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

[color=goldenrod]"A [i]geas[/i],"[/color] Gerard repeated warily, finally returned to the earth after a little insistence from Thrinax and his sinuous, preternaturally flexile tail. The mighty dragon, such as it was, was far from hurt by any of them, but he'd been quite committed and insistent in his own right— real [i]damn[/i] determined to get through the ruby scales with something that'd really leave an impression.

But they'd done it, all else aside. Wherever they'd been found wanting, they'd locked in and won the day, shoring up their perceived gulfs in mettle. He still held the thunderhead opinion that holding any such doubts was grounds to be told to go shove it, but it was clear now that it'd only belabor a dead point. His voice was ragged as the aftermath of his little stunt set in, too. No damn way he wanted a [i]cake[/i] right now, he wanted a flagon of cider and a long rest.

To say nothing of dealing with a capital-W Witch throwing around words straight out of his childhood superstitions. In one respect, you could say it might be the other end of this chance to meet storied heros you grew up hearing tell of. But mercenary suspicion at offered deals cut under a [i]lot[/i]. Much of it more amenable than this, at that.

[color=goldenrod]"Isn't that a bit heavy-handed? I know the tale of the Hound. I don't mind the secrecy around the founders and Demonbreaker, but [i]geasa[/i] end worse more often than they end better."[/color]

The young wolf planted his sword into the soft Earth and leaned onto it, breath measured and slow. He wasn't in much [i]effective[/i] position to refuse, but he knew his wasn't going to be the [i]only[/i] dissenting voice. He saw no reason not to at least say something.