Gwen Armstead had said, "I'm afraid that no answer at all would be worse than a bad one."
"Then you truly believe a Worgen is responsible for this heinous murder?" Evelyn Swift asked then, reviled by the notion.
"My dear," Gwen replied with a sad smile, "it's not a matter of belief, hey? It's a matter of immutable fact."
Evelyn begrudgingly accepted this explanation.
The body was discovered late morning, when the shifting winds brought the scent of blood. The worgen were the only ones to smell it, but it was unmistakeable. The scent called to deep instincts that many of them still did not master completely.
The mutilated body of the night elf was found behind a tree, in the small wooded area behind the Craftsmen's Terrace and the Howling Oak. His throat had been, in effect, ripped out, and with great savagery at that. Gilnean investigators threw each other uneasy looks.
Sometimes, in Gilneas, when the curse still ran rampant, bodies would be found that looked just like this; the unlucky ones who couldn't get away with just a bite (or maybe, some thought at the time, the lucky ones who didn't have to turn into monsters).
Evelyn threw a glance at the Sentinel. The Sentinel looked at her with mild annoyance.
They made an odd sight, the two of them. Evelyn, an apparently human woman, walking sedately, and Alluma Cloudshear, riding on a great white cat, following her.
"Are we any closer to our destination?" the Sentinel asked pointedly.
"We're getting there," Evelyn replied, maintaining her stroll.
In truth, Evelyn could have probably gone faster, but she refused to run because it was unlady-like and she refused to ride with Alluma because animals tended to dislike her, especially since her... new situation.
But the Sentinel's frustration derived from more than Evelyn's antics, and that made the Gilnean woman wince internally.
"Ah, I think this is it," Evelyn said, pointing to a path that lead behind the inn.
Alluma sighed in relief.
In a small grassy area between two large trees, someone had set up a meeting place of sorts. A dozen mismatched chairs and a bench serviced the patrons of this ad-hoc establishment, while two barrels and a board acted at a bartender's counter. Thus, possibly the world's first outdoor tavern was born.
This "tavern" was the invention of an industrious Gilnean brewer who noticed a niche in the Darnassian market. The night elves had very few places reserved for debauchery. None, to be exact. Needless to say, Gilneans were the ones who frequented it, with some Night Elves making shy, sporadic incursions, usually out of youthful curiosity.
At this time of day, there were only five patrons, all worgen. Though Gilneans were never an indulgent sort, the ruination of their homeland combined with the curse that afflicted most of them had lead to an alarming rise in alcoholism.
Evelyn could intellectually understand this tendency, but she still did not approve. Drinking in moderation was one thing, but in daylight? These things were meant for nighttime, in dark, windowless taverns, not out in the open like this.
"Which one is he?" Alluma asked, her distaste clear.
Evelyn felt embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
"That's Charlie Gant," she pointed to the yellow-eyed worgen in leather armor nursing his drink in the shade, away from the other four and the bartender, the only Human present.
Alluma dismounted and walked towards him with purpose. Evelyn stood undecided for a moment before darting after the Night Elven woman.
"Charles Gant?" Alluma asked as she stopped in front of him.
Charlie Gant raised his snout.
Now that they were close, Evelyn could see the mastiff lying next to him, an incredibly ugly creature, even by the breed's standards. The animal was scarred on his chest and blind in one eye, but its teeth were in perfect condition and gleaming white and he growled low at the Sentinel.
"Who's that, then?" he asked in a slight slur.
Though it was barely noon, it was apparent that Charlie Gant was a very conscientious drunk who got up early and worked hard to stupefy his senses by the time the day was out.
"Aren't you Charles Gant?" Alluma asked, looking at Evelyn for confirmation. Evelyn nodded.
"Dunno, never heard of 'im," the Worgen shrugged.
Alluma frowned at Evelyn.
Evelyn sighed and kneeled down in front of Charlie.
"You know, this is serious business," she said. "If you don't cooperate, I will have to take drastic measures.
"Oh, yeah?" Charlie laughed. "Like what?"
Evelyn Swift was unassuming. She had the soft, unextraordinary features of a peasant girl, offset by dark shoulder-length hair. And, even since birth, the personality of a spinster. Not the bitter, hook-nosed kind of spinster who spied on neighbors and scared children, but the other type, the kind that popped in for visits when you least wanted her, or developed unnaturally strong affection for cats, or traded in bizarre goods that nobody knew they needed until she convinced them that, yes, this small gnome sculpture would look adorable in your rose garden and these novelty dice with indecipherable runes were just the thing to gift to your uncle. In other words, the kind of woman who remained unmarried not because of a lack of suitors, but a lack of disposition.
"Oh," such a woman would say, "I'll get married eventually. When I find the right man." Or, "when I finish planting my garden." Or, "after I get the house repainted." Or, the vaguest answer of all, "when I feel I'm ready." And then, one day, her hair would be white or gray and she'd say, "Oh, well. My time is past. Marrying is a young woman's game, anyway." And she'd go on with her business, completely undaunted.
"But don't you want to start a family of your own?" people would ask.
"But I already have a family," such a woman would reply, perhaps with puzzlement. "What do you call my parents, and my siblings, and my nieces and nephews?"
And that was what Evelyn would reply, usually, because she'd been terribly close to her brother's family, especially her three nieces.
But now they were dead.
And here she was, a bookish unmarried woman serving as a clerk for Miss Armstead, running errands and dealing with unpleasant individuals on the Sentinels' behalf.
"Very well," Evelyn replied in a low, dangerous voice that gave Charlie pause.
She turned to the other four drunkards, who looked away and tried to feign disinterest.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said, the last word tinged with a slight irony, "and madam," she added, noticing that one of the four was a woman. "I have a proposal for you."
"You gun' pay us t' beat 'im up?" one of the drunks asked a little too quickly.
Charlie snorted. Even drunk off his ass, he was still a trained hunter, capable of taking on four unarmed ruffians. Still, his hand moved from patting his dog to patting his rifle.
"Not exactly, though it is a tempting offer," Evelyn said. She got up to her feet and took out her pouch and counted her coin. "How about this: if Charlie here agrees to have a nice talk and cooperate with me and Miss Cloudshear here," she gestured towards Alluma, "the next two rounds are on me."
The four drunk worgen's ears perked with interest.
"An' if 'e won't?" the female worgen asked, sniffing warningly in Charlie's direction.
"Well, then I leave and you deal with him as you will," Evelyn shrugged.
Four pairs of eyes turned to Charlie. A tense few seconds passed, everyone absolutely still. Not a blade of grass moved in the grassy outdoors tavern.
"Alright, alright, if it'll keep the peace," Charlie grumbled, his slight slur gone, and placed his tankard on the ground, hoisting himself up with some difficulty.
Evelyn threw a few coins at the bartender. By the drunkards' reactions, she'd probably overpaid, but she had greater concerns now.
Charlie swayed a bit as he got himself upright, but followed Alluma and Evelyn to a more secluded corner between buildings, where prying ears couldn't overhear them.
"What can I do ya for?" he asked.
"We heard you were the man to talk to about a murder," Evelyn replied.
