Blacklight: Origins

[The-Shadow-One]

The left hook. Natalye studied, since all she could do was wait and study. Quick as she'd like the top half of her body was now dropped closer to the floor before she pushed forward off the ground, aiming for the center of Ralf's gravity, a iron bracer swinging towards a sensitive portion of the male anatomy for good measure.

The witch was not playing nice here, she was playing to win. Even if her tackle failed she had planned to get her leg in with his, tangle him up to ruin his footwork.

[Justice knight]

"But such a display is unnecessary- surely we are better than this?" The young knight sighed in dismay.

The brawl came to a bloody -and unsurprisingly swift- but an almost disappointing ending. Ralf left hook connected hard with Natalye's nose, this was followed by a sickening crack and a torrent of blood from Natalye's now broken nose.
The force now on Natalye was more than enough to send her spinning off her feet.
However the Witch still had forward momentum, her bracer hit the intended slit between Ralf's leg, causing more than a little pain to his body. Natalye's shoulder collided with Ralf's chest, her full body weight as well as the added weight of the iron pushed him backwards.
Both brawlers landed side by side on the floor -arms hitting the ground at almost exactly the same time- in fact their landing was so close together that it was impossible to tell by eye who landed first and, as such, who won.

[Hissien]

Witnessing the Brawl

"Perhaps they should both share their rations since they both lost then... Such a waste of effort." Agni said shaking his head. He prodded the fire with a stick not really interested in watching them in their stupor.

[The SheoDovah]

"That would depend on who you ask, young sister." Merideth looked at the young woman and believed that she was yet to face the horrors of the underworld, the supernatural and the unholy abominations that stalked the lord's creatures. "Some of our brothers would claim that we are above such pointless violence. Some would claim that we need pointless fights to keep our minds free of boredom. It matters not, for we are all indiviuals and some need an outlet to help them relax. It helps them to rid their minds of their fears. It helps them to brace their bodies when the darkness comes and we stand in it's path. It helps them to use our talents to do the lords work." She knew she was going on a lecture but she felt that she was helping the young lass understand why a fight was going on. Aside from it's entertainment value.

She unsheathed her sword after the fight was concluded and kept her focus on the witch. "Tis a good thing that it was not a real fight or we would be mourning a brother now." She commented as she waited to see what the weapon would do next and awaited the order to chain it.

[The-Shadow-One]

The witch rose herself up, blood getting into her mouth, staining her teeth slightly. "And you were.. sure about beating me.." She murmured to Ralf, lifting her hands, a swift jerk to reset her nose and a loud hiss of pain. "If you.. are the best this company offers you'd be mush before a witch that has the vaguest inkling on their magic." She rolled her shoulders, refusing to show the tiniest bit of pain. Her eyes rested on Ralf drifting over to Dante. "You should make him study more on his art, rather than on his mouth." She stated, before laughing. "Now, back into the chains.. Yes?"

[Rook]

"Have you fought a witch then, ma'am?" Jean addressed Meredith eagerly, halting his practice. He returned his sword to its sheath, but kept the shield hanging loosely at his side.

[Kerr]

"If it was a real fight we'd have all joined in. And we'd have used weapons." said Gertrude.

[The SheoDovah]

"I have, Brother." Merideth informed Jean whilst keeping her eyes on the witch. "It was many winters ago, when i was into the first year of my second decade and cost me my mentor." She informed him. "But it strengthened my resolve to do the lord's work and my will to protect our people from the denziens of Lucifier."

[BetaB17]

:

Player: BetaB17
Name: Seras Integra
Age: 17
Sex: F
Physical description: (Example) Her appearance in of itself is pretty mundane from first inspection. Like most of her family her eyes are a distinctive azure green with a well defined limbal ring, being both proof of her Occisores descent and birthright. She is like many women from the French province: her hair is of a golden blonde, her skin pale and smooth, and a soul ever pure. She stands shorter than most knights and frail by the looks of her width, however her training and rough beginnings can more than make up for these. Her petite status is due to malnutrition for most of her life however now her muscle tone contributes to most of her weight. Naturally she is fair in feminine aspects, however has taken much effort to hide them. She has her hair shorter than most much like an unkempt male's, she insures her petite breasts are always hidden, and her face holds hints of elegance and nobility. As per the illusion, she aspires to look like a young male, even her voice when used with authority portrays this. Upon her skin she bares noticeable marks: one that she takes pride, another she is indifferent to, and two that cast shame. As she initiated in the Order, she chose only her skin may be marked, for it is her armor that defines her and not some 'mark'. Her armor is her sole image and family's pride, thus it is her flesh that may endure the compromise, her metal cannot. Over her left shoulder she displays what looks like a birthmark, ominous by origin it has long kept her as an outcast since childhood. To what it looks like is the mark of a hellspawn's hand, gripped over her shoulder as if in care. This has earned her much abuse when she was raised in the orphanage, being whipped and lashed at across her back. It was only later when she was reunited with her uncle did she take upon a mark she held pride in. Over her back, covering much of her scars and hardships is the closest thing to an emblem of her family's Order, a design that looked very similar to that of her uncle's greatshield. Sjin personally was the one to add this ink to her skin, and the only one she does not fear to witness her scars.
Personality: Torn between her former self and the role that was forced upon her, to what most see is hardly the truth. As a knight, she can be stoic and display unprecedented will, proving her valor and code for honor. For one who speaks so little, she helps to muster the courage in men's hearts, however a leader she was is not. As the sole heir and head of her family's declined Order, the pride of her ancestors weigh heavily upon her mind. This is the knight most come to know, unconcerned with the affairs around her, leading some to even believe that beneath her armor she may be void.
This knight that hardly a soul even knows is truly misunderstood to all but her guardian Sjin. Her voice can be weak, her actions quite shy, and most certainly of all a lonely soul. She seeks guidance and comfort in her guardian despite it is he who awaits her word. Her depressed status and dislike of social encounter leaves her often mute, only casting this assumption with her stoic words. She can be stubborn, rash, and maybe even rebellious at times but she is by far rational. To why she is so bipolar in her personas can be questioned, but it is best to know they are one and the same.
Backgound:

Spoiler:

Her tale beings much in loss. A newborn torn from her mother's cold hands, her father's blood staining her hair, and the mark of the demon that made this all so. Then why was it she was spared, granted mercy by a hellspawn no less. To what she was told, a mysterious being brought her to the nearby town, leaving the child whom was barely a month's in age at the steps of a Church's orphanage, unable to take her further to the holy grounds. The cries of this girl alarmed the nuns, bringing them to front to see this being, and just like that it left. The nuns did indeed take her in, they had to less she would die, but it was not mercy's hands she was delivered to. All through the years she was abused, condemned by all out of fear and hatred. This mark upon her shoulder, proof that she was touched by a demon left her as an outcast. She never knew love, was forced to keep silent in fear of punishment, and was never granted any kindness. She despised them, almost wanting to prove their rumors of her as the devil's child. How could a God allow such suffering be deemed as just Disobedient, troubled, and quick to spite, she hated them so dearly, and yet she wanted their acceptance. Eventually by the age of 11 she escaped her prison, preferring to live upon the streets as a petty thief than be left in darkness. Of the following years she did what she had to to survive. She stole food when she was most desperate, she snatched coins from drunks when they were vulnerable, and at times even had to fend herself against vile men. She never wanted to kill somebody, but never did she fret from a dagger to the hand. This was hardly a living, and even long after her freedom she still could not help but be mute, not even her cries upon those lonely nights could be heard. However by the age of 13 all this would change.
In the mist of the market, she once again resumed petty thievery, on the run from a merchant that she was most certainly going to escape. While dashing through the crowd, all her spoils were across the stone tiles, and she nearly loss all balance. Her path collided with that of a young man dressed in attire most exotic to her standards. Their eyes met for but a moment, eyes void of all color, but she quickly broke free and scrambled for escape. To swear she has seen those eyes before, both in recent days and another's in memory long forgotten. This was not the first encounter between the two to occur, and over the following winter it slowly grew suspicion. She always felt watched, never finding evidence, so she chose to never stay still for long. She finally chose to be bold and act as bait, drawing the spy out to an abandoned path, only to hide in a gap within a wall in lie of ambush. Thinking herself clever she drew her knife when muffled steps approached, in search of clues, and a shadow cast by moonlight was no in sight. She lunged in attack, and just as it began it was finished. There she laid upon her arse, unable before she realized what had occured as she held tight to her blade's handle. There the strange young man stood, with no wound or weapon drawn, and the length of her blade impaled into the stone steps between them. She was in shock, her only means of defense was cut clean in but a flash, as if mere hands could do such a thing. Fearful, she looked into the eyes of this stranger just before she fainted, unable to accept the reality of death.
Not much longer she awoke, unharmed in an old farmhouse outside of the city, warmed by a fire but nothing more. Across was this man, silent, unmoved, and all this added to fear. Yet before anything could be done, he spoke faintly he can do no harm nor allow any to befall her, giving no answers other than his master wishes to see her and no explanation was given. It seemed all a dream, but under the night they traveled far with only he as her steed. Eventually she faded to sleep, only next to awake in another structure mid day, and another man stood amongst, only to answer all that must be. Thus it began, that this man was her uncle whom has long since been in search for lost relatives. Upon hearing rumors of their optical trait within this province they had to seek, but in his age he could not brace the winter seasons thus his servant was sent to observe. If deemed true, this was the result. She had no choice but to join her uncle in their family's legacy, to be one with the Occisores Ordo, a knight whom hunted demons and a family name that began at the death of a dragon. She was taught the craft, the lore, and to be the next heir when time called. For once she found comfort, but her Uncle would not last long. At his death bed, he tasked her to uphold their honor and whispered in ear the truth behind their order that was neither fable nor myth. Upon his death, Sjin was thus tasked to continue her training and to share the knowledge ever heir must need to know.
As time passed, so too did any funds they had. Their keep was seized by the church, and with little means of leads other than rumors to guide them, their hunts often were poor or dragged them far. They were demon slayers to be feared, but lacked all the resources one would need. If by fate, fortune, or ill luck, this remnant met another order much like their own. Not some mere knighthood to be sure, but they knew of the other while the individuals knew little of each. In a poor settlement that long was ravaged by Lycans. No survivors were expected but the threat was large. Having been the first to act, Occisores was the first to arrive and purge the monsters, having no need to scout ahead given their own numbers. By the time Vindicta arrives, there Seras and Sjin still remained within the settlement's square, surrounded by the corpses of Lycans and those killed prior to changing. One could assume that the duo killed monster and innocent alike, and one did just that. Before the unseasoned knight could cross blades with Seras, his better peers forced him to yield, all the while Seras just calmly watched. They opted for her to join them, and no answer was given. They asked again, and she was preparing take leave. On the third, their leading knight instead did not do the same but instead asked is she had no honor. A ploy, yes, but she halted, only to state they had nothing to offer but subjugation. His answer tested her more "No, we offer aid"
Thus a new chapter began. Seeing the truth that alone she could not last, but together they both may benefit, she agreed to select terms. She would offer her blade in exchange for shared interests. She was far from some mere recruit, and while to she sees this as nothing more than cooperation between factions, Vindicta believes it more as an attempt to annex a former rival. She was nothing more than another piece to claim, but they allowed her believe themselves on equal ground. She was branded like any other but kept her self identity. She took orders from commanding officials, but was not to be paired with fodder. And while she held no official authority, she was amonsgt the more seasoned despite her age. And while over the years she still struggles with those amongst the rank, some still fathom over just how little they know. Lately Vindicta has been placing her amongst others during tasks, something that has lead to mixed results

Traits: Increased strength and endurance given her lesser size and stature, though by all means inhuman it is not
Weapon: (1H Sword) One of her most trusted companions, 2nd only to her guardian and sole friend, a precursor to the estoc though it's traits seem more like an early long sword. One of three family heirlooms, reforged time and time again, only best to be attuned with it's master and the new era. Little has been done to refine it from it's original basis, with more emphasis placed on stylizing or length. Traditionally a blade of this caliber would be more efficient when used with both hands, but any seasoned swordsman could find no burden using but one. However reforged time and again, this mere child and others like it pale in comparison to it's original state.
As of now, the blade is primarily forged of silver, cooled in holy water and blessed upon rebirth. It gleams of a holy aura, be it the shine of the silver or the nature of it's making. It's edge is sharp with a great focus upon it's tip; with it's more slender frame it is highly effective as a thrusting weapon, piercing both mail and plate. However do not let this deceive it's use, for like any blade it is adept with slashing and dueling. The handle must like it's distant kin is elongated to help accommodate for both hands as well as added stability/grip. Plated around the blade for decor is a finely polished bronze alloy, casting the allure of gold from afar when in fact it's hardness and weight help aid the central part of the sword; the pommel. Truly from appearance alone any could mistake this blade as a holy relic of sorts, despite it's very mundane origin. Still, with eras long passed, this silver has likely been drenched in more blood of the hell spawn than one could presume.
Additional equipment: (Greatshield/misc) In right hand she wields a greatshield, formerly owned by her deceased uncle, and more so by each heir of the family. This greatshield was never intended to be used by one of her stature, let alone an average male, though the means of cover it can offer is greater to those who can endure. Much like a tower shield and it's defense against a volley of arrows, so too this shield against that of hell-fire. Cast from pure iron and charred black by dragon's breath, it bears no family crest yet is etched with design, signature it may be. Many others used over the course of time, to deflect blows with it's unmoving hide or deadly swing. Seras had the handle of the shield altered allowing her to wield it braced to her forearm, a most unorthodox manner but viable no less. The only true disadvantage this shields brings is it limits her potential. If she keeps it strapped to her back, both her hands are now free and her flank is well guarded, however her sight now suffers. Only when freed from it's burden is she the most lethal, but without haven she will be.
Armour: (Plate) Likely the most protective of her pieces when she joined this Order, it bears no mark or emblem of theirs. She has long since valued independence, family pride demands this, and it is thus she still uses the same equipment as too was the day she first initiated. Plated armor, overlapping like scales, donned in cloth and leather alike, her guardian has spent great attention to keep her gender in question and be treated like any knight deserves, even her stoic will complements this so.
The armor itself is black iron, cast from ore not of earth or man. While similar in appearance to her shield's it lacks origin and purity, but by no means a burden to produce compared to the other. It's durability is matched by it's innate trait against magic, a wise choice for slayer like herself. While it's plates may dent from critical force, the more mundane will find it ever more challenging to do the same against mail. Where the bulk of her defense is obvious the remainder of which is guarded with chain mail, it is unlikely to see any knight to go without chain. Steel from the east and hidden beneath cloth, silence is far from her friend. Her attire that adorns her armor is reminiscent of a dress, but stylized to give a more masculine appearance and hide that of feminine. The cloth itself is blue, much like many whom came from this extinct order. Strangle marks and patterns caress it's design, subtle and vague but with Celtic inspirations. This is again a tribute to her humble origins and honor.
In this set, she lacks a helmet or rather never desired one to be made. Rather than waste the material for headware, it has been used to help buffer her defense. Her forearms especially are well guarded, with plate gauntlets capable of shielding an attack. Even her knuckles hold small amounts of silver, if only to leave her ever prepared. The chest piece itself retains a more solid form, unlike much of her armor and it's scaled design. Though while design could absorb more damage, her chest piece is best to deflect blows given it's immobile form. Still, this set was well focused on mobility and endurance, not for comfort or silence.
.

:

Player: BetaB17(again)
Name: Sjin Ali
Age: 19
Sex: M
Physical description: (Example) Skin so tan beneath the desert's sun and hair so dark as if touched by Seth himself. His eyes strike as something odd; silver in shade and dulled in life as if the color has been drained from them, while the sand may be warm, his feel is as cold as the desert's night, bringing to question if this is no more human than a corpse. While racial aspects can be mutual, only those fair in purity of blood share these trait, casting with it an otherworldly radiance. It seems abnormal traits are prominent in not only his bloodline but the Order that they serve, though never shall the two mingle as is taboo. It shows a stark contrast between the two, with one vivid in allure and the other darkened by fate, however one is far from natural while another never was. And what of the rather mundane? Standing no taller than most, he is fairly average for a young adult and very much in his prime. He keeps himself well groomed, with hair slightly long and void of facial. Rather than compensating for stature like some, he has no need to highlight what he is already gifted, only finding need to perfect his tolerance of pain in order to better serve his master. As proof, he bares so many scars across his limbs and body to where mere tales will do no justice. Still, his skin serves more than a canvas of faded scars or evidence of race, but a means to honor his ancestors and service. Over his left shoulder he has etch'd the mark of his ancestors, long held and idolized despite it's lost origins. While the shape or style may differ over the ages and generations amongst the chosen kin, they continue to don the Ouroboros of Apep as it as came to be known. Aside from his won crest, he had to take upon another to which he holds no faith, burned into his chest but forever lacking as to his loyalty to his master. It's troubling just how devote he truly is to the young Seras.
Personality: Unlike his ancestors of old he has his voice, he has no need to hide behind a mask, and his loyalty is unquestionable, these are a fundamental truth, or so last is of true. Everything that he has done, everything that he shall do is to serve for the better of his master. Left to bring silent judgement, end all whom pose a threat to the family's last heir, the evil he is willing to do for her safety is mislead by this beloved guardian's so called humanity. He truly cares for the young Seras, his words of advise or comfort seem genuine, it is far from some mask he'll portray for others. Why does he continue to stay beside her? What is left for this doomed Order? Or could it be he is nothing but a shadow.
To his core he only knows to serve, all that is left is a hollow stasis that dreads despair. Is the true Sjin the one whom can smile upon his master's achievements, or the one whom is just as ominous as the monsters he destroys? Is the darkness in his heart matched by his chosen morality, or is it all just as hollow as his soul. He truly is no different than those before him.
Backgound:

Spoiler:

What can be said, most of his history is as obscure as the shadows he came from. All his life he served this order that has long since declined. Much of his life he witnessed his relatives dwindle from few to absent to all but he. His parents, fallen in service yet not even an ounce of remorse can be given. Why so must this always be the case with this clan, sharing no love but so quick to live only in purpose. Being the last of the pure-bloods, with the closest member in blood being far too elderly and distant in relation, far from anything but impure in clan blood. Her only use was to tend to him by an early age, prepare him for the path he must take. By the age of 7 he was fully drafted, a true servant in both knowledge and skill. His master, an elderly knight of the Azorium Ordo, and potentially the last heir of the Occisores. For many years he served him faithfully, killing both men and abominations alike in silence. As he grew, his skills were further honed, being ever more a warrior to be feared than a mere assassin to chase. With his master's age and worsening condition, he did all he could to spare him the trouble. Eventually, he alone was sent on missions afar, well ahead of his master in order to insure completion. All through Europe and even part way to the East they went, till his story converged with another's and the end of another's. Now, many years later he serves under the final Occisores, Seras Integra; his master, his student, and his sole purpose. Even now he follows her, even allowing himself to be branded by another's symbol but his will only listens to her. Within the Ordo Vindicta, he is little more than met with suspicion, unease, and even fear; even his faith is in question. His skills alone prove that he is not one to trifle with, nor is any disrespect or harm to his master, and yet he pays no heed to any taunts cast at him alone. Even so, he has always been the best means to deal with certain tasks. Their superiors seem more contempt to leave him be, seeing his value so long as his master stays cooperative. Yet, try as any might, nobody in the order can deny a certain darkness looms about him.
What is most interesting is not the life he has lived but the tale of his clan. Not even he may voice the full truth, nor can he speak of times most ancient. Kin nor scroll told him such, and to how he knows is far too otherworldly. Three bloodlines, three clans, all share a single origin and purpose, yet time and conflict has driven them apart. When the young Lords left them in rivalry, to distant lands they followed till new purpose was found. To the North one went, finding their new masters amongst snow. To the East went another, to aid on war with each coming dynasty. And the last were left in the sands to fade away for their vanity and treason, only to rise from darkness every passing dynasty to bring ruin. Of the clan to the North, their ways have not changed since the rein of the 2nd young Lord, not unlike their younger clan that soon followed shinobi. From their roots to Rome and then to the Celts, they never ended their skirmish against the inhuman. Ever trying to reunite with the young Lord through the ages, till at once they were but forsaken. Once lost, they found reason to serve slayers who spared their lives when the two were caught on opposing fronts. Hundreds of years later, here they still serve the heirs of this family, two bloodlines forbidden in union yet ever in bond. However much has declined for the two, and for both their great ancestors would mock them even for this fellowship.

Traits: Otherworldly resonance, an inherent trait that belongs to his clan since ancient times. Allows to some extent what many would deem as black magic
+ Capable of summoning otherworldly beings to whom the clan has contracts with. Full materialization is impossible, but an entity's influence can still take shape via possession or infusion given the price
+ The innate ability to channel magic, allowing power to be 'borrowed' be it by contract or act as a living catalyst. To some extent the passive redirection can occur, however a threshold is present.
+ Any exchange of magic is toxic, both to body and soul, for it is foreign and cruel as is Heka's love. High concentrations or overuse will be lethal.
Weapon: (Dual Swords) Two blades meant for slaying, two blades meant to serving, a Vessel without their blades is without purpose. Long he has helped honed Seras's swordsmanship, and while he may prove the more swift and lethal she has shown a considerable degree of raw potential. To her service he bares two blades, neither twins but ever a pair. Often held in his right hand he wields a curved sword better known as a scimitar, with it's elegant design and decent range. To pair with this blade he needs another to parry, a single edged short sword reminiscent of an elongated dagger that fairs better with speed and stability. While the scimitar is certainly more adept for sheer offensive means, this 2nd blade is preferred for it's defensive and quickly lethal use. To those whom underestimate it, this 2nd blade is as capable as any other, serving well with piercing blows that risk even plate or chain. It is worth note that his skill is well adept, even having mastered the use of dual shotels and even the more obscure urumi.
This pair share more than just the same wielder but also in craft, only differing slightly to meet their specific needs. The 'parry' sword for one is far stronger and denser in regards to it's size. In regards to material, they are primarily crafted from Damascus steel that has been bathed in the blood of the vile. Along it's edge is reinforced silver, only a hint as to it's purpose but certainly minimal when compared to another's. The remainder for which the hilt and such are forged of bronze with very little leather in need. Both scabbards are forged of the same, adding to the potential use for a guard in desperation.
Additional equipment: (Misc) Likely the sheer variety in supplies may seem troubling, considering much is equally capable of killing the vile or a mortal, if not more. Ample supplies of dried herbs and powders to craft medicine or poisons alike. Plentiful in tools needed for the shadows or rituals. Most importantly all he may need to insure his master's health and comfort, for that anything of his is also her's even if a request is never made. It never ceases to amaze others to just how knowledgeable this foreigner is.
Armour: (Leather) An armor from a foreign land, this style of caste has long been tradition amongst his clan long before their role as guardians. Vessels, magi, agents, all are befitting but it is the title of assassin they are most commonly associated with. They erase the threats of mortals, hunting darkness itself from within the shadows. At a time their role may have been more obscure within royalty, but now their deviation has led to their eminent decline. Crafted from strong leather, gilded cloth, and infused with iron dust, it's materials may differ from it's Egyptian origins but is ever true for one of the shadows. Always kept in slim design with a greater focus on mobility and efficiency over raw defense while within the arid deserts keeping it's owner fair in day as it is at night. This armor was intended to live in as it was to die in, so is their fate. This clan has always served till death for their masters, be it at his court in the days of old or in frigid lands amongst the true.
Years of use have left scars upon this set, and while most of it can easily be replaced it is the frequent use that cast delay. The leather that reinforces much of this set is strong, durable, but most of all flexible. From the outer perspective only the leggings, gauntlets, and binding straps are in view. Much of this have been dyed black or azure then laced with a bronze trimming. Beneath the cloth he wears an asymmetrical torso piece, right shoulder guard, and additional defense around his abdomen.
The cloth that makes the majority of this set differ in fabric, with some durable and laced with iron dust while others may be weaved for reinforcement. The cowl and face mask are of special attention, for it must filter even the thickest of air while still holding it's own against agile feats. The robes and sash must provide some means of defense even if they will be torn. Despite it's ornate or cultural appeal, much of this set takes a more Persian influence while still being humble to it's purpose. Of the bronze decor, a small plate guards his left arm while a more decorative piece is braced to his hip. The alloy itself has long lost it's gloss and was darkened intentionally, given it's age and use this is understandable. It is worth note that despite this ornate style, it is hardly the largest alteration to it's origins. While tradition predates much of this in shadow, azure is a fairly new addition to their banner; donned by the very same Order of Slayers they serve to this day. This is the only banner they should ever need to bare, as occult as the abyss and flames of azure, but true though their loyalty is one mustn't serve two.
.

[Justice knight]

Hidden:

As you know Beta you're accepted- little note though you're generally distrusted by the others.

Dante simply nodded as he put the oh so familiar chains on Natalye.
"You both will be on half rations."
Galahad helped Ralf to his feet.
The majority of those watching simply returned to what they were doing, leaving very few around where the fight just took place.
"Was that really necessary Dante?" The young knight from before asked.

[The-Shadow-One]

Galahad was treated to a small smile of contempt from the witch, eyes shifted to focus on the young knight. "How else would you learn.. us.. my kind? We're sneaky, and tricky. Even outwith magic..." She giggled and then erupted into a cacophony of laughter. "Oh.. Yes. Tricky. Iron is tricky.. Very much so.." Testing the familar chains as she clanked and slithered iron against iron. "We have to be.. Ever wonder why.. you can kill and kill and kill yet it seems not to wane. Best lasts. Weak is chaff."

[BetaB17]

Seras & her Shadow

Not afar from the rest, the duo came to stop where their camp would be made, favoring higher ground over the fodder as if in a show of caste. Even if the distrust was mutual, ot was best to keep the envy of the weak than spite of peers. It was while a fire to be set and shelter made, Sjin seemed to only serve by granting his mistress the best available, even if she alone cared not for this treatment. Yet despite the shared view of dusk, she favored to be in proximity of the iron cage and within earshot of the officers for self employed reasons.

fWhile progress was made, there the a knight stood in stoic form, faced off to where the sun shall set with her aegis rested before her as if in attention. In a sly of voice, she spoke "What has befallen the rest?" She questioned the noise that was heard over the kindling flame, yet unprovoked to take witness.

Sjin, having account of all, whether minor or eventful, for any could cast risk, turned his gaze upon his master. "It seems the wick'd and a fool brought a skirmish, a notion of stress between.." His words were cold upon the ears "Amongst others is boast or strives for kinship, it be best if you don't associate with the likes my lady." He crossed his arm over his heart in respect, but he could not help but hear the sigh that escaped her lips. "The flames are in heat, by night you should eat and rest, this is not up to negotiate.." But before the rest could be said Seras moved from her stance and drew closer to the commotion, standing by the border of her camp with her arms crossed

Spoiler:

Sorry on the delay

[Archer]

Ralf nodded a quick thanks to Galahad, as well as shot a hateful glare to Natalye, silently fuming over his self-percieved defeat. More angry at himself than anyone else, save the witch, he stepped away from the others in an attempt to calm down. "Never good enough, Don't know what I was thinking..." He mumbled to himself.