The tension was high in Helmgart, the fortress city at Axe Bite Pass, with the news of the murder. A Bretonnian trader, with many enemies on either side of the Grey Mountains, had been found in a dark corner of the marketplatz mutilated near beyond recognition late that morning. A merchant, drunk off copious quantities of the finest of Eilhart wines, had settled on that particular corner to relieve his aching bladder when he found the Bretonnian torn to pieces. His shouts and blabbering brought other merchants and customers over to investigate which naturally immediately caught the eye of the guards. They were already far too late.

Alvin had tottered along down the street pulling his cloak tight against the cold, and nodded as he passed listening intently for the first signs that the merchant had been found. The marketplatz was busy, even at this early hour, and sooner or later his grim handiwork would be discovered. As more of them responded things would only get louder and angrier. The Bretonnians would suspect the Imperial Guardsmen, the Imperial Guardsmen would suspect competing Bretonnian traders, it would take time for things to settle down. A Halfling would not be missed, and in the unlikely event he were, if anyone asked questions, everything would work out just fine. The men at the gates would report that the little drunkard had stumbled down the street that morning with his beloved dog Woof as he had every day since arriving. The Halfling had walked down alongside the small fort bridge and bathed his beloved dog Woof then played fetch with it and chatted with passerby for several hours before hiking up the hill where both had napped beside the windmill until the early afternoon, as they had every day since arriving.

Laying on his back beneath the windmill now Alvin thought back carefully to determine what he might have done better. What had worked but not as well as it could have with slight alterations. What had gone wrong. How to fix that. What hadn't gone wrong, but might have gone wrong. How to fix that. What to remember as he headed back in to town.

He rolled over on to his side and scratched his ass as he heard the mill workers going about their business approach.

The water had been too cold. He'd made sure to keep a happy face on each day as he and the dog went about their routine. The dog had whined the first day, but Alvin made sure it didn't make that mistake again. It stung his skin too, but what did that really matter. It was necessary, it would clean away whatever bits of gore might otherwise later betray him.

He believed he had found the right balance between making himself memorable and remaining just another face. Small friendly enough Halfling but most would likely remember the dog more than they would remember him. The standard Halfling stories. The standard Halfling alcoholism. The standard Halfling dopey smile all the while. Spiced up just enough with the dog to feel like a complete character, if a not particularly noteworthy one.

It had taken some time this one. He'd not be able to get the body or any indisputably recognizable portion of it through the gates without being noticed. He had had to befriend The Merchant in order to figure out what might be a suitable token to prove that he had been the one to strike the blow, when news of the death eventually reached beyond Helmgart. The Merchant had known he was hated by many so he had been hard to befriend. Alvin couldn't simply focus on him either. That would be far too suspicious. Halfling arrives to town, spends all his time with hated merchant, merchant becomes his only friend, merchant is murdered, Halfling leaves town. Wouldn't take a scholar to see through that. It had taken some time, but that was one thing Alvin had in spades. Come to think of it.

Down on the hill, in the shadow of the windmill, the sleeping Halfling awakens and stretches luxuriously, leaning against his dog, Woof. Like he does, every day. The Halfling lifts his head to the sky and apparently decides he's had enough slumbering in the grass for today.

"Ain't that the life?" asks one Imperial guard to another, gesturing to the dopey little man and his dog as they make their way up the hill.