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BREAKING NEWS: Second Slaying in Gendarran Fields.

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Local Newspapers wrote:
A warning to our readers: the nature of this crime has been a graphic and violent one, leaving many in shock and horror.

BREAKING NEWS: Another death has struck the Gendarran Fields region of Kryta. The body of Simon Zervas, age thirty, has been found in Nebo Terrance after having been thrown down the well in the center of town. His body was pulled free before local Seraph arrived on the scene, though they were left with more questions than answers. Heavy marks on his throat indicate strangulation, however first responders also reported that Zervas had his tongue cut clean off. Unlike Rhea Ratta's death, no poem has been found with Zervas, leading authorities to believe this could be the work of a copy cat killer.

Authorities have even less of a lead than what they managed to obtain in the Rhea Ratta case. One suspected witness, Rosewick Crane, has refused to speak to the Seraph investigators so far. Confusion and horror have erupted in the town of Nebo Terrace, with citizens now worried about one or several killers and the looming centaur threat. Several townsfolk still cry out in rage, demanding answers for the murder of Rhea Ratta, and now the tragic and violent murder of Simon Zervas.

Seraph officials are now asking the people of Gendarran to report any and all suspicious activity immediately, as well as beginning a thorough questioning of travelers coming in and out of the townships. No word yet from Minister Elect Thermogan or whether this will change his event in the town this Wednesday.

Posted Sep 22, 14 · OP · Last edited Sep 22, 14

From the confinement of the sturdy walls of Aldcourt Manor, the familiar figure of a short statured noblewoman propped her form against the edge of a substantially sized dining table. The woman clutched the morning newspaper within the palms of her hands, exhaling a tired sigh from her parted lips. Viola had received the local newspaper from Gendarren on behalf of one of her parents couriers. Copy cat killer... tongue cut clean... The woman shook her head, displeased as she tossed the newspaper upon the table.

The headline itself was gruesome and the entirety of the article was horrifically repulsive. Who is this Simon Zervas? Just a simpleton who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was this a particularly designed attack on the man? What of Mister Crane, how shall he be be so forced into speaking to Seraph officials. The Seraph will need more than just their Privates to extract information from a man who has been virtually and most probably traumatised by witnessing such an horrendous act of violence upon another human. Perhaps, Minister-Candidate Thermogan will address this issue, possibly with the addition of more guards and security, if the event goes to plan.

Her hands curled around the table's edge, nails digging into the ivory cloth that covered the middle of the table itself. With a bare face of make-up, Viola paced around the dining room... thoughts endlessly running through her mind as she furrowed her brow and narrowed her piercing amethyst gaze. Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the murderous lands? Viola collected the ends of her night gown, the balls of her feet pressed into the cold marble tiles as she sped off in the opposite direction from her early morning meal.
What she lacks in poetry, she makes up for in venom.
Posted Sep 22, 14 · Last edited Sep 22, 14

Her expression presented horror in it's prime. Keeping a firm grip on the paper, the girl stared wide-eyed at the report. strangulation; Rhea Ratta case; tongue cut clean off. She found herself disgusted -- horrified, even. She had witnessed many crimes, though none as heinous as this. It was sickening, and she would not stand idly by. She had to find Black -- or someone. Cosette could not leave without answers, no; that would just not work.

Posted Sep 23, 14

The paper lays discarded on the top of the mahogany desk with TERROR STRIKES ONCE MORE glaring up at him. The lack of a poem meant the lack of a pattern according to the reporter, but tearing someone's tongue out and putting them in a well wasn't necessarily an act of passion. More likely it was meticulously planned -- perhaps more than the previous Ratta murder.

Alurien's fingers work across his brow as he rests heavily against the arms of his leather backed chair. Maybe Zervas had intended to come forward with something -- taking the tongue is a symbolic gesture, after all (or was it merely a trophy, he wonders. Had Ratta's tongue been severed as well?). But, Ratta's death had been clean without reported signs of strangulation. Was Zervas left with hand-shaped bruises across his throat? Why throw a dead man into a well -- and if so how did they know he was there? Or fish him out after? And if hung by rope or chain, why do it where Zervas wouldn't be on display?

The lack of note makes him feel as though he's moving blindly through the dark. He can't place anything without more information. Out of frustration, his hand curl suddenly before banging down against the arm of the chair.

Two weeks, two murders, and not even a lead beyond a Rosewick Crane and a girl in muddy leathers. He's been too distracted by problems in the Reach to see the bigger picture.
Posted Sep 23, 14

The ugly amalgamation of red matchstick lines, all trembling and uncultivated with the finesse of a trained hand, stared up at her form her desk. It was an aesthetic sin unearthed from a plain white envelope. That horrible child's writing juxtaposed against the strata of order and elegant penmanship that littered her mahogany desk in layers. There were leaflets and pamphlets, letters and dossiers; such a myriad of the written word that it was as innumerous as the falling of gilded leaves on a chilly autumnal day.

"Go fetch me the day's paper, boy," she commanded to the courier who'd been pulled from his bed in the servant's quarters in the middle of the night.

Quivering hands delivered to her the paper and she read the headlines over for a second time that day. Surely the poorly written note and these murders couldn't be connected. Hawkish blues flit back to the note staring up at her from her desk. How long had it been in her letterbox? Which had come first? The note or the publication of the crime? She slapped the newspaper onto her desk. Fervently she devoted herself to scribbling a few notes on leaves of parchment.

"Take this one to the Commander of the Ministry Guard," she said before setting wax stick to the flame of candle and sealing it. "This one goes to Jakob Previte, and this one to Lord-Lieutenant Cecil Saville. Don't you stop until you've put each of these letters into their respective hands," she instructed before likewise sealing and handing over the last two letters.

"After they're delivered fetch me Lynne and a Seraph. Tell the Seraph we've possibly got evidence linking that man hanging in the well and the Ratta girl."

As the boy rushed out of the office, Gia sank back into the fragrant leather of her wing-back, and read the ominous words over again.

ding dong bell
poor man is in the well.
what a pitiful way to go,
hanging by the noose so low.
Posted Sep 23, 14 · Last edited Sep 23, 14
Outside the walls of Nebo Terrace...

A thick veil of fog caressed the walls of the small town, painting the landscape in blues and light grays. Small hills and quiet houses hid beneath the moist blanket, and the smell of turned, wet soil clung to the land like new graves. A pale and crisp cold came with the morning dew, a chill reminiscent of the latest act of savagery—no, calculated violence, which descended upon the already turbulent fields of Gendarran like an air heavy with tension; a nameless fury stretching its long arm.

"Like I said, I have relatives here in need of me." Tessa's rough and weary voice echoed like an irritated bark in the fog. She shrugged into her leather coat, keeping her callous hands within its pockets. She listened to the tone of the settlement: no voices, no waking townsfolk leaving their houses for the day's work, no children nor animals in the streets. She didn't need a newspaper headline screaming at her about death and crime, Nebo Terrace reeked of it already.

"Just followin' orders, ma'am. There's been a terrible murder in the town, we've been instructed to interrogate all who come and go because of it." The Seraph woman replied lazily, her eyes red and half-lidded from a sleepless night, no doubt. Her armor clinked and clanked as she shifted uncomfortably in it, resting her back against a pole before folding her arms and throwing a quick nod at the town entrance. "Don't be causin' any trouble in there, miss. The soldiers are all awfully jumpy today, and you can't really blame 'em," she let out a drained sigh with those words.

"I'll keep that in mind," Tessa grumbled back as she slouched into the town's center. She'd been stopped nearly four times already by patrols and even travelers, some to question her and others to warn her. She'd even heard old fisherwomen talk of omens and curses, one in particular blaming a centaur shaman for the atrocities. Centaurs don't kill like this, she thought as she watched some of the Seraph in the plaza. Other monsters do.

Posted Sep 23, 14 · Last edited Sep 23, 14
Dᴀʀᴋɴᴇss sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴇᴅ.
Posted Sep 23, 14
ᴅɪᴠɪɴɪᴛʏ's ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ, ʀᴜʀɪᴋᴛᴏɴ

She had drawn the Hanged Man at breakfast. The Hanged Man meant suspension, restriction, sacrifice, martyrdom for a Purpose.. She hated when the cards were literal.

Rosewick discovered the newspaper after she'd arrived in the capital. Her eyes caught on the text like each letter was a bramble, gripping the paper white-knuckled.

One suspected witness, Rosewick Crane, has refused to speak to the Seraph investigators so far.

"Madame Lydia."


"Madame Lydia?"

..Rosewick Crane..

"Madame Lydia!"

Rosewick, or 'Madame Lydia', jumped to attention. "Pardon," came her voice in an soprano-sweet whisper. "Let us begin the seance, then. You found the locket, I hope.. ?" She took the arm of a black-swathed noblewoman like a mother, guiding her aside. There was a nervous look over a shoulder at the fallen newspaper. She knew that she'd find her business crowded later, swollen with conspiracy. Fame, even brief, was not beneficial to her work.
Lucretia Caetronius | haruspex & soulmonger | profile | connections
Posted Sep 23, 14 · Last edited Sep 23, 14
The Office of Gresystone - The Reach

Braxis sighed as the usual mail arrived to his Minister office, the walls covered in Seraph decor ranging from Seraph Banners of the companies he has served in Osprey, Falcon, Harrier, various well used shields and Seraph weapons, and old war maps. He placed his finalize payment papers handling the cost for his Greystone Karnaval aside as he grabbed his mail and began to hum and old Ascalonian tune as he walked home.

The Volundir City Manor - The Reach

He entered the Volundir Manor in Rurikton greeting his adoptive daughter and uncle as he passed them through the halls making his way to his private study. He set the pile of letters and other various mail on the dark wooden desk of his as he grabbed a half empty bottle of brandy and went to pour himself a glass. As the amber liquid neared his lips, suddenly he lowered the drink. Causing the brandy to retreat back down into the glass as he looked to something that was sticking out to him from his pile of mail. He tilted his head noticing a small, unknown box that was partly hidden under some of the letters. No note, no message, no name of a sender nor place of origin.

The Minister tilted his head curiously and suspiciously as he took the mysterious box and went to open it. He pick up an odd velvet like black pouch something felt amiss to him, and at the same time this all seemed familiar to him. He pinched the black strings between his fingers as he opened the pouch. The pouched was turned over and its contents dumped onto his desk, his face paled at what he saw. The gods were cruel to him tonight his mind raced to the past and replayed this similar scene, another place, another time. He felt himself faltering as failure sang tauntingly in his head over and over again, until a small voice spoke up.

"Daddy?" Sayomi called as she opened the door. The color rushed back to his skin as he slowly came back to the present day, and out of his war and horror torn mind. He looked to her and quickly used his body to block the sight of the severed tongue that was dipped in silver. "You were supposed to take my to the Settlement for more sparring lessons!" She reminded him. He shook his head quickly "Later, head to bed now." he commanded in his usual serious tone she sighed lightly and nodded "Yes father.." she said as she left the room. His Uncle Alexander entered the room after her "Whats wrong kiddo?" His aging uncle requested from him. Braxis showed him the tongue on the desk, Alexander once known as "Micklov" narrowed his eyes "What in the Sixs name is that?" he said slightly disgusted and mostly confused

"I know not of what it means, who sent it or why. Send word to Commander Wong, I will send word to Commander Valister." Alexander nodded his head to his nephew the house lord. "You owe me a bottle of rum for this." He added in with a light chuckle as he left the room, Braxis shortly followed him out. On his way requested for two of his ministry guards at his home to watch over his daughters room like if they were hawks.
Posted Sep 23, 14 · Last edited Sep 23, 14
Clarine gazed out groggily accross her desk. Her daily paper, her note-taking materials, a slew of folders and a steaming cup of coffee awaited her. Pale fingers wrapped around the mug as she brought the creamy golden liquid to her lips. Swallowing her eyes slowly focused, squinting at the paper folded neatly there. "...Nebo Terrace..." she murmered, before the name on the front page catches her sleepy attention.

With furrowed platinum brows the womans hands seek out and then slide onto her face her silver-framed glasses. Her other hand sets down the glass of coffee, it's creamy contents spilling over the edge unnoticed. Pursing her lips, she reads over the headline, her form sitting further upright as she continues the article in shock. Setting down the paper in her lap she takes a deep breath, before glancing over it one more time. "By the gods...I...Orson..."

With a blur of silks and satins, the woman practically flies out of her seat, her purse and paper draped over her shoulder and under her arm respectively, her voice raising as she heads out the door. "Mister. Thermogan!"
Posted Sep 23, 14
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