Thread: The Grim Darkness (Alvis & Ghostwolf)

It had been raining when it happened. A soft downpour in the early evening as the pale sun had begun to descend, a sight and sensation that those deep within the spire of Hive Primaris would get to experience. No, such pleasures were reserved only for the rich, the important, and the powerful. Those living at the top of the city spires, or those living outside of the Hives, far from the shadows cast by their looming presence. Tyrin Willam had been one of those fortunate enough to experience such things every day. However, he would experience them no more, or anything for that matter. He lay on his back in the large front hall of the main building of the Governors palace, the grandeur of the room lost to his dead eyes as a pool of cooling blood spread from his body across the checked marble tiles. His hair and the shoulders of his pale grey jacket wet from the rain. A shaft of light spread across his face cast from one of the great windows, caught permanently in a look of surprise, a spot of blood below his left eye. Then slowly the sun dipped further and the light moved on. A damn shame. The voice, deep and gravelly, came from behind Wulfe as a man emerged from a side door, the aide behind him. Taking slow careful steps towards the deceased Castellan until the two living men drew level. The Arbitrator was taller than him, but not by much. He gazed down at the corpse. A damn fine shame. Willam was a good man. A good friend. His large walrus moustache twitched, causing his chin to wobble. The man brought his attention back to the Arbitrator in front of him, looking him over, scrutinising. So. Youre the one dealing with this mess then, ey? After a moment, the moustache twitched again, and the mans hands unclasped, one held out in front of him before Wulfe. Governor Burroughs. The Governor had once been an impressive man, a strong awe-inspiring figure, renowned for his part in leading the small PDF attachment which assisted in putting down the Hive Tertius tax rebellion. Actions that had brought him fame and political attention, the medals he still wore on his chest, and the scar and augmetic left eye which twinkled brightly. Time and the comforts of his position had not been kind to the Governor, very little remaining of the man he once was. Most of his muscle turned to blubber, the excellent tailoring of his expensive attire doing very little to hide his large stomach. I hope you can deal with this matter swiftly. Terrible business. It does not do well for these things to go on for too long do you understand. No, not well at all. The moustache bristled again, as he clasped his hands behind his back once more and rocked back on his heels. Of course, we will assist you in any way we are able, so as to He thinks for the word. Expedite this investigation as much as possible. Terrible business. He shakes his head. Chins wobble. Now, my man here tells me you want to speak to the last person to poor Willam. It pains me to say that person is my very own daughter. I will permit you to speak to her His eyes find Wulfes own, his gaze steel, his voice stone. But. She is my only child, my firstborn. I am aware of the tactics and trick the Adeptus Arbites emply in their questioning, in their interrogation. I will have none of that employed here. None, you understand? She is not a suspect. A slight smile breaks the seriousness in his face. If that is all, I will take you to her. I will not have her witness this mess. He waves his hand at the scene. She is waiting for you.