[centre][colour=aqua][h2]Sylva[/h2][/colour][/centre]
[center][h2]Town of the Undead[/h2][/center]
[hr]
Sylva simply grinned back at Sephily’s flustered words. It was a cute reaction, one that reminded him of better times. With his grin still in place, he went to check out the rest of the building. He doubted he’d find anything better than what was in the cellar, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another look around. As expected, there wasn’t much of anything of value in most of the rooms as he found out, except for a decently sturdy piece of wood he’d lucked onto. He would’ve liked it if there had been something better he could have used as a weapon, but considering the state of everything, he didn’t fancy the likelihood of getting anything that could last. That would have to come later, it seemed.

After gathering anything he could fit—and that wasn’t in a state of decay—into a leather sack he’d found lying around, Sylva checked everything over one last time to ensure that he was set. Whether it all went well or not, they probably wouldn’t have a chance to restock any time soon. When he was satisfied with his inspection he moved to join the others, ready to head out.

He didn’t protest Sephily’s formation suggestion. She did seem to be the most fragile of the four of them, and Bianca was the only one wearing armour. It was better than nothing.

When he stepped outside, Sylva felt the urge to stretch his wings. He hadn’t had a chance to do so while inside the inn and focusing on it now only made the sensation worse. As his newfound limbs extended to their full length and then retracted, he took the time to look around a bit. The streets were empty since all the zombies had cleared out. Not a single one had seemed able to ignore the toll of the bell, which was good for them.

Sylva took a deep breath. The air wasn’t as displeasing as he’d imagined, considering what had occupied it mere minutes before. Certainly, it was better than the stale air from inside the inn. There were several burnt buildings around the streets, some of which were still smouldering. Whoever, or whatever, had torched the place had done so quite recently. He couldn’t tell at first glance why anyone would have done this. To get rid of undead inside of the buildings, perhaps? Regardless, there certainly wasn’t anyone staying in them anymore.

Maybe whoever had rung the bell was responsible. It wouldn’t be too big of a surprise.

Sylva’s eyes followed Sephily’s finger to the building with a hammer sign. Ah, that was a lucky break and a quick one too. Even if there weren’t any pristine weapons in there, it would probably have some useful materials. One could hope.

Bianca decided to take the initiative and be the first to open the door. 

[colour=aqua]“Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”[/colour]

Though he said that, Sylva was a bit apprehensive. Only two in their group were armed, and one of those weapons was already proven to be less than effective against the undead. If there was any positive, it was that if there were any zombies inside the building, coming out into the open was the only way to get to them. Sylva watched cautiously as the blond approached the door and then winced as she proceeded to break it down with her shoulder. It should have been expected, as aged as the building seemed to be. Fortunately, the noise wasn’t loud enough to attract any of the zombies that had already left the streets for the bell, which was great! Unfortunately, however, the smithy was not quite as empty as he would have hoped.

[I]Oh, you’ve got to be–[/I]

Reacting instinctively, Sylva pulled Bianca away from the broken door and stepped further back into the street.

[colour=aqua]“.... That might be a problem.”[/colour]

Sylva's mind was racing. Fire was an idea, though not a particularly good one. Corpses didn’t have the same weaknesses that living bodies had. Of course, a sufficient amount of fire would more than likely do the job but they didn’t have that.

He readied his plank, holding it as if it was a bat. It felt awkward in his hands, and looking at the weapons—ruined as they were—the undead had made him acutely aware of how utterly paltry his own was in comparison.

But it was still better than nothing.


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