As Kjellfrid pressed against the lip-plate her phantom flute echoed a waning cry, but its semblance fractured. Despite her protests, the barrel of the instrument flickered as if being suppressed by some ethereal force. For her efforts it seemed some of the tension previously suffocating the room had dissipated. Many of the patrons, despite being packed into the common area like rats, were more relaxed. A few travelers gathered together and quietly hummed sea shanties among themselves. 

By this time, it must have been almost noon. Still there was no sign of the Trading Company’s representative. 

[hider=Vekyzz]
You could hardly call Tali Riverend, ‘friend’, but you knew enough about her to be worried. The company had arranged for this almost a year in advance, and now there was no sight of the elf. Even worse, was the party assigned to your charge. You'd only known them for a few minutes, and already they seemed more troublesome than they were worth. Still, you had little choice in the matter. The letter mentioned the Elven Quarter, perhaps that could be a place of note. Before you could gather your thoughts you heard stirring from outside the tavern.[/hider]

As if by some divine intervention, commotion picked up from just outside [color=ed145b]La Resplenda[/color]. There was a swelling of chatter, though from within the tavern it was difficult to make out anything concrete. Just as sudden, did the door swing open as the sound of squealing metal filled the room. The door hinges buckled slightly at the force of the intrusion. 

“[color=92278f][b]Idiotas! You better have the quantma to fix that,[/b][/color]” the barkeep called out from behind the safety of his bar counter. 

There was no answer for the barkeep. Instead, a man spilled out through the doorway and unto his knees. He only barely managed to catch himself with the ball of his palms. His robes were ripped, and his left eye blackened. If not for the gasps and hushed whispers, one might've even heard the drops of blood form a small pool on the wood floors beneath him. 

[hider=Karlus]
From your seat you could see the man quite clearly. The minstrel you’d sent fleeing the tavern only but a half-hour ago. His instrument was gone, and parts of his scalp were showing. No doubt some of his hair had been ripped from his head. [/hider]

Positioned behind the beaten man was the guard captain that had previously occupied the docking area as well as a small troop of guardsmen. The clanking of swords and armor rang out in the now silent bar. The guard captain stepped forward into the doorway, as sunlight crept in with him. 

“[b]Where,[/b]” he demanded before forcefully lifting the man to his feet. The beaten fool was left to a mere whimper. He shakily lifted a finger in the direction of Karlus. Balling a piece of the man’s robes in his hand, the captain tossed him back towards the doorway. Another guard stopped the man from falling over himself. “[b]Illio,[/b]” called the captain. There were no more words between the two guards. They simply exchanged a knowing glance before the underling nodded. Illio forcefully pulled the sobbing man out of the door. 

“[color=0072bc][b]Please,[/b][/color]” the minstrel’s voice cracked through webs of spit and mucus as he begged tearfully.

“[color=0072bc][b][sub]I gave you what you wanted.[/sub][/b][/color]” 

“[color=0072bc][i][sub]It was only a silly song, I meant no offense. I can fix it![/sub][/i][/color]” 

The remaining guards seemed unresponsive to the minstrel’s fading cries. The guard captain quickly approached the table, as he peered over each of its occupants with prejudice. He hadn’t expected so many of them. His hand never left the hilt of his sword, and his thumb danced almost frantically along the pommel. His gaze fixated on Karlus. 

“[b]By order of Prince Stantos, first of his name, and rightful heir to Caracas;  I, Guard Captain Rial Armonte, place you an...your party under arrest for the use of magic and suspicion of illegal affiliation. You will surrender your weapons, and be escorted to the Caracan Pits where you will await judgement from his highness.[/b]” Armonte’s gaze shifted among the group, likely in an attempt to suss out hasty movements.A few guards approached from behind their captain. Armonte's hand sat threateningly upon his pommel, now,  awaiting compliance...or resistance.