Hildigrim gives a small but stern nod. “Very well — I’ll head that way. I’m no slouch at keeping myself unseen, so the odds of my safe arrival are statistically favorable.”

He hops down from the bench and begins fussing with his gear, patting pouches, checking straps, and giving his shortbow a quick once-over. To anyone watching, it’s clear he’s running through a practiced mental inventory as much as a physical one — preparing himself with the same meticulous care he gives to deciphering a puzzle.

Hex shakes her head at Hildigrim. "You're not going alone. It's too dangerous. If it's keeping unseen you're worried about, I know a spell that will help all of us move silently."

"I will need a moment to recover before we leave," the others hear from the back of the inn, where Auriel is tending to his wounds. "Shouldn't you as well, Hex?"

"Huh? Oh... yes. I guess I should." Hex goes to sit nearby Auriel to also tend to her wounds. "Sorry, with everything going on, it just feels like we should be moving as quickly as possible. I didn't even think about that."

"I understand," Auriel replies quietly. "But let's not rush it. We don't want another King’s Pyre. We both know how close that came." 

The paladin falls silent for a moment, then glances at Hex. "Back there in the streets, you didn't use your bow. Are you favoring the sword now?" He listens as the tiefling replies, then adds, "It's good to have someone else up front. More dangerous for you, though."

As they finish patching themselves up, Auriel studies Hex with a quick eye. "Are you alright, or do you need a bit of healing?" He raises a hand slightly towards her, the faintest shimmer of light gathering in it, ready to infuse a little divine magic if she deems it necessary.

@potato:

Aleyd provides some further instruction for the refugees huddling inside the Laughing Goblin with you. Imizael remains at Fat Mar's side, still softly sniffling. The opportunity to rest and recover is a welcome relief, but does not last long, as Aleyd prepares to leave. "I will meet you all back here. Good luck with your side of the investigation. I will learn what I can of any resistance to the occupation and return with as many allies as I can find before we attempt to recover the Lord Regent," she says, adding under her breath, "Hopefully this place is still standing when I do."

Overhearing the comment, Aya says, "I can help with that. I specialize in wards that utilize enchantment magic. Not that this would work long term, but I can ward the inn to discourage anyone from investigating it too closely. I use the same wards for my shop at night. That should buy you some time for your plan while we hide here, but...obviously you'll need to eventually come back..."

OOC: An hour has passed since you brought the refugees into the Laughing Goblin, and you have all gained the benefits of a short rest. If you would like to roll any hit dice, please feel free to do so.

In addition, each character has gained 100 XP for freeing the prisoners.

Carl nods to Hildigrim, Auriel and Hex, saying, “I’m ready ta go whenever you are.  I feel rested and able to fly again if needed. Or go invisible.  Whatever you need me to do..”  He readies his gear for departure, anxious to be on the move.  

Hex nods as Auriel inquires into her sudden change of prefered weapon. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. Carl and Hildigrim are much more suited for the backline so I decided to even everything out a bit more."

She shrugs nonchalantly as he warns her of the danger. "Yeah, I know. It's not exactly what I'm used to either but... watching you take all those hits by the orcs in King's Pyre, I think that's what pushed me to finally make the change. I don't want you to be all alone on the front. I can take some hits too."

Hex gently closes Auriel's offered hand and gives it a few light pats. "I'm alright. Save it for when we really need it. My wounds aren't that bad. You were the one who got hit the worst."

With their wounds tended to, just before everyone is ready to go, Hex calls the party to gather together before casting Pass Without Trace. "This should helps us move a little more silently. Even you with your clunky armor, Auriel." She pops up her hood and stands by the door, ready and waiting for Hildigrim to lead the group to the Cracked Crown.

In an effort to keep his nerves from fraying while they wait, Hildigrim commandeers a sheet of parchment and begins sketching a schematic of Phlan. His tongue peeks out between his teeth as he carefully marks the salient landmarks, fussing over proportions as though the city itself were a puzzle he could tame with geometry.

Every so often he pauses to pepper Carl with questions about what he’d seen from above, jotting down arrows and notes in his small, spidery script. By the time the others stir and say they are ready, the halfling has mapped what he believes to be the safest route to the Cracked Crown.

He gathers the three around the makeshift map and taps a finger against it, his tone brisk. “Here. This is the route we’ll take.”

Looking at Hex, he adds, “The spell you mentioned earlier will be invaluable.”

His gaze shifts to Carl. “Can you make Auriel invisible? He’s our loudest liability.”

Finally, he looks to the paladin. “I considered suggesting you leave your armor behind, but the risk is unacceptable. If we stumble into trouble — and we likely shall — you’ll need it. Better the noise than a sword through your ribs.”

In reply to Hildigrim's analytical assesment of his armour, Auriel arches a brow.

"Kind of you to weigh my well-being above the liability I seem to have become," he replies, as though his armor had not been present in every mission before this one.

Then, the Winter Eladrin nods towards Carlthuzad, indicating that he's ready to receive his spell whenever the dwarf considers optimal.

Before they leave, Auriel turns to Imizael. "I am sorry for your loss. Mar's death will not be forgotten."

“Okay, Mr. Clanky, come here a minute.”  Carl starts to say some words and make motions over Auriel’s head, saying as he does so..”this will last an hour, and it goes away if you attack or cast any spell, so be cautious.  We need to get there and get out within an hour.  So .. we need to move.”  Carl finishes with the spell and then nods at the others, saying, “I’m ready.”

Hildigrim checks his equipment one more time and then watches as the others prepare to leave. Once they're ready, he leads them out. Destination: the Cracked Crown.

The relative calm that had settled over the Laughing Goblin quickly fades when you exit into the chaos that has overtaken Phlan. Those who are not fleeing or looting have otherwise given over to panicking. The air carries an acrid and stinging tang, the scent mixing with the stench of burning pitch, and beneath it all, faintly, you can still hear the dragon's roar. 

Phlan has unraveled before your eyes.

Men, women, and children alike crowd some streets as you walk, running in every direction at once. A woman pushes past you with a child clutched to her chest, having looked past your presence thanks to Hex's spell, her face streaked with soot and tears. A man staggers in the opposite direction, one arm bloodied and hanging uselessly at his side, shouting a name you don't recognize. Behind him, a market stall overturns as a donkey stampedes away from a burning stable building. 

Somewhere nearby, a scream rises, sharp and ragged, a raw sound that cuts through the din, then a clash of steel on steel from somewhere a short distance away. More organized shouts of direction from some pockets of resistance float over the buildings as you make your way closer to the Cracked Crown.

Hex's heart drops as the party moves through the city. It takes everything in her to keep moving, to have to ignore the people who so desperately need help. The further they go and the more chaos they see, her despair transforms itself into a burning anger. All this death, all this suffering and for what? What could this chaos possibly achieve? She unconsciously picks up the pace, almost stepping on Hildigrim's heels. They have to find Glevith as quickly as possible so that this nightmare can end.

Auriel follows the others closely. He knows they can't do anything—not yet—and especially he, under Carlhuzad's invisibility spell, mustn't act in a way that could disrupt it. "Be quiet. Be invisible,"  he tells himself. The attackers mustn't see them. The victims mustn't see them. Above all, the plan must hold.

It's easy to say. Less easy to do when the paladin sees the injured, when he sees terrified parents clutching terrified children, when all around them voices call out names that might never answer again. Harder still are the clashing sounds of metal. Because those means that someone is fighting for their lives. And when the clash stops abruptly… then it means another person is dead. And the dead are most likely the city's residents. Phlan's people. A city not his by birth, not his by years lived within it, but one that welcomed him all the same. Auriel knows well what it means to lose a home. But this… this is entirely different.

The Eladrin looks ahead. Hildigrim, Carlhuzad, and Hex have moved on, leaving him momentarily behind. He has stopped, taken aback from everything he's seeing. But he mustn't. He needs to keep moving. For the plan. For every metallic sound that will continue to echo if they falter. 

The short walk to Scholar's Square brings you to a very different kind of chaos enveloping Phlan. Men and women in robes are loading wagons full of books, struggling under the weight of their labors.

Meanwhile, filthy-faced youths and shady-looking individuals with scraps of paper in hand rush in and out of the cracked crown, looking decidedly out of place in this typically opulent neighborhood.

Don’t think about home, Hildigrim orders himself, clamping down on the thought as if it were a candle flame under glass. He has no plans to ever mistake Phlan for home — his home is the Moonsea. Thentia, a tenday or more away depending on whether you ride the waves or the pony’s back, is too close for this to be happening. If the Cult wins here … how long before Thentia becomes a target? How long before the rot spreads north, like ink through parchment?

The halfling puts on mental blinders, shutting out the crash of distant masonry and the cries of the wounded. He does not look back. The others had best keep pace, for he has no intention of stopping until they’ve reached their destination.

Only when the cobbles of Scholar’s Square come into view does he allow himself a breath, his brisk stride shortening to something less fevered. His eyes flick across the open space with the reflexive scan of one who has walked too many streets looking for secrets.

The front door of the Cracked Crown catches his notice — and so, too, do those entering and exiting conspicuously.

He halts, crooking a finger at Hex. When she bends down, he leans toward her, voice pitched low — enough to reach her ears, but not to draw those of anyone else.

“Messengers?” he murmurs, one brow arched. "Or something more dangerous?"

His spectacles glint faintly as he keeps his gaze fixed on the out-of-place individuals, measuring posture, eye-line, and purpose the way a scholar might weigh a suspect line of script.

Hex crouches down to Hildigrim's level and nods. "Considering Glevith is supposed to be in there, most likely Welcomers. Must be desperate times if they're just running around out in the open like this though..." Her eyes wander off the Cracked Crown and instead scans around the square for anyone else that may be out of place. If the Welcomers were here, there was a chance the Zhentarim might as well.

Auriel halts as soon as the others do. He can't hear the hushed exchange between Hex and Hildigrim, so what he does is silently survey the area for any additional entrances, if any. If he can, he'll also try to glimpse what those scraps of paper the shady figures are holding are—though he stays close to Hex, careful not to step beyond the reach of her spell.

Carl looks and traces where these messengers with slips of paper are coming from, as he tries to guess what they are for.  “Any windows?  How should we approach?” He whispers.