In the Shadow of the Towers IC [Eberron 3.5]

[OMG PONIES]

New case. Weird one.

The chief hadn't left too many details on the notes he had scrawled and left on your desks. That wasn't good; the shorter the memo, the more important the job. Your heels click, almost in time, as you make your way down the long, empty hallway to the chief's office. Once you all arrive, the chief is not at his desk. He is looking out the window, smoking a cigar.



"Can you believe this damned rain?" he scowls, "it's like the city herself is weeping for our poor lost souls. People keep asking when it'll stop, but me? I hope it never does. Crime rate's down when it rains...except for this one. File's on the desk--take a look." Without looking at you, he motions towards a pile of documents and sketches laying on a grand mahogany desk. "There's been a high-profile murder, and let me warn you--it ain't pretty. Of course, murder never is, am I right?"

The stern half-elf laughs for the first time in a while, and a puff of smoke rises from his downturned mouth. He turns to greet you, and you see the wizened face of Caedmon Nightbreeze, creator of the Sharnian Unit of Investigative Tactics. He hand-picked all of you for the job, so his features are familiar to you--his dark, slicked-back hair with patches of gray at the temples, his hawklike nose, his leathery skin. He walks toward the desk, picks up a handful of the documents, and holds his arm out towards you. "Well, what's keeping you, sunshine?"

[Obrysii]

The rain never bothered Tavo; his iron-worked body, black with some faint gold inlay and a rounded, smooth head suffered little in the splattering wetness, and he moved along with comfortable efficiency, wearing a simple robe with a pocket in it for his tiny softball-sized friend. The beholderkin poked the burnt-out eye from the pocket – the eye that Tavo used to send his spells further than they ordinarily ought to be capable of – and the tiny thing looked around.

The door was just up ahead, and the heavy hand of the Warforged gently poked the eye back inside. The familiar was an odd one, and he'd rather not draw attention to it immediately.

When the rest of his unit arrived, the wizard would join them inside, stepping with the usual heaviness of his kind, squashing slightly from the dampness.

“Forgive my delay,” the strangely mechanical voice said with a decidedly gender-neutral tone, “I will begin viewing the documents now.”

[Lycar]

'Jonas the Mad' they called him. He started out as just Jonas, child of... but the, one day, the voice started talking. At first, poor lillte Jonas was just too afraid to listen. Nowadays, it is more like 'if I keep ignoring it, sure it will grow bored and go away eventually'. It hasn't worked the last quarter century. Give it another maybe.

Rain actually makes a walk in Sharn... interesting. The whole damn city is very 'interesting' in the sort of way that you need to keep your eyes open and constantly alert to avoid stepping off a poorly railed bridge or overpass.

Keeping low to the ground has it's own problems: Namely the stuff that fails staying up. And when it rains on the upper levels, it pours in the streets. When it pours on the upper levels...

Jonas wasn't quite sure what to think of the rain. It certainly made it more important to watch where one was going. But paying attention to walking means less talking. And less talking means a greater danger of accidentially listening to the voice. And if he would listen to it, it would win.

He couldn't have that, now could he...

The visions were probably a, let us say, desperate attempt to communicate with Jonas non-verbally. So far they only managed to make Jonas even more adamant in his decision not to listen.

Then again, the things the voice made him see were... well... the kind of things others could not see. And in some cases, would rather not have anyone see them.

"Like the face of the killer... you made me watch the whole thing again and again... until you got a good enough description to get the guy."

"Oh sorry, just thinking out aloud again. Yes, I will read the file later. So off to the scene, get my dose of scary scary sight again."

Jonas realized that he hadn't reached the chief's office right yet... but since it was a murder case (because, well, if it wasn't murder it usually was at least another sort of violent crime. The kind that left those psychic imprints that virtually jumped at him), there would be a scene. And there, a scene to watch in his mind's eye, forced upon him unbidden.

But so many secrets he had unearthed, sometimes literally, that they would not allow him to live in peace... too great a gift was his curse to those seeking the secrets he could see...

He wasn't the only person with psionic powers in the world, maybe the only one who was controlled by them rather then the other way around and didn't go mad. Well, not totally anyway...

Jonas had noticed Tavo walk up the corridor to the chief's office some way ahead of him. To be fair, it was hard not to notice the warforged. They were generally not intended for stealth, and to some of them, the very concept of hiding their presence or existence from other was an utterly alien concept.

"Heh, I just wish I could hide away where the voice in my head couldn't find me." he said to no-one in particular. At first his sudden outbursts and non-sequiturs had left a lot of turned heads and quirked eyebrows in his wake, but people eventually got used to it. People get used to everything eventually. Kinda like he had gotten used to the voice. Eventually.

With the same eventuality, Jonas arrived at the chief's office, just in time to catch him wax about the rain and it's effects on crime rates.

"What goes up must come down. Goes for water as well as everybody. Crime rates too? But what murderer cares for weather when the passion burns bright enough. Hah, but the brighter they burn, the easier for those who can see to see. That would be me again, yes? Don't worry, the hard cases are the clean kills, those without passion, those who barely give a ****. The others, they are easy... "

"Folder of file, eh? Yes I'll read it, then I'll weep it. Those bodies, sometimes they stay with me. In my dreams. I wonder... but you don't care do you? If you can't stop them, top them, at least bag them."

Jonas hesitated for a moment. Was this one of the rare moment where the voice had shut up for a moment, so that he himself could afford a Moment of Silence? Jonas listened, and in the awkward second that followed his latest outburst of rambling, he could actually hear the rain pour.

Jonas smiled.

[Doombringer]

Sineth walked in dropping the hood from his weather grey stained cloak. The blonde haired male looked to the all to familiar half elf and smiled. "Well it seems that we have a slight predicament." He spotted Jonas and Tavos smiling. "Evening chaps."


A hand moved to push some of those damp locks from his brow as he moved to look over the file. Sineth's deep blue eyes observing what he could and taking in all the information to memory some communing with Boldrei might be in order shortly and the Gods generally did not want to be disturbed unless one had all the fact.


Sineth shifted in that armor adjusting himself and whiping off some more of the mud from it after walking all this long way. "So when shall we get started?" He looked around and then laughed. "Excuse my eagerness seems like we are still missing a few of our companions."

[Anti-Luis]

A bald headed Dwarf with stubble for a beard barges into the room, still midway through taking off his soaking coat. It isn't until he approaches the table that you notice the fresh cut above his eyebrow. He lets the coat drop to the floor and reaches for the files.

"What we got here, Chief?" he says, eyes fixed on the papers. "Murder? Right... we're on it. Sorry I'm late, got into it a bit with some two-bit thief on the way in."

Djorn Stoneheart... wife left him a few months ago, but he was recently remarried. Unfortunately it was to the job and this damned city.

[Rebis]

As Nightbreeze holds out the folders, his eyes flick about the room and he frowns, the cigar rolling to the other side of his mouth.
"Where in the hells is Ouroboros? He was supposed to be here along with the rest of you." The cigar rolls back to the right, clenched in his teeth. "He'd better not be off whorin' again. If I get my hands on his neck- Oh, hey chief."
Chief Nightbreeze stands in the doorway, a pile of flimsies tucked under an arm, hot mug of kaf clenched in his fist.
"That better not be one of my cigars," comes his voice, dull and flat and menacing. "I know you wouldn't pull something THAT stupid, Ouroboros."
And with that, the features off the chief behind the desk kind of slough, the slick black hair bleaching, lengthening, changing styles, the wrinkled skin smoothing itself, greying, his eyes going white, like quick-forming cataracts to finally settle upon glossy white orbs.
Rebis Ouroboros, the teams' resident changeling, slowly removes the cigar from his mouth and proffers it towards the chief.
"Sorry, boss. I saw you heading for the privies with a pile of flimsies under your arm and I figured, 'Well, looks like I know who I'm going to be in Who Shall I Be Today?'"

Chief Nightbreeze continues to glower at him.

"It's barely chewed, if that's any consolation..."

C'mon, guys! 'Like the city is weeping for its own lost souls?' That was CLASSIC The Chief!"

"Somebody? ...ANYBODY... help me out here."

[Lycar]

Jonas still smiles as the changeling break his disguise, his antics a welcome distraction. But then again, everything is a welcome distraction...

"We can't trust our eyes and ears, what can we trust?
Our inner eye and ear?
What we hear
there is often but the voice
of our fear.
Still our choice.
Talking to ourselves that be.
A sign of - insanity?
Do we deceive ourselves, to what end?
To drive ourselves 'round the bend? "

Jonas chuckles. His own impromptu rhyming would make and true bard want to throttle him, still it is an excuse to talk and not to listen.

And not to think too much about how disturbing changelings really are if you think about it...

[OMG PONIES]

Chief Nightbreeze gives Jonas a sideways glance, chomping on a fresh cigar. "I see you found the case files. I'll be damned if this one isn't weird. So, patrol gets called in by this terrified old woman at Kolare's apothecary. Says she smelled something in one of the upstairs apartments, and you know if she can smell it over all those swills and potions, it's gotta be something.

My patrol guys go up and find the body of a dead human woman, no older than twenty. Apparently, there's stuff written all over the walls, barely even legible. They go to ID her, but someone's carved her entire face off. They carved off her damn face! Anyway, only thing we have so far for identification is this tattoo on her neck. Take a look,"

The chief picks up one particular sheet of paper, bearing an artist's sketch. He goes to hand it to Jonas, but thinks twice and instead gives the page to Tavo.

Caedmon shakes his head and looks to the floor. "It's sad that someone would have to destroy something as beautiful as a young lady," he muses. "This world's already ugly enough. The scene's still undisturbed, if you want to head over."

[Obrysii]

Tavo as of yet did not fully understand beauty - there was no formulation to be made regarding beauty; it was, entirely, within the eye of the beholder, and not like the one in his familiar pocket.

He leaned forward, his glowing eye sockets examining the tattoo, "It is not a dragonmark as I know it - though I could be mistaken. My data is somewhat out-of-date."

Now that he said it, he began to doubt himself. Doubt - emotions. The stuff his kind wasn't supposed to have, but there you go: regret, too, consumed him. And something else - rage, he thought - that made his sap boil over.

"We should go - see if there exists any lingering magics that can help us," he said at last.

[Anti-Luis]

"Right... let's get this part over with, boys." Djorn says as he picks up his dripping coat off the floor and moves towards the door. "Can't leave the people in this city alone for a few minutes without someone murdering and writing gibberish on the walls. Story of my life..." his voice unravels into a series of mumbles and grunts as he walks out the door.

[Doombringer]

Sineth looked to the others and nodded. "Yes we should get going." Sineth looked to the pictures one last time the nausea of the vile deeds sickened his stomach. He however felt rage boil inside him. "Quicker we get this over quicker we can get this scum off the street." Sineth stood and moved toward the door with the others after they decided to check the scence out. He himself was eager to see the bodies of course that was if the bodies were still there.

[OMG PONIES]

Kolare's Apothecary

As you enter the apothecary, an unmistakable stench fills your nostrils. Even here, in the birthplace of perfumes and potions, the smell of death is wholly unique. It invades your senses, fighting out everything else. It overpowers all other thoughts as it gloats. It has claimed another, and one day it shall claim you too. Snapping back to reality, you all notice the chaos of the scene. The room lays in tatters, with items strewn everywhere. It seems there may have been a struggle.

In the center of the room lays the body--a lithe, young girl with the fire tattoo on her neck. Face gone. Scrawled in blood all over the walls are the ramblings of a mad man, presumably her killer. The penmanship is barely recognizable, perhaps due to the grim ink. Not a single verse is written in Common, though many other languages seem represented. Your eyes scan the writing, looking for flickers of familiarity. As you study the languages familiar to you, one word is readable among the haphazard phrases.

Read only if you speak a language other than Common:

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For Draconic speakers only:

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chosen

For Gnomish speakers only:

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child

For Dwarven speakers only:

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catapults

For Elven speakers only:

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chosen

For Undercommon speakers only:

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catastrophe

For Infernal speakers only:

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commune

For celestial speakers only:

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centuries

Not surprisingly, the writings on the wall seem incoherent. If they contain any clues, you'll have to dig for them. It's clear from the pooling of blood that the girl was killed in this room. The scene is hush with the macabre silence of the corpse--immune still from the hustle and bustle of nosy journalists and old Kolare himself. These may be the only minutes you have with the undisturbed crime scene.

As your begin your investigation, you all notice that, ever so faintly, a pattern has been traced on the floor in chalk (underneath the body). It swirls and laps over itself in a feat of impossible geometry, seeming more like a scribble than anything concrete.

Knowledge: arcana checks to investigate the pattern, Search checks to scan the room for evidence, Gather Information checks to see if there were are any witnesses outside, or any other skills/spells/powers you think may help you investigate a crime scene.

[Obrysii]

It was times like this that Tavo was glad he didn't need to breath, and gladder yet to be incapable of throwing up – he was sure that if it was within his ability, he would be at this point. His eyes hardened, the brilliance of them sharpening to a cool glare, and he examined the area with a disturbed caution.

Stepping inside slowly, he withdrew his familiar – the many-eyed creature hovered free of him, and he spoke, “Search carefully – see if you can piece together the event.” He wasn't sure if his familiar had the ability to think that extensively, but being able to see in all directions would most certainly assist.

He searched and saw the pattern – something was off-color with that, beyond even the blood pooling sickly. Paying no attention to the scatching on the wall, he knelt and examined the pattern more thoroughly.

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Knowledge (Arcana) check: 1d20+11=18
Tavo's Search Check: 1d20+3=9
Familiar's Search Check: 1d20+6=16

[Doombringer]

Sineth moves over to the scribbles and mutter softly to himself..the writtens soon become readable to his eyes. "Well the writtings are confusion...but here is what they say." Sineth scribbles them down on a piece of parchment and heads over to the body. "I can commune with this girl if given time we can question here..though it would be limited." Sineth looks to the others and waits for the yes or no before pushing those gogles over his eyes and looking about the room once more.


Rolls:

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Search
(1d20+5)[17]

Spells Cast:

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Casting Comprehend Languages to get the Languages so I can read the jibberish on the wall.
Casting Speak with Undead if the party wishes.

[Anti-Luis]

"Holy Sovereign!" Djorn immediately turns his head at the sight of the girl. "I swear, this doesn't get any easier." After a quick scan of the rest of the room, he heads back towards the door. "Well... this seems to be out of my area..."

He looks back to see Sineth and Tavo getting to work. "Make it brief, Sineth. We wouldn't want to take up too much of her time. I'll... I'll go talk to the locals, maybe they saw something."

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Gather Information: (1d20+11)[19]

[Doombringer]

Sineth frowned and looked to the others. "This woman is from a very important house..look here" He pointed to the wrist then frowned before looking to Djorn... "Djorn do not leave we have much to do...and I might need help questioning her..not everyday a woman from the House Cannith is killed." He frowned and slowly began to utter incantations preparing to speak with the woman with his friends.

[Obrysii]

"This mark on the floor - it looks like a dragon mark, only it's more complex," Tavo said, standing, stepping back - trying to get a clearer thought. He looked to his familiar who turned up nothing.

[Lycar]

Jonas, as usual, was waiting well outside the crime scene perimeter, muttering. As usual.

The idea was not to 'contaminate the crime scene' as his colleagues called it. Quite frankly, when the visions seized him, he did trash around a lot. And they had learned not to try and restrain him the hard way...

So he just waited until the others gave him the signal to come in and... 'do his thing'.

The waiting filled Jonas with a sort of apprehension usually reserved for soldiers who are about to enter combat. On the one hand, he hated the sudden, unbidden and nauseating assault of psychic impressions, imprinted into the very fabric of reality by the heat of the emotions that happened.

On the other hand, the experience always also was... exhilarating. Soldiers sometimes said that about a battle too. If they still were in a way to talk afterwards. At least his visions didn't kill him...

When the signal came that the initial investigation and corpse-questioning had been done, Jonas drew a deep breath and approached the scene.

"Very well then, let me see what there is to see for the inner eye, let me see if the dead men lie." he said in a sort of sing-song. Often enough the answers Sineth coaxed from the dear departed didn't quite match the visions he got. Just more proof that truth, like beauty, lies in the eye of the beholder.

"So here we go again... "

Jonas enters the room, not quite closing his eyes but trying not to get too distracted by the mere physical representation of the location. And even before he reaches the door he can feel the ... 'vibes'. It was not entirely unlike that sinking, nauseating feeling that announces that one is about to projectile vomit in 3, 2, 1... but he still holds on, shuts out the pressure, shutting himself up in the process.

And the voice starts to talk again... or rather, it never shuts up but he can no longer drone it out with his own ramblings. And now he finds himself caught between two uncomfortable options: Listen to the voice or surrender to the assault of the psychic impressions. His resolve to not listen unbroken, the voice pushes him closer and closer to the threshold, beyond which...

For an outward observer it looks like Jonas falls into a trance and then suddenly suffers a seizure, trembling first but soon shaking violently, eyes turned back so far that only the whites of his eyes show and he promptly falls over as the spasms become more severe.

The seizures themselves last about 2 or 3 minutes, but it takes Jonas a lot longer to regain consciousness...

[Rebis]

Rebis roams the room, touching nothing but the floor, checking out the runes first. "We've got the word "Chosen" in two different languages here, Elvish and Draconic. It says "Catastrophe" in Undercommon on the wall by this chair, and I can see "Commune" in Infernal by this broken light fixture."
"This isn't right. There should be some Daelkyr in here somewhere."
"C'mon..." he whispers, "C'mon... There's gotta be SOME tie to Xoriat here..."

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Search: (1d20+7)[19]
Spot : (1d20+4)[16]

[Doombringer]

Sineth looked to the one speaking the words. "That is what I saw as well... here try these they might bring you better luck than they did me. I expect them back however." Sineth then pulled the goggles off his head and tossed them to Rebis. "If you tell me exactly what you are looking for or what it looks like I have a spell devised that might help us." Sineth then takes out some parchment writing down things that were of value and then moved to the body.. using his knowledge to see just what was the cause of death and how long the body had been dead.


Roll:

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Heal Check
(1d20+12)[22]

[Anti-Luis]

Djorn walks back into the room, shaking his head. "Well, neighbors described just about half the city. Know where we can find a dwarven elf boy skipping around in a white dress?" Staying at the door as to not disturb his partners' mojo, he watches nervously as they try to tie things together.

[OMG PONIES]

An old man with thick glasses peeks his head over Djorn's shoulder with a scowl. The crooked nose is instantly familiar to anyone from this part of Sharn--old Kolare himself, a terrible miser of a man.

"Listen, lads," he huffs over the dwarf, "how long before you get this cleaned up? I need my shop back in order."

[Obrysii]

The warforged looked squarely at the man - he had the benefit of having no facial expressions, and he stated matter of factly, "It will take until we are complete. Until then you will be thankful you still have a shop to keep."

[Doombringer]

Sineth looks to the others and nodded to the old man "Shortly I am fixing to commune with the dead..if any of you have a weak stomach I suggest leaving." Sineth waited for those who wished to exit and then begin to cast a spell whispering dark tones and touched the corpse. "I have a need to speak with you child awaken once more before your final rest."

When the eyes flicker open Sineth slowly speaks. "I want to know a few things departed one where were you before you were taken from this world?" He waited for an answer before nodding. "This tattoo where did you get it and who gave it to you?" He knew the tattoo was a fresh one and then decided to ask his final question. "What is your full name." after that he frowned and then said. "Enjoy your rest and may Boldrei watch over you."

[OMG PONIES]

The girl rises, her skinless face a morbid combination of veins, nerves, and blood. Her mouth is pulled back in a sick, constant grin and her eyes bulge without lids to hold them back. She raises a hand to gently press against her cheek, and screams. It takes her a second to calm down but, when she does, she is more than willing to answer Sineth's questions.

"Waiting for my wrinkled prince," the girl says with shy embarrassment. She scoffs at the cleric's second question. "Why would I want a tattoo? One mark has already caused me enough pain." She shakes her head. Suddenly, she falls back to the ground, but on her back this time. Her unblinking eyes stare at all of you. "Esmerelda d'Caaaaaaaaaa..." the corpse sighs, and she is gone once more.

OOC: Knowledge (local) or (nobility) checks may be able to identify her based on the amount of information given.

@Sineth:

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Sorry. Speak with Dead only allows one answered question for every two levels. Since you've got five levels, I tried to be nice and give you half of an answer for the last question.

[Anti-Luis]

A talking dead girl was the last thing Djorn wanted to deal with right now, but the information could be vital to their investigation. He decided to stay, of course, just out of arms reach. Nervously gripping the hilt of his sheathed shortsword, he listens to the girl's words.

...

"Hmm... where have I heard that name before," Djorn thinks to himself.

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Knowledge (Local): (1d20+10)[30]

[Doombringer]

Sineth was confused by the tattoo and then the thought of a wrinkled prince."Well this might means that she was suppose to a be with an older man and a prince. We should check with others about any upcoming noble weddings." He then looked to the tattoo closer and arched a brow. "She knew nothing of the tattoo." He turned her wrist to expose and look it over once more. "This could mean two things..she was unconscious when it was received or she was already dead." Sineth stood and looked to the others before looking at the available exits. "I have all I need to continue my search..I am still curious what tool was used to remove her face." Sineth looked to the others "I hope the name meant something to someone. I hope I was of assistance."

[Rebis]

"Well, the last name was obviously d'Cannith," Rebis mentions. "Fantastic. That means we're going to have the full weight of her House coming down on us if we don't keep this hushed up."

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Knowledge Local (+4) + Cunning Knowledge (Usable on Knowledge: Local for 1 time today (+3) = +7

Roll: (1d20+7)[18]

[Obrysii]

"House Cannith...." Tavo said, memories of his creation stirring in his mind. And yet he had no idea of leads, no contacts - a blank slate as if he had only been created the day before.

[Anti-Luis]

Djorn cringes at the thought of what tool robbed this poor girl of her face. If Kolare hasn't already left, Djorn leads him out of the room citing the authority placed upon him by the powers of the city of Sharn. Once he is sure that isn't listening he speaks in a hushed tone.

"Cannith... yeah, that would make sense. Merrix d'Cannith has a daughter, never knew her name, but she'd about the age of this girl. Word is she's been seen around the city with a much older man. Half of what I've heard is talk, I'm sure, but this would fit. I wonder what they were doing here though, there is a world of difference between an opera house and an apothecary."

He continues, looking to Rebis. "I agree with you, partner. House Cannith is in civil turmoil. It would be best to keep this quiet, until we can find out who is behind the murder."