You manage to keep hold of your stomach as you get closer to the body, a swarm of flies erupts from the wound as you close in to take the photographs, dispersing around the room, buzzing angrily at the skylight as it denies them a route into the afternoon sun.
The weapon embedded in the wound features an intricate pattern on the pommel, your camera captures it perfectly. as you take more photos of the body, you reach it's face. Though contorted in agony and bloated from several days in the sun, it is just about recognisable as the target of your investigation. Double checking the mugshot that Herb gave you, you were fairly sure it was him.
Following his outstretched arm, you see he was reaching for something off the shrine, or maybe calling to the shrine for help?
As you took shots of it, you can tell intuitively that something is missing from the shrine.
Between the organised chaos of offerings, incense and reagents, there is an omission; a gap.
You can't figure out exactly who or what the shrine is dedicated to, or what would be missing from it, but its a reasonable guess that someone you knew would be able to assist from your photograph.
As you head to the terminal, you trip over the outstretched arm, it's rigour mortis enhancing its strength sizeably, catching you off balance. More flies are dislodged from the decaying body, causing you to swat and waft your arms. A not-so-deft blow knocks the terminal onto the floor with a metallic clunk. No matter how many times you press the power button, it remains in an "off" status.
Cursing your clumsiness and the disgusting conditions, you climb back to your feet and clear your mind of the physical, stepping sideways into the corporeal.
Immediately you are assaulted by the taint of death and rot. The brutal murder has left its mark on astral space, a dark zone surrounds the fallen body.
A bright glare emanates from the dark shadow of the killed man, the dagger in his spine clearly some form of bound foci.
The shrine pulsates with aura, almost too bright to look at. As you focus your second sight on it, a watcher spirit materialises in front of you and begins to speak in a deep, controlled voice.
Fy enw i yw Martin, yr wyf wedi bod o dan fygythiad gan ddau asiantau sefydliad am ddau fis. Heddiw, yr wyf yn talu pris am beidio â chydymffurfio â'u gofynion. Maent yn ceisio pŵer yn y pen draw a bydd yn aros ar ddim. Maent yn llygredig, gwenwynig, drwg yn y bwriad. Rhaid iddynt beidio â llwyddo
Language test: Gaelic (2) or Welsh (1), no -ve mods in the astral.