Chapter Six: The Muster of Caltlikrath

Zangua spits. "Pfeh. That don't make sense. It was plain as day you drew first after we was walking out," he says, gauging the prisoner. "All these witnesses can vouch."

Leth finds himself staring at the body of the dragonborn, focused more on the dialogue in his head than what he sees with his eyes.
As the words echo in his head, Leth finds himself thinking back over their conflicts with the cult.
We're not the aggresors here. We've always fought in defense of our own well-being. Haven't we? ...Although... Even if we have, does that excuse the bodies we've left behind? His thoughts begin to turn back towards the origin of their ordeals, suddenly unsure of himself or his convictions, questioning why he was even here on this journey. As he does so, he recalls the attack on the gravediggers while they buried Edvars, the murders told to them in secret at Beerpool, and the massacre at Five Stones. No, Leth could not allow himself to become disillusioned. They were not the bad guys here.
Leth hears this distantly, but it draws him out of his thoughts, and he turns to face the man.
"Our reputation? What reputation have we earned?" He asks angrily. "All we ever set out to do was to clear our friend's name. Do you want to know how we got dragged in to this mess? We were ambushed. By your comrades. As we were burying our friend!" He says, taking a deliberate step towards the man with each sentence, seemingly oblivious to the crowd that was now watching them.
"And when we tried to get answers, naively asking some innocent bystanders in a tavern to find some information for us, your cult murdered them! Which was blamed on us, and got us chased out of the city! We can never go back to Sthombo now. Since then we've been running from one city to the next, defending ourselves from your attacks, just trying to find some goddamn answers in all this confusion. We didn't ask for this!" He shouts, jabbing a finger at the body of the dragonborn in a fit of uncharacteristic rage.
"You have attacked us, every time! And you have the audacity to speak of our reputation?! What about your reputation? What about the people of Five Stones, callously massacred by your metal monster like they were animals? What about Adan? How many murders was he responsible for before we finally put him down? Do you even know?"

Leth's voice is beginning to crack under the mix of emotions and the strain of his voice. He pauses for a moment though, as if suddenly realizing how loud he was being. He grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, before finally looking back at Rumio.

"No." He says, quieter. "No, we're not going to kill you. But you're worried that your teacher might, right? For your 'harmful misunderstandings'? What does that say about the people you have pledged yourself to?"

He looks at his companions, knowing he's probably overstepped his boundaries and drawn too much attention to them. "Sorry." He says, before asking one more question of Rumio. "If we went with you to your teacher now, would we be safe? Or would someone yet again try to attack us or abduct us if we don't like what he has to say? Or are we altogether beyond that option?"

Felor watches Leth's angry diatribe. Felor is momentarily worried Leth intends to harm the man, but he relaxes as it becomes obvious it's just a release of pent-up emotion. As Leth finishes, Felor puts a hand on the man's shoulder. "Easy, Leth. This is perhaps the only agent of the Crown who refused to draw his blade against us. Give him that." He looks at Rubio. "Despite what he said."

Felor straightens and looks around. "Besides, we should be making a move. We've clearly attracted some attention and I don't want to have to deal with whatever passes for the law around here."

"What fresh hell is this?" Domarc asks, looking ahead and quickening his pace.

"Right, 'cause walking away is real threatening," spits Zangua. "You ain't doing yourself no favors with them lies."

"I see you've enjoyed yourselves while we were gone. We need to get out of here before the authorities arrive. Who is our new friend?"

Assuming the group decides to head away from the inn before I chime in again, Mordred will cast Darkness, centered on someone near the center of the crowd, as a distraction as they leave.

"This fellow approached us and asked we come to meet his teacher. There was talk of peace, and misunderstandings. We were, of course, wary of this offer. Then his friend attacked us. To his credit, Rubio here did not draw his blade. It's possible his offer is genuine; he, at least, seems sincere. I agree we should leave, but do we take up the offer?"

Mordred looks Rubio up and down for a moment. "If he's not actively trying to kill us, his offer is better than what the local constabulary will offer. I say we go with him."

As they head north, Felor pushes Rubio ahead of him. "This ice you had - we've seen it on sale in Hazard. Why are you selling it? What purpose does it serve?"

Zangua watches the scattering crowd after the call to leave is made. He looks down at the body of the dragonborn, then shrugs. "Ain't the first time," he mutters to himself, and follows Felor.

"Don't get any clever ideas." Mordred cuts his bonds and pointedly does not put his dagger away.

Domarc tosses his sack of ice aside. From Heirophant to Cult Leader, this has been a strange day for conversation, he thinks, and whispers to Zangua: "If you think they've gotten control of me, do whatever you have to do." Then he steps forward, with a large smile that doesn't reach the eyes and makes a leg, though his gaze never leaves the steam.

"What is it you want, Gorham?" he says.

Zangua nods, and looks over to Mordred. "We're in a kill-zone here," he says quietly, glancing to the low hills that surround them. "Odds are they got eyes on us from all angles."