"Let's get back behind this ridge before we're spotted. I don't fancy fighting a whole village, and we're all in the wrong sort of uniforms."
Roedd, skillfully moves back out of site of the village, and looks around for any hidden sentrys that may be posted to provide early warning.
"Uniforms may be removed after all. If there is one among us who will perhaps represent a deserter, he may be able to purchase clothing for us. Moi, I will do this thing if none are willing. I am only a crazy foreigner, after all."
If the thing we is after be in dat village, we is all gonna hafta go down der 'ventch'ally. Methinks dat aside of our trappins we prob'ly could pass fer a band o' mercenaries. Luck be on our side, we got dem uniforms from da ruins that might 'elp us pass. 'cept for me, ya's all look like a bunch of foreign rabble and slaves, I'm da only one from round ere'a'bouts that might raise s'picions.
Were my freedom an option, I would play the willing slave. That is to say, a party of four slavers trying to off load two slaves may be a reasonable cover to assume.
Jacen observes the village from cover, noting how many sentries there are and whether the villagers are in a state of alert.
Roedd disappears into the nearby brush with only a whisper of a rustle. Observing the town from his hiding place he notices that the town does not seem to have any sentries posted. There is no obvious state of alarm coming up from the town either.
Jacen can tell that the townsfolk appear to be going about what looks like daily routines. They pass each other on the street with greetings, women with children in tow do their shopping, and the men on the boats load their cargoes. He also does not spot any sign of sentries.
For a border town they appear to be comfortable in their proximity. Maybe the war over the rights to Lake Prosperity itself keep the battles near its shores instead of the towns river banks.
"Well, I says we just head on down der and sees whats up!"
Roedd whispers... "At the very least we should go down in groups. Lets us see how the townsfolk will react, without committing our entire strength. Besides, two or three groups of one or two individuals, is far less threatening than one larger group."
Forget this!
"There are not so many of us, but Monsieur Beast may be correct. Let us approach. For myself and Seljak the uniforms of the deceased may prevent awkwardness. Jacen - a man of the gods - who will not welcome him? And slaves are everywhere, are they not? We are not so difficult to hide."
Booj waits serenely for instructions.
Conveniently for the three soldiers, Armand, Seljak, and Yuriel, there were three uniforms on the recently departed Legio Ursidaes. Jacen, comfortable in his knowledge that Kavast, just like his nemesis Azaul, as gods of war are generally welcome anywhere there is conflict. Kavast is usually much more welcome than Azaul, as followers of the latter tend to be violent and destructive, adding to the chaos of war. Roedd, fed up with the pace the discussion had taken, acts off the knowledge that no one should care about him, being as the slaves have not earned the right to a uniform so he bears no markings of alliegance.
The path winds down the hillside in a series of switchbacks, long and winding ones at that, to compensate for the steep slope of the mountainside leading down toward the river town. Nearing the edge of the town, the group begins to get a few weird looks, Roedd most of all. Trying to act like he belongs makes the stares even more incredulous, easily reading the looks to mean "Who is this beast that strolls in like he belongs here"?
Seeing the others behind him, visible recognition dawns that he must be some savage hired to guide the soldiers through the wilds.
Now, to make the townsfolk believe that you are not out of your element, playing it off that this is where you're supposed to be. Maybe, you could use the mannerisms seen while overlooking the people to make it feel like you are one of them, or even what you know of the town itself, or other mining towns like it, to act appropriately.
Armand, as always, relies on the fact that his accent and mannerisms mark him out as an oddity. He walks the streets with a tourist's eye, comfortable in his own skin.
Jacen follows the adage: when in Zelbogat do as the Zelbogati do.
You guys come off the trail straightening your new uniforms and acting casual. The looks are suspicious at first, but as they see how you move comfortably and with purpose into the town, the looks soon turn back to their tasks. You guys are given an open berth through the streets and no one bothers to question you.
"Let us find an hostelry. Doubtless someone will be glad to drink with us and share the latest news."
Yuriel sticks with Armand. Mouth shut, ears open. Armand can talk enough for two but might not see trouble coming.
"Someone might drink with this slave?" Booj asks, awe in his voice. His grin broadens.
"Certainement, Booj. You will drink with us. Why not? It will cause comment and open discussions."
Armand peacocks down the street looking for the nearest inn.
Armand, Yuriel, and Booj make a beeline for the nearest drinking establishment. The closest visible one is The Ore's Oars, the sign bearing a low hulled vessel piled with metal bars. The clientele appear to be mainly the crews of the barges moored along the walk. It is a large square two-story building, obviously used to letting out rooms to travelers whose stops along the river bring them to town. Being still before the end of the workday, the barroom floor is fairly bare, and many tables empty.
Roedd decides to trust his eyes around town, instead of the words of those that would share drink to loosen their tongues. His eyse and nose lead him to the vicinity of the stables. Most of it's occupants, though, are mules as they are better suited to bearing loads in the rocky terrain. There are two horses, but they do not appear to have any distinguishing marks or insignia to show ownership. His ears do pick up a lot of mutterings amongst the people as he passes, but alas they are naught more than their opinions of his own person.
Armand heads happily into the Ore's Oars and strides up to the innkeeper, hands full of prettily jingling coin.
"Bonjour and safe days to you, messieur. If you will be so good, we are in need of much refreshment. There is a great thirst among us and our capitain has finally paid us! A joyful day, no?"
He allows his accent to become a little more extreme. Long experience has taught him that nothing puts people off their guard faster than thinking they are dealing with a silly foreigner.
The innkeeper, a heavyset man in his older middle years with sandy brown hair and a mustache that runs into heavy mutton chops, watches as Armand approaches. His eyes taking in the the group. He chews a thick sliver of wood as he responds, "Will ye be wantin ta serve yer slave as well? We has uh nice nut-brown ale on tap and a lunch speshul of fish-head soup an' bread." he switches the sliver to the other side of his mouth, "If'n that's not ta yer likin', mayhap I can muster some broiled crayfish."
Picking up a rag, he begins wiping down the bar, then asks "Ye staying aboard yer vessel, or are ya needin' rooms as well? The slave'll be havin' ta stay with one o' ya. We don' be supplyin' 'em with they own rooms."
"Nut-brown and fish-head soup are most excellent. The slave shall eat - I am a master, not a monster, after all. Rooms will also be welcome. The slave, naturally, will stay with me. How else may I keep the drafts from the door?"
Armand turns expansively to his companions.
"Mes amis - you permit that I pay for this repast? - and you, sir? May I invite you to join us?"
and you, sir? May I invite you to join us?"
Jacen
Armand's gesture includes the Innkeeper in his offer.
"Ale an crayfish."
Yuriel finds a spot at a side table with good view of the room and the exits.
"The crayfish sounds good," says the cleric, appreciating the sorcerer's generosity.
While Yuriel has the room covered, Jacen will observe the innkeeper.
Booj smiles blissfully and eats whatever is put in front of him.
The innkeeper responds to the orders by hollering over his shoulder to the direction of what must likely be the kitchen. as he grabs four mugs and starts filling them from the tap.
In reply, a woman's husky voice comes back, muffled through the closed door "Yeah I hear ya, ya lug, the place is not so full ya hafta yell!" At her reply, he just sneers lightly and shrugs, unconcerned about whether he 'needs' to yell or not.
At Armand's offer to join them, the innkeep's lip curls as his brow furrows in confusion. "Nah, ah et bafore. Ya go on, find yaselves a table. Food'll be on out. If'n it be company ya lookin fer, the others'll be in after a few. Gihead and git comfy." He finishes filling the mugs and sets them on the bar.
--------------------------
As Roedd nears the stables, a young stablehand comes out to meet the customer, before pausing as confusion crosses his features. He is a young boy, probably not much more than twelve, his clothes dirty, and his dark hair shaggy and unkempt. "Sir?" he addresses Roedd with uncertainty "Do you need anything? Here to pick up a mule, or" he looks behind Roedd for signs of a mount, "have your horse tended?" This last rises with enough inflection to show how unsure he is of the latter.
No pup. I have no need for a mount of my own, but my master's mount has gone missing. I have been tracking it for a couple of days now. You would not have seen a strong sure-footed horse come in the last day or two, would you? Finding the beast soon will surely limit the crack of my master's whip. On the other hand, not finding it will be the end of me. It may have come in on its own, but it is more likely that another man was riding it. I am not one to leave my master's possessions unsecured. I am sure you can relate.
Seljak will join the others in the inn...apparently late to the party.
Even the most spirited beasts of burden will usually defer to unfaltering confidence, once they have been broken. They are made to be lead. But as you say it may not be the beast I am in search of. Thanks for your help. I have no coin to repay, but I may be able to treat you to a hare for your evening meal, should you so desire.
I'll have me whad'ever et is des fellas be havin.
To himself: Mmmmm, exactly my preference - desperate!
Roedd rejoins the party at the tavern and quietly whispers to Jacen.
Alfa, a stable boy spoke of a soldier riding a war trained beast. Likely the one we have been tracking. He left this morning. If we are to catch him up, we will need to leave soon. With any luck, we may be able to overtake him in the dark. But we must move now.
Yuriel alternates bites of heavily buttered bread with chunks of crayfish. He eats mechanically, his eyes constantly shifting round the small room.
He nods his thanks to Armand but does not speak.