Nesia seemed like a glorious paradise to the nomads of the Gourim plains yet there was turmoil brewing inside the city. The council was admist a conversation when they recived the news, there was a murder in the Prince of Folgoth's apartment. When a cleaning maid was going through the building there was an odd liquid at the top of the stairs leading down to the cellar. Upon further investigation, she found the body of a young woman. The woman was an elf wearing too little clothing to have been a staff member. Rumors have been going around that the Prince had killed in one of his common fits of rage. It was already proven that he had put one of the staff in the hospital with several broken ribs, a detached retina and a three inch laceration in his thigh. The council has tried their best to hide this story but word always finds a way to travel.

Before this story reached the council, they were talking of trade. They were making trade for Folgoth expensive due to their taxes of Vibrium and the Prince had taken a notable stance on lowering the tax. Yet the King of Folgoth had other plans for Vibrium. The King had hired a rather shady Tortuskan to steal Vibrium for him. He said that the Tortuskan would have to bring in a weekly supply of ten pounds as soon as possible. It was a only an hour before the word of the murder reached the Council that the Tortuskan arrived on Nesia and departed the airship that brought him up, the Whitemane. His orders were to find his contact and get the Vibrium as quickly as possible. All he knew was that the contact was in the third tier of the city by a hotel called Bailan Heights.

Inside Inferno Hall, Siris Colburn was in his office going over three members. One was a member who had joined them only a few years ago, Abrellar Greenvall, a mage who was most likely metally unstable but very strong. He had lost his partner during a mission a few months back. The second was Bran Talanhart, Siris didn't know much about this man but he had been with them from pretty much the beginning. All Siris knew was that Bran was from Frocina and he was a damn good fighter. The third was a rather young an unusual young woman named Koremi Hiyoru. She was a Kitsune which was rare to find even in Nesia. So far she has shown some skill but she hadn't been on a real hunt yet. Siris had a plan for these three that would have to work out. "Cimon, call in these three people will you. I want to speak to them myself." Siris said to his assistant as he passed him the papers. This was goigng to be a very interesting mission indeed.

Meanwhile, the representative of Avrith and Garthet was pacing in his apartment. If the rumors were true, then he had much to worry about when around the Prince of Folgoth. It was common knowledge that Folgoth hates Avirth and Garthet. Sylian was more than sure that the Prince would be happy to leave his body in a pool of blood. For once, Sylian was happy that Avirth had sent a man with him to help with the restoration of Nesia to peace. Although, you really couldn't call him a he or a she for he was a Mirn. This man, as he prefered to be called, was Bale. He was to help the transition back to peace at any cost and could help protect Sylian should it be required. "Bale, might you come in here? I have something I must talk to you about." Sylian called out after opening the door to his room. This was going to be a longer stay than usual.

It was a busy day for the post office of the third tier. Messages were flying in and out of the office as word reached the people of Nesia of the murder in the Prince of Folgoth's apartment. Some were letters sent ot correspondents in other countries, some were sent to family members and others went to merchants who might be able to profit off of this event. One of the messangers, a young woman with pinkish purple eyes, was on duty this day sorting through the incoming and outgoing letters. It was tedious but a job that was to be done and rather well paying. The letter she sorted through were both important and useless. Then there was a letter with no outgoing adress and no return information. When she questioned her supervisor, he said that it was hers to keep. It was such a unusual letter inside a purple envelope with a blue band wrapped around it's center and sealed with a plain red wax. If it was hers to keep, then she might as well keep it for now.

"Cimon" would find Abrellar Grenvall to be in the midst of one of his usual comical escapades, standing atop a table in the building's drinking hall, waving his staff around from time to time. Faint illusions wandered about him, matching up to the (Obviously ridiculous) tall tale he was spinning for the amusement of the guild. His voice was soft, too old to reach over much noise, but most had learned to pay attention to what he said after his time there. His stories were good fun, after all.

"So there I was, sampling the greatest ale in all the kingdoms far, far beneath the earth in the underground city of Graggleflagger! Oh, how sweet the brew was, with just the right kind of burn, an aftertaste to leave a lordling wanting for more. But I dare say that the company.... Oh the company was better! Not like a normal inn or tavern, surrounded by pretty bar girls to try and grope and squeeze and get smacked by. No, down there they weren't the people you wanted to try and get grabby with youngsters! They were walking.... Talking..."

He paused for dramatic effect, before a pillar of flame shot up behind him, silhouetting the old man's frame with flickering shadow.

"BEARS!"

The old man doubled over as the flames went out, absently stomping a few tongues of fire out where they had caught the hem of his robe. He was wheezing with old-person laughter, somehow finding the tale of Graggleflagger brew and walking talking bears hilarious. Of course, Cimon hadn't come out early enough to hear the whole tale, so he probably just missed the punchline.

Soon enough, however, the old man was pulled away and set to Siris' office, hobbling into the room and giving a crooked grin to the man, dipping into a comical bow, apparently missing the fact that his robes had been hiked up at some point, putting his old man rear on display to the poor souls who might be anywhere behind him. Nasty.
"Youngster! Pulling an old man from his stories, better be something of greeeeeeaaaaat import."

He wiggled his arms at his sides as he stretched out the word great, limbs almost looking like rubber for a brief instant. Crazy old coot...

Bale was sitting comfortably in the apartment’s main living room. He was rather astounded by the lavishness of it all. Being chairmen in was not at all what he thought it would be. ’Still, It’s never polite to look a gift horse in the mouth’ he thinks, sinking further into the couch as he reminisced his travels to Nesia.

He had not taken to travel in airships well, motion sickness quickly setting in. There was something about the floating vessel that threw his equilibrium for a vicious loop. Vomiting off the port side to the heckling laughter of sailors was hardly what he wanted for his first outing as an emissary for Avrith. Still, it had given him time to converse with a charming sailor woman (when his mouth was not otherwise occupied) who had been order to make sure he didn’t fall overboard (an endearing gesture until one realizes they would only get paid upon his safe arrival.)

He had managed to get his sea (er,…sky?) legs by the time they his Nesia. Idly, he hoped that the ship was back in town, he never got to properly thank the young woman for her companionship. “Bale,” says a voice, ripping him out of his thoughts with a flinch. “might you come in here? I have something I must talk to you about." Bale eyes his associate with muted annoyance, somewhat irritated by him not using the Mirn’s full title. He stands up, walking to the room. “Of course chairmen Sylian Simt of Avirth” he says, politely but pointedly. “How might I be of assistance to you today? I presume it is because of Prince Vina of Folgoth’s recent troubles?”

"It is indeed my associate. It would be most troublesome if the rumors prove true that the Prince killed this young woman. If he is truly that violent then I doubt he would hesitate killing us for the satisfaction of it. I wish for you to investigate into the matter. I would be best if we knew exactly how this woman died seeing as all we have been told was that she was found dead in his apartment's cellar." Sylian said to Bale. The Mirn always made him a bit nervous due to their lack of gender but he never said anything hateful against them. Bale was no exception to this matter. Whenever Sylian talked to Bale, he always found himself on edge with the skilled and genderless swordsman. Sylian brushed away these thoughts and smiled at Bale to try and hide his uneasiness.

Stepping off of the airship, Sylvaré filled his lungs with the fresh air of Nesia. He passed through the customs services, checking a rapier and a knife before passing on into the city. Entering the third tier, he got a sense of the "busy city life" that he had been told to expect.

Passing by several vendors, Sylvaré managed to find someone attempting to take advantage of newcomers by selling overpriced maps of the city. Shamelessly taking one in the turmoil, Sylvaré soon learned how to get to the Bailan Heights hotel, where he was supposed to reach his contact.

Upon arrival, Sylvaré was unimpressed. I was expecting more, he thought as he entered the building. After receiving his key, he entered the room assigned to him, sitting by the room's desk and waiting for someone to enter.

The contact had already seen the Tortuskan enter the Bailan Heights hotel but decided to wait about thirty minutes before heading in after him. It took the man only a few minutes to get up the stairs and in the room. The contact was wearing a black coat and dirty green boats. His body was mostly covered and little could be see of his facial features other than stubble and a half inch scar on his chin. His eyes stood out the most, a vibrant blue color that could be seen clearly through the darkness of the hood. "You must be Sylvaré. I am your contact. To make it short you will call me Tigs." the contact said to the Tortuskan. Tigs was quick to pull out a map of the east side of the third tier of the city, where the mines were connected to the tier. "You will enter through this entrance." Tigs said as he pointed out a smaller shaft leading to the mines. "It is mostly an unused shaft due to its close quarters. Also, it is really old so the beams aren't exactly the strongest. You will find a storeroom about fifty meters in. This is where you will find both powdered and whole Vibrium. We will meet again at the BlackWater Inn on the first tier. It is near where you arrived." Tigs said all of this very quickly and left the map in the room as he ran out. The Tortuskan might need it in the future.

“Are you sure that’s wise sir?” He asks, giving his companion a quizzical look. “We’ve yet to hear any word from an official Nesian investigation. Us becoming involved in our own investigation might come off as an act of aggression or suggest subterfuge. “ He states this as fact, entirely willing to do as the chairmen orders, but making him fully aware of the political implications should things go south.

Smoke hung on the air, swirling and almost fusing with the stench of stale brew and general filth. Looking around the drab, dim lit, and dingy room one would probably assume there was no more wretched hive of scum and villainy in all of Nesia, and that assumption was probably right. Under a low hanging light in the corner was an obviously unfriendly game of cards, the participants eyed each other carefully and intently, looking for both tells and hidden cards. The bar, half-full of thieves and cheats, was on edge about an unfamiliar face among them. The tall, muscular character gave off a feeling, an aura, that disquieted the ne'er-do-wells that were typically open about their misdeeds. He didn't give off the same scent as a lawman, it was much worse.

He smelled of dirt, and grass, and something...odd...ash? It perplexed those nearest to the door, and the fiery, searching look in his eyes coaxed some of the weaker willed to clear their tabs and leave a bit earlier than they normally would have. They were probably smart to do so, the towering bronze figure raised his hand, and uncrumpled a piece of paper. On it, was a single name, a number, and sketch that matched one of the card sharks in the corner. The red-cloaked behemoth stalked toward the bar, slid a few pieces across the counter, "Whiskey, double," he growled.

Daggers shot from inebriated eyes from every corner, nook, and cranny. He downed the drink in a single gulp, and sat on a stool for a few minutes more before rising and approaching the card table, "Mind cutting me in?" rumbled from below the red hood. "You got any metal?" shot back the face from the crumpled paper, with more than a hint of distrust. "You're Jorik Feld right?" returned the ever suspicious gravely tone from beneath the hood. "Yeh? What's it to you? Have you got any metal, or are ye goin to play?" Feld now obviously pissed at his game being paused. "Oh, I've got some metal," the behemoth quickly pulled the knife from the sheath on the front strap of his backpack, and skewered the criminal's hand to the table. Following a gasp of agony and a flurry of moving arms around the table, the criminal and his hunter found themselves surrounded by especially uneasy blades. "Whoa now, no need to be hasty boys, me and Mr. Feld just need to have a chat elsewhere, and this is my way of holding his hand on the way there." The dealer lunged at the stranger with a knife, and was sorely disappointed when the weak blade punctured the man's coat arm, and promptly shattered. "That's just sad," remarked the red giant, "If you're going to try and kill me with something so poorly made, why the hell would you go for my arm? And this is my absolute favorite coat, gods, just sit down you oaf." He raised the arm that, by logic, should be bleeding, but only showed a scratch and held several fragments from the broken blade.

Flabbergasted, the room fell silent. "Now, for those of you who want to listen, my name is Drake, some of you might have heard the name before," "Who? Piss off, who do you think you are?" interrupted from across the room, "See, do you want a knife in your hand? Ask this guy, I don't think you do." "You don't, you really don't." Drake's claim was given less than enthusiastic, yet earnest support from the criminal Feld. "Thank you, genuinely. I'm going to leave with Mr. Feld now, feel free to stop me, but, I'd just like to point out, this moronic dealer, who is now unarmed, is worth a couple gold. Think about that, and have a good day." Drake carefully removed his knife from the table, and clinched onto Feld's wrist and removed his weapons from his belt, tossing them to the floor. He wrangled the lowlife out the door while the room jumped the dealer, which struck a handful of unswayed patrons as profoundly odd. Stepping out into the first tier's underbelly, the cloaked bounty hunter and his prisoner started down the dirty street, dodging patrons and peddlers alike.

Jumbyll leaned back in his chair, three pairs of hands behind his head, two pairs resting on his stomach, a pair of hands in his pockets, a hand repeatedly flipping a copper coin and catching it, and the rest dangling at his side. It was a slow day in his shop on the third tier. He wondered why nobody had come in. While he specialized in making clothes for races that weren't fully humanoid, such as ones with tails, extra limbs like himself, or who's body shape wasn't even close to huanoid, he still had a couple of humans and elves come in for his regular clothing. It wasn't usual for no races of any kind come in. As he focused on the copper coin, going up and down, up and down, his thoughts were interrupted by his dropping of the coin and subsequent falling back onto the ground.

I really should stop leaning back in chairs. he thought, irritated by his genetic stupidity. He got back up and repositioned the chair. He picked up the copper and stashed it in his pocket, sitting back in the chair in an upright position. It wasn't long until he was back in the same position from earlier, leaning back, flipping his coin. It also wasn't long before he dropped the coin again and fell back. Yep, it was going to be a long day.

Sylian was quiet for a few minutes to consider what Bale had said. Should it found out that they were investigating, Avirth would at war with Folgoth. That was a war that Avirth could not win which would lead to the downfall of Garthet. But, if the Prince was truly responsible for this it could lead to quite the advantage for Avirth against them. "I am sure about this my companion. We both know that the Prince will pay of the investigators and they won't truly look for any evidence. Should we find evidence that he did this, it would prove quite the bit of leverage against Folgoth. The King would not be happy to hear that his son is slowly degrading the trade he has set up with his string of violence." Sylian said to Bale. The truth was that the King would love to hear that his son kills people but hate that he would ruin trade between the other countries and especially Nesia.

“Very well chairmen.” Bale says, bowing politely. “So where would you recommend that I begin my investigation?” He asks flatly. “While I’ve heard rumors that the victim was a prostitute I’m less sure as to her employer….Much less how to navigate the city to find such a thing.” While he had been a welcomed addition politically speaking, Bale had hardly impressed on the social networking front (perhaps forgivable by his recent arrival), much to the disappointment of spoiled debutante (and sometimes their dates.)

The street didn't smell much better than inside the bar, and having to escort a thief that's been on the lam and reeked of his own fluids didn't help. Luckily enough one doesn't have to go far on the first tier to find a den of thieves willing to pay for other thieves that happened to have pissed off some other thieves. It didn't take much longer than Mr. Feld and Drake to step in the door before the bounty hunter felt something amiss. "Tylinaeus! I see you've persuaded my associate to come negotiate with me," a voice thundered from on high. Forgar Litmic was the source, a petty thug whose ego is well over-inflated, and whose belly was far too round to be useful for anything besides talking and errands even more petty than himself, hence Drake Tylinaeus's current grip on a one Mr. Feld's hand. "Yep, and judging by the way you're turned you've got my fees in your back pocket," he shot back, as Litmic descended the stairs. The exchange was made and Feld was shuffled off by assistant's of Litmic, his fate to forever be a mystery. It wasn't a concern of Drake's, he had his money, and from the feel of the room, he'd get a bit more than what he bargained for.

Litmic motioned to a door at the back of the main room, Drake measured up the distance, and eyed the occupants of the main room. None of them posed a major threat, so Drake reluctantly indulged the loudmouth of the lower levels. The small room was simple, with just a cot, small table, two chairs, and a small bed-side stand. Nowhere for any would-be assassins. The two sat and with a low voice Litmic began spreading rumors, word travels fast and rumor was that a murder had occurred that morning. Since there wasn't an official bounty there was no real interest from Drake, though the fact that the body was found in the cellar of the Folgothian prince's apartment. This still wasn't of major concern to Tylinaeus save for the fact that Folgoth was his home nation. He had no sense of nationalism, but for some reason he was intrigued. After Litmic closed his trap, Drake made a simple request, "Keep me posted." And left, without incident.

As soon as his contact, "Tigs" left, Sylvaré rushed over to the map for further examination. He determined that the specified entrance was indeed the best choice an entrance as it would logically be the least populated. The Tortuskan stored the majority of his gear in a closet of the hotel room; after all, he did order it for the night, so why not utilize it? However before storing his gear he removed a piece of black cloth and some twine, threading the twine through holes in the back if the fabric in order to form a mask. He also removed a small knife, innocent enough in appearance as it was designed for whittling.

At approximately 3:00 AM, Sylvaré arrived at the mine's entrance only to note that there were two miners leaning against the door, presumably on break as they were eating while talking casually. The streets of this part of Nesia were fairly empty at the time, no one was there to notice the thief picking up a stone from the road and heaving it at one of the two miners, striking him in the head with a satisfying crack. While the other was taken aback in confusion, Sylvaré rushed up to him and drove him into the wall. Dropping the unconscious body, Sylvaré quickly looked about in search of any potential witnesses. Seeing none, the Tortuskan continued into the mine, dragging the two bodies in.

After hiding the two unconscious miners inside the entrance to the mine, Sylvaré took one of their pick axes and continued in. About one minute into the walk in the dark Sylvaré came upon a locked door, with a barred window showing several bags as well as a few odd crystals.

Vibrium

The thief wound up, and lashed the pickaxe against the lock of the door with the force of a practiced lumberjack. It took four attempts, but the lock eventually shattered, allowing Sylvaré to enter and take a large quantity of Vibrium. Before leaving, he hesitated, and thought of what he should do in order to evade any possible blame for this crime should he be discovered. With an elegant flourish, Sylvaré drew his knife and carved into the storeroom's table the first name that came to mind. Abe.

---

Sylvaré awoke in a cold sweat, hearing someone knock at his room's door. Had he been discovered? Sylvaré reached for the closet and drew his rapier, also making sure to grab his knife off of the nightstand. Taking a fencing position with the knife as a parrying dagger, Sylvaré said calmly, "Come in." It was only the hotel manager, who looked both startled and perplexed. Sylvaré sighed, and threw his weapons into the bed. Figuring that his time in the room was done, the Tortuskan quickly gathered his items, nodded at the manager, and was off.

Heading now to the BlackWater hotel, Sylvaré walked rather lethargically. He hadn't eaten in several days, and resolved to break into some of his stored foods later that day. But now was business. Sylvaré arrived at the hotel, went through the same process of reserving a room, and headed upstairs to wait for his contact's arrival.

"Well, I suggest you start in the first tier of the city. That is where we arrived remember? But it is more likely that she was from the third tier. It might be best to start the search at night. That should be when the working ladies come out. Ask around about her. Somebody would have to know her and especially look for those who look nervous." Sylian told to Bale. He never had much experience with these 'working' ladies but he knew of more than a few council members in Avirth and Garthet who occasionally liked to visit these women. Sylian trusted Bale to complete the mission without much trouble. Even if Bale found nothing tonight, it would be several more months before they passed over Avirth and Garthet again.

Siris smiled at Abe's natural charisma. For a crazy old man, he was fun to be around. Siris had sat around while Abe told the wild stories of his adventures and studies. No person could tell whether or not half of them were true or not but it was no matter for the listeners. People either believed Abe entirely or thought he made everything up. Siris indeed believed the old man's crazy stories because it was quite possible that he could have done these things when he was younger."Abe, of course what I have brought you here for would be of great import. Do you think that I send for people to come to my place on a daily basis? If I have need for people I generally send Cimon to give them a message and they do it. Anyway, it seems we are still waiting on the others to arrive" Siris told Abe. At that moment, Bran Talanhart came into the room beside Cimon. "You called for me sir?" Bran said to Siris with heavy respect.

Bran looked over Abe in a mix of disgust and wonder. He had heard of Abe and knew from people had told him, that he hated Abe. Abe was crazy and somewhat of a mess. Bran saw him as a man who wasn't fit for battle and certainly had no place in a guild which focuses on hunting monsters. If the old man had a crazy idea form that didn't work in battle it could mean the death of those around him. Bran's thoughts were interrupted by a cough from Siris. "Anyway, seems like we are waiting for the last person to arrive. I hope she gets he soon so we can get down to buisness." Siris stated bluntly as he ran a hand through his hair.