Welcome to Cove

Report concerning the events of Sunday evening, on the 7th day of the 8th month.

Time of incident:  Between the fifth and sixth hours of the evening, approximately one hour after Mass.
Perpetrator:  Unknown
Victimized party: Sir Murad, Knights Hospitallers (KH)



After the rousing mass delivered by our most enthusiastic Sir Hugo and his pious associates, we of the militia had retired to the barracks to reflect on our multifarious sins, and possibly to come up with some interesting new ones, as it wouldn't do to fall short during confession the following week.  I had been making some attempts at conversation, but our esteemed Corporal Veldrin seemed to be suffering some manner of headache, so I thought it more prudent to take a stroll about the grounds and root out any potential miscreants and evildoers. 

My first thought was to investigate the nearby tavern, that being the logical place for ne'er-do-well's and varlets to congregate.  And, while I conducted my search, surely a tiny nip of the Guardian's burning tipple wouldn't plunge my soul TOO deeply into the fires of unending perdition, yes?

My patrol was cut short, however, by a collision with a tall, impressively armored man who appeared quite literally out of thin air.


(http://img209.imageshack.us/img209/9396/nnn1ik.jpg)
The scene of the crime!  Well, sort of.


~


Lost in thought, the pallid man in the dark mail strides headfirst into a wall of burnished steel.  "My dear fellow," he stammers, taken aback, "Do excuse me!  I didn't even see you there..."

The taller man staggers, unfocussed eyes staring blankly through him.

"Thh...." he rasps, thickly, "where..."

The guardsman arches an eyebrow.  "I say, are you all right...?"


~


This newcomer was clad in the attire of a Knight Hospitaller and seemed distinctly the worse for wear.  His sense of equilibrium was clearly impaired, and he seemed to be suffering some, shall we say, cognitive difficulties.  My first assumption was an excess of soul-enslaving alcohol, being, as we were, directly outside the tavern.  However, our unexpected visitor WAS a hospitaller, and I have it on good authority that they indulge in such things only for the most purely medicinal of purposes. 

My evaluation of the circumstances surrounding our chance meeting was at this stage modified by the appearance of Recruit Cor'Ari Ta.


~


"Ah, Mr Ta, excellent timing."

"No... wss...." mumbles the armored stranger, pressing a mailed hand to his eyes and swaying unsteadily on his feet. "Where..."

"What's this, Clovis?" asks the younger man, peering suspiciously at the newcomer.

"This fellow here seems to be a bit inebriated." declares the dark-haired man, gesturing languidly, "Now, if we were WATCHMEN, I'd say mug him.  But we're recruits, and that sort of thing just isn't done."

The warrior's knees buckle and he falls to the turf on hands and knees with a dense thud.  The world spins around him like a cart-wheel, plunging him into vertigo.  A thin trickle of black vomit runs from his open helm, spattering to the grass.

"Oh dear," remarks the guardsman.


~


It was at this juncture that Mr Ta prudently suggested helping our afflicted visitor into the barracks, and, since the poor devil didn't seem as though he was quite up to a brisk jog to the infirmary, I was inclined to concur.  Each taking one of the man's arms, we assisted him up the perilous stairwell (note: eighth and fourteenth steps need repair) and into the relative comfort of our beloved guardhouse, whence I sought expert help.


~


He would never show it, but an old, secret part of him flinched inwardly whenever those cold, inhuman eyes lifted from their secrecy to impale him on the icy, focussed lancet of their hatred.

"Vot is it NOW, ExSanguis?" growls the Drow, pressing a hand to her suddenly throbbing temple.

The charm snaps smoothly into place. "Something of a situation, my good Corporal.  This fellow," he jerks his head toward the bulky, armored figure slung heavily between the two guardsmen's shoulders, "appeared out of nowhere just below the barracks.  In rather bad shape, by the look of him.  Having some difficulty standing up, remembering his own name, little things."   

"So t'kk him to a bloody HEALER!" she snaps, slamming her palm down on the table and swinging her head around to blaze at him. 

"Wouldn't have made it, I'm afraid.  He's fading rather quickly."

"Medicine is NOT my responsibility..." the pain throbs behind her eyes and she screws them shut, willing it to recede, "Vhy are you pestering me vith zhis idiocy!?"

The recruit's eyes harden with an obdurate, veiled contempt.

"Well, judging from the green tinge around his eyes and the way he's just stopped breathing, I'd say poison," he grates. "I thought you might be GOOD with poison.  Just a GUESS."

"You insignif--"

"Look, at the very least, you can GATE him to someone who can assist him, yes?  Though, should you think it beyond your capabilities, of course..." he shrugs beneath the weight of the stricken Hospitaller.

The Dark Elf seethes silently at him, grinding her teeth like millstones and mentally roasting him alive. 


~


Mistress Veldrin's headache appeared to be making a sudden resurgence -- doubtlessly due to her agitated concern over our visitor's wellbeing -- and thus I elected to swiftly leave the barracks and run down to the local Healer's with the intent to purchase an appropriate quantity of antivenin.  Alas, the recent monetary sacrifices demanded by our good Templars had left me with little in the way of financial recompense, if you follow me, and some heated bartering ensued.  I shall be filing my case against the Cove healers in a seperate report. 


(http://img211.imageshack.us/img211/6844/gsghh1uw.jpg)
Turmoil in the infirmary...


In any case, I managed to aquire what I hoped would be a reasonable quantity of countertoxin and made haste to the barracks, only breaking one of the precious vials in the process. (Note: tenth step also in need of repair)


~


The armored man's breathing is shallow and ragged as he lays supine on the tattered bedclothes.  But the sickly tinge has vanished from his face, and his eyes have begun to clear of their pain and confusion.  The Drow watches with folded arms, tapping her foot impatiently whilst the dark-haired recruit smiles amiably, readying a largish book and a quill.

"I... thank you for... your kindness," the Knight murmurs in a broken whisper. "I do not--"

"ExSanguis!" spits the Drow, finally losing patience.

"Yes, Corporal?" enquires her subordinate, mildly.

"I am not talented with sympathy." she declares impassively.

"WHAT a surprise..."

"You deal with him."

"A wise choice, Corporal Veldrin." the man responds, bowing.

"I am leaving," she informs him, evenly, "And I will see you later.  In the Arcanist's tower."

"Yes, Corporal."

"For practice."

"YES, Corporal..."


~


Our ministrations were as successful as could be hoped for such a slap-and-go effort, and our envenomed guest rapdily recovered his wits and heartbeat, if not the entirety of his strength.

The ensuing interview, split between myself, several superior guardsman and the extremely worthy Scout Regular Kate, was a scattered, uncertain affair.  The man's name was Murad, and he was indeed of the esteemed Knights Hospitallers.  (DASHING armor, that lot, though I do prefer the bleak simplicity of our practical Covian regalia.)  Our good Sir Murad reported an assault, though where he had been at the time he couldn't say for certain.  This assailant, he reported, was possibly Drow, wielding a "Strange weapon."  Whilst I'm uncertain precisely what qualifies as strange for a Drow Assassin who assaults a Hospitaller out of thin air, strikes them before they can react and bleeds them full of poison, this seems an important detail, and I find myself vexed by our lack of description.


A summary of the facts, then:

* Knight Hospitaller Murad, accosted by unidentified assailant, gender unknown, clad in a concealing black robe and hat, the incident occurring possibly near Trinsic between the fifth and sixth hours of the afternoon. 

* Said Hospitaller is attacked with an unidentified weapon, about which little is known beyond the fact that its assault is piercing and/or slashing in nature, and that it was coated in a particularly swift and presumably lethal poison.

* Our good Knight is wounded, fortuitously has the presence of mind to understand the nature of his predicament and casts a recall spell, transporting himself to Cove and escaping a grisly and unpleasant death.


Additional, if somewhat murkier details:


* The patient had received a single shallow cut to his left arm, vertical, discolored with a greenish tinge.  On a morbid impulse, I carved away a little of the flesh around the wound and collected as much blood as seemed polite under the circumstances.  Thus, we are in possession of a reasonable sample of the poison used to debilitate our erstwhile guest.  It is my humble recommendation that we have it examined by our esteemed Arcane and Scout divisions in an attempt to establish its likeliest source.  I shall, of course, be conducting my own analysis of the loathsome stuff, but orcs don't simply bludgeon themselves to death, you know, and I'm likely to be frightfully busy in the coming weeks.

* A quick search of the grounds established that our good Hospitaller hadn't dropped anything that wasn't previously inside his body.  Never hurts to dig about, though, eh?

* My notes SPECIFICALLY indicate that our esteemed invalid said "HER hat," when referring to his assailant's attire, but the man's wits were addled, and he later recanted this statement as a delusion.  Specifically, mine.  Charming man.


~


A bit sparse, I'm afraid, and not much to go on.  And it's not as though we weren't quite enough on the lookout for Drow assassins already, hmm?  I do believe that the only ironclad bit of evidence we have to go on is the poison itself, and the identity of the target.  To whit:  Who IS Knight Hospitaller Murad, and why did he warrant singling out for assassination?  Was he the ONLY target, or simply the only target to survive?  Was this Drow an independant agent, or was he or she operating under the guidance of, shall we say, a darker authority?

I am confident we shall have the answers in time, if we are only prudent enough to ask the right questions.

I am as ever, your servant,

Clovis ExSanguis (rep.),
Guardsman Recruitant of the valiant Militia of the glorious Baronship of Cove.


PS - Please excuse bloodstains on parchment.  Attrition, you know.


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I have a somewhat indepth knowledge of poisoned and would gladly look at the sample ye have if you diliver it to the Light company tower.

A well written story Clovis, enjoyed it.

Most excellent, Mr Althalus sir, I shall see to it that you're delivered a priority sample.  Do excuse the squishier bits, it was the best I could manage under the circumstances. 


And pleased it meets with your approval, Mr. Fripp.  Though had I known you'd be reading it, I'd have thrown in a few bodies and the occasional evisceration.  *grins*

That would be a nice touch. <grins>