Parum was more then happy to shift the burden off to someone else, watching the scene carefully. The cultists seem to be fresh recruits, still cowered by threats of punishment. That man seemed to be someone of authority. Parum would continue playing her part for now. "Oh just had to dump that bucket somewhere far from the mess. Soap scum and all that, it'll stink if we left it there." She looked at this Acolyte, Davis. He seemed like an impressionable young man. "Thanks for the help. Davis right? You been here for a while?" Parum decided to follow Davis so that she could try to win him over to her side, as well as to keep watchful eyes from worrying about her wandering off on her own. If she stayed with Davis they might dismiss her thinking that she's being attended to. She was also interested in this "Dragonclaw Stern", and whether or not that was his real name and titles, and if so, what it meant.
The marching off of the half-orc necessitated a festering eye from Torus, as Brannor soon came into view. The arms of the green barbarian swang intentionally as if directing the one man choir in preparation of a rehearsed dirge. The exchange of their spoils and labor signified a likely melodious arrangement and exchange of the very instruments to compose the eventual opus of their escape with the monk and paladin.
Back and forth from the tent and the garbage islet, piling the discarded organs and useless skins.
It was a monumental testament to his historic dedication against the nature he had promised and became accustomed to, when stranded on that island, before Xaron, that spiteful pirate entered his existence. Her mother, a much wanted Waterdhavian psionic Bard, while unknowingly ten weeks with child, Suri Tiram, once discovered as a spy of the Kraken Society, quickly earned the expectant wrath of two councils of the Amnian government. The silently orchestrated bounty was issued by dual competing bureaucratic Houses, that of Selemchant and Nashivaar, to either extract or destroy her previously publicized musical concerti of psychopathic cryptography, complex social magical experiments that subconsciously inflicted mass hysteria in Daranthur’s Hall and Waukeen’s Promenade, ceasing trade for one month, critically paralyzing the commerce of Athkatla. These crafty fractal ballads, wormed their self-replicating patterns, via auditory intrusion, into a person’s synapses, literally establishing a revolutionary serenade that greedy neurons must recursively dance to, all the while spiritually evoking a graveyard spiral of anger, hatred, and disgust within the rat race and status-quo of the slums and docks. Her propaganda dedicated itself as her ciliary obsession, to mathematically and mentally sway the proletariat to a civil upheaval via verbally broadcasted multivariate symphonies. Once authentically exposed, Suri’s intervening capture and exhaustive interrogation resulted in an eventual brain-dead body kept pregnant with a half-elf fetus until term, only to allow the powers at be to mentally reap and rape unhindered any and every rebellious diapason from her desecrated soul.
Her sole birthed offspring, Xaron, was reared chiefly under the Cowled Wizards, in the arcane arts, fissured by the natural talent of a psionic and poetic heritage, crescendoed by her love of all-mighty gold. Cultivated in the ranks, beneath Jann Lane, her malicious appetite and equally poised hatred of the City of Splendors consumed the already decimated cognizance of her mother’s eccrine legacy, as she aspired into adulthood. A shouldered distrust and a ravenously taxed heart, buried in a film of ruby sin and ice, isolated her as a shattered jewel, unable to be polished nor shine within the confines of the City of Coin. Ruminations, rumors, and a remnant of prestige forced her onto the Trackless Sea and along the Sword Coast, upon many vessels, marauding principally Waterdeep ships, pillaging, torturing and slaughtering, seeking to bask in the infamy of reflective appellations from the Council of Five, whenever she returned home.
Yet, not all shared the bated enthusiasm of the daughter of a traitor.
After a miscalculation and bad weather, the Iron Flute marooned at Port Nyranzaru, only to be betrayed and exiled into the jungle of Chult, attempting to seek refuge at Beluarian. Soon enough, mindful scavengers, namely brain flukes, unearthed the lost troop in their immersions, eventually resulting in her trusted crew becoming glorified incubators of opportunistic corrosion and putrefaction. Witnessing the rot and corpses slowly surrounding their camp, with her own mental faculties collapsing around her, Xaron sought intellectual sanctuary by impressing upon a young wild Mezro druid, Torus, the totality of her psyche. A partially successful Mind Seed of the parasite-ridden psionic, one week later, erupted a new older, but partly amnesic man, full of the horror and memories of her recurrent twisted ego.
Through five decades of masochistic pedagogy, the novel duplicate, through the help of these friends, engendered a Vesuvian vision to exist as a pure antithesis to her previous id’s villainous ancestry, now mingling amongst the fateful servants to the largest adversary, the realm would likely ever face.
This righteous legitimate suffering now drove Torus.
Rather Torag.
Slightly off kilter.
Even his very identity hidden, for half a century prior, bred a new race of Jungian penance to the current gospel of sacrificing wildlife to the altar of subterfuge; a remorseful ministry, wandering from Greenest to enemy encampment, finally anchored by the peace, granted by Chauntea with Xaron, to fill his psychological gaps. Yet, would this goddess who granted him amnesty of his fugue, discredit this spiritual salve based on the necessary pain of the few, to save the many.
He stood, leaning on his fang while watching the interaction of Parum and the acolyte Davis, waiting to needle reconciliation with Orchid, Parum and Kyra, ever fearful that his deranged and demented past of his previously adopted voracious perspective would not be betrayed by his acts of slaughter upon the animals to whom he ingratiated.
Torus is fearfully gripped with the sudden realization that he is assisting in killing animals, in whom Chauntea's dominion reigns. He hopes her previous blessing through Kyra's tutor will not falter, while they pursue this ruse, compromising in efforts to free Leosin and Brannor.
Davis nodded at the halfling, starting to carry the water towards something that seemed like a place where they'd keep animals. A haphazard shelter at best, probably only meant for keeping the occasional live caught animal fresh a little while longer. "Yes, Davis. A few months, getting used to this whole return of the Queen ordeal. It's amazing how we finally could see her return, isn't it? Who would you be, then? I don't think I've seen you around before?" the acolyte asked from the bard in return. It did seem that if there was some sort of word going around the camp about their little group, it had yet to reach everyone's ears.
As for Brannor and Orchid, the two would be pleased to note that nobody seemed to be making a fuss out of what was going on. At best a few of the cultists gave Brannor a wide berth while a couple of better armed men with Ambush Drakes at the other end of the chains they held seemed to be even a bit too indifferent, passing the two really closely, the other drake taking a prolonged sniff of the air near the now human shaped weretiger. Its handler drew it away, which was probably for the better. The almost feral creature gave the pair an annoyed snarl and continued on its way, along the steps of its handler. But the coast was not wholly clear: It didn't take Brannor long to recognise that the man with the pipe he had seen not too long ago telling the news of the travel ban set upon the 'group of new members'. And he was following the pair with his eyes, calmly breathing in and out the foul smelling fumes of his pipe as he did so.
"Oh, I'm pretty new too. Parum's the name. Haven't gotten to see much action yet, though I've heard a few things about this outfit. Wasn't really sure what to make of it at first. Mostly just about how they had dragons on their side, which was pretty interesting on it's own. I'll admit I'm rather... Excited too." That was one way to put it. Parum had no actual interest in letting the dragon queen come back to this realm, so "excited" to put a stop to it would be one way Parum could spin it. Still, at least this Davis doesn't seem too suspicious of her yet. Perhaps word hasn't gotten around about how this group of strangers managed to find this place and bag the champion of Greenest. She'd have to capitalize on it. "Still, it seems like I missed out on all the action. Not to mention since I came so recently, I don't really have a place in the camp yet. Been on the road for a while, and I cold really use a warm place to lay my head. Maybe you could help a lil lady like me?"
The elder pirate sat, suffused with a slight sadness, staring at his soiled palms. He unwittingly abetted the half-orc, in providing food and clothing to the enemy, by sacrificing the very Nature, he had sworn to protect. With his legs crossed in enmity, he poured his hands into the nearby mud, molding the earth around his hands into shackled mittens.
Once encased circumferentially to the wrists, the druid wistfully wore the apparent tragedy as ball bearing cuffs, preventing him from furthering the cause of more slaughter.
Torus watched eagerly only to eventually close his eyes, listening to the interchange between Parum and the acolyte. His hope dwindled with the occasional wind, snuffing out a sporadic word between the two.
Torus will sit, in pity, listening to Parum, while gathering his strength. If enough time allows a short rest, he will pursue that.
The audacity the scaled thing had to so much as encroach on Brannor was infuriating, every underlying fiber of his physical and spiritual essence grew taut. It seemed to possess the same arrogance as the larger scaled ones yet neither the intellect or perceptivity to know better or assume better. There was no question in the wilder's mind that were things different he would make an example of these filthy creatures, whose hearts were as vile and insufferable as their exteriors. He could only direct his glare to Orchid, that restrained fury, and press on, performing whatever other duties the half-blood warrior had arranged for them throughout their deception.
Feigning ignorance to the awareness of his environment, marching, rather slogging into the mud with his bloodstained boots and leggings, his churning was more his focus. Not just the one of the motions he put himself through with their ruse, but more than anything that the time for action was close and that the enemy was, while watchful, seemingly unaware. The smoking man, puffing upon his sickly pipe was a sample of this and Brannor said nothing of it until the pair were long out of his ear and eye shot. After all, he had word to give to the fellow primal, but it took time. When the opportunity arose, he made his effort and spoke to his "captor" during their walk and work.
"Your friend with the pipe isn't fond of you. Rumor had it that you and your friends who brought me in won't be allowed to leave out the camp. Seems you make enemies everywhere you go, from your 'allies' down to the lowly guards at the entrance." His low, almost raspy and deep voice mentioned, taunting.
He fully expected Orchid to strike him or berate him at that point for so much as speaking up, let alone seemingly mocking him however subtly it was said between the two. In either case, the knight-aspirant only prayed that the man understood the message - it was not as though he could legitimately repeat it without risk of someone potentially overhearing the secret exchange. Fortunately, his reputation for defiance might well see him through.
Orchid heard Brannor's words and took the bait. He paused for a moment and turned to the prisoner, grabbing him roughly around the cheeks and pulling him close, snarling threateningly. "Just you wait." Orchid said in startling concise common. "Tonight, I'll show them where my loyalties lie." A double veiled message. Was it a threat, or a subtle hint that tonight was the night they get out of this camp? Truthfully it was the latter but Orchid's rough handling of Brannor and aggressive growling hopefully made it seem like the former. Orchid was also vaguely aware of the hidden message Brannor told him, though Orchid had already figured that they were under tight watch since they were brought to the leader's camp and questioned. He did note how they wouldn't be able to leave from the front entrance however; Orchid figured it wouldn't be that easy. But he had something of a plan.
Orchid brought Brannor to the stables, pushing him to the ground in front of the other cultists and slaves. Orchid spoke loudly for all to hear. "Go clean stable! Animal, you think you wild, free. But you slave like others! So work. Good beasts get treat. Bad ones be meat." Not really and secret messages this time, Orchid just needed to be rid of Brannor before anyone got too curious. Though hopefully with Brannor's new gift and proximity to some horses, perhaps he could secure the party a means to escape. Either way Orchid swaggered away to maintain the ruse of the boisterous orc, though he did notice Torus acting off. Well more off then he usually did. Curious about how his bear mount was doing the orc went over to the old man.
"Torag! What you do? Play with mud?" The half-orc said with genuine curiosity. He knew that Torag was a druid but he didn't know what he had stuck his hands into the mud. Was he digging for worms or something? Torus also seemed sadden but Orchid didn't know why. Orchid was pretty jolly himself. But he always was. "Orchid play with mud when Orchid was child. Orchid make mug golems! Or little mud men. Orchid wish they golem. He pretend. You make golem too?"
Davis nodded a few times, turning briefly to look at the sky above them. "Can you imagine? The Queen of Dragons herself, soaring on the very skies above us? Oh how long we have awaited to see her glory!" It was rather likely that this man had been indoctrinated to the cult from a young age, with how childlike the adoration in his eyes was, how he could not see anything that could possibly go wrong with the very embodiment of the worst of every chromatic dragon returning to the world. Yet his claim of being new here did not sound wrong. How one should piece that together was an interesting question. Could one become this devoted to a cause in just a few months?
In any case, the question Parum asked from his regarding accommodation brought him back to the surface and he began thinking about it. Or at least he tried hard to look like he was thinking. He clearly knew of something, but he was trying to keep it to himself for a moment, until his expression actually began to shift, as if he was considering between options. "Hold on just a second, I need a moment to consider...", he asked after a moment, continuing to twist his face in most imaginative exaggerations of an expression signifying thinking. In the end, he finally answered: "Ah, no, the superiors would never allow that. In the end, your best bet is to do what the other mercs do: Set up camp nearby or in one of the little dwellings there are on the edges of the camp here. See, like that there in the natural wall", he explained, craning his head towards what he would have pointed at had he had free hands.
As for Orchid, Brannor and Torus who had now more or less met up, the former two had the chance to note the sudden disappearance of the pipe smoking cut-throat. Wherever they had slipped off to they had missed, but for now, he was nowhere to be seen. The few people on some excuse of a guard duty around the horses and the occasional other animal were not really paying much attention at first, but as Orchid moved to talk with his druid friend, one of them set their hand of cards down and approached the lot more formally: "We haven't heard of any prisoners being sent to work here. Very little work to be done right now. Are you sure this is your stop?" It was a fair question, if what this man with a patchy beard and a rather impressive amount of grime on his trousers was saying was true.
Torus's desire for short rest has been noted. Will assume seeking one continues unless actions on the contradictory are planned. This includes but is not limited to spellcasting.
Parum shifted uncomfortably when Davis expounded the "glory" of Tiamat returning. She wasn't sure if he was naive or a fanatic, and frankly it wasn't impossible that he might be both. "Yeah it'll certainly be... Something alright." Parum tried to put that subject aside as Davis though about getting Parum her own tent. He mentioned two options, one that his superiors wouldn't like, and the other which was to make due with some corner of the camp. Parum personally didn't like the idea of roughing it under the stars and storms, plus without the privacy of a tent it'll be difficult for Parum to try to keep her activities concealed without constant watch. So instead she tried to coax some more information out of Davis, or possibly even a favor.
"Oh come on, surely you can help lil old me a bit more then that? Perhaps at least giving me some supplies to set up my own tent? I'll make it worth your while~
The hunter shared a tenuous stare with the orc-blood who had him by the head. He was not much an actor himself, having neither the natural talent for it nor the performing troupe, but he was cunning enough to go with it, especially when it was expected. Orchid was both simple and not simple minded, enough so that one could never really be sure if he were serious or not, but that assumed the enemy in the cult had even known much of who they were; nearly all of them they met that night died in some fashion, some more violently than others, especially where the raging warrior was concerned. At least it created an air of much needed ambiguity, further accented by the fact that orcs were not known to be particularly kind captors - their brutish, nasty, and cruel demeanors of the worst of them being examples.
When released, he shrugged back, spitting at the ground beside him and only giving a slight rise to his lip and clenched jaw in restrained menace. "We will see." He said upon receiving the order to begin mucking the informal stable, to which several men on what could only be described as not-guard-duty, questioned Orchid. Brannor in the meanwhile, simply began about his work, only willing to stop should the guards have gone to intervene. After all, a slave, even a defiant one, does what it is told, do they not? To obey was not something the wild heart had in his interest, but this endeavor was another trial put before him, to temper and test that it seemed. Everywhere the outlander went he was trapped, unarmed at that, and with only his guile and natural talents to guide him through it, though the crude wood shovel at the "stable" was a welcome weapon, if only a primitive cudgel.
It was not his sword of course, neither was it his hunting bow or the associated knife, but it was something, and it was work to learn with by observation of the world around him. Being sure not to intrude on his captors' apparent argument, he went about his work, at least for the moment, being rewarded with seeing that the old man, the apparent druid as it were, was still very much alive. Though, as Orchid put it, the man was "playing in the mud".
Despite himself being tied to nature's will in irresistible ways, those which at times overcame and consumed him, the young, albeit powerfully built man had not the faintest of what the druid was up to. The man had always been cryptic, bizarre even, weaving strange stories, possessed of some old spirit, taken by words and language from a far away place. It all made it far more confounding, but whatever it was that took place with him, it seemed Brannor was not the only one who thought it slightly worrisome; the half-blood, in his own unique way, went about acknowledging the strangeness.
With the sliver of a shudder, the one, buried in the minotaur hide, awakened.
"For many turned leaves, he struggled against the eldritch bonds but remained obliged, thanks to his tormentor…"
The druid's eyes convalesced with a fiery pause, attempting to burn away the residue of an inner homunculus, savory of a solstice, both battered and bated. The furry brows enthusiastically engaged the playful inquiry of the half-orc, sincerely suffocating and obfuscating a cryptic monologue as the riddled spine melted into a much betrothed respite.
“Saldrinar, a mewling meat wizard from the South. Each day, another infernal sigil would be triggered, fastening him to a brief moment of agonizing lucidity before the mind would lapse back into that timeless sleep. I suspect that one can not continue to storm a castle always knowing that their time is nigh. However, this mouth will try to implore, in this brief interlude, a manifest to my last thought, as like runes upon the scales of my corpse.”
Torus began to gawk exquisitely past the barbarian, hoping he would hear the juxtaposed words of Westgate's first ruler, Kisonraathiisar, as the soliloquy trekked, with a staff of its own, the mountainous distance towards the enthused Davis and his Hin audience.
“While her two-legged ants swarmed across her kingdom and slaughtered the tribes of troubled dragonkin that she had carefully nurtured into stewards of this demesne, I see Null’s dull claws inexorably crushing the future that she had hoped to create. For millennia, their kind had once labored to build kingdoms that might survive the King-Killer’s baleful eye. But just as I sit upon the cusp of escaping a parallel curse, his plans were laid low by a scion of those arrogant Netherese fools. The sorceress cared not for the work of the ages; she greedily sought only to steal what he could not build and claim what was not his to own.”
“Ironic.” The pirate’s voice was not a boisterous whisper, but plain all the same. “Like these zealots of Tiamat.”
“In the desperate hope that another of Asgorath’s children might not chance upon his remains and seek what I have already found. Listen, I now reveal the key to a different hoard.”
Annoyed by the muddy shackles, the murmurs flattered simplicity as the one sided diatribe droned on.
“The hills of the lost gods were never what they seem. Each of the seven rings of standing stones dates back to the last days of the reign of dragons, when the elder wyrms sought to reverse what the elves had wrought. Bahamut’s ancestors tried to focus the Weave into a weapon of unparalleled might that could shatter the Drifting Stars into clouds of rubble in the heavens above. But they scored only a glancing blow on the moon that circles our world, leaving only a string of tears and an inland sea to mark their failure.”
The filthy yokes tethering the hands of the impetuous sailor began to crumble, like sand.
“Now reason is once again undone by their rage, and all which has been wrought crumbles slowly into dust, sifting freedom.”
Liberated under the guise of depression, you-know-who is using the failed tale of Kisonraathiisar, as a twisted allegory for both humans and herself.
So far Kyra has tested her resolve from trying to kill anyone here. It'd be so easy for her. Poison their food or water supply, slit some throats in their sleep, light some tents on fire. Kyra was half-tempted to try to "heal" any of their wounded, and report a massive amount of brigands and cultists who didn't survive their injuries. But she had to bide her time. She was here to save Leosin, and after he was safe then she could get her revenge. Then she can find some semblance of justice. The fact that she got to see the leaders of this camp was good; now Kyra knew who she needed to eliminate first and foremost. Cyanwrath was without a doubt likely going to be their toughest opponent, however Mondath was just human. Not that she was going to be an easy foe to take down, but she was likely weaker then Cyanwrath.
Something else on Kyra's mind however was the other prisoners. While she knows that Leosin is their main priority, Kyra couldn't let the other prisoners here stay under the cult's oppressive rule. Kyra had to distance herself to remove any temptation of trying to free them preemptively, but she had it in her mind to somehow liberate the other slaves, even if she couldn't personally escort them. She wants to give them a chance to run. Or even a chance to fight. But before Kyra could wander off too far she heard someone approaching her. "D'you have a minute?" When she turned her head she saw a puff of purple smoke come her way. Waving the foul smog away Kyra kept walking.
Orchid just stared blankly at Torus as he rambled on about things that were far beyond the half-orc's common comprehension. "Torag hungry? Torag sound hungry." Hunger was the simplest conclusion Orchid could guess for the old man. Frankly, Orchid could go for a heavy meal himself. Some nice veal and a huge jug of water. Perhaps some roasted mushrooms or fish. Simple tastes really, Orchid would be fine with a few raw potatoes if they had raided any. But alas, nothing for the half-orc just yet.
Before he could go and find some edibles one of the guards came over to Orchid asking about why Brannor was cleaning the stables, since the stables weren't suppose to be cleaned. Orchid had no intentions of telling the guard why Brannor was really there, so Orchid just shrugged. "Neh. Prisoner prisoner. If he not work here, make him work somewhere else! Go shovel hole or something." Orchid rebuffed the guard and went back into the mess hall to grab himself some grub.
"Ah, yes, you are new here..." the voice from behind Kyra noted, a clearly annoyed tone in it. "Let me rephrase that", the man suggested, accelerating his steps and making it in front of the priestess. He took a particularly deep breath of the smoke and as he spoke again, small puffs of colour came out of his lungs along with the words: "We can either talk here and now where you are free enough to appreciate it. Or I can see you bound to one of those poles and left there to think of an answer. It is your call." Krets was not up for games, that much was for certain.
At a whole another scene, a discussion was proceeding with many less idle threats as Parum did her best to weave this acolyte around her finger. And as far as she could tell, it was working too. "Uhhh... I mean... I can't really ask to have a bed for you in the acolyte's tent but... Ahm...", Davis went on stammering for a while as he honestly thought what he could offer for the promise of additional reward. In the end once they arrived at their destination, he looked a bit defeated as he apparently couldn't really think of anything more than what he had. "No, there's little I can think of. I can get you a blanket or two at best, but at least there's some natural holes on them walls, with even bushes in the way for some. Neat enough, even if no tent... I hope", was his promise.
Now these two were close enough to see the scene with Torus, Orchid, Brannor and the very confused guards. "Look see, we don't want prisoners at the horses unless... hey, are you even listening to me? Hey!" an annoyed guard shouted after Orchid, but resorted to simply facepalming as the half-orc moved away without a care in the world. The guard bit his lip and grumbled, trying his very best to say no swears. And he actually managed to only let out a very, thoroughly and massively annoyed scream into a closed mouth. More stuff he would have to deal with. Astounding. He moved towards Brannor, stopping a few paces away.
"Prisoner. You may stop. I'll see you to somebody who can actually use you for something, or back to that tent of yours", he requested compliance from the man of the wilds. Were he not one for listening, the guardsman would need to take a moment to gather his thoughts. Who would refuse the chance to not deal with literal shit? If the man complied however, the guard would indeed see him to the tent where prisoners were kept when not working. Where he would then be assigned to somewhere else, no doubt.
The possessed pirate followed the half-orc into the den of cultists, famished with the appetite of exploitation and physical sustenance. The druid almost carried the staff haphazardly, not truly depending on the firmness of its reliance, as his soiled boots salted the innards of the mess hall.
“Yes, I do hunger.”
She surveyed the area, scoping the entrances and exits, in addition to whom were in attendance at the bar, tables and those walking in obvious employment. Shadowing the barbarian from a distance was only natural. Providing such a separation from the green blood probably warranted suspicion from the looming guards, but the bard now in charge felt the risk was amenable to the chance of ravishing this camp.
“Please satiate such cravings, Orchid. Lest I become cranky.” The posited statement was direct but doubly awkward from its delivery. Hiding her demeanor seemed no longer to be a requisite for Xaron any longer.
While the woodsman wasn't certain of what at all was taking place now or how it fit into the plan, he complied with the guard's almost humane order. Driving the crude, wooden shovel back into the churned, sickly earth with one great hand where it gave a just as ghastly sound, he looked the guard over once and issued a casual, but most realistic response.
"You needn't tell me twice."
Plainly said as it were, the distraction dealing with the enemy prevented him from largely knowing what was taking place with the crestfallen sailor and his druidic outbursts. It was not for lack of hearing, the wilder's ears were one of the most sensitive things of his person in terms of observation, but processing it among attempting to feign knowing nothing of his allies just within reach. So he was left little option but to shrug the great mountainous shape that his shoulders made and step forward, bindings swaying. Off again were they to all disperse, but at least something of great use had been passed on beside the deadly bone he had been gifted with and its crude, vicious edge.
The old man had taken a plunge into the deeper, darker side of his being again, almost as though he were so utterly lost in it. What bits of the conversation he overheard as he kept in line with his captor told him very little, as cryptic and as bizarre as ever, but that something had inflicted him personal harm and brought up this other side of him once more.
Brannor follows the guard, not wanting to raise suspicion and having no real interest in doing meaningless work if it endangered the ruse.
With a snort Kyra cleared the air in front of her face of the sickening purple haze. Her patience was wearing thin and she made this clear enough with her look and attitude. "What is it then? If you want my company or services, that will be no on both accounts. I've no interest in your type, and I'm a hunter not a healer." Kyra glared at this mean with hostile intentions, crossing her arms defiantly. Her hand clenched into a fist, but only to hide how easy it would be for her to grab her short sword and slice this man's throat. Her mind ran through many possibilities of her slaying this foul man, hiding his body among the bushes or in a camp without none the wiser. However for now all she could do was stare in plain defiance.
Parum thought about what Davis was offering, looking at the holes in relation to where Leosin was. It wasn't perfect, but as far as cover went, it'll have to do. Keep prying eyes off of her and give her a nice spot to stake out the place tonight. All she needed was a distraction and a replacement. Fortunately Davis could cover at least one of those things. "Oh well, I suppose it's better then sleeping in the cold, open night sky... Still... Could certainly use some better company then my current riff raft of a team. Perhaps," Parum playfully poked Davis's sternum. "You could keep me warm tonight? Think about it. I'll come find you later when I'm ready for some rest and relaxation."
Parum started to walk a bit away from Davis, stopping only to flash him a smile and a wink. "I should really go find my other teammates, make sure they haven't made a mess of things while I was gone. Take care of yourself Davis. Play your cards right and this will be a night you'll remember~" Parum skipped away as if she was just a giddy girl, but once she was out of sight she dropped the act and groaned softly to herself. She didn't think she'd have to use her bardic skills seducing cultists, but whatever she needed to do to make this mission succeed, she'll have to try. As she was looking around for what began of Orchid and Torus, she did spot Kyra speaking to a rather gruff looking brigand. He didn't dress like a cultists so he must have either been one of the mercenaries, or possibly a higher ranking member of the cult. Hiding behind a barrel that was nearby, Parum eaves dropped on the conversation.
The acolyte was positively flabbergasted. He could barely make out an audible "uuuuuhhh..." before Parum had already pranced away. When he had been given the task by the Dragonclaw, this was one of the last things he had been expecting out of it. But he didn't exactly know the mercenaries too well. Perhaps they were less of the "strictly business" type of killers than he had expected? Well, whatever it would be, he had to admit he was still looking forward to the evening. Now though, he'd need to report back to his superior. Unfortunately he quite doubted he would be allowed to head off with some mercenary for the reasons he had already thought of himself, but the chance was there.
AS for the other member of the cult, the one that kept huffing on his pipe as he followed the actions of the suspicious group, Krets was not getting his message across to this pink haired girl. He took his pipe out of his mouth, closed his eyes and raised three fingers. He took a breath and curled a finger. Another deep breath and another finger went down. Finally, he took the third breath and opened his eyes, placing the end of his pipe back into his mouth. "No. None of those things." He took another huff of his pipe before moving both it and the hand holding it to the side.
"What I want is ask a few questions. About your friends. So who is the blue haired one? Your leader? And do you happen to know anything about the business between the half-orc and the old man?" These questions were asked with a tone of annoyance in the man's voice, despite the almost gentle wording of them. And in the meantime, his eyes had observed Kyra's holy symbol and got stuck on it. She claimed to be no healer. Believable, even in the presence of the symbol. But less likely. The longbow of hers also spoke for that. But Krets was not given his duty for nothing. Things had to be considered. Besides, she had given a different introduction in the tent, hadn't she?
Kyra kept her steady glare on the man, showing no tell as he kept prodding her for questions. It was obvious that the camp was onto their ruse now and were trying to figure out their true intentions. For once, she wished that she could hide her spite for these people, because every second she's with this man she could feel a righteous fury grow inside of her. ""The blue haired one is a halfling. She does most of the talking because I don't talk to people. I don't know what 'business' you're talking about. The orc is an orc and they're all crazy, and the old man is senile. As long as they can't bothering me I don't bother keeping track of them." Kyra said harshly, befitting her role. She channel all her hate and spite to being this gruff ranger.
She spotted Krets eying her amulet. Even though she is suppose to be in disguise she wasn't going to forsake Chauntae even among these heathens and infidels. However she knew that he may be questioning her loyalties because of it, so she made up something quickly. "My job is to keep this party alive. Sometimes by healing them. Normally just but shooting down my enemies. Do not take my reverence to the Great Mother as a sign of weakness or me being soft-hearted. I will do anything to keep myself and my allies alive. Even if I have to bend nature itself to meet my needs." A harsh way to put it, but Kyra wasn't lying either. Though she was exaggerating what she meant; she was more then willing to bend nature and clear the land, till the soil, and otherwise take care of her home in order to keep herself, her friends, and her family alive. She just worded it in such a way that it seemed like she meant it more selfishly.
