The night was dark, and the manor towered above him like a giant. He crouched amid the tall grass and could see his blade shaking a little as he tightened his grip on the poll of his spear. The moment of truth had finally come, and there was no turning back.
All around him were a band of outlaws armed with a hodgepodge of different weapons. Calling them companions or comrades would have been a strong word, but at the very least, they were with him and intent on proving him right. The fresh air was tainted by a stench not unlike that of a wet dog, and there was little doubt about where it came from.
"Wait for my signal." Morgana whispered, her bestial form crouching behind him. "We'll rush in when that guard leaves. Be ready."
On the manor's side was an open walkway with stone pillars, lit by torches whose orange glow flickered in the black night. From there they could see a guard looking out in the distance. It seemed they were in a blind spot, or perhaps it was simply too dark for him to see them. Regardless, after looking out for a few moments, he finally left. Francis could feel his tension rising even higher when he saw him leave.
"Go!" She hissed before rushing out from the tall grass, followed by the rest of her crew and Francis following shortly behind.
With her immense strength, Morgana barged through a backdoor into the kitchen. Inside were a few unfortunate servants who were still cleaning, and when they saw her, they screamed and fled up the stairs. It was only a matter of time before the alarm was sounded and the guards came rushing in, but they kept up their momentum. Streams of armored bodies flowed into the manor like water through a broken dam, and they scattered all around as they began looting the cellar.
Once everyone was in, Morgana quickly started scaling the wall and climbed into the castle through the walkway. No doubt she would take care of whoever was upstairs, but she could only climb up so quickly. Inevitably, guards hurried down the spiraling stairwell and engaged with the intruders.
As soon as the armored men arrived at the kitchen they were overwhelmed. The bandits pounced on them and cut them down almost as quickly as they arrived. There came a clanging and ringing of steel and iron as blades clashed. This wasn't a one-sided assault like in the forest before, this time they were prepared.
Faidh seemed to relish the opportunity to fight them, a smile on his face as he crossed swords with a knight. After a brief duel, he finally found an opening and plunged his blade into the knight's neck.
Kicking the man's limp body to the hard stone floor, he pointed ahead. "The storage room is this way!" He shouted, apparently remembering Francis's directions. "Mac tíre abu!" He looked like a lord leading a battalion of peasants.
Seeing them hurry off, Francis decided to go looking for Morgana. He knew even the greatest knights would struggle to fight her, but he still worried. He ran up the stairs, through the familiar hallways and corridors. There was something haunting about having to step around the occasional dead body in such a familiar environment, a feeling amplified by the sound of the looting bandits. Yelling and laughing as they rummaged through the lower levels and all that was stowed away there, it was strange to think such villains could be considered his allies. What was more, he found himself fretting over a horrible beast in the same manner a princess would worry for her knight.
"Our Lord truly does work in mysterious ways..." he muttered
Heading up the spiraling stairwell, he soon found himself hurrying about his childhood home. Rooms he had so many memories of and tapestries he had seen countless time passed him by. His grip on his guisarme got so tight that it started to turn his palms red.
Just as the conflicting emotions were starting to get to him, he bumped into a familiar face: Lord Crowley, the man he once called father. Still in his sleeping gown, he looked confused and distraught by the situation. His face was pale and sweaty as he hurried around the corner with a dagger in hand.
"What are you doing here, my boy?" He asked breathily, before lowering his dagger in confusion.
A deeply-seated fear seized Francis at that moment. Something he'd felt since he was a child, an unwillingness to go against his father in any way. But at that moment, he found in himself a bravery he didn't know he had. Even as his legs trembled, he pointed his spear forward.
"Shocked to see me alive, then?" He asked, his shakiness coming through in his voice.
"Yes, I thought I had lost you. It sounded like York would take care of that whole situation, and I must admit I was worried. Those bandits sounded like a nasty bunch." He wiped the sweat from his brow. "But...how did you get back here? And why is the manor being attacked? Did they follow you home?"
"That's rather interesting, because it seems to me that I was left to die. What was it York said? You were apathetic on the matter of my safety?"
Crowley furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you know about that?"
"I saw everything I needed in a note he gave to one of his knights." He gritted his teeth and he tried to firm up his stance so his legs would stop trembling. "Demonstrating the true love of a father there. 'I won't tell you to use caution' he said, and the knights certainly followed his instructions."
"Ah, so that's it, then?" He tilted his head slightly, seemingly putting the pieces together. "Am I to presume that this raid was your idea, then? Raiding your own home, really, how self-destructive."
