investigation

It started like they all do.  With a dame.

((cont'd from http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/jannike/interview))

Back in Booty Bay, Jannike looked out the window, watching the waters of the bay darken from blue to black in the fading evening light.  As if not looking at the damn, damn papers would make them go away.

Three documents.  She knew them by heart, but she flipped through them again anyway. 

((cont'd from http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/jannike/documents_case_part_1))

Despite having been dead for nearly a year, Jannike Engel had never felt like such a ghoul.  She was about to interview the sister of the dead troll woman from Booty Bay at her home in Razor Hill, having been magically gifted with a zeppelin ticket, a professional-looking suit, a translation device (she had nearly mastered the pidgen Lordaeronian that the Forsaken used among themselves, but her Orcish was still poor and her Troll nonexistent), and a cover story by her shadowy employers.  And she was having second thoughts.

The succubus faded in a flash of green light.

First up was a trip to the Craftsmen's and Trader's Terraces and her various friends and colleagues there, armed with various new—or newly rediscovered—items and techniques to share and trade, as well as a cheerful, friendly disposition. Luckily, the latter came naturally.

Tanaris
“I see Golems. Lots an' lots o’ Golems.”

Evadine voiced what the other Dragoons felt as they looked on the crumbled remnants of the Valley of the Watchers. Outside the tomb, sandstone golems moved in a regular marching pattern, heedless of the motley group that stood far enough away to keep them quietly on their endless patrol.

Amellia sat on the hard wooden chair, across from her sat Ryan Wydiger … what passed for a constable in these parts.

He looked up at her, then back down at his notes. “How long ago did you come to our lovely little town?”

“Three months ago.” Amellia responded, the normal polite smile she wore gone … replaced with a look of frustration.

He nodded, added a few words to his notes. “And you’re relation to both the deceased... Oliver Jones?”

“A friend... he mentioned pursuing a business relationship, but never managed to get around with it.” Amellia said, as she looked down at the table, coupled with a convincing sniffle.

Ryan put the pen down on the table. “I’m afraid we’re going to need to go over it again from the top … Celese.”

Amellia sulked in the seat, “Very well...” she said, looking up at the constable.

The night was silent and still as the dead, strange for Silvermoon.  A few hours before dawn, when even the more nocturnal citizens had tucked in, a light was still on at the Royal Exchange inn.  There, the sapphire sheets of the circular bed had been left untouched.  Instead, its occupant sat hunched over a desk, the only sound, the scratching of the nib of the pen over parchment. 

It all happened like clockwork.  The case resurfaces, and copycats, thirsting for similar attention, like hyenas, no…like maggots, cling to the murders as if it were a corpse itself.  The local authorities could take care of that trash.

The scratching of the nib continued, turning her thoughts to ink on the page.  She had more important, long-standing goals to accomplish.

"You came out here to chase a lullaby?"

Alynore grimaced at the stranger while Larosa rearranged her long legs under the cramped table. Cerwis shrugged. “Stranger things have wound up being true.”

The three Dragoons sat with a grizzled, dark-haired female scout in Honor Hold's inn. Outside, the aftermath of an infernal attack continued to rain down on the courtyard. Clean up teams worked to clear away the burning rocks. The inn shuddered as the ground shifted, Larosa and Cerwis clutching the table and making faces.

Alynore shifted in her seat with the motion of the broken world, unconcerned. “According to some of the folks who used to sing it to me, it wasn't all a story,” she said.

OFFICER’S REPORT (FILE COPY)
Case #: 481516
Reporting: Sir Sidoran Sunlash, Chief Security Officer of the Legion

(p.1) Regarding the Sexual Assault and Aggravated Harassment of Rhosyn (hereafter referred to as “the Victim”),

I interviewed the Victim early on the morning of 26/4. The statement she gave, paraphrased here due to technical difficulties with the recording equipment, was initially very similar to the statement given to Convocate Sebastien Kerwin (File Missing) and coincides with the report from Doctor Jakobus Nachtengaal ([url=http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/jakobus/report_regarding_rhosyn_delivered_lady_aramalia_solisbane]File Attached[/url]). New developments are detailed from Paragraph 3 onward, with notes included for the benefit of fellow investigators.

Aramalia stood over her desk, a pile of partially-filled official papers to her left and an open notebook on her right.  Glancing from right to left, she copied the contents word-for-word onto the fresh parchment with a cautious hand.  Despite the late hour, her actions had energy, her eyes a focus that defied the lack of sleep that threatened to close her eyes.  She had hoped that there had been some underlying factor that could explain his actions, but no.  There could be no reason for these actions. Aramalia rolled her shoulders, not relieving any tension, but succeeding in making a number of cracks and pops.  Soon, she thought, soon…Checking for any missed details, she bound the pages together and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with red wax.  He had considered the Virtue of Compassion a weakness.  To those who would refuse compassion to others, there would be none.

General Aestan Firatril,

As requested, I have investigated the reports made by a number of citizens both within the city and within the Horde.  Based on their testimony, I regrettably inform you that I find it necessary to continue with a formal trial against Hamlen Prideux.  The list of charges includes, but is not limited to: assault, threats of violence, harassment, and attempted unlawful arrest.  Included are the testimonies I have collected detailing the events.  Be sure that these remain private and only seen by you.

Now, I have heard that the voting for the replacement Convocate of Regulation is to happen soon.  With Prideux as one of the candidates, this may cause a bit of trouble.  I trust that you within the Convocation will find a suitable solution.

Dutifully submitted,

Aramalia Solisbane, Lieutenant-Colonel

The pale blue light of the morning sun just beginning to illuminate the sky began to sift through the window over Lady Solisbane's desk, setting a pale glow over the polished finish, the stacks of paperwork, and the Lady herself, writing in a delicate, careful cursive by the weak light of a lone candle.  A knock at the door pulled her attention from her work as the elder sin'dorei let herself in, expertly balancing a china teapot and matching teacups, all decorated with red dragonhawks in midflight.  The servant gave Aramalia a weary look as she set the tray down on a nearby table and began to restore energy to the crystalline lamps lining the walls of the room.

"Working like that for too long will straing your eyes, milady."

"I did not want to wake the household, Shavarra."

Shavarra snorted, walking back to the table to start pouring the tea, "As if I wouldn't stay awake until you got home.  You were late, you know."

Aramalia could barely hold back a chuckle, though her eyes smiled with endearment at the old sin'dorei, "Gone are the days where you needed to hold my hand, dear Shava."

Even through her barking laughter, the elder continued to pour the tea after handing the lady her cup, "I remember a certain young girl saying similar words...Of course, that was back when she had to hold her father's shortsword with two hands and still struggled to lift the blade."

"While that may be," Aramalia answered with a hint of teasing warning, "it was not due to the doctor.  There was an altercation last night in the Row."

Shavarra's eyes followed Lady Solisbane's steps as she rushed up the steps to her office, already starting to remove pieces of her armor.  After hearing a familiar -click- of the office door closed and locked, she ventured up the stairs, knocking lightly.

"Milady, anything I can get for you?"

"I shall be taking my tea early this eve.  The usual additives."

"Right away."

By the time Shavarra had returned with the blue-tinted tea, Aramalia had changed into a silken housecoat and was leaning over her desk, glaring at the contents of a notebook.

"You seem out of sorts, milady," Shavarra spoke gently as she passed the steaming teacup.

Taking the cup, Lady Solisbane drank deeply, her muscles visibly relaxing, though her eyes remained focused on the notes, "I hate it when people lie to me."

To those perusing this file,

The purpose of this is to inform any and all investigators of the current evidence found surrounding the possible return of the "Masked Murders" case.  These notes will be continued without my reflections so they may not influence another's possible views.  Should any have other evidence to add, send it with utmost haste so it may be added to the collection.

Dutifully submitted,

Aramalia Solisbane, Convocate-General of the Legion

The Physician entered the Inn behind the heartsick gnome, and the carnage he saw took him back to his days as a field doctor for the Stormwind Army. This was definitely not a bar brawl. Scanning around he counted five dead men that he could see, including the huge bouncer who was always so polite to he and his wife when they came to the Inn for dinner.

The first thing she noticed as she pulled the note from the envelope, before the text, was the red smear on the surface of the page.  Aramalia shuddered, though not due to the cutting winds of Northrend that seemed more painful than any Scourge strikes.  There was something foreboding about this page, something familiar…She read on:

75, 39

Where do they come from?

Where we all must go

It’s the first rung

Time is running out

Can you feel it?

Where is your guide now?

Bring a torch

Will intercepted me as I reached the door to the tavern.  A glance at his face was enough to tell me something was wrong.

He took me to one side, his voice low.  "Beryl's been kidnapped."  He said, "There was a note delivered to the house this afternoon."

I swore. That explained why Bothwell had been such an asshole when I'd talked to him.  "Where's Edward?"

"I don't know, ma'am.  Her Ladyship sent me to find him and send him home at once."

Worse and worse.  "How much does she know, Will?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know.  Philips got the note and no one's seen Mister Edward since this morning."

"This may hurt a bit."  The healer held out her hand with a blandly professional smile.  Then someone ripped off the top of my head and poured flaming pitch inside it; that's what it felt like anyway.  I think I screamed.

"Hmmmm."  She stepped back and gave me an appraising look.  "There must have been more damage than I thought.  No matter, you'll be up and about shortly."

My throat felt like I'd gargled on broken glass.  "What was it?"  I managed to croak out.

"A bad concussion, mostly.  Plus a skull fracture and a cracked cheekbone.  Someone one really did a number on your head."  She gave me a cheerful smile and bustled off to tend to someone else.

"Your last investigation left behind a trail of bodies."  Captain Stonebrow paused and turned to glower at me.  "I don't want that happening here."

I shrugged, trying not to show the irritation I was feeling.  "Cult of the Damned folks aren't exactly cooperative when you confront them."

His frown deepened, brows lowering until they almost me his long Dwarven nose.  "I don't need a witch-hunt here.  We're up to our necks trying to keep supplies running to Valgarde and I'm short handed as it is."  An aide bustled in, depositing a stack of papers on his cluttered desk.  The captain rolled his eyes and stabbed a finger at me.  "I need this cleared up as fast as possible.  Understand?"

"Understood."  I sketched a salute and turned to go.

This is what I am now.

A hideous monster. A scarred, discolored orc with bestial eyes. My perfect green skin tainted with black and purple, my irises to forever be a sickly yellow. The red-skinned ones did this to me. Poison courses through my veins with each step, each movement. I am walking diease.

I am an Avatar of Venom.

*~Grizzly Hills, Northrend~*

File # 247987-B: Discussions with a Shadow Informant

Last night, while making notes for an unrelated case at the Spire, a voice addressed me from the shadows.  From the low guttural register, I can only assume a Forsaken male, though even these things can be altered.  He returned one of the copies of File # 247987-A, saying that he wished to discuss and compare information gathered at the scene.  Through this report, the informant will be referred to as a shadow.

Take care, those perusing this file,

Murdered!--Full story here.

Liore squirmed under his blanket in his small campsite under one of the Ecodomes. The warm air and towering trees of the old days of Netherstorm kept the nights warm, which usually meant the hunter would oversleep. A grin crawled across his lips as he dreamed.

"mmm...I love cheesecake..I could use a couple pies..zzz..no, I only pay in manly spooning..nnnzzz... Where's Iloam?

{{ Repost 3/18/07 }}

The door sent motes of dust drifting through sunbeams. Three women, two humans and a gnome, dark blue tabards over their armor, looked at the covered furniture with dismay.

"I don't think you'll find much, ma'am," the plate-clad human remarked. "It looks like they cleaned up before closing the house."

"No surprise there," the gnome grumbled. "That's why they kept putting us off."

{{ Repost 4/17/07 }}

My love,

Please forgive me. Duty will keep me with the Dragoons longer than I thought.