The tavern had grown eerily still as Iris and her squadron put a fearsome display of power in full view of Jove and his would-be assistants in assault, the door to the establishment slamming shut moments after Iris began to speak. Olosse himself had a few chills creep down his spine as he felt the power of his private guard begin to bristle with eager anticipation; indeed, he had actually been looking forward to seeing his guard (especially Iris) in full action, but her showmanship (showwomanship?) did the job well enough, Jove's once intimidating tone softening considerably:
"Ffffine, well and good." Olosse frowned.
"And here I was thinking that you all would get a very personal demonstration of why the Shadowguard of Ishmeldia is the most feared honorguard across the Continent. Ah well, maybe you and your motley crew will get the opportunity to watch, not participate." Olosse sheathed his dagger as he commanded:
"Stand down, Shadows. No blood, tonight...fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it." The tavern returned to it's grimy decor, door swinging open again. 
"Now, let's return to the subject we were discussing in such a civil manner: the plot against Rakuhor. What might be the issue?" Jove grunted as he began filling tankards, sliding them down the counter to slightly trembling servers who frantically skittered off to fulfill Iris' request.
"Rakuhor has been making a lot of enemies lately. Horde's numbers are scattered, thinning. Old man thinks he can muscle the Iron Collective out of not just Manka, but trade ports all along the coast." Olosse cocked a brow.
"This is news to me." 
"Think the old saw would want his shiny new trade partner to find out that the once proud Horde of Vadrudor is being relegated to strong-arming port guards and under-table deals? No no, liege, you're just the sword he wishes to wield." A pause, Jove's voice descending a few decibels: 
"And the Bludless? They're just common folk, like me, like all the folk in here who just wan-" A sudden gurgle emerged from the tavern owner, foam and spittle flying out of his mouth as he seized violently, eyes rolling into the back of his head as a bluish light enveloped his massive form. Olosse jumped back, hand reaching for his dagger as the patrons and the prince watched in disgust as the bluish light turned crimson red, incorporeal hands forming out of the light and snapping the spine of Olosse's former conversation partner. All at once, the body collapsed to the floor, a lifeless heap.
"SORCERY!"
"MAGIC!" 
With similar cries the patrons fled to the door, crashing into each other as they scattered nearly in unison, their panic echoing in the streets. Olosse, however, stood silently, mind racing. 
"My, my; this is beginning to get far more complex than I imagined...or wanted." He motioned for Iris, wherever she was, to come to his side. 
"My dear, you of all people should recognize the kind of magic at work here." While magic users were far and far between, his father had demanded that all three of his children study the annals of the Continent when it came to magic, knowing full well that the very, very few who could manipulate the fabric of the supernatural had brought the world to the brink of utter annihilation save for the intervention of other magic users, both groups fading into the ether over time. It was chilling to think that a magic user was present in the city, let alone one who was skilled in Evocation or the art of manipulating light, matter and the elements to create whatever they wished. 
"Do you sense anything nearby in the shadows?"