<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Sarya Melisandra</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Give me a Shadowy check, DC 8</div></div><br/>The rain continues to come down as Sarya drags the fat man into the shed with great difficulty. He's even heavier than he looks, and the rain is coming down in sheets now, which might be a blessing in disguise as it all but hides her form and masks the sounds she makes as she drags the body into the shed. The rain still soaking her own clothes, made more for traversing the desert wastelands than for protection against the rainwater brings her attention to how cold she is, and shivers run through her body.<br/><br/>As she dries his face and begins to divest him of his vest and coat she sees that the rash extends throughout his whole body, and already small boils are beginning to form along his chest and neck. His flesh is utterly cold to the touch, and as she cuts the clothing she notices a lack of breathing, the body still and immobile except for her own small movements as she cuts away. At the same time she finds within an inner pocket in his suit top a small leatherbound book, along with a small stack of business cards. <br/><br/>Opening the book, she sees a strange script scrawled within. A few moments of looking at it and her eyes begin to water, her head begins to pound and she's forced to look away from the letters that seem to almost crawl before her eyes. Many pages have been rendered completely indecipherable should she flip through it, the rain fusing the words together and causing no reaction from her, but a few pages still hold meaning to those who can understand what they mean/<br/><br/>The business cards are more mundane; in very fancy lettering they all reads, "Buckman &amp; Co. - Entrepeneurs at Large". They, like the parchment within the leatherbound book, are made from razorvine paper. Despite being soggy, they appear to be unmarred by the rain through some manufacturing process. On the back the name "Manifold Buckman" can be read--probably the name of the corpse sharing the shed with Sarya.<br/><br/>Despite the whole thing having taken less than the span on half an hour, Sarya feels her eyelids grow slowly heavy. It was already late at night, and the emotional stress of hearing her daughter's name and seeing her picture and the physical strain of dragging the corpse into the shed have taken a lot out of her. If she wishes to and must move she can do so, but fatigue has certainly begun to set in. The sound of the rain drumming against the roof of the shed is almost hypnotic, beats and melodies eked out of the insidious liquid that pours down harder than ever on the city.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Talk to me on AIM so we can figure out various contacts you might have in the city that might help you discover what's written in the book as well as where the company might be located and what its business is. Since you said that you planned on having no magic, here might be a good place to decide on a different favorable relationship that might help you in these circumstances.</div></div></div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Anli Revell</div><div class="spoiler_body">"It seems as though he was the victim of foul play," Sergeant Wick sighs softly, his face creasing at the sight of Anli's distress. "Poison, to be exact." At her request to be shown the body, he nodded slowly, and with great care lifted himself up from the chair, his rotund form causing him a little trouble that would be humorous if not for the grave matter at hand. "Come," he says simply, and leads the girl down towards the station's prison, which also served as a temporary morgue.<br/><br/>His heavy footfalls are ominous and loud as they pass a desk where another officer goes through the inevitable paperwork that piles up in a Watch station, then past a resting area where Private Bustol sits next to a small tray of razorvine pastries baked until they have the texture of wafers and topped with the sugar processed from more razorvine. He quickly swallows, crumbs falling and covering the front of his uniform as he salutes sloppily, the sweet powder still around his mouth. "At ease, Private," the Sergeant returns a quick salute only a modicum less clumsy before continuing on.<br/><br/>Stairs next, leading down, and the air grows perceptively colder as the two descend underground. Three jail cells line the wall, all unlocked and slightly ajar, and Wick moves to the last one, opening it for Anli. Within is the corpse of Varen, barely decomposed, the smell mostly suppressed by the chill in the air. He looks almost peaceful, as though he were simply sleeping as he lays upon an iron cot, the bedding having been moved just outside the cell to stop it from being contaminated by the corpse.</div></div>