Emergency whistles blew, guards marched in from every direction. Orders were shouted "Get back in your houses, everyone get back to safety!" Panic ensued, people swarmed the streets as black smoke choked the skies. 

They had their orders! Keep the peace and somehow find a way to get rid of the threat. "Gods help us" Davik muttered as his guards fell into line. 

"It took out the Ugly Mug, Captain - but it looks like there's a group of civilians trying to fight it" someone reported. "Take a group and secure the docks, we don't want enemy reinforcements of any kind. Rockfort, I want you and your men to help the wounded and get everyone out of that area and to safety. Everyone else, you're with me. We're going to lend these guys some help and drive whatever this is straight back to hell!" Davik shouted. "Yes Sir!" everyone chimed in. 

They were only a handful, maybe 8 or 10 men that had accompanied Davik Mitchell, the Captain of the Guard. But he hoped it would be enough. He had lost a few of his soldiers over the last month with these random attacks, so their numbers were already ragged. "No more! No more innocent deaths because of you!" he growled under his breath as he and his men entered the scene. 

Flames hungrily licked the building and everything in it. Devouring those who couldn’t get out in time, along with the charming tables and chairs, bar stools, anything that stood in its way. Chandeliers came crashing down, only adding to the fuel. The place was a mess and people were charging out from every opening they could.

Charlie, the bar owner scrambled through the mess, attempting to gather his personals, but stopping at almost everything he came across, nearly ready to take it all if he could. He wept as he glanced around the chaos that was once his home. It wasn’t the coziest of pubs, or even the friendliest. But it was his that he had built up from nothing but a whole in the wall. He put his sweat and tears into this place, every floorboard, the fine carvings in the wall boards, the stained glass that settled so nicely behind the bar. The time and money spent in gathering the finest quality ales and spirits … gone, all gone. “Damn feckin arse of a demon whore!” he shouted as he sifted through the ash and broken glass. He grumbled a slew of many other nasty words as he fumbled around, his language growing with his mood, which only grew darker as the condition of the tavern worsened. 

It was becoming hard to breath, hard to see, even hard to hear over the roaring fire - but he heard them, the ones outside getting ready to charge the overbearing demon that had set the tavern aflame. 

Davik paused for a moment as he saw a large scarred man attacking the demon's right side, trying to figure the best course of actions. Just then, flaming skeletons began pouring out from the tavern and attacking anyone near. Unleashing the broad sword from its scabbard, he shouted a gallant war cry and charged at the skeletons, motioning for his men to follow suit.