Just screaming into Party Chat is profoundly rude but screaming-toned somewhat informative words are maybe a little better? She loses grip on the 'mancer during the acceleration, sending him in an arc above the abandoned ship, but manages to slam back into him and grapple again, trying to stabilize.

"Jester Elf! Outside! I'm debuffed*!"

*The second part of the exclamation, unfortunately, happens to be in Notal due to a general lack of focus. 'Debuffed' is a two syllable word commonly used to refer to various magical afflictions, with connotations similar to 'cursed', which are unfortunately common outside of safe areas. (Whatever the fuck necro dude did is really uncomfortable and distracting!!!)

Caron is quickest to react, loosing one arrow at the necromancer while he's briefly separated from Weiss in midair and another into the water after the elf's splash landing. 

The zombie shark reverts to its standing orders, having done a roll as instructed. The most pertinent one is 'attack any intruders', so it reorients and swims towards the rest of the party, fin cutting through the surface of the river. 

Only to be met by Oriana's sword as she rushes ahead of Caron to intercept it, heedless of the planks sagging underfoot.

Meanwhile, the water around the elf swirls into a whirlpool as Vavana's summoned water elemental receives its own orders to restrain and/or drown her. 

She's had enough of this and - is no longer feeling more squeamish than angry - is going to try to break a necromancer's hands now. Cutting them to ribbons with the inch-long magic blades that sprout from each finger is also valid.

Face twisted in pain, he attempts to speak the words to one more spell, one that requires verbal components alone. Can he get them out? 

Unfortunately, yes. Hands mangled and bleeding, he still manages to speak the words to a Dimension Door and vanishes from her grasp with a pop of inrushing air. 

"He teleported! I feel - sick-"

She spends a moment berating herself for not sticking a tracker to him, or silencing him-

-Focuses and tries really hard to throw off whatever he did to debuff her. Doesn't work-

She has some of his blood. She can look for a similar substance with a scry-illusion. It's inefficient, but...

"-Trying to track." She'll need to fly around looking, in a moment, after finishing forming the illusion.

"Hells, we need a cleric on the team. Track him, throw another flare if you find him and the guard will go to you."

Another slash to the zombie shark, then a hasty step back into the hidden substructure as her footing gives way. 

"Going!"

If you can't push past it, ignore it. Catch the fucker, that's what you need to do.

Luckily, Sinnah's Fly is very very fast if you know what you're doing. And she knows what she's doing, she can fly in a circle - it flashes through her head in a series of wordless images, how big her cone of detection is and how fast she can turn and acelerate-

-And she flies in an expanding spiral, searching. Part of it is over the ocean but skipping that part wouldn't speed her up much, since Sinnah's Fly builds up speed, so-

It should take about two or three minutes to search 800 feet in every direction. It feels very quick and extremely slow at the same time.

"What kind of Fly spell is that." Vavana says, voice flat with resignation, and decidedly not over the party chat. 

Rolth Lamm is not having a good day. His father's fishery hideout was supposed to be a place for him to lie low after after his derro allies got themselves caught, and now one of the orphans has squealed or sold him out or something. The guard have showed up in enough force to capture his old man, ruin his latest project, his lover arrived on the scene at just the wrong time, and his panicked Dimension Door hasn't carried him quite far enough.

He bundles up his apron, too recognizable, cringing at how it brushes his broken fingers, then stuffs it in a rain barrel to retrieve later. Letting his hair down with thumbs alone is just as miserable. Forcing his face into a less noticeable expression, he winces again as he puts his hands in his pockets to slouch the last hundred yards in a way that shouldn't stick in the memory of any witnesses on the all-too-crowded streets. 

His father had told him about a stupid old Varisian hag⁸ who had sent her son off to die trying to get a deck of cards back from an urchin pickpocket and then thought to challenge Gaedren Lamm in his lair. The dead woman's house is now another of the properties not yet reverted to the city, standing unoccupied, and it should make the best bolt-hole he can reach while staying unnoticed in his condition. Perhaps his father had been hinting that he should leave for it of his own accord instead of stealing his bed and forcing him onto the floor. 

⁸ In the pejorative sense, not the monster.

Pressing himself close to the door, a practiced posture to hide his work, he quickly breaks the lock with a knee instead of his usual delicate pickwork and lets himself into the dusty and cobwebbed dwelling.

A slow and careful casting of False Life stems the bleeding of his fingers and mutes the pain enough for him to reconsider his plans. What if it wasn't an orphan who squealed, but a scry? Even if it wasn't, he's left enough blood behind that he could be found that way. Staying here any longer than ten minutes runs a risk he can't accept.

He has a scroll of Teleport kept on his person for emergencies like this. Where to go? That's a question he's thought about since he was a child running from his father instead of from the law. Running down the familiar list of destinations like a litany, it has to be Kaer Maga. The law of Korvosa does not reach so far as the City of Strangers, he's once seen a scry of its exterior, and from what he's heard a necromancer of his circle will never be unwelcome in the Ankar-Te district.

He takes out the scroll, careful not to mar it with his bloody hands, and spreads it out across a chair that is intact enough to serve as a table among all the other scattered and broken furnishings.

This boy is far too like his father.

The scroll rolls up again.

Then he'll spread it out again, and pin it flat with his elbows to spare his wounded hands.

Would you look at that, it's just covered in dust. Unreadable.

Can he blow it off?

Very stubborn clinging dust. 

The weird uncomfortable spell has worn off.

"Found him, going in."

Flare for the Guard. Bright pointing arrows for a couple of them she spotted while flying, too.

Invisibility. Darkness sphere. Track and tag illusion. Silence.

Large-bodied Sinnah's Flying tackle.

He is swiftly bowled over and overwhelmed, the teleport scroll thrown to a corner of the room by the impact. Silenced and pinned, there are no spells in his repertoire that can be cast under those conditions, and he's not going to be winning a knife fight with a giant fox either.

"I surrender!" He wheezes instead.

See: silence. But she can see through her own darkness, and read lips, and see him stop doing things.

"I'm not a cop but okay, sure, necro guy. I imagine you don't want me to be preachy at you, so..."

She'll stop squishing him. He seems like one of the unnaturally tough people, and she really doesn't want him to get away, though. Rope! It sure comes in handy for a lot of things! She doesn't have actual handcuffs in her Tail of Holding because she's not a cop, but rope is useful for all sorts of things. Her dexterity is slightly impaired by paws, so she uses Illusion Hands to help.

-And then she notices the ghost in the room. The first one she's seen around here, actually, which takes her aback slightly. Megi is the one who usually talks to spirits but it's not like she can't?

"-You a victim of his?"

The ghost seems to be as surprised as she is to be noticed!

"You can see me? Hear me? His crimelord father Gaedren was my killer, after his men murdered my son over an heirloom harrow deck a coerced orphan stole from me. This one has not wronged me, but from what I can feel of him he takes after his father. Please, both of them must face their fate, and justice must be done."

Okay. Let all the emotions of the last few minutes work over you. She feels a little like crying. Deeeep breath. 

"...I can see you, and hear you, one of the goddesses, Isara, asks our kind to see to the unfinished business of the dead. Not like anyone else is going to, right? I don't like hunting people down, it gets - messy - but- The guard is about to come in, but we should talk more later."