Murder and Torture in the Old Town // Synth the Throat 35

Other than the usual burglary, robbery, riot and brawls that Ilanthor is used to it has been quiet until now. Shadowalker has kept an iron grip on the Old Town, destroying dissent from the Merchants Guild and using the threat of his much-vaunted unnatural skills to cow the population. But there have been emerging signs of challenges to the Tyrants rule, and now one of the most feared of Guilds has literally shown its hand.

Jonquil, a Merchant turncoat and ally of Master Shadowalker, has been found dead at the Northgate showing signs of brutal torture. His body was hung by a simple dockyard rope from an arch, but it is believed that the poor fellow was killed eslewhere and removed to his final hanging place later.
Many townsfolk saw the body before it was removed by men of the Watch and many saw the grisly arrangement placed on the cobbles beneath where poor Jonquil hung. A red-dyed severed arm holding an ornate broken blade was placed beneath the body – the sign of a Guild paid by the highest bidder to terrorise and kill their enemies.

.. You retrieve your knife from where it is hidden at your belt and step carefully down the road. The streets are clotted with early mist and there are shady-looking folk under the eaves. All of them look down the Way towards the river, where a few small wareshouses and artisan hovels vie for space on the very edge of the walled cliff. The screaming stops. A crowd begins to form where a young woman, her basket of washing dropped at her feet, points into the gloom cast by an archway. A body hangs there, well clothed but with its neck at an impossible angle held by a thick hessian rope. For a moment you wonder if the rags and red flesh at his feet are perhaps entrails or a severed limb, but the blood-covered hand, and the grey-steel blade that the fingers hold are not from the hanging corpse – all of his limbs are still attached
“Call out the Watch!” An old fellow at one of the hovels steps finally takes a little initiative “An’ every one of you step back and leave it be! That red hand and its blade will be covered in poison that will kill you to the touch!”
A younger fellow, uncomfortable in himself as he holds a cosh, leans a little closer to study what is the on the floor.
“How’d you know that old fella?” He asks, daring to reach up and steady where the body swings a little in the air.
“I seen the mark of the Killing Hand about thirty years ago back at the White Tree..” He says, before spitting on the floor

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