The Hide-in-the-Bush Plan

Barza didn't have time to clean his and his companions' effects, so he left them still mottled with blood. He strapped two swords to his upper back, one on his waist. A wicked curved blade rested horizontally on his lower back and a hatchet was strapped to his right upper thigh. A quiver of a half-dozen javelins on his left side ensured that he had a response to enemy archers. He wore a smart pair of gauntlets with thick, metal armguards, as well as comprehensive, riveted leather armor, complete with two tall metal pauldrons that effectively guarded his shoulders and the sides of his neck.

While they walked, Barza was even able to quench his thirst by way of the conveniently placed water canteen, strapped to the belt on his rear right side.

He thought he looked rather intimidating, stained in still-drying blood and armed for war. At the very least, he figured he looked like a professional-- a veritable dealer of death, prepared for any situation. He felt far more confident than only a few bells prior, when he was fainting and soiling himself.

"Hey, Gear-Queer," Dragan's accusatory voice woke Barza from his introspection.

"Ahem." Barza adjusted his gear, "My name is uh... Barza… Um, Mister Dragan."

"Ah, right. My bad."

Barza couldn't afford to be rude to the mountain of a man. The man laughed at his blood-covered equipment. The thickness of the man's fingers, alone, could tear apart his--

"Hey, Gear-Queer."

"...Yes, Mister Dragan?"

"Got any tobacco, man?"

Calling to mind some painful memories, Barza involuntarily shivered. He claimed all the possessions of his former companions: weapons, tools, and a few silver pieces. The most unique item he claimed was a small hinged metal box full of dried, shredded tobacco.

Barza fumbled through some pouches on a bandolier across his chest before handing the small box to Dragan.

"Ah, thanks, man. I'll get you back tomorrow."

"No, that's fine. I don't… do that, Mister Dragan."

"You sure, bud? Well, oOOokay!"

Barza shut his eyes as he, Dragan, and Wroe jogged towards the Baron's manor. He certainly hoped that Dragan's 'tomorrow' would come. He had enough of the present and wanted the night to be over. He invoked a silent prayer for his fallen comrades. He wasn't treated well by them, but he hoped they were at peace, wherever they were.

Opening his eyes, Barza nearly leapt off the road. The wide and hauntingly blue eyes of Tarquin Wroe were staring at him.

"Mister Wroe. You startled me," Barza tried to laugh politely. It sounded pathetic. 

Dragan was a monstrosity of a man, 3 yalms tall, covered in rippling muscles, and wielding a greataxe large enough to fell a giant. Barza was intimidated by him. Anyone would be intimidated by him.

Tarquin Wroe... Barza was absolutely terrified of Tarquin Wroe. The man spoke strangely and he moved with a weird, inhuman elegance. 

"They're suffering, you know," Tarquin Wroe's soft voice froze Barza's blood. He gulped in fear, trying to calm his heart.

"H-huh? Who… Who is suffering, Mister Wroe?"

Wroe closed his eyes, smiling as if happily reminiscing of days past, "I can hear them. They grind their teeth. They claw at their eyes. They bang their heads upon yet unblooded stone."

As they jogged and talked, Wroe's face didn't change. Barza pursed his lips as he realized... that other than when Mister Wroe shut his eyes when he smiled, he'd never seen him blink.

Barza very much did not want to have this conversation, not with the topic, and not with the strange man...

But... he needed to know... even if the knowledge was not meant for humans to hear, "Mister Wroe… What… What do they say?"

Wroe motioned him closer. Barza gulped as he leaned in to hear. He feared that the whisper of words would contain secrets he wouldn't forget for a lifetime...

"They cry out… Gear-Queer." 

…

"The manor is not entertaining visitors, sir. Please return in the morning."

Lit by a roaring fire of a brazier, a single guardswoman stood in front of the Tavor manor gates. Beside her was a bell that she could ring to sound the alarm.

"Oh, I was here to seek entrance to the manor, but I've changed my mind," With a smooth motion, the tall and slightly effeminate Tarquin Wroe took hold of the woman's gloved hand.

"S-s-s-s-sir. P-p-please. I'm… I'm on duty," the guardswoman turned away. She did not retract her hand. 

"Of course. But isn't it boring out here, by yourself? My name is Tarquin. What's yours?"

...

With a hop and a step, Dragan quietly cleared the top of the 8-fulm wall. The beast of a man didn't even use his arms. The soundlessness of the massive warrior in leathers and carrying an impossibly heavy axe instilled both confidence and a healthy dosage of terror in Barza's heart. Barza reached up to grab Dragan's outstretched hand, scaling the wall with ease.

The pair crept through the well-maintained manor garden, flitting from shadow to shadow, before finally settling behind a bush within dashing distance of the main entrance. With worry in his heart, Barza gripped either hand on two of his sword hilts.

"Baron Tavor employs dozens of guards," He whispered to Dragan. "If the three or four of us fight well, we'd have a good fighting chance at defeating each individual group as they arrive."

Barza's heart pounded. He'd never snuck into a noble's house before. If he were caught, he'd be killed. Failing that, he'd rot in a dungeon for the rest of his life.

"We have to be careful, though... There's an invincible armored-warrior named Seldin who works for the Baron... She was famous in the adventurer's guild before her--"

"Hey, Gear-Queer," Dragan interrupted him.

Barza cleared his throat, "Ahem. Y-yes, Mister Dragan?"

"What would you do if you were alone in a woman's room--"

"Wh-why would I be alone in a woman's room?" Barza's tone of whisper went up an octave. He couldn't believe the absurdity of Dragan's questioning in such a tense situation.

"Shut up, I'm not done yet-- what if you were in a woman's room… And you saw her underwear. What would you do?"

"I-- what? What, why?"

Dragan raised his palms up, "But what would you do, though?"

Barza grew quiet. Moments later, he turned away, hoping the darkness would hide his reddening face, "I wouldn't... do anything."

"Haaah?" Dragan waggled a meaty finger, "Youuu thoooought of something. What was it?"

"I, err… No. I didn't."

"What waaaasss iiiiiiiiitttt? Don't liiiiiiie," Dragan taunted in a sing-song voice. Hearing his voice taking on a higher pitch made Barza uncomfortable.

"It wouldn't be pleasant," Wroe whispered sternly.

Barza clasped his mouth before he could yelp in surprise. He collapsed onto his side in shock. Where did Wroe come from? Did he just emerge from the darkness? Wasn't he still talking to the guardswoman?

Wroe had appeared between Dragan and Barza in a crouch, "Seeing the woman's delicate undergarments sloppily spilling out of her wardrobe, I would place them neatly back into the drawer… But upon closing it, the attractive woman would have returned to the room with impeccable timing to witness it."

Dragan nodded in seriousness, "Yeah. Knowing your luck, that'd definitely happen."

"What's worse is my first reaction would be to yell, 'It's not what it looks like.'" Wroe looked up at the moon, wistfully.

"Riiight. And yelling that only makes you look more guilty," Dragan agreed.

"And even if I stayed silent and looked confused, the woman would just grow angrier and angrier."

"Yeah, you'd be dead," Dragan concluded.

"Right, no chance," Wroe agreed.

"Is there someone over there?" A guard's voice called out.

Barza began to sweat, 'Oh, crap. Oh, crap. It's happening.'

Wroe looked over to him and back to Dragan. "I'll go."

"Is it a dude or a chick?" Dragan asked. 

"A guy, unfortunately. What's the plan?"

"The Hide-in-the-Bush plan," The giant replied without hesitation.

Wroe frowned, "You know, Boss is going to throw a fit."

"Yeah, whatever. Boss isn't here. AND it's a good plan! I don't know why Boss doesn't like it."

"Alright, see you in a bit," Wroe stood up out of the bush to quickly intercept the guard, "Oh, excuse me! I'm a bit lost!"

Barza righted himself into a crouch, quietly drawing two of his blades. His heart rate and breathing quickened, adrenaline beginning to take hold of him.

He turned to Dragan and nodded, "I think I'm ready."

"But what would you do, though?"