The gypsies as usual were blunt with their attitudes and intentions. Each for themselves. Bucren could only stand there with some measure of astonishment as the small group moved into the other room. It wasn’t long before something heavy was set by the door. Bucren just stared at it, feeling an urge to recklessly bulrush the door with his shoulder to burst threw and demand what was wrong with those fools. They were literally leaving him and the others to die. “Cowardly bastards. Go hide.” He snorted at the door and turned back to his own situation. Alone.<i>That advice wasn’t so bad now that he thought about it.</i><br/><br/>Bucren had did what he could in preparation for the long siege that was to follow. That vampire had her eyes set on them and he could only ignore her for so long before things would come to a head. This tavern was not the place he would like to be in when going face to face with a bloodsucker. It’s public nature meant that vampires weren’t restrained by the old adage that they could not enter anywhere without an invitation. This structure sat under an open door rule that didn’t restrict them. He had bare seconds to prepare and hope for some sort of miracle if strength of arms could not prevail him this time.<br/><br/>Where were the others? They were safe within their own barricades or hideouts, and Bucren thought why he should not be ad well, in his own house not far from this place. How could he get there? And he didn’t feel right about abandoning the others. He was better than that. And they all had better chances sticking together. But maybe he could convince them to head there, if they might risk a running battle in the streets or something. There was no time to plot that though.<br/><br/>Standing by the door, a gleam caught his eye off to the side. A sword, shining brighter than any polished iron or steel might.<i>Was that silver?</i>And for a moment it escaped his mind, hovering on the tip of his tongue. What was silver good for again? It was Ismark’s sword wasn’t it? The man carelessly left it behind. But who would steal it? Everyone would know who’s blade it was.<i>Maybe he won’t mind if I bothered it for this moment.</i><br/><br/>Before he could make a move for it, the eerie voice of the vampire came again, mocking his current circumstance. Bucren turned back to the door, shoving the bottle of fine liquor into a pouch on his side, to see all his efforts turned vain, as the fog crept through, heavily and voluminous. From its depths, the silhouette of a figure could be seen. The sword and it’s silver sheen was swept up by the invading mists but Bucren noted where it lay briefly, before his eyes were strictly on the creature before him as it manifested itself. She was…beautiful, though Bucren fought off that thought. It was a trap meant to entice unsuspecting fools. Catrinel she called herself, beckoning him to come and indulge his desires.<br/><br/>He gave no answer. He got ready to fight, until he heard boots coming down the stairs. Finally, some help. Down Xavier came, answering the bloodsucking bitch for him. Bucren wasn’t at all offended by having his blood called infected. He even grinned at it. “I’m full of it. Bring your sisters too. There’s plenty for all.” He promised his infection to the vampire. Anything to dissuade her and to buy time. They had the numbers right? He had no clue about the fighting abilities of those upstairs.<i>The sword.</i>Ismark’s sword. It might be their only chance. He waited for something, anything, that would turn the vampire’s attention away. Then he would make his move.<br/><br/>He unslung his bow with one hand, his other seizing a feathered tipped arrow, and in the cramped space of the tavern common room unleashed the projectile in a heartbeat towards the creature’s head. The bow<i>twanged</i>, hardly aimed, but shot on instinct towards the head.<i>Idiot.</i>Aim for the heart. But he had no time to think or plan accordingly in that moment. He hoped Xavier was ready to fight. He was going to snatch up the sword. They needed the silver.<br/><br/>He didn’t wait for the effect of his attack, possibly unleashing all sorts of hell, turning on his heel quickly and diving into the fogs nearby where he assumed the sword to be. He thought he miscalculated as his hand met the floorboards instead but a sweep to the right caught the hilt and he grabbed it, bringing up the sheathed sword out of the mists. The silver would protect him for a time.<i>Faith</i>, like Xavier had mentioned. Still he didn’t turn to look, rushing next for the stairs and the advantage of the high ground, a companion, as well as a cramped approach. Was the vampire on his tail or focused on Xavier? It felt like a dozen enemies were behind him, heart pounding, but his thoughts sharp and accurate on his task. He clutched the blade once he got by the stairs and spun, holding the sheathed blade defensively, hoping the gleam of silver might persuade the creature to another meal. A bow was useless in close quarters, at least for a second shot if expected, so he slung it again, placing his hand on the hilt of Ismark’s blade, ready to get up close and personal, if need be.