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?"