Samara mulls it. She was expecting a larger group to witness whatever was planned. Or maybe they were just the welcoming committee. And that they were on foot meant they likely couldn't escape quick if a chase ensued.
Barring the unforeseen, things appeared manageable. "Let them in house then sneak closer?"
"Two ain't much, but ain't nothin' either," he murmurs, rolling his shoulders. "Could be our green-gem folks, could be somethin’ else. Either way, we best be ready." He adjusts the strap on his crossbow and glances toward the others.
"I can keep eyes on ‘em too, but if this goes south, best we have the drop on ‘em first." He says, looking to Ialia, expression steady.
Ialia nods to Samara. "I agree, with one or more of us inside watching and listening. We don't want to interfere unless lives are at stake."
She turns back to Calen and Pick. "Can you sneak inside? The two of you can intervene if it comes to that. The rest of us can take positions around the perimeter to watch for anyone else approaching from different directions. If things go wrong, whistle loudly and we'll come quick."
She takes Basil off her shoulder where the bat had nestled into her hair. Sorry, friend. The night isn't over yet. Patrol a circle around the farmstead.
Before Basil takes flight, Ialia casts Heroism on Calen, and Mage Armor on herself. Once the plan is in motion she moves out to a hiding spot around the corner of one of the out buildings with a view to the southwest.
Joreld wakes before the dawn, but glories Lathander in silence. The paladin knows he's on a mission where digression is key.
The red-scaled warrior isn't set up for stealth, but makes sure his heavy mace will be ready when needed.
Pick nods in acknowledgment at Ialia's information of the approaching figures-- he has watched her send the bat off several times so far, envying the ease with which the little creature can take to the air all the time, instead of just for a few hours a day. Alas, to have a groundbound nature.
He relates what his beetles observed, vaguely disappointed that there was nothing more damning inside the house, before dismissing them back to their own, beetleish pursuits. (Which mostly involve around eating leaves).
Turning to Samara, he says, "Maybe... yizard armor for me? From stick? Good if I change, in fight."
The sorcerer deploys the wand and taps the druid with it… giving him yizard armor. She crouches down in a spot among the crops with a view of the path and two sides of the house.
From this distance, it’s hard to tell much about the two figures. Both are garbed in dark colours and one looks to be half a foot or so taller than the other, but that’s about all you can currently make out in terms of distinguishing features. Both are armed, though that’s just good sense for any traveller, especially those not going by road.
It appears the mystery figures are coming to them, so Pick nods his thanks to Samara for the spell and crouches patiently, waiting to see what develops. Something interesting, the obnoxious youth had said. That is the sort of language that could mean many things.
On the off chance that their mission has been discovered (like Tespen is one of the approaching figures), Samara slinks sideways through the crops, moving a bit closer to the house and a bit further away from the team.
A closer view confirms most of what you could already tell. Both men are dressed in practical leathers and clothes in black, browns and forest greens.
The taller man has a heavy growth of stubble on his face, just about verging into proper beard territory, brown eyes and a nose that has been broken on at least one occasion. Topping six foot he has a warrior's easy stride that suggests he knows how to use the large sword strapped to his back.
His companion is clean shaven and has dead black eyes that seem to draw you into their orbit. At least three knives are visible on his person and only a fool would bet against there being several others concealed. There is something slightly off about him that gives you the impression that he is the more dangerous of the pair.
As they arrive at the farmhouse, a third man - presumably Garvos Brownrivver - opens the door and ushers them inside.
Once the barn door closes, Joreld will attempt to reach the barn wall without being noticed.
Seeing Joreld move forward, "Reckon now’s the time. let's move," Then, with practiced ease, he moves into the shadows, his steps light and deliberate.
As he nears the house, he'll cast Invisibility on himself.
While invisibile, He stops just short of a window, and listens for movement within, then slowly inches forward, keen ears straining to catch any words spoken inside.
Pick watches the others start to move.... or doesn't watch, in the case of those with invisibility. He winces a bit to himself at hearing the metallic noises of Joreld's armor, which seem loud to him in the early morning air, but hopefully they are not so audible to those inside.
With a little nod, he pushes off from cover and works on edging closer.
He is not as quiet as he'd like to be, himself.
Samara mutters under breath then weaves a spell and quickly moves forward through the crop lands.
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (8): xx
Dancing Lights (2):
Vest (1):
Versatile Spell:
CLW (1):
Stunning Fist (2):
Claws (8):
Wand (50): x
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 5 hrs
Shield = +4 to AC/FF for 5 mins.
Magically boosted, Calen and Samara move swiftly across the ground towards the farmhouse. It turns out that trying to move quietly in plate mail is more of a challenge and Joreld isn't exactly subtle in his movements. The opens again and Calen and Samara can overhear the conversation.
"Thought I heard something," the shorter of the two men says, sticking his head around the door and looking around vaguely in your direction. Fortunately there is cover and distance between you and the house and if he has spotted you he doesn't raise the alarm.
"It's a farm - that does happen at all hours," another voice replies.
A third says, "That's as maybe but let's not take any chances."
The first man mutters something and his fingers work in the subtle gesture of a spell.
Focusing, he scans to the west, turning his head from left to right. Safely out of sight and away from the direction of the noise, the two party members who had made it to the house can breathe a little easier as the man has no need to focus his attention in their direction.
"Nothing happening," he says.
"Told you," comes the reply.
As he slinks back inside, you can make out, "And if you want to paint a target on your back that's your own lookout. I'm still for being careful," before the door closes behind him.
Looking through the window, Calen can see a large kitchen, the three men now sat around a table. None of them looks particularly keen to be seated, however, their body language suggesting that they'll all be happier to get whatever business they have planned over as quickly as possible.
Ear pressed to the glass, his keen hearing allows him to eavesdrop on the conversation. If he was expecting to hear details of a nefarious plot then the Selûnite finds he's out of luck. The chat is of mundane matters, mostly food. While he likes a good meal as much as the next man, it's not exactly inspiring stuff. He's not a cook and an exchange of increasingly convoluted recipes and strange cooking tips would have been well down the list of conversation topics he was anticipating the trio might discuss.
Ialia continues to watch the road and surrounding area in case anyone else approaches.
The sorceress puzzles over the odd conversation for a moment. She’d heard there were spells that could garble a conversation to make it sound innocuous to others. It seems this was likely the case, but she had no idea how to defeat such magic… or do it so the men in the room wouldn’t know it. While she may not understand the sum of what they're saying, perhaps their actions will reveal more.
Brow furrowing, but still invisible, Calen looks around, Intuiting that Samara is near him. Thinking to himself, They must be speaking in some sort of code
Knowing he is on the clock for time, 5 minutes counts down quickly when invisible, he dashes away to put some distance before risking it to cast a spell, its loud, maybe they'll think its just more farm noise. Idiot Calen, should've cast this b'fore movin' up,
Calen's thought is a smart one and he withdraws quickly to work through a spell before returning. Night time or not, his precautions enable him to sneak away and back unnoticed. Unfortunately his spell doesn't render the speech and more understandable. The words he can follow still, they just seem devoid of meaning. He continues to watch, slightly frustrated.
The meeting is not a long one and the two guests soon stand to rise. Words appear to be all that is exchanged, too. There is no obvious payment or trade going on that you can make you through the window and your view is good enough that you're confident you would have seen anything had it happened within the open kitchen at least. Moments later the front door opens again and the two men depart.
The dwarf watches..... unable to properly keep an eye on his companions as they disappear from even his senses. He grunts to himself. They wait... and they wait.... and eventually, the two visitors once more depart. The dwarf scratches an itch behind his ear, expecting that his invisible companions will shortly return and relate what they saw.
The former Purple Dragon wants to move closer but is afraid to reveal his position. So the red-scaled warrior stands like a statue, unable to move.
Ialia quietly casts Message and directs it to her familiar.
Basil, follow those two.
The witch doesn't dare break cover while the hooded figures are within earshot. Like Pick, her talents lay elsewhere. She waits patiently for the others to return from the house.
Calen, retreats back to where Joreld and Pick are stationed to quietly relay what he knows, which as it turns out, is very little.
"Didn’t catch much," he admits, voice low. "Words sounded clear, but none of it made a lick of sense—like they were talkin’ but not sayin’ a damn thing." His brow furrows, clearly frustrated.
He glances toward the farmhouse, then back to the departing figures. "No coin changed hands, no trade I could see. Just words. That’s all it was. Whatever they were discussin’, weren’t somethin’ they needed to write down or pass along in plain sight."
His gaze lingers on the two as they walk away, thoughts turning over. "Reckon we shadow ‘em? Or stay put an’ see what the farmer does next?"
"OR we go get Brownrivver. Ask questions."
With Basil covering the hooded figures as they retreat out of view, Ialia stands and emerges from her hiding spot. She can see Calen is frustrated, which must mean something coming from him.
Ialia shakes her head, approaches the door to the farmhouse, and knocks. Whomever answers, she casts Charm Person on them.
Then she tests whether her spell is successful. "Hello, my good friend! I apologize for knocking this early hour but I couldn't help but notice the other pair who were just here. Would you be willing to take a short walk with me and help me understand better the purpose of their visit?"
The door opens and the dawn light reveals a man in perhaps his late fifties with a weather-beaten face and the hard body of someone used to a life of toil. What hair he has left is sparse and grey and a light stubble adorns his face and neck. His clothing, however, is of significantly better quality than the average farmer that you've met, suggesting he is a man of means.
A smile lights up the man's face. "Well met, my friend. No bother at all, I was already up - after so many years living in tune with the rhythms of the farm I doubt I could sleep too late. You know how it is," he says in a worn, slightly rasping voice. The look on his face suggests that this is a universal observation, at least for those who work the land. "I could probably manage that, yes" he says. "Though you're welcome to come in. I was just about to make tea - or coffee if you prefer? And you could probably use some breakfast too, I assume you've not eaten? Even if you have, best to keep your strength up for the day ahead."
Meanwhile Basil is off keeping an eye on the two visitors as they depart back the way they came off to the north. In the early morning light the bat keeps a safe distance as the conditions are less favourable than the pitch blackness he prefers. After a while, with the farmhouse having largely disappeared from view, the shorter man nudges his companion and the pair of them begin to hustle at a faster pace and turn slightly from their current path. They appear to be making for a copse.
Ialia returns the smile. "You're very kind. But I find nothing awakens the mind and spirit better than the crisp morning air in spring time. And I do know how it is, waking to the rhythm of the day. Please, if you'll fetch a coat and walk with me a short ways, I promise not to delay you overlong from your breakfast."
She wants to keep this man away from the other since she can only charm one person.
Assuming he takes his leave of the other and walks with Ialia, she asks these questions:
"My name is Ialia. What's yours? And the other person in your home?"
"Today must seem unusual, having two sets of inquiries to your farm. How often have you visited with the other party?"
"I saw them depart but did not see them clearly, and they were much too quick for me to hail them for a greeting. What are their names again?"
"The reason for my visit is that I am searching for a missing person, a lost acquaintance. Have you heard the name Glanwyn and do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts"
"The other party this morning, I wonder what business they have with you and your farm. Would you please tell me about your meeting this morning?"
Ialia returns the smile. "You're very kind. But I find nothing awakens the mind and spirit better than the crisp morning air in spring time. And I do know how it is, waking to the rhythm of the day. Please, if you'll fetch a coat and walk with me a short ways, I promise not to delay you overlong from your breakfast."
The man shrugs. ”It would be my pleasure.” He disappears back inside for a moment before returning clad in a heavy overcoat. It probably wouldn’t pass for high fashion in the streets of Selgaunt or Saerloon but it’s a well cut piece. Together you step out and begin to walk.
"My name is Ialia. What's yours? And the other person in your home?"
”Ialia! Of course!” He raises his palm to his forehead, looking a little embarrassed. ”I must confess I had been struggling to recall. I trust you’ll forgive me? Thank you for humouring me. I’m Korwen, but you know that.” Korwen turns to look behind him at the farmhouse. ”Nobody else here. I live alone these days.”
"Today must seem unusual, having two sets of inquiries to your farm. How often have you visited with the other party?"
The man nods. ”You could certainly say that. It does get a bit lonely out here. I’ve met ‘em a handful of times on business.”
"I saw them depart but did not see them clearly, and they were much too quick for me to hail them for a greeting. What are their names again?"
”Tuhrell and Marn,” Korwen replies.
"The reason for my visit is that I am searching for a missing person, a lost acquaintance. Have you heard the name Glanwyn and do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts"Korwen looks pensive for a moment, scratching at the silver stubble on his neck. ”Yeah, I have. Elvish, right? I’ve never met him though so I can’t say I do. What’s happened to him?”
"The other party this morning, I wonder what business they have with you and your farm. Would you please tell me about your meeting this morning?"
For the first time the man frowns, looking at Ialia more carefully.
"Glanwyn's gone missing, unfortunately. I'm looking for him, on an errand from Cariamma Stillwater, advisor to Lord Morn. Any information regarding his whereabouts, even rumors or speculation, would be appreciated."
She begins looking around for Joreld and Calen.
"Ah, Korwen, these are my friends, helping in the search for Glanwyn." Ialia gives the men space to introduce themselves, if they choose.
"The lady speak true, Korwen. I am Lord Joreld Huntsilver of Cormyr. Your help would be greatly appreciated."
The paladin takes out two gold pieces from his coin purse.
He nods to Korwen, tipping his hat slightly in greeting. "Mornin’," he says, his drawl even and polite. "Calen Derethor. Appreciate you takin’ the time to speak with us."
Calen's mind ticks over the details—Korwen’s wealth, the secretive visitors, and the strange, meaningless conversation from before. If there’s something hidden in this farm, Calen intends to find it.
Pick blinks when Ialia strides out from cover to the farmhouse-- but her use of magic seems to have the farmer well in hand... at least for now.
He is no charmer; he thinks that his talents might be better served seeing where the two visitors are going. Before Joreld and Calen rejoin the white haired woman, he mutters to them, "I go after the other two. For a bit." ...and then suits action to word.
Semara is a little torn on what to do. Pick going off alone was concerning but he likely had means of escape in animal form which meant, if she pursued there was more chance of them being spotted. With Brownrivver under Ialia’s thumb, Semara really wasn’t needed there.
She casts detect magic and then quietly steps into the house to search for clues related to the strange conversation, evidence of the conspiracy, or other people in the residence.
A scowl crosses Korwen’s face and he practically spits ”What do you want to be helping that bastard for?” Then, recomposing his face into something friendlier, he greets Joreld and Calen. ”Your pardon. Well met, Lord Huntsilver, Mister Derethor.”
* * * * *
Pick sneaks off after the two departing men, carefully ducking behind hedges and into fields, keeping a cautious distance away given they seem wary. Their pace is faster than the stolid dwarf can easily cope with, however, especially when they return from the spinney on mounts. Unable to pursue without losing them, the dwarf assumes the shape of an eagle and soars upward for a literal bird’s eye view of things. From the air he can easily keep watch over them. A glance behind allows him a view of Ialia, Joreld and Calen talking with Korwen.
* * * * *
While the others are walking and conversing, Samara takes advantage of the distraction to slip inside the farmhouse. Her spell doesn’t find any magical essence within the house, so she is able to breathe a little easier than perhaps she feared. The entrance hall she steps into opens up into the large kitchen at the end of it and has a door off to either side before then. The one to the right is open and it clearly a lounge. The decor looks tired and the furniture worn, but there’s a comfort to it. The other door is ajar, allowing Samara a peek inside but not much else. What she sees is enough to bring her up short: a human-sized figure, seemingly made of wood. Rather than being a neatly carved statue, it is instead made of pieces of wood crudely fashioned into the shape of a person.
She’s unsure what it is - it could be a creature of some kind, or perhaps just a strange piece of art. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to have noticed her and remains absolutely still.
The conversation having transitioned from promising to painfully awkward in an instant, Ialia seizes the silence.
"Well, Korwen, I've changed my mind. Breakfast sounds wonderful. I trust you have coffee enough for my friends as well. Shall we proceed inside that we may converse in warmth and comfort?"
***
Basil can't help but notice an eagle flying up behind him. First the giant Rat last night, and now this massive Eagle! The bat has never felt so hunted. At least Basil has the sky this time and can easily evade the clumsy bird, if it comes to that.
"Oh yes, of course," Korwen says, "I do apologise for not suggesting we brings cups out with us. It does help stave off the dawn cold if you're not used to it." With that he turns on his heels and starts the stroll the few minutes back to the farmhouse.
Samara sees no reason to rouse the construct. It was almost certainly under Browrivver’s control and Brownrivver was under Ialia’s. When possible, it was generally best to bypass a problem. It seems likely the construct is guarding that which they seek. But Samara is patient and thorough. She leaves Woody’s room alone and continues her search of the rest of the house.
One thing he will never grow weary of is the sensation of flight. The dwarf-turned-bird rides the updrafts with flicks of powerful wings, rising slowly higher as the distance between the two men and the famrhouse increase-- to keep it all in view requires that he keep climbing into the air. But there are limits to this-- eventually the two men will travel beyond his ability to keep an eye on both targets. He'll have to pick.
A few more looping circles, then he takes after the men, keeping a good distance from the understandably-anxious bat.
Samara moves away quietly and the golem remains still. She makes a tour of the rest of the house, including lounge, kitchen and two bedrooms. One presumably belongs to Korwen. The other looks to belong - or perhaps to have belonged - to a woman, based on the possessions, the dresser and the wardrobe. The room is immaculate to the point that you have the sense that it is rarely used.
There is a strongbox under the bed in the other bedroom, neither well hidden nor original in its location. Samara doesn't find anything else that seems particularly notable and certainly nothing obviously incriminating. The general sense of the place is of a certain level of wealth that brings a certain level of comfort, probably beyond the means of the average farmer, though you've already seen that this is a large farm.
She has just completed her casual inspection of the farmhouse when Samara overhears the others returning.
* * * * *
The dwarven eagle soars high above the mounted riders, following them as they head broadly north-east. From his knowledge of the wilds of Daggerdale, built up over many long years, Pick suspects they are heading to a ford in the River Tesh due east of White Chalk Hollow. After keeping on their tail for a while is pretty confident of their destination and turns back to the farmhouse.
With her search cut short by the returning group, Samara heads downstairs. She’s waiting by the kitchen door. She offers the farmer a smile, a polite bow, and a well-oiled phrase. ”You have beautiful house. You golem is fine too. I am Sahaya of the Bedine. Hullo.”
"I don't care who you are. What in the Nine Hells are you doing in my house?" Korwen demands of the Bedine woman, his complexion ruddy. "Beautiful or not, this is my house. Get out!"
Samara is utterly accommodating, ”Apologies, sayyid. The door was open.” She offers a bow by way of apology. ”Is biggest house ever I seen. Curious but I no touch. Forgive for intruding. I leave now.” She follows it with a second bow and heads meekly outside to enjoy the sunrise and wait for the rest of them to complete the work.
Ialia is as surprised as Korwen to see Samara inside the house, unhidden. She does her best not to react when the Bedine woman feigns not knowing the rest of the group.
She'll stay as long as Calen and Joreld have something to talk about with Korwen, and then only long enough to eat breakfast, have tea, and then leave.
"What a strange woman", Joreld bluffs.
"Go on, off with you!" is as much as Korwen can manage as Samara politely scarpers. As the others enter the house and the farmer leads you into the kitchen, Ialia catches sight of the golem in the side room.
Your host offers you drinks and puts the kettle on the hob before making a quick tour of the house. Satisfied that nothing immediately looks out of place, he seems to relax and his amiable demeanour returns.
Calen watches Samara get shuffled off the porch like a stray pup and throws a glance at the others, brows raised beneath the brim of his hat. He mutters low, just loud enough for his companions to hear,
"Well now… that was odd. Mighty odd. What was all that about a golem?"
Then he looks back to Korwen with an easy half-smile, like they’re just old neighbors catching up over a fence line.
"Kor, I gotta say, I’m a touch surprised you didn’t bring up you were buildin’ yourself a golem. Thought maybe it was gonna lend a hand with the plowin’ or somethin’. Fella that size’d turn soil faster than a team of oxen."
His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye—he’s listening real close to how Korwen answers.
Korwen looks up in surprise from the loaf he's cutting, putting down the breadknife. The crackle of bacon, cooking merrily in a pan alongside the farmer provides a pleasant background aroma. "I'm not building a golem," he says to Calen, "I own one. Gond's gears, man - I'm not an archmage, I'm a farmer. But living alone out here as I do it's just common sense to get yourself some protection."