If either Valyn or Graelle required equipment from the frankly underwhelming armory the Tiberians had outfitted the old mill with, Eirik would wait just outside the manufactory's large open doors.  The morning still held a distinct chill that bit into the exposed flesh of his hands, face and neck with each gust of wind, but his breath was no longer visible before him and the sun was finally creeping over the rooftops east of the sawmill, providing a kiss of warmth that the now clean-shaven Saxian relished.  Reaching into a small inner pocket of his three-quarter coat and withdrawing a pouch of<span style="font-style: italic">espice</span>, Eirik casually pinched out a small palmful of the finely-shaven stimulant then placed it on his tongue.  The wetness of his saliva soon seeped into the exotic eastern spice blend, causing it to warm quickly as it began to release its heady, smoky flavors.  He drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled a stream of blue-gray smoke that drifted up and away before dissipating.  Like a hard cinnamon candy or a mouthful of hot stew the<span style="font-style: italic">espice</span>had to be constantly worked around his mouth lest the burning sensation grow too strong, but with each smoky breath he released the small pinch temporarily cooled.  This particular<span style="font-style: italic">espice</span>blend, bartered from a sailor the other day, gave him a somewhat light-headed relaxed feeling and yet still focusing his attention, also leaving his fingertips with a slightly unpleasant tingling sensation.  Leaning his head against the wall of the sawmill and closing his eyes in the sunlight, Eirik took a few silent moments to contemplate their mission - not just their first case but Universus' entire goal.  The city was a boiling pot left too long over the campfire - take the lid off to check inside and you're only going to get scalded.  They would have to proceed carefully.<br/><br/>"Ready?" he'd ask once Graelle and Valyn were with him.  Opening his eyes and pushing off from the wall he started to walk.  "Let's go catch us a murderer," he said with a final smoky breath before spitting the<span style="font-style: italic">espice</span>out in front of him and crushing it beneath his heel as they set out for the Jensby home.  Aside from the sigil which Craw had just provided them Eirik had few supplies with him: two push daggers secured at the small of his back, which, in a pinch, could even be thrown when guided by his gimmickry.  Also a hawk axe, slung through a loop to rest loosely against his hip.  Eirk had come to appreciate the hawk axe, a small straight-hafted hatchet favored by the native forest tribesmen deep in the Saxian hills, when a previous job entailed some months' exposure to those seemingly barbaric people.  More reach than a dagger but small enough to still be effective indoors or in close-quarters, and even balanced for throwing to boot, although Eirik was a poor marksman compared to the actual hawk warriors.<br/><br/>Aside from these weapons he carried his sigil; a few strips of hard leather cord that could be used to restrain someone's hands if need be; and a pouch that held a small glass hemisphere that made close-up objects seem larger when looked through.  With their first mission being one of fact-finding, Eirik didn't feel under-equipped with these few things only - it was unlikely that the three would run into any significant trouble, and if they did he trusted that their diverse set of skills would see them through.  And if not, hell, he could probably outrun them both back to base...<br/><br/>"I don't know if either of you has had much experience with this sort of thing," he said by way of conversation as they made their way through the city.  At this time in the morning the winding streets of the gently-hilled district were still mostly empty of other pedestrians - those lucky few with jobs to go to were already long gone, and it was too early still for anyone else to be about.  "First we'll take stock of the room were Margotte Jensby was murdered.  At this point cataloging anything and everything - who knows what seemingly-inconsequential thing might later turn out to be critical?  Afterward we'll follow up with any neighbors, hopefully find some reliable witnesses, but until our brothers get Adalwolf's cooperation I wouldn't count on any of his tything coming forward for us any time soon..."<br/><br/>"Whatever we find that might be helpful for tracking down Karl, we'll communicate with Sara, Nyla and Ashmedai immediately."<br/><br/>He would continue to speak on the case, maybe answering any questions or listening to any of their own advice.  Since Craw had personally recruited these men and women of Universus, Eirik knew that they all had experience to bring to bear on these investigations.  Eirik was likely the most experienced, hence being made the Sergeant, but he knew what his limitations were and also how to use others' skills to bolster his own.<br/><br/>Finally the trio of Wardents reached the Jensby home.  In the district known as Barrenhill, pronounced more like 'Bernul' by the Saxians, the house was a typical two storey structure joined on three sides by other similar buildings in a six-house 'block.'  This block and a few on either side of it constituted one of Barrenhill's many tythings.  Although after the war the entire city was left off poorly, the people of Barrenhill were some of the most-affected by the Saxian draft, with most being too poor to pay their fathers and sons' way out.  With many of the homes here left fatherless, Holger Adalwolf and his cronies were able to strongarm the remaining families for what little food, supplies and other comforts they still possessed.<br/><br/>Karl and Margotte lived on the second floor of the home here, with the first floor belonging to an old woman who'd lived with her son and grandson before the war, and now lived alone.  Eirik had the feeling that whatever she might know, she wouldn't be willing to speak about it to either Valyn or himself.  Graelle, on the other hand, might be seen as less threatening and more trustworthy.  Still, with the threat of Adalwolf's retribution no doubt ringing throughout the tything, he knew not to get his hopes up on the woman saying anything at all.  Still, that would come after the first look upstairs...<br/><br/>The door was closed but not locked or latched, as it had been broken in yesterday morning by the city guard when responding to neighbors' fears, having heard screams and cries of pain through much of the night.  Eirik slowly nudged the door open with his boot, and it shuddered on its broken hinges until leaning against the adjoining wall.  The house was of a typical size for a Barrenhill home, meaning that there was naught but a single room, with a small table and chairs and cooking area in one corner, a few chests or other items of personal belongings, and then the bed in the opposite corner.<br/><br/>The city guard had, as instructed, left the body in place.  Eirik felt his mouth twitch in distaste at the sight, but he didn't feel the threat of retching or gagging tickling at the back of his throat.  Still he took a calming breath before stepping into the home.  Despite the cold the air felt thick here, fat, like marshlands in the summer.  He stepped quietly, carefully as he moved into the room - not out of caution or regard for the investigation as much as simple respect for the tragedy and anguish the woman had suffered here.  Blood had turned the small feather mattress nearly black, and Eirik suspected that even the floor beneath was stained.  He knew war, battle, fighting, and he knew that even a grievous wound such as this could take hours to take its toll.  Hours of absolute pain, terror and horror before finally finding the bleakest form of peace, that of the grave.<br/><br/>The Saxian attempted to find his usual levity, tried to buoy himself with a sardonic thought or observation, but found himself failing.  He coughed, cleared his throat and said.  "Right.  Let's take a look around."  He clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly as though eager to tackle the task at hand, then moved toward the small bedding.  With a gingerness matching his hair Eirik lifted the feather bedding as far as he could before the body's weight prevented further.  Applying more pressure, he was able to pull just enough to see the tip of the spear, buried into the wooden plank of the floorboard.<br/><br/>"God's gramma," he muttered, noting that the spearhead was nearly an inch wide where it met the wood, meaning depending on its shape it was likely an inch or so deep into the floorboard.  He marveled at the strength required to drive such a weapon through both body and bedding before burying it that far into solid oak.<br/><br/>Standing up from his crouch he continued to study the spear.  Maybe six feet or so of wood topped with nearly a foot of iron there was little about it that stood out as remarkable.  The haft was faded and chipped but appeared to have had red lacquering at some point.  Well-crafted but simplistic bindings latched haft to spearhead, looking like gold-painted metalwork, also faded considerably.<br/><br/>He continued to move his keen blue-gray eyes about the room, trying both to meticulously study every detail but also let his gaze wander where it would, while he mulled over what the details meant.  "Observations?" he asked, idly pinching and pulling lightly at his upper lip as he often did while deep in thought.