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[h2][color=6ecff6][i][b]Hugh Caphazath[/b][/i][/color][/h2][i][b][color=6ecff6]Half-Elf, Monk (Way of Shadow), Level 3[/color][/b][/i]
[color=6ecff6][i][b]HP:[/b][/i][/color] 24/24	[color=6ecff6][i][b]Armor Class:[/b][/i][/color] 17	[color=6ecff6][i][b]Conditions:[/b][/i][/color] Zone of Truth
[color=6ecff6][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] Darenby, The Infamous Pear -> North-East Inn Room
[color=6ecff6][i][b]Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=6ecff6][i][b]Bonus Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=6ecff6][i][b]Reaction:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
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[right][img]https://i.imgur.com/4a0uP44.png[/img][/right]
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The best deceptions are those that carry within them a large kernel, a core even, of truth.

Misdirections were Hugh’s lifeblood. Control was his drug. Nothing was more satisfying than having one over on everyone around him, especially when doing so was in the course of achieving absolute mission success.

[color=6ecff6][i]Mission accomplished.[/i][/color]

Which is why he found his face smoothing over into a placid expression of pure satisfaction that he hid somewhat behind a long sip from his new mug of warm tea, as the truth spell came to an end, the vast majority of its duration almost entirely wasted at his behest, and both his greatest annoyances finally lost their cool… if to different degrees. Exactly as planned.

Certainly, his rage at the mental intrusion was genuine. Certainly, he’d nearly fully lost control in the initial moments of the spell’s casting, but beyond that? He’d never have survived this long if he allowed his emotions to control him so easily. There was no logical reason to emotionally continue “ranting”.... unless it was in the course of doing his job.

And he never lost sight of the job.

The mission was compromised. This was an established fact. There was no way to constructively reveal that one of the party’s number was a traitor at this juncture. Also fact. Therefore, the Cleric’s recklessness had put everything at risk in a single moment of unthinking bullheadedness. When you had a traitor or insurgent, most of the time, in a situation this delicate, you typically didn’t want to make them feel rushed or cornered. After all, with a spell as limited as she claimed her’s was, the best they could hope for is evasiveness and then the insurgent disappearing into the night, never to be a convenient info source again.

For one thing, if they thought anyone was on to them, they could clam up and play things infinitely more cautiously. For another, a cornered individual was always more dangerous, desperate. If there was a traitor, the last thing one should ever do is put them in a compromising position this early. Instead, you played it safe, gathered evidence, paid careful attention to where your mission went wrong, where it went right, and who was involved. You conducted a proper investigation and ensured that your insurgent couldn’t simply commit suicide. After all, they were a valuable information source and a potential lead to a greater threat.

Thus, it behooved him, even though it was undesirable, to redirect any suspicions upon himself for the time being to give any traitor breathing room. With this, he would be able to act somewhat more freely, given that the traitor was also more likely to attempt to ally themselves with or manipulate him. After all, what competent insurgent wouldn’t make use of such a delicious opportunity?

Sure, it wasn’t the most convenient position to be in, but he had played double-agent a time or dozen. He could work with this.

Crossing his arms, Hugh sighed wryly and leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes at the attempted admonishments of the Cleric and the Pest. He already had what he needed, and he was now quite finished with them and wouldn’t be rising to any further bait. That said, it was nice to get a better grip on their characters. You never really knew what someone was like, knew how far you could push, until you’d seen them at their worst. With this conversation and his rant, he had not only established a somewhat exaggerated version of his own “worst” to the others, but simultaneously got a glimpse into those he was most concerned with presently.

Which could be broadly summed up as: the Cleric was exceptionally and ironically self-righteous for someone throwing around mind-control so casually, and the Pest was rather petty and apparently easily provoked by utterly trivial things, not that this was much of a surprise, given what he’d seen of her thus far.

He allowed the malice of their words to wash off him like water on a duck’s back, fully content in his success.

He wasn’t about to be preached to by a Cleric that couldn’t respect basic sentient decency. So what if her spell couldn’t be canceled? It shouldn’t have been cast to begin with. So what if he was a murderer so many times over he genuinely couldn’t keep count? She could only speculate on the accuracy of such an accusation, and that was absolutely [i]hilarious[/i] coming from a former devil worshipper, especially one that was long-time enough to fluently speak the language (if the Pest’s reaction was any clue) and, yet, clearly didn’t learn from her mistakes… unlike him. Further, did it ever occur to her that actions like stripping away others’ free will on a whim was exactly the sort of thing that Devils did? He could definitely see a couple applauding her direct, tyrannical approach.

Honestly, it was the lack of self-awareness and hypocrisy that was most galling. Sure, Hugh wasn’t a great person, but at least he was honest about it… if nothing else. The stark difference between them was that she continuously attempted to somehow justify her actions, where he had no need. After all, why argue for your own morality when your actions should speak loud enough by themselves?

Besides… He chuffed lightly, genuinely amused at her ire. [color=6ecff6]“I’m a [i]Bounty Hunter[/i]; I kill monsters, people and monsters [i]shaped[/i] like people for pay, so I’m hardly sure what you were expecting.”[/color] He had no need to justify himself to her, and it was absolutely pathetic to try and equate killing to the removal of freedom. [i]Everyone[/i] had a choice, the ability to determine their own fate… within the boundaries of reason, foresight and basic common sense. In fact, he had seen far too many choose freely to commit to stupidity that got them killed. Did a traitor to the country have their self-determination taken away when they were executed? Does one stop and wonder of the self-determination of a bandit when they are slain for their crimes? Hardly. That was merely the consequences of their actions catching up to them.

He snorted. And really, what did it matter when someone died? He didn’t judge them, not really; they did that well enough for themselves. If they were good, they went to a better place. If they were evil… they got what they deserved. He wasn’t a saint. He knew it better than anyone, but he still had standards. That’s why it was so insulting to see someone who came from a [i]better[/i] place somehow be [i]worse[/i] than him where it actually mattered. His expression turned wry.

As for threatening her? A threat was really too weak to describe it… as was an oath or malediction. No, that was not so much a promise as a… statement of inevitability, and it would absolutely be [i]hot-blooded[/i]... if premeditated. He smirked. After all, he was no saint, but oddly enough, tampering with minds remained a hard line in the sand, what few of them he had. And because he had so few, it was only right that he cling to them all the tighter and more feverishly.

As for arrogance? She was clearly misdiagnosing [i]experience[/i], earned through time and far too many close calls. He’d seen all too many people reap what their foolishness sowed, and they had an unfortunate tendency to drag others down with them. More than once, he’d only barely avoided being collateral. Hugh found himself rubbing his all too recently previously broken arm and exhaled slowly. It was the furthest thing from arrogance to speak of common sense and caution.

Granted, he’d yet to [i]prove[/i] that experience thus-far in a meaningful manner, but that was unfortunately thoroughly the Cleric’s fault. If it weren’t for her sabotage of peaceful talks, then this could have gone far more smoothly. That said, he wouldn’t be crying over spilled milk, and he intended to let his future actions speak for him. As he had said already, words were ultimately worth [i]less than nothing[/i]. So long as lies and free will existed, the only reliable thing was action, and that was, frankly, just how he liked it. It was always so convenient to be surrounded by people that put so much value on something that could be twisted so easily.

As for the Pest…

Quite frankly, for an opportunistic comment that he’d mostly thrown out offhand, he couldn’t possibly be more pleased with her reaction. Petty, vain, airheaded, and now, thank every god above, she was finally irked enough to take the hint and leave him the hells alone. Her “moral high ground” was nonexistent, and she could be as critical of his capacity as a leader as she liked. After all, he didn’t want that position. Why the hell else would he be operating alone the rest of the time? Managing other people was a pain in the ass.

Kathryn’s own commentary on the matter of leadership, prompted a small chuckle. [color=6ecff6]“Honestly, I’d much rather merely do my part. To be clear, I don’t [i]want[/i] the position, nor is there necessarily any need for someone to take the reins, but… I would be irresponsible if I stood by if a potentially poor leader decided to lead the charge.”[/color]

The Pest’s ignorant attempt to redirect attention away from the letters was, however… odd. Especially reckless, additionally, was her claim that they should effectively “take things as they come”, which was one of the absolute worst things to do in this situation. Waiting for clues to come to you instead of seeking them out?! Absurd! Honestly, it was such a horrible idea that he could only assume she was attempting to sabotage the investigation, which was… honestly somewhat surprising, especially given how blatant it would look to a discerning eye.

Perhaps it was because he always did his best to divorce himself of personal bias when it came to hard facts, but he hadn’t really thought that one of his personal annoyances would be the first to make a highly suspicious act. Granted, the Cleric was hardly much better. That spell was one of the most unwise things to do for any investigator at this stage, so that was something… But then, there was the Bard, Victoria, and her potential possession of enchantment magic, despite her apparent claim to necromancy specialization, and she was a [i]Bard[/i] to boot; he should absolutely expect a game of words to be a losing proposition. So, there was the Cleric doing something that only a traitor could possibly think was wise… The Pest advocating for a destructive course of action… The Bard being apparently ahead of the game with the Sheriff…

The only ones currently off the hook in full, at least until proven otherwise, were the huge woman and the painfully green young elf. Of course, naturally, this all required that one -or hells, even more- of their number actually [i]be[/i] a traitor, and there still wasn’t any guarantee that was even the case. That said, he would keep a lookout for further behavior that was actively destructive to the team’s cohesion and success, but he would fight to keep his observations objective, no matter how difficult the suspects made it.

The Cleric and Kathryn’s commentary regarding the letters and the reasons for their specific recipients drew a thoughtful hum from Hugh into his tea, before he lightly cleared some of the lingering moisture from his throat. [color=6ecff6]“Considering we’ve barely known each-other half an hour, I can’t say how accurate the claim to ‘experience’ is for most of us, but I can say that it seems unlikely -as to potentially be impossible- any saboteur would specifically -if that is, indeed, the case- target all of us, spread out far and wide, for our [i]experience[/i]. Wouldn't they instead like those with no chance at all, the ones that would fumble around in the dark and make a mess of things…?”[/color]

Like Kite… Like a Druid with crippled social skills, a bullheaded Cleric with little subtlety, a loud tiefling who was reckless enough to throw away their soul, a necromancer Bard who was all but loud and proud of her art to anyone with two halves of a brain to rub together and would attract looks wherever they went, a massive hulk of a Fighter woman who might somehow attract more looks than the necromancer, or the gnome from before that was clearly a charlatan… In fact, now that he thought about it, the vast majority of this party was wildly unsuited for a low-key investigation. The fact that they had Hugh now was both pure coincidence and twisted luck. 

[color=6ecff6]“After all, for all that I’m sure you all have your specialities, how much experience do you actually have in subtle investigation? Which, need I remind you, is what our client was asking for to begin with, considering he only intended to hire [i]three[/i] investigators. If we were, in fact, picked specifically for our [i]lack[/i] of experience in this area, then it makes plenty of sense why my own letter was…”[/color] Well, the truth spell was down now, so it was no longer necessarily a matter of principle that he spitefully remain silent. [color=6ecff6]“I got my own letter from a dying man, killed by his own recklessness and refusal to adhere to a plan in a critical situation. Against my better judgement, I agreed to take up this mission in his place.”[/color]

Rolling his jaw, Hugh shrugged and sipped his tea, ignoring the curdling in his gut. [color=6ecff6]“In the short time I knew him, to say the least, he was wildly unsuited by every possible metric for this mission: loud, visible, willing to stubbornly go through with an incorrect course of action out of literal childish fantasy about ‘heroes’. Quite frankly, he was exactly the sort to take every possible negative trait of this group and -perhaps unintentionally, granted- amplify them through his goading and ignorance. A saboteur would have -and likely did- attempt to avoid choosing me specifically. It is merely a twisted mix of misfortune and luck that I’m here instead.”[/color]

Exhaling finally, he crossed his arms. [color=6ecff6]“As for the legitimacy of the letters… Putting my personal feelings aside, I’m inclined to believe that both Marita and Kathryn’s are legitimate, except for, as Marita said, the fact that we’ve no way to know that the number of fakes is limited to three… or six if we include the departed’s. Indeed, we’ll need to approach Ser Arbalest directly about this matter, bluntly and without room for error. This is too important as a potential lead to discard carelessly.”[/color]

It was around this time that the halfling waiter returned with more refreshments, stalling conversation briefly, as the diminutive man rather lamely advertised the inn’s lack of preparation for a party this size. That said, Hugh could appreciate the attempt was being made at all, as he eyed his fellow tablemates. Three to a room? Quite frankly, he hated to look petty and/or to further distance himself from the party at this juncture besides, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly if he had to stay with either the Cleric or the Pest. Hell, even the necromancer would be preferable. Ideally, he would find himself with both Kathryn and Naivara, but he could stand to swap either for Victoria.

Hugh’s left brow rose briefly, as the Cleric beckoned Victoria away for a hushed conversation at the bar of the steadily livening tavern. Watching them from the corner of his eye, he could see that whatever they might be discussing, the circumstances appeared non confrontational. While that was… potentially concerning for his own prospects when it came to stripping the Cleric of influence within the party, it was also likely good for overall team cohesion. Honestly, he was practical enough to choose overall cohesion and a lack of internal conflict over spite, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Soon enough, the Bard returned, and Victoria seemed to take a surprisingly firm role in her dual performance with the Pest. Hugh could admit to genuine surprise, when magical notes sounded out clearly in conjunction with an absolutely riveting violin performance. He wasn’t the sort to applaud loudly or enthusiastically, but the fact that she earned his quiet applause at all said something of her magnificence at her craft. He found, however, that his interest waned the moment tielfing’s borderline salacious “dance” motions became center stage… for a given value of such with the mobility on display, and he chose to turn away and close his eyes, blocking out the imagery with Victoria’s encore supporting performance.

As the performance drew to a close, Hugh took a deep pull and chugged the majority of the rest of his tea, clearing his throat afterwords. As the rest of the group stood to offer their congratulations and disperse, he reached down and hefted his pack straps over one shoulder, returning Naivara’s smile with a specifically toothless one of his own, ambling along beside her over to the performers.

As the others heaped praises upon the two, he offered his own measure accolades towards Victoria. [color=6ecff6]“[i]Bravo[/i]. I’ll admit, it’s hard to rate music simply because of how subjective it so often is, but yours was definitely one of the best performances I’ve ever heard, especially the first song. Perhaps more impressive was the spontaneity of it and resulting quality, I think, but then again, I suppose I should expect nothing less from a Bard.”[/color] He raised his mug in a small toasting salute, before slugging back the final dregs and moving to place it back at the table. He blinked in surprise at the presence of the Letters, considering the absence of their owners, before shrugging and sweeping all six of them up, folding them neatly and tucking them into his pack.

As he passed by again on his way towards the stairs, he caught Naivara’s parting words and shot some of his own towards her with a nod, [color=6ecff6]“I’ll save you a bed wherever I settle.”[/color] Towards Victoria, he said, [color=6ecff6]“As appreciative as one might be for the lightening of the situation, I think it’s fair to say that it would be better for everyone involved if I roomed with neither Marita or…”[/color] He glanced at Kosara. [color=6ecff6]“Her… Feel free to snag the remaining lodgings with us. If it comes down to the room with the cot, I don’t mind taking it. I’m used to doing with less quality at the drop of a hat. If I were picky about comfort, I’d not get far in my line of work.”[/color]

That said, he made his way upstairs, humming in a pleased manner at the ever so subtle rise of heat from the downstairs fireplace. Reaching the top, he glanced briefly into both rooms and then turned quite definitively towards the one that did not yet already host two. As it turned out, he would apparently not have to be taking the cot… Interesting.

Glancing around the room, Hugh found himself idly noting points of entry, namely the door and the window. Keeping in mind that the mission was already compromised, it would be prudent to keep a wary eye out for assassination attempts. After all, there was no time a warrior would be more vulnerable than when their armor was doffed for slumber, no better time to catch an already vulnerable caster unawares.

Dividing the rooming up in this manner not only served his grudge, but practicality as well. Of them all, he was the most likely to always be at his best in any situation and was effectively worth both of the unarmored warriors together. It made sense that he should be the one guarding two spell-casters, while they took the other, especially since the Cleric could presumably compensate for her own vulnerability with magic.

Considering the positioning of the beds and the window…

Hugh glanced out through the glass barrier, eyeballing potential sniper points. Glass, after all, especially civilian quality, was not exactly any protection from a well placed and/or firmly-tipped arrow. That in mind, he would take the bed with the red sheets, keeping himself both out of sight and close enough to readily respond to anyone dumb enough to actually physically enter the premises. Drawing the letters from his bag, he sifted through them until he found the one that practically reeked of the outdoors and then placed it on the pillow of the green-sheeted bed, reserving the other sniper-resistant position for the guileless Druid. He returned the rest of the letters to his bag, save for his own bloodstained one, which he placed upon the writing desk beside his own bed’s headrest.

Straightening up, he observed the room, before sighing. Circumstances being what they were, he’d be unable to safely train tonight. Instead, he’d use the time he wasn’t sleeping to keep watch and sleep in increments of 30 minutes past the initial 4 hours, effectively sleeping 6 hours and keeping watch in 2 spread out over the rest of the time. The later hours would be the prime time for someone to strike, given that it would be the only time that an assassin could be near absolutely certain of their location.

Setting his bag on the bed against the wall and effectively placing himself between it and the rest of the room, he leaned his quarterstaff against the window latch, ensuring a loud tumble against the room’s floorboards if it opened. His bare-bones preparations done, he settled down atop his bed for a couple minutes of quiet meditations, crossing his legs and placing his hands upon his knees. He would not allow sleep to claim him until both his roommates were safely absconded within.