Clear silvery light that spilled from the face of the full moon, the night air hung muggy and warm, punctuated with the chirping of many nightly insects. Within the royal chambers of the King and Queen of the kingdom of Lethvia, the Lady Ismari stirred restlessly beneath the covers within the four poster bed, an almost silent sigh passing through her lips as she stared at the canopy overhead and listened to the gently rumbling snores of the King laying close by. She often found herself coping with troubles sleeping, So it was not surprising in the least when she came to the conclusion that sleep would continue to be an elusive companion until she had had the opportunity to relax more fully. Which meant only one thing: a walk in her private garden.

Quietly as she could manage, the young woman slid out from between the sheets and rose from the downy mattress, fingers reaching instantly for a dressing gown she kept hanging from a peg nearby for just such an occasion. Stepping into a pair of silk slippers, Queen Ismari gathered her golden tresses back into a loose ponytail that trailed down one of her shoulders before she quietly slipped through The door in the bedroom, slowly closing it behind her, and headed towards a pair of rose colored glass doors that faced out onto the immaculate palace gardens awash in moonlight. Almost as soon as she stepped out into the close night air, a soft smile of contentment spread across her lips as her gaze swept around the flowers and bushes, Immediately lingering on some of her favorites. Gathering her robe close to her body, the queen began to move among the carefully tended flora on silent slippered feet, her fingers trailing over the petals of blossoms, the leaves of The foliage.

She never saw the figure that slowly stepped up behind her.

The shadow reached out with both arms carefully, the left hand glinting with the reflection of the moon's light off a blade they gripped in a gloved hand. As the queen bent over a blooming rose to sniff at its distinctive fragrance, the stranger closed strong fingers tightly around her mouth and chin, the blade of the knife sliding across her exposed throat, The skin parting easily and spilling Crimson over her neck and chest, droplets falling among the rosebush. The queen gave a small jerk of surprise at the contact, fingers flying fruitlessly to scrabble at the hand clutching her face, a muffled scream managing to escape. But her useless struggles quickly began to slow, Her body growing limp, and the black garbed figure quietly released their hold and allowed the dying woman to crumple to the ground, not making a sound as they watched her choking and writhing limply at their feet. As she finally grew still, eyes glazing over, the figure’s hold on the knife was released, dropping the blood spattered weapon onto the ground near the corpse of the queen. Without a word, the assassin turned away from the quickly cooling body, slipping back into the shadows and disappearing back into the night once more.

They found her body after several hours had passed, dawn light beginning to touch the world as the sun rose over the mountains. One of the palace gardeners, a diligent man who always appeared first thing in the morning to attend the queen's favorite plants, discovered the body soon after he began trimming the rosebushes, immediately sending up the alarm. Guardsmen swiftly gathered to investigate, the king notified, and the investigations commenced. But after one of the Younger recruits inspected the bloody knife that had been discovered by the body, instant recognition blossomed across his face and a look of true terror lit his eyes. It was shortly after this that the pounding on the captain's door began...

Amyra awoke to pounding on her door. She stumbled up, her leather jerkin halfway buttoned by the time she reached the door. She opened it fully alert, knowing that Albus, her second-in-command, would only need to wake her during his watch if it was an emergency. A firm inquiry about the nature of the problem died on her lips as she saw the spears pointed at her. The men looked at her somewhat sheepishly, but with firm resolve in their eyes. And hints of horror and accusation. "Captain Calloway, you are under arrest", came the condemning words.

She finished buttoning her jerkin while she walked down the hallway, for the first time framed by armed men serving not as an escort for safety and stature, but as guards directing her steps and preventing her escape. Albus - now acting Captain Varona of the Royal Guard of Lethvia - was walking along, continuing to explain the situation. A courtesy not afforded to common criminals. A point still in her favor, she mused, though not much else was. The queen had been murdered under her tenure as captain of the guard, which did not speak well of her leadership. Under a more strict regime she could have been sent to the dungeons for that alone. Here in Lethvia the fault would have been assigned to the actual people posted to guard the queen that night, and Amyra would have remained to lead the investigations. The reason she, too, was now being sent to the dungeons was that her own knife had been discovered coated in the queen's blood. A fact which perplexed Amyra to the utmost degree, since her knife was never far from her reach, even at night. Guards were searching her room for it even as she was being marched to her dungeon. But everything suggested that it was not there.

She crouched in her cell, uncomfortable but not yet miserable. Wheels were spinning non-stop in her mind, trying to make sense of the situation. The calm, analytical assessments which had gotten her promoted to captain of the guard would not let her down, or so she hoped. She had never yet panicked under stress.
When she had arrived in her cell, she'd looked around carefully. Nothing surprising, she knew these dungeons from having brought prisoners down here many times. Four stone walls, well sealed and regularly inspected. No window, meaning her supposed crime was too grave for a nicer cell. A straw mat, not terribly comfortable, but not rotting. A pail of water - clean - and another pail - empty and also clean. A door, wooden with metal reinforcements, and a sturdy lock. She knew how sturdy they were, having replaced half of them herself. Not that she would have broken herself out of the dungeon. That would be the utmost disgrace.
Now she pondered the problem of her knife and the queen's murder. Who could have done it, and why? She could think of many reasons to kill a queen, but not many to frame herself for the murder.

Smells of warm bread, stew, and ale hung thick and tantalizing in the air of the Sunhaven Inn, adding to the already pleasant atmosphere of the scene. Most were there enjoying their evening in pairs or small groups, punctuated with excitement at the possibility of a game breaking out or a bard showing up to perform, but off to one side, a young man chose to sit alone, absorbed in his solitary meal. He was rather plain overall in his appearance, mild features that were easily forgotten, light brown hair and hazel eyes that blended in with the majority of the local population. Even his attire spoke of simplicity, dark browns and blacks with no flashy accessories, cut simply to look just like everybody else. But that was how Raith Telbourne preferred things.

Picking up a thick slice of bread from his plate, Raith began spreading a dollop of butter over the nut studded slice, Appearing to be completely focused on his task. in reality, he wasn’t thinking much about what he was doing beyond appearing to be enjoying his meal, all of his attention was focused on the talk of the people around him. Because that was one thing he was good at: gathering information. Information on trends in the market, secrets for blackmailing, which up and coming noble was in the market for hired labor, the information itself could widely vary, but everything was important. Raith was a spy, or a purveyor of reliable tips, or even a procurer of items of interest. It all depended on what his clients needed him for. His only lines were murder and enslavement. If those were off the table, Raith was the man to hire.

Taking a bite of his bread and turning over one of the pieces of parchment he had on his table as a prop as if reading, Raith listened for a moment to a farmer talking about his load of grain before overhearing the innkeeper mumbling about an overdue tab. Interesting details, but nothing important for the time being. Running his thumb over the edge of his plate, The young man focused his attention on a pair of newcomers to the establishment, a couple of guards down from the castle by the looks of them. Lifting his eyes from the table on the pretense of taking a drink from his mug, Raith swiftly scrutinized the two men before looking down at his plate once more. That one glance told him quite a few things. Something bad had happened at the castle, early this morning if the tired circles under the guards‘ eyes was anything to go bye, and The resulting after math was almost guaranteed to be a dire announcement when word finally got out. The only question was, what that something was. Luckily for him, the guards seemed to be keen on discussing the matter with one another, though they did so in hushed voices, which was the unlucky part of the situation. Fortunately, Raith had trained long and hard with his skills in observation and was able to piece together the majority of what passed between the guards. And what he understood made him frown.

’The Queen is dead and they honestly believe the captain of her guard did the dirty deed?’ Raith wanted to roll his eyes skyward at the very idea of such a possibility. From everything he knew about the captain, she didn’t spend 10 years of her life devoted to the protection of her majesty only to suddenly snap and murder her on a whim. True, The guards hadn’t said what sort of evidence they had on the captain, but even then he doubted he would believe anything they could present.

Rising from his table, Raith collected his papers and folded them carefully into a leather satchel before making his way over to the innkeeper and passing over a coin for his dinner. He then collected his cloak from where it hung near the front door, swung it over his shoulders, and made his way out into the still early evening. He had a man to visit before the night was out, in search of information that made his skin crawl, the ghosts from his past stirring restlessly. But with any luck, he might be able to save an innocent life.

Brennan Picket was tired, so tired... Work to eat, eat to live, but what's the point of living if it's only to work some more? Day in and day out of this stupid guard job. What had the stupid royal family ever done for him? Nothing, that's what. Gave him a job, he conceded, better than most jobs out there. Still a stupid, boring, tiring job. Stupid topsy-turvy schedules leaving him too tired for anything but sleep on his hours off.
As he ruminated on those thoughts, there was a rap on his door. Well, the door he guarded. He sort of thought of it as his. He quickly stood at attention. A head poked through the opening and Brennan relaxed, recognizing Glenn from down the hall. "Hiya Bren", the older man nodded. "Food for the cap'."
Cap? Captain Calloway was down here, then. She must've been visiting a prisoner for a long time if he hadn't seen her since the beginning of her shift. He'd have thought Killian, the man he'd relieved, could have given him a heads up at least. She was probably visiting the new prisoner he'd told him about.
A plate of prisoner gruel slid through the door below Glenn's head. A questioning look only bought Brennan a questioning stare in response. After a few seconds, Glenn's look changed to understanding, then to dumbfoundedness.
"Ya ain't heard? Where the blazes ya been all day, under a rock?"
"Uh, I'm down in the dungeon, same as you..."
"What the blazes? What about before that? And that dumb boy Killy ain't gave ya the heads up either?"
"I dunno, I was sleeping..."
"Boy, the queen's been done in and they're all saying Cap did it. Found 'er knife in the body and everything. Ya ask me, it's real clear cut. Probably some dumb vengeance plan years in the making."
Brennan was taken aback. Calloway offing the queen? That made no sense whatsoever. Glenn didn't look like he was pulling a prank though. That said, he seemed way too eager about the news. Got a kick out of the whole affair, and getting to see someone's reaction to hearing the news for the first time. Well, Brennan wasn't interested in the gossip. He didn't really know or care for the captain anyway. She was just another boss. Boss of a boss of a boss, more like. He shrugged, took the food, and turned towards his hallway of cells. Glenn shot disappointed noises at him as he walked away, but gave up quickly, having received no response from Brennan.

Brennan found the captain's cell and knocked. Technically he was supposed to slide the food through the door with no further interaction, but he stuck around and peered through the slot. A captain of the guard betraying the royal family, that was the stuff of books. He really didn't care, but he did wonder what sort of person it took to pull off and follow through with that sort of plot. Or maybe Glenn was wrong and it was a crime of passion? It was hard to make anything out in the dark cell, but he saw the captain's hazel eyes flit up to his.
"You should return to your post", came her commanding voice, which Brennan had heard before in drills and parades. "Well, I suppose my guards aren't all as well trained as I'd thought they were... Picket."
A look of surprise registered on his face. "You know who I am, captain?"
"Of course. I know all my recruits."

It had taken her a second to remember his name, but Amyra did know all her guards. She sometimes glanced over guard schedules as well, though she didn't have every section memorized. That was mostly her lieutenants' job. The section guarding the royal quarters, though, she knew by heart. Heron and McKenzie on the bedroom door, changing with Bellings and Tanner at 4 am. And on the queen's private garden, Kickers and Smith (Perry), then Justice and Lanson. Not knowing the exact timing of the crime, it was difficult to determine which contingent of guards was involved. In the meantime, Picket (Brennan?) was still staring at her.
"What do you mean not well trained?"
Amyra pursed her lips. "For one thing, you are still standing here, interacting with a prisoner. But I was referring to last night's incident. The guards clearly let someone through, and it certainly wasn't me. Did you know any of the guards stationed there during those times?"
"It wasn't you?" the boy responded, and she wished she could see his face instead of just a sliver of his eyes. She thought about telling him the names of the guards she suspected - there was a chance he knew them, but not their schedules. But if he'd talked to them, they would've said something, and if he hadn't, she wasn't going to get any information. If he didn't know them, then saying names was just going to spread rumours. Instead she just repeated, "Do you know them?" He shook his head. It was also good information to know that the he assumed she was guilty. Always good to know what side the rumor mill was on. Picket kept staring at her until she finished eating, then shrugged and finally walked away. She couldn't blame him for his curiosity, given the situation.

True evening had fallen by the time Raith retook to the streets, rubbing his hands together as if to remove some sort of residue clinging to the skin. He certainly felt as if he had been doused in oil, Omiar’s crooked yellow smile burned behind his eyelids. With a shiver that ran the length of his spine, Raith hurried away from the rats nest hole in the wall building with its deceptive medicinal herbs and remedies front, shrugging his cloak closer to his neck and ignoring the impulse to look back over his shoulder every couple of steps. Unpleasant as the reunion had been, it had served his purpose. He now knew for a fact that the captain of the queens guard was innocent. All that remained was for him to secure her release. And he highly doubted that his asking politely was going to be enough to get the job done.

A quarter of an hour later saw the young man near the center of town, standing in the shadow of a building and looking up at the high wall that surrounded the palace grounds proper. Biting at his lower lip in thought, Raith’s hazel eyes swept over The seemingly insurmountable barrier between him and the palace, assessing his options. After several moments, he approached the wall, stepping between the pools of firelight cast by a pair of stone braziers set atop The wall, running his fingers over the stone. Slipping his other hand into an inner pocket of his cloak, he withdrew a dagger, Balancing the small blade in his fingers for a moment before testing it’s point against the grout that cemented the blocks of stone that made up the wall together. With some effort, He managed to get most of the blade in between the stones. It wasn’t a perfect plan, nor was it the fastest, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice. Pulling the dagger free, he began circling the wall, in search of a better location to make the climb.

He found the perfect spot rather quickly, a brazier’s flame guttering lo from lack of fuel darkening the shadows on one corner, Raith started his climb, pulling out a second dagger to assist him. Slowly, carefully, he began ascending the wall, face flushing with the effort of pulling himself up and bracing himself against the tiniest cracks. Not moving faster than he was able, he didn’t want to chance an unfortunate fall, Raith wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally reached the top of the battlements and grabbed onto the edge of the wall. Wiping away a trickle of sweat from his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt, the young man took a moment to look around, searching for any sign of a passing guard patrol. Luck still inexplicably holding, he didn’t see anyone in his vicinity and was able to pull himself up and over the wall in one quick movement, pausing only long enough to retrieve his daggers and stow them away in his cloak again. Then, with a deep breath of warm night air, he hurried off along the battlements in a slow crouch, making his way towards the nearest staircase.

As he reached the foot of the stairs, Raith froze suddenly as a burst of laughter sounded nearby, his Head shooting up quickly. Approaching his location, a group of five soldiers were coming around the corner of one of the inner buildings, torches held in their hands, clearly in the middle of an absorbing conversation. Cursing under his breath, Raith hurriedly ducked into the space beneath the stairs, pressing himself as far as he could against the wall and praying that he hadn’t been spotted. As the first of the guards started to pass, he had to suppress the reaction to sigh with relief when he saw that the man wasn’t looking in his direction, eyes focused ahead. Raith filtered out there conversation, something to do with a hidden brothel in the city, and instead reached once again inside his cloak. This time, he pulled out a small vial of some sort of bluish green liquid, slowly pulling out the Needle that had been concealed within before he re-Stoppard the bottle. He had been planning on using the needle as a last resort, should one of the soldiers happen to look in his direction, but found himself considering an alternative use when his observant mind picked out The tidbit of information that the man in the back of the group, the most nervous looking of them, was a new recruit. The older, more seasoned fighters were currently teasing the other mercilessly, though none glanced in his direction, Instead choosing to make sidelong comments and snarky remarks over their shoulders to one another that had the younger man shrinking in on himself and falling steadily behind. Just as the group was almost out of his reach, Raith made up his mind and hurried forward, sliding one of his hands over the young man‘s mouth while simultaneously sticking the end of the needle into his neck. The man jerked with surprise, but didn’t even manage a muffled cry before the solution he had been injected with had taken effect, his eyelids drooping as he fell into a deep sleep. Levering the weight of the soldier so that his armor didn’t clatter, Raith carefully dragged the man backwards into the space beneath the stairs, holding his breath once again as he watched the other soldiers marching on obliviously.



’I hope that leaving him there wasn’t a bad omen,’ Raith thought darkly to himself some time later as he walked quietly into the palace, freshly dressed in the new recruit‘s armor, it’s unfortunate owner left snoozing beneath the stairs next to the battlements.

Walking purposefully and looking straight ahead, Raith eventually was able to make his way down into what he hoped was the dungeon area of the castle, no one having stopped him. That was part of the secret of getting around someplace you really weren’t meant to be: look like you were supposed to be there. People were less likely to question your being there if you looked like you had a purpose. Eventually, He found himself at a door and he paused, gathering his strength. Silently hoping that whomever was on the other side of the door wasn’t likely to put up a fight, Raith tapped The wooden surface sharply.

“Oy, change of shift,” he grunted, Lowering his tenor voice into a gravelly baritone. “New Captain says I need to get some experience in the dungeons.“