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Before they get funneled into the rooms to drop off their gear, Yates finds the venture-captain and presses the pickle extractor into the man's hands. "Hold on to this and keep it safe, will you? I don't want to leave it under the control of someone I don't trust!"
He then tromps into the changing area, striping all his gear off except his clothes and undergarments, accepting the race clothes and asking for some privacy to change. "Last time I had to undress against my will, I was a slave and I promised I would never do it again. So leave me alone for a moment please. My privacy is something I value. I promise I am not trying to sneak anything in."
He then changes clothes and comes out the other end with his old clothes folded neatly and submits himself to the pat search.
After getting dressed, the guards then pat each of you down to ensure none of you are trying to smuggle anything into the race. Finding nothing, they usher you outside to wait with the other competitors until everyone has finished dressing for the race.
Once all the competitors are properly adorned, the baron leads them in a grand procession from The Filling Cup, through the streets of Eleder, and into the hills northeast of the city. Former victors join the procession as it travels, with last year's winner, Philt, the most notable among them. All along the procession route, enthusiastic fans line the streets, shouting praise and encouragement to all the racers. Once the procession reaches the outskirts of Eleder, it becomes much less formal, and you are free to mill about and speak with the other contestants as they walk to the race’s starting line.
The procession ends near the race’s starting line, where the baron’s
men have already set up tents for each team. The race organizers
provide one last civilized meal for the contestants and give each racer a small cloth map of the race course.
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Bahram will make his way to Bunawei. "Bunawei, I am Bahram. Of all the contestants, I must say that I am certainly pulling for your group, right after ours of course. You see, I know something of subjugation and oppression. My half race is certainly not welcome within the sands of my home. Your cause is just. I will look favorably upon your group during this race. As I mentioned, I am from a land of sand. This is quite foreign to me. What can you tell me of your homeland?"
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Thorur stands to the side looking over the other people gathered to see if he can notice anyone acting like they are trying to sneak things in (like we did) or trying to hide the fact that they already did so....
Bunawei shakes Bahram's hand and gives him a serious nod. "I thank you. My homeland has a rich culture and history, though the Chelish would tell you it was nothing but a backwater before they invaded. Perhaps after the race we will have more time to speak of that history, and how we plan to restore our nation's glory. While it is certainly our intention to win, so that we can throw it in the faces of our colonial oppressors, I have no ill will toward your team. I hope each of you makes it safely to the finish line."
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A competition in victimhood, of all things, Khāṇa inwardly scoffs at Bahram and Bunawei before resuming her broader private study of the goings-on...
...which reveals to her both the suspicious behavior of Lucca and the overseer, and the always-refreshing sight of another eye as keen as hers.
"Did you see *that*?" Khāṇa addresses Thorur in a low voice.
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Yates watches the other competitors curious as to what might be happening with the other groups.
He sees nothing of the problems going on, but approaches the group of Bahram and Bunawei, curious as to what might be going on between the two. Glad to see this isn't a competition in victimhood, cause I think actual slavery might trump some of these concerns. He nods in sympathy at Bunawei's comments.
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"See what?"
Khāṇa's head turns toward Eòshli as though it were set on a turntable. "See our competitor Mr. Lucca?" She replies with a cryptic smirk. "Because I no longer do. Not since he went off into the jungle for some private time with one of the organizers. I wonder why it is they won't let us watch?" The cryptic smirk grows into a gruesome grin.
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Patting Bunawei on the shoulder, Bahram returns to the group and sees that they are having an interesting discussion. "What is it?" he asks with his head cocked to the side. After they fill him in, he says "I've been known to sneak past a few baddies in my days. I've also been known to get spotted a time or two. If no one else feels up to it, I'll head off and see what I can see."
The two half-orcs, silent as death itself, easily follow the two conspirators a short distance through the woods. While they don't overhear the entire conversation, they are able to get close enough to eavesdrop on the very end.
In a hushed whisper, the organizer says, "Just memorize it and destroy it, okay? I don’t want any evidence pointing back to me."
"Relax," replies Lucca, "no one suspects us. If we find everything we asked for, you’ll be well rewarded."
The two separate, with Lucca heading back toward the camp. As he walks by a recently lit campfire, he casually tosses a crumpled rag at it before heading to the tent of the Ashen Leaves. Unfortunately for him, it only lands at the edge of the fire rather than directly in it. Its edges start to blacken and curl, but if you act quickly you may be able to recover it before it catches.
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As Bahram and Khana slink off to investigate, Eoshli smoothly rises to her feet and wanders over to where Cornella Yorke other Trail Hounds are resting.
"Hello, I'm Eoshli," she says with winning smile. "Sorry about the insults before--it was for the crowd, you understand. No hard feelings?" She offers her hand.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the elf tilts her head with a quizzical frown. "Forgive my bluntness, but why do you keep the title of Trail Hounds for your group, when no one from that group remains, and indeed most of them perished? It seems...an inauspicious choice."
Bahram is quick enough to rescue the rag from the flames, and what he recovers is a map. It is in all ways identical to the ones you already possess, save that a ridge just a few miles away from the starting line marked with a red "X."
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Cornella looks at Eoshli suspiciously, but takes her hand and shakes it. "Naw, I get it. All part of the game."
At the second question, she looked almost confused. "Because the Trail Hounds are the winners, and we were all trained by Philt to make him proud. Why wouldn't we?"
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Bahram excitedly meets back up with Khana, following their covert mission. On his way over, he feels the need to readjust his new pants. While doing so, the map slips underneath the waistline.
"There's a secrete stash placed just a few miles off of the starting line. We now have a map to that place. Now all we need is a lighting fast start!"
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"Because the Trail Hounds are the winners..."
"Winner, Miss Yorke, singular. But I understand, thank you and good luck." She stands and returns to her own group.
When Bahram returns and makes his report her eyes narrow slightly.
"Indeed, Bahram, and with a bit of skill and a bit of luck, the Ashen Leaves will find their cache missing entirely. Poor things."
Your plan to beat the Ashen Leaves to their cache and steal it out from them set, you all eventually turn in for the night and prepare to finally start the race. Just before setting out, the organizers once again check over each racer with detect magic, but thanks to Gillie's magical pouch, none of you raise any suspicion.
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Okay Pathfinders. First, for those lacking long legs, Gille and Thorur, it might be best for you two to just trudge along unless you know you can kill the advantage check, yeah? That way if a long legged character fails, we are then even with you two.
"It looks like the map marker is not far away at all. Shall we Hustle? If we don't make it there before nightfall, maybe we can do a forced march. I think that it's just as important to deny the Ashen Leaves this cache as it is for us to get it. Let's see what kind of time we can make."
Bahram would like to try and climb up to see the lay of the land as they set off. Knowing this start is very important, he uses a bit of the ole archaeologist's luck while he's at it.