HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

black friday week. will post if i survive

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@jdh97

"I need both," Gerard replied, a chuckle escaping his lips as he registered the jab. "The order doesn't matter, so long as you can stomach my company."

Holding the friendly smile, the younger knight swept his hand outward in a clear gesture of "lead on". It wasn't a lie— mercenary life often entailed sharing meals in full gear at the encampments. He was far from unused to eating directly after even pitched combat, let alone training. Perhaps that would be one of those oddities of his life that he could "entertain" the nobility with recounting, but in truth such concerns had simply already drifted from his mind.

He had very consciously decided to hold his tongue as Sir Jerel spoke of men only wishing their swords to drink deep.

While it was true that he'd wrested command over himself long enough to commit to the safety of that young farm girl he'd all but stumbled upon, and it was true that he was proud of such a deed... How far off the mark was that assessment from the trance of combat that had lead him to her? Even now, he was speaking of being far better suited to simply diving headfirst into the fray rather than take any position of responsibility, wasn't he?

I wanted to scatter them to the four winds.

In seeing the blood on their blades, wasn't he ready to find their blood on his? The heat that had risen from his chest was one that overtook his thoughts, time and again. Descending upon evil like a starved wolf was, if not all he wanted, then certainly all that he had made to do. Tear through those brigands. Cut down the slaver and slavedriver. Drag he who would tear freedoms away into the light by their ankles, no matter how much they kick and scream, so they could be judged rightly.

How far removed was his righteous fury?

...If one thing was clear, it was paradoxically that he could find no clear answer. He was certain that men far wiser, far more intelligent, and far longer-lived than he had grappled with such a question for ages already. They had come before him and would doubtless come after. To mire himself, so simple as he was, in that debate seemed foolhardy. It would consume him.

He needed to discipline his impetuous impulses, nothing more and nothing less.

He doubted he could rid himself completely of them, but he could certainly ensure that he would always be able to do what he had done that night again.

He started forward as his senior lead him on, casting those troubles off in the wake of their passing.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Taking Five

@Write@Plank Sinatra@FlitterFaux

The epilogue, or maybe punchline to this story.

Before I could even begin to make that cheeky string of words a tradition, I'd already rebelled against it. Whether or not I hold enough disdain for bookending my retelling with the same line over and over isn't something we need to dwell upon right now. Not in the face of an epilogue like this. Or even any "punchline" I looked for.

Simply put, there really isn't one at all.

I'm not saying this because there's no story to begin with, either; my third mission most definitely happened. In fact, I'd say there's way too much ground for me to cover if I were to make such a leap. Even if I'd be tripping over myself to tie the affair up with such a pithy turn of phrase, it'd still be less embarrassing than falling flat on my face with such an iniquitous lie.

It's something we'll have to revisit in the future, but for now, I'm going to have to condense it a bit to move us into the "present". Though, that's the crux of my point to begin with.

A denouement ties everything up neatly into the past.

Matters are settled.

Questions are answered.

Things clear up.

Even if all three did happen, there was hardly any finality in how they came about. Each question I had answered found another taking its place. Each time I wrapped something up, I found more thread beneath to work with. To tell the truth, I was struck much more by everything that started rather than ended.

Forget a capstone, epilogue, or even punchline. If anything, I was mid-transition in a story still going strong.

We'll call it that, a transition piece.

Or, if you'll indulge me: an intermission.

We dropped in through the ceiling as planned, more or less. Jericho and Evangeline made for a particularly effective pair of distractions, but it was with good reason that we didn't go into the facility unarmed. Even with a chaingun's ruckus at the front gate, our dismantling team couldn't be spared from dealing with several of the higher level "executives".

We dove headfirst into that battle, not hesitating in the slightest. If you'll recall, I made a point about doing so a while back— about removing the shackles of overthinking and paralyzing myself with doubt and fear. It wasn't the easiest thing, and I got myself into a fair bit of trouble trying to get out of that previous mindset. I was caught between overextending and overcorrecting from it.

I got every bit of the field test I could ask for of Crow's Beak, and could tell one thing right off the jump: I have catching up to do. The weight was different from everything I knew, the tactics were different, and that didn't even begin to touch upon what I needed to learn to truly maximize its penetrative force.

I even, despite my leaky sieve of a mind, managed to give Veronique Pressman my earnest thanks, right at the end. After the rush of discovering synthetic dust-fueled power armor, busting up would-be crime lords with a kitschy beat cop impression, and a series of impromptu field exams in what I had begun to learn in Dust Apps, I'd not blame anyone for thinking I'd lose sight of it in the mayhem. I certainly would have expected myself to forget the whole thing completely.

But I didn't.

And because of that, because I came through in the eleventh hour and put two and two together long after anyone would expect me to, I'd made a new friend.

So in sum, my first steps were stumbles into uncharted territory—

But I was doubtlessly moving forward.

My whole paradigm was shifting. Inch by inch, Lucas Schwarz felt himself treading new ground.

I couldn't possibly, in that light, call this any sort of epilogue.

What a bad joke that would be.

Nearly as bad as almost nodding off in a Waffle King after such an exciting morning. Night. I didn't really know by this point, having just come down from that whirlwind mission and really begun to feel the effects of the all-nighter I was pulling. Even an experienced gamer, an internet-addled fiend like me... We fell victim to such vices when we threw ourselves into such a taxing and high-tension affair. Even when we'd otherwise laugh it off and say we could grind out twelve more matches without even a blink.

A soft weight settling itself upon my shoulder broke me out of my stupor, and returned me to the present. Propping my elbow upon the table like that and staring down at my plate of food for a moment was a mistake. I'd given my chin somewhere to rest. More than even a mountain of syrup-glazed and butter coated chocolate chip waffles, I guess my body wanted to stop doing much of anything for a while.

"Hn?"

I slid my eyes somewhat placidly over to the side, in search of the culprit—

"!"

And stifled a surprised recoil as my eyebrows made to pull the rest of my face up with them. I knew Bianca and I were teammates now, friends now, but had we already bonded to the point of so casually leaning on eachother? Of taking advantage of the moments we let our guards down, and trading healthy shocks to the system?

If I was moving through life with a shaky step forward at a time, then she was launching in full-force! This woman didn't hold any trepidation in her heart!

How brazen!

...How cool.

Honestly.

"Yeah."

To think she looked ready to break only seven nights prior... and now here she was. Toasting in our gallant name as perhaps the proudest member of the wayward quartet that was JBLS. A broken bird, brought to earth and locked in an iron cage, the most pitiful figure I'd met in a long time.

She was to never fly again.

She was to never hunt again.

She was to never chase dreams again.

Her tale had tragically ended. Cut mercilessly short, with all but the final nail in its coffin.

Even so, here she was now, soaring ahead as if it had never happened. If I had even half the strength, half that resilience, I probably wouldn't even be me anymore. There was no way I couldn't be impressed. No way I couldn't be heartened.

"I'm honored to call you guys my team." I said, smiling as I raised my glass in turn. "It's been a bit of a revolving door lately, but I really do hope we can finally settle into a groove together, for what that's worth. Maybe we can start a few traditions of our own."

From shambles to pride. From torment to contentment. From despair to determination.

I had to smile.

To hell with endings.

If we really needed a punchline, I guess the joke's on me for even bringing it up.

"So, how'd the Stripes set that up, anyway? The special, I mean. Just always coming in?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

post is on the way, just second in the queue

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@jdh97

"Glad to hear it, at least regarding your hea— Hm?"

As the older knight rose, his following query elicited a raised eyebrow from Gerard's face. Indeed, he hadn't heard. A ball right after the mission, eh? Truly never a dull moment within the Iron Roses... Though it seemed his compatriot may have had a few ideas that he didn't exactly echo, personally. A thoughtful frown passed across his face.

"A ball, huh? I've been to one or two of those before..." he began, even going so far as to cup his chin between his fingers before speaking again much more glibly. "As hired muscle."

He hadn't even been let inside the doors— no privileges on the job for rank and file grunts. Just as well, too, if he was to be honest. Though he was a rather reserved sort compared to his fellow mercenaries, he also had no experience with truly polite society's minglings. Even if it were just him, that was a recipe for unwittingly stepping upon toes. To say nothing of what would happen if the same opportunities were offered to the men who much more closely befit the stereotype.

Hiding the laugh at imagining his former comrades in such a setting behind a smile, he continued on.

"To your earlier point regarding pride, my friend, I can scarcely imagine my appointment back then was the result of anything more than haste on her part. Whether I like it or not, I'm ill-suited for either setting. Too hotheaded for proper leadership, and far too clumsy with my social graces for a ball. There's still yet much for me to learn. I hold no delusions regarding it."

It wasn't even necessarily that he didn't want to, but there were realities he couldn't avoid.

Gerard folded his arms, rolling the idea over in his head. Women who had never held a weapon? He barely felt up to scratch doing anything else. He'd probably bore them to tears, no matter how different his life may have been to their (likely) gilded cages. He was little more than a common fighter of common birth, and was certain he'd have no idea as to how to talk to someone whom wearing one of those church bell dresses was a simple matter of course.

Jerel Ban was indeed right about him, in that he was the type of man to do little more than throw himself at the grindstone whenever he was troubled. It was a useful quality in a warrior, to always seek to hone one's craft, but knighthood was more than the swinging of steel. Were it such a thing, it wouldn't have held nearly so much prestige in the minds of the people. In those such as Gerard himself. They were so much more, weren't they?

So much more than he. At least enough to live beyond the blade. Jarde had his jokes, Jerel had his books, Tyaethe her centuries of life experience. Gerard had... much to cultivate. Little more than the pithy life of a boy from the boonies.

Attending such events, however, is expected of me. If it comes to that, I'll need to put on a brave face again and take it in stride. I just hope I'm not to dance anything other than a Csárdás...

And even then, he didn't think that tradition extended anywhere close to south enough for the capital. Balls were very slow and elegant, from what he understood. Totally different in tone for certain. Perhaps something so folksy would be mildly entertaining at least, before an attempt to spare the Iron Roses' good name hammered down upon his skull.

Indeed, Segremors imagined there were many who would much more smartly take such a place rather than he.

"I mean, the last time I talked to one such girl she nearly took your head off, remember? Sorry about that one." an apologetic, somewhat self-effacing chuckle escaped his lips. "Like I was saying, I don't tend to think terribly straight in the middle of a fight. Hopefully I'm not given more authority than due in the future."

He'd have to talk with the Captain about that, but it seemed he'd wait a while yet for the proper timing. A big social event like this wasn't right for it either, assuming Sir Jerel's prediction came to pass.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Looking to get it in later tonight as well.

TODAY.

blugh, king of "editing in more post" strikes again.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

I'll try and get my response up soonish. New job is hollowing out my soul.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@jdh97

He was going to collapse the moment he reached his bed.

Gerard had, in truth, no real idea of how long he'd spent drilling. It was one of those purely repetitive tasks that made one lost to time, minutes feeling like hours whilst hours passed seemingly in minutes. Intellectually, he knew it couldn't truly have been that long; an entire hour of moving around as though in combat whilst wearing his full kit was intense enough, even disregarding added factors such as the battle the night before, would be taxing as all hell.

And yet with Reon's rising sun only growing stronger upon his brow and beating against his frame, each swing felt like eternity. He had, at this point, abandoned his theorycrafting against what he had remembered of the aforementioned raid's notable enemies. He could feel he was getting too sloppy in his footwork. Positioning was of utmost importance in his school of fighting— If one could call it that without smirking. To rep out his entrances, evasions, and exits was one thing, but after a certain point of fatigue...

Putting it simply, it would bake bad habits into him, and get his head lopped off in battle. Segremors had no deficiency in courage, he was certain of it, but a proper knight didn't make such clumsy mistakes.

So he had returned again to the simplest of all his cuts, the Oberhau— a sign of his tiredness indeed. Wasn't even bothering to translate their names any more. A seemingly endless series of downward hews, consistently patterned in three angles— descending from above his near shoulder, then above his head, then his far shoulder. This, at least he could still do. Though he made sure he was still minding the subtle things such as the shifting of his weight to maximize striking force, his maintenance of steady balance in both stance and blade, it was almost simply conditioning. Just burning it further into the back of his brain...

Those words were popping up a good bit.

Baking. Burning.

Hot...

After what he had guessed was his fiftieth repetition of that three-cut pattern, the knight felt his shoulders slump. He was panting, ragged, and drenched, like a hound that had to cross a rushing river. His skin cried out for the cool morning air that tore against his overworked lungs, for its own chance to just breathe and suffocate no longer, and he could feel his heart thudding against the bone of his chest.

Even Sagramore Gellert, so furiously driven to improve, could see the writing on the wall: He was done.

"Guh..."

His voice and tongue were unresponsive and sticky. Maybe even swollen, on account of how much he simply felt them. Far too dry to speak right now, not until his breathing had calmed down in the least. Felt like a pinecone had lodged itself in his throat...

Goddesses, he'd let himself get parched. Better do something about that.

He slowly returned the longsword to its sheath and wiped what sweat he could off his brow, wanly realizing that it was going to return in an instant until he got himself out of the armor and into a cleansing soak. If he recalled correctly, the antechambers of the Baths had something in the way of refreshments— surely some drinkable water wouldn't be hard to find. Perhaps after that he'd visit the kitchens and fill his empty stomach. Neither were terribly far, thankfully.

He didn't really know. Maybe he'd end up wandering into bed first. He had no doubt that once his blood stopped surging through his veins with such a spirited fervor he'd begin to feel all he'd done today and yesterday.

Whatever would come to pass, he trudged onward, toward respite. In doing so, he passed one familiarly dour and quiet figure, shaking off the same listlessness that he'd begun to feel descending upon him as they were attended by one of the healers. Normally, he would be content to mutter a small greeting, even if it was just a grunt, and continue on his way.

But as it happened, he owed this one an apology. He'd nearly forgotten.

"Sir Jerel," he said, voice still rough but now working after the walk had taken him into the halls, "How's the shoulder?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Get well soon, man

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Happy Halloween, everyone!