They could have chosen their words more carefully.
Talyn is busy, racking her mind for information as to what to those small, scaly, dog-faced creatures are. Common sense seems to dictate that they are somehow related to Dragons. Something in her seems to make them familiar, annoying little biters that they are. But what are they? They work in tribes, they tend to be followers rather than free thinkers, and they, like Goblins, are fairly common in mines. If only she had the benefit of being of truly Dwarven heritage, she might know, but sadly she is of many minds today.
The lead peasant tries to form the word "Mielikki" on his tongue. One of the other peasants hits him in the back of the leg.
"She's a gawddess, Hubert, show some respect." He furrows his brow.
"What kinda goddess?" Another farmer, looking from Hubert to Talyn and the others, rolls her eyes and stands.
"Goddess of the forest, you dullard. I do apologize for my siblin's ignorance as to religion. He can barely remember his own name." Hubert blushes, glaring at his sister.
"That ain't important. How d'we know we can trust you bunch? You may say you mean us no harm, but you ain't proved it!" A fair question.
The Goliath speaks and suddenly there is a shutter amongst the people, mostly Humans, Half-Elves, and Halflings; they huddle together. To many, this is as close as they will come to seeing a Giant in their uneventful lives. But then, to many, seeing a Dragon was out of the question as well. His words, like his mind, help no one, and only make things worse. Visverax does much the same, causing the farmer with the pitchfork to point it not at the Giant or the near-Drow, but instead at the Elf, whose arrogance, armed with his outbursts, only seems to make things worse.
The newcomer, Barnabas, unseen by almost everyone, has time to think over things. Racking his own brain for information, the strange horns that protrude from the otherwise Human bodies are, of course, masks, multihorned. He has seen them in images, people wandering through Nashkel and bringing things—books, artifacts, and such—that resembled such a thing. A strange organization, he remembers, from one of his father's books, a book that came in one day hardly twelve years back. A book by a Gnome named Redsack, whose adventures with the mage known most prolifically as "The Calishite," indicated runnings-in with the Zhentarim and with the Cult of the Dragon. The latter had a wide range of masks, and one such mask was this one: one with five horns, one for each kind of Chromatic Dragon, of which the Blue Dragon above belongs. The book, brought in by a Rashemoni, was quickly whisked away, a nervous man with a nervous plan, whatever it was.
These are Cultists. The Cult of the Dragon. But what is the Cult of the Dragon?
Talyn speaks to calm down the farmers and peasants. Her words ring true, her intention clearer. She is reassuring, like a forest brook. The man, nervous and feeling foolish, does not speak up. Instead, his sister does.
"Strange men, and little lizard-dogs. The men wear masks: masks with five horns, each one a different color... Red, blue, green, black, and white, I think they were. Some of them just hand mono-colored masks, but they were one of those colors."
Hubert nods.
"I reckon Hilda's got the right'a things. Greenest's got 'bout five hundred souls'n all. As for defensive, I'd say the Keep, bu' that there Dragon seems to be pretty fixed on it. We were tryin' t' make our way there, but... we ain't so certain." Hilda nods.
"Best you lot do what you can and stay outta th' way. We'll do as ye ask. E'reyone's either in their homes, fightin' f'r their lives, 'r hidden out somewhere. But bein' in town ain't safe." The peasants stand, all in agreement; there is one boy, though, a lad barely older than fifteen, who stops behind the rest of the group.
"My sister, Linan. She's wise, intelligent, respected. Can you find her? She lives just over there," the boy points to where the cultists are raiding a house, lizard-dogs and cultists kicking in a door and setting the side of the building on fire, quite jovially.
"She lives with her husband, Cuth, 'nd a couple'a kids. I thought I saw him earlier, but I can't promise that. Will you... please?" He seems desperate. Hubert comes back and grabs him by the arm.
"Come on, Sal, she'll be fine!" False reassurance never sounded so hopeless. The peasants head back the way the sixsome came, back out into the Greenfields and away from the chaos in Greenest.
They are left in the grove, with the fires and flames growing around them, and a roar from the sky above.