RP Session 1: "A Hart's Errand"

Battered by a flurry of Lancaelad's heavy blows, the final mercenary in the upstairs corridor staggered. He was alone and outmatched with jarring suddenness, and Lan could see in the dart of his eyes that he was ready to flee, but before he could take a step an arrow flew over the knight's mailed shoulder and struck the man squarely in the throat - its gory tip protruding suddenly from the other side.

The man only had as moment to finger the thing in shock, before his legs gave out and he fell to the floor in a ruined heap, his life gurgling out of him in ragged breaths that sounded like the trickle of a forest spring.

Looking back he was surprised to see the barricade at the top of the stair spring into flame. It burned like tinder, becoming a roaring bonfire in what seemed like moments and the warriors on the stair could just be heard over the roar retreating with cries of alarm. The barricade wouldn't stand for long now, but it was practically unassailable for the moment.

Corson staggered to his side, the young knight had proven to be reckless in the day's battles, but he was resilient and undoubtedly courageous. If Lan had placed a wager he'd've lost a good pouch of coin betting they'd both be dead by now. Thankfully the young Noelon had taken the time to alert his small entourage to his infiltration, and with the man in the hall fallen Mhairie could emerge from her hiding place amongst the common bunks and with a businesslike gravity she tightened and adjusted the Green squire's battered armour. That at least should keep him standing if another foe were to emerge from one of the sturdy inn doors.

Tovrunn darted past the pair of warriors as they took a moment to regroup. She'd seen the interior of the Brecht's rooms and knew that even the simple possessions left there might carry some hint as to the identity of their pursuer. Glancing around she saw the small volume the man had tossed at her in her first intrusion still lying on the sill. The lantern that had accompanied it was now lit, its beam focused into a single frame of red glass, casting an eerie shaft out the open window and into the night and striking the building on the opposite side of the alleyway. Beneath in the alley she could hear voices and the scrape of boots.

The mercenary's crossbow stood against the bedpost alongside a case of bolts, and the pair of saddlebags she'd seen earlier were now on the unoccupied bed rather than atop the inn's footlocker.

With the burning bed beginning to roar, Tovrunn felt confident that she had at least a few moments to rifle the Brecht's room. Thankfully after tossing the saddlebags to her betrothed and slinging the crossbow across her shoulders it became apparent that a moment was all she'd need. It was immediately clear that the gaudily clad mercenary wasn't a long term guest, as both footlockers were bare of all but motheaten spare blankets of scratchy grey wool. And it was a good thing that her investigation was so brief, because as the Rjurik noblewoman stepped back into the now-smoky hallway it was clear at a glance that the icy lock they'd improvised on the innkeeper's door had no more than moments left in the heat of the burning bed. The mercenaries would have another way up in moments if they hadn't already abandoned that route.

A distant memory, that of some clan warchief in the misty past, stirred in the exhaustive breadth of her many lifetimes: Lan had reported a dozen men outside, and likely at least a few more lurked in rooms up here, lambs to the slaughter if they revealed themselves now. If those men were all of the calibre of the mercenaries arrayed against them so far then the Brecht was the only true threat. Even with their resources spent they could likely hold a choke point and win the day, but the risk was great and there was little to win. A carpet of dead would speak to their path as loud as the living.

She was the last to reach the room at the front of the inn where Lan stood ushering their companions toward his makeshift rope, and was pleasantly surprised to see Corson helping a dazed and sick Aeric to his feet. The quiet Roesonian was drawn, his flesh the blue-grey of a corpse and his hands shook violently but he stood, the modest lore of the Green Order giving him what little strength it could afford. But that relief was short-lived, and just as she slammed the hefty door shut behind her everyone could hear a shattering of timber and rough cries of triumph from down the hall. Slamming the bolt into place she raced to the window.

Outside the night was still. Breuddwyd's ruse had forced them all to the back of the inn, and their numbers were slim enough that the hadn't left guards in the front yard. Good. It would be a short dash to the stables and they'd be on horseback then. Their enemies just had to search the top floor long enough for them all to get to the ground, and they'd be off into the night. After that... it was clear that they'd need more than speed to escape Roesone. Thankfully their home held as many friends as foes.

With a quick check to make sure the inn yard remained unguarded, Salien lowered the rope of knotted sheets Lancaelad had used to re-enter the second floor, and the Roesonians hurried out. Lan and his young entourage went first, the knight securing the yard while Geremie went for the horses. As they did Tovrunn followed, while Breuddwyd worked a spell on Aeric that would see the weakened magician drift to the ground like a falling leaf. The sidhe then followed, with Arglwyddes leaping gracefully from the sill and circling her master as he descended.

With the horses ready, cries of "fire" and of alarm and anger from within the inn masking the jingling of their tack, Salien went next, and as Corson readied himself to lower from the window's edge there was a thud and then a crack from the door to the room they'd all stood crammed into only minutes before, and the head of an axe bit through the heavy timbers.

Not waiting to see how many bodies might follow it, the squire merely dropped from the window sill and fell with a grunt into the dust and, dashing the last few steps to his mounted companions, he swung into the saddle of his new steed and put his heel to the skittish animal's flanks. As the whole company thundered out of the inn yard the face of one of the mercenaries from the stair appeared at the window and they heard their pursuers cry out an alarm as Corson was the last to round the corner and into the night.

End of Session 1