Brett had only been at the banquet because it was expected of him. He had made it blatantly clear early on - and throughout the night - that he wasn't there to socialise. He had found a corner, some ale, and some food and bullishly kept himself to himself, snapping at everyone who came near. The only people who had managed to approach without getting their heads bitten off had been the serving girls, to whom he had actually been properly courteous, though not encouraging. He didn't believe in making life miserable for those who were only trying to do their jobs.
He had been about to call it a night when the animals attacked, and he was as surprised as everyone else. Brett had been one of the knights who had sprung into action - drawing his sword and jumping into the fray, defending those who could not defend themselves. He had been cornered by a pack of angry squirrels, of all things, at one point. Humiliating as the idea of that was to him, the little critters were almost impossible to fight. They were fast and agile and far too small for his sword to be effective. In the end, his discarded the broadsword into a corner and drew his knife, pulling the things off him and stabbing where he could. By the end of it, he was covered in bites and scratches and just hoped to hell that none of them had been carrying anything particularly deadly.
He had just been catching his breath from that when he was charged by a wild boar. He knew from experience that there was little more dangerous in the land then an angry boar. Those tusks were deadly. Springing out of its path, he darted through a doorway, only to realise that it had come about and was following him. He shifted his knife to his offhand and looked around for something he could use as a spear - anything to keep the creature away from him.
Then things got exponentially worse. As the boar thundered down the passageway, it knocked over a candlestand, sending the whole mess flying. Flames caught at one of the old tapestries hanging on the wall, and licked at some straw on the floor. The way back to the banquet was quickly aflame. The boar squealed, terrified by the inferno and it shifted course. Rather than running at Brett now, it hurtled past him, down the corridor, its panicked squeals fading into the distance. Leaving Brett with the fire.
Memories of the agony of flame licking over his flesh rose in Brett's mind, turning his legs to jelly. He felt as if his legs wouldn't hold him, but he turned and made his way down the corridor, smoke burning at his lungs and making him cough as he leaned on the wall for support.
His only advantage was that he knew this castle. He knew that there was no way out on this level through this corridor. He would be trapped between licking flames and an angry pig - plus who the hell knew what else. His best bet was to find his way to the cellars, and to get out through the tunnels there.
Grasping at a door, he pulled it open. The yawning blackness of a spiral stairwell greeted him and he half-stumbled, half-walked down them, mostly blind in the darkness. Hoping to feel air on his face, giving him some kind of direction, he felt his way along what seemed like endless corridors. Eventually, he realised that this was a bad idea. He was hopelessly lost.