For much of their travels so far, Loane keeps quiet. Not to be standoffish, or at least intentionally. Any questions fielded her way is answered, giving them enough of an answer to be polite. Ever alert, her eyes never look at the same spot for too long to keep watch for anything strange. For a sailor, she is fairly comfortable on land. As she is more formally introduced to the rest of the group, she dips her head to them with a smile as the tale is recounted. The tale did seem rather impressive when told outloud.

Chen greets the new faces briefly, not wanting to hold up the group, but wishing to complete a short ritual before departure. Seeing that the large stallion has been reserved for him, he reaches out and touches it gently, stroking it with one hand while speaking soft words taught to him long ago. The other hand waves slowly and rhythmically in the air, as if scooping some unseen substance and drawing it toward his crown. After a good ten minutes, the dragonborn feels his mind attune to the language of beasts, and he spends several minutes more whispering words of comfort and gratitude to the large horse who is willing to bear him, the manner in which it prefers to be ridden and handled, and asking by what name it would wish to be called. The preparation complete, Chen quickly ties his pack to the saddle and lifts himself up easily into the stirrups.

Listening with amusement to each Jahren's deft introductions, Chen interjects with one comment in particular: Friend Jahren is kind, but I argue that the only true triumph in a confrontation is to diffuse it. I admit I have been forced to use violence at times, but I have no appetite for it. For example, that dragon that friend Jahren mentioned, which threatened our ship with violence unless it were paid tribute. And pay it he did, meeting conflict with peace, and saving many souls. That is the truest triumph, and the thing which I hunger for more than... well perhaps as much as a good meal.

Mirica was studying her new companions, while absentmindedly stroking the mane of her dapple grey mare (that was still as a statue, readily awaiting a hint of command). Nice mixture of talkative and taciturn, obviously seasoned ... A bit too colourful for a visit to the xenophobic human regiment, but she hoped Toc knew what he was doing.

Priest tilted her head to the side listening about escapade on the sea (and nodding to the peaceful declarations of the shiny golden dragonborn - she had to admit, he was truly impressive) but asked only one question: "Did you happen to learn the name of the dragon, that threatened you? Apparently there are four around here - a mother with three younglings."

Four you say? The green one that accosted us seemed strong, but possibly a young adult. Had an imp for a herald. None of the crew had heard of any dragon claiming the territory before. Now what was the name again? 'Green-curd-in-the-beer' or something like that.

"It's servant, a quasit, pronounced it 'Gwee-erd-en-tul-ear'," replies Jahren.

Chen nods to Jahren and says: Ah, thank you Jahren. Truly you have the memory worthy of a recorder of deeds. It shames me that I should stumble over a dragon's name.

Then moving his horse a little closer to Jahren's, he whispers: I don't suppose you also caught which one is Tic and which is Toc, did you?

Jahren smiles at Chen and taps the pocket clearly outlining the shape of his journal.  "Or I remember very little at all."  He winks at the dragonborn.

The bard waves his finger subtly back and forth between the twin elves.  "Tic, Toc, Tic, Toc..."

"Gwyrddentuliar," Mirica demonstrated the memory to envy even for Jahren, "the "smart one" as we learned. That was one of three younglings. Extortion on the roads? Interesting, but not cautious. Oh, well". She nodded to Chen and sent her horse into formation.

     Fianna listened to the introductions and paid close attention trying to keep names to faces, though she knew she would inevitably mess them up.  No matter, she would learn them eventually if necessary.  She had a tendency to remember the important things but minor things....  They often flitted in and out of her memories like a butterfly.  Interesting and beautiful while around but nothing to worry about much once it's moved on.  

     She talked with any who engaged her in conversation but she only ever initiated it with Mirica, Toc or Tic.  Or her horse.  Fianna was often speaking to her horse, pointing out this sight, telling them about the last time she saw flowers like that or any number of things.  It was obvious to anyone who cared to think about it that it was not magical conversation, just the kind of one sided conversation a person living alone was apt to have with a pet or such.

     Fianna did, however, interrupt when the introductions turned to talk of dragons. "Gwyrddentuliar?  The name was Gwyrddentuliar?  Are you sure?" The flighty seeming half-elf suddenly seemed very strident.  "That is one of the three offspring of Verdant Cloud, or so we've been told," Fianna says, nodding to Mirica to indicate the other part of the 'we'. "We... came upon a stranger in the woods of Cormanthor.  We, err, bartered a bit and he provided what knowledge he had of dragons in the area.  He claimed that there were three offspring to the great green dragon Verdant Cloud and that they were currently battling back and forth over territory.  Gwyrddentuliar was one.  There was also Berdeanostia and Viridianantallax."

     "Our stranger told us that they battle over territories of forest hundreds of miles west of Myth Drannor. Well, they battle for the territory and Verdant Cloud's favor...  The winner would get the territory closest to their mother, the others pushed further out.  We did not trust the stranger," Fianna explained.  "In general, anyway.  But we both believed they were telling us at least mostly the truth on this. Didn't we, Mirica?"

     Having passed the conversation off to Mirica, in a way, Fianna seemingly loses interest in the conversation and starts fiddling with one of her bags.  She quickly teases a Pseudodragon out of the bag with the promise of a morsel of meat and the creature quickly snaps up the snack then crawls up Fianna's arm and slinks into it's familiar perch around her neck, mainly shielded by her hood.  

((Was typing while Mirica posted... But they work together well enough.))

"That's everything that this stranger told you about?" Loane asked. "Four dragons, no matter the age, are quite dangerous. While they could have scared away creatures, there's always going to be some things that stick around. We wouldn't want to stumble upon something unpleasant while off on an unrelated task. Though it's possible we could also end up making allies along the way."

     "We weren't exactly swapping porcupine recipes," Fianna answers with a smile.  "We touched on the goblins this guy had hired to watch two of the dragons fight, some note was made of the Displacer Beasts he seemingly had as pets, and of course the captives he had which he intended to sell as slaves.  We tracked him down to see if he was somehow responsible for the squabbling dragons which killed an acquaintance.  Priorities changed once we decided he knew of the fighting but wasn't responsible for it... So we instead focused on getting freedom of the captives.  We weren't overly chatty with one another but I did let him know I'd kill him if we met again..."  Fianna gives Loane a wink as she says the last.  "He shan't be an ally."

As you ride, a troop of Red Plumes comes marching down the road. The mercenaries that make up Hillsfars forces are an effective though somewhat atypical fighting forces. The forces tend to look a bit rag-tag though their irregularity is what tends to make them flexible. The roughly forty soldiers wearing a mix of armor and having all manner of weapons amidst them walk in a bit of a jumble, no straight lines and in-step military parading going on here. At the same time, the mob of almost ruffian looking humans clearly is an experienced fighting group. 

Toc nods to the leader and raises a hand. "Lieutenant is it? Well met. What group are you with?" 

The lieutenant, the only one riding a horse and the only one with an actual red-plume on his helmet nods to Toc, a frown on his face, "Lieutenant Barstin Kamor in charge of the 8th and 9th squads of Oak Regiment. To whom am I speaking?" 

Toc nods again, "My name is Toc." 

The lieutenant frowns a bit, "What do you want?" 

Toc shrugs, "I was looking for the Captain of your regiment, Tal Rodery. Either that or the 22nd squad if you happen to know their whereabouts." 

The partial frown turns into a full glower.  A very brusque response is issued, “We don’t provide military intelligence to vagabonds, now on your way.”  The lieutenant turns his horse and begins marching his troop past the group. Toc's mouth is open for a moment, then he closes it.  A waspish look crosses his face and he turns his horse to continue.  

"Those "vagabonds" were summoned by the Captain to discuss the matters concerning 22nd squad. Directing the group to his position might have helped." Mirica paused and looked Lieutenant straight in the eye. "But if your orders prevent you from helping, I am sure Captain will understand."

She did not really hope Lieutenant will even listen to her, but boiling Toc for the rest of the journey was not something she was looking forward for (it was highly unlikely he could appreciate some poetic justice of the situation - an elf suffering from xenophobia). So, she tried.

     Fianna watches Mirica snipe at the lieutenant and considers adding some persuasion to the matter... Perhaps even some with some oomph behind it.  After a moment she decides it best not to force the issue.  This troop she's fallen in with seems more than capable even without the assistance of such petty people.

Mirica, roll Deception.

(But she was honest! Ah, those mistrustful humans! Deception: 13 )

Jahren interjects into the conversation with Lt.  "Lieutenant Kamor, Sir, apologies for the interruption to your business.  Although we are not qualified to officially liaise with ranking members such as yourself, in these tough times we merely hope to help and have an important matter to discuss with Captain Rodery.  If it would be at all possible for you to assist us in contacting him through any means it would be most appreciated as we believe we can be of assistance in your cause."  Jahren does his best to glean some insight into the man in these brief moments to decide if flattery is best, modesty on the party's part, etc.

Roll persuasion Jahren. 

Persuasion: 35

1510. (it was a deception roll...even though you thought you were being honest, the captain didn't actually summon you guys, so what you said wasn't true. Perhaps if you think something is true, it should be a persuasion roll instead of deception, or perhaps an intimidation since you were using tough talk. I wasn't sure if you were intentionally trying to deceive him or just accidentally.  :-). Moot point for this exact moment) 

The Lieutenant pauses as he's about to lead the troop away. He glances at Mirica, then at Jahren, then back to Toc. Jahren is getting the sense this guy is disinclined to help them to start, but he also is likely following procedure. A military force doesn't reveal that sort of information lightly. But, he seems to believe that it's important, so, after a few glances with his troops he says in a brusque manner, "The Regiment is based out of temporary camp along this road. It's no secret. If you want more information you can find it there. I'd make sure you're crystal clear about who you are, who sent you, and what you're looking for."  He clucks his horse forward and leads the troops out. 

As you continue to ride south, Toc speaks up, "Thank you both for your help back there. As you may have gleaned, our current goal is to find the 22nd squad of the 17th Hillsfar Regiment. The Regiment is called Oak Regiment. We want to ask them some questions. The regiment is nearly 1000 soldiers and patrol the southern trade road between Hillsfar proper and the Dale lands south of Cormanthor forest. The 22nd squad had an encounter with some Yugoloth demons at a ruined outpost near the Duathamper.”  He glances around, “It’s one of the major rivers that flows through the whole of Cormanthor.  The squad commander claimed they defeated the demons and had an opportunity to question them. The demons informed them they were the servants of a Netheril wizard from the ruins of Myth Drannor. I have several questions for this squad, including how did a single squad manage to defeat demons, why did they even other questioning them in the first place, and how did they even get a demon to speak. Finally, did they get the name of the Netheril wizard. If there is a wizard working from the ruins of Myth Drannor they could be a serious threat to the region. Right now, we need information. I thank each of you for lending your assistance. I seem to be rubbing people the wrong way recently. Jahren, if you could handle the next interaction with the military I’d appreciate it. I'm unsure if we need concern ourselves with these roving green dragons. I hope not.”