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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2710820" data-attributes="member: 26473">Normand and Pyotr...[sblock]The woman simply waves her hand disdainfully at Normand, and turns to watch the commotion up the block.Ortu takes Normand’s gear with a puzzled look on his face – it’s not until the big Frenchman hops down from the deuce-and-a-half and strides away that the grenadier’s intent is clear. “Will you look at this guy?” Normand hears from over his shoulder.Wading through the throng, Normand reaches the Arab lying on the ground. A busboy or a cook perhaps, his white apron is stained with blood – even with hands raised to ward off the kicks and blows of the mob, the Frenchman can see that the boy’s face is a mass of welts and bruises, his arms lacerated from his trip through the window.The perpetrators are nonplussed by Normand’s order to disperse. “Stay out of it, legionnaire,” says one of the home guardsmen. “This isn’t your concern.”“Since when does the Legion side with the wogs, anyway?” says another, a young man in his mid-twenties in civilian dress, his pinched face drawn up in a nasty sneer. “You queer for Arab boys?” This draws a laugh from the crowd.OoC: Normand is about sixty feet from the front of the clinic where the truck is parked. He’s in the midst of a crowd of about forty or fifty people, with his back to the busted window of the café. Sneering Guy is 15’ away.[/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]The doctor towels his hands dry and unties his mask. “Just by sight, from trips to town...wait, there’s Moulai – short fellow, dark complexion. Worked there for a few years, now.” He thinks for a moment. “And Ferhaz – I treated him for blood poisoning last fall. Strong fellow. Former tirailleur, I believe – had a couple of scars on him. Old wounds.”OoC: Roll a straight Wisdom check.[/sblock]</blockquote>

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