[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@VitaVitaAR]

Bone scattered with a swing, steel biting deep against the structure of magic holding the calcium together.

No blessing meant no permanence to his strikes. No holy light meant no way to push them back. No sacred oath meant no way to strike fear into the hearts of the undead. Not good. For all his faith, Gerard was no Paladin. Not even a squire to one, like Fleuri. In the face of such an unnatural, ungodly opponent, he was nothing more than a normal man, clad in cold iron.

That said.

The skeleton that had stood in his path moments ago was out of the way, offering a clear shot at the armored man accosting his captain. Halting their advance. In the moments it would take for the forces of unearthly arcana to pull the bones together, giving them form anew, Gerard was already moving. They had no time for being held here. The man in full harness was priority. Kill him, and the skeletons could be dealt with in the advance.

There was a silver flash in his peripheral. He threw his head to the side, twisting his trunk. Almost enough. Flame. Burning. Skin torn across cheekbone. Got him. Blood below the eye... did not hinder vision. Superficial. 

He swung, rebounding the twist he took. It loaded his hips anyway. His sword smashed through a ribcage. He set off. His tunnel vision had gotten him hurt, but it also illuminated why he had every reason to help the small Captain take this man down— if he didn't, she'd be surrounded. Pincushioned. Skeletons were not terribly strong. They would not need to be, if a target was distracted.

Most of the man's body was covered in full harness. Hard to penetrate with a longsword in the best of circumstances. Here was almost right out. The best thing to do would honestly be to ground him with either wrestling or some other method, then slip a knife into his throat or armpit. He wasn't in the ideal circumstance for it. Too much going on, too close to the captain. First priority was freeing her from this deadlock against a larger, stronger opponent.

Let him face somebody his own size, maybe.

[color=goldenrod]"Ma'am."[/color]

The grunt came from Fanilly's left side, heralding an [i]oberhau[/i] plummeting squarely for the armored man's skull. He was a rich sellsword to afford all that armor, forgone helm aside— this wouldn't end the engagement. He more than likely earned it through battlefield experience within this mercenary group. So saying, he could handle another attack coming in at him during a bind. There was no chance he'd not seen it before— Gerard could name dozens himself.

But once Fanilly was free to act, how long could he fend off two blades working in concert?