Mai's slash strikes carving a dark line in it's flank and it hisses through it's sharp fangs as it moves through to "Stupid human, go away!" it's eyes glimmer with a hidden fire.
Galfons' arrow just misses the extraplanar creature, it's tiny form managing just to evade the comparatively huge missile. Mai's charge is not accurate as the passing stroke, the vicious devil turning to avoid her heavy charge. It looks down to it's side at the ichor oozing and snarls.
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Rook swats at the imp as it flies past, but the end of the crop whiffs through the air, just off-target. When the little creature starts overturning furniture, he merely leans aside to let the top of the saltire cross pass.
When he sees a moment to act, the tengu darts forwards to try to grab the imp. The talons of his right foot catch in the fresh debris on the floor, and the imp evades his grasp.
Samara scores a passing hit as the Imp flies past however it barely scratches it's skin. Whilst Rooks movements are not swift enough to score a hit, as aren't Mai's.
The Imp whips out it's tiny weapon, looks to Mai hatefully at the pain the woman caused. However the rubbery flesh seems to knit back together despite the blades effectiveness. Looking around trapped on the flanks and Itra's scary presence behind, it lungs out at Mai.
It squeaks gleefully striking at Mai; "Tell that staubsauger, I ain't giving her the box back."
—injury; save Fort DC 13; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d2 Dex; cure 1 save.
The Imp cackles wildly, that his strike was so true.
The Imp flicks out her tail as Itra just moves past it. "See I'm too good for you mewling humans, you'll be my slaves."
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Eddie watched her arrow bounce off of tiny flying creature, and the others attacks don't seem to be doing much better, although Mai and Samara seemed to be having more luck with close range weapons. Seeing as the imp has closed the distance between them as well, Eddie drops her bow, and draws her longsword slashing at the evasive creature in the same motion
Eddie's singular motion flows like water, however the dammed creature avoids it. Seeing itself being surrounded it holds tighter onto the box.
Itra moves past Mai, to flank the little devil. Just as the Imp glances to Rook, the silver blade glistening in his hand - Itra reaches out and with the powerful grace of the practised thief-taker grabs the tiny arm of the imp. "Get-orf" it squeaks.
"Ouch! Leggo of me - you horrid monkeys'" It screams as the arrow hits' it in the guts. Slicing straight through the gelatinous gloop of it's flesh. "You ain't giving the witch back her box."
He struggles against Itra's grip, refusing to give up his case.
Rook rips the box from the Imps' grasp. The devils struggle to free itself from the guardsman's' grasp had meant it couldn't retain the grip on the box.
With a skill seem on many areas of the docksides, the Tengu knocks the item to the ground. Where the locks rattle against the deep vermilion wood.
Frentic struggling continues from the Imp, as it thrashes around.
The Imp wrenches itself against Itra's hold, seemingly forgotten the box now that it's possession in no longer in dispute.
However it all seems futile to the despondent creature as it's dragged back into the anti-chamber.
"Oh, who has been naughty?" Zarta says softly, a dark hunger in her eyes. "Not you sweet, sweet Pathfinders. You've done very well - feel free to call on me, whenever..." she puts a hand on Passio's arm and gives it a little squeeze.
Zarta's manicured fingers grasp the evil creatures neck, as it tries to endearingly lick her fingers.
She pouts to the group at their haste to leave the palatial town-house; "You don't want to discuss the Cheliax lodge, we have the best parties and some of the most expansive expense accounts."
"Surely you're not the type who get what they want, then rush off. No cuddling?" she opens up a drawer and stuffs the devil in there.
"It's just as I borrowed it." Zarta crosses her legs, as she's perched upon the desk. "Speaking of which, you can borrow the antique silver letter-opener... if you wish to come back later tonight. Maybe, if you pay the proper lip-service - I'll let you keep it." she arches an eyebrow.
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Mai stares at Zartra for a moment, then at the letter opener. She lays the silver blade across her sleeve, handle first, and offers it to the Chelaxian with a bow. "Thank you for the loan of silver, Paracountess. I am not certain any of us will have time to return tonight, and this is far too precious for us to keep."
With one hand carefully taking the handle, the other slips off her shoes and massages her feet softly. Zarta's eyes don't leave Mai's countenance;"Rain-check, if you feel too tired tonight? Though Aldor is good at relieving weariness." she offers her servants services.
Looking at the rest of the group sadly; "Anyone want to take me up on the offer? You could help me in the bedroom, it's an awful mess." she entices realising that though her blandishments are obvious, some may come back alone after the sun has set.
"Oh well, your loss." she flicks at her long sable hair, cascading down the contours of her body. "We are still the most powerful empire in the world and our gratitude is.... ample."
Placing the letter-opener upon the plush antique desk she picks up a small bag; "Here, another bulging leather pouch, take it as a small mark of my pleasure." she offers it openly.
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As Mai hesitates to touch anything proffered by the Paracountess, Samara slips forward and lightly takes the jingling pouch. She gives a little shrug, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Rewards are things that are good." Stashing the pouch, she hurries to the door. "Obeying the Venture Captain, that is what we must do now."
Mai nods and follows Samara without a backward glance.
As afternoon slides inexorably into evening, the sun starts to dip below the horizon. The group progresses rapidly through the crowded city; taking the most direct route back through the foreign quarter. It gets busier and busier with vendors and crowds milling about on the streets; the exotic spiced scents assail the nostrils to counter the pervasive stench of the districts over-crowded populace.
Animals roam the streets, bedecked with vivid colours and all manner of trinkets. Buildings are rendered with many differing styles and an equal amount of colours that subtly clash with one another. Shabby streets give a well-lived in feel.
A throng of people block the street up ahead. A performance art group commandeers the through-way, drawing graffiti to create a jolly hellscape complete with illusionary devils capering and comically dancing in circles. A few citizens avoid the crowd by slipping off the street to a nearby alley, the only egress past the gathering.
There's at least 20 to 30 of the brightly coloured people, some indistinguishable from illusions, as the cavort perform and prance with a certain flair.
With a trilling reply, a tengu with a saffron and azure scarf spins around. Her dance wild and with abandon as the group fill up the whole street.
Itra, Mai, the young pathfinders walk forward with Plod walking at their side.
Walking up the alleyway, which is quite cluttered but not to dirty, a mist slowly starts to form. Plod snorts angrilly with a slight tug on his reins. Citizens nearby seem to move quickly, past you - clearing out of the way. The reason for this becomes clear as the mist do likewise.
A scarlet haired woman, with a high-necked blouse and a long flowing dark skirt with silvered threads. A stout garment that is the opposite of the Chelaxian ambassors.
Behind her is a man, such non-descript rumpled clothing is only match by his countenance, however there's a thin veneer of civility and annoyanceas if of a man on the third consecutive working shift.
And beside him is small wild-eyed halfling with a giant perfectly manicured moustache. Filled with a mad, electrical energy he bounces ready to attack.
To the rear of the party is a a woman with full-blond hair, pouting crimson lips and steely blue eyes. She fidgets as if restless for the ambush to begin.
"Why don't you hand over all your gold, that box and your weapons? Then we might part as friends - rather than my friends parting you!" says the sensibly dressed sunset haired lady in a sharp voice.
Halli; AC16; HP8
Ledford, AC15; HP17
Larkin, AC17; HP10