Sacrifice: Travar-style

In a darkened alleyway buried within Travar…

Two T'skrang stand over seven bodies scattered around a bloody ritual circle, poking and prodding the remains with short sticks. Several of the bodies were stacked one atop the other, blood pooling and running down the alley to the street. A pile of bloody, discarded robes and other clothing protruded halfway out of a tipped-over barrel in the rat-filled alleyway.

"They must have been adepts from around here." Said the taller of the two T'skrang.

The other just nodded, taking a loud sip from his squidichino.

A squat, Dwarven figure walked into the light at the end of the alleyway, and began to approach the scene.

"Hassala - we have company." said the tall T'skrang, motioning towards the figure.

"Hey," shouted Hassala, "this is business for the guard - make your way out, now." he motioned away with his free hand.

The squat figure stopped for a moment, peering into the darkness, before continuing his leisurely stroll towards them.

"I said -" Hassala started again, but was interrupted by the voice of yet another T'skrang.

"What you said was 'I am honored' to our guest, Hassala, and you too, Mak'kara." the decorated captain of the guard, Viras, stepped out from around the corner behind the Dwarven figure.

"Captain Viras, sir!" both the T'skrang saluted.

The Dwarf removed his glasses, folding them neatly, and tucking them into a pocket on his coat. He stepped forward over the bodies, right into the bloody runic circle. He reached down and picked up a small blade with a simple wooden hilt.

"Hey! Be careful not to disturb the evidence!" Shouted Mak'kara

"I could not do more damage than has already been done were I to be leading cattle through here. I suppose I have you to thank for that?"

The T'skrang hissed in response, retreating to near the captain.

"Captain Viras, I apologize, but who is this?"

"A specialist, and he is leading this investigation."

Before the two T'skrang could even fully become outraged, the captain put a finger to his beak.

"He is a representative of Mynbruje - and out honored guest. He specializes in matters revolving around cults and cultists - Help him where you can."

The two were literally crestfallen, and made their way back to the edge of the circle.

The Dwarf shoved a Trollic body off of the stack. It landed with a wet thud. "Help me with this, hold up his arm."

Hassala and Mak'kara did a quick rock, paper and scissors. Mak'kara lost.

He approached the Dwarf. "You want me to do what?"

"Hold this." said the Dwarf, shoving the arm of the bloodied troll into his hands. It was cold and somewhat stiff. Mak'kara gagged.

"And...Lift." said the Dwarf, rolling back his sleeve.

Without warning, he plunged his arm into the large gash-wound in the Troll's underarm. The squelching sounds were loud and disgusting.

Mak'kara looked on in abject horror.

"Lungs...intact… heart…" the Dwarf grunted, reaching shoulder-deep into the troll's upper torso. "intact."

He pulled his arm from the cavity and gave it a whip, sending blood all over.
"You can drop it - fetch the a towel from my bag."

Mak'kara stumbled away from the troll, and over to the Dwarf's bag, opening it to reveal dozens of serrated saws, measuring instruments, and a small cloth. He grabbed it and handed it to the Dwarf.

The Dwarf, looking the other way, absent-mindedly fumbled his blood-soaked hand all over Mak'kara before finding the towel and whipping it up. He brushed his arm off with it, squeezed it out, and tucked it into his pocket.

"So, this was a sacrifice?" asked the Dwarf casually.

Mak'kara, too busy losing a 3 silver breakfast, couldn't respond. Hassala stepped forward.

"Yes, obvious, you can see all the runes." he said, gesturing all around them at the various and sundry runes all over the walls and floor of the alley.

The Dwarf looked around at them.

"You don't say. What else leads you to believe this?"

Hassala looked confused for a moment. "Well, that is really all it takes, isn't it?"

The Dwarf smiled slowly, and then proceeded poking through the bodies.

"Tell you what," said the Dwarf, "make yourself useful and get me a glass of cold water with lemon."

Hassala looked as though he was about to explode in his skin. Captain Viras stepped up behind him, her voice calm, but clearly entertained.
"He made a request, Hassala - do it."

Moments later Hassala returned, glass in hand, and moneypouch lighter.

"Enjoy." he said angrily, shoving the drink towards the Dwarf.

"I doubt that very much." said the Dwarf as he pulled the lemon from the water, and squeezed it over the center of the runes. The runes turned from red to dark green, and then started washing away.

Hassala looked on in confusion as Mak'kara returned, still breathing heavily.

"What does that mean?" Hassala asked.

The Dwarf turned around glancing at them briefly.
"It means… that this runic circle was painted with dead blood. This and the lack of significance of the runes means this was no sacrifice at all, but just made to look like one."

"No significance? It classic example of a death cult ritual!" said Mak'kara

"Indeed it is. Too classic - this is the same ritual circle that was described in the Throalic Library and posted publicly after the Death Rebellion."

Mak'kara gestured a T'skrang-specific gesture of complete exasperation. It looked like he had tied his fingers in knots.

"Exactly!" Hassala said.

"Exactly indeed," the Dwarf continued, "What fools would Throal be to reprint and display the exact ritual circles used by the Death Cultists, and potentially risk spreading hundreds of their runic circles around? This is an exact copy of the fake runic circle presented by Throal as an example of what to look out for."

Both Hassala and Mak'kara looked awed. "So someone murders seven adepts and leaves em lying around to make it look like a cult - but who would have the numbers to kill seven at once in the same place at the same time?" Mak'kara pondered aloud.

"Brimstone Gang, Taylor's Chosen, maybe that Nix Cult we heard about - they all have enemies."

"Wrong. This wasn't done by locals. This is the work of out-of-towners." the Dwarf said promptly.

"Explain that one, then." demanded Mak'kara.

"Simple. These bloody robes and shoes in the corner, they are new, and barely used for the amount of time it would take to do the crime."

"So?"

"So, this means that they were recently purchased, from a source probably nearby. The shoes have the distinct soles of Serevos wood, meaning they were made locally, and the robes are dyed with Fire-pitch coal, meaning they are local as well. What local would buy new clothes just before a murder and leave them at the scene? We could just ask the nearby shopkeepers their identities and be done with it, couldn't we?"

"Ha! You really are something, Dwarf! Let's get on it, Hassala!" Mak'kara said, turning to go.

The Dwarf held his hand to his face. "No, it is no use, as I said."

The T'skrang stopped in their tracks, turning slowly. Commander Viras watched with interest, seemingly ignoring them.

"No local smart enough to reproduce the runes in such a fashion would have done so. Not to mention, there are 4 robes here, all new, and 8 shoes. No 4 people together, who were experienced Nethermancers or gifted cultists would have made such a childish mistake."

Hassala and Mak'kara both shrugged. "What now, then?"

"Now." Said the Dwarf, "we identify the bodies."

Mak'kara practically jumped "Already done!" he said, whipping out a small parchment.

"The troll is Gurntok, local smith's assistant, ex-convict, wanted for… arson. The T'skrang was a swordmaster drunkard who went by Fishtail, the human there was a ex-tavernkeeper named Gerard, and that human there was an apothecary by the name of Dravis, the other 2 humans and Dwarf are unknown."

The Dwarf frowned. "I would hardly call that done, but at least you were more than halfway there. Now, how are they linked?"

Mak'kara started to open his beak, but Hassala started saying something. They looked at each other for a while, "Maybe they were all unlucky?"

The Dwarf nodded, seemingly pondering this for a while.

"Yes, they were weren't they? An ex-con who scrapes by on low wages, a drunk ne'er-do-well, and a tavern-keeper who could barely afford the clothes on his back. Unlucky, and most likely, unmissed. These other four, however, were well-to-do. Let's have a look…"

The Dwarf pushed one of the bodies off the pile, and a small shiny object rolled away from it.

Hassala flicked it into the air with his tail and caught it, handing it to the Dwarf.

It was a small charm made of glass. Suspended in the center of it was a single, living drop of blood. It had nethermantic runes carved around it, and the image of a chalice on one side.

"Knights of Nix, I should have known. These three, they were unlucky - these four here, these were the targets." said the Dwarf, gesturing to the unidentified bodies, and that of the apothecary.

The Dwarf suddenly stopped, reaching into his pocket and pulling out several items, as well as a pipe. He filled it and lit it carefully, puffing several times to get the tobacco to burn steady.

"Say…" said the Dwarf "do any of you have any blood charms?"

Both the T'skrang's shook their heads, and the captain as well.

The Dwarf looked them in the eye, and then wandered to the other side of the crime scene.

"Each one of these four was killed sooner, and more slowly than the others. They were being questioned - questioned, no doubt, about the Knights of Nix. If this was not a questioning based on a crime, then it was surely related to the cult. All four were gathered here in their everyday garb - they were not here for a ritual. The questioner obviously didn't provide the answers being sought - as they each died slowly and painfully. Had he gotten his answers, the remaining ones would have been given swift deaths."

The T'skrangs feverishly scribbled notes.

After a few puffs from his pipe, the dwarf continued.

"They were being questioned about the cult, in some regard that they could not speak of - but what about the cult would they want to hide this much? Any follower of Death would be happy to share everything he knew about Death, even if being forced… but there is something else here. The force behind the cult - the magic behind the cult. I know something about these so-called "knights" - I have met the man who founded the order. He was a powerful, intimidating and vindictive figure in his infancy, and grew more so with age and power. If knowledge of him was at the end of this questioning, then surely it would be worth death to avoid being on his bad side."

The Dwarf turned his back to the alley, and faced the T'skrang, holding up the small charm.

"This charm, however, will enable me to find their killer, beyond a shadow of a doubt. With it, I can communicate with their spirit easily. Obviously the killer didn't know this fact."

Out of the shadows of the alleyway a thin tendril whipped out and latched the tiny necklace, ripping it from the Dwarf's hands, and hurling back into the shadows.

"Thanks to youuu - Investigator Jurolisss." a voice hissed, "You have done for mee what I, regretably, could not… now, however, you will tell me all you know of Archon Kaylu of the Seven!"

The Captain, Mak'kara and Hassala all reached for their shortswords, but binding lashes whipped around their arms and legs as they did so.

Investigator Jurolis simply puffed on his pipe.
"You had better not have been lying." he said, glancing back at the struggling T'skrang.

The shadow burst forth, death's head itself on the shoulders of a man, seemingly 10 feet tall. His cloak billowed forth, and reached through the shadows up behind the 4 of them, threatening to envelope the entire alleyway and everyone in it.

"Fractomos!" Jurolis shouted, clapped his hands together around a small piece of living crystal he had produced from his pocket earlier. A shockwave blasted out from him, passing through everything and everyone nearby, the terrifying shadow included.

There was a sudden muffled crack, and an instant later, a black, shrouded body hit the ground face-first in front of him. The countenance of the alleyway immediately returned to normal, and the bindings on the T'skrang slipped away.

The body struggled in the throes of death for a moment, before becoming still. Jurolis calmly returned the stone to his pocket, and pushed it over. Shards of living crystal protruded from it's chest, blood gushing from several holes produced by the same. It's head lolled sickly to one side, facing Jurolis. Still-living eyes with a reptilian pupil seemed to dart back and forth, fixing on him, before fading away.

Jurolis stared for a moment.

"Iopos" he said. "And it seems like they are looking for one of the Seven."

Captain Viras spoke up for the first time. "The Seven? They are planning a journey into the badlands - they have been gathering resources and namegivers to their cause. Archon is not among them, though."

"Exactly why he makes an excellent target - they won't be able to aid him. Through him, they have all of them." said Jurolis.

The Tskrang nodded. "What now?" asked Mak'kara.

"I didn't think it was possible..." Jurolis said as he tapped out his pipe, and turned towards the street.

"What? Wait, where are you going?" asked Hassala

"We've got to find the Seven first."

"Why?" the T'skrang stammered.

"It sounds like things in the Badlands..."

Jurolis paused, lifting his glasses to his head, fixing them securely on his nose.

"...have gone from bad to worse."