NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is closed. Tags allowed, but nothing else. I'm going to do a story detailing one of Jenrak's most notorious murderers.

Blip. Blip. It was the dripping of water, as it slipped down the pipe, through the foggy night air. Street lights flickered and crackled with an eerie taunt, as Mrs. Ferman drafted the last piece of curtains, and swung them down with force upon the wall, smashing them together to hide the windows in her living room. She heard the dripping noise again, and it pounded in her eardrums with unbelieving annoyance, as she shook her heard and walked to the bathroom.

Pulling along her slippers on her cold hardwood floor, Mrs. Ferman heard a rattling in her kitchen, and she slapped on the lights to investigate. Nothing was there, but a smooth breathing noise that only surfaced from her alert form, scared but vigilant against her fears alone. She had lived alone for years, as a widow, and every time she looked around she was so anxious to see somebody there, to call the police. She was scared, and delusional. But had to keep alone. Listening quietly, she could only hear the beating of her heart coarsely driving slowly up upon her throat, about to jump out and scream in agony or fear.

Another rattle near the sink made her jump, and she walked slowly towards it, opening the drawer on the way, clutching a butcher's knife with slippery and sweaty hands, twitching in horrific unstabled fear. Looking out the window, nothing was there save for the dancing rays of the streetlights, in quiet Sessloth, and the fumes from far off factories, plunging the environment into chaos. Shaking her head in disbelief, Mrs. Ferman heard that dripping noise once more, and decided she needed medicine to soften her headache. Trudging up the stairs begrudgingly, she could only go so far to the washroom, when she heard that noise increase in pounding resonance. That god damn noise. She thought, as she lifted her medicine cabinet, and reached out for an advil.

Slipping it into her mouth, she slivered it around, before she placed the bottle back into it's place, and closed the sliding mirror, before a man stood there and lifted his hand over her mouth, and stabbed her repeatedly in the back with a bloody knife. Her limp, dead body fell into a messy heap on the floor, the dripping from his knife unnaturally pronounced, and familiar. Blip. Blip. It sounded.

In an instant, he knelt down, sliced off her hands, and with the pouring blood emanating from the slimy wrists, he wrote with the fingers, You can only go so far, my love. He wrote, before placing her already rotting hands in his bag, and washed his hands. He walked downstairs, before leaving, and dipped her fingers in blood once more, and wrote on the inside of the door, I am coming for you, my dear. With a passionate, but sadistic pleasure. And there, he left, smashing the door, as he walked around the edge of the neighbour's yard, and dialed on his cell-phone. A voice rang up on his phone.

"Jurhina Caste. State your need." A woman ordered on the phone.

"Hello," The murderer spoke, "My mother has been murdered, and the killer is in my house. I am at 12 Main Street, Sessloth. Please get there quick!" And with that, he ripped his phone apart, dropped a flaming match on top of it, and threw it on the ground. It began to emblaze as the murderer walked away, amongst the sounds of the roaring sirens. The police had come.

But as they looked around, they saw no sign of the man, and kept searching. Only the messages he left, and the knife the murderer left behind. It sat there, on the kitchen table, as blood dropped from it's tip onto the floor with a soft thump. Blip. Blip.

IPJ News
In further news today, a forty five year old woman was found dead within her bathroom in her home in Sessloth, today. The woman, apparently a widow, was found without hands, and hewn wrists. There were no sightings of the possible murderer, and suicide has now been out of possibilities. Police are investigating, but the case has been handed onto the highest of government priorities. However, in the meantime, we demand all citizens to be careful and constantly be aware.

Following this, the police have recorded the crime scene before the slating of the investigation. IPJ news does not hold responsibility for any frightening images you many see. We are givign you a fair plausible warning; the following scenes may disturb you.

With that statement, the television flickered off, and an angry voice slashed the air with an aggresive tone. "Sarr Tirman!" Arborgard yelled in fury.

"You have not spoken Ascheran curses within years, dear Lord." Saerus Annirak, his elitist commander, spoke. "Surely this does not impend on you so much?"

"I have worked so hard to make sure something like this does not happen. And it has." He talked with a fury.

"Believe me, he will not get far. Soon enough the Jurhina will find him, and he will be killed." Saerus placed his hand on his shoulder.

Arborgard closed his eyes, sighed a deep breath and lifted Saerus' hands off. "I want him found, and killed before he does too much damage."

"As I said, the Jurhina are checking the situation."

"I do not trust the Jurhina to be competent enough to find him, or her."

"Who would you send to help them, then?" Saerus asked, his eyes glared in curious suspicion. "Nahk is training our legions, Ashili would never do common work, and I would be glad to help, but I cannot do anything involving domesticed issues. And you, dear Lord, cannot leave Haasdra, for the people need you."

"I will send Serrin."

"Queen Serrin has done much of this before, but would she agree to it? She is a queen after all."

"Dear Serrin would find this case most interesting. I believe she would attempt to seek out the answers to this dangerous riddle." Arborgard finished.

Serrin walked along the halls, the marble floors, the tall stone pillars that stood up in grand defiance in Arborgard's castle, the government brain of political Jenrak. It was, as always has been, a place of unspeakably abnormal objectives and issues, and have been in existence since the times of Haadra itself, as the river flows through it's chamber with a brilliance and a beauty never seen in any other place in Jenrak.

She climbed up the stairs, trying to reach the multi-tiered castle and it's many pinnacles and turrets, cracked and disrupted, as the large tower of Zarazego, as a great flame upon a rock, watched warily high in the sky, the seating of the High Council of Jenrak, and the great seeing observation tower of war. In many ancient and modern times, the ruler (or sometimes rulers) of Methronn and Jenrak have sought solace, advice, or information from it's great stance, and always, it gave an amiable response. Now, as Serrin made her way up the stairs, and into the elevators, she pondered what answer Zarazego would give her.

As she stood there, she wondered thoughtfully about the case, knowing that it would be undoubtly dangerous, and her involvment would require a public and media release; for the media, although suppressable, was too powerful an entity for even Arborgard to entirely sustain under his wings forever. There will always sometimes be something escaping with a slippery convalesence through her husband's tight iron fist grip.

The ring of the elevator stopped, and she walked out, to the windy caverns and caged top of tower, where stood Arborgard, standing with his back turned to her, as he looked down into the deep rivers and faceless green valleys of Haasdra, and the bustling city of flashing lights and unbelievable brightness looked as if it stretched throughout the river's edges. He stood there, Arborgard, with a silver cloak and a long gleaming robe, as if it was a metal armor in itself, flashing without noise. As Serrin opened her mouth, Arborgard already had spoken.

"I have an assignment for you." He spoked with a professional, and detached tone, as if he had never seen nor met her before in his life.

"What assignment?" She spoke back in monotony, but in an equally professional and singular voice.

"There is an unexplained murder, and it has clues that lead to multiple suspects, but it states that it was done by a single person. This clearly is not something I understand." He turned around, and stared back into the eyes of his wife, someone who he had not seen in many months. "Welcome back, Serrin."

She felt an urge to wrap her arms around his shoulders, to kiss him in plain remembrance, but Serrin kept her distance, and kept her grace. She knew that Arborgard expected some degree of formality in their lives to each other, even though they were married. "It is good to be back, Lord." She spoke. Arborgard smiled.

"You can call me Arborgard, my dear." He spoke to her, as he walked over and nodded, so close that he could feel her every breath pulsing up the hairs on the back of his neck. "I have an assignment, and will you accept it?"

"I will."

"Then welcome to your old duties, my love. Serrin, you will lead this investigation." Arborgard rabbled, before sitting down onto his throne on the tower, and turned his head towards her. "We must first inform the Jurhina of your intervention. I believe they will be most pleased."

"They shall, for the Jurhina have been made of my old students during my title as the Mistress of Homocide." She said. "Tommorrow, Jenrak will know that their Queen will help them quash this domestic threat."

OOC: Bumpzulah. Will post tommorrow after some nice sleep or whatnot.

"Damn static." The young man wrought from his mouth, sitting down lazily upon his parents' couch, waiting for the satellite of their house to finally recatch it's signal, so he could finally watch television. Although it was rare, this man had television on his block; very few people were given the permission to watch such a box infested with foreign propoganda.

Flipping through the channels, an eerie gust of wind flashed past his back, and the hairs on the back of his shoulders stood up, as if they were spikes protruding past his shirt, as if he were some demon. Ignoring it instantly, the young man shook his head in refusal, and dropped himself down to the ground to reach inside the linings of the couch. Finally, his wrinkled fingers found the hard rigid phone, and he plucked it out of the feathery and dusty insides of the couch.

Lengthening his fingers, he heard a faint noise slip behin him again, and he turned around, and said faintly "Sup," as a means of comfort to him, not exactly a means to finding out whoever was lurking there.

But complacent and lazy he definintely was, and laid down on the couch and began to punch in his friend's phone number, and pressed the avid green talk button. Pressing the phone up to his ears, the young man waited as the annoyance of the phone's ringing bellowed in his ears. "C'mon you piece of shit. Pick up." He impatiently spoke to himself.

However, as he waited, a tap on his shoulder swerved him around, and he saw a tall, wearied, and smiling man, wrap his arms around his neck, and the young man pulled out quickly. Lunging the man across the room, the pair of them stood up and looked at their respective foes with contempt. The young man watched in horror as the stranger ran towards him, and stopped halfway, only to pull out a silver sleek gun from his coat pocket.

"What the hell?" The young man cried in terror and surprise, as he kneeled down on his feet, and spoke to him, "Please don't kill me." He whelped, but the man walked towards him, and loaded his gun. He was about to fire, when the young man grabbed a nearby fork, and pierced the stainless steel object into his foot, and then stood up quickly to try and stab his eye, as the blood seeped past the shoes and stained the milky white carpet. The stranger did not scream, nor yelp in pain, but instead he grabbed the boy's hand, lifted it up before the young man could have stabbed hsi eye, and shot his wrist.

"Ah! Shit!" The young man cried in pain, screaming at the top of his lungs, as blood splashed onto his arm, and a thick strewn nail had wedged it's way deep into his veins. He began to slimper his eye down, and finally, under a minute screams and yells, amidst a red carpet of staining blood and a dirty fork, the boy's body finally slumped down, and his corpse already stiff and cold.

The man reached down, opened the body's mouth, pulled out a small mahogany pocketknife, and lunged out the body's tongue, beginning to roughly saw of the tongue with a dull pocketknife. It spurted blood halfway through, and it got into his eyes, as he tried to rub it out immediately. Taking the tongue, and dipping it in wrist blood, he wrote on the carpet another message. Dance with me, for all that lives in my soul is fire.

With that message written, he turned around, and still with blood fresh on his clothes, the man walked outside in broad daylight, took out a lighter, and stipped off his clothing, and lit his clothing and the boy's house ablaze of fire, as the flames blossomed with magnificence.

A great smash of sound blasted her eardrums, as she swiftly arose and gazed the immediate surroundings. Flames amidst dark patchs of heavy scorch marks, and smoke still rising with fervent valor in defiance of the peachy and clear blue sky. "By great Lord, what has happened here?" She asked her team, as they surveyed the area.

Looking around, the wood and the supports were shattered, the windows patched with dried brown blood. Broken lengths of wood simply littered the ground, as burnt furniture and a cracked oven protruded from the wreckage.

"I want a scan of all the vicinity within a 200 meter radius of this house, and a complete corpse analysis if you find a body." She ordered.

Stephanie Mannem walked inside her house, feeling a cold shiver run through her spine, as she gracefully slid towards the windows, and pretentiously shut them down with speed, feeling the brisk windy air freezing her bones, and the smoky fog slowly flying into her house.

Something was in her house, and it was not neccessarily the cold.