SARA MORNINGHAWK
"Is your practice to accept and record payment in advance, in installments during smithing, or upon completion?
Sara shrugged. "Depends on the client. But Rodrik had the usual deal; half down, half on completion."
"It may be a sore subject, but do you know where the clumsy oaf might be?"
Sara rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Gods only know. They're apprentices! Young and dumb and lazy... Half the time, when they find out just how much work is involved, they just up and leave without notice. Probably what happened with Urnsul."
So then it was unlikely that the blade Rodrik died by was the new one, but rather an old one. Surely there was a story behind that. Varys nods at Sara's disappointment in her ex-apprentice. Though he had neither apprenticed formally nor taken on any apprentices (he was still far too green at anything for that), he empathized. It was a common story to hear in Kaer Maga, especially said out out-of-towners thinking to come to the City of Strangers to get away from whatever they were fleeing.
"I see," he says, shrugging. He looks to the others. "Those are my chief questions at this time. What of the rest of you?"
Asher shakes his head as he turns to exit the building, waiting for the others at the door.
"Well, did you notice anyone besides us asking about Rodrik, but before he died?" He looks apologetically to Asher. He figures it can't hurt to ask
"Me neither.. thank you" And he withdraws with the others. Clearly this whole thing troubles the half orc
Before they leave the shop, Varys turns around spouts one last question.
"Oh, and does the name 'Melira' sound familiar at all?"
- Cham Larringfass - proprietor of the Ramblehouse, discovered Rodrik's body upon going to wake him, spoke of a supposedly human guest of unknown identity who is currently the chief suspect
- Kurst Grath - the brother of the deceased, assigned us to investigate
- Jagrin Grath - the father of the deceased; we haven't spoken to him yet, but probably should
- Brinya Kelver - the lover of the deceased; their affair was known but still relatively clandestine; we haven't spoken to her yet
- Omast Frum - a frequent patrol partner of the deceased; we haven't spoken to him yet
- Sara Morninghawk - the badass proprietor of Clamour who made and sold a new hopeknife to Rodrik, which he apparently did not retrieve before his death
- Urnsul - the ex-apprentice of Sara Morninghawk who quit last week, after taking on the commission for Rodrik's engraved hopeknife
- Melira - an unknown third party and lover of the unknown chief suspect. We found a letter referencing a meddling patrol captain and some unspecified "preparations" suggestive of some sort of plans that Rodrik learned about.
- Sanctuary - where Rodrik's body is currently being held
- Graffiti - Varys heard something about weird graffiti in town that seems worth checking out at some point
SARA MORNINGHAWK
"Oh, and does the name 'Melira' sound familiar at all?"
She thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"Nope; sorry. Should it?"
"Just curious, thank you," Asher nods to the woman as the group exit the smithy. "Should we go look at the body?"
Trekking through the steady drizzle of an overcast day you make your way to Sanctuary, the temple of Iomedae in Trunau.
You are met by Tyari Varvatos, High Priestess of Iomedae, who greets you courteously.
When you ask to examine Rodrik’s body, Tyari takes you to the basement room where his body is being stored until the funeral.
When the shroud is removed, you see that the only visible wounds are on his wrists.
"Thank you, High Priestess, dark day I know." He's not a worshiper of the Goddess of justice, but he is respectful.
When they are brought before the body, he shudders. He does cast detect magic, once on the body, and then, when he notices the person effects of the departed, which he looks through with resignation.
Asher peers at the body of the man. "Probably died of blood loss. But were the wounds self-inflicted?"
Inside the bag are the personal effects of the corpse; basically he had been wearing night clothes, and the trueknife he used to slash his wrists.
TYARI VARVADOS
...But were the wounds self-inflicted?
Tyari gives a double take at Asher's words.
"What? Surely there is no question, with him being in a locked room and the knife in his hand?"
"This...Roderik?" Asher looks at Clover for a nod. "He strike you as the type that might want to kill himself?"
Varys isn't used to looking at bodies, but he does look through Rodrik's effects, in particular wanting to examine the hopeknife for any engraving. When High Priestess Varvatos seems quite certain about the nature of Rodrik's death, Varys brings out his own skepticism.
"What I have heard about Rodrik suggests that suicide is a less likely motivation. Surely a woman of the cloth is aware of compulsion magic. Are there any known magic users in town who deal in the arts of enchantment?"
At that idea, the bard humms and detects magic. Maybe there is something lingering on corpse or objects?
TYARI VARVADOS
"He strike you as the type that might want to kill himself?"
"Well, no; not particularly. I mean, he was always so confident, and quick with a ready smile. But it DOES happen; someone seemingly out of the blue taking his own life..."
She paused, then looked at you worriedly."You... don't think he killed himself then? But how could that have happened? He was in a locked room!"
examine the hopeknife for any engraving.
Examining the hopeknife, you see that the blade had been wiped of blood, but not washed. You can still see crusts of drying blood in the nooks and crannies of the knife.
Looking for engravings, you find none. More than that, the blade has none of the polish you would expect from others of the type you've seen. The edge is barely serviceable instead of razor sharp, and the grip a basic unwrapped wooden dowel pegged into place instead of studded leather wrapped.
TYARI VARVADOS
Are there any known magic users in town who deal in the arts of enchantment?"
She frowned in thought.
"I personally know of few arcane casters in town, and none of the enchantment types."
Varys isn't willing quite yet to give up every possible lead, so he doesn't share all of the details with the priestess. But as he looks over the dull, blood-crusted knife, he makes a few observations.
"Not all those who take their own lives show obvious signs, and may indeed carry on until the end with no clear indication of anything amiss. But it is important to not rule out anything yet. 'When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' I believe Ailson Kindler wrote that in one of her novels." Or someone like her.
As Varys points out the dullness of the blade, he continues. "A sharper blade would be more suited to the task than the one that carried this out. And aren't these blades only supposed to be used for mercy-killings in the event of an invasion? This one has been used far more than last night."
Varys hands the blade off to someone else to look at and finishes his thought. "Suicide is still possible, but it's not the only possibility. The locked door presents a problem for other theories, and I did not find clear evidence of tampering on the outside windows, but I have raised at least one option--magic--that could counter a locked door. There are more mundane possibilities as well. On the balance of available information, we should allow the facts to speak to us." The half-elf barely pauses before proceeding, offering no clear linguistic indication that he is changing topics before barreling on. "Are you familiar with anyone by the name Melira?"
...the bard humms and detects magic. Maybe there is something lingering on corpse or objects?
"Are you familiar with anyone by the name Melira?"
Both the High Priestess and her military attache look blankly at the name and shrug, shaking their heads..
Grobradon sighs "No magic on the victim or the hopeknife.. not that I can sense anyway"
Varys feels disappointed. Back in Kaer Maga, even a minor initiate of Nethys is familiar with enchantment magic, both from arcane and divine sources. But what else could he expect from an Iomedaean? She probably didn't provide her priests with enchantment spells on a regular basis.
"Nor any divine casters?" he says, pointedly rhetorical. "Well this is unhelpful," he mutters, only partially under his breath.
Clover is surprised to be asked by Asher if she thought Roderik was a person who might want to kill himself. Still, at the least to be polite, she thinks on it a little before giving up.
"I think to know more about something like that we'll need to talk to people who actually knew him. I knew who he was, that's different from knowing him. Maybe Brinya or Omast will have something to say about it?"
Varys blinks a few times in thought, and then smiles lightly. "A fair point, Clover. Even in a small town, acquaintanceship is more the norm than intimacy. I'm done here in any case. Let's visit Omast."
Asher walks with the rest to Omast's, mulling things over as they move through the streets of Trunau.
The bard follows, humming some song wordlessly as they go
As they walk along, Varys observes with the others.
"The knife was quite dull. You two have these knives as well, yes? I thought their purpose was only to be used in the event of a hopeless invasion. Would someone use it to carve wood, prepare meals, or fight? Or would that be considered sacrilege?"
This was a strange town.
"I don't have one but I've seen how people who do use them. It depends on the person. I think most people treat them like occasionally useful jewelry. It might get used for a small task here or there, but mostly it's a treasured item. A few people use them harder. Maybe they're less sentimental, or just don't take good care of their things. I think it's mostly looked down on a bit to abuse them. It goes against the spirit of the reason to have them."
"And this Roderik fellow was a leader in the town? What was his position called?"
Clover shrugs vaguely at Asher's question.
"He was in charge of it, so I guess Captain or something like that."
"Patrol Captain," He nods in agreement with Clover's term, “Rumor had it that Rodrik Grath is next in line for
the position of patrol leader over the whole thing instead of just the squad."
"Next in line? Really?"
"The old leader is... getting on."
"The old leader...Roderik's father, yes? He's getting on. Roderik is a leader to this community, yet kills himself with a knife that's clearly a bit shoddy, which feels out of character." Asher pulls out a small paper bag from his pouch, reaching in and procuring a fistful of nuts that he proceeds to snack on as the group walks. "Some human stayed the night next room over to where he died, checking in after he booked the room, but before he returned. He writes a letter to someone named Melinda, Melarya, sommit like that, all weepy, talking about offing Roderik. Was that right, 'before he returned'? is that what the racist little halfling woman said?" He looks at Clover. "Apologies."
He walks on a few more steps, kicking a rock in the road absentmindedly. "And he's got a hope knife on order from Clamor that feels more like someone shoulda order for him. But it was ordered by him. He's got a lover in the half-orc woman. Why would he order one that she - that she should be..." he trails off, slowing down walking for a moment before looking up at everyone. "He lost his knife, or it was stolen. Before he was murdered. And he ordered a replacement, likely without his lady knowing. This crap knife was left by the killer because his hopeknife was gone...which they were likely expecting there."
Clover listens to Asher theorize as she walks. She doesn't say anything about it herself. Partially this is because she has to really hustle to keep up with her long-legged partners. Mostly though, it's because she has never really been able to figure out humans. Their puzzling behavior pops up in many ways related to many subjects, but in this case it's their penchant for drama and backwards planning.
Halflings will scheme, sure, but not when there's no profit in it. Humans seem to treat it as a kind of sport, doing it for free and often among the people who are closest to them and know them best. They will keep some secret or go against family and friends first. Then, when they fear being discovered, they will plan ways to get out of the mess without being found out because they fear embarrassment or apologizing. These emergency plans tend to fail and make things worse than they would have been otherwise. To Clover's mind it seems to waste a lot or energy and create a lot of strained relationships.
"Her name is Cham. Or, if you're me, Auntie Cham. She's of average size, not little. She said humans all look alike if I remember correctly. It's true, you do more or less. Mostly it's because we're closer to your belt buckles than your faces, and that's a lot of looking up to have to do. Partially it's because you all look more or less alike."
"Want to know why I don't have a Hope Knife of my own? The town tends to forget our birthdays, not usually but it happens enough. We tend to not get noticed unless some human wants us to fetch something for them. Not that it matters much to most of us. I wouldn't be a party to any agreement that involves killing myself, so I don't need one."
"Melira," Varys interjects after Asher stumbles again over the name.
Varys listens to the exchange between Asher and Clover, though his mind begins to wander. The loss makes sense. Maybe Brinya had given Rodrik her knife, an engraved one, and he had lost it and was trying to replace it. That would be something good to bring up when they met her.
He pontificates on his own contribution, rattling on and only partially responding to what the others said. He completely loses the thread about the hopeknife.
"It must surely be advantageous to learn to differentiate between a set of minimally contrastive features if and only if it is meaningful in your life. A painter has more need to differentiate blue and azure than the average person; the tanner, different qualities and grades of leather; the herbalist edible from poisonous plants. It may not be as useful for the average halfling to learn what makes the tall folk different. Humans do the same--we're all quite myopic. I can't imagine it's truly differences in biology that primarily drive differences in perception, but conditioning and learning."
"The knife was quite dull...
It is a grey and drizzly afternoon in Trunau. As you are conversing and walking along through an alleyway, you just hear a ragged snarl before three canid forms charge out of hiding places to crash into you in a surprise attack!
Wolf1 attacks Varys.
for a possible slashing damage plus if it plus Bleeder’s Disease:
Wolf2 attacks Asher.
But it just missed wide as it stumbled, trying to twist around for another bite.
Wolf3 attacks Grobradon.
for a possible slashing damage plus if it plus Bleeder’s Disease:
Round 1_____________________
Players take their turn in order of posting, enemies will go last.
Varys is in the middle of what he considers to be an insightful and interesting diatribe on the nature of perceptual brain development in sapient creatures when a cur of a wolf leaps towards him. The half-elf spins out of the way and stares aghast at the creature.
"Is it common for wild animals to wander into town?" he asks, drawing a fine blade from a scabbard at his belt.
Before waiting for an answer, he stabs out viciously towards the wolf, aiming to catch it in its brain. "We were talking," he says, as though the wolf understands his complaint.
Any perception to notice the ambush, or any bother with initiative?
Asher quickly enters into a kata, defending himself from the beast yipping at him as he steps to the mouth of the alleyway, kicking at the wolf's head. "He's not listening to you, Varys!"
the wolf charges from nowhere and only the leather armor the bard wears saves him from taking a brutal mauling, for now. "Normally the patrols would alert us but sometimes things get dangerously close..." He admits "Not usually THIS Close." He draws his weapon but also sings:
"To battle, to arms, o circle of steel!
Ask who we must save rather than what we must kill!
Shoulder to Shoulder or back to back,
Holding fast against the attack!
There are too many drinks that remain digested
Too many challenges I have not yet tested
And lips I've not kissed, songs I've not sung!
Let's not die now, we're all too damned young."
Clover "Eeep!"s from surprise at the sudden attack; but she does hurry forward to help Asher. She lowers her spear and starts poking at the beastie, partially to stab at it, and partially to distract it from Asher by keeping the point around its face.
+1 morale bonus on saving throws against charm and fear effects and a +1 competence bonus on attack and weapon damage rolls