The sounds of fighting remained persistent throughout much of the night, the sounds and cries all but echoing out from beyond the Barothy Keep, coating the land in a state of frenzied war. Those whom heard the call, a myriad of emotions overtook them; some answering the call of war with their desire to fight alongside their fellow countryman, some wishing to take shelter, whether out of fear for their own safety or those of others, and in some, a sense of indifference, a willingness to simply wait out what happened next, their interests in the war between Veronica Barothy and the Lord Barothy irrelevant to them. By the end of night, a winner would likely have shown themselves, and they would still be there.

It remained to be seen whether or not they would share in such a position, knowing whether or not they would be standing after the bloodshed and fighting. Vyra, Veronica Barothy, and the wounded Ser Gholston continued to maneuver through the hidden routes that had been constructed unbeknownst to the forces of Lord Barothy. Not as though many were capable of pursuing them regardless; the circumstances throughout the ambush by not only Vyra and the towering knight, but also those of the people whom had marched upon the Keep being enough to draw absolutely all forces to that focus.

Whatever may have existed amongst those who were hoping to have stopped Vyra from retrieving the Countess, their attention had become grossly shifted, now turning far more into a failed effort to try to survive on their own. The wrath of the people, a force that nobody had at first come to appreciate, was now in full effect, unleashed upon the Barothy Keep.

With every few glances, Vyra looked back, seeing the reddish hue of the flames echoing within the dark night, both in awe and also fear that this were the people’s will. Their wrath. With each minute that passed, she wondered how the resistance faired, how they managed to fight on. She had to believe that by this point everything and everyone whom had attempted to hold the line within the Keep, all of the bodies that had been scrounging about, hoping to fight on on behalf of the name Barothy, had to have fallen.

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The wonderment that may have come with thinking about the fate of the Barothy Keep and its people bled to the more pressing matter at hand, namely being the joint escort of Countess Veronica Barothy towards the safety of the church, but now also compounded by the need to get Ser Gholston to safety, the sheen of crimson that had begun to cover parts of his armor now having drenched much of his attire. It left a wonder and a fear within not only the Demi-Human but also the Countess as to whether he stood to survive much longer, let alone see the end of this conflict.

For as critical as the situation appeared though, the towering knight was able to keep going, seeming to support himself by his own two legs, requiring not even the massive weapon he held to be able to keep him upright. A fortunate thing, as that weapon would find itself still being used; not in defending the Countess or the Blue Pegasus wizard, but rather to craft through new shortcuts through the heavy brush. With time no longer on their side and every second being urgently preserved, if new routes stood to hasten their return, new routes were to be made.

It did significantly cut down on the time though. As they moved through the underbrush and small parts that she loosely recalled became more apparent, the Demi-Human couldn’t help but figure that the pacing they were going was not just quicker, but proving to be safer. The fear that may have one persisted throughout much of their attempted venture to save the Countess, it was no longer there. Fear of an attempted ambush became secondary to that of being lost and circling oneself over and over again.

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More time passed, more trees were fell, and the flames that created a backlight to the conflict behind them slowly began to die down. Only a short distance left stood between Vyra, Veronica, and the ailing Ser Gholston, the trio having traversed through much of the distance that stood between the Keep and the church, the building seeming empty save for the few candles that appeared lit from within the window frames.

“We’re almost there,” Vyra said, wanting to instill some confidence in her voice, as much for their own reassurances as her own, but finding that even there was a bit lacking. “Come on, we can do it…”

Even though it were close, it still felt like a lifetime’s worth required to traverse the distance, the steep, uneven terrain proving to suddenly become a serious issue. Though she were able to catch herself easily enough, for the injured knight it proved to be that much more difficult. Nearly losing his own footing, it was becoming wholly apparent that Ser Gholston could not continue on much further, though it seemed that attention had been made of their arrival, with an unexpected party arriving from the church, accompanied by Sister Mara, in order to retrieve the trio.

“You’re safe!” Sister Mara said, her sole attention to that of Veronica Barothy, a quick glance over to the blood-drenched knight realizing how serious of a situation it had become. In an instant, her expression had shifted from that of delight instead to that of dismay, concern becoming tantamount as she ushered the few people whom had joined her outside to take the knight inside. “Quickly, get him inside and remove his armor. There is not much time before his wounds take him.”

Saying this, a horrified expression came upon Veronica’s face, but as the Sister turned around to face her, there was a reassured look, one a very stark contrast against only just a moment ago, “Fear not my Lady, just a little motivation to get them moving. I promise you, we will do everything to insure his health.”

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Things felt tense throughout, nobody able to particularly sit still, certainly not the Demi-Human Vyra, whom had been dealing with everything that had transpired up to this point. It was still hard to fully fathom that only a few nights before, she was expected to have spent plenty of time within Hosenka, simply enjoying herself, maybe eating some fancy foods while sitting within a hot spring for days on end. How quickly things had utterly departed and gone awry.

Rather than hot spring, she was seated within an old church, there with a handful of volunteer soldiers adorned in makeshift armor, hardly providing a truly huge amount of protection, nor even hiding the cultist robes that they were wearing. Clearly, a small envoy on behalf of the cultist leader, whether the two Sisters had first expected that their involvement with Veronica’s plan would end up setting themselves up as a sort of base of operations, it was obvious that this had now happened.

However they may have felt, it did not seem to show upon their faces. Both of them felt far more concerned with the fact that Veronica Barothy was safe. The development of Ser Gholston’s current condition was something that doubtfully anyone had anticipated happening, but there was nothing that could have been done about that now. What was done was done, but within everyone’s mind – whether or not they wanted to admit it – it were better that the knight be wounded than the Countess. Even between the Countess and Vyra, the Demi-Human would have been a more preferred option to suffer, though something that none of them wished for.

As the Countess waited about, it seemed that those nightmare scenarios were nothing more than that, just nightmares. Not reality.

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A bit of time passed, no clear indication of what the status was. The road just in front of the church were now clear, all forces that were going to the Barothy Keep having already left, leaving little more than a small orange glow in the distance where the Keep were based.

“Should only be a matter of time before the people return home,” Sister Mara spoke aloud, noticing Vyra looking out the window in the direction of the Keep. “All that will be left to wonder is how the Lord shall be dealt with.”

“What do you mean,” Vyra asked, not quite sure what was being suggested, looking to the Sister for clarity.

“Whether the people shall deal the final blow themselves to the Lord, or if they shall go against the primal urge and see that he be held to trial.”

“Which do you think will happen?” Vyra was curious, wondering just how the people would have responded. For such a reaction that the people would all march upon the Keep, it seemed hard to imagine that they would have been calm in how they dealt with the Lord Barothy.

But as she looked to the Sister for further insight, she said nothing, instead simply looking out to the same orange hue. It was telling enough of an answer for the Demi-Human, who looked on for some time with her. For a bit, it was almost tranquil, the duo watching the orange hue slowly die out more and more while Sister Talia tended to Veronica Barothy and some of the cultists, shifting their focus between tending to Ser Gholston and what was going on already.

It largely was like this for some time before one of the cultists, similarly adorned in a makeshift type of armor outfit, rushed up to the church, his heavy panting indicative of his exhaustion. “He’s coming!”

The suddenness of the man’s arrival took everyone by surprise, all eyes turned towards the cultist, wondering what was meant.

“Who?” called out one of other cultists, unsure of what had gotten the man into such a frenzy.

“Lord Barothy! He survived! And is on his way!”

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Nobody was quite sure how to fully process the news.

Lord Barothy had somehow survived the ambush upon the Keep, escaping even despite the hundreds of soldiers whom had assaulted the Keep on behalf of Veronica Barothy.

And for that matter too, he was apparently seeking shelter within their church. The suggestion of this even seemed to take the two Sisters by surprise, them not having anticipated that their church was even known by the Lord, let alone thought to be a safe haven.

Suddenly all eyes fell upon Veronica Barothy, seated in one of the pews, as much stunned by the latest revelation as anyone, though those who looked at her as much were able to tell the gears within her mind working, formulating something new. As silence overtook the church, there suddenly appeared a smile upon the Countess’s face.

Cultists and Vyra gathered, curious to what was planned now, but as the Countess expressed what she planned on doing, on the newest step of this coup, it seemed as though everyone were not just in agreement on carrying it out, but that the war would come to an end here.

An irony given this place being where this coup first originated.

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As Veronica Barothy’s plan was being set up, there was a feeling of unease within the church.

The orange-haired Sister approached the Countess, the feeling of uncertainty apparent, “My Lady, Ser Gholston… His wounds are severe…”

“Is he alive?” The Countess’ words were cold, somewhat uncaring, but far more focused on the matter at hand, the upcoming arrival of her father.

“He is,” Sister Mara said, with their conversation further coming to recognize the Countess’ coldness, “But in no way would I encourage that he fight.”

A smile formed upon the Countess’ face, a hand raising and gently patting the Sister’s shoulder, “That won’t be a concern. Scouts have said Gallahan were not traveling with my father. Hopefully the people felled him,” she spat on the ground, no love towards the other towering knight within the Barothy ranks, “But without him, should be more than enough for this group to handle what remains.”

It was a risky play, believing that the collective group, maybe a dozen or so cultists – all fully armed – and Vyra were capable of slaying what remained of Lord Barothy’s private guard. Given the nature of the initial siege, very likely that much of its force were wiped out in defense of the Lord, so while the numbers may have dwindled significantly; it remained hard to say for certain just what was left.

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More time passed, the anticipation turning instead into anxiousness. Everyone was ready, but the guest of honor had not yet arrived.

As a feeling of doubt began to creep up amongst the minds of the people within the church, a sound echoed in the distance. Horse trots and foot stomps marching in unison towards the church, getting a little louder with each passing moment. As it became louder and louder, the cultists waiting disappeared into the shadows, prepared for their ambush.

From just outside of the church they emerged, the old man whom only some days ago had nearly condemned Vyra to death, alongside several other soldiers, blood and sweat evident upon all of their faces. It was clear the escape, however they managed it, it was not something that was easily achieved. From guard to guard, it seemed that everyone were looking forward to a chance to get a breath.

“My Lord, this is an unexpected surprise. Having witnessed what occurred in the distance, we weren’t sure what to think,” Sister Mira mused, keeping her intentions and her involvement with Veronica’s plot silent.

“If not for the sacrifice of Ser Gallahan, we may not have made it…” A hoarse voice echoed from behind the Lord, a woman revealing herself, younger than the man by a number of years, but appearing visibly shaken by the events of what had transpired. Streaks of crimson stained her olive green dress.

“We wouldn’t have wanted that, now would we?” Veronica’s voice echoed from within the darkness of the church, most of those within her father’s troop being unable to react before pounced upon by the cultists waiting in ambush. Several fell there, others found themselves able to draw their weapons, being similarly met by other cultists whom were already armed.

The Lord found himself beside himself, turning his head franctically, hoping to find some way of escaping, but with every conceivable route either blocked out by cultists in waiting or otherwise blocked by the combat at hand. An impossible situation with the only course of action being to try and fight his way through, but there was a level of futility even in this.

It mattered not in the end.

So preoccupied with trying to find his own way out of the ambush, he had not factored in the only assailant not adorned in cultist robes. Vyra, nearly a full foot shorter than the aged Lord Barothy, proceeded right up to him and wasted no time in impaling him with the sword, a croak escaping out of his mouth as he began to throw himself forward both out of shock and injury. Another deep thrust forced the blade through again, further emphasizing the wound.

It was in this moment that she looked at him right in the eyes, hatred shown within Vyra’s, contempt and fury for the man whom had been so willing to put her to death. But the tables had turned, and whereas the man once sat upon his throne looking down on Vyra, he now found himself leaning over her sword, his vitriolic words instead replaced by his own blood.

With a great look of satisfaction, she retracted the blade, or at least tried to, the old man clutching onto it as though looking for some salvation, some hope of being able to reverse his fate. Uninterested in his game of prolonging things, Vyra threw the sword forward, the momentum of it causing the man to fall backwards, the blade protruding outwards and further slitting through the man’s chest as it made contact with the floor, more blood spurting from the man’s mouth as a result.

He simply looked on at the blade, partially protruding out from his chest, before finally his gaze swapped to that of the Demi-Human, looking down upon him with a satisfied sense to her. “This is how I fall then? Slain by the thrall that my daughter enwrapped around her little finger? Do you feel vindicated goat girl? To have allowed my daughter, cunning as she is, to play you like a fiddle?”

Vyra didn’t even acknowledge the man with words, a part of her while perhaps agreeing with what he was saying, was far too pleased with finally being able to take vengeance in her own hands. It also happened that the words of Veronica Barothy filled the area instead, the white-haired Countess looking on from behind Vyra, a fiendish smile upon her face, “Oh father, don’t sound so disappointed. Think about what your reign has achieved. You’ve shown the world how awful some leaders are, but don’t you worry,” she had a cruel look as she leaned closer, staring her father directly in the eyes, “These people will thank me for what I’ve done.”

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