Fantasy The Endless Night - A Gothic Dark-Fantasy Roleplay [IC] [CLOSED]

Hannalore examined the severed head from a few steps away, immobile, not out of disgust but because her interest had been piqued. She had seen many dismembered bodies and various other extremities divorced from their source throughout her time, and well over half of those cases had been done by her own hand. Surgery was a particular expertise of hers. Autopsies included. There wasn't an easy number to recall for the amount of infected, stricken, crippled, or otherwise lame limbs she had amputated. Removal of the head from the body was almost exclusively an ordeal for the autopsies, and often unsanctioned ones at that. Few would tolerate their loved one being beheaded even after death. Better left to the vagabonds or street urchins.

The cut along the fouled stump of a neck did not please her. Too messy, too unprofessional. Perhaps it had been hacked away with an ax or chopped at with a sword. It didn't strike her as a very clean cut. Possibly done while the victim had still been alive, though that was not easy to determine from where she was standing. She couldn't very well do an examination right here. Not with the others around, and certainly not with those violent drunkards accosting them. Fortunately, they were quick to be on their way, putting an end to any potential further violence. She wasn't much a fighter, though she knew her way around her scalpel in very unorthodox ways. For that very reason she kept it strapped to her forearm by leather bands. Spontaneous surgical procedures were sometimes a necessity in life. A slit throat or wrist, punctured eye or windpipe, slashed muscle of the leg or puncture to the stomach would drop anyone. The problem was when they had many, many friends with them.

She realized she was staring at the head for too long and looked away, though she allowed her eyes to peer out from beneath her hood in a sideways manner. The old scholar was already rubbing his hands all over it. That irritated her for a moment until she relaxed. Those Catanach had already gotten their grubby hands all over it anyways. It wouldn't be any further dirtied by an old scholarly astrologer.

"Our hands are without wicker or clay pot. Someone must carry the head by hand," she pointed out. Despite the filth matting down the dead woman's head, Hannalore wondered how soft it would be in her fingers, interwoven like silk lace. Likely, it wouldn't feel as fine as it should. Not with the blood and dirt. And all the other hands that had grasped at it.

Fulstan watched the nun warily, keeping her in the corner of his eyes. Sometimes prolonged isolation in the nunneries produced strange fixations. Something about the way this one stared at the head made him wonder how long this one had been in the cloister.

"Finding a basket is little problem. The city never sleeps, particularly in these strange times."

Fulstan fumbled in his robes and produced a single coin. Holding it up, he whistled sharply. Immediately there was a rustle in the shadows. Several street urchins, drawn by the noise of the previous conflict, stepped forward. Fulstan chose a likely looking pair, grubby and hidden beneath cast-off adult clothing. Their eyes flitted between the coin and the head, the first in hope, the second in morbid adolescent fascination.

"You two. We need a basket with a lid. Kethian's, two blocks south of here, should be selling them. This coin will get you a bushel basket with a bit left over for yourselves. There will two more coins just like it when you bring the basket to me. Understood? Good, then, off you go."

Fulstan sent the coin spinning into the air. It disappeared into a filthy hand long before it touched the ground. The two street children took off south at a dead run.

"Hopefully they'll actually pay for it," Fulstan murmured to himself. Steeling himself, he turned towards Hannalore.

"One cannot be too careful in these dark times. The unquiet spirits can roam far in a night that never ends. We should make every attempt to lay them to rest. Perhaps I can impose upon you to perform the final prayers? It is, admittedly, too late for extreme unction, but ..."

The two urchins, moving with the grace and speed of hunting pups being released from the kennel, skidded to a stop beside Fulstan. One holds up a lidded basket like a trophy.

"Ah, even faster than I expected. I trust you two settled with Kethian? I'll hear about it if you didn't. Well enough, here's your pay, well earned."

Coins exchanged for basket, Fulstan reverently placed the head inside and replaced the lid. "Not a casket, but needs must. Peace, now. No reason to haunt the likes of us."

She was staring, eyes widened, back and forth at the foul man's, Morvanig's retreating back, then at the dead woman's head, as Fulstan set it inside the basket. She had an odd expression, half wary, half resentful. Her fists were clenched at her side as she spoke, in a low growl,

"How is it fair that they run free, never to answer for the deaths they cause? No dead deserves to be mocked like this." It seemed unbelievable, how the other Catanachs simply followed him blindly.

She continued after a short pause, sighing. "If he were dead, his people would still keep killing whom they please..."

"Zealotry can be a powerful weapon for the faithful, but such a thing can be a double edged sword." Asher spoke to Cecilia rather calmly as he watched the Catanachs walk off in their mob. "What they view as righteousness can poison their judgement, and in their fervor end up committing the very sins they claim to fight against." The man would then gently put his hands behind his back as he continued to walk, rather unfazed at the encounter with the Catanach group.

"Taking a life is not always so simple as black and white. Perhaps if he were to die, his followers would disperse. Or... someone else would take his place and the violence would continue."

After the Catanachs left, Yanitsa thanked both Izold and Tremeur for stepping in to stop those thugs, but Izold said nothing to this. He simply remained quiet, staring at the darkness ahead of them. Tremeur acknowledged Yanitsa, and gave her a polite little nod. He watched as Valko walked off on his own at a slow pace, rubbing a finger on his forehead while saying that Morvanig would get himself killed. Fulstan, who was now picking the head of the deceased Vampyr, mentioned how the Catanachs could be suspects. Tremeur quickly rejected that idea. "Can't be." Everyone looked at him for a moment. "...Us Catanachs never harm the young ones... ever." He seemed serious about it, and considering the fact the victims were said to be young, maybe he was right. But Izold didn't entirely reject the idea.

"...Are they ever arrested for these mindless killings? Or do the constables simply let them run amok?"

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Tremeur looked at Octavia, he had a serious face now. His good mood now drained after the encounter. "Have you seen this city, Octavia? We've got creatures of the night and criminals roaming all over it. Nowhere is safe... the city is besieged." Tremeur eyed the head in Fulstan's hands for a moment, staring at her glowing vampyric eyes.

"Brother Izold, could I impose upon you? This unfortunate will need last rites and a burial, even if we cannot find the rest of her."

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Izold looked over his shoulder at Fulstan. While it was a noble gesture coming from the old man, he must have been aware that Izold was unable to give a burial to a Vampyr, for their blood is tainted. Yet the young cleric found himself agreeing with the astrologer. He turned around to look at the head when Hannalore spoke, offering to carry the head. Fulstan, however, knew the ways of Castow already, and getting a basket was a simple task. Tremeur was impressed, watching how he gathered a few Catanach urchins with ease.

"Glad to know you know how to handle yourself on these streets." he said, with a faint little smile that quickly faded away as he watched Fulstan put the head in the basket. Izold looked at the basket, and recited a few prayers in the name of St. Nathaniel and St. Charlot. There wasn't much Izold could actually do for this poor woman, as burying Vampyrs was forbidden and thus there were not any prayers or sacraments he could actually recite. With an apologetic look, he grabbed the basket from the hands of Fulstan. "Thank you, Mr. Schroder... You are a good man." He then looked at Hannalore, offering the basket. "Sister... you seem to be willing to carry this burden. Could you carry it until we can find a proper plot of land to bury her?"

"How is it fair that they run free, never to answer for the deaths they cause? No dead deserves to be mocked like this."

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"What they view as righteousness can poison their judgement, and in their fervor end up committing the very sins they claim to fight against."

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Tremeur watched as Asher and Cecilia talked about the Catanachs. He tried to close his eyes and not listen to their words, but he couldn't help it. He actually became annoyed with them for a moment. "I suggest you two not talk about our business." he said with clear annoyance in his tone. When the group looked at him again, he sighed and gave both Cecilia and Asher an apologetic look. "Sorry... heh, us Catanachs got a bit of an anger problem." He tried to sound like he was joking, but it ended up sounding rather depressed instead. "You gotta understand... We... Catanachs, we are an angry people. And believe me, we have thousands of reasons to be angry." He looked over at the moon for a moment. "...Some of us are still serfs." he said before walking away. "...Alright, think its best if we get a move on." he said, following after Valko and Raili.

Meanwhile...

In the more exrtavagant and luxurious districts of Castow, the doors to an old mannor opened for the first time in decades. There were plenty of abandoned mannors and households that served as home for foreign lords and their houses. The lords of Valion continued to be foreign, but the majority of the noble houses that had spawned with the invasion of the Empire of Veranoir-Ælgis vanished with the passing of history. This house was one of them, the name of the noble line that once owned this fine building was lost to time. But even with years-worth of dust covering most of it, it remained a beautiful building, decorated with the most skillfully made statues and its insides were furnished with furniture of the highest quality. The first people to walk in were a pair of men, both looked rather tough and were wearing traditional clothing worn by Vulgar warriors. Both looked at each other after looking at the place for a bit, calling in the others soon after. More Vulgars began to walk in, carrying with them boxes and cases.

As the men rested the boxes on the ground for a moment, the sound of heavy armor echoed across the mannor, from the main door walked in a towering figure donning the strangest mixture of plate, fur, and even wood. He was intimidating to even look at. "Размърдайте се бе, мерзавци! Разчистете цялото помещение за шева." shouted the armored man at his men. They were clearly annoyed by this. One of the men, a middle-aged man with a mustache, was quick to protest. "Абе, ние прислуги ли сме или наемници?" His boss was quick to answer, leaning his metallic face closer and closer until the mustachoided mercenary felt the hot breathing coming the orifices in the helmet. "Прави каквото ти кажа или ще те метна в огъня." Now threatened, the men quickly got back to work. Some started to clean, making this place look presentable for their employers.

"You need to take it easier on your men, Chukov." said another man. The man from the carriage had stepped in, his features still hidden by the darkness surrounding them. The leader of the mercenaries simply laughed at this. "Master, you have to understand...These men are used to fighting, drinking, and whoring. They have to make themselves useful." Chukov rested his axe against the wall behind, crossing his arms while studying the lobby. "...I will not tolerate failure, not with our cause. My men might not understand it, but I do... The importance of the cycle..." The shadowy young man looked up at the towering Wer. He was still puzzled by this man. Despite everything that he went through, he did not seem to be scarred mentally after being exposed to the truth. He seemed to act like any other wer, yet he clearly wasn't a run-out-of-mill mortal. "I thank you for understanding my cause. You and your men will be rewarded accordingly." Chukov laughed at this, shaking head. "...Reward? I was already rewarded by fate." The mercenary walked away, leaving the young man standing there, staring at the fine marble statue that stood in the middle of the room.

• Streets of Castow •

The streets of Castow were cold and hostile. It felt like the city was always devoid of light, devoid of the blessings of the Yazjweh. The determination that Asher had arrived with was now failing him. He was a bit lost, not knowing what he had involved himself with. He was here, doing what he thought was right. What the First Scion wrote down when he heard the voice of Yazjweh, following the teachings of the pillars of virtue. He had to stand strong, but this city, it felt like it was draining him. His warmth, his light, he rarely felt like this. But as he continued walking down the streets of Castow. He felt something that reminded him of his home.



Tremeur looked around for a moment, puzzled, before continuing forward. He felt something strange - everyone in the group felt it. It was a warm air, something that was strange in a naturally cold Castow. Tremeur and Izold did not think much of it. But Asher immediately recognized that warmth. It was just like the air of Khoshkam. It immediately reminded him of his homeland: the strong smell of the spice markets, the cheerful singing of the children, the rather friendly theological debates between visiting Ahmedian scholars and Priests of Yazjweh, the glorious magnificence of the Temple of Eternal Fire.

And that's when it dawned on him. His journey had just started, as it had only been two hours since he's arrived to Castow. While the vile nature of this city was strong, it couldn't defeat him, for he was as an Hashishdiyan. He trained all his life to be a pillar of virtue like countless Hashishdiyans before him. He wouldn't let the curse of the moon extinguish his passion. He opened his eyes, realizing that he was a few steps behind the group now. He looked at his surroundings before looking at the Moon. He knew that Yazjweh was watching over him, protecting him, and that invigorated him further. It was time to move forward.

For at least 10 rolls, Asher's rolls will never result in failure or critical failure. This effect will be removed if Asher receives a negative event or is knocked unconscious.


• Southern Aqueducts •

After thirty minutes of constant, and rather tiresome walking, he group were close to their destination. The southern entrance to the aqueducts, which was located in the rather well-off Laurine District, named after a Verancois Queen and where most non-Catanachs freemen lived and established several rich and successful businesses. The stark difference between the Catanachs, who wore simple clothing, and the free Valionese men and women was enormous. Tremeur could tell some of them were looking at him judgingly. His tartan cloth gave away his heritage almost immediately. He quickly tucked it away, but he knew that most Valionese freefolk would be able to tell him from the rest of the group.

The freefolk walking around looked at the group with curiosity. Some were concerned, pointing at Yanitsa and Valko, while others were calling for their wives and husbands to come out of their house. Pointing at the group as if they were a bunch of lepers making their way out of the city. Fulstan, now struggling a bit after so much walking, looked at the Valionese. All of these men and women were similar to his usual costumers. He even recognized a few, who seemed rather surprised to see him among the group of strangers. "We are almost there..." said Tremeur under his breath. He could see the alley where the stairs down to the aqueduct were located in the distance.

Once at the staircase, Tremeur offered his hand to Fulstan. The old man must have been exhausted after walking this long. Asher and Raili walked down first, noticing a small gathering of Freefolk watching a group of constables as they were covering something with a piece of cloth. Soon Cecilia and Octavia joined them, and the four of them stared as a constable pulled the cloth for a moment to reveal the face of the victim. A boy, around ten or twelve years old. His eyes were blue and he had black hair. He was as white as polished marble. If it wasn't for the wound on his neck and the color of his hair, he would have looked like a perfect cherubic statue.

The crowd dispersed a few moments later, shocked at the sight of Yanitsa who now stood next to Octavia and Cecilia. Valko was near, prefering to watch from a distance. The constables seemed to be ready to strike Yanitsa and Valko down, but the presense of Izold and Hannalore seem to calm them down. They knew that Castelluccio would send his people over. "A helwer shouted about this in the morning... but no one reported anything until a man finally came down to check." Tremeur looked at the poor child. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a dead kid, having seen plenty of them on his line of work, but he never grew used to it. He always liked kids, and hoped to have some one day. Seeing this made him upset.

Izold, on the other hand, was determined to get to the bottom of this. He looked at the Constable and asked a few questions, but the man couldn't answer most of them. All they knew was that the boy was drained of all blood, and that led them to believe a Vampyr was behind it. The only problem is that the wound on the boys neck seemed to be made with a sharp object, and it was too clean for it to be made by a Vampyr. "Hmmm... well..." Izold looked at the others, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "Anyone got any questions?" he asked. "You can look at the body if you want." said the constable while crossing his arms. Tremeur looked away for a moment, before looking at everyone. "...Well, we can look around for clues as well. I might go around and look for that Helwer... I think I know what the Freefolk ment by that." he said with a slightly confident tone while looking at the tunnel behind them.

Fulstan looked down at the corpse, trying to shake off a feeling of foreboding. He had seen plenty of bodies in his long misspent life. One didn't live in the perpetual civil war that was Volkmar without seeing your fair share, and his research had sometimes taken him down grisly paths. But something about this boy was different. He looked innocent.

"Why would a vampire go after such a small prize, when there are plenty of larger targets staggering drunkenly down the street," he murmured to himself. No, more likely this was something more than simple hunger.

He leaned towards Izold. "Nothing has drunk from that wound. It's too clean and sharp. Unless there's another wound we don't see, I'd say the poor boy was exsanguinated through some artificial method. There are rituals that call for the blood of innocents. We might be looking at a new cult."

He suddenly itched to get back to his books. A new cult always harkens back to old cults for legitimacy. Somewhere in his musty collection might lurk the hint that explained what the murderer was attempting.

EdwardDewey98 said:

"I suggest you two not talk about our business."

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There was a slight hitch in Valko's step, a hesitation. He didn't turn, however, and whatever was on his mind, he kept to himself.

---

Now that the group had reached the scene of the crime, Valko quietly took in the situation and made mental notes. Ahead of him, he heard Fulstan give his thoughts to Izold, and decided to weigh in. "Who's to say that a vampyr didn't drain the boy and then enjoy the blood from a vessel? My last meal came from a bottle," he mused, seemingly without emotion. He turned to the constables and spoke softly. "We were told he was found floating in the water. Did you fish him out yourselves, or is this where you found him?"

Carrying the basket was not as satisfying as she had anticipated. In fact, she had somewhat cursed herself at the mere mention of needing one. A thin layer of bound wicker weaved tightly together separated her fingers from the cold flesh and lank hair of the severed head. She couldn't just reach in and touch it. At least, not with everyone around. Yet by the time the business today was concluded the sensation would have faded, like the passing taste of one's last meal. Even the sourest of wines grew dull by the hour. Still, she made no qualms of the ordeal, and carried it alongside her traveling case without issue, though the effort of carrying two large objects was rather cumbersome. Izold might have said a few words for the head, but Hannalore offered a few more merely on Fulstan's behalf.

Once they arrived at the location of the new body, Hannalore sat the basket and her case aside on the damp stone and stared down at the corpse from a few feet away, much like how she had stared at the head when it had been thrown at them. This was a full body, or so it seemed. Limbs attached. Fresh. A child, regrettably, and likely killed only for the symbolic nature of it all. Or perhaps the compulsion. An adult corpse offered far more in terms of yield: blood, fully grown organs, stronger and more present bone. Teeth, full sized, though a child's was likely more pristine from having less chance of being cracked and chipped over the adult years.

When the constable gave permission for them to inspect the body, her fingers twitched. Hannalore drifted past the others silently and knelt beside it, head bowed low over it, taking in the entire sight of the corpse. The others were asking their questions, and important ones they were. For the moment, none of that mattered to her. It was time to begin the examination.

There was much that could be learned from a corpse if one knew how to examine it. Certainly, there was the wound in the neck. That was likely the killing blow, though one could never be certain on these things. As a point of interest, she checked the wound, probed at it lightly and leaned in to see how it could have been made. She was rather familiar with sharp instruments and knew a ragged dagger cut from a neat scalpel incision. A slow puncture to a rapid, frantic one, perhaps from battle or accident. After examining the wound, she moved on. To determine how long they could have been dead, she checked the fingernails, hairline, and gums. To see if they were shriveled to give the impression of longer nails or longer, unnatural teeth as the flesh rots. For how long it had been in the water, a simple check of the fingertips, palms, and soles of the feet to determine the state of any wrinkles not brought on by blood deprivation. She went back to check the mouth again to examine the general state of the gums and teeth - well maintained or already decaying? Could determine if the child came from wealth or not. She eyed the tongue especially to see if the boy had been poisoned before being drained, or perhaps suffocated in some way. Her hands poked and prodded at the limbs, feeling them for broken bones beneath, while also checking for signs of captivity like raw, or healed, markings around the wrists and ankles. Last, she checked the eyes. Already present they still were - the first to go to the rats or fish - but she wondered if they were bloodshot.

She leaned back up, eyes darting over the hair. Black as midnight and lank from the damp. Filthy, most likely, but once cleaned and dried out.... She would need to take some before they left.

The warmth came and left rather quickly, yet the message it brought was rather clear: Yazjweh had delivered a blessing to him and would aid him on his quest. From behind his mask he gave off a soft smile and began to follow the group once more, quietly ushering a prayer of gratitude as they made their way to the scene of the crime. With his strength bolstered and faith proven, Asher arrived at the scene of the crime and viewed the area with much curiosity. Certainly, this was a gruesome scene and his heart felt for the child who had his life stolen from him. As the group began to ask questions and investigate, Asher stood idly nearby and watched as he eyed the boy's corpse.

May you find peace in death that you were denied in life. he thought to himself.

Izold looked down at the body for a while. Fulstan suggestion made sense. There were countless Goetic and Heatheneous cults that used the "blood of the innocents", young children or virgin women, usually in ways to contact their entities from beyond the mortal realm. A heinous practice who's practitioners were hunted down by the church at every opportunity, but cults and their ilk were hard to eradicate.

But Valko's suggestion sent shivers down his spine. The idea that this poor child was drained of all blood like an animal for some creatures sickening hunger made him feel disgusted. Tremeur listened closely, but he didn't visibly react to Valko's suggestion. In his mind however, he was ready to search every corner of this cursed city if it he had to.
The constable eyed Valko for a bit, disturbed by the fact he was right in front of a pair of vile bloods. Prejudiced people plague this world, but specially Castow. However, the constable seemed... calm in the Vampyr's presence. Mostly due to the fact that they were accompanied by Izold and Hannalore. Eventually, the man responded with a soft Ælgish-like accent. "We were not the ones to pull this poor kid out of the water. He was here when we arrived. We asked the locals, and they said they saw the Werhel pull the body out of the water before quickly scurrying back to the aqueduct after a local approached them." The Constable looked at the tunnel behind the anointed, pointing at it. "...We wanted to go there with torches and a few weapons. Get those little pests to tell us if they've done it."

Tremeur quickly jumped in on this. "Doubt it. Werhel don't want to deal with us and avoid us at all costs. If they pulled the body, they probably did it because they pitied the poor kid." Tremeur looked at the tunnel as well, before looking at the others. "...I'll go in there. Octavia... Cecilia, come with me. We are going to ask the Werhel if they saw anything." He then looked at the others, a faint smile on his face. "...If anyone else wants to join, feel free to tag along. I doubt they are far away."


While Tremeur and the ladies walked away from the scene, Hannalore kneeled next to the body, her hidden gaze looking at every single detail of the body. Her fingers gently and, in her own way, respectfully touched the corpse. Her eyes could notice every imperfection, such as the fact that the young boys limbs were waterlogged, showing that the body was thrown into the water less than an hour ago. Around the legs, she noticed markings similar to those of a rope, hinted to the fact he was hanged upside down.

The wound on the neck was around 3 inches wide, and done with incredible surgical precision. Cutting the internal carotid to hasten the draining procedure. The fact his eyes were bloodshot and had dilated pupils showed that he was scared in his last moments. That's when it dawned on her. This child was alive when he received that fatal cut.

There were a few odd things about the body. The fact it was so well preserved was strange, but it was not impossible to imagine a reason for it. The water in the aqueducts must be freezing cold, helping preserve the body. Another fact would be the lack of any other wounds or bruises, it showed the boy didn't resist his kidnappers. But why? It would be impossible for her to tell when the child officially died, but the details she discovered could help the others get an idea or two. Any other information would require her to perform a more... thorough autopsy.

While Hannalore finished her study of the body, the constable turned to the others who were still standing near. "If you want to look around for any clues..." he said, eyeing the dreary row of houses and fences around them as well as the dark tunnel in the back for a moment before looking back to the group. "...feel free to do so. I'm sure there's got to be something... Some eye witness, any evidence of a struggle, anything can help us. Castow never sleeps, specially now." The distant stares coming from windows and dark alleys served as a confirmation of his statement. Izold then looked down at Hannalore, awaiting for her conclusion with bated breath.

The constable's information was helpful enough. It sat strange with Valko that these werhel who dwell in the tunnel supposedly hadn't seen the body until it had left the aqueduct, as the water flowed south out of the tunnel entrance, and witnesses saw the boy was fished out of the water in plain sight, rather than carried out of the tunnel.

Perhaps Tremeur's intuition was correct, but Valko has his doubts. When the former invited others to follow, Valko gave an odd smirk and nodded. Even if the werhel were trustworthy here, going up the current would undoubtedly bring him closer to where the murder had originally taken place.

"A recent slaying," Hannalore reported to no one in particular, glancing up slightly. She indicated certain parts of the body as she spoke about what she had concluded, pointing out the binding marks, details of the incision, and the lack of other wounds. "The killer, or killers, are knowledgeable in the anatomical arts of physiology. This child was hanged upside down so that the blood within would pool nearer the head to facilitate the bleeding from the neck; however, it was the exsanguination that likely killed them, for the eyes are not hemorrhaged enough to suggest death by being upside down for too long. Likewise, the markings here chafe downwards, rather than up, further suggesting that that they were upside down. As for the aquatic damage to the extremities, the corpse has not been in the water for long. Very probable that we could be speaking in terms of hours, but no more than three days at most, for there seems to be remarkably little bloating and discoloration. If they were left slain for some time before being thrown into the water, I would say no longer than a week, but these are cold waters. Decomposition is slowed. Then again, the rats and fish have yet to feed upon it. That suggests a shorter time."

Hannalore reached beneath her sleeve for the scalpel she kept strapped to her forearm. To everyone else, it looked as if she produced it from thin air after reaching into her cuffs. "We can tell if the death occurred today or yesterday quite easily if we simply examine the blood," she said casually. She brought her scalpel up to their neck - a little higher up than the incision - and made a small cut. She pressed her fingers hard into the flesh to force out any blood that remained to see what the color was - brighter red, or darker brown.

Yantisa let the nun do her work. Rather not disturb the work of a professional as they were working. The body was drained of blood, that much was obvious, but the motive was eluding them beyond a guess. If the killers were vampyrs, then they were after the blood for another reason other than drinking or were trying to hide their hands. There were dens of vampyrs she had visited that had worked out ways to cover their tracks in the past. Draining the blood and storing it for later. Blame something else like a kikimora or a pesoglavets. Some other village spirit would take the blame.

"Sounds like a group of people." Yanitsa remarked to Hannalore's findings "This is too much work for just one. It could be a ritual killing, but if we haven't ruled out vampyr involvement, it could be some more primal reason." She turned to one of the constables "Have any of the local butcher and barber shops reported something odd? Missing tools and equipment? Skulking around? Perhaps someone asking for odd favors?" She added one last thing after she remembered she left it out. "Doctors as well. Their equipment would be best suited, but the most guarded."

Octavia twitched a little when she heard Tremeur single her out specifically to follow along with Cecilia. How could I even help? He knew how to deal with the locals far better than she did. Her hand, resting on her rapier's hilt, gripped the pommel tightly. She glanced to the body once more, before following after Tremeur with Cecilia. She also noticed that Valko was going with them into the tunnel. He'd probably be far more useful in there than she would. Rapiers and enclosed spaces didn't mix well together, if she had to defend herself from something. Or someone. She remembered the looks Tremeur's boss had been giving her, and was suspicious of Tremeur's motives in dragging her along with him. She was rather far away from the point of trusting him at the moment.

Once at the crime scene, she stared down at the child’s body, whispering something akin to an apology in her native language, then moved away.

EdwardDewey98 said:

Octavia... Cecilia, come with me. We are going to ask the Werhel if they saw anything.

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She perked up at the thought of not having to be near the corpse any longer and followed him, her dislike for the man momentarily forgotten.

Inside the tunnel, her demeanour changed noticeably, as she went deeper inside, wariness slowly being replaced by wonder, so much so that she eventually brushed past Tremeur and Octavia in order to get a better look around her, unbothered by the fact they found themselves in an enclosed space. She soon realized that the aqueduct was built similarly to the ones found back in Solas, the ornate pillars and archways reminding her of an entirely different time. Then, the paintings adorning the walls seemed to detach her further from the present, as she moved up to them to touch the paint.

“Odd they found the boy somewhere so, elaborate,” she spoke softly, moving away from the walls, not taking her eyes off the murals, although what they might have depicted seemed alien to her, “the killer could have buried or burned the body just as well as they threw it down here. Did they want the body to be found, say something with the murders?”

Pausing for a bit, she watched Tremeur from the corner of her eye. “Think they knew the Werhel would drag the body out?” The thought of Werhel looming not too far away seemed to help her back into the present, as she looked around more carefully.

Izold and the Constables were quite surprised by Hannalore's knowledge, but it was expected from a nun hospitalier. Izold looked away as Hannalore punctured the boys neck in an attempt to determine how long had passed since the child had been murdered. But to her surprise, her initial insertion in the boy's neck held little result. The little blood that appeared on her fingers waan't enough to discern a conclusive result. Thus, she pushed her finger back in until she could feel more liquid on her fingers. It was still a scant amount of blood, but it was enough. She managed to get the results she wanted, the blood was cold but had a light red coloration. This boy had been killed between today and yesterday. Izold noticed the coloration of the blood as well. "That means we still got time to find something of use." he said while eyeing the others.

Yanitsa had come to an interesting conclusion. While the other constables ignored her, the one that had spoken to Valko had turned his attention to her. He pointed his finger at her while clicking his fingers on the other hand, as if trying to remember something at the back of his mind. His eyes then opened and he lift his head to look at the Vampyress. He had remembered something. "There's only one doctor in this city. Well, there were two but the other man left the city in the second day... A-at any rate, Dr. Thorpe reported a robbery at some point." he then eyed his fellow constables for a moment before turning his attention back to Yanitsa. "Me thinks the Thieves Guild's behind it... but the lads at the constabulary don't care much for Dr. Thorpe... Man's too... Aelgish, if ya'know what I mean." he said in a slightly joking manner, despite the current situation.

Izold had met Dr. Thrope before, and he understood what the constable ment by his dumb comment. The good doctor was indeed a strange fellow. He was relatively normal before the Moon had casted its curse on the town. But after the first week, the man had become strange, detached from the current predicaments. He spoke theatrically, like a character straight out of a fairy tale, but still performed his duties as a chirurgeon masterfully. Some might even say they had improved ever since this curse took place. "That's good lead. I believe." he said while looking at the others. He then eyed the body again. This boy was no street-urchin. He had parents, probably of a good economic background. They'd have to find them and tell them about their son. Maybe they would know something. "Any idea who the parents might be...?" asked the priest while looking at the constable, who solemnly shook his head. "I'm afraid not, father... Kids go missing all the time these dark days." A sad but true statement that upset Izold even more.

As Tremeur, Octavia, Cecilia, and now Valko walked towards the tunnel, Tremeur noticed something. A warm and declicious smell. He eyed his left side for a moment, noticing a recently baked pumpkin pie resting by a window. He eyed the crowd of people behind him, still looking at the crime scene, before approaching the pie and taking it. He walked a few steps with it, but then sighed. He then made aa few steps backwards to put a pair of silver coins by the window sill. The group looked at Tremeur for a moment, but all he said was "Don't worry, 'tis part of the plan." He watched as Cecilia walked in first into the tunnel, a fact he took note off. He then eyed Octavia, who was looking at him over her shoulder. "Ladies first." he said with a smile on his face. He watched as the woman slowly walked in alongside Valko. He took note of that as well, before grabbing a small oil lantern that was resting by the side of the same house's doorway. He sighed once more, and then dropped another silver coin by door before walking into the tunnel.

The inside of the aqueducts was quite impressive, the stonework excellently made, the pillars decorated with symbols. Initials of the men who made these bricks, as a testament and reminder of those who built this aqueduct. There were even bricks of older times, possibly of earlier attempts of creating aqueducts. Remnants of the ancient Latos Empire, something that Cecilia was quick to catch. The countryside of her homeland was dotted by such ancient ruins with bricks just like these. As they walked through, the group noticed painted murals on the walls done with wonderfully bright colors, depicting fairy tale-like events. It looks like these were made by hand, without paintbrushes. They were beautiful to look at.

"Alright..." said Tremeur, setting the lamp down. "...Before I get any odd looks, this is how they talk." he said with a smile on his face. He made a few steps forward, looking at the grand aqueduct with an inquisitive look on his face. "Come forth, children of yore! I come to you with a meal." he said, looking at the darkness. From the darkness engulfing them, a few whispers can be heard. Valko and Cecilia, due to their nature, could see on the dark well. They noticed the various figures hiding in the archways of the aqueducts. Staring at them as Tremeur spoke again. "We will leave you be, I promise... but first, we require your assistance." he said while lifting up the pie to the invisible audience staring at them. Then, a raspy but somewhat gently voice echoed in the darkness ahead of them. "Art thou mad, childer of wer?" asked the voice. "T'wast thy kin who is't incarc'rat'd in these halls, wherefore wouldst we speake with thee?" Tremeur looked over his shoulder at the group for a moment, before looking at the direction of the voice. "...'tis a good pie."



There was an audible chuckle from the distant audience, followed by a few whispers that seem to discuss the following course of action of the Helwer. Eventually, the voice stopped all together. "We knoweth why thou art h're..." said the voice. Slowly, dozens of small figures began to come out of the darkness, glowing orange eyes looking at the group. It was a frightening sight, one that would make any normal person either run for their lives or stay put and fight. But Tremeur made sure nobody drew their weapons, for there was no reason for such thing. Eventually one figure came forth, representing the glowing eyes in the dark. For the first time for some, they saw an actual Werhel.

Before them stood a small, strange little humanoid creature around three feet tall, with soft olive green skin and large, bulging orange eyes who eyed the group nervously. His small hands were clasped together, pressed against their emaciated abdomen. Their ears were comically large and twitched every so often, and their mouth was full of thick but jagged teeth. Despite their unhealthy look, they wore rather unique clothing. It was colorful, and while ragged, it was clean. The creature wore a hat as well, made out of leather, but it actually looked quite decently made. Those who had never seen a werhel were in disbelief. They were face to face with a creature that belonged to an era long gone. A Goblin. It was known among scholars and academics that the werhel continued to exist in the fringes of civilization, but they had become so rare that very few knew of their existence, they had become things of legend to some.

The goblin cleared his throat before speaking again, in a raspy and slightly pitched but otherwise normal voice. "Thou art h're because of the childer, aye?" they asked while slowly pulling their leather hat off their head and revealing their bald head. "...'tis a shame, is't not?" it asked, with clear sadness in their voice.

Fulstan's ears prick up at the mention of Dr. Thrope. He'd introduced himself to the man when he first arrived in the city. Medical men frequently consulted with astronomers to pick auspicious days for operations. But the Doctor had not been the sort to pay for horoscopes and sigils, and Fulstan had not found the man's company so charming as to extend the relationship.

And, as the constable had said, the man was Aelgish. Fulstan was a man of Volkmar, and regarded people who drank their beer warm as already in league with dark forces. But perhaps it was time for another professional visit?

"Thou art h're because of the childer, aye?"

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Years of courtly experience kept Fulstan from staring. He had seen numerous goblins in his life -- well, bits of goblin, pickled or otherwise preserved. Seeing living goblins in his very city was ... not what he'd expected to see when he woke up this morning.

Absolutely fascinating. I must write to the university - no, they'd send an expedition to collect samples - maybe - no - hells with it let's just be polite.

"It is indeed a great shame. We apologize for disturbing you, but anything you might be able to tell us about the ... childer could help us give peace to their family."

"Thank you for the information, constable." Yanitsa replied to the man, who unlike his collegues apeared to actually give a damn about his job. If the Theieves guild is involved somehow, then she may have a way to speed this investigation up and give them a reason to consider her an asset worth protecting. Now she just needed to contact them for an inquiry. Maybe Chiptooth will come by later at the shop and she could ask him for information. Before she thought of her next move, the merchant had another question for the constable "You said there was another doctor. Did he take everything when he left or did he leave something behind?"

There was a bit of surprise from Tremeur as Fulstan's feeble voice came from behind him. Who would have thought that the old man could have been so nimble-footed? His rather direct approach of gathering clues was well received by the Goblin standing in front of them, who nodded sagely before putting his hat back on. "Our rat-sheph'rd, Isoldugh, wast looking f'r an escaped urchin through the east'rn tunnels...Instead, she saw two men tossing the corse of the childer down to the wat'rs bellow." Tremeur listened attentively, ready to ask a question to the wise goblin, but the creature was quick to speak again. "...T's not the first time this hast hath happened in our halcyon stead... These darkened halls has't seen plenty a victim being thrown to the bitter cold, murky, wat'rs bellow." There was a solemn seriousness to the Goblins voice, something Tremeur was quick to notice. The group was aware that other young children had been thrown into the aqueducts, but judging the strange archaic way this goblin spoke, he made it sound like this was a recurring event before these reported cases of child murder.

"I think... I am misunderstanding you a bit. You are saying this has happened for a long time?" asked Tremeur, reading the same question from his companions' expressions. The goblin nodded sagely again. "...Were all of them children?" This time, the goblin shook his head. "Nay. Most w're lasses... liketh the two maidens behind thee. Same... face... like yond of a toad, ugly and venomous." the goblin said while looking at Octavia and Cecilia. Tremeur and Fulstan seemed a bit confused by that comment. "You... are saying they looked like my lady friends here... but... I think both of them are pretty." he asked while crossing his arms, the cake now resting next to the lamp on the ground. "Thou art hideous to us." said the goblin, as respectfully as possible.

As confused as Tremeur looked at the moment, the hunter decided it was best to not question the standards of beauty of a native werhel population. But the goblin had revealed important information. This was a recurring event. Why didn't the constables mention such thing? Well, it was rather easy to figure out why. Castow is a large city, and the aqueducts, as useful as they are to the common populace, have always been a place to 'discard' what is not wanted. Could it be a serial killer, using the state of anarchy the city found itself in to now hunt a smaller prey? Or was there something else to this?

Tremeur looked behind to the group that had gathered and gave them a puzzled look. "...Well, I knew the little folk here wouldn't have much, and what they've said is very interesting. But I don't know where to look next... Any ideas?" In that moment, another goblin came forth, speaking its native tongue with the other goblin next to Tremeur. It was holding something that it then showed to the group: a bronze mask, like those used by those who attend masquerades. It looked beautiful, and had plenty of neat little details carved into. This was clearly crafted outside of Castow...maybe even outside of Valion. "Our sentry hath found this object near the tunnel wh're the childer wast thrown in." he said solemnly, before nodding to the goblin to give the item to Tremeur.

"A masquerade mask... of course..." he said while rubbing his eyes. "...How bourgeois... I thank you for this. Hand the mask to the vampyr lad over there." he said, while eyeing Valko. "...Masquerades reek of rich people and vampyrs, so give that mask a look. If you can't find anything, hand it to Fulstan or Yanitsa." He then looked at the others in the group. "Any other questions you want to ask the werhel? Let's not take much of their time." The goblin next to Tremeur made what seemed to be a grin. "We appreciate thy kindness." said the Goblin before looking at the others.

Meanwhile, by the entrance to the aqueduct, the constable looked at Yanitsa as he tried to remember before shaking his head. "Aye, the mad man was so sure he was seeing the gæste of his dead daughter that he just packed everything and left." One of the other constables turned to look at the one speaking. "I'm telling you, every doctor and chirurgeon that came to this town either left insane or died. Remember that doctor Fallensteller? Lost to the sea now, I bet!" The constable in front of Yanitsa shook his head. "Ignore him, ma'am... poor sod needs some sleep. We all do... At any rate, the only doctor in the town is Dr. Thorpe, so he's your best bet." With the autopsy done, Izold looked at those still with him with a faint, weak smile. "We have some leads now. We could head directly to Dr. Thropes clinic when we head back to the church... that's if Tremeur hasn't found anything of value."

"Hmm. They have been there for a little while. Might have found something." She turned her attention to the constables again "Thank you for you assistance again, gentlemen." A gæste was something she didn't expect to hear about. But then again what else would she expect. One of the others who has experience with the spiritual realm would be better suited to take a look at that. She was never one to indulge in that business. There was hardly anything she could gain from it save for fencing something stolen from a crypt or tomb. "I suppose a visit to the doctor by one of us would do the investigation well." She lowered her voice somewhat "The possibility of the thieve's guild being involved has my curiosity, but I doubt there is anything beyond speculation. There is another thing however. A spirit chasing away the other doctor sounds odd, don't you think?"

Valko stared blankly at Tremeur after receiving the mask. "What makes you think I know other vampyrs?" he asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "They go about their lives, I go about mine." He practically shoved the item into Fulstan's hands before turning to the goblins. "You mentioned your rat shepherd. She saw two men tossing the body into water; maybe she can describe them to us. Where is she?"

Valko didn't consider the history of murders in these aqueducts to be relevant to the current investigation. Cities were always rife with murder and vice, one only needed to probe the shadowy underbelly to see what sort of filth would scurry out from beneath it. But Valko knew something about murder: it takes a powerful motive to claim a life. Few motives were more powerful than survival and self-preservation, which is why most murders are caused by predators- not just vampyrs and other ghoulish things that feast on blood and flesh, but ordinary men who need coin, to pay for food, to pay for shelter, or to pay down debts that have put them into the ire of the wrong creditors. The women were probably victims of sexual predators, men whose conduct was so foul that they left a trail of bodies in their wake to hide their misdeeds.

That is a very personal crime. There were two men.

Whoever these killers were, they had a motive separate from the other murders.

Octavia brushed off the comment about her appearance. Everyone had different tastes when it came to what was attractive and what wasn't. She focused more on what the goblins explained regarding the body. Two men, most of the previous victims were relatively pretty women, a masquerade mask discovered near where the body of the child was dumped. She eyed the mask as Valko handed it off to Fulstan, before returning her gaze to the goblins. Why a child? Was it a one-off? Perhaps silencing witnesses? With two suspects, it obviously wasn't a simple serial killer. There was far more to this.

"May I look at the mask once you're finished, Fulstan?" asked Octavia, looking to the older gentleman.

Fulstan gingerly takes the mask as Valko shoves it away, trying to keep from crumpling the material. The light down here was too poor for his old eyes to make out much detail, but the quality shone through.

Hmmmm. This one was not inexpensive. If it has not become too contaminated down here, it might be useful for tracking.

Fulstan produced a handkerchief from his robes and gently began wrapping the mask. Best to keep his own resonance from interfering.

"May I look at the mask once you're finished, Fulstan?"

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Fulstan blinked up at Octavia.

"Of course. I cannot promise that I can get much out of it. Maybe you'll have better luck. Actually, here, your eyes are no doubt better than mine. Perhaps you can spot a detail that I cannot. I'll take a turn with it once we're in better lighting."

He passed the wrapped mask over to the younger woman.

Cecilia listened closely to the little goblin, shrugging at his comment about wer's appearances. Their tastes seemed to be as strange as they were. It turns out, there were other victims before that child, women whose bodies had ended up in the aqueducts.

"There might be bodies the constables hadn't found then. I believe we might come across others if we went further. Maybe find if the victims have anything in common with eachother, besides... fairness."

As an afterthought, she asked, "What if the ones who threw away the body were mere accomplices of the killer? People he could shift the blame on." While govimg the bronze mask a blank stare, as Fulstan hamded it to Octavia, she wondered what it would reveal about their sought after criminal.