As the four orcs move closer, the heroes take their stances. Nel faces Groar, the appearing leader of their opponents, while Adysine, Draven and Mongiere turn their backs to hers to face the other three. Discq makes his way behind the bar counter, hidden by his magical ability.

The enemies draw closer. "Another street rat from Daask comes to claim my head, and another poor bartender finds more blood to clean from their floors. Blades to arms!, but big toothed and ugly is mine if you don't mind. We've a dance to finish it seems." Nel's voice alone can anger Groar a plenty, but her chosen words angered him even more. "And I thought you might have been a tax collector. Silly me." Draven adds the latter and seeing that only one human will face him, Groar feels his anger boiling.

Draven has harldy finished his last words as one of the orcs comes rushing towards him swinging a battleaxe to and fro. The orc gives a violent scream as the axe is swung just passed Draven's torso. Draven answers the attack by swinging his own weapon, Grishnak. The sword cuts through the air as gracefully the blade cuts through the orc's armor and flesh. The dark blood of the orc spills over the tavern's floor and the orc himself falls down, his body cold and his mind empty.

Adysine had told Mongiere to what direction he should turn, but that alone does not effect the outcome of the battle. An orc with a great cleaving falcion blade has focused his attack on the blind master and rushes with his weapon ready to cleave the blind fool from head to toe. But Moniere is ready. Being blind gives him an edge in combat, as he can see what others can not. Mongiere's spiked chain swings towards the orc, but clashes with blade. The orc is surprised by the accuracy of a blind, and his own attack barely misses Mongiere.

Adysine faces the third orc who swings his own falchion blade. She activates her aberrant Dragonmark in hope that it will help, and it now feels hot to the touch. The orc's swing is nowhere near Adysine who answers with her own attack. She moves gracefully, slashing over the orc's chest with one sword and thrusting the other deep into his belly, dropping him down where his dark blood slowly makes its way out of the body and onto the floor.

"You fools! No human filth can defeat Groar, the unkillable!" His eyes seem to turn red and his muscular arms grow even more. Groar takes his blade far back and gets ready for a great and powerful swing. The great orc gives out a powerful yell as the blade makes its way towards Nel, cutting through a single stool without the slightest pause. A single person would die should he be struck by this swing, but luckily enough Nel was ready for it. The sword cuts through the air where Nel once stood, only an inch or two above Nel as she dodged it. The blade stops instantly where Groar wants it. His eyes are completely red, and even his greenish skin has taken on a slight red color. His anger is boiling as Nel raises herself up again.

"You fools! No human filth can defeat Groar, the unkillable!" His eyes seem to turn red and his muscular arms grow even more. Groar takes his blade far back and gets ready for a great and powerful swing. The great orc gives out a powerful yell as the blade makes its way towards Nel, cutting through a single stool without the slightest pause. A single person would die should he be struck by this swing, but luckily enough Nel was ready for it. The sword cuts through the air where Nel once stood, only an inch or two above Nel as she dodged it. The blade stops instantly where Groar wants it. His eyes are completely red, and even his greenish skin has taken on a slight red color. His anger is boiling as Nel raises herself up again.
Nel rose calmly, the swift and perfectly controlled blade of Groar parting the air a mere inch from the top of her pretty little head., Her short sword tilted, its fine sheen reflecting the lantern light across Groar's less than handsome features. "Sugar one of these days you Daask will learn that brute strength and bad breath alone won't solve your problems." With that she fell back into a defensive nature (-3 ATK +3 AC utilizing Combat Expertise) and made a cunning feint which would allow her to hopefully catch the orc off guard, striking a vital spot as her blade danced deceptively in for her first attack.

(Nel will be using improved feint to try and Deny Groar his dex in case she's fighting alone this next round, though hopefully she'll have additional atk bonuses due to flanking.)

The orc charged the casually approaching Draven with a roar that the warrior could only guess was an attempt to intimidate him. Draven’s toothy, wolfish grin remained. The orc reached him, swinging wildly. His axe cut towards Draven’s stomach but was too slow. This warrior was weak and clumsy. Draven spun to the side of the axe, and brought the cold, dead blade that was Grishnak tearing across the warriors stomach. Armor and skin severed, and blood sprayed the floor and a nearby table.

Draven stood over the orc, wielding his massive black blade to one side. His hair hung over his face and down his chest, and his eyes burned with the intensity of the kill. He could feel the pleasure that writhed within Grishnak. Yet he could also feel it’s longing, reflected by his own. The crash of a chair behind him caused him to turn around.

Nel had only just dodged the swing of a blade that could have killed a warforged. The chair behind her fell into two pieces, and she stood. Taunting him. Yet Draven could tell by her stance, she was settling into a defensive posture. He knew exactly what she was doing. They had done it hundreds of times before, and this was no exception. Especially since with an orc as angry and powerful as Groar, one slip up could easily mean death.

Still standing over his own dying victim, Draven cracked his neck gently before strolling casually around the tables and chairs that littered the tavern. He witnessed Adysine take out a second orc, but Mongiere was still engaged with the final bodygaurd. Making his way around the battle between Nel and Groar, (not stepping into any threat spaces) Draven will establish himself behind the raging orc, and of course, lunge in from behind.

(Establishing flanking from directly behind Groar. Giving Nel and Myself a +2 attack bonus. Also, since Draven is Flanking, this will give him his Sneak Attack bonus of an extra 1d6 of damage added onto the 2d6+7 of Grishnak and the 1d6 Frost Yayyyy for 4d6+7! Oh, lastly, IF Draven rolls to a miss on his first attack, I will use an action point to add a d6 to my roll. But only if the roll is bad (duh) )

Adysine ducked down beneath the orc's falchion, the big weapon moving the orc off balance and making him an easy target. She took full advantage of the opening, slashing him across his chest with one of her swords and burying the blade of the other into his gut, the orc falling when she pulls the sword out, his blood pooling underneath him.

Adysine stood back up and looked around, Draven already dropped his foe and was moving to help Nel, who had skillfully dodged Groar's attack, enraging the orc even more. Mongiere missed with his attack, but only just, as easy as the other two were, he should be able to take out the last orc easy enough, which made Adysine worry. Either Groar's much tougher than he looks, or...

Adysine stands her ground for a moment longer, eyes scanning the place for anyone else that might pose a threat, ready to move if she couldn't find anyone.


(Forfeiting initiative, Adysine will look around for anyone else that seems to be on Groar's side, if by the end of the round she doesn't see anyone, she'll move to help Mongiere)

“Concentrate. You must focus on the energy surrounding you. A warrior must not fear the unknown. He cannot control the skill of his enemy, or the number of his foe. You, my child, cannot control the fault of your eyes… but you can overcome it.” The monk had spoken to me these words, so long ago. It seemed as though the person he addressed was a stranger to me, one in whom I had never met, and never seen. Was that still me? Did I fumble in the dark like a beggar through the waste of richer men?

“Yes, it is true that you do not command the strength of your enemy, but you may choose to be stronger. No, you have no power over the forces that they command, yet, you may dwindle them with your will… you have the ability to say who lives or dies, if not by your voice, then by your hand, or any extension of such.” These were the words that rang through my head, so many years back. I had been abandoned, my army fled against the masses of our fallen. However, there was nowhere to run. Not for me. So I fought, and I fought, and though my arms were no longer mine, but lead forged in the furnace of the earth, still they moved with a liquidity much akin to quicksilver. Though the spears, and swords of soldiers so hated picked and pried, wept the blood from my bones, I made a choice. I lived. The monk had once told me of a sinister experiment, where an orphanage would take half of its newborn, and neglect them. Surely, they would feed them, change them, but there was no love for them. It was an early test of humanity, even if not all of the subjects were indeed human. The idea behind the test was to see if nurture made a substantial difference on the lives of young children. As it turned out, more than half of the babies simply turned over and died. It would seem they could not live without love. It was as though their souls committed suicide.

The monk had been one such test subject, though one of the few that lived. He spoke of choice as if the blade of a sword would not pierce the skin, if the mind did not permit it. He digressed that he had been a victim of love. That it was not afforded to him. The gods had decided, he was not worthy. Then, I witnessed his words, his heretical rage, as he told me, with the vigilance of a paladin smiting an evil from the face of existence, “The gods are a wanton lot! What mere mortals fail to grasp is that their power lies within us. Who are the gods if no one believes in them? Hmmm? Do they even exist without the support of their followers? If their books were burned, and their patrons slain, what would tell their tale? Choice is my god. Life, it is my divine intervention! Bring me the wrath of them, and I shall show you the scorn of solid will…”

Concentrate. I could feel the breathe of my enemy upon my face, he was sour, as though he ate the death of a thousand worms. As he overcame my personal boundaries, I could feel his strike, as if it were a line of hot coals that burned a hole in me. His weapon struck forth, but I had known this from his fury, and had traced the line of fire back to its source. Our weapons collide, and entangle, but it is not enough. I have not thrown his course aside. With a twist of my body I felt the slice of his terror come streaming down. It was a waterfall, but I stood in the cave behind it. I cannot see through the curtain of water… but I am dry.

I focus on his frustration. Surely, he will redouble his efforts. Does he fear me now? Is that his last mistake, or am I simply a man who lives by chance, as though I were lucky to be fighting now. I stand within a circle of pitch, one in which my end may come from any radian. Thus, all lines to my core must remain locked. The sword will not pierce my soul, even if it may break my skin.

(Mongiere will continue his Circle of Defense, taking full advantage of his counterattack if my concentration roll is to beat his attack roll by an overwhelming degree.)

Nel rises calmly from her dodged position. "Sugar one of these days you Daask will learn that brute strength and bad breath alone won't solve your problems." Her voice makes Groar angry. How can she still be alive and not pay notice to the fact that she is about to die? Groar can not possibly understand this. While he ponders about trivial things, Draven makes his way passed Groar and behind him, ready to strike where Groar can not defend himself easily.

Adysine has successfully dropped an opponent. Not a new experience for her but this fight as a whole seems somewhat too easy, like as if there was a trap waiting to be sprung at them. She waits and sees if Groar has more men waiting in hiding while Mongerie does not move the slightest, but is nevertheless ready to defend himself against the attack of the orc if needed. Then the music starts. An epical melody played with but a harp comes from behind the bar counter. The voice of Discq follows and each clear note from the harp gives the Crimson Blades courage to fight even better than before. The music fills them with excitement and the feel of greatness. If needed, they could fight a dozen more enemies.

The orc, enraged by its own incompetence, gives a furious battle cry as he charges for the blind fighter with his falchion ready for the attack. Mongerie knows of the attack and swings his chain in its way to intercept and misdirect. But the orc is strong and the blade pushes the chain away. Mongerie is brutally cut but the will of this warrior does not allow him to fall. No, despite the wound over his shoulder Mongerie still stands tall, more than capable to continue fighting.

Nel readies her weapon. She and Draven have caught Groar between a rock and a hard place. Nel attacks with a foolishly obvious attack, one that Groar easily blocks with his great sword. But it is a feint. Nel's blade barely touches Groar's but is redirected and aimed at his other side. But the orc is tough, and his armor is tougher still. Nel's blade comes to a sudden halt as it hits Groar's chainmail. "Foolish woman!" Groar says with a laugh and a rough voice. "No human filth can kill Groar, the unkill..." He does not finish his sentence because just then he is attacked from behind by Draven's Grishnak. The blade shatters Groar's chainmail and cuts his flesh. As Groar screams from the pain, his breath appears as steam, as if he had been standing outside on a cold winter's night. But soon the screaming ends and Groar's furious face turned at Draven behind him. "You will wait your turn, filth, or die right now!" The great blade swings madly towards Draven who fails at moving out of the way in time. Groar's blade cuts into Draven's side but luckily does not go far before it stops.

This was the stuff that Nel lived for. Live on the blade's edge as it were; it really got her blood flowing. With a delicate feint Nel's attack drove in, though it did little against Groar's finely crafted chainmail. No matter, once more she had served her purpose. Distracted, Groar failed to notice the weight of Grishnak as it came down upon him, the satisfying clinking of broken links upon the floor riniging as music to Nel's ears. Groar howled and defiantly traded the blow with Draven, but Nel knew the man was stronger that many and would not falter.

Like the stings of a thousand bees Nel would fight, grace and speed overcoming brute strength. Utilizing the same tactics as last round, Nel feints once more, ready to strike at Groar's sword arm in hopes of weakening his grip upon the fell blade he wields. This time however she would look deep within to add a little something extra into the mix.

(Combat Ex + Feint as before (to hopefully deny dex), this time however please use 1 AP as neccesary to strike Groar - Atk 1d20+8+2flanking+1d6 if needed for 1d6+2+2d6sneak attack)

Casting a glance to Mongiere, Nel had hoped her blind companion would learn to zig when he would zag. The man was a liability at times, but he was a Blade, ad she would defend him as she would her own flesh and blood. She made note to finish Groar quickly that they may tend to their wounded and assist those still in need.

Adysine didn't find anyone, maybe this was one of the times the enemy was all hot air after all.

Adysine glanced at her comrades, Draven just got hit by Groar, but didn't seem hurt to bad, Nel was uninjured, Disq was nowhere to be seen, but his music could be heard, and Mongerie had taken a bad hit from his foe. Adysine rushed to his aid, moving to attack the orc from behind.

The blade had sunk through his armor and deep into his flesh. Draven paused his attack, and looked down at the stream of blood that flowed freely from the his ruined armor, and down his side, to cascade into a crimson puddle that splashed and merged with Groar's own on the floor. He stared at the site in quiet fascination for a moment, but his eerie grin never faltered. No, it may well have widened at that moment.

Groar had turned his back to him once more, and was swinging angrily at Nel. The fool. The burning pain of severed muscle and marred bone was, to Draven, exhilarating. It told him he was mortal, and that death truly was not so hard to achieve. He would have reveled in the agony, but now was not the time. More then his own pain, he sensed Groar's, and longed hungrily to inflict more.

Ignoring the pain, Draven hefted Grishnak. Black blood dripped from it's midnight surface, like saliva from the fangs of a lusting predator. Without hesitation, Draven tore into Groar's spine, with brutal intent. To cause anguish and death.

(Still have 1d6 damage bonus for sneak attack and the attack bonus for Flanking Groar)

Beside the screaming and shouting inside the Lone Tower Tavern, the sound of music can be heard coming from behind the bar counter. The music drives the Crimson Blades to greater deeds but only angers their enemies if anything at all. Discq is hiding behind the counter, his only company there being the fat innkeeper and the elven maid. On the other side of the counter is battle and blood.

The orc smiles so that his filthy teeth showes. Several of them are crooked while some are missing altogether. He had cut deep on the blind one. But as soon as he sees that Mongerie is still standing, his smile quickly turns into an angry face. He swings his sword high above his head and madly towards Mongerie. The blind Blade smoothly turns his way so that the orc's falchion only barely misses. Mongerie quickly turns a full circle with his chain high up and strikes the orc in the face, each spiked link on the chain taking hold in the flesh and then ripping it off as the chain is pulled back. With his face nearly ripped off completely, the orc shrieks in a way that has not been heard this night.
The pain is unbearable, his right eye is without eyelids and most of his lips has been removed. At some points, his skull is bare while small muscles and tissue covers the rest. The shriek is high pitched for an orc, but it only lasts shortly. Adysine launches her sword into the back of the orc and runs it through the torso of her opponent. The shrieking comes to a sudden stop, and when Adysine pulls it back out the orc falls down on the floor.

Draven and Nel had a little bigger fish to fry. Groar had proven himself to be tougher than his company, but as both Draven and Nel are flanking him he shouldn't last much longer.
Nel swings her blade gracefully and Groar follows her every move. She could probably make him jump hoops if she wanted to, but that is not was she's after. Suddenly, she appears to attack one way but when Groar moves his blade to block it she turns and thrusts her blade the other way. The sword is thrust into Groar's side, through the armor that once had stopped that same blade in its tracks. The blade went in deep. The blood rushes out of his body and onto the floor and even Nel gets a splash on her face.
Draven does not let this opportunity go to waste. Draven aims his blade at Groar's spine and rips again through the orc's chainmail. Grishnak does not hit the spine as intended, but it runs deep into Groar's torso. As if Nel's sword had not been enough, Groar also suffered Draven's blade in the back.
Groar rips himself from Grishnak, forcing his own blood out of his body and almost spilling it half-way across the room. He takes a full circle swing at Nel, yelling as he does so. "None shall defeat Groar the unkillable without any loss from their ranks!" he yells and lets his great sword come down upon Nel. With a single sidestep Nel moves away from the coming blade which shatters the floor where she stood a second ago.
The big orc seems to be getting tired. His swings are messy and he has started to breath heavily. It is doubtful that he will last much longer.

Nel was having a grand ol time; that is until Groar so rudely splattered his blood upon her delicate features. "I suppose we wouldn't be called the Crimson Blades if we were never marred in blood." With a quick sidestep she nimbly dodged Groar's massive blade as it splintered the floor by her heels.

"I don't mind your guild trying to kill me, really the exercise is what helps me look this good. But honestly, public destruction of property is so barbaric, obviously Daask leaves much to be desired in the style department."

With that, Nel kept her guard up dancing around Groar left and right, feinting in and out to find an opening with which to end this fight. "Sweety this dance is about to come to an abrupt end, it would seem that Draven here's ready to.. cut in." With that she pointed behind Groar and tossed Draven a playful wink.

((Nel's utilizing the same tactics that have worked for the past two rounds. Combat Ex to the max, + Feinting and flankining bonuses. You could use Bluff with her last comment to convince Groar Draven's about to attack, maybe get him to turn his attention away from Nel I dunno. Draven will atack so i doubt it's much of a penalty lol... Again use that AP ifnecessary, but I'm hoping it won't be.)

In a flash of pain the world around me faded to nothing. It was quiet... so unbearably quiet. For three heart beats I had lost of sense of self.The battle raged on as if I was being told in detail, but hadn't actually been involved. I had been struck; the voices inside my head had told me so. They said to me, that the blood was red. I had been taught about colours, though to this day it seemed a worthless effort. Why should I even learn the words, when I could never know the truth behind the hue of the sight bound world...

Suddenly, reality came whirling back upon me. The enemy had defeated my defenses, ushered in a lapse of concentration. Was this shock? The pulse of my heart felt out of place... it lay now in my shoulder, and how it pounded. It was as though a migraine for my body, as if the blood had found an opening, and rushed to escape the vessel of eternal damnation. After all, blood was the slave of the living. It carried within it the hope of all breathe. It was the current of the river of life, that flowed through man made canals far greater than any that were carved from sea to sea.

Still my shoulder throbbed, but I had little else to do but tune out the drum of my heart, and focus on the senses of my mind. The enemy was strong. It was clear to me that he possessed a physical power far greater than my own. It would be his downfall... that much I had decided. A dissatisfied grunt from the creature told me he was frustrated by my continued survival. Slowly, I let my hands rest at my waist, holding my spiked chain with a gentle grip, each hand grasping an outer ring, with the middle lying slack, just above my knees. Was there wind in the establishment? I felt my hair crawl of my forehead, curling to the sides... It was music, notes that filled the soul with hope, and the room with a hurricane of substance.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, taking time away from the focus of my combative goal, and towards the sounds of lyrical magic had actually brought me vision that one needn't require eyes for. When the foe struck forth, what gave him away was the sound of the blade, ringing from the tone of the harp, resounding of the metallic surface of the large sword. Whipping my right hand up, and smashing the blade with the side of my chain, I deflected the blow, stepping left as it sung past me in a cutting wail as it dulled on the wind of loss. My right foot kicked forward with force, spinning my body in a smooth curve, as I raised my left arm upwards. The spikes connected with the face of his unknown enemy, his weigh off-balanced, his surprise fatal. He wailed and wailed, until he was nothing but silence, and then a thud on the floor. My blow had not been so substantial. It beckoned anger, and screams, but not death. Who of the blade had ended him then? Draven wasn't near enough, I could feel that now. His darkness lay behind me. Discq was somewhere farther still, he played his harp, and had not stopped. Nel... she was in combat with the catalyst of these heavy laden events. Adysine? She hadn't spoken to me often. Probably feared me for my difference, but this showed at the very least, she saw me as one of them... if even I was seen from the towers below, as they perched above in respite.

There was no time for the contemplation of choices as the people around me suffered. My footing became solidified after the inertia of the spin had faultered. With a stricter mind I gauged the direction of the antecedent enemy by the sound of the battle still continuing, and the void of Draven's eerie presence. If the other enemies had fallen as easily, then he would be with Nel... if not, then it was necessary to end this creature's existence and regroup as a full unit. Creeping forward I focused my mind on the energy of people, the sounds that crept from every creak of leather, every clink of steel. With sudden clarity I released the hold I had on the chain, one ring at a time, until both hands came together to grasp the centerpiece... and then I struck out with as much force as I could muster with my human born flesh.

Over years and years my mentor trained me to see the enemy without truly seeing him. The defensive stances had been by far easier to learn. My senses had been keened to the rush of violence that sprung forth towards me... and were honed ever more to this day. It was the offensive training I had been loath to endure. I had sparred with my master for over two years before I had even laid a single hit upon him. After that however, the world had changed for me, yet again.I had remembered the stages of the attack, the counter of his defenses. Each focused strike I made found its way to him, beyond his outstretched arms, through his wall of dexterity and instinct.

When I was younger... I had thought myself quite insane, though I could not place that word in the blank spaces of my mind at the time. Though I could feel the loving embrace of my mother's arms, and strength of my father's hands, I knew not the sounds of speech. It hadn't been until the monk had arrived that anything entering my mind made sense. With his invasive psionics he reeducated my brain, changing the patterns of thought within, and engraving the roots of language upon it with his forceful will. It had been merely days before I was speaking my first words... then finally, after six of the longest years of silence I was able to speak to my parents, the way a three year old might. As a six year old child who had just been given comprehension, I was far behind the youth of my time. In truth, I had never caught up. There is very little of the world I understand. However, I remember. I remember the wisdom of my mother, my mentor, and the power that belongs to me, even without the sight of most other world born men.

Without sight I struck towards the beast of darkness, so as to purge the ink of my world, to scourge this torrent from the veins of fate. I would cauterize the wound of his flesh, and mark the venture of a soul into the outward spires of the astral circus. He would join the fallen jesters, who failed to make their tyrant kings roil. He was truly a puppet, being pulled by the strings of foul destiny. Were it his fault or not, it was past time the strings be severed. Cut down by the Crimson Blade, whose edge was stained darker then blood.

(Pretty much, I move towards Groar until within range, and use Sightless Strike to attack.)

Groar the Unkillable was near his end. Sparing a brief glance around the common room, Draven could see that the Orcs companions had all fallen now; the most recent had gone down in a fit of agonized screams. Surely by now the others would be closing in on Groar. Already the warrior had to deal with the disadvantage of Nel before him and Draven behind him. And while Draven ordinarily frowned upon ganging up on a single warrior to achieve victory, the orcs near refusal to turn and face him, who was clearly the bigger threat at the moment, was beginning to tick him off. Even so, to be leapt upon and hacked down by 3 or 4 opponents was in the least...a most unfair way to die.

Seeing the approaching Mongiere, Draven pressed his attack, pulling back his blade and swinging it with brutal force towards Groars thick, chorded neck.

The fight would soon come to an end, every member of the Crimson Blades knows that. Groar seems to be getting tired and now he was surrounded. Mongerie and Adysine have taken their positions on either of his sides and with Nel and Draven covering his front and back, the big orc doesn't have any place to go.

Discq still plays his harp from behind the counter. The barkeep and the maid are scared to their bones. Even though Discq's music is a slight comfort even to them, they do not wish to die this night. The barkeep opens a door in the floor which leads to the wine cellar and signals the barmaid to follow him down. Discq does not stop playing his harp. Even though he can not fight as well as the others, his skills are still needed.

Mongerie makes his attack, swinging his chain from a good distance. Groar growls as he attempts to knock the chain away, but the chain curves around the massive blade and slashes Groar in his neck. The blood gushes over his cloak and armor and stains Mongerie's chain with dark blood.
Nel makes her move. While Groar is already distracted she makes a feinting move and thrusts her blade deep into Groar's side. Groar screams in agony as he falls down on one knee.

The big orc looks Nel in the eyes with an angry face, revealing dark yellow teeth and fangs. "I will repay you these wounds tenfold, you filth, for I am Groar, the unkill..." His sentence is unfinished as Draven's massive blade sunders the orc's neck, sending the head flying away and landing on the floor not far from where Mongerie stands. The orc's massive body drops on the floor and makes loud enough noise in the process to wake up the man to up until now still slept by the bar. That noise also signals Discq to stop his musical play. The fight is over.

Nel looked down upon Groar's slain form, a pool of his blood already spreading around her high ankled boots. Turning to face her fellow Blades she smiled. "Well done everyone, well done." Leaning down she began to search the body of Groar, ignoring his weapon and armor, looking instead for valuables, jewelery, and more importantly, information.

"On behalf of House Deneith, I place Groar the quite killable and his misfit colleagues bodies under confiscation of the Crimson Blades. Round up any coin or valuables the other's might hold, that we may pay the good barkeep for damages, and add to our own coffers." As Nel continued to pilfer Groar's body, she had to wonder if it were truely as simple as a rival guild had ordered her dead, or if a greater threat unseen was setting pawns in motion against the Blades. Her mind always prepped for the worst, merely hoping for the best. To underestimate a situation could well leave her and her friends well, like Groar here.

Raising her eyes to find Discq she politely asked. "Could you be a dear and bring the owner out here? I think this could be an opportunity for a business arrangement."

Anyone who saw the twinkle in her eyes could see the wheels in her mind already in motion.