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[FelixSparks]

Arwen nods. "Wasn't planning to speak much, but thanks for the note on the smell. Worst case I start a riot and we take down as many as we can during the chaos. But I'll try to behave."

[Dwarmin]

"Just don't get caught. We can do more damage the better the surprise we have. Like what we did in the camp earlier...on a larger scale. We look for opportunities, then act."

[Culise]

Mirella moves along the camps to look at the watchtowers and lines of sight, trying to find viable ways to sneak through the camp without being easily spotted should the need arise.  Not knowing Draconic and without knowing how much of that tongue Black Wing cultists are expected to know, she tries to avoid direct communication with anyone.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Arwen:
The monk's apprentice and Arwen wander over to survey the prisoners. Eight humans, halflings and dwarves are shackled together in pairs, hauling crates and barrels onto carts. The apprentice shakes his head, fear spreading across his face. "He's not here. Oh, gods. I hope they didn't hurt him."
While examining the prisoners, Arwen and the monkling are approached by a shabby looking character, wearing the Black Wing. Most of the Black Wing cultists keep very clean robes, but this man's are grubby and stained. As he gets closer, they notice that his irises are cloudy.
"Hey, buddy, don't let those guys know," he says, gesturing at a passing Red Hand cultist, "but I'm only here because the Wing guys are more laid back than those other ones. Want to come do some Dreammist?"

Johanna:
Hunters bring in deer and rabbits from the surrounding countryside, skinning them near the entrance and then taking them into the cave at the back of the camp. Sabotage might be hard, without getting into the cave.
Water comes from a spring inside of a cave tucked into the cliff, behind the Black Wing camp. There's little traffic through it; it's a tight squeeze for the human cultists, and the roof looks unstable.
In the prisoner's wing, eight humans, halflings and dwarves are chained in pairs, watched by four disinterested Cobalt Claw cultists. None fit the description the monk's apprentice provided.
(Charisma Check to gather information surreptitiously: 10)
You eavesdrop on a bunch of different conversations.
"We have the twelve Frost Giants of hate on our side. The ancient enemies of dragons have joined our holy cause! Can their be any doubt to our worth?"
"No, the blood of children tastes different, somehow more pure then the blood of adults."
"They don't let anyone in the caves back there. Probably raising dragons or some non-sense. Who cares? It'll be a score of ten-years before they even become a problem."
"What's really frustrating is that you can't screw your way into a new form. If you want to crossbreed with someone you're already here, you know? You either got to mutate or, you know, wait till Tiamat gets back."
<Dragons are far superior to 'pink worm filth suitable only for food'. How does that make you feel 'pink wor filth only suitable for food'?>
That last one is directed at you, by a pack of kobolds, maybe half a dozen in number.

Mirella:
A handful of kobolds man the tower at the entrance, while a handful of human mercenaries dressed in black armor with a splash of white paint across the chest. Neither group looks particularly interested in their duty. The kobolds are all facing out of the camp, while the mercs gaze out over the tents of the Cobalt Claw and the Red Hand, along with the entrance to the cave at the rear of the cave and the large tent. Their vision of the prisoners and the Black Wing is obscured by a tree line.
Mirella finds that the cliffside is peppered with caves covered by brush, some of which connect to other caves throughout the cliff. Alternatively, when it comes to stealth, the trees and scrub that are spread throughout the area provide cover. Or, one could try and scale the cliffs, dropping up and down at will.
Mirella is studying the possibilities available to her when she feels a hand on her shoulder. A Black Wing cultist has grabbed her, and tries to drag her towards a group of other Black Wing cultists, clustered around a bonfire. "Come, sister! We must form the spiritual temple!"

[FelixSparks]

The brave warrior that is Arwen was taught not to do strange drugs with strange men as a child. He WAS taught, however, to use what he can to his advantage. Granted that lesson was about day old milk and making "Leftover Pastries" but he'll work with it. This Dreammist sounds like it could be handy for sabotage. So he does what any sensible warrior sneaking into an enemy camp would do.

"What is Dreammist?" He also casts the apprentice a look that says "Calm down, my friend. We will find him."

[My Name is Immaterial]

Arwen:
"What's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" The cultist gives you a toothy grin. "It makes you see things a hundred times better. See, man, there's this plant that you gotta boil and inhale the mist that comes off of it. One good sniff will do ya for a good 20 minutes."

[FelixSparks]

Arwen's eyes light up. You could put it in the air? EVEN BETTER. "Which plant would that be? I might... Have a friend who needs to relax."

[Dwarmin]

<Dragons are far superior to 'pink worm filth suitable only for food'. How does that make you feel 'pink worm filth only suitable for food'?>

That last one is directed at you, by a pack of kobolds, maybe half a dozen in number.

Johanna gave them an ingratiating smile.

<"I think we are all only 'suitable only for food' in the eyes of the Blue Dragon. Don't you? If the mighty Lennithon commanded us to lay down our lives for him, would we not do so? If he wished to feast on our flesh, would we not offer it willingly? We all live to serve at his whim, don't we?"> She said, asking questions to avoid giving real answers. She had quickly learned it the best way to fool someone was to never directly tell a lie, but to misdirect with half truths-in this case, she believed the the Blue Dragon really thought of them as nothing but food, but she really would answer no to the rest of the questions. Which was why she was asking them first.

[Culise]

Mirella

Mirella let herself be dragged, not willing to flat-out resist someone who was apparently supposed to be a fellow cultist as long as she was still in disguise.  "Ummm, I...I' do apologize, but I'm still a bit new.  You might have to assist me through this a bit.  What precisely are we doing?"

[My Name is Immaterial]

Arwen:
"It's called mordayn. I get it from a chapter of the cult down in Thindol. It doesn't grow around here, so it's super-hard to get your hands on, but I keep a large stash."

Johanna:
(Persuasion check with Advantage: 5, 8+2)
<'Pink worm filth suitable only for food' has a point.>
The kobolds fall silent for a second, lost in the thought of being eaten by a dragon.
<But Kobolds are more like dragons than 'pink worm filth suitable only for food'! How does that make you feel, 'pink worm filth suitable only for food'?>
The kobolds hack a little laugh at their perceived victory.

Mirella:
"Ah, I remember my first time! What a frightful experience! I felt so close to the divine! We form the spiritual temple by extracting the fear from a non-believer, with drugs, magic and plain old intimidation. Then, through the fear, Tiamat sends us a champion! Come, it's about to start!"
The cultists are gathering in a tent made of black cloth that totally blots out all light from the outside, but a small shaft of light illuminates a blindfolded human man, tied to a stake on a raised platform. The cultists' attention is all focused on the prisoner, no one making a sound. In fact, all sounds from outside of the tent are strangely muted. Behind Mirella, more cultists keep piling in, so now would be the time to get out.

[FelixSparks]

Arwen nods. "I'll keep that in mind. Where can I find you later? I have a few things to take care of first..."

[My Name is Immaterial]

Arwen:
"Oh, I'll be around Black Wing camp. Ask for Amun, and people'll know who you're asking for. Hit me up and we can do some Dreammist."

[Dwarmin]

"<I am of course humbled. I cannot imagine what it would be like to house the blood of the dragon, though I have no doubt if I serve long enough I will be rewarded. Perhaps one day Tiamat will allow us pink-skins to ascend to your level of ken. What do you think of that?>" She asked them.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Johanna:
The eyes of the massed Kobolds narrow. <You're a Claw, aren't you. You Claws think you can climb to draconic majesty before Tiamat gets back, don't you. Maybe even without Tiamat.> Small scaly claws start to wander towards flimsy weapons.
A passing pair of cultists dressed in the blue-patched robes that Johanna wears appear at her shoulder. "Everything alright here, sister?"
The kobolds spit back, "Keep walking, <'pink worm filth suitable only for food'>"
The cultists' hands stray towards their own weapons, the other one retorting for his partner. "She wasn't asking you, dragon-rat."

The Elf:
The Elf stands, unmoving, in the exact same spot he was a quarter hour ago.

[Dwarmin]

Johanna's tone turned sour.

"These...allies of ours...they seem to doubt our faith, brother. I have tried to be peaceable, in the name of unity and the greater good, but they will not relent. And my patience thins. They seem to imply that we are disloyal to Tiamat because of our blood. A heretical thought. Tiamat accepts everyone who will kill and die for the cause." She said. Johanna turned back to Draconic, speaking to the Kobolds. "<We march and spill the blood you so disparage-many of the non-dragon blooded fight alongside you. We are what makes this rabble into a true army, with spells, strategy, and well honed blades. Your small kind merely provides the numbers needed to overwhelm our foes, we bring the skilled warriors and spellcasters. We all serve a function, do we not? You should go away, Rat-Dragons. You have nothing left to say.>" She said, her tone turning haughty. Her particular choice of insult was perhaps very accurate...