[color=goldenrod]Name:[/color] Gerard Segremors

[color=goldenrod]Age:[/color] 23

[color=goldenrod]Gender:[/color] Male

[color=goldenrod]Race:[/color] Human

[color=goldenrod]Appearance:[/color] [hider=Sagramore Gellért]
[img]https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D2A1rZtUwAMogf6.jpg[/img]
[/hider]
At roughly 5'10, the young man is of middling height for a warrior, with an athletic build to match his many years spent living by the blade. His hair is coarse and coal black, and just barely reaching down towards his amber and world-weathered gaze. He has a somewhat reserved disposition outside of combat and his face often hosts a thoughtful, but not wholly unapproachable expression.

[color=goldenrod]Personality:[/color] Gerard is a man who seems beyond his mere twenty-three years behind the eyes. Despite having a history as a mercenary, and being used to just as many tavern brawls and rowdy atmospheres as one might expect from the profession, he carries a far more calm demeanor in his day-to-day interactions and life. He is not entirely familiar with courtly manner, but he is perfectly polite in personal interaction and humble in his presentation, with a sort of earnest air about him. He holds great steel within, however, having leapt at the chance to join the knightly order and become an outright force for [i]good[/i]. There are many cruelties in this world that he, as a man and knight, cannot abide. Enough for him to take up the sword once more to put them to an end, and drag evil into the light.

One way or the other.

[color=goldenrod]Brief Backstory:[/color] Born to a small family in a small village in Thaln's northwestern fiefs that borders a large stretch of woodland, Gerard (Gellért in the village dialect) grew up like many other rural boys— hunting, fishing, and making merry within the woods whenever not set to work with his father in the fields. With such a proximity to the border with Velt, he was raised quite obviously adherent to the Church's teachings, in his case as a Reonite, and was instilled with a strong sense of justice and wonder for the tales of knightly virtue and valor championing Her Paladins. He grew into a strong, hardworking lad, more than fit for any path he chose in life— And when a mercenary corps espousing the virtues of fighting the good fight for the Goddesses and making a living through your sword, perhaps even proving yourself worthy of knighthood? He was sold.

And just like that, the sixteen year old boy walked into Hell. A country bumpkin with a strong back and a steady hand was, at the end of the day, still a country bumpkin. He fell for the pitch hook, line, and sinker. Spending years fighting pointlessly, seeing lives waste away, and people trod upon as lower than dirt, it wore heavily on Gerard. At times, his faith in justice was tested, at others, it was all that kept him pushing forward. The band of mercenaries was by no means incompetent— their captain lead with a firm, measured hand, the quartermaster had a frank outlook on weaponry and training recruits, and in the end they did indeed follow the tenants of Reon by capturing a particularly well-defended encampment of slavers holed up in one of the ruins dotting Velt. For their efforts, the group was disbanded shortly after— and folded into the Church of Reon's militant arm if they so wished. Fearing disillusionment but chasing a lifelong dream as closely as he could, young Gellért accepted, and soon after was recruited into the Order of the Iron Rose. He continues to pursue his idealized image of a knight with a desperate fervor, and it permeates his every moment.

[color=goldenrod]Equipment:[/color] A fairly standard longsword of just over a meter's length from pommel to tip, a well-kept kit of half-plate as he cannot yet afford a full, custom-fitted suit. A sturdy, large knife for general survival purposes (both clearing brush and sliding through gaps in armor, should need arise).

[color=goldenrod]Skills:[/color] While not an exemplary swordsman like the order's founder, he is schooled well for a mercenary and trains vigorously to improve his mastery, day in and day out. His style is rooted in simplicity and pragmatism, at times even leaning near brutality compared to the romanticized and beautiful swordplay of the ideal knight he wishes to evoke, a carryover of life as a soldier-for-hire. A trained, keen eye can spot many similarities to properly denoted longsword fencing technique within various [i]Fechtbücher[/i] beneath the roughness of it— the kid's fundamentals are there, simply learned secondhand as opposed to the traditional knight's manuals, and applied with a dash of that distinct recklessness of the expendable.

In addition, he is quite comfortable with a wide variety of other tools and weapons, such as spears or handaxes. He had to make do with what was on hand for much of his life— both as a man-at-arms and as a simple boy from the woodlands. He is a natural at speaking to common folk on their level, and holds a host of skills found in a boy whose childhood was spent within Thaln's countryside. Has a mild problem, however, with prioritizing his own safety— it's an act that he is still learning to no longer refrain from.