Iron Quill - Price of Progress- Man with a Badge

[Trow]

    Sean Dwyer strode up to the scene of the explosion that had wracked the industrial district earlier that morning. Soot stained debris littered the area and the tell-tale stink of witchfire still lingered heavily in the air. Before he could make it too far into the blast zone Sean was intercepted by a heavy set man in a constable’s uniform.

    “I’m s-s-sorry sir,” the man started, “but this area is off l-l-limits to all but...”

    “Guild personnel.” Sean interrupted flashing his ram-headed badge of office. “I’m Officer Sean Dwyer from the Witch-Hunters. Tell me what you know so far.”

    “Oh y-y-you’re who they sent?  I expected something this b-b-big would be handled by…”

    “The higher-ups are indisposed,” Sean snarled a little harsher than he meant to, but his limited patience was already wearing thin with the man, “now give me your report.” The constable took a full stride backwards and began to sweat profusely.

    “S-s-sorry sir,” the fat man gulped, “We know it happened at about seven in the m-m-morning, and that the east side of the b-b-building was likely destroyed by sorcery.” Sean glared at the man with his one good eye. The constable began to fidget uncomfortably, trying in vain to hold the witch hunters gaze. Sean was used to this; his face was frightful even when in good spirits. The eye patch covering the empty socket that used to house his left eye did nothing to hide the scars running from forehead to jaw.

    “So you don’t know anything.” Sean sighed, and walked further into the destruction, the constable close on his heels. “Can you at least tell me what this place used to be?”

    “Oh y-y-yes sir, this was the Ander’s Munitions.” Sean stopped suddenly, causing the constable to stumble and almost fall to avoid colliding with the witch-hunter.

    “Ander’s? That’s an M&SU organization, isn’t it?

    “W-w-what? Oh yes sir they a-a-are M&SU affiliated.” Sean’s ragged brow furrowed further.

    “Why would an arcanist attack M&SU holdings,” he muttered under his breath, “it would be so nice if something made sense for a change.” The witch-hunter spent around half an hour sifting through the ashes before something caught his eye. He walked over and plucked a small red rectangle from the destruction. His eye narrowed and he held up the object to the constable. “Do you know what this is?”

    “A playing c-c-card?” the fat man answered puzzled.

    “You’re half right constable, there’s an arcane pattern hidden on the back.”  Sean noticed the dumbfounded expression on the constable’s face, and realized the man did not comprehend his meaning. “This is part of our perpetrator’s grimoire.” The constable gasped moving backwards and making a sign against evil. Sean sighed and pulled a small soulstone from his duster. The loss of his left eye was a traumatic and painful experience, but he had come away with two things from it. The first was a lifelong hatred of witches, the second he didn’t discover until he crossed the breach. Sean concentrated on the card, closed his right eye, and with the help of the soulstone opened his left one. The visions of his missing eye always came with a healthy dose of vertigo and Sean fought to keep his balance. It was as if he was speeding through the streets of Malifaux faster than any human could possibly move, until finally coming to a stop in front of a large fenced in building. The vision of the building, blurry at first, slowly came into focus enabling Sean to read the sign hung above the fence’s gate. He opened his right eye. “Malifaux Glassworks.”

    “P-p-pardon sir?” asked his stuttering companion.

    “Malifaux Glassworks,” he repeated, “where is it?”

    “N-n-not far, j-j-just take the second right and go until you reach Wheeler Street. I-i-it’s not far from the intersection on the left.”

    “I need you to vox headquarters and have them bring at least two witchlings to clean up the excess magical energy here while I go after our arcanist.” Without waiting for a response the witch-hunter stalked out of the ruined building. “Make sure no one else goes in there till they get here!” He called out over his shoulder.

    “Y-y-yes sir!” The man managed to get out before running off.

Sean contemplated the facts as he made his way through the industrial district.  He was bothered by the whole situation. The witch-hunters knew that the M&SU was in bed with several arcanist and criminal organizations, it made no sense for one to bite the hand that fed it.  Also there was the matter of the card. Why would an arcanist leave behind such an obvious clue right where anyone could find it? The card wasn’t damaged in the slightest, if it had been dropped carelessly while making an escape it would have likely been destroyed by the fire. The card had been left behind on purpose, this arcanist wanted to be found.

The fence surrounding Malifaux Glassworks was an old and twisted thing of wrought iron. Flanking either side of the gate where two individuals, one short and well-muscled, his friend thin but tall, they reminded Sean of a pair of vaudeville comedians he had seen weeks ago. As he approached the broad man hefted a truncheon and moved to block his path.

    “Oy there! No trespassers or solicitors, you best be on your way mate.” The man’s eyes bulged as Sean produced his badge.

    “Guild business, I have reason to believe there is a dangerous criminal in that building.”

    “Bollocks!” the thin man retorted, “We been out here all morning and ain’t nobody gone in that isn’t supposed to.” Sean gave then man a hard stare, and gestured at the vox unit on his belt.

    “Perhaps you’d better call your supervisor and let him know I’m here. They’ll want to talk to me in person at least.” The tall man sneered but picked up the unit anyways.

“Mitchell we gots someone here who ain’t gonna leave n’less he talks to you.” The vox answered back with nothing but static. “Mitchell you takin a brake or sumfin?” Static again. “Mitchell?”

    “Your friend sounds indisposed, you should let me in before it’s too late.” Both the men glared defiantly at Sean.

    “You ain’t gettin’ in here mate so…” The broad man started before Sean cut him off.

    “I’m going inside, so either let me in or get out of my way!” He growled. The broad man tightened his grip on the truncheon and looked over at the thin man as if waiting for the go ahead. Sean knew what would happen next. The witch-hunter’s peacemaker thundered and the surprised expression on the broad man’s face was the last one he would ever wear.

    “Bastard!” The thin one shouted, and Sean sensed arcane energies building up around the man. His free hand reflexively crooked into a warding symbol like he had been trained to do, and the witchfire that sprang from the thin man’s hand parted when it reached Sean, flowing around him scorching the flagstones and the broad man’s corpse but leaving the witch-hunter untouched. “Wot n’ tha ell?” Sean smirked twisting his already malformed visage into an even more terrifying expression. Many of the higher-ups in the witch hunters would have been able to throw the spell back in this dabbler’s face but avoiding the flames was enough for Sean. The peacemaker barked again and the thin man joined his companion on the ground.

Sean stooped and grabbed a key ring from the thin man’s corpse. He kept his pistol ready as he moved through the gate and fumbled with keys until he found the one that unlocked the door. Sean kicked the door open and stood back peacemaker raised, inside where four bodies lying on the ground among machinery and furnaces. Something was different about these machines. Sean had been on raids into factories many times before and something about the design of this place was off by a bit.

    “You got here sooner than I thought you would.” A voice coming from the second level shouted down, interrupting Sean’s observation of the machinery. Leaning on a railing above him was a petite woman with olive skin and jet-black hair.

    “And you’re the arcanist who destroyed Ander’s Munitions.” The woman nodded.

    “Yes, my name is Helen.” Sean pointed his peacemaker and fired taking out a chunk of railing near Helen’s left hand. “Hey!” She protested, “Wait!” Sean did not wait, squeezing off another round forcing her to dive for cover. He charged up the stairs to the second floor and skidded to a halt weapon trained on the prostrate woman.

    “You’re under arrest witch, now make this easy on yourself and cooperate!” As he moved in to make the arrest something grabbed him from behind. A mob of tiny fists snatched at his duster while a horde of small feet battered his ankles.

    “You leave that nice lady alone ugly!” shouted a squeaky voice.

    “Children?!” He exclaimed in disbelief, and then suddenly the full picture snapped into focus. Sean lowered his weapon. “This factory is using child labor.” It wasn’t an uncommon practice earthside to use orphans and the like as cheap labor, Malifaux was different. “It should be almost fully automated with soulstone.”

   “It is on paper.” Helen replied rising to her feet, “In fact this place purchases several pounds of industrial grade soulstone every week, to power machines that don’t exist.”

    “And the children keep production up so no one is the wiser.” Sean finished for her, “What do they do with the soulstone instead?” The woman shook her head.

    “I don’t know. I just couldn’t be part of something that harmed the innocent like this anymore.” This time it was Sean who was shaking his head. Despite being a witch this woman was too soft to be breachside. He pulled out a pair of runed manacles from his duster.

    “Look I still have to arrest you. Come in and make your statement and then we’ll stop these bastards from ever doing something like this again.” Helen looked down and nodded, stifling a sob. It would be the inquisitors that took her statement of course, but as long as she remained as chatty as she had been at the factory Sean was figured there was a decent chance she would come through the ordeal with her mind still intact. Catching an arcanist and stopping a soulstone smuggling operation, Sean smiled, he just might get a promotion.

[Trow]

1748 word count

all 5 ingredients used

[Lord Byron]

Interesting. I like the overall concept of the investigation and the underside of the city. I found the stuttering being spelled out, and having so much of it a bit disconcerting for the read. But that's just personal taste, nice job!

[Trow]

I found the stuttering being spelled out, and having so much of it a bit disconcerting for the read.

I can definitely see that, and I hemmed and hawed for quite a while about taking that out. I had a very clear picture of the constable in my head and originally had a bigger role for him but had to cut pretty much all of it out to stay within word count. (first draft was like 1500 words or so by the time sean got to the glassworks) The stutter was pretty much all I could keep for him so I was loathe to give it up.