HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter@ERode@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin

At the first returned touch upon his shoulder, Gerard snorted, made to click his tongue—

And at the second, though, and Sir Renar's accompanying advice, he relented, opting to nod after rolling his shoulders. There was tension worth releasing there, for what it was worth. Tight muscles would sap energy. He didn't intend on losing his alertness in any respect, but if this was enough for two of his fellows to speak upon it, to try and calm him like a hound with hackles raised... He had, likely, best listen to their words. Stubborn though he may have been, burning though his convictions surely were, his respect for them ran every bit as deep.

Despite continuing to lock his gaze upon the task ahead, looking through the path to the royal armory as though an obstruction, there was a release in his tone as he replied, softening the tight edges of the steel.

"You're right. I know. Those days are behind us. Promise."

Only if it were absolutely necessary.

Hearing another pair of footsteps fall in, a quick glance over the shoulder revealed the twin exemplars upon which he had foisted his highest regard, and wished to emulate in the ideal world. Hm. It seemed the scions of Jodeau and Arcedeen wished to oversee their equipment personally— probably a wise move, all things considered. Who better to determine what would play to their strengths than themselves in the few minutes they'd have?

Locked within the depths of the Castle, the armory's doors opened to hit the assembled cohort with a wave of stale, damp air, tinged with the flavors of cold metal and religiously warmed torches. There was oil, too, to maintain the health of the steel. Stone for its edges. The smell was at once alien in the refinement it spoke to and familiar, comfortably familiar, in the craft it served.

He marched into the murky torchlight. If Sirs Fionn and Renar had seen fit to ward away the anger, he knew that their peers from higher nobility would expect better by a full measure, having been so patient and earnest in humoring his dreams.

Fortunate that the rituals of preparation came universal, in that light. Who better to talk shop with?

"Rondels here," he noted, slipping the diamond-sectioned dagger into a loop on the belt that molded in his thick gambeson. "Warriors might have armor."

To speak of such, he quickly donned a cuirass after judging the (roughly) correct size by eye— a task he'd grown into an old hand at ages ago. It, and the vambraces Renar had tossed his way, were barely more than munitions grade at honest appraisal. Nothing of overwhelming quality... but even that much was more than he'd ever scoff at. He'd done far worse in his time.

"Greaves too," he spoke again, following Dame Serenity's point as he moved to fasten them onto his trousers. Putting aside that she was working against the dress mobility had forced her to slice apart... "If they're at the bottom, we'll be fighting downhill. Legs enter range first."

That raised perhaps the chief concern about the confines they were headed into— weaponry. While Gerard was thankful he'd brought his longsword at the Princesses' request, tight confines were to be expected in any sort of tomb, even the larger ones he assumed of most noble houses. He was a serviceable hand with half-swording, if it came to that, but if he expected raised dead... putting it plainly, he wanted more mass and contact area than a crossguard.

Something compact and crushing, worth leaving the longsword on his back for... A bar mace would do good here.

He stalked across the chamber, muttering in undertone as he scooped up an unvisored sallet from the rack nearby, before pausing at Sir Fleuri's offer. He gave it a moments' thought as he maneuvered the leather chinstrap...

"How long would that take, you reckon?"

They were splitting their forces soon, here. In his mind, the strength of sacrosanct weaponry or tools against the very affront to Life and Death that the Goddesses so abhored would doubtless prove a game-changing boon for the knights.

In his heart, he knew that he was incredibly leery of splitting up more, of potentially missing any of the action. They needed to stick together as much as they could, every one of them. The front was where he belonged.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@The Otter

"No promises."

Spoken in undertone and likely too quiet for any but the nearest or sharpest ears to hear, Gerard echoed his Captain's unspoken reservations. The Cazt heiress's demands may have been noble in intent, he would understand that much— but their targets would, realistically, hang for the crimes anyway. Conspiring to assassinate the Crown Princess. The kidnapping and coercion of these Nem. Necromancy. To guarantee he would be able to stay his hand, to quench the flame of battle that had already begun to rush through him...

No, they were not at all want for evil. The leather of his gloves creaked as he thumbed the crossguard of his blade, its hungering glint matching the spark of fury that dwelled beneath his amber gaze. While ill-crafted, this attempt to off the royalty had a silver lining to it, in a twisted sense. He was no Paladin, like Tyaethe, nor the former Squire of one, like Fleuri. He could not speak to any directly hallowed element to undertaking this cause... but it was Reon and her teachings that had lead him down this path, kept him from straying even when his hope had bottomed out.

Brave the darkness to drag the wicked into the Sun. Hunt all evil that threatened innocent, honest lives. That was the calling of Knighthood, the ideal his whole life had seen him hope, desperately, to achieve. It had guided his first swings of a sword, given him direction and clarity even through the grey smoke of hired soldiery. He had stared down the abyss. The sun on his back had given him the strength not to blink. Every moment of those five years was kept alive by that faith, and that desire to join the pursuit. To enter the crypt of the Traitor's family, already blackened from their once respected standing by his actions, and be faced with those that would skulk in its shadows flanked by their risen dead?

She had brought him good hunting, indeed.

Having seen and heard enough, the wolf turned and stalked ahead, quickly swallowing the distance that was left in Fionn's wake until he drew up on level marching cadence. Reaching across with his free hand to bump the brawnier man on the shoulder, he spoke in a breathless growl.

"Two pairs of hands will be better than one. I need armor anyway."

A professional fighter and swordsman, he knew Fionn would be able to plainly read that he was coiled like a spring. That was fine. Out of any of the knights here, the Red Branch alum was far and away the one Gerard trusted most to understand him. On a fundamental level, their shared backgrounds had given Fionn insight that cut to the core of his mentality, to that of Verlorene Haufen. He knew what came from living at the tip of the spear.

"The sooner we can arm everyone, the sooner we deploy. Give those dumbasses the fight they courted and crush 'em."

He could speak without artifice, honing his focus for war.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@ERode@Creative Chaos

Far from the tallest or broadest figure in the room, Gerard nonetheless loomed over the Nem's hunched, shaking frame. Each stroke with the charcoal he'd retrieved was a frantic streak of black against the stark white of the paper, thin and brittle beneath the weight of the forming words. His own hands freed once more, his grip upon his trusted weapon began to tighten, face cast from stone.

Iron Roses

She could name the Order. This message would be for them in particular, likely. It would explain perking up at Fanilly's brooch. What kind of overture to expect from an Assassin, though?

Tyli Vosahn

A name. Hers? Her employer's? In either case, it wasn't familiar, nor did it sound like a standard naming scheme from anywhere he'd been— Thaln, Velt, Estival. It was a foreign sound. Maybe nem-specific.

What happens to me doesn't matter

...

Please save my sister

A cold wind brushed against the back of his neck as he beheld the final, desperate plea in her message to the assembled Order. It passed down his back even through the gaudy formal wear, prompting a sharp intake of breath through teeth he had unknowingly begun to grit. Beneath the leather of his gloves, the knuckles of his sword arm had quietly gone white. Save my sister. Save my sister. Everything locked into a different, unmalleable place now as the cogs began to turn anew, with this added perspective. Save my sister.

He could have burned a hole through the page with his gaze alone.

Stepping a quarter-turn away, the former sellsword began to run the fingers of his free hand along the length of the blade, feeling for anything amiss in its form even as he took this in. Any who were paying attention would likely note that no small amount of color had drained from his face.

They had just apprehended her for attempting to assassinate the Crown Princess. She must have been truly desperate, to make this last request likely in the full knowledge that today may have been her last under the sun. To make it to her direct opposition. She had nowhere else to turn but them... now that she had failed.

To meet the cold on his skin, a heat began to rise from the belly. Though her palace had long disappeared behind the veil of the earth, Gerard believed this blaze that which Reon gifted. Upon his lips, in something lower and sharper than any whisper, he offered her a brief prayer.

This Tyli didn't have employers. She had extortionists. She had her sister's life in the balance at the whim of whatever agenda she was locked into serving— a slave in all but name.

Bear light for the chained, bring flame for their captors.

He had little sisters, too.

Why else be a knight, then, if not to purge such wickedness?

Why else be a knight, then, if not to answer these desperate pleas for help?

Why else be a knight...

If I could even consider saying no?

"Where's she being held?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark@ERode

Another day might have seen him do more than simply leave his reply to Tyaethe's reasoning for tickling a flat, dry, momentary look. While he could see the framework of logic beneath it, there was a certain specificity to the act that was... well, two hundred years probably developed a peculiarity or two.

He blinked, and turned his gaze back to the matter at hand, satisfied that whatever she'd done had gotten results. As for his act, he pulled the soft fabric free from the nem's throat, no larger than that of a child...

And wordlessly took in the long, ragged white scar that greeted him, the insignia of his creeping suspicions. No wonder they couldn't even get a grunt of pain out her; with that butcher job done on the windpipe it was frankly a miracle she could breathe. Certainly, no willful silence. And if one were to assume that this was the work of her employer...

"Old wound." he noted aloud, ignoring the brief tingle upon his jaw from a similarly faded scratch. He wasn't any form of healer, but reading the color and edge of a scar by sight was a skill almost impossible to avoid in soldiery. If the wound really was linked to the hit, then obviously, "They sure took their time sending you here, didn't they."

It wasn't quite a question. Asking those was the job of the clear-headed and sharp-witted. Instead, he rose to his full height and took a step back, following her gaze with his own as it came to rest upon the silvered rose resting on the Captain's lapel. His eyes then narrowed, shifting between the two. What, did she not know what she was in for, attacking this crowd on this occasion?

Didn't track. Didn't make sense. He was going at this from the wrong frame of mind somewhere— that'd bog down the process for those better suited to the task. A half-baked interjection was an unwelcome distraction in the best of cases.

He yanked his blade free from the carpet, long rendered unnecessary, and held it at his side. He'd left the sheathe behind, by the table.

Hm. If he needed it, he'd grab it.

But to know what he'd need...

For the second time that day, he mirrored Sir Sergio, and now met the Captain's eyes in full.

"Looks like you might get somewhere, Ma'am, if we pursue this." He spoke, indicating the pin with the tip of his sword for a moment before lowering it once more. "Very least you'd be better than me— I'll head where you need me."

A fairly level self-assessment, one said less with effacement and more as a matter of fact. Nobody here would have bought any pretense that he didn't squarely fall on the "Sword" end of Dame Serenity's supposition, and while he largely agreed with her ideals on the Order's duty, he couldn't deny his desire for something like actionable information to emerge. Without getting in the way of those already better suited to its coaxing...

Was there much else to be done aside from tighten the net, until that time?

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@VahkiDane@Raineh Daze@Psyker Landshark

From the edge of the captive Nem's vision, a dark, towering stormcloud would emerge from the vague splashes of colors that were the partygoers. In the looming mass's grip, growing bolder and deeper as it slowly stalked forward to fill the gap it had been managing during the pursuit, a bolt of caught silver lightning glinted, sharp and thirsty, in the gilded glow of the chandeliers overhead. What it may have lacked in booming thunder, the deliberate, tightly restrained rhythm of each stride thudding against the flooring heralded its slow approach with similar omens.

It was clear that she wasn't going anywhere right now. Pinned beneath the weight of a knight three times her size, both arms restrained behind the back and kept by a grip stern as iron, no amount of wriggling or writhing would see the Nem released— squarely checkmated by the quashing of whatever mechanical advantage she may have mustered. To her meager credit, she did at least seem to recognize as much, all but going limp until prodded by the First and Youngest, whose wriggling fingers prompted a grimace and recoil— but nothing that reached the thunderhead's sharpened ears.

Nonetheless, for all the formality that the slow, deliberate crushing of the last fraction of space that could have been an avenue for escape had been reduced to, his stride didn't hitch. If she, for whatever reason, took notice to the swelling image in her peripheral in the midst of a knife being held to her, it would continue to grow until it seemed to swallow the light and color of the crowd behind, save for the lone line of steel. The footfalls of the steady march seemed to carry ahead the same bundled fury that blazed in the golden suns opposite Sergio's blood moons, and the blade drew closer, closer to her face, until she could almost smell the fresh oil of its latest polish—

And with a stern thunk that must have seemed a mere inch from her ears, Gerard planted his blade into the flooring beside her head as he dropped to one knee, expression all knotted brow and smolder. He wasn't the right one to handle a true interrogation— experience had told him as much, but he understood the value of closing the cage of bodies around their captive in its totality, no matter the redundancy. The difference between an incredibly unlikely escape and an impossible one was too important to waste— and, in some small way, the show of force worked off the top end of the head of steam his brief role in the chase had built.

When he spoke now, his voice was clipped, rather than clearly drawn taught with tension. He glanced over to the Paladin at his side, and voiced the question beneath the fire.

"What was the idea behind the tickling, besides annoying her?"

He was back in the driver's seat, so to speak— alert, but present enough that the brutality he had so steeped himself in wouldn't rear its head here. He knew that here, now, and in knowing him, it was important to convey as much— questioning her methods, while one part seeking her answer genuinely, served the broader purpose of displaying he held his own reigns.

To put it simply, in her position, Gerard knew he wouldn't trust him without that courtesy. Not when he could feel the white fury that burned inside, and knew that she'd see it plain in his gaze.

"I mean, we didn't even get a laugh out of it, did we?"

...

Wait.

He blinked, turning the idle observation over again.

No laugh, no pained grunting when dealing with the entire tackle by Renar, nothing from either his or Sir Sergio's naked threats with the blades they held. He had believed before that he may have lost the sounds in the commotion, but Renar's full weight had hit her— and elicited nothing at all? From one this young?

Didn't make sense. You couldn't get that kind of discipline from a kid no matter how hard you tried. Her silence was weird.

So much as naked blades naturally drew attention, Sergio's in turn drew Gerard's eyes to her scarf, unseasonable even for night in Thalnic summers, and the throat that lied beneath. They narrowed, a suspicion growing. His background had left him with many things to shake off with time, like earlier— but exposure to such unsavory corners of the world had also left him with many, many experiences involving the punished, the crippled, the many ways a body could be broken down.

Slowly, he reached for that scarf, intent on exposing the neck beneath.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

The front lines of any mercenary corps were a hellish, chaotic mess. They engulfed you in a storm's eye, surrounding your every sense with a tumultuous flood of stimuli. To survive long in such a hellish quagmire day in and day out required skill and instinct in equal measure— No amount of pure swordsmanship, an art that was made through sight and touch, would save a soldier from an attack that came from a blind angle.

"Down, down, down! Under the table, all three of you!" Gerard roared, pulling steel free from the blackened leather sheath that had never left an arm's reach away. With his left hand he reached forward as though to beckon the trio behind him or shepherd them towards safety, but his head had long snapped onto the diminutive frame of the would-be assassin, and belied his true mentality.

The thrum of a loosed bolt from a crossbow, however masked by the party's chatter, was unmistakable.

To spend five years in that aforementioned hell unscathed required an ability to separate signal from noise that bordered on uncanny, and the quickness of action to match. He would waste no more of it on talk. No more on anything short of action.

There was danger to snuff.

In that instant the stiff, uncomfortable candor had left him, and the soldier of a hundred battlefields returned, eyes ablaze with golden purpose. With it came that familiar rush of flame through the body, the same that slowed the world and hastened his eyes.

He surged forward past them, chewing up the distance between their place at the banquet and the center stage of the unfolding drama. Ahead of him, his fellow knights, those who had rushed to greet the Princesses had already assumed offensive posture— Sir Renar in pursuit, lobbing a serving tray. Sir Sergio in his wake, steel of a rondel gleaming in the chandelier's light. A moment later, Sir Vier, blades in tow.

They'd get there first— assuming the assassin stayed put. They wouldn't. Three grown men at a dead sprint, though, would counter their quarry's assumed agility with greater athleticism and stride length, covering more ground in less time.

That tower of onyx that had been shadowing a young noble (no older than the three he'd been accosted by) was already moving as well, away from his charge and Serenity by extension. His direction would take him past the fleeing midget— not a bad idea.

The Crown was covering exits. Fionn, Dame Serenity, Paladin Tyaethe, and the elf who'd caught the bolt were covering the targets of the attempt. With as far as his group had been in the moments prior, he would be late to support either of the other auxiliary roles— But had good lateral positioning from the angle the diminutive figure had shown themselves.

With a sharp exhalation, he slammed his boot into the carpet and cut a broad angle. He could move to shut down their left flank. Boxing them in would kill their escape. The sprint would carry him into position quickly. Trying to pass him would be an invitation to be wrenched into the ground.

Gerard would, of course, quite readily oblige.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

"Did he?"

Eyebrows rising in interest, the second sudden change of mood in as many sentences must have come as a cracking whip to the three, excusing the unfortunate metaphor. Though his face furrowed again in a moment, this time it was clearly in sifting through thought, manifest in the world as mutterings under the breath of "Sir Galfont, Sir Galfont, Sir Galfont..." and a gloved hand cupping the chin.

A minor knight under the crown... it was a stretch. He couldn't place the name, but perhaps the deed?

No, a Crown Knight would be closer to the interior rather than the border. As luck would have it, those two fateful days were more than likely completely disentangled from one another. A shame, really...

"I haven't had the honor, but that's a hell of a thing he did." he continued afterwards, an affirming nod following a helpless shrug of the shoulders as the disappointing conclusion gave way to much-deserved, and much more pertinent, praise. "To rid the world of those who would do those evils... Your instincts are good, Miss Angenese."

A smirk pulled itself free from the tight-lipped line of his mouth.

"Had I left myself any drink, I'd raise my glass to him, Sir Galfont." he declared, hammering the name home into his memory. "That's why we're here. That's why we're knights— to be a shield for the innocent, and a sword against evil. Doesn't matter if we're minor, doesn't matter if we're top of the chain."

For all she may have classed the two apart in their prestige, given the order he now called home... Gerard's view seemed to shun the notion in its entirety. For him, there was simply knighthood— the valorous, gentle, and just ideal of chivalry. The way of the pious, the courageous, the generous. Warriorhood given focus. Strength tempered by graciousness. It was prestige all its own, for the purity of simply being such. He couldn't imagine feeling any differently had their positions switched— to hold the title at all was already a dream he'd so nearly let die.

Anything more, such as the acceptance into an order so wonderfully storied as the Roses, was merely the proverbial cherry on top.

"He's fulfilling the meaning of our station, y'know? I can't respect that enough— my recruitment came off the back of a raid on a slavery ring, actually. Perhaps it's naiveite speaking, but I'm pretty proud of that—"

It was the day my life changed.

"—So I hope he's proud, too. He earned it, just as much as me. Now then..."

The elephant in the room was far from lost upon him. Finally, his eyes settled from their rhythmic glances between the pair of blondes down onto the youngest and darkest in both mood and hair. After her exasperated straight-man routine with the excitable duo between them had dwindled away, it was barely two words out of the young Lady Violette, her eyes pinned onto anything but the conversation at hand (mostly the Princesses).

While he was still yet to begrudge a kid for being disinterested in what he had to say, he could feel the disconnect feeding into everything else. A lot of this was his fault, in fairness, whatever the mechanism for it being so you chose—

"You know if you're bored, you can go. It won't hurt my feelings to be less interesting than actual royalty."

—But what that meant was that it'd be his job straighten it out. Clear the picture here up.

"You don't have to suffer on my account... Or is there something else on your mind, during all this dreary talk?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

Two shrieked, one sighed, and the last subtly suppressed a wince as the excitement reached his ears, and shredded his moment of commoner's wonder at the upper crust. As grating as the noise could have been, he did in part have reason to thank the pair— would have been rude to gawk. His mother had taught him that much, at least.

Given that her summons was all but forthright beneath the subtle veneer of welcoming, Gerard found himself unable to begrudge Sergio's swift departure as much as he otherwise might've— if anything, not answering the call may have been the greater faux pas. Fionn was already floating up to greet them, though, and Gerard caught his acknowledging nod. Any more than three would be crowding.

As the Veltic man knelt low and extended his palm to greet the younger of the Royal pair, the rapid burst of questions pulled Gerard's gaze free from the arrivals, and back to the three that were already crowding him. His reply came quick, too quick, caught in the deluge of occurrences and information that washed over his careful attempt at a formal mask.

"Whoever did it probably earned enough to buy my hometown on the commission."

What peeked through beneath the cracks in that facade was a blunt, unassuming candor— his fellow knights would have found it familiar, provided they'd taken the time to speak at length. His fellow mercenaries, though they'd doubtless have been every bit as out of place here as he, wouldn't have spared a second thought.

"And, no, not yet. It's only been four months for me, knighthood. Even the griffin was on the other side of the field from where I'd ended up—"

For all he wanted to maintain appearances, to look like someone ready for the occasion, he wasn't ever going to tell them a lie.

He blinked, gaze dancing between the pair of eager questioners. He would have been wise to stop there, offer them an apology for his inexperience, and maybe send them on their way to Paladin Tyaethe, who had an undoubtably endless well of fantasy to have lived through, a legend in pale flesh.

But, just as he did when cloaked in steel, the linen clad knight kept going, come what may.

"All I've seen are the cruelties people inflict on eachother. Those are far worse. Slavery, conquest... A dragon would be a... nice change, thinking about it."

Amber furnaces burned, but he kept his timbre in check, and held his face somewhere neutral, if not a little serious.

The sword, leaned against the table since he'd first plucked a glass of wine, found a hand rest, consciously and gently, upon the pommel after it returned the empty crystal.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VahkiDane@VitaVitaAR

He remained silent as Tenessa regaled them with the tale of the Witch-Queen upon Sergio's request, nursing his half-emptied glass as the old myth washed over his mind anew— one he could have sworn he remembered differently. Wasn't it a Veltan lordling who freed her head from her shoulders in the end?

He blinked, a flash of confusion sparking forth from behind the eyes. He'd heard something to that effect growing up, he was sure. Another instance of the tale getting mangled as it passed on through wayward ears, then? He wasn't entirely sure himself, but had to admit— there was a lot of heavy lifting being done by the presence of an actual name in the case presented by Ithillin. The Veltic retellings just seemed to relay some vague "a Silvered Lord" title... And usually came with the caveat of trying to steal some of the prestige by associating with the legend they were claiming credit for.

He chuffed at that. Classic. Trust a Veltan lordling to puff himself up like an ass. She was probably more right than them, at the very least.

All this happened in undercurrent as he listened, nodding along to the excitable retelling. The Witch-Queen herself had a more familiar tale, if at least regarding her acts and many misdeeds to earn the moniker. That much at least seemed universal— an arcane ability of seemingly otherworldly power and method, surrounding herself with a coven of sorceresses she trained in these alien arts, before a shining hero brought her low. All well and good.

But when Tenessa leaned in further, as if sharing a guarded secret, Gerard found his posture mirroring hers, a slight tilt of the waist to bring his ear closer to the hushed tones.

His coal-black brows rose a little as he took in the claim, before furrowing for a moment as he sped through his memories. It wasn't a phenomenon he'd ever seen... but the battlefield was hardly ever lonely, in fairness. Anything but. Loud, cramped, and thick with chaos, any mysterious waifs would be liable to get their clock cleaned in the confusion. Surely even a remnant of the Witch-Queen would think twice.

"I should hope he's no fallen divine, then—"

Though a thought did occur, moments later, as he pulled back to his regular height.

"His last act was to try and take me with him after I ran him through. If it weren't for the Captain, he probably would have— Not the type of guy I'd want to be anything like her, if she's still appearing after death."

As his gesture with the free hand swept the floor to point her out to his semi-captive audience, he only found himself time to blink and squint upon spotting the unfamiliar nobleman she seemed to be speaking with. His back was turned, but he could spot the downcast eyes and clenched fists at the Knight-Captain's sides a mile off.

Who the hell's tha—

"Presenting First Princess Elisandre Tanetha Falisse, and Second Princess Maletha Hirenz Falisse!"

And then, he stood at attention, gaze all but commanded over to the incoming Royal family. Those in line for the Crown of Thaln... in the flesh. People he'd never dared dream of meeting, not even half a year ago. The culmination of all he'd been through.

They were as though painted, the delicate touch of a master artist bringing form from the aether.

He didn't know much about them beyond what one picked up as an Iron Rose, to start— for instance, he knew that Princess Elisandre was pretty much The Captain and Dame Serenity's age, somewhere around that. He knew that royalty were effectively expected to be every bit as prim and proper as the nobility, if not moreso. Yet, even knowing the pair of them as a reference point...

It was remarkable to behold the grace and elegance with which she carried herself. Her famed beauty played a role in that, doubtless, but it also showed in her eyes above that beaming smile, sweeping across the hall from on high. The light step, the straightness of her spine, not a hair of spun sunlight out of place— proper and assured. Her dress shimmered like a shattered window with each stride— how much could such craftsmanship cost? The whole of his village, twice over? More? The mind boggled, even when guessing blindly.

For all he might have never met royalty in his twenty-one years, he knew when someone looked the part.

Hearing her bell-like voice ring out as though calling forth her sworn warriors that were their Order, Gerard exchanged a glance with Sir Sergio, as if looking to gauge his intent on answering.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VahkiDane@VitaVitaAR

Careful though he'd been to not favor these kids with anything less than a smile, Gerard found his face begin to harden at the repeated focus upon the erstwhile Bandit King— and with each increasingly outlandish quality appended to the story, he felt himself growing sterner in response. He didn't blame them, he wasn't that short-sighted— the young and impressionable always had an ear for the kinds of rumors that grew larger than life, and battles themselves were chaotic enough that the details often slipped past those who were there, let alone those who were only working from hearsay.

If such weren't the case, he would never have left the fields, after all.

No, his ire wasn't for them. While Sergio had taken the reins Gerard had pointedly shoved back into his chest, the younger knight pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment and breathed deep, fighting to keep his disdain from showing as anything worse than a little steel in the posture and eyes.

He wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. To think his fears had all stemmed from the eyes around him upon his conduct, searching for something unfitting— yet he quickly had begun to realize the setting of a Royal Ball found most scrutiny from the self.

He did appreciate the compliments regarding their gallantry and bravery. But what was the cost of it? Did the lionization come as a rising tide upon every boat at shore? If that were the case...

A beat after Sergio, his wine also touched his lips, a pensive sip that seemed to drink in the silence as much as the blood of the vineyards—

"Miss Violette's the closest."

And when he spoke, he thanked it for easing the harder edge of tension off his voice. A slight rasp aside, the words that flowed forth were now firm rather than terse, speaking with a simple conviction as though the fires within had been doused. This was a pointed statement, yes, but would be no more.

"The 'Bandit King' was a rebel whose cause had been squashed years ago. An old traitor that, for all his size and strength, didn't have the sense to do anything more than thrash angrily— and try to enact a vengeance his cruelty had long robbed him what little right he might've had to. He was no fallen divine, unfortunately—"

His eyes narrowed, gazing into the middle distance as his head tilted towards the roof. In his mind's eye, the silhouette of the mighty brigand still loomed over him sometimes with his impossible blade raised high, a dark mountain wreathed by the violent orange of the blaze. A savage figure, defiant snarl on his face even though Gerard's blade had already shown his life the door. The Captain and Fionn were the only reasons that, right there and then, hadn't been it.

A blink, and he was gone again. Gerard turned his gaze back down onto the three.

"—Just a man, lost in his own tantrum against the Crown. More rage in him than reason, pushing him to trample the innocent. A man who needed to die."

...

... Another sip.

"He was pretty tall though, yeah. Big guy."