Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Lost in the Blizzard - A village Torn

Meanwhile, the Sargent has rallied a few of them men, that were outside the town's hall. Ten in total, far too many to be handled. He shouts an order, though the words would not ring true in the ears of those inside, it was certainly an attack order. The men within his command would start towards the inn, giving them only a few seconds to escape.

Meanwhile, the mass of reinforcements finally reach the southern gate. It was far too late to search more buildings, soon a mass would be upon them.

"Ah!" Ivan exclaims as he was given the torn bit of cloth. He examines it for a brief nano-second before shoving into his pocket for later. "Thank you very much. But anyway, we're heading to the West gate with any other survivors. If we can find this 'Tarben' fellow, then we can all make it out of this alive." Ivan unslings his bow from his shoulder and readies an arrow on it. "Let's go."

Meanwhile, alongside Drake of Sundermill, Boris runs at full sprint towards the village! Dodging trees, leaping over logs, ducking beneath branches. "I've got an idea, but it requires a few tons of pure Oc power!" he exclaims, sprinting like a madman through the brush and the snow. He's quick, for a big man, but of course he has a lot of reason to move quickly!

The sound of hooves would be heard from the town, coming in from the north. And they were coming fast.

She nods and holds firmly onto the book bundle. She hopes, that they'll be able to find Tarben before the others do. Leaving him in the village would be unbearable. She nods toward Horace's body. "I know it would be problematic, but can we bring him? Bury him?" she asks with a voice only high enough for him to hear her.

"Um..." Ivan pauses and looks at Horace's horribly burnt body. He could also feel his last meal begin to emerge from his throat, but holds it in as he was still wearing a hauberk. He gulps and looks back at her. "I'm afraid not. Perhaps in a time when this village is unoccupied, then we could take him. But now... it's better we don't..." Ivan advises her.

The Militiamen within town start to approach the building from the front. They can be seen from one of the windows, the Sargent baring a spear. Yet they move slowly, snow still a factor in their motion, and still quite thick.

From without the inn, frozen in his own caution and anticipation, Tarben would discern the sounds of the conflict within.
At the very least, he would note the crashes emanating from there inside of the walls.

As the Sergeant storms out in his defeat-induced rage, the boy would hold himself tense and without breath, presuming instead that the soldier had been victorious, alongside his companion, and that the woman was all ready growing cold. Due to the silence in the inn, it was not illogical of him to assume such a thing.

However, now he begins to think of himself only, his concern for Kalliope fading- she was dead now, after all, was she not?
Or so he believes.
Looking to the West, he would descry the unoccupied gates.
Were he to hasten, he would have some opportunity for survival in making his way from there, and he could perhaps flee quickly enough to lose any mail-clad pursuers.

These were the woodlands of his fathers, and of his fore-fathers. These were their tundras.
His father had taken him hunting in them many times before, as had Ymir following his interest in the General Store's proprietor's daughter.

From the debris he selects a small timber plank, a sort of impromptu cudgel, and he would clutch it to himself as he breathed heavily through his nostrils.
After inhaling deeply several times, as though in preparation, he would dart from his cover, heading towards the West gate.

His feet leave deep imprints in the snow, and his face and ears would become red, filled with heat for the raking winter winds.
Every three paces is a breath drawn, and then released, and his heart would pump in rhythm to the departed moments, every second met with the expectation of whizzing arrows and a bloody death...

She looks from Horace and back to Ivan.She shakes herded lightly, to get the sight of Horace out of her mind. She then takes a deep breath, deciding to fight with this man.. Ivan. She also decides that now would be the perfect time to stop looking back. "Okay." she says. "Let's go."

Suddenly, the roar of thunderous hoof steps becomes much more apparent, and obvious. Boris has by now, started to shout, as the oxen have come quite close to running them over! He nears the Northern wall of the settlement, and leaps, higher than a man his size should be able, managing to actually grab a hold of the top of the ten foot wall. An impressive feat, to say the least!

His plan seems to come to fruition, as the Oxen now plow into, and then through the wooden barrier. The Militiamen within are caught off guard, and attempt to flee towards the Southern gate. Yet, most of them are plowed over by the angered oxen. This allows Tarben, a moment to flee, as they redirect their course towards the southern path, strait out the gate, and into the bulk of the reinforcements, leaving their entire battalion in disarray, and panic.

Boris pants heavily, clasping onto the wall. He looks down, to see he is held up only by the compressed weight of the other boards.. Which, doesn't hold up. The wall collapses, after the Oxen are clear of it, and Boris falls back into the Snow. He calls out loud, "New gate! This way!" to anyone who would listen - His voice would perhaps be recognized, by long term residents of the village.

The thunder of hooves and the trembling earth, along with the destruction of the barrier wall, frighten the boy.
Rather, they terrified him. In such anxiety, when every rustling leaf was heard so keenly, as though explosive in its symphony, the crash and the thrumming sensation beneath his feet pierce his heart as an icicle.
But he proceeds as he is, simply continuing to run, driven by fear and black hope... and then he is free.
Is he not...?

At that moment when Boris jumped onto the wall, Drake had took a hard right at the front of the gate and climbed up a tree, not very far up to say the least. He jumped back down when the oxen had entered the village his armor clinking loudly upon hitting the ground. He looks at the village, being ravaged by the oxen. "...that was a bit of a deathly decision don't you think?"

Boris throws up a hand in dismissal, "More effective than rocks. Look at 'em scurry!" he says with a gesture towards the dumbstruck militiamen, scrambling about the village for safety, as a few stray oxen seem keen on running around in circles and teasing them.. And, also bowling them over.. And stepping on them.

Boris catches a glance at Tarben as he bolts through the west gate. He utters a sharp whistle and waves to the boy - after all, he was quite familiar with Ymir, and Yetta. He would have considered them both as friends. So it's no surprise he recognizes Tarben, "Hey! This way!" he starts toward him, swinging an arm up over his head, to gain his attention, "There ain't no one out there boy!"

Ivan suddenly flinches as the herd of Oxen ravages the wall and the militiamen. Of course, he wasn't there to see it, but he could definitely hear it. He didn't no exactly what that calamity was, but his thoughts suggest to him that he should get out of here as soon as possible. "C'mon! This way!" Ivan whispers as walks to the backdoor of the Inn, awaiting Kalliope to follow him.

She takes a table cloth and the book bundle, a bit shaken by the sudden ox-attack. But hey, anything that can get her out works just fine for her. She runs out the backdoor never to far away from Ivan to hear his next command.

Ivan unfortunately has no idea how to get out. He knows he has to travel to the West gate, but he's unsure if there would be other militiamen occupying said gate. "This way." He whispers to her, as he heads to his right, hopefully to find some form of direction west.

She walks after Ivan, looking anxiously around her, making sure no one is chasing her. She stays behind Ivan, making herself less visible from the front. "This might be an inappropriate time, but where are we going?" she whispers.

Boris' heard of Oxen left a large hole in the northern fence. This might actually be a quicker, safer escape, rather than taking the west gate (At least, within better sight) From the place they stand now, they would likely see Drake, his armor quite apparent in this environment, due to its shininess. Boris would be moving towards the West gate, to intercept Tarben - so he could be heard calling to him, from where he currently is.

"Boy! Run this way! Have you honey in your ears?!" cries Boris to the young man, waving his arms as he chases after him to gain his attention.

The Militiamen are in disarray, but starting to recover. They were at full number now, so further attacking them would be impossible with such a small group. Boris will soon retreat North. His dog, Chauncey, finally makes a return, Woofing up into the air as he comes back to his master's heel. Good dog.

The blood pounds in his ears as he continues to sprint.
It is loud, as though the beating of drums, or the call of dragons, and still he runs...
And then, over the chorus of the rushing winds of the tundra, and over the thundering noise of his own fright, he could discern Boris' summons.

His flight is paused for only a second, and his entire half-bloodied form is frozen as he looks to the rotund silhouette that moved towards him, himself standing in such utter contrast to the ice and the snow.
It was the wildman, the hunter.
Tarben was familiar enough with him, at least so that he knew the Ymir was fond if him.

A raspy breath rolls out from over his tongue, feom deep within his lungs, and were anyone near enough they might not be capable of detecting whether it was a sigh of relief or merely an overdue exhale.


Yet, soon the butcher's boy corrects his course to meet the Ymir's friends.
"Huntsman, what- what...?", comes his confused inquiry, though Boris could easily miss it due to how quiet are his words and how garrulous his respirations.

Boris shakes his head at the boy, exerting a thick, gloved finger in the direction of Drake, but more specifically the northern direction he stands upon, "Don't tarry boy, keep heading that way! Go with the Knight, I'll be behind you in a moment!" He says with an affirming nod, waiting only a second for his response before he bounds towards the freshly destroyed hole in the wall, where he utters then a diliberate whistle and a wave towards Ivan, and the other survivor, "Let's go! This way!" He cries before doing as he said he would, darting northward before he could catch the immediate attention of the confounded militia.

He looks at the boy, he looks rather panicked, but what would you do if you were town with nothing but people and animals which want to maul you? "Well, come on! We have to go!" Seeing as the entire village is still filled with oxen, he takes off his helmet, whistles loudly, and puts his helmet back on. Suddenly, a dark brown mule can be seen darting through the trees and snow, wearing a thin layer of chain mail, and carrying large travel bags, with some pieces of drying meat stitched onto the tops of the bags. It stops infront of them, Drake grabs it's reigns and begins jogging to the Northward Village.