Ptolus: The Tenth Precinct

[Trench]

Kinkade is utterly enchanted by the idea of the 10th Precinct and then even further fascinated by the mystery. It's everything he can do not to laugh with happiness.

"Where's the ball now?"

"Damn good question," Wibert says. "It wasn't at his place when we found him. Neither were any plans for the Ball. We're guessing whoever killed Frickard took it, but he could have hidden it somewhere himself for all we know."

Benson raises his hand. "The guy we grabbed out front. Olaf? His paper implied, pretty heavily, that the City Watch are the ones that killed Frickard. Is there any basis for this? I don't doubt that it's wrong, but if there is some kind of shadow falling on us, it's going to make questioning potential witnesses that much harder, and we need to be prepared for it. So all politics and speeches aside, is there any reason for someone to believe the Watch is responsible?"

Wibert snorts. Jurgen shakes his head. "The Republicans always think the government is up to dark consparicies. No one really takes them that seriously."

"Mostly they've just been sh*t-stirring," Wibert says. "Using this as an excuse to piss us off more than they normally do."

"Yeah, I'm familiar with it," Benson replies. "I just want to make sure we're not going to get out on the street, and find out a neighbor saw someone in a Watch uniform crawling out a window after the sound of the gunshot."

Eager to please, and already feeling out of his depth, Felix stammers his own question. "Um, I believe some of the first things done in this situation is to investigate the scene of the crime, to question those with, ah, 'motive,' and to question potential witnesses. Will we have access to this information or the authority to do so ourselves?

"You will have all the authority that the City Watch," Jurgen replies. "Detaining and questioning suspects is left at your discretion."

"Be careful they aren't some noble's son though," Wibert snarks.

Felix nods. "Have magical means been employed to try and locate this printing ball?"

"Once the violence started, it was one of the first things we tried," Lieutenant Jurgen says. "Thing is no one knows exactly what the Ball is or what it looks like. And no one worked with it directly except Frickard."

"We had a few members of Goldshield fly around with Location spells to find "small printing presses", but all we've found so far are the presses we know about. Even then, it's remarkably slow-going. Even if we were to hire the Inverted Pyrimad to cast a powerful divination spell, no one has touched the object or is familiar enough with it to find it."

"Any sign of forced entry to his home?" Elissa asks. "And what was he shot with?"

"No forced entry. It was a dragon pistol. Not sure what kind."

Baeril quietly climbs into a chair and listens, drumming his heels on the chair legs.

"What do we know about Frickard's background?" Kinkade asks. "How does a penmaker possess the mechanical know-how for something so sophisticated? Are we certain it was his creation in the first place? It could be he acquired it by some other means, and the murderer was simply taking back from Frickard what didn't belong to him."

The junior watchman rubs his chin thoughtfully, almost talking to himself at this point. He stops when he feels a few eyes on him.

"Sorry. Don't mean to get ahead of myself..."

"No, it's a good point," Elissa says. "We need to check his background, see if he knows any delvers or had been away from his shop for a period recently."

Jurgen shrugs. "That's speculation at this point. As far as we know, he created it in his spare time. But it's certainly possible it wasn't his to begin with."

"How thoroughly has the body been examined?" Deevolly asks. "And does anyone here know enough about the human body to do it themselves?"

"Girl, we clean up the mess. We don't get in elbow deep after the deed is done." Wibert says.

Captain Herdling clears his throat. "Guess that's a 'Not Very', Dee."

"Yessir, sounds like. Maybe somebody could take his highness Lord Reverend Bahamut to check out the body? Just to see if there's something going on there? Me, I'd like to check out the scene of the deed."

"Well, most clerics are given some knowledge of the body," Felix answers. "I can try. At the very least, perhaps I will at least have seen the body in case something unexpected becomes important over the course of our investigation.

There's the sound of a clearing throat and the Captains looks back to the grizzled Captain Nachtmann of the Temple District. "Are we done here?" Captain Nachtmann asks. "I have my own possible riot to take care of. People have been gathering outside the Temple of Locharit." Jurgen nods and the Temple District Captain walks out.

"If there's no further info here, I'm off to have a look see at the crime scene." grins Elissa. "But first, do you have anything for the... civilian members of the group, that will identify us to others in the Watchguard?"

"In fact we do Miss Gladesmere," Jurgen says. He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out small, golden badges bearing the City's seal- a symbol seen on every Watchman's shield and uniform. The only difference is the number "10" emblazoned across the middle. Jurgen looks a little embarressed.

"Ah. We're... still working on the final design. We weren't expecting to activate the program quite this soon, but certain people... Well anyway, that will do for now. Sorry that it isn't real gold."

"If you all are ready to move on, please make sure to report to the quartermaster downstairs. The tower's armory and stores are a bit lighter than usual, for obvious reasons, but ask her for anything and she will try to accommodate you. She will also provide official papers for those who need them in case the badges aren't enough in certain areas.

"Good luck. Mister Munro, on your way out would you be so kind as to tell Captain Denton he may come in now?"

Baeril turns the shield over and over in his hand, bemused by this souvenier before tucking it into the inside pocket of his lederhosen.

"Would anyone like any pastries later? I'm going to stop by Good Eats or perhaps another shop in Fairbriar. I feel terrible that I promised you all pastries and didn't bring any. If everyone will be meeting back here later, I can bring you all some. Something about you watchman tells me that you enjoy a sweet!"

 

[Trench]

Still holding the badge in his hand like he's not quite sure what to do with it, Felix moves to where he can talk to Captain Herdling.

"Um, sir? Where would I be able to go to view the body? Are you the person I should ask?"

"heh," Captin Herdling chuckles. "Nope. Hey Edgar!"

The Temple District Captain looks in from down the hall. "You mind taking Lord Dallimothan with you? Since you're heading that way.

Captain Nacthmann hesitiates for a moment. "If he's willing," he says.

"There you go," Herdling says.

Nachtmann seems tense for a moment, and then shakes his head as Felix walks out to join him. "By the way, that armor isn't regulation." he says dryly.

"You know, I've heard that," the Midtown captain laughs. Nachtmann shrugs and motions to the cleric to follow him.

Felix follows Captain Nachtmann, taking care to pay attention to his surroundings so that he can find his way back. Felix decides to put clip the badge to his belt. It shouldn't have the same prominence as Bahamut's symbol, but it should be visible to the public.

Cipke and Deevolly leave as well, gossiping eagerly about their new assignment. Elissa walks to join them and as she does so, pockets her shield, before slipping past the gnome to the stairs, whispering "Ich sage nie nicht, Gebäck freizugeben!" in gnomish as she goes.

As Elissa leaves, Baeril points toward her and whispers to his thrush, Half-Penny, as if explaining something to the bird.

A moment later, he drops from his chair and slips out onto the street.

~

Benson was the first to leave the meeting and walks straight to the privy. Opening the foul room, Benson finds Olaf covering his nose. The Republican hastily uncovers his nose and shoots a bored look toward the watchman, as if he was used to being tossed into smelly cells by cruel guards.

"Already? I was just getting used to the smell."

"Oh? I can probably help you with that, depending on how talkative you feel." Benson closes the door behind him, crowding the small room. "Might even get those manacles off you.

"I read your paper. Now, I'm not from this district - I just came over from Oldtown, so I don't know everything about what's going on. I go upstairs, they're just going to tell me what they want me to hear. But I want more. I want to hear the truth. Is it true the Watch killed your man Frickard?"

Olaf snorts. "Of course it is! It's the sort of thing the Empire does to those promising real change." He leans in "The Empire wouldn't want something like the Writing Ball to exist. Think of it! The ability for any man to publish when they wanted. The sharing of information on a mass scale! Frickard may not have been a Republican, but he was certainly one in spirit."

"The Empire's got more than the Watch at its disposal. Did anyone see Watchmen at his house the night he died?"

"The Watch only showed when a member of the Scribe's Guild went in to talk to Frickard and found the body. But you're right, the Watch have other means. Do... you sympathize with the cause?"

"The cause? Giving voice to the people?"

Olaf nods enthusiastically.

"This is a government by the rich and few. A truly democratic republic can give voice to those unheard. Imagine! Poverty in the Warrens could actually be addressed! Those gilded houses past Dalenguard marginalized as they have to us!"

"I don't know that I'd really say 'sympathetic,' but it seems to me the only people afraid of words are the ones who have something to be afraid of. Excluding the Empire and its agents for the moment, do you have any guess as to who in town would be so upset by the Writer's Ball that they'd kill a man in his sleep? Heard any rumors, whispering that someone local was responsible?"

"Well the guilds were certainly upset. Besides them, no. I'm from the old Market, so the South is too hoity for the likes of us."

Olaf leans in, clearly surprised at the sympathetic ear he's receiving from a watchman. "If you truly wish to know more about our cause. I could arrange for a meeting with certain peoples... We could use a man inside the beuracracy."

"Right now it's Cadderly that I'd like to know more about. I want to bring the guilty party to justice, no matter who it is." He uncuffs Olaf, but doesn't let him out of the makeshift cell, yet. "If you think your acquaintances might have some info, tell them to come in and give a statement. And when you're hocking your papers, keep an eye out for who's gathering - these Guilds are looking for a fight, and they're not going to care if you're standing in between them at the time."

Olaf loks at Benson warily, still disbelieving the watchman's agreeability.

"I'll let them know. Can I go now?"

Benson walks Olaf to the front door. "If you want to get in touch with me, you can do it... well, here, I suppose. And no more taking swings at the Watch!" he calls after the departing man. Once Olaf has scooped up what's left of his papers and grabbed his empty crate, Benson heads back into the tower to visit the quartermaster and find Kinkade.

~

Kinkade exits, tapping the new badge into his palm, to look for Captain Denton and then to join Benson in questioning Olaf.

Once he finds him, Captain Denton nods at Munro's missive and strides toward the closed door, where angry voices are already heard. The South Market captain hesitates and turns back to Kinkade. "We'll try getting off on a better foot later, yes?" Denton shrugs apologetically and walks into the office.

"Sir," Kinkade smiles. "I hate to keep you from the fun, but I wonder if you'd have time for a quick question or two before you join them..."

"If you make it quick," Denton says, obviously not too eager to walk into the office. "What about, Munro?"

"Well, about the murder, sir. More specifically, about," Kinkade pauses as his eyes wander down to Denton's hip, "Guns. It's a high tech crime, isn't it? I wonder if any prominent gun-owners in South Market or elsewhere...gun-owners that might be capable or have motive...leap to mind? We have a man downstairs that thinks the Watch responsible, sir, as preposterous as that seems. Who do you think did it and why?"

Denton's cheeks flush at the question.

"If I knew that do you think we'd be calling you here Munro? It's legal to carry firearms with the proper permit. Could have been anyone. Although the Ironworkers have lots of Teun and Iron God worshippers. They'd more likely carry a gun than a sword."

"Now if you're through implying my ineptitude, I have another group of people waiting and ready to tell me that directly."

The Captain angrily walks off toward the office.

"Captain, wait! I wasn't implying anything! I know we don't know who did it...but you weren't in the room with the rest of us. I figured I'd ask the expert on South Market. I'm sorry if it came out the wrong way."

Denton grunts at the apology. "My district deals with burglaries, not murder. I have about as good an idea as who owns a gun as Wibert knows bathwater. Why don't you try solving the crime? I hear it's what you're good at."

"And if you honestly think one of the guard is a possible suspect, then perhaps Wibert was right for choosing you as well."

Denton slams the door behind him.

 

[Trench]

Felix Dallimothan​

Nacthmann exits the Tower and surveys the clean up of the riot for a moment before continuing the walk. He cuts up toward the Arram section of Midtown with their long, stable-like houses where he hails a carriage oddly enough driven by surly looking half-orc smoking a pipe rather than one of the centaurs.

"All the way across town," he offers the directionless noble as explanation.

The carriage rumbles it's way up Malay Street, past the halfling neighborhood of Katterwood, where music washes over the carriage.

Crossing the river, Felix looks out to see that they've entered the temple District when small shrines dot the sides of the bridge leading into it. A crowd in the street prevents the carriage from moving farther, so Nacthmann pays the driver and gets out by the Sisters of Silence Priory, the lawful nuns looking across at them with their stunning bolt crossbows silently. The Captain makes his way down the street quickly past the enormous baroque and ornamented structure of St. Valien's Cathedral- the greatest temple of Lothian in the city, if not the world, with barely a glance. It's easy to see why. High towers with stained glass and statuary dedicated to bombastic gods cram themselves next to small, humble cottages singing the praises of unassuming deities. As the pair fight their way through the crowds of acolytes and devotees to the Street of a Million Gods, Nachtmann sighs.

"Godsday is coming up, so it's more crowded than normal." he says over a cleric's oratory. "But that isn't helping either," he points.

A throng of onlookers surround a tiny, unassuming one-story temple with simple columns. Almost a miniature version of the Great Library in Oldtown, the Temple of Locharit is one of the quiter temples in the district. In front, Felix recognizes the badges of various guild members who stopped in the district for devotions and now congregate here as they happened across their co-workers. Much like the scene at the watchtower, they mutter to each other darkly, but this time a dozen watchmen dot the street vigilantly. Some religious orators have taken the crowd as an invitation to prostelytize on crates to the heathens, some friendly, some violently.

"Carlroy," Nachtmann says to a guard. "Get the young noble inside the temple. I want this rabble cleared when he comes out."

The guard nods and motions to Felix to follow him as he pushes through the crowd. Soon, Felix finds himself inside a dark temple with small columns upon which rest open books and quills. A harried priest in a simple robe approaches the pair.

"Please," he pleads. "No visitors. We simply can't."

Felix indicates the badge clipped to his belt.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I believe you'll find that I am no mere visitor, your holiness. The City Watch is undergoing an investigation into the murder of Cadderly Frickard. I am here to view his remains."

The priest relaxes a little, although not enough from the looks of it.

"Well met Brother of the Platinum Dragon. It is always an honor to meet a deity who respects the written craft. Father Bertucat."

The priest leads Felix down the hallways past shelves of books and parchments. Some pages from books and scrolls are framed along the wall as well.

"If it were not for our belief that followers of the Divine Word Mistress should only be buried on Airday or Waterday, we could have avoided all of that outside. Still, we must bury our brother on the 'comma' of the week, as opposed to the period, to help his translation into the great Text.

The guard and Felix are led to a small chamber that is used for the preparation of the dead. There are a few other bodies here as well, and the smell is kept to a minimum with bowls of aromatic oils and the occasional clerics casting cantrips. Father Bertucat walks over to one body covered by a thin sheet that is covered entirely in different scripts.

"If you can, try to keep the disruption of his reading to a minimum. Place the written page over him when you are done. Do you need anything further?"

"Ah, no thank you." Felix says nervously. "I think... this shall suffice."

Felix sets to work examining the body. He has never done exactly this sort of work before, but he's determined to go at it as professionally as possible.

He tries his best not to gag in front of the guard.

 

[Trench]

Baeril Underhill​

The newly deputized members of the Tenth make their way through the Guildsman District, cutting up toward the main road of Iron Street, which serves as a dividing line between many of the different districts. The four pass by a group of dirty workers carrying tools as they leave work, the violence doing nothing to stem the need for constant labor in the district. As they walk down Iron Street, they see some evidence of Midtown's influence at the edges. A woman sells a variety of hats from a cart for instance.

Much to the dismay of the others, Fairbriar is on the way to the Frickard's shop, and the gnome doesn't part company with the other three until the unfortunately named Ugly Child Lane. There, Baeril walks up toward Fairbriar on his wagon's quest.

After making a detour to his rented apartment, Baeril winds his way down Fairbriar Street, carrying a broom and a dustpan, Half-Penny flying on ahead to the burglarized wagon. A few minutes later, he catches up to her, and knocks on the door.

"Hello, sir, is anyone home? I hope the watchman was able to help you. I'm here to help clean up your wagon. We need to get it back in salable condition, yes?"

There's a commotion from inside as the wagon door opens and the merchant looks out. The inside looks hastily cleaned, but still a mess.

"Ah... You want to clean it?" A grin crosses his face, "To buy it?"

"You don't eat a loaf of bread before it's baked, as my Oma used to say. I can take a better look at this wagon while I help clean it." Baeril stands on tip-toes, looking in. "My goodness, someone certainly made a mess of this place. You say it wasn't you though, isn't that right? That wouldn't make sense, since you're trying to sell it. Why do you think someone did this to the wagon?"

The gnome squirms his way in and begins cleaning, heading for the areas of the biggest mess.

"You've been selling to the faen for a while now, but now you want to get rid of your home? Does the food not agree with you here? I hear some folk say that the faen sweet tooth is too much for humans, but the quickling restaurants serve less sweet dishes. I particularly like hunter's schnitzel or a nice goulash. They make a good potato soup, too, with more flavor than the dwarf version. Did something happen recently to make you want to leave Ptolus? I can't imagine leaving any time soon, myself; so much to see and experience!"

The merchant weathers the gnome's question with an open mouth, when he suddenly gets to the task of cleaning the wagon some more.

The roofed wagon itself was built to be pulled by two horses, with two shuttered side windows and the rear door. Past the debris, Baeril can see beds for two, a pantry, a closet with shelving, a water barrel and a chest.

"Ah. Just time to go, I suppose. I've made my money, and after a while... this city grates on you...As for who did it, well I really don't know. Some miscreants most likely."

Baeril sweeps each spot on the floor clean, scooping up debris and eying its contents as he goes.

"Really? Quicklings use wagons themselves, and it would be silly for a quickling or a loresong to wreck a fine cart -- you could fit a family of eight in here! If they were going to vandalize it, they would just break the wagon spokes or deface it. But, the miscreants came in here and tossed everything around. It reminds me of the time that my Oma thought my Opa was going behind her back with a shepherd girl. Ach, you should have seen how she tossed all his things around, emptied out drawers, emptied out shelves, emptied out cabinets, everything was all over the floor, just like this."

He pauses to close the door to the wagon before continuing.

"My Opa was very clever. He was a master of ... how do you say it? He was a master of sleight-of-hand. With no magic, he could pull a dozen coins out of a child's nose. Oh, it was so funny! I'm no good at it myself, but he told me the secret: You make them look the wrong direction at the right moment. The hand that reaches into the nose for the coin is empty, but the hand that you're not paying attention to, the one holding the nose -- ah, you see!

"If I were going to hide something from humans and dwarves, I wouldn't leave it where they might stumble over it, in Midtown or Oldtown or the Guildsman District. And you couldn't go to Rivergate or the Noble's Quarter, because you stand out there too much. Funny story how I know that, I should tell you some time. They both have very nice watchmen.

"If it was me, I would put it where no one would be looking for it, like in a neighborhood full of faen, but then put it into such a conspicuous place, like a human-sized wagon, so that people would overlook it as a hiding place. It's the hand under the nose, ja?

"But it looks like someone thought there was something hidden here, and it happens at the same time as you want to leave town suddenly. And I can't blame you, because people are getting hurt. I got hurt myself this morning, just after I left you: I was thrown through a pastry shop window, can you imagine? That poor shop owner!"

Baeril straightens up, shaking his dustpan to settle the debris in it.

"My Opa, if he were here, he'd take a coin out of your nose, stick it in your pocket and you'd never look for it in his hand. That's probably what you need to do to keep the miscreants from coming back."

The gnome smiles at the merchant and stops talking suddenly, waiting.

The merchant looks utterly confused by the gnome's long rambling tale.

"What? What do you think I have? What am I supposed to-"

At that moment, a sweet roll that Baeril could have sworn was once in his pocket goes flying across the room and hits the merchant's forehead with a puff of powdered sugar.

"ARGH! I am sick of this wagon!"

Baeril's eyes light up in delight.

"How much did you say for this wagon?" There is not a trace of disappointment in his voice.

The merchant wipes powdered sugar off his face and looks at the gnome in shock.

"Ah. Fif- Seventy-five?"

"Done."

 

[Trench]

heh. Baeril.

Baeril's player immediately suspected the wagon merchant since he was so eager to run away. Which makes some sense. Classic mystery convention is that if you see the gun in the first chapter it'll be used in the latter ones.

Thing is, the cart had nothing to do with Frickard's murder. But it does have something to do with...

Well, I can't tell you anything about that. Because the players still haven't figured it out.

heh.

 

[Trench]

Elissa Gladesmere, Cipke Arnag, Deevolly Bencez​

The other three head toward Frickard's shop in the South Market. Already the difference between the Guildsman and South Market districts is apparent. For one thing, the burnt, industrial smell is gone. The dirty and grimy streets with belching smokestacks are replaced by simple roads with respectable two-floor houses and shops selling specially made wares. The streets are still busy, but the people aren't laborers so much as errand runners ordering supplies for restaurants and warehouses or a Delver from Midtown buying a high quality rope or vest specially made for them.

It requires the three asking directions from a pair of halfling apprentices whose arms are loaded down with boxes and bottles of aromatic spices from the nearby Spice Market, but eventually the three find Frickard's Shop. It's a standard two-floor building hidden off Jasper Street on a side street called Mill near an alley. In front of it are various wreaths, an oddity as any other death would go scarcely noticed in the city save by the dead's own family and friends.

Deevolly goes to check out the wreaths first. The wreaths are standard wreaths one picks up in the Necropolis for mourning. All of them are fairly generic in their sentiments, however. They seem to have all been placed by people who didn't know Frickard very well.

Dee produces a key from her pocket and open Frickard's door. "Gentlemen, after you. Don't move anything."

As Dee stands by the wreaths to let the others in, they get their first look at Frickard's Quills.

The door opens in the corner, leading to a wide room extending the length of the shop, with a long counter opposite the front door. At the end is a long window of paned glass looking out onto the street. A curtain remains across from the door leading into the back. There is also a door way opposite the window leading intot he back as well.

On the counter are many quills and pens on display as well as many bottles of various colored inks. A thin coat of dust covers everything.

"Hey, check it out." Deevolly points out a thin chalk line bisecting the room into two equal halves and one parallel to the curtain.

Elissa follows the chalk line down the centre of the room, and along the curtain, and then moves across to the counter and Frickards' wares. She searches as she goes, looking for any trace of magical or normal concealment, and paying attention to any markings in the dust as well.

Elissa finds no discernable marks in the dust that indicate any presence since Frickard's death, nor anything out of the ordinary. But she does notice that the door at the far end is locked, and also has a large "X" marked on it the same yellow chalk. Another smaller chalk line lies in front of the curtain, parallell to the wall.

"There's no sign of anything on the counter being moved or disturbed since he died."

She pauses for a moment. "Which is odd, don't you think? Whoever took it didn't need to tear the place up searching for it. Maybe they went for Frickard first, and found it with him?"

She glances up at Deevolly. "Do you think that front door key fits this door as well? No bother if it doesn't..."

Deevolly shakes her head. "No bother it is then!" Elissa grins as she brings out her lockpick set and starts to work on the door.

It takes a moment, but Elissa is pleased to see her training pay off as the lock turns over with a satisfying click.

Elissa peers into the room she unlocked.

It's a small room perhaps ten feet by twenty-five. It appears to be a small waiting room or rest area, containing a small oil-burning stove in one corner with a kettle on top. At the far end of the room is a small table and two chairs. A teacup is upended on a small saucer, but otherwise it's bare. In the corner of the room is another door.

"We are assuming he was killed because of the Writer's Ball, right?" Cipke says. "And the corpse was discovered how long after he was shot? If I had been hired to kill him over some writing trinket, I would have given this place a good roughing out. At least I would have left no door unlocked."

Deevolly is silent as she searches the room.

There's a mumbling sound from the entrance, and the newly minted Watchmen of the Tenth District see Baeril Underhill, his face smeared with candy and his cheeks bulging with still more, standing in the doorway.

He holds out a small sack full of toffees.

"Wassum? Whachafineowsofah?"

The others sigh and ignore Baeril. Looking around, Deevoly sees what Elissa had already noticed, an arrow in yellow chalk pointing to the western wall on their right. Besides that, there's nothing in the room besides slightly scummy water in the kettle.

The room is quite spartan. Just the two chairs, the stove, and a table for tea. Plus the door in the corner opposite of where they entered.

Shrugging at the others' rejection of his toffee, Baeril wanders in to the dead man's living quarters after them, still chewing the candy.

"Mofuhme."

He, too, begins searching the room, but not in the way they are. Instead, he eyes the corners and where the walls meet the floor and looks for any holes in the floor or ceiling. This is Ptolus: The late Cadderly Fricakard wasn't the only resident of this small apartment.

But Baeril finds no holes in the corner of the first room, nor the small waiting room. The penmaker apparently made sure none of the city's tinier residents could make it where potential customers could see.

Elissa purses her lips while Cipke finds nothing under the table and chairs. Deevoly opens the door to look into what appears to be the penmaker's workroom. It's quite spacious, taking up nearly the rest of the ground floor. Another small door is almost directly opposite her at the end of the room and the wall opens in the far corner of the room where Deevoly can just see the edge of the curtain from the first room. To her immediate left against the wall is a small, polished worktable with a few large stones and multicolored stains. Also to her left, running against the northern wall is another workbench, this one longer and rough looking with tools lining the wall. A stack of parchment lies at the end, with a stone holding it down. A small rubbish bin lies under the table. To Dee's right against the wall are a few sacks.

Dee notices the long chalk line again bisecting the room, as well as another arrow pointing toward the middle of the southern wall. On a hunch, Dee looks at the side of the door she couldn't see and sees another large "X".

The chalk lines and Xs marked around the shop and back rooms are a mystery that don't yet have a connection and that both frustrates and intrigues the elf. Then, Elissa stiffens suddenly.

"Upstairs" she mouths to the others, and mimes with her fingers "Footsteps."

 

[Trench]

The party regularly splitting up often makes it difficult sometimes to orchaestrate where all the PC's are. Especially when some take much longer than others, both in-game and out of game. The scene of the crime crew had been taking 20 on their searches, so that's why Baeril was able to pop on in after he settled with the carriage.

I felt bad for poor Felix though. He had a three-hour autopsy to perform.

 

[Emus Graymullet]

I felt bad for poor Felix though. He had a three-hour autopsy to perform.

I like being very thorough.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

There is insufficient Baeril in this thread. Skim over the non-gnomish parts of this adventure.

 

[Renraw Kem]

Man, that was some brilliant crime-solving strategery on my part. Just ask people who they think did it! I can't believe that didn't work.