By the lantern light, a cursory examination of the leg is possible. It ends about halfway between the knee and where the hip should be, blood darkening the clothing where it has soaked in. The clothing itself seems simple everyday wear, the sort of thing any peasant living nearby might wear, the low boot showing signs of being well worn. The small fragment of bone sticking out of the top of meat of the leg is shattered, not cut cleanly. It seems unlikely that this was the work of a blade.<br/><br/>There doesn't seem to be any other body parts, or large amounts of spilled blood, within the pool of light shed by the lanterns. It's hard to see far though, and further surprises might be only a handful of yards beyond ... if anyone were inclined to go looking.<br/><br/>- - - -<br/><br/>At the inn, the door opens and a tall, well built man enters, pausing to look around before striding across to the bar. He wears a blue tabard over his clothing, embossed with a white symbol that sets almost every tongue wagging, the susurration of<em>Musketeer</em>running around the room. The barman's face lights up with a smile as he greets his newest guest, escorting him to the best available table, while sending one of the small boys scurrying with the man's packs.