Log View

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The Pale Harrow Harrow finds himself drawn to the view from the window. He stops to take a moment to stare outside before turning towards Blood at Dusk and looking up to meet his gaze, absorbing all the unpleasant details of his face. Far from being disgusted by it though, he seems fascinated.

"It's good to meet you too." Harrow offers, seeming sincere on the surface. His words are followed by the offering of a firm and cool handshake. "My name is Obsidian Shadow. I'm here to look into the unfortunate death that has taken place on these premises. This is my assistant Blighted Blossom. I can assure you that we are taking what has happened here very seriously. If you would be good enough to give us some of your time, then I'd like to ask you some questions."

If Harrow is unnerved by the presence of the dogs and the bow close by, he doesn't display it. In fact the entire demeanour of the detective comes off as someone who is calm and in control.

"I'd like to start by requesting a list of all those who were in the building at the time of the incident."

Chorus "Are you." The Red Mansion huntsmaster gives Harrow a flat look that soon pivots towards amusement, and snorts, nodding to himself. One after another, all three dogs lift their heads, sniffing the air. "Well, then you better take a seat. The young lady, too."

He raises an eyebrow at Chorus and looks her over. The Moonshadow has already readied a notebook and is looking at the two men, pen hovering over the paper. She continues to play the role of the dole-eyed assistant and meets the huntsmaster's gaze only briefly before looking away, acting too shy and too intimidated for prolonged eye contact.

For his part, the ghost drops back into his chair, provoking a loud groan from the aging, tormented wood. Other chairs are stacked against the wall, all similarly uncomfortable and in no better condition.

No matter if the two decide to sit or not, he continues after a beat: "A complete list will take some time to put together. The Lady's retinue isn't exactly small. She was present, of course. As was I, and the Orphan Queen."

He squints at Harrow, gauging him. "You look awfully young, Inspector. How many cases have you solved before this one?"

The Pale Harrow Harrow accepts the offer of the seat, settling his long and lean body in the chair. His posture is relaxed but his eyes remain sharp and alert, as do the rest of his senses.

"Of course. I don't demand the contents of the list on the spot. I respect your position. Obviously this is a place where as well as the household in residence, you will also receive guests regularly. Have you been here long yourself?"

Harrow places his hands in his lap, steepling his fingers. "I believe I've lost count of all my cases." He admits. "Certainly more than ten though. Likely closer to twenty. Sometimes looks can be deceptive." He runs a hand over the smooth and pale skin on his face and offers a slight smile to the ghost.

Chorus When Harrow settles down, Chorus drags a chair next to his herself. As Blighted Blossom, she moves smoothly, but a little clumsily. It seems to be working. Harrow can sense the ghost's attention shifting, focusing on the man who calls himself Obsidian Shadow.

"Indeed. They can, and often do. Especially down here, where the streets itself lie to you." The huntsmaster's crooked smile still doesn't look quite friendly, but this time, it contains a hint of sympathy, or respect at least. "Been here only for a week or so, no longer than Lady Persimmon herself. Where she goes, I follow. That's what I was tasked to do. Been in her service for years, I think. Time flies by when you're dead."

After a heavy shrug, he reaches down to scratch one of the dog behind its ears, then leans back, and cracks his neck. "So. I wonder what your masters told you. What they believe happened here."

The Pale Harrow There's the briefest of glimpses towards Chorus before Blood catches Harrow's attention again. "It's an important role you perform for the Lady. You've obviously proved your loyalty well to be given it."

The detective watches the exchange with the dogs before responding to the question. "My masters were concerned about the death of someone in such a prominent position and its potential to cause problems politically. I'm here to prove one way or another if there is any reason to think that the circumstances could be seen as suspicious. If this is the case, then I intent to uncover the culprit or culprits, so that your Lady can once again feel safe. I'm sure this has come as both a terrible shock and great loss to her."

The investigator's expression is neutral and not without sympathy. There's also a certain warmth to his words as he speaks them. "Perhaps you can tell me anything you remember about when Aspen was discovered. Who was it who found her body?"

Chorus This is Harrow's show - that much is clear. "Blightest Blossom" busies herself with taking notes as the conversation goes back and forth. The Day Caste can catch her occasionally glancing towards Blood at Day, examining the man thoroughly for the brief moments she can steal before risking him noticing.

The huntsmaster's impressive brow furrows with such force, one can almost hear his skin creaking. "You can damn well call Aspen Moth's sudden departure a terrible shock and still be underselling it", he mutters darkly. "A body, huh? Very funny. Never seen a ghost being killed, hm?"

He grins at Harrow only briefly, before clearing his throat. "The Lady and I were in a private meeting with the Orphan Queen, only a few rooms away from the Rancid Library. That's where Moth was last seen."

One of the dogs rises, stretches, muscles rippling under its fur, and trots over to "Obsidian Shadow", loudly snuffling close to his boots. Blood at Day frowns at the hound, but doesn't intervene. Instead, he continues: "We heard her cry out only once. When I rushed into the room with two other guards... well, you're going to take a look yourself anyway, so draw your own conclusions. Let me just tell you this: There was no sign of her. Just her prized inkwell. One that never ran out. She loved it dearly. It was one of her grave goods, and she'd rather cut off her own head than leave it behind."

The Pale Harrow Blossom's diligence does not go unnoticed by Harrow. If their eyes should meet in passing she will be rewarded with an appreciative nod of his dark-haired head.

The detective's pale skin does blush briefly however when he realises his error. He has indeed only dealt with bodies before and has in fact never seen a ghost being killed. That is something he would like to change in the near future. Not from any sense of malice, merely to gain the knowledge on how such a thing would unfold.

"I have never witnessed the death of a ghost myself, no." Obsidian Shadow admits. "I'm often sent in after the scene has already been cleared." He comments coolly. "In this instance however, things are still rather fresh."

As Blood tells his tale of the Moth's last moments, Harrows intention is rapt, even when the curious hound heads his way. It seems to have a strange fascination with one of the silver skulls on his black boots.

"So she wasn't silenced first then. Her assailant wasn't stealthy. She was aware enough to be startled or pained by their presence and whatever it is they did to her." Harrow frowns, feeling anger towards whoever this attacker was, but he manages to contain it and swallow it down. When he speaks further there's no hint of the emotion in his voice. "I would like to see the inkwell and the scene. I'd also like to speak to the other two guards."

Chorus Blood at Dusk has the gall to look pleased, even smug, at Obsidian Shadow's blunder. The only credit one could give him is that he doesn't twist a knife inside the wound. In fact, now that Harrow has exchanged words with the huntsmaster for a while and observed him closely, the detective can read this peculiar fellow a lot better.

First of all, the man doesn't truly feel comfortable with lengthy conversations. He's decent at hiding that fact, but Harrow intuits that Blood would rather like to be elsewhere, or alone with his dogs again, and that being stuck in this study, answering all these questions from people he doesn't even trust, truly grates on his nerves. The dirt under his nails and on his shoes suggests that he was outside fairly recently.

Second, there's a slight shift in his stance, or a twitch of a facial muscle, every time he mentions his charge. Whatever his reasons for serving and protecting Lady Persimmon, his feelings for her aren't exactly positive: Harrow can sense frustration at the woman, bordering on outright anger.

And third, the death of Ashen Moth mostly seems to be an annoyance to him. His eyes narrow ever so slightly when he talks about her.

Utterly oblivious to the detective profiling him thus, the huntsmaster gives a rough grunt of affirmation in response to Harrow's request. "Thought you would."

Old leather creaks and rustles as he unfolds from his seat, gesturing for the Abyssals to follow him. "Come on, then. I'll see you to the Library. You can dig around there while I fetch the fellows. Could also tell someone to pen that list for you while I'm at it."

The dogs rise along with him, in eerie silence. By contrast, the sound of their panting as they look expectantly at their master, tongues lolling, is quiet loud. Bits and pieces of flesh and bone are stuck between their impressive teeth in places.

The Pale Harrow Harrow can sense that Blood is squirming somewhat behind his gruff exterior. He doesn't draw any attention to this, he simply soaks it up like a sponge, along with the other observations he's made about the ghost.

How interesting that despite his apparent loyalty to Lady Persimmon, her guard obviously has some buried anger towards her. He's also not completely enamoured with Aspen. Perhaps her being gone is more of an inconvenience than a tragedy in his eyes. Time will likely tell.

Harrow rises from his chair and follows the huntsmaster towards the scene of the crime, looking out for any clues along the way. When they reach the room the investigator starts to study it in silence, assessing the scene for anything obvious that might provide information.

Just before Blood takes his leave however, Harrow can't resist making a couple of comments. "It seems your dogs have enjoyed a hearty meal of late. Perhaps they partook in it whilst walking with their master outside."

Chorus When everyone gets up to leave, Chorus closes her notebook and tucks it under her armpit, falling into step with Harrow. She has been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time... but then again, that's very much in character for Blighted Blossom.

The dogs trail behind their master, who leads the entire delegation. Up the decrepit stairs they go, several stories up in fact, and then down several corridors, until they arrive at the crime scene.

Whoever named the Rancid Library either had a wicked sense of humor, or really hated books. Perhaps both. While not exactly big, the chamber is more generously cut than the others they've passed by so far, with a high, domed ceiling. Its stained glass windows are surprisingly unmarred, keeping out the wind and letting light filter in from outside (if the sky is in the correct state for such illumination to exist).

Currently, however, the sky is dark, and so is the room. Blood at Dusk lights a lantern with a mere snap of his finger. Pale blue flame envelops the wick. They can see the shelves now, stacked with booklets and scrolls and ancient tomes. There's no discernible order, and in fact, mostly chaos. The musk of aged paper and ink hangs heavy in the air, but calling that smell "rancid" seems unjustified. None of the books are in terrible condition, and there's no indication of mold. Lots of dust, though, and by extend, bootprints in that dust.

Blood leaves the lantern with the detective. "All yours." He gestures at the room. "Knock yourself out. I'll be back in a while."

And the turns to depart, but pauses with his hand on the doorframe and his back already to the deathknights at Harrow's last remark. The huntsmaster twists his head - a little farther than a human should actually be able to - and glares over his shoulder at Obsidian Shadow. His dogs mimic that motion.

"What of it? They're hunting dogs, and I'm a huntsmaster", he replies dryly. "Not all denizens of this cursed district are benevolent." Stating this with dripping sarcasm. "Better watch your backs."

He slips out, and closes the door behind him. When the echo of his footsteps has faded away, Chorus breathes a soft sigh, and scratches her nose. She's standing at the edge of the room, near the door, to not get in Harrow's way, presumably.

"What a fucking mess", she mutters. Is she talking about Blood at Dusk, about the Library's chaotic stacks, or about the entire case? "Well, let's see what you can find here! Anything I can do to help?"

The Pale Harrow Harrow has to contain his glee upon entering the library. Whilst it may not be the finest example he's experienced, it's not without charm. A thrill passes through him as he spots the vast array of ancient booklets, tomes and scrolls. He has an urge to rush over to them and absorb all of their contents at once, before carefully sorting them into the correct sections and seeing an end to the chaos in which these precious items have been placed.

"Quite the collection." Harrow muses. His acute sense of smell ensures that the combination of dusty paper and ink is particularly potent to him, but he finds the aroma beautiful, full of promise of discoveries to be made and knowledge to be learned.

Once Blood at Dusk provides the light, the detective can see the stunning stained glass and the impressive height and structure of the ceiling. This is a place he could happily while away the hours. He's not here for pleasure however. There's duty to be done.

Harrow accepts the lantern from the guard and nods his head graciously towards him. "I appreciate it." As for the retort from Blood upon leaving, the deathknight simply smiles. "I was merely commenting not judging. Exercise and fresh air is important for all creatures. As is a good meal. As for watching our backs. Always." With that, Harrow is turning away, focusing again on the scene.

"Make a note of anything we spot here." He suggests to Chorus. "No matter how seemingly insignificant." He pauses for a beat before asking. "Which of the fucking messes do you refer to?" Before waiting for a response he's on the move, gliding around the scene with stealth and skill and being careful not to disrupt any evidence.

"This room is obviously used a lot going by the variety of different sizes and shapes of the footprints. I'm curious how fresh they are." He remarks, peering closely with his keen blue eyes.

"Not all of them cover the whole room though." He observes. "And only one set got as far as that desk. Possibly our victims?"

Harrow moves closer to the writing desk and immediately spots the inkwell. "Yes, I believe it was Aspen who was here." He runs his finger over a large black ink stain that's soaked into the wood. An accident or perhaps the spillage occurred when the assistant was attacked?

The chair that serves the desk is on it's side, revealing that one of its legs has been damaged. Where it's cracked and splintered, Harrow sees strands of fabric attached. "This is indeed where it happened." He nods, gesturing for Chorus to come close so she can see.

"Judging by the fact these windows have no hinges, it's unlikely they even open, which suggests that the assailant is more likely to have approached from inside the building. Otherwise they entered at an earlier time through another entrance and lay in wait for Aspen. There's also a smudge." He says, pointing it out to his associate. "Right there on the window by the desk."

There's still the matter of the footprints however. If none other than Aspen's own reach to the likely location of the crime then how did they reach her. Unless they don't need to walk? It's really quite the mystery.

Chorus If Chorus has any particular interest in the library's stock, she doesn't show it. Out comes the notebook again, to keep track of Harrow's observations. His fellow deathknight places her steps very carefully while she follows him around, not wanting to mess up the crime scene by accident.

"I was referring to the assistant's murder, or whatever it was that happened to her." She briefly looks up from her notes, squinting at Harrow curiously. "You never really know with ghosts. They can vanish for a couple of reasons, and violence visited upon their corpus is only one of them."

Everything Harrow points out to her is examined, then scribbled into the book. When they reach the desk, the Moonshadow squats down next to the fallen chair and peers at the bits of fabric. "Wow. Not at all bad, brother. I wouldn't have spotted that many tiny details all at once, not within seconds at least." Clucking her tongue in appreciation, she glances up at him and smiles. "I'm not at all surprised she Chose you."

Lastly, Chorus steps close to the window. The smudge on the floor is subtle to anyone but the trained detective's eye, noticeable only on second or third glance. She blinks at it, then ponders the windows for a bit. Finally, she turns to look at Harrow, frowning very slightly.

"You're still thinking too much like a mortal human, brother", she points out, voice free of judgement. "Some ghosts possess magic for more esoteric means of locomotion. Wings, perhaps?" Gazing up at the ceiling. "Or something else entirely. ~I~ could enter the room through those windows without even touching them."

The Pale Harrow As Chorus confirms that the mess she mentioned was in relation the possible murder, Harrow nods, relieved that she didn't mean the library itself.

"Educate me." He insists, ever the eager student, when she refers to the reasons a ghost can vanish. Could someone have summoned her elsewhere?" With his own abilities in relation to ghosts he's of course aware that such things can happen. He's been known to call upon the ghost of his uncle when he'd been minding his own business elsewhere. "If so, why? To upset Lady Persimmon, to ruin the reputation of The Oprhan Queen or perhaps something more personal?"

Harrow is really not expecting Chorus to provide the answers to all of these questions. Speaking them aloud simply helps with him to process things. Not that he'd object if she did have any insights!

He's obviously pleased with the compliments from Chorus, particularly the one regarding him being chosen by the Heron. He doesn't stop to indulge his pride though. He's much more interested in the mystery at hand.

Of course there's still a lot to work on before he can become the perfect servant that their liege deserves. Once again what remains of his humanity gets in the way. "So another ghost or perhaps one like us." He remarks. "Perhaps someone who serves one of the other deathlords." He adds in hushed tones. "Which would explain the interest from the Princess further."

Chorus "Well", Chorus begins, "I won't pretend I know all that could befall a ghost, but... Let's just say the list isn't small." She starts counting down on her fingers. "Summoning, of course. Simply being killed all over - through accident, violence, whatever. Most ghosts are more resilient to wounds than mortals, but stab them in the wrong place often enough, and they go poof."

A pause, to grimace, before she goes on: "If a ghost suddenly discovers they don't actually want to stick around any longer... they also go poof. The pull of Lethe. Nothing you can do about that, really. As for motivation... Your guess is as good as mine. Both the Lady and the Queen have countless enemies, even among the Council itself."

It's eerily quiet in the Rancid Library. Well, at least it ~seems~ quiet. If you listen more closely - ~really~ listen - the silence stretches into something more ominous. Even their own voices sound oddly muffled. Shouldn't their words echo inside this large room?

Try as they might, both deathknights can't quite make out what is causing sound to behave in this unnatural way in here. But something is definitely not quite right.

By contrast, the footsteps echoing on the hallway outside the Library are very much audible. Several people are approaching. There's still time to exchange a few words, should the deathknights wish to, before they will be no longer alone.

The Pale Harrow Harrow listens avidly, mimicking Chorus as she counts on her fingers. It seems he won't have enough digits to keep total track of all the possibilities though.

His handsome face reveals his perplexion in regards to the strangeness in relation to the sound, or lack of, in the library. His brain is darting around desperately trying to find an explanation for the phenomenon.

As the footsteps approach, Harrow edges closer to Chorus and whispers. "I'm going to give things another glance over before they come in. Distract them if necessary. Drop your papers and make a show of picking them up or something."