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.