All:

As the rain pattered across the rooftops and slipped down onto the ground, a blood curdling cry rang through the air from a middle aged woman. She had obviously dropped a small sack of fruit as she had screamed and there were plums and apples spilled out across the wet dirt floor. Just in front of her was the dead body of a withered old man who was slowly leaking scarlet blood into the mud below him. He had been murdered, as there was a bronze arrow sticking out of the man's neck which was the main source of the blood leakage.

As other civilians in the area turned around to spot the death, panic broke out amongst the dock and market traders, commoners and children scarpered and scattered around the street like a disturbed anthill. The market place had now become a target zone as yet another bronze arrow flew threw the air with pinpoint precision and struck an Elven woman in the side of her neck, causing a dark shade of thin blood to spray out in all directions, soaking some nearby children and their mother. The floor was now a bloodbath, with the two different shades of blood mingling together as it was spread about the dock by the quick scampering of feet on the dirt.

Lightning cracked through the deep purple sky, embossing the looming grey clouds as the rain shifted into a down pour and a harsh wind blew easterly from the coast, whipping the water droplets into the scared and confused faces of those who were still in the open. The killer remained unidentified throughout the panic, and now as the streets were emptying and only those who were prepared to fight remained, the rest of the people who had hidden inside the nearby tavern were peering out of the windows desperately trying to be of some help and spot the killer.

OOC to All:

Anybody is welcome to join this topic, however it would be preferred that there would be a 150 word minimum to all posts. The killer is to remain unidentified unless revealed by the DM, but this does not stop you from suspecting other NPCs or Members… or maybe even being a suspect yourself!

Curin meandered through the docks market-place, even relishing the sensation of the rain. His hair stuck close to his scalp, and the warmed rain water, as it dripped from his head, trickled ticklishly into the depth of his beard and down into his undershirts. But he was not concerned of getting even more than a little wet for the moment, he had a good room, in a good hostel, and would dry out soon enough; in his stomach was the happy weight of a particularly hearty meal, and his senses were comfortably gentled by a great pint of a fine creamy dark ale. He was nodding and smiling to anyone that would meet his eyes, and smiling, a hint of white teeth through a full beard.

Never in all his life had he seen such a variety of things to buy, nor such a variety of people selling them. He jostled amongst groups of Elves and Dwarves, and there was every imaginable kindred of Mankind there too, some tall and pale, some broad and swarthy. Curin himself was not the tallest among them, nor was he dressed the most poorly, nor handsomely. He blended into the crowd, and was happy to, delighting in the voices so musical and so varied, he fancied the market place like a kind of forest.

Then a scream cut the air. Curin flinched mightily. In spite of having no idea how he might help, hedarted through the crowd, only to stand gaping every bit as paralytically as any other that beheld the death of the elderly man. Shot in the neck with a great arrow. Curins' spit turned thick and sour in his mouth, and the weirdly calm state of battle-thought took his mind, so that he saw and heard more than he normally might. Regardless, there was no sign of whence the arrow might have come from. Curin knelt down, and closed the mans' eyes with a hand, and in doing so, removed the bronze arrow, still warm with the poor souls' blood.

Curin marveled, with horror, at the arrow; for his own kindred, the House of the Redwoods, fashioned arrows not so dissimilarly, albeit from their beloved copper colored iron, and not bronze. But he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He could not discern any markings in the bad light, and his hands were shaking, the old woman looked at him, appalled, and shuffled away with a stifled scream in her scarf. The arrow was not particularly heavy, so as to certainly be a crossbow bolt, but was quite heavy for a regular bow. The arrow, and who might have aimed it was beyond his experience to hazard a guess. He turned it in his hands, trying to wipe off the blood.

Curin stood very still, just letting everything sink into his sight, he was as tense as a serpent, as it coils itself before the strike. He was trying to perceive the extent of his vision, even to the edges of peripheral sight. All he beheld was a spraying gout of blood. An Elven-dame, immortal, fairest and wisest of all folk, and who should never come to death, turned ghostly white, and dropped, a bronze arrow in her neck. The dock turned to complete bedlam, as screaming mothers were separated from panicked children. Curin remained terribly still, but took the precaution of pulling his deep fur cloak close around his neck. He walked, against the current of those fleeing, to the side of the fallen elf. She looked up at him, her pained face turning from fear into the beatific expression of one who has seen the light at the end of the passage into the afterlife. He held her hand, and her eyes cleared for a last moment, staring into his. She smiled, her teeth colored with her own blood. Curin nodded to her, seeing her muster her bravery, for the plunge into death.
"A harya alassë samassë Mandosto"Curin said in his vary halting Elvish, which turned the floral words into something less lovely if no less beautiful, May you have joy in the halls of death! and smiled back at her, then closed her eyes for her.

The sky was as dark as a gruesome bruise, riven with shafts of lightening, as the wind and rain kicked up. Curin shivered, chilled in many ways. He looked around him, seeing moon-bright faces with gaping mouths and blank expressions in the windows of the taverns. The lightening cast its sickly light across the dock again, making the shadows crooked and uncommonly dark. He realized he was holding his breath, and gasped, holding up the arrow in the bad light.

It was dark outside, and even darker inside the room. The door was nudged open and candlelight, soft, warm and fluttering filled it. The silhouette of an uncommonly large man could be distinguished. He made his way through the slight darkness, his quietly flickering candle his only way to light his path. As he slowly walked through the room, checking the floor as he went, he finally made his way to the oil lamp on the dresser. Lighting it up, the room flooded into something a bit less dark and dingy. One more lamp stood atop the wardrobe and it was soon to follow suite. As the warm, golden light flowed over the room, it became apparent that it was the room of an inn; a room at the Wilwarin, to be precise. When the big man opened the wardrobe, a dark cloak and assortment of weapons stood within. He closed the door once more, just making sure that his gear was where he had left it.
He was wearing a tan tunic and black pants, his belt was black, but the silver logo emblazoned at the buckle was silver; it was the symbol for the Wardens of Lómëdor.

His light brown hair fell almost to his shoulders and was shaggily kept, his face was clean shaven and his eyes appeared black in the slightly dim lighting, but were actually a very deep shade of brown. He sighed softly as he sat down on the bed, taking a book off of the dresser nearby. He kicked off his boots and cracked open the book, in the mood for a nice story to relax.
The moment he did, a knock sounded at the door.
"Yes?" he said, his voice, clear and deep.
The door opened. A man, looking in a state of total disarray with wide eyes entered, a bit shaky.
"Warden Brandstone! -" he started seriously.
"I've told you, it's Chase."
"No time sir, no time. Murder, two people, not ten minutes ago, hurry!"
The warden's eyes were serious as he fastened his cloak and his myriad of weapons, the shortsword at his right shoulder, large and powerful crossbow with full complement of barbed bolts at his left. He hooked a six-bladed battle mace at his left hip and followed the man out the door.
"Nothing is ever easy..." he sighed.

(I deeply aplogize for the shortness, I am being forced off the computer as I type this.)

Anika had just recently entered the city. She blended in so easily, being just one more person in the sea of people. She loved blending in, for it was when she stood out it was most dangerous too her. She wanted to desperately to live a life without suffering and worry. She wanted to be like any other gypsy, traveling off the radar, doing as they please. Anika too traveled off the radar, but she was hunted and she had to always look over her shoulder for danger.

She was quickly pulled out of her good mood when she heard the cries of a woman. She moved with the crowd too see what all the commotion was. When Anika had gotten to the docks, her jaw dropped. She pulled down the hood of her cloak and left the crowd, running over to the body. She propped the old man's head on her lap. He was cold to the touch and most of his blood had escaped him. She was not disgusted, for she was accustom to death. She had once been a medic in the war on the moon. She felt obligated to help others when she could.

Anika knew that she could not help this man. She brought her hand down to the arrow in his neck and gave it a firm tug. The weapon grudgingly came out and what little blood the man had left spurted out. She slipped the arrow into her cloak before pushing herself up. She looked at her palms that were now bloodstained. This had not been the first time her young, firm, olive skin had been tainted with blood, and it was not going to be the last. She would always help the hurt, no matter how horrid the accident was.

Then another cry pierced through the murmurs and gossip of the onlookers. An elven woman had been shot in the neck with an arrow as well. This made Anika's blood run cold and hair stand on edge. The killer was still hunting. Her mismatched eyes began to scan the area for anyone that looked menacing. This was nearly impossible for the docks and broken out into total chaos. Children were crying, mothers screaming out, and everyone pushing through too get to safety.

The violent flow of people was too much for Anika. One girl could not stand up too all the pushing and panicked. She had been pushed past the second body, almost falling over it. She watched as the dieing woman's eyes looked so strong, then glazed over all in the second she watched. She could have saved her. If it were not for her distraction and this horrid mob of people she could have helped her! Anika fought towards the outside of the group until she finally managed to push out of the mob. She stepped towards the fresh body and did nothing but stare down at her, warms tears running down her soft cheeks. This woman probably had a family, she was probably a mother. She looked into the woman's cold eyes and remembered seeing her own mother laying dead on the ground. She felt so small and weak, like she was four all over again. The stench of death mixed with the smell of the sea, wharfing over the city.

(You may notice my post may not have such word choice as your posts. Because I am using word choice a young person such as my charry would use.)

Rafi walked among the crowd on the streets. He had looked through the many corner stores people had made to get some money to put food on the table for their families. Rafi had given a he had made that earlier week on the poor. He had just gotten back from a day with his low Nissa. He still had her in his thoughts. He gripped his new bow, the one she had bought for him.

Rafi put a hood up from his clothing as it began to rain. He would soon have to find a Inn. He loved the rain. He enjoyed how it slid down his neck and down his back. Or on his face. He loved how he could shake his head and his hair would go in all different ways. Rafi then stopped his thoughts. He was acting like a child. But at heart he was a child but Rafi had to learn when to stop his childish thoughts.

For sure he was nothing like his father. He had been brave. To command a crew at sea. He remembered the bed time stories his moth used to tell him about his fathers adventures. He thought back to how he used to jump on his bed with his brother and sister and act like pirate. His brother ferentus had always played daddy. While his sister and him always played other bad pirates. Rafi smiled at his memories and hoped he could have them forever.

A scream cut through the air like an arrow whizzing a centimeter away from ones ear. Rafi pushed through the crowd and saw a man with an arrow in his neck. Rafi Gagged from the blood that gushed from the wound. He hadn’t seen much death. He looked away and saw a women tend to the lost soul. The crowd had just…stood there in shock. Then another shriek hit the air and some began to ran then the crowd started shouting and running. He saw an elf women on the floor dead. He also saw a man speaking some sort of language that was foreign to him.

This time rafi could hold it in no longer. The vomit flowed from his mouth and rafi got his knees and let nature take its course. Rafi tilted his head and saw the grey lifeless eyes staring back at him. Rafi rolled over and shut his eyes. He hadn’t seen this much death in a while. Not innocent women and men murdered like this. Someone had to pay

It was quiet in the wilwarin inn, Shinji was having a good time listening to the rain as it was calming and soothing. Shinji got out of his seat and had asked for a mug of ale. The barkeep set the mug down as Shinji was having a interesting conversation with a tall but slender man. As he walked back to his seat near the window he heard the door slam open and man soaked to the bones rushed up to somebody's room.

When the man had came back down another man was following close behind, equiped as if he was going to war carrying a six bladed mace, a sword, and a bow at his side. Shinji was curious about what was happening, so he followed the two men out and saw that people were running to there havens frantically. When the two men stopped he could see that there were two limp bodies lying in the vicinity, they had been murdered.

He could see that the two had been struck in the neck by an arrow. He looked around to see who was there, suddenly an arrow wizzed by his ear just close enough that he could feel that it had skimmed his flesh leaving a tiny wound that was slowly bleeding. Shinji pulled out his bow and was prepared for a battle.

Another arrow spun by him this time tearing his pants near the bottom. Quickly Shinji put away his bow and drew his Katana. Shinji was running at full speed towards the man in the darkness. Shinji knew that the man in the shadows stood no chance. Shinji jumped in the air and lunged at the attacker.