[IC] Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

[Octo]

Gertrude wasn't exactly expecting bandits as far out as they were, but she wasn't expecting a giant tree-snake either. If you'd asked her which they'd be more likely to find this close to a faerie queen, however, she probably would have picked the snake. Gertrude stood, undeterred, as the barrier that Arken had put up started shattering against the serpent's mass.

Thrinax was far more intimidating than this thing, though the terrain wasn't as much to her favor.

She could fly away, but the canopy wouldn't offer a clear shot. In fact, she might hit one of the knights by accident. Bombardment was out.

Fire was out, unless she was OK with causing some serious environmental damage that might kill everyone.

Meteor Fall was right out. Kill everyone, glass the whole area, nasty business. Would not endear a faerie queen to their plight.

Well. Since the creature was made up of a lot of different plants, but moved as one, she considered it likely that somewhere within the mass was a force that governed its movement. A central connecting point that determined shape, behavior, and locomotion. If that could be disrupted, the creature could be defeated. Otherwise, the knights would mostly be swinging at individual roots and vines. Gertrude took a deep breath, and focused. If she could sense the governing point, the sword-morons could converge on it. It might take her a moment, but she assumed Arken was competent enough to protect her. While the knights spread out, she stuck behind the court mage.

Since when did she start relying on other people to get things done for her? Curious, that.

[Eisenhorn]

Of course things would not be as easy as Rolan would have hoped, even with the combined efforts of the present knights.

Ser Caulder had struck true, supported by both Ser Gerard and Dame Yael's efforts to create an opening past the legs, though the beast had squirmed from a true gutting to a gaping wound. The fact it wasn't immediately stitching back together was proof enough that this would work, they just had to get the source of its meal free of its guts. However, Rolan narrowly ducked out of the way of the hurtling Ser Caulder, battered back violently by the retaliatory strike of the abomination, and he slung his crossbow as he grabbed a sturdy branch that was laying about. Nowhere near the practical trunk that Ser Gerard wielded, but he didn't need a bludgeon, not that he had the strength to put it to use. The pouring darkness and aching hunger would have, just a few weeks prior, driven him to flee. Hell, he wanted to still, but he could not afford to leave his betters struggling alone. Strength and agility were all fine and well, but that alone wouldn't cast back darkness. The hunger reminded him of just how much he loathed this thing's existence. It reminded him of the failed hunt, the poor harvest, famine's gaping maw seating itself as an unwelcome guest for another winter. He wouldn't allow that darkness, that hunger to set in, not again. Never again, and he was making something just for that darkness encroaching on them all. The previous fear was giving away to anger, a tight knot in his stomach that he stoked, something to occupy his mind from that gnawing hunger.

A swift slash of his dagger tore a long stretch of his cloak cleanly asunder, binding it around the branch before dousing it in half the ingredient's of his alchemist's fire, the component that burned so greedily, some of the records he read about the substance considered it almost unnatural. Nonsense, as both student and mentor agreed, but it would do in a pinch. Grabbing a small vial of prepared fire, the kind he would affix to a crossbow bolt before loosing into a formation, he closed his eyes tight as he dumped the erupting flames out of the vial onto the makeshift torch, fortune preserve him through this. The alchemical fire burned bright and loud, a roar consuming air and shadow alike as he opened his right eye, preferring to keep his dominant aiming eye shut in case he needed to shoot in a sudden darkness. He held the torch high, aiming to banish the billowing darkness coming from the ever mounting center of this unnatural, damned hunger. He drew his sword, not able to fire and reload a crossbow while holding a torch, and advanced on the Gannek to cover for Ser Caulder while he recovered.

"Come on you ugly bastard, all that hunger and darkness and for what?! Have a look at what all of that is worth!" Rolan moved to the flank of the Gannek, shouting a challenge at the thing to get its attention, to buy Dame Yael and Ser Gerard an opening. He would just have to hope they recognized the movement as just that, an attempt to provide them an opening. If it ignored him, he would go for the wound, hell he was going for it anyways, but if it was guarding against him, it couldn't guard against Dame Yael or Ser Gerard as readily. If he was lucky Ser Caulder would recover quickly and strike while the three of them fought to open the wound fully. The torch would, fortune willing, keep the darkness at bay long enough for them to bring the damn thing down once and for all.

@VitaVitaAR@HereComesTheSnow

[HereComesTheSnow]

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR

It was eating the light.

Yael was thankfully quick to pivot after he'd barked his "orders", and the combined efforts of her and Rolan had freed up Caulder andf his mighty axe in an instant— and an instant later, the burly knight put it to good use, bringing a fell-handed cleave down through the Gannek's soft underbelly— a ghastly wound on anything that drew breath. They had the advantage, they had the pressure, they were winning. As coordinated a fighting force as could be leveled on the fly against such a foe.

Unfortunately, the magical nature of their foe meant that even rending it open like this wouldn't be enough. His stomach churned, as though ready to howl. His eyes began to strain, as the relatively thin field of view afforded by his new helm was quickly growing dark. Unnaturally dark, as though the light itself were sucked out of the air. It sought to blind them. Desperate. Hurt. Feelings he knew well, with each remembered pang of hunger it foolishly forced into his brain.

Where his light faded, his eyes, ears, and breath sharpened. Where his stomach groaned, his heart hammered, buoyed by old, familiar war drums. It had made a crucial error in this effort. One that would spell its undoing. Many men would be enfeebled, distracted, or otherwise unsettled from their fighting for by this phantom of starvation. They would believe their bodies sapped of strength, the way hunger did.

Gerard, by contrast, came from a life where these feelings came with war. He had fought to put food in his belly, day in, day out. A sufficiently starved wolf would even challenge a bear for the rights to a kill. A sufficiently starved fighting man—

In this moment, a realization alighted upon him. Barely even a thought, so much as an... understanding. That of something he was previously not fully aware, of knowledge and perspective he'd not yet needed. In the moments where their strengths checked one another, the teeth-grit deadlock between beast and man, he... had more to give. There was still yet strength that he could bring to bear, still power he could use.

The knight breathed low, golden eyes glaring out the darkness of the visor as though coins catching the firelight of Rolan's torch. Beneath his plate, fur, gambeson, cloth, his muscular frame held sturdy, coiled like a spring. His moment was close. with a light in the darkness, there would surely be a moment of primal recognition that something new was— THERE!

He remembered the broken end of the felled branch he was driving into this thing's maw as a primarily ragged thing, but all the same split wood— that first jagged, primordial point that the first men had waged war with. Not all that far from a stake. The Gannek's stomach wound was belaboring it, unable to properly close, but Rolan's bolts and the cuts made upon its limbs were still sealing quickly. Its regenerative ability was still very much alive—

So why not turn that against it? While not quite the anathema that staking the heart of a vampire was said to be, the too-hungry soldier for hire that it had dragged up, so soon after he'd begun to properly tuck him away, still wanted to know what it would make of having its' skull impaled upon this lance by any other name. Would it burn precious seconds and energy having to shove it back out the roof of its mouth? Would it simply close around the branch, like wood fibers around a nail? He'd find out. He'd find out, kill his enemy, and this damn facade of emptiness would release the vice it had his gut in. Heavens above, double wages upon them all.

He brought his sword arm to the length of old wood, bracing it on both, and drove forward with redoubled force— the instant the Gannek's beady eyes wavered, he was going to run it through. If Reon's lucky rays still pierced the unnatural gloom in some way, the timing might have even lined up with his peers truly tearing that initial wound open. An immaculate opportunity for a one-man (and technically one fae) siege engine to pulp the brain right through the base of the skull.