505-11-24 A Skirmish on Guardian

Log: A Skirmish on Guardian
Players:	Bastien, Eamonn, Grear, Gwyneth, Phiip, Ragnar, Ysora. Later joined: Eadric, Emmaline, Iain, Saunder
Location:	Capital City, Gwencalon
	Crossroads Time and Weather
IC Date:	Tuesday, November 11, 505 A.G.
Season:	Autumn
Tide:	Low and Rising
Diuturnal:	Full
Minuet:	Full
Weather:	Snow (light)

Markets of Gwencalon

In Gwencalon, the fringe of snow that dusts the city amidst the rocky landscape paints those in the city with its chill, feathering touch. Tensions are naturally a bit high, but the plea for peace on the part of both the encumbent and the newly proclaimed duke seem to be keeping a tenuous grasp upon peace, for the time being. In fact Grear Maritius, in charge of the city guard overall, has noted that a number have gone on vacation or surrendered to a winter cold. It's just that crisp time when the promise of more cold and snow hangs heavy on the air.

None can say quite how it starts, a merchant selling warm gloves arguing with a plain-clothed man over the price, but somehow there's a shout of extortion in price, and then when the merchant protests, it abruptly spills over into violence. A blade is drawn, and blood stains the snow, that quickly.

It's like dropping a match on a powder keg, because it seems to ignite fire in all sorts of other places. A few other hostile conversations turn to trouble immediately, fists and blades going to trouble. A cart overturned. A shout about how someone should grab the food, because the rationing will get worse. What was a peaceful area of the market turns to a seething rage, very quickly.

For those in it, the madness of a mob spreads like fire through a city of warriors compelled toward peace despite political turmoil at their head. The legionnaires on watch will be called quickly, Grear leading his sparse troops toward the conflict while savagely ordering one to go and get those who were sick to get off their asses and come on duty.

That's a call that not many will actually be around to obey.

Although holed up in the Ducal castle on the cliffs above for much of his time here, Philip has been making trips down into the city on a daily basis, always under heavy guard. Meetings with merchants and military leaders have topped the agenda, the strategist with a keen eye for how things are going in both logistics and morale. The would-be duke has just concluded a meeting with a small group of the town's more wealthy merchants, and thus his financial backers, when he hears the distant shouts. Distance that seems to be getting closer by the minute. He mutters an expletive.

Baron Dun Artan, having arrived in the city only last night to discuss certain matters with Lord Grear, listens to news of the exploding violence with a grim expression. Sending for his men, he gathers them and begins giving instructions. They appear to be preparing to lend whatever aid they might in bring the chaos to a conclusion. It doesn't take them long to make ready for their departure from the house of Maritus.

It is hard to say if the somewhat feral looking woman in the fur hoodie is going to help or hinder the cause for peace. The crutches speak to possibly being willing to talk more than hit, but the battle axe across her back doesn't look as if Gwyneth is unwilling to get into a scuffle. She's right in the marketplace, roaming around, looking for people and places.. someone in particular more than likely. She doesnt immediately reach for her axe, instead she settles to a more aware stance, more likely to smack out with a crutch than anything.

It may be that Bastien will get to baptise that freshly forged blade on his back earlier than expected. The former knight -- traveling in entourage with Philip -- loosens the equally-ugly replacement for that ugly bastard sword he used to have and turns, prepared to interpose himself between the would-be duke and the rapidly devolving marketplace. He is not impossible to spot, though his winter attire makes immediate identification less likely: he's the one in that heavy guard not wearing the common livery.

Ysora walks downstairs, a bit green about the gills this morning. Baroness Crucible has been staying at the house of Maritus as well as business goes on. She orders some of the heavier than usual baronial guard to the stable to secure a 'just in case' exit and their horses saddled. But it seems that she has been placed under orders not to go out and play, and her security looked to. "Baron Dun Artan. Do you ride out for the fray, or for security?"

"Baroness Crucible," Ragnar nods. "I ride for both, and for Glory. We will kill no one if it is possible, but order must be restored. The winter will be hard enough without women and wains left without their providers."

And in a group of rioting Guardian people, it is not a difficult thing for people to get drawn into it. From out of the angry crowd, one lone figure comes running toward Philip, though there is no weapon in hand. Since the would-be Baron is surrounded by people, the figure stops a full ten paces away from the outermost guard, instead calling for the attention of the man. "BARCA! A message for you! Read it well!" And then with a force and precision of the scariest of paper-boys, that scrollcase is thrown directly at Philip, likely aimed right at the man's head.

Gwyneth, two crutches spells some measure of disaster. It is a bad thing to be recovering from injury on a wintery surface. As the fighting grows closer, one of the rioting men does try to kick out that second crutch, the one still connected to the ground, helping the warrior woman keep her balance.

With reflexes that respond on nerve impulse rather than thought, Bastien extends a hand to snap the scrollcase out of the air and turn his back to the Barca man, item at his chest: a gesture of warding, of protection. Just in case. That is, apparently, the catchphrase of the day.

Rapidly ending up in the thick of things, unlike most of the other nobles and not quite nobles and ex-knights, Gwyneth is at least paying attention. She swings around, leaning all of her weight onto the crutch trying to be moved to pin it as best she can and use the free one to aim a sharp crack at the rioter's shins.

The clouds begin to clear a bit leaving patches of cottony clouds covering the sky.

The man kicking at Gwyneth is mid-kick when her crutch comes down hard upon his shin, a sharp explicative exploding from him. It's a name the woman has likely been called before, especially in the middle of battle. And since both of her hands are occupied with crutches, to retaliate, he aims a hard punch right to her face to return the favor of a soon-to-be bad bruise.

The ex-knight who dares to interpose himself between Philip and the teeming throng that spills his way, and even those who are the guards of Philip, might note that the spread of chaos is like a maelstrom around the area. Every time it seems like trouble might calm down at one spot, something happens and it picks up again.

A small fire where a vendor is roasting meat seems to be unluckily brushed by some fabric, then a cart, and in a few moments there's a larger fire as a pile of hay ignites.

As Bastien makes his stand to ward the would-be-duke, the crowd spills mindlessly toward them. A man who is staggering back from a punch turns around in a fast and graceful recovery, ending up facing Bastien with but a dagger in his hand. Somewhat blind to the logic of the situation (i.e. don't attack well-armed and armored men when you have just a dagger), his blood is up and he gives a bellowing shout, slasing toward Bastien.

A rock clashes through the window of the Kilgannon house, shattering glass in a spray as the riot gets near to the house where the Maritus family has been residing. The shouts of the crowd spread, rolling onward as if someone had doused the city in coal oil and lobbed a match into it.

"Back away," Philip gives the order, although it's clearly not a full fledged retreat. His group of guards begins to move back with him, while still facing the assaulting crowd, aiming to move toward the relatively safer environs of the castle. Bastien's attacker is left to be easily dealt with by Bastien and the man next to him, while most of the remainder of the retinue continues to look outward for other threats.

There's good reason why the barbarian woman has an excellent vocabulary, of words not suitable for court, and battle and brawls is really it. She might have two crutches, and a braced leg, but she's willing to drop one as she ducks away from that punch. Now she has a free hand, even if perhaps isnt quite as well stable as she once was, but able to use the muscles built up after a month of crutches to retaliate. She's here alone, and she's mostly just trying to keep herself from getting the daylights beat out of her.

It's a sudden and unexpected attack, and Bastien has only one hand to work with as the other presently has a scroll case in it. He's more defensive than offensive presently anyway, his primary concern the man behind him...and so he uses what leverage the man has against himself -- that wild slash -- to just try to encourage it along, to attempt to grasp the man's wrist and tug him in the same direction in an effort to send him to the ground where he might have a moment to reconsider the wisdom of what he's doing.

It is difficult to see in a upset crowd. Smoke billowing from a fire, men and women fighting, screams of battle and pain. And a well-aimed bolt out of nowhere, aimed at Philip Barca. Wherever it comes from, it is a very steady and trained person behind that crossbow. The aim is true.

Ysora nods to Ragnar. "Admirable. I suggest you to to the storehouses to make certain those winter stores are kept safe then. Here." A pause to move into a room away from windows. "(Directions given)." She frowns somewhat, hand moving to a hip where until just the other day her sword hung at her hip.

Grear's forces slam into the crowd like a knife through hot butter, sinking into them. Armored and prepared, they do shrug off more of the blows of fists and the trouble that is spread. Grear himself nabs a rioter by the back of his neck and chucks him upside the head, then drops the unconscious body and keeps moving. His bellow doesn't carry as far as it should, demanding people get down. To his own men, he reiterates the orders to not use the sharp of blades, to take people down without harm. He fists someone in the face to illustrate this, and then narrows his eyes at the spread of fire.

The shattering of the window doesn't alarm Ragnar, though it definitely gets his attention. Glancing back to the baroness, he inquires, "You will be safe here under your guard then, Baroness?" He eyes the broken window and nods, as if answering his own question. "We will go, then. Fare you well, Baroness." He turns and, with his men-at-arms, departs the Maritus' house, stepping out into the cold air to mount their horses and take off for the great warehouses at top speed.

Bastien does get a grip on the man's wrist, but it's not all the way to the ground that the man makes it. He is certainly taken off balance and thrust into the middle of the guard around Philip Barca. Now, any man surrounded by guards with only a dagger, and they are already angry to begin with? That man just tries to run and fight someone who is more on par with his current situation.

Philip's goal of trying to be out showing leadership is quite opposite his guards' goal of getting him somewhere safe so they have one less nonwarrior to worry about and can worry more about themselves. As bastien deals with his attacker, the group closes in around Philip a bit more tightly, and hurries him a bit more quickly in the direction of safety. But not before a bolt streaks in out of the blue, impacting him squarely on the shoulder and causing him to call out in pain. The bolt does not seem to penetrate the chainmail under his shirt, however, and falls to the ground even as the Baron/claimed-Duke twists from the blow, and two of the guards closer to him begin hurrying him even more quickly in a zigzag path to safety. A third notes something wrapped around the bolt and spends a few seconds retrieving it, but doesn't pause to look at it just yet.

As Gwyneth dodges the punch, it whistles over her head, the man there mindlessly shouting. Someone bumps into him hard from behind and he tumbles into and over Gwyneth, going sprawling into her. His own balance is unsteady, and her single-crutchedness doesn't help. As he falls to the ground, he tries to grab at her, to either make her fall with him or use her as a cushion.

Ragnar, as he steps out of the house, feels and hears the whistle of a crossbow bolt wizz past his ear, and crack against the ground. Another strikes the armor of one of his guards, wounding the loyal man. "On..the roof.." the wounded guard of Ragnar curses. And sure enough, there are two dark clad, face painted figures who have scaled the roof of his house during the riot. They are reloading....

There's one thing that Gwyneth can't cope with. Punches are fine. Swords would probably be alright, things she can smack at are not much of a problem, but crutches and a still braced leg makes her have abyssmal balance. She tries, she really does try to brace her crutch against the impact of being tumbled over, but she's going down. He might be trying to use her as a cushion, but on the way down, she's trying to use him as a cushion. Fists over here is about to become wrestling.

When the person he'd been dealing with makes himself scarce, Bastien tucks the scroll case securely into a pocket in the lining of the coat he's wearing and turns to find that Philip is being swiftly escorted toward safety, already some distance from his current position. It's a moment for him to scan the crowd and attempt to assess where he might be of best use before he notes that mindless shouting and the woman connected to it.

"Figures," is the word he mutters to himself before he begins to make his way toward Gwyneth and her attacker, intent on pulling the man off of her while he's otherwise distracted by that ongoing tussle.

As Philip is getting escorted out, one of his guards is struck in the back by a rock thrown, though no real harm done there, either. It is most likely that the Baron is going to have to fall to the will of this guards who push him out of the way of danger.

Philip's guards are not caught totally unawares, familiar with which houses are safe and which have alleyways leading back to even safer environs. It is one such house into which Philip is quickly pushed, not to stay, but simply as a doorway to a more private retreat to safety. A smaller group of guards remain with him, while the others return to attempt to calm the fray.

Grear's men cut through the crowd, their armor protecting them enough so that they bear the brunt of the mindless wrath fairly easily. It's the numbers that make it hard, as if they were a sieve trying to hold in water. Although they are sturdy and unfaltering, the crowd spills over and around them, uncontained. Even in the city of stone, with guards moving to extinguish that on the cart, the fire seems to find another fuel, catching on a pile of blankets. Grear's sharp shouts of directions are hard to hear above the crowd, but his men seem attuned to it, and a couple take off to get some supply his shout demands. Then the man starts scanning the crowd and wades through, the flat of his blade taking a female under an ear and batting her aside like a fly. He's got his eyes on someone.

Ragnar snarls at the cowards atop the roof. "Eryn, Joryk! Bows! Take them out!" He turns his horse, presenting as minimal an aspect to the assaulters as possible. He reaches to his thigh, yanking a dagger from its sheath and hurls it at one of the men on the roof, attempting at least to wound the man, or failing that, to distract him until his men can draw upon them.

As he's moving toward Gwyneth, Bastien is tracking the movements of the mob with narrowed amber eyes, and after a moment he's telling everyone he can, every one of Grear's men he passes in strident tones: "They're working together! There are a few of them working together, watch the crowd!" If he can get near enough to Grear to communicate that on his way to where Gwyneth is he will, and if he can intercept one of the figures he's spotted he'll do the same, but otherwise that situation has pressing priority given her still-fragile physical condition.

Ysora nods when a report comes in that the stable has been secured. But beyond that, restless as she might be? Ysora is just going to be monitoring the reports coming in and trying to look for patterns in order to send any useful intelligence to Grear under family seal. Sitting in as secure a perch in the Maritus house as the city can offer. Practicality is still the order of the day, even if it's not as much fun as violence.

The man goes down on top of Gwyneth, but it's a graceless sort of tumble to the ground. He doesn't even try to hurt her on the trip to the ground, but aims a punch to her head once there. It's then that someone trying to run spills over the pair of them, tripping on body parts.

The two men beat Ragnar's guards in shooting, having already prepared. One of them, however, suddenly finds a dagger right in the middle of his chest! His aim is far off, and what was meant for one of the Ragnar guards ends up instead in the flanks of one of the guard's horses! He, of course, falls heavily off the roof. As for the other on the roof, seeing his comrade die like that, opts for a hasty and prudent retreat instead of facing Ragnar and his retinue alone. He makes for the other side of the roof, and will likely rejoin the mob below.

Down on the ground, Gwyneth's lack of balance suddenly stops being a problem. She squirms away from the punch, ending up getting tripped on instead, a kick to her shoulder as he walks right into her squirm. She hauls back, crutches dropped, to punch right back. She hasnt noticed Bastien coming to pry her out of the mess she's in, quite literally messy in the wet and muck of the ground.

Eamonn comes down from upstairs in the Maritus house, armored for battle and with a few guards of his own in tow. "I've sent others up onto the roof," he tells Ysora, "And at the doors. Windows are all shuttered. We're going to go out and see what's going on. Are you all right in here?"

Grear's shout back to Bastien is a rage-filled, "NO FUCK," as he wades through. Someoen slams into him and distracts him from his course for a moment, and the hilt of his blade checks them under the chin brutally. Finally he reaches the man he was forcing toward, a figure half-turned away, and for the first time the steel in his hand is unleashed with killing fury toward the man's shoulder.

When Bastien does arrive to help Gwyneth, he does get his hands on the original attackers, who does turn to try to throw a punch at the ex-knight, not really aiming. He just knows someone has their hands on him and he's reacting.

Ragnar pauses only long enough to watch the other man flee and dismount to retrieve his dagger. It was given to him by his father, after all. Waste not, want not. "Baron Crucible's guards will protect the house from here. To the storehouses!" He checks to make sure his men are ok, including the one partially wounded, then signals them to move forward.

A shift of the ex-knight's body attempts to drive the punch into his chest or shoulder and the steel plates that bind his torso -- because that will feel awesome, undoubtedly -- and he aims a punch of his own with force enough to send the man off for some beauty rest, assuming his aim is true.

A stone, intended to hit Ragnar as he dismounted, misses its mark entirly, thrown somewhere from the mob. Most are looting and rioting, but someone in the crowd is watching him and his guards. It thuds on the ground a few feet from him, badly thrown.

It's the most dangerous place to be in a riot, not on your feet. For Gwyneth, after Bastien hauls the man away, Gwyneth is still in a spot where a couple of people do run into her, not able to see her until they are practically on top of her.

Bastien's aim does ring true, and his punch knocks that man right out. He falls to the ground with a thud, likely much better off than he would be if he kept trying to fight.

A dangerous place, and even more so when you can't reliably get back onto your feet. Gwyneth is tripped on, and stepped on and now that Bastien is close enough, she can reach out and grab onto him to lever herself back up to onto her feet. Her voice comes, probably as to note to the armoured man who is grabbing him without asking permission. "Me."

This isn't going to work, apparently. Baron Dun Artan does a quick survey of his surroundings. "Dismount, men! We're targets atop these horses! Hammers and Blunt edges of your axes -only- Don't kill unless you have no choice!" He is back off his horse now, unslinging his war hammer, eyes seeking out the one in the crowd that is watching and throwing rocks at his men.

Ysora nods to Emaonn's words. Already on her feet, she catches him for the sort of brief but urgent kisses that skirmishes demand. "I've sent Baron Dun Artan to the storehouses. I'll stay in and behave. Don't get dead."

There is a man in the crowd, a civilian dressed as one of them, who throws yet another stone in Ragnar's direction. It lands with a thud just a few feet from him, but instead of just rolling like a rock, it pops and...SSSSSSSSS....great gulfs of choking smoke bellow from the object, the kind that chokes and smells like sulfer and heavy oil. Better not stand there too long or be caught having a caughing fit.

The choking smoke catches to of Ragnar's men-at-arms before they can move aside and as they inhale the acrid fumes, they begin coughing, hands rising to their throats. With a hoarse cry, Ragnar signals the others of his retinue forward and the group of 4 surge toward the edge of the mob. Even before his men engage, their weapons are raised, tattooed Dun Artan warriors with faces twisted in a rictus of fearsome rage in intimidate and cowe. Hammers are swung, and the shafts of long axes lash out to knock the unarmored rioters into submission or unconsciousness. Ragnar makes his way toward the man who targeted him.

Eamonn smiles tightly at Ysora and nods. "I'll do my best," he agrees, before straightening back up and motioning for the guards to follow. They head outside, making sure the guards at both side of the door are sufficient, then the clump in dark mail with Kilgannon badges head into the crowd, working their way towards Bastien, doing their best to settle people down on their way (ie: knock down or out those causing the most trouble).

With the man out of the way, Bastien immediately reaches to help Gwyneth gain that last few upright inches in the slick snow. "You," he agrees, just before he turns around, drops into a half crouch, reaches behind himself and hefts her -- as gently as possible, but really there's only so much he can do -- up onto his back. He has to support her splinted leg with a hand, but his other is left free to pick up her crutch; unsheathing that sword would probably be bad for everyone, and armed with the crutch he's got a slightly better chance of not killing anybody. Thus armed, he pushes up to his full height and begins to wade through the mob, avoiding the diffuse of the smoke nearby and looking for a pocket of strong resistance into which he can safely deliver the Lady Consort.

The man Ragnar was after slipped away, hidden by the smoke as he was. However, Ragnar and his guards make a point as /several/ uncontrollable rioters get a dose of Guardian Justice, and lay about here and there, having some sense knocked back into them. These were just unruly civilians, or thuggish looters, none up to the challenge to face trained Guardian warriors.

Grear stands over the corpse that he cut down, the red of blood on his blade a crimson promise of death to those nearby. Oddly or not, the crowd doesn't press as closely against him, a glance at the naked edge stained with loss of life like a bucke of cold water to most people who glimpse it. He looks over the crowd again and just wades into it once more, nabbing one of the scant number of legionnaire guards and shouting orders at him.

It is well within reason that Bastien is going to get somewhat jostled in the crowd as he carries Gwyneth to a more secure location. But as the rocks are still flying, one is aimed at the woman on the ex-knight's back. Certainly nothing serious, but getting hit by a rock always sucks.

It's hardly ideal, but Gwyneth has a certain level of realism and moves to hold on tight to Bastien's shoulders. She's focusing mostly on holding on, so that the armoured man doesnt have to pay all that much attention to keeping a hold on her. She's watching over his shoulder, and isn't in any position at all to avoid rocks as they thump into her. She can, however, give peopel jostling them a shove with her unsplinted leg, kicks here and there. Until, of course, she realizes that this makes her a whole lot harder to carry.

Ragnar and his men make their way in a swath, knocking down those unwilling to backdown, shouting curses and orders to those around to stand down and return to their home, or face worse than the blunt end of an axe. The two men still choking try and make their way in pursuit of their Baron when they are able, but the entire party makes its steady progress toward the epicenter of the disturbance.

Ysora sets one of the guards to the task of taking down any messages that make it through the mobs for the moment and moves upstairs to the window with the best view of the city below - just time to get something of an aerial view to try and see if there's any major movement going on using the chaos as cover. If she knew? She'd be very grateful for not being covered in stink bomb material.

Dark clouds roll in covering the afternoon sky.

Ysora, from her view, sees a robed man lighting another smoke bomb, and he seems intent upon casting at Ragnar and his crew who are busy fighting thugs and looters. Will he be warned in time?

Eamonn and his men are suddenly covered in the fall of thick, greasy smoke, the baron ducking his head, covering his mouth with a cupped hand. "Get down, get out to fresh air!" he shouts hoarsely, coughing still as he gets low and barrels forward into the crowd, trying to force his way out of the cloud to somewhere with breathable air. Between the dark smoke and having his head down, he's not paying a ton of attention to where he's headed.

Bastien pushes his way toward the former periphery of the scene of chaos and finds that it has extended to encompass pockets that were empty before, forced to divert along the path he saw Philip's guards use when they removed him from the center of the conflict, toward quieter surrounds. "I'm going to leave you with Philip." He hesitates, and then turns his head to glance at her over his shoulder with one eye, the hues of that iris brighter for the plum black that surrounds it; the tone he uses is faintly wry. "You /are/ for Philip, aren't you?"

Ysora calls downstairs to that poor little runner who probably stinks of smoke and sweat and anxiety. Thank goodness Guardian youth live for this sort of thing, "Robed man, 2 o clock from Dun Artan's position, another bomb. Call it out to 'em." Of course, it doesn't take too long to lob stuff, but still. A note is dashed to be sent out on his return to Grear with news that the docks and harbor appear intact.

"KILGANNON!" The hoarse shout through the crowd is only barely heard, carrying toward the man. Just like any other person here, except a tear in his clothes reveals the chain mai he wears beneath. Eamonn, too, gets a scroll lobbed at him, much as Philip did earlier. Then the caster ducks out of view amidst the smoke and riot.

Gwyneth nods against Bastien's shoulder. "Yes. Strong. Enough. Take. Support." She's still got her axe at least, even if no hands to draw it. She's too busy holding on. She'll ask him about the prior bashing soon enough, this hardly seems like the time for catching up conversations. "Chair. Fight. More effective."

The robed one lobs the smoke bomb in Ragnar's direction, allowing it to roll that way, which smokes like crazy all who are between him and his targets. Despite Ysora's warning, however...unfortanate for Ragnar, he and his men get a good wiff of it along with members of the crowd. Funny though..this actually chases some of the rioters away, helping to disperse them.

Soon enough the Dun Artan men are rendered helpless by the stinging, noxious fumes, eyes tearing up and half blinded, cursing with what little breath they have.

Eamonn makes it out of the cloud, still coughing as he checks to make sure his guards have made it out with him, then looking up sharply as his name is shouted. He catches sight of the man and his mail just before he ducks out of sight, then grabs for the scroll before heading with his men in the direction of the scroll-thrower, though they have to bash their way there, most likely.

And finally, finally the men that Grear sent off earlier arrive again, with large jugs that they begin to uncork at the edge of the crowd near where fire was spreading. From those jugs, bubbles begin to spew forth, making the ground slick and spreading quickly. Like the smoke, the fierce attack of guards and Dun Artan men (although now a bit more disabled), and the Crucible guard, it has a deleterious effect on the crowd, dampening tempers and spreading just a desire to escape.

Ysora sees the robed man retreating from the scene as fast as he can, ducking into an alley. Whoever he is, he's out of this scene, deciding that when the smoke clears best be gone! Doesn't want to face Ragnar and his men when they recover.

When he finds the place where Philip's guards are standing, outside of the building in which the would-be duke is secured, Bastien slowly lowers Gwyneth to her feet and informs them as to who she is. Unfortunately he only managed to save the one crutch, but he offers it to her once she's on her feet and it'll have to do for now. "Watch your ass, would you? You're the only person I know who'd try to pick a fight with a broken leg," murmurs the former knight dryly. He pulls the scroll container from the lining of his coat and hands it to her. "Give this to Philip, but make sure nobody opens it recklessly, there's no telling what's in the container. I'll come find you afterward." Two steps backward, and then the ex-knight is picking up his pace in an attempt to get back to the center of the problem. It's proves to be easier than before, with people hurrying to clear out of what has become rapidly less fun for the mob, and he's looking for things that need doing as he hits the thick.

Where shouting was the loudest sound at first, now it's down to the burbling whisper of spreading bubbles, the groans of those who were knocked out, and the sound of orders being shouted by Grear. He cleans his sword on an unconscious figure and grabs one of the guards, a few cold words enunciated to the other before he is shoved back. "HEALERS. Get me some fucking healers here. Those hurt by that smoke, grab some bubbles. Rub them over your face."

Baron Dun Artan grits his teeth as the effects of the smoke begin to wear off. "By the gods of my people, that is the last time a skulking wastrel will get the better of me with a coward's weapon!" A terse order to his men and they surge forward again, and this time their efforts are redoubled, the blows they cast more savage than before, though they are still not trying to maim or kill.

"Healing!" Gwyneth protests after Bastien as she takes her crutch and the scroll case. Giving it to the illiterate one is a good way to ensure she's not about to go opening it, and in fact she tucks it away into the pouch of her fur hoodie. Good luck getting it off her. She's slower on only one crutch, she has to be more careful on how she walks, but she can pull her axe in her free hand this way. A look at the guards and she settles in. She's apparently become another guard, staying still. Mostly. Until she's pulled into fighting again. Splint and all.

Purple, gold, and vermillion clouds grace the western sky as the sun descends toward the west.

One of Ragnar's guards spits. "They fight like a Mistian." and in Guardian, that's sure to be one of the lowest insults one can say about another Guardian. He says it loud too, hoping one of the assualters hears it.

Though if there are any near Ragnar's guard who were at the docks the other day, they may recall a Mistian with a large crate arriving, the crate hovering, and the stir he had with the guards.

Now that the mindless crowd attitude begins to fade, the fierce attack of the Dun Artans has people on the run, scattering into alleys and racing down side streets. The market area begins to clear, added to by the fact that Grear shouts for people to go to their homes, off the streets. The ones of Kilgannon that chase after the man who threw the scroll will have a hard time catching up, the bubbles and crowd in the way, his move apparently strategically timed. Many things actually seemed strategically timed in this event.

And now there is left a big mess to clean up...

Grear heads back to the body of the man he cleaved down, kicking it over savagely and looking at the man. He reaches down to yank at the garments, revealing more chain mail beneath.

Ysora has one of the servants set about putting in a temporary fix for the window and then puts together a list of people for the runners to seek out to start clean up. And the other order of business? "Have some of the guards investigate any fallen troublemakers outside. See if they have anything interesting on them. And if any of those folks shooting from the roof are still alive? Bring them in for questioning."

Bastien, too, is checking the bodies on the ground. Those that belong to overzealous citizens are given a pass, but those he finds that he can recall having been somehow involved in the 'spontaneous' eruption of violence are given more careful looking-over, searched for personal effects or other things that might identify them.

As things settle and the likelyhood of getting bowled over and knocked off her feet subsides dramatically, Gwyneth moves out a bit to start checking into things. She leans on her single crutch, moving her way a little way aways from Philip's guards, not too far, but enough to start prodding things and people with a crutch.

Coming into the city is a small convoy of carriages and supplies, being led by Iain Arx, and he's leading a horse with a blanketed bundle across the back of it. In the first carriage is the Merchant Guild officers, Emmaline and Saunder, but the food and supplies seem to be the most important things, right?

Ysora is busy with the organizing. And the setting up possible interrogations if anyone fit her needs.

Healers do begin to arrive, grim-faced and efficient as they move through the crowd. Most of those who are downed are just bumped and bruised.

As Bastien goes through the process of searching through the downed, he comes across another of the figures he might recall from earlier. On his side, the man has a broken leg, but that isn't the only reason he's down. A dagger took him beneath the back of one ear, a skilled thrust to quick death. He's wearing chain mail under his coarse, loose garments.

For reasons of sanity, Iain has no idea Bastien is running around and so when the carriage arrives, he's immediately looking toward the armed figures wearing matching gear, as that's generally a good indication of authority. It's one of Grear's men he queries, drawing to a halt just ahead of the carriage with that second horse's reins in his hand. "We've got supplies tae drop off and I've got a body tha' needs seeing into the castle. Can someone see the carriage tae the storehouse while I see about the fallen gent?"

Emmaline was told to stay down and hence the young woman has done exactly that, being nothing more than a bundle of cloak with a hat sitting slightly off center by the time the carriage comes to a complete stop. Perhaps, that's the same reason why there seems to be no sign of her in the carriage directly. "Do you think that it's safe?" Asked of Saunder, the young woman finally stirs out of her self imposed 'ball'. "We seem to have stopped again." And the outside should really tell her 'where' they are. Maybe.

The smell of carnage, even on a small amount, always attracts scavengers. A small pack of dogs comes sniffing around, following the trail of blood, looking for some kind of free meal. They are gaunt and skinny. Crows are heard cawing above, circling this part of the city where the riot just ended.

Normally Eadric would prefer to go anywhere discreetly, especially in the duchy, but with matters as they are, discreet is not in the cards. Ten men arrived, all in the livery of the ducal guard, one with the banner of the Guardian liege, and between those ten is Eadric himself, bare-headed, his cloak wound about him against the elements. Cheeks are cold-chapped, the horses winded: the men must have made a quick ride to get here.

Saunder turns and nods to Emmaline, "Aye, I think we are through the worst of it." He opens the door to the carriage and looks as if he is about to step out. "Its still not civilization though." he comments as he looks about at the mess. Closing the carriage door he shakes his head and comments to Emmaline, "Welcome to Guardians."

Ragnar and his men finally make it back to the Maritus' house and round up their horses. One of his men tends to his wounded horse, leading it gingerly back around to the stables where it can be looked after properly. Ragnar and the rest re-enter the building, removing their helmets and running gauntleted hands through their wet hair.

Gwyneth looks over to the carriage as it arrives, and the arrival of Eadric and his crew. It's turning into a veritable who's who here on Guardian. She gives a grunt in Saunder's direction and continues moving through and around. She moves to discourage the dogs from getting onto the bodies, to at least let people get picked up and sent off to healers or morgue without being bothered by critters. A wave of her crutch, and a growl generally discourages most canines.

Ysora glances up at Ragnar after handing off the list to a runner. She lifts a brow at the Dun Artan baron. "What do you and your men have need of, Baron?" Poor servants. They wince as those boots and all their muck hit the floor. "And what news have you?"

When Gwyneth appears in a gap in the crowd, Bastien turns that way, stepping over a prone figure after a long moment of studying the two entourages that arrive. "Did you give Philip the scroll case, or do you still have it?" The 'hi, how are you's are going to have to wait until things have been sorted, apparently.

These thin mongrels are easily intimidated by Gwyneth..her actions work.

The guardsman looks at the arrival of Iain, giving a short nod and a salute. "I'll have someone take care of it, m'lord. Don't cut through the market, ground is slick with some of those bubbles they use for fires."

No fuss, no muss made by the man just arrived on horseback. Eadric just watches, taking stock in what's going on.

Ragnar points to his lightly wounded man. "He'll need dressing, though it doesn't appear to be anything serious." He tries not to look guilty about the muck on the floor and almost succeeds. "The violence has been contained. Looks like those among the crowds running the show were in armor beneath their plain clothes. This was carefully planned. Their movements were exactly to their advantage. And it looks like they may have had Mistian help. Those smoke bombs were downright nasty. And no one can out-coward a mage. My guards said there was one on the docks just the other night with some floating crate. Had a run-in with the city guard."

The orange-red sun sinks below the western horizon, leaving a darkening tapestry of purple and red-gold clouds behind it.

Nodding, Iain draws his horse up alongside the carriage long enough to speak to the pair within: "Alright. You two are going tae be taken care of, alright? Guards have got care of you, sae if you're going tae get out of the carriage I'd be asking one of them for instructions. Looks like they've had a bit of a problem here as well, and we've only just missed it." That said, he urges his horse onward, skirting the mess in the market as best he can, aimed toward the castle proper.

A pat to her pocket, Gwyneth answers Bastien silently at first. "Still have." She leans on her crutch, using her foot to roll someone over. A thoughtful look at the person's face and then a nod. "Alive. Wake up soon." She looks back up to the ex-knight. "Want?"

Following Iain faithfully, the horse bearing the blanketed bundle of what he said was a man follows after Lord Soaring Skies.

Bastien glances down at the body at their feet, the moment of study truncated by more pressing business. He extends a hand toward her. "Yeah. I'm going to go catch up with the Barca and find out what it says. I'm staying in the castle while I'm here, so look for me there once this whole mess gets sorted out. You alright? Nothing more than a few bruises, right?"

Ysora nods sharply to Ragnar's descriptions. "Viola - please see to his wounds," she tells one servant. It's quickly seen to. "Aye, I heard the report of the Mistian. Bloody mages. Creepiest things around." There's a small shudder and she sits back - just a little restless. "I imagine people will be going to the castle at some point to discuss what's happened."

"Better. You." Gwyneth points up at Bastien's still healing face. "Come. With. Curious." She seems capable enough of walking along with him, if perhaps a little slow with only one crutch.

Ragnar nods. "It is very likely, yes. Is the Baron around? I have not yet seen him."

Study Welcome indeed. Emmaline is not willing to move from her self-proclaimed space of safety until there's another face peering into the carriage. Blinking once at Iain, there's a slow nod of her head in understanding as she begins to draw herself into a proper seat in the carriage. "Will they be taking us anywhere beyond this point," she asks, looking between the man at the window, Saunder and back. Hesitant is quite an understatement with this woman. "Or will we have to walk?"

The clouds begin to clear a bit leaving patches of cottony clouds covering the sky.

Philip has, by now, been escorted through back yards and back alleys and other assorted paths back to the castle, where he'll await Bastien and any others who wish to come confer with him on the scrolls.

"Mistress Guildmaster, they're meeting in the castle, we can escort you there." One of the guards offers to Emmaline. "If you don't mind?"

Saunder remains seated in the Carriage as he looks at Emmaline and shrugs, "I really have no idea. It seems our visit is ill timed at best." He looks out the window again, "I am indeed tired of sitting in here though, lets walk?"

Bastien nods at at Gwyneth and gestures back the way they've come, lingering for a moment in study of that single crutch. He draws his lips into a thinner line and manages to adopt a marginally apologetic expression. "I know it's not dignified, Gwyneth, but if I wait for you to walk there with one crutch, we probably won't get there until we know who's going to be Duke. You're going to have to choke down another ride, I think."

Eamonn makes his way through the clean up with his guards, stopping to speak with various people along the way. Finally he makes his way up to the carriage, perhaps having spotted the lord from Soaring Skies beside it. "Iain Arx," he calls, lifting a hand in greeting, "You were with the convoy, yeah? What happened?"

The cleanup of the market area continues, Grear overseeing the general dispersement of guards, making sure healers treat people, just keeping things calm and under control. He kicks one of the bodies on the ground every time he passes by.

"Well," murmurs the duke to the captain of his guard, "it looks as if everything is all right now." He runs his fingers through his hair, then looks wearily at the others. "Still...what a mess."

Well, that manages to cause a lovely reddish hue to creep into Emmaline's cheeks as she's misaddressed. "I'm not the guildmaster..." Darting a glance at Saunder and then the guardsman, the young woman clasps her hands together in her lap with a look towards the former. "Shouldn't we take the carriage if it's not safe? But if it's your choice, sir." She's truly a tagalong this trip.

Gwyneth grumbles softly and then sighs, a resigned sort of sigh and tucks her crutch across her back. She can stand, albeit a little unsteadily, but on both feet without crutches. "Fine." She lifts her arms up to Bastien, to end up in another piggyback ride to get anywhere. "Better. One crutch. Slow. Still."

"Oh...good." Iain draws his mare to a halt and then slides out of the saddle, remarkably light on his feet given the weather, the long ride and what they just endured beyond the city gates. "Excellency. We fared better than we might've, and still took a loss." He glances aside with narrowed blue eyes and then offers the Baron quiet words. "Lord Knife's Edge fell tae an arrow in the throat." He gestures loosely to the blanket-wrapped bundle slung over the back of the horse he was leading. "Would like tae get him indoors. His family should be first tae know, you ken."

Saunder shrugs as he watches others get rides now, "Lets just wait it out and see what they have in mind."

The guard steps back from Saunder and returns to the part of guiding the horses, seeing that Saunder and Emmaline's carriage moves through the market. There are a number of wrecked carts, some burned supplies, and a fair amount of merchants who are groaning from bruises or being knocked out, trying to regather their inventory scattered in the riot's fury.

Easing himself down into a limber crouch, Bastien hefts the Fiedach woman into place and then pushes himself upright to stand, made more comfortable as impromptu transportation by the winter coat that pads what amor he has on beneath it. With both hands to support the backs of her legs, it's a slightly less precarious trip that he takes through the mess left behind by human anxiety and a powderkeg of tension. Heavy boots pick a very careful path through the debris toward the castle and, short of being stopped on his way there, the pair of them will quickly make their way out of ground zero and into the castle.

Interesting. Well. Eadric moves as if to dismount, to which his guard captain respectfully asks him if he's out of his mind, and then he, like everyone else, heads toward the castle. He has business there, after all.

Eadric does receive the honor of many whom note his arrival, bows from the healers and the guards doing the cleanup. Grear keeps telling people to get off the streets, although the merchants regathering their wares he seems to make an exception for.

Eamonn eyes that bundle on the back of the horse as Iain speaks, and so does not look surprised when the younger lord says that they took a loss. One brow arches slightly at the name offered, and the baron lifts a hand to rub at his cheek as he nods. "Indeed? Well." He scrubs at his beard once more and then nods and nods again. "Yes, of course. Come, let's take him to the castle, Philip ought to know as well."