Open Chronicles They Who Carve.

[Vittorio]

"Must I be tasked with this, Himmary?" ​

"Are you not at all bothered by the fact that you're still an apprentice at your age?"

"What difference does it make? If anything I am to be underestimated."

"It isn't about that. Shut the hell up and move out. There'll be other Dreadlords there so don't make House Sirl look like asses, please."

-------

The same gripe she always had with him. Don't make the house they represent look bad. He never did so he could never grasp why this was such a consistent request. He had thought a lot more on whether he should become a level four Dreadlord or not. It just didn't entertain him. The idea of it. There was nothing about it he saw as worth his time. Perhaps many other Dreadlords like Ademar Acero or Ania were dedicated to the point of obsession but it isn't like they have a choice in the matter. This is what they were now.

What he knew:
A vast number of people in Vel Anir have been dropping like flies. All with the same or similar wounds. Cuts from ear to ear, tit to tit, and hip to hip. Forming three crescents on the body. The blade used was jagged, and not clean. There was great speculation this was on purpose. The only thing that didn't add up was that the victims didn't seem to have any similarities. Some think it's a ritual that just requires victims of any shape and size, other think it's just another lunatic. He however; couldn't care less. People died all the time. Why was he forced to take over for the Anirian Guard's investigation? Weren't they competent enough?

He arrived on scene in his Dreadlord garb. Deer skull upon head, Dreadlord insignia posted on a red flowing cloak, all black clothing beneath him excluding shoes, which he did not wear. He was also apparently the first to arrive. Dammit. He did not want to do the talking but he was forced to. The guards investigating the most recent bodies turned to him as he spoke;

"This investigation is hereby under the supervision of the Dreadlords. You are no longer needed here."

 

[Alakir]

Death was a fact of life.

For most of the Guard on the home front, it was an uncomfortable fact. They preferred their station in the Army of the East because it alleged to be away from the danger, in a city that enjoyed a rare period of peace. This string of murders was anything but peaceful.

Most of the Guardsmen kept a healthy distance from the corpse, which had attracted a rabble of carrion insects that circled for the first chance at the rotting meat. Human bodies grew septic at an alarming rate. The natural body odors fouled into a noxious gas within hours of expiration.

This was only exacerbated by the strange wounds, the calling card of whatever murderer decided to grace them with their handiwork. Alakir was carefully assessing the damage for himself, despite the myriad notes that their combat surgeon had already taken. "Jagged blade," he muttered. "Atypical for weaponry. Ceremonial, or foreign."

Before he could muse any further on the nature of the attack however, he was interrupted by the hostile sound of footsteps. Heavy, purposeful, and shrouded in drab, dark cloth. The red eyed Guardsman stifled his frustration when the declaration came.

He turned back to the corpse and studied it for a moment more. Either the city decided that the Guard was not equal to the task, or some new information had propelled this case above and beyond their low level of importance.

Dreadlords. Alakir hated Dreadlords. All of the pomp of nobility with magic to make matters worse. They were born special, and everyone knew it. They never had to earn anything to be feared or respected.

For a Dreadlord, such things were innate.

He snapped his gaze away from the cadaver and looked at last to the newcomer. "Seems like a waste of manpower to redistribute this investigation now," he noted as he stood to leave the area. "Think you're going to have better luck than the Guard did?"

 

[Vittorio]

Alakir was the only guard who stood to speak to Vittorio. He'd been eyeing the corpses as well. Again, he didn't understand his purpose of being here, or if other Dreadlords were going to show up at all. Worst case scenario he would be left trying to cut down a serial killer himself. Not that any rampant psychopath would be much of a threat.

"I have my orders, that is all. I myself am not going to forcibly remove you if you wish to stay. I cannot speak on what's to happen when my colleagues arrive." He looked through his mask at Alakir. He couldn't read him well. He seemed the defiant type but that was familiar in its own strange way. Vittorio walked passed the guards and to the surgeon who was reviewing what he'd written.

"Status."
The surgeon looked up at him and flipped a page backwards.

"Welp. We got multiple incisions on all four victims, same M.O. as the other murders. Seemed to be the same type of blade and it. is. OLD." The surgeon seemed eccentric and excited. "I can't pinpoint its make but fuck, it had to have hurt. Bits of rust were everywhere. They are either highly unprofessional or looking to make a mess."

Vittorio nodded his way before taking a gander at the bodies. A twinkle caught his eyes, no, two twinkles. A light sheen on two separate bodies. He moved to hover over them and knelt beside one, looking at the carved open flesh.

He looked back to Alakir. "What do you make of it so far? If you're planning on staying your help would be appreciated." Vittorio didn't feel one way or the other about the Anirian Guard. They had their jobs, he had his. That was it.

 

[Alakir]

When the man mentioned he had no intention of ushering the Guard away, the Guardsman took the opportunity to return to his careful study of the bodies. He spent enough time learning how to kill effectively while training to be in the Anirian Guard that understanding these points of contact, and how erratic they were came as an afterthought.

What the Surgeon said echoed his own thoughts: unprofessional. Messy. A trained killer rarely sought to send anything more than a brief and succinct message. These killings were far more poignant and deliberate.

"Markings in a specific pattern," he gestured toward the wounds on the nearest body. "Eye level, chest level, waist level."

He was no student of the Occult, but Alakir wagered there was something profoundly dark about this particular type of murder. "If someone's looking to send a message, they've done so loud and clear. There's more to it than just a serial killer and fear mongering, but I can't put my finger on what."

The Guard didn't really pay for its infantrymen to be well versed in investigations or murder mysteries. Vittorio had asked his opinion, and Alakir had given it. "This look like any sort of magic you've heard of?"

 

[Vittorio]

"It isn't magic that catches my attention." He reached his hand into the flesh of the body he sat by.

The surgeon wanted to stop him but knew he could do nothing to do so and therefore opened, then immediately closed, his mouth.

The twinkle he reached for was naught but a spec, a tiny piece of residue from the blade that pierced them. This was gruesome. There was a low possibility that they died upon first impact. The way the bodies were contorted also gave away to the idea that they suffered. Humans and their desire to create suffering. Disgusting. How sick he grew of being one.

He moved over to the next adjacent body and repeated the process. He attempted to wipe away as much blood as possible from both specimen, then glanced at them intently.

"Well this is interesting."

He walked both pieces of metal over to Alakir.

"Do these look like the same color to you?"

 

[Alakir]

He grunted when the newfound evidence was presented. The smudged blood still made for some uncertainty about the color of the metal, so Alakir peeled the waterskin from beneath his cloak and popped the cork. "Hard to tell," he said as he poured water over the two shards and let the viscera wash away.

What resulted was definitive enough. The two items were not the same color. "No," he said finally. "They do not look the same, now that I got a better look at them. What's your take?"

 

[Vittorio]

"I didn't think so." He looked at the other bodies. The glimmers on them were similar but possibly entirely other colors as well. The difference between copper and bronze, steel and iron, became cloudy with blood involved. The strangest thing was the fact that the markings on each person were relatively the same. Some may be a bit misshapen than the others but they still were distinctly similar.

"Well, either he switched weapons each victim, or there is more than one person involved with this." Which would lead to the ritual concept being much more viable. Cults, cults everywhere in this land it seemed. There was more investigating to be done, but he was unsure of what else could be made from what they had. If it was multiple people it may become easier to narrow down. The capture of one could lead to the arrest of them all.

 

[Alakir]

Alakir stared at the wounds again, thoughtful. For something like this to go widely unrestricted, it meant that someone was careful to limit or avoid interaction with the Guard entirely. Either they isolated the victims, chosen from a preselected assortment, or they attacked at random when the way was clear.

"Knife-ears, maybe?" he considered aloud. It was frowned on to openly tout one's own prejudices, but this particular Guardsman hardly cared about that. If they were a threat to the city or its people, it didn't matter if they were human or otherwise. And if they weren't human, then these actions alone were enough to declare them subhuman.

"There's more than enough reason for them to attack, seeing as they give Vel Anir wide enough berth as it is. Fear inside the city draws our attention away from what happens outside," he suggested.

After all, who wanted to believe the enemy came from within?

No one had to say it for him to recognize that everyone was already thinking it. Different weapons, different targets, but similar wounding patterns. It reeked of disheveled organization.

Alakir turned his gaze toward the Dreadlord expectantly.

 

[Vittorio]

"That certainly would drive up Anirian pride, wouldn't it." He didn't share the hatred of elves as most Anirians did. Even with the recent terrorist organizations acting up and likely gaining strength he could see both sides quite clearly. Vel Anir was not a city of saints. He and his comrades were enough a statement. Though he always thought of elvish killings to be a little more succinct and elegant. Then again, no mortal race was innocent from atrocity. Orcs, elves, humans. Really the only one he thought to be pure of heart were the animals.

"You're likely right," Vittorio put a hand to his chin. "all things considered the elves, namely Falwood elves, harbor immense hatred for the denizens of Vel Anir. That almost takes us a step backwards though." He turned his gaze back to Alakir.

"The problem with that means that our search becomes essentially fruitless. We have a repeated insignia, but if elves have nothing to offer as a motive rather than hatred itself, why would they take the time to make it so notable? On top of that why would they leave the corpses to be found? It could be a message from the terrorist group we Dreadlords have had the displeasure of encountering but their plans always seemed more grandiose. All it does is add to the questions."

 

[Alakir]

The entire situation was harrowing. As the Dreadlord surmised, any number of things could have been at play, but they had nothing tangible to connect to any of them. A terrorist cell, or even a cult within the City made for an easy scapegoat; but how long could that excuse hold before the people became restless?

"I'd almost rather have more questions than answers," he said honestly. "Pin it on the elves, and we get a campaign to put it down," he explained. "The wartime economy comes back. Vel Anir prospers. But there's factors at play that don't want that, either."

His point of view was staunch and clear. This peacetime was fragile and waiting to burst, and the only thing that the City was poised to do was profit from it. War was the lifeblood of the Anirian Guard. When they waged it, they bled other cities and grew stronger. Of course, at this point it was nothing more than the musings of a lowly Guardsman.

"That only leads to more problems if these attacks do persist. So the only rational thing to do, instead of casting blame toward shadows, is follow what leads we do have."

Alakir gestured toward the cuts.

"Have you seen symbols like these before? Or is there any significance to the wounded areas?"

 

[Vittorio]

It would be plausible to make this an easier effort if the government and its people rallied behind it. Xenophobia would also sit well with the people, regardless of its weight. People in Vel Anir liked to be afraid of the things they didn't understand. It would take a simple speech and they would be throwing their own coin at the investigation.

"That would ultimately be for the Houses to decide. They would have the heaviest say in all of it. And some Houses much more than others." He pictured Elise Virak giving the speech herself. How heavenly it would be for that woman to have more reason to hunt elves. She almost terrified Vittorio.

He shook his head with a heavy sigh.

"I've never been strong with symbolism. I know in certain sects of belief that a crescent can represent rebirth, or fertility. The odds that it meant that here are low." The Dreadlord took another deep breath and wandered the corpses some more.

"Do we know time of death? Was there anything left behind?"

 

[Alakir]

Since he had no bearing and was not of Noble birth, the Guardsman's experience with the Houses was limited. He knew a handful about which of them his Father had approved of and which had gone reprobate over the years, but none of them had ever struck him as 'worthy of his affections.'

The city itself, certainly. Vel Anir was a long standing city with a rich culture deeply rooted in its military strength. That was where his roots were. It was everything he was, and would ever be. "Not like any of them are ever going to hear I've said it," he mused. "They're not especially interested in the opinions of the common folk."

A shiver ran through him at the thought of a murderer utilizing a symbol for rebirth. Magic had never touched his family, and he largely resented those who were touched by it. He knew as much as any layman, that death was beyond the scope of human potential to tamper with, and that bartering in life cost life.

That train of thought only led to discomfort and something told him that the Dreadlord shared that opinion. Neither man wanted to table the prospect of Necromancy.

"You got a stamp on these, Doc?" he called to the Surgeon, abruptly pushing the dark thoughts from his mind.

"The stiffies? Sure," he perused his notes a moment, then called back. "Between twenty two and twenty three hundred last night. We did what we could to preserve the bodies without tampering too much, so the smell-"

"Thank you, Doc," Alakir winced. The Combat Surgeon only smirked and turned back to his work. When the Dreadlords involved themselves, the paperwork only got more intensive because now he had to turn it over.

"Sounds like about twelve hours," he told Vittorio.

 

[Vittorio]

Vittorio looked intently at the cadavers once more. This time lifting limbs and checking skin. His eyes veered to the sky, seeing the time of day. Still fairly early. It couldn't have been late enough for the streets to be empty when this occurred. A city full of taverns didn't find sleep until the morning. Odd. There was one other thing odd about it...

"There was zero struggle." He noted, scratching at his deer skull. "These are the only wounds on their body that I can find, no bruises, no other lacerations, how is that possible?" He stood up to survey the area. It wasn't far from a local bazaar, the area was residential for the most part. Likely low guard patrols but there should be dozens upon dozens of people that lived around here.

"Any testaments from anyone in the vicinity?" He asked, while wandering the scene some more. And there it was, a third twinkle. Something flowing with the breeze from the corner of his eye. A piece of fabric pinned to a gate. He made his way towards it without saying a word and grasped it tight. It was yellowed, and old. To make the situation stranger, it actually read something.

'Birth.'

 

[Alakir]

"Weren't no witnesses, if that's what you mean. An older man was the first to catch sight of the bodies, and he put in a word with one of the on duty sentries. From there, I got called in to do the report."

As the two men exchanged information, the red-eyed man crouched beside a body intently.

"Way too clean," the Guardsman agreed. The strange carvings were etched into flesh with a steady hand. That sort of thing didn't fly with people of a sound mind. So, either they had been willing participants, or they had been taken unawares.

The latter was far more likely. "Any signs of blunt force trauma?" he asked Doc, who shrugged. The autopsy had shown no irregular bruising, so unless someone had missed a crucial detail, there was no evidence they had been knocked unconscious before the murders.

...which meant...

"They weren't sleeping in the street, obviously," Alakir reasoned. "Were they influenced by some sort of hypnosis?"

 

[Vittorio]

To hypnotize four people at once... It was far from the realm of impossibility. The probability of that just seemed a bit far fetched in his eyes. In a city laden with magic mental domination felt much more realistic. To think no one would scream despite the immense pain these wounds would cause.

He gripped the cloth tight and walked over to Alakir to show him. "It says birth. Call me old fashioned but death hardly represents birth in my eyes. Ever increasing displays of symbolism can basically confirm that this is an organized task. Now the question is who and how many."

There were too many enemies of Vel Anir lately. The elvish terrorists, the Empire, families of the children indoctrinated into the Dreadlord initiative. He didn't want to wait for more innocent people to die to make any progress but he was no detective. His combat training was all he had to notice metals and wounds. Ugh, why weren't there more Dreadlords to help them figure this out?

"How do we proceed from here? You both lucked out on having me show up, as I am pretty terrible at this."

 

[Alakir]

"Ain't done any research into magic myself," Alakir shrugged. If there was anything more to it, or some subtlety they were glossing over in their gross lack of total knowledge, it would remain so. Like all the other things they would have to let go, and hope someone who came after them would not miss.

"Though, I can certainly agree with you. It's organized, and there's more than one perp. Different weapons, dramatics, random locations..." He had to sigh. There was nothing but frustration in the crime scene for the Guardsman.

He turned finally to look at Vittorio and folded his arms. "My best suggestion is put in a call to someone who does know more and get them to bring in researchers. Maybe someone who's studied this sort of thing can match the intentions to a cause, and narrow down the search."

 

[Vittorio]

"That's a great idea." He swooshed his robe a bit as he turned around and put a finger to his chin again. There were far greater Dreadlords than him that would know much more on the topic. His hearsay about what he'd read would only lead Alakir and Vittorio so far.

"My colleagues would be the best to get a hold of. Pardon my rudeness but I find it difficult to believe that the guardsmen you work alongside would have much knowledge on the subject."

Vittorio turned to the surgeon. "Please let me know when you have the victims identified. We shouldn't wait to tell the families much longer."

Talus

 

[Talus]

Ironically, their call would receive both Dreadlord and Guardsmen.

Since swearing to his place among the Anirian Guard Talus had taken steps to ensure that nearly everything criminal that happened in Vel Anir reached his ear one way or another. Since the outbreaks of killings several months ago the young man and taken a keen interest in murders in particular.

So when a runner found him with word of murders that sounded very much like those he, Donric, and Colette had investigated just a short while ago Talus had of course come as quickly as he could.

Dressed in the same armor as always bearing both the insignia of the Dreadlords as well as the Hawks of the rank of Major Talus came strolling to meet both Vittorio and his fellow Guardsmen. "Greetings."

There was an edge to his tone as he spoke, though not because of either of the men.

"There have been more killings?" Talusbahd never been one for pleasantries, much more so when there was work to be done. It was a quality that many people found off-putting, but then they never got to see the real him.

Only a few did.