"I believe I can counter the effect of the toxin. I could mix up a brew, but the quicker option is to ask friend Laurel for yaran and basil. A simple infusion should bring him from his stupor."
"Yeah but the Good miss Laurel might not wish to throw her weight for this endeavor as she might not wish to draw more ire from Kreed and the Logging company" He says as she scratches his head.
"What do you mean they lost the body? Who did you send?"He asks as he nods and wonders what is going on with the others.
The sheriff groans, having failed to keep the situation with the body quiet.
"When the murder was discovered, we brought Mr. Lawrence in - both to question him and protect him from being lynched," Baleson explains, turning away from the window. "I posted two of my other deputies - Corindus and Daphne - at the tavern to inspect the murder scene, keep people away, and to bring the body back when they were done. They should have been here by now, but clearly they aren't."
He looks around the room, across each of you, then his eyes dart back to the window as he carefully measures the situation in his mind.
"If you think it will sober him up, then please fetch that tea from Laurel," the sheriff tells Boggel. "As long as you're quick it appears as just another transaction for her shop, we shouldn't have to worry about her getting involved.
"As for you and Mr. Ironstar," he says to Wulf, "If you would be good enough to check on my deputies and the body, since I can tell that's where this is leading, then it would be greatly appreciated. As for Lady Cirthana," he says, broaching the subject of the Iomedean with much trepidation, "I would prefer not to involve her. She's too heavy-handed. She would turn a single investigation into an entire crusade, causing yet more trouble."
Boggel nods and walks out. Once outside, he does his best to shy away from any attention, not wanting to bring any ill will to the apothecary.
He hurries along as quickly as he can and then scurries back.
”Aye. Let’s get to it Wulf. To the Inn and find out what’s delaying the Sheriff’s posse.”
The Dwarf pulls up his pants by the belt and prepares to make way.
Despite how much a frogman should stick out in a relatively insular town, suspicious of outsiders, Boggel travels between the tribunal and Roots and Remedies while attracting as much attention as a horsefly's shadow. He finds that Laurel is alone in her shop, preparing some plant roots that he recognizes as useful for treating headaches. Thankfully, she has the herbs he needs on hand.
"That's a popular one," she says through grit teeth, not pausing her work. "Lots of loggers need that blend to work through a hangover after too much Sauerton Red."
.....
Leaving the tribunal building and stepping into the Low Market, Wulf and Helgrim look to the south and notice that a caravan is unloading from the ferry dock.
Vorshin's caravan seems larger this week, bringing more than simply her usual complement of guards and drivers. Perhaps some travelers come along to town, too?
Walking along the north road, you find a small crowd gathered around the front of the Sitting Duck. Most of them are merely spectators - children, elders, and other locals not busy with work who have congregated to watch the confrontation that is brewing.
A tall, well-muscled woman with fiery hair tied back in a bun stands in the tavern's doorway. Wulf recognizes her as Daphne, one of Baleson's deputies. Opposing her is the Iomedean priestess, Lady Cirthana. Wearing her vestments atop her armor, she is accompanied by a small coterie of her staunchest congregants.
Like a jagged scar, the treeline ends and you find yourself standing upon a barren, rolling field of stumps that stretches as far as your eye can see. For a fleeting moment, you fear that everything your fey kin had said of the humans was true, evidenced by the prolific work of saws and axes. You steady your resolve and again hope that a balance could be found between the two starkly contrasted worlds.
Your cross the deforested expanse and soon find yourself in the shadow of the wooden palisade that marks the limits of the human logging town. Looking through the open gates, you see a crowd in front of one of the buildings - the largest collection of humans you have ever seen.
Your guide, the half-orc caravaneer Ayda Vorshin, had taken almost sadistic delight in weaving frightful tales of the geological dangers that await travelers who stray too far from the road. Then again, maybe she was only trying to reinforce the idea that her caravan is the safest way to reach Falcon's Hollow.
Despite her warnings though, one of the rare highlights of the journey came when a geothermal geyser erupted a quarter mile to your right. It was a beautiful sight. The spout of steaming water reached high into the air, the droplets creating a cascade of colors as it caught the morning light. The majestic sight was a brief reprieve from the smell of the caravan guards and the ache in your feet.
Finally, having reached the log and branch-choked River Foam, the ferry has brought you into the logging town itself. The roads in Falcon's Hollow are paved with sawdust. The droning whine of the sawmill hangs upon the air, hanging over the tottering wooden buildings like a specter.
Wulf makes his way through the crowd. As he does he gruffs and huffs at some and nods and sighs at others. Eventually, he'll move his way to the front and look up.
"Pardon me Lady Cirthana, me and my ol' friend Helgrim are here to see why Daphne hasn't brought evidence back to the sheriffs' office, I wouldn't think something like a crowd gathered 'ere would impede the judicial and procedural process, would they?" He says staff in hand looking very much the old farmer ready to strike whippersnappers who are on his property goofing off.
Teasel shifts back and forth a bit awkwardly at the sights before her. She wasn't expecting the deforestation to be so complete. And while the thought does cross her mind that this is a foolish endeavor she pushes them aside. “You've been told that there has been successful attempts between the fey and lumberjacks in other parts of the world. You can do this,” she says to herself trying to bolster her resolve.
Looking at the town she is amazed at how dull and utilitarian it is. While not her first time visiting a large town or city it was her first time on Golarion. Thinking back to her pilgrimage to Anophaeus in the First World she remembers how distinct each building was. Different colors, shapes, sizes, and building materials made each building unique. Never mind the giant twin statues that she worships. Here it was mainly variations of different sized wooden cubes. The only unique expression being a house with a wreath on it which she did find charming. Looking at the crowd she decides to approach the person who appears to be in charge.
“Hello my name is Teasel and I'm new to the area Im hoping to foster an improved relationship between the fey of the forest and the lumberjacks you know there are really so many ways to go about what you are doing without clear cutting and I'm hoping we can come to equitable terms,” she says to Wulf in one giant rambling sentence.
Upon thinking about what she said she calms down a bit and says,”Hi… I'm a bit nervous and I'm new to the town. Is there anything I can do to help? There is quite a large crowd and you seem like you might be in charge.”
He winks at the new comer and whispers.
"Hello teaaseal, you arrive in the midst of a bit of a stalemate. As an outsider myself, hold off on your topic of conversation until I can fill you in a little more and keep yer eyes and ears open. Things are a bit of a mess at the moment. There are others here that share your concern."
The dwarf laughs in a loud baritone to draw the crowds attention to himself.
"Geez Wulf, I'm only 96, put me in an early grave why don't'cha!"
The dwarf steps into the area between the two groups.
"What's all the hullabalou over here? The Sheriff is waiting to have the victim brought to him so the investigation can continue."
He asks innocently looking around at the followers of Iomade.
"The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them. The Sheriff's out for truth, no matter who tells it. He's for justice, no matter who it's for or against and we don't have a lot of time."
He packs his pipe with tabac and continues.
"It sounds like people are screaming for an execution, but if the Consortium, or any other group for that matter, can simply level charges and have someone lose their head, well . . . I think that puts everyone in this community in grave danger of falling victim to an advantageous lie or unfortunate circumstancial eveidence."
He points the stem of his pipe at an older member of the group.
"Am I right?"
Before an answer can be given he plows on making a gesture towards the deputy standing in the doorway.
"I ain't no friend of the accused, but hear me well. That Tim fellow is drugged out of his gord. I saw it with my own eyes . . ."
Using lighting his pipe as a pause he lets the listeners digest that last part before taking a few puffs and continuing.
". . . Now, I don't know how he coulda killed anyone in that state, but I do know he can't talk for himself. Now the only other person who we know that was involved in this incident for sure is in there dead. We need to see what the body can tell us through the evidence."
He appeals to everyone assembled.
"Can you all let us be about our business? I'm an engineer and the sheriff thought I might be a help witht he investigation, look at it with a bit of science and what not."
"Facts are truth, truth lends us righteousnes, because justice dealt with falsehood or without fact can't be righteous. There can be no justice without truth"
"I think Justice served is the best way to honor the dead and the living of this community don't you all?"
"Will you let us work to get the truth so that justice can be done honorably?"
Freyja enjoys travel and seemed to have a grand time despite Ayda Vorshin's best efforts otherwise. Every night she built up a cheery fire and sang songs of travel and adventure and somehow how managed to weave in the occupations of those along into the roll of heros of her songs. Caravan guards were stalwart defenders of passengers and commerce. Drivers and animal handlers were courageous can caring defenders of their charges who increased the stamina of each animal with love and kindness. And while she never became drunk she often had a glass of wine in her hand.
By the end of the journey she was everyone's friend and would likely have become fast friends with Qitaba unless he strongly desired otherwise and may very well have had Qitaba telling more of his life than he intended.
As she is saying her goodbys to Ayda and company she gives out many hugs and a few quick kisses on the cheek before thanking the caravan mistress for delivering her safely. Your last charge mistress Vorshin is to point me to a good inn in this quaint little town. Where do you recommend?
Kit's dour mood upon finding the work of the Toothknockers, further downriver, has been lightened somewhat by Freyja's songs and stories--quite different to those of his native Guralt and Qadira, but rollicking nonetheless. He has, in turn, told her of deserts haunted by djinn and efreeti and the wonderful spices and fabrics that come from the Jewel of the East, smiling more than he thought he would be.
"Habibti Ayda, we are most honored for your guidance," says Kit, kissing Vorshin's hand and bowing to her, agreeing with Freyja.
The half-orc caravaneer pauses a moment before ripping her hand free from the infallibly polite Kit. Her lips twist as her face registers confusion, caught somewhere between feeling flattered and irritated. During the two days' journey north, Vorshin did not disguise her growing distaste for the passengers accompanying her caravan, even though she adored the money paid for the escort.
The previous night was spent camped at a crossroads in the heart of Darkmoon Plains, within sight of an old fort manned by a detachment of the Andoren army. During this rest, Frejya won over the entirety of Vorshin's company, seemingly to their employer's consternation. Although Qitaba's character was more subdued, Vorshin still betrayed signs that the Qadiran's manners grated upon her.
Having arrived at Falcon's Hollow as morning wears into afternoon, the caravan guards and animal drivers are all sorry to see Freyja depart. You walk along with them as they roll their carts off the ferry and towards a market at the heart of town.
"The only inn around here is Crimmy's place, the Jak'a'Napes," Ayda says with a curt nod towards one of the buildings abutting the marketplace. "I think you'd like the braggart," she adds with a sneer, directing the words towards Freyja. "If you're looking for someplace that actually offers the rare bits of excitement in this hole, you'd want either the Sitting Duck or the Rouge Lady."
With the first name she mentions, a tavern it seems, she points a knotty muscled arm northwards, down one of the roads leading away from the market like a wheel's spokes. For the other destination, she points more vaguely to the west.
With puzzlement, you notice that Vorshin's carts do not stop in the marketplace. Rather than unloading its cargo for the rickety stalls and carts set up, the caravan continues to roll onward - along a sharply curving road that winds up the face of a broad hill that overlooks the town. Above the sturdy wooden wall that rings the hill, you can see the slate-tiled roofs of far nicer buildings than those that huddle together within the rest of the town.
Daphne crosses her arms in defiant confidence, taking the arrival of Wulf and Helgrim to be a reprieve from the churchfolk pestering her. Many of the spectators, and even a couple Iomedaeans, look upon the staff-carrying veteran with respect. On the other hand, Helgrim rather earns the wary, cock-eyed glances the Valers reserve for outsiders. However, this is mitigated by two factors.
Firstly, the arrival of Teasel greatly distracts the Valers from Helgrim. The strong, erudite dwarf is overshadowed by the autumn-haired woman who seemingly walked straight out of the forest. Despite appearing to play the part of the ingenue, there is something undeniably fey about her - and this is almost a cardinal sin for the Valers.
Secondly, and this also spares Teasel from the unkindest of welcomes by the people of the Hollow, Helgrim's learned rhetoric strikes the crowd like a shaft of light piercing the forest's canopy. His insight and reasoning defuse any risk of a fight breaking out, while also allaying any disappointment from the onlookers who were hoping to witness a sacred brawl with the Iomedaeans.
"You misjudge me, sir," the Iomedaean priestess corrects Helgrim. "I am here for the same reason as you: to see justice done. I wish to offer my assistance on behalf of the Inheritor. With my blessed insight, I could help the sheriff and his deputies, as they say, get to the bottom of this case. However, my offer has been repeatedly, and unwisely, rebuffed."
The dwarf closes the windcover on his pipe and respectfully blows the inhaled smoke away and to the side away from the lady in a sign of respect, both be cause she is a lady and for her benefit before her followers.
"I am not the Sheriff so I won't try to speak for him, but I can speculate all on my own."
Helgrim offers with an earnest look and open palms.
"I believe that he is trying to remain neutral so that he is not seen as working for or with any group other than for the citizen's whom he has been elected by. I think the populace believes the Sheriff to be an honest and dutiful man."
"To be balanced the Scales of Justice must be empty on both sides when empty or its reading will always be false and suspect."
"Should he work directly with the Consortium? He would be looked at with suspicion perhaps from your followers. Should he work with you and your church directly, his findings might be discounted by those who don't find things in common with you."
He hooks his fingers in his wide sturdy belt.
"Now I told the Sheriff that I would bring him the body and his deputies straight away and render him what expertise I might have. He sent along your respected townsman Wulf here as a trusted witness to the events."
"I aim to do that without much more delay if possible."
"I have no quarrel with you or anyone else here for that matter. I hear your concern though, how can we remedy this?"
He rubs his face in thought hoping the pause will draw the crowd in.
"I believe the best I can offer you is this."
He holds up his massive waraxe by the head so that the flat faces the croud. An open mouthed dawrven elder visage with piercingly judgemental eyes makes the top of the axe is clearly displayed.
"I swear upon Torag, Father of my people and the Forge of Creation, God of Law, Protector of Industriuous Communities, and my clan name, here, in the presence of my ancestors, that I Helgrim Ironstar will see that all justice will be done in this incident that I am mortally capable of. And I pledge to you Lady, and all assembled here, that if I know of someway any of you may help, I will make that known and then seek out that assistance."
You have my thanks mistress Vorshin, both for the information and for the safe conveyance of my person. I shall speak highly of your skill and professionalism to all. But what of that structure there on the hill? Its quality is apparent even from this distance. Should not a bard of my talent call there before dallying in the lower town?
Freyja looks down the spokes of the town's roads northward towards first the Sitting Duck and then westward towards the Rouge Lady. There seems some disturbance or gathering at the Duck. Do people of this town usually gather in number outside such places?
Teasel just stares at the crowd sensing the tension her presence is causing. Looking back at the others she whispers to Helgrim and says,"I'm not sure what my people have done to upset you but if Im not helping I can go elsewhere until this is resolved. You must understand I don't want any harm to come anyone and starting a fight isn't my intention."
The Iomedaean carefully considers Helgrim's words, drawing a gauntlet-clad knuckle to her sharp chin. Her followers seem to waver, caught between two faces of justice.
"I find myself swayed by the sincerity of your vow, Master Ironstar" she declares. "The Father of Dwarvenkind and the Inheritor are allies, and I likewise hope that we might come to stand shoulder to shoulder in the pursuit of justice."
She turns to her tight cluster of followers and directs them with the commanding presence of an army officer. However, Wulf recognizes in this warrior priestess the bearing of an officer who has never been tested in real battle.
"I bid you return to your homes and labors. Your duty has been done here. You may trust in this."
As the other Iomedaeans, and the lion's share of the spectators, begin to disperse, Cirthana turns back to Helgrim and Wulf and speaks more quietly.
"The sheriff pursues a low justice, one that is handicapped by its own inaction," she says grimly. "He is too hands-off, too permissive. He keeps the peace but little else. The soul of this town rots as its people flock to the tavern and brothel in order to flee from their oppressors, rather than taking heart and standing up for themselves. Baleson and I each recognize the fiend that has this town by the throat; the difference between us is that he seems content to do nothing."
Cirthana's expression softens by a shade as she then turns to face Teasel, the new arrival.
"You deserve a better welcome than what has been offered, my child," she speaks with a hint of warmness that contrasts the armor she wears and the sword at her hip. "The residents of the Hollow are fearful and superstitious, slow to so much as tolerate those that share a kinship with the forest.
"I can recommend these two men as guides," she says, gesturing to Wulf and Helgrim. "Finding two more trustworthy souls in this town, I daresay, would be near impossible."
"That there is the Perch," Ayda nods towards the hill anchoring the eastern side of town. "Besides being home to the more well-to-do residents 'round here, you'll also find the High Market up there. That's where my cargo is destined. If you want clothes that will actually keep out the cold, wheat without weevils, or other decent goods - that's the place to go. Of course, that's assuming you can gain entry. The High Market is awfully exclusive," she says with a smile, taking pride in being the supplier for such an elite clientele. With a resigned sigh, she adds for Freyja, "I doubt you'd have much difficulty earning an invitation from the Gavel or his cronies."
She cranes her neck to briefly look north when her attention is directed towards the tavern.
"It's probably a game of knivesies that's spilled out onto the street," she says with a shrug. "Normally it'd be a kick to watch these loggers brain each other over a few coppers, but I've got work to do."
Gavel. Where have I heard that before...
"No doubt you shall get the reception you have clearly earned at the Perch," says Kit, bowing politely. "I thank you again. Freyja, I believe we should take our leave and either claim a room or go take a look at the Sitting Duck, which caught your eye." He glances that way and his eyes, usually wide, narrow just slightly. Smoothly, he continues.
"Yes, indeed, I am curious to know what entertains the folk here so. Perhaps it's another bard, ha. Shall we?" He gestures to Freyja with a flourish.
Oh, I do hope it is another bard. I love trading songs and stories! Freyja takes Kit by the arm and begins pulling him towards the gathering in excited girlish fashion. C'on. We don't want to miss it.
"yaaa!" exclaims Kit, thrown off balance, then hisses at Freyja: "It's not another bard. Looks more like a brawl about to happen."
Kreed's reputation has spread as far south as Oregent. He rules this logging town like a tyrant, frequently abusing his position to indulge his sadistic streak.
...
Freyja drags Kit along towards the Sitting Duck, only dimly registering the tall woman who passes them, wearing a gold-trimmed white frock atop a suit of polished steel armor and walking in the opposite direction. Perhaps to the bard's dismay, the crowd begins dispersing just as she and her trail companion arrive. Nevertheless, many sets of eyes are still cast in their direction, taking stock of yet another pair of striking new arrivals to the small logging town.
Thus, before they have time to talk with Daphne about the investigation at hand, Wulf and Helgrim find themselves joined by a fur-clad Ulfen beauty and a Keleshite traveler wearing a mail-lined sash. Further rounding out this eclectic band, Boggel returns from Roots and Remedies with his uncanny stealth, practically appearing from thin air, carrying the tea herbs from Laurel.
Freyja takes in the scene before pronouncing in with a northern accent There is a story here to be had, and I'd have it. She smiles broadly and adds You folk have the look of being up to something and I'll bet a first round at the Duck that that steel clad woman who just left is part of it. She bows with a flourish and pronounces My name is Freyja Brenasdotter, bard, traveler, and Ulfin Skald. My traveling companion is Qitaba Al-Guralti but you might get away with calling him Kit.
Wulf eyes the woman over and shakes his head. He walks up and scratches his head as he looks at Daphne.
"Hope that helps ya' out Daphne? I wish I could do some more to keep her off yer back but its the best I can do?"He says and points to Helgrim.
"Ol' Helgrim here is here to help me and our friend Boggel is getting some much-needed herbs to get the accused sober. Um..not sure what to do now though, but I am here." He says a bit unsure and then snaps his fingers.
"Daphne wait did you get that gift I sent you. I know it was nothing but a bit of custard filled pasteries but I figured you'd like them"He says before he then turns to the bard.
"Sorry to say, Ms.Brinsdotter was it. I and my friends are not troublemakers, just people trying to do right by the community"
"Yes...what is going on in this community? I've seen signs of...injustice...starting from downriver. I decided to follow it to its source," says the Kelishite, shifting his colorful garments.
I too an interested in justice being doled out fairly here. I belong to a certain organization and they have asked that I look into things here, to report what is going on and, well, to do what I can to set things right. So if that is what you are about, consider me an ally. Freyja rests her hand on the well worn hilt of her sword.
The red-haired deputy steps away from Wulf and the door to the Sitting Duck, addressing the assembled party.
"Thank's for getting rid of the iron maiden. Corin's inside, keeping an eye on the body and making sure no one sneaks in for a look - or a drink," she explains.
"I'm going to guess that Baleson sent you. If so, feel free to go inside and have a look. You can probably learn more than I can. I used to haul bales for my family before Baleson recruited me as a deputy. I can knock out a rowdy drunk with a single right hook, but what do I know about murder scenes?"
Kit arches his eyebrow at the word murder. "Has the body been disturbed or touched by anyone?"
"No, we haven't touched it," Daphne explains as she escorts you inside the tavern. "Frankly, I think Corin's a little spooked. It's wicked of me, but I enjoyed watching him squirm when I told him to guard Tock's body."
The taproom of the Sitting Duck is empty. The chairs beside the long tables and the stools along the bar are arrayed in chaotic order, some toppled onto their sides. However, any regular patron of the Duck can tell you that this is hardly unusual after a rowdy night. The sour air is perfumed by the lingering smell of ale, sweat, and Sauerton Red.
You follow the deputy into a small back room, which proves to have once served as office and bedroom for the late owner of the tavern. Inside, you find Daphne's tall, hawk-nosed compatriot standing against the wall, as far from the body as possible.
The body of Ergin Tock is sprawled upon the floor boards, situated between a small table and his narrow cot. Two chairs accompany the table: one is fallen onto the floor, while the other is pushed back against a stained chest of drawers. Two wooden cups and a toppled bottle of wine still sit atop the table.
"As best we can tell, Lawrence and Tock were sharing a bottle of Red after hours. Things got heated, they fought, and Lawrence pulled a knife."
"You are right Daphne, I apology." He says pulling off his hat to show his hair falling about his face where it got unfastened from its binding. He then put his hat bat on and nodded as he walked in.
"Seen a couple bodies now and then on duty, damn bandits. Still not sure how much I will be assistance save for security. I'll ask the others." he says looking to the others.
"Helgrim, you got any experience with scenes like this?"
he looked to the others"Not sure about you two yet, but if you can be of assistance I'll take it, don't want the populace whipped into a mob when we ain't got all the answers." he finishes his heavy booted feet thumping onto the hardwood followed by the click of his staff.
Teasel quietly follows the others in case she can be of assistance. Upon seeing the body she gasps in horror. She knew that for humans like herself death is permanent unlike her fey family. Turning to the others she says,"I'm not sure what I can do to help but know that I am here. This whole situation is so confusing. We're only here for such a short time. Why cut it short?"
Looking at Teasel Wulf cocks a brow and shakes his head."Men are not animals, we don't kill to just eat or fight to just protect, what makes us smarter then beast also makes us have emotions, thoughts, feelings, and knowledge that makes us more dangerous."
“I know how such desires go. It's just that with the fey more often than not such deadly impulses are only minor hindrances and never permanent. So much so that many view your concept of death as a curiosity. And while I may look like I'm fey I was only raised by them. I will die like you and that knowledge tempers my desire to harm. It's why I'm here. To try and broker some semblance of unity and peace though given the looks of the others upon seeing me…..,” she says somberly.
Upon contemplating the situation for a few minutes. "Did you get a chance to talk to the accused or is he still sick? I do wonder if it was someone else entirely disguised as the accused and was hoping for a swift execution while he was indisposed....", she says with a curious tone.
If I can help bring justice to this town I want to help.[/b] The bard moves to look at the body.
I am not trained in the healing arts. Freyja admits. I will have to find other ways to help. On a whim she decides to cast Detect Magic and examine everything in the area. Do we know what happened here?
Freyja attunes her senses with her talent for magic, but the only auras she can perceive are those on items carried by the party.
"Where was he stabbed?" Kit considers rolling the dead man over, then glances over at the wine bottle. He takes a sniff of the mouth of the bottle, wafting it towards him with one tanned hand.
"Ah, I can never tell with these northern drinks," he says.
Wulf looks him over.
He will also look for any signs of illnesses or poisons he has encountered in his years as a farmer.
Teasel is going to look quietly at the body trying to see if anything is unusual about the injuries.
Kit's eyes widen as Teasel comes into his field of view. "Are you a...dryad?"
Turning over the body carefully she says,"I was born in a logging village that was wiped out by a plague. My parents discovered me as a baby and decided to raise me. So while I am still human I share my parents affinity for trees."
After carefully putting the body down she turns to everyone else and says,"Tell me about yourselves. I only know that two of you come highly recommended to me but beyond that I'm afraid all I know is your names. It will help me keep my mind straight while dealing with this grossly sight."
Freyja looks about for clues and offers I could ask around to see what the locals know about this.
After carefully putting the body down she turns to everyone else and says,"Tell me about yourselves. I only know that two of you come highly recommended to me but beyond that I'm afraid all I know is your names. It will help me keep my mind straight while dealing with this grossly sight."
Freyja seems to not be bashful about telling about herself. I was born to a warrior poet of the Unfin tradition and I traveled the Northlands in my youth accompanying my mother who served an Ulfin king as messenger and herald. I have struck out on my own now and travel to make a name for myself and to look for my father, who I have never met. And I have joined with the Pathfinder Society who asked me to come here to see what is going on and to try to set things right. Also I was most recently in Oppara and heard there that my father had recently come to Falcon's Hollow to negotiate lumber deals for his family but I fear he has already come and gone. What else would you know?
"I'm from Gurat, as shown by my last name, 'al-Gurati'," says Qitaba with a small smile. "Textiles and spices, that sort of thing."
"I'm a genie-caller by training, which is a bit of a misnomer. I can summon various small creatures as of yet, like your wizards here in the barbaric North. I merely sent a few inquiries up-river as my...curiosity had been piqued by the Toothknockers. They seemed like the digits of a larger entity that I would like to..." He raises one hand and stains it blood-red for a moment with Prestidigitation "Converse with."
”Heh! And our little band of misfit diversity just got a lot weirder.”
The dwarf wonders at the newcomers’ boldness and obvious quirkiness. He puffs smoke rings into the air.
”Since you all just strolled into the crime scene, I guess you are keen to be a part of this endeavor.”
He says with a deep rumbling chuckle and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
”Welcome to the s!%& show everyone! This is the Master of Ceremonies, Wulf the Farmer — If you care to believe his public image. He’s an honest man living the life of a farmer, but has the heart and soul of a knight. Eh, well if not a knight then an honorable army officer at least! Harrr! Harrr!”
”He swings a staff like a schoolmaster switching a plagiarist and I have a stinkin suspicion he can swing a sword too.”
The dwarf elbows Wulf.
”As for me, I’m a Dwarven Lore Keeper with an Engineering Degree that was going to pass through this little town on my way to rediscovering Dwarven secrets in the lost lands beyond the cut line.”
He looks at the new comers one by one.
”What I found was this little town bein run by a tyrant of a man. His henchmen refuse medicine to dyin wee babes, instead of clean water he gives the people sawdust and misery in payment rather than gold . . . And that’s not the worst of it . . . There are dens of stinking evil even worse concealed here. Oh! We might be attacked by hags and an army of Harpies. And finally, the Consortium might wipe out the entire area by destroying the ecosystem if we can’t stop it.”
”Eh, well there are other crisises, but the ones I mentioned are enough for now.”
”There are good people here in this town. There are a few here who have been brave enough to stand against the establishment. Two of our companions are no longer with us now. It’s just Wulf and I left along with Boggel the frogman, errrr I mean Grippli. He’s an herbalist hunter that fights for the kids of the village and I think has made Wulf and I a part of his tribe.”
He gestures to the floor.
”This dead guy was previously an enemy that was tired of his part in the wretchedness of this place. He helped us out and now he’s dead.”
”The suspect is a guy named Tim. He used to be a lot more involved with our little group, but he tapered off and now it appears he may have been framed, or he simply killed this guy. Either way the Gavel obviously wants him dead right quick so we want to know why.”
”So, that’s the plot to this story.”
The dwarf measures the new comers.
”Fair warning has been given. You sure you want in on this?”
He watches them intensely!
Before cracking a huge grin and laughs so hard he starts choking on his pipe smoke.
”Ahhh ha hah hah ha! You shoulda seen your faces! Man, you! You were so serious.”
”But seriously you guys are great, you’ll fit right in.”
”Dryad, you’d better stick with us kid. Lay off the negotiations talk for a bit and try and fit in.”
”Freyja, I like all this furs and sash you got goin on here, we need a face for the outfit and since you are a bardess, we need some new campfire stories and maybe a group theme song.”
”And finally Gurat, I think you are saying you are a summoner with an eye for merchandising, but I don’t know who this Geine girl is you are talking about, but maybe you’ll tell me later.”
”Soo, anyone have any spells or special powers that can help us make sense of what we are seeing here?!”
Teasel's eyes grow wide as if she forgot something important opening her mouth she says,"Teasel. My name of Teasel. I forgot to tell you it didn't I? And no. I don't particularly have any special skills. If we were dealing with a tree Id be of better service. "
”Err, no you told me yer name I just like usin nicknames, but never mind that. If you like trees though we must have found the biggest an oldest one in the whole of Darkmoon! We’ll show it to ya sometime, but for now let’s focus on this here?”
”Nice to meet you Teasel. Now what we could really use is someone who could detect if magic is at play and if someone could see if the poison was in one or both glasses or in the bottle itself, or not even present here . . . “
”Say, we have’ta get you over to meet Laurel over at Roots and Remedies. She’s always got everyone scramblin out in the woods lookin for plants, tree barks and mushrooms and what not. I bet yer a natural for that!”