Kir hurried to question her further but chose to shut up as she opened the door regardless. With the interior as it was it felt more fitting for the words 'Saloon' to be printed above the entrance. At the far end of the room was a bar, a huge array of half-full bottles covered the shelves with patrons lined up along the stools. Between the entrance and the bar stood haphazardly dotted chairs, patrons yelling and guffawing in wild acts of hedonistic dispute. Some chose to sit silently and play cards, ignoring their more rambunctious neighbours, whereas others opted for unsightly contests of strength.

The interior itself was somewhat ramshackle, sticky floors and splintering furniture. Though the disrepair of furniture matched the worn nature of those using it. Not a single customer was spared a scar and weapon to match it.

Off to the side a familiar tune was being performed, but Kir was far too taken by both unease and the wild spectacles of vigour being shown before him. Off to the right a winding staircase led up the many floors of the building, though at the moment was chained off with a pitiful ‘no entry’ sign.

“In another circumstance do you think you would enjoy this kind of thing?” Kir questioned, peering up to Mi’s response.

“I do not often partake of drink, but that arm battle seems intriguing” she responded, her eyes trained on two unsavoury characters engaged in an arm wrestle, veins bulging from their muscles, extended far beyond any healthy measure.

It took a moment but Mi’s attention drifted back forward as she marched forward to two free seats up on the bar. Kir feared that they may enact a trope in which as they entered the bar all eyes would be turned to the new interlopers. Luckily however, people seemed to care incredibly little at the two’s presence.

Mi and Kir took their seats, as some individuals' eyes began to fixate on and covet the truly enormous weapon strapped to Mi’s back. Though by any account, there would be no one else capable of utilising such an unwieldy object. Mi’s eyes began to burn holes into the back of the bartender, but to no avail. Kir stepped out of his present mind for a moment as he looked about himself. While not technically markedly smaller than anyone in the establishment, it felt as if a child had walked into a castle and stared up at giants.

It took a few moments, but the two new customers soon drew the attention of the ornery barman, now finished with his conversation. The bartender himself held no real distinctive features, save for an incredibly poorly grown beard.

He moved aside and locked eyes with Mi, both refusing to relent and look away.

“So...we were wondering, did you happen to see a woman come around here, a little shorter than me, long brown hair?” Kir asked, barely audible over the raucous cries and hollers of the competition behind him.

The man soon dropped his gaze down to Kir, well at least it felt like he was looking down on him. Naturally if this den of impropriety was run by Sable he would be shunned with little regard. However, Kir hoped that his response would have some kind of indicator as to the whereabouts of Lyra. It was a longshot but he hoped it to be practical.

“No, I hav….” His response was interrupted as his eyes grew wide, and a short exhale of breath left his lungs.

It took a moment for Kir to process the act. At first he seemed like he had been slapped on the back or nudged forward but as he shifted his attention slightly he noticed a large metal blade jutting through the mans chest. He could swear that wasn’t there before. As it happened, following Mi’s lead was more of a warning to prepare oneself rather than a planned covert operation. Kir was at a loss, feeling like there were a couple of steps they were missing between asking around and wantonly goring someone.

Mi withdrew her blade, sending a dribble of blood down onto the countertop and the room into stunned silence. One of the entertainers on the far left must have dropped an instrument, moving Kir’s attention out of shock from the noise. It seemed the tune was indeed familiar as a face he hadn’t seen in a week stood atop a stage, slightly worse for wear since he had last set his gaze upon her golden eyes.

She spotted him at the same time, seemingly bewildered to find a man met in passing in such a location.

The entire room froze, as if paused by some strange force. All eyes fell on Mi, now tightening the grip on her greatsword. Mi’s admirers held a battle posture, ready to unleash a torrent of attacks at a drop of a pin. But it wasn’t the drop of a pin but the audible drop of blood from Mi’s weapon that incited the clash. Not everyone wished to get involved in the fight, some snuck out under cover of pandemonium, whereas others kept to their own, only entering the fray when a drop of swill was spilt.

When Kir first saw Mi, he always thought she felt out of place, as if standing silently wasn’t what she was meant to be doing, as if she there was something else, something more pressing. And he was right, it was at this moment he first saw her in her element. Each swipe of her sword held profound brutality. Cleaving limb from limb, killing or wounding whoever stood in the path of her whirling blade. It took a moment for Kir to shake himself awake, mesmerized by the utter ferocity of her being.

Wishing to be of some use, Kir rushed over to Eryssa, standing atop the stage apparently desperate to get off. A few of the combatants had the cunning to aim for the weaker target, but were shoved aside by what was now a recognisable telekinesis spell. It still needed a lot of improvement, but for incapacitating pitiful thugs, it did the trick. As he reached the stage he stopped himself, an inherent arcane sense alerting him to the runic force field surrounding her.

“Kir, what the hell are you doing here?!” Eryssa cried, seemingly disconcerted by the mayhem his compatriot had caused.

“What? I can’t get a drink? At least I know why you ghosted me” Kir offered nervously.

He searched around the runes keeping the force field in place. slightly counter-intuitively, the strength of the forcefield made Kir optimistic. Any ward that was able to hold a being of such concentrated Divine magic would have some kind of linchpin, otherwise the amount of power running through it would collapse itself and damage both the stage and the caster.

“I thought you were some kind of scared newbie mage, what are you doing going around with that?” Eryssa asked, gesturing to Mi, now using the butt of her sword to crack a bearded attacker’s skull against a wall.

“If it makes you feel any better, I'm still scared.” Kir continued to work his way around the runes foundations.

“And this well, it wasn’t really my plan” Kir smiled, finally acquiring his mark.

He channeled a decent amount of mana into it, slightly altering the runes' structure. Rather than completely breaking the enchantment it simply redirected the flow into a single point, rendering it useless. Eryssa reached her hand out, confirming her cage was broken, and jumped off the stage.

“Do you know how to get out?” Kir asked, knocking away someone who chose to approach them.

Eryssa smiled, chanting the Divine tongue and making somatic gestures. Mi who was now looking somewhat worse for wear jumped up with a renewed energy, gleefully deflecting a blow and returning it in force.

“You’re here for a reason right? The least I can do is return the favour and…” She looked at the group of brawlers. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of revenge”. With that Eryssa leaped into the fray, primarily supporting Mi and letting off her own defensive magic if people got a bit too close.

Kir mumbled to himself about never antagonizing a bard then focused himself.

Not wasting the opportunity Kir rushed over to the staircase, hoping to acquire another missing woman, though he had no clue what he might find. The first floor held a landing with doors to two modest rooms, identical but nothing of use. He rushed up to the second floor, same thing. With a growing fear and shortness of breath he reached the third and shoved open the one door that stood at the landing. Different from the first two floors as this one held a familiar starved woman chained to a chair. The room itself was relatively simple, a chair, a desk with some pens and papers and a squalid mattress.

Though bruised and beaten, Lyra was very much alive, making it awkward as she flinched at Kir’s approach. Through red swollen eyes she attempted to discern the rescuer from captor.

“It’s ok, I’m here to help, '' Kir offered in hushed tones. He was unsure where the closest enemy was and he didn’t wish to alert them to his presence. Lyra was thankfully decent, though her clothes had seen better days.

“Who are you, do you work for my father?” She requested, Kir now examining the chains keeping her bound. She peered desperately through her bruising though her hair, knotted and ratty was obsucating her sight.

Kir raised an eyebrow but shook his head.

“In a manner of speaking, though I do require your talents in a personal matter”.

Lyra slumped back slightly in her chair, she well understood the way of the world. It was a given that a strange rescuer might have a request of her, but as his visage approached she squinted slightly more intently.

“You’re that enchanter I met at the party right?” She asked, bewildered as to why such an ostensibly incapable combatant was thrown into battle against seasoned warriors.

Kir remained silent, disregarding Lyra’s confusion. He became increasingly frustrated at the make of the chains. While the enchantment itself wasn’t terribly powerful, the nature of the chains synergised well with its structure. His first instinct was to break the chair leg, but there was most definitely a failsafe that would likely kill them both.

“Can you free me?”

Kir remained silent, his mind speeding through his options.

“Can you?!” Lyra repeated, frantically glancing to the upwards staircase.

“Eventually”

“How long?” Her voice began to get louder and more panic-stricken despite her efforts to keep it muffled.

Kir thought for a moment, looking over the carvings.

“Six hours?” As he responded wiping his brow. Beyond the shouts and banging from the bottom floor, a set of calm footsteps began to descend the staircase, sending Lyra into a horrified silence.