As planned Tor turned off all their shields as he reeled and fell to the ground from a blow that came in from a younger guard that jumped in from behind. Then tapping his waistband, a comic gesture he was certain, Tor brought up his own gear. It wasn't perfect and the effects weren't even or pretty, but it would serve. Pointing his right hand at the arrayed guards they fell like stick-men in a yard war. With his left, a slight nimbus of energy around it, glowing red, he sent out a blast of vertigo. Where it touched, men fell, weapons dangling loose in their hands. After a minute they started to vomit, and couldn't stop. After two they went to the ground and stayed there, heaving hard.

Hey, Tor thought, it worked. It was just something he'd though up on the fly, a mental weapon, and these hadn't been the best working conditions, so in all he was pretty proud of it.

No one on his side had moved to help, which was wise, since they'd get sick too. But when he glanced over they were all laying down already, the poison taking them. Crap. Hurrying he found which red and white clad person on the ground was Curtis and moved the field carefully to let him catch his breath, then crossing his right hand under his left he pinned the man to the ground with the force lance. Or at least a kind of field that was like it. He'd tried for strong, but the man really looked uncomfortable, almost as if the life were being crushed from him.

Too freaking bad, stupid guard Captain should have resisted picking a fight with a Builder, shouldn’t he? Tor started asking questions without preamble. If the guy couldn't get it fast enough he'd try someone else.

“What did you give them? What's the poison?”

“What?” The guard Captain gasped, and waved his hands weakly, as if it would help him breathe. “Not poison, sleep draft, just to keep prisoners from getting restless at night. They'll just sleep for about six hours, that's all.” He gasped and wasn't too loud, but Tor could make out what he said.