At the Barracks with Soranna Anitah

Soranna Anitah, Captain of the Drellin's Ferry Town Guard, watches Telrayel's departure with a practiced eye. "You're right, Telrayel," she responds in her crisp Brindol accent, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly. "Knowing the lay of the land could be as crucial as the steel we bear. Make yourself familiar with the town; every alley and byway could tell its own tale in the days to come."

She then turns to Ringel with a nod of acknowledgment, her expression firm yet not unkind. "Ill news often travels faster than the wind, lass. And it's our duty to face it head-on, no matter how dire. Keep your wits about you and your armor close; we'll need to be ready for whatever the morrow brings."



Ringel's Reflection

Ringel observes as Telrayel's silhouette merges with the bustle of Drellin's Ferry, his elven grace contrasting with the busy surroundings. A smirk plays briefly on her lips, reflecting a shared understanding of the elf's views on the transient nature of towns and their inhabitants.

Her attention shifts from the barracks to Morlin's forge. The consistent sounds of the blacksmith at work grow nearer, and the air becomes thick with the smells of coal and toil. Without hesitation, Ringel moves towards the forge. Her steps are sure and steady; a new face and the prospect of negotiation lie ahead. With a quiet confidence, she approaches the entrance, ready to engage with whatever the forge, and its keeper, have in store.



In the Church with Brother Derny and Tanna-Mai

Brother Derny, with his Irish lilt, looks at Tanna-Mai with a furrow of concern creasing his forehead. "Hellhounds, ye say? That's dark magic, that is. Not the sort of thing ye'd find in any mundane scuffle. We'll be needin' more than just the light of Pelor to cleanse that blight."

He takes the holy symbol from Tanna-Mai, turning it over in his hands. "Aye, this is the mark of Tiamat, sure as the dawn. 'Tis a dark omen to find her followers in these parts. We'll be needin' to keep a sharp eye out; the presence of such creatures could be heraldin' somethin' far worse than a band of roguish hobgoblins."



Novalis's Musings and Plea for Shelter

Novalis's words drift through the temple, his voice carrying the weight of fatigue and foreboding. Brother Derny nods, his expression softening at the mention of Istus. "The Lady of Fate's ways are mysterious indeed, Novalis. And 'tis no small thing to stand in the shadow of such portents."

At Novalis's request for shelter, Brother Derny gestures to the modest accommodations within the temple's annex. "We have little in the way of luxury, but what we have we offer freely. Your offer to illuminate our texts is a generous one, and we'll be glad for the beauty you'll bring to our humble scriptures."

His eyes, though warm, carry the weight of unspoken concerns, shared by both Tanna-Mai and Novalis. The signs are ominous, and the church of Pelor will need all the help it can get in the days to come.



In the Inn with Sharess and Michael

Sharess, with her sharp insights into the religious aspects of their encounters, recognizes the gravity of carrying a symbol of Tiamat. The inn, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the clink of mugs, seems almost too mundane a backdrop for such contemplation. She pockets the symbol, her mind already turning over the tactical uses such a disguise could provide. Whirl's nudge is a welcome interruption, grounding her in the present. With a knowing smile, she moves through the throng, her senses tuned to pick up any useful tidbits from the conversations around her.

Meanwhile, Michael's query prompts Kellin, the innkeeper, to stroke his chin thoughtfully. His Brindolian country accent gives his words a comforting, grounded feel. "Well now, we've had a few pass through, but none lingerin' with plans to move on come mornin'. 'Tis a bit unusual, given the fair weather we've had," he muses. "As for a ranger, there's Jor, he's got a keen eye for tracks and the wilds. Lives just on the edge of town. If anyone can find where those hobgoblins came from, it'd be him."

Kellin leans in, lowering his voice a touch. "That uniformity in their gear... it's disquieting. If ye'd like, I can send word to Jor to meet with ye come the mornin'." Michael's recognition of the symbol, while not complete, adds another layer to their growing list of concerns. The pattern of events is beginning to form a more sinister shape, and each piece of the puzzle is critical.