To Lay a Trap

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but in the end, Nekirom was still somewhat shocked that a village as small as Grimesal even had a tavern. The piddling village was barely even ten huts and a small church, but apparently, even a village as small as this one needed a place to drink and unwind. Still, it didn't exactly lend a professional air to the notion that Nekirom, his men, and at least one other mercenary group and a few independents were waiting in this piddling little town's tavern for an important mission. A mission so important that Grimleal agents waited with them, though exactly what they were waiting for, he wasn't sure.

Nekirom frowned into his drink. That was another problem with the whole thing. Any other time, even if he wasn't used to these covert sort of things, Nekirom wouldn't have been bothered about potentially being hired for a contract. He and his men were supposed to be mercenaries, after all. The problem lied in how they'd been approached for the contract. In fact, that was it exactly; there'd been no flier or outcrier offering the task to any interested parties in some town center or posted on some notice board.

One of Plegia's religious, a Grimleal woman in dark robes and golden jewelry, had sought him and his men in their encampment. That was the sort of thing that set Nekirom off in the wrong way.

"Assembled mercenaries." Nekirom turned to the door. One of the Grimleal that had accompanied one of the other mercenary groups stood by the entrance. Three more Grimleal joined him at the door. The hooded man caught the eye of the assembled sellswords before gesturing outwards. "The time has come to receive your missions. Please follow us."

Nekirom snorted, but left his glass on the counter and gestured for his four soldiers to follow. They fell in line behind him as he strode outside, along with the other mercenaries. His mood soured as he took in the atmosphere surrounding the small port-village. Earlier, there had simply been a sense of quiet respect hovering over the village people. Now, though, a thorough sense of subjugation and unease pervaded every shuttered window and locked door.

With what looked like the numbers of a full regiment of Grimleal along with a small force of Plegian military bodyguards standing in the center of the village like a gathering of occultists, Nekirom could empathize with why.

"Pardon me, but if I could have everybody's attention?"

A figure stepped out from the center of the amassed Grimleal, flanked by two casters and encircled by some armored soldiers. Nekirom eyed the new man sharply. Even beyond the white hair and red eyes—He could spot them even from the distance; the damn things seemed to glow dimly—it was obvious that the man was important. The way most of the Grimleals' eyes never strayed from him and the gait and stance of the guards around him—elites, definitely trained for life—, combined with the ease with which his few words had caught the focus of even Nekirom's own men, was dangerous.

This man was dangerous.

"Thank you." The white-haired man smiled, easy and confident. At his sides, another white-haired man and a dark-haired woman chuckled. "You have all been requested for this mission specifically because, whether it be skills or experience, you are the best-fit for what Plegia requires right now. Your contracts are simple." He gestured backwards, towards the various assembled Grimleal waiting behind him. "Plegia requires groups of Grimleal faithful to be escorted into Ylissian lands. They must be protected, and they must not be discovered, but most importantly of all..."

The man's smile dimmed as he looked to each of the mercenary leaders before him. "Tonight, one group in particular must be taken into Ylisse immediately. For this, Plegia will be paying half-again of the total mission's pay for each of you who lead your squads to personally ensure this first group's protection."

"Please..." The smile returned and the man's red eyes seemed to gleam in the night air. "Take your time to consider this, but not too much. This mission is of utmost importance to Plegia, and the reward will reflect this."

Author Notes to help people out (open) Author Notes to help people out (close)

Alrighty, folks!

• For Nekirom/Baron Quickveil/Emilia/Alaine: We are mercenaries with any number of minions with us. Right now, we've been offered a good deal of money; basically twice the pay for one job, plus ensuring the first success. The only trick is that the best of us, the four I listed, are being asked to personally work together to safeguard this group. If this is awkward for anybody, just talk to me and we'll work stuff out~
• For Lilithe/maybe Aliza: Congratulations! You're Grimleal, so you got to arrive in ~style~. Right now, you get to stand pretty and wait for a bunch of sellswords to agree to ~Master Rufure's~ terms, but you could've had a pretty interesting trip here. Let me know if we need to change anything up.
• For Estevan: You, good sir, have had the great honor of -escorting- Master Rufure as well as some very important Grimleal to this piddling little town! I wonder if you talked with anybody interesting on the way here?

Baron chuckled lightly under his breath at the end of the speech. He had to admit, out of everyone who ever hired him in the past, this character was one of his favorites. He didn't really even know why—it probably had something to do with the fact that he explained the importance of the mission along with the objective. These people probably underestimated him and his abilities; he was different from the mercenary groups around him. By definition, one could consider Baron a mercenary since he sought material reward in the exchange of ethics. But that's never how assassin's viewed themselves. He preferred to think of himself as a high priced killer, to put it lightly.

Another fact that set Baron apart from the groups here is that he came alone. In his line of business, more people meant slower progress, and speed was an assassin's best friend—along with shadows. Also, when he was on his own, he got more money to keep for himself. The mercenaries this guy hired had small teams or bands of people that trusted each other, and they would most likely split the loot in whichever way pleased them. As an assassin, you could only trust the people whom you were hired to trust, and even then you had to keep your guard up.

As long as he was hired to do this, he wouldn't back down unless someone paid him more to do so. A quick glance around the crowd—a second to peek to the side at the most—revealed to Baron whom he would be potentially working side by side with. It looked like a bunch of stereotypical mercs to him, although he thought one female mercenary looked familiar to him—odd considering that he traveled the continent and almost never ended up in the same place twice in one year, and he had never visited this town before. As the first to step forward from the crowd, his black clothes and hair came more visible—slightly, but enough—after being set apart and illuminated slightly by torch light. He didn't need to say anything, for he knew that calling out names would be more than useless here. And as a bonus, he didn't want to say anything anyway.

Alaine had to hand it to herself, her mercenary instincts were spot on. Twice the pay for one job. And unless it was let slip that she and Verana were from the same mercenary company, that meant four times the pay. She was smiling grimly and took a few steps forward. Verana, standing beside her, did the same, adjusting some of her riding armor.

Her subordinate had shoulder length auburn hair and a fairly long and hefty axe under her arm. Her dark green wyvern was right behind her, it's young eyes taking in everything rather curiously.

Alaine adjusted the swords on her right hip as she surveyed the other mercenaries in the cadre. No one really stood out except for a rather tall man to her left, a female thief, and what looked like... Aww, not that bastard again, she groaned inwardly, though her posture never faltered. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a frown in Baron's general direction.

A female raven-haired grimleal, in contrast to Master Rufure's white hair, stood calmly behind the great speaker and his close assistants. Her eyes scanned over the group of mercenaries in order to pick out a suspicious one, in case Ylisse got smart enough to dispatch a spy into this secret mission. Her gazing expressed no feeling nor emotion and her black pearl eye reflected only emptiness like that of a lifeless puppet, they became useful as a lie detecting device. Her thinned sword was by her side and it was ready to cut down anything if she was ordered.

While Lilithe appeared calm as if she already got used to the presence of this dark leader, her inside was actually feeling the opposite. Even though she had been a grimle follower for her whole life, she felt scared and unsecured every time this white haired man presented, her heart trembled every time that pair of ruby eyes gazed on her. He was the most fearful individual in Plegia, no less. Some of those mercenaries perceived the same thing as her already, but some of them may have to go though a hard ay to understand.



It had been about a few weeks before that she got contacted by a grimleal agent, with a confidential order to call her back to Plegia. It was her first time getting called for such crucial mission. It also let her know that no matter where she was, she never got out of Grimle's sight. Without hesitation, she reported back as quick as possible. Once she returned, Lilithe was informed of many important information regarding the erupting of war with Ylisse, little did she know which was truth and which wasn't. Finally, the black mistress officially got assigned to carry out this mission with these sellswords.

To her minor surprise, the first person who verbally accepted the deal was a bloody-red-haired lady, at least she appeared capable.

For the first time since arriving in Plegia, Nekriom found himself reluctantly impressed. There'd been all sorts in Plegia, just the same as there'd been back in Valm; leaders and followers, generals and politicians, and men and worms. Excellus in particular had been an especially infuriating kind of worm, the kind that was just skilled in politics enough to Walhart to force others, Nekirom included, to endure the eunich's cowardice and weakness. The castrated worm even had the potential to be a legitimate danger if not for the fact that his spine was as limp and pathetic as the folds of fat surrounding it.

The man before him, offering a deal too good to be true, seemed the sort of danger Excellus could have been, had the worm actually been a man. It was enlightening.

"I'm in," Nekirom groused and hefted Maria onto the left pauldron of his armor. He glanced over his shoulder, to the four soldiers who had come with him. His third-in-command, Rumms, nodded and pounded his chest. They'd focus on getting more information while he was out. Good. "Just don't forget that extra pay."

"Ditto," Alaine affirmed, setting her right hand on her hip, above her swords. Her employers rarely ever made her feel anything but numbness and acceptance. This white-haired fellow... something about those red eyes sent a thrill of unease, actual unease, down her spine. She felt her heart beat faster as she was filled with fear and excitement in equal measure. She heard Verana accept the offer verbally as well, though distantly.

Who -was- this man?

Doing his best to conduct himself in a dignified manner, Estevan stood at attention alongside the rest of the military accompaniment entrusted with ensuring Lord Rufure's safety, eyes vigilantly scanning the throng of assembled mercenaries for any sign of treachery. Although none would have guessed it given his stoic external countenance, the young wyvern knight was practically bursting at the seams with barely-contained excitement.

To be assigned to the honour guard of His Majesty's personal tactician was one of the highest accolades a Plegian soldier could attain, and Estevan was still amazed that he, a mere trooper, had been offered such a post. He recalled, with no small amount of elation, the words that Captain Girard had used when recommending him for the assignment:

"Trooper Valmiro's the man for the job, without a doubt. He's a bit dull, but he's got a stout heart and a strong arm. You'll never find a man more loyal to Plegia." Estevan's benign surprise at how highly his superior truly regarded him had prevented him from registering the slight on his intelligence, such was his joy. After all, he had only learned of Girard's praise from a secondhand source, none other than Master Rufure himself, and now he was determined to live up to both their expectations. This was a mission that could decide the fate of the entire war efforts. If something befell Lord Rufure on his watch, not only would it be a disastrous blow to Plegia, but he and his entire unit would be disgraced. Estevan Valmiro would not let that happen so long as he drew breath.

That said, Estevan had his share of misgivings about the upcoming operation in which he was obligated to participate. Stealth wasn't his forte, being a wyvern-mounted airborne knight, but that wasn't his main concern. Estevan had insisted numerous times that there should have been a greater presence of Plegian regulars for the operation, but Lord Rufure was adamant that mercenaries should form the core of the task force, citing their nature as a deniable asset to be worth the cost of their questionable reliability.

Mercenaries... Men and women who traded blood for coin. They had no true loyalty. One day they could be a formidable ally, the next, a hated enemy. People like that couldn't be trusted, Estevan thought. But he was in no position to undermine Rufure's authority, so all he could do was shrug his shoulders and trust in the tactician's legendary wisdom. For now, he would watch and wait as the sellswords were petitioned.

Narrowing his eyes, the wyvern knight continued to scrutinize the mob before him, keeping an eye open for any sudden movements. A crowd could easily hold an assassin in its midst...

The promptness of their collective responses seemed to please the silver-haired man. Nekirom quietly watched the robed man turn back to the assembled Plegian military and their Grimleal and gesture to five similarly-robed figures and two guards. The man brought them forward, then gestured back towards the mercenaries for them to approach as well. Nekirom clenched Maria a bit tighter for a moment, but complied, and strode forward, alone, to join the mages and guards.

The silver-haired man waited for all of the mercenary leaders to join them, then smiled and placed a hand on one of the two robed men he'd gathered. "Theios here will guide you south a ways, where the boatmen will be waiting. Plegia would appreciate promptness, so if you have anything you want for your fellows to do while you're gone, now would be the time to tell them."

Nekirom snorted at the 'generous' offer, but turned to face his four and gave Rumms a clear look. They already knew what to do, but no reason to make it seem like they did. Rumms waited, then nodded with a brief shoulder-tap after a moment.

Satisfied, Nekirom turned from them and faced the outskirts of the village, looking past the Grimleal and the empty villagers. He gave a single sharp whistle using two fingers, then a lower-pitched one. Moments later, a heavily armored wyvern bearing his other two weapons, Galakros and Galvos, lurched forward from the outskirts to wait outside the south of the village.

"I am ready to depart." Nekirom reported, looking the silver-haired man in the eyes once, then looking away. Creepy bastard.

Author Note (open) Author Note (close)

Whelp, make any last things you want to establish for yourselves, maybe eye up some of your new buddies, and we'll be on our way~

Baron felt a sense of uneasiness among the crowd, but he couldn't determine what it was. It probably had something to do with either the mission or the leader, both of which Baron strangely liked. He couldn't help but crack a smile at the uneasiness of the mass around him, but no matter. He wondered what to do until it was time to depart... make sure that all of his supplies were in place? He decided against that, since he went over everything before he ate breakfast this morning. He did, however, tap his coin satchel to make sure that all of his money was still secure. And while it was down here, he made sure that his knife stayed in place at his waist. Excellent.

Maybe he would reacquaint himself with that mercenary girl over there. Nah, it would be very awkward for him to do so in a crowded place. Maybe on the road or something, since there wouldn't be anything else to do anyway. For now he just stood around and waited until it was time to shove off. His side still hurt a little from that attack on a fort a while ago, but it was alright. He didn't want to risk having a healer help him, in case it was a trap to kill or capture him, so he let his wound heal naturally. He might have to deal with it hurting for a long while longer, but it should be mostly alright. Plus, he had a pretty decent story if anyone asked its significance—besides the fact that he doubted that anyone would ever see it.

Once they knew who were going with them, Lilithe was dismissed from the gathering area. She glanced at Theios a little to remember how he was like, as it was not that she knew every higher up. She also noted of the wyvern rider, one of those mercenary leaders, who seemed to be quite eager for this mission.

Looking at those sellswords, the grimleal wondered how it was like to have all the freedom.

Nonsense. She told herself. There was no necessary to imagine about such thing.

The dark mistress returned to where she left her horse, the black steed with nice saddle. Actually, it was not hers, but was from the stable owned by Grimleal. Unlike the rental one, this one appeared to be well-trained. Although he was not going to be as effective as a wyvern ride, she hoped it would meet her expectation during battle.

Lilithe looked at other grimleal, wondering what they were thinking in their mind. Although she was not very socialable, there were time when chatting could reduce her stress. Even for the fell dragon, she admitted she was still afraid to die. However, as there was no particular activity going one, Lilithe simply opened her tome and read it. It had been a while that she didn't use black magic.

"I'm ready to leave, as soon as may be," the Wyvern Rider beside Alaine said, having mounted up. Alaine shook herself out of her thoughts.

"Count me in and ready, sir," Alaine said to the creepy man with the red eyes, looking around the group again. The large man had called in a large and heavily armored wyvern. Hope it can tolerate Verana's, Alaine thought. Baron was there, still. The fiery-haired thief, too. Come to think of it, the lady was rather shapely, and while her skin was pale, it wasn't an unhealthy pale. There was also one of the Grimleal that caught her eye.

Very tall for a woman with black hair and pale skin, carrying a sword at her side but seeming more akin to a mage, she was reading a black tome, engrossed in it, really. Alaine almost thought she was looking at her friend Terris, the dark mage of her company.

Interesting group, indeed, she thought.

"Good." The center Grimleal, Theios, stepped forward in front of the group of mercenary leaders. The other chosen Grimleal followed, while the silver-haired man and the remaining Plegian forces began to head further into the small village. Theios looked around until all attention was on himself, then began walking south out of the village. "Follow me if you want to earn your keep."

Nekirom growled, an act copied by his wyvern, but fell in step behind the Grimleal group, his wyvern hanging by his side.. He'd have preferred a more neutral attitude towards the whole situation, but there was too much rubbing his hide the wrong way. That silver-haired dandyman with his red eyes and silver tongue left Nekirom's spine tense, and the nature of these...Grimleal confused him at best. In Valm, there had simply been mages, men or women who sought to wield magic rather than a blade or spear. Here, there still seemed the mages, but the Grimleal seemed something...more.

Something primal.

Of course, he couldn't just report back to Walhart that the Plegians happened to have a fancy style of magic. Reporting back with so base and obvious of news would just get him laughed at and probably punched in the jaw. He'd need a bit more information on the cult as a whole, especially about their dragon worship. In Valm, at least in his and Walhart's territories, there'd been no dragon worship; Nekirom's father and his father's father and his father after that all acknowledged Lady Tiki, the Voice of Naga, but actual worship of a dragon, of all things...

Bah.

Nekirom groused, ridding his mind of tangents, then quickened his pace to bring himself even with one of the Grimleal mages. He glanced down a bit from the side of his vision at her; black hair, surprisingly solid height for a woman, and a magic book. He stared at the book for a moment first, then up at the woman's face.

"Mage." He waited for her attention. "Would you speak with me a moment?"

"Yes and no," The woman looked away from her book. "Depending on your topic, mercenary chief."

Hmph. A smart one, was she? Seemed that the Grimleal weren't drones, at least to outsiders. Some good fortune for this venture, thankfully.

"You Grimleal types can use magic, same as any mage, aye?" Nekirom glanced down at her book again, then forward at their guide. "What is it of your cult that lets you use that magic? I've never seen it elsewhere before Plegia."

"I am afraid your question leads to a 'no'." Nekirom frowned, but eased into a more neutral look at the seemingly apologetic bow of the head the woman gave. "The answer of your question is out of this one's knowledge, please somehow accept my apology."

"Hmph, pay it no heed, mage." Still, that sort of information would have been most useful. There was too much that he, and by extension, Valm, did not know of the Grimleal and their precious Fell Dragon. Naga appeared to give no such blessings to mages, so what was different? "Still, my thanks. May we speak mo-"

"Hey! Those are our boats, you worms!"

The sound of Theios' aggravated voice snapped Nekirom's attention forward, to the shore that they'd been walking for the past few minutes. Ahead, three decent-sized boats were tied to posts sunk deep into the beach's sand. The boatsmen, clearly mere villagers, likely from the village they'd left, were under attack, barely dodging lethal attacks and making desperate attempts to run closer to the assembled mercenary and Plegian party. Theios, still visibly furious at the sight, turned back and pointed at the mercenary leaders, his eyes mixing contempt and panic in an ugly shade of brown.

"If those boats and boatsmen are lost, then our whole mission is as well! Stop those Risen immediately!"

"Pfah!" Nekirom snorted, but moved away from the mage woman in order to throw himself on his wyvern's back. He drew Maria from his wyvern's saddle and eyed the enemy eagerly. The three boatsmen were almost halfway to the safety of the party, while the so-called Risen were half-a-field's worth away, with the majority seemingly more focused on the boats and only a handful bothering to chase the villagers. Easy prey.

He kicked his heels into the wyvern's size, through holes in the armor made just for that purpose. Letting loose a savage roar, his wyvern leapt in the air, jumping over the Grimleal leading the party and landing in a running rush towards the enemy. "Mages to the rear! Wyverns, push and smash them apart!"

Vel note (open) Vel note (close)

Sorry for the wait, everybody~ Bit of a huge-post here, but time for us to get into the thin of things before things have the chance to get thick! Time for an ~intro battle~

• 2 Risen, of any melee class, are chasing the villagers that are fleeing towards our party's location.
• 5 Risen, of any class, are staying near the boats for some reason, though they'll certainly move to SWARM any lone attackers that might try to take the fight to their turf.
• ??? Risen, of ??? class type, are located ??? nearby. I wonder where~

"Ugh, these things are such annoyances!" Alaine growled, drawing her ice enchanted sword at a run. She dodged through the village boatmen, cut into an empty arm of one of the Risen chasing them, and ran for the docks. She'd hoped to avoid these pestering zombies. She'd gotten umpteen hundred requests, it felt like, to exterminate these things since their appearance. Several had even come from the Ylissean Army. She heard a familiar wyvern behind her, and understood that Verana was attacking the two Risen following the civilians.

The mercenary slowed when she arrived at the end of the docks, her senses kicking in. "Why do I have a sinking feeling about this?" she muttered, slowly approaching the five.

One of them, holding a sword and shield, walked up to her, shield up. She slashed his shield twice before he countered with a stab. His attack was surprisingly fast, cutting her cheek. The shield she'd cut looked pale as he held it up. Dodging another stab, she thrust her ice-blue blade.

There was a very unattractive crunching sound as the broadsword's blade smashed through both the shield and the forearm. Alaine kicked the walking corpse, stabbed it in the throat, and then the stomach. Ice began growing from the wounds, and the Risen shuffled backwards, but Alaine noticed something she hadn't while she was striking the thing.

The other four Risen were beginning to surround her. Alaine was surprised when a lance came from out of nowhere, the Risen having the speed she'd had in life. Alaine accumulated a cut on her thigh and right arm, but her sword repaid those blows.

By then, though, the others were upon her. She retreated from the Risen, whose expressions began adopting something rather sinister.

Who did this Wyvern riding guy think he was, an army general? Besides, his Wyvern did most the work anyway; he would be a very unhonored general if he was one. Baron knew that he would not be able to kill all of the Risen in the large group at close range without support or the undead swarming around him. He also knew that faster members of the group could reach the closer one—and were more willing to help the boatmen—than he could. Instead, he sprinted a decent distance past the closer horde and drew his bow. His aim centered on... Ah, what was her name... Alaine! He aimed at Alaine being swarmed by Risen, and his arrow that he released whizzed uncomfortably close to her head while impaling a Risen's head behind her. He knew that she wouldn't have noticed, given that she was escaping from the danger at the time, but he couldn't help but mutter "Oops," under his breath, followed by an untrustworthy smile.

It was frustrating how important operation was interrupted since its first phrase, by those inhuman fighter. The wyvern mercenary left her by herself which allowed her to hop onto the readied black steed. She turned to the field to examine the whole situation.

Some mercenaries began opening their attack to the bigger group of risen, however, the run away villager could use more savior. Leaving the larger group to the mercenaries to handle, Lilithe turned her horse to the running villagers and then took a stance to defense as they drew closer.

Focusing her magic at her hand, the dark mistress waited for the risen to ran into her attack radius. One of them caught up with the tired victim. And pinned him down. When the thing raised an axe over its head, a dimension slash of darkness struck at its shoulder. A finishing slash did not wait long to turn it to dust.

Lilithe called for some grimleal to take care of the villager, then continued keeping watch from the back line.

Enemy Turn Summary~ (open) Enemy Turn Summary~ (close)

• Risen A [x]: Arm attacked by Alaine. Was harried by Verana; attempted to pin Villager after losing arm completely; destroyed by Lilithe
• Risen B [x]: Attempted to chase Villagers. Was engaged by Verana after Risen A's destruction. Head smashed by Nekirom.
• Risen C [ ]: Engaged in battle with Alaine. One arm frozen, useless; stomach and throat brittle. Can barely move, but still violent.
• Risen D [x]: Attempted to swarm Alaine. Shot through skull by Baron.
• Risen E [x]: Attempted to swarm Alaine. Engaged by Emilia. Beheaded by Emilia.
• Risen F [ ]: Swarmed Alaine. Attacked Alaine with a Poison Iron Glaive.
• Risen G[ ]: Swarmed Alaine. Attacked Emilia with 2 Rending Glass Gladii.
• Risen H[x]: Part of Seahorse Ambush. Horse killed by Nekirom. Trapped under horse.
• Risen I - K[ ]: Part of Seahorse Ambush. Blocked from Lilithe and Baron by Nekirom and Verana.
• Risen L + M[ ]: Part of Seahorse Ambush. Shooting at Baron with Dull Bronze Arrows

Nekrom's wyvern howled and pulled back when magic, darker and more dangerous than even the flames and storms he'd seen summoned, shot past them and crashed into one of the Risen. He calmed the beast and watched, studied, the reaction of the Grimleal's dark magic upon the Risen creature. The corpse collapsed from a dark slash of magic, then crumbled from a follow-up strike. It was clean and efficient, and it told him nothing save what he already knew.

He snorted and turned away from the fallen Risen, instead focusing his attentions back to the battlefield, if it could be called such. The two swordswomen were engaged ahead, numbered balanced by the simplistic show of teamwork by his side, leaving only one more creature for Nekirom's attentions to be unleashed upon. Another wyvern rider, one that had accompanied the harder-looking swordswoman, already engaged it, but Nekirom had no patience for her struggle.

"Hya!" Nekirom roared and dug his heels; his wyvern growled and surged forward, leaping into the air and crashing down before the Risen just as the other rider darted away from the creature. He brought Maria down hard on the Risen's extended lance-arm, smashing its elbow and tearing the arm clean off from forearm down. He watched, curious, as it responded without pain and attempted to reach for Maria, only for Nekirom's wyvern to lash out and tear out its throat.

"Hmph, a poor showing, but fitting these wret-!"

Danger thrummed at his instincts, and it was only due to them that Nekirom reared back, just in time for an arrow to thud against the ground where his wyvern just stood. He kicked and turned around, then growled as the rising heads of two Risen emerged from the bayside, bows clutched in their wet, rotten hands. To their side, the heads of four putrefied quickly rose from the water as well, followed by their riders, each clutching swords in hand as they pushed through heavy water towards the Grimleal and villagers.

"Rider!" Nekirom shot the woman rider a commanding look, then kicked his wyvern into action. "Come! Protect the mages!"

Nekirom's wyvern dashed forward, evading another dull arrow and raced towards the Grimleal who still focused their energies at defending themselves and the villagers. Thanks to not being submerged in heavy, dragging waters, he made it past the Grimleal just as the Risen cavalry left the water and began to charge the mages.

"Back down, ye scum!" Nekirom sneered, drawing Galvos from his arm and lashing out at the closest horse's front legs with the makeshift shield. The metal axe flew forward and sunk into the horse's flesh, cleaving through the first leg and carving a chunk from the second. He pulled it back and returned Galvos to serve as a shield, letting the horse collapse from the loss of its legs and crush its Risen rider beneath its weight.

Unfortunately, while the remaining three Risen horsemen stopped their charge, their attention was now fully on the former General.

Making a mad dash for the local stables before Theios had even finished issuing his outraged orders, Estevan wasted no time in mounting his prized wyvern, practically vaulting into the saddle. Fortunately for all involved, the Sunset Princess had not been shipped ahead to the transports, or else she might have been lost to the Risen. It troubled the young knight to know that the first obstacle on this mission would not be a mob of disloyal mercenaries as he had expected, but rather the shambling corpses of fallen warriors. Undeath... What could twist a man in such a fashion? Brave as he was, Estevan could barely suppress a shiver at the thought of such a monstrous foe.

Ylisseans were human. These things were not.

Normally, Estevan's wyvern tended to be surly at the best of times, but the urgency with which the Plegian soldiers entering the stables conducted themselves told her that a battle was afoot, and the Sunset Princess relished any opportunity for combat. Spreading her wings, she launched out of her pen and took to the skies at Estevan's behest.

It didn't take long to return to the battlefield, and Estevan was surprised to see that the sellswords seemed to have made a good account of themselves, slaying many Risen in the short time he'd been gone. Perhaps there was hope for their kind yet... Having left his squadron in the dust in his haste to rejoin the battle, Estevan used his bird's eye view of the terrain to determine where he was needed the most. Almost immediately, he spotted the pair of Risen archers attempting to pin down Grimleal and freelancer alike, including a couple of wyvern riders. They would have to be dealt with before the rest of the wyvern brigade arrived, or those two might wreak a disproportionate number of casualties.

Taking a long, winding flight path around the outskirts of the docks to avoid being noticed by the undead marksmen, Estevan tugged on the reins, causing the Sunset Princess to wheel about without warning and make a beeline for the archers, who were too busy engaging some mercenary infantry to the notice the beast above them rapidly dropping altitude.

"Hyah!" Estevan called, signaling his mount to begin her assault. Like a lightning bolt from the heavens, the Sunset Princess descended upon her prey. With the gruesome sound of talons slicing through flesh and bone, the archer on the left was abruptly crushed by the sheer bulk of the wyvern, before being raked with claws and teeth for good measure. The archer on the right whirled to face the wyvern knight, an arrow already nocked in its bow, but Estevan was swifter, having practiced this maneuver countless times over the years, slamming his axe into the vile corpse's throat, half-beheading it. A dark, misty energy leaked from the grievous wound before the Risen melted away into nothingness.

Pleased by his prompt dispatchment of the bothersome archers, Estevan couldn't help but indulge in a little bravado.

"Please excuse my late arrival! Have no fear, for Estevan is here!" He exclaimed to those nearby, hoping to lift their spirits with his awesome display of might.