“Ah, yes, the rail.” Tarian’s brow furrowed. “Well, Marshal, the precise details of its operation are kept solely by Sparks, but Mister Sparks’s Corphyrean Rail Company—” Tarian gestured to the Corphyrean Rail Company logo emblazoned on the side of the wagon, “—has contracted us to do a bit of a geographical survey in preparation of the project. This ‘rail’ he has planned will be an improvement to trade routes, but we need to assess the land first. Mister Cannith here is assisting on the engineering side, and a representative gauging Cannith’s interest in the project. Miss Thia is our chief cartographer and field medic, and Miss Corti beside her is hehr assistant and guard. We have Mister Brandt, who’s as feyne a hunter as I’ve seen, and Mister Njalgas is our driver and under the direct employ of Mister Sparks.”

Tarian closed her eyes and straightened out her gambeson. Those sounds of home again. Calm, Tarian.  She took a quick breath and introduced herself. “And I am Tarian, associated with one of Sparks’s investors, who was unable to make the trip.”

Tarian bowed her head to Marshal Arceneaux. “By your leave, Marshal, we seek to learn more here. If these lands aren’t suited for Sparks’s project, I’m shure he’d treble you no fehrther.”

The gaunt man whispers into the Marshal's ear again, before she whispers something back, waves him off and he leaves the tent. Marshal Arcineaux rises and looking at Tarian, says: "What would you like to learn about then?"

Thia, as the figure walks past you on his way out of the tent, you feel almost like you're caught in an icy breeze, and the hairs on your neck stand up on end.

As soon as the man leaves, Thia will instinctively shoot a glance at Brandt.

Brandt looks at Thia and mouths, "Something wrong, kid?"

Thia would want to face palm. She may not have been able to stop the eye rolls though. Either Brandt honestly wasn’t suspecting anything, or he was just messing with her. She’d jerk her head to the exit, trying to indicate the guy who just left the tent.

Piercing Thia with a glance, the Marshal asks: "So, you're the wounded cartographer I take it... Interesting insignia on your sleeve there. Pray tell, what did you do before this expedition, Miss Thia?" Still fixing her eyes on Thia, the tent flaps open, and the gaunt figure and one of the guards steps through. The gaunt advisor quickly approaches the Marshal, and again whispers something in her ear. A hint of a smile shows on the Marshal's face, before she turns her focus back upon the group, and you in particular, Thia.

Thia's eyes would snap to the Marshall when she was addressed, feeling her piercing stare. The artificer's eyes will pull away to watch the man return to breathe into his lady's ear. She couldn't hide her slight annoyance with witnessing the scene. It reminded her of some old books telling the story of a king's fall into madness and ruin thanks to the poisonous whisperings of their 'trusted' advisor. Her eyes will rest on the Marshall while she sifted through her choice of words, trying her 'best' to follow Tarian and Arc's formal lead.

Having nothing to hide, Thia will adjust her arm to clearly present the insignia the Marshall was referring too. "You or your advisor here recognize it, I take it?" She'd return the Marshall's tone back to her. "Yes, I wear the crest of the Veiled Valour and as Tarian mentioned, I am a trained medic." She'd pause, her eyes not wavering from the woman's. "And by the sounds of your soldiers in that tent, you could use a real one."

This could be an opportunity, but we can’t go about this directly, or make it seem too easy.

Tarian shook her head and stepped closer to Thia. “Hold on, now. We’ve got surveying to do. Dealing with the Dusker Plague is one thing, but I’m sure the Marshal’s doctor is—” Tarian paused and winced as the air was punctuated by a particularly loud and lengthy wail from the gatehouse, “adequate… to handle… this.”

Tarian hoped that Thia noticed her deliberate use of the word “plague.”  Due to the discussions on the way, the whole group knew what it truly was. Now Tarian had to trust the others to know what her omission meant.

Thia knew she was a little out of step. And Tarian was reeling her in. She’ll close her eyes to breathe through the sound of the wail from the gatehouse that interrupted her. Clearing her throat, the artificer would accept Tarian’s hint and open her eyes. “Yes, of course.” She’ll glance to Tarian before looking to the Marshal’s advisor, “Please excuse my rudeness. My own injury must be fogging my wits.” Her eyes will pan to the Marshal herself. She’ll dip her head in ‘apology’.

“I’d be far readier to allow your friend and “cartographer” here to get medical aid, if she wasn’t wearing that symbol on her sleeve. Now, I don’t know whether you or even your friend here is aware of this, but that group there murdered our general, as sure as I stand before you now. In my book, that makes them terrorists, and I don’t let terrorists near my wounded men.” Before you can make a move, the gaunt man next to her moves his fingers in a strange pattern, and you feel as if you were locked in place, unable to move.

”As for the rest of your story... My men have searched your cart while we were “conversing”. Now, the notes and the contracts seem to back up your story, but pray tell, what does this instrument do?” With that, two of the guards are bringing the telelith into the tent, placing it before the marshal.

”Thanks Ishmael, I think they understand.” With that, you see the man drop his concentration, and you’re able to move again. “Now, what does this thing do, and what are you really here for?”

Arc, seeing his companion paralyzed and 'evidence' being brought in, Arc's mind quickly put together a true story to tell. Holding out both his hands in innocent surrender, but also frowning at the implication that they had some other purpose, he speaks with a confused, but annoyed tone, "Milady, I think you're quick to make armies out of militia (skyscrapers out of anthills). My companion here means only goodwill towards those in need, and I can assure you, by my own mark and name, that the telegraph device before you, is used, as we described, for our contract with Mr. Sparks." He made a motion towards the gaunt man as he kept his eyes locked on the Marshal, not backing down. Arc had much experience with the domineering, 'my way or the highway' kind much of his life, his father was the embodiment of it. "As I can judge based off your implied words and expressions, you aren't very well informed on the situations or ongoing events in the city. But at this moment, there is much turmoil regarding the workings around this railway, such so to the point, that information, as in any profession or event, is vital. Would you send out a recon team while you sat at home with a war council, hoping to hear back from them as you debated illusionary strategies, only for them to be shattered upon their return? While many are stuck in such ways, it is far from ideal. Thus, with this communication, we can easily relay details of the project we were assigned, back to Mr. Sparks, so that his negotiations may proceed smoothly." Giving his spiel on the matter, he let out a small huff of hot air to further express distaste for having to 'waste breath' explaining such a thing, and then looked over to the Gaunt man for the first time since coming here, "I would further ask, that if you wish to restrain us, that you at the very least do so on a more concrete basis, than a simple paranoia, based of ghostly facts."

Thia would let out a bit of a gasp. For a second she’d tried to wiggle out of panic, but she’d eventually stop, not wanting to give the man the pleasure of watching. She’d bite her tongue. Being too shocked to move, it took until after Arcs speech for her to realize the gaunt man had let her go. It didn’t stop her heart from pounding. She could only glare. 

The Marshal's face twisted into a grin, and she added: "So, this little invention here allows you to talk to your contractor dozens of miles away? Hmmm, we sure could've used something like that in Thelamyria...Well, you're correct in so far as I'm somewhat cut off from events. But if you've got a connection to the war councils in Duskrock, you might have something that I want. I need to contact the Corphyrean Council, if you help me to do that, then I'll grant you access to our surgeon. Oh, and this invention? It'll stay here. Can't have you report on my position or my troops after all. Does that sound agreeable, Mr Cannith?" The last part was spoken with a good deal of sarcasm.

Arc's eyes narrow towards the tone directed at him, but he gives a political smile and bows lightly, "Of course. However, I would ask that upon our departure it be returned, as we do have a mission to complete. Beyond that, if you require contact the Council, I am more than capable of creating such a device, but you would need someone to deliver the secondary compartment to the Council." He gave a long, knowing look towards the woman before him, "Which would require diverting manpower, which you are in short supply off....instead, why don't I offer this, milady." His tone returning the sarcasm she had hashed out before, "I can carve out a sending stone for you and your camp to use, then, as me and my compatriots continue on for our mission, we can deliver the other half of the stone to your Council. Sound agreeable." His final words, were less a question, and more him just being polite in letting the Marshall have a Segway to insert her opinion in. Still, he was making it clear, that if she wanted her wishes granted, this was her only option.

"For now, I require only to make a call, I'll inform you of what you'll be doing in the future. Now then, you're not under arrest, but I do ask that you don't leave the camp, until I have at least contacted the Corphyrean Council. Now, you're free to go to the medics, if you feel you could do some good there. Whoever operates this machine for you though, I have need of them." With that, Njalgas steps forward, while two guards arrive to usher you outside of the command tent. As you look around, you notice that the gates are closed, and that your draft horses have been unhitched. You want be able to make a quick escape without leaving all your gear here, it looks like. On the other hand, the guards only seem to observe you from afar, and you are free to move around again.

Thia would do her best to keep a hard face, but she was feeling herself slowly unhinge if she didn’t get a hold of herself. Her mind was reeling. Because of her association with the Veiled Valour they were labeled terrorists. They already had blood on the groups hands, because of her. She opened her mouth when she knew better not too, and probably skipped them right into a trap. She’d want to burry her face in her palm and wish herself back to her dorm. This is why you’re best with books. Swallowing hard as she stood there in place, she’d glance apologetically to Tarian. Now I’m an even bigger liability. The artificer couldn’t bring herself to move until someone else lead the way or ushered her to where they believe she should go. Although it ached, Thia kept her jaw clenched, not daring speak another word again unless spoken to by a party member.

Brandt gives the marshal and the strange guy who froze Thia a very dirty look before leading Thia out of the general's tent and toward the medics, where she could do some good.

When Brandt would lead Thia away, she’d lean in to his touch for comfort whether he intended to provide it or not. She at least trusted being in his presence and would go to where she was lead. She seethed with frustration from the Marshal and her pet toying with her. A part of her wants to defy and deny helping their cause in any way. But as she looked at the tent and heard the wails of the wounded, her heart would fall out of her chest with guilt. Soldiers never deserve to suffer for their loyalty to their command, regardless of who they are. The artificer would look to the ground and kick a rock, sighing to herself. “Thank you...” Was all she could mutter to Brandt for ushering her out. 

The medic tents are almost impossible to miss, by either sight, sound or smell. As you push through the dirt-splattered tent flaps, you find yourself in a large but cramped tent, with stretchers partially sinking in the mud and almost all covered with soldiers too sick and weak to even lift their heads as you enter. The smell of the sickly sweet sweat of the ill permeates the space with such a pugence that your eyes begin to water. Looking around, you see several of the soldiers shivering despite sweating profusely, and the sickest appear to have a pallid yellow skin tone and a yellow tinge to their eyes as well. Thia, after a few moments during which your brain is already processing the symptoms and coming up with diagnoses, you notice a contraption next to a particularly pale soldier, which you've never seen before. It was composed of a set of pumps, and various dials seemed to measure different indicators, as the patient's blood was circulated through it. 

"Hrmmm... You are civilians, I assume. The name's Othmar, but thanks to my contraption here, the soldiers refer to me as Leech. I'm told it is meant affectionately. Can I help you, or are you here to offer your help? Gyselle, I need more oil for my lamp and another kit for a transfusion" 

You jerk around, to notice a shaggy dwarf with a scraggly and clumpy beard, and large bags under his eyes. He wasn't wearing the uniforms you had seen around the camp so far, but there was little else that would have marked him as a doctor. Adding to the peculiar look is the fact that he wears a modified miner's lamp on his forehead, and that he is wearing bloody doe-skin guantlets on both hands. The latter part of the introduction seems to have been addressed to an assistant in a separate compartment.

Brandt gestures to Thia. "She's got skills in medicine. She's here to help."