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(Reliquary) The Dark Room

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  1. #31
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    voivode

    Martel nodded. It was easy enough to let the Reeve take the lead here. Ping-ponging the man's attention between the two of them might only confuse him.
    Still, it seemed wise to speak at this juncture. Let the man know that they were both on his side. So long as he remained helpful.

    "Yes," he said, "we could be very helpful. To someone who is helpful to us, that is."

  2. #32
    Yumyumcrow's Avatar
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    "Well... Okay. Take a look."

    Curiosity over-ruled suspicion at last. The man backed down - literally - allowing them into the cellar space below. It was a decent sized store room with sturdy (if dusty shelves) thick with leather working tools and paraphernalia. There was also broken furniture and boxes, carefully piled against one wall. The opposite wall was all empty shelving, part of a false wall that had been opened out to reveal a badly damaged metal door with a savaged locking mechanism.

    "I guess that would normally by flush with the wall but it wasn't. It can't due to the damage to the door beyond. When I got here all that crap was piled up against the false wall. Didn't realise it was there till I got to shifting all that rubbish. But I mean... what does that?" The man nodded to the door.

    The metal was warped from a heavy beating. It had held, obviously, so someone had raked it with claws. Too human claws that had gouged and cut the heavy plating of the door. That hadn't worked either so the chunky lock had been attacked, buckling and cracking the lock's casing and mutilating the key hole. Whether or not the door was unlocked or irredeemably sealed at this point was hard to say simply by looking at it.

  3. #33
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    It takes a lot of effort to get the buckled door moving again. Beyond it lies a small storage space rendered an orgy of destruction. Shelving in flinders lies scattered across the shattered floor, where boards have been rent up for a thorough investigation of what lies beneath. Glass fragments glint in the light; a chunk of rag, torn and stuck to a savaged shelf, flutters in the manufactured gust of air.

    Whatever was hidden behind the door has been looted.

    Whatever could not be carried off was torn asunder and left behind.

    All that remains is the fading scent of blood and the bloody hand imprinted on the wall.

    Over a week with no posting. I'm bringing this to a close.

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