Lorenzo Martinez had just arrived at The Coen's Countryside Fort. The sewer journey through the tunnels, the same pilfer smugglers used, was a dangerous one, though less-so with the amount of rebels now making their home there. He had a mission, and a very dangerous one, at that.
"Oye!" He called. Lorenzo was distinctively paler. He'd have dragged his feet across snow for hours, making sure that nobody saw him. It could be the fear he had that made him pale, or it could have been the cold. Either way, it stood as foreshadowing of a corpse's deathly pallor.
The first to arrive was Madeleine d'Eluise -- that wretched woman. As always, she mocked Lorenzo. The verbal exchange itself I can't remember, but it had something to do with bullshit and how Madeleine smelled it on Lorenzo. He thought aloud, "How would Madeleine be so familiar with such a smell?". Still, Lorenzo told her his plan: To go to Daenshore and call back the reconquest army, even if a third of it.
Royland Blackwater came second. He'd already had enough of it. Funny that one could hate Lorenzo so much without ever knowing him personally. Such is the power of the Coen word. Three seconds, that's all he gave him, to get away, or get shot. The archers were already ready.
"One," Royland counted.
"It's been five minutes." Lorenzo said.
"Two."
Lorenzo shut his eyes, gripping the gate's cold bars. He started his prayers. Would they really kill a noble dedicated to their cause?
"Three."
And with that, Blackwater dropped his axe. He pulled out his own bow, and, in unison with the rest of the archers, let the arrows fly. Lorenzo's shoulder, his shin, his waist; they made him look like a doll with pins in it. Perhaps somewhere in the world some enemy of his had pricked a figure of him with needles to condemn him to such vile luck.
And with that, without even finishing his prayers, Lorenzo Martinez fell the ground. No more than a whimper escaped his lungs as he hit his head with the floor.
He didn't move after that.
Only after Whitlock Carswell attempted to jump over the castle wall, but failed, did Lorenzo disappear. Perhaps the wolves had dragged him to the dinner table, or perhaps the Coens to their own. A trail of blood was seen in the snow.
