[@Psyker Landshark][@Raineh Daze][@VitaVitaAR][@Crimson Paladin]

It appeared that part of the reason his delay in rejoining the fight was uninterrupted was the watchful eye of Sir Renar, who offered Gerard a curt nod of what seemed to be acknowledgement before falling in after his chase of Sir Jodeau, perhaps a half-step behind the younger swordsman. That was good— the more skilled and wily fighters they could throw at what could only be the Bandit King, the better.

A cry off to their flank interrupted that hopeful train of thought before it could get any further, however. A pair of bandits, coming in at almost perfect perpendicular with the tournament veteran, burst from the edge of the camp and forced him to sidestep. Not good. Gerard hard no doubt that any of the three of them could easily dispatch these men, but their sudden assault had forced them into an engagement— wasting precious time. They needed to aid the Captain— They needed to take Jeremiah out of the picture. This setback needed to be dealt with before it could bog the three of them down.

Bringing his Longsword to bear, Gerard raised it to the familiar Roof Guard, blade floating above his shoulder as he chewed up the remaining distance between himself and Sir Jodeau. It had been fortunate in a sense that they'd shown their hand so early, and that Gerard and Sir Renar had been trailing behind by paces— as they fell upon the first knight they saw, the second and third following him would fall upon them. He made to adjust his course and line up a murderous hew at the man with the mace—

"Gerard, go on ahead! I'll take care of these bandits and make sure none escape!"

—Only for the tournament veteran to fill that space himself, greatsword and dagger twin fangs that lashed out at the fleeing forms of the would-be ambushers. They did evade him, but they were also driven well off the following knightly pair's line of advance. The experienced knight's voice, his tone... It was collected and calm, but it brooked no dissent.

[color=goldenrod]"Goddesses guide you."[/color]

He would be a fool to waste the opening his compatriot had given him.

Bathed in the orange light of the roaring flames, Gerard charged through, heedless of the waves of heat that blasted his face. Upon the other side, he heard the tail end of Paladin Tyaethe's signature needling words. She generally wasted little time beyond a few flicks of the acrid tongue in his experience— so they had come sailing in just on the mark for the battle to begin anew, then.

[color=goldenrod][i]Perfect.[/i][/color]

Without hesitation, Gerard planted a boot upon one of the dimmer branches and pushed off, carrying himself over the tree in a single motion— and for the first time, he saw the mountain of a man that stood before them.

Several things began to make sense. Firstly, that blade he carried— far too large to be called a sword. Too big, too thick, too heavy, too rough— the man was swinging around a hunk of raw Iron. The weight alone would smash straight through any sword of standard make that tried to get between it and a knight once it got up to speed— and Gerard's longsword would be no exception. Next, he noted that there was no armoring upon Jeremiah's frame— on one hand, it meant he had no protection from any attacks that slipped past his guard, but on the other, it meant that he would worry relatively less about tiring out or overheating while swinging that hunk of metal around. If one could get past it.

Thirdly, he noticed the sadistic grin upon his shaven countenance. He was enjoying the carnage, then. Living up to his title, the king of these brigands and all their savagery. Toying with those he considered beneath him, wantonly chopping good men in half and pronouncing that he would be the death of their historic, noble order. Everything Sagramore had expected. 

[i][color=goldenrod]Monstrous strength, massive blade, and three hundred dead men to his name or not—[/color][/i]

The pounding in his skull returned.

[i][color=goldenrod]This will not stand. [/color][/i]

Paladin Tyaethe had moved in at remarkable pace, darting into a blind angle behind Jeremiah's wide back— Captain Fanilly and Sir Jarde were currently at his front. Two cardinal directions taken care of.

Find third. Force attack from different angle and different level. Seize the initiative.

Even as his blood turned to boiling pitch, Gellert used that of him which was still reasonable to formulate a plan, similar to the one he had prior. Landing and bleeding off momentum into a roll on a diagonal, he managed to position himself roughly betwixt Tyaethe and Jeremiah's left side.

Perfect for shoving the point of a longsword through a man's kidney. He sprung out of the roll into exactly such a thrust, coming in at an almost exaggeratedly low angle with every ounce of force and velocity he could muster behind it. There was neither fear nor doubt in his movement— such things had long since burned away, in battles far earlier than this one.

Now, the Bandit King had to deal with an attack from The Roof by the vampire woman's blade, something massive in its own right— with whatever frontal counterattack made by Fanilly and Jarde in this instance— and with his own thrust, low, long, and direct. Even if Jeremiah killed him here, doing so would leave him open to attacks from at least one the former two angles through the simple variation in position and height. The same went for the others.

[i]Someone[/i] would bring him down today.