The Weight of Vestments - Ch 1) Murder! Murder!
"Permit, fair citizen! I show you but one of my fine trinkets that you may have a lighter smile and me a heavier wallet! Only a glance, sir, and you will need no more words of mine to guide you."
"Anything, sir, to have no words more of you."
The fox in green cap wheels to his street cart to obscure an artifact from view as he carefully holds both cloth and catch atop a nimble paw. "There's not a finer item to be had in this town, and so small for a traveler such as we. I'd sooner keep it were not my pocket now already-"
A sale is tragically cut short as the standing timber wolf is yanked away by the grip of an equine maiden easily twice his strength. "Don't fuss with local vendors Malachi, we've business to attend. Calow wants this taken care of post haste." so spoken, a flat, unyielding tone. The stern words are wasted as the grip of the girl serves both instruction and means by which the wolf is brought along.
"Would you release me now? Let a shade of free will that I might convince you I earnestly seek the same as you!" Brief and pleading words are met with a halted horse, who turns to face the boy as the blood drains from his face.
"Listen here naive. You have no freedoms with me. I sought else many others to avoid your assignment, and wish to replace you at first moment with an Abbot not so inexperienced that he becomes another bit of cargo I must fret over like you! Your wealthy parents are what bought you license to attend schools, not talent, and it was by politicking, not talent, you rose to agency! I detest you, but you are my junior cooperative and if you speak without cause like that again it will take more than a wand to fix how I'll silence that mouth!"
The wolf is most unmetered. The scolding gathered quite the crowd of the market, a realization that percolates slowly over the burning embers of embarrassment. The hood is pulled up to hide bending ears as the tangent of his Order's robe is abused by the undertaking of travel again insisted by the female's grip. Tension melts only meagerly as the two pace out of town to a house abreast a hill overlooking the marketplace wherein their mounts were left. Out more of tire than generosity, the mare does release his wrist as they approach the enfeebled architecture of the insect-infested building before them.
A steady rap on the door is met with no greeting. She tries again to further experience a lack of welcome, or an absence within. "Open! We are inspectors of the Archmagical Order and we are here under lawful inspection!" Not even her powerful command garners a response from within, however.
"I think not anyone pres... sent." speaks the mellow wolf, word interrupted by an icy stare demanding of further silence. With one more attempt the Abbot, named Aimly by her fellows, a response is finally arrived at. With a howling blast the door rockets from its hinges and catches the girl off her guard. Malachi too is knocked from his feet by the rush of wind emanating from the doorway as a cry is heard vaguely among the noise, a negative claim about both, before a new whirlwind is heard. Aimly wretches the door from herself and jumps to her feet, and without implement retorts with an inflammatory incantation. The ball of heat travels swiftly through the door but the unclear figure at which it was aimed is gone in the cloud of teleportation before contact, and the fire splashes against the dried timber, setting it instantly ablaze. To the first useful act of Malachi since they arrived, he douses the flame, thinking of any traces of the unlawful magic present they had been sent to investigate. Aimly grunts in frustration, a puff from her nostrils as if she were screaming within.
"Fukking leaper! Cowardly swine! You laid damages on my robe and I'll hang you just for that running scum! Now you've called out my anger!" Despite the situation, the brown wolf's smile perks. This was the most passionate he had seen his partner yet, and in a direction other than his. Indeed it was his first action whatsoever in duties of an Abbot. He only departed from his college a month ago, and in that time he had forgone Order training, something typically allowed only to talented mages, and worn the deep red robes he had wanted since a child. "Aimly" had he met only a week in twain ago, as they departed for this town, and she had shown her displeasure of it since that very moment.
Her real name, which he had not yet heard, was Emily. The moniker was granted her by an anonymous classmate of her training for stopping a robbery on a street, one drunken night following examinations. The method was less than those of legend. After ordering the boy to stop when she saw the act, she took aim at him and cast an improper spell wildly off target, knocking down the butcher's sign, which resulted well enough the stopping of the fleeing cutpurse. Telling that story on the two day ride was nigh the only drop of pleasant demeanor he had seen on her face, the only thing to him to say her mood hid a different person, though her distaste for him was likely completely genuine.
Thoughts jumping back to the deeds at hand, Malachi steps over the door woefully wretched from its home and entered the freshly dampened house. The mare beats him through the doorway and in a fading spite she begins to well explore the building they now investigate. The bitter smoke filling the air alerts the more senior as she mutters, "kinder ash. You remember what that is from your schooling?" The excitement of participating in a real Order investigation is overwhelming to the young wolf. Precipitously, he fumbles to begin his explanation.
"Certainly I do! It's a fungal plant dredged of it marrow and roasted to a grayish pulp before being beaten into a dry ash by mortar. Just then the slightest bit of willowgreen oil is drop-"
"Used by leatherworkers and sorcerers. And very hard to find." She searches a cabinet cheaply built of fastened waste wood as poorly held together as the building it stood in, and her words trickle from her in a manner familiar to those in absence of the wolf. "No, Malachi. Though my joy abounds to know your head isn't completely empty the points of alchemy are only a branch of what is interesting to the investigator. You should have asked first of this room how kinder ash could be present in such a poor abode." The knob creaks as the nimble fingers pry, and with squeaky yield the door opens with corroded agitation. Albeit the feat is not remarkable on a premise with so few places of storage, the search quickly reveals a waxed pouch of parchment.
She extracts the envelope with delicacy and lays it carefully open. "This can't be the whole of it. I hope you know that it would take a few more of this amount to cast port as he did. We should find the bulk of it; it may bear a mark on its drum useful to us." Half a decade only had she on her junior partner, but the rapidity of the intellect whirring before his eyes spoke to a truly talented mage. Perhaps for the first time, there was a twinge of guilt on his mind to her claims. Perhaps he hadn't earned his commission. Malachi turns on his heels and examines the only other piece of furniture in the sad structure. A single, gray, aged table placed up against a window missing its glass. Of course, as he thought, this house may never have held something as urban as glass. This mud floor and molding walls was all some heart needed to call home. That thought slid over his mind with sarcasm. Young he may be, but that this building hadn't served legal purpose for quite some time was a fact quite obvious to even him.
Turning himself under the table with palms affixed to its edge, he discovers a poorly hidden drawer at center which quickly reveals a small tin labeled appropriately "Kinder Ash, Morsen Purity, Bali Alchemical Products." The simple script amused the wolf as smug self-appreciation flowed with the recognition of the magic involved in producing that label, a printing spell used often by manufacturers of magical reagents. "I've found something clearly guild produced! Back town-ward I spotted a tannery that might have once owned this tin."
The mare smiles slightly, with a tilted head unprepared for such ready deduction. "Shockingly you have something less than foolish to add. Yes, it would be good to check this against their inventory." The little, hanging mentor/student moment is interrupted by the dull creak of the roof, whose scarred existence now betrayed them to the sprinkling rains above. "Back to the inn for now. I've a rain ward in my saddle bag I seek to use. What hour is it now? A certain wooden collision robbed me of that information." As way was made toward the doorway, a scrap of parchment failed to avoid the notice of the mare. "Fetch that, what is it?" The wolf reached over at the flittering article as it darted with artificial motivation toward the grasp of the horse. "Make use of your tools, rich wolf. Faith knows you have many available, however uncommendable they may be." A sardonic grin wears without disguise on her face as one paw grips the page and another sheathes a wand within the robe's opposing sleeve.
Unfurling the tightly bound up tube of parchment a single unusual symbol is revealed, but only partially. The wolf comes beside and cranes over to have a glance at the icon, but the tube is closed again before it is fully revealed. "It would be unwise to open this" speaks again the voice of greater experience. "A lone symbol on paper may be an enchanted scroll, opening it may trigger its effect." She nudges the wolf away from her taller shoulder as she slips the roll into a parchment sack that lay empty on her hip. The last of the barren space explored and any relevant items in cargo they once again move to leave. There is a steadily encroaching mist on the field as the two don their hoods to gain a bit of resilience to the cold rain. The wolf is surprised by the poor climate of the waterfall as he tucks his paws into sleeves for warmth. Noticing the scrawny clutching beside her, she only looks over at the prevailing mist shining golden in the still steady sunlight of late afternoon. "We're near the Adronian Sea, only a few miles. The rains this close to the shore heed no breadth of the summer's warmth."
Meanwhile a cloaked figure masquerades in broad and rainy daylight away to a stable. The action of a long, silvered dagger draws blood and cry from the two horses within, unfortunate enough to carry the Order's hip brand. The watch-hand jumps from his tool station at the sound, still bearing a hot- leather prod, as he bolts toward the barn door. The door flies open under his paw and readies he only three more steps toward the hall corner before the same knife silences his alarm most effectively.
"Murder! Murder!" cries a distressed tavern-maiden, but moments behind the watch-hand to investigate the stable. The assailant is gone, and she runs for the town-side door to run toward the marketplace, the typical location of any town guard. "Murder!" she shouts a third time as several interested citizens begin to gravitate towards her and her blood-soaked apron. Two helmeted snouts pivot towards the shriek and away from their evening meal on a tavern's porch, and in unison they stand from their chairs and draw short swords. Pushing their way through the crowd now gathered fully at the ghastly skunk they mutter over and over "Move, Make Way!" while wielding their weapons high over the crowd.
Just as they reach her the two Abbots enter the market square from the opposite corner, drenched and cold, with only now the rain beginning to abate. The crowd catches their notice readily and a guardsman extracts himself at the sight of their deep red garb. "Disperse!" he orders the crowd. "You, boy. Fetch the Sundre parents to collect their daughter." The firm gesture of the canine form indicates a younger wolf of teen age. He only nods, still stricken with the image of the first blood of another person to meet his eyes. He only hesitates a few moments before he darts away toward the corner of the square between both the Sundre girl's and the Abbots' entry, the northerly road out. The guardsman continues to make pace towards the Abbots as he extracts a scroll from his belt, sword already sheathed. Upon unfurling a rocket erupts from the parchment, incinerating it in a flash of white light as a firework intelligently dodges a hall's spire up and up, finally exploding into a bright red and white symbol. The symbol of a red feral wolf growling at a bright white sword is that of the province in which the town resides and now it glows in sparks above the market. An audible, loud bell rings from the site of the blast. The image hangs for several moments burning brightly, with the bell continuously toning.
Within minutes guard pours from every alleyway nearby in town, and continuously over the next few minutes off-duty members prepare themselves and make way to the square. A woman appearing of some importance has arrived at the steps of the town hall and leads the mass of a dozen guardsmen, now bearing buckler shields, toward the market-edge stable. Meanwhile the signaling canine has halted the two Abbots. He speaks with years, the male obviously over thirty of them in age. "Man killed in the sables, only else injured were your mounts, also slain. Order's sent two Abbots and within the day a townsman is slaughtered forestall'n the deeds of enemies yourn. You'll not leave afore the Capitan's dismissed you." The gaze is strong, and the canine, though shorter than the mare by nearly a foot, stoutly stands, not to be defied. She only nods. The experienced mage finds herself at loss of words, never before facing a stalking foe such as this.
"Are your guard to storm the stable? The soul responsible is using magic and it may be to no good end without preparedness." Her tone is lacking is characteristic firmness.
"Worry'nt yourselves. Warding shields are with us." He gestures to the town hall. "Wait there for our return." The guard pulls himself away as two persons arrive in tandem of the young wolf boy; skunks, and likely the Sundre parents. The guard goes to them to aid in their comfort. The two Abbots make way toward the hall.
The energetic wolf looks candidly to his semi-decade elder for a sign of what next to do, only met by a visage full of doubt and a look that sees far past the market and even the town wholly. "Should we not off to the stables?" spouts from him with temperament of disbelief. "What upon their need of our skill? They may be injured!" Malachi is lost between excitement and morbid fascination. "Do often violent acts arise these investigations?" With flickering confidence the mare betrays her youth for the first time in the wolf's presence. She stares off in vague concern for a moment before any sort of resolve begins to rise again, only shaking her head. Aimly seats herself on the top stair, unsure of what to do with her body as no comfortable posture is to be found.
"No," she finally says with an infirm resolution, "I've only been attacked rarely before and rarely yet by a wand." Finally her forehead finds her palms and she gazes down on the ground for only a few seconds before standing abruptly on the stair two down from her seat. "But neither will it be the last. Come, we've got to assist them. This murderer is no mere rogue. Those guardsmen may get hurt." Dramatically her tone rebounds, but only the softest red in the whites of her eyes confirms a deeper conflict. Nevertheless the strong airs of a proven mare begin again to stem from her behavior. Malachi responds with a look only more of nervous disbelief, but without a moment of gap his sleeve is again insisting his motion under the grip of the hearty girl.
The grass is heavy-trodden underfoot of the previously gathered crowd. The smell of pine oil reeks of the patch of land as torches were surely soon struck. Water knows no home to the earth as the muddy ground bears it no refuge, and thus it is forced in low-hanging mists along the wooden artifice of the stable-bout alleys. Eerily no other light is cast from nearby homes since emptied for fear of the fled and moonlight itself seems to fade to insignificance upon the ground of violent deeds. Two cloaked figures in a dull nightly red approach and shed their wands, one in a trembling tenacity and the other a firm and lusting accusation. There is no rustle of the guards thought to be nearby, and the silent wooden door swings flimsy and smooth to open way to the two. They thoughtfully scan the area as once they did the home, to find the footprints of the scene useless by the recent mass of guard and the body's removal. Furthermore the sharp awareness of young wolf snout detects the same lingering kinder ash only a few paces into the trees from the stable, and again the trail of inquiry is ended as fast as it is opened.
The wolf is halting and unsure throughout the search, and is only relieved to inform his partner of the nasal discovery, but her response is much contrasting. "Curse him! I knew he'd have run again, the cowardly man!" She turns over the refuse on the ground, exposing a slightly burnt patch requiring conjured light to inform, confirming the idea of a recent teleportation. "Yes. Here it is. Here's where he fled." She holds a chain in hand, light and feathery workmanship of a very silvery metal. Baubles hang from it like a charm bracelet every few links, and each glow with a magnesium white. As she looks up from the ground and begins to inspect the chain glows much brighter and she begins to look about carefully. Murder may be new to her experience, however fleeing is certainly not.
"Ugh.." The wolf reels and blinks, looking away from the eyes. "A minor notice would've casted well for me."
"I'm profusely apologetic for your keener eyes" says the mare with a snide demeanor. "If I could trust you to see the right things, I would have left the task with them." She checks carefully for the marks in the bark about where the blast occurred. "I believe he was rushed... terribly." The wolf curiously looks where she does. "The torrent of teleportation is stronger the more haphazard it is cast, and he nearly blew the bark off of all these near trees."
"Hey. I told'y two. Back to the hall before I drag'y there." The canine before met speaks with mild irritation, holding a torch over head, and flanked by renewed rummaging sounds likely those of the guard in the stable. He stands outside the trees and only sees them by the wizard's lantern wielded by the mare. Aimly grimaces in annoyance.
"I don't think they're familiar with this kind of work." She mutters aside to Malachi. "Shuffle a sample of the soil there with us. It may yield new light if we bring it." Aimly starts back towards the wood line, directly between the guard and the wolf to hide the sampling. Malachi thinks quickly, patting down his pockets, nothing. He checks his satchel, where no empty vials are to be found. Frowning, he reaches to a log book and tears out the backmost page and folds it, stealing the idea of his enemy, and scoops a bit of burnt soil, quickly sticking the packet back into the log.
Exiting the woods, the canine rests his empty paw on his hilt. "What? Did'e have to piss? Did ya have to help? A man's been murdered and'y can't wait where'y told?! Get back to the hall, the Captain's waiting." He growls, annoyed, as he returns to the group of guard in the stables.
"Did you get it?" she huffs sideways to the soon emergent wolf. "We've off before they turn from annoyed to suspicious." The wolf only nods in response to both. Aimly picks up the bottom end of the lantern chain and seats it in the opposite end. A latch snaps shut and the light puffs out. She replaces it about her neck where it normally rests, and they proceed back towards the hall.