Aldred grunted as his blade narrowly turned aside a harrowing stroke, thrown by one of the castle's last defenders. He bore a crude, rusty armour-piercing polearm and no other article that might suggest him as a warrior. More than likely, he was a simple serf who had elected to join the fight out of coercion, bribery or bloodlust. It mattered not. Aldred spun, his movements feeding from the momentum of the absorbed blow, and delivered a stunning pommel strike to the man's jaw, rendering him unconscious on his feet. Feeling no need to dispatch the man, he simply barged him over, sending him toppling onto the bloodsoaked stone like a ragdoll. As he fell, Aldred found himself facing empty air. He turned around - behind him, the vicious combat that had enshrouded the wall had begun to die down, the defenders hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched by the relentless aggression of his men. For the second time that day, he was proud. He dropped a knee, regaining his breath with a few powerful inhalations. Caldor approached and tapped him on his shoulder. "Looks like we've won this one". Aldred grunted in agreement. "Did you see any of ours fall?" "Aye. Petr. William. Poor lads. Someone I didn't see got skewered by a bolt on the way over - toppled right off the side". Beneath the unrelenting steel visage of his visor, Aldred grimaced. He'd known them both well. Caldor broke the mournful silence. "Still, the day is ours.  They'll rest in the Lady's care." He didn't mean the barber-medics. He meant the Lady they worshipped. "Form up the unscathed men and have them clear the castle - tell the rest to seek aid. You're coming with me." Aldred stood up, gazing idly off into the distance, admiring the way the distant mountains silhouetted against the morning sun's glare. They'd used that sun to blind the defender's marksmen. It was a beautiful herald of death, the ring around the fiery yellow core red with the blood it had helped spill. "Time to round up the women."<br/><br/>The two knights trudged through the lower echelons of the castle, their steel sabatons clattering noisily on the floor as they exchanged chatter. Or rather, Caldor intermittently sung and told half-true tales and Aldred peered through the darkness in silence, torch in hand. Womenfolk tended to fancy themselves rather clever in sieges, hiding in the depths of their castles as if they'd never be found. Of course, they were always found, but Aldred was thankful that they at least knew enough to stay out of the fighting. Neither he nor his men needed the blood of innocent women on their already stained consciences, should they happen to stumble into the thick of it or, Lady forbid, pick up a weapon themselves. The pair came to the cellar door, and halted - they could see the dim torchlight flickering beneath it. It was thick, rotted oak, reinforced with rusty iron. He knocked, the banging sound startlingly loud, amplified by the cavernous hallways. "Open up, please". Aldred did not shout - his voice was compassionate and totally calm in tone.