It took one. It only ever took one. One weak link in the chain, one mistake in battle, one misstep during a treacherous climb. And one man to tell a guard a secret. An old man, fearing for his life, or perhaps not comprehending the meaning of his words, or perhaps looking for a gold coin tossed his way. Cool blue eyes, glimmering like a snake's in the lantern light, met the guard's. "Give him what he wants," came the husky accented voice, it's H's hissed out, it's I's too much like E's, it's W's like V's, and it's A's like O's. An entirely unnatural accent for these parts with a voice that gave every townsperson chills. A voice that dripped doom like an oil-slicked arrow waiting to be lit. Even in this part of the docks, with the eyes of scoundrels and scum leering at them from alleys and houses and trash-filled carts, the voice and its owner had some weight. That beautiful woman, shining a cold dead gold in the lantern light.<br/><br/>A few silver coins blinked through the air, not thrown to him so much as at him. He scrambled to catch them as the troops turned toward a building he'd indicated. Every single guard conducting the search had been given the description of the thieves. Or at least, as much of a description as dying men could give. This way, they could interrogate townspeople about the thieves' location. Two large men, a dark woman, and a dog. Eventually, they would happen upon someone who'd seen and was willing to share. And now, it appeared they had. Perhaps Methuseld's men had gotten lucky... Perhaps it was a trap, as had happened before. Or perhaps, as was more often than not, it was merely a dead end. Either way, it bore further investigation. The man had pointed to a two-story house, more often abandoned than not from the looks of it. If there were any inhabitants inside looking out, they would see the men quietly surround the building. Surprisingly stealthy in their metal armor, each had at least two comrades visible to him at a time such that no escape could go undetected. Five men formed a semi-circle in front of the front door. Behind them, a dispassionate metal statue astride a horse waited, peering down like a goddess onto mortals.<br/><br/>"In the name of the Vizier, open this door!" A heavy gauntlet pounded on the thick wooden door as the voice boomed. "Grand General Methuseld von Ellegarde of the Spire demands words with the inhabitants of this dwelling. I say again, open this door! There shall be no second warning before we enter!"