Case Files of Sterling Hart, Consulting Detective

[Aerikan]

As Silvermoon's best (and only) consulting detective, I feel it only right that I chronicle my investigations for the public. You will not find these cases on file within the official records of Sin'dorei law, so they are presented here as I recall them. I assure you all events are true, if flavored with my particular narrative spices. The purposes here are threefold:

To serve as a record of my work in the overlooked science of observation and deduction.

To expose the intriguing truths of Silvermoon that rarely filter through the strict facade of our too-fair city.

To relieve the plague of boredom upon myself and any reader.


So, with the approval of my everpresent assistant Watson, I submit the following tales.

- Sterling Hart

[Aerikan]

The Empty Vault

***

There was a frantic knock at the door of 221 Murder Row, the location of my cozy* apartment. I almost didn't hear it over the gunfire. It was, after all, a particularly dull day so I had been amusing myself with target practice against the sturdier of my walls. Watson tugged at my sleeve and I threw open the door to greet a well-dressed but worried-looking couple.

"Astounding," said I. "There has been a bank robbery!"

Their eyes widened. "How could you know? The word hasn't yet spread! We came to you before the blood knights-"

"Relax, no one told me. Come inside." I led them in and explained.

"I noticed your signet rings, which identify you as members of House Welles, known bankers. In addition I see you have forgotten to remove your vault key, likely in forgetful in your haste to come. Your hurried flight is also apparent by your heavy breathing. If that wasn't enough you have tracked gravel into my house in the forms of flecks of marble, marble only used on the paved way to the Bank of Silvermoon. The only reason aristocratic moneylenders as you would be here on such short notice would be a bank robbery."

They looked at each other with the particular mix of surprise and discomfort that I am often greeted with. However, they went on to explain their reason for coming to hire Silvermoon's consulting detective.

The facts were these: The Bank of Silvermoon had recently purchased a new high-security vault slot as part of their expansion. Such ultra-secure storage is in demand, and was quickly purchased by the order of the Spellbreakers. Shortly thereafter, two representative Spellbreakers delivered a chest containing 5,000 gold as an initial deposit.

The deliverers were met by Novia Welles, daughter of my client, who was the only banker on duty that day. She opened the vault, saw the Spellbreakers place the chest in the secure box, closed it behind them, and they left. Not an hour later the bank manager arrived to check the vault contents for the night, only to find the chest gone!

"You see," they elaborated, "not only was our daughter the only one on duty, but she was the only one capable of moving it without setting off the alarm! The high-security slots work on pressure-plates. Once a deposit is set on the pressure-plate, any removal of weight triggers an alarm. The only way to disable the alarm is through a key given to trusted bankers. Our daughter was not only there alone, she possessed the key.

But it could not have been her! We are wealthy; she has no need for the gold. She is building a career for herself. She'd not throw it away for this nonsense. She has an exemplary history!"

I assured them that if indeed their daughter was innocent, I would evidence to prove it. I alit to the bank immediately.

The blood knights had already taken her into custody and had the bank closed off. They were none too happy to see me. I don't know why, but they always seem to consider me a meddler despite my success rate in solving cases that they are too idiotic to put together. At the insistence of the Welles, I was given access to the vault.

I inspected it thoroughly and confirmed its security, There was no way in or out, magical wards to prevent against portals or other magical tampering, impenetrable walls, and the pressure-plate alarm system worked perfectly.**

While I was pondering this predicament, a lovely associate of mine, the Lady Ophice, entered. I waved her through the knight blockade and informed her of the situation. She offered numerous suggestions I had already considered, and while I inspected the vault a third time, she pondered the nature of the investors.

"Spellbreakers, you say? Manipulators of magic - could it have been an illusion?"

"An illusion! BRILLIANT!"

I affectionately thanked the lady, which led to the drawing of stares from the already irate guards, but I soon had their attention with the proof.

"See the pressure-plate? It's entirely unscathed! Surely a chest of 5,000 gold would leave some kind of mark! A scratch, a dent, something! It of course would. But what wouldn't is the ILLUSION of a chest. Novia would have seen it, even heard it. A good illusion can even fool the sense of touch. But it can't fool the metal. It isn't scratched!

The illusory chest would have had no weight, so the pressure-plate was never triggered. That was why there was no alarm! Gentlemen, I'll have your gold in a moment!"

On the way out we were joined by Kilik, an acquaintance of the lady's. Once he was assured it wasn't his theft I was investigating, he joined the hunt. In fact, whilst we wondered how to find the Spellbreakers' tracks, he reminded me of Watson's capability to help in that regard. The fool had run off somewhere to clean himself, and I had almost forgotten. I have taught him scents, so he was soon on the trail. ***

We found the trail, but it covered a wide area. We couldn't possibly search every house in the path they covered. How to narrow it down? Once again, it was a matter of weight. My incredible perceptive faculties noticed that the prints shifted in depth. Nearer the city entrance, they were deep in the ground; closer to the bank, shallower. The weight changed at some point - the point at which they dropped off a chest of 5,000 gold! Once I was able to pinpoint where the change in depth occurred, we had the house.

While Ophice and Kilik had been thus far useful, their bickering during the investigation was rather distracting. Fortunately a minor tussle between the three of us led to uncover of the chest, hidden under another illusion in the house.

"The gold!" Ophice and I cried.

"My gold!" Kilik cried, trying to scoop it up.

"Wait, sir, I need to return this. My reputation as an inquisitive depends on it. Please, you can steal it any time in the future after I complete this case."

Our argument was cut short by the arrival of the house's temporary renters. Though they wore no uniforms, it was obvious by their stance, weapons, and scent of burning mana that it was the very Spellbreakers we had been tracking. Glaives were drawn. They were out for blood.

Spellbreakers are, of course, well known for the meta-magical prowess, their manipulation of all things mana. But let me tell you, their martial skills are just as deadly. Before we could even land a scratch they had us bleeding and backed up, near-powerless against their ferocious assault. As glad as I was to be in interesting company, I felt a slight twinge of guilt at being partially responsible for their needless deaths.

However, we were not to be undone. While Kilik and I called upon all our agility to defend ourselves, Ophice found an opening and cracked one in the skull while he was busy with us. Watson saw the opportunity and pounced on the dazed man, and I daresay the way his teeth tore into his throat I had no need to feed him again that night.

I meanwhile had decided to repay their deadly force with lethality of my own. My pistol sang thunder and exploded crimson about the man's chest. In a rage he had me on the ground and was about to cut off my knowledge-filled head, when Kilik relieved him of his own in a stunning blow.

The gold had been found, the Spellbreakers killed in self defense, and the rush of blood knights**** given the details of the case. The gold was returned and Novia's name cleared. I bid Kilik and Ophice farewell, and went to the Welles family to bring report of my success.

While I may never know what motivates my companion's odd relationship, the blood knights continued incompetence, the Spellbreakers' traitorous theft, or even Watson's pitiable lack of self-control, I can at least rest assured that no crime shall best me. I shall remain victorious!

And now I go to tend to my wounds and to the bills for collateral damage.

- S.H.


* It has also been described as ramshackle, shabby, and dangerous, but people only say those things because of the tendency to look down upon affordable living, and because they are true

** confirmed through repeated tests of the 110-decibel alarm, which, it may be interesting to note, are the source of the new Silvermoon Noise Ordinance Law that has been put into effect.

*** Watson, it should be noted, is of the species Lynx ManoSpiritus, also known as the Ghostpaw lynx, also known as a cat.

**** Really, with how long it took them to arrive based on that commotion, it's a wonder they don't need me for every single one of their cases!

[Aerikan]

The Secret Seamstress

The case started with the puff of a cigarette borrowed from the Lady Ophice.* The new sensation of a nicotine high was a welcome relief from the symptoms of the overabundance of alcohol in my system. I was on the street visiting because my apartment was being renovated with funds from my last case. Now I no longer share a tiny space within the Warlocks’ sanctum at 221 Murder Row, but my own slightly larger space at 221B!

‘Is that a tiger?’ Came a query from an unfamiliar voice behind me.

‘What? Where? Oh, you mean Watson.’ I turned to face the asker but the lady speaker was swept up by a tide of Silvermoon guards surrounding me. They looked none too pleased - in other words, their usual demeanor.

‘If this is about the dynamite** in the fountain, I can assure I was merely testing fuses that-’

‘What? That was YOU!? Dammit, Hart, we’ll deal with that later. You’re wanted at Silvermoon Finery. There’s a case there that has your particular stamp of insanity on it.’

‘Which means you’re too thick to solve it!’ I replied. The number of times they bumped into me as they filed away could not have been simply on accident.

Ophice was, to my pleasure, ready to join in the sudden case. I invited this newcomer as well.

‘You couldn’t have arrived at a better time!’ I assured her. ‘Now, you won’t miss the excitement!’

‘Oh?’ She seemed perplexed. I introduced myself and reminded her again of the potential intrigue and excitement. She seemed no less confused, but at least offered her name as Zel’tha.

At Silvermoon Finery, the proprietor, Andra, filled us in on the details. Apparently there had been a break-in, as evidenced by their broken lock. However, nothing had been stolen! Because of this, the guards refused further investigation. At Andra’s insistence they referred her to me. She assured me everything was in order but the incident worried her, so I began to search the premises.

‘Your inventory seems low,’ Zel’tha noted. ‘Are you sure nothing was stolen?’

‘it must be the ball,’ Ophice explained. ‘There’s some large dance tonight at the Sun Court. They must have sold all their new merchandise for it.’

Andra confirmed they sold the last of it this morning, and pointed me to the racks where they once stood. On the ground, a clue! I held it aloft for the ladies to see - a single, one-inch piece of thread. This .01 gram clue would save dozens of lives in an hour.

‘What do you notice about the clothes here?’

‘They’re silk,’ Zel’tha answered.

‘Precisely! And this thread, cotton! I believe I know what’s going on. Excuse us, Miss Andra, but your shop is safe, nothing is missing, and you have nothing to worry about.’ I hurried us outside.

‘We have EVERYTHING to worry about,’ I assured my companions. ‘I just didn’t want to cause a scene. In addition to the wayward thread, I smelled the distinct mix of gunpowder and other chemicals. Nothing was stolen because the intruders didn’t want to take anything out, but put things IN! They must have sewn explosives into the garments to get them in the ball without anyone noticing. A terrorist attack!’ I admired the genius of the plot. The bombs would waltz right in on the backs of nobles, arousing no suspicion, to be detonated by timer later. No trace of the bomber, just the horror of the assault. ‘We must get into the ball! But how? Disguises, perhaps?’

‘We could go as a noble and her servants!’ Zel’tha offered helpfully.

‘Brilliant!’ I cried. ‘Ophice, you can play the heir to a house, can’t you?’

‘I AM an heir to a house.’

‘Then what are you waiting for?!’

Ophice left to produce a dress while I thanked Zel’tha for her idea and we practiced our manners as servants. She soon returned, looking as lovely as she looked angry. However, her complaints would have to wait til after we disarmed the bombs!

We moved with all haste to the Sun Court, where Watson was left outside and Ophice granted entry without question. I hid my face to ensure the guards didn’t recognize me. Sometimes, having a reputation as incredible as mine has its downsides.

We were in, but how to get at the bombs? We couldn’t very well go stripping everyone there - though I did suggest it. Ophice moved with much more tact. 'Accidentally’ stepping on a noblewoman’s dress, she ordered me to clean it. I 'accidentally’ ripped it in the process. One bomb in hand! But we were causing a scene. Ophice tended to the next even more carefully, dancing close enough to a gentleman to catch a scent of gunpowder in his jacket.

‘You smell like chocolate.’ She told him. ‘He’s wearing a bomb!’ She told me.

Under the pretense that my mistress was interested in him and I would help prep him, I took him to a private room to tend to his clothes. I forced him to change and sent him back onto the floor, giving me a moment with the bombs. They were timed indeed, and set to go off any minute! I rushed out and informed my companions.

‘We need to step up our work, there’s little time!’

‘And I found a whole group of men with bombs!’ Zel’tha fretted, pointing out the group.

‘Wait, scent of chocolate - I have an idea. Provide a distraction!’

Ophice produced a very strategic tear in her gown that caught the eyes of all the gentlemen, bringing more leers when Zel’tha tried to help. I found my way to the chocolate fountain on a wheeled cart. I moved it behind the group, and whilst the gentlemen ogled, a swift kick overturned it upon all of them! I waded into the fray, removing coats and hats while apologizing profusely for my clumsiness. I returned to the ladies momentarily with an armful of chocolate-stained, explosive-laden doublets.***

‘Let’s get the Fel out of here!’

We dashed out the front to the surprise of all, the explosives in my hand. Tearing down the ramp and toward the fountain, I threw them in with a mighty heave and

KABOOM

All went black.****

We came to burnt, battered, and bruised, but alive. Incredibly, no others were harmed! The group of gawking, party-going nobles were unscathed, as were the commoners that surrounded the square about the now-wrecked fountain.

A wandering healer, Nova, kindly tended to our wounds. I explained the situation, and he offered his assistance in rooting out the masterminds. We had saved the day, but we had no leads as to who planned this horrific attack. Zel’tha kindly thanked me for my heroics, but before I could say my farewells and thanks I was apprehended by more Silvermoon Guards than I had ever seen in one place.

I write this chronicle from my holding cell, though I am sure to be released once questioning is finished. I am, after all, a hero! You can’t put a price on the lives I saved. You can, however, put a price on the damage that was caused to the square, and it is far more than I can presently afford.

- S.H.

*Despite her repeated mention in these chronicles she has no professional association, merely keeps me intrigued and tolerates my company

** My experiments in these regards shall not be recounted here, as they are well documented in science journals and noise complaints

*** I challenge any other writer to be able to accurately include this line in a biography

**** (OOC, by awesome coincidence, this timed EXACTLY with the server shutdown)

[Aerikan]

Return to the Underworld Part I

‘Straight jacket...flash paper...demon skin...ah, linens!’

I was rifling through my housemates’ things* for a fresh bedspread for a guest. Miss Tyrini had gotten her fill of converted fel magic and was quite restful. I always invite new Sin’Dorei I meet to my place. At best, I get a new ally and contact; at worst, I meet interesting people. With Watson playing about her summoned protector and the lady fast asleep, I could turn my attention to my other guest, a wary Forsaken called Kolevra.

‘What’s on your mind?’ she asked. She was quite perceptive for a non-elven, non-detective.

‘Pips,’ I replied.

‘Pips?’

‘Pips. Pits. Seeds. Pomegranate seeds, to be precise.’

I turned her attention to a letter on my desk. It was stained with waste and had no return address, but the crumpled recipient’s name was barely legible, a noble by the name of Thel Feywilde. She opened it and poured six pomegranate seeds into her hand. I responded to her inquisitive look.

‘The facts are these: Lord Feywilde was reported missing this morning. An investigation of the premises revealed no signs of struggle. No known family, and friends had no indication of where or why he might have left. The lack of clues forced the guards to call me in. My own investigation revealed little more than theirs, despite my entirely improved methods. The only thing of note was what you hold.’

‘A letter full of seeds mailed to him? Why?’

‘Precisely! Why? Why send such a thing? It must have had meaning to him. The nature of the stains compared with his rubbish heap showed he threw it out - and thus left - in the middle of last night. Clearly, it had significance. Fortunately, I am a student of mythology.’

‘How does mythology relate to garbage?’

I regaled her with the myth of the dark god come up from the underworld to look for a wife. He spotted the daughter of the goddess of the harvest and whisked her away. In the underworld, he offered her a pomegranate. Though she didn’t wish to stay, she politely took it. She ate six seeds before her mother stole her back. But, the rules of the underworld are that if you accept hospitality, you must stay. So they agreed she would spend six months below and six months above. An amusing story to explain the growing season, but I perceived more.

‘A message. A message to return. That his metaphorical six months were up, and he was needed back in.’

‘Back in where?’

‘I deduce he was involved with some underground society but since left.’

‘Which one?’

‘That’s what I can’t figure out!’ I cried. ‘I have no leads there, and none of his friends will talk. And I am not able to attend the Sun Court**, so I can’t eavesdrop. Oh. Oh! I can’t, but you can!’

Kolevra was eventually convinced of the challenge and possible reward. I was spurned at the gates of the Court by guards, for whom the exploding fountain was too recent memory. While I argued (out of principle, mind you), Kolevra was in and out in impressively short order.

‘My, but nobles do like to talk,’ she said with a singularly wicked grin. She explained what she had gathered: the gossip was blackmail. Further, they believed a long lost family member was involved, and Lord Feywilde was being intimidated on behalf of a brother.

‘But he has no brother.’ I had checked the records. Kolevra shrugged.

Still, with that l had a focus for our next search. This new information at least helped me to know what to look for, to separate relevant facts from trivial ones. At Feywilde’s house, the clue became obvious. Kolevra pointed to a crest of Stormwind. Of course! The heraldry seemed normal when considering it as part of an aristocrat’s collection, likely a memento of some past war or diplomatic trip. But when instead considering a secret family member…

‘Not a brother, but a step-brother,’ I immediately understood. ‘A human. That would explain the missing records. One can easily picture it: an elf with a troubled past, involved in underworld activities with his brother. He leaves it, moves on to better things. Hides evidence of his past and his brother as he starts anew in Silvermoon. But then the past comes back to haunt him.’

I inspected the crest. The paint on the back was newer than that on the front. Furiously scraping away, I revealed a message. A personal note from brother to brother, followed by runes. Some sort of cipher! I didn’t immediately recognize it.

‘Kolevra, do these mean anything to you? Perhaps you saw them in your past life?’

‘All I know is that they’re dwarven.’

‘Brilliant, woman! That is quite enough to make this work.’

I had learned dwarven as a lad, from a wandering adventurer that came through our town and had quite an impact on my future profession***. But it had been so long, I didn’t recognize the writing. However, once I knew to use a dwarven cryptography key, I was able to soon solve the cipher.

‘This is a series of directions and a note. Apparently the brothers had a secret meeting place near here that they would use on the rare occasions he visited. There’s a chance this is the spot he went to when he received the message.’

‘Makes sense. Maybe he thought it was from his brother, or that his brother was in trouble.’

‘Couldn’t hurt to check it out.’

‘Well, it could hurt, but I’m okay with that.’

Her desire for violence notwithstanding, I was exhilarated as we raced out of the city, past Falconwing Square, and to the ruins of old Silvermoon, dangerously close to areas run by Wretched. Under a great, crumbling, bridge, I found a set of footprints.

‘Aha! I can read these and piece together what happened.’

‘Sterling…’

‘Yes, he was here, these match the size of the footwear I saw in his house. And there were others…’

‘Sterling…’

‘A struggle! He came here and was ambushed! He was taken!’

‘Sterling!’

As I turned to see what my companion was shouting about I realized we had been ambushed, too. Equally ironic and exciting!

The ruffians were clearly out for blood, the fight for our very lives. Kolevra felled one with a knife thrown to the throat before they even reached us. I leapt clear of slicing glaives, just barely keeping my head while my pistol shots went wide. Kolevra was then grappled into immobility by a burly assailant. Watson charged after a few curious Wretched that had come by to try to take on the weakened winner. We were losing!

*Crack* The sound of shattering glass on my undead friend got her attacker’s attention.

‘My poison!’ she lied, thinking quickly. He dropped her in fearful reaction, and she repaid him with a knife to his neck. My own attackers were momentarily distracted and allowed me to pistol-whip one into senselessness. Kolevra threw blinding powder on the last, and Watson and I knocked him out quickly. Incredibly, we were uninjured.

We woke up the unconscious attackers, and through the tried and true method of good-guard/bad-guard****, were able to get some basic information from them.

Apparently, this underground association had kidnapped Lord Feywilde’s brother because of old debts. He had no money, so they forced him to send the message to his brother and feign a meeting. There, the lord himself was taken. But they would not say who they worked for, or where the lord was. Though Kolevra repeatedly offered her services as a torturer, my reputation as a meter-out of justice was at stake. We returned them alive to the authorities, as is my protocol.

Those incompetent sods will never suss the truth out of them, so I am left to ponder the rest. Though we have disrupted their activities in Silvermoon, the organization is still at large, and the lord still missing! Through my contacts I have arranged a meeting with a knowledgeable party in Ratchet. And with ship ticket in hand I send this, but half a case, to be published, whilst I attend to intrigue and danger in my quest to bring it to a close.

With excitement,

-S.H.

*I live above a licensed warlock sanctum, friends made during the destruction of Silvermoon, mutual survival turned to something more. They now help me in my cases against the Wretched and provide sustenance for addiction.

**See previous entry. Despite my saving of lives, apparently I am too much of a danger to be allowed near. The nerve!

***The dwarf was a combat medic, but when he returned home from the war he was involved in solving crimes with an eccentric friend of his. He told me many a tale of his adventure. His name was Watson, and my current cat companion was dubbed that in his honor.

****I can actually perform either role with skill, a fact that lends weight to my brief and otherwise-considered-frivolous study of acting.

[Aerikan]

Lest anyone question the validity of my investigative accounts appearing in Silvermoon's The Daily Sun, I present here the official correspondence between me and the noted publication.

***

To whom it may concern at The Daily Sun,

Hello! I have a wonderful proposition for your paper. I have enclosed my written accounts of the cases I take for archival, instructional, and entertainment purposes. I feel your readership will enjoy them and they will educate the city about the dangers and heros within. Enjoy!

-Sterling Hart

***

Dear Mr. Hart,

We very much enjoyed your accounts and think they are in many ways a good fit for our publication. However, the negative portrayal of the Silvermoon guards and other official organizations could easily be misconstrued as complaints by our own staff, and therefore we must respectfully decline.

- The publishing department

***

Dear publishing department,

I read my first tale in your paper today, and was thrilled! Thank you so much for reconsidering! I'm sure your readership applauds your brave decision to present the truth insuch an exciting fashion.

-S.H.

***

Dear Mr. Hart,

The publication of your documents, was, we assure you, a mistake. There was a break-in at the offices recently, and though nothing of value seems to have been stolen, a number of papers were re-arranged, including accidental inclusion of your work in our publication file. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?

-The publishing department

***

Dear publishing department,

What an odd turn of events! As a licensed inquisitive and respected lawman, I would be happy to lend my services investigating the mysterious break-in that led to my publishing. I know my way to the office so can arrive any time!

-S.H.

***

Dear Mr. Hart,

While the investigation is ongoing with existing authorities, we have decided to continue to include your writings on a regular basis due to unexpected popularity. Enclosed is your author's fee and an advance. It really won't be necessary for you to come anywhere near our offices. Thank you!

-The publishing department

[Aerikan]

Return to the Underworld – Part II

“Is everyone here? Good!”

The party assembled before me was diverse as it was skilled. Tarania,* a priestess and huntress of bravery and skill, Kolevra,** my previously-mentioned associate and sometimes bodyguard, and, of course, the lady Ophice.***

“I have gathered you here because I trust you! Because you are talented, tenacious, and true. We go to face near-certain death, and we do it only for the pursuit of justice, for the thrill of the hunt, for the glory of being alive! Take heart, and let us depart as friends, but return as heroes!”

“He has a gift for speeches,” Tarania noted kindly.

“He has a gift for constantly talking,” Kolevra noted accurately.

I knew where we going because of an incident in Ratchet a few days earlier. I had met Tarania while waiting for the contact I mentioned in the previous story. It’s not quite accurate to say he never arrived – his bloody finger did. It came in an envelope warning me that my involvement was known, and that I should stay off the case of Lord Feywilde’s kidnapping if I valued my life.

The fool! He gave himself away. The particular weathering on the envelope gave away its flight path to get to me, some coarse scratches on the paper hinted at sand on the skin of the one writing it, and the faintest scent of a rare spice sealed it – it was from Tanaris! I had my kidnapper’s home front. I only needed to gather trusted allies for the certainly dangerous expedition.

As the others made their way to the boat, a fifth person arrived.

“Excuse me… are you the detective? Sterling Hart?”

“Why yes! So glad my reputation has spread as well as it deserves!”

“Hm. We shall see. I was thinking of hiring you for a difficult case, but I wish to be certain of your skills before I do so.”

I regaled the lady with my credentials, my past cases, and my general wit, but it was not to be. She would only be convinced by firsthand observation. She wouldn’t even be turned away with my promises of danger! So we had a fifth companion, Sinii,**** who would accompany us but watch from afar.

Ophice chastised me for keeping such odd company, but I valiantly defended my choices whilst delivering a letter.

“What’s that?” She wondered.

“Insurance.” I shut the mailbox and we caught our vessel.

The boat ride was made difficult by a philosophical argument I had with Ophice, but at least the time passed. A short flight later and we were in Gadgetzan. I reminded my friends of what we knew – the criminal organization was run by a Sin’Dorei and dealt in human trafficking. It wasn’t much to go on, but between us all, I hoped we could get the jump on our would-be ambushers.

Despite their lack of directly relevant professional experience, my fighting friends proved capable investigators. Ophice learned of deliveries of mana crystals to certain parties involved in the Arena. Tarania had heard rumors of two unfamiliar men – a human and an elf, who oddly resembled each other – walking through the city a few days past. Kolevra found that the arena had come under new management, and the goblins were none too pleased about giving it up. I found that foreign slaves had been entering the arena more often. Further, I found that this new management would recruit from the elite gladiators that fought in it.

So, our criminal cartel had bought the Gadgetzan Arena, running it cheaply by kidnapping debtors and forcing them to fight, while growing their own ranks strong by taking the arena winners into their fold. Fiendish!

“There is, of course, only one way to earn a meeting with the man we seek.” The looks ranged from understanding to incredulous. “We have to win the tournament!”

“There is absolutely no way I am risking my life for some random elf and his human brother,” Ophice declared.

“I… I’ll keep you company,” Sinii offered to Ophice, also wanting no part of this.

Meanwhile, Kolevra had already signed us up as a team, with Tarania also unshaken in her will to fight. I had certainly picked the right allies.

“Sterling… be careful.” While the look Ophice gave me left no doubt as to how idiotic she thought my plan was, the affectionate gesture that followed more than made up for it.

Our ragtag team of three entered the arena. The gate fell behind us…

I have been in fights before. I survived the fall of Silvermoon, have hunted down terrible foes for our people, and been cornered by dangerous outlaws. But the opponents that entered the arena gave me pause. A dwarf whose skin looked like iron. A pair of orcs that must have weighed three times me in muscle mass. And an ogre mage! It’s simply not fair that he was so big I only came up to his knee, AND he knew magic! Alas, there was no turning back.

Fortunately, the dwarf attacked the ogre, and we were left to face the orcs. Though I use the word ‘fortunately’ in the loosest sense. Tarania and one orc commenced a deadly archery contest. Arrows whizzed by at blinding speeds. She was wounded first, but kept firing.

Before I could help, the other orc was upon me with a great battleaxe. I leapt and dodged, fearing for my life, unable to line up a shot. It was all I could do not to be crushed, and this blood-raging orc never let up. My gun would be useless at this range. He was backing me up to the spikes on the wall- the spikes! I waited for a particularly fierce attack, and dodged aside at the very last second, falling to the ground. To my dismay, he noticed my trick and did not impale himself. With me in the dirt, he came for the kill. His cockiness was his downfall, however. The split-second he spent gloating over me was enough for me to get a bead on him. There was a shower of blood, and he fell before the gunshot echoes faded.

Kolevra, ever the opportunist, leapt at the dwarf like a wild animals, her daggers like talons. Facing her and the ogre mage, the dwarf eventually fell. But he fought on maniacally for infuriatingly long as Kolevra sliced his flesh to ribbons. Tarania eventually felled her orc, and the three of us faced the ogre. His imbued club sent shockwaves, knocking us over. He swatted us left and right. Only through teamwork could we prevail. Watson had been hiding in the rafters and dropped on his face at my signal. Tarania and I let loose volleys at his knees, dropping him partway to the ground. Kolevra climbed his back with her knives. He was through.

The victory celebration was short, and were ushered into an underground passage with promises that the arena leader had plans for us. As predicted, we were lead to the ring-leader.

I of course did not know the man, but he recognized me. And, more tellingly, Lord Feywilde and his brother were caged in the corner.

“You wouldn’t leave this issue lie, would you, detective?” His eyes crackled with magical energy. His guards stepped forward with enchanted glaives. The whole room lit up with his magic. And then, thunder.

Not his thunder, though. The walls shook. The earth rumbled. Our adversaries looked about in confusion. Their question was soon answered, as an entire goblin sapper team burst through the walls! Dynamite, guns, and even shredders with drills for hands fell upon the elves. Kolevra and I rescued the nobles while Tarania led us through the chaos. The sounds of a mighty battle raged behind us as we emerged into the light.

“What happened!?” Ophice demanded.

“My insurance,” I replied, referencing my letter. I had tipped the goblins off to the elven activity in their land.

“Goblins don’t like to share profits,” Kolevra understood.

Lord Feywilde was escorted to safety, offering his undying thanks. He promised to pay for damages, and rewarded me with a magnificent hawkstrider of exceptional swiftness.*****

Sinii had fled when the fighting happened, which was a good idea. But she did leave a letter saying yes, after rooting out the criminal and winning a deadly tournament, I was perhaps worth her time to hire.

Tarania assured me it was worth her while to attend to this greater good, and that she was thankful for the chance. Ever the warrior, she showed no fear, no complaint of the dangers.

I tried to pay Kolevra for her bodyguard work, but she reminded me that she had offered this one for free, in the name of the case. A more generous offer I could not imagine.

“Well, through your courage and unmatched skill, we were able to succeed. Of course, that was never in doubt, as this case was taken on by me, the greatest detective in all of SIlvermoon – if not the world.”

“You are one cocky shit, do you know that?” Ophice asked, smiling.

“Yes I do.”

-S.H.

*For the safety of those involved further identifying features of the lady have been omitted.

**Kolevra deserves credit for helping me solve another case, whose sensitive nature ensures that it has not been chronicled here. Nonetheless, she is to be thanked.

***Despite my previous assurances to the contrary, I am far more fond of the lady than these investigation-oriented journals admit, and I suppose have made public record of it now.

****See subpoint 1

***** I really do not know how to ride these bloody things, and while it occasionally gets me from point A to point B quickly on the rare instances I leave Silvermoon, it scares and infuriates me to no end.

[Aerikan]

Strong Spirits

This was a bad day.*

I had spent hours fruitlessly investigating Dalaran at the behest of a friend. I had then been summoned by the Shattered Sun offensive to consult on their problems with the Wretched, and was forced to join a defense against an all-out assault. By the time I took another dizzying portal jump back to Silvermoon, the last thing I needed was a frivolous case.

“You can’t be serious,” I protested to the trio of guards representing the Blood Knights and Silvermoon city watch. “A haunted house?”

“We thought you liked out of the ordinary cases?” They mocked.

“This is frivolous. I am a professional, sirs, and can’t be bothered to trifle with imagined storybook problems.”

“We don’t care what you like or what you can be bothered with. This comes from the high aristocracy. You should consider it an order.”

As my reputation was what kept me in business, I very reluctantly agreed. At this time Vexiph** arrived, curious about my foul mood. I explained the situation, and she seemed concerned about the dangers angered spirits might present. I tried to assure her that, while I understood spirits did manifest on occasion, the vast majority of these cases were misperceptions and misunderstandings.

Amidst this explanation a stranger*** arrived, expressing interest in the case. “While I can’t say I owe you enough to help you, I would like a relief to my boredom.”

“A problem I struggle with myself. So long as you are useful, that is more than reason enough.”

We wandered out of town. Though near sick with exhaustion, I managed to find the country mansion with little trouble. An investigation of the premises revealed nothing out of order, not even faulty lights or creaking closets to give scare to a fool. We proceeded to the basement, and there at least we found a modicum of interest. I noticed a false wall, and behind it a long stair. Not just to a secret room, but an entire dungeon!

“Really, who builds their summer home atop a dungeon? There are so many reasons that is a poor choice I can’t be bothered to enumerate them.”

“My kind of person,” the stranger said curiously. Our aesthetic argument would have to wait. I was tired, Vexiph was nervous, and I wanted to be done with this.

“Most likely this ‘haunting’ stems from the creaking of old equipment or settling of old stone,” I said frankly.

“I… I think I heard doors open and close!”

“Probably just a draft!” I explained.

“Indeed, but there must be a source,” the stranger noted. He was absolutely right; we could complete our job by finding the source of the draft and sealing it, ending this waste of time. We spread out.

I found an old iron maiden, gruesome, but inanimate. It’s rusted spikes and hinges could make noise enough to spook a doddering retiree. “Bloody thing,” I muttered, snapping off a rusted spike out of spite.

To my surprise, it shattered in my hand, piercing me in a dozen places. I bled most profusely, and hurried back to my companions. Blood loss, tetanus, injury to the hands I use every day in my work… I needed mending. I bid the stranger upstairs for bandages, and bid Vexiph help me remove shards. She seemed even more nervous than before.

“Sterling, I swear that door there was open when we came, and now closed.”

“Of course! This whole bloody place is falling apart!”

The stranger returned then, informing us there were no bandages. I cursed. “Very well. Let us find this swinging door of yours, and locate the draft, and be done with this place!”

We approached the door, Vexiph with trepidation. “It moves with the swaying of the wind!” I proclaimed. I tried to demonstrate but it wouldn’t budge.

“What the deuce?”

Before I could conjecture further, a wicked force grabbed hold of me, slamming my injured hand into the stone wall. I cried out with pain as rusted metal dug inside me, my hand smearing blood across the wall.

“Dramatic.” The stranger noted.

“Sterling, why did you do that!?”

“I DIDN’T do that!”

Suddenly, the possibility of a malignant spirit was very real. I was forced to choke back my indignance and consider this as any other case. I calmed my nerves and looked to the blood: it had been smeared with purpose, a message: ‘nite elm.’

“Night Elm?” Vexiph tried to recall any reference to it in her arcane study. The stranger chose this moment to admire the beauty of the gory device, an odd time to dabble in art criticism. I, more practically, recalled all my study of mythology and the like to find a reference point. I have an incredible memory, and the information came quickly. Spirits were limited in their involvement with this world. Often their communication is jumbled as they try speak across worlds, coming through backwards or in anagrams. I explained as much to my companions as my mind sifted through the different alphabetical permutations. Only one rearrangement seemed to have any relevance: ‘let me in.’

“Whatever you do, do NOT let it in.”

We split up again for continued search, the stranger and I musing on what we knew of spirits and how to find them. The smell of blood aroused us from our banter, and I rushed to find Vexiph. When I arrived, in her place was a sheep. A sheep with a bloody leg.

Vexiph momentarily morphed back into herself and explained – she had been compelled by the spirit to grab an old weapon, and watched helplessly as she began to cut her own wrists. Only by quick thinking was she able to polymorph herself, drop the weapon, and regain control of her mind. I admitted her cleverness, but worried about our pair of wounds. The bleeding was bad for both. Unfortunately, we were quickly summoned by the stranger. He led us down long corridors, showing more of both excitement and fear than he had yet. We soon learned why.

The spirit of the place had manifested itself. A great, shifting column of energy took the form of a void-black demon, and attacked directly. I counted on Vexiph for hasty enchantments of my bullets in a vain attempt to assault it, and she flung arcane energy desperately, but neither of us could penetrate its magical defenses. The stranger, however, had training in this, and his warlock’s skill proved enough of a match to wound it and discover the bindings it used to take form. Once he pointed out it’s bracers, I knew how to destroy them without worrying of the poor aim given by injured hand: dynamite!****

The blast cleared and the thing was gone. But only its physical form! It again tried to posses us, possess the items in the room. Wood and stone and broken metal flung about. We made a hasty retreat, and the door snapped shut behind us. Angry forces raged against the door, but it would not budge.

“Why would it try to kill us, then seal us out? And fight against its own seal?” I was useless. I had brought no bandages, no tools, no arcane help, and couldn’t think straight. The warlock considered his knowledge of demons, trying to find a way we could help him in a fight. It was simply too old and powerful for one warlock alone.

Quiet Vexiph, meanwhile, finally spoke.

“I… think there is another spirit. I feel a tugging at my mind again. Like before, but different. Perhaps there is a good – or less bad – spirit here, too, helping us?”

“Or the demon is a good liar,” the warlock noted.

“What chance do we have?” I exclaimed. “A rival spirit may be our only hope. Vexiph, what do you think?”

“I’m going to let it in.”

Poor brave Vexiph did just so, and she staggered toward the wall like a puppet, smearing her bloody hand against the stone as I had done before, though more gently. Again, a message: “number.”

Thanks to the earlier clue I quickly rearranged it.

“’Burn me.’ Yes, yes indeed. I recall reading that spirits can be tied to a place. If the location itself is destroyed, so too the spirit! We must burn this place to the ground!”

“I should mention now,” the warlock started, “that I didn’t find bandages because the door was locked. We are sealed in.”

“So if we try to burn this place and it DOESN’T work, we’ll only be trapping ourselves in a crumbling, smoking inferno?”

Oddly, we both smiled. If nothing else we shared a penchant for exhilaration amidst danger. If we were going to die, it might as well be dramatic.

The warlock summoned a fiery imp who leapt about with manic glee. Vexiph summoned arcane fire left and right. I planted charges at critical places. Soon we were running toward the door, while an enraged demon, a cacaophony of explosions, a tidal wave of smoke and endless sea of fire roared behind us.

I give no reverence to gods or ancestors, but I did wonder that moment if they were kind enough to let us find the door unlocked…

***

Minutes later we stood gasping at the gates of Silvermoon, a great pillar of black smoke behind us. We all three were near dead of smoke inhalation and major burns, Vexiph and I of blood loss as well. By a stroke of good luck a freed Death Knight, Keyus, and the inimitable Lady Ophice were on hand. The former healed Vexiph, the latter carried my weary self toward the priests. The stranger disappeared.

Now, if I am to be honest, the rest of the eve is a complete blur. I have vague recollections of a troupe of Sin’Dorei behind us in the worst version of the pied piper ever to be acted out. And there are quite a few odd rumors floating about Silvermoon regarding that night. Still, I believe my reputation holds firmly true. If you hear that there were mages and nobles following us with sharp tongues and mocking wit, it is untrue. If you hear any mention of Ophice speaking of sexual torture and myself accusing her of bedroom frigidity, it is untrue. And if you hear that I am to be taken to trial for the burning down of a noble’s manor, then I could use your help as a character witness.

-S.H.


*I say this not to engender sympathy, but to illustrate that I am as aware of my own shortcomings and weaknesses as I am aware of my own great skill

**The very friend I was in Dalaran on behalf of. A Silvermoon native and student of the arcane arts.

***Identity anonymous by request, though I shall mention he was a warlock, as that detail is very relevant to this case.

****dynamite and my gun being some of the few things I never travel without

[Aerikan]

The Mother's Lament

I was celebrating the simple joy of being still alive* with a bit of talk and a great deal of wine. My fellow conversationalists were the shy but determined Vexiph and the bold Lady Ophice. I was entertained by more than their banter, as the inn was quite full that night. Among the many were three in particular – our acquaintance the knight Keyus, a sage looking orc arcanist named Surthak, and the brilliant wizard Solz.**

The already loud atmosphere was raised to manic levels when a woman burst in all a-panic. She rushed to me and grabbed me rather roughly.

“Are you the detective? Sterling Hart?”

“Why, yes, but I will be a much better detective if I can move freely!”

Surthak and Solz tried to calm her, but she rebuked them.

“My child has been stolen! How can I be calm!?”

She ran about the room, pleading to the others, pulling at their clothes, accosting all in sight as she explained. Apparently her young son had been taken from her home. The guards has found nothing, she said, so they sent her to me. She begged we hurry and fan out through the city, to forgo her already searched home and quickly find her son.

Something about the situation struck me as odd, but I assured her I would take the case, and she should seek the guards for safety. I inquired for aid, as we had few clues to go on.Vexiph had asked to join me on my next case, out of thanks and curiosity, and Ophice would never turn down an adventure, so I had two companions directly.

“Recovering a child is a worthy cause,” our orc friend mused, and joined.

“I’m bored otherwise,” Keysu noted flatly.

“I could use a flexing of my mental muscles,” the wizard said with a gleam of the eye I recognized.

“I respect a man who likes a mental challenge!”

“Challenge? No. I merely wanted to flex.” He grinned a cocky grin I also knew all too well. It was a pleasure to have someone as assured of their own abilities aiding us.

We left straightaway, but rather than spreading out I begged them follow.

“If she were so desperate to find her son, why would she bid us not search her house? Would she not want any possible clues found? Odd indeed. We shall have to investigate. Now, do any of you mind breaking the law?”

“No.”

“Nor running the chance of arrest?”

“Not in a good cause.”

“This cause is excellent, so we shall break into her home!”

While Keyus and Ophice challenged each other unmoving in a contest of stubbornness, I led us to the house. Solz noted that she never told us where it was, but I explained my methods.

“Her attire and bearing pinpoint her level of wealth, which leads us to but one district. Further, the mud on her boots is only found in front of certain houses with a rare type of garden. Which would put it… here!”
I picked the lock and had us inside. We spread out.

Ophice and Vexiph stayed near the door, and quickly noticed blood stains. Solz and I moved upstairs to the child’s room. It didn’t take long to find a horrific clue – bloodied restraints.

“Restraints? I hardly think she was that worried about him being taken,” he mused grimly about the key clue he had found. "I think we see who is responsible for the child's danger."

“Indeed,” I agreed. “And the neatly stacked clothes and perfectly arranged room speak of no struggle. But if she is behind this, why tell us?”

“My thoughts exactly. To throw us off, perhaps, delay us from something else.”

“Indeed. I deduce she had not gone to the guards at all. She merely wished to appear to have acted legally by hiring us.”

“Then I doubt she is with them right now.”

As we hurried downstairs, Surthak stopped us, an ancient tome held before him. It meant nothing to me, but he quickly explained.

“I’ve seen the script in this book before. Not the random scrawling it appears to be, but old runes, rituals of sacrifice.” We explained our clues, and agreed upon the sort of nefarious scheme that was going on here. We had the what, but not the why. Still, I have many connections, so we sought one who might know more of such a book.

Shortly we gathered at 221A Murder Row, the warlocks’ sanctum, and spoke with my old friend Keyanomir, filling him on the details as he perused the book.

“I haven’t seen a tome like this in ages. It’s ancient.”

“I could have told you as much,” Surthak frowned.

“No, I mean, incredibly ancient, before the time of most races. You never see these in the hands of men or elves. What on earth could have brought this here?”

I was becoming more and more distracted, and finally spoke up. “Keyanomir, what is that horrific odor!?”

“Sorry, Sterling, another body brought to us for research. It is still somewhat fresh, and we did everything to preserve it. I swear, man, you are simply too sensitive.”

“May I see it?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. He motioned toward the lab and returned to perusing the book with our magically inclined companions. I, meanwhile, pulled back the sheet, and gasped.

“You all must see this!”

My friends surrounded me, and all wore similar expressions at the sight. We were looking at the very woman who had given us the case! Not some lookalike, but the spitting image!

“A skin thief…” Surthak said gravely.

“Of course!” Keyanomir exclaimed. “Yes, such brand of demon is old enough to have this book.”

“But why leave such clues to find?” I asked. “Either she assumed I was a very poor detective – which is impossible, as my reputation precedes me - or their time in stolen bodies is limited, hence the haste.”

“Correct, Sterling, though come about rather egotistically than rationally***,” Keyanomir chided. I scoffed, but thanked him for the aid.

“But where would such a ritual take place? Surely there are magical needs,” Solz understood.

“A nexus of sorts, it would have to be,” Surthak continued.

Keyanomir knew of such places in this city, and directed us to the gate near the Dead Scar. If she was indeed in haste and worried about being caught, the ritual could be underway now! We hurried through the alleys and slums built up around the far gate sealing away the Dead Scar. By focused observation I was able to again note the small but particular mud stains, and find the right building. We drew our weapons, gathered our nerve, and crashed through the door.

Inside was a gruesome but not surprising scene. The skin thief, wearing the raiment of a once-mother, held a runed blade over a child on an altar, with a half-dozen cultists surrounding her. Our interruption could not have come a moment later and still had the child live! No one hesitated.

Solz annihilated one with a fast arcane blast, while Surthak put two to flame with a wildly-fanned spell of immolation. The others fanned out to avoid such bursts of magic. I fell on the skin thief, both to keep her from killing the child and to save my brave companions from her wrath, as I had dragged them into this. She proved my better, and I could land no blows, while her blade drank from a dozen cuts she was quickly wounding me with. Ophice dispatched one in the most horrific, cringe-worthy, dishonorable, and effective way one can incapacitate a man. Vexiph was knocked to the ground and almost killed by another before she tripped him up, and a bad fall broke his neck. Meanwhile, while I had scored a few wounds on the body-snatcher, she had me winded and downed, and prepared to do away with me. Then she vomited blood, steam poured from her eyes and nose and her skin flushed, and soon blood gurgled from every orifice as Keyus boiled the blood from within her, just in time to save me.

Sadly my injuries prevented me from long farewells. Surthak seemed troubled by the matter and wished to study further, and I thanked him and offered him hospitality with myself and the warlocks at any time. I gave the same offer to Solz, eager to match our sharp minds together, and he accepted, already making plans to speak with the studied warlocks. Ophice helped me to the priests**** while Vexiph calmed the child and brought him to an orphanage.

Despite coming within an inch of death, I rather think this was one of my least troublesome cases. Trusted allies were found, no damages will be deducted from my pay, and at least one more resident of Silvermoon will live to perhaps have their own adventures chronicled one day.

-S.H.*****



*see previous case

**This is not his full name, mind you, but I never did get the spelling of the particularly polysyllabic moniker, and I wouldn’t risk offense with a misprint.

***I take particular offense to this conclusion, as it is perfectly rational to understand one’s abilities, regardless of whether they are poor, mediocre, or the absolute best.

****If I had a gold for every time that happened, I would not need to continue as a professional investigator

*****(All story credit goes to Cressy for this one)

[Aerikan]

The Invisible Killer

I was standing at the beautiful lakeshore in my armor*, trying to initiate a conversation with the lady Ophice, when the mechanical bellow of an Arcane Guardian shattered the peace.

"DETECTIVE HART. YOU ARE TO REPORT WITHIN THESE WALLS AT ONCE."

"No rest for the weary. Want to come?"

"Of course!"

Ophice followed, despite the fact that I was absurdly armored, dripping with sweat, and blood-spattered.** The gatewatcher informed me that I was to report with all immediacy to Murder Row Inn.

"Change first, Sterling, that armor is silly."

"But you heard them! 'With all immediacy!'"

"It will take five minutes!"

"We may not have five minutes, woman! We're on a case!"

For reasons I discerned later Ophice was annoyed***, but followed. Upstairs the problem was evident - a Blood Knight Stillblade (evident by the telltale mask) lay dead on the floor, with an adept above him.

She explained that not ten minutes prior, the young Stillblade had been sent from Blood Knight Headquarters on a minor mission, and was then found here dead. No clues, no leads, not even enough time to start a mission, let alone get killed on one. Ophice put her keen hunter's eyes to work and confirmed he had no wounds.

"Healthy to dead in ten minutes flat, while strolling through the city, with no wounds. Finally, a case worthy of my expertise!"

With no cause of death to find, I saw what else there was to see. He had a few ashes in his hair, and was damp on the right side. Since I knew where he came from and where he ended up, this was enough to describe his route to me. He must have left the barracks, walked pass the smithery (the ashes), past the fountain (which would be to his right - the dampness), entered the inn, and died. The only other item of note was the faint scent of garlic on his face.

I suggested this last bit was a trivial detail about his lunch, but Ophice thought it might be significant - an allergy, perhaps? We had little to go on, though the adept gave us more. He was spying on a troublesome mage, so she suggested we search there. I thought it odd, since his path did not take him to the mage chambers (he would have been damp on the left side, too!), but noted it. We left to retrace his steps.

The only business he could have passed on his route was the engineer's shop outside Farstrider Square. Brief questioning confirmed that he had stayed and chatted with the ladies working there for a few minutes. Ophice and I were tuned in to the scent of garlic again, which we asked about.

"That's from the copper refinement process."

"Is it poisonous?"

"Yes, but because the smell is obvious, all you need to do is take a step away when you smell it. We've been working with it for years."

"Ah yes, oxidized arsenic if I recall. Could he have been poisoned by it?"

"Doubt it. He wasn't dumb, he'd know to avoid it."

Certainly it made sense that he smelled of this poison, but how did it kill him when it was so easily avoidable? I pondered that while we moved to the mages.

"Detective Hart, here to ask a few question about a Stillblade who-"

The mage trainer**** was instantly furious. She was aware of the spying, claimed innocence in any matters, and was only more furious at the idea the Blood Knights thought she might be guilty of the murder. She even went so far as to threaten us.

"Lady, you are kind of crazy. We are just here asking questions," Ophice said. To my delight and surprise, Ophice did not attack the woman for her wretched behavior.

The trainer shouted still.

"Get out of you before I unleash arcane fire, and tell that no-good, bumbling, ugly-masked freak-"

"THAT's IT!" I cried. She stopped in her tracks.

"The mask! The Stillblade was wearing a mask. He wouldn't have been able to smell the arsenic fumes. If he were unaware of it, in a few minutes he could have inhaled enough to kill him. As he walked down to the inn, it worked its way through his system, and that was that."

I apologized to the lady and we returned to the inn and explained the situation to the Knight Adept. It was pure, dumb luck. An unfortunate tragedy, but no conspiracy, no murder, no intrigue. Just one of a million ways one can die.

"Do you know what this means, Ophice? I have solved a case with no injury, no property damage, and no laws broken! There wasn't even injury to criminals, as there were none! A purely mayhem-free case! My reputation will soar!"

"Then let's get out of here and celebrate our victory."

And for various reasons, dear readers, my celebrations are not chronicled here.

-S.H.

* I despise wearing armor, and only have a set because it was granted to me by the Shattered Sun. It is cumbersome and ridiculous-looking, but it protects me when consulting for them on Quel'Danas, and I occasionally find it useful when traveling in the wild.

** I make no claims as a talented warrior, but this day I was searching for items of great importance for a person of great importance, and blood, sweat, and tears were required of the task.

*** This clarification is unfit for publishing in these footnotes.

**** Name has been revoked for personal safety, as her behavior would paint her in a bad light professionally.

[Aerikan]

(The following appeared in the most recent issue of Silvermoon’s premier news source, The Daily Sun)

A note from the Editors:

In this spot normally appears the writing of Silvermoon’s only detective and biographer, Sterling Hart. However, his usual essays were not sent this week, and no inquiry could find Detective Hart at this time. Instead we anonymously received a packet of documents with request to publish. Whether they are our columnist’s attempt at mystery, or if they are sincere and point to foul work, we cannot say. They are reprinted here exactly as received.

***

A letter from a shipping firm in Stranglethorn Vale:

Detective Hart,

Your reputation has gained some small notoriety here in the Bay, and we have reason to believe our request falls within your ken. We recently came to an agreement with a party in Undercity to ship them nearly one ton of fresh, rich soil. While this shipment of dirt may serve some agricultural or other purpose for our buyers, it clearly would not to any raiders, pirates, or thieves. Which is why we are concerned that it has disappeared amidst fair weather. If this piques your interest, please reply.

Sincerely,

[redacted]

Of company [redacted]


A hastily written contract found discarded in Booty Bay:

We, Soria and Selondra of the Vagabonds, do hereby enter into duty as bodyguards to one Sterling Hart, to see him through safely to Ratchet, Orgrimmar, and Undercity, and any detours necessary in the course of his investigation, to be paid an equal percentage of fees for completion of said investigation, plus bonuses for extreme danger to be agreed upon if encountered.

[signatures redacted]


A copy of Saz’s Salon, a goblin gossip column in a Ratchet tabloid:

Hey friends, summer is here and you know what that means: tourists! We get some of Kalimdor’s weirdest folk at this point, and some even from across the pond.

ITEM! A pair of deadly looking blood elf gals stepped off a ship with a handsome private eye between them. How do I know he’s a detective? I read other papers besides this one (but I certainly won’t tell which and give free advertising here!). They met another elf in the tavern, and there were sparks between her and the detective, I can tell! But that’s not the interesting part – a troll and a human joined them! You think that’s all? When they came back, there was a gnome and a draenei, too. You might think ol’ Saz was joking, but the humor column is on the next page. Keep reading and I’ll keep you up to date on all the new faces in town. And look forward to my yearly Best and Worst Dressed in Ratchet column. Bye for now!


A transcript of a testimony given by a captured pirate to Ratchet bruisers:

“If I knew any more, I’d tell you, believe you me. But I’ll go through it all again just so we’re sure.

Apparently the ship got took without a fight. I didn’t see any of the cannons had been fired, and didn’t see a single crewman aboard. I don’t ask questions. I just load and unload cargo. But that’s what got me: we wasn’t unloading anything on this ship we took. Just loading it back up. With bodies.

Aye, again, bodies. Nasty, half-rotted, potion-soaked corpses. Stuffing them in crates of dirt. Why a ship had crates of dirt, I’ll never know. But we stuffed ‘em in fast, and good thing too because I swear one of them moved.

After we finished I heard commotion, like I said, and I never saw who it was. But one of our patrols was killed, and belowdecks there was a small fire, and some of the corpses were dug out of the crates and chopped to bits, all over the hold. I don’t know anyone who’d sneak aboard a ship to dig up graves, and like I said, I swear I saw them move…

Anyway, that’s when you showed up and took the ship and took me. After what we did, I got no problem with it. Take them bodies, burn ‘em, and send the cursed ship on its way. Your problem now.”


A handwritten note left anonymously for an unknown party at the tavern:

V & O -
Wharfmaster too savvy. Knew details I didn’t share. Suspect in league with smugglers. Asked to go along with ‘empty’ ship to destination. Suspect trap. Will try to spring at right time. Suspect danger. Exciting!
-S.H.


A copy of an official proclamation from the Orgrimmar Air Fleet to Silvermoon, Undercity, and Ratchet:

THE WARCHIEF DOES NOT PLAY GAMES!

Dead men, elves, and goblins should know better than to test the iron law of Durotar. We have made an example:

Recently an airship loaded with goods from Ratchet attempted to leave our city for Undercity in treachery. An idiotic elf insulted the honor and duty of the Orgrimmar Fleet, and was repaid with our strictest cargo levees. Upon inspecting cargo, the foul act of smuggling dead men was uncovered. ALL involved have been imprisoned indefinitely.

We care not if elves, goblins, or Forsaken are behind this. All will be held accountable, and all will learn from their fate. You are fairly told!

***

-The Daily Sun Editorial Staff