Investigating a strange death....

[Dorian Hawkmoon]

It had taken Him 3 days to reach the outlying village of Ronsdell...of course it had rained nearly constantly, as it was the season for the spring rains. He was soaked to the bone, tired, and He ached like sin itself as He nudged Stepper towards the Inn at the center of the small village. He considered the missive that He had received from one of His eyes and ears as He tied off Stepper's reins to the hitching post....it seemed that marauding wolves had killed a young woman of the village...it itself, the missive would hardly have warranted His notice, had the wording not been coded so that He would read what was underlying....that the death wasn't within the bounds of normalcy. As Ronsdell lay just within the boundaries of Windstorm land, He had made a decision to investigate for Himself, on the chance that a rogue lobo, or perhaps even a small pack was on the move. He had sent a swift courier on ahead, directing the village elders to secure the body in a cool place to stave off corruption as much as possible until He could arrive...for He wished to inspect the body Himself.

He had reasoned He would find those He sought at the village's lone inn, and so He made His way inside...shifting the scabbarded longsword at His hip a bit, should the need for its use arise. It was a smallish establishment, but then Ronsdell was a small village...deriving it's income from the forest and a few smallish farms. His initial impression was a peaceful, sleepy place....rarely given to much in the way of excitement. But as He stepped inside, He could feel the fear and tension....so thick it could have been rended by a blade. The few patrons inside quieted as His tall, black-clad form passed thru the doorway, all eyes fixed on Him...then three approached....one well into his senior years....the other two approaching middle years. He looked to them calmly as the eldest asked..."Ye be the One from Windstorm Castle, aye?.....the One known as Hawk?"...Without wating for His answer, He began making introductions....the two younger men being named as Will Bailey and Edum Collin....then naming himself as Dub Archer.

He waited patiently as the introductions were made...."Aye, I be Hawkmoon...Captain of Windstorm's Guards...'tas been a long, wet journey and if it please ye, I would like t'be shown the body afore I rest for the eve."...The elders nodded their assent and began to lead Him to the back of the inn, informing Him that the body had been placed in the inn's coldroom, per His request. As they reached the door, the elders as a one making the sign of the cross, He turned to them...."I thank ye kindly, goodmen...I will make My inspection, and if one of ye could kindly arrange for a room for M'Self, and a place for M'horse t'be stabled, I shall speak with ye in the morn as to what I have discovered"...The one named Edum assured Him it would be as He wished, then the three departed....throwing backward glances and muttering softly between themselves.

At this, He entered the coldroom, noting a lantern conveniently placed on a nearby shelf. He retrieved it, then drew flint and steel from the pouch at His belt...striking sparks until the oiled wick caught flame, then moved to begin His task. The body had been placed on a low pallet, near the center of the room...covered head to toe with a long piece of muslin. Drawing a stool from the corner, He set the lantern upon it so that the flame illuminated the body....then began to draw the fabric from the body.

He looked at the revealed face expressionlessly...the lass was young, indeed...He put her at perhaps 18 summers. She would have been lovely in life, but the flesh was beginning to show signs of corruption...sadly leaving her no more than a slowly rotting corpse. He continued to draw down the cloth and noted the damaged throat...ripped and torn....so badly so, that He could discern the neckbone thru the ruin. Here He paused and bent to look closely....No stranger to the damage a body could sustain, He remained calm, sharp eyes searching....and His brow furrowed as He frowned. Thes certainly did not look like the wounds caused by the teeth of any animal He was familiar with. No....the flesh was not ripped, but rather torn. He stood and just looked, fingers softly stroking His beard...and an idea popped into His head. The poor lass was still dressed in what she had died in, the bloodstains proving that conclusively. He doubted any had the courage to inspect the body further...but the niggling thought gnawed at Him...and softly He whispered to the dead lass, knowing she would not hear....but perhaps her shade would understand...and forgive Him...

"Forgive Me, lass.....for what I must now do....'t shall nae take Me long..."

So having said, He drew Himself up and reached for the hem of the simple country dress she wore...grasping it and drawing it upwards, mindful to not touch the body itself. After He had drawn the hem up to the waist, He drew one of His dagges...carefully cutting away the smallclothes she wore underneath...and what He saw brought a grimace to His features....Her nether region was horribly bruised...so badly bruised that He could only imagine the pain the poor girl had suffered...Grimly, He withdrew the dagger, and drew the hem of the skirt back down, returning her modesty to her. He had found what He sought...and it angered Him. Replacing the dagger to it's sheath, He re-covered the body with the cloth....then pressed fingertips to lips and then pressed them to her forehead....a whispered..."I'm sorry, child...let thy spirit find peace, now....for at least I know the truth"...His anger mounting, He stands and looks about the room, then speaks to no one....

"Wolves...do nae rape their prey......"

[Will the Stable Lad]

*He had his instructions, take care of the horse and make sure the job be done properly. One glance he caught of the man as he entered the Inn told him he was an important man from the Castle.....bigger than he had expected, much bigger. His horse was as big and his fingers trembled slightly as he untethered the reins from the post. He offered the back of his hand to let the black stallion smell him, all the while speaking in a gentle but slightly awkward manner. The beast snorted and nodded its head...he was a bold one for sure. Will was in awe of his stature.

Slowly but now with a firm grip on the reins...he lead the horse to the stables and fastened the gate behind him, although he felt this horse would not leave where it knew the Master to be. He felt calmer now within his own territory and started to go about taking off the heavy saddle. Everything about the leather..the stitching and the condition of the horse told him it was well loved and cared for.

He plied fresh hay about the front of the stall and placed a few handfulls of oats into the trough. He felt uneasy still and every noise unnerved him.....if those wolves got anywhere near him...he shuddered then and checked the small dagger within its sheath.

With fresh water and a good brush down, the horse seemed content... he looked upon it in wonderment. It had seen many a battle he could tell by the wounds that had healed...he assumed the big man would have many too.....he swallowed hard then and set to making his own bed within a corner. He would stay here tonight so as to be sure the horses were safe.

As he blew out the lantern...he shivered again and thought back to the poor girl in the depths of that cold place. He pulled his blanket up tightly around his neck, almost hiding his head beneath it. Visions of wolves and battles filling his mind as he closed his eyes to the day.*

[Dorian Hawkmoon]

He had rested fitfully at best after leaving the body in the coldroom.....no more than a few short hours had He slept. Up with the dawn, He had once again met with the village elders at the inn. The conversation turned ugly very soon, however, when the ugly spectre of superstition reared its ugly head...He could hardly believe His ears....and scowled as He hear the word "werewolf"....He had allowed just a slip of His temper, then....and the fools had nearly fallen over themselves trying to get away from Him. In the end, not trusting the villagers a bit.....He had buried the poor girl Himself...no cleric, yet He had spoken a few words over the lass....and finished with a promise to bring her killer to justice. After that, He had hoisted Himself into Steppers saddle and made the long trip back home....