Vespermouth Harbour, Calaunt
Date: Noon, 3rd Tarsakh 1376 DR, the Year of the Bent Blade
Weather: Autumn, windy
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Calaunt

They'd smelled the city long before ever laying sight on it.

The old sea captain had tried to warn them of this, saying that any Inner Sea sailor worth their salt could sniff out Calaunt in even the thickest fog, that the stench was better than any lighthouse or foghorn. But these wild claims could be too easily dismissed as a sailor's tall stories. No, one simply had to smell it for themselves. The thick and violently noxious stink hit them like a wall, making the unprepared traveller reel and even succumb to sea-sickness. With every wayward breeze, one could got a fresh smell, a fresh assault on the senses.

It was the tanneries, mostly; few wanted to know, but leather, no matter how fine, was produced through the most disgusting processes, with the most foul-smelling results. There was the rot of flesh, blood, and fat scraped from the hide. There was the smell of old urine, used to loosen and remove the hair. There was the smell of dung, from all kinds of beasts, used to ferment and soften the hide. The adventurous tanner could use lime in place of urine, or brains in place of dung, but this did nothing to lessen the stench.

But, not to be seen to be slacking after winning the prize for smelliest city, Calaunt also boasted the smells of river mud, discarded seafood, and garbage left in the streets.  There was something else, too, less certain in identity, less natural in origin. A smell of good magic gone sour, a smell of dark magic grown old and entrenched, and a smell of death, decay, and corruption.

So this was the city the Thultyrl of Procampur had sent them too. Something worrying had happened in Calaunt. The sons and daughters of the city's rulers (corrupt tyrants all, it was said) had disappeared, and the rival rulers were suspecting each other of involvement. Seeking an unbiased and politically impartial third party, Duke Haldyn Stormkin had called to allies in Procampur for aid in finding his son. Eager to keep peace in the northern Vast and rescue the noble scions (a better hope for the future than their parents), the government in Procampur had accepted, and sent the best adventurers they knew of to investigate.

Aerin and Quinlan were away, but the chain-wielding rogue Arrazin, the elf duskblade Orophear Mithrandir, and the mage Kaijn Tur'kin would be a good start. Then there was Maelarra Hlartrym, one of Procampur's own noble daughters and a priestess of Waukeen (though she insisted she was a freelance cleric of any faith she was hired to represent), there to provide healing and put an official face on the mission with a sideline of checking on the local shrine. An unofficial aspect of the mission would be ensuring the noblewoman returned alive, intact, and unrobbed. She was accompanied by a patient if long-suffering valet Tamae. They'd all taken berths on the merchant vessel the Nimble Naiad under Captain Betha Rantally and sailed north up the Dragon Reach to Calaunt.

Then there was Slove, a wandering elf archer, already on board. He'd inadvertently teleported aboard the ship after enjoying the Thulbanian Games in Mordulkin, Chessenta. It was too late to drop him off at the nearest port and tossing him overboard seemed a bit impolite for a Procampan crew.

As much as they dreaded it, they slowly got used to the smell as they sailed into the city, though it was probably actually getting worse around them. Once their eyes stopped watering, they could see Calaunt properly now. The city lay on both sides of the mouth of the Vesper River. The harbour water was polluted with waste from the tanneries, and the odd floating carcass. The water didn't so much as lap against the muddy river banks as creep up and merge with it. On the shore, the buildings were largely built of grey stone, unremarkable and mostly dilapidated. They huddled close together, with no parks or trees or other greenery and few landmarks of note to disrupt the monotony, bar the twin spires of some dark temple and the grim fortress some way inland, surrounded by palatial houses that contrasted meanly with the slums.

'You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.' Captain Rantally warned them as they docked, throwing ropes to the mooring posts. 'Watch yourselves and don't flash about much money or magic if you don't want to lose either.'

'End of the line, Mister Slove!' Captain Rantally called to the lost elf. After this point, he'd switch from passenger to stowaway, and being tossed overboard would be back on the table.

They were free to disembark as customs clerks came to check the Nimble Naiad's cargo; this mostly involved some money changing hands between Rantally and the lead clerk.


OOC: Enter Arrazin, Orophear, Kaijn, and Slove. I'll get to Tseran with a later post.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:10, Fri 24 Mar 2017.

At last, Lady Maelarra Hlartrym deigned to join them on deck. She was a tall and slender woman of regal beauty, and every inch the noble breed. Flowing golden tresses spilled down around her long neck, past golden chains and fine amulets, including the gold coin of Waukeen. She had sharp green-gold eyes and a proud and haughty demeanour. She'd dressed to impress, perhaps Duke Stormkin, or the world at large, in a fine green-and-gold dress, with billowing skirts and puffy sleeves, covered in laces and silks. It was perfect for a noble's ball, not so good for manoeuvring around close objects.

On meeting, she'd given her card to the others. It read:

And permitted them to call her "Mae" for short.

Maelarra wilfully took a deep breath of the Calauntan miasma. 'Ah, bracing!' she insisted, with the determined politeness and optimism of the truly entitled. 'The kind of atmosphere that makes one glad to be alive anywhere else.' This was immediately before the frail priestess fell into rasping wheezing and hacking coughs.

'Milady!' her valet Tamae, a small and mousy girl, exclaimed, first placing the luggage with care before rushing to her mistress's side. She produced a flask and helped Mae to drink before she massaged her back to help her to breathe. 'Calaunt's gonna be hard to be hard on your lungs, ma'am.'

'Yes, quite.' Mae gasped, recovering her breath.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:03, Fri 24 Mar 2017.

OOC: Tseran, you can skim the "Exit the Dragon" thread:
link to a message in this game
Post #49 onward to see the battles and ruins whose aftermath you walked through. The portal itself is described in #408 and #412 while the Mystran shrine is in #415 and #417. The swamp is described in #453.

You'll recall there are worse ways I could have transported you via portal. ;)

Streets of Calaunt

Angel hadn't followed Tseran into the portal. That wasn't really surprising. She might even have pushed him, but her touch was too light to be certain. In any case, Tseran emerged alone in a cave housing an old shrine to the goddess Mystra, and no doubt only the goddess knew where he was. And the portal was only one-way. He waited a few days, living off a healing moss that grew in the cave, but Angel didn't appear, apparently deciding that if he hadn't returned, she wasn't following. There was no other way of returning, and he had no choice but to leave and make his own way.

Outside, he found himself in the middled of forested marshland, and had a hell of a time crossing it alone, scaring of various swamp-beasts with liberal applications of fire. A trail left by a large troop some time ago was the only indication he had of a safe way out.

He passed ruins built by elven, dwarven, human, and even orcish hands, and came at last to a town on the coast, burned and blasted, with a few survivors and stubborn hangers-on living on in the ashes. This was Ylraphon, destroyed by crazed dragons a few years before. It was a town in the north of the Vast; at least he wasn't on the side of the continent, or worse.
http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Ylraphon

Eventually he'd caught a ride on a passing ship coming down from the Moonsea, but it only took him as far as the stinking city of Calaunt. Here Tseran was marooned once more. He soon learned not to display magic openly; civic authorities had a habit of confiscating spells, spellbooks, and magic items "for the good of the city", whether by official means or unofficial means. A hedge-wizard had whispered a warning to him early on, and turned up robbed and dead a few days later, apparently by those unofficial means. So the Invisible Art turned out to be well-named and an effective means of protecting himself against muggers. Cheap crystals and weird tattoos weren't on the average magic-thief's list, and unseen powers drew no attention and left no trace. Unfortunately, gate guards were very thorough about checking the possessions of those who came and went by road, but they cared less about those who came and went by ship. Still, he might have made it out. At least until the sons and daughters of each one of the despotic, so-called Merchant Dukes had gone and vanished, leaving the whole city in a tizzy and looking for someone to blame. An elf mind mage might just fit the bill.

Now, wandering the winding streets, with filth amidst the cobbles or dropped from high windows, and avoiding the gutter-sewers when it rained, Tseran searched for a way out of this accursed city. He returned toward the docks; a new ship was coming in. Perhaps a new arrival could help him out.


OOC: And enter Tseran. Let me know what you're doing. I'll unite with the others soon.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:30, Mon 27 Mar 2017.

 Of all the members of the former group he was a part of suited by neither disposition nor skillset to be abandoned in a cave in the woods in a swamp, Tseran probably heads the list but his arm-flailing dive through the portal (for which he will duly thank Angel at the first opportunity he has to prestidigitate her travel rations into tasting like Kossuth's Regret peppers) and the couple of days he spent living off moss tea, moss soup, moss stew and moss bread (an experiment that was attempted primarily out of desperation rather than any real expectation of success) before he managed to get his travel cloak repaired and working didn't do much for his temper...

 ...there are some smarter members of the swamp population that will be a long time healing their burns or forgetting the howled and vengeful elvish cries that rang through the trees as spheres of fire and searing lashes of sun-bright flame followed them.

 Occasionally he chased an extremely confused predator who, under normal circumstances would have made a meal of him before running out of breath and setting fire to a tree out of sheer exasperation.

 Truth be told, his arrival in Ylraphon was as much the saving of anything flammable in his vicinity as it was the gaunt, hungry and much put-upon elf who spent several days lying in a warm room in a cheap inn, bathing daily and generally revelling in not having to chase newts out of his shoes each morning.

 It couldn't last of course.

 Arriving in Calaunt was a brutal and rather nasty series of shocks involving alarm, murder and outright terror when the poor hedge-mage turned up dead, although for once Tseran's idiosyncratic spellbook of puzzle-wrought ivory was to his advantage since it left him with less of the tangible clues to his true nature that would normally have given him away and although it's been a long time since his mothers arms-master taught him the blade he's just about good enough with his rapier to fend off the average street tough (with a little surreptitious aid from his hard-earned invisible gifts) without resorting to anything that would give him away to the natives. Hopefully.

 Early on he sought to purchase less obvious clothes, seeking out simple street leathers that he wouldn't mind discarding readily once out of this pestilential rathole and so it's with a grim lack of expectation that Tseran puts optimism ahead of experience and heads on down to the waterfront as the ships come in, looking for the sort of out-of-place and exotic sorts who might be worth disappearing into an alley to cast detect magic for - reasoning that that's just about the best way he has to identify... uuuughhh... adventurers.

 It's probably worth noting in passing however, that he has all the natural talent for espionage of a giraffe in dark glasses trying to get into a polar bears only gold club.

Kaijn didnt at first believe his eyes when he saw Lady Mae board the ship but as soon as he heard her voice and then spotted Tamae running around doing her bidding he was sure. This was the cleric he had met and travelled with on the Sword Coast, in what seemed many aeons ago, yet it could only have been half a dozen months or maybe a few years?

He himself had stayed mostly under deck during their sea voyage to Calaunt, but he had emerged once the shipped had docked.

"Lady Mae, is has been too long. I see your beauty has not faded since we last travelled together." the wizard said set foot on the deck.

For some reason during their travels he had not seen Slove.


OOC: Making up a little to play out a good reunion of old adventuring buddies.

Orophear was happy to get the call to action, his wanderlust beginning to get the better of him even though he had thoroughly enjoyed his time studying under the blade magicians. Once on the ocean the quiet elf spent most of his time in meditaion, his hand almost constantly resting on a strange dagger that seemed to be carved from a strange blueish crystal.

As the smell hit them the Dusk blade simply pulled the blue scarf he wore up and over his nose and mouth and watched as the city came in to view, absently fiddling with the small white crane pendant that now hung from the clasp that held his fine cloak shut, a badge of sorts which marked him as a member of the Duskbkades.

Once docked the quiet elf offered to help Mae with her bags as they debarked.

Slove had sorted out the situation with Captain Rantally and did his best explain it was not slove fault he was on the ship.  He then kept himself to him self and gave no reason for the captain to complain about him being on the ship.  Talking to others usually resulted in trouble so it was best for slove to keep out the way.

As headed out to get of the ship Slove spotted and heard two people he new very well.
All that time being quite resulted in Slove just having to speak.

Well I do declare.  I recognize that firm round bump anywhere.  It still has graceful and magnificence as when I last saw it.  Maelarra it is good to know you got out of that dungeon after my sudden and untimely disappearance.

He then turns to mage.
Even though I still have good reason keep as far away from you as possible.  It is good to see you Kaijn Tur'kin and see your are your doing well.

Slove smiles at mage.

I just found out I can teleport using a wand of magic missiles.

At which point he pulls out item rapped in cloth and looking very chard.  He hands it to Kaijn Tur'kin.


OOC:
I will leave it to GM to decide if any of magic left in item (most likely not).

Once close to bowing over the rail, Mae rose her head and turned to face Kaijn, contriving to remain as elegant as ever. 'Indeed not, and I see your fine words remain undimmed.' she returned with courtesy and charm, though her delicate voice was still raspy. 'Well again, Master Kaijn.' she bowed her head slightly. She caught her breath, then went on 'The Hamayarch, Solinor, informed you were being considered for this mission. I gave him my recommendation – I am pleased to see were you accepted.' Solinor, a former adventuring wizard and acquaintance of Arrazin, had recently been elected as the Hamayarch, serving as mage advisor to the Thultyrl and overseer of the city's spellcasters.

Then she heard another familiar voice, and saw a familiar face. 'Slove.' she greeted flatly. 'I should have expected you'd have followed Kaijn. I am pleased to see a little of his courtesy has rubbed off on you. Your tone has improved markedly, but your subject matter has not. As for my bump, as you put it, you would better spend your time surveying the statues back in the Temple District.'


*

Stepping in, Tamae gladly accepted Orophear's offer to help with the bags. Only one held any real valuables, an enchanted handy haversack; the rest were just decoys or for appearances. But of course, between then, they somehow managed to make even the extra-dimensional handy haversack heavy. 'Oh, thanks, mister.' Tamae said, gratefully offloading onto the elf.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:18, Mon 27 Mar 2017.

Tseran slunk down to the waterfront as best he was able having learned a little something of slinking by observing the Calauntans go about their daily lives (slinking, sneaking, creeping, and lurking all being distinct cultural habits here). Here he could smell the fetid river mud, its odour criss-crossed by the smells of fish both fresh and foul. As always, ever-opportunistic Calauntans were selling nosegays and sachets to sailors, travellers, and other outsiders (the locals claimed to be quite used to the stink, which seemed rather disturbing). The little bundles of herbs, potpourri, or aromatic alchemy didn't quite succeed in making a pleasant scent, but almost blocked the existing stench. A few extreme cases had chemicals so intense they seemed to burn out the ability to smell at all.

As he approached the wharf, a flock of seagulls – creatures that would attack a grown man for a chip – took to the wing and flew away squawking. This was a sure sign Tseran  had already been living in Calaunt too long. Magic here was corrupted or polluted, to something even animals found unnatural and would flee from or howl if a wizard was about.

There was a new ship at the dock, The Nimble Naiad – hope at last, it was flying Procampan colours. It was a highly sensible and civilised city, for a human settlement anyway. He could drop some names and try to get a berth out.

But then his keen elven ears picked up on the breeze some muttered and suspicious words. 'That's the ship they're on.' He spied a group of warriors, in studded leathers, with shields and clubs, lurking expertly behind a stack of barrels, their leader cocking a head toward the Naiad.

Kaijn returns Mae's bow with one of his own. "Well thank you very much for the recommendation, so it you who is responsible for me ending up in this place?" he says with a smile and a wink to the cleric.


Just then Slove appears and hands him the wand.

"Ohh my. Well met Slove. Looks like the gods brought us all together again. How have you been my friend?" he asks and accepts the bundle of cloth. He glances down and gentle unwraps it.

 Living is not the word that Tseran would choose. Even in the ugly, ungainly languages of humanity and its mayfly ilk, the word means more than mere existence and in the fetid, decaying slums of Calaunt existence is the best anyone could hope for.

 Well, existence and perhaps, if one is lucky a hard-boiled egg.

 That considered, it isn't the fact that the wing-rats flee from him that's a sign to Tseran that he's been existing here too long, it's that for the first time in an age he's not overcome by the fierce desire to shear them out of the air with beams of white-hot light and is instead simply seeing them as a loud, squawking, filthy, disease-ridden, pestilential, chip-stealing nuisance*.

 This of course is a line of thinking that's both depressing and unsettling, so it's perhaps fortunate that a band of waterfront thugs are present to distract him by preparing to assault what looks to him to be the only group of likely adventurers that have come through all morning...

 ...and if there were ever a better example of just how thoroughly vicious his stay in the swamp has left the slim, pale elf it's that his first thought isn't to set them on fire and it isn't to flay them with... It's to step back and look for a chip vendor.

 ---

 * I am a native of Cornwall. I know Seagulls. Bastards. ^_^

[Private to GM:  Tserans Plan: Step back, buy chips from a vendor along with any old oil, soggy crap and dead fish they might have. Trade chips to street rats for the throwing of seagull-bait onto the thugs from a rooftop. Cast detect thoughts and eavesdrop while the street rats are getting into position. Attempt to relocate adventurers in the confusion. Hope some seagulls are killed. ^_^]

Slove take in a deep breath.  The hard rasping sound of metal on metal could be hurt.
You mean they made a statues of your bump and put it in the Temple District.  This I must see.

He turns back to Kaijn.
I have been well in my self.  Spent a pointless number of months stuck in Chessenta.  It was the big games.  Tried to upset local Drow but that failed.  Help stop plot to kill high priest of the games.  So I may been some use.

OOC:
Kaijn looks at what should been normal magic missile wand.
It is blacked as scared.
If a wand could have emotional trauma.  Be fearful.
It seems happy it no longer close to Slove.

With as warm a smile as he could muster Orophear gladly accepted the bags from Tamae. The elf was no stranger to helping ladies and their things having been a page in the courts elven courts of the Moonwood while under the tutelage of Burilous. The wide elf always said it would teach him humility, which it did indeed. Once loaded to bear the elf simply stood and waited for the others to disembark.

Passive perception, perhaps :)
16:13, Today: Orophear Mithrandir rolled 22 using 1d20+4.  Spot check.

'Oh, no, you were already on the Hamayarch's list.' Maelarra deflected, 'I only gave my advice and my preference to work with you again.'



'Well, they made rather more than that, of course.'

*

Kaijn carefully examined Slove's wand. With his arcane expertise, he could tell it was in fact a wand of cure light wounds issued by the Mordulkin temple of Lathander for use in the Thulbanian Games. He could tell this because it was carved into the side, written in Common and Chessentan on both sides of the stick of bone. There was no way it could function as a wand of magic missiles, let alone teleportation. No wonder Slove had got it so disastrously wrong.

*

Taking up the bags, Orophear scanned the docks and filthy harbour-side streets. He could already make out several groups eyeing off the ship with profit in mind, whether to buy, sell, or make a transaction of a different kind. Many carried weapons, but this wasn't at all unusual in this cutthroat city.

He could also tell that their illustrious priestess was wearing enough gold and fineries to satisfy a whole street of muggers, thieves, gangsters, and ne'er-do-wells.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:14, Thu 30 Mar 2017.

Tseran soon located a chip vendor. The charming fellow's name was, apparently, Stabbing-My-Own-Back Dibhler, and he shamelessly sold him a heap of half-cold crusted-over assorted fish and tubers, along with some squid rings that vaguely seemed to be looking at him, and an extra heaping of grease. This was all wrapped up in a reused newspaper that had once hinted at the heroism of adventurers in Procampur, but was now too blurry to give the full story.

Close by, he spied a gang of street urchins (so-called because they tended to pick urchins off the streets when in season), loitering like they were looking for something to be up to. Tseran was too aware that they were a lot like the regular street gangs, only smaller and cheaper.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:16, Thu 30 Mar 2017.

 Carefully dodging the line of sight of the pair of city guardsmen (one large and jolly, one small and weaselly, as per specification) industriously and pro-actively securing local landmarks to ensure that no-one makes off with, for example, the famous Calaunt Bridge Tseran performs one swift mental checklist to affirm that yes indeed, the majority of his personal funds are indeed secured in the other-dimensional spaces that his gear provides rather than anywhere they might be casually lifted before approaching the youths, choosing out of his various options to try straight-up honesty as he states - in pretty fair Chondathan - "I want some street toughs pelted with offal from a rooftop and I'll pay one silver per roof-runner to see it done. Anyone interested?"

 Apparently, he doesn't believe in wasting anyones time!

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.

 Tseran walks with the group, having established something of his bona fides in the intervention at the dock and having no desire to be anywhere near whatever the next stage in the plan might be. Conveniently, although he's only been in the city for a short while he does know it reasonably well - having spent a modest amount of time quite hopelessly lost before learning to treat the graceless, ugly structures and monotonous, ill-favoured streets as a kind of puzzle to be solved rather than the burdensome weight upon the soul they appear to have been designed as and once everyone is off the street and away from The Smell he appears to very slightly relax, commenting as the group makes its way to the private space "Trouble is unlikely to occur here, but note shall likely be taken." and waiting until privacy proper is available before addressing the party as a whole "By now I suspect that you're beginning to realise that this city is far from hospitable. Before I address my own interests here, may I ask if your party has the intention of travelling on from here in the near future?"

Lady Maelarra replied 'While we shan't stay a second more than we must, we have business in Calaunt that will keep us trapped here for the foreseeable future. Certainly for several days. Hopefully an excursion outside the city is in the cards, as we could surely do with a breath of fresh air, but I can't make any promises.'

Earlier that day...

Finally! She sighed to herself in relief, spotting the now-gaunt-looking elf mage, (whose current wardrobe seemed to have taken a drastic turn for the worse!), making his way cautiously down the cramped streets in the general direction of the docks. It had taken her two days to finally track down her former companion since following his trail and landing in this foul-smelling dung-hole they called a city... but even now, when she could have easily approached him and made her presence known, Angel hesitated.

Tseran would not have easily forgotten her attempt at pranking him by "helping" him through that portal, (if he had even felt her light touch at all!), and she was not at all sure her sudden appearance would be a welcome one to the stuffy mage. Gods, he looks terrible! She thought to herself, a stab of guilt twisting in her gut -- something new she felt from time to time now, ever since meeting Jack. She hadn't known the portal was just one-way. How could she?! But even when Angel reasoned it out, when Tseran hadn't returned in a timely manner, she hadn't followed him, leaving him to fend for himself. It had taken her several days and a not-very-nice dream from Jack before she finally worked up enough courage to follow the mage, to step off into the unknown. Angel hadn't really realized that she was such a coward at heart, but apparently she was... and somehow that made her feel even worse.

Still she waited though, shadowing the mage from the rooftops, looking for an opportunity to make the best entrance she could... to have her cake and eat it too.

She witnessed Tseran's activities at the docks, and smiled in spite of herself at the mage's own clever prank. Well done! She congratulated mentally, impressed that it seemed she had worn off on the mage during their time together. She remained hidden from those below, though she thought the children Tseran had hired had spotted her spying on the group below. But since she wasn't part of the deal that was made, they merely shrugged and went swiftly about their own business... a lesson learned early and well in this city she reasoned.

Using her unique abilities, she eavesdropped on the conversation below and overheard their plans to head to the Redfires Inn, vaguely familiar with the place from her brief time in the city searching for Tseran. Shadowing the group back through the city, she rocked back on her heels, perched above and across the street from the Inn as the group entered. So, what do I do now? She thought, absently chewing her lip...

OOC: Hi everyone! Glad to meet you and to be here!
As always, Pink Italics are thoughts

'Now, please do excuse us.' Questions answered, Maelarra and Tamae disappeared into the adjoining bedroom and bathroom to powder their noses or whatever that truly entailed.

Soon after, there came a very specific knock-knock-a-knock-knock at the door. When opened, it revealed a scantily clad pleasure-girl with crimson red hair. Beautiful but faded in this decaying city, she could still best be described as "perky", in every way possible. 'Hi, I'm Angel,' she greeted, perkily. She was carrying a tray, bearing two glasses of wine and a steaming pie. 'You ordered a wine, pie, and— Ooh, large party.' she swerved, surprised to see the group of men in the room, evidently more than she'd planned to cater for, what with having only one pie. 'I'm looking for an elven gentlemen? A Mister Serren?'


OOC: It's like John, I imagine. ;)

Slove had kept his mouth shut.  Not sure what Maelarra Hlartrym was up to.
His time with her before told him she had her plans and her ideas.
Most of which Slove found funny.  Kept him entertained.  This was good.

As for this city.  Like all city Slove had no time for it.
He did however seem to suffer less from it than others.
One of the gift his past had given him.  Able to turn his sense of smell off if need be.

Now a new figure appears at the door.  One that was not welcome in Slove sight.
Slove take in big breath of air.  The noise of metal on metal can be heard.
Great Just want we need in this place.  A pretty, graceful, troublesome, sexy female elf.
Our life expectancy just gone down and likely hood losing any items we have just went up.

As always Slove just so friendly (unless your dwarf with some beer to share and need drinking partner).
This message was last edited by the player at 19:46, Sat 13 May 2017.

Angel was rather thrown by this odd unwelcoming response; it wasn't exactly on the script. The entire description was true though, except for the elf bit. Facing "Mister Serren", she said 'Uh... Mmm, alright, sweetie, if the price is right, we can do the elf experience...' she promised. 'And you won't lose anything you don't want to.'
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:16, Sun 14 May 2017.

 "Understandable, but regrettable." Tseran replies to the information that Lady Hlartrym provides, before starting to explain his own interest in having accosted the group, beginning with a fairly simple summation "As you have no doubt gathered, I wish to leave the city but considerable difficulty accrues to anyone who wishes to do so with the trappings of magic about their person - the authorities here consider all such trappings to be their property and..."

 Unsurprisingly, he breaks off when Angel knocks on the door, his expression turning first suspicious and then curious and then all over suspicious again when the serving girl introduces herself, one hand automatically finding his rapier-hilt and the other curling into the position for shaping a spell, tucked behind his back as he part-turns to glare coolly at the 'serving girl', observing that "I didn't order anything of the sort, nor did I give my name, nor did I identify myself." in the same clipped, sharp tones that he's always used (albeit perhaps a little more tired than usual, given his recent privations) before adding, if anything even more dryly "But please, do go on."

'You're Mister Serren?' Angel confirmed, shooting a suspicious and annoyed glance at Slove. This simple job had gotten completely confused. 'Well, you see, sometimes people order pies for other people, like friends or business partners, who they think need some nice buttered pastry... So, um, would you like to enjoy your pie some place more private...?' she queried hopefully.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:15, Mon 15 May 2017.

Orophear simply stood off to the side as the young woman came into the room and began speaking. It took but a second for the implication of the pie service to sink in for the well traveled elf. Giving the scene a moment simply out of shear unadulterated humor, something Orophear assumed was in short supply in this ill begotten city, the elf moved across the room, placing his hand over the mage's on his rapier.

With a simple shake of his head the elf moved on to the girl, took the tray from her and set it down.
"It would seem there was a mistake. we simply require the pie and drink, nothing else. Thank you though, Angel." the tall quiet elf said as he took her hand, sliding 2 gold in her palm for her trouble, gave her a slight bow and led her out of the room.

 "While this is true, the set of people in this city who are likely to do so can be divided into those who do not know my name and those who are regrettably deceased." Tseran answers in a fashion that while clipped is not actually unkind, simply cool-edged and matter of fact, his lip curling up in a slightly distasteful fashion at the thought of... sharing ahhh, pie with well, truth be told it's rather a toss-up as to whether he's more appalled by the notion of having pie with his old acquaintance or a random tavern-girl but neither is calculated to help him keep down his lunch.

 Which wasn't pie.

 Shaddup.

 Orophear's intervention - and the touching get him a dry look before Tseran delicately but firmly removes that hand from his and puts his back (a hand on a sword can mean the desire to draw it but it's rather more common that it means a desire not to trip over the bloody thing when you take a step) before dipping his head and permitting the other elf to handle matters, stepping back and waiting for them to be resolved.

'Umm...' Angel began uncertainly as the next elven gentleman started to show her out, though she could hardly say no to the tip. Getting paid for work she didn't have to do was especially welcome in her trade. But she was increasingly sure there really had been a mistake somewhere along the line. Mix-ups were particularly annoying in this line of work; one could hardly return a half-eaten pie. In the doorway, she tried again. 'But wait, which of you is Mister Serren?'

'Uh, I'm, um, Serren?' called an embarrassed half-elf from another room two doors down. 'I ordered pie?'

Angel glared at the door number and then at her ticket. Damn dyslexia. Blushing, she slipped back into the room to retrieve the tray, apologising urgently 'Please forgive the intrusion, sirs, I'm sorry for any inconvenience. I'll just get this and leave you to your, um... business. Next time, please listen out for your assigned knocking code.'

But no sooner was she done and about to leave when the door opened and admitted another young serving girl with pale features and dark hair, who had the look of a girl who perhaps had just recently started working for the Redfire Inn. She was carrying a tray bearing eight glasses of wine. 'Knock Knock!' she called out cheerfully, pushing the door open with her backside. 'Compliments of the hou—' she started to explain, before the words died on her lips at the sight of Angel already there. 'What are you doing here?' she bluntly asked the crimson-haired woman, her once bright affect suddenly turning to one of annoyance tinged with doubt and fear...

'I was just going.' Angel said urgently, trying to get out again as the other girl insisted on trying to get in. There was now a traffic jam of serving girls in the doorway.

'I say, who has my pie?'

The Netherese mage watched the drama unfold with a crooked smile on his lips. When the second girl showed up he chuckled softly wondering and watching what the three elves would dobnow.

 "In case you're wondering, this sort of thing is not generally to be expected in Calaunt." Tseran comments in his dust-dry fashion to whomever happens to seem the most appropriate - quite likely Kaijn under the circumstances, given that the other arcanist drew attention to himself with his chuckle, adding in the same breath "On the whole, those who practice deception here have some degree of brutish talent at the art."

Slove turns to Tseran.
In case your wondering this happens to me all the time.  Most of my friends are result of totally or near total misunderstanding.

The dark-haired wine-bearer's look of annoyance turned into a petulant frown,  the pout giving the human girl's mouth a look that almost begged to be... comforted. She tried to step around the red-haired woman and into the room, but they only managed to step in front of each other for the better part of several heartbeats. It was a familiar dance. Finally, the two serving girls seemed to coordinate their efforts enough for the redhead to squeeze into the hallway, while the brunette found herself at last able to enter the room.

'Don't worry, sir, I've got your hot pork-pie right here...' they heard Angel say from the corridor.

Unfortunately though, inside, the younger girl's foot caught on some obstacle at the last moment and she tripped, pitching forward hard and fast. Her hands instinctively reached out to catch herself and the tray of wine and glasses she had been holding went flying into the room – heading straight for Tseran...

[Private to Orophear Mithrandir: As if it needed saying, something was clearly "up" here...]

OOC: Tseran, Reflex save DC 10 to avoid being soaked.

 The pale elf watches with a look of vast patience, having doesn't more than his fair share of time simply watching faces and bodies move through the daily round of social interaction, attempting to fulfill his masters instruction that for it to be worth anything to use magic to try to understand others, one must first ah least have a grasp of their nature's without it.

 This ours him in a rather good position to side-step as the tray flies through the air, glasses rumbling and wine splashing, managing to come out of the whole thing almost suspiciously unstained as he remarks "Curiously, many of my associates arrived the same way. I've never really understood why it's only ever my enemies who can be trusted to understand what's going on."

 ---

 11:22, Fri 19 May: Tseran Tal'chiar rolled 7 using 1d20.
 I should have noted that I made my save. ^_^
This message was last edited by the player at 18:06, Sun 21 May 2017.

Wine and glasses exploded through the air in a sparkling red wave – inexplicably avoiding Tseran – before splashing and smashing all over the wooden floor. Glass tinkled, wine dripped, and there was a brief moment of silence.

'Oh gods!' the girl cried out, quickly picking herself up off the floor. 'I'm so sor—!' she began, addressing Tseran, but the words died on her lips at the sight of the dry mage. She frowned momentarily and then a rush of surprised excitement crossed her pretty face. 'Magic!' she cried loudly, and then clapped her hands over her mouth and looked around as if to make sure no one was listening before continuing in a whisper. 'Magic! That wine should have soaked you, but you're completely dry. You used magic!' she concluded clasping her hands together happily and so excited she was literally bouncing on the balls of her feet. 'Oh gods! Are you a wizard?! I've never met a real wizard before! Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat?!'

 Well, not that inexplicably - the slim, pale elf is both swift and reasonably agile after his kind and his reflexes around the matter of incoming objects honed by his association with adventurers - but there were errant spatters that didn't so much strike him as splash then run right off almost as if his entire body is inherently repellent to the casual stains and misfortunes of big-city life.

 "Do not be ridiculous child." Tseran replies simply and with total accuracy, brushing off his garments with one hand as he proceeds to quite effectively lay out a series of rational alternatives without ever addressing the core accusation "There are no less than five possibilities that occur initially laying the blame upon myself or illegal arts. My garments may be inherently repellent to stains, by alchemical treatment or imbuement, I could be a dedicate of one of the deities who values appearance, a practitioner of the clerical arts protected by prayer, a practitioner of the invisible arts shielded by will, uncannily evasive, not strictly speaking physically present or any number of other options including my currently being in the company of a priestess of Waukeen, who might be expected to provide any of the above services for coin as an act of veneration of her Goddess."

Orophear watched the scene unfold around him as he stood near the door. When the young woman mentioned magics the elf cocked an eyebrow. This encounter was becoming stranger and stranger. Quietly sliding to the door the elf stuck his head into the hall looking this way and that, making sure no one heard the woman mention magics. The last thing they needed was being assaulted as soon as they got settled.

Slowly and quietly the tall elf slide the door shut then turned and eyed the woman suspiciously. Closing his eyes Orophear reached into the Weave within himself and pulled a familiar thread. When his eyes opened the were white and pupiless, glowing ever so slightly as he looked at the woman before them.

[Private to DM BadCatMan: Using Arcane Attunement to cast Detect Magic, looking at the "serving girl"]

Apart Angel delivering her pie and disappearing into the other room, the corridor was clear.

The serving girl scrunched her face up in confusion at Tseran's various explanations, and seemed prepared to protest when her attention was snatched by a more pressing thought. 'Oh gods! The carpet!' she exclaimed, gesturing vaguely toward the mess the spilled and broken wine glasses had made all over the floor. 'Tessa's gonna kill me!' she moaned. 'Gotta get some towels! Be right back!' she added hastily, hurrying to the door to the bedroom, through which Lady Maelarra and her maid had disappeared earlier...

As Orophear focused on the serving girl before him his eyebrows cocked ever so slightly and then his eyes narrowed dangerously. When the woman begins to move for the door the elf quickly strides to intercept her, his slightly curved long sword almost jumping from its place on his hip into his hand.

As he draws near the door the sword is thrust out and hits the far edge of the wooden portal with a dull THUD as he now stands to block the way.
"It would seem you hide some secrets of your own girl. I pride myself on being a patient sort but you had best reveal your true self before I lose those said patience. " the Dusk blade days evenly with a slightly dangerous tinge to the words.

Kaijn watched in silent amusement but stayed quiet and relaxed, but when Orophear blocked the girl from exiting his smile disappeared and his caution grew. His eyes narrowed and his hands slid into the pockets of his robe.

"What do you see Orophear?" he calmly asks.

Without taking his still glowing pupiless eyes from their "barmaid", Orophear says coldly,"It would seem our guest here is brimming with many magics, more so than any normal worker in an establishment such as this, let alone a city such as this."

The serving girl didn't even look at the blade which pinned the door closed. She merely closed her eyes and sighed deeply before turning around... slowly. She glanced briefly at the elf holding that blade, (and something unspoken seemed to pass between them), before she turned her gaze fully on Tseran. [Private to Orophear Mithrandir: With that look a voice spoke in Orophrear's mind. Just remember, handsome, you drew steel on me first!] "I didn't mean it to turn out like this," she said to the mage in a voice quite unlike the one she had spoken with before. "But of course, I never do," she added with a wry smile.

In the blink of an eye, the girl suddenly held a modest pile of neatly-folded clothes which a small piece of parchment lying on top. It wasn't exactly clear where the girl had stashed such on her person -- nor how she had managed to make them appear in her hands without even seeming to move at all... but her once ample bosom seemed much smaller now and she must have been a sleight of hand artist of exceptional skill. "These are for you, Tseran." 

[Private to DM BadCatMan: Angel has a +11 on her Sleight of Hand skill, and all things considered I figured that would be high enough to make something "appear" in her hands in the blink of an eye. If however you disagree, please edit as you like.]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:04, Wed 24 May 2017.

 Tseran doesn't - quite - have the ability to manifest a handful of fire that he can just bounce in his palm in meaningful fashion before torching some unfortunate victim, but the weight of his gaze seems to suggest that he's developing a strong desire to acquire the skill - and simultaneously losing his inhibitions with regards to putting it to use.

 "But of course they are." he replies with enforced calm, although anyone with even a modest ability to perceive the true nature of a persons mood would likely want to be moving out of an area of effect template or so's worth of space centred on the 'serving girl' just now. Spontaneous flaming death fails to manifest for the moment however, and he adds with crisp, icy tones "Thank you, but I believe the city provides all the treachery and deception we need just now, I trust you recall where to find the door?"

The serving girl's face fell and she merely nodded before setting the small pile of clothing, with the parchment still on top, on the floor at her feet. "If that's what you want," she replied meekly as she rose and immediately made her way to the door. Pausing at said door, before she opened it, with her back toward the others in the room, she dared to speak again. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry... for everything." Then she opened the door, made her way out into the hallway, and closed the door softly behind her.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:28, Sat 27 May 2017.

Orophear looked surprised for a moment as his eyes locked with the woman. For a stunned moment the elf wasn't sure if he should strike the woman down but when Tseran seemed to recognize the woman Orophear removed his sword and placed it back in the sheath on his side.

When the woman left the room the elf turned back to the mage and asked, "Someone you know I assume? "
This message was last edited by the player at 19:31, Thu 01 June 2017.

 "When I arrived here, it was via portal in the middle of a swamp. I had minimal warning and neither map nor guide. Under most circumstances, I would quite certainly have died there although a combination of anger, applied pyromancy and quite remarkable fortune saw me to Calaunt, although I will grant that as a destination, Calaunt has little to recommend it over a crocodiles stomach having not entirely dissimilar levels of stench, bile and hunger." Tseran answers, his eyes slowly tracking the figure as they depart without moving an inch from where he stands "I cannot be certain, but few here know my name. Fewer still my nature. Clumsily attempting an ill-considered meeting from the concealment of illusion and disguise in order to retain the upper hand is very much the preferred style of the one who pushed me through that portal. Prior to their doing so I had simply assumed them mischievous rather than actually murderous."

The bundle of clothing remained on the floor; there was a note folded on top. So did the tray and smashed wine glasses.

Shortly after this commotion, the inner door opened suddenly and Lady Maelarra bustled out, straightening her skirts. 'What in the world is going on out here?' she asked urgently, fearing an attack. Tamae had her purse, and produced a gleaming nunchaku, but the priestess declined the weapon when it was clear there were no robbers.

After she heard whatever explanation was given, Mae sniffed and said 'Well, in any case, let us begin the briefing.' The noble priestess sat at the table and placed her gloved hands upon the surface. She spoke softly, as if wary of being overheard. 'Now, as you may have noticed, Calaunt is an utter dungheap.' she announced without any delicacy. 'It has always been so, a free port that would take any ship or trade, no matter wretched, lax on laws and good taste. The scholars speak seriously of fell magic in the area, but what that means is hard to say. It may even be cursed. But the tanneries certainly do not help the atmosphere, as you've smelt.'

'First, a history lesson. Forty years ago, the town was in the grip of the so-called Five Vultures, robber-barons who terrorised the northern Vast, raiding and taking what they wanted. The town did grow on what trickled down, but it grew lean and hungry.'

'Finally, as often happens, a group of adventurers arose to confront the Five Vultures. Bellas's Band were brave, daring, and lucky, and in their campaign they finally overthrew the Five Vultures, liberating Calaunt from their tyranny. And then, as often happens, they took power themselves. They call themselves the Merchant Dukes, under their leader, Supreme Scepter Bellas Thanatar.'

'At first, they were good for Calaunt, developing the city, bringing in legitimate trade, instituting a few laws, and giving it a veneer of civilisation. It prospered and flourished – it might not look like it, but Calaunt is the second richest city in the Vast – behind Procampur, of course.' the Procampan noted smugly. 'But it wasn't long before the Merchant Dukes went the way of the Five Vultures themselves. They rule as brutal dictators and kleptocrats. All that wealth is in their hands or in those of their supporters, while the people fight for scraps. They confiscate any and all magic they deem necessary "for the benefit of the city", or rather, their own. No wizard of middling power lasts long in this city.' She laid golden-hued eyes on Tseran, adding with a humourless smile 'So I don't advise you settle.'
This message was last edited by the player at 10:32, Sat 03 June 2017.

Angel went back downstairs to the common room of the Redfires Inn, but was immediately confronted by the jowly innkeeper and a pair of heavies, bouncers there to protect both patrons and working girls. 'You, girl, what was that noise? If you've breaking glasses...' he began to warn, trailing off, thinking an unspoken threat more effective than a spoken one.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:33, Sat 03 June 2017.

Lost in her own dark thoughts...

Blasted stubborn mule of a mage! Doesn't he know a sincere apology when he hears one?! And the gall to refuse my gift too?! She fumed. But the worst was what she'd heard Tseran say when she'd listened briefly at the other side of the door, hoping to hear the sound of someone coming to stop her departure. Murderous am I?! She seethed, her eyes unconsciously narrowing dangerously as her hands involuntarily clenched into fists. What was that human saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?

... Angel, disguised as the serving girl, Gavrila, was taken by surprise at the sudden confrontation by the innkeeper and his cronies. But the she-elf was too quick-witted to waste such a prime opportunity to incite a little chaos... especially in her present mood. What was it her grandmother had always said? Oh yes -- the very best lies are so close to being the truth.

"Oh sir!" Gavrila wailed, wringing her hands in anguish. "It was terrible! Those elves! They're crazy! They knocked the wine glasses from my hands, and they drew steel on me and tossed me out of the room when I tried to clean it up and make amends! They're dangerous, sir! I was afraid for my very life!"


[Private to GM: Taking ten on a Bluff check for "25" total. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:16, Tue 06 June 2017.

Maelarra had paused for questions or interjections, and when it seemed there weren't to be any, she looked a trifle disappointed, and went on. 'Now, for those of us in the Vast hoping for reform and civil rule in Calaunt, the Merchant Dukes, even their sons and daughters, are generally regarded as a lost cause. However, there is another – the next generation, their grandchildren. The scions are still young, wealthy, restless, and have damn near nothing to occupy themselves with until their grandparents finally relinquish their grips on power. They are also, of course, imminently malleable...'

'Thus, it was decided to attract them into a time-honoured profession for spoilt, wealthy noble brats like us,' Maelarra smiled, 'Adventuring.'

'To lead and guide them, the services of one Dorn Hammerhand were engaged – an adventurer and mercenary of Clan Hammerhand, a dwarf of good repute and impeccable character, and a skilled ranger and renowned orc-slayer. Dorn's task is to lead them through a series of challenges appropriate to their capabilities, to shepherd their moral development, and to help them build character. He is discreetly introducing them to the dangers of the world, from orcs to the Moonsea powers, to the corruption of their home city, and the tyranny and crimes of their forebears; and teaching them to work together, how to observe, think, care, and feel. And perhaps, in the coming decades, they will make for better rulers than their parents and grandparents. Procampur and the dwarves can afford to play a long game, gentlemen.'

'And you will breathe not a word of this to anyone.'

Hearing the wild story, the innkeeper grew red-faced and furious, and, to his credit, very concerned. 'What? Oh no, if Angel got the wrong room again... Bloody elves! Out of the way, Gavvie!' he directed, the guards trying to move past her and reach the room.

Then there was a shocked squeal, cutting through the hustle and bustle and low-level pleasuring of the common room. 'Face thief! Double-ganger!' accused a shocked-looking maid hurrying through the crowd, one who looked an awful lot like "Gavrila".

'By the Moonmaiden! What's going on here?' The guards separated moved to apprehend both "Gavrilas". The first was close enough grab Angel already.

'That cheap skank tricked me! I told her to see Madam Chaevala for a contract, but I knew she was too low-class for the likes of the Redfires. Then the witch doused me with pixie dust! I only just woke up in Mistress Melyssa's dungeon, and came straight here. And seen she's copied my face! That's against house rules!'

 Not, strictly speaking being a part of the lady Priestesses party, it doesn't seem as though Tseran feels he has a right to insert himself into her deliberations - although the comment 'You give it too much credit' is inserted sotto voice into the expected spot after her assessment of Calaunt and a rather more humble 'As you do me.' when she attempts to dress him down - with some degree of virtue on her side - for his lack of apparent arcane might.

 When the scheme of Waukeen's people is lain out for him however, his eyes spark in appropriate admiration - admiration that he voices with a simple "Worthy and thrice worthy. To civilise by moving with the tide of history, rather than against it... Positively elven. I had originally intended to parlay my assistance at the docks into a means to depart this fetid burg, but despite my distaste for the adventuring life... I find myself wondering if this endeavour might have call for the services of a diviner of the Ladies college?"

 Of course, he has no idea that his well-chosen words are having quite the effect downstairs that they are - his original expectation that well of course Angel was eavesdropping and deserved to be chided somewhat for doing so having stopped some way short of anticipating an incipient riot.

Angel, disguised as the maid Gavrila, smiled in spite of herself at the developing chaos. Acting quickly, she reached out with her mind to distract the guard reaching for her, sending a voice into his head that sounded something like the innkeeper's own.

Not that one, you fool! The other one!

Then concealing her actions she secretly cast a spell and promptly vanished from sight. Spinning and twisting, ducking and weaving, she quietly moved away from her previous location and put herself in an out-of-the-way location to secretly watch the unfolding fun.


[Private to GM: OOC: Sending telepathic message, (free). Casting Invisibility spell, (standard). Using Conceal Spellcasting trick with casting action. Taking ten on Sleight of Hand skill check for a total of 21. Quietly move to an out-of-way location (move). Taking ten on Move Silently skill check for a total of 19.

I'll pause here to allow NPC action before I continue. :)  ]

Orophear stood silently off to the side, taking in the information as it came. Once Mae seemed done the elf said,"I have no intention of spilling any secrets but what is our part to play in this situation? "

Kaijn had relocated to one of the comfy chairs sending a longing look to the broken glasses and bottle of wine on the floor. A glass of wine would have been appropriate right now just as the cleric of Waukeen entered the room. He greeted the cleric with a smile and awaited what she had to say. Of course he wasnt at all surprised of hearing the purpose  of the trip or that she had volunteered for it. After all this dump could be a powerful ally if the future rulers were indoctrinated the proper way. He grinned and winked to Lady Mae as she finished and was about to ask what their role was before Orophear beat him to the punch.

Maelarra leaned in, scrutinising the elf with golden eyes over a knowing smile. 'Indeed it might, Master Tal'chiar. Lord Hasken and your former companions at Haskenvale recommended you...' At his reaction, she cut him off and explained 'I contacted my colleagues in Procampur, they sent a message, and I received the reply while I was in there casting protective wards... What did you men think I was doing, powdering my nose? This is why I've chosen to trust you. And, I must say, negotiating peace with the skum creatures and helping them find a trade was very well done, so my compliments to you. The Merchant's Friend smiles upon you.' She inclined her head in respect.

'But where is the one called Angel? I understand she disappeared with you?'



'As we all well know, the adventuring trade is not without its risks.' Maelarra began, 'And most especially this one.'

'Dorn Hammerhand and the young scions of Calaunt have disappeared.'

She let that awkward truth sink in without comment. Since her city had, at quite some distance, played a part in engineering the disappearance of the heirs of a rival city, it was understandably a matter of utmost sensitivity.

'They haven't been seen in several days. For security's sake, Dorn maintained minimal contact or record of his plans; his few messages were made through Clan Hammerhand mercenaries. They haven't reported anything yet. So we don't know where they went or why. While it may be that they are simply late back from an expedition, it is possible they ran into something beyond their capabilities.'

'In any case, the disappearance has enhanced rivalries and suspicions between the ruling families. You may have noticed the excessive exploration of the Nimble Naiad by customs officials, the squads of thugs roaming the streets, the more-suspicious-than-usual attitudes. The families' overzealous private forces have been turning the city upside down and searching all going in or out, as if they might find a princeling stashed inside a crate of leather goods or sack of grain. It may not be long before the Teeth of Calaunt turn this into an excuse to search surrounding villages and towns, and not leave.'

'Given this tense situation, one of the better Merchant Dukes, Haldyn Stormkin, has appealed to the other cities for aid, no doubt seeking someone unbiased and politically impartial. Instead, Procampur has accepted. We have a clear responsibility to resolve the situation peacefully.' Whereas other powers might have cut ties, covered their hides, and washed their hands of any involvement in such an affair, Procampur was dedicated to duty, honour, and responsibility. Since it had clocked 1500 years of uninterrupted civilisation, it seemed to be doing something right.

'Thus, our mission here is to investigate the disappearances, locate the missing scions, and if necessary repeat their adventure. All while trying to avoid getting caught up in cut-throat Calauntan politics.'
This message was last edited by the player at 14:21, Thu 15 June 2017.

Deceived by the thrown voice, the first bouncer momentarily turned away, lumbering at Gavrila. 'Not me! Her! Look, now she's disappeared!' she pointed accusingly at where Angel had just been. Innkeeper and bouncers were left floundering about looking for her – turning invisible was a sure sign of guilt.

From a safe spot out of the way of the general mayhem her sudden disappearance had caused, the now-invisible Angel put into play the second part of her impromptu plan of having fun at the expense of others. Summoning her natural magic, she invisibly assumed the form a nimble, bipedal reptilian creature which some folk called a troglodyte -- her equipment magically molding itself around her new form. The sudden weight on her backside with the appearance of the creature's tail reminded Angel of just how much she missed having one. She turned to look behind her, momentarily forgetting that while invisible she couldn't see herself either. Still, she gave the appendage a couple experimental flicks, and smiled at the old familiar feeling before her thoughts were drawn back to the chaos she'd created. She spared a moment's thought on how best to further poke the old proverbial bear, and then grinning devilishly she reached out with her mind in something akin to a telepathic shout.

FOOLS! YOU HAVE DARED TO INTERFERE WITH MOMMY FORTUNA'S PLANS?! A POX ON YOU!

She thundered into the minds of everyone in range. And then summoning forth a troglodyte's most infamous ability with suitably enraging thoughts of Tseran and his rejection, Angel-the-invisible-troglodyte unleashed a horrible stench into the Inn's common/reception room. When the stink reached her own nostrils she had to suppress the instinct to recoil in disgust, though the form she now wore protected her from the worst of the nauseating odor. Dear Gods! That reeks! She thought to herself, feeling momentary dual twinges of sympathy and guilt. But those annoying thoughts soon passed as she witnessed the people's reactions to the stench... and she had to clasp both of her now-lizardlike hands over her snout to keep from breaking out in laughter!

[Private to GM: Telepathy range is 100ft and the stench range is 30ft... FYI. ]

 Tserans reaction is initially to raise an eyebrow it has to be admitted, but unlike Angel he has - as yet - no reason to twit the good lady priestess and so listens to the remainder of her explanation with a mannerly air, remarking "It seems inappropriate to speculate upon what any lady may wish to do in the privacy of her own chambers, although I respect the effort you extended to confirm my good name." with a small dip of the head before flushing very slightly and bowing a touch further, "It has been my experience that fair form does not always cover an honest heart, nor ugliness ill intent. The Skum were ill-used by the circumstances of their birth and to find them better than fate would otherwise have dealt them was a small thing I was glad to be able to undertake."

 The matter of 'Angel' on the other hand, brings a slightly darker complexion to his features that contains nothing of embarrassment and rather more of irritation "My last assured encounter with her was her boot upon my backside thrusting me through a one-way portal into the swamplands some way outside the city. I have no certain sighting of her since, although I suspect that she is both present and interfering with our affairs, as is her wont - self-control not being one of her strengths."

 After that, he simply settles in to listen until the point where the Inn outside starts to become loud and troublesome, whereupon he sighs audibly as though intuiting something of the likely source.

Maelarra pursed her lips in consideration of Tseran's appraisal. 'Hmm... Be that as it may, she has some amount of credit afforded to her for events in Haskenvale. Her powers may yet be useful in Calaunt, and I've been commanded to keep an open invitation or two for any helpers we may pick up along the way.'

Laughter would not come to troglodyte lips.

At the bizarre curse, patrons and prostitutes glanced about in puzzlement, as if expecting a speaker, because telepathy was rarely one's first thought. 'Eh? Who's playing about?' the innkeeper demanded.

Then a bearded wizard stood up from between a pair of beauties. He wore the grey-and-brown robes of an old-fashioned illusionist, with a glowing gem (it probably did no more than glow) dangling from his neck. Despite the not-so-mysterious disappearance of powerful magic items, and their owners, it was a daring local fashion to show off one's meagre power and wealth to flash such insignificant baubles instead. Such as to the girls here. 'Fear not, it is but beguilement and illusion magic.' he assured, hands raised both placatingly and for ready casting. Calaunt was, after all, the centre of illusion magic north of the Inner Sea, with battle-illusionists serving its armies. There'd bound to be one idling here. 'I'll soon sniff them out.' he determined, beginning to cast a spell – a simple detect magic.

Then the foul nauseating stink spread through the common room... and elicited only a few mild groans and disgustedly wrinkled noses. After all, this was Calaunt, also the smelliest city in Faerûn – a noxious stink was as common as weather. It was doubtful if half of these people still had a sense of smell left. The wizard scarcely slowed his spellcasting.

'She's gone out the window! This way!' the innkeeper concluded the likely source of the smell, leading the bouncers to a back room and the alley behind the inn.

Angel pouted - or would have, had troglodyte lips allowed such a gesture - at witnessing the failure of her joke to garner more than a few tiresome groans. Gods damn it! She cursed to herself, disappointment piling on top of the anger she already felt toward Tseran and threatening to ferment into full-blown depression. Giving up, she assumed her normal form (still invisible) and slumped back against the wall behind her in defeat...

... and then the local wizard spoke up in an attempt to intervene. Her interest piqued, Angel intensely watched the man's actions, immediately recognizing the spell he was attempting to cast. Unsure if he would actually be able to detect her while invisible but not willing to take any chances, she quietly moved herself out of range of the wizard's divination.

[Private to GM: Aware that Detect Magic is a 60 ft cone, Angel moves out of the suspected area of effect based on the direction the wizard is facing. Taking ten on a Move Silently check for a total of 19.  ]
This message was last edited by the player at 08:29, Fri 16 June 2017.

Slove had said or done little.  It seem best that way.
Turning to Maelarra Hlartrym he does answer her.

Maelarra I am here because I am here.  The politics of my own people did not interest me even before curse I carry.  That of humans interest me less.  As for gaining more than I can carry.  I cannot see point.  Farther time will take back what he given.  Even gods of time will face this one day.
However looking out and helping friend.  That want I here to do.

A evil smile comes to his face.

And for your sins, that is what you are.
You can never be accused of being ideal.  Even if you where pounding your noise.  There would be very good reason for it.  One that other should be careful of.

So I will wait until you need my help and point me in direction me and our friends must go.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:24, Sat 17 June 2017.

Maelarra regarded with the customary puzzlement, a little surprised that Slove considered her a friend. 'Ah, yes, thank you.' she said, a little taken aback. Composing herself, she looked around the group, asking 'Do you have any questions, or wish to refresh yourselves in the bathroom back there, or shall we be off? We have an audience with Duke Haldyn Stormkin,' and she added with a knowing smile, 'And perhaps a meeting with a friend of yours.'

Angel could move utterly unheard around the common room, her footfalls lost in the shuffling crowd, concerned whispers, and embarrassed coughs. She could also dance around the wizard for ages and never be in one place long enough for him to focus on her. 'It's just some mageling fool's jape.' the wizard pronounced, covering for his own inability to find her. 'She's probably already fled.'

The crowd began to relax, conversation resumed, and servants came out with large fans to beat the stink out of the room again.

Atop a horse the stench was at least bearable, the lady-knight thought, hoping to convince herself of the truthfulness of that statement. She looked down at the white dappled stallion underneath her, Albion, glad that she had invested the coins in one of the cloths which were enchanted to keep some of the stench away. The trusty warhorse was growing old but his rider made sure he always got the best fodder and treatment, thus keeping him in good shape still. Aerin patted his neck and muttered "Soon we will arrive, I bet they have protected the stables from this stench." she was also hoping the residence would have a similar repellent against the ugly smell.

"Let's hope the duke has a sensitive nose." she figured, finally putting dwelling on this particularely ugly property of Calaunt aside and her mind back on the mission. Thultyrl Rendeth had insisted she should go and investigate, even if 'Velvet' was still on the loose. The warrior sighed, she considered the black dragon and his half-dragon minions still a bigger threat but it wasn't wise to antagonize the ruler of this ancient kingdom - even if you had saved him from the clutches of a mad necromancer - and so she had met with the Procampan agent of the area who filled her in on the details.

The agent had warned her about the city, not just the stench but also the thieves and cut-throats that were common like rats. Aerin had reassured him that anyone trying to steal from her had to be either extremely good or extremely desperate or else they would end up extremely dead. Giving her a second look the man had to agree with her assessment, adding that the warning came as part of the standard briefing given to all non-Calauntians. He had also provided her with the Procampan seal, which helped her passing the gates without any officials sticking their noses into her saddlebags or pouches.

Truth be told, she was looking forward to meeting Orophear and Kaijn again. During their short, but intense, adventuring together they had proven to be loyal, reliable and even trustworthy. Something that she would only say of Arrazin before.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:01, Mon 07 Aug 2017.

Orophear shook his hear when asked the questions.
"This all seems quite straight forward and a bit time sensitive so I am ready to move forward immediately." the normally quiet elf said as he gathered up his pack. It had been too long since the Duskblade put his skills to use and Orophear was ready.

 The soft, subtle groan that issues from Tseran at Maelarra's remarks can only be described as one acknowledging an entirely unmagical prediction coming true but the cadaverous Diviner bows before inevitability and dips his head before allowing "If you can find a means by which to harness her... enthusiasms... Then she may not be completely without use."

 Slove's speech does get something of a puzzled look from Tseran to, but since no-one else is remarking on it he keeps his thoughts to himself, instead simply remarking "There is no time like the present I suppose." in answer to the proposal to move out, dipping his head politely towards Maelarra and indicating his readiness to depart.

"Lets us embark upon this journey." Kaijn said as he rose from the chair, catching Lady Mae's gaze which he held for just a brief moment, before he reached for his backpack.

Redfires Inn

Wrapping up their meeting, the adventurers left their room and went down to the common room to check out. There they found the aftermath of some commotion – extra guards, the hubbub of speculative conversation, and the innkeeper interrogating the serving girl who'd appeared to have dropped the wine in their room. Some rather confused stories were shared, but the unflappable and overbearing Lady Mae, together with a generous tip, settled any disputes and damages. In the end, the innkeeper apologised profusely for the mischief-making beguiler and let them on their way.

[Private to Angel: Wherever Angel is now, she may choose to follow the party.]

Streets

The party ventured back out into the fragrant streets of Calaunt, resuming their journey to the duke's palace. The main road running past the Redfires Inn curved to the east and took them toward the grim Fortress of the Five Vultures. This roughly pentagonal fortification, built in baronial style with dark stone walls, overhangs, and tacked-on towers loomed over the bland grey buildings of the city like said vulture waiting to swoop on a carcass. Small wonder then that the Calauntans now called it the Sevensroost after the current rulers; only a new flock of vultures had moved in.

But they were in a better class of town now, marked by larger and better buildings and rather less smell. These manor houses were the homes of the wealthiest citizens and the nascent nobility spawned by the Merchant Dukes and their hangers-on.

They came across a fortified compound built in an eastern style, recognising it as a Thayan compound much like the one in the Docks District of Procampur. Though they had no business here, Arrazin spied some red-robed figures moving about, and stole away to investigate, or possibly murder.

Soon after, however, Kaijn and Orophear spied a familiar figure – a mighty warrior astride a warhorse, with two sheathed greatswords and clad in gold scaled armour. It was not all armour, though, for the warrior herself had golden scales on her face and hands. She couldn't help but be the most impressive and majestic sight in his dour city.


OOC: Exit Arrazin for the time being, and enter Aerin.

As Aerin rode through the streets, she spotted a grocery vendor with notably good-looking fruits and vegetables. She decided to buy a treat for Albion, rewarding him for the faithful and patient service in this stinking town. Getting out of the saddle her view fell on the street behind her and she noticed two distinctive figures on their horses: Orophear and Kaijn Tur´kin, both she was glad to see. The dragonkin stretched her neck, trying to find Arrazin, who was undoubtedly somewhere near - probably following an incling that somebody was trying to kill them. It was more than once that the Thayan´s paranoia had saved their lives, so she wouldn´t and couldn´t blame him.

Quickly the warrior-witch conducted her business with the grocery vendor, buying some nice green apples and fresh carrots, leaving the change for the shopowner. As she was feeding a thankful Albion, she waved for her companions to come closer. Keeping her back to Albion, giving nobody the opportunity to pick her pockets, perhaps it was the Procampan agent´s advice, or perhaps some of Arrazin´s paranoia had rubbed off on her, but she would make herself no easy target.

"Orophear, Kaijn... it is good to see you again." she called out, seeming genuinely happy.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:02, Mon 07 Aug 2017.

Kaijn gave a courteous bow before Aerin as the group caught up with her.
"Greetings Aerin. I had not expected seeing you here but good you are here. That of course if you are joining our search and rescue mission. This is Lady Mae, our fearless leader." he said introducing Mae.

Aerin's eyebrow went up as Kaijn introduced their leader. "I'm glad to be here, too. Yes, the Thultyrl considered this situation more urgent than my search for Velvet and his minions." she replied, indicating she did not share this assessment.

"So you are Lady Maelarra of the Merchant's Friend!?" Aerin said to the woman in question. Her face changed from happy to indifferent when she gave her a slight bow. In fact the bow was slight enough for somebody attentive to be considered rude.

Maelarra waited in respectful patience for the adventuring companions to greet one another and be reunited, then was grateful for Kaijn's introduction. It was good to maintain proper manners. 'An honour to meet you, Lady Aerin. On behalf of Procampur, I thank you and your team for disposing of the treacherous Alamondh.' Maelarra greeted, inclining her golden head. Yet she was surprised at Aerin's shocked reaction and subsequent chilly demeanour. The unflappable priestss was not put off. 'Yes, I am she, though I preach freelance mostly... I take it you've heard of me? Terrible things, I trust?' she answered with a careful smile.

"On behalf of Procampur..." Aerin mentally repeated "Sounds like she considers herself the Thultyrl already." the dragonkin thought but kept up the cool demeanor. "None of it are true, I trust?" the Rashemen said, careful not to trigger a temper tantrum because the noble felt insulted by anything she might say. "Bloody highborns, just because they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths they felt the world owed them." she thought sourly, her jaw working and showing that she was holding back. However, knowing the meeting with another noble was imminent the dragonkin kept her musings to herself, it was not good to give in to her misgivings right at this time.

"So you are the leader of this mission, I understand? - Have you already devised a plan or strategy, that you want to share?" Aerin asked, somehow it irked her that this newcomer had ursurped a position that nobody had claimed thus far, even though most of the times her companions had looked to Aerin in times that somebody needed to take charge, but she never considered herself their leader.

A smile spread across the elf's face at the sight of the mighty dragon touched warrioress. Aerin would indeed be a valued addition to their crew. When she addressed them Orophear simply placed his hand over his heart and gave a slight bow of his head.

'Not at all.' Maelarra deflected smoothly, unperturbed by any irritation the dragon-woman might convey. 'I'm not here to lead this mission. Rather, I am to provide official oversight, guidance, and healing, free of charge. I leave its actual direction up to you fellows.' she offered, though it seemed more like a gift than a surrender. 'Currently, we're about to visit the home of Duke Haldyn Stormkin to begin the investigation.'

Slove stands and keeps an eye out for the group.
Talking was not really his thing.  He is an elf of action.
If he can.

"Healing free of charge? That´s a first for a Waukeenar." Aerin thought, which brought up another curious eyebrow. "Well then, we should not leave the Duke waiting. As a representative of Procampur, why don´t you lead the way?" the Rashemi added, opening the path for Lady Hlartrym.

Aerin wasn´t just irritated by the woman personally, more than that she had a deep dislike for Waukeen´s philosophy. A philosophy that supported all and every legal trade, including slave trade in places like Thay. A Thay that lay very close to Rashemen and a Thay that sent slavers into Rashemen to prey upon any unprotected village, tearing families apart, sending innocents into a life of slavery. No, she could not forgive such a philosophy.

But again the dragonkin came to her senses, antagonizing the priestess right before this important meeting did not count as wise behaviour. The Iron Dragon would frown upon such impulsive action.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:04, Mon 07 Aug 2017.

 Tseran, meanwhile has ambled along with his hands in his pockets (something of an outlander innovation) in the sort of unremarkable leathers he's affected since his first arrival in this ghastly burg, listening considerably more than he speaks and, for the most pay concentrating upon keeping an eye it for developing trouble that might force his hand - an ever present worry from his first moments of understanding how slanted the arcane power structure is here.

Moving on, they approached the looming fortress that was the severe seat of what passed for government in Calaunt. For a time, it seemed as if they'd be meeting the duke inside its walls, but instead they turned a corner and passed among the well-appointed that clustered near it as if for protection. It seemed as if the dukes could not stand to live in the grim castle itself.

Nevertheless, they came to a rather palatial though bland and not at beautiful manor house, walled around and watched by vigilant and brutish guards. They glared suspicious at the approaching adventurers, but Lady Maelarra offered a gleaming smile, announced herself and the team and showed her papers and seals (careful not to let them leave her hands, lest she not see them again). The head guard inspected these, peering closely at the writing as if learning to read then and there. Ordering them to wait, he walked (not hurried) off to visit his master.

Some time later, he returned all smiles and speed and good manners. 'Beggin' your pardon, milady, his Dukeship will see you now. Right this way, if you please.

The manor was full of the riches that were absent in much of the rest of the city: fine artworks from around the Inner Sea and the North, expensive fixtures and furnishings, and luxurious furniture. Ever the ever-present smell was now only noticeable by its absence. They were led to a sitting room, and servants poured them tea and brought cake.

In short order, announced by a servant, Duke Haldyn Stormkin arrived. He was a truly impressive figure, if only for his size – he stood a good 9 feet tall, with the broad-shouldered strength to match. He was well-named: they'd heard of mighty men of the North said to bear the blood of giants, but perhaps he was not truly a descendent of storm giants. But his strength was a long time ago: he was in his fifties, stooped and leaning heavily on a gold-topped cane that would be a staff to a smaller man. A human body could not support a frame that large for long. His clothes were fine but slightly dishevelled. More, he was grey-haired and grey-faced, and looked as though he hadn't slept in days, nor slept easily in years. The effect was of a mountain worn down by the elements and time.

'Well met, Duke Haldyn, it is an honour to meet you. Thank you for welcoming us into your lovely home.' Maelarra greeted with all charm and formality. 'I am Lady Maelarra Hlartyrm, priestess of the pantheon, and these are my compatriots...' She went around the group, starting to make introductions, but Haldyn raised a hand, cutting her off mid-speech (not an easy task).

'I would hear from their own mouths what they can do for me.' he rumbled in a bass voice, watching and appraising them carefully.

Aerin had mustered the man when he entered the room and could not help but wonder about how he came to be in this shape when he must have the financial and possibly magical means to improve his health. She shrugged it off, it was not for her to lose herself in such observations. She was a little surprised though at his request, she had expected the duke made some confidential inqueries about the group beforehand. Not really understanding what he thought to learn from a personal introduction, the dragonkin figured she might as well get over with it.

Already standing, since she was worried a chair might not be able to support her weight plus that of her armor, she spoke up: "Your grace, I am Aerin of Damar and hail from Rashemen. With me, what you see is what you get and then some. I´m good at busting people out of trouble, at least that seems to be what the Thultyrl thinks." she said and figured the heavy armor and weaponry would speak for itself, not needing any explanation.

And that was that, the dragonkin crossed her arms before her chest and fell silent. She definetly was not the one for many words, nor was she a boastful one or else she had spoken about how the (original) group had freed the thultyrl from the mental slavery through the Hamayarch. How they looked into the abyss from the Moonlit Tower or how they defeated a mutated owlbear and his druid master or the defeat of another cell of the Cult of the Dragon. Either Haldyn had heard of her or not, if not her tales would not hold weight anyway.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:12, Sat 15 July 2017.

Orophear followed the others quietly, as was almost always his way, his golden eyes darting to and fro sizing up as many possible threats as he could, which in this city was enough to give the elf a headache and eye strain.

Once in the home Orophear was slightly taken aback by the size of the human, almost as large as some of the orcs he has taken down in his past. Not surprised that the man wanted a measure of them the Duskblade waited patiently for Aerin to finish and then stepped forward.

Raising his hand to the moon and stars clasp that held his cloak shut, his Keth Tet as you will, the symbol of his order, the fair haired elf gave a low nod to the man and said,"I am Orophear Mithrandir of the Elven Court and humble initiate of the venerable order of the Duskblades. I lend my sword to the task we have gathered to accomplish.
"

Knowing how the people of this land treat manipulators of the Weave the elf decided to keep that bit of his repertoire to himself.

Having dodged the local mage's feeble attempt at finding her, Angel had been prepared to leave the inn and resume her reconnaissance of Tseran and his apparent new-found friends from a relatively safer location, when as luck would have it the whole group came down the stairs and left the inn themselves. Curious, Angel trailed behind, using her ample supply of other tricks once her invisibility faded to remain hidden from the group's notice. She followed them to what looked to be a castle or fortress of some kind, which she had been sure they were about to enter -- but the regal-looking lady leading them turned aside to a wealthy-looking manor house instead. Using the distraction the group presented to the guards to her advantage, Angel slipped undetected over the wall and was already inside the house by the time Tseran and the others had been escorted through the front door.

Even now the wily she-elf was eavesdropping on the conversation from behind the curtain that hid the servant's nook, the maid who had just served the gathering some cake sleeping soundly on the floor just behind her. Luckily, she'd been the last of the servants to leave and from the serious tone of the meeting the rest were unlikely to return unless the lord summoned them. Careful to stay well out of sight, Angel positioned herself so that she could peek out of curtain's center divide and see most of the room and those gathered therein...

[Private to GM: OOC: Hi! I tried to keep things as general and vague as possible, so that I didn't add anything you didn't want added. If this post meets with your with approval, just delete this last OOC part and the private message brackets. Thank you!

From DM: Done!]
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:18, Thu 20 July 2017.

As the adventurers introduced themselves and their talents, Duke Haldyn looked them over appraisingly. The moment had given him to scrutinise these people he was putting his trust in, and nodded to approvingly to each. Particularly Aerin, respecting the warrior's straightforward, down-to-earth manner. 'Good. So you are the hero I heard tell of. I'm glad the bards have not been embellishing.' Negotiating his long legs and cane around the furniture, he collapsed heavily into a large padded chair, wooden legs creaking under the weight. 'Sit, please. The furniture's reinforced, of course, after my days in armour.' he added for Aerin's benefit.

Maelarra took a chair, sitting primly while Tamae served her tea and cake, then discreetly slipped out of the room.

Without further ado, Haldyn began 'My son Orryl has gone missing. Although he's a man grown and I don't follow his activities day to day, he hasn't been seen in five days. It's far too long. Worse, there are rumours the scions of the other Merchant Dukes have gone missing too.' Maelarra, for her part, remained perfectly composed and attentive, despite knowing full well why. 'I've had my men searching and questioning, but they're hardly subtle or wise, and I've made my own inquiries. With the increased orc raiding of late and the heightened tension caused by the missing scions, I'm afraid I have little to show. And Orryl was much too quiet about his habits.' he ended, bitter and rueful perhaps over his relationship with his son.

'I'm sure you, as neutral agents, will have better fortune. You come highly recommended by the Procampan ambassador. I must warn you, though, as a duke of this stinking city, I have many enemies, both within and without. No doubt some seek to take advantage of this distraction to undermine my authority. Such is the politics of this wretched city.' As he spoke, his northern country accent showed through, despite his wealth. Haldyn was a man of contrasts: a simple fighter thrust into snake-pit politics, a man of the country amidst such finery, a great strength broken by time and infirmity, and a tyrannical power he seemed ashamed of.

He sounded almost pleading as he said 'Please bring my son back to me, by force if you must, but safely and soundly. I will pay you one thousand pieces of platinum to find him, and him alone. But if you find the other scions, return them as well, for surely the other dukes will blame my family for any death or injury inflicted on theirs.'


OOC: Listen & Spot checks if you want to try to catch out Angel. ;)
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:59, Fri 21 July 2017.

Have heard what was said, Angel acted to learn what wasn't said. Summoning her natural magic, she reached out hear the thoughts of those gathered...

[Private to GM: Using Detect Thoughts SLA, Will save DC is 14. ]

After the round of introductions, the dragonkin was relieved to notice duke Haldyn wasn't going to interrogate them further, realizing with some satisfaction that he had heard of her already. Obviously what he had heard had been positive, so far so good.

Aerin accepted the duke's invitation to take a seat, slowly - still not fully trusting the delicately-looking furniture, she eased herself into a chair. It creaked in protest but it didn't give in; sighing the dragonkin relaxed somewhat and listened to the older warrior, nodding in affirmation to his words now and then. She could understand the father worrying for his son, regretting not having spent more time with him while he was around. On the other hand she was sure the son was intent on having his own life, not necessarily wanting his father to hang around.

 "Tseran Tal'Chiar, and it is generally my role in a group of self-professed 'adventurers' to see things which are really there." the pale, leather-clad elf with the slim rapier offers up quietly when the introductions are called for, avoiding any uncomfortable mention of his primary set of talents that might require further questions to be asked and answered... As for his thoughts? Well-guarded, but depressingly mundane assessments of the things around him and those who stand present, couched in clinical honesty and a deplorable lack of even self-deceit.

 Difficult as it is to imagine, he really is as little fun as he seems!

'You can use this sketch of Oryll to recognise him. He's...' Haldyn went on, producing a scroll, before all present became aware of a telltale tickling at their minds. The duke rubbed a heavy gold ring, cursing. 'Spies!'


OOC: Everyone saves but Orophear. :)

[Private to Aerin of Damar: Aerin recognises the spell from when Rokat used the medallion.]

To my best estimate, a curtain seems to offer Improved Cover (similar to an arrow slit), at least for Hide checks. I'll also treat Angel as 10–15 feet away. So, to locate Angel is Spot DC 25. Unless she's standing there giggling into her hand (I wouldn't be surprised :p ), Move Silently is moot, so I estimate Listen DC 22.
[Private to Angel: I rolled you Hide 14; ignore the Move Silently roll.

Also, Jack whispered, amused 'Choose your marks wisely.']
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:08, Fri 21 July 2017.

Aerin was up on her feet remarkably fast for somebody weighed down by a fullplate, the dragonkin's eyes narrowed to slits but she could not see the lurker-in-the-shadows. "Somebody is trying to read our minds, I'd recognize that feeling anywhere!" she said between clenched teeth. "It appears one of your political opponents has found out about this meeting." the Rashemi added, partly surprised and partly impressed by the effectiveness of the enemy spies.

At other times she would have drawn her sword but now it seemed imperative to catch the spy to question him... or her. Patiently she was looking around, hoping somebody would point out where to find the lurker.

Orophear took his seat when directed. As the man began to speak about family the normally stoic and controlled elf began to sweat slightly, his breath coming in short bursts for a split second before his hand found it's way to his Duskblade clasp, holding it so tight it drew blood.

The cool metal pushing into his skin snapped the elf out of his own head in time for the tickle flowing through his brain. Quickly to his feet Orophear scanned the room to no avail. Closing his eyes the Duskblade once again muttered a familiar incantation, his eyes opening and showing all white. Scanning the room once again with his magical sight.

Cast Detect Magic

 Being somewhat inclined towards the practical and pragmatic, Tseran moves automatically into a protective position when voices are raised, his hand upon his rapier and his eyes narrowing as he takes up a guard stance not beside the good lady priestess - who after all, can be expected to look after herself - but the aged Lord who has, after all just made something of a point regarding his enemies.

Yeah, Yeah! I know! I suck! Angel quipped back to the god's voice in her head, a much more welcome voice than the others that used to reside there, but still just as annoying at times. She cursed herself for a wool-brained fool for not thinking the lord would have wards against such detection. She had to think fast...

[Private to Angel: Okay, here's Angel's actions. It should take four rounds of standard actions. Hopefully, she won't be found out before then.

1) Casting Misdirection, she touches the sleeping maid, transferring all the readable auras to her.
2) Then shifting her form, she assumes the form of the sleeping maid.
3) Finally she uses her Disguise Self SLA to alter her clothing to match the maid's
4) Angel screams loudly, kicks the maid to wake her, and herself collapses into feigned sleep.

<Fingers crossed>

In retrospect, I could probably save a round of action by just using the Disguise Self to look like the maid form and clothing. If that works for you, let's do that. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 18:33, Fri 21 July 2017.

Slove stays quite and ready.
A lot was going on but elf was not sure who could be trusted and who could not.
His job was protect his two friends and at moment they where not in any real danger.
So he waits.

OOC:
22:34, Today: Slove rolled 17 using 1d20+7.  Listen.
22:34, Today: Slove rolled 15 using 1d20+7.  Spot Check.

'Oh dear, how tedious.' Maelarra sighed, setting down her teacup. 'I'm somewhat the worse for spells, I'm afraid.'

'So much for wards and guards.' Duke Haldryn rose from his couch like a mountain on the move, brandishing his walking stick like the hefty iron-shod stave it was. Aged, stooped, and weary he might be, it was clear he was still a formidable warrior. So it seemed doubly unlike that the slender elf mage could possibly protect him, nor even cover him. He produced a token from his pocket and shouted into it 'There are spies in the house! Be on the alert! '

Once again, Orophear scanned the room for magic. Duke Haldyn and his fellow adventurers were all glittering figures of magic items, and the building itself was cemented with basic wards. Sorting through and eliminating these, he soon identified some unusual auras and activity behind the curtained-off area where the servants came through.

Right as there came a terrible scream from behind the curtain. Followed by another surprised scream.

[Private to Angel: I realised the Will save comes at Round 3 of detect thoughts. So, in the first two rounds, Angels learns of the presence of thoughts (duh), six thinking minds (duh), and someone has an Intelligence score of 21.

Also, the maids of the city are going to hate you. :p]

Aerin's body had gone into high-alert mode, adrenalin high and ready to strike. When the screems sounded through the curtains she set herself in motion and nearly tore the curtains in half as she separated them. Her hands were opening and closing as she took a look at the scene ...

Behind the curtain, two identical maids lay on the floor, slumped against the wall. One was still, seemingly unconscious. The other was staring bewilderedly in alarm at her.

Identical maids? Aerin may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed but she had learned by experience... and by the vivid stories Arrazin had shared from his past in Thay. "Your grace, I trust you don't have twins in your employ, do you?" she asked over her shoulder, rhethorically, and activated the magic that would allow her to see the truth and nothing but the truth before her...

ooc: Activate Scout's Headband, True Seeing 1 minute.

Kaijn had introduced himself as a arcanist and a old friend of Lady Mae and Slove, for now that was enough for the Duke to know. As he listened to the Duke speak he became aware of the magical attempt to read his mind. He got out of his chair and prepared for an hostile encounter.

 The mere fact that Tseran is likely to be a less effective combatant than the towering nobleman - on a par with his utility as a shield for the man in fact - doesn't keep him from standing to his chosen position, blade sheathed but his hand upon the hilt before remarking "Hold." in dry, leaden tones... "Tired mimicry - the same thing that was so ineptly attempted at the tavern. It's quite possible that this is the individual we were speaking of there. Might I suggest at least a modest effort be made to secure them alive and in good health?"

'Twins?' Haldyn started in surprise, seeing the two prone maids. 'I'm not too familiar with the staff, but I don't think so...'

'And how would one know if one did?' Maelarra quipped, amused. She was fishing inside her purse, producing and perusing a folded piece of paper, pursing her lips. Perhaps it was a scroll.

Meanwhile, the detection spells struggled to pierce the veils of illusion in the rotten patch of the Weave that overlaid Calaunt. But at last the auras resolved, and Orophear observed various spells on one of the maids[Secret to Orophear Mithrandir:  – the conscious and frightened one].

And Aerin pierced the illusions and saw the truth. [Private to Aerin of Damar: The seemingly unconscious maid but neither human, nor a maid, nor a twin. She was an elf woman, of bronze-tanned skin and copper-red hair, with rapier and wearing some kind of slinky body-suit.

OOC: I've obviously limited the extent of true seeing here for the sake of later storytelling and present peace in the city.]

[Private to Angel: 'You get that one for free – no more.' Angel heard in her ear, following by a familiar croon 'Then you'll be left alone!']
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:20, Wed 26 July 2017.

"By Bahamut, what a mess!" Aerin called out then carefully knelt next to the 'unconscious' maid, gently lifting her up in her arms. "Seize the other one, she's an imposter!" then added an exaggerated wink for the benefit of her companions, letting them know she actually meant the opposite. She took the feigning woman to a recliner and carefully laid her down, eventually resting a heavy hand on her chest, effectively pinning the elven lass with her inhuman strength.

"Who are you?" the dragonkin demanded to know, "I can see through your disguises, you can drop the charade."

[Private to GM: Aerin is wary of anything that resembles a command word or even a spell and is ready to press down on her chest, knocking the air from her lungs - as a defensive means and a precaution that the spy does not slip away before questioning.]

Edit OOC: Sorry! Forgot to change portrait.  Fixed now.

Thanks Jack! Angel mentally called out, thinking that her plan had worked with a little help from the god. Hadn't he promised to keep an eye on her and lend a bit of luck when she needed it? Angel felt a spring of fresh affection for her new-found deity well up in her heart... even if his words did also remind her that his followers should be making their own luck.

But when the one who had lifted and carried her placed her in the recliner and then put a heavy hand on her chest, the disguised she-elf had the sinking feeling that somehow she had been detected... and that one's words only confirmed Angel's suspicions. She can see through my disguise?! All of them?! Angel thought, that sinking feeling turning into an icy stab of fear.

The unconscious maid opened one eye, and peered up at the figure towering over her. She didn't look like she'd just seen a... well, maybe Jack was with her still. Time for some luck-making!

The maid smiled mockingly, and then her form began to melt and reshape itself. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction she knew such shifting would bring, the shape-shifting 'maid' spoke one brief syllable of arcane magic...

(OOC Edit: private part revealed based on Aerin's actions in following post)

... and promptly vanished from the chair only to reappear behind it, a heartbeat before her form solidified into the red-haired harlot that had been at the inn. "I told you before. I'm Angel. And I've only come to bring some pie." She said with a seductive pout, placing her hands on her hips to accentuate her assets, her voice the perfect imitation of the feigned little-girl innocence for which a lot of customers paid extra.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:03, Wed 26 July 2017.

Aerin was prepared to interrupt a spell or a command word, but when the body underneath her hand began to writhe and change it felt as if she had stuck her hand into a bucket of wriggling, slimy worms. She had been prepared for a lot, just not that. "Yuck!" the Rashemi exclaimed and withdrew her hand as if she had touched red-hot iron. "What in the nine hells is this?" she said as the body vanished to reappear elsewhere. Swiftly she rose to her feet and Frostbite was in her hand...

Haldyn swore at these antics. 'Gods! Was I such a fool when I was an adventurer?' he wondered, half-smiling and shaking his head in fond remembrance tinged with bitter maturity. 'Pray tell me someone knows this woman, before I call the guards? Or order you to deal with her yourself?'

Maelarra looked up from her paper. 'Tseran? Is this her?'

 "Difficult to say." Tseran answers dryly, having relaxed slightly out of his earlier stance in order to watch with obvious interest and a hearty helping of Elvish disdain "The fumbling efforts to generate enough chaos that an opportunity may present itself suggests that it is, but I never troubled myself sufficiently in the past to investigate more deeply. Were you not vouched the means to identify them when they were commended to you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:20, Thu 27 July 2017.

Angel momentarily frowned at the drawn sword. "You know that's the second time today one of your new friends has drawn steel on me, Tseran," she stated, seemingly ignoring the question from warrior who held that blade. "What kind of tales have you been telling them about me, I wonder." Crossing her arms across her chest in a elder-sisterly gesture.

[Private to Aerin of Damar: What in the Abyss is going on. The ginger's voice corrected in Aerin's mind, still as mocking and irreverent as before. But you're new; I won't hold it against you. ]

[Private to Tseran Tal'chiar: Tired mimicry?! Fumbling efforts?! Angel's voice nearly screeched in Tseran's mind.    ]

When the lord spoke, Angel feigned a hurt look, hand to her breast to accentuate the emotion. "Oh but my lord, don't tell me you've forgotten about that night we shared?! I'm hurt! And to think I only charged you half price!"

But when the noble lady spoke and Angel saw what she held, the harlot's eyes widened in shock for just an instant -- It couldn't be! Tseran never read it and... Oh no! I left it at the inn! She said to herself -- before a knowing, mischievous grin spread across the red-headed strumpet's face.

So she can see through my disguises can she? Angel thought to herself as her eyes flickered back to the warrior holding the sword. Let's see if she can see through this!

It was a foolish thing to let a known spellcaster have free use of hand and tongue...

OOC: I'm beginning to think Angel really is jinxed!  :(
Using Conceal Spellcasting skill trick to secretly cast Fog Cloud, centered where Angel is currently standing.
09:09, Today: Angel rolled 13 using 1d20+11.  Sleight of Hand (Conceal Spellcasting trick).
Opposed by Spot checks.   

Kaijn was no fan of spies and especially ones that had been told to stay away. His hands began weaving signs in the air and he spoke ancient words of magic. A green glow appeared around the elf.


OOC: Cast "Hold Person" DC18.

 "Acquaintances." Tseran corrects dryly, not even bothering to address the accusation that he's been telling tales out of school, so to speak - not under the circumstances currently pertaining. Instead, he concentrates upon warning the room as he remarks "She's trying to summon a fog." in dust-dry, utterly dispassionate tones.

 ---

 16:49, Today: Tseran Tal'chiar rolled 14 using 1d20.  Spot!
 With my skill bonus, 17.
 16:52, Today: Tseran Tal'chiar rolled 4 using 1d20.  Spellc.
 And again, that's 18.

Orophear focused on the auras around the young woman and recognized them from earlier. The elf let his sword drop back into it's sheath with an audible click.

As the woman began to more about the room magically the elf couldn't help but smirk at the chaos she was causing for nothing more than just to cause it. Angel seemed harmless enough to the troop and the mission but there was something about her, perhaps it was the invasion into his mind that triggered something inside him that he hadn't felt since his beloved Lysande had left. When he heard Tseran state the spell she was casting Orophear simply crossed his arms and waited to see what would happen.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:37, Thu 27 July 2017.

'It is difficult getting an exact description of shapeshifters and mistresses of disguise. I rather hoped you could do it.' Maelarra admitted, scribbling on her sheet of paper. 'Still, I think I may have something...'

Duke Haldyn grew enraged at Angel's provocation and antics. 'How dare you!' he roared with the voice of a man his size, then bellowed, sure to be heard throughout the house. 'Guards!' Guards and battle-illusionists began hurtling through the corridors of the manor-house.

When Tseran warned of spellcasting, Maelarra reacted quickly, reaching for... a biscuit! Which she promptly hurled at Angel, the hard-baked treat smacking her in the face. She might have withstood harsher distractions in the midst of spellcasting, but none quite so ridiculous as the prim noble priestess getting into a food fight. She could almost hear Jack cackling in her head, and her spell was interrupted.

Then Kaijn cast his spell, holding Angel tight. [Private to Angel: All eyes were on Angel; none saw Maelarra wink, point to the folded note, and mouth 'Don't move!'.]

'A waste of a good biscuit, I'm afraid. My apologies to the maid.' Lady Maelarra interjected, rising and approaching the captive trickster, coolly appraising her like any fine jewellery. 'If you are simply an uncommon strumpet, then I'm sure we can come to a very suitable arrangement...'

'On the other hand, if you are the Angel who wrote, ahem, "Dear Tseran, I know you probably hate me by now, and I understand if you do. I let fear, fear of the unknown, consume me, and I traded that fear of what might be for your real and present companionship—it was a foolish bargain and I dearly regret it. I will not ask your forgiveness; what I have done is unforgivable. But if you would let me, I would like to try to atone in some small way for my misdeed." Signed, Angel, then I believe you can start by holding off your spells, sitting down, apologising to Duke Haldyn, and taking tea and cake with us.' she offered, slipping the note back into her purse.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:09, Fri 28 July 2017.

Hearing Maelarra's words, the Rashemi turned to watch the noblewoman incredulously "Say again? You can't be seriously considering having tea with this woman? - For all we know she may have spiked it with poison or worse a love potion just for the fun of it!" This was getting more ridiculous by the second "The only reason this one is still breathing is because she needs to be questioned. The minimum she should be charged with is breaking and entering, if she is not spying for another duke." Aerin said and glared at the captive woman.

"In addition, if she's really this so called Angel, she has already proven to be selfish and utterly unreliable. Do you really want a person like that on the lose? Free to tell anyone about our confidential mission? This is the first step into a catastrophe, Lady Maelarra. Remember if we fail, lives may be lost, maybe not our own but it could be the duke's son or that of another noble. I strongly recommend you reconsider your offer." Aerin said, her aggravation more than apparent in her voice.

Just at the point of unleashing magic to cover her escape, a particularly crusty biscuit smacked Angel right between the eyes. Ow! she thought, blinking away a sudden flood of tears and failing to resist the urge to rub the spot -- which of course ruined her spell.

And then Jack's laughter echoed in her head... Well, at least he's laughing now instead of scolding. Angel thought wryly, failing at the moment herself to find the humor in her present situation.

And then she felt Kaijn's magic settle over her, freezing her in place. Gods above! She swore to herself. Can this get any worse?!

OOC: Yep! I'm jinxed!  :(
17:04, Today: Angel rolled 9 using 1d20+8.  Hold Person will save (bonuses included).
(Fail!)

[Private to Maelarra Hlartrym: In response to her wink and word-mouthing, the ginger woman's voice, sounding frustrated and vexed, echoed in Maelarra's head. Like I can move if I wanted to!

And when the priestess began to read her note to Tseran aloud, Angel cried out again in Maelarra's mind, continuing throughout her recitation and growing increasingly urgent. Hey! ... That's not yours! ... Stop it! ... Quit! ... Please! And finally an mentally audible sigh of relief when Maelarra read out "signed Angel", for the held shapeshifter knew what name she had really written down on that slip of paper. Thank you was the last almost whispered reply before the mental voice fell silent.  ]

[Private to GM: As Maelarra finished reading the note, a voice sounded in the duke's mind. Please call off your guards, my lord. I surrender... and I apologize for insulting you.  ]

Maelarra had looked a bit surprised at Angel's response, or lack thereof. She frowned, then heard Aerin. 'I too would like to get to the bottom of this. There's just no reason we can't be civil and good hosts about it.' she answered simply, with a Procampan's customary consideration for etiquette.

Duke Haldyn rounded on Angel, strangely responding to something that hadn't been said. 'You apologise now you're caught, you mean? And what of the trespassing, spying, and attacking that poor maid?' he retorted angrily, but his words grew guilty and grieving, full of pity. 'You foolish girl, a mage of your power. You don't want to face this city's justice...' He shook his head, gazing down at the carpet, as if the city's justice defeated even him.

The guards arrived, turning the magical holding into a very physical one. They gripped her arms, wrenched them behind her back, and slipped mage-cuffs onto her hands. These were tight mittens with manacles at the wrists, linked by a short chain, guaranteed to hamper somatic spellcasting. The guards weren't gentle; they'd probably learned their craft at the temple of Loviatar.

'Though that does make having tea difficult.' Mae observed. She crossed the room to the innocent, genuine maid still panicking in the nook, administering a healing spell and kind words.

Still held by Kaijn's magic, Angel didn't resist, though her mind was certainly active...

[Private to GM: Angel laughed at the lord's reply. Not a mocking one this time, but one filled with genuine mirth. Of course, when I'm caught! Is there any better time to be contrite? The maid wasn't harmed. Only a simple sleep spell. I even caught her when she fell to slumber and laid her down gently so she wouldn't crack her head. That and a kick to her feet to jostle her awake was all she suffered. And I would hardly call such suffering at all. As for the trespassing and spying, how far would you go to see a friend safe? ]

 "It is at that, although I think 'mistress of disguise' may be overly generous, given that one generally need only follow the sounds of chaos and confusion to discern her location.", his expression actually gaining some modest quantity of blood in it for the first time at the contents of the letter, although since he appears to be holding himself back from setting fire to something this probably isn't progress.

 "On my second day in the deep swamp, I awoke to discover that a toxic blob had devoured one of my shoes. That afternoon, a crocodile - or possible an alligator, we weren't introduced - attempted to make off with my left leg. That evening, I discovered that several of the seemingly almost-dry sources of kindling I had located were, in fact modestly hallucinogenic and in one notable case, actively toxic." he remarks, flexing his fingers in the fashion of someone imagining what it would be like to shape a good, hot lance of fire about now as he culminates the short list by remarking "On the whole, that was one of my better days and I was to look back upon it fondly before I managed to return to ci... Reach Calaunt."

"So despite you not being fond of her, you know this Angel fairly well? Clearly she wants to get in contact with you. So how about you two work it out, since I do not want anyone following us." Kaijn said, clearly very serious about his last statement.

Slove breaths in large amount of air making really horrid noise.
Well I believe we have number of servant of different gods.
So you two could choose what type of ceremony you like.

'I can certainly officiate, though I am regrettably unfamiliar with the rites of the Seldarine. However, I do not believe such will be necessary.' Mae answered Slove, returning from seeing to the maid and helping her out of the room. Her valet Tamae then took care of the maid.

The guards now stuffed a gag in Angel's mouth, but it didn't seem to stop her talking at all, judging by her voice echoing in some people's heads.

The priestess then turned to face the Duke. 'Your Lordship, you said yourself that you are familiar with the antics of adventurers – perhaps even engaged in such mischief yourself in your early days?' she prodded.

'I was hardly capable of such sneaking around.' the giant-kin muttered, but notably didn't disagree.

'And in Calaunt you are of course familiar with the tricks of beguilers and illusionists.' She gestured to the battle-illusionist who supported the guards. There were many in the city, but most were in service to the military and none were so high they could challenge the few ruling mages. 'To have gotten this far, Miss Angel is clearly fairly capable – though not enough to trouble the power of this city.' she clarified hastily.

'And I would estimate the note she left earlier is evidence of her good intentions and desire to help her acquaintance, Mister Tseran Tal'chiar. This surely counts in her favour. Your lordship, it is still within your power to be merciful. Such as to commute her punishment to, say, putting her energies to good use working to find and retrieve your son.' Lady Maelarra proved to be a silver-tongued diplomat of the first order.

Duke Haldyn was swayed, chewing on his thoughts before finally agreeing. 'Very well. But you and your band will keep an eye on her and keep her in line. Or else she faces Calauntan justice.'

Mae patted her purse, in which she'd placed the note. 'I believe I can do that quite handily.'

[Private to Angel: Maaaaybe it's best to just accept this and do as she says... Jack murmured in Angel's ear. He sounded almost worried...]
This message was last edited by the player at 09:09, Mon 31 July 2017.

Aerin gave Maelarra a flabbergasted look, opening and closing her jaw in wordless horror. "Uh... I errm... cannot support this suggestion. My uncle used to say 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.' - Even if her actions were not meant to cause harm, the results were beyond funny, obviously. Are you willing to put the life of your son into the hands of somebody this careless and even reckless?" the Rashemi's eyes were still wide in disbelief. "If killing or putting her into the dungeon forever is not an option, perhaps you can just lock her away until we returned your son? That whould ensure she will not jeopardize this sensitive mission." she elaborated, hoping to make the duke change his mind.

Fighting off the effects of the Hold Person spell that had been cast on her, Angel regained the use of her body, but now found herself chained and muzzled like a rabid dog. She had spoken to the lord in his mind, but he had not even acknowledged her words. Tseran had heard what she had written to him in her note, but still seemed intent on rejecting her. And even when she did the right things; trying to make amends and telling the truth, she was characterized as reckless and careless, a risk unworthy of consideration. What good did it do to try to be a better person? All it brought was misery and heartache. In that moment and for the first time she sincerely regretted coming after Tseran. To the Nine Hells with them all! She thought to herself bitterly. And then spoke again in her mind to her god. I'm sorry Jack, I failed. When these folk send me to Death's Halls I'll wait for you, but I understand if you don't come. I wouldn't come to claim me either.  So in the face of the rejection she felt and the bitterness that was freezing over her heart, Angel remained mute and did nothing.

[Private to GM: Thank you for your efforts, but go ahead and write me out if you need to. Honestly, I'm done. No hard feelings on your part I know you did your best. ]

 "The very heavens forfend." Is all Tseran can day to that horrifying thought, a visceral shudder running through him at the very notion of trying to live a life chained to the ambulatory chaos magnet that is currently calling itself Angel.

 That said, he half-covers his eyes with one graceful, long-fingered hand and - in tones that suggest he can't believe he's dating it - voices the opinion that "Undisciplined and erratic as she is, I believe that much of the malice in her actions is unintentional. There is no particular reason to believe that she might not be of utility to this endeavour of she can only be made to understand is severity."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:14, Tue 01 Aug 2017.

It seemed like the decision had been made and would not be changed, thus Aerin sheathed her sword and leaned in to "Angel" whispering in her ear "Sorry for putting you through this, but Lady Maelarra would have been suspicious if I had agreed too easily. I feel your skills are exactly what this team is missing, we need somebody able to infiltrate the most secured places. - So, welcome to the family!" then gave her a respectful nod, only to add one more thing "If you tell anyone what I just said, I will deny it!" and winked before seating herself again.

[Private to Angel: I hope we can work with that.]

'If it helps bring back my son, then I'll put my trust in the hands of someone this careless and reckless.' Haldyn rumbled in answer to Aerin. 'Perhaps a few apple-carts need upsetting around this city...' he brooded.

'And remember our mission is to help people, now and in the future.' Maelarra noted, reminding them subtly of the secret mission to train the scions of the Calauntan tyrants to be better rulers some day. There was a parallel there, she felt.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the others seemed to relent and accept the arrangement. 'I'd wager no dungeon could hold her for long anyway... I shall lead her onto the path of Waukeen and sound investments.' She crossed over to Angel and gently removed the gag. 'Or whichever faith will have a positive effect... Tea?'

[Private to Angel: Have patience, Jack murmured softly, a smile in his voice. Wait for your opportunity and the pay-off.]

Things had escilated quite quickly and seemed to cease almost as fast. Oh the forever quick actions of the shorter lived races. When things became a but more civil Orophear once again took his seat, his eyes wandering between Haldyn and Angel.

Despite this charitable gesture, Angel remained in sullen silence, perhaps in shame at her misadventures and resignation to her fate; perhaps in shock that these people might choose to accept and trust her after all and would reach out to her. Unable to reach back, she remained frozen. Shaking his head in disappointment, Haldyn ordered his men to take her away to be dealt with later.

The Duke and the adventurers sat down in awkward silence. At last, Mae broke it, reminding 'I believe you were about to show us a sketch of your son...?'

'Aye,' Haldyn Stormkin retrieved the dropped scroll, passed it over. Maelarra unfurled it and showed them all the sketch – a man in his mid-twenties, with short dark hair, a long face, and his father's features, but carefree rather than careworn. It was clear he had his father's height too, but would not be nearly so tall. 'Keep it.'

'Perhaps you can tell us some of Orryl's habits?'

'Ah, well, he enjoys hunting, archery – a damn good shot in competition – his studies of local lore and politicking...' he began with pride.

'And less curricular?' Mae inquired knowingly.

Haldyn shuffled with ill temper to admit his son's apparent failings, but at last relented. 'He goes drinking with friends, gets into brawls and duels – so he tells me when he comes home with cuts and bruises, when he comes home at all. He had an arrow wound once! ...I blame his companions, whoever they are, but Orryl's a trusting lad. Of course, I've forbade him from dealings that would harm our position. I encourage him to show dignity and proper behaviour, and to be wary, but I fear I've spoiled him too much... Still, Orryl's a good man, and that's a precious rare thing around here.'

Orophear was genuinely saddened by the female shapeshifter's unwillingness to join them, to his surprise, but was not totally taken off guard due to the way things had gone.

Turning back to the conversation before them the elf waiting until the man was done before asking,"Do you know what establishments your son might have frequented for his....less reputable pursuits?"

In a way Aerin could understand "Angel", being forced into service was never a particularely pleasant feeling. Time would tell how it all would work out and one thing was certain: The elven infiltrator would not be kept forever. There was little sense in dwelling on the situation further and the Rashemi turned her attention back to the mission at hand.

Orophear had already raised a good question and the dragonkin wondered what other information would help to find him. "Do you have the names of friends or buddies he used to hang out with?"

Kaijn watched the discussion from afar, especially keeping an eye on the intruder.

"Lady Mae, I trust you on this decision. If something does go awry, I will not hesitate to utilize more lethal methods in subduing her next time." Kaijn said in a deadly tone. The arcanist did not seemed pleased by the clerics decision.

'We should respond appropriate to the situation, no more, no less.' Mae clarified to Kaijn.

Haldyn rumbled. 'Hmph. He's been coy about naming his companions, but I know he's been frequenting the Mocking Maiden.'
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 08:22, Tue 08 Aug 2017.

Aerin was consciously working on figuring out what she should be asking, but if Orryn hadn't told his father that the bruises and injuries were from recent adventuring, then all other questions regarding Dorn Hammerhand and their adventures, were bound to raise unwanted suspicion. "Given that the other scions have disappeared as well, can you tell us of any similarities in their behaviour? - Maybe they were getting drunk at the same inn?" she asked when she was actually wishing they could turn Dorn Hammerhand's place upside down, hoping to find any notes on where the adventure had taken the young men.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:23, Tue 08 Aug 2017.

 Tseran examines the picture thoughtfully, assessing its likeness and doing his best to commit it to memory while dimly regretting - almost for the first time - that his studies have been broad rather than deep, since the ability to truly scry would be extremely welcome at this juncture.

 "Is there anyone who would know what items he has been departing and returning with? It may be of use to know what he considered it necessary to equip himself for." he asks after a few moments, choosing to lean upon the mundane rather than the arcane for the time being.

Slove adds to the questions.

Does your son have favorite retainer.  A servant he gets on with well.
One he trusts?

'He always takes his bow and quiver, of course, for practice. And his sword and leathers – but that's just for protection, you understand. I can't tell if anything else is missing from his room.'



'I can't say if there is, but I don't think so. We keep a distance from the staff.'



'Hmph. I forbade him from fraternising with the scions of the other families. Can't trust them.' he muttered suspiciously. 'But Kallen Vyperwood is a real wastrel, known to frequent all the taverns and dives in Calaunt. So I don't doubt they crossed paths from time to time.'
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 09:19, Tue 08 Aug 2017.

Aerin tried hard to think of anything else to ask before they went looking for the young man, but came up empty. She really wasn't the brains of the merry band of adventurers.

'...He's also not been heard from.' Haldyn recalled, concerned of the implications and not liking them. 'But in his case, he may just be lying drunk in a flophouse or at the Redfires, else the Vyperwoods have finally reined him in...'

'And what of the other noble scions?' Maelarra inquired, sipping her tea to cover that she knew exactly what.

'Well, funny thing, but others have fallen out of sight too... Kara Ormsarr, but she might be focused on wizard studies; Argent Thanatar's not been seen in council when he's heir to the Supreme Sceptre; and Eltain Mintharl, my agent reports, is said to be in religious seclusion... Yet others remain – good lads like Brellen Vyperwood, who's almost running his family's house now.'

 "Hmmm, does he purchase his own goods and would it be possible to speak to the servant who tidies his rooms while inspecting them?" Tseran asks in a thoughtful, inquisitive mode that can only be described as 'the game is afoot'.

"So quite a lot of nobles are missing?" the wizard inquired curiously.  "Has there been any demands or ransoms requested?"

'Aye. He has his own money and may buy what he likes, I've not denied him that... And you may speak with the servants afterward.'



Haldyn shook his head. 'Not one, which is why I've not assumed it to be a kidnapping.'

"Any clashes with neighboring city states or fiefs of various sorts?"

Aerin patiently waited for the smarter ones in the group to ask the right questions, she knew others were more able than her in that regard. She shifted her weight, the chair creaking, and listened quietly.

Haldyn chewed on the question for a while, perhaps considering what to tell the adventurers and what to keep confidential. 'Well, the orcs are restless again.  They've been raiding outlying farms and caravans on the roads north. Survivors have been trickling into the city looking for aid. Something's gotten them disturbed up in the mountains. Still, that's the same story every few years, up and down the Vast. They'd not dare attack the city itself.'

'Zhentarim assassins are always a concern – it was the first thing I checked for, but our counterspies gave no reports of them.'

'And, well, the news is probably out now, but two of our diplomats died in Mulmaster not long ago.' The Zhentarim-controlled city of Mulmaster lay to the north, on the shore of the Moonsea. 'Our agents there say its mysterious, and we're mustering our defences in case the Mulmasterites mean to attack.'

Aerin's brow creased, orcs raiding caravans sounded like a task the young scions may have busied themselves with, or if they felt particularly curious they could have investigated the reason behind the orcs coming from the mountains. This was becoming more worrisome by the minute. They needed to talk with the Hammerhand clan, that was the feeling the dragonkin was getting. She couldn't imagine the youths would be following up on the Mulmaster killings, if there was such an enmity between the two cities it would have been foolish to risk being caught and either prosecuted or held for ransom. But she stayed quiet, hoping more interesting information would be shared.

 "Mmm. If those are the most pressing concerns then it should be relatively trivial to determine which motivated the young man by examining the equipment he chose to take on his venture. And there are no other pressing calls to 'adventure' occurring locally of which you are aware? " Tseran inquires, setting out his usual brand of clockwork 'if this, then that' kind of thinking in advance of results - something he tends to find helps to avoid his rationalizing what he'd like the result to be instead of following where the evidence lies.

Orophear remained quiet through just about all of the conversation but perked up at the story about the orcs. The Duskblade had a certain "softspot" for the pig faced toothy creatures, and by softspot he means just below the sternum.

If given the chance the elf will push to hunt the orcs.

'Hmph. There's always something going on. Monsters in the sewers, treasure in the hills... You're still in the adventuring trade – you tell me.' Haldyn remarked with a heavy shrug.

'And what of current internal politics?' Maelarra inquired pointedly.

Haldyn's look darkened to think of that matter, and he thought over what he could share. 'The Vyperwoods are the greatest rivals to the Stormkins. It's no secret I'm no friend of Duchess Alascartha Vyperwood. She's refused to speak with me over this. She's a rotten woman with a vicious temper.' he growled. 'But none of the houses would dare raise a finger against us or to any other. Rivals we may be, but we are... firm allies. But some, among the houses or others, might seek to take advantage of this.'

'But what are your son's views on this?'

'Of late, he's been arguing that peace and cooperation between the great houses is possible, maybe among the younger generation.' He shook his head at this notion. 'He's much too trusting. I've forbade from making any liaisons that would affect our position or security.'

Orophear stood, itching to be on his way now that the path of the hunt has been laid before them.
"I believe you have given us enough to start with Lord. I'm sure my companions and I can begin our charge post haste and hopefully have this wrapped up promptly. " the normally quiet elf said with a bow, turning to the others and waiting for them to begin to move with him, figuring they could discuss their next move out of his ear shot.

Aerin raised an eyebrow at the elf's sudden action, she could not agree more, yet is was rather unusual for him to behave in such a manner. It appeared he had taken up some traits of the shorter-lived races after all. The dragonkin smirked a little at the thought then got out of her chair, causing more creaking from the abused furniture.

Nodding she showed her agreement "Aye, I do believe we should not waste any time to pick up the trail."

Duke Haldyn also rose, like a mountain on the move, towering over the group once more, accompanied by the same creaking of the couch. 'Good. May the gods speed your search and bring my Orryl home.' he said gravely.

Lady Mae finished her tea and promised 'We shall do our utmost best, your grace.'

'I'll leave you to your work. Question the serving staff and guards as you wish, but don't go creeping about the manor without permission.' Some guards appeared to escort them as Duke Haldyn lumbered out back to his personal quarters, leaning heavily on his thick oaken staff.

*

Fortunately, on their way out, Maelarra's valet Tamae returned and proved she wasn't only useful in organising the priestess's fabulous dresses. 'Well, the washerwoman says Master Orryl's clothes might come back cut and bloody, but they don't stink of drink. There's gossip that he's visiting the temple of Loviatar for, well, you know...'

'Confirming what we already knew: Orryl's carousing is a cover for his adventuring. And Orryl Stormkin, Kallen Vyperwood, Argent Thanatar, Eltain Mintharl, and Kara Ormsarr are the five noble scions that Dorn Hammerhand led off on adventures, each with their own cover stories to their families. Now we must pick up their trail. Come! The game is afoot!' The enthusiastic priestess swept off in a swish of skirts.

On the way, Tamae was able to confirm the rest of what Haldyn had told them, including that The Mocking Maiden was Orryl's current hang-out, and adding 'And they say he once lost a lot of money to a con-artist pretending to be one of them dancing naked dark elves. Turned out she was using a lot of body paint. His lordship covered it up, of course. He doesn't want scandal.'

*

Fighting through the stench in the streets, the adventurers made their way to their first stop.

Although Aerin wished to first find the dwarf mercenaries of Clan Hammerhand and ask about Dorn's whereabouts, Maelarra quietly advised against it: 'If we are being followed or watched by other parties, it would be suspicious if we immediately sought out someone apparently unconnected to the case. Let us wait until we have a solid lead to Dorn... Besides, I don't know where the dwarves gather. The Foamy Beard is a little-known, underground establishment.'

Instead, they went to The Mocking Maiden. Getting directions from a leather-goods seller, they were led into a more-unsavoury-than-usual neighbourhood in the south of Calaunt, with narrow winding streets between the bland grey domiciles. Kaijn had a close-call, jumping aside when someone poured a chamber pot out of a second-story window, the waste splashing over the cobbles. Their guide could only tut that it was a waste of good urine for the tanneries.

Despite this, The Mocking Maiden turned out to be a very good quality inn and tavern, with a merry atmosphere and busy staff. They spotted enough weapons and wands to know it was friendly to the adventuring trade. The food smelled good too; it was just after highsun, they could have lunch here.

"The game is afoot!" echoed in Aerin's mind, making her roll her eyes, to her this was not a game, it was about saving lives, but what did she expect of some snobby noble like her. To Lady Maelarra this seemed to be nothing more but a way of wasting her time between official affairs where she could prance around in pretty dresses or the next-best business deal. The dragonkin's face was dark in disapproval, yet she understood and agreed with priestess' reasoning. Plus it gave her an opportunity to fill her empty belly.

As they arrived at the inn, the Rashemi made sure the waitress noticed her and found a table for all of them, they would draw less suspicion if they actually consumed some of the offered goods...

 Tseran of course, seeks out more detail. An adventure consisting of the expectation of tracking the restless dead through nice, dry tombs generally calls for different equipment than hauling a half-frozen body up a mountain to battle orcish raiders and neither is likely to overlap all that much with the kind of high boots and floral posies carried into any well-organised sewer expedition.

 Come to that, knowing what sort of cuts and stains the gear he does take comes back with can also be of interest, at least to anyone who knows something of the local area - which Tseran doesn't, as yet.

 That isn't to say that he'll get it, but he'll certainly ask and be dwelling upon any information provided while he walks with the others to the Inn, as he does so observing that "A lead is unlikely to present itself. Where then does it seem most practical to begin?"

Orophear followed the other to the inn quietly, his mind wandering to the hills where the hunt for orcs would be plentiful. The elf had an unhealthy bloodlust when it came to ridding the world of those ugly brutes, seeing them as nothing more than a blight.

As if he had been in a trance the elf shakes his head as he stood in front of the table as the others took their seats. Sitting the elf looked about trying to figure out who might be the best to start with for questioning.

"My kind of city." Kaijn muttered as he avoided the the splash of the chamberpots content. He pondered how he would have reacted many years ago, most likely destroyed the building and its occupants. He shuddered and turned his attention to the group as they had arrived at the inn.

The dragonkin was growing hungry and a hungry dragonkin was nothing to be trifled with. Aerin stopped the next waitress passing by, if necessary by stepping in her way, asking her in the nicest way "Please, Miss, we would like a table and some food and drink." then smiled, hoping to sway the lady into serving them.

The run-off-her-feet waitress was startled as the half-dragon interposed herself in her path. 'Alright, alright, right this way.' she stammered, leading them to a recently vacated table and clearing away the last party's platters. 'What can I do you for? Today's specials are roasted lamb and onion, and poached clam and curd cheese. We also have Haskenvale mushrooms, back on the market, for what you care to put them in. We have raspberry tarts for dessert.' The clams probably came from the river outside, so seemed less appetising than usual...

Maelarra and Tamae wisely ordered the roast lamb. On the account of the priestess of Waukeen and the city of Procampur, the adventurers could afford to eat up.

After the waitress took their meal orders, the bartender came over to take drink orders, a middle-aged half-elf woman with keen eyes and easygoing manner. She seemed like the sort who'd know what went on here. 'Well met, my name's Ethel. Welcome to the Mocking Maiden. What would you like to drink? We have Smoke Wyrm stout and an opened bottle of Saerloonian Glowfire, along with all the usual drinks.'

The Rashemi followed the waitress happily and took a seat at the table, preferring to keep an eye on the door. "I'll have all that you suggested - minus the clams. Thank you." she said to the waitress, grinning. Ethel she asked for a mug of stout, then focused her attention back on the people at the table.

"I will have a glass of the Glowfire. Also, I was wondering if you have seen a friend of mine lately, Orryl? My companions and I have recently come in to town and I was hoping to see him. His father pointed me in the direction of this fine establishment in hopes he might be here. " Orophear said to Ethel.

Ethel began to take drinks orders. She looked blankly at Orophear, though there was a good chance she'd at least know of the most famous Orryl in the city right now. 'Sorry. We get a lot of people through here, but I can't say I recall an Orryl. Of course, they don't all give me their names.'

 Ordering for himself nothing more than a light tea and a modest soup dish - having had something of a delicate stomach ever since his experiences in the trackless depths of the swamp - Tseran waits until the waitress has departed and remarks "In the absence of better information, we may wish to attempt to retrace the steps of our quarry. This is an... 'adventuring' tavern. Perhaps someone better versed than myself in the social niceties of the profession ought to see if there is a... board? A grapevine? A means by which adventuring groups pass word of tasks and perils and rat-infested cellars of unexpected size back and forth."

Aerin did not contest Tseran's suggestion to trace the steps of Orran and the other scions, but she felt it would make more sense to investigate further with the dwarves. Yet, it was clear they could not go to the Hammerfist clan or their secret involvement wouldn't be secret anymore. Instead she settled on filling her stomach until they could.

Ethel returned shortly with their drinks, passing them around with care. The keen-eared half-elf had evidently caught the tail-end of Tseran's words, for she added 'Somebody tried setting one up, once. But city authorities tore it down on orders of the Seven, calling it an attempt to organise armed seditious trouble-makers.' She tucked her tray under her arm, carefully not saying much on what she thought of that. 'If you want local news and lore, you have to go the old-fashioned way. You can try Tanshiver the Bard on Turncobble Street, he knows a lot; or listen out for the town criers, but you can use your own judgement there; or just talk to people. Of course, I guess I've heard most of it right here...'

Just then, burly delivery men and women came in, rolling barrels of ale bearing a certain serpentine crest. 'Thanks! Just take them out back.' Ethel called to them, then turned her attention back to the group. 'A new batch of Vyperwood Ale, if you'd like some?'

'So, is everything to your satisfaction?' Ethel inquired, before turning her knowing eyes on Aerin 'And welcome. I must say, we don't get many of the dragonish persuasion here.'

Aerin smiled at the suggestion of Ethel, "A new batch, aye that's something I would be interested to try. - " she replied before slipping a hand into her coin pouch and sliding over a gold coin, carefully hidden under her scaled hand "Should you pick up anything that you consider interesting to us, I'm sure you know how to get the word to us." the dragonkin added inclining her head slightly. She was confident Ethel would have no trouble finding the hotel where they would be staying, Aerin's armor and heritage was drawing more than enough attention to be the talk of the town. Quietly she missed Arrazin, they could have conferred briefly and he would go where she would be getting too much attention. Alas, she was certain the Thayan chainslinger would meet them eventually.

Ethel quirked a momentary smile at the gold coin. 'I'd be able to get a word to you very easy if you were staying at my fine establishment...' she suggested, angling for business, and not unreasonably, for her inn. The Mocking Maiden doubled as both tavern and inn, and had stables out the back. It also noticeably not at all decrepit. 'But I think I'd need to know what you'd find interesting?'

Aerin let go of the coin and took a swig of her drink before answering "Anything on that Orryl boy and other missing youngsters... like him. Whatever you learn about the reason why the orcs are coming down from the mountains - and should there be information about dragons or their kin, particularly the chromatic kind, I'd be happy to hear." she said smiling. "I may have dragon blood, but I'm not as tight about my coins as they are, as you may have noticed." the Rashemi added with a wink, intensionally not letting out if she was going to stay at the inn or not, yet.

'Indeed,' Ethel discreetly removed the gold coin, holding it thoughtfully between her fingers. 'I'm afraid I don't think I know anything special about dragons; I'd say you're the expert there, ma'am. As for the orcs, there's a story going around that they're not just raiding and killing, but kidnapping.'

Ethel paused as the waitress returned, handing out their meals. Once she was gone, she went on, admitting 'Orryl Haldyn never came here, but Kallen Vyperwood certainly did. He was a regular, holding parties for his guests in the private rooms.'
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:21, Wed 06 Sept 2017.

Aerin had been hoping for some clue as to Velvet's whereabouts or at least if his minions had been operating in this area (she'd be only too happy to pay them a visit) but alas, it shouldn't be. However, the second info piqued her interest "Orcs kidnapping people rather than just raiding sounds odd. Do they ask for ransom or are they taking them as slaves? It would be interesting to know who had contact with these orcs and more specifically which areas are they raiding?" the dragonkin asked, curious if this had anything to do with Orryn's disappearance. Was he one of the kidnapped or had he been caught by the orcs as he was investigating the kidnappings with the others?

The Rashemi nodded thoughtfully at the information Orryl had never frequented the Mocking Maiden, contrary to what he had told his father. It seemed a suitable alibi for his adventuring, yet, how did that Vyperwood boy fit into the equation?

At the mention of the pig faced creatures taking prisoners Orophear leaned forward.
"Indeed, orcs usually kill all....unless....perhaps they are selling to slavers. Trade might entice them more than bloodshed....but I highly doubt it. " the elf said as he sat back, his hand rubbing his smooth chin.

'I wouldn't like to think of it.' Ethel said with sadness and fear for the fate of anyone captured by the brutish orcs. 'You'd have to ask the refugees, but I gather they didn't hang around long enough to ask... All I know is the orcs seem to be clearing the land up the River Vesper.'

Aerin nodded "Aye, a terrible fate indeed. Regardless of how the search for the boy turns out, we should be looking into that orc-matter as well." she said with a grim tone in her voice. "Thank you, that's giving us a few leads to pursue already." the Rashemi added and took a big bite out of her food.

"I for one believe if they were running as adventures then the orc issue would surely draw them, especially if a dwarf was steering them. Perhaps we should begin with the refugees. " the Duskblade said to the others once the servers moved away.

 Having been overheard despite his modest precaution, Tseran keeps his peace for a few moments, letting the intrusive half-elf talk... and talk (the irony of this line of thinking never occurs to him, of course) until she has most definitely departed to speak to others, whereupon he quietly remarks "It may be possible for me to learn something from the chamber in which the parties were held, given a few hours. The possibility is low, but it exists."

Aerin leaned over to Tseran, listening to what he had to say and nodded _{"Then I shall see if we can get in there."} she sat upright again, digging into her food but holding out for Ethel, hoping to catch her attention once more.

When the proprietor notices her and comes over the dragonkin speaks to her in a low voice "Ethel, would it be possible to check out the rooms this Vyperwood boy used for his parties? We um... were considering renting them for celebrating _after_ a successful mission." she said and gave the woman a wink.

"And yes, I would enjoy staying at your inn, though I cannot speak for the others." the Rashemi added and smiled.

Ethel made a show of considering this request. 'I don't see why not. Anybody can rent the private meeting rooms, ten gold coins for a night, but you're free to inspect. They've been cleaned up now, of course.' she explained helpfully. She went on, with a hinting tone 'Unfortunately, Kallen Vyperwood left with a sizeable unpaid tab. I'm not sure I'll see that money now...'

Orophear asked,"How big of a tab?"

Ethel rolled the gold coin Aerin had given her through her fingers. 'Oh, fifty more like this one should cover it.'
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:45, Wed 06 Sept 2017.

The elf stared at the woman for a moment and then slid his hand into a small pouch on his belt. Pulling the hand out Orophear put a small stack of ten platinum coins on the table, his hand not moving.
"We get the room for as long as we like... undisturbed. " the Duskblade stated before removing his hand and sitting back in his chair.

 Settling back, Tseran watches as the more... Well funded... individuals in the group negotiate for access to the chamber in question, his curiosity piqued by just how readily they throw their intellects and resources behind even the most tentative suggestion of a lead.

 With this level of commitment, things might just work out after all.

Ethel was surprised by how much more Orophear passed over, but quickly and discreetly pocketed her bribe and a half. 'Yes, that should do it, and more. The meeting room is yours for as long as you need it, for legal and tasteful uses, of course. This way, please.' She led the adventurers out of the common room, though Maelarra elected to stay behind and enjoy her lunch along with Tamae.

In the quiet back area, Ethel showed them to a spacious private dining hall for hosting parties and meetings. The walls were decorated with artworks from up and down the Dragon Reach lands. She lit the lanterns, and pointed out the various amenities and services provided. '...and we have an arrangement with the stables next door. We can reserve stalls for you and your guests' mounts, should you require.'

'Kallen Vyperwood made good use of all our facilities: he kept several horses in the stables, and held parties in here for his guests. They preferred their privacy though, coming and going in heavy cloaks and hoods like they thought they thought they were being subtle. Everyone knew Dorn Crownshield the mercenary though; a dwarf is a bit obvious.'

"Thank you, Ethel." Aerin said "Yes, there are horses that need stabling, taking care of them would be welcome." the dragonkin said with a gentle smile. "Dorn Crownshield? Never heard of him, have you seen him recently? What's he like?" she asked, curious if this name could be an alias for Dorn Hammerhand or if it was somebody else indeed.

'That was the name he gave, but I think we was connected to the Hammerhand mercenary company.' Ethel mused. 'They provide security to one of the noble houses, I think, but they're rumoured to be secretly excavating the city for lost dwarven treasure... Anyway, he seemed your typical doughty dwarf. I haven't seen any of them for, oh, six days now.'

Aerin nodded affirmatively, keeping her own observations and ideas to herself, it appeared that it was Dorn Hammerhand, just under an alias. She looked at Tseran, the mysterious stranger had claimed he might be able to deduce something from the room but she hadn't seen him do anything. Then again she didn't know how his senses or whatever it was, worked. The Rashemi waited for another minute, allowing the others to ask more questions.

 Tseran is stood to one side of the proceedings, looking around the room and every so often glancing meaningfully at the maidservant who led them up to the room - the lass who sells information in a building full of adventurers in a city that treats any independent use of magic or magical arts as a good reason to be introduced to the inside of a dungeon.

 Patiently then, he waits for the girl to be done being interrogated and fills his time in the interim with idle examination of the room.

[Private to GM: 12:30, Today: Tseran Tal'chiar rolled 4 using 1d20.  Search (why not)?
 That's be 11 then, so never mind. ^_^]

Ethel left when the adventurers had no more questions for her.

The hall was clean, well-furnished, and decorated. The wall-mounted lanterns turned out to be magical, with continual flames upon their wicks that could be covered or dimmed by sliding a component inside the lantern.

 "There will be little to see, but please try to remain quiet." Tseran remarks as he moves to the centre of the room and casually uses a small piece of chalk taken out of a pocket to draw a near-perfect circle on the wooden boards, settling inside it and taking out a few small geegaws - a flawed stone, a candle, a scrap of parchment. Foci more than anything, not necessary as such but aids to memory and attentiveness as he closes his eyes and hums a soft note.

 One that the room answers him with, the very furniture and walls shimmering with a soft bass murmur that's sustained over several moments, rising and falling as Tseran alters his own pitch - as though he's using the sound to quest for responses.

 Over the course of several more minutes, a glistening sheen starts to coat pretty much every static surface, fading when poked or examined too closely.

 And time starts to pass, in unhurried fashion.

 He did say hours, didn't he..?


[Private to GM:  Okay, don't know how useful it is but hey, there might have been passionate arguments, triumphs, despair and right now we have nothing:

You gain historical vision in a given location. Rooms, streets, tunnels, and other discrete locations accumulate psychic impressions left by powerful emotions experienced in a given area. These impressions offer you a picture of the location’s past.

The types of events most likely to leave psychic impressions are those that elicited strong emotions: battles and betrayals, marriages and murders, births and great pain, or any other event where one emotion dominates. Everyday occurrences leave no residue for a manifester to detect.

The vision of the event is dreamlike and shadowy. You do not gain special knowledge of those involved in the vision, though you might be able to read large banners or other writing if they are in your language.

Beginning with the most recent significant event at a location and working backward in time, you can sense one distinct event for every 10 minutes you maintain concentration, if any such events exist to be sensed. Your sensitivity extends into the past a maximum number of years equal to 100 × your manifester level.]

Time passed. They waited. This looked like it could take a while...


OOC: Tseran's thing has an hours-long casting time and duration, and it will take a few posts for me to dole out information, so feel free to carry out other investigations while you wait, either here or elsewhere in the inn. Or else study whatever Tseran's doing. ;)

*

...To Tseran's third eye, the room came to life, filled with flickering images of people, moving, acting, speaking, as real as dreams. This was the whole emotional history of this hall, all jumbled together. By focusing on the most intense emotions, working his way back, complete events appeared

...Merchants in their hose and feathered caps, arguing over a deal. Mouths hang open and eyes bulge, fists wave in the air or bang on the table, wine sloshes from their cups and scrolls scatter. Tseran senses anger, frustration, greed...

[Private to Tseran Tal'chiar: This is a hall for hire, used for meetings, negotiations, celebrations, parties, etc., so you can expect to find a high number of emotionally charged events. Your Manifester Level is 7, isn't it?]
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:04, Wed 13 Sept 2017.

 Once you get over the gleaming surfaces and the faintly choral tones permeating the room, there's just not a hell of a lot to see here. It's a tad more exciting for Tseran of course - he's actually privy to something of the past but for anyone else?

 Well, maybe they'll have something to do.

 ---

 Yup.

Kaijn had joined the rest of the group in the rented room and curiously watched the elf perform his magic, picking up every hand gesture and syllabi spoken.

OOC: 21:43, Today: Kaijn Tur'kin rolled 20 using 1d20+16.  Spellcraft .

...Sages and scholars holding a conference, in sombre robes and square caps. One points to diagrams on a blackboard, holding forth on her topic. An audience surrounds the table, scribbling notes, listening attentively, whispering to each other, drinking Durpari kaeth and eating little cakes and biscuits brought by waitstaff. Tseran senses curiosity, discovery, and boredom...

*

It looked like spellcraft, it had the effects of spellcraft, it even kind of smelled like spellcraft, but it was like no spellcraft Kaijn had seen, not in a long time anyway. Tseran's ritual, circle, and foci had no function, and were more like what a fraud or hedge-wizard might employ. Yet it seemed to be working.

[Private to Kaijn Tur'kin: Tseran seemed to be practising the so-called Invisible Art of psionics, also called mind magic, an obscure craft with long history. The empire of Jhaamdath, long rivals to Netheril in the south, were psionicists.

14:51, Today: Secret Roll: DM BadCatMan, on behalf of Kaijn Tur'kin, rolled 21 using 1d20+12.  knowledge: arcana.
14:51, Today: Secret Roll: DM BadCatMan, on behalf of Kaijn Tur'kin, rolled 12 using 1d20+6.  knowledge: history.]

 There's definitely power thrumming in the air, but their relationship to Tserans actions is unclear at best. Irritably, after the first hour or so - during the course of which he idly extinguishes what proved to be a modestly scented candle (which had no arcane purpose beyond offsetting the stink of the streets) - he reports "The room was last used for a mercantile conference, one that roused great passions..." and permitting ten minutes to pass, then adding "Before that a conference, kaeth and biscuits, the topic opaque..."

 This is where the purpose of the parchment becomes clear as he uses the little stone as an impromptu ink-block (rubbing ink into the flaw and dampening it) then taking hasty notes in an elegant hand.

 The circle though, that's just a bit of quality boffo, the Ladies College Divination Course included a module on it since your average diviner doesn't do anything half as visually impressive as chucking fireballs and you need something to impress the ladies.

Half an hour passed and Aerin got bored. Seriously bored. That would be another emotion that could be picked up eventually. Trusting Tseran to share what he found out, the dragonkin excused herself "Alright, if you stumble on something relevant or need a hand banishing a ghost or other monstrosity, don't hesitate to fetch me. Otherwise I'm downstairs, sampling food and drink after stabling our horses."

With that she quietly removed herself from the hall and put her words into action...

Orophear too stood bored as Tseran worked his magics. When Aerin mentioned she was going to do something else the elf followed behind quickly and determined to assist the draginkin on her tasks.

Tseran:

...Rogues in hooded grey cloaks surrounding a trio of frightened sailors, gleaming knives and blackjacks drawn, miniature crossbows cocked. A pouch of gold coins changes hands, yielded to the thieves in ransom or tithe. The air is thick with menace, tension, and fear. One of the thieves, a leader directing from the back turns and, incredibly, glances toward Tseran – before his vision is mercifully whisked away...

Aerin:

Aerin briefly left the Mocking Maiden to visit the adjoining stables. They were slightly seedy but functional, and if anything the smell was better in the stalls than in the streets, being the comparatively more natural aroma of horse and dung. There were only a few contented horses here now.

The stablemaster was a greasy fellow who gave Aerin a suspicious look while shoeing a horse. 'What d'you want?' he said in a surly tone.

Everyone else:

Leaving Tseran to his divinations, the adventurers returned to the common room to resume their meals. Maelarra and Tamae were finishing their roast lamb. The priestess looked up at their return to the table. 'What did you find?' she began, before noting Tseran and Aerin were not yet rejoining them. 'Ah, well, I had an idea that if the scions were going out adventuring, they would come back in need of healing, particularly before returning to their homes. Investigating the local temples might be well worth our time. There are three in Calaunt: one to Selûne the Moonmaiden; one to Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain; and one to Tymora, Lady Luck. In particular, Eltain Mintharl seems to be a man of faith, given the story of him being in religious seclusion, though his grandmother Duchess Saleska is a priestess of Tempus, Lord of Battles... Anyway, I could make some discreet inquiries at the temples under cover of my freelance cleric trade, while you explore other options.'

"Well met, sir." Aerin replied, not reacting to the man's rude address. "We're staying over at the Mocking Maiden and Ethel told us we could stable the horses here." she said, not saying how she felt about letting her four legged companion in a place like this. Quietly she was hoping they would be able to leave the city soon. While she enjoyed one or two of a city's amenities, this one was just ugly enough to run away form, as quickly as possible.

Tseran:

...Two waiters, cleaning up after a banquet, carting away platters of leftover food and collecting up mugs and wineglasses and empty bottles. They're almost done here, it's been a long shift, they've been talking all night. They reach for the same bottle, their hands brush together, lingering in the touch. Their eyes meet, then their lips. Feelings of love and lust bloom...

Aerin:

'Alright.' the stablemaster drawled, not offering up much since Aerin hadn't asked a question. He went back to his work, then, realising Aerin was still there, he added 'One silver bit per head, plus one silver bit per hoof.' So, five silver pieces for a whole horse? As surly as this fellow was, he probably knew a lot of the comings and goings here.

 The room isn't actually getting any warmer, so the flush working its way up the neck of the pale, gaunt elf sat in his simple circle is probably a side effect of the phenomenal cosmic powers he's channelling.

 Or something like that.

 Yup.

Orophear sat quietly at the table sipping the glass of wine he had ordered while listening to Mae.
"I believe that would be a grand idea. I personally still think we should follow the Orcish attacks. Not only would we be doing some good but I bet we would find some sign of our adventurous scions. "

Aerin quirked an eyebrow at the steep price for stabling a single horse, all five would cost over a gold coin. "Five silver for a horse? What do you do, tuck them in and sing them a lullaby?" she asked, hoping to elicit a more detailed explanation of what she would get. She was willing to part with the coin, but the 'goods' would have to be worth it.

Aerin:

'Do you want me to?' the stablemaster returned, 'It'll cost extra. Otherwise, it's the usual: the stall, feed of oats and hay and a little molasses, adjusted to your horse's purpose; and full grooming. If you don't like it, you can leave it in the street, but you might not find it there come sun-up. Kids steal horses, take them on joy-rides and leave them vandalised in an alley.' He spat contemptuously at that; for all his attitude, he knew his horse care.

OOC: 5 silver pieces is the standard per-day rate for stabling a horse in the PHB. It includes a stable, feed, and grooming.

Everyone else:

Maelarra finished daintily chewing her food, before answering softly 'Indeed, they are a prime target for an Earthfast orc-slayer like Dorn. And now we have his name, we can follow that lead without arousing much suspicion, if we can but unearth the dwarves. But which direction did they go? Did they have a specific village in mind, or did they just head north straight into the Troll Mountains?'

Tseran:

...Friends gathered around a table, with their hooded cloaks thrown off to show fine clothes and family crests. They drink and laugh and make careful plans and hopeful dreams. Weapons, scrolls, tools, and maps are spread across the tabletop. Emotions of excitement, curiosity, idealism, and adventure fill the space...

...Seated is a tall young man with a lanky build, with some of his father's height. He looks eager, excited, leaning forward for a closer look...

...At another young man, almost as tall, standing and spreading a map over the table. An X marks a spot deep in the mountains. Another scroll is unfurled, a crude sketch depicting grim ruins rising out of a mountain, subterranean levels below. He jabs a finger triumphantly into a point in the dungeon...

...And there is a dwarf with a many-braided beard, sitting back, watching, nodding approvingly...

"And here I am thinking Ethel's hefty price included stabling our horses. Well, well, well..." Aerin sighed, disappointed how she could have been mistaken so badly. It didn't help dwelling on that. "Sorry, there was a misunderstanding, five silver per horse is fine." she said and fished out the coins from her purse, handing them over. After that she still had one more gold coin in her hand "So, how about you sing a lullaby for me? One that deals with young men of noble birth, hidden under cloaks and accompanied by a dwarf..." she suggested with a slight smirk and a wink.

 "There!" Tseran announces suddenly, excitedly after some half an hour or more of thrumming, ectoplasm-generating meditation as he reaches blindly for the Chalk and starts to hastily sketch on the floorboards just inside the circle (which was the limit of his arms reach), hastily sketching the few details of each figure that were perceivable through the dreamlike haze "Excitement, idealism, curiosity... A map!"

 Coming to the end of the first arc, his hand starts to move to roughly duplicate the shape of the document and the mark designating both target and objective, somewhere below ground in ancient ruins set deep in the mountains, "A map and a target within the map, a dwarf... Braided beard, watching with approval." - here then, Tseran starts to awkwardly add a handful of further details as they become apparent, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tries to identify anything further about the individual.

 ---

 After the excitement, he'll keep watching for ten more minutes though - if we can  identify a rough time that this happened, it'll help us set our schedule, so to speak so knowing what the last incident was will give us a window.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:17, Fri 29 Sept 2017.

Aerin:

The stablemaster peered with undisguised hunger at the gold piece. 'I don't know what you like to dream of, lady,' he remarked slyly, 'But you'll need more than that for that kind of action.'

Tseran:

...A family get-together, an extended clan from within the city and outside, all meeting together on one night. They enjoy good food, drinks, share updates and gossip. Feelings of love, bonding, reunion, and forgiveness join them all together...


OOC: Based on the description of the power ("The vision of the event is dreamlike and shadowy. You do not gain special knowledge of those involved in the vision, though you might be able to read large banners or other writing if they are in your language."), I believe you won't be able to get that kind of detailed information. Not exact map locations, images, or crests, but the general impression of what they depict. My previous description might have been too much as it was.

The date Ethel gave was six days ago.

The dragonkin smirked and produced four more coins, adding them to the one in her palm already. "In my dream the men got themselves into some sort of trouble and any ending not including finding them and getting them out, would become a nightmare." she said hoping to entice the stablemaster into parting some worthwhile information. "For if we cannot save them, their parents will likely make their nightmares into nightmares for the common people." the Rashemi added, hoping to convey she wasn't in it for personal gain.

The stablemaster was wary. 'Sounds pretty dangerous for someone who does know something. Anyone might come asking. Maybe that person will need a lot more set aside, for a rainy day, you know?'
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:51, Fri 29 Sept 2017.

Aerin rolled her eyes "Well then, how much do you think would be needed?" she asked, not wishing to waste more time on negotiations, rather keen on listening to what the man had to say...

'Sounds pretty valuable too, doesn't it?' the stablemaster continued to play the game, 'Maybe ten times as much as that.' Fifty gold pieces was starting to sound like a standard bribing amount around here.

Aerin shrugged and put the coins back into her pouch. "Seems like this city will soon be experiencing some nightmares then. Guess I'll just stay overnight then and get the heck out of here before the Teeth of Calaunt begin searching instead of me and my friends." she said and was about to leave before turning half-way back "You know, it's funny - I'm trying to do good for a few lads that will eventually benefit the whole of this city. I'm not even asking money or a favour in return, yet I'm asked to pay for anything that will help me saving people." she shook her head in disappointment "This is becoming way too expensive fast. I hope you sleep well when." she added and left.

ooc: Bluff check 14

 The family get-together is enough information that, should he so choose Tseran ought to be able to confirm the time they were given and with an effort of will be breaks the enchantment, shaking his head to clear it before moving to rise and copy what notes he managed to take to parchment in crisp, elvish calligraphy.

 And then he looks around.

 ---

 Who'all's left in the room? ^_^

Kaijn had watched in silence, slightly amused but also intrigued by the so called wizards powers. He gotten up from his seat and walked over to where the elf was sitting where he knelt down and took a look at the scribbles on the floor.

"Maybe a local can help identify these landmarks?" he suggests

Aerin:

Aerin had just stepped out when she heard the stablemaster mutter sourly 'This city don't need any more vultures.' It was a subtle wordplay: the Five Vultures were the robber-barons who'd previously tyrannised Calaunt, but the term just as easily applied to the current seven in Calauntan parlance, as well as to the vultures, winged and armed, that followed war and strife. He called louder, 'There weren't any men.'

Tseran & Kaijn:

From the vague impression of the treasure map, Tseran remembered a route, leaving the city, following a river, into the mountains. He'd need to a consult a real map, but he might have a general direction to follow.

Only Kaijn had stayed to watch Tseran's ritual the whole way through, perhaps the only one with the scholarly interest or the patience. Orophear had returned to dinner, Aerin to the stables, and Slove seemed to have wandered off some place.

 Whether he's a skilled bunkum artist or an actual wizard of some sort, Tseran definitely had something happening during the course of his willworking and as he moves to rise, brushing off his robes he snuffs out the candle and sets it aside to cool before remarking "It is not impossible, the group seemed confident of their course. I would be inclined to investigate the dwarven history of the area - there was one present and the group seemed to be set upon a specific location within a specific ruin, which argues for a clear and static goal."

Slove come in to the inn.  Nobody notice him go but has come back.
Look of slight frustration on his face.

OOC:
[Private to GM: Sorry about not posting.  Slove not really much of a talker and I ended up having to jobs last month.  I am back.  Can we say Slove went off see if he could find dwarf to have drink with.  If you remeber he has likeling for dwarven beer and drinking with dwarves.
18:15, Today: Slove rolled 15 using 1d20+7.  Spot a dwarf to drink with.
Most likely not much luck...
]

Aerin stopped and smiled to herself before putting on a serious face and walking back to the stablemaster "Now you're making sense. I agree the city doesn't need more vultures and if I could share with you what I know, you would talk differently. - Alas, share your information and I shall see if it is indeed worth the price." the dragonkin replied, honestly. Sometimes knowing the secrets of others was indeed a burden.

Aerin:

'It was a highborn lass, in a cloak like no-one would know her. She bought five horses and a pony, all at once with a big money-pouch and no fear of robbers. She stabled them here, took them out maybe once a month. Last time was six days ago. She shoulda been back by now.' the stablemaster told Aerin hesitantly. He was worried, as if afraid of who would know what he knew or what would happen if they did. He wasn't only worried for himself. 'You'll find her, then? She's a... a good customer, you know.'

Everyone else:

Finding no drinking buddies at the bar, Slove joined Orophear, Maelarra, and Tamae at the table, as Kaijn and Tseran finally returned to report their findings.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:59, Wed 11 Oct 2017.

With a bit of a nod Orophear made room for Kaijn and Tseran.
"So, what did your magics produce? Did you see that which we seek?"

 Selecting his seat and brushing it off lightly, Tseran settles and nods, starting to relate what he's managed to glean of their quarry from his short span of contemplation "Indeed. There was a meeting, some short time in the past. Several excited young people, well dressed and armed with scrolls, weapons, tools. One was of uncommon height but all seemed to possess heraldry of some sort, although I could not perceive precise details. A second young man, almost as tall as the first was unrolling a map that seemed to indicate a location in the mountains, while a second scroll held a depiction of ruins that they felt related to the first. Lastly, there was a dwarf with a particularly well-braided beard, radiating satisfaction."

"We'll then, it would seem we have our first solid lead. I ,for one, am ready to be on my way." the elf said.
"If we could secure a map of the general area do you think you might be able to point it out? "

Aerin gave the man a nod of confirmation and the coins he had asked for "It's what good people do, they look out for each other and don't abandon anyone when the going gets tough." the dragonkin said and gave Albion a farewell pat on the flank. "If anything else comes to mind, you know where to find me."  she added and headed back to the inn.

 "Perhaps, I shall certainly attempt to do so but you must understand that fine detail was difficult to discern. It would be most successful were I to have access to a copy of the original map that they were using, or if the much-braided dwarf could be identified, perhaps by inquiring of the staff here?" Tseran answers, the thought of using one piece of evidence to unlock another coming as naturally to him as breathing.

Soon Aerin was reuniting with her friends and new companions, curious about the results of Tseran's magic, she asked "So, what do we have? Any plans?"

The remains of their lunch were duly taken away and desserts and beverages were offered, including kaeth and chocolate.


OOC: Let me know if you need anything.

 "I was rather hoping that someone with greater social grace than myself would undertake to ask after the dwarf with the plaited beard who accompanied our noble quarry to their chambers... Finding out who this individual was would enable us to attempt to contact them..." Tseran explains, once the question is put to him.

"I will take that task. " Orophear said as he stood and walked back to the common room looking for the woman he had paid earlier for the room.

Ethel was busy dealing with other customers, but when she had a chance, she heard Orophear's question and description, and nodded. 'Yes, that's Dorn Crownshield alright. No other dwarf has that many braids.'

Orophear nodded with what he thought might be the answers.
"This might be a long shot but did they leave anything behind when they had occupied the room?"

Ethel shook her head. 'Only a mess of plates and tankards.'

 "Good, I'm afraid the one part of the job of investigation I have never possessed an aptitude for is interaction." Tseran admits as Orophear volunteers and heads off to gather the necessary details before swinging back to the others, patiently waiting for him to return.

With a slight bow of his head and a giving over of a gold piece for the information, Orophear moved back to the room with his companions where he relayed the information that this was indeed the dwarf they were looking for.

"If we can find an item of theirs we could attempt to scry them. If none of us have that ability maybe there is someone in the city." Kaijn suggests.

"We did get the portrait of Haldyn's son, wouldn't that suffice for the spell?" Aerin suggested.

 "If you didn't mind there being a respectable chance of failure, not to mention that it's a difficult spell with prohibitive requirements. Can we not first attempt to contact this dwarven gentleman Mr Mithrandir has discovered the identity of before turning to the arcane once again?" Tseran replies, which may seem like an odd statement coming from a professional diviner but on the other hand, there's no sense getting lazy.

Lady Maelarra, who had until now being quietly finishing her lunch and patiently waiting while the others discussed their plans, spoke up at this point. 'The problem is that, although Calaunt had a goodly population of dwarves, they have the option of escaping the, ahem, oppressive atmosphere,' She meant the heat, stench, and actual oppression, of course, 'By heading below the earth. If we can but find a dwarf mercenary, or even the Foamy Beard tavern where they congregate, we can ask for "Dorn Crownshield". But the Bearded Folk enjoy their obscurity and underground culture.'

She drained her wine, and noted 'But remember Aerin reported the stablemaster said the girl left with five horses and one pony – six people, five humans and a dwarf, surely. Dorn left Calaunt with the scions, I'd wager... Mister Tseran determined they followed a map to ruins in the mountains, but there are enough of those. If we can learn where they obtained the map or what it purported to show, we might have enough to follow them. Or we could investigate the movements of the other scions involved.'

The priestess rose, concluding 'In any case, it seems we're finished here. Let us be off and go dwarf-spotting, or map-hunting. However, I may leave you on your own for a time – I have business to attend to at the shrine of Waukeen.'
This message was last edited by the player at 08:57, Sat 29 Sept 2018.

Aerin listened to the Merchant's Friend intently, she had come to a similar conclusion, she just didn't dare to share it, yet. "Seems as good to me as anything else. Why don't we get up and talk to the dwarves then?" she asked her companions, old and new, hoping they would agree.

 "Ahhhh, I had not recalled that detail. It does then make matters troublesome, but as you say if the map can be identified then the ruin can be located, and with some haste. Are there particular traders in unmagical antiquities and old parchments in this city who might present a possible source for such information?" Tseran asks, looking about the group but, failing all else quite happy to go with Aerin's suggestion.

"Perhaps there is a local map maker we might check with after speaking to the dwarves if they did not give them the map itself. " Orophear said as he stood and prepared himself to leave.

Maelarra stepped away briefly to pay Ethel for the meal. It was certainly nice having a priestess of Waukeen with the purse of Procampur to pay for expenses, if not the bribes. Mae made a blessing upon the establishment, briefly discussed business and the changing state of the hospitality industry, and made a few discreet inquiries of her own.

When she returned and walked with the adventurers out of the Mocking Maiden, she listed several local scholars and map dealers, from her own research and what she'd learned from Ethel. 'First, there's Halbar's Bookshop: Minsker Halbar is reputed to be the most accomplished mage in Calaunt, for what that's worth, though he's getting on in years. He sells all manner of tomes and scrolls.'

'Second, Tanshiver's Corner: Tanshiver the Bard is a noted sage, with a speciality in Dragon Reach folklore. If he doesn't know, he might tell you who does.'

'Third, Old Mot, a disreputable seller of bric-a-brac, antiques, things that have fallen off the backs of wagons with no questions asked and, at times, treasure maps.'

'Fourth, perhaps, Moonsilver House: Selûne is a goddess of wanderers, so they necessarily have a goodly collection of maps and traveller's tales, even if they are perfectly happy to get lost before they are found.'

 "Then we should visit these individuals, the sooner this is done the sooner we may have ourselves a lead." Tseran assesses, rubbing his hands together with eagerness for the off!

 ---

 And since we seem to be losing peoples attention, for all that I like a good mystery (shush, I do alright, I'm just grumpy!) perhaps we could make a few die rolls on this one and get people moving to where they can punch things - or whatever their preferences are. ^_^

OOC: That's fine. Someone can just roll a Gather Information check and I'll hurry you through to the source of the map.

And so the companions set out to gather the necessary intel...

ooc: Aerin's really not the best choice when it comes to gather info checks...

12:42, Today: Aerin of Damar rolled 14 using 1d20+4.  Gather Info.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:44, Wed 06 Dec 2017.

OOC: That's fine, with a +2 from Maelarra's Aid Another it comes to 16, just beating DC 15. It takes five hours and the time is now dusk.

The companions visited the various sages and booksellers in the order that Maelarra had named them, taking them on a not-so-grand tour of the dismal city.

Halbar's Bookshop on Wendering Way was well known to Tseran after his time in Calaunt, being a haven of lore of all kinds and the odd tome on the Invisible Art, and something of a sanctuary to the oppressed mages of the city. It was a place to whisper news and warnings behind the stacks, or pin up missing wizards posters. Unfortunately, none of the furtive customers knew anything, and if old Minsker Halbar, greatest wizard of Calaunt, had sold any maps recently, then he certainly couldn't remember, his memory not being what it once was, you understand, though back in the day, thius being before the Time of Troubles, but you youngsters wouldn't remember that, he could memorize a dozen spells in a single sitting, yes... To change the subject, they bought a detailed map of the northern Vast and its ranges, and while it showed a few old ruins, none were of particular note.

Moving hurriedly on to Tanshiver's Corner on Turncobble Street, Tanshiver "the Bard" Brynleaf turned out not be a bard at all, at least not the famously magical kind, more of a freelance minstrel, sage, and news-man. He had keen interest in the reasons for the adventurers' research, quizzing them with so many clarifying queries that one had to wonder who was questioning who.

Steering the conversation back on track, when they asked about maps of the Troll Mountains and the Earthfast Mountains that sprawled over the northern Vast, and what still-hidden ruins might lie there, he gave a quick overview of the history of the Vast, from the ancient orc nation of Vastar; the brief dwarf kingdom of Roldilar, the Realm of Glimmering Swords; and the rise and fall of dozens of petty human cities and kingdoms, built on orcish and dwarven ruins, which had settled more-or-less into their current arrangement. Any one of those could have left ruins in the northern mountains, names and locations lost to the tide of history and conflict. The most famous lost castles were the Hollow Mountain, or Mount Grimmerfang, the orcish capital; and the deeply buried dwarven royal court of Roldilar. They had never been found.

Then, when they asked about treasure maps to such lost ruins being sold recently, Tanshiver shook his head gave a very disheartening response. 'No doubt Old Mot's been selling fake treasure maps again...' The practice had recently seen a revival – it wasn't so long ago, Aerin recalled, that Alamondh, the ambitious Hamayarch of Procampur, had tried to empty the city of adventurers by distributing fake treasure maps luring them away to the town of Maerstar.

So, at last they came to Moistly Antiques (the 'i' had been persistently added by some vandal, no matter how often it had been scrubbed off), finding a rough-looking shop full of furniture, bric-a-brac, and alleged antiques. The door was locked and no shopkeeper, Old Mot or otherwise, was in evidence.

By now, after an afternoon spent in research and hiking the streets, the sun had slunk down to the horizon, almost past the city walls and roofs, and casting the street in long shadows. Clouds had rolled in, and there was about to be a little bracing dampness in the air.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:05, Sun 10 Dec 2017.

 There are certain natural rules in this world, certain imperatives that must be discharged though the heavens themselves rain down fire or the earth itself shatters asunder... A salmon will cross half the world to return to one specific river, a butterfly might fly three thousand miles to breed... and a mage in a book store is going to come out with a heavier pack and a lighter purse.

 Tseran for example, seems to largely forget what he's supposed to be doing within moments of entering Halbars and comes out with a number of slim folios, a hefty tome or two and a couple of compendium collections which he tucks into his pack* and he hardly seems to acknowledge arriving at Tanshivers, so caught up is he in his purchases but he's mostly back with the land of the living by the time the group arrives at Moistly Antiques and he's perfectly prepared to rap his knuckles on the door in insistent fashion if no-one else looks about to do so.

 ---

 * So it was a big, fancy book store. I've just ticked off 100gp then. ^_^

OOC: Feel free to treat those books as two masterwork tools (PHB p130–131), each giving a +2 circumstance bonus (non-stacking) on a specific Knowledge check. For example, Cuthbert the Unready's monograph "Mind Over Muscle" would give +2 circumstance on Knowledge (psionics), while Volo's Guide to the Vast will give +2 circumstance bonus on Knowledge (geography [the Vast]).

Tseran knocked on the door, but there was no response from within. Although the other shopkeeps were closing up at this time, with some very secure doors and shutters, it seemed Old Mot had left much too early.

'It seems a poor way to do business, not being open.' the Waukeenar priestess remarked, peering through a grimy window. 'Rubbish selection anyway...'

Aerin tagged along, never too interested with the literature that wizards seemed to feed upon. Until a thought hit her and she asked the proprietor of the bookstore for texts which dealt with the Iron Dragon, or at least mentioned the fabled creature.

At Aerin's question, Halbar seemed to stir from his senility, protesting sharply that he'd never heard of an Iron Dragon, and what's more, there was no such as an Iron Dragon. Even Maelarra looked a little perturbed.

Aerin shrugged, perhaps the one who had told her about the Iron Dragon was a little senile herself. Coming to think of it, had it been real or had it been a dream? She shook her head, not clearly remembering anymore. She looked at the golden-scaled armor on her hands and arms, she was sure that was not imagined. "Have you ever heard of a golden dragon named Guldaeraesinya, also called Goldie? Respectively do you have information on a black dragon called 'Velvet'?" the dragonkin asked.

Minsker Halbar could offer Aerin no more than a fine selection of grimoires and tomes on dragon-kind, such as One Sage's Wyrmbook by Maskalandur Narlur. Goldie's small entry told Aerin no more than she knew already, of the great and heroic golden dragon. Of Velvet, neither the Wyrmbook nor the wizard knew anything.

But Tanshiver Brynleaf, knowledgeable in the folklore of the Dragon Reach lands, was able to tell Aerin something more about both dragons. Of Goldie, much she already knew, but there were new stories of a clash with the red wyrm Halarglautha Firewings over a century ago, of her routing and devouring an orc horde in the mountains before they could ever threaten human settlements, and another of her discouraging Zhentish forces from marching south to harass the Vast. The minstrel Lieshann was singing that Goldie had a secret underground kingdom beneath the mysterious Mage's Tower on the edge of the Flooded Forest, north of here beyond the mountains, but Tanshiver counselled them never to believe a word she said.

Tanshiver put on some loud magically made music before he spoke of the black dragon who called himself Velvet. Throstulgrael, as he was known to dragons, was known to dwell deep in the Flooded Forest. Ambitious and arrogant as only the young could be, he was feuding with an elder green called Malachite, desiring her territory. It was not something to get between. Both were supported by Dragon Cult cells, who fortunately squandered their resources struggling against each other.

After briefly peering out the window and behind the door, Tanshiver explained that Velvet's Cult cell was based in or near Calaunt, that it was small but organised and united. Recently, known agents had collected many mercenaries and criminals (hence the current relative quietude in the city) and journeyed north into the Flooded Forest for some unknown purpose.

The adventurers knew how this had ended, of course, having smashed the Cult operations in the ruins in that swamp. They must have missed Velvet by days or hours. At some point, they would surely have to go back.

Still, Tanshiver warned that the Cult hadn't abandoned its activities in Calaunt, and still had members about with a hand or claw in local crime and intrigues. Whether that included missing scions, who could say?

Tanshiver "the Bard" Brynleaf knew a surprisingly amount about such nefarious factions for a common sage.

*

As they loitered outside Moistly Antiques, another shopkeeper, closing for the evening, called out to them. 'Oi, if you're looking for Old Mot, you might be outta luck. I ain't seen him in days.'
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:34, Sun 24 Dec 2017.

 "Oh? Do you happen to know to whom he last spoke?" Tseran asks, more or less automatically as he turns from investigating the store as best he's able through a grimy window (which is to say not well at all) in order to engage the passer-by - the question of why the Elf might want to talk with the missing shopkeep rather ably answered by the hefty book already tucked under one arm (and being intermittently referred to whenever the adventuring side of the party becomes involved in something).

The shopkeeper frowned, thought a while, but shook his head. 'No, but I know he must've made a bundle on a sale. An old document of some sort. He paid off his debts to the landlord and never came back the next day. I think he's said good riddance to the place.' He eyed Tseran with speculation. 'Why, you interested in taking over?'

 There's a definite moment in which Tseran looks tempted, properly tempted to take up the position... Only for a sight of the city beyond to catch his eye, swiftly reminding him that Calaunt is a place that would have to spend years cleaning up its act in order to aspire to be the armpit of the Vast. Reality thus reasserting itself, he shakes his head in a small way before explaining "Not at all, but I had hoped to discuss a purchase with the gentleman. Did he dwell above the store or maintain a home nearby, do you happen to know?"

'Above. He had no family.' He pointed upward; the building was of old grey stone, sturdy but unlovely. The first storey, looming a little over the ground, had shuttered windows. The space would be enough for a small apartment.

The shopkeeper looking meaningfully toward his own store. 'You're not in the market for fine leather goods, are you? New belts, shoes, pouches?'

"Of the enchanted kind, mayhaps?" Aerin asked hopefully.

 Tseran has the social grace of a turtle but there's nothing wrong with his survival instincts and as he's considering the merits of making a small purchase, "Perhaps a book bag..?" and Aerith chips in he's quick to chuckle - awkwardly - as though she were making a joke and insert "Or perhaps you have a quest that needs undertaking? Isn't that how it works in places like the Dales?"

 Magic items being, y'know, deeply restricted and stolen by mobs of bully boys around here.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:53, Wed 27 Dec 2017.

Orophear stood by quietly as Aerin spoke with the shop owner. At the question of leather goods the elf said with a warm smile,"An adventurer can never have too many pouches to house their goods. Let us see what you have."

The shopkeeper led the team to his store next door, smiling and shaking his head at Tseran's question. 'Well, if it's a quest you want, you could always go up to the tanneries and see what's holding up supply. Maybe they need some fresh piss?' Such an adventure was clearly not going to be pleasant...

He reopened his shop and let them look inside. 'I can't say I have many magical goods, but I get some second-hand from my supplier, some with false auras and glimmers, some with something more.' They weren't on display though, being locked in a strong cabinet. 'Otherwise, I have belts, straps, shoes, pouches, coats, haversacks... And to save you asking, you'll have to go to a proper saddlery for horse tack, and the temple of Loviatar for the kinky stuff.'


OOC: You can purchase mundane items and minor magical items made of leather with a 20% discount, pre-used.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:15, Thu 11 Jan 2018.

 "Unfortunately, my companions are rather better at taking it." Tseran answers in a heartbeat, with the sort of razor-sharp wit he doesn't normally bring to conversation (perhaps he read it in a book somewhere and has been itching for a chance to use it ever since), although he's happy to head on over and look through the goods on offer (after taking a moment to breath deeply - as foul as the process of making leather may be, there's little like the scent of a shop that sells it), rather thoughtfully replacing some of his much-battered adventuring clothes and belts as he does so - at least some of which have been with him through naga-infested rivers and hag-ridden cottages, not to mention swamps.

 ---

 Figure on buying what amounts to adventurers clothes and basic kit since it just occurred to me it's been a while and mend can only do so much. ^_^

Once inside the shop Orophear gently pulls Aerin aside.
"Should one of us check the apartment upstairs while the others keep this shop keeper busy?"

Aerin nodded in understanding and followed the shopkeeper inside. Looking around she listened to Orophear and gave him an affirmative gesture while she turned to the proprietor. "I'm looking for a cloak, something less flamboyant than this one, but good to hold off rain or perhaps snow, should I get to travel to the north." the dragonkin said, indicating the one she was wearing. She would need something really big though, with her draconic built and the armor underneath she was almost reaching dwarven proportions.

'Ah, of course. Especially as we head into the Claw of Storms.' the shopkeeper agreed, using a common name for the month of Tarsakh, early in spring but known for its rains and storms. He showed Aerin a range of plus-size leather coats and cloaks, pointing out their features. As requested, they were practical rather than flamboyant, being designed for herders and rangers who were often caught out under the open sky, and hence were well waterproofed against rain and snow. The shopkeeper was polite and especially eager to please and not to offend the fierce-looking dragon-woman.


OOC: I had mistakenly called the current season autumn rather than spring. Hence it is now a rather damp spring. :)

Aerin nodded "That's right. I'll take this one." she proclaimed, indicating she was getting the one she was still wearing to try-on for size. It looked like it would fit well into a natural background and covered most of her golden armour. "I could use a new purse as well, do you have something with a draconic style?" she asked, wondering if Orophear had managed to complete his task yet.

'Ah, well, for the clasp, I have these interlocking bat-wing designs, and here's a nice a dragon-head clasp,' he displayed, showing her one where a silver dragon-ish head bit down on the purse to lock it, 'And these are made of scaly reptile hide – from regular lizards, of course...'

While Aerin inspected the merchandise, Orophear had crept up the stairs, but quickly discovered the crucial flaw in this plan – the apartment had stood above the antique dealer's store, but they'd moved across to the neighbouring leather goods store. Its upper floor was used for secure storage of the minor enchanted pieces, put away for the night.

Then the alarm went off. An unseen bell rang urgently, evidently from an alarm spell, raising everyone's attention. In a city of thieves, one couldn't be too careful. 'Oi! What're you about?' the shopkeeper demanded, reaching for a club under the counter...

But Maelarra swept in from where she'd been examining some sturdy yet stylish hiking boots. 'Oh dear... We do beg your pardon, shopkeep, my companions appear to have misunderstood the architecture. Adventurers, you know. We are very serious about finding Master Mot...' she explained readily, but the man was hardly mollified.

'I oughta call some guardsmen...'

'Oh, I'm sure you don't want to bother them and pay their bribes for nothing. Please, let me make it up to you – the blessings of the Merchant's Friend upon your business, and a tallying of your accounts, free of charge.' She waved her golden coin amulet of Waukeen, flashed a golden smile with gleaming green-gold eyes, and the shopkeeper was quickly dazzled into pacification.

'Hmm, well, alright. But the rest of you, out!'

"I'll still have that dragon-head clasped purse. It goes nicely with the rest of my stuff." Aerin said, not impressed by the shopkeeper's threat (neither the club nor the guards). She took her time, paid in full and left in no hurry - perhaps just to spite Maelarra and her ever-present Merchant-Friend.

[Private to GM: Just let me know how much for cloak and purse, and I'll deduct it from my sheet. :)
]

Kaijn had been quiet most of the time but curiously browsed the various bookstores and had grumbled something about staying there a little longer as the group had decided to move on.

As the alarm rang he looked up from the leather saddle he had spotted.

"Now what?"

Slove just stands and watches.  Mostly Maelarra Hlartrym.  He now realized he found her both funny and fascinating.  She was everything he was not.  To most this place was den of thieves but to Slove this was still far to civilized with far to many creatures all in one space.
He really needed something to hunt.
However he just have to wait.

 Tseran, having been extracted from the building by the fumblings of his companions before he'd actually completed his purchases looks moderately thunderous as he's unceremoniously ejected onto the street and while gathering himself to berate Orophear catches sight of the store that was their original target... And instead drops his head into one palm, muttering "Mystras Mercy, you actually forgot that we..."

 A deep, weighty sigh follows and he just indicates the abandoned store in question with a fingertip "Well? We might as well go on as we've started. Someone search the place before the guards get here to toss us in a cell."

[Private to Aerin of Damar: Let's say 3 gp for the purse (it's a fashion piece) and 4 gp for the cloak (it's half of a cold-weather outfit, +2 circumstance bonus on Fortitude saves against exposure to cold weather.]

The shopkeeper was wary, still expecting this was a distraction for a robbery, but was still glad to make a sell and take Aerin's money, before making sure they found their way out the door.

Out in the street, it had begun to rain, a light patter that would inevitably turn the filth between the cobbles and in the gutters into a particularly unpleasant muck. The adventurers returned to the antique shop and the question of searching it.

Orophear shook his head, still embarrassed over his role in the debacle. 'I'll stay out here and keep watch, before I'm accused of another attempted robbery.' He took shelter from the rain under the antique shop's protruding second storey.

The others went into the narrow alley behind the store, finding its back door. And some luck – in a city of thieves, a building left unattended was inevitably broken into. Pushing open the door with its jimmied lock, they slipped inside, finding a cluttered antique store full of old furniture, artworks, books, and crockery, from far and wide, old and new, but there was little of obvious value except to collectors of the obscure or the desperately in need. If there was, it had probably already been stolen.

Upstairs was a poky little apartment, filled with odd furniture and things that hadn't, or hadn't yet, been sold downstairs. No one had been here in days; Old Mot had either gotten away or more thoroughly disappeared.

One room held a desk, covered in papers, pens and quills, inks, jars of staining chemicals, pots of pounce (powdered cuttlefish bone, used to dry inks and smoothen rough paper), and blotting paper (used to absorb wet ink). This was a complete set of calligraphy tools, but the not-so-old books and scrolls and maps lying about in various states of artificial ageing showed that Old Mot was a dedicated forger.


OOC: Please state your locations and what you're doing, and roll all the usual checks: Listen, Spot, Search.

Aerin let the other, more nimble people enter the room first, her imposing figure, armor and weapons would only get in the way. Instead she kind of brought up the rear, watching their six and making sure nobody would leave the room unnoticed - should anyone or anything still be here. Watching her companions go to work, she looked for signs of a struggle, perhaps the old man was kidnapped but she wasn't really good with that.

So, out of boredom more than because she expected to find anything useful, she used Detect Magic to practise her spellcasting...

ooc: Cast Detect Magic
14:51, Today: Aerin of Damar rolled 16 using 1d20+2.  Search.
14:50, Today: Aerin of Damar rolled 7 using 1d20-2.  Spot.
14:50, Today: Aerin of Damar rolled 13 using 1d20-4.  Listen.

 With much the same draw that gravity applies to rocks moving in gentle curves, the presence of a writing-desk covered in a wide range of papers and inks pulls Tseran in, initially out of professional delight and soon out of actual interest as he starts going through the rough drafts and partial copies, the blanks and practise-papers, looking to reconstruct whatever the man was last working upon and whether or not it might have been what led the scions to their current task.

 ---

21:18, Today: Tseran Tal'chiar rolled 42 using 3d20 with rolls of 19,10,13.  Search & 'appropriate knowledge skills'.

 19, which would be 26 on Search.
 10 & 13 which could be anything from 16/22 and 19/25 depending upon what sort of skills you want me to use for 'em (alphabetical, as always) out of Arcane, Engineering, Geography, History, Nobility, Psionics, Religion & Planes. I can re-test with a +4 if I can't quite call a tip-of-the-tongue fact to mind. ^_^

None of the finished maps looked anything like what Tseran had glimpsed in his vision back at the Mocking Maiden. Some were street maps of Calaunt and other cities around the Dragon Reach, with some attempts made to correct or add trap streets. Others were more typical geographic maps of the Dragon Reach and Moonsea lands. A few were painfully obvious pirate's treasure maps, probably intended as souvenirs.

Of the most recent work, there were rough drafts and failed attempts, depicting the northern Vast lands, from Calaunt to the River Vesper to the Troll Mountains and points around. None seemed especially reliable.

Then Tseran checked under the blotting paper – and found a perfect mirrored copy of the finished map Old Mot had sold to Dorn Hammerhand.

Tseran had a hard time reading Dwarven at the best of times, and the local Galenan Dwarven in reversed Dethek runes did not make this the best of times. Nevertheless, it depicted a fortified site deep within the forbidding Troll Mountains.


OOC: Since you're looking at maps, I'd take Geography and the 13 for a result of 20.

*

Downstairs, Aerin surveyed the shop. Not knowing what to look for in particular, she could find almost anything in this antique shop: curios, knick-knacks, lost heirlooms, nice furniture, some cheap art...

...And magic. Buried amongst all the junk, somewhere.

The dragonkin allowed herself a faint smile, casting spells still worked when wearing her gauntlets; it had been a while since she last used it. Curiously she lifted an eyebrow "Fascinating." she mumbled to herself, then moved closer, keeping her concentration in order to locate the magic and - if it was the gods will - even the type of magic.

ooc: Neat. Concentrating to locate the aura/s and recognize school if possible.
17:12, Today: Aerin of Damar rolled 20 using 1d20+9 ((11)).

 "Here!" Tseran states suddenly as he lifts aside the paper to examine the blotting-sheet, holding it up with exquisite delicacy as though for fear that the ink will flow from it somehow were he to be too rough, "This is the map I saw, the inverse of it in any event. We're fortunate he didn't have a sand-table for the blotting. But was it a forgery or..?" - setting the map to one side he goes through the remainder of the source material, looking for what it was duplicated from - more modern maps, older source material...

 ...a forger forges after all, that's rather the point of the process and to do so most require an original or originals to work from.

 Between that, and his grasp of Dethek - which for all its considerable linguistic similarities to the Common speech is still irksome for its tendency to leave out little niceties that the carvers didn't think important (like proper spelling and punctuation) and to vary wildly by location (also like the Common tongue) after the fashion of a short-lived race - he starts trying to work out what this mysterious fortress was supposed to be.