“Maestro, maes-AGH!”

Thank god, someone shut that dumbass up.

Now I have to find a way out of here…

The tunnels were finally mapped, the men were made ready. The man from Fourside had hauled in the shipments of dynamite, and the clay had been wetted to shape the charge as effectively as possible. Everything went perfectly. Galinha would’ve thought it was too perfect, had it not been, in fact, not too perfect.

They had a number of close brushes to say the least.

Finally, they’d… “procured” some Schiro corpses. Again, saying the least amount about them as possible.

Him and his six groups of twelve (and three corpses a piece), all went into the tunnels. His group would be taking the heaviest fire, right near the vaults of the Rapira, the false-target they planned to frame the Schiro to rob.

The dynamite was lit.

Three.

Two.

One.

Silence.

That silence took Galinha’s breath away. Had something gone wrong? Had some god decided that they were to fail before they even began? Had the Four-

The dynamite went off! It had been unstable, and far more powerful than the vendor stated. A shower of blood and gore, and the three Schiro corpses were joined by four Paulomo ones. Galinha was clipped by a slide of rubble, but not fully buried. Wet trickled down his head? He didn’t know a stream flowed through Rapira. Perhaps it was the plumbing. And someone stop that damned ringing in the ears.

Some thuds rattled around his head. More splatters of blood and gore. More, more more.

The shapes swam into clarity. Were those the army? Was that of do? Can go now soon?

His arm raised, and his finger squeezed. More splatters and thuds.

Someone had picked him up?

The swimming was going.

Blackness surrounding.

When he finally awoke, one eye was covered by a wool bandage. His thoughts still swam.

But he finally made sense of what happened. Whether that gambit had worked, who could say? Well, easy way to find out.

Galinha looked out the window of the hovel he was in: nobody was in the streets. Smoke on the horizon.

Shit.

“Maestro, maes-AGH!”

You know the rest.

[M]: LOLWOOPS

The year is still 923. The assault on the Rapira was a horrible disaster (let's be honest, that plan was shit), but the Salvadarean Army does not know who was stupid enough to attack the Rapira. Nor do they care, they're just going to take revenge on all of Ierantaia.