(How long is this caravan?)

     Finn does what he does best, sing songs and try to help everyone ignore the situation...  Oh not to the point of recklessness or anything but a calm mob is a much better mob than a scared one.  Through songs and judicious use of Minor Illusion and Thaumaturgy, he does what he can to help people not panic.

     Other than that, Finn looks to stay mostly where he is.  Even before Tyl can get back with news from the front, the idea of marauders and thieves seemed at least as likely as a natural problem like a broken wheel or a fallen tree.  Finn figures that smart highwaymen might attack the head of such a caravan and grab what they can while also being a diversion for a second group to attack the middle or rear or such a lengthy group.  For now he figures it best if there be people who can defend all sections, if possible...

It seems to Yeshil that the decision to move on is probably at least as good as the decision to stay put. Plus it breaks up the routine, which not only provides her personally with some much-needed variety to the entire journey, but also potentially further unbalances the two remaining cultists in the wagon. Yeshil is prepared to take her turn driving the wagon, but as twilight begins to fall, she also suggests taking the opportunity to stealthily observe and possibly infiltrate the cultists' wagon. According to her previous snooping, they had planned to make some kind of move at nightfall, and Yeshil wants to see if they follow through, and perhaps catch them in the act, or use the moment to sneak a look in the hidden compartment. If she can take Jirel along for extra protection, or perhaps distraction, then all the better...

With a few words of caution, Tylaerys would agree to turn the green girl invisible once more. 

(Cast Invisibility as needed)

Jirel would not only patrol their perimeter, but also through and around the caravans. She wouldn't necessarily engage in conversation or ask permission, she'd simply do her due diligence while keeping watchful eyes and ears. After all, she was always alert. It fared better for everyone if she remained the strong silent type while the others do what they do best, and gather information. The only time the giantess had some things to say would be expressing relief that Jararaka was okay, her condolences for her loss of men, and to note that by remaining in place for the night, they could fortify their defenses and seek out any advantages while they recoup.

There was also something pricking at the back of Jirel's mind. At some point on one of her passes on her patrol to check in with each of her companions, she'd impart a couple random thoughts with Tylaerys and Finn. They could have completely no relevancy or true correlation to anything, but she shares them anyway for some conversation. There was something about that original murder, beaten with claw marks. Would one of the caravans be transporting a creature, or could someone a creature? The latter reminded her of one of the Garbage Men (was it?) from way back for some reason. She'd also look up to the moon and think back to that night.

With a grunt and a nod, Jirel would agree to escort the inivisible Little One on her mission. What's another patrol right? It wouldn't be so suspicious. And if she needed to be weird or cause a distraction for Yeshil, she could talk to the animals or maybe suggest wrestling/armwrestling to pass some time or burn off some steam if any one seemed edgy.

[The caravan is quite long.  Over 30 wagons, altogether.  Accounting for the accordion-like bunching up and stretching that occurs as bottlenecks and narrow crossings slow some parts of the wagon train while others pull ahead, the whole caravan can be as much as 1/4 mile from front to back as it travels down the road.]

It's a hard life out here in the fields of the dead, even (perhaps especially) for brigands.  No one knows or cares if this is a new gang of Orcs and Ogres, or one that has preyed upon these roads for an age.  No one especially remembers these green bandanas.  

As the damaged guard wagon is leveraged out of the road so others can pass, a bit of a row breaks out among the surviving guards.  Some of them clearly blame Jararaka for giving the order, while a couple of others - her lieutenants, it appears - argue that it was actually the late caravan master who told her there would be no ransom paid, leaving her little choice.  Jararaka seems to win out in this little dispute, though it only leaves the cantankerous guards blaming the traders instead for the loss of their comrades.

Finn's concerns about the original attack being a feint are well-considered, but not realized.  No other raiders attack, and soon the wagons are moving again.

One thing has changed, however.  As the now-invisible Yeshil approaches the suspect wagon, there is a new third person here... a well-armed dwarf shieldmaiden.  Yeshil vaguely recognizes her as one of the guards from a larger group of teamster wagons at the rear of the caravan.  Now, she prowls about on foot beside the cultists wagon, eyes alert and her hand sporting a new, shiny emerald ring.  If any foot-travelers get too close, she chases them off rudely - drawing dark smiles from the two men riding in the wagon.

The wagons roll through the night, torches blazing and eyes peering out as best they can into the deep darkness of the hills.

? = 11

Yeshil:

You overhear the men congratulating themselves on hiring a tough guard to watch their backs.  You also gather that they have somehow learned who murdered their brethren, but they plan to let word of mouth take care of it for them.

Finn:

In your travels and talespinning, you pick up one as well.  A couple of furriers hauling mink and beaver to the coat-makers of Waterdeep share a rumor they had just heard.  They look nervously toward the wagon of the two warrior-women - the ones who's wagon is full of bone and carves art pieces - and whisper that the women shapeshifters.  They are said to be from a tribe of skinwalkers... people who can transform themselves into animals.  More likely than not, one of them killed that man back there.

After several slow hours of traveling in darkness, the wagons ahead begin to slow, and word drifts back that they will be stopping for the night.  Eventually, your wagon reaches a wide clearing, where those before you have already begun to fan out in a circle.  

You also see that your caravan is not the only party camping in this spot.  A small campfire is already burning and five humanoid figures, one in heavy platemail, and a wolfhound have stopped their conversation and are watching as the seemingly endless line of wagons continues to roll in.

[Pause here for a moment to see if anyone wants to interject before we proceed.]

The emerald ring seems to Yeshil like a worthwhile price to pay to sway one of the guards to their employ, and her curiosity is piqued further to discover exactly what they are carrying. Their newfound confidence in their newfound security seems to Yeshil like the opening she needs, and after waiting to be sure that neither the two men nor the dwarf can detect her - invisible and in the darkness - she attempts to slip into the wagon to snoop around...

Stealth if needed: 22

The young blonde half-elf stays at the driver's position of the team's cart, discreetly giving the group of humanoids a scrutinizing glance as they pass by.

Perception to notice any insignias or anything else shedding some light on this group: 13

     Finn would make it a point to find the supposed shapeshifters and get a sense of them himself.  Being a shapeshifter himself, though he gathered they were supposedly a different variety altogether, he hoped he could get a sense of the truth of the matter or not.  As such he would go right up and introduce himself as boldly as you please and quickly segue right into "Soooo....  Rumor mill says you two are shifters!  Any truth to this?" he asks, using his natural insight and talents to try to gauge their response.   ((Insight:  19+1 for a 20))

     Unless they turned immediately hostile or such, Finn would then continue the conversation to more mundane stuff like the murder, which he would mention some accused them of so they may want to be on guard, to the brigand attack and just what they are hauling...  If anything suggests to him they may indeed be the murderers he would likely leave off discussion of that topic.  He would, however, point out that despite the fantastic job Jararaka did, everyone needs to be ready to defend the caravan.

     Somewhere along this conversation Finn would find a moment to summon Misses Binklesworth to below the wagon and instruct her to keep an eye on it and the passengers after he is gone...

     As the caravan begins to come to a halt, if Finn is anywhere near the front, he would be more than happy to go with a delegation to greet the others, it seems only polite.  He wouldn't, however, be walking up to them alone...

As Yeshil climbs into the cultists' wagon, her invisible form slipping unnoticed through the shadows, her sharp eyes quickly take in the scene.

The wagon's interior is crowded with crates, sacks, and barrels stacked haphazardly against the sidewalls.  While some containers bear mundane supplies like dried food and spare clothing, others catch her attention.  The more carefully packed crates are sealed but give way to a little gentle, quiet prying.

She sees confirmation of her suspicions inside:  Gold and silver coins, stamped with the insignias of kingdoms from all over the Sword Coast; Silver goblets and fine jewelry; and Religious artifacts.

Even the barrels, which might appear ordinary at first glance, reveal hidden compartments filled with stolen wealth when inspected.  Mixed among the treasure are letters bearing the emblem of the Cult of the Dragon—inspection shows they are prayers, or requests for blessings, written directly to the dragon goddess Tiamat.

As Yeshil completes her search, the wagon lurches to a stop, forcing her to steady herself.  The muffled voices of the cultists filter back:

"We’ll camp here for the night."
"Yeah, grab the rolls and set up."

A shiver of tension runs through her as the back of the wagon front flap opens, and one of the men climbs in, grumbling as he begins rummaging around for the sleeping gear.  Yeshil freezes, her invisible form pressed against the side of the wagon, her breath held.

As the man fumbles through the mess, his eyes narrow on a set of crates she had just been investigating.  He straightens abruptly, his voice sharp as he sends a loud whisper back to the front.  "Hey... were these open before?"

"What? No, why?" another voice calls from outside.

"I think someone’s been in here!"  he hisses, moving to the back of the wagon and peeking outside.

Tylaerys instantly recognizes the religious garb of these new travelers.  

Tylaerys's sharp eyes fall on the newly encountered travelers, taking in their composition and demeanor as they sit by their campfire.

The knight in heavy armor draws the most attention at first glance.  His plate mail gleams faintly in the firelight, meticulously maintained.  His tabard bears the crimson sword emblem of Tempus, the god of war.  He carries a longsword at his side, its hilt simple but well-worn.

Beside him sit two men who appear to be martial artists.  They wear plain traveling clothes, but their movements as they shift by the fire reveal strength and readiness.  Each has the air of someone who could turn even their bare hands into deadly weapons if provoked.

The two unarmed pilgrims look far less imposing, clad in modest robes that indicate a humble devotion to Tempus.  They sit with hands clasped, occasionally whispering while they watch the wagons continue to roll in.  

Finally, the massive wolfhound lies beside the group, its body stretched out yet alert.  The firelight catches the sheen of its thick fur, and its watchful gaze tracks each wagon as it passes. 

Though the group seems cohesive and peaceful in this moment, their appearance and the war god they follow suggest a band prepared to defend themselves should the need arise.

When Finn approaches the two women with the caravan of furs, the one driving the wagon reacts first.  Her scarred face tightens with a mix of wariness and surprise.  She’s used to 
"That’s a bold question, stranger.  Rumors tend to grow out on the road like this.  I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but we’re just traders from the woods, no different than anyone else trying to make a living out here."  Her tone is guarded, but not hostile.  Finn, with his keen insight, would sense she’s skirting the truth without outright lying.  She's clearly made uncomfortable by his questions.

The guard, on the other hand, is more direct.  She practically charges Finn, drawing right up into his face.  She cuts in, "We know how stories spread, especially when someone looks different.  But if you’re here to accuse us of something, say it outright.  Or shove off."  Her voice is tinged with frustration and fear, not anger.

When Finn segues into talk of the murder and the caravan’s safety, the wagon driver begins casting glances around the caravan.  "Someone is blaming us?  That's daft. If people think we’re to blame, it’s because they’re scared.  Scared people look for easy targets."

The guard would nod, her earlier frustration giving way to resolve, "We can take care of ourselves.  If someone comes looking for trouble, they'll find it.  But if there’s real trouble brewing, we’ll defend the caravan if that's what you're asking.  Our people don’t turn our backs on others, even when they’re ready to turn on us."

The young blonde half-elf would give the Tempurans a polite nod as the cart passes them by. It was somehow comforting to see not only the forces of evil was active these days.

Unaware of the situation in the cultist cart, Tylaerys keeps concentrating to make the greenish girl stay invisible, hoping it would be enough to keep her out of trouble.

Yeshil quickly rules out the idea of using force to escape, and is also aware that any use or her limited spells would likely cause the magical invisibility to dissipate. Instead she relies on the knowledge that the cultist seems to assume that the intruder has already left, and she remains silent and immobile, hoping that she will have the chance to depart soon.

     "I'm not accusing you," Finn assures.  "Sharing with you that others have...  Of course it is because they are scared.  Given everything, there are lots scared.  Lots of rumors.  I'm here to confirm for myself that such rumors about you are nonsense as well as to warn you.  I've no doubt you can defend yourselves but it would be best if it didn't come to that.  I'll do what I can to calm the fears but I can make no promises.  So please... Be careful."

     Believing them to be innocent, Finn will continue on.  He will try to assuage fears of them when he encounters them as well as listening for more leads...

Inside the Cultists' Wagon:

Yeshil, cloaked in invisibility, holds her breath, standing utterly still among the crates and boxes she had been inspecting moments ago.  One of the cultists, a wiry man with a perpetually furrowed unibrow, peers at the open containers, his voice edged with unease.

“It looks like someone's been digging through these,” he calls out.

The second cultist climbs inside, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards.  “What do you mean?  When would someone have been back here?”  His voice is sharp, his agitation rising as he joins his companion at the crates.

The wiry cultist gestures at the disarray. “I don't know.  I was up there with you.  But someone’s been in here.”

They exchange a glance, their unease growing.  The second cultist curses under his breath and calls out of the wagon to their newly hired dwarven guard.  “Lorda!  Get over here!”

Moments later, Lorda appears under the flaps at the back of the wagon.  Her hardened expression is met with immediate chastisement.

“This is your job!” the wiry cultist snaps.  “Someone got in here under your watch.”

Lorda folds her arms, her stance rigid.  “Nobody passed me.  Not a soul.  You sure you didn’t leave this stuff open yourselves?”  She gets up on her tip toes and cranes her neck.  "Say, what have you got in there anyway?"

They slam the crate shut.  The two cultists continue to bicker with their guard.  All the while, Yeshil remains motionless little more than inches away, calculating her escape.  

In the camp’s main clearing, torches cast flickering light over a growing, agitated crowd. The two traveling sisters, Akreni and Mirekki, stand shoulder to shoulder by their modest wagon, unpacking their bedrolls for the night.

A voice calls out from nearby.  “You think we’re fools?” a burly teamster bellows, pointing an accusatory finger at them.  “Everyone knows what those markings on your art mean!  You’re from the Sharp Teeth woods—shapeshifters!  Murderers!”  He is soon joined by another porter, and then a few of the merchants.

"Please," Akreni begins.  "Leave us be.  We don't know what you're talking about."

“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Mirekki snaps, her voice steady but with a spear gripped tightly in her hand.  “We’ve traded fairly and harmed no one.  Now go away, all of you.  I won't have you bothering my sister and I.”

Her denial does nothing to quell the growing mob’s suspicion.  Murmurs ripple through the crowd, stoked by fear and anger.  One man shouts, “If you’ve got nothing to hide, why not answer our questions?  Unless you’re guilty!”

Finn, Tylaerys and Jirel are able to see all of this unfolding, considering whether to intervene.  Meanwhile, a tall, thin, older man steps forward, his weathered face calm but resolute.  “Enough,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise.  “These women have done nothing to deserve this.  You’re accusing them without any evidence at all.”

The mob’s attention shifts to him briefly, and there is more shouting.  All this only continues to draw more onlookers from around the camp of wagons.  Not everyone here is part of a mob, but there are many here who seem out for blood.   As tensions reach their peak, someone shoves the old man down and Mirekki jabs out with her spear, narrowly missing another man, clearing a bit of space around her and her sister.  Just then, the pilgrims of Tempus approach from their own campfire, their knight at the forefront.  His heavy boots strike the dirt loudly and with purpose, his crimson sword-emblazoned tabard catching the torchlight.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice stern and commanding.  The martial artists and unarmed pilgrims fan out behind him, their presence bringing a momentary pause to the confrontation.

One of the accusers speaks up, his tone wavering in the face of the knight’s authority.  “They’re shapeshifters, Sir Knight.  From the Sharp Teeth woods.  And there’s been a murder— a man torn to pieces last night - these two are likely behind it.”

The knight’s eyes widen under his helm, then his sharp gaze moves to Akreni and Mirekki.  “Do you deny this?”

“We had nothing to do with the murder,” Akreni says quietly, her voice steady despite the scrutiny.  “We’re traders, nothing more.”

As the knight’s followers exchange glances, weighing the situation, the wolfhound at his side steps closer, its keen nose sniffing the air.  It lets out a low growl, its gaze locking on the sisters.

The knight places a hand on the wolfhound's side, calming the beast, but his expression is unreadable under his helm.  “Let’s settle this calmly.  No one will be judged without evidence.  But if there’s truth to these claims, you’ll find no leniency.”

Back inside the cultists’ wagon, the muffled sounds of the confrontation reach Yeshil’s ears.  One of the cultists glances toward the commotion, and then their guard pops her head back inside.  "You boys are missing the show.  Things are getting pretty hot out here."

“That didn't take long,” the wiry cultist mutters.  “Let’s hope the mob doesn’t burn the camp down.”

The tension in the wagon eases slightly as their attention drifts to the events outside.  Perhaps there is an opportunity here for Yeshil to escape?

     "Control yourselves!" Finn demands, their voice loud and echoing through some judicious use of Thaumaturgy.

     "Akreni and Mirekki are no killers," Finn assures in his most persuasive voice.  "And there is not one shred of evidence to suggest they are except your fear and need to blame someone.  Anyone.  It is as likely the victim wandered off and was killed by strangers than by any amongst our caravan.  There were no tracks to suggest the attackers went into the woods or up or down the wagons...  He could have encountered ogre's spying and sizing up our defenses in preparation for the attack.  Killed in the woods and the body thrown back to where we found it, that would certainly account for the lack of tracks..."

     "Or he could have come upon a knight in shiny armor with an enormous hound who wasn't ready to be spotted yet..."

     "Or he could have been done in by his own companions..."

     "Truth is we do not know and, as for now, have no way of knowing.  Picking random suspects and subjecting them to vigilante justice is more likely to reduce our numbers further than it is to find the true killer.  If anyone has true evidence that has not yet been reported then they need to go to Jararaka who is in charge of security... Not make baseless accusations and invite outsiders to make rash decisions!"

((Persuasion: 9  -  Probably doing more harm than good here.  lol))

     Finn then looks about the crowd to see how well his words went over and if they helped reduce the temperature of the mob... He fears it was not his best performance.

"What my friend is trying to say in his own elaborate way is that we should not be hasty about this, the truth will come out and I think the tempurans will make sure justice will be served." The young blonde half-elf says with a warm and charming tone as she comes up to place a friendly hand on Finn's shoulder.

Persuasion: 18

She then discreetly glances over at the cultist cart, hoping the green-skinned girl was alright.

(Yep, great improvement there :-P)

     Finn jerks his shoulder to shake it free of the young blond half-elf's hand and gives her a glare.  Yeah, it wasn't his best speech but it's still insulting to have her step up and try to correct him in front of a crowd.  

     "What I am trying to say is anyone hunting shifters needs go through me," Finn adds, shifting his face and form from his own into a mimicry of the knights, and then a copy of Tylaerys' and then a random caravners before back into his current.  All the while the ground tremors harmlessly thanks to a bit of Thaumaturgy to add to the mood.

Tylaerys is at first briefly confused at Finn's reaction, almost losing concentration of her spell, and then realizes her mistake, slowly backing away from the scene without another word. Nothing she could say would help the situation now so she makes her way back to the cart and awaits the return of Yeshil. 

Jirel simply stands tall and silent with her arms crossed. What was there for her to do? Not much besides observing. All important roles and investigating are covered. Her attempts to commune with the animals throughout the trek garnered nothing. Her presence wasn't needed anywhere even when she tried. The giantess' tongue would bear no fruit assisting either charismatic team member, and the grand knight had the intimidation and crowd under control. She was growing bored with lack of purpose and all these frivolous accusations. At most she could try to assess body language for truth, but even that was only so accurate. Honey hues would simply scan the scene, take gentle interest in the wolf at the knights side, his gear for any markings of what kind of warrior he may be, then glance up and around to assess for any external threats while things are addressed internally.