The woman takes a few steps back, and shakes her head. "Afore we know it, we'll all be murdered in our beds by Orcs, Trolls, and Goblins."

John looks desperately at the paladin -- Kod, was his name? -- to handle the woman. Dealing with lunatics is out of his pay grade.

Kod tries to maintain a passive face, but he can't help smiling at John's reaction to the woman. Upon hearing Steve's words, Kod looks over to the goblin. Funny, he couldn't recall hearing the goblin's name. Making a mental note to ask the priest about the goblin later, Kod says to Steve, I'll see what I can do." Moving between John and the small rabble, Kod clears his throat so as to draw attention from the two elderly men and the woman.

"Orcs and trolls maybe, but as far as I know goblins help anyone as long as gold and their pockets are involved," Kod says while looking at the woman. "The Stormwind Guard is actively working to protect everyone from any threat outside our borders and within. In order to accomplish this we need your cooperation, and currently that entails having you all clear out of the area so we can do our job of investigating what happened. It is the only way we can go about properly finding out who committed this horrible act and bring them to justice," Kod continues saying as much to the woman as to the men with her. Hopefully, he was able to convince them to leave.

"Yeah, listen to the paladin. We're hard at work here." (John uses Aid Another.)

John (How do I name a spoiler?):


Your words seem to soothe the ruffled feathers of the woman, and she stumps off, muttering about Orcs and a big frying pan she kept under her bed. The old men shrug and go back to whittling on a bench in front of a tailor's shop. Periodically glancing up to watch you enter the building.

I take some steps after the woman, trying to engage her. "You know these soldiers, always so stuck up in their ways. You've piqued my interest though, so I'll gladly lend an ear. What makes you think it was orcs? They are hardly known for their subtlety.

The lady turns and grins at the little Gnome. "Ah, finally someone who will listen! Well," she says conspiratorially, "Old Mr. Trout - bless him, pour soul, had a sister in Goldshire, ever such a dear, that one, one time his boy burned a batch o' cakes I had asked up for my niece Clarica's birthday - oh that Clarica loves her cakes, she always asks for blue icing on everything, getting to be a bit of a compulsion of hers, but there you are, it's better than what most young girls are up to these days. Take that young hussie from Northsire! I've no doubt you heard about her and that baron from the south. Stole his wife right out from under his nose! Never heard the like!"

She pauses, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the burnt cakes. Anyway, he says to me, he says, 'Mrs. Fiddlum, I'll not have you paying for these cakes what my hired boy here burned,' and he offers me a whole bag o' scones and to rebake the cakes, free of charge! Bless him." She smiles, staring off into the distance.

"But then he was murdered, poor chap. It was them Horde, you mark my words."

"Oh, don't fret, deary. Stranger in these parts? Well, I'll tell you." She leans in close to Finnora and says in a whisper that everyone hears, "This baker, as you probably didn't know, would make a lot of the breads and such for the people at the cathedral, and some of them folks up at the castle. Mayhaps the Horde wanted him to poison the cakes or bread or whatnot so as to kill some high-standing folks. 'Haps he wouldn't do it, and so they done away with him!"

Kod enters into the bakery, disregarding the the happenings outside. He moves just to the side of the entrance so as to not block it. Glancing around, Kod takes time to assess the conditions of the bakery.

Inside the bakery looks much the same as any other shop. A wide, clean counter has several baskets of rolls and cookies on it, shelves have loaves of bread, and there are pedestals and a wide case with pies, cakes, and desserts. Behind the counter is a doorway that leads into a back room. The floor is of well-worn boards. All this can be seen by anybody who enters.

"That is indeed a great shame, I should have given them a try before the fire went out. Live with gnomes for too long, and you lose appreciation for the finer traditions of bakery. You'd better not guess what we experiment with in our frosting."
"Who was this sister you said? I don't believe I quite caught you. Oh, she must be feeling eminently miserable about all this, and the poor boy too. But surely anyone would in this situation." Not wanting to directly comment on her rather excited demeanor, he just trails off his words with a subtle remark.

"Oh he wasn't his boy, but his hired boy, if you take my meaning, sir. And as for his sister, I dunno much about her, other than she lives in Goldshire."

"Ah, I see. Well, it might be for the better if she is not that well known, otherwise the perpetrator might get ideas. On that, I should probably prod into the bakery myself, so let me excuse myself. Take care, and watch out for greenskins. Although it is probably your own kin you should be most wary of. Whispering to nobody and himself, Wedrix leaves the lady and enters the bakery. "Greetings again. Anyone made Mr. Trout speak yet? Old man has a sister apparently, according to the overly chatty lady outside."

"Well, here you are," John says nonchalantly. "Go do your detective thing or whatever it is you adventuring folk do. I'll be keeping an eye on things to make sure everything's above-board."

John clanks into a corner of the room, takes off his helmet, and sits down on a convenient stool. He surveys his surroundings with all the alertness of a drowsy guard dog.

Giving a small grunt, Kod moves from his place at the entrance and makes his way across the room to the counter. Moving around behind it, he tests to see if the door there is locked.

There is no door, actually, and inside he sees the bakery proper. A wide, brick oven is installed at one wall, with two grated levels and a cold hearth beneath it. This is probably where the bulk orders of bread and such were baked, while the cast iron stove beside it probably played host to cakes, pies, and dainties. In the center of the room, a wide, rough wooden table is littered with a big mixing bowl with crusted batter, a layer of flour on the table (for rolling) and a spill of the stuff on the floor in front of it, a bowl of pink icing, measuring cups, a melted lump of butter, several husks of egg shells, and jars, spoons, spreading utensils, and a big rolling pin. In one corner are piled sacks and barrels, and in a big, open cupboard are stoneware jars, bowls, and other baking supplies.
The only unusual thing is the rather pudgy, balding man in an apron who lies, face up, by the iron stove, his forehead caked in dried blood, his hand clutching a rolling pin, and on one foot a basket.

Finnora examines the corpse from a distance, her vision swimming with light, but for the shadow of death in front of her.

Wedrix tries his hand at this 'detective thing or whatever it is his adventuring folk does.'