GM Tyranius Giantslayer (Inactive)

Game Master Tyranius

Kurst sits down on the edge of a small cart on the side of the street. He stares down at the street as his shoulders slump. There are three leads that I can think of.

He holds up one finger. The scene here at the Ramblehouse of course. You should also probably speak with Cham since she found him.

Kurst raises a second finger. You could also speak with Brinya Kelvar. Kurst raises his head to the dwarves. She is a half-orc weaver who it seems my brother was having an affair with for some time.....

Kurst drops his hand. It would also be good to speak with Omast Frum. He has always been a good friend to Rodrik and myself and was quite often Rodrik's patrol partner.

Maybe one of them might be able to shed some light on what exactly happened to him.

"Aye, be glad to help however I can," Jorgan says as he drops his axe a few inches, realizing that an orc invasion does not seem to be imminent.

Jorgan scratches his cheek against his shoulder and shakes his hair out a bit as he thinks. "Well, since we're already here let's go in and look at th'scene. Where is Cham? I'll let one of th'others question her while I look around."

If needed:

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18 (+8 to notice unusual stonework)

Survival: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23 (+8 to track vs. humanoids of the Giant subtype)

Torgan flags down the innkeeper. "Cham!"

"What in bloody hell happened here?" he asks a bit gruffly.

"Tend to yer family, we'll see to things here." Kraygan says, putting a stubby hand on Kurst's shoulder. Kraygan is fully appreciative of family. He knows he's about useless outside of A brawl and wouldn't have a job without the grace of his cousins.

Facing the "friendly" elf, he asks, "You served in the militia, Wren? Think I'll stick with you."

Cham. Brinya. Omast. Wren commits the names to memory, knowing them at least by sight, if not more.

Looking around for Torgan, the elf moves to stop the...

"What in bloody hell happened here?"

...moves to pretend he's not 'with' the dwarf.

1d20 - 1 ⇒ (8) - 1 = 7 Bluff

He tries to hide his embarrassment by answering Kraygan.

"Yes, yes. I am currently in the militia as well. Been here more than a few years, doing just that," Wren answers before his eyes narrow upon the dwarf.

Oh yeah...the objectionable one. Kraken, I think his name is. Start here, Wren, maybe he can tamp down on the enthusiam of his kin.

"You're Kraken, right dwarf? If you're going to helping here, might as well get to know you, I suppose. You've served in some military?"

Wren offers his fist, hopeful of completing a Lastwall fist bump.

"Kraygan." The dwarf replies, correcting the elf and giving him a slightly awkward fist-bump. He then begins grooming his beard, trying to dislodge whatever it is Wren is squinting at. "Was in the Janderhoff army for a tour of the Mindspins. Learned all about orcs and giants, but didn't see much real action. I'll bet the militia here has, eh?"

Giving up on his beard, he changes the subject without waiting for an answer. "So where do we start here? With Rodrik? Can't imagine he'd do himself in. Seemed happy enough last night."

Vanderhoff tries to take in all of Kurst's explanations, struggling to remember it all. Once the party moves into Rodrik's place, he helps peer around the area.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

Vander is unable to concentrate, as he stares at the corpse in morbid fascination, having never seen a dead body this close. Shaking his head, he mutters a quick prayer to Angradd, and looks around for magical auras.

Detect Magic

"I'll bet the militia here has, eh?"

Wren's jaw sets angrily.

"They have. *I* haven't," Wren replies, making a clear distinction between *them* and him. "I've always been on duty, but they don't put old 'men' on the front line. Despite my years of experience, years of service...elsewhere...I am relegated to the backlines."

Wren composes himself.

"It is fine. There will be a time when the courage of man fails, and this elf will fill the gap or die protecting his charges. I serve, I do not command..."...nor do I wish command again. Ever.

"So where do we start here? With Rodrik? Seemed happy enough last night."

Wren shrugs, looking at Torgan.

"It appears that we start with Cham. We could not stop that now if we tried."

Jorgan and Vanderhoff rush up the stairs before Wren even notices that they have moved or even before they find out which room Rodrik was staying in.It is a pretty decent sized inn or are you just opening every room from floor to floor?

As Wren turns around he sees that Torgan has already started questioning Cham. He seems to be having a difficult time keeping up with all of the dwarves rushing about him.

Cham is sitting next to the bar holding a steaming mug in both hands. Her hair is a bit disheveled as her hands seem to be shaking. Torgan approaches her causing her to jump slightly.

Oh. I'm sorry. It looks as if tears have been streaming down her face. I went to go knock on his door this morning. He asked for a wake up call last night before he went off to bed. He didn't answer right away so I cracked his door open. He was just lying there, on the bed, bloody and still, his vacant eyes staring at the ceiling.

She wrings her hands as she sets the mug down on the bar. That is the last thing I remember as the guards woke me up. They say that I feinted

Following Jorgan into the corridor, Vanderhoff stops, squinting at all the doors. "Do you which one he was livin' in?"

Kraygan rubs his beard in thought. "Trunau ain't a place where folk leave their doors open. Was Rodrik's unlocked or did you have a key?"

Anything odd with Cham? I would think locals would be more familiar with violence. Fainting sounds like unusual behavior.
Sense Motive: 1d20 ⇒ 19

Wren looks at Cham.

"You fainted? Are you sure? You weren't knocked out by a magic of some sort? Or a poison gas?"

So Cham seem the kind who might faint?

Following Jorgan into the corridor, Vanderhoff stops, squinting at all the doors. "Do you which one he was livin' in?"

"I thought you did!"

Jorgan and Vanderhoff go running down the stairs again, seeking out Cham, who should be able to inform them of the right room. "Say. . . we've forgotten the room or maybe forgot to ask. . . ."

Torgan listens to her story and Kray and Wren's questions, nodding. "Smart..." he mutters to himself.

As Jorgan and Vanderhoff come running up, asking about the room number, Torgan shakes his head. "Not smart..."

He clears his throat and says to his brother. "It's probably the room with a buncha people millin' about an' a dead body inside..."

"Say. . . we've forgotten the room or maybe forgot to ask. . . ."

1d20 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1 Bluff

Wren fails to hide his enormous elven eyeroll.

Of all the mighty eyerolls given to non-elves from elves over the years, this hardly counts among the top thousand, however, in terms of Wren's stay in Trunau, this counts among his personal top 3.

He had prided himself on fitting in and contributing to his new society, becoming part of the community. However, his patience is being tested by the newcomers.

"Heh heh heh.." Kraygan chuckles at both Torgan's morbid joke and Wren's impressive eye roll. It's terribly inappropriate for the situation, but Kraygan's never been accused of having good anything even resembling tact.

In repsonse to Torgan, Vanderhoff shakes his head. "Well, that's whata I was thinking, people milling about or the room cordoned off, but I either missed them, or they ain't up there."

The inn is empty for the most part as the local militia are keeping the people back. So as not to have a large amount of people trampling through the scene.

As the group listens to Cham's story, some more than others, Kraygan feels that Cham is holding something back and seems to be hiding something.

From a floor up Wren hears the pair of muffled dwarven voices having a heated debate about something or other, probably ale.

Within a few moments the pair comes trampling down the stairs asking for the room. She looks up but for a moment. He was in Room 231...

"Right... room 231." Kraygan eyes the little woman and takes a long breath, as if waiting for something else. "Spose we should go look there, hmm?" He asks, trying to sound casual.

Bluff to make others think Kraygan is NOT suspicious: 1d20 - 3 ⇒ (9) - 3 = 6

Everyone in this group has negative charisma penalty? Go Team Ugly. LOL

While Team Ugly the dwarves investigates 231, Team Everything is Elfsome! Wren will knock on 230, then 232 to see if anyone is within and whether or not they heard/saw something.

*knock* *knock* - Door 230

Jorgan and Vanderhoff go back up the stairs. They get to room 231 and attempt to open the door. It seems a little locked jammed. Vanderhoff just gives the door a little shoulder and it pops right open the door with ease.

The sparse room contains only a single cot and a writing desk. The cot is cheap affair with a straw-stuffed mattress, now stained red with blood and stripped of it's linens, while the desk is a slightly nicer piece of furniture that has none the less been chipped and worn by time. A cracked window in the southern wall is the only exit other than the room's door.

The militia seems to have already removed the body, leaving only a bloodstained mattress behind.

Wren leaves the halfling woman with Torgan and Kraygan as he climbs the creaky stairs behind Jorgan and Vanderhoff. Watching the two dwarves go into the room he tries a more subtle approach as he raps on the door. No one answers.

*knock* *knock* - Door 232

Remind myself to ask Cham if 230 or 232 had any patrons last night.

Dwarves are not known for their skill in social interaction, and the Steelkegs make most dwarves seem almost good at it. But the Steelkegs have an advantage that has often made up for it - social lubrication.

"Torgan, ye have anything with a bite? I'm thinking Cham here could use a sip to clear her head." Kraygan goes to find a mug, and begins the ancient art of dwarven diplomacy - which involves getting the halfling a little drunk and a lot more talkative.

Once in the room, Jorgan is careful to check the windowsill without disturbing it, checking for signs of entry and/or exit. T20 Perception if I can.

"Tha' door was stuck; seems someone woulda heard someone else bustin' in through there. Had ta come through the window, righ?"

Wren moves further down the hall, looking into Rodrik's room as he passes. He sees Jorgan looking out the window for several minutes. The elf continues to the next door, knocking firmly. Once again there is no answer.

Jorgan inspects the window for a few moments. Upon seeing no signs of entry or exit he grasps the window, sliding it up and down with a little force as each time you open the window it seems to want to tilt every so slightly, stopping it's full movement without a little bit of work.

------------------------------------------------
Downstairs Kraygan begins to find a clean mug in the establishment as he wanders behind the bar. The surly dwarf finds a crate perched next to the tap which reads Snakebite #4. He slowly draws a pint, hopping down from the crate and hands it to the Halfling woman. Thanks... I will definitely be needing one of these today. See us little folk always look out or each other. She says with a half smile as she takes a gulp. She sighs heavily as she rests her head In her hand. Her hand still seems to be shaking.

Wren lets loose with a last knock on Door 232 before poking his head in Room 231 to see how things are going.

As he sees others taking the looking around *very* seriously, Wren lets it go and returns down to talk to Cham.

So nothing concrete from Jorgan's take 20 Perception?

"Cham, was there anyone in Room 230 or 232? Anyone who might have heard something?"

Ah I took it as he was intently searching the window and not the room as a whole.I just took it as that since he was kind of specific. :)

As Jorgan opens and closes the window he catches a very small movement out of the corner of his eye as a small piece of scrap paper flutters in the breeze trapped between the wall and the headboard. Jorgan moves over to the bed pulling it loose.

Piece of Scrap Paper

Jorgan then moves to open the small writing desk drawer to which he discovers that it has a false bottom, though when he opens the compartment it is empty.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Cham looks up from her drink as her face blanches. She clears her throatA bunch of half-orcs and other thuggish tall folk came in about a week ago and reserved practically every free room. I didn't recognize any of them from around town but they were checked out before I even found Rodrik. All of their rooms are in the register under the counter. Cham says with a wave of her hand towards the bar.

The only entry of note in the registry is a human male who rented Ramblehouse's last room right after Rodrik had reserved his room, but before he had checked in for the night. The entry stands out because there is no name next to the registry just his race and sex.

Vanderhoff moves over and peers over Jorgan's shoulder. "Whatcha got there?"

Reading the note, he frowns. "I wonder if the smith can tell us who placed the order for the hopeknife. We could take the knife along and see if it is the same one he made."

Wren helps himself to the register, bringing it over to peruse in front of Cham. He licks his long fingers as he turns the pages, using the moisture to gain gain better grip of the parchment.

Wren points to the mystery entry, leaning over to allow Cham to see the entry.

"Who was this? Who wrote this and did the check in?"

Wren looks to see what the room number was.

Does Wren know why Rodrik was renting a room here when he's (presumably) lived in town for a long time? If not, he'll ask Cham: "Why was Rodrik renting here? Did he not have permanent residence in town?"

We could take the knife along and see if it is the same one he made."

You actually don't have the hopeknife. That and the body were not in the room when you arrived.

Wren looks down at the room number. It was room 320.

Upon being asked about the entry Cham breaks down into fearful sobs. I checked him in..... He refused to give me his name. She manages between gulps of air, ..and he paid me in a fistful of gold. He said he'd be gone before sunrise. I didn't ask anymore questions. I had no idea that something like this would happen!

Cham become incoherent as she gasps for air in between sobs into her hands. Rodrik just moved here a little over a week ago. I don't know why.

Last Wren knew Rodrik lived in his Father's estate.

Wren looks down at the room number. It was room 320.

..and he paid me in a fistful of gold. He said he'd be gone before sunrise. I didn't ask anymore questions. I had no idea that something like this would happen!

Cham smiles and tries to calm the halfling down.

1d20 - 1 ⇒ (5) - 1 = 4 Diplomacy Ayep. Nailed it.

"There, there," Wren says. "It's not all your fault Rodrik is dead. There is a small chance that his soul has found Pharasma's embrace rather than weeping for the daggers that cut his wrists that you didn't think to stop."

Wren pauses to give Cham a chance to collect herself.

"Now, can you tell me what he looked like? Race? Coloring? Something that might assuage your guilt in all this?"

Pleased that his bartending has produced some results from the reluctant halfling, Kraygan pours a couple more drinks and brings them over as Wren attempts to make her cry.

"Hey now, it almost sounds like yer blaming poor Chem here."

He hands a mug to the elf, and another to Chem, and considers the situation.

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 3 ⇒ (1) - 3 = -2 LOL

Into his third mug, Kraygan's internal voice is starting to break free from it's cage, reaching through the bars in growling mumbles.

"Though tis a shame you didn't press for a name. I mean, that looks really bad."

Wren and Kraygan team up on Cham as she cries even more. Oh gods! It is my fault isn't it......

Now, can you tell me what he looked like? Race? Coloring? Something that might assuage your guilt in all this?"

He... He had brown hair and brown eyes. A white male human..... I don't know all of you tall-folk look the same to me.

Torgan watches as he sips on a pint of Snakebite #4 from behind the counter as Kray and Wren make the halfling woman cry. We might be th' best investigators in th' lands...

Torgan wrinkles his nose at the beer. Not my best work... A more floral hop would go a long way with this beer for #6...

Torgan shrugs as he downs the rest of his ale, rinses the mug and places it on the drying rack. "Perhaps I shall check on my brother and room 320... You lot seem to have the interrogation aspect down."

---

Torgan moves into room 320 to give it a quick once over. He tosses the bed, lifts the cushions on the couch and looks at the underside of the table for hidden messages. If I was a clue... Where would I be?

He moves the dresser to check under it and runs his fingers across the paintings and windowsills for secret catches.

Take 20 on Perception for 27 (29 for stonework).

Vanderhoff glances at Jorgan. "Should we return downstairs and show what we found? I don't know if there are any more clues to found here."

Wren continues to tend to the halfling before going to explore 320. He grabs the key to the room before leaving the front desk (if necessary).

He join with Torgan and examines Room 320.

"Dwarf, do you think they have room service? Should we speak with that person as well?"

Torgan looks up from the floor as Wren walks in and just looks around from the doorway. "No idea, Elf. Think you left th' person who'd know."

After thoroughly searching the room that was the scene, Jorgan takes a page from Wren's book and searches the rooms next door, primarily looking for alternate entrances. He will also search the rooms above and below. If needed, he'll go back down and request the keys, etc.

"Mighty strange. I still think it's a possibility that something he saw or thought made him do it to hisself. Ya know? All these half-orcs and strangers about, maybe he thought it was an invasion and got scared. I've heard of good dwarves losin' their nerves if somethin' like that happens."

Vanderhoff starts to follow Jorgan out the door, then stops and turns. Uttering a small prayer, he detects for magic auras.

Torgan takes off up the stairs as another jammed door is heard being opened just as Wren grabs the keys from the pegboard.

Letting out a small sigh Wren slowly goes up the flight of stairs to assist Torgan. As he enters the room he sees Torgan feeling around for secret latches around the desk. This desk has a similar false bottom as Torgan easily finds it. Inside the secret compartment he finds an slip of dirty old parchment containing an unfinished letter.

Letter

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jorgan goes back downstairs as he sees keys from the keyboard scattered on the counter from Wren. Deciding to check some of the additional rooms he grabs a handful of keys. Checking the surrounding rooms Jorgan finds that the two rooms on the same floor are intact and nothing much of interest. Though in the other two rooms above and below Jorgan finds the rooms in complete disarray. The desk is in shambles as well as the bed in both rooms. The windows are broken and there is more than one hole in the walls as the clay lies in small piles on the floor.

While most of the damage is repairable, the walls of the two rooms are marked with graffiti. The two graffiti marks seem to be one of a white cross and the other that of a white sword.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Vanderhoof continues to stay in Rodrik's room as he inspects the room for any signs of magic. Standing there for a few additional minutes he is unable to detect any sign of a magical aura.

Kraygan makes a thorough inspection of the bar.

"99 kegs of beer in the hall, 99 kegs of beer.
Take one down, pass it around, 98 kegs of beer in the hall."

Take 20 on perception = 20.

Vanderhoff sighs as he finds no clues, then heads down the stairs to find Jorgan and follow his industrious cousin. When finally alerted to the rooms with graffiti, he thinks for a moment.

KN: religion (untrained): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14

Eyes widening, he points to the white sword. "Doesn't that white sword sorta look like Iomedae's holy symbol?"

Jorgan reads over the second note found by his brother. "Ok, I'm starting to rule out the suicide idea...."

Upon finding the destruction of the rooms above and below, Jorgan rounds everyone up to inspect the graffiti.

KN (religion): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

"I don't know, isn't her holy symbol a falchion or somethin'?"

Knowledge Religion: 1d20 ⇒ 20

"76 kegs of beer in the haaaaalllll... " Kraygan punctuatues the line with a belch. He then actually offers something helpful to the investigation.

"Vanderhoff's right. Imodae's symbol's a sword." He wipes his beard with the back of his sleeve and offers something more. "Militia was havin trouble with graffiti around town, ain't that right Wren? So... did the orcs leave the symbol or did the killer? And are the orcs and the killer in league?"

Wren eventually examines all the rooms (presumably they would be sharing discoveries and information) and reads the letter. Of the symbol, he takes Vanderhoff's words for it: it was a holy symbolish thing.

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13 Know (Local) - "Melira"

Iomadeans might pious jerks, but they are not assassins.

Of the entire mess, Wren can make little of it. The thing that confuses him the most is the random holes in the walls.

"These holes in the walls...you dwarves, with all your knowledge of stoneworking, know nothing of these holes? Or what made them?" Wren wonders aloud.

"And why are the rooms above and below destroyed? How did no one hear of it? This is very strange."

Kraygan inspects the bar thoroughly. He does not find anything of interest as his gaze keeps lingering back to Snakebite #4, refilling mug after mug.

Wren and the rest of the dwarves return to the bar and exchange notes. He furrows his brow at the name Melira as he attempts to discern if it is someone from around town. Though thinking back on it he does not recognize the name.

Torgan searches for his brother and the other dwarves. "Found a letter in th' hidden compartment o' th' desk. Seems quite ominous. Any o' you know this Melira broad?"

The blonde dwarf moves to the ground floor of the inn and begins to question Cham about Melira. "Found a note with a name: Melira. What do you know 'bout her?"

Knowledge Local for Melira: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

Kraygan looks up from the bar at the name, then shrugs and pours another mug. He then comes over to look at the letter.

"You fellas sayin that Rodrik's body's been moved already by the milita? Where'd they take it? We should probably take a look at him."

Wren goes over the entire scene, the letter, & the receipt in his head.

"Nothing makes sense, we'll need to keep digging. Maybe others will have ways to piece all this together. For all this, the receipt...it's...confusing," Wren notes.

Finally, he takes out a piece of paper parchment and begins to write notes.

When the dwarves are done with their search, Wren will lead them to Brinya the weaver's place, seeking to ask her questions.

Cham looks over to Torgan. Never heard the name Melira. No one by that name has stopped in here anyways.

Cham arches an eyebrow. The only place that they would take Rodrik's body is to the Sanctuary where they would begin to prepare him for the Flame of the Fallen.

Wren waits for the dwarves to finish up before as he prepares to head to Brinya's place. He looks out the window and notices that it is getting to be quite late in the day. With all of the running around and searching rooms the day has just flown by.