Eldritch Guidance

In the southern district of Graheel, nestled amidst the bustling streets, lies the Devatta marketplace. This local hub was an expansive open area with a multitude of booths and colorful tents, each teeming with enthusiastic peddlers showcasing an array of goods and produce sourced from farms outside the city. The air was filled with the lively chatter of vendors vying for the attention of passersby, creating a vibrant and bustling atmosphere that drew in visitors from far and wide.

Several stalls in the marketplace were dedicated to cooking food, their savory aromas wafting through the air and mingling with the lively atmosphere of the bustling crowd. The sizzle of oil resonated throughout the area, infusing the air with the scent of freshly fried street food.

The smell made Mike's stomach rumble.

Standing in front of one of the food stalls was the senior investigator, examining the offerings. His eyes were drawn to the fried chicken with honey garlic sauce.

Mike: “Excuse me, I’ll take one of these,” he called out to the vendor.

The vendor at the food stall, who was a plain-looking mutant man with floppy rabbit ears, heard Mike and nodded. He picked up the chicken with some metal tongs and placed them in a bag before handing it to the officer. Mike thanked the vendor and paid him before walking off.

As he walked by the stalls, Mike would pop some of the food he bought in his mouth and enjoy it. He meandered through the maze of stalls, his gaze shifting from bushels of ripe strawberries to crates overflowing with sumba melons. Mike paused occasionally to look at some of the produce. He made a mental note to revisit the stall to get some vegetables to take home after concluding his task at hand.

The Devatta marketplace was a very old historic site for the city. It was initially established as a place where mages would convene to procure an assortment of goods for their arcane experiments. Today, it serves as a bustling hub where residents flock to peruse and purchase an array of fresh, locally sourced produce. The marketplace had seamlessly transitioned from its magical origins to a farmer's market, reflecting the evolution of the current age.

After savoring the last bite of the succulent, sweet, and salty chicken he had purchased, Mike disposed of the empty bag in a nearby garbage bin. Meanwhile, the investigator pressed on, weaving his way through the lively stalls and bustling booths until he reached the far end of the marketplace.

Despite the vibrant offerings of the Devatta marketplace, the object of his search was not within its confines, but in a place beside it.

The marketplace was separated by a road. On the other side of the road stood a densely packed building housing a myriad of local businesses, their fronts adorned with colorful signage and glass display windows.

Mike crossed the street and began walking along the sidewalk that ran in front of the row of businesses. He passed by a butcher, a clothing store, and a hardware store. Eventually, he stopped in front of a shop called: “Cindy’s Smoking Tea Leaves”. It was a hookah lounge. The smell of burning tobacco wafted outside to where Mike stood. The store featured a display window at the front, though the glass was tinted blue, and the thick haze inside obscured any clear view of the interior. Mike could only make out the faint silhouettes of a handful of people inside. The muffled sounds of laughter and low conversation seeped through the entrance.

Mike took a deep breath and entered inside.

The moment he opened the door and stepped inside, the smell of tobacco enveloped him even more intensely. Inside the lounge, rows of plush booth seats were built into the walls, each curving around a central table. A few patrons sat at these tables, leisurely inhaling tobacco from pipes attached to the hookahs placed in the center of their tables while sipping some tea. The air was thick with fragrant smoke, and the soft hum of quiet conversation added to the lounge's relaxed and inviting atmosphere.

Across the room, opposite to the entrance, was what looked like a bar counter with a row of bar stools. The counter, made of dark, polished wood, gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting. Above the bar area, an abundance of hanging lamps of various shapes and sizes created a dazzling display. The lamps, with their intricate designs, cast a warm and inviting glow over the entire space, illuminating everything through the general haze in the air.

Mike approached the bar counter and took a seat.

The officer glanced around and noted that no one seemed to be paying him any attention. The patrons were either deeply engrossed in their conversations or intently focused on smoking their tobacco.

His gaze couldn't help but settle on a mutant sitting alone in one of the booths. The man appeared mostly human, but one of his arms was significantly larger than the other, covered in thick, green scales that glistened under the dim light. The mutant's oversized arm rested on the table, its muscular form and reptilian-like skin starkly contrasting with his otherwise ordinary appearance. The man sat quietly, seemingly lost in thought, while he sucked in the smoke from a hookah at his table.

Mike quickly turned away to avoid the mutant-man noticing him staring.

The officer sat there for a few seconds, looking down at the table, before he heard a familiar voice he hadn't heard in a long time.

???: “Well, well. Long time, no see, Mike.”

Mike looked up and noticed a woman standing across from him. She had short, curly brown hair that complemented the vibrant red lipstick she wore, which accentuated her confident smile. She was dressed in a simple blue A-line dress that fell just below her knees. Her striking green eyes, bright and lively, seemed to reflect a sense of self-assurance as she looked at Mike. Overall, she radiated a youthful charm and poise, making her stand out in the lounge's dimly lit ambiance.

This woman was who Mike was looking for, Cindy Hubble.

Mike: “Nice to see you, Cindy.”

Cindy: "Likewise, I am always glad to meet an old friend. So, are you here to catch up? Or, is this business?” she said in a soft voice.

Mike: “What kind of tobacco do you have for sale?”

Cindy gave Mike a sly smile, her red lips curling up mischievously.

Cindy: “Hmm. Not that kind of business. You're not the kind of person who smokes. I know you're here to ask a little young me something.”

Mike raised his eyebrow at Cindy, from referring to herself as young.

Despite her youthful appearance, Mike recognized that she was not as young as she seemed. He recalled that Cindy was at least middle-aged. Being a mage as he was, he could feel the aether on her face when he focused his senses there. He assumed it was from a glamor. An illusion that gave her a more youthful appearance than she really possessed.

However, Mike was tactful enough not to mention this. He knew it was never a good idea to talk about a woman's age.

Mike: “What makes you say that?”

Cindy: “I have my sources.”

Mike: “Jack told you, didn’t he?”

Cindy: “Boo. It’s no fun talking to a detective when they can piece everything together so easily.”

Mike: “Then you know what I'm here for.”

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Cindy: “No, I don’t. Jack only mentioned that you would probably pay me a visit soon. Which, good idea not bringing Joe here. I would have told that bastard off. Jack gives in to him too easily.”

Mike nodded in agreement that it was probably a good idea that Joe sent him alone. Similar to Jack, Joe didn’t have the greatest relationship with Cindy, and she would have been a lot more hostile if he were here.

Mike: “But, you know I’m here for information?”

Cindy: “If you're buying.”

Mike: “How much is this going to cost me?”

Cindy: “I start at a thousand Glint. Then, depending on what you're looking for, the price goes up.”

Mike: “That’s a lot. Can you give it to me for free? For old time's sake?”

Cindy: “I gotta make a living, Mike. I can’t just afford to give away perfectly good info.”

At the mention of that, Mike began to look around. The store he sat in had a fair number of patrons, making idle conversation while smoking or drinking tea. The store itself also appeared somewhat extravagant with its furniture and interior design. It seemed that Cindy's business was thriving from Mike's perspective.

Mike: “Doesn't seem like you're hurting for money that badly.”

Cindy: “You never do something for free if you're good at it.”

Mike: “Then that means you can afford to tell me what I want to know. Especially, considering me and Joe have looked the other way with you.”

Cindy: “Nice try. Gathering and selling information isn't illegal.”

Mike: “I wasn't talking about you gathering info. I’m talking about when you were a smuggler.”

Like Jack, Cindy had been a smuggler in the past. Though she operated independently, she often collaborated closely with the Skullcrushers. After the Bloody Days, she wanted to leave that life behind. Seeking a fresh start, she and Jack approached Joe and Mike for help in clearing their records. Joe and Mike obliged, enabling Cindy and Jack to break free from their past and start anew.

Cindy gave Mike an intense stink eye at the mention of her smuggler past.

Cindy: “All cops really are bastards, but fine. I'll make an exception for you. Don’t say I never pay my debts. You drink tea, right?”

Mike nodded.

Cindy: “Then at least buy a cup, and I’ll tell you what I can.”

Mike pulled out some cash and placed it on the table in front of him. Cindy collected the money and took out a cup with a metal strainer. Reaching for the shelf behind her, she grabbed a tin filled with a blend of dried leaves. She then walked over to a nearby stove and picked up a brass teapot with a long spout full of boiling milk. Cindy placed the herbs in the strainer and poured hot milk over them, allowing the liquid to infuse as she dripped it slowly. Once she finished, she removed the strainer and handed the cup to the detective.

Looking down at the cup, he saw a rich, creamy brown liquid with a pleasant herbal aroma wafting up to his nose. Mike picked up the cup, feeling its warmth in his hands, and brought it to his lips. He took small sips, trying to avoid burning himself.

His eyes widened in surprise as he tasted the liquid.

Mike: “Oh, wow. This is actually excellent.”

Cindy: “Of course it’s good. That is my special blend. It’s the most popular milk tea offered here. The secret is boiling milk in brass. It really brings out the flavor."

Mike: “I see. I probably will come here again for another cup some other time.”

Cindy: “My doors are always open for you, Mike,” she said with a smile.

Mike: “Now, onto business. Do you know anything about a man named Jixi?”

Cindy crossed her arms and seemed to go into deep thought for a few seconds before shaking her head.

Cindy: “I’m not familiar with that name. Who is this person?”

Mike: “You’ve heard about what happened with the university, about one of their professors being a necromancer? That professor had an assistant named Jixi. I’m sure you’ve at least seen the wanted poster about him in your line of work.”

Cindy whistled at what Mike just said.

Cindy:“ Wow. You’re investigating some pretty high-level shit. Yeah, I don’t think I have anything for you. I guess I won’t be paying my debts today.”

Mike: “You don’t know anything about this?”

Cindy: “I’ve seen the wanted poster out for this guy like everyone else; he had a pretty hefty bounty on his head from what I vaguely recall, but I didn’t pay much more attention than that. It is university business. The people I work with that collect info don’t involve themselves in university business.”

Mike: “Why’s that? Is there a reason?”

Cindy: “I went through a lot of effort to clean my record and avoid dangerous people. I know enough not to mess with the big fishes of this city, lest I get swallowed up by them. And, the university is a very big fish. So, I refuse to pay my contacts for information about them.”

Mike: “Avoiding a big fish, huh. Interesting, considering that Nighthounds are the biggest information dealers in the city. You, being an info peddler, doesn't step on their tails? Cause I’d be more worried about them than the university.”

Cindy: “You don’t have to worry about me. I get their scraps. What I know, the Nighthounds probably already know. The people I deal with are too poor or scared to go get their information from the Nighthounds. I’m not a threat to their business, and I make sure of it. So, I don’t get bothered by them.”

Mike: “Hmm, I think I get why Joe asked me to talk to you now. You might be willfully ignorant about the university and Nighthounds, but you can tell when they're involved so that you can stay away.”

Cindy: “What are you getting at?”

Mike: “I’m wondering if you’ve seen any signs of the Nighthound's involvement with that necromancer incident at the university? Nothing specific, just that if you think they’re involved?”

Cindy: “No, they're not involved,” she said flatly and immediately.

Mike: “That was quick. How are you so sure about that?”

Cindy: “I might not know a lot about the inner workings of the Nighthounds, but they're predictable. It’s easy to guess how they would respond to certain situations. And the fact is, if they were involved with that necromancy incident, it would have never happened in the first place. That necromancer professor would have been killed so quickly if they had. They hate cultists, and necromancy is just one step away from cultism.”

Mike: “Being a necromancer doesn't necessarily mean you’re a cultist.”

Cindy: “That’s a distinction I don’t think the Nighthounds care about.”

Mike: “OK. So you're basing this off their hatred of cultists.”

Cindy: “That, and this affecting their business.”

Hearing that comment made Mike pause. He tried to process what he heard and understand why Sorin’s necromancy experiment would affect the Nighthound's gambling and brothel businesses. Unfortunately, he didn’t understand what Cindy was hinting at.

Mike: “I’m not seeing how this affects Nighthound's business.”

Cindy: “Think about it. Ever since the Nighthounds took over the east end, nothing bad has ever happened to a university student there. They’ve ruled the east end for over a decade, and there has never been a single incident with a student. And, students go to the east end to party all the time.”

Mike thought about what Cindy was saying, and she was right about one thing. Once the Nighthounds took over the east end and the police pulled out, violent crimes went way down there. It became a lot safer in that area over time.

Mike: “Hmm, OK. Making the east end safe for students doesn't explain how this is affecting their business.”

Cindy: “The students are a source of income for the Nighthounds. There are a lot of rich students who attend the university that then go to the East End to party. And—they spend a whole lot of money at bars, casinos, and brothels. All businesses that are controlled and operated by the Nighthounds. It is not just that the Nighthounds are keeping the area safe for students, they’re being actively protected. They’re an investment for them. So, how do you think they would respond to someone who was killing their ‘investments’. Remember what I said, it's easy to guess what they'll do. If it hurts their bottom line, they’re going to do something about it. Even if necromancy wasn't involved.”

There was a brief pause in the conversation. Mike took a moment to piece together what he knew about the city and the Nighthounds. Her reasoning made perfect sense and aligned seamlessly with his understanding.

Mike: “When you put it like that, it makes sense. Students bring a lot of money into the city. The Nighthounds, controlling such a large chunk of the city, would inevitably give them a large chunk of that money. So, ensuring nothing happens to the students would be in their interest. Huh, never thought about it like that.”

Cindy: “Well, that's why you came to me,” she said with a smile.

Mike: “This is all still speculation, though.”

Cindy: “Good luck finding evidence to prove a negative. Unless you go ask the Nighthounds themselves, you’ll never know for sure.”

Mike couldn't help but gawk at the idea of talking with the Nighthounds, especially with what happened recently with them.

Mike: “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

Cindy: “I figured.”

Mike: “By the way, are you still tapped into the smuggling community?”

Cindy's expression turned very serious at that question. Her playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a stern look that made her eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin line. This sudden change suggested to Mike that she did know something.

Cindy: “I might be…”

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