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?"