A Murder in Morrowind 3

The Inquisition

The rain beat down on me as I stood in the alley where Cassius died.

I was chilled to bone, but endeavored to keep my composure. It was the only thing I could do at this point, at least before examining the body myself. My key witness, the individual who discovered the scene, and often times the most important part of an investigation was dead. All those key details to the murder were lost to time forever.

Apparently, while at his job at the nearby fort the day before, a cinder block had come loose from its rigging and crushed him. As the “highest ranking” Imperial at the nascent fort, I was asked if I wanted to write an apologetic note to his widow. I wrote “Sorry,” and nothing more. There was nothing else to do

I had hoped for an easy investigation.

The crime scene had been left utterly open to thieves, vandals, and the general public. The rain too had washed away almost any potential evidence, completely destroying any trace that there had been a murder. Whatever there was to find had been picked up that night, and anything else had no doubt been lost to this investigation. Another way to make my life harder.

I took a quick swig from my hip flask, feeling the warm bitterness of the brandy burning my throat, and ignored the accusatory look from Deerkethus. I spotted a bit of fresh graffiti on the nearby wall, “Imperials Go Home!” in bright red.

I wish I could.

All in all, this was barely a crime scene. It was a study of “How to ruin a washed up Legionnaire’s day.”

“I take it the preservation of a crime scene doesn’t hold much stock in Morrowind?” I said with more than a little sarcasm.

“On the contrary,” Deerkethus said, “The Dunmer are meticulous in their administration of justice. All the procedures have been followed.”

“I must be blind then, because this is completely open to the public!”

“The Town Guard closed their investigation the day after the murder.” He shrugged. “We didn’t learn of the Imperial Inquisition until a few days thereafter.”

“And the results of their investigation?” I asked.

“A botched robbery.” He said flatly. “We have many thieves in Balmora and this happens quite a bit. You’ll be happy to know though that Balmoran punishment is swift and just.”

“Oh? What’s the sentence for a robbery turned murder here?” I said, keeping my tone flat as to not betray my skepticism.

“Well, the standard sentence for thievery is removal of the offending hand.” He said, “Although for both thieves and murderers, the offender is hanged after being fed his own hand.”

“That’s…rather macabre.” I said disgusted.

“Swift and just.” He said and smiled.

I ignored him and picked my way through the blind alley. It was sparsely populated with trash and graffiti. The three walls that enclosed this area were tall, about 6-7 meters or so. I craned my neck as I surveyed the area and got a face full of rain water. Whatever trace evidence was left would no doubt have been washed away with the rain. Not even a bit of blood which, from what I read, was substantial.

I ran my hand along the mud-brick walls and felt the gravely texture of mortar and stone mixed together. The walls were flat save for their rough surface, no pits or bumps for one to get a grip on. There was no way an individual could scale these walls.

“You say the victim was found alone, correct?” I asked Deerkethus, who was waiting patiently and doing absolutely nothing to help. I had a sharp suspicion that this was an inconvenience to him.

“That is what the report said.” He answered dryly, “I wrote it myself.”

“The Argonian,” I ignored the snark, “He had a torch, no? No one snuck past him?”

“There were multiple witnesses close behind him. No one saw anyone leave after the murder happened.”

“And the victim came in alone correct? I read that several individuals witnessed him enter the alley not a few moments before his death.” I said.

“That is correct sera. Several individuals noted his odd choice of clothing. A heavy cloak with the hood drawn up. A bit odd given that it hadn’t started raining yet.”

“Odd choice indeed.” I answered. I walked up and down the alley, looking for some form of escape or hiding place that an assailant could hide. Save the odd bit of detritus, there was nothing in that alley. Just three sheer walls and the open sky beyond.

I went to where the body had lain, the faint chalk mark of his form slowly dying, and examined the area. Opposite of where his body laid I observed on the wall a series of marks, where bits of gravel and mortar had been gouged out. Each one only a few centimeters in length, but numerous enough to be noticeable. Perhaps about a hundred or so of them, spaced out evenly, starting a couple meters from the ground and leading up the wall.

“What is this?” I thought, but remained silent.

I looked at Deerkethus who stood as impassive as a statue. His face was impossible to read, but I found myself wondering what his thoughts were on this case.

I was all too happy to write this off as a botched robbery. Something about this bugged me though. The nature of this murder and the sudden disappearance of Cassius’s attackers had peaked my interest.

“What’s your opinion on this case?” I asked.

Deerkethus shrugged and fiddled with his belt. With a long look at the alley he then picked a piece of dirt from underneath his long claws and said: “A botched robbery and nothing more sera. Balmora has many thieves and you’ll find many of them with only one hand.”

Despite his answer, I still had my reservations. I knew in my heart that the most logical and easiest solution would be to agree with the robbery angle. But something about this situation didn’t agree with my stomach. In my mind I wanted to go home and go back to whoring and drinking. But also too was my commitment to my craft, and the need to avenge my friend. I tried to reconcile the dissonant parts of my brain, but nothing could shake that feeling.

I took another drink and I then rubbed the back of my head and said: “Maybe, maybe. But better to be sure. I need to see where you stored the body.”

“The body sera?” Deerkethus asked, again unsure. I groaned inwardly. I had already gathered that unsureness usually meant that bad news was imminent.

“The body sir, I hate to say was…” Deerkethus gulped. “The body was buried for several days …”