Booze so bad that Emmaline wouldn't touch it was probably a smaller subset of alcohol than it should be, but she knew what Neil had meant. Hastily she gathered up clinking bottles, setting them on a table but the window. Outside the scene was degenerating rapidly. Militia armed with pikes were holding in places bottling up in the major streets to present a bristling wall of steel. Beastmen continued to spill out of the western streets, some charging blithely into soldiers, others vanishing into alleys or climbing through windows into buildings to bypass the defenders. A trio of beastmen went down as a handful of handgunners emerged from a street on the other side of the river, clumsy weapons belching smoke as the managed a ragged volley. An officer with a sword was shouting at them, waving a small sword in the air and pointing towards the west. The company double timed down the river bank, heading Emmaline assumed, towards whatever breach had been made in the walls. A dozen smaller beastmen were rushing towards the door of the tower, rusty axes held high. Emmaline tore a curtain down and began ripping it into strips and stuffing them into the necks of the bottle. Lifting one she snapped her fingers and ignited it, then pitched the improvised weapon out the window. It hit the pavement between the group and burst in a gout of rum scented flame. Beastmen screamed and scattered, liquid flame taking root in their matted greasy fur. They dashed in all directions, trailing greasy smoke, one going so far as to throw itself into the water. The crack of Neil' rifle tumbled one of the runners to the ground in a smoldering pile. The sudden and violent destruction of the assault party seemed to have momentarily calmed the scene. Beastmen were braying and shrieking as they hunkered down or slunk away into alleyways and warehouses, their oddly human eyes peering out.

"Maybe we should make a run for it?" Emmaline suggested as a group of pikemen attempted to advance down the riverside. The beastmen howled and charged, a mass of them all but throwing themselves onto the sharp blades. Even as the first wave died, more of them poured out of alleys and crashed down onto the flank of the militia. The formation bowed as though all of the members were suddenly faint, and then fell apart, disintegrating into a wild melee that negated the advantage of their formation.  Emmaline licked her dry lips. Going outside did not have a lot to recommend it.