Parum looked to Kyra then to the cultists she was talking about. She nodded her head and wondered if maybe those uniforms could be useful in escaping. Grab one or two to help hide Leosin, or perhaps disguise themselves and fool the lower rank cultists. Though it’ll have to be one of the others wearing the disguise; she hasn’t seen any other halflings among the cultists rank.
”Indeed. Very interesting. Why don’t you get a closer look so we can show it off to our friends?”
If Kyra could grab some disguises it could really help them escape durin the chaos. Or possibly even help the other prisoners get away if things go really crazy. Parum kept the options on her mind.
Orchid spat at the older orcs feet, then stuck an accusation g finger right at the old orcs nose. ”Ya think I can’t take you him on? You sorry lot won’t even earn a knotch in my scabbard. I could take you and ten of your boys on with a stick.” Orchid was certainly undaughnted at the older orc’s unimpressed attitude towards Orchid. The half-Orc was actually rather insulted.
”Before I took him down, that ‘beaten man’ had already slaughtered a whole crew of your sorry warriors and those little lizards. The fact I took him down after he took down so many of yours, even after he got his arse handed to him by ya dragon man, shows me that you lot aren’t worth the steel you call swords.” Orchid took a step back and opened his arms wide in a challenging way. He gave the older orc a wicked grin as if he found the old man humorous.
”But words are for the weak. Tell ya what, no more words. I’ll fight ya and anyone else you got by the slave pens. Got a nice little fence over there already, makes for a decent arena. I’ll show ya where you stand compared to me!”
"So ya's sayin' that ya took a man beaten for ya, beat 'im, an' now think yaself ta be some champ?" the older counterpart to the discussion returned to Orchid's tirade. "Nae tha' I think o' it, seems tha only guy ta say the Greenest champ took down more, das ya. Yer full o' hot air kid", the older half-orc concluded and shook his head. Before he could say more though, a puff of purple smoke wafted in from behind the provoking party and a figure the goading half-orc could recognise stepped in to the heated discussion they had been having. Whether he was invited or not.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen. Order", investigator Krets demanded of the two and took a lungful of air through his pipe. "I don't particularly care what this whole ordeal is about, but the wearers of purple would be really disappointed to hear about infighting. Go do your thing, whatever it is, and stop with pestering your brothers in arms, all right?" Krets did seem rather peeved at this whole matter, but once again he appeared to be trying his best to not let it slip into his language.
For the Druid and the prisoner, scenery did not change much. Guards would change in due time, but that time was not even nearly there yet. So it was left to them to hold up their façade and bide their time. Even Judgement would fail to report anything new: Leosin, or who they with quite substantial proof suspected to be the man, remained bound on the spot where Parum had said she had seen him. The captives didn't include anyone else who might match the description they had had, as fortune would have it, so it was looking ever more likely that the man they were looking for was indeed held at the back of the camp. In more or less the furthest point from the entrance. How lovely.
The short exchange of words between Parum and Kyra, on the other hand, seemed to go mostly ignored. They were of the same group after all, so it would have made no sense for that to ring any bells either. It was, of course, possible that the increased amount of the better dressed folk was a coincidence, that there was something else going on. But what were the odds of that? In any case, the two would need to bide their time. Until their moment to strike would come. And as the sun began to vanish away at long last, when Orchid would finally get himself out of the rabble rousing shenanigans... the darkness of the night was on steady approach. No sign of acolyte Davis quite yet.
Orchid (@Lucius Cypher) may roll Insight(Wis) on Krets if he wants to try and look beyond what was obviously said. In case the nature of the purple smoke he seems to be huffing, one can go for Nature, though I doubt that would be of great import right about now. Whether either of those happens or not, he is free to move on with the one half-orc he managed to impress out of the two.
Torus/Xaron (@Gordian Nought) should roll Performance(Cha) for how convincingly they can play the part of a cat if they want to try to do anything fancy. What constitutes as fancy? I mostly trust in your judgement. Err onto the side of caution.
To be fair, it's tough to tell what the plan is with Parum and Kyra. Feel free to discuss it with me in more detail.
When Kret's returned to stop the commotion, Orchid simply coughed due to the strange purple haze. He knew his elders once smoked some strange herb for recreational purposes, but it usually wasn't purple. Orchid wasn't sure what this stuff was but he wasn't too interested either. "Bah! Orchid go! Man of action anyways." Orchid strutted away from the scene, presumably with his new cronie in tow, with only half an idea of what to actually do from here. He intended to beat this guy up and take his outfit as a disguise, however Orchid now had other ideas. He felt pretty puffed up with his boasts and figured that maybe he could convince this kid to be a follower. He just needed to know his name. So once Orchid was a good distance away from the tent he turned to the other orc.
Nodding her head, Kyra departed from Parum to see if she could go swipe a uniform from one of the purple-robed people, or possibly just regular uniforms. And there was only one way to do that; handle the laundry. Surely these cultist needed to clean their attires from time-to-time, even if they lived like a bunch of filthy brigands for most of their lives. At the very least Kyra could convincingly play the part of a mere rag washer, grabbing an empty basin she could fill and a wooden rack she could use to wash clothes with. She went around the camp looking for cultist in particular if they had any uniforms to wash, saying that she was going to go do some washing and doesn't intend to make two-trips.
With Kyra off to grab those disguises Parum took some time to walk around the camp some more, this time looking for a good escape route. She needed the questest path out of the camp after tabbing Leosin, preferably one with a lot of cover. But not tents: too risky that the party will get ambushed. She hoped maybe they could get horses too but that was a long shot. Another idea she had was poisoning some of the food and water. Can’t chase them if they’re sick.
”One thing at a time. Don’t bite for more than you can chew.
Parum decided to start making out an escape route in her head, marking her path in her head. Night was falling but it was still clear enough for her to look around most of the camp. She needed to remember this pathbonce night falls and things get dark. Put her brain to work.
It remained bright, with dusk curdling above the frothy horizon.
The black cat toggled, concealing intermittently amongst the congealed rays of sunlight and the furnished spoils of the encampment, weaving its body like a proverbial stitch into the lacy panorama round about, that now imprisoned the indentured Brannor. These children of Tiamat, some sporting shaven scalps, stood guard both afar and close around the wilder, restrained behind the invisible bars of religious cribs and dutiful watchfulness, longing for the arrival of their Mother, to finally nurse them into that fiery bosom of death, that only a blissful cultist could even fathom or appreciate.
What’s more? Who were the real captors here?
The delusional diluted minds of pious, but evil sacrosancts, awaiting the coming reign of an additional deity, who was ironically bound Herself? Or the paladin suffering a dutiful ruse to free an alleged unmet monk of Greenest, captured in this convoluted war of hoards and dragons?
The ill humor frosted across the panes of Xaron’s cerebral windows, tickling her cognizance, of a persistent winter where one would still slay or relay to maintain an ideal or connection to another in this world of Toril. Her egocentric mentality had salvaged her nearly exterminated intellect over the decades, leeching upon the available corpus of a once young druid, whose old Gods allowed the violated betrayal of her seed to satirically sprout in the brain of one of Their youngest followers. The bard swayed to the same very id, which within every individual cares only about itself. Adulterating this realization with relationships, even with a blue-haired Hin, a boisterous half-orc, and a stoic bird faithful to the frail physique of Torus, mitigated and attenuated but simultaneously also substantiated the purpose of her careful immortality.
Besides, the Queen to come would poison her invested plot, if she remained lax and negligent.
These thoughts of darkness chased each other, transparently, convincing the witch that the steeple of dirt was not tall enough to church the golden eyes to wander amongst its hidden pews. Xaron opened her mouth wide and tried to mew but her throat only emitted a wheezing sound, due to lack of the mastered vibrato of a subtle but noticeable purr. The feline pouted, with a wry and wrinkled face, beginning to infrequently whine, hoping only the green knight would heed the occasional shrill squeal and the soaring dot in the squall above. Profound weariness mounted and manifested in her face, as the sun pendulated across the sky and her green eyes with their narrow charcoal pupils frayed an expression both languid and sentimental.
Soon, the night would better camouflage her intentions.
She would rest, along with her paused penchant of wine, dragonchess and pickled mushrooms, to follow him to his cell. Possibly a rodent would suit this better. A cat and mouse game after all? All the while, Judgement would conveniently keep tabs on the others, cementing and confirming all of their whereabouts, including Leosin, to embolden their escape, with ease and elegance.
Torus/Xaron will refresh every short rest as needed, to replenish her Wildshape as a cat. She is trying to garner the attention of Brannor through squeals, purrs and this feline made structure, pointing to Judgement above.
"I'm Keth", the other half-orc shared with Orchid. "Been here for a few months. Not seen you around before. New or something?" This one swallowed less of his letters than the older one he'd been talking with had done, hinting at a background different from either of the other two half-orcs. But whatever it was that Orchid had in mind for them, the new guy did seem receptive to hearing. And for the time being, they would move about with him. And with someone in the cult cloak on their shoulders next to them, Orchid found himself the target of the glaring eyes of other cult members a fair bit less often.
Those glares would be more common around Kyra though. Not exactly at her, no. After all, who would complain when somebody offered to do laundry for them? No, these glares were directed at other cult members, namely those who considered giving their cloaks away to a mere mercenary. She even heard some mention this out loud, the Dragonclaws with the ornaments on their clasps and heavier armaments by their side being the especially vocal opposition. And for those who wore purple she couldn't even get close to. After all, this was only the leadership figures, Cyanwrath and Morndath. Maybe more? But perhaps asking them would not have led to the best results.
She didn't completely waste her efforts though, as she did manage to get to know a 'fellow' mercenary as she ended up washing what she had next to a dwarf man carrying a nasty two handed crossbow with her. "Them cult boys and girls think themselves better than us, so don't let that get to yar head", he mentioned in passing before excusing himself, having almost finished his task by the time Kyra arrived to the designated laundry point. "They won't give those cloaks to anyone not in their little inside ring. Well, their loss!" A true statement, in a way. But this time the cult's hubris worked to aid them.
Parum would find that the fastest way out would unfortunately led pretty much straight through the camp. Since that would not be an option most likely, she had to seek a backup plan to that. And with all the little nooks and crannies, as well as little caves pointed out by acolyte Davis, the other option quickly formed to be taking the Southern side of the camp and trying to keep out of view. In the best case, they might even get to disturb the horses upon taking that path. Not bad at all. Problem was, that would definitely take more time. Might need a distraction to utilise to full.
By the time everyone began wrapping up their tasks, the sun had descended below the walls surrounding them, though it still painted the sky in a beautiful shade of red. Cult members, mercenaries and kobolds alike were preparing torches and lanterns, guards were changing their shifts, the food tents began seeing more traffic. People were preparing to rest for the night. Even Brannor and Torus would find themselves in the company of more prisoners as those the cult made do their dirty work for them were finally corralled back to their tent, though they were encouraged to stay away from the big guy. Or perhaps they simply chose to do so of their own volition?
Within the next half an hour darkness was likely to claim the camp. The plan of rescuing Leosin would be kicked in gear, assuming no wrenches would fly into the gears prior to that. And to Parum's luck, she would see a familiar figure walk up to her. And this figure was not Dragonclaw Stern or Investigator Krets. No, it was Acolyte Davis, as she had requested of him.
Orchid fails to discern anything beyond what was previously mentioned about Krets. He does learn a bit about the other half-orc though, and thus far they've stayed on friendly terms.
Kyra cannot get her hands on cult cloaks, unfortunately. She does pick up a piece of knowledge that suggests not all mercenaries might be very loyal to the cause.
Parum has found two routes the party might take in their escape, that fit in her restrictions at the very least.
The night will claim the camp soon. Time for preparation is more or less over.
Just before the onset of darkness, the old magician played his hand by appearing once more in the shape of a cat, whose hoarse cries and subtle meows eventually coaxed the ferine one to pay heed to the bird above once more; it confirmed what was suspect in the man's mind, that no animal here would dare to or about him without some sort of purpose. The entire camp was functional, utterly indifferent to any elements of the world outside or within it. So much so that they seemed to be, like the captives themselves, tools to an end. No greater purpose, no larger thought attributed. This dragon's cult was not only pathetic, it was petty.
Brannor, left largely to himself owing to his reputation or the wariness of the captors themselves, put himself on the fringes of the tent. One knee drawn in to rest an arm, the other outstretched, he awaited the time to strike. He counted only their torches and lanterns for his amusement rather than any practical ends, watching the fire they so chose to shield themselves with; a false ward if anything as they had let the danger stalk directly into their camp and take up roost in it. All that remained was the escape now, whenever that was to come, but the hunter knew to wait, to afford the others their needed time.
All that concerned him now was the time it would take, for each passing minute once they were to begin would make the likelihood of success all the more weak and this "Leosin" was somewhere other than here among the slave camp. Whenever and whatever they chose to do, it would need be decisive and soon.
Dusk finally harbored the internal schism of mice and men, as the feline soon transformed, behind unseen walls, into its acquainted and most predicated prey. Ogling Brannor and comparing the fetters binding both the ferine champion and Leosin, the shapeshifter, benefiting from eyes above, quickly scurried, with tantalizing tail whipping close, covered by the brightness of dirty darkness, to the tent’s outskirts, now shouldering the bemused paladin.
He must be the first to be free. Then the monk.
The apparent quarantine seemed more of a humble trap, allowing the prisoners to roam in their confines as guards judged from afar. However, such allegorical ploys were far more effective, to the bard’s experience, at catching unwanted hands reaching into unexpected places than actually snaring wayward rodents. The chanced meeting with Krets scorned Xaron, though, a once neglected but now considered uneasiness, as her furry shape brushed upon the boots of Greenest’s champion. The angsty apprehension effervesced, mostly due to the physical liberty permitted to roam within the encampment, as if the lax cultist’s intention subsisted to enumerate and capture all along, entirely those incorporated in this Faustian rebellion.
This potential danger flowered red flags, within her partnered pirate’s cerebrum, aware of the proverbial rhododendron and rhubarb, sprouting such symbolic perils of treacherous pitfalls ever ahead. The trick to bridge the corporeal gap, between all the missing pieces to the party’s jigsaw, would be full of thorns. Nothing could come of a floundered escape, save the satisfaction of future sacrifices to the glorious Tiamat. To flatter this double jeopardy, the murky avian swirled and circled the manacled martial artist, again and again, to the pattern of an ominous carrion swooping over a soon to be carcass, aspiring to scavenge flesh and feast, whilst simultaneously noting the surroundings.
Then, once reconnaissance was surveyed, the aerial scout would seek the Hin, the half-blood and the priestess exact whereabouts.
A caress and squeak, intentional and abrupt, spurred the black rat’s slight trek to now beeline away and back again, leading the golden eyes from soiled steeple to shoe, suggestive of the commonality between the charcoaled rascals.
Hopefully, the man would follow the mouse, in this dead of night.
The cat becomes a mouse, carefully invading into the prisoners’ tents. Once there, Torus remains by Brannor’s feet, lingering to see whether the warrior can free himself and escape without overt assistance or distraction.
After his little meetup with the half-orc called Keth, Orchid would eventually depart from him. He didn't get much info but he did mention that he'll be seeing him later, just in case he can think of some reason to use the guy. Orchid was half certain he could possibly get away with knocking the kid out and disguising Brannor as him, since it seemed like most of the cultist folks didn't pay Orchid much mind so long as they thought Keth was with him. Something to consider.
Once night fell it was time to put their plan into action. Whatever that was; Orchid only knew he needed to knock someone out. Parum had explained it to her in simple words; she was going to stay near some isolated part of the camp, and when a cultist member came, he had to knock em out with a blow to the head. He knew how to do that; he's stunned prey before. So Orchid stayed hidden near Parum, and when her friend had shown up, Orchid would sneak up behind him and pummel him with the pommel of his machete.
Parum spent a good amount of her time thinking of an escape route, how to get Leosin out, how to save Brannor, generally a lot of heavy thoughts in her mind. She was starting to regret taking Brannor in as a prisoner. It brought them unneeded attention and got Brannor locked up in a bad position. But no time for regrets now. It was time for her plan to go.
Parum was at her private little camp spot when Davis arrived just as planned. She’ll have Orchid and Kyra knock him out for the purpose of getting his outfit to disguise Leosin, as well as switching their places so they aren’t immediately noticed. Before Orchid attacked Parum turned to Da is and smiled.
”I’m glad you showed up. Tonight is going to be a night you’ll remember.” Parum Words we’re laced with magic as she made a very subtle threat, charging her words with a touch of vicious Mockery.
As the bard's magic wracked his mind, realisation flashed in the acolyte's eyes. He attempted to turn, but was met by two more of the supposed mercenary party as well as their weapons. Despite his best attempts at avoiding the effects of the quite successful ambush, he could not bend fate to his will. Now he regretted the fact he hadn't prepared and cast Sanctuary, though whether that would have changed the outcome would never be known. With the two other combatants beating the lights out of him, the acolyte went down without as much as a peep.
On with the show. They had an outfit to steal and a monk to rescue. And with no signs of alarm blaring out immediately, all was looking well for their plan to come. Oh, other than the two remaining party members that either knew or did not know what the others had been doing, depending on the positioning of Judgement at the time of the deed. The party had chosen a relatively remote location after all.
Davis fails his save against Parum's Vicious Mockery with a roll of 11 and is subsequently dealt two (2) psychic damage, as well as having disadvantage applied to his next attack before the end of his next turn. Orchid and Kyra both fail their stealth checks to gain advantage in their attacks against the now more aware enemy with rolls of 9 and 7 respectively, but both do end up landing a hit. Orchid does so with 22 (adjusted to 20 because improvised weapon, my bad) while Kyra has scored a natural twenty (though I had the wrong modifiers there too, considering the nature of the attack). I assumed both characters to be using club type weapons for knocking people out, but in the end Orchid dealt 5 damage, as did Kyra's critical hit (5). This knocks out the cultist.
With Davis knocked out, securing a disguise and a replacement for Leosin was complete. Now they just needed to get him and Brannor out of here. Kyra looked around to ensure none were watching before she slunk back into the shadows, vanishing into the night. "I'll keep an eye out for anyone who may have suspicions. You two secure Leosin. After that we should find Torus to free Brannor, and possibly the rest of the slaves too. They'll make for good distractions." Taking her father's bow out Kyra scanned the darkness around her. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the low light and almost effectively allowed her to see as plain as day. Details were a bit hard to pick out, but unless the other cultists were in hiding, Kyra should have no problems looking for them too.
It was no simple matter, the escape from the confines of the tent, but Brannor had not once led himself to any delusion it would be. At the onset of evening his captors herded them, the slaves and captives, together like sheep, though the people seemed all too wary of him. What did they know? What rumors circled in their huddled, hushed circles? What stories had they heard? Enough, so it seemed, that when they were at last allowed to rest upon the earthen floor. Fortunately the company of an ally had arrived and awaited with him throughout the onset of the night - the somewhat crazed, somewhat lucid old man in one of many disguises he seemed to where. Just what he was, was a mystery in its whole, but what he did make for was one particularly convincing animal.
To and fro the druid scuttled and scurried upon tiny clawed feet, drawing the attention of the eyes of the night. Warily, having slept only lightly seated where he was, the captive noted the touch of the rat and the soft chirp of a squeak it gave. Initially the man thought it was one of the wandering vermin of the camp, but the recall returned to him when sleep was dispelled in full; Torus, yet again. At first the man noted it was well time to go, but to the sharpened senses so bestowed upon him, something was... sickly, wrong, off.
It took a few moments of awkward delay, perhaps to the frustration of the shapeshifted form entrusted with him, but the huntsman-knight knew just what it was, what bothered him so. Smoke, pungent and sweet, something he had scented before on the wind and something in concentration around but one man who carried with him a pipe. Where it came from it was not clear initially, but while not the erudite of thinkers, Brannor was wise. The most obvious approach, the most obvious escape was out the open door flap of the tent, which the majority of slaves gathered near and by. It was a trap laid in plain sight for any would be escapee, something he might well not have noticed was under watch or even thought to - after all, who would be so bold but him to even dare? Let alone was not shacked to another?
The bone-knife at this point made itself of use, but not as carefully as he had first hoped, for when he finished freeing the connecting bond between his hands, the ferine eyes came to note the others of the tent cowered and huddled out of fear. Whatever they knew, the fact now he was free made them far, far more frightened. Yet the powerfully built man paid them no real mind, instead content to poke the gently the company of Torus in the side of his fur. With a nod, he communicated what little he could in silence, suggesting an alternative way out, one which the clever druid exploited in a breath; the slave tent, pitched poorly and hastily, had a gap beneath it and the ground, one which the vermin impostor exploited with resounding ease, slipping under and away. Delaying for a bit, the man laid flat initially and watched his cohort scamper across, drawing the attention of the smoking man whose face lit with the glow of his pipe.
So it was true that he was keeping watch on the entrance, to which the wilder could only thank the Pale Lady for her blessing that so enabled him to do as he needed to do and know as he needed to know. What he did next was instinct, slinking upon his hands and feet in the darkness, blending among the grass and earth, vanishing under and behind the tent. The observer seemed not to notice, or if he did he feigned naivety, but the wild warrior did not end his deeds there, instead creeping along until he broke from the man's breadth of vision and followed on behind the druid.
By divine grace or sheer luck, he had escaped, but time was short. They needed to find the others and manage the issue of the monk...
Brannor makes a Sleight of Hand check to cut his binds, rolling a 4, 14 with circumstantial advantage. From there, he is left to wonder where next to go as they cannot escape by the means of the entrance due to a watchman, being unable to know what is outside. As such, given Brannor would be blindly leaving and trying to escape the tent without detection, he rolls a 1, but has Torus providing advantage by following the same route. He then proceeds to sneak by, succeeding by having advantage from using the natural cover and concealment as per his natural instinct to do so cancel out his armor's disadvantage. He rolls a 23 to evade detection.
The bound tiger soon loosed its fetters, securing an ostial blade, from the prior tryst with Orchid. Following the rodent, the pong of smoldering ash reeked outside the tent, familiar in its foreign aroma of the investigator’s pipe. Such a foul tang instilled a treacherous evanescence in both the wilder and its louse of a guide, forcing intermittent hesitations in their hushed exodus. The paladin and druid, exploiting dusk’s curtain and the distraction of heaven’s luminaries, eventually traipsed the schlepping Krets, smoke and all. The glowering fumes crackled embers near the hopping rat, as the duo scurried under the cover of Judgement. The wings shrewdly beating its verdict of innocence towards Leosin, like a soft gavel indulging in the forgiving nature of the wind, as the adopted wardens of Greenest with its champion soon arrived upon the shackled monk.
Now that the gang was all here, Parum quickly summarized their plan. "We'll grab Leosin and replace him with this cultist we knocked out. We'll disguise him too to help lower the suspicion. Brannor, if possible I'd like it if you could somehow free the other slaves. I want to give them a chance at freedom. If nothing else, their escape combined with our own may give us more time to get to Greenest before anyone is wiser. Torag, I must rely on your abilities with animals to scout the area for us, and if need be run interference should the need arise. Orchid, you and I shall secure Leosin. We must be quick and subtle. And Kyra, your abilities as a hunter and your knowledge of this area will be our key back to Greenest at top speed. Once Leosin is within our custody I trust that you can safely guide us to sanctuary." Parum looked at the other four. Though she's only known them for a few days, it has felt like she's worked with them for years. "There's nothing else to say. I wish you all the best of luck. Gods protect us."
Parum will burn all of her Bardic Inspiration to give Brannor, Torag, and Kyra one use of Bardic Inspiration each (1d6). It's good for one ability check, Attack roll, or saving throw for the next ten minutes.
The folding of the outsider's arms across his chest and slight tip of his chin to his neck made a subtle message before he so much as spoke or reacted in other meaningful manner. The smoking man, assuming he was still on his watch, more or less ensured the slaves were going nowhere lest he raise the alarm, let alone the attempt to even free them being only questionably viable at that. He would do as requested, but only if it were achievable and by searching it out. Though he waited until the small one finished before looking to the half-blooded orc, who he noted earlier in the day saunter throughout the camp to unknown ends, presumably gathering means to ends.
"I will need my sword." Brannor spoke up, thinking that at the worst of it he might need kill the smoking man or at best fend off a potential threat. He did not stop there however, offering a nod and moving the conversation of rearming himself further, "As well as my other weapons."
Few as they were in number or diversity in kind, having more than just a sword itself was essential, especially a bow. If worst came to worst, Brannor began to drum up a plot to at least give the slaves and opportunity to escape as after all, fire made for a terrible motivator and distraction. It was the last thing he could think of, setting fire to a tent by knocking a lantern over at a distance by the work of his bow. The ensuing chaos as it grew and as a distraction would likely keep them busy. After all, their carelessness abounded here and it had been made clear they were not quite so watchful or wary of anything but him as they should be.
Though a last resort was just that, the only final option. If fate was kind the bearer of the pipe would be off elsewhere, but the hunter made no promises to himself or the world that was so true. The only thing that concerned him was the thrill of the hunt itself, could he control and maintain it if the opportunity arose and he did not so need to take it? The goal was to see if the people could be freed, if at all, not to become filled with killer fervor at the chance of justified revenge.
Carrying the unconscious cultist as if he was drunk, Orchid smirked at the gathered party. He handed Brannor back his equipment and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "We do GOOD, eh?" There was still some other obstacles they'll have to deal with, but right now Orchid was just glad that everything was working out so far. Once he had given Brannor his desired equipment, Orchid looked to Parum. He's yet to actually figure out how nervous she is about this whole thing and thought she was a mastermind of some sort. She at least seemed to be good at tricking everyone, including Orchid, that she really is. "Okay. Go time." Orchid had also taken some time to stripe Davis of his uniform, or at least enough of his outfit to so Orchid could conceivably disguise a snatched Leosin as a mere cultist. Hopefully they don't run into any guards however, which while invalidates the need for a disguise, was better safe then sorry.
The weight of the familiar sword bound in leather at its grip was a welcome sensation to the man, an all too welcome one at this time. At the heft of the blade and the pat of the savage's hand, the man could only grin in the dark. There was an eagerness to the weapon, a conduit of the person who bore it and its atypical design at that; simultaneously ceremonial and mystical. It was that voiceless voice that spoke to him and had him so adorn it with inscriptions, the same sensation that returned to him when it rest in hand now. Only this time it would be adorned in the lifeblood of the cult - perhaps not here and now on this night, but in time coming.
Accompanying the sizable sword was the blade and the bow, along with a quiver of arrows, which the outlander soon shouldered in quick succession, tightening the broad belt across his chest and joining it with the string of one of the weapons. So too did the knife fall into the sheath upon and belt, leaving Brannor once again as armed as he ever was, nodding to Orchid.
"A good start." He muttered softly, turning to depart, unaware he might be well accompanied. Sharing one last glance to them, he shrugged, "We will see if they can be freed, if at all. Let's not forget why we were here in the first place."
