'Free' City of Agvendash, South Ilica
Dead of Winter
Dead of Winter
[OOC: A classic whodunit. Everyone is welcome to take whatever role they'd like.]
The snow hadn't stopped for days. He thought it funny at first, because he rarely got to see that much snow this far south, but it stopped being a laughing matter after about two nights of being snowed into the inn. Same floors, same walls, same company – it all became a bit too much after a while. The fluffy white fucker clearly had nowhere else to be. It kept stacking until the view out the window was nothing but layers of snow over snow. Trevor hugged a mug of warmed over ale like it owed him money. If it kept going like this, he wouldn't be leaving until spring. And that meant more time under the eye of Agvendashian law.
The local noble, Baronet Villem...something, was a petty sort. He recognized the name as soon as they called it. The two had met before, when he was younger, cockier, and stupid enough to call himself anything other than Trevor. Back when Baronet was still a Lieutenant, and Trevor 'accidentally' led an enemy warband back to their camp after they 'forgot' to pay his group. Villem called it sabotage, but it was really just luck.
Villem was not exactly cruel. Just thorough. The sort who kept records of who owed him bread and who failed to bow deep enough. In Agvendash, a lost cartwheel could become a three month long audit. Trevor had been aiming to pass with only a nod to courtesy, some drinks perhaps, but Luck had a better sense of humor than he did.
A young cobbler's apprentice had gone missing. The boy was old enough to wander, but young enough to worry his mother sick. Disappeared the same night Trevor arrived.
Trevor could already feel the weight of it pressing in. The innkeeper started giving him that too long look. The local priest of the Eight asked for his name twice. The guardsman tried to joke about city folk and didn't blink when Trevor failed to laugh. And through it all – snow.
He didn't mind being blamed. That was familiar. But this hovel fell under Agvendash jurisdiction, and he wanted out before he was more grey than ginger. The locals didn't just assign guilt, they documented it with a sickening dedication. Filed it. Appealed it. Cross examined it. They always let problems fester in triplicate until the ink dried on enough seals and signatures to choke a mule.
So it was time to solve something, anything.
He could feel their eyes more than he saw them. Dull glances over stale bread, quick whispers when they thought the wind howled lough enough to mask them. Someone would break eventually. Hopefully not him.
That someone turned out to be the inkeeper.
By the late morning, the fire was stoked, the ale was barely warm, and a few more travelers had trickled down from the upper floors – outsiders, all of them. That's when the stocky proprietor made his move.
„Sorry for interruptin'.“ He said, clapping his hands once he stepped into the center of the common room.
„But I'd 'precciate a word. You too, ginger.“ Trevor didn't flinch.
The man gestured at the long table near the hearth. „If you all take a seat, but a moment of your time. Sometin's...come up.“
He waited until they gathered – those who bothered, anyway. A few locals lingered nearby, pretending not to listen.
„A lad's gone missin'.“ He said simply. „Young. Local. Been two days now.
We all hoped he'd wandered off, got stuck there, turned up. But he hasn't.“ He didn't look at Trevor, but the eavesdroppers did.
„And I'd rather not get the Baronet involved if we can help it. You know how Agvendash is... thorough.“ Someone coughed, drink not quite down.
„So I thought, 'fore guards come sniffin', maybe one of you might be willin' to help sort it. Jus' talk. Ask 'round. Get a sense for things. 'Fore someone else comes to write it all down.“
His smile was friendly, but his eyes were scared.
There was one warm table in the whole inn, and they were all seated at it now.
Strangers, half suspects, and possible do gooders – united by cold beds, warm ale, and the innkeeper's nervous grin.
If someone knew what happened to the boy, they weren't talking yet. But someone would.