24th of Fall, 513AV The Safehaven Hostel Ah, the simplicity of staring at dead people. No complicated politics or bizarre procedures, just a bunch of eyes and a lot of blood. Good Laat, was there a lot of blood. Franjo Franjic, a monk of Uphis who was probably up to here with all the stabbings, opened the door for the group. It was a room like any other at the Hostel, though the spartan furniture had been replaced. There was a cream colored carpet on the floor, for one. The table was pleasant and round, made of solid mahogany. As were the two accompanying chairs. The sheets of the (still fairly modest) bed were black satin, and a small shrine devoted to Rhysol sat between two silk pennants. The victim was here, splayed out on the floor with his head tucked at an unnatural angle against the wall. His chest and neck were a mess of gore and shattered bones. A few fragments of rib sat a foot or so away from the body itself. If Savio, who, growing up on a farm, had no doubt seen the remains of sheep eaten by wolves, chose to inspect them, he would notice that they appeared to have been chewed. The deceased's nose and mouth had also been ripped out, with their jaw dangling from their head by a strand of sinew. Their eyes and brow had begun to sag, but they still held a shadow of their last expression. One of unmitigated horror. The pennant closest to the victim was nearly torn off the wall, and was spattered with blood. It also caked the space between the victim and the pennant. As Franjo lead the way inside, the group heard the crunch of trodden glass, and the monk stepped to the side. At his left was the fragments of a glass along with a wine stain in the hastily appropriated carpet. On the table was a spilled, but still intact glass. The chair nearest the victim was overturned. The rest of the room was undisturbed. "Well, here we are." he said with a grimace. "Try not to puke on anything." |