The Club of Crates and Bait - The Falling

Almost immediately after entering the smoky dimly lit room, Lark could smell burning and boiling lotus and the sugary and tangy snap of old alcohol. Over fermented brew coiled up to the ceiling in waves, it seemed. Already, her stiletto heeled boots gently stuck and unpeeled from the floor as she hesitantly was led towards the makeshift bar. 

"We need buckets!" the girls cried excitedly. "They have them, this place is so cool." 
"Buckets? You want to be sick already as well?" she asked, patting her many pockets and looking for her random coin stashes. 
"No silly! The Everydrink bucket. They grab random bottles and keep adding until they fill up a bucket and you get a straw and everything!" 

The two girls, smaller and clasped together like pleading children - but with more malicious lives. Breathing a deep regret, she hands over a handful of coins each. Probably far more than is required for the vomitous 'bucket' of drink. Their eyes go round then sly, grinning and giggling as they turn away and push into the crush of people at the bar and through the many leaving with the metal milk pail of swirled purplish brown bubbling gush. 
Still, they were drinking with straws indeed. Sharing among groups of people. They also were doing barters and swaps for certain murky contents in the buckets and their pockets. 

For Anastasie, it was a familiar lonely feeling and she slipped into what she called her unseen. Sliding into shadows and darkness, gently dodging people walking directly at the space where she stands. Vaguely in the middle at the back, absently looking up at the stage before she turns to leave. 

"And I heard The Bard has a glowy violin. All red and rarrrr.." A young, raspy female voice comes from nearby. Making her turn sharply. 
"Is that why I felt so mad afterwards? Boy I really slapped my old lady around that night." An older, masculine reply. 
Lark whirls around, trying to find the location of the conversation, among many many others. 
"- So yeah and then afterwards it was crazy cool. The streets were just brawling the next night."
"-Gimme that bucket, mine's real weak."
"After that, I never saw them again."
"I heard they found bodies in the river, totally, it was a thing."

With the familiar feeling of needle like scraping on the inside of her brain, something she was missing. The pieces weren't really clear and she didn't have any chance to sit quietly and write. Stuck, still in the middle of a room where almost no one could see her. Looking up just in time to see a dark cloaked and hooded figure walk towards the makeshift and rickety stage. Ducking far too low under a snaking rope that 'held back' the crowd and drew a shabby red curtain across. 

Frozen still, stuck on the spot now for real. Staring up at the closed curtains with a disbelieving narrowed expression. Though she can feel some eyes on her, she knows to most she is entirely invisible. The sensation of being watched is so familiar, she does not even turn. This had to be seen through. 

Then the most extraordinary thing happened. He stopped, and he looked at his instrument and flung the bow away.

The crowd howled in confusion and anger.

The Bard pushed his hood back, exposing his long purple hair and curling horns. That angular face, usually jocular and wry - twisted with fear and pain. Torn between watching Lark and staring at his violin. He waves her away, telling her to get out. He mouths "Go."

She shakes her head, planting her feet wider apart. Folding her arms. A stand off.

His violin grows with the dark red swirl, the enticing softness of the interior is mesmerising. The crowd keep baying for him to play, for him to start. Someone brings back his bow. He stares at it being waved at him. He stares at the crowd again, scanning it and falling on Lark once more.

Anguished, he lifts the priceless and clearly enchanted instrument over his head and dashes it to the ground as hard as he can.

One would believe with that force, with that strength - it would have shattered into a million pieces. Instead it cracks, right down the middle and the soft flow of energy begins seeping out. Along with a trickle, then a gush of blood. The coppery metallic smell enveloping the crowd. Some begin to run, retreat, pushing out the doors as best they can.

When the ground opens up beneath Kyrus, his head hanging down. A beaten man, bloodied hands. A hellish pit, sparks flickering.

The front crowd, imbibed with the red smoke begin rubbing the blood on themselves and begin fighting or attempting to get to pit. The security don't stand a chance against the rage and emotion filled drunkards. Lark draws up herself, it looks like, but her movements elicit the emergence of Ferdinand. Her Hellhound takes one look at the situation and bites her coat, trying to drag her away.

A brilliant gold light appears from above the tiefling and begins dragging his almost limp body back up. A slow force of wills, a colour imbalance. A crash in the middle of their energy makes a blinding and ugly light. The smell of sizzling flesh as one woman has touched the pits of.. hell? It makes Kyrus' ascent falter slightly.

Anastasie orders Ferdinand to obey her, in elven and using his real name. So, he does as asked.

He uses his inner glow of fire and begins spewing flame out of his maw at all the blood roiling zombie like people before her. What she asked, "clear my path". Her heeled boot crushing a bucket underfoot as she runs and launches herself at the stage. Crashing, knees first into the sharp pallet edge and teetering in place. Almost making it, a hand grabs her ankle and tries to drag her down into the growing pool of blood and bodies.

Turning and with blood and ash on her, without hesitation she uses a maximised spell of flame arrow on them. Killing them - sending corpses falling into the bubbling blood. Ignoring that entirely as she climbs up in time to see the pillar of powers throw Kyrus out and against the wall. He bounces, his head snapping back and forward alarmingly. Covering him with her body and with her face close to his, she drags him backwards towards the side door. Beeps... now treading backwards and snapping fire and brimstone in their wake, showing off his black tipped double row of teeth and fiery void of a mouth to cover their retreat.

As the previously locked door crashes open due to Lark's open lock spell, Kyrus, she and Beeps emerge into the pouring cooling rain outside.

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DM Note: At this point, player characters are welcome to react. Any or all of yours if you wish. You can also react from the beginning and all the way to the end if you wish, or just the end. If you have questions about the post so you can make a post, feel free to ask. 

This should be handled as having happened in character.