Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20160714040922/@comment-28358106-20160719145517

Praetor and Simrit walk out of the West gate, passing hundreds of people still trying to get in. They walk alongside a platoon of a hundred Dwarven engineers who are pushing several ballistae and small catapults down the cobbled road. The panicked speech of the citizens mingles with the shouted orders of the Dwarven sergeants, the biting wind occasionally drowning out everything.

"Simrit... Simrit...Simrit the swordsman..." she mumbles, still trying out her name. As she is speaking, Melandil approaches with a group of Elven Rangers.

"A moment, Sir Praetor," he says. "If you are looking for the Doctor,  I must accompany you.  He is north, in my stead.  If he returns I must take his place in keeping the north road free, though I am unsure of how much time we have to keep it open."

"Yeah, well...ey.  Look.  Look! It's that other guy, the big one!" Simrit points.

Flying down the main road towards the group, his horse like a black streak of lightning, rides Hound. As he approaches, Praetor can see he is cradling a limp form as he spurs his horse on...

(Will try to respond every hour.  Feel free to elaborate)