the wall. Whilst Malak had been trying to convince
her to put it somewhere more practical like the weapons cabinet, Victoria
preferred to keep it sat behind her. As something of a warning to those
visiting the office. She was one of the few women working in the Investigation
Department. She liked to ensure the men didn't get above their station in
conversations with her.
She secured the
rapier to her belt before opening her desk drawer and grabbing the black powder
pistol and leather holster that lay within. She used a fine Argon single shot,
a breech loader and a good one. Accurate and clean. Hopefully it wouldn't be
required, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.
Malak himself
grabbed his trademark K-12. Repeater crossbows had originally been Magra
weapons, that nation of the west with the vast army and penchant for building
ornate...well everything. Castles, Black Powder cannons, vast bronze Battle
Golems. But like anything good in the war the design had been copied by every
other nation.
The Tornar built
K-12, with a thick shoulder stock, powerful pull and ease of maintenance, was a
popular weapon choice for any marksman. In the hands of Malak it was deadly
and very intimidating, something Victoria had relied upon on more than a few
occasions. There were few things scarier than a man with a crossbow who knew
what he was doing. Malak was such a man.
All set, they
headed off.
* *
* * *
“Please tell me
we can burn this sod soon.”
They had left
the department's stone clad building in the early afternoon and arrived at the
Militia morgue in just under an hour. The streets, as always, had been packed
but a Council of Peace registered coach was given a certain degree of leverage
with regards to getting to places quickly.
They were met at
the morgue by one of the Corpse Wardens, the guild responsible for body
disposal and with some knowledge of the methods used to investigative bodies.
Whilst a Death Warden told you how the recently deceased had died, a Corpse
Warden then took responsibility for the body afterwards.
He was a tall
man with a round face and deep rimmed glasses, short cut black hair and a
greying goatee. He wore the standard uniform of his guild, priest-like robes
of a light blue material. His name was Garrett and his accent was definitely
northern Argon, his speech fast but clear.
They were in the
morgue now, the area cleared of all but the body they had come to investigate.
Each of them wore face cloths filled with herbs to protect them from the vile
smell. Even so, they were still uncomfortably aware of it. The morgue had
plain stone bricked walls dug out of the earth, reminding Victoria of an
underground temple or burial chamber. A single stone slab sat at the centre
with a desk beside it arrayed with a variety of savage and unusual looking
instruments she wasn't familiar with, both engineered and magical.
Garrett led them
over to the body.
Victoria could
see why he was keen to dispose of the body. Whilst it was currently winter and
bodies did not decompose as quickly as in summer, the body in question was not
a pleasant sight even with a thick sheet of white cloth draped over it.
“Well here he
is.” Garrett said candidly. Idly he picked up a magnifying glass with one
hand, whilst with the other he pulled back the sheet of cloth. “Very simple.
The fat sow fell and impaled himself.”
He held up the
magnifying glass over a large gaping wound located under the body's jaw.
“Spike railing,”
he said by way of explanation. “Straight into him and right on up into his
brain. Death was instant.”
He let the cloth
drop and turned back toward them.
“Questions?”
“Stupid one
first.” said Victoria, casting a cautious eye over the corpse. “Does it look
like murder?”
“Unlikely” said
Garrett, a professional confidence evident in his tone. “He fell off the
Mounds Walkway. That place is
her to put it somewhere more practical like the weapons cabinet, Victoria
preferred to keep it sat behind her. As something of a warning to those
visiting the office. She was one of the few women working in the Investigation
Department. She liked to ensure the men didn't get above their station in
conversations with her.
She secured the
rapier to her belt before opening her desk drawer and grabbing the black powder
pistol and leather holster that lay within. She used a fine Argon single shot,
a breech loader and a good one. Accurate and clean. Hopefully it wouldn't be
required, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.
Malak himself
grabbed his trademark K-12. Repeater crossbows had originally been Magra
weapons, that nation of the west with the vast army and penchant for building
ornate...well everything. Castles, Black Powder cannons, vast bronze Battle
Golems. But like anything good in the war the design had been copied by every
other nation.
The Tornar built
K-12, with a thick shoulder stock, powerful pull and ease of maintenance, was a
popular weapon choice for any marksman. In the hands of Malak it was deadly
and very intimidating, something Victoria had relied upon on more than a few
occasions. There were few things scarier than a man with a crossbow who knew
what he was doing. Malak was such a man.
All set, they
headed off.
* *
* * *
“Please tell me
we can burn this sod soon.”
They had left
the department's stone clad building in the early afternoon and arrived at the
Militia morgue in just under an hour. The streets, as always, had been packed
but a Council of Peace registered coach was given a certain degree of leverage
with regards to getting to places quickly.
They were met at
the morgue by one of the Corpse Wardens, the guild responsible for body
disposal and with some knowledge of the methods used to investigative bodies.
Whilst a Death Warden told you how the recently deceased had died, a Corpse
Warden then took responsibility for the body afterwards.
He was a tall
man with a round face and deep rimmed glasses, short cut black hair and a
greying goatee. He wore the standard uniform of his guild, priest-like robes
of a light blue material. His name was Garrett and his accent was definitely
northern Argon, his speech fast but clear.
They were in the
morgue now, the area cleared of all but the body they had come to investigate.
Each of them wore face cloths filled with herbs to protect them from the vile
smell. Even so, they were still uncomfortably aware of it. The morgue had
plain stone bricked walls dug out of the earth, reminding Victoria of an
underground temple or burial chamber. A single stone slab sat at the centre
with a desk beside it arrayed with a variety of savage and unusual looking
instruments she wasn't familiar with, both engineered and magical.
Garrett led them
over to the body.
Victoria could
see why he was keen to dispose of the body. Whilst it was currently winter and
bodies did not decompose as quickly as in summer, the body in question was not
a pleasant sight even with a thick sheet of white cloth draped over it.
“Well here he
is.” Garrett said candidly. Idly he picked up a magnifying glass with one
hand, whilst with the other he pulled back the sheet of cloth. “Very simple.
The fat sow fell and impaled himself.”
He held up the
magnifying glass over a large gaping wound located under the body's jaw.
“Spike railing,”
he said by way of explanation. “Straight into him and right on up into his
brain. Death was instant.”
He let the cloth
drop and turned back toward them.
“Questions?”
“Stupid one
first.” said Victoria, casting a cautious eye over the corpse. “Does it look
like murder?”
“Unlikely” said
Garrett, a professional confidence evident in his tone. “He fell off the
Mounds Walkway. That place is
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