By the time Vanahara managed to crack the ice rooting her knee to the ground enough to break free, her nose was bleeding and she was [i]not pleased.[/i] She grabbed the nearest tankard, lined up her shot, and flung it full force at the back of the ice mage's head with the precision only an Ironworker could muster.

The tavern was in trouble. The place was saturated with alcohol, and the flames were spreading from the overturned table. She was caught for a moment between trying to douse the flames and pursuing the mages—but she wasn't on her own this time.

"Hidalgo! Andrade!" she called, gesturing from her soaking clothes to the fire and hoping he got the message—[i]put water on this, please.[/i] She hesitated for just a second before gathering up the forks and knives nearest her and heading for a window. "Master Alexander, we need some light outside—"