My Worst Day in Wizendell

My eyes are up here, kid.

You neophytes always wanna talk to the hand. Sure, it’s oversized and made of living stone, but it’s really the least interesting thing about me. Red skin, violet eyes, big broken horns on my head… But no, you stare at the hand.

I’m telling you a story here. You gotta look at my face to get the nuance. Anyways, where was I…

So there I was, just arrived in Wizendell. I wasn’t exactly happy about it, either. There I was having a lovely time hanging out in a little hut with some smelly hermit I’d met after my last job. He reeked of death and decay, but he told good stories. I was having a great time smoking and listening to the weirdest crap. Some of it might even have been true. But still the Seekers found me. They’re good at finding things. At finding people. They sent a bird. A little talking bird, wouldn’t shut up. Big booming voice, couldn’t ignore it.

GO INVESTIGATE THESE WEIRD PORTALS IN WIZENDELL he said.

I told him, sure, when I get around to it.

ALSO THERE’S SOME MURDERS.

Dang. Murders. Murders make it worse.

XEROPHON SAYS HI.

Xerophon is a dick so I didn’t say hi back. But I had to look into the murders, I figured, so I said goodbye to Stinky and got walking.

I had to walk because out in the woods I couldn’t find a horse big enough to carry me. Caravan wagons always make my ass ache, so that wasn’t an option, either. Normally I don’t mind walking, even though it takes longer. My hooves don’t get sore, and it gives me time to think. But the Seekers sent me there to look into some seriously weird stuff and time was of the essence as they say, and the walk made me less upset about being found and more upset about what I was going there to investigate. The murders were concerning on their own, of course, nobody likes murders. But the portals… Those were a little freaky. Worrisome. Strictly speaking I was just there to gather information, but…they don’t send somebody like me just to ask questions without getting involved, ya know?

First order of business was to poke around the constabulary in the ward where most of this crap was going down. I knew a couple a folks working there, both from my mercenary days and the other times I’d passed through Wizendell. I was looking for one of the Rookwoods—Damian or his wife Ilya, both former mercs like me, now both respectable constables—and sure enough the Big D was hanging around when I got to the Keep. He doesn’t like it when I call him “Big D”; thinks I’m making fun of him. But I’m not. He’s got a big heart (for a dwarf). Ilya would just shake her head with a smirk. She knows what’s up. But Ilya wasn’t around, just Damian. Well, Damian and Helena, the “sheriff” of the Third Ward. She’s a feisty little gnome, part of the Academy from the Upper City, but slumming it with us normal folks down here because she’s a “troublemaker”. Means she knows how to get shit done and isn’t afraid of stepping on some toes.

So I ask Damian what’s up with all the murders. And the portals. And should we be worried, or can I spend all my time in town drinking? He shares a look with Helena that answers that question. This crap has been going on for eighteen months or so. Mysterious murders, all in the Third Ward. They thought they caught the perpetrators, even executed a few poor souls, but the murders kept on happening. Tough break. Glad I didn’t have that on my shoulders. The latest murder just happened the night before I got into town. I asked how I could help, and they just kinda shrugged and said if I wanted to take a look, the body was down in the cold room getting a once-over by their surgeon. Seems the latest victim was a fisherman, nobody special, just like all the others. I promised I wouldn’t get in the way of anything, thanked them for the assist, and told ‘em I’d share whatever I found out. They know me and they know the Seekers are looking out for the really crazy stuff. This was definitely crazy stuff.

I moseyed on down the stairs toward the cold room in the basement, ducking and turning sideways a lot because these hallways weren’t built for seven-foot lunkheads like me. Mostly the hallways were empty, just me and my clacking hooves. I ran into one weird chick, all armored up. She asked me if I’m a necromancer. I didn’t think I was carrying that kind of vibe, but she seemed to think a necromancer could look like anyone else so I just assured her that no, I do not mess around with dead people. Not for fun, anyway.

The cold room was, you know, cold. Also kinda dim, but there were some nifty lights set up over the slabs with the stiffs on ‘em. Probably magical. Anyways, there was this little fella, a halfling, looking real close at one of the bodies. I assumed it was the latest victim, since it was still dressed in those leathers the fishermen wear around here. He—the halfling, not the stiff—looked over at me and lifted up his spectacles when I walked in. Kind of a can I help you? look on his face. So I told him Damian sent me down, and he nodded, then we did the old back-and-forth with the basic is there anything weird yes it’s all weird was it magical no it’s just a stab wound stuff. Then he says here, I did find this, though and tossed me a…well I didn’t know what it was at first. I found that out later. But he tossed me something and I couldn’t help but catch it. Cat-like reflexes.

And then… Well. Then it really got weird.

Hey, before I go on, good job looking me in the eyes. It helps, believe me. Makes me feel like a person. I feel like we got a real connection here.

And something else, something you gotta know about me. It ain’t obvious from the package, but I’m a real sensitive guy. Level-headed, compassionate, and sincere. I’m not the kind of devil that goes around murdering folks for kicks, even if it looks that way. I gotta have a real good reason to take a life. At least, nowadays I do. We’ll talk about ancient history some other time.

So, back to Wizendell…

Next thing I know, I’m standing in an alley, giant stone fist covered in blood. At my feet is some poor sap who it looks like he got mashed into the pavement with a hammer. I’m not an easy guy to rattle, not at this stage of my life, after all the things I’ve seen and done. But right then, standing there, I was rattled.

What happened? Who was this guy, and how did we both get there, in that moment? Because I didn’t remember nothin’ between the cold room and that alley, see? Just a blank. Didn’t even feel like time passed, but it was night-time, not morning. I didn’t even know if it was the same day (I found out later it was, in fact, the same day). Just when I started to figure out what I was gonna do, my mind was made up for me; the town guard was already there. Swords drawn, mouths agape. What else could I do? I went directly to jail. They had me red-handed. Like, more than usual, I mean.

I’m not saying I wasn’t interested in getting to the bottom of these murders before, but now I was invested like a pig at a ham breakfast.