Erudisia listens to Little One’s answer and although it takes her a moment she rouses, flipping one cucumber up so that she can look at him from the side of her eye. Though he is without his headband, and though he is without his anger, the Little One she knows — his curiosity — remains. 

“Air D is good. Air D is apt. What is an exfoliator?”

”Do you know that when snakes grow, they become too large for their skin, and unlike us they must shed their skin to continue growing? They find a rock and wiggle and wiggle until they escape the limitation that kept them small and leave the skin behind.”

”An exfoliator is what we use in the spa to help us clean our rough skin away. While we do, we think about what roughened our skin, and what we learned and how we’ve grown, and the skin comes away but the wisdom and growth remains. It might not make us bigger on the outside, but we come out the other side smoother and stronger, just like the snake.” 

Rather than growing agitated and incensed by Erudisia’s explanation, the ogre merely squinches his face in concentration. One cucumber bends then snaps crisply, the halves flipping into the air. One of the orc women grunts, whacks Little One roughly—he doesn’t seem to notice— and replaces the broken slice with a new one before continuing the massage.

“Haha. Sound like dumb thing. Why worry about skin?,” the ogre grumbles, laughing.

But a minute later, he picks up the thread again. “Maybe Little One can grow. Be smart without headband. Someday. Maybe exfo-late help. Come, Air D show.” He rolls over and jabs Erudisia gently in the shoulder with a sausage-sized forefinger. “Show.”

Air D removes her cucumbers and looks at him. She asks her own masseuse. “What is next here, do we have any exfoliating activities after this?”

“Yes, Milady,” she answers… (I’ll leave it to you all to describe the remainder of the spa activities. Not sure if the montage should be accompanied by “Girls just wanna have fun” or “Overture to the Marriage of Figaro.”

Bell & Meredith join if you wish!)

Air D née Erudisia enjoys a whirlwind of spa activities with Little One — answering such questions he asks as well as her mental gymnastics can manage — until they reunite with the others, and move onto lunch and the rest of their itinerary. 

Meredith eventually works out that Bell has actually fallen asleep in the steam room and is unsure what to do, she hovers uncertainly for half an hour or so but eventually somewhat timorously places a hand on Bells shoulder and wakes her.

" Lets go see what the others are up to....", she sighs and heads off to find Erudisia and Little One trailing them about the place a little listlessly...until it is time to leave.

Bell wakes with a start and looks around like she forgot where she was.  Skin flushed red and drenched in sweat, she focuses on Meredith's face, "Isn't this where we run over and dunk into the cold pool to close our pores?  At least I think that is what the attendant said."

Stumbling forward like a limp noodle, she will shuffle over to the 'cold dip' pond and slip a toe into the pool to see just how cold the water is.   With a small shriek and a curse at just how cold it felt, she worked up her courage; squeezed her eyes shut and leapt in -- literally,  'taking the plunge'.    Barely a second later, she popped to the surface and splashed in place.  "It's not so bad once you get fully dunked!"  (( NOT! ))

Thankfully, when she climbed out, there was a pile of fluffy, warm towels to dry off and wrap up in.  All comfy as she waited for Meredith to join her.  "Who thought up these tortures and called them 'spa treatments?"

Meredith keeps her eyes firmly focused on the floor during the entire plunge pool scenario...

A little later having changed back into street clothes and processing a bunch of unspoken statements, queries and confessions they meet back up with Erudisia.

" Lunch?", Meredith said quietly.

“Lunch!” Says Erudisia. 

(Happy to assume Lunch was fun and skip ahead to the magic shops if you all are.)

(Let’s just briefly touch on lunch and introduce Alicia Silverstone, er, Alana Silversheld)

We cut to a table in the feasting room at Three Old Kegs, where you are at lunch with the richest young woman in the city, Alana Silverstone. Catastrophe at first seemed likely, for the inn, while comfortably furnished and large – five full stories plus a basement -- as it turns out, has only a very small kitchen and most of its guests eat their meals elsewhere. Indeed, the only food to be had is a dark, nutty malt bread which not everyone likes. The rumor that it was a good place for a meal proves false.

Little One ventured elsewhere for his meal and plunked down on an old stump nearby, eating street food and reading a book. The elite of Baldur’s Gate give him a wide berth despite his amiable smiles.

In Three Old Kegs, you learned that though the menu is non-existent, the wine cellar is expansive. You made the best of the situation, as you awaited the young Lady Silverstone’s arrival, by sending a message boy out for a round of piquant cheese and apples, and thus, the luncheon happily proceeded.

Your group of four shares the room with some of the inn’s other guests seated at intervals, themselves reading, or napping, or engaged in low-stakes gambling downstairs.

Alana sits with perfect posture, though her shoulders seem to relentlessly slump. The seventeen year-old has dark brown hair, very fine, which creates a sort of aura around her head though it mostly falls stylishly to one side. Her complexion, like her father’s, is, in a word, terrible. Erudisia knows that in recent years, Alana’s acne has been a true blight on her social calendar, and she will have credited her availability for lunch on short notice to a continuation of this sad state of affairs.

When Alana speaks, even in bright admiration for Erudisia, her tone is tinged with sadness.

“I was so, so happy to get your note, sweet Erudisia!,” she says, brimming with bittersweet excitement. “You must tell me everything that has happened since I last saw you!”

A little oblivious to the slight melancholy in her friend, the finer glassware and fittings of the surrounding furniture tremble as Erudisia lets out a high pitched squeal of delight on seeing the heiress that few other than a thunder aligned warlock might be capable of producing, before sweeping her up in a hug. 

Seated, after introductions, Erudisia begins to answer Alana’s question. Unusually, Erudisia’s hair is not in a long plait but free, hanging to the curve of her back, after the spa, and she flips it over one shoulder now in preparation for her answer. To the Scholars at Lunch, it is almost as if her melodic accent has changed to something more ‘Sword Coast’, so quickly does she speak. 

“Ugh! Where do I even start, you’re going to be completely bugging when I get to the last few days. But, let me like start at the start!”

And so Erudisia advises of her trip to Candlekeep, and meeting Blueschist—“and he said he was no artist, but he was totally hiding some way ginormous talent because I saw his sketches and he completely and totally drew them, I’m certain”—and the lions they saw, the process of entering Candlekeep, the failed performance—“and they rejected it! It was like Third Sundering level awful! Way, way, way harsh!”—meeting Rogi, and Little One and Bell and Meredith, and the dangers of the extra-dimensional space—“The bookcase bit me, I swear to Corellon. So, obviously I don’t want to be a traitor to books or scholarship or whatever but I was completely done with ledgers and reading that day, and guess what the Archduke of Air made me do. Oh my Evermeet, it was the absolute worst!”—if she pauses for breath it’s near impossible to notice. She speeds through the aftermath of the mansion and the formation of Scholar’s Shield (“You mean to tell me you argued your way into a permanent role there?”)—“Based on nothing but our powers or persuasion, totally! Anyway so then we headed here! And let me tell you we met this bugging little magistrate and this infuriating Paladin of Hell or Helm or Hym or one of your human gods or something, and I don’t want to be a traitor to our generation but why are there like no handsome men who dress well today and don’t have hair that looks like they just put their helmet on in the morning and call it good, you know?”—she talks through Mushika only in the shortest terms knowing how recent that wound is for all of them, and the Wide and then talks about the Casino. Of Togglepocket, the Devil, and the Heist she offers not even a hint of clue, only talking about it in the terms of a night out ruined by an accidental fall into the water and then the chaos of the robbery and their leaving.

”I was totally clueless! So we came back here, dropped our new friend off at home (Oh! Marliza! You’d totally love her, she dresses so amazingly, like this yellow mini-skirt, I’d never manage in a million epochs!!) after helping her ditch this totally rat-faced nasty dude who was pouring absolute honey down her ear but he was actually completely vinegar and like so old, and then we went to the spa and then to see you. Hot Rocks, yeah. It was way serene!”

She flicks her hair towards Little One, “Also, my scholar name is Air D now, because I’m like really good with Air magic and because I’m the fourth member of our little quartet. It’s a super smart name. Like, I love it.”

Bell sits in stunned silence.  Who was this person and how were they channeling their personality through Erudisia?

Merediths mood picks up a bit as an unexpected side of of Erudisia bursts forth.....though now that Meredith thinks back she thinks it was possibly always there even as she appreciates it is a mirror held up.....she wonders perhaps if a similar mirror is held up when speaking with her and Bell and decides it doesn't really matter.

She nudges Bell with her foot to try and shake her from her staring....

Alana is at pains to school her features into a placid, aloof expression in keeping with her upbringing. Indeed, at intervals, her mouth drops wide open and her hands leap up to cover it, or her eyes burst wide in wonderment. She actually stands up in agitation at one point, then feigns at adjusting the fold of her skirt beneath her before daintily taking her seat again.

“That story is so sick. It’s sickening. I’m so lucky you dropped the tea on me and, like, I can’t believe you’re such a wicked wess!,” she responds at intervals, under her breath, to effectively ensure no one other than you three hear her.

“Oh, I’ve been so busy here, with suitors calling, and my father continuously postponing my cotillion, but he’s so in-and-out of town, and he so wants to be there.” A lie. A friendly and kindhearted lie, told so that Erudisia won’t have to worry. In truth, Erudisia knows that Alana is surrounded by a sea of jealous girls envious of her family name and wickedly unforgiving of her faults -- most especially, of her acne. Erudisia knows that Alana has tried various expensive remedies, but ultimately, it is a strongly ingrained family trait on her father’s side, and only time will tell if it ever improves. She herself has postponed her own cotillion time and again, for she is self-conscious and certain not only of attracting no boys, but of being viciously teased to boot. 

Time passes and stories and small talk are exchanged, and the bond of friendship is maintained. The young Miss Silvershield thanks Erudisia for the invitation once again, nods in a friendly though aloof way to Meredith and Bell, and departs. She steps up onto her gilded carriage and is driven home.

Not long thereafter, you find Blueschist’s shop. “Wanderings” it is called, and you find the door to be locked. You peek through the glass to see an assortment of interesting items. Furnishings, bookcases filled with books, and objects d’art of all shapes, sizes and provenance fill the spacious showroom, but only a single small magical candle flickers in its center. A sign in large, perfect handwriting on the door indicates that Blueschist will return in a tenday.

It is late in the afternoon by the time you reach Sorcerous Sundries on Murl’s Rest Plaza in Heapside.

The shop is a tall, round building, easily recognizable amid its surroundings. Its domed roof appears from the outside to be made entirely of multi-colored stained glass. Only when you enter do you find that it is actually supported by internal stone buttresswork. It is a beautiful place indoors, for the light that enters through the domed roof throws its hues against clear whitestone walls, a glowing painting of rainbow color that moves with the sun.

The ground floor of the shop, the only area in which patrons are permitted, is decorated with opulent furniture, rugs and silk curtains. Many of these are inscribed with arcane symbols that, according to signage, offer protection to its patrons. On tables sit thousands of finely made tiny drawers in richly varnished dark wood cabinets boasting an enormous variety of spell components…

Erudisia finishes rebraiding her hair into its customary tight plait as they enter, finishing her conversation with Bell as she crosses the threshold “—a mixture of saltpeter, potash, and some other thing. Fine metals can change the colours and create blooms of light with only a slight application of metal that flicker with similar colours to the fine glasswork. But, yes, I find colour an incredibly intriguing phenomenon.” No ‘ways’ or ‘likes’ pepper her speech. 

She looks around Sorcerous Sundries, taking in its patrons, its organisation, and its ambience. If there is a section for magical focuses or Rods, she will head there. 

Meredith takes in the colorful shop but stays close to Bell as Erudisia seems to know what she's looking for.

"Back home, we did not have makers or manipulators of glass or constructing glassworks.  This is amazing construction and artistry," Bell stares up at the interior and it's multicolored splendor.

Turning in a slow circle, Bell muses outloud, "I wonder if they have incense here.  I have been thinking about a find familiar ritual I have written down in my spellbook.  I keep thinking it might help, though I am unsure if the incense dictates what sort of familiar responds or not." 

She so wants to touch visible items but shoves her hands into her armpits and clamps down her arms to keep herself from the temptation.   "Look with your eyes; not with your fingers," she mutters to herself.

A voice answers Bell’s musings from knee level.

“Of course we have a variety of incense, imported and local. Do you have a favored fragrance for find familiar?”

A gnome, with an eight-pointed cap of soft fabric, complete with tassel, springs with surprising — nay, impossible — alacrity to land lightly on his toes atop one of the nearby tables to bring himself to your eye level. 

“Do you need a brazier as well, for we have a number on hand for a range of budgets.”

He awaits your answer with a grin, head tilted confidently.

Are the eight tassels different colours or the points marked with different arcane symbols, Erudisia peers?

Quote from NycrolB >>

Are the eight tassels different colours or the points marked with different arcane symbols, Erudisia peers?

 
(Just a single tassel and no symbols on the hat’s exterior except a tailor’s signature embroidered in golden thread. )