"K-kill?" Asks Wendyl with a bewildered expression as Zodge finishes explaining the assignment. "I'm so sorry, did you say kill?"

The question apparently got caught in his throat as he watches the others asking questions as if a license to commit indiscriminate murder was the most normal thing in the world. He clears his throat and speaks louder to ensure that he's heard.

"I'm terribly, um... Did you say you want us to mur... that is... to execute these fellows on sight?" He laughs nervously, eyes darting around in panic when he realizes no one else shares his concerns. "I do apologize but I think you must have me confused with someone else. You see, I'm no master criminal. I'm just a novice spell-caster, you see? Just a humble student of the weave. I've never killed so much as a housefly in all my life..." He pulls nervously at his shackles. "Gods above and below, I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

"Don't worry about it buddy. If you don't want to kill anybody it's ok. I don't want to kill anybody either. I seen enough death in my life, so we'll see if we can put them out of business some other way." Samosh continues to walk then quickly turns back, "Unless they spent time hurting kids. If they hurt kids it's over. That's my line, they better not have crossed it."

"A Guild spy in league with the Flaming Fist." Threnody ruminates aloud, before her mouth twists with distaste at the mention of gods she bears no love for. "Before I rush off to catch up with my fleet-footed friends and meet with this Tarina, is there any way we can prove we're your deputies while we're bringing holy terror to these cultists of the Dead Three? I'd rather we don't end up clapped in irons by some over-zealous constable from the Watch for purging the city of murderous lunatics." 

She tilts her head to one side. Her pale, rosy-lipped face as innocent as her armour is macabre and intimidating. The chainmail Threnody is adorned in is as black as pitch, large, spiky gauntlets peeking out from beneath the hauberk. Dark leather breeches disappear under sinister onyx-hued sabatons, and the entire ensemble is shrouded by a black cloak that drapes around her like the wings of a great, horned bat. 

"Perhaps you can provide some proof that we've been commissioned to work for you."

     "You... You want us to kill gods?"  Kester asks in shock even as Ralph takes a step or two backwards.  "Like, actual gods??  While those three are NOT included in the Refined Unified Religious Order it would still go against all I believe in to kill a... Well, kill, really, but most certainly a god..."  Kester sees Liatris already looking at him with disapproval and does his best to avoid her gaze.

     Once THAT confusion s sorted out Kester is still chagrined.  "Still and all, I'm a healer.  I don't kill.  It's just not what I do.  I couldn't even help out on the farm.  Well in the fields, sure, but not when it came to the animals.  I know I'm a bit of a hypocrite as I can eat a good soufflé or steak as well as the next one but to actually...  Oh no, sire.  I am afraid I just cannot."  Kester would put his foot down if it actually reached the ground while he sat upon Ralph.  "I can certainly help keep these others alive as they carry out the task but partake of the taking of a life myself?  No sir.  I cannot.  It goes against my very faith, it does it does."

     "Oh yes!" Kester exclaims in support of Threnody.  "We will need badges or papers or something to prove that we have the authority to...  investigate?"

Zodge purses his lips at Liatris's question. "Hmph, that's a good question. Maybe you lot will actually work out," he says grumpily. "If anyone you encounter is connected to a patriar, take them into custody rather than killing them out right. We Fists will sort out what to do with them from there."

In response to Wendyl, Zodge crosses his arms. "Yes, I said kill. Trust me. Anyone who worships the Dead Three has it coming."

"Oh yeah, you could use some badges," Zodge says, considering. Then he barks an order at the nearest sergeant, who disappears into the barracks next to the Gate. The sergeant quickly returns with badges depicting a fist shrouded in fire. He offers one to each member of the party. "Now don't you go losing those," Zodge grumbles. "And remember, you're acting on behalf of the Fist so try not to look too incompetent."

Bees scouts ahead. Aside from the chaos at the Basilisk Gate, he doesn't see anything else suspicious on the way to the Elfsong Tavern, just the usual amount of people going about their errands.

Bees walks into the tavern and waits for the others to arrive. He orders a non-alcoholic drink from the bartender and finds a corner of the tavern where he can see the room and who comes and goes.

His mind begins to analyze the current situation. So, we have three dead gods whose worshipers are on a murderous rampage throughout Balder's Gate. We've been tasked with killing the bad guys before they can cause any more trouble. Hmmph... so much for a fair trial. Maybe the Flaming Fist will deal with us in a similar fashion once they're done with us. Bees begins to eye the patrons in the tavern to gain insight into anyone who might stand out as a cultist or who looks out of place. (Insight: 18)

When the group arrives, Bees remains in the corner, watching from a distance but ready to intervene should the need arise as they talk with Tarina. Bees is most comfortable keeping an eye on things from a distance. His career as a spy has caused some habits to form that are hard to break. He's not trying to be hidden, and the group will likely spot him as they walk in, but his approach is to hide in plain sight and blend in with the local populace.

     Kester takes his badge and looks at it with some crossed between pride and dread.  "Th... Thanks," he says to Zodge.  "I guess..."  He'll take the ones for those who left already as well, if nobody else wants to, but he'll pause for a moment before leaving.  

     "Should Ralph has a badge as well?" he asks a bit timidly.  "Ralph... My dog here," he explains.  "He's not really a biter at all, at all... Not unless he is threatened.  Or I am.  But he can seem might aggressive at times and all.  I would hate for someone to think he was just an ordinary stray or something.  I mean he obviously isn't.  Just look at him!"  As if knowing he is being talked about, and praised at that, Ralph stands a bit taller, lifts his neck a bit higher... And drops his tongue right out of the side of his mouth.

     "I'm just thinking, with a badge upon him, people may be less tempted to mess with him if I try to bring him inside somewhere or something... Or if I have to leave him outside, which I really do hate to do because you never know what people will do now, do you?"  (Persuasion to talk Zodge into a badge for the Mastiff? lol:  5. I fear Ralph isn't going to be deputized...)

     Once Kester's pleas for recognition for Ralph play out, he joins the others who haven't left for the tavern yet and follows them once they do.  Kester and Ralph could likely make it there first but Kester is more than happy to hold Ralph back a bit so that they bring up the rear of the group.  Kester isn't loving being roped into this whole ordeal and is in no mindset to be a go getter...

As noone made a move to take their chances in a foolish attempt to outright flee the scene and the Gates as a whole, Liatris held her tongue as assuredly as she maintained a by-and-large neutral posture, if one ignored a bit of glaring. Her expression certainly hadn't soften by much in the wake of Wendyl's and... no, really just Wendyl's response, as Kester at least came around to a loophole in the group's collective charge.

In fact, after turning over the response a bit more in her head, Liatris looked down almost... proudly at the halfling. However, with badges soon she approached Wendyl, knelt down, and then said, "Captain Zodge has the right of it. There are no innocent souls among the Dead Three followers, with but the exception of those they intend to sacrifice or enslave. But if you fear no longer being welcome in Eldath's embrace, following Kester's example in your own way should be... sufficient." She then rose up, but just before moving to play catch up with Bees, a final bit of advice is given. "Though, I would recommend adjusting your stance with regards to dispatching them should the opportunity afford it, as you are likely to die otherwise."On that delightful note, Liatris would readly carry on her way near the head of the group on the way to the tavern, barring any other distractions. 

Wendyl's eyes move wildly around the group as each throws in their perspective.

As Liatris makes her case, he nods along politely before tentatively raising his hand to explain. "Yes, I have no doubt they are very dastardly fellows, and I'm sure they deserve this... consequence. It's just that... you know... well...some people are very skilled at killing people and others are very good at drinking mulled wine and reading books, and... well... I suppose I tend to be a bit more of the later. You see? A liability to your operation if I may be so bold as to suggest it."

He lowers his voice and adds. "Perhaps it would be best for all if I tip-toe my way out of the city and leave you all to it, eh?" 

He looks around to you all, seeming very hopeful that he may yet get a reprieve...

Samosh looks at Wendyl and begins to snicker.

Then chuckle...then laugh out loud. 

"For those of you that weren't there, our good and gentle soul here, and I admit, he really is a good guy," Samosh gives Wendyl a shoulder hug "Has a red side to him."

"I know it's his story but I don't think he remembers exactly how it went down...

.....

In the quiet town of Willow Creek, there lived a gentle baker named Wendyl. Known for his delectable pastries and warm demeanor, Wendyl was a beloved figure in the community. His passion for baking extended beyond the kitchen, as he also enjoyed crafting his own wines, each bottle infused with his unique blend of flavors.

One sunny afternoon, Wendyl hosted a small gathering at his quaint bakery, inviting a few close friends to sample his latest creations. As the guests savored the sweet treats and sipped the wine, laughter and conversation filled the air, creating a warm and convivial atmosphere.

However, the tranquility was shattered when a newcomer, a boisterous and opinionated individual named Bartholomew, arrived. Bartholomew, known for his sharp tongue and dismissive attitude, immediately began to criticize Wendyl's offerings. He scoffed at the delicate pastries, calling them "childish" and "uninspired." He then turned his attention to the wine, dismissing it as "watered-down grape juice."

Wendyl, initially taken aback by Bartholomew's rudeness, remained composed. He patiently explained the intricate process behind his baking and winemaking, highlighting the care and passion he poured into each creation. But Bartholomew remained unconvinced, his arrogance escalating with each passing moment.

Finally, as Bartholomew launched into another scathing critique, a surge of anger coursed through Wendyl. The gentle baker, known for his calm demeanor, felt a primal rage he had never experienced before. His eyes narrowed, and his fists clenched. In a blur of motion, he lunged at Bartholomew, delivering a powerful blow that sent the arrogant critic crashing to the ground, unconscious.

The gathering fell into stunned silence, the joyous atmosphere replaced by a heavy tension. Wendyl stood over Bartholomew, his breath ragged, his heart pounding. He had never resorted to violence before, and the realization of his actions sent a wave of shock through him.

As the dust settled, Wendyl's friends, though initially startled, understood the depth of Bartholomew's insults and the simmering frustration that had finally erupted. They gently guided Wendyl away from the scene, leaving him to grapple with the consequences of his actions.

The incident with Bartholomew left an indelible mark on Wendyl. The gentle baker, once known for his calm demeanor, now carried the weight of his violent outburst. He sought solace in his baking and winemaking, pouring his emotions into each creation. Though the incident had shaken him to his core, Wendyl slowly began to heal, learning to channel his anger into his art, transforming his pain into something beautiful and meaningful.

........

I shouldn't have laughed, I'm very sorry about that. Your Benny the Baker identity was awesome! and it's a shame that the fight forced you to move again. That guy deserved what you gave him!"

     While the topic of The Dead Three is being discussed by Liatris, Kester cannot help but chime in when they say there are no innocent souls amongst them.  "Oh I doubt that," Kester offers.  "I suspect cults are like religions - they like to recruit new followers young.  Raise them in the belief.  Or are you suggesting that their newborns are as guilty as the parents and should be killed right alongside them?"

     "I'm confused," Kester admits later when the story of Wendyl is revealed.  "Have you two known each other long?  So that you know Wendyl's history and are free to share it with others?" he asks. 

     Kester gives Wendyl a long look and then looks back to Samosh.  "Are you sure?  He really doesn't look like a ruffian capable of such physicality..."

Wendyl stares up at Samosh, speechless, looking as perplexed and bemused as everyone else...

(OOC: I'm going to go off the assumption that the last few things are brought up in transit to the tavern. Otherwise if not, see spoilers for that particular response)

Provided the ongoing exchange is one being held enroute to the tavern, Liatris is more than willing to listen and ponder over any questions. Though the tidbit about newborns has her looking Kester in confusion, then looking off into space; her eyes darting about in her skull as if trying to solve some complex equation for a time. As a consequence, most of Samosh's story go over her head. But regardless, Liatris eventually shook her head in dismissal of the odd tangent, before turning her attention to the wizard of the party.

"Even if you are not downplaying your capabilities for the sake of regaining more of your personal freedom, Captain Zodge has already made it clear what refusal will lead to, Wendyl. And despite your efforts, you have already been captured once. So, it is in your best interest to do whatever you can for the sake of this operation. The only way you can truly prove yourself a liability for this operation is to actively distract from or intentionally sabotage our efforts. In which case, if your intentionally disruptive actions fail to lead to our termination, you will at best be returned to custody of the Flaming Fist, or worse-" Her eyes then narrow. "You may be considered an obstacle to be removed more permanently in the moment. I do not hope for this, as I'm sure you do not as well. So, no point in further dwelling on such matters, yes?" All of this explained in a matter-of-fact tone, with but exception to the last line being spoken in a colder demeanor.

Then like the flip of a light switch, she turned her attention to Kester with an almost pleasantly calm demeanor. "With regards to your earlier question, Kester. Captain Zodge may have given us leave to eliminate anyone that gets in our way, but I do not believe it was with the genuine intent to do so with reckless abandon. Otherwise, he would've enlisted the aid of far more... morally ambiguous sources than us. That said, while I would find it rather.... unfortunate if such an obstacle came in the form of a youth, I believe both myself and those that shall be working this case alongside me  are more than capable of discerning a genuine threat from a mewling newborn, and to act accordingly with each case. And if not, it shall be addressed at the appropriate time." 

Quote from Orileo >>

"The only way you can truly prove yourself a liability for this operation is to actively distract from or intentionally sabotage our efforts. In which case, if your intentionally disruptive actions fail to lead to our termination, you will at best be returned to custody of the Flaming Fist, or worse-" Her eyes then narrow. "You may be considered an obstacle to be removed more permanently in the moment. I do not hope for this, as I'm sure you do not as well. So, no point in further dwelling on such matters, yes?"

Wendyll swallows a cartoonish "gulp" before summoning a nervous smile and saying, "Well, far be it for me to be an obstacle... I suppose there's no harm in me um... Tagging along and lending a hand wherever I can." He continues trailing behind the party, rubbing his hands together nervously and perpetually scanning the crowd for signs of danger.

(I am SO sorry about the wait, you guys. This shouldn't happen again.)

Everyone - Flanking the entrance to the Elfsong Tavern are two bouncers, a set of animated armor and a gruff-looking female half-ogre who glares at you as you walk inside. The taproom is the main room on the first floor of the tavern, and it's currently full of well-armed patrons, lots of mercenaries and adventurers, huddled around tables and in booths along the walls. Three padded chairs are angled toward a fireplace on the eastern wall, underneath the creaky wooden staircase that climbs to the second floor. There's a couch along the northern wall currently occupied by a snoring gnome. Next to the couch there's a wooden chest full of board and card games for patrons to play.

Bees - Bees doesn't notice anything unusual about the clientele. The patrons are rougher around the edges perhaps than the ordinary Baldurian, but that's normal for an establishment as the Elfsong. The proprietor is a half-elven man who currently tends the bar with the aid of two young human waiters.

Kester - Zodge stares at the halfling and the mastiff for an uncomfortably long time before he finally shrugs. "You know what? What the hells? Why not?"

He arranges for another badge which he hands over to Kester. "Fix this to his harness or whatever," says the Fist captain, trying to look disinterested, but the barest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

En route to the tavern, Wendyll casts Mage Armor, anticipating trouble. He spends the whole journey whispering to himself that everything's going to be fine. He simply needs to accompany these fellows as they do their business and this will all be over soon.

     As Zodge hands over the badge for Ralph the giant dog, almost as if he understands, wags his tail and gives the gruff commander a big sloppy lick on the side of his face.

     "Err, umm... Sorry about that," Kester says with a bit of a grimace.  "But thanks for the badges!  I am sure they will come in very helpful..." That said, Kester is immediately prompting Ralph onwards towards the rest of the group.  Kester will attempt to affix Ralph's badge as they ride, he certainly doesn't want to lose track of the others.

     Upon arriving at Elfsong Kester considers attempting to ride Ralph right inside - He does have a badge now and all - but the glaring half-Ogre woman is a bit too intimidating for Kester and he doesn't even try.  Instead he finds the nearest place to the entrance, but a bit away from the half-Ogre, where he can wind a bit of rope around.  In truth he doesn't so much as tie Ralph up as make a show of doing so.  The rope is loose enough that Ralph could pull loose with an overly aggressive shake of his hind quarters but Ralph knows it means to stay and to behave... Unless someone or something gives him trouble.  Or he hears Kester's call.

     That done, Kester once again hurries to join up with the others, this time inside the Elfsong.  "Do we know what Tarina looks like?" Kester calls out to the others, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the general din of the bar.  "Other than, you know, being a she?"  

Bees watches as the rest of the group enters the establishment. Half expecting the other two halflings to flee before ever arriving at the bar, Bees eyebrows raise in surprise as they both enter with the others. 'And even under their own power no less.' The gruff looking halfling with a thick black beard strokes it for a moment. A smile purses his lips at the thought. Neither one of them are made for this sort of work... Bees ponders that thought for a moment longer. 'Am I made for this sort of work? The work of killing...' Granted, the people the Flaming Fist wants eliminated are most certainly bad in every sense of the word, but... still.

Bees is used to a place like this. Rough and tumble. Only those with a certain level of confidence can thrive in a place like this. Any perceived weakness and the predators around the room will mark you as a target. He takes out a dagger and casually uses it to scratch an itch on the back of his head before sinking the tip it into the table before him and sipping more of his drink. 'Now where is this Tarina'  He looks around the room again, trying to identify the person we're here to meet. He can't help but notice a few unsavory fellows eyeing Kester and Wendyl as potential easy marks. Bees decides to head off the gambit before it has legs.

He gets up from his table, grabbing his dagger in the process and walks over to greet the group. Raising a hand in hello Bees begins talking about how nice the weather is this time of year. "Wonderful weather, innit? I just find it so nice. Not to warm, not to cold. No frostbite to worry about. Might lose some fingers if the frostbite sets in." An odd topic to bring up so randomly, but the message hidden within is directed to the unsavory fellows Bees identified and is unmistakable as he sheaths his dagger on his belt. 

While not true regular of the Elfsong Tavern, Liatris had visited the place often enough to think nothing of the mean mugging from the half-ogre bouncer upon arriving on the scene, assuming said bouncer wasn't some new hire over the past tenday. Then again, short of someone pulling out an actual weapon on the totally-normal-wood-elf, most shows of aggression directed to her tended at best provoke a raised brow of confusion or a dismissive sigh. Regardless, apart from making sure Wendyll had entered the tavern with everyone else, she only makes it so far inside before stopping to survey the room, perhaps noting Bees in passing but refraining from acknowledging him in the moment.

'Now where is-...' Liatris thought, but the rest went uncompleted in the wake of Kester's question upon his return. At first she look down to the halfling with a raised brow. But then as the question is played back over in mind, her eyes are began to widen with dawnign shock. After talking such a big game and all but plainly claiming to be a professional in accepting Zodge's task without complaint, for her to make so simple a mistake was the epitome of foolishness! Yet even as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, her thoughts never swerve in the direction of blaming the less enthusiastic halflings for distracting her during the meeting with Zodge.

Lips peel back in the beginnings of a snarl, a hand balls into tight, shaking fist, and then just as she appeared about to say something.... as easily as flipping a light switch, her expression calms and body relaxes over the next moment or two. "... No. But based on a few clues presented during the briefing, I would speculate that she-" Liatris looks over and gestures offhandedly to the snoring gnome across the way. "That is her. However just to be sure, let us ask the bartender, as she is likely to be something of a regular. I believe his name was... Mr. Alyth." Then as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred, Liatris made her way over to the bar and knocked on it, if need be, to get the bartender's attention, trusting the others to have either followed or started up their own investigations. "Pray thee has a moment, purveyor of intoxicants? Is, uh, Tarina in?"

Samosh follows everybody into the tavern, giving the half-ogre woman a wink and a knowing smile.

Inside, he recognizes the customers and the setting. Nothing changes, just the colors. When the party finds a table he waves over a barmaid and orders a round of drinks for everyone while asking where Tarina can be found.