HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

As one would have expected, facing a thinking opponent rather than a rote automaton, tactics were dropped and swapped when proven unviable. Training beneath the Hammer and Mirror Knight must have been wildly different experiences, given the gap in methodology employed by their respective taskmasters, but more clear than anything was the shared byproduct—

"Incoming high!" he barked, sabaton digging into the earth from heel to toe as forward momentum cut into a spring on the diagonal, sudden change in course exaggerating the distance between him and the silvery orb's trajectory. "Falling short, brace!"

— be it by directed exercise or by simply throwing oneself into as much fire as could be handled, the pair of Reonites had both gained really good eyes, keen, active, and measuring. Gerard's caught the endless torrent of mana that forced Gertrude to earth as light, turning his amber irises gold, before they darted up to read the disk of spun nighttime, motes of silver starlight already gathering within its mass to form a second, and finally Gisela's still-moving mouth and pointed hand. Oh, how flattering, me first.

Right at him. Hard to misinterpret.

Impact. Even at this distance, he felt the shockwave shake his bones, wind kiss the skin of his face, and the ghosts of lives past flash somewhere deep below his thinking mind. The destructive force of each was evident, if this was their appetizer— no moment of it digging into the earth by the look of things once the dust cleared, either. Not an instant to play with the idea of deflecting.

He set forward again, wishing for all the world their erstwhile Lioness peer could have been here to eat crow for giving him grief for his hill sprints in the waking world. The surge in speed brought him ahead of Fleuri, close to the crater the first had left as the second came hurtling down.

"No more cover fire from Gertrude, not until we get some pressure off her!" he reported, scooping his free hand to the upturned earth and pulling free a gauntlet full of gravel, the stone beneath the soil pulverized within the crater. He was tougher now by leagues, but he'd be lucky to endure more than one before his bones were similarly shattered. It felt close enough to a near miss from Cyrus's hammer. "We need to cut off that chanting before she picks us or the guys below off,"

The second silver orb sailed in, lead diligently for his motion to hit him square in the surcoat— but he'd seen something within that instant of the first strike. Building off that sense of not having any time to try and deflect, parry, redirect.

The moment it hit something besides air, then, it went boom.

With a swiping motion not wholly dissimilar to Renar's below, he cast the rubble into the air ahead, as a fistful of somethings suddenly were in the way as the orb breached that final dozen meters from their heads.

"Any ideas?" he asked, as premature thunder cracked overhead.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR@Izurich

Rudolf's own training had, by force of long habit on the road and in the Kirins' travels, taken place in the dead of night and well after he and his business with Ciradyl had been sorted out. If anything, it had served as a reward at the very end of that long, terrible day they'd all had, capping off the final task's completion with some good, solid, physical work— a final refrain of the preamble that had been his careful maintenance hours before.

Sending reports wasn't terribly hard, their host honestly quite accommodating, but composition when the subject matter had been... well, everything that had transpired in this week alone (that he was at liberty to say, operational security demands being what they were)? Another story altogether. He had been very happy to get the different takes on how to delicately phrase the parts where things started publicly exploding sorted meritocratically and out onto the page, rather than bounce around his skull ad infinitum.

The morning after had seen him awake from a thankfully dreamless torpor a bit behind some of the others— while early rises had been hammered into him from a young age, late nights and sore muscles had recency on their side, and he found himself in the courtyard third in line, busying himself with morning stretches, calisthenics, and plyometrics rather than swordplay. Swords were measured by the arm wielding them— he'd be foolish to ignore the athletic gulf present between himself and those he chased. Plus, he preferred to have the blood flowing before he brought his attention to skill work again so soon. Training different energy systems and different movement helped the refined technique find time to settle further into the muscle. Variety was the spice of life. There were as many justifications as you could ask for.

Besides—

The percussion of hardwood striking hardwood, cracking drums that filled the air, set the rhythm for the waltz his eyes drew as they followed the flow of the spar before him. Robin was being forced back. Fighting for it admirably, but nonetheless giving up ground.

—The two that had gotten in here ahead of him made it impossible to totally ignore the craft. Whatever work he did physically, mentally he was there, in the thick of things with them, watching, reading, judging, theorizing, timing, planning. Eyes and mind made for excellent tools on the field. A proper soldier always strived to understand.

Giving up ground was the symptom. Giving up initiative was always the root of these things, and no less true here. Her moments came in bursts, where novel ideas and deft, flashy tricks overcame mechanical disadvantage to throw out something weird from that theatrical cut-and-thrust tutelage, she couldn't seem to capitalize for more than maybe a dozen seconds at a time before Izayoi's fundamentals forced the margin closed.

This wasn't a discredit to his fellow Edrenian. She was good at keeping a line of threat interposed between herself and Izayoi, her reactions were sharp, she kept her nerve in spite of the shape the fight took. Not classical schooling, but a far cry from waving it about like an idiot, breaking down at the first sign of trouble. She was simply fighting uphill against a decade or more extra depth of pursuit, much of it forged in the crucible of wartime. For all that her powers had diminished (and they had, given that his eyes could keep up and begin pointing out to him details where she'd had to have lost certain nuance) Izayoi's feel for the blade had returned enough that she could crush the distance presented by Robin's thrusts, have the first and last word in exchanges, and dictate position as the threats compounded until it all ended, bokken at the throat. He didn't envy the position.

He left before their exchange of words really got going, into those motivational and personal weeds he himself chronically avoided. He'd been tolerated well enough for watching as their match had begun to heat up, aware that this shield of gawking bystanders had made themselves scarce but too interested to leave with them. Had to have been well aware of him, even if their focus had more important people to worry about.

He wouldn't push his luck any further by listening in.

---

Rudolf didn't find any reasons to object to the idea presented when Lord Hien's summons brought them down to brass tacks. He had the important details right— they'd been operating under the assumption that Valheim and the Blight had some relation given how their appearances had coincided. Leads on one doubtlessly were worth investigating as potential leads on the other in any event— and the massed movement in directions that had been pretty well mowed down by the blight itself by all accounts were more than lead enough.

If nothing else, getting an idea of whatever the hell the Valheimr were up to out there would at least serve to help the interests of their hosts. Be dumb to blow off the only benefactor and safe port in town, especially for the four of them that had unavoidably made their faces known to the invaders by getting brought in for imprisonment (or as he'd found out, straight up execution). A less generous sort would likely smirk at how that twisted certain arms, but Rudolf was very pointedly not his father— He didn't really believe that would be the thanks they'd earned from young lord.

So he nodded along, as the discussion shifted towards the provisions they'd be making for the journey through the dunes, Izayoi heading the expedition. Marching into Valheimr territory unarmored didn't strike him as ideal at first blush, but heatstroke was already a thing you needed to be wary of in Edren. Up here, the sun often felt twice as harsh. He couldn't even begin to imagine how the Skaellers were handling it. Lots of water and shade would definitely be preferable to offset that.

"I'm all for wrecking whatever their infrastructure is up there, sure. Worst we do is waste more of their manpower and resources. For the journey, though," he nodded to in Eve's direction before leaning forward, eyes poring over the large splotch of parchment that was characterized by little more than dune. "A lot of water's a precious payload. How likely are we to be able to proceed unaccosted? It goes without saying that if the area's been hit hard by Blight, the local wildlife is gonna be... Fun."

He wasn't even going to pretend to be enthused. The real monster hunters of the world were none too happy with the state of affairs regarding all that, either.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

For a moment, something flashed on Segremors's steel-cast countenance to confirm the suspicions of all present, as the demoness appeared not at the fore he and Fleuri presented, but instead atop the Captain, Renar, and Rolan. It tasted of acrid, sour disgruntlement, the ash of a promptly torched understanding of the proceedings. He'd been gathering courage for this, had willingly volunteered to shoulder it and prove his growth to not only them, but to himself—

And then the bombardment came, and he bit it down as he dove behind the cover of the next boulder. Spheres of arcane force bloosomed out from the points of impact like ripples on placid water, the unfurling petals of so many sunflowers close to home— and what was more, those that didn't whizz past drove thunderclaps through the back of his surcoat, as they hammered into the upturned stone. The two Reonites had very different levels of schooling to compare between them, but both could intuit clear as day— hunkering down here and waiting out wasn't in the cards.

Still dealing with overwhelming force. There was a tempo to follow, he could feel it hitting his back through the soon-to-be-rubble. As the orbs rolled on into his field of view, they shrank in tune with the distance... and maintained their course, and their angle.

It dawned on him swiftly.

"There's a pattern here..." he muttered, chancing a peek over the top of the boulder, to the points of impact. Every flower draws back into a stem, every reaching branch of a tree back to a trunk. He ducked back down, and made eye contact with the man at his side, sparing a mere moment to glance down to the bottom, where their supposed prey had turned up. His words tumbled out, half to his partner, half to himself, all with purpose.

"Cover's not gonna last. This is the shot we're getting! Renar's with the Captain, they can handle her—"

Just like staring down the earth-cracking strikes of the Hammer, stillness meant death. Use your head. Read the situation. Find the throughline in front of you. Adapt to the holes you get and pry them open. Small margins get bigger. A single moment seized turns certain loss into an opportunity to win. Even the mortally wounded can crush the throat of the Shadow, provided he has a clear vision of what he must do.

A deep, bassy split behind, and a shift in the earth as weight fell.

Time to go.

"On me! We move as one and we'll make it through!"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Ithradine

True to his nature, by the time the team had settled into the aftermath enough for voices to raise within the retrieved lord’s chambers, Rudolf had already long made himself scarce. No matter how heartfelt the thanks from Hien might have been, no matter how used to Izayoi he might have been getting, he was certain that the last thing either of them needed was an uppity Edreni kid anywhere near that business of theirs.

He’d already ignored his survival instincts not to touch a situation enough for one lifetime, and pissed off enough higher authority for two. He’d take the chances he got to heed them. No thank you! Not with a ten foot pole!

He’d thusly retreated to the interior of the room prepared for him, keen on finally getting a chance to breathe and settle and, importantly, review. This was a hell of an eventful day to get straight in the head, to say less of the week that it had capped off. His traveling armor had no business being on him in the breakout, taking too long to don, and had been collected and settled in a disorganized heap at his bedside by Ciradyl’s agents. He’d worry about it later. Instead, he would turn his hands towards the meditative work he favored most. He shoved the bedding off to the side with a grunt, working through a couple orientations before finally realizing he could stand it against the wall.

He laid out seven lines of steel on the tatami, blooming out from a central point upon which he sat, cross-legged, and laid his palms upon the crossguard of each in turn, seven prayers to Himstus on his lips. One by one, he held their flats to his brow, meeting mind and blade.

Then he took hold of his blade oil, whetstones, and minor acid— and began the work of simple repetition, cleaning away blood, away grime, away dust, away nicks, away the swirling nerves of the nightmare they’d raced through. He was indelibly a Kirin now, wanted by their assumed priority targets, sharing sweat and blood with everyone else upon this mission. It brought him small comfort.

Greater comfort came in honing, where the concentration took over.

…

Some time, a quick wash, and a few bandages upon his palms later, and Rudolf was milling through the compound’s halls again, clad his understated casual attire. If at all possible, he still intended to give every Ospreyan that he was certain hated him a wide berth— but there was one who at least seemed able to mask it perfectly, assuming she shared the opinion.

It helped twice over that she was the boss of the operation, who was probably going to need to sign off on his request to begin with. Locked down as their group was, his hands were pretty tied unless he fancied his chances of sneaking out of the compound undetected, staying unaccosted while he was out, and not being detected and traced in his return.

That’s so much pressure!

After Izayoi had sniffed him out without much trouble already, Rudolf knew when he had to respect his own limits.

Luckily, even though they all had space for accommodation between themselves, Lord Hien, and her staff on call, there was no getting around this safehouse fundamentally being a fishbowl. Nowhere near the amount of nooks and crannies to hide in as a proper keep.

“Lady Ciradyl.” he said, finally catching sight of the statuesque frame and snowy ponytail after maybe a dozen minutes’ search and flagging her down. “I’ve got a favor to ask, if you can hear me out for a minute.”

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"Works for me," Rudolf breathed, voice thick with relief as he about-faced more or less in time with the third and fourth cracks of Eliane's firearm. "C'mon, Fey! Let's cut 'em down!" he barked, pushing to the fore where the Valheimr, rallying at the sight of one of their leaders surviving the cataclysmic fireball and still fighting, had begun to congregate again. The back half of the Kirins had more or less locked her down for the moment, sure, but unless they capitalized her battlefield presence alone would end up locking them down. The rank-and-filed would be given enough breathing room to regroup, and encircle.

If that happened, they were as good as toast.

So he surged forth, into the lesser of two evils. Esben, Eliane, Galahad, they all knew what they were doing. With Izayoi and Chisaki more or less taken care of and being pulled out of the fray... All that was left was rote repetitions. Those were what he was good at.

Parry, stab, slice, shove. Never lose threat, never lose momentum. Descend upon them like a storm, and your strikes will boom like thunder. Between his force and Robin's speed, whichever openings one Edrenian couldn't find the other would pry open in short order. The stark contrast in styles, rhythm, and attacks would wear most anyone Valheim could field short of the aforementioned Captain far behind down.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

He weathered the various concerns thrown his way with little fanfare or argument, only offering an opaque, game smile. To begin with, it was a pretty bold proclamation by every metric, even his own— not hard to believe that the Captain wouldn't want to invite the idea of such drastic measures being necessary to begin with. Granted, he'd not said he meant to go it alone...

But really, who would bringing that up be fooling? He was a poor liar, his tone gave away a lot that his words neglected. Probably best he stay that way, at least for now.

If anything, this proved her building confidence— no potential sacrifice plays necessary. Doesn't matter if I can hold out. The Roses can do it clean.

"The more the merrier. Consider it done, Captain." he nodded swiftly, before rolling out the shoulder of his sword arm as he made his way over, marching up to flank Fleuri. Fionn seemed to be hanging behind, deliberating something, bothering Gertrude, Gerard wasn't sure what, but he'd catch up if he meant to. For now, he was focused on the task ahead.

"How fitting that it's the two of us hunting her down, on a bright sunny day." he replied to his compatriot, golden eyes flickering between brush, upturned rock, channel carved by the torrent of released mana, felled tree. Behind them, he began to chart a path— the more ground they could chew up before Rolan's imminent smokescreen cleared, the more immediate the threat they presented would be. Get close enough, and they'd force the hands of the pair on high, one way or another. "Speaks to the burgeoning poet in my soul."

A cloud from high above appeared to land upon the hilltop. Enough wisecracks.

"Let's move." he breathed, darting up the slope towards the first of many boulders, large enough to hide his person.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

"Just m— Just our luck, she's as tough as she looked." Rudolf clicked his tongue from close by, furrowing his brow until the single-eyed grimace he wore became a proper scowl. In the chaotic melee of their retreat after Kirin had carved itself whole again, he'd seen a similar scrape bloom above his left eye, sown in some exchange that doubtlessly would have felt an eternity back. They'd almost been clear, and he's believed he had a second to leave the annoying head wound for truly safe harbor, but with her here...

He rubbed away at it with his sleeve, ignoring the sting, until both eyes opened again. This helped distract him from the white knuckled grip beneath his gauntlets, disguised the shaking steel as he watched the woman stalk forward, glaring daggers at them all. She seemed to grow in his vision, like an angry bear, where he was a scrawny stray dog.

I wanna go home! She's gonna kill us! Can we run? She's not that close yet, I think we can run!

"And she's after us— We can't lead her back to the haven," he breathed, raising the swords in a loose guard. "We gotta at least slow her down so the lord's escort can get enough distance. Ideas?"

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark@Ithradine@vietmyke

"On it." breathed the soon-to-be blur of red and silver, his larger blade once again resting against his back as the infiltration team broke into the open air. I wish I could.

Once again, the young warrior let the moonlight gleam against the steel of his humbler swords, needing their certain bite again instead of empty pomp and circumstance. Fire blossomed, thunder cracked, steel groaned in agony overhead as he leapt into the throng, cutting, stabbing, kicking, shoving, killing. The Valheimr added crimson to the hues of flame that cloaked him, too awestruck and rattled by the explosion of Eve's magic to regain their footing in time to check him.

You've lost Esben. This could get ugly if they realize you're alone in the middle. his passenger advised, for once in neutral tone. Don't give me that. I'm in a bad spot if you die.

They wouldn't. He wouldn't. Don't put that out there, when the aforementioned Southron had nearly shot them. Look ahead.

With Galahad's swings and Arton's materia, at once the Valheimr were sown into the wind, forced back and staggering as the the twin ringing shields of steel and sorcery crashed into what remained of their lines, a bell against their helmets.

A grunt, a burst of force through the body. The feeling of something light in the limbs, but broad through the chest, eclipsing fear.

They were then reaped by the whirlwind, as the yellowed eyes of the younger swordsman flickered into each strike he made against the rear at a level beneath consciousness, for all the world seeming to forget the frantic expression his waking mind still wore on the face. Beneath the weight of his and Arton's pincer, the connection point would come in mere moments.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

"If we're taking volunteers, I think I should be on duty for Krysia." came the even-toned rejoinder from the opposite way Renar had come, as Gerard ambled back into the main mass, having begun his own loop a few minutes behind and uncovered nothing he hadn't already heard Renar lay out. Luckily, the time he'd lagged had earned him the privilege of the pauper maid's help, if only to justify her inaction— They now had proper identities regarding the two figures judging them from on high. The mage's name was familiar from... somewhere. He couldn't place it, but it felt like home. This wasn't the occasion to turn that over for more than the walk back.

"I put a lot of my time here in beneath Sir Cyrus," he explained. "And had a track record of squaring up against bigger, stronger enemies already. Jeremiah, the Demonbreaker, so on. You've seen most of it yourself. When she comes into play, I ought to be able to leverage that and tie her up a while. I've learned much about keeping myself alive against overwhelming power."

He glanced to the side, at the lounging pearlescent blondes.

"Lady Gertrude doesn't seem to believe she can do anything, and she was the one that trained with those two the most. I'll take that as a sign I've long odds of knocking the big girl off the board totally, if any. So I can't promise that. But I do believe I'm a good bet to intercept and stall. I can adjust to the range and power coming back at me. Hang around if she connects once or twice. Provided we can ensure her movement..."

He bowed his head.

"I believe this is the value I bring to the table, ma'am. I'll go where you send me."

Left unsaid, as an order from many superiors throughout the centuries contained here, was the fact that she could afford to burn him on this.

@Eisenhorn@VitaVitaAR@Octo@Psyker Landshark@Crimson Paladin

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Izurich

The crackle of lightning overhead, the smell of charring flesh, the screams of men who were frying heart-first...

Rudolf suppressed an urge to gag, and focused on the ringing steel of the Valheimr's swords meeting his own as best he could, forced into the front again by the way things played out. Like it or otherwise, with Izayoi serving as Hien's direct escort, the task fell to him to be the hammer to Esben's scalpel— he was a bigger man, but not built and bred for war the same way—

You're barely keeping your lunch down. Don't get a big head about "built for war", boy. If you really were, would you have needed me? By the way, your left side's in trouble.

"!!"

A quick backstep brough him behind the tile of one of those upturned tub-stall-situations (looked like a spigot overhead, not important right now) and clear of the stab that was nearly slipped between his ribs. He clicked his tongue and furrowed his brow, mind racing as he parried the man to his front. He was losing initiative with this now, having to meet three, four swords at once head-on. Even accounting for their crude form, he needed to either break their numbers up, or figure out how to lock them all down at once. Something that'd give them the edge he was losing after that moment of surprise had passed...

Tight space he could dominate. The feeling of fending off multiple people at once. There was a way. Hammer and scalpel.

He swallowed the iron ball between his throat and his chest.

"I can push," he barked to the saboteur behind. "You execute!"

He caught a bind and used it to shove the swordsman back, opening a gap between them. He couldn't settle for half-measures anymore.

The paired blades returned to their scabbards on either hip, and his right hand drove high over the shoulder as he surged forward again, towards the hole the Valheimr had busted open.

Three glints of light shimmered into streaks of death ahead—

And each were met and sent back by a mighty arc of silver, a parrying hew that checked them all, forced the men to leap back. Something that big, surely, would have smashed straight through them if they didn't give it the berth it deserved.

Rudolf stepped forward again, breathing deep, posture tall, pressing into their space. Think of Otto. Think of Imre. Plaster their faces onto these goons, and let your body remember.

He could handle this. He could inch the party forward. He just needed to show threat— with Esben around to manage the flanks, utilize them even, these guys wouldn't be around to catch the lie.

Sparring either of his brothers was like fending off a dozen men at once. He wouldn't manage that with the unfamiliar range, stance, openings...

May thy blades chip...

Half that number wasn't so tall an ask. Focused on defense and distance like this, the mystery from lands unknown would be perfect. He didn't need to cut them all.

He lunged into their range with a swipe, wickedly fast for any weapon this size, forcing the Valheimr to react. The keener swordsmen of their number would doubtless notice the suddenly, improbably tight command over the steel, his slight frame seeming untroubled by the heft or length.

He just needed to keep them from cutting him, or thinking they could worry about cutting anyone else.

And shatter.

On the riposte, it danced into each opening the Valheimr would find in his guard.