Oblivion Mod:Stirk/Weight of Guilt, Part III

he basement was as Artisa described: stone and cold, the bodies resting peacefully on elevated slabs. And, of course, a titanic Ogrim filling one corner of the room. As I glanced at it, it stared back, perhaps not understanding why his mistress permitted me to be there. I looked away from it for a moment, turning my attention back to the corpse Artisa had led me to, when something nagged at me.

Giving the Ogrim a more serious - if distant - inspection, I noticed that it's massive hands has blood on them. As if finally shrugging off my presence, the Ogrim turned it's back to me, and began doing something I could not see. I looked a question at Artisa, but she didn't seem to know what it was about. When I explained my concern to her, she smiled.

"Oh sera, he's just eating. I used to get rats in here a few years ago, and he cleared that problem right up. Got a taste for them, I'm afraid. He likes them fresh - live, that is - but. . . but he prefers them tender too. So he. . ." Artisa balled her hand into a fist. "I can see your reason, though." As if to underscore her point, the cracking of bone could be heard from it's direction.

That done, I began to look over the two bodies. Artisa had washed them, so it was much easier to see where and how they had sustained injury. Both were fairly well mangled, with long straight parallel cuts covering much of their bodies, and a number of deep gashes in their torsos. There were no large, obvious bruises that I could see, which was inconsistent with the scenes; if the victims had been as battered as their rooms and other injuries indicated, they weren't showing it as they should have.

"Mistress Arethi, is there anything you can add? Did the spirits of these departed tell you anything?"

She shook her head slowly, "I'm afraid they were already on their way to Oblivion when I received them. Nevus - on your right - wanted to know 'where the hairy thing went'. But he didn't seem too upset about it, just curious. Oblivion took him soon after." Artisa paused again, considering something. "I've heard a rumor. . . some people are saying a werewolf is to blame. With my big Ogrim here, I'm not too worried - more just nervous - but sera, can it really be true?"

I scratched my chin, pondering "Right now, I'd be loath to say. I would like to know more before I begin throwing accusations around. In that cause. . . Not to assume too much mistress, but given your closeness to these victims, what could you tell me about their lives?"

If Artisa was put off by my resumed questioning, she seemed at least understanding. "Nevus, whom you've already 'met', was an alchemist. He carried all manner of rare plants, and other such exotic items. He. . . he used to laugh that people complained about the smell of some of his concoctions while no one said a word about my corpses. The second victim, the one the Blades got all in a huff about, was a good friend of his. The other of my guests was Gratinius Dolan, an enchanter. He used to tell me about extraordinary items he made free of charge for Blades - very concerned about the safety of the Empire, that one. Once, he offered to enchant the stone in the basement to keep my guests even colder, but I didn't want to impose. They were good, honest men."

I nodded, "Thank you very much, mistress. I hope I have not taken up too much of your time."

"Not at all" she assured me.

With that, I bid her farewell, and began a circuit of the crime scenes trying to track down Kevius. I found him at the fifth scene, playing with a bit of straw in an alley. Every few moments, he would look down one side of the alley, then the other, obviously bored. When he spotted me, his relief was visible.

"The others had been cleaned up already" he greeted me, "And sweepers came while I waited here. I shooed them off, but I'm afraid them may have gone to the last house already. But one is better than none, I hope."

"I hope, too."

I bent to inspect the small scattering of glass on the floor of the alley. Glass on stone, clear enough, but something was lacking. Something vital. I asked Kevius if he had noticed anything odd about it, but he just shook his head in confusion.

"Did you see any of the murder scenes?" I asked patiently. When he nodded, I continued "The carnage, the blood everywhere. The walls, the floors, even the ceiling. Remember the ceiling? There are prints of the entire body, as if someone threw them up there, bleeding. Now I ask you: How does one soak so thoroughly in blood, leave bloody smears on the window sill, and leave no trace of it on the glass at our feet?" The boy stammered in surprise for a moment before I gave him the conclusion. "Someone escaped through the window of each scene, but that person did so while the victim was still alive. Whoever broke those windows is not the killer."

As I stepped him through it, his face became progressively brighter, and before I could say that the person was a possible witness as to the real killer's identity, young Kevius shouted "May the gods be praised!"

Ant.: Weight of Guilt, Part II

Acima: Weight of Guilt

Próx.: Weight of Guilt, Part IV