Corporal Knightly turned to Ser Percival, his grizzled features set in a grim mask of determination. "Percy, secure the trap door and keep an eye on it. You will be leading us as we set fire to the houses and buildings. Your familiarity with every street, alleyway, and corner of this village will aid us in knowing which properties to target. We don't have enough flame oil to burn down all the structures, so your knowledge of the area is crucial."
"Aye, sir," Ser Percival acknowledged with a sharp nod, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
The corporal's gaze swept over the gathered defenders. "Hjalmar, go find torches for each of us. Look in every corner if you must. If you can't find any, make some." His brow furrowed as he issued the next order. "The rest of you, fill every empty bottle and vial you can find with flame oil."
"On it," Hjalmar rumbled, his booming voice echoing through the cellar as the others set about their tasks with haste.
Unable to locate any ready-made torches amidst the clutter, Hjalmar improvised, finding four wooden stakes and wrapping them with torn strips of cloth scavenged from the debris. Within moments, he had fashioned four rudimentary torches, one for each of the volunteers and the recon knight present in the cellar.
"The moment we open this trap door, you guys know what to do," Corporal Knightly's voice rang out, commanding their attention. "When we open this trap door, everyone should be in position."
The defenders listened intently, their faces etched with grim determination as the corporal outlined their plan of attack.
"Ser Percy will lead the way, showing you which structures we have to set on fire." Knightly's gaze swept over the assembled group, his eyes burning with intensity. "I'm gonna repeat this again – we work our way along the Seren street, up to the edge of the village, as close as we can get to the Silent Forest."
A creaking sound from the corner of the cellar, behind a stack of wine barrels, interrupted the corporal's briefing. "Who goes there?" he barked, his hand instinctively reaching for his blade.
"I-It's me," a meek voice answered, and a familiar figure emerged from the shadows – a round-headed man with a comical haircut, his features twisted in a mixture of fear and apprehension.
"You!" Aden burst out, his anger flaring at the sight of the man he had hoped never to lay eyes upon again. Never had he imagined that this particular survivor of the courthouse bombardment would be among them.
Ethan's grip tightened around his newly crafted torch, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain his wrath toward the man who had played a part in the death of his smuggler friend.
"Ralph?" Ser Percival squinted, scrutinizing the figure before them. "Is that you?"
"Yes, it's me, Ralph," the weasel-like man cowered, inching closer to the group with trepidation written across his features.
Aden turned away, his jaw clenched, unwilling to engage with the man he despised. Instead, he followed Hjalmar's lead, sweeping the area of the cellar in search of anything that could be fashioned into a makeshift weapon – a spear-length pole or wooden plank, anything to keep the harpy menace at bay when they ventured forth.
"How, the hell, did you survive?" Ser Percival's voice cut through the tense silence, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the cowering figure of Ralph.
Ralph flinched under the knight's piercing gaze, his body trembling as he recounted his tale of survival. "The harpies, they got me. They took me before their queen. But I told her I'm one of god's chosen people, and she flew away," he whimpered, his words laced with an air of disbelief as if he himself could scarcely comprehend the miraculous turn of events.
Ser Percival's lip curled in a sneer, his skepticism was evident. "Truly, I swear to God," Ralph pressed on, desperation seeping into his voice. "She flew away when I told her that I'm a chedaim."
From the far side of the cellar, Aden shot a sidelong glance at Ralph, his eyes narrowed in contempt. A derisive scoff escaped his lips, the Jinn clearly unconvinced by the weasel-like man's outlandish claim. Everyone knew it was utter nonsense, a pathetic attempt to save face in the wake of his cowardly betrayal.
As Aden assisted Hjalmar in sifting through the debris and clutter that had spilled into the cellar, his ears were still assaulted by the whimpering tones of Ralph's conversation with Ser Percival. The Jinn's mind conjured vivid images of the dismembered and gutted bodies that had littered the ruins of the courthouse, a grim testament to the savagery of the harpy menace that now stalked the village streets.
Coupled with Ralph's despicable actions – his willingness to sacrifice Victor and nearly doom the entire village in the process – Aden could only imagine the lengths the sniveling coward had gone to in order to save his own skin. It was a scenario that played out all too vividly in the Jinn's mind: Ralph, whimpering and groveling, offering up the helpless villagers as sacrificial lambs to the harpies, bartering their lives in exchange for his own miserable existence.
How else could he have been the sole survivor amidst such carnage? The thought kindled a smoldering ember of rage within Aden's heart, his fingers tightening around the makeshift weapon he had fashioned from the debris. It took every ounce of his self-control to suppress the urge to confront the wretched man, to demand answers for the atrocities he had undoubtedly committed.
The tense silence was shattered by Hjalmar's booming voice echoing through the cellar. "Hey guys, look what I've found!"
The burly warrior strode back from the far corner, a pile of scavenged weapons cradled in his brawny arms. Aden's eyes widened as he took in the haul – a slightly rusted spear, four longswords that appeared to be in good condition, and two battered shields, accompanied by Gilbert's flail and buckler.
"Good job, big guy," Ethan praised, admiration evident in his tone.
Without hesitation, Hjalmar tossed the spear toward Aden. "Here! I thought you gonna like it."
Deftly snatching the weapon from the air, Aden nodded his appreciation. "Thanks."
His gaze shifted back to Hjalmar, a question forming on his lips. "What about you?"
In response, the warrior unfurled his hand, revealing a coiled length of chain, its links adorned with a heavy iron cast gear. The chain draped over his arm like a metallic glove, the overlapping links reminiscent of a beehive. "I already have one," Hjalmar rumbled, his voice laced with satisfaction.
Aden's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the improvised weapon, estimating its length to be at least seven feet. "Shouldn't you need something for against the harpy's claws? Like shields or barrel lids?"
A sly grin spread across Hjalmar's weathered features. "I have a better idea."
With remarkable efficiency, the group set about completing their preparations. Vials and bottles were swiftly filled with a volatile mixture of flame oil and spark powder, their improvised arsenal taking shape as they readied themselves to venture forth into the ruined village.
As they took their positions behind the trap door leading out of the courthouse, Aden felt a surge of confidence coursing through his veins. The weight of their mission pressed upon them all, but it was tempered by a shared determination, a steely resolve forged in the crucible of their daring escape.
Corporal Knightly's gruff voice cut through the tension. "Hjalmar, how many harpies are waiting outside the entrance?"
The warrior peered through the gap in the trap door, his keen eyes scanning the area beyond. "I can't get a good look, but there seem to be around five or six."
Knightly's gaze shifted to Ser Percival. "Percy, which structure are we going to set on fire first?"
The knight's finger extended, pointing toward a ransacked tailor workshop on the east side of the courthouse. "That one, and the structure across the street from it. Each one of us must set fire to the structures directly across from each other at the same time."
A palpable tension settled over the group as Corporal Knightly's voice took on a grave tone. "Are you guys ready?"
"Yes," came the collective response, determination burning in their eyes.
Knightly's steely gaze fixed on Hjalmar. "Anytime now, raider."
With a grunt of exertion, Hjalmar braced himself against the trap door. "Okay, here we go." With one powerful tug, he wrenched the door from its hinges, casting it aside with a resounding clang.
Corporal Knightly drew a deep breath, his body tensing with barely contained anticipation. "Hngh!" he grunted in unison with Hjalmar, their combined efforts forcing the trap door open, exposing them to the ruined world beyond.
"Go, go, go!" Knightly barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
In an instant, the defenders burst forth from their subterranean haven, their improvised weapons at the ready, their faces etched with grim resolve. The time for planning and preparation was over – the battle for the village had begun in earnest.
⁕⁕⁕
Corporal Knightly, Aden, Ethan, Hjalmar, and Ser Parcival burst out of the cellar. They were greeted by razor-sharp talons of the harpies clawing at them as they emerged from the basement.
Hjalmar and Corporal Knightly formed a vanguard, Hjalmar using the trap door as a shield while Ser Knightly had a shield and torch in hand.
In the middle, Ser Parcival held a torch and a sword, and Ethan had lit torches in both hands to scare away the harpies. Meanwhile, Aden was in the back protecting them with his spear and shield, a sword sheathed by his side.
Cowering behind Ser Percival's back, Ralph stuck to the knight like a second skin, his beady eyes darting back and forth in terror.
"Push through!" Corporal Knightly's voice rose above the din, a rallying cry that spurred the defenders onward in a resolute, single-file charge toward their first target – the ransacked tailor's workshop.
"hyah! Shoo! Go away!" Ethan repelled the harpies with torches in both of his hands. The harpies were smart enough not to get close to Ethan.
Upon reaching the tailor's workshop, Aden took the initiative, shattering the window panes with a well-aimed thrust of his spear. Hjalmar swiftly shifted positions, his trap door shield now guarding their rear as the relentless harpies persisted in their clawing assault.
Peering through the shattered window, Aden's gaze fell upon the abundance of garments and clothing that Ser Percival had described.
The resident knight pressed forward, sprinkling the combustible garments with a liberal dousing of flame oil. But as he moved inside, his foot caught on a loose plank, sending him stumbling. "Ugh!" he grunted, a bottle of precious flame oil slipping from his grasp and rolling across the street, coming to rest near the opposing structure they had targeted for destruction.
"Leave it," Corporal Knightly barked, his tone brooking no argument.
Ser Percival's eyes lingered on the errant bottle, regret etched upon his features. "But the bottle... It could be used to set fire to another five or seven houses."
Knightly's gaze remained steely, his focus unwavering. "It's all right. We can return to the courthouse and get another. For now, all we have to do is set fire to the structures along Seren Street, all the way to the forest. When the fire reaches the nearest point to the woods, you and Ethan can get more flame oil from the courthouse."
"I got this," Aden's voice rang out, steady and resolute. He stepped forward, switching places with Ser Percival to assume the critical task of dousing the flammable materials. With measured movements, the Jinn carefully sprinkled the garments and clothing with the volatile flame oil, his face a mask of grim determination.
As soon as Aden had completed his work, Ethan sprang into action, his torch descending in a blazing arc to ignite the fuel-soaked fabrics. In an instant, the interior of the workshop was engulfed in a roaring inferno, the hungry flames devouring everything in their path.
The harpies recoiled, their shrill cries piercing the air as the searing heat and billowing smoke drove them back, the flame oil proving an effective deterrent against their relentless assault.
"All right, now to the next mark," Corporal Knightly's gruff voice cut through the cacophony, his eyes already scanning their surroundings for the next target.
"Push!" he barked, and as one, the defenders surged forward, their boots pounding the earth in a resolute advance toward the structure across the street from the burning workshop.
Hjalmar led the charge, his trap door shield held aloft, deflecting the harpies' futile attempts to impede their progress. Ethan and Ser Percival flanked him, torches blazing, their flickering light casting dancing shadows upon the ruined buildings that lined the street.
Aden and Corporal Knightly brought up the rear, their weapons at the ready, ever vigilant against the threat of a harpy attack from behind. And Ralph, the wretched survivor, scurried along in their wake, his beady eyes darting back and forth, his whimpering breaths the only sound that escaped his trembling lips.
As they pushed forward, the heat from the inferno they had ignited washed over them, a searing reminder of the destructive force they had unleashed upon the village.
With each structure they set ablaze, the path ahead grew clearer, the smoke and flames carving a swath through the ruined village, drawing them ever closer to the Silent Forest – and the ultimate confrontation that awaited them there.
⁕⁕⁕