Chapter 20 - Farewell
The sun was beginning its evening descent and clouds formed to the
north. Yet another evening storm appeared to loom on the horizon casting a
shadow towards the city of T'Aarn.
Looking about the small room that
Myranda called her home, the inspectors decided to split up. Cydric and Kanth
would return to the pub and Shadow and Vorn would take Myranda's body to the
temple. As for Sergie and Maro, they planned to return home.
"Well then I say we'll meet at Tithion's Manor in two hours. That
should be enough time for you to question the neighbors and for
us to talk to the pub patrons. Don't forget to tell the undertaker to
take the body to Tithion's, hopefully his priests will be able
to 'talk' to her. See you guys shortly, and good luck." Cydric said
as he nodded to Shadow and Vorn. Then Cydric walked outside with the spotted Phylinx and
began marching back towards the Sleeping Sea with the powder covered cakes in
Once they were a suitable distance from Myranda's home, Kanth glanced around for anyone suspicious or watching
them too intently. Satisfied that her words would be heard by
no eavesdropping ears, she began, "Cydrric, I think I can trrust
you with my perrsonal opinion herre. I believe that Tithion knows
way morre than he is giving us, that barrkeep as well, and our own
fat Phineous is in on this somehow. You know morre about poisons
than I, how long would you say that this type would take effect and
slay its victim?"
The dark haired assassin thought about it for a moment. "Of course you can trust me, honestly you're about the only one
that does. And I share your suspicions one hundred percent. We've exhausted every
lead we had and I don't think it's a matter of bad investigation
that's lead us back to the beginning. We missed something, and I
think it's time we play hard this time. I brought that unfinished
cake with us, let's see what reactions we'll get if we start showing
that around, maybe even force a barkeep into tasting it. Unless your
a complete nut case, like myself, no one would eat something they
know is poisoned. As far as how lethal it is, I can only guess that
it's a fast acting poison. From the two bodies we've already seen,
I'd say it attacks the heart and kills in mere moments. But I might
have the class of poison completely wrong."
Cydric continued to explain. "As far as I can assume, the poison is inert until mixed, or at
least not fatal. From the yellow skin of both victims, it 'devoured
them from the inside'. I know that some poisons stop the heart or
lungs where others tend to destroy tissue." He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Since neither victim passed in a state of anguish, it did not cause undue pain
or discomfort. Some sedatives can kill when mixed with other sedatives, though those
usually don't discolor the skin like this."
"Bottom line: it could be a combination of things. Nothing on its own
seems to have the effects we're seeing."
"But the idea I have for our barkeep is basically to show him the
cake and judge his reaction to it. Worst comes to worse, one of us
will throw him down and hold him, while the other stuffs that cake
into his mouth. If it's poisoned and he knows it, he'll sure as hell
spit it out as quickly as possible. That's when we nail him, if we're wrong, well then it's just a case of brutality. Besides, we
also need to inform him that he needs to post a "help wanted" sign.
He's short a barmaid now." Cydric said with a wiry smile.
Upon opening the door to the Sleeping Sea, all eyes turned towards
Kanth and Cydric as the wind ripped the door from their grasp,
slamming it into the wall. The storm brewing outside promised of a
powerful downpour, the dark clouds, temperature drop, the wind picking
up, it was no wonder why the pub was so full on this devilish
Cydric noticed two bar stools and quickly made way towards them,
making a gesture towards Kanth of his intended destination. Just as
he was getting to the stools, an overly fat man was just about to
plop down on one; quickly Cydric reached out and snatched the stool
before the man could sit. With a loud crash, the fat man fell flat on
his ass, his pint of ale bounced out of his hand and spilled all over
the fat man's tunic.
He blubbered and muttered incoherently as those who saw the spectacle
laughed. The fat man tried to get up, but due to drink he clumsily
fell back down on his face, once again muttering incoherent words.
Almost the entire bar watched and was laughing so hard, some of them
had their drinks spewing from their mouths. Cydric had a slight smirk
and even started to laugh out loud when the fat man grabbed the stool
next to him and sent the stool and its occupant crashing to the floor.
Cydric quickly regained his posture and set the stools he was holding
down now that Kanth was near. Cydric sat on his stool and waved down
the barkeep. "I'll have a shot of whiskey, my friend here a bowl of
your finest cream and we both want a tall glass of whatever the hell
it is you're not telling us." Cydric stated as he laid the cake on
the bar, slowly unwrapping it, and hoping the fat man, who was still
flopping like a fish, didn't see it.
Kanth took her seat, trying as hard as she could to stifle the
laughter bearing hard upon her breast. "I'll have a shot of what he's
having in my crream if you please," she says giving the barkeep an
evil watchful eye.
She eyed the cake, then the barkeep, then back to the cake, and back
again. "Something tells me that this looks familiar-r-r to you. What say
you?" The barkeep sputtered a bit before answering.
Looking cross, with his hands on his hips, Donnel eyed both
inspectors with contempt.
"What are ye' talking about? And why are you disturbing my
customers?" He watched Kanth's eyes and followed her glance. "What's
that supposed to be? I already told ya what I know and ye blew it all
out'a proportion. I'm sure you brought poor Myranda to tears with yer
line of question'n." He called over to Carla, "Take these two's
orders, I ain't got time for them." With that he wiped his hands on a
towel, tossed it under the counter and strutted off into the kitchen.
Cydric looked at Kanth, and noticing her acknowledgment, he leapt over
the bar; grabbed the damn cake. Then as fast as his swift legs would
take him, Cydric followed Donnel in the kitchen with Kanth in tow. "You apparently
don't realize it, but you do have the time to talk to us. Cause it
seems like your barmaid, well she didn't talk either, rather tight
lipped, of course she was dead before we got there, so I guess she
couldn't have said much. But what we think is funny, is that the two
dead people we're investigating, both seem to have your bar as the
last place they were seen alive. So if you don't start talking, maybe
the priests can get you to sing after they've scrambled your mind
with their magic." Cydric stated in a harsh, tired tone, while
playfully tossing the cake lightly from hand to hand.
As Cydric was talking, Kanth silently circled the man so that her
feline face was mere inches from the man's own. She gave him a
toothy smile, "Boo."
The tossing of the cake caught Kanth's eye for a split-second and
the action almost caused her to falter, snatching the cake out of
the air playfully. But, she managed to keep her cool and forced her
attention away from the quickly, playfully, moving object.
Turning to face the rogue, Donnel's hard look faded into something
more somber. "What did you say? About Myranda? She's dead?" Cydric
nodded. "You would not play such a cruel joke as that would you?"
Donnel's broad shoulders sagged.
"Oh, the gods!" Cried Carla as she covered her mouth with her
hands. "How? What happened?"
By now all movement in the pub ceased and the only sounds came from
the fire in the hearth, wind whispering through the trees, and
occasional clang from the cook in the kitchen, still unaware of the
news. All eyes and ears were trained on the inspectors and Donnel
aching for the details.
"Sorrry to brring such foul news to you at this hour-r-r," Kanth
answered. "But she passed sometime in the night last night, we
suspect, frrom the same manner-r-r that Slorran was slain. So, you
see now our-r-r distrress: We have two murrderrs, the same manner-r-r used on both, and both individuals were seen leaving herre last.
You'rre not holding something back frrom us now arre you?"
The tall Phylinx woman edged back over beside Cydric and pointed at
the cake bouncing from hand to hand. "What is this and wherre did it
come frrom?" Her question was stern, but yet not accusing.
"It looks like the cake Sloran brought. Same kind anyhow," Donnel
replied without hesitation. "Why? You don't think that that is the
reason? Do you? Is that thing..."
Carla gasped, "poisoned?" She suddenly grew pale and looked like she
would collapse, but a seated patron reached up and steadied her and
gave her his seat.
"I had some..." she choked, her face now red as tears welled up in
her eyes. "They were very sweet... I..." her voice trailed off to a
squeak and nearly hysterical sobbing.
Sounds of cooking in the kitchen ceased as the hefty chef peered
around the corner. "What's going on in here?"
"I'll explain later," Donnel waived his hand and kneeled by Carla's
side gently rubbing her back. "You're fine dear. Shhhhh, you're fine."
Standing again and glaring through reddened eyes, Donnel
glowered. "You best get to the meaning of this. Is that thing
poisoned?" He jabbed his finger towards the cake. "Cause if you're
lying, may the gods save you!"
Cydric looked to Kanth and noticed her eyes following the cake back
and forth. The thought of having her pounce on him to get the cake
was running through his mind when Donnel's voice raised, and broke
Cydric from his thoughts. He stopped tossing the cake and set it
down. "You see that's part of our problem, it's only suspected to be
poisoned." Cydric said in a softer tone, almost a whisper. Then he
turned to Carla and said, "When did you eat the cakes?"
Carla could hardly contain herself. Instead Donnel cut in, "Same as
everyone else. Sloran brought them in and was sharing them with
everyone. I didn't have any, but Carla and Thoman in the kitchen each
had at least one. Myr... Myranda had at least two here and she packed
a few for later. Even used his favor you have there," he motioned to
the cloth that they found with the cakes.
"Verry interresting," Kanth answered. She glanced at the woman, then
back to the man. "So, you parrtook of the cakes as well? Odd that
you arre still alive." She turned to Cydric and spoke softly, "Do
you think that Kanis has an idea of the poison type yet with what he
was given? Orr, do our-r-r answerrs still lie herre?"
"Sergie told me he wouldn't have the answers we need until tomorrow,
mid-day I think. If she too ate the cakes last night, then these
apparently aren't poisoned either. I don't get it, what the hell else
is there? The cakes were the only common factor. She ate them last
night, and is obviously alive today. Unless there were different
batches, or Sloran had one's that were just for Myranda and himself
and those were the poisoned ones. But I think I'm grasping at straws
here. I have the feeling we should probably apologize for our
rudeness and leave here." Cydric said with a note of defeat in his
"We'll apologize for-r-r nothing," she answered, a bit of hurt in
her voice. "We arre upholding the law and simply doing our-r-r jobs.
We'll bid them farrewell and come again in the near-r-r futurre."
"As you wish my lady." Cydric said and gave a low bow, the broad grin
on his face was hard to miss. He straightened up and turned to
Donnel, "We're sorry about Myranda's death, and I'm sure when we find
who killed Sloran, we'll find her killer as well. If your bar maid
here starts feeling ill in any way, I'd suggest seeing a doctor right
away. Other than that, I'm assuming we're done here. Good night to
Cydric looked back the bar patrons, a look of concentration on his
face, "Well if the cakes were deadly, even eating one cake should
kill, or at least make the person very ill. And since Carla or Thoman
don't even seem to have the sniffles I'd say its a good bet that the
cakes are just fine. Thank you for your time, and if you remember
anything let us know, thanks."
Walking towards the main door of the pub Cydric stopped and said to
Kanth, "I guess it's on to Tithion's place again. Hopefully we'll get
there before it starts to rain, I just bought these dry pants."
"Now see here!" called Donnel as the inspectors opened the door, but
his voice was drowned by the hard wind and the door closed as if on
its own accord. The sky had grown black since Kanth and Cydric
returned to the Sleeping Sea and a few scattered drops of rain began
to fall all around them. Within short moments, the sprinkle became a
Watching the inspectors leave, Donnel fumed. "I'll be sure to let
their superiors hear about this. They can't just barge in and stop
someone's business like that!" Several of the patrons nodded or
called out their support.
"If you need witnesses," called an elderly finely dressed man, "you
have my word."
"Aye," called three or four others in near unison.
Donnel raised his hands for quiet, "Who can we call on who would lend
us his ear? And who has a powerful enough voice to undo these
abuses?" The crowd grew silent. Donnel did not figure anyone actually
intended to help and from the sudden quiet, it appeared no one would.
Or for that matter, COULD help.
Someone called from the back corner of the pub, "what about
Florantine?" It was too shadowy there for Donnel to see who it was
"And what would Florantine care about some troubled pub?"
"He holds many resentments for the inspectors. They have long been
working against the system; corrupting it from within. He has at
least worked for the people's good will."
"And how would you know this?" Donnel squinted, trying to see the
details of the figure who spoke. The pub was still quiet, though the
air was filled with quiet whispers and hisses of shifting bodies.
"I know, because I have worked for him since I was just a boy." The
figure stood and stepped forward into the light. Donnel recognized
the scarcely whiskered young man's face. And his uniform and badge of
office placed him as the young captain Theldin from the Crafter's
district. "I can voice your grievance to the Chief, and in turn, him
to the magistrates. This city is still run by its people is it not?"
Kanth and Cydric hastily darted from street to street, alley to alley,
in an attempt to get to Tithion's manor before their bones must be
wrung out to dry. The storm increased in power and force, and before
long, strokes of lightning lit up the darkening sky.
Kanth had always been intrigued by lightning and often wondered what
its source was, but at this time, her main concerns revolved around
the mystery at hand. Two people linked in one way or another
murdered, a missing artifact, a distraught barkeep and his wife,
poisoned or nonpoisoned cakes; things had been piling up, but not
adding up at all.
Before long, the tall mansions and keeps of the Nobles' Row stood
out before the black and gray backdrop of a starless stormy
eve. "Finally," Kanth murmured as the two passed into the border
into the fancier living quarters.
The undertaker was a bit of a shady fellow and had the gall to demand 20 T'arg to
deal with preparing Myranda's body and transporting it to Tithion's manor. It
took mere moments to convince him otherwise after being threatened for extortion,
he begrudgingly took the body for free.
The storm had blown in with a heavy wind. Fat drops of rain drenched
the inspectors as they trudged down the cobbled path of the Nobles'
Row. Though the sun had not yet set, it was dark as midnight
from the cloud cover.
At the entrance to Tithion's manner and huddled under their canopy,
four guards stood watch. The oil lamps on the street side of the
bricked pillars glared and swung in the rain and wind, and they
threatened to be extinguished by the moisture. Upon noticing the
black Phylinx and darkly clad human approach, one called out, "Stand
yer ground and proclaim your purpose!" The young man's hand was on
his sword, still sheathed, but his comrades pulled their hooked spears
from their stands and gripped them tightly.
Shadow paused a moment to count how many of them stood
there watching their approach. “We’ve come to see Tithion, if you please… and to
get out of this damnable rain.” He hated getting wet, and right now there wasn’t
a spot left dry on his body. Something about the rain made his
pelt smell funny. The Phylinx knew it and never denied it, but he never liked it
either. An herbalist once offered to concoct a special body-wash that would take
care of the odor, a little mixture of ground up Birch roots, the juice of a ripe
kokia fruit, and various flowers all mixed in clean spring water. He almost
purchased the stuff. It was guaranteed to make him smell like a summer field
full of wild flowers. Shadow would rather smell like a garbage-dwelling rat than
a dainty girl… there was an image to think about after all.
"Come hither and give your names. This is a private affair." The
guard that called out with his hand still on his sword, and the other
three stood firm at his side prepared to bring their spears to bear.
Shadow stepped forward, posing no threat aside from shaking his fur and
splattering pelt-smelling water off his exterior. “I am Inspector Shadow. I was
here earlier with my companions investigating the murder of Sloran. There has
been further development we believe your master will be most interested with…
and were hoping we could help each other in this time of need. I realize it is a
bad time, but there is little time to waste. Now run and tell Tithion Inspector
Shadow and Vorn are here, if you please. Because if he misses this opportunity,
he’ll have your head.” The large black Phylinx crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the weapon-bearing guard,
awaiting some reaction.
"No need for that, sir. We were instructed to expect you. Please step
forward out of the rain." The canopy made for a snug fit with the six
men huddled beneath. Shadow noted that his scent was not the only one
affected by the damp. Despite so many humans' protests otherwise,
they gave off their own musk, not too dissimilar to his own.
"We can escort you further, but you must give up your arms. No
weapons will be allowed beyond the foyer." His gaze fell strongly on
Vorn and the sword that hung from his hip.
Shadow had only the dagger he gained from the night prior with him. His bow
still set back at his house collecting dust. He made a mental note to pick it up
once they were done. Handing over the dagger, he said “No problem from me, have
it.” He looked to Vorn for his reaction.
Vorn readily agreed and gave up all his visible weapons; the katana and all six
visible daggers. But he resisted handing over
the ones in his boots. What they did not know would not hurt them.
Shadow smiled at the humorous appearance of Vorn handing over weapon after weapon. He
was certainly prepared for the worst. Once he had finished, Shadow crossed his
arms and said a little impatiently, “So are we ready now? Our time is precious, you know.”
Security was tight. Walking the long path from the gate to the
household entrance, Shadow and Vorn passed several armed guards. Most
had the colors of Tithion's household, but others were dressed in
other colors. Either these were hired mercenaries, personal guards of
guests, or some form of reinforcements provided by Tithion's many
An animal handler walked with his trogg, a spiny haired animal that
resembled a large black dog, but much less cuddly. The trogg's coat
consisted of sharp spines intermixed with stiff hairs. They were a
popular breed with mercenaries and guards since any attempt to harm
the animal with a fist or foot could injure the assailant.
Their temperament too made them suited for war-like duties. Troggs
were fiercely loyal to their pack, and some claimed, they had a taste
for raw flesh. By the looks of them there could be no doubt.
Their hard angular faces looked dog-like enough, but the pale skin
showed through where the spines and hair was sparse. The patchwork of
pinkish skin and dark fir gave it the look of death. Its eyes seemed
to hide in the recesses of shadows under its sharp, overhanging brow.
Was this the creature that inspired the tales of the fiendish hell
hounds? Or could there be something more hideous? It was hard to
The handler allowed the trogg to pull him close to Vorn, but held him
firmly once the trogg got close. "No need to be alarmed, he just
wants your scent," the handler smiled showing his yellow teeth. The
rain rolled off his strange cap to either side, but kept it out of
the mercenary's face.
Moving then to Shadow, the trogg's back arched and the spines along
its back rose noticeably. The handler tugged on the chain in his hand
and yelled a command at the beast. Reluctantly the hellish beast
pulled away from Shadow and sat back on its bony haunches. "Sorry,
she's never been around many non-humans."
Shadow had his own reaction to the animal, growling lowly. Instinctively, his
fur stood on end lending an extra couple inches to his normal bulk. With the
animal handler’s apology Shadow nodded. “Just keep it on its leash…”
The guard that escorted the inspectors shook his head as he led them
down the rest of the path to the manor house as he muttered
something about the mercenary's pet.
The trek to the house seemed to take far longer than either inspector
would have liked, but they were greeted with fresh robes and towels
to dry themselves. The circular room that had been lined with pillows
earlier that day was now converted to a weapons cache of sorts. Jax
sat behind a sturdy folding table jotting notes as he looked at a
blade that sat on his lap. Behind him, two household guards stood at
the ready, eyeing the newcomers as two others wiped down items in the
"Even'n lads. We've seen better weather for this sort of business,
eh?" Jax quipped hardly looking up from his paper. The escort laid
the inspectors' weapons on the table as Jax made a series of
notes. "Don't worry about the blades boys. We'll take care of the
moisture an' oil 'em down with care. His gaze paused on the naked
dagger that Shadow now called his own. Though he did not say a word,
it was evident that he found it odd that a Phylinx or a human would
own a goblin made weapon.
Shadow didn’t seem too concerned over the disposition of his weapon. It was more
a trinket of remembrance than anything he preferred to use in battle. “Thank
you, Jax,” he said accepting the paper in his hand. “I’m sur-r-re they’ll be
Jax handed over two receipts with a number on each. They were nowhere
close to each other. Vorn's was fifty-three while Shadow's was one
After a quick pat-down, one of the young guards, not more than
sixteen by the look of him, ushered the inspectors down the steps at
the end of the hall. The air in the basement was cool and thick and
had an earthy smell. Light was provided by candles in plain black-iron holders spaced perfectly down the textured walls.
This part of the house was not the symbol of opulence as above.
Instead it seemed to serve a wholly functional purpose. To the right,
a store room for wines, grains, and other food stuffs. To the left, a
room with crates of dishes, boxes, and other feasting paraphernalia.
The Phylinx’ belly started to rumble. It had been too long since the fish
breakfast he had in the morning. The scent of the food floated thickly in the
air and assailed him mercilessly, but he maintained control. He muttered to Vorn
next to him, “We eat after-r-r we are done here, yes?”
It was like a maze. Besides the obvious store rooms with their doors
wide open, several other rooms had their doors closed and many
archways included barred doors and even an iron portcullis. The guide
wound through the halls that were all lit with candles. Passages that
were apparently off limits were completely dark. Even the Phylinx'
sensitive vision could not pierce the blackness. The candles seemed
to give off just enough light to night-blind Shadow.
Walking between store rooms and black hallways, the inspectors
counted no less than twenty intersections. This underground complex
was huge! Occasionally, Shadow caught the sound of people talking
from the dark passages and once the inspectors saw a group of guards
making their rounds some hundred paces down another hall.
Perhaps the simplicity and natural environment above ground was
simply a hoax, a ruse, a disguise to misguide the casual visitor.
The labyrinth of halls in the complex was bewildering. The Phylinx did what he
could to memorize the path out as well as make mental notes of some paths that
might be useful as detours just in case they had to run for their lives. He
hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that, but this Tithion was full of mystery.
Eventually their path reached a long hall that ended in a large open
room. Unlike the plain stone of the rest of the complex, these walls
were smoothed and painted with an intricate mural. It took a while to
digest its meaning, but Shadow recognized many of the symbols and
gods. On the left through mountains shone the sun and silver birds
flew to the skies. The second scene showed the sun high above with a
dominating castle hovering above. Third, a blood red sunset and
warriors, angels, and demons ensnared in battle. And finally
blackness. But at the center of it was a bloody heart. It represented
Torn, the god of the earth, mountain, valley, and sea.
Along the other wall, darkness gave way as the eye of K'aiya shone
her light upon the broken heart. The next scene faded from darkness
to light and a forest scene showed a man with a woman, naked against
the green backdrop clutching three babies. The three children of
Zecharias, the man-god. First, and held above the others, was the
human child. Second highest was the Kanis child, and third was the
Phylinx babe. At their feet groveled disfigured shapes that
represented the goblins, ogres, knoll, and other goblin-blooded races.
The series of scenes ended with a half completed painting of a man
overlooking a grand city in a valley with pearl towers and a golden
sun. Shadow had seen similar paintings before, though he could not
place exactly where. Whoever the man was, he seemed to be a ruler,
clutching a scepter of gold and jewels and a crown of light hovering
above his head. But with his features unfinished, it was hard to
imagine his final appearance.
After reaching the large hall, Shadow took a moment to fully appreciate the
artwork and whistled appreciatively. “You have to give crredit to Tithion. His
arrtwork displays do the gods and goddesses that he r-respects some credit. I
would love to know why he chose to put these specific images on such grrand
display over all otherrs.” His eyes held on the unfinished painting of the man
looking over the lavish city for a moment longer as he tried to place where he
had seen such an image in the past.
Pulling themselves from the images, the inspectors turned to the
room. The light that flowed from the doorway was almost painful as
their eyes adjusted to the brightness.
The first thing they noticed was the smell of incense, an
overwhelming smoke of honey and sweet flowers. On either side of the
double doorway, six priestesses stood quietly humming a ritual
prayer. The room was an oval with a high arching ceiling, walls of
polished marble, and polished columns. The light emanated from rings
of candles, pure white and countless, and more above in chandeliers
exactly as the one in the pillowed room in the main house. But they
glowed with an unnatural brightness and the air was not as hot as one
would expect for that number of tiny fires.
The floor sloped down toward the far end of the room which was filled
with no less than fifty and one hundred guests. The inspectors felt
out of place with their common clothes for they stood out like flies
on white bread.
Dressed in their finest dark garb, the nobles and friends of the
household gathered in silence listening to the sermon. Some peered
down with obvious interest while others shifted uneasily. One plump
noble queen sat on a stool fanning himself vigorously with a gold
trimmed fan. While another older woman sat atop her kneeling
servant's back. These were not people who were used to hardship. The
mere thought of a hard day on the field might make them fall over
From their vantage, the inspectors could see well over the heads of
the flock of pretty peacocks. So proud of their feathers, these
Mastering the ceremony stood an elderly man in a tri-colored robe.
Black at the feet that faded to red at the waist, and faded again to
white beginning at the chest. His large puffy sleeves followed the
same pattern. Despite his withering frame, the man stood tall,
speaking in a language Shadow and Vorn did not understand. It was
another form of "priest-talk". One that the churches used to enthrall
the crowds and to mask their true messages.
Shadow recalled one of his visits to a shrine months ago. One where a
cynical old man scoffed the preacher. "He says," the old man chuckled
while speaking to no one in particular, "my son is a fine boy. He
deserves your respect. I don't remember reading THAT in any tome!"
Not long after, the old man was escorted from the room, but it left a
doubt in Shadow's mind as to what was truly being said during those
Standing over an altar, the priest waved his hands as if to
illustrate a great calamity then brought them down slowly and calmly.
He raised a fist and pumped it with a slowing rhythm and rose his
other hand and caressed the pumping hand. After a few more words, he
bowed his head as did the crowd. It was then that the inspectors
caught a glimpse of a white wrapped figure that lay on the slab.
Sloran's body had been covered in white sheets and colorful flowers
and lush greenery decorated the white cloth.
A renewed hush fell on the crowd as a soprano voice echoed in the
oval hall. The woman's voice haunted and brought chills up the spine.
Though her words were lost in the melody, a somber bit, the meaning
Farewell loved one. Farewell and return to the gods of your creation.