Six AM in the city of Orthond. The sun rises in the west, creeping over the horizon, but the rays barely penetrate the haze of dark clouds and fat, necrotic rain drops. On a quiet Down-side street a few people move here and there. A half-Orc courier in a navy blue rain slicker enters the street and looks around. He scans the row of dilapidated buildings and the faces of the downtrodden individuals who call this place home. Eventually his gaze stops on the sign of a particular establishment.
The sign says "Offices of Allwood, Princeton & Sharpe; Investigators". But it has seen better days, like the rest of the façade. The windows are dirty, smudged with smog residue and the wine coloured paint is peeling off the walls. A small oil lamp burns in the window, indicating that someone is present in the office. The courier approaches and knocks twice, hard. He knows that there can only be one person there. After-all, Princeton pulled his money out of the business over a year ago and the goblin, Sharpe, hasn't been seen in the city for almost six months. Rumour has it he joined an adventuring company and headed west to the twin cities to try and outrun his creditors. That left Allwood...
Arcturus woke to the sound of two sharp knocks. His back ached from sleeping on the tiny cot in the upstairs room of the office and his head pounded from drinking the night before. He rolled off the bed, got his wits about him and realised that someone must be at the front door. He looked around himself, at his clothes scattered in crumpled piles on the floor, and thought that it might just be best to answer the door in his nightshirt. Thinking better of it, however, he pulled on his liquor stained and heavily creased trousers. His footsteps clanged on the wrought iron spiral staircase to the lower room as he entered the main office. He saw the figure outside, hazy through the frosted glass, and recognised him as a courier by the colour of his coat.
"Better not let myself get my hopes up…" He thought. Business had been bad lately, worse than usual, since Princeton bailing and his partner quitting had lost him the confidence of many members of the city watch. He answered the door and instantly recognised Zhiborg; the grizzled half-Orc one of the most reliable couriers in Down-side.
"Meesage fur ya sir" His speech slightly strange, slurred around his prominent tusks. He handed Arcturus a sealed letter, the wax prominently displaying the seal of the Orthond department of Justice, and an enchanted tablet. Arcturus took the tablet first, scribing his signature onto it with the tip of his finger before handing it back and taking the missive.
"Thanks Zhiborg, this one might actually be good news" He dropped a silver coin into the courier's now empty palm. No matter how bad things might get, Arcturus would never let someone go unpaid for their work. It just wasn't fair. He stepped back inside; closing the door as he went, and watched the man head off, doubtless to his next delivery, for a moment before heading to his desk. He shivered at the morning chill as he sat down, one of the first things to go when he fell on hard times was the heating enchantment and he'd been out of firebricks for a few days. He opened his notepad and jotted down a reminder to buy some more.
His attention turned to the letter, his mind whirling with thoughts about what could be contained within. He hoped the department of justice had sent him a case but at this point it seemed equally likely that he was having his license revoked or his property foreclosed, although he quickly realised that the latter would come from the bank so he was safe from that one at least. He removed the seal, extracting the letter from the waxed envelope. His mood, already low, sunk even lower as he read the contents of the message…
Ten minutes later, Arcturus was back upstairs. He walked first to his closet, picking out one of his less rumpled shirts and a clean-ish pair of trousers. He dressed quickly, with practiced efficiency now that his head was clear, strapping on his gunbelt and throwing his duster over his shoulders. He loved his duster, old and ratty as it was becoming. It was made from magical beast leather, Manticore he thought but possibly Chimera, and was as good as any enchanted rain slicker he had ever seen. No-one in Orthond spared any expense on their coats, keeping the rain off your person was very important, and Arcturus was no exception. The leather duster had set him back for a pretty penny back in the day.
He then headed for the chest where he kept his armoury, unlocking it with his pass-phrase and opening the lid. He selected his favourite Revolver, a plated steel firearm with an ivory handle and his old name engraved along the barrel: Arcturus Van-Buren. A reminder of worse times but it was still the best gun he owned. He holstered it on his right hip, where it sat as naturally as if he was born with it. He then chose a snub-nosed double barrel and concealed it inside his duster. A handful of rounds in his pouch and a knife stuffed in his boot later and Arcturus Allwood was on the case.
Arcturus left the office, the ill-maintained door closing behind him with a creak. The rain was a light grey, enough to cause only mild discomfort on the skin. The detective pulled up his hood, covering his sharp half-elven ears, and started off heading down hill; further into Down-side. They had rented a property close to the watch post and tram station, but that had made rent expensive and put a strain on the business. The further one got into Down-side, closer to the river, the more visible the poverty became.
A while later Arcturus walked into the red-light district. He came before the Velvet Lantern, an establishment he had patronised fairly regularly in the past. He often visited bars, part of his poor way of hiding from his problems, and the Velvet Lantern had a good bartender and decent company. He had patronised the girls there, once or twice, before he figured himself out and realised that that wasn't really for him. A shame then, that there would be a murder in one of his preffered establishments but at least it meant he had some work. Solving a case like this would keep the city off his back for a month at least.
Walking through Down-side alone was risky, even for someone like Arcturus. The lower you went down the slopes the more desperate the people became. Fortunately many of the thugs and criminals recognised him and thought better of calling their less than legal deeds to his attention. It was for this reason that after about fifteen minutes the detective arrived unmolested outside the Velvet Lantern. The Tavern/Brothel was a three story building with an almost alarming lean out into the street. It's façade was painted in a fading forest green, paint peeling or being eroded in streaks by the rain. Of course craftsmen knew ways of sealing paint against the decay, but enchanted wax is expensive and this buildings coating wore off years ago. The titular Lantern was off when Arcturus arrived, he thought that reasonable. How could the girls be expected to work when one of their own was killed in her own room just hours ago?
Opening the door, Arcturus shouldered aside the heavy rain curtain that hung in the doorway. The tap room awaited him on the other side. Usually warm and inviting, with flickering firelight and the smell of Liquor on the air, today it felt strangely sterile. A magical conjuration cast harsh white light over the bar and there was no bubbling noise of quiet conversation or boisterous drinkers.
There were two people in the room, including the detective. The other was Madam Trus'ell, not her real name, the owner of the establishment. She was a half-Elf, like himself, and he knew she was older even than him but she still looked just as good as she did in the forty-five year old framed lithograph of the opening day that hung on the wall. A little less vivacious perhaps, but still beautiful and charming in a smoky, experienced kind of way. She had eschewed her usual outfits of alluring silks and fur trimming for a simple commoners dress, wore little makeup and had a tired look on her face that told Arcturus she was still going from the day before. He approached the bar, where she was perched on a stool, and slid in next to her.
"Mornin' maam" Arcturus greeted her solemnly "Here on behalf of the city watch, about the events last night?" He started with an open ended question, inviting her to give him information. He had read the crime report of course, but that was likely taken by some incompetent fresh faced Down-side watchmen. They went through guardsmen like nothing else down here and barely any of them ever actually got to be any good at the job.
"Good morning Arcturus" the madam greeted him politely, but the clipped formality she used with customers was replaced with a tired breathiness. The slightest hint of a northern accent, Ethel he thought, slipped out. "We… We lost one of the girls last night, killed while she was sleeping. But you probably already knew that I suppose. What did you need from me? I'm anxious to help but desperate to get some sleep" She seemed genuine enough, he thought, and he moved on.
"First I'll need you to tell me about the victim, then I'll want to look around the scene and interview any of the girls who were here last night." He laid out the standard procedure, taught to him in the academy shortly after his Ill fated departure from home. "I'm hoping none of them left the premises?"
"No, after she was found I told everyone to go back to their rooms and called the watch. They sorted through the patrons and sent them on their way…" She trailed off, clearly wondering if Arcturus was going to ask about the patrons. He wasn't. The girl hadn't been seeing clients last night according to the report and the watch seemed to think that the patrons had nothing of value to say. It was easier for him to believe them for now, unless something about the case told him otherwise. He had a list of their names, occupations and residences if he needed to chase them up anyway.
"As they should have." He reassured her, she knew the state of the city watch down here as well, if not better, than he did. "Now can you tell me about the victim?" He asked to get back on track.
"Of course… Her name was Lyra, though she worked as Winter-Willow, people pay more for Halflings if they seem folksy and innocent you know. Oh, she is… was a Halfling." She took a breath and paused, it seeming to Arcturus like the fact that one of her employees had been killed was just settling in. "She worked here for a few years, rented the room from me full time instead of living off site. Didn't seem to have anywhere to go, poor girl, and not many friends outside besides." Arcturus knew that a few of the girls had this arrangement with the madam, so it didn't pique his interest. "She had a few regular clients, I gave their names to the watch but alot of people don't use their real ones here. Otherwise she wasn't particularly popular with walk ins, although she did enjoy entertaining the bar patrons occasionally. She kept to herself mostly, I can't think why anyone would want to… want to…" She choked, stumbling over saying the last words. "Kill her." She said it quietly, almost under a sobbing breath.
"That's what I am here to find out." Arcturus said, projecting confidence. "I'll need do a sweep around her room, and you can gather the other girls and prepare them to be interviewed while I do so." He informed her.
"Of course." She seemed glad to have been given something other than wallowing in sorrow to do. She stood up, dusted herself off and seemed to steel herself a little. "Follow me then."
