[Deliverance Day] A Constable's Work

The sun was setting deep into the horizon when Smileu heard a heavy knock on his door. Standing in his entryway was a lone marine holding a roll of parchment in her hand. A marine at his doorstep told him more than the message she carried ever could - a professional soldier, not one of the ragtag militia guardsmen or one of those hired thug mercenaries, was dispatched as a runner to fetch him. Taking the note, Smileu read it, considered the contents, and then nodded to the marine, bidding her to take him to the spot.

It was not a long walk to the scene of the crime. The docks were the site of many flophouses, taverns and inns where sailors and dockworkers alike would come and rest their heads. In these places of ill repute, where the ale flowed and tempers flared, it was rare where a night passed without one of these houses becoming a scene of violence or the guards bursting in to break up a fight before it turned into a riot. The presence of guardsmen on the street was not uncommon here; but the sight of a few marines milling about as well was enough to intrigue Smileu as he was led into a flophouse where all the patrons had been cleared out and onto the street for the time being.

The main floor was a maze of small private rooms; each one was lined with bunk beds and dressers with a communal table in the middle, with a beaded curtain or filthy sheet for a door. Every room they passed was empty - save for the last corner room, where a lone guardsman stood just outside looking quite green around the gills.

The stench hit Smileu before he could see into the room, but it still left him ill-prepared for the scene:



Playing cards littered the blood-soaked wooden floor, accompanied by the face-down body of a dwarf. A human lay sprawled against the wall, his throat slit and belly open. A long knife lay on the floor just outside his open grasp. On the bottom bunk was a grayed elven form steeped in wine-soaked sheets. And sitting at the table was an orc with his head leaned back as if to appraise the state of the ceiling. His throat was slashed open, staining his shirt and the whole table red.

A tiefling in marine armour stared at the sight with a grave expression. Seeing Smileu come in, the tiefling turned and approached him. Smileu recognized the man immediately as Lieutenant Enzio Sgarnarro - a good man, by all accounts. "Smileu." he addressed the elf with a curt nod of respect. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."