Adamantine pillars rising high above, the hum of arcane energy permeating the foggy weather.
Kneeling down at the foot of the right pillar, Detective Aiden Ryce runs his hand along the hot metal. A layer of mud and soot covering the untouched piece of architecture, a handful of ancient signages glued onto it completely censoring the items beneath.
Adverts for cola drinks, sleazy taverns, and missing individuals covering the towering structure, ignored by the inquisitive mind as he begins tearing through them.
Tan speaks up as he approaches. “I suppose you have found a new source of evidence in this investigation.”
“The pillar’s hot.” The Detective advises. “You know what that means?”
The elf raises an eyebrow. “That it is the source of the arcane seal?”
“It’s the source of the arcane seal.” Ryce informs, ignoring his partner’s answer. “This is something that’s dating back to the first decades.”
“A one thousand, four hundred year old arcane seal? Is that your current working theory? That somehow this was an accident?”
“It’s the best we got.” Ryce continues.
“We still have not received the testimony from the other two individuals.” Tan informs. “Perhaps this theory could be put aside until we receive a more comprehensive picture on the situation?”
A suggestion passed through thought processes, the human continuing his investigation.
Beneath layers of debris the first few runes are uncovered. Incomplete, forged directly on the adamantine steel. “Can you tell what sort of spell this is?”
Tan nods. “I can determine the arcane type, if that is what you require.”
“Then do the do thing.”
The city holds its own soul.
A depression in space-time, the concentration of activity creating a singularity within the echoing tides of the immaterial realms. Power from the beating hearts of every soul, every gear, and every coin; each stone its own particle in the great living being of South.
Golden light approaches a hand outstretched, Detective Tanithil pulls at the strings of arcanium. A great harp of power, musical cord sending reverberations of energy and matter into reality.
Circle of power, an arcane spell coming to life at the Detective’s fingertips.
Neurons extend outward, tactile sensations interwoven within bundles of electrically charged fiber. Within eyes the Detective watches a mind’s language come together, instinct itself arising with a single, unexpected answer.
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A school of power, of application. Fire and bolts of energy, of combat magics and terrifying implications.
All temporary, all but fleeting bits of lethal projection.
Never like this.
“Hmmmm…” Tan begins with a raised eyebrow. “It seems to be an evocation type of magic.”
“Shut up you’re kidding.” Ryce stands, wiping mud off onto his coat.
“It is an evocation type of magic.” He insists calmly. “It seems that your theory holds some credibility.”
“Well then we’re screwed.” Detective Ryce cracks his neck.
“Perhaps.” Tan stands straighter, arcane circle now encompassing his wrist in a small, bracelet like item. “Post-cataclysm magic is powerful, and there is perhaps one individual in our Unit who understands at least the basic the fundamentals of it.”
“You want to call Pippy on this?” Ryce sighs.
“Is Officer Underfoot not educated in terms of arcane matters?”
“His undergraduate degree was in arcane archaeology, so yes he knows.” Ryce rolls his eyes. “But do you really want to have his fingers on the Green Front case?”
The Detective stands straighter. “What is your knowledge of post-cataclysm magic?”
A broken mind picked for knowledge, Detective Ryce finding a single relevant concept in his mind. “It’s going to leave a trail. Post-cataclysm magics will always have a bit of an after-effect on whoever decides to play around with them.”
Tan narrows his eyes at his partner’s statement. “Do you have a source for such a statement?”
“Yes; me.” Ryce springs on his feet, moving back towards the group of witnesses.
Quickly keeping pace Tan follows. “Do you have any developments to further this investigation?”
“More questions…” The Detective continues, stopping at the human youth.
Long hair covering a bit of freckles upon his face, the young man struggles to even sit as the Officer approaches.
An observational skill pushed to the limitations of memory, the well washed school uniform of the individual tracing back towards a much nicer, more gentrified location to the north of the city.
“What’s your name?” Ryce begins, pointing directly at the youth.
“J-J-ja-ja-JASON Suther…land.” The young man spits out an actor’s name instinctively, an extraordinary mental state unable to comprehend the basics of reality.
The Detective narrows his eyes. “You’re a bad liar.”
“I don’t… have to answer any questions!” The young man continues.
“Just answer the question.” Detective Ryce pushes hard. “You’re not accused of anything yet, we just need some info.”
A perception augmented by the still active spell, Detective Tanithil sees it; the remnants of arcane charged dust laden upon the young man’s school uniform glowing a faint green.
“Detective Ryce.” The elf stands straighter as he pulls his hands behind his back. “I believe this young individual has traces of arcane energy on his clothing.”
Glances exchanged from both sides of the law, a long silence passing between them.
Youthful eyes immediately dart away, looking outwards to alleyways and avenues.
“Do not run.” The elf advises.
“He’s going to run.” The human instinctively predicts. “This isn’t even your cri…”
Electrical impulse sends muscle fiber into action, panic, youth, and intoxication creating a volatile mixture of impulse and irrationality.
A table flipped, debris strewn across the sidewalk as the young man makes a break for it. Wooden napkin holders and disposable woodware sent across space, survival instincts sending limbs covering faces.
Clutter sending Detective Ryce out of his chair and onto the ground, Detective Tanithil leaping back at the sudden assault.
Half a second of consideration, an exchanged glance between both Lawman concluding a single solution to criminal activity.