[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[@Conscripts][@Krayzikk][@ERode]

This was a new sensation.

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytHjdArnPJQ]Not[/url] the blood on his tongue, nor the burning line he'd gained across the jaw, no. Many times he'd been pockmarked in the frenzy, been gifted small reminders of how far away the ideal he chased really was, and how truly stopgap a measure his methods to win until he got there had proven to be. Nor was the rise of wind washing the fire away as he took a breath into his belly, the hammering of his heartbeat in his eardrums. The swordplay always took him like this in the thick of it, taught him to push pain into a corner where it didn't leave (it never would) as much as was kept out of the way. It ran hot in his muscles, in his spine, in somewhere [i]rawer[/i] than considered technique. Hammered mechanics, writ large on his frame. He knew this feeling well.

Sir Steffen's admonishment didn't fall on deaf ears, but he bit back his acknowledgement as sparks flew, a pair of longswords colliding in front of him. His, humble, biting into the edge of the man opposite, ornate outside the means suggested by the brigandine on his torso. [color=goldenrod][i]Trophy, probably.[/i][/color]

A clarion call to glory from Dame Serenity and flying mass to their right, snapping them out of the bind as the dark shape of a stricken hound crashed into the man at the latter's flank. His foe leapt into the open space, [i]oberhau[/i] sailing towards his collar, his neck, the temple beneath his sallet.

The swordplay was taking him. Nothing new.

A chill of frost, unseasonable in the summer night. Sharpness on the wind at his back. He responded in kind, crushing distance with the same strike to defend, resetting the prior exchange. Habitually, Gerard would wind up to [i]ochs[/i] here, lining up the stab down the gorget the moment he felt the blades press into one another.

On the length of his blade, Gerard felt the pressure shift, momentarily, and rise.

It did not see him lost, this time.

In the chaos, the space between breaths was enough to paint a picture. A flash in the mind, his foe mirroring him in that old "kill them quickly" favorite standby— going for the throat in the second layer of the exchange. If they had met when they shared professions, it was probable only athletic gulfs would have earmarked who would be left standing.

He could look further than that.

His body had learned that deeper still, there were third, and fourth.

He wrenched his own higher as he drove in, short edge whipping around as the oncoming thrust skirted along the bar of his crossguard. Both swords hanging, stuck in contact after paired winds, his bearing down over the upper, weak edge of his foe's—

And with nothing but cloth to guard the Boar's legs, the [i]mutieren[/i] found its mark, steel finding the artery of the femur as the bloodsoaked knight forced his strength down.

The body was cold before the rime took him.

[color=goldenrod]"She's right,"[/color] he growled, falling into the wedge behind Sir Nicomede's furious dance of [i]spada[/i] and sleet. Presence was a good thing, but he hadn't time to gawk at keeping a head on the shoulders within his fury. His eyes had already locked upon a straggler, scampering away into the brush and well beyond reach. [color=goldenrod]"The Pigs run their band like a cult— those at the back aren't booking it, they're carrying news! The good hunting's bound to be past the treeline!"[/color]

A lunge to the right, inky blur rocketing to Nicomede's throat as he tore through the line before them—

Intercepted by a cleaving half-moon and a grunt from the Shilagean, as his blade tore through the jaw of the hound, never to close again and spread its curse. Once the initial suprise of what they were capable of wore off, even strong, bewitched dogs were dogs.

As the weight driving behind the very tip of the spear, there were few places that better suited Gerard than here at Sir Nicomede's flank. The four of them would tear through in short, short order.