Also, she hasn't got the gold. :-P

((Did you record your share of the gold from the paladin dude who tried killing the werewolves?))

     "Killing isn't my first choice but I am not sure there is another one," Finn tells Tylaerys.  "The spell only allows me to 'suggest' so much and then only lasts upon them so long, even assuming it works.  Even if I was able to suggest they tell us everything they know about the cult and it's plans and then run south as fast and for as long as they can...  Well they would still be missing and still provoke whatever response that is likely to provoke.  I would think better they just stay missing than be found eventually and be able to tell what happened to them."

     "Besides, the spells has limits.  Say it even did work and they told us everything they knew and then took off south, the spell wouldn't prevent them from also magically communicating with the others...  But if you think we could spare their life and not put ourselves at risk I am willing to hear you out."

     "I could, of course, take their appearance,' Finn considers aloud.  "I just don't think I know enough about them to pass as any of them for a length of time, however.  Too much unknown..."

     "Perhaps it would be best to attempt such a plan on one of the ones inside?  We could perhaps try to pass blame onto the owners of the establishment...?"    

"Well, you can change your appearance. Why not just do your suggesting as someone else? They'll know they've been tricked, but not who by, and probably assume it's someone from the fort."

     "...Or," Finn says, pausing to continue thinking about the idea.

     "You've done the most spying upon them, perhaps.  You have any idea who may be in charge?  At least of those here?  Or maybe even who may be the most underling or disliked?" Finn asks.  "Thinking if I looked like one of them it could maybe sow distrust amongst them.  I would need clothes to help sell it but since they are striving to fit in with the rest..."

Tylaerys listens to the discussion but hasn't anything to add. It would be good to know more about what the cultists in the caravan was up to but they couldn't afford to be exposed until they knew where they were heading. 

Yeshil's observations of the cultists haven't revealed any obvious 'leaders.'  She hasn't stumbled on to any late night cult meetings or seen anyone giving orders.  Of the wagons that are suspected to be cult affiliated, they all appear to keep to themselves, with their interaction with even other cultists very limited.  And even those on foot tend not to stick entirely together, with smaller groups of 4 or 5 individuals keeping together and only seldom coming together in a larger group.

What she has noticed is that today, after the two newcomers arrived, the amount of subtle cult chit-chat has dropped substantially and the whole lot of them seem more aware and vigilant than before.  So perhaps these newcomers are leaders?  Or perhaps their arrival changed something?

Finn could probably whip up an outfit with the clothing the group has to approximate what the cultists are wearing.  It really does look like those on foot were outfitted to look as generic as possible.  

[Do we know how we want to do this just yet?]

     “Or…” Finn says and stalls a bit, looking closely at the others to try and gauge their opinion of the plan.  Yeshil seems sold, but maybe too sold?  Finn can’t help but wonder if perhaps she’s just looking to impress the others and show she’s not afraid.  Tylaerys seems accepting of the plan but unsure it’s the time for action.  Jirel?  Well she’s a bit tight lipped and inscrutable.

     “Or we do nothing,” Finn finally finishes.  “We can just hold for now and continue the more low key investigation.  There’s no reason we can’t do it some other night if there’s added urgency…”

Yeshil simply shrugs and nods. If nothing else, the idea of it was entertaining (although she didn't like to think too much about the killing at the end of it) and a welcome break from the mundane travelling. But Jirel's silence gave the girl pause... Was it disapproval at the plan? At her eagerness to agree to it? ... And Yeshil realises that she actually care what the giantess thinks about her, and feels reluctant to lose the respect of the 'big sister'. 

Yeah, whatevz. We'll find out one way or another, right? 

Then after a few moments thought she adds: What about sneaking into the fort and having a look around?

Quote from ZorgAlmighty>>

Then after a few moments thought she adds: What about sneaking into the fort and having a look around?

((This does raise the question - Is there a cost to mingle about inside the settlement or merely for staying/resting inside it's walls overnight?  Finn is looking for some supplies - Some jade dust, some honeycomb, charcoal, incense... maybe some herbs.  May provide the opportunity to lighten some people's coin purses as well.))

As long as the horses and wagons stay outside, an individual is free to enter the walls... provided they pay the 5gp.  It's the same fee whether they are taking a bed inside or just coming inside to shop or carouse at the tavern.

The party opted to leave their wagon and animals outside the walls with the rest of the cult wagons, entrusting their security to Jararaka, who grunted her promise to have one of her guards keep watch.   More than likely, they would come back outside to sleep for the night (or to interogate a cultist, if possible).  For now, they paid the toll and passed into Highridge Lodge on foot, mingling with the others who couldn’t resist the allure of warm food and a roof.

At the gate, a toll was collected by a sharp-nosed dwarf named Runk, who barely looked up from his ledger as he stamped their wrists with a crude red mark that glowed faintly in the shadows.  "Five gold," he muttered.  “No refunds.  No trouble.”

Inside, it was little more than a glorified outpost—a fort-in-progress—but it had the essentials: a tavern, two stables, a blacksmith, a general store, and row after row of cheap, narrow lodgings.  The walls, barely tall enough to dissuade a troll, enclosed maybe a dozen buildings at most.  Fresh-cut lumber lay stacked beside unfinished towers, and muddy bootprints scarred the ground.

Inside, the central yard was a hard-packed stretch of dirt, empty save for a few parked wagons and clusters of weary travelers stretching sore backs.  Two stables flanked the yard, one older and half-rebuilt - perhaps the last vestige of some older outpost on this spot- the other newer and better kept.  A woman with a face like weathered stone watched the workers from her perch on a bale of hay, a whip coiled at her belt.

The Wayfarer's Rest Tavern stood proud at the center of it all, its porch flickering with lamplight.  The scent of spiced stew and old ale wafted through its open windows, beckoning.  Outside, two men-at-arms leaned on their spears, one chewing on something unidentifiable and staring down anyone who lingered too long.

Off to the side, four long, wooden buildings offered lodging to the weary.  Their outer walls were lined with door after door—dozens of them, each marked with a carved number.  The rooms inside couldn’t be more than five feet by ten, and the posted sign made no effort to hide it:

“Private sleeping cells available — No pets. No noise. No fighting.”

To the rear of the yard, the smithy burned hot and low.   A black-bearded man with forearms like tree trunks, was pumping away at the bellows, shirtless despite the night air.  Sparks flew like fireflies as he worked to warm up the forge for these newly arrived customers.  

The final spot of interest was Roa's Resupply, a long shack with a hinged counter and too many locks.  It looks to be a general store.

All around, travelers from the caravan mulled about—some eating, some grumbling, some nursing injuries or exhaustion.  Most of the newcomers had already claimed tables in the tavern, raising mugs and trading stories.  All four of the party, sharp-eyed and alert, notice a solitary robed figure seated in a shadowed corner of the tavern.  She wore travel clothes like the rest, but too new, too deliberately rumpled.  She nursed no drink, spoke to no one.  A sword hilt, half-concealed by her sleeve, caught Tylaerys' eye.  This stranger was watching the room, not relaxing in it.

[Please deduct a total of 20gp for the entry fee.  Where to first?]

Yeshil counts out twenty gold coins, one by one, onto the dwarf's bench, with a slightly mischievous smile. She accepts her stamp and veritably skips ahead through the gate, glad for a new distraction.

Gravitating toward the tavern seems like a safe bet, and Yeshil's curiosity is piqued by the figure in the dark corner. Hey, how about you order us some drinks, she half-whispers to the others. I'm gonna go check this out... and without waiting for a reply, she resumes her 'innocent young girl' persona and skips across the room in the direction of the figure in the corner. Taking a standing spot against the wall nearby, Yeshil does her best to appear to be casually waiting, looking around the room, and making inane small talk with no-one in particular, while also glancing over and smiling at the figure and taking in as much detail as she can...

"Whew! What a trip so far. Glad to finally stop."
"Wow, this place is so busy! Hardly anywhere to sit..."
"I wonder how much further to Waterdeep."

raw d20 roll: 15
+7 for Investigation?
+3 for Perception?

The young blonde half-elf gives Yeshil an appreciative smile as she offers to cover the cost for their entry. The red stamp at her wrist reminds her of some of the shadier places she used to visit in Waterdeep to find some adventure in her up til then sheltered noble life. She gives the whip at the overseers side a concerned look and frowns slightly as she sees the sleeping cells, realizing there was nothing fancy or even comfortable to be found inside these walls. Still, they might not have ventured in here in vain.

With the green-skinned girl approaching the robed figure in the shadowy corner, Tylaerys nods and moves to the bar, keeping her eyes open for possible cultists or any other out of the ordinary visitors.

(Before entering Tylaerys would have cast Enhance Charisma to be her most charming self.)

     The first and foremost thing Finn Ol'Gren is looking out for is strangers - travelers who are here who are not part of their own caravan.  Finn will also note those who work and possibly live here but mostly he would prefer to mark travelers from different groups as targets, if such exist.  ((Perception:  8))  Certainly not now, at the start of their visit here, but he is looking to try to spot some potentially easy marks for some light pickpocketing before he exits...

     Finn is also, of course, always interested in pubs and inns and such... but he would first like to peek his head into Roa's Resupply and get an idea of what is on offer here.  He assumes it is your basic necessities at an insane markup but he has some hopes it may offer some arcane components, possibly.  Charcoal, incense, herbs and jade dust are the things he is currently seeking...  But after a quick visit there he is quick to catch up with the others and get a sense of the Wayfarers Rest and see if it's as sad and merely serviceable as he expects.

Jirel grunted in gratitude as Yeshil handed over the coin, a small nod of thanks offered to the Little One. She’d make a note to give her an extra chapter of night-time reading before lights out, a proper one, not the short stuff. Her eyes flicked to the glowing red stamp on her wrist, head tilting slightly. Tempted to give it a quick lick just to see what sort of magic it was, she resisted. Later, maybe. She’ll have to lick something else.

While the sleeping cells weren’t as lush as what they’ve stayed at before, she always made do. After all, was it that much worse than a neglected barn?

Following the others into the tavern, Jirel settled near Tylaerys without a word, taking up a position where she could see all corners of the room. Her broad frame was impossible to ignore, but she didn’t speak, didn’t move more than she had to. Honey-brown eyes scanned steadily, and her ears stayed perked, catching every clink of a mug, every odd silence. She kept her watch, quiet and still, a mountain in the firelight, unmoved but never unready.

The Wayfarer's Rest Tavern is a sturdy timber structure with dusty windows and the faint glow of lanterns spilling out into the gloom of the encampment.  Inside, it’s surprisingly spacious but unmistakably utilitarian — built for function, not charm.  The scent of woodsmoke, sweat, and stale beer hangs in the air.  Conversation is loudest near the hearth, where caravan guards and merchants share laughter over tankards, while quieter corners cater to loners nursing drinks or keeping watchful eyes on the crowd.

Yeshil, still half in character as the "innocent young traveler," leans casually against the wall near the shadowed figure in the corner.  The robed woman, pale and composed, glances up at her approach.  Under the hood, a brief, polite smile flickers — not unfriendly, but tightly guarded.  "It’s a quiet night for conversation," she says softly.  "Though perhaps that’s rare on the road these days."  Her voice is low, smooth.  Deliberate.  The kind that knows not to say more than necessary.

Yeshil tries to pick up more — a symbol, a tattoo, a sign of allegiance — but the robes are thick, layered, and expertly plain.  Still, something doesn't feel quite right.  She gets a strong vibe that something is going on here.  Before she can prod further, a voice cuts in behind here - loud, tipsy and vaguely familiar.

"Hey! Green girl!"  A stocky, sunburnt caravan teamster stumbles forward, a mug in one hand.  He’s ruddy-cheeked, eyes unfocused, but he recognizes Yeshil.  Unless she is mistaken, he is one of the men who had taken refuge atop a wagon during the battle with the undead.  "Yer the one that helped fight those... those things out by the cairn," he slurs, gesturing vaguely with his mug.  "I—I gotta ask, alright?  D’ya think the gods forgive stupid men?  ‘Cause I shouldn’t've teased those girls. The were ones.   The were-wolfs, she-wolfs... she-wolves, I mean.  Thought I was bein’ funny, but... they got so mad.  Not laughin’.  That weren’t right.  I can still hear 'em...".

He slumps against the wall near her, mumbling louder now.  A few heads turn.  A barkeep laughs.

Yeshil, half-distracted, half-aware, turns back to the robed figure — but she's gone.  The shadowed chair stands empty.

A quick glance spies her just as she exits quietly from through the tavern doors into the night.

Roa's Resupply is exactly what Finn suspected — overpriced basics with a few niche items tucked on the shelves.  No powdered jade is to be found here.  Incense, herbs, and charcoal are available — at a 50% markup across the board.

Back in the tavern, Finn scopes for easy targets.  Most patrons are either guards or caravan teamsters, mostly hitting the drink hard but also with tight pockets — not ideal.  However, he spots a merchant type, red-faced and into his cups, coin pouch sloppily secured.  Worth keeping an eye on.

As Tylaerys and Jirel settle at the bar, her enhanced senses immediately pick up on a shift in energy.  A few individual who were already at the bar when they entered — nondescript men and women in weather-stained cloaks, mud-caked boots, and travel-worn gloves — finish their drinks quickly and quietly drift to the back tables.

They don’t speak much to one another, but Tylaerys catches the glance one gives the others — short, measured and deferential, like they're waiting on someone’s lead.  They’re not overtly aggressive or visibly marked, but there's a coordination to their movements, a shared caution.  One or two carry pouches that don’t jingle like coin.  These are the men who have been following the caravan on foot - not cultists hauling treasure in wagons, but something else.  Guards?  Spies?

Then there's another, stranger group — the pair of silent newcomers from the road, the ones who joined the caravans outside Dragonspear Castle.  They’re here too, seated further in the back, but they don't drink.  No mugs.  No stew.  Just stillness.  Tylaerys catches one of them looking in her direction — not leering, not sizing her up for a fight, but just looking.  In another place and time it would mean nothing.  Here, its slightly chilling.  There is no effort to conceal the look - no indication there is any reason to conceal it.

Jirel senses it too — though to her it resembles the same kind of quiet that precedes a pack animal's coordinated strike.  No overt hostility, but that particular stillness in a tavern... it usually means something’s coiled, waiting.  One odd note that Jirel picks up on  — there’s a small door behind the bar, half-covered by hanging furs.  It’s too subtle to be obvious, but Jirel notices it — and the barkeep glances at it every time someone raises their voice.

     Finn is a bit chagrined but unsurprised by Roa's Resupply.  He contemplates just walking out entirely but eventually gives in and buys enough incense and charcoal for one extra familiar summoning, just in case.  Besides, shopkeepers can get ornery if you don't purchase anything at all and why burn bridges, so to speak?  (This ups his available castings of Find Failiar to 4... should be enough for a bit since he doesn't generally send Misses Bigglesworth into trouble.). Before giving over the gold for the overpriced items, however, he does try to barter a bit - offering up some items he has no real need for in trade to see if they would cover, or at least lower, the cost.  He offers up 

• A tome of history. (Came via his background choice, basically a schoolbook...)
• A brass signet ring with gems cut to resemble a cat's eye (I think maybe found in burnt out store?  Or did he steal this.  I do not recall for sure.)
• A Glass eye (Definitely found in exploded store front.)
• A couple leather bound journals with some pages carefully removed to try to make them look whole and blank. (Found from those with the Knight after Fields of Dead battle.)
• Map of the Fields of the Dead with some annotations and specific locations added in and highlighted... Maybe.

     After his dealing is done there he most definitely catches up with the others and scopes out the prospects for light thievery.  None seem all too enticing but he does keep his eye on the one merchant... But he decides it probably best to wait and see if there is an opportunity in the morning, soon before departing.  Just in case...

     Finn doesn't pick up on the tension like the others do but this is most certainly not the liveliest of bars.  Digging into his gear Finn eventually draws forth his fiddle and bow.  They are usually expertly packed in his backpack to minimize any chance of dings or damage, his flute kept more readily at hand since it is a bit hardier, but there should be no problem in a little fiddle music in such a sedate establishment as this.  Surely there shall be no rowdiness or fisticuffs... Though he believes everyone is up to snuff physically (hp wise) he begins with a soft, soothing Song of Rest (extra 1d6 healing at the end of a short rest the song is heard during) and will then slowly move on to slightly more upbeat tunes. 

If given the chance, Tylaerys would pass by Yeshil and Finn before returning to Jirel's side, discreetly informing them all about what she have observed, mentioning she has the sense that something is going to happen soon and that they should stay alert and ready. She considers approaching the blatantly staring man but decides to stay by the blonde giantess for now.

Yeshil catches herself before she instinctively runs after the figure. Instead she pretends to laugh at the slumping mumbling caravanner, and then strolls casually toward the door and slips out. Quickly glancing around, she tries to catch a glimpse of the figure. Was that an invitation? a request for conversation?

If Yeshil can't spot the figure, she will start looking around to catch sign of them.

After picking out enough supplies for one extra casting of Find Familiar — just in case Misses Bigglesworth needs emergency reinforcements — Finn approaches the counter with his offer of barter.  The shopkeeper, a wiry woman who introduces herself curtly as Roa, examines the pile with a skeptical hum.

After a moment of weighing and calculating — and with a pointed look at Finn to make sure he understands she holds the upper hand — Roa finally speaks:  "Tell you what... you throw all those items in, then you got a deal, fancy boy."  She gestures at everything - the map, the ring, the glass eye, the books.  "All that for your little pouch of dust and smoke.  Clean trade."

She extends a hand to shake.

[Does Finn accept?]

Back at the tavern, Finn's song of rest brings a comfortable mood.  A few of the teamsters who had already been hitting the cups hard, look almost read to lie their heads down on the tables.  The cultists in the back don't fully relax, but they stop their quiet muttering and at least pretend to enjoy the music, trying not to stand out.

As Finn slowly shifts into more lively tunes, the tavern warms — just a bit.  A few chuckles slip out.  Even the tavernkeeper gives a small grunt of approval and slides a mug of watered ale toward the stage "for the bard, on the house."

Tylaerys has a chance to pass her observations on to Finn, but Yeshil has already slipped back out of the tavern into the open air of the fort.  

Outside, Yeshil doesn't immediately spot the mystery woman.

[Please make a perception check if you are going to go looking for her.]

Perception: 19 (in game log)