IG's Legend of The Ripper [IC]

[industrygothica]

[sblock=Rayel]Of all places, you think to yourself as you navigate the weathered thatched roofs of Miller’s Court. It’s taken some doing, and perhaps more deception than you’d care to admit, but finally someone has told you where you could find your lost friend.

I can’t believe it’s come to this.

Finally, in perhaps the darkest corner of Miller’s Court you find the old Ten Bells building, decayed beyond imagination. “There?” you whisper to yourself, your soft words getting lost in the thick fog.

You easily hop the narrow gap between buildings and land nervously on the roof of the Ten Bells. The trapdoor is open, just like he said it would be. Gently, you make your way to it and peer down into the attic.

The bile rises in your throat as the horror overtakes you. It’s Prel-or what’s left of her-lying in a heap just below the open trapdoor. Her head is nearly severed, as is an arm, and a moist pile of entrails lay neatly next to her eviscerated corpse.

But perhaps even more disturbing is the weeping ghost-bride hovering next to her body. You gasp at the scene, and she looks up at you, meeting your horrified gaze. Slowly, she backs away and disappears.

Somehow you conjure the courage to lower yourself into the attic, careful not to slip in the gore. Several minutes are spent mourning your lost friend, your lost life, when you hear the attic door being pulled open from below.

Have they come back? Instinctively, you jump behind a stack of boxes piled in a shadow-filled corner of the room.[/sblock]

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

Rayel tries to breath quietly in the darkness, the pain in her heart a terrible thing. Prel, poor Prel, what had she done to deserve that? And now these people... Where they the killers? Hunters? Predators?

Some of them wore expensive armor of knitted chain, or bore weapons that no one in her neighborhood could afford. Well, perhaps she could afford them now. The backpack she had taken in her initial panic a few weeks ago must have belonged to a wealthy thief, considering its contents, but she had yet to flaunt her new status. Not that she would.

It followed that these people were rich, though not as rich as some, perhaps powerful, and certainly confident to be here of all places.

Fear stabbed her for a moment, paralyzing her, until one of the mailed men spoke of Prel in tones of pity, as a victim. Rich men, in her limited experience, considered poor girls to be trash. He wouldn't have called her a victim, he would have wondered why no one had taken out the garbage yet. This man showed sorrow for Prel's death.

Rayel gaped at the man and his companions, gasping a little louder than she had intended in the foul, dust and rot-scented air.

 

[Autumn]

Fen, still looking an unhealthy shade of greenish white, tears his gaze away from the hideous scene to peer suddenly into the shadows.

"Shhhh," he hisses urgently. "Noise again. Not rats." He quickly nocks an arrow to his bow. "Be ready fer a fight. Could be we've cornered us a killer."

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

Oh no, oh no, oh no... Rayel thinks in a panic as she hears one of them talk about finding a killer. My dress is covered in blood, my hands, my shoes, I'm alone, what will they think of me? No, no no!

Crying openly now, Rayel throws herself down on her face, rocking back and forth in despair and fear.

 

[PhoenixAsh]

Dacen Athrin, Human Cleric of St. Cuthbert HP: 8/9

Dacen raises his mace defensively at Fen's call of alarm, but the sudden sobbing from behind the crates gives him pause for thought.

That doesn't sound like a cold-hearted killer who mutilates bodies. Unless the killer is insane. By Cuthbert, that's certainly possible! Could it be another victim - a live one? Or another trap. Doesn't sound like Mari Kell's spirit...

Dacen slowly returns his mace to his belt. He's as dangerous unarmed as he is armed, but whoever is behind the crates doesn't know that. Holding his shield up defensively, he looks back at Fen and Rexy. "I'll take a look. Cover me. Please."

He picks his way around the crates and debree towards the source of the crying. His nerves threatening at his resolve, he begins to speak as he moves, "Ah... hello there. My name is Dacen. What's yours?"

He rolls his eyes, Stupid! Wish I were better at this!

"Look, I'm a priest of St. Cuthbert. We're investigating the murders around here. If you'll just relax and take it easy, we just want to talk, alright? Don't mean any harm. Maybe you could help us out."

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

Behind the crates is a young woman, no more than sixteen years old, kneeling on the floor, her face buried in her hands. A slightly battered backpack lies next to her, far better in quality than her own clothes; simple drab working gear, skirt, blouse, vest, and a kerchief covering her hair.

She tilts her head up at the priest, but doesn't quite meet his eyes. As she sits more upright, he can see her hands, arms, and the front of her dress are smeared with dried blood.

"I... my name is Ray," she whispers. A priest? St. Cuthbert's priest, here? They never come here, not unless they have reason. Could he be telling the truth? She wasn't sure, but wasn't going to tell this man her real name, not yet.

"She was my sister, her name was Prel... Do you know who did this to her?" she demands, a slightly hysterical edge to her voice.

 

[PhoenixAsh]

Dacen Athrin, Human Cleric of St. Cuthbert HP: 8/9

"Ray. Nice to... ah..." Dacen hesitates, swallowing as he sees she is splattered with blood. "Nice to meet you."

Dacen is Ray's elder, though not by more than a few years. His chain shirt is certainly the most expensive thing on him. His clothes aren't the rags of a pauper, but certainly don't speak of overt wealth. Most all of his visible equipment has the look of long use to it - his shield and armor have the scratches and nicks of repeated use and his backpack has been patched more than once. His wooden holy symbol is held to his neck by a simple leather cord. As he looks down, he sees it is twisted. Leaning down a little, he turns it around so she can see its face - perhaps it will assure her, perhaps not.

"I can't tell you who did this Ray. We're not sure yet. We have some leads yet, but - look, I'm sorry. She was your sister? Her name was Prel? I'm so sorry. We're going to bring this killer to justice. By Saint Cuthbert, I can promise you that we're not going to stop until everyone who has been senselessly murdered in this way has their revenge!"

Passion begins to overtake the calm, gentle tone in his voice as he makes his vow. "I've seen too much to let this go without seeing His will be done. I may be haunted by nightmares of this place years after I leave, but my dreams will not be tainted with failure."

Dacen looks at Ray's hands and her clothing, trying to discern if there is any injury behind all that dried blood. "Ray, are you hurt? I can help you if you are."

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

The girl looks honestly startled by Dacen's offer of help and pledge of justice. Such people exist in this world?

"I'm..." she pauses, swallowing hard, trying not to look at Prel's body. "I'm not hurt. It's Prel's blood. Do you really mean you're going to find her? The woman in white? I saw her standing over Prel, but she vanished into thin air..."

Ray is still keeping her eyes downcast, and is mumbling her words slightly.

 

[industrygothica]

[sblock=Fen]The one thing you notice differently about this murder-the most obvious thing, is that the victim is female. All the others you've encountered thus-far have been male.[/sblock]

ooc: I'm not ignoring you guys-just watching the roleplaying for a bit before we carry on. I'll have time for an update on Wednesday if you decide what we're going to do by then.

 

[Rhun]

Rexy peers suspicously at the woman. "How did you get in here?" she asks.