It always goes down in the end...

It always goes down in the end...

Postby Rattrap » Mon Jun 23, 2003 2:26 pm

The Tivalti Estate stood in central Myrkenwood, a large, gothic-styled building. A place that, at one time, been populated by a group of unsavory characters who had done unsavory things. On this particular evening, the Tivalti Estate stands, without a soul to speak of in its walls, covered in flames.

There had been only three of them - the Scotsman at the front gate, singing and banging loudly, causing a racket. The other two weren't even noted, the soldier going around the back door and the dark-clothed doctor quickly scaling the fence...

The once great foyer, furnished and adorned with so many expensive paintings and colorful furniture was being eaten, fabrics curling and blackening under the intense eat of the all-consuming flame. Those depicted in the paintings watched on with their statue-like, calm expression as their own materials were consumed, discoloring and finally peeling away to join the rest of the inferno.

The doctor had been quick; poison-coated daggers shot out and dropped one guard, two, four - all of which slumped over into the estate's lush grass, quite blissfully asleep...

Glasses shattered in the dining room, the table now a completed inferno. The stored goods in the cabinets had all long since been over cooked, and the cabinets themselves were falling away from the thinning walls.

The Scotsman laid out his trap in the diversion, three guards taken in surprise by the following explosion. The others left their posts, rushing to see what had happened. The soldier slipped in the back gate, unguarded, and into the Estate...

The stairway to the upper floor collapsed, bringing down the upper hallway with it. A long crashing noise, as half one floor fell down into the next, smashing the already eaten woods of the floors, walls, and furniture alike.

Inside, the soldier found a guard lying in wait - the wrist-mounted dart shooter was quick to slip out around the corner, the dart killing the guard before he even hit the ground. There was another lying in wait after watching his partner go down, waiting to bring the sword to the soldier's neck...but then there was the doc, having slipped into the window, and yet another man dropped asleep...

A window was broken. But it didn't matter; the frame was eaten away, the entire wall beginning to crumble away in the glow. It was spilling out on the grass, now, liable to burn down all of Myrkenwood if it weren't for the complete box the cobblestone road provided around the estate.

The soldier moved down below, the doctor staying to finish clearing out the ground floor. Outside, the Scotsman fended off three of the guards - taking them out with the doc's poison and his own smoke bomb. He turned back to the estate, nose bloodied from one of the attacks to watch a window explode outwards...

The holes in the floor were unrecognizable now, as the boards gave away in fiery splinters and cascaded down to the cellar, the heavier beams smashing through entire shelves of wine and ciders, adding more fuel to the fuel-devoid basement.

There had been one who surprised the doc, flinging shards of ice at the man. He had rolled, letting the magically-created spikes slam deeply into the wood he had just occupied. Into a nearby room bolted the doctor, leaping through the window...

The entire second floor gave in now, windows all shattering in tandem as one level rained onto the next. The remaining wood groaned, and the fire roared. Billowing smoke blocked the moon and stars alike around the estate, lawn set ablaze as well as building proper.

In the cellar, the soldier had found a surprise of his own, one of the bandits lying in wait. Fire, in many shapes and designs was hurled and thrust at the soldier - only his wits kept him alive, all the while knowing that their target was down there, in one of those cells...

Some of the intact bottles exploded under the heat, darkened glass flying aimlessly around the collapsed room. Sections of the ground floor were giving away now, letting one predict its entire consumption into itself.

The doctor had cut the man with the sleeping venom, but to no avail. He kept walking, smiling, without effect. But then there was the Scotsman, a new target, and the doc had disappeared into the shadows anyway...a raise of its hand, and the air around the Scotsman exploded in a deadly orb of ice, falling harmlessly to the ground due to the Scotsman’s quick thinking. More bombs were thrown of varying design...

Another crash, and now the cellar was full of burning wood and fabrics, brimming with inferno that was apt to spill out all over the already burning estate.

The smoke bomb didn't even phase the man; the smoke failed to irritate his eyes, or blind his course. But the fire bomb had been a different story. The man's hand had raised once more, ready to turn the Scotsman into some new form of art before the fire exploded all over him, and he followed suit...

The fire crept up to the pile of bodies stacked on the grass. There were a good number of them, initially put to sleep with an extracted venom, but now all were marked with another wound; dried blood covered each individual's throat, as none had been left naturally closed.

The soldier's own bandit was the other's opposite; he engulfed his whole body in flames, charging at the soldier with nothing less than the intent to kill. He was smart, the soldier, flipping the fire entity over him...the flesh on his hands cooked and bubbled in the action, but he did not cry out...

The blood was erased, sucked away by something wholly more natural than vampires. The flames licked at the bodies, testing, tasting them before consuming them altogether like the rest of the estate.

The Scotsman had tried water, but to no avail. The doc had an idea to use the ice from the other bandit; the soldier's life was spared, immobilized before the hellish might of the elemental, readying to cook the soldier into a fine powder...but there was the Scotsman, hurling the ice. It turned away, starting after the Scotsman...

The black fence surrounding the estate was already colored fire's favorite, and lacked any fuel suitable to keep the blaze going. The grass burned away quickly, the blaze retreating back into the hellhole. It burned, for hours and hours.

The doc hauled down the ice orb that the bandit tried to kill the Scotsman with, and together they tossed it at the immolated bandit. There was a hiss, a spray, and the elemental fell into pieces and quickly fizzed away into nothingness...

Much through the night, in fact, leaving the blackened and charred remains of the estate and the bodies to greet the morning with a smoldering heat and a slowly dissipating funnel of smoke, rising endlessly to the sky.

The healer was extracted, and they fled the building. To the place of healing, the prisoner and doc alike rode to. The Scotsman stayed behind, seeing that the building and its faculty would not be around to see another day. The soldier just drifted away...

Birds would chirp nearby in the wake of the cooling disaster, nonchalant about the building's disappearance.

Life went on.
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Investigation

Postby Tyralor » Tue Jun 24, 2003 6:45 am

It hadn't been all that long, before there were a number of patrolmen roaming the region. The fire had been brought under control eventually. Such a blaze however, had left only the charred, mute remains of a household that'd once been a vestige of gothic beauty.

"What've you found so far?" He asked of a man almost immediately, as he swung down from his horse and moved to the patrol of eight that had lingered here.

"Bodies sir. A fair number of them. Looks like they were killed, dragged outside and piled, before the fire caught up to them and burnt any recognition away."

Bodies. That wasn't much of a surprise at all. The fact that they had obviously been murdered however, was something that left a sour taste in his mouth. Whoever had organized and done this deed, was going to hang.

"Get Mort and his bloodhounds up here. Whoever did this had to have left a trail to somewhere."

He was going to have to write to Lord Tivalti himself, and express the condolences over the deaths of the family and servants that had been placed here. Let him know of the destruction of his property as well.

Hopefully, before long he would have some indication as to who exactly was it, that'd wrought this sort of destruction onto the region. For the moment, he joined the other members, shuffling about the ruins of the estate for any idnication as to what might have been overlooked during the departure.

"Got some tracks over here!" a cry shouted, "Looks like a horse and footprints!"

Lieutenant Kilborn glanced up, and with hand on the pummel of the guard issued sabre, moved off to investigate...
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Postby Rattrap » Tue Jun 24, 2003 6:49 am

But what's more, surely a detailed search of the estate and the surrounding grounds would lead one to discover a pack in the bushes, supplied with many green-colored vials as well as a coil of rope, darts and a dagger - clearly, equipment to do the job that had been done. At least, for the killings - but there was no evidence that any fire-causing agents were inside the sack, although that didn't disprove that there might have been, at one time.

It looked a little full, though, as if most of the items had gone unused...and there wasn't much room for anything else. In fact, the items were clearly organized, pieces of cloth places between one and the next to avoid noise. There was only one missing piece of the neatness, pointing, perhaps, that only one object had been used.

The dagger was clean.
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Postby Tyralor » Tue Jun 24, 2003 7:15 am

"wut dew 'ake o'is?" One of the soldiers inquired of Joshua a short while later, holding up a peculiar sack as well. Otis turned to the side, sending a stream of brown coloured saliva to the ground with a resunding psh-tu. The Sergeant was probably not the most clean cut of the Order's men. And understanding him was probably the trickiest thing in the world. The man was never without a pair of tobacco pieces to chew upon. One for each cheek. Kilborn looked forward to the written reports he could request of the man. Other than the occassional smudge and brown stain such reports contained, there was no doubt the man's penmanship was masterful. So, more often than not, was the Sergeant's ability to find the oddest things.

He sidestepped though, as Sergeant Otis spat upon the ground again. Taking the pack from him he frowned faintly at the one section that was moist. Explained how it'd been found perhaps.

"Otis. Go to the doctor and see if you can't find out what is in this green vial." One such object handed to the man, before he moved to deposit the rest of the pack inside the back of the cart. He'd have more time to go through it later, and attempt to sort out who it was that'd have organized something that dedicately.

"What'dya suppose it was fer?" Guardswoman Kerri inquired, stepping up alongside the Lieutenant and tilting her head to the side for a moment.

"Backup I suppose. For all we know, whoever did this waltzed in right through the front door. Had this in reserve in case they needed more subtle means. Would explain why it wasn't used. We've got the track of about two or three people moving away. Mort will be able to tell us more there. It's possible they burnt their own dead too. You were the first person here, did you see anything?"

"Was still dark 'n Lieutenant." She replied with a faint sigh. "Whoever'd done it was goo'n gone. I dinn't see anythin"

So many dead. A pack that didn't look like it'd been used. Lots of questions. Soon enough though, there'd be some answers. The sound of baying dogs was heard shortly, as Mort made his arrival.
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Ghost in life, nonexistant in death.

Postby Vaelian » Tue Jun 24, 2003 8:09 am

No, the soldier had not screamed; that ebony silk swathed man had remained, for the most part, silent during the entirety of such action. Even when his hands were turned into bubbling masses of blistering flesh, his lips remained sealed. Pain coursed through every limb that day, heightened repetitously each subtle movement he made and every wisp of a breeze which caressed the burned flesh. Still those strong arms shook, nerves set ablaze and unable to remain still despite each flare of pain it splayed through him. He stood now, before a mirror; sheltering darkness masking all but the silhouettes of form. The leading edge of a bandage was taken between his teeth, the trailing end braced against the base of one knuckle by the other. Turning jaw and wrist simultaneously, the pristine bandage was so dilligently field dressed to the wounds.

Still, he did not scream. Even as blood burst free from newly agitated blisters, turning a heavenly white into a macabre ochre crimson. It was a process repeated with the other hand, even fingers burned of their flesh. He should have sought medical attention, they were in no condition a mere binding that much the soldier felt obvious. Still, there was that pride.. and the knowledge that what happened that night.. never happened. He was never there. His hands were not the sole wound he'd encountered; as shirt was tentatively wriggled out of with the least use of his hands, a single scorch mark over his breast. Granted, it was not so nearly bad as his hands, but perhaps only because so of that layer of cloth guarding it.

He'd done his duty however and he'd left no trace, no trail, no track in his wake. It. Never. Happened.
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Postby Aeri` » Tue Jun 24, 2003 9:26 am

It had been a long and grueling night. She had not expected anyone to find her, but they did. Jason had burst into her cell and freedom given by the man. She owed him her life as well as David and Dhugal. All three had come to her rescue. It was not over however, far from it. She knew all too well there would be questions. Questions that would remain a secret if asked from her. She would never give away her friends who so darringly fought and rescued her. She could be dead by now for all she knew if it had not been for them. She may of lost her tongue but she was capable of writing still. The wounds upon her wrists and ankles would heal but always will be remembered as will the ordeal she had been through. Again death and descrution followed her wake. Her heart was heavy. Not for the loss of life but because she was the cause of such. It was not her fault however. Those that did the deed had it coming to them. Perhaps it was a favor that they are dead now to save others from the same for worse fate than she had suffered. Mixed emotions were felt, but it was time to move on. There was many things to deal with still.
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Postby Tyralor » Tue Jun 24, 2003 11:13 am

The group of three stood on the edge of Myrken Town itself. Scowling a bit at the discovery they've made. The dogs with their howling had led them back here in the end. Here where the days activity in the market place had churned up the ground so much that discovering a scent once again would be all but impossible.

Kilborn wasn't precisely surprised however. Any individual that had the capability of killing that many men, and managing to make it out alive was simply incredible. There'd been the faint hope that someone had been injured, and had perished along the route, however the hope had been extremely faint. The lack thereof was certainly no surprise.

Still, they had a few things to go on. Overall the situation wouldn't be the worse in the world. There was the pack, and of course, the heat of the fire had been of some dire intensity.

Kilborn wasn't exactly a fool. He could recall the last time he had to deal with a fire of that intensity, and the effort it'd taken then to control and eventually put it out. That, had been Alexi's Orphanage.

Originally quite capable of leaving it off as a random act of sabotage, there had not been a single thing upon which to pursue a query. This time however, they'd slipped up and left behind a backpack. And started a pattern. It was only a matter of time now, before they eventually caught the culprit who'd burnt down the buildings of two noble lords. And slaughtered some three or four dozen people.
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Postby Tyralor » Thu Jun 26, 2003 5:19 am

Memories?

Lieutenant Kilborn wasn't entirely certain what to make of Otis' report. From what the Doctor had said. What the doctor had known, the green liquid was a potent form of a sleeping drought, that'd render anyone scratched and under the influence of the liquid, quite unconscious.

How would he know what it was made from. How would Memories saliva be detectable?

There were a few conclusions that one could simply jump to on that particular account. The first and foremost, was that the doctor himself had indeed been the one tht had made the liquid in question. That was, almost a foregone conclusion. Why had he given up so much information? That the Doctor though, could be responsible for the forty nine deaths that'd taken place on the Estate in the end, was practically unbelievable. Was it stolen from the Doctor. Did the doctor sell the product. Did the doctor use the product? A few questions, that Otis hadn't gotten answers for. They would likely have to search the hospital, for other incriminating evidence.

Kilborn penned a brief missive to Captain Daniels, specifying what had been discovered, and the request for permission, not a task he would ordinarily do, but the Doctor was of good repute, to search and bring the Doctor in for more elaborate questioning.

It was shortly after that specific detail was taken care of, that Key knocked lightly on the door and stuck her head in.

"Josh? We've got us a good samatarian who's given over something that you might find rather interesting."

"What would that be?" He questioned, as he rose up from his desk, and momentarily took time to shuffle a few papers into a better order. He had the scheduling for the next month to accomplish as well, which would need to be posted in short order. At least that was mostly done.

"He dropped off a bust of Trevor Tivalti's head. Said he picked it off a merchant who was trying to get rid of it, and a few other pieces. Said something about a chap called Basso?"

Lieutenant Joshua Kilborn blinked for a brief moment, before he turned and started crisply for the doorway, following his aide out and down the hallway to where this fence was waiting for them to spill what he knew.

"See if you can't detail a few chaps to go around and speak to the others who tend to come across some of these things. Speak to Learn Barrows and Lieutenant Duvall. They both still have a few friends who might know something. Might be able to confirm what this chap is saying, though..."

He breathed, and disappeared down the hall, to confirm if what information had just brought to him was true...
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Postby Rattrap » Thu Jun 26, 2003 6:29 am

Captain Daniels, after reading the request and the accompanying information would seek out the lieutenant to address it:

"I can't imagine the doctor killing anybody, but it does sound rather strange. I'll give you the okay, then, to search and bring him in - although, you might try simply asking him straight up, first. As far as his reputation goes, he's usually on the level."
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Basso... Why yes, yes I have.

Postby Zorana » Fri Jun 27, 2003 3:51 pm

Why did Kilborn always have to send him the cute girls? Never the men, or the mediocre women. Only the cute ones, like he thought it was funny, because he knew that Duvall didn't stand a chance with any of them, even the crazy ones. He was going to punch Kilborn in the nose one of these days. Words flicked through his mind so fast that he barely registered them. 'Hello, Gorgeous!' No, no, that was too... pathetic. 'What brings you to my desk, my dear lady?' No, that implied that he had class and he knew d*mn well that he didn't. Finally, he settled, quite lamely with... "'ey Key, what can I do for you?"

She eyed Duvall for a moment, trying to decide if there was anything going on under his hat, and considered asking him if he only wore it to hide the empty space where his brain should be. "Lieutenant Kilborn told me to relay some information. We've got a good samaritan who's given over a bust of Trevor Tivalti's head. He said he picked it up from a merchant who was trying hard to get rid of it, along with a few other pieces that might have belonged to Lord Tivalti. He said something about a fellow by the name of Basso. Ever heard of him?"

Duvall lifted a calloused, sun-bronzed hand and rubbed his stubbled jaw. scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch. "I might 'ave 'eard the name once or twice. Let me guess... Kilborn wants me to see what I can find out?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

"I'll see what I can do. Thanks Key." He paused. "You think that maybe sometime we could..."

"No way, Matthew. Even if you weren't my superior officer, I'd still say no." She gave him a flat look and walked back out the door.

Duvall huffed quietly and thunked his hand down on the desktop. "I bet she likes girly men," he muttered. "The kind that wear ruffles and smell like vanilla and 'ave 'air as long as my mother's. Women." He muttered a few quiet obscenities in a language no one in the guardhouse was likely to understand, and pushed back away from his desk. The chair legs scraped against the floor and he grimaced. "Time to get a rug..."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He wasn't foolish enough to wear his uniform on this sort of excursion. He was dressed in loose dirt-brown trews and a shirt that could have been brown or black or grey, or maybe even blue, but it was so stained and faded that even a dyer couldn't tell. His hat, sunbeaten and worn black leather, was shoved low over his face. With scruffy hair and an unshaven jaw, he could have been any townsperson. He was certainly undistinguished.

Dirt covered half his boots, and his knives were all well-hidden beneath the folds of his clothing, save for one uninteresting belt knife with a hilt of wood and iron, badly smelted. He looked like he should've been picking his teeth with it. A blade of sweet grass dangled from the right corner of his mouth, occasionally gnawed but mostly ignored. The vision would have been uncomplete without something dangling there.

He waited just across from the side door of a seedy tavern, his back pressed against the wall of the building across the alley. He looked so lazy that the people passing almost believed that he was sleeping, and they would have, if he weren't standing. After about fifteen minutes, another man - shorter, ganglier - slumped against the wall next to him. The shorter man took a swig from his flask, and settled.

"So." Duvall paused for a moment. "Basso's back in town."

"Aye, 'e is. Wot's it to ye?"

"I 'ear 'e's sellin' 'is stock real fast, lookin' to skip town with the coin and none o' the goods. I 'ear some of 'em came from the Tivalti estate. I'm interested in buyin'."

The shorter man was too busy rolling up a wad of chewing tobacco and stuffing it in his cheek to respond. He spent a moment chewing, spat, and then declared, "Well. 'E's go' a mess o' fancy trimmin's, tha's fer demned shuah. Saw Arnie buyin' off o' 'im t'other day. Betcha 'e's go' the 'eads up on 'zac'ly wha' Basso be sellin'."

"Thank you, Lim." He paused, and scratched his jaw. "Basso's a right bastid, yeah?"

"For demn shuah, 'e is. Why?"

"Y'gonna mind much seein' 'im rot in gaol for a while?"

"No' one bi', Sahb, no' one bi'." He spit to the side again and grinned, showing a mouth full of chipped, brown teeth.

Duvall palmed a small pouch from a pocket of his trews and hefted it. It jingled audibly. He tossed it the few feet between himself and Lim, and tapped the brim of his hat. He pushed off the wall and tugged the sweetgrass to the other side of his mouth, as if it were time for a change...

"Pleasure doin' bizness wi' ye agai', Sahb. See ye nex' week." Lim rubbed the little pouch and tucked it in a pocket and walked away whistling.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Arnie, you little snot, come out of the closet. I'm not 'ere to arrest you." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the closet door like it was the most distasteful thing he'd seen all day. He flicked the blade of sweet grass with his tongue, and waited patiently. After a long, drawn out moment the closet door creaked open.

A head peeked out, it's hair sticking up in a thousand directions, as if the man was in a perpetual state of just-gotten-out-of-bed. His face was narrow and his eyes were sharp. Bony fingers curled around the edge of the closet door. "Hi, hi, hi M-mister D-duvall... S-ss-saab." He cleared his throat and edged out. "Did.. d-did you want s-something?" he squeaked.

"Oh dear God, Arnie, would you stop with all the theatrics? You weren't really scared of me the last fifty times I've been 'ere, and you d*mn well aren't now." He glared, hazel eyes hard beneath the brim of his hat.

Arnie cleared his throat. He took a few deep breaths, heaving bony shoulders, and nodded. He scrabbled over and sat down in a rickety chair and tap-tapped the edge of the table. "So, so... ahem. Whatcha need, S-saab?"

"Basso. What did you buy from 'im?"

"Err, B-basso? I don't know a B-basso.."

"Lies, Arnie. Lies," Duvall declared, edging forwards. He leaned against the table edge and down towards Arnie. "What. Did. You. Buy. From. Basso?"

"Err... I... j-just a little j-jewelry b-box, n-nothing... nothing really, I.." The sweat on Arnie's forehead was quite visible in the dim light of a badly flickering oil lamp.

"Where is it?" Arnie pointed one bony finger towards the closet. Duvall glared at him, then walked over to the closet. He pulled open the door... Only to find the closet half-full of jewelry boxes, statues, two paintings and one very expensive dress. "Arnie... If I didn't think you were a pathological liar, I'd arrest you right now. You've got to be smarter than this, buying so many goods with blood on them, you yellow-bellied idiot." He grumbled, but without the harshness of his previous words. Arnie visibly relaxed.

Duvall tapped his fingers on the closet door jam. "You get out of 'ere, Arnie. I'm sending guards back to confiscate this mess, and I don't want you seen near it. Now go! Get out, go on!" He made shooing motions with his hands.

With only half a moment's hesitation, Arnie scrambled to his feet and grabbed his knife and one pouch that may or may not have belonged to him. Duvall looked at it, and considered trying to find out what was inside... But with a sigh, he turned his gaze away from Arnie, who immediately backed out saying, "Th-thank you, S-saab for.. for your.. err.. kindness." The sound of footsteps moving fast away from the small building could soon be heard.
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