(1) Atalantia - Scourge of Magic

Game Master mdt

Chamber pots, usually dumped over the side when the ship is over ocean. The bilges tend to get nasty if you park on water a lot, but otherwise, not much else is nasty on the airship (unlike a sea ship that takes on water regularly in the bilges.

So I take it ours being relatively fresh don't have that wholesome smuggler loving cop deterrent smell? Damn.

Rory merely glances in their direction and gives a wink to Connor before putting on the full captain abuse mode. Bellowing in his loudest captain voice Rory fills the air with the storm of a pirate captain on a rampage.

"MR. CONNOR EXPLAIN TO ME WHY IN THE DRAGON F+$*ED SKIES YOUR LITTLE PUPPETS ARE MESSING ABOUT!! I SAID TO PUT ALL THE TRASH IN A SINGLE PILE NOT THIS MESS YOU'RE CREATING!! YOU WILL RECTIFY THIS ERROR WITHIN THE HOUR!! IT'S EMBARASSING ENOUGH THAT MS. ANIISA HAD TO SEE THIS SHIP IN SUCH A WRETCHED CONDITION BUT I SWEAR YOUR LITTLE PIECES OF PSYCHE ARE MAKING IT WORSE!! IF I DON'T SEE A VAST IMPROVEMENT BEFORE SHE SHOWS UP WITH OUR NEW CREW I WILL PERSONALLY TEAR OFF YOUR WINGS AND THROW YOU TO THE DRAGON'S DAMNED COCKROACHES!!"

That should cause a touch of confusion. Or maybe get an interesting response. Or nothing. Maybe in connors panic he'll start just throwing literally everything onto the pile. Who knows. Sides we don't know who they are yet.

(I figure Connor had enough time to make 3 1st-level constructs.)

Connor flinched at Rory's shout as if the man had used a lash. He waved his hands, forming another Small construct as the others moved around the deck even faster. "Clearing the deck, Cap'n!" he shouted back. The constructs started moving the assembled pile towards the opposite railing from where the approaching fliers were coming. Connor added his own hands to the effort as soon as the fourth construct in as little time as possible had been formed out of ectoplasm. We'll stick it in the bad engine's exhaust, then move it around. the Humavian thought to himself. Even in an inspection, a single wrench can be moved from worker's kit to worker's kit, letting everyone pass with flying colors. "Alys! Get the midship boom! Elara! Mind the ropes! Adran! Wind report - starboard! I'm getting rid of this junk!"

Profession: Sailor: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

Perception: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (2) + 17 = 19

Stealth: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25

Adran obviously must be day dreaming as he didn't notice the group approaching until the others bellow started moving about panicked and in confusion.

I better just hide up here. If they decide they want to fight might as well get the jump on one of them. I can see what they do from here or if more are on the way.

Adran hides down in the nest keeping an eye out and scanning around for other groups maybe comeing from a different direction.

Elara shrugs, and tilts her sword into easy grabbing position; she starts minding the ropes, making as if no one has spotted the oncoming flyers. "Whatever you say, boss."

Bluff: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Roderick suppresses a smile as Rory proceeds to chew out their mutual boss in a fine and roaring fashion. It may be petty, but there is nothing finer then to watch authority in any form take a little of it's own medicine. As the shapes wing ever closer, Roderick pulls a scroll of parchment from his pack and begins jotting feigned notes of supplies down as he stands to the side of the constructs. "Have we considered a contingency in the event they are here to search the ship and they find our box? I don't fancy our chance against the guns that were so welcoming to the Stalmortan bastards."

The half dozen winged figures zoom closer, until the group can make out the people are wearing armor. Three of them in what looks like breastplates stop a 500 hundred feet out and pull up what looks like sniper rifles that have the same targeting system that the cannon's used.

The other three are heavily armored. The first is a male in full plate with white wings. The second a humavian woman in heavy red armor with a battleaxe and black wings. The final, and apparent leader, is a white haired man with six wings, rather than the normal two. His eyes glow white as he looks the ship over.

"Hallo the ship! I am Captain Anteres Rathborne, of the Free City Brigaid. I have it on good authority you have contraband on this ship. You'll all put your weapons away, and come with me while I sort this out. You'll bring your contraband. If you obey, I'll guarantee your safety up to the point where you are handed over to our Commander. If you resist, I will unfortunately be forced to injure you severely. As that requires more paperwork, and that is something to be avoided at all costs, I would like to respectfully ask you to not force me to fill out paperwork by cooperating."

Behind him, the woman sighs, testing the edge of her axe with her thumb. The man's reactions are impossible to read inside the full suit armor. He simply stands there with one hand on his sword.

When the six winged man talks, his voice has an odd booming and vibrating sound, as if the voice were vibrating in your bones.

Maybe one day we'll get to the fun.

As the guards make their announcement Rory turns on them still red from his fury.

"Contraband! Bloody contraband! What on earth are you warbling about! F+!%ing looters stole everything not nailed down and s&#& all over the rest! Perhaps you should try your luck with them rather than bother me! Or maybe think to find the bloody Stalmorta who shot me and my crew full of holes!"

If you're not having fun, let me know. Sorry, trying my best, kind of winging it at the moment.

Got stuck late at work and I'm exhausted. Will get something up sometime tomorrow.

I think he meant the looting and stealing stuff as the fun.

I need to get me one of those guns. Wonder what the boss will decide to do.

Adran knocks an arrow and watches on from his cover.

Alys dashes into cover behind the railing.

"Another half-outsider?", she asks toward Connor more than anyone else.

"We seem to run into the most overpowered people. Half-fiends, dragons, godlings. You'd think we were doing something against the natural order." Connor deadpanned to Alys as he came back up over the side railing slowly. His mind was racing with mental commands to the astral constructs putting as much "flotsam" and the magic box into the damaged engine's exhaust port. The metal there was heavy enough to block most searches.

Landing on the deck and folding his wings, Connor looked to the Captain and then to the guardsmen. He mentally sent a single astral construct to swab the deck as if going down a checklist. Connor kept his movements slow and his attention on the construct and Rory.

The six-winged guardsman sighs. "Seriously, I really don't want to have to do paperwork. I'll leave some people here to make sure your ship isn't looted. If that's not enough, I can have them instead punch a few dozen holes through it, so you don't have to worry about it going forward. Blowing up your ship is less paperwork than not bringing you in when I've got orders..."

"What did we do to become so popular everywhere?" Alys wonders, before she turns toward Rory and Connor waiting for their response.

Elara simply eyes up the newcomers cooly. "Boss?"

Connor sighed. "So much for this being a 'free port'. We're outgunned, Cap'n. At least they're letting us surrender." To Hero he sent Hey, you're part of me. I told you I needed six of you before. Now you get to be locked up in a box again.

(Surrendering in the face of superior firepower (wait until I get Teleport) seems to be the way to move the plot along at this point without losing people. Nothing about just giving them the box, however. Chaotic Good. They can work a little for it.)

(P.S. The story still is, we found the magic box. During the Stalmorta raid. And yes, it did literally fall out of the sky.)

Rory spits and discards his weapons. "I suppose the order of the day is getting robbed twice in a week!"

The six winged man nods, as people begin dis-weaponing. The woman with the axe looks disappointed. The man in armor simply stands impassively.

Once everyone is disarmed and apparently willingly coming along, the man in armor collects everyone's weapons and puts them in a pack that holds more than it should, likely a carry pack.

The three with sniper rifles all fly forward and take up positions on the ship. The man with six wings holds out his weapon, which vanishes with a spark, and then picks up the large chest with a minor grunt. "Good, I thank you for keeping my life simple. I hate paperwork."

The six-winged man leads the way, while the other two follow along after the crew. They lead the crew over the city, where occasional gunshots still ring out, although now it seems to be more about looters and people settling old scores rather than people fighting off invasion.

Finally they land in a large area that is heavily guarded by people with rifles and cannons, not to mention quite a few bows and pikes. The six winged man silently leads the group into a large stone building.

When they enter, the find a warehouse with runes enscribed over the inside of the walls in all directions. A familiar looking harpy is standing in the center, talking with a wingless old elf woman. All around people are carrying runed crates, most opened, and there are three bins along one wall. When the six-winged man approaches, the harpy and the old woman stop talking while he breaks the seals on the crate. The old woman reaches in and begins pulling out items. "Bracers of Armor, third tier." She hands them to someone who takes them and dumps them in the middle bin. "Enchanted mail armor, first tier." She hands it to another helper, who dumps the item in the first bin. "Ring of Sustenance, Ring of Protection, First Tier, Ring of Protection, second tier... Ahhh, Excellent, Ring of Invisibility." The first three rings are handed to a helper who tosses them into the first bin. The ring though the old woman personally takes over to the third bin, the smallest of the three, and carefully places it in it. "Not a complete bust, after all. That'll replace one of our Frigatebanes."

The Harpy smiles, showing sharp teeth. "Excellent." She motions at the helpers. "Go pack the other bins in sealed crates and put them on a ship for the surface." Then the harpy turns to Rory and his group. "Now, for you lot... you're carrying the only cargo I don't allow to pass through this city. Should I execute you now, or later? And why?" She asks, looking the group over thoughtfully.

Stomping along the ground, hands in her pockets, Elara tilts a glance at Rory and Connor. "Yeah boss, what's your answer? Now's the time if ever." Trying to act casual, she tries to scope out an escape route if the team proves too much trouble to stay with.

Roderick comes along meekly, watching and listening while letting his mind run along freely. So the question for the day, is her operation the sole source of smuggling or is there a rogue who she wants hunted? It would be a shame to escape prison only to end up flayed before the mob baying for blood. A moment's hesitation and Roderick begins in a calmer tone then he feels, "I believe that I speak for the captain and his crew when I say I believe we are of better use to you alive rather then dead. We share a purpose in that we seek a band of magic smugglers here in the city. We had a tip that they were here and so we came posed as merchants while we quietly started looking for them. The box was a chance find after the Stalmorta attack and we were hoping to search it -carefully- for clues as to where the band were hiding and where they were going. Our search was... interrupted... by your guards and so we find ourselves here." Roderick pauses to let his words sink in before he continues, "If you'll let us go our our merry way, we will hunt down this band and happily provide them for you to deal with as you see fit. We can be the bloodhounds you loose on a pack of errant rats."

Diplomacy Motive with inspiration: 1d20 + 1d6 + 12 ⇒ (8) + (5) + 12 = 25
Bluff with inspiration: 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (19) + (5) + 8 = 32

A little trickle truth never hurt... let's see what these skills are worth.

Rory frowns in disappointment as Roderick goes full on spilling the beans. Clearly Roderick is not speaking for captain and crew. Then with a shrug adds. "No, our search was ruined by the dragon's damned Stalmorta and everyone having a merry old time dusting off their favorite overly large guns! And no we can't tell you who employs us because that would likely mean a visit by a very nasty person with a penchant for making messes. Even if you think you'd survive that would only be the beginnings of your troubles!And don't bother thinking about ransom or torture! We're disposable! IF we weren't we wouldn't be here! But, given you still have an actual smuggler issue probably exacerbated by the recent troubles you have nothing to lose and everything else to gain!"

1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22 Diplomacy Aid another.
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14 Bluff aid another.

"We're an outside advantage. You don't lose any forces letting us find the magic smugglers. We find out who they are, we go away. We get killed trying to find them, well, it's not like you're employing us." Connor said, shrugging.

Diplomacy Aid Another: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19 (And that's the best he can do. Hopefully he's not an anchor to the others.)

Inside, Connor was seething. It was time to write off romantic relationships. Either the women were out to take advantage of you or draw as much gold as possible out of you. Things would be simpler without the hassle. A job was a job, and distractions only got you into situations like this.

Connor added another name, another face, to his list. And wondered when he would be able to update his journal again.

The old elf woman snorts. She moves her hand, and chants and her eyes turn bright blue.

The elf woman looks over the group. "Those two at least are likely lying, as they were attacking a smuggler in the capital last year. They were involved in the explosion." She points from Connor to Alys. "I don't see the rod up his arse elvavian, but the rest of them have used some sort of magic or psionics to disguise themselves. Their dwoemers don't match their bodies. Any one of them could be the arse. That one is likely the hyperactive little archer..." SHe points at Adran. "Whatever it was, it was something permanent as well, no ongoing magical or psionic effects I can see through..." She continues to stare at Connor. "That one has at least two, possibly three artifact level items on him at the moment, I'd have the guards spray his brains on the wall for safety..."

The harpy's eyebrow goes up. "Magic artifacts or Psionic?"

"Psionic..." The elf responds, glaring at Connor with blood in her eye.

The Harpy turns back. "So, either your telling the truth and you've been working at magic smuggling for a long time and have very tolerant bosses who like you and didn't fire you for destroying four square blocks of the city... or you're lying and you're magic smugglers hoping to talk your way out of having your heads removed..." She grins and taps her chin thoughtfully. "My senior advisor appears to dislike you and wants to see you rent assunder in as messy a fashion as possible..." She looks over at the six winged man. "What do you think, Wrathborne? Your granddaughter alerted us to them, did she give you any idea about them? Should I send for her?"

The six winged man shrugs. "Do whatever you want with them, I don't have to do paperwork if you kill them or use them. So I don't much care. Aniisa said she thought the one was cute and harmless. If you want to send for her, do it."

The old woman suddenly grabs the Harpy by the arm. "Chain that one up, now! With the runic chains... he's absorbed a soul gem, no telling what is inside him..." She points to Rory, and then begins chanting, her face beginning to flow as centuries melt off of her frame, grey hair turning blonde as her body gets younger and stronger.

"One, the size of that explosion was an accident; two, I fail to understand how a few power stones you can pick up at any Guild shop in Atalantia qualifies as 'artifacts', just because you can scribe them yourself; three, he's" Connor nodded at Rory, "with us, and worth more alive than dead; and four, it occurs to me that the best person to have in the employ of extralegal import-export would be someone very high up in the municipality hierarchy so they can divert any patrols and dissuade any competition." Connor said the last quickly as the elven woman was changing in front of them.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21 (If it's worth anything...)

(Let her have back some of her own medicine. Not that Wrathborne couldn't be in on it too. Why does everyone always overestimate us in the wrong way?)

Rory looks over at Connor and Alys quizzically when it seems the adviser calls them out immediately despite disguises.

Connor and I didn't take any disguises.

Rory doesn't know that. :)

The harpy watches as the old woman drains her years with a spell, and then with more interest as the woman's clothing shimmers as full plate takes it's place. The now young woman draws a curved blade from it's sheath on her side, eyes beginning to glow. Once the change is complete, and the woman takes a step toward Rory, the Harpy holds up a hand. "Now now, Melithia. I'm in charge around here..." She says coolly, but at least five of the guards in the area tense and ready weapons. The woman with the axe gets a grin on her face as she takes a half step forward, reading her massive axe.

The blonde elf stops, scowls at Arys and Connor, and it doesn't take any special skill to realize she'd love to cut them into small pieces.

The Harpy returns her look to Connor. "So, seems like you're more in charge than the captain. Artifacts, talkative, and not possessed. Good strategy though, keeping the one in charge looking like the servant." She pauses, looking them over. "So... you claim to be hunting smugglers... but only magical artifact smugglers... Well, that might be useful to me, after all. And since I'm not all that concerned about massive explosions... Your history of destruction isn't actually a bad thing..." She taps her chin thoughtfully.

"How do you feel about Stalmorta? Any qualms about killing them if they get in the way?" She asks thoughtfully.

"It's not like we haven't done it before." Alys comments.

"Clan Stalmortta is the aggressor here." Connor responded, glancing at his compatriots to see if they agreed. "Unfortunately, due to Captain Rathborne's leagues-loud voice, our 'cover' is a little blown. And I don't think" he added, one eye on the transformed elf, "you're going to want to keep us around long. Kicking us out of your port is uncharacteristically merciful, so you probably need to add a Stalmortta bounty quota for us to meet in lieu of confiscating our ship and making an, ahem, 'terminal' public spectacle. Something to show how small-fry amateurs got burned on their first port that might make others interested in us for all the wrong reasons."

(Feel free to ad lib here. I'm going back to the Campaign tab and scrolling up on Gameplay to get names spelled right - we appear to be going fast 'n loose on the number of t's and wrath- vs rath-. Walking a fine line of suggestion and estimation.)

The wrath/rath is intentional...

Adran drinks in all that is going on around him.

Things went from bad to worse pretty quick. What the hell is that elf, oh my. Looks like they are going to kill us. Wait the Harpy lady stopped her huh. Stalmorta? I will kill whoever you want lady if the pay is right.

Adran's mind rushes with all that is going on as he contiues his happy go lucky outlook whistling a tune and rocking back and forth on his feet.

Listen lady you found your man here. I kill whoever I get paid too and Stalmorta are no different to me. I will be needing my tools back that your puppets took from me. Our ship needs some repair as well, but if you got the money I'm in, and don't give me any of that my life is my pay crap. Thats the type of motivation that would have me selling you out to the stalmorta once out of here. So lets talk business.

Adran's happy go luck demenor goes away for a moment as he talks of killing and business. He becomes very serious for a moment. Something the group hadn't seen since he sparked the first deal. Right after he speaks his eyes and head move about scanning the room as if daydreaming again as he starts to whistle his tune again.

"Of course your life isn't your pay. I mean, we both know it is, but it's not really enough to ensure loyalty." The harpy says with a look of distaste. "Your ship needs repairs? Well now, I think I can arrange that. Exactly how much you get paid will depend on how much repair your ship requires. What precisely needs repair?" She asks, sounding very business like.

(R-o-r-y! And/or Roderick!)

Connor looked over at the skyship captain and the alchemist in charge of the boilers.

(P.S. Not too thick, Adran. Don't go bloodthirsty on us.:) )

Little guy has to talk tough, people underestimate him for his size but he is wirey :)

"That would be up to the captain and the engine guy. I'm not so good with knowing how those things stay in the air. You know what helps talk business some ale and maybe some food. Always easir to swallow a deal when you have something to walsh it down with. This place is pretty cool though. So you don't allow the smuggling of magic goods but you have no issue stockpiling your own arsenal here. Sweet deal you got here. So what are we talking with the Stalmorta. You going to answer there attack. You probably want us at the front to be blown up first huh? Dead men cost nothing sort of thing. So back to the food or drink is that on the table still or what."

Adran talks very fast and scattered as a type of negotiation tactic. He tries to get people confused on what they are hearing and agreeing too.

Elara relaxes a little and stops scanning for exits. "So, you killin' us or not? I wanna see that sorted out 'fore we start sortin' out the tea allowance and the like." She walks over a little closer to the six-winged man. "So, is there less paperwork in getting a double-secret...civillian... covort ops team on your books, big man? What's your name?"

Sorry for disappearing. Had a bunch of stuff pop up at work again. Might be busy on an ongoing basis (2-3 weeks).

Roderick struggles to maintain his composure as surprise takes hold when the elven woman tells what she knows. The harpy's sudden turn from murderous impulse to calculated trade gives him another turn. There is little to be said save that people in this damned city are insane. Seeings Connor's look, he rattles off an explanation of the repairs needed for the ship, adding on requirements for weaponry. "... in addition to the aforementioned repairs, if you intend us to fly into Stalmorta territory, it would be best if the ship was armed. Between dragons and pirates, your investment is useless if we never make it where intended. Ensuring loyalty and making sure your investment are adequately protected are both in your interests."

I should know what we need given my earlier knowledge Engineering. I can roll again if needed. Adding requirements for a few weapons with the hope she'll not deduct from pay. :)

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (13) + 12 = 25

Letting his crew do the talking for him Rory levels a measuring stare at the Elf who clearly has quite a bit of pull to give such an outburst and not be immediately reprimanded. He gauges her reaction and tries to determine whether or not she's going to cause him much trouble. Without averting his gaze he adds.

"We've no dealings with the stalmorta that didn't involve beheadings, gunfire, and a the special kind of reminder a wooden table and an amateur surgeon tends to instill in you about hate."

"Hmm, no, I don't think I'll be arming you. If you're really 'secret agents' I'm sure your bosses can arm your ship for you." The harpy says, laughing with genuine amusement. "But I'll fix your ship for you while you're gone. Which brings me to the facts, you won't need your ship where you're going. It would only make you a target. I have it on good authority that a smuggling base is set up in the jungle, in some old ruins. I'd like you to go dispose of the smugglers, and return all the contraband to me." She looks the group over. "So, are you willing to do that?"

-------------------------------------------

The six winged man looks at Elara. "Less paperwork. None at all in fact, whether they are alive or dead. Covert agents don't exist, so they can't be documented if they are alive, or if they've had their heads removed or wings sheered off." He responds evenly. "Much easier to deal with, either way, than smugglers. And if it's smugglers pretending to be covert agents, well, stupid smugglers..." He eyes the Harpy with some annoyance. "As I said earlier, I am Captain Anteres Rathborne, no W in the name."

"Your orders don't conflict with our previous orders, Mistress Bloodwing. As long as you give all of our equipment back, so we're not crippled getting to this smuggler base. We'll need more than just a map, and I'm not expecting an armed caravan, but I hope you're not intending on sending us there in chains. 'Hunting hawks fly freely.'" Connor said evenly, with a look at Captain Rathborne. "Circumstances notwithstanding, we're actually not comfortable with magic items, so don't expect us to be able to haul a skyship's cargo back to Anshrin here. You might just get more of what we had this time: unopened sealing boxes."

Connor thought to himself, It is a search-and-destroy mission, not a recovery mission. I do hate piling on obligations on top of obligations, don't you, Hero? with a mental raspberry at another voice in the link. But the rulers of Anshrin knew the 'tel Mintakias, and Alsatia, on sight, as well as by reputation. That forebode others knew about the 'tel Mintakias' actions and plans outside of Atalantia.

The harpy gives a bow. "I see, well, I hadn't planned on sending you in like hatchlings to the slaughter. Antares hon, give them back their toys. If there's something you need, and it's not an outrageous request, I'll entertain it."

The six winged man's mouth goes flatter, if possible, but he nods at the man in full armor, and the pack containing all the weapons of the group is taken out and emptied of it's contents, the man in armor handing them out with precision to the original owners.

Slipping his blades back into their sheathes with practiced ease, Roderick eyes the harpy warily. "One other means, possibly cheaper, by which you might arm us is information. Have you information on the disposition of the smuggler's fighters and capabilities? Anything that might prove helpful in seeing the Stalmorta bastards into an early grave?"

"Hey, less paperwork, right?" Elara checks her blade for nicks before strapping it back onto her body. "Yeah, what the smart one said; this is your port, you've got more idea what's going on, right? Anythin' you can tell us?"

Connor took his backpack, pouches, and his psicrystal staff back. I need some kind of masking power, or some way to hide my power stones. he thought to himself. No use in being a signal fire like this to everyone we meet. Keeping himself in the background, he listened for the government officials' answers.

Bloodwing waves a hand at the woman with the ax. "Callistia, dear, give them the latest on the Stalmorta magic smugglers."

The woman with the ax sighs. "To the best of our information, the head of the smugglers is Klivant. Formerly Klivant of Ralvaise of Stalmorta. At one point in time, he was the right hand idiot of the former boss of the city. With the change of fortunes, he and his cohorts tried to stir up trouble for the city, including seeing to it that a moderate level Stalmorta heir publicly murdered someone while drunk, requiring us to execute the idiot publicly." She grins. "Kind of hard to hold that against him though, probably one of the few times he's done a public service. Anyway, to the best of our knowledge he's holed up in the old Kliasti Ruins. They've been off limits for centuries. Old unstable magic, Remnant Relics, some even say there's ghosts of the idiots who caused the Uprising. He had about 40 followers when he left the city. Between the jungle and the ruins, I'd be shocked if still had 20."

Sorry was away for the holiday weekend and sick yesterday.

"So what do you want done with Klivant? Dead? Or you nned him to make an example of? We will be needing our chest back and some of those magic trinkets. Will help to look like smuglers if we have goods. Besides he may have a guy like your elf there that can detect the stuff. Doesn't have to be the stuff that was in it, and looks like you have plenty to spare here."

"Off hand, I'd prefer if you skinned him alive and left him on a termite mound... but beheaded,gutted, or otherwise dead is acceptable." She looks to the elf, and nods. The elf grunts unhappily, muttering about not trusting the party, and then stops the group that was taking stuff off to be destroyed. She begins digging into the stuff, and putting selected items into a much smaller crate, something easily carried by one person.

Bloodwing turns back to the group as the elf strides off. "Anything else?"

"Just a quick identification, a list of what's going into the box. As your...advisor can attest, just because we carried smuggler bait, doesn't mean we are proficient in its' use." Connor murmured from behind the others, his eyes on the items going into the container. He held out the hand not wrapped around his staff out flat, to one side, and wiggled his fingers. Translucent ectoplasm congealed and dripped from his digits into a mass that grew larger, extending arms, legs, and wings. "If you don't mind, I'll just make a helper to carry the box. So no one trips and causes an unfortunate reaction. Now, is there an unobserved egress from your dominion? Since we've been invited here rather publicly. And how should we contact you on our way back, to avoid any...misunderstandings?" he asked.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20