Curse of the Crimson Throne

1st Gozran, 4617

Investigation Log, Watch Sergeant Finneas Bolge

This is a log detailing my investigation of the actions of one ex-Guardsman, Clint Kolfax.  Several months ago, Guardsman Kolfax reported the death of his fiancee'.  He brought in rather tainted 'evidence' of whom he purported was responsible.  The 'suspect' Gadren Lamm, is fairly notorious within the ranks.  A drug peddler, child molester, thief and brigand… basically a scum of the lowest sort.  Also, one quite impossible to find.  Kolfax claimed to have found his wifes engagement ring at a pawn broker who under questioning, allegedly confessed to having received it from Lamm.  Convenient.  And extremely questionable.  Kolfax isn't exactly known for his brains.  When I pressed him on his discovery of the ring at some pawn broker, gods know how many of them are within this shite-hole of a city, he confessed that it was his brothers investigation.  Zhaal Vas-lil, a fledgling inquisitor of some infernal debauchery cult I've learned.  I suppose he shows up and puts you to the irons for not putting it in the wrong hole.  Disgusting.  And highly-suspect as Kolfax's lead.  I'm starting to think someone else caught Kolfax's eye and he was too dim to simply break up with the girl.  Tho, admittedly, her corpse bore none of the tale-tell markings of his normal victims.  What kind of guard needs to carry that much steel to enforce the law? 

Whatever the reasons… when I was presented this information, I had to inform guardsman Kolfax, gods do I detest writing that, 'The guard is pressed on many fronts and trying to follow many cases.  We can't spare the man-power to track down a ghost on this spurious evidence you've thrown before me.  Get out of my office and get to your patrols.'  No matter, after some colorful exclamations about my lineage and some references to interbreeding with swine, he left his tabard upon my desk with yet another colorful resignation from duty.  I can still feel the heat upon my cheeks when I think about that lout slandering my good name.  Days later, I bumped into Kolfax in a tavern, and some words were exchanged.  Then the thug suckered me and knocked me out with a series of lucky blows.  When I awoke hours later, he was long gone and none of his fellow drunkards were willing to acknowledge having witnessed my beating.  The slovenly masses do so love to stick together, like the clumps of trash that litter the harbor.

I've been watching Kolfax fairly regularly since that evening.  He seems to have a tidy sum of cash he is surviving on.  He drinks quite a bit, and doesn't appear to have a single prospect towards new employment.  This coin must be coming from somewhere.  Well, my diligence has paid off.  While the buffoon was drinking at Bailer's Retreat, someone managed to slip him some kind of signal note.  I thought at first it was a playing card that he picked up from under his mug, but further investigation leads me to believe it was actually a harrow card.  Because I followed him to the tiny abode of a Harrow Reader.  I lurked outside in a dark alley and saw two more individuals arrive.  A woman who could only be his twin sister, because they look nearly identical.  The other fits the description of his 'brother' Zhaal.  I couldn't risk getting close enough to hear what was going on, but they reappeared after an hour and change.  They left together, heading south, possible back to the tavern.  I waited until they were gone and then entered the Harrow Readers abode to question her.  The place was in disarray, and looked like it hadn't been lived in for months.  Incredibly curious.

I went back to the tavern, but I didn't see Kolfax or his 'family' around.  I returned to the barracks to write down the beginnings of my investigation because I am starting to think Kolfax is involved in something criminal.  Or worse.  I knew following this churl was a stroke of genius.  Tomorrow I will trail him again.  I'll be sure to thank him for my promotion when this is all over.  Captain Bolge… I do like the sound of that.

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