A Different Type of Investigation

         Tyra, her sword slung against her hip in a casual way and the magicked bag with her books on the paranormal weighing her down, trudged towards the small town. It was raining, an overall disgusting time to be traveling. She adjusted her hood, wrapped herself in her cloak, and scowled.
         She wasn’t someone you’d expect to be a ghost-chaser. For her age, she was well-versed in the spiritual realm, a Death-Seer, who could see spirits and combat them. She had apprenticed under Fianne Pastwalker Jayde Callaghan, who had helped save the country about thirteen years earlier. That made her highly thought of - it was known that her gift was strong, just shy of being a Pastwalker, and Ahmani only gave such a gift to those he could trust.
         Tyra was famous for her work. She traveled alone, unafraid of the dangers in her world. It was rumored, too, of her swordplay, and even that her sword was spelled for her line of work by the most powerful mage in Réyhördrík, Roburtizin Laran-Quaeche. It made people avoid her, but Tyra liked the solitude.
         She reached the gate and knocked. A burly man opened the door, sharp eyes peering out from under a sopping hood.
         “Who’re ya?” He demanded.
         “Tyra. Tyra Morsí. The paranormal expert your mayor called in.”
         “Ah. He awaits ya in the town inn.”
         She nodded. “Thank you.” As she went past him she could feel his eyes on her, the gaze one of wonder and fear. Ignoring it, she took in her bearings. The town was constructed of clapboards, probably cedar, with thatched roofs. The inn had a brick facade, but the large mansion on the hill looked to be the most well constructed - it had no thatched roof, and was made of brick.
         “That’s probably the haunted one.” Before she entered the inn, she stomped mud off her high boots and assumed her drifting gait. With her hood still drawn and the cold rain dripping off, she stopped the innkeeper.
         “Yes, ma’am?”
         “I am Tyra Morsí. I’m looking for your mayor.”
         “They’re in th’ back room, ma’am. May I get anything for you?”
         “Some strawberry ale, perhaps. I hear it is excellent here.”
         He lead her back to a room off the commons. One man with a purple sash was seated at the head of the table, and a man and woman, both richly dressed, were seated next to him.
         “I take it you are the paranormal investigator?” the man with the sash asked.
         “I am.”
         “Have a seat. You may remove your cloak and sit it by the fire to dry.”          
         Tyra knew a command when she heard one, and with a heavy sigh she slipped her cloak off. She was very pretty, gracefully built, with floor-length black hair pulled back in a braid, dark black eyes, and tanned beige skin. Her clothes were all black with silver trim. She could have been at most eighteen, but her eyes showed that she’d seen more than many thrice her age. What shocked the trio the most, though, was the two black, feline ears that came through her hair, and the black feline tail that followed her.
         “I do not believe you!” The other man exclaimed. “This is a mere girl, and a tiefling at that!”
         Tyra drew one of her daggers and slammed it hilt-deep into the table. The three drew back.
         “I have encountered ghouls, spirits, poltergeists, incubi, succubi, animals, hostile or friendly. I have been to cities and two-house villages, in the mountains or by the sea. I am a friend to unicorns, pegasi, centaurs, giants, golems, and dragons. I have cleansed more houses than you can count. I trained under Lady Jayde Callaghan-Redrec. Judge me not until I am done.”  She pulled the dagger from the table and sheathed it.
         “You make your point. . . unmistakably clear,” the woman said. “Please, have a seat.”
         Tyra sat down as the bartender stepped in, and delivered her drink and a meal. “Tell me what the problem is.”
         Still with doubt in his eyes, the man spoke. “I am Lord Amarna and this is my wife. We have noticed recently that some. . . unnatural events have taken place in some rooms of our house.”
         “I am the Mayor,” the sashed man said. “I have noticed that some of the events they have described are moving to the village.”
         “What is happening?”
         “Furniture is being rearranged at night. Our daughter was recently attacked in her quarters. Doors and windows open and close with no explanation. Candles get blown out. Objects are thrown down the stairs and float through the air. We see. . . people. Shadows. Lights.”
         Tyra reached into one of her bags and pulled out a heavy tome. Flipping through it, she found what she wanted. “You have a typical haunting, honestly. Poltergeist activity, mainly. That explains the doors, furniture, and objects, at least. The visible apparitions and the attack are atypical, however, and bear further investigation.”
         “There is something else. . .” Lord Amarna looked around as if what he was about to say would hurt his reputation, and then looked down at the table. “Our daughter says that the being who attacked her was a man, very handsome, yet he attempted to. . . disgrace her. That is what we are most worried of.”
         Something from her training twitched in Tyra’s mind. “I would like to come to your house in the morning and do some preliminary readings.”
         “That will be excellent. We want to know what is happening.” Amarna sighed. “We have made a list and diagram of the house for you to know what rooms involve what.”
         “Is it house-wide?”
         “Yes.” He handed it over to her. She skimmed it.
         “May I be dismissed to study this?”
         “Yes.”
         “If you need anything, please contact me,” the Mayor said. Tyra nodded, tucked the book and paper away and left with her remaining food and drink in hand. The innkeeper stopped her, trying to not look at her ears.
         “Here is the key to your room, ma’am. Is there an-”
         “Hot water for a bath, please.”
         “Right away, ma’am.”
         Tyra climbed the stairs and settled into her room, unpacking her bags. From one, she pulled her single change of clothes and her nightgown, folding them neatly onto the table. Next to them she dumped another’s contents - a small box with dials and a small screen, and close to a dozen larger boxes. From the last she pulled an enormous stack of tomes, detailing everything she could ever desire to know about the spiritual realm. She got out her parchment pad and quill and took some notes, looking between the map and books to plot her attack. She’d lost track of time when there was a knock on the door.
         “Hot water, ma’am.”
         “Come on in.” She ignored them until the maids left, then the enticing scent of the steaming water drew her forward to the tub. She stripped down and slipped into the water, sinking down until it covered the top of her ears. The demon part of her cringed whenever she touched water, but the human part of her welcomed it. Underwater, she unbraided her hair and let the water purge the particles of dirt from each strand. . .
         Finally Tyra pulled herself from the bath and dried off, putting on her nightgown and dressing gown. She wrapped her hair up in a towel and washed her clothes in the remaining water. When she was done, she poured the water down the corner drain and hung her wet clothes over it. She had just sat down again when someone knocked on her door.
         “Yes?”
         “It is Lady Amarna. I have something I must tell you.”
         Tyra opened the door for her and she came in . “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
         “No, I must make this quick. I do not know if this will help you, but my family can trace our lineage back to the cleric of the Seven, Hilaeau.” She left.
         Tyra closed the door gently and walked back to the table, drying her hair the rest of the way. Hilaeau? It still made no sense.
         She made a note of it and finally collapsed on the bed, her tired muscles finally giving out as she passed into a tired sleep.
#
         She woke up later than she’d desired, and rocketed out to pull on her nicer set of
clothing - a long, duster-like, sleeveless overcoat and black pants - and dashed downstairs for breakfast. When she’d finished she ran back to gather her things and get to the mansion.
         She was met at the door by the Amarna family and servants, who were packed to stay in the inn and give Tyra the run of the house. She headed to the winter kitchen next to the Great Hall.
         “Thrown knives, things thrown down the back stairs. . .” She muttered, and moved the screened box around the knife-block. Taking down the number that flickered onto the screen and moved to check the back stairs. Before she went up them, she affixed one of the screen-less black boxes in a corner of the room. She went up the stairs and into the second floor servants’ quarters.
         “Doors open and close, things float, candles are blown out. . .”
         Tyra continued in this vein through the other rooms, positioning the screen-less boxes through the rooms, recording the numbers displayed on the box with the screen, and setting “trigger-objects” throughout the house. When she was finished, she sat in the Great Hall and planned the night’s venture.
         Before dusk fell Tyra went to the inn for dinner. She returned just at dusk, cast a spell so her eyes were adjusted to the night, and went inside to the winter kitchen.
         “If there is anyone here,” She called, keeping a wary eye on the knife-block. “I am not here to harm you. If you are here, I can hear you speak. Will you please tell me your name?”
         Go upstairs. A voice hissed from behind her. She spun.
         “I’m going there next - I want to help you fir-”
         GO UPSTAIRS!
         Tyra yelped as a hand pushed her towards the back staircase. She hesitated, and a knife buried itself in the banister by her hand.
         “Going!” She yelled, and sprinted up the stairs. When she got to the top, the candle she’d lit as a trigger-object blew out. “Hello?”
         The room!
         “Which one?” Blasted voice, just tell me...
         THE ROOM! The same forceful hand pushed Tyra through the door towards the daughter’s quarters.
         “All right, all right, I’m going!” Tyra loosened her sword in its scabbard as she entered the sitting room and began towards the bedroom door. She sensed a dark presence inside, wondered what she would face. . .
         Shaking, she pushed open the door. It squeaked slowly on its hinges. She winced. The room beyond was dark. Something stirred in the darkness beyond. She stepped in. The door slammed. It clicked - locked.
         “H-hello?”
         “I have long awaited you, Tyra Morsí.”
         “Who are you? Why are you here?”
         “I am here to silence you. You know far too much.”
         “Who are you?!” Tyra demanded.
         The other being cast a spell as Tyra drew her sword. She felt it ripped from her hand and it clattered to the ground. She spun for the door and frantically pulled and beat on it, begging it to open. She didn’t hear the steps behind her until something pulled her arms back and she felt them chained. It drug her back against one of the bedposts and chained her, standing, in place.
         “Now that you are in no position to harm me. . .” The creature lit a torch, revealing a man in his thirties. He was handsome, with grey eyes and shoulder-length sable hair. He wore the black robes of an archmage, but despite that he was obviously very strong. He carried a longsword at his side. “We can have a little chat.”          
         “Do I. . . um. . . know you?”
         “Doubtfully. You were merely five when I was overthrown.” He picked up the screen-less box from the corner and started examining it. “Although you know great deals of skewed information about me. Everyone does.”
         When he turned to her, Tyra had shrunk back against the post. “You’re Mortizan. Aseries’ most powerful servant.”
         “You seem a touch frightened.”
         “Never.”
         “Don’t lie to me. I’m tired of being lied to.”
         “But you were banned from Réyhördrík! You were locked in the Hells and the Abyss for eternity!”
         “You see, that is where everyone is wrong, and why I must lock you away where you cannot speak.”
         “Why not just kill me?”
         “Because I’ll have use for you. Someday in the future, at least. With every summons you come closer to my secrets, and I cannot have that.”          
         “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
         “Exactly. Now. . .” He unlocked the chains and pulled her up. “It’s time you get where you can’t talk.”
         “Can I get my things? Please, they’re all I own.”
         Mortizan sighed heavily and moved his hand and her belongings appeared, each item in its proper bag. He picked them up and seized her arm.
         “Have you ever been to the Hells?”
         Tyra mutely shook her head.
         “You’re shaking.”
         “I am not.”
         “I see. You fear the Hells, don’t you?”
         “I do not.”
         He shook his head and said a spell. They disappeared and reappeared in a wide foyer, with black walls and an obsidian-tiled floor. Off it branched numerous black doors, each with a silver handle. He drug her towards the one right in front of them. Behind it was a staircase, leading up.
         Tyra’s mind whirled. Where was she? She wasn’t in the Abyss, she couldn’t be in an upper-level of the Hells... which plane was Mortizan lord of? What had Jayde told her? The Fourth. That was it. The least material of all Five. Mortizan was Emperor of it. How could he hold her here?!
         He stopped at a door and pushed it open, pulling her through. It didn’t look like, specifically, a cell, it was a bit nicer, more furnished, although the floor was bare and cold.
         “All right.” Tyra felt her hands unchained. “Enjoy yourself. Oh - and let’s just say - you’re sharing this cell with someone.” Before she could retort, the door slammed closed. She beat it with her hands and then collapsed against it, shaking with sobs. She’d always been terrified of the Hells and Abyss and demons and anything else to do with them, but here she was, surrounded by the very things she dreaded. . .
         “Tyra?!”
         She heard someone come up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.
         “Leave me be!” She jerked closer to the door.
         “Tyra! It’s me, Calan!”
         “I don’t believe you.”
         “Why?!”
         “Calan is dead!”
         “Tyra, look at me!”
         His hand pulled her face gently over. He had light brown hair short-cropped around his ears, and light blue eyes, a sort of ruggedly-handsome air. She gasped.
         “Calan, they told me you were dead!”
         “Just because a body can’t be found, doesn’t mean they’re dead.”
         “She buried her head in his chest. “I missed you.”
         “Look, we don’t have much time to wait. I’ve figured out how to get out of here.”
         “You have?”
         “Calm down, dear, calm down. Get your bags.”
         “Make me a promise.”
         “What?”
         “As soon as we get back to Réyhördrík, we’re finding a cleric and getting married, like we should have.”
         He smiled. “Of course.”
#
         Lord Amarna picked up the parchment scrap on the Great Hall’s table.
         Lord and Lady Amarna,
         If you are receiving this note, it means that I have failed in my quest. Although your house may be cleansed, the room with my sword in it must be sealed until I return - do not tempt whatever lies within!
                                                 Tyra Morsí
         He stared at it, confused and blinking, wondering what she meant. As he puzzled over it, there was a burst of laughter from the grand staircase. Amarna turned to see Tyra and an unknown man coming down.
         “Oh, ignore that,” Tyra said, motioning to the note. “It doesn’t pertain anymore. Your house is cleansed.”
         “It is?”
         “Oh, aye.”
         “I guess this is your payment, then.” He handed her a small leather bag that clinked. “Who is -”
         “Oh, don’t worry about him.” Tyra picked up the note and tucked the payment away. The duo walked out of the mansion, her arm in his. Tyra remembered back to when she thought she’d lost him, and blinked back tears.
         “I never thought I’d see you again,” she whispered. All her fears of love had been washed back away.
         He kissed her gently, full of the promise of their new life together. “But you did.”
         Tyra looked back to the mansion. “So what do we do about him?”
         “Let him rot in his precious Hell. He cannot reach us now. We’re safe.”
         “Should we tell Jayde?”
         “We probably should.”
         They left the town and headed south-west into the rising sun, towards Laran Hall.