Targos

"Sorry to bother you so late, but we need to search the property. We are doing a sweep of the town, you see. There were people using magic to infiltrate and enchant the militia last night. We have to make sure we've taken care of it all." Without waiting for an answer, Alalla enters and scans the room.

Enveloped in darkness, Vincent comes into view behind Al and glowers at the little man who tries feebly to stand in their way.

The man raises an eyebrow at the companions, but steps back to allow them entry. "I am Koluhm, a servant of Kelemvor and a visitor to this town. I am afraid that I know nothing of your enchanted militia. I am about other business tonight." He gestures to the bodies laid out on the floor.

Alalla knows these three. Deirdre Galloway's raven black hair is sticky with blood, and the other two men were employees to help move and stock goods. Each of the three is missing an eye.

Alalla's voice is a snarl. "Who did this? Tell me everything. Now."

Koluhm raises his hands in a shrug. "That is what I was trying to determine, my lady."

Deirdre's mouth opens and emits a long breathless hiss. No other part of the body moves.

Koluhm glances down at the corpses. "This row of vessels here, mayhap lined up like ships? They have passed on, yes, they have sailed through this life and into the keeping of The Lord of the Dead." He kneels down next to Deirdre and cocks his head. "The speech of the dead is... wearisome. They ask, demand, call, scream for attention, and rattle on and on. And this woman here - she still lives out her last moments, yes, a frightened, gibbering thing.. howling at the moment of her death."

Koluhm shakes his head as if coming back to himself, one hand pressed against his eye as though it pains him. "Thus far I have not determined who it was who killed her, however."

Alalla swears heavily, passing a hand over her face. "That's Diedre Galloway, Vincent," she gestures weakly. "The barrel maker. I was working for her when I met the rest of you in Easthaven..." She turns to Koluhm. "We heard there's a meeting happening here. Do you know where it is? They're either going to be trouble, or are good targets." She looks down at the corpses.

Vincent looking at the magic spectrum as well as using his vision to Pierce through solid objects, Vincent gives the area and bodies a careful examination.

"I know nothing of any meeting. I am merely here to investigate these deaths as I help their spirits move on." Koluhm gestures again to the bodies. "But with just a few minutes more I believe I can learn who killed them."

To Vincent's divining gaze, there is nothing magical within the office - aside from a faint necromantic glow around Deirdre's face. As he changes his spectrum of vision, he is able to see through nearby objects. The large, broken desk has a number of drawers filled with papers and writing utensils. Set into the floor beneath the desk is a hidden safe, which appears to hold a fair number of coins - likely to be used as change for purchases at the shop. There is also a door in the back that likely leads to the warehouse.

Nothing else in the room draws Vincent's attention.

"Keep going then. I want to finish this once and for all." Alalla goes looking for the door to the warehouse. "What in the hells is happening here?" she grumbles to herself.

Vincent lets everyone know, "Looks like this was just an attack." Pointing at where the safe is, "They left the safe and money inside it."

The black-robed man nods as Alalla turns away. She finds the door with Vincent's help, but neither can hear anything from the other side.

Koluhm begins a soft chant that raises the neck hairs of those present. On the floor near the bodies is a small golden tray of incense, which he lights with a snap of his fingers. A small smoke trail rises from the tray, straight up towards the ceiling.

Then the smoke bends.

As though an invisible hook is wrapped about the middle of the small plume, it bends in the direction of the corpses. Koluhm's chanting increases in intensity and then the mouth of Deirdre's corpse opens once more to emit a dry gasp, and the smoke suddenly dives down its throat. Its one remaining eye flicks open and glows with a sinister gray light.

Then it screams, a ragged, piercing wail.

Koluhm immediately ceases his chant and grasps the corpse's hand. "I know! I know you faced a grisly end, but it is over. Peace, spirit!" The body quiets, but its eye lolls about, unfocused.

Koluhm leans closer, inches away from the animated corpse's face. "We must know, spirit. Who brought about your death?" Mouth still gaping wide, the corpse emits a sound reminiscent of soft cloth pulled over rough stone. Koluhm cocks his head and puts his ear closer to the scarred face, still grasping its hand. "Yes, but what clothes was he wearing then?"

Another dead whisper. "Was he old or young? Did he have a beard? Who was with him?" Koluhm puts his other hand to the corpse's face. "What were the last words you heard?"

One final sigh escapes the dry lips, and Koluhm releases the body. The gray light dies, and Koluhm stands and turns to the group. "A man. Fine clothes, but out of style. Older, perhaps in his fifties. Clean-shaven. Orcs dressed in black. 'It is a shame to mar your pretty face, but that half-breed monster of a woman needs to be taught a lesson... let her think old One Eye is putting his foot down. Now just hold still...'"

Koluhm blinks and clears his throat, cueing the end of his recital. "Do you know who it might have been?"

"Pomab." Alalla's voice is flat and emotionless. "A Calishite with a giant ego and pettiness to match. He helped bring the army down on Targos. He narrowly escaped death at both my hand and Vincent's." Al looks down at the corpses. "I'm the half-breed monster. Sounds like he's still working with Belhifet. Trying to tighten the noose around my neck. He'll find it around his own soon enough. First..."

Al stalks to the warehouse door and pulls it open.

Al pauses briefly to breathe away her anger at the deaths and shame at having caused them, marvelling briefly once more at how quickly the anger departs, then walks towards the voices. She goes casually, and makes no effort to hide herself or be quiet.

"...grown weak. You saw the man after the tragic events of the battle..."

Alalla knows that voice.

"He deserves a break from the burdens of leadership and responsibility...."

Getting closer, she can hear the sound of a couple dozen voices murmuring their agreement.

"And that is why - "

Alalla (and whoever is with her) steps around the edge of the wall of crates to find an area where te supplies have been cleared away to make room for a gathering. Some of the people are dressed in militia uniforms, and many others are townsfolk. They are all pointed towards one man standing upon a box: Kalden.

The man sneers down at Alalla. "And here we see the greatest threat to our home's safety. Alalla Cort, a mongrel half-breed here to lull us into safety even as she fills out fair town with her true kin - orcs!"

There is considerable grumbling from the gathered people. Perhaps in the daytime some of these people had looked on her with respect and gratitude, but at this hour, in this place, she sees fear and disgust. Loathing.

"What do you have to say for yourself, mongrel? How many more filthy orcs will you and your friends let roam our town and our land?"

Alalla meets the eyes of any that turn to to look at her with a cool expression. The hatred and loathing stings, but also fills her with some sense of relief. This is what she was expecting. She is prepared to take their hate.

"It's Blacksheaf, now, actually. But hey Kalden. Beaten any more women lately?" She leans against the wall and crosses her arms. "Friends, this is Kalden. We dated a few years back, until I realized he was a manipulative scumball. When I broke things off he tried to beat me into submission, so I ended his career in the militia. How's your arm these days, Kalden?"

Alalla shakes her head, sending her beaded locs clacking. "Frankly I expected better from you. You're scrabbling at straws, buddy. My friends and I literally came flying from the Spine of the World to save Targos. None of you would be standing here if we hadn't come. And if I wanted to conquer Targos, I would have lead the army attacking it. They asked me to. I killed their war chief and they were all chanting my name. I would have hit fast and hard. None of this 'lulling into safety' business."

Alalla rolls her eyes. They reflect red in the torchlight. She had always been careful not to be out at night because of them. She doesn't care anymore. "Honestly, Kalden. You think I'd go from that to what, eighty orcs? Please. No, instead I sent them into chaos. Remember them fighting themselves before they came at us? Then I came back to fight along side you all. To protect my home. But where were you, Kalden?" Al waves a hand dismissively.

"Anyway, the Cagebreakers want me to teach them how to change their ways. They want to learn how law and cooperation makes a people better. They were going to rebuild the wall and make themselves useful." She shoots icy glares at the group, especially the faces she recognizes. "But if you don't want them here, we will leave. I'm not sure this is the kind of example I want them exposed to, anyway."

Kalden's face darkens. "Where was I? I was defending the town from orc assassins given entry by you. With your own flame blade you nearly murdered the mayor, burning his own house down - our town hall! - around his head in the middle of the night."

He points a finger straight at her. "I saw you that night, remember? Crazed and orc-blooded, cutting down the men of our faithful militia. Not to mention how you maimed me years ago. And one of your friends used dark magic to rip the souls from one of the guards, and turned it on us to kill us! If receiving your 'help' means also letting you go unpunished when you torch and murder the people of our town, we don't want it."

As several townsfolk voice their agreement, Alalla notices that she doesn't recognize any of the militia present besides Kalden. With so few of Targos' protectors left, how could she not know these men? And why does her nose itch?

If Vincent is in sight, he can discern magical auras around everyone except Kalden. The townsfolk are surrounded by enchantment magic, and the six other militia by illusion.

"The militia are fakes," Al murmurs to her friends. She brushes her nose to settle the itch. Great Torm, open my senses and help me straighten out this mess. She breathes deeply and looks around the room.

Al uses Divine Sense.