"Poison." The witch says sharply. "Get back! Need pen, tube, something hollow!"
With Rashk's help he heaves Bort onto his back on the table and pulls out his knife, before carefully feeling down the neck to just below the blockage.
"He can't breathe." The witch says, taking a moment to explain himself. "Will cut open throat, allow air in. Need the tube, now!"
With that he sets himself and makes a short cut down the caravan-master's throat, not flinching as a spurt of blood splatters across his face. He swipes away the blood from the wound and does his best to hold the cut open until someone gets him the damn tube!
Nutmeg hustles over to assist Baldur!
The ruckus attracts a lot of attention and people start searching their pockets for anything useful whilst others stare in horror at Baldur's actions, "Poison! In what, the food?!" One of them exclaims.
Both Delma and the Sheriff hurry over, although neither intervene. Bort has mere seconds as his throat is cut open by Baldur and Nutmeg assists, but the man falls limp before anybody can come to aid him, mouth covered in foam and blood pooling around his neck.
The tavern falls silent and everybody starts eyeing those, and the bowls of food around them.
After a few moments of silence, the Sheriff steps forward. "Please, let us cover his body." He gestures. "I want all members of the caravan in the stables, one by one. Don't talk to each other. If it really is poison, I will get to the bottom of this." He turns on his heels and heads out to the stables, gesturing at one of the twins to follow him to be questioned first.
Illyria had been a little distracted apologizing to anybody she'd had to wrestle away from the others when the whole commotion erupted. It had gone by so fast, all she managed to do was walk numbly over in confusion, before nodding at the Sheriff's instructions, and finding a corner to take a seat in herself.
Baldur takes his seat once more and pulls Bort's bowl towards him, before sniffing it, examining the texture and colour and generally doing everything he can to find the poison he is sure it there.
Rahsk will keep his hands on the table and keep quiet. He'll look concerned as Baldur examines the poison, ready to intercede if Baldur seems to have any problems.
"I am Root," Root whimpers as he coils around Nutmeg's shoulders. She reaches up to pat the smaller leshy.
"I am sad, too, Root. Bort deserved better than such a cruel fate," Nutmeg says. "But we will find out who poisoned him and bring them to justice."
A lot of muttering is flitting between the other customers in the tavern and glances shoot your way - none of them have left, wanting to know exactly what has happened themselves.
From the gossip you overhear whilst waiting your turn for interrogation, its clear that a few of the townsfolk think that the Sheriff, Rolth Garley is incompetent and stands no chance in catching the poisoner. He is the mayor’s nephew and rarely does anything other than settle disputes over livestock and break up the occasional drunken brawl.
Rolth calls for each of you, and the other teamsters present to attend the stables one at a time and interrogates each of you over a pile of straw bales with an expected set of underdeveloped questions.
-Who are you?
-How do you know Bort?
-Did you like him?
-Did you know anyone who would like to have done him harm?
-Did you see anyone put poison in his porridge?
Rolth, not able to figure out anything useful from everybody's replies asks Rashk, Illyria, Baldur and Nutmeg back to the stables as a group.
"Look, I can't be certain, but you four tried to help Bort whilst not knowing him all that well unlike the others in the caravan. I conclude that you're unlikely to have been responsible." He sighs and rakes his hand through his hair.
"There seems to be some members of the caravan who would inherit the lucrative business, and they're high on my list of suspects, but most of them were not even in the bar tonight and the only two that were both have alibis in one of our own townsfolk, Eallom."
"Unfortunately, this town has no jail, and I am averse to keeping everyone in the inn so Im going to have to turn the investigation over to the circuit judge who visits the town very occasionally. Unfortunately, Lord Mubbage isn't due back in town for another month so everyone will have to stay here until he can begin his investigation and who knows how long that will take."
It seems as though the Sheriff is merely unloading his worries upon you all, the outsiders he deemed least likely to have committed the crime. He allows the stables to fall silent, the only sounds to be heard are the horses chewing on their evening hay.
"We'd like to help." Baldur says, retaining just enough courtesy to give the man a fig-leaf for his dignity. "Would you object if we asked around? Tried to help a bit?"
He's still holding on to the most important piece of evidence - Bort's pudding bowl, and has no intention of giving it up unless the sheriff specifically asks for it.
Illyria doesn't look particularly impressed at the Sheriff simply having asked everyone not to chatter, and proceeding to be ignored by most of the town. She just shakes her head at that, but soon understands the lack of confidence when she goes to her own interview.
"I am Illyria, born in Otari, was supposed to squire at Lastwall...but that didn't work out. I met Bort trying to find a way back home to my family, and he offered a cheap ride that'll get me close, if I help guard his caravan. I guess he was an alright fellow...not sure who'd want to harm him, and no, I didn't see anyone."
---
She frowns when they were advised they'd all have to stay a month, instead of being able to carry on. "You didn't pick up anything at all from the questions then? I'd really rather not have to stay around town here all that long. No offense or anything, just...I have family I rather miss."
Rolth looks at Baldur ith a glint of hope in his eyes before Illyria continues and his expression returns to serious.
"Well, young lady, you have no choice but to stay. A man has been murdered and we cannot let a murderer go free. This caravan is grounded until we know exactly who did it." His shoulders droop again.
"I suppose that if you wanted to speed things up for yourselves, you could do some digging yourselves and let me know what you find. That is a very wise suggestion Baldur Halfhand. If you are all discrete, is that something all four - five - of you would be interested in?" The Sheriff looks a little confused about Nutmeg and Nutmeg's smaller companion and who to include in the whole ordeal.
Nutmeg answers the questions in short, simple phrases, not wanting to further add to the sheriff's obvious confusion. "Yes, Root and I would like to help determine who would poison Bort and why. He did not deserve such a fate."
"I am Root!" Root agrees.
"We will help." Baldur confirms. Nutmeg's in, Illyria has already made it clear that she doesn't want to stay and Rashk... can stay if he wants...
Rolth nods, "Well, I suppose if it helps us both then it cannot go too wrong."
After Rolth orders the caravan to remain in town publically, everyone heads home, late into the night. Bort’s body is taken down to the cellar to be kept cool, while Tamli and the rest of the caravan gathers to mourn. She invites you all to join them out near the wagons. This is a somber occasion, and everyone in the company is at a loss. Bort was their leader, and without him, their future is uncertain. Tales of remembrance are told through teary eyes, and rare bottles of elven wine from Kyonin are passed around for all to share.
Tamli remains mostly quiet through this, but speaks up after an hour of drinks and tales of Bort's adventures.
"“Bort was more than just a merchant, more than just the boss. He was my friend. We won’t leave here until we’ve found out who did this." To this there are rousing cheers and chinking of glasses all round.
Tamli centres in on the outsiders. "This Rolth’s a fool, but I’d be an even greater fool if I thought any of us lot could get to the bottom of this. Fixing wagons and moving goods, that’s our job. But you," she says, pointing at all of you, “-you might be able to figure out who killed Bort and get justice for him.” She holds back tears as she says, “For all of us. Will you help uncover who did this?”
"The poison was in the food." Baldur says to his new investigative companions, having turned down all the elven wine in order to keep a clean head. "We need to check the kitchen. I'll go now, before they completely shut down. Maybe talk to the others, see who benefits from this? Someone must have had a reason to kill Bort, if we find out what it is then we'll be much closer to a solution."
He stands to leave and then remembers he's working with a team. "If anyone wants to come with me they are welcome."
"I will accompany you," Nutmeg says, moving to Baldur's side.
Glancing as Baldur and Nutmeg already make to depart without addressing the grieving crowd, Illyria uncomfortably steps up to respond to them. "Yes, we will help you. We've no choice, after all. We can't leave here and move on with all our lives until this is all sorted out, and I don't think Bort will be able to rest in peace either."
As she gives her pragmatic reply, she does eye the throng, just in case she might get a sense that some members in the group are just playing along in their sadness. After all, there was plenty of grumbling just hours earlier.
"I'm not much at asking questions nicely." he says with his usual gruff tone. "But I good at interrogating those that don't wish to cooperate. It might be better for me to wait until you have enough evidence that a rougher edge is needed."
Starting in the most obvious place, you head to the Feedmill itself. Unfortunately, the place is all locked and the lights are all out after the evening's events, since it is the early hours of the morning. Fortunately, as a guest with a room, you were given a key to use if ever needed before you checked out the next day.
The common room seems to have been tidied up a bit in the last hour. Starting here, you take some time to search. There is little to be found here that relates to Bort’s death. The poisoned bowl was taken by Baldur, and there is nothing remarkable about the table or chair where Bort perished.
Baldur heads for the kitchen, intent on examining where the food was prepared and then where it was stored.
Baldur heads into the kitchen and illuminates the room.
The kitchen contains the cooking utensils needed to operate the Feedmill—kettles, skillets, knives, a mortar and pestle, roasting spits, a sieve, and a butter churner.
Of particular note is the kettle of turnip porridge sitting on the counter which is starting to dry out. Bort's bowl is found here, seemingly returned after Baldur handed it in previously.
Nutmeg sniffs the bowl, catching whiffs of a floral scent. "Something unusual was definitely in the porridge. I am not certain what it was, but it could have contributed to his poisoning."
Finding all the caravaneers to all still be in earnest after their plea, Illyria sticks around, waiting for them to disperse somewhat for bed, whilst asking Tamli to come to one side and talk with her.
"So, the way you spoke there, I'm guessing you knew Bort the best out of his crew? He ever mention any sort of special relationship with Etran's Folly, or was this always just a stopping place and nothing more to you folks? Any idea who he went to discuss business with earlier before dinner?"
Tamli sits slumped, her back against a large crate obviously tired and full of alcohol.
"Yeah, I knew him best here. He was a good man and knew his stuff and was keen to teach me everything. He was a good man." She says, repeating herself and the half-orc lets out a loud sob. "I suppose everyone has to go eventually." She continues, as her hand jumps to the locket around her neck.
Suddenly, she sits upright and looks squarely at Illyria. "I know! I've got the key to Bort's own caravan here! Maybe if you used that in the morning, then you could look and see if theres anything helpful in there?"
From everything Illyria had seen of Tamli before arriving in Etran's Folly, Tamli oversaw the other staff and wagons in the train, making sure that all are in good spirits and good working order respectively. She is skilled at handling beasts of burden, but stern with the other members of the caravan.
When Nutmeg points out the scent Baldur frowns, sniffs the bowl himself and then proceeds to check the kettle. Finding that only Bort's bowl had been poisoned causes his frown to deepen.
"So whoever poisoned him knew that he was eating from that bowl." He says with a frown. "That gives us the serving staff and anyone who got close to the table during the bar fight? Did you see anyone do that Nutmeg?"
"Um... No," Nutmeg says simply.
"I'd forgotten he had a bigger bowl." Baldur mutters as he compares the bowl to others on the kitchen surfaces. "So the cook is a suspect too. We'll have to speak to them all tomorrow."
Illyria nods, giving Tamli an awkward pat on the shoulder, before the half-orc startled her by offering Bort's key. "Yes, that could be helpful. If he didn't say anything, perhaps he wrote it down somewhere. I suppose he keeps accounts, since this is a business."
She then offers a hand up, "Alright, let's do that in the morning. But for now, let's get you to bed. We've all had a long day."
The night is all too short after the eventful dinner the night before and, in order to rest fully, most people drag themselves out of bed later than usual in Etran's Folly.
Just as you go to enter Bort's Cabin, Tamli rushes up to you with a grunt. "I'm coming in with you, can't have any old person messing around with his stuff."
Inside, Bort’s wagon is filled with knickknacks and keepsakes from his journeys. His belongings are truly a bewildering assortment of odds and ends, including a bottle with a tiny skull floating in oil, a taxidermic dragon whelp, a mummified owlbear paw, a shining crystal that holds the illusionary image of a mountain peak inside, and so on.
There are a number of minor magic trinkets in here, but Tamli does not allow any close examination of these at all. "You're here to look at his books, not eye up anything to take for yourselves."
The ledgers are easily found in a rack above his bed. The books are large and filled to the brim with details about his travels and transactions over many years.
Upon entering the common room, Delma calls you over to the bar. "You're checking out this morning aint you? Better make sure you're all checked out by noon and hand in the keys. You got somewhere else to stay now that the Sheriff has banned the Caravan from moving on? I can provide you 3 rooms if you need them at a good deal. "
"Kitchens closed if you're looking for our famous breakfast I'm afraid. Amora is worried about the posion seeing as it came from the food, and the place is unfortunately in a right mess."
"Thank you."[b/] Baldur says, trying to be polite. [b]"Remind me, were you serving last night? I know one of the servers got a nasty knock and I wanted to offer my healing services."
While dutifully ignoring all the odd keepsakes, Illyria's face falls when she sees the contents of the ledger, squinting as she struggles to make out the script. After just a few moments of looking them over, she turns and asks Tamli, "I don't suppose I can borrow just the most recent looking one of these to lug over to the others. I've no head for words, they might be better able to sort them out?"
She gives a sheepish grin, hoping the admission of her own flaws would make the half-orc more amenable.
"All my staff work most nights round here, its not like we have an abundance of workers." Delma responds, her eyes narrowing somewhat. "Look, I appreciate it might look like one of my servers might have done this, as we did indeed provide the food but no one in my employ had any ill will towards Bort. He was merely a travelling trader that provided us semi-regular good custom. They would have no reason to."
"Look, if you want to continue with this line of absurd questioning, I get it. Perhaps, if you sincerely promise to take it easy on them and don't rustle their feathers, I can help you out and tell you where to find them. Maybe they saw something themselves" Delma pauses and looks at you with a calculating look, trying to judge your sincerity.
Tamli shrugs her shoulders. "He never started teaching me that stuff yet." She takes a second to glance over the notes. "Yeah I have no idea, but you can take the ledgers with you if that would help, but only if you promise to bring them back because I presume Im gonna have to figure this out at some point before we're allowed to move off again."
"The sheriff has asked us to help out." Baldur says simply. "It's in our best interests to get to the bottom of this too, we're not here to punish anyone, just to find out what happened. Anything you can do to help would be much appreciated."
Delma nods, satisfied, and informs Baldur and Nutmeg of the living arrangements for her staff.
"Just you remember that they had nothing to do with this. They just want to make a living."
>She knows where every one of her staff lives, except for Phinick (Goblin general helper); she knows only that he sleeps in the barn sometimes.
>Amora (the cook) was sent home so that nothing in the kitchen is disturbed before it is examined. Her home is in an old shack the Old Orchard, just outside of town.
>Edra (stablehand) lives at the Feedmill.
>Kolnral (the male waiter) lives not far from the Feedmill with his wife and newborn daughter and is at home recovering from his injuries in the bar fight.
>Trin (female waitress) lives on a small turnip farm southwest of town and works at the Feedmill four nights a week, trying to make ends meet.
"Let's start with the cook." Baldur suggests. "Then Kolnral, then Trin and finally Phinick. I don't think the stablehand was involved. Loki was watching the whole time."
First stop is to head back to the caravan and fill in their companions on the new leads. Then Baldur (and anyone who wants to come with him) head for the Old Orchard.
When they track down Amora, Baldur is very polite and asks about the service that evening. "Bort spoke very highly of your porridge." He says. "He told us that it was a fine treat after a week on the road. Did he always order an extra large bowl for himself?"
Illyria nods gratefully. "Yes, of course, I'll bring them back. Perhaps one of the others will even be able to sit with you to help sort it all out, once we've figured out who the killer is." She picks up the ones that had the least dust on them, tucking them carefully under her arm, before slinking back out the exit, doing her best not to disturb anything.
[b]"Alright, now to go find the others. I think they went to chat with the Feedmill staff, from what I heard last night..."
Nutmeg dutifully follows in Baldur's wake. The leshy lets the tiefling do the questioning while she observes the people he is talking to, trying to get a good read on their responses.
The Old Orchard is only a half hour walk from the centre of town. It is clear that it used to be a productive apple orchard by its size but these days, it is foul and rotten, the trees having taken on a sickness that is mangling their form, and no leaves can be found on their gnarled branches.
Fortunately Rashk points out a large form of swarming bees just in time around one of the trees a couple of rows ahead of you as you make your way through the orchard to the shack. Nutmeg realises that the bees can be pacified by smoke if needed as you skirt around the swarm and take the longer route towards the shack.
Coming up on the shack, you can see an elderly woman trying to struggle into some pieces of armor by herself and, completely distracted, she doesn't notice you approaching.
"Can we help you?" Baldur asks as he approaches. "I do not think this armor would help much with the bees."
Amora pauses what she is doing and looks up at her new visitors.
"Oh, good morning." She says with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I don't know what has agitated them so, but unfortunately we have no bee-keeping equipment, so this is the best I have."
She looks down at the armor before pushing it aside. "You know what, this can wait. How about you come inside and I'll treat you to some honey crunch biscuits."
She holds out her hand and gestures to her door invitingly.
The shack inside is very simple but tidy. There is an old rickety wooden table with four chairs pushed in tightly as well as a rocking chair looking out the window. In the corner is a small bed with a colourful patchwork blanket.
"Please, take a seat and let me know how I can help you." The woman says, as she reaches into one of the kitchen cabinets and pulls out a biscuit jar.
"We're trying to find out what happened to Caravan-Master Bort yesterday." Baldur says simply, taking a seat as Loki scurries up to the woman and starts making his cutest face in the hope of a biscuit of his own. "Did you see or hear anything unusual? Bort spoke very highly of your porridge and I saw he'd had an extra large bowl. He was really looking forward to it."
He isn't the most emotionally well rounded, but its clear that the woman is a motherly sort and he intends to play on it.
"Oh, look at you cute little thing." Amora says, cooing over Loki. "You can be the lucky ones to try a biscuit first!" She bends over and fusses the fox for a moment before gently giving it a biscuit.
Turning back to the group, Amora's face loses her joy somewhat.
"Well yes, he always looked forward to my turnip porridge. Said so everytime he came to town. I'm so worried what everyone else is going to think! Are they going to eat my food anymore?"
She bumbles around for a moment before realising she is still holding the biscuits and places them on the table but forgets any drinks to go alongside them.
"I've tried replaying the night in my head a few times and I just know it couldn't have been anything I did. I prepared the dessert, Phinick plated it and Trin served it. Nobody else was in the kitchen that night - I went out once or twice to empty the slop bucket but that doesnt take that long."
Illyria takes a seat as Baldur begins his inquiries, not finding much about the elderly woman t9 be suspicious. She takes a biscuit of her own to munch through, as she tries to comfort her,, ”Well, I’m certain once we’ve found out who it was, you’ll not need to worry about people having misgivings.”
Turning to Baldur after that, she asks, ”Perhaps we should change the order of our inquiries then? Trin or Phinnick next?”
"Trin, I think." Baldur says. "We have a location for her. Phinnick may be difficult."
As Delma said, Trin and Marny live on a small turnip farm on the southwest side of town so you approach there at around noon.
As you head through the main gate, you get a sudden glimpse of a farmer running clockwise around the farmhouse arms flailing wildly, as he sees you, he yells a warning - "RUN!"
Baldur retreats behind Illyria and Rashk.
Nutmeg quickly raises her shield in anticipation!
Illyria pulls out her bigger sword, gripping it in both hands, as one of her feet slides away from the other to set into a steadier fighting stance.
Rashk will rush forward, towards the threat. "If it's the bees, try not to encircle them."