Quinn is Back

It was early in the morning when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the guild halls- seeming to go much farther than physically possible. And yet, there it happened, rousing each collective member from their beds (or startling those already up). The clatter of running feet marked various servants heading for the wing of the guild that had once housed the Hexblade, and now his apprentice. The scream had come from the very same apprentice, but had been ominously cut off.

The door was locked, and some of the burlier people there were commissioned to break it down. “Someone, get Sir Tarek,” one of the senior servants commanded, and two pages sprinted off down the corridor, their young faces excited, despite the gravity of the situation. The thud and crash of heavy benches, found in the hall, slamming into the door echoed, nearly carrying as far as the scream.

More footsteps, other collective members arrived, or at least those curious enough to crawl out of their beds on this particularly cool and rainy day. A tremendous clatter and smash, and the lock of the door shattered, countless metal fragments from the chains on the other side ringing to the ground. Almost as a whole, the witnessing crowd flinched at what lay beyond.

It was a catastrophe.

The furniture was pulverized, wooden shards scattered across the floor, the once thick and rich carpet torn to shreds, elegant hangings crumpled and ripped. Blood splattered across every surface, somehow more than was possible that could come from the crumpled body of the halfling woman. Her face, twisted in fear, seemed to draw all eyes, before they turned accusing, to the face of her killer kneeling at her side.

Quinn’s expression was terrible, a roil of loathing, fear, and a deep pain as he stared at her body. He held the hilt of one of his rapiers, broken in half. The other part of the blade was embedded in her heart. The second rapier hung partly off a stand on the mantle, as if the apprentice had tried to grab it to defend herself before the killing blow had fallen.

The returned hexblade made no move to justify himself, sitting there in silence, almost impossibly still. Someone in the crowd choked, turning away. There was a wail, and an elderly woman broke away, running down the hall. Whispers started, accusing him, calling him murderer, despicable. Soon, the city guards assigned to the Collective halls would arrive, as they had many times, but now for an offense worse than any foolish pranks Quinn had achieved before.

Those gathered were no strangers to death, of course, but this seemed incredibly wrong, somehow.

It was now, that one would notice that the hexblade had not returned alone. Breamson was there, standing in a corner, similarly splattered in blood. The Dancer made no move to speak either, his eyes only on the half-elf, face set with a grim expression.

All the while, Quinn stayed frozen. If anyone asked him where he had been, what he did, he did not react. His upper body was bare, a keen eye catching whip lashes, burns, and other recent scars. Heavy shackles with a broken chain looked to have connected his ankles. He was gaunt, his hair was dirty and soaked. For once, no illusions hid his true mangled state, and the scars where ice ripped away his flesh were in full view.

The pages soon arrived with Tarek and any others they had picked up on their way through the guild.

@wearepaladin @weareadventurers

(I ask that people wait for paladin to reply before posting any of their reactions. Anyone is free to react, just respect what others post and wait a couple seconds before posting your own reply to give some a chance to add to the thread. Please check notes. No, this is not part of dancer’s murder mystery. This is real.)

It had been two hours since Tarek had settled in his office. His thoughts were occupied, of the wedding, of his enemy’s movements, of his options for receiving a new arm. As always, the Paladin had plenty occupy him, more so as he did it all with only one eye and his right hand.

The scream was enough to shatter that concentration of the Paladin, and the pages who rapidly knocked on his door confirmed it. Tarek felt like he’d stumbled into a nightmare visual, the surrounding onlookers horrified faces, Quinn’s gaunt visage,Breamson’s bloody features, and the body at the center of it all.

The mood was tense, liable to go whatever way he commanded, and he felt the power latch onto him like a manacle. Then..

“Take them both to separate cells, and subdue them if they resist, Call the city guard, and all non essential personnel clear the building. This is a murder scene.”

The paladin ordered, and after a moment’s hesitation, those orders were followed. The building emptied, and Tarek gave both Breamson and Quinn a searching look. Whatever he see’s, he can only shake his head before banishing them to their cells.

For a moment, he is alone, with only the body as company. Only then does he look and acknowledge body of the halfling. Atala. The girl who’d sent him baked goods while he was in recovery, who’d seemed too kind to be Quinn’s apprentice.

Her frightened gaze wounds him to his heart, and he can only close her eyes, and pray that she finds peace in the next world.

It would be up to him to find her justice in this one.