The threat of death has the effect of changing one's mind on certain issues.
Initially I refused to recount the events leading to and following the death of Ophice Dawnblood. This tragedy remains too close, too heavy for me to tell it in a manner proper for mass consumption.
However, through persistence I have found a chance, albeit small, to bring the killers of my love to justice. As I pick up the trail of blood, I realize the dangers it presents may make this case my final.
Therefore I recount it here, mailing in my writing to The Sun from the field. I write that my life, and the life of Ophice, are not lost to time. I write that our accomplishments may offer some limited form of immortality through memory. And I write that some enterprising young person, enamored with the noble pursuit of justice, proudly bearing the title Detective, may follow the clues I have left behind should I fail.
With thanks to The Sun for publishing this gruesome accounting,
I remain humbly yours, Silvermoon,
- S.H.
Blood Trail Event Thread
It would be our last night together on earth.
The evening started promising enough. I was recovering from an evening well spent previously with Ophice, Vexiph, and Sathia, indulging in one of our now-infamous games involving alcohol and secrets. This is an excellent method of whiling away time between cases. I had assumed this day would end much the same, when I received a familiar summons.
The details are similar to all the beginnings written of in my Case Files - The Silvermoon guards alerted me to a murder beyond their ability to solve, I berated them for incompetence, they threatened to arrest for me disturbance, and I set off to find the truth behind their mystery. The only difference was that this time, a blood knight* was assigned to follow me and keep an eye on my work. I found this insulting, but consented for the sake of the case. Vexiph joined, as did a diplomat friend* of Ophice's, and a priest* I had worked with in the past. I of course asked for the company of Ophice herself as well, a choice I would soon come to regret.
The murdered soul was deposited right outside the gates to the city. In the well-kept gardens, before the massive statue, was a grisly, naked corpse. The head wound was obvious, as were the blood spatters on the statue. But how she came to be here and why were not evident.
My studious companions had become somewhat skilled in the art of observation during our time together, and noted pertinent details.
"What's that tattoo on her back? Or is it a scar?" Vexiph asked. Upon inspection of the skin i found it to be neither, but a brand.
"Wait, I know her," Ophice added. "She's a noble. Our families used to summer together. Haven't seen her in years, and now she's dead and branded?"
"A slaver brand, perhaps? But what would that be doing on a noble, and why would she be here?" Our blood knight was asking the correct questions. I set myself to my usual rigor to find any clues my friends may have missed.
First, her feet were worn, suggested a long journey. An escape, perhaps. This was confirmed by the tiniest flecks of powder in her eyes. Blinding powder, I deduced. The story became clear, and I related it as I saw it in my mind's eye.
"A young noble, waiting to be married, swept off her feet by a dashing stranger. Taken to his home, then betrayed. Drugged, kidnapped, dragged away. Driven through the land as an object to be sold. The slaver caravan passes by her home city, months later. She sees her one chance. Desperately she flees, though she is naked and barefoot. The slavers, not wanting to damage their goods, throw blinding powder to disorient her. But adrenaline pumping, she outruns the startled guards and escapes. She runs for miles, but in her weakened state, half-blind, she stumbles. By a cruel quirk of fate she takes a fatal blow to the head as she falls, killed just a few steps before her salvation."
There was a moment of sad silence. I returned to the corpse. If the slavers were to be find, I would need more information. Surely there was something... yes. A slight bulge in her cheek. A swollen tongue? Perhaps some chemical I could identify... but no! A scrap of parchment, with details of their next auction.
"The lass was clever. She stole and stowed away a clue for whoever she might find. Her quick thinking gave us what we needed. We must hurry to the Ghostlands, stealthily gain entry to the auction, and identify the slavers for arrest."
We agreed that attending in disguise would be the best way. Pose as buyers, gain as much information on the slavers as possible for the guards, and possibly even free a few if we could. Ophice and her friend posed as a pair of nobles, our knight as their guard, and Vexiph and I as servants. Before long we were in the dark wilds of the Ghostlands, standing before the caravan. We had been joined* by the warlock Urameil, wandering through, willing to lend his aid for task.
The head slaver addressed us.
"Sorry, friends, you just missed the auction. We had to end early because our main sale item was lost." We bit down our rage at such callous treatment of a dead woman. I memorized their faces. Ophice pressed onward in her guise.
"Well, let me see what you have left. I might find *something* worth buying among this cattle left over."
Everyone played their part well, giving us much time. We estimated the amount of mercenaries to be small enough that we could perhaps free a few slaves in the confusion. I placed seaforium charges as we wandered from cage to cage, our company acting admirably well given the tense circumstance.
Brilliant as I am, I am not immune to mistakes. I set the charges incorrectly. They blew early. Smoke and fire led to chaos and drawn weapons, and we were thrown into combat before our ambush was ready.
It was a desperate fight. Blades and bows and magic clashed on both sides. I freed as many slaves as I could in the chaos, while the others fought. The priest threw furious mental and holy attacks, Urameil brought men to their knees through dark magic. Ophice ended any mercenary chasing freed slaves with a bolt to the back, and any still in reach were cut down by the knight. Vexiph's magic froze men in place so the others might finish them. We had the advantage. We were going to free the slaves. We were going to find justice.
Let this be a lesson. Never assume victory.
The leader reappeared out of nowhere, backed by a group of mages that were hidden, and bearing a weapon. I immediately recognized it as a grenade. Ophice charges him in a rage. I dashed after, screaming warnings. All too late. There was a flash of magic as they mages summoned their portal, to leave with their leader and the surviving slavers. There was a second flash of fire and death, as the grenade exploded at Ophice's feet. My last memory of her is a beautiful black silhouette, engulfed in flames.
We came to. The slavers were gone. I was badly burnt, and covered in blood. Her blood. Surely there would be some remains left, not just all this blood, the others reassured me grimly. But I dabble in explosives. I know their power. And I saw her consumed. In morbid confirmation, I saw a glint in the grass, and found her family ring - still on her severed finger.
The others left to recover, to report to the authorities, and to give me space. I searched for days without food or sleep. But there were simply no clues to be had. All evidence was gone, taken in portal or consumed in flame. No one would speak of the auction.
I had no choice. With her ring on my finger and the scent of her hair in my memory, I set off to travel the world. I would leave my city behind, and someday, somewhere, I would find the men responsible. Revenge is no replacement for the woman, but it is a powerful motivator. I am nothing if not motivated.
-S.H.
*Anyone I noted without a name or missed entirely, PM me and I'll make sure to add you to the write-up.
Initially I refused to recount the events leading to and following the death of Ophice Dawnblood. This tragedy remains too close, too heavy for me to tell it in a manner proper for mass consumption.
However, through persistence I have found a chance, albeit small, to bring the killers of my love to justice. As I pick up the trail of blood, I realize the dangers it presents may make this case my final.
Therefore I recount it here, mailing in my writing to The Sun from the field. I write that my life, and the life of Ophice, are not lost to time. I write that our accomplishments may offer some limited form of immortality through memory. And I write that some enterprising young person, enamored with the noble pursuit of justice, proudly bearing the title Detective, may follow the clues I have left behind should I fail.
With thanks to The Sun for publishing this gruesome accounting,
I remain humbly yours, Silvermoon,
- S.H.
Blood Trail Event Thread
Blood Trail Chapter 1: Dawnblood
It would be our last night together on earth.
The evening started promising enough. I was recovering from an evening well spent previously with Ophice, Vexiph, and Sathia, indulging in one of our now-infamous games involving alcohol and secrets. This is an excellent method of whiling away time between cases. I had assumed this day would end much the same, when I received a familiar summons.
The details are similar to all the beginnings written of in my Case Files - The Silvermoon guards alerted me to a murder beyond their ability to solve, I berated them for incompetence, they threatened to arrest for me disturbance, and I set off to find the truth behind their mystery. The only difference was that this time, a blood knight* was assigned to follow me and keep an eye on my work. I found this insulting, but consented for the sake of the case. Vexiph joined, as did a diplomat friend* of Ophice's, and a priest* I had worked with in the past. I of course asked for the company of Ophice herself as well, a choice I would soon come to regret.
The murdered soul was deposited right outside the gates to the city. In the well-kept gardens, before the massive statue, was a grisly, naked corpse. The head wound was obvious, as were the blood spatters on the statue. But how she came to be here and why were not evident.
My studious companions had become somewhat skilled in the art of observation during our time together, and noted pertinent details.
"What's that tattoo on her back? Or is it a scar?" Vexiph asked. Upon inspection of the skin i found it to be neither, but a brand.
"Wait, I know her," Ophice added. "She's a noble. Our families used to summer together. Haven't seen her in years, and now she's dead and branded?"
"A slaver brand, perhaps? But what would that be doing on a noble, and why would she be here?" Our blood knight was asking the correct questions. I set myself to my usual rigor to find any clues my friends may have missed.
First, her feet were worn, suggested a long journey. An escape, perhaps. This was confirmed by the tiniest flecks of powder in her eyes. Blinding powder, I deduced. The story became clear, and I related it as I saw it in my mind's eye.
"A young noble, waiting to be married, swept off her feet by a dashing stranger. Taken to his home, then betrayed. Drugged, kidnapped, dragged away. Driven through the land as an object to be sold. The slaver caravan passes by her home city, months later. She sees her one chance. Desperately she flees, though she is naked and barefoot. The slavers, not wanting to damage their goods, throw blinding powder to disorient her. But adrenaline pumping, she outruns the startled guards and escapes. She runs for miles, but in her weakened state, half-blind, she stumbles. By a cruel quirk of fate she takes a fatal blow to the head as she falls, killed just a few steps before her salvation."
There was a moment of sad silence. I returned to the corpse. If the slavers were to be find, I would need more information. Surely there was something... yes. A slight bulge in her cheek. A swollen tongue? Perhaps some chemical I could identify... but no! A scrap of parchment, with details of their next auction.
"The lass was clever. She stole and stowed away a clue for whoever she might find. Her quick thinking gave us what we needed. We must hurry to the Ghostlands, stealthily gain entry to the auction, and identify the slavers for arrest."
We agreed that attending in disguise would be the best way. Pose as buyers, gain as much information on the slavers as possible for the guards, and possibly even free a few if we could. Ophice and her friend posed as a pair of nobles, our knight as their guard, and Vexiph and I as servants. Before long we were in the dark wilds of the Ghostlands, standing before the caravan. We had been joined* by the warlock Urameil, wandering through, willing to lend his aid for task.
The head slaver addressed us.
"Sorry, friends, you just missed the auction. We had to end early because our main sale item was lost." We bit down our rage at such callous treatment of a dead woman. I memorized their faces. Ophice pressed onward in her guise.
"Well, let me see what you have left. I might find *something* worth buying among this cattle left over."
Everyone played their part well, giving us much time. We estimated the amount of mercenaries to be small enough that we could perhaps free a few slaves in the confusion. I placed seaforium charges as we wandered from cage to cage, our company acting admirably well given the tense circumstance.
Brilliant as I am, I am not immune to mistakes. I set the charges incorrectly. They blew early. Smoke and fire led to chaos and drawn weapons, and we were thrown into combat before our ambush was ready.
It was a desperate fight. Blades and bows and magic clashed on both sides. I freed as many slaves as I could in the chaos, while the others fought. The priest threw furious mental and holy attacks, Urameil brought men to their knees through dark magic. Ophice ended any mercenary chasing freed slaves with a bolt to the back, and any still in reach were cut down by the knight. Vexiph's magic froze men in place so the others might finish them. We had the advantage. We were going to free the slaves. We were going to find justice.
Let this be a lesson. Never assume victory.
The leader reappeared out of nowhere, backed by a group of mages that were hidden, and bearing a weapon. I immediately recognized it as a grenade. Ophice charges him in a rage. I dashed after, screaming warnings. All too late. There was a flash of magic as they mages summoned their portal, to leave with their leader and the surviving slavers. There was a second flash of fire and death, as the grenade exploded at Ophice's feet. My last memory of her is a beautiful black silhouette, engulfed in flames.
We came to. The slavers were gone. I was badly burnt, and covered in blood. Her blood. Surely there would be some remains left, not just all this blood, the others reassured me grimly. But I dabble in explosives. I know their power. And I saw her consumed. In morbid confirmation, I saw a glint in the grass, and found her family ring - still on her severed finger.
The others left to recover, to report to the authorities, and to give me space. I searched for days without food or sleep. But there were simply no clues to be had. All evidence was gone, taken in portal or consumed in flame. No one would speak of the auction.
I had no choice. With her ring on my finger and the scent of her hair in my memory, I set off to travel the world. I would leave my city behind, and someday, somewhere, I would find the men responsible. Revenge is no replacement for the woman, but it is a powerful motivator. I am nothing if not motivated.
-S.H.
*Anyone I noted without a name or missed entirely, PM me and I'll make sure to add you to the write-up.
---
Sterling Hart - The Great Detective [Blood Elf Detective]
Richter Stahl - Working on a "Cure" [Forsaken Alchemist and Doctor]
Emori Darkrunner - More Beast than Man [Night Elf Druid]
Sterling Hart - The Great Detective [Blood Elf Detective]
Richter Stahl - Working on a "Cure" [Forsaken Alchemist and Doctor]
Emori Darkrunner - More Beast than Man [Night Elf Druid]