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

[@Eisenhorn][@VitaVitaAR]

[color=goldenrod]"Stay with me, little one. Bury yourself well in the coat. It's close."[/color] Gerard growled as their hike took them deeper and deeper into the unnatural gloom, an emptying pull in his gullet heralding tension down the back of his neck, hackles raising and senses sharpening. He licked his chops in spite of himself, as he finally [url=https://i.pinimg.com/originals/09/9f/32/099f324c7c9c9a9f616aa35f650f6829.png]donned his helmet anew and drew his sword[/url] as they entered the rest, head on swivel. He as well as any recognized the pangs of inexplicable hunger as they came— And while the white branches of the tree that marked a hero's grave yet caught light, he did too mutter a silent prayer to his patron goddess anew.

The sensation intensified as the blackness deepened and they continued on, until finally they arrived at the site of the attack, taking in the destruction caused by the monster in question with wary eyes. The tree that had once been the Aessyr's home was now a tattered ruin, old belongings strewn about the blackened ground, and of course, no monster in sight... Yet.

Hunger and smelling war at his doorstep. It was much like old times— and as such, his instincts were sharp pins and needles, forcing his visor upward to meet the eyes they all felt upon them.

Impossibly wide maw. Hunger filling the air. Long, spindly, emaciated, big— full of a gluttony that stood as eternal allegorical rival to the storied greed of dragons. It was a good thing he and the little fairy had finished the pastry on their journey— as a growing boy, he had always been told these damnable things would come, and eat the whole village if food was left to waste. He had put the pieces together now.

[color=goldenrod]"Gannek,"[/color] he growled, bringing his blade to bear as it began to descend, the first hand-tipped tendrils creeping out of the depths of its mouth. It was hard to hide the disgust in his voice— boyhood nightmares had become adulthood understandings of the world he lived in. Though an unfinished meal wasn't ever likely to draw one to your homestead, they were very real monsters all the same, and needed to be immediately dealt with as such. [color=goldenrod]"[i]Lovely[/i]. I get to start my day by doing the countryside a service."[/color]

Its approach was steady, but unceasing, heedless of the steel being brough to bear upon it. Though faced a group of three knights, he couldn't help but believe he was being singled out as its first meal. Why might that—

He felt a tug as the Aessyr buried herself as deep as she could into his shoulder... Right. Aessyr, like many seelie fae, were as pockets of raw vibrating [i]life[/i] as much as they could be considered beings of flesh and blood— no more enticing a repast for a demon of gluttony and greed like this. He took a low stance, ready to spring.

He needed to occupy that mouth, and they needed to kill it. Nominally, the best way was to behead these things, but that first required—

The telltale thrum of a heavy bolt sailing downrange finished the thought for him, as Rolan's words  put it to a clear and concise voice. Well, in the thick of it like this, Gerard could shelve his misgivings that the man had doubled back for now— ranged support like his was hard to come by on a good day, let alone one where each time you got close to your target you made a gamble.

[color=goldenrod]"The man's right!"[/color] Gerard affirmed, still unused to hearing his voice ringing inside the steel of his helmet like a horn or bell. Even though it would doubtless regenerate, that first shot had bought them a moment where it needed to deal with a sudden impact to the head— one they could not afford to waste. That branch Sir Caulder had been examining earlier was still close by. [color=goldenrod]"I'll force an opening, be ready!"[/color]

Taking it into his free hand, the gold-eyed knight grunted as he brought the long mass of torn wood to bear and surged forward— meeting the widemouthed beast in the middle of its approach behind the ragged tip of the heavy branch. A strange experience. A mere month ago, this would have at least demanded both hands of him—

Stomping into the earth and driving all the power in his kinetic chain through its length, he used the momentum of his charge to ram the branch into the maw of the beast, driving it up by the roof of the mouth. His plan was simple and intuitive— where the head went, the body needed to follow. This way, he could line up the things gut to be split open by the others. in his right hand, his sword remained at the ready to swipe through any errant hands of shadow reaching too close for comfort.

—when you had spent more than any sane man's lifetime's worth warding off strikes from Cyrus the Hammer in his prime, well.. the scales tended to weigh a little [i]differently[/i] afterward.