Burning of Savoy Palace
The Savoy Palace, the opulent residence of John of Gaunt, is being burned to the ground by a mob of rebellious peasants led by Wat Tyler during the Peasants' Revolt. The rebels, fueled by rage against
Setting
The grand courtyard of Savoy Palace, surrounded by burning structures and a chaotic mob of peasants and rebels. The once opulent palace is now engulfed in flames, with smoke billowing into the sky.
Characters
Wat Tyler
primary
A rugged, sinewy man in his late 30s, with a weather-beaten face marked by deep lines from years of toil. His dark hair is cropped short and streaked with grey, and his piercing brown eyes burn with righteous fury. His hands are calloused and strong, gripping a simple but deadly iron mace.
John of Gaunt
primary
A tall, imposing nobleman in his early 40s with sharp aristocratic features, a neatly trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes that now reflect panic. His once-regal posture is hunched in flight, his fine garments streaked with soot.
Rebel Peasant
secondary
A wiry, sunburnt man in his mid-30s with calloused hands and a gaunt face framed by unkempt, straw-colored hair. His eyes burn with fervor, and his lean frame shows the marks of hard labor.
Servant
secondary
A middle-aged man of slight build, with wiry arms and a weathered face marked by years of labor. His dark hair is streaked with grey and tied back with a simple leather thong. His hands are rough and calloused from years of service.
Guard Captain
background
A middle-aged man of sturdy build, with a weathered face marked by years of service. His short, graying beard and deep-set eyes give him a seasoned appearance. A scar runs across his left cheekbone, a remnant of past battles. His shoulders are broad, and his hands are calloused from wielding weapons.
Dialog
Wat Tyler
Burn it all, lads! Let ye flames lick clean the greed o' these bloodsuckers!
John of Gaunt
Deus lo vult! You baseborn curs shall hang for this—every last villein!
Servant
My lord, please—the eastern gate still stands... if we might...
Wat Tyler
Hear how the noble serpent hisses even as his nest burns! To Westminster next!
John of Gaunt
My tapestries—the Flemish—Servant! Save what you can of—
Servant
The flames take all, my lord... we must... gods preserve us...
Wat Tyler
See how their gold melts like butter in July sun! This day belongs to the people!