Under the influence of the Watcher's hallucinogenic drug, the already frenzied Oldtown mob seemed to have gone utterly mad. As though they had lost all sense of pain and fear, they charged heedlessly at the fairly capable septons with their crude weapons.
Almost all the septons blocking their path had received formal knightly training from their families, and at first they thought little of the mob.
One burly septon even shouted contemptuously,
"Brothers, don't hold back! Hit them hard! These lowborn ants will scatter like rats and vermin the moment we draw blood!"
As he spoke, he swung his enormous fist at an old man beside him who was holding a kitchen cleaver. The blow struck the old man square in the face, knocking out almost all the few teeth he had left.
Just as the force of the blow sent the old man flying, the septon deftly caught his right hand and snatched away the cleaver. Then he flung the old man's body aside like a filthy rag, driving the crowd closing in on him several steps back.
Some of the frailer people were knocked to the ground and could not get up. But those behind them kept surging forward without pause, soon trampling the fallen underfoot.
Now armed with the cleaver, the burly septon swung the battered blade at blinding speed, killing or wounding a rioter with every stroke.
Within less than an hour, corpses were piled all around him, severely restricting his movements.
Already beginning to tire, the burly septon cursed inwardly,
Have these vermin gone mad today? Why aren't they afraid of dying at all?
Just then, a huge stone hurtled toward him. The burly septon hurriedly dodged aside, but just as he narrowly avoided it, a filthy pitchfork plunged straight into the left side of