I want to look for anything around the sword marking. Loose stones, anything out of place. Concealed compartments? I'm thinking the sword may have been some kind of marker or signal. Like a dead drop, or maybe even where Rod was hiding his journal.
I'll put my hands on all the stonework, and use the points on the sword as a reference.
Perception:
On the way back the pair check out the graffito, but it doesn't appear to be a dead drop.
The Matron doesn't know what his last vision was, but she does know that he talked to Rodrick's about it.
Will handle the morning. First, everyone needs to make a FORT DC 11 to avoid fatigue. Second I need sense motive checks
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[dice=Perception]1d20+7
Ham's a team player, and sharing ideas is the default.
Fort:
Sense Motive:
Morning of 30 Neth 4716. Trunau.
After a long day of running around, the newly minted detectives meet up at the Ramblehouse for a breakfast. For some the night has not been restful.
Where to detectives?
Vael walks over to the Ramblehouse to meet with the group. Along the way he and Tulia discuss the events of the previous day.
"What an interesting group Kurst has recruited. And to think that Ruby chose you all," the familiar says. She adjusts her feathers with her beak, a momentary glow emanating as she does so.
"Ruby be a special child. Me back teeth feel like they're janglin' around tha little one, though nae in a bad way," Vael adds. He shrugs, causing the scales of his armor to clink together. After the run-in with the wolves, he's girthed himself for battle. "Speakin' of... I slept well. Feels like it's tha first time in weeks."
=====================================================================
Back with the group, Vael observes that Doxon, Raen, and Ushyle are a bit worse for wear. He nods in understanding. "This thin' we have on our hands with Rodrik be wearin', I ken. Let's head ta see Sara Morninghawk and Urnsul. I'm sure they're both at Clamor. With any luck we'll be able ta connect tha dots on this mystery."
He'll start walking once everyone seems ready to go.
Sounds good. Let's go.
Doxon stands up slowly from his meal, mostly untouched.
Greetings, all. Gods, I could use more time in bed. But justice does not wait for the weary. We best be off, I agree. I warn ya; I won't be at my best today.
Doxon is ready to make the now familiar walk over to Clamor.
Clamor is a squat, cramped building in the western corner of lower Trunau. The clang of metal on metal rings out of the building most hours of the day, an d today is no exception. The heat from the forge fills the stifling smithy as you walk in. Sara Morninghawk , the town’s half-orc, half-Shoanti smith, diligently plies her trade as you walk in. "Doxon. Morning. Not much good about it after yesterday. What can I do for you and your friends?" She gives a solid nod to Ushyle, and polite to the rest.
Doxon starts explaining to Sara about the dagger. Then, realizes she couldn't hear anything he'd just mumbled about.
He clears his throat and raises his eyes to meet her gaze.
Apologies, Miss. Kurst asked us to look into his brother's death. We found this receipt in his room. Could you tell us about it?
Doxon motions to who ever is holding the receipt.
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Vael prods Raen, who probably was the one holding onto the receipt. You know, because if it's made of paper it's the wizard who'll be hoarding it. Not at all a RPG trope, no sir.
She takes the receipt as she assures you, "Anything I can do to help."
She looks over and grunts (which is equal parts orc and Shoanti.) "Aye, Rodrik commissioned a new blade a week ago. I did the preliminary work on the knife, then handed it off to Urnsel. I assumed finished the blade." She hands it back to you and begins searching for something.
“I guess it doesn’t matter so much anymore,” she says, After a few minutes searching for something, Sara comes up empty-handed. “I’ll bet that clumsy oaf Urnsul put it somewhere before she up and quit the other day; it’s hard to get good help. I’ll let you know if I find the blade.”
"Asmodeus' balls! She quit?" Vael curses, showing he's been hanging in The Killin' Ground perhaps too long. "You wouldn't happen to know where she went, or when you last saw her? She leave any possessions behind?"
Sara shakes her head. "Nay, nothing. I took her one a couple weeks ago, but yesterday she never showed up. Gorum's taint this is a mess. She could barely speak Taldane, so I took pity on her and took her in. She owned nothing, and I don't think anything is missing, though I guess she has Rodrick's hopeknife."
Does Doxon know who Urnsel is? Would he recognize her?
You've seen her, but she almost never speaks. She's not rude, she just never talked. She seemed skilled enough, but mostly due to strength, not training.
Miss, do you know where she was staying?
Doxon knows she was staying here.
(He also knows she has a soft spot for half orcs looking to improve their lives.)
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Would you mind if we took a look at her sleeping quarters?
"Be my guest. I know it's a long shot, but if you see that knife in there, let me know. I thought for sure she was a good egg. I'll keep looking in here."
"We've got the time. Let's be thorough."
You see next to nothing. She owned nothing, and left with the same...
Ushyle follows up with Sara. Did she only speak Orcish? That would be too coincidental, I think, he says to himself.
"She spoke enough Taldane to get by. It certainly wasn't good. She's spent her whole life in the Hold. It's more common than you think."
Ignoring her evident Trunau privilege Ushyle nods. And the hopeknife commissioned by Rodrik — why did he need a new one? He should've just had his hopeknife engraved for...to give to Brinya. That is the custom, after all.
"I'm not sure. He came in last week. I'd say he looked embarrassed about it. He asked for it on the double. That's why I took the base part. It wasn't finished when I turned the project over to Urnsul. It can't be coincidence that it's missing now. Can it?"
No, Ushyle says firmly, his face darkening. I doubt very much that it is a coincidence.
Raen inspects some of the paint sample Hamilton got off the rock.
***
"Do you think she might have gone back to the Hold?" Raen asks. The question is mostly rhetorical, but she points it in Sara and Doxon's direction.
Leaving Sara's forge a moment later, Raen turns to the others with tired eyes. "We may be at a dead end here, at least for the moment. Perhaps we should seek out Jagrin Grath, and learn what we can from him. We might also visit That 'n Such or the House of Wonders and seeing if anyone's been selling poisons."
Raen tries to remember if there are any other apothecaries in the small town.
"Oh!" Raen says, slapping her hand to her forehead. "And the Patrol Sergeant, Omast. Perhaps we should see him next?" I must be more tired than I thought.
Raen doesn't know of any other apothecaries in town. Assuming a Take 10 on finding the Patrol Sargent: . It takes you most of the morning, but you eventually find him... though you're not sure how helpful his lead is going to be.
You find Omast at the South Tower of Trunau’s inner wall, dangling from the tower’s battlements by a rope tied to his belt. His futile attempts to wash away the graffiti that recently appeared there are creating quite the spectacle. If it wasn't already a sorry job, the man is stumble-drunk.
"You's lot down theres. Gimme some suds for drinking and some schuds to clean thish wall. I couldn't shave the poor bastard, I could at leasht clean this town up. Blashted. 'Elp me out!"
"Ken ye describe what Urnsul looks like? It doesn't sound like she was here long enough for me ta have seen her at Tha Killin' Ground. Assumin' she even cared for tha occasional drink," Vael adds, the idea of not drinking his dwarven ale as close to a sin as he sees things.
Once it becomes apparent that the group is out of questions, Vael thanks Sara. "Send me regards ta Agrit, will ye? I'll brin' some ale over next time."
"Let's go see tha Patrol Sergeant."
===================================================================
Along the way Vael will send Tulia off to see Rabus Clarenson to let him know he's helping Kurst with something important and won't be in today. He's got enough ale made that he can sell, so nothing to worry about. This'll happen after the group gets directions to Omast, so Tulia shouldn't have any issues finding him.
"Blast it all!" Vael growls, keeping it in earshot of the group only. "If he got drunk at tha Killin' Ground, Rabus will be in for it."
To Omast he says, "Hang on, lad. We'll help ye down. We need ta talk ta ye. Kurst asked us ta, so ye ken it's important."
"I don't think she ever had a drop. Very serious, but I don't blame her. Even in Trunau it can be tough for us half-orcs. Sorry, but it's true. Just ask your friend there. Ooshielay is it?" She describes Urnsul as a typical specimen of half-orc. She's more scarred than is typical. "Aye, thanks Vael, I'll pass it on."
-------
Tulia chirps and returns not long after having checked in. "He's all set. He wants an update though before sleep tonight."
Ushyle stares holes through Omast as the inebriated guard hangs ignominiously. The half-orc clearly has no patience for such carelessness, regardless of the circumstances. Without taking his eyes off Omast, he asks aloud, And how do you propose we get him down?
"I can get getsh meself down. Iomedae's Butt! sho loud. I ought oughta just jump head fersht a lot of good my lifsh been."
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"No need for that," Raen calls up, though she too is annoyed that Omast has taken to drink. I keep meaning to learn that spell that slows a fall. I should get on that. After this, of course. "Can you get down? Or do we need a ladder?"
She looks over what Omast was trying to wash away.
This graffito is a similar white sword. The Sargent's efforts have been completely for naught.
"Ish can getter down." Omast releases his knot and slams into the ground with a groan. "Shoulda broke my neck. Poor kid. That poor kid." He attempts to medicate by taking out a flask and drinking. "Ish my fault. OH I can't b'lieve it."
"I shulda trained 'em better. I'm done for. Jusht killmenow. Shumtin's afoot. OH DESHNA! It was horrib-b-b-b-le. Dat knife, covered in hish blooood. Washn't even hish." He sobs, takes a drink, and sobs again.
Omast then tries to scrub the guilt off his face with his soapy brush.
It doesn't work.
Wasn't his what? Ushyle asks. His blood? His knife?
|
What do you think is going on? WP get eye to eye with him despite his reeking breathe."Listen! This is very important. Get yourself together. You might be able to help Rodrik still!" WP pauses to make sure he has the drunk man's attention.What do you mean by 'something is afoot?'Anything you know, no matter how small is important."
"Hish knife. It wash weird. Not Sshara'sh normal work. I dunno! I'm trying to DIE OVER HERE. Igot nuthin' to live fer anymore."
The man is now dangerously close to passing out.