Hamvir's Rest, The Allir Reach
Another night, another body. This corpse had once belonged to the local librarian, though to call his place of work a ‘library’ might be a bit of stretch. He had operated out of the first level of his two-story hovel, lending books to the uneducated masses of Hamvir’s Rest to grant them a chance at a better life than they’d been dealt.
The moonlight sloughing off of the waxing gibbous overhead reflected hauntingly off of the pooling circle of crimson where the man’s head had once been whole. The cap of his skull had been removed with incredible precision, and his brain was similarly missing. His face was frozen in an expression of absolute shock, as if he’d only become aware of his doom in the very moment of his death.
The first to come across his body was a young farmhand, though she had ran from the premises to get help as soon as she’d confirmed his fate. She practically flew to the town’s sole tavern, the only place with any lights on so deep into the night. Her entrance would have been more than loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the inn's residents for the night. Faurosk had shrugged on his robes and equipment as quickly as he could, and he all but ran to where the farmhand had said the body would be.
There he stood, a heavy leather tome held open in one hand and a quill in his other, furiously taking notes over the body. He stood far enough away to avoid staining his boots in the poor man’s accumulating blood, but the light of arcane energy floating a foot off of the magician’s shoulder was more than enough to illuminate the horrid scene.
The details were much the same as the previous nights, but he could already see a trend forming in the data. Three educated men, all dead in as many nights. No trails leaving their bodies, save for their own bootprints. All killed on public thoroughfares.
Faurosk cast wary glances over both of his shoulder before continuing to take notes on the scene, though a chill still managed to work its way up the back of his neck. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but he could swear he felt eyes on him from each shadow his magelight cast against the nearby fences and the fields beyond.
Another night, another body. This corpse had once belonged to the local librarian, though to call his place of work a ‘library’ might be a bit of stretch. He had operated out of the first level of his two-story hovel, lending books to the uneducated masses of Hamvir’s Rest to grant them a chance at a better life than they’d been dealt.
The moonlight sloughing off of the waxing gibbous overhead reflected hauntingly off of the pooling circle of crimson where the man’s head had once been whole. The cap of his skull had been removed with incredible precision, and his brain was similarly missing. His face was frozen in an expression of absolute shock, as if he’d only become aware of his doom in the very moment of his death.
The first to come across his body was a young farmhand, though she had ran from the premises to get help as soon as she’d confirmed his fate. She practically flew to the town’s sole tavern, the only place with any lights on so deep into the night. Her entrance would have been more than loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the inn's residents for the night. Faurosk had shrugged on his robes and equipment as quickly as he could, and he all but ran to where the farmhand had said the body would be.
There he stood, a heavy leather tome held open in one hand and a quill in his other, furiously taking notes over the body. He stood far enough away to avoid staining his boots in the poor man’s accumulating blood, but the light of arcane energy floating a foot off of the magician’s shoulder was more than enough to illuminate the horrid scene.
The details were much the same as the previous nights, but he could already see a trend forming in the data. Three educated men, all dead in as many nights. No trails leaving their bodies, save for their own bootprints. All killed on public thoroughfares.
Faurosk cast wary glances over both of his shoulder before continuing to take notes on the scene, though a chill still managed to work its way up the back of his neck. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but he could swear he felt eyes on him from each shadow his magelight cast against the nearby fences and the fields beyond.
