He'd been in this small town for 3 days. There was no library, nothing apart of the great unknown around him to be pursued, as far as he could tell. He was planning on leaving until he'd gotten word of the poor Cleric of {Sun God} being struck down in her own temple. "Forestfall is a small town," they said. "Nothing like this ever happens here!" According to the book he'd picked up about criminal investigations, this was a normal response. If anyone admitted that murder was a common occurrence, they were suspects themselves. At least because it meant they spent a lot of time around people who did murder, frequently.
He turned the page on "Nil's Book of Law Enforcement". He did not know who Niliraynth Lionhart was, but he got a sense that he wasn't an expert on the matter. According to the chapter he just completed, if he could get access to the body, he could start determining things like cause and time of death. He snapped the book shut. He looked first to his left, then to his right. Still the empty tavern he first sat down in. Standing up, the chair creaked in relief and the plank floor below his footfalls gave away his hurried pace.
"Well where you goin' now?!" a voice whined from behind him.
He turned around to face the bar. The human bartender, a short, sad sack of a man, balding with slumped shoulders met his gaze.
"The local constabulary –"
"The local whaaaaaat?" the tavernmaster honked.
He paused. Slowly took a deep breath and began again.
"The local guards haven't yet solved that Poor Cleric's murder. I am a Private Investigator. I am going to aid the local law enforcement."
"Buuuuuuuuut you said you were a wanderer when you walked in here!" The tavernmaster asserted. "You can't be a wanderer and a private eye!"
"Of course I can. Both at the same time if I try hard enough."
He turned back around and faced the town around him. The sun shone through the canopy of trees above him, bathing the central path between the dark wood single-room cabins in an intense noon day sun.
He was a man of moderate height. His skin was dark and matched his brown eyes. His hair, black and cloudy in texture. His robe was simple and silk, belted at the waist and showing what he thought was a tasteful amount of male cleavage. He wore no shoes.
He walked in the direction of the temple and noted an odd sight pass him by. A lady Orc with a lady Catfolk sitting on her shoulders walking into town. Behind them he noted a boy clad in leather armor, whose Wolf-Dog was tugging on his armor attempting to pull him back into the forest. This tug of war looks as if it could go either way.
"You. Owe. Me. A. Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" The boy panted. "You. Passed. Through. My. Woods!"
"His woods?" the man thought to himself. "I've met dryads that would have something to say about that." He snickered and continued his way to the temple. "The Druids wouldn't be happy with that statement either...nor would the elves or..." he was trailing off. Private. Investigator. Still, he found his feet slow to a stop.
"Bon Qui Qui can we please just get rid of him?"
"Child." The Orc plead. Her broad, 7-foot tall frame casting an imposing shadow over the boy. "Please let us be. I dunno wut Miss Patches is gonna ask fo' when we're back in the forest. An' I don' get paid to ignore her."
The boy, panting and red faced and sweating, shouts "FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The man raises his brow. The boy's wolf having grown impatient, sinks its teeth into his boot and pulls. The boy promptly faceplants and the wolf yanks off his boot in an attempt to drag him away.
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Working Title III: You Meddling Mortals
FantasyI ran a D&D 3.5 campaign for 6 years, having started in 2013. This is that campaign. We follow a group of big personalities through this strange and fantastical world I've created. Humans are wrestling for their space in the world vs the other race...