RP:Jumping To Conclusions Witch Might Be Wrong

Part of the The Dust Up In Cenril Arc

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: The owner of the vacant house in which Hudson had dropped the body of Larket mobster Carl returns to a grisly scene. He begins to shout in the street for help, and Eirik responds. They conduct an investigation and leap to the conclusion that occultists (WITCHES) were responsible for what's happened. They then go to report their findings to the guards.

A Vacant House in Larket

Gunther is a man in his 40's and the owner of the vacant house where the body is. He and his family had abandoned the home after the earthquake, yielding to a quickly spreading superstition that something was Not Right in Larket. The abandonment was meant to only be temporary, and he's back at the house to check in on it and ensure that it has not been burglarized, as one does. Imagine his surprise when he uncovers in his living room a corpse beneath a tarp. The body does not smell of decay, curiously, but as he draws back the covering what he sees is enough to make him gag anyway. The body is anonymous, as if all identifying features were melted away. There's some shattered glass in the area. There are indications - soot - of an aggressive fire that had consumed a probable murder weapon but no property damage like you might expect. Gunther narrowly avoids vomiting on himself, unfortunately sullies the crime scene, and then staggers out of his own home and into the street. "There's a body!" he shouts, not exactly attracting immediate interest with that headline. A woman with a grocery dolly bows her head, scurries past, disinterested in getting pulled in. He shouts, to anyone who will listen: "Cultists have left a body in my home! Help! Someone! Guards!"

Eiriks scarred, grim visage twists in the sudden outburst of commotion - silver eyes do indeed land on the screaming man; obviously concerned with what is happening. For a moment his gaze sweeps the area, looking for a guard or someone interested. Much to his dismay, none are within sight. He nearly chastised himself, how was he always getting roped into such things? He had a meeting with Sabrina, but this seemed rather urgent. Finally, after a heartbeat of deliberation, the brute of a Northman carries his near six-foot frame to the bellowing Gunther, seemingly unaware that his words carried truth. "Stop," he husked voice laced with a thick accent while his tone is akin to gravel being crushed beneath a weighted boot. "What's going on?" Eyes flick from the man to the doorway to catch sight of an ominous display. Cultists? Dear gods that be, Eirik pushed passed the man, urgency in his stride. "Get the guards, I'll make sure the home is safe." Right hand reflexively grabs the hilt of Brann Forbruker, a rune inscribed long sword, though he does not draw it. "What happened here?" he asked himself, knowing full well that he may be alone. Eyes continually look for some unseen threat before he relaxes.

Gunther begins to simply yell in a gutter, desperate fashion without forming words. Can someone please care about what has happened?! A human being was executed in his home! And that person's identity has been stolen from them, their features have been liquefied beyond all recognition! People are walking briskly now, he must appear a mad man, but lo -- a man is here! Gunther is breathing heavily, like an ox, as Eirik approaches. He gestures wildly at his home, the door is still open. "My house!" he says, words having evaporated from the realm of Things He Knows. He jogs after Eirik into his home, growing likewise cautious after the other man's example. "Show yourselves, wicked ones!" he shouts, having recovered his sense as quickly as he'd lost it. He gestures at the faceless corpse for Eirik's benefit (it could be identified as a man's, but beyond that...). "My family and I have evacuated Larket for the time being, and I have returned to find this... surely it is the work of cultists, look how," he balls up a fist in front of his mouth, as the contents of his stomach threatens to rise in his throat, "they have melted the corpse and yet somehow preserved it."

At first Eiriks intent lays in their immediate surroundings, waiting for some dark and twisted shift of shadow. For some surprise which might pounce on them at any moment. Lycans eyes narrow at the corpse, and the random citizen. "Careful about touching things. If it was Cultists, lingering effects might still hang in the air," calloused hand shifts to the citizen. "You mind if I sift through some of this myself?" Free hand pats the hilt of his sword, as a gesture of some experience. Last thing he needed is another death in the house. As a Lycan, the Northman moved to set his mind to grim task. First, the floors, looking for any sign of evidence. Any kind of scorch marks, and drops coming to a squat. Hand reaches to the floor to noticeably touch it for but an instant. Fingers raise, hand twisting palm up, looking for something that wasn't even there. Frak, he wanted to scream. There isn't anything here! The tarp draped over the body is lifted and yanked back slowly to inspect the state of the man. This had to be some form of magic, what else could explain the wounds? The evidence of soot is noted, but he suspects that it's only the effects of magic. "You see that," hand points to the black marks over the corpses body "You're right, evidence of a fire." Gaze sweeps back to the home and then to Gunther. "But do you see and evidence of a fire scattered in the home?" This flame had turn burn hot to leave a man unidentifiable and be directed. Like a blast of searing flames from a mage or witch. And then it clicked. Eirik had seen something similar to this in Venturil. Gunther might actually be right. Without further complaint, and despite the smell, Eirik begins to search the body for any kind of identifying mark. Any further sign of magic. "Was the door unlocked when you arrived?"

There is the faintest residue of magic in the air, not that Gunther, normal guy, might have noticed. After this much time, it's impossible to determine the nature of the magic beyond that it is magic of a very ancient sort. Despite Eirik literally being a random man off the street, Gunther is now locked into their investigation, and he nods sagely at the northman's request. Eirik wouldn't find scorch marks on the ground, but indeed there's soot, evidence of a burning. It looks as if the man's features had been burned too -- technically, they had been, chemically, but why leap to any conclusion beside magic?

Gunther nods as Eirik identifies 'evidence' of a fire, his head shaking at the question that follows. "It was occultists, only they would do something as foul as this," he exclaims, heatedly. The question about the door stirs this suspicion. Gunther's eyes bulge with realization. "No, it was locked, no sign of forced entry," he says, his eyes darting about the room. "There is something wrong in Larket," he says, like he's an authority on the matter.

Eirik took a moment to swallow back the lump in his throat. How he loathed such scenes, and such evidence for him is overwhelming, but he had a few more questions. "Anything missing from your home?" The door might not have shown any signs, but maybe there was another reason, though Eirik was sure this was something else. Silver eyes shift to the man waiting for a response. "You and I need to leave this area, and find a gaurd," Eirik was satisfied with what he had found. "As a witness, and this being your home, you might be called upon to give your account. You willing to speak?" The Northman rose wiping his hands to remove any clinging soot, "What do you mean by occultists?" He moved to the doorway to inspect the entrance himself, finding that there is no sign of forced entry. He let out a sigh, this looked grim. Like the witch work and dark magic he found in Venturil. But there he found a corrupted child, and another that was having some gruesome ritual performed. If Gunther was willing to follow along, Eirik would travel with him to the nearest post to recite his tale. His own personal inflection of the evidence his mind had found. There is indeed something very wrong in Larket.

Gunther shakes his head. "No, and there's nothing of value here," he says, pointing to a shattered glass by the wall. "We took almost everything with us when we evacuated. Left a few things that weren't worth transporting." A rage is boiling within him, rage against the "occultists" who have done this. Women cannot be trusted with such dangerous magics, this is what happens. He's already convicted the lot of them in his mind. He nods, grateful that someone else is here to witness his nightmare and validate his suspicions. "When I say occultists, I mean... witches," he nearly spits out their collective name. He leaves his home in the company of Eirik, and by the time they reach the guards the blackness of Gunther's mood has eclipsed all rational thought. The women who did this must pay.