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

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.

Drake braces himself and blocks the spear with his shield, he tries to slam one of the edges of his short sword onto it, hopefully to chop the spear head off.

The untrained miltiaman does not stop, or pull back, once the spear is blocked. The blade collides with the spear, causing it to recoil - yet it is no broom handle, and it holds up with mostly cosmetic damage. He would continue charging attempting to drive his weight into the knight and knock him over, yet he leaves himself vulnerable to attack.

He tilts his shield upwards, causing the spear to slide up the shield and over his helmet, once that happens, he tries to swing his short sword at the militiaman's legs.

The militiaman lacks the grace, and fluidity to evade the attack. His legs bare no armor, beyond thin leather, so he simply collapses - hi tendons sperated, cannot hold his weight, and he falls face first into the snow, his cries muffled by such.

The second man leaps over the man fallen, bringing his spear up, and attempting to drive it through his armor in a flashy, flying, but not combat effective method.

Ivan looks around the inn. It seemed almost like something he'd see in a warzone. Well... this seems to be almost as relevant to war as it can get. Bodies everywhere, burnt materials, blood. It was all too sickening for him to take in, yet he tries to hold in his disgust. He places a hand on his armoured mouth and attempts to swallow down some vomit. Ivan slings his bow over his shoulder and rushes to Kalliope to check her pulse. He wouldn't bother with Horace as he looks damaged beyond repair. He turns Kalliope over and looks at her, noticing the blood smeared on her face.

As Ivan turns her over, she fights with every single fibre in her body not to move. She manages to take a peek at the man, deciding that he was way to challenge. She doesn't recognize him right away, which of course makes her suspicious. She thinks she saw him wearing armor which equals soldier to her.

Tarben stiffens as Kalliope is turned to her back, which is ironically exactly the effect he desired, and that which was required.

In his mind's eye, he witnesses as the soldier detects life in the scholar's body. And he listens as she screams the throes of death.
And he is indifferent.
His fright turned to instinctive detatchment.
The soldier would surely not see the boy, for he did not shake as she did.
He would survive... He had to.

And yet, reality was returned to him, and Kalliope was not dead.
A slow and quiet exhale stirs the blood that spread about them as wings, his sigh of relief and preparedness.

It didn't take long for Ivan to realise that she's alive due to him checking her pulse and heartbeat. Ivan now knowing she's alive inhales in excitement. He was concerned that all he'd find is the dead strewn about, but not this time. "Hello?" He whispers at her, leaning in close to her face. At this point, he had not taken notice of Tarben quite yet. He wanted to focus on one of them first before moving on to the next.

Drake keeps his shield raised, sheathing his shortsword while blocking the attacks/flailing of the militia man. He picks up a handful of dirt from under the snow and throws it at the militia man, trying to aim for the face.

Even though begging for mercy would be the wisest to do, in instead just open her eyes, staring into his. In case Tarben would be overlooked, she doesn't want him remembering her screaming and crying final moment. She just stares right back into the soldiers eyes.

The militiaman turns his head to the side as the dirt is flung up. Though, the snow is thick, and such was the majority of what was tossed. He ambles backwards to regain his senses, as the two other spearmen charge in from both sides, attempting to stab the Knight from both angles.

He backpedals, keeping his shield raised, constantly looking between the three. He strafes to the right, keeping his shield faced towards the militiamen, he once again unsheathes his shortsword.

The men use some sort of tactic, at least, keeping themselves in a cresent moon shaped formation to hold him at bay, whilst they jab spears from a careful distance, hoping to trip him up, or land a lucky blow. The spear jabs would come from all directions.

Thoughts of flight enter his stilled and quieted mind.
So, too, do thoughts of attack.
This soldier was occupied with Kalliope- perhaps the boy could wrestle him to the death?
He was by no means weak, yet it was quite unlikely he could best the mountain that towered above them.

Still, he could not die without knowing the fate befallen his woman...

Preparing himself, his body tenses, and he would mean to lunge from his bloody bed and gain his feet.
If not hindered, he would flee, hoping to leave Kalliope to what circumstance had been dealt her.
She could hardly fault him, surely?

If all this were allowed, his escape brings him to the stoop, and across from it stands the market he had taken refuge in before.
The warrior would pursue him, he was certain, and the exits were the logical assumption for any pursuer.
He would race to conceal himself amongst the shattered crates and debris.

(Lazy passage is lazy.)

(The attempt was that he would run.
I did not control Ivan, however. I wrote that Tarben thought he would pursue him. He is still under the impression that he is the bad guy.
'The warrior would pursue him, >>he was certain<< , and the exits were the logical assumption for any pursuer.'
That is what I wrote.)

(Note that, by 'attempt', I mean he can be halted at any point in time, by any player.)

((Oh okay, I just wanted to clear things up before I post the wrong post ))

Ivan leans back slightly to give more space for Kalliope. He looks to the left, then the right, then finally back at the woman. "Are you okay?" He asks her in a quiet whisper, trying his best to not sound threatening in the slightest.