Chapter 1: The Body

Grosh smiles. At least, you think it's a smile. He leads you up the street to a squat gray-stone building with a cast-iron orc-faced knocker mounted upon its badly hacked door. It is within sight of the impressive arena that dominates the ward. "My fav'rite establishment," One-Ear says, opening the door. Inside is a dimly lit taproom filled with an assortment of people of numerous races, all of whom look like they should be on wanted posters. In the center of the room is a massive iron cage where two individuals face off against one another, armed with only their bare fists. The crowd is watching with anticipation and betting on the results.

One-Ear strides confidently to the bar and addresses the burly bartender. "Oi, Slar! A round for me and my mates! E's buying!" He hooks a thumb towards the feline bard.

As the barmaid brings the drinks, Grosh gets down to business. "Right, then. You want to know what happened to old Abberbaugh. He was murdered, that's what." The barmaid sets the beer down on the table, and Grosh drains his and orders another. "It was... say, that beer made me hungry. Girl, some meat and cheese! And be quick with it! Anyone else want something?"

One-Ear eats like he has never seen food before, swigging beer between bites. "Adderbaugh got too close to something, dunno what. I saw the guy get murdered. It was a beautiful show. He got stabbed in the back, didn’t even know what was coming! You didn’t hear it from me, but it was one of those Dragon Claws who did it. That gang is brutal, and they kill anybody who opposes them. I’m probably dead just for telling you this! They’re in the sewers, like the rest of the filthy rats in this city."

Before One-Ear can say more, a small crowd gathers around two groups caught in a heated and passionate argument. One group is comprised of a half-dozen elves, each wearing chain armor with an exquisite-looking bow slung over their shoulder. The second group appears to be slightly larger, consisting of five humans and three halflings wearing tattered leather armor, or in some cases, none at all. As you listen to the argument, you believe they’re arguing over which group is more stealthy. Suddenly, one of the halflings points at an elf and yells, "Oh yeah? Your momma’s feet are so BIG, she wears dwarven boots!"

Anyone who desires can make a Sense Motive check (DC 15). If you beat the DC, read the spoiler.