Post by Rhicora on Mar 14, 2017 0:47:52 GMT -5
Some nights in Calidor are hard to forget. A clear sky, with the stars shining above, and not a cloud to block them out. The snow's finally beginning to let up, giving way to the warmth of spring.
When Carter gets home from a long night of gunsmithing, the number "3" is painted on the doorway to his apartment in black, at the end of the hall in Scholar's Walk. The interior of the apartment is untouched, everything where he left it. Double-barreled shotgun, platebane, knife - even his case notes are all accounted for. Allison happens to be spending the evening with a friend, but once she returns to her apartment - in the very same building - she too finds a numeral gracing her door, the same shade of paint marking out "2." The lock hasn't been tampered with; whoever visited her was polite enough not to ransack the place.
It's already far too late to find the other number. A billowing plume of smoke has begun to rise from the center of the Trade District. The morning newsrags the next day all have the same bulletin, a terse dispatch written by the CaliStar Gazette.
CALIDOR - At one thirty in the morning, Calidor fire department officials received word of a growing blaze at the Sink Hole, the infamous tavern in the Trade District. Officer Richter, a spokesman on scene for the CCPD, was unwilling to state whether or not there were any casualties. The scene was described as an ongoing investigation, that evidence of arson - "the use of incendiary devices by a small group of armed intruders" - had been observed, and that they had already engaged the services of an outside detective agency to assist in the investigation. Tavern proprietor Errol was eager to provide our reporter with more information. "Oh yes, room fourteen? I rented that one out to that Doc fellow, the medic."
When Carter gets home from a long night of gunsmithing, the number "3" is painted on the doorway to his apartment in black, at the end of the hall in Scholar's Walk. The interior of the apartment is untouched, everything where he left it. Double-barreled shotgun, platebane, knife - even his case notes are all accounted for. Allison happens to be spending the evening with a friend, but once she returns to her apartment - in the very same building - she too finds a numeral gracing her door, the same shade of paint marking out "2." The lock hasn't been tampered with; whoever visited her was polite enough not to ransack the place.
It's already far too late to find the other number. A billowing plume of smoke has begun to rise from the center of the Trade District. The morning newsrags the next day all have the same bulletin, a terse dispatch written by the CaliStar Gazette.
CALIDOR - At one thirty in the morning, Calidor fire department officials received word of a growing blaze at the Sink Hole, the infamous tavern in the Trade District. Officer Richter, a spokesman on scene for the CCPD, was unwilling to state whether or not there were any casualties. The scene was described as an ongoing investigation, that evidence of arson - "the use of incendiary devices by a small group of armed intruders" - had been observed, and that they had already engaged the services of an outside detective agency to assist in the investigation. Tavern proprietor Errol was eager to provide our reporter with more information. "Oh yes, room fourteen? I rented that one out to that Doc fellow, the medic."