Benighted: (2.1) Elmo Moretti's Case & Skibbers

Nighttime’s blanket had encompassed the small city for hours. Zelmyr sat against the wall in his home, mulling over the facts he discovered just as the outside darkness had fallen. Guido Moretti had murdered his own uncle, and Zelmyr was the only one who knew—the only one who had evidence.

An unconventional bit of evidence so to speak.

He did not wish to get further involved, but Guido himself had requested the necromancer’s services to find Uncle Elmo’s killer. Why would such services be requested by the actual culprit? It made no sense, and it was not Zelmyr’s job to have it make sense. He was merely to present the evidence and that was it.

What now though? Return to Guido and invent a tale?

No, Zelmyr could never do that…though he could say that he had been unable to find who was responsible for Elmo’s slaying.

That would also not work because—despite it being against the innate qualities of his own people—Zelmyr’s conscience would prick at him, knowing that a murderer walked around freely. His people’s natures were impartial. They did not allow emotion to cloud their judgment or get in the way of facts. This case did not belong to him. He never even knew Elmo Moretti.

He should not care.

With a soft sigh, Zelmyr turned his head to the side. His eyes peered toward the darkness housed beneath the bed. He outstretched his arm in its direction, whispering an incantation. It was not long until a warm green light poured from his palm and toward the bed. The light glowed gently, creating an emerald shade within the dim space. Through that space, a cracking sound erupted from the area where the light had gone.

Crack!

Then another CRRRAAAAACK!

Moments later, a tiny skeletal head poked out from under the bed. This head sniffed about as though it were alive, soon spotting Zelmyr and scurrying toward him. A rat skeleton. It would be considered an abomination to many, but not to the man. It was why the critter of bones climbed up his descended fingers and along the pathway of his arm.

“Skibbers.” A barely formed smile landed on Zelmyr’s lips as he watched the little undead creature. He let it sniff and familiarize itself once again with its renewed life. “I know. It’s been a couple days. I have been busier than usual.”

The rat made whispery squeaking sounds before settling on the man’s shoulder. It twitched its nose toward his neck.

“I know. It’s strange.” Another breath fled the seated Zelmyr. “It’s strange for me too. I suppose it is something to get used to, even if sometimes I’m not certain why I’m doing it. Like now…” He moved his arm so that his hand rested on his thigh. “…now I am in the middle of a debate with myself.”

Skibbers squeaked again, nibbling at the fabric of his summoner’s shirt.

“Well, I am in the middle of a dilemma.” Zelmyr’s hand lifted so that his fingertips hovered above the creature’s bony back. “I recently discovered that a victim’s relative—the same relative who called me—is also the victim’s slayer.”

Skibbers turned his head, his nose leaning in and prodding at the man’s fingers.

“Yes, I found out earlier tonight actually.” The actions from the little curious thing tickled. “I spoke with the victim’s shade. Now here are the questions that have been swirling in my mind since that discovery: do I turn him in to Detective Mills? Do I bring false results to the relative and tell him that I could not make contact with the victim? Do I even get involved at all?”

Skibbers returned his focus to the shirt to nibble at it again, but not before chittering first.

“I know. This should not even be an issue for me.” Zelmyr gently stroked his tiny companion’s spine. “Cale would have probably just told the relative’s brother, Vinnie and been done with it.” A pause arose then.

Vinnie.

“I had nearly forgotten him.” When Skibbers squeaked questioningly, Zelmyr continued. “Guido, the relative who had called me to investigate his uncle’s murder—he mentioned that he and his brother were adamant about knowing the details behind the victim’s grim fate. Guido implied—probably unintentionally—that Vinnie was a tad bit more adamant. Perhaps he doesn’t know…”

Zelmyr put his opposite finger to his lip in thought. The movement caused Skibbers to shift again and settle closer to the man’s neck.

“I can always visit Mr. Vinnie, making it appear like I’m there for a bit of questioning. It’s nothing less than normal.”

He drew both his legs toward himself and lowered his fingers from the undead rat so that he could set his hand to the floor and push his body up into a standing position. Skibbers remained clutched in position as Zelmyr briefly stretched out his back.

“That is what I’ll do then.” His quiet footsteps took him to a small table where an array of scrolls, books, and baubles lay atop it. “What’s that?” He glanced sideways toward his shoulder where the small beast was located. “You wish to come with me? Now where did this come from? You never exit outside of this space.” An inaudible chuckle fled him. “Ah, Skibbers, and what are you hoping to experience? You think this to be an adventure?”

Another amused sound arose from the necromancer as he reverted his eyes toward the table. “Oh, so you think that you can help me?” How he enjoyed listening to the quips from Skibbers. He always had ever since he had found the creature in a London museum many years ago. It had been a habit for Zelmyr to keep bestial skeletons. A bizarre and repulsive habit in the eyes of many, yet not for him.

Perhaps it was just part of his nature.

Skibbers held a special spot within him though—another uncharacteristic quality of Zelmyr’s people. Becoming attached to creatures—living or undead—was not natural for those in his craft.

It could explain why he was here now and in the middle of a situation that should not pertain to him. He persisted on, in spite of this.

After brushing his fingers along a scattered scroll on the table, Zelmyr chuckled quietly again at Skibbers’s little noises made by his ear. “You present a good point. You could provide extra investigation for me.” He leaned sideways toward the table as he briefly pondered. “I could cover a lot more ground with you. We may even be able to search some areas that most people are hesitant to let me see or feel.” He began to nod as idea after idea seeped into his mind. Never had it crossed him to take one of his summons with him.

“Very well.” Zelmyr cleared his throat and stood straight. “You may come along with me, Skibbers.” He reached across himself to coax the critter into his palm. “We will begin our adventures with a visit to Vinnie Moretti.”