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

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

Their ranks crumbled beneath the crushing surge from the knights, and they began to turn tail at the behest of their blackguard officer. One by one, by two, by five, then by tens— the Boars were in full retreat, scattering and melting into the trees, out of the reach of his silver-stained crimson. His own breaths now filled the deafening void in the wake of clashing steel and spraying blood. The Knight-Captain's high and clear call reached his ears to confirm it:

The night was won.

[color=goldenrod]"Victory,"[/color] he managed, lost beneath the stronger cries of his fellows with fuller lungs.

Gerard... didn't know how long it had been.

Even with the resolute desire for presence within the chaos, time was a wind that slipped between his fingers, even had he wanted purely to grasp it. To throw oneself in the melee as he had, lost within the swordplay, it was a fool's errand. All he knew was that his condition hadn't failed before their morale.

Though, as he stood there panting, it may have yet been a close-run thing. Following up the Zweihander might not have exactly been tip of the spear, but acting as the weight driving behind it was tough work in its own right— like sprinting up a mountainside. All momentum— the moment he lost pace or focus, he would have been gutted like a fish. Their training had seen to it that they could exploit the opportunity Fleuri and Runa had created, but, equally, the Boars had their own— and it allowed them to get halfway to regrouped.

He took a step forward, waving to the two he'd wedged himself betwixt— 

On the individual level, at least, their counterattacks had been sound right at the end. The better fighters, more experienced of the Boars, had for all his distaste of them been cut from the same cloth as he— thinking and acting on their feet was pressed into them on the anvil of the war campaign. The knights had won on a [i]formation[/i] level handily with the snap judgement made by the Doppelsoldner routine.

[center]—[color=goldenrod]"Good work, people,"[/color]—

But on the individual, man-to-man combative level, it was much closer in the thick of it. The knightly pedigree had certainly not come unfounded— as a mercenary, Gerard wasn't sure that he'd have not lost anyone like this. There was a reason you were paid double, as the name implied.[/center]

[right]—And found the world to drift out of and back into focus, catching himself as he staggered.

Well, shit.

That wasn't right.  [/right]

He grunted, shaking his head and forcing his vision straight again. With a furrowed brow, the knight wiped sweat free from his face only to find himself suddenly [i]aware[/i] of a deep, burning sting down from his cheekbone to his jawline, fading back into his senses as the last of the fight left him, and he was brought down to earth.

He grit teeth as more of those same lines of angry, dull flame began to draw themselves along the gaps in his armor, the folds of cloth where he moved. His armor had begun to feel heavier, now, and he imagined he was beginning to look a little pale and sluggish. Was the air always this cold?

Well, it being nighttime, maybe it was just the atmosphere. Long days asked for long rests, and the moon was high among the stars tonight, drowning them beneath its soft white glow. Tired and aching were familiar enough...

He checked his palm, fearing the result. A pull in his arm didn't make matters any better...

[color=9e0b0f]Red.[/color]

No trying to convince himself otherwise now.

He sighed inwardly, as two thoughts hit his mind at roughly the same moment as he marched forward again, this time with a pointedly [i]steady[/i] stride.

[color=goldenrod][i]Guess that was a long time coming.[/i]

"Fleuri, Runa. All good?"

[i]Ow. Ow, okay. Ow. Dammit. Ow.[/i][/color]