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Summary
The invitation to the ball, however glittery, had clearly been out of politeness or obligation rather than any particular interest in Rolan as a wizard. Of course it had. Rolan should have guessed so from the start.
Well, bollocks to this, and bollocks to the lot of them. Rolan doesn’t need to rub elbows and eat bad canapés to know he’s better at magic than half the people here. Fireballing the party might be concerned impolite, so if he takes the Blackstaff portal back to Baldur’s Gate now, he can be home in time for Lia to save him some dinner.
He chugs the last of the flat wine, places his half-eaten pastry thing on Mordenkainen’s toe, and turns to leave. Which, of course, means he immediately walks into Gale Dekarios.