GM Rednal's Bloody Jack (Inactive)

Game Master Rednal

Gameplay thread.

The grey light of dawn breaks through the dismal smudge that is the air of East Ending, barely beginning to illuminate the broken cobbled streets. The streets run between ancient tenements that seem to sag against each other as if in exhaustion and whose windows look out like blank, soulless eyes. It is the domain of the lost and the defeated, and the last place you’d choose to be at this — or any — hour.

A large, black sewer rat scurries through one of the many puddles of effluvia that gather among the cobbles as it runs for cover at your approach. The early morning air is chill, but the cloudless sky promises to bring an oppressively hot day, especially here among the tall buildings and narrow alleys where a decent breeze can’t ever seem to reach. At least with the morning chill, the reek of the streets and those that live upon them hasn’t yet set in for the day.

Trudging through the ubiquitous puddles and potholes, you see your destination ahead. Among the darkened structures and rotten fencing that make up this alley stands one small hovel from which lamplights burn. The distinctive red rope of the Office of the Watch cordons off the door. It is a crime scene, and the familiar figure of one of the Watch officers stands in the doorway, illuminated by the lamp within.

The figure is Inspector Hogan Muncy, a detective of the Watch and an acquaintance for the past several years. You can’t say that you know him well, but your paths have crossed in your personal circles and developed into, if not exactly a friendship, at least something of a mutual respect. He is the reason that you gather in this godsforsaken place at this godsforsaken hour on this godsforsaken street. The Constable of the Watch that roused you from your slumber an hour ago simply said that Inspector Muncy had requested your assistance with an investigation and to gather your gear and come as quickly as you were able. He then escorted you into the benighted slums of East Ending and left you to continue on your own a block back. It seems that your meeting with the good inspector is to be in private.

Inspector Muncy lights his pipe and steps out into the street to intercept you before you get a chance to glance into the doorway behind him. He looks the part of the quintessential Watch Inspector as he has every time you’ve seen him, from his regulation moustache and sideburns, to his tweed jacket and pants, to his long coat from whose pocket his tiny Watch shield is suspended, to his city-issued, square-toed leather brogans. Even the brown bowler atop his balding head screams “official business”. However professional his demeanor is, his eyes look tired and his face a bit pallid.

At your approach, Muncy retrieves a small wax tablet from his coat pocket and clears his throat as he reviews his notes.

"Let’s see. The deceased is one William Hughe, approximate age 70, at time of death, ‘Old Bill’ to the few people around here that knew him. He was a tinker by trade, though I get the idea he hadn’t done much business in a long time and mainly lived off the bread lines and charity houses. Didn’t get out much, didn’t have any friends as far as we know."

"Bill’s body was discovered about three hours ago by a pair of street sweepers making their nightly rounds. They noticed that the residence was lit and the front door standing open… something no one in their right mind would do in the middle of the night in East Ending. The sweepers found the decedent inside and immediately ran to the nearest Watch Station seven blocks from here to report the crime. The constables immediately cordoned off the area and called me. No one has been in or out since then other than me, and what I found prompted me to call you in. Before you go in I must warn you, the scene is... shocking to say the least."

You may head right in, if you'd like - or take a bit of time to question Inspector Muncy.

Orson walks confidently, moving almost preternaturally as he avoids puddles and rodents without even noticing they are there. Perks of having the spirit of the city living inside your head, it really doesn't want you to slip and spill your brains onto the cobblestones. His coat is red and black with a complicated sigil on his breast pocket with the phrase ::Min athrad ambar::

Usually when Orson is sought after by the constabulary, it's to assist in the discovery of dead bodies or to assist behind the scenes by way of manipulating the minds of others. In any event, it was usually far preferable to searching for dropped baubles and women who have finally left their awful but better-paying husbands.

Never known Muncy to get so shaken up by the sight of a dead man.

Herk follwed the watchman through the back alleys of the dilapidated nieghborhood. His labored breathing echoed in the still night as he wondered, Why would the watch drag me out of bed at this hour. Nothing good, he concluded.

As he listened to Muncy in the dimly lit alley, Herk took a few moments to catch his breath, his labored breathing slowed down and his wits caught up with what the detective was saying. The hunched back man continued his internal monologue, This cant be good, Muncy is rattled. It's more then my keen wit he needs. The other worldly voice inside his head warns, <You're expendable, you fool.>

Herk muttered with a shrug of his shoulders,"You're right." He quickly realized the Muncy was looking at him expectantly and added, "Shocking in what way?"

Orson, don't forget your quick reference bar. ^^ Also, please bold stuff on your character sheet following the template given - it makes it a LOT easier to locate specific things. XD

At Herk's question, Muncy just waved you inside.

The inside of the hovel looks like the site of a massacre. The entry room is small and doubles as a both a sitting room and a kitchen. A door leads back into a small bedroom. A small table next to the bedroom door holds the lit lamp that was apparently set there by Bill before he was killed, though the wick in it has burned down and is about to go out. It has obviously been lit for several hours. The window next to the front door has been broken out, and the glass shards all lie on the floor of the hovel alongside a broken cobble clearly taken from the street outside, confirming that it was broken from the street and likely served as the murderer’s point of entry since the front door does have a perfectly serviceable bolt on it.

Old Bill himself, still in his night clothes, lies gruesomely dismembered in the centre of the floor in a pool of gore. He was clearly a victim of many of his own tinker knives and tools at the hands of someone who bore him great animosity. The blood-stained tools themselves lie scattered about the room as if they were thrown away in anger after they were used. Only the upper portions of the old man’s face and his staring, open eyes were spared the villain’s brutal ministrations — perhaps to better see and appreciate the killer’s handiwork. The semi-congealed blood on the floor and the corpse confirm that this murder occurred within the last few hours, sometime after nightfall last evening.

"Gentlemen. Inspector."

Grey surveys the grisly tableau with a clinical detachment, taking a nip of an experimental serum for wakefulness and alertness. That is... a copious amount of blood. Perhaps too much?

His gaze slides to the Inspector after he considers the details, then to his fellow consultants. They don't appear to be constables, either. Curious. Very curious.

Mention of serum is simply for flavor. No mechanical effect. Think a concentrated jolt of caffeine, like espresso, but with a more chemical tang.

Given it's described as 'the site of a massacre', what rolls would be necessary to determine whether the volume of blood was too great to come from Old Bill alone?

What rolls would be necessary to determine how strong someone would have to be to break the cobblestone from the street?

For now, rolling Heal to notice any peculiarities about the corpse, anything that would contradict the timeline the Inspector has laid out, any incongruities, and Perception for any additional details to add to the general description we're getting.

Heal: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Herk entered the room prepared for the worst and wasn't disappointed. He quietly examined the room making note of the details and concluded, Bill was not chosen at random.

Herk ponderously absorbed the details of the crime scene, looking at the corpse from various angles, and it took several moments for him to realized that there are two other people examining the crime scene. Competition, for the reward, he grudgingly admitted. He looked at them closer trying to discern more about them from their appearance. After a few seconds the other voice in his head advises, <Best get back to the task at hand if you want the reward.> Like a man woken form a dream Herk focuses back on the crime scene ignoring his competitors.

Finally, he gets down to business, he turned to Muncy and asked, "How much to solve this?"

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (19) + 11 = 30

Orson wanders across the room, tracing his staff through the air.

I must agree with the older gentleman. If you want me poking my head into this sort of business, it will cost someone.

"I can offer you a stipend of a gold piece - each - for every day you're on this." Muncy said from his spot near the entrance - which was a respectable rate, the kind paid to real professionals rather than mere laborers. "I've also got a couple of writs for you, deputizing you as investigators for the Watch. You can use them to borrow some equipment if you need something - just be sure to return anything that doesn't get used up, 'lest you want the paper pushers to charge you double for the replacement. Smarmy gits."

Careful inspection of the amount of blood in the room suggests that it came only from one body - although the amount of violence necessary to spread so much blood from one body around is enough to make your stomachs churn.

There's only one other piece of evidence that your investigation can find - a bloody footprint, apparently left by the perpetrator, between Old Bill's body and the exit. It's a small print, sized for a child about six years of age, and it's clear enough that it's not a print from a halfling or a similar diminutive race. The proportions aren't right for a larger person shrunk down by magic, either.

Grey had heard tales of the Blight, but he'd never given much credit to the idea that Castorhage was a blight on the face of the earth... but with this staring him in the face, he's forced to re-evaluate.

"So we appear to searching for someone who use transmutation magic to take on the guise of a child, some sort of possession or mind-control magic coupled with strength-enhancing magic, or a freakishly strong, murderous child." All suggestions had fantastical elements to them, even the most grounded. But in a world where one of Grey's own elixirs could turn him invisible, and another allow him to take on the guise of another race, none of the possibilities could yet be eliminated.

Grey turns to inspect the Inspector. "You want... irregulars for this case. Not the constabulary." An observation and a question both.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17

Knowing a good deal when he heard one Herk quickly responded to Muncy's offer, "Deal."

"So we appear to searching for someone who use transmutation magic to take on the guise of a child, some sort of possession or mind-control magic coupled with strength-enhancing magic, or a freakishly strong, murderous child."

Herk shrugged his hefty shoulders and muttered to himself as he shook his head. A second later he said a little louder, "Or the child could be a witness." He stroked his mustache and added, "Or it even could be a group of children. To little to go by at this point."

He stood a little taller and bruskly addressed the other two examining the scene, "My name is Herk and I usually work alone. If I am going to be working this with you I'd like to know your names." He adds a little louder, "Also, don't get in my way."

Grey turns to inspect the Inspector. "You want... irregulars for this case. Not the constabulary."

The voice in Herk's head screams, <Because you're expendable nosy fools.> Herk nodded his head in agreement and asked Muncy, "Have there been other murders like this?"

Orson turns and makes eye contact, nodding as he introduces himself.

Orson. And I'll try my best.

He goes back to scanning the room after Grey introduces himself.

Agreed, Mr Herk. We don't yet know if the footprint belongs to the assailant. Please, give me a moment.

Can I use object reading on the footprint, or does that not count a an "object"?

The footprint does not qualify as an object.

Muncy just nodded slightly as Herk turned to him.

"Sure this murder is brutal and gruesome, but I’ve served as an Officer of the Watch for more than 20 years. Even the most stomach-turning crime scenes are nothing new to me." Inspector Muncy’s eyes take on a haunted cast, "But this footprint... a child capable of doing this, that’s something unusual even for the Blight. But even this wouldn’t be such a shock that I thought maybe outside assistance would be of benefit except for what I’m about to tell you."

"This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a crime scene where a brutal murderer appeared to have been a small child. It’s actually the second time, and the first was twenty years ago when I was just a green constable. I was involved in a murder investigation then, and that time, too, it appeared that the culprit was likely a small child. The evidence seemed too ludicrous for the Watch to seriously consider that possibility, so the case was closed and given a plausible ‘official’ explanation before being quickly brushed under the rug. But for all these years I’ve wondered what could have happened in that other murder, and now to see this, I can’t help but be reminded of that earlier crime and the unsatisfactory conclusion that the Watch came to on it."

"So that’s why I’ve summoned you here. Two decades have passed since that earlier murder was hushed up, so I know the killer can’t possibly be the same one that ‘offed’ Old Bill Hughe, but the similarities are uncanny and I want a fresh take on this one before the department gets ahold of it and decides it too needs to be closed and given a ‘plausible’ explanation. That’s where you come in. I know that you’ve got some special talents and skills that maybe aren’t found in a typical member of the Watch, and you can operate outside official channels to try and get to the bottom of this. I’ve been placed in charge of this investigation, so I can give you 48 hours before the Watch starts digging in in earnest, so you’ll have an undisturbed head start before any official interference could be cooked up. I’ll pull strings to keep you out of any trouble with the Watch, though obviously don’t start wrecking the town or roughing up witnesses."

"Do what you have to do, within reasonable limits of course, to get this thing solved. I want to know who did this, the why, and the how. I’m not letting this one slip through my fingers like the other one did, and I can’t really trust anyone with it other than you."

"Well, that’s about it," he said as he looked out at the sky only now growing pink with the arrival of first light. "I think it’s time for me to take a lunch break. You gentlefolk better get to it,” he said with a grim smile.

Inspector Muncy placed the bowler firmly upon his nearly bald pate and stepped out the front door before striding down the street, whistling a chipper tune jarringly discordant with the gruesome crime scene he just left. It looks like the investigation is yours.

After the Muncy's remarks Herk turned to Grey, "Looks like your original hypothesis may be closer to the truth."

He took a deep breath and looks around the room again, "I suggest we find out more about the victim." He scratched his head and quickly added, Unless, you have a better idea where to start."

The man must have an iron gut, Grey thinks, to even contemplate food so soon after drinking in such a gruesome sight.

Or, perhaps, become numb after having seen too many of them as an inspector in a city such as Castorhage.

"It may or may not be. I don't think we can rule out your hypothesis yet, either, however. I'm new to investigative endeavors, but it doesn't sound impossible to me that of all the murders committed in this city, two happened to be witnessed by children at two points in time, years apart." Honestly, if that's the case, Grey would be quite relieved. It's a far less disturbing notion that what first leapt to his own mind, and that of the Inspector. He wonders a little what it may say about him that it had been his first thought...

"I believe I read somewhere that it would be a mistake to try to make the evidence fit the prevailing theories, rather than to allow the evidence to dictate the theories. Regardless, yes, beginning with learning more about the victim sounds like as good a point to begin as any. First, though, allow me to introduce myself. Grey Karlov, an alchemist." He extends a hand to each of the gentlemen in turn.

Ate my post.

I have an idea. Please give me a moment. Let's see if there are any magical traces about.

Orson holds his hands out and closes his eyes. He begins murmuring and his fingers begin twisting in complex motions.

Using Divine, and a spell point.

Sense Motive: 3d20 ⇒ (20, 8, 17) = 45

Somewhat surprisingly, you all pass. XD

Thinking back on his behavior... his stomach might not have been quite as strong as he wanted it to appear. Something about his movements and his tone... he seems more disturbed about this than he really let on, although given the nature of the crime, that's probably to be expected even for a veteran of the Watch.

That said, there don't seem to be any traces of magic in the room - which is no guarantee that something wasn't used earlier, but a weaker spell would almost certainly have dissipated its energies by now. To put it another way, you can be reasonably confident no strong magic was used here in the last few hours.

His spell over, Orson drops his hands.

Fortitude: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18 He grimaces a moment, but shakes it off.

Well, it doesn't look like any strong magic was used in here, but I don't know if it would have taken much power to flay a body like this. Absent other leads present here, I have no better ideas than to start at the victim's usual haunts.

"Since we're here we might as well talk to the neighbors," Herk suggested.

"An excellent suggestion. However, first, I'd like to examine the body and the scene more closely to make certain we haven't missed any pertinent details. If you gentlemen would be so kind as to assist me?"

Herk has the highest Perception mod, so it's best if he takes the lead, and Orson and Grey use aid another.

Perception aid another: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20

That passes, so with that, Herk's Perception result to take 20 should be 33 (or 35, should Orson assist and pass.)

Grey will be taking 20 on Heal for a result of 29 prior to any aid another bonuses he receives from Herk or Orson's assistance.

There doesn't seem to be any more to the... well, 'body' might have been overly generous given its condition, so perhaps 'corpse' was a better word. Regardless, you'd examined it and it was what it was. There wasn't much in the main section of the hovel aside from a few impressive butchers' knives that looked like they'd been used in the incident. (Speaking of, looking outside, you could see that no other buildings were particularly close... it was highly unlikely that anyone else had seen or heard anything.) (Or to say it straight out, they didn't, and you don't need to worry about questioning them. XD)

His bedroom was a little more interesting. A careful search found an old chest hidden beneath some blankets under the bed, easy enough to open once you worked a little at it. Inside are a pile of hand-written receipts for tinkering jobs done by Old Bill 30 years ago, apparently stored here and forgotten. There aren’t any receipts in the rest of the house, so this appears to be a practice that Bill hasn’t continued in some time.

Examining the receipts reveals that for most of his work Bill did not use receipts, but some business required him to take customer’s property home with him while he repaired it, and the receipts were issued to the owner and copies were kept by Bill until the work was completed. Most were issued to people with unfamiliar names or businesses that closed down decades ago. One receipt, however, was issued to Eustus Grindlylow of Grindlylow’s Grinders for repairs to a gear mechanism. The repaired mechanism lies in the bottom of the chest, apparently never returned to its owner.

"I confess, gentlemen, that I know too little of engineering or tinkering to make heads or tails of what this is actually for. It's... quite old. Older, even, than the first crime the Inspector spoke of. Shall we see first what investigating the haunts of our victim," he nods to Orson, acknowledging it as his idea, "turns up, and, should that fail to turn up any leads, fall back on investigating this matter?"

It didn't take long to find out that the old man, well, hadn't really had much in the way of locales. Like many of the older people in the city, he'd been reluctant to wander around too much, usually only tottering out for food and otherwise spending much of his time at home. The people out on the streets didn't seem to do more than vaguely recall him as someone who happened along at times, another face in the crowds.

"Grindlylow's Grinders it is, then..."

Though with how things are going so far, Grey doesn't exactly have high hopes. Perhaps they're going about this the wrong way, he muses, focusing too much on the victim, and not enough on the murderer. Well, if this doesn't turn up anything promising, they'll regroup, re-asses, and change tacks, if necessary.

Sorry. I got the nastiest flu.

Somebody cared enough to kill the man, so he must have been doing Something Somewhere...

Orson scratches his chin as he walks, again, sidestepping puddles and passers-by as easily as breathing.

Grindlylow’s Grinders is an industrial grinding operation primarily concerned with machining metal components for gears and other machinery and smoothing stone for construction. It is located only five blocks away at the edge of the Great Lyme River and is known to be open from sunrise until 1 hour before sunset. Given that it's only late morning now, you're well within its normal hours.

The rumble of a millstone and the screeching of metal grinding metal fill the air as you approach its building. A much-repaired retaining wall surrounds a courtyard before the two-story building whose own walls show many patches of mismatched brick. The wooden roof of the long main building sags in the middle, and just below its eaves faded, flaking lettering has been painted directly onto the brick, identifying the establishment as “Grindlylow’s Grinders.” Below this a patch of brick wall has been painted over and additional lettering added more recently, “Horatius Grindlylow, Prop.” A wrought-iron gate stands open allowing entry to the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard before the building’s barn-like doors. Within its dust-clouded interior can be seen large mechanisms driven by long canvas belts running over pulleys and powered by a large waterwheel in the back. Numerous small outbuildings cluster along the edges of the courtyard.

As you enter said courtyard, a dusty, middle-aged man in a worker’s smock walks out of the dimly lit main building to meet you. "Here about a job? Don't recognize you... what can I help you with?" he asked.

Orson takes the initiative.

We have come to speak with one Mr Grindlylow about Old Bill. The man who made this

He holds up the mechanism.

"A Mr. Eustus Grindlylow, to be precise." After so many years, it will hardly be a surprise if there's more than one Grindlylow working here.

The man tilted his head slightly, looking confused, and took the offered mechanism. He examined the receipt a few moments later, looking slightly annoyed. "Eustus was my father - died of a fever eight winters ago." the man said. "If you're looking to get paid, you're out of luck - this got replaced ages ago, and I'm not forking over coin for something thirty years late."

That's not the issue, I'm afraid. Can we sit down? There's something we need to discuss and I am afraid it will take a while. We're here on behalf of the Watch.

"Look, I don't know much about that myself - but the employee who ran the main grinder back then is still around, and he's the one who would've handled it." He turned his head. "HEY! EV! Some folks to see you!" A few moments later, a bent-over, older man with grizzled features and worn coveralls hobbled out of the building. "This is Everett Schimp - ask him your questions. Now, if you don't mind, I am busy... so I've got work to do." With that, the man who was clearly Horatius turned and headed back to the workshop. Everett watched him go with a grin that was far more boyish on someone his age than anyone would have expected.

"All right, what's brought you fellows in?" Everett asked curiously.

Back at the presentations
A tall woman wearing an old, tattered coat approaches you. On her back are several pieces of weaponry, from a greatsword to a longbow, and at her neck is a scarf in wildly clashing colours, completely out of tone with the rest of her outfit.
"Howdy, gentlemen. Ada Hopper, formerly in the force, now a priestess and a bounty hunter. Pleased to meet ya."

Now
"Good morning, Mr. Schimp. We found this gear, along with a receipt with this place's name on it, during investigations on a case. It's most likely a coincidence, which is why it's the lead we're following. So, mind telling us what it is?"

At initial arrival
At first glance, Kuldra seems a bit out of place. One might think her a successful merchant or a minor noble. Her clothes are quite fashionable and she is wearing a bit more jewelry than would be prudent in this neighborhood.

Though she wears no armor and carries no weapons, the other investigators will note that she carries herself like a warrior. Beneath her finery is some solid muscle. Her eyes scan the room for threats, noting the weapons that you all carry.

She introduces herself in a pleasant way, more personable than most dwarves. "Greetings, I am Kuldra Shartheart."

At Grindylow's
The dwarf seems content to let others take the lead in asking the questions. She merely listens very well to the answers.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (15) + 12 = 27

Schimp looked rather amused when he took the gear and the receipt, examining them carefully. "Yeah, I remember this." he said. "Hired Bill to repair the thing - nearly got fired over it, too. He was supposed to get the job done overnight, but he never showed up again. After a few days, we realized he wasn't coming back and got a replacement instead. Old Man Grindylow was furious - docked my pay for two weeks to make up for it. Always did wonder what happened to Bill, though I think we came out better in the end - he left his cart here, and we sold every tool and scrap on it before converting it to a holder for paint and grease."

Fascinating. Something so apparently irrelevant is our most important lead. The paradox is glaring.

"You very likely came out better. Mind telling us exactly what this thing is, what it does? What part of which machine it may be? Oh, and I'd like to see the cart."

Orson taps his forehead.

He just said they sold the cart, Miss Hopper, and it has been thirty years since he was contracted.

He then returns his attention to Schimp.

Bill's been murdered, I'm sorry to say. Did you have any dealings with him before? Was failing to fulfill a contract common behavior for him?

"No, they sold the tools on the cart, then kept the cart itself as a paint holder. Isn't it right, Mr. Schimp?"

"Oh, there's nothing much special about the gear itself, save it's a bit difficult to make." Schimp observed. "They see a lot of use, so you gotta make 'em right. And... you know, I think we do have the cart around here somewhere, still... right, right! One of the storage sheds. This way." he said, leading you further into the grounds.

Crammed into the back of a storage shed, stacked with old cans of dried paint and jars of grease is Old Bill’s tinker cart. It is a two-wheeled pushcart approximately 4 feet long by 2 feet wide with a bin occupying the front 2 feet of it for holding items to be repaired, and the back half consisting of a large wooden box with dozens of pegs on the outside for hanging the tools of his trade from. The tools are long since gone, and the cart is now covered in spatters of paint, old grease, and rust flakes from its years of service at the grinding house.

Kuldra will examine the cart carefully, even making sure to look underneath it.

perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30

"Videas magiam."
Opening her eyes to the supernatural, Ada scans the cart.
Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14

Did you have regular dealings with Bill? Did he waffle on these agreements regularly?

"Not too often, since the parts la-" Schimp began - pausing as Kuldra's hand found a hidden latch on the back of the cart. It was a complex mechanism, though, not something that could be opened just by tugging on it... you'd need some real skill instead. The good news? Ada had the skills needed to open it with a normal amount of effort (and you didn't have to ask where she'd gotten them unless you really wanted to), and it wasn't long before you could look inside.

Opening the compartment reveals a hollow, as expected, but it quickly becomes obvious that it is not an ordinary compartment. First, the wood is double-layered to make it sturdier and proofed against sound and light. The additional thickness of the wood makes the compartment interior no bigger than could hold a small child. Second, the inside is smeared in many places with brown stains, suspiciously like old blood, and there are many scratch marks in the wood as if something had tried to escape.

Also within the compartment is an old tool belt. Stored within the tool belt are a small clay bottle with a rag stuffed into its neck to serve as a stopper, and a strangely crafted iron key wrapped in a piece of parchment. The key is large and made of iron with a decorative bow. Cast into the key’s bow is an intricate sigil of a plumb bob and hammer. The paper is an old advertisement.

Ada puts her lockpicks back with a short thankful prayer. Thank you, Lady Yidhra, for letting me find a clue in our most obvious lead, such a logical and evident thing that only You could make it happen.
"Oh. This is disturbing, to say the least. Something child-sized again. Has anyone seen this sigil before?"
Knowledge(local): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

If Old Bill kept a child locked in here and abused them, they would have motive enough to murder him.

She then picks up the clay bottle, sniffing it suspiciously. "Videam venenum" Casting Detect Poison

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Knowledge (nobility): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Her muscles go tense at seeing this. Just for an instant crystal appears on her arms, then evaporates.

"We need to see this Madam Laura" she says when she gets control of her voice again. "If she's still there."

It is odd that he would hide this flyer in a cart like this. Let me see that for a minute.

Using Object Reading on the flyer

You recognize the symbol as that of the city’s old Guild of Sewagers and Ironmongers, which can still be seen on the lock-gates on many of the older sewer tunnels and drainage channels throughout the city, if one knows where to look. You also recall the guild to have been the extremely corrupt organization that built and managed the sewers and underground drainage systems of the city for centuries before finally being replaced by the city’s Office of Sanitation by order of the infamous Crown Justice Moravan. The key appears to be one of the old master keys that belonged to the guild for use in accessing the city’s sewer lock-gates.

Wisdom DC 20: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12

Meanwhile, Ada can tell that the contents of the bottle are definitely some kind of poison, although she's not sure what type - there may be some other way of figuring it out, though.

As for the flyer...

I believe you need to make an Appraise check to see how much information you get.

It says I get a bonus on appraise checks, but I get information about past holders in this order: Last owner’s race, last owner’s gender, last owner’s age, last owner’s alignment, how the last owner lost or gained the object. Upon learning this last piece of information, you may spend a spell point, if you do you begin to learn information on the owner before the last at the same rate in the same order. One piece per minute then I spend a spell point to start with the last owner.

"Poison of some kind. But I don't know much about alchemy, do you?"
She scratches her head, looking at the symbol and judging their options.
"If this flyer is thirty years old, then the chances that this Laura is still there, and still alive are close to none. And it could likely just be some worthless advertisement from the days of yore, stuck there and forgotten. Yes, I'd say it's our best chance."

Still gotta roll to see how well it works, though. XD And if you want to try and track down the fortuneteller, that's certainly possible. You do, after all, have an address.

Appraise: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14
Sigh