Giving a faint smile, Teryn pulls his iridescent coin from his pocket and deposits it into the urchin's hand on a whim. Somehow a new one always ends up on his person at the end of the day, no matter how many times he gives it away. His patron's vague form of advertising perhaps.

The wiry urchin’s eyes light up, first at Ellanise’s silver coins, then at Teryn’s iridescent offering. He pockets them with practiced quickness—like a street cat darting for scraps—and regards the group with an almost conspiratorial air, “Generous lot, aren’t you? Right, let’s see… The storehouse in question sits at the far end of Driftwood Pier—the third wharf from the old breakwater, near a rotting sign that once read ‘McHanley’s Exports.’ Hardly readable now, but you’ll see a half-smashed crate propped beside the door. That’s the one.” He glances around, ensuring no passing dockworkers or hawk-eyed toughs overhear, then lowers his voice, “Word is, some shady folk’ve been meeting there after sundown. Could be shipments of exotic stuff, maybe more. Not a safe crowd, if I’m honest. Best go with your eyes open if you plan to poke around.”

Gaze flicking momentarily over Teryn’s iridescent coin, he raises an intrigued brow but keeps any questions to himself. Instead, he offers a small, crooked grin, “Pleasure doin’ business. If the place turns out too hot to handle, well… can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, he tugs the hood tighter over his lean frame, slips through a gap in the bustling crowd, and vanishes behind a row of fishmongers with the effortless grace of someone at home in these hectic streets.

Teryn watches the urchin disappear into the crowd, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Well,” he murmurs, slipping his hands into his pockets, “sounds like we’ll be stepping into a charming little den of intrigue.” His voice carries a hint of dry humor, but there’s a keen edge to his expression—he enjoys a good puzzle, and this one is unfolding into something particularly compelling.

He glances at the others, weighing their reactions. “Driftwood Pier, after sundown. Sounds like exactly the sort of place where discretion will serve us better than steel—at least at first.” His fingers idly trace the edge of another mundane coin in his pocket as he tilts his head, considering. “A little reconnaissance of the location beforehand might do us well. What do the rest of you think?"

Rowan gives a low chuckle, tapping his belt in a restless rhythm as he watches the urchin vanish into the crowd. “Seen plenty of seeds that looked promising but turned out to be all husk, if you get my drift,” he says. “Guy like that won’t be held to any guarantees—he’s just scatterin’ grain for whoever might peck at it. But since we’re short on other fields to sow, might be we gotta settle for what we’ve got.”

He glances at Teryn and nods, an uneasy grin on his face. “I’d say scoping the place out first is common sense—no sense just bustin’ in like we’re about to harvest a row we’ve never even planted. Let’s see the lay of the land before sundown. If it’s a rat’s nest, at least we’ll know where to place our feet.”

Ellanise slides her hair behind one pointed ear as she contemplates the situation. "I've got a conflict with going tonight," she says, looking first at Käinen, then at Teryn and the others. "I left a message asking an old acquaintance to meet me after dark. I'm hoping they might have information concerning the theft. I can't be in two places at once. It's possible I could do both, but I'm just not sure the timing will work out."

Teryn nods smoothly, keeping his expression neutral despite the slight prickle of suspicion at the back of his mind. He meets Ellanise’s gaze with his usual composed air, offering a small, understanding smile. “Fair enough,” he says, his tone light, giving no indication of his thoughts. “If your contact might have something useful, it’s worth pursuing. We’ll manage the warehouse in the meantime.”

Byldeth was patiently waiting for the others to return safely. He was fiddling with his fingers, humming as he stared around, keeping close toTeryn. anhd Ellanise. "Sorry if this may be disrespectful, but is your contact trustworthy? We need to be careful. As the professor said, we cannot scare the true thieves of our intentions."

"Also, i was thinking of something . . . if the enemy is a magic caster, could there be magic traps around their lair? If yes, we need to be twice as careful. We don't want a fireball being hurled directly onto our heads!"

Ellanise clearly hesitates in response to Byldeth's question of trustworthiness. "I cannot say. Mariel and I were close. At one time. But with the way things are now ..." She looks at the ground and gives a slight shake of the head. "To be honest, I'm not sure they'll come. And if they do, I'm not sure if they'll come as a friend or as a foe." The elf looks up again, slight sadness on her eyes, but she squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath. "I'm hopeful the meeting will be helpful."

Rowan chews the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, before nodding in Ellanise’s direction. “Does sound like we’re burnin’ daylight. A split might be our best shot,” he says, glancing around at the others. “If you get done with your meetin’ early, you could still slip over to that storehouse and lend us a hand. But if not…” He shrugs and shakes his head lightly. “No point in us hangin’ around your corner, especially if you’d rather meet your old friend on your own terms. Hard for us to help if things go sideways, I know, but I figure you’ve made peace with that risk.” He offers a small, understanding smile. “Better we follow both tracks—like planting seeds in two fields. One’s bound to sprout.”

Reaching into his robe, Teryn retrieves a small, finely crafted horn, no larger than his palm. “Here,” he says, offering it to Ellanise. “This is a Horn of Silent Alarm. A single blow, and you can alert one of us if something goes wrong...Ah, and don't worry; I thoroughly clean it after each use.” His silver eyes meet hers with quiet assurance. He leaves the offer at that, neither pressing nor prying further. Whatever history Ellanise shares with this contact, it’s hers to navigate—but now, she won’t have to do it entirely alone.

Ellanise looks at the horn, then back up at Teryn. He might be imagining it, but he thinks there is a slight bit of relief on her face. She reaches out and takes the horn from him, sliding it into a pocket. "Thank you," she says. She looks at the others. "When the time comes, I think I should go alone. As we don't know what awaits at the warehouse, it's better to have more of you there. Until then, do we want to go and check out the warehouse together so that you're more informed for tonight?"

Things didn’t come easy to Käinen so he was immediately surprised when the urchin appeared with the information they needed. It could be that the thieves were newcomers, with no friends or protectors in the city. But it also could be a trap. Considering that he once again sank into an observant silence.

“It’s good to know our patrons are in the clear.” He started after Ellanise mentioned the warehouse. If nothing else, they didn’t need to worry about a dagger on their back. “Company could backfire, be taken as a sign of hostility. We can’t know at this point.” The goliath nodded to the redhaired elf. “We are likely to need cavalry here.”

The words meant to ask for a expedite retrun but Käinen wouldn’t complain if Ellanise brought her friend. Even better if said friend had a crew of her own. Unlikely, said the voice of his mind. But a mercenary can hope.

“Teryn, correct me if I’m wrong, but you can sense if there is any magical trap, right?”  He asked, turning his eyes to the warlock. Hopefully the bandits didn’t cover traps with the hiding spell that bypassed the university’s wards.  “We should decide on a formation before arriving there.  If we’re going all in together or have a scout some feet ahead.”

Notes: Perception check (rolled in campaign log) = Nat 1. Käinen saw nothing strange with the kid.

Teryn nods, his expression thoughtful. “You’re right—I can sense any magical traps or wards before we walk into them,” he confirms. “I don’t mind going ahead to check. I’m good at slipping out of trouble if needed, and if the place is warded, I’ll have a better chance of spotting it before we’re seen.” His silver eyes flick between the others. “I won’t stray too far—just enough to give us a warning or a signal to move in.”

Rowan shifts his weight, tapping the side of his belt unconsciously. “I’ve a decent nose for danger, too—call it a knack from my wilder days.” (Rowan has advantage on Dex saves) He offers Teryn a small smile, then gestures at himself with a thumb. “Four eyes on the field might catch a snare two eyes would miss, yeah? What you say?”

Teryn chuckles, shaking his head at the thought of focusing so intently on magical traps only to blunder into a mundane one. “You make a fair point, Rowan. An extra set of eyes could be the difference between a clean approach and an embarrassing tumble.” He smirks, nodding in agreement. “Let’s scout together. We’ll catch anything waiting for us before it catches us.”

The late afternoon sun hangs low as you finalize your plans. Ellanise departs to keep her rendezvous with an old friend, her pace steady despite the undercurrent of uncertainty in her eyes. The remaining four—Teryn, Rowan, Byldeth, and Käinen—take a route through winding alleys and creaking wooden piers toward the weathered storehouse on Driftwood Pier. Even at this hour, the wharf is far quieter than the raucous bustle of midday; many traders and sailors have finished their sales and begun to pack up, leaving only sparse foot traffic and the occasional surly dockworker.

Teryn and Rowan lead the way, determined to scout the building’s perimeter for traps. Each mindful of their own role—Teryn to sense wards or abjurations, Rowan’s keen eye for hidden tripwires or shifting floorboards.

Byldeth and Käinen follow a short distance behind, ready to intervene if trouble arises. Their steady presence provides reassurance against unwelcome surprises.

The further you venture from the main docks, the more the wharf’s timbers show their wear. Gulls perch on rickety railings, the sea breeze carrying a faint tang of rotting wood and algae. A lone fisherman sits at the end of an abandoned pier, a far-off silhouette that pays you little heed. Shadows begin to lengthen on the boardwalk, and the occasional clamor of crates being shoved aside echoes from around a corner.

Eventually, you come upon “McHanley’s Exports”—or ,what’s left of it. The sign is indeed half-rotted and barely legible, just as the urchin described. A battered crate leans precariously against the sagging wooden wall. Boards are weathered gray, flecked with rusted nails. The door—wide enough for cargo—seems shut, though not obviously barred from the outside.

The immediate atmosphere shows no visible guards or sentries. A few scattered footprints in the grime—hard to tell if recent or leftover from prior tenants. The tide’s gentle lap under the pier underscores the quiet, giving each stray footstep a sense of amplified tension. You can almost picture it bustling with contraband activity after sundown. For now, in the late-afternoon light, it stands as a worn remnant of the harbor’s shifting fortunes. No one appears to be loitering nearby; if any watchers linger, they might be concealed in the warren of crates and alleyways.

Byldeth and Käinen keep an eye out in case an unexpected threat surface, eyes darting to each potential vantage point above the rooftops or behind stray barrels. In your peripheral vision, a lone dockhand pushes a handcart of crates down the pier in the opposite direction. He glances at your group briefly but keeps moving. If he’s suspicious, he doesn’t show it—Harbor workers have their own troubles to worry about.

Finding no immediate danger, you have time to plot your next move. None of you spot any soul actively occupying the storehouse, but that absence in broad daylight hardly guarantees it remains empty once darkness sets in.

Farther from the docks’ brine, Ellanise navigates the city’s backstreets, the sky overhead streaked with the first warm hues of dusk. Each turn carries her deeper into familiar pockets of Luminaar’s underbelly. For now, she remains unseen and unnoticed, knowing she can call on Teryn’s horn for a silent alarm if trouble emerges, but the approach remains hers to decide.

With each passing minute, the city begins to transition into its evening tempo.

Teryn kneels near the edge of the storehouse, fingers tracing absent patterns in the air as he begins the ritual to cast Detect Magic. The words spill softly from his lips, half-whispered, half-sung—a strange, lilting melody that seems to vibrate just at the edge of hearing. It’s not a song in any common tongue, nor does it hold any recognizable rhythm; rather, it flows like rippling water, shifting in tones that don’t quite belong to this world. The sound curls into the air, weaving through the late afternoon hush like a spectral echo.

As he works, his silver eyes take on a faint glow, the arcane sight preparing to peel away the mundane and reveal what lingers unseen. He’s in no rush—his focus remains steady, deliberate, as he lets the ritual unfold at its own pace. A flicker of amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth as he hums, half-aware of the occasional glance from the others. “Patience,” he says lightly, voice edged with quiet amusement. “Wouldn’t want to miss something nasty tucked away just out of sight.”

When the final syllables of the incantation fade, he exhales, the spell settling over his senses like a second veil of perception. His gaze sweeps the weathered building with renewed clarity, searching for any lingering auras of magic—wards, hidden enchantments, or the remnants of past arcane workings.

Perception if needed: 21

Rowan hoists the battered crate high on his shoulder (one he picked up on their way), projecting a casual air of a dockhand on legitimate business. “Reckon it’s better if I look like I’m just another fella doing a quick drop-off,” he mutters, his voice pitched low for Teryn and the others. Fingers tap habitually against his belt, a subconscious habit that settles his nerves.

He approaches the building’s main entrance at a measured pace, pausing briefly as if shifting the weight of the crate. Eyes flick over the worn door, across the sagging timbers, and along the edges of the threshold for any suspicious markings or wires. A crust of dried mud here, a stray scuff there—small details that might hint someone’s been nosing around recently.

“Hmm,” he murmurs under his breath, slowing near a loose plank to crouch just enough for a closer look—all the while acting like he’s adjusting the load on his shoulder. Even at a glance, he’s searching for hidden triggers, fresh tool marks, or the faintest sign of a makeshift guard post. Whatever trifling details a casual observer might ignore, Rowan sifts through them, senses alert to any threat that might lie just beneath the surface.

Unless he is spotting anyone lying in wait, he flashes a quick, easy smile back at Byldeth and Käinen as if to say, So far, so good—no fox in this henhouse yet. Then he resumes his dockworker charade, holding his ground at the threshold, ready for Teryn’s signal in case the warlock’s incantation uncovers something arcane lurking behind that weathered door.

Perception: 9
Deception: 20

The day had passed quickly. In fact, sundown snuck up on and surprised Ellanise. Instead of having the time to go with the others to do reconnaissance at the warehouse before going it alone to hopefully meet up with Mariel, the female elf set off immediately to wait for what she hoped would be an advantageous rendezvous.

Though she and Mariel had only been to the Waking Kraken a few times, it was somewhere Ellanise knew Mariel would remember. The last time they had been there had been quite enjoyable — if destructive. She had more than a hangover the next day, but nothing had been broken ... except for a few chairs and one particularly surly dwarf's nose.

Sliding into the small tavern on the edge of the harbor, Ellanise orders a cheap drink at the bar and then finds an empty table from which she can watch the door. She casts a spell on the murky liquid, improving its flavor.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

Byldeth stands far, but still near enough to keep them on sight and run to aid should something happened. He crossed his arms, looking around. ". . . Do you think we are too suspicious being here? Should we try to act like we are doing something else? like . . . talking? buying something? Fishing?" He said, looking around the pier