The kids – grimy, shabby, and underfed, and provoking an urge to adopt if they didn't look like they'd rob your home and knife you in gratitude – took one look at the thugs, and seemed to know something Tseran didn't. They weren't even surprised at the request. 'Five silver, and you give it to us now, elf.' demanded one ratty girl, who might not be the biggest or the meanest, but clearly the most dominating.

 "Four now... And enough handed to the chip seller to fill your stomachs for the night while you do it." Tseran answers automatically, threading the needle between being too obvious a mark and too tight to get the job done, meeting the eyes of the girl in question for a long, glaring moment that can't help but put him in mind of the Kreen who was apologetic about not eating him.

 Pointedly, he doesn't put his hand on a coin-purse, but rather reveals a small one held in his palm (the other one is sitting on his rapier) and bounces it enough for the modest jingle of a small amount of copper and silver to be audible.

They looked around at each other, silently agreeing it was a good deal for a few minutes work, not to mention the laughs. The promise dinner was more dubious. 'Alright.' the girl agreed, hand out and waiting for the coin.

 Tseran opens the bag and shakes some money out of it before tossing the little pouch - which now holds about three silvers and a dozen coppers - over to the girl, the rest jingling in his hand as he indicates the food seller with it. Half a heartbeat later, he tosses over the offal-sack and adds dryly "I'll pay for a meal tomorrow as well if you can set a seagull flock on them." with a singularly predatory and un-elfish grin before he makes a smooth little bow and moves on back towards Mr Dibhler, taking up a position nearby to watch.

The children didn't move, yet. 'And how much for us not to them what you're about?'

 "Ohhhh, call it hot food for the rest of the week and my not coming up with a counter-threat you'll have to believe?" Tseran asks cheerfully, having more or less anticipated something along these lines the moment the feral children (itself a notion to chill the blood of any well-raised elf) showed signs of knowing the thugs.

Kaijn rewrapped the wand in its cloth and slid it into one of the many secret pockets in his blood red robes. "This thing will require some additional research." he says with a smile to Slove, no reason to offend the man who already had a hard time dealing with magic and its wonders.

As Orophear stood with the packages in his arms, waiting to debark, his eyes darted back and forth taking in the scene of the docks. Call it a warriors instinct but the fetid air in this area seemed almost charged with energy, the type of energy that takes place before a fight.

After a moment the elf says,"Perhaps we should debark and continue this reunion in a...more private setting."

'Yes, let's.' Maelarra agreed. 'We can stop at an inn to refresh and confer first. Then you may catch up, while I have some background information to impart before we continue. Then we may go straight onto Duke Stormkin's house.'

She advanced boldly down the gangplank, and was duly confronted by customs officials, together with customs dogs and customs goons. Captain Rantally had already negotiated with them, reporting the Nimble Naiad carried no contraband, and proved it with a small bribe. Despite this, the authorities seemed paranoid, to a degree that surprised a seasoned sailor like Rantally, and insisted on an inspection anyway.

For her part, Lady Maelarra waved her letter bearing the Stormkin seal and another proclaiming bearing the Thultyrl's seal her to be envoy of Procampur. These easily cleared the way, and the envoy and her escort made their way down to the dock and then to the shore.

'My, would you look that.' Mae began, indicating what happened not too far away...

The kids snatched the money and ran before the stupid elf changed his mind. Taking that as acceptance, Tseran got himself into a good "idly eavesdropping" position, a.k.a. front-row seats to the show. [Private to Tseran Tal'chiar: Magical auras were somehow sickly seeming in this city, but Tseran identity of a smattering of minor transmutations at their belts, doubtless potions, three each.

OOC: I rolled you a Spellcraft, 20.]

It wasn't long (but long enough to suspect the kids might have simply kept the money and the food) before he spied them skipping along the rooftops like they were a second street to them. To their credit, the kids even made a decent show of it. 'No, they're mine! You wait your turn!' the girl cried, engaging in a fierce tug-of-war over the bag with a boy. 'Share, you cow!' 'I'll smash you!' Okay, maybe they were really fighting. In any case, with a wet rip, the bag exploded outward over the street, and limp chips and floppy fried fish rained down upon the waiting thugs.

They looked sharply up at the noise, but the kids were already scurrying for cover, and the thugs got only eyefuls of grease. Wiping their faces, wondering what in the Nine Hells, they spat both foul curses and foul bits of fish.

Then, with senses that went beyond the natural (because what beast still employed scent in this stinking city?), every seagull in the harbour raised its head and beak and, with one cry, flapped over and engulfed the Calauntan bravos. There was a hideous cacophony of squawking and swearing, flapping and thrashing, as the birds tried to dive for food, then immediate take off again, in both cases flying into the thug's faces, bodies, and hands as they tried furiously to bat them away. The area was shrouded in feathers and fish and chips, still falling as unlucky seagulls dropped them again.

 Tseran of course - while maintaining his concentration - undertakes to complete the rest of the deal by visiting the things-inna-bun stand (once more walking into the inexplicably seductive fug of things cooked with onions that wouldn't be looked at twice under any circumstances other than their being sold on a stick by a man with a cart), indicating the feral children in question and handing over a modest number of small, clipped silver coins in order to pay for their meals for the remainder of the week...

 ...and then, with the full and happy heart of an elf who is for once (and possibly for only) not actually dwelling in the stone-cold heart of utter misfortune, Tseran walks calmly and with great serenity towards the group of disembarked adventurers, singling out Orophear without even thinking about his selection in order to remark conversationally "How unfortunate, it seems as though those poor dockside toughs won't be able to trouble any passengers of the..." - he looks over his shoulder - "...Nimble Naiad after all. While it would be polite to wait for them to complete their..." - for a moment, Tseran can't help but beam in utter delight as one of the toughs comes flailing out of the pack with a sharp beak embedded in his red and swollen nose, wings belabouring him about the head and neck as he pitches over the edge of the dock - "...business, perhaps I might suggest awaiting them in some moderately distant tavern?"

With a slight bow to Mae, Orophear stood aside and allowed the others to disembark before he did with his arm load of baggage. There was still something off about the scene of the docks.
And then his muscles relaxed as the avian drama unfolded before him. Watching as the sky rats decendedicated down on to the thugs the elf could not help but let out a somewhat stifled chuckle.

As Tseran made his way to them the Duskblade's eyes tracked him. The lithe for lm of this fellow elf did not trigger the warrior instinct, Orophear relaxing even further at the robed man's words.

"I would agree. It would seem we owe a bit of gratitude to the unfortunate events that have befallen these ruffians. I am Orophear Mithrandir, dutiful hand of the venerable order of the Duskblades. And whom am I adressing? " the usually quiet elf said with a slight nod of his head.

From somewhere safely behind the escort, Lady Maelarra suggested, not so discreetly, 'Give the beggar a coin and send him on his way. We have business to attend to.'

Meanwhile, four thugs scattered in four directions from the seagull swarm, losing themselves in different parts of the decrepit city. They weren't likely to return any time soon, aware that they'd lost all element of surprise, intimidation, or cleanliness. The one in the water – for all intents, a sewer – struggled to find a way out and to keep his head above water. The seagulls, squawking and swooping, enjoyed their feast.

 Tseran moves like someone who knows how to wield the blade on his hip, but without the bluff confidence of a waterfront thug or the cold indifference of a hired sword - rather he projects the kind of studious indifference of a born academic who would likely be happier with his fingers wrapped around the grip of a pen and as Orophear addresses him he dips his head, replying "Tseran Tal'Chiar, late of the Divination School of the Ladies College of Silverymoon and currently unwilling resident of the charming city of Calaunt, famed far and wide as the armpit of the Dragons Reach, although honesty compels me to observe that it falls some way short of achieving that standard." in dry, dry tones as he watches the latest turd to go bobbing about in the harbour flailing for a bit before (hopefully) starting a crude doggy-paddle towards a ladder.

 "In any case, it was by merest chance that I overheard those... gentlemen... discussing their intention to interrupt your affairs, perhaps it would be profitable to hold this discussion elsewhere - or, if you are so inclined, perhaps you might wish to fish that unfortunate out of the... Let us call it mostly water ...in order to question him?" the dust-dry and rather sardonic elf observes, without choosing to acknowledge the charming Lady Maelarra's interjection.

Slove looks across to Kaijn Tur'kin.
A very ugly smile crosses his face.
Do I get the feeling someone of my own distant kin is trying to up stage me?
That will never do.

He looked around at what was happening.
Armpit, I think that may be to generous a description for this place.
I think there are other body partd better to describe this place.
But we do have ladies in group.  So armpit will have to do.

Again he smiles.
But then I am along for the ride.  For no reason other than it seems to be what I meant to do.

With that he leave the other to decide where they going and what they going to do.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:38, Wed 19 Apr 2017.

Kaijn had been watching in mixed amusement and suspicion the altercation between the birds, kids and muggers before an robed elf approached the group. He had no doubt in his mind that the muggers would have been a mere nuisance to the group, but it would have been unlucky if the group began attracting attention prior to even having disembarked from their ride.

He shrugged and grinned at Slove's comment "Maybe he is a long lost brother of a yours?" the mage mused. He walked to the rail of the ship and studied the newcomer more intensely. Indeed the newcomer was an arcanist, Kaijn wondered how Slove was going to react to another spell caster, it had take Kaijn quiet the time and work to gain some of Slove's trust.

"Lady Mae, why don't we ask the newcomer if he can guide us to the inn you recommended?" he calls out to the cleric on the dock before he disembarked the ship himself.

Maelarra wrinkled a delicate nose at the idea of rescuing and then questioning the fellow who'd fallen in the soup. That would mean touching and then smelling him up close. 'Very well, though I hadn't recommended an inn.' she answered Kaijn, then raised her voice in greeting to the newcomer. 'Well met, Master Tal'Chiar. I trust we have you to thank for this unasked-for service? Might you lead us to an inn of good repute and sufficient privacy where we might confer?'


OOC: Some canon places:
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Redfires_Inn
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Mocking_Maiden
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Weeping_Unicorn
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.c...i/Dracolisk%27s_Head

 "Seldarine forfend." Tseran answers dryly as Slove makes his mild accusation, eyeing the heavily armed part-elf in a measured fashion that only requires a tilt of an eyebrow to render into 'adventurers!' - a mantle that he himself could easily be bearing up under today (for no particularly mysterious reason, he's foregone his usual arcanists robes in favour of a simple pearl-grey doublet and street leathers, worn with a competently-carried rapier and a light, over-the-shoulders travellers pack), which impression he goes some way towards enhancing as he dips his head towards Maelarra to reply "It was a small thing, and purposeful as I suspect that their purpose was to determine whether any of you bore arcane objects or powers, both of which single one out in this depraved dungpile as targets for the attention of what passes for the local authorities."

 That said, he then grimaces and suggests "Sadly not Madame. I can offer the choice of an Inn whose reputation is villainous but secure and much invested in privacy or one that delights in good repute but which is watched often by the agents of said authorities, primarily with an eye towards the aforementioned cataloguing of such items as might - in their eyes - be better placed in the pockets, packs and vaults of the rulers of this city." while motioning the gathering to drift away from the docks, since no matter what decision they make, both the Mocking Maiden and the Weeping Unicorn are away from the immediate vicinity (if not very far in the case of the Unicorn).

Maelarra of course understood the political situation and had done her research, but preferred to keep what she knew close to her splendidly adorned chest. As they strode along the dock, she turned to speak to Arrazin, Kaijn, and Orophear, and, through proximity alone, Slove. 'Well, you gentleman are responsible for security on this mission, so which do you recommend?'

"The captain mentioned Redfires Inn. I suggest we go with his recommendation." Kaijn replied as they strolled down the pier.

Orophear walked along quietly as theithers made their introductions. At the mention of the inn the captain had suggested the normally quiet elf said,"I tend to agree with Kaijn, the Captain's suggestion would suit our needs I would assume. "

 "It certainly has a reputation, but it's also likely to have eyes upon it. That said, as long as no-one is too obviously arcane in nature or trappings, they should pass." Tseran remarks, eyes dancing from adventurer to employer and back once more in the fashion of someone cataloguing what would or would not stick out.

Lady Maelarra raised a neat and curious eyebrow at the suggestion. 'Did she? I didn't hear. She identifies as a woman, by the way... But yes, it's a capital idea. A brothel room should offer our party ample privacy for a short meeting.'

'...Um, ma'am?' a worried Tamae tried to interject as discreetly as possible.

Maelarra continued on blithely 'Ah, Tamae dear, remind me to pray for some spells of remove disease tonight, will you?'

The valet sighed '...Yes, ma'am.' Pausing, she quickly scribbled it in a notebook.

Meanwhile, Tseran could tell at a half-blinded glance that the beautiful noble priestess of Waukeen, resplendent in her finery and jewels, would stick out on the mean streets of Calaunt like, well, a toff laden with gold and strutting through the alleys of a slum. She might not display any obvious magic to tempt the elite thieves of this city, but she had more than enough to tempt all other kinds of predator. Fortunately this city had few beggars, or at least not for long.

'Moonsilver House should be nearby. I'd like to visit the Selûnites to negotiate a freelancing position before we leave.'

As tempting a target as Maelarra might be, the armed adventurers around her proved enough of a discouragement to keep away the more opportunistic predators of this treacherous city. Still, they kept to wide, open, straight streets, almost through a natural instinct for safety than for a considered plan. They even started to walk more quietly, as the locals did, their boots landing more softly on the filthy cobbles, but couldn't quite ever say what they feared to disturb.

Crossing the stinking city was an arduous journey. The polluted air left the newcomers short of breath, especially the asthmatic priestess. Nosegays and fragrant sachets helped, as did the cloth face-masks that vendors sold to desperate visitors. But more than the smell was the oppressive air, from the suspicious and aggressive looks delivered by the thuggish soldiers or many of the common folk. Even the architecture was crushing, with row and row, street after street of grim, grey stone buildings, plain and bland and shabby, all alike in their misery, without a tree or park of statue or other landmark to show progress. Outside the main roads were an endless maze of winding and dead-end streets. It was bewildering and mind-numbing, too easy to get lose in. It was a place where one could walk all day and still feel like they'd gotten nowhere.

At one point they heard a muffled scream, and Maelarra indicated twin spires rising over the monotony. 'The temple of Loviatar. I may visit later for theological research.'

Turning south from the House of Scarlet Hooks, they came at last to Redfires Inn. Large, well-built, and with an almost upbeat appearance, it was a sight for sore eyes. And a breath of fresh air, because the air inside was clean and tolerable, albeit swapping the stink outside for the smell of smoke, food, ale, and perfume. Venturing inside, they found the inn well appointed and decorated, but looking closely showed everything was a bit old, worn, or dusty. Nevertheless, the taproom was crowded with patrons keeping out of the smell, mostly travellers of various races. Moving among them were vendors selling boar-pies (with identifiable meat even), wine sellers, and prostitutes, each of whom would deliver to a room.

Lady Mae contacted the innkeeper and ordered a room for an hour – a standard rate here, though the innkeeper gave them a knowing look over and the working girls looked competitively jealous. Oblivious, she returned to the party with a key. 'Here we are. Now, do you gentlemen require anything? Pie, wine? ...Pleasure-girl.' The last was not asked as a question but with eye-rolling dismissal to show the answer was already "No." The Procampan purse would not extend that far.

Finally, they had some blessed peace in a private meeting room with adjoining bedroom and bathroom. 'We'll just go freshen up while you gentlemen catch up with one other.'

Taking up a position in the back of the small group Orophear moved along quietly, the scarf he wore up around his nose doing it's best to block out the stench of the city. Not one to shy away from the trappings of modern society the Duskblade could not wait to be far away from here. The smell almost invaded every aspect of his being and it was becoming quite annoying already.
Stepping into the inn was a peasant respite from the foul streets. With a shake of his head at the question about needing anything he gently placed the cleric's heavier than they looked belongings on the floor neatly. After standing and stretching a little the elf dropped his own gear against the wall and adjusted his scabbard.