[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[@The Otter][@ERode][@Psyker Landshark][@Crimson Paladin]

At the first returned touch upon his shoulder, Gerard snorted, made to click his tongue—

And at the second, though, and Sir Renar's accompanying advice, he relented, opting to nod after rolling his shoulders. There [i]was[/i] tension worth releasing there, for what it was worth. Tight muscles would sap energy. He didn't intend on losing his alertness in any respect, but if this was enough for [i]two[/i] of his fellows to speak upon it, to try and calm him like a hound with hackles raised... He had, likely, best listen to their words. Stubborn though he may have been, burning though his convictions surely were, his respect for them ran every bit as deep.

Despite continuing to lock his gaze upon the task ahead, looking through the path to the royal armory as though an obstruction, there was a release in his tone as he replied, softening the tight edges of the steel.

[color=goldenrod]"You're right. I know. Those days are behind us. Promise."

[i]Only if it were absolutely necessary.[/i][/color]

Hearing another pair of footsteps fall in, a quick glance over the shoulder revealed the twin exemplars upon which he had foisted his highest regard, and wished to emulate in the ideal world. Hm. It seemed the scions of Jodeau and Arcedeen wished to oversee their equipment personally— probably a wise move, all things considered. Who better to determine what would play to their strengths than themselves in the few minutes they'd have?

Locked within the depths of the Castle, the armory's doors opened to hit the assembled cohort with a wave of stale, damp air, tinged with the flavors of cold metal and religiously warmed torches. There was oil, too, to maintain the health of the steel. Stone for its edges. The smell was at once alien in the refinement it spoke to and familiar, comfortably familiar, in the craft it served.

He marched into the murky torchlight. If Sirs Fionn and Renar had seen fit to ward away the anger, he knew that their peers from higher nobility would expect better by a full measure, having been so patient and earnest in humoring his dreams.

Fortunate that the rituals of preparation came universal, in that light. Who better to talk shop with?

[color=goldenrod]"Rondels here,"[/color] he noted, slipping the diamond-sectioned dagger into a loop on the belt that molded in his thick gambeson. [color=goldenrod]"Warriors might have armor."[/color]

To speak of such, he quickly donned a cuirass after judging the (roughly) correct size by eye— a task he'd grown into an old hand at ages ago. It, and the vambraces Renar had tossed his way, were barely more than munitions grade at honest appraisal. Nothing of overwhelming quality... but even that much was more than he'd ever scoff at. He'd done far worse in his time.

[color=goldenrod]"Greaves too,"[/color] he spoke again, following Dame Serenity's point as he moved to fasten them onto his trousers. Putting aside that she was working against the dress mobility had forced her to slice apart... [color=goldenrod]"If they're at the bottom, we'll be fighting downhill. Legs enter range first."[/color]

That raised perhaps the chief concern about the confines they were headed into— weaponry. While Gerard was thankful he'd brought his longsword at the Princesses' request, tight confines were to be expected in any sort of tomb, even the larger ones he assumed of most noble houses. He was a serviceable hand with half-swording, if it came to that, but if he expected raised dead... putting it plainly, he wanted more mass and contact area than a crossguard.

Something compact and crushing, worth leaving the longsword on his back for... [color=goldenrod][i]A bar mace would do good here.[/i][/color]

He stalked across the chamber, muttering in undertone as he scooped up an unvisored sallet from the rack nearby, before pausing at Sir Fleuri's offer. He gave it a moments' thought as he maneuvered the leather chinstrap...

[color=goldenrod]"How long would that take, you reckon?"[/color]

They were splitting their forces soon, here. In his mind, the strength of sacrosanct weaponry or tools against the very affront to Life and Death that the Goddesses so abhored would doubtless prove a game-changing boon for the knights.

In his heart, he knew that he was incredibly leery of splitting up more, of potentially missing any of the action. They needed to stick together as much as they could, every one of them. The front was where he belonged.