René nods silently along with the rest. He could certainly come back and visit the guy (though it seemed a little odd that he was being detained if he wasn't a suspect). He was pretty good at that sort of thing. Maybe play a few hands of cards, tell some stories. If Ibor was really lucky, he might even get his fortune told.
"I 'spect Ven right here in this area anyhoo, so we might as well." While he was well familiar with families like the Scarnettis, creating an undead monstrosity seemed a little unusual. Normally people like that just used regular bruisers for their dirty work. Undead probably could be used to strike even more fear into the hearts of their enemies, but if that were their goal, wouldn't they have made it more obviously that that was what stalked Thorne? The crime scene didn't exactly seem like it was a message to beware of stealing from them, which would have been typical. It was odd and didn't quite seem to add up.
Rubbing tiredly at her face, "Sounds like the closest thing to a plan."
Nothing good can come from messing with a family like that. Well if they all die something good could come from it, an evil would be purged. But if the last few days are any indication it is more likely in a direct fight she and her new companions, who are being called heroes, would lose. That sounds like a gang. Nothing good ever came to the people who went against those kinds... But we can't do nothing.
As you finish with Ibor, the Sheriff asks what you think. "Good that you got a little more out of him, but as I suspected, this isn't his work. If you are done, I will offer to let him go. But I think he may want to stay here a while longer - he was pretty shaken up. So, did I hear you want to talk to Ven?"
"Ven was the first person I visited after learning of the murders, but after I informed him of his daughter's death at the mill, the man flew into a rage. I had to take him into custody and let him cool off in a cell. But ya know, even though Ven fought like a devil, I'm pretty sure that his rage is born from the death of his beloved daughter and not from guilt at being caught."
"I was just about to release him, but if you wish to speak to him first, go right ahead."
Cordwin will stand outside the cell. We would like to talk to you about your daughter. We don't think you had anything to do with it, and we want to find out who did so we can bring them to justice. Is there anything you can tell us?
René stands back, keeping a wary eye on Ven in case he decided to charge Cordwin and attack him from the other side of the bars.
Keeping back but nodding, "Anything would help, no matter how inconsequential it seems."
"Told the Sheriff, I don't know what the hell is going on around here. First he tells me my little girl was killed, and then he takes me in. Makes no sense, none of it. What do you want from me?"
We agree. That was probably not the best course of action. We are investigating your daughter's murder and want to see her killer brought to justice. Anything could be of help. Do you suspect anyone? Was there someone who was paying your daughter too much attention and not in a good way?
René continues to silently watch, letting the more friendly people talk to the hostile man.
Skarn remains silent and observes Ven...
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"That damn Banny Harker", he mutters. "He got her mixed up in this somehow!"
Skarn gets a strong sense that this is just an upset father that doesn't really seem to know much more. No one could be that good of an actor.
------
It occurs to you that you have two more areas worth investigating.
- The strange rune carved in the victim. Could someone more knowledgeable in demonic lore could shed some light? Wasn't there a researcher in town by the name of Bodert Quink?
- The Sheriff alluded to some "first murders". Perhaps the cases are related?
Cordwin comforts the distress father for a few moments before leaving the cell.
Shall we talk to Bodert Quink about the rune?
Nodding at Cordwin's question, "Might help."
"What more ya need ta know? It's one of them Thassy-log runes fer magick wut ain't from a god. Pretty sure Cordwin already said that in the glassworks place or sommat."
Despite Rene's protests, you decide it is worth a visit to Brodert Quint.
Word around town is that Quint is an expert on the ancient ruins that dot Varisia's landscape dwells here in Sandpoint, living in the shadow of the Old Light, the town's own Thassilonian ruin.
"So, the heroes of Sandpoint have come to call, eh? Come in, come in. Can I get you some tea?" After everyone settles down, he asks "What can I do for you?"
To say Cordwin is star-struck is an understatement. He had heard about Quint's vast knowledge and had been looking for some reason to call and while he is not happy that someone was murdered, but he is happy that it finally provided him with a reason.
He accepts his tea and asks for some paper and quill and draws the rune in great detail handing it over to Quint.
What do you make of this?
René tries not to wince too obviously at the moniker. He really wished people would just shut up about it already. Sure, the perks and adoration were great. But he could really do without all the expectations and burdens it placed on them. Or at least on him. He nevertheless accepts the offer of tea, pulling some biscuits out of his bag to go with it, which he oh so graciously offers to the rest of the group as well. Mouth half full, he helpfully adds on to what Cordwin had said. "If's one uv fem Thassilogfth runths fer magicks. Mebbe you haffa bookth?" If he really knows his stuff, he should have no problem identifying it as a Sihedron Rune. Especially with my extra hint.
Skarn stands quietly by, watching the interchange and ready to read the intents of the man in his response...
"That, my friends, is known as the 'Sihedron Rune', from the Thassilonian age as you suspected. Unfortunately, much of the lore about ancient Thassilon has been lost; what does remain has been gathered from barely legible carvings on the surviving monuments or extracted from the myths and oral traditions ofVarisian seers and storytellers."
What he knows about Thassilon is that it was a vast empire ruled by powerful wizards. The sheer size of the monuments they left behind testifies to their power, and the unnatural way many of these monuments have resisted erosion and the march of time testifies to their skill at magic. Most sages place the height of the Thassilonian empire at 7,000 to 8,000 years ago, but
Brodert thinks the empire was even older-he suspects it collapsed no sooner than 10,000 years in the past.
"I also believes that the Old Light was once a war machine capable of spewing fire from its peak, but some call me mad. Maybe... but what I can say for certain is that the star seems to be one of the most important runes of Thassilon. The 'Sihedron Rune' signifies not only the seven virtues of rule - namely wealth, fertility, honest pride, abundance, eager striving, righteous anger, and rest, but also the sev�n schools of magic recognized by Thassilon. As you may know, divination magic, was not held in high regard by the ancients." Brodert notes with a smirk that much of what is understood about Thassilon indicates its leaders were far from virtuous, and he believes the classic mortal sins (greed, lust, pride, gluttony, envy, wrath, and sloth) rose from corruptions of the Thassilonian virtues of rule.
"In any event, the Sihedron Rune was certainly a symbol of power, one that may well have stood for and symbolized the empire itself. The fact that the killer carved it into the flesh of his victim might point to the fact that the murderer is some sort of scholar..." As if just realizing what he said, he is quick to point out "Not me, though! I am innocent."
Skarn does not feel that man is lying about anything he has said, not does he appear to have anything to hide.
"That all seems true enough, at least more information than any of us knew ahead of time. So, let's see, seven virtues, seven sins, and seven schools of magic? Coincidence, or deific intent? I'm sure the churches can argue over that endlessly."
it into the flesh of his victim might point to the fact that the murderer is some sort of scholar..." As if just realizing what he said, he is quick to point out "Not me, though! I am innocent."
Me too! Cordwin also adds. If it isn't either of us, who in town do you think might have the knowledge?
"Hmm. Good question. There aren't many, and those I know haven't been around for weeks. I can't imagine any would be capable of this, though."
As you leave Mr. Quink's place, you see the sheriff flagging you down.
"How is it going? Find anything?"
Very quietly, he says "So, how 'bout we go back to my office and I can show you what I got on the first murders."
Cordwin looks sheepish, Unfortunately nothing helpful. He gladly follows the Sheriff back.
"Yah, not sure we got more'n ya already knew or 'spected. But sure, tell us what you done went 'n' found 'bout them first murders. Mebbe it'll make us look at this here situat'n upside down-like." René likewise follows the Sheriff.
Nodding, "That might help."
Sheriff Hemlock explains the situation. "Two days ago, a patrol of guards along the Lost Coast Road were assaulted by a deranged man near an abandoned barn south of town along the banks of Cougar Creek. The man was obviously sick and insane, his flesh fevered, eyes wild, mouth frothing, and clothes caked with blood. The guards subdued him, but when they checked inside the barn they discovered the mutilated bodies of three men. Although all three bodies were far too disfigured to identify, one of them carried a piece of parchment..." which Hemlock gives you. (See maps for Handout 2-2).
The note identifies the bodies as Tarch Mortwell, Lener Hask, and Gedwin Tabe. "Three notorious con men and swindlers , local troublemakers. I personally forbade the three men from operating their con games and barely legal operations in Sandpoint, and wasn't particularly surprised at the time to find them murdered-it was only a matter of time before they tried to swindle someone worse than them, after all."
"But in light of the mill murders and the fact that Mortwell, Hask, and Tabe all bore the same seven-pointed marking on their chests that Harker did, I am convinced there is something worse than revenge afoot."
The bodies of all three men lie in state in a cool basement room below the Sandpoint Garrison, not far from the holding cells containing Ibor and Ven.
"The insane man has been identified as one Grayst Sevilla, a local Varisian thug. He's been given over to the care of Erin Habe, caretaker of an independent sanatorium south of town."
Hmmm...It sounds like we should take a look-see at the bodies then try to speak to Grayst. Tell me Sheriff, I heard that there were properties in town that had carvings around them, might this barn have one of them?
René does his best not to roll his eyes at the sheriff. And *why* exactly didn't you bother to mention any of this back when you initially told us about about Habe's Sanatorium?
"Sure, we kin go'n check of them bodies. See how similar-like they is ta the other ones other than that symbol. The sanatorium was likely gonna be our next stop anyways."
Crossing her arms, "Is there anything else?" I loath this place.
"This is very important information, Sheriff Hemlock. We will ensure to look into this right away. Tell us when did the man suffer this insanity? Has he always showed signs or is this recent?" Tylur's tone unlike some of the others is calm and compassionate.
"To be honest, I didn't know Grayst, so I can't say how long ago his insanity might have appeared, but we have seen nothing similar to this."
As he talks, he leads you to the bodies. You immediately notice that each of them has the same 7-pointed star rune carved in their chest.
When Jervis Stoot made clear his intentions to build a home on the then-nameless tidal island just north of the Old Light, many worried that he'd break his neck climbing up and down the isle's cliffs. Jervis had already garnered something of a reputation for eccentricity when he began his one-man crusade to carve depictions of birds on every building in town. Stoot never made a carving without securing permission, but his incredible skill at woodcarving made it a given that, if Stoot picked your building as the site of his latest project, you seized the opportunity. "Sporting a Stoot" soon grew to be something of a bragging point, and Jervis eventually extended his gift to include ships and carriages. Those who asked or tried to pay him for his skill were rebuffed-Stoat told them, "There ain't no birds in that wood for me t'set free," and went on his way, often wandering the streets for days before noticing a hidden bird in a fence post, lintel, steeple, or doorframe, which he'd then secure permission to "release" with his trusty hatchets and carving knives.
Stoat's excuse for wanting to move onto the isle seemed innocent enough. The place was a haven for local bird life, and his claim of "wantin' ta be with th' birds" seemed to make sense-so much so, in fact, that the guild of carpenters (with whom Stoat had maintained a friendly competition for several years) volunteered to build a staircase, free of charge, along the southern cliff face so that Stoat could come and go from his new home without risking life and limb. For 15 years, Stoat lived on the island. His trips into town grew less and less frequent, making it something of an event when he chose a building to host a new Stoat. Sandpoint was no stranger to crime, or even to murder. Once or twice in a year, passions flared, robberies went bad, jealousy grew too much to bear, or one too many drinks were drunk, and someone would end up dead. But when bodies began to mount in late 4702 A R , the town initially had no idea how to react. Sandpoint's sheriff at the time was a no-nonsense man named Casp Avertin, a retired city watch officer from Magnimar. Yet even he was ill-prepared for the murderer who came to be known as Chopper. Over the course of one long month, it seemed that every day brought a new victim to light. Each was found in the same terrible state: body bearing deep cuts to the neck and torso, hands and feet severed and stacked nearby, and the eyes and tongue missing entirely, having been plucked crudely from each head.
Over the course of that terrible month, Chopper claimed 25 victims. His uncanny knack at eluding traps and pursuit quickly wore on the town guard, taking a toll on Sheriff Avertin in particular, who increasingly took to drinking. In any event, Sheriff Avertin himself became Chopper's last victim, slain upon catching the murderer in a narrow lane-known now as Chopper's Alley-as he was mutilating his latest victim. In the battle that followed, Avertin landed a telling blow against the killer. When Belor Hemlock, then merely a town guard, found both bodies (Avertin's and the penultimate victim) several minutes later, he rallied the guards and they were able to follow the killer's bloody trail.
The trail led straight to the stairs of Stoat's Rock. At first, the town guard refused to believe the implications, and feared that Chopper had come to claim poor Jervis Stoat as his 26th victim. Yet what the guards found in the modest home atop the isle and in the larger complex of rooms that had been carved into the bedrock below left no room for doubt. Jervis Stoat and Chopper were one and the same, and the eyes and tongues of all 25 victims were found upon a horrific altar to a vile demon lord of winged creatures and temptation whose name none dared speak aloud. Stoat himself was found dead at the base of the altar, having plucked his own eyes and tongue loose in a final offering. The guards collapsed the entrance to the lower chambers, burned Stoat's house, tore down the stairs, and did their best to forget. Stoat himself was burned on the beach in a pyre, his ashes blessed and then scattered in an attempt to stave off an unholy return of his evil spirit.
All that remains today of the once-loved Stoat carvings are ragged scars on buildings and figureheads where owners used hatchets to remove what had become a haunting reminder of the wolf in the fold.
"I am not sure Grayst will give you much, but here... let me write you a letter of introduction if you are going to the Sanatorium. It might help you get access."
He writes a quick note and folds it up, handing it to you. "And thank you for your continued discretion..."
Taking the note he shakes the Sheriff Hemlock's hand and nods, "We have no desire to cause the town to erupt in chaos. Many are still getting over the incident with the goblins. We will head to the Sanatorium and see if any more clues can be discovered."
[diceheal]1d20+4[/dice]
Thank you Sheriff for entrusting this investigation to us! Cordwin says.
"I ain't no expert or nuthin' but these here scratches look awful similar-like to them that was on the mill workers. I guess it were good we don't seem ta have ourselves a copying cat."
The squat, stone building that serves as the sanatorium has three floors under a stout, stone-flagged roof, and is built in the lee of the limestone escarpment known as Ashen Rise. Narrow windows, no more than 4 inches wide, allow for air circulation but are too small to allow access into the building. The old floorboards of the wooden veranda creak under any weight.
As you enter, you find a reception area. This room contains a desk and three chairs-two to the west, one to the east. A cord hangs from a hole in the southern wall above a sign that reads, "Ring for service."
René pauses, briefly considering if they should check for traps on the cord. He shakes his head. No, all this adventuring and being places he should have stayed far away from had started to make him paranoid. Laughing quietly at himself, he walked over and rang for service.
"Any of you have 'sperience with talking to crazy folks? I certainly don't, but I figure drunk folks might be pretty similar. I'll see about reading his answers while one of you questions him."
Hmmm...Does talking to kin count as crazy folks? Cordwin says trying for some levity in the situation. I'll talk to him. Knock on wood, I've had success so far!
He will then find a wooden surface to knock on.
After a minute or so, a man in a black coat and a red turbin comes in from a door. "who are you and why are you here?" he demands rather gruffly.
René pulls out the letter and hands it over. "This here's a letter o' introduction from Sheriff Hemlock. We're here on oh-ficial business ta conduct an interview with one Mista Grayst Sevilla."
"Grayst Sevilla? What's he to you? Listen, I am very busy here with critical experiments..."
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Oh! We can see you are very busy and know you have important work to do. Our discussion with Grayst won't take but a minute and it might be for the good of the town. We will be gone before you know it!
"Humph. Well, you make a good point, I suppose. I am Dr. Erin Habe. Ok, ok... let's make this quick."
Dr. Habe unlocks the door to the south and leads you through. You walk through a main common area with elements of a kitchen, dining areas, sewing. A number of shut doors lead off this main room. Heading all the way south, he leads you up a set of stairs. On the second floor, the common area is smaller, and the doors have small windows. As soon as you cross the room, you hear shrieks and yelling from two of the cells. Nothing but nonsense, as far as you can tell.
Across the room, he leads you up again to the third floor. An even smaller area, more like a hallway, he leads you to the back corner to a door. He unlocks it and opens it for you. "You have 10 minutes."
Inside, you see a man who is clearly disturbed. He is drooling and babling, and stumbles around in a straight jacket. Grayst's skin is pale and looks gangrenous, his hair wild and eyes milky white.
Grayst is mostly nonresponsive, wrapped as he is in a straitjacket.
Unfortunately, Grayst has little to say apart from incoherent mumblings about "razors" and "too many teeth" and how "the Skinsaw Man is coming."
"This man is quite sick, and close to death."
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Skinsaw man? Who's that? Is he the one with the teeth and the razors?
Feeling a little bad for the fellow, René rummaged through his sack of food, pulling out a cookie and holding it up to the man's mouth, hoping to entice him to eat it. He wasn't sure what ailed him, but he doubted a terrible place like this had anything remotely resembling decent food.