HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Krayzikk@ERode@VahkiDane

"They looked pretty nasty. Had to deal with something similar in the crypt, but..." Imperceptible beneath the leather and steel save for the ensalleted head, he let the thought trail away with a shrug, scanning through the field for a moment before meeting the shadows of the Knight of the Harvest Moon's visor with his own gaze. They'd largely torn through this flank, enough to scatter the rank-and-file. A couple pairs of them had glommed back together into skirmishing form after the mayhem began to settle, but were swiftly being pulled back apart before they could pick off any lone Knights.

For the moment, at least, this side had won itself reprieve. Enough to reset before the wedge pushed back behind the treeline, to hunt down whatever masters the desecrated abominations thrown their way heeded. "Big bastards like him are used to throwing their weight around amidst starving sellswords, untrained peasantry, and run-of-the-mill conscripts." The hammer shifted on his shoulder, as if testing the heft for a swing yet to come, shifting the grip for control. His tone was tight and unkind, but blunt and frank in the way debriefs so often went. "He'd have killed the me from when we first met, probably— But that game crumples when it gets hit by somebody with enough weight to throw back. Steffen and I pretty much ran him over."

More importantly.

"We need to get a healer to you if we can. How bad?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Krayzikk@ERode@VahkiDane

"...Nah." Gerard breathed after a moment's consideration, the weight of the maul, and all its' bloody history, a feather in his hands. Bringing it down unto its brutish wielder had made for smaller satisfaction than he'd bargained, honestly— but he'd little time to ponder the meaning of that void. It would forestall their victory, if his mind was stuck on it— better to simply say "this must be moving on" and recenter his focus on the objective. "Nah, he's fine. Called for a duel and got it. I've got enough trouble with the courtesies I haven't learned,"

A smirk played across his face, toothy and houndish within the haggard breath he was leashing with time and measure. He rose to his full height once more, hoisting the hammer onto his shoulder with a wrench of the left arm, right hand closing its grip again around his trusted blade.

"Best I mind the ones I've known for a while already."

Thunder cracked from afar, as a pillar of cerulean washed over the moonlit clearing. It cast the pair of knights in hues of the arcane, blue-white caught within purple and gold. Their spellcaster on loan, apparently, had gotten sick of beating around the bush— and now had reason to just throw around raw power. He'd stay away for a while.

As Steffen hoisted his spear to ready and made to set off, Gerard did much the similar, at decidedly different course. "We've driven the wedge pretty far out— don't wanna splinter it any more than we've got to. You go get him, I'll get ahold of Serenity and Nico."

As they drew past eachother, objectives decided, a small, muttered thanks crept beneath the din.

"I won't make a liar of you."

And then the Ingvarr Knight was off, another mighty charge smashing through the breaking ranks of Boars as he surged forth to Lein's perch.

Gerard's was a shorter sprint, arriving in time with Sergio's war pick caving in the temple of the knife-wielder that had shown up in tandem with his old adversary— evidently by far the trickier of the two, though that was no tall bar to clear. The younger Knight's brow knotted as he took stock of his fellows' posture— Sergio's not quite steady, hitching as it moved. Serenity, though rushing to rejoin, swaying, albeit slightly, where there was normally picturesque poise.

He was a greenhorn sword of the nation, but battlefield veteran enough. He could recognize a broken arm, a ruptured inner ear.

Nico, further up the field but in the middle distance between, still hale. He was no healer, but he was a water mage— for what little Gerard knew of magic as a whole, he knew water to be protective and soothing, much like the Goddess claiming it as domain. He glanced to the blonde swordsman for a moment, flicking his gaze back to Serenity before turning his attention to Sergio.

"Good kill. I've got you covered."

Sword and hammer in hand, he moved to impose himself onto the Knight of the Harvest Moon's flank. The Boars weren't finished, they were cornered— this would be when they pounced on any opening they could find.

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

István Shilage

@Psyker Landshark

"On loan." He repeated, nodding slowly as the beans steeped, then settled. As ever, the rise and fall of the foam told him when things were due to finish, when the brew would reach its most delicate balance between strength and subtlety. Too far to either side, and it would tip until unrecoverable. Many things were this way in life— navigating the balance point between the two virtues. "Fascinating. I had never known such an arrangement to be possible— I'll have to divine how the Lady made that happen. What an oversight in my understanding."

He got what he'd expected, more or less— an answer that slotted easily into place at first or even second glance, and given with only a little pressure, a little probing. He saw no reason it didn't make sense save for the incongruence with her organization's own mission statement— and the ease with which she gave that up, in the grand scheme, did make a certain facet of him suspect this as incense thrown into the bush, to throw off hunting hounds.

The best way to dissuade questions was always to feed them an answer they expected.

But by the same token, couched within the idea was the implicit concession that, like anything else, money and influence had their ways of making inroads on even the most esoteric of organizations. Was that truly less believable?

In all instances, this was the balance point, once again. And he had somewhere to be. A game of strength and subtlety needed too to end, when it came time.

"You've taught me something worth remembering for future endeavors— I must extend my thanks." His smile broadened, as he began to spoon foam into the awaiting mugs that had stood quietly to witness the exchange from start to finish. "Tell me— would you care for a mug, or shall my silence on the matter alone suffice, as I take my leave?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Raineh Daze@Krayzikk

"True. It would have been a lot of trouble if I didn't have him at my back. The same with Sir Nicomede at our side, to lock you into place and start all this. I'd have had my work cut out for me. Good, reliable brothers-in-arms are hard to come by."

Rime that venerated Mayon in this holy land of hers to bind him. A mighty charge from a mammoth of a man to knock him off his feet. His comrades were, however far they all might have been from the founding generation, incomparable in their own ways. To stand among their number was an honor he always, until the words grew dull on his tongue, was sure to reiterate.

The hammer, cast aside as the Boar seemed to accept spite in his final moments, was lifted again off the diamond-crusted earth, its weight floating an inch above as measured steps brought it over, and raised it high.

He met the gaze of the fallen man, both knowing he was to breathe his last. He spoke again, in a voice that quaked not with fury, tightened its throat not, grit no teeth.

"But, hey, like I said— You were fighting the Roses. Not anyone else."

Not me.

Not the ghost of the Faceless.

All of us.

"The only reason I'm here is because I strive for it every day— I belong because they judge me to, not you. Mercenary record would never have been enough. I had to keep moving beyond that, and every one of us who made it out did the same. The Faceless are left in the past. You will be too."

Instead, he spoke as if saying a simple farewell.

The road ahead was clearing up.

"May Reon's gold flame burn your spirit clean."

He swung.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Raineh Daze

It means I'm not as dumb as I look.

Whatever contact the armored butcher may have expected, in what mind he could speak to beneath that ugly pig's helm, what he received was feather-light on his guard. Gerard had sold the preparatory motions, but not the full shift of weight through the arc— he was never going to get that lucky to begin with, but given the ideas already in his foe's head from their shared history?

Surviving long as he had on the battlefield had honed the Boar's speed, even beneath his shell of tempered iron, as well as any other. The reprisal came immediately out of the same motion that brought his hammer haft into guard, a sequence that had caved countless Verloren skulls. Men like the knight before him, only half a year ago—

Who had already disappeared from the space, ducking low as he dodged to the side the moment he drew the reaction out. The swing flew past by an inch or two, rushing wind grazing his scarred cheekbone— if he hadn't already been moving when it came, it would have clocked him cold, sallet or no. Half a year ago, he very well may have died.

This man expected the aggression, expected the vitriol to take his senses, expected him to throw his whole being into every blow. He'd seen it from Gerard's ilk, time and again. Reckless, wild, overwhelming—

A flash in his mind, of the towering silhouette that buried blade and axe into his bones.

—and stopped by a brick wall all the same. There was likely nobody better the Knights had, then, to sell the feint. But feinting alone wouldn't knock a castle gate down.

When sieging heavy fortifications... you brought the battering ram.

Surging forth from the smoke as though fired from ballistae and filling the void Gerard had left, Sir Steffen bore down upon the Black Iron Pig, spear flashing, shield braced to bowl him over. Gerard's mind raced as he pivoted his strong side back into the exchange, now at the flank, sensing something wrong with their enemy's balance from the arc the swing had taken— There!

He swung again, as the gleam of rime drew the eyes to the compromised leg the boar suddenly needed to favor, crossguard every bit as good a hook as it was a hammer. If he could take out a balance point, hook or knock in a knee or ankle from the back, the pig's hopes of bracing into and checking Sir Steffen would be dead in the water!

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

István Shilage

@Psyker Landshark

The symbol of endlessness continued to swirl through the grounds in even tempo, as the stone-carved face (more a gargoyle than kingly bust) held its tongue until the assassin had finished with hers. He'd known better than to believe the hustle of campaign to have fully shaken that moment from her mind— she worked with enough professionalism that a background of some covert capacity seemed to almost be the only reasonable choice. She was no bloodthirsty murderer-zealot to a foreign church of death, nor did she share the naked avarice of, say, their mutual associate in Urden. To the eyes of those in the sphere that would need watch for them, the guess had come naturally. This was merely confirmation. Any lesser blade that cloaked itself in shadow would have preened and accepted the misidentification as praise.

"Your point is quite apparent," he rumbled, a dull earthen eye sliding over to meet her gaze as he worked through his ritual. Assessment of the goings on from the northlands was on today's itinerary, leaving he and his ward with the thankless task of remote counsel and administration to look forward to for the coming hours. As the years continued to pass, he found his mornings had grown to see him wake a little duller than he liked. Given the circumstances of the fief's chain of command at present, he didn't need to go and advise a misstep off the back of a clouded mind.

A calm smile spread over his face, light enough to avoid registering as mockery. Regardless of his reasonable safety (her wariness of investigations would prove well-founded, should the boy suddenly find cause to bring the weight of the Demet fiefdom onto her head), he had no need to further antagonize a Potential Asset.

"As one such ambitious man, I would be remiss not to remember when hands are shown or lines drawn."

Much. There was one thing he had noticed in between the pointed, knife-shaped subtext. Something that had piqued his interest. He turned to face her fully, as steam wafted forth from the spout of the kettle in his hand. Warmth radiated against his knuckles.

"Now that you've further clarified where we both stand, I have to say: How lucky our host and her swiftly rising star must be, that those interested parties above are no longer privileged by your service. To your clandestine point, I imagine it must be quite the rare thing to find one's way out of their employ and into another's."

It wasn't like she could have feasibly aged out of the position and retired. There were more cards to coax onto the table, but he wouldn't be getting them here.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Krayzikk@ERode@VitaVitaAR

True to the black-armored hulk's wishes, Gerard had heard him well before he saw him— and darted to the side as the earth was split beneath the brutal meteor that fell from above, all thunder and bellowed challenge. The man's voice rang from within his armor like an ugly bell, but the timbre, the laughter... something about it made Gerard's grip run tighter, just so.

His eyes caught the gold trimming, as his sword entered the wake between both the enemy's swing and his own movement—

The face of a boar revealed itself from the gloom next, cast on that black iron. With it, stains of red. Mangled limbs, crushed skulls, torn masks, Johann, Rykerd, Haland—

He knew this man.

"They're dead!"

Within the dominant angle, Gerard obliged, lightning cracking through his body. A mighty swing of his blade cleft the air between them, careening into the visor, ready to smash through that infinitesimal gap that allowed vision—

But the rise of the hammer back into the Boar's guard saw him turn his lead shoulder in, the curved, thick plate of steel all but a fortress wall to the knight's well-kept, but ultimately mundane longsword and strength.

The shock, having bounced off the armor like so many of his former peers' had back in the day, traveled up through his arms and spine, a reminder that no picture could ever capture the depth of. Another thunderbolt came from above, transposing the image of a vicious smirk beneath the depths of the man's helm in the night. Killing intent leaked out like a sieve—

But hadn't it always?

As he was forced back, the knight's racing mind caught up with the scene before him.

The Butcher. The Shieldbreaker. Ogre. Many epithets had swirled around the bastard beneath the plate, as mercenary worlds so frivolously bestowed them, so often— The myth eclipsed the man. His name was an obscurity— perhaps cast off, perhaps of no note. For all Gerard knew, they were self-proclaimed.

A ragged breath escaped him, as he pulled his blade back into a sturdy, reactive guard— interposing the bar of steel between him and his foe. His ears told him his peers within the wedge they'd formed were similarly tied, that he'd not been pulled completely away.

"The Faceless are dead." the next breath escaped as a tight snarl, rather than the snapping roar. "Regiment's dissolved. You're behind the times, Pig."

He had indeed killed many of Gerard's former comrades personally. This hulking specter of the past had loomed across the battlefield against the Faceless, against their Forlorn Company, dozens of times— in a way emblematic of the checkered past he and the Boars had shared.

The beast's march continued, each lumbering footfall heavy as the hammer. For that armor to be as familiar a visage as this, Gerard could assume that the other man felt at home in it— and that it wasn't any great coincidence that his blade had skirted off its heft. Full harness was all but impenetrable with the blade he had, when leveraged smartly.

His eyes narrowed, and he shifted his grip.

It was a rare Boar that built up that kind of experience from entirely within the company. One of the most prevalent tales regarding this one was that he was an alum of the Cazt rebellion, having thrown in with the Boars while the getting was still good. A once-knight of the realm at some juncture, who'd slipped through the cracks and thrown in with the worst of the lot. That he'd sacrificed any shred of dignity he could still claim by deserting even the traitor, let alone his country, his people, his duty to protect.

"You're fighting the Iron Roses."

His left hand slid down the length of the blade, coming to a halt some third of the way down from the tip. His right clenched around the ricasso, beneath the crossguard.

The weight in his hands was good. Where a swinging edge failed, a mordhau would ring with much, much more impact. Fighting was the leveraging and taking of yours and your opponent's tools. Armor checked his blade, hammering strikes sent shocks through the steel. The reach and weight of the great hammer made it deadly at longer distance. The leverage and dexterity of halfswording made for a good can opener in tight. He just needed to get there, now...

He raised his guard, digging his heel into the earth. This was intersection.

A knight, fallen to hellish depths. A blackguard to the core, relishing only bloodshed and tolerating every evil, who had cast aside his sacred duty. No honor left in his soul. None there to give him.

A mercenary, climbing out of them. Fighting every day to prove he was worthy of the blessings that came with a chance to be more. No reason to fight like a dullard. No reason to keep being one, and leave advantage on the table.

Utterly antithetical to eachother. As if designed to be equivalent, and opposite. Perfect checks to the path each advanced through.

He swung high, forcing a reaction lest the snout of the helm cave in on his opponent's face—

But I've got a lot further to go than you, you piece of shit.

"Nobody else— Nico, get his joints!"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Conscripts@Krayzikk@ERode

This was a new sensation.

Not the blood on his tongue, nor the burning line he'd gained across the jaw, no. Many times he'd been pockmarked in the frenzy, been gifted small reminders of how far away the ideal he chased really was, and how truly stopgap a measure his methods to win until he got there had proven to be. Nor was the rise of wind washing the fire away as he took a breath into his belly, the hammering of his heartbeat in his eardrums. The swordplay always took him like this in the thick of it, taught him to push pain into a corner where it didn't leave (it never would) as much as was kept out of the way. It ran hot in his muscles, in his spine, in somewhere rawer than considered technique. Hammered mechanics, writ large on his frame. He knew this feeling well.

Sir Steffen's admonishment didn't fall on deaf ears, but he bit back his acknowledgement as sparks flew, a pair of longswords colliding in front of him. His, humble, biting into the edge of the man opposite, ornate outside the means suggested by the brigandine on his torso. Trophy, probably.

A clarion call to glory from Dame Serenity and flying mass to their right, snapping them out of the bind as the dark shape of a stricken hound crashed into the man at the latter's flank. His foe leapt into the open space, oberhau sailing towards his collar, his neck, the temple beneath his sallet.

The swordplay was taking him. Nothing new.

A chill of frost, unseasonable in the summer night. Sharpness on the wind at his back. He responded in kind, crushing distance with the same strike to defend, resetting the prior exchange. Habitually, Gerard would wind up to ochs here, lining up the stab down the gorget the moment he felt the blades press into one another.

On the length of his blade, Gerard felt the pressure shift, momentarily, and rise.

It did not see him lost, this time.

In the chaos, the space between breaths was enough to paint a picture. A flash in the mind, his foe mirroring him in that old "kill them quickly" favorite standby— going for the throat in the second layer of the exchange. If they had met when they shared professions, it was probable only athletic gulfs would have earmarked who would be left standing.

He could look further than that.

His body had learned that deeper still, there were third, and fourth.

He wrenched his own higher as he drove in, short edge whipping around as the oncoming thrust skirted along the bar of his crossguard. Both swords hanging, stuck in contact after paired winds, his bearing down over the upper, weak edge of his foe's—

And with nothing but cloth to guard the Boar's legs, the mutieren found its mark, steel finding the artery of the femur as the bloodsoaked knight forced his strength down.

The body was cold before the rime took him.

"She's right," he growled, falling into the wedge behind Sir Nicomede's furious dance of spada and sleet. Presence was a good thing, but he hadn't time to gawk at keeping a head on the shoulders within his fury. His eyes had already locked upon a straggler, scampering away into the brush and well beyond reach. "The Pigs run their band like a cult— those at the back aren't booking it, they're carrying news! The good hunting's bound to be past the treeline!"

A lunge to the right, inky blur rocketing to Nicomede's throat as he tore through the line before them—

Intercepted by a cleaving half-moon and a grunt from the Shilagean, as his blade tore through the jaw of the hound, never to close again and spread its curse. Once the initial suprise of what they were capable of wore off, even strong, bewitched dogs were dogs.

As the weight driving behind the very tip of the spear, there were few places that better suited Gerard than here at Sir Nicomede's flank. The four of them would tear through in short, short order.

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

István Shilage

@The Otter

"The thought occurred to me, once or twice," came the mirthful yet muffled grindstone timbre, as the hulk's advance paused to see his neck crane beneath the greathelm, tilting ears high, eyes high. Beneath the clamor of both forces' cries of war, the symphony of steel and flame, there was... thrumming. Twanging. This skirmish was an orchestra of percussion, voice, and brass— not haggard strings. Irian's bow sang a deeper chord, one melding with the dull roar. These were stark, acrid, and rushed. Assembling to a time, not yet to a tune.

"But to stop a heart without making good on the fear struck as... merciful."

He spat the word, as the dull earthen disks within the shadowed visor honed in on a fallen array of stars, points of caught firelight in the smoke. He raised the castle gate on his left arm as he stepped forth, two, three, and four impacts biting into the metal and wood. Not preternaturally accurate in their haste to mount a proper check to the sudden offensive, not mobile enough to vanish like ghosts in the wake of their scattered steeds...

"Swiftly now. They rally." he grunted, affirmed by the little Princess's sharp calls from the direction of the scattershot arrows.

The boy was schooled as well as he— hell, even the merchant likely knew well enough not to leave coordinated archers to their devices.

He pushed forth beneath the barrier of his shield, ears, and eyes, obscuring as much movement between the encampment's tents as a big man was ever able. Morahti were little more than amoral raiding folk on their best day, but their mettle would surely exceed those of lowly thugs. They would assemble what structure they could from within the chaos— but the raid wouldn't leave them much room to breathe and adapt beyond basic formations, their skirmishers tying up the front while the better archers among them either softened things or picked off strays from the rear.

Swinging around and pressing them from the other side was a natural progression of things— a moment to seize with the tempo, before their enemies could find their feet underneath it. Splitting their attention would halve their potency, leaving either edge of the Lions free to mop up.

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

István Shilage

The clamoring of the world's animals in the face of Mayon, and her silvered, gentle grace was nothing new, all told. Many beasts of certain nobility called into the night— owls, intelligent and dignified, or the noble and loyal wolves, for instance, cast their voices into the night regularly at little more than a stone's throw from the reach of human civilization. The act itself was not debased, yet...

A bubbling hiss rose from the corpse of the slaver at his feet, who had been woken from a drunken stupor by his second and third ribs crumpling. Before he could reach for a blade, Istvan's most recent patronage of the Company Merchant had found a new home, splashed across his brow, and even through the haze of alcohol, a beaten dog could scream as loud as any creature of the night. The language was garbled through pain. A falling Meteor silenced it in short order, as the tower of black iron turned his gaze to the disarray ahead.

In Morahti tongues, "surrender" was not a word worth learning. It meant willfully giving yourself to their particular arm of conquest, to conscription as a slave, to theft of all your property. Death, by any measure, would have been preferable, even with allowance for some supposed cultural understanding of "fair play" on the end of the speaker. The young Earl and he had long been given cause to familiarize themselves with the vulgar language of these raiders— supposedly, such a term did exist for them...

Another, collapsed to his knees, ahead, gaze worlds away in shock. Behind him, a third warrior, this one with wits about him rushing to protect his fellow from the oncoming storm of the Lions— doubtlessly seeking to rouse the former into fighting shape.

"Surrender" wouldn't leave their lips, surely.

Not in any language Shilage had heard.

His march continued.