About: Given the choice between Dhavra, Captain of the guard, and Ribrel, Overseer of the caverns, the audience had voted for Avonis to speak with his son Dhavra. No answers come, but more questions rise.
Word Count: 2,245
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Two days have passed since the murder of Mistress Kyllia. The caverns had grown silent as the usual chatter fell away to mourning and fright. The chamber where Kyllia's body had been suspended was thoroughly investigated, and the body had been removed but otherwise the scene had been left where it was for the investigation. The parameters had been taped off as to dissuade anyone from coming closer, though not that many would want to. The sight of Kyllia's flayed body was a gruesome memory for most, an image they would be more than happy in forgetting. Yet, it stayed on everyone's minds as the they resumed their work.
The night crawled slowly for Avonis. He wanted to be anywhere but here in this chamber waiting for the Trial goers to finish. There's been an increase of guards here, too; they were never fun to talk to, but lately there has been nothing to say. The guards' eyes gleamed with focus, but despite their playing brave Avonis could smell their fear-scent rolling off of them. They had been no closer in finding the culprit, though this was something the Overseer refused to let the caverns workers know. Having to maintain peace within the caverns is a fickle thing; these people lived here, breathed here, worked here, would spend their entire lives here. Anything to disrupt the normal routine and system was dangerous. This was an area where life began for many Trolls; to have it tainted by mysterious murders just wouldn't do. The Empire may not care if Trolls die in the caverns; the Empire only cares about weeding out the weak to make room for the strong. But people in the Oterland Caverns cared enough; this was their livelihood, their job. If they didn't do it right they'd be culled, creating a damned if they do damned if they don't paradox.
Avonis tried not to think about all the disappearances he could have readily prevented before. He knew Dhavra's habits. Every grub that disappeared, or every Auxiliatrix, Avonis had kept his mouth shut. He couldn't betray him, he loved him too much, but this? This most recent death puts everyone in danger. But if Avonis admitted the truth, it would not only mean death for Dhavra but death for himself, too.
He needed to talk to him.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and the caverns grew still with an eerie silence. Though they could not see the sky, ancient dials whispered the moons orbits and instructed the Jadebloods when it was time to rise and time to rest. There were no lingerers now; the murder was a fresh memory that shook many to the core and scared them off from mingling in the corridors. It was one thing to kill, but quite another to make death a work of art; it was not the Jadeblood way, they were not clowns at a circus or artists carving a subject from stone. No, they were caretakers, nurturers, and what they witnessed had went against everything they were told to be.
Though when you have lived long enough to see countless generations come and go, and remained privy to the slaughterhouse, these things do become numbing. Avonis slipped out of his dorm quietly, though not secretly. He was aware of the guards' suspicious stares burning holes into his body. This was fine, and he much welcomed the eye contact; he had everything to hide and nothing at all.
“Hello,” he said as he approached one of the guards. The guard stared at him expectantly, as if Avonis would make a move so suddenly. Avonis flashed a smile, hopeful to ease the tension, “Could you possibly escort me to Captain Risott?”
“You have business with him?”
“Why, yes, actually. He had claimed to want to speak to me.” The guard gave a displeased grunt. Avonis sighed, “I raised him. I am his ward.”
The guard looked to another on his left, the two exchanging glances before the latter nodding subtly. “Alright. Come with me.”
Avonis was thankful for the silence on the walk to the captain's quarters. Words were hard to come by in times like these, and Avonis was sure that when they had passed the crime scene both of them would be stunned into silence anyway.
Dhavra had been in the middle of a conversation with another guard. Upon seeing Avonis, Dhavra's expression softened, and the cold tone he was using for his peer had warmed. He dismissed both guards in the chamber and wrapped an arm around Avonis. He gave a cocky grin, “Ah, and here I thought you'd never show up.”
“I'm in no mood for quips,” Avonis waved him off and ducked away from his arm. “You have explaining to do, Dhavra.”
“Yes yes, very well,” the taller Jadeblood sighed and pulled Avonis to his desk. “I have patrols to make and protocols to run, but let's humor this.”
“Humoring? Is that what you call it?” Avonis took a seat on the opposite side of the table, never moving his sight from his son.
Dhavra spread his hands, “I didn't do it, Avonis.” There was conviction in his voice, an earnest tone; not too deep and gruff like when he lies. Avonis eyed him suspiciously, waiting for more. “It is fair that you seek me out on assumption. We both know my past time isn't very... clean. But I would not kill the mistress.”
“But grubs and Auxiliatrixes are fair game? That doesn't make a lick of sense.”
“Avonis, you know me. I don't perform with my meals. Whatever the hell that was back there belongs to some twisted freak.”
Avonis considered this for a moment, then with a defeated sigh leaned in and rested his arms on the captain's desk, “Do you have any leads on who did, then?”
“Mhm, the biggest suspicion at large is the Fuchsia.”
“Captain Mikari?” Avonis blinked. The Oterland Caverns had recently undergone an inspection, a semi-regular ordeal in which caverns undergo what is essentially a health and legal check-up to make sure the systems are upheld and in order. The inspector this time was accompanied by a personnel from the Fleet; Captain Kairos Mikari, who seemed just as enthused to be here as a cat in water. On one hand, it made sense; Kairos and the inspector were what are considered to be “Outsiders,” and Kairos' reaction to the body was... different. Unexpected. But just the same, what motive could Kairos have? Not only would it be legal for someone of their caste, but there would be nothing to gain from it.
But then again, what was there to gain from killing Kyllia to begin with for anyone? Avonis frowned. He knew the Troll in front of him had been wanting to move up even higher in the hierarchy for sweeps now.
“A convenient accusation,” Avonis said.
“Believe me, don't believe me, I do not care,” Dhavra waved him off. “Regardless of the matter, there's no present evidence for anyone involved. Whoever did this is a fucking ghost. No prints, no witnesses. We're still in the middle of interviewing and going over alibis. All this hoofbeast shit frankly makes me want to hunt.”
Avonis pulled his brows together, “Another murder in the midst of all of this? Are you insane?”
“It can easily be chalked up as related to this case, if I play my cards right. Come on, aren't you feeling it too? We can hunt together, just like old times.”
Another invitation. Avonis had to admit the constant stress and tireless work forced him to use a lot more energy than usual, and his fangs as of late would ache with thirst. The elder Jadeblood shook his head, “How many times must I refuse you before it gets through your head that we are not meant to do any of this? At least be smart about this, Dhavra.” He paused, and gave a sad, slow blink, “I raised you better than that.”
“You raised me to be a killer,” Dhavra said, “And now you look at me with disappointment. Won't you make up your mind?”
“I raised you to be the best self you could be,” Avonis countered, but soon fell to sighs of defeat and slumped shoulders. “Have you seen Surlas since the incident?”
“No, I have more important things to do than making sure his little feelings aren't hurt.” Avonis wouldn't have expected anything more; the two unrelated brothers often didn't see eye-to-eye.
Quite irritated, Avonis pardoned his leave and left the captain's office after exchanging a few more words about Kyllia's murder. The armory was semi-closed for investigation, being the source of the sword-wings of the angel. With permission from the captain, Avonis departed for it.
On his way there, he glimpsed a familiar Seadweller: the aforementioned Captain Mikari. Of course, Avonis wouldn't refer to their title to their face. It was all part of the little dance they played, and Avonis was sure that if there would ever be a time he would refer to Kairos as captain in front of them, that he would be a grand pain in the ass about it. The thought of teasing the aloof Troll brought a small smile to Avonis' face and a quick flutter to his chest. So much so, that he paused in the entry of a corridor and cast Kairos another glance. They seemed to be waiting outside of the Overseer's office; the Overseer and inspector were probably having a meeting inside. This brought an amused huff from the Jadeblood, and he rose his voice just enough for Kairos to hear: “woof.” The smile turned into a content smirk as Kairos scowled at him, though the upward tilt at the corner of their mouth was not unnoticed. Content, Avonis carried on further down the corridor.
Unsurprisingly, the armory was crawling with guards. He could not enter the armory in full, but he could see just enough from where he stood. To his surprise, two other Trolls he dearly loved were here, too.
“Surlas? Mehrri?”
Mehrri, as beautiful as ever, waved quietly. It was clear that she had been crying; her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were splotched with green. The youngest son turned, round eyes turning rounder at Avonis' presence. “Oh! Da! What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you both the same.”
“Being nosy, as per always,” Surlas offered a nervous laugh. He had always been a timid sort, though often his curiosity outweighed his apprehension. Whatever topic was presented to him as a child Surlas would exhaust every resource to study it. He had spent hours in the archives pouring over records and various documents. He would have been happier as a Memorand like his father, though Avonis was sure to better Surlas on the path of an Auxiliator-- a job Surlas does remarkably well. Very quickly Surlas became one of the most respected Auxiliators of the cavern, sharing the same pedestal as Avonis once did. “Mehrri wanted to see the armory.”
“Is that so?”
“I just want to know,” she barely got her voice out, “Who could do such a thing?”
“You should leave that to the investigators, darling,” Avonis held out his arm and Mehrri flocked to him, wrapping her arms around his chest and sniveling. He embraced her in a warm hug.
“I can't,” she sobbed. “Someone killed her. I have to do something. I'm so scared. They made her an angel.” Avonis nodded. Angels were agents of destruction, wraiths of anger that heralded the end times. With this in mind, Avonis froze, his eyes wide. Didn't this mean that Kyllia's death was a warning? That there would be more to come? He couldn't help but shiver; didn't Dhavra ask him to go hunting just moments ago?
“Merhii, Surlas, I need you to inform the Overseer of this.”
Mehrii blinked up at him, “What?”
Avonis held the girl close to him, comfortingly, “Dear, I fear that Kyllia won't be the last.”
Surlas stepped up, “What do you mean?”
“Kyllia was made to look like an angel, right?” He ignored the silent shaking of Mehrii's shoulders. “Angels serve the Goddess Spirit.”
The young woman sounded terrified, “Heralds...”
“So there will be more?” Surlas himself looked frightened as he and Mehrii exchanged glances. Avonis could have sworn there was something else there, something next to the fear, but there could only be so many things paired with such misery.
“You, guard,” Avonis gestured for one to approach. A burly man with uneven tusks. Avonis flashed him Dhavra's sigil: permission to do what he pleased here, within reason. It was meant to allow Avonis entry into the armory, but he felt as if the show of credential would allow the guards to take their claims more seriously. “Please escort these two to the Oversee'rs office. We have information regarding the case.” The guard nodded curtly and began to lead the two younger Trolls away. Avonis watched them with a pained expression of worry.
When they left his sight, Avonis sighed and entered the armory. He showed the guards once more Dhavra's sigil, allowing him peace as he looked at the the empty racks on the walls where swords should have been. It was time to investigate.
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Here’s a little bit of Lore (tm) that might be fun to talk about. Much of this is still in the works, but...
Ribrel and Avonis were hatched relatively around the same time give or take and had grown up together. They trained together and were nearly inseparable as kids, always trying to find ways to sneak to see each other if they got tasked with different duties. Ribrel was the more rebellious of the two while Avonis often was the voice of reason; though as they aged they did less to balance each other out and discovered a redder connection between the two. This matespritship lasted for many sweeps, until Ribrel was appointed the next Overseer. Their relationship ended after the fact, and they haven’t made so much as mentioned their previous relationship with each other for hundreds of sweeps. They both are well respected in the caverns and are known to work considerably well with each other unbiased. Neither of them hold the same emotion for each other anymore, though the bond is still there.
From their matespritship they had provided just enough for a single pairing between them. Currently, they have no developed names and I don’t plan on giving them any as they’re not important. While Ribrel’s descendant is still alive, Avonis’ true blood-connection died while still within the caverns.
Dhavra and Surlas are Avonis’ two adopted sons, and both have a very different dynamic with Avonis. Dhavra came first between the two, and most of Avonis’ pride and excitement built this one up. Avonis trained Dhavra to be as fierce as he his, though Avonis’ pride was water to a dehydrated plant. Dhavra soon saw himself invincible, preying on wrigglers, grubs, and murdering other cavern workers much to Avonis’ disappointment. Still, Avonis loved him and was always willing to excuse his actions.
Surlas, on the other hand, though was loved greatly by Avonis, was not met with the same kind of blind pride. Avonis was a little harder on Surlas as he tried to ensure that he didn’t grow up to be as ruthless and blood thirsty as Dhavra. Avonis pushed Surlas into the Auxiliator position, thinking that encouraging Surlas to adopt caretaker traits could further dissuade him from violent habits. Though this made Surlas far too aware of the dissonance of attention between himself and Dhavra....
