Abraham Maedrhos's page

Abraham entered the shop, taking in the smell of sawdust and oiled wood. He moved with a languidness that looked aloof, as if he were simply on an afternoon stroll instead of a scene of horror. His keen, deep-seated eyes immediately perceived that the man in the centre of the shop was hanging from a hook, probably used to hang some of the heavier tools or even as housing for a pulley system.

Mr Bradbury led him passed the slightly swaying man to the counter at the rear of the shop where a sales ledger lay open.

I’m sorry the body is still here Mr Abraham, I’m told the guards will be removing it shortly. Could have at least taken him down... the man grumbles.

Bradbury was the owner of the shop next door and some distant relation to the deceased. The pace of life was always fast in Westcrown, had been since the rise of the House of Thrune and where death was involved, life moved all the quicker. Bradbury was interested in the will. Or more importantly, the lack of one.

Abraham had been hired to unravel the legal threads that lead to the rightful owner of this newly vacated property with it’s prime dockside location.

Indeed they could. Abraham said, idly scratching his long nose and flipping through pages in the ledger. For the past six months every one of them told the same story, a great increase in sales of prow carvings and figureheads. Apparently the man had some skill with a chisel and plane. But had they done so we may never have realised the man was murdered.

Bradbury reacted as if punched in the chest, his face turning a sickly white.

Murdered!? The man is hanging from the ceiling! he exclaimed irritatingly pointing out the obvious; but neglecting what, to Abraham at least, was equally obvious. How can you possibly say he was murdered?

His shoes. Abraham replied, stifling a yawn.

His shoes!? Bradbury repeatsed again quite irritatingly.
Abraham brightened at this point. Before him is a puzzle, a disappointingly simple one, but a puzzle nonetheless and his mind has always stagnated when inactive.

Indeed. The man was a carpenter was he not? he doesn’t wait for the response. Cast your eyes to his shoes good man. Can you see they are freshly blackened and polished?

Bradbury nods dumbly and shrugs as if to say so what?
There are few men I can conceive of who would find it prudent to freshly polish his shoes before he took his own life. he says impatiently. Also, regard the newspaper there. A few sheets of the Tribune lay in a heap a few feet from the body and Abraham strides to retrieve it. He holds the first sheet up to the bright sunshine streaming in through the window so that the parchment is almost transparent. Here. he indicates a series of small impressions on either side of the page, both left and right. Do you know what those are? Fingernail marks. The man was reading this paper in what I might only describe as a heightened state of emotion. Not surprising, given the first page article describes a major ship-building contract being awarded to what can only be a rival company – Freebooter construction.

Plainly, this man, this rather successful man, was about to set off for a meeting with said company and somebody decided they would rather not allow that session to take place. I’m sure a very public disagreement over the validity of that business deal would be rather perturbing for all involved. Besides which if he had hanged himself the bruising around his neck would be high under the chin and not low around the apple of the throat. He was choked. He was murdered. he says; plainly, simply, unequivocally.

Bradbury stands and looks at the man with stunned silence.

Quite an appropriate response, Mr Bradbury I’m sure. Now unfortunately for you, the fact that this case has now become a murder means that this man’s holdings are frozen until that investigation is concluded to a satisfactory outcome. I wouldn’t plan on redecorating this shop for some time. Rather, I’d prepare for a visit from the Hellknights.

Now, you hired me to unravel the legalities of this situation which I have. I believe that now belongs to me. he weaves an intricate pattern in the air with thumb and forefinger and the small money pouch laced on Bradbury’s belt floats up and toward his outstretched hand.

B…but…. Who killed him?

Abraham had already turned and taken several long strides toward the door. He was dressed in a long cotton coat over a leather jerkin, a satchel slung over one shoulder. He taps out some tobacco into a long, thin pipe and lights the bulb. He turns at the question but answers with one of his own.

Well isn’t that also obvious? The empirical facts are there to be read Mr Bradbury and as much as I would like to interpret them for you, alas, that was not the purpose for which you hired me. Good day.

Without another word he strides from the shop, a small smile on his face as he breathes in the air of the Parego Spera. He weighed the coins in his hands and felt satisfied. It was easy money and he felt no small satisfaction in taking it from this man who in other regions would be called a land-snatcher. It would be enough to keep him in accommodation for at least another month anyway, just to give him a little more time to find Snipe.

Barnabous Snipe was his mentor. An investigator of some reknown in Westcrown and beyond. They worked a small agency in the city, normally working with the dottari in tackling small-scale crime, gang activity, disputes and so on. But in the past several weeks Snipe had undergone something of a change. His normally brilliant mind was occupied solely by rumours of an infamous criminal organisation, the only-whispered 'Council of Thieves.'

His mentor had told him that justice was a word that had many interpretations and whilst he didn’t necessarily disagree with that, to Abraham there was only one meaning to the word ‘truth’ and Snipe had agreed with that. Together they had set out to find the truth to these rumours, whether the Council of Thieves really did exist. Snipe started asking questions, as it turns out of the wrong people in the wrong places and now he was missing. Without him Abraham was at something of a loss.

He wondered if he would ever see Snipe again, whether he might get some grisly message in the mail or if his body might turn up floating in the river. But why hurt him if there were no truth in it?

This was a puzzle which was just as well. Abraham thrived on puzzles. He lived for them and he would get to the bottom of this one as well.

Abraham is very often the most intelligent person in the room and is not shy at remarking so. He is outspoken, brilliant, charming and infuriating. When the work takes him he is a fiend of activity but when sullenness and boredom strike he is as aggravating as he is belligerent.

As described by his one-time mentor; Barnabous Snipe.

His very person and appearance are such as to strike the most even the most casual observer. In height he is rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller even than that. His eyes were always sharp and piercing, sometimes alarmingly so except during those periods of destructive boredom and obstinate torpor to which he is prone when his faculties are not utilised to their fullest. His thin, hawk-like nose gives his whole expression an air of alertness and decision and his chin, too, has the prominence and squareness which mark the man of great determination. His hands are invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals and yet he is possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating the most fragile of documents.

[spoiler=Status]
HP: 9/9
AC: 13 (12 T / 11 FF)
Fort: +2 // Ref: +2 // Will: +2 (+2 vs enchantment)
Arcane Reservoir [x][][][]
Cantrips Prepared: Dancing Lights. Mage Hand. Prestidigitation. Spark.
Level 1 Prepared: Enlarge Person. Sleep.
Level 1 Spell Slots: [x][][][]
Ongoing Effects: none
[/spoiler}

[dice=Light crossbow]1d20+2[/dice][dice=for]1d8+2[/dice]