Author: CodeNat, Posted: Sat Apr 9, 2016 7:57 PM, Post Subject: Information Has a Price[Event][R]

Caught unawares by the army from the west, Canelux had been thrown into disarray. Armies clashed outside Mamlak's walls, and adventurers scattered across the land in search of valuable bounties. The guilds rose up to corner their portion of prestige, and powerful champions rose to compete. Truly, the western continent was aflame with discord.
 
Yet the one most capable of foreseeing the end result, the Goddess of Keys and Secrets herself, avoided taking an active role in the coming conflict during its early days. She could have gone in search of the artifacts her mortal employer had put out a bounty on, but she decided to forgo that mission for the time being. Instead, there were some contracts she needed to collect on, namely people who had thought it was a good idea to renege on their debts.
 
Official records would never reveal this, but all of the traitors in Vilpamolan had struck deals with the Masked Stranger in order to assist the orks. Alara Carova, Jenseal Ravvon, Gravin Croll, and Maryana Ilizzian: each one of them had offered something in return for the information they received. Yet they had all reneged on the conditions of their deals in one way or another. Natsumi was normally against using her powers to punish individuals who committed such dishonesty, but these people had broken her golden rule when they even went so far as to sell out some villagers in exchange for not dying to the orks during negotiations.
 
Now these individuals did know that they had encouraged the Goddess's wrath, along with the rage of over half of Vilpamolan. They were now hiding in the shadowy city in a vain attempt to escape retribution, Gravin being in the warehouse beneath Natsumi when she first arrived in the city. She sat on the roof overhead, sipping tea from a pewter cup with her public mask covering the top half of her face.
 

~Ding, dong. Ding, dong. The reaper is coming for you. She's found you, and is not happy. Ding, dong, you're about to die.~ The telepathic voice echoed down into the holds toward the scruffy man who had killed others to deliver their corpses to the orks. He was visibly sweating next to his guards when he heard it, but Mr. Croll remained unable to convince his protectors that there was truly anyone there. The voice continued in his head all along, mocking his efforts. ~Ding, dong. Ding, dong. I'm terrible at rhyming, by the way. But that won't matter when you're dead.~