[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[center][@VitaVitaAR][@Krayzikk][@Crimson Paladin][@PaulHaynek][/center]

[color=goldenrod]"I won't, Ma'am."[/color]

He punctuated his reassurance with pulling his longsword free from the man's sternum and allowing him to slump, stony expression unmarred. Perhaps a valid concern. He had more than once shown his hand tonight— that of an unyielding marauder, to be directed towards something that needed to be brought down. Given he'd held his own concerns regarding fury overwhelming discipline, it wasn't hard to see where the small Paladin was coming from, that much he would readily admit. He could determine friend from foe fine.

But could he quell a raging inferno if it risked burning her, too? That seemed to be her order. Her words were not something so frivolous as worrying he'd accidentally take her head home with him. Their vampiric comrade was far more wise than that. Priorities were absolute when they included a child's life. It meant to account for bargains, compromises, the thought of a hostage taking precedent over imparting justice to her captor.

That was the message. Never trade the former for the latter.

[color=goldenrod]"Am I familiar?"[/color] he parroted to Sir Nicomede next, stepping aside to allow their Captain through. He met the duelist's eye, searching beneath the still waters... He held his temper quite well. His blades, suited more for thrusting than just cutting, had long been drawn— a peek past the veneer. Mistake not the calm for proof that no storm comes. He was a respected knight, and despite differing theological stances, it would be short-sighted to claim that Nicomede or any other did not feel the same as Sagramore.

His longsword met the palm of his free hand, shrouded in sturdy fibers, about halfway up the length of its blade. A knightly technique that saw more use for fully armored combat than specifically enclosed spaces, but it achieved the same end. Now with a second point of control along the entirety of the blade, he held what amounted to one part spear and one part sledgehammer, shortening the necessary length of the weapon.

[color=goldenrod]"Familiar enough, don't worry."[/color] He grunted, nodding and falling silent as his fellows passed, one by one, in to the mausoleum after their Captain. He couldn't simply shoulder in, unfortunately. Too much roughhousing would mean too much noise—

A voice from up ahead drew his attention, causing his posture to instinctively tense, and the sound of drawn steel shattered his concerns for noise. Any struggle in there would doubtlessly echo down the stone walls of the crypt. At the closest opportunity, hot on the heels of the previous knight to enter, he hooked himself 'round the frame of the door in a dash.

"Iron Rose Knights, charge!"

As the glow from the torch faded, clattering down stone steps ahead, Gerard's eyes were aided by the rush of imminent combat in adjusting to the soft lighting of the mausoleum's gloomy interior. Everywhere he looked he saw religious icons carved into smooth coffins, effigies of the twin Goddesses sheltering their dead. A rose here. A sunburst there. Lamplighters throughout, guiding those slain to peaceful rest.

[color=goldenrod][i]Apologies, but you'll be working a little more than usual tonight.[/i][/color]

At the sound of a stumble, he couldn't help but whirl away from the footsteps clamoring up the stairs. Had they been pincered? Trapped between two foes? His sword whirled with him, to face...

"I'm back," Sir Fleuri Jodeau announced, drawing his requisitioned claymore. "Have I missed anything important?"

Gilded eyes darted between the senior knight and the body directly behind for a moment, before Gerard elected to scrub the pratfall entirely from his mind. In its stead, he tasked himself with keeping his senior up to speed. He turned again in doing so, stalking forward as he relayed everything pertinent he'd overheard to his esteemed senior. 

[color=goldenrod]"Necromancer's at the bottom. Several dozen mercenaries rising to meet us,"[/color] he spoke in clipped tones, drawing a large knife from his hip. [color=goldenrod]"Orders are to capture two leaders, but prioritize the Sister first. Rescue, not Raid."[/color]

Drawing even with Sir Jarde, fists raised, he wordlessly offered the blonde the pommel. It would be better than nothing. Knives could be held against throats, slipped between the gaps of armor, set in the way of swords to knock them off-line. It was no weapon of war, true, but it was far better than one's own body and little else.

Once his hands were free, he held his longsword in half again, and surged towards the stairwell opposite, leftward when entering the chamber. What they needed now was no longer stealth, but a violence of action— the one battlefield virtue in which he genuinely excelled. Attacking from two different angles would be a boon to whomever had the thought— should the enemy rise through here and fall in behind them within the confines of the right stairwell, even the Roses risked being crushed.

Segremors dove in, ready to make his displeasure with the notion undeniably known.