Lidda seems unnaturally calm during the interrogation. Finally she joins in. "Where did you meet tattoo face? He have a name?"
"He never gave a name. Saw him the first time in Freedom Town. He put us on retainer--gave us enough gold to cover expenses, then told us to come here and stay in the Ramblehouse for a few days--that he might need some help. I got the idea we were backup, you know? That he had other people here doing stuff already. Last night he showed up with the gear and your descriptions."
Haftor wasn't sure why they were being targeted, or by whom, but it was clear that their adversary was thinking ahead and setting up contingency plans. Thankfully, he didn't hire very accomplished tacticians.
He raises his warhammer and touches Svarog , then Kira .
He comments, "I was thinking that the lad had likely taken his own life, consumed by guilt for living in sin, and shame for dishonoring his father. I was ready to believe that the odd circumstances surrounding his death were simple coincidences. If the tatooed half-orc had meant to drive us from our path of justice, then his actions have done just the opposite."
Kira's eyes smolder at the would-be assassin as she lets the others talk. Having little left to ask the person and nodding towards Haftor, "Agreed... Speaking of justice, I think this man has some time to spend with the city guard."
The captive seems relieved to be turned over to the militia (perhaps fearing that you were going to kill him out of hand). Kurst is quite interested in the man and his story, taking the attack on you as strong circumstantial evidence that his brother was onto something.
With everyone healed up, you reequip and head over to the Sanctuary. Now that you're watching for such things, you notice that there's a large white cross (or perhaps sword) painted on the rock face behind the temple. The acolyte at the door calls for Brantos Calderon, a paladin who serves at the Sanctuary. Calderon tended to Katrezra when the acolytes who usually took care of him were busy elsewhere, and was probably the last person to see him on the previous day.
Jarrek nods amiably at Calderon. "We came by yesterday and saw that Katrezra's things were all made up, looked like he just left. I thought he needed tending? How ill is he?"
Svarog got right to the point. "This Katrezra. He had a tattooed face? Why is he called a prophet? Do you know where he has gone?" Pausing a moment, he then added, "And what do you know of the cross painted behind the temple?"
The paladin looks worried. "Yes, he apparently left yesterday after word came of Rodrik's death, and no one saw him go. I don't think he would have gone far, though--his old injuries from the Brimstone Haruspex left him unable to walk without pain." To Svarog, he replies, "No. He had scars, but no facial tattoos. As to why he's called a prophet, he claims to have visions--I don't think they're hallucinations, but none of us have ever tested him for accuracy. He has some minor divine magic, though, and before his injuries he was a capable enough fighter. He's raised a blade in the town's defense more than once. As to where he's gone, I don't know. Though he's little love for pureblooded orcs, he's got a soft spot for those like him, and he's many friends in town."
At Svarog's last question, he frowns. "No, and that's puzzling to me. I'd heard Rodrik and Katrezra speaking of white swords more than once, along with ghosts, half-orcs, and hopeknives, but that's all I know. Our priests and acolytes have nothing to do with the markings, and I personally doubt there's a connection between them and the Inheritor."
"Sounds like we might need to go poke around Freedom Town before the trail gets cold."
Svarog brooded over what they had been told as they headed to the smith. "Katrezra's disappearance right when Rodrik was murdered smacks of more than coincidence," he ruminated aloud. "If he wasn't behind it, as I first thought, he probably knows something about it, judging by his overheard conversations. We should try to find him before he gets killed, too."
When they reached the smith, Svarog asked about the hopeknife they had found.
Jarrek nods. "He has to be involved somehow. We can ask around. This isn't a big town, and people will know him even if they don't know his name."
Lidda follows her larger companions around town, grateful for something to do, for the company, and that they're not actively trying to shoo her away. She mostly lurks in their shadows and tries not to draw attention to herself, especially when they reach the smithy. After that incident 3 years back she's avoided the place as much as possible, and dreads the blacksmith recognizing her and bringing it up.
You take a slightly roundabout way to Morninghawk's Fine Steel, the smithy (commonly known in town as Clamor), and Svarog & Jarrek notice something interesting. When you're off the shortest route from Sanctuary to Clamor, pretty much everyone you talk to tells you they haven't seen Katrezra, and the ones who know the half-orc seem honestly baffled. However, the closer you get to Clamor, the more evasive some of the people you question get, at least to start with. Once they see Kira, Lidda, and Haftor they relax a bit, but the answers you get are still somewhat unsatisfying.
The smithy is a squat, cramped building in the western corner of lower Trunau. The source of its nickname is obvious, as you hear the clang of metal on metal ringing out before the place comes into view. There's a storefront with numerous blades, armor, and tools on display, watched by a couple of apprentices who are mostly spending the time sharpening knives. On seeing you, one of them tugs a forelock and runs into the shop, emerging moments later with a tall, muscular half-orc woman. Those of you from Trunau know her to be Sara Morninghawk, and in addition to being the best bladesmith in town she's also one of the councilors. She claps the apprentice on the shoulder and murmurs in her ear; as she greets the party the two apprentices begin to carefully but quickly take down any unsheathed blades on display.
She offers firm handclasps all around (even to Lidda, although she glances back at the apprentices before shaking hands). "I've heard about your investigation from Kurst. How can I help?"
Jarrek nods. "Thank you, Councilor. Rodrik had a receipt for a hopeknife engraving. It was to read 'For Rodrik, my love.' We thought that was a little strange. Do you know anything about it?"
She nods. "Yes. He'd commissioned a new blade a little over a week ago, to replace Brinya's after he lost it. I did the preliminary work on it and turned it over to one of the apprentices to finish. Brinya had given him hers with that engraving on it, so that's what he wanted. Anyway, it should be done by now--I'll look for it." She glances again at Lidda. "You all can wait out here. I'll be right back." The smith heads back into the work area.
Haftor had been to Morninghawk's establishment many times, usually to simply examine the wares and keep current on smithing techniques. He was more of a mason, himself, but any self-respecting priest of Torag had to have at least a passing familiarity with metal-working.
He perused a few items with a discerning eye, idly wondering what Rodrick was doing with his woman's blade. None of my business, really. He grumbled absently to himself as he realized they were at another dead end.
More asking around for tatooed prophets, or whatever this half-orc fellow fancied himself. Unseemly business, investigating things.
Svarog lurked in the background, wondering what the natives might be hiding. His first impulse was to grab one, shake them until their teeth rattled, and ask again about Katrezra, but at least he had good impulse control.
He watched the apprentices instead, speculating on what Lidda may have done to earn their hurried sharp-object-evacuation.
After a minute or two, Sara emerges, shaking her head. "I'll bet that clumsy oaf Urnsul put it somewhere before she up and quit the other day. Hard to get good help, you know? If it turns up I'll send word. Though I suppose by rights it should go back to Brinya."
"The knife is missing AND she just quit? Combined with the wolf attack and mu...death, this has been the most unusual string of 'coincidences' of all time."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Jarrek nods. "It does seem like an unlikely string of coincidences. Does Urnsul seem like the type to just quit on you?"
Sara shrugs. "She was new. Didn't have a lot of Common. She said her family had been killed by orcs, and she didn't want to depend on charity. She was doing all right, for someone who'd been at it less than two months."
Jarrek looked over at the person carrying the dull hopeknife. "You've heard what happened to Rodrik, ma'am. Would you mind giving us your professional opinion about the weapon?"
She takes the blade and looks it over, eyes widening. "This is the missing knife. I'm sure of it. And it was found with Rodrik? Yes, I can still see traces of blood in the--" The half-orc straightens up and fixes Jarrek with an intense stare. "He's supposed to have killed himself with this? Ridiculous! It'd be like cutting with a file." She passes it back to Jarrek. "I have no idea how he would have gotten this. Someone must have stolen it from my smithy. Urnsul's the likely suspect, and if she comes back I'll hold her for you and the guards."
"Sadly our only suspects so far keep disappearing. This isn't going well."
"You said suspects. Who else were you looking for?"
"We ourselves were attacked, by the order of a half-orc with a scarred face." Svarog regarded Sara for a moment, then ventured further. "They warned us off the trail we are following. That makes me think we were getting close to an answer. Our last trail led to the prophet, Katrezra, who had been speaking to Rodrik. Now he has disappeared. He may be in danger, or already dead. Have you seen him?"
Sara glances back at the entrance to the work area. "Well...." At that point an old half-orc emerges, leaning heavily on a cane and walking slowly. His arms and hands are bandaged. "I am Katrezra. You are--" He coughs. "--looking for me?"
Lidda whirls around, completely surprised. Excitedly, she starts yelling at the old man, "You! You're...oh. Are you alright?"
He smiles. "As good...as I can be, after the Brimstone Haruspex. Thank you for asking, Lidda."
Svarog's heavy brows shot up - this, he hadn't expected. "You... here?" He shook his head, and his lips may have quirked in the tiniest ghost of a smile, sign of the cold weather in Hell. "You have led us on a chase, old man. Sara, can we go in to speak with him? There is no need for him to come with us and strain himself - unless you feel he is not as safe as he appears to be here. But if he is to be safe here, he should not be seen, and we have many questions."
Sara looks a little worried at Svarog's request. "Urrr...give me a minute." She ducks back into the work area and a moment later you hear her shouting, "Stop everything! Tools down, stand away from the forges!" A hush falls as the sound of metal on metal ceases, broken only by low murmurs. Morninghawk emerges. "All right, come on back."
Lidda's face turns a shade of bright crimson as she realizes the extra care is likely due to her presence. Still, she says nothing and follows the group inside. Something occurs to her, and she forgets her embarrassment for a moment. "Wait, how did you know my name? And what's a brimstone horror speck?"
Jarrek looks curiously at Sara as they go in to the now-cleared forge. "Why is he here?"
The half-orc chuckles. "You're surprised that a seer knows your name?" He pauses before adding, "Actually, I heard one of the apprentices mention it when you came in. I can tell you about the Haruspex later; I think Jarrek, here, has a more pressing question. The night of Rodrik's death, I had terrifying visions--more so than usual. When news of his death reached me I realized that it must have been foul play, and probably linked to his investigations in the Plague House." "So I fled the Sanctuary, fearful that whoever had targeted Rodrik would come for me as well. Sara owes me a favor or two, and the few people I met while coming here promised to forget that they'd seen me."
"Why would someone coming after Rodrik come after you? Are you helping him with his investigation of the Plague House?"
As you talk, Sara leads you back to a storeroom where Katrezra has apparently been sleeping. The seer eases himself down onto a crate.
"This may take a little while to explain. It's no secret that I was cursed with preternatural visions many years ago, during my time with the Empty Hand orcs. Since I left those savages, many have sought my counsel into matters ranging from the dire to the mundane, but I'm afraid that the omens assaulting my dreams are almost always indecipherable, even to me, until after the events have taken place. I have found no means of directing the visions, either.
"Rodrik first came to me to ask for advice while courting young Brinya. The love-struck fool--Pharasma bring him rest--thought I might have some special insights into the traditions of her people, or perhaps a vision of how they might achieve happiness together." He gives a wry smile. "Do I look like the romantic type? I couldn't help him with the relationship, though it would appear he did fine without it. We gradually became close friends, though. I'd been experiencing vivid hallucinations of white swords or crosses, and dreams of the Plague House outside of town. When I told him of them, he seemed to think that my dreams might help with his investigation. I told him as much as I could recall, but the muse of my nightmares is as abstruse as she is unkind.
"As to what he was investigating, to be truthful I don't think even he knew exactly what he was looking for. Rodrik had run afoul of a flood troll in the Plague House not long ago, and the poor fellow (Rodrik, not the troll) was convinced that there was more to this than just an isolated incident. He originally asked me only what I knew about flood trolls, and all I could tell him was that they're native to Belkzen but rarely come this far south of the Flood Road. I told him of my visions of the Plague House, though, and that piqued his curiosity. It seemed that learning of his investigation triggered a series of nightmares unlike any before, and I fear that some greater evil may be at play within Trunau's walls.
"Rodrik was intending to return to the Plague House yesterday, but because of the profound unease I felt from my visions I suggested he leave his journal with me, which he did."
Svarog's heavy brows hit the roof again. "A journal! Did you read it, prophet? If not, will you give it to us? It may hold valuable clues as to what Rodrik suspected, and tell us why he was killed."
Katrezra nods. "I only glanced at it. You will likely be able to get more out of his writing than I would."
Jarrek nods. "Thank you." He gestures at the door. "Your visions of white swords or crosses- are they like the ones painted all over town? And in your visions they're related to the Plague House?"
He nods. "At least, I think that they're related."
Jarrek looks through journal, looking up when he reads of Katrezra's sudden change in attitude. "Rodrik says here that you changed your mind about the plague house recently. You were supportive of his investigation until then. What happened to make you change your mind?"
"The visions left me with a vague sense of a threat to him personally, beyond that to Trunau as a whole. He, of course, saw it as his duty to go on in the face of danger, when the town's safety was at stake. Getting the town to act, though, would not have been easy, when all we had were suspicions and vague visions. Perhaps your investigation will bring some deserved attention to the threat."