R-Group
2014-12-01, 06:12 PM
By now, several weeks have passed since the victorious return of the Wayward League to Sandpoint. The name is more or less a moniker gifted by the townsfolk, since the ragtag bunch of champions that raised to their defense against the Goblin menace belies any reasonable description. The League has seen several members come and gone: brave men who were tragically lost, perished, or worse in fulfilling their line of duty - but such is the life of those noble heroes who rise to the occasion. Their passing was sincerely mourned, though briefly; only the lucky few escape such a fate. For those folk, death is not a fearful surprise but a welcome inevitability.
And such a tour they had: even after only a month of service, the League has already filled several tomes within the Sandpoint chronicler's ledgers - with exploits ranging from the uncovering of a murderous plot from within the Kaijitsu family to overthrow the town, to the discovery and subsequent eradication of a den of murderous beasts hidden away beneath the very streets of Sandpoint themselves.
The remaining three members of the League: the Gnomish minstrel Breek, of the Sharp and Biting Tongue; Dun, Learned Evoker of the Heavens' Wrath; and finally Staln, Wisdom of the Mind's Desires. These few who have survived, returning from the treacherous heart of the Goblin hordes, the Keep Thistletop, bore their fallen ally and friend Karpir, The Raging Blade. The Half-Orc sell-sword was the most stalwart companion of the League, ever ready to place himself in danger rather than let any of his fellows be harmed. Though his remains were burned, his ancestral Greatsword is still in the League's possession, as well as the trophy he claimed after besting the traitorous Nualia in combat.
In fact, it is at Karpir's service that the League is approached by none other than the Sheriff of Sandpoint, Belor Hemlock. He pauses for a moment to stare into the glaring funeral fire, before hacking a rough cough and spitting phlegm to his side. A broad and yet somehow squat Shoanti man, his face bears an uncharacteristic grim gnarl, and he sullenly lights a long pipe. Flicking aside his match and the ash from his fingers, he takes a moment to remove his chain-mail cowl. Even in the dim light it is possible to see the ragged slash where his ear would have been; taken years ago in a brief clash with the Sandpoint Chopper during the infamous Late Unpleasantness five years prior.
The ceremony finished, the Sheriff beckons those remaining League members to follow him, where he draws them aside to the relative privacy of a nearby side-street. Glancing from side to side before speaking, he takes moment to compose himself before beginning.
"First, let me thanks you again for all you've done for Sandpoint. Damn lucky for me, since I might be needing your assistance again. Seems to me we've got somethin' on our hands here - somethin' I'd rather not involve anyone with if I don't need to. But what with all your credentials and what have you, you're the most likely to solve it.
Put simply, we've got a murderer in our midst - and damn if it don't look like he's only just getting started. Doubtless I don't have to remind you all what happened last time around we had such a trouble. More and more I figure what I've got right now is another Chopper.
But here's the truth of it: last night, the murderer struck at the sawmill. Two victims, as it were, and they're bad as anything I've seen. Man named Ibor Thorn found them early this morning, but he ran screaming rather than come to the Watch. So when my lads came and took a look, there was already plenty o' gawkers crowding the scene. By now we've got the Mill locked down, so it's all undisturbed. Believe it or not, though, that ain't even the worst of it. Those two poor fools aren't the only dead I've had to deal with - them's the second set of bodies, not the first.
Few days earlier a similar thing happened, and so far I've done the best I can to keep the whole business quiet. My men are good enough, but they're green as fresh grass. I can't rely on them for much more than keeping the streets clean (don't repeat that), so I've turned to your little League as the better choice. You all did a well enough job securing the Goblin outbreaks, so I imagine that you're capable enough to handle this too. So that's mostly it, what say you?"
And such a tour they had: even after only a month of service, the League has already filled several tomes within the Sandpoint chronicler's ledgers - with exploits ranging from the uncovering of a murderous plot from within the Kaijitsu family to overthrow the town, to the discovery and subsequent eradication of a den of murderous beasts hidden away beneath the very streets of Sandpoint themselves.
The remaining three members of the League: the Gnomish minstrel Breek, of the Sharp and Biting Tongue; Dun, Learned Evoker of the Heavens' Wrath; and finally Staln, Wisdom of the Mind's Desires. These few who have survived, returning from the treacherous heart of the Goblin hordes, the Keep Thistletop, bore their fallen ally and friend Karpir, The Raging Blade. The Half-Orc sell-sword was the most stalwart companion of the League, ever ready to place himself in danger rather than let any of his fellows be harmed. Though his remains were burned, his ancestral Greatsword is still in the League's possession, as well as the trophy he claimed after besting the traitorous Nualia in combat.
In fact, it is at Karpir's service that the League is approached by none other than the Sheriff of Sandpoint, Belor Hemlock. He pauses for a moment to stare into the glaring funeral fire, before hacking a rough cough and spitting phlegm to his side. A broad and yet somehow squat Shoanti man, his face bears an uncharacteristic grim gnarl, and he sullenly lights a long pipe. Flicking aside his match and the ash from his fingers, he takes a moment to remove his chain-mail cowl. Even in the dim light it is possible to see the ragged slash where his ear would have been; taken years ago in a brief clash with the Sandpoint Chopper during the infamous Late Unpleasantness five years prior.
The ceremony finished, the Sheriff beckons those remaining League members to follow him, where he draws them aside to the relative privacy of a nearby side-street. Glancing from side to side before speaking, he takes moment to compose himself before beginning.
"First, let me thanks you again for all you've done for Sandpoint. Damn lucky for me, since I might be needing your assistance again. Seems to me we've got somethin' on our hands here - somethin' I'd rather not involve anyone with if I don't need to. But what with all your credentials and what have you, you're the most likely to solve it.
Put simply, we've got a murderer in our midst - and damn if it don't look like he's only just getting started. Doubtless I don't have to remind you all what happened last time around we had such a trouble. More and more I figure what I've got right now is another Chopper.
But here's the truth of it: last night, the murderer struck at the sawmill. Two victims, as it were, and they're bad as anything I've seen. Man named Ibor Thorn found them early this morning, but he ran screaming rather than come to the Watch. So when my lads came and took a look, there was already plenty o' gawkers crowding the scene. By now we've got the Mill locked down, so it's all undisturbed. Believe it or not, though, that ain't even the worst of it. Those two poor fools aren't the only dead I've had to deal with - them's the second set of bodies, not the first.
Few days earlier a similar thing happened, and so far I've done the best I can to keep the whole business quiet. My men are good enough, but they're green as fresh grass. I can't rely on them for much more than keeping the streets clean (don't repeat that), so I've turned to your little League as the better choice. You all did a well enough job securing the Goblin outbreaks, so I imagine that you're capable enough to handle this too. So that's mostly it, what say you?"