While she lacked a mouth, the Feinyar's expression seemed to brighten when Sir Fionn spoke to her, and at the very least she decided to give him a little more room, leaning back and clapping her ashen, wood-like clawed hands together.
Her only response, however, was to somewhat vividly gesture. Indeed, while she did likely have a name, it was difficult for her to convey it. She had also nodded enthusiastically at Dame Tyaethe's request, implying that she did indeed know nithyr and that her relationship with them was seen as a positive one in her eyes.
Fanilly inhaled deeply.
Some fae could be harmed by any weapon. But many could only be damaged by unworked iron, or magic. That meant that there was one more preparation they had to make before following the feinyar to their destination.
"Lady Gertrude? Lord Arken?"
As she spoke, the knight-captain drew her sword from its sheath.
"To fight the Midnight Hunt, our weapons will need to be enchanted," she said. It didn't need to be anything particularly powerful or impressive. Rather, it simply needed to be a basic enhancement to bequeath mundane weaponry with magical damage. One that would last long enough to be sufficient for the battle. Given how many weapons needed to be enchanted, it didn't make sense to try and do anything more complicated.
The only exceptions were the feather-blade that Sir Fionn had been donated, and Dame Tyaethe's sword. It was fairly obvious those didn't require any additional attention.
After that had been done---
It would be time.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed, following the feinyar.
But the air itself had changed. There was a chill in the air that hadn't been present just moments ago. A creeping coldness that crawled up her limbs, as if her skin had been bare to a chill breeze. It felt as if eyes were scrutinizing her from every direction, looking through her and down to her very core through armor and cloth and flesh.
Fanilly's heart was pounding. Tonight, they would be facing a threat that had never been conquered. Even those who survived the Midnight Hunt had never ended it.
---But that was what they had to do. For the sake of restoring the Duke's sanity, this was their mission.
She couldn't afford to have any hesitation. She couldn't afford even a moment of doubt.
She had to lead the Iron Rose Knights to victory, no matter what.
Fanilly sucked in another deep breath.
Their guide had come to a halt. They were in a clearing in the forest, a large hill on the opposite end that continued into the treeline. Here, the moonlight was sufficient to see somewhat more clearly. That would at least be helpful in fighting the Hunt.
The chill here was greater. The Feeling of being watched was stronger.
Without a doubt, this was their destination. While they weren't visible, the very sensation in the air told Fanilly that the Midnight Hunt was well aware of their presence.
Fanilly's fingers wrapped around the hilt of her blade. The enchantment had given it a warmth, a faint heat almost akin to the sensation of lightly holding a living thing in her hand.
The sword sang as she drew it.
The Knight-Captain glanced back towards her knights.
This was the final moment. She could feel it in the air. Against her skin.
They were at the very brink.
And then her vision was filled by it.
A wide, unearthly, toothless grin on a pale mask, at the end of along neck attached to a vaguely human body, squatting on all fours. The smiling face twitched, a lengthy limb reaching slowly towards her.
For the briefest moment, it felt as if her heart had stopped.
For the briefest moment, she froze, as the smiling thing reached towards her.
---Her grip tightened.
She slide one foot back, raising her blade and twisting her body in the same moment. The magically-enhanced edge of her blade found its purchase, plunging through the unseelie creature's neck and severing it from its body.
With a spurt of unnaturally bright, red blood, the creature toppled sideways, its mask rapidly transitioning between different emotions. Shock, horror, sadness, joy, anger, each one played upon its face over and over again even as its form began to droop and distort, its unmoving body laying otherwise motionless on the grass.
The Hunt had begun.
Now, the treeline was filled with movement. Shapes emerging from the darkness. Distorted, hound-like creatures, hairless and pale with human-like faces. Tall knights in bronze-colored armor with unnatural proportions astride skeletal deer, their helmets adorned with uncanny faces and lengthy spears gripped in their hands. Ghoulish, gangly apparitions that appeared to fade in and out of existence as they slipped through the shapes of their fellows. Hunched, cloaked figures gripping wickedly-curved daggers, unnatural bodies concealed beneath leather and fur. Dark red and grey imp-like figures with insectile wings, holding small bows or hunting knives and wearing nothing to hide their twisted bodies. Crawling, pallid, gaunt human-like figures. Grey-skinned men with wide grins and dark eyes, wielding swords and axes.
A pure white figure in a white dress, cloth hanging over her face and obscuring her features as she rode upon a white horse that appeared far too thin.
A figure with a bird-like white mask cloaked with feathers, long limbs curled against their body and the translucent form of a ghostly falcon perched upon their shoulder.
A faceless, leather-armored man with two manfaced dogs on chains, snarling and biting as their burning eyes fell upon the knights.
A figure in charred armor, cloak smoldering with embers, a length of rope in one hand and a beartrap gripped in the other.
But one figure stood above all, at the peak of the hill---
The thick, crimson plate armor adorned his frame spoke of his identity immediately.
The great, skeletal creature he road, some atrocious blend of horse and deer and lizard, belonged only to him. The cloak he wore more resembled branches, or veins, hanging from his back as opposed to any sort of fabric.
His face was a skull, a tall three-pointed gold crown perched atop it, his eyes two burning coals in their sockets.
Rozenalt.
He raised his blade, pointing its tip skywards.
Fanilly drew a deep breath---
Now was no time for fear, for hesitation, for anything less then decisiveness.
It was time that they would put an end to a grim legend.
"Iron Rose Knights!" she cried, "Tonight, the hunters shall become the hunted. We will put an end to Lord Rozenalt's Midnight Hunt!"
It had begun.
