The Collection Grows
Posted: Fri Dec 19, 2003 1:58 pmAltias Bromn, the Governor of Myrken Wood, rapped his knuckles against the door to Nathaniel's room.
He waited.
The knock was met only with silence. There was no response. Altias knew that Nathaniel must be nearby, he had seen the man’s horse in the stables behind the meetinghouse. Perhaps Nathaniel decided to go out on foot. But, no, he had said the day prior he would be at the meetinghouse just after sundown. It was Altias who was late this evening; Nathaniel was never late.
Altias tried the latch. Locked. The living chambers of the meetinghouse could be locked only from the inside. Nathaniel had to be inside. The muscular man must be sleeping.
Altias knocked again, louder. “Nathaniel! Are you in there?”
The silence crept into Altias’s stomach, curled up and died. It left a cold, putrid lump in his gut. Something was wrong. Nathaniel would not ignore him so and he did not sleep so heavy; this Altias knew. Something most certainly was wrong.
Altias quickly examined the door and its sturdy frame, his eyes not taking the time to appreciate the hand-carved wood that decorated the molding. He considered throwing his lithe form against the door, but thought twice of it. He wouldn’t be able to break down this door. He looked down the hallways and spotted the proper tool—a candelabrum. He walked down the hall and wrapped his porcelain-colored hands about its metallic shaft. He brought the burning candles up to face-height and blew all five candles out in turn. He then returned to the door.
He lined up the base of the candelabrum with the latch, ready to slam it against the door. He stopped and considered. He knocked on the door one last time. “Nathaniel?” He waited a few moments, hefted the candelabrum, and drove it against the door’s latch.
The thin metal gave easily, chinging softly against the floorboards on the opposite side of the door as the wooden portal flew open.
The world stopped. The air evacuated Altias’s lungs. Altias’s ears felt plugged, as if he were at the top of a tall mountain...or in a deep cave with a gentle breeze inside of it, coming from who knows where. The frozen pit in his stomach expanded, growing until it threatened to push bile up his throat. His hands released their grasp on the candelabrum, the metal frame, clanged against the floor.
The room was bathed in blood. The walls were splattered, the floor was awash with it. And there was Nathaniel, the tower of a man, clad only in his small clothes, lying on the floor. He had his back to Altias. Nathaniel’s black, drow-like flesh was even darker, thick with the clotted film of his blood. He didn’t move.
“Nathaniel?!” Altias raced to and knelt by the seasoned swordsman’s side, the Governor’s boots sticking with every step in the other man’s congealed loss. Altias put his hand to Nathaniel’s muscular shoulder, leaning him back, exposing his chest...or what would have been his chest, had the front part of his rib cage remained. Any memory of the scar that Altias had given Nathaniel across his well-chiseled pectoral was now just that—a memory.
“Oh...for the love of Goddess!” Altias recoiled, falling to his backside in the jelly of Nathaniel’s claret. “Help me! For the sake of the Goddess...someone please help me!”
[line][/line]
It didn’t take long for a couple men of Straka to arrive. The man in charge seemed young, but Perry Devik, a former captain renowned for his forensic ability, had trained him, so Altias did not get in the way. Lieutenant Gilfin knew that the Governor had nothing to do with this physically, it was clear by the man’s state and the lack of blood on his person.
But whoever killed Nathaniel Darve was big and he knew how to kill.
“Governor,” Lt. Gilfin said, “may I speak with you in the corridor please?”
Altias nodded and rose to speak with the Lieutenant.
“Your Honor, it’s fairly clear how this all transpired, and I must tell you, it is frightening.”
Altias straightened; he was the Governor. “What happened here, Lieutenant?”
“Well, whomever killed Lord Darve didn’t come through the door, but rather the floor. You probably noticed that the bed was shifted, but if you look under it, the floorboards are shattered up, something clearly and forcefully broke through the floor from below. That’s not all. Whatever it was that shot through the floor, also went through the bottom of the bed itself, because it severed some of the ropes, pierced the feather bedding, and tore through Lord Darve’s shoulder blade and out near his collarbone. That is clear by the wound on his left shoulder and the blood on the sheets and bedding.”
The Lieutenant paused and let that sink in before continuing.
“We can tell by the state of Lord Darve’s blood that this took place last evening or early morning, probably while Lord Darve was sleeping. He was clearly wakened by the attack and when whatever the round object was was removed from his chest and shoulder, he leapt from bed, drew up his blade and tried to fight...it.”
Altias gave the lieutenant a quick glance. “It?”
The lieutenant licked his lips and continued as if the question hadn’t been asked. “It came from beneath the foundation of the building and out from under the bed and fought Lord Darve. Though...fought isn’t a very good word. We are somewhat able to see the course of the fighting. Because of the heavy blood loss and the coagulation of the liquid, we can see a very interesting thing. The blood dried left two, very distinct boot prints on the floorboards, where no blood fell. The blood was all around these boots, but the feet never moved. It’s as if Lord Darve fought a man who didn’t even need to move his feet in order to fight back. And after the fight was won and Lord Darve was dead, the killer must have stood there, waiting for hours, unmoving. There is no other way for those boot prints to be like that in his blood.”
Altias just shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would someone do this?!”
Gilfin moved back into the room and Altias followed. “Well, I don’t want to rush to any conclusions, but I think I have an idea. No possessions were stolen. All of Lord Darve’s things are in relative order. His cloak, his jewelry...”
Altias eyes moved to the fur cloak that he had given to Nathaniel. The white fur was matted with blood, as if the animal from which the fur came had not been properly cleaned. The Governor’s gaze then moved to the ruby hair clips that Nathaniel wore; the clips sat, undisturbed on the desk near the bed.
“...there is only one thing missing, Governor, which I’m sure that you noticed.”
Altias nodded. He knew. He had seen. Altias opened his mouth, but had to close it and swallow again before the words would come, “His eyes.”
The lieutenant nodded silently.
Nathaniel Darve’s eyes were the color of purest honey. The irises seemed as it they had been cast of gold and sparkled with the light of heroism. They were the core of the man’s beauty in soldier form.
Altias knew who or what it was that had killed Nathaniel. He had hoped it that it had gone. But, silently, in a place that Altias dared not let his mind wander, he knew that the creature known as Baie had only been biding time...
...and it appeared that that time was drawing to a close.
He waited.
The knock was met only with silence. There was no response. Altias knew that Nathaniel must be nearby, he had seen the man’s horse in the stables behind the meetinghouse. Perhaps Nathaniel decided to go out on foot. But, no, he had said the day prior he would be at the meetinghouse just after sundown. It was Altias who was late this evening; Nathaniel was never late.
Altias tried the latch. Locked. The living chambers of the meetinghouse could be locked only from the inside. Nathaniel had to be inside. The muscular man must be sleeping.
Altias knocked again, louder. “Nathaniel! Are you in there?”
The silence crept into Altias’s stomach, curled up and died. It left a cold, putrid lump in his gut. Something was wrong. Nathaniel would not ignore him so and he did not sleep so heavy; this Altias knew. Something most certainly was wrong.
Altias quickly examined the door and its sturdy frame, his eyes not taking the time to appreciate the hand-carved wood that decorated the molding. He considered throwing his lithe form against the door, but thought twice of it. He wouldn’t be able to break down this door. He looked down the hallways and spotted the proper tool—a candelabrum. He walked down the hall and wrapped his porcelain-colored hands about its metallic shaft. He brought the burning candles up to face-height and blew all five candles out in turn. He then returned to the door.
He lined up the base of the candelabrum with the latch, ready to slam it against the door. He stopped and considered. He knocked on the door one last time. “Nathaniel?” He waited a few moments, hefted the candelabrum, and drove it against the door’s latch.
The thin metal gave easily, chinging softly against the floorboards on the opposite side of the door as the wooden portal flew open.
The world stopped. The air evacuated Altias’s lungs. Altias’s ears felt plugged, as if he were at the top of a tall mountain...or in a deep cave with a gentle breeze inside of it, coming from who knows where. The frozen pit in his stomach expanded, growing until it threatened to push bile up his throat. His hands released their grasp on the candelabrum, the metal frame, clanged against the floor.
The room was bathed in blood. The walls were splattered, the floor was awash with it. And there was Nathaniel, the tower of a man, clad only in his small clothes, lying on the floor. He had his back to Altias. Nathaniel’s black, drow-like flesh was even darker, thick with the clotted film of his blood. He didn’t move.
“Nathaniel?!” Altias raced to and knelt by the seasoned swordsman’s side, the Governor’s boots sticking with every step in the other man’s congealed loss. Altias put his hand to Nathaniel’s muscular shoulder, leaning him back, exposing his chest...or what would have been his chest, had the front part of his rib cage remained. Any memory of the scar that Altias had given Nathaniel across his well-chiseled pectoral was now just that—a memory.
“Oh...for the love of Goddess!” Altias recoiled, falling to his backside in the jelly of Nathaniel’s claret. “Help me! For the sake of the Goddess...someone please help me!”
[line][/line]
It didn’t take long for a couple men of Straka to arrive. The man in charge seemed young, but Perry Devik, a former captain renowned for his forensic ability, had trained him, so Altias did not get in the way. Lieutenant Gilfin knew that the Governor had nothing to do with this physically, it was clear by the man’s state and the lack of blood on his person.
But whoever killed Nathaniel Darve was big and he knew how to kill.
“Governor,” Lt. Gilfin said, “may I speak with you in the corridor please?”
Altias nodded and rose to speak with the Lieutenant.
“Your Honor, it’s fairly clear how this all transpired, and I must tell you, it is frightening.”
Altias straightened; he was the Governor. “What happened here, Lieutenant?”
“Well, whomever killed Lord Darve didn’t come through the door, but rather the floor. You probably noticed that the bed was shifted, but if you look under it, the floorboards are shattered up, something clearly and forcefully broke through the floor from below. That’s not all. Whatever it was that shot through the floor, also went through the bottom of the bed itself, because it severed some of the ropes, pierced the feather bedding, and tore through Lord Darve’s shoulder blade and out near his collarbone. That is clear by the wound on his left shoulder and the blood on the sheets and bedding.”
The Lieutenant paused and let that sink in before continuing.
“We can tell by the state of Lord Darve’s blood that this took place last evening or early morning, probably while Lord Darve was sleeping. He was clearly wakened by the attack and when whatever the round object was was removed from his chest and shoulder, he leapt from bed, drew up his blade and tried to fight...it.”
Altias gave the lieutenant a quick glance. “It?”
The lieutenant licked his lips and continued as if the question hadn’t been asked. “It came from beneath the foundation of the building and out from under the bed and fought Lord Darve. Though...fought isn’t a very good word. We are somewhat able to see the course of the fighting. Because of the heavy blood loss and the coagulation of the liquid, we can see a very interesting thing. The blood dried left two, very distinct boot prints on the floorboards, where no blood fell. The blood was all around these boots, but the feet never moved. It’s as if Lord Darve fought a man who didn’t even need to move his feet in order to fight back. And after the fight was won and Lord Darve was dead, the killer must have stood there, waiting for hours, unmoving. There is no other way for those boot prints to be like that in his blood.”
Altias just shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would someone do this?!”
Gilfin moved back into the room and Altias followed. “Well, I don’t want to rush to any conclusions, but I think I have an idea. No possessions were stolen. All of Lord Darve’s things are in relative order. His cloak, his jewelry...”
Altias eyes moved to the fur cloak that he had given to Nathaniel. The white fur was matted with blood, as if the animal from which the fur came had not been properly cleaned. The Governor’s gaze then moved to the ruby hair clips that Nathaniel wore; the clips sat, undisturbed on the desk near the bed.
“...there is only one thing missing, Governor, which I’m sure that you noticed.”
Altias nodded. He knew. He had seen. Altias opened his mouth, but had to close it and swallow again before the words would come, “His eyes.”
The lieutenant nodded silently.
Nathaniel Darve’s eyes were the color of purest honey. The irises seemed as it they had been cast of gold and sparkled with the light of heroism. They were the core of the man’s beauty in soldier form.
Altias knew who or what it was that had killed Nathaniel. He had hoped it that it had gone. But, silently, in a place that Altias dared not let his mind wander, he knew that the creature known as Baie had only been biding time...
...and it appeared that that time was drawing to a close.