Slove nodded to Glarin.
My friends do not seem to be leaving this city any time soon.
They also did not seem to need me.  So I thought while I have the time I would return.
If you have time for me.  I would like talk of your ideas.
To take the second opinion.

OOC:
Oh the one time the group could really do with slove and he wonders off on his own!.
Slove base movement is 60ft.

At Aerin's touch with the wand Angel began to rise, her feet leaving the ground as she suddenly seemed to become lighter than air. "Wha... whoa! Whoa!" She exclaimed, thrusting her hands out in a futile attempt to balance herself. And then at the dragonkin's shooing gesture, Angel began to tumble backwards in midair, heels over head, floating slowly away from the warrior woman. "What in the Nine Hells did you do to me?!" She cried, her voice fluttering between indignation and panic. "Get me down!"

[Private to GM: As Angel floated and spun, she secretly cast a spell aimed at the fleeing thief. Conjuring an illusion, she caused a giant monstrous scorpion to suddenly appear right in the thief's path, attempting to cut off their escape...

00:07, Today: Secret Roll: Angel rolled 26 using 1d20+11.  Conceal Spellcasting skill-trick.

Cast Minor Illusion (2nd level spell) vision and some sound, which would be the ominous clacking of the scorpion's pincers.

If Conceal Spellcasting counts as casting against an unwary foe, then that adds a +1 to the DC and the save should then be 16 to resist the illusion. ]

Streets

Down the street, a gigantic monstrous scorpion suddenly appeared on the footpath. It wasn't something one saw everyday, and passers-by, already made furtive by Calaunt's colourful night-life. scattered in all directions. Yet a few lingered, scratching their heads in a brief reality check. Figments? In Calaunt, the city of illusion? It's more likely than you think.

But the snatcher completely failed to register this as he skidded to a halt before the scorpion, its claws snapping and envenomed tail stabbing down for him. He turned and ran, briefly heading back for the adventurers. But it wouldn't be long before he regained his wits and found a dark hole to hide in.

'Quickly, someone catch the fellow!' Maelarra gasped. 'I'd do it myself, if it weren't for my asthma... Oh, where's Slove when you need him?'

Moonsilver House

Meanwhile, in the temple sanatorium, Glarin show Slove into a private consulting room. It had a desk, chairs, a bed, and some medical equipment. 'Of course, I have some time. We can talk in here. Please take a seat.'

Producing a magnifying glass, the tiefling priestess began to closely inspect his injury, beginning with the burned, scarred skin on the left side of his face and neck and moving across to the more pallid areas away from it. 'First, perhaps you could tell me how it happened? What was this artifact? How was it destroyed? Where were you in relation to it?'

Sloves face becomes glum.  A very deep sense of sadness fills the elf.
Yes you need to know the truth.
He looks at his hands.
The artifact was thought to be a Staff of the Magi.  It was owned by the High wizard to the king of High Forest.  My brother was one of three apprentice the lady had taken on.
I was visiting my brother.  He had been studying the staff for a while.
He was convinced there was something wrong with the staff.
He said one of the runes on it was wrong but nobody would listened to him.
He was young and inexperienced mage so nobody listened.
So he got me to keep and eye out while he looked at the staff.
As he was looking at it I notice another rune which I thought was wrong.
I walked up to my brother and told him to put it back.  I was only 3 feet away.
But instead he cast spell on the Staff.
It exploded.  There was nothing left of my brother.
Or for that mater my holy symbol round my neck.  It somehow absorbed a lot of the power of the blast.  What happen next I could not tell you.  Truth is I do not know much of the next six months.
One thing I do know which nobody will admit to is the High Wizard staff was found semi-hidden behind one of his bookshelves.  It also seems to have a few more charges than the High Wizard thought it should have.  As for the rune.  Well again few would admit it but some symbols of drow and elvish so very much alike.  Often the drow being the reverses or evil expression of the elvish it look like.

Aerin shrugged "I'm too slow in this armor and there's nothing else I can do without harming somebody in this crowd." the dragonkin said, not excessively bothered by the theft. In her eyes the priestess should have paid more attention to her surroundings and less advertized being in possession of an item of importance. "Anyone else with a splendid idea?"

 "Well, I could set them on fire with my mind if you like?" Tseran remarks, the question phrased more in a rhetorical fashion than a pragmatic one - he's quite patently not about to (literally) open fire in a crowded street.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:46, Tue 07 Aug 2018.

The dragonkin let out a deep sigh and muttered "I miss Arrazin..." and with that she turned and went after the rogue as fast as her cumbersome armor would allow. Fortunately the culprit had moved the wrong way and she grabbed him, nearly failing if it hadn't been for her claws that dug into the guy's armor, holding him securely.

Pulling him toe-to-toe, actually lifting him off his feet, the Rashemi snarled, exposing dagger-sharp teeth. "Give me a reason!" she dared him, her eyes glaring at him.

ooc: Grapple touch attack 17 (just barely), Grapple Check 34 (nat20), Intimidate 27.

Angel, still spinning slowly in mid-air, watched the capture of the thief and smiled. "Now that's what I call teamwork!" She exclaimed, and then came to a rest upside-down, her long hair and cloak hanging down in comical fashion... (but strangely managing not to lose anything out of her pockets!)...

"Umm, little help?" she appealed.

 Here, Tseran looks up with a measure of puzzlement, opens his mouth as if to ask a question and then simply shrugs before answering "Very well."

 And reaching up to slap Angels shoulder as she floats by, imparting significantly more spin to her than that which she just lost.

 He's helping... Right?
This message was last edited by the player at 04:25, Fri 17 Aug 2018.

Streets

Aerin's terrifying display had worked rather too well, for in the grip of her claws and in the face of her fang-filled jaws and burning eyes, the snatcher promptly wet himself, adding to the stink of Calaunt. At last, with a violently shaking hand, he passed the diplomatic scroll to her. No sensible words made it out of his stammering mouth.

'Aha, good work!' Maelarra cheered.

Moonsilver House

'I see. I'm very sorry for your loss.' Glarin offered in sympathy, then thought carefully over the problem. At one point, she stepped away to a bookcase to consult a tome on magical afflictions, and called for an acolyte to fetch several tomes on magical items and artifacts from the temple's main library. The Church of Selûne produced a wide range of moon-themed magical items and potions, and had a good store of knowledge of others.

Finally, she had a theory. 'As you describe it, this Staff of the Magi may have been cursed, or perhaps drow-crafted and resistant to elf examination, or merely faulty, but these often manifest as curses anyway. However, even a quality Staff of Power or the Staff of the Magi is known to be dangerously unstable, exploding violently if broken or over-charged. It's enough to hurl the bearer into another plane of existence, if they are not destroyed outright.'

'As for your holy symbol, I can only presume it was a miracle of Solonor, shielding you from the worst of the blast.'

'Maybe you've heard this before, but I have a few theories. First, the curse might have transferred from the staff to your body. This could explain the persistent nature of the wound, why it keeps recurring and resists healing. Second, there could have been a planar transference: part of your body might have been translocated to another plane, so it can't be healed, or part of that plane's matter was translocated to your body, continuing to harm you. Like my own marks; they seem to be in the blood and healing has no effect.' She touched her red scars, tracing the line across her jaw.

'I wouldn't try a healing spell again, if the effects are what you say... Can you tell me of the previous treatments? What was tried? Has anyone tried to lift a curse on you? Or to use a power that's not magic?'

At first Angel smiled, thinking Tseran was reaching out to actually help her, but then he only added a bit more momentum to her backward spin and caused her to float back a few more paces. Fortunately though, the magic Aerin had used seemed to fade at that moment and the copper-haired she-elf spun one last time and then landed gracefully on her feet, arms still outstretched for balance, and looking somewhat akin to a large crane.

She shot the dry elf-mage a withering look. "Thank you very much," she spat, her words dripping with sarcasm. "That was so helpful." Then spinning on her heel she turned to approach where Aerin still held the captured thief. She stopped just behind the warrior woman and quietly studied the pickpocket for several moments...

[Private to GM: Using Detect Thoughts SLA (DC 13) ]

 "Well, you were inverted." Tseran remarks in his defence, it being just borderline possible that his effort to spin her like a cartwheel were, in fact intended to put her right-side-up once more (possible, although not in fact terribly probable).

Angel approached the young snatch-thief and scrutinised him...

[Private to Angel: It was hard to read any thoughts at all – the thief's mind had all but shut down in terror, and he hadn't been very bright to begin with. All that ran through it could be summarised as please don't eat me please don't eat me please don't eat me... With a little lucidity, he worried Curse my luck, should nevera pinched that fancy scroll!

Then he got a glimpse of Angel in her new baggy grey cloak. Aww, no, a shadow cloak! Did I pinch from a Shadowcloak?! I'm going to get in the neck for sure! Mask protect me!]

Aerin cursed under her breath and held the thief a little further from herself, hoping to prevent any 'leakage' on her boots. "Tell us who you work for." she growled "Or I'll roast your leg and see if you taste better than you smell."
This message was lightly edited by the player at 19:49, Wed 29 Aug 2018.

'N-n-no-one!' the thief burst out, before hastily reconsidering after eyeing Angel fearfully. Somehow, the quiet cloaked figure of Angel was roughly as terrifying as the powerful fire-breathing dragon warrior. 'I mean, I'mma not independent, I pay me dues and taxes to your lot. I just spied the scroll, figured it was magic, might be worth a few bits to you. I didna know it was already yours, I just didna see you. I'm sorry!'

Meanwhile, standing off to the side, Maelarra retrieved her stolen diplomatic scroll before it could be burned or worse, urinated on. She tutted as she tried to push out the creases, and slipped it back into her purse. 'Please do trust that I have prepared for various eventualities, and that I do not need to display them as proof of it.' she chided Tseran, as if this was fundamentally his fault.

 "In my modest defence, I would have happily taken you at your word had you merely said that you had papers... But the lesson was a worthwhile one. Do not brandish what you dare not do without." Tseran replies politely, keeping a close watch on Angel out of the corner of his eye, in case she should manage to get into further trouble - or get close enough to undertake a measure of payback for his less than entirely helpful 'help'.

"No one?" Angel replied with exaggerated shock. "How brave!" She added with a sly smile, now approaching closer to the thief. "Not very smart, mind you, but certainly brave. You must have a lot of confidence in the strength of that fine looking neck of yours," she continued, making sure the young cutpurse got a good look at her cloak as she used the information she'd read from his mind to good effect. "Oh but we'll learn that soon enough," she added with a dismissive wave of her hand, starting to turn away...

..."Unless of course you wish to make sure your taxes and dues are really paid in full," she concluded, letting the implied offer hang in the air for the thief to easily grasp.

The thief was briefly confused, evidently not expecting this response. Such as niceness. He nodded frantically, at least as much as he could with Aerin's claws at his throat. 'They are, they are! You can check your books— I'mma not saying you should, o' course, only it should all be there.' Then he dimly grasped her implication, promising 'But I'm always happy to help an officer.'

The dragonkin didn't fully get what was going on between her fool and the cutpurse, but it started to intrigue her. Since her sword arm didn't tire, the thief really was a feather-weight, she kept him hanging on, allowing Angel to play with the young man's misconception. This was fun.

Angel and Aerin continued to terrorise the hapless snatch-thief for a while, until it became clear that he really didn't know anything that could help them, that he wasn't a part of a conspiracy, and that he really just wanted to go back to his mother. At Angel's direction, Aerin dropped him, and he scurried off into the alleyways.

After that, Angel led the adventurers through the winding, night-darkened streets of Calaunt, where they heard disturbing screams and encountered more disturbing smells. They went up one much-graffitied but surprising tidy alley, where gang scrawls gave way to more complete paintings and dwarf runes. One painting depicted a drunken dwarf, quaffing a tankard with foam in his beard. 'Aha! So this is The Foamy Beard, where the dwarf mercenaries gather. Here we may make discreet inquiries about Dorn Hammerhand, or Dorn Crownshield as he calls himself.'

Set in one wall nearby was a plain iron door. Angel opened it, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward. The thump of music echoed out. 'After you.' Angel gestured in with an impish smile.

Going down, they found themselves in a fairly typical dwarven tavern, with low tables, lanterns casting orange light, rune art on the walls. A band played obscure local music. A wide selection of obscure craft beers were available, poured into glass jars with handles attached. The tavern was built into a repurposed human-built cellar, so the adventurers could at least stand up straight, even if they did loom over the seated patrons, who looked up suspiciously to them.

Looking around, there were two distinct types of clientele here. First, there were the dwarven mercenaries, grizzled fighters with bushy beards and eyebrows, with weapons at hand and clad in metal armour and the livery of clan, company, and the families they served. They grumbled and rolled at their eyes at the second sort: younger dwarves, in turtle-neck jumpers with thick-rimmed glasses and scrupulously neat shovel-shaped beards.

'Well, I warned you it would be an underground establishment.' Maelarra whispered.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:15, Sat 29 Sept 2018.

Aerin soon grew tired of the pathetic little thief and dropped him on his feet, following Angel to the tavern filled with dwarves. For a brief moment she stopped and took in the number of dwarves, never had she seen so many in one place. Then again, never had she been to a dwarven tavern. Shaking off her surprise, the dragonkin went over to the bar "Well met! - Tell me, which one is your strongest beer?" she asked, appearing like just another thirsty sellsword, which she remembered very well from her time with the Eridani Lighthorse Company.

The barkeeper, one of the neater and spectacled sort of dwarves, looked up at Aerin. 'Well met! Well, we have Old Smokey, a fine stout up from the Smoke Wyrm tavern in Ravens Bluff. But from right here in Calaunt we have Sceptre's Surprise, a regal dark beer; Cat's Pee and Pig's Swill, two sharp and cheeky little numbers; and Frothing at the Mouth, from our very own microbrewery.' They had some odd names, as beers went.

"I shall try the Frothing Mouth." she said, contracting the name because she didn't like to talk all that much. If she didn't like it, she could still switch to Old Smokey, which she remembered from her time in Raven's Bluff. Waving her companions over she told them "Come on over and order what you like, it's on me." then leaned her back towards the counter, surveying the room - perhaps she would recognize one of them, after all she had worked with some dwarves in Procampur, you never knew.

 To say that dwarf bars are not the first spot Tseran Tal'chiar would select were he looking to make himself comfortable in a new city is something of an understatement, and the lanky moon elf manages to barely avoid concussion on his way through the place on his way up to the bar in the wake of the Dragonborn lady - whose bulk and armour represent an excellent means of navigating a crowd.

 The selection of beverage however, represents a more awkward matter since he's reasonably certain that if he asks for wine he'll be offered a dozen or so distillations of mushrooms (despite the fact that many dwarf-holds have perfectly good vineyards available to them), leading to his inquiring - with an air of faint nostalgia "I don't suppose that, by any chance you should have Golden Sands Orange available here?"