[color=fdc68a]"Mostly correct,"[/color] the rogue mimed to himself, disparagingly. 

The appreciation of the obvious, stemming from the latent mouths of babes, itched the fossils of palpable discernment buried deep within the bones of Bah’im. Elvish ancestry, coached his cultured mind to stomach the repetitive mistakes of other races, since they generally could not stand against the polished test of time. History ebbed and flowed like a river, to which the arcane trickster enjoyed wading and mingling in and amongst the prominent diverse tribes of the last few centuries. Gnomes and dwarves heralded as exceptions, but bore their own revolting idiosyncrasies. Evanesstra being an exclusion to that exemption, of course. 

Such a luxurious longevity was both an exaltation and a curse.  But mostly a blessing.

This heterogeneous squad of varied members, however, defending the entrance to the earthen fissure, already appeared to be accusatory. Without missing a beat, the magnificent cape wearing dragonborn had now taken large offense, labeling himself as the figure head of the crew, demanding a meager satisfaction. The swindler was savvy to the warlock’s charms, refuting slander but providing a venue for service, subconsciously allowing a societal redemption, if such a strident crime was not intentional.  This abrasive countenance for introductions and verbal dismemberment is exactly what the charlatan desired from his fateful company. And… 

A potential fall guy.

It made him hold his breath in expectation of hearing the wilderness burst into a prodigious peal of mirth that would shake the fixed luminaries in the obsolescent sky above. Nature beckoned to Him. And rightfully so. Taking a high seat amid the devils of the land, the bladesinger enjoyed the canopy the forest provided near the cavern, as the bands discussed and dealt with each other. Stepping ever so delicately close with untrammeled feet yet taking the advantage of the mist, the wood elf enjoyed the faithful whispers from yonder, rather than the unholy terror of a potential scandal, if combat reared its ugly head. This particular happenstance reminded and mimicked that of a lunatic asylum, deaf and blind to the policed sights and sounds abroad.
 
These villagers obviously accosted them, either out of pure ignorance or fear. 

These were notions of an exotic enormity reigned by an august munificence. It made Bah-Bah tingle with enthusiasm, a bound power of eloquence, burning to speak nobility. However, his words became practical, hinting to a ritual to detect the mystical current likely gracing this vicinity, scrawled evidently in an unsteady hand by a force, yet to be recognized.

It was very simple. 

At the end of Angela’s moving appeal to altruistic sentiments, luminous hands with elegant sleight continued to weave the incantation. His vice grip on his spell book curved the fog, like a flash of lightning etching radiance into the night. He remained hidden, but risking and butchering some of the stealth he garnered earlier. The hope of gilt and trophy over lacing gallows would make all the difference. And.

Would be enough to appease the unostentatious holes in his greedy, little heart.

[hider=Effects]
Bah'im casts [i]Detect Magic[/i] as a ritual, consuming the time allotted to do so, while remaining very, very sneaky.
[/hider]