Brolga had missed most of the conversation so far, instead meticulously searching the whole room for anything that looks out of place.
"If it's not his hopeknife, it does b-beg the question where the real one is? B-better talk to Sara."
"I think we should split up. We have a lot of ground to cover. Lialda and I should take a look at this white sword graffiti. Sitko, Sarada, see if Sara knows anything about the hopeknives and who ordered what. Garri, Brolga, go see what Brinya knows. Give her condolences as well. Kreagor, see if Rodrick's father knows anything."
The Gnoll will knod in agreement to the plan and, after asking directions to the smith will speak up. "So we have The Victim, The Brother, The Lover, The Smith, The Bigot, and The Murderer. Let's find out which ones overlap..."
And with that he and the lovely lady set off after the knife maker.
"O-ok. Coming Garri?"
Brolga heads out of the room. Huh, they put the green people together... Was that deliberate?
The Gnoll will knod in agreement ...
Glad that other people found some information where he had failed, Kreagor is more than willing to follow Renliat's lead on this.
"Okay that sounds like a good plan. I will be on my way quickly then, I may be able to catch up to Kurst and go along with him to see his father, I feel our conversation will go over better with him there."
With that Kreagor begins to leave the room.
Hmm.... not sure how talking to the Commander of the militia's going to go, but hopefully I can get to Kurst first and bring him along as some help. Ohh wait a minute...
"Since no one else seems to have the time, I will quickly speak with Cham on my way out before going to talk to the Commander."
With that Kreagor leaves and heads off to find Cham.
As you all head outside the light snow from earlier is now beginning to turn heavy. Heavy snow continues to fall upon Trunau, and a cutting wind has begun adding its weight to the assault. What has begun accumulating upon the ground is, as of yet, not too worrisome, but the sky promises more to come. By evening, the town will likely be under significant snow cover.
As the pair begins to depart, the halfling Cham Larringfass, propreiter of The Ramblehouse, catches them and they take the opportunity to bring up the white swords with her. “White swords? They are everywhere. The biggest white sword around here is the one on the steeple of the Sanctuary. It used to be on the old burned church outside town. Some say it’s a miracle it wasn’t destroyed back when the orcs torched the place long ago.”
Garri and Brolga head southwest through town to the boarding house that is just northwest of the Commons. Outside of the commons two worried women are gossping over local children. Garri and Brolga catch the tail end of the conversation. “Have you heard about Meriman’s son, Othdan? He supposedly went out to visit a friend at a farm not far south of here several days ago, but no one’s seen him since.” When the women notice the two approaching they quickly quiet down and move off into the housing unit.
You are greeted by a modest affair as each of you duck into the squat doorway into the common room, the low-hanging door indicates the building's having likely belonged to a dwarf at some point in history. Simply appointed as it might be, however, the walls are sturdy and thick and do an impressive job at keeping the elements at bay. A mighty hearth dominates the center of the room from floor to ceiling, an opening towards the fire within apparent on two sides. The room is relatively packed at the moment, tables and benches nearly full to capacity with those calling the boarding house their current home. Judging from the plates and bowls arrayed, you have all managed to find your way here during what is likley lunchtime. Brinya does not seem to be present at current, though it is an easy enough endeavor to gain knowledge of her whereabouts: isolated in her room—understandable given the circumstances.
Making your way upstairs, you find the bunk-hall that dominates most of the second story, though each wall is lined with doors that lead to the more private accommodations offered. Brinya has a room to herself on the far side of the room. As she answers the door, you find an attractive half-orc woman with stunning red hair. She seems to be one of those rare cases where the ferocity of orcish features were muted almost entirely. Even so, her countenance is a pitiable one, as the most evident feature of her appearance at present is someone deep in the thrall of grief. She seems to be in a bit of a malaise, and is slow to register that such a motley band of persons should be looking for her in particular.
The trip to Clamor is short, but cold.
As the duo approach the smithy they observe two boys sitting on a crate outside. The older one is explaining something to the younger one in a matter-of-fact fashion. “Sara Morninghawk makes pretty much all the hopeknives in Trunau, and there’s no better smith in town. She and her apprentices can personalize any blade to order, from engraved blades to gem-studded hilts. There were some raised eyebrows when she married that dwarf, Agrit Staginsdar, but I wasn’t too surprised—Sara’s always been one to take in the weird ones.”
When they catch sight of the pair they hop off the crates and run off down the path into the distance. Heading inside the first thing they note is the loud sound. The ringing of hammer on anvil as you all draw closer to the smithy is a welcome sound, for it carries with it the promise of a roaring forge to grant reprieve from the freezing temperatures. Predictably, the front shop that adjoins the smithy proper sits empty and cold in the early morning hours. Sara Morninghawk is alone in the building, hammering tirelessly away to provide for the needs of an entire town. She glances up as you approach only for a moment before returning her attention to a decent length of iron, held stationary against the anvil by a large set of tongs. "What?" As usual, Sara remains gruff and distant, but those familiar enough with the half-orc woman are well aware that the news does not sit well with the smith at all.
When he arrives he overhears two patrolmen talking out front, “When he found Rodrik’s body, Patrol Sergeant Omast Frum fell off the wagon—hard. I don’t know what kind of guilt is weighing the sergeant down so much, but he’s been drinking and talking to himself nonstop. The only meaningful work Patrol Leader Jagrin Grath could find for the poor drunk is cleaning up the vandalism that’s been drawn all over town.”
The two stop talking when they notice Kreagor and ask, "What can we help you with today?"
Such an odd thing, to have cold fluff fall down from the skies. Such an refreshing change of pace.
Sarada pauses upon seeing the smith at work. Well there went one suspicion. Dreading stepping towards the blistering hearth the Gnoll does so despite the uncomfortableness. "'For Rodrick, my Love.' You are currently making this hopeknife?" is all he asks.
Lialda and Renliat leave Cham and take the short walk to the Sanctuary where they are met by Tyari Varvatos at the entrance. She smiles and nods to Lialda,
Greetings, Lialda. Can't say I have ever had the pleasure of you visit at the Temple of Iomedae before?" Glancing over at the elf she gives a curt nod. "Renliat, pleasure to see you once again. You appear to be doing well? What can I do for you two today?"
She finally shrugs and says, "I can't seem to find it. Do you have the blade or just the receipt? I could authenticate the blade for you."
Stopping for a moment he then adds a quick "Apologies for all the questions."
I should probably look for Omast Frum after this, might meet Reliat and Lialda if he is cleaning up the graffiti
Replying to the militia men,
"I am here looking for either Kurst or Jagrin Grath, do you happen to know where they might be?"
Tyari smiles at Lialda's comment, showing signs of understanding even if she does not. Though she does not speak it aloud, the mention of Baba Yaga clearly unnerves slightly. "I respect your views, the Inheritor does not speak of unifying all underneath her. But yet, here you are. How may I be of service to you on this snowy day? Please, come in and let's get comfortable. Can I offer either of you something warm to drink?"
"He," she swallows hard with a loud gulp, "just recently proposed to me." She holds up her hand to show you the beautiful diamond ring. She twists and holds the ring for several minutes in silence.
Eventually Brinya circles back to the original question. She takes a deep breath. "Roddy lost the hopeknife I gave him last week. I was absolutely furious at this and told him I didn't want to see him again until he found it or otherwise made it right. If-" tears shoot from the corners of her eyes as if a faucet were just turned on, "-if I had only know. I. I. I wouldn't" She starts sobbing again, unable to finish her statement.
The guard nods to Kreagor. "Yep. Indisposed. Patrol leader Kurst has said to not be disturbed when he was with his father unless it was an urgent matter. Is your business urgent Mr. ...?" He raises an eyebrow at Kreagor and waits patiently.
Sara seems to soften somewhat, the tension in her posture relaxing. "It's alright. Rodrik was my friend. If you're helping catch whomever did this, well, I'm happy to help in anyway that I can. And yes, the engraving is a popular custom held here in Trunau."
"About the knife. As I said, I did the initial work then passed it on to Urnsul to do the engraving and finishing touches. That was a week ago. I did not know that the hopeknife had been taken from here," she sighs.
"I often hire refugees looking for work. Urnsul came into town a couple of weeks ago after escaping the abuse she received from at the hands of Orcs. This is a typical story around here. Orcs don't treat Half-Orcs well. Trunau has become a kind of refuge for many Half-Orcs, myself included. I have no reason to doubt Urnsul's sincerity."
"You say you don't dobut Urnsul, and I believe you, but we would still like to speak with her. Do you know where she stays? Speaking of, did she say she quit or did she simply not show up for her shift?"
Surprised that the little greenskin so openly asked about his religious beliefs, Brolga starts telling him the story of how he met Ashava in the woods.
"... so there I was near the lake just a way out of Tranua, staring in awe at the pack of wolves that were happily dancing around this woman. As the clouds above parted, I could finally make out her appearance. She was tall, at least seven feet. Her olive skin dance under the moon light, just as she danced with the whole wolf pack. She invited me to join her, and it was like coming home. She made me feel welcome, and she made me feel at peace. She treated me like an equal, like a sibling should treat a sibling or a friend should treat a friend. We danced half the night away. Then we spoke for hours. She said she was a goddess. I didn't believe her, until when she disappeared, but oh, she so looked like a goddess anyway. Ashava. I've been faithful to her ever since."
Brolga suddenly realises that he has been monologuing for a good ten minutes and catches himself. "S-Sorry Garri.... I'm n-n-not sure if that's what you wanted to know about m-my beliefs? And w-what about you?"
"Miss B-Brinya, I'm sorry. Losing Rodrik hurt m-me too. He was my friend - I think - and I have v-v-v-v-ery few. C-c-c-c-c-c-c..." Suddenly, trying to comfort someone in such pain, Brolga finds that his stutter has gotten even worse. What if I make it worse for her. I don't know how to make someone happy. Any she's so pretty, but I should think that, her fiancé has just died. Ugh, I hope I don't make this worse.. Brolga takes a deep breath, then tries to rush his question out all at once. "...canyoutellusabitmoreaboutthehopeknifethatyougothim?"
Feeling that honesty is the best policy, Kreagor replies,
"You may call me Kreagor. And yes I would say my business is urgent, it involves Rodrik's death and Kurst, at least, will want to talk to me about it"
I wonder what Kurst will think of the hope knife situation...
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Tyari leads the party to a sitting room with rather hard and unpleasant seats. It would appear that that whatever funding stream that Sanctuary relies on does not include comfortable cushions. After seating them she asks Renliat, "How is the chest? Does it still pain you so? I've heard stories of phantom pains from burns and can't say I can that I understand. Prayer services in a few hours and we can certainly speak of you once more if you like."
She smiles weakly, unsure if her small talk will be unpleasant for the wizard or not. Before he can answer she holds up a finger and says, "Right, tea. I'll be right back." The cleric moves off into a supposed kitchen where you can hear the sounds of cabinets and dishes moving around.
Sara purposely moves a few loose items closer to her on the table and away from the Kitsune. She continues, "She was staying at Common's Boardinghouse ".
Kurst walks out with Kreagor and says, "Let's take a walk." He small talks about the weather for a minute until they are far enough away from others before turning to Kreagor and asks curiously, "What's up? Do you have something for me already?"
Sara holds her palms up and issues a small shrug towards the gnolle, never taking her eyes completely off of Sitko. "She never mentioned who it was that was bothering her, it is not an uncommon occurrence and I thought nothing special of it."
"If you are going to speak with Urnsul, tell her I could use the help if she wants to come back. Though, I suppose, that is you find her. She way she spoke it led me to believe she would be leaving town for good."
Nudging Sitko towards the door he stops and bows towards the blacksmith. "And again I shall add, your wife is very lucky to have you, and you her. Please hold her tight the next time you lay eyes on her, as there's now one person who has no one to hold tonight."
With that he and the handsy rogue will make for the boarding house.
"A little bit of information yes. We found a receipt in Rodrik's room for a new engraved Hope Knife, however the one at the scene was not engraved. Two of us are looking into it now to see if the knife was actually made yet, and if so where it is now."
Kreagor hesitates a bit here before continuing, trying to get his words right,
"Also, we think that it would be useful to talk to your father about anything he knew Rodrik was doing, either personally or with the militia. As he is the commander of the militia he may know something about his activities that you did not. I would prefer to have you accompany me during the conversation to make your father more at ease during this time of grief"
The gnoll and kitsune head southeast through the inner gates and across town to the boarding house that is just northwest of the Commons.
They are greeted by a modest affair as each they duck into the squat doorway into the common room, the low-hanging door indicates the building's having likely belonged to a dwarf at some point in history. Simply appointed as it might be, however, the walls are sturdy and thick and do an impressive job at keeping the elements at bay. A mighty hearth dominates the center of the room from floor to ceiling, an opening towards the fire within apparent on two sides. The room is relatively packed at the moment, tables and benches nearly full to capacity with those calling the boarding house their current home. Judging from the mess of empty and used dishes in the room, you have all managed to find your way here just after lunchtime.
Kurst shrugs. "Hmmm. That's quite odd, isn't it? If he bought a new hopeknife he never mentioned it to me. If for some reason he did buy one, I'd talk to Sarah Morninghawk about it. Oh! And I'm going to need that hopeknife for his funeral, can you please make sure to take care of it?"
The patrolman hears Kreagor out, but his facial expressions quickly betray his lack of interest in the idea. "I understand your desire to speak with him, but I don't think it's wise at this juncture. He's taking it especially hard and if there is anything to be learned there, I'll try to get it out of him myself."
"He wasn't doing anything for the militia last night, I've already checked. He was due up for patrol this morning, but he never arrived. As for what he was doing on his own time, well, I'd check with Brinya on that topic. While he didn't spend a lot of time with her in public, they were known to, uhm, sneak off in private for several hours at a time."
He pauses on that for a moment. With a big sigh he adds, [b]"Let me clarify something I stated earlier. I've already told you my father didn't approve of their relationship. She and Rodrik were engaged to be married, but only a few people, myself included, knew about their relationship. Brinya’s a half-orc. Her heritage doesn’t matter to me, but it does to my father, which is why Rodrik kept it secret. That’s why Rodrik was staying at the Ramblehouse. My father somehow found about the two of them, and he and Rodrik had a falling out over it. Since my father has forbidden me to visit her, could you check up on her and make sure she’s okay? You can also ask her whether anything seemed strange about Rodrik the last couple of nights."
"Other than that ... I can't think of anything off the top of my head, but you might ask around town. My brother touched many lives in Trunau, so I wouldn’t discount anyone as a possible lead. Anything out of the ordinary could be a potential clue."
"Two of us have gone to talk with Brinya already, and to see if she if okay, so I hope that helps put your mind at ease. As for them being engaged, we had begun to come to that conclusion as the engraving on the hope knife was to be 'For Rodrik, my love'."
Sighing, Kreagor draws his hand over his face, disconcerted with the entire idea the Kurst agrees with him that literally anyone in Trunau could be a possible suspect.
"I will take the time to ask around town a bit, see if any one noticed anything. Oh, and did you know where I could find Omast Frum? We got wind of him taking the news of Rodrik's death pretty hard and were wanting to look in on him"
Given how hard Jagrin seems to be taking things, and how bad the fall out between Rodrik and Jagrin was, it may be better to come back tomorrow... or tonight.
Putting his hands in his pockets, Kreagor continues talking,
"I will leave it to you then to get what information you can out of your father. There will hopefully be something he remembers. I will be on my way after one last thing then. Where and when did you wish to meet with us tomorrow for a more detailed report on our activities? I only ask to save you the time of finding us tomorrow."
Not being greeted by anyone at the entrance he will set out in search of a proprietor.
He nods as if it was it and prepares to turn back to what he was working on.
"I unfortunately haven't had any spare time to check in on him. He ... " He groans audibly as he looks around for words. "He is probably taking it extremely hard and has had a history with alcohol. It's likely he's probably plastered somewhere. If you come across him, you would have my gratitude if you could set him on the right path. I'm sure he's having a rough go of it."
"Besides. Maybe the two of them discovered something on one of those patrols, hmmm?"
Kreagor leaves with Kurst and searches for Omast Frum. It turns that he is easily located however, being currently at the South Tower of Trunau's inner wall. A small crowd has gathered to watch as he dangles from the battlements by a rope tied to his belt, attempting to wash the graffiti from the tower sides. Omast looks down at the assembled and waves an arm. "Go 'way," he shouts drunkenly. "Nuttin ta shee here!"
She pauses a moment as if a sudden thought comes to her. She starts again hesitantly, "T-there might be something else. He said something was going on recently, but he needed more proof. He'd been a little distance as of late because of it, I assume it's why he had lost his knife. That man tends to get caught up in his work. Did you find his journal? I know he kept one, but I don't know where it is at. I assumed it would have been with him. That might have more information." She looks at Garri concerned, "Does that help?
"We are looking for one Lady Urnsul." Sarada quickly speaks up.
Dear gods, the man is going to get himself killed Kreagor thinks as he sees Omast dangling from the battlements.
Maneuvering his way to the front of the crowd, Kreagor calls up to Omast,
"Good Sir Omast, could you come down for a few moments? I would like to speak with you."
as he speaks, Kreagor continues walking forward until he is only a few feet from where it looks like Omast would fall if the rope broke, and readies himself to try and catch the poor fool if it does.
Sitko and Sarada ask around but find more or less the same response from everyone. She was here, but hasn't been seen in several days.
With nothing else to say she escorts both Garri and Brolga to the door where they head back downstairs into the common room before exiting.
The goblin mentions they have finished speaking to Brinya and are about to head back to the Ramblehouse to meet up with the others. Al four agree to walk together and catch up. As soon as they exit, Sitko says she will meet there there, she wanted to say hello to a friend she saw inside first. "Go ahead, I'll catch up in a minute."
As Brolga, Garri and Sarada head off they towards the Ramblehouse they pass by an alley on their left. Both Brolga and Garri catch sight of two young wolves snarling in the shadows as the party passes. There is something off with these wolves as they are twitching and foaming at the mouth. It's quite clear they are about to attack you, but Team Green with their keen senses warns the group before the attack.
The crowd that has gathered begins to chuckle at the drunkard, tossing a few jokes and insults his way. "We feel real safe with you protecting us Omast!" and "Keep up the good work!" Shaking their heads they break up and walk off to leave Kreagor alone with the spectacle.
He waves his arms at Kreagor, the only sound now to be heard is the rope he is hanging from creaking, "SHooo! I don't needsh your chrrristismss!" He looks about and realizes he's dropped his flask. He points to it and looks at Kreagor, "Eh! Be ah goood lad and toss 'er up to me, hmmmm?" He reaches for the flask and motions for Kreagor to toss it up again.
The inside of the temple is a hubbub of activity. Acolytes run hither and fro, performing tasks assigned to them, or delivering messages. A handful of people sit quietly, their heads bowed in the distance.
Tyari gets up and closes the door to get them more privacy. She asks, "Sure, but can I ask what your involvement is? I sent someone up there numerous times to clean it but I'm told that traditional methods of soap and water are not working. I have been told that Sargent Omast Frum is looking ito all these "White Swords" as they are now being referred to. I am meaning to speak with him to see if he can be of service."
The cleric shrugs, "Someone told me that they can be viewed as a crude representation of Iomadeae's holy symbol, but I can assure you we've had nothing to do with this."