Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh

The young Rhenee beauty takes note of the darkened mood of the Cook and makes a note to herself to not mention anything about literacy again in his presence. He didn't strike her as one to be bothered about such things but his good mood seemed to return quickly at least. She then gives the blue-haired half-elf an appreciative smile over her conclusions, a sharp mind on that one. To her it was clear that this Councilman was crooked in some way, she knew the type all too well, and this was definitely a mission that he didn't want others in Saltmarsh to know about. As the blue-haired half-elf suggests they should be on their way, Esme merely nods and follows along without touching her drink.

As she leaves with the tavern Esmeralda smiles to herself. If this was the level of the competition she would have no problem with finding guests for her own place when that time came. She is now carrying a backpack that she took from the table she sat. The tiny chirpy fae is nowhere to be seen. "Any other taverns in Saltmarsh?" She asks the others on the way to the general store, the tanned girl with the lute in particular, assuming there would be somewhere less unsavoury that the Empty Net for the more affluent to drink at.

Esme joins the others inside the store, mostly to get out of the rain although she casually looks around a bit as the others make their purchases. "Playing the clarinet or planning to learn?" She asks the tanned girl with a curious smile, studying the beautifully crafted instrument with her. Before they leave, the Rhenee walks up to the counter with a charming smile to the short proprietor, asking him about Councilman Solmor to see what she could find out about their crooked client.

(Persuasion: 24)

Later, as the decrepit house comes into view, Esme stops for a moment and another fey appears beside her. "Oh, this is Thistle, another friend of mine, they will scout out the grounds to make sure we don't walk into any unpleasantries." The Rhenee explains before the tiny dark fey disappears to do just that.

Thistle

Before they leave, the Rhenee walks up to the counter with a charming smile to the short proprietor, asking him about Councilman Solmor to see what she could find out about their crooked client.

(Persuasion: 24)

Esme

Winston steps to a quiet corner,

 Esme - Thistle

Seri looks over the copy she's made of the coastal maritime chart critically once she is finished.  Not her best work, but hardly her worst either given the cramped conditions in the corner of Winston's store.  She shows Darixa what she's done and returns the original to the musically inclined Navigator.

Once on the coastal path heading east, Seri observes the pair of mounted town guard impassively until they are well out of earshot, wondering if they had been sent in advance to the derelict mansion by Councilor Solmor to "prepare" for the party's arrival.  She glances out at the stormy ocean and exhales, feeling herself relax.  Drawing from the Wave Father's wild strength.

After another minute or two of walking, when she and her companions are truly alone, Seri speaks quietly but urgently to the others:

"None of you know me well enough for full trust.  Yet I hope you all agree that we must trust each other and work as a unified crew this afternoon and eve.  I believe Councilor Solmor sends us into peril, though I know not of what nature.  One thing I do know.  His elven lackey, Gordon, hates us all with a passion.  Exactly why, I could not say, but it was written all over his face and posture.  What we have been told, about the mansion being abandoned, or being a hideout of Sea Prince slavers, may be false, or may be partial truth told with ill intent.  This is why I obtained the oil at Winston's store, in case of an extreme situation which might require us to burn the entire structure to the ground.  Regardless, I hope we can all be on the sharp lookout."

"Solmor asks for our discretion, and I am inclined to oblige, though not for his sake, but rather for ours.  Circumstance may have transformed us into an unwitting faction in a political game for which we know not yet the rules nor the players.  Swimming in such murky waters, we must rely on each other."

Once near the mansion, Seri glances with surprise as Esme summons a different (?) fey friend, but nods in approval as the Rhenee woman sends Thistle to scout.  If Esme and the fey creature will allow, she taps them lightly on the shoulder to bless them with Procan's guidance before they fly off. 

Along the way to the shop, Darixa would have responded to Esme's question about other taverns. "Sure, there's a couple other places. One tavern closer to the main north gate, then another inn with a tavern across the bridge on the other side of the river mouth." 

In Winston's, Darixa is mildly startled when Esme asks about the clarinet. "Oh, I know how to play. I've never had one of my own though." Giving up on looking about for Navigator's Tools, she looks back at the instrument. "It is rather beautiful and seems in perfect shape. I don't know that I need to carry around another instrument though." She decides to ask Winston about the instrument and whether she might just try it out to make sure it works. 'And, how much would it be?"  

She's quite impressed with the work Seri does in making a copy, and she tucks the original back safely into her pack. 

Along the road she tells the others about stories she has heard. "I think this mansion used to have a grand library with lots of old tomes. I even seem to recall talk of an alchemist living there that had found a way to turn all sorts of metal into gold."  

When Seri gives her thoughts about Gordon's opinion of them, she simply nods. She really has no idea about the politics of the Councilors, and figures it will be best to be cautious and just see what happens. "I already figured there would be some hazard at this old mansion. This news doesn't change much." 

As they get to the mansion, she takes a long look at it. She's again surprised when Thistle suddenly appears then disappears to scout ahead. "She's kinda cute too," she says in a flippant tone. She also studies the place, looking for any signs of life. Perhaps smoke coming from any chimneys, or other places, lights, or even worn tracks or footprints. (Perception: 19) 

She decides to ask Winston about the instrument and whether she might just try it out to make sure it works. 'And, how much would it be?"

Winston rubs his chin in thought, “You're welcome to try it.  A lady knight was desperate for cash she sold it for… let’s say ten lions (gp).  If you play, I’ll sell it to you for no mark up.”  He brings out a case for the clarinet and extra reeds.

She also studies the place, looking for any signs of life. Perhaps smoke coming from any chimneys, or other places, lights, or even worn tracks or footprints. (Perception: 19) 

You see a couple giant wet weasels rushing along the crumbling stone wall of the garden, averting what would’ve surely been a nasty surprise!!

(Darixa Performance: 15)

Darixa plays a little tune on the instrument, acceptable though maybe not terribly thrilling.  But it's enough to convince her that it truly is in good condition.  She just needs to practice with it some more. She agrees to the price and pays it.  

Outside the manor, she points out the giant weasels to the others, making sure to stay out of their sight. 

"I see. So please, tell me more about these other taverns Darixa. Have you performed there?" The Rhenee beauty asks, her dark grey eyes glancing at the lute the tanned girl is carrying.

"A girl of many talents then, and such a beautiful thing." She says, her fingers briefly caressing the clarinet. "I would love to hear you play something." She says, looking up at the tanned girl with a warm smile, and as she does that, the Rhenee lightly claps her hands in appreciation. "One would be lucky to have you to entertain them. It's a shame dear Primrose wasn't here now."

Later, as the blue-haired elf shares her concerns about their client and the mission, she merely shrugs and nods in agreement with the tanned girl's comment. "Yes, danger is to be expected, but I hope we don't need to resort to arson, whatever wickedness the place holds I'm sure it can be turned into something a lot nicer once we've done some house cleaning, a place where people could live together, or a nice restaurant." The Rhenee suggests with calm confidence, giving the cook a warm glance at the end. "As for the shifty councilor, he should be played carefully, but I'm sure he too can be useful once we have some leverage on him."

"Yes they are, aren't they? But just as their name implies they can be a bit prickly too, so just don't expect them to take well to any compliments." The Rhenee tells the tanned girl with a small smile as the dark fey disappears just before the blue-haired half-elf has managed to to touch her. "And they aren't much into people touching them either." She adds with a brief soft laugh. "In fact, I doubt Thistle could be more different to Primrose if they tried. They don't really get along those two." She explains with an affectionate smile, like a mother loving both of her quite disparate children.

"Well spotted, a girl of many talents indeed." The Rhenee beauty commants as the tanned girl warns them about the giant weasels, then messaging Thistle to keep an eye on the weasels and warn them if they come closer.

(Thistle perception to locate the weasels: 14 )

Combat with wet weasels.  
difficult terrain lightly obscured

Initiative order PCs then Weasels DND VTT is up.

LINK

     “Sure now, of course Gordon hates us,” Cook opines when the subject of the eyepatched elf comes up. “He’s got a middling bit of power from working for the councilor and he’s desperate to hold on to it, and maybe grab a bit more besides.”

     He gestures vaguely as they walk.

     “Then along comes a strange lot like us, dropped into the middle of things, and he likely doesn’t know why any more than we do. When a man only has a little power, he can get mighty protective of it. Suspicious too. Anyone new starts looking like someone trying to take it away.”

     Cook shrugs.

     “He’s probably a great fellow at birthday parties.” This last bit comes with a smirk and a quick wink for anyone paying attention.

     When the conversation turns to the other taverns of Saltmarsh during the walk, Cook proves more than willing to expound on the topic.

     What begins as a casual discussion of taverns soon spreads into a full review of the town’s inns, cookhouses, and eating establishments. Cook discusses the best and worst of them with the air of a man trying to deliver professional judgments. He critiques menus, portions, prices, and preparation with a professional air, or so he hopes. He speaks with equal authority about the sort of clientele each place attracts, clearly drawing on years of observation from the docks.

     His appraisals are surprisingly fair. Still, anyone paying attention easily notices Cook favors quality over presentation, hearty portions over fancy plating, and working-class establishments over places that try too hard to appear refined.

     He likely fills most of the hour or so walk with his running commentary, assuming anyone is patient enough to listen to him prattle on that long. Fortunately for the others, they reach their destination before Cook can segue into related subjects, such as which taverns have persistent mite infestations and which establishments have been known to “supplement” their hamburger with other, less identifiable meats.

     “What’s this then?” Cook asks as Darixa interrupts whatever culinary lecture he was currently delivering.

     He turns quickly toward the direction she’s pointing, spotting the creatures in question. Cook instinctively begins to settle into a fighting stance but stops short of full alarm when he realizes it’s only a couple of weasels. Weasels of unusual size, yes, but still just weasels.

     Cook (on his turn) moves towards the creatures looking to interpose himself between them and the others in his group.  As he advances he quickly bends down to snatch up a couple of stones or rocks from the ground, or even just a clump of dirt, really.  With a sharp but not overly loud "Get! Scram!" he throws whatever improvised projectile he is able to find towards the closest of the varmints more hoping to scare them off than intending to injure...

___ 

On his turn:

Movement - Move towards Weasels 30' (or 15 since it is difficult terrain)
Action - Throw improvised weapon at closest Weasel - 17 to hit for 8 damage?
     (Not used to using improvised weapons, specially ranged but... Pugilists are proficient with improvised weapons so I did 1d20+Dex Modifier (since ranged)+Prof Bonus for the To Hit roll and then rolled 1d8 damage + Dex Modifier, using the d8 instead of d4 since Pugilists use their fisticuffs damage die for unarmed strikes or pugilist weapons.  If I am wrong on any of this feel free to correct and advise.  Not sure the range the improvised weapon would have, after moving Cook should be about 35' away from closest weasel I believe...)
Bonus Action - none
     And Improvised Weapons have the Sap weapon mastery property for Pugilists so if it hits the weasel would have disadvantage on it's next attack roll before Cook's next turn...

"Yes, danger is to be expected, but I hope we don't need to resort to arson, whatever wickedness the place holds I'm sure it can be turned into something a lot nicer once we've done some house cleaning, a place where people could live together, or a nice restaurant." The Rhenee suggests with calm confidence, giving the cook a warm glance at the end. "As for the shifty councilor, he should be played carefully, but I'm sure he too can be useful once we have some leverage on him."

"Aye, by the Wave Father, arson must be a last resort..." Seri begins to agree with Esme but then trails off, finding herself far less optimistic than the Rhenee woman about how smoothly the derelict, abandoned mansion can be transformed into a thriving place of business, and the mysterious and maybe devious counselor into a useful pawn.  But then, what does Seri know about such entrepreneurship or politics?  Not much, she allows ruefully to herself.

"Not much foot traffic on this coastal road.  Not yet, anyway."  (Seri's slight smile makes clear she is mostly just teasing, not really disagreeing.)

“Sure now, of course Gordon hates us,” Cook opines when the subject of the eyepatched elf comes up. “He’s got a middling bit of power from working for the councilor and he’s desperate to hold on to it, and maybe grab a bit more besides.”

     He gestures vaguely as they walk.

     “Then along comes a strange lot like us, dropped into the middle of things, and he likely doesn’t know why any more than we do. When a man only has a little power, he can get mighty protective of it. Suspicious too. Anyone new starts looking like someone trying to take it away.”

     Cook shrugs.

     “He’s probably a great fellow at birthday parties.” This last bit comes with a smirk and a quick wink for anyone paying attention.

Seri is perceptive enough to notice Cook's smirk and wink, though the light jest about birthday parties goes over her head at first, puzzling her, it not being the kind of thing one of the priests at the temple might quip about, though some of her former crewmates on the Dragonfly, perhaps.

"No," she muses, "with Gordon I truly felt that it was deeper than rote pre-emptive jealousy and protectiveness of position, though I have no proof..."

Initiative order PCs then Weasels DND VTT is up.

Seri prides herself on her alertness, but she had been concentrating on Procan's Guidance for Thistle and is glad of Darixa's last second warning of the impending wet weasel attack.  Ordinarily she prefers not to slay such beasts, but being caught off guard makes her attack lethally before she can think.  With her driftwood buckler still on her back, she instead draws her Crossbow, Light which becomes suffused with an arcane aquamarine tinge.

Movement:  Seri steps forward 5' SW and 10' W, back-filling Cook's former position.  (OOC:  VTT not available when @Hunter_Orien is not logged in?)
Action:  Seri casts True Strike, attacking the least injured giant weasel with her Crossbow, Light, hoping like Cook to drive them off.
True Strike with Crossbow, Light to hit:  18
True Strike with Crossbow, Light damage:  10 (radiant)
Bonus Action:  (None)

Darixa ends up not saying much more about the taverns as Cook regales everyone with his thoughts. She gives him a bit of a grin as he goes on but really doesn't mind it. She does eyes Esme closely though when her fingers move to brush against her new clarinet, brushing off the compliments. Later, Esme's comment about the fae not caring much for people touching them brings a small grin to her face. For now, she keeps any comments to herself. 

As the others move to try to scare off the rather large creatures, Darixa is content to stay where she is at. Hopefully she can keep herself a little bit concealed amidst the plant growth or any nearby trees.  Focusing on the closest Giant Weasels (1) and casts Starry Wisp. Singing a few notes and making a motion with her hands, she sends a speck of light flying at the creature. 
(Spell Attack: 14, Damage: 3 radiant; on a hit, emits Dim Light in a 10-foot radius until the end of my next turn)

Round 1

Cook injures a weasel.  
Seri kills the other with a well aimed bolt.  
Darixa finishes off the one Cook hit, it lights up revealing two more along the wall.

Brynn Esme & Thistle’s turns.

As the aggressive oversized mustelids come into view and surge forward through the grass, the young Rhenee chants and swiftly places a witches curse on the closest still moving weasel, then pointing at it, making a green crackling bolt of force slam into it.

(Eldritch Blast: 17 Force: 7 Necrotic: 4 )

Meanwhile the invisible dark fae flies closer, ready to draw blood with it's tiny blade.

Only one weasel ‘wet Willy’ remains as it sees its dead kin and the deadly magic destruction displayed it heeds Cooks directives, it turns to flee scram get outta here.

Brynn still has her turn but otherwise it seems clear this little scramble is near done.

Back at the Bar

(I imagine this is all way too late now, and I suppose only really for my own peace of mind to feel like I participated, since the scene has well beyond moved along...)

"Welcome, Brynn Salt-Blessed," Seri breathes reverently with a deep incline of her head.  "You may remember me as Seri, Navigator of the Dragonfly when last we met dockside.  I know not Councilor Solmor's purpose in calling us here, yet I am glad that one of Procan's chosen graces us all."

Brynn blinked once as Seri greeted them with that deep bow and reverent tone. For a brief moment they just stared at her. Then their head cants to the side a moment. “Salt-blessed?” Brynn repeated slowly, glancing down at their brass hand before flexing the fingers once. The metal joints clicked softly. They looked back up at Seri with a crooked half-smile. “I mean… I did fall in the harbour once or twice.”

The grin widened before they tipped their head in polite acknowledgement. There was only one person who's ever referred to them as that. “Seri, right? Dragonfly.” Brynn nodded. “I remember the jolly boat. Good vessel, but even better Navigator.” They wink.

Their attention shifted as Esmeralda stepped closer, the Rhenee woman’s fingers gliding lightly across the brass plating. Brynn’s eyes flicked down to the contact, not pulling away but watching it with open curiosity rather than discomfort. “Careful...” They mused mildly. “Freshly tuned. Might hafeta charge docking fees.” A self-amused, knowing smirk danced at the edge of their lips.

But as Esme spoke of a gnomish vessel and refurbishment, Brynn’s expression eventually changed. The grin didn’t vanish, but their shipwright brain switched on. “A gnomish hull?” They echoed, leaning slightly forward now. “Depends on the condition of the frame. Gnomes like clever engineering but they don’t always have the best maintenance access.” Brynn tilted their head slightly. “But if it’s still afloat an' not entirely eaten by salt rot…” The grin returned. “…yeah. I might know someone handy.” Their brass fingers drummed against the counter.

“Wait. What?” Cook suddenly cut in, snapping out of his silent watch.

     He turned toward Esmeralda, narrowing his eyes as he leaned slightly closer.

“Brynn ain’t working on no pleasure boat,” he said darkly.

When Cook suddenly stepped in with that protective tone, Brynn snorted as they slid off their stool to their feet. “Cook, ya can barely stop me fixing your wagon.” They note. “If someone’s payin’ fer proper work, I’ll hear ‘em out.” They glance over their shoulder to Cook. "'Sides, imagine the coin I'd rake in on my inventions alone in such a place?" They wink. "Got fingers that can do things ya could only dream about!" They chime with a wiggle of their brass fingers.

Brynn’s gaze drifted toward the box as Gordon made his delivery. They didn’t rush for the contract immediately. Instead they listened, watching the others read, sign, speculate.

When Seri and the others began discussing the mansion and slavers, Brynn’s expression slowly flattened. The humour didn’t disappear entirely, but it cooled. “Slavers...” they muttered under their breath.

When Cook wondered aloud why the town guard weren’t handling it, Brynn gave a small sideways shrug. “Because when something goes wrong,” They said evenly. “It’s easier if the Council can say we were never involved.” Their eyes drifted toward the door Gordon had just exited through. “Clean hands.”

They noticed up the chart first. That caught their full attention. Their eyes scanned the coastline markings with the quiet focus of someone who understood ships, tides, and hazards more than contracts. “Well now…” Brynn murmured. “That is useful bit of paper.” They agreed as they glanced up toward Seri and Darixa. “Copying, that’s a smart call.”

Only then did Brynn pick up the contract. They skimmed it quickly, brow furrowing once, then relaxed again. Four miles east. Derelict mansion. Sea Prince slavers. The shipwright reached for the quill. “Well.” Brynn said casually as they signed their name beneath the others. “Worst case scenario…” They set the quill down. “…we confirm there’s slavers.” Their brass fingers tapped once on the table. “Which means we get to ruin their day.” Brynn looked back toward the group with that familiar crooked grin. “And if there’s not?” They shrugged. “Then we got paid to take a walk along the coast.”

Brynn had listened more than they spoke on the road, letting Seri’s warnings, Cook’s theories, Esme’s ambitions, and Darixa’s observations settle into place like mismatched boards waiting to see whether they could be made to hold. They had taken their azurite back at the Empty Net without much ceremony, and somewhere in the shuffle before leaving the tavern had also seen fit to put a bit of smokeweed on Cook’s tab. Professional courtesy.

Brynn’s been turning Solmor over in their head since the contract was handed off. Why send Gordon instead of coming himself? What's Solmor's 'relationship' with Gordon? Why hire locals and drifters instead of guards? Why insist on discretion for something that sounds like it should concern the whole town? Why would Gordon not like the group, or helping the group? Why Azurite?
(Essentially, been meaning to ask/see if Brynn could do a check on Solmor and Gordon. Essentially, what does Brynn know about them as people, how they do business, and who they may associate with. Not sure if would be history, investigation or other, so rolled int: Nat 20.)

Winston's

While the others browsed or bartered, Brynn drifted with quieter purpose through Winston’s cluttered stock, their eye catching on the more practical items rather than the polished curiosities. A healer’s kit earned a brief pause, then a thoughtful grunt. Sensible. A hooded lantern got lifted, turned once in their hand, and checked for the state of its hinges and shutter before being set aside with clearer interest. The grappling hook held their attention longest. Brynn weighed it in their hand, tested the points with a thumb, and gave a faint approving nod.
(Currently just rushing to get this post out so I don't feel so behind, so I know I haven't reviewed everything in detail in terms of coin and party inventory. However, if there's enough coin, and if it's not too late, I am interested in picking up a Healer's Kit, a Hooded Lantern, and a Grappling Hook.)

Mansion

Brynn had gone still the moment Darixa pointed the creatures out, their gaze following the slick movement along the broken garden wall. The brass fingers of their prosthetic flexed once at their side with a faint mechanical tick. “Anyone here talk to animals?” They murmured, half serious. “Maybe they know, or seen somethin. Feels a shame to ruin the local wildlife.”

However, the nearest wet weasel didn’t seem inclined toward diplomacy. Brynn sighed softly through their nose and crouched slightly, rummaging through a small pouch clipped to their belt. Out came a squat little brass cylinder, its sides etched with tiny measuring marks and fitted with a narrow nozzle. “Alright then.” They gave the device a quick twist, thumb flicking a small release lever. Inside, two sealed compartments cracked open and mixed, a sharp hiss following as the reaction bit hard and fast. Frost immediately crawled across the metal casing. It was the same mix Brynn uses to freeze barnacles off a hull.

With a quick snap of their wrist, they squeezed the trigger. A blast of needle-cold brine vapour shot from the nozzle, bursting across the charging weasel in a sudden bloom of freezing mist. “Freeze.”

Action: Frostbite Damage: 1 (non-lethal)

(Essentially, been meaning to ask/see if Brynn could do a check on Solmor and Gordon. Essentially, what does Brynn know about them as people, how they do business, and who they may associate with. Not sure if would be history, investigation or other, so rolled int: Nat20.)

You may add those items from Winston’s.

When the last remaining weasel is targeted by Brynn it turns and scurries into a barely noticeable den.

Darixa breathes a sigh of relief as the last of the rather large creatures slips off. "I'm assuming we aren't following it into the den?"  She gives the spot a brief glance, but her attention turns more back towards the manor, checking to see if there is any sign they were noticed. (Perception: 8) 

Belatedly, she replies to Brynn. "I can sometimes calm animals with my music. I'm no expert with them though. And as much as I might try talking to animals, it's pretty clear they have little understanding of what I say."  She gives them a grin. 

As her aquamarine-infused crossbow bolt warbles directly into one weasel's center of mass, Seri makes a small inadvertent sound and reaches after it almost as if she wishes she could take it back.  As she lets her arm fall back to her side and notices the other two dead beasts, with the last one fleeing back to its home, she closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, then stows her crossbow and dons her driftwood buckler on one arm instead.

"Procan has indeed blessed me with the magic to speak with animals, though I usually prepare to do so in a ritual that takes several minutes to cast.  And in truth, land animals such as these are so... different.  I am more accustomed to wild beasts of the sea, and reacted without thinking when surprised.  A reaction I now regret.  From their perspective, the weasels were likely only protecting their territory or perhaps their young."  She sighs.

"It is a sad waste for three of them to be slain for reasons other than the natural cycle of life.  As there may be other beasts nearby, would you allow me ten minutes for my ritual so I may communicate with and dissuade other such animals from unnecessary conflicts with us?"

(If the rest of the party are amenable to waiting before venturing further, Seri takes a knee, speaking in Elvish, and ritually casts Speak with Animals.)

The young Rhenee beauty slowly shakes her pretty head. She did appreciate animal life in general but she would never hesitate to defend herself if attacked, and with such aggressive behaviour from the overgrown weasels it might well be that they had just saved the lives of others less capable of defending themselves that would pass here. While waiting for the blue-haired half-elf, the invisible Thistle would fly closer to the house and make a sweep outside, looking through windows to see if there's anyone home to greet them and then report back.

(Thistle stealth: 25 Perception: 10 )

Before...

When Cook suddenly stepped in with that protective tone, Brynn snorted as they slid off their stool to their feet. “Cook, ya can barely stop me fixing yourwagon.” They note. “If someone’s payin’ fer proper work, I’ll hear ‘em out.” They glance over their shoulder to Cook. "'Sides, imagine the coin I'd rake in on my inventions alone in such a place?" They wink. "Got fingers that can do things ya could only dream about!" They chime with a wiggle of their brass fingers.

     Cook inhales quickly as if about to make a loud, blustering objection and at the same time a blush rises on his cheeks.  He begins to say... Something.  Apparently though, whatever it is, he never manages to decide and so settles on saying nothing at all.  

Current....

Quote from Tybard >>

"It is a sad waste for three of them to be slain for reasons other than the natural cycle of life.  As there may be other beasts nearby, would you allow me ten minutes for my ritual so I may communicate with and dissuade other such animals from unnecessary conflicts with us?"

(If the rest of the party are amenable to waiting before venturing further, Seri takes a knee, speaking in Elvish, and ritually casts Speak with Animals.)

 
     "Ah, sure, but aren't we as much a part of the natural life cycle as any other creature?" Cook grumples.  "Not that I'm for indiscriminate killing or anything but I'm not crying over every bug I step on or meal I eat."  

     Even as Cook says this he fools around a bit with a couple of his pouches and mutters under his breath a bit before suddenly he has a handful of berries in his hand.  Goodberrys in fact.  With the berries in hand he steps closer to the weasel den and lobs three of them towards the entrance for the wounded one to hopefully find later, he then drops the remaining (7) berries into a small pouch.

     "So long as we're not attacked again, you go right ahead," he says to Seri and as she busies herself with a ritual he performs a bit of one himself. Gathering the dead weasels, Cook sets about field dressing the dead and preparing the meat for carrying.  

     "Not my ideal choice but no sense in letting it go to waste," Cook explains if anyone asks.  "I suppose some'll go in the Perpetual Stew I keep going for them can't afford better and some'll go to the hounds..."