[opening post here solely so people can check in]
"Curse Silas Gribb and all of his kin to live in poverty for all that he's put us through! The authorities should turn him over to us; we'll give him justice enough..."
Quintus continues to complain ponder aloud to anyone in earshot willing to not move away so they can't hear him.
"I knew there was something wrong about him. That's why I joined this trip. I was watching him.... I didn't think we'd be arrested with him though. Now what?"
After the initial outburst Niccan quiets down and watches, listens....
Kalig quirks an eyebrow at Quintus and replies drily, with obvious sarcasm. "Ah yes, let's demand vigilante justice. Just the ticket to earn the trust of the locals who have been kind enough not to kick us out yet."
She shrugs at Niccan. "They let us go readily enough when they were satisfied we weren't aware of his nonsense. So we find a place to stay and wait until another caravan comes through." She pauses. "Or there's enough of us that at least know the pointy from the dull end of a blade or can cast spells, we could pool resources, get some supplies, and travel together back to Cassomir. Or find work here if said resources are not ample enough."
She looks around the street outside the jailhouse to assess what the town might have in terms of an inn, pub, or alehouse. Right across the street, it turns out, there is indeed an inn, marked by a sign of a person playing a pipe. "Want to go inside?"
Danton's ears immediately pick up the word vigilante from one of the caravanners. "Need I remind you illegal activity is what got us here in the first place." The young cleric gives a judging look to Quintus.
Taldans always have this ego about them don't they?
"The way I see it, this is an opportunity for us all to expand our horizons." Danton fixes his collar, ensuring that his holy symbol was close at hand, "There must be somewhere to ply our trade around here, and if not, then that gives us a new purpose no?"
From their journey, he had grown to enjoy Kalig's company as she had a sensible head on her.
It is the 2nd of Rowa; autumn is creeping its way into the leaves.
Actually, never mind the date. Never mind the day. You would rather forget the last 24 hours, frankly. Not that the last few weeks have been overly stellar either; signing up to Silas Gribb’s caravan already stands out as one of the bigger mistakes of your life. Poor living conditions, paperwork trouble at every town passed, and an insistence on traveling the most backwards of backroads. Gribb’s caravan was no joyride in any sense of the word, and only the yellow-grinned inveigler’s promises of a hefty compensation upon reaching Yanmass kept thoughts of desertion at bay. Even so, the sheer misery of the journey mounted day onto day until, finally, it reached its crummy crescendo: a pair of irons about your wrists.
Perhaps you should have seen it coming. Gribb and his inner circle of thugs were awfully protective of certain wagons - those forming the tail end of the convoy. Perhaps it should have been no surprise when the kettlehats of the last backwater said backroads led you to greeted the crook’s papers with a slip of their own: an arrest warrant. Gribb was wanted for smuggling. The entire caravan was confiscated in short order and its crew similarly incarcerated. This included you. And so your journey’s destination ended up being a jail cell.
Thankfully it was not to last. The simple country coppers, obviously out of their depth with a haul this size, enlisted the aid of local Abadarans and some truth divining hocus-pocus of theirs. One night in the clink and some questioning under the watchful eye of an acolyte later, and you managed to convince them you weren’t in on the scheme. Instead you were free to go, with naught but a ‘thank-you-for-your-cooperation’ to see you off. Well, that and directions to the nearest inn from a guard decent enough to feel sheepish at the wrongful imprisonment. But to what end? The village you now find yourself in - while charming enough at a glance, or at least so for those with rural sensibilities - is a veritable island in the stormy ocean that is mighty Verduran Forest. On the roads, there is safety in numbers and with the caravan gone, so too went your means of safe travels. You’re stuck in this place, this Belhaim, for now.
Nothing to do but obey your aching stomach. Where is that inn that one constable recommended? Ever the guide, Kalig looks about the dusk hued village. And sees an inn sign on the nearest building immediately across the road. If only her job was always this easy.
---
"Yes, pet, that'd be young Varyl," the matron chattered, hefting another tankard of watery mead. "I told him, I did. I told him to send you my way as soon he released you. 'Varyl,' I told him. 'Those poor souls will be half starved by the time you sort out this mess. It isn't right, them being innocent and all.' I heard from the clerks over at the temple, you see. Oh, but you mustn't think me a gossip! It's just that these things travel fast in a village. More pottage, pet?"
The Wise Piper Inn was a cozy affair in dark timber, made cozier still by the fact that it obviously didn't see much traffic. Beyond yourselves, the place was empty save some scattered patrons here for an evening meal, all male and a bit up in the years; perhaps the types unwilling or unable to cook for themselves. And of course the proprietor Pia herself. A bounteous creature of red hair and easy smiles, she had proven herself every bit as gregarious as she appeared, promising you free room & board for the night.
"Pish, say nothing of it, pet!" she insisted in pouring another bowl of stew - boar if you weren't very much mistaken. "What would you think of us here if dopes like Varyl imprisoned you only to throw you to the street, perfect strangers with nowhere to go, no one to turn to? Why, Belhaim would become the shame of the nation! Oh, but you shouldn't think ill of young Varyl. He's a good boy, really. Just forgets he has a head on his shoulders sometimes. Hah! I remember him hanging about here so often when he was little, playing with my own girls, that he once called me 'mum' by mistake! I've never seen a boy go so red! Utterly precious."
The inn might not see many customers, but you get the distinct impression Pia can hold a conversation on her own. Those few other patrons near your table sport knowing smiles - as well as curious glances. It is clear that the recent caravan ruckus has made you local curiosities.
"Oh, but...!" the matron suddenly gasped, nearly dropping a bread loaf. "You'll have to forgive me. I nearly forgot. You must think me terrible." For whatever reason she looked to Danton and Khavel in particular. More specifically, she eyed the prominent holy symbols of both men. "I realize it's a little late now, but it'd be a right honor if either of you, holy men that you are, would lead our table prayer."
She patted down her apron and clasped her hands, smiling expectantly.
Star lets out a groan on the inside, but bows his head and pointedly says nothing.
Just about to dig in to the food, it smelled so good with his hunger adding to the flavor, but then heard the call for some prayers? He glanced up and was just about to speak, but heard Star's quiet groan. He remembers that the man seemed to avoid the clerics and stays silent. Let the other say the blessings for the meal.
He bows his head properly and waits.
Quintus looks quite uncomfortable; whether it's the idea of prayers or the rural nature of the village and it's folk, who knows?
Still he bows his head and waits for one of the divinely inspired members of the caravan to offer their prayers.
With a bit of a bemused look on his heavily beared face, Khavel nods, "Aye, Danton. Why don't you share a prayer o' thanks for our meal?"
The dwarf pauses a moment, then turns to Kalig and offers "Unless ye'd care to do the honors, sister?"
If there was any worry about hurting the sensibilities of the non religious people, it wouldn't be in the Clerk of Abadar. Besides, it would be a sin to not provide the service when they were being provided food.
"Abadar." He looks at Khavel, "Torag. Thank you all for giving us steady ground to stand on, sturdy walls to live in, and community to grow in. Bless our warm host, may her hearth always be full of trade and honour."
Danton lowers his head and waves his hand in a gesture befitting a Cleric of his status before meeting the table's eyes.
"Let us eat."
Kalig is doubly nonplussed, first at Pia's oversolicitous hospitality--not something she encounters often--and then at Khavel actually saying more than two words to her, let alone inviting her to participate in religious honor.
Her jaw half-opens, but, at a loss for words, it's just as well that Danton speaks the prayer, as is more likely proper anyway in a city tavern.
She bows her head with the others, as her first adoptive parent taught her long ago, and after Danton bids them all eat, she nods to the innkeeper. "Thanks too to the hands that made this and the abundance shared."
She turns back to her plate, but not before a flickering glance at Star. She is not concerned by impiety but is by lack of gratitude.
She then tucks in, never messy or grabby, but eats every bite she is given--a habit long developed, never being sure where the next meal will come from.
Niccan lays a hand on his knotted rope at his neck and quietly says thanks as well. Then looks to Pia and adds, "Yes. Thanks to the host of this excellent meal!"
Star takes a few portions, but not before looking at their host. "Thank you for having dinner with us, ma'am." He says, his voice small and decidedly trying not to sound too uncomfortable.
Head bowed, Khavel gives a full nod and then calls out in his baritone voice, "Amen. Thanks indeed." The warpriest then gives way to his hunger and begins to eat.
"Mistress Pia. What news is there around town? Surely there must be more than the arrest and capture of the neferious Mr. Gribb and his boys?" In between chewing, Khavel says this last bit with a wink.
Blinking a bit at Danton's inclusion of herself in the meal prayer, goodly Mrs Pia Orem looked rather flattered. Evidently she put high stock in priestly sorts. The inn keeper nodded emphatically. "Yes, go on then. Dig in! You must be famished, poor things."
It had indeed been some time since the group's last proper meal - a very long time actually for those who hesitated to call any of Niccan's grub 'proper'. How good then that The Wise Piper's unassuming confines belied the quality of its fare. Like a dwarf's hug, the stew was hearty, wholesome and pungent. The steaming pot was almost very literally country life distilled, its carrots, potatoes, boar and whatever else made up the magic mixture coming together into pastoral bliss made edible. It was almost enough to impress even a city boy like Quintus. Almost.
Hanging about the table, Pia's honest face wore a satisfied smile. Every bit the matron she appeared, she clearly took in the sight of others enjoying her food with just as much relish as the diners partaking.
"You're most welcome, gents and lady," she replied to the thanks, fussing over everyone's heads and making sure no one was left wanting. "This pottage is the family legacy, I'll have you know. Been simmering in an Orem's kitchen in some form or another for centuries, ever since Lady Tula founded Belhaim! Every generation adds something new to it, don't you know. My mother, bless her soul, decided upon saffron. Saffron! As if I can afford to keep saffron in stock. I'm still utterly lost as to what my own contribution to be pot should be. I'm like that, you see: so indecisive! Mind you, I've been thinking of the leaves of that there flower, Desna's Star. They have this lovely earthy taste, don't they? But I just don't know. Really, I..."
The lady's chatter needed no contribution to go on indefinitely. But this was one of those perpetual stews the group was enjoying then? That would explain the depth of flavor to the broth. A pottage never entirely emptied, always replenished after every meal so that it might be developed and enjoyed over years... Such stews were not unheard of in Taldor, proud as its people were of their long history. But to maintain one over centuries? This was a rare delight!
"Mistress Pia. What news is there around town? Surely there must be more than the arrest and capture of the nefarious Mr. Gribb and his boys?"
"News?" The matron suppressed a laugh. "Oh dearie me, I'm afraid not, Sir Dwarf. We don't have much here in Belhaim, but if peace and quiet could fill coffers, we'd all be living like kings! I assure you your little hullaballoo with the caravan is the biggest event here since... well, since the quarry shuttered, I suppose. That was in... Oi, Gregol my dear," she called to another table. "The quarry, did it flood in '73 or '74?"
"'73," came a gruff answer.
"Right, '73," she smiled.
That was some fifty years ago. Was Belhaim truly such a peaceful little corner of the empire that this smuggling sting comprised one of the only two notable events this century? "I fear so, sir. Mind you, some of us would have it no other way. Peace is a blessing says I. Of course, not everyone would agree..."
Huh. Why did her gaze linger on Danton of all people at this? "More bread, dear?" Pia asked the druid, clumsily changing the subject.
The shift in topic, especially in one so talkative, was notable. Doubly notable to Kalig was how the woman didn't shy away from her. Given how the orc-blooded were hardly welcomed everywhere, it had stood out to her earlier. Apparently Pia was not beholden to any such prejudice.
"Tell me, pets, do you know how long you'll be staying here in town? Where were you headed, anyway?" the cheery proprietor queried in steeping away for some more mead. "I may as well ask now. Heavens know half the village will be hounding me to tell them all about you lot soon en..."
The earth shook. Pia screamed, a pitcher shattering onto the floor with her following it. A lamp swayed beneath the ceiling. Scattered patrons cried out and covered their heads as a tremor went through the Wise Piper, shaking its very walls. Outside those confines a terrible rumble reverberated, sounding as if Gozreh himself was thundering down Belhaim's streets.
But just like distant thunder, it faded. Gradually the ground stilled and the inn fell silent again. The whole ordeal had lasted only seconds, and once it had passed it left little trace here save some fallen cutlery and broken dishware. That, and some awfully starltled faces gawking at each other.
"Aroden's ghost," muttered the matron from the floor. "What was that?"
The priest noted the gaze from the inn mistress. This may be something to look into later. Perhaps the Church of Abadar has some irregulars. No need to jump to any conclusions yet.
Unfortunately before he had a chance to ask the earth shook and Danton was immediately looking for the cause.
"I was hoping you would know." He bent over to help her up. "Is everyone okay?" He asked to the other patrons, hoping nothing serious had happened.
Kalig is tearing off a hunk of bread when the world quakes. Instinctively she dives under the table, grabbing on to one of its legs with one hand, and grabbing onto the nearest person's leg with another, shouting, "Down! Down!"
It passes as quickly as it came, and Kalig resurfaces. Some might be embarrassed by such a reaction. She looks around nonchalantly like a cat would, as though nothing had happened. "Does this happen often?" she asks Pia.
Watching and listening to Pia while really enjoying the excellent fare, he notices that she doesn't really seem to like looking at his furry face and whiskers. This isn't a surprise as many of the big folk weren't comfortable with his kind. But, she hadn't refused him a place at the table.... He does his best to finish the meal.
He is just to the point of cleaning his whiskers when the building shakes. Having never experienced and earthquake before he was under the table before he even realized that he moved. He started to yell 'What?' but heard the phrase already being asked.
He looks around the room to be sure nothing is falling before walking out from under the table and standing up. "This building is still standing. We should probably go outside and see what has fallen. It had to be something mighty heavy to cause a shake like that!"
As soon after the various prayers are offered for the meal, beds, and hospitality, Quintus starts - talking:
"You'll have to forgive their startled expressions Madame Pia. They are strangers to Taldor and the grace, generosity, and skill of our people. It's as I tried to relay to them on our journey"
And then Quintus takes a mouthful of food and sits him straight as an iron rod in his chair, "My goodness! No one tell my mother I said this but this is the finest home cooking I've ever had the pleasure of sampling!"
Torn between wanting to expound further, but distracted by his ravenous hunger, Quintus settles in to dinner and begins filling his stomach - a tough ask on a host for a man of his size.
His bliss is interrupted by the sudden shaking of everything!
"Aroden's beard! What was that?!?"
Quintus immediately stands up, notices some of the others are checking on the other patrons, and nods to Niccan, "Indeed there may be others in need of assistance. Let's go!"
And with that Quintus rushes to the door, opens it, and steps outside to inspect if there's any damage or calls for help.
"Mum!"
From a corridor somewhere at the back of the inn a young woman dressed in all the trappings of a kitchen maid came flying, Pia's doppelganger in all but age. She rushed to her mother and - Danton at one side, she at the other - helped her back to her feet. "I'm alright, pet. I'm just alright," the shaken proprietor assured. "Thank you. And thank you, young parson."
Fright aside, it seemed like everyone in the Wise Piper had gotten through the quake unscathed. There and gone again in seconds, the rumbling left no major trace beyond its own mystery: what on - or indeed in - earth had caused it? Kalig, wise to the natural world, could not recall ever having heard of this region of the nation being particularly susceptible to earthquakes. No more so than anywhere else, certainly. Then again, they were in the deep Verduran - fey country. Nature could be capricious here.
"Does this happen often?" she asks Pia.
"Oh, no," the matron answered in shaking her head, still gathering herself. "Not since... Well, since '73."
Was the druid to understand that this aforementioned quarry had shuttered due to an eartquake? Except she wasn't wholly convinced this had been such a tremor at all, a suspicion confirmed by Quintus as he flung open the inn's front door. There, somewhere on the northeastern outskirts of the village, he saw a mighty cloud of slate-grey dust billowing up and over the surrounding treetops. It hung in the air like leaden froth, only dispersing slowly. What in the world? It looked as if an entire building - a big one - had collapsed.
And so it was.
"Heavens forefend. The Witch Tower. It's gone."
The young Taldan was soon joined by the rest of the little group along with the inn keeper and her patrons. The latter gawked. He looked to Pia at her comment. The Witch Tower? Hold on now, he remembered seeing a structure - a rickety old broomstick of a spire - in that direction when first coming to Belhaim. The whole group had. Had that whole thing come down?
Asking Pia, "Is that what that structure is er was called - the Witch Tower? Was anyone living there?"
Mrs Orem nodded, still staring at the dust plume in disbelief. "Yes. Just a ruin, it was. The remains of an old castle, long since levelled. But no one's lived there in ages. For that matter, no one would be willing to live there for a dragon's hoard! Eerie as anything, always was!"
Was this the cause of the tremor then? The collapse of this great stone tower?
"It used to be home," she went on, "to a wicked family. They once ruled these parts. The Cantleclures they were called. I don't rightly know when this was. Goodness, the tower seemed ancient to me as a little girl when us children would dare each other who would go nearest!"
The sleepy streets of Belhaim came alive now, little by little, villagers stepping out to gawk at the slowly dispersing cloud of mortar and stone. Many also hastened north, no doubt to assess the damage. "Oh, I do hope no one's been hurt! That'd be just like that evil place. They say those old Canteclures were of the most frightful sort! Consorting with devils, eating babes, torturing innocent folk! And that their spirits haunted the tower!"
"C'mon now, Pia," one patron bemoaned. "Don't shovel these outsiders rubbish. You know half those stories ain't true."
"Half's enough," another grumbled.
Not recalling anything from his studies at the Kith, Quintus joins the people heading north.
"I'll venture to the ruins and make sure no one is injured or in need of assistance. Now don't worry Pia the spirits won't hurt us. Are any of the rest of you going?" Quintus asks his recent (and perhaps again?) traveling companions.
"Two centuries ago. It appears the family wanted to usurp the Grand Prince. Plenty of executions for their trespass against the crown." He picks up his gear, "There is work to be done Quintus. I shall accompany you for the time being. Though I do worry about the possibility of spirits, Abadar will shield us."
He still had a job to do here. If he had a moment of respite he decided he would speak to an elder Abadaran to confirm what needed to be done, but for now he had to forge a path on his own. This would be a great way to show the power of the faith to the villagers and the worth of the church.
As shaken as the rest, Khavel rose and took a final swig from the tankard of ale before him before calling out, "Aye, Quintus. I'm with ya. Torag would expect no less o' me, nor I of me'self."
The dwarven warpriest took a look around the room, seeing that things were more-or-less as they should be, barring a few knick knacks out of place and on the floor, then gave a curt nod. "C'mon the, all of ye. There could be folks needin' help."
And with that, Khavel Ironknuckle strode purposefully to the door and out.
Star eats his meal in silence, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible--until the loud rumbling that disrupts dinner.
When the warpriest heads out to investigate, Star hastily slurps down the rest of his soup and follows.
Kalig considered. Getting involved in a strange town's affairs could go both ways... they might help, prove themselves useful, and thus obtain the resources needed to move on. If she could buy herself a mule to carry some supplies she could go quite far...
On the other hand, they get involved in a Fey-ridden land with a cursed tower that's collapsed of its own accord, the newcomers are likely easy scapegoats for any problems that occur afterward. And there was no indication that the townsfolk weren't capable of taking care of themselves. Their guard were certainly swift and efficient.
But the others, invested in offering assistance--which she could not fault them for--were already going out the door to help, and she was not about to be left behind.
So she tucks the bit of bread she'd taken (it may have fallen on the floor in the process of things, but still no point in wasting it) into a pocket in her cloak and follows, listening for cries for help or other signs of trouble.
As soon as Quintus asks Niccan heads toward the door. "Towers don't collapse by themselves, especially if they've been standing for as long as you say. Something caused it, and somebody could be hurt. Yep. Let's go check it out."
"If it's been abandoned awhile, could it just have collapsed? This isn't exactly earthquake territory."
"Be careful now!"
Leaving the Wise Piper with a wave from its proprietor, the last free remains of the unfortunate caravan soon find themselves in a stream of people. Any event in Belhaim is a major event, and locals - men, women and children - hie to see what has become of the infamous Witch Tower. Though some hurry and many are aghast, there is no sense of panic in the crowd. Concern, yes, but no fright. The youngest even seem excited. It would appear Pia's assertion of no one living near the tower is true.
Well, almost true. For in trotting along the simple dirt roads, following the villagers to reach the outskirts, you see a house come into view. A very incongruous house. The Witch Tower stands - or rather stood - on a large hill overlooking Belhaim and bordering the forest. It shared this hill with a home very much out of step with the otherwise so rural hamlet. Behind a formidable wrought iron fence sits a modern, even opulent, villa, more at home in the nation's capital than a simple village. Its high windows and gleaming facade speak to the obvious wealth of its inhabitants, and... Was that an honest to goodness observatory built into the roof? The glass-domed construction certainly looks the part.
Very curious.
But not what has the locals' attention. Instead the crowd of what must be a near-hundred gather to gawk at what just minutes ago was the most prominent landmark of Belhaim. By the time you reach the tower's remains, much of the dust plume brought about by its demise has settled. The green hill has been stained slate-grey and a mist of mortar still wafts through the air, obfuscating the last rays of the sun. The ashen landscape is almost otherworldly, like an image of dead Abaddon. At its ruinous center is all that's left of the notorious spire: one and a half storey of frayed masonry, looking for all the world like a shorn tree stump in stone. Its 'trunk' lay felled in a mad scatter of cracked rocks down the slope, a rough outline of the tower as it had stood.
Fortunately, it had not fallen in the direction of the nearby villa.
Of the gathered crowd, some take it upon themselves to mill about the area, just to make sure no one was caught in the collapse. But as it seems no one has been harmed, most merely look on and chatter among themselves, trading stories of initial shock at the rumbling and, in particular, offering conjecture on how the ancient Canteclure ruin fell. These range from the plainly practical - "That weathered old thing was ready to topple at the first well-fed sparrow that landed on it!" - to the frightfully fanciful - "I tell you, it was the weight of the ghosts' sins that finally became too much for the stone to bear!"
Among this flock, your own little group stands out and literally so; most give you a wide berth. Insular as small towns can be, you feel your status as outsiders keenly even if no one is outright rude to you. Well, no one but those children who don't know any better.
"Dad, look! That man's a rat!"
"Shush, Nate."
"And that one's white as milk!"
"Nate!"
Actually, there is one other band that stands out, a couple easily recognizable from their kettle hats and copper badges. Two young constables of Belhaim's finest linger at the edge of the crowd, concern and consternation more prominent on them than any part of their uniform. Both look up towards the strange estate crowning the hill.
"Well, someone has to go check on the old crank. He lives right next to the tower. If something... I dunno, untoward happened here, he'd know."
"More like he's chief suspect of knocking it down himself," the youth answered his female colleague wearily. "You know he hated the damn thing."
"Varyl, the sheriff made us deputies while he's gone. Let's take that responsibility seriously and not make any baseless accusations yet, yeah? Anyway, just go knock on the door. He's not here, so he must he in."
"Go how? You know he always keeps the gate locked."
"There's a bell. You can ring that."
"Bell? Sky, that grouch didn't come out when the bleedin' tower fell. I don't think the bell's gonna make a difference!"
Quintus addresses the pair of constables, "You'll never know if he will answer the bell if you don't ring it."
...well, at least they're remarking on my skin and not the tail. Star muses to himself.
He has little to say regarding the collapsed tower--Erastil's books had more information on religion and community building, not engineering.
As others speak, Kalig sighs and marches over to the bell and rings it.
Khavel stays quiet, taking in Quintus's conversation with the constables, then focuses his attention on the fallen tower itself...what remained of it at any rate.
But then his attention is suddenly diverted as Kalig simply walks up and rings the bell.
The bushy-browed dwarf makes a face and then allows himself a chuckle. "Damned if'n she didn't see straight ta the heart of the matter..." A pause, a shrug, and then Khavel follows as well.
"Oh hey, it's you lot. Pia take care of you alright?"
The boyish town guard that turns your way, slovenly, apparently recognizes you and after a moment's thought you reciprocate: this is the guard you'd often see from behind bars during your brief stint at Belhaim's lockup, the same one who pointed you to the Wise Piper. What was it Pia had called him? Varyl?
"You'll never know if he will answer the bell if you don't ring it."
"That's just it," his female counterpart replied. "He doesn't want to know, the coward. He's scared of the old man."
"Oi, I don't see you jumping the fence either, missy. And you'd best believe I'm scared. Hunclay is mean, ornery and one of them crazed wizard types. More likely to magic your teeth into glass than step out to say g'devening. That Malak cow that's missing? That was him! Hunclay transformed it into a giant bat and off it flew! Whoosh!"
"That didn't happen," the young woman groused.
"Well, I saw somethin' flying overhead..."
If anything edifying was to come from this conversation, you will never know. For ever practical Kalig, having no patience for nonsense, marches right up to the gate and pulls at the bell hung there. "W-whoa now, wait...!" the baby-faced constable managed to protest, too late.
The little black iron bell, hanging from its perch artfully wrought into a fiendish little man, rang out loud and clear. Attached as it was to the front gate, the call had quite a way to travel to the house up on the hill. And yet you have little doubt that an occupant should be able to hear the resonant peal. It had that tinny quality that carried far.
But the druid was to be disappointed. Some seconds pass. Then some more. Long enough to tell you that if the villa's owner - this Hunclay - really is at home, then your call is being ignored. Nothing stirs up at the house.
"Ah crud," Varyl sighs, seemingly half unhappy with Kalig taking matters in her own hands, and half unhappy that it hadn't worked so said matter wasn't his to deal with anymore. "What'd you have to go and do that for? And what's it to you anyway?"
Distracted by talk of wizardry Quintus asks, "A wizard you say? Varyl what day did this cow go missing?"
Niccan smiles and waves at the young man that commented that he was a rat. Few made the comment even though most thought it.
He listens to the chatter of the crowd as well as the comments from the constables. Hmm... Deputies assigned while the sheriff is away?
When Kallig rings the bell he watches and listens, chuckling at the deputy's response.
"Hey. What's that on the doorstep? Right in front of the door? Is that a body? Does anyone have a key to the gate?"
Star's attention is divided between Kalig ringing the bell and Quintus asking about a missing cow.
"...er..." He starts when Niccan speaks up. "...I could try to pry the gate open..."
Niccan moves over to Star and quietly responds, "We probably shouldn't risk breaking anything. We're outsiders and just got released from their jail...."
"I am allergic to indecision, Kalig answers Varyl. "Gives me hives. Besides, why would someone put a bell here unless they expected it to be rung? A wizard powerful enough to polymorph a cow into a mobat could just disintegrate it if he wanted. AND, if negative consequences do occur, I shall bear the brunt, and you townsfolk shall be spared."
She is too busy replying to notice the efforts of forced intrusion.
"Listen, tusks," Varyl said with significant bravado for a youth whose head the druid could conceivably rest her chin on. "Firstly, I don't know. Secondly, I don't know what a mobat is either. And thirdly... yeah, alright, I'll hold you to that."
Then again, perhaps the young man's bread simply wasn't entirely baked in the middle. Pia had said something to this effect even if she had worded it a bit more generously. And as if to prove this point:
"A wizard you say? Varyl what day did this cow go missing?"
"Oh yeah, complete headcase." The constable turned to the Opparan with renewed vigor, seemingly happy to share his theories on the Case of the Missing Cow. "Lives like a hermit, never leaving his little mansion up there. And on those few occasions he's seen in the village, he'll fly off the handle at the smallest thing. That's just it; that Malak girl over by the farm?"
"Varyl..." the increasingly annoyed colleague grumbled, a cue that went either ignored or unnoticed by the young man.
"In a minute, Sky. Anyway, a little week ago she bumps into Hunclay in the street or something. And he goes mental! Just full blown roaring mental! Chewed her out like she was half-cooked oxtail. Poor girl was in tears. Ended up in a full-blown screaming match with the sheriff who told him off. Get this: that same night the cow goes missing from the Malak farm. And that same night - I was on patrol, see - I see this bat thing flapping away into the sky."
He nodded triumphantly, the constable turned prosecutor laying out an iron-clad case. "Well, I saw something, anyhow. 'Course, it was dark. But it was definitely big." This admission did not deflate him much.
While this treatise of questionable worth was laid out, Niccan and Star were ever so surreptitiously contemplating the art of breaking & entering. The wrought iron fence, while formidable, was not so tall as to be insurmountable. Rising just over 7 ft., it could be scaled by a determined climber. Those spikes running along the top of the fencing, however... Those were less than encouraging.
Simply prying the gate open was certainly possible, though this would be a titanic effort even for a powerhouse like the tiefling. But simply squeezing right through the bars? Yes, thought Niccan, this should be possible. An uncomfortable fit, but possible. Although the craftsman behind the artfully undulating wrought iron was no doubt skillful, they hadn't considered someone of his slight stature pressing his way through it.
All these methods had the same fatal flaw, however. Namely that the perpetrators would be perfectly visible in their crime, being on an open hill with not just two town guards in the vicinity (and the group's own straight-laced Abadaran!), but also the curious eyes of quite a few onlookers. The ringing of the gate bell had drawn the interest of many nearby locals otherwise here for the collapsed Witch Tower, no doubt wondering what in the world this hubbub over by the wizard's villa was all about.
Niccan peers across the estate grounds again, squinting in the twilight. That bundle by the front door really did look almost exactly like a fallen person. That, or a particularly lumpy sack of potatoes. Whatever it was, it seemed no one else had noticed it yet.
After giving his warning to Star Niccan moves slowly over to examine the fence. There was a spot that looked like.... just maybe he could squeeze through? But, the whole of the town was around them. And they had been released from the prison. Now was definitely not the time to try something that could be misinterpreted....
He points the the building and calls out, waving for attention. "Look! Right over there! By the front door. Is that a body? Who has a key to this gate!?!"
After giving his warning to Star Niccan moves slowly over to examine the fence. There was a spot that looked like.... just maybe he could squeeze through? But, the whole of the town was around them. And they had been released from the prison. Now was definitely not the time to try something that could be misinterpreted....
He points the the building and calls out, waving for attention. "Look! Right over there! By the front door. Is that a body? Who has a key to this gate!?!"
"A body you say? It could be Hunclay, the girl he yelled at, maybe even the farmer whose cow is missing! Varyl you must do something in case it's someone in trouble!"
Kalig snorts back a chuckle at Varyl. He reminded her of a yappy small dog. But her face falls and she grows quiet at the discussion of a body. A body?
Danton took some time to observe his new comrades. While they may have been released for any crimes that Gribb was privy to, it didn't mean they were always clean. While he was still in a low position within the church, his training demanded much of him. Ultimately he needed to ensure that he wasn't consorting with ne'er do wells and tarnish the church.
The ratfolk mentioned a body however. Taking a look, the cleric was able to make the shape out.
"Niccan. I do think that you might be right. We may not be the local law but we do have a duty to check it, if it is someone in danger or injured we cannot leave them out there."
The cleric stands up straight and looks at the two deputies. "We will go to examine it. All I ask is that you give us some lawful authority to do so. If you are worried, I will explain to your superior that it was I who asked this request of you and that we were concerned about someone being injured after the tower's fall."
The statement was halfway between a request and a command.
"A what?"
The two deputies shared a look of surprise at the assertion of a fallen body, even if Varyl's was more so dumbfounded while the other - Sky, was it? - was incredulous. "No, there isn't. Is there?"
Both peered up at the manor again. The collapsed Witch Tower's dust plume had largely settled by now, no longer blocking the sun, but with said sun fast setting, conditions weren't ideal for plain old human eyes. "There's something up there..." the young woman admitted. Her colleague's shoulders slumped. Clearly he had hoped the group was wrong. Because some way or another this was now his responsibility.
"We will go to examine it. All I ask is that you give us some lawful authority to do so. If you are worried, I will explain to your superior that it was I who asked this request of you and that we were concerned about someone being injured after the tower's fall."
"Alright, alright, I hear you!" Varyl cried. "No need to talk my ear off. Geez, you sound like one of the clerks over at the temple..." Evidently he hadn't noticed the holy symbol hanging about the cleric's neck either. "But you're right. Not like there is any superior to explain anythin' to right now..." Oh? "But that just means this is ours to fix. I get that. 'Lawful authority' or no, it's not like we have a key to this place, though. But what we do have is, er... Sky, what's the term?"
"Probable cause."
"That's the one. C'mon then, big lad," he sighed, looking to Quintus. "Give us a boost."
Moving to scale the fence, at least the young constable seemed quick to action when just directed right. Now if only he was more competent.
Aided by the strapping Opparan, the baby-faced town guard managed to reach the top of the fencing before losing his balance, smacking his helmeted head into the wrought iron with an audible clunk. Teetering backwards, he fell to the ground with all the grace of a coal sack. At least his padded armor offered some cushioning. The sight drew a few laughs from those distant townsfolk watching.
"Argh," he grunted, still prone. "You know what, why don't you go? I'll be right behind you. Go on, I invest in you the 'lawful power' or whatever..."
---
It was rather an ominous manor, really, sitting there up on the hill like some watchful owl on its perch. It was no less so up close. Every curtain was drawn, for one, adding to its forbidding aspect; nothing could be seen through the windows. At least their approach hadn't provoked any crazed wizard to jump out of the bushes to magically swap one's face and backside or something. Not yet, anyway.
Also fortuitous was that their eyes hadn't deceived them. Upon approaching the house's heavy oak door, there was indeed a shape lying right on the front step awaiting them. Its nature, however, rather made them wish they had been wrong. It was a corpse, spindly and charred black. The small humanoid was sprawled out, what remained of its naked tail fully extended, with one thin arm still reaching for the doorknob. It looked to have been burned to a crisp and recently so; an unwholesome stink wafted from it. Some scaly skin was still visible in places which, along with the elongated head, indicated the reptilian nature of the deceased. Had this been... a kobold? What in the world was one of those hateful little scamps doing here?
Actually, there might have been more than just one. Scattered about the front step was a mess of tracks.
Before anyone could think what to do next, a spark accompanied by a sharp crack travelled from the doorknob to the clawed hand still reaching for it. Hold on now. Was the door trapped?
---
What was going on by the collapsed tower now? Looking back at the crowd still milling about the ruin, a certain current was passing through them, almost like sheep being herded. And the sheepherder in question soon revealed herself.
"Please, I must ask everyone to step back," a clear voice called out from their midst. "The ruin still hasn't settled and a sinkhole has opened beneath the fallen stones. Please, for everyone's safety, step back. Parents, account for your children."
It wasn't authoritative exactly, but certainly the tone of someone used to being obeyed - a parent, say, who used her stern voice because she cared. It worked too. Bit by bit, the townsfolks stepped back from what remained of the Witch Tower, a newly concerned murmur among them. This allowed the group of ex-caravanners to see the speaker, definitely newly arrived. They would have noticed this woman had she been here earlier, but then the mystery of the wizardly manor had rather distracted them.
Her status was obvious at a glance. Even if her fine embroidered clothing - dark blue with silver embellishments, complimenting her platinum-gray hair - hadn't denoted her as nobility, what pale skin peeked from it did. She was, at a glance, approaching middle age, though well kept. She moved with the vigor of a much younger woman, stepping from one local to another to ask one questions, give another directions, and ask someone to be careful. This same dispersal of the throng that allowed you to see her, also let her spot you, however. And what she sees fomented an incredulous little crease at her dignified brow.
"Aw crud," muttered Varyl, straddling the fence awkwardly in his second attempt at scaling it. "It's the old lady." So this was Belhaim's ruler?
"Deputy Hodd. Deputy Mulle," the noblewoman called out upon reaching the group. Her eyes roved from the town guards to Hunclay's manor to these strange outsiders. "Would you explain to me what's going on here?"
From his perch, Varyl looked to the half-orc. "Um..."
Quintus says to Varyl, "Okay you boost, I'll climb."
After climbing the fence Quintus draws his falcata and accompanies Niccan up to the figure near the manor.
"Never leave a compatriot alone in what might be a dangerous situation."
"Up ye go, Quintus." calls Khavel, and then proceeds to follow him up amd pver the fence. "Let's see what's what, eh, Lads?"
Then, noting the drawn weapon, the dwarf draws out his warhammer and stands ready.
Niccan slips through the bars and runs up to the manor with Quintus and Khavel. Seeing the reptilian body.... and tracks he calls back to the crowd.
"I don't think I want to try knocking."