The Coast Way

Not really being part of the conversation, and hopefully overlooked, Ossein has his bearer pull out two empty opaque vials from a satchel. The bearer the proceeds to scoop up various slowly dripping fluids off himself into and filling the vials. They're then corked.

Standing up, they amble over to Aiwe.

"Hey girl, I know this must be a tough time for you, and this probably isn't the best time, but I figured you need to know. See, back when we were leaving Candlekeep and we were being searched, your father Keggruk gave me this satchel to hide from the guards. Based on the fact that they were searching for magical items I'm certain these vials are filled with very potent, and possibly illegal magical potions. I'm certain they're worth quite a lot of money. Since you're his kin, I'm giving these to you. See?"


The Archer, with two vials in his fist dips the fist into the satchel as if to pull out some vials. Then as his arm swings to give them to Aiwe, the zombie lets go of them. They drop to the floor and klink as they bounce towards the two sketchy guys.

"Oops, clumsy zombie, could to two give those to me?"

The Archer then hands over the satchel to Aiwe.

As tensions rise, Stella gets nervous.

"Well..." she finally says. "While she's scouting ahead, maybe we could compare notes!" she says, turning to Xzar. "You're a wizard, right? I've only got some scribblings of some rituals down, but I do know a few unique spells," she tries, then throws out some names of spell schools and arcane jargon.

Xzar is happy to converse with Stella about magic. "Ah yes, I remember your little cantrip from yesterday. I'm afraid I never quite mastered that trick, though I do have my own." He holds out a hand, palm up, and three small green lights in the shape of skulls begin spinning and dancing in haphazard fashion (Xzar casts Dancing Lights). The pacing and rhythm are somehow uncomfortable to watch, though Xzar has a happy smile on his face.

Leaving the lights to continue their mad dance, he pulls out his own spellbook to show to Stella. On the cover is a yet another stylized skull embossed into the green leather. Before Xzar can open the tome, however, Ossein makes his move...
Xzar gives the zombie a double-take, then grinning like an idiot, picks up both vials (Montaron shows no sign of wanting to pick up his). "What a beautiful specimen!" The mage walks up to Ossein and the Archer. "I'm sure you don't mind if I..." He begins feeling and prodding the zombie, even going so far as to dab a bit of the skinless animate's juices onto his tongue. He shivers with delight. "Truly, necromancy is the most rewarding of arts!"

He rests a hand over where the liver should be. "Now this would be good with a nice Chianti and some fava beans..."

Leaving just as carefully as she came, Wirrow returns to the party and their undesirable tagalongs a few minutes later. She walks over to Aiwe, reporting in her quiet voice. "Goblin camp. They keep going back and forth from the river. At least it's not them."

Montaron seems to be in a particularly ornery mood when Runeson approaches him. "What part of 'I'm a loner' do ye not understand?!" Despite standing only about half Runeson's height, he looks muscular enough to hold his own in a contest of strength. Eventually, however, Runeson manages to calm him down. "Bah. I been tasked with learnin' more about this iron crisis. Them who sent me - don't ye ask! - paired me with that idiot mage. Tried to take a shortcut down south to Nashkell, an' his prattling cost me my bearings."

He kicks a rock, hard. "And now here we be."

Rift has been watching the hobgoblin since it joined the camp. People are calling it Ossien, but the large smelly fellow who got his head chopped off was Ossien, right? He's pretty sure he's never seen the nasty-looking hob before.

And why are people insisiting on hauling around dead bodies? That's just weird. Lay them to rest, burn their bodies, eat them, anything but drag them around. Yuck.

While the others are talking, Rift goes through his pack, looking for something to occupy himself. He packed the bag himself, so he should know exactly what is in it, but maybe he left himself a surprise. He certainly didn't remember packing his daggers, after all.

Digging around, he uncovers a couple new weapons, several changes of clean clothes, a decent sized bag of coins, and nicely wrapped packages of food. He opens one and the heavenly smell overwhelms him for a moment. He looks back and forth between the bag and the food. It's almost as if someone packed this bag for his exact situation... but that would be an amazing coincidence.

He looks up at the rest of the group and whispers to himself, "I don't even know where this cherry pie came from."

Aiwë takes the satchel numbly. She fishes out a vial and uncorks it. She recognizes the smell immediately. The other vials are the same. "What? These aren't potions, it's blood." She pours the slodgy contents of the vial in her hand on the forest floor as Wirrow approaches. "Why was he carrying these? You can't even eat this, it's gone off. He knows that blood would go bad really fast here where it's so..." she looks up as Wirrow gives her quick report. "...warm."

The look Aiwë gives Wirrow is not a comforting one. Eyes wide and eyebrows low, with sudden shocking understanding.

"Let's go around the goblins," Aiwë says, looking Wirrow in the eye with thoughts elsewhere. A number of things she hadn't thought much of make sudden sense. "Hard to know how many there will be if this is their camp. More walking is better than stopping to tend wounds."

"While we walk," Aiwë tells Wirrow in low Orcish, "we can talk." She dumps the rest of the rancid bloody vials onto the ground, before prestidigitating the mess clean.

"Ye goody-goodies make me sick!" Montaron complains, but for all his grouching he appears to be listening to Runeson. At the end of the lesson he gives a curt nod and tries to put into practice what he's learned.

The dour fellow stomps up to Rift to make small talk. "I hate the woods," he remarks. "Prey be so much easier to find in the city." Apparently satisfied at his efforts, Montaron concludes: "Now give me some of yer pie."

The bloodthirsty halfling may have been whining about being sick, but Wirrow looks momentarily ill in the face of Aiwe and the bloody vials. Her threatening gaze and words seem to affect the pale recluse far worse than Montaron's threats.
Wirrow nods stiffly, a stark controlled contrast to the way her eyes blink and flick to and fro every few seconds. She doesn't meet Aiwe's eyes, and it's clear the only reason she's agreeing to talk is because there's no way she can avoid talking about it. Her underlying tension reminds Aiwe of an animal, trapped or cornered on one of the tribe's hunts.

Wirrow, seeing the opportunity to avoid the confrontation for at least while longer, throws herself into the busy role of navigating once again. After all, she can't be expected to talk to Aiwe and do that at the same time...

Wirrow thinks wrong. Seeing that Wirrow is doing just fine, Shelur keeps pace with her.

Stella trails behind now that Wirrow was navigating—she was better at it, anyway.

Stella sees Aiwë murmur to Wirrow and subtly pour some dark liquid out of vials. It was difficult to identify with the uncertain light filtering through the trees. What was that? Had it gone bad, or was it dangerous? What were they hiding...and why?

Feeling awfully alone despite the company around her, Stella clutches her tome to her chest and trails her way to the back of the group, where she sees Kay following along quietly. Save maybe Imoen and Xzar, it seemed hardly anyone was having much of a good time.

"Hi, Kay," Stella gives a weak smile. "How are you feeling? Did you get much sleep?"

With the attack, the deaths of Dieter and Kregguk, the arduous night-long trek, and everything still soaking from the rain, well...she would be surprised if the answer was anything but "no". Still, the conversation might help them both get their mind off things while they walked.