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	Met with the comfort of combat Vitor acts swiftly and on instinct. He pulls out his signature Bastard-sword clasping it like a vice. He raises his sword overhead readied in a chopping position, his knees slightly bent. No less than the blink of an eye passes and Vitor takes a large step backwards closing the distance with the man behind him. Spinning backwards with lethality he attempts to crash his pommel dead center into the hooded man's face attempting to crush, cave and shatter whatever facial features may be present with sickening ferocity.
	Your pommel lands swiftly in the mans face, a dull crunching noise is your reward. The man stumbles back for a moment, clenching his nose with one hand and now revealing the shortsword in his other.
	Knowing Vitor will take care of the entrance, Vylreene points her attention to the man behind the bar, and reaches inside her long leather coat to pull out a kukri. It's in near mint condition, like it rarely gets used, if ever. She points it at him. "You have my word when I say this is a misunderstanding! I know that sounds unlikely, but we will lower our weapons the second you do. We are NOT Liberty's Edge!" Vylreene shouts. She glances at the men coming down the stairs, and with her free hand she draws an oval in the air in front of her. "Aspira Aora!" Vylreene casts Shield
	The men at the stairs start moving towards you, but do so cautiously with weapons raised. They keep at arms length for the moment. The man behind the counter fires his crossbow at Vylreene. The shield stops the bolt and the projectile is shredded before it hits her. "Murdiks lapdogs. You die all the same." Says the man behind the counter.
	Vaelron trusts Vitor to handle the situation at the door, but sees the two troubling men going towards Vylreene. He acts as swift as he can. This moment seems too dire. He walks around table, stepping and tapping with his feet in an almost rhythmic dance still clutching to his lute. Bringing his lute to his chest his fingers start to grate the strings in a more aggressive tone. Chords and intervals dancing chaotically through the dynamical, alternating bassline. The beat and the music are getting more intense, all while getting as close as he can towards the two charging men. He wants them to be in a nice straight line. He is close enough and closes his eyes for a short moment. There it is! A climax, yet it is filled with only dissonance! The Tapping stops! A break! "Then let this be the last song you hear." He strikes a final chord Vaelron Casts Chord of Shards
	Vaelron moves up and unleashed his might! The 2 men grab their head with their free hand and are then pelted by shimmering shards! Bloodied and shaking their head, they still stand.
	Sensing the danger from behind, Kál spins and in one swift movement grabs his Bo Staff and slams it into the side of the man [Rogue 1] behind him in the doorway.
	The man (Rogue1) is impacted by the staff and folds slightly to the side. He lets out a low growl as he sinks to the floor.
	Seeing his opponent crumble Kál turns again and places himself between the male [Rogue 3] making their way towards Vylreene. ” You folks should have done this the easy way...” Kál shrugs then strikes out with his fist and attempts to jab the male [Rouge 3] to the bridge of his nose.
	You charge towards the man quicker than he can react, he meekly raises his shortsword before he goes limp and falls back on to the floor.
	Towering over the collapsed man. Vitor sports a grin from ear to ear. He grabs the man by the throat and lifts him off the ground by about a foot and places his blade on his throat drawing blood mildly. "Good-Morrow gents, suppose I were to sever this man's head here. Would that sway ye mind for a chat? Or would ye prefer the approach of yours truly?" Eye's locked with his target Vitor seems to revel the moment. Vitor readied a Coup de Grace!
	The man behind the bar looks at Vitor through his crossbow sights. His face is flushed red and sweat drips down his forehead. He quickly glances at his hurt and incapacitated comrades. He takes a deep breath. "Alright, your point is made clear." The man behind the bar lowers his crossbow and you hear the sound of it gently landing on the table. He nods to the man closest to him(Rogue4) and returns his eye contact to Vitor and the man he's holding up at his blades edge. The man(Rogue4) lowers his weapon and runs his free hand across his scratched face to clear the grime, sweat and blood from his eyes.
	The bard let's out a sigh as he's still holding the stringed instrument. He looks towards the table left of him and kicks over one of the bolted-up unlucky ones. Sits down in the now unoccupied chair and places his feet over each other on the table while playing a calm and soft strum on his ever-ready Lute. "I'd say this would be a great time to share a drink and get to know one another, wouldn't it be so?" He says while pointing towards a couple of bottles at the bar.
	Kál surveys the situation briefly. Acknowledging the actions taken by Vitor and the position he currently holds, he turns to face the man in front of him. He stares at him with an intensity the group have not seen before, poised and ready for any sudden movements. "Well now, that was just the start of a decent warmup." Kál smiles at the men, still keeping ready. " I assure you, should you try and double-cross us in this moment, 'Skullcap' over there won't need that silly scrap of leather very much longer." " Now... Tell us everything. And I don't just mean why you came here, and killed these folk because they were different than you or I. I mean... Tell us everything."
	"Pity..." With a hint of disappointment but still sporting a grin Vitor releases the man's throat. Heeding no mind to his landing he lets the man's head hit the ground with a thud. Vitor follows Vaelron's gesture and sees what he's pointing at. He strides over to the counter while sheathing his sword. Picks up the two bottles and uncorks them. He takes a sip of one and hands the other to Vaelron. With Vitor's task complete, he stands there silently. Listening to those with the gift of the gab.
	Keeping a close eye on the man behind the counter, Vaelron takes the bottle from Vitor and raises it a little as a cheers. He smells it and takes a sip. "Hmmm...Not too shabby." He then puts the bottle back on the table in front of him as he catches on fiddling at the strings
	The man with the shortsword sheathes it and reaches for some small potions. Without even making eye contact with any of you, he administers them to the downed rogues and starts laying them on benches while checking for further wounds and such. The man behind the bar takes a seat, but stays behind the counter. "Simple. There are people in high places who are comfy right now. Things like hopeful upstarts would disrupt what they've got going on. So I earn my pay keeping the status quo going. Your boss Murdik has been catching many glances lately and we know he's looking for Liberty's Edge. I hope it's not too hard to imagine that a violent, bleeding heart organization with no governing experience bend on wiping out everything that ain't them, can be a problem." He looks over to Vitor and Kal for a moment. "These revolutionaries are dangerous and dimwitted. They yearn for this change they can't support and are willing to drop into every trap you set for them. Those wooden boxes, did you really think that a clandestine operation that threatens the slim peace we have in Galt would so casually and freely display their symbols and contact merc's who rolled into town a day ago?
	That's why it was so easy to find you and get you here. This Tavern, this little place was the meeting place for Liberty's Edge sympathisers and low rank members. We were told that they found this and it needed clearing out. Then you blinked on our radar and we deceided to kill 2 birds with 1 stone. We don't directly talk to the higher ups. We don't make the same mistakes. We don't openly meet or talk to our main men and get spotted. I can't tell you the name of whoever commands us, but I can tell you that our deaddrop is in the South District, by the old ruined chapel in it's centre. A hidden floor compartment in the confessional booth." The man behind the bar leans back and takes a sip of a drink from the bar.
	Kál walks over to the man tending to the wounded rogues. Holding a small pouch in one hand, he places the other softly on the man's shoulder and says: " Let me help, It's the least I can do considering the folk on the floor are past this. It's okay. I have experience in this kind of thing. " Attempts to tend the wounds with cloth bandaging. Whilst doing this, he addresses the rogue sitting across the bar: " You speak of a dead-drop but clearly can't get the job done. Tell me, is this refreshed on the daily or how do you know when to check for your 'orders'? And... this organisation you are part of seems to align in some ways with our contractor, and in someways not so much. You know we've just come into town so humour us, Who are you exactly? "
	Vaelron stops strumming and is listening for anything that comes after Kál´s question.
	While Kal tries to get more information out of the mercenaries, Vylreene sits down on the floor, cross legged, and takes a coin out of her pocket. It's corroded, nearly black. She holds the coin with both hands, between thumbs and index fingers, and focuses on it. She looks around to her colleagues and gives them all a slight smile and a nod, especially Kal, implying he should continue while she does this.
	The rogue gives Kál an angered, disgusted look. Kál finds that the larger wounds have already started to seal due to the potions administered. "They know when we get things done. They know when we don't. The cache is adjusted and notes are left for us. You need to realize that more powerful people than you or me are using us a proxies. You're Murdik's proxy and I'm some one elses. You seem to be very poorly informed for a fellow merc. Poorly enough that you think we have common goals." The Rogue that is medicating his downed fellows gives Vylreene a fierce look for a moment as he sees her sit and focus. It dies down to one of anger.
	Kál sees the men are past his level of tending, he stands and brushes off his knees. He looks at the man behind the bar, and says: "Maybe you’re right on that. I may be poorly informed or maybe just in over my head for what this whole scheme really is. No matter, one way or another we all get paid and the deal is done." His expression changes again and takes on a more serious tone: "I don’t know much about this place… but what I do know is that if we meet again on this path a few crunched ribs and a broken nose will be the least of your worries." Kál looks towards the injured men: "I hope you heal up." He turns and makes his way towards the doorway, and waits for the rest of the group to be done.
	Vaelron's right hand goes backwards, reaching to the side of his pack. A little metal click can be heard followed with a wooden thud on the table. A crossbow is now pointed to the rogue that was eyeballing Vylrene in an angry manner. "Pshht!" As he tries to get the man's attention. He clicks his tongue a couple of times while his left-hand is waving an index finger. "Don't think of a thing that would be thick, alright? There's no more room for mistakes. I heard a gent say once that one cannot heal a bolt in the eye socket that well." Vaelron raises one of his eyebrows. His expression is dead serious. His left-hand swiftly returns to his fretboard "Stop tending to their wounds now! That's more than enough!"
	Vitor lets out a chuckle seeing Vaelron play out his move and gives him an approving nod. He takes two more swigs from his bottle and starts trotting toward Kàl and the rogues. "Me friend here is too gracious Vitor points his bottle at Kàl. But... mayhap not clear enough. For I assume tis' clear enough ye WERE proxies? And ye WERE our opposition. Cause' see here, Vitor lets out a deep joyous cackle if ye ARE these things still... Ye know, once we pass these here doors." Vitor smashes and presses the half empty bottle into the eyes, nose and temple of the rogue eyeing Vylreene. "I'd be inclined to... alter a few features of thee. In mock etiquete Vitor raises his left hand as if to apologises for any implied offense Ye understand of course I would'nt want any misunderstandings about this matter before we leave!"
	"Alright then.. there goes Ser Stank Eye." Vaelron nonchalantly switches targets and aims his crossbow to the man behind the counter.
	Kál turns on his feet just as he reaches the table in middle of the bar. He fiddles with a small hook on his waist, previously hidden beneath his garb. He now holds a looped piece of rope with a sharpened blade at the end by his side out of view of both standing men. He waits for their response to the sudden act of Violence.
	The man (Rogue4) looks at Vaelron with a look of disgust after he draws his crossbow on the unarmed medic. "Yer' an absolute fool, steepled in idiocy. Yer elf woman over 'ere is casually inviting planar horrors an' you threaten me for lookin'? Absolute tosspots, the lot of ya. At least yer daftness will get ya killed soon!" Vitor approaches quickly and decisively takes out the mans eyes and mutilates the rest of him. An agonizing scream fills the air and bleeds it's way outside. As Vaelron aims his crossbow at the man behind the bar, he ducks. From the top of the stairs, out of the darkness, 2 large flasks fly out followed by boots stomping on wood, moving away again. They crash and break on the floors and instantly ignite into a large flame with a violent burst.
	Hearing the noise from above, Kál decides to deal with the problem behind the bar first. In a swift motion as he walks around the bar opening, the rope in his hand is swung and twisted around his body, hooking at the elbow before he releases and the metal blade flies out towards his target. With speed Kál pulls back on the rope. Looping it around his frame before lifting his knee and releasing, again the blade fires out towards the man.
	The fires wash over you for a brief moment as they expand from the broken flasks and burst across the room. The air instantly grows heavy as dark smoke grips and expands over the ceiling. Kál rips the attached blade across the man as he attempts to duck under the bar for cover. With a bellowing screech the blades strikes him once, with a flourish, they come around again! The man's face, chest and arms are torn open brutally as the fire engulfs his upper half. His wailing quickly dies off as he falls to the ground. Embers and licks of flame spread across the previously downed and now stabilized men. The last Rogue meekly squirms, gripping his mangled and glass-ridden face as the fire slowly starts at his cloak.
	Kál’s eyes are a mirror image the flames around him, he freezes for a split second seemly lost in his own head. He comes to his senses and runs to the door at the bottom of the stairway. He attempts to kick it open, and get into the yard a fair distance away from the building to have a view of the upstairs windows ”This whole section is about to erupt into flames that we cannot manage, we need to leave, now.” He shouts back into the group.
	As soon as she hears the shattering glass, Vylreene stands up, pats out any fire on her with her cloak and assesses the situation. Heeding Kal's urgent advice, she heads to the same door as fast as possible, trying to grab a shard from the shattered bombs but failing to do so in her scramble. Once outside she immediately places a small candle on the ground and makes a beckoning motion towards it. The candle lights with a green flame, which forms into an orb and starts hovering above the candle. The orb quickly expands into a glowing oval and a bloodhound steps through it. "Sorry for yanking you out here, but I need you to find someone out there with this smell on them." She lets the dog smell whatever parts of her outfit got hit with the fire, preferably any parts that got hit by the burning chemical that was inside the flasks.
	The sudden inferno washes over Vitor with fierceness truly impossible in the natural world. He recognizes it immediately; the chemical smell, the ravenous flames... alchemical fire. Purpose manifests in Vitor's mind driven only by instinct instead of rationale. He knows that where there's a message there's a sender. Entranced by purpose and brutality Vitor makes for the stairs and darts up knowing time is fleeting. He wastes no time with detours and scales any body, limb or furniture on his way to the stairs.
	The heat of the erupting fires scorched Vaelron on the arm as he is distracted by the full-blown chaos that came out of nowhere. He flinches out of pain. "SSSsss...Fuck! Hot!" Deep primal instincts move the bard immediately. He runs clutching to his crossbow and Lute Last thing he hears and sees is a death rattle from behind the bar while Kál and Vylrene crash through the door. "What the...A dog?" He shakes his head and looks to his left. As he sees Vitor stomp up the stairs, in a split moment he decides to follows his bastard sword-wielding compatriot to cover his back if necessary. "Time is of the essence!"
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