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[CLOSED] sheep in wolf's clothing
WHO: Marcoulf, Anna, Yseult, Inessa, Lakshmi
WHAT: Tracking down a group of bandits posing as Inquisition agents turns into surprise Divine election politicking.
WHEN: Mid-Cloudreach
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: Possibly some violence, will edit if necessary. Catch-all log for anyone involved in SHEEP IN WOLF'S CLOTHING. Feel free to make up details, slap together your own specific starters from the overview, etc.
WHAT: Tracking down a group of bandits posing as Inquisition agents turns into surprise Divine election politicking.
WHEN: Mid-Cloudreach
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: Possibly some violence, will edit if necessary. Catch-all log for anyone involved in SHEEP IN WOLF'S CLOTHING. Feel free to make up details, slap together your own specific starters from the overview, etc.
They find definitive signs of their quarry three days out of Kirkwall at a cross roads where their road meets one of the well worn trade routes cutting through the Marches from the banks of the Minanter in the form of a wrinkled, weather beaten man and a freckle faced girl of no more than nine, both of them hiding in a thicket. If it weren't for the fact that they've all been on the look out for signs of roadside ambushes, the pair might have gone unnoticed entirely. It's the girl who finally emerges from the wood after much coaxing, bristling and spitting like a cornered ferret with her father's knife in one hand and a heavy rock in the other.
"Come back for more, have you?" She says in a high voice. And so unfolds a story of a jumped cart a day's walk west, the driving ox slaughtered in its harness and the two of them driven off by six men and women wearing Inquisition's sign on their shoulders.
From there, the wagon is easy to find: it's goods scattered piece meal over the road and into the ditch and up through the scrub alongside the road, the carcass of the ox laced with flies and just beginning to stink after a day in the early spring sun. It seems clear from the offset that nothing much was taken, merely strewn. A fire burned here briefly too, a black scorch in the grass, and from a piece of blackened wood must have been used to scratch the Inquisition's symbol on the side of the wagon facing the roadway.
Which more or less rules out using the Inquisiton's name just to make it easy to do their thieving.
Maker willing someone in this group knows a thing or two about tracking, so they can follow the trail of their faux Inquisition agents up off the road out. But it's luck more than skill that finds them in the end: as darkness falls, they happen to be at the right elevation to see the signs of a cook fire otherwise invisible in a low fold of earth.
So. That's that.
An as of yet indeterminate amount of bloodshed in the night later, at least one of the highwaymen can be convinced to betray their employer: a family name familiar largely in part to their recent outspoken support of Reverend Mother Gertruda. The sentiment among the band of rogues seems to be that whatever they've been paid and earned over the course of their work isn't enough to deal with this bullshit.
[Ye olde mingle log. Pull whatever element of this you want to mess with, write the camping trip on the to or from, the moral dilemma of accidentally getting involved with the Divine election, lightly stabbing a bandit or two, etc. Just try not to kill everyone or we won't have any witnesses.]
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Just hang him here.
[ Who cares. ]
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That's not our business.
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Thankfully, she doesn't say that out loud, for once. Just keeps on arm loosely curled over her chest, gesturing with a flick of her fingers. ]
Much as they should have justice for what he's done - he'll no doubt be a drain on resources where there are already enough mouths to feed in this war when he's already stolen enough from their mouths. I can go speak with them in the morning, if we like it, to ensure they know that they have been dealt with and justice will be done.
[ Spin a little tail per her job while she's at it - to make the Inquisition look grand for coming in and removing the problem with no further cost to anyone else. ]
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Informing them is the courteous thing to do, I agree. What likely matters most to them is that he's dealt with, not how. Now he will trouble them no longer.
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The people should see us, in uniform, deliver him to face justice. If we cart him off with us how will they know we're telling the truth and not just taking one of our own back to safety?
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I suppose they have been smearing our good name and they should see we don't take it lightly. [ One shoulder lifts, drops. ] Why don't we kill him now and then deliver them his head? No time wasted, and they get their satisfaction on the matter?
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[ She probably means that's what would be done to her Yharnam, but she doesn't clarify. Nor does her tone suggest that they should 'rise above'. It's fine with her if they deliver a head, nicer than mounting him up and burning him alive at the crossroads. Another act Yharnamites weren't so terribly shy about in their darker days. ]
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[Technically speaking.
Satisfied with the contents of the little wooden bowl, Marcoulf cleans the pommel of the knife on his pant leg then sheathes it back in belt.]
If the problem has been understood as the Inquisition throwing its weight were it doesn't belong, it seems useful to let the people here see that they're being given the choice over what's to be done. Either way, someone may ask for restitution.
[Which would be a shame. The bandits had but one horse between them, but it was a sturdy little thing with a very broad face and he'd like to bring it back to Kirkwall with them.]
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And it leaves the matter of his supposed employer to them.
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[Inessa pauses for another sip, rubbing Garahel's belly with her foot as she shrugs.]
...but I suppose there's something to be said for letting them decide. It might even not backfire on us later. [Might.]
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Suppose we go, make sure he's executed under their leadership, with us as their backing and support. We show we only act with the local authorities guidance, not our own over their heads and we take it seriously when even perceived wrongs are done in our name, and we can be sure the prat is dead.
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[Inessa glances around to the humans, her tone calm if a little weary. But whatever desire she might have of rest, she has enough energy to help resolve the issue.]