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

[@JessieTargaryen][@VitaVitaAR][@Crimson Paladin]

The spray of blood.

The crash of steel.

The crackle of fire.

The song of war rose again from the tense air, hushed whispers and guessed conspiracies breaking into frenetic shouting, punctuated by the rumbling of hooves against the earth. The steel in his grip flew through the night as he charged forward upon his horse, checking the advance of his enemies at the edge of his blade. Momentum and weight, as forceful as they were, managed to force a weak point into the leather harness of the nearest boar to his murderous right arm where one had not truly been woven in— dashing him off his feet and awarding Gerard with a spurt of red for his trouble.

Were the cut itself lethal or not was difficult to say, impossible until he turned round for a strike upon their back, much as Sir Fleuri had— but altogether a pointless concern. In the next breath, the dark blues of moonlit world were washed violent orange, as Runa's orb of flame impacted the ground at the initial line's feet and exploded, catching his quarry in the wake of its brief radiance.

He was probably lucky none of them had gotten a swipe off upon his steed. Perhaps they were still reeling from his comrade's charge once he'd hit, but it was dangerous to pull that one again, even if they had them from behind now—

He glanced further into the brush for a moment, hoping he didn't catch any more steel gleaming upon a single moonbeam. The Boars were self-sacrificial and numerous more than tactically genius, true, but they didn't achieve the notoriety nor success they did by being incapable of luring headstrong cavalry into a hidden second line. If Gerard could think of it, so could they, surely.

This was why fighting from horseback was a twofold weakpoint, he grimly noted, rounding his horse again back towards the rear of their (initial) wave. For him specifically: he had honed his skills as an infantryman far more thoroughly, thriving on his feet in the thick of pitched melee. His usual aggression was magnified on horseback— well and good and worth the risk when it was his own feet carrying him, but he covered ground far too quickly upon his Rouncey, carrying him through the lines. Such was the [i]idea[/i], of course, but if he surged into a trap...

[color=goldenrod][i]No sense wasting HIS life.[/i]

"If you swing back 'round, I'm with you!"[/color] he called to Fleuri, some dozen yards or so away.

The charging Runa, her sword now in hand after her burst of magic, the hammer.

The two Reonites, who embodied the boldness of the sun, the anvil.

Even in spite of his dissatisfaction with his combat horsemanship, Gerard saw the boons easily enough. His senior had a better head for this aspect of fighting than he— that much they both knew. Following his lead had good enough odds of Gerard keeping out of any undue positional trouble. If Fleuri had need to ride elsewhere...

One foot, opposite his fellow, crept out of its stirrup, primed to dismount. 

A pulse through his veins.

[color=goldenrod][i]I should count myself lucky to have stood across the field from the Boars before.

I know how you sons of bitches tick man-to-man.[/i][/color]

He would play to his strengths.