[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[@VitaVitaAR][@VahkiDane][@PigeonOfAstora]

[color=goldenrod]"She brought them out. I trust she's not an idiot."[/color] came the careful reply, as Gerard elected to keep his eyes locked, naturally, on the figures that had [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwvpX6PzMiY]emerged[/url]. Certain lieutenants in patchwork armor in the back ranks had, naturally, slipped beneath his professional radar. Their faces were tight, their posture wary— being called up to stand off with a retinue of the most storied knightly order the country had to offer would do that as a matter of course. Each by necessity dangerous, wily, and experienced— but as he was now, the erstwhile [i]Verloren[/i] favored his chances against any of them. Not to be ignored...

"Ah, I was merely lamenting the brutality, dear Alette..."

"I am here, Lady Alette."

"..."

"We can leave cleanup to them, can't we?"

... But his attention was, doubtless, drawn elsewhere. Like their commander, the four that had taken position upon either flank of her had [i]reputations[/i] that preceded them— each one the face to a name that had been passed around the Forlorn campfires with the healthy respect you afforded a dangerous beast.

You could kill a bear, you could be the one to drag the bear from its cave and help your team beat it to death— but even those with that breed of madness had to respect what a bear [i]was[/i]. You rush in half-drawn, you get swatted away with a broken neck. You know what you're in for, you don't get surprised by how quick it can be.

[color=goldenrod]"Force wouldn't be worth it for either of us."[/color]

Abigail the Stingray. Tall, ghostly pallid, adorned with knives that glittered about her person in the rising moonlight. Her fascination with elegance in administering death may not have been facade, but the horror her poisonry could inflict upon the body, the blood, the senses... no less horrific than the imagery they lamented. Each edge that was strapped to the leathers she wore was said to be coated in some measure of toxin— it was just as well that none of them had run into her unaware.

Next came Bors, long-rumored to be descendant of giants. It wasn't hard to see why— he would have towered over Jeremiah, over Erich, easily over Agrahn. Ten feet, at least— all of it coated in thick plates of steel, each a masterwork by virtue of simply being shaped properly to his frame. Gerard had expected him to be some kind of Ingvarr that the rumor mill had blown out of proportion, a counterpart to someone like Sir Steffen— but instead, Bors was a mountain, and spoke with the rumble of a far-off avalanche. Built to answer the question Gerard had silently nursed for weeks— "Who the hell would Jeremiah's sword actually have been made for?"

Aside him, the khamsin from the east, Maethen. The curved swords on his hip were a whirlwind in battle, but here he was still, sharp-featured, setting his gaze upon the Knights. Quietly evaluating their number, same as Gerard, that silence mirrored the sparse details surrounding him— enigmatic beyond his proficiency in a fight, and his uncommon heritage. For a mercenary, in fairness, what else did you need?

Finally... Clarice, the one with all the frills. Anyone dressing in such a pointedly bourgeois getup within the midst of a band of mercenaries was one of two things— their benefactor, or a proficient enough mage to eschew armor. After the Shark's caginess... this one had to be the latter. It lined up. The most recent thing he'd heard of them, before his life had changed, was that a caster of worrying ability had joined their ranks. Little else beyond that, but like Maethen before, her spells spoke enough for her.

As a mercenary, it would be a poor sight across from you on the battlefield, this ensemble.

As a knight?

[color=goldenrod]"Having us on her tail would be bad for business."[/color]

The Order he'd joined had quality and numbers enough to match her in force, but conflict carried the possibility of bringing much, much more onto the heads of her band and employer. Whoever was paying her would immediately want to wash their hands of whatever the hell had happened here.

[color=goldenrod]"We should be able to cooperate here, as soon as we know what we're looking for."[/color]