Donir grumbles as he stirs awake, turning onto his side. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he stumbles over to his bag and signals his homunculus to look around inside, in case anything of value was lost.

"I believe the contents of my bags were about to be liberated, buit then that is of little concern, since I am not in possession of our artefact."  He look out into the darkness, as much as his eyes will permit him, and shrugs.

"I see no point in chasing something that can hide better than myself.  Double watches for the rest of the night?"

‘It might be a scouting party for some other fiend, I’d recommend we set out. Since most of us see well in the dark, we can lead the horses. Plus, if I’m being honest, I’d rather not be a sitting target for an invisible attacker…’

“I wager the point of the engagement was Gwyn’s hair. A sorcerer is close by who wishes to keep tabs on our movements with magic of far seeing would be my guess. Fargoth, come? Let us see what there is to see. I don’t think they’ll be too far,” says Brevig, as, unarmored but with shield & morning star in hand, he heads off briskly in the direction the imp flew (dash). The next round, he tries to be quiet. After several rounds, he casts Detect evil, which will point him to any fiend within 60’. 

Stealth 11

73, 20, 77

The party takes stock of their belongings and confirms that nothing, other than a length of Gwin's hair, has been taken. Brevig dashes eastward into the darkness, estimating the flight path of the imp as he goes. After stopping at the base of a large fir tree, he quiets his breathing and focuses his divine sense on locating the fiend.

The paladin immediately senses the presence of evil, and a moment later he is certain of its location: nearly directly above him, in a neighboring fir tree, the imp is perched on a branch approximately 40' up. Brevig's short dash through the trees wasn't as quiet as he hoped, so he is rather certain the imp is aware of his presence. The fiend, however, makes no movement.

NOTE: this imp is NOT the creature with Gwin's hair. To the best of the Patrin's knowledge, that creature fled northward.

“There you are,” says Brevig as he steps into the open, then utters a prayer to Amaunator. A beam of silvery moonlight shoots up the tree the imp is perched upon, bathing the tiny fiend in celestial fire. If it loses consciousness and falls, Brevig tries to catch it. If it loses consciousness but doesn’t fall, he thumps the tree to make it fall and catches it, holding firmly.

Acation: cast moonbeam, 3rd level. 5’cylinder from 20’ above ground to 60’ above ground, centered on the Imp’s height. Brevig wants to bring the creature to 0HP, then restrain it and Lay On Hands or, if necessary, revivify it right away. He does not wish to kill the Imp.

Moonbeam damage: 14, CON 15 save to take 1/2 damage.

The imp emits a shriek of pain and fury. The moonbeam's damage breaks the fiend's concentration, causing it now to become fully visible. Surprisingly, the imp neither fights nor flees.

"By the tail of Bael, you paladins are a damnable lot!" declares the imp, glaring down at Brevig. "If you wish to have my attention, Mr. Moonbeam"--which the imp utters with scornful sarcasm--"then you need only to ask."

The fiend shakes its head in disgust and mutters something under its breath about stinging Brevig in the neck if given the chance. Regarding the magical column of light, the imp then adds, "And please turn off this wholly unnecessary show of illumination now that all of Faerun knows of your special talent."

“Plainly I already had your attention before producing my incantation, Imp,” Brevig’s bright baritone rings out. “Your attention matters nothing to me. Your truthful answers may save your life, on the other hand. Tell me why I should not send your tiny evil wickedness to Baatos  straight away? As for Faerun, the land would thank me — though modestly — for ridding it if your impotent nuisance-creating insolence, and cares naught about my talents. So my radiance will continue to shine until you’ve given me reason to discontinue it.”

Brevig shifts the sparkling cylinder of silver light three feet to his left, so that it’s edge is mere inches from the tiny fiend. 
“Tell me honestly who or what took a lock of my friend’s hair, and why. And be quick, for my spell won’t last forever and I am loathe to waste its divine energies without employing it in the destruction of — some paltry evil — at the least.” 

The imp spits at the silvery moonbeam and replies, "Pompous preachy paladin! How much do you pay the others to endure your dreadful presence?"

The fiend then flaps its wings and descends to the ground where it stands a mere ten feet from Brevig. "A lock of hair? Is that what he took? It seems I've been bested then."

Chuckling softly to itself for a moment, the imp seems mildly amused by what Brevig has revealed. "My dear friend Pugnug and I were engaged in a harmless competition. Nothing more. The two of us were to sneak into your camp and steal something. The one who steals the most impressive item wins. Clearly, I am empty handed. So, dear old Pugnug has won. I suppose I could convince him to return the lock of hair."

The imp says the last sentence with a noticeable tone of impudence. "Now you must see how unreasonable your response has been."

“A child’s game, then. Amaunator is forgiving of the innocent who transgress — even so far as to impose upon the sanctity of another’s body. Alas, you are plainly neither a child nor innocent. Seemingly, rather you are a puny and joyless narcissist, convinced of the rightness of your doings and indisposed to regret or learning. Though your powers may be small, your soul is capable of great harm. HAve you considered that, some other traveler may be consigned to a grim fate were your game to result in the loss of an item crucial to their survival.

”And yet for reasons of my own, I will show you mercy. If you will call your friend, return what you have taken, and pester evil creatures rather than good in the future, I will not harm you.”

The paladin’s spotlight dissipates. 

“Indeed, if you do as I ask, I will heal the damage I caused you by invoking my divine radiance upon you.”

"Insufferable," remarks the imp before calling out to Pugnug by saying something in Infernal. 

Pugnug alights next to his fellow fiend a minute later, and the two of them have a mildly heated exchange. Whatever is being said, however, remains a mystery to Brevig for the entire conversation takes place in Infernal. When the two imps fall silent, Pugnug opens his fist and drops a coil of hair on the ground. 

"There you have it," remarks the first imp. "Farewell then?"

“May your paths lead to less mischief,” says Brevig curtly, and locks eyes with the first Imp until it departs, and if necessary motions for him to fly away. Once they have left, the Watcher picks up the strands of hair, careful to collect them all if possible, and returns to the camp. 
(OOC: Brevig is still able to see invisible, duration is one hour.)

Quote from DandDSince1973 >>

“May your paths lead to less mischief,” says Brevig curtly, and locks eyes with the first Imp until it departs, and if necessary motions for him to fly away. Once they have left, the Watcher picks up the strands of hair, careful to collect them all if possible, and returns to the camp. 
(OOC: Brevig is still able to see invisible, duration is one hour.)

 (OOC: almost forgot, if the Imp wants healing Brevig will Lay on Hands up to full HP)

Fargoth watches Brevig return as he casually tosses and catches his new dagger, getting a feel for its weight and balance.  He raises an eyebrow as the paladin approaches.  "All is well?"

The two imps depart, but Brevig's offer of healing is refused. "I'll not grant you the chance to be smug about your almighty goodness by healing a pathetic little devil," it remarks as it flies off with Pugnug. 

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Moongleam Tower is reached late the next day, and the Harper stewards of the place are just as helpful as before, including their commitment to avoid asking questions about the party's business. You are thanked for returning the horses healthy and whole and are assured their services will be at your disposal should you ever return. 

The teleportation from Everlund to Waterdeep is no less unsettling the second time. In Waterdeep, you find yourself again in the room below the crypt. The only difference is the attending mage; this time it's a bookish halfling named Kip. He welcomes you briefly, asks no questions, and leads you to the exit.

The walk to Radimus Hall--Sarime's residence--is done in the damp cold and dark, but at least the journey is brief. Despite the late hour, Sarime's servant is ready to welcome you. The leader of the Knights of Samular joins you in the library a quarter of an hour later. She cannot hide the sense of relief on her face when she sees the five of you. Nor can she hide the look of inquisitiveness as she waits to hear your tale...

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When your synopsis of the past week has concluded, Sarime explains her concern about the apparent sentience of Dhamab and the meddling of the two imps. That the weapon has a will and an ability to communicate was unknown to the Halls of Justice. Furthermore, Sarime agreed with  Patrin's suggestion that Gwin's hair might have been intended for a scrying spell. 

After the conversation, she leads you to the basement level of Radimus Hall, where Donir's homunculus is tasked to place Dhamab in a small vault constructed of stone and lead. "It shall be kept safely here while you continue the search for the others," explains Sarime. 

As the blade is placed within the vault, everyone in the room receives the same telepathic message: Wield me. Elsewise he will come. 

Sarime insists that Radimus Hall provide your lodging and meals until you depart for the Sunset Mountains in search of Badrizar Nath.

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Themius and Merranock are  present at Radimus Hall when you depart. It is the gregarious halfling who explains the arrangements for your travels to the southern reaches of Faerun. "A ride of three days on the Trade Way, south to Daggerford. We'll provide the horses, of course. Speak with the blacksmith Edo; he'll explain the details regarding your airborne journey to the south. Yes! Airborne, indeed."

"Hippogriffs," adds Themius. "I pray they will bear you swiftly and safely."

(I'll advance the story when any questions have been answered and all character sheets are level 10 ready)

Brevig responds with grim regret to Sarime’s statement that she agreed with the theory that the lock of hair was stolen in order to facilitate a scrying spell.

”And yet, never have I met an Imp which was also so convincing a liar, if it was indeed reporting to a higher authority. But why surrender the lock of hair so easily. Why did the Imp not fight harder for its life, for I could have extinguished it in another moment’s time — no, both of them, for they were close within my grasp. And why not simply try again, for they were nearly successful. And did I in fact thwart them? Perhaps they kept some of the prize for themselves knowing I had no way of determining exactly how many hairs they had cut. It is concerning. But for the moment I am relieved to relinquish the blade and leave its threatened curse in the hands of those whose powers exceed my own. Farewell my captain. With the grace of Amaunator, we will return with the second feather before long, and perhaps some of these questions will find answers in the interim.”

Patrin sighs, looking worried and more than a little weary - despite his injuries being fully healed, physically at least. ‘If the imps were acting at the behest of someone, or something, you realise that it likely means they knew we’d be there..? We may need to tighten operational security even further, given the possibility of a spy…’

He looks around ‘It wouldn’t hurt to assume we’re being tracked and have been betrayed, given the stakes.’ He looks at Gwin ‘It might be advisable for you to take a walk while we’re planning, as we move forward…?’ 

Gwin nods at Patrin, I'm sure you're right. I guess you could say I've got a wild hair, the cleric says with a weary chuckle. I'll be over here out of ear shot if anyone needs me.

As flight is mentioned, Donir's normally cheery face falls. "Hippogriffs...? I'm barely competent enough to ride a horse, is this really necessary? Even if we don't encounter opposition up there, I feel as if I'll end up meeting my fate plastered against the hard ground."

“Thank you Themius,” answers Brevig, “we are forever indebted. I will ride my own steed, Ashento, but an extra mount may prove helpful if you can spare one.”