,
Hemlock opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Avery roars and hurls himself at Thrawn, swinging his cudgel. The elf jerks away from the blow, managing to catch the blow on his shoulder rather than across his face.
Two guardsmen seize Avery, holding him back, while he howls at Thrawn.
"Don't you ever talk about my family, you son of a whore!"
Hemlock curses loudly and looks around nervously.
"Dammit, elf! I told you to keep a civil tongue!"
He grabs Thrawn by the arm and starts walking swiftly towards the Garrison, almost dragging the elf along.
"Saark, Valan, get Avery indoors, away from people. Try to calm him down. The rest of you men, clear a path."
He glances at Lyssia as he strides by.
"If you want answers, help me get him to the Garrison in one piece."
Thrawn walks along calmly, staring doggedly down at Hemlock's fist clutching his arm.
Hemlock leans down to speak quietly to you.
"You are either a very antagonistic and arrogant murderer, or a very antagonistic and arrogant fool. Avery is out for your blood, and there's enough people that believe you guilty without me having to protect you from my own guards."
Lyssia looks at Myth'rawn, already exasperated and incredulous.
"I'll help you get him there. Hopefully, he can remember to keep his mouth shut to those who already think they have reason to hate him."
Lyssia walks along a few feet ahead and to the side of Hemlock and Myth'rawn, keeping an eye out for any other aggressive characters that may approach.
Akos flies above and behind her, watching for any obvious threats.
Thrawn is propelled along in silence for half a block, then mumbles "அவரது சகோதரி நான் ஒரு குற்றவாளி ... குற்றவாளி மனிதன் என்று நான் அப்பாவி அல்ல என்று சொன்னார், மற்றும்." He chuckles.
Lyssia carefully ignores the elf, knowing that, like a younger brother, to respond is to encourage. She concentrates on the road ahead.
The crowd of townsfolk still surrounds the Garrison, and as your group draws near, the confused milling becomes angry muttering. Eight men form a circle around Thrawn, Hemlock, and Lyssia, facing out to watch the crowd as they approach. The mutterings rise to cries and shouts.
"Murderer! Kill the bastard and have done with it!"
"Very brave, isn't he, when attacking in the dark or surrounded by a guard, let's see how he handles a fair fight!"
"Finish him, before he murders us all!"
A rock zips through your group, smashing against the wall of the Garrison. While it completely misses Myth'rawn, the act sends the crowd into a frenzy. More stones follow, and the crowd surges forward against the shields of the Sandpoint Watch. Hemlock is shouting, trying to regain the mob's attention and some semblance of control, but they ignore him, whipping themselves into a frenzy to reach Thrawn.
Myth'rawn follows the huddle inside.
The crowd presses nearer, and somebody shoves past the guardsmen to block the Garrison door. More projectiles slam against shields, and a rock catches Sheriff Hemlock squarely in the jaw.
Lyssia falls back a few paces to a house with a ladder leaned up against it. She scrambles up the ladder and draws her bow, taking careful aim before launching an arrow into the crowd. It flashes before the eyes of several townsfolk and they stumble back, shocked. The crowd's attention is drawn momentarily to the arrow lodged in the dirt of the street, and the Sandpoint Watch takes advantage of the distraction, clearing the door and rushing into the Garrison, Hemlock taking up the rear, before slamming the door shut behind them.
Inside the Garrison, you are assaulted by the stench of death. A tall, thin man approaches you, wearing a clean white shirt with streaks of blood on it. He is washing more blood from his hands with a white cloth. You've seen him around town, but you can't think of his name. He looks you up and down.
"Is this him?
Hemlock grunts, rubbing at his jaw.
"This is who they think it is," he growls, jerking a thumb towards the crowd outside.
Myth'rawn leans in to the blood-soaked man, and whispers. "If one of us killed a man, I know where my money would be." He glances meaningfully at the blood soaked shirt, then straightens, looking around the room as if the man was not standing two feet from him.
The man in the white shirt looks down at himself and gives you a wry grin.
"I do look the part, don't I? I'll ask you to forgive my state. Examining corpses is always messy business."
He offers you a hand.
"Satinder Hawkes. I'm the man who might be able to prove you innocent."
"That's not necessary." Thrawn says dismissively. He rattles his shackles at the Sherriff, who scowls at him. "But thank you, Mister Hawk." he adds quickly upon seeing Belor's face. "But I don't need anyone to prove to me that I'm innocent. I'm well aware of my innocence, it's the Sherriff's disreputable community and officers who doubt me." He smiles at Hemlock, as if by stating this obvious point, the solution that has eluded the Sherriff for years is now dangling in front of him.
"STOP!" Lyssia yells from atop the building, We all want justice! We ALL want revenge!! Kat was my best friend, and blood at that. But how can you people expect to get true justice without true answers??"
"The good Sheriff and the Guard have our suspect. He's in hand with others who feel the same as you and I do! There's no point in acting like a crazed mob with no sense and no real ambition but to be angry. Act like the good people you are, and wait for answers, and real justice!"
"You presume to know the ways of the Skinsaw Man? The Butcher of Sandpoint?"
She spits on the ground in disgust.
"You are a child, and too young to remember the horror of that time. We remember. The elf is his successor, living on that defiled hunk of rock, just like the Skinsaw Man! We will not live in fear this time. We will cut his massacre short now!"
The crowd stirs again, muttering angrily again, and a few people add shouts of, "Kill him now!" and similar sentiments. Before more rocks can fly, another voice booms out.
"In the name of Torag and all the saints of Sandpoint, you will cease this nonsense !"
The crowd parts, and an old man in plain brown robes steps through. He wears a beard, but his scalp is shaved. Despite his unassuming clothing, he carries himself with an air of power, of confidence. There is a fierceness to him, and pride, and an expectation of being heard. You recognize him as one of the priests who lectures at the Sandpoint Chapel. A man named Buford Flinteyes.
The muffled shouting continues outside, and Satinder gives you a strange look.
"I'd be very concerned if you didn't know whether or not you were guilty."
He looks over your shoulder to the Sheriff.
"Has he had any recent head trauma?"
Hemlock shrugs.
"Not from me or my men, though Avery certainly tried."
Satinder nods.
"Avery would. Well then, Master Myth'rawn," he says, turning back to you, "allow me to rephrase. My job is to examine the elements of the murders, consider all the evidence, and use my expertise to establish a plausible list of suspects. At this stage in my investigation, I believe you are a possible suspect, but not a likely one, and I intend to prove that it was not you at all."
He gestures to a back room.
"Would you like to see the evidence?"
Buford stalks through the crowd, glowering at the gathered townsfolk.
"You turn on the elf because he is an outsider. You have no proof of his guilt, only vague superstitions. You accuse him because you do not know him. But I know him."
He reaches the door of the Garrison and pauses, gesturing for you to join him before turning to face the crowd again.
"I understand fear. But what will you do if the elf is not guilty? What will you do if you tear him limb from limb, only to find another friend dead in the morning, or a sister, or a father? You wish to make yourselves useful? Start planning how to keep your families safe."
He waits for you at the door.
Satinder gives you a flat look.
"How gracious of you."
The shouting outside dies down abruptly, and you hear a voice you recognize through the door. The old warrior-priest, Buford Flinteyes
"You turn on the elf because he is an outsider. You have no proof of his guilt, only vague superstitions. You accuse him because you do not know him. But I know him."
There is a pause, then:
"I understand fear. But what will you do if the elf is not guilty? What will you do if you tear him limb from limb, only to find another friend dead in the morning, or a sister, or a father? You wish to make yourselves useful? Start planning how to keep your families safe."
"Thank you." she whispers as she reaches Buford, and opens the door wide enough for her and the priest to get inside.
There is a man standing in front of the guards and Myth'rawn, a thin man wearing a blood-stained shirt. His appearance gives you a start until you recognize him as Satinder Hawkes, a detective from Magnimar who took up residence in Sandpoint a few years ago.
The door swings open, and Lyssia (with Akos on her shoulder) and Buford step in from outside, letting the door swing shut behind them. Lyssia is slightly pale, the only sign of her relief after her run-in with the mob. The Sheriff gives them a nod and unlocks Myth'rawn's manacles.
"Thank you, both of you. It's good to know that there are still reasonable people in Sandpoint."
He gestures to Satinder, who is already walking towards a back room of the Garrison.
"Master Hawkes has just invited the suspect to examine the remains. I'm inclined to allow it, as Master Hawkes believes him innocent, but I certainly don't think Mistress Lyssia should see them. Murder victims are no sight for a lady, and the severity of these, combined with her connections to the victims . . ."
Hemlock trails off, giving Lyssia a sidelong glance.
"Perhaps it would be better if you wait out here."
lyssia gestures impatiently.
"A lady? While I am a lady, Hemlock, I need answers, and I want all of them. I'll come with you. It's my connection to the victims that requires me to know exactly what happened, as awful as it may be. Please, lead the way."
Hemlock sighs and nods.
"Very well, then. Follow me."
He leads Lyssia and Myth'rawn to Satinder's examination room. There are two tables here.
On one lies the body of a woman. She is naked, and might have been beautiful in life. Her body bears several bruises and cuts that would have been hidden by a modest dress. Her throat was cut, and while most of the blood has been wiped away, her hair is matted with it. Her face is missing as well, peeled away in a ragged oval from hairline to jaw, including her lips and eyelids. Her blank eyes stare up at the ceiling, her teeth bared in a permanent, terrible smile.
The corpse on the other table is a man, also naked. Satinder's attempts to mop up his blood have been futile, as he has been sliced raggedly into two pieces. The split runs diagonally, from a few inches below his right shoulder down to a few inches above his left hip. His right arm sits on the table next to him, though his left arm is still attached.
Lyssia stands coldly, absorbing all the details and information. She'd heard stories before of the Skinsaw Murders.
"who found them?" she asks the room. She continues to stare at the bodies.
Myth'rawn regards the bodies, then turns to one of the guard standing about. "Could you be so good as to get me a buttered roll? Something with seeds on the top." He leans to Lyssia. "Would you like something?"
Lyssia smiles at him sweetly.
"I don't think you're helping your case by acting heartless. Even less so for being an idiot. But thank you for the offer."
Thrawn stands there for a moment, regarding her, looking a little abashed. "You are so right. I'm sorry."
He turns to the guard. ""Seeds was a stupid idea. They cause gas, and we can't have her feeling uncomfortable. Clearing her name is our highest priority, now that we all agree in my innocence." He smiles back at Lyssia. "That could have gone horribly wrong." He leans in and whispers loudly "Good catch."
Hemlock gives you a cold look.
"Only two people in this room are certain that you didn't kill these people, and Lyss is under significantly less suspicion than most people in Sandpoint."
He turns his gaze on Satinder
"So, what makes you think that the elf didn't kill them?"
"Well," Satinder begins, "I have many reasons for believing that he isn't the murderer. Firstly, while I believe that some fell creatures from beyond the Worldwound might be capable of possession and the power to forcing men to do murder, Gervis Stoot was not a demon. He was a man, though a strange and foul one. The idea of his spirit rising from his old home to corrupt its latest tenant is ludicrous, at best.
"Secondly, the similarities to Stoot's original murders are extremely exact. For instance, everyone in Sandpoint knows that Stoot raped his victims and removed their faces, but very few people are aware that he also took a lock of their hair, as has been done to Miss Vinder. For Master Thrawn to have committed the murder, he had to have spoken to someone with very precise knowledge of Stoot's methods. Possible, but unlikely."
"However, I know he isn't the murderer the same way I know that nobody in this room is the murderer."
From beneath the table he draws the head of an ax, crusted with dried blood and partially attached to a splintered stump of handle, and sets it next to Katherine's corpse.
"This was buried in the pile of split logs, near the pieces of Master Avery. No injuries from this weapon appear on either victim, which means that one of them, likely Master Avery, managed to injure the murderer before he was, in turn, killed."
"Stoot? Vinder? Avery?" Thrawn thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "How they came to me as a suspect in the fist place is truly baffling."
He turns to the guard, still standing there, and sighs. "Oh, very well. Sherriff, could this man please get me a buttered bun and a cold milk?" He scowls at the guard. "You took me from my home by force, and I haven't eaten. Unless you'd like me to ask the pitchfork-bearing mob..."
"So what's the plan? Lyssia asks, "I don't suppose we can march out there and do a full body inspection of every villager physically capable of these acts."
She turns to Satinder.
"Do you have any ideas?"
The Sheriff glowers at Myth'rawn, but before he can speak, Buford stands up.
"Thrawn, the town suspects you because you are an outsider, because you are an unknown, and because you live, essentially, in a haunted house. They are superstitious, and you are the most frightening possibility until they begin turning on each other. You, of all people, should understand the danger of frightened people in large groups. You were arrested on my suggestion. If the Sheriff hadn't apprehended you, the citizens would have attempted to. They would have killed you, or you would have had to kill some of them to make your escape, and then you would be a murderer in truth."
Satinder joins in.
"The ax is relatively new evidence. I didn't find it until after the Sheriff had left to bring you in, and I didn't want to to wave it about in front of the townsfolk before the Sheriff returned. And we shouldn't have to, actually," he says, addressing Lyssia. "There are only a handful of people who are capable of administering medical attention in this area, and we can ask them about their patients in the next few days. A wound of this severity will need attention soon."
Buford nods.
"Thrawn's suggestion, while poorly presented, is a good one. I believe the Garrison has food stores, and we should all eat while we consider additional courses of action."
Thrawn nods in agreement.
Buford leads the assembly, including the remaining guardsmen, to the Garrison's larder. There, the guards raid the cupboards and lay out an assortment of dried meats and biscuits.
Your hands feel slightly greasy. You hadn't noticed before, but it occurs to you that one of your alchemical vials might have sprung a leak.
Lyssia walks up to stand next to Buford as everyone gathers.
"Karl's been informed? I didn't see, was he part of the crowd outside?"
"Sherriff, I assume I can have my belongings back?"
Buford nods.
"He is at the church with Shayliss. I'm sure he'll be here before too long, though. Someone will run and tell him that the murderer has been captured, and he'll want revenge."
Hemlock returns Myth'rawn's pack of belongings before picking up a biscuit and some dried meat and excusing himself from the room.
Thrawn looks about the food. "Any mead in here? Rum?"
Looking at his hands, Thrawn holds them up in Buford's face.
Buford gives Thrawn a patient look.
"Use your words, Thrawn."
"Do you recognize this?"
"Recognize what? The dirt under your nails?"
Thrawn rubs his fingers together under Buford's nose. When he continues to scowl at Thrawn, he grabs Buford's hand. "This oil shouldn't be on my hands. Do you know what it is?"
Lyssia looks at Buford, puzzled.
"I can't tell when he's being serious and when he's being... I don't know. Him? Is there a better description?"
Thrawn moves his hands to right under her nose. "Well?"
[ooc]Lyssia Perception
As far as you can tell, the only thing on Thrawn's hands is a very small amount of dirt, likely unavoidable when you sleep on a rock.
The feeling is gone. Whatever was on your hands seems to have rubbed off, or evaporated.
Buford sighs.
"He's always serious, child. At least, as far as I've been able to tell. Thrawn, I can't tell what you're talking about. I don't see anything, I don't feel anything."