As if on instinct, Jamem responded to the deputy, so quickly that it could even be seen as unsettling. "Bestan. But please, call me Jamem". He also nodded, and took a look around to the others who had been assembled. A Dwarf, Halfling, Tiefling, and Half-Orc, with him, just your ordinary human. This seemed like the opening to one of those 'walked in to a bar' jokes, but he had a feeling this wouldn't be a joke, or so he hoped. Jamem also felt like he was the least experienced here, leading to him saying "Come on Jamem, pull your weight and you'll be adventuring in no time..." under his breath.

Jamem then noticed the spectral hand in front of him, and nodded towards the half-orc, as he summoned his own mage hand to greet it. He had never heard of a Half-Orc who had become a wizard before, leaving to him resisting the urge in his mind to ask him question after question. The other three, at least to him, looked strong and capable. Jamem had already made a commitment to not get on their bad side. As for the sheriff, he seemed... aged, to say the least, but he walked like he had been trained to do so, a mannerism the bard had only seen in city guards before, leading to the implication that this sheriff had served some type of similar organization before.

Phevari gives the group her name, and returns Tanglar's handshake, though she looks away a little, awkwardly, at his words.

Once out on the road, it's easy — too easy — to fall into the familiar sergeant's role, walking a few steps being the sheriff, but just in front of the others. She has quietly suspected for some time that the whole reason for the existence of non-commissioned officers like her was to keep the command officers and the enlisted troops from ever having to interact directly with one another.

"We're likely to be heading into combat," she says to the group as they walk along. "I know the deputy said we might be able to avoid it, but — begging your forgiveness and meaning no offense, sir — if I had a silver for every time some brass said that, and it actually went that way on the field, I'd be flat broke. We'll need to know what to expect from each other in a fight." Hefting her hammer, she continues, "I can deal a blow, and take one. I've also been granted some small protection and healing magic, for my… service." She taps the hammer to her rank insignia, avoiding looking at Tanglar.

She looks at Tygven's spear, then Otto's crossbow. "Looks like you two have 'poking holes in things' covered. Any other talents we should know about?" And, to Tanglar and Jamem, "I assume you have more up your sleeves that that little party trick earlier. Will you be throwing fireb—" she cuts herself off with a small choking noise, before composing herself and finishing, "throwing lightning bolts around?"

     Tygven regards the tiefling. "You seem to be all business, huh?" he asks with a crooked grin. "Sound like you're used to this type of thing. But to your query...," he gives a long pause unsure how to really explain his newfound abilities. "I can... Umm, well.. At least it seems I can do... uhh, things with water and ice. Like that one made a hand," he jerks his thumb at Jamem, "I can do it too except it looks different."

     The dwarf snaps his fingers, the orb around his neck flashes and says a word in a strange language. A hand apperates next to him with an opaque form, seemingly made of ice. "See... Have to say it's pretty useful. Holds my fishing rod when I need to take a leak." He chuckles and continues. "Also, seems like I can freeze things. The other day a cat tried sneak off with one the fish I caught. I was shaking my fist and cursing the thing as it began to run off, and suddenly the little bastard froze solid. Thing shattered to dozens of pieces," he adds a bit ashamed. "Made for good bait though."

The story prompts a chuckle from the little halfling, who has been keeping to himself at the back - taking in the scenery, or possibly keeping an eye out for trouble.  “You make it sound like you just woke up one day very recently and could do these things…”

“I’ve got my dagger, Phevari, if it comes to close quarters.” Tanglar says tapping the hilt absently with the tips of his fingers, “Being a book binder, and working heavily with paper I try to avoid wielding fire around.” Tanglar shrugs, “I apologize if that leaves us lacking. I can prevent our opponents from healing while I weaken the their resolve to fight at the same time. Hopefully that makes up for my lack of more flashy evocations.” He pauses a moment, then adds, “If you all don’t mind brief pauses, I can summon a servant to help us along. Keep us fresh for whatever happens next. I can also provide airborne reconnaissance, should you wish it of me.”

Since Phevari thinks we will be headed for combat, Tanglar decides it’s time to give himself a bit more protection. Wrapping a leather thong around his fist, Tanglar raises both hand, like he’s praying, but with the backs of his hands together. With a few arcane words he  thrusts his hands down, and expands the gesture. Suddenly motes of red energy flow around the Half-Orc. Though mostly invisible, if you watch long enough it looks like the motes form a suit of plate mail.

"Quite a few of you are gifted in the arts, huh? I suppose that makes sense..." Deputy Simms observes from the rear of the group, a position he'd somewhat subtly taken after their departure. Meanwhile, the Sheriff slows until he is astride the tiefling. "You've a keen mind, and are right. It would do us all best if we prepare for the worst, set your jaw and find your courage, lads." He announces to the troupe. A pause fills the air for but a moment as the group trod along the dirt path, the main of Havrever slowly shrinking behind them. He looks Phevari up and down again, then at the rest of the volunteers behind them. His mouth opens, but the sound catches in his throat as his mind changes. Another moment, and he speaks. "Whatever we come up against, it'll do the town well to be rid of these miscreants, whoever they may be."

Insight: 3

     The smile begins to fade from Tygven's face as he ponders the question from the halfling. "Well, now that you mention it, that seems to be what happened. I don't think I could these things before I got here." He rubs the side of his nose, bulbous and speckled with sunspots. "Things have been a bit cloudy in my head since I found myself here, except for a strange voice I hear on occasion..." Trying to think back to before his arrival to the island, gloomy look falls over the dwarf. "I remember... A boat... And a helluva fight with something in my nets. But not much else."

The halfling chuckles again.  "Wasn't me in your nets any chance?  As it happens, I was on one boat heading over here, leaned too far over the side to get a better look at some dolphins in the wake, went head over heel into the water, and arrived here on a different boat altogether!"

To the Dwarf Tanglar nods, “I’ve heard that some people spontaneously gain access to the weave by drawing on some inner well of energy, sorcerer I believe is what they are called.” He pauses a moment before adding more quietly, “Though that wouldn’t explain the voices.”

Tanglar chuckles at the Halfling’s misfortune, “I’m glad you were given to the sea little friend. It was fortunate indeed that you happened upon another ship. I have a question, if you will permit me. Why didn’t the first ship stop to pick you back up?”

Looking across the group once again, Tanglar notes that more than half of the six of them are capable combatants, and more than half of them are able to call upon the weave or their gods to aid them. Things are looking up indeed.

The halfling rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.  "Ah, well, you see, I was possibly not supposed to be on board, and I snuck out to get some air when things were quiet.  I'm small, so I don't make a big splash.  All in all, no one heard me or saw me."

"A stowaway?" Tanglar asks, already knowing the answer. Then Tanglar just laughs, a deep and hearty sound, "Stealth is a handy ability to have in most cases, but I think you may have found the exception to the rule."

Phevari acknowledges each of her companion's responses with a nod, and replies to the sheriff, simply, "Just want everyone to come back alive, sir." She follows the path quietly, letting the others' conversation washing over her but not joining in, knowing that to stand between two groups is to be truly a part of neither. For the best, she reflects, seeing as last time, I lost… She pushes the thought away with a sharp lash of her tail, and walks on.

Whatever the Sheriff had meant to say, it was lost in the flow of the conversation. Forest encloses them as they walk the path, the sun reaching and passing it's apex. The group approaches a fork in the road and as they do Sheriff Hagenauer speaks up again, "We're nearly there. Stay sharp, folks, it's been some time but they may still be lingering around." He starts his way down the right path, but stops in his tracks suddenly, his boots scuffing against the dirt. Previously covered by the woods, a tall column of dark smoke stretches up into the sky.

Tanglar approaches his Dwarven companion, "If you will allow me?" He asks, extending his right hand to hold the back of his right shoulder, "I will be unable to hear or see for the next few minutes. If you need my senses back here, just squeeze my arm three times." Tanglar takes a deep breath, centering himself and finding the arcane tether between himself and Nibs. "Oh, and in case I need to ask questions. One squeeze for yes, and two for no." Another deep breath, but this time he closes his eyes and allows his senses to flow along the tether. Abruptly the wind whistles past him as he wings over the trees, circling close to the group of people below. Nibs takes a lazy circle toward the column of smoke ahead, trying to get a better vantage point as to what is happening ahead. Tanglar begins to describe what he is seeing to the group while they walk.

"I wonder why there's such smoke emerging from there. They attacked the farms right? Why would they burn them down instead of just looting them?" Jamem thought out loud. Sure, they could be burning it down to ruin it after getting the crop, but surely it would take some more time for these attackers to steal the crop. He had a suspicion now that something was amiss, though it could just be these hooligans burning it down already, as he thought off of its face value. "Nevermind that however. It shouldn't matter what they're doing, only what we can do to stop them from doing it." The trek itself to where they were now was surely difficult for Jamem, but throughout it he kept a confident face on, now ready to face... well, not the world, but whoever is attacking those farms.

Caring less about the smoke and more about the magic, the halfling wanders round to the front of Tanglar and cranes his neck up to watch him as they walk.  He jumps up and down in front of the half-orc a few times, waving his hands in the air and shouting "Oi!" a few times.  Satisfied with his efforts and the lack of response, he falls to the back of the group again and loads a bolt into his crossbow as they continue onwards.

Phevari stops dead as she spots the smoke, and stands stock still for several seconds, not moving a muscle except for her tail, which swishes back and forth agitatedly. Forcing herself to keep moving, she asks Tanglar, voice taut as the strings on Jamem's lute, "What do you see?"

"That's... not right." Deputy Simms pipes up, sharing a glance with the Sheriff. "Farms 're down that way." He points down the other path, which veers sharply towards the east. A moment of silence stretches between the two as Simms looks to Henry for guidance. "That's that logging camp." Sheriff Hagenauer finally adds as he peers down the road, "They could be burning... Well, I'm not sure, but it could be normal of them. Only the gods know what they get up to out here, 'sides cutting lumber, of course. Perhaps it would be best to leave it, we need to get to the farm. There could be survivors from the attack, or even the brigands themselves there. We mightn't have the time to lose if we go to that camp first."

Sure enough, Tanglar can see it. Limited by the range of his connection with Nibs he can't get close enough for a good look, but with the height advantage it is clear that the fire burns within a palisade-walled compound, a hole in the forest canopy cut around it, logs piled high in various stages of processing. Somewhere within the compound a large fire burns, producing the thick, black smoke that rises into view. The river lazily snakes its way nearby, one of the transport boats grounded on its bank. A small number of tiny figures move about the area, but who they are and what they are doing is beyond Nibs and Tanglar's sight.