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[CLOSED] HARE COURSING
WHO: Athessa, Byerly, Edgard, Erik, Mado, Noon, Sawbones, Sidony, Vanadi
WHAT: The Gang Solves A Murder
WHEN: Early Drakonis
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: Content warnings will be employed in subject lines, blanket warning for violence/murder, mention of sexual assault, corruption in the City Guard, etc.
WHAT: The Gang Solves A Murder
WHEN: Early Drakonis
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: Content warnings will be employed in subject lines, blanket warning for violence/murder, mention of sexual assault, corruption in the City Guard, etc.
Erik, Noon, and Vanadi hear a struggle near the Alienage and when they go to investigate, they happen upon a shadowy cloaked figure trying to make off with Saoirse, a fifteen year old elf girl from the Alienage. The cloaked figure flees. Erik decides to stay with the girl while Noon and Vanadi take off after the cloaked figure. The perpetrator takes a dagger to the shoulder and Vanadi gets a signet ring off him in the ensuing chase, but ultimately the villain gets away. Erik finds out from the residents of the Alienage that there's another girl missing, and that the City Guard have done nothing to help find her.
Elsewhere in Kirkwall, Edgard and Mado find a dead body buried in the snow. The cold has preserved the body in such a state that they are able to determine the most likely cause of death to be strangulation, judging by the bruising on the young woman's neck. It looks like whoever did the strangling was wearing a ring. There will also be a copper button, presumably from some article of clothing, clasped in the dead girl's hand. She clearly put up a fight against her attacker. Mado is able to smell faint whiffs of expensive laundry soap, cologne, pipe tobacco, and whatever other normal not-clue things on the button. Seems the owner of the vest this button came from is rather well-off.
Sidony and Sawbones will be tasked with acting as Byerly's attachés while following up on a number of petty grievances cited by the citizens of Kirkwall, during which they will overhear gossip (unrelated to the grievances):
- Talk of disappearances from the Alienage that the City Guards are doing nothing about
- Two City Guards talking to each other about the body that was found, and how strange it is that not even the Guard on duty saw anything
- Mention of a cloaked figure seen outside The Crimson Cat at night
- Rumors that Madame Lette, the bawd from The Crimson Cat, has found a new financier
- A general consensus that something isn't right about The Crimson Cat; it used to be more like the other brothels in the city, but after Devigny was killed in a robbery gone wrong, things have been different.
After some sleuthing it's found that the ring that Erik, Noon, and Vanadi got from the would-be kidnapper most likely belongs to a man named Ambrose Warrick, a nobleman with a modest estate in Hightown. He confirms that the ring was his, but that he gifted it to Giordano Allard, a friend of his. The servants at the Warrick estate will be reticent to speak to anyone, but some light eavesdropping will reveal that some weeks ago, Ambrose returned home late, disheveled, in one of his moods, and demanded that the buttons on his vest be replaced with gold instead of copper. He also sent the signet ring to the jeweler's to be polished the next day.
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"Look at her throat," he says in the same low whimper, "someone did this to her."
No matter his city of origin, a homeless musician will have seen his fair share of bodies: particularly those of other cast-offs, souls assumed inaccurately by their murderers to go unnoticed, un-missed by those who love them.
"Help me dig?"
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"Shouldn't we look for someone? The person who did this or--whoever is missing her?"
As Edgard moves the snow away from the hand Mado isn't holding, he notices its gripped. He doesn't touch her.
"Mado, her h-hand." He whispers.
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Seeing the button, he looks up at Edgard again, then sits back on his heels to glance around. The street is empty: it's safe to shift, and investigate the best way he knows how.
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"You suggesting we leave and take her with us?" He asks warily. That seems like a bad idea to Edgard.
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It's not the most sensible plan, perhaps, but it beats any further degradation for the poor woman, being left out in the snow.
"...if we left her, someone might..." He fights with himself for a moment, then shakes his head. "...we can't." He knows people too well.
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"I don't want to leave her either." He starts. "But, carrying around a corpse might make us look a tad suspicious."
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"I'll stay here with her," he offers, "you go find help." The former seems like the more difficult, or at least nervewracking, job, being alone with a dead body.
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"I won't be long. Here!" He holds out his knife to Mado. "Hold onto this, just in case..." He doesn't finish that sentence. Whoever killed her comes back? Someone questions Mado? Edgard hardly wants to think of it.
Edgard is gone for awhile, longer than he intended, and when he returns a tall sallow man is trailing him.
"This man can help!" He tells Mado enthusiastically. "M-maybe?"
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When Edgard returns with help, Mado is sitting cross-legged in front of the woman's body, shivering from the cold but no less determined. Surreptitiously, he sniffs at the air around them, but his human nose does far less work than the canine one.
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"I said I'd have a l-look, and deal with the body, that's—oh."
His oh is nasal, dismayed to see what he sees upon replacing his spectacles. A corpse, under Mado's watchful, sniffly protection. He does not seem surprised in the least, but fetches a kerchief from his pocket to press to his nose and mouth.
"Another one? Oh dear..."
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He nods at Mado, claps his shoulder, and takes off his yellow scarf and wraps it around him. He also takes his knife back. He likes that knife.
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He flounders for an explanation, and comes up wanting. To try and divert from that line of questioning, he steps around to the other side of the corpse and peers down at it, adjusting his spectacles.
"We see a lot of dead in this line of work, of course," is his eventual excuse, said through the popping of aged knees while the man kneels to look closer at the body. "This one l-looks l-like it's been here a while. A few weeks, perhaps? Was she buried under the snow when you found her?"
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"It looks like she was strangled. Have there been others who died similarly?"
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"We have time." He says simply.
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"Well I don't!" He protests, adjusting his glasses again. "L-listen, l-lads, my job has a very narrow focus: keep the dead off the streets, and associated sickness away from the populace. I'm not paid to do anything more!"
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"Either there's been other stranglings or there haven't. Simple question."
He throws the knife upward a little and catches it. He grins.
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"N-now s-see here, you — I w-won't be i-i-i-intimidated by s-some ne'er-do-well who has no business l-looking into such m-matters!"
He will be intimidated. He's already intimidated. Just look at him.
Sweat beads at his brow, even in the cold and snow. His eyes bulge, as if Edgard has a grip on his throat already. The binoclard adjusts his spectacles with a shaking hand, trying to really inhabit his beanstalk-like height with purpose and intention.
It doesn't work. He seems especially frail, like he could be snapped in half with ease. Like a toothpick.
His eyes narrow, suspicion creeping into his expression.
"Wh-who put you up to this? W-was it Reynard?"
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"Could be." Edgard leans in and whispers. "Why don't you tell me about it?"
He folds his arms with the knife still clearly visible in his hand.
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Reynard. He'll remember that. He'll remember all of this.
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Meaning: this Reynard fellow coerced him into keeping mum about deaths just like this one.
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"So you think Reynard sent someone to check to see if you're keeping quiet?" Edgard rolls his eyes.
"Listen," He intones deeper. "You tell us what we need to know and Reynard won't need to hear about anything."
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"NO! YOU TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON HERE OR I WILL TELL ANYONE WHO CARES TO HEAR IT THAT YOU KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT THIS THAT YOU'RE NOT TELLING ANYONE!"
It bursts out of him. He breathes heavily. The knife is still in his hand, but its mostly forgotten now.
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He rebounds quickly, stooping from his bean pole height to beseech Edgard.
"Shhhh! Please, k-keep your voice d-down!" His bony fingers tremble as he reaches out in a submissive gesture, showing his palms. It isn't visible, but there's sweat on those palms. Cold, clammy, nervous sweat.
"I d-don't know any s-specifics," he urges, voice hushed. "A-all I know is that Reynard offered me m-money to k-keep q-quiet. Alright? And yes, there h-have been others like this one, b-but j-just because a few elves turn up s-strangled over a few m-months doesn't m-mean they're c-connected! L-like I t-told you, I'm only s-supposed to k-keep the bodies off the street, I d-don't investigate the c-cause! That's up to R-Reynard and the r-rest of the Guards."
In a truly pitiful display of desperation, the man balls his fists into the fabric of Edgard's jacket and sinks to his knees. Snot and tears dribble down the man's sallow features as he blubbers incoherently about how he has debts to pay and how was he supposed to know that Reynard was up to no good and please just let him do his work, he promises he won't say a word about this to anyone and he vows to forget both Edgard and Mado's faces.
He has clearly been reading too many pulp crime stories.
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