Blood in the Gutters

Rain pattered gently on the cobbles in the Grande Market this morning. Inspector Sagacious Pleasant cradled a steaming cup of coffee in both hands as he stood beneath a large yellow awning that had been erected around the crime scene. In the middle of the street lay a body, covered by a white coroner's sheet that was quickly turning crimson. Four city guards stood around the scene, warding away any would-be onlookers. Sagacious set his coffee down on a nearby countertop and knelt down, asking aloud. "Has anyone identified her?"

A young woman dressed in a similar garb to Sagacious cleared her throat and answered hesitantly. "Not yet, Inspector. Clerics are on the way, but nobody nearby recognized her." She paused slightly to do up the clasps on her cloak and draw it tighter around herself. "We contacted you immediately, Inspector, because of the wounds." She grew visibly pale as she spoke. "That is to say, sir -"

"Something decidedly dark and occultish about them, yes. Thank you, Constable." He stared down at the sheet from his kneeling position and removed a small leather bound notebook from his cloak. The young gendarme nodded gratefully at him and withdrew from the area immediately.

He reached out and pulled the sheet back, eyes searching intently. In his younger days, he had seen some ugly things, including the murder of both his parents. Not to mention the horrors he'd encountered with Scarlett last year. And still, he recoiled for a moment at what he saw. An older woman, Sagacious guessed from the gray hair atop her face, probably in her mid fifties. Several red cuts upon her collarbone appeared to be intentional and precise, sigils carved in flesh. The woman's ribcage was bisected up the middle and her heart had been cut out of the cavity. Blood was literally everywhere, trickling tiny streams of crimson in between the cobbles and being washed away by the rain from above.

Sagacious began to write in his book, trying to copy the designs on the victim's chest. The language of the lower planes was not that complicated really, common and elven were much more nuanced, he thought to himself. These were all summoning sigils, and obfuscating ones designed to prevent magics or any spells that would heal or return the victim's spirit. "Constable, you can tell the Clerics that they won't be necessary." Fifty feet away, the young woman nodded at him and hurried off to pass the message along.

Effectively alone, Sagacious drew in his will and released it alongside a gentle wave of his gloved fingers above the corpse. His eyes blazed with platinum radiance for a split second, and he gasped audibly. Washed away by the rain before the Gendarmes had arrived, was a sigil drawn in blood beside the corpse. Though the crimson message had been erased by water, it's magical resonance blazed brilliantly. A powerful ritual had happened here, Infernal power radiated from the symbol.

Sagacious began to shiver as he copied the symbol into his book, he knew it well. It was a name, scrawled ironically, in Celestial script. "Evanwood." He'd written the same symbol a thousand times, saw it every night in his nightmares scrawled on the stained glass above the sacrificed corpses of his parents over two decades ago. This was personal, he could almost feel the malice radiating from the sigil. Coffee forgotten, he began the long walk back towards the precinct house and his office.

*****

Kitty corner to the grisly scene, the rain making it hazy and foggy, a lone gentleman sat sipping a tiny coffee cup which bore a rich and dark liquid known locally as 'espresso'. The distinguished gentleman wore a white linen suit with matching white hat and silk scarf. Green eyes twinkled mischievously from a wise and aged face, lined with frown and laughter wrinkles. He smelled of citrus and fine cigars and his teeth were white and perfect as he puffed gently on one such cigar.

A second man, dressed in black brocade velvet tights with a plum blouse and black cloak pulled the other chair away from the table and took a seat presumptively. The older man glanced at him for the briefest of moments, signaling the waitress to bring another small coffee to the table. He drained the rest of his current cup and smacked refined lips together happily. "I'll say this for Valais, the cuisine more than makes up for the weather."

The other man was younger, perhaps in his mid thirties, with sandy blond hair and a manicured goatee. He sneered at the comment and narrowed his blue eyes at his counterpart. "My city is the greatest beacon of civilization to ever exist!" He was clearly irritated by the older gentleman's comment. "Is this why you've come here? To insult La Belle Dame while suckling at her coffee laden teat, Monsieur Talbot?"

The man named Mr. Talbot held up a single hand in surrender. "Not at all, my good Malachai, not at all. I simply marveled at the ambience. Thank you, my dear," he murmured to the server who brought two fresh cups to the table and then hurried away. Mr. Talbot grinned wolfishly and flashed his perfect teeth, raising the new cup to his lips, "To your health!"

Malachai d'Ozoir allowed himself a smile and winked at the old man, lifting his cup to return the toast. "Wealth and fortune!" The common refrain was repeated ritually almost. He gazed pointedly across the street and at the murder scene, Sagacious' form disappearing into the mist as he walked away. "Interesting choice of coffee shops." He offered nonchalantly.

"I rather thought YOU liked the neighborhood, Malachai." Came the sublime and relaxed reply from Mister Talbot. "This is your work, if I'm not mistaken?" His tone carried no reproach or accusation, seemed just a simple question.

"You know it was." Malachai was nonplussed by the accusation.

"Finally looking to finish the compact, are we? Good, lad. Very wise." Mister Talbot smiled benignly at his guest. His face however, looked curious. "I have to ask Malachai, why now? After all these years?" 

Malachai sat a few moments before replying in an even, detached tone. "I didn't know he was here, if I'm honest. Or I would have begun sooner." Something akin to hunger burned in the young man's eyes.

Mister Talbot chuckled indulgently. "I suppose I could have told you sooner. But I like to trust my people to be capable on their own." he took another sip, staring into Malachai's eyes. "You know he's been busy? Has friends now."

Malachai returned the smile with a cold look. "Knights of the Silver Hand. I know."

"Yes, and although that alone should give you pause, I know better. You… are a very specially driven, young man." Talbot regarded him in a manner similar to the way a collector observes a new butterfly pinner beneath glass. "But that was not what I referred to. The Devilkin he lives with. They were recently involved in a very significant event in Caer Ashwynn."

Malachai allowed himself a thin smile. "I know. I know everything."

Mister Talbot shrugged, and doffed his hat, standing up. "Obsession has its benefits, I suppose. Goodbye, Malachai. Good luck with your next… piece of art." He then stepped into the rainy streets, leaving a small purse of coins to cover his bill, disappearing from view almost immediately. Malachai shook his head a little, and grabbed the purse, handing it to a bewildered waitress as he left as well, following Sagacious at a long distance.