The townsfolk were muttering among themselves as the group pushed their way through to examine the carnage; unfortunately, neither could Innoki make out any tracks, nor could Quentan or Timo think of any religious significance of such a ritual. Neither was there any magic present at the site. By the time those examinations were complete, the sheriff had arrived; he was a burly human man in his forties, a little stout around the middle, his skin tanned, face and hands decidedly marked by exposure to the weather. With him were two deputies, who looked slightly sick when encountering the mess. "Well, well," the sheriff drawled, on seeing the gathered group. "If it isn't our newcomers, right at the scene of the crime." He eyed each member of the group in turn, then continued. "Here at the invitation of old Lorrimor, I hear. I see no blood on any of you. Either you had time to wash up, or this isn't your work."