[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color] [@VitaVitaAR][@The Otter] [color=goldenrod]"No promises."[/color] Spoken in undertone and likely too quiet for any but the nearest or sharpest ears to hear, Gerard echoed his Captain's unspoken reservations. The Cazt heiress's demands may have been noble in intent, he would understand that much— but their targets would, realistically, hang for the crimes anyway. Conspiring to assassinate the Crown Princess. The kidnapping and coercion of these Nem. Necromancy. To guarantee he would be able to stay his hand, to quench the flame of battle that had already begun to rush through him... No, they were not at all want for evil. The leather of his gloves creaked as he thumbed the crossguard of his blade, its hungering glint matching the spark of fury that dwelled beneath his amber gaze. While ill-crafted, this attempt to off the royalty had a silver lining to it, in a twisted sense. He was no Paladin, like Tyaethe, nor the former Squire of one, like Fleuri. He could not speak to any [i]directly[/i] hallowed element to undertaking this cause... but it was Reon and her teachings that had lead him down this path, kept him from straying even when his hope had bottomed out. Brave the darkness to drag the wicked into the Sun. Hunt all evil that threatened innocent, honest lives. That was the calling of Knighthood, the ideal his whole life had seen him hope, desperately, to achieve. It had guided his first swings of a sword, given him direction and clarity even through the grey smoke of hired soldiery. He had stared down the abyss. The sun on his back had given him the strength not to blink. Every moment of those five years was kept alive by that faith, and that desire to join the pursuit. To enter the crypt of the Traitor's family, already blackened from their once respected standing by his actions, and be faced with those that would skulk in its shadows flanked by their risen dead? She had brought him good hunting, indeed. Having seen and heard enough, the wolf turned and stalked ahead, quickly swallowing the distance that was left in Fionn's wake until he drew up on level marching cadence. Reaching across with his free hand to bump the brawnier man on the shoulder, he spoke in a breathless growl. [color=goldenrod]"Two pairs of hands will be better than one. I need armor anyway."[/color] A professional fighter and swordsman, he knew Fionn would be able to plainly read that he was coiled like a spring. That was fine. Out of any of the knights here, the Red Branch alum was far and away the one Gerard trusted most to understand him. On a fundamental level, their shared backgrounds had given Fionn insight that cut to the core of his mentality, to that of [i]Verlorene Haufen[/i]. He knew what came from living at the tip of the spear. [color=goldenrod]"The sooner we can arm everyone, the sooner we deploy. Give those dumbasses the fight they courted and crush 'em."[/color] He could speak without artifice, honing his focus for war.