Search the plain doors

You blink, taking quick assessment of your situation again. Your core buzzes with nervous energy, but underneath that you can feel an underlying tiredness that comes after all battles - not to mention the marching and exhaustive climb to the top of the breach, and the run here. Of your surroundings, one of the two doors that flanked the staircase likely lead to the kitchen or the servant's quarters, where you were most likely to find a servant girl or keys to other parts of the house.

A grumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since sunrise this morning, and by now you've expended most of the energy you got from the sparse rations given to soldiers of your ilk. Granted pickings had been better on this campaign than usual - as a front-line soldier you often got to raid wealthy plantations and farms not long after they'd been captured, and though the actual occupiers often stripped it of valuables before you got there, substantial stores of fresh food could be found in the barns and basements, sometimes with girls left behind by their masters and left unfound by the capturers - however, it'd been a long time since you'd last seen one of the luxurious farmsteads and settled down with meagre rations for the gruelling siege.

Boring doors it is you decide, stepping towards one of the non-embellished wooden doors by the staircase, hoping it was the right one - with nothing but the vaguest ideas as to the general layout of the house to go off of, you were kind of guessing here. Maybe I'll find a servant girl in the kitchen too.

Frustratingly though, the door to the right of the stairs wouldn't budge, a blockage on the other side firmly wedging the door in place. Not that that deters you, because a quick test of the other door reveals that it wasn't blocked, and after a quick thought, you roll one of the heavy potted plants by the staircase to block the door from your side too. If anyone tried to run, they would be trapped between your spear and the door.

You level your spear forward and raise your shield, eyes peaking over the burnished metal rim so you could scan the room for threats as you entered.

You stepped through the archway, blinking quickly as your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you braced for a blow. One which never came.

A glance across the room confirmed your suspicions that the room was both empty, and intended for the servants - or their presence at the very least. A rather plain wooden table filled the centre of the room, cabinets of plates, glasses, mugs, and other crockery lining the walls, gaps filled with candle-holders. The table itself was laid out as though in the midst of being prepared for serving. Plates and silver cutlery were stacked on one end with long-stemmed glasses - a horribly impractical design in your eyes - while on the other end sat what looked like part of an elegant meal on trays, with various fine cuts of meat and daintily-arranged greenery adorning a couple of large plates.

You shuffle forward, keeping a wary eye on two doors you notice at the end, and lower your gear. If you were to guess, the owners were probably going to have a last supper before the walls were breached and they were all captured, killed, or otherwise removed from their lavish premises. Only the city was breached before they could eat, and they skedaddled with their most valuable goods before one of the aforementioned issues could occur to them.

A quick look at the silverware reveals exquisite craftsmanship, gold leafing at the tips of each item implanted perfectly. These would be worth a small fortune alone, so you set your shield down, spear propped against the wall, and you quickly stuff the set into your field bag - purposely left mostly bereft so that you can stuff more goodies into it. The impractical glassware - wine glasses, if your memory serves you correctly - looks to be hand-blown, with perfect yet exquisite designs running along the rims and bases. But, unfortunately, glass was pretty fragile, so they would have to stay where they were.

You turn your attention to the food at the other end, mouth watering as you set your eyes upon a collection of thick cut of pork on one of the serving dishes, gaze wandering to the whole roast chicken on the other, untouched by any human hands or mouth, and seeming delicious all the same. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, grabbing the cut you'd eyed earlier, and like an overeager child, you stuff it into your mouth.

Looks prove to not be deceiving, as the meat, cold though it is, explodes with flavour, and you groan as you savour the intense honey-soaked pork. Without really realising it, you tear off a drumstick, biting into the succulent chicken as soon as you could get the pork down your gullet. Within seconds, you were tearing into more of both platters, stuffing your face with as much food as possible.

Your feasting is interrupted as you hear a clang from behind one of the doors - the one which led to the blocked off room - and you snap out of your frantic feast as your remember that you are technically in an enemy house, by yourself, a fair distance away from your comrades for an indeterminate period of time. You swallow what's left in your mouth, hurriedly wiping your greasy hands on your tunic as you rush to your spear and shield, getting ready and facing the door.

However, nothing happens for several minutes of silent waiting, and you begin to wonder whether it'd simply been a poorly-stacked pan. You're nowhere near full, and there's plenty more stuff you could pilfer from this room alone. You could easily see what's in the next room later, and you'd be able to see if anyone leaves through this room.