A (Wannabe) Crime Lord

Started 3 days before the Festival of Dancing Monsters during the Second Age.

The Great City of Ah-Lomas in the Lands of Alabastra
Toby paced slowly through the silent dusk, his lantern held high to illuminate the empty yard outside the bank. Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there. Toby sighed; being a night guard was boring work. At least it paid well. Even a zombie like himself could find good work in Ah-Lomas since the Milteo uprising had begun. But the good pay did nothing to quell the boredom of guarding. Nothing interesting ever happened at night.

Toby sighed loudly once more and muttered dejectedly into the empty yard, “Just once I wish someone would try to break in so I could have something to do at least…”

Unfortunately for Toby, he was about to get his wish. At that precise moment a set of brilliant white teeth grinned in the dark behind the unwitting zombie and whispered “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” before a gloved fist descended out of the night and knocked the poor night guard unconscious. Toby collapsed like a ton of bricks at the feet of one of Alabastra’s most wanted; Stohlen Redd. The Rhean leader of the Raven Cloaks, a band of thieves, pickpockets, pilfers, filches, burglars and criminals.

As if on cue, silhouettes appeared from every hiding spot conceivable in the Bank’s large lawn. Stohlen’s crew, assembled before their leader, eager eyes gleaming with the thought of bounty. Stohlen looked them over a sly grin on his hooded face. And with a single gesture sent them flocking silently into the Bank.

In the morning, the Bank’s owner, a Durhian merchant by the name of Mr. Gildrian, would find the bank completely cleaned out. Not a single shaving of gold or silver to be found. The drapes were torn from their places and the gilded door handles pried from their sockets. Even the marble stove was missing.

By that morning Stohlen and his band of thieves were already miles away, at the docks of Redsand Harbor where a rather unfortunate crew of traders took an untimely swim as their ship sailed away without them, laden with gold, silver and a rather posh marble stove.

The Northeast Docks Outside Spectropolis (3 Days Later)
A ship pulled lazily into harbor, its crew shouting and laughing in revelry. To any onlookers they were just another company of innocent travelers who had come to join in the festivities. But they were far from innocent. Below deck a hushed meeting took place, masked by the hoots and hollers from the upper deck.

Stohlen Redd stood facing his five most trusted hands.

Morlanna Harts, the fiery haired Boquabian lady who served as the crews designated femme fatale. She was stunningly beautiful as all Boquabians tend to be and she knew it.

Lean Finger, a quick handed Milteo who’s thinner than average claws knew their way around locks and into coin purses.

Hunt “The Ironfist” Holdan, the Draemar enforcer that provided the crew’s main source of muscle and served as an indomitable wall of metallic flesh.

Ryen of Shadewarren, a quite Elf who was quick with a bow and clever with a trap. His acrobatic skills made him the crew’s go to thief for high entry jobs.

Dr. Thadus J. Withers, a con man and swindlers by trade, his silver tongue opened many a door for the crew and found more than a few loopholes.

The five stood silently as Stohlen addressed them, his usual coy smile present on his scarred face.

“Now, you all know the plan. I expect you to keep your given groups in check for the next few days. Doctor, I expect you to find us a nice quite place to hide for the time being. Somewhere off the beaten path, but still within the city. Ryen, Hunt, and Lean Finger…you three will lead the others about the city and scope out any potential marks. Feel free to do a little stealing on the side if you want. But remember the first rule of my crew…”

“If we you’re caught, you’re on your own,” the three replied in unison.

“Too right,” Stohlen continued, “ and Morlanna, you’ll be coming with me. I have a special task for you. Now, let’s head out and someone notify the Edgar that he and his “Companion” will be staying with the ship until we can safely move her coffin.”

As Stohlen finished the six of them exited onto the upper deck where the rest of the Raven Cloaks continued to fake revelry. As their Leader neared they straightened up and snapped to attention. Nobody ignored Stohlen Redd, not if they valued their life.

‘Alright boys and girls….MOVE OUT!”

And so the Raven Cloaks entered Spectropolis, a city unsuspecting of the plague of thieves than now beset them.

Stohlen and his Boquabian partner slunk through back alleys and shadowy walkways as they traversed the Spectropolis' city edge. They were looking for a particular establishment, a tavern called the Blighted Mare. A certain fellow there had information that Stohlen wanted.

A woman in a trenchcoat sat perched on a roof as they slunk past.

With a nostalgic smile, she took a cigar from the coat and lit it with a snap of her fingers. She puffed thoughtfully, sending out little clouds of inky smoke.

After a moment, the woman dissipated into a cloud of smoke and surged after the pair.

Lo never could turn down a chance to observe shifty activities.

The Blighted Mare
Stohlen and Morlanna moved with the surefooted swiftness of people who did not wish to be noticed. Their cloaks, trailing rave feathers, were pulled high to cover their faces. With one last glace about the street to make sure they were not being trailed, they entered the tavern with their heads down.

The tavern was dimly lit by a few beaten up old laterns that hung from the ceiling. There were no windows to illuminate the gloom, probably to discourage prying eyes. This wasn't the sort of place were you went to meet amiable people. The walls were grungy and splattered with ale and various bodily fluids as was the floor. The patrons, if they could be called that, were no better looking. A few looked up from their actions to analyze the Stohlen and Morlanna before resuming whatever activity they were engaged in.

The bartender however, continued to eye the couple as they approached the counter. He was a Lycanthrope, his eyes keen and clever. Stohlen took a seat, his cloak covering his head and face from view. Morlanna sat next to him, she surveyed the room with a keen eye. The bartender approached.

"Ay-a now, what would you be want for here you two?"

Morlanna ignored the bartender so he turned his gaze to Stohlen. Stohlen didn't look up and simply replied, "Just a glass of water if you please."

The bartender sniffed and leered at Stohlen.

"Ah-naw now, I don't do no buisnessen with nobody I can't see proper. You gotta have to take off your cloak boy."

Stohlen looked up slowly, his hood falling away as he did to reveal his face. His bright green eyes pierced through the lycan's air of smugness and peered into his eyes.

"ACK! A Rhean! Ain't servin' no half-blooded freak o' the dirt. You gonna leave right now!" The lycan spit out as he reached for his dagger, fumbling with it.

Stohlen simply smiled back at him.

"Oh come now, that's no way to treat your customers."

The Bartender finally drew his weapon and pointed it at Stohlen.

"I canna treat you any way I do like you dirt blooded freak. If I want ta......ah.....where did your lady friend get off ta?"

The bartender didn't have long to contemplate the disappearance of Morlanna as she suddenly dropped from the ceiling and nimbly disarmed the lycan with several well placed jabs and kicks. She then cartwheeled out of his range, landing spectactularly on the end of the bar.

In the corner, a grinning woman sipped her ale.

Oh, this was going to be delightful. She wondered idly if they were looking for employment.

The other patrons of the bar looked up at the commotion, steel glinting as they drew their weapons and stood up slowly. Stohlen stood up and charmingly spoke to them, his hands raised and empty.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen....I'm sure there's a way we can resolve our differences without resorting to us killing you all."

The mob of armed goons advanced as a mass, shouting loudly and flailing various sharp weapons. Stohlen simply smiled at them as the descended on him like a flock of angry buzzards. In the blink of an eye, he dissapeared beneath a wave of angry brutes, flailing fists, and gleaming knifes. The mob jeered and laughed brutally as they swung in at the apparently helpless Rhean. But as they continued, their triumphant calls turned to grunts of confusion. As they calmed down and moved away, they realized the Rhean was no longer amongst them, instead a hapless Boquabian brute lay beaten and pulverized in the middle. He groaned in pain from the beating he'd just received in Stohlen place.

"Burfa, what you doin' down there?"

"What 'appened"

"Eh, where'd he go?"

As they bickered over what had just happened, a piercing whistle cut through the noise and silenced the bar. Everyone's head turned at once to see Stohlen, unharmed and smiling like a look, lounging on one of the abandoned tables. On the table next to him was an assorted pile of coin purses, wallets and loose money.

"You guys really aren't to bright are ya. Now, I've just stolen all of your money. I'd be willing to give it back if you're willing to play nice and go about your business elsewhere. How about it?"

The now furious patrons brandished their weapons and inched forward menacingly.

"I didn't think so....Morlanna

Quick as a flash, Morlanna was leaping through the air from the bar and landing amongst the goons where she proceeded to stab them in a display of swift deadliness. As the mob turned to face the new threat, Stohlen dashed into the fray, small thin knife sliding out from above each finger. The two proceeded to slice, stab and gouge in unison, killing every brute in the bar.

Finnaly, the last opponent fell and Stohlen wiped off his bladed hand calmly on one of the dead men's shirt as he strolled back to the bar. The Bartender coward behind it, whimpering as Stohlen approached. The Rhean sat at the bar with the controlled calm of a psychopath and smiled warmly at the bartender.

"Now....how about that glass of water? Hmmm?"

The bartender quickly poured him a glass of water, terrified.

"And while you're still feeling cooperative, I have a few questions for you."

"Y-y-yes, Sir! Anything f-f-for you!" the bartender stuttered.

"Goog, good. Well, I'm sure a reputable buisness owner like yourself pays quite a keen eye to his patrons. Correct?"

The bartender nodded nervously.

"I was wondering if you'd seen a certain fellow here. And perhaps could tell me where I might find him. He's a wiry Durhian, wears a pair of thick horn rimmed glasses and a scarf. Goes by the unassuming moniker of Smock. Know him?"

"Yes, Sir! He comes through here every few days for a drink. He works for a shop up the next street over."

"Might I have that address, and I'll be out of your hair."

The bartender quickly scribbled the address and stepped back.

"Much obliged.Thank you for water, we'll be off now."

Stohlen waved cheerily before heading for the door, whistling a happy tune to himself.

The Door is thrown open before the two of them can reach it. A tall, four armed figure stand in the doorframe, the sun reflecting off it's beaten and worn grey armor. She has a tattoo running everywhere that is visible on her body, blue and in the shape of stylized blooming plants. On her top-left arm and her forehead the tattoo is fractured and broken from her exoskeleton healing back together from being crushed. On her belt jingle a couple pairs of iron cuffs, and a short sword lies in it sheath on her hip. In her two top hand she holds a pair of billy clubs. On her lapel, engraved into her armor, is a halfmoon.

The Vandals sweep quickly over the room, stopping on it's three remaining inhabitants in quick succession. She seems to come to a decision, and shakes her head. "Tourists." she says derisively, before becoming serious again.

"Spectropolis City Watch, drop your weapons and get on the ground with your hands behind your head!"

The bartender immediately hit the deck and placed his hands on his head, whimpering into the floorboards and muttering about his terrible luck.

Morlanna reverted back to her innocent act draws closer to Stohlen as if she were frightened, Stohlen opens his arms wide and upturns his palms to show he is weaponless; his finger knifes having been quickly sheathed and hidden in his sleeves. He smiled cheerily at the female Vandal, his face the picture of friendly intentions.

"Ah, ma'am I'm sure there's no need for such treatment, We're all innocent here and I...uh...."

Stohlen's train of through sputters to a halt as he notices the stunning Draemar women for the first time. her question seemed to linger in the air as she spoke.

"Need a hand?"

Stohlen winked at her and replied with more confidence than he felt.

"I think we're all good here. We have nothing to fear from the City Watch."

Stohlen's eyes linger on the two Billy Clubs the Vandal was brandishing and adds hastily, "But, I fear our cantankerous vandal chum here has no intention of simple letting us go. Besides, who am I to say no, to a pretty lady such as yourself."

She smiles and takes another draw of her cigarette.

From the storeroom rear of the bar, there are a series of popping noises. Like a great many corks coming undone at once.

"It's really a shame to waste good wine like that." As smoke starts to pour out of the door, the woman glances at the Vandals.

"Ever seen what happens when you light a barrel of Dwarven Ale on fire?"

A ominous rumble comes from the storeroom.

As the rumbling reaches a fever pitch, the vandal turns to the side to allow the witness behind her inside. It throws out its hand, and from its sleeve shoots a silver cord. The cort wraps itself around the barkeeps wrists as the vandal grabs the cord and yanks. The barman is pulled from behind the bar and the pair drag him toward the door across the rough floor.

They run, draging the only survivor of the the bar out into the alley and away as the bar goes up, the explosion rocking the whole neighborhood and raining stone like hail. The explosion knocks the officer and her partner off their feet, sending them tumbling onto the cobblestone.

As they pick themselves up, the vandal glances back are what remained of the building: a smoldering, blacked scar in the city. The buildings to either side had not escaped unscathed, their walls having been blown inward.

As the barman looks at his place of business with hollow eyes, the vandal pulls him to his fee. "You want to tell me why you had a class A illicite substance in your stock room?"

The man only gapes.

"Or," she continues, "You can tell me about the dumbass that murders a dozen men in this city."

"More." The witness says idley as more watchmen come running. "I felt at least seventeen counts of murder one occur in that building."

She shakes her head. "Crav." she swears as two more watch officers run up, a shifter and an imp. She throws the barkeep to them. "Take him back to the watchouse and take his statement" she barks. The salute, take the man by the arms and lead him away, the man almost having to be dragged from the shock. She points to another approaching group and directs them to the other buildings with a gesture. Without a word they divert and begin clearing rubble and searching for woundead. As she glances around at the response, she's suprised to not see one particular person.

She walks to the edge of the crime scene, where witnesses had already set up a perimeter to keep the civilians back. She taps one of the least busy looking ones on the shoulder. It turns, then bows respectfully. "Captain Shining." It greeted.

"Where's the commander? He usually first on the scene for things this serious." She asks.

The witness shakes its head. "I am afraid that Commander Custodes is currently in Entertainment. Apparently some mage has flooded most of the district."

Shining leaned against a nearby wall and puts a hand to her head. "Gods, I hate this festival."

After the Explosion
Stohlen and Morlanna panted for breath as they hid atop one of the many building nearby. They'd climbed up from a dark alley to the side of the building and now rested, out of sight. As they caught their breath Stohlen stamped out a patch of smouldering feathers on his cloak. They'd caught fire after his near escape from the exploding bar. After extinguishing the smoking garment Stohlen crept to the edge of the room and peeked out across the street to see the now blazing inferno that was once a bar.

"Well, that was certainly interesting. Wasn't it Morlanna?"

"Yes, sir."

Stohlen continued to watch the scene outside the bar as the City Watch dragged away the Bartender.

"Hmm, he might be a liability..." he muses to himself.

"But of course. Witnesses of any kind always are." The woman from the tavern slunk out of the shadows once more, still puffing that same cigarette.

"Now, if only you were to know someone who could deal with those sorts of problems. Someone who could make.. arrangements."

Stohlen straightened up and turned to face the mystery women. A wide gleaming smile filled his face as he stepped forward.

"Normally I don't make deals with those I don't know, but after that neat little trick at the Bar, you certainly have my attention."

Morlanna sputtered at Stohlen's statement, "But..but sir. We don;t know wh-"

"Nonsense, Morlanna," Stohlen cut in, "I'm sure we can trust Miss......?"

"Mahka. Miss, Missus, Madame. Any will do." She let a ring of red smoke puff from her lips and into into the air, "I'm ... flexible with names."

"At any rate, I understand why you'd have trouble trusting a stranger. So take this as a little bit of hospitality. No strings attached."

Miss Mahka made a rapid flicking motion with her hand and a slightly singed looking card appeared.

"If you want to talk about, ah, business transactions or maybe something less.. formal, feel free to send me a line."

She flicked her slowly vanishing cigarette butt off the roof and glanced up. One of the sorcerous constructs, a sparkling green snake darted rapidly down.

"Hopefully, I'll see you soon, mysterious stranger."

She raised a hand and caught hold of the snake as it dove, leaping onto it as it slithered through the sky like green lightning out of sight, hidden behind the other fireworks and living illusions.

The singed card fluttered downwards towards Stohlen.

Stohlen snatched the singed card from the air and twirled in between his fingers. He looked down at it and smiled ever so slightly.

"My, my, my....Morlanna, it seems we may have stumbled upon the missing link in my plan," he grinned.

Sauntering over to Stohlen, Morlanna asked calmly, "Are you sure, S?"

Stohlen chuckled softly and turned to face his companion. His eyes twinkled with sly cunning, as if he knew far more than he should. With the unfiltered confidence he replied, "Absolutely."

Stohlen studied Morlanna for a moment before turning away quickly and approaching the edge of the building.

"Now, come along," he called back, "we've got an appointment with Mr. Smock to keep."

"Yes, Sir!"

Together, the two thieves leaped down from the roof and sneaked quietly away through Spectropolis's many winding allies.

In the heart of Spectropolis, where people from all races and all walks of life celebrated together in a kaleidoscopic whirls of color, noise and sweet smells, several cloaked figures danced in and out of the crowds. Nobody paid them much mind as they twirled and slicked through sea of bodies. To the casual viewer they appeared to be normal people enjoying the festival. however, had anyone watched them closely they would see their quick hands and sneaky fingers dipping and picking at the purses, coin pouches and wallets of every person too happy to notice. After they'd pilfered every pocket in the square they slicked back into the alleys and disappeared. Should anyone notice their money missing, they'd never find the culprits.

The Ravencloaks were just that good.

In the Watchhouse
The Market Watchouse on Shader Street was not a terribly ornate place, a modest building of imposing grey stone that rose just a head taller than the other buildings around it. On the front, lit by the constantly burning basins, was a simple brass plate naming this as an official watchouse. Flanking it on either side where the soft triangular shields of the watch emblem. The doors were wooden and, in contrast to the stonework, painted a friendly blue and stood open to the street.

As Captain Shining Happy People climbed up the steps to these doors, she could see that the watchmen within were bustling with activity. Festival days, this festival in particular, always caused a spike in crime by people thinking they could get away with it with so many extra people taking up Watch attention or tourists who either hadn't bothered to learn the law, were ignorant of how law was enforced in Spectropolis, or simply thought themselves good enough to get around it.

As she entered a hush fell over the room as everyone looked up. As the newest captain of the watch she was often under a certain deal of scrutiny from her fellow watchmen. This was only amplified by the fact that this was not her regular beat. She was in charge of Residential. This was Market.

"Interim-Captain!" Came a shout from behind a couple of big, shackled Goliaths who had been busted for street fighting. A Kata, short, with a bowl cut of black hair and a striped bandana wrapped around his eyes, made his way around the big men and saluted. Shining returned the gesture, and the Kata waved his hand for her to follow.

"Is the prisoner secure, Sargent Hinata?" She asked along the way.

"Yes Ma'am. We had no problems transporting Mr. Cort to the Watchouse. He has agreed to to testify for as as to the pair who killed all those people in his bar if we drop the Illicit substance charges and agree not to revoke his license."

"We could revoke his license?" Shining asked.

"Yes." Said a Witness, who had been walking behind her so silently she hadn't even been able to tell it was there. She looked over her shoulder at it. It was probably the one that had reported the crime to her. It kept speaking. "The first crime I felt in this chain of events was Refusing Service to Another Sentient of Basis of Race, Gender, or Religion."

"Cort was on his third strike for that." Said Hinata.

As they walked into the interrogation viewing room, where they could see Cort the barman at a squat wooden table through the glass, Shining walked up and put her hand on the glass separating the rooms, looking the man she' d saved up and down. He was a complete wreck, face red and bloated, shoulders burned, and with a look of absolute dejection on his face.

"Seems like a bit of an overreaction to not getting a drink, killing all his patrons and blowing up his bar." She said.

"I then sensed both Conspiracy to Cause a Breach of the Peace, then Attempted Assault." The Witness continued.

"Then?" Shining asked.

"Petty Theft. After that, Murder One. Then several more Murders in quick succession. It was at this point I set out to find a watchman."

"Self Defense, then?" Said Hinata.

"No." Said Shining gravely. "You didn't see him. He smiled at me. He stood smiling in a room full of death. This wasn't some poor bastard that walked into the wrong part of town. Take Cort's description and send a runner to the printing office. I want his face plastered all over the city by the end of the day."

"Ma'am!" Hinata saluted, and walked out of the room.

A Bartender went into a cell alive. Now the cell is empty save for a small pile of ash with the occasional charred tooth.. and the bartender's skin nailed to cell's wall. A complex symbol was cut out of it, seemingly by a jagged knife.

The smell of burning flesh permeated the room.

The poor bastard who found the aftermath was out behind the building trying to get the smell out of his nose. Shining considered it an blessing that Vandals did not have one as she surveyed the scene, Watch officers struggling to see inside.

Even Hinata looked weary. "We left him alone for five minutes. Just five minutes when I went to get a sketchpad."

"Someone want to tell me," began Shining, "how someone can break into an active watch house, murder a man like this, and slip away without so much as a passing notice." She turns to those assembled in the door. "Anyone? Anyone? How in blue Hael does this sort of thing happen?!"

She pointed to the symbol on the wall, in the skin. An eye. A stylized eye, with a slash mark running through it. "And what the Hael is that supposed to be?!"

Back In Ah-Lomas...
The docks outside Ah-Lomas were humming with activity, with every pier bubbling with activity. Every pier save one. The length of Pier 47 was cordoned off by bright yellow strips of cloth, marked with Durhian Symbols for Caution, warding off curious bystanders who looked on as several Durhian men dressed in smart grey coats investigated the scene.

One Durhian, a bald fellow who sported an abundance of perfectly groomed facial hair swaggered down the pier with an air of Authority. His name was Chief Wallum, Head of Ah-Lomas’ Peacekeeping Force, The Investigators. Wallum had arrived on the pier moments ago after being alerted that the scene of a routine of a GTV may be connected to the Infamous Ravencloaks.

“Private Fotz! What’s the verdict?” Wallum called out to a wiry young Durhian, also dressed in the Investigators’ uniform grey coat.

Private Fotz looked up from the sheet he had been reading and replied calmly, “The evidence doesn’t lie sir. They were here. And witness testimonies place several known members in the vicinity on the night of the Theft at the National Gammara Bank. We’re certain they stole the ship that was docked here.”

Chief Wallum grunted in a noncommittal manner, “Well, if they headed out to sea they’re out of our jurisdiction. Figures, the highest profile criminal to ever saunter through Ah-Lomas and once again the Investigators fail to apprehend him. Our track record is abysmal.”

“Sir,” Fotz chimed in “, according to the captain of the stolen ship. They said they were heading to Spectropolis.” “What? They just happen to let slip where they were headed? I find that hard to believe.”

“No Sir, actually according to the his account they spoke directly to him telling him to quote ‘Give a message to the Investigators personally’. The message they gave him to relay continued to state that they were headed to Spectropolis to ‘Score some prime loot’.”

“And that’s all they said?”

“No sir, apparently, their leader had a few choice words for you personally. He stated you were a quote ‘fat bearded pig’ and that you should ‘catch me if you can. Ne-ner-ne-ner-nee’ He then proceeded to produce several rude and salacious gestures, sir.”

The chief Frowned, his brow furrowing, “Hmph, taught me will you! Private Fotz! Send our files on the Ravencloaks and Stohlen Redd to the Spectropolis City Watch via the Air Brigade. We may not be able to catch them, but we can at least help a more organized force do so.”

“Sir?!” Fotz exclaimed.

“Cram it Fotz we all know The Investigators are the joke of all Peacekeepers in Gammara. Just send those files already.”

“Yes, Sir!” Fotz creid as he sprinted of to send the files. Six Hours later, Spectropolis would know a little more about their latest criminal mastermind.

"Excuse me, son? Do you have a moment to spare for an old man?" Came a voice, graveled and ruined by age, from the shadows of an awning.

Despite himself, Fotz stopped as an old Milteo lurched out of the shadows. His face was so wrinkled as too look like a woodcut, and his whiskers and eyebrows fell off his face and dragged in the street. He was stooped with age, supporting himself on a cane that looked to snap in twin under the weight of his jagged old claws. He was dressed modestly, but each piece of his clothing was well pressed and cared for, with care given down to the slightest detail, and he wore a gentle little smile.

"Sorry to stop you on such pressing business, but if you would have it in your heart to help out an old copper," he said, fidgeting under his cloak and extracting the sterling shield of Spectropolis, presenting it to the young man, "I'd be eternally grateful."

"Wha...?" Fotz started to say, before the old Milteo cut him off.

"You're wondering how I know what your running off to do." He said, a statement of fact. "Simple. You wear the uniform of an Alabastra peacekeeper, and your coming down this street with an urgent look trying to conceal a file in that bag of yours. It's peeking out, just a little."

Fotz quickly saw to that.

"As to where you're sending that, you have a faint smell of sea salt on you. As your headed for the air brigade, that means this is urgent. Combining these two facts along with the hearsay of the city, that file is about the famous Ravencloak Thieves who escaped by boat from this continent sometime last night. A ship leaving from Pier 47 (That bit of bird muck on your boot, son, is from the Blue Footed Snagrat which congregate a Pier 47 during mating season), a Pier that deals almost exclusively with cargo to and from the continent of Spectropolis."

"Wha...?"

"So you are sending that file to Spectropolis." He pulls a letter out from under his cloak and places it in the man stunned hand. "Please carry this with you. With all the recent troubles there's been a run on the post and I'm afraid I can't bully my way through. Of course, you can." The old Milteo extends a hand and lays it on his shoulder. "You get that to a Watch Captain named Gilgamesh." He pats him twice of the shoulder before pushing him along on his way with his large, old, hand. "Remember son." He calls after. "Gilgamesh. If you don't know him when you see him, ask around. There's not a soul in town who doesn't know him."

With that, he turn and hobbles back into the ally from which he'd emerged.

Private Fotz wheezed and coughed as he struggled to maintain his frantic pace, sprinting through Ah-Lomas' city center towards the the Air Brigade's city office. As he pushed himself to keep running, his head spun with confusion at the Old Milteo's appearance. Whoever he was, he was brilliant, a master sleuth for sure. But what was a peacekeeper from Spectropolis doing in Ah-Lomas? And why did he stop a member of the Ah-Lomas Investigators for a simple delivery? There had to be more to this.

Distracted, Fotz didn't notice the rather tall lamppost in his way and with a loud and comical "Clang" he collided head first with it and landed flat on his back.

Fotz groaned as his vision swam. three of everything circled his vision slowly coming back together as he regained his senses. As he stared into the sky and his vision normalized, a sign came into focus above him. It read "Air Brigade" in brightly painted, White letters. Immediately Fotz's mission jumped to the front of his mind and leap back onto his feet and dashed up the front steps and through the open doors.

Inside, the building was packed with shouting, frustrated Durhians and Milteos waving various packages and envelops as they pushed their way to the front. Fotz groaned as he realized he'd have to get through the mob.

"Official Investigator Business! One Side! Move Out Of The Way" He called out, shoving his way through the masses of clueless people.

"Let's Go! One Side, Out Of The Way! Yes, That Means You! Make A Path! Get...OUT OF THE WAY!"

Finally he stumbled out of the pressing bodies and was pressed against one of the many teller station. A bored looking zombie looked back at him.

"Private Fotz of the Ah-Lomas Investigators. I need this file sent to the Spectropolis City Guard Immediately." He managed to gasp, "Oh, and I need to get this to Watch Captain Gilgamesh..."

Back in Spectropolis Once More
Private Fotz' face was a slowly turning a queasy shade of pale green as he grasped the short safety bar attached to the front of his seat. His fellow Investigators had always claimed that riding along with the Air Brigade for errands was one of the perks of the job. Fotz’s stomach didn’t agree. He was of the firm belief, being an avid follower of Crav, that as beings born from stone, Durhians belonged with both feet on the ground. And as he sailed, miles above the ocean, on the back of what was basically an oversized pigeon, he tearfully lamented being chosen for this assignment. Fotz, thoughts were suddenly interrupted as his stomach flipped over and a new wave of queasiness washed over him.

“Must we….urp….do so many Loop-de-loops?” He called to the young Rhean pilot.

The Rhean chuckled heartily, “Oh, we’re just ‘aving a bit of fun aren’t we darling.” He replied as he stroked the crest of the Snipe’s head, “But don’t you worry there, copper there’s Spectropolis now. Hold on to your eyeballs, we’re gonna make the ‘express’ landing.”

Fotz only had time to groan before the Snipe plunged into a spiraling decent that threw his weak stomach up into his throat. All the while, the pilot cheered at the top of his lungs.

When they finally landed, after a series of unnecessary and gut wrenching aerial acrobatics, Fotz stumbled from the back of the Snipe and clung to the ground like he might fall off the face of the earth. The pilot scoffed, “C’mon now, was only a couple of tricks. Say, weren’t you in some kind of hurry?”

Fotz immediately snapped back to his frantic self and sprinted down the street. He had to deliver the files as well as the mysterious message for the Watch Captain. It wasn’t long before Fotz found himself, out of breath, outside the Headquarters of the City Watch. He carefully smoothed back his hair, re arranged his uniform and stepped in calmly.

“Erm…Hello? Private Fotz from the AH-Lomas Investigators here on direct orders from Chief Wallum. I have urgent files for whoever is in charge.”

His voice is drowned out by the did of activity, Watchmen and belligerent revelers shouting over one another, people paying bail for their loved ones, and the steady stream of footsteps as people passed to and from the long desks and into the back where the holding cells were. A few people actually shove their way past him.

"I'm terribly sorry." Says a sickly voice behind him. "*SNOOORT* Today is the busiest day of the year for us."

Fotz stared at the Light-Scarred, desperately attempting to mentally apply a title of authority to the strange being before him. it was after several seconds, he realized he'd not said responded and had been staring at her blankly.

"OH! I ...ah...well..um...I have..I have Files!" Fotz flustered trying to extract the folder of papers from his messenger's bag, "...From the Cheif Wallum in Ah-Lomas. We beleve a very dangerous Alabastrian criminal and his gang have fled here to Spectropolis for unknown reasons. They are very dangerous and we wanted to assist in any way possible so we...uh...The Cheif...had me bring our files on them."

Fotz finally managed to pull the folder free and held it out to Kirie.

She takes them delicately and reads over them, before gasping in shock and grinning a little. "Oh, I believe I know one of these men. He matches the description of the man Captain Shining had sent out, the 'grinning, thrill killing, arsonist fuck.' She's hopping mad about this man, I'm afraid."

Her expression hardens just a little. "Criminal outfits like this typically set up in Undertown. Best place for them, with the constant changes and the winding tunnels. That makes it hard to find their exact location, even with the Witness's scenes." She sighs. "Which means I'll most likely be the one that deals with them. "Oh, poor Shining is going to be so upset....."

"Please, whatever you do. Don't underestimate him. The word ruthless doesn't even do him justice. He's a sick, twisted psychopath that will do anything to get what he wants and what he wants is never enough. If he'd risk coming here to the Home of the Watchman, it means he's after something very important and he'll be extremely deadly. That file has documentation on every job Stohlen Redd ever pulled in Alabastra as well as some profiles on him and his Lieutenants. I hope it helps you stop him."

Fotz paused for a moment to let his words sink in, then changed the subject, " If you have no more need of me, there's an certain message I must deliver to Watch Captain Gilgamesh."

"There is one thing." She says, leafing through the file. She waves her hand to one of the desk officers and asks him to bring a copy of Captain Shining's report, which she hand to Fotz. "Captain Shining reported an accomplice of his that doesn't match the description of any of his known associates here. Do you have any idea who this woman is?"

"I can't say I recognize her. To the best of my knowledge she wasn't in contact with the Ravencloaks in Ah-Lomas. Maybe she's a Spectropolis agent they've recruited for whatever they're planning."

Kire furrowed her brow and sighed. More and more people stepped onto the wrong path every day. "Thank you sir. If you have something for captain Gilgamesh he should be-" she was cut off by a disturbing gurgling sound from her stomach. She wrapped both hands around it. "I mean.....ohhhhh.....big arena....tournament......host.....excuse me." She puts her hand over her mouth and sprints through the crowed toward the bathrooms, trying desperately to hold in her lunch.

Fotz watched Kirie sprint away, shrugged, then turned on his heel and quietly left the building. He lifted a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun that hung just about the building’s tops. It was getting on in the day and he still had one more matter to attend to. Fotz wondered, as he glanced at the letter in his bag, what could possibly be so important about this letter the strange old Milteo had given him.

Suddenly remembering he still had to deliver it, he shook his head and scanned his surrounding for the Arena. Turning almost entirely around, he spotted it just beyond the frame of some shops. Fotz tightened his bag about his shoulder and set off towards the Arena, pushing through the thick crowds of people.

Several minutes later, the now disheveled Private Fotz strolled into the halls of the Arena and began searching for Watch Captain Gilgamesh with all the guile and skill acquired in his service to the Ah-Lomas Investigators.

“Er, hello? Does anybody here know where I might find Watch Captain Gilgamesh?”

Stohlen Kills a Loose End
Riddius Smock was not liked by his neighbors. Considering that his neighbors were mostly criminals, beggars and thieves, this was saying something. He’d earned this reputation by being perhaps the most obnoxious, narcissistic, self-centered person he could manage. He bragged constantly and about everything he’d accomplished. Of course, being that most of what he’d accomplished was in the field of enchantment and spellbinding, an occupation not commonly understood by criminals, his bragging was not only condescending, but boring too boot.

But the most irritating of all his boasts, was his claim that he was the only Durhian to quit his service to the infamous Stohlen Redd, and live to tell of it. Not only that, but that he’d managed to steal something important from the murderous gang leader. Nobody believed him.

This didn’t stop him from telling the story, as he was that very night. In his home, around a battered and stained table, Riddius recounted his version of how he stole from Stohlen Redd to two very bored looking men who had only bothered to come because Riddius had promised them ale.

“It was then that I decided that I had had enough. I was going to leave the Ravencloacks, but not without screwing over that scoundrel Stohlen. So, I waited till dusk. And in the dark of night, I snuck into his bedchamber crawling mere inches from where he slept,” said Riddius, oblivious to his guest’s boredom.

“As I recall, it was in the middle of the day actually…”, a voice chimed in from the gloom in the back of the room.

Riddius choked on his words and sputtered as the two men, now alert and interested, turned to face the last man Riddius Smock ever wanted to see.

Stohlen Redd, strolled cheerily across the room and came to rest his arms on the shoulders of the two men opposite Riddius. He smiled amiably at them and continued to speak.

“… and if memory serves, I wasn’t around when you decided to steal from me. Oh, no…I was nowhere near you when you made your little coup. In fact I’m sure that why you decided it was safe to steal from me. Eh, Smock? What you boys think, huh?” Stohlen asked as he shook the two men playfully.

Riddius finally managed to stutter a few fearful words, “S-Stohlen…how…how did you find me?”

Stohlen clicked his tongue chidingly, “Oh, Smocky buddy, you really should have known I’d find you. Nobody hides from Stohlen Redd.” Then, he laughed, a light bubbly laughter, which was terrifying given the context. The two men under Stohlen’s arms joined in laughing nervously as they tried their best not to look threatening. Stohlen sighed as his laughter halted and he looked down at the table wistfully.

His arms slid further around the men’s necks and his hands grasped their chins as he quietly whispered, “Nobody…”

It one swift movement, Stohlen pulled his hands in, snapping the men’s heads sideways and breaking their necks with a sickening crack. They fell to either side, dead before they hit the ground. Riddius, squealed in terror at the sudden violence and sank back into his seat. Stohlen winked at him.

“Ah, those poor bastards sure picked a bad night to visit you huh? Oh, quit your whimpering. I’m not mad at you. No, no quite the contrary actually,” Stohlen remarked as he slowly stalked along the edge of the table towards Riddius. “You see Smock, when you stole that little item from me; you took it right where I wanted it to go. I had always intended to bring it to Spectropolis, you simply saved me the risk of bringing it myself. So really, I should be thanking you.”

Riddius, relaxed slightly and looked up at Stohlen as he approached his chair. “R-really…you’re not mad?”

“Of course not silly, as long as you still have what you stole. You do still have it yes?”

“Absolutely, I’d never sell such a thing. I keep in my safe, over there behind the painting,” Riddius added enthusiastically, indicating a rather dreadful painting of an less than beautiful women.

“Wonderful, Smock, just wonderful work…”

“So….uh….so does that mean you’re not going to kill me afterall?”

Stohlen chuckled warmly, laid a hand on Riddius’ shoulder, looked him in the eye and stated simply

“No”

Quicker than the blink of an eye, Stohlen’s hand shot out from behind his back with a flash of silver, immediately followed by a wet smack as his blade pierced Smock’s stomach. Riddius blinked once and fell to the ground, shivering and gasping in pain. Stohlan grinned like a maniac and wiped his blade off on the table.

“Don’t worry friend, it’s not a lethal wound. Unfortunately though, the poison now coursing through your veins is. It’s a special mixture I created just for you. Now don’t you feel honored? It’ll each away at your organs and nerves. It’ll be more pain than you’ve ever felt before. And the best part is that it leaves your brain intact, so you’ll be trapped in your own little world of pain until your die. So, have fun with that little buddy. I’ll just help myself to your safe and be on my way. Chao!”

The last thing Riddius heard was Stohlen’s insane giggling as he pilfered the safe and left with the contents.