Chapter 4: A Motley Crew

Used to seeing just about anything, Phinn still paused upon noticing the hulking brute who tossed the blond-haired swordsman into the street. After an initial startle, Violet swiftly recovered, stepping over the groaning man to reach the stoop. Shrugging slightly, Phinn followed suit.

“Zymona,” the brute greeted, gesturing for her to enter after holding the door open for her.

“Taking out the trash, Clubber?” the plum-haired sorceress asked.

Phinn nodded his greeting at the medieval version of a professional wrestler. Raucous laughter, clinking mugs, and a singing minstrel met the teen detective’s ears first. Next came the smells—spilled beer or ale, roasted (if not fried) meats, stale sweat, and woodsmoke. A few additional sweet or nauseous scents screamed pipe smoke of varying legality.

Dimly lit by electric bulbs masquerading as candles, glowing orbs, and a crackling fire, the busy bar felt like something straight out of a fantasy novel to Phineas. Deep, high wooden booths created shadowy nooks—a mounted head of a fictional beast served as a menacing overseer.

A mix of farmers, peasants, merchants, and travelers offered a non-threatening clientele. Adventurers kept patrons on their toes, guessing whether they might be champions, knights, mages, bandits, thieves, or other sorts of scoundrels. Many of the latter group sat hunched over tables, poring over maps, shooting dice, or counting coins. One clean-cut group stood before a ceiling-high map of the Realm, planning their adventure.

Scanning the large, main room, Violet gestured toward an empty booth in the left front corner. Taking their seats, Phinn and his client slid around the curved booth until they sat in the back, where they could monitor a decent portion of the Thirsty Jug.

“We’ll wait for Lorah to order,” Violet said, using her friend’s character’s name.

“What’s the deal with the guy getting tossed out? Is that a regular occurrence?” Phinn queried.

“With Goldlance? Sometimes. He’s a womanizing sellsword who never gives up. Arrogant prick thinks Princess Delicia fancies him. As if Britt would ever,” Violet said, whispering the last line.

Phinn nodded in understanding. A sellsword could be another name for a mercenary in a fantasy world. Rather than focus on the tossed man, he inquired about the brute’s occupation.

“Clubber isn’t the bouncer. Um, I can’t recall the Jug ever having one. No, Clubber Oxon is a member of the Sons of Scorporon. It’s a group that straddles the line between lawful and evil, though not necessarily neutral,” the school actress divulged before shifting her voice to mimic a game show announcer. “Now, let’s see what assortment of oddballs got racked onto our table today.”

The junior sleuth observed with mild amusement as his classmate leaned to the right to survey the room. Her gaze appeared to narrow in on the people milling around the bar or sitting on barstools. A tsk-tsking sound came as she chose the first contestant to introduce.

“First up is Rednose. I bet a great detective like you can guess which person I mean. Well, Rednose is the town drunk. That’s not a character or role. Okay, he is quite a character, but not the type most of us are playing. Rednose is an old drinking buddy of Boone’s. He worked for the old fair before it closed, and never left.”

“I still question Mr. Brewster’s business acumen,” Phinn muttered, checking out the clearly drunk fiftysomething.

"Next is that rather seedy-looking fellow. Alright, that describes many people in here, but the one in the dirty, dark tan cloak," Violet said, nodding at a scruffy man in his thirties. "That's Felston, the town's alleged ratcatcher. I say that as I've never seen a single rat or mouse. Luna saw a dead rat one time. However, we strongly suspect Felston planted it and waited until several people had come down the alley before making the discovery. Still, he apparently gets paid every week. It can't be much, and it's likely a waste. Several pet cats wander around Crownhold."

“Don’t mention rats around Jake,” Phinn warned, recalling the one supposedly haunted house incident four years ago.

“The big guy who rivals Clubber in size is Thard. He’s the town simpleton. I’ve heard he’s an ex-wrestler.”

“Really?” Phinn responded, noting another man in his fifties.

“Low-level circuit or whatever they call it. He also worked for the old fair as a performer while wrestling here and there,” Violet said. “Nice guy. Willing to help out, but not all there.”

Before Phinn could ask about Clubber’s usual employment, a loud voice caught their attention.

“Rip Steelstrider? Are you for real? I hardly think so. Princess Delicia has plenty of better opt–What? Oh, hello, Rip! Not protecting the caravan today?” a man in a lime green tunic and brown pants questioned before turning to hiss at his drinking companion. “Why didn’t you tell me he snuck in?”

“That’s Chatman Tellbell,” Violet disclosed, nodding at the sandy-brown-haired town gossip and loremaster. “It sounds like they’re back to debating who the princess will marry and betting which admirer will escort her around the rose garden behind the church.”

“Yessiree, the leader of the Champions of the Scepter would make a mighty fine consort for the future queen,” Chatman continued.

“But I thought Syril Brightborn was the most worthy in your eyes,” another patron pointed out.

“The Peacock Legion leader? I think not! We don’t even know if he prefers the company of ladies over–”

“Lay off, Chat. Everyone knows that Syril is porking Lady–”

“How dare you, sir?” Chatman cried. After a moment, he leaned over to hiss, “I told you that in the strictest confidence.”

“My money is still on Lomar Windwing,” a different patron stated.

“Bahhh!” the gossipmonger responded, dismissing the candidate.

“Luna has arrived,” Phinn announced, noticing her entry.

“Lorah. You need to remember to use our character names. Lorah,” Violet repeated before muttering about Jake hopefully being better. Sitting up, she waved to catch her friend’s attention.

“Whatever you say, Miss Entrancer,” Phinn replied, snarkily. The dirty look that followed didn’t faze him.

They watched as the fictional bard and Robin Hood-style thief approached their table. Lorah Underlap halted after studying their empty table. Hands thrown to the side, followed by a drinking motion, and a raised finger sent Luna off to order them drinks at the bar.

“Why, you libidinous, no-good trollop! You’ve got monumental nerve returning after what you pulled, Underlap!”

After a glance at Violet, Phineas slid to the edge of the booth in time to see a sleek, toned, dark-skinned warrior standing beside a booth, glaring at Luna from about fifteen feet away. A fierce-looking fighter with an athletic figure and medium-sized breasts, she stood decked out in a half-breastplate, metal bracers, and a blue-armored skirt, yet she still showed off a significant amount of skin. Phinn might have noticed the lack of an obvious weapon, but his attention zeroed in on her black mohawk.

“Me? So says the trollwhore.”

Cheers and heckles about the fight broke out after the initial gasps.

“I’ll be right back,” Violet said softly, leaving the booth.

“Lies! My awakening under the old, fallen bridge near that foul beast came by pure happenstance,” the warrior argued.

“What say you about the horny hobgoblin found in your tent, Ironrump?” Luna challenged.

The warrior called Ironrump stormed the rest of the way to Luna, cocking her arm. Another woman in leather armor rose from the booth next to Ironrump’s starting position and moved toward the pair. Moments before Ironrump could deliver a blow, a dagger came around to touch the front of her neck.

“I say that Lorah placed that hobgoblin in your tent and you deserved it, Whipley,” Violet proclaimed, appearing out of nowhere after sneaking alongside the bar. Phinn also recognized the actress’s voice and demeanor shift into Zymona. “Perchance, if you ever get separated from your quartet in the Savage Land again, you can bed among the goblins this time.”

Whipley Ironrump chuckled at the statement. Then her voice rose, and the chuckles turned into full-fledged, boisterous laughter. Throwing her head back, she pushed the dagger away to hug Violet. The leather-armored woman came over to hug Luna, too. Then the pairs switched and shook hands.

“We wondered when you’d arrive,” the leather-clad ranger said. Phinn finally got a solid look at her. The woman wore lightweight, studded leather armor in brown and tan, leather braces, and thigh-high boots.

“Us? I’ve been here. Only Zymona left for a night. You’re the ones who went off to study–I mean, traverse the nether regions,” Luna shot back.

“Join us,” Whipley ordered, slapping her lightly on the back of the head.

“Sorry, we can’t. We brought a new guest to show around,” Violet explained.

“Spoilsport!” Whipley declared.

“Aye, soon! You must hear the tale of the Dragon Horde we defeated north in Vorsyk this spring,” the ranger divulged. “Lorah needs the details to sing our praises in her travels.”

Laughing, the young women hugged again before Violet and Luna picked up their drinks from the bar. Returning, the bard slapped down a yellowish liquid in front of Phinn. He asked about its contents with a wary expression.

“Sweet nectar of the citrus,” Luna announced, tilting her tankard to show off a reddish liquid. “Crimson pucker.”

“She means lemonade and cranberry juice,” Violet said, taking a sip to reveal a slight milk mustache afterward.

"I thought we started our day off with trouble. It seemed fitting for Jake and me," Phinn admitted.

“Nah, those are our girls,” Luna laughed.

“That was Whipley Ironrump, real name Pansy Pierse. Don’t ask what Pansy is short for; she refuses to tell,” Violet revealed.

“Gilda knows, but I’m not sure about the others,” Luna said.

“That’s because they went to high school together. Pansy is from Anchor Rock. As Whipley, she and two of her companions took us under their wing a few years ago,” Violet recounted. “We learned a lot from them. Yet, we also never felt like we fully fit in, so they added a fourth girl when we declined membership.”

“Who’s the other woman, the one in leather? She possibly looked familiar,” Phinn said.

“Idalis Dansor, ranger and leader of the Dashing Doves. You might be right. Have you ever met Dove Morneau around Edgewater?” Violet inquired.

“Ah, I’ve heard of her. A graduate from South High, I’d say three years older than us. Popular cheerleader. I’m surprised to find her here,” Phinn stated, earning glares. “No offense. I can’t imagine any of our current cheerleaders at North High traipsing around the forest in battle armor.”

“Dove’s cool. She’s a dance major in college,” Luna defended. “Minoring in theatre.”

“You implied that her group is all-female, correct? A dove tends to be known for love or peace, not a warrior. Although I presume her real first name influenced the choice. Still, dashing is usually applied as a male description, and those two definitely aren’t dressed as men,” Phinn pointed out.

“The sexy gear is one reason we didn’t feel comfortable,” Luna revealed, while Violet nodded at her friend while looking at Phineas. “But that’s nothing. Wait until you get a look at–”

"Well, I'll be!" a hearty voice roared. A tall, stocky man in a mustard-yellow shirt, brown pants, and a white apron stood beside their table. He had neck-length, sandy-brown hair, light-brown eyes, and a broad grin. "A trickster did not fool my vision. Hello…"

“Pero Plive, monsterologist,” Luna supplied.

“Pero, it feels like ages since we last shared a fire.”

“Um, it’s been barely over a month since we last saw each other, uh…” Phinn trailed off, searching for help.

“Tancard Caskbottom, owner and operator of the Thirsty Jug!” the barkeep declared. “Alas, disappointment does not reach my heart, for I know that the great Pero has encountered numerous folk along during his hunts.”

“Still, I apologize for not remembering–”

"Fiddlesticks!" Tancard cried, brushing the issue aside. "Come, order your lunch. It's on the house today."

“Thank you, Mr. Caskbottom,” Luna and Violet said simultaneously.

“Think nothing of it,” Tancard said, slapping Phinn’s shoulder. “Pero Plive in my tavern of all places. Incredible!”

Once the man was out of earshot, Phinn turned to his classmates. “Mr. Englestad works here?”

“He’s a lifer,” the bard revealed. “Been coming here since before the fair closed, and he’s not a worker. He actually owns the Thirsty Jug. Fine, he rents the building from Boone, as they are friends.”

“Somebody looks to be a favorite student,” the plum-haired sorceress teased.

“Please, I disappoint him constantly in chemistry class. My dad is the chemistry professor, not me. I don’t know shit about that stuff,” Phinn admitted, shaking his head at the North High School teacher being a fixture in the LARPing community. Before he could mention Jake’s opinion, another voice squealed.

“Pero! I can hardly believe my eyes! I thought Tancard jested. This is a surprise and an honor.”

While Phinn placed his chemistry teacher at around thirty-five years old, this woman with shoulder-length honey-blonde hair, light brown eyes, large breasts, and a curvy behind sat probably two or three years younger. She currently wore a very low-cut white-and-apricot dress. Motioning for Luna to get out of the booth, that abundance of cleavage found itself mashed into Phinn’s face during a smothering hug.

“Hunney Butterworth,” Violet whispered.

“Seriously?” Phinn mouthed back.

“A living legend in our midst,” Hunney declared, then pulled back to pinch his cheek. “Bards have carried the tales of your recent exploits to our ears. Vanquishing that terrifying sailor spirit sounded amazing. The more stunning feat had to be defeating that lich before he could corrupt those nobles and minstrels into his undead followers.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Phinn replied, elbowing a softly giggling Violet.

“And what of your bodyguard? Is he here among us?” the buxom blonde inquired, appearing almost ecstatic at the possibility.

“Jarl Bustard recently departed Crownhold within the last hour to escort a caravan to…” Phinn looked over at Violet.

“Griffin Keep.”

“Yes, to Griffin Keep. He shall return before midday tomorrow,” Phinn finished.

“My goodness! I shall pray for his safe and uninjured return,” Hunney said, breathily.

Luna and Violet exchanged a look, eyebrows raised.

“I am sure he appreciates your concern, Mrs. Butterworth,” the junior sleuth replied, making the grown woman titter.

“It’s Miss or Ms. now, my lad. Let Jarl know. Now, what is your desire?”

With Ms. Butterworth leaning forward on the table, the question momentarily confused Phinn. He might not always be horny like Jake, but the less sociable teen couldn’t help but gawk at the sinful slopes directly in front of him.

“Pero strikes me as a chicken man,” Violet speculated, earning a tiny nod.

“Make that two,” Luna added.

“The usual salad, dear?” Ms. Butterworth asked, barely waiting for Violet to agree.

“Mrs. Ringle is also here? She’s Jake’s favorite substitute teacher,” Phinn relayed.

“I think she’s the favorite substitute for most guys in Edgewater,” Violet remarked. “And as she pointed out, she’s getting a divorce.”

“A byproduct of Engelstad, if you believe the rumors,” Luna revealed, surprising Phinn. He didn’t think his chemistry teacher had that level of charisma. “Talk is the pending divorce came about because they kept playing their roles here back in the real world.”

“Jake’s going to be despondent. Engelstad is a tough grader, so he’s on his shit list,” Phinn disclosed, worried further about his partner’s state of mind during this case.

While waiting for their food, Luna turned to fill them in about Jake’s group with the trade wagon. She gave a brief rundown of the supposed items being delivered (along with the actual goods) and who she saw in the group.

“Spendthrift is representing Prospero with two Concord Knights and one other squire.”

“That’s it?” Violet questioned with an alarmed expression.

“Two additional knights were supposed to arrive after I left. No one else is still allowed to accompany them,” Luna added.

“Let’s hope Jake’s first skirmish is a small band. Spendthrift is bound to annoy him. He takes his character and its role seriously in a pompous way,” the sorceress noted.

After worrying about his best friend in a strange, unfamiliar setting, Phinn moved on to suggest that the girls bring up the ghost sightings to their fellow patrons in hopes of sparking a discussion. Luna had a better idea. She went off and brought Chatham Tellbell to their table. Brief introductions followed for the two men.

At this moment, Phinn pondered the shift in his two classmates' dynamic. Back in Edgewater, Violet came off as the popular, friendly, and go-getting lead actress, while Luna could be called a quiet, super-shy supporting actress. Here in Crownhold, their role and demeanor seemed to have flipped. Phinn speculated it might have to do with their characters, but the differences felt odd.

“A monsterologist? No wonder Tancard and Hunney sounded excited. They acted as if a celebrity had walked into the Jug. Uh, well, you know what I mean,” Chatham said, aware that he used an improper word for the setting. “Tell me about your adventures, Plive.”

“First off, our friend is interested in the Grisella sightings,” Violet interrupted softly.

“Ah, seeking to ghost hunt?” Chatham chuckled, his eyes lighting up.

The loremaster/gossip repeated the same stories Violet told Jake and Phineas. The initial sighting this summer took place during the first week of June near Skulkshore. Two weeks later, Grisella appeared along Hopewell Road, a short distance from the Lusty Sylph. Finally, two nights ago, the ghost surfaced at the Shrine of Taithlor. However, just as Phinn grew bored, Chatham dropped a gold nugget.

“But wait, there was another sighting. Less than an hour before the shrine haunting, a patron of the Lucky Sylph saw the ghost outside near the stables. Most years see one sighting, if any. Four is a substantial increase.”

Unfortunately, the gossip had nothing else. Yet, Phinn hoped that it could help narrow down the ghost's starting point. Another misfortune came when Jake had already departed on his trip. His partner could've asked around. That's if his superstitious side didn't flare up.

Seeking anything more, Phinn brought up the notion of a curse out of nowhere. Luna looked surprised, but Violet played along, nodding sagely at his question.

“A curse? Never heard of one. Why?” Chatham challenged.

“It may be nothing. Yet, I heard that your kingdom experienced a fire earlier this summer. It was said to have occurred not far from the sight of your phantom’s tragic death,” Phinn pointed out.

“That’s a foolish idea. There is no such curse,” Tellbell proclaimed. His harshness took Violet and Luna aback. “Careless newcomers caused the fires, nothing more.”

Hunney Butterworth returned with their food, sending the Chatham back to his barstool. The substitute teacher/cook/barmaid placed several plates on the table before handing over a condiment tray with ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and salad dressing. Each had been transferred into a small glass jar.

“Chicken tenders?” Phinn questioned, smirking. He’d been led to believe that most of the food in the LARPing Realm had to fit the period.

“What can we say? The kitchen is a forbidden land of evil inventions, said to be created by gnomes,” Violet joked, pouring ranch dressing onto her salad.

“Courtesy of the county health and food safety guidelines,” Luna added. “The Jug and several other places here are classified as actual restaurants, so they need to follow the law. Fried chicken and French fries are just one more thing to fake around here. The Feasthall is far more subtle compared to the Jug about appearances.”

“Jake is going to drop to his knees and cry when he discovers this dishonesty,” Phinn said, taking a bite after grinning.

Ten minutes passed as the trio ate their lunch.

“Is there a problem?” Phinn asked. The question startled the girls, coming out of nowhere. That’s when they noticed a man lingering near their booth.

Dressed in a mishmash of armor and carrying a longsword, the man stepped over to stand beside the table.

“Your face. I know it from somewhere. A wanted poster?”

“Move along, Harbred. Pero is new to this land. He doesn’t have a bounty on his head,” Violet responded.

“We shall see. I also don’t take kindly to your attitude, witch.”

“You wouldn’t take kindly to your manhood turning green, would you?”

Pointing at his eyes before doing the same to Phineas, Harbred returned to his table.

“A bounty hunter?” the monsterologist queried.

“Zestin Harbred. He’s one of the Sons of Scorporon that I mentioned. Their namesake worked as the Realm's first and only bounty hunter for years. He retired last summer. Moved to hell,” Violet smirked. “As in Florida.”

“I presume he knows my face from the newspapers or TV reports,” Phinn said, dismissing the bounty hunter.

“Not necessarily,” Luna said.

“Have you guys ever had a case involving Hilltop Academy?” Violet inquired.

“Ugh! That place?” Phinn groaned about the private, religious school on the outskirts of his hometown. “Not recently. Who is he?”

“Zion Izzo. I believe he also graduated around three years ago,” the lead actress explained.

“We tend to avoid that place and its people. Jake, Dusty, and I never mixed well with wholesome people or assholes claiming to be such. However, the Izzo family name sounds familiar,” Phinn admitted.

Fortunately, Phinn could drop the Hilltop talk for a few minutes, as a head popped into view by their booth.

“Hey, we’re off to Locksley Manor for a few days. We should be back on Saturday, so let’s plan to meet and catch up,” Idalis said. On closer inspection, Phinn saw that the dance major kept her cheerleader figure, if not improved it.

“A job?” Violet asked.

“The lady of the manor is claiming her angry ancestor is haunting it…again,” Idalis revealed, not sounding excited by their ghostbusting.

“Hopefully, they changed it up this time. The old setups are beyond boring by now,” Whipley commented, joining Idalis in standing beside the table.

“Zymona, hello!” a third young woman greeted, joining the others.

As someone familiar with fantasy or sword-and-sorcery settings, Phinn immediately pegged the third member of the Dashing Doves as a cleric. She wore a gold leather tunic, a belt with numerous pouches, brown boots, and a white cloak. In her hand, the cleric also held a quarterstaff.

“Sundae!” Luna squealed and scooted over to hug the cleric.

Pero Plive made brief introductions to Sundae Glasel, Whipley Ironrump, and Idalis Dansor. Phinn sighed with relief that Idalis didn’t appear to recognize him in the shadowy booth.

“So, what’s the deal? Which one?” Whipley queried, hinting at a coupling.

“Nothing like that,” Violet replied. “Pero and his friend came by to help us with something for Delicia. Jarl is out with the trade run this afternoon.”

“Sounds like a story hiding in there. But we need to skedaddle for now,” Idalis said.

“Where’s Tianna?” Luna inquired.

“Shit!” the leader of the Dashing Doves swore. “Whip, get her away from Steelstrider. Drag her out if you have to.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll help,” Sundae offered.

The trio at the table couldn’t see the action, though they heard it. Phinn watched as Sundae rushed ahead to push open the door, making sure no one entering would block Whipley as she half-carried, half-dragged a very buxom caramel blonde out of the Thirsty Jug.

Leaning forward, Phinn took in the blonde’s leather corset and silk dress. She didn’t look like a warrior, despite a coiled whip on her belt and the light crossbow that Idalis

carried for her. When those blue eyes shot over in his direction and that Double D-created cleavage flashed, Phinn groaned.

Only his groan didn’t come from arousal; it came from recognition.

“Is that…”

"Titianna Triste. Courtesan-turned-something. One day she's an archer; another day, a thief or spy. I don't know how the others put up with it," Violet commented.

“No, I meant is she–”

“Keturah Krinsky? Yep,” Luna confirmed.

“The Scandal Strumpet of Hilltop,” Phinn said, sighing.

“Phineas, that’s not nice,” Luna scolded.

“It is a rude nickname. However, I’m not surprised that you’ve heard of her. Keturah has a reputation,” Violet admitted.

“Oh, we know her. Double K went by the Strutting Scandal until Liberty Magnum gave her that second nickname, and it stuck,” Phinn revealed. “Fuck, this is bad.”

“Why, because Ket hates Jake’s sister?” Violet asked.

“Oh, she hates Libby, Dusty, and me. She’s the girl who fucked over her boyfriend, who happened to be our neighbor, Lance. This happened roughly five years ago,” Phinn disclosed. “The bigger problem is that Jake is an admirer. Granted, he’s pissed about what she did to Lance, but her assets and attitude also bewitch him. It’s an internal battle.”

“I didn’t know she started doing that as, what, a sophomore?” Violet questioned.

“But it’s Jake Magnum. Surely, he’s used to attractive women around him,” Luna pointed out. Violet grimaced, showing she wasn’t quite a believer in the tales Phinn spread to puff up Jake’s image as the star detective.

Before Phinn could cover for Jake, Tancard Caskbottom returned to ask about their lunch. The trio thanked him again while declaring it delicious. Smiling over their compliments, the chemistry teacher leaned over to whisper a message.

“You have a visitor in the private room.”

For once, Phinn had no clue. That led him to follow the pair of actresses deeper into the main room, then enter a side door for a private room. Almost instantly, a woman in a light red cloak stepped around from behind the door as they closed it.

“Phinn, this Angie–” Violet began to introduce, until the young woman cut her off.

“I must speak swiftly and choose my words carefully. Princess Delicia sent me. I am Ampley Highbosom, her most loyal handmaiden. She seeks an audience with your champions at sundown by the joust arena. His Majesty is troubled by recent events.”

“What’s going on? Phinn’s the only one in town. Jake went…Angie!” Violet called out pointlessly, as they watched the handmaiden slip out a secret exit in the rear of the private room.

“Okay, now that was weird,” Luna remarked.

“I hope so. Is this part of a quest for this place or what?” Phinn questioned. He also wasn’t thrilled by the name Ampley Highbosom and the chest her cloak couldn’t cover. Jake didn’t need another distraction.

“Doubtful. Angela is one of Brittany’s oldest friends. She’s horrible at staying in character. It’s something that drives Britt crazy,” Violet disclosed.

With the strange meeting ending so abruptly, the trio decided to return to their quarters to freshen up. They’d meet up again in an hour over by the church.

Entering the Drowsy Owl, Phinn saw a busy dining room. Fortunately, that meant Varlo Gladwin wasn’t at the reception desk. Climbing the narrow stairs, the brainy detective vowed not to repeat their last case. They’d barely investigated any aspects, only reacted to what others did. That’s whether those actions came from their secret client, the actual blackmailers, or the mysterious third party, whose identity Phinn now knew.

Finishing the climb up the narrow stairs, the bespectacled sleuth thought of the Masked Creep as he unlocked his door and found an intruder. This more normal-sized man wore an executioner mask.