EL SID
"Sabrina's left tit!" oathed El Sid to himself as he blinked away tears, his vision clearing, "I going to get that son of a bitch. The Don is going to make him BLEED!" The armored magic user had release some kind of nasty flash spell, obviously.
Trying to assess the situation through the smoke that was rapidly filling the room, El Sid's view of the doorway was blocked by two Kanday asses but the screams, grunts and clashes of steel suggested that whoever was outside was being well engaged. "We'll have to keep an eye out for the beserker with the tacky sash... too bad about that barbarian, I could have put a mindless jock like that to good use..." Another crossbow bolt whined through the air and there was the dull, sickening thwack of bolt in flesh. "A round or two to reload at the soonest," El Sid's mind automatically making hash marks on a mental slate, vectors and angles appearing and disappearing in rapid succession. Though both were hard men, he momentarily rested his hand in reassurance on the Dom's shoulder who was struggling to clear his vision of the effects of the Flash spell. "FRAG'em!" hissed a frustrated Perignon jerking his head toward the window.
Peering through the window, the Sid noticed the Forester peering around the corner of the tavern. "That flowerchild gets in my way he'll wish he hadn't" the Sid promised. Seeing no obvious bad guy backup, he moved to jump through the window he had cleared of glass with his sword hilt. The lightning bolt that sizzled down the length of the building aborted that move in mid-stride. He thought for a moment that the Forester was fried, then noticed at least one of the crossbow man down and the armored spell caster looking much the worse for wear. A flowerchild, perhaps, but a flowerchild with one hell of a kick. He had ducked behind the building again, however, and the Sid decided to chance it.
He murmured for a moment, felt and saw the spell go off with an odd twisting of his vision. Slightly awkward, but much more so for anyone attempting to see him; he knew he now blended in with any background. He slipped into the shadows and flowed through the window. A jagged piece of residual glass scored his fine Bythean leather. El Sid seethed. "Are these two so stupid as to go unsupported?" he thought. Their performance to date would not preclude the possibility, but the Sid kept a careful eye out for bad guy cavalry. This wasn't his fight YET he reminded himself. Currently, he was merely miffed (albeit seriously) about this whole affair. Shedding HIS blood for a bunch of strangers was not on the agenda. Spilling the blood of strangers WAS.
His subconscious reviewed the whole sequence of the last few moments. An open and messy assassination attempt in a well known tavern was atypical for Salta. Generally, the Saltans prided themselves on having more polish in such matters. Who was behind this and why? Who was the target? Could he keep the spell-slinger intact enough for the Dom to work the magic on him that he worked so well? Could they keep the target alive long enough to make HIM talk? Did this impact on the Borgias? Was there something here that the Borgias could use to their advantage? The thoughts flashed through El Sid's mind in a subliminal blur, so used was he to the never-ending machinations of Salta geopolitics.
He scanned to his right and saw the armored spell-monger running for his life. The Sid smiled coldly. He wasn't the fastest guy around, but the day a wounded man in chainmail could outrun him was the day he would stick a knife in his own eye. The guy didn't know it yet, but he was already dead.