Private Western Brisshal A Grave Misunderstanding

Schilva Flasch · Jul 29, 2025

I see, I see. Okay. Tell me more.

Well, we don't have much else to go off of, but alright...

Ever busy in his task of spreading the good name of Schilva Flasch far and wide, the aforementioned swordsman had recently decided to go on a self-defined publicity tour around Astorea, doing heroic deeds and trying his best to bring the repute of the Starcalled back to a presentable level. In his own weird little self-conceited way, yes, but he still believed in doing his best to be a good representative of the heroic forces that had saved Arcia enough times over to frankly deserve a kingdom.

After all, not everyone is humble enough to remember their roots; that's why Schilva, in all his magnanimity, had deigned it worth his precious time to take a stroll down the winding Grania Trail and right all wrongs to come his way. Case in point, it's not even been half a day yet and he's already run into some juicy business to take care of!

Huh. Didn't know ya had a necromancer problem out here.

It's not like we could predict this either, they just showed up overnight! You have to help us, sir; there's no way we can beat back that many alone.

The troubled and grimy-looking farmhand gestured vaguely away from the crude wooden palisade behind him. Apparently, according to the young man, the village he was from (the one sheltered behind that palisade, presumably) was a quiet one and had never experienced much serious danger beyond some goblinoid raids, but their well-trained militia had always been able to handle those.

However, when some hunters had gone out to range the land nearby just the other morning, they returned in terrified hysterics and spoke of seeing shambling hordes of undead creatures gathering in unprecedented numbers, over the hillocks to the west. Since then, according to the youth, the village has been in the process of morosely planning an evacuation despite the life they'd built up here, considering there was no way they would ever win - let alone survive - if the swarming undead swept their way - better safe than sorry.

So? How many are there?

We...we didn't get a good count. It's got to be tens upon tens, maybe a hundred or more. But I-

Easy work! Worry not, my good man! The great Schilva Flasch will save thy village from this threat, else he shall renounce his title as Master of the Godspeed Slash, Divine Kengo, Veteran of Fever, Bane of Steel, the Evil-Rending Blade that excises all foes!

Er, well, that, uh...

Though the farmhand tries to relay something else, Schilva is already off; with his signature swaggering gait and undaunted laugh, the swordsman disappears off the trail and into the foothills with a confident backwards wave. Tipping up their hat, the Lander debates whether or not to go after Schilva and warn him of what followed the horde, but figured that since he'd rattled off such a long title with such confidence, surely he would be okay. That, and the village needed all hands on deck; with that the farmhand turned away, not hoping for much but the best.

-

SILVER FLASH!

!

The skeletons didn't stand a chance; Schilva blinked throught their midst, blade already in his scabbard by the time the shattered bones collapsed, bereft of the dark sorcery that had animated them.

Small fry...come out now, foul undead! I'll fight you all at once!

So far, the only mobs he'd been slaying were crews of flimsy skeletal soldiers - if you can even call them that - armed with nothing more than farming tools, field knives and simple hunting bows. Clearly, the necromancer had only just gotten started if these things were so weak, which bolstered Schilva's confidence further.

If he'd a better eye for detail, though, he'd notice the relatively good condition of the tools and weapons wielded by each skeleton he cut down. Almost as if they were given them for a purpose. Whatever could that mean?

@Lucia Mierz

Lucia Mierz · Jul 29, 2025

Killing the skeletons wasn't too tough. Most of the time, the creatures were more concerned with trying to pick up or retrieve their fallen comrades then fighting back or being any kind of a threat themselves. Even when they did try to fight back, it wasn't much different from slaying actual farmers or fishermen. They just didn't have the combat skills needed to mount an effective defensive or counterattack. The only thing protecting them was a layer of subtle blighted curses and the faint astral energy that took the place of their beating hearts and brains.

It was what came after the battle though that was more noticeable...

Even though the sun was still relatively high in the sky, the atmosphere grew darker. There was no eclipse, nothing interfering with the light itself but as if color had become slightly less saturated. The few shadows cast by the occasional sparse tree or the rugged terrain stretched much further almost in spite of the sun. With each skeleton slain, this visual effect would grow more and more noticeable as those subtle blights stacked on with each undead life taken.

'In days of peace and nights of war'
'Misconducts must be answered for'

You could barely make out the faintest whisper on the breeze as it slid by. Even as other skeletons in the area tried to avoid the fighting going, they couldn't exactly hide from Schilva. Each one that passed only made the eeriness increase with a low murky fog flowing in as the wind died down. The air grew more crisp and the grass accumulated fresh dew.

If up until now Schilva had been proudly living out his experience as a RPG hero from a Fantasy story, one could almost feel the genre beginning to shift as he advanced deeper carrying the blight with him. The silent suspense of horror hung in the air, the eeriness of the moist air and the foggy ground at his feet just thick enough to notice, but too thin to obscure anything.

'With blood and rage of crimson red'
'Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead'

In the distance, at the epicenter of the horde's command center a silent figure suddenly jerked. Eyes once closed in quiet duty opened, blood red and glossy with no pupils, they turned in the direction of the sudden losses. Though the knight's expression remined solemn and silence, in it's wake, a silent specter's visage contorted between unbridled fury and mournful roars.

The armored knight stepped first, armor creaking as it stepped.
The specter followed, silent and lighter then air.

When the two finally came into alignment, the knight's expression snapped from stoic indifference to a stern displeasure, it's body came alive with emotion and it's blood red eyes narrowed revealing blackened eyes as the redness shrank to the size of normal pupils as it gained speed until it fell into a dead sprint.

On it's right it's hand rotated it's spear into a comfortable running position.
On it's left the specter rotated it's own spear until it aligned with the right.

When both were aligned, the knight disappeared with an uncharacteristic leap. With a kick heavy enough to turn up the earth behind it it soared towards it's destination as the losses continued.

'With strong hearts full our souls ignite'
'For those who don't know wrong from right'

If the change in atmosphere wasn't enough to spook the Schilva, he'd find himself set upon by a group of armored skeletons. Though they still weren't strong enough to defeat him one on one, a handful tried banding together to stall him the best they could.

If he tried to attack, they'd swing shields to brace or weapons to try and ward.
If he tried to catch them from the sides, the formation would shift to meet him.

Someone alert and observant would notice it wasn't the fight of monsters trying to butcher some wayward human who wandered into their territory. It was the desperate battle of a militia taking on a monster that dwarfed them in power and speed alone. A struggle to try and save each other from every attack they would gradually be worn away by if they were alone.

All just to buy time for the civilian skeletons.
All because they knew a true hero was on their way.

@Schilva Flasch

Schilva Flasch · Jul 31, 2025

Oh? What's goin' on here? Some kind of field effect...?

Arrogant and shortsighted as he was, Schilva wasn't so dim as to be ignorant of how his surroundings had been subtly changing, darkening, growing ever more tenebrous each time he remanded more bones to the grave.

Alright! This is more like it! Necromancer, here I come!

Of course, this did not so much dissuade as excite the swordsman, for he had braved much greater challenges than a little spooky mood lighting! Holding his stance a little straighter and his gait a little tighter, Schilva did the equivalent of sitting up instead of leaning back in one's gamer chair as he observed the next round of hapless undead coming to intercept him.

...!

Indeed, these new skeletons were better outfitted and certainly more disciplined in the art of war, even going so far as to engage in formation. Menacing with partisan and scimitar, their armaments were quite a step up from the mundane implements of their now-motionless kin, left in broken masses behind their menacing foe. With imagination, one could almost see the subtle sorrowful resignation of cornered beasts in their luminous pinprick-eyes as they shuffled forward, the rattle of metal on bone a quiet rallying cry.

It was easy to see now why the average Lander might be so concerned as to pack up their whole village and run away from such a threat, but for the great Schilva Flasch? 'twas nothing more than busywork to dull his blade. Too bad he wasn't going to engage them front-on at all!

Impressive, necromancer! Now we're talking; bring out some more, why don't ya?

Whipping his blade out of its sheath, Schilva calls on his Aeromancy to fling a cutting blade of air at the undead phalanx in time with the motion. Its effects are practically null to the unfeeling skeletons, who don't have any flesh to be cut nor any instincts to flinch against the razor wind, but their reactive hunkering towards that direction gives Schilva the opening he needs.

...and make 'em a little smarter while you're at it!

Bending into a crouch for a moment, Schilva lashes out another air cutter to keep the pressure on as he aligns his blade forward - and then he's gone, zipping into the air with a whistling breeze beneath his heels.

STRIKE LIKE LIGHTNING...!

One moment, he is suspended above the massed skeletons, still readied with shield and spear for against more attacks from the front, but not above. By the time they turn their gazes upward, it is already too late.

...after thunder.

The next, with a crackling boom audible for a league about, Schilva fell upon the phalanx in a blinding flash, blade wreathed in explosive lightning that practically blasted apart their formation at the point of his descent. Broken and charred bones flew from the epicenter of his reckless attack, the air smelling of ozone as he sheathed his sword once more.

Nice work makin' me actually use a different skill, but y'all ain't nothin' compared to a full-grown Thundermane.

Mopping up the disoriented survivors with cheery ease, the swordsman spared not a single foe. Clearly, such fodder wasn't worth further burning through his energy bar for, and he took his time toying with the survivors as it regenerated faster than he could spend, smashing in their skulls and scattering their vertebrae without even drawing his sheathed blade.

...time that he didn't know would cost him dearly, as the darkening shadows closed in.

@Lucia Mierz

Lucia Mierz · Aug 1, 2025

In the chaos of pursuing fleeing survivors, it would finally arrive. If techniques and flashy abilities that represented power in an RPG, then this was a creature that symbolized power in an RTS.

The Death Knight landed with a dull thud. Though loud enough to be noticed, was far too soft considering the height the creature fell from considering the knight didn't even need the super hero landing pose to break it's fall. Instead, it was a casual jump down a few stairs as it stepped down.

It's presence clearly different from the others. Unlike the skeletons it had a beautifully smooth face with soft elven features and long willow-like eyebrows. You might not even think it was a dead person were it not for the pale/gray skin tone and withered white hair that appeared as it pulled it's hood back.

It's armor didn't seem heavy at a glance, there were many spots where skin shown through making it seem like it was more for mobility then it was for being a wall. Of course, the most alarming feature was how an occasional ghost like specter would move it's head into view, as if the specter occupied the same space as the knight until it poked it's head out through a shoulder or through it's face to observe the carnage.

"It looks like 30's group."
"Hopefully 35 remembers how to play the guitar."
"Looks like 38 and 39 were together at least."
"I can't see 33 or 34."
"Probably lost among the civilians."

It spoke to itself, at least, the knight seemed to hold a conversation with it's own soul as the pair glanced across the warzone from different directions until their heads realigned in the center as the knight's eyes fell on Schilva. There was leisure in the knight's attitude and atmosphere. It wasn't rushed for answers, as if this wasn't the first time, as if it was aware this wouldn't be the last time.

"What was the reason for this carnage?"
"What did we do to deserve this?"

At first she posed the question as if worried there had been some kind of misunderstanding. It wouldn't have been the first time the soldiers had attacked some creature unaware it was a tamed beast or accidentally ended up encountering a hunting party only to steal it's prey unaware that a mark was made.

Given the amount of bodies though, it didn't seem likely to be accidental. The flagrant disregard for Undead life also didn't help sway the Knight's opinion as it observed Schilva closely with those red black eyes. At the very least, the culprit was obvious regardless of the circumstance but it needed a reason to report to Lucia, if one even existed in the first place.

Of course, it would be a mistake to think that the knight's guard was down simply because it was talking casually. It's gaze was acute and possessed a sight beyond sight. It was merely waiting to try and understand what led up to this disaster before it finished things and tried to drag the living man to it's creator for a fair judgement.

Schilva Flasch · Aug 3, 2025

As he surveyed the thoroughly decimated remains of his foes strewn about the battlefield, Schilva felt not an ounce of pity or regret.

Why would he? Was there any need to consider the actions of mindless skeletons when all their seeming intelligence could be attributed to the game's exceptional tactical AI, making the experience of slaying wicked monsters as an undefeated hero so much more thrilling?
Rather, Schilva only felt elation and sweet satisfaction as he mused privately on how this was turning out to be a properly productive venture, a sign of good things to come on this little publicity tour of his.

To the knight and specter, this would seem the visage of an unrepentant killer. Schilva, prepared for further resistance, turned about-face immediately at the great crash of its descent. His blade turned on the newcomer(s), as if eagerly anticipating their arrival.

Oh, more of you. An elite unit, too, huh? Great, was getting boring just chopping up the grunts!

A walking catastrophe.
A massacre borne on swift feet.

Awright, two of you! This is more like it! A hero must rise to the challenge of improbable odds!

A monster despoiling the peace.
An atrocity reveling in destruction.

The swordsman raised his blade, that which had split the skulls of the innocent without remorse, still crackling with residual energy. He lowered his stance, like a sprinter ready to take off at a moment's notice. His lips peeled back in a savage expression, grinning schadenfreude evident in his hatefully twisted features.

...although, I'm pretty sure I'm still gonna win. Come on then, give me a good show!!

He muttered an incantation, invoking the mastery of the blade that he instinctively knew to harness, a privilege of the Starcalled. In a blink, he was upon his quarry, bright steel prefacing his impossibly brisk charge that neither beast nor man of his caliber would have the capacity to track in their sight.

But the knight and specter, enforcers of their mistress' will, were strong.
Because they had to be. Because they now understood the weight of the situation.

This villain must be stopped. Here and now.

@Lucia Mierz

Lucia Mierz · Aug 6, 2025

The Knight remained stoic through Schilva's response. It seemed like the man wasn't really talking to it when he spoke even if it couldn't really understand who the intended target of those words was. A dismissive attitude the knight hadn't expected, but it wouldn't waver over something as silly as confusion.

The knight seemed like it didn't have time to react, it simply stood during his lightning fast approach. If he was paying close attention though he'd notice something wrong during his approach though. The Knight wasn't moving, but the Specter's gaze followed him closely, it's eyes followed to the point that it desynced with the knight to do so.

What came next, was simply a difference in Genre.
So long as Lucia remained outside of hostile territory her Heroes weren't restrained.

The Knight finally began to move, but it didn't draw an agile arch through the air by any means.

Instead, what it used was Power.

Strength that would have broken a living body swung the spear head until it caught up with that blinding speed. As if drawn to Schilva's blade the spear would clash mid-sword art clashing blades with the reflective force of trying to swing full force into a stone wall. It's stance casual, it's gaze sharp as it wielded a skill fit for a player with indifference.

This was the power that made the knight a Hero, while it wielded the unreasonable strength of a Death Knight, the Banshee observed the world from within the Witching Hour that existed between moments of time. Separate entities existed as a single whole, the Corpse animated and the Soul corrupted by Necromancy.

"Did you know... Rage exists simultaneously within the 7 Deadly Sins, Holy Virtues and Human Emotions?"

The Knight asked, now that it was clear Schilva wasn't suffering from a misunderstanding, it didn't need to hold back. It didn't need to restrain itself further. It's blood boiled and frothed until it began to pour from the corners of it's eyes, too hot for a liquid it bled bled as vapor as it explained.

"The Sin of Wrath that rages blindly against the innocent, the Virtue of Justice that Rages against Evil and the Emotion of Anger that rages selfishly against happenstance."

Soon that boiling blood heated too much until even it's pores began to release that black vapor. All the while the Ghostly apparition that shared it's space cooled, a sinister smirk and a bone chilling rage that made the atmosphere prickle slightly.

"You stand against the Saintess's Right-hand, the Duchess's Royal Guard, the Fallen Hero of Falderen, the Dread Knight; Sylvannas the Everchosen and you will pay for what you've done."

The knight named itself in accordance with tradition but it was already at the peak of it's power. Drawing it's spear back from the clash it spun with the Specter in a grand sweeping gesture not simply to strike Schilva, but to sweep away even a portion of the terrain sending dirt and stone flying like projectiles as Sylvannas began to rage.

Schilva Flasch · Aug 19, 2025

...woah, big fella!

Gritted and jarred teeth accompanied a ringing numbness spreading down his sword as Schilva's blade art clashed against the Death Knight's spear-sweep, the sheer force flinging him away with deflected momentum enough to disorient for but a moment.

Were he a lesser man, Schilva would have broken his legs in several places with the kind of landing he'd be treated to, but a simple combo between a fall-arresting Chronomancy contingency and a cushion of Aeromancy beneath his heels saved him that trouble. Standing straight with a tremble still in his arms, the swordsman dispels the momentary weakness with a kiai of pure bravado.

HAH! You think you can psych me out with that?!
Let it be known, the great Schilva Flasch won't be swayed by mere words and empty threats!

Fact of the matter is, you can't keep a cool head in the face of my brilliant heroism, no?
Too bad that hubris shall spell your end at my hands, foul wight, and your fell commander alongside!

As if on cue, the knight and specter combined forces and swept the loosened terrain up into a frenzy, forcing Schilva to counter with his own take on such an attack. Focusing his energy along the edge of his blade to sheathe it in a layer of whorling air, Schilva sucks in a sharp breath and proudly declares his retaliation:

As he swings forward against the stormfront of shrapnel, the bound currents are released in a cleaving blast of wind that expands out in front of him. It's wider than he would normally execute, more for the purpose of carving a safe column the breadth of his body through the knight's attack. A few flecks of gravel still pelt him, a testament to the degree of rapidly impending escalation.

That, and clear a path towards the enemy! Returning to stance, he lowers himself again, as though readying another Silver Flash - then realises something.

Wait a second. That's not a monster skill. Leastwise, I don't think so. Oi, you!

Still poised to strike at any moment, especially considering the state of the knight, Schilva begins to feel the first nagging doubt since his acceptance of this impromptu 'mission'. Why was this undead mob - which seemed quite a margin stronger than the others - using skills akin to a player? Was it being controlled? That would raise some questions...

Who do you serve? Speak! Volunteer your commander's name and I may consider bestowing you an alternative to a humiliating end by my blade!

Questions he didn't want unanswered, clearly. While still ready to dodge and parry if the knight tried anything, Schilva surprisingly did not cut first and ask later. He expectantly awaited a response - and if it was in the form of brute force, he would respond in kind.

@Lucia Mierz

Lucia Mierz · Aug 26, 2025

The Dread Knight only burned hotter. The more it smoldered and simmered, it's anger being stoked from the prodding and provocation. When combined with the lack of remorse the creature didn't need to dress the coals of it's own anger for combat, it was self-sustained without any intervention from itself at this point.

It's black blood continued to boil, the vapors growing more noticeable with every wild sweep and swing. As it's anger continued to swell unchecked, it's armor groaned and creaked from the stress of trying to contain the knight, the plate's interiors began to glow a dull red giving the impression that it's armored form was less to protect itself and more to protect others from it's unabated wrath instead.

Just as it was about to stretch for another merciless swing though it's opponent suddenly called out. Partially caught by surprise, Sylvanas was still a commander, it understood a parley when it heard it but hadn't really been expecting the sudden shift from lacking all remorse to possible diplomacy.

If it weren't for it's specter half suddenly dropping it's own legs for balance it might've tripped at the sudden question as it tried to shift it's swing mid sweep away from Schilva in an effort to maintain chivalry and not strike while a foe was unfocused or distracted. The question did ping the Dread Knight as strange though considering she'd already announced her ladyship's title before taking action.

"I am the commander." The Dread Knight clarified, but it understood the crux of Schilva's question even if the chain of command wasn't quite what the man might have expected. She decided on giving the longer and unwieldy version of Lucia's title "In service of my Lady, Lucia Mierz, Duchess of Astorea, Friend of King Astor, Gray Saintess of the Goddess of Syndra."

Having clarified the Duchess she served in particular, if Schilva still had any confusion or uncertainty about Lucia's identity or at least proof of the Dread Knight's connection it would be pretty clear there was at least a lot of thought put into her appearance.

Most of the decorative elements on the Dread Knight's armor such as the half cape at her back and the crest at the base of her spear's head featured the white Lily flower of Syndra. Even on her other half, the Spector that occasionally slipped into view when it needed to take action featured similar decorative elements with white lily's in it's hair and prayer beads around the wrist of it's spear hand that featured the same elements.

"And I am the commander of her Paladin Knights, Fallen hero of Falderen, Unity of Heart and Soul, the Dread Knight Sylvannas the Everchosen." She repeated, unrushed, even as that anger smoldered and simmered still. The reason was because the Dread Knight knew that it's greatest advantage in these types of situations was time.

A distance away from the battlefield, in the heart of the undead camp, at the center of a large military tent there sat a table that mirrored the pair's situation. The large table normally meant to contain large maps for wars or conquest instead featured dozens of game boards all linked together through esoteric lines carved with magic that gave off a dull glow. Above them all 9 concentric metal rings rotated like a gyroscope around a star small enough to fit in someone's hand. Each ring turning like a clock ticking, like a delicate machine in operation.

Across the game boards there were many pieces in action, mostly black stones seen in Chinese Chess or the game Go casually moving across the boards on their own, sliding to and from small carvings of trees, stones or bowls of water.

In other places there were Pawns from Western Chess moving surrounding an occasional white stone or Pawn as the pieces clashed gently against each other from time to time sometimes knocking one down and dragging it away.

On one such board stood a black Queen piece confronting a white Knight piece, a myriad of black stone pieces and pawns knocked over in different areas of the board.

All the while a woman holding a glass of wine looked over it with a soft smile. All it took was a tap on the table for the ticking of the 9 rings to suddenly grind to a halt, rapidly sliding and rotating into another formation before continuing the process. Though it was a simple gesture of tapping a table, it changed the situation on the game boards as multiple groups of black Pawn pieces and even a Knight stopped their actions and began moving towards the board containing the Queen

Of course, The Dread Knight before Schilva was partially aware. It's creator wouldn't simply do nothing if disaster suddenly struck. The destroyed knights were simply the closest, and it, as the Commander was the first to respond to a call to battle. The longer this took and the bloodier things got, the greater the response.

"Should you choose to surrender peacefully, you will have a chance to make your case to the lady for the tragedy you've caused here. That alone is a mercy in and of itself." The Dread Knight explained, at least if Lucia made the judgement as a living person herself she would be able to sympathize more then the Knight who watched it's own kind be butchered for sport.

Schilva Flasch · Sep 8, 2025

Woah, hey, hey, cool it! I'm just askin' a question...

Stancing up aggressively again as he observed his foe's burgeoning rage threaten to overflow the armour plates caging its overflowing spirit, Schilva had already begun mouthing another skill incantation before stopping halfway.

He was almost entirely sure that the undead knight was going to lash out with its ultimate attack, or something like that. Even without any skill nor assistance from Investigation Mode, he could practically feel the killing intent exuding from Sylvannas - that was the name it gave, at least.

Such fury... the knight's righteous anger suffused the air with an intensity that pricked at his skin, tasted bitter at the base of his tongue and raised involuntary goosebumps at the back of his neck even at this distance. This far into the confrontation, it was too late for Schilva to admit he might have picked the wrong fight; not that he would admit that, but it was still a relief to hear the one named Sylvannas speak.

Commander? Well, okay, I guess 'Right-hand' and 'Royal Guard' makes sense... though that's a lotta titles for a servant, eh?

Still speaking with airs of arrogance clear to see, Schilva had at least lowered his katana and sheathed it once more, indicating he welcomed conversation over further exchanging blows. What were a few near misses against your foe before shaking hands in truce to a forgiving, magnanimous swordmaster like himself?

As he laced his fingers behind his head and started swaggering up to the knight, presumably to demand it take him to its leader, he realised something that his hearing had kind of glossed over a second ago. He had been thinking about how a lowly undead summon could amass this many titles anyway and not been paying attention, until-

WOAH. HOLD ON.
@Lucia Mierz? Never heard of her. But Astor? I know that guy!

You ever hear about the siege on Camp Hope? I was there, right next to Seto Kurama, Zelrius and Illusa Nakhalee! I blew up a pylon, fought the DEAD.naught toe to toe!

Hell, you should be callin' ME 'Friend of King Astor'! You know who I carried out of danger? Lady Illusa! That's who. My own two hands!

Sounding the part of a disgruntled veteran cheated of his medals, Schilva realises that this curmudgeonly attitude was pretty unbecoming and reined his rambling in. Sort of?

...ahem. Anyway. Listen. Surrender? No, no, this is a parlay! There's a huge difference, they're totally different things!

I mean, I GUESS I'll go with you and we can stop tryin' to bisect each other and all that, sure. Better than the alternative.

But you better mention to this Lady of yours that I asked first, alright? Very important distinction.

Looks like there wouldn't be any bloodshed for now, but one had to wonder how much longer that could last, especially considering Schilva's attitude...

Lucia Mierz · Aug 27, 2025

The knight's brow furrowed when told she had a lot of titles. Though she felt it was something to be proud of as opposed to feeling any kind of shame. Even as a servant she was so qualified, didn't that magnify her lady's qualifications? She tried to take it as an indirect compliment even if it might not have been intended as such.

When he talked about the siege on camp hope or Lady Illusa though, the Dread Knight only maintained a deadpan stare as if neither of these were important qualifications in it's eyes. At least, as far as it was concerned these two events struck as inconsequential. The knight wasn't one to brag about it's own accolades but it didn't hesitate to wax and wane on it's Lady's behalf.

"My Lady was from the same generation as the King. They went on the first Starcalled adventure together as friends where she found the Necronomicon and unlocked Necromancy. When Astorea was first established, my Lady helped defend the walls and turned me from an enemy commander into the Paladin you see now over the course of her time here. When the guild master Zeus was in danger, she ruined her own reputation to save him from an assassination attempt. When there was a crisis, she used her own horded riches to help bankroll others."

There was a moment where bitterness crossed the Dread Knight's face. Even the Spector in it's shadow seemed to be annoyed as it continued.

"My Lady has always worked in the shadows self-lessly for others. Whether it is the Starcalled King Astor's city and it's finances or battle needs or us undead who wander lost and confused. Without recognition or reward, how would you have heard of her. Bards don't tell stories about the one managing the stage and keeping it from falling apart behind the scenes, only of the gilded kings and would be heroes with flashy skills bathed color."

The Knight practically spat it's discontent. It's face scrunched in frustration as it recounted a few of the things Lucia had done for the city, it's king and starcalled as a whole. Despite her best efforts though still, few remembered her because she felt the darkness was more comfortable.

The darkness that hid the ugliness in her heart.
The darkness that hid her zeal for evolution and change.
Away from the light that scrutinized her experiments.
Away from the light that burned away her hopes and dreams.

While the Dread Knight was dissatisfied Lucia was not one to hear reason with these things. The odds of her stepping into the public eye as some illustrious individual was slim, instead she would likely always maintain her modest position in spite of everything up until now to use it as a shield as she always did.

The thoughts soured the Dread Knight's mood as she listened to Schilva try to explain the nature of his surrender. She maintained her deadpan expression. As long as he was coming quietly and not causing trouble, once he was in the camp he'd at least be easier to detain if there was a disaster.

"Fine... With me then." the Dread Knight spoke swinging an arm in the direction of the camp but the knight didn't move. It waited, watching Schilva closely in the event he tried to flee. It would let him lead the way guiding him from behind to ensure he went peacefully.

Along the way, Schilva would notice as they traveled, if he didn't run away, that they would gradually be joined by other skeleton knights that matched the armored ones he attacked. Reinforcements sent to cut him off if he had fled before.

Schilva Flasch · Aug 31, 2025

Unrattled by Schilva's continued egotism as he boasts of deeds that would not have seemed so extraordinary by the Knight's prior companionship, the undead commander's indirect response of listing the accolades of this @Lucia Mierz is taken for a challenge by the swordsman.

W-Well! I'm not convinced! Sure, I've heard enough about Astorean history to know you're tellin' the truth, but I bet you haven't considered THIS!

Say! If your Lady Mierz is so great, how come there aren't any stories nor songs about her, huh!? No apocryphal tales among the smallfolk that bring hope to the hearth, no skalds trippin' over each other to laud her good name in royal halls, no nothin'!

All heroes should strive to be a guidin' light for generations in their latter days to follow!

His attempts to one-up the Knight ceased as a fitting exposition was given; at least Schilva had the saving grace of being able to hold his tongue during Sylvannas' lamentation of her lady's reclusive nature and the lack of fruits it had borne.
As that drew to a close, so had Schilva's talkativeness, with his countenance having fallen from an excitably boisterous braggart into that of one deep in thought. The tone of the encounter, it seemed, had turned from confrontation to contemplation.

I see, that's... understandable. I suppose your lady just ain't the type for publicity.

Mumbling to himself as he followed the Knight's curt directions, Schilva scritched at the stubble on his chin and kept his thoughts to himself for the moment. His other hand rested even now on the haft of his sheathed katana, a dim awareness of the toxic emotions practically radiating from Sylvannas keeping him from fully letting his guard down.

The commander and her spectre weren't as hard to read as their skeletal underlings, the fell spark imbued by their lady's necromancy giving their withered features some semblance of liveliness as they spoke and strode - thusly Schilva knew something, though perhaps not his own presence, still irked the hulking undead. Not that it was hard to guess what exactly...

You know, I'm startin' to think we started off on the wrong foot here, so to speak.

His eyes sweep the landscape as he walks, taking in the unsubtle closing circle of reinforcements. If things got hairy, he believed he'd an excellent chance at breaking the skeletal soldiers' lines once more, but that was without Sylvannas in the equation. Considering the reach, strength and speed with which the commander swung that spear, Schilva felt it'd be less trouble for everyone - least of all himself, that is! - if he played along for now. Besides...

You should really introduce me to this Lady Mierz of yours, since I do have a thing or two to reckon with her. No hard feelings?

Lucia Mierz · Sep 2, 2025

The comment about Bards did make the Dread Knight chuckle though. Though a sarcastic and mocking laugh, it was still a lot for the normally stern and taciturn commander to reveal a flash of anything that wasn't anger.

"No doubt there aren't a lot of Undead Bards to sing our lady's story either."

At least, the Knight wasn't sure if living bards might sing songs of her, but undead ones certainly would. Who among them wouldn't know of their saintess after all.

The talk of publicity though, Sylvannas knew Lucia well. There were a myriad of reasons she avoided spotlight and high honors. Even when she was at balls or big ceremonial situations with Astor or some other royal individual, she crept along the outskirts until needed. Each time the Dread Knight could only lament her being forgotten each time.

Being told they got off on the wrong foot with no hard feelings though was an understatement certainly.

"You wouldn't be the first to naively attack us and make assumptions, I'm not sure why the living are so hostile but you won't be the last we have to stop either. Blind hostility is not unique to any creature dead or alive."

It answered bluntly. Schilva certainly wasn't the first to storm into Lucia's territory claimed or otherwise to try and challenge her thinking her to be some cruel or monstrous lich queen or deranged scientist. Though each encounter was always needlessly destructive what else could the poor undead do but try to distance themselves a bit more from civilization a bit more next time.

It was only a brief distance further that Schilva would find the camp in question. A crowding of military tents that would fit a small brigade or mercenary group. Along the exterior though those Black Knights gathered en masse. Coming and going some dragged slain monsters into the camp with the help of the guard while others were mere skeleton civilians coming and going with different local goods like cut lumber, stone or grasses of different kinds. It was a well oiled machine that worked and operated in eerie silence like an ant colony.

Passing the guards didn't take much, the Dread Knight merely led Schilva through without question or concern. Instead it seemed more like the Knights were deferential to the Commander, the hierarchy was clear at a glance.

Traveling through the camp though made it clear that it was more then simply undead though. Most tents contained piles of antiques, neatly tied and stored but others seemed like they were meant to be lived in by normal people. They contained bedding personal effects of different kinds that gave different impressions of the people who likely lived there but there didn't seem to be any present now, only maintained and upkept by the undead.

The Dread Knight led Schilva through camp up towards the largest tent in the center, the only one currently lit with candles and lanterns here and there. It was decorated pretty lavishly for a tent but modestly for someone who was a duchess. A large table at the center contained board games of different makes and designs arranged to create a formation. The formation itself was fueled by the Magical Weapon rotating and swiveling over it like a ticking clock while the star at it's center remained steady. On the board pieces were moving on their own until they were gathered directly under the weapon as they approached the tent.

"Another trouble maker Miss."
"Mm, it was silly of me to be optimistic I suppose, still, it's good to see some things don't change."

Lucia stood by the table, wine glass still in hand. Though she wasn't dressed in some kind of fancy dress befitting her status, she did wear fine clothing you might expect of a noble on an expedition. Her voice smooth and buttery adding to the charm and regal demeanor about her as she turned her gaze on Schilva.

There was an eeriness to her friendly and welcoming nature. One that came from the air of control and certainty one might expect from someone who operated in the shadows beyond the reach of the light. That creepiness of feeling something that lurked beneath that veneer but not knowing quite what it is.

"Well then, what was it that brought about this little adventure against us then mm?" She posed to Schilva in thought, as if casually wondering if it were some kind of weird pvp type quest or some other type of motivation beyond the usual hating of undead.

Schilva Flasch · Sep 9, 2025

At first, Schilva's fingers flexed around his scabbard as an instinctive reaction to the strange noise that Sylvannas made in response to his challenging of its (her?) assertions that this @Lucia Mierz was indeed a noteworthy backbone to Astorean history. Did he go too far? Were they going to clash again because he besmirched the honour of the death knight's lady?

...wait. Maybe he was mistaken? Surely.

As he listened closer, that hollow and bitter sound seemed indeed to be the commander's idea of a dry laugh; and so Schilva followed suit with an uncertain chuckle of his own.

Undead bards, huh... well, you know, not many of those. Wonder why, you'd think they'd be more popular considerin' how lung capacity wouldn't really be a problem, so...

Hearing Sylvannas' condemnation of his violent spree, Schilva decides to stop while he's behind. Clearly, his repute was already firmly negative and not likely to change by his merit alone. It would be best to just play along for now, at least until he can explain things to someone a bit more, er... alive.

The way Sylvannas was talking about her, this Mierz woman didn't seem like a lich or wraith - not that Schilva expected a player to take such a form, anyway. He still couldn't wrap his head around how exactly things panned out this way for her, how he'd never heard a word regarding her vital contributions to Astorean prosperity. Were he in her shoes...

Schilva's musings paused as he came into view of the main clearing, almost doing a double-take as he took in the scale of the undead-populated camp. His first impressions were of an impossibly efficient removalist crew, such was the amount of material that must have been moved at once for such an encampment to spring up on such short notice.

In fact, he couldn't help but draw comparisons between the nearby villagers' efforts, hampered as they were by reluctance to leave their homes behind and the innumerable logistical difficulties of managing so many individually uprooted livelihoods.

In the face of the workflows that synchonrised with each other sparing nary a single word of chatter, Schilva was unpleasantly reminded of the similarly unliving mechanoid efficiency of the Magia patrols he had witnessed before the walls of Vintergard and upon the battlefield of Camp Hope. Here, though, he was not an enemy... not anymore, anyway.

Giving a nod to the undead guards that permitted Sylvannas and himself entry (and receiving no reply of course), Schilva felt a growing need to break the silence that itself was only broken by the sounds of ceaseless labour - questions were already arising in his suddenly quite parched throat about many things he was only just taking in.

What were those non-workshop tents for? Did the duchess entertain a living entourage as well? Where were they? Why had they come here? Did she know about the village? Who was she?

Those questions were held at the tip of his tongue as he was led before the duchess' tent. With an eye for such things of refinement, Schilva held also his commentary on the rather muted style of accommodations for one so highly reputed, chalking it up to the pragmatics of what must be some kind of warband that Lady Mierz had assembled for herself.

Uh, hi.

With the lamest possible greeting, Schilva introduces himself, still taking in the sights within the central tent. The orrery-like mechanism that hovered the eclectic game board captured his attention the most; then, remembering what he was here for, he scrambles to introduce himself properly.

Greetings and well met, Saintess Mierz, Lady Lucia; whichever you prefer, ma'am, respectfully.

Before you stands Schilva Flasch, Master of the Godspeed Slash, Divine Kengo, Veteran of Fever, Bane of Steel, the Evil-Rending Blade that excises all foes! I've come to parley.

With a flourishing bow, Schilva puts on his best winning smile and announces his lengthy list of titles. Testing the waters with a step forth and a gesture towards the camp behind him, Schilva nods towards Sylvannas as he does so.

As you may be so inclined to assume, I have indeed crossed paths with your eminent commander; not so peaceably, to my regret, but we've reached an accord, as you can see.

'Twasn't my intention to bring distress and disorder to your encampment, I assure ya; just that I felt obliged to investigate reports of roving undead encroaching on a nearby village. Obviously, roving ain't the word for this, clearly... my 'pologies for runnin' in without context.

As he apologises, Schilva scratches the back of his head a little vexedly, fiddling with his topknot as he tries to find the best way to word his explanation.

You gotta understand though, the way I had this all laid out to me, I had no idea I'd be dealin' with an actual operation... of some description here, your ladyship permittin'. Regardless, my bad for bargin' on in like this.

Please, pray tell, might there be any way I can make amends? The great Schilva Flasch always takes account for such misunderstandings, see.