HereComesTheSnow

Secundi Lux

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A few minutes more passed, as the two Ars Magi floated through the hall, a wheel within a wheel within a wheel as they, now comfortable with eachothers' pace and the waltzing rhythm of the orchestration. They spent it in relative silence— at least, what counted as it for Selma, stuck in a crowd of people and with a dance partner in hand. Idle chatter floated between them in undertone, mostly championed by the leading conifer as she commented upon a pair there, a step here, a minor tip every now and again as Chie settled into her burgeoning proficiency.

It was a comfortable one, at the very least, that not-silence. Where the pressure of standing out, of being shown off within and unto the many unfamiliar present, may have weighed upon the pair before, Selma could feel it easing off of her strong shoulders as it melted atop the solid bedrock of friendly company. She knew it had to be the same for her roommate, to focus solely on matching the steps and learning the technique rather than worry herself with the stiff, alien atmosphere.

But such things didn't last forever. Every song had to end, and every dance needed its denouement. The pair slowed when the crowd slowed, and stilled when the crowd stilled, locked in place as the murmur of changing hands and changing faces surrounded them. Selma, for her part, smirked as she performed a small, courtly bow, shading of her prior chivalry returning to her expression.

"And so, my dear student, you have passed this test." she spoke in grandiose, lordly tones, those that served to very poorly beguile, barely disguising a simple mirth in the act of the facade itself. "I am honored to have taught you, and to have had this dance—"

A tap upon her folded bicep came from the crowd, before she could continue pushing that bit any further than she'd really planned it. Nice timing, come to think of it, that tended to spiral out of control when she wasn't looking.

“Excuse me,” a voice began, “As a member of the Officer’s Academy, I have to make a formal complaint. It’s not fair for the prettiest Ars Magi to only dance with each other.”

Rising and straightening her back, Selma turned halfway to face the young man who spoke, part of an almost picturesque pair. Two handsome gentlemen, clad in the navy blazers of the officer's academy (much like the one she wore), stood, having emerged from the bubbling mass of unrecognizable faces, almost perfectly set against eachother. One dark and stormy, saying nothing, a looming tower of mystery and intrigue. The other offering her the same hand he'd caught her attention with, outstretched in request as a charmingly easygoing grin set itself upon a pretty face.

So, this was what their sister school had been up to, then. While she and her team had been training for Battle day in and day out, these were the young men who had been training for War, without nearly the glamour or such storied prestige. These would be her future commanders— perhaps in the vein of Captain Wei, back on the train. The cool and efficient woman's directions seemed so distant now, as though it'd been years since she'd heard them.

Hopefully she was getting on alright. As much as Selma and Rivka had both been ragging on the whole rail itinerary for losing their stuff, the good Captain was A Real One in the eyes of Rosmarie.

Selma, beneath her raised eyebrows of mild surprise, met his almond eyes with her own in appraisal, taking a moment to search for what she saw ticking...

"My, my." she then crooned faux-coquettishly, breaking out into her characteristic broad grin barely a moment later. Fair play to him, he definitely wasn't backing down an inch! The sure could do a hell of a lot worse than a confident operator, if every battle was as chaotic as the ones they'd survived already. "They teach you guys flattery over there too? Color me impressed!"

She tossed Chie a cheeky wink as she took the shorter officer's hand, miming a curtsy as she pulled against the hem of an imaginary dress, far removed from the gold of her slacks. For all they knew, the girls would be working under one of these gentlemen's command in the future. Way she saw it, it certainly didn't hurt to play along with a little cheesy routine to break the ice. Plus, it'd give her an excuse to practice the lady's perspective of the dance, which occupied what Selma knew as the Cool Zone of proficiency:

More than you'd think, Less than I'd like.

"I think I can spare one, if you'll have me. I'll warn you though—" Selma spoke more quietly next as she stepped in, position practiced as ever in spite of her stature as she inclined her head towards the young man, halfway expecting a sudden burst of Rivka-flavored orchestration to switch them up from Waltz to Samba. "I just got done leading the pretty one through the steps. I'm gonna have to be a li'l selfish and kick the ball in your court, Herr Offizier."

Where had that thunderhead of purple gotten off to, anyway? She hopefully wasn't accosting the poor band too roughly... Then again, none of the brass had begun a startled squawk through their pipe instruments, so she'd probably be fine.

Well, anyway—

She'd be more than willing to give the dude a chance, but for both their sakes, she hoped he'd stay true to that cavalier attitude he'd approached with, and forgive her her directness. It'd be a lot easier to get along when everyone was speaking within their comfort zones.

"Name's Selma, by the way."

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

hell week, holidays are definitely coming down hard. i'll try to get things up before i fly out on the Eve, if not i'll open up a gdoc while i'm in the air and kill the 3 hours productively. I would tonight, but all the caffeine i've had to get through the past two days is pulling my brainstem down into my scapulae

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

AGGRESSION [X]
BATTLEFIELD EXPERIENCE [X]
PHYSICALITY [X]
SELF-PRESERVATION [ ]

MISSION FIRST, COMRADES FIRST, ME SECOND

I've beaten the "seeing self as expendable" drum since the word go, him only getting by on a combination of ferocity, serviceable technique, and hard-baked instincts as well as, thus far, more than a little luck. I can likely mine things further— such as the most recent post with him not liking fighting on horseback terribly much. He gets the idea, he gets why it's a good idea, he gets how the idea works— but it feels much less comfortable than he does as an infantryman due to being almost exclusively on the very front lines in his mercenary career (to say nothing of how his innate desire to go in and fuck 'em up would get his poor horse hurt, and that wouldn't do at all).

That's one thing for certain. He's also not scamming his way out of consequences of his bullshit self-concept forever.

I could probably find more still if I keep looking after this post. Such as, technique is serviceable, but it manifests just as much in applied principles as it does specifically honed form— he's cognizant of it and working on tightening things up, but it's still rough-around-the-edges, gritty swordplay. In a dueling setting, if he can't impose his front-running momentum and physical attributes on a better technician, he ought to have a rough day.

I've been thinking about this dumb angry dude a lot over the span of the game.

Regarding posts, I'm looking to let @Crimson Paladin go first.

Hope all's well, @JessieTargaryen.

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

@HereComesTheSnow Should we keep moving for now?

@Raineh Daze

sure

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

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

Gerard Segremors

@JessieTargaryen@VitaVitaAR@Crimson Paladin

The spray of blood.

The crash of steel.

The crackle of fire.

The song of war rose again from the tense air, hushed whispers and guessed conspiracies breaking into frenetic shouting, punctuated by the rumbling of hooves against the earth. The steel in his grip flew through the night as he charged forward upon his horse, checking the advance of his enemies at the edge of his blade. Momentum and weight, as forceful as they were, managed to force a weak point into the leather harness of the nearest boar to his murderous right arm where one had not truly been woven in— dashing him off his feet and awarding Gerard with a spurt of red for his trouble.

Were the cut itself lethal or not was difficult to say, impossible until he turned round for a strike upon their back, much as Sir Fleuri had— but altogether a pointless concern. In the next breath, the dark blues of moonlit world were washed violent orange, as Runa's orb of flame impacted the ground at the initial line's feet and exploded, catching his quarry in the wake of its brief radiance.

He was probably lucky none of them had gotten a swipe off upon his steed. Perhaps they were still reeling from his comrade's charge once he'd hit, but it was dangerous to pull that one again, even if they had them from behind now—

He glanced further into the brush for a moment, hoping he didn't catch any more steel gleaming upon a single moonbeam. The Boars were self-sacrificial and numerous more than tactically genius, true, but they didn't achieve the notoriety nor success they did by being incapable of luring headstrong cavalry into a hidden second line. If Gerard could think of it, so could they, surely.

This was why fighting from horseback was a twofold weakpoint, he grimly noted, rounding his horse again back towards the rear of their (initial) wave. For him specifically: he had honed his skills as an infantryman far more thoroughly, thriving on his feet in the thick of pitched melee. His usual aggression was magnified on horseback— well and good and worth the risk when it was his own feet carrying him, but he covered ground far too quickly upon his Rouncey, carrying him through the lines. Such was the idea, of course, but if he surged into a trap...

No sense wasting HIS life.

"If you swing back 'round, I'm with you!" he called to Fleuri, some dozen yards or so away.

The charging Runa, her sword now in hand after her burst of magic, the hammer.

The two Reonites, who embodied the boldness of the sun, the anvil.

Even in spite of his dissatisfaction with his combat horsemanship, Gerard saw the boons easily enough. His senior had a better head for this aspect of fighting than he— that much they both knew. Following his lead had good enough odds of Gerard keeping out of any undue positional trouble. If Fleuri had need to ride elsewhere...

One foot, opposite his fellow, crept out of its stirrup, primed to dismount.

A pulse through his veins.

I should count myself lucky to have stood across the field from the Boars before.

I know how you sons of bitches tick man-to-man.

He would play to his strengths.

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

Very, unfortunately

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

i'll be posting sometime this week, hopefully

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

Team “Just Go In” is now assembled

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

rest well

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

Gerard Segremors

@JessieTargaryen@VitaVitaAR@Crimson Paladin

Sharp eyes did well to account for a self-described dull mind. It had proven itself true time and again to him, in situations much akin to these (albeit with much, much lower stakes) on the battlefield as a soldier of fortune. Even if he wasn't catching the big picture, when the scene directly before him shifted, his instincts had been beaten into noticing by mission after mission, battle after battle. Few things truly served his talents, he knew— but even as a boy who'd never held a blade, living near the woods had honed his sense for disturbance.

Off at the fringes of the brush, something shifted. A light rustle, a shake in the foliage that could have meant any number of things— yet, there was no breeze to toss the leaves, sway the branches, shake the grass. Not heavily enough. That being the case...

"Movement. Trees."

His eyes had finally left Haelstadt after he'd heard the rustling beneath their Captain and the noble's extended dialogue, and with it, his position in the formation. He tugged at the reins sternly with a hand, the other falling onto the hilt of his longsword, and beckoned his horse nearer to the flanks— the other side of Runa and Fleuri. Off to their left now, he took a routine position for him— first line of defense, gripping the concealed fang of steel as his gaze pored over the treeline. A hound with haunches raised was a sign to beware for all who beheld it, and for an armored man Gerard seemed to echo that visage well. The other knights would probably notice.

In moving, any prospective thinking enemy likely had noticed too, but that die had already been cast. He grimly noted that much, but was now committed.

It spoke to the tension of the situation more than words could— he'd much rather look a fool if it was some sneaking fox than end up skewered if he took the chance of letting this lie. It was too perfect. Everyone focused being on this confrontation meant that it wasn't hard to skirt past them if one both wished to and wasn't terrible at it— and the more he looked, the more he wanted to deny a crossing animal altogether.

Hell, he'd just heard the words "using them as a distraction" float in from the front, out of his Captain's voice. It was as if daring fate to illustrate!

There was just too much of it around them at once. All across the edge of the clearing, the low brush was astir in that almost-hidden manner. Something or someone was just out of sight, and moving. It could be a wolf padding along in between pockets of moonlight... or a company of soldiers, settling in for an imminent ambush. He was all but convinced of the latter as the wheels in his head spun.

If you could smell a trap, this reeked.

"Get ready." he muttered lowly to his fellows, one senior and the other junior, now behind him. "We've company. One way or another it'll show it's face in a moment."

Either being found out would do it, or their chosen time to strike would come and things would kick off on their own.

He crouched low in his saddle, coiled like a spring.