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Orrel's stance faltered, flinching, for just a second before becoming steady again. So he knew his father's story. His eyes blunted, forbidden tears so long kept at bay tying to resurface again. But not now. Not today.

"So it's my father you care about then. Fair enough. He deserves to be remembered after what he did, I won't argue there. But if you think that working with the types of creatures that killed him and all these others you claim to want to protect, your actions are dipped in the stain of hypocrisy and you can never be free of that taint."

And even if he's right, that the Order failed my father... His actions are not better. I cannot listen to his poisoned words. The Order is good overall. Failings do not mean it must be destroyed. Right?

He tightened his grip, knuckles going white, trying hard to not let his damning thoughts show on his face. This man was aligned with his enemy. Any valid points he had were ruined by that.

A flying Arte... Interesting. Something to look out for, for sure, but not the most threatening right this minute. The growls of fiends, a shift in his grip on his fans, and then Orrel was responding, seemingly focused on the man, while taking a few steps forward to the front of the group.

"Well, now, I suppose it depends on who is asking. Given the alignment that I can assume of you, given the noises of the fiends behind you, and the reports we've had, I suppose you would assume that of us. My name is Orrel. Do you still have enough pride to give us your name or have you lost all by working with these monsters?"

"Oh! Right! My turn then, right?"

Ciera was not exactly... healthy. But she'd managed a swig of one of the concotions they'd brought along for healing, so she managed to get up and limp up the stairs to the throne room. Holding out the crystal, she looked to see where she could find a reaction.

Orrel idly twirled a fan, staring at the patterns he made, to an outside observer seemingly not having a care in the world. But internally he was going over possibilities in his head. Patterns, attack formations, enemy movements. These were Fiends, so there wouldn't be much in the way of organized fighting from them most likely, but still.

 Pack mentality most likely. Groups here and there, perhaps with a central group. If we can set up a defensive block and then send a hammer in from the side... No, I need to see more.

Standing up, he stretched until his back cracked and then glanced around.

"Thank you for the debrief Professor. I'm sure we'll all do you proud and return home safely, of course."

He looked over at Rika and grinned.

"For now though, we really should try and relax a bit. Nothing we can do until we get there. And if we get too worked up, we'll be too distracted to fight well. Staying loose and ready but not too caught up in anxiety is always better if it's an option."

G4, silver Jav the Lone Defender, canto to G7

I-5, silver jav the Wheel, canto to I-7

The duck had been well prepared. The swing of her hand passed over his head, ruffling his hair slightly with the wind of the strike, but he popped back up quickly enough, as if he had not a care in the world


"Hmm, how dare I... I dunno, pretty easily to be honest. Also you're pretty cute when you're angry. You could stand to loosen up a tad though. You're stuck with this group for at least a little bit. It'll be easier if you just relax and enjoy being with different people. I promise we're not all that bad. "

B-10, heal Blake