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"The Light and You..." the scratchy voice sneered. "What a joke, and those who buy into it are just as daft as she is." The voice belonged to a man, if he could be called that, and by most accounts he was, or once was a man. He stood steeped in shadow in the Exodar, watching them leave, one by one.

Three days passed. And then letters came. Each different; each as mysterious as the man who sent them.

(OOC: This is the beginning of an ongoing storyline, those who have received the letters, I hope you post and incorporate all of that here so that we can build off of it. )

Pausing to take a break from his daily training regimen at SI:7 headquarters, Arlston heads to the nearby tavern and notices a letter addressed to him. Puzzled at who could possibly want anything to do with him, he unfolds the letter and reads.

Upon completion, a strange sense of foreboding comes over him. Who could possibly know him? Why him? With so many unanswered questions, it is time to find some answers...

The night sky was not yet moonlit, stars twinkled high above. Carefully Ria unfolded the note. After struggling through the words, as she can barely read common, Ria quickly put down the note and backed away.

She ran off to the Recluse in hopes of finding Druadan. Although the young elf had not seen her in weeks, she was afraid. This note.. It did not seem good. Ria found an empty bar, this did not ease her nerves; however, more started to come in who had received a note...

With hundreds of different scenarios as to how he might have been compromised, Arlston leaves Old town for the Blue Recluse, always a favored stop for passerbys and odd folk.

Silently praying for an answer to be found inside, he slowly steps inside...

Mythic brought the mail, as always, tied to his feet like a carrier pigeon. Not that Dustwing ever received that much mail. Frowning, he stretched out his fist, coaxing the raven to land on it so he could read the message.

The parchment was nondescript, only bearing a few sentences. Dustwing frowned as he read them. Half-memories sprang up, something about red eyes, shadowed faces, but when he tried to focus on it, they were gone.

Dustwing read the message again.

"A riddle? What is too much for one, enough for two, but too much for three?"

Dustwing nibbled on his thumbnail as he thought. He shook out the paper, held it next to Strata, his warp stalker. The warp stalker appeared utterly uninterested in it however. So the parchment hadn't been enchanted.

Mythic chewed on Dustwing's sleeve helpfully, but when he realized he wasn't getting a treat for his delivery, squawked at Dustwing and jumped down beside his pack. With single-minded enthusiasm, the raven began ripping through it search of shinies--or maybe just revenge for Dustwing's absentminded rebuke.

Dustwing only noticed the bird running off with his hearthstone by the flurry of voices coming from it, before muffled by being deep in his pack. He snatched the stone from Mythic, scolded him, then listened to the voices.

They spoke of other letters, other riddles. So he wasn't alone. He spoke into the hearthstone himself, agreeing with the other voices that the best course of action was to meet in the Blue Recluse to talk it over.

*****

After the meeting, nothing much was clearer. A small set of clues had been assembled. Death, memories, time or a tombstone, marriage. Somehow the answers to the riddles didn't sound right to Dustwing, but it was all they had to go on.

They had batted around ideas long into the night. Perhaps it had to do with the Queen's tombstone?Bbut nothing had been there on investigation. Were they the recipients because they all had something in common? They had all attended the events of the Spring Festival perhaps? But no, one of their number hadn't. Had they all met somewhere, or lived somewhere? Three were affliated with Stormwind, two from the night elven lands. One hadn't even been outside the city gates. So it wasn't that, either. Did they all know the same people? Faxton, SI:7, Genevra...

They had all known Genevra, or at least seen her. More theories were cast around. Was the sender out to collect their souls? Collect Genevra's? Attack Genevra? Lure them all into a trap?

Or were they just a connoisseur of riddles with an odd sense of humor?

Nothing made sense. Two of the clues had been identical, which suggested that more than one person had received the letters, at least--people they hadn't met. Maybe there were more riddles than just the ones they knew of. Maybe they only had to find those others, and it would all come clear...

The moon rose and set, and soon many of the gathering had to rest. Returning to his camp, Dustwing shoved Strata out of his bedroll and lay down, staring at the ceiling of his tent. It might have been minutes, it have been hours, but soon the night elf slept.

Rosanth entered the Blue Recluse and smiled at Dustwing, though he appeared to be quite distracted as she sat near him. The tavern was full of the usual ruffians and conversations were bouncing off of each other like snowflakes in a blizzard. It was hard to make any sense of it all.

The two paladins, two hunters and a S:17 agent had all received mysterious letters, together they seemed to be trying to solve the puzzle. Though not much progress was made, they were determined to get some answers. Finally they decided to walk to the cemetary in the cathedral district and search the grounds for some kind of clue. Unfortunately, though they found the final resting place of the Queen, no clues seemed to be evident in the area.

Weary with the late night the puzzled group finally called it for the evening, each having spent long hours in frustrated discussion. Will they find more clues or letters tomorrow?

As the meeting progessed into the night, Arlston's mind carefully cataloged and pieced together all the information that was thrust at him. Just like Master Shaw's training had taught him. Preferring to stand rather than sit, he did what he did best, observe and react to the gathered assembly of recipients of a letter.

"...Collect..." he murmured under his breath, as Dustwing and Samuel bandied words, and the odd collection walked towards the cemetery. "...Collect", something about the word seemed familiar, yet the harder he tried to remember, the more distant that knowledge seemed to get.

Glancing at his fellow letter recipients, Arlston shifted slightly. It had truly been a strange day, starting with his discovery of a plain letter for him at the Pig and Whistle, for SI:7 agents, mail was rare. Soon after followed the meeting with strangers he had never met, and his uneasiness to speak (He had never felt comfortable in a crowd), while he did not believe that these people were out to harm him, he kept a wary distance. While the others discussed their riddles, Arlston knew that he would have to speak, and dreaded it.

"I...solved mine"

These three words did exactly what Arlston hated, but knew was necessary. They brought the focus of these others upon him.

"Well, please tell us sir", said Dustwing, the most vocal of the gathered. Arlston shifted uncomfortably as the others watched him. As he read his riddle to the others, he ended with his one word answer to the problem. "What can bring back the dead, make us cry, make us laugh, make us young. born in an instant yet lasts a lifetime?"

"Memories"

As the others debated the significance of the word, Arlston silently puzzled out the answer to a second clue. "Death", but he soon began to doubt his answer. The meeting was growing more dire.

While the others traded theories and ideas during their trek to the cemetary, Arlston's mind was racing. No matter what pattern he was able to piece together, of the group, he was the odd-man-out. The anomaly. The only member from SI:7. While the others decided to rest and think on the matter, Arlston decided he would comb the SI:7 archives for any help. Smirking slightly to himself, he blended into the shadows lest another surprise came for him today. As he approached SI:7, his eyes narrowed, there would be no sleep for him...not tonight...

Cray's eyes would not shut.

His mind whirled, raced. Something about these letters was not only mysterious.... but ominous. There was hardly any reason to think that these were more than anonymous riddles sent to amuse... but the sense of foreboding that had filled him since he had opened his.

Perhaps some of it was merely the embarrassment of how terrible he was at solving riddles.

As he thought more and more about it... those words...
"Marking mortal privation, when firmly in place. An ending summation inscribed on my face."
He had optimistically suggested it might refer to a clock -- as that does have inscription on its face. The more he thought about it, the less he believed it. The more he agreed with Dustwing and that SI:7 agent.

It was definitely a tombstone.

There was something in the cemetery, he was sure of it. Something they had missed. He hated to go back -- he still could barely stomach the memory of the murder victim he had found there -- but it seemed he had little choice.

Whatever this was, he would meet it face on. As he did everything else.

Cray arose from his bed, his rest forgotten. He quickly donned his armor, strapping his shield to his back. He considered taking down the massive axe or the great sword he had hung on the wall. He opened his weapons chest. It was bursting with axes, swords, a few maces. The paladin pursed his lips thoughtfully as he gazed at his selection.

He would need to be ready for anything. None of them had any idea what it was that they were preparing for. These weapons had felled demons, Scourge, elementals... but they had never slain the unknown.

"A first time for everything," Cray muttered.

Arlston looks blankly at the mailbox he just placed his letter in, hoping that it arrives soon. Writing such a long letter and personally delivering it to the mailbox is uncharacteristic for him, but the severity of the situation calls for it. The blank, stoney expression on his faces startles the woman behind him. He often gets that response. Emotions are unusual for him.

Sighing deeply, he slowly walks back to his quarters at SI:7, using the shadows to stay unseen.

Dustwing has a very important piece of postage to look forward to...

Dustwing was surprised again when Mythic came wheeling back to him a second day with more mail. The format and letterhead was familiar, though Dustwing wasn't sure why it should be. He unfolded the letter and read through it carefully, all the meanwhile trying to coax the old memory to come forward. But, like so many memories ever since the "accident" in Northrend, it refused to.

Memories.
Darkness, rather than death.
Tombstone.
Secrets, rather than marriage.

Dustwing scratched behind an ear, thinking it over. On first glance, it didn't seem to be anymore helpful than what they had come up with before. On second glance...

Something was buried--maybe figuratively, maybe literally. Perhaps both? Darkness and secrets. That didn't sound like it boded well.

Dustwing thought back to their earlier line of thinking. Had they all been chosen because they had something in their pasts that was secretive, buried? That sent a chill through him. If that described anyone's past, it would be his.

There seemed to be no mention of a meeting place or time, either in the original messages or hidden in the riddles. Instead of a time or place, perhaps a person? Maybe it wasn't one of them who was carrying the secrets...

If that were so, they certainly had a large task up front of them. Anyone on Azeroth could be considered to be carrying dark secrets. Someone darker, more secretive, than most?

Lluchdu Ocheliad. They were the darkest, secretive bunch Dustwing could think of offhand. If it wasn't them, perhaps they knew something. Perhaps...

It wouldn't do to go alone. Dustwing sat down and began to meticulously write down his musings. He split these into four letters, and gave themto Mythic to deliver, holding the raven in his cupped hands and whispering to him. Then he threw the bird into the sky, watching until the black speck of feathers had faded completely from sight.

When Ria received the letter she read over it carefully. Arlston had just got done talking to her and had left her more nervous and frightened than she had been the night before.

She sat down under a tree and pulled her knees to her chest. She re-read the first letter "It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and beneath the hills. It ends life and kills laughter." Death would have most certainly fit this description; although she did not want to think about that.

Darkness would also answer her riddle. However, it did not comfort her. It was in the darkness she had been attacked.

And now Dustwing wondering if the letters involved the Ocheliad? This worried Ria even more. She had not seen Druadan in close to a week. Darkness and death, memories and tombstones.. None of this was comforting to her.

The hours dragged on...
Patience. Patience was key. Patience was what kept those who used the shadows alive.
Patience. The target will approach.

All these thoughts drifted through Arlston's mind as he waited for his mark to appear, a certain member of Lluchduu Ocheliad that he had run across before...

It had been hours ago that he had read Dustwing's reply...and he agreed.
Lluchduu Ocheliad.
Arlston could not think of a better group that knew the goings on of things both dark and illegal.

As he stalked the streets unseen, searching, he kept his rock-calm composure. He had been in tighter spots, though none so unnerving as tracking a member of the least understood band of villains he had researched at SI:7.

Not one for fearing anything since the events of Westfall, Arlston only felt worried. With a quick glance at his Hearthstone, he remembered the warning he had given Shauraria. "Stay...Safe." It was she who he worried for. Someone who still held fear, who didn't deserve this trauma. It for for her and the others that he would follow, and watch, the Ocheliad. He placed his Hearthstone back into his pouch, listening for any sign of the others...

With a slight grin, he continued his prowling of the streets.

Patience...Patience would keep him alive.
Patience would solve this ominous plot.
Patience. All he needed was more patience...

Two more riddles had surfaced near her. One with a friend and one with another. Keyesh's letter had read "It says I am what you'll become, join the others and you shall truly be enlightened" and the other "When you stop and look you can always see me. If you try to touch you cannot feel me. I cannot move but as you near me I will move away from you."

Although no answer came in regards to Keyesh's letter, the other had figured out their letter. The answer was his shadow. Ria stayed to talk to this person, but as time went on she grew more nervous and her head began to spin.

As the other person left, Ria made her way to the docks. There she sat and thought about what could happen. This was equally unpleasant to last night. But there she remained.

He'd heard the rumors around the magic quarter and old town, whispered in the dark corners of bars and away from prying eyes. Still their words were spoke with caution, that would not do. He took notice of the renewed sense of concern within those who were the recipients.

The sun was high in the sky above the city, yet he was still drenched in shadow as he sulked across Stormwind. He stopped, a smirk befalling his lips as he reached the mailbox, setting an official looking parcel atop it. He shook his head as he sorted through the letters, "And some still look for direct answers, how unexpected." There was a hint of bemused surprise in his voice as he read the letters.

"You'll get no such satisfaction," he muttered to himself, penning a quick response or two. The man paused, appearing lost in thought for a moment before his gaze fell to the parcel, "Oh yes, of course." He scribbled a name and slipped it into the box.

"What's that?" Came an unfamiliar voice. The Collector did not respond, but marked the voice as one he'd remember. He stepped off as the dark spot on an otherwise bright day.

Rillik let out a drawn out sigh as he sat back from his desk, the mysterious letter lying in front of him. No doubt this was sent from some kook still mad at the AAMS for the Camp Taurajo Renewal Project. He was still slightly amused that so many people would get in such an uproar over an attempt to promote peace, rather than continued conflict. Ah, well, he mused to himself. They have to blame someone other than themselves. Why not us?

He looked back down at the letter and something strange occurred to him. The handwriting was unusually precise for someone not native to Common. This letter had not been sent by someone from the Horde, unless it had been sent through the AAMS Horde Branch. But, if that was the case, he would have gotten it via inter-office memo, not the goblin-mail system...

He sighed again, slightly concerned now, but with too much on his plate currently to worry about it right this second. He picked up the strange missive, placed on the top of his inbox, and promised himself he would get to it later. Pssh... Whenever "later" actually is, who knows?

Cray blinked his eyes. His back was very sore.... and it was very bright. He glanced up. The sun was glowing above him, beaming down upon him.

"Oh, right...." he sat up, quickly. He must have finally dozed off.... unfortunately, he'd done so on a stone bench in the cemetery. He stood and gazed around. Nothing seemed different.

He made the trek to his mailbox in the Cathedral Square, just in case there was more news from Dustwing -- though he had previously sent a letter directly to Cray by means of raven -- or any of the others.

Sure enough, the box contained a note. It seemed to come from no one, which filled Cray with a sense of dread even greater. And there.... another riddle.

He swallowed uncomfortably. He reached for his hearthstone, then paused. No, there was no need to send every adventurer on Azeroth into a panic. Instead, he touched the guild stone Sepha Gentyl had made him promise to always carry, which he'd had sewn into the clasp of his cape, and spoke.

"Ria?"

Nothing.

The Ocheliad were not behind it. Arlston's suspicions grew the more he tailed the Ocheliad's members through the streets of Stormwind. Stopping to watch the crowd in the Trade district, he pondered the information he had discovered in his observations.

Nothing. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, everything matched SI:7's records. Every mannerism, every quirk, even every taste preference was completely correct.

His mask concealing the blank, emotionless face he constantly wore, he watched and he waited, and he planned.

After dropping his tools off at the SI:7 barracks and making his report to Master Shaw, the Recluse seemed to call him.

"Hmm..." he noticed the mailbox outside the SI:7 yard had a letter for....him? Another?
Quickly reading and memorizing it's contents, his suspicions confirmed, by the mysterious "Collector" himself. They were wrong, it was not the Ocheliad, nor the Queen's tomb.

His focus switched to the plain package with a small oddity.

An SI:7 seal at the top.

Was this a joke? A trap? A warning? Or even a threat? A message saying "I know who you work for, and what you can do?" Quickly scanning the documents enclosed in the package, he grinned, then his face quickly resumed it's stoney, unreadable expression. They were False.

The False Documents were nothing but a forgery. The seal on the top did not have the correct cypher used by his sub-department. The "Collector"s first mistake. And if he could make one mistake, he could make more.

Arriving at the Blue Recluse, Arlston noticed Shauraria and Cray Auchtin outside, with some unfamiliar faces. They were having a discussion of some sort...

The soothing sounds of boats and waves could be heard in the background as Ria dug through her satchel for her guild stone. "AH! Here it is!" Ria looked at the guild stone, turning it over a few times before figuring out how to hold it.

"Yes, Cray?"

The news of a new letter did not sit well with Ria. Her nights had grown restless and her mind on edge. She kept Leiria nearby just incase something were to happen. Ria made her way to the Recluse as Cray had asked her to. Here they bumped into some people from the other night and some new faces.

Upon seeing Arlston, Ria was relieved. She was not too sure why, but his sneaking around and searching for more information had made her very nervous. Likely the cause of her restless nights. After lots of discussing and Sath weighing in, Cray dismissed himself to go back to observing the cemetery. Three of the others, including Arlston, made their way to the Slaughtered Lamb to look around.

A draenei had observed part of the conversation and retired inside. Ria shortly after followed because Arlston would not have her accompany him to the Slaughtered Lamb. While inside she managed to find herself quite the talker. The draenei seemed old and caring. And after Ria's many near tumbles out of her chair, he dismissed himself.

There she waited until Arlston returned.

Dagary and Arlston were on their own.

Kevener had chosen to stand watch outside, lest some "Unsavory" types decided now would be the time to visit the Slaughtered Lamb.

After listening to snippets of Cray's and Shauraria's conversation, and providing a fraction of his own, newly gleaned information, he settled on his own course of action. Warlocks.

The group of original recipients had all received a second letter. Each personalized to them.
"We are...being watched" was Arlston's summary of the situation. When Dagary suggested a stealthed watcher Arlston disagreed. He himself was a master of his craft, trained to instantly spot any tail or unseen watcher. He had seen no such observer.

That left only supernatural means. The best bet would be the warlocks, to which the others agreed. Unsavory types, outcasts from society for dabbling in dark arts. While Cray left for his vigil in the cemetery, Arlston, after refusing Shauraria's accompanyment for her own safety, made his way towards the Slaughtered lamb with the Dark Iron Shaman, and paladin following.

Deep inside the lamb, nothing stood out. SI:7 had reports, files and records of the demonic activity, but none of it had been Arlston's area of expertise, he was silently glad for Dagary's help. Dressed as a warlock for his disguise, and Arlston's stealthy ways, the two plumbed the darkest secrets of the hideout.

Dagary took a small Ankh from a strange gnome warlock, his SI:7 dossier read "Sprackle Thornberry: Threat: minimal"

With nothing new learned, Arlston returned alone to the Recluse to inform Shauraria...

Ria was sitting in one of the chairs closest to the bar. The draenei had just left and Ria had not moved since. Her knees were hugged to her chest and her forehead resting on her knees. One of the nice things about the training Ria's father gave her was listening. She heard someone walk up to the table. When she looked up it was Arlston, a smile instantly formed on her face.

Ria was ecstatic that Arlston had come back in one piece. However, the news of no progress upset her. Arlston was clearly worried about her safety, you couldn't tell this from his expression. But he made it quite clear with his words. He wanted Ria to back out of this whole ordeal.

"I don't think the person sending the letters would let me back out... I most certainly would not willingly back out.."

She vividly showed her emotions, which Arlston questioned. After the two talked for sometime it had been decided to ask Druadan for help. Druadan was rather skilled at slinking in the shadows unnoticed, even by those who are trained.