| Heartwood Logs |
2000-03-17
| Heartwood |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
Velikii's Night
...slowly, so very slowly, the sky above falls towards the darker shades, as Her light vanishes between the tall mountain ramparts. The cold street-side already seems like forever past, the stains of blood barely discernable upon the hard packed ground. But the truth is that it wasn't long past at all. Not long since Trystan and Roxanna parted company, carrying the shorn Dandelion, at the doorstep of the Atteran Hospice. Brisa and Benedict's path, however, takes them further towards the deepening night, down the long main street past the merchants' tall barn. Even the most stubborn of the town's merchants are finally tearing down their stalls and hoarding away their goods, trade ended this cold harvest day. They look up, and it is with very nervous eyes that they watch the two walk down the street.
Indeed, the streets are very quiet. Extremely quiet, still early in the eve.
From the windows of the Horse and Hart, there comes a shattering of soft yellow light, just beginning to create their own diamond-paned shadows. Pushing open the door finds the commons a quiet bustle, almost stiffly awkward. Barris Ironhand holds fort at the bar, nursing a bucket of deep, rich beer, the Fireball and Raphael sit at the edge of the hearth in low conversation. When Brisa first steps in, the conversation pauses, but just for a moment. It is only after Benedict arrives, and no one else does, that the quiet becomes a silence...
Brisa has no way to sugar coat this... she says calmly and clearly, "Anwynnson is dead by the captain's hand. The captain is in the Atteran temple. Time to arm."
Brisa adds, "I'll be in the barn if you need me." She turns and heads quickly out... she has some preparation to do before the Jvrillians come.
Benedict enters the tavern following Brisa... and just as quickly finds her heading back out. He stands there in confusion for a moment, then grimaces and follows Brisa out, quickly but grimly.
Brisa murmurs to Benedict, "We're going to need to do some preparation... I'll toss hay bales down from the loft, you get water to wet them down, and I'll stack them in the front door. I'll jam the back door and the loft shutters closed. Anything else you can think of we should do?"
Benedict knows what Brisa is thinking of: fire in the barn, set by Jvrillians... "Nothing," he says, "except that you may wish to somehow wet the roof and walls as well. Though... that might not be easy, or possible."
Brisa nods, "I'm hoping even a Jvrillian wouldn't condemn horses to a messy death like that, though. Also, if they try to burn the barn they could potentially burn the nearby buildings as well... that would be very foolish of them."
Brisa says, "And I'm not sure we'll have that much time... but please, go ahead and fill the watering trough?"
Brisa says, "And any buckets you can find too."
Benedict nods, and says wryly, "If the townsfolk wouldn't be angry at them before that." As he goes to find buckets in and around the stable, an idle part of his mind considers why he's getting involved to this extent. Judge Hawthorne's words echo in his mind: pagans die all the time.
Well, Judge, he thinks with surprising (for him) calmness, pagans may die all the time, but so do those of the Imperial faiths. And they both bleed very red blood. Death is death. Hastur, Wise One, Knower of All Things... I hope that what I do is right and proper for the sake of this Truth I have learned of this world. Open my eyes that I might See, open my ears that I might Hear. May my actions be the Truth of my spirit.
I hope I'm doing the right thing.
A heartbeat's silence, as an entire room catches its breath at as one. The rest is like fragments seen in the flash of lightning, fast and sure and sharp as a knife... Kori, of course, is the first to move, vaulting up and dragging her companion along by his tunic... the smash of a goblet falling from hand to floor... Barris still as a dead lake in the middle of winter, his eyes just narrowing... the roll call...Kori... Mikail... Hadrik... Blaze... Cholly..."
A heartbeat and it is gone. Preparations are only begun in the stables before the small passage between the commons and stables literally explodes...
...explodes with a tumble of swordsmen, some dragging on heavy hauberks as they spill into the narrow aisle like a flood of water. A pair immediately starts throwing open the stall doors. The mousy haired one just calls out "Kiara!" and a bay mare noses up a latch and opens her stall door herself.
Brisa nods, relieved. Good, they've done this before. Benedict moves as quick as he can to beside the doorway, letting the Hordesmen reach their horses and get out of the barn.
The mousy mercenary snares a bridle from a hook, and tears down the aisle, his horse ducking her head and meeting him halfway. A second mercenary throws a saddle over her back, reaching low to grab the girth. In fact it's a practiced panic, armor being thrown on, "...Erik, catch!," horse furniture being rapidly thrown upon the sturdy mounts, "...Lharik, ye be ready, mount up. Jared, ye be next..." until there is a clatter of hooves...
A cacophony of action, a swirl of horses and steel. Kiara and her rider bolt out first, ahead of the rest, her rider stretched low, already at a gallop three strides from the barn. Inside the barn hooves pound, bridles are adjusted, girths cinched, spurs jangle and the horses whuffle, nervous. Then, a heartbeat's quiet, and a tall black destrier paces up next to Brisa, its rider looking down, folding his hands upon the pommel of his saddle. Raphael brushes the hair from his eyes, "Are you sure you want to be staying here?"
Brisa tilts her head, smiling wryly and looking up at Raphael, "Don't know where you're going, and I have folks I said I'd be here for still in town."
Raphael looks down, quiet. "You know, lass, this is where the Guard will be expecting to find us, correct?"
Benedict glances quietly at Raphael and Brisa, feeling an odd wrenching within him. Do they go to war on the Jvrillians? he wonders. Raphael's words only confirm what he's been quietly worrying about.
Brisa says dryly, "Somehow I'd guessed that... but past your arming at my news I had -- still have -- no idea what your plans are, or how to best keep my friends safe. I've never been in this town before."
Raphael nods quietly, "The best way to keep your friends safe would be to visit a sick companion at Lady Maris'. However, safe often doesn't mean right. As for us, Koromov doesn't stay the sharpest by doing what's expected. It all depends if Duffy can get through the gates before they lock them down. We ride, because they, knowing that inside the town they out number us three to one, expect that we'll hole up and play tortoise."
Raphael looks to Brisa, "Barris and Kori and a handful are staying here, so we don't totally disappoint the Guard."
Brisa glances at Benedict, "In or out, Benny?"
Benedict blinks to Brisa. Then he takes in a deep breath. Hastur, give me wisd-- oh, blast it. "In, Brisa. What do you need?"
Brisa smiles at Benedict, "Stay safe and out of the fighting, Benny. Make sure someone knows what really happened." She looks at Raphael, "All right. Where's Barris and the others?"
Raphael says, "In the commons for now... think you can make enough trouble for a fullhand?"
Benedict nods shakily, swallowing hard. On the one hand, it's probably a good thing that priests aren't taught to use weapons. On the other, well... there's something to be said for standing with your friends. But Brisa is right. Someone will need to remember the Truth. Hastur knows, after all, while the Judge might be cavalier about pagans' lives, he'll want to know why so many of them had at each other.
Benedict says, "I will. Take..." Take care? Her? She'd be insulted that he felt he had to say that! Or at least he thinks so. "Well. For what it's worth coming from me... fight well, Brisa."
Brisa grins at Raphael cheerfully, "Get out of here, would you? You're going to miss your gate!" She shoulders her gorytus and shield and grins at Benedict, "Of course, Benny. But thank you, that's nice of you to say. So. Things should be exciting soon... let's get inside and get you set up some place out of the way, eh?"
Benedict gives a bit of a wry look, "It's not merely a novice's urge to see excitement, I assure you." He looks to Raphael. "And the same to you and your people, sir." He sighs, and shakes his head to himself as Brisa and he return inside.
Raphael laughs as he spurs his horse forward. "The gate... no, to be where we are not supposed to..." But by then the black horse has carried him out. And in his wake twenty other horses thunder out, leaving a handful but two in the barn. They trample though, and soon the sound of their hooves is lost between the buildings. In his wake there is a single mercenary, one crossbow held jauntily over his shoulder while he carries another, a lighter one, tucked beneath his arm. He just pauses, seeing the barn still occupied.
Brisa nods politely to the remaining merc, but doesn't want to waste any more time getting Benedict under cover. She's more cautious now too... she checks to be sure the folks inside know who's coming in, then gets Benedict inside quickly. If she can she'll have Lame David get Benedict set up someplace protected where he can see... otherwise, just protected will do. For herself, she'll ask where she can be of most use in the upcoming fight.
Benedict will, of course, at least put up some resistance to being tucked away somewhere 'for his own safety.' "We are supposed to find the Truth in all things and events... even at personal risk," he would say. Besides... he must be available, he must see... for whatever Eyes the temple has shall be turned away in scorn and rebuke at the upcoming events.
By the time Brisa steps into the commons hall, it is a changed place. David is nowhere to be seen. The room is dark, the shutters having been slammed closed and the tables moved to block windows and the back doors. Surprisingly, there the front door isn't barred, but there are benches scattered in a pattern before it. Kori and Barris and one other pace quiet within. Behind, a door opens, probably to the kitchen, and a fourth sworder speaks, "Gates closed..."
To that, the short grim mercenary just nods, but Kori smiles a very feral grin. Barris does, however, turn quick, when Brisa enters. His words are gruff and direct. "Guests... or come to lend a sword?"
Brisa tilts her head at Benedict, "Observer. I'm here to lend a sword."
Brisa studies Barris curiously... so this is the man Anwynnson would kill for, and died for, in a sense.
Barris just gives Brisa an even but coldly pragmatic look. "They aren't going to discern the difference. Can he load a crossbow?"
Tall, dark and grim, the mercenary captain casts a long shadow with each long stride. Dark colors fit him well, from his quarter paneled tunics to the spurs upon his polished leather boots. Steel rivets make a martial pattern across his heavy cuir-bouilli hauberk, with plates of black metal matching the sable sheen of his scabbarded longsword.
Brisa raises an eyebrow at Benedict, "Benny, you sure you want to stay? Don't risk your life needlessly, lad."
Benedict says dryly, "To observe, to watch, to record the Truth... if nothing else, I have to do that. If it's the only way I can help, then so be it."
Brisa smiles at Benedict, then turns to Barris again, "So be it. Tell him what you need doing."
Barris crosses his arms as he listens to Benedict and when Benedict is finished Barris returns his attention to Brisa, "Mind translating that into simple Colonial?"
Brisa looks around, checking angle of fire... she'd like to get up a bit higher than the others if possible, so she can fire her bow without risk of hitting friends... she looks back at Barris, "Eh? He wants to stay. All I have is a recurved bow and a sword, and he can't reload that... so it would be best if he reloaded your crossbows, da? So tell him where you need him."
Barris says, "You saw Cholly in the barn? Join him in the loft, lad. You, lassie? Take Dave's place behind the bar, and use the bow when they come through the door." He pauses then, turning to the back of the commons. "Hadrik, back up top. They'll take a moment, to gear up at the Bar and Fire. But then... then they'll be here... soon.""
Brisa nods to Barris, gives Benedict an encouraging (and gentle) slap on the back, and shifts to a position behind the bar.
Benedict sighs to himself, and nods quietly to Brisa. He follows the mercenary's instructions, heading up to the loft to join Cholly. He manages to get a position by the front loft window, which gives a clear view of the commons.
At the Horse and Hart the waiting begins...
Meanwhle, within the Atteran Hospice, a torn Dandelion has been carefully laid out upon a straw tick, the tick covered with soft white cloth. White cloth that is too quickly stained pink, as the sodden bandages slowly leak. Beside the mercenary Lady Maris kneels, her face sharp, as she investigates the deep wound. "Lowvine... prickleroot, the dousing of marinsbane, Lady Roxanna... they are on the cupboards there... that and a needle and thread..."
Roxanna fetches the requested ingredients. "This is worse than I usually try to heal without a spell, milady. I hope she'll be all right."
Roxanna is watching alertly, helping and remembering any new techniques that Lady Maris uses that her old mentor hadn't yet taught her.
Maris nods quietly, "She does watch over her, you know, even if this one can't feel our Lady's touch. But she isn't going anywhere for quite a while. Look here... hold tight... I'll need you to keep her from bleeding to death while I sew her back together. That's what the marinsbane is... stops the blood." Lady Maris pauses, snaring the lowvine, then reaching under the bandages she slowly begins to massage the salve in. In its wake the mercenary captain's breath slows, becoming a bit more even and less jagged. "If her breath slows more, I need to know..."
Roxanna nods. "Too slow is dangerous, aye."
Maris shakes her head as she begins her work. Her words are dry and laced with a little bitterness. "Growing up, of course they teach a noble lady seamstressing and needlework..."
Roxanna says, "Wouldn't know about that, milady. I was just a street urchin until Lady Alicia found me."
The elder healer nods, quiet, "They think that's all a woman is usually good for, that and being a wife. Tcha... but you think if you had the brains to break out from that yoke you wouldn't then be stupid enough to pick up a sword. As stupid as the bloody-minded Knights, thinking steel is the answer to every question. Tcha. Then watch, Lady Roxanna, see, short and neat and tight to hold the muscles and such together while they heal... and the prickle root salve to keep them from leaking her life away. Practice on leather you should, thick leather and the frailest suede..."
Roxanna nods, absorbing the instruction even as they fight to save the fighter's life. "I know. Still, the temptation to strike back must be there. I may have ended up that way myself, if I hadn't been shown a better path."
Maris slowly starts her stitches, deep in the wound, patching together torn sinew. "Inside then out, Lady Roxanna. One might think a lady would be smarter than a man, when it comes to striking back... cor... and then consider. If the paths had gone different, this could be you here, and I could be being aided by a Lady Dandelion. Here... look, see this scar... this obviously isn't the first time."
Roxanna nods. "Aye, that much was obvious from the first. I wasn't really too badly tempted, milady. I'm not really big enough to be a fighter even if I had the knack for it."
"See, the bleeding's decided to stop. And she isn't as pale as an Easternling, so I think maybe she's going to live to fight another day." Lady Maris just sighs deep, starting on her next level of stitchery. "Sometime I wonder what the use is, look at this, a third old wound..." She shakes her head, "Lady's mercy, sew them up, patch and heal... just so they can go out and kill each other tomorrow."
Roxanna says, "And I'm afraid we'll have more customers before the dawn. Her people and the Jvrillians hate each other. This will only set them off."
Maris nods to the side, "We'll need the clean bandages." She works on her final stitches, leaving a tight and neat pattern across the lady's stomach. "I know. It will be a long night tonight... even if Sir Kenyonsson decides to end the fracas. It's worse than that, you know."
Roxanna raises an eyebrow, "Worse?"
Lady Maris nods, pausing for a moment to clean her hands and brush away a stray lock of gray hair. "Aye... she works for the Allaines, you know."
Roxanna closes her eyes, "Uh-oh. If I remember what I've been told about local politics, that's likely to lead to an all-out war, isn't it?"
Maris slowly, very slowly, finished off the last stitch. "Father Perrin and Sir Whitesword were already worried for the storm season. Even if the Kories were to allow a shipment of grain to come east of Bordertown, there'd be no steel to pay for it."
Roxanna says, "Bozhemoi."
Maris blinks, quiet, "That's a strange tongue for one of her Ladyship to speak. Then again, few of us come from Trundle-on-the-Hill. Here, hand me the clean bandages. Rest her feet up, and get a blanket for her." She leans back, considering. "Aye, toss a pebble into a still pond, and not only do the ripples echo across to the other side... but someone is always tempted to throw in a larger rock."
Roxanna blushes. "Sorry, milady. A few bits of street language still stick to me." She finishes the bandaging and tries to make Dandelion as comfortable as she can.
Roxanna says, "What is the problem with grain and steel, milady?"
Maris sits back, quiet, once again pushing her hair back, "So now... we just...wait..."
Beneath the eaves of the Atteran Hospice, one lady is slowly stolen away to sleep, lowvine and hurt defeating even a Koromov's will. Outside the hospice, for just the briefest moment, there is the harsh and low roar of hoof beats, like an avalanche down the jagged Black Mountains. Gone, racing around three sides of the temple square before vanishing back into the lost alleyways.
At the Horse and Hart the wait is heavy. Kori Fireball Maclaine stands next to the tavern door, leaning against the woodwork. While across from her Barris Ironhand waits too, one foot upon a bench, his sword traded for a heavy black bladed axe. A third, just called Blaze, haunts the kitchen, and the tavern's back door.
But it is from the loft they are first seen, the grim guardsmen in the town's livery. Just a slit, the loft door open only the littlest bit, and Cholly has three crossbows and stacks of quarrels at the ready. Like a dark mob the Jvrillians klink, some carrying torches, the harsh light reflecting off of steel and polished cour-boilli. Maybe five are on horseback, scattered throughout the crowd... as they slowly, so slowly, approach the little tavern.
"Oh Barris... Barris..." The call is taunting, but taunting like steel. "You really think we will let your pretty bitch-mistress walk more than a handful of steps outside of the hospice? But we are practical folks. You know that. You. You and the redheaded lassie, to break her in...
"Consider it your ransom for the lives of your precious Horde elite..."
Brisa looks up from where she's sitting cross-legged on the bar, calmly examining the fletching on her arrows. She nods once to herself at the calling, and shifts to stand behind the bar... one last check that all her equipment is in easy reach... and she's ready. She smiles quietly, "Sounds like the pawing-the-ground-and-snorting part of the evening's festivities has started."
The Dayallan at the door just narrows her eyes, her sword slowly drawing back.
Benedict squints down at the Jvrillians from the loft, and grits his teeth. 'Practical folks?' he thinks. Oh, I believe that. I'm sure Hastur does, too. Right. 'Practical folk' don't do what they're doing...
Brisa murmurs quietly, "Kori... if you stand directly in the doorway I won't be able to fire without risk of hitting you."
The small and dark Ironhand actually pauses, considering the other's offer. He looks back, "Two for twenty five..." He turns and calls out. "Eminently practical, knowin' that the first one past the threshold is dead, aye? Maybe two or three. One of them going to be you, Blackblade? That is you, Rikky, isn't it...?"
"It's me, Barris, and I've got rank now... rank you lost. Do you really believe you can take out four of us for every one of you?" There is an odd edge to the Jvrillian's tone, and his patter is almost conversational. "I can't believe you'd butcher your men for such a useless cause. But then it's always been your choice, not theirs..."
Brisa gets a faintly puzzled look, watching Barris chaffer with the men... she wonders if this means the gate was closed by the time the Horde members arrived. Surely there'd have been a ruckus if so... she wonders what Barris is up to. Is he really trying to reason with them?
Taking a step back, Kori glances towards Barris, an equally puzzled look on her face. She brushes back a lock of stray red hair. The look is returned, as he tucks his axe beneath his chin, his brow furrowing as he glances sidelong towards the door and to the outside. He looks to Kori and just shrugs, equally bewildered.
Barris slowly replies, "You could always come and discuss things, Rikky..."
Brisa glances at Barris and Kori, and murmurs softly, "They're stalling?"
Barris frowns quietly, and lays a finger on one side of his nose.
Benedict squints a little closer... then blinks, his gaze drifting to the background. He frowns. What's one of them doing here? he thinks to himself. Come to see pagans slaughter each other? No....
No... it has to be more than that. More... his thoughts cut off, as he hears, out in back... something... a... blast again! The Jvrillians in front are a distraction! "Brisa!" he calls down, quietly but urgently. "Out back, hurry! The front's a distraction...!"
Brisa tilts her head, listening, then says softly and urgently to the other two, "That was Benny -- something about the back? Who's covering the back?"
Ironhand looks back, his frown suddenly deepening, "Just Cholly. Blaze has the kitchen door and Hadrick is up protecting Master Dave..."
Brisa nods, using one hand to spring over the bar, "I'll go check." She moves quietly and cautiously to the back, listening and watching carefully.
Brisa darts up the hayloft stairs, with a quiet, "I'm coming up!" so she doesn't get hit over the head by the upstairs defenders... she slips over to the hayloft shutter opposite the one Benedict's at, and peeks out to see what the distraction is for.
Clambering up the ladder, Brisa hears it, and catches a glimpse before it hits... and smashes through the door! A heavy cart, filled with barrels, being pushed by almost two handfuls of troopers, straight into and through the barn door. There is but a moment's pause, before the guardsmen begin to swarm over the wreckage...
Brisa steps over to the hole in the hayloft floor leading down to the floor below, and calmly begins shooting the Jvrillians. She doesn't really need to shout... a crash like that was probably heard all the way upstairs to where poor Lame Dave is.
Brisa says, "Cholly... could use a little help here, please."
Cholly doesn't reply, because his attention is suddenly focused on the front of the tavern, slowly and carefully taking aim, letting off bolt after bolt to those in front. For Brisa, it is like sloth kittens on a warm rock, at least for the first few shots and they determine they are being fired down upon from the loft... that's when the shields come up. A foursome breaks past, sure and quick, two breaking towards the commons, while the other two crouch low, and shield first make an assault up the stairs...
Brisa debates internally, then decides she should stay here -- Cholly could use the backup, and there's already two in the commons room to hold it. She looks around -- what's useful and to hand up here?
Brisa hmms to herself...she needs to block, however temporarily, the entrance to the loft. Maybe she can steal one of their shields as they come up and use that? She grabs a hay hook, the pitchforks, and the loose end of the rope from the block and tackle. She'll try bracing herself in the corner, just over the opening in the floor. If she can slam a hay hook around the edge of the Jvrillian's shield and catch it fast enough to yank it upwards, then she should also be able to drive the pitchfork down into the Jvrillian... she doesn't know many folks that will stay hanging onto a shield when they're being repeatedly stabbed. Well... she crosses her mental fingers -- she doesn't know many berserkers either.
They clatter up the stairs, one behind the other... and from beneath their leather caps grim eyes hunt. The hay hook slams down, snaring a Jvrillian shield, but as Brisa strikes down with the pitchfork two things happen. The second Jvrillian flattens against the wall, so he is not unbalanced by his companion's fall. And while Brisa's makeshift lance stabs nothing but cloth, it still bowls him backward, falling in an awkward tumble.
Allowing his companion to step up to the loft.
Brisa shrugs and releases the hay hook -- she'll have to deal with the Jvrillian that's here first. Is he close enough to slam the block and tackle into, and knock back down the stairs?
She thinks so... she yanks the block and tackle around, swinging it violently at the Jvrillian.
Brisa looks a bit surprised, then pleased, as the guardsman is caught completely unawares by the swinging tackle -- and it catches him squarely in the side, behind his shield, smashing him back, off his feet and tumbling down the stairs.
Brisa hmms... that trick won't work twice... guess I should stick to the bow as long as I can, then go to the sword and shield. She picks a spot where she can cover, as best she can, both holes in the hayloft floor, and keeps the guardsmen busy ducking.
The swordsman falls, his feet catching on the upper landing as he tumbles, jerking him even harder down... and the crack is audible as he becomes a broken puppet on the floor. It's his companion that barely dances out of the way, grabbing his shield, and temporarily vanishes beneath the loft floor.
Brisa makes sure she's out of the way, and leaves the heavy tackle hanging in the way of the stairs, swinging slowly. Anything to slow them down.
From outside Brisa hears a sudden shout "The Guildhall!"
Brisa murmurs softly under her breath, "Thank you, Rafael," as she continues to shoot the occasional unwary guardsman.
Outside there is a clattering of footsteps and a sudden grumbling of conversation...
Across the barn Cholly leans back. Taking a deep breath, he carefully sets two loaded crossbows to the side.
Cholly then starts, and looks out the loft window again.
Brisa nocks an arrow in preparation, "What's up, Cholly?"
Cholly slowly turns, "There go the two Knights, barreling towards the gate... and I think, I can't tell, it's just a shadow in tha' moonlight but tha' only one who would ride into town with a banner tha' tall would be tha' Shannons."
Brisa grins quietly, "The Rock's family are here? Heh... that should stop our local boys dead in their tracks. Cholly, are you okay here? I'm thinking of going to check on everyone...can you and Benedict hold the loft?"
Cholly shakes his head, "I'm nae sure about that, not when the lad here, " He indicates Benedict, "-says he spotted a Velikii in the crowd."
Brisa says, "A what?" She blinks, "An Imperial?! What's one of those doing here?!"
Cholly says, "And not just any Imperial, if'n the tales Captain Koromov tells are so."
Brisa says, "Bozhemoi..."
Brisa sighs, "Well, it could be the Prince himself, and the wounded would still need tending. Cholly, can you cover the loft?"
"Mean vicious nasty eat ones heart nyeh kulturnye Imperial..." is Cholly's answer.
Cholly nods, "I think I can... most in the square left."
Brisa grins quietly, "Got it. Well, we'll just have to try to stay out of its way, whomever it is. I'll be back if I can to support you." She starts to turn, then pauses and smiles at Benedict, "Good job, Benny." Then she cautiously starts downstairs, shield up and sword drawn, heading for the commons room if she can.
It is one step, then two, down the stairs, and Brisa hears a shuffle and rattle of armor beneath her.
Brisa doesn't hesitate -- she lightly leaps the last few steps and turns to put the wall to her back, so she can see what's down there.
A jump and a turn and sharp sudden white hot tear of pain, and Brisa turns into the last Jvrillian's sword sweep, his blow slicing through her greave and deep into her flesh. The guardsman smiles as he raises his shield.
Brisa keeps her weight balanced and strikes low, since the guardsman's so conveniently raising his shield.
Brisa swings her sword up into the guardsman, faintly startled for a moment that his shield work is so poor -- the sword bites in and he sways with the blow... then collapses as she yanks it sharply free. She snaps her wrist neatly to shake the blade clean, looking around warily -- any more little surprises lingering around here that she can see?
The Jvrillian collapses, his leg twisting impossibly beneath him, his blood quickly staining the aisle floor. He lies poorly placed beneath his shield, eyes narrowed in pain, slowly trying to whisper a few awkward words.
Brisa paces over to stand so the Jvrillian can easily see her. When he looks up at her she says gently, "Go home. Heal up."
Brisa is standing, of course, on his shield side. She's no desire to get whacked.
"You know this isn't over, not by a long shot..." The Jvrillian's words are bitter and harsh.
Brisa shakes her head, "You don't have to do this to yourself." She looks around warily once more, then sheathes her sword, "Your healing will probably work better if your leg is straight. Can you handle it?"
Grimacing, "I can. I don't need your help."
Brisa grins, "Oh, a tough guy, eh?" She moves quickly, expecting him to be irritated at her -- that momentary flash of anger by the Jvrillian is when she'll straighten his leg.
The Jvrillian winces, his eyes blinking and he almost bites through his own lip. He does, however, speak one word, as she steps away. A curse, " Swordbitch!"
Brisa grins again, "You're welcome, boy." She slips quietly into the inn's common room, sword once again drawn, and looks around cautiously.
The commons of the Horse and Hart is a tumbled mess. Only two remain standing, the Fireball and Ironhand. The rest, a handful of the town's guard... the lad called Blaze, and a last Horde sworder sprawled at the base of the kitchen door. No one moves, except those two, and they suspiciously watch the door to the street as they wrap their own wounds.
Brisa nods to the Hordesman, "Are they gone?" She's slowly visually checking the guardsmen...if any are left alive she doesn't want a surprise knife in the back later.
"I would hope so. Down a captain, a lieutenant and a Guild house maybe..." Barris shakes his head, looking out. "But they should be back by now... either Rafe or the Guard..."
Brisa nods, and takes a moment to bind her own wound then.
Brisa murmurs a quiet prayer to Dayala as she bandages her leg...when she's done she murmurs another quiet prayer for the dead.
Brisa straightens up again when she's done, "How's Dave? Do you need me here, or can I go back and continue helping Cholly?"
As Brisa wraps he leg, the door bursts open. Both Kori and Barris start, until they see the trooper wears their own creams and browns. He leans on the edge of the doorframe, his breath caught, his voice a shattered chuff. He looks pale as a ghost. "Barris...sir... we gotta leave... but you'll never believe why..."
Brisa watches intently.
"...It was Velikii... Lord Velikii... Lord Karntu Velikii... he asked the Knights how they could let this happen... he asked the Shannon Guard how this could happen... and he killed the Shannon lordling, the young one, doing time as captain of the troops, for incompetence, sliced like a softpad would... took them himself... threw both us an' Anwynsson's men out... and said that as an Imperial from the Imperial city, if Highgaard cannae take care of Cragside, then by all the gods he'll give this valley to Talantal...
...and Lord Shannon bowed his head and let tha' bastard do it!"