Malcolm is in conversation with Duchess Trellier, her loud and unfortunate gaggle in tow, speaking around her blatant support of Celene. She's a charming enough woman who keeps wondering, agape, at the idea that the Inquisition doesn't have dedicated artists to write of, sing of, or draw the exploits of their deeds, and he's about to suggest that they haven't quite those kind of funds (hint hint) when there's a disruption through the hall. Almost out of nowhere come Freemen, out of the woodwork and out of the servants. They slam shut doors to the ballroom, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees the glint of Red Templar armor marching in. The artists recoil in horror when the screaming starts, and the Duchess takes a shaky step back, her hands over her mouth.
"Stay down," is his only quiet warning to the Duchess and her entourage before he hurls the glass of wine in his hand at the nearest Freeman and doesn't stay still enough to see it hit him across the face with a shatter of glass and a grunt of pain from the shards and the alcohol in his eyes. Malcolm launches himself for a candelabra nearly as tall as himself, bringing it up candles-first at a woman with a sword apparently trying to make up for her compatriot's distraction. She leans back, nearly falling down the stairs to avoid the flames jabbing at her, and he takes that moment to swing around the heavy base into her, knocking her into her companion in a heap.
Letting the candelabra drop, he unhooks the tuft of leather around his neck and shoulders, diving for the downed Freemen, picking up the woman's sword and sticking them both without hesitation. The leather he hefts up in his off hand as a makeshift shield. It won't do much against swords, but when a couple arrows are let loose, two thunk into the leather, the tips of them edging through the fur lining and biting into the flesh of his arm, but he can deal with that later.
These Freemen, and more importantly the Templars, need dispatching before attention can be turned to rescuing those trapped inside, and he can't do it alone.
outside the ballroom
"Stay down," is his only quiet warning to the Duchess and her entourage before he hurls the glass of wine in his hand at the nearest Freeman and doesn't stay still enough to see it hit him across the face with a shatter of glass and a grunt of pain from the shards and the alcohol in his eyes. Malcolm launches himself for a candelabra nearly as tall as himself, bringing it up candles-first at a woman with a sword apparently trying to make up for her compatriot's distraction. She leans back, nearly falling down the stairs to avoid the flames jabbing at her, and he takes that moment to swing around the heavy base into her, knocking her into her companion in a heap.
Letting the candelabra drop, he unhooks the tuft of leather around his neck and shoulders, diving for the downed Freemen, picking up the woman's sword and sticking them both without hesitation. The leather he hefts up in his off hand as a makeshift shield. It won't do much against swords, but when a couple arrows are let loose, two thunk into the leather, the tips of them edging through the fur lining and biting into the flesh of his arm, but he can deal with that later.
These Freemen, and more importantly the Templars, need dispatching before attention can be turned to rescuing those trapped inside, and he can't do it alone.