The Silent Runes of Suzail

Shenua is as amazed as Iromae when she examines their new garments. "This is gorgeous! I've never worn something this refined before. Probably never will again after tonight..." She pauses, taking a closer look. As she spots the pockets she requested and notices how perfectly the gown accommodates her tiefling features, her eyes practically sparkle. "It is perfect!"

Noticing the numerous half-empty cups of coffee scattered around the workshop, she adds, "You must be exhausted. Thank you for all your hard work, Merienne."

When Iromae says that she and Vorenus will look fabulous at the ball, Shenua smiles at her. "Let me correct you: we are going to look absolutely fabulous tonight. That dress of yours has your essence written all over it." 

She nods when the cleric mentions the necessity of a name. "Oh yes, do tell me the names you're going to use tonight. You already know mine."

Then she turns toward Vorenus. "And how about Lord Vorenus teaches us a bit of etiquette? I'd like to know the proper way to bow, the proper way to accept a glass of wine, and, well, even the proper way to address people. I literally know nothing about these things and, above all, I do not want to fail tonight."

Apart from acquiring the masks — in case Merienne cannot provide them — Shenua will spend the rest of the day memorizing her and her friends' details, learning everything she can about proper etiquette, and, together with Iromae — and Merienne, if she wishes to help — exploring hairstyles suitable for the occasion that they can realistically prepare themselves.

Shenua is nervous about what awaits them at the masquerade, though she does her best not to show it. Focusing on preparation helps. One step at a time feels far less intimidating than thinking about the entire evening ahead. She does think a little about the possibility of meeting her doppleganger father at the ball, but perhaps he will not attend at all. That would certainly be for the best.

Morning unfolds slowly inside Merienne’s shop, though the shop itself never truly becomes quiet.

The seamstress unlocks the front door as the three of you examine your new identities in earnest. Almost immediately, bells above the front door begin to chime intermittently as customers come and go throughout the morning: nobles’ servants collecting garments, anxious attendants requesting emergency alterations, masked patrons speaking in lowered voices about tonight’s festivities as though the masquerade itself were some approaching storm.

Merienne’s three assistants arrive in a clump shortly after sunrise. One is a narrow-shouldered young man with spectacles constantly slipping down his nose; the second, a broad-armed middle-aged halfling woman whose expression suggests she has survived far too many festival seasons to be surprised by anything anymore; and finally, a dwarf whose gender is quite indiscernible, even for Shenua's keen eye. All three immediately throw themselves into work with practiced efficiency. They completely ignore Merienne's special guests and skillfully steer every patron who enters toward the same.

And throughout it all, Merienne somehow maintains complete awareness of everything happening in the room.

“Yes,” she tells Iromae while adjusting a cuff with three pins clenched between her teeth, “I can provide masks. Simpler than what you originally had, most likely, but suitable. More importantly, forgettable.” She removes the pins and continues speaking. “You do not want memorable masks tonight — good or bad.”

Merienne disappears briefly into the back and returns with a lacquered case containing several half-finished masks.

She picks out a midnight blue one for Shenua that will frame the eyes elegantly without obscuring expression. "We can add a bit of silver edging," she says. She picks one for Iromae that resembles dark polished parchment brushed with delicate lines of silver script. "We can go over the script to make it gold," she explains. Vorenus’ is sharp and restrained — charcoal with muted crimson accents that complement the formalwear without dominating it. "This one looks perfect already," she says, holding it up to the sorcerer's costume to inspect the match.

“Enough to belong,” Merienne says. “Not enough to invite memory.”

Then comes rehearsal. And for perhaps the first time since arriving in this fractured Suzail, the three of you are forced to confront a different sort of danger entirely: conversation.

Merienne has prepared for this too.

Throughout the night, appearantly, she filled several pages with neatly organized notes now spread across a cutting table. Some sections are complete; others contain blank spaces awaiting your own contributions.

False names. Places of origin. Family details. Occupations. Education. Minor anecdotes. Political leanings safe enough to survive polite scrutiny without inspiring deeper questions.

Talyra Voss of Athkatla already appears atop one page in elegant script beneath Shenua’s measurements.

Another page waits for Iromae’s chosen identity, though Merienne has already suggested possibilities in the margins: Visiting theological archivist. Scholar of symbolic language. Research assistant attached to Candlekeep correspondence.

Nothing overtly arcane. Nothing important enough to warrant investigation. But educated enough to belong.

For Vorenus, the suggestions are both more dangerous and more natural: Minor Cormyrean relation with distant holdings. Attached to a trade delegation. Recently returned from Sembia. Knows enough etiquette to pass. Talks slightly too much when nervous.

That last note earns the faintest ghost of amusement from Merienne as she continues working.

"Etiquette lessons here in the shop are safe enough," she says. "Anything more would be dangerous."

Iromae takes the mask from Merienne. "This seems perfect," she says. "Well, with the gold rather than silver, of course." 

She then starts to look at the notes. "Hmm, Candlekeep correspondence. Interesting," she murmurs.  Then she frowns and quickly moves over closer to Shenua and Vorenus. She points to the comment. "Do you suppose that means I'm visiting from Candlekeep or I send correspondence to Candlekeep?" she asks in almost a whisper. She shakes her head. "How am I ever going to do this?" 

She takes a few breaths and moves on. For now, she writes on the page. 'Elowen' she starts and then finds herself looking at it for a while. She takes a deep breath and moves on. 'Arabel' she writes next, but just as quickly crosses it out. 'Redspring' she puts next. Then going back, a thought causes her to go back and place 'Seyntevi' next to the name Elowen. Lost in the thought, her cheeks blush for a moment as she does though. Next comes 'Father - Naeven - merchant, Mother - Josys - cook, Education - temple of Deneir, Occupation - visiting theological archivist'.  

She stops, gazing at her list. 'Elowyn Seyntevi' she thinks. 'That is who I am going to be.'  After mulling it over a bit, she finds Shenua, again speaking to her in a hushed whisper. "Does this look good you think? I figure Redspring is not too big, close but not too close. I've been there recently."  The thought gives her pause, and she puzzles over it a bit. "I wonder, what does the rest of Cormyr look like outside of Suzail? Is it like our own place? Or have things changed?"  She's intrigued, but knows it's not quite as important right now, so she puts it out of her head. "Anyhow, what do you think. A bit of what I know. Names I'll remember. It should work, right?" 

After a bit of a pause, she says to Shenua in a much more conversational tone. "We really should get our hair done up for tonight, shouldn't we? I mean, it would probably be great for me to put my hair up in a whole bunch of tight braids and make everything look totally neat and tidy."  Iromae was generally neat and tidy, but her hair never really had been.  Her friends would know immediately that this sort of look would be totally out of character for her.  But perhaps that was the point. 

"Perfect," Shenua comments as she examines her mask. "A little touch of silver, as you've said, and I'm definitely good to go."

Then she turns to Iromae. "Elowen Seyntevi of Redspring. Got it. I'm sure it will work." Turning to Vorenus, she adds, "And what about you?"

With not much else to discuss, Shenua is ready to spend the rest of the day taking etiquette lessons and trying to braid Iromae's hair as best she can... with Merienne's help, the tiefling hopes!

As for herself, Shenua decides to wear her hair differently for once. She is so used to tying it into a bun with the help of her lockpicks that leaving it loose already feels strange. For the ball, she will let her soft turqoise waves flow freely, save for a single fishtail braid woven along the left side of her head.

Vorenus nods to Merienne, he loves the look of the mask paired with the costume that he’s been given, it matches well.  “Indeed.”  As he is looking at his parchment with suggestions on a background, his eyes keep looking up at Iromae playing with her hair, putting it up and revealing her neck.  He is distracted for a moment and has a smile that is hard to erase from his mouth.  

Turning back to his rehearsal, “So, a trade delegation, an envoy to Sembia, to reestablish connections and trade routes.  Gifted in negotiations and soothing over disputes, smoothing of ruffled feathers.  Why, my name is Florin Longtail, pleased to meet you, the pleasure is all mine.”  He does a half bow and formal wave of his arms, looking up with a smile on his face.  “What do you think?”  He scratches his stubble, rubs his hands through his messy hair.  “I suppose that I will need a bit of a shave and some grooming myself, to get ready for such an occasion.  Now, should we know each other as we arrive, or “meet” each other once we are there?  Elowen, Talyra, what say you, my dears?”  Vorenus is locking the names away in his memory, and practicing his lines, his delivery, his manner…

"Hmmm…," Shenua murmurs. "Better, perhaps, if we 'meet' there. If the safehouse was being watched, they may have expected a trio to go there. Just in case, it might be better if we act as though we've never seen each other before the ball."

"Yes, better we haven't met before," Iromae agrees.  "It's just one more thing that might be hard to explain. Or a clue to identify us if someone were on to us." She then shake her head.  "Plus, there no way I'll remember my new identity and yours!"

Clearly keeping an ear toward your conversation, Merienne says, "Three strangers arriving together, entering together, remaining together, and leaving together are a group. Groups attract attention. People begin asking how they know one another." She adjusts a pin while speaking. "A scholar from one city, an artisan's daughter from another, and a minor noble with unrelated connections have no obvious reason to travel everywhere as a unit."

"On the other hand, suddenly pretending not to know one another creates its own problems." She leans forward, smoothing a piece of silk flat. "If you repeatedly drift toward the same conversations, keep finding yourselves in the same rooms, or intervene on one another's behalf despite being strangers, observant people will notice."

She goes on, her eyes never leaving her work. "Arrive separately. Be seen separately. Spend enough time apart that no one assumes you came together." She taps the table lightly, finally glancing your way. "Then allow yourselves to become acquainted naturally." She folds the silk over, carefully aligning the edges. "A conversation near the refreshments. An introduction through a mutual acquaintance. A dance. Shared curiosity. Nothing unusual about that."

She puts more pins in her mouth. "If one of you is questioned by palace security, what do the other two do? If one of you discovers something important, how do you communicate it? If one of you must leave suddenly, what then? These are the questions you must answer ahead of time."

She picks up a pair of scissors. "Whether you enter together or separately matters far less than whether you've already decided what happens when the evening stops following your plan."

Shenua nods to Merienne's wise words. "Makes total sense." She pauses. "So, let's arrive separately and stay away from each other long enough that nobody suspects we know each other beforehand. That will be useful, because it will allow us to speak to other attendants, hear what different groups are saying, and maybe even dance with other guests as well."

Another thought occurs to her. "We can 'bump' into each other later, perhaps near the refreshments."

Regarding the other important points Merienne has raised, she thinks, fingers resting on her chin. "I'd say if one of us is questioned by palace security, we shouldn't act immediately. Perhaps observe from a distance how the situation develops, and if it escalates, then intervene. But let's give ourselves a little time to solve it ourselves first, yes?" She looks toward Iromae and Vorenus to see if they agree.

"And," she adds, "we could set a couple of signals, or a specific sentence, in case we need to regroup because someone has found something. We could, maybe, accidentally drop a glass of wine. That would mean: 'follow me somewhere private because I've found out something that cannot wait.' It would also give us a reason to leave the room, since 'oops, I've stained my beautiful dress and need to clean it.''"

She looks questioningly to her friends, and to Merienne as well. "What do you think?"

Merienne considers the suggestion for a moment before shaking her head. "Too noticeable." She folds a length of fabric and sets it aside. "You are thinking like people who want to send a signal. You need to think like people who want nobody to realize a signal was sent."

Her gaze moves between the three of you. "A spilled drink creates witnesses. Witnesses remember where it happened. Who was standing nearby. Who left immediately afterward. You want something that means nothing to everyone except yourselves."

She adjusts the pattern in front of her. "A phrase," she says, not looking up. "Something ordinary enough that nobody notices it, but unusual enough that none of you would say it accidentally." She thinks for a moment. "'I was told the roses would be white this season.'" A slight shrug. "Meaningless. Forgettable. If one of you says it, the others know a private conversation is needed."

"If palace security questions one of you, the others do nothing." Her tone leaves little room for argument. "Not immediately. Most questioning is routine. The fastest way to transform one suspicious guest into three suspicious guests is to rush to their defense." She looks directly at Vorenus. "Particularly if your intervention is creative."

"If someone is escorted away by force, that is different. But until that moment, trust each other to maintain your covers."

"Three people can only hear one conversation." Merienne taps the table. "Three people spread through a ballroom can hear thirty."

"Besides," she says, glancing toward Shenua, "some of you are better suited to observation than others." The seamstress' eyes linger on the tiefling for a moment. "Tonight, information may prove more valuable than heroics."

Iromae had been a bit uncertain about how to approach the situations Merienne had brought up. She had looked at Vorenus for a long moment. 'Is he going to be ok if I dance with others? How am I going to feel?' she wonders. Let alone if something serious happened. He'd be charging in to help! 'He'd probably be doing the same for Shenua too,' she thinks.

She had nodded along with Shenua's ideas, not saying anything. But when Merienne spoke up, it was hard to disagree with what she said. "It does make sense that any signals have to not draw attention." She pauses to think for a moment, then asks, "What does make sense if one of us were to be taken away by force? It still seems dangerous for the other two to show too much of a reaction. Wouldn't it be better to not be caught in order to accomplish a later rescue?" 

"You're right..." Shenua muses when Merienne intervenes. "An ordinary comment draws much less attention, and it gets the job done. What was I even thinking?" She lets out a long breath before adding, "We could even use that exact phrase: 'I was told the roses would be white this season.' Or, I don't know, 'This red wine is magnificent, but I hear the white is even better.' "

When Iromae voices her doubts, the tiefling looks at her. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But I guess we can't plan for everything. We should probably rely on the signal phrase to regroup and decide what to do if it happens."

Shenua nods thoughtfully at Merienne's remark about observation. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open." A faint smile tugs at her lips. "And perhaps pay attention to a few conversations that weren't quite meant for me."

Vorenus nods to the suggestions, it makes total sense to him.  “Our interactions should happen organically, or at least seem that way.   I have no problem with that.  We will need to have each other in mind and check in when we scan the room, but make sure that it is not obvious.”  He runs his hands through his head, asking Merienne distractedly, “Do you happen to have any hair dye?  Maybe I have some in my kit… thank goodness I brought that over before.. I think I need a change up in my hair color.”  

He hears the phrases about white and red roses, wines and nods.  “Either of those will do.  We also need a signal that could be seen from across the room, that will mean “Come to me.”  Or at least “Get closer, I’ve seen /heard something.”  But something that is not obviously a signal.  In line with my character, if I start making a fuss of holding my wine glass with my little pinky out, that means circulate and get closer to me.  Also we should have one for “Get away, move away from me, head toward another room.”  Any thoughts on that one?  If I really, really, really need you, I can (without words or motions), send you a message, but I would rather not do that, I will reserve it for dire emergencies.”  

He turns back to Merienne, saying “Are we getting there?  Any other signals or communication we need?”

"How about crossing our arms behind our backs? That would mean, 'Keep away from me,'" Shenua suggests. "And... yes, holding our glass with the pinky out. We can all definitely use that for 'Get closer, I've noticed something.'"