[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[center][@jdh97][@VitaVitaAR][@PaulHaynek][@TheFake][/center]

[color=goldenrod]"The Bandit King? He was..."[/color] he began, searching for the words across a moment. Even with forgiveness for his humble upbringing leaving a man of plain speech, it took him a few moments longer than he would have meant— The smells of the kitchen were now dancing upon the air in force. Overpowering even the pungent herbs of Sir Jerel's bandage and the musk that clung to Gerard's own armor, the knight found himself suddenly cognizant of a ravenous hunger that had crept upon him. It was a yawning chasm within his gut, and with it he could feel the beginnings of a similarly hollow ache upon his head.

Always after a fight, when his blood had calmed. That he had compelled himself to train afterwards would only make this worse, like diving into the fray again with an empty stomach. He was lucky that he'd run into Sir Jerel— now that he was aware of how his body hungered, Segremors had no idea how he would have survived a bath with a head feeling like a log beneath a woodsman's axe.

Opening the door to the kitchens, he continued.

[color=goldenrod]"It was trying to fight a storm. I only made one real attack before Artificer Elodie set him ablaze and our assorted group fell upon him, but he was strong, like an angry bear. If I had taken a swing of his with any power upon my sword it'd have snapped clean in two— I got lucky enough to only get parried the once, at the start of his movement."[/color]

Flashing images of smoke, steel, and sparks passed through his mind as he inclined his head in greeting to the wily veteran Sir Indrau, and a moment later spied the familiar blonde locks and casual gait of Sir Jarde. The former he had not had much chance to speak with, but knew to respect his obvious tenure in spite of his injury. To simply still find oneself on the battlefield alive, after all his years, was proof enough of the wealth of experience that the eyepatched knight possessed.

As for Devaron—

A brotherly clap on the shoulder for him. 

[color=goldenrod]"His strength by itself would have made it a questionable fight for me, were I on my own."[/color] he continued, inhaling deeply through the nose as the telltale savory aroma of searing beef filled the air, accompanied by some bevy of herbs and spices he couldn't name— well, aside from Paprika, but the Kitchens of the Iron Roses were far more expansive than that.

[color=goldenrod][i]The maids are working some magic, huh?[/i][/color]

[color=goldenrod]"But what struck me was that he possessed more than just raw force. Not only did he carry a blade the size of... well, you or I; he was quick enough to react to three, maybe four attacks from wildly different angles, and deft enough with that man-chopper to turn each aside simultaneously. He may not have been a proper knight, and I don't even know if I could tell the difference between his and my technique in either potential direction— but he wasn't braindead. Be it through training or just some base, bestial instinct, the bastard knew what he was doing."[/color]

He allowed an open grimace to show, exhaling just as fully as he had inhaled.

Or, perhaps he simply couldn't help but show it.

[color=goldenrod]"If I learned anything, it's that I need to grow much stronger if I want to face monsters that walk as men like him without backup. If I have to, I should say. Paladin Tyaethe could likely have handled him, from what I know of her— but a fighter like me has much worse odds. I'd need to find a perfect opportunity, after a perfect approach. Anything less and I'm cleaved in half along with my sword."[/color]