10:31 am, Blackmere Heights.
The carriage climbed the steep incline of Blackmere Heights, the cobblestone streets gleaming like the polished shoes of the elite that tread upon them. The district sat proudly above the city, its grandeur a silent proclamation of the power and wealth that resided within its fortress-like walls. The buildings here were not mere structures of stone and brick but monuments to the vanity and influence of those who had once ruled Eidolon with an iron fist. Their grandeur had not faded with the rise of the new world order, instead, it had transformed into something more insidious, a labyrinth of luxury and secrets.
The carriage jolted to a stop in front of a massive wrought-iron gate, tall enough to swallow a man whole. The gate was adorned with intricate designs, the metal twisted into the shapes of serpents and thorns, a silent guardian that whispered of the house's storied past. The fog had thinned here, as if the very presence of wealth and opulence had chased it away.
With a sigh, Lucius reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue banknote with the number 20 embossed on its surface. He handed it to the driver, whose eyes widened slightly. With a nod, he thanked him and left the carriage.
As he approached the gate, the serpents and thorns grew more distinct, their forms twisting and curling into one another in a macabre dance of metal. The gate swung open with an eerie creak, revealing the cobblestone path that led to the heart of the estate.
The house itself was a monolith of white stone, the windows shuttered tightly, as if to keep the secrets within from escaping into the daylight. It was a silent sentinel, its very presence a declaration of the power that dwelt within. The door was a massive slab of oak, the knocker shaped like a snarling gargoyle, its eyes made of polished jet that gleamed in the dim light.
The sound of Lucius' knock echoed through the silent corridor beyond, and after a moment, the door creaked open to reveal Aleron Vex. He was a man of average height, but the way he carried himself made him seem taller. His gray top hat sat atop a head of neatly trimmed hair, the color of a moonless night. His eyes, a piercing blue, were framed by spectacles that caught the light and threw it back at you in a way that was both disconcerting and fascinating. His gloves, a pristine white, were a stark contrast to the shadowy vestments he wore, which whispered of wealth and power.
"Ah Lucius," he said, his voice a velvet purr. "You look... tired."
"I have been getting hardly any sleep lately. The job and... personal matters are keeping me up." He replies with a slight smile.
Aleron gave him a thin smile. "So, any progress?"
Lucius crossed his arms and leaned slightly against a wooden beam. "Another dead man. Same signature, but no useful witnesses... except for an old lady that couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know. The creature has glassy eyes, moves in a non-human way. Bite wounds speak for an act that was probably caused by hunger. But could also be a Lost one with mutated behavior."
Aleron's smile faded. "I assume from what you said that you haven't found 'it' yet?
"No," Lucius replied, his tone as cold. "But I will. I just need a little more time."
Aleron's expression grew stern, his eyes narrowing behind the spectacles. "The deadline was set for today, Silvis. I have a report to deliver. My trust and time are not unlimited."
Lucius's gaze never wavered. "I know the terms, Aleron. But you know as well as I do that these matters are never simple."
"Indeed," Aleron said, his tone tightening. "But the Council's patience is wearing thin. These... incidents are causing unrest in the lower districts. If the creature isn't found soon, it could lead to something unpleasant."
"I'm sorry, but I have to take other measures," he added. "In case you don't find anything, I've already informed the hunters, they'll send someone tomorrow, your work is finished."
"Hunters?" He asked, his voice measured and calm despite the storm brewing inside him. "You know they bring risk... They're dangerous! It would be much safer to continue with me, or other self-sufficient occult detectives."
Aleron nodded gravely. "I understand your concerns, but the Council is not known for its patience. They want this... situation contained as soon as possible."
The maid, a young girl with mousy hair and a face so pale it was almost transparent, hovered in the shadows. She stepped forward when Aleron snapped his fingers, a look of fearful obedience in her eyes. In her trembling hand, she held a small, cream-colored envelope, sealed with a crimson wax stamp.
Aleron took the envelope from her with a nod, the gesture as cold and precise as the gleaming blade of a knife. He turned to Lucius and handed him the envelope, his voice emotionless. "Your expenses, as agreed. For your efforts so far. Of course, this is only part of the payment, after all, you didn't finish the job."
Lucius took the envelope. He broke the crimson seal and pulled out the banknotes. There were 250 solmarcs in the form of two green 100 notes and one orange 50 note.
"Thank you," he said, his voice cold and sharp. With a nod, he took his leave back to the carriage.
""A pitiful consolation. A fragment of what the job had promised. 250 Solmarcs to bury a case. It barely covers my expenses... goddamn, this is annoying..."
....
9:59 pm. Caerlyn Hollow, in a furrier's shop.
The furrier's shop was nestled between a dimly-lit alchemy apothecary and a silent blacksmith, the warm light spilling out of its windows casting an inviting glow on the cobbled street. Inside, the scent of leather and fur melded with the faint smell of burning incense, a comforting blend that promised shelter from the damp chill of the night.
The owner, Mr. Elrond Thane, was a man of medium height with a thick beard that had been meticulously braided and adorned with small bones and beads. His eyes were a piercing hazel, sharp and assessing as he tended to his customers with a deceptive ease that spoke of a lifetime of haggling and dealing. His hands were rough and calloused from years of handling the luxurious pelts that adorned the shop's walls, each one a testament to his skill in the art of fur-crafting. His fur-lined cloak was a masterpiece in its own right.
The bell above the door chimed a final time for the evening, and Mr. Thane glanced up from his work, the candles flickering in their sconces casting shadows that danced across his face. He nodded to the last patron, who hurried out into the enveloping fog, the door swinging shut with a sigh of relief. The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible.
With a grunt, he closed all the window blinds, plunging the shop into a dim twilight that was pierced only by the candle flames and the occasional glint of moonlight that seeped through the cracks. The act was both a declaration of closure for the day and a symbolic barrier against the whispers of the night that grew louder as darkness descended upon Eidolon.
Elrond Thane moved with the grace of a man accustomed to navigating his space in the shadows. His eyes scanned the room one last time before he stepped through a velvet curtain that separated the shop floor from his private quarters. Behind it, a room that was both study and sanctum lay revealed, lined with shelves crammed with books that spoke of arcane knowledge and forgotten lore.
With a flick of his wrist, he lit a wall-mounted lantern, the light illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air like a swarm of tiny, golden spirits. The glow was dim, but it was enough to show the way to the back of the room where a large wooden wardrobe stood, seemingly innocuous amidst the clutter.
With a knowing smile, he approached the wardrobe and pressed his hand against a specific point on its frame. A faint click resonated through the room, and the heavy doors swung open to reveal a wall of fur coats, each one more luxurious than the last. He reached into the depths of the wardrobe and found the hidden lever, the cold metal feeling almost alive beneath his fingertips. With a gentle tug, the entire back section of the wardrobe swung inwards, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into shadow.