Order of the Red Band

While the Sheriff's Away

Sheriff Hemlock mounted his horse the morning of Oathday 27 Rova 4107. He took three city guardsmen with him from the small garrison of Sandpoint. They were riding out armed with intel of organized goblin attacks on the farmlands and the one on Sandpoint itself. Sheriff Hemlock was hoping to petition the Lord Mayor of Magnimar to send additional forces to fortify Sandpoint and send out patrols to secure the farmlands. Sandpoint was a strategic interest of Magnimar’s trading guilds. Sandpoint’s four founding families all came from Magnimar’s wealthy elite. Hopefully that would be enough to sway the Lord Mayor Haldmeer Grobaras and the Council of Ushers for support. Haldmeer was a terribly obease man who cared only for what profited him. Hemlock knew he needed to sell the man.

What he didn’t know what the new intel that Yorastor and the newcomers to town had recently discovered about Tsuto’s underground infiltration operations and the supposed dead Nualia leading some sort of assault on Sandpoint. It was her plan to steal the bones of her father that had necessitated the attack on the Swallowtail Festival. Nor did he know about some long forgotten temple to a demonic god right beneath the streets of his town. If he had his pleas for help might have gone differently in Magnimar.

The Sandpoint Garrison was left in the less than capable hands of Norman Rovanky. He grew up in Sandpoint and joined the town guard due to a lack of other options. However he has risen through the ranks and is very capable with his warhammer. Norman managed the remaining 10 men in town and had not changed the guard rotations of a 3-4 guards patrolling alone. Things were quite in control while the Sheriff is away.

Vachedi, the jailor, welcomed two new guests to his domain shortly after 8am the morning after Sheriff Hemlock left town. The trio of heroes who dropped off the bastard son of Lonjiku Kaijitsu, disgraced town elder, and a goblin told him to keep a sharp eye out on them. He always did. Vachedi was a heavily scarred Shoanti tribesman and he took his business seriously. Sheriff Hemlock was a great man from his own tribe, the first Shoanti sheriff of Sandpoint, and had hired him. Vachedi owed Belor a lot for giving him this job. Sandpoint was openly friendly to the Shoanti but tensions ran deep and it was hard to find honest work amongst the mostly Chelish descended immigrants to Sandpoint. Vachedi dropped the unconscious Tsuto in a stone cell beneath the Garrison and the goblin in a cell next to him. Both had strong iron banded doors. Nothing to worry about. Vachedi took his seat at the small table near the bottom of the stairs looking down the stone hallway to the five cells.

About an hour later Vachedi heard some scuffling in the cell and smiled as he visualized the waking Tsuto, beaten and bested, standing from the stone floor with nothing but his torn clothing. All his equipment had been taken by the group who brought him in. Heroes of Sandpoint he scoffed. They were just in the right place at the right time. Anyone would have done the same thing. Vachedi went back to working on a wood totem he was planning to give a woman he loved.

An hour later he made rounds. The goblin was crying in his cell. He had been so for most of the hour. Vachedi thought about talking to it but worried it would begin rattling on about something or another and never stop. So he didn’t. Looking in the next window he didn’t see the prisoner. With a sigh he pulled out his key and opened the door. Readying for an attack he entered the cell and was surprised to find Tsuto laying on the floor to the left of the door. He went in and kicked the prisoner with his boot to wake him. He didn’t move. “Sure, a fine trick” he said aloud. “I won’t fall for it.” He kicked him harder in the ribs. No movement. Bending forward to place an arm around the prisoner he felt a limp, dead, body. Vachedi had felt a few before. This one was just like it. Not a bit of muscle twitch in him. Totally relaxed and would weigh a time and a half his real weight. Dead weight they called it. Rolling Tsuto over he saw a purple bruise at his throat. “Had the man crushed his own windpipe?” Retreating to the hall he locked the door and went up to call for a healer who could determine what had happened. Vachedi had never lost a prisoner under his guard. This was not a good day.

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