Tylaerys:

Perhaps Tylaerys picked a bad spot to sit, or perhaps the conversations are just too low for you to properly eavesdrop.  But sitting near Beyd's wagon, she doesn't chance to overhear anything too exciting.  She does have one interesting conversation of her own, however.  As she sits alone, the moon elf Edhelri Lewel approaches quietly.  She’s dressed simply but elegantly, her traveling clothes meticulously maintained, though her face is marked by a furrowed brow.  She folds her arms, standing beside Tylaerys.

“Have you seen how he works his animals?” she begins, her voice low but edgy.  “He’s got them pulling far too much, and they’re wearing yokes that don’t even fit properly. Look at them.”  She gestures subtly toward Beyd’s horses, their flanks sweaty and their ears twitching as they shuffle in their harnesses.  “He may not be outright cruel, but overworking them like this? It’s neglect.  I’ve tried to tell him before, but he waves me off like I’m some busybody.”  There was nothing obviously wrong with the animals, but now that Edhelri mentions it, they do look a bit stressed.

Edhelri sighs deeply, brushing back a strand of silver hair.  “As much as it grates on me, he’s still better than that other one.”  Her expression darkens, and her voice drops to an icy whisper.  “That noble’s wagon.  You know the one.  The way he treats his beasts... it’s disgusting.  I swear, if I have to watch him whip one more creature for daring to breathe wrong, I may... well, I may say something I’ll regret.”

She bites her lip and shakes her head, clearly struggling to contain her anger.  After a moment of silence, she glances at Tylaerys and offers a curt nod.  “Thank you for listening. I needed to say it to someone who might care.”    

Finn:

As Finn strolls between groups, his quiet songs and stories draw glances and smiles from travelers enjoying the small comforts of the firelight.  When he pauses near one of the quieter spots, a woman rises from her seat—a half-elf with a quiet air about her.  Her auburn hair gleams faintly in the flickering light, the silver streaks in her braid catching the eye.  She adjusts the strap of her bulging satchel as she approaches, her emerald-green eyes sparkling behind slightly crooked glasses.

“Forgive me for interrupting your rounds,” she says in a polite tone, offering a small bow.  “I couldn’t help but notice your knack for stories.  A fellow storyteller is a rare treat on this road.”  She steps closer, clutching a weathered journal to her chest.  “I’m Vellis, historian and collector of tales.  Perhaps you’d indulge me in trading one for another?”

Without waiting for much encouragement, or consent for that matter, Vellis begins her story:

“There is a legend of a doomed host called the Lost Legion of Sable Hill.  Hundreds of years ago, an ambitious general led an army into what is now the Fields of the Dead, seeking to carve her name into history by conquering rival lands.  But her hubris angered the gods, and on the eve of their greatest battle, they abandoned her in hopes of teaching her a lesson in humility.  Instead, she made a pact with a dark power to replace the gods' influence and to ensure victory.  The gods - outraged at her insolence -  punished her treachery by striking her down after the battle, leaving her soldiers lost in the hills, leaderless.  To this day, they say her army marches on through the mists, searching endlessly for her lost soul, bound to her broken oath.  It is said that travelers who wander too far into the hills sometimes hear the faint sound of marching feet or glimpse ghostly banners fluttering against the night sky.”

"The eponymous Sable Hill, the site of the great and tragic final battle, should be somewhere in this region... perhaps the very hill we are camped on tonight...".

Vellis closes with a faint smile, clearly pleased with her performance.  “What do you think?  A bit of drama, a bit of cautionary wisdom—perfect for such a night as this, don’t you agree?”  She tilts her head, appearing to be genuinely interested in the bard’s thoughts..

As she speaks, Finn steals a quick peek through Misses Binklesworth's eyes.  The wagon with the statue does seem to have a lot of valuables in it; a hodgepodge of artwork.  Paintings, statues, carved figurines....  Its riders aren't talkative tonight.  Only two appear to be in the wagon.  The other must be out in the camp somewhere.

Some rolls:
Insight into this Vellis - always good to assess unknown fellow bards as they are unstrustworthy in general...  18
Perception to assess her bulging satchel and just how careful she is of her possessions... 8
Performance to see how well Finn's response goes over... 10

     Finn in fact peeks through his familiar's senses either before or after Vellis' storytelling since he becomes bereft of his own sight or hearing when he does so and wouldn't want to miss any of the story... (Though missing some might explain his poor perception and performance rolls. lol)

     "Ah an old but impactful tale.  It is always a pleasure to hear it and you tell it particularly well," Finn says when Vellis is finished with her tale.  "But I have heard tell that there is more to the story..."

     "Her armies walked these lands for countless nights through mists and rains and all manner of weather.  Doomed, they were, to search for their lost leader.  Damned to march until her soul was restored and her oath fulfilled.  Tragic, really and proof of the capriciousness of the gods - cursing the soldiers for the infidelity of their leader, eh?  But even the folly of the gods can be countered if one is true and brave and willing..." Finn explained.  

     "There was a young priestess - blond and pure and beautiful, for are they not always in the stories?  Isolde, a priestess of Tamara goddess of forgiveness, amongst other things.  Isolde heard the tale you told me, or near enough, and felt great compassion for the soldiers so wrongfully struck for merely being conscripted under the wrong leader.  She came out to these lands, the Fields of the Dead, unarmed and unarmored.  She camped and she prayed and she lived off the land and she listened to the winds and the trees and the small creatures until she finally caught whisper of the ghostly legion.  She found Sable Hill.  Whether it is this one we rest upon now or another I do not know... But Isolde did.  And under the moonless sky of night she climbed to the top and then knelt in prayer and meditation.  She prayed for compassion and forgiveness.  She prayed for their release."

     "When at last, hours or perhaps days, for the gods and their magics were surely afoot and this was a night unlike any other, the ghostly forms of the legion emerged from the mists, their spectral banners fluttering, she did not flee.  She did not fear.  She instead looked up upon these spectral but hardened warriors and she offered them a smile.  'Rest now,' she told them.  'Rest and find the comfort and peace you have been denied.  You are forgiven.  Your burdens are mine now.  So say I.  So says Tamara...'  A cold wind blew after she spoke the words, a wind which rippled through the spectral warriors and seemingly shook them to their core.  They spoke no words for they were no longer of this world... And in an eyeblink they in fact moved from this world to the next..."

     "A happy ending then, eh?  And who doesn't like a happy ending?" Finn asked playfully of Vellis.  "But c'mon... We know there is only happy endings because we, the storytellers, choose to stop telling the story at the happy part.  We know that there is more to the story, don't we?  And the more here is the story of Isolde...  Isolde and the feckless leader of the Lost Legion.  For Isolde took upon the burdens of the Legion and the leader was still unforgiven...  So a chase began.  The leader flees out of fear and hubris, determined to not let the gods get the better of her and afraid of what may happen if she is ever caught.  Isolde chases as she must as she carries the soldiers burden, but she also carries forgiveness and compassion.  Isolde yearns to forgive the leader and allow her the peace we all yearn for... But the leader is too fearful to listen and accept it."

     "And that is the truth, is it not?" Finn asks, a bit more serious now.  "Oh hells, not the literal truth.  The literal truth is boring and unworthy of a storyteller, no?  But it is the nugget, and it is the nugget that matters.  The truth is that we all yearn for peace but allow our fears and worries to deny it from us.  We'd all be better off if we could just slow down and accept the blessings offered to us..."

With a pleasant smile and a concerned look, Tylaerys politely listens to the moon elf, genuinely appreciating her concern for the treatment of caravan's animals, now feeling a need to do something about what she was told but unsure of how to proceed without drawing too much attention to herself and her companions.

With Beyd she walks over to the man's horses, hoping Beyd himself will join her eventully, and when he does she would humbly and politely suggest giving them more fitting yokes and maybe also invest in more of them or lessen their burden, it would save him quite a lot of gold after all if he wouldn't need to retire any of them due to being over worked, just good business in the end she explains in her most dimplomatic words.

Persuasion with the discreet casting of Eagle's splendor first: 17

Later she would pass by that noble's cart to take in more details about his mistreatment of his animals.

Perception if needed: 17

Tylaerys:

Beyd Sechepol initially furrows his brow at her suggestion, clearly skeptical.  “You know, it’s easy to think these beasts have it rough when you’re not the one counting on them to haul goods and make coin,” he says, with a touch of defensiveness.

But as she continues, Beyd’s posture shifts.  He glances at his horses, and huffs softly.

“Look, I’m not some heartless monster,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.  “These animals are an investment, yeah?  If I refit them with nicer gear, that hits my pocket.  But… maybe there’s something to what you’re saying.”

After another moment of reflection, he’d sigh, clearly begrudging the concession but unable to escape it.  “Fine.  I’ll see about giving them more breaks.  Maybe lighten the load where I can.  Sheesh... next thing you'll have me pampering them like they’re pets.”  He goes back to his wagon, fetches a mug of Duckhorn, and offers it to Tylaerys on the house, with a friendly smile.

Later, walking through the camp, she's not able to identify the noble Edhelri was referring to.  There are a lot of wagons here and the moon elf hadn't been very specific.  

Finn:

It's not hard to tell that Vellis is excited to hear his version of the story.  Finn's continuation of the tale prompts a visible shift in Vellis’ demeanor.  Where she had been ever-so hesitant, her face now lights up with a fervent passion for the subject.  Her spectacles gleam in the firelight, and her voice takes on an animated tone as she leans slightly closer to the bard, eager to retort.

“Oh, you’ve touched on the Isolde narrative!  Fascinating.  But have you read Fields of Lies, the work of Daerik Thornhallow? He practically dismantles the traditional tale of Isolde’s intervention,” she begins, her words quick, reveling in the topic.  “He claims the entire account was a political fabrication—a way for the clergy of Tamara to bolster their waning influence after their expulsion from Nathlekh.  The priestess wasn’t even named in any contemporaneous accounts!”

She pauses for a breath, then, with a conspiratorial smile, adds, “But, of course, Thornhallow was hardly without his faults.  There’s no denying his biases.  The man had ties to rival religious factions—his patron was a cleric of Null, for goodness’ sake.  That hardly screams impartial scholarship.”

Her tone softens as she studies Finn more closely, nodding appreciatively.  “Still, you know your stores, friend.  It’s refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t just skim the surface of lore but is willing to dive deep.   I look forward to sharing more tales, speculations, and, perhaps, some spirited debates with you in the days to come.”

"But I'm sure you have places to be and coin and drink to win with wit and song.  I'll leave you to it."  With that, Vellis gives a deep bow, almost spilling her bag.  Finn gets the impression she sees him as a kindred spirit.  She also doesn't seem to keep a close eye on her things, and seems surprisingly naive, more excited to be in this storied place than worried about its potential dangers.

Quote from Bartjeebus >>

[Finn and Yeshil - I don't usually go for PvP thievery, but this all seemed harmless.  Going forward, if there is any desire to continue, you two come up with an agreeable system for challenges and I can arbitrate or call for rolls as necessary.]

 

Likewise, but I made an exception for RP purposes. I don't mind if we just assume there is an equal give and take between them.

Yeshil is a bit bored today. The excitement of the caravan's departure has worn off, and it's not all that long ago that Yeshil arrived in Baldur's Gate by caravan from the north, so the memory of that monotonous journey has returned. She forgoes doing any investigating today, and instead takes a shift in the wagon seat, and sticks her nose into one of her new books, opting for "The Outsider", the horror story, to distract her, and recounting some of the more interesting parts to Jirel. And so the girl seems a bit oblivious to the tension surrounding the caravan.

Tylaerys returns the friendly smile and gratefully accepts the mug of Duckhorn. "Just think of it as good business if you will, we can't all be pampering on the horses after all." She says with a wink. "I am grateful for this though, will make this journey much easier on me, in fact I might become one of your best customers if I don't watch myself." She adds with soft laugh.

Later she gives up on finding the noble but decides to keep her silvery eyes open for him, hoping to be able to remedy that situation too if at all possible.

     Finn is a little out of his depth when Vellis starts talking the more scholarly roots and meanderings of the stories expressed but not so much that he can't fake it so long as they don't get too esoteric.  He enjoys the conversation and the stories and, though tempted, restrains himself from taking advantage of the seemingly careless scholar.  Though he does keep a close eye on her things to see if there is anything that may eventually make him change his mind...

Yeshil sits down with Jirel and reads to her from the book.  It is a short novel and she is able to rip through it quickly.

The Outsider is a psychological horror story steeped in existential dread.  The novel follows a princess trapped in an endless, oppressive stone castle.  The castle's maze-like halls, staircases, and crawlspaces, all engulfed in darkness, have always given her an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia.  Alienated from the other inhabitants of the castle, who place harsh restrictions on her and demand a way of life she is uncomfortable with, the princess feels increasingly isolated.

Driven by a desperate need to escape the darkness and find freedom, she resolves to climb to the highest tower in hopes of glimpsing the outside world.  Her ascent is harrowing: she navigates labyrinthine passages, sustains injuries, and faces dangers both external and internal.  Each step isolates her further, until she is entirely alone and nearly broken by fear and loneliness.

When she finally reaches her goal, she finds not a window in a tall tower but emerges instead from a cave into the outside world.  She is blinded by the painful brightness of the sun.  The surface world is not the salvation she hoped for.  Its inhabitants, unsettled by her appearance, view her with suspicion and hostility.  She finds no comfort here, only more isolation.  The final twist reframes her journey as a clear allegory for Drow expatriates—those who flee the brutal, cutthroat culture of the Underdark to live on the surface, only to find themselves treated as outsiders in an alien and unwelcoming world.

The night passes without incident, making two full days and nights in the Fields of the Dead without trouble.  A boon.  Or so it appears.  The dawn brings a disturbing revelation.

Cries of "Murder!" jolt the caravan awake at dawn.  A small crowd gathers near the makeshift latrines, just outside the wagon circle, murmuring in hushed tones as they view the grim sight:  a man lies face down in the grass, his body stiff from the cold night air.  Blood stains the ground beneath him, a stark contrast to the pale gray of the predawn light.  He appears to have been beaten savagely and there are claw marks on his face and hands.  It suggests a brutal attack.

The party recognizes the man... he is one of the men from the wagon Yeshil and Finn (through Misses Binklesworth) have been surveilling - the one who was absent last night.  The remaining two members of his group are initially loud and accusatory, demanding to know if there are witnesses.  Such an attack must have been noisy, yet none come forward to say they saw or heard anything.  The outrage and paranoia of the men seems to ripple through the crowd, fueling unease and suspicion among the caravan's members.  People glance at one another nervously, as if trying to discern if there is a greater threat here.

But the two men’s anger is short-lived.  Without explanation, they suddenly fall silent and retreat to their wagon, whispering to each other in tense voices.  They glance around the caravan, their eyes lingering on different wagons, including that of the party, as if they suspect everyone and no one at the same time.

The kill scene is eerily devoid of clues.  No monster tracks lead away from the body, and a more thorough canvas by the caravan master confirms no witnesses come forward to say they heard or saw anything unusual in the night.  The fields surrounding the camp, once merely unsettling, now feel like they are closing in on the caravan with a sense of hostility.

The caravan masters, aware that delays in these dangerous lands only invite further disaster, quickly convene.  Despite the ominous air hanging over the group, they decide that the only course of action is to press on.  The wagons are packed, the camp broken, and the caravan moves forward.  Everyone keeps a wary eye on both the fields and hills on their flanks, as well as on their neighbors, their weapons a little closer at hand. 

As the caravan resumes its journey, the murder leaves an indelible mark. Whispers of a killer in their midst spread, and trust between the travelers begins to fray. It is unclear whether this act of violence was a singular event or the prelude to something darker.

Tylaerys would take a moment each day to communicate with her Harper contact to keep them briefed on the progress of the caravan and await further instructions. She is both intrigued and disturbed by the murder. Those were most likely the cultists they should be keeping an eye on, but it seemed they caught someone else's interest as well, she doubted this particular death was a coincidence. She could only hope this new party had an agenda that aligned with theirs. She briefly considers approaching the men to offer her help in finding the murderer to win their confidence but decides it would likely jeopardize their true mission. 

(Survival to try to determine what kind of creature could have killed the man: 17 Another roll if possible to use Owl's Wisdom for advantage: 19)

     Finn stokes the whispers of a murderer and tries to shape the rumors back on the two men of that wagon who survived.  Surely they had the most motive.  Surely they should be investigated?  The wagon master should demand to search the victims belongings to look for motive, and his living companions stuff to search for evidence!  Finn would work, subtly through gossip and innuendo, to try to build a groundswell of support for searching every bit of that wagon to help ensure everyone else is safe...

Performance:  17 (Same roll if you prefer persuasion instead.)

Unexpected public attention on the suspect wagon could be advantageous, and together with the extra pressure applied through Finn's rumor-mongering, Yeshil strives to take the opportunity afforded. The one minute of spying from the tooth is likely insufficient, so the rogue either requests an hour of invisibility from Tylaerys, with which to get up close to the wagon and eavesdrop, or spends one or two hours in magical disguise as a young child playing nearby, with the same intent. 

Tylaerys would happily oblige with providing invisibility for Yeshil as the green-skinned girl takes the opportunity to drop some eaves.

Low Lantern

Jirel had enjoyed her walk and talk with Laraela. Going out for a breath of fresh air was a good idea, both for finding her companions, and for fruitful conversation. Laraela was a wealth of information, providing names and descriptions of a lich and an assassin. Meeting her gaze, the giantess would have told her who they were working with. From her immediate companions, to the factions such as the Harpers (Tylaerys’ connection), and the Order of the Gauntlet (I believe they asked her to join) and perhaps even the Emerald Enclave (because I believe Jirel was originally supposed to be). Jirel would have thanked Laraela for her time and would have offered/given her something as a gift for scrying her if she ever needed to find her. 

Caravans

Reunited with Widowmaker, Jirel will keep up her ability to Speak with Animals up as much as possible. She’d offer her cloak to Tylaerys should the brisk air cause her to shiver along their travels. The giantess would also share her water and snacks with Yeshil, at first to treat her hangover, and for the remainder of the trip, to make sure she’s consuming enough. 

While most of the reconnaissance is thoroughly covered by her fellow group members, Jirel would keep open communication with the animals if she could. There may not be much more she can learn that the others haven’t already, but she’d keep the lines open for a potential different perspective. Otherwise, the giantess would keep a diligently protective eye out while also being surprisingly gentle and playful with the children that come to the roadside to watch. She’d flex or show feats of strength as if to inspire the next generation.

Jirel would also enjoy the time spent with Yeshil, listening to her read to her. A hint of a smile could be found on her lips during the course of the book.

While she may not admit it, as things went on the giantess was a little overwhelmed with everything and was greatly leaning on her companions for direction at this point. Jirel just falls quiet and fades to the background.

(Assuming her alert feat wouldn’t come into play for the Murder in the night. And sorry, was away in Vegas.)

The young blonde half-elf appreciates the warmth and comfort provided by Jirel and her fur cloak. She'd smile as she watches the blonde giantess care for the the animals and children of the caravan, shouting occasional teasing comments from the seat of the cart. Tylaerys would share what she had learned of the noble allegedly mistreating his horses and suggest they would keep an eye out for him to possibly convince him to reconsider how he cares for his animals.

Tylaerys investigation of the murder scene:

Tylaerys takes a moment to look over the body carefully before it is buried along the roadside.  She also examines the ground alongside the murder scene.

The wounds are a mixed bag.  The man's face was beaten as if by very strong fists.  On his arms and shoulders, however, there are deep claw marks - from claws larger than any that a  humanoid (such as a lizardfolk or dragonborn) would possess.

There are no monstrous tracks anywhere near the scene.  With the latrines so near, there are many humanoid footpaths coming to and fro.  All of the tracks eventually come back to the caravan... none come from outside the camp, or leave.

A definitive identification of the assailant can't be made, but it does look like the culprit was very strong, had large claws... and came from inside the caravan.

Finn’s rumor-mongering quickly begins to take root among the caravan travelers.  Whispers spread that the dead man’s companions may have had the most to gain or hide, and Finn’s persuasive touch ensures that suspicion flows naturally through the gossip channels.

Some travelers begin to murmur about how the three were always a little too quiet, too distant, and how they might have been hiding something.  A handful start openly calling for the wagon master to search the suspects’ belongings to ensure the safety of the rest of the caravan - though not within earshot of the men themselves.  While no outright mob forms, the atmosphere is charged with unease and growing distrust.  The wagon master himself, caught in the storm of paranoia, promises to keep an eye on the situation, though he stops short of ordering a search for now.

Meanwhile, Yeshil uses the heightened tension to her advantage.  Under the cover of invisibility, she stealthily approaches the suspects' wagon.  The two surviving men, both visibly on edge, remain seated near their belongings, talking in hushed tones.  Yeshil listens carefully, catching snippets of their conversation:

• “...It’s too soon.  We can’t afford this kind of attention.”
• “I don’t care. So what?  Our cargo is our cargo.  There's nothing here to incriminate us, and no reason we should consent to a search.  If we have to, we just pay a bribe to the caravan leader.”
• “No!  We don't have permission to spend any of this!  Lady Rezmir will have our heads if we start handing out treasure.  We ride this out, stay quiet, and stick to the plan.”

Yeshil notes their nervous glances toward the rest of the caravan, their hands drifting toward hidden weapons as the occasional traveler passes too close.  They clearly feel the pressure of Finn’s campaign against them.

Later, disguised as a child, Yeshil continues her surveillance, playing nearby while observing their behavior.  Her disguise allows her to catch more fragments of conversation.  If anything, they seem more distressed by the situation than they had been earlier in the day:

• “...if anyone gets close, we’ll handle it.  Then we make our move at nightfall.”
• “What if they do search the wagon before then?”
• “They won’t.  Not unless someone pushes harder.  Just act normal.  At supper I'll take care of it.  It shouldn't cost more than a few gems.  If Rezmir can't see the sense to spend 100 gold to save 10,000, then to hell with them all.”
• "Hey... have you ever seen that kid around here before?  I didn't think there were any children traveling with this caravan...".

Yeshil notices one of the men subtly checking a hidden compartment in the wagon, his eyes darting nervously around.  It’s clear they are guarding something valuable—or incriminating.

By the end of the day, Finn’s groundwork and Yeshil’s observations have created a situation where the men are cornered both socially and psychologically.  Their paranoia is palpable, and they have been forced into a defensive posture.  Whether they’ll crack under the pressure, make a desperate move, or try to flee remains to be seen.

The caravan, however, remains tense. Travelers begin taking sides, with some agreeing with Finn’s whispers and others urging caution, fearing that too much suspicion could tear the group apart.  For now, the two survivors stay quiet but the situation feels like a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Tylaerys would share with the others the conclusions of her crime scene investigation. "Don't know if we're dealing with some kind of shapechanger here but it seems we're not the only ones taking an interest in those cultists and what they are transporting." She says quietly as the team is assembled in their cart.

Assuming Yeshil shares what she found out, Tylaerys would suggest keeping an even closer eye on the cultists and what they plan to do at nightfall, being ready to follow them if they leave the caravan and hopefully they would lead them to Rezmir and the place called Nearytar.

Shortly before dusk, the wagons lurch to an unexpected halt, and a wave of unease ripples through the caravan.  There had not been the by-now-customary call to stop for camp.  Murmurs become open talk of danger, and rumors spread like wildfire.  Then shouts: “Battle at the front!”  The words are laden with dread, carrying tales of orcs and ogres descending from the hills.

Teamsters clutch their weapons and take shelter in their wagons, while others scramble toward the commotion, boots thudding against the dirt road.  It is more than an eighth of a mile from your wagon to the front.  By the time the party reaches the scene, it is already over—but the sight awaiting them is grim.  Four massive ogres lie sprawled in the dust, their hulking forms still and bloody.  Jararaka’s Black Rim guards—those that remain alive—stand battered and weary, smeared with the stains of a hard-fought battle.

From the gathered accounts, it becomes clear: two ogres had blocked the road, their guttural voices demanding tribute—wagons, oxen, supplies.  Jararaka, defiant, had ordered her guards to attack rather than yield.  But what seemed a bold maneuver quickly spiraled into a deadly skirmish.  Hidden orcs and ogres surged from the rocks, and the battle turned brutal.

Though the guards managed to fell the ogres and drive the rest of the ambushers back, it came at a heavy cost.  More than half of Jararaka’s guard forces now lay among the dead, alongside several non-combatants.  Chief Caravan Master Morgran, leader of this expedition, fell in the fray, leaving the caravan momentarily rudderless.  To make matters worse, the reinforced guard wagon—one of their most formidable assets—was destroyed, now a splintered ruin blocking the trail.

As the sun dips toward the horizon, the caravan finds itself at a crossroads.  Night creeps closer, promising either unseen threats on the move or the peril of camping in plain sight, where the survivor attackers know where to find you.  Tensions rise as traders and travelers clash over what to do.

Do they risk the night here, fortifying their camp and hoping to repel another assault?  Or do they brave the dark road ahead, gambling that they can escape this haunted place before the shadows overtake them?

As it stands, it looks like fear of the danger they know - the nearby band of orcs and ogres - is winning the day, with the argument to leave and travel in darkness beginning to win out.  If the party feels differently, they may have a chance to speak up and sway opinion on the matter.

At the unexpected halt, the young blonde half-elf would hurry to the front of the caravan, grief-struck by the many fallen guards but relieved to see Jararaka still standing, discreetly checking on the lizardfolk, hoping she could tell more about what had happened. She then tries to make an unobtrusive investigation of the fallen ogres to see if there were any clues to suggest this being anything else than random waylaying. It probably wasn't, but then again, she hoped to make sure this hadn't anything to do with the culstists and their treasure.

Investigation: 14

As for staying, Tylaerys wasn't sure what would be less dangerous but she raises no objection to the caravan moving on through the night if that is the decision made. She would report back to any of her companions still with the cart, suggestion they take turns driving it through the night.

Tylaerys:

The deceased ogres are all wearing green-dyed scarves made of torn canvas.  Unless it is an oddly synchronous fashion choice, it is likely the colors of their gang of highwaymen.  Other than that, you don't see any other identifying clues, and nothing you can see would connect them to the Cult of the Dragon.

Tylaerys would ask around among the guards who might know more about what gangs of highwaymen are terrorizing this road, or are they simply too many to keep track of?

Persuasion if helpful: 23

With what little information she can gather she ´returns and briefs the others.