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Fionn MacKerracher


@ERode @Psyker Landshark


At Renar's rolled eyes and explanation of himself, Fionn couldn't keep the smile off of his features. "Your altruism never fails to astound," he said after a moment of stifling a small laugh. "Nobody ever does think about the headsmen, or the people that have to maintain the gallows in all this, do they?" He ought to try and reinforce the point that some of the others had made, likely, if only from the standpoint of personal faith...but he had a sneaking suspicion that trying to do so wouldn't have the intended effect.

Taking the opportunity to poke fun at Renar, however, was a path that should always be taken when presented so clearly. That wonder answered, it was back to the more pressing topic. Disquiet about Jeremiah could wait, wondering just what had gotten into Fleuri's head could wait. The other...

"I don't know that Lucas will ever be cut out for this, at least not the way we are. He wasn't raised to it, he isn't inured to it, and his skills don't suit the knight he's trying to be. That could change with some hefty training, but..." He glanced around, nodding at a growing pile of arrowheads that one of the apprentices was forging. "Someone ought to impress upon him that he could better serve in a different role. He could be a capable scout, I've got no doubt that he could make a fine archer. We just need to make him realize it, and make him actually think before he rushes into the middle of things, otherwise he will get himself killed."

Easier said than done, of course; Fionn wasn't even a full decade older than the youngest of the knights, but even that time was enough for him to look back and recognize just how little sense or planning went into anything he did.
Fionn MacKerracher


@ERode @Psyker Landshark


"Mmm. Most true enemies have something to aspire to, in my experience, or at least something to learn from." If there was one decision he'd made since he first set out from home, it was that he'd never underestimate any opponent. That was the path to complacency, and complacency meant a dagger between the ribs. "But I don't know that such was really his goal. More of a consequence of everything else that transpired."

Even Fleuri attempting to jump on the griffin and ride it...it was ridiculous, and well beyond his own penchant for ridiculous action. Maybe the Flower of the North still had a love for performance in him after all. Lucas doing such was, of course, unsurprising, if a bit worrisome. The lad shouldn't be in the front lines like us. He'd been sure of it for a while, he was more sure now after Lucas had finally tasted combat. He'd just have to find something to do about it.

Of course, considering the front lines: "Probably more than seven, if I had to guess...but did I hear right about the offer you gave them as they were surrendering? Trying to pad the numbers a bit, lad?"
Fionn MacKerracher


@ERode @Psyker Landshark


He'd have to ask if they could drop the constant formality at some point. Honorifics were all well and good in certain situations, but being a peasant from Velt raised to the knighthood for his ability, rather than by virtue of his birth, the constant sirs and dames and such were starting to get grating. The presence of the master smith and his crew of apprentices and servants (among all the others in the keep), all of whom would likely be somewhat shocked if the formalities were entirely dropped in their presence, notwithstanding.

"Or to carve through a man's armour as easily as I could drive my knife through butter?" he rhetorically asked back, his tone level but with a clear undercurrent of disapproval. "I wouldn't make light of the title he called himself by. The man was proper beastly, like; I'd heard tell of the Terror of the Red Flag, the Three-Hundred Man Slayer with the free company, but I didn't have a name to attach. Seeing him in person..."

Fionn rolled his shoulders slightly uncomfortably, giving one last look at the bardiche before setting it against the wall. "It's a rare man who makes me feel small. Rarer still can wield a blade like that. Then you consider that he went in bare-chested, and even with only one hand was still mounting an effective defence against three of us, even if only for a short time? I've little doubt the reputation was well earned."

And yet he didn't fight like a man who intended to achieve his goals. He should've expected that this disquiet would return, even after the effort he'd done to push it away on the return trip. Thinking too much about Jeremiah and the fight, however, brought it back quite easily. "There'll be a lot of work before any of us—excepting the First and Youngest, of course—can singly match up to his level, I think. There might have been some things I could try were I fighting him alone and uninjured, but as it was, it seemed most prudent to take advantage of the situation, force him onto the back foot, keep him unable to attack back. Eventually Gerard put his point between Jeremiah's ribs, and before he could lash out one last time the captain did the same from the other side as I moved to constrain his blade."

How much to reveal of his inner thoughts, though? What reaction might it be met with? From Renar he was certain he'd receive some understanding, but Serenity might prove more of a risk. Still, if he was going to work alongside them so often, he might as well put a bit more trust in both. "His removal is a worthy achievement, I think, but I don't feel much satisfaction in it. Even if he was singularly focused on revenge against the order for defeat suffered in the past, he did not fight like a man who wanted or planned to win, nor did his band, and I have trouble reconciling his reputation with his actions." He nodded at Serenity, once.

"Dropping the tree. Unleashing the griffin. Endangering his forces and cutting himself off from them, with no heed to the concept that the captain wouldn't be similarly cut-off, that her forces might join her far sooner than his might him. The show of going in with no armour...even trying to send a message by killing or breaking the captain, whether he ultimately won or lost, doesn't seem to fully fit. No doubt, in some way, he wanted to express his sense of superiority, but I can't help but wonder that he might have just been trying to choose how he died, in some corner of his soul."

A concept that, unsurprisingly, did not help Fionn feel in any way good about the success he'd helped to achieve, protecting the captain and Gerard while enabling them to finish off such a foe as Jeremiah. He shook his head. "But, enough of my reservations over the results of that particular part of the battle. What of yours? And more importantly, what were they even trying to do jumping on that griffin?"
Fionn MacKerracher


@ERode @Psyker Landshark


Luckily, Renar, Tyaethe, and Sergio hadn't needed any back-up by the time he got over; those few who were rejecting any offer of surrender quickly rounded up and dispatched by the time he got back over the burning log. Afterwards, he'd done his part in rounding up the prisoners, disposing of bodies, and the trip back had been relatively uneventful. Taking turns with Gerard to display Jeremiah's sword as another symbol of their victory as they passed various villages, or after re-entering the capital city, was the most work that really came to them as their column rode along.

Otherwise, he stuck near the back of the pack, riding alongside the cart that carried Rickert's corpse rather than making conversation with the others. The satisfaction he'd felt at helping fell the bandit king had rapidly diminished as he thought more about the rest of the battle; less due to the losses they'd sustained, which were themselves rather minimal, but more the nature of the battle itself. Surprises could never be avoided, they were almost to be expected, but the fact that a griffin had been unleashed upon them as it had was beyond anything he'd experienced before. Beyond that, though, was the general disregard the bandits seemed to show for each other, from using their least equipped and experienced to try and man the ambush, to Jeremiah callously dropping a tree atop his own forces in his mad search for some sort of vengeance against the knights.

To his estimation, to his understanding of tactics, they didn't fight like they wanted to win. Their leadership, at least, fought like they wanted to die, and that fostered nothing but disquiet in his soul.

By the time they made it back to the capitol, however, he seemed to have reconciled the events with his understanding and feelings well enough, starting to make his gregarious rounds through the ranks of the knights when not taking duty holding aloft the bandit king's oversized blade. Once back in the keep proper he'd quickly run to doff his traveling clothes and find something cleaner and more comfortable—and stow the singed and tattered cloak he'd have to figure out some way to salvage—before retrieving the bardiche he'd purloined from the bandit forces and starting to make his way down to the armoury and smithy...

...Utterly unsurprised to spot someone else along the way, who he'd already spotted moving to corner their bard just as he'd been making his way to his quarters. Normally he might let her pass along uninterrupted, but given they seemed to have the same general destination and Fionn was hoping that the conversation might go better than their last:

"Finished cowing our compatriots for the day?"

Why not call out to her, and see if some of her humour might start to show again now that they were free of battle?

"I think I saw Renar gathering his things to come this way as well. Care to wait for him?" He flashed her a small grin. "I don't know about either of you, but I think it would do me good to hear the unofficial recounting of your parts of the battle, and I don't think either of you are the type to shy away from giving that unofficial truth."
Let's finally do this, shall we; enjoy my rambling.

Cecilia: Fionn had a bad experience once where one of the company archers almost shot him by mistake. This made him, perhaps, immediately biased against the fire support from the rear ranks from the beginning; but Cecilia's lack of anything that Fionn would recognize as devotion, discipline, conscientiousness, or the like didn't do her any favours there. At least she's a far better archer than he's dealt with in the past, which is progress of some sort. If it weren't for the fact that they're comrades, not just random acquaintances, he might appreciate her personality a bit more, as her general sense of humour is something he'd probably enjoy quite a bit more. He does have other reservations about her, however, beyond just his thoughts on her work ethic—while some might say (perhaps rightfully) that he is lacking in sense, Fionn strives to be very socially conscious and perceptive of the people around him, both for their moods, needs, and anything else that comes across, and he can recognize the purposeful omission that comes out when Cecilia talks about herself, and the uncertainty with which she carries herself. He just hasn't yet decided if he wants to reach out and see if she needs help with anything, or if he should just continue to keep an eye on her.

Renar: One of the first that Fionn met of the order, by virtue of their being inducted around the same time, Fionn found a fast camaraderie with Renar. He appreciates the man's abilities, both in purely physical prowess and also when it comes to his skill and his mind, viewing them all as equally valuable assets, and, at least when they fight together, he trusts Renar implicitly. Off the battlefield is a different matter. He fears that Renar may put too much stock in the circumstance of his birth, and has too harsh of a view of the world, either because of or in some relation to it. While he can't deny that Renar's ruthless practicality gets results, Fionn would rather see a bit more idealism and focus on proper conduct creep in than just a focus on pure effectiveness, if only for Renar's assured long-term wellbeing. Luckily, the friendly interactions he's had with Renar—alongside some of what he's observed with Renar interacting with others—gives him hope in that regard, and for that he's willing to call the man a friend.

Tyaethe: Fionn certainly respects Tyaethe, her skill, her abilities, and her place in the order—it's impossible not to—but the first feelings to come to his mind regarding her aren't just those of respect, but of sympathy, though he never intends to voice them outright, as he doubts it would go over well. Still, even with having been alive for barely over a tenth of the span the First and Youngest has seen, he's had his fair share of farewells to both friends, simple acquaintances, comrades, and the like, and has felt each one keenly, whether the parting itself was a good or a bad thing; Fionn is a firm believer that such things weigh on a person, and he can't imagine the weight that such has left on Tyaethe. As such, at least in that regard, he can understand her choice to seemingly hold all the rest at arm's length most of the time, though he feels that is the worse decision to make when faced with the situation she's in. One of his primary goals is to befriend her, to help warm her demeanour and raise her general opinion of each new group of knights, as he would rather she be able to keep finding and making connections beyond the captains, rather than let the faces slip on past and disappear along with each passing year.

Gerard: Surprisingly enough, for as friendly as he tries to be, through most of his tour of duty Fionn didn't particularly like most of the mercenaries he worked with. He respected them, certainly, and made sure to learn what he could, but the majority of them were either too cutthroat or too self-centered for him to want to get to know them as anything more than coworkers. A hazard, perhaps, of being a mercenary who aspired to greater than the next paycheck. It was fortuitous, then, that he met another former mercenary with similar ideals and goals. He quickly moved to pull Gerard into the center of his personal circle of acquaintances within the order, as their shared experiences, complimenting skills, and very similar outlooks and ideals made for a bedrock on which Fionn felt he could build a very solid friendship—not to mention that being able to bring in a bit more idealism to counter some of their more cynical fellows would be a good thing. Now, if he can manage to help Gerard relax, come out of his shell more, and stop thinking of himself as the completely expendable nigh-suicidal vanguard, he'll be very happy.

Lucas: Lucas doesn't worry Fionn...but Fionn worries about Lucas. While the younger man has his skills, they're ones that Fionn considers wholly unsuited to taking to the melee of a battle; and yet, whether it be pure youthful foolhardiness or some attempt to prove himself, Lucas seems intent to do so. While he appreciates the gymnast's humour and antics he would rather see Lucas's mind put to use for the benefit of the order, or use his skills in a different way than letting him rush into something that he has not been trained for or had experience in. Maybe he'll be able to convince Lucas of such, or get Gerard to do so. Hopefully before Renar or Serenity lose their patience entirely with Lucas.

Fanilly: To some extent, Fionn views their fresh-faced Knight-Captain in the way he might view a little sister, though he strives to remain careful not to let that lull him into undermining her authority where it counts. He has a great respect for tradition and the way it helps to establish identity, and in that regard fully supports Fanilly's place amongst the Iron Roses; there's enough of a wealth of knowledge and experience within the order that he doesn't fear her lack thereof. More important to him is keeping her protected and giving her the guidance and time needed to truly grow into her role and flourish, a view that he thinks quite a few of the others would be well-suited to take on and he isn't afraid to say as much if his opinion is ever asked—or if other opinions are being freely given. Much like with some of the others that he is closer to, he wants to help grow her confidence and surety, but he also thinks she is caught a bit too strongly between who she truly is and who she is expected to be, and as part of her growth wants to see her—help her, if able—find a way to combine both facets into a healthier, happier identity.

Serenity: Fionn's views on Serenity are similar to those on Fanilly, although Serenity worries him quite a bit more. Anybody who has as large a chip on their shoulder as she does—large even compared to Renar's, who sometimes makes Fionn wonder if he's carrying the entire block rather than just a chip—can't be doing entirely well, and he takes the extreme levels of independence she tries to cultivate as a symptom of the larger problem. To his mind, she seems to be caught worse in the tug of war between the self and the role than Fanilly even is, a growing identity almost entirely subsumed by the demands and expectations of her family; he would pity her, if it weren't for the fact that she is still, like most of the batch of knights he interacts with most often, quite young. He hopes that the distance from her family will help her grow into herself without as much effort needed to soften her edges as Renar might need—but he can't help but feel some trepidation seeing the two of them together. As it is, though, he's well aware that she has chosen to keep him a bit more distant, and perhaps use him if either of them make an effort to get closer to the other; if such should pass, he hopes he'll be able to turn the tables and make some progress. For now, he keeps a close eye on her interactions with Renar and Gerard, and gives her more leeway than he would the others with some of her comments about the captain, knowing that neither of them really had any opportunity to choose who they were forced to become.

Fleuri: If there's anybody in Thaln, or just past the borders, who hasn't heard tell of the Flower of the North or his equally-famous ancestor, Fionn will be amazed. More important to him than Fleuri's reputation, though, is the man's actual personality, and the faith and humility his rededication fostered in him. While Fionn would never deny that he's always willing to test himself against such a prominent tournament champion on the training yard, it's the way that Fleuri recognized his own faults and failings and moved to better himself—rather than simply give in—that makes him a respectable, even admirable figure, and the fact that Fleuri is so straight-forward to interact with and similar in his views only makes it all the better.

Sergio: Fionn appreciates the Knight of the Harvest moon for similar reasons to his appreciation of Fleuri; his skill, his devotion to action, and his honourable demeanour are all points that earn Fionn's respect, as well as Sergio's generally elegant, well-put-together demeanour. The knight is an easy one to be friendly with, and though their tools are different, their shared view on how best to serve Mayon makes it very easy for Fionn to count Sergio among those knights he's willing to put quite a bit of trust in. However, the way that Sergio draws away from the others during downtime, even to the point of taking meals entirely solitary, gives rise to some concern and makes him take pause from trying to bring Sergio too deep into his circle, at least until he can figure out a bit more of why Sergio pulls back and how best to address it. Fionn has too many other "projects" within the order to constantly add to the list.

Morianne: She likes the colour green, so she can't be all bad; beyond that, Fionn's heard worse than she's ever dished out, so her bluntness and wit don't bother him. She's not the first young elf he's met, and every single one seems to blend both the best and worst aspects of human youths and elders. He respects her magical abilities, though his musical tastes and hers don't seem to align, and is perfectly willing to be friendly with her—though given their differing specialities, their paths don't tend to cross much beyond the field. Perhaps it's better that way; from what he's gathered of her past, he'd be hard pressed to resist adding her to the list of people he specifically wants to watch out for and try to help when he's able.

Katerina: Finally, someone who speaks a civilized tongue! That alone merits appreciation from Fionn, even as much as he worries about Katerina's lungs. While she's certainly a bit more grim and standoffish than he is, he can certainly recognize aspects of their personalities that overlap quite a bit—though as with Morianne, their paths don't always cross much, given that their skills lie in utterly different areas. He hopes she's growing to appreciate her current position well and isn't too tied to her past—and if she ever asks and somehow hasn't yet, he'd likely suggest cutting her mother off, just for her own peace of mind.

She gets bonus points for being willing to make lamb far more often than most others he knows cook among the group.

Alodia: He appreciates her skills as well, more magic users rarely being a bad thing, and her cheery, helpful disposition. What he doesn't appreciate is the utterly disarming nature of how her magic has slowed her growth and aging, something he found much easier to accept with the literally-undead Tyaethe, and her penchant for overenthusiasm with the strength of her spells and the collateral damage that can cause. Collateral damage is never a good thing in his mind, and that's enough to make sure he keeps at a safe distance and not in the direct line of fire from Alodia. The accusations of heresy, however, are a non-issue to him; as much as he does care about his faith in the Godesses, Mayon in particular, he understands that Alodia was simply misguided, not actively malicious. To take persistent issue with her over that when it was seen fit to assign her to the Iron Roses as "penance" would be simply ridiculous.

Lein: If Fionn's relationship with Renar can be considered a bubble waiting to pop as a result of their differing views on chivalry and proper conduct, then his interactions with Lein may well be a powder keg. What makes it hard is that he does appreciate the young Hundi's mischievousness, humour, and sense of loyalty to the others on the group, as well as the skills he has to offer, bias against archers aside; he'd greatly appreciate if Lein and Cecilia could pull Lucas aside and induct the boy into their ranks and put his skills to use in their area, for example, and he likes Lein and Lucas's personalities for similar reasons. However, the arrogance that shines through at times, as well as the fact that it seems Lein almost purposefully strives to act, not only not as a stereotypical honourable Hundi, but just dishonourable in general, greatly rubs him the wrong way. He tries to ignore it as much as possible, but Fionn has little doubt that at some point, something will happen that brings things to a head between him and Lein, and hopefully it won't be an unsalvageable mess after all is said and done between them.

Fionn: He's based, clearly.

Fionn makes sure to remain well aware of both his strengths and his weaknesses, and how best to ameliorate those, either through work or through the enlistment of his various companions in the development of a sound strategy. As much as he makes a point to stay keyed into the wants, needs, strengths, and faults of his various companions, he's not so foolish as to think he's without his own; however, with himself as with the others, he's much more forgiving of faults of personality than he is faults of action or duty. Even then, one that progresses to the point of a fault, though he may never realize it as such, is how strong his drive to help or guide others is. Even as much as he starts to worry if he's bitten off more than he can chew with the company he now surrounds himself with, he feels so comfortable with himself and his place that he sees it almost as another duty to help them if he's able, and just to try and be a good example if not. As much as his personality can veer from one extreme to another very quickly, it still remains to be seen whether or not he can keep that under control enough to avoid causing more harm than good.

One thing to his credit, though, is that he doesn't harbour any doubts to his fitness as a member of the Iron Roses or as a new knight in general; he doesn't let it feed his ego or grow into any sort of foolhardy behaviour, but his confidence is very secure, both in himself and those he chooses to be confident in, if only he can make some of them see it.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


Fionn's face broke into a grin as Jeremiah moved to counter his attack. His kick met a solid thigh, his bardiche was turned aside once again by the gigantic blade the man wielded, and the spray of dirt caught the bandit full in the face. Overcommitted, with no way to develop enough momentum to protect himself and with too many opponents on too many sides, he couldn't avoid Gerard's point getting buried in his ribs. When he raised his blade and roared, Fionn quickly interposed his own to protect both himself and his fellow former mercenary—

—Only for Fanilly to capitalize on the next opening, and fully finish off the bandit king. His sword dropped without direction, and his body soon after. Fionn took the moment to catch his breath as the captain called out to all of the bandits still fighting, calling on them to surrender. Still leaving, as problems, the veterans who would refuse to surrender, and the griffin, which was...

"Bloody..." Through the fire, he could just manage to see what was going on with the griffin, the result of a sequence of events he might never be able to understand or find any semblance of sense in, as it was full of just too many possibilities for collateral damage. He shook his head, turning back to Fanilly as she stared down at Rickert's corpse. "Not yet, captain," he said, clapping a hand down on her armoured shoulder to pull her attention aside. Some of the few knights that had wound up on their side of the tree were finishing their individual battles, and he waved a couple over to keep watch over their fallen comrade's corpse. "There's too much left to do. Coordinate dealing with those who surrender, I'm going to go reinforce..."

He glanced back across the flaming tree, away from the griffin.

"The ground team, I guess." With that, he quickly took off towards where he'd last seen Renar in the thick of the fighting.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


There was no surprise at seeing the onslaught denied. By this point, Jeremiah would have to have lived through dozens of battles—no matter what the odds, no matter what wounds he took, and based on his scars he'd certainly had his fair share. Showboating aside the man knew how to fight, how to survive. This was nothing new to him.

No doubt, if he still had the use of his off hand, the three of them would be on the defensive, not Jeremiah himself. As comically oversized as the sword was, the 'Bandit King' clearly knew how to wield it with some modicum of effectiveness, both offensive and defensive. He wasn't a fool relying on a large weapon and fear to compensate for a lack of skill, and he wasn't going bare chested out of base overconfidence. If he hadn't managed to cut himself off from the bulk of his own forces, then even the mistake he'd made with the captain might not be enough to bring him down.

But mistakes and errors had a habit of piling on top of each other at the worst times.

Jeremiah ducked away from Gerard's thrown dagger, the series of furious thrusts that Fionn had started his assault with ringing out with a cacophony of scratches and clangs as the brute's blade was interposed. The last was sent wide as the bandit shifted entirely, moving to deflect Gerard's cut; Fionn whirled the bardiche around in a fast arc, choking up on the haft and switching his grip at the last moment. Jeremiah moved to parry both the whirling blade and the thrust from Fanilly, but his defense only found the second, Fionn's shifting grip having momentarily broken measure and voided the man's deflection entirely as Gerard roared his defiance.

A spray of dust rose up from the right, followed by a glint of steel in the firelight. Fionn's point came back on target, Jeremiah's blade still off to the right, his inside line wide open, and Fanilly recovering from her parried thrust. A single free moment, one in which they could sever the head of the snake in one swift blow. A multitude of options, but only one unorthodox enough that it might slip past the man's own tactical acumen.

Shouldn't have let us get so close, Jeremiah. Go hIfreann leat!

Fionn stepped in close, swinging the blade of his bardiche not at Jeremiah's momentarily exposed torso, but at the arm wielding his massive sword, and stepping through in the same movement he raised his foot for a swift kick between the slaughterer's legs. It left him unbalanced, but any level of damage to either target would suffice for his goals—and more importantly, it meant that his entire person was between Jeremiah's blade, trying to parry their blows, and Gerard's own two-part attack.

More for the bandit king to try and force out of the way, or to retreat from. Delay his defenses, preserve any opening, back him into a corner if necessary.

Time's up, amadán.
italian emancipation
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


"What?"

He heard the low growl of Jeremiah's voice, a sharp contrast from the boasting moments before, as he ran forwards. Fanilly wasted no time taking advantage of the distraction, driving her dagger into the bandit's arm and severing muscle and tendon enough to render his off hand useless. Even if he did still manage to properly control and direct the momentum of his massive blade now, it would require more effort, be more tiring, and redirecting was nearly out of the question. He was still devilishly quick, and with a single hand his reach was longer than before—but it was another advantage on top of the numbers.

"I'll make you an opening!" he growled at Gerard, before breaking off and circling around towards Fanilly at Jeremiah's front, a roar of "Traitor!" on his lips as he came to his captain's aid. As Jeremiah started to withdraw his sword and prepare for another strike, Fionn launched inwards, jabbing his bardiche towards the brute's chest and gut . Force the 'bandit king' onto the back foot, make him retreat or try to parry, and then use that momentum to his advantage to whirl the axe blade around and continue the assault.

Draw as much attention as possible to himself. Let Fanilly catch her breath, let Gerard get in and try to pull off a good thrust or hamstring the giant bandit. If Jeremiah wanted to lash out against the world like an animal, then Fionn took no issue with pulling him down like a wolf pack with their prey.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR @HereComesTheSnow


The bandit at Fionn's feet gurgled for a moment in response, blood pooling around the haft of his axe where he'd planted the butt of it through the brigand's throat. He withdrew it with a jerk, shaking off some of the blood, as the ringing in his ear subsided and the rest of the battle's din came into sharper focus. Not only the roars of combatants, the noise of metal on metal, or the screams of the dying...but the crackling fire growing louder than it should have, and the unmistakable, rhythmic impact of metal on wood.

Fionn halted in his advance, stepping back slightly as he turned to where the noise was coming from.

"Look out!"

Fionn reacted purely on instinct, grabbing out at whoever was nearest him, bandit or knight, with a diving tackle away from where they'd previously stood. In the breath after, a thick, gnarled limb landed in the vacated space, crushing those too slow or unlucky to avoid it. Those who weren't killed outright soon let loose their own screams as their clothing and flesh began to burn and char, Fionn scrambling back to his feet before either flame or foe could try to lick at him.

A hand caught at his ankle; he glanced down, and saw that the one he'd saved was a bandit. Not only that, they were already digging out a dagger to try and stab at his legs with. With a disgusted growl, he kicked their helmet, stunning them long enough to remove their head with a lazy swipe of the bardiche. He glanced back up, looking through the flames back to where Fanilly had been.

Surely she wasn't crushed...?

Scanning across the field of those who were shocked, stunned, or only just rising from their mad dash out of the way, his eyes settled on Fanilly and Rickert, before an unbelievably massive blade cleaved the latter apart. The flame rose up, forcing him back and his vision away as he grit his teeth, just as he heard the bandit king's grandiose self-introduction.

The Terror of the Red Flag. There was no time for relief that Fanilly had avoided the falling tree, not when she was faced by a man that even the Band of the Red Hands whispered about in a mix of awe and fear. He turned on the ball of his foot, swinging his purloined weapon wildly to clear a path back to his allies from where he'd lept. "Gerard!" he barked, knocking aside another bandit. "Where are yo—"

"FIIIIOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!"

More relief. A bandit ahead of him fell to the side from a shoulder tackle, giving way to Gerard's blood-splattered half-plate. He nodded once, falling in behind his comrade as they charged, lifting the blade above his head and spinning it in a wide circle. Momentum quickly took over from the initial effort needed to get it started, his hands just guiding it along as he followed behind Gerard, any mercenaries seeking to cut in between the pair or off to either side shying back instantly.

To their credit, none of them were foolish enough to try and rush in against such a weapon. Even with heavier armour the weight of the axe's head alone, coupled with its momentum, would be enough to shatter bones and cripple anybody who tried to stop their advance. Once they came close enough, though, he split off to one side; where Gerard used an axe as a step to vault over the tree, Fionn rushed up, planting the butt spike of the bardiche into the bark and pole vaulting over it with the weapon, wrenching it out once he was guaranteed to sail over.

The flames caught at his cloak, which he tore off the moment he landed, revealing the glistening mail beneath, as of yet unrent by any blade. With luck, that might hold true to the end of the battle. Behind, he heard the piercing screech of the loosed griffin, as it joined the frey as well; but where it had been the center of his focus before, that had now shifted entirely to the bare-chested brute that harried his captain. At a flash of movement to his right he swung out once more, the flat of his bardiche connecting with the helmeted head of one of the bandits that had managed to wind up on Jeremiah's side of the tree; the man fell in a clatter of ill-fitting stolen armour, sprawling senseless against the ground.

Unharried for the moment, Fionn cast his gaze about the sparser side of the battle, ignoring the bandits and knights engaged with each other as he sought out his targets. His feet started moving the instant he saw the hulking warrior engaged with their diminutive leader, and faster when he recognized the corpse a few paces away. The look in his eyes and face as he advanced was like that of a man possessed, an open threat to anybody foolhardy enough to get between him and Jeremiah, even as his broad chest heaved with a roar:

"BUAIDH NÓ BÁS!"
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