***CONTENT WARNING: LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, AND GORE***
Doctor Drius examined the dagger that Malcolm had dropped with a critical eye. The blade was long and thin, just like the stab wound, but what had caught his eye was the hilt. The post-mortem bruising marks matched the the unique shape of Malcolm's dagger.
Turning around to look at the man, Doctor Drius asked; "Where did you get this?"
Malcolm flustered as he internally panicked. The dagger was his father's, and was a family heirloom. Only a few knew about it, and Murdoc was one of them..
"That be his great-grandfather's shiv. He's bragged about it at Mead Hall on occasion," Murdoc commented right as Malcolm had the thought.
"There's thousands of blades like that one! It doesna prove shit!" the elder practically wailed.
