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Cadmon Demet


@Crimson Paladin



"Favourable trading rights through my border, financial access, all in the name of strengthening our bond," Cadmon replied with unhidden disdain. "And, of course, I would be honour bound to commit myself in defense of him if he should need it, and with me at his back, I'm sure he'd be quite a bit bolder with his many ambitions. At worst I fear I'd either have to turn traitor to the crown or be known as a betrayer of family. Out of all parties involved, the only one who wins anything is Baron Bridger himself." He flipped the page over, looking at the sketch left along the back of it.

Professional, and Baron Bridger wasn't one known to waste his money on overly idealized portraits.

"A shame, she is pretty. Might be I could accept, rescue the poor girl from a father that doesn't truly care about her, and then forestall any disaster by rebuffing him as soon as all the ceremonial tripe was done with. Leave him to wallow in his well-deserved humiliation. She might even appreciate it, at first...but that's not really a good foundation for a successful, long-lasting relationship. Are you done?"

The sudden question was clearly directed at the chimeric creature still fighting with his hair, though for once Cadmon's expression seemed at least somewhat amused. The scolded griffin squawked back at him, before continuing its valiant struggle. He rolled his eyes in return, looking back down to Roger. "You know, a lot of us envy lower knights like you. You have freedoms that many of us—those who don't just foresake their duties, anyways—don't have."
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR



Undeterred, or perhaps utterly unfeeling, the giant started to turn despite the spear that had thrust so far into its abdomen. Fionn cursed under his breath, yanking the weapon back out with a twist, hands as far back on the shaft as possible as he let the head drop to the ground and he backpedaled clear of the fists trying to crush or grab him once again. No matter that it kept attacking; the damage done, he'd definitely have it beaten on agility now, as any attempt to put weight on the leg that had suffered so many severed muscles and tendons would send it toppling.

Evading the initial grasp—and giving whatever foul fluid had been drawn from the giant a moment to drip back down the other end of the spear, rather than to try and rush more towards his hands—he quickly raised the weapon up again with a jerk of his arms, with an underhanded throw sending the point straight for the cursed person's distorted head in the same moment he backpedaled further from any reach the mutant had.
Cadmon Demet


@Crimson Paladin



The griffin exited her carrier as soon as the door was open for her; as proud a creature as she was, though, she gave off nothing more to show her displeasure than some irate clicks of her beak before preening her feathers and taking a quick glance around the new room she found herself in. In a moment more she quickly leaped into the air, landing on Cadmon's shoulders, whereupon she immediately took to trying to tame his unruly red hair.

All the while studiously avoiding acknowledging Roger's presence whatsoever.

"I would rather he wasn't," Cadmon replied to the griffin knight's question, appearing utterly unperturbed by Sirona's struggling with his hair. "Evidently he and his wife must get very bored managing their manor, given by how he keeps finding children of his to try and betrothe to me. This is the third daughter he's tried it with, and he even tried one of his sons before this."

He read along a bit further, shaking his head as he did. "The dowry is abysmal, as always. He knows what my position entails, and yet he's got no intention to make sure she's able to support herself at the level she's used to living at if I should meet some untimely demise. The dower I'd have to put up to ensure her is far beyond what should ever be expected. And that's on top of everything he's hoping to gain through this match. I can't help but think he doesn't value or respect either myself or any of his children other than his heir."
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR



Fionn took the spear in both hands, holding still for a moment longer to observe how the cursed beast moved. Muscles straining against themselves to drive the bulk into motion; skin tearing away as it forced its grossly distorted body in his direction. While its size helped it to cover the ground quickly, there was little chance it could keep up with his nimble, undistorted form; however, all the surplus of overgrown muscle would help protect any vital organs, making it harder to take it out quickly. The weakest spots would be the same as on any human, but far harder to reach.

Now, to find how best to reach them, and return to his original goal.

When the great fists came crashing down upon him, he leapt off to the side, barely a foot between him and the massive hands; once his toes found purchase on the ground again he sprinted forwards, ducking low beneath the behemoth. Once clear of the legs, he turned on the ball of his foot, jabbing the blade of the spear forward and up in a vicious stab for the mutant's groin. A fierce, disabling strike, aimed to sever tendons, muscle, artery, and hopefully bury itself up in the monstrosity's intestines at the end of its travel, if it didn't nick the pelvis instead. The mutant would bleed and fall, and Fionn would put it out of its misery before visiting even fiercer retribution on the Boars' commander.
Cadmon Demet


@Crimson Paladin



Perhaps unsurprisingly, István had declined to accompany Cadmon right away, and instead elected to go for the kitchens; with a shrug, Cadmon parted ways with his brutish retainer, rapidly returning to his suite so as not to leave the griffin-riding knight waiting. Beyond that, there were still certain matters to sort out after the last excursion—what to do with the horses his men had captured being one of them. Unlike their riders, Morahti horses were valuable and worth keeping, but that still left divvying out suitable mounts to suitable people, quartering them, what to do with the other horses in the meantime, and the like. An increase in work load that Cadmon only had himself to blame for, given that the horses were captured on his orders.

He hadn't been long perusing the information given him on the captured beasts before a knock came at the entrance to his suite, however. With a glance and a nod, he sent one of his servants over to answer the door and usher the knight back to the young earl's study, cage and papers in tow. "Sir Falkner," he greeted with a nod as soon as the knight was before him, taking the envelope and pulling it open. "Not a short missive, then? Well, you have my thanks for the errand. You can set Sirona down and open her carrier; I hope she didn't cause you too much trouble—"

He trailed off slightly, frowning down at the first paper he held from all those sent in the envelope that Roger had handed to him.

"Falkner, you aren't acquainted with a Baron Bridger, are you?"
Cadmon Demet


@HereComesTheSnow@Crimson Paladin



Sorting out the villagers was fast, sorting out the supplies that the bandits and their Morahti allies had pillaged from the local villages was a longer, more annoying process—even in the face of a rescue, there were always a few who would strive towards any sort of material gain they could wring out of their situation and benefactors. Thankfully, their fellows were disinclined to let them sour the moods of their saviours so rapidly, but none of them could simply drag the raided goods back home through the dirt or carry them on their backs—so it fell to Cadmon to divvy out men and animals for the transport, before they could rejoin the main column and their advance back towards Castle Hraesleg reach full speed.

At least he was glad to be back at the castle, dissimilar as it may have been from his home. Proximity to Lord Hraesleg meant an opportunity to figure out just why he'd been sent to accompany Velvetica, rather than accompany the man himself or her elder brother. It also meant a proper bed, more interesting food, and—

"Ah. Right on time." Peering up near the tallest tower of the castle, he could see the unmistakable outline of a griffin coming to its roost. "Care to join me in my suite, István? It seems Sir Falkner's back, and I doubt he's come empty handed. He should have news of home, and I've no doubt you'll want to review it with me."
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR



Fionn's charge slowed for a moment, first hearing the trees cracking near him; he turned his head to glance at what was making the sound, only to have time for a muttered curse and to leap out of the way. Grossly swollen fists crashed to the ground where he had just been standing, clods of dirt flying up around them as the beast bellowed out in mindless rage. The Boars had moved to clear space for the giant, unwilling to allow themselves to get crushed in its maddened advance, to say nothing of the other four that were making their way for his fellow knights.

He rolled once, coming back up on his feet hastily. Out of the way of harm from the beast, for now, he wasn't safe yet—charging into the Golden Boars' lines meant that there was no lack of enemies around him, and not all of them would be so surprised by their sudden allies not to try and take advantage of his lonesome status. Light glinted in his peripheral vision, reflecting from something off to his left; he threw the shield outwards instinctually, batting aside a spear that was thrust at him. He lunged forwards, driving the rim of the shield into the face of the Boar that tried to stab him; dead or unconscious, they fell, and he released the shield, ramming his sword back home and hefting their spear.

The giant turned, lured by the clashing sound so close to it, knowing that its prey had evaded its initial attack. Any Boars that had considered stepping in to try and finish Fionn off instead chose to back away, rather than risk utter pulverization. "And I thought I was crazy," he muttered, now that he had a clear look at the beast. It was clear that it had once been human, though whether one of the Golden Boars or some unfortunate captive of theirs he couldn't say; whatever had been done, the body was too mangled and distorted for it to matter any longer. Limbs and torso on the verge of bursting, and a head, lips pulled back in what he could only imagine a grimace of pain, blinded from destroyed eyes, nearly swallowed into the chest by the ballooned muscles surrounding it.

"In ainm Mayon, agus Reon..."

Whether forced into this transformation or an enemy who willingly took it upon themselves, the creature before him now was nothing but an object of pity. Ending its existence would be a mercy. An important work to see done before tearing these Boars' captain's head from his shoulders. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he called out to it, standing firm as the space cleared further, forcing himself to breathe, stay relaxed. This was no mere boar or bear he might defeat by holding his place against any charge, let the beast impale itself and get stuck before it could actually reach him. This giant would likely crush him under its weight if he tried such, not to mention he didn't even have the right tools for the job.

Lure it in. Get it to charge. From there, speed, agility, and technique. No different from any other fight, that.
Fionn MacKerracher


@VitaVitaAR@Raineh Daze



Unsurprising that the Boars' leader was content to hide behind his men. Let them rush on, force Fionn to tire himself fighting through them. A coward's strategy, and not even a sound one at that, even if he did intend to fight through all on his own. Not that he entirely did plan on that, of course. "Tyaethe!" Fionn barked, turning his head slightly toward the vampire not far behind him before they got swarmed again. "Help cut me a path!"

No time to contemplate whether or not she'd hear him and do as he asked, or if she'd see something else that needed taken care of; by that point more of the Boars were upon him. The first jabbed a spear his way; he beat it down to the ground, stepping on the haft to keep it down before the Boar could withdraw the weapon. He brought his blade back up, slicing down at the spearman's lead arm; their hand cleanly separated from their wrist, and they fell back clutching at the bloody stump. He kicked the spear up, catching it and plunging its butt spike into the gut of the next one to run at him.

A third came in from the side, swinging a hammer down at him; he pulled back hard on the spear, lifting it and ducking beneath to catch the blow. The haft split under the blow, and he twisted the front half of the spear around and stabbed it into the Boar's armpit as he raised his hammer for another blow, driving it in hard enough to send the mercenary falling off to the side, useful at least to trip up any of his comrades that might come up. He turned back again, facing the better part of the mercenaries standing between him and their commander.

"Care to make way?" he asked them, his tone light and conversational. In the face of their inability to get through a single knight, he could see some of the mercenaries starting to doubt their choice of battle, especially when considering the struggles they had with the other knights. The hounds, their one real surprise and advantage, had rushed the others, trying to find their way to Veilena's throat; where he stood, it was just Golden Boars filling the space between him and their leader. "Might be you lay your arms down, the others give you a chance, an opportunity to repent, at least a trial. I just want your commander."

They stood silent, for a moment, before one broke ranks and came at Fionn, axe in hand. He stepped in, thrusting forwards, and the point of his blade pierced through their shoddy gambeson, sliding between their ribs. Undeterred, however, they rushed into him, trying to tackle him and let the others tear him apart. He released his sword, wrenching the axe from the dying man's hand instead; he punched forwards at the next to rush him, the strength of the blow and the weight of his gauntlets caving in their forehead and sending them falling limply. Then he turned, throwing the axe at a third; they ducked, raising a shield to try and deflect the blow, and screamed as the axe bit in, pulling the shield along with it and wrenching their shoulder out of its socket.

He grasped at the hilt of his sword, planting his foot on the corpse it was buried in and pulling it smoothly back out. From another he reached down, claiming a shield that had been lost in the melee; and, bellowing some unintelligible war cry, he sprinted forwards himself, shield out, to knock aside or trample any Golden Boar foolish enough to stand between him and their leader.
Cadmon Demet


@Octo@HereComesTheSnow



"I'm glad to make such a good friend as you, miss Lirrah," Cadmon replied blandly as the diminutive merchant fluttered her eyelashes at him and did the best she could to squirm out of the disadvantageous position he had her in. As she handed over the vials to István, he set her to the ground, giving a small, formal bow. "We'll heed your warnings, of course. I'm sure my man here would rather test these on the enemy, not one of our own." As she scampered off to attend to whatever it was that the griffin rider was asking her about, he glanced back at Kayliss's rapidly retreating form.

Unfortunate. He didn't like having to simply trust that she'd make a point to release the horses before the camp was completely surrounded, lest they put their own at risk of a trampling...but trust he would have to. At least winning one over on Lirrah had helped to raise his spirits a bit; trade was preferable to war any day, and as one of the lords entrusted to watch the borders of Velt, he'd had no choice but to become experienced in both, whether the tactics used were fair or underhanded—like holding an already-embarrassed Nem multiple feet off the ground and getting her to relinquish her goods for free. "Distribute those how you see fit, István. I don't know that I've the stomach to use them myself. I'm going to have Gawen gather up some of our best riders before things start—it'd be a shame to waste good Morahti horses."




Sure enough, Kayliss and Falkner made sure to execute their stage of the plan while there was still an opening for the horses to retreat through. At the sight of panic and a trampled tent in the firelight of the camp, Cadmon knew that the four men he'd set with horses, lassos, and spears would take off after any that escaped their handlers and bring them under control using tricks they'd learned from other eastern horsemen. Confident in those he'd set to the task, he charged ahead into the camp itself. Resistance was minimal at best—few of the Morahti were in a state to even lift their weapons, let alone actively fight, not that he had any qualms about ensuring they never would again.

He'd studied their language, of course. His father had made him learn at least some of it, learn who they were. Their March had seen the raiders come through, and wherever an outlying village declined to fight, their people were taken instead. Abominable in every respect, but at least those had the twisted honour only to take those who they supposedly conquered, rather than engaging in simple trade like one might see at a cattle auction. It had been necessary to learn some of their language, to issue warnings and demands in a way that they couldn't pretend not to understand.

Not once had he known of any to be willing to offer themselves up. Knocked unconscious, forcibly taken prisoner, or the like, perhaps—but never willingly had he known of one to enter into the servitude they seemed to think was due to those who defeated them.

Gods and Goddesses willing, these would at least have pride enough to refuse the same.

He stepped out from between a pair of close-set tents, back into the firelight, to see a pair of the foreign mercenaries off to his left. One of the raiders seemed nearly catatonic; another, trying to rouse his comrade, futilely trying to encourage him to fight or run in the face of the giant coming their way. Neither had the chance; the mystically sharp blade of Cadmon's inherited weapon puncturing one's heart and severing the other's brainstem in a single downward thrust.

"Dramatics again, István?" he asked of his comrade, who had been bearing down on the hapless Morahti before Cadmon came behind them. "Sometimes I think you're trying to see if you can just scare one to death."
Fionn MacKerracher


@Crimson Paladin@VitaVitaAR@Psyker Landshark



"Curse hounds, you said?" Fionn asked just as the Boars' forces began to show from the treeline, already stepping towards the one that seemed clearly to be the leader. "That's good, actually. I was worried I might have to behave myself. Renar, be a good lad and keep an eye on her, will you?" His blade slid smoothly out its sheathe as Tyaethe lunged forwards and Gerard yelled over at the north end of the clearing, his own pace quickening as a grin grew beneath the shadow cast by his helmet.

The fetid, distempered imp that had tried to attack the princesses hadn't been a fight at all, and dreams and training did not make up for actual combat. If these Boars wished to rush to the slaughter, then he would try to be accommodating to their needs. It's only polite, after all.

He sprinted wide around the whirlwind that was Tyaethe as many of the mercenaries tried in vain to overwhelm her with numbers; one of the faster hounds leaped at him, and he ducked low, its snapping jaws going clear over his head where they'd been aimed for his throat. He straightened quickly, driving his shoulder into its ribs and sending it up in the air; a relaxed backhand swing with his longsword neatly opened its back half, the hound landing in a spray of its own black ichor hissing and smoking on the ground as it thrashed around in its death throes. One of the Boars ran at him next, swinging a mace at his chest.

Fionn lunged forwards, first putting his left forearm against the Boar's weapon arm to stop it before slamming bodily into the mercenary and sending him toppling over. He wasted no time; the most the fallen Boar got was a single stomp to the now-open throat as Fionn carried along. A second, too much of a spendthrift to even afford a back to match his breastplate, had ribs and spine severed as the Veltic knight surged onwards, the tip of his blade coming back fowards, quick as a viper and coated in red. A scream punctuated the roars and yells of the fighters, and Fionn glanced back in Tyaethe's direction for a moment.

His left hand shot up, grabbing a severed forearm that had just flown his way, a dagger still tightly clutched in its hand. He hacked outwards at another of the mercenaries that stepped in close to him, splitting that one's hand in half, sending them quickly retreating and clutching at the flood pouring from their glove, before wrenching the dagger out of the loosening fingers, disarming the dismembered arm.

"PIG!" he bellowed at the Boars' leader, arm cocked like a spring; at the slightest hint of recognition, he sent the dagger flying for the man. "Get over here and at least pretend you're worth that armour!"
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