3 – Unfriendly Arms
"But as long as the beasts were ugly,
We could stab 'em
And take their money," –Unknown Bard, "Bandits or Adventurers?"
Somewhere in the darkness a skull leered. Fire danced in its eyes and a halo of glowing droplets swirled about its face. Somehow Ashura knew that the droplets were tears. Tears of blood.
She shot up and awake with a gasp. Imoen stirred beside her in the darkness and sleepily murmured, "Bad dream?" Imoen was lying the way she always did: splayed out on her belly and taking up as much space as she could.
"Yeah," Ashura whispered, sliding back down. "Don't usually dream."
"Don't usually go through the kind of stuff you did the past few days neither," Imoen mumbled. Ashura felt the pat of her friend's hand over the covers. "It'll be okay."
In moments Imoen's breathing became light and even, but Ashura just couldn't get back to sleep. Instead she lay in the darkness and stared up at the rafters. Sometime later tears found their way to the corners of her eyes and before she knew it she was quietly sobbing. When the tears had run their course she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, rolled onto her side and tried to find a few fitful hours of rest.
When the light of dawn began to peak through the window she gave up on sleep and kicked the bed sheets aside. She sat and stretched for a moment, then dug her toes into the woolen rug that covered most of the floor and stood, nude and stretching in the growing light.
Khalid groaned quietly from the other bed. "Didn't the monks teach you m-modesty?" he complained.
Ashura snorted.
"Tried once or twice," Imoen said sleepily as she stirred and took advantage of the extra blankets. "But when you grow up stuffed in with the seven other girls in the keep you give up on stuff like having privacy. 'Specially when the boy's dorm is right there across the way and Marni or Sam or Phlydia are always flinging doors open."
"Don't be squeamish Khalid," Jaheira muttered, rolling out from under the covers. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."
Like the stories said half-elves were relatively free of body hair; Jaheira had just a little and Khalid's chest was completely bare. Ashura was a bit jealous of the lack of grooming the woman probably needed to go through.
The three women went about their morning business, taking turns with the chamber pot, the washing basin and the tall central mirror where they combed their hair. With a little prompting from his wife Khalid joined them and as she dressed Ashura stole a few sidelong glances at the half-elven man. He was slender but all muscle, lean and firm, virtually hairless and modestly endowed. Not bad. She caught a scowl from Jaheira and tried to look innocent.
As they went about primping and dressing the four chatted a bit about the coming journey to the south. Apparently the Friendly Arm was packed right now with gossiping travelers afraid to move freely along the coast because of relentless bandit attacks. Whole well-armed caravans were disappearing regularly, especially on the route between Beregost and Baldur's Gate.
"There's something off about that honey-tongued companion of yours," Jaheira said as she tightened the straps of her leathers, "but I must admit traveling with a full war-party may be best. You said the fop has a partner? What's he like."
"A mean looking halfling warrior," Ashura stated.
"Aw," Imoen exclaimed. "Monty's not so bad."
Ashura gave her a doubtful look.
Not many people occupied the common room when they entered but the smell of fresh bacon was thick in the air. There was a rich morningfeast available: soft bread, a thick potato and vegetable stew and bacon. They washed it all down with honeyed tea. Midway through the meal Xzar and Montaron arrived and invited themselves to the table. The black paint was back on Xzar's face, this time in seemingly random waves and whorls.
Montaron nimbly hopped onto the oversized stool and slouched forward. He sized up the two half-elves with a quick glance before he began to greedily munch on a piece of bread. "So these are the two that also be headed to Nashkel?" he asked between bites. Before anyone had time to answer he added, "I've no objection to traveling together if you don't."
Jaheira gave the halfling a narrow, pondering look. "We'll share the road south then," she said. "But I will be keeping an eye on you."
"Suit yourself," Montaron said without looking up from his meal, "but I won't be keepin' a single eye on you. You'll see. Me and Xzar be perfect gentlemen."
Within the hour the six of them were walking down the steps of the keep together. They passed under the gate of the Friendly Arm and headed south, keeping to the worn stones and gravel of the Coastway road as it curved gently around mossy boulders and through sparse trees. Morning mist clung to the lands around them, obscuring the towering trees of the Cloakwood to the west.
A day of walking and a night of camping under the stars went by quietly. The only company they met along the road was an old ranger who told them that their trudging was too loud and would attract gibberlings (whatever those were,) but no gibberlings appeared and the forests and fields they passed were peaceful and empty.
It was mid afternoon on the second day when Khalid spotted something large on the road ahead and the group slowed their march. The low hum of buzzing insects emanated from the object.
As they crept closer it became clear that the object was an overturned cart, two wheels in the air and bits of wood strewn all about. The sound came from clouds of flies that hovered above the cart. Lots of them.
Jaheira instantly had a leather sling out and in her hand with a round stone ready to be launched. She eyed some bushes between two stands of trees nearby, no doubt the best cover for an ambush. Imoen followed suit, knocking an arrow and watching the same spot as they silently drew closer to the cart.
The flies were buzzing over the corpses of two men that lay in the dirt nearby, face down and in the early stages of decomposition. Both bodies wore badly torn woolen shirts and trousers. Their shoes and whatever else they had of value had been looted and the cart looked skeletal. There was no sign of the animals that had pulled the cart. Some broken barrels and shattered crates were scattered about here and there and that was it.
They approached and carefully examined the stretch of bushes nearby, but found nothing and silently turned back to the road. Ashura noticed that Montaron was squatting by the broken cart and poking at it. A moment later he rose with a triumphant look on his face and a small bit of cloth in hand that he had pulled from beneath a board. When he unrolled the cloth a few gold coins fell into his palm. "They always miss something," he told Ashura with a toothy smile.
A few more nervous glances and they continued down the road. After they had put some distance between themselves and the cart Imoen asked, "Do you think it was goblins? We got attacked by some on the way to the Friendly Arm."
Jaheira shrugged. "It could have been any sort of bandit. I think those men were killed by arrows, but if so the attackers scavenged them afterwards."
"Yikes," Imeon said, suspiciously eying the nearby bushes and cradling her bow.
A tense, empty hour passed as they continued down the road and eventually came to an ancient stone bridge that crossed a trickling brook. The bridge was worn and moss-covered; the stream deep enough that a few clumps of reeds clung to the banks and swayed in the breeze.
As Ashura walked down the far side of the bridge at the head of the group she heard a faint twang and her heart lurched. Before she could react there was a sharp sting in her abdomen and her body bent as if she'd been punched. She found a howl of pain and rage leaving her lips and her swords slid from their sheathes. There was a tapping noise beside her as Khalid locked his sword against his shield and charged forward, towards a nearby stand of trees beyond the bridge.
Ashura rushed forward as well and quickly outpaced Khalid. The arrow that had struck her wobbled out and got trampled under her feet. If there was a wound it was shallow. Two more arrows hissed by and she bent forward, trying to make herself a small target. She could see the figures under the trees now: humans by the look of them, in mismatched brown or black leathers and hooded cloaks.
The nearest attacker was a man with a boyish face and bright-blonde hair. He was hastily knocking another arrow as Ashura closed the distance. She slashed at the bow, knocking it aside. She pivoted as she did, stabbing forwards with her other sword. The man scrambled and crawled backwards, evading the tip of the blade.
Her opponent managed to pull a sword from its sheath and parry as Ashura slashed at him again. He had abandoned his bow completely and used the other hand to launch himself onto his feet. Somewhere close behind Ashura heard steel ring against steel as Khalid joined the melee. With her right side facing the blonde man and thick brush clinging to her ankles Ashura pressed the attack, trying to strike his sword aside so she could follow through with a left-handed attack.
Movement to her left.
Ashura's offhand weapon parried and met another sword with a clang. A woman in black leathers with greasy brown tresses that framed her face like the snakes of a medusa was trying to overwhelm her. The woman slashed again and again from the left with her longsword, and for a horrifying moment Ashura was frantically parrying both attackers. She ducked under a high stroke from the woman as she barely managed to push aside a stab from the man, the edge of his sword grazing her armor.
Suddenly the blonde man's feet wobbled like pudding and he sank to his knees. Montaron appeared behind him, grinning over the man's shoulder as he tilted the blonde's head back and flicked his dagger across the man's neck.
Ashura whirled towards the woman in black leathers, both blades singing. She pushed in close, nullifying the reach of the woman's longer weapon, and in a few furious strokes she had the hilt of her left-hand blade locked with the hilt of the woman's sword as she drove her right-hand weapon cleanly through her enemy's neck. The woman let out a chocked gurgle and her sword fell to the earth. With a kick to the woman's belly Ashura dislodged her weapon and turned to find another target.
Khalid was fending off blows from a man in brown with his shield, his sword stuck in the body of a hooded woman he had skewered. Ashura closed the five paces between her and the man but he whirled to meet her, parrying her first few attacks. After a few close slashes she managed to lock his sword high with both blades and sweep his feet out from under him with a kick. As the man plunged face-first to the ground Ashura drove both her blades into his back with a downward stab. He struggled for a few breaths, pinned to the earth, and then the struggles turned into spasms.
She stomped on the center of the man's back and yanked the swords free, looking up in time to see that another attacker had backed away from the melee and knocked an arrow. The bowman began to aim but then shuddered and dropped his weapon as a stream of dark tendrils struck him. His face grew inhumanly gaunt, his arms shrinking to skeletal proportions. Ashura gasped, her eyes following the wisps of dark energy to their source at Xzar's fingertips. Necromancy! Xzar was draining the very life from the man as she watched.
The spell didn't kill the bowman outright, but with a few quick slashes Montaron's sword finished it. Shaking herself out of it Ashura turned and searched for another attacker. The woods were still and deathly quiet.
"H-help," a pained voice from the road cried. On the lip of the ditch sat Imoen, her hand clamped against an arrow that protruded from her chest, close to her right armpit. Ashura rushed to her side and knelt. Imoen had tears on her cheeks and in the corners of her eyes. Her breath was ragged.
Ashura frantically reached for the healing potion at her belt.
"Let me handle it," Jaheira said as she approached the pair. "Do not worry. It's not as severe at it looks." The half-elven woman held a smooth hickory club in one hand and her small wooden shield in the other. Blood and black gore dripped from the club as she dropped it and knelt beside Imoen. "Find one of their arrows," Jaheira ordered.
Though a little confused Ashura complied. She found a stray arrow nearby and handed it to Jaheira, who only glanced at the tip before tossing it away. "Good. They aren't barbed," she said. She turned to Ashura and continued. "Now, I need you to pull the arrow out." Then to Imoen: "Brace yourself child. This will be extremely painful but it will be over quickly."
Imoen nodded and Ashura carefully placed a hand on Imoen's shoulder, gripping the shaft of the arrow with the other. Jaheira readied an open palm. "Sorry Ims," Ashura whispered, taking a deep breath and then yanking the arrow with all her strength. It came out cleanly, along with a great splash of blood.
Imoen threw her head back and screamed as Jaheira quickly pressed her palm against the bleeding hole, speaking in a raspy language that Ashura did not recognize. A white-blue glow swelled around Jaheira's hand and against Imoen's bloodstained blouse.
Gradually Imoen's breaths came easier. "Thanks," she whispered to Jaheira, wiping the tears away with the heels of her hands. Jaheira turned away and went to searching the line of tress as the two young women sat there catching their breaths. It was a few moments before Ashura thought to check were the arrow had struck her at the beginning of the ambush. There was a rip in the leather where the armor covered her ribs and a slight scratch underneath but that was it. It looked like the arrowhead had been turned by a rivet when it struck and dug into the armor at an awkward angle. Very lucky.
All told there had been seven humans in the enemy party, all dressed in simple black or brown leather armor and armed with bows and longswords. They wore no symbol or badge, and seemed to be a simple gang of bandits. They carried little as well: coin pouches and cheep jewelry with a few scraps like fire-starting kits and lockpicks (Imoen snatched those up.) They had little else in the way of supplies, indicating that they probably had a camp nearby. Which direction the camp was and how well-hidden was anybody's guess.
"We need to get you some armor Ims," Ashura noted.
"Ya," Imoen replied with a sour look. "Part of a long list of things I wish I'd swiped before I left."
"Hm," Ashura mused. She kicked the corpse of the dark-haired female bandit she had killed. "I think she's about your size."
"Eww!" Imoen made a face. "Gross!"
Ashura used her foot to roll the corpse onto its back. "Your clothes are already covered in blood. And the leather's undamaged." She chuckled. "And if you won't wear it maybe it'll fetch a good price in Beregost."
"Hmph." Imoen pondered a moment. "Black isn't really my color."
"We can get you some purple armor later I suppose."
"Or I could dye it. Ohhh. Maybe paint it a bright shade of pink."
"Uh huh." Ashura rolled her eyes.
It was rather nice armor: high black boots, leather pants, long gloves and a top piece made of interlocking black leather strips connected by steel pins. And the armor turned out to fit Imoen comfortably.
They ended up stripping the undamaged bits from the rest of the corpses as well, each packing up a set of leather armor along with boots and gloves and attaching the swords to their packs. The jewelry and coin was divided up evenly.
"Me and Raven-Hair over there," Montaron said as he pointed to Ashura, "should get more of a share since we killed two a-piece." Jaheira just glared at him until he shrugged and gave a quick laugh. "It's how I'd do things, encourages competition. But you're the boss."
Leaving the strewn corpses of the bandits picked down to ragged underclothes or less they turned back to the south road.
The sun was gone and the orange glow was dimming to pale blue twilight when they spotted the smoke of Beregost's cookfires. One thankfully uneventful day had passed since the bandit attack and Imoen and Ashura were growing used to sleeping on the hard ground and the odd ritual of waking in shifts. By the time the group finally passed the outlying farms and reached the town of Beregost proper it was fully dark and the crickets were making quite a din. The sturdy cobbles of the Trade Way ended abruptly and branched out into several paths of packed dirt and gravel that wound around dozens of tall, sturdy-looking houses.
People were still milling about in the street, and one friendly man who was guiding a mule along the group's path stopped to greet them. He mentioned that they looked in need of directions, and when asked he recommended an inn called the Red Sheaf, calling it cheap, clean and quiet. When Ashura asked about a smithy the man's face lit up and he bragged about a place called Thunderhammer's, which he described as a large workhouse staffed with several skilled weaponsmiths and armorers.
Once the man and mule had moved along the party followed his directions and took the left-hand road into town. The houses of Beregost were all well-built, clean and brightly painted or whitewashed. Potted flowers or carefully groomed shrubs decorated the doorways and stoops that they passed.
It wasn't long before the smell of roasting meat was guiding them as much as the commoner's directions. A moment later they spotted a wooden sign depicting a bright red sheaf of wheat. They climbed a few rickety wooden steps and pushed open the door, Jaheira in the lead.
The common room of the Red Sheaf was dimly lit by a handful of overhead lamps. The soft murmur of the crowd reverberated off the roughhewn pine walls and floors. It wasn't a rowdy crowd; mostly middle aged men who looked to be farmers or craftsmen of some sort, with a few travelers here and there marked by their weatherworn cloaks. Most were human, though one traveler at the bar appeared to be a dwarf. Armor bulged under his thick cloak and a neatly forked brown beard was revealed as he turned and watched the group enter.
Jaheira and Xzar approached the fat inkeep and began to barter for rooms while Ashura found a barstool and stretched her limbs. "A tiring bit ofa hike eh?" Montaron asked as he hopped onto the stool beside her.
"Yeah," Ashura said as she accepted a clay cup of ale from a woman behind the bar. "Especially when you're watching for arrows the entire time."
"Well lass, this is the adventuring life," Montaron said as he waved the barkeep over. "Get used to it."
Ashura narrowed her eyes at the halfling. "Think I'm adapting just fine."
Montaron just gave her a glittering smile. "Oh, true true." He took a massive gulp of ale and wiped his mouth. "Fer a little babe fresh off the teat you show no hesitation when cutting comes. Ye trained well with those swords 'a yours."
"Thanks."
"You've a lot to learn about business that doesn't involve cutting though. And there are folks around who could show you quite a bit ta fill the gap."
"Like you?"
"Aye lass." Montaron's smile was almost friendly. "Fix your eyes and ears on me and you'll learn quite a bit."
"I'll keep that in mind. But besides cutting, what could you teach me?"
"Garroting. Hunting. Rigging up a tripwire. Dropping darfly or wyvern essence in some fool's cup. Proper vitals to aim for. No offense but like most big folk you swing those weapons around in a most imprecise manner."
Ashura found herself holding a hand over the lip of her drink at the mention of poisons. "I get it. You're a killer."
"Yer missing the point. You've a heart for the fight but ya just charge straight in. If the one avenue you know is ever cut off you'll be out'a luck. There's a hundred different paths to a good solid kill. You need to learn ta see and work all of 'em."
"I'll keep that in mind uncle Montaron."
The halfling laughed heartily and took a long drag of his ale. "You do. And thanks for not callin' me Monty."
Ashura wasn't sure if she should be pleased or shudder at the attention. The halfling was obviously a snake, but he seemed comfortable in his own scales. A stark contrast with Xzar, who was honest and forthright.
A strange feeling slithered through her at that thought. Something wasn't right but she just couldn't place it. She shook her head and lightly sipped her ale.
There was a whistle of steel through the air and a flash in the corner of Ashura's eye.
On instinct she pushed herself off the bar and bent back. Something rushed past her ear. Splinters flew as the head of a battleaxe split the surface of the bar near her fingers. She lurched back more, falling off the stool. When she hit the floor she crabwalked backwards as fast as she could.
Her attacker was the dwarf who had been watching them earlier. It took him a few breaths to yank the axe out of the wood and swing to face her. In that time Ashura had risen and drawn her swords.
The dwarf had a shield strapped to his off-arm and as Montaron rushed at him from the right the dwarf turned with surprising speed and drove its edge into the halfling's face. Montaron went flying backwards, blood spraying from his nose.
Ashura charged the dwarf with both swords swinging but he easily batted one weapon aside and blocked the second, which connected with the oak shield and promptly snapped. Loose shards of steel flew along with the end of the weapon. With a gasp Ashura hopped back, holding just the hilt of her lefthand sword and silently praying to Talos that the next time it would be the other guy's sword that broke.
The dwarf pressed the attack and Ashura's remaining sword locked with the underside of his axe again and again. She tried to press in close while the weapons were locked but hopped back with a gasp as the dwarf smacked her in the stomach with his shield. She tried to kick but came away with stinging toes when her foot connected with armor.
Another hop back as the dwarf slashed wide and Ashura felt a sting along her stomach. Another slash struck her in the hip, forcing her to back up again. Her armor took the worst of it but her right leg was growing numb. Soon there would be nowhere to retreat.
An armored blur flew past Ashura and the dwarf's axe bounced off the steel of a shield. Metal screeched against metal as Khalid's hand-and-a-half sword probed the dwarf's defenses. A twist and Khalid's shield slammed against the dwarf's as the half-elf managed to turn aside the axe and riposte, slashing down at the dwarf's wrist. The slash was absorbed by solid armor.
The dwarf was on the defensive now, backing a bit, bracing himself as he hefted his shield and blocked a blow to his head. Khalid bashed his opponent's shield with his own and in the same motion slipped his sword through; slashing at the dwarf's armored midsection. Torn scales clinked to the floor and the dwarf reeled.
Khalid braced his sword-arm back to deliver a stab but stopped when the dwarf lost his poise and threw his head back in a long, wheezing gasp. The axe and shield fell to the floor as the dwarf's arms went limp. A breath later he fell face first onto the floor.
Standing behind the dying dwarf was Montaron, his sword slick with blood from tip to hilt. He looked up at Khalid with a satisfied grin, upper lip bloody from the blow he had taken to the nose. "Once again I get the kill," Montaron teased.
"Wouldn't have s-stumbled onto y-you're blade if I h-hadn't pushed him there," Khalid growled out as defiantly as the perpetual stutter would allow.
"True enough," the halfling conceded with a silly little bow. "We share the credit for that one. Was a tough sonuvabitch."
"I-indeed."
As they had talked Jaheira and Imoen had rushed down the stairs into the common room. Both held weapons out and ready, but lowered them as Khalid waved his hand. They walked over to the body of the dwarven warrior. Jaheira poked him with her toe before squatting down to examine further. "Who was this man?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter," the fat innkeep answered with a snarl. "I won't abide no fighting under my roof, 'specially not with blades. You're not welcome here."
"We purchased rooms-" Jaheira began but the innkeep interrupted her by tossing a handful of coins in her face. She scowled as Khalid bent to pick the money up.
"Out! Now!" the innkeep bellowed, and in moments they were on the street, their baggage carelessly tossed out with them by some gruff looking maids.
In the darkness Xzar's teeth gleamed. "I didn't like that place anyway," he said. "Too rough and woody. Let's find somewhere with better carpeting."
After conferring a moment they headed down a southern street in the general direction of another inn that the peasant had mentioned. Soon they found themselves following the growing hum of distant pipe and drum music. Ashura slipped in beside Khalid as they walked and turned towards him. "You speak well with your sword," she noted.
He narrowed his eyes at her and said nothing.
Ashura shrugged. "Just a compliment."
The thump and whistle of the music emanated from the windows of a large building. A sign out front depicting the face of a laughing clown with white greasepaint and a hat full of bells, a placard beneath reading "The Jovial Juggler." Inside a small but raucous crowd danced and clapped to a wordless song in an open area of the common room, spinning on the worn hardwood floor. Apart from the revelers people sat in little clumps here and there around tables, sipping from tall mugs.
After carefully making their way to a table in a corner of the room the group ordered drinks and fixed their eyes on the handful of patrons wearing traveler's cloaks. Time passed by silently and none of the guests showed much interest in the party beyond a few curious looks and gossipy whispers.
Eventually Xzar and Khalid went to the bar to consult with the innkeep about rooms and sometime later Montaron disappeared.
Ashura turned her head as she felt Jaheira's hand rest upon her wrist. The Tetheryn woman's voice was low and measured. "Not too long ago," Jaheira began "Khalid was bold and forceful both with blade and voice."
"He still fights very-"" Ashura began but was silenced by a fingertip.
"Nearly a year ago we had a very unpleasant run-in with the Black Network. Khalid was captured and…tortured. It took several tendays for some associates and I to find his location and mount a rescue. He has…yet to fully recover." She peered off. "He may never."
"They uh…they hurt him that bad?" Imoen asked.
Jaheira shook her head. "It is difficult for the young and brash to understand, but the mind can be torn and frayed just as fully as the body. And in many cases it is more difficult to heal."
Imoen traced a fingertip around the lip of her cup. "I see," she said. "I'm sorry."
"He's strong," Jaheira said with a hint of pride. "Stronger than he thinks. You will see."
There was a long pause as the three slowly nursed their cups of ale and winter wine. Eventually Imoen broke the silence with the rustle of paper as she pulled a scroll from her many pockets. "Hate to add to your burdens," she said "but this was on the dwarf that attacked Shura. Urm…along with a pouch that added up to about fifty gold. How are we dividing treasure like that anyways?"
It was a bounty notice similar to the one they had found on Tarnesh. The price on Ashura's head was up to three hundred and fifty gold.
Captain Joia Ruthwhir was having a relatively good day. One of her men on the wall of the Friendly Arm had spotted a hobgoblin scout north of the keep. It was the second hobgoblin sighting this tenday and it was growing clear that she would need to put a sortie together soon to deal with the creatures.
On the plus side of the ledger there had been no thefts reported today and no barroom brawls in over a tenday. Tension had been thick at the inn earlier in the trade season as more and more travelers piled up, trapped by the bandit attacks along with the usual issues that came with the ankheg mating season. On the worst days it seemed the captain had some sort of fire to put out nearly every hour, but as the troublemakers were kicked out and the dangerous roads kept new arrivals away things had gotten easier.
Best of all the adventuring company that had stayed at the inn a few days ago and attracted the mage assassin had left without further incident, and there had been no dangerous looking guests since. Old Lulm had even patched up the hole the lightning bolt had put in the keep. If you looked closely you could see the new mortar but it was fine at a glance.
All told it was a good day. Until an earsplitting scream came from a storage shed near the bathhouse late in the afternoon.
The captain sighed before she began to sprint towards the shed, hand at the hilt of her sword. One of her guards reached the building at nearly the same time as she and together they burst through the doorway, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the darkness of the shed.
Lila, one of the maids, was cowering against the far wall. The captain and her underling glanced around a moment longer but all was still and silent. "Lila," the captain began. "What's going-"
The maid pointed at the other side of the storeroom. "C-captain Ruthwhir," she stammered, "it's a…a…"
The captain followed the terrified girl's finger to a tall clay jar that had been pulled aside from its place by a barrel of bath salts. From behind the barrel stretched an arm, palm open and slack. Captain Ruthwhir found herself gently twisting the flamedance ring on her left hand, a habit she was in when things got tense. Please be a passed out drunk, she thought to herself as she approached. Please just be a passed out drunk.
No such luck.
Wedged behind the barrel of salts and several jars of bath oils was the body of a man with youthful but windburnt features. The man was dressed in simple grey and orange clothes and his empty, bulging eyes and protruding tongue left no doubt that he was dead.
As she carefully slid the body out from where it had obviously been stuffed Captain Ruthwhir muttered, "Huh. I think I know this guy."
"Yeah," the other guard concurred. "That's Jopi isn't it? The courier from Baldur's Gate."
The captain examined the body further. "Stiff and cold. He's been here a while." Seeing something she pulled his collar back a bit. There was a deep black mark across his throat, tinged here and there with red. "Garroted," she noted grimly. Something gleaming caught her eye and she peeled the shirt back a bit further. Attached to a wisp-thin chain a tiny amulet rested against the corpse's chest.
The captain lifted the thing at the end of the chain and held it in the light. It was a tiny piece of silver depicting a harp resting within a crescent moon. Captain Ruthwhir gave a low whistle. "Wow," she said. "Guess we know why someone wanted him dead." She thought a moment then turned to her subordinate. "We'll have to do a full investigation of course but I have a hunch whoever did this is a problem for those half-elves now."
Author's Note: One thing you sure seem to do a lot of in CRPGs is kill people in self-defense and then try on their clothes. It's kind of weird when you think about it.