HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter

So it's not that, then.

He frowned, a puff of wind carrying dissatisfaction into the void that had been carved between the inimical dumbasses by the ongoing miscommunication. The problem with going for the legs... lunging like a low wolf...

Alright, what the hell was it, if the incoming admonishment wasn't "Quit throwing yourself so far forward for that stuff," then?

His arms folded, he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable from three feet to the right.

The Lion's Banner: A Fire Emblem-Inspired Anime Fantasy RP

István Shilage

Another of the stone-carved effigies loomed within the assembled forces behind the Steel Princess casting his gaze down through the steel of his helm to spilt iron on the floor, the metallic scent upon his nose familiar as any. Fresh enough that it shone a brilliant ruby even in meager torchlight, cast from above by the mercenary's hand, Istvan saw no need to speak presently— he was roughly in agreement with the rest of the lot, and his words would redundantly murk the air where silence would give clarity.

Some arcane trickery had occured, be it a last-ditch effort to consolidate power by the higher ends of the fetid cult or the sublimation of the gambit they'd initially drawn up. A second raid concurrent with theirs was by all reasonable assumption out of the question; the spilled essence too localized, the surroundings too immaculate (save for structural vandalism, of course) by half. He was well-schooled in many areas, but the whims of magecraft did not fall within their number— though an imaginative mind pondered at the possibility of their unwitting participation in some ritual of bloodletting, given the fervor and number of cultists their theater had drawn forth.

Whatever had been done was to be preempted, at least prepared for. Idle chatter would distract.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter@Krayzikk

"Right, Nach. Misspoke." the reply and acceptance was equally swift. Genuine mixup. Though, there was likely something to the idea that Indes had taken Nach's place in his internalized combative hierarchy of initiatives— as hard and uncompromising as the thirst for Vor had been hammered in, was it possible it had skewed his interpretation on the whole? Fighting on the front foot was like breathing— even simultaneous counters had an alien air compared to simple insistence on pressure, pace, and persistence. "And that..."

His brow furrowed, expression twisting into something quite perturbed by the discovered answer to Fionn's rhetorical question. His right hand closed into a fist, then one finger rose beneath his flummoxed gaze.

"Jeremiah,"

Another.

"Sir Erich,"

Three.

"That bloated undead just before him,"

A trio stood tall in the passing breeze, looming larger than they had any right to. They may not have formed a proper excuse within that "W" shape, but they did bring up a pattern that was worth, if not alarm, a certain level of consideration. He returned his gaze to Fionn all but apologetically, well aware of how this wasn't necessarily the point.

"Quite a few, actually. It's weird, now that I think about it."

He cast the three impudent soldiers into the reserves with a wave, folding his arms after a nod of greeting to the approaching Sir Nicomede, the exchange on arcane matters already lost on him, bereft of any spark of mana that he could think of, from the first word. the thoughtful frown he often wore slid back over his features like an old glove, and his brow furrowed as the mind set to work.

"I think we drive at the same point, though— these examples are boiling down to distance control. Her stance and weapon elongate the engagement, giving her more room to bait out overextensions and less commitment behind the change in level than I'd need, since the longsword naturally demands we square up more to utilize both hands for cutting power and leverage. She can keep her feet on a line and play with distances more readily by simply bouncing in and out, where I'm getting in much closer to leverage my frame and build. Bear down on people, use the bind to isolate their sword and nullify cleaner, quicker strikes, not give them room to breathe."

... Good soldier, good soldier, we need a conclusion to drive this to. Theory is well and good, but useless without application.

"So what do I take from that, then— Angle in? Can't be right, I already know to move laterally. Getting ahold of the faster party is generally a good idea, dictate the terms of engagement..."

Wait.

"I'm an idiot, Fionn. Solid posture."

He'd walked right past it through all that.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter

At mention of his name, Gerard's gaze perked up from the dull feder he'd been halfway through yanking free from the rack— had Fionn been more insistent on pulling Sir Renar into a spell of back-and-forth bickering about his absence earlier in the day, the younger of the two ex-mercs was indeed planning on kicking off the circuit directly himself. If nothing else, his own approach would have been tailor-made to feed the pair that were better schooled situational insight, with the emphasis on aggression forcing exchanges and drawing Lilia's pressure responses forth. Giving them a rough preliminary on how she worked by simply forcing work onto her—

But all things being equal, he welcomed Renar to take it for himself, indicating as much with an compliant lift of the hand as he marched over to Fionn's side, and set the ad-hoc blade onto the soft grass before him as his frame dropped to meet it shortly after. One elbow propped onto a knee, he leaned forward and let his chin rest upon the palm as the bout commenced— seated, but far from languid. His amber gaze, so often clouded by the rolling fog of overthinking, was sharp and alert.

Too often, he let instinct and repetition do most of the heavy lifting when it came to the heat of battle, as there was little room for anything else beneath the rushing sensation. Training, similarly, drew upon leveraging his conditioning and fierceness in spars while he continually strove to polish form on his own. It had gotten him this far. It was growing clear that it wouldn't get him much further— much to the imminent vindication of the other three in their nascent circle of iron sharpening iron. They'd get their ribbing in soon enough.

His gaze flicked back and forth between the dueling pair as the opening salvos were loosed between them. Those instincts had been a crutch for very good reason, it was worth noting— the hunch they'd given him was correct. The girl was quick. Were it not for how he'd dialed in his focus, he might have lost the motion within the burst that had begun it. With her rapier, a low swipe for the ankles, cloaked in mist that melded into hoarfrost into rime.

"That's..."

Let them if they chose, then. His unwitting stubbornness had begun to chip, they'd earned the gloating.

"Kinda the same thing that I do, in a sense of offensive effect."

This was an opportunity to learn the lesson everyone had been trying to pound into his head— and gain those insights for himself. His focus had centered upon that task, and those thoughts were drawn forth as they were formed by mind and tongue in equal measure, floating through the air in a low murmur even as his eyes continued to dart from fighter to fighter.

"The distance is different given the weapon and stance, stretches the ranges out to something more even with most polearms than other swordsmen. Speed's higher. Magic's offering additional lines of attack, but the theory's all the same. Starting by trying to kill the base and mobility, initiating with surprise by shifting vertical levels, and then it's immediately lateral movement and going for pokes while the enemy's still navigating the first range— and then getting dirt in the eyes, too. That one gets everyone once."

The prattling was clearly more for his own benefit than anyone else's, but Fionn Mackerracher lived and breathed the finer details on a scale that seemed to be beyond even intuitive— no better sounding board Gerard could think of, and he was right next to him.

"Different details and method, but same principle. Seizing the initiative and adding a new problem every time it looks like he's got a chance to breathe. This is one other way to do that, work to end."

He frowned thoughtfully, then let it fade— glancing to his friend with a wry, almost needling smirk.

"You wanna lecture me about the part where she sat in indes before the dirt though, don't ya?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter

"The three of us are plenty used to making eachother look like idiots in training," Gerard offered, electing to shelve the further questions he'd begun to brew regarding that pillow situation, regardless of how little he believed anything with acute night eyes could be nearsighted. The picture was either clear, or it wasn't, right? Different from training your eyes to move and react. "Be an odd change to start laughing now."

Interesting that you lash out like a wounded dog, Agrahn had said.

Anyway.

When you can't wipe that grin off your face.

His curiosity had been drawn elsewhere regardless, following instead the same direction that Renar's took. It was serendipitous as hell, given the conversation he and the Bastard of Brias had only just shared... But messages from beyond seemed all too commonplace, this past week. Reading into it was at once an opened door and a block on the road, depending on how much you did it— he'd trust his gut with this.

"So that established, sounds like you're game." He continued, beginning a steady march forward through the center of the pair ahead of him, each having slid off to opposing ends of the doorframe. There was just enough room to brush past and make it back into the open— Probably. "Field's not far."

The Lion's Banner: A Fire Emblem-Inspired Anime Fantasy RP

István Shilage

A wet crunch served as herald to the spray of blood and bone as his mighty flail caved the skull of an overzealous pursuer, deep blues of night turning the sanguine crimson into a splash of artist's ink upon shining metal. As advertised, the raid division beneath his command had proven themselves vulgar, brutish, and infuriatingly callous when confronted with the cult's "sacred" effigies— and if the few insults that had pierced the din of the ensnarement process were anything to go by, far from above adding personal stakes to the provocation.

As one, they'd soared in return to the treeline, the fruits of their labor in tow— and as one, the incensed necromancers-to-be realized their deadly mistake. The woods sang with battle, the thrumming strings of bows and crossbows layering over the steady beat of sudden and violent melee. Istvan, towering over many, was the deep, bellowing bass drum as his flail and shield brought the full weight of his physicality to bear upon those entangled. He shattered bones, tore arteries, tossed weaker foes aside into the path of friendly archers— and all the while, seemed to relish the act of tearing into his foes, a demon in knight's dressing.

There would be few better distractions for an Assassin to be lost behind. An eternal advocate for smashing through flanks, he had begun to push in towards the center from the outskirts when Lambert elected to make her move.

"Die, die, die!"

As if a response to the merchant's squeaking call, the sudden burst of flame illuminated the man's rough-hewn frame as he kicked his latest victim into the dirt, eyes wide with adrenaline as they searched for his next. It was difficult to not imagine a manic grin beneath the steel of the helm, all trappings of nobility overtaken by combative vigor. Marching forward, the spilt blood began to fly as he swung Meteor end of over end in his grip.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter

"Gerard," He added with a nod, slipping the name in within the space allowed by Renar's own introductions and subsequent spearheading of the conversation. "Pleasure."

Like a kid stumbling their way through meeting someone from the other side of the village for the first time, this one. He'd heard elves kept their youth for ages compared to humans, spending multiples of his own lifetime in their physical prime. Did that extend to their personalities as well? Or was she just shy?

...

As he watched on, happy to let Renar's more eloquent tongue lead the conversation, he strove to make some connections within his experience.

Dame Shanil wasn't one much for talking, either, come to think of it. Not nearly so easily set off her center, though— where Lilia was stumbling all over herself to try and engage, the former would scoff, snort, and refuse to without apparent care in the world. Who else could he look at here... right, Morianne. The troubadour was many things— Blunt. Brash. Ostentatious as a rule. You couldn't get more different than you tried from the Gentle Blade's daughter between the two.

So he could rule it out as just an "elf" thing, then. In that case, had to be the shy type.

Still... beneath the quivering, hiding, and stammering, it had taken Fionn's presence of mind and deft sense of prediction to evade her forehead ramming down into the top of his skull, and her clothing (while weird and arguably unseasonable even for Thaln) revealed a frame that was wiry and lean, not just thin and untrained.

His eyes narrowed, just a little.

This wasn't the Gentle Blade for certain— she lacked the crispness and command to her movement and bearing even if you accounted for the sudden tanning (did she piss off lady Reon?) that set her visage apart. Any idiot could garner that much... but he was the right type of idiot to notice that she was still quick when her nerves ran things on automatic. This was far from ordinary.

You know, she'd probably been standing more normally in the moment Fionn had kicked the door open, too.

"I thought that was bullshit," he cut in, in response to his fellow ex-merc. "Just some 'go fetch us the shield wash, fresh meat' type of story. See what you can get the new guys to believe."

The Lion's Banner: A Fire Emblem-Inspired Anime Fantasy RP

István Shilage

@VitaVitaAR@Conscripts@AzureKnight

"Generous." he noted, smile unwavering as the elven ranger took a moment to size him and his up. They'd interacted little directly, this being their first true exchange of words (beyond passing pleasantries, when provided). Whatever he found was evidently unobjectionable, as his agreement came swift enough. All he would need to work with, Valmyra's answer notwithstanding. "I would have believed you to want more room to work. Ten it shall be."

With an assured nod, he left them to their preparations, and returned to his own.

Once decided, positions were swiftly filled by the assembled forces beneath the Lions' banner, Istvan dividing his raiders as previously discussed. The majority of his contingent had nestled themselves behind him in the brush within the northerly edge of the ambush team, instructed to follow his charge and otherwise given the go-ahead to cut loose upon any effigies and cultists they could pick off. Rough men and woman each, they had nonetheless been trained quite ruthlessly by the scion of the nascent Shilage— and thus kept their rowdiness at camp under tight lock and key, knowing full well the depths of reprisal he could loose upon them.

He let Meteor's chain begin to unravel off his forearm, and stood his vigil coolly, scanning the field ahead.

This was not to say some light murmuring and exchange hadn't escaped them, one brave soul even drawing up alongside him for a spell to glean his take on the stratagem he was working within, its ideas of deeper subterfuge and feinting— only to be waved away in short order with his classic rejoinder:

"We want to understand the enemy."

Taking their measure with this initial bait and switch would inform the larger scale to come— how to best tie the rope around their necks.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark@Raineh Daze@The Otter

"Speak of the damn devil..." Gerard muttered as his eyes snapped up to the source of the crash, past Sir Renar, the dining hall's entryway flooding with sound as Fionn damn near booted the thing inward. "Fionn!"

He raised his hand in greeting as the Veltic man's eyes scanned the hall before locking in upon his own. After the initial burst of motion, Gerard then began to take in the whole picture— and quickly noticed something amiss, aside from his fellow ex-mercenary's waved greetings morphing, quite quickly, into insistent beckoning.

A dash of mint green behind one burly shoulder.

A thin, long crook of an elbow, like a wire or branch of a young tree, poking out from beneath the upraised arm.

A distinctly pointed ear, poking out from behind the aforementioned verdant locks as they flew and tried to shrink further behind Fionn's back, upon their owner's understanding that his gaze had shifted onto her. What were the odds?

He frowned, brow furrowing in mild confusion as he tried to wave Fionn in for a moment, bringing the guest with— but the older swordsman managed to, entirely without either of them engaging in the realm of speech, bowl right over him. The Shilagean brawler sighed through the nose, propped his hands against the table, and stood. "I'll go see what he wants."

Where certain details fit, namely between the hair and the more gracile and tall build, they could already rule out the monumental coincidence that would have been "Fionn found the Gentle Blade wandering the streets himself after the morning jog". And yet, there was a spark of familiarity to her, as more details revealed themselves— despite her best efforts to the contrary. The gears, freshly greased, were set to turn. If he wanted to talk all big about using his brain... here'd be a good place to start.

Oh, the ball. That's where I saw the mint hair, right.

As he stalked forward, he made little if any attempt to hide his gaze rapidly flickering between the unlikely pair before him, and pulled up with folded arms and an indelicate question on his tongue.

"Hey, brother. Your friend here's... the one that was with The Gentle Blade at the ball, right? She lost? Looking for Dame Cecilia?"

He'd introduce himself if she seemed game to talk, but currently, that didn't look likely.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Psyker Landshark

"Fresh perspective." he conceded, nodding along at Renar's initial rejoinder. The analysis was harsh, blunt, but never totally unfair— a continuous throughline between him and his better-schooled peers whenever time came to talk technique. This often came up during training— and inwardly, Gerard found it a regret that he hadn't internalized their words properly, for all his talk of respecting them, their skills, their experience, and their ability. That it had taken vividly dying, over and over, and coming excessively close twice more in reality, for the lesson to begin to stick.

Fionn had said it best, once— That Gerard's instinct, the one that most combatants reverted to under pressure, was to bet on a coin flip to regain. To seize Vor by being meaner, stronger, by wanting it more— relying on aggression and athleticism, rather than craft, process, and adaptation. Initiative ruled everything, so seizing initiative meant everything.

Pace. Pressure. Persistence.

Renar focused on having a deep bag of tricks— Gerard fought like he just needed to try harder than the opponent. He had ideas on offense, and could bring plenty of force to bear to invoke them— but there wasn't much depth or method beyond his workmanlike basics and moment-to-moment opportunism. Analyses that had flooded into his consciousness in these four months of crossing blades with Sir Renar, Dame Serenity, Fionn. Even in understanding such a limitation academically, it was hard to change who he was. This was how he'd been taught.

It takes time to learn. It takes time again to unlearn. We can't act like we have time. We might be out of it tomorrow.

But if anyone could accelerate that process, who better than a swordswoman with multiple centuries of dedication to the craft?

"Right, she is." his eyes widened at the realization— having barely interacted with her at the ball due to the accosting young nobility, and then standing within the subsequent whirlwind upon the assassination attempt... her presence had utterly slipped his mind. "And she's famous for the skill to begin with— probably nobody better to show us how to refine approaches even as we get stronger. All that time at the pinnacle has to have given her some kind of sense for styles like ours, how they work, how we can make them better. I'm throwing in with that."

Too good an idea to pass up. So like Sir Renar to have this one up his sleeve— So like Gerard to jump on a golden chance without hesitating. They couldn't concern themselves with worries of her potential refusal— the attempt needed to be made, lest it be gone until fate took them.

"Working with her ought to make us faster, too, by proxy. Didn't she snatch the damn bolt out of the air, when that all went down? Our eyes'll be forced to start keeping up with that kind of speed, and that's half the battle."