It really had been a good idea to ask questions. Mostly because the answers that the older man gave were pretty useful. For an investigation, yes, but also because it was just these kinds of details which made for a great story to write about later. But even more interesting were the answers given about their little extras of compensation. Hers being mentioned was unnecessary but well received, she guessed. A deal had already been made. But the Sheriff seemed like one of these "ordered" type of people that probably liked things filled out in triplicate and signed by witnesses, so this wasn't completely unexpected. A nonverbal expression of acknowledgement followed and that really should have been the end of that.

Until the discussion went back to the topic of magical items, Victoria might as well have been listening to the sour notes of a novice horn section. Talk of a magical pot from the Sheriff's chambers - a chamber pot, one might surmise, damn near brought about a giggle. No, it couldn't be that, she reasoned, attempting to keep her thoughts as pure as her own sketchy history would allow. This meaning: not very well.

In any case, when the Sheriff excused himself and left the table, Victoria made it a point to call a quick farewell with a spirited wave accompanying. She had never had much use for local authorities, though in fairness that might have been a two way street. But this guy seemed like a decent enough fellow. Direct without being self-righteous. It was good to note. And he was quite right as amid the clatter and swearing coming from the kitchen, their supper soon emerged.

It had been a little longer than was comfortable since Victoria had a good, hot meal, and the one being plated in front of her reminded her of this with a sense of urgency. It was enough to cause a grumble from her midsection which she hoped didn't get around to the rest of the table. It seemed unlikely, given the noise of all the dishes being clattered down in front of people and the grumbling of the kitchen mistress, May. Nevertheless, a tiny bit of self-consciousness reared from within Victoria. The good news was that this was easily remedied by the delicious looking lamb stew in front of her. Maybe a slice or two of the thick, brown bread in the middle of the table, too. This little outing was fast becoming pleasant.

This last feeling came to a jolting halt as she managed to catch the careless blurting of words from the shorter proprietor of The Infamous Pear, Guido Laurel. Only three letters. This caused a quizzical eyebrow raise and momentary lapse in her appetite. This was definitely getting more interesting with each passing moment. What could that have meant? If he only sent three, were others at the table playing at some sort of angle? Were they planted there for a nefarious purpose? Or perhaps directed by powers with vested interest in the outcome of their investigation? Or maybe someone caught wind of this, forged a bunch of letters, and scampered over for the free meal. Victoria had done worse for less.

Of everyone at the table, the Tiefling lady seemed oblivious to this new revelation. Or she was playing her own game with this information, prompting a discussion of personal natures between their newfound colleagues. She might have even answered this, were it not for what came next, smashing her willingness to open up like a ton of bricks. The Cleric ...had just made a Clerical error.

Divine magic rushed over Victoria, promising to remove her free will of colorful expression. Not that lies were amazingly helpful with this current predicament, but she was very disappointed at the lack of agency given to their discussion. This kind of magic was not the type she with which she was intimately versed, nevertheless it did have properties which were familiar. This attack was intended to compel her compliance. Though she had faults, Victoria was blessed with a powerful strength of personality which allowed her to effortlessly fend off the initial brunt of the divine compulsion. This showed externally as a slight twitch of her head, like she was just noting a chill in the air, before all hell broke loose at the table. While the others spoke their piece, Victoria reached across to cut herself a slice of bread, butter it, and take a small bite for herself.

Victoria was not happy, but this only showed in her eyes. Her lips held a little smile, possibly contemplating the simple goodness of the thick, warm bread or the creamy, homemade butter upon it. After a break in the outrage happened and she swallowed her bite, the Bard turned her attention over to Marita. Careful words were formed as she spoke. "You know, you're the only one who didn't ask for anything for supper, Marita." Victoria picked up the large bowl of popped sorghum and slid it across the table slightly, offering it in her general direction. "I got this for you, in case you changed your mind about supper. I know us girls have to watch our figure, but we might have a hard road ahead and everyone has to be at their best". She smiled, blinked twice, and cocked her head slightly to the side. "The bread is really nice, too. Tastes fresh baked."

A metal spoon poked at the steaming stew in front of Victoria, a more natural smile gracing her features now. It did smell alluring. But instead of digging in, she continued speaking, "Like I said before (and take this for whatever it's worth to you), I found my letter in my hat, expecting a tip, two towns over. I don't know who put it there." Finally, Victoria took a little sip from her spoon, sampling the savory, nutty, minty broth that formed the common ground for the rest of the ingredients. This prompted a quiet yet bubbly, "Mmm!" before she moved on. "I had hoped we might be friends. I still do. Or - or at least civil to one another. Permission," she explained, scowling out that last word before resetting her features to something sweeter, more pleasant, "about such things is important if we're going to work together civilly."

Glancing about the table, Victoria suggested to all present, "Oh, but you must try this butter. Marvelous."

Behind her and to she side, Morty the gaunt, burlap-wrapped pig, stood staring straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the events around him.

Marita didn't expect the explosion that came from Hugh. Everything she'd seen from him so far didn't indicate he was the sort of person to lose his temper so easily, but then again she had only known him for maybe a couple of hours at this point. She certainly didn't appreciate the insults and implied accusations hurled her way, and the desire to shout back at him welled up from her chest, but she bit her tongue and remained silent even as her ears turned red. He's disappointed in me? Who does he think he is, my father? She didn't give a rat's ass what he thought about her, but trying to undermine the entire conversation out of petty spite while also attempting to further the investigation was idiotic.

Although Marita held her tongue mostly to avoid stooping to his level and cause a scene, as she sat on it and had the chance to mull over his words, she felt like maybe he had a point. She still felt justified that the Zone of Truth was a necessary precaution, but perhaps she could have gone about it more gracefully. She had never been good in these kinds of social situations, it made her miss the clearly defined hierarchy of the Church.

"Before we proceed any farther I'd like to make an interjection. As far as the Zone of Truth goes, if it so bothers you, you are free to leave it. I cast it so in that this table is on the edge of it," Marita gestured over to the rest of the population merrily going about their night, "so merely stepping a foot or two away from the table towards the inside of the building should be sufficient to leave its field of influence. It would be untoward if suddenly the entire tavern were caught in its grasp. Even if you do not wish to move, this spell lasts mere minutes, so if you wish to retain your ability to speak falsehoods, you can tell your story once it fades shortly."

"Furthermore, I too am subject to the Zone's power. It would be unfair and cowardly to ask something of you that I myself am not willing to undergo. Personally, I don't believe any of us are some sort of saboteur meant to jeopardize the mission. The Zone is merely a precaution to concretely establish the facts at hand. However, I appreciate that I had been too hasty in my actions, and for that I apologize. For those familiar with my patron, recognize how much this means. Lastly as far as taking my word that I am indeed bound by the same rules as you," Marita intentionally left out how Victoria was not under the effects of the spell, "I'll tell you all something about me that I prefer none of you would ever know of, and I'm trusting you to not make ill of it." Marita leaned in and spoke in a far quieter tone than she had been previously, still loud enough for the rest of the table to hear, but not enough for anyone not seated to pick up on.

"I am indeed a holy woman of the Sun God Pholtus, but I am a convert. Originally I grew up in a community of devil worshippers. It was only when they destroyed themselves that I ended up being able to join greater society and find my calling. Che kur nammu o nukh chizni chekh ma.¹" Marita sat back and resumed speaking as she had been before. "If after the rest of you have had a chance to speak you want me to further validate this claim, I will, but I would rather it not have to come to that. As far as our mission goes and the matter with the letters, Information is our most valuable currency and we can afford to hide whatever scraps we may have from one another if we want to get through this. I believe there is more at stake here than any of us realize and we'll need to work together to get through this."

"I appreciate the gesture, Victoria but I'm good. Perhaps I'll be able to save it for tomorrow." With that, Marita crossed her arms to signal that she was done speaking.

---

¹I will Curse anyone who speaks of this in Infernal. She doesn't expect anyone other than maybe Kosara to understand, but she expects her tone and the language to carry forth the gist of it

“Bad manners! Bad.” Kosara stated with a frown at Marita who cast a spell at them. Supposedly the zone of truth would have them say the truth. She kept quiet for a moment after the woman asked her questions instead, so it didn’t force you to speak out, but if you do want to answer it would have to be the truth? Makes sense, given she was listening to Hugh snap at the cleric.

“LANGUAGE!” She called out to him when he started cussing. She was honestly more offended by his use of cussing than Marita’s forced truth spell! If she had a drinks tray, she’d lightly bump him over the head with it or… depending on how uncooperative he was, she’d hurl it at his noggin. Good times back at the inn at the oasis. The best times!” No need to devolve into such base manners and speech!” She admolished the monk, shaking an offended finger at him. In any case, nobody seemed to be angry about forced speaking and she was keeping quiet for the time being, listening, so it didn’t seem to be making her speak after all and not like she had anything to lie about. Still bad manners were bad.

Hugh really seemed to be angry about the whole thing. Maybe more so than reasonable, but maybe he had his reasons. He was especially vocal about the whole 3 letters thing. Kosara saw no issue with it. Things multiplied all the time or at times diminished. It was more than likely somebody was playing some scheme and just guessing wouldn’t get them anywhere, so she didn’t mind it for the time being. Besides it brought her to an interesting place with interesting people and interesting happenings. Kathyn was a bit more restrained and sounded a lot more disappointed really. A bit like her grandpa would. She also had a really fun accent at one point that made Kosara look positively giddy and she was so gonna ask the warrior woman about it and maybe write down some of it or at least how it sounds for future references! At the beer comment she grinned again and looked at the barkeep.” Mr. Hardy! Could we get another 2 beers, please?” She called to the man that she had a very pleasant conversation earlier before she joined the table.

The tiefling looked at the bard who was very polite and courteous. Then she tilted her head and nodded in agreement with the words she was hearing.” I agree, I got to taste the local type of bread only after I began traveling, but in difference to the more hard and thin flat bread favored in the south, the local fluffy and softer ones are very pleasant especially freshly baked.” She nodded at V with happy expression.” And if any of us need to slim up some, I’m well versed in several training exercises to maintain the figure. A bit of a requirement as a dancer, so we can all enjoy our meal with no reservations!”

Finally Marita spoke out again, clarifying some details about the spell. It seemed that she was just bad at socializing and she even apologized! Kosara was smiling at the cleric and then suddenly a most notable thing happened! Marita spoke out in Infernal! Kosara squealed in joy.” You speak it too! I never met anybody who speaks it besides grandpa and he only taught me cause something something about heritage and how it doesn’t define us and what not.”

“Well, I will go up next!” She proudly declared and brought up her arms above which a transparent static figure of herself laying on something and writing in her diary appeared.” I got the letter a good while of travel away from this town! So I was just enjoying a nice sunny day, laying on my travel blanket when I heard some horses racing by. After a while I decided to get up and continue on my way, was thinking of heading south, so I reached the road and just as I was going to start walking down by my feet I see a letter!” She switched the cantrip to instead show the transparent letter.” So I picked it up, read it, seemed interesting and I decided to follow it here! And that is how I got my letter! Afterwards as if it was a sign from the divines, down the road heading to Darenby, I saw a few traveling merchants in need of help with their wagon and after helping them out, they agreed to let me ride along until this town.” She grinned happily, letting the cantrip stop and she returned to her meal.

Naivara watched the unfolding conflict with some concern. She had little to hide. She had nothing to hide. Unless overly long, potentially revolutionary summations about the nature, the true nature, of acorns were a dark secret. The young druid could not say that she was familiar with Zones of Truth, but she knew well enough that among some peoples and cultures it would be considered impolite to cast such spells without warning. Searching her own thoughts, Naivara could not find that she felt any great offense though. To be sure, it was better to ask before casting, but Marita seemed to possess a good heart, she seemed kind to Naivara. The cleric seemed eager to do something, anything, as soon as possible even, and often that was more than enough.

In all things, Naivara preferred to be direct and honest. She made no effort to hide her concern at the barbed words that were thrown about and the far more subtle comments, the true meaning of which she only faintly perceived, but in the end, to her great happiness, it seemed that posturing aside, there would be no great violence.

The matter of the additional letters was surprising, worrisome, and confusing in equal parts. Deferring to Hugh's clearly learned perspective, Naivara was left only more uncertain of what exactly was going on. It seemed deeply unlikely, even to one as unschooled in the ways of subterfuge as the elf that anyone would have sent out additional letters with good intentions...and yet it was as unclear why as this was unlikely what exactly a dastardly villain or villains would hope to accomplish by assembling an even greater number of adventurers.

Listening to the rapid-fire commentary and answers of Kosara, Naivara was glad that it appeared that a great number of her new companions were swift of thought and words. She had no such gifts when it came to talking and left on her own, Naivara feared that she might never manage half as much of a conversation. Uncertain of what to say about the many things the others said, Naivara simply nodded, and did her best to appear busy. When she spoke, she gestured towards the pile of letters that Hugh had collected, "I was given the letter by an old friend. A retired ranger of many years, Ral Redon. He said it was important, he said that people of Avonshire needed help. It did not seem important at the time to ask how he had acquired this letter. After all, Ral Redon is an honorable man, I have and would trust him with my life."

Stopping for a moment to sip at her fresh tankard of ale, a thoughtful frown danced across Naivara's brow as she pondered how to continue. Conversations were harder than she remembered. Hints of formal Elvish colored her words when she spoke again and it was clear to all that the druid was unhappy with the fresh uncertainty of their situation, "As I said earlier, receiving the letter was something of a surprise to me. I make no judgment of surprises, but it is rare for me to receive letters. I can write, but speaking plainly, I do not write overly much, and I spend little time corresponding with wise wizards or storied regional rulers. Furthermore, I keep no permanent home, I maintain no post box, and there was little reason for the Sheriff or anyone else to have expected me to encounter Ral Redon during this particular season. A number of people, mostly my friends, know that I would always help those in need, but I cannot say that my reputation extends far beyond the edges of the forest. Certainly, I had never met Gregory Arbalest before, and it has been some time since I last passed through these lands."

Everyone took to the zone of truth differently. Some were visibly stressed or upset, some decided to just roll with it and see where it went. Despite how many beers Kathryn has had through the night she was still very functional. She was still able to take note of Victoria's string of comments where she seemed to try and avoid answering the question as long as possible before giving a rather short but sweet answer. Some list of grievances, then an offering of butter. In that moment Kathryn had remembered the dinner she had ordered and was feeling peckish again. Kathryn took her rye slices and dipped them into the communal butter before taking her bread back and trying it. "Aye, it is pretty good." She dipped her bread into it again before adding some of her beans and cheese to the bread again. If there was anything to distract her from her worries it was food and beer.

Marita took a moment to also explain more about how the zone of truth works. The woman though a little blunt with her actions and reasoning seemed at the very least fair about it. She took a moment to apologize which Kathryn greatly appreciated. It gave Kathryn the impression the woman was reasonable. Even offered her own bit of private information in a retribution of sorts. Devil worshipers, followed up by a language she had no understanding of. But listening to it sent chills down her spine as she listened t the woman before her speak it. A voice that though commanding at times wasn't unpleasant to listen too now chilled her. Kosara was another story entirely.

The little tiefling had a lot to say about Hugh's choice words which did pull a chuckle out of Kathryn. Soon after Kathryn had complained about her lack of beer the woman had called out to order some more. "What a great idea!" thought Kathryn. "Aye, same here please. More beer 'ould be great!" She thought about her pronunciation with these words. Maybe she had more to drink then she thought. She'd be crawling off to bed soon enough, more beer wouldn't cause her too much here. What surprised Kathryn was that Kosara spoke that strange chilling language as Marita. What also surprised Kathryn was how Kosara got her letter. She had just... found it? Kathryn thought that was rather amusing. "You are one strange little horned lady." She said with an amused tone that totally wasn't influenced by the beer. She reached out to pat her head and stopped trying to figure out where on her head she could pat without getting her hand caught on the horns before deciding to hold off for now.

Naivara had a story much like Kathryn's. With the key difference being the letter was for Naivara from a good friend, where Kathryn got here's instead of her old friend. The woman also got a chance to explain a bit about her lifestyle which Kathryn found amusing. She did explain the how odd it was for her to receive the letter as she didn't make much of a name for herself and she wasn't the easiest person to find. Though the woman tended to lean more towards living with nature Kathryn couldn't help but making comparisons. The closest she had to a permanent home at the moment was an Inn she had stayed in more then others. It was a popular spot for Ser Nathan in his down time. He knew people there, it was a good place to pick up work, and it was about as far from her old home as she could be. "Welcome back to the lands then Naivara." Kathryn spoke in a welcoming manner.

Though there was some tension within the newly formed party it seemed it was reaching a settling point. The party was well rounded, and seemed like it could handle a great many challenges should the need arise.

Hugh felt a note of tension leave him, as the largest among them stopped visibly considering her weapons. It made plenty of sense for a self-proclaimed knight and/or soldier to be twitchy, but he also found himself disappointed by her at least somewhat reluctant acquiescence to the Cleric’s demands. Kathryn’s claims were neat and all, in line with his assumptions, and fairly exonerating if true, but… how in the hell was he supposed to be sure that she was telling the truth? After all, it was the Cleric’s spell, and they only had her word to go off of.

Victoria’s far chillier response, cloaked within a thin veneer of civility, was far more satisfying to behold. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if many at the table had picked up on the undertones of her deceptively pleasant statements, which was a shame, because the poisoned social well that was the offered food was glorious to behold, like seasoning atop the overall message. Her overall response was satisfactorily devoid of any new information. Whether that was because she had been truthful before or because she had managed to resist the magic was a mystery however. And one of her last statements...

“‘Everyone has to be at their best’, huh?” Hugh eyed the behemoth of a woman, who appeared to keep eyeing her empty mug somewhat forlornly. “Oi, soldier, Kathryn was it? You’re slurring a bit. Far be it from me to tell you what to do with yourself, but… Might want to slow down, so you don’t have to put up with a hangover tomorrow.” He shrugged, sipping his tea. “Never fancied the poison myself, so I can’t empathize. But mind your limits, eh? We’ve got a job to do.”

At Kosara’s interjection, Hugh snorted derisively into his tea and casually flipped her off with his free hand. “Tell you what, Pest. Out of courtesy, I’ll leave it up to your own imagination where you can take your platitudes and shove them. You don’t have any room to patronize me, when the Cleric is the one out of line here.” He rolled his eyes at her calls for more beer and scoffed, “And I rephrase: don’t encourage her. The last thing we need is hangovers being a bother in front of the client… Tch’, I don’t even want to think about how much alcohol it would take to get someone that large fully drunk.” He sighed, as Kathryn enthusiastically responded to Kosara’s thoughtless goading.

His left eye twitched at the tale of how the pale tiefling supposedly obtained her letter. If true, it was about in line with what he’d come to expect from her, whimsical and flighty absurdity. Assuming the veracity of the claim, it almost quite literally lined up with his first thought upon obtaining his own letter: that these absurd messages might as well have been tossed freely into the wind at random.

Naivara’s response was measured, almost like she was tasting each word before she spoke it. The elvish lilt to many of her words was expected; the fact that they were colored by almost overly formal -High even- elvish was a bit more surprising. He hadn’t even slightly taken her for someone with potentially noble heritage before, but then, appearances could be deceiving… The fact that she had a specific name to give, much like Kathryn, was encouraging, but equally baffling in combination with her own specific method of letter acquisition. If true, then he could still fairly safely assume her letter was a fake. She was, after all, pardon the pun, apparently incredibly green to investigative work, not the sort that the Sheriff would have reached out to actively… unless the letter was meant for the individual that foisted it off onto her?

It was a similar tale to Kathryn’s… even his own to some degree, he decided, as he polished off the rest of his pie and took a sip of his tea. To this day, he’d yet to discern how that utter fool had obtained the letter to begin with. Much like Kosara, the likes of him would only be hailed for this task by a fool, so Hugh could only assume that the foolish young noble’s father had been responsible. Perhaps it had been an attempt to teach him a lesson, to give the naive idiot some perspective on the real world? Whatever the case, it was unfortunately Hugh’s problem now. Though he’d not said it in so many words, he’d chosen to accept the lad’s last wish, to accept a dying man’s contract.

And Hugh Caphazath did not fail contracts. It was a matter of professional pride, a standard, a line in the sand. It kept him grounded, kept him focused, gave him a goal, a direction in life. If he abandoned a job at the first sign of trouble, then what kind of Bounty Hunter -person, even- would he be? If he allowed personal feelings to affect his job performance, then how could he have pride in his work?

More than that, if he chose to abandon this job, he would be making his first exception, except… Would it end there? After throwing away his oaths so easily simply because several of this number were the most odious individuals he’d ever had the displeasure to speak to, would he stop there, or would he throw away his pride on every future job the moment they became inconvenient for him?

No, he was better than that, better than them, but he apparently couldn’t say the same for the Cleric.

In fact, her response to his perfectly reasonable grievances made his blood boil.

Leave the table? Was she actually serious right now? And further, she implied that anyone who had the temerity to be rightfully incensed at her offense was implicitly lying or untrustworthy! “You must be joking. That is entirely beside the point. The one in the wrong here is you, and the fact that you didn’t drop your spell immediately tells me all I need to know about you.” He scoffed at her placations. “The one in control of the spell is you. The only middle-man is you. We have nothing but trust in you to go on when it comes to determining the veracity of each-other’s claims, and your actions let me know just how much your word is worth.”

He smirked wryly, glancing at the Bard. “Quite frankly, the blatant necromancer among us is looking more trustworthy than the Cleric, and I can’t even begin to start with how ridiculous that concept is… No offense,” he dryly shot Victoria’s way, before turning back to Marita. “All I’m hearing are excuses and justifications. Having a supposed partner for a job cast hostile magic on me without provocation or warning? I’ve never been so insulted! You’re so fucking lucky I made a promise, or I’d have gouged your eye out! And myself aside, I can only begin to describe how badly that could have gone. What were you even thinking, doing that to a group of other adventurers, who you don’t even know? The reaction from nearly any other group would have been, to say the least, volatile. You got so lucky that it’s unreal, and I can’t even begin to fathom what convinced you it was a good idea in the first place.”

Slugging back a swig of his waning tea supply, Hugh shot Marita a look of pure derision. “I don’t give a shit who your precious god is, nor should I need to. As for your little backstory, I couldn’t possibly care less. Those aren’t excuses for a lack of even the most basic courtesy, and that’s coming from someone who had a most likely objectively worse upbringing. Quite frankly, I was a borderline sociopath before I left my old life behind and became a bounty hunter some… six(?) years ago, and unlike you, I didn’t do it just because there was no other option. I made that choice of my own free will, had an attack of conscience if you will. I accept my mistakes. I acknowledge my faults, and I don’t pretend like they give me carte blanche to act as I please and fuck with other people’s minds.”

His glare was acerbic. “At the end of the day, talk is cheap; only actions have any bearing on how I perceive anyone’s true worth or character. And your calls for unity ring hollow in the face of your own actions.” He pointed at her, eyes narrowed. “Make no mistake, on a technical level, I can function in a team with you. I can fight beside you and do my part to resolve this contract in as equitable a manner as possible, but…” He scowled. “I despise arrogant people, who refuse to learn from their folly, and I hate more than anything else those that think they have the authority -the right- to strip the basic fundamental right of self-determination from others… no matter in what form or for what reason. I won’t forgive you, but I’ll tolerate your attack this once in light of your ignorance. However…” His expression closed off, as his body gave a final shudder of revulsion and rage. “Understand explicitly, that if you ever cast anything that isn’t healing magic on me again without my permission… Then you better pray to your god that you never make the mistake of sleeping near me, because you most certainly won’t be waking up again.”

He rolled his jaw and sipped the dregs of his tea, smiling coldly. “I rather hope that our positions are now transparently clear, Miss Barbel, because I normally wouldn’t even bother with a first warning. You’re really quite lucky that I honor my contracts so strictly. That said, I’ve no intention of allowing someone with your demeanor to slander our reputation by proxy; for all our sakes, I do hope you plan to do better with your position going forward. Despite perhaps initial appearances, I absolutely despise taking up troublesome leadership roles, but if needs must… I am greatly experienced at exactly that.” He shrugged. “Just don’t prove me right, hmm?”

As he polished off the last of his drink, Hugh couldn’t help a small upturn of his lips, as he slowly reconstructed his composure, steadily adapting his mask to the pressure of the magic. The vile spell had done a number on his mind, to his center. Certainly, he’d said more than he’d have ever preferred in any other circumstances, but then again, he’d never had to put up with someone as abjectly horrible as this Cleric. Honestly, what kind of supposedly “good” person ever needed to have such grievances explicitly spelled out for them? It was like dealing with a child with too much power and too few morals, which was somewhat ironic considering the presence of Kosara… and himself. It was abjectly baffling that someone like him, a murderous bounty hunter of all people, had to be the one preaching about basic morality to a Cleric, but these were strange times.

He glanced at his prospective compatriots thoughtfully.

The Mind-Rapist and the Pest were annoyances, but they were objectively manageable ones. He could tolerate them for this mission, if barely, but that would have to do.

Naivara, Kathryn and Victoria were all far more palatable to their own degrees, and no-one was more surprised about the last one than Hugh. Honestly, despite his words to the Cleric and their implications, he had every intention of laying the social groundwork for a potential coup from day one. He would not allow an arrogant fool to ruin them so early. Quite frankly, there was nothing worse than a bad leader, and these greenhorns didn’t deserve to be led to their dooms by such.

It was a genuinely baffling thing, he considered, to find that he cared.

Marita did her best to smile in return at Kosara's excitement. The infernal tongue was a curse on her existence and a mark of shame, but she didn't see it that way at all. From the way she spoke it was likely from a place of naivete, but at leas there was the small comfort that her second language could be spoken in a context unrelated to her past. That short-lived attempt at friendliness died when Hugh started yelling and making a scene again. Despite her best efforts it appeared as though she would not be able to smooth over the situation with the amount of courtesy at her disposal.

"I cannot undo the spell. It doesn't work like that. When you strike someone can you unpunch them? When you pour a drink onto the floor can you return it all to your cup? Can you return the words you speak to your mouth? There are spells where you must actively maintain their effects that can be consciously dropped; Zone of Truth is not one of them. If I had the capability I would have removed the spell as soon as I came to realize my mistake."

"You speak nobly of the right of self-determination, but by your words heavily imply that you are a killer. Zone of Truth does not compel behavior. While in the Zone you can think what you like. You can determine all the falsehoods you wish to speak, if you wish to only reveal part of the truth in a misleading fashion or whether or not you even wish to speak, as you have chosen when it comes to the topic of where and how you obtained your letter. All this area does is prevent you from speaking the lie. When you take a life, as you claim to be able to do so easily, that person did not decide to die. They can no longer determine anything, and you stripped that of them. For one who professes to detest arrogance, you sure think highly of yourself and speak with authority on matters of which you do not possess the knowledge. You broadcast it with every move you make and word you utter. You can breathe a sigh of relief because I have no desire to meddle with your sorry little mind. And unlike you, I will forgive you for acting like you know me and threatening cold-blooded murder."

Marita couldn't believe the nerve of this guy. She admitted she was at fault and did her best to explain succinctly how to mitigate the effects of the spell but he only doubled down on the insults and obscenities. On top of that he had to add low-key blasphemy onto the pile. It was like he was looking for reasons to be angry and add to a mental feedback loop of how right he was. Marita had hoped to quickly resolve the issue, but at this rate to prove her dedication she would have to resort to that and she would really rather to avoid having to go to such extreme measures. Marita sighed before speaking up again.

"Anyways since we have almost everyone's stories on how they acquired their letters we can try to draw some conclusions. About half of us seem to have gotten letters meant for a specific person. Perhaps the original recipient of Kosara's letter threw it away of disinterest, or maybe that person she saw pass was the culprit behind this particular mystery, or they could simply have been another messenger. And in Victoria's case I suppose it could be interpreted either way as meant for her, or perhaps handing out letters to someone who looks like an adventurer."

"As the numbers play out, were I, Naivara and Ser Lucas the original three that Sheriff Gregory was trying to contact? Probably not, the nature of Victoria's message calls it into question as does Naivara's. If Alastor, Mona and Jorlton were still here we could ask them, but who knows where they're off to now. Depending on the answer, whoever is responsible for these extra letters were either handing them out haphazardly, or they have a very detailed information network to be able to determine our identities, where we were and who we trusted enough to be used as a contact. I'm inclined to believe it's the latter." Marita shifted in her seat and thought a moment more.

"Earlier Hugh" Marita spoke his name without injecting it with venom even though she really wanted to, "posited a hypothesis that the one sending the letters might be Gregory himself. I'm not so sure about that. While it is true that he possesses access to information most do not due to his position and background, he certainly would not likely know of me. I am not from this locality. I do not bill myself as an adventurer. I usually do not undertake these kinds of tasks and I'm not a troublemaker who has run-ins with the law. Furthermore, he appears to be a man of strong will, I don't think he would be susceptible to enchantment or mental unwellness to have been the one responsible for the current situation. That said, it still might be the case, and this entire mission has been compromised at every level. Until we can ask the man ourselves who his letters were intended to find, I think it best that we assume that every one of us had a false letter."

"Perhaps the most troubling question of all now is why us? If I was sending out false invitations to undermine an investigation, I wouldn't send the letters to the people here. There's too much experience at the table." The best she could hope for in regards to this infuriating question was that they'd be able to apprehend the culprit directly, or in an unfavorable environment, those reasons would become self evident.

The continuing discussion, with its new qualities of volume and tone, and drew attention from many of the remaining patrons of The Infamous Pear. One table of off-duty soldiers paid a little more attention but did not go for their weapons as of yet. It seemed that colorful discourse was par for the course in places like this, as anyone who had been in town for more than a couple of days might attest. Regardless, attention had been drawn, if not swords.

The proprietors, Laurel and Hardy both, noted this and decided that this was an appropriate time to interject with a little official business. As Mr. Hardy prepared another round of drinks for the lot of those at the Adventurers' Table, the more diminutive but somewhat more socially adept Mr. Laurel approached the table, a bright smile on his face the belied an expression of muted anxiety. "Hello!" he began, pulling an unoccupied chair from a table nearby and climbing up onto it to better address the much taller people at the table. A final grunt put him on his feet, even at this point he was only a head above the average seated person (except for Kathryn, obviously). Speaking of the vertically gifted lady, upon seeing that they were about eye level while she was sitting down and he was standing in a chair, Guido let out an involuntary whisper of "...tall..." before snapping back to his best approximation of a customer service smile.

More officially now, he spoke, "Gentle ladies and sir, a scant moment of your attention please. A-Thank you. You see, there was an unexpected, um, factor when our noble Sheriff made his bookings, but don't worry! The staff of The Infamous Pear shall take care of you admirably, I assure you!" He did seem very optimistic about whatever he was trying to say. "Overbooking is such a tragedy. There's no need for any of us to sleep in a stable tonight, oh no." He paused and glanced about the table, waiting to see how the joke was received by the irregular group of armed, magic using, loud people in front of him. Shaking it off, he continued, "I have had the unique honor of shuffling a couple of our guests about so that we have two rooms available for all of you; the first two on either side as you ascend the stairs. Now, an asture observer (as I know you all are!) might notice that one room has three beds and the other has but two. I shall personally see to the appropriation of a fine garrison cot with a lovely goose-down cushion for one lucky, lucky person - whomever wishes to claim it for their own!" His head bobbed with pure positivity. "Or however you decide to divvy up your numbers. In essence, three to a room, none of that provincial 'common room' headache from us, no indeed! And of course, for the evening, the bill has already been settled. I do hope you enjoy your stay with us."

As an afterthought, Guido added, "The sun is down, the lights are up, and the labor of the day is done. This is the time when this establishment becomes busy for a time. I mention this with no stress or enticement in mind, only to let you know that the taproom may become much more occupied shortly. Please let me know if you need anything else; refreshments, your bags handled, etc." He gave a bow and hopped back down, scuttling off with his chair dragging behind him just in time for Owen to arrive with the tray of beverages.

Owen began passing them out with skill demonstrating decades' worth of booze-slinging prowess, giving little mental notations as he went along. "Ale... tea... mulled wine... here, here, and... there we are." He even switched out the pitcher of cool, clear water in the middle of the table next to the communal bread & butter, should anyone prefer it. "Whenever any of you are ready, that is, if you should happen to require it (and not to say that you can't handle things on your own, mind you, ma'ams and sir, I'm sure you're all highly capable folk), I would be very happy - happy - to show you to your rooms; now or whenever you have decided how you'll be splitting up the accommodations, of course." He looked hesitant, but quickly assured the persons present, "Oh! And never you concern yourself with ...other things... MUM is still the word, you see." He gave a conspiratorial nod and backed up a pace, giving a little distance but ready in case anyone took him up of his offer.

True to the words of Mr. Laurel, the door opened, admitting not just a draft of chill autumn night air but a trio of people who resembled tradesmen. They made their way up to the bar for the Halfling to take their drink orders. The door opened again to admit another local, this one by himself. The place took on the atmosphere of a brief pause before a coming rush.

Kosara listened to the elf woman’s retelling of her story on how she got the letter. It was pretty classical one she supposed. They knew she’d be wanting to help, so a letter got to her one way or another. In this case it was through a friend. Still a forest hermit of sorts was not something she had imagined meeting. She had heard the tales of the fabled druids of the forests, but never actually met one. Supposedly there were maybe Druids of the desert out there somewhere, but she never found one and the ones from the forest had little reason to come to the desert oasis where she lived.” Well, I for one am glad to have you along, Naivara! I too like helping people in need when I’m able to! I certainly wish that we eventually become friends!”

She chuckled at Kathryn’s attempts at giving her head pats. Yes the horns were usually the first barrier in the way that stopped people in their tracks until they figure out how to maneuver their arms through the horns. It wasn’t that hard for regular people, especially women since their arms were smaller in general, however because of the warrior woman’s sheer size, that made it rather hard. Still, she supposed next time she should turn her head to the side, to allow Kathryn to pat her properly. She gave the woman look that signified they weren’t done with this and there will be time to continue in the future… well a look couldn’t say out all that, she just gave a very happy look. She enjoyed the attention ,alright? Headpats were good.

The white teifling attention snapped in Hugh’s direction at his words. She listened to his entire rant. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her visage resembled that of an angry cat… or maybe it was a kitten? In any case, her pale white eyes glared at him through her narrowed eyelids and her usual cheery smile was replaced by an almost hissing and baring her teeth expression.” ‘PEST’? Admittedly as far as name calling goes, I’ve heard way more creative ones, but something as degrading as that? Comparing me to the annoying flies that pester the animals in the heat!? You dare when, I just critiqued your choice of language!?” She hissed at him, pointing her form at the human male.” I’m of half a mind to exact delicious vengeance on you for this, however seeing this is neither the time, nor the place, I will refrain! However bare this in mind, if you do so one more time, I will not be as understanding of the situation. I do not mind silly nicknames or aliases, but something that degrades like that, I will not stand! I will not hurt you, however I will make sure you don’t have a nice time.”

She let out a snort at his statement of taking the leadership role.” Sure, maybe you can order people about competently, but it won’t be leading them. Leading should be way more than that. So far you’ve displayed no actual qualities in leadership as far as I’m concerned.” She stated flatly, resuming munching on her dinner. She didn’t even bring up the topic of necromancy and how not all should be bundled up under the same banner. Mostly cause she didn’t want to speak to him any further right now. Though it was a topic to be brought up at a future date. As for leadership… well the fact that he claimed to have taken leadership before and was still out and about to a new group, showed more than enough to Kosara. He was emotional, irritable and clearly a danger, given the ease he threw death threats about.

Her attention moved back to Marita.” I think we should honestly drop the talk about the letters for the time being.” She stated and looked at the Cleric and the rest of the table, even Hugh.” We are wasting, energy and nerves on a topic we know too little about to even make an educated guess. Sir Arbalest the potential Arbalest didn’t even specify whom it was that the original letters were being send off to, so we don’t actually have anything to go on by even. It is pointless to dwell on a topic that we’ve got no leads on currently. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening and rest. We will be able to pick up back the issue of the letters as the investigation continues. It’s clearly tied in to the quest, the clues will be along the way, not in logical leaps that cannot be proven or disproved.” The tiefling said, giving everybody a glance. She may be a bit easily distracted, freegoing and energetic at times, maybe even childish, but she wasn’t stupid. She had her own methods and her own logic, thus she explained her complete lack on things to say earlier about the letters topic.

At the sudden greeting, she looked at Laurel and her expression turned back to her cheerful smile.” Mr. Laurel, hello too!” She greeted back with a grin and nodded as he began speaking. So there were arranged bedding for them! That was great, an assured room to stay. it’s been a while and she wouldn’t have to tap into what was left of her traveling money. In turn she’d be able to buy more supplies at a later date instead!” Thank you, Mr. Laurel!” She told him as he finished his speech. Sure enough people were beginning to gather!

Suddenly Kosara’s eyes took on a bit of a calculating and mischief.” Hmm, with a full tavern later… This might be a fine time to make some money here before calling it a night.” She spoke aloud, looking to the rest of the people at the table before stopping on V.” What do you think, V? A popular with the locals tavern is a fine place to perform to my understanding, sure the payout might be lower than one where rich travelers stay, but there’s something to be said about the places like this.”

"Thank you for your accommodations," Marita replied to Guido. Truth be told, she was more thankful that the halfling stopped the argument from going farther. She could easily see it lasting all night while getting nothing done. "I'll be able to handle my things, but if you had any paper or similar on hand so I could save this custard and bread for later, that would be great." She turned to address Victoria.

"Victoria, before everyone retires for the night, I have something I would like to discuss with you in private. It'll only be a few minutes. The rest of you can go ahead and sort out bedroom arrangements. No need to wait for me, if that's fine with you, Victoria. I'll sleep on the cot so don't worry about who has to take that." Marita did her best to sound pleasant despite the lingering heat from the night's events, but who knew how effective she was at that even at the best of times.

Caution was the first feeling to pass over Victoria. There were a very few number of organized churches, and by extension representatives therefrom, that requested a quiet conversation of her with something pleasant in mind. Marita did not belong to any of these. Curiosity came next, which for Victoria had the tendency to be the determining factor. Her life might have been very different otherwise. A polite expression colored her features as she responded, "Certainly," in a warm, melodic voice. She nodded toward the empty section at the bar nearby, suggesting, "I'm not turning in for a while, and I could use another nightcap after ...all that... just earlier. Join me at the bar?" Victoria did not wait for a response, instead rising from her chair with her goblet and striding to the spot she had pointed out. This otherwise fluid motion was accented by a tiny pause, whereupon she looked to her gaunt, eerily still Morty, who she quietly bid, "Stay," with a mischievous smile.

Marita wordlessly got up as well, and took her bag. She gave Morty a look before following the bard to the bar, taking the left spot. She heaved a long sigh, the pressure of the group dynamic lifted from her shoulders. She looked down at the woodgrain of the bar as she waited for Victoria to take her seat and order, trying to properly organize her thoughts. After a long moment she looked the other woman in the eye before speaking.

"I get it." Marita begins, her face reading more conflicted and perhaps a tad distraught rather than the various flavors of anger that had seemed to be the norm up until now. "Having to hide who you are and what you believe because the society you're in disapproves. Knowing that if word got out you'd become a pariah, little more than a monster. I know what you do, and personally, I don't like it. However, more important is the sanctity of faith. Even if you don't worship the names you threw out before, I imagine you still have faith in your music and your craft. What I'm trying to say is... I won't get in your way. As long as you're not hurting anyone or breaking the law," the implication here being more towards the graverobbing end of things rather than necromancy as a whole if the local law dictates the practice unlawful, "you're free to practice your craft around me and I won't say a thing. I do have a personal request to ask though."

Befitting her nature, Victoria kept her composure both personable and neutral. She listened politely, taking a small sip of her wine as Marita spoke. To her mind, the Cleric seemed to be projecting a bit. Or searching for common ground. Or both. But Victoria did finally respond, saying, "The names I spoke, I venerate. I learn from their teachings, or at least the storied word of them. And yes, there are many who find it terribly offputting. Many of these same people might specifically request my services when a loved one, or person of respect passes into the next world. I play music which can uplift the sentient soul and transform raw grief into a sense of wonder surrounding the mysteries of the veil between the tangible and the divine. I speak words of eulogy which bring acceptance and comfort, regardless of the faith of the departed. And I do so with the solid impartiality of graveyard soil." Another sip to properly wet her throat and she continued, be it with a bit more mercenary a tone, "And sometimes I am paid handsomely to do it. Now, I appreciate this olive branch - don't get me wrong. But what bothers you; indeed what bothers many, is the proclivity of my Art to manipulate the flows of life and entropy." The smile returned, and Victoria pointed at her porcine companion, near the corner of the room. "Like Morty!" Returning her gaze to Marita, Victoria evenly inquired, "So now that we better understand each other, what was that personal request?"

"It does bother me, and while I could bring up ethical or spiritual reasons for it, it's not really the point and I'm sure you've heard them all before. The request is that if you need to do this... manipulation for some reason or another while we're working together that you avoid doing it on humanoids. At least those that are mostly intact. To tell you the truth, when it's a person I think it's really creepy and gross," Marita's voice cracked at that part. When she realized what happened, she cleared her voice and regained her composure before continuing. "Sorry if that was rude."

Victoria couldn't help but giggle. "Humanoids... Hmm," she started, this point giving her something to consider. "My ability to give animation to things once alive is limited." She gave a shrug, "For now, anyway. Morty there is about as good as I can accomplish. But, I will compromise." It was something that she was comfortable doing, compromise. "The teachings of The Raven Queen forbid raising intelligent Undead, and the words of the White Book of Wee Jas strictly prohibit the animation of sentients unless their remains are lawfully obtained. I will adhere to those philosophies for the extent of this job. In addition to my personal limitations, this should be a good middle path nearer to your views." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand while taking another sip from her goblet, then declared, "Besides, Necromancy isn't just about walking corpses. Its about spiritual energy and life forces. I can close wounds. Obscure the senses of the Undead. Cause otherworldly whispers to flood the mind of the unwary. In time I can potentially do so much more that has nothing to do with an army of undead thralls. Anyway, I can abide by the terms above for now, if this makes you feel better. We do have to maintain a working relationship, you know."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Marita's conflicted look melted away, leaving her looking far more composed. She didn't exactly appear happy, but she looked dangerously close to content. "And I am aware that Necromancy is a more nuanced school of magic than is commonly given credit for. I actually have one ready at my disposal at the moment, but your pet showed me that you were willing to use its most infamous tool at its disposal. I'm not sure how many others at the table are aware of it yet, but I didn't want a loud reaction to tip off the rest of the bar and potentially cause a far more immediate problem on our hands. If you have anything you would like to ask of me, I'm more than willing to hear it out. It's only fair, of course. Something other than not Turning something you've animated or suddenly casting something like Zone of Truth again, I've certainly learned my lesson there."

"Ask of you?" began Victoria, clapping a hand on Marita's shoulder. "Let us ford that river when we come to it, hmm?" She wasn't sure if the part about tipping off the rest of the bar was supposed to be leverage, or caution. Benefit of the doubt might be in order. She ignored the mention of the Zone of Truth, instead changing topic to something with a built-in means of egress. "This place is getting busier. I don't know about you, but I feel a song's swift approach with wings of gossamer silk. If you will excuse me?" Victoria's eyes went to where she stored her violin, a performer's smile broadening on her mixed-sylvan features.

"For the time being, let's just say that I owe you one. And go ahead, you talked a big game earlier, I'm interested to see how you really perform." Marita turned around in her seat to follow Victoria's position and crossed her legs. If she was as skilled as she claimed to be, the cleric would have liked to have a glass of wine to go along with it, but she had gotten this far into the night without touching drink, and it would be a shame to break that record now. Besides, Greggory was already paying so much for room and board tonight, the least she could do was not add to that further.

The call from Kosara to perform, just prior to the private conversation with Marita, did not fully leave her mind regardless of the situational importance of the talk with the lady Cleric. This was partly what Victoria had in mind when she said that she felt a song's swift approach, though to be quite frank she'd rather get a set of her own in before taking on a partner. Again, Victoria's penchant for compromise when it was necessary came into play here. She wasn't wandering on the road by herself at the moment and needed to maintain decent relations with the people with whom she would embark on this little adventure. And of course, the goading (if that's what it was) from Marita would have to be answered with an example of her Epic Bard-ness, such as it was.

To Victoria, the way she spoke about her music wasn't so much of a brag, though she did have occasion to do this, as it was an explanation of the type of music which served her Bardic College. In her case, the College of the Grey Requiem (which was referred to by the uninitiated as the College of Necromancy but was in fact an offshoot of Lore) taught a performer various styles, both sorrowful and joyous, based around funerary customs. However, this most certainly did NOT mean that she couldn't pack a tavern. Or a music hall. Or an arena, if she got enough advance notice. And so, she strode over to her violin case and reverently removed the rich, polished wooden stringed instrument. The bow slid from the back of the violin, soundlessly and effortlessly molding into Victoria's hand like it belonged there, just as much as a sword in the hand of a duelist. She looked to Kosara, speaking the terms of her compromise, "I shall perform the first one solo, if this doesn't bother you too much. It should bring in a decent enough amount of folk, who might then become entranced by your rhythmic steps of the southern deserts while in greater spirits." There wasn't a pause to converse on the plan so much as it was a statement for her information - Victoria was doing her own thing first. Hopefully the explanation would suffice.

The fire in the hearth at the back of the stage was starting to catch a little brighter, giving the tap room a nice, homey feel. Victoria took her hat from the table and placed it toward the front of the stage, should any generous patron with to throw in a coin (or another suspicious letter for an adventure, like the last time). Before climbing up, the optimistic Bard removed her close-fitting purple coat to more fully reveal black silks underneath, and moved her silver raven's skull brooch to pin it thereupon. Red-auburn hair flowed to one side, pinned up on the other to better accommodate her instrument beneath her chin. She was a woman of svelte frame, slender and dexterous while still maintaining the ideal of an unmistakably feminine figure, with bright eyes and an infectious smile. This demeanor, these mannerisms; it was hard to say whether it was intended as part of a coming performance or simply her natural state of existence. Such was the life of a Bard.

Victoria brought herself up to the stage with practiced grace, holding her violin with reverence. She made an overt flourish with the bow, catching the attention of some of the inn's patrons, who in turn motioned to others. The flourish then turned into practiced motions, as a conductor might move a baton. Trails of magic seemed to blur the clearer lines of reality around the violin bow, then the lady wielding it, and soon a pulsing rhythm of sound swelled from behind Victoria. Musical accompaniment, at once distant and easily perceived, crystalized even before she pulled her bow across the strings of her instrument. The song she began cut through the air and filled the senses of those present, its notes reaching out from the confines of The Infamous Pear and into the streets beyond. As the dulcet sounds solidified into a grand performance, Victoria began to move and sway along with it.

Victoria could dance, and in fact danced with an amazing degree of proficiency, made more impressive by the observation that she simultaneously, flawlessly played her violin, never missing so much as a single note. The dance was not a structured set of choreographed steps, but, like the nature of Bardic magic, felt like movement spontaneously directed by the music of the moment. It was sensual acrobatics put to music, tastefully performed to demonstrate mastery of self, mastery of instrument, and mastery of the crowd which was by this time starting to enter The Infamous Pear in earnest, having heard the first notes from the street and stood compelled to find the source of the dulcet, soul-calling sounds. Victoria owned the stage, as if she had laid the polished planks herself and lovingly carved each joint which held it together. The townsfolk of Darenby could only look upon her with stunned, enchanted silence.

Until, of course, the first percussion of applause broke this silence. Then it exploded into a cacophony of approval. Victoria bowed, giving the appropriate demonstrations of gratitude. While the applause started to die down, Victoria motioned to Kosara and declared over the noise of the patrons, "If you were looking for an audience, Warlock, I have found one for you." She smiled, again weaving the minor magics which brought about an otherworldly accompaniment of rhythm. For one versed in the music, this was the opening to a piece influenced by, if not exactly, a traditional style of the southern deserts. Victoria supplemented the appropriate pauses of her violin as the song progressed with melodic vocalizations, showing decided proficiency for the art. For this song, she kept her movements more subdued. The goal was to draw attention to the dancer more than herself. A good performer, in her experience, knows when and when not to take center stage. This highlighted the dances native to Kosara's culture, not her own.

This time, when the applause occurred, Victoria likewise took up clapping and cheering, motioning toward the pale Tiefling lady to ensure praise outwardly flowed in her direction. This also gave her an opportunity to, now that fewer eyes were upon her, to see how many (if any) coins of the realm were deposited in her hat. Her mind went back to a similar performance a couple of days ago, dredging up a little anxiety as to what she might do if there really was a letter left there.

Kosara was very impressed with V’s skills when it came to playing the violin. It was a foreign to her instrument, but she could appreciate it’s charm still, since there were similar ones down south. The sound was very pleasant and the skills that made it work were superb. She knew well her own skill in the musical instrument of her choice, one she had to learn back home, wasn’t quite to match V’s. Still as the bard was slowly drawing her performance to a close, the white tiefling prepared for the second part of the performance where she was going to join.

She carefully put her bag on the chair as she stood up and also took off her cloak from her shoulders, revealing herself in her dancing costume. She really had to change in her traveling clothes for tomorrow though. The few days of comfortable wagon ride with warm furs had fooled her in her estimation of exactly how chilled the local weather gets this far north. In any case, she made sure her braid was tightly secured and pulled her face veil that she placed and carefully set on her face, hiding her face from the eyes down to a degree. It was the purpose of the veil, making yourself more alluring and mysterious. As V was finishing her piece, Kosara pulled the final part of the costume which was a sort of waist scarf made out of veil cloth and covered with dozens of dozens of copper metal pieces that were smaller and thinner than coins. Elite dancers oftentimes carried such of gold or silver, she wasn’t one, so she had a copper one instead. Part of her dream of traveling the world, exploring and writing it all down, was to maybe along the way collect enough coin to get one commissioned, but that wasn’t here nor now.

“ Thank you.” She spoke to V as the woman gave her the ‘go ahead’ to begin. Everything seemed to go well so far, but once the performance itself began, Kosara found herself at a bit of a tight place and by that she meant literally. It only just occurred to her that in difference to the taverns and inns back home, the places here didn’t have usually a dedicated open space for dancing of her type. As the music played, Kosara did her best to dance within the avaible confines, her dances focusing heavily on the shaking of the hips, seductive movements of the torso, movements of the hands and spins. Because of the fact she didn’t count in the space before she thought up which dance to perform, she found herself missing a few beats here and there, she almost tripped over a foot at one point, but barely salvaged it, though it broke the rythm of her moves once more. In fact it appeared it was mostly missed because of V, she took the limelight once more to cover for her, mouthing to her that she could do this! Showed the bard’s skills and character! Screw Hugh and his necromantic biases. The dancer was very glad and as the performance began to draw to a close, she regretted not performing to her best abilities tonight. She was infinitely grateful to V for her help and swore to herself that she will resume her training later. Maybe she spend too much time traveling and too little dancing lately.

In the end as the music slowed down to a stop, she gave a theatrical bow, before pulling away and to V.” Thank you. For your help, really.” She said quietly to the bard in her most grateful voice she could make.” If you’d like, I’m fine with you keeping whatever was earned tonight. I understand my failings of what happened. It was my first performance in the North and I didn’t judge the stage space right.” She added quietly so only the bard could hear her.” Still, it was an incredible pleasure to dance to your music, if it’s not against you, I could teach you some more songs from the South later if you’d like to expand your repertoire? May not look like it, but I do play an string instrument too, just it was too big to carry on my travels.” She whispered, still smiling to the people around as she took of her veil that covered the lower portion of her face. She wasn’t expecting miracles from their earnings tonight, suspected to an average performance like this, it would mostly come from the novelty of it all.

It seemed things at the table were getting tense. Marita's actions have caused retaliation actions from Hugh who seemed to be quickly losing his chill. Kathryn did take note of Hugh's comment about her drinking, even after she requested more. "It's gonna take more t'en a couple fist fulls of beer to bring me down." He did have legit concerns though. They were on a job, and if Kathryn kept drinking like this then she had little confidence in being able to hold her own in a fight. At this moment? Sure. In the morning? She held little concerns for hangovers and had needed considerably more alcohol for it to be a real concern. But there was no reason to test her luck now. Kathryn did tense up when Hugh called Kosara a pest. Was the timing of her comment great? No. But there was a more appropriate response then his follow up rant. Kathryn about stood up to call Hugh out, only being stopped by Kosara herself explaining the issues at hand. Kathryn wanted to step in and stop things from getting worse, but this area was not her strong suit. She had one real skill to her name outside of how much alcohol she could take. And it was being a mass of steel and muscle that was extremely difficult to bring down. It was moments like this where she wished she payed better attention to how Ser Lucas handled situations outside of the job proper.

Marita and Hugh went at it for a long while before things seemed to settle. Hugh made a comment about a leadership role and it made Kathryn think. Most jobs she has worked it had been with people who normally assigned ranks near the beginning of the quests or mission. Even then, she rarely found herself ranking higher then new recruits. "Let's see how tomorrow pans out before we decide who's leadin' who." Marita then took some time to further explain their situation at hand. The concern then being why the extra letters? And why them? "Experience yes, but how many of us are properly qualified for the job? I've pulled a fair share of guard duty, but I am still pretty new to a lot of this stuff. And Ser Lucas..." She hesitated before continuing. "He had a lot of his own issues for a while now. Or it could be..." She debated the words in her head. Maybe the alcohol was getting to her. "What if someone along the line of messaged letters wanted to get a bunch of specific people here who were not on the original roster?" She shrugged and did a little drunken chuckle. "But them's just be the thoughts of some drunken girl." Her chuckles continued a bit as she drank some more of her beer.

Kathryn gave a thanks to Mr. Hardy as he to them more drinks, and listened closely as Mr. Laurel spoke. At the tall comment Kathryn just grinned and spoke softly. "Aye." Room and board was explained, seemed strait forward overall. The only thing that made Kathryn uncomfortable was the fact that they would be sharing rooms. She supposed that should be expected considering the size of the party, and these were free rooms. The look of concern on her face at the comment was visible none the less. He explained some more details which gave Kathryn time to process her current situation. "I think I got my own thangs but thank ya very much for tha offer." She in this case was more worried for the poor halfing attempting to carry her pack of heavy junk and tools.

Victoria and Marita stepped off away from the table for a bit. Kathryn wondered what that was about, but as she wasn't the sneakiest of their party by any definition (Unless stepping on someone and putting them into a coma counted as stealth) she figured listening in wasn't going to do much for her either. They returned soon enough, and when they did Victoria and Kosara planned out a plan to perform for the tavern which Kathryn did admit sounded interesting but after continuing to down the new beers she wasn't sure how much she could stick around for. Kathryn found herself enjoying the music, as Victoria played and Kosara danced. She had to admit, it was not a common show for her to see but it did remind herself of a few of the places Ser Lucas would visit when Kathryn was growing up. Now that she thought about it, Kosara reminded Kathryn of some of the woman Ser Lucas would leave her with when he took jobs she was too young to join him on. The small tiefling seemed to struggle at times with her performance, but in the end pulled it off. With it coming to an end, she figured this was probably the best time to finish her food and beer off and crash in the comfy inn's beds.

The half giant of a woman downed her remaining beer and crammed what food was left on her plate before leaving for bed. Kathryn stood up and waited a moment to see if she would get dizzy. To her relief she was still steady and felt she still had most of her ability to function as a sober-ish person. Kathryn walked over to Kosara and Victoria. "Good Job ya two. T'was a good show." She went to scruff up Kosara's hair before going to bed, stopping again noticing the horns and stopped. Then decided petting the horns worked fine. She then turned to Victoria who stood almost two feet below her and scruffed her hair too. "Goooood night." She paused a moment realizing she may be slurring a bit. Maybe Hugh was right and she did have a few too many drinks. Oops.

She grabbed her bag and gear and walked her way towards the bedroom. In her tired drunken state each step sounded closer to a really slow paced march with the chain mail making it's own sets of noise with every step then a tired young girl making her way to a comfortable bed. Marita had already claimed the cot, so when Kathryn got to the top of the stairs and checked the two rooms she figured it didn't matter too much which one she took. She took a left and entered the two bedded bedroom and dropped her gear next to the bed. Then a dilemma came. She was comfortable with these new people, but was she comfortable enough to share an unprotected room with them? She wondered if sleeping in her armor was an acceptable option in this case either? She decided against it as she had been on the road a while, and not getting a good night's rest would likely only make things worse. She did however take her bedroll out of her bag to add more layers onto her bed. After doffing her armor she crawled into the bed furthest from the door with her long sword in it's sheath under the covers with her, and her two hand axes resting on the bedside by the bed. Once settled she wrapped herself and her sword up tightly, stretched, and found the next problem of her night. She grunted in frustration as her feet poked several inches out from the base of the bed. "Foeken' 'Ell." She knew this was a possibility, but it didn't make it much better. Rolled up into a newer fetal position which despite being less comfortable she was still covered in her many layers of blankets and bedding. Now with her shield resting comfortably-ish at her feet.

Marita was no stranger to watching performers do their work for crowds. She had seen quite a range of them in fact, from humble street acts to renowned entertainers known at even the highest levels of society. Even in her growing days her community had their showmen, and it wasn't so different to what others in so-called civilized society were accustomed to. She had seen men juggle flaming swords with one hand, listened to bawdy comedians bring entire bars of sailors to tears, attended the concerts of master composers and been witness to lavish theaters where actors played out tales of great sorrow and fortune.

And yet, Victoria was among one of the best performers she had seen. She wasn't the best; it wasn't mere envy and pride that kept her out of that position, Marita had seen some performances whose effect on the crowd could be considered a near divine revelation, but she was up there. In the top 10 at the lowest. When one watched high level instrumental play, it was evident how much physical effort went into the performance, and to see this woman play as well as she did as well as dance along with it was a sight to behold. When the crowd erupted in applause, she joined along with them, for the first time that night looking genuinely impressed. Unlike the rowdier elements in the tavern she didn't holler or hoot, but she clapped as well as she could with gauntlets on.

When Kosara went on, Marita watched with a fair degree of interest. She could tell that the tiefling was indeed fairly skilled but something seemed off. Maybe she wasn't feeling it mentally after the night's events, or she had misjudged something. The cleric wasn't overly familiar with these sorts of practices on the technical level, but especially after the display that Victoria had put on, she couldn't help but feel as if it were something of an anti-climax. Still, after the performance was through she politely clapped so as to respect her teammates as professionals, but at this point her expression had shifted back to its more usual expression of vague irritation and judgment.

With the performances over, Marita returned to the table to collect her things, making sure to put the leftovers somewhere in her bag where they would not get crushed.

"I'll also turn in for the night as well. I shall see you come tomorrow morning." Offering everyone a brief wave farewell, the cleric made her way up to the second floor behind Kathryn. She noted that the massive woman opted to take the room with fewer beds, making them roommates. The cleric did her best to ignore Kathryn's nightly ritual, if one could call it that. She had her own to worry about after all. Even still, she couldn't help but notice the near-excess of armaments and how she had to roll up into a ball to even fit on the bed properly. Another drawback of being taller than ninety-nine per cent of the population.

Marita began her own nighttime ritual by removing her armor, folding the mail neatly and setting it next to the cot and placing her belongings on top. Then she changed to her pajamas: fine linen robes that were sturdy and inexpensive enough that she did not mind wearing them in less ideal environments. Doing so required her to strip bare for a minute, but she didn't mind. The only ones here were girls, and the half-giant likely wasn't in a situation to ogle even if she were the sort to do something so untoward. Next, she brought out a soft cloth and a small bottle of cleansing oil, which she used to scrub off all the make up on her face. It was much faster than putting it on, but she still took her time, making sure to be as thorough as possible, lest some remain to clog up her pores and create unsightly acne in the morning.

Fourth, she made sure to thoroughly stretch to get as relaxed as she could get before finally coming to her nightly prayer. Marita knelt before the window and did her best to face the moon in the night sky. Pholtus was as much a lunar god as he was solar. With Kathryn in the room trying to sleep, Marita opted to worship silently, so as not to disturb.

There was a set of standard prayers to pay tribute that she performed as a matter of ritual, but she also prayed for more specific and personal matters. Guidance on the mission. To give her the proper judgment in handling the rest of her party members, such that she would be able to act in such a way for everyone to work as a true unified unit. Hoping that she had made the right call in trusting Victoria, massive omen that the bard presented and finally that all those who had been spirited away would be able to return to their homes intact and of sound mind. With everything taken care of, she got in the very fine garrison cot and did her best to get comfortable and sleep before the big day ahead.

Fervently overwhelmed by the bandied words and excess socialization, Naivara chose the most druidic option and simply observed as barbs were traded and tempers flared, if momentarily. Nursing a third flagon of ale that she had somehow acquired with an accidental wave of a hand, Naivara watched the musical performance that Victoria put as if spellbound. Despite her rustic surroundings, Naivara loved all things cultural and artistic. It was her great sorrow that bears and badgers had not yet embraced the finer aspects of musical theater. One day perhaps, one day. She listened with eyes closed, head bobbing slowly as she followed the sweet, sometimes haunting strings the bard so eloquently and expertly pulled. She felt a swelling in her heart, a warmth, a revelation, the sort of wonderful merriment that was so rare to find when she was enshrouded in the bustle of civilization.

While it was impossible for her to miss some performance anxiety on the part of the resident tiefling, Kosara, Naivara still found her dancing wonderful. The young druid practically jumped with glee as the performance unfolded and she struggled once more to not clap earlier than was appropriate. Downing what remained of her ale as a number of her new colleagues left with polite words of partings, Naivara offered a nod and kind smile towards Hugh before rising and approaching the stage.

She approached Kosara and Victoria with a broad smile on her face, cheerfully holding out two cupped hands. Opening her palms, she spoked sweetly as she handed each of them a gold coin, A gift! A gift for a wonderful performance! Truly you both possess gifts worthy of the reputation of the many storied and occasionally infamous bards of the ancient tales."

Money meant little to her. She had begun the evening with five gold coins and was now reduced to three, but Naivara felt no poorer. She would have offered Kosara and Victoria something from the forest had she known to forage beforehand. Alas, base currency would have to do. She hoped deeply that she did not offend with her simple reward.

"I require some fresh air," Naivara said with a slow wave of her hand, smiling meekly and with a slight flush on her cheeks. "But do not trouble yourselves, I will sleep in whatever space remains unclaimed when I return. I am not a picky sleeper. A bed is as good as the forest floor."

And so, the druid strode out into the night, drunk more on music and dance, than on any beverage.

The best deceptions are those that carry within them a large kernel, a core even, of truth.

Misdirections were Hugh’s lifeblood. Control was his drug. Nothing was more satisfying than having one over on everyone around him, especially when doing so was in the course of achieving absolute mission success.

Mission accomplished.

Which is why he found his face smoothing over into a placid expression of pure satisfaction that he hid somewhat behind a long sip from his new mug of warm tea, as the truth spell came to an end, the vast majority of its duration almost entirely wasted at his behest, and both his greatest annoyances finally lost their cool… if to different degrees. Exactly as planned.

Certainly, his rage at the mental intrusion was genuine. Certainly, he’d nearly fully lost control in the initial moments of the spell’s casting, but beyond that? He’d never have survived this long if he allowed his emotions to control him so easily. There was no logical reason to emotionally continue “ranting”.... unless it was in the course of doing his job.

And he never lost sight of the job.

The mission was compromised. This was an established fact. There was no way to constructively reveal that one of the party’s number was a traitor at this juncture. Also fact. Therefore, the Cleric’s recklessness had put everything at risk in a single moment of unthinking bullheadedness. When you had a traitor or insurgent, most of the time, in a situation this delicate, you typically didn’t want to make them feel rushed or cornered. After all, with a spell as limited as she claimed her’s was, the best they could hope for is evasiveness and then the insurgent disappearing into the night, never to be a convenient info source again.

For one thing, if they thought anyone was on to them, they could clam up and play things infinitely more cautiously. For another, a cornered individual was always more dangerous, desperate. If there was a traitor, the last thing one should ever do is put them in a compromising position this early. Instead, you played it safe, gathered evidence, paid careful attention to where your mission went wrong, where it went right, and who was involved. You conducted a proper investigation and ensured that your insurgent couldn’t simply commit suicide. After all, they were a valuable information source and a potential lead to a greater threat.

Thus, it behooved him, even though it was undesirable, to redirect any suspicions upon himself for the time being to give any traitor breathing room. With this, he would be able to act somewhat more freely, given that the traitor was also more likely to attempt to ally themselves with or manipulate him. After all, what competent insurgent wouldn’t make use of such a delicious opportunity?

Sure, it wasn’t the most convenient position to be in, but he had played double-agent a time or dozen. He could work with this.

Crossing his arms, Hugh sighed wryly and leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes at the attempted admonishments of the Cleric and the Pest. He already had what he needed, and he was now quite finished with them and wouldn’t be rising to any further bait. That said, it was nice to get a better grip on their characters. You never really knew what someone was like, knew how far you could push, until you’d seen them at their worst. With this conversation and his rant, he had not only established a somewhat exaggerated version of his own “worst” to the others, but simultaneously got a glimpse into those he was most concerned with presently.

Which could be broadly summed up as: the Cleric was exceptionally and ironically self-righteous for someone throwing around mind-control so casually, and the Pest was rather petty and apparently easily provoked by utterly trivial things, not that this was much of a surprise, given what he’d seen of her thus far.

He allowed the malice of their words to wash off him like water on a duck’s back, fully content in his success.

He wasn’t about to be preached to by a Cleric that couldn’t respect basic sentient decency. So what if her spell couldn’t be canceled? It shouldn’t have been cast to begin with. So what if he was a murderer so many times over he genuinely couldn’t keep count? She could only speculate on the accuracy of such an accusation, and that was absolutely hilarious coming from a former devil worshipper, especially one that was long-time enough to fluently speak the language (if the Pest’s reaction was any clue) and, yet, clearly didn’t learn from her mistakes… unlike him. Further, did it ever occur to her that actions like stripping away others’ free will on a whim was exactly the sort of thing that Devils did? He could definitely see a couple applauding her direct, tyrannical approach.

Honestly, it was the lack of self-awareness and hypocrisy that was most galling. Sure, Hugh wasn’t a great person, but at least he was honest about it… if nothing else. The stark difference between them was that she continuously attempted to somehow justify her actions, where he had no need. After all, why argue for your own morality when your actions should speak loud enough by themselves?

Besides… He chuffed lightly, genuinely amused at her ire. “I’m a Bounty Hunter; I kill monsters, people and monsters shaped like people for pay, so I’m hardly sure what you were expecting.” He had no need to justify himself to her, and it was absolutely pathetic to try and equate killing to the removal of freedom. Everyone had a choice, the ability to determine their own fate… within the boundaries of reason, foresight and basic common sense. In fact, he had seen far too many choose freely to commit to stupidity that got them killed. Did a traitor to the country have their self-determination taken away when they were executed? Does one stop and wonder of the self-determination of a bandit when they are slain for their crimes? Hardly. That was merely the consequences of their actions catching up to them.

He snorted. And really, what did it matter when someone died? He didn’t judge them, not really; they did that well enough for themselves. If they were good, they went to a better place. If they were evil… they got what they deserved. He wasn’t a saint. He knew it better than anyone, but he still had standards. That’s why it was so insulting to see someone who came from a better place somehow be worse than him where it actually mattered. His expression turned wry.

As for threatening her? A threat was really too weak to describe it… as was an oath or malediction. No, that was not so much a promise as a… statement of inevitability, and it would absolutely be hot-blooded... if premeditated. He smirked. After all, he was no saint, but oddly enough, tampering with minds remained a hard line in the sand, what few of them he had. And because he had so few, it was only right that he cling to them all the tighter and more feverishly.

As for arrogance? She was clearly misdiagnosing experience, earned through time and far too many close calls. He’d seen all too many people reap what their foolishness sowed, and they had an unfortunate tendency to drag others down with them. More than once, he’d only barely avoided being collateral. Hugh found himself rubbing his all too recently previously broken arm and exhaled slowly. It was the furthest thing from arrogance to speak of common sense and caution.

Granted, he’d yet to prove that experience thus-far in a meaningful manner, but that was unfortunately thoroughly the Cleric’s fault. If it weren’t for her sabotage of peaceful talks, then this could have gone far more smoothly. That said, he wouldn’t be crying over spilled milk, and he intended to let his future actions speak for him. As he had said already, words were ultimately worth less than nothing. So long as lies and free will existed, the only reliable thing was action, and that was, frankly, just how he liked it. It was always so convenient to be surrounded by people that put so much value on something that could be twisted so easily.

As for the Pest…

Quite frankly, for an opportunistic comment that he’d mostly thrown out offhand, he couldn’t possibly be more pleased with her reaction. Petty, vain, airheaded, and now, thank every god above, she was finally irked enough to take the hint and leave him the hells alone. Her “moral high ground” was nonexistent, and she could be as critical of his capacity as a leader as she liked. After all, he didn’t want that position. Why the hell else would he be operating alone the rest of the time? Managing other people was a pain in the ass.

Kathryn’s own commentary on the matter of leadership, prompted a small chuckle. “Honestly, I’d much rather merely do my part. To be clear, I don’t want the position, nor is there necessarily any need for someone to take the reins, but… I would be irresponsible if I stood by if a potentially poor leader decided to lead the charge.”

The Pest’s ignorant attempt to redirect attention away from the letters was, however… odd. Especially reckless, additionally, was her claim that they should effectively “take things as they come”, which was one of the absolute worst things to do in this situation. Waiting for clues to come to you instead of seeking them out?! Absurd! Honestly, it was such a horrible idea that he could only assume she was attempting to sabotage the investigation, which was… honestly somewhat surprising, especially given how blatant it would look to a discerning eye.

Perhaps it was because he always did his best to divorce himself of personal bias when it came to hard facts, but he hadn’t really thought that one of his personal annoyances would be the first to make a highly suspicious act. Granted, the Cleric was hardly much better. That spell was one of the most unwise things to do for any investigator at this stage, so that was something… But then, there was the Bard, Victoria, and her potential possession of enchantment magic, despite her apparent claim to necromancy specialization, and she was a Bard to boot; he should absolutely expect a game of words to be a losing proposition. So, there was the Cleric doing something that only a traitor could possibly think was wise… The Pest advocating for a destructive course of action… The Bard being apparently ahead of the game with the Sheriff…

The only ones currently off the hook in full, at least until proven otherwise, were the huge woman and the painfully green young elf. Of course, naturally, this all required that one -or hells, even more- of their number actually be a traitor, and there still wasn’t any guarantee that was even the case. That said, he would keep a lookout for further behavior that was actively destructive to the team’s cohesion and success, but he would fight to keep his observations objective, no matter how difficult the suspects made it.

The Cleric and Kathryn’s commentary regarding the letters and the reasons for their specific recipients drew a thoughtful hum from Hugh into his tea, before he lightly cleared some of the lingering moisture from his throat. “Considering we’ve barely known each-other half an hour, I can’t say how accurate the claim to ‘experience’ is for most of us, but I can say that it seems unlikely -as to potentially be impossible- any saboteur would specifically -if that is, indeed, the case- target all of us, spread out far and wide, for our experience. Wouldn't they instead like those with no chance at all, the ones that would fumble around in the dark and make a mess of things…?”

Like Kite… Like a Druid with crippled social skills, a bullheaded Cleric with little subtlety, a loud tiefling who was reckless enough to throw away their soul, a necromancer Bard who was all but loud and proud of her art to anyone with two halves of a brain to rub together and would attract looks wherever they went, a massive hulk of a Fighter woman who might somehow attract more looks than the necromancer, or the gnome from before that was clearly a charlatan… In fact, now that he thought about it, the vast majority of this party was wildly unsuited for a low-key investigation. The fact that they had Hugh now was both pure coincidence and twisted luck.

“After all, for all that I’m sure you all have your specialities, how much experience do you actually have in subtle investigation? Which, need I remind you, is what our client was asking for to begin with, considering he only intended to hire three investigators. If we were, in fact, picked specifically for our lack of experience in this area, then it makes plenty of sense why my own letter was…” Well, the truth spell was down now, so it was no longer necessarily a matter of principle that he spitefully remain silent. “I got my own letter from a dying man, killed by his own recklessness and refusal to adhere to a plan in a critical situation. Against my better judgement, I agreed to take up this mission in his place.”

Rolling his jaw, Hugh shrugged and sipped his tea, ignoring the curdling in his gut. “In the short time I knew him, to say the least, he was wildly unsuited by every possible metric for this mission: loud, visible, willing to stubbornly go through with an incorrect course of action out of literal childish fantasy about ‘heroes’. Quite frankly, he was exactly the sort to take every possible negative trait of this group and -perhaps unintentionally, granted- amplify them through his goading and ignorance. A saboteur would have -and likely did- attempt to avoid choosing me specifically. It is merely a twisted mix of misfortune and luck that I’m here instead.”

Exhaling finally, he crossed his arms. “As for the legitimacy of the letters… Putting my personal feelings aside, I’m inclined to believe that both Marita and Kathryn’s are legitimate, except for, as Marita said, the fact that we’ve no way to know that the number of fakes is limited to three… or six if we include the departed’s. Indeed, we’ll need to approach Ser Arbalest directly about this matter, bluntly and without room for error. This is too important as a potential lead to discard carelessly.”

It was around this time that the halfling waiter returned with more refreshments, stalling conversation briefly, as the diminutive man rather lamely advertised the inn’s lack of preparation for a party this size. That said, Hugh could appreciate the attempt was being made at all, as he eyed his fellow tablemates. Three to a room? Quite frankly, he hated to look petty and/or to further distance himself from the party at this juncture besides, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly if he had to stay with either the Cleric or the Pest. Hell, even the necromancer would be preferable. Ideally, he would find himself with both Kathryn and Naivara, but he could stand to swap either for Victoria.

Hugh’s left brow rose briefly, as the Cleric beckoned Victoria away for a hushed conversation at the bar of the steadily livening tavern. Watching them from the corner of his eye, he could see that whatever they might be discussing, the circumstances appeared non confrontational. While that was… potentially concerning for his own prospects when it came to stripping the Cleric of influence within the party, it was also likely good for overall team cohesion. Honestly, he was practical enough to choose overall cohesion and a lack of internal conflict over spite, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Soon enough, the Bard returned, and Victoria seemed to take a surprisingly firm role in her dual performance with the Pest. Hugh could admit to genuine surprise, when magical notes sounded out clearly in conjunction with an absolutely riveting violin performance. He wasn’t the sort to applaud loudly or enthusiastically, but the fact that she earned his quiet applause at all said something of her magnificence at her craft. He found, however, that his interest waned the moment tielfing’s borderline salacious “dance” motions became center stage… for a given value of such with the mobility on display, and he chose to turn away and close his eyes, blocking out the imagery with Victoria’s encore supporting performance.

As the performance drew to a close, Hugh took a deep pull and chugged the majority of the rest of his tea, clearing his throat afterwords. As the rest of the group stood to offer their congratulations and disperse, he reached down and hefted his pack straps over one shoulder, returning Naivara’s smile with a specifically toothless one of his own, ambling along beside her over to the performers.

As the others heaped praises upon the two, he offered his own measure accolades towards Victoria. “Bravo. I’ll admit, it’s hard to rate music simply because of how subjective it so often is, but yours was definitely one of the best performances I’ve ever heard, especially the first song. Perhaps more impressive was the spontaneity of it and resulting quality, I think, but then again, I suppose I should expect nothing less from a Bard.” He raised his mug in a small toasting salute, before slugging back the final dregs and moving to place it back at the table. He blinked in surprise at the presence of the Letters, considering the absence of their owners, before shrugging and sweeping all six of them up, folding them neatly and tucking them into his pack.

As he passed by again on his way towards the stairs, he caught Naivara’s parting words and shot some of his own towards her with a nod, “I’ll save you a bed wherever I settle.” Towards Victoria, he said, “As appreciative as one might be for the lightening of the situation, I think it’s fair to say that it would be better for everyone involved if I roomed with neither Marita or…” He glanced at Kosara. “Her… Feel free to snag the remaining lodgings with us. If it comes down to the room with the cot, I don’t mind taking it. I’m used to doing with less quality at the drop of a hat. If I were picky about comfort, I’d not get far in my line of work.”

That said, he made his way upstairs, humming in a pleased manner at the ever so subtle rise of heat from the downstairs fireplace. Reaching the top, he glanced briefly into both rooms and then turned quite definitively towards the one that did not yet already host two. As it turned out, he would apparently not have to be taking the cot… Interesting.

Glancing around the room, Hugh found himself idly noting points of entry, namely the door and the window. Keeping in mind that the mission was already compromised, it would be prudent to keep a wary eye out for assassination attempts. After all, there was no time a warrior would be more vulnerable than when their armor was doffed for slumber, no better time to catch an already vulnerable caster unawares.

Dividing the rooming up in this manner not only served his grudge, but practicality as well. Of them all, he was the most likely to always be at his best in any situation and was effectively worth both of the unarmored warriors together. It made sense that he should be the one guarding two spell-casters, while they took the other, especially since the Cleric could presumably compensate for her own vulnerability with magic.

Considering the positioning of the beds and the window…

Hugh glanced out through the glass barrier, eyeballing potential sniper points. Glass, after all, especially civilian quality, was not exactly any protection from a well placed and/or firmly-tipped arrow. That in mind, he would take the bed with the red sheets, keeping himself both out of sight and close enough to readily respond to anyone dumb enough to actually physically enter the premises. Drawing the letters from his bag, he sifted through them until he found the one that practically reeked of the outdoors and then placed it on the pillow of the green-sheeted bed, reserving the other sniper-resistant position for the guileless Druid. He returned the rest of the letters to his bag, save for his own bloodstained one, which he placed upon the writing desk beside his own bed’s headrest.

Straightening up, he observed the room, before sighing. Circumstances being what they were, he’d be unable to safely train tonight. Instead, he’d use the time he wasn’t sleeping to keep watch and sleep in increments of 30 minutes past the initial 4 hours, effectively sleeping 6 hours and keeping watch in 2 spread out over the rest of the time. The later hours would be the prime time for someone to strike, given that it would be the only time that an assassin could be near absolutely certain of their location.

Setting his bag on the bed against the wall and effectively placing himself between it and the rest of the room, he leaned his quarterstaff against the window latch, ensuring a loud tumble against the room’s floorboards if it opened. His bare-bones preparations done, he settled down atop his bed for a couple minutes of quiet meditations, crossing his legs and placing his hands upon his knees. He would not allow sleep to claim him until both his roommates were safely absconded within.

The Infamous Pear began to fill with patrons following the musical stylings of the two entertainers. Performances had a way of doing this, particularly in outlying regions, and is one of the reasons that entertainers tended not to pay for their own drinks. The type of people who entered the establishment seemed to be locals judging by clothing; professional garb of tradesmen and the slightly more sophisticated attire of shopkeepers was the baseline, with hands calloused or smudged with ink as appropriate. They all seemed to know each other judging by initial acts of familiarity, and the big buzz of the room (at least at first) was that Owen and Guido had somehow acquired house entertainment. When the drinks began to flow more liberally, discussion turned elsewhere; business, crops, the continuing question of the situation with Goblins, or the coming of the Harvestide celebration.

A few outsiders made their way in. Not many, but their attire spoke to proclivities foreign to the Avonshire region. Some donned armor and a few more than that carried weapons of some kind. Guardsfolk who were present, on and off duty, paid some notice of these people before making their own assessments of threat, and then dismissing the idea of looking into them further. So long as blade did not clear scabbard, they seemed content to live and let live.

The overall temperature of The Infamous Pear began to drop noticeably. The influx of customers opening the doors to the establishment was the obvious villain here, allowing the autumn night air to enter with impunity. It had gotten chillier over the past hour, and the fire could only do so much. After the brunt of the fresh blood entered the taproom proper and the door remained closed for a time, this began to abate. Nevertheless, it stood as a reminder that the last harvest of the year was upon them. More wood was placed upon the fire and the thick curtains of the dense, translucent windows were pulled closed, providing some insulation from the outside temperature.

Overall, the rush of business lasted for about two more hours as the mostly local crowd had their libations, spoke their conversations, and then left, presumably to their homes. Darenby was a place which existed primarily for commerce; a stop along a trade route linking the region to the sea and deeper into the kingdom. Especially with Harvestide, these people had storefronts and contracts which required their attention the following day. A smaller percentage of these people stayed, either to drink themselves into oblivion or because they did not wish to face the evening's chill just yet.

Outside of The Infamous Pear, things seemed still. There were very few who walked the streets that evening. Those who did kept their movements short, getting to where they needed to go with zero dallying. Exhalations of breath condensed into swirling cones of misty white, giving the appearance of pipeless pipe smokers or the pantomime of a baby white dragon at play. The night was clear, cloudless; though the air had bite the stars shone brightly and a gibbous moon hung in the sky. It was an ideal evening for stargazing to anyone with access to a roof, or open enough area to get a good, wide view of the celestial show before them.

Otherwise, the evening passed without incident. No random events which might have occurred due to the tumble of cosmic dice came to pass, and though Fort Darenby was a place of semi-rural intrigue, nothing so scandalous was in the stars, proverbial or otherwise.


When morning came, as mornings tend to do with enough passage of time, a frost had settled upon the ground. The interior of The Infamous Pear was quiet for the most part, except for a determined knocking sound in the kitchen. A lingering sour smell of ale from multiple small spills over the course of a busy evening could be detected faintly, but above this a grander aroma of baking bread and something spicy-sweet hung in the air, dancing amid olfactory promises of something smoked and meaty. Breaking the still of the morning came a dulcet siren's call from the kitchen, melodious and clear:

"Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!"

Okay, so it wasn't precisely dulcet, nor melodious, nor might any self-respecting Siren have made a call like this. But it was clear, and was followed by the sound of repeated, metallic, blunt trauma being inflicted upon a hopefully inanimate object within the kitchen. Perhaps more accurately, if it was not inanimate before, it certainly was now. It was May, and she was doing her level best at her profession.

Still in a nightshirt and droopy sleeping cap, Guido sauntered out of the kitchen area to put the last of a decent, breakfasty feast upon the Adventurer's Table, that being the same one they were seated around the previous evening. The table bore the weight of thick, white, semi-spherical loaves of bread with a jar of honey and a thick jam made from spicy peppers, a serving bowl filled with scrambled eggs, a wax-rind wedge of a white, crumbly cheese, and a platter of seasoned, baked apples. Guido's last platter held a bevy of linked sausages of unknown origin and pile of bacon. All in all it was far more then was needed for a group of six.

Whichever of the party assembles at the table or makes an appearance downstairs, Guido will be sure to greet and wish a fortunate morning to. He will also produce a letter from Gregory Arbalest, carefully folded (though considering that he's still in a nightshirt, where he kept it remains a frightening mystery), and read from it aloud:



At about this time, May slammed open the door and exited the kitchen, walking backward as not to disturb the tea service she was carrying. From the cutting, mildly acidic smell coming from the steaming pot, this was quite strong tea, indeed. "Fine, here ya go. Tell me if you want something else before I take my break, okay?" Snappy words, though she meant them professionally. Sort of.

Marita woke up early, before the sun had risen as was customary for her. She was sharing a room so she set about her morning ritual as quietly as possible to avoid rousing her sleeping roommate(s). The cot was about as luxurious and comfortable as she had anticipated, and while she would vastly prefer a proper mattress she managed to sleep through the night which was about as good as she could ask for. Her first course of action upon properly waking up was her morning prayer. Nothing of note came to mind that she had not already discussed the night before, so she kept it short and to the point, mostly the standard rituals and prayers she gave every morning.

With her predawn worship out of the way, Marita went into her things and got dressed. For the morning, instead of the armor she had worn in the tavern and on the road, she opted to instead dress purely in her clerical vestments. Chainmail was rather quick to don if she needed to, and if she needed to talk to townsfolk and such, the lack of armor would make her less threatening. Truth be told, had she managed to arrive in Darenby earlier, she doubted that she would have worn the mail to the initial tavern meeting. Although the others were indeed adventuring types it still didn't do well for first impressions to walk around everywhere like one expected a fight.

Now clothed, Marita produced a small bronze mirror from her pack as well as her cosmetics and began the long process of carefully painting her face in a near dark environment. She did this every day, so she was quite accustomed to the working conditions, suboptimal as they were. It would be nice to work with proper lighting, but if she did, there would be significant time loss on all her other duties of the day, sacrifices had to be made somewhere. Today more than most days, Marita worked carefully. After seeing Victoria she couldn't help but feel a competitive streak flare up in her to try to do better.

By the time she finished, the sun had started to peek above the horizon, bringing in enough light for the last step in her civilized morning ritual: studying her holy book. Contrasting most things she owned, the text was a small, ratty thing. It was well worn and looked to be close to falling apart. She would need to get it rebound soon, but she couldn't bring herself to do it just yet. She had read through it many dozen times already, but the thing about a well written divine text was that the more you read it, the more you came to understand new meanings beneath the words. She found that to be the true distinction between a cult and a religion. In a cult, there was merely the surface wisdom; spiritual platitudes that sounded convincing yet ended up hollow once separated from the silver tongue that spat them. Even the most minor god worth their salt was able to provide more wisdom than man would be able to understand in a lifetime. So despite having had already memorized the text cover to cover, she didn't find her study time boring or dull in the slightest.

After about an hour had passed, Marita couldn't help but notice a smell coming from downstairs. The smell of food. Food that she hadn't eaten in nearly a day's time. She suddenly became aware of how empty her stomach felt and how bitter the inside of her mouth tasted. Carefully, the cleric closed her book, gathered her things and made her way out of the room, still trying to avoid waking any who had yet to rouse from slumber or were not woken by the clamor from below.

Unsurprisingly she was the first one in the common room. The sight of the exorbitant portions would have a lesser woman in Marita's position dive in and start gorging, but she had the self control to set her base needs to the side. For now. She gave Guido a cordial nod and Good Morning to his greeting, but then he produced a note, neatly folded.

Oh no.

Marita has to stop herself from groaning loudly and sat at the table rubbing her temples. Could a single thing in this mission go right? Perhaps instead of an omen of doom, Victoria was actually an omen of misfortune, making anything that could go wrong do. Well, there was nothing she could do about it right now, so she might as well eat in peace while she could. Everything at the table looked delicious, and it would be very easy to bite off more than she could chew, so she chose to start off relatively light: scrambled eggs and some bacon. Sausages, bread and baked apples threatened to be too heavy and the last thing she wanted was to feel bogged down by her gut for the next four hours.

Counting out coins quickly was part and parcel with entertaining on the road. While it was not the venue of her dreams, this did represent the most reliable source of work for Victoria while she was out traveling, and so she was no stranger to fast counts, paired with fast distribution. To that end, Victoria was open to give an emotive, "Aww, well thank you, to Kosara, palming five silver coins and pressing them into the Tiefling's hand. "Learning more songs would be just lovely. Let's discuss it on the road some, hmm?"

In contrast, getting her hair rumpled by an appreciative but obviously somewhat impaired Kathryn was high on her ranks of mild annoyance, which Victoria tried to keep out of her voice as she said, "I'm so glad you enjoyed the show," but ultimately failed, some note peeking through. Her hands went to smooth back the strands which fell out of place, and there was small vexation at not having a mirror handy. It seemed that a touch of vanity colored her psyche.

Naivara's enthusiasm was appreciated, as was her gift of a gold coin. It was a bit much, especially from someone with whom she was supposed to be adventuring, but gold was gold, after all. Victoria was not about to turn it down. Instead, she made a showing of spinning the coin between her knuckles once, flicking it up, snatching it out of the air, and quickly, as if my magic, squirreling it away in a pocket. "That was so sweet, Naivara. Thank you!"

The compliment from Hugh, considering the mercurial responses from him as the evening had progressed thus far, was taken somewhat guardedly. She did extend a polite smile and a warm, "Thank you," effecting a shallow bow and sweeping motion with the hat in her hand. There was an eyebrow raise and a wary nod at the suggestion of room assignments, as she didn't really have a dog on this particular fight just yet.

As others made for their rooms or otherwise settled in for the night, Victoria took the occasion to play another song or two downstairs. There were people still about to entertain, and possibly coin to be had. They weren't getting paid until the end of this little mission, and a girl had expenses. Rest was necessary, however, and before too long Victoria made her way upstairs with burlap-wrapped Morty following dutifully behind.

Taking the opinion that there's no sense continuing the drama from downstairs, Victoria chose a bed in the room with Hugh. She looked down to her porcine companion and issued the command (almost ludicrously), "Play dead!" resulting in the creature collapsing straightaway. With a huff, she pushed the animal under the bed and readied herself for sleep. She stripped down to modest undergarments, folding her clothes neatly, and hung her cloak on the bedpost. After a brief inspection of the bed to ensure nothing crawly might be there, she settled in, covers over herself in the bracing night, and just before she closed her eyes, said, "Nighty-night, Morty. I'll get you up tomorrow morning."

The next day dawned, and Victoria was not amazingly happy at having to greet it. It was chilly, moreso than the evening before, and the blankets on her bed were comfortable. Unfortunately, there was a job to do. Might as well do it. So as slow to rise as she might have been, she was very quick at getting herself dressed and put together with just the right touch of cosmetics. Traveller's attire, befitting the travel of the day, and of course her amazingly bardy hat. Black and purple again made themselves known as her traditional colors of choice. All of this was lightly scented with floral notes.

This day, she went into her chest and pulled out a set of leather armor, rich and dark of color, with muted but stylish metal accents. It appeared well taken care of of not quite new. She donned the armor and threw her cloak over it all, then descended the floors to meet the day.

From the stairs, Victoria issued a sharp sentence, "Come along, Morty!" The porcine avenger scrambled from beneath the bed, rose to it's feet, and trotted with an uneven gait to join its caller. When the pair made it downstairs, Morty assumed his spot near the corner, as he did the previous night.

The idea of breakfast was appealing. In contrast to most mornings when she might just have a pastry and cup of strong tea, Victoria selected for herself a little bit of everything with a leaning toward the fresh bread and honey. She did seem to enjoy it. A perky "Good morning!" found its way to both Guido and Marita, but in the case of the Cleric, she added, "Oh, aren't you lovely this morning?" She sat, motioning with a piece of bacon, "Whomever the antagonists are in our little venture, they won't know what hit them." Victoria gave a quick wink before biting off half of the strip of meaty goodness in her hand.

News of the Sheriff not joining them this morning drew an exasperated sigh from the youthful Bard, then an accepting shake of her head. "It's fate. If everything went exactly to plan, it wouldn't be an adventure, now would it?" Still, her optimism carried a wearied tone to it.

Kosara looked curiously at Kathryn as the somewhat alcohol influenced woman came up to her again and reach with a hand, stopping midway for a moment. The tiefling again had that expectant look, waiting to see what will happen until the taller woman finally decided to pet her horns instead. The white thiefling let out a small chuckle and nodded.” Thank you. Have a good night, Kathryn.” She told the woman who walked away to go to sleep. It was then Marita’s turn to say she was going and Kosara nodded.” Have a good night.”

The dancer was a bit surprised at the druid’s rather great reaction to the performance and smiled happily, though she was once more surprised at the coin. She did not object however, just gratefully nodded.” Thanks, Naivara. Though the true star this time was V’s expert skills. I underestimated the floor a bit, hopefully before this quest is over I will get to show you an even better performed dance.” Kosara added.” Well, I wish you a good evening should we all head off to bed before you return. We shall see each other surely in the morning.” With that she watched the druid walk away into the night. She was right about that there were things just as good as any bed though. Kosara was well versed in sleeping on the sand under the shade of a tent with just a cloth underneath her. The sand did make for a fine bed once you made yourself comfortable.

Hugh was once more making himself the target of childishly simple ire from Kosara. The Fancy Sneaky Monk was certainly annoying. She tried to ignore him, but he just kept going! What was wrong with being in the same room as her! Also just ‘Her’, talk about not having manners!’ Alright, change of plans, I was planning on ignoring you from tomorrow, but if you call for revenge, I will happily oblige!’ She thought and pouted, plotting her revenge. He seemed to be reacting bad to her presence overall since moment one. Kosara could work with that. She could just annoying him by being nearby. Thinking about it, it did seem a bit counterproductive, after all the more she annoyed him, the more annoyed he would be… She was going to have to see how this goes, but it was not over quite yet. Ohh the game has just began!

In any case as he too eventually went away to go to bed, she briefly pondered just following him to the room and joining him out of spite, but eventually decided against it. Call it a sign from on high, but honestly she was tired from traveling for days on end and really something told her to just go to bed. She’d have all the time in the world to annoy him… ahm take revenge later. For now though, she decided to hang out more with V downstairs and listen to her performance while she finishes her meal. After the meal was over and the bard eventually too excused herself for the night, Kosara finally decided to call it a night too.

Upstairs she quickly found where Hugh was and went to the other room that luckily had a free spot. Well luckily for HIM. She was rooming with Marita and Kathryn! Good turn of events indeed! She did note the pile of armor and the like that the warrior woman had taken off. Talk about layering. She was tempted to try to sneak a peak at the warrior woman’s muscles now, but she decided against it… people didn’t like being touched while sleeping, she had learned. So instead she just went to the free bed, which was the fabled cot, and placed her bag on it. She lined her cloak on it, figured she’d write in the journal tomorrow since tonight was already dark and people were asleep. It wasn’t good to wake them up with setting a light now. In any case, she carefully took off her dancing trinkets and returned them to the bag before stretching her arms and snuggling underneath the warm blankets. Her small crossbow in arm’s reach just by the cot.

Thus she slept well until the next morning. Back at the desert she’d wake up very early in the day, sometimes before dawn, but her she allowed herself to sleep in this time around. In fact she was roused lightly from a commotion somewhere and then woke up fully at the quiet closing of the door. She blinked and stirred, moving to a sitting position, looking around. Room with Kathryn, check. Marita was gone, so she was the one who had left not too long ago. Kosara rubbed her eyes sleepily and tossed away the blankets almost jumping into standing, stretching her arms once more. Without tasting any time, the first thing that Kosara did was take off the thin veiled clothing she wore. It wasn’t incredibly hard, but it was made with the idea of staying in place unless taken off for obvious reasons. In any case the tiefling didn’t mind the sleeping woman in the room as she undressed and pulled her other set of clothing from her bags. Kosara had two sets of clothing with her, the one she wore back home and one she had procured to wear when she came more to the north. She hadn’t put it on cause she frankly underestimated the blasted weather and the temperatures! In any case, her other clothes were very reminiscent of the dancing costume. The pants were of similar cut and design just of a more thick and protective cloth, dyed in dark gray. On her torso she wore an undercloth wrapped around her chest in a manner identical to her dancing top, just of again more thick and warm nature. Finally on top of that she had a white shirt. She couldn’t fit an extra set of shoes into her bag, so she carefully wrapped her feet in a warm cloth that reached up to just under her knee and secured it there, before she put on her usual shoes. They had nice soles after all, they just weren’t tall enough usually. After she slipped the pants legs back down, their tightened ends neatly securing just above her ankles. With her dressed up, she pulled her mirror, a piece of cloth, her waterskin and her cosmetics’ kit. Wetting the cloth with the waterskin, she made sure to wipe all of her makeup carefully before reapplying it. She never wore too much honestly. It was mostly there to put accent on her eyes. Her sisters always told her to not overdo it. She was beautiful and exotic enough as it was. She didn't put her veil back on right away, it would happen after breakfast. Didn't want to dirty it or anything!

After the makeup was done with, she put her things away and rebraided her hair which took a bit of time, but before long she was done, the braiding having taken the most of her time actually. So once she was done, she picked her things and headed downstairs where she found Marita, already prepared for the day along with V.” Good morning, you two! Looking absolutely marvelous today!” She called out to them and with almost a pounce moved to them. She was left a bit speechless at the sight of the breakfast however. She quickly took a place next to them. Kosara really wanted the cheese actually and maybe just a touch of bacon. But mostly the cheese, so she hurried to get some. Then she noticed the look on the two of them and a MYSTERIOUS LETTER!” Ohh… what’s in the letter? Guess bad news?” She asked, innocently, making an improvised cheese and bacon sandwich… without bread. Who needed bread when you got two slices of cheese instead?