To the eyes of a casual observer--or mayhaps even a typical patient--these whitewashed hallways are a place of last hopes, of desperate times, of deep struggles. To Death, they might be paradise: an endless supply of souls, where He need not travel far from one mark to another. But to the young woman who cradles in her arms a newborn, who cries with joy as she whispers its tiny name, who thanks her doctor profusely, and whose life will be spared today, these halls are a godsend. The occasional strips of flowered wallpaper, too, coloured in a favourable blue, help remedy the sterile aires of this unsavory saviour.
In the crystallized silence of this malevolent wurld, a man comforts his wife, shielding her eyes from the nearby door, now open, through which a body bag is carried. Her loud sobs echo through the institution, picking up wracking coughs and whelming tears as she falls to her knees, nails clawing at the wall before her, forehead roughly smashing into it. Her husband turns to acknowledge a doctor, thank him for the concern with a handshake and a forced smile, his other hand remaining in its place on her shoulder, attempting to soothe. One step at a time, they carry the boy that used to smile up at her in wonder and love when she said goodnight. One step at a time, her hopes and her prayers are chipped away, leaving her to crumble in the wake of this unfair cruelty.
There exists an irregularity within the bounds of this isolate island: a single face shows little in the way of pain or joy--instead sporting a single-eyed glare for those who step in her way. Large scars muddle her complexion, carving their way down the side of her face, even seeming to shred the eye-patch that now rests where her other eye used to lie. The edges of her lips, even, contort sharply in the depressions left by this monstrosity of a battle wound.
Her booted gait, unperturbed by the surroundings, is only remotely slowed by a limp; she walks brusquely between sobbing families and nearby practitioners, interrupting conversations with little more effort than a well placed boot or a well situated glove. With a quick backward glance, over her epaulette, gold-fringed and ensigned with a crimson band, she retakes inventory:
To the keen observer, those faces that bob behind her, wonder and annoyance flashing in eyes, could only be given the distinction "hobnob." Choosing to disregard sizes of shoe and body, however, might provide the observer another delineation: "kin." Indeed, by the way each casts a glare singularly redolent to the next, they perhaps could be considered thusly.
She turns back around, and sharply a corner. Ahead, the hall deadens with the dead-end; not a soul in sight, and only a single door leading onward. It is to this door, wooden, latched and locked, that she is bound. It is to this door, as well, that her mission guides her, if only to open it.
The door opens inward, into an alcove cut neatly between great shelves of books, fitted and neatly organized. One shuts, in the hands of a man, back turned to the door, who sits with his legs crossed neatly at the knee. His chair is leather, black and sleek. A smile, cruel, menacing, creeps up his cheeks as he slowly rotates his chair, watching you file in. The door shuts behind you with a click.
Wooden furnishings, mostly burgundy, but some a lighter shade close to tan, decorate the large office of one Councilor Mathews, whose name-plate is chipped lightly at the corner and losing its gold finish. @Five chairs form a crescent shape just beyond reach of the desk, all straight-backed and four-legged. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, providing light to the room, and flickering only rarely. Two candleholders rest symmetrically on the wall just behind Mathews, framing a fireplace.
The Councilor stands politely, masking his emotions with a well-rehearsed nod of greeting, and generously offers you a seat with a wave and a gentle, "Please."
Returning to his luxurious armchair with a loud sigh, he opens a desk drawer and slips out a letter, tied closed with a small red band. "I have been asked to read you this: a message from my fellow councilman unto you. I can assure you, the words held within reflect the opinion of the Council of Bellaria. With that," and with a small flourish of his hand, removing the seal and unrolling its contents, "I shall begin:
"To whom it may concern:
"Several hours ago, two great tragedies occurred: the theft of what might be the single most valuable object in the world, and the brutal murder of a woman in cold blood. These happenings took place at the crossroads of Thane Road and Bank Street, at noon-thirty-seven sharp, one within the National Bank of Ballaria, and one without.
"It should also be mentioned that the guards stationed inside were found unconscious, as were all other spectators and observers of these events, including you. No gun matched the bullet lodged within the female, Jane Do. Similarly, no prints were found within the bank, or on the metal case, magically sealed inside the vault, that was found opened, its six locks perfectly intact on the ground beside it and its protections avoided.
"The spell-wards were checked by the Association of Magic-Users, who determined no spell was cast in or around the vault fixture, including the curses that had been placed on the titanium-alloyed briefcase.
"You wonder, no doubt, why I write of these occurrences to the @five of you, when each was found lying in the crowd outside, and will no-doubt profess innocence. We understand."
The man coughs lightly before pouring water from pitcher into glass. He sips, and continues:
"However, the @five of you are also the least-connected within this city. None were born here, none raised here, and none here more than a week. Therefore, you are perfect scapegoats for this atrocity, and such a group is needed, in order to keep the peace within this nation. I regret to inform you, but the blame shall be entirely yours. You will be tried and executed, and your families dishonored and exiled.
"That is, unless you can find evidence that points to the true organization behind these acts within the next seven days. I, as well the majority of the council, wish you luck, and hope you understand our actions in this matter."
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