"Hm. I didn't see him there either, but I guess we don't have a lot else to go on. Let's head back and check." Cromwin waves to the guards. "Thanks for your help everyone." Cromwin will head outside to where he left Anvil.
The Sergeant nods, seeming not to catch the subtlties of Maurie's speech, "Quietly might be a relative term, but I will try to impress the need for discretion. And its Sergeant Trunblow, most people just call me Sergeant T."
"Come on horsey, be a good boy - I've got more apples if you come, come on, good boy. Come on there you go, see what a clever horsey!" The little girl cajoles, hugging Anvil's mane and trying to urge the horse into motion. Anvil reluctantly trots a few feet, but circles back towards the Longhouse just as Cromwin emerges.
Anvil's bridle and bit hang from the post, but the horse himself is standing some five feet away, with a small, very still girl apparently trying to hide in his mane,
"Go Mister Horsey go!"
Anvil trots over to Cromwin and nuzzles him...
Cromwin raises his eyebrows as it becomes apparent someone is riding his horse. "Well now, hello boy, what do we have here? Seems like you've picked up a new friend." Cromwin returns the nuzzle with an affectionate scratch behind the ears, then leans against Anvil's side to get a clear look at the small would-be rider. "And what is your name, little one? I'm Cromwin Ganson, and I see you've already met my horse Anvil." The tone of his voice is clearly amused.
"No I haven't this is MY horse, um, Mister Biscuits - go away!" The girl declares defiantly, slightly muffled by mane. She appears to be about six or seven years old and is wearing a simple smock embroidered with red horses around the hem, her clothing cheap, but well cared for.
"Mister Biscuits go!"
Cromwin laughs softly, then looks around to see if there are any adults about that look like they might have lost their child. "I see you love horses. I love them myself. Have you been riding before?"
There is a thoughtful pause, "All the time because this is my horse, Mister Biscuits. Also I have ridden Hope, and Dandelion, and Cloppers, and Dapples and Tracybell, and Tallow, and Mudfoot. My name is Elorie and I love them the most."
There do not seem to be any adults at hand searching for a child, but as a small walled town children running rampant are likely fairly common - there is some schooling at the Commons, but likely not the morning after a festival.
"Well now Elorie, those are some fine horses indeed. I got to race against Hope yesterday after the Hopeknife ceremony, and Hope ran like the wind. Did you see our race? Mister Biscuits and I need to head over to the Ramblehouse now though. Would you like to come along too? My brother is staying there with my family, he helps train the horses to teach them how to jump you know."
Cromwin will give a short whistle to signal Anvil to follow, and will begin walking towards the Ramblehouse. He'll turn over his shoulder to make sure Maurie is following. "Looks like we have ourselves a new friend. I'll drop her off with my family, make sure she gets taken care of."
Handle Animal, Heel, Take 10: 19
Brin stops out in the road and waves the half-orc woman down.
"Hello, Brinya? I was hoping we may have a quick word with you? We've come with news for you. My name is Brin, and this is Grok."
Brinya looks up smiling, rises and moves to the edge of the porch leaning her elbows on the rail, "Sure thing, were you looking for a room? Or perhaps an elaborate tapestry depicting the sagas of old, no? Well a girl can dream."
Elorie peeks out of the mane suspiciously revealing an explosion of freckles and an earnest expression, "Hope is the fastest horse in the world, I have ridden him lots of times. My Da says you make horses on your farm... How many horses are there, and what are all of there names?"
She makes no objection to being carried along towards the Ramblehouse.
Maurie remains silent during the whole exchange, though a small bemused smile does grace her lips when the little girl attempts to call Anvil Mr. Biscuits. "Mr. Biscuits indeed..."
Turning to Cromwin, Maurie nods. "Yes, it seems we do. And as her new friend, I would, in your shoes, stress to her that stealing and lying are grave evils she does not want to make a habit of, especially at this age. Even more especially given she seems to have a real talent for handling horses."
Maurie smiles up at the little girl and adds, "That being said, she is still young enough that learning such things is possible. And I would have a hard time believing someone so talented to be incapable of learning simple ethics."
Elorie gives Maurie a dubious glance, before haughtily saying to Anvil, "Either I am indivisable or that Lady is rude... My Da says that people who talk about you when you are there like you are not have no manners."
When they arrive at the Ramble house the Ganson's are outside, Cromwin's mother eyeing the sky dark grey cloud that fills the sky unhappily.
Jacob runs over giving Cromwin a wave, "What's Elorie doing on Anvil? "
The girl looks down at him with narrowed eyes, "His name is Mister Biscuits, and he is my horse."
I uh...um... Grok looks down at his feet, why did this have to happen here? He looks back up at Brinya, glancing all around. It's bad, ya. It's bad. He looks Brinya square in the eyes. Rodrik's dead. He winces slightly, expectant of the pain that she will feel.
He was murdered, we think, some poison and a man from out of town. Murdered in his sleep. We don't know who did this.
Brinya's face falls in an instant, "What, but, no, we, we, were fighting last night... No, no, the last thing I said to him was that he was a coward for not telling people about us, about our engagement... Please tell me this is a sick joke? Please..."
The two old women glancing over worriedly head inside, one helping the other with an arm under her shoulder, recognizing this as a private moment.
Cromwin walks alongside Anvil and Elorie, keeping an eye on her to make sure that she doesn't fall.
"Oh, I think Elorie's got a lot of time to learn everything she needs to know. Well Elorie, we have twenty horses on the farm right now, between the foals and fillies in training and the horses owned by our family. There's Cloud, my mother's horse; she's gray, with a little splotch of white on her nose, and loves drinking beer more than anything. There's Whiskey Jack, my cousin's stallion. He was Mister Biscuit's sire, and is black too, but with little tufts of white around his feet, and is one of the strongest horses you'll ever see. Our newest horse is Rain, a spirited little filly who is just learning to wear a saddle and follow on command, although it will be some time before we ride her. Her brother, Storm, is a little more than a year older..."
Cromwin continues talking about all the horses they keep on the farm, going through their names, their personalities, and what they're being trained or had been trained to do. As they approach the Ramblehouse, he trails off as Jacob comes running up. "Oh hey, hi Jac. Do you know Elorie? I was looking for Omast at the Longhouse, and she and Anvil became friends while I was inside. I was just telling her about our horses; do you think you could show her Cloud? Elorie, if you ask Cham nicely, she might give you a mug of ale you could feed to Cloud." Cromwin will hand Jacob a silver piece. "For the drink, and some apples for the horses."
Cromwin walks over to his mother, taking a look up at the sky. "Hello mother." Cromwin says quietly, so that Jacob and Elorie can't easily overhear. "Did you hear what happened with Rodrik? The group of us from the Hopeknife ceremony were the first ones to see it other than Cham. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to come back to the farm with the rest of the family today. Kurst has asked us to look into the death, we found evidence of foul play. Have you seen guard Omast Frum about anywhere? We were hoping to find him to ask him some questions."
Jacob shrugs, "She goes to school with me in the Commons to, she is the porridge guy's daughter. I'll get the stuff."
Cromwins mother moves over to Elorie and plants a sloppy wet kiss on her neck causingnthe girl to squeal and release her grip on Anvil's neck allowing Mrs Hanson to snatch her off his back,
"If you carry on I won't invite you out to meet all the horses girl..." She warns as Elorie struggles causing the girl to freeze allowing herself to be set down.
Lower lip protruding she looks up at Anvil accusingly.
"I'm sorry, but he's gone, Brinya. This is no joke."
"But everyone loved him, why would anyone... If I had not been so angry at him I would have been there and he might not have been killed... How did it happen, who was this man?" Brings asks, silent tears welling in her eyes.
She's not sobbing. Obviously sad, but strong. Grok looks uncomfortable, but not so uncomfortable or upset as he was when he saw Cham crying more emotionally.
We think it was someone from out of town, used poison, Grok repeats, his words stoic and controlled. He closes his eyes briefly, then speaks. We found him dead in his room this morning, his wrists slashed like you folk do. He had your hopeknife, as well, in one hand, we're still working out how it got there. Grok's words are genuine and unassuming, and it's clear he's not accusing Brinya of anything. It wasn't suicide. He was poisoned, one of our friends used magic to be sure of that. Grok looks away from the woman's face, taking a step to the side and looking down.
There was a man, brown haired, average human height and weight, who was staying in a room down the hall. He didn't use a name, probably didn't sleep, and was gone before we could find him. We found a letter in his room, addressed to a Melira, the man's beloved. We think he was part of something larger, Rodrik was investigating, became troublesome, got killed. Grok talks rather quickly, glad that he has something to say instead of having to wordlessly bear the woman's sorrow. We don't yet know what Rodrik was investigating when he got killed...no specifics he glances up at her briefly ...ya... Grok trails off, not wanting to have to engage Brinya in the real way that would be required if he asked her a question. He doesn't know how grief works, but he knows there's pain, and he doesn't want to have to see a pain he can't stop. His voice trails off, and he glances back up at Brin.
Brings wipes at her eyes, "He was preoccupied with something he would not tell me about, he called it "his greatest work" so I assumed he had found something to write about, but perhaps it was something more... That is part of why I was so angry with him, he was not spending much time with me and he lost his, my, hopeknife, the symbol of our love. That and his father.."
You sure he didn't mention anything other than that? Even a little detail that doesn't seem important might be helpful. Where he spent his time, if he was out late at night or early in the morning... Grok trails off again. She's alright.
Are you alright? I mean, I know it's not good that Rodrik died, but...will you be okay? Grok is looking at her now, not sure how she will react.
Maurie only shakes her head at the little girl's comment. Upon arrival back at the Ramblehouse she leaves Cromwin to talk with his family and walks into the building.
"Guardsman Omast! Are you in here?" she calls out after entering the main room.
Brin listens carefully to the woman explain Rodrick's activities.
"Was he a writer? Is that what he meant by greatest work?"
Brinya's face tighten, "I am fairly ensure you meant it well, but that is a bloody stupid question. I am a grown woman not some simpering milksop, so I won't waste away in grief, but Rodrik was, is, the love of my life and now I need to go on without him... But I won't be the only woman in Trunau to have lost someone, one thing we are not short of here are widows."
She covers her face with a hand and areas, "If anyone would know what he was up to it is probably Omast Drum, the man is yet another bigot so he did not know about us, but he loved Rodrik like the son he never had, they were thick ass thieves."
At Brin's words she looks surprised, "He was a great writer, it was his poems and tales that showed me who he really was... He wrote Trunau's anthem, The Ballad of Bloodmarch, The Otherwise of Contempt, showing the world from a half orcs point of view, and my favourite of his works Hommel and Brekka; A play about the forbidden love between a Chelish conquerer and a Shoanti warrior. I can only assume he found something that was inspiring him."
"The Bloody Banner held up tall and true *hic*,
for to fight and hold and hold the Hordes at bay!
With pride, with valour, and with passion,
We hold our heads high and man our barricades!
And though they fall and sew the fields with gore,
Men of Trunau know what they're fighting foooooooor!
So they hooooold, through fire and fear!
Though the odds are stark and cleaaar!
So the hoooooold, gainst blood and steel!
Though their hopes are quite unreal! *hic*"
Comes a reedy slurring voice from an open door behind the small bar in The Ramblehouses dining room. Its easy to recognize the song from yesterdays festivities, "The Ballad of Bloodmarch" by Rodrik Grath - a truly rousing and infectious tune.
Maurie sighs, and turns to Cham. "How long has he been like that? We need to ask him questions, do you have any strong coffee or tea that you could brew for him? I think he would appreciate something to eat as well, might help him sober up a tad." Maurie bows to her in thanks, then begins to follow the drunken singing to its producer.
"You know, that sounds a lot better when the signer is a bit more sober."
"Been drinking for about three quarters of an hour, but he's downed four bottles of Scuttlebutt, I'm surprised he's still conscious. Mind you he paid for them all first and has been polite, just sort of aggressively sad," a halfling woman with greying hair says glancing towards the door, "we were just going to wait on him conking out and have some of the lads take him to a bed. As if we didn't have enough to worry about with the frightful mess those nasty great half orcs have made of their rooms. I can brew up a pot of coffee if you would like though, but we've only got goats milk so he'll need to make do with that.
Following the song Maurie sees Omast Drum sitting on the floor his back against an open liquor cabinet with a glass bottle in one hand while the other sorts clumsily through a small pile of coined apparently sorting out the change for another bottle. He sings in between swigs, and reeks of alcohol.
Well that's good, Grok says, nodding and looking somewhat heartened by Brinya's angry reaction. He was a nice person, I liked him well enough, whatever he was investigating can't be good. If you think of anything useful, though I don't suppose you will, there will be some of us at the Ramblehouse. I'm staying in a little cottage by the wellspring Grok indicates with his hand. There's the two of us, a halfling with some chains about her waist, Cromwin, and Zove.
There is one other thing we're not sure of. He had an unknown hopeknife on him, had a space for inscription. Maybe he wanted to replace the one he lost, did he mention that to you?
Brinya exhales heavily and nods, "I will see if I can think of anything... I appreciate you helping trying to find his killer... I just... As for the knife, he did not tell me about getting a new one, but it might make sense, ask Sara over at Clamour she would know. [Smaller]I just wish our last words had been sweeter, I would give anything to go back and tell him I love him with all my heart..."
Tears still streaming down her cheeks she turns away moves back to her loom, sits down, and lifts her hopeknife, once Rodrik's, to stare silently at its inscription.
Cromwin leaves his mother and Jacob with Elorie and follows Maurie inside. Scanning the room, he quickly finds her in the corner talking to the singing Omast. Cromwin makes he way over to the pair, nose crinkling slightly as he catches a whiff of Omast's breath. Blast, we should have checked here first. That trip to the longhouse and back gave him too much of a head start with the drink.
Cromwin walks up, standing somewhat awkwardly nearby and raising his hand in greeting, before continuing quietly. "Hello Omast. I'm sorry for your loss. Rodrik was a good man. When you left before, you mentioned something Rodrik was looking into, something about White Swords. Maurie and I have been looking into why Rodrik might have been killed, and think this might be important. We were hoping you could tell us move about it?"
I understand, this is hard news and nothing will make it easy to bear. I don't understand anything here... Grok looks at her sadly for a moment I wish she didn't have to bear this pain. I still don't understand...avoid conflict. The woman is right in front of Grok, and though he does not look at her he can still sense her sadness. He glances up at her nervously, biting his lip. Avoid conflict. He moves his hands helplessly, then turns away, looking at Brin.
We'd better be on our way to this Sara.
Omast tries to focus on Cromwin, but is clearly struggling to do so,
"S' all my fault, I should have *hic* protec..torated him, known him since 'e was a little little baby, all small and smiley... Two of them little twins Rodrik and Kurst, tiny little fingers! Told Jagrim I would protect them, failed, failed... Let them all down, stupid, useless, too old, too stupid, should have been me, but 'm not even good enough to kill."
He scrunches his face up and upends the bottle spilling as much as he swallows.
Brin finds himself at a loss for words. The type of pain she is experiencing is not one he knows well, and he's never been one to help comfort the hurt. He looks back at Grok.
"Yes, let us be off."
It is easy for Bring and From to find their way to Clamor, if they do not already know the location of the Smithy anybody can easily direct them there.
Clamor is a neat tidy single story building incorporating a forge and a store that displays various weapons, armors, as well as more mundane metalwork, such as ploughs, horse shoes, and shovels, etc. Several people are at work in the forge, but it is instantly clear that the burly bald half orc woman is in charge and thus much be Sara Morninghawk. Seeing you approach she sets aside her hammer and moves towards you folding her arms,
"Sara Morninghawk, you were up with my Zove helping Ruby yesterday right? Have you seen her since? She never came home last night, not that it is the first time, but I worry."
"The coffee should be black, and as strong as you can make it please. Milk of any variety will just mix poorly with the liquor coursing through him. Thank you."
Maurie sits beside the man and takes his hand. "Omast, look at me. This was not your fault. The only person who is to blame is the wretch that killed him. The sooner we track that person down, the sooner justice can be meted out upon his head."
She looks him in the eyes, trying to make sure this is sinking in.
"Coffee is on the way. We need you to focus. Whatever it was that Rodrik was looking into is likely related to his death. We need you to remember what he was investigating." After a moment's though, she adds, "Does the name 'Melira' ring any bells?"
Omast's head lolls and his brow crinkles,
"Not my fault? Melira? S' probably one of these bloody half orcs, that magnificent bastard Rodrik might love them, always with his new friend Katrezra, that bloody half orc melingering cripple... But I see them, all coming into Trunau, why should we open our gates to the enemy? Its madness, but nobody listens to old Omast Frum! Its not prejudice its like hens inviting the foxes in for tea! Madness! Bloody madness! Why'd Rodrik need some old half orc spewing forth nonsense about dreams and revelations? The boy was brilliant, but always too trusting.. Should have made him stop, but I told him, I told him they were the enemy and he looked down at me like he was disappointed... But I was right, I knew they are trouble... Orcs killed his Ma he should have known, but he was always too good for his own good..."
He sways unsteadily, continuing to swig from his bottle as he rambles.
Maurie shakes her head and turns to Cromwin. "Are all humans like... this... on the inside here?" Turning back to Omast, she shakes her head. "Omast, listen to me carefully. LISTEN!" she shouts as he appears ready to go into another tirade of anti-orcblood rhetoric. "A man was here last night. Full blood human from description. Brown hair, average build and height. Are you listening? He was the one we think Rodrik was investigating. Not one of the half-orcs staying here... a human. Like him, like you. Except not, given we think he killed Rodrik. He killed him because, in his own words, 'A meddling militia captain has been poking around,' and probably got too close to whatever this man's objective was."
Maurie turns to Cromwin and indicates he should show Omast the note.
"He, and apparently others, are after something here... and preparing for something else, apparently. What was Rodrik looking into?"
Omast snorts, "Am I mad? They can look like humans sometimes you can't even tell, and some of 'em are fine enough, but part of them is rotten and some of them are raised in that rot! They are a danger to true Trunauans even if only one in a hundred is a traitor... I don don't trust them and I never will! 'Cept maybe Sara, and that Brinya, but they're Trunau... Not Katrezra might as be a full blood greenskin, from orc lands, spouting prophetic lies! Dreams, pah! I had dreams, dreamed I'd see Rodrik with a child of his own someday... Just because he was hurt, crippled, we take him in, madness! You think the orcs are above crippling one of there own so we will buy his sob story? Pah, lazes around Sanctuary like he owns the place and Rodrik's always listening to him.. Worming his way in!"
Finding his bottle to be empty Omast sets it clumsily down and reaches for the pile of coins pushing a small stack forward before turning slowly around and staring bleary eyed at the contents of the liquor cabinet.
Yes, I saw her this morning, she was at the Ramblehouse, maybe still is. She's safe and unhurt, no worries there, though I've no idea where she was last night. We were wondering if you knew anything about Rodrik's hopeknife? He had Brinya's, then lost it, now he's got another one. Grok looks uncomfortable for a moment, and he's dead. Murdered. He says the words anticipating the pain they will cause, wishing he didn't have to deliver the news.
Sara nods, "Ah, good to know she is alright thank you. Rodrik was a good man, I just heard about his death, can't pretend we were close, a bit too eager for my taste, but he was as close to a beating heart as Trunau had. I hope you can solve it quickly or things are likely to go bad for us half orcs - we are too easy to scape goat... Do you have the knife? Rodrik ordered a new one just over a week ago, I did the preliminary work and handed it off to one of my apprentices to finish, let me take a look at the book..."
She heads into the store and returns several minutes alter flicking through a large leatherbound logbook, "Ah, here it is, it should still be here somewhere..."
She heads back into the store for a few minutes, then moves into the forge asking her apprentices questions and searching draws with growing frustration, and returns shaking her head, “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.”
Cromwin grimaces and shakes his head at Maurie. "Its common, though not everyone feels that way. When you've seen your friends, your family die at the hands of orcs and their kin time and time again, it can poison a man's soul." A dark look flashes across Cromwin's face, then he sighs and moves to interpose his arm between Omast and additional liquor. "Omast, focus. We need you to tell us what Rodrik was looking into. You said he mentioned he talked to you about White Swords earlier, what were you talking about? Was he investigating something? This could be important."
The halfling woman arrives with the coffee and Omast is reluctantly persuaded to drink several cups of it before answering Cromwin's questions.
"What? No, no, Rodrik wasn't really looking at the white swords, they are painted all over town, Barterstones, Commons, Hopespring, Sanctuary, and especially the South Tower, won't wash off no matter how I scrub... But I'll get them off, maybe then... I don't know what Rodrik was looking into, but he was always going to Sanctuary and talking with that blasted half orc cripple, probably ensnared him in some scheme that got him killed, Rodrik was always too willing to trust..."
Maurie looks incredulously at Omast. "The man was your partner, and you clearly viewed him as family, and yet you had no idea what he was looking into? Did he just not want to share or did you just not ask?" She sighs, clearly frustrated. "Perhaps this Katrezra will know what he was investigating. I would find it surprising that, to use your words, a half-orc cripple would know more about an ongoing investigation by a Patrol Captain than his own partner, but hey, I am new to town... I am certain it will not be the last thing that surprises me." Hopping down, Maurie walks to the doorway then turns to face Omast again.
"Do what you have to to get through grief, but remember this. You are the embodiment of what little law exists this far north of Lastwall. The people you protect will be looking to you to set the example. Drink, cry, sulk, sleep, then go out and serve them with renewed vigor. Rodrik would expect no less from you." Turning to Cromwin she adds, "I will wait for you outside, in case you have any other questions for this ... upright outstanding human ... before we go."
"You think I didn't ask, I asked a hundred times what he was up to, but he was my Captain... He just said it would be his greatest work, and kepot visiting the stinking half orc..." Omast replies, sounding more defeated than angry. Then as Maurie continues,
"Rodrik would expect? Yes, yes, I need to sleep. Find out, find what happened to the boy, Rodrik, I'll, let me sleep and I'll help however I can..." He finds his feet unsteadily and stands swaying as if trying to compensate for the motion of a ship,
Watching from the doorway the halfling clucks disapprovingly, "I'll fetch some lads to see him home, its been a few years, but this used to happen from time to time, they know the way."