Tarian looked to the tent just as the flap opened to let out Thia, and behind her Brandt and Corti. Tarian’s face tensed, her lips pursed, she grew red for a moment, and then she forced herself to regain her composure. Her fists relaxed and fell at her sides.

Her voice was quiet as she spoke from the looming shadow above the halfling. “You’re right. My mistake.” Tarian didn’t meet Gyselle’s eyes as she took a long, steady breath. “It’s just as you say.” Tarian stood well aside for Gyselle. The scowl Tarian bore clearly showed she either expected a reprimand or was busy giving one to herself.

With three uniforms on hand, Gyselle quickly returns to Othmar's tent, to fill him in on having to make out a patient slip to get the two uniforms. He nods and leaves to deal with the supply sergeant. Anyone that wants to follow is here too, ready to go over the final details before putting your plan into motion.

I suppose that could have been my opportunity to have grabbed Brandt to sneak away, avoiding this whole plan conversation thing again. Nothing ever goes according to plan and Gyselle dismissed her suggestions of going in singles or pairs prior. But she was thankful to see Corti join them. And preparation was important. Thia would smile awkwardly when the tent flap would suddenly open as Tarian would reveal them.

Glancing over the medic, Thia would notice the uniforms in hand. She'd help herself to one before either of them could say anything. The artificer would size the uniform up against herself. She was hoping she might be able to wear this over her existing clothes, that way she could still hide under a hood. But should she have to give up her own jacket to don the uniform, she'd pause to weigh the pros and cons before eventually shrugging it off.

Gyselle reaches up to give Tarian a gentle pat on the shoulder as the group head over to where Othmar is, but settles for as high as she can reach, “No need apologizing. I thought for a moment she had walked off again.” 

Once inside the tent Gyselle observes quietly any preparations being made. 

Inside the tent, Gyselle fills you all in on the plan, and while Thia is changing into her new disguise, Gyselle is grabbing her own uniform from her things and putting it on too. She had grabbed two more, estimating Corti's and Tarian's sizes as best she could. The uniforms were still lying on the ground inside the tent, as both Tarian and Corti would have to hear the plan.

Brandt was already close to the tent flap, looking out to make sure that they weren't overheard or surprised by anyone in their preparations. A few minutes later, Gyselle had told Corti and Tarian that she and Thia planned to use the uniforms to make their way over to the Arcanist's tent, and to try and find any evidence of ulterior motives from him. The two of them were welcome to come along. Brandt meanwhile was planning to keep an eye on the guards, and maybe cause a distraction should the others need it to get out of a pinch. If the others wanted to, they could help out here as well. 

Since Arc agreed to stay behind and "entertain" the Marshal, Njalgas suggests not to tell him of your plans, so he wouldn't have to lie about them. Same with Othmar. He would instead stay behind in the tent, to make provide an excuse for where the others were, should anyone come looking.

Arc made his way to find the Marshal, he wasn't entirely sure how much a distraction he could cause for the group, but some time was better than no time. Worst case scenario, he was confident in being able to escape....or failing that....well, considering his father's plans, he didn't mind helping to mess with those plans slightly.

Approaching the main tent, Arc is greeted by an armed guard, with a helmet covering most of his face. "The Marshal is busy, what do you want?"

Tarian ground her knuckles into her forehead. She utterly failed to massage the scowl out. “And that’s the plan?” she sighed. “I think we’re missing the answers to two big questions: do you know what you’re looking for, and what’s the plan to get out safely?” The hand Tarian used to rub her forehead relaxed, only to cover her face. She held out her other hand to ward off an immediate answer.

“Look, I can answer the first one. If it’s the same poison as in Duskrock, you’re looking for Pale Tincture. In its final form it’s a fine powder. You won’t smell it unless you’re sniffing hard enough to get it in you, so don’t. In fact, if Arceneaux’s right hand is a poisoner, it’s best not to touch or smell anything if you don’t have to. Anyway, if you mix the powder in water or alcohol, it’ll give off a strong, bitter scent. If we had some milk or honey, that’d be another way to test for Pale Tincture, but let’s leave that aside for now.”

Tarian shifted, then tossed her hand back as though disposing with her initial description. “But, let’s say he doesn’t have any finished product, because he’s using it as soon as he finishes making it. If that’s the case, you’re looking for the poison in the process of manufacture. Then you’ll be looking for some sludge open to the air and drying out, and about a pint of juice for every pound or so of the sludge.” Tarian folded her hands together and stared at them. Her voice grew quiet. “Or… the roots of the cursed cap… and unripe silky dewberries.”

Her hands clenched together before drawing apart. “Look, I’m no mage, so I don’t know if these things have any sort of other, more magical uses.” She wiggled her fingers to emphasize ‘magical.’ “So don’t charge in to the Marshal with accusations the moment you see any of these things. Your resident finger-wiggler might have some other explanation ready. If he’s got the Marshal as deep under his thumb as he seems to, then he could just say, ‘Oh, they’re for my spells,’ and she’d believe him.”

Tarian paused as though she just realized something. “Oh, well, maybe I can’t answer all of what to look for. I think he’s working with someone on the outside. He wouldn’t be able to produce enough poison to knock out this many soldiers easily. He’d need a lot of raw materials. So, we’d need some proof of him working with somebody. Or several somebodies. Anybody other than the medical staff not getting sick?”

Corti picks up a uniform as she listens to the plan, dusting it off and holding it out at arm's length before folding it over one arm. She stares down at it while listening to Gyselle and Tarian. I'm not sure if I'm ready for this. I never thought I'd put on one of these again, but - She glances up to Thia, and watches as she pulls the coat of the uniform on - I want to do this for her. 

Corti unfolds the uniform, her resolve showing on her face, and gets dressed. When finished, she walks closer to the discussion and nods at the last of Tarian's points. "That's a good idea." 

Arc folds his hands behind his back and with a sigh, speaks to the guards, pulling on his noble attitude/mask, "I was told to come speak with the Marshal regarding me and my party's earlier discussion."

Not really having any part in making the plan and mostly excited to be helping the soldiers she cares for, Gyselle stands ready to go as soon as everyone who’s coming along is ready.

The guard looks Arc over, before giving his silent companion a quick glance. He then heads into the tent. After a couple of moments, he emerges. "Pass along, the Marshal is read."

Entering the tent, you see that the Marshal is not alone. To her right, as before, stands the gaunt figure of the arcanist. To her left, she has a young woman, that reminds you a bit of Tarian. Not in any physical way, since this woman has a very tanned complexion and short cropped hair on both sides, and a long and wild braid on top of her head, but in the way her determination and her experiences show in the hard edges of her face and the steely determination in her eyes. On the table before the three of them is a map, with a few figurines placed on it. The Marshal makes no attempt at hiding her plans, instead looking you over, with a smirk on her face.

"Master Cannith, back so soon? I'm afraid the field beds is all we have..." She smiles with contempt. "Now what is it that I can do for you?"

---------------------------------

Njalgas is making sure that you're not being observed, and once everyone is ready, gives you a sign. "It's all clear outside, if you're going to go for your ruse, now's the time."

Watching Tarian knuckle her forehead was not an unexpected response from her. Though, Thia would sigh, rubbing her own forehead in her own frustrations with the situation. As Tarian prattled on, the artificers focus started fading in and out. It was not supposed to happen this way... It wasn't supposed to be this whole thing... I know what I would be looking for... Solo, it wouldn't of mattered about getting out safely...

Thia felt as if she was getting chastised all over again. She would finally look up, crossing her arms to stare at Tarian. It was hard for the medic not to get annoyed with her for rhyming everything off like she was the one at the Veiled Valour autopsy table who spent all night with Corti discovering and researching the poison. The medic would chuff, shaking her head at her self. It was still a good summary for Gyselle and a reminder before they head out.

The artificer would let Tarian continue on her shpeel but turn her attention to Corti. Catching her friends apprehension with the uniform, Thia would feel a wave of sadness wash over her. Was this fair to Corti? Thia asked for uniforms just for her and Gyselle... not Corti... She didn't need to fall back into association with the war... Thia only wanted to see Corti shine as herself.

When Corti would walk closer, Thia would step to the warforged and absentmindedly adjust her jacket a little. "I'm sorry Corti... I did ask Gyselle to stay here with you where it'd be safer. But she insisted..." She'd look from the jacket to Corti. The redhead offered a genuine smile as she'd gently adjust her friends headscarf to look like how the uniformed women wear their hair. "I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that I feel better with you close by though." The more she was forced to think on it, Thia didn't trust any one outside this tent to be good to Corti. She'd search Corti's eyes for the comfort and inspiration, returning with resolve. Thia believed it was the right thing to do. No on deserved to suffer.

If Thia was suppose to keep Gyselle or Othmar from getting in trouble, then Gyselle would have a responsibility too. She'd look to Gyselle with a firm expression. "Keep Corti safe." Corti had been more than loyal to Thia from the beginning. She was top priority to keep away from the Marshal.

Thia would then look to Tarian. She'd sigh. "No one's running off to accuse any one of anything." She'd adjust her uniform. "But I'm not going to ignorantly sit around and let this bullshit stand Tarian. I want facts, just like you." Her face stern. She wanted to stop talking about it and take action. "I'm going into that tent and Brandt's got my back." He didn't even flinch, question or argue... "Gyselle and Corti can leave a few minutes after to start an investigation the outside of it. Chat up the soldiers if you wish. Do nothing. What ever you want." And that's when Njalgas would speak up. The artificer would glance to Njalgas then back to Tarian. "But I'm out."

With that, Thia would nod to Corti before turning to leave. She'd line up behind Brandt, grab him by the hips and with a little squeeze, start pushing him out of the tent with her. "Off we go then!".

Once outside, she'd let go and move to fall in step with Brandt, doing her best to mimic a pair of soldiers patrolling. She'd follow his lead on the best path to their destination. He'd know and be aware of their pathing patterns, or at least be able to make it more believable. Hopefully it was as easy as this and that she wouldn't have to result to other tactics...

You’re out… without a plan to get out. Tarian shook her head as she watched the four leave. The last time I went into a dangerous situation without a plan to get out, Spudsder was there to talk our way out of it. Well, I’m no Milo, and I’ve got no halfling luck.

She put her hand on her pommel and stared at her sword. This is what I’m best at, and this would get us into more trouble than it could get us out of right now. She stood. Or maybe it just needs to get me into trouble… I could at least distract the rank-and-file soldiers, which would maybe make the investigation job a little easier.

On her way out, Tarian offered Othmar a tense smile. She assumed he had noticed the others’ expressions as they left. “As I said, I don’t think convincing the Marshal we’re divided will be a problem. Not even I’m convinced we’re not.” As she stepped past the medic she added, “I’m going to get some exercise. I expect you’ll need to apply some poultices when you next see me.” She listed two of her favorite less-common recipes, one for effectiveness in treating deep bruises and one for lacerations. “I reckon I won’t be in any condition to apply them myself.” Without waiting for a response or offering any explanation as to why she would have such specific medical knowledge, Tarian marched off in the direction of the soldiers’ tents.

As she approached the makeshift barracks’ vicinity, Tarian cupped her hands and called out while keeping a healthy distance the tents themselves. “Does anyone know a soldier named Tess, of the engineer company’s support battalion? This is Tarian, from Duskrock,” she bellowed. “I’d like to ask if she knows where I can get a practice sword. I want to practice but I don’t want anyone to get hurt if I’m swinging live steel. Again, Tess, of the engineer company’s support battalion.”

This is absolutely going to get me flogged in the end. I just hope I can keep as much attention here from as many of these soldiers as possible and long enough for Thia and them to find something. I have to at least help my own, even if it means it has to be like this.

Tarian couldn’t help the corner of her mouth twitch with a wry, introspective smirk. But I don’t know if that’s how anyone else will see it.

Brandt, Corti, Thia and Gyselle, you quickly head for the small pathways between the tents, relying on your uniforms and demeanor to keep any prying eyes away. Once turning and out of sight from the Marshal's tent, Brandt turns to start keeping his eye on the guards on the palisades and around the encampment. The three ladies push on, with Gyselle greeting a passing group of soldiers, currently enjoying some of their time off, gambling with dice and enjoying their alloted wine ration. Seeing the "healthy" soldiers up close, Thia can't help but be shocked at the conditions. Many of the men and women here are as haggard as the sick she had been treating, and many of the tents were filthy. Judging by the beards, the stubble, and most of all the body odour, discipline had started to be a problem too. No wonder no one questioned the story that these soldiers simply got sick, anyone would in these conditions. Corti, you notice in particular that many of the tents you pass have cooking fires out front, but are empty otherwise. Gyselle, you lead the small troop through the tents, judging by signposts erected in the camp which way you'd have to head. 

After about five minutes, you turn towards a large tent, only slightly smaller than the field hospital that Othmar and Gyselle work in. It stands slightly apart from the rest, and has no clear unit demarcations. You can see a pair of guards outside, with the red shoulder patch of the Crimson Guard. Gyselle, you're sure this is the right tent.

----------------------------------

Brandt, you're keeping an eye out for any guards noticing anything suspicious, when you hear Tarian's challenge.

---------------------------------

Tarian, it takes only moments for about half a dozen soldiers to step out towards you. Several of them have been drinking, and judging by their angered faces, they weren't here to provide you with a friendly sparring lesson.

"Dusker *****, what are you saying? You think you're better than us? Huh?" A large, red-faced brute starts to square up to Tarian, several of the other soldiers egging him on. You notice that most of them have their swords with them, and at least some of them had been drinking.

I have to play this carefully. If it’s this guy, I think things could go really wrong here.

“What I said was ‘I want to practice,’ and ‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt if I’m swinging live steel.’ Or do you think some Dusker—who’s not frehm Duuskrohck propehr, say—“ Tarian slipped into her natural accent to illustrate the point, “should be swingin’ around in yehr camp? It’s practess. Prac-tice. Sword forms. Swings. Strainin’ th’ body teh relax the meynd.”

"Right... Just sounded to me you were bragging. Saying we couldn't beat you" He spits on the ground between your feet. "And that... That I don't take from no fricken civvie. I cut down *****es like you by the dozen in Cyre, and to tell you the truth... I liked it." He quickly draws his sword, a wicked smile on his face.

"Come on then, take your best swing. You only get one."

Rather than reach for the sword at her side, Tarian pulled out the shield from her back and donned it. “While that sounds like setch a lovely teyme, yehr commander has asked me not teh dance with you. If yeh want teh practess, yeh, then maybe stop cowering beheynd yehr Marshal, grab a practess sword, and we’ll see who’s better when yeh’re not drunk.”

The guy jabs Tarian across the face, splitting her lip open. "To hell with the Bronze Marshal...  Stop with your excuses and fight, like you mean it. And don't you worry princess, I beat you, even when drunk". He seems well pleased with himself, theatrically licking some of your blood off his knuckles to the cheers of the other soldiers.


16 for 3 bludgeoning damage

“’To hell with th’ Bronze Marshal,’ izzet?” Tarian imitated. “I’ll be shure t’ let hehr knoh y’said as metch. What’s yehr name and company, sehr, soh I ken pass along your loving wehrds?” Adrenaline surged through Tarian. Her hands tingled, her body roared with heat. Her fighter’s awareness awakened. Yet even still, with her regular training—snuck in before mealtimes or bed, fresh in the morning, or just whenever she could—she still had the presence of mind to keep her head.

If it must be this feral dog, I have to try to drag this out. They need the time to search. Remember your footwork and shield, keep your ears open to the rest of your enemies around you. Let your eyes feed your instincts: your body knows what his body is telling you about what he is going to do. Above all, don’t let him get into your head.