Feathered Masks and Poisoned Goblets (Archived)

Before the event begins, I would like to provide everyone with a (rather shitty) pair of maps of the accessible areas of the castle, and remind you all of the rules and gameplay.

First Floor:


Second Floor:


-An assassin will be chosen at random and messaged in secret by LyricTheBard.

-The assassin can attempt to kill targets at any time, but each attack must be spaced out between at least five consecutive moves. To do this, the assassin must first PM Lyric with “I attempt to kill (insert character's name) with (insert weapon).” Lyric will then roll a d20 dice to see if this attempt is successful. Any number lower than 15 is unsuccessful, any number above 10 but below 15 means that the character has either been wounded by the attack or otherwise knows the attack happened but did not see who attacked them, 5-9 means that the attack missed and went unnoticed, 2-4 means that they know something is amiss and increases your chances of discovery by a percentage (which will increase every time the assassin rolls a 2-4. When their percentage reaches 100%, their indentity will be revealed and the manhunt will begin), and a 1 means that there is a chance of discovery. If a one is rolled, Lyric will roll again to see if the assassin is discovered. If another one is rolled, then the assassin is revealed to the person attacked and they have the opportunity to announce the assassin's identity to the rest of the players. Any other number indicates that a clue is left behind. The smaller the number, the more damaging (and hilarious) the clue. Some clues will be in the form of attention-grabbing events.

-If you are attacked by the assassin but manage to live, Lyric will PM you with the details of the attack and the clue left behind (if there happens to be one). If you are killed by the assassin, you will be notified by the assassin themselves, who will indicate how they have killed you and their reasoning behind it. Lyric will post about the attack, and your character will be out of the game and will become a clue. You may make a single post after this describing your character's death without giving the killer's identity away. You can watch the game unfold at this point, but are not allowed to make any other posts within the thread or reveal the identity of the assassin to anyone. Please don't spoil the game for anyone!

-NPCs can be killed by the assassin, too. Guards, servants, and members of Parliament are all fair game. The assassin will message Lyric with who they want to kill and how, and how well the attack goes will be determined by a d20, same as before. Characters such as Ben, Page, and Reaver will be made harder to kill. You must roll a natural 20 TWICE in order to assassinate these characters. Lyric will interrupt the thread with the results of the attack.

-The assassin can leave false clues to incriminate another character by sending Lyric a PM with the desired clue. This can only be done to incriminate a character once per round.

-At random intervals, LyricTheBard will interrupt the thread to provide a clue or hint. Whether or not this clue or hint will be useful to the investigation is a mystery. These clues will be left in this manner: “There is a broken vase in the hall.”

-Players can choose to investigate these clues, and Lyric will then tell them what they have discovered in doing so. For example. “Myra decided to investigate the broken vase in the hallway. She searched the area for more clues.” To which Lyric will reply, “Myra found scuff marks on the floor and a few droplets of blood on the floor and wall. There was a struggle here.” Myra can then continue to search for more clues, or move on.

-A player order will be decided at random via the roll of a dice. Players must make their “moves” only during their turn, but can post roleplay replies at any time, so long as they do not indicate a move within the game. Example:







-Players can announce who they believe to be the assassin on their turn to move, but to do so is to forfeit the chance for movement. The player accused must then attempt to prove that they are not the killer. If they fail to convince the other players, they will be arrested. If they were innocent, then Lyric will announce OOC that the assassin is still at large. The arrested player must sit out of the game for one round or until there is another attack to prove their innocence.

-There will be a map created of the building to give players a better visual understanding of where they are and where clues can be found. This will be posted when the topic is created and the game starts.

-Lyric will also be playing the parts of NPCs such as the King and Queen of Gallia (a kingdom we created based off of France to add political intrigue and bolster the lore and geography), the guards, and other important characters.

-The game will begin Oct. 28th at 6pm CST, and end Oct. 31st at 12am CST. If the assassin has not been discovered by then, they will have won the game! If they have been discovered, the person who revealed their identity and captured them will have won the game! The prize will be a badge for your profile. c:



-You do not have to have a completed character application to play in this event! You must have an account with this site and at least started your character application in order to play.

-Note: This event will be considered canon, but any players who are killed in the event will not have died in the canon. This includes Reaver. Ben and Page are NOT granted this immunity.




*The Turn Order refers to movements only, not necessarily the order of replies!!! You can reply at any time, but can only move when it is your turn!

It was clear from the moment that his voice left his lips that Reaver, quite frankly, was very, very drunk.

“Dear party guests, aimless rabble and puffed up poffins alike, I would like you all to know, how very, very lucky you all are that you are here. You are SO lucky, in fact, that I, am also here. My presence is the best gift I could give.  You are all just, SO lucky. Look at you all,” he chuckled, “just, in your silly hats and your silly…what are they called…?? Ah, right. Shoes. That’s the word. Shhhh-oooooo-zzzz. Has anyone ever noticed how ridiculous our fashion sense for….well anything, frankly, IS? It is all so exaggerated. Look at that man there, the ginger. No not you, the great fat one. Yes, you sir, with the half-eaten pork pie. Just, what is your mustache even doing being so far past your ears?? You look like a catfish.”

He paused, clearly parched, and took a sip of his wine.

“This wine is simply….in a word? Sole.…ha! Ha ha! As in, feet!! Because it is a spirit!! But no, really, it is quite bad. Funny aftertaste. A bit like off peppermint…..and that’s another thing: Who in the world thought that stripes on pants were a good ide—wooh….I….wh—“


Reaver suddenly dropped his chalice, spilling wine all over the pristine white rug. His eyes began to bulge, and his face had a look of complete and utter terror. His hand flew to his throat, and he looked like a great big fish gasping for air. Clutching his chest, he let out a small “oh” and he crumpled to the ground with an audible thud.

[Myramyriad, it is now your turn. As of this moment, you cannot leave the Ballroom. Any other movements or actions are permitted.]

[A small reminder: even if it is not your turn, you can still post replies and roleplay, so long as you do not make any movements out of turn(such as leaving the room, checking out a clue, etc, etc). Other actions that do not directly affect the game are permitted (i.e.: questioning other characters and gathering information through discussion, reacting to events in the game, moving about a room, etc, etc). If you are ever confused about how to reply, feel free to contact either myself, Ancient Of Aeons, or xemmyQ.]

"No, please, take it; it's the least I can do."

The sun was just beginning to set as Lyra arrived at the courtyard of Bowerstone Castle, stepping gingerly out of the modest pony trap she'd taken out of Brightwall. "Are you certain, miss?" asked the elderly gent currently at the reins as he stared slack-jawed at the gold pieces lying in his calloused hand.

"Of course; you've more than earned it, after all." The auburn-haired scholar replied, taking the man's hand and folding his fingers over the coins. "Just keep this well-hidden and get home safely-- alright?"

"I-- Thank you!"

The man beamed, showing off a distinct lack of teeth in doing so before plunging the generous tip into his trouser pocket and hastily urging the trap forward with a crack of his whip. It wouldn't be long before nightfall, and it was best not to dally in these dangerous times. Lyra smiled to herself as she watched the old man depart, shaking her head a bit as she turned toward the immaculate building in front of her, marveling at the sheer number of guests from all walks of life dressed their best for a night of revelry.

With a sigh, she picked up the sparkling golden fabric of her finest gown as she strode to the front door of the castle, inclining her head politely to several guardsmen posted around the entrance. As the doors opened, she couldn't help but stare agog at the warm, inviting atmosphere and the bustling crowds filling the royal halls that had once been the home of the Hero Queen. She declined the offer of one of the many black masks provided by the hosts, producing her own and gesturing to the eye patch she currently wore. She'd re-purposed an old fitted mask of her own, more suited to her rather particular disfigurement and fashioned to appear like the face of the sun. Quickly turning toward the wall, she removed her patch and affixed the one-eyed mask to her face, placing the item in a small pouch and stowing it away where she wouldn't lose it. The gentleman greeting her informed her of the rules of the masquerade before ushering her cheerfully through.

The night had just begun, and yet the ball was already in full swing. The gold and white-clad woman found herself politely declining many offers to dance, instead finding herself the quietest corner of the room, (for what that was worth, anyway,) simply opting to observe for now. She wasn't generally one for attractions of this magnitude, but the presence of Gallian royalty and all three Speakers of Parliament had rather intrigued her.

"Besides," she thought to herself as she graciously accepted a glass of wine offered by one of the many servants, "it has been an awfully long time since I attended anything like this. Perhaps it'll do me good to get out of the academy."

As the slurred voice of a certain Aristocratic Speaker of Parliament made itself the center of attention, however, Lyra couldn't help but wrinkle her nose in disgust, her brow furrowing. Her casual nursing of her glass turned rather quickly into one big gulp; as much respect as she had for one of Albion's last true Heroes, she utterly detested the snake of a man known as Reaver. He was truly a vile person, and she had never understood how he'd been allowed a position of power.

"Bribery, no doubt."

She sniffed irritably, placing her emptied glass on a nearby table, and turned to exit the ballroom when a silence fell. Raising a brow, she turned just in time to see Reaver collapse to the floor. There was a sudden panic, and the auburn-haired woman stepped back against the wall as the crowds rushed to the exit doors. Speaker Page shouted something, but her words were lost among the panicked voices of the people she stood for.

Without thinking of her place, Lyra pushed through the fearful mass of people, approaching the group gathered on the dais. She may have hated the debauched aristocrat with a passion, but it would be beneath her to not try to assist in some way.

"What is it? What's happened?!"

When the woman approached the dais, Page immediately stiffened, clearly on edge. But the question needed an answer, and no one, it seemed, had heard her shouting out into the chaos. "Poison," she said, speaking just loud enough for her to hear. "Someone has poisoned his wine. He barely clings to life, and I'm afraid that if he isn't seen by a doctor soon, he won't make it."

It was no secret that Page disliked the tycoon immensely, and her expression was a mixture of annoyance and frustration as well as fear. If someone was targeting one Speaker of Parliament, then it would follow that they were all in danger. And as much as she was loathe to admit it, if Reaver died, the whole country would be in an uproar and matters would only deteriorate. She heaved a sigh and shook her head.

"As much as I would like for the pompous ass to rest in pieces, we need him alive. A doctor must be found, and quickly."

Like so many others, Dr. Thomas Whittaker II had arrived via carriage, his finest clothes upon his back, his face as grim and stern as ever. He hated parties, especially big ones, but his sibling had insisted that they go, for he had been 'stuck in that stuffy old office for ages' and 'could use the fresh air'. He had not hesitated to remind her several times over that they would be inside a castle full to the brim with people, and that the air would not be, by any means, 'fresh,' but that had not deterred her in the least, and so here they were. 

"Are you sure," he complained as the footmen helped them both out of the carriage, "that you did not simply want me here so that you did not have to go alone?"

She might have been the only one to understand him, but she was also his sister, and thus obligated to treat him unkindly now and again. Lords knew she was guilty of doing so in the past. But whatever her reason, they were running late already, and so Tom allowed himself to be ushered inside. 

He immediately went rigid at the sight of so many people, but the black mask that was handed to him was a small piece of comfort, coupled with his sister's hand upon his shoulder. At least he would not need to show his face, and he was not alone in a sea of strangers. Still, this would be by no means a relaxing evening for his part, and when they were brought to the Ballroom and the doors parted, it took everything he had not to outright flee in the opposite direction. There were far too many people here. A handful--he could have done a handful--but so many? This was madness! His hand found Cecil's, and he gripped it tightly.

"I don't know if I can do this," he admitted even as he was pushed further into the room. "It's too much--too bright, too loud, too many..."

And then, almost like an answer to his prayers, there came a hush over the crowd and everyone's attention was directed towards the dais as the great and terrible Reaver stood to give a speech. It was clear from the beginning that the man was drunk, and so the doctor did not bother to really listen to the a word the man had to say, concentrating more on searching for a means of escape. He could fake an illness, but no doubt Cecil would see straight through that. He could simply step out into the gardens and pass the night there. Cecil could have her fun while--

And then his attention was immediately directed at the stage again. The jeweled chalice had fallen from Reaver's grip, abandoned as his hands flew to his throat as he desperately gasped for air. While the crowd gawked, Tom was already moving before the man had even begun his descent to the floor. There was only one explanation for such a thing: Poison, an assassination attempt of the most cowardly sort. Perhaps he had come here for the single purpose of saving the most hated man in Albion; the heroes of Mistpeak Valley would not be pleased.

The panic that surged through the party goers was formidable, and their rush towards the exits slowed his progress. Page had shouted something before he could reach them, despite how much he hurried, and his frustration was clear as day upon his face by the time he'd finally extricated himself from the crowd. 

"What is it? What happened?" a woman with a distinctive one-eyed mask was asking the Speaker.

"Poison. Someone has poisoned his wine." As if that wasn't already obvious! "He barely clings to life, and I'm afraid that if he isn't seen by a doctor soon, he won't make it. As much as I would like for the pompous ass to rest in pieces, we need him alive. A doctor must be found, and quickly."

"I am a doctor," he announced, drawing nearer and removing his mask. "I am Dr. Thomas C. Whittaker. I can save him."

Oliver had mainly kept to the shadows throughout the chaotic mass of the party, performing little tricks here and there when he was recognised. He had adorned a loose, rough shirt under his vest, his gold-speckled mask twinkling in the lights. He had even listened a bit when the pompous man, Reaver, began speaking, snorting at his jabs at the people. His attention was next drawn by the man clutching his throat, sputtering. Oh, no. That wasn't good.

Along with that doctor fellow, Oliver had also begun to make his way to the man, reluctantly letting go of two beauties on his arms. Obviously, it had been poison, as the two girls pointed out. The one man introduced himself as a doctor, and Oliver then took a slight bow to introduce himself, as well. "Oliver Robin, Apothecary and Undertaker."

Page looked both men up and down, sizing them up, wondering if their aims were genuine, before she finally gave a nod and ushered them both up to the unconscious king of industry. The Captain of the Guard turned his grey eyes upon them as well, a frown upon his lips.

"Who's this?"

"Dr. Thomas Whittaker and a Mr. Oliver Robin, an Apothecary." She neglected to tell him the undertaking bit in an effort to avoid alarming him more than necessary. "They say they can help."

"We can't just let anyone who claims--" But Ben lay a hand upon the man's arm.

"There isn't enough time. He's going to die unless someone does something."

The Captain scowled, but nodded, stepping away to allow the two men room. Still, he fixed them both with an icy stare. "No funny business, or I'll run you through. Understand?"

Parties had never really been Aludra's scene, as she preferred to keep to herself on the sidelines and out of the public eye. Though, when the invitation to a soiree was given to her with the knowledge that it would be a masquerade, she didn't see the harm in letting herself go for one night. Her latest little lucrative activity made her enough to buy a mask. It wasn't elaborate; a white and gold-leafed thing that matched her dress. The dress, too, wasn't really her style, but hey, what could it hurt to look nice for once in her life?

Unlike most of the other party-goers, or so it seemed, she arrived on foot. She'd thought ahead to wear her usual boots so that walking wasn't a chore. When butlers and others began to address her with pleasantries and offer her wine and hors d'oeuvres, she stiffened at first. An outcast like her shouldn't be treated like this unless they were planning to hurt her.. but then she remembered the accessory that was hiding at least half of her face. So she really could 'let her hair down' for once.. At that thought, she finally found it in her to smile and enjoy the night ahead.

Dancing, music, and wine.. It was all so wonderful. She was mid-conversation with a group of the other party-goers when the crowds began to move closer to the stage. Reaver's voice grated on her ears as it always had and she continued to speak to the friends she'd begun to meet. However, once people began to laugh at his jabs, she grew interest in his words.

By the time her head turned, she heard the thud that signaled the pompous man's collapse. Aludra blinked and felt a hand fly to her chest to hold her thundering heart inside. This was not good at all.. As people began to move toward Reaver's body, she stayed still, simply observing for now. Certainly the others present, the doctor and apothecary, would make things much more clear.

The mail had come a tad early in the morning, though normally on time, it arrived briskly to the doorstep of the blacksmith shop. As always, the redhead who now owned the place had heard the kindly elder man who delivered her letters, but was surprised to see a beautifully designed envelope in his hands. Emira was completely stunned by the sudden invite to such a lavish get together, never really having been to anything remotely close to such a thing, but she wore her largest smile as she put on her best dress, then made her way to the castle at twilight. The thought of a masquerade had intrigued her; hiding your identity behind a simple decorated mask and dancing the night away, seemed as if it were a fairy tale in her mind.
She had made her way on foot up the cobblestone stairs, taking a few small breathers before she ascended toward the large doors, and she popped her face in as she gave a quick peek, though the doors burst open to reveal a servant man that ushered her in. They greeted her as she wrinkled her freckled nose out of habit, her nerves causing her to tense. The man had shown her toward the large room where the group had been gathered, people had still been pouring in through the doors.
Across the room, a tall and pale man spoke loudly to address everyone, but within the blink of an eye, he was gone from sight and the crowd had erupted into a panic. Emira smoothed out her pale powder blue dress and tried to jump back toward a wall for safety, her heart pounding against her chest as she heard someone mention poison.
"What the bloody hell is going on...?" She muttered to herself.

"Poison? What coward would. ."

Lyra's words were cut short as a gentleman-- no, two gentlemen-- emerged from the chaotic throng behind her.

"I am a doctor," declared the first man as he removed his mask, "I am Dr. Thomas C. Whittaker. I can save him."

"Oliver Robin; Apothecary and Undertaker." Stated the second with a flourish. Lyra raised a brow at the man, noting that there was something slightly. . off about him, though she couldn't put her finger on it. She chalked it up to the growing atmosphere of paranoia, however, and put her suspicions aside; casting judgement on anyone at this point without facts and a cool head would do no one any good. Turning her attention back to the good doctor, Lyra briefly took stock of the man. He seemed a decent sort, if a bit stiff, and she could swear that she'd heard that name mentioned somewhere before.

From where, though, she couldn't recall. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, hoping it would come back to her. One downside of reading nearly every waking moment was that some things tended to blur together.

With a nod, the woman took a step back. She was increasingly aware of her present company among individuals of much higher standing than she was, with the added benefit of such a tense atmosphere. She certainly didn't fancy stepping on any toes, and wanted to give the two men plenty of space with which to examine the industrialist currently lying on the floor. With a sigh, she turned her golden-masked face to their surroundings, unable to help but wonder whether the would-be killer was still among them. She flexed her fingers, wishing she'd come more prepared.

"Well, this is certainly shaping up to be a long night. ."

The doctor was quick to kneel beside the fallen tycoon, checking his pulse, heart rate, and temperature. "Bring me some water," he commanded, dispensing with pretense and politeness. There wasn't any time for formality. "Lots of it. And some ice. We need to bring down his fever. You there," he pointed a finger at the self-proclaimed Apothecary and Undertaker, "help me sit him up."

"I say, what a fine costume!"

"Ah, thank you!"

"It's so intricate! If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought you were the real thing!"

"Ahahaha... ha..."

The skeleton adjusted his bow-tie nervously, and had he any lips, he'd have chewed them to bits by now. While thus far his ghastly visage had been mistaken for a costume, he was beginning to wonder just how long he could keep up this act. An intense curiosity had spurred him to join the party despite any and all common sense, and he had waltzed in like he owned the place. The people loved it, but the attention was more than he had expected. Still, the show must go on...

"Did you make it yourself?" asked one woman from behind her fan.

"Oh, yes. Took quite a while," he responded casually. 

"Why is that?" questioned her partner, who seemed at least twice as entertained by the skeleton man than her date.

The undead lifted a hand to scratch at a cheek that no longer was there, an interesting nervous habit he'd noticed over the course of the last few days. "Decomposing is hard work."

The group that had surrounded him bubbled with laughter at the joke, and he shifted, relaxing slightly. If he could keep them entertained, maybe they wouldn't notice the glaringly obvious fact that he was actually exactly what he looked like: a skeleton dressed in fancy attire. He had just opened his mouth to make another joke when another funny man stood up to give a drunken speech. Thankful for the distraction, he slipped away from the group that had cornered him and made for a spot with fewer people near the wall. Nodding to a woman in a pretty blue gown, he let out a small sigh of relief and leaned against the paneling and wallpaper.

That was when there came a thud, followed by a few moments of silence and several screams. The skeleton glanced up then, and had he eyes and lids, he might have blinked in his confusion. There, on the floor, lay the funny man in a pool of wine and his own spittle and foam.

"Oh," said the dead man, "Well, that's the opposite of good, isn't it?"

The auburn-haired scholar turned her attention back to Doctor Whittaker at his request and glanced around the room. She knew she'd seen a fountain set up for water somewhere, complete with vessels providing ice for the guests. After a few moments of looking, she spotted it amongst the crowd and quickly made her way to it, taking hold of one of the large, ornate bowls and filling it as full of the cool liquid as she could before taking it, as well a container of ice, back with her.

Careful not to drop or spill anything, she knelt down next to the brown-haired gentleman and placed the items to the side. "I hope these will do. If there's anything else I can do to help," she added with a slight grimace as she looked upon the blue-faced aristocrat far more closely than she'd have ever hoped to, "I will do my utmost."

Oliver nodded, stooping down and propping the man up into a sitting position. "We should get the crowd to settle as well, if someone would be so kind," he muttered. "Normally, I would be more than happy, although in these circumstances... I don't believe there might be a jester of sorts nearby?"

One eye scanned the crowd then, lighting up when he spotted-- was that a skeleton mask? Oh, excellent! "You there, in the corner! Yes, you, with the skeleton mask! You seem a chipper fellow; mind sharing a bit of cheer with the room?"

The doctor mumbled a thank you to both the masked woman and the Undertaker, leaning back Reaver's head and opening the man's mouth so that he could pour some water down his throat. He would pause every so often to rub the tycoon's neck to force him to swallow so that he would not accidentally drown, and then handed the empty chalice to Lyra again. "I'll need more of that, thank you. It might be best to just bring a whole pitcher."

Meanwhile, the skeleton gave a start at being addressed. "Me?" he asked, pointing a bony finger covered loosely by a white glove. "Oh, no, I don't think that is a terribly good idea..." One, he doubted it would be appropriate for him to start cracking jokes while a man turned blue on the floor, and two, he didn't think bringing any more attention to himself was wise. Half the kingdom was here. If it was somehow revealed that he was not, in fact, a costume, he'd surely be torn to pieces. He might not be able to feel pain, but that was not an idea that he relished. "I'm not one to entertain," he lied. "Perhaps someone else...?"

As soon as the festivities where interrupted by what was thought to be just another drunken moment for the deviant, Ben had seen the fear in the peoples' eyes as he noticed the way the inner crowd reacted; it wasn't a mere drunken incident.
"Oh bloody hell," the gruff blonde muttered with a sigh, not just because he had been used to things going wrong. Though nowadays he just expected it. In his bright red uniform, neatly pressed specifically for the evening, he quickly made his way toward the two tall and silents guards near the doors. "There's been a problem, a poison problem, and not the 'pick your spirits' kind." The men nodded with slightly wide eyes, then made their way toward the crowd, addressing the room calmly to step back as the doctor could work without anxiety. Ben had made his way around the room, addressing the party goers and checking if they had any of the same drink as Reaver had. He reached behind his head and rubbed his neck nervously.
"Did anyone see anything suspicious? I could use a damn report!" He growled.

The Captain of the Guard sighed. "We should move him to a quieter spot. Perhaps the War Room? We can lock ourselves in, make sure no one gets near."

"If it's safe to move him, I say that's a good idea," Page responded, kneeling beside Reaver and the doctor. "But first we need to calm the people down."

With a nod, the good captain cupped his hands over his mouth and gave a mighty shout that somehow carried across the whole of the room. It caught the majority of the crowd's attention, though their panic was still plain upon their faces. "Everyone, everyone please!" he began. "Calm yourselves. We will find the one responsible for this, I assure you. But for now, you must remain as calm as possible. We cannot allow anyone to leave the castle until we find the assassin, but you are permitted to wander the castle itself as well as the gardens--"

This only spawned more chaos, but instead of simple fear, outrage was added to the mix. "You can't keep us here!" several were saying. "I want to go home!" cried others.

"People, please! This would go by much smoother if we work together!" Page cried, waving her arms to regain their attention. "We will need help finding the assassin, so please, make yourselves useful if you can. If not, try to remain calm and talk among yourselves."

"My dear lady," Lyric the Bard spoke from the foot of the dais. "I can perhaps offer some sweet music to ease their nerves, if you like." When Page nodded in consent, he gave a bright smile. "I will need a partner, though, as it is a duet." Raising his voice, he addressed the crowd. "Have any of you fine young ladies a voice as fair as her looks? Hm? Anyone know 'Dweller Rover'? Come, come, I know at least one of you must have heard it!"

[Players may now explore the rest of the castle, barring the locked areas.]

Lyra nodded and promptly did as the good doctor asked, quickly returning with a full pitcher of water. She handed the container off to him and watched him work a moment before her eyes-- well, eye-- fell upon the chalice lying upon the now-stained rug. Her brows furrowed slightly.

"Poison!" She thought to herself bitterly, "What sort of spineless coward would resort to such an underhanded method?" Reaver was a filthy scoundrel, that much was true, but he certainly deserved more than this. He was still of Heroic blood, after all. He deserved to be able to look his would-be attacker in the eyes, if anything else. Of course, said attacker would likely be very, very dead. . But it was the principle of the matter!

"We cannot allow anyone to leave the castle until we find the assassin, but you are permitted to wander the castle itself as well as the gardens--" boomed the voice of the Captain of the Guard, soon answered with a veritable chorus of disgruntled voices.

That was all she needed to hear.

Rising to stand, Lyra resolved to do what she could to find the man or woman responsible for this and bring them to the authorities. She wasn't nearly as armed and prepared as she would have liked in a situation like this, but she still had the benefit of some anonymity, and she could make-do with hand-to-hand or whatever else she could find to apprehend the criminal when she found them-- though it would certainly be more difficult without her usual tools of the trade, as it were. She took a moment to look around and get her bearings. It seemed her choices were to search the gardens or to go back the way she'd entered. After a moment of deliberation, she gathered her gown and turned back towards the hall, giving a certain blue-eyed Commander a brief but respectful nod as she passed him by.

She knew she'd passed a kitchen somewhere. . Perhaps that would be a good place to look for clues?

[As you wander the halls in search of the kitchen, you notice that something is amiss.]

As Lyra entered the hallway, she couldn't help but shake the feeling that something seemed somehow. . different than before. Other than the lack of people being ushered toward the ballroom, anyway.

She went to work investigating the area, attempting to find something worthwhile. . .