Post by HeatherRae on Sept 18, 2007 23:20:39 GMT -5
The stench hit them as they came in through the tavern door - blood, excrement, vomit. The Firstsword assigned to investigate the mini-massacre wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the building, trying to avoid the pool of blood that lay congealing near the doorway. The man behind him made a noise of disgust, recoiling from the doorway for a moment before continuing.
The tavern was dark, of course, only a few lights flickering on tables, on walls. On the floor near the noticeboard lay the massive body of what appeared to be a half-orc, his sword and shield still clutched in his large hands. An adventurer, from the look of his armor and weapons. To the right, not three paces away lay the body of a commoner, his beard red with the blood that still dripped from his mouth.
drip...drip...drip...
His fingertips barely touched an overturned tankard, the ale it had held soaking into the floorboards. The Firstsword moved further into the tavern, careful to avoid the bodies, and followed the buzz of flies around the bar. A woman lay there in a heap, her face frozen in a mask of terror, her head nearly cleaved completely from her shoulders. The Firstsword winced, turning away in horror at the look in her vacant, unseeing eyes.
He stepped through the door to the kitchen, staring at the man who lay dead in the midst of chopped carrots, onions, and cabbage. The cook, or so the Firstsword had been told. The poor man's hand still clutched the dull cleaver he'd apparently grabbed in a pathetic attempt at defense. His body had been cleared nearly in two, his last expression one of terror.
...pop!
The Firstsword jumped, then realized it was only the sound of the overdone stew still on the fire. He shook his head, and then headed back into the main room of the tavern, motioning to one of the Blades with him.
"Greycastle, get someone to see to these bodies. Find out who that half-orc is. Someone might want to know he's dead. Or even raise him. And..."
He stopped suddenly, a frown crossing his face, and brushed the Blade aside, stepping to the center of the room and crouching next to a large pool of congealed blood. His brows knit, a thoughtful look on his face as he touched the edge of the pool. His eyes were drawn to an impression of a hand - a small hand, perhaps that of an elf's or a woman's. He glanced up.
"Did someone already take a body?"
"No, sir...they said they left it as they found it."
The Firstsword frowned to himself, looking down at the pool of blood. There was another body - he was sure of it. The question was...where did it go? And why?
He sighed, and shook his head as he straightened, looking around slowly. It never got any easier.
The tavern was dark, of course, only a few lights flickering on tables, on walls. On the floor near the noticeboard lay the massive body of what appeared to be a half-orc, his sword and shield still clutched in his large hands. An adventurer, from the look of his armor and weapons. To the right, not three paces away lay the body of a commoner, his beard red with the blood that still dripped from his mouth.
drip...drip...drip...
His fingertips barely touched an overturned tankard, the ale it had held soaking into the floorboards. The Firstsword moved further into the tavern, careful to avoid the bodies, and followed the buzz of flies around the bar. A woman lay there in a heap, her face frozen in a mask of terror, her head nearly cleaved completely from her shoulders. The Firstsword winced, turning away in horror at the look in her vacant, unseeing eyes.
He stepped through the door to the kitchen, staring at the man who lay dead in the midst of chopped carrots, onions, and cabbage. The cook, or so the Firstsword had been told. The poor man's hand still clutched the dull cleaver he'd apparently grabbed in a pathetic attempt at defense. His body had been cleared nearly in two, his last expression one of terror.
...pop!
The Firstsword jumped, then realized it was only the sound of the overdone stew still on the fire. He shook his head, and then headed back into the main room of the tavern, motioning to one of the Blades with him.
"Greycastle, get someone to see to these bodies. Find out who that half-orc is. Someone might want to know he's dead. Or even raise him. And..."
He stopped suddenly, a frown crossing his face, and brushed the Blade aside, stepping to the center of the room and crouching next to a large pool of congealed blood. His brows knit, a thoughtful look on his face as he touched the edge of the pool. His eyes were drawn to an impression of a hand - a small hand, perhaps that of an elf's or a woman's. He glanced up.
"Did someone already take a body?"
"No, sir...they said they left it as they found it."
The Firstsword frowned to himself, looking down at the pool of blood. There was another body - he was sure of it. The question was...where did it go? And why?
He sighed, and shook his head as he straightened, looking around slowly. It never got any easier.