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

[color=goldenrod]"Heh,"[/color] unseen but doubtless heard, a smirk played across the Reonite's slashed face, sharing the good humor through (or perhaps in light of) the sorry states both men had allowed of themselves. Hearing his redder counterpart drag himself to his feet was a good sign— often, as the rush of wartime settled down and fled the body it took one's strength and balance along for the ride when dealing with a broken limb. In his own right, Gerard tended to find himself plagued by the headaches of a starved man, as though fatigue came crashing down upon his skull all at once.

The solution to both ends, of course, was keeping yourself moving, keeping yourself talking. He shuffled forward at a pace he could keep steady, moonlit blade at the ready to confirm those that had passed beneath Mayon's gaze, and to bring her mercy to those that may have yet suffered. His response carried the same jesting lightness, but a firm element beneath— declaration of intent as much as it was everything else.

[color=goldenrod]"[i]Cavaliere, amico[/i]. Won't be long."[/color]

You picked your share of words up, following whichever winds smelled like coin.