You emerge from the basement into a narrow side street under a pale, smoky morning sky.

The air smells like stone warmed by fire — a bit more soot, a bit less sea. The sunlight filters in at a sharp angle through thick, wrought-iron lattices covering upper windows. Even the daylight here feels filtered.

The city is alive now.

Foot traffic begins to stir — men and women in austere clothing, mostly blacks, greys, and deep midnight blues. Most walk alone. Hushed. Purposeful. Hoods are common, and most avoid eye contact. No one sings. No children play. But the city functions.

And while the architecture is strikingly similar to your Suzail, the faces are not. You pass buildings you know — but not the people. It’s as though you’ve stepped into a painting of your home, painted by someone who had only the layout to work from.

Soon, you find a street vendor selling flatbread and boiled eggs from a small brazier-cart near a corner plaza. The smell of spiced oil and savory grain is enough to tempt even Vorenus into spending a few silver.

The vendor, a human woman with sharp cheekbones and weary eyes, seems surprised to see you. Not alarmed — just … uncertain. Her voice is polite but guarded.

“You’re not from this district,” she remarks quietly, wrapping food in cloth. “Best stay to the main ways. Especially if you’re heading near the tower.”

She nods toward the distant spire — the one that replaced the Academy. From this closer vantage, you can see its base is surrounded by ornamental black fencing and a large public square. Small patrols of uniformed watchmen move in formation around its perimeter.

A banner hangs from the watchtower’s parapet. It bears a deep blue field and the symbol of a single white flame, surrounded by a silver circle. Beneath it, in bold script: FOR UNITY. FOR SUZAIL.

A strange chill crawls across your skin. Something about that flame … flickers at the edge of memory.

The vendor watches you for a moment longer, then leans slightly closer.

“You’ll want to mind what you say near the guards. And what you do with your hands.” She gives a quiet, deliberate look to your equipment. “They don’t like things they don’t understand. And they understand very little.”

With that, she turns away and busies herself with the next customer — leaving you fed, but uneasy.

Iromae walked along amongst the crowds, just taking in what she was seeing. She couldn't help thinking her light-colored robes with purple trim not stood out amongst all the black, greys, and blues. A glance to her friends gave her a similar reaction - a group out of place. She was pleased though to find the street vendor and eagerly exchanged some coins for the breakfast. 

The vendor's initial comment though gave her a bit of a pause; as expected, it did seem they all looked out of place! But then her words of advice seemed one of the first indicators of friendliness in this place.  She moved along, making sure her friends got their food before proceeding much further.  Once more out of earshot of the woman, and hopefully others, she comments about the white flame on the banner hanging from the tower. "Why does that flame seem familiar?" she asks the others, even as she puzzles through the question in her own mind. (INT Check to try to figure out where she knows it from: 21)

"Let's check out the tower," she continues. "But after all those warnings, let's just keep to the main streets and not linger." 

Shenua eats her flatbread and boiled eggs quietly, glancing around as the woman's warning echoes in her mind. With each bite, she becomes more acutely aware of how different this version of Suzail feels. For unity. For Suzail. Impressive sounding words — not immediately threatening, but why the austerity in everyone's clothing? Why the armed presence around the tower? Why such caution about their skills?

The artificer brushes the crumbs from her hands and watches Iromae point toward the banner. "It does look familiar, yes" she murmurs. Has she seen that symbol before — in a book, a scroll, a scholar’s report? (History: 13 or 15 if Arcana is ok)

She steps a little closer to the group and lowers her voice. "Does this feel like an oppressive regime to you? One that doesn't take kindly to magic. Kalis said magic was forbidden... I'm starting to think she meant more than just that barrier guarding the thread" She pauses for a beat, then nods to Iromae, "Agreed. If the clues lead there, we'll need to find a way past the guards eventually. Maybe we can take a casual stroll, and watch how the patrols move."

The morning unfolds slowly in this unfamiliar Suzail — brighter skies giving way to muted sun through a veil of haze, as if even the light here were rationed. The city bustles in its own way, but it lacks the warmth you remember. No street performers. No laughter from open taverns. The soundscape is thinner. Carts creak, boots strike pavement, and bells toll from the tower in deliberate intervals.

As you make your way down one of the main avenues, you keep to the crowds — sparse though they are — and do your best to blend in. The smell of hot bread and waxed leather wafts from small bakeries and cobbler stalls, but few patrons linger to talk. Most move with purpose.

When you glance back at the white flame insignia fluttering high above the watchtower, Iromae's memory clicks into place.

It’s an old symbol — far older than current Suzailian heraldry. She recalls it from a crumbling volume in the Guild’s reference archives, a compendium on ancient regional iconography. The white flame was the personal seal of a monarch who once ruled a splinter kingdom in Cormyr’s distant past — a noble line obsessed with control, legacy, and "order through unification." The book mentioned that their regime was toppled due to civil unrest sparked by … magical oppression. The flame, as the text noted, "once burned bright above the Academy’s walls — not to inspire, but to intimidate."

The symbol was believed to have been lost to time.

Until now.

As you approach the outer plaza of the tower — a massive structure of black stone and reinforced iron, standing where the Academy should be — you notice guards stationed in quiet but assertive positions at every entrance. They don’t move to stop passersby, but their eyes track movement. Their armor bears the same white flame emblem.

At intervals, a woman’s voice echoes from mounted crystal orbs at the corners of nearby buildings. The tone is clear, composed, but impersonal: "All citizens are reminded: unauthorized arcane practices are strictly prohibited. The Crown thanks you for your continued cooperation. For unity. For Suzail."

You’re not the only ones who slow down as the voice speaks. Several civilians pause in place for a breath, as if this announcement demands reverence. Others hurry past.

The guards don’t seem to notice your hesitation — or if they do, they’re trained not to show it.

As you drift closer, a group of well-dressed merchants exits the tower through a side door — none of them look like scholars. One or two carry ledgers, but nothing magical. There’s no sign of spell components, arcane focus tools, or even decorative scrollwork on their garments.

There’s something missing here. Not just magic — knowledge. You haven’t seen a single person in wizard’s robes. Not even the most modest academic sigil.

Shenua, your senses still quietly attuned, feel it: the Weave is present here — the lifeblood of magic still flows — but it’s constrained, folded in on itself, as if being suppressed in certain areas of the city. The watchtower pulses with contained magic, carefully shielded. Not inert … just heavily regulated.

There may be magic inside — but it’s guarded.

As the memory of the symbol comes to her, Iromae looks at her companions, just about bursting to tell them the information. But she decides the better course is to stay quiet here in this place.  She looks at the guards, the tower, and those folks exiting the tower. It's odd not having those who study magic here. But even more so that there is so little sign of academics. 'I am sure our path will lead us back here. But I don't know how we would ever get in there!' she thinks. 

She continues walking along with the others, keeping an eye out as they go.  She's wondering if there might be a cafe or something that would have close-up view of this area about the tower. Otherwise, she tries to suggest to the others that they continue on away from this place to somewhere they might talk more freely. 

Shenua follows Iromae's suggestion to find a place where they can speak freely, and keeps walking until they find such a place.

Once the artificer feels safe enough, and not a moment before, she speaks—still in a low voice to ensure she isn't overheard—"Sheesh, after seeing this Suzail, I appreciate ours even more. Not sure if you noticed, but there's magic in the watchtower. It pulses, but it feels like it's shielded, or regulated somehow. We definitely need to find a way in, though I'm not sure how to manage that, when it is as heavily guarded?"

She casts a quick glance at Diego, her tail flicking softly behind her as ideas form in her mind. "Mmmm. You, with your sweet tongue, might be able to talk our way inside, don't you think, Master Goldbow?" Shenua smiles, then adds, "But first, I think we should start looking like we belong here. Which means getting rid of our current clothes and finding new ones. Something more… muted,” she says, regarding the short range of colors worn by the locals.

"We can store our real clothes in my bag of holding, if you like. Though ... I admit I'm not entirely sure if the guards can detect magical items. And by that, I mean my bag and our other items as well" the tiefling adds, in clear reference to the quill, the baton, the needle, and the tuning fork.

As the meaning behind the white flame becomes clear, as the looks are noted, Vorenus picks up on these signs.  He is used to altering his appearance according to the situation, he leans on those skills now.  He quickly takes his hat off and stuffs it in his pack, tousles his hair and scratches his straggly beard.  He adopts the look of a commoner, covering the tattoos on his forearms, pulling his sleeves down.  He alters himself to look like a common Joe, out for a morning stroll with his friends, feeling sated after the flatbread and eggs.  “We need to watch carefully what we do here.  No “unintended consequences” here, that could go very poorly…”. He follows Ironmae’s and Shenua’s lead, walking behind them, keeping his eyes averted unless he needs to.  

When Shenua mentions changing their clothes, in a low voice Vorenus says “You read my mind, dear Shenua.  We may need to find a place to hide, to store that bag.  I don’t know that I would feel confident walking into that tower with any item like that.  They may have a way of detecting who is carrying something… illegal?  Have they made it illegal here?   Our little adventure cut be cut short very quickly if we are discovered with something like that.  Or a book of spells.  Or a wand.  I’ll have to part with my book, for all the good it did me.  Most of mine just shoots out of my arms.  I want to wear long sleeves to cover up these tattoos.  They may have guards that are able to detect anything… heretical.  Right?  So where to hide it… we need a place to fall back to, if we are separated.  Somewhere to hide things…”

"The place where we stayed last night seems to be the place to hide things," Iromae notes. "I recall flame that symbol as being from a splinter group in Cormyr's distant past. It was said the flame burned above the Academy once, meant to intimidate. Could we have shifted in time to that period? Or is this some alternate place where that group stayed in power?"  She glances around. "It certainly doesn't seem that any uprising is brewing. More like any opposition has long since been quelled."  

She tries to remember further details of this historical splinter kingdom. Especially anything related to what sort of rules and restrictions it used.  And then anything pointing to how the opposition arose to overthrow them. (History: 27)

She also ponders over what Vorenus said about hiding items. "I'm not sure I could just leave behind my amulet with the symbol of Deneir. It's too important to me. But I guess I could try to keep it hidden."  She then glances at Shenua. "Where would we find other clothes? I agree it would be good to have something less colorful. Did you see any places we could buy something?" 

Vorenus nods when Ironmae doesn’t want to separate herself from her amulet.  “I understand.  But I suggest to keep it hidden.  Deep.  Beneath your clothing, as you say.”  He pauses for a moment, considering their situation and what she has to say.  “Do you think… that something has been altered?  That we are on a different timeline?  Where magic was curtailed, subjugated, where it has gone underground, really.  Maybe our task is to set things back, to get something fixed, so that things aren’t altered in our timeline?”  You can tell by looking at Vorenus that the cogs are whirring in his head.  

"I didn't really check if the safehouse or workshop where we landed had any clothes. But it's the safest place we know. For now, at least. We could leave things there in the meantime. Or..." She pauses. "If there really was an opposition—even if it’s just starting to form—they might be able to help us with that. Do you remember anything more specific about them, Iromae?"

Shenua looks around to see if there's a shop close by where they could buy clothes, just in case the safehouse didn't have any. She even keeps an eye out for anywhere someone might have left clothes hanging out to dry. Stealing is wrong, of course—but they were in a bit of a situation where that might need to be considered...

To Vorenus, Shenua says, "Do you think it's safe to disguise yourself magically? The guards could detect that too. Maybe not now, since we're not that close to the watchtower, but be careful when we get nearer. For all we know, they might be trained to detect even the simplest cantrips."  As they're talking, Shenua glances at Vorenus's arms.

"Those tattoos," she asks the sorcerer, tilting her head slightly, "do they have any specific meaning? Do they help with your magic somehow?" Without waiting for permission—but gently—she takes one of his arms to get a better look, curiosity lighting up her expression. What do the tattoos look like?

Vorenus pulls up his sleeves if they are in a quiet area, showing Shenua his arms.  There are no magic infused tattoos per se, but there are interesting patterns that make a suggestion of magical abilities.  There are concentric circles, 5 intersecting circles on his right arm, there’s also the word “Edro” in script.  Symbols of fire shooting forward, arcs, lightning bolts shooting forward on his forearms.  There are other arcane symbols that ripple as he uses his fingers or grips, placed in such a fashion that they seem to move..”They don’t help me with magic necessarily, but I feel they connect me to my magic somehow, I’m not sure.  They are just a part of me, maybe the link to my magic is just in my mind..”

After showing her, he pulls his sleeves down again, keeping them hidden.  He nods and says “I guess it isn’t too far.  Let’s leave things there, after we circle around today and get a quick look.  I don’t think we should get near those guards with anything magical - you are right, I can’t use my ability to disguise myself, that will be detected as well.  Perhaps after we have a look, we will figure out how to approach.”

The morning sun continues to rise, its amber light glinting off slate rooftops and black iron lampposts. The streets are growing busier — not hurried, but orderly. People keep to themselves. Conversations are brief, heads bowed. No magic flickers in the air. No spellbooks in sight. Just the quiet rhythm of a city used to discipline.

As the four of you pause to talk through your observations in a quieter alley just off the main square, Shenua glances down the lane and spots what you’ve been looking for: a modest tailor’s shop tucked beneath a row of apartments. Its sign reads only "Ravel & Thread." A short line of citizens waits outside — each dressed in the same restrained fashion as the rest of the city: long coats, high collars, grays and blues and muted tones. A good sign. You’ll likely be able to purchase something less conspicuous there.

Meanwhile, Iromae, the name “White Flame” continues to burn bright in your memory. You know it as a short-lived splinter movement from Cormyr’s past — a fringe authoritarian sect that arose several generations ago. They believed magic should be wielded only by those with divine mandate or royal sanction. According to most histories, they were overthrown within a decade — their regime a failure, their ideology condemned.

But this place … it suggests otherwise.

You recall whispers in dusty texts of a single chapter of the White Flame that survived in secret, rumored to have disappeared into a sealed Weave rupture outside Suzail. A chapter that believed only a single bloodline should wield magic — all others to be suppressed. But the details were sparse, dismissed by most scholars as folklore.

Now, seeing that same flame burn on the watchtower — a tower where the Academy should be — you’re no longer sure it was ever folklore.

As for the city's mood, you sense no rebellion stirring. If this is a place where the White Flame persisted, its rule is long since normalized. Peaceful on the surface — but uneasy underneath.

You notice a printed notice near the bottom of a nearby notice board:

NOTICE:
Citizens seeking audience with Her Grace, Royal Advisor Amarinth, must submit a formal request via the High Hall.
Unauthorized arcane conduct will result in forfeiture of rights and privileges as determined by royal decree.

For Iromae:

This place is not just different. It’s controlled — regulated down to the last flicker of the Weave.

And your magical items, though dormant in appearance, pulse faintly at your side … a quiet reminder that you are, at all times, out of place here.

Iromae's eyes go wide as she reads the notice near the bottom of the board she had been idly looking at.  She struggles to keep her voice quiet as her excitement is obvious. "Royal Advisor Amarinth! Could it be Kalis Amarinth? We've got to submit a request!" She eagerly looks to the others to see what they think. 

When she finally calms down a bit, she makes sure to tell the others about what she recalls of the "White Flame".  Especially the part about the chapter rumored to have disappeared into a sealed Weave rupture. "That must be what this is, a sealed Weave rupture. What was that thing back underground if not a seal? Almost like this... existence has been carefully locked out of our world. Could that be why we 'lost' Kalis? To keep an eye on things here?"  She thinks for a bit, "Hmm, but how did we get here if it is sealed? Maybe our tools somehow aligned us somehow to this place and let us slip through.  Perhaps the fact that we even can come here suggests something is wrong with the seal. Though it seems kind of lucky we ended up here." 

“Let’s get some clothes and try to blend in more, then make a request for an “audience”.  We can stash our things and find out if it is Kalis.  Or a relative of Kalis.  Wow.  My mind is reeling right now..”. Vorenus is trying to hold it all in, but remains shocked at their discoveries.  He rubs his hands through his hair as he listens to Ironmae.  “Want to have a look in the shop?”

Shenua lets go of Vorenus's arm as he finishes speaking. "They suit you," she says. "And even if the connection's only in your mind, that still matters. Sometimes that's the part that makes the magic work."

When Iromae points them to the notice board, the tiefling stares at her, dumbfounded. "Kalis? Really? But it can't be, can it? I mean, our Kalis—leading an authoritarian chapter that has people living under a yoke of almost silence, in a place stripped of magic?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "Honestly, that's not the way I would've wanted anyone to take care of things."

After a moment, Shenua shrugs and adds, "Anyway, yes, of course. We do need to request an audience and find out what's going on. Let's get those clothes first."

She begins walking toward the queue outside the "Ravel & Thread". While they wait, the artificer tries to listen in on the hushed conversations around them, in case anyone mentions something interesting about this paralell Suzail. (Perception: 11)

The market crowd hums with subdued morning activity as you approach the queue outside Ravel & Thread, the tailor’s shop tucked between a bookstore and a cobbler. The storefront is neat and orderly, its name embossed in silver thread above the door. A guard — armored but relaxed — stands to the side of the entrance, watching the line with little interest.

From behind the polished windowpane, you glimpse bolts of cloth in muted colors: charcoal, navy, ash gray, and deep plum. The clothing on display leans conservative — long coats, tailored tunics, and subdued cloaks. Nothing flashy, but it all bears the faint imprint of precision and quiet elegance.

As you wait, Shenua leans slightly toward the others, eavesdropping with care. Most of the conversations around you are mundane — discussions of weather, ration prices, and curfews — but one phrase catches her ear.

“They say the Queen hasn’t spoken aloud in weeks. Just nods or looks to the Advisor now. It’s always Amarinth who answers …”

The woman who says it — an older tailor clutching a bundle of hemmed cloth — lowers her voice even further, as if afraid to say more.

When your turn comes, you're greeted inside by a well-groomed half-elf woman in dark purple vestments. She gestures toward a row of changing screens and quietly inquires about your sizes. The pricing is affordable — someone clearly subsidizes the shop. The clothes are clean, utilitarian, and well-tailored.

If you ask about blending in, she offers measured advice:

“Avoid bright dyes. Favor high collars or hooded coats if your features draw attention. A layered tunic and boots will serve you in most quarters.” She pauses, then adds: “If you’re submitting a petition to the Crown, avoid carrying spellbooks or arcane trappings. Magic is … highly scrutinized.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but her voice softens just enough to suggest sympathy.

Once you’ve dressed and stashed your more conspicuous items back at the safehouse, you're free to navigate the city again. The Grand Hall of Petitions, where all audience requests are processed, is located at the base of the watchtower, beneath the shadow of the white flame banner. It's said to take days — or weeks — for requests to be acknowledged … unless you have connections.

Of course, rumors also mention a royal masquerade being held this week — a celebration of the late Queen’s coronation anniversary. It’s one of the only public events held on the palace grounds, and rumor has it the Royal Advisor will be present.

"Did you hear what that woman said?" Shenua whispers to the others. "That the Queen hasn't spoken aloud in weeks, and that it's only Amarinth who speaks? I wonder what that's about. Magic, perhaps? I can't imagine it's just a sore throat. We should pay attention to it—if we ever meet the Queen, of course."

Once inside the shop, she thanks the half-elf woman for her advice and picks out a deep plum layered tunic. Since her horns and turquoise-colored skin and eyes might indeed be a bit too noticeable, she also chooses a charcoal cloak, and asks that the it has inner pockets, so she can keep her thieves' tools safely tucked away. Not that she intends to cast magic in this magic-banning Suzail, but she'd rather have the means to do so in case of an emergency.

On the way to the Hall of Petitions, Shenua asks, "Are we going to give our real names? Perhaps we should, if that might expedite our request. And... what exactly are we going to request when we meet the Advisor? I guess we aren't going to be straightforward with her. Not initially, at least."

Regarding the masquerade, she adds, "We should attend. We need to figure out when and where exactly it's going to happen, and check on that rumour about the Queen."

Iromae kept herself quiet while waiting in the line. Though in her mind she kept going over whether this 'Amarinth' could really be Kalis or just a relative. She knew it might just be a coincidence.  But she was still pretty excited about perhaps actually finding Kalis! 

Once inside Ravel & Thread, she looks about and also listens to the advice from the half-elf woman. She tells the woman her measurements, choosing a high-collard tunic made with the deep plum colored cloth. It at least had a hint of color she thought.  And she asks for an ash gray hooded cloak to go with it.  She wasn't sure if she had features that 'drew attention' but she figured it best to be safe. "I had a couple other questions," she says quietly. "First, do you make hair ties? Something that might go with my tunic? And would you know about that royal masquerade? Would I need a dress for that? And of course, I believe a mask is in order of course? Where could I get that?" 

She thanks the woman profusely once she's been helped. 

Back to the safehouse, she dresses in her new, darker clothing.  "I think our tools should stay here. For now at least."  In her hands is the pendant with the purple symbol of Deneir on it.  She looks it at, letting the chain swing down absently. "I'm worried about taking this. But I really think I must keep it on me. Beneath my high-collard tunic I don't think it would be noticed."  She pauses, trying to think over what she'd remembered of the history of the White Flame. "I think the historical group might have been more forgiving of divine magic. But I fear this particular chapter might be more severe.  They did want to restrict magic to only one bloodline." 

She starts to pull her hair back, making sure to keep it all neatly together. She finally takes time to check out the others and how they have outfitted themselves.  She grins as she realizes that although they chose different styles, the colors she and Shenua chose were rather similar. "I'm so sorry Shenua, I hadn't realized which colors you had chosen." 

As the group heads to the Hall of Petitions, Iromae responds to Shenua. "I would think it better to use our real names. It would cause less confusion." The question of their reason for seeking an audience though gives her pause. "Oh, I hadn't really thought about that. I just figured we'd ask to speak to the Royal Advisor Amarinth and that would be that."  She puzzles over it a bit, "What sort of mundane and not-magic-related things would a person ask of such a person?" 

At the mention of the masquerade, Iromae smiles. "I thought the same. I even asked the woman at the shop about it." She relays anything she learned to the others. 

Vorenus makes sure to pick clothing with long sleeves, bland color (gray/dark blue) and a hood on his outer garment, following the lead given by the half elf.  “Of course, makes sense. Not particularly in my style, but when in Suzail…”   When he learns of the masquerade, he is hopeful, but not as excited as Ironmae.  “That does seem to be our opportunity.  We need to be careful.  Something appropriate.  We wish to blend in.  But it would make sense to have clothing for that as well, and a mask.”  

After they have acquired what they are looking for and have left the store, he is thinking and speaking to Shenua and Ironmae as they walk.  “Right, what if it is a relative of Kalis, someone who would just as happily put us in jail as to help us.  Too many questions.  Where could we go to find out more about “current events.”  A who’s who of current leadership, news, status, etc?  We need more information before we walk in there.  Waltz in there?”  He cracks a smile at Ironmae.  

Flashback to the shop...

Upon hearing Iromae ask for specific clothes for the masquerade, Shenua follows suit, selecting an outfit and a mask. She lets the half-elven woman suggest what would be appropriate to wear, only requesting that the color differs from the deep plum layered tunic she's just purchased—just so she doesn’t end up dressed entirely in the same hue—and that it has pockets.

"Oh," the tiefling adds, "and a hole. For the… well, you know. Tieflings." She gestures to the tail flicking behind her, then gives a small shrug.

Flashforward to the safehouse...

When Iromae mentions they've chosen the same colors, Shenua waves a hand, dismissing the concern. "We'll look like everyone else. If anything, it'll help us blend in more."

The artificer pauses, considering what they might ask once they get to meet the Advisor. "I don't know. We could say we're hoping to start a business here and need the Advisor's approval. But let's do some investigating first, like Vorenus suggested, in a public library, for example. It might give us better ideas. Here's to hoping they haven't banned knowledge too...,” she says with a sarcastic smile.

The thought that even books might be forbidden sends a chill down her spine, though she hides it behind a casual shrug.