Crime Scene Investigation

Throughout the day, several Gryffindor wellwishers came to visit Milo in the hospital wing. Apparently, word had spread of his run-in with the acromantula, and the rumours had quickly gotten out of hand.

"We heard you fought off a horde of giant spiders, mate —" said one of the Weasley twins (Milo decided, for convenience's sake, to call him George).

"— and save a beautiful unicorn princess —" said Fred (maybe).

"— which is unusual, because unicorns tend to be male —"

"— and also managed to rescue Professor Quirrell —"

"— while growing increasingly weak from spider venom —"

"— defeated You-Know-Who for good —"

"— became king of the Goblins —"

"— found a Philosopher's Stone —"

"— so now, you can live forever —"

"— discovered a thirteenth use for dragon's blood —"

"— and that you're still an available bachelor —"

"— but maybe not for long, based on the rate these stories are spreading."

Following the conversation was somewhat dizzying, but sort of entertaining as well. Hannah and Lavender dropped by with candy (though the people in this strange land called them "sweets," which Milo supposed was generally accurate, with the exception of several trillion flavours of the Every-Flavoured Beans), and Lavender apologized for her behaviour during detention. Milo appreciated the gesture, but was somewhat suspicious of wizarding candy as a whole – he remembered Harry's chocolate frogs trying to escape back on the train (Milo shuddered at the thought of that mechanical monstrosity) and the more unpleasant flavours of the every-flavoured beans.

Hermione, naturally, brought him copies of her class notes from the ones he missed (Milo copied them all into a notebook with Amanuensis (an obscure 0th-level spell that copies text rapidly) and then read it with Scholar's Touch (an invaluable 1st-level spell that reads an entire book (and not, say, a stack of loose-leaf) in a few seconds)).

Ron approached somewhat sheepishly to apologise for not going to the forest with him and Harry, but said that it was really for the best because he was absolutely useless around spiders and would probably just have gotten in the way. Milo forgave him, and they played a game of Wizard's chess, which was just like regular chess except the pieces were apparently intelligent. It really changes the game when, instead of sending a rook forwards to be sacrificed, you're sending up an old, tired wooden soldier begging to be allowed to live and return to his family (he had a pair of pawns to take care of, after all), yet nonetheless resigned to his fate. Ron won, of course, because Milo couldn't remember ever playing chess before. He knew the rules, oddly, but had no memories of an actual game — probably because he was still cut off from any of his backstory not yet explicitly stated.

While he recovered from his ability score damage, Milo tried to solve the puzzle of the spider bite. There was, without a doubt, an ugly injury caused by a fang in his side. However, Milo was absolutely certain that he hadn't been bitten. Even if the spider tried, Milo had Mage Armour and Protection from Evil, which gave him a net boost of +6 to Armour Class, assuming the spider was evil (which it totally was). It was improbable, though not impossible, that the spider had hit him in one attack. But between being blinded and off-balance from Milo's magic, he really doubted the acromantula had a chance — unless he'd been bit before Milo started his attack. But that was impossible because Milo was invisible, and had illusions up besides…

He frowned. No, it really can't have been before I became visible, and probably wasn't when the spider was blinded. Milo could account for the spider's actions during the duration based on the number of mirror images it destroyed and the number of spells he cast.

This doesn't add up at all.

And then there was the matter of Snape. If Snape had been trying to kill him, why did he brew an antidote? Was it really some sort of terrible, slow-acting poison that would kill Milo over the course of weeks, making it look natural? But why bother — he could have just left Milo to succumb to the acromantula venom.

No, there must be another player at work here. Snape was evil, sure — but he wasn't actively trying to kill Milo. He might not even have realized, yet, that Milo was a threat to him.

"Hey, mate," Harry said, breaking him out of his thought process. Milo hadn't noticed the boy entering the room. "Sorry I didn't come earlier, we had broomstick lessons — it turns out I can fly really well! I don't have any idea where the skill came from, I was always rubbish at P.E. — and anyway, Draco must still be mad from that time on the train, so he stole Nev's Remembrall (poor fellow just got out of St. Mungo's) and ran off with it. Anyway, I'm rambling. The point is, I got it back, but McGonagall saw and guess what — I'm on the Quidditch team!"

"What, the game with six pointless players and one PC?" Milo asked.

"Yeah! And I'm the Seeker!" Harry said excitedly. "Hermione's upset because it's against the rules and thinks McGonagall shouldn't have made an exception, but Ron is beside himself."

"That's pretty cool. Bet you'll catch the Snitch — like, really. Ten gold pieces — Galleons, whatever — that you win the first match by the skin of your teeth."

"You're on, but I probably won't be able to pay you for a while when I lose. My money's all in Gringott's," Harry said.

"Oh?" Milo asked. "What's Gringott's?"

"It's this big underground thing, full of dragons and run by goblins," Harry said. "I was there once, it was actually kinda scary."

Milo's ears literally perked up upon hearing this (he was one-sixty-fourth elf).

"Goblins got your gold, eh?" he asked. "Well, well, well. Sounds to me like we have a dungeon crawl in our future," he said excitedly.

"What's a dungeon crawl? Is that some sort of dance? Only, I've never danced before," Harry said.

"What? No. It's where you go into a big underground thing, full of dragons and run by goblins, and come out with piles and piles of gold," Milo explained.

"Oh, I've done that already," Harry commented. "Though I left most of the gold behind for later."

"You— you did what now? I think you're not really getting into the spirit of the thing."

"Well, I was with Hagrid, and he only let me take so much out—"

"Oh, that makes sense. Higher level character, he probably did most of the work to get there. Still, try to argue for an even split next time. If you play your cards right, you could wind up way ahead of your WBL," Milo said.

"My what?" Harry asked.

"Wealth By Level," Milo said. "It's the average amount of total money, in cash, magic items, fortresses, that kind of thing, that a person has based on their level. So like, a powerful wizard can use a Broom of Flying to clean his floors with because he can afford twelve, while a lower-level wizard couldn't even get one."

"Oh," said Harry. "Here, we just call it capitalism."

"Weird. So, what's the deal with this Hagrid guy?"

"Oh, he's a giant, he's my friend — he took me from the Dursleys — and lives in a hut outside the castle. Takes care of the grounds and things. He actually sent me a letter inviting me down to visit him," Harry said. "I think I'll head down later this evening."

"Huh. So tell me, did you notice anything weird about Quirrell's stutter last night?" Milo asked.

"You mean, two nights ago?" Harry asked. Milo nodded, he was still sort of disoriented from sleeping all day. Harry frowned. "I can't swear to it, but I think, just briefly, he was talking normally. Maybe he was so frightened that he sort of stuttered so far he wrapped around and came back the other side?"

"Yeah, maybe," Milo said. There was something he was missing, he was sure of it. His forehead wrinkled with deep thought. "Okay, hang on. Describe Quirrell to me, and pretend I've never met him before, okay?"

Harry looked at Milo like he'd gone crazy (Milo was used to that look by now) but complied. Quirrell: had a verbal tic (one) wore a weird turban (two) was completely spineless (three) but could apparently summon courage when necessary (four!) and emanated an odour of garlic (five).

"Oh my gods," Milo said. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"What, what is it?" Harry asked.

"Five adjectives! Nobody gets five adjectives so soon after meeting them!"

"What?" Harry asked.

"It's just like on the train, remember? When I told you to write down everyone who could be described with more than two adjectives? It's why we go on adventures with Ron and not Dean or Seamus. The more unique a person is, the more important they are."

"So, what does this mean?" Harry asked. He was beginning to feel that Milo's sanity was much like Quirrell's stutter: he went so far through insane that he came out the other side, and started making sense. Well, kind of.

"It means Quirrell is big news, but it's too early to say yet which side he's on. I feel like there's something I should be remembering but just can't."

"You mean, like your parents?" Harry asked.

"No, like something someone said in passing but I didn't write down. Can I see your notes?" Milo asked.

"What, you mean, like from Herbology?"

"No, not those. The adventure notes."

"Oh, sure," Harry said, pulling the lists that Milo had asked him to write from his bag. There were the lists of mysterious things people had said, of unexplained events, and of important characters. Milo pointed out Quidditch: Seeker is for PCs with some satisfaction, but otherwise the search was fruitless.

"Ah, well. It was worth a shot. Maybe we'll hear something that'll make all of this make sense," Milo sighed. "Until then, we'll just keep listening closely."

His next visitor after Harry left was quite unexpected.

"So, we meet again, Malfoy." Milo said coolly.

"Indeed, we do at that," Malfoy sneered. "I just came to see if you were really as weak, injured, helpless, and alone as they say."

"Oh, are you threatening me? Is this really happening? Because as I remember, I've got you two for two, Slytherin."

"Not a threat, no, not at all," Malfoy said, and grinned. "Just thought I'd drop by, say hi, wish you well and tell you I know what you're up to."

"What I'm — I mean, you don't know anything. Fool." Milo said, but quietly his mind raced. What was Milo up to? Not much, really. Just sort of blundering through encounter after encounter, so far; brute forcing his way through problems with magic. But active plotting? Not so much.

"And more importantly, my father knows," Malfoy said. "And my father controls the Wizengamot." Malfoy grinned. "I'd keep an eye on the morning paper, if I were you." He moved to leave, but paused. "Fortunately," he added, "I am not you." He then walked off, whistling softly to himself.

"Well, that was cryptic," Milo mused to himself. "I'm starting to think I should maybe figure out what in Baator is going on before I wind up there."

To do that, he had to go to the library. To do that, he had to get out of this accursed hospital bed — but that wouldn't happen until he had healed to Madam Pomfrey's satisfaction.

"New plan," he said. "Bring the library to me."

o—o—o—o

"He asked for what?" McGonagall asked.

"He wants to borrow half the library," Madam Pince, the librarian, said calmly. "Said he didn't want to get behind in his studies, and that he would just start at A and work his way down to Z"

"Don't we have rules against this?" McGonagall asked.

"Well, frankly, it's never come up," said the librarian. "Until Hermione Granger, nobody ever took out more than a book or two at a time. Most students only read when they absolutely have no other option, and even then, generally only the Ravenclaws."

"Well… I feel we have no choice but to allow it, save, obviously, those in the Forbidden Section," McGonagall said. "Lest we encourage rule-breaking among the students by example. I'll allocate a few first-year Gryffindors to help transfer the books, I suppose. You owe me a favour, though, Irma."

The professors had started using Gryffindor's detention hours as the basis of a crude barter system. Snape had been selling them at a premium price, mostly to get out of his scheduled time patrolling the corridors of Hogwarts and dealing with Peeves. They were then re-sold between the professors in exchange for favours, assistance, and occasionally even money (the going rate three knuts per hour per student, well below what minimum wage would be if the wizarding world had a minimum wage). The students, of course, knew nothing of this.

o—o—o—o

"Scholar's Touch," Milo cast, and tapped a handful of books. He could read four per casting, and could cast the spell nine times. Mordy's head perked up as his brain, too, was flooded with information. Milo tossed the books into a rapidly-growing Finished pile, and reached for the top few books in the To Read pile, which was less of a pile and more of a small mountain. "Scholar's Touch, Scholar's Touch, Scholar's Touch, Scholar's Touch…"

o—o—o—o

The next morning, Milo was finally allowed out of the hospital wing. He was still under strict orders not to exert himself, and to avoid any undue stress. As a result, he was freed from the gruelling labour that the teachers were forcing the Gryffindors to undertake by way of detention. He walked, somewhat gingerly, down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As he entered, he made sure to affect an exaggerated limp and weak pace. He staggered towards the Hall, and pushed open the massive double-doors dramatically. He was deliberately a few minutes late, ensuring that the enormous chamber was more-or-less full, thus maximizing the impact.

o—o—o—o

Conversation in the room dimmed to a murmur as he walked silently down to the Gryffindor table, and sat down between Hannah and Ron.

"Hey," he said casually. "I miss anything?"

"Nice entrance," said Ron. "Though I think you were missing some sort of dramatic announcement, like 'that dragon won't bother us again anytime soon,' or possibly, 'the time has come.'"

"Everyone's a critic," Milo sighed.

"Don't be rude, Ron," Hannah said. "Or should I call Lavender back to have another little talk with you?"

Ron's face paled, and he fell silent. Hermione, Milo noticed, was very pointedly not speaking with Ron. Milo shrugged. The intricacies of most social interaction were lost on him, and they seemed largely pointless anyways.

"I want everyone to keep a careful eye on Malfoy," Milo said. "He's up to something, but I'm not sure what, yet."

"Sure thing, mate." Ron said as the owl post arrived. Milo questioned the hygiene of having a flock of owls flying in during breakfast every morning, but as he always ate from his perfectly-sterile Everlasting Rations anyways, he didn't mention anything. Also, owls? Seriously?

A particularly large package was delivered to Harry, carried by three owls working in unison.

"Oh, that reminds me," he said to the Gryffindors. "Anyone got a copy of the Daily Profit — sorry, Prophet — that I can borrow?" A flood of papers were offered to him immediately. Milo grinned. Celebrity had its perks, apparently. His newfound fame for defeating the acromantula apparently overshadowed the hatred for his losing 110 house points.

"Thanks," he said, grabbing one from some random NPC.

He looked at the cover, and nearly dropped it in surprise. Not because of the headlines, or even the content of the newspaper at all, but because the photo on the cover — of some smiling blond wizard being awarded a medal — was moving. Someone out there saw fit to cast some kind of spell, Milo wasn't even sure what would do this (some sort of Illusion, perhaps?) on every single one of these papers. Or, gods forbid, they were all magic items, each costing XP. If each newspaper cost even one Experience Point to make… Milo shuddered, imagining the soul-sucking factory needed to produce these tabloids, where wizards were dragged in en masse to be drained of the essence of their power, left a shallow husk of themselves.

Milo shook his head to clear his mind, and started scanning the headlines. Gringott's Break-in Still Unsolved… Nope, not that. Lockhart Saves Australia. Unrelated. Moody Stops Bicycle Theft, Takes No Prisoners. Nothing to do with him, certainly. Harry Potter Biography Hits Shelves, Shelves Hit Back. Apparently Flourish and Botts had attracted a malicious poltergeist. Nimbus Two Thousand Named Official Broom of Chudley Cannons. Yawn.

"Oh, by the way," Milo said as he read. "I found out what You-Know-Who is after."

"What?" Ron spluttered. "How?"

"Well, I cross-referenced everything on Harry's list with everything in the Hogwarts Library relating to extending one's life," he said. "And the Philospher's Stone is the only thing that appears in each. Nicolas Flamel was on the back of Dumbledore's chocolate frog card — which were invented in 1983 — back on the Hogwarts Express, which was, incidentally built in 1936, and he's the creator of the Stone."

"Why does it matter that he was on the card?" Harry asked.

"Well, something as important as the motives of the main villain would have been mentioned at least once by now by way of foreshadowing," Milo said. "Hells, you've probably been in the same room as the thing at least once and didn't even know it."

"Oh," said Hermione, sounding disappointed. "Here I'd hoped, against all reason, perhaps, that you'd finally found an ounce of sanity and logic."

"Mark my words," Milo said. "He's after the Stone — or he's a vampire."

"Well, if it's the stone he wants, we don't have anything to worry about," Hermione said. "Nicolas Flamel has it, and he's seven hundred years old. He's been able to keep it safe all this time, he must be pretty good at it. I mean, surely You-Know-Who isn't the first person to want to be immortal? I bet Flamel has to fight off dark wizards every other fortnight."

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," Harry said, cutting off Milo's reply. "Wait till you guys see what I got in the mail."

o—o—o—o

Harry was so excited he could hardly speak as they hurried to the Gryffindor common room to open his package. He skipped up the stairs two at a time, and blurted out the password to the Fat Lady so quickly he had to repeat it twice before she was satisfied.

"It's a Nimbus Two Thousand!" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't be daft, mate," Ron said. "Anyone who owned a Nimbus wouldn't just give it away."

"Oh, a broomstick," said Hermione. "Hooray."

"I had one of those, once," Milo said. "Stole it from a Death Eater I defeated. Dumbledore took it, though."

"Course you did, mate," said Ron condescendingly. "Course you did."

"Hey, Harry," Milo said. "Tell me something: why were you so excited to get this broomstick?"

"It's a Nimbus Two Thousand!" Harry said, practically shouting. "They're top-line racing brooms!"

"Right, right, but how do you know that?" Milo asked.

Harry frowned.

"I saw one in the shop in Diagon Alley," he said. "There was a crowd around it and everything."

"Ron, correct me if I'm wrong," Milo said to the redheaded boy, "but aren't there a number of top-line racing brooms out there?"

"Well, yeah, but the Nimbus is the best one," said Ron.

"Sure, but still — there'd be ones that are used by, I dunno, national sports teams that still far outstrip those used by Hogwarts players, and are maybe almost as good as the Nimbus?"

"Well, sure," Ron said thoughtfully. "There's the Comet Four-Eighty and it's hush-hush, but apparently Firebolt is working on something really fantastic."

"Yet none of those," Milo said with satisfaction, "were on Harry's list of notable items."

The four fell silent.

"There's a perfectly rational explanation," Hermione said. "McGonagall took Harry to Diagon Alley, remember? She must have seen it there."

Milo laughed.

"Of course there's a rational explanation, if you look closely enough. Still bears thinking about. Which is why we need to worry about this Philosopher's Stone. It just keeps popping up."

"When I was in Diagon Alley," Harry said excitedly. "Hagrid took us to a mysterious vault in Gringott's — and all that was in it was a tiny package! I bet it was the Stone!"

"Oh, come on," Hermione said. "That's just ridiculous — if it were the Stone, Dumbledore would have gone himself, surely. He's the only one Voldemort was ever scared of."

"But Gringott's was broken into that same day, but they didn't find what they were looking for!" Harry continued. "Remember, it was all over the news? They didn't find it — because Hagrid took it to Hogwarts!"

"Or, maybe they just couldn't find it — or they were after something else — or Gringott's vault security, famed in the world, it employs dragons after all, was too good for them," said Hermione with growing frustration.

"Wait, wait, wait — is Gringott's some sort of bank?" Milo asked.

All three of them gave him the usual look.

"If the security is so good, why is it overrun with goblins?" Milo asked.

"The goblins are the security, duffer," Ron said. "They run the bank. It's their bank. A goblin bank."

Milo couldn't take it anymore.

"This world is insane!" he shouted. "GOBLINS running a bank? Dragonhide gloves? TWELVE uses of dragon's blood? What are they, raised in farms? Elves — cooking, as servants? Wands? There's only one person in the entire country who makes your wands and he's just allowed to wander about! What if he trips and dies, or some evil git — what the Hells is a git, anyways — comes by and knifes him? What will you all do then? Also, broomsticks? If you're all wizards, why don't you just cast Fly? By Bigby, why don't you just cast Fly? You have infinite spells per day and you let goblins guard your gold! With dragons! More dragons! You have centaurs living in your forest — Centaurs. The only possible reason having four legs with hooves would be an advantage is if you were in the open plains! It's like... it's like someone who had only vaguely heard of real magic got all the words right but their meanings completely wrong!"

"You about done, mate?" Ron asked. "'Cause our magic is just as real. You see us using it every day, it's just a bit different from what you're used to."

"Yeah, I'm done. So. Your resident Dark Wizard is trying to get the Philosopher's Stone. The Stone is in Hogwarts. Dumbledore is guarding the stone, apparently, but just being in Hogwarts isn't guarding — guarding is guarding. He'd have to be sitting next to the thing, all day, every day, for it to be really safe. Seeing as how the other professors, perhaps with the exception of McGonagall, are either completely useless, dead, or downright evil, that leaves us."

"Leaves us for what?" Ron asked.

"When Voldemort — oh, shut up, Ron, it's just a name — makes his move, we have to stop him," Harry said quietly. "He killed my parents. He killed a lot of people's parents. We need a plan, though."

"I'd just like everyone to realize you have nothing remotely concrete," Hermione said. "The world doesn't work that way. You-Know-Who is dead. Flamel has the Philosopher's Stone. Professor Snape is stern and sometimes maybe a little unfair, but he's not evil. Until you can prove even one of those statements is wrong, you can do this without me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have Transfiguration homework — as do you, in point of fact." With that, she stood up and strode out of the room.

"You know, she has a point," Ron said. "What we've got is a bit thin. Mind, Snape's evilness is pretty self-evident."

"Right, well, I think someone tried to kill me the other night," Milo said. "And even if I can't remember it happening, I'll find out how. Tomorrow, when I've got my spells back, I'm going back to the Forbidden Forest. Something's not right."

"The forest with the giant spiders, the werewolves — and I know it's not a full moon — the human-hating centaurs, the... that's actually all that I can remember, but I'm sure it's just the beginning," Ron said.

"Unicorns," Harry said. "What's killing the unicorns? And why?"

"Uh," Milo said. "I don't know, yet." Even Scholar's Touch had limitations — each one allowed him to read one book per level (so, four books, for those keeping score back home) but he could only cast so many per day. He resolved that from here on out, whenever he had extra spells remaining before going to bed, he was going to burn them on Scholar's Touch until he'd learned everything there was to know about this zany campaign setting. Seriously, he thought. This place makes Eberron look as familiar as Faerun. "But I can find out tomorrow — or maybe the day after."

"Right. Once you can prove it was Snape who tried to kill you — and come on, it totally was — then Hermione can help, and she probably already knows loads about unicorns and things we don't even know to look for," Harry said. "Meanwhile, Ron and I are going to try to find out everything we can about the Philosopher's Stone and Nicolas Flamel. He's a seven-hundred year-old wizard, right? I bet he's really famous. "

"Yeah," Ron said. "He was like, the Dumbledore of his day. I heard he's the one who trained Dumbledore — he might well be the most powerful wizard alive, really, if he hadn't retired. That kind of takes you out of the running, retirement."

o—o—o—o

Fortunately, the next day was Saturday, so Milo didn't have to worry about using his spells to bluff his way through classes. Instead, he prepared the same combat spells he did on the first trip into the forest, and set out. This time, there would be nobody to rescue him — so he went in the middle of the day, protected by his invisible Mage Armour.

"Locate Object: acromantula's corpse," he cast, swapping out Mirror Image. As far as the magic was concerned, a dead creature was an object (unless it was undead, of course).

"You know," he muttered to himself as he followed the path set out by the spell. "I think I've realized why I'm having so much trouble here. I was really designed to neutralize a horde of enemies so that Zook and the others can take them out with pointy sticks and things," he said. "My spell selection was never designed to win fights solo." Now that he thought about it, Milo realized he didn't have anything actually, you know, lethal. Just sort of annoying. "The other thing about this crazy world," he complained. "There's no Wizards. I mean, there's these people here who call themselves wizards, but they're really more like Warlocks gone wrong. But no proper Wizards." No Wizards meant he couldn't copy spells for any amount of money, which is why his selection was still so limited. Every level, all Wizards learned a mere two new spells from independent research.

"It's all so unfair," he muttered. "I have to re-invent the wheel every time I want to learn a new spell. Ah, here we are."

He turned a somewhat familiar corner and felt the angle of Locate Object change suddenly, meaning he was close. It all looked so different during the day, but there was the web-covered tree. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it during the night, there really was a lot of web everywhere.

He cautiously approached the remains of the monstrous spider. Were Milo a normal human, he would be repulsed by the smell — but, Milo's nose, like those of everyone from his world, only picks up on plot-sensitive scents. The rest are just assumed to be there, but not explicitly mentioned.

If Milo had thought that the acromantula would look less frightening during the light, he would have been wrong. It was enormous. His estimate of fifteen feet across was wrong — it was closer to twenty-five. Milo shuddered.

"A-ha!" he exclaimed. "That thing is way too large to have been killed by that little log I dropped," he said. The log weighed at most 400lbs, because that was as much as Levitate could carry, and only dropped twenty feet (the furthest he could raise it in the one round he had to do so) meaning it only did 2d6 damage. That's twelve, max, and if acromantulas (acromantulae?) are anything like the monstrous spiders back home then it should have had twenty-four hit points, minimum, but probably closer to fifty-two. "It should have shrugged that off and bitten me in half."

Milo frowned. There was more, too. Even if the spider was only CR 2, he should have had somewhere in the vicinity of 22 hp – and Milo only did, maximum, 12 damage. Actually, he added mentally, 15 with Acid Splash. But the odds of that happening are slim – only one in 108. He shouldn't have been able to even kill a CR 1 monstrous spider with all he did. And from what the people around here had been saying, acromantulas were dangerous. Really dangerous. From that alone, he would have thought that they were Challenge Rating four or more.

He moved closer to the body to investigate. It was, clearly, quite dead.

"So what happened to you, big guy? Were you already wounded? Expose the Dead," he cast, switching out Levitate. This was a spell the good people of Eberron had developed, but it had been carried to Milo's world by powerful spellcasters using Planeshift. He'd never actually seen it done before, and had no idea how to cast it, but Spontaneous Divination let him do it anyways. Best ability ever. Anyways — the spell gave him a gigantic bonus to searching crime scenes, and let him discover clues as if he were a trained professional. Some quick math told him that he'd have to be able to beat DC fifteen (easy, given his massive Intelligence and the bonus from the spell) to find a clue, if there was one, and then twenty-one to figure out any information from it. He frowned. It would take a twenty-six to find out everything he needed, and that was beyond him without more magical assistance.

"Master's Touch, Instant Search," he cast, this time in favour of Grease and Glitterdust, respectively. He was starting to worry that he would run out of spells before he was done. The spells together gave him another +6 to search.

Details of the spider's corpse, more than he really wanted to know in point of fact, suddenly appeared in his mind as if he'd diligently investigated the body.

Aside from a few long-since healed scars on its side and face, a sprained ankle (do spiders have ankles?), minor acid burning and 400lb of tree sitting on its back, the spider was in perfect health – except that it was missing one of its fangs.

"Well," Milo said triumphantly. "This explains everythi– wait a minute, no it doesn't. Can acromantulas shoot fangs? Why didn't I feel it? I know I didn't take any damage." Milo was aware, at any given time, how many hit points he had. "Well," he said. "You weren't a wounded high-CR monster, or I would have found the other injuries. You weren't CR 1, or I would have gotten less Experience Points. You weren't weak to acid, or there would be more serious burns. There is only one possible conclusion... and it changes everything," he said, pausing dramatically for the scene to change.