In one shadowed corner, Lucidity Velderan sat in her wingback chair, elbows within the starched white sleeves of her blouse, perched upon the padded armrests with fingers steepled before her.  Her face, lean and austere to the point of possibly being deemed unbeautiful, took on a cast of gloom.  Something was eluding her.  She rose from the chair, and straightened the folds of her many-pocketed brocade vest before her booted feet began pacing the room.  The long aristocratic fingers of one hand seemed to debate the various aspects of the problem as her tall spare frame moved about the room.

"This is turning out to be quite the three stick problem," she mused to herself with a glance in the direction of the incense curling toward the ceiling from a stick in the corner.  Or, perhaps, she reconsidered, some fresh air instead.  A few steps took her to her dressing table where she gathered her red-brown hair behind her head, securing it in place with an ahkheg shell comb, and then donning her padded wool greatcoat, she departed 221 Baker Lane for the greater environs of Emon.