[The Burning Wheel] Beneath the Delirious Moon [IC]

[Kessler]

Krasimir speaks: “It is confirmed then, a murder most foul occurred before our eyes. It is our duty thus to investigate and to determine the responsible party. Lords of Fringe, will you confirm, that you will cooperate fully with our inquiry and give answer to all questions that may shine truth on this matter?” Though Krasimir phrases it as a question, his tone makes it clear, he is not expecting refusal.

Krasimir whispers to his companions “We should questions Lords and Majordomo Guisa, while they are still shaken - or not, for if the guilty is among them, he would be feigning shock, while hiding a wicked smile. Preferably separately - a public questioning risks reigniting violence. Cooks and servants as well. And the food should be secured and examined for poison.”

If no objection to this plan is offered, Krasimir will order the food to be secured, and organize questioning, starting with Majordomo Guisa.

[Boethius Junior]

The nobles return sober nods to Krasimir's request: with a few brief words to their accompaniments the tension finally breaks, and drawn blades are lain to rest. The Abbot takes charge of the clergy, ordering the staffs of the kitchen and cellars be assembled presently. "You may levy your inquiries in the nave," he directs at you, "beyond the crowds' peering eyes." Lord Crofte offers to remain outside and direct matters, to ensure an orderly procession. A runner is sent as well to alert Faust and take his place should he desire to rejoin the company within.

Before you take your leave, the medicae reach the climax of their ritual - among the noblemen Shawe alone watches, with a lusty glint to his eye. The others remain apart, beyond the reach of the burnt smog and its pungency. The hymnal rises to feverish pitch as Mull's belly pulsates beneath the scorching brand; the captain releases his iron just as the flesh ruptures up from below. At once a horrid wailing touches your ears, not unlike a newborn babe's, yet distinctly bestial - the creature squirms from where the lord's stomach was charred, compelled forth by the medics' mystic art. They seize upon it with toothed-tongs and stand triumphantly bearing their quarry.

The twisting worm is a sickly pale where nor coated in ichor, and as its progenitor is fat already; distended like a ripened fruit. "It weighs perhaps a quarter-stone," the captain appraises, "and its flesh is taut, a sign of heavy guilt - as can we see the mark of gluttony. Yet this is no extraordinary specimen; Lord Mull shall surely enjoy his seat at Wit's table, free from his earthly baseness." Though the thing continues to cries unabated, he thrusts it within the brazier's flame, where it is utterly consumed.

The rite of disposal completed, the late-lord's corpse is lain upon stretcher and finally delivered to the medical pavilion. The majordomo then acquiesces to Krasimir's request for questioning, sending four of his guard with the body. The final two he demands accompany him however, at least to stand beyond the monastery door while you speak within. Though his discomfort is plainly apparent, he seems willing to cooperate.

Spoiler: The Kuan

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No Steel test necessary here - though perhaps disturbing to many, the ritual removal of sin must be done with all who pass, lest you allow the creature to grow. This was an ordinary procedure, which you have all seen before.

[atlastrembles]

Brysen watches the ritual cleansing blankly, his attention internal and elsewhere, poring over the details of the past couple of hours and trying to find any hint or sign of the party responsible for Lord Mull's assassination. When Krasimir firmly intones their plan for interrogation, Brysen stirs and nods his agreement. He also adds, as an aside to the Abbott, for his ears alone.

Dear Abbot, given the nature of Lord Mull's demise and what you showed us previously, perhaps it would be prudent to have the monks here review and assemble a guest list. It would also be useful to have them pull any natural records regarding the local flora - perhaps the provenance of the wolfsbane will give us a hint as to where the killer sourced the poison.

Turning back to the proceedings, he motions to his companions to assemble the cooks and wait staff. He could trust his staff to question the unranked servers and labourers while they focused on the Lords and their ranked retainers. Remember, he adds to his staff, we're particularly interested in anyone hired recently - after the Council was announced here at Dom Doren. I doubt the killer is on the Abbey's staff, but it would be good to eliminate the suspicion entirely.

[Boethius Junior]

The Abbot responds to Brysen with raised brow. "I shall have the records scoured as you request sir, and names divined - but monkshood grows abundantly throughout. We have some in this garden, though I cannot imagine the killer would pluck from our crop when he might do so from the abominable wood."

As the servantry move to comply with their various commands, the grounds once more jumbles with activity: cantors walk among their brethren calling names and assembling groupings of the Abbey-dwellers. In short order their ranks stand as on parade, bearing the elements stoically; though the storming's worst has since passed. From within the monastery, you can hear the shout of call and response as the rosters are counted, though the weather dulls them somewhat.

Spoiler: Note

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When the Abbot refers to the "abominable wood" he simply means anywhere "off the path", as it were - a figure of speech common to Shambryfolk. Wolfsbane/monkshood grows readily in low brush, especially during the rainy season, and so could be found without terrible difficulty by someone who knows what they are looking for. Krasimir would know this at once.

[Kessler]

"The first question would of course be, do you know those, who would strongly wish ill for Lord Mull." begins Krasimir. "Were there any signs of trouble for this meeting? Reasons to fear for his life? Has anybody here acted in suspisious manner, from your perspective? Did Lord Mull eat anything shortly before meeting?"

He adds "And who is going to inherit his lands?"

[Boethius Junior]

Guisa is slow to answer at first, yet as he speaks his vigor grows and his voice fills with newfound strength. "My lord was much beloved for the prosperity he brought - Gristing is the jewel of the Fringe! For which the other nobles were ever envious of. Shawe especially, damn him; his whole family ever since the estate was named." His glower deepens and he pauses, as if taken by a sudden thought. "Poisoning is unlike him; he prefers bloody duels - he is far too direct for such underhanded methods. Lord Zarboch is canny enough, yet his forefathers took to our side during the last war. I can think of no reason they might change their course, nor do I believe that Lords Tawic or Croom would betray him so.

"As for eating? Lord Mull did have much love of food and drink, but his meals were always prepared by the household staff, prior to his arriving here. Wit forgive me, but he must have been poisoned in this abbey, it is impossible otherwise!" He pales. "My lord is succeeded by Lady Cyna, his only daughter, though she has not yet been wed - the Criers may revoke the title for this, if she is not betrothed."

[atlastrembles]

Guisa is slow to answer at first, yet as he speaks his vigor grows and his voice fills with newfound strength. "My lord was much beloved for the prosperity he brought - Gristing is the jewel of the Fringe! For which the other nobles were ever envious of. Shawe especially, damn him; his whole family ever since the estate was named." His glower deepens and he pauses, as if taken by a sudden thought. "Poisoning is unlike him; he prefers bloody duels - he is far too direct for such underhanded methods. Lord Zarboch is canny enough, yet his forefathers took to our side during the last war. I can think of no reason they might change their course, nor do I believe that Lords Tawic or Croom would betray him so.

"As for eating? Lord Mull did have much love of food and drink, but his meals were always prepared by the household staff, prior to his arriving here. Wit forgive me, but he must have been poisoned in this abbey, it is impossible otherwise!" He pales. "My lord is succeeded by Lady Cyna, his only daughter, though she has not yet been wed - the Criers may revoke the title for this, if she is not betrothed."

Brysen runs his fingers through his hair and squints, tallying up the names and cross-referencing them in his mind for future reference. He perks up at the mention of Lady Cyna and follows up with his own question.

My good Majordomo, what else can you tell us about the Lady Cyna? Does she have any suitors vying for her hand? Is she old enough to wed? I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with her personage.

[Boethius Junior]

Guisa's weariness returns, but he answers Brysen's questions genuinely - at least as best you can tell. "This will be her ladyship's nineteenth winter. She is a fiery, temperamental girl, much more alike her mother than Lord Mull. Richard of the Cockerel, a petty lordling from Udwald, made an honest attempt to court her this past summer but he was harshly rebuffed. The lady has refused all her potential suitors ever since Jamis Tawic..." Once more he quiets. "Well, that is a grave tale."

[Kessler]

"A rich inheritance could be a motive, though it is of course too early to say. But what is this unpleasant tale with Jamis Tawic?" asks Krasimir.


He whispers to his companions "There is the matter of that missive to Lord Mull, from the Guild of Criers. Now this deplorable crime gives them power in the matter of succession. I wonder about their involvement in the matters of Fringe."

[atlastrembles]

"A rich inheritance could be a motive, though it is of course too early to say. But what is this unpleasant tale with Jamis Tawic?" asks Krasimir.


He whispers to his companions "There is the matter of that missive to Lord Mull, from the Guild of Criers. Now this deplorable crime gives them power in the matter of succession. I wonder about their involvement in the matters of Fringe."

Brysen nods his agreement at Krasimir's line of questioning. It is exactly what he would have asked next about House Tawic.

[Boethius Junior]

"Jamis was the eldest son of the Tawic House, who was to wed the young Lady Mull six year prior. As she had just come of age, my lords sought to unite their names." Guisa pauses briefly to sigh. "Such a sad, stupid conflict. As foreigners to the Fringe perhaps you are unaware, yet before this there had been no marriages betwixt the five major houses. Instead they would take petty, landless nobles into their families; always maintaining their own higher name.

"Thus the betrothal was unprecedented. Lords Zarboch and Croom gave their blessing, while Shawe declared the marriage an act of war - drumming up the last conflict between their forefathers. Jamis took personal insult, leveling a challenge of honor against the Shawe, and...you can surmise the result."

[atlastrembles]

"Jamis was the eldest son of the Tawic House, who was to wed the young Lady Mull six year prior. As she had just come of age, my lords sought to unite their names." Guisa pauses briefly to sigh. "Such a sad, stupid conflict. As foreigners to the Fringe perhaps you are unaware, yet before this there had been no marriages betwixt the five major houses. Instead they would take petty, landless nobles into their families; always maintaining their own higher name.

"Thus the betrothal was unprecedented. Lords Zarboch and Croom gave their blessing, while Shawe declared the marriage an act of war - drumming up the last conflict between their forefathers. Jamis took personal insult, leveling a challenge of honor against the Shawe, and...you can surmise the result."

Brysen eyes his companions sidelong. It wasn't hard to make the leap that the murder of Lord Mull could be connected to this grudge in some way. The death of a child wasn't easily forgotten. Turning to the Majordomo for confirmation of his thoughts, Brysen asks,

So would it be fair to say that the Lord Tawic bears no good feeling for either Tawic or Mull? The former for the death of his child, and the latter for being the proximate cause of Jamis' stupid death?

[Boethius Junior]

Guisa speaks slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully. "Not as such, your grace. I do not believe the House of Tawic has ever thought my lord Mull accountable for the untimely death of young Jamis - we all grieved his passing. The Shawe, on the other hand, he surely hates with all his heart."

[Kessler]

The news of bad blood between Shawe and Tawic don’t improve Krasimir’s mood. More reasons for conflict and with prize of Lord Mull’s inheritance, conflict may turn into war. The matter clearly must be dealt with, if Fringe is to be preserved.

"We shall of course speak to Lady Cyna on the subject, once she is afforded opportunity to grieve. Though unfortunately it can’t be postponed for too long. Was Lord Mull favored by Criers Guild, how likely are they to give leeway to his heiress?" Krasimir searches Guisa's expression. Was he aware of the document speaking of crowns, held in the Abbey?

"Do you know if Lord Mull planning to reveal something during this meeting? Anything upsetting to other Lords? And outside of nobility, are there any groups of importance and means, that were connected to him and his domain?"

This murder could be part of the nobility power struggle and blood feuds. Or somebody else had reasons to wish ill to Lord Mull, though that seemed less likely. The last possibility was that the aim was not Lord Mull but rather creating chaos in the Fringe. Of course all of it was just pure speculation, until facts could be uncovered.

[Boethius Junior]

"The Chamberlain, Rochus, may have cause to favor my dear lady - he is her godfather, after all. Yet her being unwed will muddle the matter, and the Chamberlain is a severe man. I assure your grace, if she is to inherit Gristing then her marriage need be finally sealed." Guisa firms and carries on. "The Criers have station only a day's ride from my Lord's manor-house, into the mountains, and they frequent our grounds.

"There are numerous petty lordlings as well, who manage the various parcels of Gristing and give leal service to his name. Houses such as Cornfed, Quawry, Trumbel, and the rest; knights who answer the millstone's banner. There are traders beside; merchants who hawk their wares all throughout the Fringe, but they are of small note." He pauses to think.

"I can tell you this as well - my lord was of mind to arrange a marriage once more for dear Cyna. Whether he was to propose the matter at this summit, I could not say, yet I do know he thought to give the eldest of Zarboch her hand."

As the majordomo finishes his thought there is slight knock at the door, followed by the cough of Lord Crofte from beyond. "We have the monks arraigned, my friends," he haruffs, "and some number cannot be accounted from the rosters, says our Abbot. All men of the cellars, you should know."

[atlastrembles]

Brysen mentally notes the further names and web of allegiances and favours that the Majordomo reveals. The Fringe is a web and swamp both. We could drown here if we are not careful. he thinks as Lord Crofte returns.

He opens the door and lets Crofte in, nodding his thanks. How many of the monks are missing and do we know who they are? Names? Houses? Access to the cellars means they had access to the wine, yes?

[Boethius Junior]

The aged knight offers a crisp salute by way of greeting, and proceeds to shake the rain from his cloak. "There are four missing altogether, my friends. The Abbot has their names listed, but there's little to note there; smallfolk, the lot of them. Most notably however, the head cellarman is among their number - who I am told personally selected today's vintage." His hand strays to the jeweled blade sheathed at his hip, and he cracks a tight smile. "I'm of mind to lead a sortie down the larder myself, if you'd care to join? Too much politicking has got my head spinning."

[The Void Dragon]

Dominick Faust had watched the purgation ritual from his perch in the tower, the burning of the Kaun bringing a slight smile to his face. It is only afterwards he realizes how long he has simply been sitting in the tower. He then rushes down the stairs to check on the secret Nave, thinking that the murderers might be after the note Lord Mull had received; either to destroy evidence of a king-making conspiracy, or to use said conspiracy's existence as a justification for their murder. At the bottom of the stairs, however, Faust remembers another inconvenient detail: the only entrance to the cellar he knows of is kept under lock and key. The duelist resolves to find another way in, affixing a stern countenance on his face and a firm grip on his blade to ensure his search for another entrance goes uninterrupted as he strides across the storm-struck grounds.

[atlastrembles]

The aged knight offers a crisp salute by way of greeting, and proceeds to shake the rain from his cloak. "There are four missing altogether, my friends. The Abbot has their names listed, but there's little to note there; smallfolk, the lot of them. Most notably however, the head cellarman is among their number - who I am told personally selected today's vintage." His hand strays to the jeweled blade sheathed at his hip, and he cracks a tight smile. "I'm of mind to lead a sortie down the larder myself, if you'd care to join? Too much politicking has got my head spinning."

Brysen suppresses a sigh of irritation. This important of a gathering and no one bothered to vet the staff? Instead, he nods his agreement and cracks his neckAye, we've been sitting still too long already. I doubt we'll get more than stories and platitudes from our vaunted nobles of the Fringe. Sometimes a head needs to crack to spill the truth.

[Kessler]

"Let us proceed to the cellars then and try to find these missing men. If they have fled the Abbey, then the storm may delay them"

Krasimir whispers to his companions, sharing his thoughts “When you do not build a door to your Abbey, is it wonder, that anybody can enter? There is a downside to the welcoming spirit. I wouldn’t presume to meddle in the ways of the Abbey, but I hope Abbot takes these lessons to heart. And perhaps so should we. We may have underestimated the danger in which our mission waded and failed to take proper precautions. Let us be on our guard in the future.”

[Boethius Junior]

Lord Crofte cracks a wide smile, much unlike the soft manners with which he has late conducted himself. "Good lads!" he crows, showily drawing his glittering broadsword. He struts forth from the nave, plunging into the eve's storming as though a man much his junior; his vivacity is infectious, and you are pulled along his wake. Even the majordomo follows stubbornly, his own guard thumbing their hilts with anticipation. At Krasimir's cautioning, Crofte chuckles and winks. "Precautions, eh? Well, I've selected us another half-dozen hardy men-at-arms to come with, though in truth I think we needn't them! We'll show these outland bumpkins how well us true Shambrymen can swing a sword."

He jabbers on as you cross the yard - here you see the monks arranged fully into rows a half-score deep, and likewise abreast. Hunched against the weather, masters stalk among their ranks, calling for names in constant affirmation of those present. Of the Fringe's noble houses, they take shelter where it can be found throughout the curtilage. You spy the wounded of Gristing tended by the same medicae that cared for Mull; you presume his corpse must be thusly secured. The Abbot hurries to meet you, though your advance does not slow for him and he trots doggedly beside.

"Your graces, as I have informed Lord Crofte the only brothers missing were all assigned the cellars, including the cellarmaster himself, Rorie." He pants for breath, face flush with newfound worry. "I sent a novice to collect them just a moment before; they will surely come soon - please your graces, I beg of you, do not be rash." Overcoming his shame, he openly pleads for your cooperation - Lord Adalric and the vaunted Herald, Iald, are given pause by the Abbot's honesty and take sudden pause. However your company cannot be deterred and you press onward, armed with directions to the cellar's principle entrance. The indecisive naysayers are left stranded, waiting uncertainly back in the sullen courtyard.

Your path forges through the kitchens: an open vault armed with tall ceiling, dressed with many tables upon which the evening meal is strewn, incomplete. The eastern wall is lined with clay ovens of an obvious Wallapug design that heat the room to an uncomfortable stuffiness, at odds with the sodden outdoors. You find the passage to the cellar set into an alcove at the mess's northern span - it is an heavy oaken affair, barred with strips of iron, but thankfully unlocked. There you reunite with Faust, who has likewise sought the underground; his hand already upon the latch.

Drawing the portal open, you are greeted by the same cool shift of settled air as before - yet there is none of the comfortable candlelight that you recall having illuminated these tunnels. Instead the stone steps descend into an uncompromising, oily blackness.

[atlastrembles]

Brysen, not wanting to put himself directly in harms way for the benefit of the nobility - and generally mistrusting of dank, dark, tight spaces - bows to hide his discomfort and urges Lord Crofte to precede him down into the basement passage.

[The Void Dragon]

Faust, with one hand gripped about his sword's hilt, eagerly tries to go first. He stops at the beginning of the descent, however, and asks, peering into the gloom: "Does anyone have a torch?"

[Boethius Junior]

For all his vim, the darksome path gives Lord Crofte pause - allowing Faust to claim the fore. A brief rifling through the kitchens produces an oil lamp with sufficient fuel to spark; the meager flame cutting a path of stony steps into view. Reaching their base, the air has noticeably chilled to a degree unlike what you recall; your breath misting in the dim light. What's more, there is a conspicuous trail of crimson droplets that begins at the stair's landing and leads through the central option of the three passages available before you: west, north, and east.

[atlastrembles]

Brysen quickly wets a finger and holds it up to the air, swiftly deducing that the air was flowing down through the central, northern, passage, precisely where the blood trail led. Brysen urges Faust forward,

Come, the trail leads north and the wind is telling me there's a path to the air through. We shouldn't tarry else or quarry escape into the night.

[The Void Dragon]

Faust, kneeling down to examine the ground, nods in agreement, having found no sign of another trail. "Agreed." Without further ado, he draws his blade and sets forth along the blood-trail.

[Boethius Junior]

Your company follows the crimson trail deeper into the cellars, which seem bleak and alien in the half-light; the passageways looming too tall for your candle to reach the joists above. Intermittently you come upon sconces that once held torches of their own, their ashes now smeared upon the stony floor - some few embers are barely alight. After perhaps a quarter-hour of fumbling through the dim, you find one of the Abbey's larders left in ruin: the alcove torn asunder as though struck by a sudden gale, and the foodstuffs within partially devoured.

Worse still, the trail of blood has culminated in a shattered corpse, lying supine among the wreckage. It too has been gnawed, and a gaping spew of ichor has opened where the man's belly once was. This horrid wound did not kill the acolyte however, for the young monk's throat has been slashed. His body is cold.

[Boethius Junior]

Even in the dim the Auth-Captain's eyes are sharp; though the body has chilled, the blood is still wet - the monk could not have been long dead. Through the mess you also spy a medallion hanging half-exposed from beneath the man's habit. Tied with rough cord, a simple wheel of smooth stone has been strung about his neck and hooks upon his right ear, as though forced upon him.

[atlastrembles]

Brysen bends closer to inspect the body. Death did not bother him per se, he had seen many bloated corpses bobbing along the Auth in his day, chewed eyeless faces staring hollowly at the sky, for such a grisly scene to do more than provoke a slightly indrawn breath of surprise.

Peering closer and noticing both the neck wound and the shredded stomach, Brysen pauses to evaluate. It's then that he notices the loop of cord and the amulet. He takes out his body dagger and carefully lifts the amulet so he can get a better look at it, mistrustful of touching it directly with his own skin.

He muses out loud. Killed by beast or weapon? That neck wound looks too neat for the rending claw, but the stomach wound suggests otherwise. And there's this amulet, does anyone recognize such a thing? The Abott and other monks will recognize this poor soul, Wit preserve him, so we should not tarry overlong here. He then glances around the room to see where the trail might have led next.

[The Void Dragon]

Killed by weapon; the cold kiss of steel across his neck, from behind by the looks of it. Such methods are common to assassins and their ilk, but the stomach wound is perplexing; perhaps the assassin is accompanied by some hound with fell taste, or else this monk produced an unusually vigorous kuan. Mayhaps I look upon that amulet?
Faust asks, reaching out his hand, eyes darting about the dim for sign of naked knives or hungering hounds.