The still forms of Auberon Greatstag, and beside him Tua’la the siren alchemist, lay starkly before you. You of all people would be the last to be called squeamish, but the blood pooling beneath them sets your stomach lurching. This, at least, is no ruse. Now there are two actual murders to mete justice for.
It’s awful to be standing here, looking over Auberon’s body once again. Unfortunately, the similarity ends there. Unlike the expression of calm relief he wore before, now poor Auberon has the anguished look of a man betrayed. Justice shall be served for these two so coldly slain, you swear by all the forces of nature.
The dagger in Auberon’s back is slender and sharp, honed to a lethal edge, just as the one with Tua’la. With a weapon like this, anyone could be a killer. The handle bears an ominous sigil of a crescent moon with a dagger beneath it.
You check the body of the misfortunate sea-siren, holding on to one final spark of hope. Could the alchemist have managed a concoction to fake this? There’s no doubt that her death is real; no spell or elixir could emulate the look of sheer horror on her face, her mouth left agape with the killer’s name forever bound to the tip of her tongue.
The dagger in Tua’la’s back is slender and sharp, honed to a lethal edge, just as the one with Auberon. With a weapon like this, anyone could be a killer. The handle bears an ominous sigil of a crescent moon with a dagger beneath it.
