Did an overview as well.
Cecilia: Archers were always valuable in any military cohort, and Franz's Faceless were no different, snapping up any where they showed interest regardless of persona. As such, Gerard finds Cecilia to fall quite neatly into the familiar role of "mouthy, sometimes lazy backliner", though he couches such descriptions in the spirit of intra-company banter and stereotype. Her ability with the bow is no joke, and thus far her penchant for petty thievery and mischief hasn't earned her any real ire— if she's nicked something from him, she's made sure it wasn't of import first. He can appreciate that, just as he appreciates having her watching over he and his fellows in the vanguard.
Renar: Going beyond their shared commitment to training? It's hard to believe the wealth of dirty tricks Renar's worked out, and Gerard's erstwhile line of work saw underhanded tactics as the name of the game. There's really no end to the devious stratagems and gambits spinning away in the head of the "Bastard of Brias", and each one is made in the name of stacking the odds most heavily in his favor— a merciless drive Gerard can't help but respect. Not only is the man's unfettered will to earn glory and legitimize himself a daring dream in the vein of Gerard's own, but on a much, much simpler level... Renar gets it. You've gotta do what you've gotta do. Whatever danger his plans may involve, and whatever disagreements they may politely nurse on ideals like chivalry and a proper, knightly image, Sagramore trusts Renar's judgement with his life.
Shanil: To be blunt— Gerard had never met an elf in his life until he joined this order. His impression of them had grown out of a heady mix of childhood fables from the border to Velt, bawdy drinking songs he'd long learned to take with the next month's shipment of salt, and rumors and campfire stories passed around his corps, usually taken with the next two. When he first encountered Shanil, he found her to be... hard to read, beyond the surface. Beautiful like the stories, sure, and seeming to be haughty like the scuttlebutt... yet, not exactly so. Too melancholy was the air that hung about her, and it reminded Gerard of the curt brusqueness he'd come to learn he possessed in speech, a carelessness of the tongue stemming from a mind that had seen much. She's made it clear he's not allowed to pry further, and he respects it, content with letting her be hard to read so long as he can count on her as a comrade.
Tyaethe: The First and Youngest is in her own right a legendary figure within and without the Order, and as such is due all respect. Hailing from an age when men cracked mountains, Gerard simply weathers whatever indifference she has for him and his capability, seeing her two hundred years of experience as a valuable perspective to listen for— and moreover, a summit to reach. While he implicitly understands it's a rare threat he'll meet that she can't handle, no real knight would sit by and let someone else, vampire or no, take care of things forever. Additionally, while he quickly managed to dampen Reon's taught opinion on vampirism after a little logic to the tune of "she's faithfully served this order as a Paladin of Lady Mayon, you know this", he's quite spooked by the idea of having his blood drank—a hypocrisy he doesn't acknowledge, given how freely he would spill it to spill more of an enemy's.
Gerard: His own worst enemy, a man to be cast into the hellish flame of training's crucible and hammered into better, more proper shape by learning's watchful eye. Gerard sees himself for exactly what he is— a farmer turned mercenary, learning only now what it means to be a knight, cutting above the grim trade he plied before with true virtue and dignity, with Justice and perhaps even Honor. He must do all he can to be a good, proper student, and weaponize the skills that got him here to their fullest while he learns everything else. Fierce, Rageful, and No Longer Expendable, he navigates the battlefield on the edge of his blade— and it can only get so far on its own.
Lucas: Something like a little brother. A very eager one, at that, always seeking to mimic and follow Gerard's lead. The man honestly doesn't know what to do with him, despite being the second-eldest of four siblings on his homestead— the younger sisters always found their little ways of keeping his head from getting too big, whereas Lucas seems to exist in adulation of him. If anything, it disquiets the same man who knows how to blink away sprays of blood and bone: for all of Lucas's natural agility, dexterity, and potential, trying to fight like Gerard would get him killed before long. He's tried to impress upon the younger man to play to his strengths and dial back the effusive praise he (in his mind) doesn't deserve, but it doesn't seem to be working.
Fionn: A man after his own heart, and proof his dream, in some way, is no lie. Fionn's extensive mercenary background and tireless honing of skill and strength forged a fast commonality and friendship between the pair, being one of the few knights the younger truly loosens up around. If Fionn can survive, make merry, and keep his past where it belongs, than surely Gerard can manage the same, if not even more. Interestingly, the Veltic man also seems to be a natural counterweight to him— a devout Mayonite rather than Reonite, a patient fighter who would rather work off the counter and wait for the right opening rather than force one onto his opponent, a protector to shield the innocent rather than a furious sword raised against the wicked. That balancing force might prove crucial, and Gerard's happy he's found it in a friend.
Fanilly: Unproven. Hell, unknown. Gerard's opinion of Fanilly is that of a patient, cautious hire, waiting to get an idea of how his new boss operates. He of course has full respect for her office, and will ultimately follow whatever orders the Knight-Captain doles out with full focus on their objective, but he can't see the point of the tradition that anointed her to begin with. To exacerbate matters, he regularly needs to check his observations against those of Serenity, a truly unforgiving voice in his ear.
Fleuri: If the image of the aspirations Gerard holds must be chosen among the Knights of today, Fleuri would doubtless find himself a frontrunner. The son of House Jodeau ticks all the boxes— a gallant and courageous fighter, a devout Reonite having squired beneath a Paladin, and loyal to the cause without question, upholding virtue with a cool head atop his hot blood. Someone worth watching very closely. A Knight Exemplar if there ever was one, Gerard sees only Fleuri Jodeau, Knight of the Iron Rose— The Flower of the North must be a shackle whose binds the man has shaken, lest the Black Regiment shackle Gerard.
Serenity: Polished and razor-keen everywhere you could think to ask, Gerard was initially quite shocked at how well the young noblewoman handled herself in the early bouts they shared after his recruitment into the Order, faultlessly honed skill belying her youth and navigating the gulf between his experience and hers. Had he any more an ego, his pride might have stung at the thought of trading exchange for exchange with one so blue-blooded and "untested", but he felt the weight and breadth of her training. It's as undeniable as the bruiser's bulging on her knuckles— Just as Renar, her drive is to be respected. Just as Fleuri of House Jodeau, Serenity of House Arcedeen is in the running for an image of what knighthood is meant to be. She even takes it a step further than the Reonite— offering cues and corrections on the finer details of the new station Gerard finds himself in, every now and again. Familiar enough with the type of dry, acrid wit she appreciates from his past, Gerard sees these small charities for what they are, and makes every effort to be a diligent student.
Morianne: The troubadour is in many ways an oddity to Gerard, weaving magic through the air with the medium of music and carrying what seems to be an attempt at weaponizing a lute. He understands well that the realms of the arcane are beyond his ken, however, and is hard-pressed to deny the unique rushing strength her spells can impart upon him— whatever cutting words she might launch his way, he's spent six years filtering out. In this case, it's nice that they'd be coming from a force so game-changing for infantry like him. No doubt about it, whatever personality she may have, she's kept her role here far longer than he has.
Katerina: The healer, the chef, more than likely the most crucial cog in the machine of any expedition save the captain herself, Gerard can overlook far more than an unfamiliar accent and penchant for black comedy. Katerina is someone who is in all respects a lifesaver— and Gerard knows without a shadow of a doubt that he has a responsibility to not give her fits in that. The food would suffer if she was mad at anyone. Beyond that, she's agreeable and forthcoming, if at times stubborn— nothing he'd have the right, let alone desire to complain about. His regard for her roles can't be overstated. He knows firsthand just what her grim punchlines feel like when people like her aren't around.
Hope: Confusing. Not just because he's a man in spite of his ethereal, almost waifish beauty, but also more fundamentally so— his mother hen routine runs aground against the rocky coasts of everything Gerard has learned to do. A man of action, work, and adrenaline, Gerard sees this dreamlike state of contemplation and demureness that Hope almost floats through life with as unfortunately ill-founded in combat, where decisive action and quick reaction is key. Atop this, Gerard's internalized expendability leads him facing danger head-on for victory's sake, which lies in direct opposition with Hope's patience and care. He understands readily the good soul Hope has, and holds the many kindnesses in high regard... but is quietly flummoxed whenever he's their recipient. It ought to be something worth moving past. Maybe that's on him.
