Inkwell 2018-2019

Ulster kicked the sack with his boot, feeling his toes connect with something large and soft that was most definitely not a potato. He’d expected as much - another dead body disguised as something innocent. The students tried to pull those sorts of tricks all the time. He hadn’t expected the sack to twitch violently the second after his foot made contact. Ulster cursed loudly and leapt away, nearly dropping his lantern. The young woman seemed just as startled as he was. “Oh shit,” she muttered, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. “This is bad.” “What in the blazes do you have in there?” A thought suddenly occurred to Ulster. “It ain’t… fresh, right?” The intruder had picked up a shovel lying amidst the spilled contents of the wheelbarrow and was now prodding the sack carefully. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked shrilly. Ulster pulled the pistol from the holster on his hip. He didn’t like to use the thing on people if he didn’t have to, but this was obviously a special circumstance. “Don’t you move an inch, you filthy bastard. Let’s see the poor soul you have cooped up in that sack of yours.” It seemed obvious now: this wasn’t a corpse-stealing medical student. It was a bonafide murderess, come to dispose of a victim. Well, Ulster certainly wasn’t going to let it happen on his watch. Bending over carefully, so as to keep his weapon trained on the criminal, Ulster set down his lantern and unwrapped the now sodden occupant of the canvas bag. It was slightly more difficult than he had anticipated. The body had been stuffed inside headfirst, and with only one free hand available Ulster only managed to reveal a pair of tall, knee- high boots. They were a bit swanky for Ulster’s taste, even with one of the soles missing. He gestured at the young woman who clutched the shovel to her chest defensively. “Well? Care to help?” At this point, both of them were soaked to the bone. Her cloak clung to her body, revealing a wiry figure beneath. “Er - um - I suppose - I’m not

really sure it’s safe to -” Ulster picked up the lantern and raised it to his face, illuminating his scowl. He nodded at the gun. Gulping, the youth grabbed the bottom of the bag and lifted it upward, allowing the rest of the man inside to spill gracelessly onto the muddy ground beneath. “I promise it’s not what it looks like,” she repeated, more quietly this time. For a second, Ulster wondered if she might be a witch; she certainly didn’t look like the type who could murder someone with physical strength alone. If she were a witch, though, she could have surely used a bit of magic to defend herself by now, right? As the intruder backed away from the body, brandishing her shovel, Ulster stepped closer, lifting the lantern to get a better look. He needn’t have bothered, for at that moment, lightning split open the sky directly above them, illuminating the grisly sight in horrific detail. The corpse had fallen with his long legs bent at odd angles and his arms splayed outward as if inviting someone to embrace him. Had his right eye been open, it would have been gazing at the slightly cupped fingers of his right hand. Had his left eye still been intact, it would have been staring directly at Ulster. Instead, he was met with a stark, empty, flesh-lined socket - an old wound, judging by the lack of blood, but still decidedly unnerving. Ulster’s attention lingered only briefly on the corpse’s face before he spotted the set of twisting metal fibers wound around his neck. A gorgette . He had only ever seen one or two before, but the device was instantly recognizable, its thin, twisting filigree clutching a series of milky glass orbs to the wearer’s neck - a contraption for imprisoning Aetherlings. And judging by the shattered glass now strewn across the ground, it was badly broken. Everyone knew that, given time, an Aetherling could heal from almost any wound; Ulster had heard stories of particularly nasty ones regrowing entire limbs in a matter of hours. Few would willingly wander about in human form without a full set of eyes - with one notable exception. “One-Eyed Iden…” Ulster breathed.

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