As "Grathna" joins the table, the hooded man turns his head slightly, just enough to glance in their direction without being obvious about it. His reaction is subtle — his fingers pause on his glass for a fraction of a second before he resumes his slow, measured movements. He doesn't stiffen, doesn't bolt, but for someone as observant as Shenua, Iromae, or Diego, that brief hesitation is a tell.
He knows the name.
However, his expression remains neutral, and he takes a sip of his drink before returning his attention to the room at large. If the appearance of "Grathna" has unnerved him, he's doing an excellent job of hiding it. But he hasn't left yet.
Meanwhile, the real Grathna is still at the Artisan's Guild. If the hooded man is aware of that — or if he's ever interacted with the real her — it could complicate things.
Also, remember that disguise self only changes ones appearance — not their voice, accent or mannerisms. Vorenus's performance check rolled by yours truly was an 11.
Realizing this man at least recognizes Grathna's name is certainly one clue pointing towards this being the person they were looking for. Iromae worries though that by not just leaving the man alone they have spoiled the trap they had set. At this point though, she can only continue to play along. "I really thought Grathna would get here later," she tells the others, hoping that she doesn't choose this moment to actually join them. "You must have been pretty happy with all the work."
Shenua notices the slight shift in the hooded man's behavior. So, he knows Grathna? The artificer wonders if the half-orc's presence might make him leave, as it would mean one less person watching over the planar stabilizer at the Guild. But what if he leaves and finds the real Grathna there? If only there was a way to warn her not to come to the tavern and to leave the Guild altogether. But the only way Shenua can think of would require someone to leave, and that would be too noticeable.
With few options left, the tiefling decides to keep engaging the fake Grathna. Perhaps that will convince the man to leave. What happens after that is beyond her reach. If they are lucky, he may end up using magic to enter the room with the stabilizer, bypassing the usual routes and avoiding the real Grathna entirely.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Shenua looks at Vorenus-Grathna and says, "So, I imagine you must be itching to test the planar stabilizer now that we've fixed it. When should we do that? How about in an hour or so? Most of the guild members will have left by then, and we’ll be completely alone. That would be safer, don’t you think?"
Diego almost reading Shenua's mind, an hour? Sounds good. he stands and looks around the table, if you'll excuse me, I noticed my G string was a little flat on that last song, I'll run back to my room right fast and change it out. Back in a flash.
Diego turns for the door. If he makes it out without incident then he'll head back to the guild to try to catch Grathna.
As "Grathna" makes her appearance, an unease stirs beneath the tavern’s lively din. At first, it's subtle — an off-kilter note in the room’s energy. But after the initial greetings to the disguised newcomer, a quiet distress cuts through.
A wiry half-elf at a nearby table, his ink-stained fingers shaking, suddenly pales. His hand fumbles for his tankard, knocking it over instead.
He coughs, then groans, clutching his stomach as his skin takes on a sickly hue. His companions — two others dressed like scribes — turn to him in alarm.
"Rassel? Are you —?" one begins, but Rassel barely manages a weak shake of his head before doubling over with a pained grunt.
The disturbance draws a few eyes, including those of the dragonborn waitress, who mutters something under her breath before hurrying over. The hooded man glances in that direction as well, though his gaze flickers briefly back to "Grathna" before settling on the stricken scribe. His posture remains calm, but the pause in his movements is telling — he recognizes the name, or at least it means something to him.
Diego almost reading Shenua's mind, an hour? Sounds good. he stands and looks around the table, if you'll excuse me, I noticed my G string was a little flat on that last song, I'll run back to my room right fast and change it out. Back in a flash.
Diego turns for the door. If he makes it out without incident then he'll head back to the guild to try to catch Grathna.
Scratch this please. Let me think in these newer developments and I'll amend.
Seeing the commotion, Shenua jerks upright in her chair and hurries to the other table, where Rassel is looking sicker by the moment.
"What is going on!? Has anyone messed with his drink?" she asks, glancing at her friends with concern. Is there anything they can do? The tiefling can cure physical wounds, but this doesn’t seem like something so simple—could it be poison?
Reaching for a napkin—just in case there’s something wrong with the tankard itself—she picks it up and inspects its contents before taking a long sniff. Does the drink smell off?
(Investigation: 12)
Shenua then shows the tankard to Iromae, "Grathna" and Diego, in case they can notice anything she has missed.
“Oh, why look at that. Poor fellow. Maybe he has a stomach bug or something. Some bad fish. I hope he feels better soon! So, anyway, where were we?” In a lower voice, a whisper to Diego, Shenua and Ironmae, “Did he notice? Perhaps someone should go tell G not to come here, tell what we are doing…”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Diego whispers back, I'm a little concerned with leaving now, Vorenus keep them safe, I'll be back. Diego uses the commotion to slip away and out of the tavern, making his way back to the guild hall.
As Diego slips out of the tavern, the scene around the sickly half-elf escalates. Rassel’s breathing grows more labored, his fingers twitching as he grips the edge of the table. His companions try to help, one of them pressing a hand against his forehead.
"He's burning up," the scribe murmurs, glancing around frantically. "Someone, get a healer!"
The dragonborn waitress arrives at the table, frowning as she takes in the scene. Her golden eyes flick toward the spilled drink and Shenua, who is sniffing at the now-empty container, before narrowing at Rassel’s companions. “Did he eat or drink anything different from the rest of you?” she asks, already scanning the tabletop for clues.
One of the scribes shakes their head. “No, we all had the same wine —” They pause, looking at the overturned tankard. “Except ... he did take a sip from his ale before we did.”
At this, the dragonborn’s gaze flickers around the room, as if searching for any unusual behavior. The momentary sweep lingers ever so slightly on the hooded man — not an accusation, but a natural scan of the scene. The figure remains still, lifting his drink in a slow, deliberate motion. His posture is too controlled, his reaction too calculated.
Shenua detects nothing out of the ordinary with the scent.
Meanwhile, a couple of other patrons have started paying attention. Some cast wary glances toward the sick scribe, others shift uncomfortably in their seats. A few even look toward the door, considering leaving before things get worse.
Vorenus, still in the guise of Grathna, senses an opportunity. The hooded man's reaction to "Grathna’s" arrival was subtle, but it was there. Now, as he watches Rassel suffer, something flickers in his expression — calculation, recognition, or perhaps mild amusement. It’s hard to tell.
As the situation escalates, Shenua’s concern deepens."I can’t heal this man, I can’t remove poison. Iromae, can you?"she asks the cleric. Then, turning sharply to the dragonborn, she commands, "Quickly, bring some ice. We need to keep his fever under control."
Frustrated that she's smelled nothing obvious in the tankard, she sets its down with a huff and turns her focus to the spilled drink. She sniffs at it too and, desperate to find a clue, she dips a clawed finger into the liquid and brings it to her mouth. Anything strange about the taste? (Investigation: 22)
Shenua’s anger flares as the hooded man sits calmly, sipping his wine, indifferent to Rassel’s struggle for life. She snaps at him, "You! In the counter! Are you just going to sit there, or can you actually do something to help?"
Iromae is slow to react but soon comes up alongside the dragonborn waitress to look at the man. "I am a cleric. Umm, more of a scholar but I might be able to heal some." Offering a quick prayer to Deneir, she asks for guidance in helping this man. She then checks him over to see if she can determine what to do. (Medicine: 25+3=28)
The words of her Cure Wounds are on the tip of her tongue, ready to use if the man seems to be slipping away at all.
The dragonborn waitress, though taken aback by Shenua’s sudden command, reacts swiftly. She turns on her heel and strides toward the bar, calling for ice. The kitchen staff, now aware of the commotion, scrambles to assist.
Meanwhile, Shenua dips her finger into the spilled ale and cautiously tastes it. Nothing. No bitterness, no odd texture, no hint of anything unusual. It’s just ale. The frustration gnaws at her — how could he be poisoned if the drink itself seems fine?
Iromae, now fully focused on Rassel, places her hands gently on his trembling shoulders. Her prayer to Deneir flows effortlessly, her connection to divine knowledge sharpening her mind as she assesses him. The cleric immediately recognizes the signs: this isn’t a common poison from spoiled food or tampered drinks. This is a toxin working its way through his system — one not naturally occurring. It’s magical.
Her insight sharpens. The poison isn’t from the drink — it was introduced to his body through other means. Residual traces of magic still cling to him like fading embers. Whatever afflicted him did so in a way that bypassed ingestion altogether.
Shenua’s outburst draws attention from multiple patrons, but the hooded man barely reacts. He swirls his wine slowly in his cup before finally, lazily, shifting his gaze to her. His voice is smooth, with a hint of amusement.
“Me? What do you expect me to do, tiefling?” His lips curl ever so slightly in a smirk. “If you think this is my doing, perhaps you should consider how it happened before throwing accusations.”
His calm demeanor does not change, though Iromae catches something — a flicker of recognition in his eyes when she knelt beside Rassel. Did he realize she knew the true nature of the affliction?
Diego’s Progress
Slipping through the streets, Diego moves quickly and carefully, making his way back to the Artisan’s Guild. The roads are quiet at this hour, but that only makes his footsteps seem louder against the cobblestones.
When he reaches the Guild Hall, he finds the entrance as he left it — still and undisturbed. However, as he approaches the main door, he sees a figure moving inside. Through a high window, the flickering light of an arcane lantern reveals the silhouette of someone standing near the planar stabilizer chamber.
Grathna? Or someone else?
The figure seems to be inspecting something, their movements deliberate but cautious. Diego has mere moments to decide.
Iromae sighs. 'Why did I not think to prepare for poisons!' she thinks. "It's clear he was poisoned. And no, I do not have the means to remove the poison right now." There is worry in her voice, disappointment that she might have failed this person. "Maybe I can do enough to keep his health up until the toxin passes." She still has Cure Wounds at the top of her mind, ready to cast should his health seem to be waning too much.
Catching the look from the hooded man, she looks at him directly after his remark to Shenua. "The poison was definitely delivered magically. Is that the 'how' you are looking for sir?" There is a bit of challenge in her voice - either he's behind what is happening or he's just mocking them in the midst of it. She's not very happy with his demeanor at the moment.
(OOC - Not sure how well with just skill she can tell his health. But if he is losing hp and close to 0 she would cast the spell.)
"Accusat…?"The word falters on Shenua’s lips. She is so dumbfounded that it takes her a second to find her voice again. "Excuse me, but when exactly have I accused you of anything? And what do I expect? Well, for starters, to show some sympathy for what is happening instead of standing there drinking your wine! And based on our previous interaction—on the way you conducted yourself—I thought you were experienced and knowledgeable. I assumed you might actually be able to help. Forgive this tiefling for her outrageous mistake."
Enraged, she turns her back on the stranger, her thoughts swirling. "Tiefling! Was that even necessary? As if I would have forgotten my own species."It had been years since anyone had called her that, and hearing it now clearly struck a nerve. It dragged up memories of her student days, of the sneers and whispers, of the way her demonic heritage had always seemed to matter more than her skill.
While she waits for the waitress to bring the ice, Shenua turns to Iromae. "So it was delivered magically? I wonder if there might be a trace somewhere around."
Muttering a few words under her breath, Shenua tries to scan their surroundings, attempting to detect any lingering traces in the room that might give them more information.
Will do Diego, don’t you worry.. Vorenus whispers back. He watches him leave, nodding and silently wishing him success.
As Rassel’s illness escalates, Vorenus watches, eyes wide, gripping his drink with white knuckles. He exhales and exudes calm, saying to no one in particular, “I’m sure he just doesn’t feel well, probably some GI bug or something. Maybe some bad seafood. I’m sure that’s all it is. Just.. just a coincidence.” He drinks his drink, watching the stranger with interest, keeping an eye on his reaction. When he notices him engaging Shenua, Vorenus sits up on the front of his chair, then seems to relax and sit back once he moves along. He sits and thinks, “What would Grathna do, what would Grathna do…”. He pulls out a notebook and jots down some notes, as if he just got a sudden idea, worked out an equation or something. The writings in the notebook list a grid of numbers. He adds up the numbers and solves for a missing one in the middle..
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The dragonborn waitress quickly hurries back with a cloth-wrapped bundle of ice, which she presses against Rassel’s forehead with surprising gentleness for her rough demeanor. Her tail flicks behind her in agitation, but her golden eyes flick toward the hooded man when Iromae voices the magical nature of the poisoning.
Her jaw tightens. “Magic poisoning?” she mutters. “In a place like this? Sounds like someone real particular wanted this one sick.”
The hooded man, in turn, leans back, swirling his wine in his goblet. "Oh, I see," he muses, still wearing that unreadable smirk. "I assumed you were leveling an accusation because of the way you looked at me. But you're right — I do know a thing or two about poison. If it was magically induced, then unless the spellcaster remains present and sustaining it, the effect should fade in time." His tone is as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
Then he tilts his head slightly toward Iromae, eyes glinting beneath his hood. "What a useful insight you have, cleric. Though I wonder, is it a lucky guess? Or do you know exactly how it was done?"
Meanwhile, as Shenua quietly incants Detect Magic, she immediately senses a lingering aura — not from the tankard or the spilled drink, but clinging faintly to Rassel himself. The residue of wild magic. But not just any spell — it has the distinct, erratic aftertaste of sorcery.
Her senses sharpen further, and another presence catches her attention. Magic surrounds "Grathna" as well. An illusion, layered over him, its source unmistakable. Vorenus is not just disguised — he is radiating the same chaotic signature as the poisoned man.
The Guild Hall
Diego moves quickly but cautiously through the dimly lit streets toward the Artisan’s Guild. The front entry is locked for the night, just as he expected. He hesitates only a moment before veering away from the main door, skirting the building’s perimeter in search of another way inside.
The windows are shuttered, and the heavy back entrance appears just as secure as the front. But after a careful sweep, he notices a smaller service door along the side — likely used for deliveries or maintenance. Testing the handle, he finds it unlocked. It takes only a practiced hand and a bit of care before the latch clicks open. Diego glances around, ensuring no prying eyes are watching, then slips inside.
The interior is eerily quiet. No signs of struggle. No immediate sound of alarm.
OOC: I rolled a 21 stealth for you. You're plenty stealthy. Are you still looking for Grantha, or are you heading toward the planar stabilizer chamber?
Grathna my dear gear jammer! You made it!
As "Grathna" joins the table, the hooded man turns his head slightly, just enough to glance in their direction without being obvious about it. His reaction is subtle — his fingers pause on his glass for a fraction of a second before he resumes his slow, measured movements. He doesn't stiffen, doesn't bolt, but for someone as observant as Shenua, Iromae, or Diego, that brief hesitation is a tell.
He knows the name.
However, his expression remains neutral, and he takes a sip of his drink before returning his attention to the room at large. If the appearance of "Grathna" has unnerved him, he's doing an excellent job of hiding it. But he hasn't left yet.
Meanwhile, the real Grathna is still at the Artisan's Guild. If the hooded man is aware of that — or if he's ever interacted with the real her — it could complicate things.
Also, remember that disguise self only changes ones appearance — not their voice, accent or mannerisms. Vorenus's performance check rolled by yours truly was an 11.
Realizing this man at least recognizes Grathna's name is certainly one clue pointing towards this being the person they were looking for. Iromae worries though that by not just leaving the man alone they have spoiled the trap they had set. At this point though, she can only continue to play along. "I really thought Grathna would get here later," she tells the others, hoping that she doesn't choose this moment to actually join them. "You must have been pretty happy with all the work."
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Shenua notices the slight shift in the hooded man's behavior. So, he knows Grathna? The artificer wonders if the half-orc's presence might make him leave, as it would mean one less person watching over the planar stabilizer at the Guild. But what if he leaves and finds the real Grathna there? If only there was a way to warn her not to come to the tavern and to leave the Guild altogether. But the only way Shenua can think of would require someone to leave, and that would be too noticeable.
With few options left, the tiefling decides to keep engaging the fake Grathna. Perhaps that will convince the man to leave. What happens after that is beyond her reach. If they are lucky, he may end up using magic to enter the room with the stabilizer, bypassing the usual routes and avoiding the real Grathna entirely.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Shenua looks at Vorenus-Grathna and says, "So, I imagine you must be itching to test the planar stabilizer now that we've fixed it. When should we do that? How about in an hour or so? Most of the guild members will have left by then, and we’ll be completely alone. That would be safer, don’t you think?"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Diego almost reading Shenua's mind, an hour? Sounds good. he stands and looks around the table, if you'll excuse me, I noticed my G string was a little flat on that last song, I'll run back to my room right fast and change it out. Back in a flash.
Diego turns for the door. If he makes it out without incident then he'll head back to the guild to try to catch Grathna.
I need to back up just a hair ...
As "Grathna" makes her appearance, an unease stirs beneath the tavern’s lively din. At first, it's subtle — an off-kilter note in the room’s energy. But after the initial greetings to the disguised newcomer, a quiet distress cuts through.
A wiry half-elf at a nearby table, his ink-stained fingers shaking, suddenly pales. His hand fumbles for his tankard, knocking it over instead.
He coughs, then groans, clutching his stomach as his skin takes on a sickly hue. His companions — two others dressed like scribes — turn to him in alarm.
"Rassel? Are you —?" one begins, but Rassel barely manages a weak shake of his head before doubling over with a pained grunt.
The disturbance draws a few eyes, including those of the dragonborn waitress, who mutters something under her breath before hurrying over. The hooded man glances in that direction as well, though his gaze flickers briefly back to "Grathna" before settling on the stricken scribe. His posture remains calm, but the pause in his movements is telling — he recognizes the name, or at least it means something to him.
Scratch this please. Let me think in these newer developments and I'll amend.
Seeing the commotion, Shenua jerks upright in her chair and hurries to the other table, where Rassel is looking sicker by the moment.
"What is going on!? Has anyone messed with his drink?" she asks, glancing at her friends with concern. Is there anything they can do? The tiefling can cure physical wounds, but this doesn’t seem like something so simple—could it be poison?
Reaching for a napkin—just in case there’s something wrong with the tankard itself—she picks it up and inspects its contents before taking a long sniff. Does the drink smell off?
(Investigation: 12)
Shenua then shows the tankard to Iromae, "Grathna" and Diego, in case they can notice anything she has missed.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
“Oh, why look at that. Poor fellow. Maybe he has a stomach bug or something. Some bad fish. I hope he feels better soon! So, anyway, where were we?” In a lower voice, a whisper to Diego, Shenua and Ironmae, “Did he notice? Perhaps someone should go tell G not to come here, tell what we are doing…”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Diego whispers back, I'm a little concerned with leaving now, Vorenus keep them safe, I'll be back. Diego uses the commotion to slip away and out of the tavern, making his way back to the guild hall.
As Diego slips out of the tavern, the scene around the sickly half-elf escalates. Rassel’s breathing grows more labored, his fingers twitching as he grips the edge of the table. His companions try to help, one of them pressing a hand against his forehead.
"He's burning up," the scribe murmurs, glancing around frantically. "Someone, get a healer!"
The dragonborn waitress arrives at the table, frowning as she takes in the scene. Her golden eyes flick toward the spilled drink and Shenua, who is sniffing at the now-empty container, before narrowing at Rassel’s companions. “Did he eat or drink anything different from the rest of you?” she asks, already scanning the tabletop for clues.
One of the scribes shakes their head. “No, we all had the same wine —” They pause, looking at the overturned tankard. “Except ... he did take a sip from his ale before we did.”
At this, the dragonborn’s gaze flickers around the room, as if searching for any unusual behavior. The momentary sweep lingers ever so slightly on the hooded man — not an accusation, but a natural scan of the scene. The figure remains still, lifting his drink in a slow, deliberate motion. His posture is too controlled, his reaction too calculated.
Shenua detects nothing out of the ordinary with the scent.
Meanwhile, a couple of other patrons have started paying attention. Some cast wary glances toward the sick scribe, others shift uncomfortably in their seats. A few even look toward the door, considering leaving before things get worse.
Vorenus, still in the guise of Grathna, senses an opportunity. The hooded man's reaction to "Grathna’s" arrival was subtle, but it was there. Now, as he watches Rassel suffer, something flickers in his expression — calculation, recognition, or perhaps mild amusement. It’s hard to tell.
As the situation escalates, Shenua’s concern deepens. "I can’t heal this man, I can’t remove poison. Iromae, can you?" she asks the cleric. Then, turning sharply to the dragonborn, she commands, "Quickly, bring some ice. We need to keep his fever under control."
Frustrated that she's smelled nothing obvious in the tankard, she sets its down with a huff and turns her focus to the spilled drink. She sniffs at it too and, desperate to find a clue, she dips a clawed finger into the liquid and brings it to her mouth. Anything strange about the taste? (Investigation: 22)
Shenua’s anger flares as the hooded man sits calmly, sipping his wine, indifferent to Rassel’s struggle for life. She snaps at him, "You! In the counter! Are you just going to sit there, or can you actually do something to help?"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Iromae is slow to react but soon comes up alongside the dragonborn waitress to look at the man. "I am a cleric. Umm, more of a scholar but I might be able to heal some." Offering a quick prayer to Deneir, she asks for guidance in helping this man. She then checks him over to see if she can determine what to do. (Medicine: 25+3=28)
The words of her Cure Wounds are on the tip of her tongue, ready to use if the man seems to be slipping away at all.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Tavern Scene
The dragonborn waitress, though taken aback by Shenua’s sudden command, reacts swiftly. She turns on her heel and strides toward the bar, calling for ice. The kitchen staff, now aware of the commotion, scrambles to assist.
Meanwhile, Shenua dips her finger into the spilled ale and cautiously tastes it. Nothing. No bitterness, no odd texture, no hint of anything unusual. It’s just ale. The frustration gnaws at her — how could he be poisoned if the drink itself seems fine?
Iromae, now fully focused on Rassel, places her hands gently on his trembling shoulders. Her prayer to Deneir flows effortlessly, her connection to divine knowledge sharpening her mind as she assesses him. The cleric immediately recognizes the signs: this isn’t a common poison from spoiled food or tampered drinks. This is a toxin working its way through his system — one not naturally occurring. It’s magical.
Her insight sharpens. The poison isn’t from the drink — it was introduced to his body through other means. Residual traces of magic still cling to him like fading embers. Whatever afflicted him did so in a way that bypassed ingestion altogether.
Shenua’s outburst draws attention from multiple patrons, but the hooded man barely reacts. He swirls his wine slowly in his cup before finally, lazily, shifting his gaze to her. His voice is smooth, with a hint of amusement.
“Me? What do you expect me to do, tiefling?” His lips curl ever so slightly in a smirk. “If you think this is my doing, perhaps you should consider how it happened before throwing accusations.”
His calm demeanor does not change, though Iromae catches something — a flicker of recognition in his eyes when she knelt beside Rassel. Did he realize she knew the true nature of the affliction?
Diego’s Progress
Slipping through the streets, Diego moves quickly and carefully, making his way back to the Artisan’s Guild. The roads are quiet at this hour, but that only makes his footsteps seem louder against the cobblestones.
When he reaches the Guild Hall, he finds the entrance as he left it — still and undisturbed. However, as he approaches the main door, he sees a figure moving inside. Through a high window, the flickering light of an arcane lantern reveals the silhouette of someone standing near the planar stabilizer chamber.
Grathna? Or someone else?
The figure seems to be inspecting something, their movements deliberate but cautious. Diego has mere moments to decide.
Iromae sighs. 'Why did I not think to prepare for poisons!' she thinks. "It's clear he was poisoned. And no, I do not have the means to remove the poison right now." There is worry in her voice, disappointment that she might have failed this person. "Maybe I can do enough to keep his health up until the toxin passes." She still has Cure Wounds at the top of her mind, ready to cast should his health seem to be waning too much.
Catching the look from the hooded man, she looks at him directly after his remark to Shenua. "The poison was definitely delivered magically. Is that the 'how' you are looking for sir?" There is a bit of challenge in her voice - either he's behind what is happening or he's just mocking them in the midst of it. She's not very happy with his demeanor at the moment.
(OOC - Not sure how well with just skill she can tell his health. But if he is losing hp and close to 0 she would cast the spell.)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
"Accusat…?" The word falters on Shenua’s lips. She is so dumbfounded that it takes her a second to find her voice again. "Excuse me, but when exactly have I accused you of anything? And what do I expect? Well, for starters, to show some sympathy for what is happening instead of standing there drinking your wine! And based on our previous interaction—on the way you conducted yourself—I thought you were experienced and knowledgeable. I assumed you might actually be able to help. Forgive this tiefling for her outrageous mistake."
Enraged, she turns her back on the stranger, her thoughts swirling. "Tiefling! Was that even necessary? As if I would have forgotten my own species." It had been years since anyone had called her that, and hearing it now clearly struck a nerve. It dragged up memories of her student days, of the sneers and whispers, of the way her demonic heritage had always seemed to matter more than her skill.
While she waits for the waitress to bring the ice, Shenua turns to Iromae. "So it was delivered magically? I wonder if there might be a trace somewhere around."
Muttering a few words under her breath, Shenua tries to scan their surroundings, attempting to detect any lingering traces in the room that might give them more information.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Diego curses under his breath the moves to the main door and, doing his best to be stealthy, opens the door and moves in.
Will do Diego, don’t you worry.. Vorenus whispers back. He watches him leave, nodding and silently wishing him success.
As Rassel’s illness escalates, Vorenus watches, eyes wide, gripping his drink with white knuckles. He exhales and exudes calm, saying to no one in particular, “I’m sure he just doesn’t feel well, probably some GI bug or something. Maybe some bad seafood. I’m sure that’s all it is. Just.. just a coincidence.” He drinks his drink, watching the stranger with interest, keeping an eye on his reaction. When he notices him engaging Shenua, Vorenus sits up on the front of his chair, then seems to relax and sit back once he moves along. He sits and thinks, “What would Grathna do, what would Grathna do…”. He pulls out a notebook and jots down some notes, as if he just got a sudden idea, worked out an equation or something. The writings in the notebook list a grid of numbers. He adds up the numbers and solves for a missing one in the middle..
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The Tavern
The dragonborn waitress quickly hurries back with a cloth-wrapped bundle of ice, which she presses against Rassel’s forehead with surprising gentleness for her rough demeanor. Her tail flicks behind her in agitation, but her golden eyes flick toward the hooded man when Iromae voices the magical nature of the poisoning.
Her jaw tightens. “Magic poisoning?” she mutters. “In a place like this? Sounds like someone real particular wanted this one sick.”
The hooded man, in turn, leans back, swirling his wine in his goblet. "Oh, I see," he muses, still wearing that unreadable smirk. "I assumed you were leveling an accusation because of the way you looked at me. But you're right — I do know a thing or two about poison. If it was magically induced, then unless the spellcaster remains present and sustaining it, the effect should fade in time." His tone is as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
Then he tilts his head slightly toward Iromae, eyes glinting beneath his hood. "What a useful insight you have, cleric. Though I wonder, is it a lucky guess? Or do you know exactly how it was done?"
Meanwhile, as Shenua quietly incants Detect Magic, she immediately senses a lingering aura — not from the tankard or the spilled drink, but clinging faintly to Rassel himself. The residue of wild magic. But not just any spell — it has the distinct, erratic aftertaste of sorcery.
Her senses sharpen further, and another presence catches her attention. Magic surrounds "Grathna" as well. An illusion, layered over him, its source unmistakable. Vorenus is not just disguised — he is radiating the same chaotic signature as the poisoned man.
The Guild Hall
Diego moves quickly but cautiously through the dimly lit streets toward the Artisan’s Guild. The front entry is locked for the night, just as he expected. He hesitates only a moment before veering away from the main door, skirting the building’s perimeter in search of another way inside.
The windows are shuttered, and the heavy back entrance appears just as secure as the front. But after a careful sweep, he notices a smaller service door along the side — likely used for deliveries or maintenance. Testing the handle, he finds it unlocked. It takes only a practiced hand and a bit of care before the latch clicks open. Diego glances around, ensuring no prying eyes are watching, then slips inside.
The interior is eerily quiet. No signs of struggle. No immediate sound of alarm.
OOC: I rolled a 21 stealth for you. You're plenty stealthy. Are you still looking for Grantha, or are you heading toward the planar stabilizer chamber?
Diego makes his way toward the stabilizer, where he saw the lights