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Trailsend isn't quite like you expected it to be, but it certainly meets expectations: the advertisements for adventurers on every tavern wall, the booming marketplace, and the crowds bustling through the main thoroughfares are fare more indicative of a larger city than this. It took you some time to find it, but you're almost certain you arrived. The house before you certainly matches the address in the letter you were sent.
You still have it on your person, and whether or not you choose to re-read it, it says exactly the same thing it did when the exhausted courier pressed it into your hands a couple of days ago. The handwriting is small and precise, written by a person clearly taking their time to carefully form the letters, as if they were not used to or comfortable with the written word. The ink is smudged, as if the letter were folded before it had plenty of time to dry, but you recognized the wax seal on the outside as matching the symbol of the signatory:
"My friend,
I write with an opurtinty opertoontie chance of a lifetime that just reached my ears today. A bounty has been placed with payout I haven't seen in all my years! The prize and job I will share when I meet you, for fear some other reads this letter than intinted I want. Meet me at my home in Trailsend. I will leave direkshuns derektuns the way there on the back. Time is of the essence! I paid great expense for eckscluseve to be the only one allowed to know of this hunt for three days, so I need to see you by the day after you read this letter, at the latest! Also, the trail may grow cold with time. Do hurry!
Flarghin Ironstone"
The home is not modest, but not extravagant; a stout building of brick and mortar, two stories, with a large den from the look of it. You can see smoke billowing from the chimney, and the smell of hot venison is perceptible from the front door, as is that of footsteps running around inside. The building is shut up tight from the cold air that blows around you, it's solid oak shutters and door shut tight. It's the tail end of fall, and in the Cold Lands of Damara, that might as well be the dead of winter for the rest of Faerun. The sun is still up in the sky, but it's clearly on the decline, as the blues turn to purples and Selune begins her rise. The moon's thin crescent seems unusually bright and white, as if it's fighting with the sun for it's chance in the twilight sky.
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When you knock on the door, you hear a call from inside, a voice that sounds like a child. "Maaammaaaa, summun's at the door again!" It sounds like a little girl, but with the windows boarded up, it's impossible to tell. It's a little more than a couple minutes before a hatch in the door slides open at about chest level for a human, and a pair of eyes peeks out briefly.
"Oh, it's you," a woman's voice exclaims, before the hatch slides shut, and the door opens. A young dwarven woman stands before you, and ushers you in, before shutting the door behind you. She's clearly swelled up in the last stages of pregnancy, and has a waddle to her walk as she leads you into the den. You haven't met her before, but Flarghin did say he'd married some local girl a couple years back; you recall her name being Maggie. "Flarghin is in the den. I'm almost done with dinner. Watch out for the children on the way in there."
You pass by several kids on your way into the room. Two dwarven boys swat at each other with toy axes, while a girl in diapers, you presume a dwarf as well, crawls across the stone floor. The others, however, are not dwarves. They are very clearly not dwarves. An orc boy, looking around seven, holds a toy spear and cheers on one of the two dwarven boys, while an elven girl braids the hair of a half-elven girl, both looking what on a human would be about twelve. Strangest of all, two goblin babies of indeterminate sex are sat in high chairs in the dining room being fed spoonfulls of gruel by a halfling nursemaid.
You'd heard rumors that Flarghin had taken on a child or two when he'd found orphans on his adventures, but this...is a bit more than you'd expected.
As you make your way into the den, you find four wooden chairs in a semicircle facing the fire, with the old dwarf standing with his back to them. The years have been kind to him, though much of of his fiery red hair has turned white, and his beard has nearly none of it's original color left. Still, judging by the happy step and swell in Maggie's belly, time had not stolen all of the dwarf's vigor. Flarghin seems to be staring into the fire in the nearby fireplace, lost in thought, and your entry causes only a brief lapse in his attention. "Hmm? Yes...oh, good to see you. Yes...I'll...I'll begin when the others are here."
Maggie is back at work in the kitchen, pouring miscellaneous gravy over what appears to be an entire deer roasting in yet another firepit, this one designed for cooking rather than the warmth the den provides. The smell is absolutely intoxicating. The dwarf woman smiles broadly and nods to the bar. "Help yourself to a pint or two..." She pauses as the two dwarf boys and the orc perk up and get excited. "..., not you three! You mind yourselves, Vault and Coin...set an example for your brother, Platinum." The two dwarf boys look absolutely morose, and the orc, slightly younger than the other two, looks at their reaction and copies it with great exaggeration. The girls braiding hair giggle to themselves, until the nursemaid shushes them.
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The tall man smiles at the children's playfulness, happy to see their joy. Then his thoughts turn grim as he reflects to himself, The world can certainly be harsh and this is why I must always do what I do. For the innocent.
Kurza then turns toward Maggie, his fading smile once again asserting itself, this time broad enough to reveal just a hint of sharp teeth behind his lips. "Thank you for the kind offer!", he says with a deep and strong voice while moving to pour himself a pint, "Maggie is it? Flarghin mentioned a name to me years ago of a lovely woman he was acquainted with so forgive me please if I am mistaken."
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As the imposing warrior enters the den, a human man of average height and build, though fairly handsome, steps aside to allow him access to the bar. "You must be Kurza, if Flarghin's stories are at all to be believed," he says extending his hand, "I'm Micah, Micah Haynes, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
The smiling human looks to be in his mid to late twenties and wears the kind of silken armor popular among some elves and wizards. He carries no weapon but around his neck hangs a holy symbol of Mystra made from silver and gold and adorned with small diamonds for the seven stars.
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"Well met Micah! Kurza says enthusiastically as he firmly grasps the man's outstretched hand. "The pleasure is all mine!"
As he moves behind the bar he grabs a second pint as he asks "Shall I pour one for you as well?". He pours a second pint without waiting for a reply, knowing full well that in a dwarven home, no pint will go unloved.
Majhul steps in around the children, and gives Maggie a friendly nod and a smile before heading down. He gives a slight knock n the doorframe.
"Hello! I'm Majhul. I don't know that I've met anyone here but Flarghin. Are you all work acquaintances too?"
On being offered a beer, he mulls over the pros and cons in his head. After a moment, he decides that the dangers of losing control of his abilities are trumped by the danger of snubbing a dwarf's hospitality, and takes a big swig.
Maggie blushes lightly at the compliment, but smiles broadly and brushes a tendril of blonde hair out of her eye before getting back to her cooking. "Oh, I know, you must be mister Kurza. Flarghin said 'He is big as hell, looks mean as hell, but he ain't, least not to them ain't crossed him.' ....seein' as you still are big as a bugbear wearin' stilts, I reckon' that's the nice one is you."
The bar is well made, aged mahogany, crafted lovingly and you can recognize the artisan's seal as dwarven in nature. Considering none of you have seen Flarghin ever wielding woodworking tools, you venture a guess it wasn't of his make. The casks are all high quality, from light ambers to dark stouts, each labeled meticulously in the same careful handwriting as your letters.
Flarghin turns from his attention at the fire, and raises an eyebrow. "Ah, might as well crack open the good stuff. We're gonna have a heap more where that came from...well, not literally, considerin' that was small batch brewed out in Citadel Felbarr before them orcs took over, and the piss Many Arrows sends out ain't fit to drown a kobold in....but figuratively, you see."
Once the other members of the group have entered he turns, and waves an arm, gesturing at his home. "Friends, you know me. You know I've done well for myself over the years. I've a nice home, a beautiful wife, and enough children, both of blood and of law, to carry on the Ironstone name for a long, long time. Money isn't a problem, but...well..."
He pauses, and strokes his beard, and leans back against the wall. "Well, money passes, and sure, what I've kept will keep one or two of the kids set for life - or the lot of them until they're adults, but friends, this bounty....the prize..." he steps forward, and reaches out a hand into the air, like he's grasping for some intangible subject. "The prize, is nobility! You see...Byron Dragonsbane, son of Gareth, our king, and heir to the throne...has been slain!"
He pauses yet again to let this sink in. "It's only by my reputation that I was able to get the rights to hunt down the criminal that killed the poor boy, as the throne is trying to keep it quiet, and frankly, figure out if it was political or not. They don't want to amass suspicion by sending an army out after the assassin, but the day after tomorrow it becomes open season, as the bounty goes public. My friends, the head of the culprit - to be verified via speaking with dead magics, of course - brings with it the title of Baron in some unclaimed land in the Vaasa just outside of Palischuck for the head of our little adventuring group. But don't think I've left you out, you see...it's a knighthood for any I bring with me, and a purse of 100,000 gold to divide among our crew! You can keep yourselves the money - as I said, I'm well off enough, but land, and peasants working that land - that will set my family up for generations to come."
The excitement has worked the dwarf up, and he's now pacing the den, wringing his fingers together. "We have an appointment, an hour before sunrise to examine the boy's room and the body, and hopefully start tracking the fiend down right then. So, what do you folks think?"
It's at this moment that Maggie chooses to start slicing the finished meal up and begin spreading it on plates, as Flarghin awaits the team's response.
Majhul blinks.
"...Wow. That is a huge opportunity." he takes a look over at the kids.
"If you need help, especially for them, I can't refuse. I think you'd make an excellent Baron, and raise your children to be the same."
"But only a day's lead, on something that's going to bring every glory seeker for miles swarming to Damara...it's a tall order. We'll need to work fast. Who knows what kind of resources our competition could bring to bear."
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Stunned at first by the shocking news of Prince Byron's death, Kurza's eyes grow fierce as the story unfolds.
His voice rumbles low and measured,"Of course I will help bring the assassin to justice!" his anger clearly visible, yet mostly contained.
He tilts his head, his neck cracking in the process, and seems to gather his strength before continuing to speak.
"May I ask, why wait till sunrise? Every day is another day the assassin has on us in their escape."
Micah nods at Majhul's observations, and cocks an eyebrow at Kurza's enthusiasm.
He considers the proposal for a moment and then answers, "This type of... investigation is far outside my normal undertakings, and, I fear, my expertise... but for you, Baron Ironstone, of course I'll come along. Besides, I can hardly imagine how thrilled my father would be to tell every man in Heliogabalus that his son had been knighted."
"Well, I have to admit, I was expecting a few more... dwarves. Dwarven dwarves, that is. Or is that dwarvish?"
The voice, soft and mirthful and with just a hint of teasing behind the words, belongs to a fair-skinned elf with shoulder-length pale gold hair and vibrant violet eyes, golden flecks speckled through them. Although over a century old, his age appears indeterminate like most, if not all, of his kind. His clothes are well made and of a vaguely elven style, though there are hints of human and even dwarven fashion among them, an example of the latter being the ornate clasp fastening his hooded cloak in place. An exquisite elven-forged sword, its slender gently curved blade currently hidden in a fine scabbard, can be seen next to his left hip, while what appears to be a pouch of spell components hangs from his belt by his right. He seems unarmored, but to the more perceptive it becomes apparent that that is not true; he is wearing armor, albeit armor that is light and subtle enough to be worn under his clothes.
"Greetings to one," he continues, first looking at Flarghin and then at his wife and then at their children and finally at what appear to be other adventurers such as himself, "and all." The smile on his lips, slightly crooked but sincere nevertheless, does not vanish as he moves to take his seat and listen to what their host has to say. "I am Isandril of House Velahrn. My friends however, usually those of the non-elven variety, tend to call me Sand." He gives a sidelong glance to the old dwarf. "A moniker our friend here finds most amusing..."
Once Flarghin has finished the elf takes a moment to consider the words and the task. Almost a literal moment.
"Ah, an adventure! Sounds like a challenge, sounds like fun," he quips, the prospect of knighthood seemingly the least of the incentives. "And of course the fact that the... ahem... quarry is a murderer is an added bonus," he adds with a look at the large heavily armored man.
’One hundred thousand’ gold pieces? Lavinia briefly begins to count with the fingers of her left hand before shaking her head. No, that can’t be a real number. Still, it must be a lot of gold for Flarghin to use such language. The short pile of furs with a rucksack in the corner, easily dismissed as the discarded outer garments of someone enjoying the warmth of Flarghin’s home, stands to a slightly less short height, steps forward, and speaks.
”I think we shall need what rest we can get tonight, for from the hour before sunrise, there will be little to be had until we have caught our prey.” The voice is surprisingly deep for the figure's size, but definitely feminine. She peers out from the depths her fur hat at the motley array of big folk Flarghin has gathered. ”Unless you all share Flarghin’s ability to perform better drunk…?”
Flarghin nods to the others. He snuffs at Micah calling him Baron prematurely. Still, the old dwarf puffs up a bit and smirks. He strokes his beard at Kurza's suggestion of leaving tonight.
"Tonight, huh? Well, Heliogabalus is only a couple hours ride from here, so...yeah, I suppose we could. I only have the appointment for tomorrow morning, so it might take some sweet talkin' on one of your parts to make it happen, but yeah...gettin' the jump on em' might be good, even if it means less sleep. It's supposed to be bitter cold tonight, so I leave that to all of you to decide. Speakin' of leavin' things to you all..."
Flarghin walks over to his pack casually laid against one of the chairs and opens it up, and begins digging around. He pulls out a vellum scroll and walks over to the party. "Here's our charter. One of you folks should hold on to it. I ain't one for letters like Micah and Sandy britches here are, always with a nose in a book."
The scroll identifies you as an adventuring company, under the lead of one Flarghin Ironstone, with some rights in administering justice, provided guilt can later be proven by magical rights, or by sufficient witness. It's jurisdiction is the entirety of the Dragonsbane kingdom - essentially Damara and the Vaasa, with provisional rights in neighboring kingdoms that have trade agreements. The company name is left blank, almost as if Flarghin didn't bother to fill it in, but you see each of your names etched in under membership.
Just then Maggie yells out "Dinner's ready!" and you see the children descend upon the kitchen like a swarm of hungry locusts, grabbing for plates and utensils like someone would snatch them away if they were not fast enough.
"I can put it in one of my scroll cases if you want. I still think there's some room in this one." he pats the one to the back left.
Lavinia shrugs at Flarghin’s support of the armored man's suggestion and after glancing at the proffered parchment she makes her way to the kitchen for some food. She heaps a plate with meat and vegetables then sits down to eat, but not before removing her rucksack and hat, causing her long braid to spill off her head and onto the floor with a thump. Flarghin’s two young girls widen their eyes at the frizzy, tangled mass the hin’s braid has become after months of neglect, then return their attention to their meals.
The children all destroy their meals and run back to their neutral corners, continuing their earlier activities, as the nursemaid gathers up the two goblins and takes them to cribs upstairs. The half elven girl runs up to Lavinia and tugs on her shirt. Instantly, a stream of rapid-fire questions and comments assault the hin, being as she seems to be the only new female company. "You're a half-in, like Miss Cleah, right? Can you whistle like her? Why's your hair so ugly? Want me and my sister to fix it? Gemma braided my hair. Papa says halfin's have beardy feet. Have you got beardy feet? Do you braid your feet? My brother Bank is bigger than you, but he doesn't have a beard. I have a mouse I caught by the stream. Do you want to see him? My name's Treasure. I like your hat!" It seems to go on endlessly...
Meanwhile the full elven girl sits down at a table and starts to read quietly, while the boys all crowd around the big paladin and look up to him in silent awe. Eventually the orc boy points to the huge sword on the tiefling's back. "One day I'mma have a sword like that... an' I'mma cut a dragon in half with it, an' save a princess, and be a hero." The dwarf boys nod silently and poke the tiefling. "Look at his muscles!"
Flarghin shakes his head and takes his plate, gives Maggie a pinch on the backside as she walks away, and digs into his food, awaiting the group's decision regarding their course of action.
"Majhal, Sand, and..." Micah repeats as he looks over the charter, "Lavinia? If so, this appears to be in order though we must settle on a name for our company. Majhal, I have no objections to you carrying it, once it's completed. I am Micah Haynes, a priest of Mystra. I have trusted Flarghin with my life on more than one occasion... if he trusts each of you with his then so do I."
Removing his haversack, he quickly retrieves a pen and ink. Setting the charter on the bar he dips pen in ink and asks, "so, what shall we call ourselves?"
Isandril looks at the varied assortment of children with a bemused look on his face before turning to the dwarf. "My my my, but you have been busy, Old Man," he remarks, the words he uses to address Flarghin equal parts teasing and respectful. An unlikely combination, to be sure, but any adventurer who survives long enough for his hair and beard to turn white is worthy of respect. Such a life, while fun and interesting and, yes, rewarding, does not always last long.
"The... knight has a point," the elf offers. "The longer it takes us to begin our pursuit, the farther away the one we seek gets. And considering his crime, I am fairly certain we should not have too much trouble being allowed to examine the room and the body ahead of schedule. Not when they see how eager we are to resolve this and bring the murderer to justice." He shrugs. "Or his... remains, if it comes to that."
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"You already know my vote on the matter of starting the search tonight." says Kurza to the party as he crouches down to tousle the hair of one of the boys dancing about his legs. He smiles at the lad briefly before continuing to speak.
"The cold has never bothered me, but I can understand it if it is too much for the rest of you. Please forgive my impatience, it's just that this situation has me angry. Byron was an innocent, and I'm seething at the thought that our prey might avoid justice for even one... more... moment." the last few words are drawn out, almost as if each were a statement on their own. "I will abide whatever the group decides"
"As for a name for our group? I suggest Cold Justice, for that is what we will bring to our foes." and with that, the big man grows silent once more, turning his attention to the enthusiastic children surrounding him.
"It's 'Mahj-ool' actually." Majhul says, stretching the syllables to correct Micah.
"I'll be honest, I know little about the late prince on a personal level. I have no personal or emotional stake in solving the murder, beyond my fondness for Flarghin and his foundlings. That said, from a pragmatic perspective even a lead of a few hours could be VITAL. We want to eke out whatever advantage we can get, I think."
"I really don't care what we're called. I find names for adventuring companies tend to arise organically, regardless."
Lavinia cocks her head at the half-elven girl’s verbal onslaught, glancing down dubiously at her braid. Hmm, my hair could use some work, and some washing no doubt – don’t want to get mites again. She reflexively scratches behind an ear at the memory, then perks them up as she hears the conversation turn to the company name for the charter. ’Cold Justice?’ That sounds like the rhetoric back home. I’ve no real care, but Flarghin has high hopes for his family's future, and this will no doubt reflect on the reputation of him and his down the road… She looks the girl in the eye and puts a finger to her lips, whispering around it. "Treasure's best when it's hidden." She winks, then tries to raise her head above the child’s and calls out to the assembled men.
”The Knights of Ironstone!”
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Still crouched down and playing with the children, swatting at them as they nimbly duck and dodge his massive gauntleted hands, the heavily armored paladin seems oddly at home. "I'm sorry little ones but it seems our group is in favor of action tonight. I will regale you with stories of our deeds upon our return." Kurza says with a smile and a pat on the shoulder of one of the children.
"Regarding your comment little furred one," nodding to Lavinia, "I apologize for not answering you earlier. I find that one pint is a far cry from being drunk, at least in my experience that is."
He pauses to consider her suggestion for the name of the group's charter, "The Knights of Ironstone! I like it! Good on you little furred one!" he says with vigor and a wide smile, showing more of his incisors than usual.
Kurza stands before addressing the rest of his newly formed party, "From all of your comments, we are, for the most part at least, favoring going tonight. It's a bit informal, but I call that a successful vote. Grab some food for the road and let us be off."
"You really are an enthusiastic fellow," Sand quips, addressing the heavily armored one.
"The Knights of Ironstone? Getting a little ahead of ourselves, are we not? Knighthood is the reward after all. Or a reward," he remarks lightheartedly, but he neither disagrees with the name nor does he offer a different or better one.
"Well said, Sand, I was about to point out that same thing..." Micah agrees, "if calling Flarghin 'baron' in his den is premature, then calling our company 'knights' on an official document is far more so. Perhaps the 'Ironstone Mercenary Company'?"
"Are we really considered mercenaries if we're acting more as investigators? We're closer to bounty hunters than anything else, since we're not to be paid until the job is done."
"If we're fans of alliteration here (which we all should be), perhaps we can call ourselves 'Flarghin's Five' and have done?"
"Flarghin has to be included in the charter to receive his reward..." Micah replies with a frown, "that would make six, so Flarghin's five wouldn't make much sense... the Ironstone crest features a gray fist on a blue field, doesn't it? Perhaps, 'The Grey Fists of Damara" or Greyfists for short?"
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'The Grey Fists' does have a nice ring to it. Kurza thinks to himself. It's as good as any other we have heard, and better than some.
"I suppose that would work just as well." Kurza agrees aloud.
He looks around the room at those gathered, I feel good about this group. Though they may be focusing on different aspects of this mission than me, they each seem to bring much to the table. I will do my best to keep them safe in our pursuit of this fiend, or fiends as it may well turn out to be.
Flarghin smiles at the group's collective respect towards him, but only briefly, as not to wallow in pride. He finishes his meal and wipes his lips, and looks at the others. "I'm sure you can decide on a name proper as we leave, since most of you seemed to agree that we need to be moving."
He nods to Maggie. "Keep the children well, Maggie. Bank should be home in a couple days to help hold things down around here." She runs over and gives him a brief kiss on the cheek, and the children run up and give him a quick hug.
He stands up and gathers his pack, and heads to the door. "It's a couple hours ride by horse, so we've got at least five or six by foot."
As you all set out towards Heliogabalus, it is now the dead of night, and the cold is bitter, but most of you have experienced worse. The trip is a long walk, and it is just after midnight when you finally arrive in the huge city.
Majhul shivers a bit in his cloak.
"I'm beginning to think 'Cold Justice' may HAVE been the most apt name. How are the rest of you faring?" He looks especially interested at Sand and Micah.
"I hate to belabor a point," Micah asserts as people start preparing to leave, "but this charter is a legal document and until its properly completed we won't have the authorization we need to begin the investigation... shall I write in the Grey Fists of Damara and be done with it, or is there another option we should discuss?"
Micah returns his pen and ink to his bag and, from another pocket, retrieves knitted wool hat and gloves, and a heavy fur-lined parka. After pulling them on to inure himself against the cold, he follows Flarghin and the others out to the road and off towards the city he left twelve hours ago.
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He arrives with a bit of a chill, but nothing serious.
Although at first Isandril seems to handle the cold well enough it does not take too long for the elf to start shivering as well alongside Majhul.
"I... I will ad... admit I have been b... better," he manages to say, his words coming out not quite so easily due to the chattering of his teeth, as he attempts to pull his cloak tighter around him. He looks at Micah and his warm clothes with more than a little envy as he does so. 'Should have thought of that,' he ponders briefly as a sigh escapes his lips.
The gruff dwarf shakes his head at the men of weaker composure and pushes on, but you can see frost catching in his beard, and towards the end of the trip, he wraps his clothes tighter around him, and he speaks no ill to those complaining of the cold.
The large city is well lit at night, at least as well lit as one could be with street torches, and guards posted carrying lanterns and patrolling the areas. A few people still roam at night, but none dare accost such a large group of men and woman, especially with the dwarf, elf, halfling, and tiefling so visibly well armed. In fact, at one point, you can catch a few ruffians tailing you for a moment, before shaking their heads and deciding against any actions.
Eventually you come to the castle in the middle of the city, a fortress of some strength with a significant moat, at least fifteen feet wide, though it is mostly iced over - save for the filth and offal from the chamber pots thrown in the moat to deter swimmers. Four guards stand on the wall some twenty feet up across from the point where the bridge would be lowered, and upon sighting the party, one of them calls out. "Halt! It is past nightfall, and the king is not receiving visitors. Go home and come back when it is daylight to state your business!"
Flarghin grumbles and stomps his feet, muttering something about a wasted trip, and turns to shout something back, but wisdom gets the better of the old dwarf, and he pauses, looking to some of the more silver tongued members of the group for assistance.
"The business we come with is private, but it is of such a nature that the king would not be pleased you had delayed our progress! Let us in now, and we have no reason to report your mistake!" Majhul calls up the wall.
The guards look at each other, and stop for a moment, and then start to talk among themselves.
"I don't want to get the king angry!"
"Yeah, but how do we know they're not bluffing? The king said not to be disturbed during the...crisis..."
"Maybe, but...hmm...I know, go get the Steward!"
One of the guards turns and runs off, and another shouts down. "Hold there! We'll let the Steward judge your words to be true or not!"
It's a few moments later when a woman walks out onto the wall proper. Tall, blonde, and slim, she has an air of confidence about her. She's wearing light robes, and not much else, carrying a staff of fine wood and doesn't seem to be fazed at all by the cold. She steps out onto the wall with the others, and heads towards you. Eventually she steps off of the wall and begins to simply walk through the air, slowly down towards you. She comes to a graceful stop on the ground in front of the party, and plants her staff in the ground, leaning on it and looking at the lot of you.
"I am Elaine Sarcim, Steward of the castle. Any private business you have with the castle can be told to me. Who are the lot of you, and why are you bothering us in the middle of the night?"
She seems rather annoyed, by her tone.
"We have been contracted to investigate The Murder, and bring the killer to justice!" he says, feeling no need to specify which murder.
"We wish to begin our work as soon as possible! The trail grows colder by the minute! As does the air..." he notes, not so subtly.
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Paying the cold little attention, the armored man trudges along seemingly unaware of the temperature at all. He does look to his fellow travelers though and wish he could do something to help.
Seeing how much the elf is shivering, Kurza takes off his large cloak, "Here friend" and wraps the thick material around the elf's shoulders. "You look like you could really use this"
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Kurza realizes the guards are merely performing their duties, but after the long journey where his compatriots suffered the bitter cold and now this disappointing reception... it has him a bit irritated...but he does his best to suppress it as he assists Majul in dealing with the guards.
"We understand your duties as good members of the guard, and on a cold night such as this," he pauses to gesture at the surroundings, "we salute your service even more."
"As my friend says, this business requires we be admitted within post haste. We are the Grey Fists of Damara and we wouldn't have traveled hours through the cold if it wasn't of utmost importance."
Absent any objections, or even further discussion, Micah shrugs and writes his own suggestion "The Grey Fists of Damara" on the form. As soon as the ink is dry he hands it to Majhul to safeguard, then begins preparing for the journey.
This Majhul has a way with words, but I'm not sure such a confrontational approach it the best strategy...
Micah shifts uncomfortably as they wait for the Steward's arrival. He smiles at her display of magical power until he remembers the circumstances of their visit.
Elaine raises an eyebrow at the tiefling's words, and her eyes catch his tail, and she dismisses his words with a "Hmph. I've never heard of any 'Grey Fists of Damara', fiendling, and I've been Steward of these parts for nearly ten years now." She narrows her eyes at Kurza, but pauses at Majhul's words.
"The murder? Hmph. Yes...we had an appointment to come tomorrow. You all are swifter than I expected. Let's keep quiet about the...unfortunate event. We are to go public with it just yet."
She turns and walks through the air back up the wall to the others, and speaks to the men there briefly, who turn and lower the drawbridge for you to enter the castle.
Elaine leads you through the castle itself, which seems to be designed more for defense than entertaining visitors, though it does happen to have a few basic accouterments such as paintings, well carved furniture, and other luxuries to show that this is, indeed, a place of royalty.
The way leads through the main thoroughfare, towards a western tower, and upwards to the prince's bedroom. The room itself is near the top of the tower, with a spiral staircase leading up at least fifty feet. Another guard stands outside of the room itself, looking rather morose, all things considered. He nods to the Steward, and then unlocks the door to the room, which is...quite pristine looking, actually, considering it's the scene of a murder.
There, lying on the ground, is the headless corpse of the prince, a boy of no more than nine years old. There's a clean wound through his chest, as well, and the head seems to have been left to the side, casually. Elaine furrows her brow at the sight of the place. "We tried resurrection magics. For some reason they do not appear to be working. I...do not wish to look over this again. If you have any questions, the guard will answer them. I have other duties to attend to."
She turns and heads back down the stairs, leaving you all to investigate.
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"We thank you for your understanding and granting us entrance at this late hour Steward Sarcim." Kurza says formally, with a nod of respect to the Steward.
As they walk he says, "Justice must be swift in this case, and it demands our earliest attention. Thank you for allowing us to serve the crown in this most dire moment..." Kurza's voice fades at the sight of the young boy's decapitated body. His face turns to stone, and his next words are like gravel under heavy boots..."This will be avenged, I swear it!
On bended knee, he inspects the boys body and the scene at large.
Barely containing his anger and unable to make much of the scene, Kurza looks to his more learned friends and shakes his head, "Perhaps you will learn more than I, for this deed must not go unpunished."
Majhul blanches as he looks at the scene.
"I had assumed the prince was a grown man...who would murder a small child in such a gruesome manner? And how did they get past the guards?"
Majhul does a sweep of the room, looking for magical auras, particularly for Conjuration magic.
Thankful that he is inside and no longer shivering he returns the cloak to Kurza, a bow of his head and a smile indicating his gratitude.
"Resurrection should work," he mutters, "unless some spell or other magical effect is preventing it?"
The elf speaks a brief and simple incantation, at the same time passing a hand in front of his eyes, which glow a silvery blue light for but a moment as the spell takes effect. He then kneels down to get a better look of the body, a look of sadness appearing on his face and then disappearing.
"There," he calls out to the rest, pointing at a trail of mud leading out the western window.
Detecting magic notes an alarm spell on the window that has been disarmed, but nothing else of any particular note. Strangely, the boy's body does not seem to have any magic upon it that is preventing it from being resurrected.
When you follow the mud trail to the window you note some pitons have been hammered into the wall outside...considering the moat has been frozen over...it's not too much of a stretch to think the killer climbed the tower to get in and/or out.
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"Good eyes friend Sand!" Kurza says with excitement.
He rushes to the window, still barely able to make out the mud trail even after being made aware of its existence.
"This window must be over 50 feet from the ground!" he exclaims.
Muttering to himself,"Either they were really good at climbing or they had some other way down and away... I doubt they would trail mud if they could fly or walk on air like the Steward... unless it is some sort of false trail...if they had magic enough to... he stops, realizing he was speaking out loud. As he looks out the window and notes the pitons..."Ah, that explains that..."
"Sorry. Just working things out. Much to think about here. The scene is exceedingly tidy for such a gruesome murder. We should ask who was first on the scene and if they, or anyone else for that matter, cleaned up."
"Could he have been reanimated, and then slain again? That would prevent all but the most powerful resurrection magic from working."
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Kurza asks Micah for some paper and something to write with so he can start a list of questions for the Steward, to be asked when the search of the room is complete.
1-Did the prince regularly have guards on his door and if so may we speak with them? If there was a shift change include each guard in the list to be questioned, each should be questioned separately.
2-Who found the body and then presumably question that person.
3-We need more specifics on the time of day and the day itself he was murdered. Was there any special events in the city at that time, or special visitors to the castle?
4-We need all the details the Steward can provide, even things she may think are irrelevant, in order to paint the most accurate picture of events leading up to and including the event.
"Yes," Micah confirms, "killing the young prince, animating him as a zombie, and then destroying it would stop weaker resurrection magic from working. And look at the wounds... the thrust through the chest would have killed him for sure, why then risk the noise of beheading him afterwards unless he had been re-animated for such a purpose?" At Kurza's request he produces some paper and his pen and starts jotting down notes of questions to ask and seemingly important details.