Merienne listens intently, fingertips steepled beneath her chin as Iromae speaks. When asked about the silver thread itself, she exhales softly through her nose. “No, I’m afraid not,” she says at last. “The weave is singular — spun through with moonlight and memory both. Even if I could reproduce its sheen, it would not feel the same to one attuned to the Weave. You would sense the falsehood immediately.” Her tone softens as she adds, “But the satchel bears a faint trace of where the thread once rested. If your sight runs deep enough, you might glimpse its echo.”
At Iromae’s question about the inspectors, Merienne’s expression hardens. “They rarely arrest without cause — or at least without claiming one,” she says, lips thinning. “Most who draw their notice are simply questioned, their parcels seized ‘pending verification.’ If they find contraband or anything that might be, the goods vanish into bureaucracy, and the person is left shaken but free.” A faint flicker of contempt crosses her face. “But if an inspector believes they’ve found a trail worth following … or if the item’s magic whispers too loudly, the bearer sometimes disappears with it. Be discreet.”
Her attention turns to Vorenus next. “Unattuning?” She considers the word. “Yes, though it requires deliberate effort. The mirrorcraft’s bond fades after a short rest if the wearer wills it so — though doing so repeatedly weakens the protective weave. It’s meant as a disguise, not a revolving door.” Her eyes stray toward his bloodied hand, and she waves it off before he can smear it anywhere near her silks. “Water, there — please, for the sake of my sanity.” A porcelain basin gleams beside a rack of brushes and dyes.
When the trio make to leave, Merienne moves to the doorway behind them, arms folded loosely across her chest. Morning sunlight spills in from the lane, catching the dust motes in the air like drifting sparks. “Watch carefully, and say little,” she calls after them. “Garrick’s stall lies at the fountain’s east edge, between the glassblower and the apothecary. If he’s not there himself, his helpers will be. They chatter more than he does.”
Her mouth curves in a half-smile, dry but not unkind. “And if you return before dusk, I may have tidings of my own. There are other threads tugging loose in Suzail today.”
The door shuts gently behind you. Outside, the city’s day is already gathering pace — the clang of a distant gate, the rolling murmur of carts over cobblestone, the scent of baking bread and wet stone in the air.
Pale Fountain Square lies only a few streets away, and from here you can already hear the faint rhythm of its heart: hawkers calling, hooves striking stone, and the splash of the fountain itself rising above the morning din.
Iromae thanks Merienne for her information about the thread. As the group heads out of the shop, she comments to the others, "Tidings if we return before dusk? I wonder what that might be! We definitely should try to get back. But that seemed to go well, don't you think?"
She has in her mind to try something, but she realizes it has a bit of risk. She looks around, trying to decide if there is any chance someone might overhear. With the growing bustle of life, she isn't quite sure if she would really know if something might be overheard. So, as the group walks along, she stays quiet and doesn't say anything on the issue. 'I can always bring it up later if other ideas do not work out.'
"I guess we find the stall first?" she says. "And Vorenus? Should you handle the talking?" She thinks a moment, "If he is there at first, maybe we just browse nearby stalls before trying anything. Then there's the bag. I guess we need to figure out how we might use that."
When she looks over at Vorenus, she has a bit of a sheepish look. The way he slipped back into his act was admittedly useful back in the shop. And his deceptions might be useful here to come. But it still bothered her a little bit. She much preferred the real Vorenus and this just reminded her of how he had hidden his true self before. She realizes she has much more important things to worry about right now, but she can't help but muse about it a bit.
"Let's find the stall and we'll figure out what to do with the bag later. There's always time to find some alleyway to prepare the decoy with no one watching,"Shenua answers.
As they approach their destination, her first instinct is to grab her shoulder bag tighter to make sure nothing happens to its contents. Then she decides it's better to act casual, as though they're just a group of friends making perfectly ordinary purchases.
She takes a general look, searching for Garrick's stall — an old stall by the fountain, as Merienne said. As they draw closer she scans the crowd for anyone who matches the courier's description and notes whether there are any inspectors nearby, where they're positioned, and what they're doing.
"Yes, the stall it is," Iromae says, finally coming around to focusing on the task at hand. She looks around to try to get an idea of area before her. (Perception: 15)
Vorenus looks to Iromae, nodding with a smile. “Yes, I’ll do so. But, like Merienne said, I believe we should “Watch carefully and say little.” I imagine we won’t know which direction to push until we go and observe a while.” Once they arrive and Iromae spots the stalls mentioned, Vorenus turns to both of them and says, “Okay, are you ready? Act II, and so it begins… what shall we call it? Pulling the Silver Thread…. Oh, I’m not so good at such things. Let’s all play our parts. Places? Everyone have their lines memorized?” He turns and a big grin comes on his face. This isn’t his first rodeo, and strangely he’s beginning to enjoy the role.. “Now, now, my students. Let’s go look for some nice bargains. Scope out the scene. Do a little haggling. Mmmm?” He puts a little hitch into his walk, like his hip might be bothering him, scratching his rough beard a little and looking like someone ready to drive a hard bargain…
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The three of you slip from the tight lanes of Tailor’s Row into the wider arteries of morning Suzail, where the city’s pulse is already quickening. The streets slope gently downhill toward Pale Fountain Square, and with each block the sounds sharpen: the scrape of crates on stone, the clatter of shutters being propped open, apprentices shouting deliveries back and forth as though volume alone might keep them on schedule.
By the time the fountain comes into view — its pale marble catching the sunlight with a watery sheen — the square is awake and moving. Not crowded yet, but busy enough that three newcomers can disappear into its rhythm with ease.
Shenua, trying to look casual, feels her hand twitch toward her bag before she forces herself to relax it. Her eyes sweep the scene, but the crowd shifts unpredictably and the morning glare off the marble doesn’t help; nothing stands out, no inspector or courier catches her eye. Just motion, chatter, and the faint spray of the fountain.
Iromae, however, sees more. The Silvershroud stall is immediately recognizable — a narrow wooden counter tucked between the glassblower’s booth and a small, cramped apothecary. Two young assistants are unpacking bundles of wrapped parchment and twine, one yawning wide enough to pop his jaw. Neither looks particularly alert.
She also notes two inspectors, both in the muted grey tabards that mark their station. One leans against a lamppost on the square’s eastern edge, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but observant. The other walks a slow circuit around the fountain’s far side, occasionally stopping to ask a vendor a question or inspect a crate’s seal. Neither seems especially tense — just performing morning checks.
Vorenus slips effortlessly into character, limping just enough to look believable without drawing stares. His transformation earns a single raised eyebrow from a passing merchant — and a soft snort of amusement from a nearby pair of guards — but nothing more. Between his gruff haggling persona and the bustle around you, the group blends well into the moving tapestry of shoppers.
The Silvershroud stall sits no more than 30 feet ahead. The assistants are busy arranging their morning deliveries, chatting idly about last night’s dice game. No sign of Garrick — yet.
The patrol inspector on the far side of the fountain has now begun circling your direction, though at his current pace he’ll reach the stall in about two minutes. The one at the lamppost has shifted his weight and begun scanning the square with a bit more purpose.
For now, no one is paying you particular attention.
Iromae speaks softly to her other two companions. "The inspector making rounds will be at the stall in a couple minutes. Another is just standing watching. I don't see Garrick, perhaps we should talk to those two now?" She's most concerned about the one just standing by the lamppost and tries to get a sense of where his attention is focused. Without being obvious about it of course. (Insight: 9)
With the subtle hitch in his giddyup, Vorenus begins talking to Iromae and Shenua behind him as they walk toward the stall, hoping to beat the inspector there. “I can’t believe that you ran out of parchment, and the thread that we need my dears. Perhaps we can get some here on our way in, or our timeline will be all messed up. Prior proper planning will avoid pee poor performance, as I always say! Now, let’s see here, what do we have here? Hello, my good sirs, we are here to look at your wares, your parchment. Might you happen to have or seen any silver thread, such as for knitting and so forth? What have you here on this fine day?” Vorenus scratches his chin and squares each of them in his gaze with a squinky eye.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua totally backs Vorenus's story, acting as though she is deeply ashamed for forgetting to buy parchment beforehand. "I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry! I don't know what happened. I guess I was too absorbed in my studies to realize I was using that much paper. And I did think of buying more, I promise! It's just that I forgot two days ago… and then yesterday I… I guess I forgot again. It won't happen again!"
She follows Vorenus and Iromae with a contrite look, making sure her flustered apology is heard by the closest bystanders and by the stall's assistants. She keeps an eye on the patrolling inspector, ready to create a distraction if Vorenus needs more time. She begins patting her pockets nervously, as if searching for something important...
(ooc: If the inspector comes too close to the stall and Vorenus hasn't finished speaking and needs more time…)
As the inspector draws near, Shenua's pocket-searching becomes more frantic. "I—I will pay for the parchment! It's only fitting, since it was my fault we ran out and now our planning will be delayed!"
Right on cue, a small pouch slips free and spills across the stone with a sharp clatter. "Oh, gods above! Why is this happening to me!" She looks around in panicked embarrassment, spots the inspector, and blurts, "Can you help me, good sir!?"
The three of you glide toward the Silvershroud stall, your voices woven into the background chatter so cleanly that only a true observer would suspect you of anything but mundane errands.
Iromae, your quiet appraisal of the inspector by the lamppost yields … little clarity. He’s difficult to read. His posture is relaxed but not careless, and his gaze moves not with suspicion but with professional habit — sweeping, lingering, sweeping again. With your insight you can’t quite tell whether he’s bored, alert, or simply thinking about breakfast. But one thing is certain: he’s watching the square, not you.
The patrolling inspector, meanwhile, continues his steady loop. He’ll be at the stall soon.
Vorenus, your performance rolls off your tongue with ease — every syllable of the bustling, slightly crotchety master perfectly delivered. The two Silvershroud assistants startle slightly as you approach, one nearly dropping a roll of parchment.
The younger one, a boy with straw-colored hair, stammers, “Ah — parchment? Yes, sir, yes of course! Parchment, vellum, all sorts — uh, silver thread?”
His companion, a young woman who seems far more awake, shakes her head. “No, no thread here — that’s the weavers’ row north of the temple. We’re messengers and scribes. But if you want fibers for — knitting, was it? — you’d need one of the privy guild stalls. We only —”
A pause. Her eyes flick to a ledger behind them. Something about the question clearly pinged a memory — but before she can speak on it —
Shenua, your frantic apology cuts across the conversation like a thrown stone into a pond. Heads turn. Even the lamppost inspector glances your way. You sell the embarrassment so convincingly that the young assistant half-raises a hand as though genuinely concerned for your distress.
You feel you're running out of time, so you drop the pouch. Coins scatter across the cobblestones with a metallic burst. People in the square jump; several heads swivel toward the sound.
The patrolling inspector — now only 30 feet away — halts mid-step. His eyes snap to you.
“Miss?” he calls, voice clear but not unfriendly. “What have you — ?”
You seize the moment: “Can you help me, good sir!?”
The inspector stiffens — because suddenly he is, unmistakably, the center of attention.
He strides toward you immediately, boots clacking across stone. “Stand still, please. Let me see what’s fallen. No one touch the coins,” he barks automatically at the nearby bystanders. A few people edge away rather than risk seeming involved.
You’ve created the perfect distraction.
The patrolling inspector is locked on Shenua.
The lamppost inspector is watching the commotion but not moving yet.
The stall assistants are flustered and focused on both Iromae and Vorenus.
The crowd’s attention has shifted, giving the trio a momentary bubble of cover.
Iromae, you noticed the young woman at the stall had something to say before being interrupted. She glances again at the ledger, chewing her lip. There’s a secret on the tip of her tongue.
Iromae jumps a bit at the crash of Shenua's pouch against the ground. She'd love to say it was part of the act, but truly it was just genuine surprise at the sudden sound. Though she longs to just focus on the stall assistants, she does cast a brief, slightly worried, glance in the tiefling's direction. 'A good distraction', she thinks. 'And hopefully one she won't get into any trouble over.'
After that moment, her gaze is back to the young woman. She gives her a reassuring smile. "You only?" she asks, repeating the woman's last words softly. "Was there something you thought of? It would really help us. Our master is a bit annoyed at us for our poor planning." (Persuasion: 14)
As the patrolling inspector drops into a brisk stride toward the tiefling, the Silvershroud stall is briefly forgotten by everyone except Iromae, Vorenus, and the young woman whose thoughts have just been nudged back to the surface.
She startles slightly when you speak, Iromae, then meets your eyes — your calm expression clearly a welcome contrast to the flustered chaos Shenua has expertly conjured. Something adds a sparkle to her eye: pleasure.
For a heartbeat she hesitates, glancing toward the ledger again, then back toward her yawning partner — then toward the lamppost inspector who is now watching the scene with a narrowing gaze. A thin smile gently curves her mouth and she leans in just a little, lowering her voice to something meant only for you.
“Right. What I was going to say,” she murmurs quickly, fingers tightening around the edge of the stall, “is that we did have something unusual come through yesterday. Not thread, exactly, but … something wrapped like it. Light. Quiet. And the courier who dropped it off — Garrick wasn’t here. We weren’t expecting it.”
She glances over her shoulder, then taps the corner of the ledger with a subtle but deliberate gesture.
“It came from the south gate. Marked urgent. But the seal wasn’t one we recognized.”
Then, with a nearly imperceptible nod toward the approaching inspector, she adds under her breath: “And someone came to collect it not 10 minutes later. Didn’t sign. Didn’t give a name. Didn’t even look at me. Just showed a writ, took the parcel, and left north toward the Temple District.”
She nods subtly, appearing pleased with herself. “That’s all I know." She leans back a little, talking louder. "If Garrick were here he’d probably pretend he knew more, but he’s late this morning.”
Looking past you, the young woman gives Shenua a look that conveys both pity and exasperation. Behind you, the distraction reaches its peak as the inspector crouches to help gather the scattered coins, entirely consumed by the theatrics. Vorenus’ performance is holding strong.
The lamppost inspector, however, is beginning to push himself off the post — curiosity and duty stirring in equal measure.
Iromae smiles, nodding slightly as the woman talks. When she taps the ledger, she tries to subtly glance at it. (Perception: 9) At the end, she gives a light chuckle. "I guess I'm lucky Garrick isn't here and we got to talk. Do you think you could describe the delivery person or the one picking up?" She doesn't press though, noting the lamppost being vacated and wanting to be ready to move along quickly.
"Thank you so much, sir!" Shenua keeps her theatrics going as long as she can. "I'm really sorry for the mess — but see? Only a few coins left to pick up. Could you get the ones closest to you while I finish with these here?"
For a moment she doesn't even acknowledge whatever the inspector says in response, focusing entirely on gathering the scattered coins near her. The fluster she initially put on as an act is beginning to feel real. The longer the inspector stays kneeling beside her, the more her nerves twist. She can only hope Iromae and Vorenus have gotten what they need, because she knows she can't hold this charade much longer.
Once the last of the coins are tucked safely back into the pouch, Shenua finally looks up at the man who helped her. "Again, thank you. I won't trouble you any longer. I only wanted to buy some parchment… before my clumsy hands decided to make an spectacle of me."
The turquoise-haired tiefling takes a deep breath in and out to calm herself — not simulated this time, but entirely necessary. Her heart is starting to race as she realizes the other inspector is no longer leaning on the lamppost but making his way toward them. She gives the one beside her a nervous smile and a small curtsy before stepping back toward the stall.
"Gods above, what an awful day," Shenua mutters as she approaches the young woman at the counter. "Please, a few sheets of parchment, if you'd be so kind. Then I promise I'll get out of your sight!"
If nothing interrupts the transaction, Shenua pays with the freshly collected coins and accepts the parchment carefully. But instead of placing it in her shoulder bag, she keeps it in her hands. Then she steps away from the stall, slow enough that Iromae and Vorenus can still see her.
A few paces off, the artificer pauses to inspect the parchment up close, mumbling about its quality, still committed to the act of the frazzled scholar who isn't having the best of days.
"Absorbed, I would say so, my dear... oh... lookatwhatchuvdonenow... dropped it on the ground oh my goodness me..." Vorenus starts flailing his arms around, hip sore and maintaining balance while trying to pick up coins off the ground. He pauses mid flail when he hears the inspector call a halt to his efforts. Like a radar going off in his mind, he sense Iromae behind him, making initial contact and he decides to use his arm flapping and flailing around to distract and deter the inspector, focusing on the coin on the ground and the poor performance of his student to set up a smoke screen on the conversation occurring behind him.
"There now, that's better. Why this nice young man has better things to do than to hear you wailing and scatterwalling about like a stressed out hen. Yes, let's be on with our business and then be on our way, so much to do, so little time ... come now, that's it." Vorenus gathers Iromae and Shenua like a hen gathering her ducklings, equal parts herding and shooing away from the stall after the business has been finished.
After they are clear, he eagerly awaits word of the findings after they exit, stage right.
Your attempt to glimpse the ledger catches only the edge of a page — columns of names, dates, and shorthand sigils — but the young woman’s body blocks the rest as she instinctively shifts. Still, your question lands cleanly.
She brightens. Positively brightens. Gossip clearly suits her.
“Oh, the courier!” she whispers, delighted. “Yes — tall fellow, wiry, with a bit of road dust on him. Dark hair pulled back, and one of those leather throat-guards couriers wear when the wind’s sharp off the river. Very jumpy. Kept looking over his shoulder like someone might snatch the parcel from him.”
She leans in even closer.
“And the collector — well —” Her eyes sparkle. “I couldn’t see much. Hooded, heavy cloak despite the warmth. Moved like someone used to armor but not in it. The writ they showed was official, but it didn’t look like any inspector’s papers I’ve seen. Stiff, too stiff. Like no one had handled it before.”
Her smug little smile widens. You’ve made her morning.
But her gaze flicks past you — her expression dims. The watcher’s coming.
Indeed, the lamppost inspector has straightened fully now. He’s begun walking toward the commotion — slow but purposeful, eyes locked on the knot of activity around Shenua.
You have seconds.
Shenua:
The inspector helping you gathers the last few coins with professional briskness. “There. Nothing lost. Though you should keep that pouch tied tighter, miss.” His tone softens just a hair. “Morning rush claims more valuables than thieves do.”
When you thank him and withdraw, he nods, adjusts his tabard, and rises — only to notice his fellow inspector approaching. A faint frown crosses his face as if he already anticipates a lecture about being “overly involved with civilians.”
Your purchase at the stall goes uninterrupted; the boy hands you parchment under the sideways gaze of the young woman — her look caught between pity and amusement.
The performance has run its course. The longer you linger, the more suspicious the scene may become.
Vorenus:
Your arm-flapping theatrics, delivered with impeccable timing, create exactly the layer of chaotic noise the situation needs. Anyone watching would conclude your trio is simply a bumbling master with two overwhelmed pupils. When the helpful inspector stands, you begin gently herding the others away — perfect cover, perfectly in character.
Seeing that Shenua has finished with her business and is heading away with Vorenus, she nervously shakes her head. "Ah, I'd best catch up to my master." Again, she gives the young woman a smile, "It was good to talk with you. Have a good day!" She hurriedly follows after Vorenus.
Assuming the group can get clear of the place and move along to a place where they might speak, Iromae relays what she heard. "She said it wasn't thread though, but wrapped like it. And the courier had dark hair, pulled back. Not close cropped. And no mention of a red scarf. I don't think that was our person," she comments. "Though it is interesting. The 'new' inspector's papers. Someone sent specially? Or a forgery?" She sighs. As excited as she'd been in receiving the information, she isn't sure how useful it might have been. "What do you two think?"
Merienne listens intently, fingertips steepled beneath her chin as Iromae speaks. When asked about the silver thread itself, she exhales softly through her nose. “No, I’m afraid not,” she says at last. “The weave is singular — spun through with moonlight and memory both. Even if I could reproduce its sheen, it would not feel the same to one attuned to the Weave. You would sense the falsehood immediately.” Her tone softens as she adds, “But the satchel bears a faint trace of where the thread once rested. If your sight runs deep enough, you might glimpse its echo.”
At Iromae’s question about the inspectors, Merienne’s expression hardens. “They rarely arrest without cause — or at least without claiming one,” she says, lips thinning. “Most who draw their notice are simply questioned, their parcels seized ‘pending verification.’ If they find contraband or anything that might be, the goods vanish into bureaucracy, and the person is left shaken but free.” A faint flicker of contempt crosses her face. “But if an inspector believes they’ve found a trail worth following … or if the item’s magic whispers too loudly, the bearer sometimes disappears with it. Be discreet.”
Her attention turns to Vorenus next. “Unattuning?” She considers the word. “Yes, though it requires deliberate effort. The mirrorcraft’s bond fades after a short rest if the wearer wills it so — though doing so repeatedly weakens the protective weave. It’s meant as a disguise, not a revolving door.” Her eyes stray toward his bloodied hand, and she waves it off before he can smear it anywhere near her silks. “Water, there — please, for the sake of my sanity.” A porcelain basin gleams beside a rack of brushes and dyes.
When the trio make to leave, Merienne moves to the doorway behind them, arms folded loosely across her chest. Morning sunlight spills in from the lane, catching the dust motes in the air like drifting sparks. “Watch carefully, and say little,” she calls after them. “Garrick’s stall lies at the fountain’s east edge, between the glassblower and the apothecary. If he’s not there himself, his helpers will be. They chatter more than he does.”
Her mouth curves in a half-smile, dry but not unkind. “And if you return before dusk, I may have tidings of my own. There are other threads tugging loose in Suzail today.”
The door shuts gently behind you. Outside, the city’s day is already gathering pace — the clang of a distant gate, the rolling murmur of carts over cobblestone, the scent of baking bread and wet stone in the air.
Pale Fountain Square lies only a few streets away, and from here you can already hear the faint rhythm of its heart: hawkers calling, hooves striking stone, and the splash of the fountain itself rising above the morning din.
Iromae thanks Merienne for her information about the thread. As the group heads out of the shop, she comments to the others, "Tidings if we return before dusk? I wonder what that might be! We definitely should try to get back. But that seemed to go well, don't you think?"
She has in her mind to try something, but she realizes it has a bit of risk. She looks around, trying to decide if there is any chance someone might overhear. With the growing bustle of life, she isn't quite sure if she would really know if something might be overheard. So, as the group walks along, she stays quiet and doesn't say anything on the issue. 'I can always bring it up later if other ideas do not work out.'
"I guess we find the stall first?" she says. "And Vorenus? Should you handle the talking?" She thinks a moment, "If he is there at first, maybe we just browse nearby stalls before trying anything. Then there's the bag. I guess we need to figure out how we might use that."
When she looks over at Vorenus, she has a bit of a sheepish look. The way he slipped back into his act was admittedly useful back in the shop. And his deceptions might be useful here to come. But it still bothered her a little bit. She much preferred the real Vorenus and this just reminded her of how he had hidden his true self before. She realizes she has much more important things to worry about right now, but she can't help but muse about it a bit.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
"Let's find the stall and we'll figure out what to do with the bag later. There's always time to find some alleyway to prepare the decoy with no one watching," Shenua answers.
As they approach their destination, her first instinct is to grab her shoulder bag tighter to make sure nothing happens to its contents. Then she decides it's better to act casual, as though they're just a group of friends making perfectly ordinary purchases.
She takes a general look, searching for Garrick's stall — an old stall by the fountain, as Merienne said. As they draw closer she scans the crowd for anyone who matches the courier's description and notes whether there are any inspectors nearby, where they're positioned, and what they're doing.
(Perception: ugh...a 5)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
"Yes, the stall it is," Iromae says, finally coming around to focusing on the task at hand. She looks around to try to get an idea of area before her. (Perception: 15)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Vorenus looks to Iromae, nodding with a smile. “Yes, I’ll do so. But, like Merienne said, I believe we should “Watch carefully and say little.” I imagine we won’t know which direction to push until we go and observe a while.” Once they arrive and Iromae spots the stalls mentioned, Vorenus turns to both of them and says, “Okay, are you ready? Act II, and so it begins… what shall we call it? Pulling the Silver Thread…. Oh, I’m not so good at such things. Let’s all play our parts. Places? Everyone have their lines memorized?” He turns and a big grin comes on his face. This isn’t his first rodeo, and strangely he’s beginning to enjoy the role.. “Now, now, my students. Let’s go look for some nice bargains. Scope out the scene. Do a little haggling. Mmmm?” He puts a little hitch into his walk, like his hip might be bothering him, scratching his rough beard a little and looking like someone ready to drive a hard bargain…
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The three of you slip from the tight lanes of Tailor’s Row into the wider arteries of morning Suzail, where the city’s pulse is already quickening. The streets slope gently downhill toward Pale Fountain Square, and with each block the sounds sharpen: the scrape of crates on stone, the clatter of shutters being propped open, apprentices shouting deliveries back and forth as though volume alone might keep them on schedule.
By the time the fountain comes into view — its pale marble catching the sunlight with a watery sheen — the square is awake and moving. Not crowded yet, but busy enough that three newcomers can disappear into its rhythm with ease.
Shenua, trying to look casual, feels her hand twitch toward her bag before she forces herself to relax it. Her eyes sweep the scene, but the crowd shifts unpredictably and the morning glare off the marble doesn’t help; nothing stands out, no inspector or courier catches her eye. Just motion, chatter, and the faint spray of the fountain.
Iromae, however, sees more. The Silvershroud stall is immediately recognizable — a narrow wooden counter tucked between the glassblower’s booth and a small, cramped apothecary. Two young assistants are unpacking bundles of wrapped parchment and twine, one yawning wide enough to pop his jaw. Neither looks particularly alert.
She also notes two inspectors, both in the muted grey tabards that mark their station. One leans against a lamppost on the square’s eastern edge, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but observant. The other walks a slow circuit around the fountain’s far side, occasionally stopping to ask a vendor a question or inspect a crate’s seal. Neither seems especially tense — just performing morning checks.
Vorenus slips effortlessly into character, limping just enough to look believable without drawing stares. His transformation earns a single raised eyebrow from a passing merchant — and a soft snort of amusement from a nearby pair of guards — but nothing more. Between his gruff haggling persona and the bustle around you, the group blends well into the moving tapestry of shoppers.
The Silvershroud stall sits no more than 30 feet ahead. The assistants are busy arranging their morning deliveries, chatting idly about last night’s dice game. No sign of Garrick — yet.
The patrol inspector on the far side of the fountain has now begun circling your direction, though at his current pace he’ll reach the stall in about two minutes. The one at the lamppost has shifted his weight and begun scanning the square with a bit more purpose.
For now, no one is paying you particular attention.
Iromae speaks softly to her other two companions. "The inspector making rounds will be at the stall in a couple minutes. Another is just standing watching. I don't see Garrick, perhaps we should talk to those two now?" She's most concerned about the one just standing by the lamppost and tries to get a sense of where his attention is focused. Without being obvious about it of course. (Insight: 9)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
With the subtle hitch in his giddyup, Vorenus begins talking to Iromae and Shenua behind him as they walk toward the stall, hoping to beat the inspector there. “I can’t believe that you ran out of parchment, and the thread that we need my dears. Perhaps we can get some here on our way in, or our timeline will be all messed up. Prior proper planning will avoid pee poor performance, as I always say! Now, let’s see here, what do we have here? Hello, my good sirs, we are here to look at your wares, your parchment. Might you happen to have or seen any silver thread, such as for knitting and so forth? What have you here on this fine day?” Vorenus scratches his chin and squares each of them in his gaze with a squinky eye.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua totally backs Vorenus's story, acting as though she is deeply ashamed for forgetting to buy parchment beforehand. "I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry! I don't know what happened. I guess I was too absorbed in my studies to realize I was using that much paper. And I did think of buying more, I promise! It's just that I forgot two days ago… and then yesterday I… I guess I forgot again. It won't happen again!"
She follows Vorenus and Iromae with a contrite look, making sure her flustered apology is heard by the closest bystanders and by the stall's assistants. She keeps an eye on the patrolling inspector, ready to create a distraction if Vorenus needs more time. She begins patting her pockets nervously, as if searching for something important...
(ooc: If the inspector comes too close to the stall and Vorenus hasn't finished speaking and needs more time…)
As the inspector draws near, Shenua's pocket-searching becomes more frantic. "I—I will pay for the parchment! It's only fitting, since it was my fault we ran out and now our planning will be delayed!"
Right on cue, a small pouch slips free and spills across the stone with a sharp clatter. "Oh, gods above! Why is this happening to me!" She looks around in panicked embarrassment, spots the inspector, and blurts, "Can you help me, good sir!?"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
The three of you glide toward the Silvershroud stall, your voices woven into the background chatter so cleanly that only a true observer would suspect you of anything but mundane errands.
Iromae, your quiet appraisal of the inspector by the lamppost yields … little clarity. He’s difficult to read. His posture is relaxed but not careless, and his gaze moves not with suspicion but with professional habit — sweeping, lingering, sweeping again. With your insight you can’t quite tell whether he’s bored, alert, or simply thinking about breakfast. But one thing is certain: he’s watching the square, not you.
The patrolling inspector, meanwhile, continues his steady loop. He’ll be at the stall soon.
Vorenus, your performance rolls off your tongue with ease — every syllable of the bustling, slightly crotchety master perfectly delivered. The two Silvershroud assistants startle slightly as you approach, one nearly dropping a roll of parchment.
The younger one, a boy with straw-colored hair, stammers, “Ah — parchment? Yes, sir, yes of course! Parchment, vellum, all sorts — uh, silver thread?”
His companion, a young woman who seems far more awake, shakes her head. “No, no thread here — that’s the weavers’ row north of the temple. We’re messengers and scribes. But if you want fibers for — knitting, was it? — you’d need one of the privy guild stalls. We only —”
A pause. Her eyes flick to a ledger behind them. Something about the question clearly pinged a memory — but before she can speak on it —
Shenua, your frantic apology cuts across the conversation like a thrown stone into a pond. Heads turn. Even the lamppost inspector glances your way. You sell the embarrassment so convincingly that the young assistant half-raises a hand as though genuinely concerned for your distress.
You feel you're running out of time, so you drop the pouch. Coins scatter across the cobblestones with a metallic burst. People in the square jump; several heads swivel toward the sound.
The patrolling inspector — now only 30 feet away — halts mid-step. His eyes snap to you.
“Miss?” he calls, voice clear but not unfriendly. “What have you — ?”
You seize the moment: “Can you help me, good sir!?”
The inspector stiffens — because suddenly he is, unmistakably, the center of attention.
He strides toward you immediately, boots clacking across stone. “Stand still, please. Let me see what’s fallen. No one touch the coins,” he barks automatically at the nearby bystanders. A few people edge away rather than risk seeming involved.
You’ve created the perfect distraction.
The patrolling inspector is locked on Shenua.
The lamppost inspector is watching the commotion but not moving yet.
The stall assistants are flustered and focused on both Iromae and Vorenus.
The crowd’s attention has shifted, giving the trio a momentary bubble of cover.
Iromae, you noticed the young woman at the stall had something to say before being interrupted. She glances again at the ledger, chewing her lip. There’s a secret on the tip of her tongue.
Iromae jumps a bit at the crash of Shenua's pouch against the ground. She'd love to say it was part of the act, but truly it was just genuine surprise at the sudden sound. Though she longs to just focus on the stall assistants, she does cast a brief, slightly worried, glance in the tiefling's direction. 'A good distraction', she thinks. 'And hopefully one she won't get into any trouble over.'
After that moment, her gaze is back to the young woman. She gives her a reassuring smile. "You only?" she asks, repeating the woman's last words softly. "Was there something you thought of? It would really help us. Our master is a bit annoyed at us for our poor planning." (Persuasion: 14)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
As the patrolling inspector drops into a brisk stride toward the tiefling, the Silvershroud stall is briefly forgotten by everyone except Iromae, Vorenus, and the young woman whose thoughts have just been nudged back to the surface.
She startles slightly when you speak, Iromae, then meets your eyes — your calm expression clearly a welcome contrast to the flustered chaos Shenua has expertly conjured. Something adds a sparkle to her eye: pleasure.
For a heartbeat she hesitates, glancing toward the ledger again, then back toward her yawning partner — then toward the lamppost inspector who is now watching the scene with a narrowing gaze. A thin smile gently curves her mouth and she leans in just a little, lowering her voice to something meant only for you.
“Right. What I was going to say,” she murmurs quickly, fingers tightening around the edge of the stall, “is that we did have something unusual come through yesterday. Not thread, exactly, but … something wrapped like it. Light. Quiet. And the courier who dropped it off — Garrick wasn’t here. We weren’t expecting it.”
She glances over her shoulder, then taps the corner of the ledger with a subtle but deliberate gesture.
“It came from the south gate. Marked urgent. But the seal wasn’t one we recognized.”
Then, with a nearly imperceptible nod toward the approaching inspector, she adds under her breath: “And someone came to collect it not 10 minutes later. Didn’t sign. Didn’t give a name. Didn’t even look at me. Just showed a writ, took the parcel, and left north toward the Temple District.”
She nods subtly, appearing pleased with herself. “That’s all I know." She leans back a little, talking louder. "If Garrick were here he’d probably pretend he knew more, but he’s late this morning.”
Looking past you, the young woman gives Shenua a look that conveys both pity and exasperation. Behind you, the distraction reaches its peak as the inspector crouches to help gather the scattered coins, entirely consumed by the theatrics. Vorenus’ performance is holding strong.
The lamppost inspector, however, is beginning to push himself off the post — curiosity and duty stirring in equal measure.
Iromae smiles, nodding slightly as the woman talks. When she taps the ledger, she tries to subtly glance at it. (Perception: 9) At the end, she gives a light chuckle. "I guess I'm lucky Garrick isn't here and we got to talk. Do you think you could describe the delivery person or the one picking up?" She doesn't press though, noting the lamppost being vacated and wanting to be ready to move along quickly.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
"Thank you so much, sir!" Shenua keeps her theatrics going as long as she can. "I'm really sorry for the mess — but see? Only a few coins left to pick up. Could you get the ones closest to you while I finish with these here?"
For a moment she doesn't even acknowledge whatever the inspector says in response, focusing entirely on gathering the scattered coins near her. The fluster she initially put on as an act is beginning to feel real. The longer the inspector stays kneeling beside her, the more her nerves twist. She can only hope Iromae and Vorenus have gotten what they need, because she knows she can't hold this charade much longer.
Once the last of the coins are tucked safely back into the pouch, Shenua finally looks up at the man who helped her. "Again, thank you. I won't trouble you any longer. I only wanted to buy some parchment… before my clumsy hands decided to make an spectacle of me."
The turquoise-haired tiefling takes a deep breath in and out to calm herself — not simulated this time, but entirely necessary. Her heart is starting to race as she realizes the other inspector is no longer leaning on the lamppost but making his way toward them. She gives the one beside her a nervous smile and a small curtsy before stepping back toward the stall.
"Gods above, what an awful day," Shenua mutters as she approaches the young woman at the counter. "Please, a few sheets of parchment, if you'd be so kind. Then I promise I'll get out of your sight!"
If nothing interrupts the transaction, Shenua pays with the freshly collected coins and accepts the parchment carefully. But instead of placing it in her shoulder bag, she keeps it in her hands. Then she steps away from the stall, slow enough that Iromae and Vorenus can still see her.
A few paces off, the artificer pauses to inspect the parchment up close, mumbling about its quality, still committed to the act of the frazzled scholar who isn't having the best of days.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
"Absorbed, I would say so, my dear... oh... lookatwhatchuvdonenow... dropped it on the ground oh my goodness me..." Vorenus starts flailing his arms around, hip sore and maintaining balance while trying to pick up coins off the ground. He pauses mid flail when he hears the inspector call a halt to his efforts. Like a radar going off in his mind, he sense Iromae behind him, making initial contact and he decides to use his arm flapping and flailing around to distract and deter the inspector, focusing on the coin on the ground and the poor performance of his student to set up a smoke screen on the conversation occurring behind him.
"There now, that's better. Why this nice young man has better things to do than to hear you wailing and scatterwalling about like a stressed out hen. Yes, let's be on with our business and then be on our way, so much to do, so little time ... come now, that's it." Vorenus gathers Iromae and Shenua like a hen gathering her ducklings, equal parts herding and shooing away from the stall after the business has been finished.
After they are clear, he eagerly awaits word of the findings after they exit, stage right.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae:
Your attempt to glimpse the ledger catches only the edge of a page — columns of names, dates, and shorthand sigils — but the young woman’s body blocks the rest as she instinctively shifts. Still, your question lands cleanly.
She brightens. Positively brightens. Gossip clearly suits her.
“Oh, the courier!” she whispers, delighted. “Yes — tall fellow, wiry, with a bit of road dust on him. Dark hair pulled back, and one of those leather throat-guards couriers wear when the wind’s sharp off the river. Very jumpy. Kept looking over his shoulder like someone might snatch the parcel from him.”
She leans in even closer.
“And the collector — well —” Her eyes sparkle. “I couldn’t see much. Hooded, heavy cloak despite the warmth. Moved like someone used to armor but not in it. The writ they showed was official, but it didn’t look like any inspector’s papers I’ve seen. Stiff, too stiff. Like no one had handled it before.”
Her smug little smile widens. You’ve made her morning.
But her gaze flicks past you — her expression dims. The watcher’s coming.
Indeed, the lamppost inspector has straightened fully now. He’s begun walking toward the commotion — slow but purposeful, eyes locked on the knot of activity around Shenua.
You have seconds.
Shenua:
The inspector helping you gathers the last few coins with professional briskness. “There. Nothing lost. Though you should keep that pouch tied tighter, miss.” His tone softens just a hair. “Morning rush claims more valuables than thieves do.”
When you thank him and withdraw, he nods, adjusts his tabard, and rises — only to notice his fellow inspector approaching. A faint frown crosses his face as if he already anticipates a lecture about being “overly involved with civilians.”
Your purchase at the stall goes uninterrupted; the boy hands you parchment under the sideways gaze of the young woman — her look caught between pity and amusement.
The performance has run its course. The longer you linger, the more suspicious the scene may become.
Vorenus:
Your arm-flapping theatrics, delivered with impeccable timing, create exactly the layer of chaotic noise the situation needs. Anyone watching would conclude your trio is simply a bumbling master with two overwhelmed pupils. When the helpful inspector stands, you begin gently herding the others away — perfect cover, perfectly in character.
But time is running out.
Seeing that Shenua has finished with her business and is heading away with Vorenus, she nervously shakes her head. "Ah, I'd best catch up to my master." Again, she gives the young woman a smile, "It was good to talk with you. Have a good day!" She hurriedly follows after Vorenus.
Assuming the group can get clear of the place and move along to a place where they might speak, Iromae relays what she heard. "She said it wasn't thread though, but wrapped like it. And the courier had dark hair, pulled back. Not close cropped. And no mention of a red scarf. I don't think that was our person," she comments. "Though it is interesting. The 'new' inspector's papers. Someone sent specially? Or a forgery?" She sighs. As excited as she'd been in receiving the information, she isn't sure how useful it might have been. "What do you two think?"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric