The flickering orange glow of the fireplace danced freely across the carved wooden panels and it casted shifting shadows that seemed almost alive. The fire crackled as a song while it danced, burning the firewood into an ashen pile of white cinders. An ornate map of Ridgemond and the surrounding areas dominated the stone wall above the burning fireplace. Finley looked at the map with an affixed gaze of wondrous awe. Its sepia-toned parchment was a stark contrast to the dark wood that surrounded it and made it all the more a beautiful sight. The rich leather upholstery of the chairs around the paper-filled occupied table glistened faintly in the firelight. Their buttons formed neat patterns like constellations in the faraway distance of the night sky against the polished surface of the chairs. They surrounded the table and were each occupied by an adult. A glass globe perched on the desk against the wall to the left of the room reflected the light piercing in like a half-moon. Its delicate metal frame caught onto the firelight in a magnificent display of reflection. The soft crackle of the raging fire provided a steady, soothing rhythm, interspersed by the occasional pop of the burning logs. The heavy sigh of an old chair cried out loud as Gisil shifted his weight. The creak mingled with the perpetual ticking of a clock on the wall, above the desk to the left of the room and it punctuated the silence.
The polished wood of the desk is cool and smooth under Whiskey's fingers as he placed his hand on the table. He noticed that the grain was faintly textured but still even. The heat radiating from the fireplace created a comforting warmth on one side of the room, while the other felt distinctly cooler in the looming shadow that scurried in the corner. The room carried the faint scent of aged paper and leather, Whiskey noticed. It was mixed with the smoky, piney aroma of the burning logs just as he had imagined, but hadn't spoken a word of it. A lingering hint of polish from the wooden furniture wafted with a sharp yet strangely pleasant aroma of paper and leather. And it intertwined with the natural musk of the room in a new and unique yet nostalgic scent. Whiskey smiled at the thought of it. The room feels heavy with importance as the others sat down in their seats. The luxurious furnishings from the office exuded a presence of authority and prestige, yet the warmth of the fire made it feel somewhat welcoming in the harsh winter rather than oppressive. A sense of quiet intensity filled the space. Whiskey dissected the faintest movement Sawyer made as he affixed his gaze to him.
The faint rustle of papers sheets sounded with the scratch of a pen as Sawyer quickly adjusted the documents on the table in a neat pile. He then proceeded, tapping the pile on the table's surface to straighten it. "Right, officer Klein...ugh, I mean Whiskey, wanted to know what a ritual culling is. I think it's best I explain that first, and then delve further into the mystery of this case"
They nodded all in silent agreement.
"A ritual culling, as I've researched it, is a term used to reference the forced death of an individual for occult practices" Sawyer then continued. "These can vary from suicides to ritual sacrifices were the victim is killed as an offering of sort"
"We can already rule out the potential of a suicide" Gisil reasoned and Sawyer swiftly agreed.
"I think we can also rule out a potential sacrifice" he then announced. "From what I've researched, the method for killing a sacrificial vessel is in no ways similar to the body of the victim, Nils Fehrenbach"
"So you were unable to uncover what kind of ritual we're dealing with, officer Addams?" Whiskey quizzed.
"Sadly,... I've cross-examined several prior cases of numerous victims that could match this category. None of them were killed using any specific method or order I've been able to figure out as of yet. It seems..." he paused. "...like the only requirement is for the victim to simply die"
Again, they all nodded as a method to signal their understanding and Gisil whispered a word of disgust underneath his breath that none were able to hear. He loathed senseless violence more than anything in Einar.
"I have been able to figure out something most interesting" Sawyer smiled, turning the flow of the conversation completely around. His grin was somewhat mischievous, as if he were about to expose a secret with the following words. "At the scene I've been able to only discover one set of human footprints in the snow"
"You have a potential lead thanks to the footprints?" Whiskey enquired immediately, impressed that the forensic specialist was able to deduce the culprit from the footprints in the snow.
Almost immediately Sawyer laughed loudly in response. "I'm a good forensic scientist mister Whiskey, but I can assure you that I am not yet at the level were I can uncover a person's identity based on the vague imprints of their shoes" he said.
Whiskey laughed, unsure what to think of himself. Alongside him Sawyer and Fern laughed as well. The laughter was short-lived, lasting only for a brief moment when the three of them each expressed a chuckle.
"It would have been amazing had the case been drawn to a close this quickly" Gisil commented.
"He found paw-prints instead" the young Finley then revealed.
"Paw prints..?" Whiskey wondered, but the thought was silent, mentioned only in the mind and the faint expression on his face. Whiskey was sure it would take some time for him to get used to the child's abilities.
"Haa~ that was supposed to be my grand 'svelare'" Sawyer cried. The innocent white-haired Finley giggled, his eyes flickering with joy as he smiled innocently.
"Would you be so kind to explain, mister Addams?" Whiskey asked, gesturing smoothly with his hand. "I'm afraid I can't forsee future results, so I'm rather confused.." he then nervously laughed.
"Ugh— right, I mentioned I found only one set of HUMAN footprints, but I also managed to find a set of footprints belonging to a carnivorous mammal, which – should I be correct..." he paused again. It was a repeated action in Sawyer's speech pattern Whiskey quickly noticed, when having to relay unpleasant information he would always pause. "...belong to the three-headed netherwolf" Sawyer finished.
Whereas Gisil's stoic figure remained unchanged, Fern frowned. She looked at Whiskey after exhaling a deep sigh and she spoke, "Our earliest case and the occult gods are already against us, right partner?"
"...ugh...partner...?" Sawyer stammered with a puzzled expression.
"I've placed agent Whiskey in charge of this case" Gisil was forced to clarify. "He has a very versatile gift I'm sure would place him among our most capable agents"
"I see...." Sawyer murmured as he scowled with a frown, dissecting Whiskey with his sharp glare.
Whiskey was taken aback by this. "Fern" he called out by name. "How come you're saying we've gotten the short end of the stick?". He asked this, knowing the answer but hoping to ignore Sawyer's unprovoked scowl.
"There's only one netherwolf in Ridgemond, and it belongs to only one person.."
"Who?"
"One of the archbishop's little princesses, Ornelle Elwyne Beauchêne, the red witch of conflict, misfortune and calamity"
"How is anyone with a name like that seen in a good light?"
"Officer Addams, officer Klein.." Gisil suddenly barked. "I can accept if your religious views differ from mine, but I would kindly appreciate it if you speak of the archbishop and his daughters with respect"
"Ugh... you're a devotee of the Vadimatican?" Fern cluelessly asked.
"I am" Gisil confirmed, and the room fell into silence. It was brief, but tense.
"I am on the side of the law and the safety of the citizens of Ridgemond, so I will not protest against the investigation or the questioning of madame Ornelle..."
"Madame!?" Fern thought. "She's seventeen, thus barely an adult! Captain Gisil is forty-two years old!"
"Ahh~ well, if you'd allow me to continue now.." Sawyer's voice suddenly cut through.
"Yes, please continue" Gisil spoke out.
"But...I have a question" he croaked. "Agent Klein wasn't the one to secure the scene. Neither was he among the first responders to ensure the area was safe for everyone and prevent unauthorized access to preserve the evidence. He wasn't part of the forensic team that established the boundaries around the scene to prevent contamination of evidence, that I am most certain of".
Whereas Gisil looked on with a stern expression Fern rolled her eyes as she released a deep sigh. In the meantime, Sawyer had not ceased to list all the actions Whiskey hadn't taken. "I take it that it wasn't officer Klein that documented the scene either" he hissed. "Yet, you assign him the most prominent role of lead investigator to organize the team?"
Whiskey could not help but feel as if he was verbally attacked. And in his own defense he spoke the words, "If I may, I have reason to believe I know why the captain has placed me in charge of this case. Firstly, I am well-versed in rituals. I was unsure of my capability to be of help but after hearing you mention a ritual may be involved, I can understand why captain Gisil would want me on this case. Although, I feel I should mention my dependable knowledge of rituals only include those of the Voided Ones". Whiskey said this after raising his index finger, counting the first reason. He then raised his middle finger and stated the potential second reason. "Secondly, I've been a private investigator, occult detective and a journalist for six years before this. That's also how I learned about rituals. As I'm sure you know, rituals are a form of old magic from the first and second calendar before Grainne rewrote the memories of the living world thus altering history as we know it". Whiskey raised his ring finger and stated a third reason. "During my time as a three-in-one occult researcher I had to learn a specific set of skills. Appraising relics, translating the ancient runic language of the Voided Ones, information gathering, reading body language to see through lies... I've practically been an unofficial active R.M.S.R.D agent for those six years"
Sawyer gasped in disbelief, his face contorted with a quizzical expression.
"Well mister Addams.." Gisil suddenly elaborated. "..I myself was unaware of this information. Officer Whiskey's file is classified information not even I was allowed to see. The only thing the men upstairs told me was that I should invite mister Lychipher Klein here as an agent of the Ridgemond supernatural research department. You can imagine my shock.." the captain paused for only a brief instance. "..when I heard that the agency of R.M.S.R.D is asking one individual to join them when we have hundreds swarming us for job opportunities. The only thing that crossed my mind at the moment was the thought that this man, whomsoever he may be, made a name for himself even the men upstairs acknowledged. I was unsure of it myself, until little Finley exposed mister Klein as a rank seven celestine worthy"
"N-no way!" Sawyer exclaimed.
"He's exaggerating" Whiskey nervously said, lying through his teeth.
Gisil smiled, and his smile was a smuck grin as his irises slid to the corners of his eyes to sharpen their gaze at Whiskey. Whiskey could tell he had a perfect counter to make him eat his previous statement. "Dat so, agent Klein? I was told the men upstairs got you a luxury house here in Ridgemond, seeing as you weren't from around here, or was it that you were able to afford it with an advance payment?"
Whiskey could only smile back in defeat. He had let the captain get the better of him. She smiled, laughed softly even. "Okay captain, I see you've made your point" he surrendered.
"We shouldn't waste the morning sun anymore than we already have" Fern interjected. "Captain, have you already counterfeited the standard law enforcement badges?"
"Oh!" He exclaimed in response. "I forgot to mention, but you'll be using counterfeited badges in the field. We can't really consider ourselves a secret agency if we use our actual badges, can we? Your authentic badges will only be of use to identify yourself to other agents or to gain access in storage and other R.M.S.R.D facilities. I've therefore prepared counterfeited badges which should allow you to move as freely as officers of the law"
"Thank you captain.." Fern voiced again, thanking Gisil for the information. "Would you be so kind as to prepare a questioning warrant?" she then asked.
"Ahh– yes, you have a keen memory agent Addams" Gisil complimented. "I'll prepare the warrant. In the meantime I suggest you ready the phaeton"
(A phaeton is a horse-pulled open four-wheeled carriage)
Before long the phaeton's wheels would creak faintly as they rolled over the cobblestone streets of Ridgemond, steered toward the vast mansion of the Beauchênes. Its rhythmic clatter of the metal encased wheels blended with the distant hum of the bustling town. The horses' their hooves struck a sharp cadence and their breath formed visible clouds of mist in the crisp winter air that dissipated like ghostly whispers.
The open carriage provided little shelter from the cold and Whiskey tugged his coat tighter until the stiff fabric brushed against his neck. He then twisted with his hand as if turning a knob, heating himself with the talents of his gift. He turned to Fern, wondering if he should try to warm her as well.
Beside him, Fern sat with an air of quiet resolve with her gloved hands resting lightly on the edge of her lap. The wind teased her loose strands of hair and her sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, missing little to no detail. She leaned slightly forward as the phaeton turned down a narrower street and it was at this moment that Whiskey suggested, "I could warm you if you want?"
She turned to look at him and replied with a smile. "Oh please, I despise the cold"
Ridgemond unfolded before them in a patchwork of quaint charm and industrious vigor as they turned down the street. Timber-framed buildings leaned toward the streets as smoke coiled lazily from their chimneys, merging with the pale sky to create a grayish haze.
Whiskey reached for her coat and materialized a dial, swiftly turning it to increase the temperature.
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the sharper tang of coal smoke that clung to the winter air. Merchants called out from their stalls and their voices rose above the occasional barking of dogs and the laughter of children running through the snow-packed streets.
All of this occured as a constant while Whiskey adjusted the temperature of Fern's coat. Once finished, the dial vanished like a rabbit in a hat as Whiskey returned to his original position. He turned to see a vendor leaning against his cart. His hands buried deep in his pockets as steam billowed from a cauldron of spiced cider, sending faint wisps of cinnamon into the air. Whiskey remembered him from the night before during his walk home from the Silver Viper.
Whiskey's gaze lingered on the townsfolk they passed. He saw a man in a long overcoat carrying a crate and a young woman adjusting her scarf as she hurriedly crossed the street. Ridgemond was just as lively as he expected it to be.
Lanterns still hung along the storefronts from the previous evening, their glass frosted over but catching the sunlight in dazzling bursts.
The road gradually sloped downward, leading them to the fringes of town where the din of activity grew faint, replaced by the steady rustle of skeletal trees dead in the midst of winter, swaying in the breeze.
"I'm.... sorry.." Fern suddenly breathed.
Puzzled, Whiskey turned his gaze toward her, and his expression was enough for her to elaborate on her apology.
"Sawyer is smart and I'm sure you'd agree he's kind once you get to know him. It's just...he—
"I hate to interrupt" Whiskey interjected. "But we've arrived. Could we continue this conversation some other time?"
Fern nodded, and turned to look at a brilliant snow-blanketed mansion.