Coreene and Verrian
Coreene races through the streets -- it must be coming up on midnight by now -- and the glow of the fire to the north and west is casting strange shadows. Verrian, run as she might, can't quite catch up but at least she's able to keep her friend within eyesight and within contact distance.
As the two run farther into the still-inhabited areas of Hara, they reach the outskirts of what was once a tidy, working-class neighborhood of the city, with plenty of dockworkers and merchants' staff living hereabouts. Now, as Coreene well knows, it's a shell of its former self. This is the neighborhood where Evina and her daughter Minama live, where single-room hovels one strong wind away from collapse dominate. A few people, those whose worries or meager jobs keep them up this late at night, have started to realize something's wrong to the west, and are milling through the warrens of ramshackle huts trying to wake people up and warn them of the approaching fire.
Coreene and Verrian encounter more and more people staggering from their shelters, asking one another -- asking these strange women racing past -- what's going on, or hurrying to gather what few treasured possessions they still call their own. The panic is growing. People are frightened and angry and unsure what to do.
OOC:
I'll give you a couple of posts before we get to Minama's house.
The Refugees
The calm leadership of Wil and the others, supported by Eanala, Giran and Vesina, get the refugees more or less in order. Many are terrified and unable or unwilling to argue, others are a little harder to deal with in their fear and worry. One man won't stop shouting about how he should be the one in charge, until Eanala walks up to him and drives her knee sharply into his groin, hardly batting an eyelash at this sudden outburst of violence. As he stumbles to the ground and begins to vomit, she says,
"Hard to be in charge if you can't speak."
She walks on past without a care.
The few people around him -- apparently tired of his bellowing too -- grin surreptitiously at Eanala's back as she walks away. One gives the man a hand up, but then continues walking on, leaving him to his own pained thoughts.
The ragtag bunch of nomads makes their way to the south, moving away from the fire and the creature that's erupted from the ground in as direct a manner as they can. There's little guard presence, but there are handfuls of people that have come out of the scattered homes and hideouts along the party's path. Some watch with suspicion and stay to themselves, but others run from their homes and speak to anyone that will listen.
"What's going on? Is the rest of the city going to burn?"
"Where's the guard? Aren't they supposed to take care of these things?"
"Who are you? Where are you all going?"
That last is from a thin scarecrow of a man, all awkward arms and legs and a shock of yellow hair sticking every which way atop his head. He's come from a building with boards nailed over the former windows and a door about to fall off the hinges. Looking toward the building, you can see a woman peering out, and at least a couple of children poking their heads out around her legs.
