Scene #4281: Artifact Crime

Owner	Pose
Heaven's Armory	Athia is not a particularly high-profile country, as these things go. Without much in the way of natural resources, it's on the high-scale maps only as a trading post. The high-scale maps can be a bit misleading, since it's still hundreds of miles of forest, mountain, rivers and sea, and has enough half-explored ruins that digging things out of them almost offsets the hit to the economy from dealing with the dangerous beasts there unearthed. Still, the locals deal with it, so calling in help from the Union Elite Forces--as they're doing today--is very unusual for the place's history. The message isn't too forthcoming with details; it originates from local law enforcement in a harbor town, was passed up the chain to the ruling baron, then to the royal court, may or may not have ever been seen by the king himself, and from there was sent to the appropriate arm of Union command. It requests armed, professional investigation.
Mel Brock	And 'armed, professional investigation' is in fact what Marshal Mel Brock does; quite often solo, in fact. She can handle herself in a fight about as well as any dozen regular officers, or even SWAT team members. Which makes it easier to send her out to something that might warrant armed intervention, saving both manpower for elsewhere and the cost of deploying said manpower. She can go over the message on the way over while autopilot handles the basic navigation, poke into local laws that might be relevant, look up basic details on the place she's heading to, it's a good chance to ready herself. And to be honest, this kind of assignment is her bread and butter. She'd rather be doing this than holding up a fifteen-story building with her mind or fighting a giant coral monster any day. When the Chaser leaves the final warpgate of the trip, the console beeps at her, and the officer sets aside her datapad to take up the controls. The coordinates lead her right to the harbor town, and she'll look for a good landing area somewhere in town to set down, hop out, and switch on the basic security system. From there, it's a matter of looking for the headquarters of the town guard, or watch, or whatever might be running things here.
Heaven's Armory	There's not a lot of big landing spots, but a few small ones. The most obvious is what looks like a market square, in which there is currently no market. Must be the wrong day of the week. Wherever Mel chooses to land, getting to the lawman's office won't be too hard--there are precious few people visiting by air, and as soon as she's shown some identification to the nearest constable (attracted by the landing), she'll have herself a guide straight there. It's rather late in the evening. The sun's no longer visible, having gone behind the mountains, but there's still some traces of light over them. That leaves street lamps to show off the rather varied inhabitants. All are humanoid, but humans only make up about fifty percent, with the rest a mix of almost-human, reptilian, or furred. It doesn't seem like the guide actually knows what's going on, but that'll be fixed on entering the guardpost. The message mentioned a sergeant Franque--or maybe Frank, as Athia isn't big on standardized spelling. Either way, that's the name claimed by the upright bear in uniform, sword at his side, that stands to greet Mel, offering a handshake while the constable salutes. Apart from his name and one almost-hand, the bear offers, "Glad to see you've made it quickly. This is a tense situation. And it'll be over by sunrise, either way. We'll be safe a few hours, if you need it. Tea?" There is, in fact, tea.
Mel Brock	Pulling out her badge and ID is the first thing Mel does once she's out of the Chaser. She's all business, giving the guard a respectful nod, along with her name and the reason she's here. On the way there, her hands stay in her pockets, her usual posture for walking, and she indulges the constant habit of scanning the street as she walks. Helps to get to know the place, helps to spot anything untoward, just generally good practice. Her uniform and longcoat probably stand out a little here, but she's used to that. "Marshal Brock, pleasure," she offers, returning the shake. "Union tries to respond to these things soon as we hear about them, and I was on call when it came in. Only need as long as it takes to brief me, I didn't get any details on what's going on." She does in fact accept tea, and pours it like a normal person - though she might use her telekinesis to throw away any trash involved, if such exists.
Heaven's Armory	It's working-class tea, but certainly drinkable. Maybe a staple of the area. Sergeant Frank has some, himself, but only lets it get in the way of briefing for a few seconds. "Earlier today, had a report come in on multiple murders. Found one body straight off, tracked the others from it. Six victims, all well-armed. Known excavators, still had their explorers' licenses on them. One had taken a stab wound clear through her hauberk. We worked the trace into town, but I ordered it stopped when we reached the wharf district. The victims had a highly competent reputation, and at least three of them were killed from the front. Anyone that can pull that off is a serious risk to the town and my men." It's a little hard to tell on a bear, but he looks pretty uncomfortable at this point. "I'll give the order if I need to, but I hope you can save us some risk by taking the lead. I don't want to see any of my people die without a good reason. Nor with one, for that matter." Harrumph. "Corporal Nicholaus has a full, written report if you want all the details, but he's, hrrm, thorough, doesn't prioritize well. Any questions?"
Mel Brock	Mel sips her tea while the officer explains, listening as best she can. "Bladed weapons. Any other word on causes of death? Ranged weaponry? Evidence of magic - fire, ice, alterations to the location of the fight, things like that?" She sets down her empty cup, and slides her hands into her pockets again. "Whatever this is, I don't want to be a loudmouth and say I've got it handled, but if I have a rough idea what's coming I should be able to at least survive long enough to know if I need backup, or to get the hell out of there. I'll take point, but keep your men on standby just in case." Truth of the matter is, she'd much rather save them the risk too. But she doesn't want her own bad luck to force-feed her her own words, so she'll do this with at least some modicum of sense. "I'm as armed as I need to be, though, so lead the way."
Heaven's Armory	"Understood. And still relieved to hear you say so, marshal. This way; sooner we get this handled, sooner we can all sleep soundly." Tea time being over, the sarge waves over an aide and exits the room in the opposite direction Mel had come in. After a cramped hallway, they get out into a similarly cramped alleyway. The street lamps don't reach here too well, but it's enough to navigate. "One stab through the stomach, and out the back. Through armor. One decapitation--cut the leather straps on his helmet, too. One stabbed in the back, straight to the heart. Missed the ribs, looked intentional. Two had various burns, both fire and acid. One just had half her bones crushed. Physical-boosting spells." Frank delivers all this in a low voice. "That's what we traced. The magic was still active some time after the fight. It got us a fair idea where they are, and I know who owns each building down here. There aren't many where an unknown group could hole up, even for a night." Warehouses. Out here, it looks like the workers have all moved on to either drink or sleep, though work should have ended only recently. There are stragglers in the distance, but for the most part, it's already abandoned. "I've got my men in position, keeping an eye. Made sure no one left." A short, thick-set woman in braids and uniform comes up, and whispers to Frank. He nods, then repeats it for Mel. "One woman left, bought drinks, and brought them back here. Big, green skin, unarmed." He looks back toward the building. "Anything else you need, say the word."
Mel Brock	Though they're ostensibly nowhere near the perp's hideout yet, Mel is already on her guard the moment they leave the guardhouse. This is either one or a few people capable of a mix of physical and magical combat, and both precise and professional. She can't assume they're safe until the culprit or culprits are dealt with. So she's scanning both the streets - ahead and behind - and the rooftops. Even still, her steps are brisk, keeping her alongside Franque Behr wherever she can, and right behind him otherwise. "Copy that. I get into too much trouble, I'll fall back. Otherwise, sit tight." She steps into the warehouse district proper, and almost immediately holds out her hand; pulling to herself any nearby wooden plank, spare or broken wagon wheel, or anything of that sort she can get hold of. Something she can use as a platform, by which to telekinetically lift herself up to the rooftops here. From there? She goes for a walk. Across the rooftops of the warehouses, right on the edge where she can get a look down at the roads below too. Whenever she reaches the edge of one, she steps onto her 'platform' and floats across to the next. It's a methodical, building-by-building search for any signs of habitation.
Heaven's Armory	There's plenty of junk around to lift up, so long as you don't need it to withstand much. It doesn't look like a lot of people here are used to using the rooftops, and perhaps for good reason. One has to watch where they're going to avoid sliding or dislodging anything. The architecture should hold up so long as nothing heavy falls on it, meaning it's not quite as sturdy as one might have hoped for. Still, navigation is possible, and at least the frames in the warehouse district are more reliable, making parts of the roof sturdier than others. As it looked from the ground, there aren't a lot of people still in this area. It's only thanks to that that a flicker of wan light is visible, reflected off an interior wall and through a shuttered window of the building ahead. The constables had carried oil lanterns, one of which this could be, but none of the dock workers of earlier had been carrying their own light sources.
Mel Brock	Well. There aren't supposed to be regular workers here right now, and the constables are all on standby. There's not a whole lot of people this could feasibly be, and all of them are 'people who probably should not be here'. There are a few ways she could go about this, all of them varying levels of destructive to the environment and safety to her. Before moving in, she stops to consider her options; looking over the structure of the building itself, memorizing points of entry or escape. Ultimately, her plan doesn't change much based on the layout, aside from 'knowing which direction people are likely to run'. She steps off the roof, lowering herself with her 'platform' before tossing it aside, and then casually walks right up to the front door. And pulls it off its hinges with her mind, holding it in front of herself as a shield for the moment. "This is Union law enforcement. Hands on your heads, do not speak unless spoken to or you will be treated as making hostile incantations. This building is believed to be housing a murder suspect or suspects, so I /will not/ skimp on use of force if you make this difficult." Only after issuing that proclamation does she move the door aside to take a look... but even then she keeps a telekinetic barrier in front of herself, just in case.
Heaven's Armory	The moment the door comes off, there's movement inside. There was a light, moments ago, but now it's gone. There's little left but moonlight, reflecting off the water and through the door, or casting long silvers of light through the closed windows, of which there are few. The street lamps don't reach here. "We're resisting arrest." 20-something, adult male, human. Loud and confident. Slightly off the local accent. The voice is straight ahead, and he steps forward with heavy, deliberate steps. With the door moved to the side, the moonlight shows a figure in blackened plate, holding up a two-handed sword. There's motion to the right, and to the left, but harder to make out, any sound indistinct in comparison. The first attack comes from the right, as a profoundly ugly and impressively muscular woman with small tusks and green skin leaps forward. She drops into a swift crouch, aims a sweeping kick with one hand pressed to the ground, then follows with a rising kick from the opposite direction.
Mel Brock	Sigh. "Of course you are." The dislodged door suddenly explodes forward, hundreds of pounds of force propelling it straight towards the man in full plate, and while it's still flying she makes her next move. A quick hop right over the sweep, and when the kick comes up Mel actually moves into it - only to shift her weight aside, allowing it to pass over her and hooking her arm around the ankle in the same direction it's moving. She uses this, with a twist of her body, to jerk the orc woman's leg around and let her own momentum help in putting her on the floor face-first. Then she holds her hand out towards the middle of the warehouse, and every single window she can see blows out at once. That should give her more light to work with. "I'd like to take this moment to remind you they suspect you people of killing six experienced adventurers, and knowing that, I'm here alone. Giving you all one more chance to stand down before I get rough."
Heaven's Armory	The orc wasn't expecting even skills, and she gets caught. There's resistance, but she's just slightly too slow to reverse the hold before she's brought down. The armored swordsman is blown backward, cutting off whatever he might have been about to say next, accompanied by the sound of crates breaking apart as a mass of steel is thrown through them. The windows are opened up, the sudden light revealing an amorphous mass of shadow to the left, out of which a too-tall, slender figure wrapped in dark cloth appears, thrusting a short sword with a second hand pushing the pommel. They're very quiet, but the light ruins the surprise. The orc isn't actually unconscious, but doesn't seem to think Mel's offer is as important to respond to as her need to shout, "Don't screw around! Use it while we've got a chance!" What she means by that isn't immediately clear, unless it's to do with the last revealed figure, man with arcane symbols all over what was once a clean set of robes. He's badly in need of a shave, but from his position on the warehouse rafters--likely reached by a nearby ladder--he begins casting... something. There's a green tinge to an aura like a flickering fire around him.
Mel Brock	Mel's eyes dart between the emerging shadowy figure and the one up in the rafters. Internally, she sighs; she's going to catch hell for this. But she's being targeted with lethal force from two different venues, and she's only got one way to respond to both quickly. She releases her hold on the orc's leg, holds one hand out towards the rogue with the sword and the other towards the mage in the rafters. And all at once, the air in front of each hand ripples. There's very faint flickers of glimmering purple, as if light were reflecting off unseen water. And towards each combatant, she unleashes a wave of force. She can't grab them, but she absolutey can hit them with a wall of push strong enough to blast both of them back - probably right through the wall and ceiling. The waves are wide enough that there will be large holes in the wall and ceiling regardless. She's also probably letting the orc get back on her feet, but she'll deal with that when it hits her in the back of the head.
Heaven's Armory	Whatever the mage was casting isn't faster than Mel. He quickly loses his perch, and just as quickly is thrown through the roof. Pieces of the roof begin to rain down around the new hole, though it's not clear how long that's going to continue. The rogue is treated much the same, being thrown through a wall to the sound of splintering planks and a startled cry. Woman's voice, youthful. The orc is getting up again, and her first move is to go for Mel's arms. She's wary of those hands, now, and taking it as a good plan to use her greater weight to bring them both down and break some arms or fingers. How well that works depends on whether she can get a grip. "We're surrounded, use it already!" Why she thinks--or could know--that isn't clear, but there's a trace of panic. The swordsman has seen enough, and chooses continuing the fight over running or surrender, though he first roots through the ruins of the crates he's just broken. Pulling out a large box, he strikes down on the lock with an armored foot, causing it to snap open. "Shit, fine! This had better be worth it." He reaches into the box, and several things happen, so closely together that it may be at once. First, an unsheathed sword is lifted. Smaller than the one he'd dropped when attacked, it's in pristine condition, as if a collector's piece, right down to the golden color of the hilt. Second, a woman in yellow-gold appears beside him, a close match to the sword, down to the dress that might have worked well in the court of ancient royalty. Third, the sword shakes in the man's hand, coming loose as if the pommel was pulled from the opposite direction. It spins, once, before landing in the new woman's outstretched hand. With this complete, the woman in yellow carves a path through the air that ends with the blade against the man's throat. "Judgment has been completed. You have failed." "What--" The orc seems, if one were to look at her, like she would like to do something about this situation, but is in no position to even try.
Mel Brock	Well, she asked for this. Mel's arms are yanked down painfully behind her, which has her momentarily held in place, and also growling quietly in pain. The orc will probably be able to feel the rippling 'cushion' of force against the psychic's back; she's protected herself against killing blows already, but wasn't able to mount a more full-coverage defense to prevent being snared. She already has thoughts for what to do about this when the swordsman does something that... apparently does not go as well for him as expected. Mel Brock is nothing if not a combat opportunist. With a sharp yank and a turn of her arms, she breaks the orc woman's grip, then turns around and shoves her hands downward befor hauling up. The ground itself beneath her attacker gives way with the sharp crack of wood and the soft tearing noise of dirt being lifted. Lots of dirt, at least twice what the orc woman weighs. Wasting no time, Mel lifts this massive clump up and drops it right on her attacker. "Sit still, Chuckles, or I'll actually hit you next time." Then she turns towards the swordsman and his... attacker? She's not sure. But her sidearm finally leaps out of her coat and into her hand, and she keeps it trained... well, on both of them. "Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to please drop the sword and step away. I'm here to place him and the other three under arrest for multiple counts of homicide."
Heaven's Armory	Surprised a second time, and a great deal harder this time, the orc gets buried. She might be out of it this time, and there's no sign of the rogue or the mage coming back. The woman in yellow turns her head, making no other motion but to get Mel in her line of sight. "Drop my body here? I'm afraid I can't leave myself in the care of these unauthorized... people. I must..." She blinks, staring directly into Mel's eyes, and trailing off. The blade flicks away, and she takes a step to the side. The man looks between her and Mel, then turns and sprints the other way in what is, given his armor, a surprisingly good show of athletics. Still holding the sword, the woman watches in apparent curiosity.
Mel Brock	Sigh. "Down on the ground. Now." It comes across as a simple order, but there's a flick of her hand - and the floorboard where he's next going to put his foot just suddenly tears itself upward just right to trip him. At full speed, he's almost certainly going to go flat on his face. And before he can move to get up again, there's a sudden sense of immense, pressing weight atop him. It lasts for about five seconds before she lets up, and declares simply, "Lay there until I can cuff you, then come quietly, or I will hold you there until my backup arrives myself. Or maybe carry you high enough up in the air you can't jump off without coming apart when you hit the ground. I haven't decided yet." The cuffs she carries are pretty sturdy, theoretically enough to handle even the orc woman, though if he's superhumanly empowered by his armor, there might be an issue. While she moves to cuff him, though, she turns to regard the woman with the sword. "Your body, you called it? So... you're the spirit of the sword or something? Did these folks try to take possession of you from your previous... user, or owner, or whatever you go with?"
Heaven's Armory	The armored, (disarmed) swordsman goes down, too focused to overcome something like a tripping attack from an arbitrary direction. He doesn't get up again just yet, nor does he say much of anything in his defense. There may be some cursing his luck in there. "That's almost it." The swordswoman places the blade at her side, where a sheathe might have been, though in her case she must continue to hold it. "I've never seen these two before, and stealing me should have been impossible without waking me... ah, because of the box, I didn't notice. How vexing. And so, I must find a qualified wielder. I cannot allow one without authorization to carry me." She smiles, quite easily charming. "And so! Would you mind coming here, and giving me your name?" There's some noise outside. Frank might be ordering people.
Mel Brock	Cuffs are locked in place. Rights are read. Once Mel has satisfied herself to the proper arrest of the big guy (murder, assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, fleeing a crime scene), she stands up and turns to head over towards the sword-woman, wearing a mix of concern and puzzlement. "Mel Brock, STA Marshals and Union law enforcement. I've probably got some papework to do and I've gotta make sure these people get to the lockup safely, but if I can help you find a qualified wielder after that or return you to your rightful owner's possession, I'll do what I can."
Heaven's Armory	There's more shouting outside, particularly in the directions of both of the large holes in the warehouse's roof and wall, and the sound of people moving about quickly. The swordswoman smiles, a trace sadly, as she says, "Oh, my past wielder has passed on. I'm certain of that, if nothing else, or I would not be seeking another." Her expression quickly fades to a perfect mask of neutrality. Her eyes lock onto Mel's, slightly widened, searching, and she says, in much the tone she first used but with different wording, "The first judgment has been passed. The second judgment has been passed. Authorization has been granted to qualified wielder, Mel Brock." The mask falls away, and she adds, "I am Hravn, one of the seven known as Heaven's Armory. A sword cannot walk far on its own, so I must ask that you at least carry me away from here." The woman--Hravn--offers her blade--her self, according to what she's just said--to Mel, hilt first, fingers carefully touching the flat of the blade.
Mel Brock	While Mel Brock is fairly unfamiliar with magic and magical dealings in general (indeed, she has missed some fairly blatant writing on the wall in the past minute or so), even she is not so oblivious as to miss what just happened. Judgement passed. Authorization granted to qualified wielder. If she couldn't figure out what was happening, she wouldn't be any use as a police officer. And now... she has absolutely no idea what to do. "Uh. I'm, uh. Are you- did you really just-" Deep breath, Mel, deep breath. "I- I can carry you out of here, yeah, but I don't know about... I mean I get the sense you're asking for more than just getting moved some where that's easier on you. I'm, uh. I don't really know how to use a sword, and besides, this is..." She trails off. You know, come to think of it, she doesn't actually /know/ where the law stands on sapient weapons in general. "Okay, give me a sec here." She pulls out a smaller reference datapad - a necessity in her line of work - and declares, "Lookup. Union property laws, cross-reference self-aware, free-thinking weaponry. Display all sections and subsections." The device chirps, and begins a search that brings up all the relevant laws quickly. Which she immediately begins scrolling through, speed-reading.
Heaven's Armory	Hravn, naturally, isn't going to be much help on relating Union law. She may not even know what the Union is. She was asked a few questions she /could/ answer, but is waiting politely while Mel gets her info. In the meantime, sergeant Franque has arrived, accompanied by a wiry corporal in glasses, holding what is very clearly a spellbook. The sarge looks about ready to say something, but stops and also waits. He looks a bit confused, an expression that shows clearly despite the lack of human features. Union law tries not to interfere with local laws overly much, but does take a very hardline approach against slavery. That's probably why it takes a similar approach in regarding sapient weaponry as capable of self-ownership. But if a sapient object declares someone else as its owner, things get more muddled. This might take some research.
Mel Brock	Scroll scroll scroll, shuffle shuffle speed-read. When Frank comes in, Marshal Brock does not look up from her datapad or say a word; she does, however, point first to the handcuffed swordsman on the ground, and then towards the pile of dirt next to a big hole in the floor. One over here, one over there. The laws on this are... complicated. Many sapient weapons and items have an outright psychological need to be owned, built into their very being. The law recognizes that. This whole thing seems to have a lot of loopholes, caveats, and special cases. But the practical upshot is... "...so a freethinking weapon is exactly as much under property laws as it chooses to be, and can choose its owner at will," she murmurs, the entirety of it sinking in. This weapon has every right to declare itself- herself- the Marshal's property. Hoo boy. Mel has picked herself up a talking sword. "Uh. Alright, so... I don't really know how to use a sword? I mean, if you're alright with that. I've had combat training, and I could find someone to teach me swords in specific, but..." She holds out her own hand as if to take the sword, but stops, leaving /that/ choice to Hravn. "I mean, it's your call if you want that kind of wielder." She's not exactly a dashing knight.
Heaven's Armory	The sergeant nods stiffly and growls something to the corporal, who starts setting about gathering evidence. At least, that's probably what he's doing. It's some sort of non-showy magic that requires wandering around and gesturing at things while muttering and taking notes. Frank is picking up the armored man, and marching him toward another constable. All in all, it seems that the local lawmen should have things in hand from here. This is apart from the sword/woman, whom they are carefully ignoring. Hravn raises one brow, then smiles. Her posture hasn't changed, sword still offered. "Oh, how nostalgic. It's been at least a few generations since I had a wielder that had not heard of me. Your concern's quite appreciated, but you've already qualified. That's rare, you know. Very rare. We can take care of the little details later." Details like 'knowing how to use a sword,' apparently.
Mel Brock	"'Little details'. Right." Mel seems dubious on the idea of that being a 'little' detail. "Well, I'm... I'm not exactly from this world. I was just called in to deal with what turned out to be a murder case with dangerous perps. We're gonna have to add abduction of sapient artifacts to the charges, it looks like." Not 'theft', but 'abduction'. She does close her hand around the sword's grip, however, pausing for a few seconds to wait and see if there will be any sort of strange, showy event upon her grasping the sword. "I... I'm not gonna lie, this is not how I expected my day to go. Do you have some kind of sheath, Hrafn? Did I say that right?" If she's going to be carrying around a sword, that seems like it might be a good idea.
Heaven's Armory	No flashes of light or other mystical events occur. It's a sword, and a fairly weighty one, if held laterally. The grip is just large enough to use both hands, though one might do. "I'm afraid I don't, and yes, that's about right. My last sheathe was destroyed when--well, nevermind that, now. Here, this will do." There is a long box, here, that Hravn had been been stored in. Or rather, sealed. The lock has since been destroyed, and it doesn't look like one could still close it normally and get it to stay that way, but the thick, red cloth that she pulls out of the box could still be useful. It's just a matter of tying it off. "Please think about having a new scabbard made, later. Oh, and be careful with me. I'm quite sharp." With that taken care of, she looks fairly pleased with herself. "Wherever you go is where I will go. Your quest will be my quest. Please use me well, wielder."
Mel Brock	So she'll need to have a new sheath made for her new sword. On said sword's recommendation. Mel Brock pauses to consider this for a moment, and finds herself wondering just what in the wide universe her life has become. But that train of thought leads down the path of madness. No, best to just go with this until she gets used to it. "So, you're... you're mine now, huh." She seems to be trying to wrap her head around this. She's not even concerned with the cleanup at this point; damages will be covered by Union insurance policies if there's nothing of the sort around here, and they'll forward her any paperwork she needs to handle. "Do you need to eat, or anything like that?" she asks, carefully tying off the red cloth. "And for that matter, what all can you do, anyway?" For lack of anything better to do, she rests the sword over her shoulder, with the bladed edge pointed upward. Covered or not, she /was/ warned it's sharp.
Heaven's Armory	"Yes, I am now your sword. Until you give me up or are disqualified, but that's even more rare." She holds her hands together in front of her, long sleeves trailing, and pleasantly smiling. She's awfully relaxed for all the work going on around her. "I can eat, but I don't need to. This body is a magical construct. As for what I can do..." Hravn holds out a hand, palm down, and makes a small, circling gesture. The air beneath her hand distorts like a foggy lens. She pushes the distortion downward and it spreads into a disc, then remaining suspended a few feet above the air. Subsequently, she sits down on it, and crosses her legs. "My theme is 'air.' You may use magic of that theme through me, though I'm afraid it's limited by your authorization level, and I can't tell you about anything you're not authorized to perform."
Mel Brock	Mel considers that for a few moments. "Air, huh. Well... I'm not exactly a mage. But I am a psychic, if that helps any. I'm also law enforcement, so you're probably gonna see a lot of action against criminals." She honestly has no clue how this is going to work, but at least she won't have to pay a lot in extra food costs. And even if Hrafn does need to breathe like a normal person, her ship's life support is rated for a fair number of people indefinitely, so that's not a concern. "...I'm just gonna have to find someone who can teach me how to use a sword." 'What have I gotten myself into' leaps once again to the forefront of the Marshal's thoughts.