The Tessier Gallery, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 9:00 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cedolin hadn't been kidding about the state of things - the streets leading back to the Tessier had turned into a warzone. Crude wooden barricades were being hastily erected, mostly meant to passively keep people out, but some of them were occupied with riflemen who were taking more aggressive measures. You were lucky, most of the streets Cedolin lead you through were clear of danger, the people there preoccupied with barricading their houses and helping others to saftey. More than a few people called from windows, offering you shelter and safety, but Cedolin kept running. Eventually, you cleared the area where the beggars had assaulted you and got a good look at the Tessier.
"Blast!" Cedolin cursed. "It's already reached here as well."
The area around the building was a pitched battlefield. Militiamen decked out in red and gold were firing on shabbily dressed workers, who had rallied themselves and were firing back. One young man threw a bottle in your general direction, the oil and alcohol shattering into a gout of flame by your feet. The Tessier itself was looking worse for wear - you couldn't see the fire yet, but you could
smell it. On the other side of the battlefield, a cloud of mist was heavily rolling in, with muffled screams and shouts of confusion emerging from within.
"No helping it," Cedolin said, starting to run forward into the firefight. Katja caught his arm before the gendarme could do something nearly suicidal.
"We should see if there is a better path, first," she calmly warned, her single eye scanning the area.
================================================
Agale wrote:The usually articulate Borcan then shouted "ENOUGH!" at the battered servant. Once again his voice took on an unearthly quality, but this time the man shook as though he had been struck.
That was enough. Christophe stepped in, knocking the pistol aside as though barely registering its presence, and punched the man in the stomach. The kitchen servant was knocked off his feet and staggered back, falling into a crumpled heap on the floor.
The Renier watched him as he fell, and for a moment it seemed as though Christophe would go and finish the job, but something in the young man restrained him. This, in turn, allowed the battle-rage to leech out of Christophe, which also meant that now Christophe realized that he was bleeding from at least three places and his clothing and body were burned.
The young man swore under his breath, reciting a litany of impolite speech as he tested his arm and the side of his head. The wounds were certainly bloody, but obviously not as serious as had heretofore been suspected, so after checking to see that he still had his ear attached, Christophe went and picked up the pistol, then hoisted the kitchen servant over one shoulder. Though the man was not all that small, Christophe barely noticed his weight.
"Ought to throw him in the fire." The Renier muttered, then looked at Mr. Agale. "Where to now?"
Christophe hits for a further 25 damage, and that is the end of the battle.
================================================
Lia Mourneswaithe wrote:Move!"
Celeste Viardot wrote:“Coo-ee! Good evening again, kind gallery patrons! I beg you: do not fear, only proceed with calm and orderly consideration as my companion instructs! Remember: it is in trying circumstances that decorum is most called for!”
Richard clapped his hands over his ears as the bell tolled through the main hall, wincing slightly as Lia's words got lost in the panic and confusion following the noise. "I, I fear that, mask aside, your voice is, is too mellow for you to be a, to make a good drill sergeant, Professor Mourneswaithe," he whispered, looking pained.
"I'll show them 'drill sergeant' if they don't start moving," Alice said darkly. The elder Blackwood could look intimidating when she wanted.
"I'll get around and try to, to lead from the back, if, if you can lead from the front," Richard offered. He raised his voice to the crowd. "Be, be strong, friends. We're going to get you out of this." The two siblings hurried through the crowd like a pair of shepards, Richard's voice soft and soothing, Alice's hard and commanding.
Slowly, much too slowly to suit your tastes, the assembled mass of humanity moved where Celeste had directed. They stumbled along, in ones and twos and small groups, following. Some were in a daze, just listening to a single, understandable voice amidst the shock of the night. Others had their heads more tightly screwed onto their shoulders, leading and directed the groups that followed. One elderly dame, ninety years old if she was a day, organized at least twenty or thirty people with an efficiency that would've shamed someone seventy years younger.
Not everyone left, of course. Some were too dazed to hear, lost in the mad panic or dull shock that came with having the world turned upside down in the space of hours. Others merely thought their ideas for escape were better, breaking off in ones or twos and taking other passages or exits. Others yet were stuck in the mob, and though they heard Lia and Celeste, were simply unable to join.
And some were simply too wounded to go on, bleeding from incidental wounds that came from being on the outskirts of a full-scale battle. Sometimes the more-levelheaded people helped them. But not always.
Still, for all that, many people did go, and it was well over a hundred and fifty that followed Celeste's commands to escape.
