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

She nods and looks toward Horace. She's glad that she has closed his eyes, now he just looks more asleep. She has never been very superstitious, but she wouldn't be able to think about him just lying on the tavern floor. "We should take him with us. Bury him." she says, and looks back up at Tarben. Knowing that they may have to play dead again, she dips her fingers in the blood and hold them up next to Tarben's neck and shoulders. "May I?" she asks.

(I offer my condolences. I'm so sorry to hear about the funeral)

"Then it's settled then." He picks up a rock the size of a person's head. "More rocks!" He hurls it over the town wall, hoping for it to hit something, or someone on the other side.

Boris stares at Drake, wide eyed as he hurls the large, obvious stone over the wall. The three would not be able to see, the end result, but they would certainly hear it - a loud, echoing crash as the rock plummets through the weakened roof of some wooden structure, and then through something else within. The unsettled mutterings of the militiamen inside could be heard, but not understood, from this distance. Yet they sound as if they are coming closer, a small group of them.. Though pieces of roofing having a delayed collapse had happened before, so they weren't quite as on edge as it would have seemed.

Boris ambles over towards the wall quickly, but doesn't head to the gate entrance. He edges along the wall to the north, certain that such an action would be the death of him, or his companions.

----

Within the wall, the two survivors would likely have the Most insight on this predicament, as the rock comes crashing through the roof, and plummets through a wooden, a mere three yards away from Tarben. Through the window, if they were to look, they would note a total of six men now approaching the tavern, looking around strangely. They speak to one another:
"What was that?"
"I don't know - Maybe Yaspen was right about there being something in there."
"Yaspen was right about something?" the man chortles, "That's a first."
The second many replies with a similar cackle, "Aye." he turns towards the gate and calls out, "Yaspen!..."
No answer.
The third man interjects, "It could have just been another piece that fell from the roof."
The second soldier still looks at the gate, increasingly concerned the longer Yaspen goes without answering. Of course, he never will answer, since he was killed moments ago.
The soldier says again, diverting his path towards the gate, "Yaspen? You'd better not be asleep."
The other soldiers follow him towards the gate, with the exception of one, who stands a few steps away from the tavern's entrance, and watches them from a distance.

"Well, something happened." He whispers, hearing the faint footsteps near the gate. "Okay, they're coming, we need to direct their attention to other side of the road or the guard house, and from there we can either stick their bums with arrows or creep in. How's that sound?"

His pupils seem to dilate further upon realizing her designs, and even in the dark of the tavern she could perhaps witness as they enlarged so as to nearly corrupt what little colour they had not yet stolen. His eyes would seem near-black, and a gleam of frightened repulsion would register there in the deep stygian in conflict with the acquiescence of understood necessity.

His chin would cant after a curt motion, and he would present to the scholar whatever region she sought to lay over and rubricate.

And then, as though descended from the heavens, or perhaps cast from Gehenna below for all the accursed evils that would follow the event of its landing- a stone!
The thunderous crash of the boulder and the bold cracking of the charred timbers is enough to send the boy to the side in a panic!
He could feel as the dust and the ash rose up in release, as this behemoth rock berates the floorboards for their weaknesses, and this of course does little to aid the poor man's terror.
In fact, in terrible and unfortunate fact, he would release a loud and sudden yelp at the moment of its impact.

"They have found us out!", he would mourn in a stricken whisper, after having remained intensely quiet in the aftermath of his unintentional, abrupt outburst.

She places the less bloody hand on his cheek and looks him in the eyes. "Listen to me, Tarben. We're both afraid. It's okay." she gently strokes his arm to calm him down. "What we'll do is to play dead. I'll lie down here, and you should lie down close to me, so it looks like we were killed together. Get as close to te blood pool as possible and try lying facedown that way they won't see your eyes. Try breathing shallow." she says. She gently lies down again, listening to the outside. She wants to be ready, in case someone comes in.

Boris looks to Drake with wild eyes, "Are you mad? These aren't goblins; they're men!" he says in a hushed exclamation, "And there are probably a lot more of them. No more rocks!" he looks to Ivan for some support, in his claim.

Meanwhile, the militiamen start to exit the gate. There were four of them, and a fifth hanging behind near the tavern. The group would not separate from this point, making them a solid threat if the party were to be spotted.

Boris goes prone against the wall and points towards the gate, as the men exit, lowering his voice further, "See? We can't just slip past that - Your armor is too shiny." He says to Drake, "Yours is too loud." He says to Ivan, "And I'm too fat." he says with a stiff nod. He looks up at the gate, and narrows his eyes, "Though.. This fence ain't but two men high.. Maybe one of us can go over it, while the men are at the gate?"

He looks at Boris. "Um..." Ivan's eyes widen and he gulps as more of the militiamen swarm out of the gates. He'd thought things would go a little more a smoothly than he expected. Without much to talk of now, Boris interjects as how they'd go about in this. He was by no means the best climber, but he thinks himself appropriate for this. "My armour may be loud but it isn't heavy." Ivan proclaims to them. "Drake's armour looks more heavy than mine. And you Boris... well..." He pauses and clears his throat as an indication of what he was originally going to say.

Boris looks down to his gut, then up to Ivan again. He sets his bow on his back and locks his fingers together, dropping down to one knee, "Get in, find survivors, lead them out the West gate, and tell them to meet in the woods North of the village." He sends a glance to the Knight, "You do what you do best. Get those soldiers away from the gate, so any survivors can make a quick escape to freedom. I'll head North, so they'll have someone to converge to. If you run into trouble.." he glances thoughtfully to both of them, "Whistle.. Whistle real good." he says with a nod to Ivan.

"Gotcha'." He picks up another small boulder from nearby, crawls out the bush, stands up, and chucks it at the nearest militia man, unsheathing his shield and short sword there after, and begins running into the snowy forest at full speed.

(edited due to invalidity(idea already said))

(One moment)

Boris shakes his head at the bravado of the man, "Boy's gonna hurt himself," he mutters, slapping his knee once and again, holding his hands out for Ivan.

The militaman is struck in the face with the rock, sending him onto his back, though he would quickly amble back up to his feet. The five men (including he who remained behind) chase after him, spears raised and leather boots stomping through the snow, "Get back here!" one of them shouts, hoisting his spear up to throw - He launches the object towards the man's back, though he is not entirely skilled. Thus, it would not be unlikely for the projectile to miss. However, it is likely the men will catch up to Drake. Though less trained, they are equally conditioned, and wear lighter armor.

Ivan examines Drake's determination and willingness to fight, giving the militiamen a good distraction as they chase after him. He snaps out of his trance and looks at Boris. He nods. "Da, I'll see you soon." Ivan without hesitation places his foot on Boris' interlocked hands and hoists himself up the gate. The armour added to the difficulty of hoisting him up, but he manages to get up regardless.

He lands in the interior of the wall and looks around, attempting to weigh his options on what to do. "Okay... find survivors, lead to west gate, head north, got it!" He revises as he continues looking around for where to go.

From this point, he can see the back, of the inn which is host to the only known survivors. To his right, is the tattered residential area - It looks the least promising, as one of the most thoroughly burnt. Just to the right of the inn, but still in front of him, is the burnt barn, which was once used as a library. The other side of town is across a square, which is now home to ten or so curious soldiers, who look to the Western gate, at the sudden charge of their Cohorts. Yet, they remain in position. The tavern host a back door, that would lead behind the bar, to the storage area, filled with kegs of ale and mead.

There is no window from here, so he could not see in, but perhaps the back door of the inn was a fair start.

Meanwhile, Drake is almost out of breath, he decides to stop, turn around, and take defensive stance, with his shield raised. "Come at me, ya scoundrels!"

The five men stand before the Knight. They have less training than him, certainly - Most are just doing this for coin. Yet, their numbers may prove them much more formidable. They are in no formation, so the one who simply happened to be the fastest strikes first - Charging in, spear forward, attempting to drive it home into the Knight's armor.

The second is only a few yards behind, two tailing a few more yards behind, and the one struck with a rock before.. He's got a way to go, before he'll catch up.

With little options to go about in, he thinks it best to check the Inn first. That seemed to be the most plausible option as it seems less damaged than the rest. He quickly makes his way to the backdoor and slowly opens it, expecting a surprise attack of sorts.

Ivan enters the inn's back room.

This particular room has been mostly untouched, the kegs within it still in tact, and the walls still up. In front of him, is an open doorway, leading further into the room, where he would see the barman, lying burnt, dead, and bloodied - As well as the two civilians, still working on their 'play dead' routine. (Leaving this up to them)

The boy would shudder at the cold touch of Kalliope's dripping appendages, but he would heed her as she addressed him.
Indeed, he was scared, and fear seemed to be the only logic left to him in this moment, as though he were some smaller prey whom sensed their timely-untimely death near at hand.

As she lays herself to the floor, so would he make to follow suit.
Horace's icy lifeblood clings to the front of his tunic, spreading its hue through the materials, and it seeps into the gold of his hair and stains his face. To him, it seemed as though this blood were a sea, rising up and arcing over his head in waves. It filled his nostrils, flooded through the spaces betwixt his teeth, and darkness came into him.
Yet it is only the sensation, and so he would remain still as the corpse he mimicked, and his breathing would steady until it seemed there was no breath to stir...

And then he would hear Ivan's entrance.

As Ivan enters, she starts to make her breath more shallow. It becomes almost invisible, but her shaking can still be spotted with a trained eye. She tries a new technique, were she would think about all the things in the room, as if she can lead the attention away from them. She fight the urge to peak at the intruder, and keeps her face facing the floor.