The trio approaches the dock where the boatman known as 'Thunker' tended to keep himself moored during the evenings. As the group approached, they could see the middle-aged man curled up in his ferry with a wool blanket, obviously napping while waiting for potential customers to happen by. Claudian knew him to be a reliable boatman who charged a fair coin for his services and, in a city like Corvis, it was not uncommon for ferrymen to rest in their boats. Crime against ferrymen tended to be low since, if the ferrymen found out about it, the perpetrator would likely have a very difficult time getting out of town without the ferrymens' aid. Thus, the Boatman's Guild of Corvis enjoyed relatively peaceful lives.
Claudian raised his voice as they approached, perhaps a bit more than was necessary to awaken a sleeping man on a quiet street.
"Hoy, Thunker!" he called, cowling his hands around his mouth for the greeting, then dropping them as they came a bit closer. "What's the word on the water, then?" he asked more reasonably.
The boatman pulled back the blanket to show his face, raising at eyebrow to Claudian before slowly bringing himself to his feet. As he pushed the blanket aside, it was hard to miss the old-fashioned pinlock pistol in his hand before he returned it to a holster on his hip.
Thunker smirked at Claudian's approach, but his jovial smirk quickly turned apprehensive when he noticed the Nyss trailing just behind him. As the trio approached, the boatman spoke:
"Word on the water? What's the word on the street?!" he stated incredulously. "First I hear tell of a Cryxian invasion being put down at the Quad and not ten minutes later I see you walkin' up with a damn Nyss elf in tow! What the hell's going on, Galbraith?"
"If it's answers you want, I ain't got 'em. We're actually of a mind to walk the Quad if you'd take a fare this eve," he grumbled, glancing over the waterways as though he expected Cryxians to burst from the canals right then and there, before following Thunker's gaze to Sy'yll.
"Folk're folk, I say. Nyss ain't got a reason to love the Cryxians neither, an' if there's any more floatin' around, 'nother blade can't go amiss, y'ken?" he asked, turning back with a trademark grin that his scarring turned into an awful sneer.
Ashleigh shifted impatiently on his feet, staring at the flickering lamp lights out across the water.
The boatman narrowed his eyes, weighing the opportunity for income against potential dangers. "You want me t'take you up t'the Quad not an hour after all the shootin' finally stopped?"
The man shifted his glance to the other, quieter persons on either side of Claudian. "Hmph. Fine then. Double fare, though. S'not a wise decision on my part, but I gotta keep me house after all."
The man unmoored the vessel as the party boarded, extending his hand for payment before placing his oar in the water.
"Done." Ashleigh flipped a sidepocket on his pack and produced his coin purse in a single swift movement. He pulled hard on the cigar for a bit of illumination, plucking out 6 silvers into a stack between his fingers and palming an extra. He let them fall into the ferryman's hand with a slight delay before the last. "The seventh for speed, if you please sir. And may it bring blessings to your house." Ashleigh gingerly stepped into the skiff, positioning himself at the back.
The boatman tilted his head in appreciation of the tip and nodded at the charismatic young man's request. "And speed you'll have."
Thunker waited for the group to board before pushing away from the dock and moving into the current, paddling as fast as safety allowed down a major waterway. The journey to the Quad was not long by boat, a simple trip down a long straightaway on the north end brought the group into the main river that ran through the center of Corvis, where numerous larger river-faring vessels were moored. On the river, the splendor of the City of Ghosts was evident all around them - gaslights and lanterns cast dancing reflections across the black midnight water as they made their way towards the Quad on the western end of the town's watery heart. The archetecture was equally stunning, featuring an array of ionic columns, flying buttresses, and intricately detailed (if somewhat aging) frescos and bas reliefs cast in weathered marble on all the buildings that faced the main thoroughfaire.
As the group neared the Quad, Claudian noted the unusual quiet that had fallen over the normally boisterous district. Now, only a handful of voices could be heard ahead and many merchants had vacated their carts in the face of the recent violence. Over the dark wooden railing that surrounded the Quad's cobbled square, one of Corvis's night watchmen peered out onto the water and spied the group's approach. He raised a curious eyebrow at the sight of Sy'yll but seemed otherwise calm as he approached the ramp at the edge of the dock that Thunker had arrived at.
"Evening folks. The Quad is restricted to civilian traffic in light of recent activity. If you have reason to visit the marketplace at the moment, I'm going to need to see some credentials," the young watchman spoke. He was probably no older than twenty, but he bore the stripes of a Watch Lieutenant and his cadence was cool and professional, suggesting far more experience than might normally be assumed. Thunker remained moored at the dock as the party vacated his vessel, hanging around long enough to see if they would need a return trip right away.
The rise of one slender eyebrow in Mr. Thatcher's direction was the Nyss' only response to the request for credentials.
"Certainly, sir. My name is Ashleigh Thatcher and I am an officer in the Jackal's Grin mercenary company. I understand that some of our possessions were involved in the tonight's unpleasant business, and that some of our men may've been caught up in the scuffle. I'm here to offer services identifying the bodies, aid in the inspection of the carts, and to give deposition if necessary." Ashleigh stepped confidently onto the dock, extending his hand to the guard as he did so. "I know it's in everyone's best interest to get this mess taken care of as soon as possible so you'll have our full cooperation, however we may be of assistance."
Clutching one side of her greatcoat and lifting it slightly as though it were a skirt as she stepped off the ferry, Sy'yll followed Mr. Thatcher onto the dock and paused for a moment behind him to straighten her garments and readjust the claymore at her back. She waited patiently for Galbraith to join them, lost for a moment in the dark labyrinth of her own thoughts. Images of charred Cryxian bodies rising from the ashes of their death-pyres to skulk off into shadows or twist the minds of good, loyal men flitted through her mind. Mr. Thatcher was right; magic was magic, but in the hands of the corrupt...
A small shiver that had nothing to do with the night air passed through her waifish form like a wave and to end the trail of her dark thoughts, she turned her attention to the stern, young human guard. "Have the bodies of the Cryxians all been accounted for and then thoroughly destroyed?"
Claudian was the last out of the boat. He'd not sat down but rather taken a wide stance across the center of the boat to keep from pitching it to one side under his weight. He'd stayed quiet during the trip, though he'd spat another thick wad into the water as they travelled.
Upon arriving at the Quad he'd let everyone else first, and dropped another silver coin at Thunker's feet surreptitiously with a nod and what Thunker would recognize as a companionable smile, even though no one else might.
He hauled himself up out of the ferry as the introductions were made and crossed the distance toward the Watch Lieutenant, striding up next to Ashleigh and dwarfing the man by head and shoulders. He extended a huge, knotted hand toward the young man.
"Master Sergeant Claudian Galbraith of the Bloody 19th, Lieutenant. Retirin' don't mean I don't value Lady Cygnar's virtue any less. I'm 'ere t'put a little muscle behin' these two's cleanup."
He smiled down at the Lieutenant, trying hard not to be frightening and convey something of the esprit de corps that banded the Cygnaran military together.
The young officer narrowed his eyes, his lip curling slightly in thought as a faint 'hmmm' escaped him. His eyes settled on the Nyss as he pondered, perhaps subconsciously, perhaps not. He seemed to hesitate before accepting Ashleigh's hand, but finally did so before speaking.
"I see. Well, Mr. Thatcher, Sergeant," he paused, shaking Claudian's extended hand as he did, "Ma'am, I don't think there'll be any further violence tonight but your testimony would be of great interest to my superiors. Follow me."
The young man led them up the cobbled stone ramp and into the marketplace proper, barricaded off from major streets by watchmen and guard dogs. The dogs seemed decidedly ill at ease and, as the group approached the scene of the recent trouble, it became abundantly clear why.
The air was eerily still as the group approached the Jackal's Grin wagons. All around the supply train were bodies, at least a dozen by estimation. A couple of them were obviously merchants or perhaps customers who had been ravaged by the Cryxian raiders. A couple more were immediately recognized by Ashleigh as men who'd been assigned to the duty of securing more supplies for the company. One of them, a human man who Ashleigh had spent some time playing cards with over the last few weeks by the name of Jonas, had been utterly devastated. His chest had a hole blown clean through it and his face was so badly marred by claws that he was practically unrecognizable. The only reason Ashleigh could even determine his identity was the gilded dagger protruding from his boot sheath. Jonas had won the thing at a gambling house in Five Fingers several years ago and considered it a good luck charm. It would appear that his luck had finally run out.
Most of the corpses, however, were hideous things: Humanoid creatures melded with mechanical parts in a sick perversion of life. The bulk of their mechanical elements distorted and twisted their figures to the point of being completely inhuman. Steam still seeped from a few of the bullet-riddled bodies and a few of the grotesque figures still twitched and writhed on the cobblestones, their internal engines unwilling to yield to death even as the spark of life had clearly long since faded. The claws of one such creature scraped maddeningly along the paving stones, sending out metallic screeches that echoed in sharp contrast amidst the quiet night air.
Standing well away from this macabre scene were several watchmen, each either questioning a witness of the event or keeping an eye out for any sign of the monsters' reanimation. The lieutenant allowed the trio to take in the scene for quite some time before speaking again.
"This is it, ladies and gentlemen. If you have any ideas what in Morrow's name caused all this to come about, I'm all ears."
Sy’yll had seen bodies before. Nine years of service on the patrols guarding the borders of her people’s lands against foreigners had brought her face to face with death on more than one grim occasion. But there was a vast difference between seeing the slain body of a Nyss comrade or an Iosan trespasser---which, loved or hated, were natural---and resting her eyes upon the perverted mockeries of life scarring the already terrible scene before her.
Grimacing as one of the unnatural corpses shuddered and half-rolled into the eviscerated body of a merchant, she took a couple hesitant steps away from the others toward the eerie scene, and tracing a small circle in the air before her eyes with her right hand, uttered a few words in Shyr to allow her to .
The scene of carnage unfolded before Claudian and for a while at least, he wasn't bothered. He'd seen and caused entire battlefields worth of death before, and while the slaying of civilians certainly didn't sit well with him, it wasn't the mutilated bodies that began put him ill at ease.
"Ain't like th'pack of 'em would jus' steal into th'city in a handful to get shot up," he said, echoing his earlier statement quietly to himself. "Would they?"
He walked along, looking around at the bodies and the caravan wagons, warily pacing the area. He had no particular insight to bring to the scene, so he tried not to disturb the lay of things. He threw his locharn back over his shoulder and watched the guards as much as the wreckage, waiting for signs of some new uprising.
Claudian was almost immediately vexed by the screeching claws dragging across the ground. "Ain't someone gonna hack that bit off and get 'im t'stop scrapin'?" he growled sourly to the nearest posted guard as he passed.
The guard that Claudian addressed gruffly quickly shuffles back a step, looking up at the huge man with slightly fearful eyes. He quickly regains his composure, however, and furrows his brows.
"I don' much appreciate you tryin' t'tell me 'ow t'do my job. It's a right ghastly thing, f'sure, but I'm not takin' one step towards the thrice-damned things 'til they run outta steam. Ye can't be too sure it's dead, eh? 'Sides, they say these things're rigged to blow up if'n y'beat on 'em too much. I's got kids t'think about."
The scratching continues unabated.
Claudian scowled at the response, then the irritation on his face washed away and he nodded. "True enough. Don' take me serious, boy, yer right. Ain't no knowin' what it might do," he said, looking at the scraping claw.
Sullen, he paces around, watching his two companions begin their investigations and simply being a looming presence, doing little more than be in the way, already restless at having clearly missed the fight.
Listening to Galbraith's conversation with only one ear, Sy’yll frowned at the scene before her. The idea that the twisted things might not bear any hint of magic whatsoever seemed incredulous to her, and so, careful still not to drift too near to any of the Cryxian corpses, she strode closer to the carnage.
Sy'yll wanders around the scene, observing the mechanical corpses. She happens upon one that seems to be running out of juice, it's spasms weak and intermittant. As the Nyss watches, the twitching slowly grinds to a halt and it collapses fully to the ground.
The Nyss elf stood, arms crossed over her chest, coolly studying the failing magic before her. As she witnessed the tremulous necromantic spark in a Cryxian corpse sputter and fade before her eyes she breathed a long sigh of relief, but only after all movement and hints of magic in the creature had stilled did she dispel her own magic and turn her cool gaze to regard Galbraith and Mr. Thatcher.
“There yet remain some weak traces of necromancy,” she explained, “but they are thankfully fading. Soon these others”---she gestured at the remaining twitching bodies---“will join their fellows in the true stillness of death. With luck, they will not be able to rise from it anew...”
Ashleigh has been standing more or less motionless since coming upon the scene, the butt of his cigar spent and cold between his fingers. His eyes flicked back and forth across the wreckage, trying to understand, recreate the event in his head. At the Nyss's assertion he gave a small grunt, "Small blessings." He turned to the nearest guard, "Did any of the men survive?"
The guard raised a brow at Ashleigh's question, nodding shortly thereafter. "Oh sure, more folks livin' than dead, thank the Ascendants. A few of 'em were wounded and got shuffled off to the cathedral. I think a few of the Jackals and a couple of merchants got scraped up, but by and large most folk're fine. We're just lucky the Longgunners were here," the guard indicates the bullet-riddled Cryxian bodies.
The lieutenant chimed in immediately afterwards. "Mr. Thatcher, have you or your company had any recent contact with Cryxian raiders? If so, when and where?"
Ashleigh turned to the Lieutenant and straightened a bit. "Aye, sir. Fact of the matter is, we have." He proceeded to recount the story again in a cut and dried narrative, leaving out the frills and aside that typically marked his speech. "...then when we hit town Degrata dispatched one of our men with a incident report to be delivered to the town guard. We'd all had about enough of the swamp so the Cap'n gave all 2 days leave effective this evening and that about catches us up to now." Ashleigh took a deep breath, his eyes wandering over to the mangled corpses in the street. "Any further questions?"
Claudian had taken to restlessly pacing up and down the same stretch of the Quad, staring at one of the Cryxian corpses and cursing to himself. His huge frame and heavy musculature, as well as the locharn rolling back and forth in his grip, were enough to keep anyone from bothering him or voicing their irritation at his pacing.
Finally, he reached out with the spearpoint of his weapon and began to look the corpse over from a distance, searching crudely for some identifying mark, some explanation of this seeming suicide attack.
The lieutenant nodded along as Ashleigh recounted his tale. When he finished, the young officer scratched his chin, casting a wary eye at Claudian as he approached the corpses but said nothing to him.
"And you're certain that none of these creatures could've somehow stowed away on your wagons? Did any of your men take some of the Cryxian bodies, perhaps thinking that they were dead? Your story sounds legitimate, Mr. Thatcher, but I'm having difficulty figuring out how so many of these things could've possibly gotten into your wagon without someone knowing about it."
Ashleigh pressed his lips together. "Burned'em all, as I said. Ain't the kind of thing we're apt to take chances on. They couldn't've stowed away either. Leastways not without some witchcraft or other. In the seven days between the engagement and here, just about every one of my men probably poked his head into the wagons at one point or other. Even if they were invisible, they'd damned sure be heard or bumped into at some point... Give an hour or two and I can turn up Splink, our load master, for you if it's any help. And I'd not mind having a peek through the wagons myself, let you know if I can spot anything's amiss." Ashleigh shifted his weight in the direction of the wagons, pulling another cigar from his jacket and lighting it.
"By all means, Mr. Thatcher. Any light you can shed on this situation is more than we have currently." The officer gestured to the wagons and nodded at a few nearby guards to allow Ashleigh access to the wagons.
Approaching the wagons, the stench of death became more noticable than it had been from far away. The scent of rotting corpses mingled with the stink of whatever fuel had been burning within the Cryxians' boilers, an acrid smell that was equal parts coal and sulfur.
Ashleigh keeps the cigar tipped close to his face, obviously preferring the scent of burnt hooaga to the alternative. With his free hand, he reaches into the side pocket of his backpack and pulls a small, unmarked leatherbound book. Clenching the cigar firmly between his teeth, he detaches a compact quill from the back of the book and unscrews the lid of a small vial concealed in the binding. Lines crease his brow as he takes stock of his wagon and his fallen confederates. Without looking up, Ashleigh addresses his two companions, "Either of you notice anything?"
"Other than the magical emissions from the engines?" Sy'yll frowned as her eyes raked over the corpses and sighed. "I'm afraid not," she admitted as Mr. Thatcher approached one of the wagons.
Watching Galbraith poke and nudge at one of the Cryxian bodies with his weapon, Sy'yll took a deep breath for a moment against her disgust and knelt beside the body which had only moments ago ceased to jerk and shudder. With a light but deft touch, she folded back the edge of abomination's clothing and began searching the body. As she performed a quick inspection, she wondered, Did these Cryxians have wives like other men and women? Children? Or did they value naught but suffering and destruction?
Claudian ceased bothering the Cryxian corpse as Ashleigh looked over his dead companions. As the other man moved on about his investigation, Claudian crossed the Quad with slow, heavy steps and hunkered down beside Volk, the dead Kossite. He clucked his tongue once, but said nothing.
Wiping her hands slowly on her pants as though to rid herself of some physical manifestation of corruption, Sy'yll rose to her feet and shook her head at Claudian. "By far the most interesting thing about the corpses is that they're dead; I have found nothing of import."
Looking sidewise at the man and the body by which he sat, she stepped away from the scene toward the guards, clearly preferring their all-too-human company to that of the dead.
Ashleigh shoots a sidelong glance at the guards, and breathes a heavy sigh. "Looks like one of the scum lost something." He says in a voice loud enough for both his companions and the guards to hear. He catches Sy'yll's eye and inclines his head, inviting her over. He pulls on his cigar pensively, one foot on the back of the wagon, elbow on knee. When people arrive he lets his gaze drop down to what appears to be a metallic jawbone lying in the wagon.
Claudian looked up at the announcement, then back down at the dead Kossite, Volk. He stood back to his impressive height, but for a moment as he walked toward the wagon Ashleigh stood by, he couldn't take his eyes off the corpse. Finally as he arrived he looked away and grimaced.
He arrived at the wagon and looked over Ashleigh's head. "Looks like a..." he said slowly. "...a jaw? But it's metal," he said confusedly, reaching over his companions to see if he could retrieve it.
Claudian reaches over the edge of the wagon and takes ahold of the jawbone, discovering it to be cold (but not unusually so) and as heavy as one would expect a solid piece of iron to be.
Sy'yll came to stand a few feet away from the other two and crossed her arms as she watched Galbraith inspect the item. "What do you make of it?" she asked, then reached her hand out toward the man-at-arms. "May I? There is some writing there..."
Sy'yll came to stand a few feet away from the other two and crossed her arms as she watched Galbraith inspect the item. "What do you make of it?" she asked, then reached her hand out toward the man-at-arms. "May I? There is some writing there..."
Claudian hefts the thing in his hands, looking preturbed, then hands it to Sy'yll. Turning to Ashleigh, he tilts his head back toward the wagon. "Been inside yet? Might be some other leftovers, huh?"
Sy'yll held the jaw in her ghost-pale hands and turned it slowly over, scrutinizing it from back to front, but it was to no avail; no amount of nip-nibbling, brow-furrowing concentration could reveal its secrets to her.
"It is a strange object... I have never seen this language before. As far as I can tell, it does not appear to be magical in nature, but other than that... I simply do not know."
She returned it to Ashleigh, feeling somewhat relieved when the strange jaw's cold, metallic weight left her hands. Once again wiped her palms slowly downwards on her thighs, shaking her fingers lightly for an instant afterwards as though to further dislodge an invisible impurity.
"I certainly hope one of these Cryxians was carrying a...a spare jawbone. Otherwise, I am not so certain all the assailants are accounted for..." she told the others grimly.
Curious, she walked back to the bodies, glancing at the half-men one by one to determine if any had modified themselves with sharp-toothed, metallic jawbones, or if what counted as faces among them were even the proper fit for such a device.
Ashleigh's face twisted for a second as a new idea struck him. "Hoy there, lieutenant. There's a bit of a Cryx here that looks like it may have some value to it, it ain't unthinkable that one of my men scooped it on the sly after our tussle in the swamp. Maybe it's a beacon of some kind or the like." Lowering his voice a trice and turning to follow the elf, "Is there the glow of magic on it yet, Miss Abidne?"
The assorted Cryxian corpses all appear to have various mechanikal modifications implanted throughout their bodies and several of them do indeed have metallic jaws. However, the equipment implanted in the abominations is universally shoddy and rusted while the jawbone found within the wagon appears to be a finely crafted (if somewhat macabre) piece of machinery.
Claudian's brief glance inside the wagon reveals nothing else of interest. A few boxes of ammunition, a couple of leather packs filled with rations and clothing, and other sundries that would all seem to make sense in the context of a mercenary convoy.
The lieutenant raised his brow at Ashleigh's statement, lifting a finger to silence the guardsman giving him a report from one of the witnesses.
"Hmmm... I see. However, beacon or not, it still doesn't explain how the raiders were able to stow away within your wagon unnoticed. It would also seem that a few of the witnesses claimed to see another individual amongst the carnage, a woman by most accounts, who fled the scene almost as quickly as she appeared. The descriptions we have for her are vague to say the least, but if she is still at large and is somehow responsible for all this, we've got our work cut out for us," the lieutenant smirked slightly. "Perhaps the Jackal's Grin would be so kind as to take an assignment on behalf of the City of Corvis to track down this individual, hm?"
It wasn't hard for Ashleigh to determine that this wasn't so much a request as a thinly-veiled demand to avoid having charges pressed against the company.
Sy'yll saw no particular reason to take the item from Ashleigh's hands again. At his request, she hovered at his elbow for a moment like a pale, grim ghost, studying the mechanical jawbone a second time with more than just her eyes. Her nose crinkled in distaste after a moment and she nodded curtly to the human.
"I do not know why I did not notice before. Yes, the item is most definitely magical in nature; more necromancy and a touch of divination as well. Also," she indicates one of the bodies before them with her chin, "you may notice that it is of a far finer quality than the parts on these foul parodies of nature. I wonder if the item was even truly intended for use… although I cannot imagine why it would be designed in such a way that its form would not match its function…”
For a moment she thinks, staring at the bodies scarring the ground before them with her lower lip caught gently between her teeth. “When you and yours fought these monstrosities before, did you perhaps encounter a Cryxian of higher rank than the rest of this lot? Some sort of… war leader or… or officer?” she asked.