The sun dipped, the colours of the world leeching into the sky as the year's final sunset seemed determined to go out with a riot of bright hues. Asher was privately glad for the dark, as it made him feel that his private bloodlust for a certain sergeant might not be quite so obvious on his face. 

Steering Phantom with easy flicks of the leather reigns that queued the horse without ever actually putting pressure on the snaffle in her mouth, Asher rode in between his mounted fighters, offering last-minute tips and words of encouragement, reminding these men and women of their own skill to help them focus when the time came. They were loosely organized in this staging area, but each knew what their orders were. It wasn't just "Slaughter as many Knights as possible and grab what you can on the retreat." Tribes with that kind of smash-and-grab method didn't tend to last long. The Thunderfang fighters were assigned slightly more specific tasks. Distract, focus on higher-ranking officers, cover these other fighters, destroy bridges or gates to prevent Ebonfortions from fleeing before they could be captured, focus on looting from specific buildings to bring back the things worth the most. There was a plan, and even as Asher reminded his underlings of this plan, he knew that if he caught sight of an orange sash...

When shown on a map, the Krawac often appeared as a flat featureless expanse of grass, though it was anything but. There were rolling hills and deep canyons, especially where the waterways had cut down through the crust of the world. There were occasional copses of trees and flooding marshes and dry badlands further south. There were a thousand kind of grass, some so tall that it hid creatures that would put a dragon to shame, and often did. So while it wasn't with ease that the Shadewalkers gave the signal and the Thunderfang Swordmasters began to move the seething mass of horseflesh and armed raiders towards Ruby Banks, but just as the bottom rim of the sun kissed the horizon and the crowds of revelers began to chant, the thunder of hooves began as a low thrum and the screams began.

The attack had truly begun shortly before that, as stealthy mounted bowmen had snuck up on as many distracted patrols as they could manage and silenced them with bow and blade. But the main force arrived in a sort of trident, three main groups focused on the festival grounds. Asher was part of the right-most prong, bloodying his falchion through the neck of a squire as he simply rode past, Phantom's black mane bouncing in front of him as the horse galloped underneath him. Ash's blood was up, his heart thundering in his ears. Civilians were running, screaming, their tents and bonfires and stalls evacuated. Abandoned cooking pits began to belch blue smoke as food started to burn. 

[color=707070]"With me!"[/color] Asher yelled, his voice barely heard above the screaming and the clanging. Two of his fighters, both women, spun their horses to follow him as he charged towards one of the bridges. There were knights everywhere, but every time he lifted his curving weapon to engage, one of his fighters moved in to do it for him. Somewhere behind the fury and the terror, he was proud of how far the warriors had come.

The bridge appeared almost suddenly, and Asher made a mental note to thank the Shadewalkers for their espionage. Many of the bridges were stone, but this one was wooden. [color=707070]"Burn it!"[/color]

One of the fighters, a dog-faced were with one floppy ear, slid down from her saddle and smashed a flask of oil across the well-worn planks. A moment and a flint-spark later and oily orange flame bloomed. Civilians running for the bridge stopped in their tracks and backed up, their faced panicked and pale in the hellish glow. 

Burning the bridge was the first part of the plan. The second was to head back to the festival and take what they could. Turning to his compatriots, grinning, [color=707070]"Go!"[/color] They both smiled and kicked their horses back to the fray, one pausing to haul a young boy up onto her saddle as she passed by.

Asher was about to follow when he heard hoofbeats on the other side of the bridge. Glancing up, he saw the dark shapes of three knights pacing angrily. The bridge was ruined, they could not cross. Not in their heavy armour on their heavy horses. Asher sneered triumphantly, until he noticed the orange sash on one of the knight's arms. The three men turned their horses away and charged back up the river, looking for another way to cross. 

All notion of sense escaped the young Swordmaster. He backed Phantom up a few paces and kicked her hard. The knights couldn't make it across, but Asher could. His stomach flipped as the light warhorse sailed through the air, the heat of the flames barely singing their legs as they flew over the destroyed bridge. [color=707070]"Oof!"[/color] he grunted as they landed heavily on the other side.

[color=707070]"Brynmore!"[/color] Asher screamed, anger and hatred welling up inside him, hotter than the fire, old grief fueling his desperation. [color=707070]"Face me, you murderous dog! You coward! Fight me!"[/color] He wasn't even sure what insults he hurled, seeking only to get the Sergeant's attention so that he could finally, after all these years, kill him. And when the orange-sashed knight turned, peering at him through the slot of his helmet, Asher knew that his moment had come at last.