The Commoner, Ronc Bellamule, Part Two: Agility

The men on the other side of Bellamule briefly jolted their attention to the smoking hole in the wall, all of them realizing what had to come next. Bellamule dropped the cumbersome rifle as it clacked off of his legs and fell to the floor. Looking down for a moment, Bellamule reached down and brandished himself a side arm, his Highway Drake Blunderbuss. Before he could raise the weapon from its holster, the room in front of him erupted into a cacophony of gunfire and shouts. With one hand aimlessly covering his face from incoming fire, Bellamule blindly shot toward the wall one last time.

As he slammed his back up against the thick timber-blocking his passage out of the crawlspace- Bellamule tried to keep his body as low as he could after realizing he could not simply force his way out. Frantically crawling over support beams and pushing himself through the narrow corridor between freedom and the room full of armed mercenaries, Bellamule’s mind went blank as he scurried. A single musket round shot through the wall just passing over his lowered head. Bellamule hardly noticed. 

Reaching the small entryway he had covered up from earlier that evening, Bellamule’s unconscious, fear driven state, subsided momentarily. He hastily holstered his drake in place and began to tear the loose wood away he used to hide himself. Although he could have just as easily picked up the planks and moved them out of the way, Bellamule splintered his hands against the sharp wood, clawing at it like an animal. Gunshots continued to ring out from inside the house as he finally tore himself out of the wall and into the garden. The woods were no more than a couple hundred feet from Bellamule, although it seemed like an impossible feat to make it there without being seen.

As he fought with himself to sum up the courage to run, flashes of what he had done raced through his mind. Swearing to himself under his breath, Bellamule at last broke out into a fierce sprint, heading toward the safety of the inner-woods. As if on cue, “OVER HERE!” rung out from behind him. Snapping his head back to look as he ran, three to four men turned the corner from the other side of the house, silhouetted against the moonlight. They began to raise their weapons toward him as he looked away toward the woods in panic. Staying as low to the ground as he could and still keep his full stride, the cracks of rifles, flooded by the shrill whizzing of near misses, sharply propelled him further still into the trees. 

He had made it. Entering into the tree line, Bellamule now forced himself through thick brush, clawing as he did in the crawlspace to proceed forward. As the misses continued to smash up against trees and explode off the ground all around him, he suddenly fell down for what seemed like no real reason. Laying there, attempting to pick himself back up and continue, Bellamule realized the sharp pain his adrenaline was attempting to hide away. Surrounded by the forest, Bellamule had finally been taken down. His punctured leg held him to his position, awaiting his discovery and certain death.

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