[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

For a moment, the veil of moonlight about her was lifted, and her eyes in turn seemed to pierce the shadows that veiled his, despite his visor still being very much closed. one last scraping of bone sounded, between the silence, her weapons stowed— a gesture he had after a moment returned, sliding steel back into leather, and stepping away, affording his erstwhile foe a chance to breathe.

Come to think of it... despite being doubtlessly spun thin and delicate, she wasn't quite so small as it had felt, during the exchange of blows. Not quite the waif he had been threatening to shred.

She nodded, barely enough to see, and graced him with a small smile before disappearing on the nighttime wind. Silent as ever, he couldn't claim to be sure of the emotion behind it, only that it felt like some rare privilege.

...

How strange that had been. Still, one thing was undeniable— it could have easily gone a whole hell of a lot worse. He'd take his victory. Who knew? Given someone like Fionn was around, Gerard felt himself entertaining the notion that either his mercy, or his skill in battle had just earned him some strange form of friend.

But, as ever with a victory they all shared, the silence such idle thoughts could fill was quickly cut through, by a friend that was certain.

He jogged over in short order. [color=goldenrod]"New cloak,"[/color] a wry edge crept in as he noted the taller man's trophy, eyebrow raised beneath the helmet. He began to gather the pieces together, only giving a cursory once-over to each— more for curiosity's sake than anything else. There was perhaps some idea that a once-routine scavenger of battles won [i]could[/i] lend some preliminary insights as to everything's condition, but here he didn't see anything leaping right off the steel. Whatever details there were to find, they'd likely need Ardor's expert eye and no less. [color=goldenrod]"Felt like time to upgrade?"[/color]

[@Psyker Landshark][@The Otter]