Was the party over? The demon lifted a sleepy head before turning his body onto its stomach atop his previous dance platform, letting his arms and legs hang over the sides looking like a grotesque spider creature as he surveyed the room again. Of course, it made him smile with a gleeful shiver. So broken. So… the scream sifted all his attention in a single direction and pulled him out of any other thoughts. He was shocked and intrigued that something horrible should be happening without his involvement.

The arrival of the three new figures brought a starry glaze to the jester’s black eyes as an angel’s choir sang and fireworks exploded in his mind and his body tingled, ecstatic in the presence of beings he had acquired an unhealthy infatuation for after having once witnessed their aftermath years prior. And here he was looking a mess! Jargo rushed to sit up, his clumsy hands fussing with his clothes and hair, only succeeding in ruffling them up in further disarray before slinking off his table and bounding for the nearest dagger-clad Salvager.

“My gentleman,”

Jargo frowned suddenly as he approached and bent his upper body almost completely upside-down, believing that the alteration in perspective would reveal particular distinctions if he could see under the long robes, but alas, too much cloth.

“Or, lady! You’re a vision!”

Like a curious animal investigating a foreign object, so was the white-haired fiend as he circled the cloaked being in search of anything interesting as he soon found himself admiring his own face in the golden reflection of a mask. Clear hesitation and caution in his movements as even he didn’t dare touch or disturb the Salvager despite how badly he wished to do so.

Suffering from attention-deficit, Jargo’s focus quickly shifted onto the other remaining mysterious persons. Jumping up on the bar counter, he used it as a breezeway through the obstacle course of people littering the floor. He stayed on the counter in a toad-like crouch as he hovered over the scene of the siren’s fallen body, winking at his demonic brethren before doting over the inspecting Salvager like child staring at unobtainable treats.

If rumors were true, there wasn’t a chance in Hell the demon was going to miss an opportunity to see the legendary elixir or at least where it was hidden. A tonic like that would sell for a king’s fortune in any market.

Ealdwine watched as Edward rose to his feet and began to wander the bar. Aha! He had been unconscious when the siren sang her dreadful note, and had not been affected. Any joy he might have felt quickly dissipated when the boy tossed the bandaged woman's cloak over him. Was the young lord mad? Had he hit his head rather harder than he had imagined? Before he had time to contemplate this turn of events, he heard the crashing of the front door- and the barman yelling his head off.

Pulling the cloak up over his eyes to protest this unfair treatment, his words froze in his mouth to see Busker struck in the throat by some unseen assailant. He tightened his grip on his sword as a masked figure with a dagger moved right past him, clearly making for Edward.

Ye gods.

Could it really be? A Salvager? The Bard had heard tales of his kind, most often told in hushed whispers. When he had misbehaved as a boy his mother had often frightened him with stories about them, saying they seized unruly children in the dead of night, spiriting them away to their evil fortress high in the mountains.

They were all doomed if nothing was done. He knew they killed witnesses, in addition to their quarry. It could not end this way. Not here, not like this. He still had the element of surprise- or so he hoped. If he could just get his hands on that precious elixir, he could save the barman- and doubtless earn himself a meal! He cast off the cloak from his head with a flourish, shouting a challenge.

“Varlet! Tell your gods that Ealdwine sent you to Hell!”

The Bard had never fought a myth before, but intended to do his father proud. He charged headlong for the man with the dagger, his rapier thrust in a vicious stroke for the heart.

Teldryen felt the warmth return to his body, his muscle relaxed and he stumbled to back onto his feet, the paralysis had worn off but the bartender was yelling at everyone to get out of his bar but he suddenly stopped. Teldryen turned to see the barkeep fall to the floor with a needle in his neck. Teldryen gasped pulling his hand up to his mouth, he thought, "there is only one kind of person who could throw with that accuracy".

Teldryen turned to see the three masked men standing in the doorway. Instantly he knew, Salvagers. Quickly Teldryen drew a small book from his pocket, he opened the book, placed his hand over the opened pages and then closed his eyes.

Suddenly he lifted his hand and pointed it at the Salvager with the throwing needles and shouted, "Alp!" The Salvager froze and dropped his his needles. Teldryen had casted 'Tapping Paralysis' on the Salvager and with a smile, Teldryen returned his book back to his pocket.

Being frozen was no fun, really. but it ended, and not a moment to soon.
The door slammed, icy wind needling at Fate's stiff body. Only it wasn't stiff any more, just sluggish, the second long side effect of being paralyzed. Her scream finally pushed itself out of her mouth, dying instantly into a guttural, husky growl.

"EVERYONE OUT! Leave your money on the tables and get out of my establishment! Take your injured with you, I --"
"Tiisss" She released a breath of short sharp air from between her teeth in disappointment tainted with disgust as she struggled for control with the wild bloodthirsty beast that lurked inside. As such she missed what had made Busker stop yelling, but after a few more precious seconds she had snatched the majority of control of her now fully transformed state, in time to see a set of overdressed ………… humanoids occupying the door, although not for long, as they split up, each heading towards someone that had piqued their interest.

There was something awfully familiar about the spotless figures, a rumor or legend perhaps, as Fate was fairly sure she would know if she had seen this lot before.
Her sane side was pondering, trying to work out where she might have herd of something like this, while her psycho sliver was attempting to wrest control and attack them.

In any other circumstance it might have been an odd, almost funny sight; a nearly-seven-foot werewolf frozen like a fearsome statue, pondering rather than pillaging. But it was not another circumstance, and really? there was so much odd with this one, a curious werewolf didn't really make much of a difference.

Fate didn't really notice the man who had started all the trouble nosing around the strangers, so distracted she was, but when a challenge cut through the fog she glanced up, her eyes, slowly draining of their yellow, both the one she used to see and the scarred mess of one that was normally hidden under her eye-patch.

Her hammers swinging softly by her sides, their weight more like that of paper to her than the large metal objects they really were.
She wasn't really sure what she wanted to do…… No she did, she wanted to rip them apart, it didn't really matter who……… she had thought she was attempting Not to kill off random strangers, ……… But hunting each month really wasn't enough, she never got to play…… One should never play with her food…………………… Hypocrite.

Oh what the hell, no matter how much she argued against it, she really did enjoy playing with dinner, so she might as well, and no she wasn't referring to building castles with mashed potatoes in moats of stew.

Lunging at one of the newcomers from behind, the same one that the bard was attacking, as it was the closest moving thing she could see, Fate pulled her arms wide, yanking them together so as to crush the figures head, caught as it might be, between Hell and (a) Hard-place.

The Drow had watched as the scene began to unfold around her and several of the others began to move already, turning to help or hinder one another as the door burst open and three beings walked in. Allowing herself to drop into infrared vision she watched the heat signatures of the others move about and suddenly one was still, frozen by the Painted Elf who she'd attempted to avoid for a time but called him to her again pretending to need his help. In all honestly, she planned on slaughtering the tavern in the first place and the appearance of the Salvagers only made it easier for her as she looked down at them. The siren summoned something, a demon it looked like and she smirked, knowing that that thing would attack the first thing to go near it as she had dealt with such a thing before and as the Salvager neared a few others attacked it.

Fade glanced at the other, the one to have killed the barkeep and grinned again, allowing her spell of invisibility to fade away while she touched her cloud of darkness over the Siren and her Demon. Suddenly she dropped, spinning in the air to wrap her thighs around the neck of the third Salvager, bringing the dagger in her hand around to plunge into the things chest while she bore it down to the ground, elegantly flicking around so she would landing on it while repeatedly driving her dagger into all vital areas she could get near. The Drow did not linger to see if it was really dead, instead she rolled off and ducked to the side with a wicked glance at the Painted Elf while he stood not four feet from her, blood spattering not only her armor but her cloak and face, dripping from her grey skin while lavender eyes turned to the cloud of inky blackness.

She ducked beneath the hammers of the werewolf, grabbing a tankard and dumping it's contents on the floor as she slid into the darkness and followed her instincts. She cast her harmless Fearie Fire spell to outline both the demon and the Siren so she would be able to see them via the heat it created. She stood behind to girl, already chanting as she jammed the tankard against the girls chest, holding her in such a way that even if her summon creature sure her, it wouldn't be able to attack her from her field of vision. "All it takes is water right?" Fade paused in her chanting and the cold magic was threading through the both of their bodies while she pulled away the tankard and dropped her own blood in it. With another word she drank the mix of their blood and it was complete; she was bonded with the siren. She dropped the tankard and left the cloud of darkness to vanish again with the single spoken word, her name in Drow.

Pallas could feel her body again, which meant she could move again. And then there was Edward who was holding her face, but she would think about that later. There was a more pressing issue: The Salvagers were here. One of them was coming after Edward, and while the bard and female bartender were going after them, Pallas pulled Edward away to somewhere safer and hid him behind one of the tables for now as it seemed impossible to get him out of the tavern. "Well, I might never see you again as I will probably die, but I'm glad I made a friend on my journey. Best wishes and try not to waste my efforts and live, okay?" Those were her parting words for him as she was not really good at good byes or other sentimental gunk. She gave him a (maybe the last) smile, and a kiss on the cheek. @Strafe

As she returned to the terrifyingly chaotic scene, she watched in horror as the Drow was performing some sort of ritual on the siren, that from the looks of it, did more harm than good to poor Milo. The siren would desperately need medical attention as her chest wound was serious and whatever the Drow did seemed dangerous as well. What was the rumor again? That each Salvager had a potion that could cure any injury? If that was the case, then she should grab that potion or else Milo would die. Strangely enough, one of the Salvager was paralyzed, though if not by the siren's song then what? She noticed Teldryen slipping a book back into his pocket. Did he have something to do with it? Either way, there was no time to lose and she walked over to the paralyzed Salvager, and began to search him for a bottle or something that would contain the potion. She managed to find a weirdly-shaped container that she assumed must be the potion, so she grabbed it and made her way back to Milo, who was alone since the Drow magically disappeared somehow. "Here, take this. It will probably heal your wound," she told the siren as she handed her the potion. _{"At least I hope this is the right one..."} @BlackCat

Now that was taken care of, she returned back to the paralyzed Salvager, who was still paralyzed fortunately. She got out her sword and stabbed it where its heart should be, and a few more times just to be safe.

Protector took the portion from Pallas. He fed the potion to Milo. She coughed a bit but then color returned to her face. She reached down and pulled the knife out of her chest. The wound began to regrow itself. Stiching the wound cooked.
Milo stood you and dismissed Protector, the demon shimmering before vanishing. The potion had healed Milo. She was in the perfect fighting condition. And there ears Slayers to kill.

Even though Gharlyc could now move, he still stood frozen, watching Busker twitching in an expanding pool of his own blood. Busker, his best, if only friend, was dying.

We grew up together... Got into all sorts of trouble, but we did it together, usually laughing at the end. Hells, I was his best man. I stood by him, keeping him company while he was anxiously waiting for Wink to be born. He has been more family to me than my own flesh and blood...
And I was going to use him. Gods, what have these years done to me? I was going to use him and the tavern as a safe house, and scapegoat if necessary...

Gharlyc was oblivious to the fighting around him, lost in thought, until he noticed Milo drinking the potion. She healed! Healed!!
Coming to his senses, Gharlyc dashed over to the Salvager that Fade killed, quickly patted it down and found the healing potion. Running over to Busker, Gharlyc pulls out the needle and helps Busker drink the potion. Seeing him visibly start healing, Gharlyc lets out a relieved sigh. Gharlyc then stands up and holds his dagger out to defend Busker and Wink.

If we all get out of this alive, I will leave my life of crime behind and live peacefully, maybe work for Busker or something...

Edward found himself screaming and shouting in horror as the chaos around him unfolded.

Everything had become a blur the moment the door burst open, unleashing a torrent of frosty air into the tavern. Suddenly all of the figures moved, and Edward jumped up as Pallas sprung alive. The bartender fell to the ground. As swift as the wind they came in, masked figures swept into the room and began to attack anyone and everyone.

In the haze, one of the masked figures approached him, noticeably eyeing his hand cannon. He backpedaled slowly, holding it close to his breast. But his foot caught, and he fell to the ground.

His eyes glued shut and he trembled in terror. But why was he so afraid? He had already died, and there was nothing to lose. So why was his chest pounding so violently?

Suddenly, he felt a powerful grip jerk him backwards, dragging him along the grimy floor behind one of the tables. He opened his eyes to see Pallas’ face hovering close to his. Her eyes wrestled with panic, but her voice carried across the chaotic tavern with a sober resignation.

"Well, I might never see you again as I will probably die, but I'm glad I made a friend on my journey. Best wishes and try not to waste my efforts and live, okay?"

With those words, Pallas smiled weakly. Her face came closer, graceful neck craning until her soft lips grazed his cheek with a short, clumsy kiss. Then she disappeared back into the fray, leaving Edward alone behind the table.

Edward sat there, frozen in fear. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his face, to the point where Pallas had kissed him. He could still feel the warmth of her breath, the girlish brush of her hair as she pulled herself back a bit too quickly. The contour of her collarbone, the little hairs that sprung up at the nape of her neck. The stillness in her eyes as she turned away from him.

He knew in his heart then that he was still alive. This was no afterlife. A surge of vitality began to well within his chest. He wanted to protect Pallas. Even if it cost his life.

But he could not move.

He looked down to see that his hands were trembling violently, caught in conflict between adrenaline and terror. His entire body shook in the same way. He could feel the burn and the chill coursing within his bones, and his legs shot with thunder in paralysis. His will bent and wretched a million times over to try and spark life into his body. He felt nauseous from the strain. But still, he could not move.

So Edward gave up. All of the energy coursing through his body collapsed in brutal catharsis as they turned into tears and heartbreak. Edward wept bitterly. Pallas would die, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Goal: To confiscate Edward's hand-cannon

---

The Salvager halted in the middle of the room as its way was blocked by Jargo's twisting and circling admiration. It waited there, still and silent as a tree, while Jargo stared into the reflection of the Salvager's mask. When Jargo had bounded merrily away, the Salvager continued undisturbed on its original course, a gloved hand stretched out to take Edward's ingenious hand-cannon.

“Varlet! Tell your gods that Ealdwine sent you to Hell!”

The Salvager did not raise its weapon, nor did it show any indication of tension or alarm. It only raised its masked head, and faced Ealdwine just as the bard's rapier drove deep into the Salvager's chest.

There was no blood. The Salvager did not flinch, even as the tip of the rapier thrust out its back. Again, bloodless.

The Salvager suddenly grabbed Ealdwine's sword-arm with an iron grip and swung the bard forcefully against the stones of the burning hearth.

At the same moment, Fate appeared behind the Salvager and slammed its head between her monstrous hammers.

A ghastly, wet sound of smashing bone filled the room -- and so did the stench of rotting flesh. It was as if Fate had broken a rotten egg.

Bits of bone and brackish ooze flew across the room -- and still there was not a drop of red blood, nor of any living flesh. The golden mask clattered to the floor, and the cold, suddenly limp body crumpled after it, no longer a danger.

At this moment, Fade completed her blood pact with Milo and vanished once more.

Goal: To capture Milo

---

Fade appeared above the Salvager, and like a spider she dropped upon it. The Salvager did not defend or attempt to stop her attack, but appeared to be dead the moment its back hit the floor; a dagger in the Drow's grip drove deep, again and again, into the Salvager's motionless body. There was no blood -- not even a drop. The dagger stabbed and stabbed and caused nothing more than clean holes in the Salvager's white cloth. Thinking her work finished, Fade moved on to conduct a blood ritual with Milo, abandoning her victim.

The Salvager seemed very much cold and dead when Gharlyc descended upon it, groping and searching for the precious elixir. The dwarf found it among the folds of cloth and dashed away to administer the potion to Busker, who was very much near the brink of death.

The Salvager sat up, then crawled to its feet, the scimitar held firmly in its gloved hand. It was unharmed, save for the clean slashes in its garb.

The Salvager leaped over a bench and dropped behind Milo; with an unexpected swiftness it clamped a gloved hand over her mouth and pressed her back against its cold, unbreathing chest.

Goal: To capture Fade

---

Thanks to Teldryen's spell, the Salvager was paralyzed midway through the act of readying another needle, and it stood like a statue in this pose, not even breathing at all.

Pallas found the bottle of elixir hidden inside a fold of the Salvager's clothing, and handed it to Milo's summoned demon. While the demon administered the elixir, and while Milo began to revive, Pallas drove her sword into the paralyzed Salvager.

Her blade poked clean holes through the Salvager's chest -- there was no blood, nor any sign that the statuesque Salvager was in any distress at all.

And then, the paralysis wore off.

Immediately, the Salvager's hand flicked and a needle struck Pallas in the abdomen. With great speed, the Salvager immediately gripped a needle in one fist and slashed at her throat, aiming for the kill.

Almost at the same time, another needle flashed through the air and struck Fade in the chest, driving deep and sharp.

Seloria

Seloria watched everything freeze and unfreeze suddenly watching everything go down at once. Watching Pallas, Seloria was still in a daze and couldn't stop Pallas before it was to late. Watching the Salvager quickly attempt to kill her, Seloria's left shoulder blade began to glow intensely and her left eye widen. Jumping over tables, she quickly made her way behind the unsuspecting Salvager. Her eye glowing red, she kicked it in the back with enough force that should have sent him through the wall.

Without looking back, she turned and quickly made her way to Pallas. Taking the bandages off her body to reveal a seal, one that Pallas unknowingly had to match. Seloria quickly bit her hand and put blood in her mouth. Lowering her mouth, she kissed Pallas. Moving her face away, she picked the girl up and quickly ran towards where Edward was. Looking down she looked at the boy "You will keep this girl safe, under all costs, if you must die so be it, but she cannot die" she put Pallas down as her wounds began to heal.

Standing back up she looked at the situation and her hand bled. Pulling off her eye patch, Seloria quickly began to unravel the bandages around her eye. Upon removing it all, a gruesome scar went down the right side of her face. She dropped her sword and took her cloak off putting it over Pallas. Turning to the Salvager that hurt Pallas, she slowly opened her eye and to everyone it would feel like the air in the room was surging towards her. Her Iris was pure red and suddenly her body started to glow. From her eye, aura like snakes began to crawl out of it and slither across her body until it completely engulfed her in a purple light.



From within the purple light, her body seemingly dropped to all fours and her backend sprouted tails. She let out a blood boiling howl and she waited to see if the Salvager was still able to move, standing protectively between Pallas, Fade and Edward.

With every crash of Fate's fearsome hammers into the cobbled floor Dirion's life flashed before him, faster and faster. His eyes were glued to the hammers as they sped towards him, leaving fearsome holes and cracks in the stone where they had missed. He was still prone on the ground, shuffling around like a cornered mouse.

Dirion's retreat from Fate was cut off when his back bumped into something hard and as far as he could tell quite unmovable. Though he had nary a clue to what it was in his state, it was in fact, a wall. His heart leapt into his throat when he realized he had no where else to go. Instinctively he put his arms up to protect himself from the coming harm, little it would do him, and tried to take solace in the fact that he may be seeing Brigen soon...... and that he wouldn't have to pay his tab to Busker.

With his eyes screwed shut waited for the inevitable. Instead he received an ear piercing shriek that ran throughout the whole room, forcing his eyes back open in surprise. He moved to clasp his hands over his ears, but it felt like he was moving through molasses. While again he may have been drunker than he thought, he found that a second later he couldn't move at all.

Dirion shifted his eyes upwards to look at Fate. He saw a mangled mess of hair and limbs. Her face had become deformed but Dirion thought he could see quite a bit of anger in her. Luckily, she too was frozen. Mouth open in a silent snarl.

He shifted his gaze from Fate to where the drow had just stood a second before. But now? Nothing. In a panic Dirion eyes looked in a frenzy for the drow, for fear that she would slit his throat any moment. But his eyes did not find her. Instead they found the young noble that he had struck with his knife. The boy began to walk towards the bar, and as he got closer Dirion tried desperately to speak, too say he was sorry, to beg for help. But nothing came out. Dirion could only plead with his eyes.

The boy took a drink from Dirion's ruined tankard and walked away. Apparently their was still some left in it. Normally Dirion would be upset with someone stealing his drink. But, considering he had wounded the boy he could forgive him this time. The boy continued to walk around the tavern. Doing all sorts of nonsensical things like throwing a cloth over the bleeding bard's face and resting himself in a women's... Ahem.

Continuing to fight for the ability to move Dirion began to feel his fingers and toes twitch, then he could bend them, next came his hands and his feet, then his arms and legs, before finally he had regained control over all of his body.

Suddenly the door to the Dog slammed open. Apparently Busker had regained the ability to move also. He yelled at a level that Dirion had only heard a small handful of times since his time at the Dog. "EVERYONE OUT!" He heard from behind the bar. "Leave your money on the tables and get out of my establishment!" That would be a problem. Dirion was quite nearly broke. No where near enough to pay his debt off. "Take your injured with you, I --" And then... he stopped. Save from a bloodcurdling rasping and gurgling noise that sounded a lot like Busker. That and a scream from Wink.

Dirion looked to see masked men standing in the front of the Dog. They were all holding weapons of some sort and wearing strange gold masks. The patrons of the bar all stood still for a moment. Before a tornado of action overtook the entire building. It was too much for Dirion's drunken mind to keep up with. He knew people were attacking other people and that was about it.

A raspy breath from Busker caught Dirion's attention. He turned his head to see a dwarf running behind the bar. Dirion knew he would be useless fighting. Would just trip onto the enemy's sword and kill himself for them. But there was something he could do. He got to his feet how you would imagine a drunk would: Inefficient and clumsy.

Once on his feet Dirion scrambled around the bar to the other side. With his words still somewhat slurred he said, "Is Busker okay?!. To no one in particular. Once he took a second to breath he saw Busker lying on the floor and Wink crouched behind the bar. The Dwarf was standing in front of Dirion and blocking him from checking Busker. He could see blood!

He turned his head to Wink and asked,"Wink? Are- Are you okay? Is Busker.. Dirion asked. He looked back at the Dwarf with fear in his eyes. "Is Busker okay!? He yelled down at the Dwarf. If he didn't answer him quickly Dirion was going to shove him out of the way. He hadn't even seen the man before. For all he knew he did it!

@Tricheus @Mokley

The Salvager simply stood there, the rapier sticking through it's chest. This was impossible. It was not possible. Fear mounted in the Bard's eyes as the creature seized him by the arm. He struggled vainly, keeping an iron grip on his sword. He was cast across the room, tumbling across the floor.

He slammed finally into the stones of the hearth. His legs took the brunt of the damage. He cried out in pain, hoping they were not broken. He was not a young man anymore, and had little hope of shrugging this one off. He tried to rise, but could not. So he crawled. Edging toward toward the daggerman, he watched in terrified awe as the wolfish creature crushed his head, and the salvager fell to the floor.

“Wolf-girl! Quickly!” Ealdwine called, his voice hoarse from so much yelling. “The elixir! On the body- give it to the barman! It will save him!”

He kept crawling, knowing he was in a very difficult position now. The barroom was a flurry of activity and, if he was lucky, he might avoid attention. But that was not really his style. Ealdwine Silverstrings was seldom content with remaining unseen.

He saw Edward on the floor not far away. He looked unhurt, so far as the Bard could see. Raising himself into a sitting position with a straining effort, he pulled Arthelia from his back. He tossed his sword across the floor, landing it a few feet from his former student.

“Edward!” he shouted, with all the gravitas he could muster in his present state.

“I once taught you- now teach me! Many of your forebears were storied warriors. You studied fencing as well as music, did you not? Show me how a Hart-Ellington faces death! I hope it does not involve crying on a filthy tavern floor. Take my sword- it is no use to me now.”

Ealdwine took his lute in both hands, and smiled grimly.

“A little music, to usher our enemies unto their eternal rest...”

And the bard's fingers began to strum a lively tune. The broken string was long forgotten, and of little consequence now. It was a piece he had learned many years ago, from a trio of dwarven musicians. The Dagger Dance, they had called it. It was an apt addition to the increasingly bloody and desperate ambiance.

Turning towards Dirion, but still keeping his eyes peeled for danger,
"The Salvager with the needles did this to Busker. I was able to get him a potion and it seems like he is healing. But just in case, please keep an eye on him. I'll be in your debt if we can keep Busker and Wink from any more harm."
@NorthernGR

Then Gharlyc heard "You will keep this girl safe, under all costs, if you must die so be it, but she cannot die", turning his attention back to the situation at hand. He didn't want to leave Busker's side, but like him, Seloria was also trying to protect someone. And as of now, that was something he could sympathize with. Plus, Pallas was a good and worthy person to help. Hoping that Dirion would watch over Busker and Wink, Gharlyc left the bar.
@AgentFallenSoul

Dashing over to Edward, Gharlyc puts a gentle hand on his shoulder,
"Milord, you must come to your senses! If you do not wish to fight then either take refuge behind the bar or assist me in helping Milady here. "
Then eyeing the sword that the bard had thrown over, Gharlyc took it and placed it in front of Edward.
@Strafe@Illogical Jim

Then stepping over to Pallas,
"Milady, are you alright? It looks like you're healing, but would you like us to help you to a 'safer' location?"
Depnding on her reply (or lack of), Gharlyc readied himself to either carry or drag (he hadn't decided which) Pallas behind the bar, with or without Edward's help.
@karamonnom

Fate snarled as the stench erupted in her face. Reeling backwards she yelped, dropping her hammers and pawing madly at her snout, which only caused her sensitive nose even more panic, as the goop was in her paws, she was covered in it actually. No longer able to stand the odor, Fate leaned forward, dry heaving, totally grossed out, there was no way she was eating that! Blargh. It made her shudder just thinking of it.

“Wolf-girl! Quickly! The elixir! On the body- give it to the barman! It will save him!” The bard's hoarse voice barely registered, too busy backpedaling away from the, the thing on the ground. She couldn't, she couldn't go near that thing. She had just enough presence of mind to snag her hammers and drag them with her as she fumbled away from the vile heap on the floor.

It was all well and good, Fate thought, for the bard to say that, when he didn't have to go near the pulpy mess. She glanced over to the bard when music started to add to the chaos already painting the tavern in pandemonium. Was he mad?! Fate couldn't help but question, To just randomly pick up his instrument and play?! At a time like this? But even so she could feel her foot yearning to tap to the beat.

The trembling did not cease when Edward saw Ealdwine collapse to the floor. It didn’t stop when Ealdwine threw his sword to him.

“I once taught you- now teach me! Many of your forebears were storied warriors. You studied fencing as well as music, did you not? Show me how a Hart-Ellington faces death!”

A well of annoyance grew in place of dread.

“I hope it does not involve crying on a filthy tavern floor.”

Oh you dirty pompous old--

Instantly, Edward sprang up, and grabbed Ealdwine’s rapier from the dwarf. His eyes were still puffy and his nose was red, but he turned towards the carnage. The shaking had stopped. His sense of smell returned, and he covered his face at the stench that flooded his nostrils. He looked to Pallas, who had been pierced in the abdomen, but rescued by the bandaged woman. This was his chance to redeem himself.

He turned to the dwarf with resolve, ready to help him take Pallas away.

@karamonnom @Tricheus

As the Salvager slashed her throat with a needle, Pallas's life flashed before her eyes. "This is it," she thought to herself. "I'm really going to die this time. I've had a good run, right? Though I didn't get to do all of the things I wanted yet. I hope, at least, Edward will be alright."

As her consciousness was starting to drift away, she felt a burning, bloodied pair of lips hurriedly placed on top of her own. The act seemed to grip onto her soul, forcing it to stay in this earthly body. Pallas did not need to open her eyes to know who it was, though it felt like a dream. There was only one person in the world with such a warm presence and there was only one person that she knew would do that for her: Seloria.

But why was she here? Pallas has not seen her at all the entire two years since she has left to become a bounty hunter. Oh, how she had missed her but did not dare find her until she had accomplished something worthy of making her teacher proud. Instead, she had to save Pallas once again. If she was not in such a critical situation, she would be feeling ashamed by that. No, right now, she was afraid. What was going to happen to Seloria now? How can she take on such monsters? Pallas was not aware of Seloria's powers and even though she knew her teacher was strong, was she strong enough to take on the Salvagers?

Pallas' wounds were still in the process of healing when she was placed in front of Gharlyc and Edward. She did not awake from her near-death experience but a word managed to escape her lips. "Sel....oria..."
@Tricheus@Strafe@AgentFallenSoul

While the Dwarf was talking to Dirion he was finally able to look around him to see Busker. The man was lying in a pool of blood, but Dirion couldn't see any wound. He didn't know where the little man got his hands on a potion, but wherever he got it from it seemed to be doing some good.

The Dwarf told Dirion to guard Busker and Wink. To be honest Dirion was already planning on doing so, but it put him on ease to know the man didn't wish either of them harm. The Dwarf huddled past Dirion and ran out back into the fray. And though even though Dirion was not much of a religious man he gave a small prayer for him. Would be horrible to think of someone missing him out of the corner of their eye and lopping off his head.

Dirion danced around the puddle of blood and crouched behind the bar next to Wink. He gave a good scan, well as good a scan you can give intoxicated, over Busker. He still couldn't find any sort of wounds and the the old dog was starting to look better every second. Dirion turned his gaze to Wink. Now, normally Dirion could claim being quite skilled at reading people when he had his wits about him. And from time to time he would claim that he could talk down a charging bull. Sadly, he did not have his wits about him. All Dirion could really tell was that Wink was, well quite obviously, upset.

Wanting to try and ease her mind Dirion started turning the gears in his mind for something to say. The only thing he managed to come up with was, 'And here I though I wouldn't have to pay my tab.' Normally a joke would lighten people's hearts. But this joke would just get Dirion mauled by young Wink he guessed.

Giving up on saying anything very meaningful Dirion just said, "Are you okay?" And for the first time he realized just how loud it was in the Dog. He could barely hear his own voice leave his throat. And he had little hope that Wink could hear him either. Everyone was yelling and there was an unearthly rumbling shaking throughout the entire tavern.

Dirion this time yelled, "Are you okay?!" At Wink. Though it was still hard to hear he was confident she would hear him this time.

As he was waiting for her to respond a tankard fell off the bar. Dirion looked up to see many of the mugs, cups, and other forms of liquid holders shaking on the edge of the bar. A hair's length from falling off and crashing into the defenseless body of Dirion and Wink. He paused for a moment thinking of what to do, but that second was long enough for the glasses to come falling down. He shifted over Wink to try and cover her and felt himself get beaten by weighty tankards.

In front of him, towards to back of the bar now. Dirion could both see and hear Busker's few more expensive bottles of spirits crashing to the ground. Broken shards littered the floor all around Busker. As far as Dirion could tell none of it had hit him. He hoped he was right.

While the avalanche of cups began to cease and the bottles of alcohol continued to fall Dirion had only two thoughts in his mind. One? He was going to be feeling those tankards in the morning. And two? There was probably some ironic message to Dirion about the evil of drinking, what with him being assaulted by ale and ale equipment. The gods certainly had an odd sense of humor.

@Mokley

The Dagger Salvager is Dead

---

Fate snarled as the stench erupted in her face. Reeling backwards she yelped, dropping her hammers and pawing madly at her snout, which only caused her sensitive nose even more panic. No longer able to stand the odor, Fate leaned forward, dry heaving. She had just enough presence of mind to snag her hammers and drag them with her as she fumbled away from the vile heap on the floor.

Hoping that Dirion would watch over Busker and Wink, Gharlyc left the bar. . . . Depnding on her reply (or lack of), Gharlyc readied himself to either carry or drag (he hadn't decided which) Pallas behind the bar, with or without Edward's help.

Instantly, Edward sprang up, and grabbed Ealdwine’s rapier from the dwarf. His eyes were still puffy and his nose was red, but he turned towards the carnage. The shaking had stopped. His sense of smell returned, and he covered his face at the stench that flooded his nostrils. He turned to the dwarf with resolve, ready to help him take Pallas away.

Pallas' wounds were still in the process of healing when she was placed in front of Gharlyc and Edward. She did not awake from her near-death experience but a word managed to escape her lips. "Sel....oria..."

And the bard's fingers began to strum a lively tune. The broken string was long forgotten, and of little consequence now. It was a piece he had learned many years ago, from a trio of dwarven musicians. The Dagger Dance, they had called it. It was an apt addition to the increasingly bloody and desperate ambiance.

---

Jumping over tables, she quickly made her way behind the unsuspecting Salvager. Her eye glowing red, she kicked it in the back with enough force that should have sent him through the wall.

A few needles flung and scattered on the floor, and the Salvager CRASHED clean through the wall and tumbled in the gravel and weeds in the darkness outside. The wall was now splintered and gaping wide, and a light breeze drifted coolly into the room.

The Salvager finally rolled to a stop against a disused trough, and it righted itself and marched -- unharmed -- back to the tavern. It ducked through the hole in the wall and once again stepped inside.

Turning to the Salvager that hurt Pallas, she slowly opened her eye and to everyone it would feel like the air in the room was surging towards her. Her Iris was pure red and suddenly her body started to glow. From her eye, aura like snakes began to crawl out of it and slither across her body until it completely engulfed her in a purple light. From within the purple light, her body seemingly dropped to all fours and her backend sprouted tails. She let out a blood boiling howl.

The air in the tavern -- and gravity itself -- sucked toward Seloria in her transformation. The walls trembled and creaked, weakened by the hole in the side of the tavern. Bottles fell from the shelves and smashed on the floor; ale and cheap wine pooled everywhere. At the Seloria-beast's howl, the shattered wall of the tavern cracked and buckled slightly; wood dust rained down from the rafters and settled in the spreading puddles of ale and wine and blood.

The Salvager paused, and did not approach. Seloria stood between it and the invisible Drow it was after.

The Salvager shot six needles into the purple energy in rapid procession, aiming for the body that crouched inside: her red eye, her throat, her hand, two to her rips and one to her abdomen. Before the last needle had met its mark, the Salvager broke into a sprint, leaped high in the air, and smashed its feet down into Seloria's back, with another needle ready to pierce the back of her skull.

---

In less than a second, the Salvager had wrapped the injured and recovering Milo in a cocoon of white and gold fabric (the source of which was as mysterious as the face behind the mask). The Salvager draped the siren over its shoulder and proceeded to finish its mission. Starting with Fate.

The Salvager broke into a run at Fate -- who was still reeling over the stench of the rotted corpse -- leaped up and sliced the scimitar deftly at her throat.

The blade had a slightly sticky, bluish residue that gleamed on the metal. It was of a similar shade as that of the elixir that both Milo and Busker drank. Should the scimitar hit its target -- and cause a deep gash under Fate's coarse fur -- it would leave behind a numbing sensation, and the wound would begin to fester and rot.

The Salvager immediately turned to continue the fight, with Milo still over its shoulder, and sliced at her wrists and forearms with the intent of forcing her to let go of her weapons. It realized the danger they held.

Meanwhile, Milo -- who was stuck inside the cocoon of cloth, bouncing about on the Salvager's shoulder and unable to see anything that's going on -- would no longer feel any pain from the wound in her stomach. However, she had stopped breathing, and no longer needed to breathe at all.

The elixir had a grave side-effect, after all.

---

Once on his feet Dirion scrambled around the bar to the other side. Dirion this time yelled, "Are you okay?!" At Wink. Though it was still hard to hear he was confident she would hear him this time. As he was waiting for her to respond a tankard fell off the bar. Dirion looked up to see many of the mugs, cups, and other forms of liquid holders shaking on the edge of the bar. A hair's length from falling off and crashing into the defenseless body of Dirion and Wink. He shifted over Wink to try and cover her and felt himself get beaten by weighty tankards.

The fire in the hearth roared higher and wider than ever. The walls all around were creaking, wind gusted everywhere, a mounted troll's head slipped off its peg on the wall and clattered into the fire.

Wink was in shock. She shivered as if she were freezing, and she barely blinked while she watched the battle between the purple glowing monstrosity and the equally bizarre faceless-man. She vaguely heard Gharlyc's voice and didn't quite comprehend his presence or leaving. All of this was a nightmare. Just a nightmare she would wake up from at any moment.

She snapped out of it to see Dirion stooped over her, his face contorted in pain as heavy tankards and bottles cracked against his back. She stared at him with red, watery eyes, and instinctively wrapped an arm behind his neck and dragged him away from that spot just before a bigger, heavier bottle cracked into the floor.

Wink breathed heavily, staring out into the chaos of the tavern, wiped away knots of haggard hair from her face, while still clutching Dirion like a lifeline. "What's happening?" she asked in a voice that was much more composed than she looked. She swallowed and laid a hand on her father's forehead. The wound in his neck was gone, but he was still covered in blood. "What was that stuff the dwarf gave him?" This question was almost accusing; even now, while the world was falling apart around her, she could not trust anyone, Gharlyc least of all.

As she touched Busker, her father released a breath and did not breathe in again. While the chaos clanged and shouted and roared all around, Wink waited and watched for air to fill Busker's lungs again -- but Busker was no longer breathing.

"Dad?"

She shook Busker's shoulder, the other arm still clinging to Dirion. "Daad? Dad? Dad, breathe!" Panic was sinking in again, and she hiccupped back a sob.

Busker's eyes opened, and they were a glassy gray. The barkeep turned and sat up slowly, his expression blank.

Wink smiled in relief -- but when her father didn't acknowledge her, she tentatively reached out to him again. "Dad, come on, we have to get out of here."

Busker stood slowly, and only remained there motionless, listening to the cacophony of the tavern, because he could no longer see. He would never take another breath again.

Nothing but pure chaos at every angle of degree the neck turned. The Bawdy Dog buzzed with glorious disaster and a frenzy of busy bodies. It was here Jargo felt most at home, even if he was slightly peeved at not having gotten to the precious potions on time. Oh, well. But, wait...

Not far from where the barmaster was gulping in his first unliving breaths, the lucky demon spied the discarded bottle that had once held the unfortunately marvelous elixir. So close. So close he could almost taste it. Slithering atop the counter, he crept like a happy chesterine in hopes the hasty heroes hadn't used it all up and just maybe enough lingered to fetch a pretty price.

Alas, no... The tyrants had emptied the little vile of anything worth spilling. The jester frowned--the muscles in his face almost unable to bend into the necessary upside-down crescent to form a proper frown, but nonetheless he looked as disappointed as he could force his expression. Although, as he pouted at his misfortune, the heat from his filthy palm was allowed to coax the tiny residue from the bottle's sides and a single drop was able to form in the bottom rim. Jargo blinked at his new friend, his black eyes distorting in the smooth glass thinking he might see answers in the final droplet.

Immediately, his attention was back on the bar and so was a new grin--a wicked, toothy, and crooked grin full of elation with a dangerous game playing in his mind. Without another thought, the insane demon threw the bottle into his mouth and scattered the thing in one mighty chomp--the bitter sting of the potion and blood exciting his tongue and body.

Goodbye, Jargo the Luck Demon and, hello, Jargo the Flesh Eater. @Mokley