasted. He gained money, some influence and fame, and plenty of combat experience- even if it was merely in a regulated, non-lethal setting. What mattered now was putting what he had gained to good use serving the crown and the goddesses.

"So, now that we're here, what do you think of it, Sir Gerard? What do you think of finding ourselves at the very forefront of what could potentially be the crisis of a century for Thaln?"

Even and balanced wisdom, in spite of his regrets.

Gerard nodded, seeming satisfied enough with the response for a moment.

“Me? Much as I hate the idea of my mind turning to blind rage the moment I start actually learning to use my head again…” he chuffed for a moment, seemingly content to keep the dry humor of professions past around a while longer. “It’s daunting, but it’s our duty. Each one of us is bound by Oath to stand against such evils as this, with all our courage. These artifacts are so accursed they tear up whole countrysides, as the legends go— if they’re being disturbed, collected, our goddesses forbid put back together? We have to act. We don’t deserve to bear the name of the Saint’s Order if we don’t.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I’ve been ready to put my life on the line for ages. I won’t say it’s not a frightful position we’re in, but at the same time, I am thankful to have a noble fight to take up my sword for.”

"I know what you mean about how daunting and dire this situation feels," Fleuri confided. "I'd consider this potentially worse of a threat than Anzel Cazt and all his traitorous forces were. But as you said, it's our duty to face this threat, just as Elionne and her knights faced down the Vos Korvungand, the dragon Volkstraad, and a traitor within their own ranks."

That last one sent a chill down Fleuri's spine. Could it potentially happen again, he wondered. Was there any way they could have seen Edwin's betrayal coming, and if history repeated itself, would the current knights be able to see it coming? He thought of asking Tyaethe, but he was hesitant to dig up what may be a painful memory for her.

"I only hope that we can prepare for it. That dream that we were sent was a sobering wake-up call for me to focus more on becoming a better fighter. I'd say that it was fortunate timing that the dream came when it did, but I don't think it was a coincidence at all."

“It wasn’t.”

He spoke with a surety that wasn’t quite authoritative, but rather stemming from a mind that had found a fitting way around everything thrown at it. He didn’t have the facts. He wasn’t really going to, as far as any reasonable expectation guided him. What he did have was a pretty good guess.

“Not if we all had it. Not if each of us had it tailor-made— Nico and Fionn faced aspects of Sir Florian. Serenity, Dame Sescille.” He skipped mentioning Renar after a moment’s consideration. The consistent tension between them, in his mind, was their business. If he wasn’t going to try and play peacemaker between them… He would at least not say anything that might further stoke things. “Myself against Sir Agrahn. Shared visions are rare enough on their own— but to give each of us the image of the Founders in life?”

For what must have been the hundredth time, for what felt like the thousandth, his mind’s eye flashed back to the shadow looming over him, raising his blades high with not even his infamous Berserker’s Rage, but instead, cold, tight, overwhelming force. Anger held in check by purity of purpose. Never sacrificing clarity for crushing power. Eyes that burned like furnaces, never wildfires.

Everything that he needed to become.

“I know little of Witches, but I know Dame Merilia’s been around as long as the Order has at least. She’s been keeping an eye on things for all that time. When she was watching us all from up there, she was making sure we knew how far we have left to go.”

"Aye," Fleuri agreed. "We have a long way to go, that much is clear. But I believe that we can get there, one step at a time."

“We will.”

His gaze lingered on the flame as he rose, as though his utterance were a vow to the Goddess on her burning chariot high above rather than an affirmation of Sir Fleuri’s. For a moment, stillness took him, posture rigid and expression flinty, stoic, serious.

And then… the corners of his mouth quirked upward, just so, as he turned.

“Until then, Sir Fleuri—”

A hand, free of the nursing wing’s mummification and callused by nigh on two decades of hard, fruitful labors, fell onto the senior knight’s shoulder. It carried with it camaraderie, brotherhood. Trust, even.

“I’ll keep following your lead.”

Faith was more than devotion to the Divine. It was also found, perhaps even stronger, in confidence in those around you.

“Let’s make it a Good Day.”

@Crimson Paladin

As a cleric, I suppose it was only natural that she'd be at the chapel. Of course, that makes things difficult - I am unsure when would be an appropriate time to present Amy with the dessert that we'd so painstakingly attempted to bake. Surely it would spoil if I were to delay?

"You never told me she was a Mayonite, Serj." Abele is trying his hardest not to mock me openly, probably the greatest display of restraint I've ever seen from him outside of him not bashing his own head into a wall as a toddler. I nevertheless hush him, as I approach the group of Knights in the process of beginning their prayer, holding my covered dessert in my hands uncharacteristically awkwardly.

Abele shadows behind me with a stupid grin on his face as I glance to the group with a smile.

"Apologies to have caught you all before your commitment to Mayon." I say, with honesty. "I have...business with Dame Amy, but perhaps I-"

"We."

"Perhaps we could join you in prayer first?"

@6slyboy6 @Raineh Daze @Eisenhorn

---

“— Yeah, I’m guessing she just figured you’d be more personable about it, or something. It’s Serenity, I can’t imagine she hasn’t had her fill on talking with other heirs to nobility twice over by now— I can get why she’d want a break. You said he got strangled wearing all this?”

”Magic, lad, you know how it is. Damned mage had him cursed before we could even start the real fight.”

Within the confines of Candaeln’s walls, there were many footpaths that were well-traveled enough to, by virtue of thoroughly foot-traffic pulverized grass alone, count as their own little trails despite lacking all the usual markers of designed intent— masonry, symmetry, so on. One such cut through the training yard at an angle that had been collectively decided to be “the quickest from the quarters to the smithy when trying not to get other people in the way” in ages past— and Gerard was pretty sure he’d seen supply caches being ferried along it too, despite usually passing in through the main gate.

So to speak, then, it wasn’t much an outlandish sight for those nearby to see a pair of their peers ferrying a crude burlap sack that clanked, jangled, and was generally unwieldy in the way loose steel tended to be. Raw materials could be sourced for commission by the knights themselves, after all— as slapdash as things looked, with one of the men single-arming the load due to a firm warning from the Healing Corps that So Help Them, If He Didn’t Take It Easy He’d Make The Other Arm Worse— most onlookers quickly went back to going about their day

The strangest thing about it was probably that the injured party was chatting freely, so often instead locked in his own little world, for better or for worse. Usually worse— he wound himself up with that shit sometimes.

In the aforementioned free hand, the rolls of parchment was held gingerly enough that it probably hadn’t set into shape yet, and was his end of the deal the dynamic duo of ex-soldiers of fortune had cut. They were to become missives— one to a house of minor nobility, as suggested by their leonine counterpart, and the other…

Well.

“Hell, speaking of. Your family even know you’re still kicking?”

Fionn furrowed his brow as they walked along. He’d offered to carry all the armour himself and spare Gerard some trouble, but he wasn’t cruel enough to deny the younger man an opportunity to feel useful if he really wanted it. It just made their current travel a bit more awkward, though with the benefit of some more time to converse.

”I don’t think they ever expected anything, really? I didn’t learn to read or write until I left with that merchant caravan. Last my family likely heard was when they went back to the village and told them I’d kept going further south.” His gaze turned northwards, staring thoughtfully off into the distance. He’d not heard of any news of anything bad happening in the general northern part of Velt, though the likelihood that anything about his home village would reach so deep into Thaln with any recognizable identifiers remaining was low. Alette had mentioned anything, either, though he had no way to know if she’d ever veered up towards where he was from.

”Do you think I should write them? The old priest is kindly, like. He’d probably read it to them if none of them have learned yet.”

“Huh. Merchant caravan passing through taught us too.”

Gerard’s eyes followed a similar path, the words on his tongue idle as his mind briefly transported itself far to the northwest. To Shilage. There, a young woman, barely older than their Captain or the aforementioned scion of the Arcedeens surely was wiping sweat from her brow, knee deep in her task reaping summertime fields of wheat. Her cause was every bit as noble as his, in some ways, moreso. Reon’s rays venerated them evenly, but this was what he had been born into and left. She continued with dignity, day in and day out. Halfway done now, she’d be thinking. As a gust shook the canopy of apple trees close by, she would look towards Velt in turn, where many a trade wagon had kicked up dust along the road that split their village in two. One such had given her the gift of reading. Another had taken her brother, as though an exchange five years in the making, and left her to handle his half alone, on days like this.

He blinked, shifting his grip on the mass of fabric as Ardor’s shop crept into his periphery. It was by no means small, as he’d yet to hear of the Dwarf ever wanting for more equipment or facility, but when he considered the scale of the Order, of Candaeln, Gerard thought it… artisanally cozy.

“I dunno.” he admitted, “I’ve never really stopped to think about them. Never managed to make my way back, either. They probably figure I bit it.”

”Ah, I’m sure they’ve got more faith in you than that,” Fionn protested. ”Maybe if they knew just what you did with the Faceless, but there’s no way they know that, right?” Now, had his family known just what role Gerard would fulfill, no doubt they would’ve found a way to stop him from ever setting off—and they’d likely have been right for it, Fionn had to admit. His family likely would’ve done the same had they known he’d ever leave the merchants and join a free company himself.

But Fionn’s didn’t know he’d ever do that, and Gerard’s couldn’t have known he’d be thrown into the forlorn heap at the front of every charge. The only reason they’d have to assume either man had died would be the lack of communication, and outside of the major cities and roads, getting messages back and forth was often either dangerous, costly, or both. They could nurse the worry if they wanted, but to assume either man had outright died after only a few years, when missing people had reappeared after longer than that, would be going overboard.

”Wait. It’s been more than ten for me, hasn’t it?”

Fionn shook that unintentionally-verbalized thought out of his mind, looking back to Gerard. ”Come now. Think about something happier in all this. You’ve never told me much about your family—how many siblings have you got?”

A midday gust brushed against the pair, warm as it rolled down the ivory walls that soaked up Reon’s blessing. On it he tasted wheat, apple, split wood— a small “heh” heralded a soft smirk worming its way up to meet the sun.

“Three. I was the second son, sisters coming after me.” he explained a moment later, twisting his trunk to reach for the door as they drew upon it. “Me and Izolda were the ones that had the time and minds to hang around long enough to learn when they passed through. Our brother was too busy with Dad, our baby sister still learning to talk.”

Knuckles rapped against the entryway, stone warm in spite of being veiled by shade. A moment later, to account for the possible work noise in there, the younger knight hollered— a knock was easy to miss beneath a beat, but a name could be picked out from within a storm.

“Ardor! Fionn and I good to barge in here?”

”Whit?”

As expected, the dwarf still couldn’t quite hear them.

”We’re coming in!” Fionn called, pushing on through the entrance without a care in the world. At that, the castle smith, who had ceased his work for the moment just to be able to hear what was coming his way, filled the air with a litany of curses while rushing along to meet the pair.

“Like hell ye are, ye glaikit, up-jumped freebooter!”

Ardor Rockhammer rounded the corner quickly, his chiseled face red from the forge he’d just been stood in front of, eyes glaring menacingly out from under a heavy brow. ”Get tae f—” he bit back on the last words, noticing Gerard stood next to Fionn, and gave a weary sigh. “Why is it ye cannae gie me some warning, MacKerracher? It’s three times in the last month ye’ve just barged on in. A need tae hae some time tae clean first, dafty!” His glare softened, Ardor looked over the pair, before his eyes narrowed shrewdly.

“Whit’s in the poke?”

Fionn waved him over, opening the sack slightly. ”Raw materials, or a payment for such. Lad needs armour.” The dwarf took out a piece, turning over the rerebrace with a critical eye that had days before been worn by a Golden Boar. His eyes narrowed further, glancing up at the pair.

“Man died in this, aye?”

“Strangled, to hear him tell it— by an invisible hand. Some damn magic took the poor bastard in the middle of a duel.” Gerard cut in, glancing sidelong at Fionn. The highlander had been wearing his furor around him like a cloak the whole ride back— while Gerard didn’t see any signs of his anger regarding it spooling up today, to be fair to him, he couldn’t imagine that point wasn’t still a little sore. No need to get him on the topic.

“Why do you ask? Just a question of cleaning the stuff, or is it some kind of bad luck?”

He’d heard similar suspicions passed around fires and trenches alike— oftentimes while wielding hatchets, short blades, and the like all pilfered from fallen foes. He tended to dismiss them as paranoia earlier on… but as the years dragged by, and as his career took the shape itr did, his stance on the idea as a whole had mellowed considerably. It probably would have explained some things.

Wearing a Boar’s armor, whether the size and quality were mostly amenable or otherwise, had enough reasons to rankle him internally without anything like that.

“If Fionn’s talking me into five years of spurned fate, I’m gonna be upset.”

Ardor turned his gaze from Fionn over to Gerard. “Whit? No, wis just wondering how dented it’s gang tae be. But, strangled? Magic? Better than A’d thocht.” He put the rerebrace back in the bag, yanking it out of both of their hands.

“Oh, good.”

“Aye. Come on, then.” The smith waved for the pair to follow him deeper in, carrying the bag on his shoulder without any trouble. Fionn clapped Gerard on the good shoulder, and followed along. The temperature rapidly rose as they penetrated the heart of the smithy, where Ardor’s apprentices and assistants had resumed their earlier work.

”Can’t say it’ll fit him all that well, and I can’t imagine he’d want to wear it as-is, knowing who it came off of. But if you’re willing to take that all as payment for a set to his liking—”

“Ach, quit wi’ your bletherin’ an grab me book,” Ardor commanded, cutting Fionn off and pointing at a loosely-bound parchment notebook with a stick of charcoal next to it. Rummaging around on another table, he pulled out a length of knotted cord. “A need tae measure ye, Segremors. How padded d’ye want tae be?”

Measurements? Oh hell, this was the tailor again. He was about to learn that half his gear was five pounds out of date.

He shelved his misgivings quickly— much as he didn’t care for certain elements of the process, ill-fitted armor would be a death sentence on the field if he wanted to commit to better coverage. Belts and straps could manage a lot on a budget, but entering the realm of harness meant those days would be squarely over. Solid pieces of steel didn’t quite have the give cloth or maille offered to cover up inexactness after the fact.

This was why knights had to be so damn rich.

“Conservative with it where we can,” he replied after a deep breath through the nose bought him time to mull it over. “I like a high workrate in battle, so whatever can be thinned out in the name of staving off overheating.”

With this, he’d be able to keep himself safer in the field while the corrections to his form and tactics came through his time spent in the yards. He wasn’t of the belief he could change wholly within so little time— the forlorn’s aggression would doubtless return as, if nothing else, a safety valve before he could truly settle in.

He’d be working up a sweat for a good long while. Confident as he was in his own stamina, he needed to ensure that he could still leverage it if need arose.

Ardor nodded, stepping in towards Gerard and pulling his right arm up. “Good. Ye arenae the sort tae think ye need a full gambeson under. A get the pleasure o’ pointin’ that out tae half the lads come through here.”

Gerard elected not to mention how close he’d come to being half the lads that came through here, nodding along.

The measuring passed quickly, Ardor manhandling Gerard into position without bothering to request the movement first, calling out numbers to Fionn to write down. He had no clue what the units were; certainly not anything either knight was used to using, at any rate, so it must have been something Ardor had adopted from his home culture or had developed for his own use.

After that was all done, Fionn passed the notebook back to the dwarf, who began pulling out the former Boar’s harness out of the sack and laying it out in full, gazing over it with an appraising eye. In the heat of battle or his own sulking afterwards, he’d not had a moment to really inspect the armour himself, but with it all in the glow of the forge Fionn could recognize that it was, surprisingly, fairly high quality. The mercenary captain may well have been a disgraced knight with a harness like that.

“Hmmph. Aye, this should cover something decent for Segremors. Ye want flashy?” Ardor turned, squinting back at Gerard. “No, ye arenae the sort, are ye? A ken your sort. Ye want practical, not parade. It’s A will owe ye, not the other way around.”

”Can I make some extra requests, then?” Fionn asked hopefully, before Ardor shot him a glance that at least looked like a sullen glare in the forge’s light. He didn’t imagine it was, though, unless the smith was playing up some sort of faked disappointment at not being able to extort the pair for coin.

“In a bit. Ye have any preference for style, lad, or shall A jus’ sketch some ideas an’ ye’ll pick frae them?”

Somewhat against type, Gerard had an answer for him.

“Are you familiar with some of the older Veltic styles?”

He doubted the answer would be “no”— he’d heard somewhere once that dwarves were a long-lived race much akin to the elves. At the very least, moreso than men. There was every chance that Ardor had seen what he envisioned falling out of vogue.

“I’m from Shilage. We’re a border town, and got passed around plenty between here and there depending on which earls or marquesses or whatever had the backing to call their shot. Ends up leaving us a lot of their stories— our namesake was Count Istvan, who fought with the Hraeslegs.”

A tower of a man, taller even than Renar and sturdy as a castle’s gate. The iron count’s brutality was legendary, and his whirling flail was said to have struck fear into the hearts of a legion of Morahti raiders by sound alone.

Having been a warrior for five, nearly six years now, Gerard had of course come to realize that bit being likely embellished. What wasn’t, though, was the truth that he had torn out the chunk of Thaln upon which Gerard’s village sat for Velt eight hundred years back— though few believed he’d gobbled up territory for a nation’s sake moreso than his own.

“That kind of silhouette’s always been what I’ve envisioned, truthfully. Imposing, solid, but… not quite brutish. Hm. He’s not a perfect example, is he?”

Ardor nodded along. “Aye, István Shilage. My granda told me stories o’ the Lions, he remembered when they wis roving a’ over. He took a sketch o’ their armour, A hae it around somewhere...” He turned, grabbing a different notebook and flipping through it. “No, that’s the Demet lad...ah, here.” He glanced between Gerard and the sketch quickly, before moving to grab his own book again. “How long d’ye hae tae wait? A can draw up some ideas, here, or A can find ye later on tae show ye.”

”Why don’t you interrupt him like you do me?” Fionn wondered out loud, though just quiet enough that Ardor seemed to have missed it.

The parchments in Gerard’s injured hand took center stage now, rising to meet the dwarf’s gaze.

“Spare us some charcoal and we can keep busy until you need us.”

“Use the piece MacKerracher’s got. Hope ye’ll switch tae ink afore ye send that off.”

“We will.”

I’m not that dumb. he thought, less inclined to take his chances with Ardor’s hearing.

”Alright, I know where there’s a free table and we’ll be out of the way,” Fionn cut in, tugging at Gerard to follow along behind him. ”We’ll be keeping our ears open, Ardor.” Once they passed to an outer corner of the workshop, under a window giving some much needed air movement and light to the shop, Fionn cleared some tools off of a nearby table and pulled a couple stools over.

”Now, lad, who are these for, anyways? I didn’t catch what you said at first, other than Serenity thinking I’d be more personable-like. Family’s one, aye?”

“I’ll be honest, the spare was just in case I completely bungled it until an hour ago.” Gerard sighed, placing the sheets to either side of the table between them. “But yeah, I’m getting to thinking I ought to write home. Izolda can read it to the rest— they oughta know I’m still kicking, at least.”

Here, he tapped the one to the right side, as though there were a difference to point out. It may have been a little fresher, but it was every bit as blank.

“The one she suggested I get help with is to head to a house of minor nobility— well I would imagine it ideally to be one of three, but I’m going to start with Sir Galfont Tulburn, and his daughter, Angenese.”

He couldn’t help it that he was most immediately drawn to the shared experience of crushing a slaving ring, that he had the most idea of what to say. He was literate, sure, but the act of transcribing words onto paper was not so simple as being able to read things as well as you could say them. Doubly complicated in that he dipped his toes into “courtly friendships” with these missives, a world he had only scratched the surface of thanks to the lioness’s guidance.

“The three I met at the ball,” Rhetorical explanation. He knew Fionn would know. He’d caught the weird looks when Sergio was talking out of the corner of his eye— Man, what was up with those two and Nicomede? Like Oil, Water, and Some Third Thing that didn’t mix with either. “We had a friendly enough chat between us— Least I can do is follow up and wish them well after ordering them beneath a table.”

”Aren’t they just kids?”

“So’s the Captain. So were we, setting out.”

…

“I mean, I agree, but that’s the point she would have for the both of us. The young lady Cazt’s also in that mix, and look what she’s capable of. Look what she’s got to handle.”

His jaw tilted to the side and came to rest on his knuckles as he propped an elbow upon the table.

“I can see why she’s advising it, from that perspective. Kids, sure, but people deep enough in court to be invited to that Ball all the same. ‘They’re going to be in these spaces we occupy now for a good long while, so why not be friendly?’ Is probably the idea.”

He looked Fionn in the eye. “Like you befriending Princess Maletha, you know?”

Fionn turned away for a moment, head rocking back and forth. ”I doubt she even learned my name that night,” he said after a moment. ”But I hear you. Wanted to make sure you weren’t getting any of the funny ideas actual nobles do.”

Eyes narrowed.

“I should slug you, fucker.”

”Hey, you know it all as well as I do. I’m almost surprised Renar hasn’t suggested something like that just to make you angry.”

He knows I’d slug him, the fucker.

You’d never slug me. You like me too much and you know I’m looking out for you.

He sighed. “Yeah, I do know what you mean. Rest assured I want nothing to do with anyone younger than my sister.” He placed his hand over his heart.

Fionn nodded. ”Aye, best give it another few years at least.” With that comment hanging in the air for a moment, Fionn maintaining the straightest face he could, he pointed back at the parchment. ”I think I’ve been talking with Renar too much. Now, let’s get started. You remember all their names, aye?”

Gerard put his fist down, with some reluctance.

“I do. Angenese Tulburn, Tenessa Heinlein, Violette Scarnsbek. The last is going to be a bit barebones by necessity, I imagine— poor thing was bored to tears talking with people not titled ‘Princess’ near as I could tell.”

”And Tulburn’s the one for today, aye? What all do you remember about her, personality wise, how she talked?”

“Gregarious.” He replied, leaning forward and clasping his hands. “Of the three, she was the oldest, the one that did the majority of the talking—I’d describe her as the ‘leader’, so to speak. Did the introductions, did a lot of the explaining of the quirks of the other two. Excitable, real friendly, seemed not to mind a little uneasiness between Sergio and I, for whatever that might be worth.”

He had to wonder why the hell how she talked factored in, but Fionn had explained methodology well enough with everything else he’d asked of him (guards, managing ranges, reversals, funny things to do with the false edge) that he trusted he’d not be in the dark too long.

“Her father is a Sir Galfont, in service to the Crown. She downplayed his standing… well at least in comparison to us, but she was very proud of his deeds, the stories he brought back to her.” He smirked, faintly. “He recently took the head of a slaving ring’s captain, I’m told.”

Didn’t I tell her to tell her Dad I owed him a drink? It’s a bit of a blur there. I should try and make good on that just in case.

Fionn closed his eyes, thinking back on the what he could remember of the girl’s appearance as Gerard continued to describe her. It was important to try and piece together the person that the communication was directed at; happy accidents might come along every now and then, but talking and writing were strategic activities just as much as battle. The trouble so many ran into that understood that, in Fionn’s mind, was that they forgot to remain genuine through it all.

”So. Friendly and personable, noble born, and I’m guessing enjoyed the stories, but they might have been more for the benefit of the Heinlein girl, and she was more in it for the novelty and the interaction.” He nodded to himself, opening his eyes again to stare directly into Gerard’s own.

”Try to meet her on her own level, the way she talked. She’ll probably appreciate the attempt even if you aren’t perfect at it. It’ll show you care to try and reciprocate the friendliness as much as the letter will. Don’t be too direct. And—while you shouldn’t go into too much detail—talking a bit about how we just dealt with a patrol of Golden Boars should help maintain that link between yourself and her father while she’s reading.”

He paused to think again, brow furrowing slightly.

”Oh, obviously make sure you wish her well and hope she’s doing alright after the ball. I’m sure they found that quite a bit more stressful than we did. I know Elisandre and Maletha didn’t enjoy it one bit.”

He glanced over the way they’d came. “Be shooting myself in the foot to mention where we got the armor.” he wryly intoned, before turning his gaze back to Fionn. “Definitely mean to do that, yeah. I had a full head of steam when they last saw me— soon as they were beneath something solid, I was after Tilli.”

He’d not wasted any time. In the moment, he was sure it was the right call, as indecision became paralysis in those sudden tumults. With as little as they’d known in those very first seconds, he stood by the act— but now, weeks removed, he could see how it would have only added to the Chaos for the three.

“Friendly, not too direct…” he repeated, audibly searching for the balance in his head.

”You can be very blunt, friend. Like a hammer against a platter.”

“That’s progress.” he blithely retorted. “Last time I heard it, it was ‘hammer through a window’.”

”Sack of bricks landing on a workman’s head,” came the bland reply. ”Tyaethe’s just as bad, though, and she still grew up with it. Try and handle it a little more dexterously than...well, than the way we talk to each other, but just as friendly. Handshake, not hammerfist. Like you’re handling a sword, not a club.”

He loved a good hammerfist to the temple, but the point was made well and clear. Not a shock— of his own volition, there was a lot he reigned in when speaking to their fellows of more genteel background, The Fleuris and Serenities and Captains of the Order’s ranks. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t going to be too far removed from just… going back to where he had ended up when first speaking with them. It was stilted compared to this, but so were a lot of things— even those that he’d subsumed readily into his day to day.

The elaboration, by that metric, almost seemed overwrought… Almost.

“I’ll have to hear what I’m writing, then— but I think I’ve got the gist. Don’t overthink it, don’t make it flowery either. Just write like I’m chatting with…”

He looked for an example.

He landed on one.

“Viora? One of the maids? No, no.”

He jumped the hell away from it, visibly catching the issues there. He was polite to them out of necessity— such as it all was, Gerard still valiantly tried to ignore the fact that the knights had servants that way as much as he could. You ordered little shits born after you around to do menial stuff, not other adults with dignity.

Hell, you know what?

“If I’m going to be writing one letter as an elder brother, why not two…” he ventured.

Fionn’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he listened. ”Not a bad idea,” he agreed. ”But like I said, try to meet her on her level with the diction. You can afford to be awkward, you can’t afford to be stiff.” He raised his hand from the table, gesturing back in the direction of the garden.

”You’re pretty stiff with most of them. You’re more personable than you think you are, I reckon, but words just aren’t how you show it, usually. That’s where the struggle is going to be here, but you can just grab me to proofread for you once you start writing. You need to be as warm as you are friendly, so the brotherly tack is a good idea.”

Still, he was content as it was that Gerard had more or less perfectly grasped the point he wanted to make. Enough so that he’d nearly forgotten something else he meant to mention to the younger man—

”Oh, right, the maids. That reminds me of something.”

“I thought this was proofreading.”

Flat as the head of a mesa. Innocent like a toddler learning a curse from an older brother, whose hiding was now imminent. Serenity had told him to bug Fionn for proofreading, and whatever that had to mean it meant enlisting his help.

“What are we doing now?”

This guy definitely did not have much occasion to write.

”...Coaching? You haven’t written anything yet, and I can’t tell you how to fix it until you start, otherwise it won’t be your words and thoughts on the page.” Fionn blinked.

”Anyways. You heard that Gemma came down sick, right?”

Refer to the top of page 11.

“No, I didn’t.” he replied, frowning. “It kicking it outta her?”

”Enough that she’s not going to be able to do anything tomorrow. She and Mirèia were supposed to do the cleaning behind all the store chests and such down in the cellars.” He shook his head, thinking about just how much that would be to have to get behind. ”You know how small that lady is? She’ll have no hope of getting it all done with how much she’ll have to move on her own. I won’t be around, though, because I’ve got to head off to the orphanage.”

Fionn glanced back at Gerard, piercing green eyes making direct contact with wolfish amber once again, concern across his face.

”You’ll help her, won’t you? Arm should be alright enough by then, and if not, at least with the one you should still be a good help for her.

”You do remember which one is Mirèia, right? Tawny hair, very quiet.”

“Think I remember.” Gerard replied evenly, not rising to the bait but well aware he was gonna get strongarmed regardless. That was fine, the more he helped, the less grief he got for whenever something else would pop up down the line.

”I think she’s, what, a quarter Hundi? It’s strange just how strong those ears are coming in down the generations.”

If I say ‘I thought her hair was just a little messy” like a dumb asshole, he definitely believes me.

“Wonder why that is.” He murmured, casting his eyes onto the ceiling for a moment. “Do they even hear all that much better with four sets?”

”...What?”

“Two sets. I misspoke.”

”They only have the one set.”

His brow furrowed, his gaze burning through the masonry above, his mind double checking every memory involving Lein for the bottom set of ears.

“...”

They were getting sidetracked.

Then again, he could have started putting charcoal to paper at any time, couldn’t he? They’d laid things out more than sufficiently.

With a snort, he plucked the lonely stick of blackened grey, his hair’s kindred in hue, and brought it to the top left of the first sheet.

”Segremors! MacKerracher!”

yeah I deserve this

Ardor Rockhammer’s booming voice drew up both of their eyes out of the conversation they’d just been having. The muscular dwarf’s stubby legs still managed to carry him to their table quickly, where he laid his notebook down between the pair. “Thae are my sketches, lad. Pick that ye like the most.”

Gerard leaned in, eyes scanning the drafts for the details that resonated most. Ardor had decades of experience sketching out his vision for the steel, that much was evident— it hadn’t felt all that long that they’d been at their back and forth by his count, and here the old craftsman had cooked up a quartet of form factors at remarkable fidelity.

“...Here.” he indicated the second sketch after two minutes of silent contemplation, poring over the lines. “I like this one’s balance. I can fight in that well.”

Ardor nodded, making a check mark next to the design chosen. “A’ll hae it ready by the next time your crew puts out,” he affirmed, before looking over at Fionn. “An’ ye were askin’?”

”Two requests,” Fionn said, unbelting his sword that he’d grabbed along with the Golden Boar’s armour and laying it on the table. ”Sword could use something to reinforce it, and nobody topside knows that rune work better than you. Also, if you’re able to make it double as a sort of spell focus, that would be grand.”

Then he grinned, an expression that might have made Ardor’s heart shudder if he hadn’t already gotten used to Fionn in the past.

”Second, do you think you could make me and Tyaethe some boar spears?”

Even Ardor went pale at that request.

“Dinnae tell me the twa o’ ye are huntin’ the oversized swine down south.”

”That’s exactly what we’re doing, and I need spears for it!”

“Ye’d best bring me back a hide. Quality.”

”Pristine, like. And any other parts of it you decide you want, although we’ll keep the best cuts.”

Ardor nodded, sticking out his hand, one that Fionn grasped and shook enthusiastically. ”Fantastic! Alright, I’ll leave the sword with you then. I’ve got to go grab something from the kitchen—missed breakfast—and then get back to work on the cider mill. Gerard, you’ll grab me once you’ve got your draft written, aye?”

“Yeah. Will do. Meet you at the press.”

”I’ll be waiting!” Fionn exclaimed, before pushing back his stool and rushing out of the smithy faster than was normally his wont. Unsurprising, if he had missed breakfast, the big man needed to eat. Of course, he also had to go and tell one of the maids that he’d secured her help for the next day.

“How’s that cider rig comin’ out, anyways? A couldnae get a chance to see it since he started.”

“Near done,” Gerard replied, having seen the older man off with a wave and a grin.”Pretty rustic stuff, all told, but we’ll be drinking some proper quality by winter.”

He turned away from the exit, and back towards the pages, still smiling.

…

…

He took the damn charcoal with him.

Renar strode through the city, clad in little more than a simple tunic, trousers, and cloak, along with his sword. Today was supposed to be a day of rest, so he'd endeavoured to spend it at least somewhat productively, meeting some contacts of his within the city and keeping abreast of the latest occurences of import.

He cut through an alleyway, glancing aside to a random building as he emerged from it. An orphanage, if the sign out front and the children playing in the courtyard were any indication. A rare moment of reflection had him thinking that had his life taken a different turn, his childhood could have been like theirs. Better? Worse? Who knew. It didn't matter, regardless. He was set on his path, and-

Renar did a double take as he recognized the build and beard of the man out front tending to the children. He stepped closer to check, only to find his suspicion confirmed.

"Fionn?" His tone bordered on incredulous. "I should be less surprised to see you here. This is what you spend your free days doing, then?"

Fionn glanced up from the bundle of short staffs he'd been carrying, blinking in silence as he looked at Renar for a moment. Where the taller man sounded somewhat incredulous, he seemed almost dumbfounded at the sight.

"Aye, sometimes," he replied, giving a small shrug. Had it been Serenity, he likely wouldn't have been nearly as surprised, given she'd already expressed some interest at coming by to see him teaching the children. Renar, though, he'd gotten more used to imagining at his office when not out in the courtyard—so seeing him out by the orphanage and interrupting his prior thoughts all at once was a small shock.

"Was just getting ready for a lesson. What's got you wandering around out here? Others got you restless like?"

"Something like that. I had some people to see within the city today." Renar shrugged, observing Fionn and the various children out in the yard. Worn clothing, of course. But nothing particularly ratty or full of holes. No signs of malnourishment, either. A reputable orphanage, then.

His gaze shifted over towards the staves in Fionn's arms.

"Starting them on the basics of arms training, are you?"

"Keeps them out of trouble for an hour or two a week. Helps them get each other out of trouble, too, sometimes." He set the staffs down, waving at Renar to come inside the gate if he wanted to keep talking. He didn't much feel like calling out over the yard and its fence for an entire conversation, especially not when the orphanage's charges were already starting to gather and get ready for the week's lesson. "Who were you out to see? Seems like you're more inclined to send letters than actually go out, normally."

Despite his misgivings at dealing with children, Renar entered the yard as he was bid, closing the gate behind him and casually leaning on the fence as they continued to converse.

"Trying to establish contacts among less...reputable individuals. Just in case, for future use. We ought to just leave the matter there."

He glanced past Fionn to the youths starting to gather, his expression not betraying any particular approval or the opposite. Just apathy, really.

"Are you going to coerce me into helping if I stay for the lesson? Dealing with children has never quite been a skill of mine." Apart from Elias, but Fionn didn't need to know that. Hopefully Serenity hadn't mentioned him just yet.

With a noncommittal grunt, Fionn shrugged his shoulders—before grabbing two of the staffs, tossing one over to his highborn companion without any warning.

"Might be you were never going about it the right way, or in the right circumstance," he replied. "But you're more agreeable than you like to let on. How's about you and I give a demonstration, instead? I won't make you stay to teach if you don't wish."

Of course, where Renar might have had misgivings about the possibility, that didn't match up with Fionn's own understanding of just how much Renar didn't have the bearing of a teacher. It might prove entertaining, but while Renar really didn't often take the effort to coerce that he made it sound like, Fionn didn't intend to do the coercing. "Should be fun. I'll even make sure not to give you too many bad bruises, eh?"

Renar caught the staff on instinct, quirking a brow at his friend. Well, he should have figured he wasn't going to get out of this without doing something. At least he wouldn't have to actually deal with the grubby little urchins. That little twinge of reflection he'd had hadn't lasted long. Of course, it hadn't applied to anyone but himself in the first place.

"Oh, fine. If you insist." He twirled the staff around in his hand once, testing its heft and weight before walking to the side and settling into his starting stance.

"And don't flatter yourself." A brief smirk crossed his face. "I'll let you have the first move, even."

"Do I ever?" He stepped away from the rest of the pile, tossing his staff in the air, spinning end over end, before snatching it back into his grasp as it came back down. His second hand grabbed it wide, each nearly end to end, as he spun on one foot to face Renar.

Before—without missing a step—the energy of his short turn carried into a lunging step onwards, the staff cracking forward as his hands slid back together in a rapid uppercut aimed to catch Renar in the armpit.

"Cheeky!" Renar didn't let up his smirk as he barely managed to intersperse his staff between his armpit and Fionn's weapon in time. "Showing off for the children? You'll teach them bad habits."

He didn't hold his weapon in position for long, weaving around Fionn's staff and whirling it around to build momentum before bringing it down towards the former mercenary's head.

Small wonder Fionn was teaching them baton combat. Renar didn't much care for it himself, considering it highly impractical for anything other than combat against unarmored civilians. Still, one couldn't expect these orphans to ever have to deal with anything further than the aforementioned while only having barely adequate weaponry.

As Renar wound around into his own strike, Fionn drew back his staff through his right hand; then he swung it around again, left sliding to the middle, knocking the overhead strike wide with the opposite side of his weapon as the staffs smacked together a second time. "Seems like it did what I wanted," he replied with a wink. "Your parry was slow."

Not that he was going much faster for the moment, just holding the staff, reversed, pointing at Renar's throat like a spear. Were this a real fight, or even a tournament bout, then he might have played more true to form—close the distance, turn the energy of Renar's parry into a follow-up strike, move in to grapple. Any number of other responses to other knight's strike, too, rather than what he'd taken.

But this was a bloody exhibition, not a duel. Showing off for the children was part of the game.

"Should I let you go first from now on, lad? It might help you strike a little more confident-like."

"Your little tykes wouldn't learn anything if they couldn't follow us going full tilt, now could they?" Renar riposted verbally with a smirk, before bringing his staff up to knock Fionn's weapon aside and build momentum with a quick whirl, riposting physically with an upward enleve smash aimed at the man's jaw.

Fionn let the momentum of Renar's strike translate to a quick moulinet of his own; just before the strike landed he shifted his right hand around, releasing the staff with his left as it swung behind him and back up, and returning to his original grip as he knocked the incoming strike aside. Rather than stop, this time his staff carried up and around, coming in for a horizontal strike at Renar's left shoulder—which was itself quickly knocked away.

"How long have you been at this, anyway?"

"Since that dream. I'd been visiting here a few times to help keep the place up, and the nuns running it thought it a good idea for me to come up with something to occupy the kids a bit more." He stepped back, returning to a basic en garde position. "It's been useful for them. I'm sure you can tell this isn't the best part of Aimlenn."

The pair both fell back into their starting stances, and Renar inclined his head towards Fionn.

"I meant with the orphanage in general, but you answered that anyway. Knives would be more practical, but I can understand why you wouldn't want to unleash a little horde of stabbers onto the streets." He relaxed his stance, raising his staff to rest on his shoulder.

"Think we should call it here, then? No sense dragging this on too long for an expedition. I think we've given a good enough demonstration at this point."

Fionn mulled the thought over in his head, not looking directly at Renar. After a few moments, he lowered his staff with a small nod. "Oh, aye, might be a good spot to finish with that, although I think you've forgotten the most important rule."

As Fionn finished the sentence, a very light smack of a staff against Renar's calves issued forth, the former mercenary grinning broadly—not at, but past Renar, at the young girl that had snuck up behind the taller man. "Never let your guard down when behind enemy lines."

The moment he felt the tap against his calf, Renar whirled around with staff raised. Fortunate that the girl was, well, child-sized enough for him to recognize that this wasn't some sort of ambush. He was damned close to accidentally savaging a child as it was. With a sigh, he lowered his staff, his body language still tense. What was he doing, letting a bloody child of all things surprise him?

"Point made." He said neutrally, trying as best he could to suppress his displeasure at his own self for the moment. "This one has some promise, then, if she's able to pull this off." Renar glanced down towards her with a brief nod. "Run along, now."

"And, for the record, I've already started the oldest on knife and dagger work. Entirely defensive, obviously—the nuns weren't happy with me, but even they couldn't truthfully argue that it was unnecessary." He waved the girl back to the rest of the group, away from himself and Renar. "Sure we ought to leave the matter of who you were talking to alone, though? You normally aren't that jumpy, even in a part of town like this."

Not that he'd have let it happen, of course; for all that he trusted in Renar's ability to control himself, Fionn trusted in his own speed and strength even more. "You know, as my friend, I'm even less likely to let you go get yourself hurt messing with things you shouldn't than I am these kids. It's bad enough that we've already got some of the others refusing to do what's good for them without taking the same tack, aye?"

"Goddesses above, you aren't going to let this go, are you?" Renar gave Fionn an exasperated look as he raised a hand to wipe off the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated on his brow.

Fionn raised an eyebrow, entirely innocently.

Renar stood there, letting Fionn wait for several seconds longer than was entirely necessary. Purely out of spite, of course. It wasn't as if he was mentally parsing through what he was about to say just to make sure he didn't reveal something that would get Fionn agitated enough to dig into his business even more. That would be absurd.

"I'm advancing some favors for interested parties for future reciprocation. Certain members of the aristocracy understand the value of having a mutual acquaintance connected to them while also being willing to mingle with the riff-raff, as it were. Their words, not mine. Need I elaborate? In front of the children, of course."

One could give him grief for using children as a verbal shield, but that sort of thing was a currency used far too often by certain others to have much value to him anymore.

"No, lad, I just want you to make sure you're taking care of yourself," came the quiet reply, though the disapproval in Fionn's tone was still obvious. "What we do is dangerous enough as it is without inviting more on our heads."

"Everything I do is in my own interest, Fionn." Renar shot back easily, unfazed by Fionn's evident disapproval. "You wouldn't believe it otherwise, either. Besides, do I look like Gerard to you?"

Fionn stared hard into Renar's eyes for a moment, letting the silence last as long as the taller man had before. "No, but that doesn't mean you don't give me reason to worry, either," he said at last. "I don't think you're quite as self-interested as you always claim, either, but that's a matter for a different conversation. Have you eaten yet?"

"I haven't, no." Renar deliberately didn't acknowledge Fionn's first point. Let his friend think what he wanted. Renar knew what he was. "Is this what having a bloody mother is like? Sun and Moon know I hardly remember mine, outside of her disappointment that I wasn't going to be her meal ticket into leeching off the nobility."

He looked flatly on at Renar. "Go get yourself something to eat, then, amadán. Or I really will make you help me give this lesson!"

"Fine, fine. As you say." Renar raised his hands in mock surrender as he wrapped his chosen cloak of the day around himself. An ordinary brown number, with which to better blend in with the masses. "I'm off back to the keep's kitchens, then. No point spending coin when I don't have to. Good luck with your little biters, aye?"

"Aye. Make sure they've got a good selection for dinner tonight—if it's supposed to be a fast day, we might want to duck out early so that we can get a proper meal."

"Weren't you a man of the church? I'm fairly certain that's sacrilege." Renar mocked as he walked off, one hand lazily raised to wave goodbye as he did so.

The heavy sigh that escaped Fanilly’s lips, no matter how involuntary it may have been, could not have gone unnoticed.

While she had a direction now, she was still no closer to finding the shards of Angroron, or even guessing at where they might be. On top of that, it didn’t seem as if it was going to be easy to gain access to the College’s records, let alone secure a meeting with their headmaster. It wasn’t as if she expected it to be, but that didn’t mean the prospect wasn’t a little frustrating at the very least.

Perhaps she was simply feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

The Knight-Captain’s gaze drifted as she passed, and happened to fall upon a blade that she didn’t recognize, resting beside the pallid form of the oldest of the Knights. The inscription on the blade was in Elvish, and she hadn’t seen Dame Tyaethe with two blades before.

It took an awkwardly long time for Tyaethe to react to her presence, the vampire’s eyes flicking open to look in Fanilly's direction before closing again, hands surreptitiously shifting their position to be ready to arrest her swords if they might get disturbed and fall.

"Is there something that requires my assistance, captain? I'm sure that for most purposes your tutor would be of more use."

“Ah, I apologize,” Fanilly replied, upon realizing she had disturbed Dame Tyaethe. She hesitated only a moment before deciding to mention it.

“That sword, I don’t quite recognize it, it definitely hasn’t been on display before, so I was just wondering…”

She trailed off awkwardly.

“Daybreaker? No, you wouldn’t have. It isn’t a sword that ever got put out. I wanted to, back when I brought it home, but I got talked out of it,” Tyaethe replied, a finger tracing the writing down the length of the sword. “It’s such a waste… this whole thing could probably buy you a castle, but all it does is gather dust in my room.”

Daybreaker. One of a handful of weapons forged by the most renowned of elven smiths, the creator of the holy sword Rephairon. No matter what the sword’s true abilities were, the fact it found itself sequestered inside a girl’s bedroom for years on end was absurd. Yet, with its former wielder…

“Daybreaker…”

Finally paused for a moment as she turned the name over in her mind. That wasn’t just any sword. And there was a good reason it wasn’t put out on display.

The elven-forged blade had belonged to the traitor Edwin, who had turned against the Iron Rose Knights and allied with the wicked mage Maglad and his allies. The fact Tyaethe had been there, that she was the one who defeated Edwin…

It was something she hadn’t thought of before.

It took a few moments for Fanilly to clear her throat and speak once again.

“Was… was it difficult? Facing him, at the end, er…”

She trailed off again. Was that even an appropriate question to ask? The moment she spoke, she felt like she regretted it.

“Practically, or emotionally?”

Even knowing Dame Tyaethe’s demeanor, Fanilly hadn’t been prepared for such a swift response. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, but at the very least it didn’t seem as if she’d offended the oldest knight.

“Emotionally, you fought alongside him, so… It’s something I’ve always found it difficult to wrap my mind around, I guess.”

“He wasn’t just someone I fought alongside, he was my friend. Not my best friend, I was closer to Elionne and Cyrus, but we’d all known each other for years…” Tyaethe started, pulling her arm back from the swords. “Somehow always beat me at cards, even though you would think being a vampire would make it impossible to bluff that consistently.

“I didn’t even make an attempt to fight him, for most of the battle. Sure, I could have just done my best and get through, but I tried to avoid that. Focused on clearing the way so the others could deal with the golem, or get to Maglad. We had Parv with us! All we had to do was kill one more evil wizard and talk him down, go home, and work out how to explain it…

“But then the idiot had to go and fight his brother, Parv got killed, and…” the small girl’s grip on the stuffed rabbit tightened. I was so angry, and even if it would have been better for me to go for Maglad than let Cyrus do it, and I wanted to stop him but more than that I wanted to know why.”

Tyaethe’s eyes shut again, the vampire sighing. “But he didn’t realise anything until I ran him through. And then Cyrus was gone too, and we had funerals to arrange, and… I think Elly said I didn’t move for a week? Or was it two…”

She shrugged, remembering that this was originally a question. “Fighting your friends is hard. If something has gone terribly wrong, maybe you’ll have to do it, but… don’t hang around and wait for someone else to do it. Or just leave it to me, I’ve learned my lesson…”

Fanilly drew a sharp intake of breath when Tyaethe finished speaking. She hadn’t thought about what she was saying well enough, it was obvious the paladin wasn’t in the best spot emotionally and she felt she had only made it worse.

“I’m sorry, Dame Tyaethe,” she apologized, bowing her head as she spoke, “I shouldn’t have pried. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like… I guess… I’ve just been curious about the first knights, I suppose, and I went about trying to learn in the worst way I could.”

It was hard not to show herself some derision at that point, and the awkward laugh did little to mask it.

“Hnnn… it's not like anyone else knows them better, Lilette wasn't as close as I was to most of them, and the Witch might be annoyingly perceptive but she knows better than to visit and get dragged into everything again.”

She shifted position, somehow keeping the swords balanced as she shifted to better face Fanilly, despite her hands being wrapped around the rabbit still. At least her eyes were open, now? “Well? Which one do you want to know about?”

“Ah? I…”

Fanilly hesitated again. She still felt guilty, but at the same time this was an opportunity she’d never managed to find it in herself to seek before. Tyaethe knew all the original knights, she was the best possible source to learn more on them.

The blonde girl cleared her throat.

“I… I’d like to know more about Sir Cyrus, I suppose,” she began, “I suppose it’s just that he always seemed larger than life. So I want to know what he was like.”

“He was… big.” Tyaethe stated, giving the most obvious piece of information as it came to mind and waving with one hand. “I think he was a bit bigger than Gravinir, even, if you don’t count the horns. And the way he dressed, fought… Agrahn in a rage might have been stronger, but it was Cyrus who had the presence.
“Forget all the stuff about battles and fighting, he was just a great friend. Remembered when someone’s birthday was and arranged a party without fail–I think he half just wanted the excuse, though; stepped in to calm down arguments… went along with half the stupid ideas Ed or I would have. We once got that statue of Mayon in the courtyard onto the roof as a joke on Reon and he went along with it despite the absurdity.”

The vampire snorted. “He’d stick me on his shoulder whether I wanted it or not, if he had something in mind. Even if I didn’t want to do anything, Cyrus wouldn’t let me leave myself out. Plus it was pretty hard to find someone strong enough to do some of the things he thought might be fun.”

Her cheeks turned pink, breaking eye contact, “He was also really good with children. Used to take any opportunity to help out, or play with them. Honestly, I think he sometimes forgot I was the older one… maybe he just thought I should be less scary and join in. Or both.”

Fanilly listened quietly as Dame Tyaethe spoke. It was actually sort of surreal, in a way. She’d never previously worked up the courage to ask about the founding knights, and now she was hearing about Sir Cyrus not as a historical figure but as a person. Certainly, she knew of some of these details, like Sir Cyrus’s good-heartedness. But hearing about them here simply gave her much more depth even if only for a few moments.

And admittedly, the thought of him putting Dame Tyaethe on his shoulder was kind of amusing.

“It’s kind of strange, honestly,” she said, finally, “I’ve read plenty of history books. I enjoyed it, but when they talked about the founding Knights it was always as a historical figure. Hearing about Sir Cyrus from you sort of grounds him in reality as a person, rather than someone so distant.”

“Yeah, I guess it would…” Tyaethe said, attention drifting back to the wall in front of her, “I think there's some magic or other to share memories, that would be better than telling anecdotes, but it would be much too complicated for me to attempt.”

Delicate mental manipulation? She'd probably just burn someone's head if she tried.

“Is there anything else you're interested in…? I can probably think of a specific story if I tried.”

There was a spell for everything, it felt like. Was there spells for cooking? Spells for doing the dishes? Fanilly felt certain that Alaree at least would love it if she didn’t have to lift a finger to wash anything by herself. But that was probably an outcome to be avoided.

The Knight-Captain considered Dame Tyaethe’s words for a moment.

“To be honest, er, I always had a hard time finding anything about Sir Cyrus and Sir Florian’s encounter with the White Rabbit Knights. It’s something multiple history books mention but they never go into detail about it. What happened?”

The response was a groan. “That entire thing was ridiculous, I was hoping that it would never have found its way into the books. Neither of them were particularly aware of Hundi customs, and their Ithillane wasn’t great…

“You would think that if they were travelling up in Stalva, I would have been asked to come along, but they didn’t bother. It didn’t matter that the twins were doing their best to explain, and the pair of them completely missed why these two were checking who they were interested in. The sister ended up challenging Cyrus, the brother challenged Florian… and then those two somehow thought it was a much more dangerous challenge than it was, and fought as a team.”

Tyaethe put her head in her hands, “They thought that was the end of it, but the White Rabbit Knights managed to find a good healer, and spent months following them around trying to get the duels that they had agreed to, as well as some measure of compensation for breaking the rules so flagrantly in the first place. Neither of them wanted to kill a pair of teenagers who were mostly just being annoying… so they kept running away until they lead them all the way back here.”

The vampire’s face turned pink again. “I hadn’t been pleased about being left behind, or that they’d made such a mess of finding someone fluent in both languages, like it would have been hard... well, if they hadn’t basically put themselves on the run. So, I left out the part about what the duels were for and just told them the conditions.

“Obviously, Florian and Cyrus won, but they put up a good enough fight that we asked them to join. It’s not like they were going to leave, anyway, since they were trying to get a marriage agreed… in the end, Raya decided that since Florian had knocked her out in their original fight, it was fine to go after him too, and Randon didn’t disagree.

“They never did get married, but they seemed happy enough with the circumstances they were in. Made for a shockingly open relationship, those three.

“And that is why it doesn’t get much more than a mention. The end result was all Flori’s personal business, and the actual sequence of events was stupidity by bad Ithillane.”

Fanilly remained silent as Dame Tyaethe relayed the story, but the moment she realized what direction it was going in her eyes widened. She’d never encountered a hundi on their coming of age journey before, but she had heard enough to guess at what a duel with one entailed.

As the story reached its climax, the Knight-Captain found her cheeks growing more and more red, the heat creeping up to her ears. It had all been a misunderstanding to begin with, but then for it to end up that way…!

“Y-you mean… S-Sir Florian, both of them, they, with…” Fanilly trailed off, softly placing her hands to her cheeks as she averted her eyes slightly.

“N-no wonder none of the sources I f-found ever go into detail…”

“Yes, both of them. And with basically anyone else that was up for it, Flori wasn’t exactly picky. And he was charming, and handsome, and a massive flirt. Though I think changing Raya’s mind was probably an accident at first, they were almost indistinguishable and he was very drunk…” Tyaethe continued, smirking at the captain’s reactions. Ah, she was so much more confident with fighting than even the slightest hint of intimacy, hm? That was unfortunate, she had so many more stories like this.

And not all of them involved Florian, even! Two hundred years of a famous knightly order let you spectate a lot of things.

“A lot of the stories that aren’t written down are like this. We weren’t always the most sensible lot when out in small numbers.”

It was several moments before Fanilly found it in herself to clear her throat and try and speak again. She knew about Sir Florian’s handsome looks and charms, and it was hard to avoid his reputation as a flirt. But hearing about the knight’s relationship like that was so embarrassing!

I, er, I see, er,” she tried to clear her head, “Then, um, s-something happened when Dame Sescille went to Kaerveil, d-didn’t it?”

Surely that couldn’t be embarrassing, right?

“Ah, that was that city over the sea, right? Thaln needed to do something about the growing piracy problem, so Sescille went over as the Roses’ representative. She… got bored waiting for everyone to finish talking it over, and just went looking for any known pirates. It worked, but it definitely strained relations for a while… I think I remember the souvenirs more.” Tyaethe answered, looking thoughtful before she remembered something else and shot the captain another amused smirk.

“Oh, and Sescille kept telling me how surprisingly good with their fingers nem are. More than made up for the lack of size, she said,” Tyaethe looked at her hand. “I think she was trying to tease me. Or maybe it was her idea of flirting rather than being direct.”

Ah, that wasn’t an embarrassing story at all. Fanilly relaxed a little bit. It was actually fairly interesting, Sescille being overseas—

Immediately the Knight-Captain’s entire face colored.

“Wh-wha-th-that’s…. That’s…!”

She couldn’t have meant it like that, right?!

“Ridiculous, right?” Tyaethe agreed, smirk widening, “She should have known her flirting wouldn’t work. Although, I wouldn’t have said no if she kept flaunting her abs some more… girl had some of the best muscles I’ve ever seen, and those abs? Perfect.”

“I-I… I…”

It was simply too much for Fanilly by this point, her hands having returned to her burning cheeks.

“I-I’ll t-talk to you a-again another time!”

With that, she turned and nearly ran.

She couldn’t handle any more embarrassment.

Tyaethe snorted in amusement. Who knew their captain was so easily wound up? Well, she was still young and inexperienced, it probably wasn’t that surprising. At least she’d be able to work through the stories this way, if it would keep being so fun to let Fanilly know exactly how much all those famous knights had actually been people behind the stories and legendary achievements.

Maybe then someone else would start to see Edwin as a person that made a bad choice, rather than some pantomime villain. At least, she had to hope that’s all it was, and not something that she should have seen coming, a failure even before it got to the point of battle…

It wasn’t like she could ask.

---

Amy seemingly ignored Tyaethe's protest, as well as Rolan's quips about a prayer, her fingers already clutched together as she began to think about what prayer would suit their little party the best in the moment. As a Mayonite cleric, she knew plenty of sermons by heart, but she also knew that the best prayers were those that were spontaneous and came from the heart. As such, she took a deep breath and waited until both of the other knights had quieted down and joined her on the pew before she'd beg-

*click-click*

The sound of even more boots hitting the hard stone floor of the chapel. Truly this was the day of the devout, as Amy could swear she's never seen this many people inside of this chapel. Of course, after Tyaethe and Esienhorn, she'd already dashed her hopes of seeing a fellow cleric or devout, and her suspicion was confirmed as she saw Sergio standing with something in his hand, an unknown face right behind him.

"Ah, Sir Sergio! Just in time!" She smiled softly as she scooted to the side on the pew and waved for the two newcomers to come closer, before patting the wooden seating. "Have a seat! It is good to see you in good health after the last battle. Let us have a quick prayer, and then Miss Tyaethe and Sir Rolan can be left to discuss their important... things." She wasn't sure what the best word to use was, all the high and mighty knightly duties of her fellow Roses seeming like a distant mirage. She knew she'd never get used to all the fighting like they did, nor ever wield a sword and shield, but every moment she felt more at home amongst them. The strangest devouts of Mayon and Reon for sure, but a likable bunch when they weren't covered in blood. Certainly a cacaphony of emotions and thoughts, even inside this little chapel.

Clearing her throat, Amy waited until everyone was finally seated before she closed her eyes and began to murmur a quiet prayer.

"Hear us, oh Mayon, and all those devout to your light. We celebrate all the bounty thy have given us, the good fortune and health so we may be here amongst friends today. We celebrate those who are here, and mourn those we lost, and pray for your guidance on future endeavors. May your guiding light always shine on us in the darkest of nights, and illuminate the path we shall never stray from. We thank your grace, and pray for your blessing."

Waiting in silence for a few long seconds, Amy let out a soft sigh as she finally looked up and smiled at her fellow knights. "Thank you all for praying with me, I appreciate it. I shall hold you no longer. Except for Sergio and his friend, it seems they were looking for me, rather than Mayon~" She explains and offers a small bow as she stands up from the pew. Her eyes then slowly shifted over to the mysterious item under wraps that Sergio was holding, a somewhat confused expression on her face as she was clearly sensing how flustered the knight was. What could this item be?

---

@VahkiDane@Eisenhorn@Raineh Daze

I sit by Amy, smiling graciously at the invitation, Abele mercifully deciding to sit a few pews away as opposed to next to me and Amy. The others take their seats also, and I take the moment to genuinely invest myself in the prayer. I will admit, my talks with Mayon have been far less frequent ever since the battle versus the Boars. I half-wonder if she decides not to listen and assume the sudden piousness is for my own gain with Amy.

A foul line of questioning I perished entirely, and I instead thank Mayon for sparing my life when we fought on her hallowed ground, and for allowing my arm to heal healthily in the days that follow. I also pray that this dessert that Abele and I toiled over would be worth the effort.

Fingers locked and hands pressed against my forehead I open my eyes as Amy finishes her prayer, and nod at her thanks. However her mention of 'my friend' makes me realise I hadn't even introduced Abele.

Well now he'll make a big deal of it. I grumble.

"Ah, yes, my apologies Dame Amy, this is my...half-brother, Abele." My hands lift up in gesture to him, it feels ridiculous sometimes to think we are related with how drastically different we appear.

Abele himself couldn't stop grinning, his olive features more amused than I've ever seen prior. The one advantage to this was that it probably shut the bastard idiot up. He bows, both to Amy and the other two Knights present.

Mayon seems to hear my wishes as Amy finally notices the dessert under wraps. I smile as confidently as I would normally.

"I'd been...ah..forward, but you'd mentioned your fondness for baked goods in the tent. Perhaps you'd care to sample this...I...we...baked it ourselves."

@6slyboy6 @Raineh Daze @Eisenhorn

"Plenty of pews left to fill, so more the merrier."

Rolan casually remarked on the arrival of....the name either eluded him or the two weren't previously acquainted, it was hard to say. Either way, Rolan didn't pursue that train of thought for very long as the duo went and seated themselves beside Amy. Or, rather, Dame Amy, and a low grin came to rest on Rolan's face, though he didn't have quite the time to get a comment in edgewise. Pursuing a woman of the faith, that took some stones, though from the sounds of it they were already at least somewhat acquainted with each other from previous battlefield encounters. Still, he inclined his head as Amy began the quiet prayer, mulling over the whole situation. To say he was familiar with sitting in a shrine praying would have been a lie, he had never been much of one for faith. Always left that to the priests and such who actually seemed to have a rapport with their divinity of choice, but as the saying went, no such thing as faithless in a battleline, so he never begrudged faith.

The prayer did not run for terribly long, a good thing as far as Rolan was concerned, and he leaned on the pew he had been standing next to while, what was his name... Spaghetti? No, no that wasn't it, while what's his name introduced his half brother Abele and was practically tripping over his words, at least as far as Rolan was concerned. He cocked an eyebrow at the mention of discussions had in a tent, and a less tactful man might have started snickering right then and there. Oh no, Rolan was a class act, he would start snickering AFTER he opened his mouth. "Courting a lady of faith in the shrine of her goddess, you have to have some serious stones on you mate."

Rolan couldn't help but laugh at his own remark, betraying that, while he was teasing...SERGIO, that was the name, it had to be at least if his memory was to be believed. Reigning in his laughter to a chuckle, he stretched as he stood himself upright from his lean, dusting himself off, mostly as a gesture rather than actually a necessary act. Mockery aside, he had to acknowledge it was a thoughtful gift, long as it didn't turn out to be a burnt husk of a pie or something. Not like he knew his way around a bakery, so it was probably better than anything he could craft. Still, he wasn't keen on watching the love birds making sideways eyes at each other, he wasn't brave enough for romance, too many pitfalls that. "Right, thanks for the prayer Amy, I won't overstay my welcome. Tyaethe, need me to report anywhere, or just stand by for the inevitable marching orders we're bound to get if half of what you've said is to be believed?"

Rolan wouldn't stick around for long after that, either heading off to where he was needed or going for a walkabout to stretch his legs. He really was a restless soul, not able to stay in any one place for longer than completely necessary. Besides, it had been awhile since he had just walked around and took in the sights, so it wouldn't hurt to see what was different since his last walk about the Iron Rose base of operations.

@6slyboy6 @Raineh Daze @VahkiDane

The vampire could only stare as more people came in bearing... well, she wasn't quite sure what it was, but it smelled nice, she could admit that much. And probably eat all of it if given half the chance, which probably made it for the best that it wasn't intended for her. Really, what were the odds that people would keep coming to the chapel only when she was there to talk to someone...? It wasn't like there would be a proper service that soon, and the knights were perhaps less pious than felt right.

Then again, it wasn't a religious order any more, so such things were less emphasised.

Her own prayer received an addition, added in murmured Ithillane; a request that these idiot children be watched over. After all, they were going to need it, were they not?

"You should probably go meet the captain, I don't even know if she's aware of your existence," she answered, rising with her swords, "If you need me, I'll be in the usual spot."

Amy and someone's overly cheerful sibling? She didn't want to bother with that today.

The knights’ eyes opened to a blue, cloudless sky, the sun doing nothing to warm them in the thin air. In every way, the dusty rock could not be further removed from Candaeln–but it was familiar to almost all of them. This empty plateau had been the scene for one unforgettable dream, as had the endless expanse of clouds that ringed it.

Or perhaps it was less of a dream than they had first imagined, now that they were assembled here together.

A polite cough interrupted any attempt to organise or question their scenario, the sound coming from a tiny, almost child-sized woman that had appeared in the air ahead of the group, stood upon nothing. Everything about her appearance had an air of harmlessness, from the bright floral patterns on her foreign robe to the bright cornflower blue of her toenails, except for one point: her eyes. The one icy blue eye not covered by her hair had a depth of weight and age that none of them had encountered before.

Knight-Witch Merilia.

“I will keep the explanation brief, and simple enough that all of you should follow,” the woman said, smiling and playing with her hair. She spoke with no fear of interruption–the knights’ words sticking in their throats, choking--and an amused, lilting tone. “A good friend of mine was worried about your skills. For your ages, and experience, she said you were a promising bunch… but if that was all, you’d meet a painful and unfortunate end.

“So she reached out to me, knowing that I’m not allowed to turn down the Roses if they need my talents. Only I could give you the time and place to train in time.” Merilia continued, shaking her head, “But I hardly thought bringing in the entire order would be worth it. Some would fail to thrive, others were more than skilled enough already. I could have asked the vampire for her opinion to narrow down the candidates, but that would mean tipping my hand early. And even I’m not nearly so cruel as to bring her here.

“And that’s where my little test came in! Nothing gives a better assessment than fights to the death and against impossible odds, and I’m pleased to say that you’ve all passed,” her eye flickered over to one that had not been in the test, lingering on the half-demon for just a moment, “Or otherwise have promise.”

She waved her hand, long sleeve giving a dramatic swish, and dropping a random blonde into their midst. Followed by a seemingly identical copy of the same girl. And then a broom, right onto her head.

“One of my little sisters thinks her apprentice could do with some more experience and you could do with more mages, so I’m going to leave babysitting her to all of you. Try not to let her get too hurt before you’ve wrapped up your current problem~”

She clapped her hands. “Now, what is it you have to do for your training? Why, that’s quite simple: escape this place. I’ve placed an exit far to the east, and when you reach it, you’ll go straight back home, none the worse for wear and maaaaaybe only a few minutes after you left. The route is quite challenging, so don’t worry too much about getting killed. You’ll merely appear right back here to give it another go.

“Any questions? No? Excellent! Try not to rely too much on ability to not stay dead, that would be a bad habit to develop, and have fun~”

The witch gave them a jaunty wave, and then the plateau began to drop, giving the knights a brief (and unpleasant) introduction to the inside of a cloud, before they dropped back into open air and could see the landscape spread out around them.

In most directions, it seemed to be unspoiled countryside, yet just to their east could be seen a city of gleaming white, catching the morning light as the clouds chose then to break apart. Hardly a familiar vantage point on a city, but the scale of it suggested that it must have dwarfed Aimlenn, or maybe any city they had ever visited. As they got lower and lower, the towering fortress in the city came into clear view–a beautiful edifice of the same white stone, a castle that seemed as much a work of art as a fortification.

Then even that was removed from site as the plateau dropped yet further, transforming finally into a grassy hill surrounded by forest. To the east, a broad, paved path showed the route the knights were expected to take.

Not that there was anywhere else to go.

---

Whenever they finally chose to take the path, it snaked pleasantly through a leafy forest, lined on either side by an overabundance of flowers. Now that they were down from the cold sky, the pleasant morning warmth quickly dried them off, and the somewhat long walk to the path’s destination was definitely relaxing. Aside from having been brought here by a witch trying to help.

At the end of the path was something that should not have been wherever this was. Oh, the windows were slightly different, and it stood integrated into a magnificent wall rather than freestanding… but the size, the shape, the familiar moat, and open doors were all Candaeln. Indeed, through the lattice where the moat pierced the wall, a familiar path could be seen running to the courtyard’s side entrance, and from there down into the city that most definitely wasn’t Aimlenn.

The entranceway inside was conspicuously bare, compared to what they knew. None of the displays of old equipment or relics, not a hint of a painting… but the room was the same, and it seemed that some of the interior windows were the same. One seat even had an unsurprising smattering of cushions and pillows, although the expected occupant wasn’t there.

Instead, a man was leaning against one of the central pillars, whistling an out-of-tune song until the knights came in, when his face split into a bright grin. “Well, I was wondering how long it would take for you to get here, the li'l witch told us to expect some visitors.”

He was huge, just taller even than their familiar Ingvarr, and his shirt seemed like it must be uncomfortably tight across his broad chest–tears could even be seen around the short sleeves, unable to restrain the muscles.

That size, the golden beard and mess locks–it was an undeniably familiar appearance, one that all of them would have seen walking through Candaeln. But only in the form of a painting, a record of the distant past.

Cyrus the Hammer was undoubtedly dead.

For a scant few moments, she thought she had stumbled into the same dream once again.

The cloudless sky. The sunlight without warmth. The empty plateau stretching before her vision. Fanilly recognized all of it immediately.

The sight of that dream. The one where she'd faced seemingly endless opponents. Where she'd fought the Gentle Blade.

But in moments it became clear this was no dream, after all. Because the young Knight-Captain wasn't alone.

There were others. A number of her knights who seemed just as perplexed as she was to be there once again. But before she could even speak, she was suddenly met with the sight of the one who had to be responsible for all of this.

The Knight-Witch. It was hard to comprehend what was happening, but it wasn't difficult to put together how this was connected to the prior 'dream'. Someone had asked her to do this? Who? So many questions arose in that very moment, and Fanilly found herself unable to voice even one of them.

The 'dream' had been a test? And this was meant to build further experience? Was that how it was? But where was this? Where were they? How was this even possible?

It didn't fit with any kind of magic she was aware of at all.

Even more confusing was when two identical maids were suddenly deposited ahead of them.

They had little choice but to play by this scenario's rules, regardless, so once Fanilly found herself able to speak properly again she managed to pull herself together as quickly as she could.

"I... Iron Rose Knights, we'll..." she trailed off, attempting to compose her thoughts. What did she even say in this situation?

"We... we need to get moving."

That was all she could think of, as she tried to direct her knights down the path. This massive city... where could it possibly be? Was it a fictional location, or modeled on some real place? She'd never seen one that was so enormous before. The massive white fortress almost had a certain familiarity to it, as if she'd once seen an illustration of the same building, perhaps, but she simply couldn't quite place it.

The fact that the path lead them to what was unmistakably Candaeln, even though it was different. The windows weren't the same, and the fact it was in a wall was strange, but there was no mistaking the home of the Iron Rose Knights.

But she stopped dead when she saw the person who was inside.

She'd seen Lilette in battle before, but not only was the elven knight still alive but she'd thought that she was dreaming at the time.

Now, she was faced with someone who had seemingly stepped out of a painting.

"Sir... Sir Cyrus?!"

@HereComesTheSnow@Raineh Daze@Conscripts]@Crimson Paladin@Creative Chaos@The Otter@Krayzikk@Psyker Landshark@6slyboy6@Octo

---

@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze

---

"Cyrus?"

He'd known the man was large, but seeing him 'in person' really hammered it home. It was a shame about the shirt, though—if Fionn had to guess, Cyrus wore one so tight purely to show off. It wasn't difficult to get them made to fit without tearing themselves apart.

But it did seem like a waste of good linen.

"Hey, is that story that Tyaethe told me about you and Florian and the two Hundi true, or was she embellishing that?" he asked suddenly, utterly unconcerned with either the contents of the story or the other knights around him in the moment. Even if this was just a copy of the real Cyrus that Merilia had made for their benefit—like he imagined the Florian he'd fought in the prior dream was—Merilia would also be likely to know the story...though he had nothing to go off of, guessing at whether or not she'd be inclined to embellish herself.

"Also, what was the largest boar the two of you ever took?"

"The one and only!" the man replied, grinning at them. If he took any offence at the question, it wasn't apparent from the roar of laughter. "Oh, that one is true. The twins and her never let us live it down how much of a mistake we made just because of being overconfident in our Ithillane."

Cyrus scratched at his beard for a second, before outlining a vague height that had even him reaching up. "Maybe this big? I don't remember getting a good look at it before it was cut up.

"I guess that means she's still with the knights? I hope the shorty isn't causing you trouble."