Whatever noise and merrymaking that had been going on in the Tonberry at this late hour was startled nearly to silence as a young boy, no better than a street urchin, burst into the Tavern with a visage of sheer distress. He drew in a deep breath and informed the startled and curious crowd."Mister Bertram! There's news of the princess, and I don't think it's good. There's a whole lot of weeping from folks what can read!" He drew out a crumpled paper from his person and held it out, desperate to find someone who could decipher it for him.<br/><br/>Unfortunately in these dark times, it was the street urchins that were the most reliable outlets of news, as their youth and nature seemed to protect them from the severest punishments for disseminating certain information, and often from even getting caught.<br/><br/>The tavern owner wiped his hands on his apron and approached the boy he knew as Tobias Wedge. He'd known this urchin for a small amount of time, sparing some odd jobs and work for the lad in exchange for a bit of coin to keep him fed, and would have looked after the boy as a surrogate father if the kid would have allowed it. Some just had the wandering spirit, and this urchin's was strong indeed. The barkeep cast him a concerned yet understanding glance. "Hush now, boy, calm yourself. Let's see it, Master Wedge." By now nearly the entire tavern had eyes fixed on the pair as innkeeper Bertram Biggs took the notice from the boy.<br/><br/>He adjusted his glasses on his nose and his lips moved ever so slightly as he read it carefully, for he was not the most literate himself. Yet his understanding of the message was indeed clear soon enough. "My word... May the goddess preserve her poor spirit..." Tears welled in his eyes as everyone seemed to hold their breath waiting to hear the news. "It says that our princess has not been missing. She has been ill and this very morning... Her illness has taken her. They plan her funeral on the morrow."<br/><br/>From the corner of the Tavern a hooded figure stood and stormed out of the tavern. As he left, his hood fell revealing him to be the very same masked champion whose existence had been questioned in whispers. He paused at the door and drew out a parchment and blade, stabbing it into the door frame on his way into the dark night. "We, the Cerulean Hawks shall not stand for the palace's deception. Poisons resemble illness when a healer is naught but assassin. Stand with me tomorrow in protest in service of the slain princess."<br/><br/>At the bottom of the parchment, a pair of wax stamped signets revealed something cryptic of this mysterious spell-sword. A blue hawk, and three letters in gold. CID.