"Comin' right up, me drei." Merrell said, using the strange word on purpose. While it meant 'brother', in his language, it was also code. It told anyone who was listening that this man was indeed the intended target, and that they could begin to move in on him.
Merrell, however, pretended to be nothing more than a bartender, getting the stranger another drink and another two bags of sugar. Before he brought them over, he upended a small vial into the whiskey, pouring a colorless, tasteless liquid into the drink. All slight of hand, no one would have noticed. The liquid was harmless as far as poisons went. It merely would slow the target's reaction time and allow the Nightshades to easily take him down. After all, while they had the stories of what he was capable of, no one had actually seen him in action. Caution was of the utmost importance.
He set all the items down in front of the man and cleared out the used glass and empty bags. Behind the stranger, the Nightshades began to arrange themselves in strategic positions, cutting off paths of escape and ensuring that there would be no one in the way when they finally went after their man. No one else in the establishment thought anything of the movement, instead keeping their attentions on their own drinks, food, and entertainment. The movement of the Nightshades would be considered as patrons shifting their seats or joining friends at different tables, done so smoothly that there would be no notice of transition, and even if there was, it would be considered as benign and non-threatening.
Merrell added further distraction by approaching Axton again, continuing to dry the glass he'd just picked up with a towel. "So what brings you to Zantaric, me drei? Same old thing? Business? Pleasure? I've just about heard all the stories. Zantaric's a good place for disappearing, if you catch me drift."
But before he could get an answer to his questions, Merrell's attention was drawn to a corner of the room of the tavern, where a sudden shout had come from, and the next thing he knew, a chair was being thrown. It smashed against the bar's wall inches away from Axton, and the man who threw the chair had begun shouting belligerently and incoherently. Merrell winced. Great. This was the last thing he needed right now. He glanced toward Axton, hoping for the best and that the man wasn't about to get himself involved.