At the gambling hall:

Finn pushes the bet and raises another 5gp [sorry, this is limit poker at the Low Lantern].  The sailor calls and then turns his eyes to watch the dwarf.

The dwarf merchant watches Finn.  Something about Finn's speech seems to have troubled him.  For more than a minute he fingers the 5gp like he cannot bear to part with them.  At times, he seems ready to fold.  But at last he tosses them in, to call the bet.  "You talk too much.  I don't believe ya'."  

"Straight!" shouts the sailor immediately, slapping down his cards and raising both fists in the air, to a few cheers from some of the other sea dogs standing around the table.  As he celebrates and begins to reach for the pot of gold pieces, the dwarf counts the straight aloud. 

"Five... Six... Eight... Nine... Ten... Har!  Best go back to counting on your fingers, lad.  You're missing a digit."  There are a few chuckles and a very confused sailor, as the dwarf turns over his own hand.

It reveals, as Finn had predicted, two pair.  Aces up, over Sixes.  His eyes narrow as he waits for Finn's hand.

Luckily, Finn had the foresight to palm a king earlier in the game.  Having swapped it out for his seven earlier in the hand, he reveals his own cards, Aces up, over Kings.

The dwarf says nothing, merely pushing away from the table.  He seems to realize he should have trusted his gut but doesn't belabor the point.  Meanwhile, the sailor demands someone explain to him why he wasn't awarded the pot, as some of his friends try to lead him away from the table.

[Finn increases his gold by 50gp.]

Downstairs in the lounge:

Laraelra listens to the goliath’s offer.  Her head tilts slightly as if genuinely considering the dance, but after a soft chuckle, she shakes her head.

“You’re kind to offer, and I admire your boldness,” she says, her voice smooth and kind.  “But I fear I’d make a poor dancing partner in this... charming environment.”  A hint of sarcasm touches her words as she gestures toward the smoky air and raucous tables around them.  “A walk, however, sounds far more agreeable.”  She rises gracefully to her feet, smoothing her robes as she does so.  Her gaze turns briefly to the shy servant at the table.  “I’m afraid your company is lost on these rogues and gamblers,” she says gently, offering a polite nod.  “Should you wish to join your noble patron, I imagine you’ll find him upstairs—hopefully not too deeply in his cups.”

The servant offers a nervous smile but stays behind, leaving the two women to ascend the creaking stairs toward the upper deck.  Along the way, Jirel spots Finn scooping up coins at a poker table.  

A cool breeze greets them as they step onto the open-air deck.  Lanterns sway gently on their hooks, casting faint pools of light across the wooden planks.  The night sky stretches above, with only a sliver of moonlight visible through wispy clouds.  The noise of the tavern below fades, leaving them with the sound of lapping waves against the hull and a few hushed conversations.  Among them, she sees Tylaerys at the far side of the deck, standing near a sobbing Yeshil.

Laraelra takes a deep breath of the salty air, her shoulders easing slightly. "Much better," she murmurs, almost to herself, before turning to Jirel with curiosity.

“So,” she says, folding her arms loosely, “what is it you wanted tell me?”

Jirel produces a small, jagged piece of bark, the sap still sticky in places.  Its surface gleams faintly, and the shapes of faces appear etched in blood-like resin—five in total.  She explains the vision granted to her, that she recognizes her kin but none of the others.

Laraelra leans closer, studying the faces carefully.  Her expression shifts from neutral curiosity to recognition, a flicker of alarm flashing across her features.  She touches the bark lightly with her fingertips, tracing over the two familiar faces.

“This one,” she says softly, tapping on one of the images - the beautiful elf maid.  “Valindra Shadowmantle.  She’s infamous—an undead lich who has led Red Wizard incursions into the Sword Coast for centuries.”

Her brow furrows as she taps the other image - the one-eyed man who also turns into a skull.  “And this one... Goratrix Bin.”  She glances up at the goliath, her gaze sharper now.  “He’s not as well-known, but people like me... its our business to know of him.  A spy.  An assassin.  Also loyal to Szazz Tam.  If he’s resurfacing, it means the Red Wizards are weaving something more subtle than a simple raid.  Something... intricate.  Goratrix isn't one to lead armies or open portals to the plane of fire.  If he has a role to play in whatever threat looms, it will be in the shadows.”

She steps back, folding her arms across her chest and gazing out toward the black waters of the harbor.  "I don't know about the other two," she says, referring to the two-faced black dragon or the elf with the disappearing eye patch.

She turns to the goliath, her gaze steady.  "This is interesting.  You track the Cult of the Dragon, while a mystical tree sends you warnings of Red Wizards and your family."  She looks at Jirel.  "I don't envy you.  Whatever lies in store for you, it appears to be great in scope."

Another gust of wind blows through, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city.  Laraelra stands silently for a moment, lost in thought, before turning to look at her again.  “Who did you say you were working with?  I think I shall need to coordinate with them.  I'm unsettled by these revelations.”

     Finn isn't one to hoard money much, specially when the money is won, and won with someone else's money.  Holding on to it just doesn't seem all that important and so drink are bought for friends and hangers on alike!  As he seems to have momentarily lost his friends, it's just the latter really...  (only 25 gold added.) 

     Finn does spot Jirel walking away from him and towards the upper deck.  She looks as good leaving as she does coming so she is hard to miss.  He motions to her that he'll be along shortly but suspects she didn't notice it at all as she was with the woman from the table earlier.  Another striking woman in an entirely different manner, he muses.  All the more reason to follow and see what mischief they are up to...

     After shortly buying Volo and Isaac another round, it was their money that led to the winnings after all, Finn apologizes and says he has to take his leave.  "It has been an honor and a pleasure," Finn assures them, "but I seem to have lost my friends.  I really should go gather them up before they get too far astray.  Women, a I right?"  So it is with a laugh and a bow he turns and follows the path he recalls Jirel taking a few minutes earlier to try to see if he can catch up with her or any of the others...  Once he emerges into the fresh air he takes a glance around and, spotting any of the others or not, takes a moment to check in with Misses Binklesworth - But she was spent to spy on the curse laying bozo and follow her til lead to her home... So the cat is likely more than 100ft away and thus out of touch.  Not wanting to summon the cat from their task, Finn then indeed looks for his less familiar companions.

It takes some time for the young blonde half-elf to find the green-skinned girl curled up at the aft deck. She quietly steps closer and gracefully seats herself on deck by the hexed one's side. "Is it okay if I sit here with you Yeshil? If you want to talk about what happened in there I'm happy to listen. You may not think we are anything alike but trust me whan I say I know about selfish parents." Tylaerys says in a soft gentle  and comforting tone, then waiting in silence for the sobbing girl to reply. She gives a small wave to the blonde giantess as she spots her across the deck, showing she will do her best to comfort the latest addition to their team.

It's worse than selfish! Yeshil immediately blubbers, before returning to sobbing for a minute more. Finally, after wiping snot on the sleeves of her new outfit for the umpteenth time, the green-skinned teen mumbles a few more unintelligible words, before settling into a brief exposition of her past...

They wanted a child so much! So much that they visited the old witch of the moor. I don't know what they paid. But they got what was promised - a baby - just not what they expected... a baby monster! After that, they... they were ashamed of me. They didn't want me... couldn't bear to see friends or family... never left the house but would hardly come near me... they were so sad, so miserable. Yeshil's voice hardens as she continues, and looks directly into Tylaerys's eyes: And yet I feel no pity for them. What kind of parent hates the child they brought into the world? They don't deserve my pity, or anyone's! Did your parents love you, Ty?

The young blonde half-elf listens with a concerned and sympathetic smile but tenses up briefly as the green-skinned girl asks about her parents. "Oh...um...it's complicated..." She starts, trying to decide how to explain. "My father...he is not really my father if you see what I mean, my parents are both human and well, it was kind of obvious I wasn't conceived within the marriage." The half-elf says and laughs softly at her own misfortune. "I guess I can't blame my father for not loving me since I'm a living reminder of his wife's infidelity. My mother, I suppose she sees me as a mistake but I think she loves me, in her own way, they are not a family that flaunt their emotions, to put it mildly. As you might imagine I took the first decent opportunity to leave my home, and fortunately I found myself with a new family, one that cared for me." She says softly, her silvery eyes wandering over to the blonde giantess again. "Perhaps you will find what I have if you stick around with us Yeshil, a family could be whoever cares for you right, and I care for you." She says, taking the hexed girl's hand to give it a light reassuring squeeze.

Thanks, mumbles Yeshil, and withdraws her hand just a little too quickly - perhaps it's still a bit soon for her to feel that comfortable with all this emotional openness and the talk about 'caring for each other', but all the same she gives Tylaerys a grateful smile as she wipes away the last of the tears, and stands up. With a final sigh, Yeshil says: Let's rejoin the others then, and strolls over toward where Jirel is speaking to the wizard-lady.

DM:

"Nothing to thank me for Yeshil..." The young blonde half-elf says as she gracefully stands to follow the green-skinned girl. "...the gods knows we need you with us if we are to continue with our mission, if you're still interested that is?" She says, giving the hexed girl a concerned look. Tylaerys still had no real trust for the self-serving Arcane Brotherhood, but the girl had definitely showed both loyalty and resourcefulness when the team were in a tight spot earlier. "I believe your particular skills with gathering information will be quite useful during this next leg of our journey." She adds with a reassuring smile.

[Unless there is more roleplaying to be done, the rest of the evening at the Low Lantern is dirty, grimy and uneventful.]

After a few hours of gambling and drinking, Isaac, his servant, and Volo depart to go prowl the streets of Baldur's Gate for some better food.  They cajole Laraelra to accompany them, but she respectfully declines.  With a word of encouragement about your quest and a promise to look into what Jirel shared with her, she teleports away.

The air is brisk as dawn breaks in a wash of pink and gold over Baldur’s Gate, casting light across the bustling scene outside the Black Dragon Gate.  Merchants, mercenaries, and travelers alike move about with purpose, their breaths forming small clouds in the morning chill.  Rows of wagons—some stacked high with crates, barrels, and bundles of wares—stand ready, their drivers checking reins and wheels while sturdy draft animals snort and stamp their hooves, eager to be on the move.

Crewmembers shout instructions, their voices carrying over the clink of harnesses and creak of wagon wood, while a few campfires burn low nearby, where those too restless to sleep had waited out the night.  Along the edge of the road, vendors offer last-minute provisions: dried meats, stale biscuits, and small bottles of potent spirits for warmth on the open road.

The caravan begins to gather in clusters, drivers calling to one another to set their places in line. Ackyn Selebon has come through as promised.  The party has a wagon rigged to two healthy looking oxen - named Xerxes and Darius II - and filled with crates and packages of cheap arts and crafts as well as several barrels of cheap wine (the sort more suitable for cooking than drinking). 

The wagon has a seat for a driver as well as room enough for one or two persons to ride inside or catch a nap under cover.  There is also a barrel of jerky and another of preserves, enough rations to carry the lot of you through to Waterdeep, many leagues to the north.  

Your horses are made ready for you as well.

• Widowmaker - great black shire horse; ridden by Jirel
• Shiloh - dark brown quarterhorse; ridden by Tylaerys
• Pumpkinspice - dark brown quarterhorse; ridden by Jararaka
• Chomper - dark brown quarterhorse; ridden Finn 
• Chainmail - a small bodied lippizanner horse with a coat of dappled greys, silver and whites; * DM has no living recollection of this horse or where it came from, but it appears in an old post, acquired in Elturel and apparently went into the stables with the rest of your horses... I guess this can be Yeshil's horse?

As the sun rises higher, and the wagons continue to accumulate, you see that this caravan will be at least 30 wagons strong, along with a few dozen additional riders and hikers who will be accompanying them north.  You know that, somewhere in this throng, are hidden cultists of Tiamat along with their stolen treasure. 

Jararaka departs to her new duties as a captain for the Blackrim Export Co.  She is given command of a team of six guards along with a fortified wagon with a small ballista mounted on top.  

The air hums with anticipation as the caravan leader - a handsome young dwarf named Morgran -  signals for everyone to ready themselves; the wagons will be rolling out soon. It’s the first step on a long journey northward, the road stretching out ahead beneath the morning sun.

Yeshil, please make a CON save DC 14.  On a success you have a headache and sour stomach but have otherwise avoided the worst effects of your first hangover.  On a failure, the entire world is pain and pounding nausea fills the air.

Still being a bit starstruck by meeting Laraelra, Tylaerys would bid her and their other companions for the evening a good night and follow along to wherever the team will find shelter for the night, ready to continue any conversations with the others but otherwise staying close Jirel's comforting presence.

The young blonde silvery-eyed half-elf stands with her cloak tightly wrapped around her, once more dressed for the road in the brisk dawn, eager now to get on this next leg of their journey, hopefully finding Naerytar at the end of it. She would diligently check on their crates and packages of their cart, making sure everything is in order. She can't help but wonder if the barrel of jerky is in fact the late Darius I, making his last journey so to speak. She would offer to take the reins of the cart, but is happy to just be seated near the driver or relax in the back when possible, letting Shiloh walk tied loosely to the back of the cart. During the loading and gathering process, Tylaerys would offer to turn Finn or Yeshil, assuming the girl seems okay this morning, invisible to be able to sneak around and possibly find out which one of the carts is holding the hidden cultists of Tiamat and their precious cargo.

Also discreetly casting Owl's wisdom
Perception to spot anything suspicious: 10
Insight to spot suspicious behaviour: 18

(Not important perhaps but for my own imagination of things, where would the team have rested for the night? :-)

CON save: 17

Yeshil is in a slightly unpleasant mood this morning, but conscious enough and capable of preparing herself for travel. Although she'd rather not have to think more than absolutely necessary, she recognises that the present chaos is a good opportunity to spy on the other caravan travelers, and grudgingly agrees to Tylaerys's plan.

If the invisibility plan proceeds, Yeshil's primary objective will be to evaluate the various groups, narrow down those most likely to be dragon cultists, and choose one to plant her magic tooth nearby. The tooth, once plucked, won't be invisible, but she will sneak as close as possible and place the tooth somewhere that she hopes will allow her to later eavesdrop on conversations (perhaps on a wagon's driver seat). Her secondary objective will be to identify travelers of approximately the same physical size as herself (preferably from her target groups) and study their appearance enough to be able to mimic them with her magical disguise on a future occasion.

Stealth (if required): 7

Ugh, I don't mind a lowish roll, but a nat 1 is just a bit too dangerous. I'll use Inspiration to re-roll if that's allowed: 26

Wow, polar opposite!

Invisible, Yeshil glides silently among the wagons, covering fully half of the long caravan before the order to roll out is given and the wagons begin to move.  While she doesn't identify any wagons that are absolutely involved with the Cult of the Dragon, she does spot a few likely suspects.

First, she spots a lone wagon driven by a rough-looking human woman.  Her gaze is intense, her wild, sun-bleached hair twisted and dirty as if tangled by the wind and hard travel.  Another woman, of different build but somehow similar in appearance and equally wild-eyed, walks alongside, casting sharp glances to either side of the road - a guard, most likely.  The wagon is heavy with crates, and a peek inside reveals carved bones—delicate, macabre artworks, some glinting with inlaid metals or stones.   There’s no obvious sign of Tiamat’s symbol, but these items could be spoils from a raid.

Moving on, Yeshil’s attention shifts to another wagon, this one driven by a lone human man.  The driver, dark and wiry, holds himself stiffly, his gaze darting nervously at any passerby who approaches too closely.  The wagon bed is filled with tightly bound sacks, each lump and curve suggesting different contents, but all obscured beneath tough cloth wraps.  The man seems tense, his posture almost painfully upright, and his knuckles white as he grips the reins.  Although she cannot see any sign of treasure in the tightly wrapped sacks, something about this man is off and he arouses her suspicions.

Next, Yeshil spots a wagon with three passengers, all human men, who share the driver's seat while eying the road and the other travelers with bored looks.  Behind them inside the wagon sits a statue, dark and robed, its expression frozen in serene smile.  Barrels and crates obscure the rest of the wagon’s contents, but something about the statue’s pose seems oddly reverent — it looks designed for a chapel or temple.  Certainly not one devoted to Tiamat, but perhaps stolen from another?  The three men ride in silence, but their wagon could hold a portion of the traveling hoard.

Yeshil will have to decide in which (if any) of these wagons to hide her token.  But the wagons are not all she discovers...

She notices a group of four men, dressed as humble pilgrims with modest traveling robes, following a little behind the wagons.  They carry plain staves, their faces lowered and humble, but two of them whisper to one another as they clasp their hands in a subtle gesture.  Yeshil drifts closer, catching their low murmur: a prayer to Tiamat, beseeching her for the strength to remain vigilant and endure this journey.  No wagon in particular seems to be their focus—they blend into the larger caravan, perhaps as spies or additional guards for cult cargo.  Their “pilgrim” guise may be meant to deflect suspicion, but their ruse is undone by Yeshil's snooping.  These four, at least, are certainly part of the cult.

As the wagons roll out, Yeshil is able to return to the party's wagon to share her findings.

The night before:
     Misses Binklesworth of the Twilight Binklesworths had been dispatched to follow the one who informed Finn of the curse (or however one wishes to define it) that was supposedly placed upon him.  The goal was for the familiar to find where they went, who they met with and ultimately where they slept.  Finn would stay up til the wee quiet hours and then recalled Misses Binklesworth from wherever her investigation may have taken her so that he could learn what she had found out and acted upon it if practical...

((Not looking to make a whole side quest out of this or anything, specially as Finn thinks it's probably just a scare tactic and since he knows he is leaving town in a couple hours anyway...  But if it appears the woman who told him of it sleeps alone and he could sneak in and press her for more info or such, he would do so.  Who wants such a thing hanging over them?  But he's not paying the demanded price, that is damned sure.))

The morning:

     As Finn catches up to the rest in the morning he looks the worse for wear.  He hasn't slept all night but he just waves off any questions about what he was doing or such.  "Carousing," is his only explanation.  "It's what I do..."  But, unless things went unexpectedly worse than expected, he is still in better shape than Yeshil...  And amuses himself greatly by banging things and talking overly loud while she is around.  

     "Not a bad idea," he does admit when Yeshil finally has enough of his antics and departs to sneak off among the wagons.  "I'll get some rest while the Misses does the same..." That said, a resummoned Misses Binklesworth sets off among the carts and the people and such to do her own investigating and spying upon their new mobile neighbors.  As a cat she is likely able to jump up into carts and wagons and peek where even a sneaky Yeshil may not be able... And if she is able to catch a rat and carry it around in her mouth as she does so, all the better disguised she will be!  

     Meanwhile Finn says hello to Chomper and reacquaints with the animal.  (Honestly couldn't say what face Finn had on last he was with Chomper but I am sure Chomper's big ole nose can sort through the change of features and explain it to the horse's eyes...)  Finn also feeds them an apple or two that he stole off a cart somewhere along the way.  Shortly after, Finn climbs into the cart.  He makes himself comfortable in preparation for some shuteye while the cat does the investigating but first takes a minute or five to watch through the familiar's eyes, hear through her ears, etc, and see what is what before giving them last instructions before dozing off...

Binklesworth Investigation:  4
(She's a cat, how well you expert her to investigate?  But she does have a passive perception of 13...lol)

     Binklesworth, for her part, also had a long night.  She of course tries to follow Finn's directions and see what she can see and all, but cats like naps as much as anyone - even fey's in the form of cats.  As such she does a little investigation then finds a likely good wagon to jump up on and catch a nap herself.  Assuming the same choices as Yeshil, Binklesworth would would choose the first wagon with the woman driver, then the third wagon with the three male passengers and finally the lone human driver one.  (She would choose the next one down her list if Yeshil was already seen giving one of them special attention...)

Yeshil is most interested in the wagon with the lone human male, but as her primary snooping technique relies on overhearing conversation, she decides to pass on him for now. It's possible there might be some communication between the two women, but she is more likely to catch something amongst the three men. Slinking up close enough to slip her newly extracted tooth onto the boards at their feet, Yeshil then slips away. The four 'pilgrims' at the back aren't going anywhere, and now that they have been positively identified, Yeshil can take her time with Finn formulating a plan to decide how best to use them.

Once they are underway, and with Yeshil mounted on Chainmail, she will enter the trance that allows her to connect with the tooth token, and listen to any conversation being conducted.

The details of this feature are given below, which Yeshil would see prudent at this point to share with the group. One minute isn't very long, but presuming we will be on the road for some time, Yeshil can take her time doing this each day. If the invisibility routine gets stale, then perhaps Missus Binky can deposit the tooth in various places. Furthermore, since casual conversation is probably less informative, Yeshil can consult with the others how they might find ways to 'prompt' more enlightening conversation out of their targets, perhaps by Finn talking to them directly, or by holding provocative conversations within earshot. Finn can likely do the same with his familiar, but the presence of the cat (or the familiar in other forms) might become noticeable after a few days. Just a few ideas for the group.

Telepathic Message. As an action, you can send a telepathic message to the creature holding or carrying the token, as long as you are within 10 miles of it. The message can contain up to twenty-five words.

Remote Viewing. If you are within 10 miles of the token, you can enter a trance as an action. The trance lasts for 1 minute, but it ends early if you dismiss it (no action required) or are incapacitated. During this trance, you can see and hear from the token as if you were located where it is. While you are using your senses at the token’s location, you are blinded and deafened in regard to your own surroundings. When the trance ends, the token is harmlessly destroyed.

[From earlier at the Low Lantern...]

Finn:

 Yeshil:

Yeshil, listening in with her eerie token:

Yeshil discreetly passes on the details of the conversation to the others. There weren't any direct references to the Cult, but they are clearly transporting valuables, and in secret. Yeshil does contemplate to herself about the reference to "what's coming", and wonders what that could be...

The wagons rumble as they depart from Baldur's Gate.  The cries of teamsters shouting final instructions mix with the braying of mules and the creak of wagon wheels.  Over thirty wagons roll out, with their drivers and guards mingling among the many horsemen and foot travelers who join the procession.  The caravan is more than just a line of wagons; it’s a bustling, living thing, a moving village complete with merchants, pilgrims, mercenaries, and opportunists.

The road north of the city winds through small hamlets and patchwork fields dotted with grazing sheep and cows.  Smoke curls lazily from the chimneys of modest homes, and farmers pause in their work to wave or stare at the spectacle of the caravan.  Children run to the roadside to watch, their laughter mixing with the clatter of hooves and wheels.

The pace is slow but steady, and a rhythm develops among the travelers. Conversations ripple along the line, some exchanging news and gossip, others discussing the potential dangers ahead. The caravan stretches nearly a quarter mile, and scouts ride ahead to ensure the path is clear.

As the sun climbs higher, the villages thin out, their cottages and fields giving way to untamed countryside.  The air grows quieter, the bustling sounds of human life replaced by the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.  Here, the main road emerges, wide and well-worn, funneling the caravan into a single line.

Travelers begin to sort themselves into groups.  The wealthy merchants and their guards form tight clusters, keeping a wary eye on anyone who looks out of place. Pilgrims walk together, their quiet prayers mingling with the jingling of bells attached to their staves.  Solitary travelers drift between wagons, their faces turned to the horizon or the occasional woodland on the roadside.

The caravan passes a crossroads marked by a weathered stone obelisk, its inscriptions worn smooth by time and weather. The group pauses briefly here to water the animals and check wagons, creating a brief sense of community as people share food and stories.

The party becomes acquainted with the travelers immediately in front and behind them.  In front, a flatbed wagon carries cut lumber under tarps.  The wagon is driven by a quiet moon elf-woman named Edhelri Lewel.  The lumber is exotic hardwoods from the jungles of Chult, freighted across the Sea of Swords and now bound for the craftsmen and artisans of Waterdeep.  Behind them is a wagon of beer, cider and spirits driven by a portly half-elf man named Beyd Sechepol.  His wares are not for transport to Waterdeep, but for sale to the thirsty souls of the caravan, he happily advises any who will listen.  Neither of these two employ guards, though Beyd carries a blade and has a crossbow hung conspicuously near his driver seat.

The rolling hills grow more prominent as the caravan continues northeast.  The main road remains clear, though patches of dense trees cast long shadows across the path.  The occasional ruin or stone marker hints at the long history of this road, whispering of older, forgotten times.

The energy of the morning fades, replaced by quiet routine among the caravanners and endurance among those on foot.  Drivers call to their animals to keep them moving, and the plodding rhythm of hooves and wheels becomes hypnotic.  Travelers glance to the woods with unease, the reality of the open road setting in as the city’s protection grows more and more distant.

As the sun dips toward the horizon, its golden light bathes the land ahead: the vast expanse of the Fields of the Dead.  The caravan halts at its outskirts, where rolling plains and distant hills stretch as far as the eye can see.  The name of this region evokes both curiosity and dread among the travelers, whispered stories of ancient battles and restless spirits circulating through the camp.  The caravan forms a loose ring for the night, wagons circling together while horses and oxen are tethered within the perimeter.  Fires spring to life as meals are prepared, and guards take up their posts, their silhouettes dark against the fading light.

The sky grows rich with stars and no cloudcover.  Travelers settle in for the night.  The caravan leader makes the rounds, warning all that the Fields of the Dead will test them in the days to come.

As the caravan gathers around their campfires, they settle in for the night. 

Out of the darkness, the rhythmic drumming of hooves appear.  Five riders emerge from the shadows, their figures silhouetted against the starry sky.  They approach with an air of calm confidence, their cloaks dusted with the grime of the road.  The lead rider raises a hand in greeting as they slow to a trot, their horses’ breath visible in the cooling air.

“Ho there, friends of the road!” calls the leader, a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a smile.   “We’re but humble travelers, caught out late and seeking the safety of numbers for the night.”

The other riders hang back slightly, nodding politely but keeping their expressions neutral as they wait to see how the caravan reacts to their arrival, and whether they will be welcomed or not.  Their gear is road-worn but well-maintained.  Their saddlebags look heavy, and the faint glint of weapons at their sides suggests they’re not unarmed.

“We bring no trouble,” the leader continues, sliding smoothly from his horse.  “We’re messengers, heading to Waterdeep, though I’ll admit the Fields of the Dead are no place to be caught after dark.  If we might share in your company until morning, we’d be in your debt.”

His companions dismount as well, their movements easy but deliberate. One leads the horses to an open patch near the camp, murmuring soothing words to the animals, while another pulls a flask from their belt and takes a casual swig.

Morgran and two of his personal guards approach the men and speak with them quietly, before assent is given for them to camp nearby.

Quote from Bartjeebus>>

[From earlier at the Low Lantern...]

Finn:

The previous night, Misses Binklesworth followed the mysterious lady.  She was accompanied by a spry looking dwarf and they walked away from the Low Lantern to a nearby alley, leading to the backside of a storefront.

Inside, rather than storage rooms of offices, there was a small speakeasy with a dozen ne'er-do-wells, cutthroats and other lowlifes.  She gave them some coin and a package, and received another package in return.  She and the dwarf then secured rooms upstairs and remained there until morning.

((I'm going with the idea that nothing regarding settling the possible "stealing curse" in Baldur's Gate got settled and just assuming Finn notes these details for possible follow up if/when they return to the Gate...))

     After catching up on some needed sleep and then checking in on Misses Binklesworth for any updates, Finn grabs up his fiddle and sets about making friends with the neighbors.  Everyone loves a bard!  And background music most definitely can help pass the weary hours of constant travel.  He readies himself by slightly adjusting his clothes and his hair and such to play the role of happy entertainer rather.  He also changes himself a bit - adds a cult tattoo to his right arm and ensures that it'll half-show any time he rolls up his sleeve.  He can't just walk about it revealed for all but those he met on the patio not long ago were certainly a bit careless showing theirs off so he can do the same...  

     He is friendly and cordial to Edhelri Lewel, proprietress of the most exquisite and rare hardwoods from the most exotic locales!  He uses some flattery, some humor and a little bit of music to try to ingratiate himself with her.  He's not looking to gain anything other than to be on friendly terms and he adjusts his amount of charm tactics based on her response.  Beyd Sechepol is a different story - Finn really lays on the charm here.  There may be a bit less flattery and more of a ribald friendly one-upmanship or tall-tale telling.  Basically Finn tries to sort out what would work best on the chap and then really lay it on - It's always good to be in good with the bartenders.  Bartenders hear everything... Plus, beer!

     Not wanting to be so present as to be annoying, specially on the first day, Finn makes a point of walking a good ways up and down the caravan - Stopping here and there to chat or joke or play a tune but mostly to become a familiar and hopefully welcome presence amongst the people.  He'll take requests for songs when he can, and hurry along to another segment of carts if anyone seems too annoyed.  He's mostly not looking to press anything on the first day.

     When the Fields of the Dead is mentioned Finn, of course, wracks his brain for any information he may have about such - Be it legends and rumors and stories or songs that mention it.  ((20 - Add 3 if it would be a History check, 2 if Investigation or arcana?))  He'll also just "read the room" and adjust his music selection to suit the mood - Calm and soothing if the people around him are worried, a bit more ribald and upbeat if they're looking to be distracted.

     As night comes along and the caravan is setting up camp for the night, Finn decides he wants to put this magical prohibition on thievery to the test - to see if there is one and/or to see if he is far enough from Baldur's Gate to not be subject to it's effects.  As such, Finn targets a target he suspects won't get him in too much trouble if things go awry...

     Finn stands back and just tries to eavesdrop when the night riders approach and talk to Morgran about joining.  Finn does his best to assess these late additions (Insight 115) and sets Misses Binklesworth to the task of keeping an eye on them overnight...