The Beacon - Murders

The investigator removed his pad and laid it on the hallway table beside a set of keys that had lost their owner. Other remnants scattered the table, a fine scarf that stank of smoke and whiskey, some leather gloves that looked practically unused and torn papers with the names of songs and authors strewn across them.

He poked at them with his pencil before returning to sharpen it. Nothing of interest there anyway, he already knew Coubalt to be a drinker and womaniser.

The hallway was lit by two ornate oil lamps which hung from the papered walls like mystical jugs, spilling light into the gloom. The smell of seared flesh hung in the air, beckoning Silus to find its source.

The lock to the front door was undamaged, the door ajar. This was how the wardens had found it, and they had ventured as far as Coubalts living room before fleeing the scene. One of them, only out of the academy a month, was sent home for the rest of the week and given strong sedatives to stay his shaking hands. Silus doubted he would return at all.

He noted some blood upon the carpeted floor, just outside the living room door. This was most likely left by the whore that had fled and alerted the wardens. She had died in custody, multiple injuries to her stomach and chest and burns over the most of her.

That's her scarf on the table.

They had not gotten anything from her before the doctor arrived to treat the injuries that claimed her. She had babbled, according to the wardens and then passed quickly.

Silus approached the living room door and carefully pushed it open.

The air was heavy and felt charged, but the smell was the most powerful sense. It was sickly sweet, each breath, even through his handkerchief, raked his throat and nose, forcing him to expel each breath in a cough or wheeze. He could see nothing due to the blackened windows and shutters, so he skirted the wall behind him carefully toward the scorched frames and pulled them open hastily. The opened windows brought much more than the illumination and air he gulped in. The terrible sense of feeling snared within that room also began to fade, he once again felt in control. Bracing himself, he turned to view the murder scene.

At first, he did not see it, his eyes still adjusting to the new light that splashed colour and form across the previously dark canvas. After a moment his attention was drawn to the centre of the floor, before the marble fireplace where a large, carved chaises had been pushed to one side. There, upon the scorched varnished wooden floors, huddled Coubalts.

His skin resembled a dry, shrivelled grape as he knelt with his hands upturned, resting upon his skinny legs. Every muscle looked emaciated, the dried skin pulled tight across his bones showing every contour and joint.

Silus had seen starved animals before, horses, cows, their pathetic appearance recalled him to those days he had spent as a warden, learning his trade amongst the Hinterlands surrounding Moruk Khan.

Coubalts appearance was even sadder. His head, badly burnt on both sides of his face, hung down to the left shoulder, as if facing away from the assailant was his only victory. His mouth hung open, revealing an empty blackness, the yellowed teeth seemed far too big as the lips stretched back in an almost ironic smile.

Good timing Inspector, really saved my bacon. The skeletal figure seemed to say.

As Silus walked around the shrivelled body, scribbling in his pad, he immediately noticed the absence of burns on Coubalts himself. Sure the skin resembled being burnt, it was shrivelled, shrunken to almost half its size, but the skin looked worn, not scorched. The hair, looked lifeless, dry and dead, but a full head still rested upon Coubalts crown. Only on the extremities, his plams and soles of his feet especially, did Coubalts display injuries conclusive to burning.

What the hell happened to you Ferdy?



Ferdy Coubalts. Son of Arthur and Annelise Coubalts, owners of Coubalts mines and prospecting empire.

Silus had met him before, at one of the Great Academies fund raisers, held in Pyrus Hall, the great home of the Wizard Academy.

Ferdy was an arrogant but funny man, constantly in trouble with the wardens as he drifted between years at the Academy. This was his final year, and rumour had it, his most debaucherous.

Arthur had already bailed him out of the Wardens Den several times this semester, usually for drunken disorder or taking liberties with the whores that frequented the Rat Ways, where he chose to live.

The Rat Ways were a maze of streets, littered with cheap bars, brothels and drug dens. Yet despite this, it was also a frequent haunt for much of Moruk Khans young and wealthy students. A place to escape the stresses of family and study, it had claimed many promising careers before they had even began.

Coubalts abode sat in a private laneway, where security manned the entryways. On this night however, the security appeared to have been off duty. His partner, Clibrun, was dealing with that though. Silus' work called for silence and solitude.

He brushed the dirt from the chaises and sat down carefully, his pencil jammed into the corner of his mouth as he surveyed the dark contents of the room.

He doubted now that Ferdy had been burned to death, and just a quick glance around told him that burglary was certainly not the motive.

He scratched a little more in his pad before sliding it back into his chest pocket.

It was time to get to work now, the real work he was sent here to do.

Removing a small, silver phial from his inner pockets, he began to inhale and exhale deeply, slowing his heart rate down as much as he could. He took two snorts of the grey powder from the tiny spade like tool which was attached to the inside of the cap. He replaced the phial in his pocket, feeling an instant dulling of his aural senses, the noises of the street outside fading to a pleasant hum.

His eyes slid closed and blackness enveloped him. In a few short moments he could no longer feel his legs or arms, even his long drawn breathing was forgotten. Eventually, only his consciousness remained and that was now approaching the silent, distant place he needed to find.

Time no longer had meaning. A flame flickered in the dark, swept at first by invisible and silent winds, but gradually stabling to a slow dance and then, after what could have been a lifetime, it burned steadily and undisturbed.

A room, dark and cluttered. Uneasiness hung in the air amongst the three strangers. One of them was not invited.

Fear now, the strange one was volatile, enraged. Rage. It burned the air and stung the eyes, it tasted of dirt and blood.

Two now, standing face to face. A horror witnessed, something so dark and unspeakable that the other sat frozen, afraid to make any move, afraid to even breath.

A power, if it could be called that, pulsated, but it gave nothing and drained even the air in the room, the heat from the fire, the colour from walls and furnishings. Anti-life, powered by an incredible hunger, controlled and brutal.

The images wobbled, they blurred as the drain grew stronger. A terrible laugh arose from the figure in black, his hands at either side of the young man. The image rocked like a helpless ship upon a heaving black sea.

The figure in black turned his head and gazed at Silus, laughing still. His eyes were green flames, his mouth a twisted snarl.

I see you.



Silus collapsed to the ground, blinking away the images, afraid they would burn into his mind forever. He scrambled to his feet, but too soon, and stumbled back into the chaises, exhausted.

Gods alive, what was that? He saw me?

He fumbled for his pad and scribbled furiously; recounting the things his reading had shown him. Looking up occasionally, he noticed indeed that the colours surrounding Coubalts shrivelled corpse, the walls, the floor and even the chaises were drawn and faded.

His mind raced as he penned his reading and sketched the images he had borne witness to.

He must have been speaking to another, someone I didn't see.

But that didn't sit right with him. Always, always he saw those present, even if they appeared as glowing shapes or flickering shadows. There were three in that room, he was certain. The whore, Coubalts and this, other thing, that was all.

He shuddered and replaced the pad once again.

It was time to see what Clibrun had found; it was time to leave the awful absence behind. Something told him it would always remain here now, like a stain on time.

He suspected the stains were on him now. Those green eyes too.