Arc crosses his arm and rubs his fingers over his face, raking his hair back to clearly show his face for the first time in a good while. He then pulls out a small marble ball and in a moment it starts buzzing, creating a light, but mildly annoying static noise that, while still allowing everyone in the tent to hear each other, would cover up their words for anyone trying to discreetly listen in. Once that was done, he sighs, and looks towards Tarian, "I can tell you now, that you all have no reason to worry about me. I know how to handle myself and have more cards to deal then you know what to do with, as for Corti...." He looks over to her, "If you're truly afraid of them doing something to you, the best I can promise you is to not give them that chance. What that means, or pertains to, you are better off not knowing." His gaze is a tad sad when he says that, but his looks away from her before returning to his stoic/disinterested gaze, "Beyond that, if anyone's feeling unsafe about their items, I can give them a once over or imbue them with some mild antibugging effects. None perfect mind you, but they're something. Also, in terms of my own equipment.....well, lets say that if someone tries tampering with it they're prone to blowing themselves up." (referring to the fact that his turrets and such can self destruct xD)

Tarian, Thia and Arc, all the equipment you check seems to be fine, but you can tell by the slight discoloration around some of the screws that much of your equipment had been taken apart, probably much for the same reason as you are checking it now. All your personal kit and the medical supplies checked, all that remains are the surveying equipment that had been taken apart and the telelith.

At Thia's question, Othmar looks at Arc: "That... bead... there- ya sure it works? I figure ye know we want ta help and I fer one trust you ta not want ta do us any harm, but I need ta be sure."

Arc's checks w/ Artisan's Intuition

Investigation: 19 + 2
Arcane: 17 + 3

Arc, you discover a small bronze disc, engraved with arcane symbols attached on the inside of the casing for the telelith. Looking it over, it seems like a permanent implementation of a simple message spell, probably linked to a receiving piece with the Marshal or her pet arcanist. You determine quite quickly though, that it will only transmit anything communicated via the telelith. 

The surveying gear is all clear.

After setting aside the telelith and the bronze disk attached on it to deal with later, you reassure Othmar that it is quite safe to talk.

The old dwarf clears his throat, before starting, hesitantly: "Thia, ye have confirmed me diagnosis, an' you know what this stuff does", looking up to the others in the tent, he says quietly "Someone's been poisoning the soldiers here. The poison is tricky, appears like Cyrean fever, so it took me a while ta catch it. My best guess is, that someone's been spoiling the our water. Now, back in Cyre, that woulda maed sense, not like we went 'round sparin' their wells or anything. But we've spent several months on Brelish lands now, and most of the sick only started coming a month ago. When I realised that it was poison, I was afraid that we'd get sick to", he looks at Gyselle at that, and you can see his eyes filled with the love only a parent can bear a child, "but I think, because I keep several barrels of water with me supplies, that we were spared."

Letting the information sink in, he then looks at Brandt and Tarian in turn: "You figur'd somethin' was weird with this corps, right? Well, we've been with the Marshal since before Thelamyria, an' there's a lot a faces I don't see anymore. While parts of me hopes that they're the picture o' health an' don't need ta see me because they're doin' fine, my fears go in a different direction. About a week ago, I started makin' some calculations an' estimations. Together with this poisoning business, I think that the actual strength of this force is no more than a hundred soldiers tops, and that's counting the sick." He looked at both of the fighters, trying to determine whether they shared his suspicions, before continuing.

"I'm a simple man. I got me faith, and me girl. I tryna help, even if it's durin' a war. All I'm sayin is, I ain't the sort to put his nose where it don't belong. But someone has been poisoning these troops, and the Marshal and her pet are desperate to ensure that they're still seen as havin' around eight hundred veterans with them. Now, it don't take a maester ta figure that somethin' isn't right here. Problem is, I don't have any proof."

"The Marshal can do whatever she likes. She's got maybe a tenth of what she's claiming and anyone that's ever seen a military unit before can tell that this made up of the leftovers of other units. But frankly, I already have a job and it's not playing detective for the Marshal."

Arc holds his chin after examining the disk, standing up, "Brandt, I know this isn't the job we signed up for, but it would support it. Think about it, if we tell the Marshal of this potential poisoning, and that we need to stay in place to find a way to save as many of her men as possible, we could delay their travel for many days potentially. Not to mention, we would be saving these people, an act that would not only be noble, but potentially give us a greater bargaining chip in future discussions with the Marshall or her troops."

Thia would look to Brandt, then look to Arc. His sudden care and interest in ‘nobility’ caused her eyes to narrow only slightly. She wanted to spit, but wouldn’t. Her eyes would look back to land on Brandt’s. She’d then glance to Tarian before going back to fiddling around with medical kits to keep herself busy. Thia was biting her tongue for the moment. 

"Nobility gets you killed, kid. If you wanna play detective for the Marshal, go ahead. Me? I'm going to bide my time until we get back to Duskrock so that I can get away from these psychos."

Arc sighs, "I was merely attempting to appeal to your other base interests, but if that is your verdict, fine. Regardless, we still have a mission to accomplish here." Arc looks towards Thia, "Thia, I judge you want to still help these people right? For the time being, rather than curing them outright, at least before we find a cure, is there any way to stabilize them to prevent their premature deaths?"

Gyselle watches curiously as the group inspects their belongings not entirely sure why they were looking for poisons or magical alterations.

Gyselle would happily go over the medical supplies with Thia. When asked about the ‘ailment’ would give Thia a blank stare “What are you talking about?”

When Othmar reveals that someone has been poisoning the soldiers, Gyselle looks genuinely shocked and then positively beams with pride at being referred to as ‘his girl’ and looks at him very affectionately.

Hearing Arc refer to ‘Jeff’ as Brandt Gyselle can’t help but ask. “So is it Jeff Brandt or Brandt Jeff? What’s so important about Duskrock?”

Tarian quirked her head a bit at the Jeff/Brandt exchange and nodded slowly. She decided to leave that subject alone. “There’s a similar ‘plague’ there and a bunch of soldiers dying, so Duskrock and this place have that in common, but the most important difference is that there isn’t anyone there who’s openly declared their intent to kill us.”

Tarian stopped and corrected herself. “Well, not all of us, anyway, and not seriously.” She stopped to correct herself again. “At least not recently…” Another pause. “…That I’m aware of.” Her fingers pressed to her temple as though she could rub the memories out. “Look, the point is, we’re captives in hostile territory. So going back to Duskrock to ‘get away from these psychos?’ Yeah, I get it. It’s better to be there than here.”

Tarian’s fingers slipped from her temple to cover her face. “But… playing detective…” she sighed, “might be our best way to get through this job. I don’t like it, but at least it’s better than negotiating.”

Tarian, deflated from her resignation to investigate, turned to Arc. “That doesn’t mean we can ignore our regular work, though. Was our gear free of tampering?”

Arc kneeled down to the telegraph-thing, and tapped the golden disk with arcane runes, "This little bit here adds a second line where any outgoing messages are also heard by another. But beyond that, we're clear."

Turning to Brandt, Othmar asks point-blank: "Yer a fightin' man- mercenary now? Look, I understand where yer comin' from, an' for many of my patients in the other tent, they'd have a similar reaction at your metal friend here. I'm not askin' ya to become friends. I'm not even askin' ya to help me. Arc, Thia and Corti are already helpin' out plenty." He quickly brushes over his bristling moustache, before carrying on: "No... what I'm askin' is that you help me- not the Marshal- figure out who's behind the poison. I figure, it needs ta be someone in the camp, an', well, without makin' too much of it, for me money, I'd say the only ones to gain anythin' from this are either the Crimson Guard, or that damned arcanist. The Crimson guard know that there's goin' ta be a reckonin' fer what they did in Cyre, so there's definitely some that want to avoid that. Some have started desertin', but I figure if they're ill an' treated as patients in amongst the rest, or perhaps even another country, they might slip away." Letting that theory sink in, he looks hesitantly at Gyselle, before continuing.

"There's another possibility too. Gyselle knows that I don't like that arcanist Hadrari. He gives me tha creeps, an' he deals in falsehoods and lies. Now, I have no proof, but since he's not actually a Garronian, I don't trust him either. I wish I had more ta go on, but I think he senses tha' I don't like him, because he's always tried keepin' me away from his tent an' his notes. Now, I Gyselle told me what the Marshal told ya 'bout goin' off wanderin' around camp- but suppose I could draw him an' the Marshal away fer long enough, you might get a chance to take a look around. If ya help me with that, I'll do everything I can to help you get out of here alive."

“Suppose they get caught Othmar, won’t that look bad on me? Since the Marshal told me to keep an eye on them.” Looking at the group, hopeful they would be willing to help the camp but at the same time fearful of any potential wrath from the Marshal should they be discovered. 

Thia couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or snort at Arc’s plea, but when he would directly address her regarding the sick, her face would harden. The medic would clench her jaw so hard, she’d feel her teeth grind. She’d spend too much time chewing on her words when Gyselle would pipe up and Tarian would begin their summary. She’d put her eyes back on the medical equipment, but she’d pace.

Thia would stop abruptly when Othmar would speak calmly. Her eyes would glance around blankly at the items in front of her, more or less actually reviewing thoughts within her mind. Finally, the dwarf with all his wisdom, would bring forth thoughts that have been passing her mind, as if confirming her thoughts all along. The artificer’s eye’s would dart to stare at him almost abruptly before looking away just as quickly. She would simply chew on her lip, waiting for the others response to Leech’s suggestions. Her mind was reeling. 

Tarian made a face as though presented a dinner of her choice of either offal or fermented fish. "I think it's going to take a bit more than 'might get a chance' for that to work. Do you know the layout? Where everything is? How long we'd have for certain? Or if there's any sort of protection against snooping about?" She shook her head. "If your Marshal's aide is a poisoner and an arcanist, walking in to poke around may as well be sticking your hand in a jar of scorpions to find a coin that we're not even sure is there."

Tarian looked to Gyselle. "Miss, if we're caught then at best it will look bad on you.  At worst you'll be branded a conspirator and maybe killed with the rest of us."

Tarian pointed at the telelith. "Arc, is there a way to temporarily disable that 'little bit' you saw? Make it so that we can send both secure messages and listened-to messages at will, ideally. If not, then leave it. I don't know what they'd do if they realized we've un-tampered the machine."

Corti frowns at Othmar's suggestion. I'd like to help them, and get to the bottom of this too, but calling it a risk is an understatement. Testing the Marshal seems like a bad idea. She looks up at Tarian, feeling more than a little relieved at her friend's caution. She'd try to catch Tarian's eye and nod her agreement.

Othmar bashfully looks at the floor: "Yer right, there's too much at risk. I'm sorry fer suggestin' sumethin' so dangerous. I just... I got this suspicion, but without proof I can't very well go to the Marshal an' tell her the troops have been poisoned. She'd want the person responsible, and if she figures I've known for weeks, it's gonna be my head. From the looks o' things, yer probably able to stay around camp a bit longer, even if it's with significant surveillance. Those of you out in the country though, you might try an' find some evidence of tamperin' with the sources nearby, maybe that will give us enough proof to get the Marshal to look at either the Crimson Guard or her own pet arcanist a little closer."

Looking around the group, he hoped that that suggestion might be more reasonable and would get them on board. Those paying attention can tell that he seems desperate to prevent further harm to his patients.

Thia's eyes would dart between Tarian and Othmar during the exchange. She'd exhale a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when they'd lean towards steering away from the risk. Though, the medic would be lying to herself if she believed she felt relieved. She was still irked. Arc's sudden convenient change in spirit and audacity to ask her to delay their recovery. It rubbed her the wrong way. Beyond bothered by it. There was nothing he could say to convince her to even consider it, especially for what ever personal base interests he was trying to justify. No matter how many breaths she took, she couldn't bring herself to shake it. Her eyes would look to Corti, then Tarian one more time before moving to Othmar, resting on the miners eyes a moment. She'd then look over to Gyselle with a soft expression. But no words would leave her mouth at this time.

The medic would start to gather her supplies, slinging her bag over her shoulder. There was no good in brooding here. Finally, she'd look to Arc, "I judge you will be able to complete the task on your own." She'd nod to the telelith Tarian requested to be untampered. "And if you want to delay things, how about using that noble tongue of yours to entertain the Marshal to buy the time, yourself. Instead of trying to take advantage of the sick and weak for your own gain. You're more clever than that. Figure it out." Thia was practically expressionless. She had refocused. "Your convenient interest in each other could prove useful. I bet the Marshal would drink up all your family issues right now." She'd break her lack of expression with a wink.

The artificer would brush by on her way to the exit of the tent. She'd pause beside Brandt before glancing up at him. "You know where to find me." Almost as if in spite of Arc's request, Thia would desire to leave to head for the medic tent.

Tarian glanced at Thia and Corti, anticipating expectant looks. She sighed. “Right. Well, if I’m going to be outside anyway, I can at least keep an eye out for the poison’s ingredients. A continuous mass poisoning either means someone started with a very large supply or is in continuous need of ingredients for producing poison.”

Tarian paused. Her brow knotted. Well, that would mean someone who frequently leaves the camp would have to be involved. If it takes multiple people to harvest that much Cursed Cap and Dewberry, then wouldn’t it make more sense if the Crimson Guard were behind it? Of course, if that arcanist had allies among the Guard—or among any of the patrols, really—he could get it from them. Then again, he could just be ordering some unwitting souls to harvest without explaining why. ‘Magic things’ is all he’d have to say to get them to stop asking questions if they didn’t already know the answer. But if they did know the answer, then they wouldn’t be getting sick.

 …Like the medics here. That they haven’t gotten sick leaves them as either culprits or potential scapegoats. If we tip the culprit’s hand too soon, they might accuse the medics of the poisoning or maybe destroy the evidence. Then there’d be no proof, just accusations. And if it is the Marshal’s right hand that’s responsible…

Tarian drew a clearing breath. “Mister Leech, I think Arc may be right. If you cure the Pale Tincture before we have evidence of who the poisoner is, then they’d know we know about the poison. Who knows what they’d do then?” Tarian looked to the rest of the group. “We’ll just have to work quickly to gather information, then, won’t we?”

Tarian took a moment to look to Brandt. “I won’t ask you to help if you don’t want to. These are Garronians, after all. But whoever’s behind this may have friends in Duskrock. Miss… Cal-… Kel-… Miss Colette could be on an infirmary bed instead of on her usual now.”