Topic: Letters

Hissing Shadows

Date: 2006-09-03 03:01 EST
"A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,..."Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1809"1882), U.S. poet. Paul Revere's Ride (Tales of a Wayside Inn) (l. 122"123). . .

Some of the last rains of the summer had just past and the figure moved soundlessly across the slicked cobblestone, hugging the shadows. The rain-soaked cloak hung on the figure heavily, narrowing the silhouette. Soundlessly the shadowy figure approached the entrance to the offices of Dewey, Cheetam and Howe.

There was a momentary flash of metal against the light coming from the streetlamp, followed by a muted thud. Then the figure was gone.

On the door, a metal shank pinned a spent cigar and note to the door of the firm's office. All the note read was: "That is some pretty sloppy work, Friend."

Mr. Howe

Date: 2006-09-08 12:03 EST
((Please note: To keep the timeline straight the following scene occurs after Howe returns from The Oracle's Offices and his confrontations with Wyheree and Tera Starfare.))

Howe steps inside the DCH offices located in Rhy"Din, his mood is dark and angry. It seems the reporter who had written so eloquently of his supposed death is reticent in recanting the lies published by that rag "The Oracle". He hisses and growls his way past attentive office workers, all wanting to gain favor and rise in their positions to escape the forsaken realm where they've been set to work, (a.ka. Rhy"Din). He doesn't even find the usual pleasure in their misery as he would have had on any other day.

Entering his plush office he sits behind his massive oaken desk. Then proceeds to bang meaty fists to the sturdy surface several times; the robust desk shakes with every thunderous strike but does not fold to the force of the blows.

"Damn Rhy"Din! Damn Oberon! Damn Tera Starfare and that rag of a paper The Oracle! I shall see them all rotting in the deepest pits of Hell!" He snarls at the empty air.

The pounding of fists brought a manila envelope tumbling from atop the pile of papers stacked in the box labeled "Important". It thumps to the desk hard and solid, with enough force to suggest that something heavy lay inside. Beady eyes study the envelope noting that it has nothing written on the outside of it to denote from whence it may have come. Pressing the intercom button, he snarls in to it, knowing his secretary is listening on the other end.

"What the hell is this envelope on my desk" The one without anything on it?"

"Ahhhh." comes the quick, if inadequate, response.

""Ahh", isn't an answer Eric. Tell me where this came from NOW or I shall feed you to my dogs for dinner tonight!" snaps Howe.

"We aren't sure where it came from Sir. It was found on the door. We had the forensic team remove it and bag it, they put it in the folder for you to look over and decide what you want us to do with it next." The words are spoken in a rush and are tainted heavily with fear. Eric knows the threat made is not hollow and has no desire to be Howe's pets" dinner, ever!

"I see." Howe releases the button that activates the intercom while eyeing the envelope. A gift from the locals no doubt, they are such an annoying lot. He should feed the whole of Rhy"Din to his dogs!

From a drawer in his desk he removes a pair of latex gloves. It takes him few moments to fit them on his hefty hands. Properly prepared he opens the envelope and dumps the contents on the pristine blotter of his desk. Each item is bagged in a clear plastic, easy for him to examine without potentially ruining what evidence may exist.

The first thing to catch his eye is the blade, of course. It's a good knife with a strong, sharp edge. Not a toy and of some expense, even for this forsaken realm. This someone has a good eye for weapons.

Then he looks at the cigar butt.

This makes no sense to him at all. Beady eyes stare at the butt as he scowls darkly. He has no idea what this is supposed to mean. Dewey favors cigars; maybe he may know something about it"

He hates puzzles; he hates people who like them. He really hates people who force them on him. His scowl darkens as he mutters under his breath how he's going to make whoever this is pay, and pay dearly for playing such a game with him!

Last but certainly not least he turns his attention to the piece of paper.

"Friend?" Beady eyes widening as he finishes reading the brief note. Of course this note is not from any friend of his, in fact he doubts the person who left this is a friend by any meaning of the word to any in his firm.

"Sloppy work?" Howe laughs. He's work is never sloppy. However the minions he assigns to do his work on the other hand may not always be worthy of the tasks set before them. Howe ensures they learn from their mistakes, or die; either way works, as long as they don't repeat them.

Now, it never dawns on Howe that this note may have been meant for someone other than him. His ego would not permit such a thought to enter his mind; he really is the center of his multi-verse. He assumes the message was intended for him.

A plump finger jabs the button on the intercom. "ERIC!! Get your skinny ass in here right *bleep*ing NOW!"

Eric doesn't respond through the intercom, instead Howe's office door flies open and the man runs in. "Yes, Sir!" Sweat already forming on his anxious brow.

"I want forensics to comb over every particle of these items! I want the mages to do the same! Find who left this, NOW! I want a name and a location and I want it YESTERDAY! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD"" Howe shouts with threatening authority at the poor trembling figure of Eric.

"Y-y-y-yeees, Sir!" is all the secretary can manage to stutter before he spinning on his heels and rushing out of Howe's office back towards his desk. He understands that if he fails in accomplishing his employer's demands that this will be the end of him.

Howe Alive and Kicking "Revenge is best served cold and late, that way they won't remember to duck!" Howe

Lucky Duck

Date: 2006-09-19 00:14 EST
The man's gait was measured along the dimly lit street. He didn't look over his shoulder when he heard a faint rustle behind him and it drawing closer. Instead, he maintained his pace, his hands remaining in his pockets. The shadows barely stirred as the barrister's company hugged thosed that framed the streets.

Neither said a word for a time, simply walking down the street, the man and his second shadow.

They continued so, until the street began to split off. A barely audible hiss from the shadows broke the silence. "The message was delivered."

The barrister's nod was subtle and his hushed words matched those of his unseen companion. "Good. I've missed my dear 'friend.'"