[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color] [@VitaVitaAR][@Pyromania99][@ERode] He chuffed, a low snort that left from mouth and nostril alike as a white luminescence shone overhead, stemmed from a figure spun from aether—and out of nothing, save for a single airy voice. Summoning magic, then, by one of his fellows— Sir Hope, he wagered. A spectacle like this, however awe-inspiring, would be impossible to conceal from all but the dullest-eyed lookouts. They'd effectively just strolled up and presented arms— [color=ed145b][sub]behind you.[/sub][/color] And a voice, soundless and wordless, rang in his head. Instincts, he realized, latching onto aggression. Catching the sound of footsteps approaching too close to where he stood, he began to turn— [i]THMP.[/i] [color=goldenrod]"Hey, the hell's your [i]problem—[/i]"[/color] Only for his pauldron to crash into that of a billowing, towering stormcloud, her eyes burning as she stalked forward. As she stopped and glanced his way, barely registering the collision, he stuffed the snapping retort down; insults still feeling far too familiar on his lips all the same for knighthood. He wasn't among sellswords anymore— pointless roughhousing was out of character. Beneath his brow, still tight, his eyes narrowed when he took a step back both mental and physical. The culprit was Dame Shanil, whose piecemeal history Gerard had little knowledge of on the best days... [color=goldenrod][i]But everything I [u]have[/u] learned points to the Rebellion. So if you have to guess, Gerard...[/i][/color] And here, the brief flash of a grievance died quietly. Personal grudge. Something real big, too, if she had tunneled in that hard. Frosty as he'd grown to realize the raven-haired elf to be, he was pretty sure he could trust his instincts on this, at least— she kept to herself far too much to shoulder-check for the juvenile [i]thrill of it[/i]. She'd been distant thunder ever since the Order had realized these to be rebels, and not the bandits they claimed to be. Not one word spoken before or during the ride out here— just seemed to center her gaze somewhere dead ahead of them all. He knew this well. It all added up. Felt like he had another piece to the puzzle she was, honestly. And so, that rising anger in his chest probably couldn't even come [i]close[/i] to whatever drove her straight through him. He had no right to complain, either— how many times had he done similarly in his life? All he [i]knew[/i] was that single-minded march towards slaying his enemy for years now. Already, she was moving on— unbothered by whatever wasn't immediately pressing. If he'd gotten mad, he'd have gotten mad at the wind in her wake. [color=goldenrod]"We'll have his head by midnight."[/color] Gerard instead spoke again, in a tone tightly controlled and sharp as a sword's tip this time, as he fell in line with her. They both had bigger fish to fry— and their only difference was that their foes hadn't [i]personally[/i] wronged him. He might have been uneducated, comparatively, but he wasn't an idiot. He'd already made sure everything was ready to go. Gear checked out. He himself went without question. Handed his horse off with a gruff word of thanks. Why stand around with his thumb up his ass, when the Captain had already gotten the plan up and running? ... The knights began to move as a unit, splitting off from their mounts and venturing further into the thicket, still keeping to the road— for now. The plan was simple, as far as they went— simple and standard. He certainly didn't mind that. Easy to follow for anyone, easy to carry out [i]beneath[/i] anyone. This type of assault on enemy encampments— encircling, enclosing, and then eradicating— it was like putting on an old glove. It didn't tell him much about her, save for maybe that she didn't mind the classics. And there [i]was[/i] something to be said for not overcomplicating things earl— A flash of red caught his eyes and pulled him in full to the world, gleaming in the dull light and unmistakable for its crimson hue. Blood, fresh. It seemed to cascade down the side of the man, stemming from a massive and ragged gash in his flank, impossibly bright against the pallor of his skin and the wood of the busted cart he was slumped against. Not long for the world at all. Too much lost. But [i]fresh[/i]. That bright meant the wound couldn't be older than— Steel slid free from leather, and a burst of motion came from the front, further ahead than even he and Shanil. Their leader, surging forth at the sight of a life nearing its last. He didn't need to guess why, but... His eyes darted around them, flicking between the tall, jagged, and ever-darkening trees and shadows that lay beneath. Those same animal instincts were screaming at him, just as they were at every knight who could match or exceed his tenure in war. [color=goldenrod]"Knight-Captain, that's—"[/color] His mind flashed to what they'd learned of their quarry before riding here. His habits, his mode of announcing himself... how he sent the half dead to their home villages, to scream warnings of his arrival. Every single time, it had already been too late. A deep breath pulled into his lungs. They [i]knew[/i]. [color=goldenrod]"[i]—bait, dammit![/i]"[/color] he growled, kicking off his toes as his sabatons tore through the soil of the road, only a stride and a half behind Dame Serenity. His longsword found its way into his hands on its own accord as he'd made the connection, and settled into an ox guard as he skidded to a halt behind the pair of blondes. The elder's read of the scene before them, naturally, mirrored his own— and though he lacked any shield, he instinctively reflected [i]her[/i] in turn, interposing himself between the opposite line of trees and the Knight-Captain. The perpetrators could come from goddamn anywhere— but he was certain they would. Seeing it up close, the wound was fresh enough that he was convinced they'd likely heard the Knights' mounted approach— and definitely [i]seen[/i] the angel's light. It was his job to meet'em halfway, whenever they showed themselves. He had nothing to add to the exchange of words— Dame Serenity was right already. Instead, he kept his eyes moving between shadow to shadow, and ears straining to hear each shift in the woods.