Uthal takes the clothes from his face a looks at them for a while, trying to determine if they'll fit. Eventually he just shrugs and attempts to put them on. 

The pants go on with a little bit of a struggle but they seem to fit well in the waist. The real problem for them is that they stop about a foot and a half short of where they should and leave Uthal looking like he's prepared for the next flood.

The shirt is an even bigger struggle and Uthal eventually gets a little frustrated. He gives a growl before reaching up to his shoulders and tearing off the sleeves. He does the same for a frilly piece at the neck and is eventually left with a garment that mostly fits but is now lacking sleeves and riding a bit to high in the waist. Uthal then casts mending on the clothes to fix the rips and popped seams and make it seem like these were actually his clothes. 

Once he's done getting dressed he sits back and seems to almost be meditating, except that his grey eyes are wide open. 

"Donovan was assigned to me when I joined the tournament. He doesn't have anything they could want."
Ander begins to change into the second set of clothes, neatly folding his own rather fine set.

Anearis accepts the clothes given by Atal. He does a respectful bow to him.

"Thank you. And...I’m sorry for assaulting you earlier. It’s my fault you were captured and I wish you can find it in you to forgive me."
With that said, he goes to find a quiet spot and promptly changes into the new outfit, freeing himself of the uncomfortable valet’s uniform.

This had been quite an eventful day. Never would he have thought after setting foot off of the boat that he would be the target of a manhunt. He needed to have moment to himself to gather his thoughts and consider today’s events. So he entered a meditative trance and began resting.

((Assuming you all of you physically just sat there resting, since no one posted anything other than changing clothes, that's where we pick up))

The tavern, if you could call it that, was relatively quiet for the number of patrons that came in and out.  The entered and exited through a large door on the far wall, though a majority came the same way you all entered, the tunnels. It eventually dwindled to only a few, other than yourselves.  Even the barkeep eventually made his way out, replaced by a much larger figure behind the counter. Richter returns to the table to restart the action, hours after having left the party at the table, and returning not at all empty handed. "Morning all, sleep well?"

He's holding a large pint mug with some sort of thick frothy liquid inside, chugging his as he sits down.  The replacement barkeep, a bald unusually tanned Goliath, a bit larger than Uthal, places similar mugs in front of the rest of you, "Brekfas' is surved," before lumbering back behind the counter.

Richter continued drinking as he examined the newly dressed group he had left late the previous night. "I must say, it's different. Softie, I've never seen a sleeveless royal jacket." Richter pointed to Uthal's bare arms, though his gaze was eyeing the more apparent ill-fittedness of the outfit being that the pants stopped several inches short, as did the shirt, showing a bit of mid-drift. "Interesting style. But Dandy, yours I would say is without a doubt an improvement." He said with just a quick sweeping glance past Anearis. "However, my favorite fashion choice..." Richter cocked his elbow on the back of the chair and leaned on it, looking right at Ander, with a look on his face that he had a secret that Ander was simply oblivious to, "You swapped one set of fine clothes of noble standard, for another set of fine clothing of noble standard, and yet you keep the ink scribbles all over your face.  It may just be me, but people may be not be focusing on the color change of your shirt."

He smiles what can truly be described as a 'shit-eating grin' at Ander, and then rights himself to address the whole table.  "So the situation is as such. Everyone's gear has been supposedly located. There's enough moving parts within the city walls to likely retrieve it, or at least the relevant pieces. That's the good news. The bad news however, is that the Berossus royals suspected of being responsible for the dark magic sex cult have fled the city, and we haven't the slightest clue where. On top of that, the Right Hand is all over the city looking for individuals of your description, because of suspected involvement," Richter points at Anearis and Ander as he spoke, "and really due to the nature of the event, you'll likely be considered guilty until proven innocent.  Further, it's likely the only ones who can prove your innocence are the very royals who fled." "And Trevor is with them."

Felix had walked over during Richter's rundown of the party's current situation, and interupted to add a line, which he directed at Uthal. "Oh yeah, and your guy is with him with whatever book you went in to retrieve." Richter finally settles his attention on Atalura, "Strangely enough this makes more sense to me.” Richter held his hand out towards her and drew his palm through the air in circles as a motion towards the entire change in physical appearance from Atal to Ura. ”And you, ’Girlie?’ are the only one in the clear. Got all your gear, no one still around ever saw you. You can actually get to work now, if you want, ‘Newbie?’...Don’t worry I’ll have a new name for you by day’s end."

While Richter played Cathaan’s Next Top Model, in his own mind, with each of you individually, Felix addressed the group. “Getting you away from the Hand and the city is possible, however, we don’t have a clue as to where. Did any of you glean anything from them, in your time as a prisoner or royal guest? A place name, a direction, a map, writings?”

Ura puts her hands on on her hips and gives Richter an unimpressed look.  "Funny that you didn't show my other face the same thoughtful consideration," she says as she walks past him and slaps his circling hands out of the air with a look of annoyance.  "You could have at least pretended to be impressed by my stature or something."  She pauses, a smile twisting her lips upwards.  "Although I think hiding was worth it just to see you robbed of the ability to hand out one of your cute nicknames for once.  I'm going to savour this moment," she says, reaching for the drink on the table and taking a deep draught.  Then she makes a face.  "... a lot more than I'm savouring this ale." 

Spotting the new bartender behind the bar, her expression cools down by several degrees.  "Oh.  Is that Otok I spot over there?  Hello, you bastard," she says, raising the mug in a half-toast to the other goliath that belies the daggers she's glaring in his direction.  "I told you all I wanted to do was meet the local chapter.  You just had to set me up for an ambush, didn't you?"  Turning around she looks at all the others.  "So how about it?  Any more ambushes in store for me?  Have we got that all out of our system now?  Because I'd really like to stop being ambushed right now.  I feel I'm way ahead of the statistical curve here."

Considering Richter's latest information, Ura rubs her chin and surveys the others up and down.  Then she lets out a loud, dramatic sigh.  "As much as I would just love to jump headfirst into work, I feel a little beholden to these fellows."  She tilts her chin at Uthal, Ander, and very, very begrudgingly at Anaeris.  "Don't know if I would've made it out alive from that dungeon without these three... the least I can do is help them get their stuff back.  Work can start after that," she says.

While Atalura is holding herself very confidently, she's partially sneaking looks out of the corner of her eye at Uthal for the entire time.  Truth be told, the big goliath is the closest thing to a friend she's made in this city -- Richter definitely doesn't count, in her mind -- and she's a little worried about how he's going to react to her new look.  There's definitely no mistaking the form she's taken for anything but a girl - thanks a lot, boobs, couldn't you have been just a little bit smaller, her mind helpfully supplies - although her face is clearly very similar to Atal's own.  Some people didn't always take it so well.  Fortunately, she'd met the others as Atal first, rather than Ura -- the fallout was almost inevitably worse when fellas discovered "she" had another side, rather than vice versa.  Probably because of these boobs, she thinks sourly.

Once Ricther begins speaking Uthal's eyes move for the first time in hours and he gives a large shrug, or as much as he can in the tight clothes, causing his muscles to groan and pop. "No worse than when I was on my own." 

He slowly takes in all the information that's being presented before speaking again. "If I ever get my hands on Trevor he's going to die slowly."

He then turns to Ura. "And you, thief, what's with the disguise? It's iimpressively done I'll admit but why make yourself a lady? You're in the clear they said. Also, what's with the tiny breasts?" 

Ander shakes his head. "Nothing but these." He touches the fading ink marks on his face.

Uthal suddenly remembers the papers he took from the desk. They're quite crumpled now but he unrolls them and begins to look at what's written. "Forgot for a second but I took these from the desk beside where the human has chained." 

Anearis considers for a moment Richter’s summary of the situation. His mind goes back to what Zelda told him about the cult and their activities. 

‘’I remember Lady Zelda telling me that their strange cult had many shrine like the one we saw under the estate all over Theviranne. It could be possibility that the royal family fled to one of these shrines, maybe even the closest one to the city.’’ He then realizes that this doesn’t bring them any closer to actually finding them.

’’But we still don’t know where does shrines might be. And even if we know where they are, we’d have to actually find a way to get out of the city.’’

Ura looks at Uthal, squinting.  Then, with a slow grin, she shrugs.  "Yeaaaah.  Let's just say I like to, uh, keep myself sharp.  Didn't want to overdo it on the chest, though.  It's a pretty good disguse, right?!"  She feels almost a fond regard for the goliath's dense powers of observation.  Let's ride that wagon as long as it can last! she thinks gleefully, then shoots a warning glare at the others, lest they open their mouths and spoil her secret.

When Felix mentions exiting the city as a possibility, Ura is suddenly all ears.  Hmm... maybe I should've been hitting up these temples for a way west over the bridge instead of the thieves' guild.  Then she thinks of the body mishmash horrors they had to fight their way through yesterday.  .... Naw.  

Crossing her arms, she takes another look at Ander's face.  "Felix, was it?  Can we have a copy of your sketch of these facial markings?  Might come in handy if we're going to be unearthing more of these cultists, or whatever they are.  Especially if you're thinking of sending these guys out of the city.  They're definitely the same markings as the ones I saw on the corpses we took down.  I gotta wonder if they're part of a bigger ritual circle or something.  In any case, it'd probably be good to recognize them when they aren't painted on someone's body."

"Even though you do have the primary source here," Felix pointed towards Ander's face, "I think that could be arranged." All the while, speaking to Ura and even when physically motioning towards Ander, Felix was noticeably fixated on the scrolls that Uthal had presented to them. He took them, unfurling one after the other. Without leaving his seat, Richter strained to try to view over Felix's shoulder at what was written on the scrolls. "Anything good? By which of course I mean 'of value'." Without taking his gaze off the parchment, Felix reached back and shook his hand towards Richter, in the same manner someone would shoo away a fly. "Not in the manner you're thinking, but yes there may be of value to our desperate companions here." Felix laid them out on the table, putting two particular scrolls flat out next to each other. "You said they mentioned shrines elsewhere like the one below that manner, correct?" Felix looked up at Anearis briefly as he asked the rhetorical question. "That shrine contained similar marking to both what you see on his face, and what you see here on these pages. These two in particular even have some rough translation attempts written in common." Felix read aloud the chicken-scratch handwriting as he made it out, his voice speeding and growing excited as he went along.

"I believe these to actually refer to two specific locations in which druidiac ruins still stand. The river mouth that opens into the north sea, the Mouth of Sirion, has a cave blocked by a landslide, but surrounding the entrance were symbols of evidence towards the druids.  And then the Castle of Aaargh, may refer to the remains of a stronghold past the western forests.  There are old folktales that the stronghold held a legendary 'black beast of Aaargh'." For the first time since laying eyes on the scrolls, Felix finally turned his attention towards the party. "It may be a shot in the dark, but these two are the only ones translated enough to provide a lead. I don't really know what else we have to go on."

Uthal looks around at the others. "If that's where they are then I would be interested in hunting them down. I feel like there's unfinished business. Though it's probably best we get our things back first." He then tries to remember the stories he heard about the areas. 

History: 16

Anearis looks at Felix. ‘’You seem to be a knowledgable man. What do you know of these druidic ruins? They are the reason I came to this continent.’’ In all the commotion of the last day or so, he had placed his true mission on hold. If he could help stop this evil and complete his mission at the same time, it would make this trip worthwhile.

Uthal attempts to remember any type of story or folktale about either location, but fails to do so, unsure if he’d happened to actually hear one of either.

“Screw it, I’m calling you ‘Hidey’ due to your inherent need to travel the shadows. And you and you are ‘Punchy’ and ‘Scribbles’.” Richter pointed at Anearis and Ander, respectively, whiling smiling to show how proud he was of himself. This low outburst had immediately followed Felix’s in-depth announcements of what knowledge the scrolls revealed. And led to him simply staring at Richter, in astonishment as well as confusion. “TREVOR HAS THE GRIMOIRE AND HE’S ALIGNED HIMSELF WITH THAT CULT!”

The smile from Richter’s face faded and turned into an expression of sadness, as if Felix had just ruined his fun. “Wait, I thought he was going after a ledger.” Felix turned towards Uthal, as if he were the one who spoke, and Felix responded. “That’s what Trevor told us, but last night Delila found letters in his room; correspondences with Cedric. Your master didn’t bring you here to steal a ledger. Your master brought you here because Hammerfell was in possession of the dark magics we witnessed last night. And I have a bad feeling, that was only the beginning.”

”Should call you Gloomy.”

Felix yelled one agony and leapt at Richter, intending to attack him, though he never landed. The large portly Goliath that had been tending the bar, caught Felix mid-air and was calmly walking him towards the door. Felix however was still thrashing about, attempting to break free and continue the assault, though the Goliath held him like a parent holding an infant child. “Le-it go, Felix.”

”Thank you, Otok.” Richter called after him, then turning back to the party. “So, I’m not sure what that was about, but we now have somewhat of a destination. Here are our choices, option 1, we can go up to the city, find your belongings, secure passage, and go to one of those two places Felix mentioned; or option number 2, we do all that, but we stay here and drink first. I vote for option 2, but I’ll let majority rule.”

Uthal stares after the retreating goliath carrying Felix. "I don't know much about anything that's happened here but with that kind of response I would say option one. Waiting seems like a bad idea." 

Ura falls silent on hearing Felix's assessment.  She gives the man a sympathetic wince as he's "escorted" out by Otok, but continues to mull over the revelation of a stronghold in the western forests.  Goal in sight!  All I've got to do is defeat a few cultists in an abandoned ruin with a legendary black beast named after a dying man's last gasp.  No problem at all!  She eyes the others.   Hmm.  Yeah.  Time to attach myself to this group like a leech.

"I'd rather strike sooner than later, too," she says in apparent solidarity with Uthal.  "Drinks are for the celebration afterwards, not the preparation before.  Anyway, whatever we're doing, I'm in! ... whose stuff are we going after first, anyway?"

Leaning on the back of a chair, Ura looks at the paperwork still laid out over the table, before grabbing the translation and wrinkling her nose.  "Is this for real?  The castle of "Aaargh" ?  Who would name their castle something like that?"

“Fine, let’s head out. But I’m getting one for the road.” Richter mutters angrily to himself as he stands and walks to the bar, leaving it only after Otok provides him with several mugs. He holds three to his chest, and one in hand, as proceeds to walk towards one of the several shadow-laden archways at the wall, from which you all had originally entered. 

“Leave the scrolls for Felix,” he calls before disappearing through, mug to mouth as he does so.

Uthal stands up and then quickly turns back around to place the papers back on the table. He then heads off through the archway, his hand anxiously searching for the space around his neck where the symbol of Selune used to hang. 

Ura drops her riddle and trails after Richter, hands crossed behind head.  "Once more, unto the breach!" she says cheerfully.   Looking behind her, she clucks her tongue at Ander and Anearis.  "Come on, slowpokes!  Let's stir up some trouble!  We owe this city some payback, don't we?"

Anearis rises from his chair. He follows the other members of the small group, paying little attention to Ura’s comment. He looks preoccupied, as though he doesn’t feel at ease with the notion of getting into more trouble. Wasn’t yesterday enough? he thought.