Author's Note: I just want to point out that it is my first fanfiction ever. I decided to develop my English writing skills in more profound way than poetry and really short stories. Of course, bilinguality is hardly an excuse when it comes to actually publishing stories, but I guess that it's at least worth a try. Despite years of roleplaying, I am hardly a WoW lore extraordinare. Reading a few Warcraft books doesn't really supply you with that excessive ammount of information, so I won't really touch that many incredibly deep plot points. I'm more than willing to develop, though, so yeah...

Chapter One

There were single beams of moonlight piercing through dirty windows. The hut's interior looked as if it went through a hurricane, which tossed furniture around like ragdolls, fiercely smashed pots to the ground, and scratched floorboards like a curious fox. Bodies of the cutpurses, who once occupied this lonely abode as their hideout until then, were lying lifelessly near the hatch to the basement. A few mercenaries with dark-green leather armors were walking around in search of some extra riches for their hard work. Unluckily to them, the group of bandits they just hunted down was just starting out with presumably little to no experience, so no interesting things were to be found. The house itself was boringly uninteresting as well; just a simple abandoned cottage, which, if the Intel was correct, once was owned by a lonesome huntsman, who disappeared a long time ago. It was free for the taking, since it was settled in one of the most secluded areas of Elwynn Forest. A perfect place for what was to occur.

One of the hired blades was admiring a mediocre piece of art near the front door: a poorly drawn snake in the middle of a jump towards some ambiguous flames. He shrugged off his first impressions and proceeded to light candles all around the room.

All of a sudden a goblin dressed in a set of pitch black tuxedo clothing came through the entrance. What was most peculiar about him, however, were intense, deep scars scattered around his right cheek. Few muscly goons appeared from behind him, they held heavy, wooden crates with bunch of shining, varied weapons stuffed in them. They put them down at the other side of the hut and immediately went back outside. The small, green creature then ordered for a chair to be placed near him. As he sat on it, he pulled out a small watch and carefully studied the time.

"They should be here any minute now, gentlemen." He pointed out with a weary, gruff voice. "Continue cleaning up, we will dispose of the bodies later. As I have previously declared, I expect us to remain here for the next twenty four hours. I promise that you will get your aforementioned extra for this inconvenience as soon as we will have arrived on my boat back to Kalimdor."

He hid his handy watch, wriggled for a bit on the chair and took out his notebook. He spent the next twenty minutes studying it closely and calculating his future expenses.

Then a few bleak voices could be heard from the outside through the ambience of nature. There have been some heavy clunking as well, indicating an armed presence. Some mercenaries tried to subconsciously rally and get ready for a fight, yet the others spontaneously stopped them, assuring the rest that everything was in order. The front door had opened, and through it m came a small group of men in impressive, golden blue armors and equally impressive tabards with Lion Heads sewed on them. There were six of them in total; fully equipped and armed. The one with the shiniest and most detailed Lion head, obviously the leader of the bunch, immediately had noticed the pile of dead bodies and gave a curious look towards the goblin sitting in front of him.

"I reckon you are the exchanger, little guy." stated the officer.

"Oh, but of course, welcome to my promise land!" the goblin crossed his legs and lifted his hands up in a theatrical fashion.

"I'm in no mood for games. The garrison expects our arrival first thing in the morning."

"Oh, you will get what you want. Tell me first, did you leave any of your goons behind?"

"Enough to bust you if you try to screw us." The officer scratched his thick eyebrow and crossed his hands. "So I advise you not to try anything funny."

"Oh, oh, oh…" the hideous creature sighed out, obviously discontent with his speaker's response "I am of course just a businessman, as long as there's coin, then there's promise of absolute friendship until the transaction is done. And we both know you're here alone, so I'd advise you to keep this relationship, make it last a little bit longer."

"Look, there's no need for introductions, here's the pay."

An overfilled pouch of gold had been tossed on the ground by the youngest soldier. One of the hirelings collected it and gave it to his temporary boss, who then proceeded to toss the sack around, admiring the sound of coins' twanging.

"So, are we done here?" asked the thickest alliance trooper who nervously held onto his blade hanging from under his impressive belly.

"Not quite." Started the goblin "You see: I have to specifically count the money to see if you kept your promise, which was to ensure my proper payment. I also need proof that you guys were not clumsy enough to steal it from your garrison's budget, since it will undoubtedly result in rising suspicion amongst some of your inspectors, who for the past few years started to care deeply about proper management of your army's money. Eventually they will start questions after which some of you might tell of what had happened here tonight. This will result in me, and my acquaintances, not being able to pursue our businesses in Elwynn Forest for a long time. If I find out about any, even tiniest hole in your plan, then you won't leave this place alive." He let out a hideous grin. "Do you agree to my terms, or will I have to end the deal with an unnecessary bloodshed?"

The officer hadn't even flinched, as if he was suspecting the request. He exhaled disappointingly though, and after a brief moment he took out a sealed roll of paper and proclaimed:

"Here I have an official paper with the result of a monthly budget count conducted by our Garrison's chief accountant and a Chief Stormwind Inspector. It is a valid copy of the original document and has all the seals and signatures, indeed proving that money we have given you right now is from our private pays."

The goblin finally rose from his chair and exclaimed excitedly: "Splendid! Splendid! Let us move to the basement, so that I can inspect the papers' creditability. Both of us shall take someone with them, so that we will have witnesses of our final agreement!"

Everyone in the hut started moving in various directions. The dealer had already chosen to take the biggest man with him. The officer licked his lips in a worried manner and took his most muscly soldier as well. After a while, the partakers of the transaction went down to the basement right through the hatch.

Suddenly everything became quiet. Mercenaries, seemingly calm and collected, took their positions and waited for the deal to be done. Soldiers, who remained, looked around anxiously still ready to draw their blades whenever necessary. The whiskered short one and his bulky friend waited near the hatch. The brown-haired, handsome one patrolled near the front door. The recruit, skinniest and youngest of the bunch, looked out one of the foggy windows, hardly noticing anything. He sighed out, hoping for this awful situation to be over. Singing of crickets could be heard as if they were in the house, being curiously loud that night.

The rookie started counting off passing seconds, clumsily pretending to keep a leveled head. The quietness—disturbed only by area's creatures—concerned him quite heavily. He thought he heard a repressed ripple from the other side of the wall near which he was standing. He immediately discarded it as his imagination, but some mercenaries beside him seemed to be getting rather upset.

A few brief screams followed by heavy thumps came from all around the hut. Everyone inside had drawn their weapons. No one was sure what was happening, yet the feeling of distrust had risen immensely. They waited for a few seconds, not sure what to do next. There wasn't a sign of life coming from the outside. Finally, the brown-haired soldier decided to approach the door and open it. He's done so slowly and patiently, yet with no apparent fearfulness.

Before he managed to reach the handle, the entrance was violently kicked open. No one could react before a mysterious vial appeared midair, landing on the middle of the room. Everyone gave out confused shouts before falling down. Man by man descended on the floor lifelessly. There were a few men still standing; among them was that little skinny recruit, who felt his limbs weaken, yet still somehow held himself steady well enough not to succumb to the poisonous cloud. Before him appeared a figure which he wasn't able to see very clearly just yet. It attacked those strong enough to still stand on their two feet. Its moves were graceful and effective. All it took for the rest to give in was precise stab in-between armor plates. After one or two blinks of an eye, the only one standing was the youngster, yet he just stood paralyzed by his panic. He observed the intruder tossing another vile to the basement and then throwing himself down the hatch. This time nothing was to be heard but three heavy body drops.

"No, no, stop thi-"the surly, terrified voice coming from beneath the floorboards got cut out in the middle of its pleading for mercy.

The rookie couldn't help his weakening body and leaned against the wall. He slid down, completely numb, yet regaining clearness of his vision. He felt a tear rolling down his cheek; his heart was racing furiously, pounding off his chest. The attacker reemerged from beneath. He or she wore a black, leather-like armor with grey markings going down to the knees. Belts with small daggers and pouches were clenched around the waist and biceps, dark strips were scattered around the legs. The entire outfit looked oddly merged with the stranger who was wearing it, but for some reason it was hard to tell if it was a slender female or a muscular male. It wasn't the most noticeable thing, though. The most conspicuous element of the set was the mask. It thoroughly resembled a crow, yet the pair of eyes was replaced by a pitch black visor. The material was stretched all around the head, lack of hood made the entire exterior look both grotesque and terrifying.

There was a foolish hope in the youngster's mind that the horrific assailant might have forgotten about him, the miserable unimportant recruit passing out near the windows. The expectation for survival got fully extinguished when the intruder started approaching him. His or her movements made absolutely no sounds, as if this figure wasn't even real.

The mask's features became clearer before what happened next.

The meeting hall was peculiarly dim that afternoon. Clive didn't know if it was because of smoke coming out of inspector's mouths, or because the windows weren't cleaned in days.

"So...Mister Clive," started a portly man with a grimy beard, "we have already interviewed Private Rands as well as your fellow investigator Garett Gaves. To wrap up those hearings, we would like to hear the final relation to compare it to other ones. So, shall we proceed?"

The man gave out a polite, tired smile to encourage the start of the confession. Clive hated being looked at by those pretentious idiots, but it was unavoidable. Everyone was on their toes for the past couple of days, and every single case required closure. After a brief pause and a reassuring look from his chief—who was sitting beside the interviewers—he took a deep breath.

"Yeah, I was working in my office at the Stockade when Lieutenant Gaves came in to say there's a commotion at the Mage's Quarter. We immediately left and got into our car. When we arrived there was a dozen of City Guards surrounding a small shop named "The Ivan's Elixirs", they were hardly able to explain even simplest bits and pieces of the story. From what we have gathered, Jonah Asylo, a former alcoholic and blacksmith, came in to the shop and took its owner hostage. Me and Lieutenant Gaves came up with a plan to breach the back door and took few guards with us. Private Rands picked the lock and we came inside as quietly and cautiously as we could. After a brief passage of time, we noticed a trail of blood on the floor."

Clive stopped to take a sip from his cup. He let the herbal tea moisturize his throat, and with this comfort he hemmed and continued.

"We have not noticed anyone in the clear vicinity. Soon the trails started leading upstairs, so we ordered Rands to open the main entrance for other guards and, when given a mark, proceed to apprehend the suspect. We picked up our pace after we heard screams. When came up the stairs, we have noticed a body lying on the floor. It was a minor, probably the owners' son, but I was not able to see if he was able to breath. I ordered Lieutenant Gaves to give a sign to Rands, and I kicked open the room to which the trail of blood has led. I saw the suspect behind Ivan, ready to slit the apprehended victim's throat with a pocket knife. I have asked him to see reason, but he was shouting at me incomprehensibly, possibly in a drunken slur. Soon the reinforcements have arrived, but then Jonah Asylo threw his knife at Lieutenant Gaves who was just coming into the room, the blade had connected just below my partner's left shoulder. It turned out that the aggressor also had a small pistol with him and shot Ivan in the back. I have responded with a shot to the suspect's knee, but he did not even flinch and attacked me with another knife. I have avoided his swing and pierced his chest with my service dagger. Afterwards, Rands cut the suspect's head off clean."

One of the inspectors had coughed, others were writing the confession down without any second thought. Clive felt rather uncomfortable because of that carelessness, but on the other hand, why should they care?

"Can you go on, Mr. Clive?" asked the beardy man.

"Yeah, um…then I rushed to Lieutenant Gaves and ordered the men to see to Ivan and his son. The kid did not survive, he bled out in seconds. Ivan was taken to the intensive care; gladly I have heard that he survived. Gaves's wound was minor, but he seemed to be in shock. The suspect was, obviously, deceased. After a brief search of his pockets, we have noticed a few empty phials, which were giving out an intense smell of alcohol. We have no knowledge as for the actual contents, but it is obvious, that Jonah Asylo was under its influence. We should have full chemical report in a few days…"

"You digress, Mr. Clive," said a rather uninspiringly boring looking, thin man with small glasses on his long nose. "Was there anything more that had happened after the unfortunate incident?"

"Ah, yeah," Clive crossed his hands and scratched his chin. "Other guards have secured the area, one of them threw up outside, Rands went to see to Ivan's son…to no avail of course." Clive inhaled the air deeply, and then let it out. "But eventually Main Chief Captain Tobias Erlan came to the crime scene to further secure it and thanked for our assistance."

Silence hit the room. Tobias Erlan was sitting just beside the beardiest inspector. The captain seemed to be generally uninterested in the entire confession, and no one could have blamed him. It was just another case, another day. Just before the ambience hit the highest level of uncomfortableness, one of the inspectors, who was a grizzly balding gnome, said with an unpleasant, obnoxious, distant tone: "Thank you Mr. Clive, we commend you and the rest of the team for your bravery. You won't be hit with any criminal charges, nor will your reputation be stained with penalties for misjudgment, misaction, or overuse of power. You have done your jobs the best you could, and we are grateful for that. You are free to go."

Clive took his cup and got up reluctantly. Tobias also stood up and gave the detective a suggestive nod indicating that they should talk. Clive went out to the corridor and waited for his chief to finish talking to those truly saddest people on Azeroth. Clive put his hands in his pockets and watched people passing by: soldiers, servants, scholars. For the past two days everyone was in such a rush.

Tobias eventually left the conference room. He was a bald, wrinkly, but well-built man in his fifties. His glory days were obviously over, but he still had an aura of respect. He wore a tidy tuxedo pants and equally neat shirt with an alliance tabard put over it. Alliance badge shined proudly on his left breast, indicating how truly elated was he in his work, even it didn't have to be true. He wasn't as weary and distraught as the rest of old men in the department, so talking to him was a nice change of pace, even if every talk shared between Clive and Erlan had a formal subject with not so many pleasantries. This didn't stop them from using quite profound language.

"Bunch of losers, no?" Tobias stated with an ironic tone while lighting up his pipe "I still have three more interviews. This case-closing rush is a mess."

"I hear you." sighed Clive "Why did you want to talk, though?"

"Listen, I know your reputation."

"It sounds like you want to finally fire me."

Erlan chuckled before inhaling from the pipe and leaning against the wall.

"Not over my dead body, sadly it won't happen soon. Either way, I know you're out of the loop lately, since the past few days have been rough. I want to know if you know that we've received news about our big victory in Draenor."

"That's why everyone's in such a hurry."

"Exactly," a sign of weariness has shown in chief's voice. "Everyone's on fire now. There seems to be a big rush to bring back as many people as possible in the shortest time to end our criminal understaffing. Because of that, my schedule is full and sleep seems not to come anytime soon."

"I see."

"That's why I wanted to ask you, you eat steak?"

This question perplexed Clive, since he never spent any downtime with his chief. The little he had ever given himself, of course.

"Yeah, I do. What are you proposing?"

"Ah, I don't plan to marry you anytime soon. I have a free evening in three days and I hoped you'd like to join me so we can talk crap."

"Well, sure." Answered Clive awkwardly, scratching his neck. "I'll let you know if I'm off."

"Great, great," Erlan scratched his bald head. "Ah, I have to go back suffocate in this Light forsaken room. Go back to the Stockade, Ron. Take it easy, though. We need you at your best."

"Well, Toby, I'll try"

The both shook their hands and went their ways. As Clive left Stormwind's Keep, he saw bunch of guards run up to see the king. He went down the stairs, which lead to the main hall, and looked at the sky. It seemed green to him, but it might've just been the lack of natural light as of late. He inhaled, and—amidst the chaos and people rushing everywhere—thought about Captain Erlan's proposal.

Yeah, things have been hectic lately. What's the news?

Clive got up, sweaty and cold, realizing only after a while that he was still in his office. It was close to midnight and he still was in the process of sorting all the paper work. Gaves's desk was empty, since he was to come back to work the next day. The room was awfully dark, since the candles have burned down. Clive lighted them up again, took off his reading glasses, and pondered. He should've been going home, but he didn't feel like it. This stocked, cluttered room was his home. This is where he kept his medals, commendations, books, and liquor, which was kept neatly in the last drawer if he ever wanted to relax. He kept order in all this mess, and prided himself in it. The days flew by quite painlessly in all this work, with an occasional rise of adrenaline—like the Jonah Asylo case.

Tiredness overtook the investigator, making him get up and go to his private chest. On top of his trusty blanket laid bunch of pictures he used to draw throughout his Northrend deployment. He tossed them away and took out his coverlet. He came back to his chair, collected all the files, put them in his "trash shelf", covered himself up and stretched his crackling bones.

A yawn escaped his mouth as he looked at the celling.

"Just a quick shut-eye" he muttered before passing out for the rest of the night.

"Clive…" said an unknown voice.

"Clive!" it repeated itself angrily with thousands of other voices overlapping it.

"Clive, wake up!" he heard the abominations stomping beside him.

"Ronald, for Light's sake!"

He finally woke up, shaken and frenzied, only to see his partner Gaves at the door.

"Get up, we got something." Said the middle aged, tall man with whom he had just a tolerable relationship.

"What is it?"

"A mess, I'll tell you on the way. Do some 'hygiene', I'll wait outside."

Ron got up, feeling the deep scar on his right arm burning. His bones felt as if they were cracking, but he finally managed to stand on his two feet and look at himself through the mirror at the right side of the door. He didn't keep up with dental hygiene for the past few days. His short, black hair went left and right, his scruffy cheeks shrieked at every touch, showing signs of edgy overgrowth which mauled his hands with each touch. He still didn't have any pleats or folds luckily, but bags under his eyes revealed the truth about the slow approach towards his late thirties. He cleared his delicate, yet multiply broken nose, looked at his strong chin and went on to grab some spare clothes.

He checked the state of his well-trained stomach and cringed at the slight floppiness of his chest. After a realization of time hit him, he accelerated putting on his tuxedo. He holstered his pistol on the right of his hip, hid his handy service dagger in a secret pocket, polished his shoes, huffed on his badge and went outside the office. It was located nearly on top of the Stockade, the corridor to it was short and narrow, yet it still held a small anteroom with six chairs and a desk with outdated announcements and more recent reports of Varian Wrynn's actions. He left the cozy hallway, descended down the square staircase with a big window watching over it, went by the stairs to the prison at the ground floor, and finally left the building.

The gang was all there: Gaves talked to Erlan, who shared some words about something with Warden Thelwater, who immediately started sharing some more words with his riflemen. They all immediately noticed Clive, who was exiting the Stockade.

"Clive, the car's here. Giix Fastscrew will drive you to the place of crime." Said Erlan

"Oh?" Ron shrugged "What's this all about, though?

Gaves gave Erlan an understanding gaze and muttered: "We think it's your 'Faceless' guy."

Clive didn't need anything else to liven up and focus on what was to come. Tobias went away without a word, taking Thelwater with him and giving him some instructions. Soon the investigators left to the Stormwind Outskirts.

"You sure it's him?" Asked Clive

"They told me we'll believe it when we see the aftermath of his work." Responded Gaves

"Let's get to it, then."

Ron coughed and closed his eyes checking if the abominations from his dreams were gone.

It didn't take them too long to arrive. Giix the gnome driver turned off the ignition near the Tower of Azora, where three soldiers were standing and waiting. Clive thought he recognized one of them as he exited the car: a decent looking, blonde haired young lad with average muscle build, but impressive posture. The thought mixed with a bit of observation turned into a complete assurance.

"Oh, Private Rands?

"Lieutenant Clive! It's an honor to meet you again. How's Lieutenant Gaves?"

"Ah, it's ok!" stated Gaves while putting his hands behind his back and smirking "The psycho's toss was quite pathetic, he didn't even hit anything important."

"Good to hear, sir!"

"So, Rands…" Ron put his hands in his pockets "Fill me in."

"Ah yes, our orders were to lead you to the crime scene in the forest."

"How deep is it?"

"You'll see" sighed Rands.

It took them twenty long minutes to make their way through the denseness of the forest. No one said anything throughout that time, and eventually a small hut appeared in the distance with some treeless space around it with bunch of guards patrolling it. There were three dead bodies dressed in leather jackets near the front door. A skinny soldier with quite a childish face sat on a big rock silently, while looking at the distance. A broad, short, long haired man with a really bushy mustache greeted the oncoming investigators with exaggerated gestures before speaking with a really masculine, deep voice.

"Lieutenant Ronald Clive, Lieutenant Garett Gaves! Welcome, welcome" he shook their hands with a strong grip. "I am Sergeant Dunstan Thorp."

"So…um…" Clive started, surprised by the soldier's liveliness. "Can you fill us in? What happened here?"

Dunstan's expression got more serious as he shook his mustache thoughtfully, inhaling few shallow breaths.

"A local hunter followed his pray towards this unregistered hut. He said all he saw were these bodies that you can see now and a young guard just sitting on a rock. He reported backing off and then made his way out of the forest and contacted me and my troops on our way back from a morning patrol. We followed the hunter to the hut and I tried to talk to our fella on the rock." Thorp look at the kid, who expressionlessly gazed forward. "He talked nonsense at first, but then gave his full name and rank as if he read if from a book. I told Rands to try and talk to him as we explored the insides of this abode. Let me get you inside."

Gaves and Clive looked at each other. Gaves still had his hands joined behind him; Clive scratched his thigh and followed the mustached Sergeant. After a moment of reluctance, his partner picked up the pace.

There was only one room in the house, filled with bodies of men in provisional armor, and amongst them laid three dead men in full Alliance plating. The fattest one had a terror written on his face, yet there was hardly any sign of fighting. A weak scent of sulfur filled the air. A man in a white woolen shirt came from down the hatch, carrying a toolset with him. A technician, Clive thought. Thorp, after this brief pause, continued the story:

"Looks quite comedic, doesn't it?" he chuckled and swirled his mustache yet again, then came back to a serious expression and sniffled. "The young catatonic lad told Rands that they arrived here in a small group of six, including him. All of his friends are here; dead. They're soldiers from Westbrook Garrison."

"Westbrook?" interrupted Gaves "It's on the other side of the forest!"

"Yup…" agreed Thorp "Yup, it is. Anyway, this is all we gathered from the boy. He didn't say what were their intentions, why they came such a long way here and what they were doin'. But, the story seems to be obvious. See those crates?"

The sergeant pointed at two big wooden crates full of weaponry of various kinds.

"We don't think those Light forsaken goons wanted to set up their base here for long. In the modest, small basement down this hatch over there, we've found something more. With the bodies stuffed there it's hard to fit in there, so I reckon only one of you can comfortably go down."

Gaves raised his hand.

"I'll go." He said.

Clive chewed his teeth collecting what he heard for a while.

"Ok." He said back.

His partner went down quite quickly, and Thorp renewed his report.

"The dead goblin there is Danez Gearsnipe. You guys heard of him?"

"Oh yeah, that's the arms dealer traveling all around Azeroth doing shady business under authority's noses. No one could bust him, since he covered his tracks rather well." said Clive.

"Oh, quite a mouthful, but yeah, that's him alright. I think it's clear to me that by his presence here and a rather fortuitous pouch of coin left on a table in the basement, he and those soldier folk wanted to make a deal. Illegal transaction of new, freshly imported weaponry is quite a stain on soldier's career, but I guess it's up to you to break it to the boy. Oh, and one more thing."

"Yeah, Thorp?" asked Clive as Gaves came back up.

"The fool muttered one more thing about a…assassin. He wore a mask, a crow's mask, and supposedly poisoned and killed everyone in the hut. That explains the bloodless massacre."

Clive didn't even flinch at this information; it was way too obvious for him from the head start. Everyone poisoned, only few people downed with precise stabs, and a quiet yet not entirely silent survivor covering only half of the story.

"Yeah, I guess it's too clean for an imposter. It was him, it was him." Clive stated. "What about the hunter, though? Did he have anything more to say?"

"Naaah," answered Thorp, "he just stumbled upon this hut. Quite conveniently the morning after all this happened, but you'll interview him soon enough at your office I reckon."

"Ok, ok…thank you, Sergeant. We will proceed to look around."

"Make yourself at home" The mustached fellow gave out a pretty pleasant grin and went outside.

Gaves and Clive put on their gloves and investigated the scene. Only two bodies in the room had any signs of blood on them. The door was kicked open, which was the only indication of force. There haven't been any signs of the assassin ever being there physically, as if it was wind that killed all of the victims. No windows were broken, not an object moved with or without intention. The sulfur in the air showed yet another characteristic flavor in it: Caramel. It became obvious that it was no work of an imposter. This was the only unmistakable trademark of the Faceless Killer. Only his poison had a smell like that, no one could counterfeit it.

Now Clive went down to the basement. It was indeed tiny and stuffy; the smell was even more intense there. The goblin's throat was slit—this meant he was the main target. This assassin only murdered his primary targets in such a graphic manner. The big muscle beside him suffocated from the poison, so did the officer and his own bodyguard. The only piece of furniture in this tiny chamber was a table. On it laid the pouch with a note near it stating "evidence!"

After fifteen minutes of extensive—not entirely invasive—searching, the investigators have left the hut. Rands and his two friends have left the scene, probably getting some more specialists. The young soldier still sat on the rock looking at the same spot.

"You wanna talk to him, or should I do it?" asked Gaves.

"You're more of a people person." Responded Clive.

"But you're more 'know people' person."

"I never heard worse statement, you have talent"

They both let out a brief, awkward cackle before Ron approached the young man and crouched beside him. He let a few seconds pass and looked at the same spot the soldier was looking at. They didn't say a word to each other until the youngster broke the silence.

"Private Joel Keats, recruit in Lieutenant Upton's squad, deployed in Westbrook Garrison, tasked with patrolling and occasional armory protection!"

Clive didn't say anything but continued looking and waited for something more.

"There used to be seven of us. We were…attacked by…by…"

Joel stopped his muttering only to meet the investigator's silence.

"She…or he wore a fully pitch black outfit with a crow's mask. It…it had a visor but no life in it."

From a short distance, Gaves and Thorp were sharing a few words while curiously observing other detective's work. Other guards tried to ignore the conversation and walked around, bored.

"I…I didn't want to be there…that's that…"

Half a minute had passed before Clive got up and reassured Joel by patting him at the shoulder. He walked to his inquiring observers and told his partner:

"Tommorow he should be fit for an actual interrogation." He turned his stare towards Thorp "Take him to Stormwind and let him rest, preferably in a cell. He already took part in an illegal deal, so he has to be charged with that. He's a valuable witness though, so don't do anything stupid."

"Alright, you're the boss" Sergeant sniffed "You know the way back?"

"We do." Said Gaves "But tell Rands to hang some damned cords or you all will get lost eventually."

"Will do…will do." Responded Thorp, shyly. As the detectives left, he went on to give orders to his boys.

"What you've gathered so far?" asked Clive's partner while they started their way back.

"That it's another dead-end, annoying case."

The apartment near a calm street at the Old Town would probably be too tiny for a person with Clive's—questionable by few—reputation. He didn't care, though. It was roomy enough for his occasional rejuvenation, and since he rarely ever left his office, it was just enough to keep his most personal things from Gaves's curious eyes. The accommodation had a small living room with a reading chair in front of an unpractical fireplace which he seldom used due to possibility of throwing the entire room in flames. The kitchen was joined with it, yet the stove hasn't been used in a long time. Clive mostly ate out, since he never had talent for cooking. He had a decent supply of cookies, though, and bottles wine stuffed in the counters. His bedroom had nothing else than a bed and a small table beside it with spare candles. In it there was a door to the bathroom, or rather "the hygiene's home", where in a claustrophobic space were contained basic supplies to look like a moderately civilized citizen.

The files were scattered all around the kitchen counter towards which he pulled the chair. He studied the most famous cases, which the possible work of his favorite assassin, and focused on his patterns. The Faceless Killer always wore different masks, which on the beginning of his activity made the authorities believe that it's not the same person. But every single time he was slick and fast, cold-bloodedly killing everyone involved with the main target's interactions at the time of the assassination.

The Faceless Killer is a highly anonymous assassin, who has never shown himself to anyone but his victims. He communicates through letters delivered by couriers from the criminal underworld. He's always been extremely cautious. No one knew about him before he started leaving occasional survivors. They always told about different masks, not remembering the assassin's gender or what he or she done to them before they blacked out. No one knew why the iconic caramel poison didn't affect them lethally; no one was able to learn anything. On one hand the killer, through his or her work, tended to expose corrupt officials, terrible criminals, and other filth. On the other hand, the controversies and corruption afflicting murdered Alliance's elite tended to leak to the public, often causing intense outrage. The absolute worst part was that innocent onlookers were often killed as well.

Clive closed all folders, knowing that he will just confirm what already has been obvious. If everyone had believed him sooner after the assassin started leaving witnesses…some still don't. Even he wasn't sure if it was just one person doing that. He tried to believe that the best he could, yet he never found proof. He took off his reading glasses and put them beside a glass full of wine. The wind outside sounded different that night as he pondered what he should ask the current witness. He sat there, alone, in the kitchen until he drifted off to sleep.

Before dreaming of abominations, he wondered what mask The Faceless Killer will put on next.