Red Wizard

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@Fuzzybootz

Browns desk was neat and tidy. All the pencils and papers were in the right place, everything folded and tucked away. There was a ledger in the top drawer containing the files of his open cases, along with Browns own notes on each one. The rest of the drawers contained what you would expect, like additional materials, old notebooks (dated and sorted), a framed picture of his sweetheart (or daughter? Olivia wasn't sure), an unsealed but closed envelope which Olivia decided against opening, etc, etc, etc. In this perfect picture of serene order, one thing stood out like a fresh sore; the newspaper, a copy of The Caledon Courier, flung carelessly on top of everything else.

The newspaper lay with the first page up, the headline exclaiming its message to the universe: Graveyard Vandalized! There were no notes next to this one, no clues or indications, save one. A name in the article was underscored, followed by a question mark. Worthington. Worthington? Olivia read the piece, starting to understand the significance of the scrawl. There had been body snatchers at work, a usual enough problem in Caledon. The surgeons needed their samples, after all, and few families were keen on selling their beloved dead to the butchers of the hospitals. Resurrectionists were cheaper, anyway, and required less paperwork. That wasn't anything to furrow your brow over, gruesome as it was. No, it was another detail of an almost throwaway line that demanded closer inspection.

Apparently, the crypt of the Worthington family had been breached, the stone door smashed open, but no corpse had been stolen. The article made no mention of the ghouls having been disturbed or stopped while doing their skullduggery, which meant they had chosen to refrain from touching the dead in the crypt. Understandable enough, as the family in question was old, rich, and powerful, but that demanded the question as to why they had bothered breaking down the stone door in the first place. No body had been stolen... But was there perhaps something else?

Olivia realized she had three possible leads to investigate; she could try searching the graveyard in general, and the crypt in particular, for clues. There could be something there overlooked by the journalists and constables. Maybe something more in line with her... Unusual talents. Or, she could try tracking down the writer of the article, one mr Simeon Gadd, and pry him for information. He would probably have been at the scene early. Maybe he had seen or heard something that didn't make it into the article, or wasn't possible to observe anymore. Finally, she could of course try to query the Worthington family in her quest for answers. Although why they would allow a detective, or a simple beat cop for that matter, to pry into what could possibly be private matters, she couldn't say.

One way or the other, the strange nature of the case called to her, no matter which lead she was going to choose.

Ye Olde Laboratory

Browns desk was neat and tidy. All the pencils and papers were in the right place, everything folded and tucked away. There was a ledger in the top drawer containing the files of his open cases, along with Browns own notes on each one. The rest of the drawers contained what you would expect, like additional materials, old notebooks (dated and sorted), a framed picture of his sweetheart (or daughter? Olivia wasn't sure), an unsealed but closed envelope which Olivia decided against opening, etc, etc, etc. In this perfect picture of serene order, one thing stood out like a fresh sore; the newspaper, a copy of The Caledon Courier, flung carelessly on top of everything else.

The newspaper lay with the first page up, the headline exclaiming its message to the universe: Graveyard Vandalized! There were no notes next to this one, no clues or indications, save one. A name in the article was underscored, followed by a question mark. Worthington. Worthington? Olivia read the piece, starting to understand the significance of the scrawl. There had been body snatchers at work, a usual enough problem in Caledon. The surgeons needed their samples, after all, and few families were keen on selling their beloved dead to the butchers of the hospitals. Resurrectionists were cheaper, anyway, and required less paperwork. That wasn't anything to furrow your brow over, gruesome as it was. No, it was another detail of an almost throwaway line that demanded closer inspection.

Apparently, the crypt of the Worthington family had been breached, the stone door smashed open, but no corpse had been stolen. The article made no mention of the ghouls having been disturbed or stopped while doing their skullduggery, which meant they had chosen to refrain from touching the dead in the crypt. Understandable enough, as the family in question was old, rich, and powerful, but that demanded the question as to why they had bothered breaking down the stone door in the first place. No body had been stolen... But was there perhaps something else?

Olivia realized she had three possible leads to investigate; she could try searching the graveyard in general, and the crypt in particular, for clues. There could be something there overlooked by the journalists and constables. Maybe something more in line with her... Unusual talents. Or, she could try tracking down the writer of the article, one mr Simeon Gadd, and pry him for information. He would probably have been at the scene early. Maybe he had seen or heard something that didn't make it into the article, or wasn't possible to observe anymore. Finally, she could of course try to query the Worthington family in her quest for answers. Although why they would allow a detective, or a simple beat cop for that matter, to pry into what could possibly be private matters, she couldn't say.

One way or the other, the strange nature of the case called to her, no matter which lead she was going to choose.

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@Fuzzybootz Working on yours now. You can expect it tomorrow!

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@CollectorOfMyst

A gust of cool air greeted Desmond as he went through the doors of the boarding house and ventured out into the night. The dark streets were illuminated by the burning light of the lamp posts, casting sharp shadows across Desmonds face as he made his way uptown. A carriage drove past, splashing water as it passed through a puddle, it's wealthily clad inhabitants peering warily at Desmond as the carriage turned a corner and disappeared into the night. Most windows were dark, save for the rare few here and there, melding into the stars of the night sky in the horizon.

He was looking for one ms Agatha Blakes, a journalist in employ of the Caledon Times. Their offices were located in the north east, if he remembered correctly, in the same neighborhood as several other of Caledons journals and newspaper establishments. It was only a short treck to get there, but as he arrived, he found the building vacated. Not one to be easily disheartened, however, he took his search onwards. There were a few pubs and restaurants that journalists were known to frequent, and he decided to try his luck with one of them.

Desmond soon found himself inside the Bugle, a drinking establishment of good repute, well furnished and not too expensive. The salon was full of potential informants as to Blakes whereabouts, and Desmond wasted no time in asking around. It was not too long before he found a colleague of ms Blakes, mr Goodman, who, after having been persuaded with a pint and some charming conversation, divulged her adress. Desmond thanked him for his kindness and was soon on his way once more.

He found the townhouse only a few blocks away. It was a good house, made of stone, well looked after and with beautiful windows. Ms Blakes was not the owner; apparently she let a room from an old widow, mrs Twain, who mr Goodman had informed Desmond was a prudent but rather unjovial sort. The house was dark, save for a lit window on the upper floor. Was that perhaps ms Blakes room? Desmond could only guess, but he found it likely. He could try the front door, potentially risking to disturb the old widow in her sleep, or try some other more... discreet method of contacting ms Blakes. Both strategies held merits and risks. The night wore on as he contemplated his approach.

Ye Olde Laboratory

A gust of cool air greeted Desmond as he went through the doors of the boarding house and ventured out into the night. The dark streets were illuminated by the burning light of the lamp posts, casting sharp shadows across Desmonds face as he made his way uptown. A carriage drove past, splashing water as it passed through a puddle, it's wealthily clad inhabitants peering warily at Desmond as the carriage turned a corner and disappeared into the night. Most windows were dark, save for the rare few here and there, melding into the stars of the night sky in the horizon.

He was looking for one ms Agatha Blakes, a journalist in employ of the Caledon Times. Their offices were located in the north east, if he remembered correctly, in the same neighborhood as several other of Caledons journals and newspaper establishments. It was only a short treck to get there, but as he arrived, he found the building vacated. Not one to be easily disheartened, however, he took his search onwards. There were a few pubs and restaurants that journalists were known to frequent, and he decided to try his luck with one of them.

Desmond soon found himself inside the Bugle, a drinking establishment of good repute, well furnished and not too expensive. The salon was full of potential informants as to Blakes whereabouts, and Desmond wasted no time in asking around. It was not too long before he found a colleague of ms Blakes, mr Goodman, who, after having been persuaded with a pint and some charming conversation, divulged her adress. Desmond thanked him for his kindness and was soon on his way once more.

He found the townhouse only a few blocks away. It was a good house, made of stone, well looked after and with beautiful windows. Ms Blakes was not the owner; apparently she let a room from an old widow, mrs Twain, who mr Goodman had informed Desmond was a prudent but rather unjovial sort. The house was dark, save for a lit window on the upper floor. Was that perhaps ms Blakes room? Desmond could only guess, but he found it likely. He could try the front door, potentially risking to disturb the old widow in her sleep, or try some other more... discreet method of contacting ms Blakes. Both strategies held merits and risks. The night wore on as he contemplated his approach.

Dwarves!

@Expendable I'd say they usually have children between ages 50 and 100. As for when they typically start adventuring? They typically don't. Dwarves are seclusive and thoughtful by nature. The quest our heroes are embarking on is probably the first in ages in Thrillem.

Dwarves!

@Expendable They live for up to 300 years, but are considered old at around 100.

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

Hey guys! I'm sorry for the delay - I'm absolutely swamped at work right now, but I'm getting there. Hold on!

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@TRES Sure, go ahead!

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@TRES

The journey to the docks was largely uneventful, save for an incident where an intoxicated working class man had to be forcibly persuaded by the night watch to exit the subway for disturbing public order. The man flatly refused to move, only to be lifted and carried off the cart by the two burly constables. One of them nodded at Adraman, silently apologizing for the commotion, before the train continued south. Before long, Adraman reached his destination and the train continued on its way back north.

The factory in question was only a short walk from station, across the bridge to the western bank. The dark waters of the Kaper glittered with the light from the lamp posts above, burning bright through the night. The sounds of activity and commotion grew louder as he approached the opposite bank. There was another kind of life in that part of the city that never slept, a kind that thrived in the cover of night. People could be seen passing by on the street, or moving in and out of alleys and buildings. The occational constable patrolled the roads and walkways, keeping watch for any signs of trouble.

Adraman drew some attention to him, but nothing more than curious glances. He looked like he belonged elsewhere; certainly not on the western waterfront, but the people here were accustomed to strangers on strange errands and none confronted him. A scantily clad woman called out to him as he passed an establishment, offering nocturnal business, and cursed at him behind his back when he passed her by.

Finally, he arrived at the factory in question. It was a behemoth of a building next to the smaller, older buildings surrounding it. The chimneys, usually spewing black smoke into the sky, lay dormant and silent. There was light spilling into the night from a few windows, indicating a presence, but the place looked mostly deserted. A guard was standing on watch by the gate to the courtyard, eyeing Adraman as he approached. He was dressed in a uniform and carried a pistol in a holster on his belt.

Jared, the guard, was perplexed. He had noticed the man walking down the street a while back and had wondered what an upstanding member of Caledons society could possibly be doing in the western docks at this time of day. He could guess at several less savoury reasons, of course, but his mother had always told him not to judge people all to quickly and decided against his initial speculations. The man in question was a gentleman, no doubt. Was he perhaps lost? The streets and alleys of Old Town could be labyrinthean even to its inhabitants, so it would be of no surprise if an outsider got turned around trying to navigate them. He knew full well what his employer would think about the situation, but Jared was kind at heart and wanted to help. As the man drew near, he raised his hand in greeting.

Good evening, Sir, he called out, Lost, are we? Can I offer my assistance with anything? Directions, perhaps?