On the morning of the first murder, Grackle Nuroon stormed from exhibition to exhibition in somewhat of a funk. The other employees who had made the mistake of arriving early for their shift at Soar Museum did their best to stay out of his way, but inevitably, there were unpleasant scenes when paths were crossed.

On his best day, the was a spikey, Level 56 presence in the halls of that dusty building, and today did certainly not promise to be one of those.

"What manner of moron labelled this piece!" he hissed at a passing , his scratchy voice barely rising above a whisper. Despite the volume, though, the intensity of his annoyance made the words echo around the cavernous space.

Knowing that no reply was really required, the young woman - barely a step into Level 6 - put her head down and scampered away, conscious that there were few more implacable figures than this spindly little man when his blood was up.

If Naroon thought it odd that his employees were literally fleeing from his wake, he did not deign to let it bother him. He had held this position for the best part of four decades and had long lost interest in the opinions of 'short-lived creatures', as he tended to think of anyone who was not worthy of being catalogued, pickled and then put behind a display case.

"'Third Aeon Hunting Knife', my arse!" he said, channelling Artifact Appraisal as he plucked the offending article free from its place in the display cabinet. "Fifth Aeon, at best," he muttered, waiting for the notification to confirm his suspicion. "It'll be that idiot Khrichen, I wager. He's never seen an exhibit he couldn't miscategorise by a few thousand years."

When the *ding* confirmation came through, Nuroon gave a sickly grin and looked around for some passing nonentity to take out some of his frustration. When no obvious target presented itself - the message had been hurriedly shared that the Director was loose in the Exhibition Hall and all sensible beings should find themselves somewhere else to be as a matter of urgency - he turned his anger to the mislabelled knife.

Such an error reduced the integrity of this whole section. How did his people not realise that? He explained it often enough! It only took one mistake of this type - one artefact incorrectly assigned - and questions would be asked over every article in the museum. This place was only as good as its reputation. And he had lent the bricks and mortar of Soar Museum his precious reputation for decades.

In anger, Nuroon's Cultural Appropriation Skill flared, and the knife suddenly dissolved down into grey dust, its stored, ancient XP flowing into his core.

There was a brief moment of guilt for his actions - that was hardly the behaviour of a professional of his standing. At least, not since those early days as an mooching around in the Pits of Panthen - but then Nuroon's fury at the instruction he had received the night before reignited and such minor concerns were forgotten. After the disrespect he had been shown, the Trustees were lucky he wasn't rampaging around absorbing the whole fucking museum.

What in Soar had prompted the Board to allow an inspection of his exhibits this morning? On this day of all days? And, what is more, to insist that he 'welcome' the interloper with open arms, as if he did not have anything better to do with his time!

It was a ridiculous imposition and a complete vote of no confidence in his leadership of the museum. And he had told the Chair of the Committee that in no uncertain terms when they had met.

"Grackle, I do think you are overreacting to this a touch," Liando Verlan had said to him, her watery blue eyes wary. The temper of the museum's Director was legendary, and she was less than delighted to have been given the responsibility of delivering this news. "It is not like the Trustees are suggesting anything untoward has been taking place. But, after all, it is in our articles of association that an should be allowed access to the exhibits annually. Just checks and balances, you understand. From our records, it has been some time since . . ."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

But Nuroon was not listening. He rarely did. "It is interference, plain and simple. What you are suggesting occurs is the very thing I was promised would never happen when I agreed to take up this role! A museum is only as good as the independence of its leadership. And you are threatening that. What's next, I ask you? Will one of the Trustees request that I turn over the Minaron Wing for displays dedicated to their personal histories? A travesty, I tell you. A travesty. Up with this sort of thing, I will not put!"

Grimacing at the Director's tone, Verlan had opened her hands in a 'what can I do?' gesture. "I hear your concerns. Honestly, I do. However, I must tell you that the Trustees are united on this, Grackle. The has been booked, and they will be with you first thing tomorrow morning. We expect you to show them every courtesy. There is no reason, no reason at all, that this should not be all over and done with by the supper bell. You let them in, you tour them around any exhibits they wish to check and - should all be well - you won't have to worry about this for another year."

It was challenging to keep up his white-hot indignation in the face of his Chair's calm and reasonable voice. Nevertheless, Nuroon gave it a good go."And that is another thing. Why am I just hearing about the inspection now? We had a Board meeting only last week. Why was an event of this magnitude not included on that agenda? It is scandalous that I have only heard about an inspection of my museum the evening before it occurs. It seems to me that the Trustees are seeking to humiliate me!"

Verlan privately reflected that a considerable reason for the Director's difficult personality was perhaps that he had not been humiliated enough during his long life. But this did not seem like an appropriate moment to mention it. "I can assure you that there is no conspiracy here, Grackle. Tomorrow is simply the first available date we could book in. I must tell you that we are mindful of being in breach of our insurance. I hardly need to explain to you, of all people, that Soar Museum is home to some priceless artefacts. In the event of fire, flood or an act of god, the Trustees need to know we are well protected in the eyes of the ."

Of course, the deliberately short notice of the inspection ensured Nuroon did not have the opportunity to make all of their lives hellish in the interim. There had been innumerable occasions during his long period in office that the former had utilised his skills to uncover all manner of skeletons in various closets to win Trustees to his side of a cause. On this occasion, as a Board, they were determined to avoid similar bloodbaths.

"And if I were to offer my resignation?" Nuroon said, skinny nostrils flaring. "Would that make a difference?"

Verlan put a little steel into her expression. One did not rise to the Chairwomanship of the building at the centre of Soar's cultural life without having sharp elbows of her own to deploy. As a Level 40 , she had recently been granted an unusual threshold bonus by her patron god and, whilst not itching to use it to enslave the will of Grackle fucking Nuroon, there was only so far she was going to allow him to continue to be a dick about a pretty minor request. "Of course, Grackle, that would be a matter of considerable regret to Trustees. We would not like to feel you should believe that to be your only option. However, on behalf of the Trustees, I have been empowered to accept, should you insist that to be your wish."

Verlan held up a hand, manifesting Nuroon's contract into it in a puff of entirely unnecessary but dramatically satisfying smoke. "We extended the term of your Directorship just last year. It would be disappointing to bring your career at Soar Museum to a close over such a minor matter. However, the Trustees will not risk failing to be compliant with any number of our constitutional rules by allowing this audit to be cancelled."

Despite a little more to and fro, there had not been much for them to say to each other after that.

And now here he stood, awaiting the arrival of an who may or may not be poised to bring his whole house of cards crashing down around his ears. This had the potential to be a truly disastrous day.

Nuroon let the remaining ash from the desiccated knife fall from his fingers.

Well, there was little to be done about it now, in any event. It wasn't like he could have the fucking killed, was it?