Turn 100

"One, two--three!" Emmett barks. The improvised ram swings at the door; it shudders under the impact. Again. The lock bursts and the great leaves give way, and the group of them stumble out, gasping for air.
    Two of the men who aided with the ram turn back to help Nikodem and Lord Tesfaye out as well; the latter is grey-faced and unmoving.
    As ibn Fadil lands lightly on the street outside the building Nyala turns to look at him. "Another exciting evening out," she remarks dryly in Elvish, glancing down at her damaged gown. "I hope you are not hurt?"
    "Hurt?" He seems baffled by the idea that he might have been hurt by just climbing out a window. "At least we will not die of boredom in this company, it seems." He glances around keenly, again looking for anything out of place -- anyone who seems disappointed, or about to take violent advantage of the chaos out here, or is standing in the shadows wearing Hextorian symbols and thinking he's invisible in the dark. Near-immolation has definitely caused him to take a more active interest in what is going on here.
    Everything *seems* right -- although several priests are now clustered around His Lordship and looking very worried indeed -- and yet....
    There is a bit of blood on Cenon's voluminous sleeve, with nowhere visible it might have come from, and the half-elf recalls the man's hand on his lord's arm, just before Tesfaye fell....
    "Emmett!" he hisses, making sure the Half-Man is going along with him as he stalks toward the guild master. Seizing the man's arm with its telling stain, he says loudly, "Are you injured, Master Cenon?" His words sound harmless, but his look says that he *knows*...
    The man certainly looks startled, but who wouldn't being suddenly grabbed and in the light from Emmett's unnatural eye. "I beg your pardon who... ah, the visitor." He blinks, squints, coughs a few times. "The smoke. Hurt?" He seems puzzled. "Perhaps a scratch, nothing more." There is a hint of uncertainty in his voice, however, and he's tense.
    "A scratch? Whatever from?"
    "Falling, no doubt. If you would, sir." He is fixing ibn Fadil with a bit of a glare, unfazed by the alien's stare.
    "In the middle of the floor. Of course," he says, but lets go -- and watches him, obtrusively at first and then less so as the excited crowd shifts about.
    Cenon is glancing behind him at the building with a definitely puzzled expression as the smoke seems to be thinning and--after a series of weird crackling sounds--the noise is dying away. But he sticks close to the circle around the stricken nobleman.
    With the door now open Lynden took a few moments to ensure that his fellow citizens had all safely exited the building before stopping to catch his breath. Standing to the side he is grateful to see that Lord Tesfaye is being attended to but moves forward none the less to assess the situation himself. Reaching down he lays a hand on his Lordship's forehead, muttering to himself as he attempts to identify the cause of his ill-health.
    He looks terrible, and appears to have difficulty both breathing and moving. He may have had a heart attack or stroke, been overcome by the smoke... or by poison. Lynden looks around and sees that none of the higher-ranking priests are present, having no doubt left the building through the back.
    "Whatever has indisposed his Lordship seems to be fast acting," Lynden murmurs to the gathered clerics. "I'm going to treat him for the smoke inhalation first," He looks up seeking reassurance but neither expecting or finding it, "those fumes were extremely noxious but if this doesn't work..." his voice tails off as he contemplates Lord Tesfaye's fate--and that of his currently-missing heir, under the circumstances.
    Reaching up and removing the carved stag hanging from the leather thong around his neck Lynden holds it tightly as he gestures quickly, moving his hands around the body as if to waft the smoke away chanting all the while.
    [Delay poison] He doesn't look any better, but he doesn't look any worse, either.
    At which point Nikodem pulls quite the tiniest crossbow anyone there has ever seen from one sleeve and shoots Lynden, who feels a sharp prick from the dart and then a spreading numbness....
    "Hey!" Lynden exclaims slapping at the source of his pain. Then, "Gerik protect me," as he realizes the significance of the tiny bolt and the associated lack of feeling. "We may not have much time," he calls out grabbing the nearest cleric, "go and get Bendek quickly." "RUN!" he bellows as the startled youngster remains fixed in place.The young man finds his feet and takes off; the numbness lingers for a few moments, then slowly fades.
    [No effect, you made both saves.]
    The Zakharan bites off a curse that ought to melt the snow in his vicinity, and ducks low. For an instant it seems he is diving for cover, but he has a knife in hand and uses it to hamstring the would-be murderer.
    It's a tricky maneuver, made more so by the snow and the weight of the official robes the man wears, but a thin shriek sounds above the general noise as the knife bites into his leg. Meanwhile, Nyala does a quick scan of the crowd, looking for anyone who might be coming to the artificer's aid, knife held unobtrusively in the folds of her gown.
    Things are starting to make a kind of sense. Emmett hesitates for a half a moment, then joins the fray; his blade bites deeply into the old man's side. He's not wearing any armor; whatever he was expecting to happen tonight, getting into a fight was not part of it.
    Or maybe he simply doesn't care; Nikodem is muttering to himself, a harsh chant rising to a shout as he lunges awkwardly on his wounded leg toward the helpless man he appears determined to kill. "The weak must die! Strength alone will save us in the war to come!" A touch is all he needs, and His Lordship's labored breathing grows more so, blood bubbling from his nose and mouth.
    The few people who came out the building's front have retreated somewhat. Some members of the bucket brigade appear to be guardsmen who are gripping their staves and advancing, but none of them are as well armed as the foreigners.
    Meanwhile, Alais and Pham have climbed the stairs and emerged into the cleaner air behind the building, just in time to see a young priest skid to a halt and almost cannon into Bendek, who is busy tending to those who were injured in the crush or who took in too much smoke. He clutches the head priest's arm, babbling too quickly for comprehension of anything other than trouble. In the front of the building, someone screams.
    

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