"Can you tell us more, Knight Burral? What exactly is this task? Where would we be required to go? And why is it something the Black Fist cannot undertake?"

“When you say it cannot be easily accomplished by the Black Fist, do you mean for reasons of jurisdiction … subtlety … or deniability?”

Aleyd Burral shakes her head sternly at the questions. "I cannot say more until you all agree to the offer. Or until those of you who do not agree leave," she says. Her gaze passes over Auriel, Hildigrim, and Hex after hearing Carl's agreement. "It is a matter of importance to me, and one that I do not wish to meet any ears that I am not on the same page with."

Hildigrim pushes his round spectacles a little higher on his narrow nose. He has no reason to believe the Black Fist's request would break the Harper Code — therefore, he can't see any reason to exclude himself. He smiles at Aleyd and nods his head. "I agree," he says simply.

Auriel frowns ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Aleyd's.

He takes a moment to consider her words before saying, "I agree—so long as the task does not conflict with that which I represent."

The Eladrin's gaze drops meaningfully to the holy symbol resting against his chest: a pair of scales balanced atop a warhammer. The design differs slightly from those worn by most paladins of Tyr, but it is still a recognizable emblem of the god of Justice.

"I trust you understand that this, too, is a matter of importance to me."

Hex nods. "I agree as well."

Carl raises his mug, saying "Aye, I agree."  Then he goes back to his apple pie, listening, and if you looked really close, the top of his ears twitching.  

Knight Aleyd takes a deep, steadying breath, looking around once more to ensure that she is alone in the common room with the party. 

"I've been concerned for a while by rumors of corruption among the Black Fists. I am desperate to do something about it, but first I need tangible proof that I can present to Lord Regent Ector Brahms. He is an honorable man, and as Knight Commander of the Black Fists, I am confident that he will act decisively as long as I can gather sufficient proof," she begins.

"I've tried, before, and failed. I'd heard rumors of a secret prison where rogue members of the Black Fists were torturing and murdering prisoners instead of remanding them to the normal prison system, either for their own enjoyment or perhaps to satisfy personal vendettas. I searched for a long time, and eventually located the place beneath the ruins of the Lyceum of the Black Lord, but there was nothing there to substantiate my suspicions. If anything was there, it had long since been cleared out."

She pauses, letting her introductory context sink in.

Auriel listens in silence as Aleyd speaks, the fingers of one hand absently brushing the edge of Tyr's symbol. His expression remains unreadable, save for a tightening at the corners of his eyes when she speaks of torture and secret prisons.

There is a brief moment in which he sees himself as if from a distance—a version of himself who would have reacted more viscerally to her words. Torture. Murder. For enjoyment. For revenge. That other self would have grieved for the victims first, whether they were criminals or not.

But the Eladrin he is now thinks first of the perpetrators. What drives someone to such cruelty? Where does the chain of guilt begin—and where does it end? Do their superiors turn a blind eye, or do they participate? Either way, it must be stopped. And if there is a way to prevent more victims, it is to sever the rot at its root.

Auriel stops brushing the holy symbol. He lowers his hands to the table, the backs faintly lined with Winter's blue. His voice, when he speaks, is cold and precise.

"The Lyceum of the Black Lord. I'm not familiar with that place. Where is it, exactly?"