"Right. Yes, right. Okay." Calmed by Leon's demeanour, Diana takes a big shuddery breath and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Brushing her hair out of her eyes again, she takes in Leon's huge muscular form as it leans over her. Again, she thinks how lucky she is to be mostly on his side. She bares her teeth, and prepares to demonstrate to his request. "Righty then. Fear is the order of the day!" She glances at the elf, and sighs. Fear could wait. For now, she'd settle for not ruining Justin's shoulder permanently. She's already broken his wife after all.
She yells at him. "Elf! Cease butchering that man's shoulder." She ducks under Leon's outstretched arm, and stalks towards the body. Her robe billows out dramatically, as she calls her powers into her hand. A glowing light contained within her palm reveals her magic. "Have to do everything myself. Can't look away for a minute. What did I do to deserve this?" She cuffs Melfoil's head to move him out of the way, and then leans over to touch Justin's shoulder. Much to the elf's chagrin, the wound begins to seal itself, animated by Diana's magical power over flesh and bone. "Only thing worse than a screaming patient is an incompetent doctor."
She spins, and gracefully strides back to the corpse of the lady. She shudders momentarily, her bright green eyes tracing the mangled corpse, with it's twisted limbs and gruesome expression. "Thrice damn." She bends to examine it closer, almost with the same morbid curiosity as Melfoil. "Why would someone do this to you?" Reverently, she stretches out a gentle hand and slowly draws the knife out of her neck. She holds it up to her face for examination, murmuring quietly. "Who were you?" Without looking up, she addresses her fellows. "That man used powerful magic. If we are to confront him again, it is imperative we illicit a counter." She sighs, aware that this task will require a lot of work from her, given how unmagically gifted her colleagues are. "Something to think about." Diana frowns as another thought strikes her. She angles her head to stare intently at Justin, eyes burning. "And you, oh great mysterious paladin. Whoever in this hellscape is 'The Emperor'?"
1/4 3rd level
1/7 2nd level
1/8 1st level
Made groggy by Leon's assault, and the haziness left by mind-affecting magic, Sir Justin's first few attempts at coherence leave much to be desired. Soon enough he manages the lucidity to shove his companions out of his way and thunder forward.
"Matilda!" His cry is one of pain that quickly turns to confusion. Kneeling before the broken body, he runs his hand through her hair, which has now turned a weak grey. In fact the entirety of her body looks like it has been drained of colour, beyond the damage that Diana undoubtedly did to it. The woman's skin is dry and shiveled, and flakes off like pastry - a far cry from the healthy woman you remember.
Sir Justin pulls back, disgusted, and spits on the ground.
"This isn't her. This filthy corpse is not my wife." The grief, as fleeting as it had been, is replaced by an intense revulsion, and then anger. He could not care any less for this woman. He stalks off into a corner to sulk.
Diana mulls over the query of her failed divination as she examines the knife. She'd never known her third eye to show her wrong. Could it be this place? The sea of visions had been murkier than usual. Perhaps it was the pull of a great emotions, such as this one's fear, that guided her vision falsely? But if so, then she couldn't have been far off her original mark, could she? Always questions, never answers... aside from one: The knife was magical, if faintly.
The oracle, her magics resonating in tune with that of the knife, deduces two things: firstly, that the knife's magic is bonded with the essence of a single being - the veiled man, presumably - and thus ineffective without him, and secondly, it has a great deal to do with extracting... something. Magic? Strength? Who knows?
"Only thing worse than a screaming patient is an incompetent doctor."
Diana's gaze hit Melfoil hard. A knot grew in his throat. In her eyes he saw something familiar: that same faded light, that glaze of disappointment. She had looked down at him in the same way that his parents had in the years before his exile. They had pitied his ignorance, his obsession with the physical instead of the magical, and he feared that Diana was pitying him now. As Justin's wound magically sealed, Melfoil's wounds re-opened.
"Whatever. I could have cured him had I the time to prepare my potions..." He mumbled, mostly to the alley wall. He turned away from Diana as she began her divination ritual and searched for something in the alley that could find so as to distinguish himself as useful. Perhaps the assassin left some tracks behind? A chipped cobblestone or a scuff on the brick? Anything that might hint at a direction to move toward next. He popped Timur out from his neck, who landed wetly on the stone, to cover the ground more thoroughly while he turned his attention to the admittedly un-scalable walls.
By the Gods, let there be something here to go on, lest we end up back at that damnable tavern. Or, worse yet, that melodramatic tree.
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Timur Sherlock and Melfoil Watson, noses brushing the floor, scrub every odd inch, nook, and cranny of the abandoned alleyway. Unfortunately, with only the most basic of tracking tools, they fail to find anything of note. The lumpy familiar attempts an exasperated croak, but is startled to silence by a an expectant clearing of someone's throat. Turning to the alley's entrance, you see standing there a familiar face.
"Ahem..."
An elf, with gnarled, tiny bat wings drooping between his shoulderblades, and a scruff of facial hair that you could tell hadn't been attended to in years. Lieutenant Dannigad, the shield of the Atemni still emblazoned upon arm, appears perhaps less friendly than he had been to you before.
"I see you've managed to ignore my advice on staying out of trouble..." He scratches at the fluff of his chin, and as he shifts the weight of his stance you see shuffling behind him a small troupe of armed guards forming into a protective line. "I've been following the trail of a series of particularly nasty murders. The illegal kind, you see - and as I arrive to the scene of the most recent tragedy I find you lot standing over the corpse of the deceased." He gestures with a nod to the woman's body, where Diana is knelt nearby, fondling the dagger between her hands. "With the murder weapon in hand, no doubt. Care to explain?"
Though there is a clear implication, you sense a hesitation in Dannigad's voice that seems to exclude an accusation. This may be a time to consider your words carefully...
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Melfoil spins on his heels to greet Dannigad, his face glowing like a pale moon in the dark alley. He offers his open palms, tossing a small, empty flask over his shoulder before raising his arms above his shoulders.
"Now, now, Dannig-"
There is a piercing crack and tinkle as the flask smashes against the cobblestone. Melfoil flinches at the sound, then continues.
"Dannigad, let's just slow down here. Why don't we all put on our thinking helmets and examine the scene that we have, most regrettably, found ourselves in the midst of. Of course, I agree with your first line of inquiry, Dannigad. My first thoughts would also be why is there a dead woman by the wall? However, the question you should be asking is how, not why. Because, as you can plainly see..."
Melfoil shuffles over to the puddle of flesh, palms still showing, and moves a flap of skin with the toe of his boot.
"That this injury was caused by no mere knife wound." He winks to Diana, "No, this was caused by some kind of foul and, uh, evil magic. Yes, I believe there is an evil killer on the loose. This woman, the poor soul, was the first, but I would wager not the last, victim of a diabolical murder plot. I know this because I, no we, saw the hooded assailant in the flesh, or cloth, rather."
Relieved that he still hasn't been attacked by the guards, Melfoil straightens his posture and lowers his hands.
"What's more Dannigad, or perhaps you would prefer Danny, no? No. What's more Dannigad, is that we are travelling in the company of the recent widower himself, a just and noble paladin! A paladin who I am sure is eager to speak up any second now and vouch for our moral integrity. And besides, disregarding all of this unpleasantness, since when has a little murder gone against the grain of this society, anyhow?"
Melfoil nods and smiles to his companions behind him.
Leiutenant Dannigad spends an inordinate length of time leaning against the wall, arms folded and one boot crossed over the other, his eyes lazily drifting from one person to the next. Expressionless, he mutters a small, "Hm," and steps forward.
"You're lucky it was I who came, you know? Some of my fellow Atemni can be far less... accommodating." He shakes his head, then continues, "There are two major reasons I believe that you and your friends are not to blame here. Firstly, as much of a troublemaker he may be, this act is beyond morally condemning that I doubt the good Sir Justin would take any part in it. And secondly, only because I know your souls are freshly arrived, I am going to assume you've not the knowledge of soul extraction yet..." He rubs at his chin fluff, then moves to examine the corpse. "Perhaps our dear friend might explain it better than I."
There is a grumble, like a lion being unwillingly awoken from slumber, as Justin approaches. "You remember I said that all souls here are trapped, merely awaiting judgment?" He continues, not awaiting confirmation. "Well each death here, while not a true death, slightly hastens the soul's journey. It is considered... an acceptable consequence for one's mistake. However, those with soul's as black as midnight, or fools of they greatest degree, can do more than just kill a person. They... extract?" his face contorts as if he'd bit into a lemon, "the soul from the recently deceased body. It empowers them with that person's strength, at the cost of cutting the slain person's remaining time here in half, or even more... It is the most heinous crime one can commit in Purgatorium," looking over to where Dannigad is prodding the deflated corpse, he sneers, "a crime the Atemni have solemnly sworn to police against."
Diana frowns at Justin's declaration. "Very strange" she mutters. "She, she must've been here." She runs a thin hand through her hair, ragged with sweat. She takes a deep breath. "T-that couldn't have failed." She sighs, and wraps her arms around herself, a death grip on the knife. "I'm cold." After the adrenaline hit runs out, the earlier divination is again preying on her.
She turns in surprise at Dannigad's arrival, although she doesn't recognize him. The police? Fear covers her face, as unpleasant memories flood her mind, weeks of hiding and waiting. Weeks apparently interrupted by one of her current companions... Diana smacks a hand into the side of her head to clear it and tries to focus. "Foolish. Distracted. Shape up." She mutters, as though she's merely thinking and completely unaware others can hear her. Shaking her head with such vigour that her hair dances everywhere, she pauses for just long enough for the elf to capture everyone's attention.
Previously, she'd ignored him, completely missing his hurt expression at her words. But now, his disgusting toad and strange antics demand her attention. A whisper just loud enough for Leon, she hisses. "Thrice damn" and raises an eyebrow. At Melfoil's wink, she snorts, and then throws the knife at the ground. She tries for point first, but instead it clatters to the ground sideways, and she flinches from the rattle. "Uh, well, yes. Foul and evil magic." She raises her chin slightly, and her nerves are only betrayed by her shaking hands. "I-it's bonded to the monster which assaulted this woman. Perhaps another mage could confirm that? If our i-innocence is in q-question" Suddenly she pauses. "Wait..." She trails off. If it connects to him... "Maybe if-" Again, she trails off, and then grins baring many sharp teeth. Then we can track that. Confidently, Diana declares "I can find him."
The explanation about magic holds her interest. The policeman won't arrest them, and is thus beyond her concern. The bigger picture consumes her mind and preys on Diana's conscious thoughts, and such a picture is only concerned with this new form of magic. Souls are precious scarce things, and to harm one is unthinkable. But on the other hand, knowing such magic would require a truly in depth understanding of the soul. Such a knowledge would be an incredible tool "Truly a crime." She mutters, her face contorted with conflicting emotions. Not to harm others, but for the knowledge. Reverently, she bends to pick her dropped dagger. "And this tool could be used for such an abomination?" She turns to Melfoil. "Why would he leave it behind?"
Completely entranced and simultaneously disgusted by Timur as it hopped along in its investigation, Leon is as startled as the toad at the new guests to Murder Alley. His hand immediately goes to the pommel of his axe, but he stays it when he sees the armoured troupe of guards. The Elf that leads them addresses Leon’s party and the less than bright brute can’t help but feel like he has seen this Elf somewhere before.
It takes him entirely too long to recall this Dannigad. He was the toadie of that vile thing that attacked Clarice on the first day they came to this stink heap. Apparently everyone else in the alley had no need for a re-introduction, even Diana was following along and contributing to the discussion. She hadn’t even been in the group when they met the guard, had she? Gods everything is melting together. How long have we even been here? Leon is embarrassed into silence by this line of thought until Diana poses her question. He doesn’t notice that it wasn’t directed at him.
“OH, maybe because he doesn’t need it anymore!” Bellows Leon. He quickly realises that after not speaking for several minutes and then shouting the first thing that comes to his head was not good for his public image. “Ahem,” He coughs, trying to barge past his outburst. “Even though he was a coward, he was well prepared. He probably doesn’t need it any more or worse has some to spare.” Engrossed in thought for the first time in his life, Leon starts tapping a finger against his chin. Then his hand comes down and a loud snap rings out as he points to his companions. “He could’ve left this here as bait. Either to trick those idiots,” He snaps again and points to the Atemni guard blocking their main point of escape from the alley. “Into thinking we sucked out the spirit or whatever of whoever that was.” He snaps and points to the husk in the middle of the alley. “Or because he knows that since we found him the first time, thanks to you Diana,” He snaps and points to the oracle and quickly reads the confusion on her face. He doesn't snap again. “That we can use this to find him again. Only this time he’ll be even better prepared and’ll have a four course meal delivered to him!” Leon lets that thought rest on the air for a moment before he feels very out of sorts. “I really need to hit something.” He pleads just loud enough for Melfoil and Diana to hear.
Sensing that he is no longer centre stage, Melfoil decides it's time to rejoin the conversation.
"Why leave the murder weapon behind, you ask?" He spins stiffly, arms outstretched in address, smiling to Dannigad, the guards, Diana, and Leon. The display looks not unlike a pirouetting scarecrow. "It's possible that our assassin in absentia dropped it, in panic. That the sight of us four, the conduits of justice that we are, shook the killer's composure and forced a hasty retreat; nerves so rattled that they could no longer grip the handle of the blade as they ran."
Melfoil takes Leon's wrist and gently guides his hand away from the pommel of his axe, offering the barbarian's bicep for appraisal. "This is indeed a plausible explanation of events."
Melfoil moves from Leon's arm and sidles up behind Diana, spidery fingertips coming to rest upon her shoulders. "Though can we exclude the possibility that the weapon was left behind deliberately?" Melfoil speaks through Diana's nest of hair, offering her up as a puppet. "Perhaps, for someone magically attuned to trace its origin, to move their King blindly into check? Can we assume it was just the oversight of a villainous ego?"
Springing back in front of Dannigad, he continues, "And nevermind the third possibility. That the killer, through magic or subterfuge, assumed an incorporeal form, thus making the retrieval of his weapon a physical impossibility. That, perhaps, he issued out of this alley in the guise of a fog, or a malodour, or even..." Melfoil's eyebrows rise, creating hard creases on his forehead. "...or even in the form of the very air we breathe right now!"
Melfoil waits a beat for the gasps, then concludes. "Whatever the case, what is clear is that we were here at ground zero of this murder and are therefore the most knowledgeable of the events passed. So, I would suggest assisting Diana with her divination rather than hindering us with incarceration. Maybe then we could reach the perpetrator before they strike again."
Dannigad, in the midst of thought,suddenly springs from his position besides the dead women, finger outstretched and lips forming a eureka! However, with his thunder stolen, he is left only to stare haplessly at the posturing elf and his equally interesting companions.
"Hmm, yes, well...," he begins, running fingers through greasy hair, "We've come to a conundrum. A conundrum I have the solution to. Whether the killer left his weapon by mistake or with purpose does not matter, for he is missing a key piece of information - that being, by some convoluted roll of the dice, you and I have met before. Had I found anybody else here, we'd have carted you off to the dungeons without any further words. But that is not the case..."
He coughs, looking up to make sure he is being followed, and continues on. "And so there are three possibilities for us. Either he expects you to have escaped with the dagger before we arrived, and thus will pursue him in vengeance and surely run into his trap. He expects us to have found you and imprisoned you, and thus the Atemni will be there to fall into his trap. Or we all killed each other and he has nothing to worry about, and has set nothing. All good things, for us... here is my proposition."
The man's tiny, malformed wings wiggle in excitement as he pulls from his pack a small, glowing sphere. A memory.
"Tomorrow, when you may divine his position, I want you to give chase and be my bait. When he thinks he has you caught, the Atemni will swoop in from the shadows and capture him. A simple task, with little danger. And there will be compensation, of course." The memory bounces from palm to palm, before he returns it to his pack. "Perhaps even more than that... I suppose I could range an audience with the Atemni court..." Sir Justin's eyes near seem to pop out of his head before he can control himself. It must have been an unusually grand offer, then. Power comes from powerful people...
"Well? What say you? Will you be the worm for my hook?"