| Book Information Weight of Guilt, Part IV |
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| Added by | Stirk | ||
| ID | xx003460 | ||
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uddenly, Kevius' enthusiasm and interest in the case became clear, as he stammered to explain. "My father lives on Solstheim, working for the East Empire Company. Last month, I visited him there with news that my sister had finally decided to settle down with a good, charming fellow. While I was there enjoying the crisp air outside of Fort Frostmoth, there was some trouble with werewolves. One of them pounced on me, all fangs and drool, so I screamed for help. Well-armed guards were quick to respond, and chased off the beasts. I was checked for signs of injury, and finding none, I was released. Unfortunately for me, it seems it never occurred to the guard that the disease they carry is transmitted by saliva, not truly by bite; there was not a mark upon my body, they said, so I must be fine. I failed to tell them that I had swallowed and gagged upon the fetid spittle that thing rained on me. At that point though, my business in Fort Frostmoth had concluded, and not being one for pointless boring travel, I recalled back to my house in Cyrodiil."
Stopping for breath for a moment, he continued shortly. "All was normal for a time, but after a few days, as night began to fall, I knew something was not quite right. I did not know at the time what was bothering me, though I suspected the worst. With that fear in mind, I went to see Crantilius Vasius. He had a brother in the Legion, so I thought he might know what to do to take care of the infection. I remember opening up his door, sweat pouring down my face, him greeting me, asking what was wrong, and then a blur. In the morning, I discovered Crantilius had been murdered. I was numbed by crushing guilt, because surely I was the one to do it. Throughout the day, I was too afraid to do anything. Then as darkness came, I panicked. I ran to see Gralilan Tulius; he had connections to the Blades - I didn't know what connections - and surely the Blades know everything about everything, or could find it out. Gralilan would be able to find me a cure, before I did too much damage."
"But morning came, and no cure had I. Gralilan lay dead in his house, and I was still alive, and still thought myself guilty. I left town, and sought out a cave that had been home to bandits before the Legion cleared them out. Bringing a few meager possessions, I magically locked the door and waited. When morning came again, I unlocked the door, hurried to town, and was overjoyed that no one had been killed in the night. That cave became my home. But after a week, there was another murder - Falinia Rescius, an apothecary - again someone I might have gone to for help. The door to my cave was intact, still locked, but the dirt and rock around it's bottom had been cleared away by desperate clawed hands. It was enough to slide under without disturbing the door."
"Besides the overwhelming guilt, I began to feel a deep, gnawing hunger. As if despite my killing, I would never be satisfied. Horrified, I sat in my cave and tried to think of who else might be able to help me. Sadly, to date those people have all been victims. Crantilius and Gralilan, Ysronmir the sorcerer I thought might be able to at least paralyze me overnight, Vonvild the summoner I thought could contact something knowledgeable from Oblivion to cure me, Nevus the alchemist might have a potion to cure me, Gratinius the enchanter might craft something to suppress the disease. I. . . I thought when you arrived, you might solve the crimes, and find me. E -- Even though I knew I was guilty, I thought you might know some treatment for me. I was afraid you'd be my next victim."
I blinked in astonishment. I knew a werewolf had been involved, and that the poor afflicted person was not the killer - or rather, not this particular killer - I had no idea it was someone right under my nose. I started slowly "So you remember breaking the windows, or the sound of it, maybe, in your hazy nighttime antics?"
"I. . . well, sort of. I think it more convincing that I would wake up with shards still on me. But. . . but my arm was always so bloody. . ."
"Do you mind if I had a look at it?" I asked, still feeling somewhat surreal. When he rolled up his sleeve, I immediately knew what had happened, and explained it to him. "You sought out those who could help you, as you feverishly stumbled about town on the verge of transformation. Seeing you in such terrible shape, your saviours would let you in and begin looking you over. Either when the transformation struck, or perhaps before, you would escape through a window, as to avoid harming them. I'm not sure where you went after that, but surely somewhere out of town. Though bloodlust consumed you, even as a werewolf you could not harm another. Just look at your arm! You must have sat somewhere in the darkness, gnawing on it to keep the worst of your hunger at bay."
Suddenly, my mood darkened again. I knew who the killer was, and it troubled me. Yet besides Kevius' visiting the victims, it was the only other connection I could find between them, though it did not connect all of them. The conclusion was that the killer only intended to strike down a few of Kevius' saviours, but killed them all so as to more thoroughly frame Kevius.