The rat listens... and listens. Ears prick at the idea of changing the leadership of the Dale.... then lower again at the idea of a democracy. The dwarf is not attached to Morn for Morn's own sake. Rulership in the Feywild, such as it was, tended to be this or that powerful fey creature bossing about other fey creatures. He has no particular attachment to even dwarven monarchy, as long as it has been since he lived under it. In short, he does not feel that the people selecting their own ruler might be such a bad thing.
However, the talk continues... and takes on a darker undertone. This is not mere idle chitchat, but people prepared to kill. A true conspiracy. And yet there is no mention of Glanwyn; these people are up to no good, but if they have done ill to Glan, they do not speak of it. The rat curls as small as possible as the conversation goes on and on.
Finally the meeting breaks up. Pick waits till the room is empty before he dares scurry back down the building. He double and triple checks that nobody else is witness to his transformation before he once again dons dwarven flesh, trading skittering for walking once more.
He takes a moment to get his bearings, breathing deeply, then walks brusquely back to the windowsill where Calen and Samara are (he hopes) still present.
"Need to talk. All of us. In secret. The others go to rooms?" he says, an unusual flat urgency shading his tone.
Ialia raced out and hadn't returned, and Joreld was likely in his room. Samara nods, picking up on the druid's obvious urgency. "Joreld mebbe in room. Find Ialia around mebbe. We look. Go."
She glances around as they head toward the front door and then to the staircase, hoping to find the witch on the way to the Paladin's room.
Calen listens quietly as Pick finishes his plea. He nods, his eyes steady and determined. "Aye, reckon that’s a sound idea," he murmurs in his low, measured drawl. Without another word, he rises from his seat, and with a final glance at Samara, he follows Pick up toward Joreld's room, ready to hear what secrets the night might hold.
Joreld hears a knock on his door. It sounded urgent, so the nobleman opened to door. The paladin appears to be halfway in the removal of his red scaled armor.
"What is it? Come in."
Joreld moves his armor pieces off the chair he was using so someone could sit down.
Moving back into the inn to go in search of Joreld, the group sees Ialia at the bar and Pick gestures at her to follow.
In Joreld's room, the dwarf barely waits for the invitation to enter before sweeping in. First he goes to the window, opens the shutters, and checks that no oversize rats, or anything else, appears to be listening to their conversation. A second check back in the hallway, a glance under the furniture in the room.... Only when he feels reasonably confident they are alone does he begin to speak, no doubt with the others gazing curiously (or impatiently) at him.
He closes his eyes to better recall the scene as he saw and heard it.
"Nine in room," he says in a low voice. "Annika. Jamill. Garril. Hadam. Big beard man... Skairris maybe?" (This said with a slight incline of his head at Samara.) "Others, not know names. They talk and talk. They want to get rid of Morn. Choose who rules. Talking to make the new people join. Want to know if new people will fight.
"Make threats, to the new ones, about staying silent. Group uses the green gems to know who is part. 'Brownrivver' part of group. Something happening at his farm, tomorrow, dawn. Something 'interesting.' Did not say more."
The dwarf opens his eyes, musing if he got everything. "Oh-- beard knows some magic."
The dwarf sucks his teeth a moment. "Beard and others moving on to... some other place, tomorrow. Not going to farm. I will send note to Dagger Falls by bird. Someone else should do the writing. I write..." he pauses, frowning. "...I write big. Too many words for small paper."
Ialia is tempted to wait to see what kind of mood Jammil is in, but as it is Pick that is beckoning she decides it is best to follow.
She casts her mind to the night sky and emotes to Basil. The bat returns a positive feeling and she assumes its surveillance was successful. She can learn about that later.
Admittedly, this was not how she imagined entering Joreld's room tonight, as a group. She couldn't help but think of the parallel with Jammil's gathering. Perhaps if they were savvy they would be eavesdropping on this group. Before entering she hisses for Basil.
Keep sharp, stay close. Alert me if anyone approaches this room.
She sensed a feeling of relief from Basil and the bat chirped in the affirmative and took to the sky again.
Inside, Ialia listens intently to Pick's report, wondering how he came to learn all of it. That question can wait.
"Recall the comment made by Tunfer at our first meeting: Lord Morn is not here. He was concealing the truth of Morn's whereabouts. This revelation adds some color to that conversation."
Ialia taps the soft spot behind her ear and considers what she might have heard of Brownrivver. Nothing.
"We can get ahead of them tonight or trail them tomorrow. But for now, I'll do your writing." Many times in her previous career she had scrawled such notes. Her hand was practiced at writing very small letters cleanly.
Ialia changes to Dwarvish: "Spare no details." She sets quill to paper.
Calen sits back in the shadows, his eyes narrowing as he listens to Pick relay what he overheard. "Now, this here’s a tangled web," he mutters, "They’re jawin’ ‘bout overturnin' Lord Morn—swappin' old bloodlines for some kind of democracy. Annika, Jamill, Skairris, and the lot—they’re plannin' things, but it ain't clear if it ties to our missing Glanwyn or just a power grab on its own. Reckon we got ourselves a fork in the road: do we chase these whispers and risk gettin' tangled in a coup, or stick to findin' Glanwyn and let these conspiracies sort themselves out?"
Joreld's eyes squint in an attempt to make sense of the dwarf.
The paladin nods with Ialia's recollection of Lord Morn.
The noble stakes a steady breath out. "I believe the message to Dagger Falls is crucial, allowing them to know of the conspiracy against Lord Morn. I feel we should continue our search for Glanwyn."
”Peoples we meet… know Glanwyn is Morn-man. Green stones fight Morn. Green stones in Dagger Springs an’ here. Glanwyn go miss Springs an’ here. He look for trouble, maybe find green stones. They threat new green stones. What do to Glanwyn?”
”I think, go Brownrivver. See ‘interesting’. Mebbe learn thing about… con… conspiration. No need follow girl. Find direction they go, only few towns, an’ they no hide.”
Samara mulls the facts and the curious intersections. Green stones… Green Orb. Both set against Morn’s rule. Coincidence? For a conspiracy to overthrow a popular leader, they are moving far too openly. And wearing your allegiance on your wrist? That’s naïve, at best. Could this be a Zhent plan and they are using these People of the Green as unknowing puppets and fodder? It would be a good distraction before a Zhent attack.
When the transcription is complete, Ialia nods in agreement with Joreld. "Agreed. Although my current loyalty is to my employer, our job is to find Glanwyn, not to stop an uprising. I've been down that road and it doesn't end well. If the path is the same we can decide what to do when the time comes, but I have not signed on as a mercenary and I have no stake in local politics."
She turns to Samara. "Did you learn anything more from Tespen?"
Ialia changes to Dwarvish: "Spare no details." She sets quill to paper.
The dwarf nods and closes his eyes again to aid recall. He switches to Dwarven and recites, as near as he can recall it, every detail of the transaction. In Dwarftongue his speech is at least smoother.
After this is done he frowns, rubbing his hands together slowly as he listens to the discussion of which lead to pursue, for they are splitting. It seems there are three distinct courses of action-- investigate the farm, follow some others of the 'green stones' like Skairris, or keep seeking Glanwyn.
However... are there really three? Their leads on Glanwyn are currently thin to say the least. They know where he last was. They know where he was headed, but everyone there claims he did not arrive. Searching the open miles of wilderness between the two areas is daunting even for one versed in nature. Samara's logic seems to him to make sense-- Glan is known as Morn's agent-- a conspiracy against Morn could easily have entangled the scout in its midst, especially if he had uncovered the treachery and they had wanted to 'deal' with him.
"We send message," he agrees with a deep sigh. Intrigues are not his strong suit. "Finding Glanwyn most important. But trail is cold and unclear. If you say, we focus on finding Glanwyn, not whispers: good. So.... how find Glanwyn?
The dwarf paces as he talks, a bit restless, and moving may help him get the words out. "Glanwyn was in Dagger Springs. So were green stone people. Glanwyn leaves to go to Goldfields. Green stone people in Goldfields. Glanwyn not arrive in Goldfields-- or he does, and everyone there lies, but that is many lyings. Glanwyn is missing somewhere between Dagger Springs and Goldfields. This is many many places to search. Many open wild."
This is a lot of words in quick succession from the dwarf. He pauses, wishing idly for water, then continues. "I think Veil right. Glan is Morn's man. Glan go missing in area where they plot to hurt Morn. Do not think... coincidence."
Pick rubs his heavily callused hands together, stopping in front of the window to once again paranoically peer out and make sure they have acquired no eavesdroppers, shapeshifters or otherwise. He continues:
"Still hours left in day. Much time to go back to Goldfields, look at Brownrivver farm. Or go in dusk. Not seen."
Joreld frowns, leaning on his hand at the table. "I wish I could cast augury like the clerics can. I'm certain The Bringer of the Dawn could tell us where to go next."
"Ain't no easy path here," Calen murmurs under his breath, "Glanwyn’s trail’s as cold as the mountain wind, but if he’s Morn's man and got caught in one of these plots, it ain't no coincidence." He rubs his calloused hands together, glancing out the window to ensure no eavesdroppers linger. "We’ve still got hours in the day. We can head back to Goldfields, check that Brownrivver farm, or wait 'til dusk to probe further.
"Sounds good, Moonhunter", the paladin agrees. Joreld get up and starts to put his armor back on.
”Tespen? He nosey he say. Hear about meeting – come see. Not here when Glanwyn mebbe was. Not seen him. But they ‘cross paths’ before. If part of these… uh, plot, he verra clever.” She adds a personal consideration, ”An’ he no say poems.”
She looks to Joreld, ”Girl family name is Thersil. Know it?”
"Still hours left in day. Much time to go back to Goldfields, look at Brownrivver farm. Or go in dusk. Not seen."
”Farm thing at dawn. Girl an’ gnats leave Inn. Mebbe they at farm for thing. I like we go sneak in dark. Watch to see.”
She looks to Joreld, ”Girl family name is Thersil. Know it?”
The paladin ponders as he puts on his shoulder piece. "Thersil..Thersil.."
"Dark is good," Pick assents with a grunt.
When Ialia signals her transcription is done, Pick takes it and rolls it tightly, tying it with a thread. He mutters that he will go send the message, tucking it inside his jerkin before he exits the room, goes back downstairs, and goes a decent distance away from the inn just to be sure no prying eyes happen to be catching what he's doing.
He whistles low to the birds, begging the aid of a swift or a similar creature that can handle the flight to Dagger Springs with less rests than just any bird. A handful of crumbs from lunch serve as additional bribe. By his sense of the geography, they are perhaps forty-odd miles from Dagger Falls now, having completed a large U shape as they followed Glan's trail. It should be easy enough for his messenger to follow the Tesh River back to the Dale's capital.
With the note on the wing, Pick takes a few minutes to breathe deeply of the quieter air, able to hear the sounds of nature now rather than the voices and clamor of the inn. He sits down on the dirt, runs it through his fingers, touches grass quite literally. It is much more peaceful out here.
But he cannot stay forever, so eventually a knock at the room's door heralds his return to the others.
"We wait for dark? If so, I take nap. Nearer farm, I ask birds if they see things."
After hearing what Joreld knows about the Thersil family, Samara heads downstairs. She looks for Tespen in the tavern before circling the building.
Tespen, as a very tall red-headed fellow, is not difficult to find. Having finished his smoke he has returned inside and Samara finds him back at his table, happily yammering with his companions. His face lights up as he spots her and waves.
Samara enters the tavern, trying to convince herself there are less people here now than there were before. It works well enough that she doesn’t immediately bolt for the door but the temptation is there. It is just bad luck that Tespen is inside and at a crowded table. She returns his wave then looks for the most open spot possible in which to stand, preferably by an open window. She is utterly out of her comfort zone.
Seeing Samara hesitate and not approach the table, the half-elf excuses himself and weaves his way between patrons to the Bedine woman. ”You look like you might be looking for me. If you’re hoping that I’ve been working on that poetry I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed,” Tespen says lightheartedly.
Ialia nods to Pick. She can be ready to go within minutes.
”You look like you might be looking for me. If you’re hoping that I’ve been working on that poetry I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”
With the bottom half of her face hidden, Samara uses a finger to make a sad mouth symbol where her lips should be. Her tone, however, is light. ”I patience woman. Give you three days learn verra long love poem… in Midani.”
She steps a little closer and says quietly, ”Have question. Hear name of Annika friend, not-here farmer, call ‘Brownrivver’. Know where he farm?”
Tespen grins - he's enjoying Samara's sense of humour. He doesn't know if she is typical of her people but he likes what he has seen of the Bedine.
"Brownrivver?" The half-elf's red eyebrows rise and he contemplates the question for a second. "I have questions and I could ask why you want to know, but hopefully if I tell you the little I know, you may see fit to indulge a curious mind. Garvos Brownrivver has a large farm on what is basically the northwest outskirts of Goldfields. Definitely bigger and fancier than most here" He scratches the side of his face. "I don't know him and from what I understand, most of the village would say much the same - keeps to himself. Seems an unlikely pairing with your girl," he muses.
Pick has been wracking his brains trying to figure out the spell that was being cast and then it comes to him as the little group is gathering their things. He freezes for a moment, staring off into space, mind racing.
A spell to detect creatures approaching... is it possible he was detected? Is it possible that he wasn't? He thinks back to everything he knows of this enchantment-- it is not his type of magic, but he saw many types of magic in the Feywild, over the years.
It only goes out so far from the caster-- about twenty feet. That would have been enough to reach him on the outer wall-- but if it could have reached him through the wall, then it could have also reached many other people in the building. The spell would be useless if it were alerting its master every few seconds of a guest passing in the hall. Further, he cannot imagine that if they had known of his presence, that they would have spoken so candidly of their plans for Morn-- even if they were trying to lay a trap, it would have been a very risky gambit, a surety that he would take the bait rather than leave at once to Dagger Falls. No, it does not seem to make sense that it was all an intentional fake-out with his presence suspected.
Still, he he will mention it to the others, once they are on the road.
He has nothing truly to pack up. Pick mutters about readying the horses, and then slips out building to the stables to get them saddled. It would be better if their leaving was not seen by the inn's guests, but they are too many and not all of them can manage any sort of stealth, he feels. A covert exit does not seem practical.
”I have questions and I could ask why you want to know, but hopefully if I tell you the little I know, you may see fit to indulge a curious mind. Garvos Brownrivver has a large farm on what is basically the northwest outskirts of Goldfields… keeps to himself. Seems an unlikely pairing with your girl.”
Samara nods at Tespen’s response, partly to show understanding and partly to agree with his conclusions. ”Yes, odd fruit. But people say it, so maybe see it.” She sets the farm’s location in her mind before turning to Tespen fully, ”So, answer for answer, is deal. You ask, I say. But first I give Bedine wisdom…” She pulls out one of her books and flips through the pages looking something up. She quickly pulls out another book with Midani and Common text to make sure she has the phrasing correct. Confident, she puts both books away. ”Don’t ask question ‘less prepared for answer you not like.” Wisdom dispensed, she watches Tespen, curious what he’ll ask.
Joreld walks down the stairs to the main common room, ready to depart.
Pick leads the saddled horses to near the front of the inn and waits with the patience of a tree or a stone, content to be surrounded by the gentle neighing and wicking of the beasts, and out of the room filled with people and noise.
The paladin, not seeing anyone in the common room yet (Perception +2), Joreld goes outside to see Pick, as ready as always, with Sunrise and all the other mounts ready to go. The dwarf even adjusted Sunrise's saddle for his comfort.
"Zounds! Thank you very much for getting Sunrise and the rest ready for the road. It is appreciated."
Taking note of Samara's warning, Tespen nods sagely. "Very wise. In which case, I will heed your advice - but I'm also going to be cheeky and see how far you generosity will stretch and ask two questions. First, was your question connected to your missing friend?" The half-elf looks down at the woman, waiting a moment before asking, "And second, I have my suspicions that you may have found the group I told you I was looking for. Supposing I am correct in this, are they dangerous? Would it pay to be wary if one were to run into them?"
Samara glances around, looking for people turning an ear to their conversation before pulling the half-elf further away from the crowds and into a more private corner. She presses against him and speaks very quietly. For all intents and purposes, they might be a couple arranging an elicit assignation.
”First, was your question connected to your missing friend?"
”Yes… mebbe he at farm or mebbe not.”
”And second, I have my suspicions that you may have found the group I told you I was looking for. Supposing I am correct in this, are they dangerous? Would it pay to be wary if one were to run into them?"
She gives him a mischievous smile, ”That three questions, total. You haggle like Bedine. You look for secret group – they is. Dangerous? Mebbe – to people which cross and people which join they. How dangerous, don’t know yet.”
Playing the ‘secret lovers’ card for the crowd, she takes his hands, looks down, and considers his question about wariness. While doing so, she checks his wrists for a green stone bracelet. ”Best they no hear you curious. Some here mebbe with them. Yes, be wared.”
Whether she sees a green stone bracelet on him or not, she offers him a disarming smile, "You owe me two answers. Is debt."
Calen nods, his eyes softening as he watches Pick rest outside with the horses. He steps out to join him with the horse, Leaning in with a quiet confidence, he murmurs, "Y'know, workin' at night's always been to my advantage. Selûne lights our path when the sun's long gone, and in that darkness, secrets tend to whisper their truths. Ain't no need to fear the night when the Moonmaiden’s on our side."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Tespen grins. "Thank you, Samara. Very interesting to know I'll bear all that in mind. And I'll look forward to repaying that debt." He catches her scrutinising him, but isn't entirely sure what the woman is looking for and chooses to remain silent on the issue. "A pleasure," the half-elf says, "and with that I will bid you goodnight." With a short bow - or at least as short as one with such a long frame can manage - he heads back to his drinking companions.
Samara watches Tespen head back to the table, just because. Then she turns and heads out to their meeting spot, thankful for the cool night air.
Information gathering complete - and it has been a fruitful evening, even if you're not entirely sure where it is leading - you gather your belongings ready to leave. The hour is late and the crowd has thinned out as many of the One-Horned Helm's patrons have both a walk back to Goldfields and an early start in the morning to look forward to. Making your way outside in ones and twos to try and avoid too much notice, you retrieve your mounts and hit the road, heading west as a decoy in case curious eyes are watching. After a while, with nobody else around, you turn to the north, skirting well wide of the roadhouse, looping around towards the village and its surrounds.
The land is bountiful, providing plentiful cover and Basil scouts overhead, looking out for signs of movement and places to hide your horses. Tying them up, you leave them food and water and begin the last part of the journey to the Brownrivver farm by foot. Based on where Samara describes it as being, Pick and Calen are able to locate it without much difficulty. The farmland is a large area and fields of crops and grazing animals surround the cluster of buildings at its heart. The main farmhouse looks to be much larger than most you have seen in the Dale and there are a few other buildings, including stables and a couple of barns. No light can be seen in any of them - unsurprising, given it is the deepest part of the night - and they sit in silence ahead of whatever the dawn will bring.
"Pick. You have night sight?" The paladin whispered. "Do you think you can scout the barn safely?"
Ialia has not revealed that she can see in the dark as well, and this is for the best, for now. She summons Basil with a subtle bleat of emotional thought. A minute later the bat perches somewhat heavily on her shoulder.
It hisses an update about Tespen.
Very well, Ialia replies in their secret tongue. With Samara well in command of that potential asset, the witch has lost interest.
You've eaten your fill tonight? It's more of an observation than a question.
Yes, Basil replies cautiously.
Good. We'll be making camp outside this farmstead, in the dark. Pick will be snooping around and I want you in the sky keeping your ears on things. If you notice anyone approach or anyone move from inside the farm, let me know immediately.
The bat springs from her shoulder without a word, eager to receive no further commands.
"I'll take the first watch," she says to the group, at which point it should be obvious that she has some sense in the darkness.
"Alright. But I'll wait to sleep until both scouts come back", Joreld whispered.
"Pick. You have night sight?" The paladin whispered. "Do you think you can scout the barn safely?"
The dwarf nods solemnly. "I go look. Now maybe best. Dark and quiet. Any magic to... pass words back?"
Calen leans in, lowering his voice just enough for the others to catch his meaning. "Now, just so y’all know, I’ve got a trick up my sleeve for emergencies. For a few minutes at a time, I can see in the dark. Ain’t as long as I'd like, but it comes in handy when the night’s thick and trouble’s a-brewin'. And, of course, Lunaris don’t need any such help—her owl eyes see clear all night long."
Regardless of the configuration of the scouting party, Samara casts Message on everyone.
Given the size of the farmland, Basil flies smaller circuits with the farmhouse at the heart. Somebody might get closer by the time he spots them, but that's probably an acceptable trade off compared to being a mile away on the wrong side of the perimeter and missing anybody approaching entirely.
Pick changes form again and assumes the shape of a giant rat once more. He scuttles off towards the closer of the two barns. Sniffing the air as he approaches, he can sense the presence of livestock. When he gets close enough he is able to see inside and indeed it is full of sleeping sheep.
The other barn is much closer to the house and as the shapechanged dwarf continues, he discovers this one looks to be used for storage. Various implements and a large amount of fodder take up most of the room inside. There is also a hayloft full of the dried grass that gives the place its name. There are other creatures inside this barn too, but none so large as Pick. Nesting birds eye him warily, but feel secure enough that a hasty escape is assured should the rat attempt to close on them along a roofbeam, and it would take a sizeable number of mice to feel brave enough to try and take on the much larger rodent.
This building is close to the farmhouse and presents a good place to spy on the building, though it's unlikely that Pick would be able to hear anything from within and it would require a stroke of good fortune or carelessness to find another open window in the depth of a cold spring night.
Samara use her occult vision (Detect Magic) to see if anything pops around the buildings or the path in.
Ialia wakes pre-dawn to prepare her mind and body for the day ahead. She communes with Basil to refresh her available spells, then gives the bat a short respite before sending it into the sky once more to patrol the road coming to the farm from the Inn.
She tidies up the hardscrabble camp, tearing down her tent and placing it into her bag of holding. She feels a bit exposed for the absence of the horses but it can't be helped. Finally, she tunes her mind to Basil and waits for it to emote back when the green party approaches.
Pick resumes his own shape once he has completed his circuit. He sits with the others who are awake and grunts out a description of the layout as he has seen it, complete with a dirt scratched map. It seems that, short of obvious evidence of something Afoot, they are playing a waiting game of seeing what dawn will bring.... and what 'something interesting' turns out to be.
Samara's search for magic doesn't turn up anything in the outbuildings. Having found nothing in particular of interest in the barn, Pick summons a pair of glossy black beetles and commands them to find a way into the farmhouse, a task they accomplish without too much difficulty. When they report back, they tell of a single sleeping occupant, no sign of a captive elf, a club and some small blades but no obvious armour.
It is indeed something of a waiting game but your patience is rewarded when the sun is beginning to think about stirring. Away to the north Basil is able to pick out a pair of figures, hooded and cloaked, making their way on foot towards the farmhouse.
Basil returns to Ialia and relays the information.
Quietly, Ialia repeats for the group. "Only two, on the road approaching from the north, cloaked and hooded. They're on foot."
She finishes tying her hair and looks to Calen.