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A madman is on the loose, a lunatic who revels in mass murder and terror. Known as The Collector, his standard modus operandi is to break into a house while the family is away and lie in wait until the family returns. When they do, he stalks them through their own home until they fall into his clutches or trigger one of his vicious traps. He leaves no one alive, always takes a single prisoner, and to date there are only two people who have met him and lived. Now, The Collector has upped the stakes. At a coming-out party for the daughter of New California Republic president Aradesh Romany, The Collector set his traps and slaughtered over sixty people, taking the president’s daughter as his captive. Four specialists, along with a team of the president’s personal army, have been tasked with tracking down and exterminating The Collector and, if possible, bringing back the president’s daughter.
filler
Lyssia:
Crunch:
Three townsfolk round the northeast corner of the Garrison, spotting Thrawn almost immediately, and two more circle around the southeast corner. The door below Thrawn opens and a gruff voice calls out, "Oy, wot's all this then? 'Oo's on the bloody roof?" Myth'rawn:
Crunch:
Lyssia:
After Thrawn launches himself onto the nearby rooftop, Lyssia and Akos run to the northwest, cutting between the houses towards Junker's Way. Moments after Thrawn's bellowing roar fades, an sharp crack of sound, almost a thunderclap, bursts out from southern end of the Garrison. Lyssia:
Because it's sexy. Check out all the sweet pics!
Lyssia:
Myth'rawn:
Crunch:
[ooc]Sense Motive for Lyssia Perception check for townspeople Lyssia:
As Myth'rawn steps outside with you, it's clear that he's troubled by whatever he saw, but also that he's trying to mask his discomfort. He likely doesn't want to talk about it. Aside from that, as you step outisde, you don't notice anything out of place. The street appears empty, though you can hear the mutterings of the crowd from the other side of the building. It sounds like the crowd may have grown since you stepped into the Garrison. Myth'rawn:
The street appears empty as you step outside, though you can hear the mutterings of the crowd from the other side of the building. As Thrawn and Lyssia step outside, they walk slowly, cautiously, eyeing the corners of nearby buildings for signs of townsfolk. Then, as they approach the near corner of the Garrison, a patch of gravel under Lyssia's foot shifts unexpectedly. She catches her balance quickly, but her stumble puts Akos off his balance, flapping his wings and letting out an irritated screech. "Did you hear that? Someone on the other side of the building calls out above the crowd. "That bird! The girl with the bird, she's helping him! They're trying to escape!"
[spoiler=Lyssia]
Lyssia:
Myth'rawn:
Buford returns the nod. "I'll get their attention. Hurry, both of you. Quickly, and quietly, and I'll catch up with you soon."
Lyssia: He was looking at Kat's right foot when his mood changed. You look it over, but all you can tell is that her heel has a few scratches on it.
Lyssia:
Those are impressive accomplishments. Irrisen is a land of perpetual winter, ruled by witch-queens and generally considered to be inhospitable to strangers. The Worldwound is legendary, a place where the barrier between worlds is thin, constantly under attack by demonic legions. If he is telling the truth, he is capable indeed. Myth'rawn: You find nothing on Ben's mangled corpse that you weren't already shown by Satinder. On Katerine's body, however, you find something that the examiner didn't mention. On the base of the young woman's right heel is what appears to be a random series of scratches, not even deep enough to be called cuts. You see it for what it is: a snowflake. A very particular snowflake. The random scratches are, in fact, deliberate and precise. This is the crest of Galenna Icethorn, one of the White Witches of Irrisen.
Myth'rawn:
Buford shrugs. "I doubt it will come to that. If someone gets suspicious, and I know that I'm being watched, sending a messenger to you will draw a mob down on your head as surely as if I were to come myself. If I don't come, it means that someone is stopping me from coming. That should be all the message you need." He glances at Myth'rawn, who is still eyeing the doorway to the makeshift examining room, and sighs. "Hurry up and take a look then, if it means that much to you. I'll give you one minute, and if I hear the mob coming before then I'll drag you out by your pointed ears." Myth'rawn:
Buford shakes his head. "Not right now. I'll follow later, but if I don't reach Grump's community three days after you do, strike out without me and leave me a message saying where you're headed."
Satinder shakes his head, reaching for a hardtack biscuit. "I'm afraid this isn't the time. Master Flinteyes is correct; we likely have only a few minutes before Master Vinder arrives to break down the door." He takes a bite, chews deliberately, swallows. Buford nods his agreement. "If you know where you're going, it's best that we get you on your way. I'll distract the crowd while you two slip out the back. Gather what provisions you can, quickly. I'll be waiting in the hall."
Lyssia:
I should have mentioned this before, but it's worth mentioning now. Nobody else in the city is aware of Ben's abusive relationship with Katerine (which you should know about because of course you've read those character profiles that I took the time to write out), and bringing it to light now could create a lot of bad feelings. It's possible that, somehow, Ben's abuse rose to the level of rape and murder, but it doesn't explain his death. What you do with that information is up to you. Buford continues to eye Myth'rawn, but his words are for Lyssia "That's a very generous offer, child. You do realize that, as far as your uncle and the other townsfolk will think, you are aiding a murderer? You won't be able to come back to Sandpoint until his name is cleared." Myth'rawn: While it's obvious that you and Buford have shared war stories, you also obviously haven't told him everything. With the knowledge that he is the only person in Sandpoint to show you anything like friendship, consider how you feel about keeping some of those secrets from him, especially since they may have just cost two innocent people their lives.
Myth'rawn: It's possible that Ironbriar might be trying to put pressure on you to get you to come back to his organization. You left because you didn't agree with their methods, and it's possible that he would stoop to killing innocent people to get what he wants. In fact, you aren't even sure that Ironbriar is still the head of the organization, and this might be the work of his successor. Also, over the course of a long career of killing people, you are certain to have made a few enemies who survived.
Myth'rawn:
Crunch:
Lyssia:
Myth'rawn's eyes flicker about the room as he speaks, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. It is fairly obvious that there is more on his mind than he is letting on. Buford and Satinder both give Thrawn long looks. Satinder opens his mouth to speak but Buford lays a hand on his arm. "No, I'll speak to him about it. Thrawn, would you step outside with me for a moment?" He stands without waiting for an answer and strides from the room.
Buford snorts. "You will certainly not be staying in Sandpoint. You need to get out, the sooner the better. Somewhere you can be reached if new developments arrive, but out of the way enough to be hard to find. Martin Grump's farming community would be ideal as a starting point, but he isn't likely to lend aid to strangers, and you wouldn't be able to stay long. As soon as someone thinks to send word to Grump to keep an eye out for a possible murderer on the run, you'll have the farmers down your neck as well. Regardless, the Devil's Platter might do nicely. There are plenty of hiding places out that way. We'll need to come up with some kind of signal for when we have new information for you, or possibly pre-planned meeting points." Satinder leans forward, addressing both Myth'rawn and Lyssia. "Speaking of the investigation, I'm curious: do you have any thoughts as to who else might be involved in this? I have a few theories of my own, of course, but I'm interested to hear yours."
Lyssia:
Lyssia:
You aren't the one on the run, but Martin Grump's farming community springs to mind. They aren't especially kind to strangers, but if you went along to vouch for him, Grump might be willing to lend some aid. Myth'rawn: You don't have any friends nearby, aside from Buford. Ironbriar is likely out of the question, even if you wanted to ask him for help, seeing as he's a judge in addition to his other activities. "Refuge" will likely have to mean "living in the wild" in this region.
Lyssia:
As far as you can tell, there is absolutely nothing on Myth'rawn's hands. Satinder leans over, studies Thrawn's hands, sniffs them, wipes a finger over one of his palms before rubbing his thumb and finger together. Crunch:
He shrugs. "There's nothing there as far as I can tell. But there's a washbasin around somewhere, if you'd like to wash your hands. I frequently feel as though I need to, even when I know they're perfectly clean." Buford raps a knuckle on the tabletop sharply. "Fascinating though this oil dilemma may be, we have a more pressing issue. When Karl arrives, and I expect he'll arrive soon, he'll whip that crowd into a frenzy that I won't be able to quell." He gives Myth'rawn a stern look. "You need to be out of here by then. The Sheriff believes he can protect you from the townsfolk, but a mob that is frightened and angry enough to be worthy of the name won't back down from a dozen armed men, not even if each of them were as capable as Hemlock himself. Can you think of anywhere you can go for refuge?" Myth'rawn:
Lyssia:
K, not sure how much I'll be able to post over the next two days. I probably won't have internet access while I'm in Idaho, unfortunately.
Lyssia: [ooc]Perception includes scent. I'll let you make a second Perception check if you want, though.
100 posts! Woohoo!
Crunch:
[ooc]Lyssia Perception Lyssia:
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. Myth'rawn:
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."
Myth'rawn:
"Recognize what? The dirt under your nails?"
Buford gives Thrawn a patient look. "Use your words, Thrawn."
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. Myth'rawn: Nothing in your pack seems loose or leaky.
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.
Myth'rawn: 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.
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."
Myth'rawn:
[ooc]No, Avery is cooling off elsewhere. 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." Myth'rawn:
At the mention of the name Vinder, you realize that this must be one of the daughters of Karl Vinder, the owner of the Sandpoint general store. "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."
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:
I was considering having the angry mob chase you around Sandpoint for a while, but I decided to get on with the story. There'll be chances for things to chase you later.
Lyssia:
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:
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. Myth'rawn: 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."
Edit: Fabran is wearing Studded Leather +1, so only loses 4 Vigor Fabran: 36/40 Vigor, 32/32 Wounds
Critical hit, 16 damage, 5 DR, Barghest loses 11 Vigor and takes 5 Wounds
Honestly, I'd like clerics a lot more if they couldn't choose what miracle they got. Like, if they were in a fight, and they just started praying, and the DM got to flip through the spellbook and say, "You're god decides that you need . . . this." And a storm starts, or suddenly everyone has Protection from Arrows, or stuff like that. That would be pretty bomb. *Edit: Clerics with *Protection from Arrows.
Samuel the Lamanite is a Book of Mormon story. He was a prophet who climbed up on top of a wall and gave a sermon about turning away from their evil ways, and they were so furious with him that they tried to shoot him and kill him, but none of their arrows or sling-bullets could hit him. Hurray, Clerics with Shield of Faith! lol
Lyssia:
Several people in the crowd pause, giving consideration to your words, but an old woman steps out from the crowd, jabbing her cane in your direction.
"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. Myth'rawn: 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?"
Lyssia's last post totally made me think of Samuel the Lamanite lol.
For testing House Rules/homebrew stuff
Myth'rawn: 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."
Lyssia:
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. Myth'rawn:
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. Crunch:
Lyssia:
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