Salvio winced slightly as he tightened the last strap of his armour, feeling the pressure against his bruised ribs, but he gritted his teeth against the pain. Pulling the tattered remains of a blanket from where it lay, discard, amongst the wrecked remains of the groups camp, Salvio wiped his two hammers clean, before strapping them to his belt. Hearing pounding of hooves, he tensed suddenly, gripping the handles of his weapons before he turned to see that it was not another cavalryman. Instead, Agatho had descended from his perch upon the rooftop of the ruined mansion and retrieved his warhorse from wherever it had been waiting during the skirmish. 

Seemingly taking it upon himself to take command of the group, the mercenary barked out orders to the other ‘possessed’. Salvio ached too much to protest, and shrugged slightly, turning to prepare his simple belongings for their journey. To his surprise, Agatho turned to him, and spoke in a clam voice that seemed macabrely out of place in the midst of the carnage that the two of them stood in. 

Salvio gestured towards where the footmen still struggled against the bolts of ice that pinned him to the floor, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse. 

[b]“The witch has one of them trapped over there. As for our attackers, all I know is that they knew we were here. And that doesn’t fill me with trust.”[/b]