[@jdh97][@Psyker Landshark][@VitaVitaAR] [color=goldenrod]"Of course not."[/color] he reassured. [color=goldenrod]"I wouldn't dare neglect one chance for another."[/color] Beyond that, preparations were swift. A few more knights split themselves amongst the four fronts, filing in behind the leaders with simple, brief words of assent. Just as well— any internal conflict on the ensuing front would create needless tension within their ranks, and potentially spoil the dominating victory that lied ahead. But Knights were professional even in the face of certain misgivings— none he himself held or knew any to hold against him, but those more plainly observed in his peers had been quelled in the face of imminent action. They broke through the tree line once more, bandit camp now in sight. High above, Ter's iridescent wings fluttered, a spot of azure against the dimming orange sky that kept watchful eye upon the positions of their fellows and awaited the magical signals from their back lines, just as Sir Jerel had asked of him. While he was no falconer, Gerard found himself impressed by the obvious intelligence Ter seemed to display— it was a more complex command than "hunt for voles". It required more abstraction, by his reckoning, for the frame of mind for a bird of prey. But he could ask such questions later. For now, everything should be in position. All that was left was the signal. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle to come. For a moment of silence, the proverbial calm before the storm, there was a profound stillness in the now-night air. Despite neither having the eyes of Ter high above nor Tyaethe on the opposite flank, the roaring bonfire provided ample illumination for Sagramore to take in the encampment, take in his foes. Bandits, Jeremiah's army, milled about a coven of makeshift huts, tents, and other rudimentary, disposable or portable structures. They were unaware of what was to come, and upon the glorified chair of oak overlooking the bonfire, supposedly their "King"'s throne, there was nothing. Presumably he was amongst them. Perhaps near the rightward flank? [color=goldenrod][i]Should we be so lucky.[/i][/color] He saw a familiar sight upon their axes. Their spears. Their swords. Their sickles. Their armor. Their faces. Their hands. Blood. That blood he knew to be of either innocents, or those who had sworn to protect them. Those whose lives had been taken, were being brutalized, or worse by these unrepentant thugs. He knew well what bandits did to "prisoners" or "hostages"— lawless men saw no barriers beyond, if you were lucky enough to be perceived as "useful", killing you. In spite of himself, young Gellért felt a familiar burning tar where his blood once ran calmly. His grip around the longsword tightened as he returned his search towards the sky— for exactly THAT pinprick of light. [color=goldenrod][i][b][url=https://youtu.be/YqAqa0f8WN4]"Előre!"[/url][/b][/i][/color] With the roar of "forward" in his native tongue, punctuated by Ter's cry from high above, the coal-haired night threw himself fully towards the camp, steel ready to bite deep into all opposition and his fellows following swiftly behind, just as he knew Tyaethe's were upon the other end of the camp. Forget hammer and anvil— his full intent was to [i]hammer[/i] them from both sides. And should this Jeremiah show his mug within the reach of his blade, Segremors would waste no time in carving the title he so pompously adorned himself with right into his vulgar hide.