I Won A Pirate (RP)

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

Gentyl was tempted to throw another cup at the door after Raven left. Her search for Bill Michell at the ball had turned up nothing. She thought she’d found someone to put up flyers for her, but he’d not answered her messages in weeks, so she’d found someone else. Now the Watch had those inventory books, and it was only a matter of time before they noticed that her ship’s doctor had also bought the mind muddling potion in addition to the regular supplies. He would cover for her if she asked him, she had saved his family from pirates, but it would be very difficult to explain.

And that blasted gnome reporter. It was time for her to disappear.

She fingered the box she’d received in the gift exchange and thought back to that night. The troll had agreed to meet her in Dal, a safe, neutral location for both of them.

“Got a package,” Nikruun said.

“I hope it’s a pirate,” Gen said.

He looked confused. “Stole ya…Pirate? Ah, I don’ t’ink so?”

She continued staring up at him. “Have a seat. You’re giving me a crick in my neck…and making me nervous.”

He pulled off his backpack before taking his seat with a good natured chuckle. “Sorry bout dat…” He withdrew a package from his bag and set in on the table.

Gentyl looked at the package without touching it. “Nope, not a pirate. Is it ticking?”

It was wrapped in festive green and white striped paper and topped with a red ribbon bow, the gift is small and solid, yet lightweight, and a comfortable size to hold between human hands. If jostled, the square box produces a faint rattling.

“Nope, definitely not a pirate.” She poked it again. “Might be a bomb.”

The sound and sensation were odd - giving the feeling that whatever is concealed within the paper were empty… almost as if the clattering is a part of the box itself.

“I hope it’s a bomb,” she said wistfully. “I’d like to go fishing in Stormwind again.”

“Coul’ be like a mechanical doll…?” he said hopefully.

“Hmmmm.” She looked up at him. “Shall we open it?”

He nodded. “Go 'head!”

There was a card is delivered with the gift, bearing a cheerful explanation of its origin. It reads: Hello! I hope you enjoy the gift - it’s a bit of a brain teaser. Though the credit in crafting it doesn’t go to me, but to a friend of mine. He makes them as a hobby, and I just think they are neat. Once you open the gift, you’ll see what I mean! Merry Winter Veil!

Gen slid a knife out of her belt and cut the ribbon carefully. When opened, the gift is revealed to be just that - a box. Finely crafted from the heart of a walnut tree, the dark wood has been polished to a dull sheen. Carved in counter-relief on the lid is a rose, and each carefully chiseled line of the shallow engraving has been filled with gold leaf.

In a note: If the recipient attempts to remove the lid, they will find that it is held fast in place, and no amount of wiggling or prying will open it… all with no visible locking mechanism. Interesting.

Tucked in along with the box is a folded square of parchment, sealed with a bit of blue wax. On the exterior a note is written in a neat but blocky hand, distinctly different from the gift giver’s: The secret of opening the box is contained within this note. You may attempt to solve the puzzle on your own, or follow the instructions inside. The choice is yours, but if you do endeavor to try, it is a simple mechanism which requires no magic, special ability, or brute force to reveal - only wit. Good luck. If the giftee takes the easy way out, (or is unable to solve the puzzle on their own) the instructions for opening the box are as follows: The solution is simple. Place the box on a level, smooth surface and spin it. The centrifugal force will retract a set of brass pins that hold the lid, allowing it to be removed. To close, replace the lid, and give the box a gentle shake to reset the pins.

Gen sat with the box in her hands admiring the beautiful woodwork. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s…just a treasure.”

“Mebbe someone can ‘elp you? Like a bondin’ experience!” he said.

Rachelle passed by shaking her head. “The coffee here is really strong!”

“Would you like some coffee?” Gen asked. “I hear it’s really strong.”

He shook his head. “We got lotsa 'andmade gifts dis year. Real lovely stuff!”

“I would have loved to have seen them. Will you help me please?”

“Course! What you need?”

She set the box down gently. “I’ve unwrapped it, but I don’t want to do anything to harm it. It’s just too lovely.”

“Mm, it look pretty sturdy? Shouldna worry too much bout dat.”

“Well, I am related to Gentyl…”

Nikruun blinked at her. “Ah, dey known ta break t’ings?”

“She blew up Plainswander the old bull a few times. Blew up Stormwind several times. Not on purpose, I don’t think.”

“Course not…”

“Experimenting mostly and fishing a bit. Cooking a few times.”

His eyes go wide. “Ah hah.”

She looks at the note again. “It says set it on a level surface and spin it?”

“Dis table be a level surface, right?”

He picked up the note, held it close to his face and squinted. “Yeah, spin it. Keep it level?”

“Yes.” She peered closely at it. “Is that it?”

“I t’ink so?”

She looked closer at the box. “The top comes off now?”

“Yeah, if you spin it, you shoul’ be able ta take de top off. Cause de pins be outta de way…”

Rachele says: The coffee here is really strong!

Gentyl nods sagely. “The coffee here is really strong. Sure you don’t want some?” Then she peered inside the box. “Definitely no pirate.”

“You coul’ put on in dere?” Nikruun replied.

“Think so?” she said dubiously.

“Yeah!”

She looked closer. “He’d have to be pretty small.” She read the note inside. “Please enjoy the gift.” “Oh, I will. Whoever made it is ingenious and whoever gave it quite thoughtful. Please do thank them.”

She sat there drinking her strong coffee and tapping the table. "You know, Nikruun, I have a job you might be interested in. I need some flyers delivered. I thought I had someone hired, but I haven’t heard back from him. Do you think you might could do that?

“Course! Where you wan dese flyers?”

“In Booty Bay.”

“Ah! We can do dat easy!”

“Good,” she said. “Just post them and leave. Nothing else.”

He nodded. “What dese flyers be?”

“Uh, someone is missing. I’m just trying to find information. Lost cat type thing.”

Nikruun nodded seriously. “Course. Gotcha. If ya give me de flyers today, I can 'ave dem posted tomorrow.”

“I need to get them printed up, but I will contact you soon.”

She shook her head, clearing the memory and tried to think of what needed to be done. She had the flyers. Contact Nikruun and get the flyers posted. Declare war on Michell and do away with the damned gnome. Michell might not be involved with Gentyl’s death, but he was bound up tightly enough with Beacham and his perversion that he deserved to be destroyed also. She put the key to the hidden treasure room inside the little mechanical box, and put it back on the shelf. Inside the room were records and treasures to be taken care of by her captain should something happen to her. He knew how to open the box.

[Scoop-cenarion-circle]

Scoop was hot on the trail of every literary prize known to man or gnome. She would be greater than even, well, greater than anyone. She didn’t smoke, but she was thinking of starting so she could take an author photo in an appropriate sweater, holding a pipe and looking into the camera very stoically. She’d been practicing the pose. Maybe she’d just lean in some dramatic doorway and cross her leg over the other, put one hand on her hip and look out into the distance as if pondering the meaning of life. She’d practice that pose too.

In the meantime, she had an appointment at the Beacham house. She’d made friends with the staff who took care of Mrs. Beacham and they were going to let her bring some fried apples to her and a bucket of homemade vanilla bean ice cream. Her mom made the absolute best ice cream, but Scoop had made the apples herself and would serve them in little crispy pastry shells then scoop the ice cream over it. She was bringing enough so everyone could enjoy the special treat.

“Hi, Maril,” she beamed at the housekeeper who opened the door. “I brought treats for Mrs. Beacham.” Then she winked. “And everyone else too.” She held up the satchels.

Maril grinned back. “That is wonderful. Missus has been down in the mouth with Johnny gone. No one has told her the awful things he did. No sense upsetting her.”

“None,” Scoop agreed. “Speaking of which, are the things still here?”

Maril walked beside her, leading her to the kitchen. Scoop had timed her visit to arrive at the end of lunch so she’d be providing dessert for everyone. Mrs. Beacham would be in the dining room or the garden unless she was sick. Everyone else would be in the kitchen.

Scoop waved at the cook when they reached the kitchen. She would have one like this when she was famous. Maybe she would buy Beacham’s house. She’d let Mrs. Beacham stay so she’d be comfortable and not feel disoriented.

“Hey, Sybil. How’s Mrs. B. today?”

“It’s a good day. I told her you were stopping by with fried apples, so she’s excited. Ate all her lunch like a good girl.”

“I brought little pastry shells also and Mom made vanilla bean ice cream. I swear, it’s the best ice cream anywhere. I brought enough for everyone.” She was unpacking the bags as she spoke. “Do you have some bowls?”

“Bowls, we have, Little Bit.”

Scoop giggled. Her grandfather used to call her that. She carefully doled out the desserts for everyone and carried Mrs. B.'s in to her. “Hey, Mrs. B. Brought you a surprise. Mom insisted you needed ice cream with your fried apples.”

The old lady broke into a smile and then started crying. “Oh, I haven’t had ice cream in so long and I love it. I told Faithe the last time she was here I wanted some pumpkin pie and ice cream. Did she tell you?”

Scoop set the dessert down in front of her. “No, ma’am. I haven’t spoken to her.”

They sat in companionable silence in the garden enjoying their treats. Watching butterflies and enjoying the flowers that were in full bloom now.

The old lady was tired after lunch and thanked Scoop again before excusing herself to take a nap.

“That was uncommon kind of you,” Sybil said as she cut a huge bouquet of flowers. “I want you to take these home and give some to your mama. Keep some for yourself too.”

Scoop buried her nose in the fragrant blooms. “She’ll love them. I know I do. Thank you.” She cocked her head. “Sybil, you know I’m trying to find who killed Mr. Beacham and his guards. I understand the Dal police have left the devices here.”

Sybil shuddered. “Yes, they can’t figure out how to get them apart, so they’ve been examining them here.”

“Really?” Scoop frowned. “How is that possible?”

The woman shrugged.

“Were you here when they arrived?”

“We were all here when lumber started arriving and crates of things, but not when the workmen arrived to assemble them. Well, I was to take care of Mrs. B, but no one else. She was having a bad day, so I spent all my time with her. Fixed lunch for everyone and then went back to her room. Not sure why her medications weren’t working. She was fretting and fussing all day.”

“Is it possible someone forgot to give her the medicine?”

Sybil frowned. “I suppose, but Mr. B. was always very careful to give it to her. He knew she fretted if she didn’t have it.”

Scoop pulled out her notebook and made some notes. “Could I look at the devices?”

“Don’t know why you’d want to, but I suppose.”

She led her to the room and unlocked it. The tape had been taken down from the crime scene by now. Bloodstains cleaned as much as possible.

“Not staying in here if you don’t mind,” Sybil said. “Let me know when you’re done so I can lock back up.”

“Sure enough.”

Scoop took more pictures with her gnomish camera. Up close pictures of every device, of the wood, the inlays, the gems, the mechanics. Then she laid down in the rack, her neck in the cradle built to hold and person in position. Above the rack was a wooden half canopy built to look like a luxury bed. She took more pictures of that and stared at it for a while. Extended her arms above her head to imagine what it must have felt like to be strapped in this device staring up at the canopy in terror. Then her eyes narrowed. Was she imagining that? No. The woodgrain was slightly lighter. She stared at it longer. “T” “T what?” She gazed longer. “TE”

“Who is TE?”

She was excited now. Did all the devices have this on them?

She raced around the room, examining the devices from every angle. Each one had a TE somewhere on them, but who or what was TE?

She took out a small pen knife and cut slivers from the underside of the devices and wrapped them up in handkerchiefs. She had an idea what the wood was, but she wanted confirmation.

With all she could do her wrapped up, she went back to the kitchen and promised to come back soon and bring more treats for Mrs. B.

Yes, she would like to live here. When she was a best-selling author, she just might. She’d keep the staff. She liked them. The devices would have to go, of course. Maybe donate them to Stormwind. Orwyn would appreciate her generosity.

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

(First off, I wish more people had been involved in some of these conversations because even the ooc stuff was hilarious. We roll for how much information Orwyn is going to get or discover, etc. He is notoriously bad. So, he’s delegated that to Almaz now.

Alamz rolls. 15 out of 20.

Drat.

Gen-- “Almaz can’t roll anymore.”

Orwyn-- “She’s on the case. I delegate duties.”

“Coward.”

Orwyn had been like a bloodhound tracking down every clue he could find. He’d interviewed the bank teller of one of the victims and discovered the man had a weakness for blondes, especially when he was drinking due to a girlfriend years ago, he had lost. The man was partially human. Who would have guessed? It didn’t matter. He had forfeited his humanity card when he had help murder Gen’s cousin and then laughed about it. Plus, he had an unfortunate habit of beating women, other than blondes, and weaker people. Some people were soulless and needed to die. She was doing the world a service.

Unfortunately, Orwyn seemed to think he and his merry band were the ones who should mete out justice and he had asked her to come in for another interview. Just tying up a few loose ends. Nothing to worry about.

He pointed her to the chair across from his desk. ((That was totally there.)) She sat down with her tea, and smiled. She was still in her sea garb complete with the tricorn she favored. The vest was black heavily embroidered with thread of gold. The jacket had turned up cuffs with polished brass buttons that matched the brass buttosn marching up the chest. The white shirt had a heavily laced jabot. The black leather boots came up to her knees, blousing the sleek black pantaloons. The whole effect was elegantly funereal, but the gleaming sword at her side with the faint blue glow, usually subdued remarks about her appearance.

Orwyn leaned back in his chair across the desk from her. “All right. As you know, your friend Faithe Deveraux has gotten herself into a sticky situation because of the use of one of her products by a psychopath in Dalaran who was recently murdered.”

Gen raised a brow, but said nothing.

“She told us she talked with you about it, so I assume that part’s no surprise,” Orwyn continued.

“How could it be her fault some psychopath was misusing her medicine?” Gen asked. “She said you interviewed her. I assumed you realized she had nothing to do with the misuse.”

“I wouldn’t think it was,” he said agreeing with her. “Here’s the other thing though. Her products were also used to tamper with another murder witness’s memory here in our jurisdiction. One case is an isolated incident. Two is the beginning of a trend, and the Dalaran authorities are getting curious.”

Gen was a people watcher. She lounged in the chair comfortably, but from the corner of her eye she scanned Almaz. Almaz was one to watch. She was a ferret, nosing out little details. Like right now. She was trying to appear almost bored as she sipped her coffee, but her eyes were slightly narrowed. She leaned forward the tiniest bit. The tiny lines between her eyes showed she was studying. Watching. Her subject right now was Gen. She was watching for reactions, no doubt, but Gen had been at this for a long time. It was part of her training to resist torture and interrogation and to inflict both. Her face remained mildly interested. Then she started laughing. “You think Faithe tampered with one of your witnesses.”

“I think someone may want it to look like she did. Now personally, I don’t think she has any motive to hurt anyone, but someone could be using her products to throw suspicion on her and away from themselves.”

There was a dismissive shrug. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Better she goes to prison than they do, I imagine,” he replied not giving up.

A soft huff. “Have you been to her shop?” Gen asked. “That girl is like a little rabbit hiding out. Yes, well if anyone can convince a jury she is some mad killer, good luck with that.” Then she leaned forward raising a brow. “You know, I’ve had death threats on me lately. Makes me think you’ve got some serious mad killers running around and you’re chasing some frightened alchemist.”

Orwyn sighed and shrugged. “Not mad. Clever. Regardless, I told the Dalaran authorities the Watch would help. They’re too used to using magic to solve everything and won’t put real leg work in. They like easy answers.”

Almaz had raised a brow slightly at the mention of death threats, but said nothing.

“I think there’s a psychopath out there all right, but I don’t think it’s Faithe,” Gen said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Read that, Almaz.

“Well good,” he said. “Let’s talk about what you know and that will no doubt help her. First of all, how would you describe your relationship with her?”

She took another sip of tea that had gone cold by now. “We’re very good friends. I admire her as a healer. She’s treated my men in the past with remarkable results. I respect her.”

“How long have you known her, and how did you meet?”

Gen looked past Orwyn to the window behind him. It needed to be cleaned. How easy would it be to get in here she wondered? “Years. right after she was returned from that Goblin. I was with Gentyl in the rescue. Honestly, I didn’t think she was going to survive.”

He nodded with some sympathy. “It was no doubt extremely traumatic.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, yes, and she had been tortured.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry to hear,” he said all this with a genuine frown.

“It’s probably why she started working with soldiers who had suffered shock,” Gen said.

Almaz had gone to another place. Her eyes clouded. “The Xenedar had many of those on board.”

Gentyl nodded to Almaz. Although it was common for people in war, it didn’t make it easier. “I can’t imagine anyone trying to throw suspicion on her. Maybe the killer.”

“Did she ever exhibit any signs of…I suppose a hostile or aggressive reaction to what she went through?” Orwyn asked.

“No, she just shut down, became very meek. I think that’s why she likes that dark hole of a shop. You’ve been there. I hate that place. It’s depressing.”

Orwyn scribbles more in his notebook as he has been all afternoon. “Is she close to other people that you know of?”

Gen’s brows furrowed a bit, she looked up as she thought, tried to remember. “Other alchemists and her patients. She liked Beacham’s mother very much. There’s an herbalist fellow she likes, but I have no idea who he is.”

More notes in his little black notebook. She should buy a notebook, but what would she keep notes on" People she wanted to kill? Orwyn was getting close to that list. She didn’t like people who annoyed her, and he was becoming a major annoyance.

"So, in your opinion she’s coping well with her past? Putting it behind her? " he said.

“Yes, she put it away. It took a while, but she learned to deal with it.”

He nodded. “She mentioned that the report might be looking into her past and became very agitated about it not being brought up.”

“She still flinches if a goblin male touches her unexpectedly, but I suppose a person can understand that.”

Almaz makes an ‘mm’ sound and nods.

Gen leaned forward, putting her now empty teacup on the desk. “People, when this first happened, said some very cruel things about her. Some women would say things like, ‘If I had been taken by a goblin, I would have killed myself. She must have liked being a prisoner.’ They’d say it just loud enough for her to hear. People have largely forgotten about the incident and she wants it left that way. She doesn’t want some reporter writing sensational stories about that again and going through the cruelty all over.”

“I can see why she wouldn’t want that brought up again,” he said.

“I don’t think anyone would,” Almaz, who had remained mostly quiet through all this remarked.

“What do you know about her business affairs?” Orwyn asked.

Gen shrugged. What did he want her to say? She didn’t meddle in the woman’s business. “She’s successful.”

“She does seem to have a good base of clients,” he agreed.

She nodded. “Yes, she does. People trust her. Physicians use her a lot. She’s very meticulous. If I go in to buy something, for instance, she grills me like…a police officer wanting to know what my symptoms are before she’ll compound something for me.”

He lifted his pen from his pad, thinking. “Of course, not being a police officer, an accomplished liar might be able to convince her to sell the wrong thing.”

Gen donned a surprised look for Almaz. “Do you think so? She’s pretty serious about those medicines.”

He shrugged. “Mr. Beacham did.”

“Those were for his mother. He just wasn’t using them solely for his poor mother.”

“Exactly.”

“She couldn’t do anything about that, do you think? If she gives a medicine to a doctor, say a painkiller to give to a patient and then he keeps it for himself, is that her fault?”

He was unmoved. Like the rock she imagined dropping on him. “Like I said, I’m just asking some questions about the matter.”

“Of course.”

On he plowed. “Did she ever talk to you about clients that seemed dangerous or suspicious?”

“No, not that I recall. She didn’t care for Mr. Michell, but he wasn’t a client.”

“Did Mr. Michell know her? Or of her, to your knowledge?”

She thought about it. “He was there several times when she went to deliver medications and check on Mrs. Beacham. She said she didn’t like the way he watched her even though he was quite charming, shy even.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“No, I went to the Armistice Ball in hopes of meeting him. I had heard he might be there. He is in shipping and exports fine wines I’m told. I wanted to discuss business with him.”

“Hmm.” He continued taking notes. So many notes. She was surprised he didn’t have a cramp.

“I should come in one day soon and discuss paperwork so I can start docking in Stormwind. I have a good business in Boralus, but I have nice goods that might sell well here.”

“Have you ever bought any of her products herself? Told people how well they work?”

She leaned back in the chair and took an apple and knife out of her pocket and began to peel it. She was consciously training herself to peel apples in short strips. “Of course, I tell everyone how well they work.”

“All people you trust, I assume.”

She shrugged and took a bite out of the apple. “If someone complains they have an ache or pain or whatever, I tell them they should go see Faithe or a physician who uses Faithe. I don’t screen people to recommend them to a business.”

“Did you ever tell anyone about the relaxation potion or the mind-altering potion?”

She noticed that he automatically assumed she knew about them, and she didn’t deny it. “Not that I recall. That’s kind of specialized medicine. Usually just doctors use it. Mrs. Beacham’s doctor suggested using it for her.”

“You became aware of it that way?”

She laughed to herself. She wasn’t going to acknowledge she know Beacham in any way. “I knew she was experimenting with it. I’m not sure how I heard of it. She talks about new formulas she’s excited about. It would be like me getting excited about an especially nice horse. You talk to people about it, you know?” She waved the apple in the air dismissively. “She was excited about the results she was having with some of the traumatized soldiers. You seem particularly focused on what I knew about these medicines. I don’t even recall the names.”

“Those are what link her to the crimes, so yes.”

Did he sound a bit disappointed?

“Did she ever mention any friends, family, or others who might be causing her trouble?”

“She had no family. They all died in the attack.”

“Anyone else who might want to cause her trouble?”

She was getting bored with this little bulldog. “A few jealous alchemists would give her problems from time to time.”

Now he perked up. “Oh? Any names that you recall?”

“Nope.” She continued eating her apple

“Ah, all right,” he said as he continued to write away. “Now, after Mr. Beacham’s murder, she came to talk to you. Could you tell us about that conversation?”

Gen sighed. Again with this? “She was just very worried because she’d been told by that gnome Beacham had been using her medicines to drug and torture women. The idiot gnome even showed her photos of the torture devices. She was very upset. Felt guilty.”

He peered at her. “Right. And then?”

She was getting irked with the incessant questions, but stayed relaxed in the chair, crossed one leg over the other and swung a foot lightly. As much as she was trying, she felt her mouth go hard, so she took another bite of the apple. “Forgive me. I haven’t eaten today. To your questions, she was just upset. Felt it was her fault those girls had been hurt, possible killed. I tried to tell her it wasn’t.”

“Have you talked with her since that particular conversation?”

"Yes, I put in another order of medicines for my office, and she came in and talked to me about the gnome again.

Orwyn perked up as though this were new information although she already knew he was well aware she bought medicines from her. Raven had been in that hole Faithe called an apothecary shop when they interviewed her there and she told them so. “What did she say?”

“I keep my office and ships fully stocked with medicines in case of an accident. The idiot gnome wanted to know my history. Wanted to know if I dance.” She laughed. “Like I have time to dance. What kind of idiot question is that? I was a bodyguard to Bishop LeMaye, not entertainment.”

“So, the gnome was asking about you?”

She sighed. “I just said that.”

“Why was the gnome asking about you?”

“Who knows? Maybe I look like some prostitute one of the victims knew.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She held her eacup out. “May I have some more tea?”

The officer leaning against the door took the cup and excused herself. It wasn’t like she was going to miss anything important.

“Did the gnome ask about Faithe?” Orwyn said.

“Yes, that’s why Faithe was afraid she was going to do a story about her. She didn’t want her past dragged up again. There ought to be a law against that stuff, but of course there isn’t.”

He nodded noncommittedly and looked over his notes, then tapped a place in them. “You said she was very meticulous in her business affairs.”

She wrapped the apple core in a handkerchief and put it in her pocket, then raised her brow at him. “Faithe said you took her books. You should know that.”

“It’s good to get the same information from different sources. Did she talk to you about any bottles going missing or having been stolen? Or maybe having been misplaced or otherwise out of her possession?”

Now he was just trying to trip her up. “I’m not much to go by,” she said. “I’m not an accountant. She didn’t mention it, but she would have noticed missing bottles or whatnot.”

“We’ve already established they could have been purchased under false pretenses,” he said.

“I suppose. In that case, anyone might have bought them.”

“Right,” he said frowning. “I was hoping someone with a motive to make her look guilty might stand out. I’m not sure this will help much with Dalaran.”

“Perhaps a jealous alchemist or a family member of someone who died while taking her medications. One of the girls who disappeared. Revenge. I thought we already discussed this.” She accepted the fresh cup of tea and thanked Officer Almaz. “Who were the drugs used on?”

“I can’t answer that question unfortunately, since it’s an active investigation.”

Gen cocked an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “The gnome told Faithe it was that senile lighthouse guy. Not sure why anyone would mess with him.”

Orwyn frowned in irritation. “She didn’t mention that.”

“Guess she didn’t think it was important. Or you didn’t ask.”

“I wasn’t there when the reporter talked with Faithe.” He smiled. “Well, those are all the questions I have, and you’ve been very helpful. I appreciate it.”

She flashed her most engaging smile at him, but inside she was seething. That danged gnome was going to die and if she could find a way, she was going to firebomb this office and destroy those books. She was sure Orwyn or his merry minions had noticed her ship’s doctor had purchased the potions in question and they never had before. “Yes, sir. I’m always happy to help the law.”

Orwyn smiled at her. “Of course. I’ll walk you out. You said your cousin helped rescue Faithe, correct?”

“Yes. We both did.”

“And I recall she said she was also good friends with your cousin.”

“Yes.”

He frowned even more thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?”

“And I thought she had no motive…”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Please tell me you aren’t going to try and pin that murder on her just to close a case. Besides, what did Beacham have to do with Gentyl?”

“Of course. Well, thank you very much again, Ms. D’Armond. And that murder is Dalaran’s, so no.”

She didn’t bother to try and hide her irritation. "What would Faithe have to do with whatever those other guy’s names were. Willard and….whoever?

“I really can’t discuss the investigation itself. I’m sorry.”

Odd how he couldn’t discuss a case when he wanted to clam up.

They bid good night again and she walked out, fed the apple core to her horse, and killed a Stormwind rat. She hated rats almost as much as she hated some men. It was bad enough eaten rat crap-infested food on ships, but being in a rat ridden prison…that was another level of horror. To wake up in the morning and try to stir your friend only to discover rats…. Well, best not to think about it.

Sure enough, that bulldog Orwyn was going to try and pin the murders on Faithe. Well, nothing for it. She had to finish the mission. The Enforcer had to die. Bill Michell had to die. That gnome had to die. She had to get Silk back.

She’d send a message to Nik to get the flyers up in Booty Bay and then see about taking care of the gnome.

She had an appointment with a fire starter later. Maybe she’d talk to them about starting a fire in a certain office in Stormwind also.

[Scoop-cenarion-circle]

Scoop left the house with her gathered evidence and checked her mail. Someone had information about the case. Could I meet them in Stormwind?

“Yes!”

She fist-bumped the air.

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

Gen went to meet her fire starter later at the appointed time and place. She never liked The Slaughtered Lamb. It was innocent looking enough on the ground floor and she’d met people and drank there before. It was quiet, private, and people asked no questions. But it was below where things got murky. Ceremonies took place there and if you went deep enough, you’d find the crypts. She always wondered what kind of people were buried there.

A woman stood near the door as she approached and sized her up. “Paladin. You’re alone?”

“Those were the terms.”

She nodded and waved her in then continued watching. No one would be coming in tonight. She’d have to pay the barkeeper for lost business and no doubt he’d assure her this was expected to be a busy night.

Another woman stood near the stairs that led to the lower confines and motioned her over. Great. She hated being in the bowels of this place, but walked over. Without a word she led her down and past the people below who were conducting some kind of ceremony. They stopped and watched silently as the two passed by. Gen made sure not to pay too much attention to them or what they were doing. Down they went to the crypts.

These were old crypts, shrouds rotting away from the bones, the perfume of death and decay heavy in the air. A dead cat lay next to its last meal, a dead rat, and she wondered at that odd scenario. Thankfully, the fire starter led her into another section of the crypts where there were only dead people in caskets to listen to them.

She held out her hand. “I was told you have certain skills.”

He shook her hand with a warm, firm grip. “I have many as a hunter and as an explorer. Both have me well traveled and have experienced many things. It truly depends on what skills you are in need of. Rose was not very clear on that matter.”

Rose said he could be trusted, and she knew Gen needed something nefarious done so she had to trust the man. “I’ll come directly to the point. I need a cottage outside Stormwind burned to the ground. Not a stick to remain. It will be vacant. No people. No animals. I just need the cottage and everything in it incinerated.”

He pulled at his beard, thinking about what she’d just said. “I see.”

“If you are not interested in the job. I will pay you for your silence.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “No, that’s not it. The timing is interesting. Lately I have been in the the business of cleaning up messes.”

Gen leaned up against a wall and took out a couple of apples, offered one to the man and took out a dagger, then started peeling her in a single spiral peel. “Well, this is a mess, and I intend to clean it up.”

“This is what I’ve heard,” he said accepting the apple. “Best not to get the little fire bug involved. She has enough on her plate as is. She is at the point of breaking and things such as this would not help.”

Gen nodded in agreement. Rose had her own set of demons rising up from her past she was battling, and she didn’t want to add to her problems.

He pondered the situation. “Complete incineration?”

“Complete.”

“I do dabble is some explosives and have been known to set a fire or two.”

“So I’ve been told. Would you like to look at the cottage?”

“Perhaps a location for later. I do still have some agents who can quietly observe the area.”

“All right.”

He finished eating the apple and threw the core at a rat sitting up on its haunches watching them. “Wouldn’t be wise for either of us to be around and then magically something happens to it later.”

“Agreed,” Gen said and handed him a small map. “The cottage is in the hills above Stormwind.”

He looked at it for a moment and then stuck it in his pocket. “If I may, what are we hiding. The mention of a building only. I’m curious as to what is inside or won’t be by the end.”

“A reporter is digging up a lot of past history I don’t want dug up. It needs to go away.”

He nodded. “I can understand that. I can even relate. Missing journal pages suddenly appearing, black roses and what not.”

“Good. Now, you should know in the interest of full disclosure. The reporter will also go away, but that is my problem.” She thought about what he was saying and shook her head. “Poor Rose.”

“The past should stay there, long and forgotten,” he said.

“That it should. And I’m going to make sure it is.”

“Well then, I assume if I had a drink in hand I would say; Let the shadows of the past be forgotten so that the shine of the future may rise.”

"Hear, hear. If you’re interested in the job, I will pay you half now and half when the job is done.

Gen takes out a substantial pouch of gold and held it out toward him. “Half now and half when it’s done.”

He held his hand out and pushed it away. “We can speak of pay after. No point if something goes wrong and I blow myself up or something.”

“All right. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He stood and thought for a moment. “Perhaps even a trade in services. I have sent agents out to recover pages, some have not returned. Only a matter of time before Rose notices some of her wolves not returning.”

Gen raised a brow. “All right. Whatever I can do. I’ll send a bird to you when the house needs to come down.” She paused and looked at him. “I may need an office in Stormwind burned down with some evidence also. We’ll talk about it later.”

[Scoop-cenarion-circle]

(The story referenced here. Origin of flame (17 of 17))

[Wulfgrin-cenarion-circle]

((Will post this in Shadows of the Forgotten as well as this is kind of a crossover event of sorts heh. Shadows is the follow up to Origins))

“I want nothing left standing.” She had said pointing to a house on the map she had provided. There was anger in her voice when describing how much that house needed to Not be there.

Accepting the task Wulfgrin began to move in making his preparations for the task. Having used explosives before in a previous job he was no novice around the tools needed for this. However, this job required more than just a bomb or two. Explosives can get the job done, but can leave unforeseen evidence, something that needed to be avoided.

Wulfgrin needed to think like an engineer and the best person to see is one he did not want involved in this.

Sneaking into her workshop, he had hoped to find anything to help with what he needed. Instead, he found the one thing he had hoped not to see in there.

Rose.

She sat at her workbench working feverishly on a project. Wulfgrin scanned the room and could see she had been there for some time. Mechanical objects had been made and placed all over as well as several dozen grenades of various types neatly placed in boxes. The arsenal she was creating was impressive and somewhat disturbing. He had never seen her build so much before. Lost in his wonder, Wulfgrin failed to see Rose had stopped working and was watching him. Her work goggles resting on her head, she leaned back and smirked.

“Like what you see there Wulf?” She said with a smile.

Still lost in wonder, he took a minute to reply. “I’m a little surprised is all. I’ve not seen a collection like this in a long time. Are you preparing for a war or something.”

The expression on Rose’s face switched to a more serious tone. “You’ve been gone a while and a lot has happened. I’ll explain in a moment, but first, how was your meeting?”

“It went well and we have a mutual understanding of the task needed done and you needn’t be involved. How was the Stormwind Unions event?”

Taking her goggles off, she set them down on the worktable. “It was good for the most part. The Horde had kept me busy throughout the city which is why I could not attend the meeting.”

Wulfgrin was surprised by this. “Fighting? Is that wise with the curse breaking. When I last left you, you said the only thing keeping it at bay was drinking. The requirement of pain no longer works, why take the risk?”

“As I said, a lot has happened since I last saw you. I have better control over it and can afford some conflict. I have a teacher now showing me how, you’ll meet him soon. Which brings me to other news. Denava has been killed fighting the figure in the golden mask. Her apprentice informed us as well as delivered another page from the journal. How has your search gone for the other pages?”

This news stunned Wulfgrin. Another damned page and this one in Rose’s hands and he had no idea what was on it.

“As of yet, nothing has been found.” He replied.

“Really? I heard different. I heard several pages were recovered from the SI:7 by Sephrine, isn’t that right?” She said as Sephrine stepped out of the shadows. Seeing her made Wulfgrin’s blood boil, but he keep it in check.

“The pages she recovered had nothing of importance on them and were burned. I saw no need to inform you about it.” He said giving a glare at the Rogue.

Rose sat quiet for a moment, studying Wulfgrin. He felt every second pass as she watched him. Taking her eyes off of him, she reach for her goggles again and strapped them on her head.

“Fine. You came here for something, what do you need?” She said picking up her tools. His guard still up, Wulfgrin breathed a little easier.

“I need something to make a hot fire burn faster and hotter. Do you have anything in the workshop that can be useful?”

“I’d say the best thing would be me, but other than me I would say Goblin jet fuel. I use it for my rocket boots and the stuff is pretty strong and Very unstable. You may need to head to Booty Bay as only the Goblins make it and I store none here. I’m pretty sure it is illegal in Stormwind. If you need anything else here, take it. Just not what I’m working on.”

Nodding in thanks he looked over the items throughout the workshop. “Why do you need all of this anyway?”

Picking up her tools again, she paused before working. “The figure in the golden mask that killed Denava, it was Celesa Wulf.”

This jarred Wulfgrin to his core. In his mind he was cursing the world. “How can you be sure? I sho…saw her die in front of me. We buried her for crying out loud.”

“The description provided by the apprentice was clear. No one has that kind of magic and we both have seen its destructive power. Denava knew she was going to die and made sure someone was left to report it.”

Cursing to himself again, Wulfgrin could not believe this was happening. Then he calmed himself and began to think clearly. There could be benefits to be had with this information.

“When I am done with this task I will do everything in my power to help you.” He said

Nodding in thanks Rose lifted her head again. “I welcome it. To help you complete it faster, take Sephrine with you. She has been rather helpful lately and she needs the experience in this sort of thing.”

Wulfgrin bit his lip shifting his gaze back to the Rogue. “As you wish. I’m sure we will have quite a lot to talk about.” He said gathering a few items before leaving.

There was to much to be concerned with now. A house to burn down, pages to destroy and now more from the past clawing its way back from the grave. Perhaps the payment for the house will be needed sooner than expected.

“More loose ends to deal with.” He thought to himself looking back at Sephrine.

What’s one more body to the fire anyway?

[Scoop-cenarion-circle]

Officer Almaz, professional as always, greeted scoop at the Union door. “Thank you for coming by.”

Scoop took a pencil out and her trusty notebook and gathered up an orange tabby by her side. “Uh huh. Got word you wanted to talk.”

“Yes, but not because you’re in any trouble. We’re still investigating those murders.”

Scoop rolled her eyes. “Why would I be in trouble?”

“Some people automatically assume the worst. And some people… misunderstand… questions sometimes. We can go inside, or stay outside, as you prefer."

Scoop looked around. “Inside. Why would you discuss a murder investigation outside? Might have information I don’t want everyone to know about.” Scoop settled into her chair and stared at the bearskin rug staring back at her. “Now, how can I help?”

Almaz noted her uneasy glances at the rug and shrugged. “Human décor. As you know, we’re still investigating that series of murders, and I know you’re doing a story. You looked into some of the killings, and you seem to know a fair bit about what happened to one of the few witnesses who survived. How he lost his mind. Can you tell a bit more about that? Can we go back over that again?"

Scoop went back over her interview with Greyson and her theories about what Greyson saw happening with the dancers drowning the man and later with the dancer drugging Greyson and scrambling his brain. That was old news. She had an idea they were just trying to see if she had changed her story and she didn’t really have time for this nonsense.

Almaz nodded. “It certainly sounds like it’s possible the food was tampered with. How do you think it could have been done?”

“Yup, brownies.”

Outside the office Scoop heard the muffled cry of little Vin. “Weee! This is wonderful! I can see everything from up here! Good bye, Scoop! Thank you!”

Scoop jumped down from her chair and dashed to the door to look up where the little Draenei girl was floating away up to the clouds. “Uh, can anyone be charged with murder or manslaughter or child slaughter or whatever if you give a kid some balloons and they float away to their doom?”

Almaz furrowed her brows. “I don’t think so. Did they do it on purpose?”

“Uh, no. No one would do that on purpose. Never.” She returned to her chair. “Well, the potions the mad alchemist Devereaux makes, of course. Now, did the person put them in the brownies and a drink?” She shrugged. “There’s the question. I’m sure you tested the cake box and glasses and all.”

“We’ve collected what evidence we can, of course. Do you have anything more we should know about, or have you seen something?”

Scoop leaned forward. “I think there’s a gang.”

“A gang?”

“Yup. Families, friends, lovers of victims got together and murdered all these guys. They’re all connected. You wait and see. What if all these guys were involved in parties all over the place?”

Almaz seemed surprised at this theory. “Do you know anything about the friends or families of any of the victims that you think is relevant?”

“Those idiots in Dal didn’t even know there were missing girls. I’m still trying to find out who they were. Probably kidnapped them from Darnassus or Stormwind. Maybe over in Westfall. Who would care if those people disappeared? Victims no one would miss, it seems. Someone cared about these thugs. Something links them. I told you I would find out what. I intend to crack this case. I’m going to win the Rodel Prize and write a book. I swear, if it’s the last thing I do. If it kills me, I am going to find out who these killers are. I’ll be sure and spell your names right in the book.” She looked contemplatively. “Is it true you can’t fish with explosives in Stormwind?”

Almaz looked surprised. “Are you planning to try?”

“Yes. Well, maybe not in Stormwind. But somewhere. I think it’s fascinating. I’m going to do a story on it.” She shuddered. “I can’t stand worms, but I have a theory about fishing.”

“Follow the local laws where you intend to fish. That’s all I can advise.”

Scoop wasn’t really paying attention. “Uh huh. Anyway, I have some new information for you. I went back and visited with Mrs. Beacham Took her some fried apples and some homemade vanilla ice cream Mama made. She really enjoyed it. Staff are taking good care of her. They let me look at the devices again and I took more pictures.” She took out some copies and handed them over. “There are your pictures of the devices. You’ll note if you look real close on some of them very closely, you can see ‘T.E.’ in the woodgrain. I’m not sure if it was bleached in or inlay. It’s subtle You have to be a victim and looking up at the device to see it, but it’s there.

“Then, uh someone carved off a bit of the woods from underneath the devices where no one would notice. I took these to a friend of mine who’s a woodworker and he said these are all rare woods. Most come from the jungles of Stranglethorn, but a few are from Pandaria. They are all hardwoods and prized by mariners. Often used for figureheads in fine ships because they withstand the salt waters. Maybe fine work in captain’s quarters. Mantles and fine work in expensive houses or for art. Also the inlays are a special kind of mother-of-pearl from Stranglethorn. Semi-precious stones inlaid into the carvings. Beacham spent a lot of money on these toys.”

Scoop laid out some more notes and pictures. “All roads lead to Bill Michel. He uses these figureheads on his ships. Find the artist who carves for him, and you’ll find the man who did the carving for Beacham. Now, did he know what he was carving for?” She shrugged. “Maybe he thought he was carving a piece for a ship or a mantle, but find that carver and you’ll be a huge step closer to your answers. Michel is in Dal every Wednesday and lives in Stranglethorn.”

She looked at her watch. “Now. I have another appointment with a fellow I think will put the final puzzle piece in place.”

Almaz thanked her for the information and tapped the end of her pen on her notebook. "I know it’s what you do, but please be careful. These people have killed multiple times. They won’t hesitate to kill again if they think someone’s getting too close.”

“Of course. What could happen? Going to take the day off tomorrow and relax after I finish this appointment.” She motioned to the cat who had settled comfortably on the bearskin rug and gone to sleep. “Come along, Watson.”

The cat opened one eye and ignored her.

Scoop put her hands on her hips. “You cannot stay, Watson. We’re going to have a discussion when we get home. Miss Marple will be unhappy that you were going to stay here.”

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

Gen had an appointment with the reporter for later that evening. She had made preparations ahead of time. She always kept a scruffy set of men’s clothes for a disguise including a longer ragged waistcoat that covered her rear end. Women were simply built different than men. She also wore a scarf around her neck, ostensibly to protect her from breathing dust. The scarf was old and poor quality and of course dirty and dusty. Mainly, that was to hide the fact she had no Adam’s apple. She’d scratched up her fingernails earlier on stones to make them ragged and smeared black mud on the ends of her fingers and then wiped it away to give her hands the properly dirty, look of a working man. Worn, fingerless, leather gloves would finish disguising her hands. To disguise a woman’s looks one had to pay attention to hands and their necks. No matter how well they cared for themselves, hands and necks often gave away their age no amount of makeups and creams could hide. She dabbed purple and red powders under her eyes as if they had been irritated from the dust of stonecutting. Then rubbed a bit of charcoal across her cheeks and buffed it away leaving over a shadow. Over that, she pressed wet coffee grounds strategically to give the effect of beard stubble. The brown wig she clapped back on and tied a scarf around her head and tied it in the back, then put on the torn and tattered black hat over that. The last effect would be her voice and the one she hated the most. It was a vile concoction that nearly stole her voice all together and gave her a rough, gravelly voice, raspy, whiskey voice totally unrecognizable and several octaves lower.

The normal fishermen were gone from the dock when she arrived. Scoop was already waiting for her and playing with two cats. Gen sat down with her small bucket of worms and got out her fishing pole. Scoop had insisted on passwords to make sure she was talking to the right person.

“I’m fishing for a large prize,” Gen said.

“I’m fishing for a Rodel,” she replied.

“Jamison Danser,” she said nodding to the gnome. “Cute cats.”

“This one is Watson,” she proclaimed proudly holding up the Orange tabby. “And the Siamese is Miss Marple.”

“Pleased to meet you Miss Marple and Watson.” That made it even easier. We wouldn’t have to get the cats out of the cottage before we torched it. “Maybe we can fish up a fish for them.”

“Oh, they’d like that,” Scoop said. “I’m not much of a fishermen, but they love fish.” She looked up at Gen. “You said you had information for me?”

“Yep. My brother said you’d pay?”

“For the right information.”

“My brother heard you asking about that wood. He knows who did the fancy work in Stranglethorn and who commissioned it. That what you’re looking for?”

Faithe had taken a pumpkin pie to Mrs. Beacham the day after Scoop had been there and Scoop had been all excited about her discoveries, asking the help if they knew who had done the carving, who “T.E.” was and myriad other questions. The help were hopeful the murder would soon be found as the little gnome seemed to be on to something.

The gnome lit up like a firework. “Yes! That’s exactly what I need. Do you have it?”

“Yep, Let me get this fish out and I’ll get it out of my toolbox.” Gen pulled the fish up and cut the head off then gave it to the cats. She put another worm on the hook and cast again. “Hold my fishing pole while I get the information. You’re going to pay well, right?” she rasped.

“Yes, two hundred gold like I told you. Double that if I find him.”

“Pay attention. Don’t let my fish get away. Missus won’t like it if we don’t have dinner tonight.”

Scoop was busy staring at the bobber when Gen pulled the mallet from the tool box and hit her in the back of the head, then pushed her body into the water. It would look like she slipped and fell into the water hopefully.

Then she gathered up the cats with their little tagged collars with their names and their fish, put them in her toolbox and strolled down to the corner where an old homeless man always hung about asking for coins.

“I found these cats over by that dock,” she said. “Someone’s lost pets. I’ll pay you thirty gold to deliver them to the Watch so they can return them to the owners.”

“Thirty gold for delivering cats?”

“That’s all you need to do, but if you don’t deliver them, I will know.”

“No, sir, boss. I’ll take them. I’ll take them.” He held out a shaking hand and Gen counted out the gold and then took the cats out. “Bundle them up in your cloak so they don’t get away. Put the fish in with them.”

He walked away petting the cats in the cloak and talking to them as if they were the most precious animals in creation.

One last detail to tend to. Thankfully, the watch had a tour of their facilities a few weeks ago and demonstrations on how they solved crimes. It made life so much easier for some people.

[Wulfgrin-cenarion-circle]

The location was quite beautiful. Whoever this person was knew what they were looking for and chose it well. The house was high and away from the busyness of the world below. Overlooking the lush forest of Elwynn while having the mountains still tower even at this height provided a fulfillment of joy and calm to the mind of a chaotic soul. The waters below added to this theater of nature and sound. Even the night sky made the experience all the more wondrous.

Wulfgrin closed his eyes and took in a deep breath allowing the mountain air to fill his lungs. A momentary happiness that reminded him of his old home. A moment taken away at a tap on his shoulder bringing his mind back to reality and the task at hand.

Opening his eyes, he turned to the one disturbing his thought, Sephrine.

“I’ve done as asked and scouted the area. One patrol passes not far from here that would have been an issue. I managed to hire some local bandits to make some noise drawing them away for a time. Other than that, no one will be bothering us.” She said.

Wulfgrin nodded at this and turned back to the house. He stared at it with sadness in his eyes.

“Good. By the time anyone sees the fire, there won’t be much left. They chose this place well, but it is not without its faults, which is a benefit to us. Should disaster strike there is very little anyone can do to stop it. A shame really, everyone should have a place like this.”

Sephrine looked at the house with a curious look. “It’s just a house. Very little comforts inside that I saw that would suit me. I don’t see the draw to it, give me the city life any day.”

Wulfgrin sighed at that. “It’s not just a house. It is more than that. It is the mountains, the air, the trees around it. It is the small fire that gives off a flickering light creating shadows that dance along the walls. This young generation always on the move, always in a chaotic flow rushing to the next thing. You move so fast and miss so much. When you get to be my age, the little things stand out so much more and those things can bring you peace.” He said with a little pride in his voice.

Sephrine smirked slightly at that. “And here we are about to burn that peace to the ground.” She said taking out a small flask quietly taking a drink. Wulfgrin saw this out of the corner of his eye and gave the slightest of smiles. Virtually unseen through his long beard.

Refocusing on the task, Wulfgrin prepared a torch. “The Goblin fuel is in place I take it?”

Sephrine nodded. “Spread out as you asked. The stuff is overkill if you ask me. The Goblin who showed it to me in Booty Bay tested it on a pig, a Pig of all things. Poor thing screamed for maybe two seconds before being engulfed. There was nothing left, not even bone. They put this stuff in their every day gadgets? I thought the Gnomes were crazy.”

“No bones either? Good to know. Makes the fulfillment of this task exactly as ordered.” He replied

“I’m all for secret missions and stuff, heck, both you and Rose have sent me on a few lately. Sneaking in SI:7, stealing pages, passing notes for secret meetings in Front of the Union. I signed on with the Iron Wolves to protect people and so far all I’ve done is annoy those in that same field.”

“Do you know what the problem is with questions Sephrine?” Wulfgrin asked.

“I’d assume you get answers.” She replied smirking at the irony of asking a question about questions.

“Exactly. Answers can be good depending on the question or bad given the origin of the question. Secrets are questions that are locked away in hopes that the answers to them fade away over time and forgotten to history. Asking to many questions can put you in a path that can lead to your destruction. Do you know what happens to those who ask to many of the wrong questions?” Wulfgrin asked shifting his gaze back to Sephrine.

Sensing a shift in his tone, Sephrine casually put distance from the Dwarf. “What is that?” She asked noticing a slight tingle in her stomach. Ignoring it, she remained focused as she watched him light the torch he had taken from his pack.

“You get people like me standing at your house with a torch.” He said tossing the lit torch on the ground lighting a trail leading to the house. Once the flame reached the house it erupted in a spectacular flash of light and in an instant all of the beauty and calm the house provided disappeared in shadow and flame.

The sight stunned Sephrine who could only look on in wonder. Wulfgrin stared in silence, saddened by the sight.

“This is what you get for asking questions and searching for answers that do not want to be found. Which brings me to you, Sephrine. You seem to have been seeking your own answers to a story you are not even a part of. Did you think I would not know the pages you gave me were not what you stole from SI:7?”

Putting more distance from him, she put a hand on one of her pistols. The tingle from before began to become more noticeable. Something was very wrong.

“All you had to do was give those pages to me and just let things be. I don’t know why you didn’t give them to Rose or what you thought you were going to do with them, but here we are.” He said finally turning towards her.

As he did so, she heard the low growl of Meatbag as he emerged from the darkness. Seeing the large white wolf, Sephrine pulled her pistol out and aimed at Wulfgrin. The action caused the world to suddenly move like an ocean making her vomit dropping the gun.

Not moving forward, Wulfgrin grinned slightly. “You Rogues are not the only ones who dabble in poisons. As a hunter I have come across many a poisonous snake and many do not need to bite you for their poison to harm you. As an alchemist I can make various potions, or drinks in this case.” He said nodding towards the flask she drank from. “Three snake venom makes for mean whiskey don’t you think?”

As the venom continued to flow through her body, Sephrine dropped to her knees. Looking up in pain she struggled to speak. “I-I gave the pages back to the agent. He…he knows about you and will come…”

There was little surprise in his eyes at this. Reaching into his pack he pulled out an object wrapped in a cloth. Taking it, he tossed it at her. “You mean this agent?”

Looking down at the cloth Sephrine hands shook as she opened the wrapping. In it held a hand with the signet of SI:7 as well as the pages she turned over. Seeing this, she fell over from the pain.

“You should have left it alone. You had to stick your nose in this and now you see where that has led you. Just a pile of ash among the flames.” He motioned to his wolf as he stared back at the burning house. The wolf slowly moved towards Sephrine who still lay on the ground. Using his jaws, Meatbag grabbed her hair and began dragging her towards the building.

The poison traveling through her veins shot pain all over her body as the wolf seemed to make sure to hit every solid object on the way to the house. The pain was incredible and constant and even though she wanted nothing more than for the pain to end, one thing about it told her something.

She was still alive.

“Get up! Move!” She struggled to say as she began to resist with what strength she had left.

Annoyed by the struggle, Meatbag bit down again grabbing more hair and moved faster towards the house.

With the last of her strength Sephrine grabbed for her dagger. Taking it, she reached back to her hair and sliced at what the wolf had in his mouth. Finding her mark she cut herself free and in a single motion fired her grappling hook at the darkness away from the house hoping to hit something, anything. It to, found its mark and began to pull her away.

Wulfgrin seeing this, drew his rifle and took aim, but before he could fire there was a flash of light that blinded him. This gave Sephrine the time needed for the hook to continue pulling her away. Nearing the end of the chain, she could barely see where it was hooked at until it was too late. Unable to stop, the hook had pulled her off the high cliffs the house had been built on. With no strength left to stop herself, she fell into the waters below.

Looking down the cliff with his rifle aimed Wulfgrin scanned the area in vain. Cursing to himself, he could see nothing in the darkness. He looked back to Meatbag who still had her hair in his mouth gnawing on it. “Proud of that are ya?” He said looking back down the cliff.

“If the fall or the water doesn’t kill her the poison will.” He said turning back towards the burning house. Pausing a moment he looked back. “But still…” he pondered.

He shifted his attention towards the area Meatbag came from. There, another set of eyes flickered from the flames. With a sharp whistle, Wulfgrin pointed down the cliff and as if understanding, the eyes moved away.

Moving away from the cliff he walked back to the house which was now fully engulfed in flames. Sitting down, he watched as it burned while Meatbag lay beside him still chewing on the hair. Sighing, he slowly pet the wolf.

“At least one task went according to plan. I think we’re getting to old for this.”

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been watching the cottage for some time. She’d gone over it with a fine-toothed comb for evidence. Mostly the gnome had books. Light, did the girl have books. Scoop read night and day when she wasn’t snooping. She wrote. She had dreams of being a novelist.

The rogue had read a lot also. Some of the manuscripts were pretty good. Others were romantic drivel.

The cottage was neat and clean, and one Raven would have liked to have lived in. She’d become friends with the cats since she’s visited the cottage so frequently. She always brought them treats. It was with great sadness she knew the day was coming both the gnome and her cottage would be gone. Gen had given her permission to save as many of the books as she could so on the appointed day, as soon as Scoop left with her two cats to go fishing and meet the informant, Raven put her hair up under a tight hood, put on some gloves and started packing books out of the house. She’d put them a safe distance from the house to be found later. She couldn’t save them all, but she’d save a great many and the unfinished manuscripts the gnome had been working on.

When she saw movement above the cottage, she knew the Firestarter had arrived and gave up her book mission. She didn’t want to be caught in the cottage when it went up.

Retreating a safe distance, she sat in the shadows and watched. Whatever else he was, he was thorough with fire. Assassinations, perhaps not so much. They’d know if a body showed up in a few days.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been watching the cottage for some time. She’d gone over it with a fine-toothed comb for evidence. Mostly the gnome had books. Light, did the girl have books. Scoop read night and day when she wasn’t snooping. She wrote. She had dreams of being a novelist.

The rogue had read a lot also. Some of the manuscripts were pretty good. Others were romantic drivel.

The cottage was neat and clean, and one Raven would have liked to have lived in. She’d become friends with the cats since she’s visited the cottage so frequently. She always brought them treats. It was with great sadness she knew the day was coming both the gnome and her cottage would be gone. Gen had given her permission so save as many of the books as she could so on the appointed day, as soon as Scoop left with her two cats to go fishing and meet the informant, Raven put her hair up under a tight hood, put on some gloves and started packing books out of the house. She’d put them a safe distance from the house to be found later. She couldn’t save them all, but she’d save a great many and the unfinished manuscripts the gnome had been working on.

When she saw movement above the cottage, she knew the Firestarter had arrived and gave up her book mission. She didn’t want to be caught in the cottage when it went up.

Retreating a safe distance, she sat in the shadows and watched. Whatever else he was, he was thorough with fire. Assassinations, perhaps not so much. They’d know if a body showed up in a few days.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been watching the cottage for some time. She’d gone over it with a fine-toothed comb for evidence. Mostly the gnome had books. Light, did the girl have books. Scoop read night and day when she wasn’t snooping. She wrote. She had dreams of being a novelist.

The rogue had read a lot also. Some of the manuscripts were pretty good. Others were romantic drivel.

The cottage was neat and clean, and one Raven would have liked to have lived in. She’d become friends with the cats since she’s visited the cottage so frequently. She always brought them treats. It was with great sadness she knew the day was coming both the gnome and her cottage would be gone. Gen had given her permission so save as many of the books as she could so on the appointed day, as soon as Scoop left with her two cats to go fishing and meet the informant, Raven put her hair up under a tight hood, put on some gloves and started packing books out of the house. She’d put them a safe distance from the house to be found later. She couldn’t save them all, but she’d save a great many and the unfinished manuscripts the gnome had been working on.

When she saw movement above the cottage, she knew the Firestarter had arrived and gave up her book mission. She didn’t want to be caught in the cottage when it went up.

Retreating a safe distance, she sat in the shadows and watched. Whatever else he was, he was thorough with fire. Assassinations, perhaps not so much. They’d know if a body showed up in a few days.

[Silk-cenarion-circle]

Michell was particularly cheerful when he invited Silk out into the garden after Breakfast. “You look particularly fetching this morning, Kitten.” He reached up and stroked her cheek, ran his hand over her hair. “I’m glad Amelia left your hair down. The small braids at the side drawing the hair away from your face are fetching, but I prefer the bulk of that mass down. It glimmers like a raven wing.” He petted her again, there was no other word for it. “Yes, it’s like satin and shines just so. When I return, I think I’ll read to you be firelight with you by my side so I can indulge in feeling that luxurious mane.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yes, I want to check on some things in Boralus and Stormwind. I’ll be gone a few days I would think. Before I left, I wanted to visit the rose gardens. Samel says you’ve taken an interest in the gardens and exercise!”

She flinched when he mentioned Boralus, but if he noticed, he said nothing. “I like to keep in shape.”

He ran his hand across her stomach causing the muscles to ripple and contract and then wrapped an arm around her with his hand resting on top of her hip. “Hmm, yes, you have a lovely body. I like that you take care of it.”

“Of course. A person needs to take care of themself.”

“I agree. I’ve always prided myself on keeping fit. It gratifies me to find a woman who values the same things I do.” He pulled her a bit closer when she tried to disengage from him.

They were in the meticulously arranged and planted rose gardens now. The scents were heady, almost overpowering. Several beds of similarly colored roses were planted in long, rectangular plots along a path with a few benches along the way and strategically placed trees for shade.

“Do you enjoy my roses?” he asked.

“Yes, I love them. I have worked among them several times. Amelia and her mother enjoy it when I bring bouquets to them.”

He smiled genuinely it seemed, pleased that she thought of them. “I’m glad. They really ask for so little and appreciate any kindness.” Then he nodded to a tree by the outer wall with a bench under it. “Samel says you sometimes run up the trunk and then pull up on a branch several times. Exercising your arms?”

Her eyes widened a bit, not that he could see, but she felt he sensed her tense up. “Yes, the dead weight of your body is good exercise when you pull it up on a bar or branch.”

“Let me build you some bars to work out on. That branch is far too rough on your delicate hands.” He bent to cut a yellow rose them trimmed the thorns from it and handed it to her after inhaling deeply of its perfume.
“Thank you.” She put the rose to her nose also, it was a rich, spicy scent, with a hint of musk perfect for perfuming.

“I breed my own roses, you know. It’s a passion of mine. This is my Tiriana Gold.”

She ran her fingers over the velvet petals. “It’s an intoxicating scent and pure velvet.”

“Yes, the petals remind me of her skin. She had skin like yours and the most beautiful golden hair.” He gazed down at the bed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tiriana. She was a guest of mine. I was quite in love with her, but she didn’t, shall we say, love me as much as I did her and tried to escape. Bribed a guard who was quite smitten with her, and they fled together. I found them, of course. Brought her back and explained the error of her ways. The guard got to demonstrate the error of his ways over a few days to my other guards. He apologized and I accepted. I’m not without heart. Afterwards, I worked on developing a new breed of roses to honor her. It seemed only fitting since she would be feeding them.”

She dropped the rose in horror and looked down the row of rose beds. “How many…”

“Oh, I should say eleven. Some are not worthy of the effort to put in the rose garden, but I would make a spot for you. In case you’re interested, the drop on the other side of that wall is a good twenty feet.”

Her knees turned to jelly, and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t lose her breakfast right here.

“Come, my dear. You look a bit ill. It must be the early morning heat.”

[Raveneye-cenarion-circle]

The swarthy druidess spun on her heel irritably as someone slipped a rolled-up note into her hand. It was a child, who immediately darted off and vanished into the crowds of Stormwind. Raveneye did not feel like giving chase at this late hour of the day. Growling under her breath, she unwrapped the note. “The Slaughtered Lamb.”

There was no signature.

Her curiosity was piqued in spite of her annoyance. The Slaughtered Lamb used to be one of her favorite places to spend a rowdy evening, but she’d not been there in quite some time. She would go to the inn, but using her human form. Glancing around again, Raveneye could not see anyone who seemed to be observing her. It was an ordinary Stormwind evening, the sun setting beautifully over the harbor, and gulls were crying in the distance. People were trudging home after their long day’s work. She made her way up the grassy city corridors to the Slaughtered Lamb, wondering if the mages of the town used magic on the verdant paths. They never seemed to get beaten down.

The inn door was already ajar as she entered. Raveneye peered about, but the tavern was nearly empty save for the bartenders. However, one lone woman with exquisite red hair was standing at the counter, and had a flat leather satchel tucked under one arm. She was already watching the druidess keenly as Raveneye entered. Candles guttered on the tables, and half-empty steins of beer were left here and there. This inn had never been as well kept as the Blue Recluse was.

The human was actually quite beautiful, and she nodded to Raveneye, beckoning her over and motioned to Jarel the bartender. “Get her whatever she wants.” Well, that was…generous? People don’t give out favors unless they want something in return - at least, in Raveneye’s experience. She resigned herself to the fact that there was probably a request of some sort coming next. “Why thank you. I’ll have the bourbon.”

After the drinks were placed in front of the two, the woman turned to Raveneye again. “I’m told you can be relied upon. Would you care to come downstairs?” And there it was. Of course the drink wasn’t free. Raveneye nodded without a word, and followed the woman past the haphazardly draped sailcloth at the end of the room, through the small doorway that led to a steeply descending tunnel. Raveneye’s mild interest rapidly turned to concern. This wasn’t suspicious at all. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she followed the woman. The smell of death and decay grew stronger the farther down they went. This had clearly been a burial site long ago. Raveneye did not like tunnels or caves or anything underground for that matter, let alone crypts.

The young woman strode on, leading Raveneye through several rooms and down more staircases strewn with spider webs and occasional bones. She finally paused in a chamber lit only by a small torch, and a candle set into a burial alcove. Several empty coffins lay carelessly stacked at one end of the room, and Raveneye noticed a large spider watching them closely from the eye socket of a human skull that lay on the same alcove that the candle was on. Its many eyes glittered out of the dark hole in the skull in the flickering candlelight.

The woman set her drink on a ledge chiseled into the wall, and turned to the druidess calmly. “I need some fliers distributed in Booty Bay. They are for a missing person. I had someone else lined up to do it for me, but he seems to have disappeared, and you were recommended.” Well, she had gotten straight to the point at least. Raveneye studied the woman as she spoke. The druidess was not usually one to be easily intimidated, but there was an unsettling lack of empathy in this woman’s manner, and she never stopped looking at Raveneye as she articulated. Her eyes were the color of cornflowers. “I pay well for silence, and I pay up front.” She pulled a stack of papers from the leather satchel, and extended them along with a pouch of coins to Raveneye.

Raveneye cautiously accepted the papers, taking care not to glance at them as she tucked them into a large pocket of her robe. “I can easily get it done. Is there a timeline that you need them distributed by?” The woman’s piercing gaze still was on the druidess. “Immediately. And of course, please do not speak of this meeting.” Raveneye decided not to ask the woman who had recommended her. In fact, she suspected that any further time spent here would be unwise. She downed her shot of bourbon in a single swallow, and nodded. “I hate questions anyhow. And it’s always interesting to visit Booty Bay. I’ll have it done within a day or so.” She turned and walked towards the staircase that led back up the way they had come. The young woman gently spoke as the druidess walked away. “Excellent.”

Raveneye could have sworn she heard an eerie cackle come from the spider in the skull that had been watching them. Or perhaps it was the skull itself.

She knew she could get to Booty Bay by the next morning if she hurried and took a gryphon. The brief exchange had left her rather uneasy. Raveneye had certainly dealt with her share of unsavory characters before, but that young woman, while certainly not unsavory at first glance, had displayed a calmness and tranquility that was almost unnatural. But, gold was gold, and the woman had given her a substantial sum. Raveneye would get the job done and leave the Eastern Kingdoms for a time.

Her arrival in Booty Bay was as it always was - the salty air was infused alternately with the smell of seaweed drying on the boardwalks of the town and the tropical flowers that bloomed everywhere they could take root. Only now did she read what was written on the papers.

“T.E.
Silk is not your style. I’m offering a trade for something more interesting with a substantial bonus.
Leave a message with Nixxrax in the Salty Sailor Tavern.”

She was tempted to go question the tavernkeep herself, but she reminded herself it was none of her business. Best to get on with it and leave town. Raveneye decided to post the fliers as a cat, since she could easily slip between buildings and disappear whenever she chose that way. She avoided the greasy Bruisers patrolling the town, driving the papers through loose wood splinters and old nails popping out of the buildings. Deep South Tannery, Boucher’s Cauldron, and even The Old Port Authority all had areas behind them where the guards did not patrol much if at all. She even left one deep within the tunnel that connected Booty Bay to the other end of the Cape. Hopefully the rats crawling everywhere would not chew up the fliers before they were seen by whomever they were intended for.

The last one had been posted, and Raveneye took flight to the north again. She was not about to hang around to see what transpired. No gryphons this time - she would take her own path. Perhaps she’d pay a visit to Pandaria for a while.

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

Gen didn’t have any remorse about killing those men. Perhaps a little bit about people they left behind who may have cared about, but not the men. They deserved to die and die miserably. No regrets there. She felt bad about the gnome, though. She had a mother who loved her. Friends. People liked her. She felt bad about killing her.

Even so, it was time to move on with life. She had met with the druid Raveneye to post the fliers in Booty Bay. The woman was highly recommended. Gen had watched her for a while before making a decision. In human form, she was swarthy, dark-haired with hazel eyed and an athletic build as many Worgen held even when shifted. Even if not for the build, she might have guessed her for what she was. It was the eyes. They always retained a certain feral aspect. She’d be perfect. Get in, get out and avoid attention.

The druid had accepted the drink and followed Gen downstairs. Down they went to the bowels of the Slaughtered Lamb. Down again to the catacombs. It was the safest place for discreet talks. Besides, Raven her pet rogue and Hekatê had swept it earlier and the warlock was still watching.

Brushing aside a few spider webs and lots of dust, Gen had placed her glass of Dalaran red on a shelf and sized the woman up before starting. She was dressed well, but not extravagantly. The face was attractive, strong, curious though she asked no questions and waited for Gen to open the conversation.

Gen explained what she needed done and stressed that it needed to be confidential. The woman assured her she was good at not asking questions and following instructions.

A deal was struck, and the woman left. As she did, a skull with a spider in it that had been sitting as if watching them laughed. The woman started and looked around. Gen sipped her wine and acted as if nothing had happened. When she was sure the woman was out of earshot, she thumped the skull. “Seriously, Hekatê. Did you have to do that?”

A woman’s soft voice responded. “Ouch, Stop that and you have to admit that was funny.”

“Well, a little. Thank you for keeping an eye on things.”

“Anytime, paladin.”

Four days later she was relaxing in a small, out of the way tavern in Boralus. It was one of her favorite places to drink. It was comfortable and clean, the staff was friendly without being nosey, and the liquor and food was excellent. A man sat down at her table with two glasses of wine. “Mind if I join you,” he said with a charming smile she was sure melted hearts on three continents.

“Not really in the mood for company, thank you.”

He slid a folded piece of paper over to her, the smile changing slightly. “I know what you did.”

“I’ve done lots of things.”

“Fish with gnomes often?” He raised a brow at her, the smile now changing into a smirk.

Her back stiffened and she swallowed hard. “Not often.”

“I’m not surprised. Finish your drink and let’s take a walk.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

He lowered his head shyly and looked up at her through long dark lashes as a small boy might. “I’m not going to hurt you. Miss D’Armond. Just want to talk to you…alone and share some better wine.”

Every nerve in her body told her to run, but she was completely trapped in his web. “What do you want?”

“I told you. I just want to talk. Open up the paper and then finish your drink.”

It was one of the fliers from Booty Bay. He raised his glass as if toasting her when she read it and winked at her. She downed the glass and stood.

“Good girl.”

Her teeth gritted when he said that as if she were a trained dog responding properly. He guided her to a private and peaceful grassy swale above Boralus. A man waited there beside a blanket on the ground and a picnic basket. She looked askance at him? “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to enjoy a conversation with you in some comfort. A little wine and some cheese, breads, fruit.” He smiled and motioned to the blanket. “No cookies though. That seems to be your specialty.”

She growled softly and started to protest ignorance.

He raised a hand. “Please, my dear. Let’s not start our relationship with falsities.”

“How did you find me?”

With a gracious wave of his hand, he guided her to the blanket. “Please, let’s get comfortable. I assure you, I just want to visit and your flier did indicate you wanted to visit.”

She pulled her arm away from him and settled where he indicated like a good little terrier. She accepted the glass of wine he poured for her and watched him methodically set out plates of food then hand one to her.

“I enjoy having picnics with attractive women. Sharing some wine, always mine, of course as it really is some of the best. Something to eat, always grapes as I enjoy feeding a lady grapes. I won’t you as I fear you might bite my hand. By accident, I’m sure. However, do enjoy your food and wine.”

She envisioned biting his hand like a rabid dog if he even attempted to feed her. “Tell me what you want.”

He reclined on the blanket and smiled at her then sipped his wine. “Well, it’s more what you want. You’ve been killing some old business acquaintances of mine.”

She started. “I don’t even know who you are nor what you’re talking about.” The piece of bread in her hand crushed.

A brow rose. “Really? Well, let’s digress a bit. I watched you at the Armistice Ball. I heard some people were looking for Bill Michell.”

“You know him?” She looked down to hide her surprise and picked some grapes off the stem.

“Quite well. You might say intimately.”

She popped a grape in her mouth. “You’re Michell.”

“Very good. Why were you looking for me?”

“He was Beacham’s friend and might know where I can find someone else.”

He offered her a piece of white cheese that she didn’t have on her plate. She shook her head. There was that boyish smile again. “You thought about accepting, though.”

She had.

“Who else are you looking for?”

“Someone named The Enforcer.”

He sipped his wine slowly and looked at her over his glass. “Oh, darling. Tsch Tsch. He’s such a terrible character. You really don’t want to get to know him.”

“Not charming like you,” she said with a small snort.

“Nothing. But, let’s not speak of him.” He shuddered dramatically. “I was watching your office in Boralus. You had gone in that morning and no one else went in so imagine my surprise some hours later when a man with a scruffy black shadow of a beard, long dark hair braided messily and bound with a leather thong came out. He was a workman of some sort, kerchief about his throat, gloves, boots, torn rough breeches. Well, you know how he was dressed.”

He winked at her. “Intrigued, I followed this mystery man.”

“You must have been very interested to watch for hours like that.”

“In my former line of work, I would easily wait for hours or days for someone special to come along.”

He poured her some more wine as she had drained her glass. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it was, but back to our worker. He met up with a little gnome reporter in Stormwind. They had a curious conversation about The Enforcer. What kind of wood he uses. The mother-of-pearl inlay in some woodwork he did. All very captivating. The workman promises to get her more information and the gnome is sure she’s on the verge of cracking the case about who The Enforcer is and who the killer is. I think she believes The Enforcer is behind the killings.” He laughed.

“You don’t think so?” Gen felt sure she was on the verge of passing out.

“Oh, no. I haven’t survived this long by being stupid. I only kill former business partners if they unwisely start talking about me.”

Her head started swimming and she faltered. He reached over quickly to wrap his arm around her. “There, there, love. I have you.”

He held her there for a few minutes feeding her slow sips of wine until her head cleared and she pushed him away.

“Oh, here’s the good news, darling. You hurried away with her cats to find someone to take them to the Watch. My man watching you was impressed with that. While you were saving the cats, I was saving the gnome.”

“You saved her?” Gen croaked.

“Yes, yes. She’s far too innocent to die don’t you think. I’m sure you smashed her in the head with that hammer by mistake.”

“Yes, totally a mistake.”

“You make lots of those and that will be your undoing. Putting those fliers up for instance. Why on earth would you offer yourself up for Silk and what makes you think you have anything else that interests The Enforcer?”

“Because she’s my friend,” she said quietly.

“Here’s the thing. I’ve grown quite fond of her. I’m not letting her go, but I’m going to make you a deal. It’s only a matter of time before Orwyn and his merry crew figure out who murdered my friends or at least cohorts. You’ll no doubt swing for your crimes. Now, I think that would be a terrible waste of a lovely woman with a few bad habits. Besides, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “So, here’s what I’m going to do. When the law starts closing in, if you want to string this out, you can come live out your days in comfort with me and Silk.”

She looked at him in pure horror. “You’re totally insane. You torture people. Build torture devices.”

He shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

[Bilmichell-cenarion-circle]

(Life gets in the way of everyone. Although the rp has continued in game, it’s been difficult to get the story posted by parties and I apologize. We want to wrap the story up, though, so that’s what we’re trying to do now. My thanks to all who have participated. It’s been some remarkable rp. I wish everything that happened in the game could have been posted, but then we would have had a book.)

He laughed at her expression. Yes, she would be amusing to toy with. From what he had seen, she was normally good at keeping her emotions well hidden. She’d make a formidable poker player, but he’d managed to peel off the veneer and pick at the soft inner core. Yes, she’d make a nice addition to the collection. What type of red rose for her? Something with deep sanguine petals. It takes time to develop new roses and the chances of taming women like Silk and Gentyl were always unsure. Still, he liked a challenge.

“You will rebuild the gnome’s house, of course. Or pay to have it rebuilt. Once it’s completed, I expect to you to have the money donated to her to completely refurnish her little cottage as appropriate.”

Gentyl scowled at him and took a bite of the apple slice in her hand. She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “And if I don’t?”

“Silk will very much wish you had. Do we have an understanding?”

She looked away to hide her expression, but he caught the hot anger. “Yes.” A moment’s hesitation. “You know she’s not going to stop until she digs up the truth about both of us.”

“I know she’s going to keep poking,” he replied, "that’s why I’m going to give her all the information she wants to break the case. Only it won’t be the right information. She’ll get a plausible explanation for how they were all connected and who killed them. As for The Enforcer, he was killed while trying to capture a ship. He lowered his head in reverence. “Alas, his ship went down with all hands.”

She snorted. “And no one heard of this attack or sinking?”

“I suppose you didn’t feel like dealing with the authorities.”

“What!”

“Take one of your ships and capture and sink one of the buccaneer ships somewhere south. Not too close to Booty Bay. You’ve done this before.”

“I don’t—”

He held up his hand. “Please. I know exactly what you’ve been doing. I just didn’t care as long as you didn’t mess with my ships. So far you’ve been focusing on certain merchants and scavenging ships from the buccaneers from time to time.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Good, she was giving in to him. He held a piece of honey fruit up to her lips, but she shook her head and turned away. “In time,” he said.

“What about Orwyn? He’s not going to believe any of this.”

“Leave him to me. I’ve been doing this for a very long time. But, you’ve been careless. I’m not sure I can save you from the noose. If he starts closing in, I will send someone for you. It may not be the life you chose, but it will be life.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be so stubborn. It doesn’t become you.” He took another sip of wine. “I’ve been wondering. Why did you take your maiden name again? You were married with a child before their deaths.”

She looked startled. He liked that.

“You’ve been thorough.”

He nodded and waited.

“Because if anyone ever discovered what I was doing, I didn’t want them linked to it.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure the Fairwinds would appreciate it. I’m also sure they would appreciate not having their home burned down around their ears if you don’t do what I tell you to do.”

She looked at him miserably, then inclined her head slowly.

“Now, try a bite of this fruit. It really is quite delicious.”

She started to shake her head until he raised his brow. Then she took a small bite and lowered her head again. Baby steps. “Good girl. I will contact you soon.” He rose and turned to leave.

A glass smash behind him and he laughed.

A few days later, just as he was getting ready to leave town, he received a message the Stormwind Union wished to interview him at his home. He balled the message up and launched it into the fire, then he took out his knife and threw it at the painting of Gentyl D’Armond Fairwind he had hanging in the parlor of his Stormwind home. It was easier for him to point at the painting and tell one of his men, “Follow that woman,” than give a description that may or may not put them on the right prey. Now he would have to tell them, “Follow that woman, but she hasn’t been stabbed in the heart…yet.”

He didn’t like attention. He certainly didn’t like attention from the law. Refusing to speak to them would draw even more attention though, so he prepared, ordered some fresh pastries, replaced the paladin’s painting with a landscape, and made sure nothing was out of place.

He wore simple, but well-tailored clothes of good quality, freshly laundered and starched. He was a businessman after all.

They were right on time with their business-like knock. He opened the door to an attractive Draenei, young by the looks of her, but it was so hard to tell their age. The white pigtails didn’t help.

“Yes, can I help you?” He flashed that engaging boyish smile that served him well.

She smiled politely in return. “Good evening. I am Agent Irlii with the Stormwind Watch. I have an appointment with Mr. Michell, which I believe you are based upon your appearance.”

Leaning on the door a bit, he regarded the woman with an uplifted brow. “The watch has put out a description of me?” He tried to look amused, but inside he was seething. “Yes, of course, agent, not quite what I expected. Come in.”

Just about then, two young soldiers came by discussing a recent skirmish. The young, scantily clad paladin waved her hands in the air. “Yeah…I died there twice…alone!” she sniffled. “And without a snickers bar to revive me!”

The paladin next to her in the purple and gold armor protested, “You died a HERO!”

“I don’t think the Tauren liked me for asking for a patty melt either,” the first one said.

Bill nodded slightly before stepping aside for his guest. Yes, that may have been a mistake young paladin. Best keep a Snickers with you next time.

(Hat tip Narianna and Iracebeth. That overheard conversation was too much fun not to include.)

She came in and looked around, taking in all the details. “You have a fine and well-appointed home, sir.”

He shrugged. “It’s a cottage, but sufficient for when I conduct business here.” Then he motioned to the two expensive, ornately carved leather chairs near the fireplace. “Please be seated. Would you like some tea or coffee? Wine?” Though he had guards posted nearby, she didn’t know that and he eyed the door. “Forgive me. I forgot to latch it.” He locked the heavy main lock and then slid shut two more latches.

“That is a wise precaution. Stormwind is a…boisterous town.”

Michel nodded and shuddered slightly. “You will forgive me, but I am not fond of Stormwind. Far too much crime for my liking.” Then he brightened and smiled again as he slid a plate of pastries across the table before them. “Tea? Coffee? Wine?”

She again returned a small smile. “You offer wine to an on-duty officer?”

“I offer wine to everyone. I have one of the best vineyards around. I especially offer wine to lovely ladies in uniform or not.” He picked up the delicate China teapot. “Tea then? Pastries?”

“You are too kind. But no, nothing for me. I have recently eaten. I must eat healthy to stay in shape.” She smiled again.

Much better than that sour Orwyn, and yes, she did stay in shape. Quite a lovely shape. He tightened his grip on the teapot to mask the twitching fingers and poured himself a cup. “Now, what can I help you with?”

She took out a notebook and pen, then looked over at him. “The Watch is assisting the Dalaran authorities with the investigation into the murder of Mr. Beacham.”

He already knew, of course, but looked startled, and took a sip of tea. “Oh really? That surprises me.” He shook his head and lowered it a bit at the mention of Beacham.

Her head cocked to the side. “It surprises you?”

“Well, yes, it’s a bit out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been asked to help. It’s an important case.”

“I see,” he said. “Poor man.”

“We thought you might have some information that would help us identify his killers.”

“Me! What in the world would I know about his killers aside from the rumors that they ruined an exceptional cask of wine? If true, that is an absolute travesty. They should be hanged for that alone. It was my best vintage.”

She smiled at the outburst. “Unknown connections are often revealed through conversation.”

“I sold Mr. Beacham wine. He liked to entertain.” He waved a hand airily. “I’m afraid I’m a rather boring person myself.”

She tapped her pen on the pad. “Oh, I can hardly believe that. Now, to begin with, how did you come to know Mr. Beacham?”

He blushed shyly at her. “As I said, I sell, sold him wine. I have a shipping business and sometimes he employed my ships. I import exotic goods. He liked fine things. If I ran across something I thought he would like, I’d send a message. Fine cloth, leathers, tapestries, art. He always paid well and was right on time. His mother was quite lovely. I liked her a lot and always remembered her a gift when I sent a shipment or went to visit.”

She continued writing. “He first made your acquaintance when he sought you out for your services?”

He scratched his stubbled jaw, thinking about this a bit. “Yes, I believe so.”

“How many years ago was that?”

Quite the little interrogator here. “I provide a variety of things as you can see, so he purchased various things over the years. As to time, it’s been a while. After he got into that little dust-up in Stormwind. So, a few years I would say. Not long after he left Stormwind. Perhaps seven years ago?”

“Which dust up do you mean, sir?”

He raised a brow. Did she really not know? He flushed and tried to look flustered. “Oh, perhaps I am speaking ill of the dead, but the cat’s out now. He got in trouble with the bank and some investors. That paladin uncovered the whole mess, and he was fired. Run out of town in disgrace. Had to rebuild his fortune.” He poured another cup of rose tea and swirled in a bit of honey, raising the cup to his lips with a slightly trembling hand. “I don’t like speaking ill of people. It’s just so…vulgar.”

She nodded. “A dark time for him. But he recovered quickly, it appears.”

He smiled briefly, as if happy to be moving on to other subjects. “I think he had a knack for business.”

Pondering this a bit, she halted and then made a note. “Given his reduced means, I wonder what service he wanted from you that he thought he could afford?”

“Easy enough. He had invested in some rare tapestries he managed to get out of Stormwind that I thought might turn a nice profit and they did. He made a tidy profit on them and then reinvested the money into a small mine. The owner was an older man and suffered an unfortunate medical catastrophe not long after that, leaving it to Mr. Beacham. I know nothing about mining, but I think it turned out to be a very productive venture. As I said, he had a knack for business. I tend to be a simple man.”

She looked like she wanted to chew on the end of the pen now. “Hmmm. A knack, and some luck perhaps.”

“Luck always helps,” he replied noncommittally.

“How would you characterize your relationship?”

“I visited his home now and again. Deliveries and so forth. Visited with his mother. I always liked her. Lovely lady. I imagine she is devastated. He always took very good care of her. He was quite dutiful. A loving son. Good man I suppose. Always took care of me anyway. No complaints.” He leaned forward and looks at her with great interest. “I read a story in the newspaper that he was involved in some…unsavory things…torture. Do you think that’s true?” He shuddered his hand trembling a bit as he set the cup down.

She refused to take the bait. “I think we shall get to that, in time. Did he ever visit you here?”

He snorted. “Oh, no. I am seldom in Stormwind myself and he got run out of town. He hated it here.”

“Would you say you had become good friends?”

“Good friends? No, I would think not. Business acquaintances mostly though He invited me for dinner a few times and parties when he entertained business associates. Mr. Beacham served my wine, and I was available to answer questions about it. I make the rounds at some of these social functions because I’m a wine merchant after all, but I spend most of my time at my vineyard.”

“But you did send him special gifts.”

He cocked his head to the side thinking. “Oh, the chocolate? Yes, once. I found some rare chocolate I thought he might like. It’s hard to transport that without melting, so I don’t send it often. Then I always brought his mother gifts. She particularly liked some special honey plums we raise. I always brought those in season. Is that important?”

She took out a photograph of the forged handwritten note that gave the courtesans passage into Beacham’s home and shows it to him.

He laughed and then blushed and covered his face. “Oh my. He thought I was sending him dancing girls? Where does a person even find those? I mean I’m sure they are to be had, but…oh, my, no I did not send dancing girls.” He chewed on his lip for a moment and looked thoughtful. “Do they have dancing girls in Dalaran? I suppose they aren’t illegal.” He shrugged.

“No doubt, there are some,” she replied, “but is it not interesting that he immediately let them in when he saw that you sent them? It’s far removed from chocolates.”

He looked at her with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Ah, my dear. Mr. Beacham enjoyed the ladies. Frankly, if he let these girls in, I imagine he thought it was a joke, but he wasn’t about to pass up some entertainment. I did send his shipment of wine to him on a camel once as a joke, but later told him I wanted the camel back as I had borrowed it. So, the camel wasn’t really a gift. I’m sure I don’t know why he thought I sent him dancing girls.” He sipped more tea and looked out the window thoughtfully. “He sent me a night elf lady once. Maybe he thought it was payback.”

He almost laughed at the way she perked up with the quizzical look. “He sent you a night elf lady?”

“Yes, I was grousing because my housekeeper and her daughter were gone to visit a sick relative and I missed them. He sent the girl to help keep the house until she returned. I thanked him, but she didn’t stay. You get used to having things done a certain way you know?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “And your sending dancing girls would be considered payback?”

“Oh, who knows with Mr. Beacham. As I said. He was a bit of a lady’s man. He liked to have pretty girls around. Even if he thought it was a joke, he wouldn’t turn them away if they were pretty.”

She didn’t look convinced. "A lady’s man with bodyguards and a very secure home. One would not think such a man, rightfully concerned with his own safety, would admit two armed strangers on the direction of a simple acquaintance. Wouldn’t you agree?

“Officer, I have no idea. He trusted me enough to do business with me and he made money. He allowed me in his home and allowed me to become friends with his mother because she took a shine to me though she was rather reclusive. Why he allowed two dancing girls in his house is beyond me, but doesn’t surprise me. Once again, he liked ladies and presumed women liked him.” He picked up a pastry off the plate and took a bite. “Do you think I set him up?”

“Why would you want to kill him?” she replied.

“Exactly. He held a lot of parties. Ordered a lot of wine and promoted my wine. I had no reason to kill him.”

“But someone did. Someone who knew that Mr. Beacham would admit the courtesans on your word, and someone who could forge your signature well enough to fool him. Can you think of anyone like that?”

“Someone who had been watching him for a while and knew he trusted me, but then Mr. Beacham had, even for his bodyguards and high fences, had grown lax. He trusted a lot of people and threw too many parties.”

“And someone who could find enough examples of your signature to duplicate it,” she rebutted. “You don’t strike me as someone who would make that easy.”

He laughed and brushed a stray crumb from his pant leg and put it back on a napkin. “Of course, it’s easy. I sign shipping dockets every day.”

“You sign your own? I see.”

“My ships are not always coming in, but I’m always ordering things. I have to sign for them. I inspect most of the goods that come in.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“Forgeries of expensive objects are common and I don’t like being swindled. I am a mild-mannered man, but still, I like to take care of business.”

She nodded. “So, you can think of no one that might be a suspect?”

“If the rumors are true, he was torturing people. I would think a loved one. If not, someone he defrauded years ago. To drown someone in a very expensive cask of wine is a brutal way to kill someone. And the reporter seemed to be sure of her facts in that story.”

“The killers are quite brutal,” she said.

“I’m afraid I’m not much help.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“So, it is more than one?” he said and took another bite of the small cake.

“By all appearances. Does that help suggest anything?”

He winked at her and grinned. “Maybe Mr. Beacham stole my girlfriend, and I killed him in my finest wine!”

She peered at him closely. “It’s always of interest to me how people react to the deaths of people they know.”

“I would think a more true reaction would be when they first hear of the death. By now it is old news, and every fish wife has repeated the story and added more delicious details with each telling. I’m afraid at this point my remaining grief is abated, especially if the rumors are true about the sadistic things he may have done. I…just can’t fathom this and I was in that house. Sadly, no. I’m at a loss for how someone got past his guards. I would think it would take four or five people really.”

“One might think, yes.”

“I am saddened by Mr. Beacham’s loss. He was a business associate, but I worry more about his mother. I can’t imagine how hard she is taking it. I’m devastated for her. I should check on her.”

“That is thoughtful.”

“Well, she was a lovely lady even given the…episodes. I think she had a hard life.”

She flipped through her notebook again. "Perhaps a different line of questioning may help us now. Do you know a Donovan Wills?

He frowned a bit. “I don’t think so. Should I?”

"I cannot say whether you should or not. "

He tapped his fingers on the table and looked up and to the right as if searching his memory. “Nope, not ringing a bell.”

“They are also business associates of Mr. Beacham, from about the same time as you first met him, and were also brutally murdered.”

“Intriguing. Maybe I’m next!”

“It is something we have considered.”

He dropped the tea cozy he was lifting so he could refresh his tea. “I was joking, Miss. Surely you aren’t serious.”

“I am serious that we have considered it.”

“Perhaps I should hire a bodyguard, not that it did poor Mr. Beacham much good.” He picked up the cozy with trembling fingers and placed it back on the pot then put his hands in his lap.

“He was incautious,” she said as she looked at her notebook again.

Michel lowered his head, seeming to try to focus. “I don’t know what to do.” The voice is soft, forlorn, almost a whisper.

“Help us find the killers,” she replied. "Do you know a “T.E.?”

“T.E. What is that?”

“Initials. Another associate of your friend.”

“A person?”

She nodded, watching his reaction.

“Wonder what it stands for. Theodore, I bet. Or Timmy. Little Timmy. Is he dead too? I haven’t seen him around in a while.”

She looked startled. “Uh, no. I don’t think it’s Little Timmy. We haven’t identified T.E. yet to be able to say. He did leave his initials on some of the torture devices, however.”

His eyes flew open wide. “Oh! So, there were torture devices. And someone carved their initials in them? Maybe it was a victim. Do you think it was someone who used them? One of the bodyguards perhaps.”

“It wasn’t carved like graffiti. It appeared to be a maker’s mark. Carefully crafted.”

“Hmmm, a maker’s mark? How odd.”

She nodded in agreement. “To take pride in such a thing is abnormal.”

“It is. How many people do you think build torture devices? That has to be a limited market.”

“Yes. Particularly using the rare materials he did. No doubt they would have been highly prized, by people interested in such devices.”

He leaned back and sipped his wine. “Rare materials also. Someone who valued these things. I had no idea Mr. Beacham…well, he collected rare things, but who knew there was a market or desire for torture devices made of rare materials. The things you learn about people. What kind of rare materials?”

“For example, a particularly dark teakwood from Stranglethorn, juvenile elek ivory, and an unusual, blue-tinted jade from Pandaria. All things your company has traded in the past, I am told by other merchants.”

He waved his finger in disagreement. “Not true. I don’t deal in juvenile ivory. Frankly, I don’t care for it and the practice of killing infants. I do deal in all manner of rare woods and gems though.”

She smiled at him. “Ah, I see. Perhaps you might check your records and see if anyone with those initials made a purchase from your company.”

“Of course. I’ll be happy to.” He took another sip of tea. “You really should try this tea. I raise the roses I make the tea from.”

"Can you think of anything else that might help us identify the suspects? She asked as she examined the tea.

“Oh, I’m afraid not. I’ve learned so many…frightening things about Mr. Beacham. How can someone Torture people and no one knows about it? It’s amazing. Terrifying really. Would you like to take some tea with you?”

She looked as if she were thinking about it. “Of course, some knew. And no doubt they shall be identified at some point.”

He shook his head sadly. “How can people do that to another person?”

“That is a long conversation” she replied and then motioned toward the tea. “Perhaps one cup before I leave. You have been so helpful, after all.”

He poured the cup and then placed the teapot back on the warmer and replaced the cozy.

She accepted it with a nod and took a sip. “The temperature is perfect.”

He pushed the honey and pastries toward the officer.

“Only one, thank you.”

They finish the interview amenably and he asked once again if she thought he was in danger. His hand trembled when she assured him that he might be.

To his dismay, she asked him to remain in Stormwind a bit longer in case they needed to speak to him again to which he reluctantly agreed. He sent her away with the box of pastries for the office and a box of rose tea.

After she left, he called Rowdy down from upstairs. “Go out the back way and have someone follow her. Then find me a messenger boy to take a message to the Union.”

He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and with a shaking hand, penned a note to Orwyn pleading for protection as he feared for his very life and it was his fault he was having to remain in Stormwind. Please! Could he not assign someone to keep him safe? Not quite satisfied with it, he dropped a few ink splatters on it as if he had hesitated when writing and smudged a few more. Then he sealed it into an envelope and set his seal unsteadily over the flap.

When the message was done, he sat down with a new piece of rare wood and began to carve a woman’s face. “I swear by all that is holy, and every known unholy that those women will pay for inconveniencing me.”

[Inic-cenarion-circle]

Inic carefully placed the paintbot outside Gentyl’s door.
" I hope she likes green" he snickered to himself before he ran away.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven was sitting on the upper floor of a tavern, nursing a drink and waiting for lunch when the urchin dashed in and handed her the note. She tossed Ian a coin and thanked him. In years past, the Silent Guard wouldn’t have used children, but there were myriad options back then. Blackskull Mercenaries and Pia had a steady if quiet working relationship. Imperon’s Lluchdeu Ocheliad could be called on, for a price. Plus, she had a few independent contractors she used that could be trusted to not only do their jobs, but also keep their mouths shut. Those people were necessary when Pia was embroiled in dangerous operations all the time. Today, as far as anyone knew, Pia was dead. As far as anyone knew. Those who were in the Silent Guard had gone underground and still kept watch on things that mattered to them and to the new leader, Gen Fairwinds, D’Armond again. The Pia Presidium was running very deep these days.

She always sat back in a corner where she couldn’t be easily observed from below unless one of those pesky druids decided to nap in the chandelier as cats were wont to do. Jump on top of anything they weren’t supposed to be on, push anything that was in the way off, and go to sleep. No druids were about today. Nor were any rogues. Just a few workers and sailors below who had wandered in for lunch and drinks.

Leaning down, she pulled a stiletto out of her boot and held the blade in the flame of the candle on her table. When it glowed red, she slipped the blade carefully under the black wax seal with the GDF monogram. The wax, a soft mixture of some sort, but not ordinary by any means, melted and ran down the envelope. She watched, somewhat enraptured, it never failed to amuse her. The real seal was in the envelope and wouldn’t be broken until the melted wax spread over it. If a person tore open the envelope or just cut the seal, they would only find a blank piece of paper inside. Once she was sure the wax was right, she passed the envelope over the flame twice to activate the lettering inside.

If it had been a normal message, the monogram would have been GFD, which amused Raven, but she supposed GDFD would be a bit pretentious. Certain everything was right; she lifted the flap. The message was short. Meet Gen in Boralus. Make sure she wasn’t followed. Disguise and hire a hedge mage to portal her.

She held the message to the flame again and burned it.

Gen was fond of apples, so she bought a bag from a street vendor who was selling apples that looked suspiciously like the ones that grew along the canals. Everyone needed to make a living and times were hard. At least he was working and not stealing or begging.

The sailor propped nonchalantly on a barrel near the door to Gen’s office, continued carving some kind of bone, but nodded briefly to Raven to approach. Just as Stormwind had its watchers so did Boralus. This reminded her, she needed to talk to her the fishmongers who had been watching Michell and Stormwind Union.

She knocked softly on the door and received entry. “Brought you some apples.”

Gen smiled. “Thank you, I was out.” She reached into the bag and took one out, then started peeling the apple with a razor-sharp dagger.

Raven watched. The peeling would come off in one winding strip as was her habit.

Gen smiled at her. “I hate eating the peelings. You’re wondering why I called you.” She walked over to the door and looked out a peephole and then locked it.

“I was a bit curious. There isn’t much happening. Michell is still a nuisance, but you know that. He came to Boralus last night. I’m sure your people picked him up.”

The was almost a growl in response. “Yes, the weasel came here to meet me. I am to have the reporter’s house rebuilt as it was or better and refurnish it.”

Thankfully, she had set the coffee cup down to add some cream or she might have dropped it. She was at home enough here to make her own coffee and not expect to be waited on. The expression on Gen’s face told all she needed to know about how she felt regarding these orders. “Are you going to?”

“Yes, I have no choice. You got a good look at the house?”

“I did. It’s stored away up here like a photograph,” she said tapping her temple.

“Would Stormwind have issued a building permit to build it?”

“Possible, though it was up on the hill above the city proper.”

“See if you can find the permit and plans without being noticed. If so, build the same house. If not, build something similar, but change it up a bit. Make it nicer. Make sure no one can identify you. Dress up as a widow with veils and say that you are trying to do a good deed in your husband’s memory. Take the floorplan and money to the builder’s guild with instructions it’s to be built as soon as possible. There will be a substantial bonus for finishing it quickly and doing good work.”

Raven was already thinking about this. She had a widow’s outfit that would be appropriate. She wore padding under the dress making her look at least seventy pounds heavier. Heavy veils and gloves, a cloak would complete the outfit. And a blonde wig, of course. “Yes, I can do that. Draw from the account?”

“Yes, I’ll have some more deposited by courier.” She gathered up the curl of peel and cut it into small pieces, then put them in a bowl. “The books were delivered safely to her?”

“Yes, I destroyed the ones that had any evidence, but her personal books and such, I boxed up to save from the fire. No sense wasting books.”

“I agree. Good job.”

They walked outside where Gen knelt and started tapping on the ground, her nails clicking lightly. From nowhere a small group of chickens descended on us, wings fluttering and clucking madly. “I loved chickens,” she said and scattered the pieces of apple peel about. One pullet picked one up and took off running with three other chickens after her like they were playing some mad ball game. The peel dropped and another chicken picked it up to take off in the other direction. The worry, anger, and seething fury from earlier melted from Gen’s face and she laughed at the apple-crazed hens.

Standing, she put her hands on her hips and stretched. “Some nights when I’m particularly upset or worried, I bring some of the hens in and let them sleep under my bed. The rustling soothes me.”

“Have they been sleeping there recently?” Raven asked.

“A couple of months now. I’ve thought about putting in a chicken door for them so they can just come in at night, but some gnome would probably just see it as an invitation. Apparently, Gentyl had a gnome sleeping in her desk drawer. There was a little bed in there anyway. I never met the gnome, but they must have been close.”

Raven nodded. “Very close. Well, I’ll go take care of that business. Furnish it like it was?”

“Or better.”

---

Sometime later, Gen heard something at her door. She loved her hens, but she had so much work to do and stalked over to shoo them away. “No, it’s too early!”

Then she heard the mechanical whirring and looked down. She was green. “INIC!”
Without another word, she kicked the still-spraying paintbot across the street and stormed back into her office. The paintings rattled on the wall when she slammed the door. “You know, I don’t think anyone would miss that dwarf and they can only hang me once.”

[Captgreyson-cenarion-circle]

(This is a Captain Greyson addition. He is a cantankerous old curmudgeon who likes the ladies. If you are easily offended, please be advised.

I said when I started this story, I would let the chips fall where they may. I had no idea where it would go or how it would end. Now that it draws closer to the end, we have an idea. Gen needs an attorney if anyone is so inclined to roleplay one.

If she is proven guilty and the sentence comes down that she deserves the death penalty. So be it. She will die. There will be no more in the D’Armond line. That’s it.

Obviously, I’d prefer to avoid that, but I’m not godmoding the story or pulling some wild escape. It will just play out and I’m good with that.

If you’re interested in taking on the role of the attorney, respond here ooc, mail me in game, or whisper me if I’m on.

I appreciate so very much all who have participated and followed the story. You’re the greatest. Gen’s pilot.)

Captain Greyson was sitting in the shade of an old oak tree at the hospital sipping a cup of tea and tossing bits of cookie to the dove a few feet in front of him as had become his habit. He enjoyed peace and quiet and that was not to be had in the hospital, neither of which was to be had even in the depths of night. An attractive young woman approached and stopped in front of him. He raised a brow and offered her a smile and a cookie from the plate. “Aye?” Then re-put on her glasses and regarded her more fully. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

She smiled faintly, and blushed, but didn’t respond. Accepting the cookie, she thanked him. “Commander Orwyn asked me to escort you to the office, sir, if you’re still willing to speak with us.”

He took out his pipe and filled it, tamped it thoughtfully with his thumb as he thought, and lit it. “Used to know a man named Orwyn. Skinny little fellow with freckles. Sure, I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s the commander,” she replied. “Right this way.” And she gestured in the direction of the cathedral.

“Commander, huh? He did well. I’m surprised.” Standing, he crumbled up the rest of the cookies and scattered them about for the birds. They weren’t that good anyway, but the birds liked them.

“Need to check with the nurses and get my boots from them. The last time I tried to go walking around they sent two thugs after me and set this alarm-o-bot on me to blast a warning if I get too far from the hospital.” He motioned to the little flashing light sitting by his feet.

“I can summon some horses if it’s too far to walk,” she offered.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, let’s walk. Haven’t walked with a pretty girl in a long time. Maybe we can go for a picnic later.” He held out his arm for her, but she ignored it and gestured vaguely toward the northeast.

“It’s that way, sir.”

“Come on, darling, I don’t bite. Much.”

“And there’s a random paladin following us,” she said with a sigh.

Greyson looked around and smiled at the newcomer. “Oh, two ladies!”

Almaz tried to direct his attention back to the route. “I don’t bite either, sir, but my cat might.”

He shook his finger at her. “No fighting over me.”

She stared at him. “Who’s fighting?”

He tried to pat her arm. “I don’t want you two fighting over me. There’s enough to go around.”

She huffed and hurried toward the Stormwind Union door. “Captain Greyson, sir With bonus paladin.”

“Yo,” said the bonus paladin. (You never know who you are going to pick up when you’re roleplaying. Fun times.)

Orwyn nodded. “Thank you, Almaz.”

Captain Greyson stared at the small mechagnome standing before him. “Why’d you folks stick a head on that machine?”

Orwyn smiled at him. “Good evening, Captain.”

Greyson peered at him uncertainly. “Evening. Thought I was coming to meet Shots Orwyn. You aren’t my old shipmate.”

“No, I’m Commander Orwyn. We’ve talked before, but you likely don’t recall.”

Shaking his head slowly and still studying Orwyn, he finally answered, “No, can’t say that I do.”

Almaz sits down in a chair near a large bearskin rug and glances at another of the officers before turning her attention back to the conversation.

“Mind if I sit down,” Greyson asked. “Was kind of a long walk over here and those witches at the hospital won’t let me walk around much anymore. Scared I’m going to go get a drink or tobacco or go fishing I guess. You folks should hire those harridans. Criminals in this city would flee like fire before them.”

“Of course,” Orwyn said. “Please be comfortable. Captain, you’ve been subjected to a potion that’s damaged your memories, unfortunately.”

Greyson smiled becomingly at Almaz and sat down next to his officer lady.

“Can he have something to drink, Wellwelded?” Orwyn said to the gnome.

Greyson looked surprised and a bit irritated. “Why couldn’t I have something to drink? Well, those nurses in that place I’ve been staying won’t let me drink, but Billy brings me something now and again. Bless him high and low for that.”

There was a soft whirring. “Mhmm, coming right up.”

“Not that kind of drink, I’m sorry to say,” Orwyn said to Greyson’s great disappointment.

The gnome held up a long glass filled with blueish-green liquid.

“We’d like to try to restore your memories, Captain. For your own benefit, and also because you witnessed a murder.”

Greyson looked aghast at the drink in the gnome’s hand. “You expect me to drink that naga p!ss?”

The gnome huffed in a tiny, tinny way. “If this was naga urine, it’d be yellow.”

Leaning forward, Greyson narrowed his eyes at him. “How do you know? Have you been watching nagas p!ss?”

Orwyn sighed. “I meant something like water or coffee.”

“Coffee would be good I guess.”

The gnome wheeled around, probably on wheels, “Commander, you want to give him coffee? I thought he was vital to an investigation.”

“What’s wrong with coffee?” Greyson demanded.

Orwyn gave Tinst a long look. The gnome shrugged as much as mechanical gnomes can shrug. “Okay, okay, I’m on it.” Then he walked out muttering about being a genius but also fetching coffee for people.

“It’s evil,” the officer named Anya grumbled.

“Only if you don’t make it right,” Greyson replied.

Almaz looked on without interrupting, then said, “Acquired taste.”

Orwyn also cast a long look at Anya to stem the coffee debate.

Tinst handed the cup of hot coffee to the man. “Here, though I do not comprehend why you would drink that.”

Still not sure what the creature was, Greyson took the cup carefully, “Thank you.” He wasn’t in the habit of thanking machines, but it had brought him coffee. Just to gauge its reaction, he said, “You didn’t ask if I wanted cream or sugar.”

Orwyn noticed Tinst’s look and stepped in immediately. “Now then. Wellwelded and our staff here are professionals and have prepared a method we’re certain will help you.”

Tinst stared at the man, but said nothing.

Greyson looked over at Anya. “It puts the wind in your sails.”

“Humans don’t have sails,” Tinst snapped immediately.

Greyson raised a brow. “Lead in your pencil?”

Orwyn pinched the brow of his nose.

Tinst looked at his commander. “What? You wanted me to give him coffee.”

“Do you want anything in your coffee, Captain?” Orwyn asked.

“Whiskey would be good.”.

Orwyn let out another long-suffering sigh. “We have cream, and we have sugar.”

“Why would I drink syrup?” Greyson said, taking a sip of the coffee and peering at Orwyn over his cup.

Orwyn looked as if he might have a headache. Greyson hated those. “All right then. Moving back to the entire reason you’re here, sir.”

With a nod, Greyson settled back in his chair. “Now how can I help you? I remember the year ought nine when we first sailed out of here.”

“We’re going to attempt to fix your memories, sir.”

"I just told you I remember fine.:

Tinst chirped in. “Not the bit that matters.”

Greyson frowned at him. “How do you know what matters? I remember Sarah Jean McElroy just fine.” He breathed out a happy sigh."

Orwyn stepped in again before another argument broke out. “I know you believe you do, Captain, but it’s an effect of the potion.”

Greyson nodded knowingly. “In ought nine I was just a cabin boy on the Mary Donia.”

Tinst lifted the vial up in a silent gesture of “say the word and I will shove this down his throat.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Well, h3ll. Give me some more of that potion if I can remember everything I did in ought nine.”

Orwyn motioned for Tinst to go ahead. “It does sound like an…exceptional year,” he said and sipped his own coffee.

“It was. Six years after that, I met my true love.”

Tinst offered the potion. “I promise to hear every single story you want to tell me if you drink all of this.”

Greyson ignored him. “Course I weren’t but fourteen at the time, but I told her I was going to be a captain and marry her.”

Tinst shuddered. “Ew. Drink.”

Greyson looked around the room. “I can’t tell you all my stories in front of ladies, but we can meet at the bar and I’ll share.”

Orwyn agreed maybe too quickly. “Drinks on me.”

“For instance, there was this little gal down in Booty Bay. Ever wonder why they call it Booty Bay?”

Almaz lifted an eyebrow.

“Cause that gal had the finest booty in the eastern kingdoms and they named the bay after her,” Greyson continued.

“I highly doubt that,” the gnome said. “Drink up.”

Greyson glared at the gnome. “And what would you know about fine booties? Knees maybe.” Then he reached out for the drink.

“I could calculate the literal perfect posterior right down to the exact angle values. I’ll tell you about it after you drink.”

“What’s it taste like?”

“Whiskey,” the gnome said.

Greyson rolled his eyes while Orwyn looked slightly amused and then took another sip.

“I believe that tin can is lying to me, but I’ll do it for Miss Almaz because she’s going to have a picnic with me.” He rolls his eyes again. “Measuring booties and figuring angles. Prevert.”

Anya glanced at Almaz and raised an eyebrow.

Miyoo looks back and forth between them, but stays quiet.

“That promise still stands,” Tinst said. “All you have to do is drink all of it.”

Two kids came by talking about crockolisks in the canal. “Do you really think they are in there?” one asked.

“Yes,” Greyson yelled as he eyed Tinst up and down, 'there are crockolisks in the canal! I fed a robot to one yesterday." Then he turned back to Orwyn. “Commander, you drink first. Not that I don’t trust your machine, but I don’t trust your machine.”

Tinst sniffed. “I’d be offended, but I’m too good for that. It won’t kill you…”

Almaz looked back at Anya with an amused look and shook her head ever so slightly where Greyson couldn’t see. “You won’t come to harm here, sir.”

Greyson howled with laughter. “He just said it won’t kill me. There are worse things. Like losing my…manliness.”

Mechanical eyebrows knitted. “And we’ll surely find out soon if you don’t get to drinking.”

Greyson seemed not terribly concerned by this as he took out a small pocketknife with a carved scrimshaw handle. “I’m a ship’s captain. I can build or unbuild about anything that was ever put together on this land. Was that a threat?”

Anay stepped in. “If you’re harmed, you’ll be duly compensated by the crown for your trauma, sir.”

Greyson snorted. “Commander, you drink first.”

“Do you promise if the Commander drinks some first, you’ll drink the rest?” Tinst asked.

“Never make promises I can’t keep, but we’ll see.”

“Does he need the entire dose?” Orwyn asked and took another sip of coffee.

“He needs at least three-quarters of it for me to be sure he won’t need multiple doses.”

“All right,” Orwyn said and held out his cup.

Tinst took it looking entirely unamused and poured some of it into the cup, then swirled it around. The Coffee is notably a strange purple color now, for some reason. “Here.”

Orwyn takes the cup. “All right captain. The potion and coffee. Same as what you’re drinking.”

"Used to know a mindbender who used purple all the time, Greyson said. “That’s how you could tell he was around.”

“Captain,” Orwyn nudged.

Greyson looked at Orwyn’s cup, then held out his own. “Did you drink it all?”

“I want to make sure you see it,” Orwyn replied.

“And I want to make sure you drink it,” Greyson said. “I can see fine.”

Tinst looked impatiently between them.

Orwyn drank the coffee.

Anya murmured something under her breath for a moment. Probably a prayer or maybe wondering who would be in charge next if Orwyn died.

“I’ll drink it if this little elf here joins us on our picnic,” and winked slyly at Anya.

She looked at him with disinterest. “I’m spoken for, sir.”

He shrugged. “Well, then I guess me and Miss Almaz can go on two picnics. And leave the machine in the bin.”

Tinst took in a long, audible breath.

Orwyn took a small sip of the potion in the vial. “Hm. That’s definitely better not mixed with coffee.”

“All right Captain Greyson. As you see, I’m fine.” He held out his empty coffee cup. “Now please.”

“Of course, you’re fin-” Tinst huffed.

Greyson pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked closer. “Yes, except for your ears, you look all right.”

Tinst poured the potion into the captain’s coffee quickly, quietly.

Orwyn, completely exasperated, stood and walked across the room, then turned to give the man a stern look. “Captain, we’re trying to help you, and we have been nothing but polite and respectful. I’m certain you can reciprocate.”

“Have you been listening to that creature at all?” Greyson said completely flabbergasted. “I was right. There is something wrong with your ears.”

Orwyn ignored this. “If you would be so kind.”

Greyson did as he was asked and sipped the coffee then sputtered. “Gods above and below you just ruined my coffee, but I’ll drink it. Reminds me of that fruit rum in booty bay.” He took a breath and chugged it down.

Almaz puffed up like a toad. “Thelaera serves an excellent fruit rum, I’ll have you know.”

“I like fruit run,” Greyson said, just not like this."

Tinst narrowed their optics. " I made it knowing you were a sailor, so I got my hands on artificial flavoring so it didn’t taste like medicine. It wasn’t designed to be mixed into coffee."

“Then why didn’t you just give that naga p!ss to me straight?” Greyson demanded.

Tinst’s head turned ridiculously fast back to Orwyn. “The next time I need to work on someone, tranquilize them first.”

Greyson clutched at his throat and started coughing, then collapsed to the ground.

Tinst was unmoved. “Dramatic fleshbag.”

Greyson opened an eye. “Oh, shut up. That was pretty good.”

Orwyn sipped from his fresh cup of coffee and frowned in disappointment at Tinst. “Officer. You’ll earn some time in my office if you keep that up.”

The gnome looked down. “I earned that.”

Greyson sat up and grinned at the gnome. Orwyn eyed him up and down and he got back up and sat in his chair. Greyson leaned forward and booped the gnome’s nose. “Got your nose. Now, what do you want to know about?”

Orwyn watched him. “I suppose it’s not immediately effective.”

“It’s not what I want to know, it’s what the Commander wants to know,” Tinst said and then turned back to Orwyn. It should kick in soon enough. Again, I didn’t expect to be mixing it into things. Just give it a moment, sir. Relax."

Orwyn nodded.

Greyson lay down before the gnome. “All right.”

“Not that relaxed! Not you!” Tinst looked at Orwyn helplessly.

“Oh.”

“Do you recall talking to me previously, Captain?” Orwyn said.

“Yes, you came to the hospital.” Just about then, a strange little gnome dashed in the door and dropped something, giggled, and ran back out the door. A moment later the guard nearest the door was neon green. Greyson jumped up and pointed. “See! See! That damned naga p!ss turned that guy green.”

Anya seemed unmoved by the occurrence or her green comrade. “There are many fine people who are green, sir.”

(And Inic’s alter ego Perkid strikes again. It’s always an adventure.)

Orwyn had gotten this far and refused to be pulled off the scent by green officers. “Do you recall talking to me previously, Captain?”

“You were asking questions about the murder.”

“Yes. Do you remember my officers asking you questions at your lighthouse?”

Greyson nodded, but he was still watching the green officer and looked down at his own hands to see if he was changing. “Yes, Miss Almaz, Sedge someone, Murphy, Zath or something.”

Orwyn nodded encouragingly. “Could you briefly summarize what you saw of the murder itself?”

Almaz nodded too as if agreeing she was there.

“Two dancers. I like dancers. You know the way they move their hips—” and he began making a motion with his hands.

Almaz slid her notebook out of her pocket, clicked her pen, and started to write.

“Didn’t you ask me about this before?” Greyson said.

“I just want to see how well your memories have recovered.”

Anya did the same. (Not the hip thing, the writing thing.)

“Oh, so what did you want to know?”

(Out of character note here. Orwyn rolled to see how effective the potion was going to be at restoring the memory and he rolled high. I’m going to have to take those dice away from him. Tinst would have been upset had he rolled low and understandable because, in his words: Tinst analyzed that potion down to every last ingredient, because his body is a mobile crime lab. I’d have been distraught if I got something like a 3 because it just wouldn’t make sense for all that work to not work lol)

“You saw two dancers, and what did they do to the victim?” Orwyn said.

Greyson smiles and rubs his beard. “Well, there they were. They were having a picnic. Showed up with cloaks on, but took them off pretty quick. The elf set out a picnic while the shorter gal was fooling around with the guy.”

Tinst looked visibly disgusted.

Greyson eyed Tinst up and down. “This is the expert on perfect booties?”

Almaz interrupts. “Shorter gal - human? gnome? dwarf?”

“Human I would think. No offense, but didn’t have elf ears.”

Anya’s stubbed ear twitched.

Almaz nodded and made a note.

Greyson looked at Almaz, “Sure you’re taken? Once you go with the sea, can’t ever let them be.”

Orwyn stepped in yet again. “Please, continue sir.”

Almaz didn’t look up from the notebook. “We’re sure.”

“Anyway, the elf started playing the lute and then the human gal started dancing.” He wiped his brow and moved his hands in a sinewy motion. “This gal could dance. Never seen anyone quite like her and I’ve been around.”

Orwyn nodded.

“The guy was grinning from ear to ear. I probably was too.”

Orwyn looked skeptical. “You could see that?”

Greyson shrugged. "Well, I was bored and using my glass. I have a very good glass.

“All right.”

Tinst made some indescribable noise.

Greyson glared angrily at both Tinst and Orwyn. “Now, you want to know what I saw or do you and half-pint here want to keep insulting me?”

“I haven’t spoken in nearly ten minutes,” the gnome protested.

“Has it been that long? I can still hear that tinny voice scraping in my ears.”

Almaz looked up from her notes. “So, the guy was grinning. Was it just a dance or more than that?”

“The gal, the one dancing, starts singing.”

Orwyn frowned at the outburst, but said nothing.

“She’s getting him all worked up,” Greyson continued, “and then the other one is dressed in that filmy outfit too. She stands up and starts dancing too. Then the guy pulls the human down to him. She starts undressing him, slow, playing with him. Kissing him, The elf starts playing again. The human has the guy’s shirt off. He’s lying down and she sits on top of him. Kissing him, stroking him, you know?” He glanced at Tinst. "Well, bucket o bolts wouldn’t, but you know.

“We can skip these details I believe,” Orwyn said.

“You wanted everything,” Greyson protested. “This is the good part.”

"No, I wanted a brief summary. Let’s move on to the actual events of the murder.

“Oh, I looked away to see a ship coming in and when I looked back the guy was in the water. Brief enough?”

“Where in the water?”

“If you would but let me tell the story…”

“She, the human had a rope. While she was on top of him, she pushed his arms above his head and acted like she was going to tie him up. He wasn’t going for that and hit and sent her flying. Then the elf hit him over the head with a wine bottle. Like I said, I looked away for a minute and when I looked back, the guy was in the water. Tied to the pylon. The human gal got on top of the pylon and danced and sang to him. His head was barely above water anyway and the tide was coming in. The gal just kept dancing and singing to him. I couldn’t leave the lighthouse to go check on him. By the time my relief got there, it was too late. That’s when I sent word about it.”

“How long did all this take?” Almaz asked.

“They were there about forty-five minutes. If they planned that, they knew about tides and when they were coming in.”

“Excellent, Captain. One more question.” Orwyn peered at him.

Greyson frowned. “No, you can’t go on the picnic with me and Miss Almaz.” He looked at Almaz and smiled becomingly. “Right, sweetie?”

“Did anyone not known to you, and not with the Watch, visit you after the murder?”

“I’m sure they did,” he replied to Orwyn. “People were curious. Then you have Bob who fishes down there every day.”

“No, visit you.”

"Oh, visit me?

“Yes.”

"I thought you meant the pier. I got distracted by Almaz’s dazzling beauty. Yes, that writer gal.

“Who do you mean?”

“That writer gal and the reporter. Well, the writer gal brought me brownies and wanted to hear my story. Then we drank a bit. And,” he hesitated and looked at Almaz.

Almaz lifted an eyebrow at the ‘and’.

“Don’t hate me,” he pleaded. “I am but a man.”

She smiled faintly and continued writing. “Just so.”

“Well, she was quite shall we say enamored of me, and we….” He sighed and got a faraway look in his eyes. “She’s a dancer too, you know. She danced for me and then we, uh, spent the night together.”

“What is her name?” Orwyn pressed.

“Selena Donner. That gnome reporter told me she was some kind of famous writer. Selena’s probably been looking for me while you had me tucked away with those sour nurses.”

“Selena being your writer slash dancer friend?”

He nodded. "So, Selena and Scoop and seems like I saw Daisy, but that can’t be, she’s been dead for years.

Almaz perked up. “Daisy?”

Greyson wiped a tear away. “The girl I was going to marry. She died while I was away at sea. I never married, but I might if I met the right girl,” he said and looked at Almaz meaningfully.

“It’s never too late, sir,” Orwyn said.

Greyson looked at Almaz triumphantly. “See! He gave you permission to marry me!”

Orwyn looked between the two of them shaking his head. “Perhaps this Selena…what did you say her last name was?”

“Donner.”

Greyson scowled at Orwyn. “You can’t give permission for Selena to marry me. She doesn’t work for you.”

Almaz looked horrified. “I’ve got someone who would most strenuously object to that, sir.”

“Whoa!!!” Greyson exclaimed. “What about our picnics? So you got me to take that potion under false pretenses? Heart breaker.” He pointed angrily at Almaz. “You, madam, are no lady.” Then he spun to face the non-binary mechagnome. “And neither are you!”

Almaz flipped her notebook shut and tucked it back into her pocket. “Just an investigator.”

“I did promise you a round at the bar,” Orwyn said.

“No, my memory is quite good, Commander. You promised me drinks, not A round, and BoB, short for Bucket o Bolts, promised to listen to All of my stories if I would drink the potion, which I did. Now, being a man and machine of the law and your word, I expect you to keep your promises. Also, I expect to be returned to active duty at the lighthouse.”

And thus did BoB and Orwyn get to hear about Ought Nine and various other years and adventures. They also learned the value of making promises.