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<blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 3860413" data-attributes="member: 4441"><p>After asking a few questions, and having the officers do a little bit of a song-and-dance about who's authorized to say what, one of them, a short, bearded man by the name of Cord Colworn, says he'll talk to you.</p><p></p><p>"<span style="color: silver">We appreciate the preliminary work you did. Not often that civillians can do such careful observation,[color]" he says by way of explanation. "<span style="color: silver">And the way things have been going with these crimes, you're more likely to run into this again than we will. You know the direction it's been going? Nor'east to sow'est? Yar, though this is the first time it's hit a place this big. Everyone alone, each one locked in, it's uncanny. I mean, it's not the first time some rogue arcanist used summoned creatures to do his dirty work, but not on this scale, and not with the locked room bits. That usually says 'inside job' to those who speak the language, but all the victims have been strangers to each other. Nothing much in common except how they died. Aye, there's been some thefts, but the Master Tanner was the wealthiest of all the victims.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">"<span style="color: silver">And that kingsflower purple leather was a special job, a nice piece of dyework on some exotic hide. It'd be a nice sum, Kol Korran knows Orthos, he's the fellow who hired it done, paid princely for it. Some trophy piece from the west, the hide from some wretched critter out of the mountains or Mournlands or muffins or something. He'll be fair put out when he finds out it's gone.</span>" Barking behind him distracted him, and he turns to see what must be Kennelmaster Hog with the leashes of a half-dozen droopy-faced dogs. They strain at their leashes as one of the officers brought out some scraps of violently purple leather and held it for them to smell. After a bit of milling about, the dogs began to strain away, and the belabored Kennelmaster is drug behind them with several officers in pursuit.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">However, considering that you're certain the filcher is probably on the ethereal plane, you doubt they're going to get very far. Sillies.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"> As for the Project, Arrgha'n can recall no instant of intensive use of filchers or mauraders. Not that they weren't useful, but because they were virtually impossible to control. If they didn't like something, they could just <em>plane shift</em> away, and unless you had the ability to follow them, it was hard to keep tabs on them.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">Commenting about the possible new person in town brought a few nods of agreement from officer Colworn. </span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">"<span style="color: silver">Aye, we got some of the junior officers checking that right now, but I'll be honest with ye, I don't expect them to find much. Anyone that can control these bugaboos can probably keep from being seen...</span>" he purses his lips in sheer annoyance and distaste.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">Regardless, Arrgha'n goes out to hunt for tracks or unusual peoples. Hunting for tracks in the usual places, he finds little of note. Knowing, however, that the spawn of Xoriat are not anywhere in the category of "usual," he climbs a ladder and checks the roof discretely, trying to find what he can between the tracks of the Watch that had been searching up here. There, he finds something odd. A few scuffs that may have been humanoid feet and knees, light and small. Probably not a human, certainly not an adult. Perhaps a child, gnome, or halfling. It looks like the person knelt here... they had armor, there were greave-marks. Next to them, a single three-toed print, bigger than his torso. A filcher foot. And then... nothing.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">Going to ask about people, you ignore the places where the Watch already swarms; the travelers' inns and hostles, the gambling dens and festhalls. Instead you head for the dark places, the places where the officers would not go. The slums aren't that big in a town this small, relatively speaking, but there are a few places where the indigent gather. A few officers know the value of speaking to the poor, but perhaps their tongues would be looser with someone who didn't have to account for every copper coin spent in bribes.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">Even with questioning and silver and gold spent to loosen tongues, it takes you time to find a begger that plies his trade near the guildhalls. A grizzled drunkard with a missing foot, probably a veteran, he speaks his piece only when lubricated with a deep bottle of gin.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">"<span style="color: silver">Aye, I was seein' sommat atop the guildhalls. He climbed up the walls, like a bug, dead of night and interrupting a man's sleep he was! Little thing too, big nose, but once he atop, I couldn't see him. Jes' slipped from sight, like he was invisible. Got the shakes just looking at 'im. Some inviserble Cyre wot took off my foot. Got the shakes bad, real bad, and had a go lie down. Affer that, got woke up by the screamin,</span>" he slurs, taking many more sips of gin to stead himself.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">When looking for traces of the kingsflower leather, you have no more luck than the hounds, who come back, tails dragging, after a wild chase through down. The Kennelmaster looks annoyed and the officers that had been trailing him seem furious.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"> Yatrax regards him steadily, her eyes dark.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">"<span style="color: silver">I don't believe I can tell you just yet. Know that I have some secrets. When I can, I will say.</span>"</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"> "<span style="color: silver">Of course I will,</span>" she says softly.</span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"> After the failed attempt at tracking with the hounds and copious asking of questions by all, it is early afternoon. To say Master Vorj is displeased at the delay would be a gross understatement, but the Watch is insistant upon doing their duty, even when it's clear this mystery is quite bizarre. The group can rejoin to compare notes as Vorj begins another harrangue to let his clearly innocent caravan get on with traveling while there's still daylight.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Isida Kep'Tukari, post: 3860413, member: 4441"] After asking a few questions, and having the officers do a little bit of a song-and-dance about who's authorized to say what, one of them, a short, bearded man by the name of Cord Colworn, says he'll talk to you. "[color=silver]We appreciate the preliminary work you did. Not often that civillians can do such careful observation,[color]" he says by way of explanation. "[color=silver]And the way things have been going with these crimes, you're more likely to run into this again than we will. You know the direction it's been going? Nor'east to sow'est? Yar, though this is the first time it's hit a place this big. Everyone alone, each one locked in, it's uncanny. I mean, it's not the first time some rogue arcanist used summoned creatures to do his dirty work, but not on this scale, and not with the locked room bits. That usually says 'inside job' to those who speak the language, but all the victims have been strangers to each other. Nothing much in common except how they died. Aye, there's been some thefts, but the Master Tanner was the wealthiest of all the victims.[/color] "[color=silver]And that kingsflower purple leather was a special job, a nice piece of dyework on some exotic hide. It'd be a nice sum, Kol Korran knows Orthos, he's the fellow who hired it done, paid princely for it. Some trophy piece from the west, the hide from some wretched critter out of the mountains or Mournlands or muffins or something. He'll be fair put out when he finds out it's gone.[/color]" Barking behind him distracted him, and he turns to see what must be Kennelmaster Hog with the leashes of a half-dozen droopy-faced dogs. They strain at their leashes as one of the officers brought out some scraps of violently purple leather and held it for them to smell. After a bit of milling about, the dogs began to strain away, and the belabored Kennelmaster is drug behind them with several officers in pursuit. However, considering that you're certain the filcher is probably on the ethereal plane, you doubt they're going to get very far. Sillies. As for the Project, Arrgha'n can recall no instant of intensive use of filchers or mauraders. Not that they weren't useful, but because they were virtually impossible to control. If they didn't like something, they could just [i]plane shift[/i] away, and unless you had the ability to follow them, it was hard to keep tabs on them. Commenting about the possible new person in town brought a few nods of agreement from officer Colworn. "[color=silver]Aye, we got some of the junior officers checking that right now, but I'll be honest with ye, I don't expect them to find much. Anyone that can control these bugaboos can probably keep from being seen...[/color]" he purses his lips in sheer annoyance and distaste. Regardless, Arrgha'n goes out to hunt for tracks or unusual peoples. Hunting for tracks in the usual places, he finds little of note. Knowing, however, that the spawn of Xoriat are not anywhere in the category of "usual," he climbs a ladder and checks the roof discretely, trying to find what he can between the tracks of the Watch that had been searching up here. There, he finds something odd. A few scuffs that may have been humanoid feet and knees, light and small. Probably not a human, certainly not an adult. Perhaps a child, gnome, or halfling. It looks like the person knelt here... they had armor, there were greave-marks. Next to them, a single three-toed print, bigger than his torso. A filcher foot. And then... nothing. Going to ask about people, you ignore the places where the Watch already swarms; the travelers' inns and hostles, the gambling dens and festhalls. Instead you head for the dark places, the places where the officers would not go. The slums aren't that big in a town this small, relatively speaking, but there are a few places where the indigent gather. A few officers know the value of speaking to the poor, but perhaps their tongues would be looser with someone who didn't have to account for every copper coin spent in bribes. Even with questioning and silver and gold spent to loosen tongues, it takes you time to find a begger that plies his trade near the guildhalls. A grizzled drunkard with a missing foot, probably a veteran, he speaks his piece only when lubricated with a deep bottle of gin. "[color=silver]Aye, I was seein' sommat atop the guildhalls. He climbed up the walls, like a bug, dead of night and interrupting a man's sleep he was! Little thing too, big nose, but once he atop, I couldn't see him. Jes' slipped from sight, like he was invisible. Got the shakes just looking at 'im. Some inviserble Cyre wot took off my foot. Got the shakes bad, real bad, and had a go lie down. Affer that, got woke up by the screamin,[/color]" he slurs, taking many more sips of gin to stead himself. When looking for traces of the kingsflower leather, you have no more luck than the hounds, who come back, tails dragging, after a wild chase through down. The Kennelmaster looks annoyed and the officers that had been trailing him seem furious. Yatrax regards him steadily, her eyes dark. "[color=silver]I don't believe I can tell you just yet. Know that I have some secrets. When I can, I will say.[/color]" "[color=silver]Of course I will,[/color]" she says softly. After the failed attempt at tracking with the hounds and copious asking of questions by all, it is early afternoon. To say Master Vorj is displeased at the delay would be a gross understatement, but the Watch is insistant upon doing their duty, even when it's clear this mystery is quite bizarre. The group can rejoin to compare notes as Vorj begins another harrangue to let his clearly innocent caravan get on with traveling while there's still daylight.[/color] [/QUOTE]
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