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

[@VitaVitaAR][@Psychic Loser][@Raineh Daze][@Psyker Landshark]

[color=goldenrod]"Interrogating him—[/color] was about as far as Gerard got beneath his furrowed brow before Dame Morianne's chastisement rolled on, heedlessly forcing the rest of the younger swordsman's words back into his throat. Her reputation as "abrasive" (to put it more kindly) had far preceded her, but... "[i]murderhobo[/i]" was admittedly a new one. He supposed this being his first expedition among the knights would have earned him at least [i]some[/i] ribbing about his previous line of work, but he had to admit he wouldn't have expected her to know or [i]care[/i] about it. Not in the least thanks to being so long-lived and well-traveled...

[color=goldenrod][i]Hn.[/i][/color]

As her verses floated through the air in dulcet, saccharine tones, his grips upon the bandit tightened as he cast his confusion aside with a frown. If she wanted to handle extracting information via the arcane means she possessed as opposed to his more straightforward brutality, then that was fine— the point of the matter was to get this pig to squeal. 

He watched the eyes beneath him, alive with fear of his reprisal, slowly give way and glaze over as the elf cupped his chin, voice smoky and flirtatious. The pools of brown had dulled out fully by the time she offered the reward, like covering the light with a foggy glass— and beneath his weight and grip, he felt the man's body follow suit, slackening with no resistance left to offer.

Wrapped [i]completely[/i] 'round her finger. Impressive stuff... and on a small, primal level, [i]scary[/i] when he considered that there were others out there who could feasibly do the same to him. He was just a farmboy at the core of everything— no reason to think he'd be any more capable of resisting an attack that his arms couldn't parry, that his legs couldn't dodge. He had no conception to begin with of how he'd defend himself from magic that attacked his very will.

As newly minted member of an elite Order with a storied history of standing against Witch-Queens and rogue sorcerers and other threats a common soldier like him would find [i]fantastical[/i]... he quietly thanked the Troubadour for showing him his limits here, even if she'd not meant to.

He had a feeling he wouldn't manage to dodge magical foes for the entirety of his burgeoning career as an Iron Rose.

[color=goldenrod]"Point taken, Ma'am."[/color] he breathed with an assenting nod, rising after a moment to extricate himself from the bewitched bandit. [color=goldenrod]"I'll leave him to you."[/color] He made it to a half turn away, towards the growing pile of bodies, and paused, thoughtful expression playing over his face as he listened to the wavering words continue on from the charmed reprobate. He spoke of palisades surrounding the encampment, with a watch tower looming high. Good information for sure— with only Morianne to thank. It looked like she really did have the easier way.

He did respect her highly, as he would any of the knights ahead of him in this retinue. That much wouldn't change no matter how many times she yelled at him. Her personal affectations could run totally counter to his own so long as they served the same cause. He knew how to be a professional, if nothing else.

Bu[i]uuut...[/i]

[color=goldenrod]"If you're [i]gonna[/i] smooch him, wipe your mouth after. Don't know where he's been."[/color]

Crack for a crack [i]was[/i] fair play his whole life. He knew how to survive among a maelstrom of jesting barbs, too.

He began to walk, scooping up the body next to his feet and dragging it along in the direction of the pile. Paladin Tyaethe had been doling out orders while the interrogations had gone on around her, and by now had roped every free hand into pulling corpses onto a singular spot along the stone of the road— piling up the dead until the heap stood as tall as she did.

Probably [i]cremation[/i], if he had to guess. Dead bodies lying around meant two things: Disease and Scavengers. Growing up near a forest taught him the dangers of drawing hungry beasts to a road— and he knew any soldier here would at least be aware of the havoc the undisposed dead could wreak upon either side of a siege.

Chucking the body roughly against the pile, Gerard about-faced in time to catch the disquieted mutterings of Sir Renar in his ear. He had to imagine that the man hated the busywork to bring all this on— he certainly had no qualms with getting his hands dirty.

[color=goldenrod]"They not do this in your banneret?"[/color] he asked, beginning to drag another corpse by its ankle.