“Report,” barked the stern Duty Captain of the City Guard to the sub-altern as he arrived.
As the sub-altern paused to gather his wits and check his notebook, the Captain perused the scene with narrowed eyes. The stiffened, gnawed on remains of a night elven rogue was laid in the grass nearby. The bleeding corpses of two of the night watch, both his men, lay next to the elf while two other of his men vomited in the bushes nearby pale and sweating from fear or horror. Others kept the growing crowd back while three peasant neighbors lolled on their haunches obviously having been questioned on the night’s events. Nearby the fire brigade stood by with their engines and quieting the hippogriff used to drop waterbuckets on burning houses. Nearby, a dusty, dark cloaked man in SI:7 garb stared into the house and scribbled into a notebook.
Looking up, he assessed the smoking remains of the decrepit house’s soggy yet still smoking chimney that fouled the crisp night air. Presumably, it was the source of the enormous fireworks explosion that had rocked the city some 30 minutes ago. Turning back, he eyed his subordinate as he began.
“Sir…”, the sub-altern paused and wiped his mouth weakly before beginning again. “Sir,” I am Sub-Altern Athan Redwood and am responsible for the Night Patrol here and Special Reaction Squad here in the Old City.”
His voice gaining strength from long habit of reporting the sub-altern continued, “As the clock struck 0400 hours, the chimney of this house exploded in fireworks that awoke the city. The patrol under Sergeant James Whitecomb responded to this site by 0406 and forced entry into the foyer of the house in the Name of the King. Both SGT Whitcomb an Private Bailey were killed by a poisoned man trap laid as they attempted to hastily penetrate further into the house.”
Pausing, the sub-altern pointed at the two dead Nightwatchmen and continued, “The Special Reaction Squad under Knights-Sergeant Halley Weaver and nine men arrived at 0408. Upon inspecting the foyer, the SRS identified gang warning runes and proceeded to remove our men and wisely deciding to secure the scene and seek SI: 7 assistance in defusing any other booby-traps.”
Nodding to the cloaked figure, “Sub-Agent “Driscoll” arrived at 0412 and proceeded to clear the house. There were four additional man-killing traps in addition to the one that killed the night elf rogue. The rogue has tentatively been identified as Kayla Windflower and has been dead for about a three to four weeks. The house belongs to a dwarven entrepreneur, one Bolger Irontrowel who infrequents the city and had something of a shady reputation.”
Pausing and swallowing palely, “I say ‘had’, sir, as we found Mr Irontrowel deeper inside the building. He is, ummm, ‘alive’ but will not be able to tell us what happened.”
“Why is that?”, said the Captain looking at his subordinate.
Swallowing, the sub-altern continued, “Mr. Irontrowel was found half consumed by repeated dipping into a vat of larval acid. His tongue, fingers, and one ear were removed. Even if he could be healed, his mind…his mind is ‘gone’. The filthy animal who did this chained him into a contraption that used an arcanite power source to dip the poor man into the acid vat and then heal him from an injectable healing potion. The pendulum that ran the assembly repeated the process precisely every 20 minutes or at least until the power source ran out at which point the fireworks went off.”
Blanching, the Captain stared at his minion, “How long?”
“Sir, I’d estimate at least 6 weeks to 2 months.” He paused a moment and drew closer to the Captain and whispered. “Sir, we found other things, dark things, and dark tidings. I’m not sure if Sub-Agent Driscoll wants this repeated, but we found a message to SI: 7, a troll fetish to some Loa call ‘Meuh’zla’, and a sigul.
“The message seems simple enough—Irontrowel’s tongue was nailed to the wall and a note in troll and common stated, ‘Turncoats and traitors get the their reward. The Wormwood Undermarket watches.’ I think Irontrowel was coerced or was double-dealing the Stormwind City blackmarket probably through SI: 7. Our local sources have clammed up in recent weeks, I'm guessing probably from the disappearance or companions of the rogue Windflower who were likely trying to contact Irontrowel for ‘business’. As a result, we currently have very little idea or influence on is happening in the Old Town blackmarket.”
“I have no idea what the fetish means, but Driscoll murmured the name ‘Kutamori’. If the tales from Booty Bay are true and he is in the city……”
Pausing, the sub-altern looked back at the house and shivered, “Sir, the sigul was that of the Modas il Toralar.”
As the sub-altern paused to gather his wits and check his notebook, the Captain perused the scene with narrowed eyes. The stiffened, gnawed on remains of a night elven rogue was laid in the grass nearby. The bleeding corpses of two of the night watch, both his men, lay next to the elf while two other of his men vomited in the bushes nearby pale and sweating from fear or horror. Others kept the growing crowd back while three peasant neighbors lolled on their haunches obviously having been questioned on the night’s events. Nearby the fire brigade stood by with their engines and quieting the hippogriff used to drop waterbuckets on burning houses. Nearby, a dusty, dark cloaked man in SI:7 garb stared into the house and scribbled into a notebook.
Looking up, he assessed the smoking remains of the decrepit house’s soggy yet still smoking chimney that fouled the crisp night air. Presumably, it was the source of the enormous fireworks explosion that had rocked the city some 30 minutes ago. Turning back, he eyed his subordinate as he began.
“Sir…”, the sub-altern paused and wiped his mouth weakly before beginning again. “Sir,” I am Sub-Altern Athan Redwood and am responsible for the Night Patrol here and Special Reaction Squad here in the Old City.”
His voice gaining strength from long habit of reporting the sub-altern continued, “As the clock struck 0400 hours, the chimney of this house exploded in fireworks that awoke the city. The patrol under Sergeant James Whitecomb responded to this site by 0406 and forced entry into the foyer of the house in the Name of the King. Both SGT Whitcomb an Private Bailey were killed by a poisoned man trap laid as they attempted to hastily penetrate further into the house.”
Pausing, the sub-altern pointed at the two dead Nightwatchmen and continued, “The Special Reaction Squad under Knights-Sergeant Halley Weaver and nine men arrived at 0408. Upon inspecting the foyer, the SRS identified gang warning runes and proceeded to remove our men and wisely deciding to secure the scene and seek SI: 7 assistance in defusing any other booby-traps.”
Nodding to the cloaked figure, “Sub-Agent “Driscoll” arrived at 0412 and proceeded to clear the house. There were four additional man-killing traps in addition to the one that killed the night elf rogue. The rogue has tentatively been identified as Kayla Windflower and has been dead for about a three to four weeks. The house belongs to a dwarven entrepreneur, one Bolger Irontrowel who infrequents the city and had something of a shady reputation.”
Pausing and swallowing palely, “I say ‘had’, sir, as we found Mr Irontrowel deeper inside the building. He is, ummm, ‘alive’ but will not be able to tell us what happened.”
“Why is that?”, said the Captain looking at his subordinate.
Swallowing, the sub-altern continued, “Mr. Irontrowel was found half consumed by repeated dipping into a vat of larval acid. His tongue, fingers, and one ear were removed. Even if he could be healed, his mind…his mind is ‘gone’. The filthy animal who did this chained him into a contraption that used an arcanite power source to dip the poor man into the acid vat and then heal him from an injectable healing potion. The pendulum that ran the assembly repeated the process precisely every 20 minutes or at least until the power source ran out at which point the fireworks went off.”
Blanching, the Captain stared at his minion, “How long?”
“Sir, I’d estimate at least 6 weeks to 2 months.” He paused a moment and drew closer to the Captain and whispered. “Sir, we found other things, dark things, and dark tidings. I’m not sure if Sub-Agent Driscoll wants this repeated, but we found a message to SI: 7, a troll fetish to some Loa call ‘Meuh’zla’, and a sigul.
“The message seems simple enough—Irontrowel’s tongue was nailed to the wall and a note in troll and common stated, ‘Turncoats and traitors get the their reward. The Wormwood Undermarket watches.’ I think Irontrowel was coerced or was double-dealing the Stormwind City blackmarket probably through SI: 7. Our local sources have clammed up in recent weeks, I'm guessing probably from the disappearance or companions of the rogue Windflower who were likely trying to contact Irontrowel for ‘business’. As a result, we currently have very little idea or influence on is happening in the Old Town blackmarket.”
“I have no idea what the fetish means, but Driscoll murmured the name ‘Kutamori’. If the tales from Booty Bay are true and he is in the city……”
Pausing, the sub-altern looked back at the house and shivered, “Sir, the sigul was that of the Modas il Toralar.”
Edited by Kutamori on 10/6/2013 7:10 PM PDT
