Memories of Holdenshire.

Eronar sighs, "Errands?" he laments, "I suppose there's no other way? Then let's get to it..."

With a sad sigh, Garbuffel went back inside and changed out of his cultist robes, which he did roll up and put on the bottom of his pack. For later. Who knows when you need some good cultist robes?

Harsk gathers his gear, ensures he is properly dressed for rangerly success, and meets the party’s half-sized benefactor at the appointed place!

Scarfs likes her nice long red hair.

I would like to shave my head. I can do it myself if I can borrow the tools. Please. Belton said that you were the man to help

As Roark goes in to negotiate for a restyle, Chester takes a seat on a rain barrel in an alley, producing a small case of accessories. A bit of bootblack rubbed on his antlers, an eyepatch, and a few scraps of the torn-up robe stitched to the cuffs and joins of his coat was remarkably transformative, turning him from an aristocratic burgher to a rough, almost mercenary. His sword moved lower on his hip, looking more menacing and ready, and he inverted one of the layers of his cape, revealing a tartan of dark forest green that broke up the distinctive layered browns of his outfit.

The transformation was quite striking, lending him an air of weary menace that would repel casual inspection. And no need to pay a barber.

Garbuffel's attention span was, as the sages would call it, infinitesimally small. Whatever objective the group had, had long departed his mind and as the group entered the shop, the halfling became captivated by the oddities on the shelves..

Scarfs walks in with everyone. "dried yewclaw bark" is what is on her mind. She mentions, "You have so much here." as she looks about.

Eronar goes inside the building as well, prepared to cut off his hair. It's certainly better than being recognized as a cultist!

Scarfs digs out 20 gold coins from her special coin pouch, "I think that this would be enough for some Dried Yewclaw Bark and something to carry it in."

Harsk gazes hazel eyes upon his chic-haircutted friends.
It looks great, he says. Our half-orc fellow replying in a manner like you something to someone, just to be nice.

'I need the 20 gold owed to me by the goblins Muggs and Runns,'

Scarfs inquires, "By the way my good doctor, would you know of a pair goblins named Muggs and Runns?"

"Yes, I'll get a haircut as well," Eronar says with a sigh, running his hand through his hair wistfully before he sits down.

".... Anyone else we should know about that spends time at the whistling well?" Now under the wrap of disguise, and not skulking alleys where the scent would give him away, Chester sat near the door to the barber, giving a small puff of tobacco smoke.