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"The same buttons, ladies and gentlemen" Finger adds with dramatic effect, pointing almost into Dalton's face, "AH-HAH!"
"shares the same handwriting" Points at the letters, "AH-HAH!!!"
"all short in stature" Points at Ayla, "AH-HAH!!!!!"
"And what about the rumors that you have testimonies - are they reliable drunkards? And the rumor that the first dagger that JUST happens to fit into the sheath of the Pathfinder - just like me? And the rumor that Otto is skinning people alive out on his farm - maybe he IS? AHHHH_HAAAAHHH!!!!!"
"Go back to milking your sheeps - leave us be!"
Finger can hear the frame-up go exactly as he suspected, ”Two can play this game.” He stomps outside where Flusee is watching the door, ”Back me up here”, then starts shouting, ”PEOPLE OF DAWNTON! WE FOUND THE REAL KIDNAPPING MURDERER! COME! COME!”
”I'm just gonna call it now - this is another frame up”, Finger adds cynically after he rechecks what the note says. ”There's a dead body upstairs and the sheriff is waiting to jump out of the closet and the townsfolk will file out of the privy” He straps the heavy shield onto his forearm and follows in on Ayla's heels, then moves into common room. If there are serving items out, he'll check for recent usage and time.
"This place is the Village of the Damned" Finger quietly says to his companions before he addressed the crowd. "Now why in Golarion would I still be hanging around a few feet away from the body?! And make myself known first by championing the riding contest?! If I killed these two - I'd be miles away from here - on a horse!"
Finger's disguise entails pulling the visor down on his sallet helmet, which make him appear to standout and even more standoffish. He tears the helmet off, "Alright, I'm giving up on this whole disguise thing. We should just pass ourselves off as a traveling circus. A gnome opening act, a girl with her hair on fire, a smurf and a talking bird, no offense, and the doomsayer as something nice to take home, I make sure nobody gets beat up." He follows Ayla to the fairgrounds, at least the panicked gnome was getting them somewhere with clues.
”Great, let's start with this Olrug character first”, Finger leaves the sheriff's dwelling and heads to the general store, ”The kids said he actually wrestled with one of the murderers. Remember that we are not Pathfinders, perhaps play it as if we're gawkers come to see the hanging”. [If Olrug answers, someone else lead the conversation. Herald seems to hit it.]
”I'd like to check all their gear, sheriff, if you will allow. You must have disarmed and stored it?” At Herald's mention, Finger suddenly questions truth of the imprisoned Pathfinders' identities, though he keeps his mouth shut on the suspicion. Your predecessors’ reputation has tarnished the Pathfinders’ name in Dawnton, so I recommend you not travel and investigate openly as Pathfinders agents.
Relaying on Herald's good diplomatic impressions, Finger follows the guard back outside for a little soldierly chatter. "It's a nice town here, this murder must have been a shock to everyone, eh? I hear those Pathmakers have a pretty good reputation of being stand-up and all. What do you make of it? And did you apprehend them? Must have been a good tussle."
When the party has a private moment, Finger relays, "Those local children say that an Orug Foram discovered the second victim in front of his general store. He says he fought the murderer before he escaped. Although a general store owner fighting anyone is probably horse manure.” "The Venture Captain likely didn't know there was more than one murdered. Herald -can you see if there is anything 'dark' about our brethren when we get to see them?"
Finger walks casually along the path towards the town, his helmet and shield stowed aside in a march pack manner. Spotting the children in the field, he breaks off and approaches them, splaying out a few copper pieces in his palm, "Hey kids -come over here. You all play in this field often? I'm looking for some friends, no not the ones getting the rope. But these friends would have arrived around the same time but not in the same group. You'd remember them, there's not many travelers at this time of the year right? Best answer gets a few coppers... What do they look like?" he waves the coins at them.
Finger joins readily into the group, sharing introductions and light conversation. When he finds himself momentarily aside and happen to be standing near another male, he comments privately as he admires Feuerseele from a distance, "I love redheads." Then he suddenly realizes he's talking to the Herald, he adds, "Love her.", pauses, "She.", then moves off to a less uncomfortable spot next to the gnome. He answers the question Ayla had asked earlier, "Finger? That's the name I got from mom and pop - no story to it really. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess I got my fingers caught in all sorts of trouble when I was a boy, but that's just how boys are -young, dumb, lots of fingers." "As for the last name...", Finger makes a sour face, "Some jester captain a long time ago thought it was funny to mispell my last name in a Chronicle. Without it, I could not serve or take up arms for the royal family in Almas, even if it was misspelled. So that's how Metalhammer became Middlehammer." *** Once Jorsal concludes the orders, in soldierly manner Finger picks up his gear and leaves without further questions. "I'll see you all in the morning, we set out at sunrise."
The middle-aged Andoran man had found a short bench and a tall wall to lean back on. His lifelong familiarity with military service nudges him out of light sleep, sensing that a superior is about five minutes from walking in; Hurry Up and Wait - the grunt's doctrine. Finger pushes back his stringy black hair as he sits upright, wipes his gruffly common face down to his hawkish nose, hilted mustache and square chin. "-mMuh", he mutters something short of a greeting but acknowleding he's awake. He briskly and determinantly puts himself back together; functional tunic and breeches, hard leather boots, slightly rusty four-mirror armor, equally rusty burganet helmet, large shield, longsword; most noticeably, a surcoat of such age and use that the symbol it once bore remains a barely colored shadow. Once strapped together, he stands 'at-ease' front and center, ready for orders. "Well met", he nods to the others and almost thumbs to himself, "-name's Finger."
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