For the curious, here is the interaction with the letter Ká gave Lyriel, which has resulted in her departure from the P.A.R.T.Y. (temporarily? We'll see!)

*****

Lyriel sat upright on her bedroll. Outside the tent, the desert winds howled, causing the corners of the tent to flutter. A single candle guttered in the sudden draft, casting a flickering pall on the interior.

It must be after midnight...

Next to her Zuriel slept fitfully, as he had every night since the war. He tossed and turned, eyes darting rapidly under his eyelids. It was a good night for him; he wasn't crying out in his nightmares. Lyriel looked down at her lover sadly, wishing not for the first time that there was something she could do. It seemed every time she tried to offer comfort, to reassure him that their cause was just and that he ought feel no guilt, it turned into an argument. So now she just held him when he woke, unsure how else to help.

She sighed, turning her attention to the diary and the sealed letter from Ka resting in her lap. Since receiving Eldric's journal, she had read it cover to cover no fewer than five times. At this point, she was certain she could recite it word for word from memory, but somehow the act of reading made her feel closer to her brother. It was worth the pain of heartache.

The letter, though.

Lyriel bit her lip, mouth suddenly as dry as the sands outside. Inside this document were the answers she had sought all those years. The first step towards justice for her brother's death. The first step towards putting his soul at peace.

Ka's baleful warning echoed in her mind, but she pushed it from her thoughts.

Justice will be done.

With a firm, decisive motion, Lyriel broke the seal.



Lyriel's gaze danced over the parchment, rough and oddly heavy in her hand. She at first attempted to read everything at the same time, bouncing between sentences and paragraphs. Bits and pieces resolved themselves in her mind, each leaving her more confused than the last.

With great effort, she managed to start at the beginning, reading meticulously. Line by line, the blood-red ink of Ka spelled out a truth more terrible than she had ever imagined in the darkest corners of her mind.

As she finished the final paragraph, she swallowed dryly, panting. The tent was suddenly suffocating, and she was unable to breath. Feeling a scream building deep in her chest, she bit down on her tongue to stifle it and tasted iron.

The porcelain mug given to her by Maeve exploded in her left hand, sending droplets of scalding tea over their bedroll.

Zuriel erupted into action next to her, rolling to his feet with a snarl and drawing his dagger against some unseen threat in the same motion. For a moment he crouched over their bedroll, eyes darting around the tent in disoriented confusion before turning to Lyriel.

"What happened?" he said blearily, dark shadows under his amber eyes. He started with alarm at Lyriel's hand. Rivulets of blood trickled down her arm as she clenched the broken shards of porcelain unthinkingly in her fist. Immediately he was at her side, weariness forgotten. He gently but firmly took her arm, coaxing her muscles to relax to allow him to extract the jagged pieces from her skin. The rest of her began to shake violently.

Zuriel wrapped her in his arms, white light washing away her wounds, yet she could not feel his heat, or the relief of mended skin. "Please dearest, let me help. What is the matter?" he murmured into her hair as he cradled her. His eyes fell on the parchment held in her other hand.

"You opened it."

Mechanically she handed him the letter, which he quickly read once, twice, three times. His eyes widened in shock and horror. Struck speechless, the letter floated gently to the ground from his suddenly numb grasp.

Lyriel, however, found her voice at last. They betrayed him, she hissed, voice rising quickly from a whisper. House Mason, his comrade...the fucking gods-damned Church itself betrayed him! she shrieked.

This is a sin against my brother and everything he stood for. A sin against Tassada herself. And Zuriel, I swear by the Goddess...

Lyriel narrowed her eyes. Arcs of emerald lightning crackle from her hands, over her nightgown, and along her body, accompanied by a sudden blistering heat.

I. Shall. Have. Justice.

While the caravan slept, Lyriel collected her things and uttered words of power. A silent wind whipped about her feet as she belted on her sword, and then she was gone -- carried across the desert, toward destiny.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:49, Wed 08 Apr 2015.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

Travel is surprisingly uncomplicated when you can walk on air, Lyriel observed as she soared through the skies. It was a strange sensation, floating above the blistering sands of the desert without experiencing their palpable heat. The currents dragging her along we cool and refreshing, though they did little to temper the anger raging in her breast.

Thus empowered, she reached the Runesmith in Caelah well before the P.A.R.T.Y.'s arrival.

"These plans have been an absolute bear," the artisan tells her. "I regret that I'll need more time to complete the task if you want the job done right."

Lyriel gritted her teeth, taking effort to smooth her face and keep her frustration from showing.

Very well. Take the time you need to forge the blade properly, she said curtly. You have my permission to release the work to Sir Silendril, should it be finished in time. If not, please have it sent here. Lyriel handed the runesmith a folded slip of parchment with the address of a small private residence she quietly maintained in Lo'driel for the occasions her visits to Zuriel required discretion.

Gold is no object, of course. House Vesper should be known even this far east; the banks will honor your charge. Along with the address, she handed the runesmith a writ stamped with the Vesper signet ring, authorizing the runesmith to seek payment from House Vesper through the Gaelian banks.

With that, Lyriel inclined her head politely and turned on her heel. Once outside, she again dissolved into the wind, carried off to Tezir, and from there by boat to Astrenia.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:35, Thu 09 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 3):

Lyriel enjoys a rather uneventful voyage west, and makes port once more in the increasingly familiar city of Ikuabai.

The harbor is busy and crowded with the sounds of commerce -- another reminder of the post-war economy's recovery. Swarms of people crowd the wooden docks and warehouses, and while the types of people change the further inward Lyriel goes, the volume of people does not.

The bazaar is a stifling affair, as is the well-manicured square containing the inn where Baldwin spent so many of his final months. The rousing chorus of the peasantry can be heard as the cleric nears the Grand Arena, and Lyriel notes that it must be a game day as well.

All told, there is much to be done in Ikuabai at the moment, and a millions ways for a cleric to lose herself in the rabble.

Lyriel finds temporary lodging at a modest inn not far from where Baldwin spent his days performing. Assuming the appearance of a merchant's wife, she hoped to blend in well enough that a short stay would go unnoticed.

Once established in her room, she takes the time to cast a Sending to Rachel. I am in need of a discreet investigator. Did Baldwin have any such contacts that you know of in Astrenia? Be safe, -L

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 5):

Baldwin's network was disassembled since his death, but Choso might have some ideas. What's your budget?

Whatever it takes.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 7):

Choso suggests a 'spectre' named Carnaue. He isn't cheap. Where are you? He'll arrange a visit.

I am presently in Ikuabai, though I imagine the bulk of the investigation will be in Hae'driel. I can travel to meet Carnaue if need be.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 9):

The spectre has been dispatched with your physical description. Stay in Ikuabai. He'll make contact.

With nothing else to do, Lyriel settled down in the city to await the Specter. She kept to a routine befitting her meticulously-crafted outward appearance as a moderately successful merchant, taking coffee at Kah'ribou and perusing wares in the Grand Bazaar. Unlike her last visit to Ikuabai, Lyriel found herself quite unable to take any pleasure in such things. Even losing herself in the bustling crowds of the city failed to provide any relief from the the thoughts of Sir Lumen's treachery that dogged her nearly every waking moment.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 11):

Several weeks pass in this fashion, with Lyriel growing increasingly restless.

One day, she comes home from the Bazaar with a basket of fresh fruits and warm bread to find a strange humanoid leaning idly against the wall.

The figure is dressed in oiled leather of a strange design that seemed to fit no fashion Lyriel was familiar with. A prominent scar runs down the center of his left eye, and his skin is dark as midnight.

A striking feature about the man is the dark fur that covers his skin, giving him an almost panther-like appearance. His ears look human, and he lacks a tail, but his eyes are slitted and yellow, his nose is flattened, and his teeth are white and sharp.

"Name's Carn," he says without fanfare, reaching over to pluck an apple from her basket and taking a huge bite out of it. "You've got a job for me?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:41, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

Lyriel nodded wordlessly, concealing her surprise and curiosity about the strange creature standing before her. She tilted her head to indicate a busy pub on a sidestreet with just enough clientele that a quiet discussion would go unnoticed and unremarked.

After a brief delay spent plotting a course through the jostling patrons, Lyriel and Carn found an unoccupied booth near the corner of the establishment. Lyriel slipped onto the bench across from the mysterious specter, where she could see the door and most of the bar's patrons.

There's a man I want found, she began without preamble. Sir Sebastien Lumen. A Knight of the Flame, or should I say, former Knight of the Flame. The official story is he died on a mission about four years ago. I have reason to believe that he is in fact still alive, and in hiding somewhere. I want to know where.

Lyriel paused as a serving wench comes by with an armful of tankards. Motioning for two, she took a deep draught of the black and bitter brew, sliding the second over to Carn.

I shouldn't need to say it, but this requires the utmost discretion. 'Sir' Lumen betrayed his comrades and his Church, yet he was by all accounts far too unimaginative to have taken the initiative to do so of his own accord. He had help, and sponsors in high places. For that reason this must be handled entirely outside the normal channels.

The priestess grins darkly across the table. That is to say, me. And now you, should you take the job. Perform well, and I can promise additional work to follow.

There is, after all, much to be done.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:02, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 13):

Carn makes no motion to take the drink, instead folding his hands before him on the table.

"Your motives don't concern me, noble as they are," he says after a moment, his unnerving yellow eyes staring into hers without blinking. "My fee is $1,000 a day, and is not negotiable. You will pay one week in advance for the next week's labor."

He unfolds his hands and drags the beer closer to him, but does not drink from the mug until until he's added a pinch of something procured from his belt pouch to it.

"When I find this man -- and I will find him -- what do you want me to do? I offer a full range of services," Carn continues, his voice cold with meaning. "For a nominal fee..."

The creature drinks deeply from the mug, then sets it aside.

"If you have $7,000 on you, in coin, we can begin. I have several ideas to run by you already."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:09, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

Lyriel counted out the requisite amount without batting an eye, sliding it over in the fruit basket. I just want you to find him, she said, eyes glittering dangerously. I will take it from there.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:21, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 15):

Carn weighs the coin with his eyes and tucks the basket onto the bench next to him with a nod.

"I thought you might be such a client. Very well," he says, smiling for the first time. "The first thing to do is chart out the likely locations your target might be hiding. We are fortunate in that sense, because a cleric of your obvious wealth and station has surely attempted to scry him, and not many places provide adequate shielding."

He raps his knuckles on the table, studying the cleric's reaction for a moment.

"You didn't try to scry him, did you?" Carn says, amused. "Why don't we do that before I weary myself chasing my nonexistent tail?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:25, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

Lyriel narrowed her eyes slightly. What most people don't realize about scrying magic, she said pointedly, is that there is the possibility that the subject will realize they are being observed. That likelihood increases when the scryer does not know the subject personally, or possess a physical connection to use as a focal point for the spell. Hair, or the like. So no, I have not yet scryed him, as difficult as it was to refrain from doing so. I wanted to refrain from providing any possibility of advance warning until I was in a position to make my move. Now that you're here, however, I think we can risk it. If you care to follow me?

The priestess stood, leaving a few copper pieces on the table - enough to cover the drinks and a decent tip, but not enough to be memorable. She bade Carn follow her to her room at the inn. Shutting the door behind them, she poured a decanter of holy water into a bedside basin, placing it in the middle of a small table with two chairs. She took a seat, gesturing to the other.

This spell lasts quite some time. You had better make yourself comfortable.

[Casting: Greater Scrying]

['Sir' Sebastien Lumen Will Save vs. DC 23: 19, fail]

Holding her hands over the surface of the basin, Lyriel closed her eyes, summoning to her mind every description she had gathered of the false knight. As she incanted the words of sight and knowledge, the water in the basin began to bubble, then swirl and churn, before suddenly icing over, as flat and smooth as a pond in the dead of winter.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:51, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 17):

"It no longer matters if he notices your interest or not," Carnaue says, flashing what appear to be fangs as he curls back his lips into a smile. "Since the moment you hired me, that man's liberty was forfeit. No one evades me for long."

Lyriel and Carnaue peer into the mirror, the former with rage-fueled eagerness and the latter with an almost academic interest. The scene is idyllic, almost pastoral: a field of tall grass beside a well-tended fence in what appears to be a modest farmstead. The house boasts a weather-worn porch and faded brown paint that probably used to be a vibrant red, and a sturdy silo towers over everything off to one side by a matching barn.

A team of muscular men are toiling in the fields, harvesting the tall gray and bailing it for storage in the barn. None look particularly familiar, though there is only one Highborn in the group. He is dressed simply, in overalls and a straw hat, and is working alongside the others without regard to their obviously inferior caste.

O, how the mighty hath fallen, Lyriel intones, the prideful brought low. She fixes her eyes on the laborer, unable to conceal her eagerness. The criminal shall be judged and found wanting, and the wicked...

The wicked shall burn.

She stares into the basin, transfixed, for the better part of the day. After a long while, she lifts her eyes up to Carn. Find me this man. At the end of seven days, I will contact you. If you need me before then, I will be here. Or not. I'm sure you will have no difficulty finding me.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 19):

Carnaue nods, standing back from the mirror after spending long hours observing its contents.

"I'd stay on this continent, if I were you. That farm looks Aestrenian to me. Midwestern, likely. I will contact you at the end of the week with more information."

With that, the spectre pads out of the room, his footsteps utterly silent as he slips away.

*** One Week Later ***

Lyriel finds herself pacing back and forth, awaiting response from her hired agent and attempting to avoid fidgeting with her purse, now refilled with gold from her family's line of credit with the Imperial Bank.

Lost in her own thoughts, she is surprised to find herself somewhat less than alone on one of her passes across the room. Impossibly, Carnaue is standing idly against the same wall she first saw him beside, filing what appear to be claw-like nails absently.

When she notices him, he smiles and holds up a scroll stamped with the seal of Haedriel's hall of records.

"The job's done," Carnaue says, tossing the loosely bound tube to the cleric. She unrolls it with trembling hands to find a map to which three pages of personal information about Sir Lumen has been attached. They appear to have been taken or copied directly from the Flame's private personnel records.

"What you have there is his favorite haunts, daily schedule, weapons, training, budget, staff, everything. You've got all you need to track him down and... have a little chat."

The specter produces another scroll, but this one he keeps to himself.

"He's got friends in high places, though. Governmental. Political. Religious. It's a fascinating list, so I took the liberty of recording the details even though that wasn't part of the bargain."

Carn taps the unopened scroll in the palm of his hand.

"What's it worth to you?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:00, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

Lyriel sucked air in through her teeth, flipping through the packet of information on Lumen. You do good work, Carn, she said appreciatively, genuinely impressed. Those connections are exceedingly relevant to my investigations. I'll not insult your abilities by bartering with you like a fishmonger. Name the price commensurate with the effort it took you to obtain that list, and you shall have it.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:09, Fri 10 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 21):

"$3,000," Carnaue says, nodding thoughtfully. "With a $1,500 credit toward future services bundled into that price."

Done, said Lyriel, counting out the gold and accepting the scroll. She counted herself disciplined for not tearing into it on the spot. I'll handle this next bit personally. I have no doubt we'll be in touch.

Within five minutes, the priestess was packed and ready to leave.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 23):

The specter is gone before Lyriel finishes packing -- gone even before she has a chance to read the scroll, which she finds tilted against the wall he once occupied. Whatever else Carn was, he was good at being quiet.

The cleric picks up the scroll and unfurls it, reading a document far less detailed than the first: a list of names and the strength of their links to the case.



She reads it carefully several times, uncertain what to make of it all.

Lyriel furrowed her brow as she read over the list. She was at first taken aback that Carn had worked out what she was ultimately investigating, but reasoned that for somebody of his caliber it would have been child's play to make the connection. She distinctly recalled Choso facilitating the return of the bodies, but wondered if he might know more.

And she resolved to have a long, long talk with her dear father.

In the meantime, however, there was one person whose guilt was incontrovertible. Without a backwards glance for Ikuabai, Lyriel left the city gates behind on wings of wind, destination fixed in her mind like a beacon.

Enjoy the final days of your deferred judgement while you can, Sebastien. I am coming.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:46, Tue 14 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 25):

Lyriel makes her way over the rivers and through the woods, following a map she's committed to memory while imagining a thousand ways to make the former paladin pay for his crimes.

After nearly three weeks of trudging, flying, marching, and scouting, she finally comes to the outskirts of her destination. It's a large swath of territory out in the country known colloquially as Amberhill, which encompasses a modest 30 acres of thriving farmland and employs several dozen hired hands.

A signpost on the dirt road leading up to the property's main gate simply says "Amberhill Farms", with a second wooden sign reading "All Are Welcome" beneath it. A third sign is posted on the fence itself: "Help wanted. Inquire within."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:43, Mon 13 Apr 2015.

Lyriel hovered in front of the sign, little more than a wisp of cloud. From Carn's dossier she knew Amberhill Farms was what it advertised. Willing to hire any who were willing to work, regardless of their past. The perfect place for Sebastien to seek refuge from his fate.

Setting her jaw in determination, Lyriel drifted upward into the air, at long last putting her plan into motion.

Having reached the farm just before dawn, Lyriel decided to use the day to ensure that Carn's information was accurate. An area circled on the map he provided drew her attention. An old well was drawn in a simplistic but neat hand, along with a question mark. Wanting to leave nothing to chance, Lyriel drifted over to investigate.

It was immediately obvious why Carn had taken the time to annotate the irregularity on the map. Nothing grew for a few hundred feet in any direction from the old stone well. Lyriel would have considered it abandoned, but the rope and winch looked well-maintained. Even stranger, the well had no bucket. As she reflected on oddity, she heard a noise approaching and quickly dissolved into mist. A farmhand came along a path, whistling slightly off key. He carried with him a bucket, which he lowered into the well. From her vantage point floating above the clearing, Lyriel was unable to determine what the contents of the bucket were, and the farmhand immediately turned around and left back towards the fields.

Curious, Lyriel flew over to the stables to find a bucket and returned to the well just as the sun was clearing the trees. Tying the bucket to the rope, Lyriel drew up a foul mixture of what looked to be rich compost.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. Odd. If this is compost, why is the land around the well dead? And why bother lowering anything into the well when you could just pitch it in? Lyriel ground her teeth in frustration. She was here for Lumen, but the strange nature of the well was concerning.

Before reverting once more into mist, Lyriel cast spells that would allow her to detect magical auras, as well as auras of divine evil. Thus prepared, she took once more to the skies, flying over the entire farmstead.

There was one man in particular she couldn't wait to lay eyes on.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 28):

Lyriel wandered lonely as a cloud, keeping careful watch over all 30 acres. She sees several dozen workers, all told, but without getting closer to the ground than a cloud should, she can't really make out the details. All are wearing straw hats or bandanas along with practical coveralls, tunics, and other working-class attire.

She finally spies what could be her target in a group of six other workers when he removes his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, revealing highborn ears. The grass is high, and the workers are using scythes to tame the harvest before bailing the cuttings up and transporting them to the barn.

A saddled horse follows lazily behind them, though it doesn't have a rider.

Forcing herself to wait for the next day was excruciating, but Lyriel knew that it would be foolish to rush her plans.

You've waited four years for this. You can wait another few hours.

She floats above Lumen for most of the day, observing him for any out of the ordinatry behavior. Around sundown, she drifts back out to the well, intent on ensuring that it would not interfere with her plans. Once there, she began to make her final preparations for the following day.

[OOC unless something interesting happens, Lyriel will wait until the following day for Lumen's trial.]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 30):

Around sundown, Lumen, the horse, and a group of six others head to the well. The highborn speaks to them as they surround the well, and after a few minutes each in turn drops something into it. They then quietly watch the sun until it sets, heads bowed low.

When the sun has vanished from the horizon, they file back toward the farmhouse.

Lyriel observed the group of men carefully, trying to make sense of their actions. It had the look of ritual, though none she was familiar with. Idly she wondered what god would accept a traitor into their ranks. In the end, she imagined it mattered little. None of the men seemed imbued with divine evil, and she had no reason to believe that any would be capable of standing against her.

Still, her judgement was not for these other farmhands, criminals though they might be. She retired for the evening a ways into the woods. If all went according to plan, today would be the last sunset Sebastien Lumen would ever see.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 32):

Rik trudged along the well-trodden trail leading from the upper forty furlongs to the old well. His back ached from a long day of reaping, but the harvest was nearly at an end. Before long, the grain would all be either in the silos or heading to market, and with this year's yield Rik expected there would be enough in trade for cider lasting long into the winter months.

The setting sun was warm on his back, drying up the last of the day's sweat. Ahead of him, his companions joked and jostled with the weary enthusiasm of men done with the day's work. Eight total this time, more than usual.

Turning a corner in the path led through a small copse of birch trees just starting to change colors into their brilliant reds and golds. The light of sunset set them all ablaze, but it seemed...darker than usual. Rik frowned. Halfway through the copse he began to note tendrils of fog twisting through the silvery branches. By the time he reached the edge of the wood, he was in a thick fog, and could barely see the man ten feet in front of him. Shivering in the sudden cold, he picked up his pace, only to have his boot snag on an upthrust root. He swore as he barked his knee on the barren dirt of the path. Rising slowly, he hurried to catch up to his comrades. Though they couldn't have been more than twenty feet off, between the dying light and the fog not even their outlines were visible, and their voices were strangely muffled.

"...foul weather for this time of year, Sebastien..." one of them grumbled, though Rik couldn't make out who.

The sound of footfalls on dirt ceased as they reached what Rik knew to be the well. A voice called out in surprise and mild anger. "What the devil is my armchair doing out here?!" Before anybody could reply, a brilliant emerald light exploded in front of them, casting distended shadows back towards a suddenly disoriented Rik and turning his world an otherworldly green.

As suddenly as it appeared, the light vanished, and despite his sudden terror Rik dashed forward to check on his comrades. He found all of them collapsed before the well, alive but apparently deep in slumber.  His eyes darted around, and he called out in a quavering voice. "H-hello?"

Only silence greeted him. Frantically he tried to wake the nearest farmhand, but his only succeeded in provoking a snore. That was when he realized he wasn't alone.

I see you managed to avoid the mark. Unfortunate, said a high, feminine voice from just over his left shoulder. Rik frantically attempted to swing around to confront the voice, but found that he was entirely unable to move. The speaker stepped into his view. A slender female form stood before him, garbed in a formal robe of brilliant emerald. Honey blonde hair spilled out in waves from under her cowl, framing a delicate face. Under any other circumstance, Rik would have found her beautiful, but the look in her green eyes chilled him to his marrow. Too late he noticed the emblem of Tassada emblazoned on her mantle.

Fear not, for I have not come for you. Though I cannot allow you to leave until we have completed our proceedings, you are here, awake. I invite you to bear witness to tonight's long-delayed administration of justice.

Rik would have quaked had he not been frozen motionless. He watched as she moved to one of the slumped forms of his comrades - he couldn't tell which - and lifted him with strength entirely disproportionate to her form, setting him limply into a large chair sitting inexplicably before the well. She snapped her fingers, and shimmering silver bonds sprang into existence, firmly and completely binding his legs and arms together and to the chair. Once upright, Rik could identify the man as his friend Sebastien.

The woman bent over her prisoner, extending a hand to his face when an enraged whinny and the sound of thundering hoofbeats interrupted her. Sebastien's horse exploded through the fog and into the clearing, clearing Rik's head with a mighty leap. Rik nearly had a heart attack, but the priestess seemed entirely unsurprised. Without missing a beat she extended a manicured finger towards the charging horse. There was a flash of light, and the stallion vanished into thin air.

I thought he might be an issue, she murmured to herself. Goddess only knows how he managed to retain his charger's devotion after his Fall.

Without further interruption, she grabbed a fistful of Sebastien's hair, and pulled his face up to meet hers as she whispered an incantation.

In reply to DM (msg # 33):

"Wha..." Sebastien manages, groggily taking in the scene from the confines of the chair to which he'd been tied. "Where am I? What's going on?"

Noticing the collapsed workers around him, his eyes widen.

"You're wasting your time! We're poor farmers. There's nothing here worth stealing."

Cease your sniveling. I am not here to rob you. I am here to conduct a long overdue trial. Lyriel stood to her full height, glowering down at Sebastien balefully.

Sebastien Lumen, formerly of the Emerald Flame, I hereby charge you with premeditated murder, treason, and declare you oathbreaker to your sworn vows as a Knight of the Flame. How do you plead?
This message was last edited by the player at 19:01, Wed 15 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 35):

The highborn blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, and draws himself up as much as his bonds allow.

"Innocent on all counts," he says simply. "A paladin cannot be held liable for actions performed while obeying the orders of his superiors."

He squints at Lyriel, unable to make her out clearly in the mist and the mental haze associated with waking up. It's not clear he knows who you are... or if he would recognize you even if he weren't in such dire straits.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:05, Wed 15 Apr 2015.

So you do not deny that it was by your hand and on your blade that Sir Eldric Vesper and his comrades - who all trusted you as a brother in arms - perished? Yet you hold yourself blameless? Lyriel replied incredulously.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 37):

"A paladin cannot be held liable for actions performed while obeying the orders of his superiors," the man repeats. "Nor should he question the intentions of those who have issued them. If I am guilty of anything, it is the naivety of obedience and the steadfast adherence to my duty."

He narrows his eyes slightly.

"However unpleasant it might be."

Lyriel bit her tongue to keep from shouting her recriminations, forcing a breath into her burning lungs. I do not believe you fully appreciate the gravity of your situation, Lumen, Lyriel replied, voice dangerously quiet. I suggest you cease with the ambiguities. If you do not hold yourself accountable for the death of your comrades - to say nothing of the poor sod whose body was passed as yours - then who, pray tell, is to blame?

The priestess held up a finger in warning. Do not try my patience. I want names and specifics.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:47, Wed 15 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 39):

"I do not negotiate with terrorists," Sebastien says, then frowns as he studies his captor.

"Ah. I see the resemblance now. You're one of the sisters. The magical one who was applying to the Academy, I should think."

He sighs.

"I don't know how you tracked me down, but you've wasted your time. You've captured the sword when what you wanted was the wielder, and that man is dead. I am sorry for your loss, hard as that might be to believe. Your brother was an exemplary paladin in many ways, though some of his teachings were unorthodox. I took no joy in carrying out my duty."

This time, biting her tongue was not enough. Lyriel's hand shot out, seemingly of its own accord, to grab Lumen by the throat. Don't. You. Dare. Don't you dare speak to me of Eldric as if you cared.

Lyriel took a step backward, breath heaving. A brilliant jet of emerald fire blazed into existence, encircling Lumen in a ring of flame. I am no longer the little girl studying at the Academy. That part of me died the day you put your blade through my brother's heart. I am now a Priestess of Tassada Herself. I am Fire. I am Justice.

She gestured a second time, and the flames died out. Your Fall from grace is enough to convict you ipso facto of treason. The Goddess has proclaimed *you* guilty for *your* actions, and withheld Her holy grace from you. If you believe you were misled, or somehow deceived into acting against your nature, then speak! But do not hide behind your orders like a coward. As if you were but a tool with no will of your own. Do not insult the memories of those dead by your hand by acting as if you had no choice. *You* decided to accept flawed orders. *You* swung the blade. The blood is, first and foremost, on *your* hands.

Lyriel's hands clenched into claws at her side, nails digging into her palms and drawing blood. Say it! she hissed. I will have you admit before the eyes of Gods and Men what you, Sebastien Lumen, have done.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:37, Wed 15 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 41):

The former paladin's eyes widen and cheeks flush, though this may be in part due to having been nearly strangled moments before.

"I was assured that the Church was finished with me," he says defensively. "I paid the price required of me -- made the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good -- and was discarded to this backwater farm to await the restoration of my honor."

"That day never came, and so here I remain to do penance for as long as is deemed necessary."

He takes a deep breath.

"You aren't here on behalf of the church, else you'd know the answers to the questions you've asked me."

Sweat drips from his brow from the glistening heat radiating from Lyriel along with her palpable rage.

"There is no warrant out for my arrest, nor have I committed a crime. By law I cannot be charged for carrying out the orders of a superior officer. Strike me down, and share my fate. You don't know what it feels like to be stripped of your power, and trust me, you don't want to know."

Sensing the statement is not having a placating effect, he hurries on.

"Wait, wait! You can still have closure. Take me to Haedriel, and have me tried by the courts there. Whatever happens, one of us will end up vindicated... and the waiting will be at an end."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:35, Fri 17 Apr 2015.

A strangled laugh, devoid of all mirth, escaped Lyriel's throat. A trial? In Hae'driel? To be tried by the very people who gave you your orders in the first place?! In light of the same flawed laws that cowards like you hide behind to avoid looking at the depths of their own sins? You make a mockery of Justice itself.

Lyriel waved a hand around in an all-encompassing gesture. You think this is the 'ultimate sacrifice?!' To be allowed to live out your life in peace while they very men you yourself murdered lay rotting in the ground? That it makes you some kind of martyr for the greater good?! I pity you your self delusions, Sebastien. You make me sick, Lyriel spat.

You say you had no choice. That you had to follow orders, and that Imperial law shields you from blame. There is always a choice. And the laws of Tassada are higher than any other law. How dare you claim service to Her, when Her castigation of you was made so abundantly clear?!

Lyriel leveled a finger accusingly at the fallen knight. No, Sebastien. You were given orders that you knew were in violation of all the Goddess stood for. Yet you chose to accept them. You chose to betray everything you had ever stood for. Now salvage what tattered scraps of honor you have left, and accept responsibility for what you've done.

Her green eyes narrowed, and fire began to crackle along every inch of her being. Say it! she repeated in a hiss. When Lumen turned his head, offering no reply, an inferno erupted around the priestess, and she became as living flame.

SAY YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!
This message was last edited by the player at 16:45, Fri 17 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 43):

"I... I admit to nothing more than doing my duty," Sebastein spits out, though his eyes and cracking voice betray his fear. "You d-dare accuse me of abandoning my faith while denying the c-courts their due? If you feel you have been wronged, bring me to trial! Otherwise d-depart, and leave me to my penance."

Silence reigns for a moment, during which Lyriel steps menacingly toward him.

"We both know what comes next, don't we?" he says quietly. "Destroying me will not bring your brother back, and you will have to live with the fact that you killed a helpless man after denying him an impartial trial."

"I will face whatever afterlife awaits me knowing that I've done my duty," he finishes, squaring his shoulders and staring directly ahead to look at nothing in particular. "Lux fidelis."

The final line he repeats several times quietly to himself, and Lyriel recognizes it as the motto of House Lumen.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:13, Fri 17 Apr 2015.

Tassada tried you! Lyriel hissed through clenched teeth. Flames snapped and entwined around her, blazed in her eyes. There is no higher impartiality. She was the Judge and Jury. I am but the Executioner. Your penance is meaningless without admission of your own guilt. I shall give you one more chance.

Lyriel gazed down with fury, towering over Lumen, who merely muttered his House words to himself over and over, unwilling or unable to return her stare.

So be it! You will die as the coward you were in life. By the power invested in my by the Goddess Herself, I sentence you to death. May the purifying flame of Her righteousness prepare your wretched soul for whatever afterlife will take such scum.

Lyriel extended her hand, and the flames surrounding her roared into a fiery crescendo, burning away the fog and casting a green glow high into the heavens. The heat in the clearing became sweltering, then, the fire condensed into a single point of light that came to rest on Sebastien's brow. At first, nothing happened, but within a few seconds, his skin began to steam. Flames burst from the soles of his feet, traveling up his body. He opened his mouth to scream, but spoke forth only flame. The heat was unearthly, intense, and Lumen did not have long to suffer. His body, and the chair he was bound to all vanished into the inferno, which promptly flickered out, having consumed its fuel.

Left scorched into the dirt was the Celestial rune for 'Justice,' from which Tassada's seal was derived.

Lyriel collapsed to her hands and knees, breathing heavily as the flames around her flickered to ashes. When she looked up, her face was weary and drained, but the fire in her eyes was only banked. The embers still smoldered. She fixed the paralyzed farmhand with a penetrating gaze.

You're released from your bindings. See to your friends. They will awaken soon. What you witnessed here tonight may put you in anger from others. Think carefully on what you say. This corruption in the Church stretches deeper than I realized.

Lifting her eyes to the heavens, Lyriel called out, It will be purged.

She then vanished into the wind, heading in the direction of Tris.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:04, Wed 22 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 45):

Lyriel's journey toward Tris began in an uneventful fashion, but on the third day she noticed an enormous flash of light that made the afternoon sun look pale by comparison. A fiery green orb of flickered into existence to the northeast, looking like nothing so much as a molten meteorite many orders of magnitude larger than those she had read about at the Academy.

Not long after the blazing orb passed beyond her line of sight and beneath the horizon, a deafening thunderclap rolled across the landscape. Trees, buildings, rocks, and hills shook with the impact, though at this distance the resulting earthquake was quite mild.

An enormous cloud of dust, dirt, and debris soon followed -- a truly mind-boggling amount that obscured the sun and plunged noon into evening. Even as the sun continued its journey across the heavens, the clouds of dirt remained suspended like a blanket over the sky, and showed little sign of dispersing any time soon.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:27, Mon 20 Apr 2015.

At first Lyriel watched the phenomenon with awe, marveling at the sheer destructive force of the fallen star. Behind the veil of ash and smoke, the afternoon sun shone like a dull ember, turning the sky a sullen red. The color of spilled blood.

Then Lyriel noted the angle of the sun's rays through the miasma, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Hae'driel! Mother and Alanna are still there!

Heedless of the danger, Lyriel changed course directly towards the cataclysm. Before long, her flying form became lost in inky clouds of darkness.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 47):

Lyriel speeds toward the hazy horizon on the wings of the wind, but it still takes quite some time to reach her destination. As each day brings her closer, she sees an increasing amount of disruption caused by the impact. The sky remains charred and blurry, with the sun obscured behind an omnipresent shroud of debris that acts as a constant cloud cover.

This has had a severe impact on the temperature, plunging the normally mild autumn air into an unseasonable chill. Everywhere she goes, Lyriel sees farmers frantically attempting to harvest their crops before they wither or freeze, and she can sense a mixture of fear and anger among them as they weigh the size of their underweight squashes and hard, premature apples against what looks to be an early winter.

Eventually, Lyriel nears the familiar territory around Hae'driel. The city itself looks much as it always has, and she swings by to check on her mother briefly before heading back out. Lady Regina Vesper is easy to find, since she's still in prison, and Lyriel departs satisfied that her family is safe for now.

About a day's travel to the north she sees an enormous ridge of hills and mountains that were not there before. Huge furrows ripple out from it in every direction, and vast swathes of woodlands seem to have been leveled by the tidal wave of earth and stone and yes, fire, that accompanied the landing.

From her aerial vantage point, she can see a smouldering glow somewhere inside the crater itself, which is so choked with smoke and debris that little of distinction can be made out.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:39, Thu 23 Apr 2015.

Drawn in by curiousity and...something else...Lyriel drifts down slowly into the smoldering crater.  Errant winds buffet her around, but gradually she makes her way to the epicenter of the cataclysm.

What...what has happened here?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 49):

As Lyriel draws closer to the crater, she is forced to cover her mouth with a cloth to avoid succumbing to fits of coughing and hacking. The air grows hotter and less pleasant as she approaches the center, until finally she reaches the still-glowing mass of stone that has embedded itself into the earth.

The impact zone led her to expect something much larger than what she found, but before she can get a proper look at it, a no-nonsense voice interrupts her investigation.

"That's close enough, mortal."

Lyriel whirls to face the speaker, only to find herself confronted by an armored humanoid in coal-black armor. The voice sounded female, but it was impossible to tell due to the equally charred helmet. A pair large gray wings flapped twice, kicking up soot and debris in the process, and a hand rested upon the pommel of the dangerous-looking sword that hung at her hip.

"You will answer our questions honestly and without hesitation, or you will die."

The tone carried no threat -- merely conviction.

"Where are we?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:28, Fri 24 Apr 2015.

Lyriel took an involuntary step back in surprise. Her eyes locked onto this new foe, sizing (her?) and analyzing the threat.

You have devastated a large swath of land north of Hae'driel, she replied, buying some time. Her eyes flicked up to the gray wings protruding from the armored figure. On prime.

The priestess used the moment of hesitation she saw as the figure considered her words to spring into action. Reaching out to the Divine, she pulled power to her, and emerald fire exploded between her and this outsider. Lyriel sank into a defensive posture, preparing another barrage. Flames licked along her hands, growing in intensity.

She eyed her opponent dangerously across the wall of flame between them. Now you answer my question, fiend. Who are you, and why have you brought waste to our lands? Speak, and explain why the holy fires of Tassada should not scour you from this realm!

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 51):

You DARE to threaten us with the flames of Tassada? the figure exclaims, walking through the wall of emerald fire as though it were a curtain of mist and passing through it visibly unharmed.

She draws her sword as she stalks toward the cleric, and it shimmers with the light of a thousand suns.

"We are Eternal! We are Justice! We are..."

She pauses, glancing around herself and then glaring at the cleric.

"... on Prime? Why? How? And who are you, who basks in the favor of the Goddess but knows not her Emerald Champion?"

The still-armed humanoid is now within one movement action of Lyriel, and she senses that a flippant answer here would almost certainly lead to combat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:22, Fri 24 Apr 2015.

Lyriel started in surprise as the being walked through the flames without harm. Either she was a demon, or she was who she claimed. Lyriel wasn't sure which was more concerning.

I am Priestess Lyriel Vesper, she replied proudly, standing firm. You fall from the sky, nearly wipe my city off the face of the map, threaten to kill me as an introduction, and then ask why I don't recognize you, though you are covered in soot and ash. What am I to make of that? she asked.

Lyriel swallowed, knowing she played a very dangerous game. If you are who you claim to be, then you know the Goddess demands constant vigilance against evil.  I would be a poor servant of the faith if I did not question your motives to ensure your righteousness.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Fri 24 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 53):

The figure considers Lyriel's blistering retort for a moment.

"We require constant vigilance against evil, yes," she agrees, sheathing her blade. "But we also require proof of wickedness. What if we had been a passer-by in need of aid?"

She straightens her shoulders, and from this closer vantage point Lyriel notices that her eyes are bloodshot... with streaks of green instead of red.

"We did not mean to arrive on Prime, but perhaps there is a reason for it. You will return to Hae'driel and summon the aid required to transport us to a defensible location."

The figure motions to the stone as she issues the order, and Lyriel glances at the stone warily -- it is much larger than the Abbey and the Cathedral combined.

"Immediately, priestess. There is urgent need."

Lyriel mirrored the other woman's stance, relaxing from her aggressive posture. The flames surrounding her flickered and died out.

She pressed her lips together. I have encountered many passersby in need of aid in my tenure, she said, and surprisingly few began their pleas for help with 'you will answer my questions or you will die.' Very few references to me as 'you mortal' as well, now that I think of it. Her lip tugged into a wry smile to keep the insolence within tolerable boundaries.

You look exhausted, she continued, face turning serious. Here, let me help.

[Casting: Restoration]

Green light arced the gap between her and the armored woman. Now then, can you please explain to me what is going on? I can't help you if I don't even know what must be done. Lyriel's gaze shoots once again to the woman's perfectly functional looking wings. Who needs to be transported? What are you trying to defend against?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 55):

The warrior-woman's countenance softens under Lyriel's ministrations, but only just.

We are the Emerald Champion. We are the swordarm of Justice. We shall not be the pallbearer. Behold, priestess, and know our plight.

Emerald-tinted images blaze into existence on the ground between Lyriel and the Emerald Champion, creating a life-sized reenactment of the scene in the crystal room -- though it lacked any sound. The image ends with both crystals (and both guardians) falling from the platform in opposite directions, even as the marble platform on which they stood cracked and crumbed to rubble.

It is possible that there is no god in the high heavens, as both fell from their accustomed place. We must return there to -

She stops, and the green energy swirling in her eyes intensifies.

We stand corrected. We have stood idle and content to watch the world beyond the heavens for far too long. We have arrived on Prime for a reason.

The Emerald Champion sheathes her sword and smiles cockily at Lyriel, and for the first time the priestess notices the celestial's necklace -- a choker collar with a small, perfectly shaped emerald nestled directly in its center.

Take us to Hae'driel, Priestess. This world cries out for Justice... and it shall reap its just reward.

Lyriel watched the scene in the crystal room at first in curiosity. Zuriel bore such a striking resemblance to the grey-robed Celestial that there was no doubt in Lyriel's mind who she was. She was beyond beautiful, but something in her eyes made Lyriel uneasy. She had a hard time following the conversation with no sound, but as the scene unfolded her sense of dread grew. Tears were on Zuriel's face, and Liora looked stricken.

The air around her shimmered, and though the tableau appeared as real as if she was there, the charred crater was visible through the ghostly apparitions. She moved closer, anxiously trying to understand what was being said. She was close enough that when Zuriel hugged his mother, she could have reached out to touch him.

When he let go and turned back to Liora, the words on his lips were unmistakable despite the silence.

Tell her...Tell her that I love her.

Before she could react, he walked into the light of the crystal, and began to dissolve into purest light.

Lyriel's heart stopped. ZURIEL! she cried out, throwing herself forward desperately, as if she could stop him. For the briefest of moments, she thought she had caught him, that he was there, but then her momentum carried her through the illusion.

She collapsed to the ground in the dust and the ash. Behind her, the specter of Shahara winked out of existence in a silent, anguished whinny. Lyriel stared at the space where Zuriel had been - now a blinding beacon of light - until her eyes watered shut. Her bitter sobs shook her as she lay in the ash, oblivious to the sundering of the heavens playing out around her.

Zuriel...what have you done...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:02, Tue 28 Apr 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 57):

The celestial waits for a few moments, but it soon becomes clear that Lyriel is not going to compose herself any time soon.

Mortal, we have favored you with answers in the understanding that it would expedite our journey. Rise.

She cocks her head to one side and furrows her brow.

Do you weep for the celestial, and not for the sundering of high heavens? The one you mourn did naught but his Duty. We have questions for the Eternal Council, which governs the assignment of Duties, but there will be time enough to consider whether they acted with treachery or altruistic intent as we journey onward.

The Emerald Champion walks over toward the sobbing priestess and holds out a hand.

We assure you, if treachery was involved... there will be Justice.

Lyriel pulled herself into a kneeling position, looking up at the face of the Emerald Champion. Her tears made dark streaks in the ashes on her face, shadowing her eyes. She regained control of her sobs as the sharp, familiar ache of loss settled over her.

She reached up and clasped the Celestial's hand in a grip of iron, pulling herself to her feet.

Let Justice be done, she intoned, face hardening into a mask.

Justice for the departed...that's all I can do for them now. It will have to be enough.

Emerald magic swirled around the priestess. Hae'driel is but a short distance away on the winds. Come with me. City of the Flame it might be, but the Goddess will find much in need of correction. And perhaps more in need of cleansing fire. An arc of energy reached out to the Emerald Champion, and her form began to waver and grow misty.

For Great Justice.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 59):

The Emerald Champion spreads her wings and takes to the sky behind Lyriel.

"Now and forever."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:41, Tue 28 Apr 2015.

In reply to Dinah S'daqah (msg # 60):

** Hae'driel, Grand War Room **

A curious collection of men sat around a cumbersomely large table, upon which maps and such were normally strewn in an orderly fashion. Today the table was bare, and the men sitting around it were far less animated than usual.

"Let me get this straight," Grand Marshall Harlindon deadpans from his seat at the head of the table. "You, sir, claim to be an angel. A celestial being from the high heavens, sent by some 'eternal council' to ferret out exactly what happened to our patron deity, Tassada, an immensely powerful goddess whom you have somehow misplaced? Did I miss anything?"

Snickering follows this from the men on his left and right, but it is quickly silenced by a harsh glance and a gesture.

"Understand that I ask not out of curiosity, but because I'm debating exactly how much heresy to charge you with. Or if you're merely mad, which seems the greater possibility."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:44, Tue 28 Apr 2015.

Raziel returned Harlindon's gaze impassively. Only a faint twitch of his cream-colored wings betrayed his irritation. He pulled back the hood from his head to get a better look at those assembled, revealing closely cropped hair the color of his wings. Surveying the highborn around the table, he gauged the mood of the room. Under their veneer of arrogance and derision was a palpable fear. Well hidden, but apparent to one such as he.

"You doubt my words." It was not a question.

"I humbly suggest you ask your Emerald Table for guidance."

It lasted but a heartbeat, but Raziel saw the Grand Marshal exchange a quick, worried look with the older priestess sitting to his left. Ah.

"It doesn't work, does it?" Raziel asked softly. The look in the priestess' eyes told him the truth of the matter. When she broke his gaze, he looked around the table at the collected faithful of Tassada. "You've all felt it. Your divine gifts that much harder to touch. That short distance further from reach." The crowd shifted uncomfortably, and Raziel fought to keep a smile from touching his lips.

Mortals. So predictable, each generation the same as the last. It had been...millenia, he supposed, since he had last visited Hae'driel. But its denizens had not changed a bit.

"It will get worse, if your Goddess is not found and returned to her place in the heavens. Ma'or has awoken. We require the strength of two Goddesses in these dark times. The stability of all worlds demands it."

He returned his gaze to Harlindon. "So I ask again, Grand Marshal. Do I have your cooperation? Or will Tassada's faithful abandon their duty to the greater good beyond their own church?"

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 62):

"How dare you?" the Grand Marshall says, rising to his feet. The others in the chamber glance at each other, but remain seated. "Tassada's faithful have an obligation to the Goddess and to the cause of Justice. We maintain law and order, and cast aside the flickering shadows that have plagued the land for far too long. And you dare ask for my cooperation in some celestial investigation, as though I were a common informant?"

He clenches a fist, relaxes it, and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that Tassada has... has fallen from the heavens and requires mortal hands to lift her back to her perch. The very notion is sacrilege."

"Setting aside the question of whether you are who you claim to be -- and appearances are often deceiving on our line of work, sirrah -- what would you require of us in terms of cooperation? What do you want?"

Raziel took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose to calm himself. When he spoke, his voice was even. Controlled. Even so, it boomed out forcefully in the confines of the chamber in a powerful, rich bass.

"The Eternal Council is growing weary of having to prove its existence to you mortals each time it sends an emissary, Grand Marshall. And I find your perpetual claims of 'sacrilege' and 'heresy' equally tiresome. You lack the frame of reference to even understand what those phrases mean in the greater context of the Heavens."

The Celestial let out a sigh, rubbing his temples while stretching his wings behind him and refolding them. "I suppose I cannot blame you. We forget how short lived your race is, and how your perceptions are limited to what you see here on Prime. You cannot be expected to appreciate the greater tapestry from your position on the fringes. So be it. Allow me to prove myself to you. Examine your Ecclesiastical records." Raziel held up an armored finger. "Your full records. The ones I'm sure you keep sealed. In it you will find reference to our last delegate to visit you. Should have been..." The Celestial unfolded a scroll from one of the inner pockets of him white robes, and performed some quick arithmetic. "...about forty-three years ago by your time. Give or take, as the orbits of the realms have become disjointed. A woman by the name of Meira."

Raziel held Harlindon's gaze until the subborn paladin reluctantly nodded, whispering to a man standing at his shoulder, who then departed the chamber.

"Now then, to answer your question. The Council has been monitoring the instability of the planes for some time now. Though we had hoped it a passing malaise, it has been deemed unlikely to recover without our intervention. It falls then to all servants of Righteousness to aid this effort howsoever they are able."

He fixed the Grand Marshall once again with his penetrating gaze. "The Council requests the cooperation of your Church in aiding in the locating of your Goddess, and ultimately, returning her to her rightful place in the heavens to rule jointly with Ma'or. Without this balance, the very fabric of reality is placed in extreme danger."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:54, Wed 29 Apr 2015.

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 64):

The Grand Marshal deflates slightly, but does not sit down.

"You've done your research, I grant you that," he says, drumming his fingers upon the heavy wooden table. "I will not promise our unquestioning obedience, but in the spirit of cooperation, I will entertain your request. What would the heavens ask of Haedriel?"

Raziel leaned down over the enormous map stretched out before those gathered.

"Scouts and patrols," he replied. "We don't even know for sure that Tassada ended up on Prime, but the sheer size of the plane gives it a certain...magnetism. In short, it's the best place to start. And if Tassada has indeed come to Prime, the region around Hae'driel is the most logical place to begin the search. Existing interplanar pathways already lead from the Celestial Heavens to this city, which further act as an attracting factor."

Raziel glanced up at a room full of blank faces, and suppressed a sigh.

"I need your men and women on the lookout for anything unusual, Grand Marshal. Any source of power, profound but not profane. Any phenomenon not typically associated with this plane."
This message was last updated by the player at 17:41, Mon 04 May 2015.

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 66):

"What would that look like?" one of the men seated at the table asks, the rest of them looking hesitantly at one another. "A disturbance, I mean? Would it resemble... a star falling from sky?"

"It might well take the form of a comet, or it could..." Raziel began before catching the meaningful glances exchanged around him. "Show me."

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 68):

The Grand Marshal places a stone marker on the map to the northwest of Hae'driel, which lands with a dull thud. The man is not gentle.

"A ball of fire fell from the sky not long ago in this general area. We notified the Empire -- as though they could fail to see it -- and dispatched a small group to investigate already. They have not returned, but neither did I expect them to for another several days."

He glances at Raziel for a long moment, during which time a muted sound can be heard from somewhere beyond the door and down the hall. The Grand Marshal frowns, annoyed, then endeavors to ignore it in favor of speaking.

"If it did come from the heavens, it can't possibly be dangerous to the righteous, correct?"

Raziel sighs and begins to respond, but his words are lost when the heavy wooden doors to the chamber fly open to admit two armored women, neither of whom look particularly friendly.

"I said you can't go in there," a sentry is shouting, reaching out to grasp the shoulder of the taller woman. "There is audience already in sessi-ARG!"

The sentry falls back, nursing his smoking hand that had momentarily dared to rest upon the shoulders of the Emerald Champion. Eyes widening in fear, he draws his sword and places himself between the women and the rest.

"At ease, Sir Benigan,," the Grand Marshal sighs, making a dismissive gesture toward the sentry. "It seems if you're graced with a pair of wings, all sense of decorum is lost on you."

He remains standing and swings his arm in a tired motion that encompasses the room in general and Raziel in particular.

"Let me guess: you're from the heavens, and you require our cooperation?"

Raziel frowned at the unexpected intruders. The Emerald Champion he knew well, but the woman accompanying her was unknown to him, and did not appear to be a Celestial. Raziel used the confusion in the room to discreetly take out a small lens from a padded pouch. Holding it over his left eye, he examined her. His eyes widened, and he checked the calibration on the side of his device to ensure it wasn't malfunctioning.

This other woman was empowered with Tassada's divine grace beyond all doubt. She appeared as an emerald nimbus through his lens. The intensity of her aura, though, was disconcerting. She burned brighter even than the High Priestess. He knew the Emerald Champion. Knew what she was capable of. But it was the look in this other woman's eyes that made him most uneasy. He lowered the lens, stowing it safely back in its pouch.

"I did not expect to see you here, Dinah," he said evenly.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:06, Mon 04 May 2015.

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 70):

"Raziel," the Emerald Champion says tersely. "We see the Eternal Council wasted no time in dispatching their favorite hound. What are you sniffing out this time?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:29, Tue 05 May 2015.

Raziel didn't reply immediately. His eyes took in every detail. Both Dinah and her companion appeared as if they had been traveling. Dinah's normally immaculate appearance was marred by ash and dirt, her armor blackened. Her companion was likewise disarrayed.

The Emerald Champion was a stickler for decorum, and would not appear in such a state publicly - much less to mortals - were the need not dire. Judging by the meticulously pressed lines of her companion's robes and her well-manicured nails, Raziel expected she felt much the same way. Idly, he wondered how Dinah had fallen in with mortals so quickly.

"Tasked with the same think you are, I suspect," he responded at last. "I am here to find your missing mistress, and aid in her return to the heavens. If you are here too, I assume I chose correctly in first visiting Prime?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:57, Tue 05 May 2015.

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 72):

"We are not missing, Raziel," she replies evenly. "Nor do we intend to return to the heavens which so gracelessly displaced us. The way is clear."

She turns to the Grand Marshal and gestures toward the map.

"The Flame was meant to bring order to this fractured plane. The be a bright beacon of hope and a steady banner that kept the darkness at bay. You have not lived up to our expectations."

The Grand Marshal begins to protest, but the celestial speaks over him.

"We know that you have tried, only to be stifled time and time again by unworthy allies. You have been rebuked politically both abroad and at home. You have been unjustly muzzled by a world that knows no better. By our will, that ends today. The blind have no place leading those with clarity of vision."

She walks over to the table, takes the largest marking stone, and weighs it in her hand.

"We see a land governed by foreign laws, populated by people who think only for themselves. We see criminals roaming free after serving a pittance in prison. We see murderers, thieves, and rapists crawling through the sprawling cities like roaches. We see mortals openly blaspheming against our will... and yet, there is hope for them. They have erred, but we shall show them the path of righteousness."

The Grand Marshal grins at this proclamation, and the others around the table begin to stir with eager anticipation.

"We'd like to do more, my lady," the Grand Marshal says. "but as an Imperial vassal there are certain obligations to-"

"Your obligations to that antiquated, obstructive body are no longer relevant. Gather you men to full assembly, Grand Marshal," she says, placing the stone squarely upon the richly illustrated depiction of Tris on the map. "We are the Emerald Champion, and we would remind them of their Duty."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:04, Tue 05 May 2015.

In reply to Dinah S'daqah (msg # 73):

Grand Marshal Harlinding rises to his feet, and so to the others at the table.

"Your fiery rhetoric notwithstanding, what you are suggesting is tantamount to treason. We have a treaty in place, and an Imperial governor in this very city. We have only just recently fought a bloody war with Drynn and a bloodless civil war with Lo'driel."

"I appreciate your condor and devotion to the cause of justice, my lady, but I hardly think it is appropriate for us to-"

He trails off as the Emerald Champion turns on her heel and strides out of the chamber.

A few minutes later, everyone in the room stiffens as a loud voice booms through their minds.

BEHOLD THE WILL OF TASSADA: THE FAITHFUL ARE CALLED TO GATHER ON THE PARADE GROUNDS OF HAE'DRIEL IN ONE WEEK'S TIME. HASTEN TO OBEY.

"M...my lord?" one of the men at the table stammers, glancing at the Grand Marshal. "What... what..."

"You know what that was," the Grand Marshal says, regaining his composure and clasping his hands behind his back. "We must make arrangements for the coming crowd... and plan for the coming battle. The Emerald Taken has spoken; who are we to question its commands?"

Raziel slipped out of the council chambers in the confusion following the Emerald Champion's announcement. Walking quickly through the marble corridors of the temple, he took a look through his lens. Finding the chamber housing the Emerald Table was as simple as following the blinding green aura visible through the lens.

Such overwhelming power...it couldn't possibly be...

He opened the doors to a small chamber, finding his quarry standing inside, both hands placed on the table. Raziel slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Explain yourself, Dinah," he demanded in Celestial, arms crossed. "You know your Duty, and Tassada knows hers. Tassada is needed to shore up the instability between the planes. Existence itself appears to be unraveling, and you're down here on Prime carrying on some foolish moral crusade to teach these mortals a lesson? Have you lost your mind?!"

In reply to DM (msg # 74):

The War Room

The page returns with a sealed scroll tube, as was requested by Raziel earlier. Lyriel watches it with interest as the Grand Marshal opens it and unfurls it.

"Seems you were right," he says to Raziel after a moment. "But I'd say the scouting parties are unnecessary now, wouldn't you?"

His question is not heard, however, as the angel has strode out of the room, as well. He sighs and turns to Lyriel.

"And where do you fit into all of this? Who is she, and why are you here instead of with that Heartseeker?"

In reply to DM (msg # 76):

The Emerald Table

"We have not lost our mind, Raziel. We have found it."

She turns from the table and glances at him implacably.

"We need not remind you that we are beyond reproach. The instability and unraveling must in part be due to our lack of diligence on Prime, on which the balance is hinged. We shall correct this oversight, and you shall know the truth of the matter. You need only trust us."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:27, Tue 05 May 2015.

Lyriel eyed the sealed record with interest, wheels turning in her mind until she was jolted back to the present by the Grand Marshal's question. She held his gaze for the space of several heartbeats, pulse rushing in her ears, weighing how to respond.

Perished, she replied flatly, voice devoid of emotion. It would seem that the Eternal Council assigned him a Duty, knowing that it would end in his death.

Lyriel continued to stare back at Harlindon, face entirely blank. She scrutinized the Grand Marshal, eyes taking in every aspect of his demeanor as she awaited his reponse.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:25, Tue 05 May 2015.

"So you are here then," Raziel replied uneasily, no longer certain to whom he was speaking. "Are you sure that this is truly the wisest course of action? Even gods can be deceived. Need I remind you of the Fall?"

In reply to Raziel Cynodus (msg # 79):

"What do you think we just endured?"

She smiles without warmth and places a hand on celestial's shoulder.

"We would value your support in the days to come, but we understand if your Duty called you home to report on what you have witnessed this day. Go in peace, Raziel. But do not stand in our way."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:58, Tue 05 May 2015.

In reply to Dinah S'daqah (msg # 80):

The War Room

"Perished? You're sure?" the Grand Marshall says, drumming his fingers thoughtfully upon the table. "More's the pity. Lo'driel likely falls to his father's command, then. A formidable foe with a harder heart than his wayward son. Finwë will be distressed, as well. By all accounts, the younger Silendril accounted well for himself during the Battle of Tris, and though we have our differences with the Heartseekers... we all serve the Light."

He frowns.

"Though it's interesting to learn that Eternal Council seems to be meddling in their fate as well as our own. I wonder if celestials were deployed to them as well as to us? We should send a messenger..."

Misinterpreting Lyriel's blank stare, he smiles at her encouragingly.

"Head high, dear. You did what you could to steer him toward the truth. Some simply refuse to hear it. Your deployment then is at an end. which is fortunate, given the fact that you'd have been summoned home regardless."

He then seems to recall how Lyriel entered, and his visage grows more serious.

"Quickly, now. Who is this Dinah? Where did you find her, and how did you come to accompany her here? She is proposing outright rebellion, and while I will not disobey the goddess... I do wish to understand her will. What do you know?"

Lyriel scoured Harlindon's visage for any hint of unease, but could find none. He was either an exraordinarily good actor, failed to see the parallel to Eldric's doomed mission, or worse - had forgotten about it entirely. She glanced quickly down to the scroll unfurled on the table, then back to Harlindon. An idea blossomed in her mind.

She first turned her attention back to the conversastion at hand. I saw the meteor come down, and moved with all possible haste to investigate the site of the impact, she said, giving her report but evading the greater question of what brought her back to Astrenia in the first place. I found Dinah in the crater. She was immune to my fire, and seemed to be who she claimed. So I brought her here at her request. Of her will, I cannot say. The priestess scowled slightly. She does not seem accustomed to explaining herself to 'mere mortals,' she continued, unable to keep a trace of disdain from her voice. If she does indeed speak for the Goddess, however, then we must overlook such foibles.

She shifted her stance, suddenly anxious to leave the noisy buzz encircling the great war table. With all respect, Grand Marshal, might I be dismissed? Lyriel gestured down to her disheveled and ash-covered appearance. I am hardly a worthy servant of the Goddess if I allow myself to be seen publicly in such a state. And I think such things are more important now than ever.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 82):

"Very well," the Grand Marshall says with a nod. "You're dismissed, but don't stray far. I may have need you again before too long."

Internally, Lyriel railed, but she managed to keep herself composed. Of course. I won't be far.

Not far at all.

With a curtsy that nearly killed her, she turned to go, making her way out of the war room. Once she was out of sight, she diverted her path from the course towards the women's dormitories and began to make her way briskly towards the Emerald Table.

Raziel shook his head slightly, letting out a sigh. "No, Dinah, I cannot stay. The Eternal Council must be made aware of this...unexpected development. No doubt it will change their plans signifcantly. Our other allies in this realm must also be informed. So for now, farewell."

The Celestial turned to leave, but a sudden premonition prompted him to pause uneasily in the doorway. He had been around for far too many millennia to ignore his intuition. "And Dinah? Keep your own eyes open. There is more to this business than it appears on the surface. I can feel it. The Heavens cannot fail in its Duty again."

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him. Not for the first time he fought the impulse to massage his temples. He needed to find the other representatives of the Churches aligned with the cause of Righteousness, and figured he'd start with the one that started this whole mess.

The sound of heels on stone masonry brought his head around, and he found himself face to face with the same determined woman who had accompanied Dinah to the war room.

"Excuse me, priestess," he said respectfully in heavily accented Elven, "But you would be doing the Eternal Council a great favor if you could direct me to the nearest representative of the Church of Ma'or."

Lyriel was brought up sharply by the sudden appearance of the Eternal Council's emissary. She ground to a halt a few paces from him, staring back mutely in response to his question. She didn't even bother to disguise the loathing in her eyes. After a few moments, she continued walking, brushing past the Celestial without a word and taking the remaining steps to the door that led to the Emerald Table.

Fuck your Eternal Council, she called over her shoulder, entering the chamber and slamming the door behind her.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Tue 05 May 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 86):

The Emerald Champion turned as Lyriel entered the room none-too-subtly.

"The fire rages through your soul, mortal," she says. "What has happened?"

Lyriel pulled herself back in line, regaining a semblance of composure. Nothing worth your attention, milady, Lyriel replied. I just can't bring myself to bend the knee to the council that so unfeelingly took away my... the lump in her throat forced her to silence, and she blinked back tears. Taking a shuddering breath, she continued, voice betraying only a hint of quaver. ...the council that was so cavalier with the life of a devoted servant of the Light.

She took another deep breath, forcing her emotions down inside her while she pondered the best way to broach the real reason for her visit. She looked around to ensure they were alone.  Milady, prior to your arrival on Prime I was investigating certain corruption in the Church itself. Your arrival now makes that even more imperative than before. If we are to be the flaming beacon of Justice that drives back the evil in our world, we cannot suffer any trace of moral failing in our own ranks. We must be beyond reproach, above all suspicion. She lifted her chin, speaking openly. I fear you will not find the Church the bastion of righteousness you would hope.

Lyriel drops to one knee before the Emerald Champion. Lady S'daqah, I humbly request your blessing in continuing my investigation. Your word would go a long way towards helping me root out the source of the iniquity that poisons our Church. To begin, I would start with the sealed ecumenical archives.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 88):

"Those who seek our blessing shall have it, be they worthy," she says. "Go. Conduct your investigation. Ferret out those who would mock our tenets by introducing corruption to the church."

Lyriel nodded gratefully, rising. The will of the Goddess be done.

Bowing, she turned on her heel and left. This time, she did make her way to the dormitories, in search of a hot bath and a change of clothes.

Afterwards, she would pay a visit to the sealed archives, courtesy of her new authority.

In reply to Dinah S'daqah (msg # 89):

Lyriel's foray into the records room is met with little resistance with the weight of Dinah behind her. Indeed, she is surprised at the speed with which the celestial's name seems to be gaining power in Hae'driel.

Her search takes the better part of the day, but when it is done, her notebook is overflowing with new and alarming knowledge.




This message was last edited by the GM at 16:36, Wed 06 May 2015.

Lyriel took a sip of her tea, grown lukewarm in hours since it was brewed. Nestled deep in the windowless vaults of the ecclesiastical archives, it was nearly impossible to mark the passage of time. Only the slow burning of the tapers that lit her reading desk gave her any sense of the long hours she had spent poring over countless records.

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her left hand, fighting off a headache as she smoothed out the parchment on which she was taking her notes. Setting her tepid tea off to the side, Lyriel reviewed what she had uncovered. By far the most fruitful line of investigation was information pertaining to her family's curse, but even those records had significant inconsistencies.

To begin with, there was the simple weight of the eons. If her research was to be believed, the origin of Vesper's Curse dated back to shortly after the Fall of the Five, over ten thousand years ago. Though all the scrolls and parchments in the cavernous archives were magically preserved and meticulously labeled, even magic could not hold back the ravages of time entirely. The oldest records, the ones pertaining to the era in question would disintegrate at the slightest touch.

The bulk of her information on the curse came from a scroll written nearly three thousand years ago that served as a dossier of sorts for all the noble families in service of the Church. And while three millennia was certainly a remarkable length of time, it was still written over seven thousand years after the events in question. Lyriel had no way of knowing if it was a faithful copy of a preexisting record, and thus, how accurate it actually was. Several incongruities were apparent as she summarized her findings.

First and foremost, she was fully capable of receiving Tassada's healing graces, refuting a key point of these records. Though, upon reflection, she had to admit she had never seen Eldric healed by magic. He had always kept a supply of potions on his person at all times, and a few of his diary entries alluded to his dependence on them. Odd.

Then there was the much deeper philosophical implications. If the text was to be believed, Tassada's church had essentially fought a civil war against believers of Ma'or, for no other reason than that they disagreed theologically. If the ancient adherents to Lady Love were anything like those in the present, the act would have been akin to kicking a kitten. Such behavior did not seem Just to Lyriel. The most obvious conclusion was that the narrative was inaccurate.

Then there was the matter of Ma'or's First. The knight Auriel. Lyriel knew that Ma'or's faith had flourished for untold generations prior to the fall. For her first to have been alive that whole time was ludicrous. Even by Celestial standards, that was well beyond the lifespan of any creature in existence. In any other text, Lyriel would have chalked it up to conflating the term 'First' with some other high ranking position. But these were Church records. The scribes would have known the significance of declaring this knight the original mortal recipient of a deity's power. Another inaccuracy.

And perhaps most frustratingly of all, her research did nothing to answer the question of why Eldric had seen necessary to undertake the significant trouble and massive expense of forging a blade specifically to fight against Infernals.

She sighed, flipping through her notes to section containing her research into Eldric's death. This heading was infuriatingly sparse. There seemed to be almost no record at all. Swearing softly under her breath, Lyriel began to pile the scrolls and parchments to be re-filed. The priestess figured that without another lead, she had gotten all the information she could from the archives.

On top of the pile was Lord Dresner's letter to the then-Knight-Captain Harlindon. She stared down at the cream-colored envelope, so new and vital in comparison to all the other records. After a moment's hesitation, she tucked it into her robes, and made her way from the archives.

As anxious as she was to continue her investigation and confront those responsible for sending Eldric to die, she knew that her case was shaky at best. Without further evidence, Lyriel doubted she could successfully confront either Dresner or Harlindon.

As she left the library wing of the temple compound, she passed a window, where she caught sight of the parade grounds. Empty now, in a few days they would be packed full of knights, clergy, and the influential laypeople waiting eagerly to hear Dinah's address.

Idly, she wondered what the Celestial would say. Until her speech, Lyriel had to stay nearby in Hae'driel. Afterwards, she resolved to travel to Tris with all possible haste.

It was time to pay her dear father a visit.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:34, Thu 07 May 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 92):

The Emerald Champion wastes no time preparing for her address. As the faithful pour into the city from areas near and far, a series of significant changes occur from an administrative level, as well.

NOTE: The following conversations, events, and changes are not seen by the rank-and-file population of Hae'driel, but by the higher-ups. All actions are designed to set the stage for what is to come. Rumors swirl, of course, but what can you do?

Politics
One of the first things Lady Dinah S'daqah did was convene the governing council, a venerable body that included the heads of most Houses along with the Imperial governor and ambassador.

"We thank you for your services," she said, addressing the Imperial officials by name. "But they are no longer required."

The Imperial delegates glanced at each other, surprised.

"You can't dismiss us! We represent the Empress," the governor sputtered, red-faced, in response. "We have allowed you an unprecedented amount of autonomy already, and we-

"You are not being dismissed, Governor. You are being expelled. Return to Tris. Tell your Empress that Hae'driel is a vassal state no more."

She smiles slightly.

"Tell her also that we hope to remain friends. Grand Marshal, if you would be so kind as to remove all foreign dignitaries from this chamber?"

With a nod from Harlindon, a pair of knights comply with the celestial's request. Protesting, cursing, and swearing vengeance, the Imperial governor, ambassador, and their various aides are escorted from the chamber -- and, ultimately, out of Hae'driel.

This is but a taste of what is to come, Dinah says, addressing the shocked members of the governing council. The will of Tassada is not something that can be shackled to the conventions of an unbelieving empire. The Church must be the State... and, effective immediately, is it. The rest of our time today shall be spent discussing the code of laws. Any Imperial conventions that contradict the Goddess shall be discarded, but you will be allowed to keep those that do not, if desired. The Goddess is merciful to the just.

Theocracy
"For the Church to govern effectively, it must be free from blemish."

With those words, Lady S'daqah created a powerful internal affairs committee tasked with auditing the behavior of church officials and meting out punishments, if needed. None dared to vote against the measure or to voice their disapproval, but behind closed doors its existence is far from popular.

Judiciary
"The Church shall review the case files related to every prisoner in Hae'driel. Those guilty of crimes against the Empire but not against the Church shall have their sentences commuted."

Thus a list begins to form of prisoners slated for release -- though no actions are taken in terms of actually releasing anyone just yet.

"This is something we will want to announce publicly, as it will carry more weight. The results will be shared during the address."

Economy
Economic matters are left to the governing council to decide. A treasury and mint are declared (behind closed doors) as part of the preparations for the address.

OOC: Anything Lyriel wants to do before the address?

Lyriel will request an assignment to the newly formed inquisition from Dinah.

On the subject of her mother, given that the Lady Vesper was imprisoned by Imperial law for attempting to wrest control of the city from the Heartseekers to return to the Flame, she was confident that a full pardon would be forthcoming.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:37, Thu 07 May 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 94):

The address is held among much fanfare, with the streets of Hae'driel bursting at the seams with the faithful wearing their best clothing. Vibrant outfits abound amid polished armor and freshly brushed horses. There is a tangible air of anticipation leading up to the time of the address, but the streets fall into ultimate silence the moment the event begins.

A blisteringly bright light flares above the balcony on which the speaker was to stand, and the High Priestess and the Grand Marshal step out -- flanking an angelic figure that stands between them.

In reply to DM (msg # 95):

Our fellow adherents of the Flame, she begins, her voice echoing across the cobblestone streets and rebounding off the marble structures. Lords, ladies, yeomen, and peasantry. The Goddess is grateful for your presence, for this will be a day long remembered.

Dinah spreads her wings as the Grand Marshall and the High Priestess take a few steps back, leaving her alone in the front of the balcony, and she continues.

For too long have we lived under the yoke of a foreign government that does not share our faith, our tenets, or our way of life. For too long has the will of Tassada been stifled by the good intentions of the impotent, and the guidance of those too blind to see the way.

Her voice is steel and thunder. Her eyes are twin pyres of emerald flame.

We have gathered you here to announce that, as of this moment, Hae'driel is a vassal state of the Empire no longer.

Dinah waits for the shocked murmuring to die down, then continues.

The Governor, ambassador, and all diplomats have been expelled, and while we do not wish to wage war on the Empire, we shall defend our right to be free.

But even in the face of change, we must never lose sight of the enemy: the denizens of the Hells and their minions, mortal and otherwise.

Do not be deceived. They walk among you, lurking in the shadows of sin as they wait to prey upon the righteous. The Flame is called to purge these loathesome souls from not only our presence, but from the whole of creation. Today, we renew our commitment to this task. Today, we begin upon the road that leads to glory.

The beacon of flame above her intensifies even further, bright against the haze of the blotted-out sun.

We ask you, what if the armies of the Flame were to draw and clean their swords? What if the Church took a stand upon Tassada's promise and stormed Hells' rusty gates? Each of you are called to leave the world a cleaner, more purified place than you found it. Together, we can achieve great things. We can rid the world of its taint, and in doing so, we can save it from itself.

Surely you have seen the signs? The earth quakes, the seas boil, and fire falls from the heavens. But the faithful live in the shadow of Tassada, and the Goddess is stronger than any foe.

How do we know this? Because we are the Emerald Champion. We are the eternal sword of justice, and we have the glory, the honor, and the privilege of speaking for the Goddess herself.

This is not blasphemy. Gaze upon us, and know that we speak the truth.

Something strange happens to the crowd at this point, and they stand transfixed by the celestial upon the balcony. None stirs. None speaks. And then, there is a massive cheer that rattles the buildings to their foundation.

Somehow, the celestial speaks over the din, her voice perfectly clear amid the cacophony.

There were days when each hour was a war we fought to survive. There were nights full of nightmares, and we dreaded closing our eyes. There were skies that burst open with a downpour to drown us alive, but the world took a spark like a match in the dark, and the fire brought us to life.

Fan the Flame! she says, and the crowd's response is deafening: "Don't let the fire die!"

You'll find there'll be mornings when the ashes and embers are coals, but you'll fight with a passion and you'll never stop cause you know. You'll know that it gets better, and that your story is yet to be told. With every push, every shove, every war, every love, you'll see the coals are beginning to glow.

Fan the Flame! she says, giving the call again. The crowd responds as before: "Don't let the fire die!"

Thus is Hae'driel reborn! Look well to our defenses, man the forges, sharpen your swords, and shod your steeds. The Hells themselves will soon tremble as the Champions of Justice gather at their gates. The Grand Marshal and the High Priestess will speak to how each of you can help in the months to come, but if you have questions, you need only address them in the prayers held close to your heart. We shall hear. We shall answer. And we shall persevere. Fan the Flame!

"Don't let the fire die!"

In reply to Dinah S'daqah (msg # 96):

The revelry lasts well into the night and bleeds into the next morning, where those who are hungover must contend with the reality of busy forges and the clattering of steel on steel. Dinah watches this from her high tower, with the Grand Marshall, the High Priestess, and Lyriel close at hand.

"Thus is Hae'driel reborn, in fire, in steel, and in spirit," Dinah says, looking over the busy, crowded city streets. "When will you be ready to march?"

"Three weeks, my lady, but where will we get the ships we need?"

She smiles slightly.

"Leave that to me. Dismissed."

The Grand Marshall and the High Priestess bow and exit, leaving Lyriel alone with the Emerald Champion.

In reply to DM (msg # 97):

"You've been unusually quiet, my passionate child," Dinah says when they are alone. "We'd hear your thoughts. How do you wish to serve?"

Lyriel stood on the balcony, looking down from her lofty perch at the crowded streets of her home.

Corruption and sin surround us, and always have. It is our eternal duty to seek it out. Yet I fear that many who would undertake this task are themselves blind to the iniquity that surrounds us even now in the Church. We cannot allow our purpose to be sullied by any transgression from Tassada's servants. With your word, milady, I would join the Council of Purity. I would become an Avower. And I would do all in my power to ensure that those responsible for th Church's indiscretions - past and present - are brought to Justice.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 99):

"We thought you might desire that," Dinah says, handing Lyriel a strange-looking fold of fabric and a thin book bound in leather. "There are no meetings, no gatherings, no central organization. You will not know your peers. Read the book, and use the mask when you go about your official business."

Lyriel accepted the fabric and book with a bow, and made to leave. She would examine the book, and at her first possible opportunity continue her investigation. Seeing as her father was unable or unwilling to return from Tris in time for the speech, Lyriel would pay him a visit herself.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 101):

Lyriel finds it difficult to extract herself from her new duties, which are assigned to her part and parcel by the Emerald Champion. Wearing Dinah's crest of office -- a golden chain woven around a slender emerald crystal -- prominently upon her left shoulder, she is sent to a meeting here, an investigation there, a message somewhere else... it leaves little time for herself and her own errands, but it provides great insight about the goings on about Haedriel.

In less than a week, she finds herself being referred to as the Champion's Aide (by friends) and as "the greenhound" by political opponents. This opens many doors, but closes many others as conversations increasingly steer clear of controversial topics in her presence.

With her official duties consuming almost all of her time, Lyriel quickly found herself leading two lives.

The first was as the Champion's Aide, serving Dinah in whatever capacity the Celestial required. With the gilded green crystal of her office, Lyriel spoke for the Champion, who spoke for the Goddess.

And then, she was an Avower. With her face hidden from the world by a green and gold mask in the image of the Tassada Herself, she was justice incarnate. When she spoke, her voice was distorted. Harsh. Pure. When she walked, her cowled robe flowed and flapped like living flame, making her build impossible to ascertain. She was nobody. She could have been anybody.

It was difficult to say which guise commanded more respect, or more apprehension. For the first time in her life, when people looked at Lyriel they did not see a foolish girl playing at upholding her family legacy.

They saw fire, and justice.

Lyriel used both her roles to push for reforms within the Church. Specifically, the ecclesiastical records were meticulously examined for evidence of wrongdoing. Corruption was ferretted out, and purged publicly.

If we are to lead this world to a new future, we must wash ourselves clean of the sins of our past.

Never did she cease her efforts to build a case against those who condemned her brother to die.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 103):

Time has a strange way of passing. It ebbs and flows relative to the observer, yet remains constant and inexorable as it trickles by. Thus did Lyriel find herself torn between her two personas: Heiress Vesper, for whom the hours between her archival dives seemed to pass like molasses, and the Avower, for whom justice seemed to be dispensed too quickly to be truly commensurate to the crimes committed.

Neither woman was truly happy, as the first had yet to find the final elusive details behind her brother's fate while the second's heart grew a fair bit harder after each time a formerly respected official, clerk, or cleric was expunged.

The word was of her own devising, as it seemed to encompass the breadth of what was at stake better that "imprison", "execution", or even "heresy". The sins were not to be forgotten, and the sinner was not to be merely punished. They were to be eradicated, erased completely from the memory of the church. Expunged.

An endless cycle of nights and days passed -- Lyriel had long since stopped keeping count, and the hazy cloud of debris from Dinah's arrival made telling the two apart difficult anyway. The only way she really had to mark the passage of time was her daily ritual with the Emerald Champion.

Today was to be no different. She woke, ate, cleansed herself, and adorned her armor with the seal of the Champion before heading to Dinah's meditation chamber, inside of which, she knew, she'd find the Emerald Champion stripped down to her shift and seated in a kneeling position in which she rested upon the back of her legs. A large window dominated the eastern wall, and the Champion would look silently out to greet the dawn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:22, Fri 05 June 2015.

In reply to DM (msg # 104):

"Morning has broken," she said without turning around. "But has the Dawn arrived?"

In reply to Dinah S'daqah (msg # 105):

It was her routine greeting to Lyriel, and the cleric knew the appropriate response. If there remained corruption to expunge, the answer should be no. If not, then yes.

Lyriel opened her leatherbound book and glanced down the page to see the day's targets, and for the first time noticed that there were none. All known corruption had been taken care of... except for the matter of Eldric Vesper.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:05, Fri 05 June 2015.

No, mistress. We yet have work to do. With your leave, it is time I headed to Tris. There is one remaining sin left unpunished. One that sullies both our Church and its human allies.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 107):

"Go, then," she replied, still facing the window. "But return once you have expunged both sin and sinner. I would have you at my side when we march."

Such was her single-mindedness that Lyriel did not think to ask where Dinah intended to march. Nor, if she was being honest with herself, did she care. She would march where her lady commanded. But first, she would have Justice for her brother.

Less than half an hour after receiving Dinah's blessing, Lyriel was on the road to Tris.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 109):

Lyriel travels on the winds through the dusty skies toward Tris, taking care to avoid the main thoroughfares in order to better avoid detection. When there are no other options available, she is sure to hide her bright livery in order to better fit in with the local population.

She notices an uptick in military presence along the roads along with massive congestion as villagers have abandoned their dust-choked homes and their withering fields in favor of the increasingly crowded cities. Here and there she spies large tents with long queues from which the banner of Ma'or, Iganti, Hort, or even Tyblin flies, their clerics feeling compelled to help stave off famine and drought through their magics.

The Wardens are out in force both day and night, and she sees the courthouses and prisons swollen with those accused of petty theft, banditry, trespassing, and similar offenses. Recruiters can be heard telling hungry peasants that no soldier goes to bed hungry, nor do their family members -- to great success.

When she finally approaches Tris, she experiences a heart-pounding moment in which the winds escape her command. She plummets toward certain death from far above the ground, unable to cast even the simplest spell, only to be caught by a hooded figure mounted upon a wyvern and aided to the ground. A chill creeps down her spine as she notes that the figure's saddle is adorned with the eye of Cenadora.

"You've entered Imperial airspace," the rider says, not unkindly, after setting her down upon the road. "Magical transportation is forbidden within three days' travel of the capital, by order of the Empress."

He smiles at her and absently pats the back of his steed's neck.

"We've sent the edicts far and wide, but there's always some folks who haven't heard. Or who don't believe it. You're welcome to proceed by land, but I'd advise you not to cast spells beyond this point. Without the appropriate seals, it will go poorly for you."

Without waiting for a response, the rider and wyvern take off and hurl away into the skies.

Fortunately, the outlying village in which Lyriel will now find herself spending the night is not entirely abandoned. This close to the capital, it is quite the opposite -- teeming with far more people than it was meant to handle. Wardens and soldiers march past regularly to maintain order, but there are no rooms available for hire. Even camping is regulated, with patches of land divvied up and rented by the night for miles in each direction.

A glance at the sky indicates the onset of night, and even here the wilderness held dangers.

OOC: Staying the night, exploring, or pressing onward on the road? Or shall you attempt spellcasting despite the warning. Choice is yours!

Under normal circumstances, Lyriel would have wanted to press onward through the night, especially given the loss of magical transportation. Instead, she opted to spend the night in the town and attempt to learn more about the situation in Tris before charging into it headlong.

Settling her glamor into a more suitable riding dress and cloak, she opened the door to the tiny tavern heavenly over-capacity with weary travelers. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed her way to the bar. At this point, even a farmhouse ale would do.

She would address the issue of not having lodgings or a horse later. The massive quantity of gold hidden away in her pouch would likely help significantly in that regard.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 111):

Lyriel has little trouble purchasing a horse for the journey, and is soon galloping off toward Tris heedless of the weather, the setting sun, and her relative helplessness without magic.

All goes smoothly for a few hours, though she eventually slows to a more manageable pace to ensure the horse will be able to survive the trip. The sky is still choked with debris, the haze of which obscures moon and stars alike to create a blanket of darkness in which even her elven eyes have trouble discerning much at a distance.

Thus, she is more surprised than she should have been when she finds herself rapidly approaching what appears to be a wagon parked horizontally across the road. The wagon has no horses or oxen, though there's a tether meant to hold them, and a man is standing in front of the wagon watching her approach.

"Road's closed for the night," he calls out when she gets close enough to hear him. "The next few miles are mighty dangerous, especially for a lady traveling by her lonesome.

He walks toward her and moves to take her horse's lead.

"For $1,000, I'll be happy to guide you 'round the worst of it. Paid in advance, of course. Whaddaya say?"

I think I'll take my chances, she says, voice civil, but cold.

Without waiting for reply, she spurred her mount forwards, intent on making here way around the roadblock.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 113):

"Suit yerself," he says, releasing the lead to avoid being dragged along with the horse as it barrels toward the roadblock.

"You heard her, boys!" he says, raising his voice and cupping a hand to his mouth, "She's taking her chances, is she? Let's teach the lady that gambling is a sin."

Four men leap out of the wagon. Two are armed with swords, one with a club, and the fourth with a bow.

~~ Disposition ~~
Lyriel finds herself sandwiched between the speaker (behind her) and the wagonload of men (in front of her). Overgrown weeds and grasses obscure vision on either side of the road, though a horse could plow through them without much trouble. Probably.

~~ Initiative ~~
Speaker
Lyriel
Assorted Thugs

The speaker waggles his wand with a measured swish and flick, and a lance of blue-green energy tumbles from its tip and vanishes into the ground at his feet. Almost immediately afterward, the same energy fires upward from the ground at Lyriel's horse's feet.

[Casting: Hold Animal vs Horse Will Save (fail)]

The beast whinnies, shrieks, and stiffens -- completely paralyzed. Lyriel struggles to make a ride check but, lacking the skill, finds herself dumped unceremoniously on the ground after the sudden stop.

Mercifully, her reflexes are such that she lands on her feet... but there's still the matter of the thugs to contend with.

"Price just went up, sweetheart. $10,000, and you're free and clear," the speaker says with a cocksure grin. "Best to pay up, 'less someone winds up hurt."

He grins cruelly.

"Don't worry if you don't have that much on ya, either. You're pretty enough. I'm sure we can find a way t'make up the difference, if need be."

The thugs chuckle, but do not lower their weapons.

Try it, Lyriel said in a low voice, and join this horse as a gelding.

The priestess twists her signet ring as she draws her longsword.

[Barkskin: +2 AC]

She assumes a defensive stance, keeping her back to her frozen horse to avoid being flanked. She considered drawing upon her magic, but didn't want to attract the attention of the Order unless she had to.

We'll do this the hard way.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 115):

The thugs take a step back as Lyriel's skin (what little of it is exposed, anyway) hardens under the effects her of magic, but only for a moment. Then, they charge.

The three melee thugs quickly close to a 180˚ semicircle. The horse prevents flanking, as Lyriel intended, but it also makes her easy to pen in.

The first swordsman slashes twice, testing Lyriel's reflexes.

[Attack (Lyriel): 21, 9]

The second swordsman also slashes twice, with similar results.

[Attack (Lyriel): 25, 24]

[Total Damage (Lyriel): 16]

The clubman hesitates, furrows his brow, and attempts to smash the cleric's swordhand.

[Improved Disarm (Lyriel): 17 vs 26]

The blow connects, causing the thug to smile in a way to makes you wonder if he's normally successful with this maneuver, and Lyriel's sword clatters to the ground at her feet.

The archer calmly nocks an arrow, remaining just 30 feet beyond the combat, but does not fire it.

[Readied Action (Attack if the answer is No)]

"Had enough? You're spirited, but you're beaten. Yield."

The cleric looks at him with murder in his eyes, and he looses the arrow.

"Ok then."

[Attack (Lyriel): 18]

The arrow zips past her and buries itself in the poor horse's flank.

"Technically, that's on you," the archer grins, drawing another arrow.



The speaker puts his wand away and fishes out another one, but takes no other action.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:43, Mon 22 June 2015.

Lyriel rolled her eyes in frustration. Clearly she should have kept up better with her swordsmanship drills. Eldric would have disapproved.

Flinging up her arm, a roaring explosion of fire erupts directly in front of the speaker. Then it becomes clear that the roar is not just the sound of fire.

A monstrous figure wreathed in flame rises from the impact, looming up to tower over the speaker. The figure roars again, bringing a massive fist down onto his head.

[Damage: 21]

[Reflex Save: Fail]

He then catches on fire.

Calcifer, take care of this rabble, she says dismissively.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:57, Mon 22 June 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 117):

The fire elemental is only too happy to obey, igniting and incinerating the men one after another. The speaker hastens to swap wands yet again, this one causing him to utterly vanish. Soon, all that remains of the bandits is their wagon and the charred bodies of four ne'erdowells.

~~End Combat~~
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:09, Mon 22 June 2015.

Oh no. You don't get to just walk away.

[Greater Command: Approach]

[Will save vs. DC 21: 12]

Come.

Her voice boomed supernaturally loudly over the flames.

She heard trudging footsteps approaching slowly, reluctantly, but inexorably. Compelled by the power of Tassada. In the greenish light given off by Calcifer's flames, she saw footprints in the dust of the road come to a stop before her.

Drop your weapons and trinkets.

Several wands, a dagger, and a maul fell into the dirt before her. She kicked them away.

She cast two spells in rapid succession, one to strip him of his enchantments, and the other to rebind him. The bandit leader became visible, secured by emerald bands of energy. His skin was bruised and singed, and parts of his jerkin still smoldered.

You don't get to walk away, she repeated. Her voice, though barely louder than a whisper, seemed to fill the highway.

The bandit spluttered and simpered before her, begging to be let go. That he would maker her rich, share the profits, that he knew people, that he'd never do it again, that he'd leave the Empire and never come back.

Silence.

She strode over to the wands laying in the dirt, sinking down gracefully to pick them up. She twirled the thin staves of wood in her manicured fingers, idly examining them.

Paralysis. Invisibility. To be able to render your victim helpless, do as you please with them, and then simply vanish. Sin without consequence. Did it make you feel powerful? Did it make you feel like a man?

She slipped the wands into her pouch and sauntered over to the bandit. He tracked her with terrified eyes, unable to move his head. Lyriel leaned in to whisper in his ear. Let me tell you a little secret, she murmured softly, almost seductively. Lyriel gestured to the fire elemental behind him and the charred corpses littering the highway. This is true power. The power of righteousness. Power used to punish evil, not to prey upon the weak.

She took a step back and cupped his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes.  What would you have done, I wonder, if I actually was what I seemed. A young lady traveling the highway, without money to pay for your extortion. What would you and your men have done?

The bandit cast his eyes down, unable to hold her gaze. Her voice turned cold as ice. No need to speak. I already know.

She turned on her heel, putting her back to the bandit. Melt him, Calcifer. He disgusts me, she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Lyriel tapped her horse with the wand, dismissing the paralysis even as she healed them both of their wounds. By the time she was in the saddle, the screams of the bandit had died away, leaving only echoes and ash.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:57, Tue 23 June 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 119):

Lyriel makes the rest of the journey unimpeded, though every bird she sees soaring through the skies makes her wonder if it's actually a far-off wyvern watching her movements and waiting to punish her use of magic within the no-cast zone.

Not that she was particularly worried about suffering any consequences. It would appear the directive against magic was not enforced in a way that made casting difficult or impossible, a fact which rendered it irrelevant to her.

After all, who could hope to prevail against the will of the Goddess?

Three days after taking to horseback, Lyriel finds herself riding toward the main gate of Tris. The mighty walls and parapets stand tall, with soaring banners fluttering in the breeze. The haze from the asteroid continues to dominate the sky, a fact that would have troubled her more if not for her singleminded focus on the task at hand.

She is stopped at the gate by a pair of Wardens holding a rod of some kind.

"Papers?" one says in a bored voice, while the other motions toward her with the rod. The gesture is nonthreatening, but irksome nonetheless.

Lyriel handed the guard a folio with her documentation and fiddled with the reins impatiently while she waited to be waved through.

The horse whinnied, doubtless hungry after the hard ride, and not for the first time Lyriel found herself regretting the absence of Stony.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:34, Tue 23 June 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 121):

The guard rifles through the papers, pauses, then squints at them more carefully. Instead of handing them back, he gives them to his colleague.

"Says here you're a citizen of Hae'driel, miss," the guard says calmly. "Are you aware that the Empire's diplomatic relationship has changed in regards to its rebel vassal?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:45, Tue 23 June 2015.

I am aware, Lyriel replied frostily, that Hae'driel is no longer a vassal, but an equal ally of the Empire. But tell me Warden, what bearing does it have here? Are Gaelian merchants not permitted to walk your streets? Are the gates of your city open only to those who bend a knee to your Empress?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 123):

"The Empress disagrees on many of the particulars," the guard replies easily. "Mostly the bit about being an equal, and the other part about being an ally."

The second guard chuckles at this, still holding Lyriel's papers and an iron rod of some kind.

"We consider the city-state to be in active rebellion, and its citizens have had certain Imperial rights suspended until the matter is resolved."

"Gaelian merchants are welcome here, yes, but Kordican merchants are not. For reasons too tedious to get into here, you'll understand."

He glances at Lyriel and her steed for a moment, puzzled.

"If you're a merchant, what -- and where -- are your wares? Depending on what you're selling, you may need a permit. And we'd need to know where they were sourced from. Environmental regulations, tariffs, you know. The usual."

I never said I was a merchant, Lyriel replied, arching her eyebrow. I'm here as a private citizen to see my father, who lives in Tris and has for the past half century.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 125):

"Hmph," the guard says, frowning slightly. "Is he expecting you? He should have told you that you'd need a visitors permit, given the city you call home and the current political climate."

The second guard walks over with a large scroll and a quill pen.

"Can you write, miss? If not, Chauncey here will take notes while you dictate. We need you to fill out a form before we can let you in."

The form consists of simple questions (name, DOB, business in the city, length of visit, who've you seeing, where are you staying, did you bring anything illegal into the city, are you a traitorous rebel bent on stirring up dissent and dissidence, etc.)

Provided Lyriel answers the questions, the guards return her papers and admit her. If she does not... well, we'll cross that bridge if it comes to that.

Of course I can write, Lyriel snapped, reaching for the forms. She filled them out with terse responses in Common. For the length of time she indicated two weeks. She returned the papers, biting back the urge to ask the wardens if they could read.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:13, Wed 24 June 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 127):

"Easy now," the guard says, returning her papers. "Not everyone's as fortunate as you, it seems. Enjoy your stay."

They move out of the way.

Lyriel spurred her horse onward into the city along the familiar lanes and avenues that led to her father's official residence.

I wonder how Alana is doing with all the changes here...

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 129):

Lyriel makes her way toward her father's official residence, but is puzzled when no one greets her at the door. Indeed, the door is locked, and the windows are darkened such that she must assume that no candles glow within. The garden looks well tended, though the first sprouts of weeds are beginning to show themselves between the rows.

Lyriel frowned in confusion, producing her copy of the estate key from within her pouch.

She opened the door with a well-oiled click, and stepped inside the foyer.

Father? Alana? she called out.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 131):

When there is no response, Lyriel quickly sweeps through the elegant apartment estate. Nothing she sees makes sense.

There is a table setting for tea for two, complete with kettle, though the contents have long gone cold and neither cup seems to have been poured into. Warm, spoiled milk sits nearby, as does an assortment of stale biscuits.

A tiny but noticeable amount of dust has built up on the countertops and other horizontal surfaces, and the fruits and veggies in the larder look overripe to point of becoming rotten. More interestingly, her father's sword which once hung above the mantle is missing from its place upon the pegs.

Alanna's room is as disheveled as the rest of the home, with clothes strewn upon the floor and bed. The rows of books lining her bookshelf has two gaps in it, which is particularly odd since Alanna had never shown a proclivity for reading anything. Lyriel cannot tell what the missing tomes might be, however.

The only room Lyriel cannot enter is her father's bed chamber, which is locked and bolted.

A bitter taste filled Lyriel's mouth as she surveyed the house. By the time she examined Alana's room, her pulse was pounding sickeningly. Alana always kept her room fastidiously clean, especially her clothes.

Somebody had clearly been searching for something in a hurry. After jangling the latch to her father's chambers uselessly, a near-panicked Lyriel grabbed a heavy iron candelabra from the library, and in a series of frenzied blows, bashed the locking mechanism clear off, leaving the door to swing creakingly inward.

She entered her father's chambers, hoping to find something - anything - to help her make sense of the situation.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 133):

The door splintered and collapsed under Lyriel's assault, and she found herself looking at a disaster area that made the rest of the house look organized by comparison.

The master suite opened into a small sitting room that connected directly to the bedroom, from which several smaller rooms that served as closets and the privy were directly connected by hall-less doorways.

Lyriel pushed her way into the sitting room and noted that the white leather couch was slashed, torn, and splattered with rust-colored stains the cleric instinctively knew were blood.

The tapestries that once adorned the walls were balled up on the floor, and the canopied four-poster bed was blackened and charred by some sort of fire. The closets had been smashed open and their contents had been strewn across the room, though nothing particularly interesting seemed to be laying around in the open.

The trail of blood continued along the stained carpeting, culminating in a gush of rust-colored gore splashed against the wall furthest from the door. Nearby, something glittered faintly on the ground.

Lyriel's heart caught in her throat when she recognized the object: her father's sword, its hilt and crossguard caked with dried blood.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:36, Tue 21 July 2015.

Lyriel's breath started to come in sharp, ragged gasps, and her vision swam. Flames began to crackle around her as rage welled up inside. With an iron will she fought to regain control of her emotions, bringing the facts before her into razor sharp focus. Her rage abated, bottled up and held in check by the dire need to think clearly.

She looked at the bloodstains. No bodies. Either nobody was killed, or the bodies were moved. Given the state chaotic state of the bedroom, it seemed unlikely that somebody was trying to hide evidence, so the former seemed most likely. Who won, then? Father, or his assailant?

That question proved much more difficult. The patterns of bloodstains, hacked furniture, and footprints made little sense. The doors to the bedchamber and house had both been locked, clearly after the fight. Valuable items were missing, but almost everything of obvious worth to a burglar was left behind, including all of the silver as well as Alana's expensive wardrobe most of her jewelry.

Not a robbery, then.

Whoever won had left in a hurry, taking with them very specific things and trying to keep quiet. The fact that the house was undisturbed meant that the City Watch had not been alerted. So either the neighbors hadn't noticed anything...or they had been paid off.

Taking a moment to gather her wits, Lyriel stooped to pick up her father's fallen sword. Wiping it free of dried blood, she went to return it to its sheath but couldn't find it. Instead she made do with wrapping it in some spare linens and stuffed it into her pouch.

Before she left the estate, she took a detour to revisit Alana's room. Her eyes caught on the upended and scattered jewelry box. One notable absence stuck out: the matching amethyst necklace and earrings Lyriel had gotten Alana for her coming of age ball. Lyriel knew her sister had it with her when she left for Tris.

A lump rose in her throat, and the priestess' eyes hardened in determination. Father...Alana...I'm coming to find you.

She departed the estate, drawing up her hooded traveling cowl around her face and locking the door behind her as she left. She located a nondescript inn in the Riverside District, hoping to lose herself amongst the thronging merchants, sailors, porters, whores, and dockworkers.

The city was swollen with refugees, and after tersely negotiating an astronomical rate for a tiny and barely furnished room she wouldn't have paid more than a silver for under other circumstances, she collapsed into the room's single chair. After taking a moment to struggle once again with her rising emotions, she took a wooden box from her pack the size of a cigar box.

Inside were three crystal hourglasses. The largest had globes the size of her fist, and the smallest was scarcely larger than tincture bottle. Upon the top of each was inscribed a different price. Without hesitation, she removed the smallest and most expensive, twisted the top, and set it on the grimy windowsill.

Grains of sand almost too small for the eye to catch begin to trickle to the bottom of the hourglass, sparkling as they caught the afternoon light through the smeared glass window. Lyriel prayed to the Goddess that Carn would come quickly.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:58, Wed 22 July 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 135):

The Goddess, it would seem, continued to smile upon Lyriel, for her prayer was answered with surprising haste. Just two days after turning the enchanted hourglass, a familiar figure eased its way into the booth across from her in the boisterous warehouse-district tavern in which she had made her temporary quarters.

As before, the figure was dressed in oiled leather of a strange design that seemed to fit no fashion Lyriel was familiar with. She noted once more the prominent scar running down the center of his left eye, and his fur-covered skin, which was dark as midnight.

She is again struck by his panther-like appearance, with human ears and no tail but slitted yellow eyes, a flattened nose, and white, sharp teeth.

"Good to see you again," Carnaue smiles, the expression somehow entirely without warmth. He extends a hand covered by a fingerless glove, into which the cleric places the hourglass, and peers at it for a moment before returning it to her. "The pitch'll cost $5,000. We'll talk rates afterward."

He looks at her with an unblinking visage that's all business while the cleric slides a bag across the table. Without touching the bag or even bothering to count or appraise its contents, he nods.

"What do you need done?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:14, Fri 24 July 2015.

My sister and father are missing from their home, Lyriel replied, and then continued to relate the circumstances she found at her family's estate.

I need them found, and rescued. Lyriel had to believe that they were both still alive.

And then find whoever responsible for attacking them. They will be brought to ruin.

The priestess locks her gaze onto Carn, watching him take in the information. Before he replied, she held up a finger.

With one caveat. I cannot bear to idle in this wretched tavern a single moment longer while my family is in danger. I come with you.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 137):

"No."

Carn's voice was flat, but firm. It was the tone of a man unaccustomed to dissent.

"Even without your clanking steel, you are too loud. You cannot pick locks, nor climb sheer surfaces, nor tuck yourself into the shadows at a moment's notice."

He cocks his head to one side, appraising her.

"Worse, you are beautiful. People will notice you. Some will stare. Some will go out of their way to speak with you. Those who do are generally the sort you'd want to avoid. You'd be like an attention magn-"

Carnaue stops and smiles thoughtfully.

"On second thought, you may come with me. But I will not die for you. You will do exactly as I say, and you will pay me in advance. $1,000 a day, as before, payable one week at a time, up front. If these terms are acceptable -- and if you have $7,000 on you -- we can begin immediately."

Lyriel, having expected Carn's rates, immediately hefted over a second measured bag.

Let us begin.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 139):

The pair begins by returning to the scene of the crime, as Carnaue wants to examine the area for himself in search of clues. They arrive at Lord Vesper's estate shortly after noon, and ease their way into the outer garden and then into the foyer.

Carn quickly goes to work, pacing the length of the downstairs area before turning toward the staircase. He perks his ears, cocks his head to one side, and narrows his eyes. Then he ascends the staircase in absolute silence, his expression turning serious as Lyriel watches as a dagger spring into his hand as if from nowhere.

Lyriel hurries to follow Carn, but when she glances up the staircase, she can see nothing at all except the staircase, Alana's room, and the ruined door to the master bedroom. Nothing seems amiss, and there is no sign of Carnaue from where she stands at the bottom of the stairs.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:54, Fri 24 July 2015.

Lyriel's drew her own dagger, albeit without such sleight of hand. She made to follow Carn, eager to prove that she was more than a distraction, but even she recognized her inability to climb the stairs without making noise in the dead silence of the mansion.

Instead, she backed quietly into a corner of the foyer where she could see the stairs and the front door. She drew her cowl up, and altered her clothes glamour to a shapeless cloak the exact pattern of the wallpaper behind her.

There she waited, every muscle tense in anticipation of...something.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 141):

Lyriel waits in the foyer for what feels like an eternity. Every sound in the house is amplified by the waiting, and at various intervals she could swear she heard a weapon leaving its well-oiled sheath, soft footfalls, creaking floor planks, and rustling curtains. Which were real and which were imagination, she couldn't say.

An agonizing 5 minutes pass before a definitive sound can be heard: a muffled WHUMP, a surprised yelp, and the ear-splitting sound of shattering glass. A moment after that, a much louder CLANG can be heard -- as though something metallic had fallen upon the cobblestone streets beyond the garden.

A panicked male voice can be heard from upstairs at this point.

"Halt! You're under arrest, in the name of the E-"

A gurgling sound interrupts this train of thought, and a series of two clanking THUMPS can be heard that are consistent with an armored man falling to his knees and then to his face.

"Your family's made some friends, it seems," Carn says, appears on the top of the staircase as if from the ether. His dagger is nowhere to be seen. He glances around the room briefly before focusing on Lyriel's location in the foyer.

"Clever," he says with a smile that appears genuine. He jerks a thumb toward the door. "Come. We've got what we came for, but we need to be gone from here. Quickly. Quietly can wait."

With that, Carn heads for the door.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:08, Mon 27 July 2015.

Lyriel opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Pausing only long enough to alter her glamour once again to nondescript street clothes, she rusheed out of the estate on the heels of Carn.

Once they were far enough away, they paused to catch their breath. What...what happened? she panted.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 143):

"Imperials," Carn growled, leaning against the wall of the dark alley into which the pair had slipped. It was precisely the kind of location Lyriel had been taught to avoid her entire life, which she supposed made it the perfect place to duck into the shadows for a breather.

"I don't think your visit the other day went unnoticed... and they weren't there to talk, either. One of them tried to shackle me."

He rubbed his wrists reflexively and narrowed his eyes into slits.

"Him, I threw out the window. The other one I would have simply knocked out, if he hadn't been so blasted loud."

Carn spits into the dirt.

"Didn't realize the case was so hot. Shoulda raised my rates. But you paid for a week, and a week's what you'll get."

He looks around the corner of the alley carefully, then steps back onto the street.

"At least they made our next step an easy one. If Imperials are involved, we need to pay a visit to the Wardens. Happen to know any, or shall we do this the hard way?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:22, Mon 27 July 2015.

Lyriel's eyes widened and the pulse of her heart quickened at Carn's words. Imperials!

That made everything much, much more complicated. But if the Empire was trying to hurt Father and Alana...then they would burn like the rest.

None in Tris. Hard way it is.

She took a final breath and straightened up. Let's go.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 145):

The pair make their way to the central office of the Wardens, where the plan of attack involves (to Lyriel's surprise) walking directly into the lobby.

"We'd like to speak with a Warden, please," Carn says to the clerk behind the counter. He smiles disarmingly, somehow the perfect picture on nonchalant inquiry.

"Do you have an appointment?" the clerk replies, opening his large ledger to scan the appointment logs. "I can probably squeeze you in sometime tomorrow afternoon, if not. Your names, please?"

Carn drums his fingers upon the countertop, unperturbed.

"We don't have an appointment, Mr. Franklin," he says, glancing down at the nameplate resting on the desk for a moment. "But the matter cannot wait. It's a 47-B."

"Is it?"

Carnaue nodded, and 10 minutes later Carn and Lyriel found themselves in a quiet, sparsely appointed office deep within the facility. They were sitting in plain wooden chairs at a plain wooden table, and a different plainclothes clerk was seated on the other side. He had a quill, inkpot, and ledger with him, and his expression was all business.

"Article 47-B," the man began, steepling his fingers as he spoke, "is a rather archaic piece of the law code meant to be invoked only when it concerns information related to an eminent terrorist plot or act of war upon Imperial territory."

He glances at Carnaue and then at Lyriel, his expression remaining severe.

"Before I bring in the appropriate personnel, I am obliged to warn you that if this conversation does not rise to that level, you will both be guilty of committing a serious crime. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

Carnue nods, and the clerk glances at Lyriel.

"Miss?"

Of course, Warden, Lyriel said, nodding. We wouldn't have bothered you if it wasn't of the utmost importance.

Just what are you playing at, Carn?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 147):

The clerk shrugs, walks over to the room's only door, and opens it to admit a pair of interesting figures. The first is a spindly, elderly man with silver hair and a steel gaze, while the second is a stumpy dwarf chomping on a cigar.

Neither are in uniform, but both wear a Warden's badge pinned to their mismatched jackets.

"I'm Juarez, and this is my partner, Sanchez," the dwarf says, flinging the door shut as he saunters into the room. His older companion says nothing at all, but leans against the wall behind the chair in which the dwarf sits. The clerk you were speaking to earlier is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm a busy man, with places to be and things to do. Threats to assess and guard against. You know, Wardening."

He inhales deeply from his cigar and blows out an unshaped blob of smoke.

"So you have 5 minutes to convince me you're not wasting my time. Go."

"Of course," Carn replies, his tone easy and his posture relaxed. "My associate and I have reason to believe that the Empire -- or agents purporting to represent it -- have spirited away the good Lord Tolliver Vesper and his daughter, Alanna. Given that Lord Vesper is the Highborn ambassador to Tris and understanding the current regional tensions at play, it seemed like the sort of thing you'd want to know about."

"Mmmph," the dwarf grunts, savoring another pull from his cigar before responding further. "And who's to say we don't?"

"That would set a dangerous precedent," Carn retorts silkily and somehow without judgement. "Or is the Empress now in the business of arresting the diplomats and dignitaries of vassal states, along with their families?"

"I didn't say that," the dwarf responds. "Let's talk evidence. What makes you think Lord Vesper didn't take his daughter and get the Hells outta town? It's what I'd have done, with Haedriel in full rebellion and all. Not a good time to be an ambassador."

Carn and the dwarf trade verbal barbs here and there, with Carn outlining the crime scene and the dwarf asking pointed questions about various aspects of it. Throughout it all, Lyriel can't help but notice that the silent man standing behind the dwarf is looking directly at her, and seems to be paying attention to nothing else.

"... and that's why, if you suspect Imperial activity, it's best to just leave things be," the dwarf was explaining when Lyriel tuned back into the conversation. "Unless you've got proof of fabricated licenses or badges, you know what I'm saying? I appreciate your citizenly concern, I really do. We won't press charges for wasting our time, but this belongs in a missing persons report file. What do you think, Sanchez?"

"I think it was damn decent of them to come in," the thin man says quietly. "But a missing persons report would be more appropriate here."

***

They filed the missing persons report and the burglary report with the clerk on their way out, and in short order were seated on a park bench not far from the Warden's complex, watching the pigeons beg various passers-by for scraps of bread.

"It wasn't the Empire," Carnaue said at last. "At least, not officially. That's what I wanted to find out."

He cracked his knuckles idly and glanced at Lyriel.

"But did you notice how Sanchez never took his eyes off you?"

The cleric nodded.

"He recognized you, and he wasn't surprised to hear our story. So we're going to follow him home tonight and see what else he knows. Could get ugly, but hey... that's life."

***

Sanchez left the complex alone not long before sunset. They carefully followed him down various streets until they ended up in a neighborhood that Lyriel was surprised to learn she recognized. Silently struggling to control her anger, she watched as the man came to a stop before one of the most elaborate gated estates in Tris: the in-city seat of House Mason, into which the man was admitted without delay.

Of course it comes back to House Mason, Lyriel hissed under her breath with barely-suppressed rage. Flames began to crackle once again along her hands and arms, and it was only after a sharp glance from Carn and a good ten seconds of ragged breathing that she was able to get herself under control. Fortunately, hidden as they were, nobody seemed to notice.

Blasted Order and their meddling. As if they have any right to restrict or monitor the power of the Goddess. If it wouldn't draw the immediate attention of every mage and hedge-wizard in the city, I'd tear this house apart brick by brick.

She took a deep breath, exhaling through her nose. For now, we do this your way, and keep my magic as a last resort. At least until we know more about their spells and wards, and how long it will take the Order dogs to come running.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 149):

Carnaue observers the estate for several minutes, obviously lost in thought.

"You might like my way this time," he says at last. "It's refreshingly direct."

He motions toward the estate's front door and smiles.

"The Masons are friends of the family, yes? You've just arrived from out of town, and have found your family's home here to have been ransacked. They don't know that we know they're aware of our encounter with the Wardens today."

Carnaue smiles slightly.

"So, do what a family friend would do. Walk up to the front door. Knock. Ask for a place to stay, since your place isn't safe. See if they have word of your father or sister. Don't believe a word they say, of course, but look sincere."

He glances at the estate again, eyeing one of the higher windows with a calculating look.

"Between juggling the Warden and you... and keeping both of you from knowing the other is there... I should think they'll be distracted enough to allow a less welcome guest to take an approach that would normally be risky."

"If you don't like the plan, you can also stay here. But I am trying to make the best of your demand to accompany me... and besides, you might learn something from what they tell you. Or from what they omit."

Lyriel nodded in agreement. Yes, it's time to get to the bottom of this.

The priestess adjusted the glamour of her dress once more, altering her appearance to one more in keeping with her station. A fashionably refined but durable forest-green riding dress sprung up around her, covered partially by a light amethyst-trimmed capelet. She took a deep breath.

"Don't worry, if things go south, you're my client. I've got your back," Carn said from the shadow of an alleyway.

I'm never worried. So does the Goddess. Lyriel narrowed her eyes. And if they have the audacity to silence me, they'll find I'm a much more formidable opponent than a crippled old diplomat and an eighteen year old debutante.

Throwing her shoulders back, she stepped briskly to the Mason Estate, pulling on the bellcord. A scant few heartbeats later, the door was answered by the Mason's butler, Benson. His surprise was betrayed only by an almost imperceptible raising of his eyebrows, but as always, he was impeccibly polite.

"Priestess Vesper, a pleasant surprise. Please do come in. Shall I inform the household of your arrival immediately, or would you care first for refreshment?" the butler asked affably, beckoning her inward with a perfect bow.

Thank you Benson, but if you would, inform the Lord Mason straight away. I have concerning news, she replied evenly.

Thanks to Bill and Derek, the Masons likely knew that Lyriel was no damsel in distress, and any attempt to play that part would likely be seen as the ruse it was. Instead, Lyriel decided to opt for the most believably course of action when it came time.

Righteous indignation.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 151):

"I'm terribly sorry, Priestess, but I'm afraid the good Lord Mason is occupied with a rather urgent caller at the present," the butler says, his posture, tone, and demeanor betraying nothing. "Would you prefer to await him in the parlor or in your usual suite upstairs? I am absolutely certain he will see you at his earliest convenience, and until then, know that I am at your disposal."

Lyriel thought for a moment. The suite, if you please. I'm afraid I must impose upon your hospitality. I will eagerly await the Lord Mason at his earliest convenience. As I mentioned, the news is both urgent and dire.

The priestess was well familiar with the Mason's guest suite. The luxuriously appointed rooms were more private than the parlour. And more importantly, had only one entrance.

She followed Benson to the chambers, where he left her with light refreshments. After surreptitiously scouting the suite to ensure that she was, in fact, alone, she settled down into the overstuffed armchair facing the door. She poured herself a glass of the deep-red wine brought by Benson, and waited.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 153):

Lyriel was well into her third cup of wine by the time Benson returned, his posture the image of poise and grace.

"If you would be so kind," he demurs, "the good Lord Mason has requested your presence in his study."

Lyriel rises to follow, and the butler leads her carefully up the steep, meticulously clean stairway.

"Lord Mason would want you to know that he meant to greet you in person, but his knees aren't what they used to be," Benson intones stiffly. "Age is a tireless devil that can only be held at bay for so long, he says."

The pair make their way across the next hallway and come to rest before a large wooden door with an ornate knob of brass. Benson inserts a key into the lock, turns it, raps on the door thrice, and opens the door without stepping inside himself.

"Priestess Vesper to see you, sir," he says, motioning for the cleric to enter the room.

"Ah, Lyriel," a strong voice cracked by age responds. "Please, do come in."

The cleric obliges, and Benson shuts the door behind her before returning to his duties elsewhere.

The room is unchanged from Lyriel's memory: a fireplace with two chairs on one side, a wide window on the other, overlooking the estate. Several bookshelves line the walls, and an enormous desk dominates the portion of the room before the window itself. Piles of paper -- all neatly stacked and organized -- rest upon the desk, mostly ledgers of expenditures and profits.

Standing behind the desk is Lord Mason himself, an elderly gentleman with brown eyes, graceful wrinkles, and silver hair growing around his temples, encircling his otherwise bald head like a crown. He is dressed in formal attire and leans lightly upon his cane, the head of which is emblazoned with the House Mason seal.

"So good to see you," he smiles sadly. "I'm sure you haven't received the warm welcome from Tris that you deserve, given the local troubles, but despite these hard times, I hope you know you still have a friend in House Mason."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:20, Thu 27 Aug 2015.

Lyriel's heart began to hammer as she stood face to face with the man who, ultimately, was responsible for her brother's death. Her fingers twitched at her side. How easy it would be to reach out her hand and incinerate the good Lord Mason...to bring this sorry tale to a conclusion.

But it wouldn't be enough. House Mason had stood by her family for generations. It wasn't enough to simply punish the evildoer. She had to know why Eldric had been sacrificed.

She was jolted back to the moment by the look of sudden concern on Lord Mason's face. Anger colored her face and quickened her pulse, and she knew that hiding her wrath would be impossible. She was not Zuriel, to bottle up her emotions inside to conceal from the outside world. If the ruse was to continue, she would need to sell it as she was.

At last she forced herself to nod curtly in acknowledgement of his welcome. Somebody has broken into my family's estate in Tris, she said, voice quavering in anger. They attacked Father and Alana, and now they are missing.

Lyriel withdrew her father's blood-stained sword and plunked it down on Lord Mason's desk with a heavy thunk.

If ever House Vesper needed the aid of your family, it would be this hour.

The priestess continued to shake, praying fervently to the Goddess that Lord Mason would attribute it to her distress, and not an accusation.

Not yet.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 155):

"Oh, no," Lord Mason says, drawing back from the bloody blade with an aghast expression on his face. "That's terrible news! Sit down, sit down, you poor girl."

He motions to one of the chairs by the fireplace, and slowly walks around the desk toward her, offering his arm to help support her toward it.

"Have you alerted the Wardens? They're really the best people to contact regarding missing persons, home intrusion, and burglary. I can summon them, if you'd like, but first we must see to your health. Benson?!"

He claps twice, and the door swings open to reveal the butler standing at the ready.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Benson, please fetch some chilled icewine and mineral water. A pitcher of each, with several glasses."

"Yes, lord."

Benson silently departs, and the door swings shut behind him.

"You are welcome to stay here, my dear, while you are in Tris," Lord Mason continues, staring into the oddly cold flames in the fireplace. "I just saw your father the other day, though I haven't seen young Alanna for weeks. Perhaps they have taken an impromptu journey into the countryside or something to escape the bustle of Tris. An ill-timed journey, given the break-in, but I've learned not to panic about these things too quickly."

When Benson returns a moment later with the offered refreshments, he does not come alone. Two men Lyriel had hoped to have left far behind sweep into the study with him. The slighter of the two carries twin blades at his hips, while the larger man is completely unarmed, and neither are armored.

"I'm sure you recall my grandson, Sir William Mason, and his stoic, barrel-chested companion, Derrick Redsmith," Lord Mason says, motioning for Benson to shut and lock the door behind him.

Derrick folds his arms and leans with his back against the door, while Sir William sweeps over to the remaining chair, kissing Lyriel's hand in the process.

"So good to see you again," Sir William says as he adjusts his swords and plops into the second chair. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

His smile dies when he notices the priestess's disposition. Despite her facade, it is clear that something's bothering her. He turns to Lord Mason in confusion.

"What's going on?"

"An unfortunate coincidence, we hope," Lord Mason replies, leaning against the desk with his back to the large window. The sun is just beginning to slip beneath the horizon, painting a picture of rosy pinks and oranges across the cityscape behind him. "Priestess Vesper has just arrived from out of town, only to discover that her father's home has been ransacked and its occupants missing."

Lord Mason motions to the sword laying upon his desk.

"Awful," Sir William says, though his tone suggests boredom or perhaps amusement at the notion. "And the Wardens have no leads?"

"We haven't asked. When's the last time you saw Lord Vesper or young Alanna?"

Sir William frowns and furrows his brow.

"A few days ago, in the gardens," he says at last. "They were arguing about something, so I excused myself after a cursory hello and continued on my way."

Lord Mason nods, then turns to Lyriel.

"Was anything missing from the house, dear? They seem to have left a valuable sword behind. Perhaps there is more to the burglary than it seems."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:14, Tue 01 Sept 2015.

Lyriel shook her head sharply. It was no simple burglary. The place was ransacked, yes, but none of the valuables are missing. At least, nothing of obvious interest to a thief.

She pursed her lips. Lord Mason was lying, of course. He obviously knew of the break in before her appearance- from the Warden informant, if not from his own involvement. He knew not just of the break-in, but also of that Lyriel had already been to see the Wardens.

The priestess gazed at Lord Mason, his face drawn in compassionate concern. He's a marvelous actor, I'll give him that...I could never match such effortless deception. She needed to keep him talking. Each lie that passed his lips painted a picture as to what he was trying to hide. And he couldn't think that she was being anything less than completely forthcoming with him.

As far as I could tell, a few things were missing, she admitted, but it was things like books and other random objects. Nothing that made sense.

She blew out sigh of genuine frustration. I told as much to the Wardens, but they said there was nothing they could do. Directed me to fill out a missing person report with barely so much as a 'good day.' She looked down, noticing that she was clenching her wine glass so tightly that her knuckles were white. With effort she forced herself to relax her hand before the glass shattered.

It was no burglary. It was an attack. And the Wardens simply can't be bothered to care.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:36, Thu 03 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 157):

"The Wardens have a lot on their plate these days," Lord Mason says soothingly. "But I agree, their lack of concern for the well-being of such an important government official's self, family, and property is alarming. And unacceptable."

He purses his lips for a moment.

"I have some friends among the Wardens," Lord Mason continues. "They will hear of this, I assure you. We shall have the investigation and, ultimately, the justice that this situation calls for, my dear. You have my word."

Lord Mason puts his fingers to his temples wearily.

"William, if you would be so kind as to -"

An enormous, unmistakable CRASH at the doorway interrupts him, and the world seems to turn in slow motion as everyone in the room turns toward the unmistakable sound of swordplay.

Derrick, who had been leaning against the door, raises an eyebrow and glances at Sir William and Lord Mason in turn. The former shrugs, the latter nods, and the bear of a man exits the room.

"It's not the way I would have preferred we do it," William says, rising to his feet and loosening the blades worn on either hip. "But it's possible we've solved your mystery, Priestess."

Lord Mason's dark expression stands at odds with the whiteness in his hand, which is gripped so tightly around his cane that it almost seems to have become a part of it.

"I will not be held hostage in my own manor," the patriarch says simply. "Especially not through fear. Let's see what all the fuss is about."

He turns to Lyriel.

"Don't worry, my dear. We'll have this sorted shortly."

With that, Sir William and Lord Mason head for the door.

Lyriel grabbed her father's sword from Lord Mason's desk, and stormed out to follow the three men. I'm far from helpless myself.

Magic or no.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 159):

The sound of steel on steel grows louder as the group hurries upstairs, following the noise to the observatory -- the topmost floor of the manor, which consists of a single large room ringed by reinforced glass windows on all sides and on the roof.

The door stands partially ajar, and there's no shortage of shouting.

"Stand down, you cur! I'll see you irons!" an older voice demands, loud and full of authority.

"And that line of reasoning tends to work for you, does it?"

This second voice belongs to Carnaue, and soon the clanging of metal ends with a sickening squelching sound -- accompanied by a gurgling scream.

This is the point at which William kicks open the door and rushes in, swords drawn. Lord Mason and Lyriel follow closely behind, but all three arrive just in time to watch a series of events that is already in motion by the time they arrive.

The room is large and ringed with windows, with various pieces of furniture, artwork, and shrubbery scattered here and there. A powerful telescope dominates one side of the room, but for once it is the least interesting thing to be seen.

Carnaue stands near the eastern wall of windows, the elderly warden from before standing within arm's length. The warden's back is to the door, and the Felar's wicked-looking blade is currently plunged so deeply into the warden's stomach that the tip is protruding through the gap between the spinal cord and the left kidney. Derrick, who must have arrived scant moments before you did, stands not far from the doorway, his eyes wide.

The following events occurs simultaneously the moment you grace the scene:

1) Derrick, lacking a weapon, lowers his shoulder and barrels toward Carnaue, bellowing all the while.

2) Carnaue places a foot upon the Warden's chest and uses the leverage to execute a back-flip that simultaneously withdraws the sword from its fleshy sheath and catapults him toward the window behind him.

3) Derreck slams into the Warden, carrying both the older man and himself into -- and through -- the reinforced glass. The pair plummets out of your line of sight.

4) Carnaue's backflip completes its trajectory, carrying the Felar through the now-empty window pane.

"Derrick!" Sir William exclaims, charging toward the window.

Lord Mason looks too stunned to act.

Beset by a curious calm in the midst of the carnage, Lyriel's form shimmered and split as she was swept into the winds. Floating out the window, she followed the trajectory of the warden and Derrick.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 161):

Lyriel slips out of the window, floating past Sir William, who stands gripping the sill from the inside and peering over it to the expansive garden below. Her vantage point shows Derrick lying flat on his back, limbs splayed spread-eagle. The Warden has just finished picking himself up, and dashes deeper into the garden (away from the manor) while yelling something. Carnaue is nowhere to be seen.

Lyriel's eyes track the fleeing figure of the Warden in disbelief. He took a blade to the gut, a fall from five stories, and took off running...

The Warden she'd leave to Carnaue. There were more direct ways to get what she needed. Lyriel floated down to the crumpled form of Derrick. As she dismissed the spell and materialized, she bent down to check his pulse.

She craned her neck back upwards to look at the young William Mason, framed in the shattered window.

You'd better get down here quickly, she called up gravely.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 163):

William nods and disappears from the window. Less than a minute later, he arrives at Lyriel's side.

"Derrick, you... you idiot! When I said you had a thick head, that's not... it's not an invitation to..."

He shakes his head sadly at the large man's prone form.

"How bad is it?" William says, glancing at Lyriel. "Is he... I mean, can you..."

William looks at a fixed point in the distance and closes his eyes for a moment to regain his failing compsure before turning to face Lyriel.

"Can you help him?"

The tone is certainly a question, but part of it is pleading, too.

"There... must be something we can do?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:24, Tue 15 Sept 2015.

He's broken several bones. Arm, leg, and at least one rib. If his spine isn't damaged, he might even be able to walk again, Lyriel said with an air clinical detachment and breezy indifference. Of course, his mind might be addled beyond aid. Either way, a fall from such a height...without the immediate aid of the Goddess he'll never be the same again.

Lyriel stood, dusting off her robes as William's face turned from pleading to stunned disbelief. I could heal him, of course. But I'm having a hard time coming up with a reason why I should.

The priestess' eyes hardened to emerald chips of stone. If you want Derrick to ever truly recover, then tell me, 'Sir' William Mason.

Where. Is. My. Family?
This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Tue 15 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 165):

William blinks sadly as Lyriel describes the various ailments that might have befallen his companion before recoiling at her final statement.

"Your family? Haedriel, I thought. Unless you're asking... but why... I don't understand."

He glances up toward the manor, and then back at Derrick's limp form.

"A friend and ally lies there, dying, and you're using these precious moments to... to accuse me of having something to do with whoever ransacked Lord Vesper's estate?!"

Sir William clenches his left hand into a fist and uses his right hand to whip one of his twin swords from his side, leveling it at Lyriel's throat from a five-foot step away.

"I will tell you what you want to know, priestess," he says, whipping his blade away to point at Derrick's body. "Heal him, and I'm yours to command. I will search every tavern, travel the world, to find the information you're looking for."

He narrows his eyes slightly.

"You had the willing cooperation of a friend before. Now, you will have the devotion of a debtor. Just help him, for pity's sake. HELP HIM."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:38, Wed 16 Sept 2015.

Lyriel stared down Sir William, undaunted by the bare steel he held.

Don't patronize me 'Sir', Lyriel spat through clenched teeth. Lives are on the line, so let there be honesty between us.

The priestess waved behind her in the direction of the Warden's flight. That particular officer of the law was the one who took my report at the guardhouse. Brusque and dismissive he was, but I could tell he was hiding something. Imagine my surprise when following him led me directly here. Yet you claim you know nothing. Lyriel's cold tone clarified exactly how unsurprised she was. Shimmers of fire began to flicker once again around her. Your grandfather already took Eldric from me. I will not let your family claim another I love! she hissed in a voice as low and dangerous as the faint roaring of an approaching inferno.

So I ask you one last time, Sir William of House Mason. Where are my Father and sister?
This message was last edited by the player at 15:42, Thu 17 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 167):

Sir William spends long, agonizing seconds waging an internal battle of some sort, and sags a little as the eventual victory deflates his posture. He sheathes his weapons and opens his mouth to speak.

"That is a galling accusation, Miss Vesper."

The voice was not Bill's, but Lord Mason's. Bill whirls around to see his grandfather emerging from the manor's front door. Benson followed at his side, carrying a silver dish on which rested what appeared to be a refreshing tonic and a wooden stirring implement.

"Stand down, Will," Lord Mason continued, his voice dangerous and flat. "Before you say something you'll regret."

Bill glanced at Lyriel for a moment, then obeyed, taking a few steps backward to crouch defensively at Derrick's side.

"Grandfather, she thinks we had something to do with Eldric. That's the stupidest... we would NEVER have been involved with something like that! And to now refuse to heal Derrick because of it?"

Lord Mason glances at his grandson impassively, then turns to Lyriel.

"Oh, I wager she will. I can appreciate the need to assert yourself, my dear, but you've planted your flag in foreign soil," Lord Mason says, taking the drink from the tray and stirring it gently with the accompanying stick.

"Thing is, you're making an awful scene. And we have appearances to maintain."

He takes a measured sip from the cup.

"So here's what's going to happen, Miss Vesper. You are going to heal Derrick -- and do the job well enough that he can perform the Luger Waltz with his eyes closed. You are going to quell those formidable emerald flames and bottle them again afterward. And then you are going to follow me back into the manor, where we can discuss these matters with more civility than schoolyard bullies armed with truncheons."

Lord Mason raises his bushy white eyebrows.

"Mind you, if you should fail to do any of these things, in the order in which they have been prescribed," Lord Mason says, glancing into his cup as he swirls its contents with infuriating ease. "Then, my dear, I fear it is quite possible that you would awaken an only child tomorrow morning."

"How devastating would that be for you, I wonder? And for your poor mother? Tch, tch. I can only imagine."

Lord Mason replaces the drink on the tray and motions toward Derrick.

"I'm done threatening the innocent and the defenseless if you are, Miss Vesper. Shall we get on with it? That's a good girl."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:20, Mon 21 Sept 2015.

Lyriel's eyes narrowed, and for once, her face blanked of any and all visible emotion. The fires wreathing her vanished in the blink of an eye with no guttering or fading. The flames simply were, and then they were not.

In place of all the priestess' burning rage was a sudden, deadly calm.

So be it.

Kneeling curtly by Derrick's side, she extended tendrils of emerald energy, probing the extent of his injuries. A broken rib, a collapsed lung, dislocated shoulder, pooling of blood in the brain - the searing energy of the Goddess began to burn away all defects in a rush of flame. Derrick came to in a gasp of pain as the magics began to take effect on his shattered body.

Lyriel rose, leaving Will to tend his fallen companion.

Mason.

The patriarch of the house, who had begun to turn back inside with a bemused smirk, was brought up short. There was no rage, no bluster in her words that followed. Merely a promise, spoken in the cold, clinical tone of one stating objective fact.

If you've harmed them in any way, I will personally drag you to the Hells, and cast you body and soul into the Abyss.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 169):

Lord Mason says nothing, instead returning to his study with Lyriel nearby. William remains outside with Derrick for the time being, and Benson returns to whatever tasks await him.

Once back in the study, Lord Mason shuts the door and returns to his desk. He breathes deeply, holds it in, then exhales quietly in a long whoosh of air.

"Have you seen it?"

The is a pause, during which Lord Mason cocks his head to one side.

"The Abyss, I mean. Have you been there?"

I have. It is not a place one forgets, nor one I would care to revisit. But for you, Lord Mason, I would make an exception.

Her fingers tingled, picking up the hint of latent magic in the air. She guessed that whatever Benson had mixed for his master, it wasn't merely a refreshing beverage. But it was irrelevant now.

She locked her gaze with the aging patrician.

Why?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 171):

"Because I need to know that you're going to understand what we're about to discuss. Until you have seen the desolation, heard the anguished shrieks of the damned, and smelled the charnal stench of the Abyss for yourself... you can't really know."

Lord Mason opens a drawer of his desk and withdraws a slender letter opener made of what appears to be blackened ivory. This, he idly taps against the surface of the desk in seemingly random intervals.

"You have several burning questions, it seems," he says after a moment's hesitation. "You want to know where your father is. Where your sister is. Who ransacked your father's estate, what they took, and why they took it."

Lord Mason looks Lyriel in the eyes, his flat, flint-gray gaze never wavering.

"Those are the easy questions. They are here. They are safe. And I do not know."

He holds Lyriel's gaze before continuing.

"You want to know the truth about Eldric, too, though you seem to have an answer to that question in mind."

Lord Mason sighs.

"Tell me, Miss Vesper: If learning the truth meant diminishing your brother in your eyes, would you still wish to hear it? Would you not prefer him to remain a lionized symbol of chivalry, grace, and compassionate justice?"

He holds up a hand, palm facing the cleric.

"If you must know, you must. And I shall tell you. You're here, and already seem to have discovered more than is prudent. But I'm warning you, once you know the whole truth, there can be no turning back. It is a crushing burden, and one that everyone who's ever loved you has attempted to spare you from."

Lord Mason lowers his hand and rests it upon the table.

"Your father. Your mother. Your brother. Even me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:53, Fri 18 Sept 2015.

Nothing you can say will diminish who he was and what he meant to me. Nor make your responsibility in his death anything less than murder.

She pointed a manicured finger accusingly at Lord Mason. Know that if you weren't holding my family hostage, I'd bring you the Goddess' justice here and now.

So tell me, Lord Mason. What explanation could you possibly have in which you are not a murderer, extortionist, and traitor to your friends and allies? In which you are not a monster?!
This message was last edited by the player at 15:22, Fri 18 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 173):

Lord Mason tap his fingertips against the table in slow, smooth succession, a wry expression transfixed upon his features.

"Do you want answers, Miss Vesper, or vindication? Don't bother answering, my dear, for the verdict has clearly already been decided. So much for justice."

He brings his hands together, steepling them at the base of his chin.

"The charges levied against me, then, are murder, extortion, treason, and... how shall we characterize the monstrosity charge? Ethically challenged? Morally flawed? Those aren't even crimes, even by the Flame's standards. You have to steal, kill, rape, spy, plunder."

Lord Mason narrows his eyes slightly.

"Or blaspheme. But, in words I'm sure you can relate to, we all serve as we must."

He lowers a hand to the letter opener of charred bone, lifts it, and uses it to carefully unseal a document withdrawn from one of his desk's lower drawers.

"I am about the read a series of letters, Miss Vesper. If you would be so kind as to refrain from burning anything until I finish?"

***



***



***



***



***



***



***

"So you see, Miss Vesper, your father and I were prepared to manage this little... indiscretion. But your mother, alas, cannot be controlled. You can see it there in black and white. When she threatened my grandson, I knew I had no choice. Your father had no way of keeping her in line. It was a blunder that sadly cost your brother his life... though, if I know the Flame, his death would have come about sooner or later regardless of my intervention."

Lord Mason carefully moves the letter opener from one hand to the other.

"If you still wish to mete out the justice your father declined to provide, I cannot stop you. But I would like to propose a bargain for my life, to absolve my sins in yours eyes for my small role in this matter."

He holds the letter opening higher, turning it slowly so Lyriel can get a good look.

"I have spent no scant amount of resources learning the identity and, yes, the very location of the demon currently in possession of countless souls belonging to the Vesper line. Your brother's among them. Give me your word -- swear by the Goddess and on your brother's soul -- that you will not harm me, and that you forgive me in this matter, and that knowledge will be yours."

Lord Mason sets the letter opener down and deflates a bit, eyeing Lyriel with what looks to be masked nervous trepidation.

"What do you say? My life for your brother's soul, and countless others, in place of your vengeance? It seems a good deal to me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:38, Tue 22 Sept 2015.

Lyriel listened in stunned silence as Thomas Mason read letter after letter, each adding missing pieces to the mystery that was her brother's death.

In retrospect, it all seemed so obvious. Eldric's eccentric views on justice and the role of the Flame, opinions she had warned he be discreet  about voicing, could have branded him a heretic if heard by the wrong ears, or in the wrong context. And it was true that Eldric had lacked any interest in their mother's matchmaking. Nor had he ever pursued lasses of his own choosing. Lyriel had wondered about that, of course, but had been certain that Eldric would have confided something so profound to her. After all, since as long as she could remember they had always shared all their secrets, hopes, and dreams.

Or so she had thought.

A sudden awful thought occurred to her, and the unfamiliar unease of doubt settled into her stomach. Oh Eldric...why didn't you tell me? Didn't you know I wouldn't care one whit who you loved, human, man or otherwise? You foolish, foolish boy. You're my brother, and I'll love you no matter what...

By the time Lord Mason got to Eldric's letter, tears were silently streaming down Lyriel's face. She immediately snatched the letter from his grasp.  Don't. Don't you pollute his words to me with your poisonous tongue.

She struggled to read her brother's words through her tears, and found herself sitting without remembering ever finding a chair. She read her brother's words, set down in a letter she had never received, three times. When she was finished, she looked up.

So why take Father and Alana now? Haven't you already hurt my family enough?  she whispered in a hoarse voice, cracked with anger and hurt.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:36, Tue 22 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 175):

"There are several reasons for that," Lord Mason replied evenly. "The first is that they are currently viewed as enemies of the state, and would be rotting in an Imperial holding cell if not for their timely disappearance from the city. My spacious suites are far more luxurious than the accommodations they would have otherwise received."

He stands, keeping the letter opener with him at all times.

"The second, of course, is more pragmatic than altruistic. I suspected you might be coming here, though you made far better time than than I expected. And you already knew more than I predicted. You're quite the accomplished detective, Miss Vesper, when you put your mind to it."

Lord Mason glances at the cleric for a moment.

"And the third is the recent robbery. The Wardens have been instructed to keep careful watch over the scene and leave it undisturbed, in case the perpetrator chooses to return. They were also to immediately report any new information to me. That is why my friend was here earlier. I feared that perhaps your father and sister would be more than uncomfortable in an Imperial cell. I feared they might be unsafe."

He matches Lyriel's gaze and holds it.

"And I seem to have been right about that. Whoever it was who broke into my home earlier was clearly looking for your father. I doubt a normal sentry would have been able to repel him; he looked to be a skilled footpad. Now that they know he's here, we may have to make other arrangements."

Lord Mason smiles slightly.

"You can see them, if you'd like. But I want to know about my bargain before we leave this room."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:43, Tue 22 Sept 2015.

Lyriel returned Mason's gaze waveringly. When Eldric had died, she had searched desperately for meaning. For some assurance that he had fallen in the service of some noble goal. But even back then, the condolences of the Church rang hollow, and Lyriel had begun to suspect that there was more to the story. So she followed the string of clues, inexorably chasing the truth to find...what?

Her brother had been intentionally killed because he didn't fit the mold of the perfect knight. Because he might embarrass the church for who he loved. Because her mother couldn't resist imposing her will on her family at all costs. Because her father couldn't stand up for his own family. And because Lord Mason, the man sitting before her, would do anything to protect his grandson, up to and including murdering his friend's son.

Lyriel felt sick to her stomach. This wasn't justice. The blame for Eldric's death may well be shared, but it still fell more on some than others. The man most responsible - Grand Marshall Anduin - already lay dead, mouldering, his crimes never having been brought to light. She felt so useless.

The man who gave the ultimate order, and the man who swung the sword were both  dead. But there was one person who had set the specific pieces in motion that took her brother away from her.

That man was sitting in front of her, alive. And her brother was not.

This was not justice.

No. Lyriel spoke, rising.

No. You will not be leaving this room. For all your excuses, your smug justifications, Eldric's blood is on your hands. My father may not have had the courage to stand up to anybody in his life, but I will not have that be my legacy.

Eldric deserved better.

She whirled into action, and a hissing jet of fire blasted from her fingertips, the backdraft scattering sheafs of paper into a whirlwind as the flames engulfed Lord Thomas Mason.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 177):

Lord Mason is engulfed by the searing flames surging from Lyriel's fingertips, but the man cries out in neither alarm nor pain. When the torrent of emerald energy has expended itself, the priestess finds that her fiery tendrils are instead lapping merrily at Lord Mason's undamaged clothing, as though he were wearing a mantle of flame.

"Disappointing," Lord Mason says dryly, "though not surprising. Benson makes a clever tonic when he puts his mind to it, wouldn't you say?"

The elderly man raises his letter opener -- a knife of blackened ivory -- and jerks the tip in Lyriel's direction without actually releasing his grip on the blade. The weapon glistens like an oil slick, and the flames dancing across his shoulders are yanked from his body and hurling in the priestess's direction.

Or, rather, past it. The ball of energy strikes the fireplace, and the hearth erupts in a hearty blaze of crackling black-green flames that smell hauntingly like sulfur.

"Now that we have that out of your system, I think it's time to compose yourself, Miss Vesper. Look around you! I'm not some Serpentsworn blaggard threatening peace and stability. I'm not a common thief or a roving vagabond. And we are not in the dark, dangerous woodlands or the marshes of Drynn."

He stands up straight, his voice defiant.

"I am Thomas, Lord of House Mason. We are standing in Tris, the heart of the Shining Empire. I am guilty of nothing but defending my family with the very zeal that now consumes you. And you are making a big mistake. Stand down, Miss Vesper. Let us put this sordid affair behind us. We cannot change the past, but together, we can forge a better future. What do you say?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:05, Tue 22 Sept 2015.

To hell with you! Lyriel snarled, drawing her father's sword. I don't need fire to bring you to justice!

Lyriel leapt forward, swinging her sword down in a vicious downward arc. Lord Mason jerked back more quickly than she would have expected a man his age capable of, and the blade only bit shallowly into his shoulder.

He lunged forward inside her guard, but the priestess' combat reflexes kicked in, and she instinctively caught the forearm holding the knife with her left hand while delivering a brutal blow to his forehead with her pommel. Lord Mason reeled back, age finally catching up to him. The elder man gasped and sagged against the wall, face white and eyes dazed. Feebly he held a hand up in a futile attempt to ward off her next blow. Lyriel lifted her sword to strike, but a motion caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

Lyriel's stared at her reflection in the mirror above the drink alcove, but did not recognize the tortured creature who gazed back, bloody sword raised to kill. She took an involuntary step backward, and a burning piece whirled past her head. As it flit by, she could make out her brother's elegant penmanship. Panicked, she snatched the smoldering letter from the air, desperately attempting to put out the flames. But even as she reached for it, parchment crumbled to ash in her hands, leaving only Eldric's final words to her.



Lyriel looked down in horror at the old man writhing in pain below her, broken and bloody by her hand.

Goddess, what have I become?

Her sword thudded to the ground as she clutched the charred remains of the letter to her chest, tears streaming silently down her face.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:52, Thu 24 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 179):

"It's n-... it's not my.... my blood you want, g-girl," Lord Mason wheezes, pulling himself painfully to his feet by bracing heavily against the wall behind him. He clutches the knife carefully, bringing it to bear above the weeping priestess before hurling it with all the pitiful strength left in his body.

The blade whirls through the air in a clumsy end-over-end arc that takes it past Lyriel and into the blazing hearth, where it disappears in a burst of purple-green flames.

The stench of sulfur intensifies, and the flames expand to encompass a man-sized hole before the fireplace and the mantle -- a tear in reality that beckons elsewhere.

"G-go. Find your de-demon, and leave an o-old man to l-lick his wounds. This should t-take you right t-to it. B-break the c-curse, if y'can, but hurry, be-efore it's..."

His eyes widen as he looks past Lyriel, past the fireplace, and at the doorway behind them.

"Too late? Tch, tch, Thomas. I'm appalled. I've been here for 30 seconds, and it was too late long before then, by the looks of things."

The voice belongs to a gaunt, middle-aged man with short, graying hair. He wears an outdated set of purple robes and an unpleasant sneer.

"What in the gods' collective name is going on here?" the vistor continues, banging the solid staff upon the ground to emphasize his point. "The magic emanating from this dwelling is quite literally off the charts. It's unacceptable. And I expect some answers."

Neither the wheezing Lord Mason nor the sobbing Lyriel are in any position to respond, and when answers do not prove to be forthcoming, the man saunters further into the room to investigate the smouldering portal.

"And what's this? An abyssal passage? I'd ask if it was licensed, but such permits simply do not exist."

The mage plants himself squarely before the portal and puts his hands on his hips.

"I'm afraid that tears it, Thomas. Your entire estate -- and everyone in it -- is hereby placed under arrest via the Magical Disarmament Act. As a lawfully appointed representative of the Order, you will remand yourself and your household to my custody until further notice. Anything you say can and will be used against you once we remit ourselves to Astria."

At this point, a dagger materializes in the man's staff, the blade buried mere centimeters away from the hand gripping the shaft.

"I expected Order filth to show up sooner or later," Carnaue's voice hisses as his form oozes into existence from the shadows near the doorway. His eye is narrowed into a dangerous slit, and his words are practically spat from his mouth. "Hear me, slaver: Nobody is going to Astria. Not today. Not ever."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:56, Fri 25 Sept 2015.

Lyriel's eyes widened as she tracked the daggers flight, culminating the the explosive appearance of the portal. The yawning rift pulsed and wavered, appearing anything but stable. Before she could even make sense of the phenomena, however, the arrival of the Order mage pitched the whole scene from chaos into bedlam.

Carn, you have to get my family out of here! My father is crippled and my sister is only eighteen, they won't survive the Order's imprisonment! she said frantically as twin jets of flame sprang up in her palms. Please, get them someplace safe from all this madness, they'll pay whatever you ask!

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 181):

"Whatever I ask?" Twin blades materialize in the Felar's hands from nowhere, and he nods almost imperceptibly. "That's bad news for you, mage."

He takes a slow, stalking step toward the wizard, who rolls up a sleeve and sneers.

"And why is that, beast?"

Carnaue continues to slip closely, tossing the blade in his left hand casually in the air and catching it again, creating short, controlled flips.

"Because you didn't bring a leash with you," Carnaue hisses silkily. "Because I'm going to cut you into tiny, tiny pieces. I'm going to bury your voice box, mage. I'm going to feed your liver to the pigs and your kidneys to the strays. I'm going to tan your hide into thin strips of rawhide leather, and string them with your hair and teeth. I'm going to flay your cheeks and make you floss with your own intestines. I'm going to make you pluck your own eyes from your skull, pop them into your mouth, and chew them with what remains of your broken teeth and bloody gums. You're going to beg for death in whispered gurgles, and one day, if you're really lucky, I might allow Darilen his due."

His approach has brought him close enough to the mage to stage-whisper in his ear.

"And I'm gonna do it all for free, just because it's you."

The mage, now trapped between Carnaue and the portal, takes a nervous sidestep toward the window. With his attention entirely fixated on the obvious threat, Lyriel finds herself faced with a clear pathway to the Abyss.

Lord Mason is silent apart from ragged gasps of breath, though it is clear that it has not escaped his knowledge that Lyriel knew Carn's name... and seemed to have a contract with him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:16, Fri 25 Sept 2015.

Lyriel nodded to Carn.

Summoning her willpower, she uttered a single word. Dumah-

If the mage had a reply, it was cut off as every single sound in the room was silenced. Even the pounding of blood rushing in her ears and her own heartbeat was stripped away in an instant. The room took on a surreal quality as motion transpired without sound to mark it. In one smooth action, Lyriel bent down to grab her father's sword, stuffed Eldric's crumbling letter into her robes, and leapt through the portal.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:33, Fri 25 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 183):

Lyriel's vision swirls and blurs as she disappears into the Abyssal portal. Though she cannot hear the cackling, chittering, and wailing associated with the Hells, the priestess can nearly FEEL them as she shifts back into focus.

A quick glance through the quivering portal behind her shows the mage taking a hurried leap from the window, following swiftly by an impossibly fast Carnaue. The view is clouded and choked with ash, and moments later all she can see is the barren hellscape on the opposite side of the portal... or, rather, the area where a portal once stood.

The moment the portal collapses into ether, the horrible sounds of the infernal round snap to life, omnipresent and terrible. One sound in particular catches Lyriel's attention -- a low, growling sound, coming from immediately behind her.

The priestess whirls to see a pack of four demonic creatures that look an awful lot like twisted wolves. Three are growling at her, while the fourth is slowly backing away, a knife of charred ivory clutched tightly in its muzzle.

Lyriel takes stock of her surroundings to assess her options. The ground is barren and rocky, and she appears to be on a rather narrow mountainous trail that extends north and south at a 45º angle. To the east, the trail drops steeply off toward a sea of churning lava and bile. To the west, the solid rock of the mountain hems her in.

The wolf-like hellbeasts are to the north, and further passage uphill would require you to pass by (or through) them.

I need that! Lyriel snarled at the hellhounds.

[Casting: Holy Smite]

A blinding explosion of pure divine energy erupts from a point between all four demons.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 17:02, Fri 25 Sept 2015.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 185):

The demon dogs yelp and wimper and scamper away, leaving the knife laying in the middle of the ground.

"Μπορείτε φοβάται τα κατοικίδια ζώα μου . Αυτό δεν ήταν πολύ ωραία"

The voice comes from further up the mountain trail, and Lyriel's eyes widen as she takes in the sawtooth glaive and the long, jagged beard. It could be no other than a barbazu.

It plants the butt of the glaive on the ground and glowers at Lyriel, as though awaiting an explanation.

It wouldn't do for her arrival in the hells to be discovered before she was prepared. Casting out her hands, a brilliant emerald inferno blazed into existence, engulfing the bearded devil and his four hounds in divine flame.

[Casting Flame Strike]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 187):

The sizzling blast deals significant damage to the hounds, all of which limp off in various directions as fast as their charred legs can carry them. The knife falls to the ground about 20 feet from Lyriel.

The devil, however, appears only harmed enough to be angry. He brandishes his weapon and charges at Lyriel, deftly using the glaive to slice deeply into her swordarm. The impact burns with a horrible stinging sensation, and the devil grins wickedly in approval.

Lyriel gasped more in anger than pain as the blow landed, and she danced forward through the devil's guard.

Calcifer! she called out in an echoing voice, and her faithful fire elemental materialized with a roar behind the devil, smashing him with fiery fists while Lyriel threatened an attack with her father's blade.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 189):

The devil whirls to fend off the elemental threat, leaving his back exposed to the cleric as he hacks at the column of living flame attempting to bludgeon him to death.

Seizing on her opening, Lyriel lunges, thrusting her sword deeply into the devil's exposed back.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 191):

The devil cries out in anguish and whirls suddenly, the jerking motion ripping Lyriel's sword from her grasp even as she tumbles to her knees in surprise. The weapon remains in the devil's torso, buried to the hilt and slick with blood -- given the burning ache in her shoulder from the first blow and the disparity in their respective heights from her new vantage point, it is entirely out of her reach.

The flame elemental sizzles behind the devil, poised to assist, but Lyriel's eyes are locked on the devil's impending overhand strike. Her eyes widen as she realizes that it will be too slow to stop the wretched glaive from landing on her exposed head.

She fumbles for something she might use as a weapon, and her hands close around the hilt of the discarded letter opener.

Pitching forward onto one knee, Lyriel drove her dagger into the devil's forward leg, hoping to sever the ligaments keeping it upright.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 193):

The knife blazes with a black-blue vengeance when it enters the demon's body, and the creature unleashes a hideous, pitiful scream. Black blood flows from the wound, entering the thirsty dagger as though it were drinking from a straw. In moments, the bearded devil is nothing but a shriveled husk, and it falls to the ground, dead.

Lyriel stared in shock at the knife, eyes darting back and forth between the blade and the desiccated corpse it caused. Gingerly she tucked the dagger into her belt, where it could be easily reached.

And just why would Thomas Mason need a weapon like this, I wonder?

Pulling herself to her feet, Lyriel returned her father's sword to it's scabbard. Taking a look around at the path, she elected to continue the trail upwards.

Come on Calcifer, she called to the fire elemental ambling around in mild disappointment with such short-lived enemies.

We have a demon lord to kill.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 195):

Lyriel heads off into the Abyss, her mind filled with equal parts purpose, dread, and determination.

***

After weeks or perhaps even months of wandering the Hells -- vanquishing countless terrors but never finding the one for which she longed -- Lyriel scaled a particularly craggy mountain only to confronted with a curious shape in the valley expanded beneath her.

It was a building of some kind, elaborate in scale, make, and measure, surrounded by an spiked wall and topped with an unmistakable belltower. She could even hear the throbbing undulations of the bells if she strained to listen past the ambiance screams and demonic echoes of the realm.

She set her teeth and began the long trudge toward the castle-like structure, happy to have a clear destination for once and certain that she would at last find answers within.

With some effort, Lyriel cut her way through the demonic guardians -- noting with grim satisfaction the Serpentsworn banners carved into the walls and woven into the banners surrounding it. Had her brother been taken by one of Kazul's lieutenants? Perhaps her vengeance could serve a greater good after all... at least, a girl could dream.

She fought her way into the cathedral, using the demonic dagger to simply undo any lesser hellspawn who drew within range. Like the other demons she'd encountered here, they quickly learned to respect the threat she conveyed, and would often back away, cowering and simpering, unless a taskmaster forced them to press the attack.

Upon reaching the doorway, she threw it open and entered the tattered remnants of once-great foyer. The walls were strewn with scorch marks and debris, and the innermost doors had been battered open by some past conflict.

No sooner had she entered the foyer, however, than the room began to shimmer and shift. The doors materialized -- whole and perfect -- and the debris vanished. Indeed, it was as though the entire building was made whole before her very eyes.

The priestess heard shouts and echoes and the clang of steel on steel in the room before her, and carefully creaked open the door... and her eyes widened at the sight.

Betrunked hellspawn were engaged in active combat with two lightly armored humans and one heavily armored human on griffinback. A celestial soared in the distance, and a wave of flames shimmered halfway across the room.

There was something strangely familiar about the whole thing, and she advanced cautiously toward the scene in confusion.

~~ End Chapter ~~
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:38, Tue 24 Nov 2015.