Jorlton had been staying at the Badger’s Inn for several weeks when the letter finally reached him. The Human courier who handed him the letter mentioned that it had been hard to track him down, as he didn’t have a permanent residence.

“Well, that is the price of being a wandering Wizard,” said Jorlton as he took the letter.

As the courier left, the Gnome ripped open the envelope and read the letter. Apparently a sheriff from a place called Avonshire was in need of adventurers. The fact that he had been selected caused Jorlton’s ego to massively inflate. This inflation caused Jorlton to overlook the fact that no reward was mentioned. Instead he went to the front of the inn to ask the owner, an older Dwarf gentleman, if he knew where Avonshire was.

“Why it’s east of here. About a week’s travel.”

Jorlton did the math in his head. If he left today he would have just enough time to reach Avonshire by the third day of Harvestide.

Jorlton turned to the Dwarf, “In that case, I’ll close my tab and be out of the room by tonight.”

The Dwarf innkeeper didn’t argue as Jorlton handed him the few coins he owed him. Jorlton then returned to his room, packing his few belongings into his backpack. Upon making sure that he forgot nothing, Jorlton left what had been his home for a few weeks. He then entered onto the main street of the town of Beldon. With a keen eye out for other thieves trying to steal his belongings, Jorlton went over to the market.

Trying to find some means of travelling to Avonshire, as he definitely want to walk there, Jorlton looked at the various caravans that were ready to leave. Eventually he spotted a familiar face, Engel, an Elven merchant.

“Engel my friend. What a fine day to find you,” Jorlton said.

Engel turned around to see who was addressing him, “Oh gods. Not you Jorlton.”

“Yes. Me, Jorlton,” he laughed, “And may I ask which way you were heading?”

“Not that it should matter to you. But I’m going east.”

“Well imagine my luck then, as I am also headed east.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“You can’t come.”

“But I can be of use.”

“You’re a tiny thief with delusions of grandeur as a Wizard.”

“Hey I have uses. Like this.”

Jorlton made his mage hand appear, grabbing the wrist of a small Human child. Engel turned to see that the child had been attempting several vials of potion out of the back of his wagon. Engel shooed away the child.

“Fine,” the Elf sighed, “You can come. But if we encounter any bandits, you’re fighting them off.”

“Deal,” replied Jorlton with a crooked smile.

The Elf and Gnome then loaded themselves into the wagon. Engel took the reins as his single white horse pulled the wagon out of the streets of Beldon.



Luckily for Jorlton and Engel, they did not encounter any bandits on their week long journey. Though Avonshire was slightly out of the way for Engel, he was all too eager to get rid of Jorlton. After spending so many days together, Engel prayed that he would never encounter the annoying Gnome ever again.

As Jorlton got off the wagon, which Engel then made speed away, he saw a sign written in Common saying Darenby, five miles away. The Gnome sighed as he didn’t want to do any serious walking, and was slightly ticked off that Engel had let him off so far from his destination. But there was nothing he could do now as he was alone in the middle of nowhere. So Jorlton began to move his tiny legs.

For almost two hours, Jorlton trekked in the direction that the sign had pointed. While most people would take in the beautiful meadows and farmland, Jorlton instead focused on the pain in his calves. While he already had a small stride, the fact that he didn’t regularly exercise meant that this walk was torture for him. It also didn’t help that the dirt road had begun to turn to mud, his boots getting stuck in the brown goo.

But he trudged on, the idea that this quest could lead to loot keeping him motivated. That motivation paid off when Jorlton spotted a fort in the distance. Realizing that was the fort of Darenby, Jorlton quickened his pace, trying to ignore the mud and stones under his feet.

As Jorlton neared the fortress, he spotted a singular Human soldier. The Gnome approached him, panting and out of breath, “Is this Darenby?”

“Aye. And what business do you have here?” the soldier asked, “We don’t get many Gnomes here.”

For a split second Jorlton almost said coin, but his brain re-oriented, remembering the letter, “I’m here to investigate the Goblins. Apparently you guys have a Goblin problem.”

“Really? I didn’t hear anything about that. I should go alert the Guard Captain,” stated the soldier.

“Yeah, you do that,” said Jorlton, before adding, “Oh! And where can I find the Infamous Pear Inn?”

The soldier turned back toward Jorlton, “It’s over on the other side of town.” He then ran to find his Captain.

Jorlton groaned at the prospect of more walking but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. At least when he made it into the town proper, the once dirt and mud roads became cobblestone. This greatly increased Jorlton’s pace as his legs and feet were no longer getting stuck. Still, it took Jorlton quite a while before he finally spotted the wooden sign for the Infamous Pear, as it was now definitely darker out.

Looking for a place to sit, and an ale to numb the pain in his legs, Jorlton eagerly entered the bar. He was welcomed in by a friendly looking Halfling, but Jorlton ignored him, instead going directly to the bartender.

“A flagon of your strongest ale, immediately,” Jorlton ordered.

The Human responded with simply a smile as he filled the flagon and handed it to the Gnome. Jorlton downed a good deal of the beverage before remembering his whole reason of coming to this farming town.

“Also, my good barkeep,” said Jorlton before whispering, “I’m with the Arbalest party.”

The bartender nodded before repeating roughly the same spiel to Jorlton as he had to those who arrived before. Pointing over to the table in the corner, the bartender gave Jorlton a knowing nod, before going back to cleaning his drink ware.

The table in the corner was clearly the busiest in the whole inn as many formidable looking adventurers were gathered around it. Jorlton wasn’t sure how he hadn’t spotted them before as they sort of stuck out. Darenby had seemed to be a town of Humans and Halflings, yet these adventurers also included Elves and Tieflings.

Figuring that he should make a grand introduction, Jorlton raised his flagon as he approached the group.

“Well met fellow adventurers!” he said, “I am Jorlton. Quickest of hands, most pervasive of minds, and master of the Wizarding arts!”

Upon finishing Jorlton cast minor illusion, causing a shimmering blue aura to surround himself. If that didn’t impress them, Jorlton didn’t know what would.

Conversations continued in ways not common to The Infamous Pear, but no one seemed to be paying much of attention to the odd and eclectic group of people in toward the corner of the room, just to the right of the stage. Even with the occasional off-duty guard here, no one wished to pry. Or even stare for too long in the direction of these potential intrepid heroes. The overall feel of the establishment was calm and accommodating, with just the slightest piece of unease tinging the air like something acrid caught in the wind.

The main hearth fire had slowed to a rolling crackle, casting less illumination about the room that it did an hour earlier. This has been supplemented by the works of Mr. Guido Laurel, the cheerful Halfling proprietor, by way of switching out a few of the burned-down tallow candles from the glass lamps which adorned the tables. He waited for a break in the conversation at hand among the party to handle theirs, darting in with the practiced dexterity of seasoned Innfolk and utilizing a chair as a step-stool to deftly make the table a little brighter. A cheerful eyebrow raise stood as the only communication he attempted, as if to ask if everything in acceptable, before darting back away.

Almost immediately afterward, a muffled kick could be heard assaulting the door which leads to the kitchen. It swung open with a sharp creak at first, announcing hinges which might require a little attention eventually, behind which was a silhouette backlit by an open woodburning stove of red-brown brick. The figure was carrying a large tray covered in plates of food in both hands, one on the bottom and one clutching the edge with a death grip. "Move it'r get it on ya!" screamed a feminine but not particularly cultured voice as the silhouette bounded into the better lighting of the main taproom. This is a lady of indeterminate background; either a larger Halfling or a less bulky Dwarf, by the looks of her. Regulars to The Infamous Pear were careful to remove themselves from her path. For good reason - she appeared to be carrying everyone's meals who already ordered. From the amount of weight on her tray, it is impressive that this woman could shuffle about as readily as she could.

After everyone else had been served, the Lady O' Kitchen made her way over to the Adventurer's Table, naught but a two plates remaining. One she placed in front of Mona Holcombe, bluntly stating, "Yah, um, 'roast' beef, we ain't got. Threw a steak in a skillet instead." She offered no apology or further explanation, simply nudging the plate closer to Mona. It contained a decently seared piece of former cow which smelled faintly of herbs and colorfully ribbed chard, wilted over flame and bearing the marks thereof. The second plate bore a large, uncut loaf of brown bread upon it and a jar of homemade butter. This one she plopped down in the center of the table. "Awright, I'm May. Here's what we got ready awready: Minced pork pie with potatoes and stuff (eight pounds o'buttah in that crust), Lamb stew with sorghum and mint, and toasted rye slices with spicy smashed beans and green-marble cheese. Whaddya want?"

May suffers no fools and answers no questions about the contents of the dishes, merely giving an impatient stare or a quick, "Don't got all night. Pots boiling and stuff," to whomever takes their time figuring out what they want. May otherwise takes orders and walks away.

It is at this moment that Alastor Shore stands and politely excuses himself, muttering something about finding an outhouse. In hindsight, the events which followed became one of the lesser mysteries of Darenby, which unfortunately will not be chronicled here.

The door to The Infamous Pear opened with a smooth push, letting in a gust of autumn's nighttime air. The room was warm enough to be able to recover quickly from this unwanted intrusion of chill wind, and so no one gave any more than a grumble concerning it. The cause of this stood just to the side of the doorway, letting the heavy wooden portal come to a resting close. It was a Human in his more venerable years.

His face bore lines which showed a roadmap of experience, resting around a facial scar that promised an interesting story. He had a thick head of hair which was steel gray at its darkest, fading to stark winter white. A dark tabard covered a suit of well-tended chain mail armor and a broad bladed sword hung at his waist. Age was upon him, though he still looked formidable enough to dissuade all but the more aggressive troublemakers. The man looked to the Adventurer's Table with an expression of confusion, then a flash of contemplation as if he was reasoning something out and keeping it to himself.

This newcomer drew the attention of many of the scattered locals and any off-duty authority figures in the room, some of whom gave him a quick wave or raised a tankard in his direction. He politely returned many of these subdued salutations and then headed to the bar to speak with Mr. Owen Hardy.

What might or might not have been said was obscured by the hushed tones of the two men and general conversation in the Inn. The older gentleman pointed at the reserved table twice during the course of this quick and dirty talk before it was over, making no attempt to hide the fact that whatever they were saying, it was about the party. Finally, he turned to look straight at the table and its inhabitants and began to stride forward, his mail clinking softly with every step. Behind him scurried up the ever mobile form of Mr. Guido Laurel, doing his best to provide replacement drinks, even though no one ordered another round. Guido looked to the tall, venerable man, who nodded his approval. The Halfling then took the occasion to exit the area.

In a clear voice carrying an accent which could not be confused as a local one, the man began to introduce himself. "Good evening, and thank you for answering my summons. I am Gregory Arbalest, the Sheriff of Avonshire. Before we begin, I would like to see everyone's invitation, please." His words were polite, if crisp, and made no illusion that his desire to see the letters was optional. "Then, we may talk about business."

Marita seemed… if not satisfied, then mollified by his response. Her irritation in general was clear, but it seemed that his message was received. He’d take it.

As he sat back down, Hugh mulled things over, allowing the Pest’s provocations to wash over him like water. While the misinterpretation and broad oversimplification of his effective skill-set on her part was an irritant, it was one he could choose to ignore. In the end, being underestimated could only be to his benefit. If she wanted to further be part of making that happen, then who was he to stop her? Besides, allowing himself to be goaded by something so trite could only hurt his effectiveness down the line. Unacceptable.

Leaning back in his chair, he listened intently, as the Bard followed his lead. “Victoria” she called herself. He’d not heard of the College of Grey Requiem, but then again, he wasn’t an expert on Bards. They tended to grate on him at the best of times. Quite frankly, he was not too enthused to have to put up with an individual with a silver tongue for days on end. At the end of the day, a pretty face was nothing more and nothing less.

The gods her teachings followed, however… Now that he’d had a moment to reorient his thoughts from the mental fumble between Mona and Marita’s supposed divine patrons, he could recall Jergal, Wee Jas and, in particular, the Raven Queen as being death gods with… relatively neutral stances in the grand order of things. The latter he recalled mostly because she specifically unappealed him. What was more surprising was that, aside from Jergal, who was typically not known for giving a shit one way or another, these deities that were involved in the proper cycle of life were also surprisingly tolerant of the undead… with a couple caveats.

Hugh found his eyes drifting towards the… pig once more, as the other half of his attention soaked in Victoria’s thinly veiled plea for acceptance of her… well, at this point, near blatant necromancy. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent anyone from catching him rolling them, as he exhaled quietly and folded his arms. Obviously, she’d had to cover the stink of her “pet’s” corpse with perfume or something similar; that was what he’d smelled before. Quite frankly, he was self aware enough to conclude that he was hardly one to talk when it came to dubious means, so, against his better judgement, he’d leave her be… for now. If there was any saving grace here, it was that she was far outnumbered in the worst case.

The purple Bard finished her spiel, upon which the also purple tiefling proceeded to say his piece. He was a swordsman, short, sweet and mostly to the point, literally even. Hugh resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his own stupid pun. He would admit to some scepticism over the idea of a swordsmen being all that reliable after being trained as an assumedly one-on-one duelist. Then again, this Alastor also claimed to be able to handle multiple foes and also that he knew his way around a crossbow. Not Hugh’s first choice, considering how loud they were, but at least he had the option to pursue ranged strategies. It would do.

As the Pest’s far too energized commentary washed over him once more, this time mercifully directed at the Bard, Hugh found his eyes drifting towards movement near the bar and blinked in surprise. He metaphorically kicked himself for allowing the energy at the table to dull his attention, as he focused on what was, he concluded in resignation, to be yet another member of this sizable group. She appeared to be twitching with clear discomfort, as she finally escaped the merciless clutches of the bartender and made her way over.

The individual in question looked like she had taken a swan dive through every bush in the forest, her ponytailed hair littered with all manner of twigs, leaves and brambles. The bronzed skin and defined pointed ears made it clear that she was a wood elf, and her garb made it clear that she intended to live up to the name. Taking her shockingly welcome pragmatic appearance in, the rugged leather gear, the self-made and well-used weaponry, and the low-key greys of everything else besides, Hugh couldn’t help blinking briefly in astonishment.

Could this be one of my people? he wondered sardonically, as she introduced herself and adjusted the acorn in her hair with obvious social anxiety. At that, it became clear to him that the random rubbish in her hair was there with purpose, most likely what passed for decoration in the middle of nowhere. He wondered if anyone noticed how quietly she moved, but the overall looks of surprise at her appearance indicated otherwise.

There was, he noticed, a wildness to her movements, the way she seemed to subconsciously tense up when she had attention. The way her eyes almost seemed to flick towards anyone that turned their backs on her. It was like watching a domesticated predator being surrounded by prey. Hugh wracked his brains, briefly reminding himself of typical animalistic behavior and what “do’s” and “don’t’s” he might have to be mindful of around her, before mostly laying such things to the side. The girl almost seemed like she’d been “raised by wolves”, for lack of a better term, but he’d yet to learn what beast she may have “imprinted” upon in her training.

That aside, if the implications of her appearance and her stated confusion at even receiving a letter were to be believed, this was a consummate professional of living off the land, a Druid most likely, if the overall lack of steel weaponry was any clue. He couldn’t imagine the Sheriff sending for some random helpless wild woman. That in mind, her general discomfort in this setting and clearly invaluable survival and stealth skills would make this “Naivara” one to watch.

He was saved from the need to introduce himself once more, as the increasingly impressive Marita saved them all time and frustration with… admittedly vastly simplified descriptions. Hugh nodded gratefully her way and gave Naivara a small two-fingered salute. Naturally, this was when the Pe- (Kosara he begrudgingly mentally corrected himself) chose to loudly insert herself, before beginning to ramble about her capabilities. By this point, Hugh found his mind roughly separating the chaff from what was actually important, that being -he begrudgingly allowed- her healing magic. He couldn’t care less about her nigh-useless quality of life cantrips or her apparent professed excuse to get her hands all over the party, but her healing magic? That unfortunately made her infinitely more useful.

Her passion for entertainment also hinted roughly at her being a Bard, but Hugh… didn’t get that vibe. In all actuality, her seemingly perpetual state of delusional action instead reminded him of a Sorcerer, those who bent the world to their whims based on a personal warped view of reality and sheer willpower. Hugh could easily say Kosara had both. However, the healing magic stomped all over that theory. Sorcerers for all their delusions, still couldn’t change the fact that they were arcane casters, not divine. In that case, it was nearly impossible that the pale tiefling was a Sorcerer, especially if one included her apparent passion for “blade dancing” in the consideration.

So what the hell is she?

Not a Cleric, certainly. The very idea was frankly ludicrous, but then, how could she cast holy magic? Hugh wracked his brains for an answer. She wasn’t a Fighter, and no Paladin could ever be so crass as she. She wasn’t a Wizard, or a Sorcerer, for both were gated from divine magic by their own arcane practices. He would be willing to eat his boot if she was a Rogue, as the idea was frankly so absurd he almost didn’t even mention it. She didn’t seem… angry enough to be a Barbarian, but their kind were known to be able to pull off some pretty weird bullshit for seemingly no other reason than: “angry”. She was a self-admitted trained “dancer” and so was too close to civilization to be a Druid or Ranger, especially with those... clothes. She wasn’t a Monk, as no self-respecting practitioner would call what they do “magic”; they merely imitated spells, and she had not even a smidgeon of discipline within her.

Which left… what?

Cleric, Paladin, Druid and Ranger. That was all of them, all the vocations he knew of that could cast divine magic, and there was no chance she was any but, at a stretch, the first. As far as healing, Bards could certainly do so, and do so well, but… no. Hugh spared a glance Kosara’s way, observing the scimitar, dagger and light crossbow… and complete lack of an instrument anywhere on her person. There was no such thing as a Bard without an instrument. Their magic depended on it.

Which brought him right back to square one.

If she did not practice any of the former professions, then how did she… Hugh’s eyes branched over to Marita, then Naivara, before stopping dead on the Fey sitting on Mona’s shoulder. Of course… it dawned on him.

She made a Deal.

Warlock.

A Deal, a Bargain, an Exchange for Power. That was the only way to cheat the system. Hugh knew it well. He’d considered such options early on, before rapidly dismissing them. His soul would never belong to anyone but himself.

Shaking those thoughts off, Hugh swallowed with grim satisfaction. Indeed, it would only make sense. Kosara was exactly the kind of thoughtless person to throw away her eternal soul for a brief life of pleasures and power. That kind of person… There was no way he could ever trust them. After all, if you were willing to bargain away your own soul, anything less was a small price to pay for success, including and often especially the lives of those around you.

Of course, this all relied on her not simply being the most brainless cleric in the land, running around without armor… or anything, for that matter. He’d have to watch her in action, but he was almost certain of his conclusions. He desperately hoped to never require her healing.

Coming back to a general awareness of the table, Hugh reprimanded himself internally for missing the tall woman, Katherine’s, introduction of her capabilities, as she finished sitting once more… to the protest of her chair. Luckily, barring the truly unforeseen, he needn’t have overheard anyway; her vocation was plainly obvious to all. He was also more than a bit skeptical about the whole “giant” thing that most of the table seemed to be taking at face-value for whatever reason. Sure, she was tall, but for a human woman, she was merely an astonishment, not an impossibility. He’d seen plenty of Barbarians with similar -if not identical- builds; she was nothing new.

The light thunk of floorboards and a grandiose voice took his attention. For a brief moment, he blinked in confusion, before leaning to the side and spotting a gnome approaching from the other end of the table.

Out of everyone present, it was easy to say the gnome (“Jorlton, he called himself) had the palest complexion, as though he’d spent not a day in the sun. Immaculately kept blonde hair and the sizable ears of his kind featured prominently… along with a somewhat bulbous nose. In form, the gnome was rather strangely… bulky beneath his fairly good quality clothes and dapper green cloak. Of note, he also appeared to dabble with daggers, a shortsword and a rapier, all of which were strapped smartly to his waist and legs. All in all, Hugh breathed a sigh of relief at the appearance of a proper Rog-

Jortlon gave an absurd declaration of Wizardhood, and Hugh’s eyebrows both shot into his hairline in pure bafflement at the shimmering blue aura that snapped into being around the gnome. Shaking his head, he squinted at the apparatus, but the glimmer of it had his eyes watering enough to relent.

No. Incorrect. False.

His eyes snapped back to the weapons and then the aura, his brain methodically cataloguing and shuffling through every Wizard speciality he’d ever heard of, as he blinked rapidly in eventual realization. The aura appeared real, it’s effects potentially dangerously unknown, but the claim...

Absurd.

The only Wizards that married blade swinging to spell-slinging in such a fashion were the Bladesingers, all of whom were elves, without exception. Bladesinging was a traditional and exclusive art of elvenkind, not the sort of thing to be passed along to outsiders… or at all. Hugh couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of special circumstances would be required for an exception to be made. This man was a charlatan, plain and simple. He groaned under his breath. That, or the gnome was a fool wizard trying to wield weapons without any talent or training for them, merely because they “looked cool”. On second glance, he certainly seemed the foppish enough type to try it.

At the very least, there was no question that the gnome was a spellcaster of some sort. Whether he could live up to his lofty claim would be for the future to tell, but Hugh doubted he would.

Why is it, Hugh internally groused, his eyes passing over Victoria, Kosara, Mona and then the newcomer in turn, that I am surrounded by charlatans. He idly acknowledged the ever so slight hypocrisy of that statement when coming from him. But then again, he wasn’t the one trying to present himself as something he wasn’t, merely the type to prefer their own affairs private.

Banging and clattering from the kitchen sounded, as out came a rather business-oriented dwarf(?)/halfling(?) with a shock of long frizzy red hair carrying a massive selection of dishes for seemingly the entire tavern. Rather loudly, she bulled about with surprising grace and dexterity, obviously born of long practice, customers also twisting to and fro to avoid her warpath, before she made her way to the reserved table, passing Mona her -apparently unapologetically edited- meal and placing an entree loaf of bread and butter in the center of the table.

Having dined at the Pear at least once each of the past four days, Hugh knew her about as well as any distant customer might. May was her name; although, many seemed to jokingly refer to her as “Lady O’ Kitchen”. Hugh had yet to determine if any had referred to her as such within earshot and wondered with a sense of restrained curiosity what might happen were someone to. She seemed the sort to either kick your ass or drink you under the table just on principle.

At May’s drawled no-nonsense request for orders, Hugh stomach reminded him he hadn’t properly eaten for the past… since noon? Best he’d had was some garbage cider three hours ago. He’d not wanted to eat while business was to be conducted, but if they had to move out immediately, acting on an empty stomach would be… irritating. Sighing quietly in resignation, Hugh gave May a small wave for recognition and said, “The minced pork pie with potatoes for me, thank you, and for the drink, sweet tea if you have it, water if you don’t.”

He waited quietly while the others made their orders, watching the cook leave with a small crease of his brow. As much as he was already a semi-established regular here, he couldn’t help but worry now that he was associated with this “party”. Was she a plant, ready to poison them? Despite acknowledging the absurd paranoia of the possibility, Hugh simply couldn’t manage to fully put it out of his mind, as he closed his eyes and took a liberating silent exhale, running the tension from his shoulders. Nothing for it now; he’d have to act as the moment required. He hated that, acting without a plan.

A brief autumn chilled breeze tickled at him, drawing Hugh’s attention to the tavern door once more, as the portal admitted an armed and armored man. On first glance, Hugh placed him as a veteran adventurer, getting on in age and far from less dangerous for it. In fact, one might expect such an individual to be more dangerous, having taken the worst the world could throw at them and living to tell the tale. The lines on his face and distinctive scar certainly didn’t hurt that impression, but the waves and greetings of familiarity the man shared with the other patrons laid that theory mostly to rest. This man was clearly a local of some renown.

The man exchanged words with the bartender, and Hugh groused at being well out of range to make them out. Eventually, the armored man strode over, trailed by the tavern’s halfling, Mr Guido, and declared himself to be their long-elusive client, Sheriff Gregory Arbalest himself. The non-negotiable request to present their letters was unwelcome… yet expected.

Restraining a grimace, Hugh hoped the complete lack of hesitation in his action would diffuse any questions, as he reached down to his pack and retrieved the Letter, the bottom-left corner still marred distinctively by an ugly brown-red stain. Gathering that merely showing the man the letter would be vastly insufficient, Hugh held the letter out with a dry, “Hugh, bounty hunter. Hope you don’t mind the stain, Mr. Arbalest. Letter’s had a rough go of it.” He resisted the urge to snarkily comment on the caution being displayed now, when the rest of this so-called covert venture was so painfully lacking in any real operational security.

“Kat it is then!” Kosara grinned at Kathryn. She was happy to be making friends and the giant woman certainly was in the friendship zone already as far as the tiefling was concerned. She liked Kathryn, her possible giant heritage aside, the warrior woman seemed like a good person and she was all up for that! Her sisters in the oasis would have liked her too, probably Grandpa Horny too. He seemed to like good righteous people.” Yeah, Grandpa’s great. He saved me when I was little. Took me from the middle of the desert to the cave where he lived. Nursed me to health, taught me knowledge, told me stories and looked after me. He was the one to name me too, I didn’t have a name prior at all. Neither did I even know how to speak, so he taught me that too. Later he showed me how to use magic! He’s great and he would probably enjoy meeting you! You are nice, though he might startle you, cause he’s even bigger than you.” She giggled.

“Wait, you are an actual titled Lady?!” The white tiefling asked in marvel, her eyes opened wide with surprise and admiration. Well that she didn’t expect. Again there wasn’t as much titled nobility on the desert oasis. Occasionally a traveling noble or two, maybe some knights, so she was aware that it was a thing at least. Had absolutely no idea how the whole concept actually worked though, especially in the way of what it meant for a kingdom.” Will you tell me about it later? I’m very curious how one gets a title like Ser or Lady.”

At this point a new voice reached out to them and a short man had arrived, introducing himself like a master of the Wizarding Arts! Well he had the shiny aura she supposed, but surely he wasn’t a ‘Master’… of ‘Wizarding’ arts of all things. He didn’t look like a wizard!” Hey, Jorlton! I’m Kosara!” She introduced herself back to him, studying his appearance even more.” If you are master of the Wizarding arts, where’s your robe? What about staff? Maybe a wand or an amulet focus? Surely a tome? Component pouch?! Ohh, ohh or the fancy pointy hat!? Surely, you’ve got a pointy fancy hat! Do you have a tower? Are you really a sneaky wizard going undercover!?” She started asking rapid-fire questions at him. He didn’t look like a wizard really, what with that armor or even rest of his wardrobe. Unless… he was a wizard in disguise! Thus she was gonna ask him questions and judge on his answers. Yes this possible wizard in disguise had earned her attention and curiosity!

When the May lady arrived with the food for the others who had ordered it and asked what they wanted, Kosara immediately looked at her with a smile.” Hello, May! I also will take a steak and anything potato-y you’ve got as a side dish!” She smiled at the woman. It wasn’t much later afterwards that the doors of the inn opened and a man with a rather impressive beard showed up. He looked… well? Well, he looked strong enough as he made his way over to the table along with Mr Laurel who brought more drinks. This in turn made her study the aged man more. This caused her attention towards the quick supposedly quick handed sneaky undercover wizard to drop as she began paying attention to the aged man who turned out to be their employer! She supposed the questions will have to be left for later now. But they WILL need to be answered!

Hugh of too hard to deal with surname introduced himself first. To Mr Arbalest. So he was a bounty hunter! This is new and surprising information! Kosara had little dealings with bounty hunters in the desert. There were a few, but it was rare and far between. Some were rather mean, others were just people who caught people for a living. They at least were very competent though if they were surviving their job. This made her see the sneaky monk in a new light. Now she wanted to start asking him about his own adventures. Some of the Bounty Hunters she had spoken at the oasis in their travels left her with rather interesting anecdotes and general stories. Many of them usually boiled down to: always be prepared and have contingencies for your contingencies though.

“Hello, Sir Arbalest! I’m Kosara.” She introduced herself next and reached into her bag, pulling her leather bound traveling journal. Which she opened and from between it’s pages she pulled the invitation. It was in the same state as she had found it back then on the ground. In other words pretty much pristine. She had opened it very carefully and kept it in the pages of her journal for safety.” Here it is, Sir. I have to say, you’ve got a very neat handwriting.” Kosara mentioned with a smile, looking at the aged man with her usual friendly smile. His beard reminded her of her Grandpa.

Marita listened over Kosara's rather eclectic collection of skills with some interest. There was a lot of fluff and at best situational tools listed (at least for this part of the world and regarding this particular job), but despite her appearance she did seem to perhaps have more going on beneath the cowl. But it was entirely possible that she was hoping for things that didn't actually exist. If nothing else, her presence here meant that Marita wouldn't have to worry about everyone in the party running up to her every time they stubbed a toe. As much as tending to the sick and wounded was such a vital part of the public image of Clerical magic she found it one of the least engaging and restrictive facets of the trade. Perhaps later she'd ask her a bit more of what magic she learned from her grandfather.

Kathryn's skills were a complete non-surprise, but that wasn't the thing about the resident half-giant that grabbed Marita's attention, it was the fact that she claimed to be member of nobility, or at least a high ranking subject or vassal, especially given how half-breeds tended to not make it so far up the social hierarchy. Kathryn must know how disenfranchised she looked, so chances were that she wasn't lying. Neither Nathan Lucas nor Arcanaple sounded familiar to her, at least not immediately but maybe with time she'd recall something. That aside, given how... squishy many of the people at the table appeared, having someone so large and imposing was a bit of a relief. Not to mention Marita's skills synchronized well with Kathryn's.

Suddenly she heard a rather diminutive voice behind her. There stood a gnome. Well it was more like a nose with a gnome attached. He was dressed fairly well to do decked out in a variety of blades and proclaimed himself a wizard, covering himself in a blue glow. Unfortunately for him, even if he had cast meteor swarm on the tavern she wouldn't have been impressed, and not only because she would almost certainly be dead. Instead she only had time to mark him in her head as the party's second little prick and as another arcane caster before yet another newcomer made her appearance.

Admittedly, Marita had not had much to eat today and the smell of the food made her stomach growl, but at this point it was quite late. The cleric often had trouble sleeping, and eating too soon before bedtime only exacerbated the issue, so when May asked for any orders she waved and gave a perhaps remorseful, "No thank you." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Alastor excuse himself, and didn't think much of it despite it being perhaps the last time she'd ever see him.

It was then that the (hopefully) last newcomer to this whole situation made his appearance. When he introduced himself as the Sheriff, Marita wasn't surprised in the least. In fact, he managed to be surprisingly close to the mental image of him that she'd had in her head for the past 10 days or so. She was curious what sort of man Gregory was exactly. The manner in which these letters were written sounded quite generic, but the method in which they were delivered at least in her experience was very direct and personal. Did he know ahead of time who he would be inviting to the Arbalest Party? And why did he choose who he did? Especially some of the more suspect members at the table.

Wordlessly, Marita produced the letter, neatly folded in half, nearly as pristine as the day it was handed to her. She unfolded it on the table and smoothed out the crease as best as she could before presenting it. She gave a brief glance at the others who had already gotten their invitations out. Kosara's was shockingly intact, about as well maintained as her own. Hugh's was a mess, bloodstained on top of that. Marita wasn't sure what exactly to make of that, but her suspicion of him increased a bit further than previously. Assuming everyone else had their shit together they would finally be able to learn what this was all about.

The party had a new arrival that joined before the sheriff arrived. Jorlton Forpara, a magical gnome who claimed some wizarding magic. Kathryn with an understanding of magic that generally boiled down to "Magic is magic, some people just do it differently" So she had little reason to doubt the claims. Gnomes were also shorter then Kathryn had expected, though she wondered if that was a bias on her part as most people were shorter then her.

Kosara was still all over Kathryn as if the tall woman was the most interesting thing to ever happen in her life. Though it appeared her Grandfather figure in her life was also pretty important to her, saved her life, and raised her from time to time. "Bigger then I? That is a sight to see. When this is all over I'd love to meet him!" Kosara seemed to have a strong interest in Kathryn's noble heritage too. That was a bit more of a touchy subject to Kathryn, but she doubted that Kosara had any malice to worry about. "To keep it short, I don't know how it works here but back home most of those titles are inherited. They can be awarded or granted, but most are inherited. To get them awarded if you are not nobility, or if you are lesser nobility looking to rise up, you need to preform feats that can not be repaid in thanks in any other known or possible way." She tried to think of an example she could use, but after a moment of thinking she held off. "I can tell you about some of it later if you'd like." The only one she could think of would be her mentor Ser Lucas, but it was a bit more emotionally stressful then she wanted to deal with at the moment.

A small woman came out soon enough and what Kathryn quickly noticed was how fast people got out of her way the same way many people stepped out of Kathryn's way to avoid being stepped on. Kathryn figured it must be a local reputation that others knew to be careful of. She came up to ask about orders and Kathryn had to think for a moment almost missing her chance to ask the woman for her order. "The pork pie sounds lovely. And some of those potatoes please! And if I could get some of those rye slices with beans and cheese that would be even better! Would it be possible to get some more beer?" It was a free meal, and Kathryn had missed a few recently on her travels due to timing issues and stock with a poor shelf life being the only things available on much of her travels. Kathryn took note of the other martial of the group leaving to find a privy, Leaving Kathryn as the main Martial and a few who could hold their own as a martial fighter such as Marita.

It wasn't long after that when the organizer of this party arrived. An old man who reminded Kathryn of Ser Lucas very much so. The way he acted around the off duty guards, held a calm but demanding presence of the room as he walked though it, the fact that one could see his experience in scars and expression. The man was physically different in a lot of ways, but he seemed like he lived a very identical lifestyle as her former mentor. Kathryn did get her beer refilled by the man that followed up being the Sheriff so that was already a win. He asked about the letters they had received, and Kathryn hesitated. For all intents and purposes, the letter she had wasn't meant for her. It was meant for a man who had been buried in the ground for some time now.

With much visible hesitation Kathryn reached towards her armpit and pulled out a long, thin leather pouch that had been hidden under the chain mail. Opening it up she pulled out the letter out of the pouch neatly folded. Though it had suffered some wear it was still in good condition. She placed the small pouch on her belt before handing the letter over to the man.

Another guest had arrived. This might be taken as a portent that this table was going to eventually become too crowded for her liking. That might not be such a bad thing; Victoria fancied herself a bit of a social butterfly unless the situation called for different. Such crowding may just be the motivator to excuse herself and work the patrons, maybe start up a song so that she might put out her hat for tips. This new arrival bore the details of a child of the forest, though in reality was very likely over three times her age. Probably four. "Well met, Naivara. I'm just sure we might make room." A sweeping gesture to any open spaces at the table came next, and the dynamic, multifaceted conversation continued.

Victoria took some comfort in the encouragement provided by Kosara, owing to the Tiefling's bubbly desire to be friendly, but a shadow of passing indecisiveness crossed the resplendent Bard's face as she mentioned "summoning evils beyond our comprehension". An uneasy shrug did what it could to assure her that it probably wouldn't be an issue. But a question was posed for which she had a more positive answer. "Ah... yes. I do know some songs which translate very well to violin from the southern deserts."

She cast a furtive glance around to make sure that others in the establishment were seeing to their own devices^* before elaborating, "I know a little music which inspires the Raqs Sharqui dances of the Desert Nomads, a Baladi or two from the rural portions of Alhazred, and (though I'm not supposed to know it, persay) an Almeh from a noble house of the Amenteph Empire." The types of songs and dances described, to those in the know, traditional belly dances, a more grounded swaying dance, and a style of play derived from entertainers with specific, upper class clients. "Please forgive me if I have said anything incorrectly," continued Victoria as she assumed a temporarily remorseful expression, "I've only seen these words written down, and well, sometimes things are lost in the transition." She shrugged, then smiled sweetly again. Victoria seemed to be the type who attempted to communicate with not just her words, but liberal use of expression and body language.

Conversations tended toward the same sort of "getting to know you" discussions, with some getting to know others a bit too much too fast, or at least attempting same, and others being remarkably standoffish. Such was life with an adventuring party, Victoria supposed. She raised her glass to her lips once more, contemplating this fact of life on the road, only to cut a disappointed expression when she found that her goblet of mulled wine had grown empty as she absently sipped from it.

Surely as moth to flame, or ants to extended al fresco dining, another figure silhouetted the entryway to The Infamous Pear. This one was more diminutive than most, and of build different than the Halflings which called this place home. A Gnome, uncommon but not unheard of in these parts, who made his way unerringly to the table containing the motley collection of wayfarers to which Victoria found herself part. His intent being that of a grand introduction, it did not go unnoticed. Jorlton, by means of introduction, gave a simple but memorable display of his arcane skills, prompting Victoria to give the extroverted Gnome a short series of claps. In response, "And how lucky we are to have your skills at our disposal, our Most Illustrious Sir." If he wanted to ham it up, he came to the right table. Not just her own proclivities as it came to socializing, but for the many examples of weighty extroversion she had witnessed from some of the others among their number. "I daresay, " Victoria continued, "that our group shall not want for panache, whatever else our shortcomings may be." A satisfied and showy smile found its way onto her face, speaking to this most recent member of the "Why Are We Here Club".

The apparently respected if colorfully provincial form of May made her rounds, invoking a few basic questions involving humanoid reproduction and possible hasty, unplanned crossbreeding thereof in Victoria. The woman was the master of these floors, even if she wasn't a proprietor. When she came to their table to ask them what from among the things prepared for the evening they might want, Victoria listened to the others place their orders (especially Kathryn to was eating to maintain those muscles) before finally selecting something for herself. "I do adore lamb. That stew sounds delightful." Then again, not having eaten since supper the previous day might have a lot to do with it, seeing as a prepared stew was a quick and easy matter of dumping something in a bowl. "Oh, and a little something side-ish that's prepared, if you would please? I'm not picky." Indeed, that day she was not. She was, however, grateful that Guido refilled her mulled wine, though ultimately she decided to slow it down until she could get something solid on her stomach.

When the inevitable entry of the one who would be their benefactor entered the walls of The Infamous Pear, Victoria's face showed a glimmer of recognition, followed by a little wave that was cut short by the man's seeming desire to ignore it in lieu of speaking with the proprietor, Owen. She had met the man earlier, while she was a guest of Fort Darenby following her recent arrest for squatting in a site of interment. He appeared to be all business upon approaching the table, so Victoria kept her mouth shut for the immediate and simply produced her letter for the man; she had kept it in her hat. Her big, jaunty, bardy, epically conspicuous hat, so that it would not easily be lost. As the other letters were collected by the Sheriff, Victoria sat and waited, curious as to what mysteries would be revealed by Gregory's next words.

Greatly amused by the display of magic that the newly arrived gnome had performed, Naivara cheerfully clutched her second tankard of ale and eagerly awaited the toasted rye slices with spicy smashed beans and green-marble cheese that she had excitedly requested from the illustrious Miss May. Spices were one of the things Naivara loved most about civilization, second perhaps only to her love for cinnamon buns. Uncertain of how long she would stay in civilization, Naivara was a firm believer in always expanding her pallet when given the chance.

The young druid had clapped honestly and with a broad smile when the bard, Victoria, had clapped for the gnome wizard and his display of magic. Naivara perceived there to be much hope for amusement given the composition of the party. A good show was unfortunately rare in the deep forest. Traveling bards seemed oddly reluctant to share their talents with the wild animals of the forest. A missed opportunity in Naivara's opinion. Bears were not traditionally known for their love of music, but Naivara knew from experience that with a small amount of honey and a gentle tone, even the crankiest of ursine creatures could be coxed to partake in all manner of humorous festivities. Perhaps she would discuss the matter with Victoria at some later, Naivara mused. It was a shame to deprive the forest animals of wonderful things like music.

The conversations of the party moved much too fast for her comfort and Naivara was content to simply listen, offering polite nods when she suspected it was appropriate, and soft smiles when it seemed reasonable. The party was touched by magic she concluded thoughtfully as she learned more about her new companions. She did not mind this. Magic flowed through all things. Some of it was divine, some of it was arcane, and other parts of it, the often forgotten parts, were touched by nature itself. Magic was natural, magic was good, even if magic was occasionally turned towards vile, unnatural pursuits, true magic was not tainted by such evil and base motivations.

The Sheriff, the grizzled human man that finally appeared in front of the party, looked to be the capable sort. There were signs of age in his features and composure, but Naivara did not note the slowing that she had come to expect of old humans. She watched him carefully, shifting lightly in place as she noted the grim sword and chainmail armor he wore. It was her habit to treat all strangers, especially strangers with weapons cautiously. The smell of of oiled metal and worked leather accompanied the serious looking constable. Familiar scents for those inclined to martial pursuits. However, there was another smell, something faint, something half-remembered that Naivara could not quite manage to identify.

Once more withdrawing the letter that she had mysteriously received, Naivara handed the neatly folded piece of paper to the Sheriff with a cautious smile, "Here is your letter, I am Naivara, Naivara Gray."

Content with her second exceedingly brief introduction of the day, Naivara returned to quietly studying the interesting people surrounding her.

Request of the letter of summons penned by the good Sheriff seemed to have put Mona at a touch of unease. While she was certain that she had the paper, still in its envelope which yet bore both halves of its rubbery wax seal, this was proven to be less than wholly accurate. She excused herself, presumably to retrace her steps. Likewise, Jorlton reacheed into his doublet to retrieve his own paper. His face registered surprise and, in much the same manner as Mona, excused himself. His aura fadeed away as he removed himself from the building, eyes bright and watchful.

The letters, passed one by one across the table and into the hands of the Sheriff of Avonshire, are given a more than fair amount of scrutiny. Perhaps moreso than is required from the one who initially penned them. During this time, there is a profound quiet which settled across the interior of The Infamous Pear, as if the whole of the establishment had taken and held a tentative breath, waiting for some unknown end to happen. The only sound one could hear was the occasional cracking and shifting of wood coming from the hearth fire.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Noise filtered into the main room from kitchen, involving the clattering of pans and angry muttering of May, letting various vulgarities and accusatory thoughts fly free, such as, "..special orders! Ain't we fancy...", and "...told 'em all what's being served, but NoOoOoOO...", and just once, a muffled, "Hey! Out! Outta my kitchen!" followed by the sound of a hurled pot rebounding off of a hard surface.

Mr. Guido Laurel looked back in the direction of the kitchen with a horrified expression on his face, hoping against hope that the Pear's patrons aren't paying particularly close attention to the sounds emanating from where their food had once come. This endeavor was doomed to failure. Behind the bar, Mr. Owen Hardy had plastered on a large, toothy grin, determined to ignore this fairly vulgar development with the hopes that it would go away. He polished another large, glass mug with a clean cloth, then helped himself to his own wares with unaccustomed vigor.

Gregory took in and released a deep breath, seemingly resigned to the task before him. He lay the invitations down on the table before him in a fan-like pattern, broken seals facing up and openly visible. he does not sit at this time, instead shaking his head and committing himself to begin. His voice was rolling baritone, quiet but clear as he spoke: "Thank you for not objecting to the formality. I will try to keep my words plain, and answer any questions after. Now to business."

"I have heard whispers coming from the Avonshire Township about persons going missing. Some of them came back none the worse for wear, or so I hear. Some have not. People might decide to leave the country life in search of their fortunes; you adventuring types know this, and others might simply find work with merchant caravans and the like. But something doesn't smell right about these reports."

It was a simple enough opening to the dilemma at hand. Gregory continued, "Of the ones who did return, none have said anything amiss about their time away. Went hunting, or just wanted to be alone, things like this. Again according to reports, they have been acting differently. Not quite themselves. What this means I could not say, as when I arrived to make a personal inquiry people were very hesitant to speak with me. That is unusual, of itself. I cannot justify committing soldiers to the area yet, even if we had many to spare. And the Constable in charge of the Township assures me that all is well. He is a cousin - well, cousin of my late wife's. I have no reason to doubt him, and yet, I do have my concerns. It seems like I am being left in the dark about something."

Finally pulling a chair out, the Sheriff say wearily down and leaned forward onto the table. "It is possible that my career as a military man, and now with the law, have made me paranoid. I dislike adventurers; this is no secret. They bring problems almost as often as they bring solutions. I dislike even more that I am hampered by protocol when my people might be dying. Protocol to which you are not bound. So here is my offer: Investigate this. Officially, you are here as independent contractors, hired on because of problems with Goblins in the outlying areas. In truth, I want you to find out what is happening in the Township, and fix it if possible. If you do this, I will pay you each twenty gold coins of the realm, and supply you well enough to reach any destination within a fortnight's march of this place. Should you choose to decline, please stay at The Infamous Pear tonight as my guest. After a good breakfast tomorrow, depart with no ill tidings earned from me."

He looked over to Victoria with an odd expression and nodded, adding, "I have spoken with your Bard while she was a guest of Fort Darenby's jail earlier today. We have come to an accord, and she assures me that the rest of you may have specific or special requests, too. If you do, I shall entertain them now."

Gregory leaned back in his chair and raised two fingers into the air. Within a few seconds, Guido was scrambled over with a large tankard of foamy ale for the elder Sheriff. "Thank you," he said quietly, palming the Halfling a coin. After a long sip, he looked to the people at the table expectantly.

Marita noticed Victoria's brief change in expression when Kosara mentioned 'summoning unspeakable evils,' and made a mental note of it. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but probably not. There were far greater issues at hand, but it would be a good idea from here on out to keep an eye on the bard. Worst case scenario she might have to step in and arrest her herself. Well not that she had the ability to arrest people in an official capacity, but being a cleric of an order god, she felt confident that her word would hold weight if she brought a captured criminal to local law enforcement. That said, she didn't want it to have to come down to that, but it would be preferable to allowing a catastrophe to occur under her nose.

Suspicions about her potential party member aside, Marita leaned forward to listen to the Sheriff speak with great interest, her face only once scrunching in irritation being lumped in as an "adventuring type." This entire situation was at once a relief and rather vexing. The obvious irritant being the lack of information, technically speaking none of them had any idea what they were exactly supposed to be dealing with, and if this was to be purely an inquisition, well half the people here had no business being here. But at the same time, her gut feeling about there being something major at risk here was reinforced. If it wasn't just her, then it was even more likely to be the case.

In the back of her head, Marita was already trying to produce some possible reasons for these disappearances. The first one, and the train of thought she couldn't shake, was that there was some cult behind all this, kidnapping people in the night. If you joined you would be let go, if you refused you were kept as a prisoner at best, sacrifice at worst. She had no proof for any of this and hoped it wasn't the case, but the niggling hypothesis wouldn't go away. Marita looked over at Victoria. The fact that she had previously spoken to the sheriff indicated that she probably wasn't connected to the root problem, so that was off the table at least. But the look on Gregory's face told her that the potential future of having to arrest the bard wasn't out of the picture by a long shot.

"I do have a few questions I'd like to pose." Marita sat up straight in her seat, interlocked hands held neatly beneath her chest. "Well to put it more aptly requests. Do you have the names of the people that have disappeared? How long they tend to disappear for? How about any commonalities between them such as 'primarily women,' 'only halflings,' 'younger than middle age,' or if people tend to vanish in a certain location or time of day. Of course I don't expect you to rattle all these things off the top of your head, but if you could provide us with a written report as detailed as possible it would go a long way towards aiding us in our investigative efforts." Not to mention that if there were indeed ne'er do wells operating in the shadows, they'd be far less likely to tip them off any more than they already had by their mere presence if they had solid leads to work off of rather than starting from "asking around town blindly looking for anything of interest."

"Ah, if it weren't clear already I shall formally accept your offer." Not that she had ever intended on saying no. In fact, the thought of payment hadn't even entered her mind until he mentioned it just now. At the moment she was fairly good as far as supplies and money went, but she wasn't going to turn down good food and coin for no reason. Willingly taking up charity work was noble, but she spent quite a lot of her time doing that anyways, and 20 gold coins would expand her budget enough to potentially get something nice for herself, like a new coat for the coming winter.

Hugh found another thread of tension leaving his shoulders, as the Sheriff collected all the letters without comment, intently scrutinizing the contents before splaying them across the table, broken seals upwards. Hugh found himself raising an inquisitive -and perhaps relieved- brow at the departure of two of the shadier members of this entourage, reducing the gathered adventurers’ numbers to a far more comfortable… and manageable six. Honestly, he was most particularly relieved at the departure of the Sprite. One less shadow of the past to deal with.

The ruckus from the kitchen provided a perhaps… charming ambiance to the otherwise quiet establishment, as their prospective employer gathered his thoughts.

The Sheriff was a deceptively sharp one, Hugh mused idly, as he briefly locked his brown eyes with the aged man’s own searching pair. It wasn’t often he got to meet someone of similar temperament, but here he was. In a way, that made things both more reassuring… and increasingly baffling, especially in regards to the caution being displayed by Gregory now in contrast to the otherwise lackluster operational security. The strange look of confusion Mr. Arbalest had shot them upon his entrance had not gone unseen by the Ki cultivator’s watchful gaze. However, the reasoning behind it would likely continue to elude him so long as he refrained from verbally approaching it.

While that lack of knowing irked him, he found himself able to put it aside for the time being, as the Sheriff dispensed quite easily with the pleasantries and launched into his contract pitch proper. Hugh chose to ignore the jab at “adventuring” types. Perhaps, on a technical level, this instance might include him, but he was hardly the type to look for or start trouble… unlike what could well be most of his companions.

Hugh absorbed the Sheriff’s words with closed eyes, leaning back in his chair, as he committed them to memory. Broadly simplified, the town of Avonshire within this region... also of Avonshire, was currently experiencing disappearances. Some returned. Some did not. And those that did return, were supposedly changed in sinisterly subtle ways while also now possessing what the Sheriff claimed was unusual hesitation in interacting with him.

Hugh could buy that. Sheriff Gregory certainly seemed the reliable type, and the attitudes of the Infamous Pear’s current patrons spoke for themselves. However, he would withhold from making any particular assumptions for the time being. The entire basis of this contract’s creation was a lack of information; it wouldn’t do to make assumptions and accidentally lock himself into an unproductive line of thought.

The Sheriff’s mention of prior personal interaction with Victoria did, however, manage to assuage some of his concerns regarding the probable necromancer. Not all of them, certainly. After all, she was a Bard. It was entirely possible that she had worked some manner of Enchantment magic on the Sheriff’s mind. The fact that she’d obviously managed to get herself jailed for trespassing in the graveyard was mildly amusing though.

Honestly, the more he saw, however, the more he was inclined to consider the quality of Victoria’s hidden depths. She was a Bard, and, yet, in conversation, she was remarkably reserved. In fact, she was probably the least talkative Bard Hugh had ever encountered, which was honestly a relief, but he could have done without the looming potential danger that came with it.

Her earlier mention of Amenteph and Alhazred had piqued his memory. Though the great war was thirty years gone, the aftershocks could still be felt in the present day. Having been rather directly involved in a number of those aftershocks early on in life, he knew well of the old grudges and bad blood that flowed between the north and south. Even today, the undead that had been raised in seething hoards in those times had yet to be fully disposed of, and much land had been forever tainted and rendered foul and dead by necromancy. The scars of that war were still worn upon the land and its people.

Keeping such in mind, it was rather understandable that Victoria might worry about a… substantial -perhaps disproportionate- response to her practices. Certainly though, Hugh wasn’t one to particularly begrudge her them. When it came to survival, one used what they had and did what they must. Further, the idea that she was raised into such practices was hardly out of consideration. Were he to act against someone on such a basis, he’d be nothing less than a hypocrite. For now, she had a chance, one chance. In time, he might expand that to more, but at present, she had demonstrated no real ill will. Against his better judgement, he would abide her presence.

In the meantime, he listened with half an ear, as Marita asked her questions, all of them good ones. Once more rather grateful to have her establish a pattern to follow, he began to compose a set of his own inquiries, as he considered the Sheriff’s offer of additional compensation. Without knowing what the Bard had requested, it was hard to say what was reasonable, but perhaps it was best if he aimed optimistically, instead of lowballing things. After all, though the region wasn’t particularly wealthy, the Sheriff managed an objectively large amount of land as what amounted to the top authority in law enforcement. With that in mind, surely he had a fair amount of confiscated contraband or otherwise useful items that were simply gathering dust due to their lacking a place in standard military use.

He could understand -objectively, though certainly not empathetically- a Cleric might feel the need to reject additional compensation at first glance, but he wouldn’t dare throw away such an opportunity.

Opening his eyes, Hugh hummed and rapped his fingernails across the table top, as he spoke in turn, nodding. "The terms of this contract appear quite sufficient as presented." Twenty gold coins was hardly anything to scoff at. That was nearly a full month of decent living, more if one were to be frugal.

Lacing his fingers together again, he leaned forward, forearms flat against the table. "Although, if personalized requests are on the table... within reason -as per your offer, then I cannot deny that I am in search of a couple magical items, not especially common, but hardly rare. As the Sheriff of a sizable region, it stands to reason that you may have confiscated or unused items to spare. I'm looking for a bag with a smiling face and an extraordinary carrying capacity or a decanter of water that never runs dry. I'd far prefer the former, but if you possess a spare of either, I'd be hard-pressed to reject it."

He shrugged and nodded briefly Marita's way. "That aside, before we begin our quest, I too have a number of preliminary questions, assuming you are at liberty to provide answers." As the Cleric had already obviously surmised, it was only reasonable to reach for any scrap of information they could at this early juncture. When the Sheriff did not deny him, Hugh began to list his own inquiries off.

Unlacing his fingers, he raised his right pointer finger. "Firstly, what is the name of the Constable of Avonshire? Should we feel free to approach him about this matter, or is it preferable to keep the investigation below his notice?"

His middle finger came up to join the pointer. "Secondly, regarding the Goblins, is that mere rumor and an excuse, or should we be expected to encounter them during the course of our mission?"

The ring finger joined in. "Thirdly, are the disappearances limited to the Township itself, or is the surrounding area also suspect? I ask because I arrived several days early to perform some preliminary investigations, and I have heard tell of a conspicuous loss of contact with outlying farmlands. I hoped you could provide some insight into whether this is a red herring or a viable avenue of investigation."

His right hand fingers now splayed upwards, aside from the tucked-in thumb, Hugh continued. "And lastly, should we be expected to provide results within any particular timeframe? The circumstances indeed appear suspect, but what shall be done in the instance that we uncover sufficient evidence to disprove any true foul play beyond coincidence?" The last question was of particular importance. After all, the very basis of this contract’s creation was a lack of information regarding its own credibility. It would be fairly illogical to proceed without asking for an alternative “win condition”. “Open ended” in these sorts of cases could result in them not being compensated simply due to the Sheriff’s paranoia turning out to be nothing more. Naturally, out of pure professionalism, Hugh would do his best to investigate the Sheriff’s claims and see his concerns dealt with, but the other possibility could hardly be dismissed given the circumstances. Better to be safe than sorry.

His piece said, Hugh rested his elbows on the table and his chin atop once more laced fingers.

Kosara nodded to Kathryn to indicate she heard the explanation with a smile. This was a positive goldmine! Well… metaphorical goldmine and one for her traveling journal at that! Still she got explanation on how this whole titled nobility thing worked at least in one part of the world. She made a mental note to write it in her book tonight before go getting to sleep. She had a lot of things to write about and not anywhere near enough time probably, so she was going to have to prioritize and make notes to add later.

“You actually pronounced those remarkably well as far as foreigners I’ve heard speak the language and names.” Kosara smiled in reassurance to V’s accent on the familiar names.” Yeah, these will do marvelously! I’m looking forward to a chance for us to cooperate! I’m certain that we will entrance the crowds with our joint performance!” Kosara was now a very happy dancer. There was a bard who knew music from her homeland and hopefully they get a chance to join up and make a team to perform. Any of the possible dances would do great and if she really needed to spice it, she’d turn it into a blade dance too. The future looked bright and the quest hadn’t even started yet.” Though I’m very surprised you know an Almeh. Pleasantly surprised that is.”

Kosara’s attention then went to the kitchen. Well now she really wanted to go check what was going on there. It seemed like fun! Still listening to their potential employer was of greater importance so she did. 20 gold pieces plus supplies to travel to any destination reasonably close sounded like quite the bargain. She didn’t react to the mention of V being in jail. It was just bards being bards. One always seemed to end up in unexpected places. Part of the trade or so other bards claimed.

Marita took to business topic and questions right away, while Kosara pondered. Hugh also seemed to be asking questions and giving conditions. She chuckled at the question about goblins.” Shouldn’t one always expect goblins? Grandpa said that no matter what, sometime, somewhere during an adventure goblins happen. We should be prepared just in case!” She smiled and looked at the sheriff.” Well I personally am pleased enough with the reward in coin and supplies. Though maybe it would be possible to get a blank journal if possible? My old one is steadily getting filled out and I’d prefer it to not happen on the middle of the roads where the truly interesting things happen. Aside that, I don’t have any other requests myself. I will help anyways. We must always help people in need and this case is both mysterious and concerning. If people vanish or even if they return, something happened and what about the ones who didn’t return? Maybe they are still out there. Grandpa will tan my hide if I walk away from this!” Kosara directly agreet to join too similarly to Marita.

Kosara seemed to take a lot of interest in Kathryn's explanation of family politics from back home. Apart of her wished she knew more off of the top of her head, or that she had time to share more. Her knowledge was limited to what she had learned by age 9, and what Ser Lucas had attempted to remember. Most of her own culture she learned in bars from drunken soldiers and workers late in the evening. Kathryn did take note to Victoria's behavior when talking about Music from Kosara's homeland. She thought it was odd at first, but the more she thought about it the more she realized that there was a conflict sometime back. Kathryn attempted to recall some of it, but most of what she did know came from stories of old veterans that Ser Lucas hung out with from time to time. In the moment of first hearing those stories she figured they were fictitious, but when recalling Victoria's mentioning of schooling she wondered if their bard was related to it. She seemed way too young for that though, and if rumors of the conflict were to be believed it had happened long before either of them were born. Unless Victoria was older then she looked?

It seemed Kathryn wasn't the only one worried about their copy of the letter, more of the party stepped off stage to continue their own adventures for now. Kathryn worried about her own copy of the letter. Though it was authentic, it wasn't her letter. It had belonged to her now late mentor Ser Lucas. But as the Sheriff continued his inspection, she wasn't called out. Yet. Either the letters were not as specific as was implied by the messenger, or the Sheriff may not have wanted to cause a scene here over it. Either way, it was a win for Kathryn. The tall warrior hadn't noticed how quiet things have gotten until she heard the commotion within the kitchen. Once it had settled a bit things continued with nothing else to distract from it.

Kathryn listened intently as the situation was explained to them. Missing people. A fair number of them, and those returning acting a lot more strange then expected. Kathryn wasn't sure what she expected when she accepted the invitation. Maybe something closer to a "Go here and stab these people" kind of mission, or another protection job. She leaned in while listening, her elbows resting on the table, and her head on her closed hands as she tried to pick up as much as she could. Despite the concerns of the situation, she was thrilled, excited even for a chance of a real adventure. But this? It was something that would test all of her skills to accomplish. There were internal conflicts holding the good Sheriff back that contractors such as herself and the party would not face, conflicts that Kathryn wanted some clarification on but Marita had cleared up the bulk of them before Kathryn got the chance to ask them. She had to admire the headlong actions of the woman. This almost seemed like something she had experience in the way she was asking questions. Hugh had brought up additional question on both pay and the quest at hand. Many of which were questions Kathryn found useful but were ones she wouldn't even consider asking mostly as they would have never occurred to her to ask. She held an expression of both wonder and concern as this party took control of the situation around her. But she was starting to worry she was way out of her league, and thought back to Marita's comment of being dead weight to the party.

Hearing talk of goblins had gotten Kathryn's attention rather well. Though her experience was limited, her castle forged steel blade had come across plenty of Goblins on her adventures. Given the chance, she could cleave her sword into a goblin the way a child would swing a large stick through some drapes. This was where Kathryn excelled rather well. With how things were looking her best bet was to not drag the party down too much outside of combat, and once in a battle situation unleash a hell upon her enemies in a way that proved her usefulness. Kosara did bring up the concern of those who were still missing, dragging Kathryn's thoughts back to the mission. Figuring out what happened to these people, and solving the problem.

Kathryn took a moment to think of things she needed before accepting the sheriff's offer. She looked down at her chainmailed body, taking note of the rust she had attempted to sand out several times. The armor was nearing the end of it's life when Kathryn first got it some time ago. Made of several pieces of armor, nicely patched together all things considering to form one set that fit her rather well. But there was only so much repairing and replacing of parts she could do to this old set before it wasn't able to keep up anymore. In that moment she took note of spots with visibly newer links then the rest of the armor, but of worse quality overall. Places she had patched herself after Ser Lucas had passed. "If this turned out to be something pretty major..." She broke contact from her chain mail and made eye contact with Sheriff Arbalest. "A good chance to rearm and re-equip myself would be much appreciated. If things turn out to be a rather normal situation then it wont be needed. But it would be rather helpful and if you're open to it we can work out specifics later based on how things go?" If nothing came of this, she gets some housing and food for a while. But much of her gear was at the end of it's life. Her family sword though it was well made wasn't made for nearly 15 years of constant use on top of whatever use her father put on it, and his father before him, and whoever had used it before them. Apart of her wondered if her father knew it was old enough to only serve limited use, and such why he normally left it hung up instead of wearing it on his side?

In an action that hinted at possible distraction, Victoria glanced once or twice over to the kitchen. More specifically, to the noise which came from the kitchen. She even stifled a giggle as the lady of indeterminable cultural background yelled at an unseen intruder to her sacred stove-room and hurled something heavy. Yes, they were about to get into some serious business, but that background show was a hair toward the distracting. But no, serious talk was about to start. Victoria put on her game face. Unfortunately, a Bard's game face is oft equally adventurous and mischievous, and she was not an exception to the usual cut and color of a traditional Bard - in this way, at least.

The speech delivered by Sheriff Gregory Arbalest was one that she had heard before. A variation of it, anyway. The one given while she was a "guest" of the Fort's area of general jurisprudence was a lot shorter and even less detailed than what he was explaining here. Perhaps it was foolishness to attempt negotiations before the rest of the group was assembled; not because she might cut a better deal this way but because she didn't know what kind of a group with whom she was allying herself. It was a moot point now. here she was, here they were, and here the stuffy, older Sheriff was laying down the conditions of their little adventure.

So instead of giving a lot of attention to the words of the venerable man, Victoria took the opportunity to look around the table at the people she would be working with, pondering their mannerisms and giving thought to the actions of the very recent past. She got the distinct impression that, regardless of her grandiose entrance or the extra effort she put into being personable this evening there was the slimmest of possibilities that a couple of these people just didn't really trust her. Including the Sheriff. Probably especially the Sheriff. It stood to reason that not everyone would greet someone of her ilk with open arms, and this was why students of the Requiem learned how to take care of themselves in the specific ways that they did. And this was assuredly not the chilliest reception that she'd ever had. All the same, Victoria made it a point to watch herself around these people until she was certain enough that they could be trusted, and no amount of introspection nor insight that she could muster would be helpful in this regard right now. So there she sat, an optimistic expression asserted upon her face which was occasionally obscured by her goblet of mulled wine.

Sometimes, listening was almost as fun as talking. This was one of those times. The questions to begin their investigation seemed valid enough. She wished that she'd asked more of them, herself. But she figured that she would rely on strength of personality to bridge the gap to useful conversations whenever she got there. It was an option that had worked well for her in the past, so why shouldn't it now? But yes, they made points. There might even be a time crunch if these missing persons were still mounting in number.

Then on to the requests. She kept her mouth shut, having already made her request and having it agreed to. It was for a book, suitable for penning secrets arcane within, and access to writings of certain divinities or powers recognized locally, that she may seek Lore useful to her profession within. Most of the others had much less grand of requests past the initial payment, which she felt was admirable in its own way of not amazingly practical. But the other Half-Elf... Well, he sure had some brass ones, she had to give due credit.

"This..." she announced aloud, pausing a half-second to allow a daring smile to form, "...looks very much like it's going to be a story worth the telling. And if we're not careful, some of us might even commit random acts of decency. Hmm..." Particularly looking over to the latest arrival, the Wood Elf, Naivara, she inquired, "Aren't you glad you got here in time?" with a wink. Victoria wondered if there would be time for a song or three after their meeting and supper had concluded. For that matter, she was really wanting business to come to a close; the idea of supper was looking very appealing right then. Then music. Music was always better if you were playing it from your soul, and not just to earn your keep.

"Good fortune, indeed," Naivara replied to the bard, summoning what she hoped would come across as a cheerful smile. The friendliness of the bard pleased her. She hoped there would be more pleasant conversations and perhaps even music. "Assuredly the Moon smiles on this endeavor, otherwise the unmarked paths would not have lead me here with such haste."

The words of the Sheriff had startled Naivara. His words were ominous. His features weighted with worry. He seemed an honest man. He seemed too serious of a man to be spouting idle nightmares born from fever or a bottle. Naivara felt uncertainty ripple over her as unwelcome waves on a mirrored pond. She was unused to the ways of civilized folk. Subterfuge usually had little place in the wilderness. The questions of her new companions had been wise. They had been clever. Her mind strayed to her early lessons. To stories Brown Fur had told her, had whispered over campfires in the cold nights. Warnings. Old stories. Stories passed from one druid to another about unnatural shapeshifters that stalked the forests and sought out victims from among the unwary. Dopplegangers, she recalled. She had been warned about such devious creatures, but she could not recall any stories of groups or any great number of dopplegangers operating together in unison. Certainly not in a township. All the same, there was much she did not know, Naivara reasoned. Her experience was limited. And she had precious little experience with such shapeshifting monstrosities. Unconvinced, but tinged with caution, she chose to keep her thoughts to herself.

Gold coins, shiny as they were, held little interest to the young druid. She was no corvid lusting for a shiny trinket and she was no greedy mercenary trying to strike it rich off the misfortune of others. She knew how to live off the land. She did not need much. However, with twenty gold coins she could do much good and perhaps even buy some cinnamon buns. She would not refuse the payment the good Sheriff offered. Gold, distastefully used and coveted as it often was, perhaps inevitably was, could still be used for worthy endeavors. She had old friends to help. She had strangers to aid. There was always much work to be done.

Turning her thoughtful gaze towards the Sheriff, Naivara spoke plainly, "I do not seek any great rewards. However, if you should have any items in your possession that belong to the forest, then I shall be grateful to take possession of any such items. I would see them returned to the wilderness, where they belong."

Gregory took in all of the questions with grim silence, his eyes moving from one person speaking to another in sequence. He remained stoic throughout all of this, not offering anything more than a quiet clearing of his throat or a quizzical raise of an eyebrow. Once he even took a sip from his foamy tankard of ale, but this was the extent to his reaction. When everyone had said their piece, he took in a deep, wearied breath, and addressed what questions he could.

"I have few names to give, that I can speak with certainty. Some who have gone missing and returned claim regular affairs in line with their routines which are difficult to dispute. I suspect that there would be others who returned who have not been reported for similar reasons. With reliability, I can provide a list by morning with a few names of those who have gone missing, and not come back. Everything else is conjecture."

He gave a moment of thought and continued, "Nor can I say how long, as a whole, the victims were missing. I have reports of a few hours to a couple of days. This makes it difficult to say exactly when they vanished. So far as what they had in common..." He sighed, finding it difficult to elaborate on a thought but pushing through anyway, "Most of the ones reported missing were vulnerable. Slight of build, young, or locals prone to drink. The kind of mark one might choose for larceny in a larger community. I don't know if this helps. Most of the disappearances which got to me occurred in the Township proper; a few from surrounding farm villages."

"The Township Constable's name is Cavendish. Whether you wish to seek his counsel or not is up to you, given the information I have already stated. Now, if you must work with a time frame, let us say that you report back to me one week from tomorrow morning, or sooner if you have reached a conclusion. Whatever that conclusion may be. We shall see where events progress from there."

"Concerning the Goblin threat: Yes. It would be a very rare thing to see them this far into the region, but they do have bands past our borders. With the cold coming in and the season's harvests upon us, they will occasionally skulk about the fringes to raid for food and supplies. Cautious, sneaky types, frightened away by a strong presence. Soldiers making a sweep or semi-organized militia will make them keep distance; they prefer an easy target without causing so much trouble as to have the army called down on them. There are Goblins about, mind you. Sometimes private contractors are hired to deal with persistent instances."

The questions addressed to his willingness and/or ability to do so, the Sheriff then turned his focus toward the special requests made of the irregular group before him. He began with Marita, the Cleric, who seemed to have taken a more direct, vocal role from amongst them. Of course, she hadn't requested anything. "I thank you for accepting this challenge. Understand, I shall see you off in the morning. If you have any reasonable requests past what was offered, please let me know by then."

His attention went to Hugh next, but after a moment to consider how he might respond, Gregory shifted his gaze down the table to Kosara. "Your request is quite frugal. The archivist for the Fort will likely have something suitable to your needs upon completion of the investigation. If anything else comes to mind that is equally reasonable, inform me of this later." It was a short conference on the matter, quickly accepted.

Kathryn came next. "What you ask for is not inexpensive. However, we do keep a standing armory. What I might provide will not be crafted by Dwarven masters, nor bear enchantment. It is perhaps not worthy of a high noble lineage. It is, however, perfectly functional for the full career of a professional soldier. Much longer with proper maintenance, barring something unforeseen."

The shift of gaze went to Victoria. Nothing needed to be said, really, but just to keep conversation representative of all parties, he addressed her plainly. "I am wary of your studies, Miss Belmont, and I disagree with your methods. But the court saw fit to release you and the Acolytes found no evil within you. When your mission is complete I will keep my promise; you will have the book, inks, and access to the rituals you asked about." He regarded the Half-Elven woman guardedly, but nodded and moved on.

The last person to voice their request was the wilderness-running Elf. His face held a mote of confusion which he might have held back behind a showing of stoic pride, but the request so vexed him that he just stared at her for a moment, unsure how to properly respond. "I do not pretend to know what your mind on this. If you might be clearer of intent, come to me on the morrow."

And finally, grasping at his reserves of propriety, Gregory looked to Hugh. He took another sip from his ale, cleared his throat, and sat very straight in his chair. Taking in a deep breath, he began with a clear, authoritative tone. "In the event that items are confiscated from persons taken into custody, their possessions are held as evidence until such time as they are processed, either to their freedom or to further judicial procedures. I do not keep their possessions for myself. Nor would I presume to dispense confiscated materials outside of established protocol, especially if I maintained a stockpile of ensorceled items. Such would be theft. I hope we understand one another." The Sheriff looked the Monk over, trying to decide something for himself. After a moment, he offered another option. "I am willing to broker a compromise. My career has brought to me a number of curious objects. Many of these objects I do not foresee requiring again. There are two items in my personal possession that I might be willing to part with. If you take this option, you will not get the gold, nor the supplies. Choose carefully."

"The first one is a potion. One dose remains. The last time I sipped its contents, I leapt from a boat and was able to breathe comfortably for a short time, holding onto barnacles along the side until I could help retake the vessel. It was remarkably useful. This was years ago, obviously."

"The second is a vessel not unlike one of the items you asked about. A lidded ceramic pot with a metal rim, which I keep in my chambers. Casual use of the item for a couple of weeks has shown the inside dimensions are larger than the outside. I find it quite unsettling, to be honest."

From back in the kitchen, a great clatter could be heard. It wasn't so much a sound of things accidentally hitting the floor in rapid succession more than the flat metallic thwapping of many things pushed off of a high surface at once, followed by a string of swearing that might have made an Orc sailor blush. Guido took it upon himself to run back into the kitchen, his voice joining a cacophony of bellows (presumably from May) and the sound of small wares banging about. Capping everything off was the sound of the little lady in the back issuing a grandiose, "Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!" and the sound of a blunt object striking something else several times.

The Sheriff took this moment to finish off his tankard of ale in a single, long pull, and rose from his chair. "From the sound of things, your supper is about to be served. My own is probably waiting on me. I shall take my leave of you. Thank you for answering the summons. I shall see you tomorrow morning, before your departure." With this, he turned and retreated to the bar. Apparently, he wanted to have words with Owen before he left.

A harsh but very quiet conversation was had between the two men, with Owen glancing back to the Adventurer's table a few times. None of this might have been easily heard in the best of circumstances and May chose this time to hastily deposit people's food in front of them (with Guido's assistance), usually with commentary involved. One steak, pork pie, potatoes, thick, toasted rye with spiced beans and crumbly, marbled cheese, seared and colorful chard, and to add as extras, some sort of custard baked into tiny, hollow, orange gourds - one for each of the remaining adventurers at the table. The previously unnamed side item asked for by the overly purple Bard came out in the form of popped, salted sorghum, looking very much like stovetop popcorn but with a darker color and lightly nutty aroma. The Infamous Pear was known as a place about town to get really good food, if you didn't mind dining in a place that was an occasional guard's hangout. "Awright," started May in a huff, "Ovens're going down for the night. You want something else that ain't tea, it's gonna be cold. Don't talk to me about it 'til Breakfast time." Gruff in delivery, though it might be ascertained that she meant well by a highly astute observer of the local social scene.

From back at the bar, the conversation between Sheriff Arbalest and Inkeeper Hardy was coming to a close. The Sheriff had a look of concern on his face, glancing once back at the table before exiting the premises. Food being served, Guido jogged over to the bar to see what might be the matter. Another hushed and rapid exchange of words occurred between the business partners before Guido, in a bout of confusion, blurted out, "He only sent three letters! What does that even mean?" The discussion ceased after this, with both individuals swiftly finding other things to do.

Kosara’s eyes moved to the elven woman that had finally spoke out again. Apparently she wasn’t the only one that followed strange paths laid out for you to end up here! Making as mental note about it, the tiefling dancer promised to herself that she was going to follow on this topic with the elf later and maybe try to see if there was a correlation of happenings that led them here! As grateful as Kosara was about finding that letter innocently laid on the road as she passed along, she still wondered how it ended up there. Almost seemed like it had a story of it’s own.

She looked at Mr Arbalest, the possible arbalest with curious flames dancing in her eyes, listening to his explanations about the people that were being taken and returned. The weak and more vulnerable…” Hmm, if some were taken and returned while others weren’t… something must be in common for the returned ones and the kept ones.” She mused to herself quietly, but generally continuing to listen to the older man’s words.

“Thank you, Sir!” She replied happily when he agreed on her request as a reward.” I will think about it first and try to figure if I need anything else specific.” The white tiefling nodded, making a pondering face.” Well, I had a quick question if you wouldn’t mind? It’s alright to not answer, but are you an arbalest? I mean a person who uses the heavier version of the crossbow along with it being your family name?” She asked with much curiosity.

She was just about ready to pull her journal and start taking notes as Gregory recounted the possible rewards for Hugh. Quite the curious magical items that were being offered in return instead of what the Fancy Sneaky Monk wanted, but stopped when she heard the food was going to arrive soon! She didn’t want to dirty the journal with grease or anything, it’d be pain to deal with.” Goodbye, Sir Arbalest! It was a pleasure meeting you tonight!” She called out to the man and waved for goodbye as he pulled away.

Indeed the food arrived shortly after!” Thank you, Madam, you too Mister!” She gave her gratitude to the people bringing the food and carefully arranged her plate in front of her. Steak and potatoes! Ahh, not something she could often eat back in the south, if for nothing else but because potatoes were hard to get and well, steaks were easier to find, since there was prey, just the volume caught was different and so was the meat. Northern meats were a lot juicier from what she could gather, must be the greater abundance of food for animals to eat.

Now that they were all left alone to their devices, Kosara looked at the eclectic crew gathered around. So many curious people to travel with! It would make for a great journey indeed!” So, why don’t we try to learn about each others a bit? We are gonna be traveling and working together after all.” The tiefling began, looking at the others around the table.” Maybe say things we like? For example I really like music, dancing and shiny jewelry. Or we could take turns asking questions that the others have to answer to some capacity?” She suggested with a smile, though she wasn’t digging into her food much. She just tossed a small piece of meat and a small potato into her mouth. Mostly cause she really wanted to dance first and then eat fully. Otherwise it would weight heavily in her stomach!

Marita listened to the questions and demands of the others at the table, whilst silently judging them. Hugh had a couple of decent points but let his avarice show in full force. Not unsurprising for a true sell-sword type, but just because he operated within expected parameters didn't mean he wasn't going to lose even more points with her. Kosara wanting a journal was surprising, and Marita wasn't sure how the tiefling would protect such a thing from the elements when not even her stomach was, but that was none of her concern. She also thought it was obvious that the letter asking them to take care of goblins was an excuse to cover up their true purpose, but evidently not. New armor for Kathryn would be expensive given her size, but at least she recognized that she was in dire need of new equipment. And compared to shortstuff asking for contraband magical items, it was downright reasonable. Victoria remained smugly silent, if she wanted something extra she likely had already haggled for it during this previous conversation. And Naivara... well it certainly was a request.

Gregory's response both surprised and irritated her. He answered her questions immediately at the table despite her saying she didn't expect him to. More aptly, she would rather have just received a written report of some form in the morning with as much real information as he had, rather than leaving it up to the collective memory of those present to make sure that all the details were represented. Gregory also seemed to assume that she would want more than he had offered, and even after hearing the requests of the other party-goers nothing had changed in that regard. In fact, she was almost a bit offended even though he was probably just being nice.

Her irritation was cut off from the clamor that came from the next room over, near causing her to jump out of her seat. As good as the smells were and as empty her stomach, Marita was kind of glad she hadn't actually ordered any food from the kitchen tonight. Maybe everything would be less suspect come breakfast time.

When the sheriff stood from the table she followed his departure with her peripheral vision and listened intently to what was going on behind her. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, (she did a great deal more than most anyone else still sharing the table with her) but that he was clearly very guarded, and she had a feeling that the cards he was holding to his chest had information pertinent to the situation. It was difficult to hear considering May and the ambience of the bar, but she did manage to catch a few bits here and there about the expenses of lodging a party. More important than the words were the way they were spoken. Owen sounded rather lost, while Gregory was about as irritated as she felt at the moment and half as suspicious as Hugh on a good day. Of course, as dialed into that conversation as she was, it would be impossible to miss Guido's outburst.

With that revelation, everything made sense. Why would a man like him invite the people she had met here today? He wouldn't, which begged the question about where these other invitations came in. Of course it would be easy to get paranoid over who might be a secret traitor, but oddly enough, she didn't feel that sort of suspicion. Almost everyone here was flagrantly unreliable, and if you wanted to sabotage a mission with a mole, there were certainly better and easier ways than sending out a flyer to 2 dozen different people across the land. But she was quite tired of being in this informationless environment, so rather than merely conjecture to herself, she would do something.

For the second time tonight, the cleric stood up at the table. With her right hand she drew a sigil in the air as she spoke aloud.

"Let His holy light burn away all falsehoods, revealing barren truth."

With these words spoken, her eyes and amulet briefly flashed a cold white light bright enough to create sunspots in the eyes of anyone looking directly at them.

"I have just created a Zone of Truth here. I would like to ask all of you under what circumstances exactly did you receive your invitation? If there's legitimate reason to suspect one another of espionage or the like, I would like to get it out of the way rather than ruin my night worrying about it. I won't force you to answer if you do not wish to, but the less needless doubt the better. If you resist the spell so you don't have to tell the truth, I'll know. More importantly if everyone here is clean then perhaps from sharing our stories we'll be able to find some sort of clue with which to work off rather than the table scraps we've been handed." Marita sat down once more and interlaced her fingers as she set her forearms flat against the table.

"I'll start. I received my invitation 11 days ago in Bleakriver, a town just North of here. I had been staying in the temple helping the clergy for some time when one day the lead priest Father Restoff came to me with mail. The next morning I began traveling here." Marita was silent for a moment before speaking again, this time looking over at Kosara, directly answering her question. "I quite enjoy a game of colf, but I haven't had a chance to play it in the past couple of years. Now back to business."

Hugh nodded and smiled mildly at the Sheriff’s response to Marita’s inquiries, glad to have her cover such an angle. Personally, he might have overlooked those particular possibilities otherwise. After all, his preferred targets for bounty hunting rarely required anything close to such an investigation. He was clearly going to have to brush the cobwebs off a couple old and unused lines of thought if he was to keep ahead of the game here.

Regardless, the fact that they would actually have a list of names and commonalities to work with as a result was most certainly internally applauded. That said, the Sheriff indeed confirmed his suspicions that the Township proper was not the sole victim of these disappearances; unfortunately, the Sheriff rather noticeably also had no further commentary to provide regarding the lack of contact with outlying farmlands… or their potential relevance to the issue at hand.

It was worrying and frustrating in equal measure, especially since that lack of an answer potentially massively broadened their investigation area.

He idly noted the Township Constable’s name, one Mr. Cavendish, and committed it to memory. The Sheriff didn’t seem overly concerned regarding the Constable’s inclusion one way or another, so Hugh found himself at something of an impasse on how to proceed. Clearly, this venture was meant to be discreet, and more individuals being involved could only lead to their potential culprit being tipped off early… On the other hand, making clear their intentions and client from the start with one of the highest authorities in the city could very well serve to smooth over any feathers they may ruffle in the course of their investigations.

Meanwhile, the timeframe for completion seemed rather more intimidatingly narrow than Hugh was expecting for an investigation of such seemingly broad scale. Given carte blanche to act as he pleased, he would have much preferred a month, so that affairs could be conducted carefully and subtly.

Infiltrating a new location and sussing out all the most viable and reliable sources of information in a manner that didn’t draw unnecessary attention was most certainly not the work of a single measly week. Honestly, he didn’t know what the Sheriff was thinking, expecting results in the positive with that kind of lacking room to breathe. Then again…

Hugh panned his gaze over the table’s occupants.

Then again, his estimations were based on his personal experience operating solo. With this many eyes and ears, infiltration would surely be far more efficient, assuming these people could manage to resist overtly blowing their cover.

In other news, the word that Goblins were indeed present in these lands came as something of a relief. Certainly, they had been told to tell those who asked that they were out and about to slay Goblins, but till now, he’d yet to learn just how valid an excuse that was. That the greenskins were most liable to raid now with the coming cold for supplies also gave him some idea that perhaps the lost contact with farming villages was related. Unfortunately, he could hardly confirm or deny at this stage.

Hugh restrained a grimace and schooled his expression into a wry upturning of the lips, as his negotiations were wildly undercut by the rest of the assembled adventurers’ far more frugal requests… barring Kathryn’s admirably practical desire for fresh armor and weaponry. Honestly, he was genuinely shocked at the sheer… lack of vision the others had displayed.

Certainly, he had aimed high, but that was only natural in negotiations. Pitch something potentially unreasonable and then allow yourself to be talked down to what you actually want. Unfortunately, his lack of exact knowledge regarding what was available to the likes of Sheriff Gregory -and his new “companions’” own unexpectedly underwhelming requests- only managed to make his own look greedy by comparison.

In that case, now that he had a better understanding of where the limits lay, he could tailor his request to the client. Unfortunately, Sheriff Gregory’s hasty departure meant his own properly revised request would have to wait for judgement on the morrow… as would the Druid, Naivara’s, and perhaps Marita’s as well, should she come to her senses.

Honestly, some part of him was driven to feel a smidgeon of pity for the clearly out of touch young elf. If the Sheriff’s answer to him was any clue, then there would most certainly be no items that “belong to the forest” in these parts. Perhaps, if time permitted, he would see about advising her on the subject of requests. It was almost painful to watch such blatant lack of compensation occur before his eyes, but at the end of the day, he acknowledged that he could hardly do anything for her if she had no true desire within her. Also, quite frankly, they might all be best served if someone considered getting her proper measure as a socializer.

After all, upon reflection, he realised that he might actually have to worry more about Naivara than Kosara when it came to subtley. It was genuinely disturbing to consider, but he could hardly deny that Naivara’s flowery speech was also painfully direct and devoid of nuance or deception to those that could parse it. Kosara, at least, seemed as though she possessed the capacity for subterfuge… if not the willingness to use it.

As the noise from the kitchen began to reach a crescendo, Hugh watched the Sheriff’s retreating back, as the venerable man held a rather… heated and hushed discussion with the bartender. It was quite clear that Ser Gregory was displeased with his co-conspirator, but the distance and noise prevented anything of note from being heard. Considering that this contract was intended to be performed quietly, he could only imagine that the bartender’s gregarious attitude and lack of operational security had earned the elder man’s ire.

Hugh huffed out a long frustrated exhale, before schooling his expression back into placidity, as May and Guido approached once more, toting a somewhat less precarious amount of food than before, which they doled out with a notable clatter.

Accepting his pork pie and potatoes with a nod and small smile, Hugh took a sip of the warm sweet tea and hummed thoughtfully. As expected, it wasn’t quite as good as the Yawning Dog’s brews, but it was rich and somewhat thick without being cloying. Certainly, it was enough to wash out the rest of the shitty cider’s aftertaste and wet his appetite for the meal proper, but it was also almost too sweet, like the brewer had dumped a handful of sugar into it.

Shaking his head, Hugh set his complaints aside and did his best to ignore the reignitement of conversation by Kosara, reluctantly listening with half an ear, as he dug out his set of eating utensils from his personal mess kit. Likes? He liked being able to eat his meals in peace and quiet without worrying about his food going cold from being distracted by meaningless small talk. About himself? He’d said all he was willing to at this juncture, and he really had no interest in the personal affairs of his temporary compatriots. They were here to do a job, not make friends.

Digging into the meat pie, Hugh nodded in appreciation at the, as advertised, incredibly buttery crust, stabbing a couple potato slices with his fork and replacing his prior mouthful. While one ear was on the table, he still found his gaze drifting back towards the bar, where the Sheriff’s seeming chastisement of the innkeeper was coming to a close. Hugh’s brow furrowed at the look of naked concern upon the client’s face, as Sheriff Gregory shot the table a final glance before leaving.

Shaking his head, Hugh was rather prepared to put that exchange behind him, when he heard the halfling squeak out rather astonishingly loudly, “He only sent three letters! What does that even mean?”

Ah.

A deep pit dropped down into Hugh’s stomach, as his appetite made its best attempt to flee him.

That… answered several questions, and most certainly not in the way he wished they might be. Several inconsistencies that had stumped him now were cleared up most unpleasantly.

The Sheriff’s confusion at their numbers was because there were only meant to be three of them.

The letters presenting the contract as a covert operation hadn’t been in error. Had there been merely three of them, such a mission would be far more viable.

The original three letters most likely weren’t delivered in error. Or, at least, two of them must have been, while the third was intercepted. Additionally, having each letter go unaddressed also made some sense if the Sheriff’s attempts at operational security were truly so deep.

It was more than clear that this entire mission was horrifically compromised from the get-go.

Glancing over the table’s occupants, he seriously considered which letters were most likely legitimate. In terms of reliability, he could only assume Marita and Kathryn’s numbered among them… potentially Victoria’s as well, but he was sceptical to accept the idea of the Sheriff willingly reaching out to a necromancer, especially given the man’s clear misgivings regarding her.

Hugh considered his own bloodstained letter. Given the circumstances, he honestly couldn’t say for sure whether his was one of the originals, but he was almost certain Kosara’s wasn’t, considering her general demeanor. No one in their right mind would directly invite someone like her to participate in this sort of mission. Oddly enough, another potential candidate for a legitimate letter was Naivara… though unlikely. After all, there was her lack of social skills, generally conspicuous appearance, and further the way she hinted at genuine surprise at being contacted, like she’d never even seen a letter before. All these things told him that she wasn’t carrying an original. On the other hand, the fact that the letter was implied to be specifically mailed to her…

Why would the culprit specifically…? Actually, now that he considered who he’d gotten it from, odds were high that the fake letters amongst them were most likely Naivara and Kosara’s, with the last being either his own or Victoria’s.

Then again, that all depended on the likes of the three adventurers, who had all made their leave before, not also potentially possessing one of the originals, which meant there was a non-zero chance that every last letter at this table was fake... Just… how many fakes were out there in the wind? How great was the incoming chaos?

Hugh swallowed apprehensively, bringing his thoughts back to the present and considering his options.

There was no way to tell for sure if one of the party’s number was a traitor, not yet, but the odds were mildly high that one was. However, if he wanted to catch them, the best way to do so would be to redirect the party’s suspicions outward, ensuring that any potential traitor felt far more secure in their position… and make them far more likely to slip up.

To that end, despite the convenience of it, he would refrain from suggesting the Cleric utilize her truth magic at this time. After all, while the chances were low that she was involved, he didn’t yet know her well enough to say for certain. He’d have to get closer to her, to several of them, confirm and deny his suspicions. The priority was obviously Marita. With her magic in play and the caster trustworthy, they could almost trivialize the reveal of any traitors.

That said, if she chose to suggest the usage of such magic at this juncture, he wouldn’t oppose her. After all, though he was a private individual, he had nothing incriminating to hide that was relevant to the situation at hand. In fact, most telling would be any that either opposed the usage of said magic… or chose to resist it, instead of allowing the spell to run its course. In such a case, he was inclined to actively support her; after all, it could only make him look more trustworthy in the long run.

Shoveling more of his potatoes into his mouth and setting in again on the pork pie, Hugh considered his “compatriots”, the people he would have to independently investigate to ensure counterintelligence was not leveled against everyone involved.

If anyone was most suspicious at this moment, he would have to say it was Kosara and Victoria. The former he could admit was mostly his personal distaste talking, but her attitude was so over-the-top that it might be reasonable to assume it was all an act, a performance she put on for outsiders in order to worm her way into their good graces… like she already had for the majority present. And it was also to be noted that she seemed to have a particular camaraderie with the Bard.

Victoria, on the other hand, as much as part of him wanted to give her the benefit of a doubt, was a Bard. Enchantment magic was generally their forte, and he could see it being reasonable that her utilization of such was a perfect way to both manipulate the local law enforcement into tolerating her necromancy and setting her free… and also potentially into letting her get close enough to the Sheriff to manipulate him into writing more letters than intended. Granted, she had supposedly arrived in town yesterday morning, but it was easy to see how she might have left town to spread fake letters far and wide before her return.

But Hugh restrained his thoughts, his paranoia all but frothing at the metaphorical mouth. At the end of the day, this was all speculation at present. As much as his pride pushed for him to confirm his own bias, he knew well enough that everyone involved was innocent until proven guilty. Naturally, it was up to him to do the proving.

Of course, that was when Marita stood and started chanting.

Hugh was out his chair before he could really think about it, pure reflex finding a bladed dart in his hand and ready to hurl straight into the enemy's ey- The abrupt impact of the back of his chair slamming into the floorboards and the vague comprehension of the chant’s meaning stayed his hand long enough for brilliant magic to ripple over the area.

Explosive rage at the unexpected recklessness of the act stole his breath away and nearly drove him to reject the magic out of pure spite, but his comprehension of the rationale -if flawed- behind it managed to waver his concentration. He felt it take hold, and… Hugh honestly couldn’t remember that last time he was so angry. Suddenly, he was well aware of what they meant by “seeing red”. Was this what Barbarians dealt with on a day-to-day basis?

“Are you fucking mad?!” the words practically strangled themselves in his throat, such was his utter fury. Abruptly, he inhaled long and hard and went disturbingly still, stowing his dart away all too calmly, as his expression twisted into one of pure disdain. “No. Fuck you. You don’t get to act so recklessly in this sort of situation and expect to be rewarded, not from me. You say you know who your spell works on? Well then, you should be well aware it’s working on me.”

Leaning down, he stood his chair back up roughly, before turning a glare of naked hatred at the Cleric. “It would be one thing if you’d asked, hell, if you’d given any manner of warning at all. In fact, I’d even have supported you then, and it would have been all too telling to see who was opposed to you casting the spell. But you didn’t ask… so you damn well better not expect any answers from me.” Turning his attention to the rest of the table, he continued. “I recommend the same to all of you. Tell her nothing. If she wants to foster trust, this is the last way to do it, casting surprise spells on her own supposed allies, especially since we can’t say she’s trustworthy either. Are we really supposed to take her word for it, when she’s the one in control of the spell?” Sending a strangely pitying look down his nose at Marita, he snorted, “Honestly, I was expecting better from a woman of the faith. Clearly, I misjudged you. How utterly disappointing.”

He turned away from Marita dismissively, adding her to the slowly growing list of individuals he’d rather keep out of his direct line of sight… and never have behind him. Biting his tongue to prevent further verbal bile from spilling forth at present, his eyes alighted on the far end of the table, as he took a deep, steadying breath and restored some measure of his composure.

Jaw set, Hugh strode around to the opposite end of the table and swept up the opened letters, returning to his seat a moment later. Sliding his food to the side into the unoccupied eating space previously owned by Mona, Hugh began unfolding each letter in turn, squinting at them intently under the candlelight of the tavern. His ancestral darkvision served him well, taking the insufficient lighting and blowing up the surfaces of his objects of study as though they were illuminated by stark daylight... Not that it managed to do all that much good.

After several long moments of intense study, taking occasional bites of his pork pie and sips from tea and mostly ignoring the going-ons of the table in the meantime beyond the highlights, Hugh sighed in resignation and addressed the table at large, his voice still somewhat shaky with repressed fury.

“So, there were only meant to be three letters... Suddenly, my misgivings about this entire venture bear fruit beyond even my expectations.” Folding each letter back up, he frowned. “From what I can tell, each letter is handwritten, and all are apparently penned by the same hand. I couldn’t say anything particular about the ink, since the smell of food in here is overpowering any observations I might make. The parchment and wax seals also appear to be of the same make, and the seals themselves all appear to be equally legitimate. Then again,” he shrugged in an unconcerned manner, “calligraphy isn’t exactly my specialty. Feel free to take my observations with a grain of salt and make your own.” That said, he slid the pile of letters towards the table’s center.

Taking another bite of his waning supply of potatoes, Hugh downed another swig of tea, as he watched the table’s occupants digest his words. Running his tongue across the front of his upper teeth, he scowled openly now. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit. Our mission is already compromised. Way I see it, there’s no good reason for anyone to have interfered in the Sheriff’s affairs if they weren’t overmuch concerned with him poking around the matter of the disappearances.” He stabbed a finger down at the table and eyed the other adventurers seriously, studiously avoiding focusing overmuch on the Cleric. “This is a mission meant for three, intended to be conducted with care and subtlety. Personally, I can think of few better ways to stir up chaos and force an abandonment of discrete tactics than to put six adventurers on the same case.”

Leaning back in his chair, he ran one hand through his shaggy brown hair in a clearly stressed manner, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Quite frankly, all that tells me for sure is that it is more important than ever that we do exactly what they clearly don’t want us to… and keep a low profile going forward… if at all possible. Further, were we not expected to bring results in a week’s time, I would far prefer that we first thoroughly investigate the breach of security in the local mailing system. It’s a blatantly obvious lead. If nothing else, it might serve us well to be upfront with the Sheriff on the morrow in this matter and inquire of him about the functions of the local mail… and about who runs it.”

Honestly, there were two main ways to take the existence of extra letters, ways he chose to voice aloud, as he cleared his throat from another sip of rich, warm, calming tea. As the warm beverage slipped down his throat, he found his naked rage slowly dying down to a simmering grudge. “Personally, I see only two legitimate reasons for there to be extra letters. Either there is a criminal of some skill out and about, who can mimic handwriting to such an excellent degree, or, worse…” His expression turned grim. “Taking what we know of this quest into account, I would say it is not unfair to posit that our client may also be a victim, potentially manipulated into making more letters than intended. The latter is honestly the worst case scenario, but in light of what we know, it has become viable.”

Rapping his fingers against the tabletop in a steady rhythm, Hugh considered things with a somewhat clearer head. Refusing to answer… sabotaging the Cleric’s frankly most useful tool in this situation… Objectively, he should be inclined to set his pride aside and answer her inquiries. Objectively, it would do the most the fastest to clear him of suspicion. Objectively, it could do well to mend any bridges he might currently be burning. Objectively...

Objectivity, just this once, could go fuck itself with a rusty fork.

His mind was sacred. His will and his freedom to act as he pleased were priceless. And anyone who infringed upon that to any degree, no matter how minor, without his permission was without question or exception his enemy.

Hugh shot Marita a last seething glare, before closing his eyes and returning to silently sipping his tea.

(/._./)

TLDR: Marita manages to specifically push what might just be Hugh’s biggest button. I was really NOT expecting to have this part of his character come to the forefront any time soon, but she managed to neatly -if unintentionally- sidestep even the most basic courtesy that would have kept it for another day. XD

It seems everyone who wanted to make an additional request had. Things ranged from modest things like Naivara's request for things that belonged to the woods, and towards magical items as requested by Hugh. Kathryn couldn't claim to be an expert of either, having minimal understanding of things magical, and herself not being sure what objects that would be that belonged to the forest. But she was excited to see where this mixed party from countless backgrounds would go. Kathryn herself hadn't had much in terms of a group of people to spend her days with. It was almost entirely Ser Lucas, his drinking buddies, and the women that he would drop her off with from time to time when he took jobs that taking herself along weren't too practical. She did take note of Victoria's comment about random acts of kindness. "I know how shocking? It'd be insane should something like that happen." Kathryn piped back in a joking tone.

It seemed her request would be granted though. A chance to update and properly replace a lot of her gear. No more cleaning rust off her person, no more chain links locking together until they snap, a chance to properly retire her family sword before it's wear and tear finally broke it. Though she did lack any formal location to keep it. No family mantel, no graves she could rest it on safely, but she could wrap it up until some time she could. She was tempted to rest it on Ser Lucas's grave, but she didn't trust a few of the locals enough to leave a sword of castle forged steel alone on a grave. And she'd rather not get into conflict with the local law of the inn she was calling home. The sheriff continued with everyone else's requests, only stopped by a sound that could only be described as Blunt Force Trauma. Kathryn's first instinct when hearing this was to stand up both of her hands reaching towards the handles of her axes, but stopping once she realized it wasn't things turning for the worst. She sat down slowly hoping that the others were too distracted by the commotion to notice her. On the plus side, food was on it's way out. Pork Pie, Potatoes, Rye slices with beans and cheese, and beer. She tore into her food at a pace that implied if she stopped for whatever reason she wouldn't be allowed to finish her food. Stopping only to sip her own beer.

She got the attention of warm tea but cold everything else tonight. That was fine for her but it was a good thing to note. Kosara attempted to keep the conversation going and help form some personal bonds within the party. Kathryn spoke while finishing up her current bites of food. "I can understand liking music. Can't say there is too much to say about me. Left home at a young age, traveled a lot, I enjoy beer and parties and fighting. Can't say there's much more interesting outside of that." What did catch Kathryn's attention through her annihilation of dinner was a comment made about the letters. There were only three letters sent out. Seeing as double that were turned in, Kathryn's mind turned towards suspicion. And u[on hearing this she stopped attacking her food and froze. She wondered about her own letter, and wondered about the others at the table. She sat back, her hands casually going down below the table, resting again on the hilts of her axes. Was this another trap? And if so who was in on it? She debated who she could take at the table. All in all she stood no chance against the whole table, but she believed if she could force any one member of the party into a one on one melee she'd have the advantage. In Martial prowess Marita looked like she could have put up a decent fight. Hugh too maybe. But if kept to a strait on Melee Kathryn hoped she held the advantage.

Kathryn was thinking up a strategy of how she would handle the situation at hand when Marita spoke. Zone of truth. And back to the letters we go. Marita explained her side first, then Hugh. Though Hugh's was more of him passing his own breaking point. Kathryn couldn't blame him, she wasn't far off herself. He was pissed, very pissed. Reasonably so. He did attempt to add to the mystery and to try and clear it up. What did surprise Kathryn was how he didn't immediately put any mistrust on the group itself. Was that an issue she had? That when things started to turn south she mistrusted those closest? She calmed herself slowly letting go of her axes again. That was twice in a short period of time she was ready to fight her way out. She took another sip of her beer to try and calm her nerves. She wondered for a moment how many she was on at the moment but in the chaos of things she couldn't be sure. Three? Four? She figured between that and a good meal she was still well within her own tolerance. Hugh did make use of his rant though, he formed a good starting point. The letters were a great thing to look at, something was clearly up with them.

Though Hugh had a point about Marita's sudden display of magic on her allies, Kathryn felt Marita was still in the right trying to clear things up as soon as possible. Kathryn stood up holding her beer as if it was the most important object in the room. "The letter I got isn't mine. It was never met for me. And if things had been just slightly different I likely would have never known about it's existence." She took a sip of her beer to help calm herself down. "It was originally meant for my mentor Ser Lucas, who had passed a couple months before it's arrival. Likely the sender not knowing he had already been buried in the ground. Having never taken a real quest of my own outside some simple guard duties I wanted a chance to prove myself, and as Ser Lucas's ward I convinced the messenger to give me the letter and decided to follow it." She chuckled a bit struggling talking about the past few months. "If I am being completely honest I was expecting to be kicked out the moment the sheriff showed up. My guess is he's desperate enough to just go with what he has. Or as Hugh suspects, he's not in his own best mind at the moment. Either way, here I am!" She spoke the last sentence with a bit of musical tone to it. "Stolen letter from the dead man that raised me!" She downed the rest of her beer in several long gulps and looked into it once it was gone. "foehckin 'ell, de beer is gahne" She spoke with her accent heavy before sitting back down in her chair. "Marita." She spoke with her eyes still locked on the empty cup of beer. "Your intentions were good, but trust is a two way street. Can I trust you to not do that again?" She looked up from her empty cup to lock eyes with Marita.