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Post by blank on Apr 11, 2007 13:20:40 GMT -5
Though filled with Dead of all races going about their business, to say nothing of the undead, the Mortuary lacks the hustle and bustle of the Market Ward or the vibrance of the Lady's Ward. Though the atmosphere is as subdued as most of those passing through, there is as much going on here as at any of the more... colorful... faction headquarters.
A human in undyed leathers slips easily through the crowd, striding purposefully toward a large bulletin board hung prominently on one wall. Having recently returned to the Cage from abroad, his stay at the notice board is extended and intent. After several minutes, he swings a backpack off his shoulder long enough to retrieve a small ledger and a piece of charcoal wrapped in cloth. After replacing his pack, he begins to make notes in the book, his eyes going back and forth between the notice board and his writing.
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Post by insomniac on Apr 15, 2007 17:17:21 GMT -5
Morrison, dressed in his dusty grey cloak and covered in... something over his hands, starts to make his way out of the hive, wiping his stained skin on an old rag. He has a small grin, the look of a man satisfied with a good day's work done, despite some unplesant smudges and smears over his face where he had adjusted his spectacles.
He passes by the man at the board with a bit of a nod. "Good day, cutter. Anything recently interesting on the board?"
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Post by blank on Apr 16, 2007 12:09:13 GMT -5
Jonas acknowledges his faction mate with a curt nod.
"It's all recent to one recently back in the Cage. But there must have been something interesting indeed among the objects brought back from those ruins out beyond Curst. Apparently Relsus himself has been studying the findings." He indicates the abstract of a lecture by the factor to occur the following week. "I expect a basher wanting space in that room will need to arrive early."
"And the note about deaders carved up and stuffed with straw... that wasn't there when I left the Cage, but it must mean something if they want occurrences reported. Has it been there long?"
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 17, 2007 11:22:41 GMT -5
Wraith hunkers over the Contracted deader on the table, scalpel in hand, and carefully cuts into the clammy, sallow yellow flesh, stretched taut over the sunken chest, completing the Y-Incision. With steady fingers pushing back the intervening layers of tissue, she's better able to examine the ribcage of the deceased Gith, and where best to crack the bones open.
Quickly applying clamps to pull back the layers of skin and muscle, she sets to work; her fingertips briefly slide over the heavy, sterilized bonesaw, and clench around the steel handle. Precise, measured motions sever the bones with a sharp crack, scattering white dust and fragments of bone into the cavity, and onto her gloves.
She sets the bonesaw aside again, lifts away the severed section of the rib cage, and with the scalpel, cuts back the thin veil of bloodied tissues - the plura and pericardium - to expose the lungs and lifeless heart beneath.
The positioning of the Gith's organs - a species she understood to be descendant from an ancient human bloodline - although slightly different in some respects, also bore a familiar resemblance to human physiology. The only other contents of the thoracic cavity - the loop of two predominant bloodvessels, more like thin tubes, passing through the mediastinum; the long tunnel of the eosophagus, descending to the stomach and bowel; and tissue comprised mostly of fatty deposits and lymph nodes - were of no real interest at this point.
Setting aside the scalpel, Wraith selects a cleaner, sharper blade from the tray, and with delicate precision, cuts open the membranous shield. Her findings come as no real surprise:
A Githyanki Sinker, likely a long-term resident of the Lower Ward, possibly not far from the Ditch, or the Armory, and given over to a life of excess, the berk became a walking example of his core Faction philosophy. Lungs that were supposed to be pink, and soft to the touch, were withered, soot black and rotting on the inside, all the indications of heavy smoking, and prolonged exposure to the mordant fumes, belched from the ward's countless chimneys.
His heart was worse. Thorough examination revealed the berk's likely cause of death [and maybe the reason why he signed the Contract to begin with]; Cardiac Tamponade. A myocardial rupture in his heart, evident in the surrounding dense blood-clot, spilled vital life-sustaining fluids into the membrane sac, quicker than it could expand; placing further strain upon the already damaged muscle. Pressure build-up constricted the ailing organ, causing it to finally collapse in on itself.
As a long term sufferer of heartattacks, the last had proven to be fatal. Perhaps it was small relief for him then, that he appreciated the irony of his terminal condition enough, to sell his future corpse to the Dead, using what meagre coins he earned, to pay for his excesses. He'd died where the Collectors found him, a few doors away from the Butcher's Block, a glazed expression and a twisted rictus of a grin, frozen onto his gaunt face.
Wraith pauses for a moment to work the kinks out of her neck with sore, tired fingers, and arches her back with a soft crack. She sighs and yawns, and glances across the chamber, through the black marble arches, to the Receiving Room on the other side. Other Dustmen mill about the sterile room, their hushed conversations as cheerless and dull as their funereal attire.
But, it's the two men standing before the bulletin board, and conversing quietly that catches her eye, even though she can't hear what they're saying. The cutter in the undyed leathers seemed vaguely familiar - hadn't she seen him two days hence, at the Society of the Lumuniferous Aether market? - and Morrison she'd known for a few years now...
Wraith stares unblinking at the wall for a long moment, again thinking about all that had happened over the last few months, and her eyes glsze with unshed tears. Fatigue from the night before has eroded her already weary spirit, reopening old wounds, yet at least she got a decent night's rest. Faces of new friends, acquaintences really, swim before her mind's eye unbidden, all cutters chance - or fate - had brought together in the same tavern, not long before that unfortunate sod fell through the painting...
The crumpled, much read missive from the odd, roguish Genasi, Vatndir, rests within a beltpouch still, where she can access it easily enough; and the haunting, melancholy fresco of Hadrian, etched with exquisite form into her memory. Neither cutter she'd forget so easily: Not the quick witty smile and polished Nereid black eyes of the red robed Signer, nor the Bleaker's fallen, mournful lapis gaze, and profound expression of such perfect compassion, it tore her heart just looking at him...
Wraith sighs despondently, feeling truly lost and dead inside today, as though the entire weight of the great Torus rests upon her fragile frame. It was days like this when she wondered if she was starting to lose her tenuous grip on sanity, if her quest for Life, Truth and Knowledge was futile... If she would ever find her son, her only anchor to hope, alive again.
At that point, caught up as she was in the maelstrom of her inner turmoil, whirled down into the dark, churning vortex, she didn't even realise she'd started walking, abandoning her examination of the deceased Gith. Not that it mattered much anyway. There were plenty more Contracted cadavers to dissect where that berk came from...
Colliding with a fellow Dead in the Receiving Room is enough to shake her from her haunted reverie, and she stumbles out of the way with a murmured, humble apology.
Wraith shakes her head, struggling in vain to banish the troubled thoughts, and half walks, half lurches through the subdued crowd to the message board. Hopefully focusing her mind on more serious current issues again will be enough to dispel her sudden depressive daze.
"What's going on, cutters? Anything new of interest, or is it all the same, typical occurances?" She yawns, feigning bland indifference, when inside her gut clenched and unclenched, and her mind continued to skitter and bounce with dark, echoed nostalgia.
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Post by blank on Apr 17, 2007 16:01:22 GMT -5
"The usual notices of public events and opportunities," Jonas responds, "and of course warnings and general instructions, like this one about reporting any deaders found stuffed with straw; that wasn't up last time I read the board."
As he is talking, a zombie shambles through the crowd and steps between Jonas and Morrison to tack a sheet of parchment onto the board, then noiselessly returns where it came. The new note reads:
"Well, that one's probably of particular interest to you," he says to Wraith, having noted the drops of blood and bits of bone dust still on her clothing. "I suppose if they're calling it an 'epidemic' then the high-ups may want something done about it, or at least information on the source. Though I dare say a bit of a culling wouldn't be all bad for the Hive."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 20, 2007 8:44:33 GMT -5
"The usual notices of public events and opportunities," Jonas responds, "and of course warnings and general instructions, like this one about reporting any deaders found stuffed with straw; that wasn't up last time I read the board." Wraith remarks casually, pausing to peer at the notice board as she speaks, and cleans her gloves with a stained rag. "That's been going on for close to a few months now. Ever since..." Her eyes grow misty for a moment. She blinks rapidly to clear the unshed tears from her vision, and hesitates to collect her thoughts. A deep composing breath, and all is well again: or so it seems on the surface. "Never mind basher. One of the deaders I examined a couple months back, had been killed in a ritualistic manner; not unlike the sacrifices performed by worshipers of Graz'zt. You'll find a brief report in the Receiving Logs, if you're at all interested." It's a calm enough statement, seemingly shrugged off as inconsequential to her. Yet, the murder was anything but unimportant... As he is talking, a zombie shambles through the crowd and steps between Jonas and Morrison to tack a sheet of parchment onto the board, then noiselessly returns where it came. The new note reads: Wraith's attention is drawn away from Jonas for a moment by the zombie's shambling approach. Her eyes follow it's movements as it pins the new notice to the board, and leans closer to read it carefully: Abyssal Pertussis...Her eyes widen in recognition, and her jaw drops slightly, before she realises where she is - rather, who she's with - and quickly composes herself again; or at least pretends to. So much had happened since then, she was surprised she even remembered... Day 99, near to three weeks before Aerin's fateful disappearance; her regular embalming duties, and the following internal examination of an Avoral cadaver, was interrupted by the arrival of a blonde, nameless Dead, and her curious recorder: a Mimir... That of course, though a fascinating sight, wasn't so intriguing - or deadly - as the woman's findings from her thorough dissection of a diseased Hiver woman. A yellowish phlegm build-up within the trachea and lungs, threatened to release its' contagious spores once exposed to air. Thankfully they - herself, the blonde Dustwoman and Morrison - had enough fluids at hand to fill the chest cavity before they became infected. Otherwise she'd be lost now, as no known victims survived longer than a week following exposure. It was something she intended to look into; finding a way to contain infection, if not a cure, because she sought for her own reasons, to save lives, and it was a terrible disease that did not naturally occur in the Cage. "Well, that one's probably of particular interest to you," he says to Wraith, having noted the drops of blood and bits of bone dust still on her clothing. "I suppose if they're calling it an 'epidemic' then the high-ups may want something done about it, or at least information on the source. Though I dare say a bit of a culling wouldn't be all bad for the Hive." Jonas' voice drags Wraith from her grim reverie. She glances at him, seeming a little dazed for a moment, and issues a rude snort, as the tail end of his comment sinks in. "You've observed correctly, basher." She mutters in a bland monotone, and wipes the blood from her discoloured apron, giving the impression of studious preoccupation.
"It's my intention to investigate the source of the virus, quaratine victims already infected before it spreads further, and attempt to find a cure. I have every reason to believe this malady migrated to the Hive through an out of town carrier, as it doesn't occur here naturally. |
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Post by blank on Apr 20, 2007 12:25:49 GMT -5
"Huh... You must've been out of town quite awhile then, basher." Wraith remarks casually, pausing to peer at the notice board as she speaks, and cleans her gloves with a stained rag. "That's been going on for close to a few months now. Ever since..." Her eyes grow misty for a moment. She blinks rapidly to clear the unshed tears from her vision, and hesitates to collect her thoughts. A deep composing breath, and all is well again: or so it seems on the surface. "Never mind basher. One of the deaders I examined a couple months back, had been killed in a ritualistic manner; not unlike the sacrifices performed by worshipers of Graz'zt. You'll find a brief report in the Receiving Logs, if you're at all interested." It's a calm enough statement, seemingly shrugged off as inconsequential to her. Yet, the murder was anything but unimportant... Knowing we all have our own lapses, Jonas ignores the uncharacteristic (for a Dustman) show of emotion and responds evenly, "Have you traveled much outside Sigil? The passage of time can differ significantly across planes. To find that I've missed several months in the Cage while traveling only a month outside: that is not especially surprising. I will be sure to read the report you mentioned." "Tracking the spread of a disease through the Hive would be difficult at best, unless this Abyssal Pertussis only spreads in a limited, specific way. Of course the name itself suggests you're looking for a traveler from the Abyss, and that's not the most common destination. How long ago was the outbreak first noticed? If it's recent, perhaps the portal that brought the disease here is still open." |
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 23, 2007 2:57:38 GMT -5
Knowing we all have our own lapses, Jonas ignores the uncharacteristic (for a Dustman) show of emotion and responds evenly, "Have you traveled much outside Sigil? The passage of time can differ significantly across planes. To find that I've missed several months in the Cage while traveling only a month outside: that is not especially surprising. I will be sure to read the report you mentioned." Wraith doesn't seem to hear Jonas, absorbed as she is with alternately scanning the brief missive, perusing the other messages tacked to the board, and rummaging through the contents of her cumbersome pack. It is with a heavy heart, and a nostalgic, melancholy sigh that she carefully - reverently - lifts the nursemaid's necropsy report, from the bundle of cloth its case had been wrapped in.
"Nay, basher; I've never had reason yet to leave the Cage, not when my duties to the faction keep me bound here. Sigil has been my home my whole life; I've known no other beyond the torus." She turns to Jonas again, yet she doesn't directly meet his dispassionate gaze. Her pensive amethyst stare focuses on the wall behind him, seeming to see some other time, some other life, far displaced from this one. She slips from her reverie with a sharp shake of her head, and passes the scrollcase to Jonas. "You may read this now, if that is your wish. It contains a complete report of the deader I examined. Though I'll need it back for future reference in my investigations." Her visage settles into the blank, serene lines of stoic acceptance. Yet the dejected twitch of her lips, the wan skin, and the sadness within her hollow, weary eyes, belies a deeper grief that refuses to be hidden. "Tracking the spread of a disease through the Hive would be difficult at best, unless this Abyssal Pertussis only spreads in a limited, specific way. Of course the name itself suggests you're looking for a traveler from the Abyss, and that's not the most common destination. How long ago was the outbreak first noticed? If it's recent, perhaps the portal that brought the disease here is still open." Wraith indicates the discheveled young man, a close friend since her adolescence, with a curt nod as she speaks. "The carrier was a Contracted deader from the Hive, although credit for the initial examination, and identification of the virus falls upon a fellow embalmer.
I was never lanned of the blonde basher's name - in a dire situation, one can't be expected to think of these things - but I doubt she'd be hard to find; she had a mimir in her possession.She pauses briefly, to collect her thoughts, and to allow the gravity of her words to sink in first. Likewise, I never had the opportunity to check where in the Hive the deader was found... though it's niave to think that the place of death corresponds to the portal's location." She shrugs her thin shoulders nonchalantly. "At least it's a good enough starting point." She concludes on second thought, all the while fiddling with her labret stud, and frowning in deep concentration. |
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Post by blank on Apr 23, 2007 12:37:27 GMT -5
She slips from her reverie with a sharp shake of her head, and passes the scrollcase to Jonas. "You may read this now, if that is your wish. It contains a complete report of the deader I examined. Though I'll need it back for future reference in my investigations." Her visage settles into the blank, serene lines of stoic acceptance. Yet the dejected twitch of her lips, the wan skin, and the sadness within her hollow, weary eyes, belies a deeper grief that refuses to be hidden. Jonas opens the case and skims the report on the scroll. (OOC: I assume the report summarizes the scene from the mailing list?) The account of how the malady spreads and the steps taken to contain it elicits a raised eyebrow, breaking the Dustman's so-far stoic countenance. "That is a distinctive disease, not something a cutter's likely to forget having seen. That helps the investigation." "Day 99 of this year was the first instance myself and my colleague here, Morrison, first observed the disease." Wraith indicates the discheveled young man, a close friend since her adolescence, with a curt nod as she speaks. "The carrier was a Contracted deader from the Hive, although credit for the initial examination, and identification of the virus falls upon a fellow embalmer.
I was never lanned of the blonde basher's name - in a dire situation, one can't be expected to think of these things - but I doubt she'd be hard to find; she had a mimir in her possession.She pauses briefly, to collect her thoughts, and to allow the gravity of her words to sink in first. Likewise, I never had the opportunity to check where in the Hive the deader was found... though it's niave to think that the place of death corresponds to the portal's location." She shrugs her thin shoulders nonchalantly. "At least it's a good enough starting point." She concludes on second thought, all the while fiddling with her labret stud, and frowning in deep concentration. "Nearly three months ago... at least." Jonas frowns in concentration for a long moment, then, "It's quite possible the portal has shifted by now, but that hardly matters. Most portals in the Cage are one-way, and the portal itself probably wouldn't reveal anything anyway." After another thoughtful pause, Jonas continues, "I suppose there may be more cases in the Receiving Logs that might lead to a general area where the spread started. Do you require assistance in your investigation?" [rand=4709279333379546368769601682568229257886801349129937696742779237] |
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 27, 2007 15:52:23 GMT -5
OOC [@ Jonas Grathe:] Actually, the report in the scrollcase concerns a necropsy performed on the first deader found stuffed with straw. It's all covered in the Mortuary thread intended for Wraith [Day 119].  Sorry if I've taken so long to reply. I've been busy, and I haven't been in the mood to respond to a lot lately. "Nearly three months ago... at least." Jonas frowns in concentration for a long moment, then, "It's quite possible the portal has shifted by now, but that hardly matters. Most portals in the Cage are one-way, and the portal itself probably wouldn't reveal anything anyway." After another thoughtful pause, Jonas continues, "I suppose there may be more cases in the Receiving Logs that might lead to a general area where the spread started. Do you require assistance in your investigation?"
"Nor would I wish to see what might be on the other side of such a portal." Wraith mutters softly to herself with an emphatic shudder, and returns to her idle perusal of the notice board's contents. She frowns thoughtfully, taking mental note of the lecture to be held by Factor Relsus. That would be something worth attending...She seems a little dazed as Jonas addresses her again, this time offering assistance in her ongoing investigation. "Any assistance would be welcome, cutter." She replies, acknowledging his offer with a polite nod. |
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