The response from outside was about what Donovan had expected. He knew they weren't going to see three of their men killed, no matter how quickly, and suddenly decide, 'Oh well, nothing for us to see here, might as well return to the vizier as failures!'. No, Donovan was sure that those outside would still rush in, one way or another, only now they would know they were dealing with dangerous people instead of simple lower-class peasants.<br/><br/>The fire, too, he had expected, since it would have been the most convenient way to get them to leave the safety and cover of the old house. A doorway was a perfect funnel for Donovan and Dean to work their terrible warcraft, together they could turn that area into a charnel pit of the vizier's soldiers. But the woman leading them outside knew that as well, and sought to remove that advantage from those inside the building.<br/><br/>What Donovan didn't count on, even as torches were pushed through the slots between wooden planks that boarded up the windows, was the notion that they would set the place on fire AND charge in. To him, that seemed completely counter-intuitive... but then again, it was just the kind of risky ploy that might throw the building's occupants (meaning, the two men and the fox-lady) into disarray. A lantern also came twirling end over end through the front door, smashing to bits on the floor in a long, oil-laden streak on the hardwood floor. Thankfully neither himself nor Dean were standing in the way.<br/><br/>Donovan glanced over at Dean as they heard the onrush of men. They were surrounded, each direction blocked or covered by the vizier's men. With an silent nod, Donovan's face illuminated by the flickering flames around them that started small but promised to quickly grow larger, the big warrior's eyes fluttered for a moment as she gave Dean as much free 'leash' as he ever had before. It was no loss of pride in Donovan's eyes to realize that Dean was the far more violent of the pair, and if they had any hopes of surviving this, Dean needed to have as much autonomy as Donovan could muster. Right up to the edge he took it, just a hair's breadth short of giving Dean complete and utter free rein. Any more, and Donovan was sure he'd see Dean slaying children and drinking blood before it was all over.<br/><br/>Immediately, when the nearest solider appeared through a nearby window - Donovan's blade was a blur. The man screamed, his face cleaved nearly in twain as he fell back awkwardly through the window in which he had half-climbed through, only to have a solider shoulder through the window next to it. Donovan focused on his half of the massive empty living area, the four windows suddenly filled with soldiers with one goal on their minds: the death or capture of those within.<br/><br/>Something caught his eye from the side, and Donovan cast a quick glance towards the door. Methuseld herself lead the men who came through the main opening, and her eyes set immediately on Dean. She had a wild look about her - of course, ALL of the combatants did. Many would die tonight - perhaps even himself. All he could do was fight to take as many of them with him as he could, his blade blurring in motion again towards the nearest soldier, cleaving through the man's armor and collarbone and deeply into his chest with a fine spray of crimson. Donovan raised his shield, feeling two blows strike against it as he wrenched his blade free from his latest victim.<br/>