Charcoal

On the eve of the Waxing Crescent, one of the delegates passing through the town of Inverstadt was murdererd. August Schulz was found in the cellar of the inn, with his gut slashed and his blood pooled across the stone floor.

In such a small town, news flies like a snapped spring. Everyone was there, huddled outside under the falling ash, as police arrived in clockwork carriages and cordoned everything off. With the heat of autumn lessening as the lava rivers thin, and the sun sinking behind the mountain peak earlier each day, the scene was even more dark and grim than expcted.

The other delegates acted as stunned as anyone. One had been inside the inn at the time, another had been purportedly taking a walk by the lava flow. The third is nowhere to be found.

Questions have been raised. August made quite an impact during the few days the delegates have been in town. Talk of shady dealings, jilted lovers, bribery and theft. No one's sure if he was involved in the vandalism around Inverstadt, or if he came with an intent to buy or sell something he shouldn't have. Some are claiming to have been intimate with him, but the claims may simply be for attention.

The investigation is underway, and a shadow has fallen over much of the town. Suspicions are being cast left and right, old grievances surfacing, new scandals coming unearthed. But whatever else happened, somebody killed August Schulz, and the culprit needs to be apprehended before another body turns up.



Inverstadt is a small town set on the slope of a volcano. There are frequent ash falls, heat waves, and "rivers" of lava that run nearby. The town makes glass, jewelry, and metalwork.

Everything is run on geothermal and steam energy. Mechanics are all clockwork and gears. There is no electricity, only gas lamps. Clockwork horses are used for transportation and pulling heavy weights.

Spoiler

The river - a lava flow, too hot to get close, but with a paved walkway a safe distance along its bank. It curves around the west of town.
The power plant - based over geothermal springs, it harnesses the heat and steam for power. It's set a decent walk northwest from town, farther up the slope.
Downtown - a quaint street packed with little shops selling jewels, glass, baked goods, and other trinkets. Right in the center of town.
The inn - for visitors, but locals will visit the restaurant & pub on the ground floor. Set on one edge of downtown.
The estates - large manors where the wealthy live. Widely spaced on the east side of town, high enough to have a view of the lava river and far enough to be cool.
The tenements - clusters of apartments and alleys where the poor live. On the west side of town, where it's a little too warm, closer to the river.
The police station - the base of operations for the investigation. Between the estates and downtown.
Other stuff - if needed, there's a very small hospital, industrial factories for the metal and glass, a school, and whatever else we need for the plot.

Spoiler

General
- Gas lamp or candle lighting
- Geothermal heat and energy
- Clockwork mechanics (gadgets, accessories, vehicles, get creative)
- Gunpowder - pistols and rifles

Transportation
Short distance: by foot
Medium distance: by carriage or cab, drawn by clockwork horses
Long distance: train

Cultural
Class divides between the wealthy and the working. There are the few who inherited land and money and own servants. There are some who run or work in small businesses or social services. There are many working as industrial laborers. The delegates come from the coast, a land of fish and water and salt.

The Detective:
This one is a must-have. He or she will head the operation to sniff out the murderer.
Detective Aleja, Detective - Lumi
Brinley Stephens, Detective's Assistant - JuliasSneezer

The Other Delegates: (0-3)
Maybe they're innocent and clueless. Or maybe they know something. The one that's missing might be dead... or might not. They come from the coast, a much cooler place, which trades in fish, salt, and seaweed products.
Richard Commons - Steggy
Admiral Dunagan Cornelius Pentecost - Rydia

Citizens:
There are shop owners, power plant workers, doctors, carriage drivers, police officers, and everything else you can think of. Wealthy landowners who don't go anywhere without an entourage of servants, all the way down to the ash-covered metalworker who works twelve hour shifts.
Nilima Kelsey, Glassblower - Wolfical
Octavia Van De Laar, Handiwoman/Trinket-maker - ChildOfNowhere
Charles Jameson, Doctor - Vellichor
Aidan Elliot, Musician - Lael
Gideon Josiah Deering, Tinkerer - RavenLord
Vincent Haas, Landowner - Megrim
Leslie Badger, Bartender - SirenCymbaline
Suji Daku, Apprentice glassblower - KaiRyu
Maeve Walsh, Reporter - Gravity


When you submit your character, PM Megrim to say whether or not you're willing for your character to be the murderer (don't tell anyone else!). One volunteer will be chosen at random and messaged in private! Even if you only message me to opt out, at least this way I can touch base with everybody, and make sure you read everything

Every character must have a potential motivation--something to cast suspicion on them. This may end up being totally unrelated to the murder, but we'll have to find out! Feel free to make up as much scandal and shady business as you want, whether it's related to the murder or not.

Some suggestions if you need them:

Spoiler

- Tried to blackmail him into favors. Or he tried to blackmail you.
- Tried to buy something illicit (this can be a steampunk gadget!), and he wasn't good on the deal
- Jilted lover or one-night stand
- Interested in the politics between mountain towns and coast towns, trying to manipulate him somehow
- Caught vandalizing something in town (for some other reason?)
- He was supposed to smuggle something to town for you, but didn't
- Scandal between classes - over money, intimate company, whatever

Spoiler

CodeSelect all

Full Name:
Age:
Gender:
Occupation:

Sexuality: (Do others know? Y/N)
Personality:
Appearance:

Potential Motivation For Murder:


Spoiler

1. I've allowed plenty of room for creative freedom. Feel free to create your own scandals and shady business with each other, but you're also fine to be perfectly innocent and curious. You can help the investigation or hinder it. If you're at all hesitant or shy about making things up, we can help you brainstorm some ideas to your liking.

2. The murderer is allowed to kill other characters, if arranged privately with the user ahead of time, with consent.

3. If your character knows something, it's up to you whether you want to share that with others or not. But remember that characters need to find things out for themselves--just because YOU know a fact, doesn't mean they do.

4. Keep it secret whether you volunteered to be murderer or not, because that could drastically narrow the possible suspects.

5. Swearing and modest sexual content/innuendo is allowed.

6. One character per person is preferred. If your character dies, you can create a new one.

7. The SB ends when the detective apprehends the murderer. Figuring out the identity will be a top priority, and then it's up to you guys if the murderer wants to try and elude capture. We could have a big chase or a shootout or anything like that, or they could go quietly. (Alternate endings are possible, where they get away, but catching them is the main goal)

Important Stuff

The Murderer

Spoiler

The murderer knows who they are. As far as everyone else is concerned, anyone could be a suspect. It's up to the detective to cross names off the list and get to the bottom of what happened.

For everyone else, you can help the investigation or hinder it. It's up to you where you were on the night of the murder, and up to the detective to get the truth out of you. You're under no obligation to be honest to anyone. In your character's inner monologue, you're welcome to be as frank as you want--nothing in a character's thoughts can be used against them. This way you can let the other users know the truth without giving things away to their characters.

The murderer can reveal themselves in private or in a SB post, at their discretion. It's up to them whether they want to keep us all in the dark, or only the characters, and for how long. Additional characters can be murdered if arranged with the users involved. Also, the murderer MAY reach out to a "partner in crime" who provided information or goods, and give them clues that no one else has.

If things go on for too long without any clues, or start wandering around in circles, I'll use my perogative as SB creator to get things back on track or reveal hints as necessary. We do eventually want to discover the identity of the murderer and go after them. Everyone is so enthusiastic so far that I have no worries!

Steampunk Stuff

Spoiler

Steampunk is essentially Victorian sci-fi--sticking sci-fi elements into the past instead of the future. It's a very broad genre, which I think is defined more by its variety than anything else. It's a hodgepodge of different ideas and technologies that all loosely hang together to create a distinct feel. The good news is that it's quite relaxed and forgiving.

If you're unfamiliar, check out these video compilations...
Steampunk World's Fair 2015
Steampunk World's Fair 2016

Common themes in steampunk include tophats, goggles, gears, poofy dresses, umbrellas, artificial limbs and other adornments, tinctures and vials, steam power, vests, wires and tubes, gauges and dials, masks, retro pistols and sci-fi guns, belts, tall leather boots, clocks, airships, the bizarre and the unexplainable. Predominant colors tend to be brown, black, red, purple, gray, bronze, gold, and white.

For Inverstadt, we're not going to be as diverse as the world's fair, of course. Our biggest themes will be clockwork, steam, ash, and Victorian-style dress and manners.

Inverstadt

We'll say that the people of Inverstadt mainly worship Hephaestus the Forger.There's a church dedicated to him with weekly services and occasional community events/charities/dinners. I'll leave it to you guys to develop some cool rituals and beliefs and decor and stuff. I'm thinking themes based around embers, smoke, and metal.

The season is autumn. Summer is intensely hot, so activity is low during that time of year. Winter, refreshingly cool but not cold, is when Inverstadt gets the most business, tourism, and social activity.

The more things you can make/have that are clockwork, the better. Gadgets, transportation, maybe even the occasional automaton that does something simple (doorman, bar polisher, some repetitive action like that).

Keep an eye on this post for updates and modifications as things develop.

Clues

- There is a broken glass figurine of Hephaestus in an alley downtown.
- Someone may have seen something by the lava river.
- An anonymous metal purchase was purportedly made through Octavia several days before the murder.

Crossed off the list: No one yet!

Vincent Haas - Downtown

The ashfall was heavier than forecasted.

Vince watched the town roll by through the swirls of thick black flakes. Already, they clung to the recently swept cobblestone, piling up in corners and dusting the tops of overhangs. The sky was dark and heavy, especially for--he checked his pocketwatch--barely noon.

The carriage lurched over a pothole. He clutched his hat as he bounced in his seat and landed with a jolt that made his joints scream. His pain had been refreshingly mild today, but carriage rides always had a way of making his day worse. He stretched, feeling his poor joints creak and pop, and snatched the paper off the seat opposite in the hope of distraction.

Murder! the front page read in bold letters. Traveling delegate found stabbed in the cellar of Elliot Inn. He'd read the article three times now, and still couldn't believe it. He'd been through town yesterday, only an hour before it happened. He'd even seen Mr. Schulz passing on the street. Then, this morning, he'd awoken to a changed town.

Reading it in the paper was one thing, but seeing the buzz in the streets was another matter entirely. Perhaps if it had been a local resident, people would have felt some sort of fear or remorse, but scandal befalling a total stranger--now that was something worth gossiping about. People were out and active, crowding the streets. Inverstadt felt more alive than it had all year. Especially with the intense heat of summer wearing down, the townsfolk seemed to be emerging from their summer hibernation in droves.

Vincent himself couldn't say he regretted the death of Mr. Schulz. It lifted a huge burden from his shoulders, knowing the Haas family business would stay safe. His ruin had been a very real possibility for a time there.

The click of gears and hooves wound down as his carriage pulled to a stop at the taxi stand downtown. A bell dinged as the automated doorman swung the little door open and gave a stiff, mechanical bow. Vince lifted his hat to the fellow--it was only polite, automaton or not--and clambered ungracefully to the curb. His joints protested the short drop to the cobblestone.

He'd come with the intention of going to the inn to help the innkeeper, somehow. Give his condolences, maybe make a donation or some such. However, he felt suddenly self-conscious. It would seem like he'd simply come to gawk. Perhaps it would be best to be seen a few places downtown before he made his way over.

He pulled a pill vial from his jacket's inner pocket and shook out two white tablets. The last two. He frowned. A visit to Dr. Jameson seemed in order, as well. He swallowed the pills one after another, then broke into a coughing fit as the second lodged in his throat. He doubled over, a string of coughs forcing their way out, his eyes watering and cheeks flushing. It took some effort to pull himself together, and he glanced about in embarassment when it was over.

Straightening his hat and vest, he brushed fresh ash off his shoulders and headed down the sidewalk.

Gideon Deering---"The Clockwork Raven: Tinkerer's Shop"

Gideon Deering pulled on his black leather gloves, glancing at the nearly finished object on his worktable. It was a brass beetle, no bigger than his fingernail. Miniscule springs and screws lay strewn across the table, and a few brass platings on the beetle were removed, exposing the interior of its abdomen.
Gideon stopped by the door to grab his large black umbrella, donning his bowler hat as he did so. The tinkerer's green eyes gazed from beneath the umbrella, missing nothing.

Picking up a newspaper from a corner stall, Gideon shook it out to see the headline: Murder! Traveling delegate found stabbed in the cellar of Elliot Inn. Raising a thin eyebrow, he took a look at the article. It seemed the delegate August Schulz had been found dead in the cellar of the inn with his midriff cut open. Gideon's thin lips twitched into their crooked trademark grin, the right side higher than the left. He'd shake the murderer's hand if he knew who they were.
Nodding at young Aidan Elliot as he passed, Gideon made a turn and reached for the door of Elliot Inn and pulled.

The downstairs pub was a warm, crowded room brightly lit. The bartender, Leslie Badger, was chatting up a young, dark-haired man, who looked as if he'd been drinking quite a lot the night before. Gideon noted that the pub was unusually silent, an uncomfortable tenseness in the air. Taking a seat at an empty corner table, he signaled to Leslie, who smiled. She seemed to be the only person unaffected by the news of Schulz's death.
"The usual, Mr. Deering?" Gideon nodded.
"Yes, Miss Badger," he replied. Leslie adjusted her glasses and headed to the back room. Most people knew not to talk to Gideon much. He was an aloof fellow, talking to others only when talked to or when the mood suited him. Tapping his fingers on the tabletop, Gideon awaited his breakfast.

Suji walked out of her apartment building, blowing ash out of her face which was coming down harder ten expected. She fastened her ever present glass dagger to her neat black sash, hidden in the folds of her yellow dress.
Suji stops by the newspaper stand around the corner on her way to work, picking up a newspaper with some rather depressing news, "Murder! Traveling delegate found stabbed in the cellar of Elliot Inn" She raises a eyebrow and whispers softly to herself, "So it's already in the news eh? Figures." She sighs and tucks the paper into her sash for her to read later. Although there wasn't much more for her to know about, living in the Elliot inn, she came down to pay her monthly bills and had seen the victim, flocked with police officers.
Of course Suji had nothing against whoever was the murderer, in fact she was almost glad that man had died, since he was threatening to take her masters company away. Suji smirked and looked down, walking the rest of the way to work.

Aidan Elliot - Elliot Inn

Aidan had no qualms about death in general, but he hadn't ever imagined that one of the travelers would be found murdered--in Aidan's own home, of all places. None of the Elliot family had been pleased when August Schulz had been discovered dead in a pool of his own blood in the cellar.

That morning, Henry could only stare--speechless; his wife Christie buried her face in his shoulder. Sylvie shook her head, muttering, "This can't be happening," while Lyn burst into frightened tears and ran back upstairs as soon as she caught sight of the mutilated body. Mother held grimly to Father, who had only let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing his face wearily. Aidan had never noticed the older man's worry lines to be so prominent.

Aidan himself had only remained briefly, leaving as soon as the police began to file down the stairs with their equipment handy. His mother had called after him, telling him to cancel any lessons scheduled and to stay at the inn.

"Yes, Mother," he'd said, and left.

Instead of heading to his room and playing some etudes to relieve his troubles, Aidan stepped out of the inn for some fresh air, trying to sort his thoughts out. Eri would understand if he didn't show up at the Messa estate today. Undoubtedly she'd already heard the news. He hoped she would stay at home and spare herself any tears she might shed, but he knew she probably would come anyways.

As for Mr. Schulz, he didn't know what to make of the events. Admittedly, he was very glad that the recent source of torment for everyone associated with the inn was gone and many of the regulars would no longer avoid the inn. An image flashed through his mind, of an angry, reddened face, a strong hand that constricted around Aidan's throat like a python, and a long, horrid scar--

He blinked and banished the cloud of darkness from his mind as the tinkerer--Mr. Deering--nodded at him and walked into the inn. Aidan coughed suddenly, glancing at the ash all around him. It would not be good to stand outside for long.

He retreated to his private corner in the back of the pub, scanning the faces of the people. There was Leslie Badger, serving Mr. Deering, and the other customers. A few old, worn but well-functioning cleaning automatons swept the floor. Lyn had resituated herself at her usual place behind the reception desk across the hall, the only sign on her beautiful face that she had been crying earlier were her puffy, still slightly red eyes.

Aidan watched as a slight figure entered the inn, pausing as he glanced about nervously. Vincent Haas seemed to stand out like a sore thumb in Elliot Inn. He walked to the reception desk and began quietly speaking to Lyn, who nodded and stood. He wondered what the landowner was doing, but decided it probably didn't involve him.

He quietly stood and headed back up to his room.

Admiral Dunagan Cornelius Pentecost

"But Admiral, what about Hephaestus the Forger? Don't Inverstadt produce the finest glass ornaments and jewelry, you've said that yourself. What if that's because they pray to him? Admiral?"

"Not now, Dunagan. Grab that rope, make yourself useful. Bring the sails in, men! Then tie yourselves down!"

"But Admiral, what if we did nothing? If order truly comes from chaos then shouldn't we do nothing and Mortem will spare us?"

"He's a bringer of change, Dunagan. People are not spared by Mortem. We act for him and sometimes against him for to believe in him isn't always to agree."

"But Admiral - father! Look out!"

Several guests at the inn had decided to look elsewhere for new rooms which weren't in the vicinity of a recent crime scene so it was altogether quieter upstairs, despite the chaos below. Order from chaos. Most faiths gave little proof of themselves and instead expected great leaps and bounds from their believers but Dunagan's faith always told him it was there, shouting in his ear: ordo ab chao.

It was a sign. Another one lest he forget that night and August Schulz' death was further proof - what better sign than to strike down the very man who had questioned his faith? Mere chance indeed. Admiral Dunagan knew the truth and he had been saved by providence that day.

Dunagan pushed himself out of bed with his good arm and picked up the glass of water from his bedside table. He opened a compartment in his robotic arm and poured the water in, then closed it and opened another. He struck a match, poked it inside, then closed that compartment as well. Dunagan flicked the switch. The water heated at a rapid rate and Dunagan could twitch his metal fingers almost immediately - enough to help him wash and pull on his clothes at any rate. He still had to fasten the buttons with his one good hand as the metal fingers were somewhat clumsy and liable to crush any delicate items.

Next the delegate made his checks - his oil levels were good, he had water to spare and plenty of matches. He turned on both orbs on the side of his arm and one gave off a strong, blue glow but the other crackled and flickered. Dunagan realised the glass was chipped and the metal surround dented at one side - how careless of him. He turned both lights off for now to reserve their power and drank the rest of the water, but not before once again checking the two tubes he carried on his person. It paid to be self sufficient.

Then Dunagan went downstairs and entered the more lively area of the inn. He took a seat next to an older man who had just started his breakfast and noted absently that they were almost of a height with one another.

"Good morning. A gin sling if you will, my dear and a few sausages, some toast. Perhaps some beans and-"

"-And none of that egg business," Leslie Badger finished with a smug smile.

"You're a doll," Dunagan said with a tip of his hat.

"Blimey, you're drinking already? Can't says I blame you, what with all this hullabaloo. Say-" And Leslie leaned over the bar slightly as she started mixing his drink so Dunagan leaned in too. "How about I serve you at that corner table? Give you a bit of room."

Dunagan followed her gaze to the older gentleman and caught her drift but he smiled warmly and shook his head. "And deprive the good gentleman of my wonderful company? Surely not."

I suspected the campaign trip would be short and to the point. Not to be cut short to a stop in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by lava. Sasha told me the people inside Inverstadt were kind and swell. I believed her for the first few moments. Inverstadt was different from the seafoam town of Greddial, both temperature and mood. Supposedly, there was a church that worshipped some god with fire. Back in Greddial, there were churches on either side of the street, whether it be for some major or minor god. I pleaded to Sasha that we should go back but I knew better. Out of the people who helped me to be a delegate, Sasha was the only one I adored. The rest were snot nosed rascals who took money. Honestly, I found it annoying and completely irrational.
We walked through the streets. Ashfall was thick and I kept sneezing. It was a pleasant site. My eyes were watering from the smoke and steam. I couldn't dare complain to my wife or she'll think I'm "not strong" enough. Small buildings were pressed up against each other, smoke rising out of the chimneys. Red faced women and men would exit these buildings, some carrying loaves of bread or weird pieces of metal in their arms. As we continued our walk, Sasha pointed out a newspaper stand at the end of the street. A thin boy with sandpaper blonde hair was running the place, a grin plastered on his face. He was handing out newspapers to the passersby, who in turn, gave him coins. They too seemed to smiling until their faces changed. What was bad about the newspaper? I didn't enjoy reading myself. It gives people ideas and frankly, I'd like the world better if we didn't have books.
Sasha dragged me to the newspaper stand and by the end of it, I was out of the breath. She grabbed the newspaper and paid the boy, who in return, smiled back. I grumbled under my breathe. Damn happy people.

"Oh dear, Rich, this is bad," Sasha muttered.

"Huh?" I asked. I took the newspaper out of her hands before she could even speak. In big bold letters, the words "Murder! Traveling delegate found stabbed in the cellar of Elliot Inn!" There was a small article about the guy (continued on page. four). There were plenty of murders in Greddial. Alleyway. Mistress angry at cheating husband and stabs him with a fork. That kind of thing. I never really paid attention to them. But this. It gave me another feeling. I wasn't scared, no. More like, not-willing-to-go-into-the-hotel. I blinked away at the sudden tension in my throat and handed the newspaper to Sasha.

"We should leave, Rich," she told me. Her voice was quivering. I can sense she was about to cry.

"You said we had to come to Inverstadt. To get me votes so I could win. A murder is a murder. Someone's life is gone. It happens. We all die!" I yelled, some people looking at me. I took a deep breathe before continuing. "Besides, we're staying in the Governor's Inn down the street from it. We don't have to deal with the people there, okay?"

Sasha wanted to say something but decided against it. "Fine. Isn't there another delegate here?"

"Admiral Dunagan Cornelius Pentecost. My co-runner. He's staying in the Elliot's Inn, also, I believe. All I have to worry about is him and the votes he gets. I hate to lose."

Sasha sighed. Placing a hand on my arm, she smiled. "I'm aware. But I'm sure you'll win. I bet on my mother's grave."

I chuckled, folding the newspaper and placing it in my coat pocket. "We should check into the hotel before it gets too dark."

There were horses pawing at the ground. I didn't realize the people of Inverstadt were that into steampunk. Sure, there were some "cults" in Greddial that sported steampunkish things but I never paid attention to them. I just found them distracting from the real thing: laser engraved hand gloves. It will sell in the future, I told everyone. The gears of the horses never really excited me; only made me weary. I frowned, thinking hard about Greddial. I wasn't the type of person to be homesick but instead worry about what the economical events that happened. The newspapers here just made it worst. I had a nagging feeling deep within my chest to just turn back now and leave the campaign.

"Rich, do you think we could get a snack? I'm awfully hungry and my feet hurt," Sasha said. She then pointed down towards her wedged shoes. I sighed inwardly before looking towards a closed in cafe.

"I suppose a few moments can't hurt anyone."

Gideon Deering-Elliot Inn
Gideon swallowed a mouthful of soup and looked up as the young man who'd taken a seat at the table nodded cordially. Noting the mechanical arm, he decided to analyze this fellow.
He was tall and imposing--definitely a military man--and had deep, dark blue eyes that, as Gideon wagered, captivated anyone fortunate or unfortunate enough to stare into them for too long. The man had short black hair and wore a waistcoat with intricate patterns of cogs on it. Gideon had heard there was a delegate of military background here--perhaps this was him? He'd expected someone older; this fellow couldn't be more than thirty.
The tinkerer took a chance and decided to break one of his rules: Only talk enough or less. Leaning forward, he looked the man full in the face and asked, "Have you heard about the murder yet, young man?" The man looked up and smiled slightly.
"Oh, yes. Delegate Schulz has finally met his Maker....Mortem help whoever killed him; I wager the bastard's ghost will haunt them for the rest of their days." Gideon chuckled.
"You knew him, then?" The man nodded, sighing.
"Yes, I'm a fellow delegate. You could say we didn't really get along."

Nilima Kelsey - Winterborough Glassblowing & Co.

Nilima concentrated as hard as she could on the molten glob of golden glass clinging perilously to the end of her spinning blowpipe, aware that if she spoiled yet another project in one day, her hopes of keeping this job would be shattered. But, try as she might, she couldn't steady her hands. Her fingers, accustomed to rolling the blowpipe smoothly and artistically for hours every day, were uncharacteristically jittery. She was filled with a strange sense of joy that she couldn't contain, knowing that, as proclaimed on the front page of the newspapers all over town, justice had been done.

The tiny bronze bell on the shop door jingled, announcing the arrival of Suji. The blowpipe nearly slipped out of Nilima's hands, but she caught it at the last second. Irritated at her own incompetence, she stuck the blowpipe back into the furnace before Suji could see the lumpy glob of glass wrapped around the end. Suji was just an apprentice, after all - she was supposed to look up to Nilima, the trained "professional" who never made mistakes.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" she asked Suji, deciding that she might as well take a break.

"I do every morning," Suji said. "At the inn."

"Even this morning, with everything going on there?"

Suji shrugged. "The Elliots were busy this morning, yeah. I still made sure I got my meal, though - I payed for it."

Nilima removed the wrapping from the small chunk of cheese in her bag. "Could I use your knife?" she asked.

Suji hesitated, then handed it over.

Nilima sliced the cheese into small squares, then draped them over a row of stale crackers. Next to the furnace, the cheese melted within minutes. She wiped Suji's knife, then handed it back. She popped a few of the crackers into her mouth. Her stomach was soon content, and her nerves consequently calmed as well.

She slid down onto the ground next to Suji to wait for their shift to officially begin. After a restless night, she had started work early, and now, at the beginning of the day, she was already tired.

Suji didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. She hopped onto her feet, tied her long blonde hair back, and set to work.

Nilima finished the last of her crackers, and leaned back, resting her head on the edge of a worktable. Her eyelids became heavy, and she let them close.

She thought back on her life as a little girl. She used to have a joyful soul and a shining smile; she was her father's little sunshine. But then, in a turmoil of packing bags, crossing lava rivers, cursing August Schulz, and saying goodbye, she wouldn't ever see him again. She wouldn't, in fact, see her any of her family anymore. She would be locked under the jurisdiction of a cruel, cruel master, who would abuse her and her hate her and beat her down into an empty shell for the next six years.

The worst was when he'd be gone for the night - usually at some party of the delegates - for it was only the calm before the storm, when she would tremble in a cold corner and await the coming of his alcohol-stained breath hissing in her ear in the morning.

She had since tried to block out all memory of things he had done to her, unwilling to open up old wounds. But that was wishful thinking. Even though the sadistic master had died years ago, she still saw his lava-filled eyes behind her eyelids every night, and in the morning it wasn't uncommon for her to jolt upright out of bed, flecks of salty purple hair glued to the nape of her neck with sweat.

Her heart jumped when she heard the bronze bell jingle again; this time it was paired with the angry, masculine exclamation of her new but hardly more compassionate master: "Nilima! Get to work."

Nilima scrambled to her feet, knocking over a pair of shears from the worktable. She kept her eyes downcast as she bent down to pick up the shears and brush off the cracker crumbs from her apron. "Sorry," she muttered.

Suji walked over to her section of the store and set her stuff down. She ran her hands along the smooth grain of her workbench, pondering for a second on what she would create today. She decided on a glass figurine, an order from a customer that she didn't have time to finish the other day. Suji picked up her blowpipe, ready to set to work, when the store's bell chimed announcing the arrival of Nilima's master.
"Nilima!" He said, "get back to work!" Suji glared at the man, angry at the interruption.
"Mesure!" She called. "Don't be too hard on her today. Everyone is shaken up because of the murder." She reasoned with him. Suji practically chocked on the word mesure, believing that this man had in no way earned the title.
He walked over to Suji with a slow pace, his fists clenched in fury. "Don't you dare tell me what I can and can't do." He snarled sticking his foul smelling face into her's. Suji met him glare for glare, just daring him to hit her. He was still seething when he broke the gaze, storming away.
"Good riddance." Suji growled under her breath and returned to her work.

With her pocket journal in-hand, Aleja noted the following in precise, all-caps, italicized emphasis:

I do not like trains. I do not like the fire hills of Inverstadt. I do not like missives, pigeon letters, nor interruptions in missions. However, my orders from Interpol are quite clear, and this case should be open-and-shut.

It bothers me, though, that they'd get involved in a trade-town murder in Hephaestus nation. Why bother with the hotheads when half of what they do is gunsmithing?

That's unfair. There is no confirmation that the murder has been committed by shooting. However, if I were a betting girl...

Aleja closed her journal and strapped the leather cover shut. In her bag, replacing it, she retrieved a tiny gyrosphere with a keyhole in the back, which she wound tightly. Like a bee, it buzzed to life with clockwork ticks. The train, while delayed by a magma floe, would be arriving soon, and she needed a refresher, so she closed the blinds on her compartment and pulled her shirt over her head, allowing the tiny clockwork bot to spray her with ANTIBAC-94%.

Small cuts and gashes on her lower torso from a previous mission's knife fight stung at the intrusion. She allowed the pain. That should go in her journal.

Against the wall, she unstrapped it and scribbled it in the corner.

#391: Pain of healing reminds me of mistakes not to repeat.

The train whistle blew. She clapped down on the clockwork bot and grabbed her shirt and jacket. She had a date with an Admiral and a corpse.

Admiral Dunagan Cornelius Pentecost

Dunagan flashed a smile, not even slightly repentant over his ill words for Delegate Schultz, may Mortem torment his everlasting soul. "I daresay it's a fortuitous sign for the upcoming election," he added.

"Won't it make people afraid to vote?" Dunagan couldn't help noticing that the gentleman asked a lot of questions but gave very little information in return. That tweaked his curiosity but the Admiral had always been very free with his information, or most of it anyway. He had other ways of getting what he wanted.

"I'd rather think it would," Dunagan agreed with an easy grin. "But it won't put the fear into anyone of consequence."

Which of course meant that people voting for a representative of Mortem weren't likely to be scared off by a death in the competition and would indeed see it for the providential sign it was. Followers of Mortem who'd been wavering or considering abstaining would snap back into line and if the other parties had slightly smaller turn outs then all the better.

"Ah."

Dunagan wondered how many layers of his cleverness the man had understood. He turned back to his breakfast and speared the two sausages with his fork, then bit into both at once and washed it down with the gin cocktail. The door of the establishment opened and closed with a soft thud and conversations lulled as heads turned to take in the new comer. The two gentlemen at the bar did not turn but the footsteps approached them anyway.

"Admiral Dunagan Cornelius Pentecost. I'll be taking a moment of your time."

The Admiral did turn now that he was addressed - it would have been rude not to - and he tipped his hate to the rather severe but exotic looking lady. "Detective," he greeted her. There was no need to ask how she'd known him - he had to assume that he'd been described to her or even photographed at one or another of the events. He didn't pay much attention to the papers himself but he always tried to smile when he saw a lens pointed his way. I have a room at the inn, will that be suitable?"

"Not quite," the detective replied and she waved to Leslie who approached at once. "If you have a back room, I'll require its use from time to time and I will need a room for the duration of my stay as well."

While the detective was preoccupied, Dunagan dipped his double sausage serving in beans and bit off another third of both of them. He chewed quickly, swilled it down with more gin and then did the same again to finish the sausages off. The action was made slightly more awkward because he had to set down his fork in between each bite to reach for his glass and then the fork again but Dunagan's hand to mouth co-ordination was impeccable.

Leslie Badger - Elliot Inn


The mutilated body of August Schulz was a gruesome business indeed, but Leslie could not take her eyes off it.
There was the man who had bullied Aidan, insulted the Elliots, and caused that awful scene so recently- now lying immobile in a pool of blood.

Shaking, she left the cellar, stumbling up the stairs. Then she ran to Kent Elliot.
''Mr Elliot, sir, the cellar- you've got to come quick, there's a-'' she stammered incoherently. ''What is it? a rat? a thief?''

''A body.'' Mr Elliot met her wide eyes with a worried frown.


That was a few days ago. The papers soon caught wind of the murder, and everyone was talking about it. The inn's business had actually improved since then.
In fact, it seemed that maybe, now that August Schulz had gone, things in Elliot Inn could go back to the way they were.

Leslie smiled as she took Mr Deering's order, and Admiral Dunagan's.
''Say, I don't think I've ever served a real Admiral. We don't get a lot of military gents here.'' she said jovially as she handed him his gin and breakfast.
''Enjoy your stay in Inverstadt.''

Leslie kept on serving patrons with her characteristic cheerfulness. Now that the inn had gotten back into the swing of things, she was feeling like her old self again.


Her newfound complacency was shaken when she heard the word detective.
She looked around, and realised that the Admiral had just addressed the lady he was talking to as such.
Leslie scolded herself for being careless enough to forget that Detective Aleja was expected to arrive that day.

Detective Aleja waved her over. She complied immediately.
"If you have a back room, I'll require its use from time to time and I will need a room for the duration of my stay as well."
Leslie was friendly, but not too cheery. Couldn't look too happy, that would be suspicious.
''Of course, 'guv. For the room, Lyn over there will sort you out right. As for the back room, come to the bar, I'll show you where the keys are kept.''

They stood behind the bar, and Detective Aleja's sharp eyes were fixed on the drawer inside the bar. Leslie opened the drawer, and it was full of recipe books.
Except for one thick green volume, which was a trashy romance novel.
Leslie pointed at it. ''It's hollow. The keys to the back room are in there.
You'll be going there alone, though, I'm not supposed to be in there.
Or even know...where the keys....are...'' She remembered out loud.
Once she realised what she had said, she quickly added, ''I found them by accident.''

Detective Aleja shifted her gaze to Leslie, scrutinizing her potential suspect.
''Who are you?''
''Leslie Badger. I'm the bartender here, sir- ma'am?'' she gave a small nervous laugh. ''Sorry, ma'am. Detective.''