A Sharp-eared Werewolf in Tarant

Alrighty then. This started out as the start of a character in someone else's roleplay that didn't quite work out. Now I'll have to go to that mystical place inside of myself and start weaving a glorious tapestry from this torn and tangled web. I, the mother spider, shall spin the sac from which all my little roleplaying youngins shall hatch, ready to attach their lines and even their own webs to mine.
Translation: Here are some guidelines.

Don't bother asking permission before posting, as I don't know any of you well enough to gauge your roleplaying abilities. Heck, I don't know myself that well.

So far, the story seems centered in Tarant, so please try to make it there. You may notice that my character, Lilya, seems to have killed a number of people. This is only a half-truth. In reality, she may be a lycanthrope, but she has no idea that she becomes a bloodthirsty beast at night when she has ehem... women's troubles. You are allowed to play a werewolf, but not a sentient one. You'll only become one once a month (every night for about a week), however, and never by enchantments, herbs, or anger. As the beast, you can indeed be slain, as any beast in Arcanum can, and it won't take silver daggers or bullets or special charms or anything like that to do so. Being a werewolf will spread a bit like AIDS. Any fluid exchange could be enough to catch it depending upon one's constitution. The curse is primarily genetic, however. Keep that in mind should you choose to play a werewolf (or were monkey, were mouse, were ryu, what-have-you).

If you happen upon Mahyar or Chanti, don't hesitate to try to kill them if you so desire: they are both central to and irrelevant to Lilya's story, and Lilya's story has little to do with anything. (By the by, if Lilya is a Lycanthrope she is not necessarily a werewolf just what she changes into has not yet been revealed, but I assure you it stands upright and could pass for human under a deep cloak in the dark of night without any street lamps nearby. Mahyar, however, is definitely a four-footed animal when she changes: a were-tiger, in fact)

If you feel the urge to kill Lilya, please PM me. Speaking of PMing, post your characters' basic stats right in the post. Anything hidden that you think I should know can be PMed to me, however.

Now to outline the story:
There have been stories of recent gruesome deaths, possibly murders, cropping up. Very few of them seem to occur in the midst of town, most happening on the outskirts and nearly all happening in the poorer sections. They are not a significant amount (not yet, anyway), and the rich and powerful seem both blissfully ignorant of the deaths and somewhat protected from them, especially those with half-ogre guards.

The guard has not been called out. In fact, no guard has been called at all. Any and all persons seeking answers concerning the deaths are lone avengers or investigators, private or unprofessional. I have decided that, storyline wise, the authorities should not be notified until someone of importance dies, and should have no idea what's going on until after that and simultaneous eyewitness reports merge in the chief o' police's brain, which should take a while considering how easy it is to get away with murder in Tarant (in Arcanum, that is). The particular amount of gore involved will no doubt help to speed panic along but will slow down investigation (it's hard to identify a pile of bones and entrails without a necromancer).
If any of you would like to play a private eye, feel free, but make sure your character works for money, not for the chief o' police.
Without furthur undue delay, I present the beginnings of my character and this thread.

/* OOC

Name: Lilya Roshni Aryenish-Marduk
Physical Description:
*Eyes: Silver, but of a different color (they change)
*Skin: Dark, like a desert dweller. Almost like chocolate.
*Ears: Pointy
*Phenotype: Thin, tall, small breasts but not flat
*Hands: Long, sharp fingernails
*Teeth: Pearly white, but with canines lending to a terrifying smile
*Age: Indeterminable (see next)

Background:
Born to an Elvish woman named Mahyar in a tribe of swinging, traveling sheep farmers of various and sundry origins, Lilya has no idea who her father is. As a child, her mother's friends suspected her to be an elf, but all that changed when her teeth came in. While breastfeeding little Lilya one day, Mahyar suddenly felt two points puncture her breast she pulled Lilya gently away and saw two tiny rivulets of blood on either side of her nipple. Mahyar tried to hide this fact, but with losing blood every time she breast-fed and sleeping with other members of the tribe, Lilya's secret was soon discovered. The elder of the tribe, in his wisdom, ordered Lilya weined immediately, something rare for a tribe with little else to eat as a staple beside sheep and the occasional dug up vegetable. Mahyar saw this as a problem and decided to settle down somewhere. She wandered for a month or so and finally settled along the bank of a river in the Morbihan plains. Lilya was happy there, but lonely. Her only company was her invisible friend Chanti. Throughout the years, Lilya kept her friendship with Chanti, but she never told her mother of his existence. But then, fate and hormones took a hand, and Lilya fell in love with her invisible friend. When she came of age, she told Chanti that she would marry him. Chanti agreed, but only on the condition that Lilya told Mahyar of their plans. Lilya reluctantly agreed and told her mother the following day. Mahyar did not argue. She did not scream. She did not even ask her daughter why the whole thing had been kept a secret.... In fact, she did nothing, because Lilya walked into her mother's room to find what she assumed to be her bones in a pile, and her blood splashed all over the walls. After screaming and crying and, eventually, mopping up and burning her mother's remains, Lilya became determined to find the killer. All she found of the killer's was a matchbook from some club in Tarant. She called for Chanti to pack her things only to discover he had vanished. She threw on a blue robe and scarf, tied a rapier around her belt, put potions of health and fatigue in her pouch, and set off on her own, wondering what had killed her mother. Was Chanti after the killer as well, or was he the one who murdered Lilya's mother? No, impossible, thought Lilya. Or was it?

OOC */

When Lilya had gone to sleep, she had been just outside Tarant's city limits. Now she awoke to find herself in a run down shack that reminded her of home. But she wasn't home. She was in the boil. Lilya looked down at her robe. Covered in blood, as it usually became the first night of her ehem women's troubles. Great, she thought. Now what am I going to wear with this scarf? Lilya got out of bed and licked her lips. They tasted of blood, as they usually did. Strangely, she did not feel hungry, but she was a little weary. Lilya cast unseen force on the blood and got knocked down from exhaustion. Perhaps it's the city's machinery, she mused. Lilya looked out the window and saw a man cleaning up dead orcs from outside of a pub. When the man saw Lilya looking at him, he originally showed intense fear, but when she smiled, his fear melted away and he smiled back.

"Good Morning," said the man
"Hello... um, do you mind telling me where I am?"
"Errr. I though those orcs had told you last night. This is the Boil."
"The boil? What a disgusting name."
"A disgusting name for a disgusting place, I suppose."
"Naw, this place is just like home."
"Oh? Well, that explains how you were able to take care of those ruffians last night."
"I did?"
"Yep, you did them all in. Good thing, too: now I can finish the community service the courts ordered me to do here."
"Did them in? Wow. They must have been rude or something."
Lilya thought to herself, "So, I beat up some ruffians. What else did I do last night?"
Lilya: "So who do I pay for my room?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Why not?"
"The woman who lives there trusts you. You can sleep there all you like."
"But I've never met her."
"Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever met anyone she DIDN'T trust that didn't live in the Boil to begin with."
"That's good to know."
"Oh, but you can trust me!"
"Why's that?"
"After what I saw you do last night, you could trust me to carry your money for you."
Lilya Blushed, put on her boots, and walked to the pub. The occupants eyed her warily, but then went back to their drinks. Lilya ordered a cold one from the bar to look tough and sat down at a lone table, trying not to look too amused at the obvious fear and puzzlement with which she was being watched. A badly scarred woman nodded in her direction, then looked back at the floor.

/* OOC Hey, how did I do for my first post? The others won't be nearly as long, don't worry. I hope to catch up with you guys soon. OOC */

 

....

/* OOC And, now, the plot... thickens. Mwahahahaha. By the by, how does one change colors... ah. I see. But what do the colors mean? If they merely indicate dialogue, would italics be all right? I ask because I have trouble seeing some of the colors you have employed. OOC */

Mahyar sat in the corner of the club, sipping what most must have assumed was liquor but was actually tea. Shoulders flexed out and arms and legs at right angles, she had the appearance of a man in a cloak, which was just as Mahyar had intended, because this club was exclusively for gentlemen.
"Where is that girl?" She muttered well under the hearing of anyone in the room with her. "She should be here by now."

He'd found them. She had no idea how, but Lilya's father had found them. He most likely had not counted on Mahyar having undergone the change, his family's curse passing to Lilya by blood and Mahyar by bite. Although the men weilded more power in their natural form, the women were much stronger as supernatural beasts.

The more of the tea's vapors she inhaled, the more Mahyar suspected that Lilya was somewhere in the city. Finally, she clutched her amulet and summoned her invisible minion.

"Chanti," she said, "I want you to find out where Lilya is and guide her here. Don't tell her outright where I am or that I live. Just help her find the address of the club when she shows you the matchbox."

"Yes, mistress."

"And, Chanti:"

"What, mistress?"

"Don't ever try to seduce my daughter again, or I'll return you whence you came."

With real fear stopping his voice, Chanti managed to say "Y-yyess M-mistressss!" and bow invisibly.

"Go." With that, Chanti creaked open a window and quietly jumped out, images of his former existence on the other plane searing his heart and mind and hastening him in his task. Mahyar summoned another mug's worth of tea, the previous load returning to its source.

/* OOC Feel free to interrupt at any time. I'm just trying to be slow about revealing things (for example, that Lilya's father was a Lycanthropic Orc and that it had been his body Lilya cleaned up, not Mahyar's or Chanti's. Or just what Chanti is, though most guesses would be correct. Feel free to attack and/or kill Chanti or Mahyar or to otherwise divert them. Also, don't hesitate to lead Lilya away or help throw some link to the main quest at her feet. In fact, I humbly request it. I'm roleplaying here, not writing a novel. :lol: OOC */

 

Boy, do I feel foolish.

[OOC] Boy, do I feel foolish! I'm rather thankful now that I didn't reach a blending point. Snowmane's steady surgeon's hand has performed the Xanectomy quite nicely. Heyyy... this means that *I* am lord of this topic! Mwahahahaha! With some clever editing, this thread may even gain members....[/OOC]

 

Chanti looks on.

As Chanti moved hastily away from the Gentlemen's club, he realised that he had no idea where to look. He didn't stop, though, as Mahyar would have noticed. Instead, he started paying less attention to where he was and more to where he should have been. But where was that, exactly?
Chanti passed a halfling in uniform standing outside of an inn. Finding an open window, he slid in and peeked at the registry. "She has to be sleeping somewhere in this city... if she's even in the city." he mused.

[OOC]INSPIRATION! Okay, I have made a rather loose definition of roleplay here, but inspiration has just come to me. I now know how to get a larger plot to sweep up anybody who joins (eventually). The best part is it has nothing to do with Lycanthropes, and it has a lot to do with one secret about Lilya which has not yet been revealed. It seems like a rip off of a couple of quests from Arcanum, but that's acceptable, no? It's somewhat original, and I think I and anyone who joins or reads will enjoy it. [/OOC]

 

[OOC]Okay, I can see potential for me to join in here. You're doing pretty well so far, Xan, but it may become harder to role play multiple characters later in the thread. Also, don't use that bright purple text .

You mentioned something about some murders in the slums...is that Mahyar doing it? Because I want to work in a little plot twist where one of the people who was murdered was a brother to one of the Tarant's rich residents (gnome or not, doesn't really matter). At any rate, the brother is murdered, and my character is to him what Sebastian was to Mr Willoughsby. Pretty similar actually, but not the same. Anyway, let me know what the deal is with the murders so I can work myself into the story.[/OOC]

 

Yes.

The majority of the murders are Mahyar's doing. She, unlike Lilya, is quite aware of herself, if not in total control, while in her beast form. She's developed quite a taste for orc, too. Go with my blessing! (not that you need it. :lol: )OOC

Chanti turned the pages slowly, as a draft or breeze, careful not to alarm the woman behind the counter. Checking the past few days, his eyes darted hither and thither for Lilya's signature. Nowhere.

Just then, he heard the halfling guard yelling something at a tall, rag-covered person. He slid closer to the door to hear better and was hit square in the face as the ragged being forced his way in. The guard pulled out a dagger, but a look from the woman behind the counter put it back in its sheath. Forcing a cruel, bureaucratic smile, the woman behind the counter batted her eyes in preparation for telling the vagrant to bugger off.

Chanti saw the being plainly now. A man. A half-orc man. He reached into his improvised robes and pulled out some coin. Placing it on the counter, he growled,
"I would like a room, please."
The woman, still smiling with the glee of a variation in her day, replied in a mock-polite tone, "I'm sorry sir, but that won't be enough for a room."
The ragged man replied, "I can read well enough to know you have less expensive rooms. This is enough."
"Once again, I apologize, but we don't have vacancies."
Pointing at the wall, the man replied, "Can't you read your own sign?"
Struggling to maintain her composure, the woman fumbled for a different excuse. As it came to her, her cruel smile returned.
"Not for that price, we haven't."
A surly smirk gracing his own lips, the half-orc laid another handful of coin on the countertop. Clearing her throat, the woman behind the counter said, "That's still not enough. Perhaps you should check at the other inns in town: say, Poone's Flophouse?" With that, her cruel smile gave way to a snarl. Her nose wrinkled and the left side side of her top lip bared pearly, white teeth. Chanti smiled invisibly. Perhaps Lilya was there?
The half-orc retorted, "I'm looking for a clean place to lay my head. I'm not fond of bed bugs."
"And neither are we."
The half-orc scowled at the woman. A quiver of fear passed over her face as the man leaned accross the counter, his flithy, stinking rags only inches from her discerning, aristocratic nose.
"I will be satisfied, you prissy, empty-headed cu-"
"-that's far enough, half-breed. Step outside or I'll run you through" it was the halfling guard, his dagger weilded in both hands like a short sword, pointed at the half-orc's back. The woman's smile returned to her. Chanti laughed to himself at the whole situation... laughed out loud, that is. He stopped himself quickly as he saw the halfling's visage change. The woman lit a scented candle, pinching her nose.
Spinning around, the half-orc drew his own knife, snarling. Both knife fighters apparently believed the other to have laughed. Chanti covered his mouth to prevent an encore. Giving out a high-pitched battle cry, the halfling guard charged at the half-orc, knife raised high over his head. The half-orc prepared to stick his own knife in the halfling's ribs, it's metal gleaming behind his back in the light of the scented candle. Chanti's eyes widened, anticipating the sneaky move. Suddenly, however, the woman behind the counter shouted "STOP!" Her fancy pistol nuzzled the back of the half-orc's head. The halfling stopped, reluctantly, but did not let down his guard; the half-orc let his dagger fall to the floor. A technological weapon! It was time for Chanti to leave. He was sore to miss the end of the drama, but he'd gathered useful information and the sting of the gun's presence brought his memory back to the sting of his home plane. Chanti rushed out the door, not bothering to be casual about it. The sudden movement must have startled someone, because just then Chanti heard a shot... followed by two thumps.

 

Lilya

Lilya eyed the brackish liquid in her mug with simultaneous interest and disgust. Next she smelled it, her nose wrinkling up as she did. Her eyes darted around to see if anyone had noticed. In fact, one person had noticed. Lilya swallowed, a little frightened, then decided to down the whole drink at once, something she had seen her mother do often, once a month in fact, at home. Mother....
Lilya suddenly realised that any one of the men here could be her mother's killer. Her vengeful frustration mingled with the ale, her face changing as she looked less and less like an elf and more like her father. She leered at a man she saw standing in a corner casting casual glances at a table of card players. Was he a body guard? Was he hired to spot cheating? The man cleared his throat. He'd been doing that often at irregular intervals. As he did, Lilya saw one of the card players scratch the back of his bald head with three fingers. Cheating at cards.... Lilya had more important things to worry about. She reached into her robe and pulled out the matchbox, flipping it over to inspect the address. But Tarant was a labyrinth of asphalt arranged, for the most part, in identical blocks. It had no land marks, as if she had any to go by. All it had were street signs and addresses and no map. To get anywhere in Tarant, she had to ask for help. But whom could she trust? As a stranger in a strange land stumbling through a city for the very first time, whom, if anyone, could Lilya trust?

 

Darkness falls accross the land....

The dark, shrouded figure wrapped what could be called its hand around the door knob. It was a wooden house, just like home, and just like home she knew there would be a snack waiting for her inside. She turned the knob slowly, then applied slight pressure on the door with her claw. Unlocked. Yeeeees.... But wait! A chain. The fool had chained the door. Standing up straight as best she could, she slipped her slender hand through and found where the chain connected to the wall. Pulling firmly but slowly on the loop, the nail pulled out ever so slightly from the wall.
A hellish grin passed over her face, saliva dripping over her bottom lip. Pinching the nail hard, she yanked it out. The last link of the chain slid against the door. She calmed it with the pad of her front paw. Backing up onto all fours again, she pushed the door open, the creak only a low "mawwww". There was no light inside save a rectangle of moonlight from a high window, but she could smell him. But what was that other smell? Was it Dragon Cologne? No, impossible. This was the poor section of town. A man on the Dole or whatever they do here couldn't afford cologne. She also smelled that he'd been drinking. Good. She wouldn't want him waking up too soon.
Her padded feet landed softly, silently against the dirt-tracked, bare floor. From his breathing, she could tell she was near his feet. The fool had slept under the window. She smelled the leather of his shoes, and relatively clean clothes. Could she have been in the wrong place? But, oh, that doesn't matter. Nothing could stop her from doing what she came here to do, not even herself. Her hunger had taken over, and the animal mind, instinct, was everything now.
She inhaled deeply, mouth open, as she brought back her head, the window's pale light coloring her fearsome face, her black and red striped fur, her huge, pearly teeth, her burning yellow eyes, even her viscous drool which even now dangled from her gaping mouth to the floor. NO, she thought. She closed her mouth, looking away, but she made the mistake of looking up, out the window, at the moon. Her paw raised, a single, knifelike claw above her head. Her eyes widened as she brought it down, hard, and right into the man's neck!
He gasped, he choked, blood came to his lips, but he could not scream, as he had no vocal cords. Her other paw lay on the man's chest, holding him down. His now widened eyes turned blurily to his killer, lit as plain as day, mouth open again. His face changed , his chest heaved, but before he could give up his ghost, she pulled out her claw and replaced it with her teeth. She covered the man's mouth, as if a final, violent breath could wake his neighbors. He did scream, a voiceless scream, but it did not escape his lips. His only scream came as a dead thing. As she felt his ghost pass through hers, the creature dug in her claws, flaying the body, tossing meat hither and thither..
Finally, she could control herself no longer. She ate without restraint, ate until every last piece of meat or organ was either in her belly or shredded to bits, and when she had reached the skeleton, a process which took relatively little time considering the human's size. She licked the blood, she licked the bones, she wished had time to gnaw them down and suck the marrow, but she had to leave.
She took what the man wore, her analytical mind returning to her--his shoes and anything else of his she could find--pulled her hood back up, and ran, ran speedily and noisily, without direction in mind. She just ran from the crime, her supernatural speed making her little more than a blur. She had been wise to wear a simple travel cloak of a drab brown color. She almost looked like a beggar or theif with her hood up, except that she ran on all fours.
The creature started to slow as she approached the water's edge. Her form changed until, at last, she was merely a woman in a cloak. She walked silently past a manhole cover as she moved to dispose of the clothes when something caught her eye. Finery. The man had been wearing finery. She pulled out her matchbox and struck a match, lighting the clothes on fire and throwing them up into the air over the water. The finery burnt quickly beyond recognition as clothing and scattered as a flaming rag and ashes into the polluted water. Some chemical on the surface let off one final flare before the rag extinguised in the sewage and sunk beneath its impure surface.
But by that time, the woman was already gone.

 

The midnight hour is close at hand....

[OOC]Minor suggestivity here, but nothing outright obscene. Let me know iffin' I crossed a line, and I can edit my post.[/OOC]

Lilya moaned as the light hit her face. Morning again in a strange place. She reached down over the blanket--it felt especially soft this morning--and was delighted not to find any blood, but her lip was cut and she smelled of cheap liquor and sweat. And she felt... she felt.... She bolted upright.
"Who are you?!"
The man was getting on his trousers. "Gist a fellow drunk boarder like yerself." He winked at her. She saw dirt under her fingernails, barely, through the blur of her morning hangover. She opened and closed her eyes and was about to get a good look at the man's face when he walked out the door. No matter, she thought. Her mouth tasted of digestive juices and who knows what else. Her hair fell in front of her face and she slowly ran a hand through it, pushing it back. She looked down... and held back a scream.
Where were her clothes?! Her scrambling and bumbling feet and hands sought the chamber pot. When they registered, she let out her alarm in a splashing, disgusting "Bleeeeeeaagh".
It had still not kicked in as to why she might not be wearing her clothes as she picked them up off of the foot of the bed, put them on, slipped on her shoes, and stepped back out in the street. The street cleaner eyed her again as he had the previous night but this time it was disdain in his eyes, not fear. Still, he didn't say anything, but he wasn't as talkative as he had been before. He muttered something about a darned shame as she walked back into the bar. How much did she drink last night, and how on earth did she pay for all of it? The first thing she saw was the scarred woman, whose grimace told Lilya "Don't talk to me or look at me."
She took another, less sure step into the bar. Some men sat around a table laughing to one another. One of the men approached her.
"Hello, there, missy! Can I buy you a drink?"
His compadres guffawed at this. As a look of confusion passed over Lilya's face, the scarred woman's grimace seemed to change somehow, and a dagger flew behind the man's head and struck the wall. The bartender looked about ready to protest but went back to wiping down the bar. The men looked at the scarred woman, who twirled knives in her hands. With a sharp jerk of her neck toward the door, she sent them packing. She walked up to Lilya and whispered in her ear:
"You've never had liquor before, have ya?"
"No" replied Lilya
"Well, then, sit down and brace yerself, because there's something you should know."
As the woman's terrifying words passed into Lilya's ear, all the color drained from her face. She felt ready to throw up again. Or perhaps take a bath. A tear rolled down her dirt smudged cheek.
"I'll never drink again"

 

"Ah, come in Dreig," said Mr Trellain, one of the few humans left on the Industrial Council.

I stepped into his plush office, admiring the expensive, not to mention extravagant, decorations.

Mr Trellain motioned for me to sit, as he sat in his own chair.

"I have a job for you, Dreig, if you wish to take it. I believe you would be better suited to this than other people I could call on. Besides, you're the best."

I smiled at the compliment, exposing my slightly larger than normal canines. "It's always been a pleasure to work for you in the past, Mr Trellain. What needs to be done?"

"My brother, Gavin, was missing from his hut this morning. I sent someone to check up on him, and give him his weekly allowance. Instead, they only found a skeleton and blood. Judging by the report of the others I sent, it was Gavin. I asked how they could be sure, and they said something about the quality of the skeleton bones." He shuddered. "Eurgh, I wish I hadn't. Anyway, I want you to find out who did this. Despite all his failings, Gavin was my brother. Find whoever did this, Dreig."

"Then what, sir?"

Mr Trellain paused. "You could point the City Guard in their direction, I suppose, but that would bring more attention than I'd like. So, find them, and dispose of them. I trust you have no problem with that?"

"No sir, of course not. If you wish, they shall die a very painful death."

"That would be nice. Gavin never hurt anyway." For a second Trellain's control slipped, and I could see how much he had been affected by his brother's death.

"I'll get right on it, sir. I'll do my best to keep you up to date."

Trellain simply nodded, and motioned for me to leave, which I did. As I left Mr Trellain's estates, and walked to the house he provided for me, I thought about the situation at hand.

Gavin had been inept brother of Mr Trellain. Not gifted in anyway, he usually managed to wreck everything he tried. In despair, Mr Trellain had thrown Gavin out onto the streets, to see if he could survive there, and somehow become less incompetent. Gavin had welcomed the change himself, as his brother gave him a very generous allowance to live off.

Few knew of Gavin's situation, but those who did knew there was no way he could be used against Mr Trellain in the business arena. Someone had killed him though, and it was my job to find out who, and maybe even why.

I reached my house, and started gathering all the tools I thought I'd need, along with my usual assortment of weapons and other tricks, before setting out...

 

Creatures crawl in search of blood.

Chanti poured out of the amulet. He had automatically returned when Mahyar fell asleep to avoid being unsummoned, but now that she was awake, he had automatically seeped back out. Mahyar trusted that he was still hot on her daughter's trail, so she did not stop Chanti for a status report. Chanti started toward Poone's flathouse... and stopped. He turned toward the west entrance into town. Interesting. Lilya's soul now shone visibly to him. Not nearly as brightly as her mother's but, for the first time in Lilya's life, visibly to the summoned creature.
Chanti grinned invisibly from one side of his face to the other, as his kind was more than capable of doing. He let out a terrifying laugh that sounded like howling wind. A few pedestrians walking by turned around, some ran, some fainted. Chanti began walking toward the west side of town, whistling to himself. So, his little playmate had been to the darkside overnight, and he could tell by the color and tint of the red light just what had taken her there.
His whistling turned a few paranoid heads, but they shook it off as nothing and continued in their casual paces. Suddenly Chanti realised how casual his own pace had been. Feeling the burning return to his memory, Chanti broke into a run. If he knew where Lilya was, he had to get there fast before he lost her again. In the time it would have taken Chanti to walk to her, she could have dropped some change in a poor man's hat or, quite simply, thrown up and dunked herself in water-- oh no! She disappeared. Chanti panicked, then relaxed. She would be a while in the tub. They always are.

 

I approached Gavin's hut, but didn't enter it just yet. Instead, I walked around it, looking for anything that might help me. The glass windows hadn't been broken, so there hadn't been any fancy entry, or a particularly strenous struggle either.

As I examined the door, I noticed that the chain that passed for a lock had been broken. This hadn't been a random robbery gone wrong, someone had really wanted to get in here.

I stepped inside, and the smell of blood hit me. It was splashed all around the bed, and the floors and walls surrounding it. Not pretty. I had spoken to the men Mr Trellain had sent before me. The flesh had been totally stripped. I didn't want to think about what meant I was possibly dealing with - necromantic cults sprang to mind. Nothing inside had been disturbed, either during the murder or after it. It was unusual no looting had taken place.

There was little more I could learn here, so I left, and started wandering around, gathering my thoughts. Someone had broken in, killed Gavin, and left only a skeleton behind, but hadn't touched anything in the hut. I was probably dealing with an individual or very motivated group that was dangerous.

I'd have to start questioning the people near where Gavin lived, to see if they knew anything at all...

 

To terrorize your neighborhood

Mahyar occupied the waiting time with drinking tea, but the novelty of the drink was beginning to wear off. Because she had to keep her wits about her, this was the first time in a long time since the change that she hadn't imbibed alchohol once a month.
Mahyar reached into her cloak and pulled out a pair of dice, rolling them again and again, playing psycho dice. Five... she rolled five. 12... she rolled 12. Two... she rolled two.
"What's the point of playing a game if you always win?" she muttered to herself. "Thirteen" she said, throwing the dice hard on the table. One die cracked as it hit, the pieces landing on six and one. The other rolled a six. Mahyar grinned from ear to ear. Thirteen was her lucky number.

Lilya sat, shivering, in the tub of cold water. There had been no trees around to use for firewood, but at least there was water. She washed herself again and again, getting wrinkly from the water. Why hadn't she studied the fire college? She had matches, but nothing to light with them.... Matches....
MATCHES! Lilya found the matchbox and looked again at the address. She had been so drunk she must have forgotten about.... No. No, she wouldn't have forgotten about her mother. She couldn't have. She was indisposed, that's all. She heard an old woman's "Ehem." behind her. Turning around, she saw a note had been left on the floor near the tub. It said, quite simply, "Leave. You're not welcome to stay here"
Lilya was a little sad, but she knew that she had to leave anyway if she wanted to find her mother.She climbed out of the tub, donned her cleaned robe (silently thanking the old woman for that much), slipped on her footwear, and walked out into the street. She looked back, back at what had been a whole new world to her, a town just like her house and a place of lost innocence. She turned back around, wrapped her scarf around her, and broke into a run. She had always had rather strong legs.
And, so, she ran. She ran so far away. So far and so fast, in fact, that Chanti's trail was once again confounded. He arrived in the boil sure he'd find his girl.

 

And whosoever shall be found

*flashback*
The towering being leapt into the air, it's gigantic, furry white feet landing with a thump. It's eyes glowed red with lust... with hunger. It's clawlike hand reached down as it sniffed the ground, grabbing the carrot top cruelly, ripping it from it's bed. It's two front teeth gleamed in the moonlight, a terrifying sight for even the bravest of men. But the farmer was not the bravest of men.
He'd been drinking, shotgun in hand, trying to forget the giant bunny. He'd shot the thing, but it'd healed itself with a blue flash. How big was it? It seemed to get bigger as it approached his garden. Suddenly, he heard an ear-splitting *CRUNCH*, which sounded of bones breaking... or of a giant bunny rabbit back to eat his crops!
In lack of courage, he turned to spirits, and they got his blood burning. Instead of fear, he was filled with raw anger. He would kill the giant bunny at all costs or starve to death without his crop of gigantic carrots. He walked out, stumbling, shaking, shotgun in both hands now, forehead dripping with sweat. He stepped out of his shack, out into the farm amongst the turnips. He saw its foot. It was even larger than last night! He could feel himself wetting his overalls as his gaze travelled upward to the things glowing, red eyes. Shaking, trying to steady his aim, he shot at the space between the bunny's glowing, red eyes.
*BOING!**CRASH* The bunny leapt into the air with lightning speed, dodging the bullet the hard way. The farmer screamed like a woman, losing all control of his bowel movements. The bunny rabbit sniffed the air. Its nose wrinkled up. It opened its maw, roaring like a giant rabbit should, leapt into the air, and kicked with both legs. The farmer flew across the field, his shotgun flying out of his hands. He landed, hard, against the trunk of a lemon tree. His last thoughts as he blacked out were "lemons. Yes. Rabbits don't eat lemons"
When there were no more carrots, the bunny began to shrink. It was as tall as a man now, and it began hopping with supernatural speed away from the farm, it's footfalls quieted by its padded feet. It looked down. Some of the farmer's blood had splatted on it. It stopped to lick it up, found it's robe lying next to it on the ground, and slipped it on. It continued hopping toward Tarant.

 

I walked into Malloy's, the bar in the Boil where I was likely to learn the most. The assembled motley of humans, halflings, orcs and half orcs all glanced in my direction, but soon turned back to their business.

I strolled to the bar, doing a fair job of blending in. Caleb Malloy eyed me as I approached. "You'd best be not thinking of using those weapons in here, friend, else I'll have to bust your skull."

"I won't be starting anything," I replied.

"Good. What'll you have then?"

"Whiskey, and information."

"Both are dangerous. I'll get you the whiskey first."

Caleb gave me a glass, filled with enough whiskey to get me drunk. I sipped at it while he attended to the needs of others who needed more alcohol.

"So, what sort of information?"

"Like you said, the dangerous sort."

Caleb didn't say anything.

"Heard anything about people dying in this area recently?"

"Lots of people die in the Boil."

"Not this way, they don't."

Caleb seemed to understand what I was talking about. "Yeah, I've heard a few things here and there." He shook his head. "No way for any man to die, being killed like that."

I nodded. "Heard anything about who's responsible?"

"What's your interest?"

"Friend of mine died." Not exactly the truth, but close enough.

"Well, you have my condolences. As for who's done it, no idea. No one's seen anything...if they did, pretty sure they're now dead or I'd probably have seen them in here." He paused. "Although, there was a young woman in here recently. Not very friendly, at least until she starts drinking, if you get my meaning. Scared some of these blokes, at least at first. Not much to go on, I know. She's staying nearby somewhere."

I took a final sip of my whiskey, before sliding some coins across the bar. "Thanks for the information," I said, before leaving.

If I remembered correctly, there was only one place near Caleb's that a young woman could safely stay at...

 

Without the soul for getting down

Chanti eyed the man curiously. Probably half orc, he gathered from seeing the teeth. "This man will lead me to Lilya," he thought. While this would lead him to Lilya more quickly, Chanti feared for her life... and his own. His pact with Mahyar bound him to this plane only as long as she believed him to have served her well. He'd been a fool to grant such power to a mortal so quickly without reading the fine print of their agreement. Of course, it was written in magically enchanted blood, and Chanti knew nothing of magic. His existence was supernatural, and that was the extent of his knowledge. Chanti threw a glance at Mahyar's brightly burning evil-aligned soul, a soul beyond redemption. That, at least, comforted him when he was reminded of his origin.
Chanti's mind snapped back to Caleb's bar. Who or what had killed people like that, Chanti did not know, but, knowing the tint and shade of his mistress's soul, he had an idea.
He had to follow this man. Even if it slowed his progress toward Lilya instead of speeding it, Chanti had to shadow this man because, if he did reach Lilya, Chanti had to protect her. He loved Lilya. As impossible as it seemed for one of his kind to love, it was true. He loved her, and he would do anything to protect her, even betray his mistress.
Yesss.... Chanti thought, as if the thought had never crossed his mind (it hadn't). He would guide this man to the real killer and be rid of her and his part of the contract forever. And she would think he was on her side the entire time. YESSSS!

He'd be a freed demon roaming Arcanum.

 

Must stand and face the hounds of Hell

Mahyar sat there, smiling to herself over her dice roll, when a dwarf in finery walked right up to her and said "Hello there, lassie". Mahyar grimaced. Not only was her ruse seen through, but a dwarf dared talk to her. Not only that, but in demeaning tones. LASSIE?! She'd show him who the dog was.
"Don't make a habit of condescending elves, dwarf"
The dwarf held back anger. He reminded himself of his goal.
"I apologize. I could not correctly gauge your age or race with your hood up. I suppose my watch failing should have been ample warning."
Watches. Such meaningless devices. Dwarves have long lifespans just as elves do (though some shorter than others). What was a dwarf doing with a watch?
"What do you want?"
The reason for the watch revealed itself as he explained his line of work.
"I'm a professional gambler, and I noticed you playing with dice."
Mahyar frowned. That's what happens when you play children's games.
"Then you must have noticed my roll of thirteen just now."
The dwarf laughed. "Thirteen?! Hohoh--uh?" He looked down at the pair of dice, one broken in half. "Alberich's stones...." exclaimed the dwarf in low tones.
Mahyar divined that the dwarf had quite a pretty purse with him. But would she kill him for it or just gamble it out from under him? Under the table, she cast a spell of illusion, the illusion of gold. Setting a seemingly heavy sack of it on the table, she asked the dwarf,
"Care for a game of Gentleman's dice?"
The dwarf shook his head.
"I'm a professional, not an addict. Your skill puts mine to shame, madam."
"You'll call me sir, dwarf, or else. Thirteen is my lucky number, a number that has proved very unfortunate to others. You do not wish to end up like this die here, do you?"
The dwarf looked about ready to reach for his pistol and demand a gentleman's duel when his eyes fell on the broken die.
"I'm terribly sorry to have bothered you, sir."
She stared him down.
"And I apologize for my mistake."
Satisfied, Mahyar turned away, and the dwarf left, obviously shaken up. Intimidation... a little known combination of watered down charm and nightmare spells that could make the bravest of warriors wet himself. Mahyar let out a deep, manly, mirthless chuckle just within the dwarf's hearing. He did not turn around.

 

[OOC]Guess I'd better profile my character...

Name: Dreig
Occupation: Private investigator/enforcer
Age: About 26, 27
Race: Half orc

Dreig is, in his own words, a son of a bitch. A very human-looking half-orc, he has slightly elongated canines as the only evidence of this. However, he also has an extremely violent temper when he lets it loose...a temper no normal human, and few orcs could hope to match.

As a half-orc, he's also rather intelligent, and has learnt to build some of his own equipment, and is skilled using others' creations as well. He may not have a silver tongue, but years as an investigator have taught him the questions to ask, and when to ask them.

Dreig is skilled with both firearms and melee weapons, but his weapon of choice is a silenced revolver. No use bringing attention to yourself when you don't need it is something he's been known to repeat. However, for when it gets tough he has a hand cannon, as well as a very nice featherweight axe. Armour wise, he carries around a goggled helmet, and wears studded leather armour, boots and gauntlets. At any given time he has an assortment of technological devices with him such as flow specktrometers, as well as a few potions from the school of chemistry. A rather versatile fellow, I think you'll agree.

Dreig happens to work for Mr Trellain in the same way Sebastian works for Mr Willoughsby, although Dreig happened to save Trellain's life many years ago, which is why he now has his backing and protection, in exchange for service. Both parties find the relationship very agreeable.

Anyway, back to the story...[/OOC]

"Yes, she was here this morning. Left not long ago. Filthy wench," the old lady muttered the last part under her breath.

I breathed slowly. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, she goes in Malloy's, has a few drinks, comes back drunker than a sailor and with one of the dirtiest men in these parts - and that's saying something. Decent folk wouldn't speak of what they did next."

"I see..."

"And she seemed so different the day before, as well," the old lady continued. "Had everyone scared, or at least respectful of her, in these parts."

"Why was that?"

"Well, not sure really...she looked like she could handle herself, judging by the bloodstains on her clothing. They didn't come from her."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, she wasn't injured for one, and the blood was too fresh to be an old injury. You live long enough around here like I have, and you get to learn these things."

"Well, can you tell me what she looked like?

"Why do you want to find her so bad? You wanting her services for something?"

I smiled thinly. "No, not in that way."

The woman huffed. "Well, I should hope so. You look a cut above the ruffians who live around here." Eyeing my weapons, she added, "Though not much."

"I have reason to believe she may have seen a friend of mine soon before he died."

"Well, I'm sorry about your friend. I never found out her name. Anyway, she has very dark skin, rather thin, and silver-ish eyes. Guess her hair is dark as well."

"Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of. You shouldn't have any trouble finding her."

"Oh? Where did she go?"

"I don't know, but she's not in the Boil any more. Not after last night." The old lady smiled in satisfaction. "Kicked her out this morning, and she seemed happy, if not eager to leave."

"I see. Thanks for your help," I said, passing some coins to the old lady.

"Good luck to you, young man."

I set out, with a solid description of someone who might have some answers...not the best lead, but far better than nothing...

 

And rot inside a corpse's shell

Mahyar didn't know how much longer she could wait in the gentleman's club. She pulled out a pipe, put a pinch of some kind of plant leaves in it, and lit it. The dwarf turned, nostalgia in his eyes. Mahyar had picked up an addiction to dwarven herb while living with the nomads. She missed those days... especially the men. She let out a ring of smoke. It curled and twisted like a rubber band rolled in the fingers before becoming a mobius strip and dissapating. The dwarf arched an eyebrow. Mahyar pointed at the broken die with her pipe and he turned away, inhaling deeply and trying to lean as close to the pipe as possible. Mahyar rolled her eyes, packed another pipe, and threw it into the dwarf's beard. His fingers scrambled for a match. He looked around; the bartender pointed to a bowl of matchboxes on the bar. Reluctantly, the dwarf stood up, walked over, and got a matchbox. He did not return to his seat.
Smoking in silence, Mahyar wondered if she should look for her daughter herself. But who would stay and wait for her in her place? Mahyar exhaled a cloud of smoke which surrounded her head and remained, suspended in the air.
Suddenly, she heard a man arguing with someone outside. Using divination to hear what they were talking about, Mahyar bolted upright. She waved the smoke out of her face.
Lilya had arrived. But, wait... she was not being let in! No, she could not allow this. Mahyar walked to the door and looked harshly at the guard.
"Why is this gentleman not being let in?"
Lilya was speechless. The guard however, was not:
"This is not gentleman, this is a lady! And a mighty pretty one, at that."
Lilya blushed invisibly behind her scarf. Mahyar worked sorcery with her eyes on the guard: "Are you a buggerer of boys? I'll not have my nephew seduced by a servant!"
The charm seemed to work. The guard blushed, apologizing for his mistake. The way his eyes fell on her as Lilya walked in, however, suggested that he might just be a "buggerer of boys". What language! thought Lilya.
Mahyar guided Lilya to her table in the corner. The dwarf looked up, then rolled his eyes, smoking the pipe.
Lilya was crying as she whispered across the table: "But you're dead! How can I be sitting here, talking to you if you're dead?"
"I'm not dead, my child. Use your eyes. I'm flesh and blood."
Lilya backed away from her mother. Her eyes widened as she asked:
"So are you... undead?"
Mahyar touched her daughter's face with a warm, fresh, sweet-smelling hand.
Lilya shook her head. "But I buried you! Or... what was left of you."
"That wasn't me! I killed him."
"Whom did you kill, mother?"
"Shhh! Keep your voice down."
"I'm sorry. Whom did I bury? Whose ashes did I weep over? Whose blood did I mop up off of the floor?"
The dwarf turned around, having returned to his seat. Mahyar looked at the dice, which made him get up again and sit at the bar.
Lilya's face became a look of realization. "You didn't...!"
"Didn't what, child?"
"You couldn't have.... You couldn't have killed him! He's too strong."
"He attacked me, child."
"He wouldn't do that! He loves me.... He loved me."
"Wha- Who...?" As Lilya looked away and tightened her lips, Mahyar suddenly understood: "Chanti"
"..."
"He's not dead. Not that he's alive."
"What?"
"Chanti is a summoned creature. A de- a dog. Man. An invisible dogman."
"You knew about him?"
"Of course! I had him watch over you at night when I was out--"
"--out what, mother?!"
"Ehem. Seeing men."
Lilya's jaw dropped, but when she thought back to her childhood, it all made sense. How she had heard those noises from the other room. Her screams, nightmares her mother had called them, stopped happening when Chanti appeared in her life. Something still didn't feel right, however.
"If Chanti's alive, where is he now?"
"He's out looking for you, of course."
"How can you know that?"
Mahyar gestured at her amulet.
"I can bring him here if you like."
Lilya's eyes lit up as a new wave of tears swept over her.
"Yes. Yes, I'd like it very much."

Mahyar clutched her amulet. "Chanti!"
Chanti, just behind the half-orc, froze in his tracks. He willed himself on, but his name rang in both ears. He replied, as he was forced to by contract (but as quietly as he could): "Yessss Mistresss?"
Chanti prayed to the underworld that the man didn't hear him. Mahyar continued: "Lilya is here, with me. Return."
"Yesss, mistress, but--"
Before he could finish his very good reason for staying on the trail of the man, he was back in the gentleman's club. There she saw Lilya and Mahyar in robe and cloak repectively, sitting at a table. Lilya had cried a noticeable amount. He turned to his mistress, about to explain the circumstances, when Lilya wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. It seemed the whole bar saw her when she opened her eyes. She coughed, saying in an audible voice, "Next is the scene when he shoots me with the Tesla rifle." Most of the bar turned around, save the dwarf, who saw something. Chanti snuck up to him and knocked the dwarf's drink onto his lap. The dwarf cursed and walked outside.
Mahyar was staring directly at Chanti when he returned. Her stern look revealed the origin of her anger.
Grabbing Chanti by his vulnerable spot under the table, she asked him in menacing tones: "What have you done with my daughter?"
The demon was crying from the pain. In a squeaky voice, he replied: "N-nothing, mistress"
She tightened her grip, and the demon was magically forced to testify.
"We played... a little baseball... but... I never made it... to home!"
She scowled at the demon. Suddenly, Lilya asked:
"But if you're both alive, whose blood and bones did I clean up?"

 

I heard a whisper behind me...not much, but something. I spun quickly, expecting to see someone, but there was no one there. Just an empty bridge.

I sniffed the air, but it smelt like it normally did. Just to be safe, I pulled out my flow specktrometer. Nothing was showing up on it. Guess I was paranoid.

I turned back, and resumed by crossing of the bridge. I grabbed the attention of a guard once I reached the other side.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?"

"You can. Have you seen a young woman come by here recently? Dark skin and hair, silver eyes, rather slim?"

"I've only just come on duty, sir. I'll ask the man who just went off." The guard turned, and ran down the street, catching up with the guard who was just going off duty. The guard repeated my question, but I was too far away to see what went on. He soon returned, with an answer.

"Yes, sir, a young woman did come by here recently. Headed off in the direction of the Gentleman's Club, although she's not likely to get in," he smiled.

"Thank you," I said to the guard, before continuing on my way.

I'd have to ask others in that direction if they'd seen the young woman...