A request from a friend, Maribelle's attempts to intercept Plegian soldiers goes even worse than in canon.
“Plegian troops, crossing the border to pillage and loot? I hope your captain understands this is an act of war!” Maribelle says, tall on the back of her horse. The rank and file soldiers look up at her, dazed by the noble’s sudden appearance.
“And who’re you to stop us?”
“A noble of Ylisse! I demand parley, before you take any more innocent lives.”
Another soldier steps forward, a bit better groomed than the others. Taking him for the captain, Maribelle turns her horse to face him.
“Are you the one in charge here?”
“Yes. So if you've got something to say, spit it out. We've got orders to follow, after all.”
“I'll do nothing so vulgar as ‘spit it out,’ we're talking life and death here! You and your men had best turn back for Plegia, lest you bring war down on all our heads,” Maribelle says, hoping to appeal to the men's reason.
“Gangrel wants war. And if we know what's good for us, we want what the king wants,” the man says, shaking his head. “‘course, a noble bitch seems like a much better target than some stinking village.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and that hesitation would spell disaster for Maribelle. When his men grew so near to her, she isn't sure, but their hands around one of her ankles, tugging her from the back of her horse. She falls to the hard earth, tangled up in her saddle, and the sudden commotion is enough to spook her horse. Her mount flees, leaving the noble dazed and immobile.
Worse yet is the group of Plegian soldiers surrounding her, distasteful expressions plain on their faces. She struggles to rise, extracting herself from the tangle of rope and leather that is her now-useless saddle.
“What do you think you're doing?!” she asks, incredulous.
“A declaration of war, like you said. This is easier on us, and likely to be a lot more effective anyway.”
“W-what are you referring to?”
“Raping and killing a noble, and leaving her mutilated corpse practically within sight of her keep? Even your peaceful bitch of a ruler can't stand for that.”
Panic seizes her heart. She turns, frantic, looking for any opening, and when finding none, bolting for the smallest looking enemy. With a shove, however, she's sprawled on her back in the center of the circle. The captain moves first, straddling her.
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