"A... All of it?" Finn asks, a bit taken back that she is accepting the barter at all, but also a bit taken back that she wants it all.  It makes him reconsider what he has and wonder if maybe he is missing something...

     "I... I have kind of grown attacked to the eye.  Weird, I know, but still.  Yeah, thanks, but I think I will just pay for it with gold after all," Finn advises, shoving his belongings back where they belong and then pulling out the 15 gold for his Familiar Insurance.

(I should probably see if anyone has Detect Magic before I start just getting rid of stuff, I suppose.  But no, Finn doesn't trade it away afterall.)

     At the bar, Finn thanks the tavern keeper for the drink with a nod and a smile without interrupting his playing.  The free drink in fact encourages him and he adds a bit more oomph to his performance with a sprinkling of Thaumaturgy and Prestidigitation to add some volume and some musical accompaniment besides his flute, where needed.

Finn notices that the merchant seems mildly disappointed in the trade, but not heartbroken.  She accepts his 15gp and delivers him the components, rolled up in wax paper.  

As he ramps up his performance in the tavern, some of the merchants and teamsters begin to sing along with the more well-known songs he plays.  

Check:  19

As the muted noise of the tavern fades behind her, Yeshil steps into the chill evening air.  The breeze carries a hint of woodsmoke and damp stone, but she’s already focused — eyes narrowing as she catches sight of a figure slipping between buildings ahead.  A swish of dark cloth vanishes around a corner.

She quickens her pace, careful and quiet, hugging the side of a building.  This woman wasn’t just leaving to avoid the noise — she moved with purpose.

Slowly rounding the corner - Yeshil is stopped cold.

The woman is already there, leaning casually against the wall in a place that would have allowed her to step out behind Yeshil and block her retreat from what she now sees is an alley that ends at the palisade wall.  Her ambush foiled, the woman is non-plussed.  No visible weapon drawn, no mask of surprise or fear.  She steps forward from her hiding place, nothing overtly threatening in her posture as she slowly circles the green girl.  

"You're not bad," the woman says, voice smooth and unhurried.  "But if you're going to tail someone, maybe try not to stare quite so openly in a tavern full of mirrors."

Her boots are silent on the packed dirt, head cocked slightly to one side as she studies Yeshil.  Her face is half in shadow, but her eyes gleam.  "You’ve been watching me since you came in, haven’t you?   Careful attention.  Careless approach.  Now here you are, all on your own."

She lets the silence stretch just a bit too long before continuing, her voice lower now.  "I’ll ask once: who sent you?  And why are you following me?"  Her words are calm, almost polite.

"...in a tavern full of mirrors."

This comment confuses Yeshil, and although she assumes it's some kind of metaphor, she can't grasp the meaning.

"You've been watching me since you came in, haven't you?"

Yeshil starts to realise that this woman was expecting to have been spied upon, and her mind begins to spin wildly, trying to consider who she could be. Never the best judge of character, nonetheless Yeshil doesn't pick her for a baddie. Maybe it was the brief, polite smile in the tavern.

Something else about the interaction in the tavern flashes through her mind... It's a quiet night for conversation, though perhaps that's rare on the road these days... Was that a password, supposed to be followed by a recognised response? Perhaps the woman's a Harper, or an agent of one of the major city-states of the region. But if so, why is she here, why now?

With the silence awkwardly stretching on, Yeshil knows she is going to have to take a gamble. She doesn't trust herself to lie convincingly, but doesn't want to commit herself too strongly - not until there was more information.

...who sent you? And why are you following me?

No-one sent me, not exactly anyway. But I pegged you as someone with a mutual interest. Someone with whom to share gathered intelligence.

And with that, she plays her first card. Reaching into the interior pockets of her cloak, she pulls out one of the cultist prayer scrolls that she took from the cart, and offers it to the woman.

The woman’s eyebrows lift just slightly as Yeshil pulls the scroll from her cloak.  A hint of surprise flickers in her expression before she masks it, stepping closer to get a better look without yet reaching for it.  Her gaze darts between the scroll and Yeshil’s face, as if trying to gauge the girl’s intentions.  She stays wary but lowers her voice, just enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the narrow alley.

“A mutual interest, huh?” Her tone is dry, but not dismissive. “That’s... a holy scroll.  Tiamat.  Odd choice.  What’s that supposed to mean to me?”

She doesn’t take the scroll, but she doesn’t move away either, one gloved hand tapping idly against her side.

“If you’re trying to pass yourself off as someone important, I’m not buying it.  Either you’re new to this game, or you’re baiting me.  So which is it?”

Her eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

“I don’t know what you think you’re onto, but whatever little game you’re playing, it’s not worth your life.  Now, since you’re so eager to share your ‘intelligence’... let’s start with this: Who are you, and why are you shadowing me?”

Ugh! sighs Yeshil finally with a roll of the eyes that only a teenager can conjure, as she tucks the scroll back in her robe. 'Course I'm new at this - I'm only sixteen for Lathander's sake.

Then folding her arms and cocking her hips just a little, she sighs again. Look lady, I wouldn't know you from a bar of soap. The wizards in Luskan don't take kindly to being attacked and robbed, so they've got me searching for missing Red Wizards and chasing this Tiamat cult. I'm following them, not you, and they're all camped up here for the night. So if you're not lurking around this... otyugh's anus of a waystation to spy on them, then I'm wasting my time with you.

The girl purses her lips, pausing briefly to see if there's an answer before preparing to saunter away, but she unfolds her arms and keeps her hands close to her dagger hilts...

Insight: 17

The woman doesn’t move as Yeshil begins to turn away, her eyes narrowing in thought.  Then, just as the girl is about to step back into the light, the spy speaks up.

“Wait.”

There’s a shift in the woman’s tone — less confrontational, more calculating.

“You’re after Red Wizards and... a Tiamat cult?”  She lets the words sink in, like she’s trying to fit them into a puzzle.  A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.  “Well, that’s news to me.  This was supposed to be a quiet, out-of-the-way lodge.  And no, my business here has nothing to do with any of that.”

She folds her arms, her stance mirroring Yeshil’s, almost amused by the girl’s mix of boldness and naivety.

“Luskan wizards, huh?   Fine.  If you’re just trying to suss out who’s a threat and who’s not, I can respect that.  But you should know — wandering off alone to tail a suspicious stranger is a good way to wind up dead.  Or worse.”  She emphasizes that last word, as if it isn't just a turn of phrase.

She glances back down the alley, then to Yeshil.  “If those cultists are really your concern, you should be watching your own back, not mine.  You don’t exactly blend in.  Someone’s bound to notice you poking around where you shouldn’t.”

"Red Wizards aren't to be taken lightly.  They’re ruthless, calculating, and they always have an edge.  If they’re hiding out with a bunch of cultists, it’s for good reason.  Most likely, they’re using the cult as fodder for their own schemes.  If you get caught snooping, you won’t get the chance to scream before they turn your bones to ash.”

She hesitates, almost like she’s weighing whether to share more, then finally mutters, “If you’re smart, you’ll let this go and let someone more experienced handle it.  If you insist on digging, don’t do it alone.  Always have an exit plan.  And never — never — let them know you’re onto them.  The moment they think you’re a threat, they’ll strike, and they won’t wait until you’re ready for it.”

Her eyes soften, just a fraction.  “Surviving this kind of game isn’t just about being brave.  It’s about knowing when to take a step back.  Learn to pick your battles — or you won’t live to fight the one that matters.”

She watches a moment to see if any of that sinks in, then she nods her head back toward the inn, as if to suggest Yeshil should head back inside.

Jirel shifted her weight slightly at the bar, the wood creaking softly beneath her as she settled into a wary stillness. The shift in the room's energy hadn't escaped her. The quiet was too pointed, the kind that settled on her skin like cold mist before a storm. Her honey-hued eyes narrowed, flicking from the silent pair in the back to the travel-worn cloaked figures shifting to the side tables, and back again.

She was already on heightened from the Little One sneaking off out of sight. She's a quick one, and the giantess' handler is may be getting slow. Jirel will 'oh yeah' bust through a wall to find Yeshil if there were any inklings of her spidey senses tingling that she were in danger. However, for the time being, she will focus on what's immediately within her vicinity.

One group had pouches that didn’t jingle. She'd grunt. What did that mean? Stone? Paper? Powder? A blade too well-wrapped to clink? She didn't like not knowing. Her hand came to rest instinctively at her hip, fingers lightly brushing as she leaned just slightly toward Tylaerys. Her voice didn’t rise, but her posture said enough. Protective. Ready.

Jirel's eyes combed the cloaked figures, then the unmoving pair seated further in. Still. Too still. Not a drink. Not a bite. It clawed at her instincts. Her gaze sharpened, looking for insignia, for matching marks, even a shared glance. Were they friend or foe?

And that door. The fur-covered door behind the bar lingered in her peripheral thoughts. Hidden, but not well enough. Every time someone raised their voice, the barkeep’s eyes flicked toward it. Like a nervous tick. Or a habit born of something worth guarding.

The giantess scanned the floor near the bar, the walls, the rafters. Was there anything small nearby? A rat. A mouse. Even a fly might do. Something she could speak with. See through. Just to take a peek beyond that door...

Jirel didn’t move. Not yet. But her mind worked like a slow-turning blade, each question a weight added to the tension building in her chest. With her free hand, she would gesture to a mug of ale on the counter, empty of not. "Got anythin' stronger in the back?" She'd break her silence to feel it out, see what he does and/or says. "I like mah ale or cider. The lady prefers wine." She notes for Ty.

(Curious about those jingle free pouches. Half tempted to tell Finn to Swiper go swiping. But can Jirel discern what else it could be perhaps?)
(Do either groups have defining features or insignias? ie. Cultists and/or Faction Agent? A specific race that doesn't eat? Or they just so focused?)
(Might be stretching things, but any little critters about she may be able to retcon with using beast sense or speak with animal? Being nosey about the door.)

Jirel:

• The contents of those pouches remain a mystery without closer investigation.
• There are no insignias, but the group watching from the back of the bar are the ones Tylaerys and the others have identified as most likely/almost certainly to be members of the Cult of the Dragon.  You've seen these people eat and drink on the road... it just seems that tonight, here in this tavern, they are refraining for reasons that remain unknown.
• Yes, there is a bar mouser prowling back and forth along the counter, occasionally rubbing up against patrons for pets.

Assuming you expend a use of speak with animals:

Yeshil nods sincerely with each piece of advice. If she had parchment and quill handy, she would be taking notes. She still doesn't know who this stranger is, but is convinced she has no ill intent, and has a wealth of knowledge about espionage. Yeshil's only mentor was a scholarly wizard, so now the girl is desperate to seize this opportunity for all it's worth. With the prompting nod from the woman, Yeshil turns to head back, but continues to ask for more advice.

So... we are all travelling in the same caravan. What should I do for an exit plan? And how can I tell when I'm digging too hard? One of the cultists got murdered on the road, so they are already kinda edgy...

Pushing off from the wall, she straightens and gives Yeshil a faint, almost approving nod.  “You’re green, but you’ve got guts.  But this isn't a business that favors the bold.  Caution is your best friend.  Use your eyes, keep your mouth running but your ears open, and don’t take anything at face value.  Even your own allies.  Trust too easily, and you’ll end up dead."

With Yeshil not leaving, she makes to move past her, but stops short when they are alongside one another.  "Oh.  And keep this in mind... you're a hexblood, and affiliated with the Arcane Brotherhood.  I presume you have a spell or two or three in hand to get you out of a tough spot - don't bet your life on it.  Every Red Wizard worth his or her bloody robes knows how to Counterspell.  Make sure you have a mundane backup plan to go along with the spellcraft.  It could save your life."  She begins to walk away.  "Safe travels, and good luck, stranger."

Jirel kept still, her fingers absentmindedly lowered for the mouser to brush against. When the cat obliged with a lazy nudge, she offered it a few rough but affectionate scritches behind the ear, her attention never fully leaving the room.

Her eyes flicked toward the fur-covered door behind the bar, then slowly back to the figures seated in the rear. “Think we might be sittin’ in the dragon’s den, so teh speak,” she murmured low to Tylaerys, just loud enough for her to catch the meaning, but quiet enough not to carry.

Then, without breaking posture, Jirel lifted two fingers from the edge of her mug and gave a subtle but purposeful wave in Finn’s direction. a crooked hook of her hand meant to catch the bard’s eye without alerting the room. A silent signal. If they ain't there to start trouble, they should regroup if their business was done for the time being. Even if they don't start trouble, it'll find them soon enough.

Without looking up at the blonde giantess at her side, Tylaerys would discreetly nod at her words, whispering back as she briefly turned her way. "I do, I have the feeling something is going down here soon, question is where we prefer to be when it does." The truth was she had nothing but a feeling to support this, but in their line of business there was no harm in being prepared for the worst. "So you made a new friend huh?" She says with a small smile as she notices Jirel pet the cat under the table.

     Finn is enjoying playing the music in a pub and entertaining the crowd, like a good bard should be doing!  Well, most of the crowd.  Well, some of the crowd at least.  He's lost in the music... Lost enough that he doesn't notice that Yeshil has gone missing, but not so lost that he doesn't notice the hand signal from Jirel.  Finn decides to play one last rousing song to fire up the crowd and get himself a nice round of applause before taking a "break" so he sings a popular pub song called "The Five Sisters."  The song is about, strangly enough, five sisters and the shenanigans and slapstick misadventures they get into because the five of them are always arguing and working at cross purposes to one another.  It is a thinly veiled satire about Tiamat given that each of the sisters have a different color hair...

     When the song reaches it's rousing end and the crowd goes wild (hopefully - Performance: 25 ) Finn takes a bow or two and then waves off the crowd.  "Sorry!  Sorry!  That is all for now... Allow me to whet my whistle and maybe I shall be back for an encore in a bit!"

     Finn then makes his way to the bar to get such a drink and, of course, ends up sidled right up next to Jirel and Tylaerys...

Finn's performance elicits cheers and table pounding from around the room.  Even a few of the less dour cultists clap politely.  One of the merchants or wealthy travelers from the caravan flags Finn down as he heads toward the bar.  "I didn't realize we had such an entertainer traveling with us.  Your should visit our campfires when we get back on the road.  We tip well, for such merriment."  He flips a single golf coin to Finn.

As the party sits at the bar [does Yeshil return from outside?] contemplating the strange mix of relaxation and tension inside the tavern... the suspected cultists get up en masse, pay for what little their groups ordered, and depart.  A handful of them return outside the walls to where the rest of them were camped, but the majority seem to be taking rooms here inside the lodging, breaking off into pairs.

Tylaerys

Perception to notice who gave the signal that the evening was over for the cultist: 11
Insight to otherwise tell what is going on, if something seems off or if the cultists indeed seem to head off for bed: 16

Tylaerys:

From what you observed, the cultists in the tavern all seem to be taking their direction from the two newcomers who joined outside Dragonspear Castle.

As far as what is going on, you notice something different about the cultists demeanor here tonight.  Throughout this journey, they have kept to themselves and been quietly cautious, but there has also been a confidence to them; an aura of presumed superiority - invincibility, even.  But here in the tavern, the cultists shuffling out the door look nervous.  You get the impression now that this is less about them about to do something, than about them being spooked about something.

Tylaerys would quietly and discreetly share with the others her observation about the new additions since Dragonsppear castle being in charge and the cultists seemingly being spooked, perhaps about what is beyond that door, or by the presence of that person Yeshil had approached.

Yeshil returns just as the cultists are filling out. She hides into the shadows and watches as they depart, then cautiously slips back into the tavern when the last of them have gone, and  makes her way over to Tylaerys and whoever is with her.

((I'm back in civilisation now, on Europe time, but able to join in again regularly))

The cultists have now retreated from the bar, and the enthusiasm from Finn's performance has begun to abate.  The teamsters and merchants, having hit their cups hard from a long day of traveling, are now slowly settling into just how drunk they have become.

"Well, this has certainly been an interesting evening, but perhaps we too should call it a night?" Tylaerys says quietly to her companions, ready to return to their cart now.