Fable - Ask Portent of Predation

The nun gave each Dreadlord a curious glance, landing last on Miss Quinnick.

She craned her neck barely to one side, appraising the quiet girl. She looked young, even for a human, but was first to offer coin and--according to Zinia--had better chance of persuading the guard? Perhaps she came from a noble house or merchant family of some importance. Fascinating! and her lone "companion" to boot.

"Lead the way, Miss Quinnick." she said, affording the faintest smile.

In truth, she'd barely finished before making for the door. Despite the gravity of her situation, there was a slight bounce to her step now. She even managed to raise her voice just a bit for the others when she turned and said;

"Astra protect thee all, and stars light thine path."

And just like that, she was already on her way out the door, her porridge growing cold on the table.

Anything to slip from Dreadlord Zinnia's sight...

---

The morgue was not somewhere she was familiar with visiting, but Livia at least knew the general location of the Anirian Guard Offices well enough without her magic leading the way.

She had kept quiet during the walk, not at all in the mood for small talk or getting acquainted with the priestess Zinnia did not hide her suspicions of. As any trained Initiate of the Academy, the now Dreadlord Livia Quinnick kept an eye on the other woman, as her old classmate and friend had asked her to do.

"I had hoped it would be empty, given the hour." She frowned up at the single glow of light in the second storey. Perhaps with what was happening in this city, those involved in the investigations were putting in longer hours.

From a pocket, Livia palmed something small and concealed it into her fist. She had not wanted anyone to know her position within Vel Anir, that she was a Dreadlord employed by the Vigilite. It was lucky that she had a small token that would have the Guard be more inclined to help her without giving away her rank. A silver brooch had been fashioned for her once she had returned to Vel Anir after going abroad on behalf of the Republic. A mission that put her at the forefront as a human compass, an ability that was highly coveted for those that wished to have anything they could want and retrieved.

"Come along, then." She moved forward to the side door and gave it three sharps raps upon the wood. That brooch in her fist, at the ready to verify who she was without saying so before the priestess.

Lilette Blackbriar
Mortivore Urn
Reven
Zinnia

The priestess' steps were light and breezy with the little crowd far behind, and she saw no reason to break the relieving silence. Not yet, at least.

Still she kept her eyes on the streets and even rooftops silhouetted against the fading amber of sunset. One alleyway in particular--opening into a maze of backstreets--looked most appealing. The two women stopped and Lilette gave it a second glance when Livia seemed distracted with the window, her breath hitching.

Her heels turned just barely, but she stopped herself.

A bounty would only complicate things...

"Ah, indeed." she sighed, returning to Livia's side.

"Though, confessedly, I am relieved we shan't break in like common thieves."

Nevertheless she came as beckoned, curiously eying Livia's once-pocketed fist, very little going unnoticed in the dark around her. Shame the girl had closed her first before it ever left her pocket.

All she could do was squint, and peek out from behind the human.

"Uhm, Miss Dreadlord? what shalt we do if they don't let us in?"

---

Aske walked with Reven and Zinnia through mud-slathered streets, his broad and tall form moving like an unrelenting frigate through canals of exposed misery. More than one beggar's hand rose in plea; a rat catcher yelled his services at them obnoxiously; a drunkard swayed over for staggered conversation.

He ignored all these creatures of Vel Luin.

Until he didn't.

A reinforced door, halfway closed, presented an old crone in a scarlet shawl and robe. Beautiful trinkets and ornamentation lined her wrinkled wrists and weathered vesture. Her metals and threads were of simple material, yet their craft was immaculate. Rain-grey eyes sought the striding Aske, bracelets clinking from her half-hearted beckoning wave.

This time, he paid attention. He nodded towards the old woman, then turned to his companions, speaking to them confidentially:

"This one claims to have seen our culprit. But her memory may be . . . fragile."

The sole truth behind why he hadn't yet ripped the truth out from her. The delicate state of her mind had been plain to him, even without the use of his implements. Under duress, it could easily snap and break into pieces; a mirror shattering before he could catch the desired silhouette of the killer that it might reflect.


Zinnia
Reven

Walking with Aske and Zinnia through Vel Luin, seeing it freshly pissed on after the rain and looking now with a more attentive eye, Reven took in sorry sight of some of its citizenry. He wasn't much for city living himself—never had been, probably never will be. And, look now, he'd had this same thought many times before, but it always came back fresh whenever the occasion called: what kind of supposed dignity was this? Wasn't that what city-folk always prided themselves on? Being dignified, living in the jewels of their nations? Hell, take one look at some of these beggars, these rat-catchers, and say there's less dignity living out in the wilds like raiders did. That was Reven's thought. A man stood higher in the world the further he was from places like this.

Now Aske seemed to already have himself a bit of trail on their game, this in the form of an old grandma.

"Shame she's not some young hardheaded tell-man. Coulda roughed 'em up til we got what we want, if she were that."

Mortivore Urn Zinnia

Livia Quinnick Lilette Blackbriar

Sounds of muffled shuffling could be heard from within the office, the swinging of a lamplight within as someone moved about in response to the knocking. Then, someone descending stairs. The two women would have a moment to converse with each other, the footsteps drawing closer.

Then...

Shunk. Shhhhkk.

A slot on the heavy door slid open and a pair of tired eyes, sharp and blue in color, looked out at the pair.

"The local Anirian Office of Investigations is closed, madams," a harsh, feminine voice informed them. "If you have an emergency, I suggest you take it to the nearest guard tower. Otherwise, I'm quite busy..."

They would have only moments to make their purpose known before that slot was shut once more.

"I heard her speaking in the docks of it and approached her then. A silver bought some of her disarrayed story," Aske said, answering as if Zinnia had asked him how he had come to hear her story — and not how he knew her memory to be brittle.

Slowly, like approaching a deer that might startle, Aske moved towards her and the doorway . . .

Reven
Zinnia