The half-elf woman at Ravel & Thread listens closely as Iromae and Shenua ask their questions. Her responses are careful, but not cold — there’s a glimmer of sympathy behind her eyes, though she keeps her tone hushed.
To Iromae, she replies: “Hair ties, yes — I have a few plait cords that match the plum dye. You’re welcome to one.” She hands over a small ribbon of soft cloth, looped through a slender onyx ring.
“As for the masquerade … It is real. The Night of the Crown, hosted each year by the palace on the last full moon of Spring. That’s three nights from now.”
She hesitates before continuing.
“It’s by invitation only, but masks are mandatory for all who attend. A tradition, they say — symbolic of the veiled balance between duty and identity.”
“If you’re seeking masks, I recommend Feathered Silence in the Artisan’s Walk. They make pieces that don’t draw attention from the wrong kind of eyes.”
Shenua’s request earns a knowing smile.
“Of course,” the tailor says, adding the requested tail slit and internal pockets to the order. For the masquerade, she suggests a long tunic in deep blue with silver trim, accented by a half-mask shaped like a curling crescent moon. “Elegant. Safe. No one will question it.”
Diego, quieter than usual, selects a high-collared charcoal overcoat with subtle black embroidery along the cuffs. He also purchases a silver-lined black mask for the ball, shaped like a stylized fox. He says little, only offering a muted “Thank you” as he’s fitted.
As they make their way back to the safehouse, he murmurs just once: “If it is Kalis … she’ll know something’s wrong.”
Then he smiles at Shenua’s mention of the library, adding with a spark of his old humor, “Let’s hope they haven’t banned poetry too — or I’ll riot.”
But behind the joke, his eyes linger on the white flame banners fluttering above. He says nothing more.
Back at the safehouse, the group dons their new clothing, carefully stowing their tools, spellcasting foci, and magical artifacts in hidden compartments in the cellar. Iromae tucks her amulet beneath her tunic. The others sheath their identities behind gray cloaks and hoods.
Vorenus smiles grimly at Shenua, saying “I’ve read about these types. You’re not far off, they may have banned libraries, we will find out. If they haven’t already, they are on their way to burning all of the books in that white glowing flame. It is likely advantageous for them to hold onto the knowledge themselves, prevent others from having it. Destroy education, research, everything that we likely hold dear in our time… it is depressing to think about.” Vorenus stuffs his extravagant, flamboyant persona down and purchases whatever is suggested, an appropriate mask, a fitting costume that won’t draw attention. Then they regather at the “safe house.”
He turns to Iromae and Shenua saying, “Let’s see if we can find a library. I feel like we have a lot of reading to do if we are so lucky to find one. Something that can give us a clue as to what happened here. How this all came about. On this timeline. What say you? Join me?” On the thought of studying with his old classmates in a library, despite the gravity of the situation, Vorenus has a little kick to his step and at least for a few steps does a mock dance out of the house as they head on their way, in search of knowledge….
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae nods somberly. "I think you are right Vorenus. They could very well have limited or even outlawed many forms of knowledge. It would make sense given how the university itself is gone. But let's hope we can find a library."
After changing into her new outfit, Iromae has a far more serious look than any of these have known before. With her hair pulled back into a neat and orderly ponytail, it is very strange not see her characteristic stray strands of hair in her face. She mentions the coming masquerade. "If it requires invitation, we will have to figure out how to handle that part." She doesn't have the slightest clue at the moment how they would manage that.
When all are ready, she agrees, "Let's head out." She watches from behind as Vorenus makes a few little dance steps. Knowing he can't really see, she frowns slightly, a bit annoyed at his carefree moment when so recently his big secret had been revealed. She knew she had to put it behind her so they could work on what was going on. But she couldn't help that thoughts came to her mind now and then.
Shenua traces a finger over the crescent moon mask and the deep blue and silver tunic. The woman at the shop clearly had an exquisite taste, and the tiefling cannot wait to try it on. She has to remind herself that the masquerade is not meant for fun, but for investigation. Still, she can't deny her excitement—she's always wanted to attend something like this and, even if just once, experience a world so different from her usual activities.
They still need to get an invitation, of course, but Shenua is certain they'll figure that out somehow.
When Diego replies that he'll riot if poetry has been banished, she lets out a loud laugh and quickly covers her mouth so as not to draw attention in the quiet streets—streets that have almost grown devoid of talk, and even more so of laughter. Then she adds quietly, "I'll riot as well. To banish magic! I still can't believe it. That is preposterous!"
As the group leaves the safety of the hidden cellar, the sounds of the city morning have fully returned — measured footsteps on cobblestones, distant market chatter, and the steady chime of a bell tower in the square. Suzail lives and breathes as any city would. But here, it feels … quieter. Not hushed in volume, but in tone. Conversations are clipped. Expressions subdued. Even the city watch — clad in slate-gray uniforms trimmed with silver — walk without excess motion, eyes trained forward.
The route toward the center of town reveals more changes. The Academy of Magic, once a proud dome of pale stone and arcane brilliance, is nowhere to be found. In its place looms the Crown Spire, the towering watchtower you saw last night — narrow, tall, fortified with black iron and white banners. Shimmering white flame still burns along its parapets.
Following signs carved discreetly into stone walls — a practice that feels familiar to Shenua, like something learned long ago in rogue circles — you finally find what might have once been a library. Not the Grand Archive, but a Lower Registry, set along a side street and flanked by two iron lamps.
The arched doorway is open. Inside, it’s quiet. No one guards the entrance.
But there is a woman behind the desk, her black robe cinched neatly at the waist. She looks up as you enter. Her eyes rest a second longer on Diego — then Vorenus — and then she nods once.
“Catalog access is permitted,” she says plainly. “Reading permitted. Reproduction not.”
She gestures to a sign written in Common and two other languages none of you immediately recognize: NO COPYING. NO RE-INSCRIPTION. MEMORY ONLY.
The stacks are dimly lit. Thin windows let in filtered light, and shelves line the walls in two long rows. There is a quiet, deep smell — dust, leather, old ink. It smells like a forgotten past.
What you don’t see are arcane volumes. No runes. No histories of magical theory. No wizard treatises. Nothing bound in the silver-threaded spines used by the old Guild press.
But there are books. Histories. Civic records. Chronicles of royal lineage and law.
As you are about to start looking through, the woman in black says, "You have two hours."
You turn toward her with clear confusion, and she repeats: "You have two hours."
SKILL CHALLENGE in TWO ROUNDS
Goal: Uncover key truths about this alternate Suzail, the White Flame Accord, and Royal Advisor Amarinth.
Each character will make two skill checks — one per round.
Each character must use a different skill each round, and you must justify how you’re using the skill in a way that fits the setting (the library, quiet observation, social subtlety, and study).
For each repeated skill between players, there will be a penalty. So, if eight different skills are used, there would be no penalty. I'll let you three decide which skills Diego uses.
Vorenus nods, then starts to look through the books, at first not sure where to begin, he starts with looking for anything that has a white flame logo on the cover. Large tomes, perhaps with pages that are dog-eared, well used, stained over years with the oil from many hands opening the cover. He looks for the name Amarinth and he skims for any written histories.
Perception : 13
After his initial look through, he approaches the librarian again and says, “Hey, Miss? I'm doing research to write an essay about the history of Suzail, I really want to make it impressive, well researched and even flavored with a little seasoning of some long forgotten and saucy knowledge that will have the reader on the edge of their seat! So to speak. And being proper and all. So. From one page turner and researcher to another, can you point me to your best volumes? Pretty please? Anything about the White Flame Accord or the Royal Advisor Amarinth would just be sauce for the goose. Please, dear, can you help me?” *flash big grin with dimples, stage left*
Shenua barely contains an eye-roll at the woman's instruction. "Reproduction not. You have two hours," the tiefling repeats in her mind, mimicking the woman's tone, but more shrill and mocking than necessary. She has to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying, "And are we allowed to actually touch the books? And breathe? Would you prefer if we read them from two meters away, just in case we spoil them with the weight of our ignorant gazes?"
After a few seconds of mental theater, she simply gives a nod and a dry smile to show she understands.
With that, she begins her research. First, she focuses on gaining a general understanding of the city—its customs, common trades, social etiquette, and anything else that might help them pass as natives of this version of Suzail. She also wants to prepare a convincing reason to request a meeting with Advisor Amarinth.
(Investigation: nat20, 26)
Once she has the basics, she turns her attention to magic. It's banned, yes—but has it vanished from written records too? Is there any mention of why it was forbidden? Are all schools of magic prohibited, or just some? How is the ban enforced? Are the enforcers capable of detecting all kinds of magic and magical items? Can lesser spells—like cantrips—be detected as well?
She also recalls the mention of the Queen being unable to speak. Are there similar cases documented? Could they be magical in nature? If so, how might such enchantments be broken—without a fight, and without being detected?
(Arcana: 17)
As she works, Shenua quietly shares her thoughts with her companions, in case they have other topics worth researching she might have forgotten.
Iromae considers the task ahead of them and immediately starts to go through books, focusing on those that will give her a sense of the history of this place. She scans the books for titles likely to inform her about the three topics they are interested in. And she quickly skims them for relevant sections, only taking time to pour over them more closely once her initial search suggests something that might be of interest. She tries to compare what she finds with what she knew of history from the Suzail she had been familiar with. She tries to understand how it matched and where it veered away.
(History: 19)
Once she has her proper sources, along with a sense of what has happened historically, she starts to study the people within those histories. She tries to piece together motives and bits of understanding which may not have been explicitly stated but which are revealed between the lines. What she hopes to put together a sense of general character of this new Suzail and the people who have shaped it.
(Insight: 25)
Before their allotted time is up, Iromae would go and check in with her friends. With that last time, she hopes they can all put together a coherent picture of this place, the White Flame that seems to control it, and about this Amarinth.
OOC: "Diego" rolled a 28 for persuasion and a 24 for performance.
The Registry is quiet.
Only the scratch of fingers across paper and the soft creak of shelves mark the passage of time. The woman at the desk sits unmoved — like a stone set into the architecture — and the ambient chill of the chamber begins to settle into your bones.
But between dusty covers and long-forgotten margins, truth still breathes.
Vorenus begins by scanning for the sigil of the White Flame — and though he doesn’t find it engraved on the covers, he spots it in other places: inside title pages, embossed onto official seals, or stamped into the corners of copied proclamations.
The books themselves are formal, even dry, until Vorenus turns up the charm. With a confident grin and a line about “saucy knowledge,” he earns a brief but unexpected response from the librarian — the faintest twitch of a smile. She steps from behind her desk and silently pulls three slim volumes from behind a barred shelf.
They are more personal than the public histories: excerpts from the journals of “Princess Caelthorn, before the Crown,” essays attributed to the “Precepts of the Flame,” and a faded manuscript containing an essay attributed to “A. Amarinth.”
They are just real enough to hurt.
“Princess Caelthorn, before the Crown” is a diary-like volume. Though names are never used directly, it’s clearly the personal reflections of the woman who would become Queen. Must of it is meditations on duty, power, and the weight of expectation — yawn — but Vorenus notices a shift in tone around what the writer calls "the Splintering.” She describes a sudden, unexplained loss of power within her bloodline. She writes of a vision she had — a tower aflame, voices lost to silence — and a mysterious figure who “restored what we had been promised.” That figure, unnamed, is only referred to as “the Threadwalker.”
“Precepts of the Flame” is more ideological — a sort of theological/philosophical treatise that lays out the tenets of the White Flame Accord. Most of it is deeply rigid. Magic is framed as a divine burden. Only one line — the Caelthorn line — may wield it, and only by “ancestral right.” But it’s clear they were struggling to maintain this claim — the bloodline no longer naturally produced casters. Vorenus spots a line that’s been underlined many times: “The Flame may be inherited by oath, not just by blood. In this, the Advisor is the Crown’s right hand and hidden voice.”
“The Amarinth Addendum” is strange — a scholarly addendum stapled to the back of an unrelated volume. It contains notes about magical stability, Weave resonance, and the ethical ramifications of magical displacement. There’s a diagram that catches Vorenus’s eye: five tools, suspended over a fractured leyline — one of them shaped very much like a needle. A final scribble reads: “Not broken. Not yet. But I feel them drawing closer.” This volume, Vorenus realizes, was updated recently.
Shenua, meanwhile, dives into the structure of this world.
She finds that Suzail here is not entirely different from the one she knew — but its course bent hard following a singular fracture in time. The records call it "The Sundering," a term rarely explained. It is not described in arcane terms but civic ones — a shift, a national trial, a calling for consolidation and strength.
After that moment, the Academy shuttered. The ruling house shifted. The flame — literal and symbolic — rose as the White Flame Accord was signed into law.
The magic ban is not described as fear — but duty. A solemn sacrifice that only one line was permitted to bear. The Caelthorn line.
But her second line of questioning reveals a contradiction: several civil documents describe advisors offering "aid" during crises — and one entry, signed by the Queen’s own hand, praises “Royal Advisor Amarinth’s swift and miraculous response during the Ember Market incident.”
No detail is offered on what that “response” was.
The Queen’s silence is more recent. It is called “a necessary devotion.” Not an illness. Not punishment. Just necessity. The populace believes it is ritual — something sacred and symbolic.
But Shenua recognizes the signs of magical silence. A permanent one.
The suggestion — unspoken — is that even the Queen is not permitted to wield what Advisor Amarinth still does.
Iromae flips through city histories with a precision that borders on priestly discipline. She notes each divergence in the timeline — each name where the bloodlines don’t align, each noble house that fell or rose differently. The Flame did not conquer, she realizes. It was accepted.
There are no signs of rebellion in the last fifty years.
But when she looks between the lines — examining the actions of the people described — she sees the deeper story: a city worn down, not by cruelty, but by resignation. The White Flame isn’t just law. It’s a belief. A burden. Magic was given up to protect the world, they say — though from what, no document explains.
Then, one name catches her attention: Kalis.
Not as a noble. Not as royalty. Not even as an outsider.
But as “the Steward of Illumination,” a phrase repeated several times in the court records. It is never explained. Yet in every mention, she is listed not beside the Queen — but just behind her.
Not a puppet master. Not a symbol. A secret.
Diego, meanwhile, plays his part.
The bard, with his soft charisma and noble bearing, earns the librarian’s trust just enough to gain access to a set of sealed meeting records — heavily redacted, but recent.
His charm paves the way.
His voice — reading softly, echoing just enough to draw other researchers' attention — performs like a scholar giving a lecture. And in doing so, he unlocks the subtle rhythms of the court’s structure.
Diego learns that audiences with the Royal Advisor are rare. And that her circle is tightly controlled. Yet … there is one way in.
At the Queen’s masquerade.
Once per year, an invitation is extended to select citizens and dignitaries. Many wear masks. Some dance. Favors are whispered. Promises are made. And sometimes — just once a night — the Queen appears.
Never speaks. But appears.
Amarinth is always nearby.
As the bell tower chimes the midday hour, the librarian stands and approaches.
“Time is up.”
You gather what you can. No notes. No copies. But your minds are full.
The voice of the woman in black echoes through the chamber, and it hits Shenua like a bell marking the end of an exam. She closes the volume in front of her with a frustrated click of her tongue. They'd done well. Maybe even very well. But if they'd just had a few more minutes...
Her mind is a storm of questions. A. Amarinth — who is that? An ancestor of Kalis? One of her parents? And who exactly is the Threadwalker? What does the vision of Princess Calthorn mean? Why were their artifacts sketched in that schematic, and how did someone feel them coming?
The tiefling massages her temples, weary from the sheer weight of everything they've just uncovered. Without notes, it's hard to keep things straight, and harder still to make connections. Maybe, she thinks, the best place to start is by placing the events in order. So Shenua rises and approaches the woman in black.
"Excuse me," she says — respectful, but not meek. "Would it be possible to ask for a bit of clarification? We've read so much, so quickly, I'm worried some of it's getting mixed up. Could you remind us of the dates for a few key events?"
She pauses, and casts a glance toward Vorenus and Diego, a silent plea for backup, since they've clearly had success in getting responses from the woman. Maybe, together, they can press their luck.
Then, carefully, she continues: "The Splintering. The Sundering. And the Ember Market incident. When did they happen? Even rough estimates would help us place everything in proper order."
Shenua falls silent, waiting to see if the woman will answer even this first question. If she does, perhaps it will open the door to more. And maybe, if they all ask together, they can begin to make sense of all this before leaving this place.
The woman in black looks up from her desk, quill pausing above a small slip of parchment. Her expression doesn’t shift — no warmth, no irritation. Simply blank assessment. Her gaze settles on Shenua, then flicks once to Vorenus, and then to Diego, who had earlier charmed her with subtle eloquence.
For a long second, she says nothing.
Then, with a voice as clipped and precise as before, she replies:
“The Sundering occurred in 1096 A.W.F. That is, After the White Flame. It marks the formal sealing of uncontrolled leylines beneath the Crown’s authority.”
“The Splintering is not an official event. That word appears only in speculative materials. No endorsed accounts recognize it as historical.”
“The Ember Market incident was suppressed. Unofficial sources place it between 1121 and 1123. A number of unregistered casters were discovered in the Lower District during Festival season. The Crown Spire was expanded the following year.”
She pauses just long enough for you to think she’s finished, then adds:
“Chronologies beyond 1140 A.W.F. are no longer publicly curated.”
And just like that, her attention returns to the parchment.
Seeing the manuscript attributed to 'A. Amarinth' was a disappointment to Iromae. She had foolishly hoped that this advisor would be Kalis. But later when she sees the name 'Kalis' as "the Steward of Illumination' she is much more excited. But what does it all mean?
Shenua's question about dates is a good one. She listens closely when the woman explains more. 'Now if the White Flame had risen in our own Suzail, what year would it have been now?' she wonders, trying to calculate the number. Before she goes, she pauses next to where the woman is sitting. "This will sound silly, but what year is it now?" she asks. Once she gets a response, whatever it is, she says to the others, "Probably time for us to get going."
When the group finally makes it outside she comments. "We learned a lot. But there's many more mysteries. Do you think the 'threadwalker' was Kalis? I mean, our Kalis. And how does that relate to 'the Steward of Illumination'?" She shakes her head. "We should sit down and make notes about this. Put the timeline together."
Before leaving, and noticing that Iromae is boldly asking what year it is—a question they most definitely need answered—Shenua decides to be bold once more herself. She points to one of the volumes Vorenus had been reading, The Amarinth Addendum, and asks, "One last question, please—I promise. That addendum stapled to the back of a completely different volume… it was updated recently. When did that happen? Who did it? Can you name, or at least describe, that person for us, please?"
The tiefling puts on her most amiable expression, hoping it will encourage the woman to respond. Still, she's ready to defer to Vorenus or Diego once again if she doesn't succeed.
“Not broken. Not yet. But I feel them drawing closer.” Vorenus commits this to memory, pausing at that section for a while, memorizing the script, the ink, the way it is written. His eyes go wide and he points this out to the others. “We are being tracked. Someone is aware of our presence, likely.” He continues in his studies, amazed at their findings.
He watches with a smile as Shenua presses the librarian, giving her help with his smile and by saying “My ah, assistant, here is helping me with the story, please forgive her directness, but she is a most studious sort, keen for detail, invaluable really.” He gives a satisfied look to Shenua, like she is his star employee. When the librarian turns her head for a moment, he gives her a subtle wink.
As they leave, Vorenus agrees with Iromae, “I agree, we need to sit down, write this down before we forget everything, and compare notes. I think our Kalis is the threadwalker. Maybe, maybe she called us her, for help? Someone is silencing the Queen? There is much, much more to this story, and we need to find it out quickly and carefully, without being outed and locked up. Or worse.” He looks from one face to the other as they are walking away with a grave expression. “Back to the safe house for a debrief? It sounds like this masquerade ball is crucial, after all. I hope we can get in.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae sighs, "Yes, in any other situation a masquerade ball would be so much fun! But it does seem like our only way to even have a chance to get close to any of these folks to unravel what is happening." She nods in agreement with Vorenus to continue toward the safe house. "How in the world do we get ourselves invited though? Who decides on those invitations? And what in the world could we do to make that person consider us. We didn't even exist here yesterday!"
"Your assistant?!" Shenua exhales sharply—inwardly, of course—as Vorenus addresses the librarian. But she plays her part, smoothing her expression into a polite smile that says, "Of course, boss. I'm so lucky to even be allowed to be here!" She waits patiently for the woman's response, then follows the others outside.
Once in the safehouse, Shenua nods in agreement with Iromae and Vorenus. Well, to most of it.
"To be fair," she interjects, glancing toward Iromae, "I plan to enjoy that masquerade—at least a little. We'll have to mingle, right? Which means drinking at least one fancy cocktail, probably dancing, and definitely sharing a few bits of gossip, even if we have to make them up on the fly. I don't know what you plan to do, my cleric friend, but this artificer fully intends to find the most handsome Alternate Suzail noble she can —well, not that I'll know what his face looks like, but you get the idea—and, as I live and breathe, I will get at least one drink or one dance. Preferably both."
If anyone so much as raises an eyebrow, the tiefling just shrugs. "What can I say? I've been dying to go to a masquerade since I was little. And it's not like I'll ever get another chance."
Shenua pauses then, turning thoughtful. "As for how we get in... well, do we really have to be invited ourselves? Maybe we can find a way to... acquire someone else's invitations?" She taps a clawed finger against her chin. "Why don't we pay a visit to the Feathered Silence? We can pretend we're there to buy masks, and while we browse, we listen. We might catch wind of how the invites are handled—maybe even who's expected to attend. I wonder if it'd be enough to get one invitation, and the rest could pass as serving staff?"
Iromae narrows her eyes at Shenua. "Well, maybe I intend to enjoy the masquerade too!"
The others were all quite aware that Iromae was the shyest amongst the group. And as well as she got along with people generally, she was pretty awkward when it came to personal relationships. There was the one young half-elf boy she was seeing their first year where she could barely get out a complete sentence when talking to him. It worked well because he wasn't that interested in talking anyway. He took advantage of her, and she never saw it. They were all glad when that had ended.
The rest of her time at the University went similarly. There were a variety of boys interested in her, but it seemed she always let the ones she truly liked slip away - Iromae was just too nervous and timid to go after them. She just wasn't much for flirting and soon found her time devoted to her three - well, four - friends rather than romantic pursuits. Well, and she was fairly serious about her studies as well.
Silent for a moment after her pouting she added, "And maybe I'll just find an even more attractive non-nobleman for myself!"
At the mention of acquiring someone else's invitation, her eyes go wide. 'I never thought of that!' she thinks. She blurts out, "Could we really do that? Take somone's invitation? What if they really had their heart set on going?"
In their safe house, where Vorenus can speak freely, he says “And who would want to dance with an illegal grand wizard, the Great Vorenus? Nobody, that’s who. No, no, no, I need to adopt another look, another persona for this setting. Yes, I agree, to the Feathered Silence. Perhaps I will play the part of said Noble from a Far Away Land, I just need to concentrate on my dashing good looks and my silver tongue… you know I can clean up quite nice you know? And if there are no gentlemen about to take your hand…” he pauses, look at both Iromae and Shenua, “Then I certainly will. Either way, we will have a ball! But let’s remember our focus and keep thinking on ways we can get near the Queen and Amarinth. Besides my stellar dancing skills, that is.” And Vorenus starts to mock a ballroom dance by himself all around the safe house, including lavish dips and twirls..
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"That is great, whatever suits you, of course!"Shenua says to Iromae's remark about finding an even more attractive non-nobleman, then rolls her eyes at Vorenus's theatrical offer to dance with either of them.
The tiefling rises with a sigh, quietly hoping that whatever is brewing between Iromae, Vorenus, and Diego will sort itself out—preferably while she's off drinking and dancing with a complete stranger. And, ideally, without dragging her into it.
"To the Feathered Silence, then? Let's see what we hear. And once we have a plan, we can all cry real hard about some poor noble missing their chance to attend the masquerade, if it comes to that. It would be tragic. Truly devastating. I can barely stand the thought."
The woman in black doesn’t lift her head this time. She finishes the stroke of her quill with slow precision before setting it into the inkwell.
To Iromae’s question, she responds without pause: “The current year is 1165 After the White Flame.”
To the best of Iromae's reckoning, that amount of time matches with her memory of history.
The librarian begins folding the parchment neatly into thirds. Her motions are slow. Controlled.
To Shenua’s question about the Amarinth Addendum, there’s a pause — a longer one this time. She lays the parchment aside and finally looks up. Her eyes flick again to Vorenus. A single raised brow.
Then, with absolutely no change in tone: “That volume is not part of our publicly endorsed catalog. Its presence was ... not corrected, due to its use in a local literacy program. Additions to non-catalog texts are not recorded.”
She lets that hang for a beat.
Then, in a clipped afterthought, she adds: “If you are interested in its author, you may find mention of her in older neighborhood registries. Those can be requested from the south archive. Exit, turn right. Follow the archways.”
She does not offer a farewell.
Iromae:
The woman’s answer — that additions to non-catalog texts aren’t recorded — seems evasive.
But it’s what she doesn’t say that draws your attention. She doesn’t acknowledge the name Amarinth at all. Not as an author. Not as a royal advisor. Not even as a rumor. And certainly not as someone in a position of power, publicly known across the city.
You glance at the others, but they seem to be reacting only toward the new directions.
Everyone in Suzail knows the name Amarinth.
And yet this librarian — who speaks with total confidence about protocols, volumes, and archives — pretends the name means nothing.
It’s not ignorance. It’s deliberate.
And that raises an unsettling thought: If the people working in this city’s records and knowledge centers have been told not to acknowledge the name Amarinth, what else might be hidden — or erased?
You suspect there is something about the name Amarinth that is not supposed to be spoken of. Not even in a whisper.
The half-elf woman at Ravel & Thread listens closely as Iromae and Shenua ask their questions. Her responses are careful, but not cold — there’s a glimmer of sympathy behind her eyes, though she keeps her tone hushed.
To Iromae, she replies: “Hair ties, yes — I have a few plait cords that match the plum dye. You’re welcome to one.” She hands over a small ribbon of soft cloth, looped through a slender onyx ring.
“As for the masquerade … It is real. The Night of the Crown, hosted each year by the palace on the last full moon of Spring. That’s three nights from now.”
She hesitates before continuing.
“It’s by invitation only, but masks are mandatory for all who attend. A tradition, they say — symbolic of the veiled balance between duty and identity.”
“If you’re seeking masks, I recommend Feathered Silence in the Artisan’s Walk. They make pieces that don’t draw attention from the wrong kind of eyes.”
Shenua’s request earns a knowing smile.
“Of course,” the tailor says, adding the requested tail slit and internal pockets to the order. For the masquerade, she suggests a long tunic in deep blue with silver trim, accented by a half-mask shaped like a curling crescent moon. “Elegant. Safe. No one will question it.”
Diego, quieter than usual, selects a high-collared charcoal overcoat with subtle black embroidery along the cuffs. He also purchases a silver-lined black mask for the ball, shaped like a stylized fox. He says little, only offering a muted “Thank you” as he’s fitted.
As they make their way back to the safehouse, he murmurs just once: “If it is Kalis … she’ll know something’s wrong.”
Then he smiles at Shenua’s mention of the library, adding with a spark of his old humor, “Let’s hope they haven’t banned poetry too — or I’ll riot.”
But behind the joke, his eyes linger on the white flame banners fluttering above. He says nothing more.
Back at the safehouse, the group dons their new clothing, carefully stowing their tools, spellcasting foci, and magical artifacts in hidden compartments in the cellar. Iromae tucks her amulet beneath her tunic. The others sheath their identities behind gray cloaks and hoods.
The safehouse remains quiet and secure — for now.
Did you want to try to find a library next?
Vorenus smiles grimly at Shenua, saying “I’ve read about these types. You’re not far off, they may have banned libraries, we will find out. If they haven’t already, they are on their way to burning all of the books in that white glowing flame. It is likely advantageous for them to hold onto the knowledge themselves, prevent others from having it. Destroy education, research, everything that we likely hold dear in our time… it is depressing to think about.” Vorenus stuffs his extravagant, flamboyant persona down and purchases whatever is suggested, an appropriate mask, a fitting costume that won’t draw attention. Then they regather at the “safe house.”
He turns to Iromae and Shenua saying, “Let’s see if we can find a library. I feel like we have a lot of reading to do if we are so lucky to find one. Something that can give us a clue as to what happened here. How this all came about. On this timeline. What say you? Join me?” On the thought of studying with his old classmates in a library, despite the gravity of the situation, Vorenus has a little kick to his step and at least for a few steps does a mock dance out of the house as they head on their way, in search of knowledge….
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae nods somberly. "I think you are right Vorenus. They could very well have limited or even outlawed many forms of knowledge. It would make sense given how the university itself is gone. But let's hope we can find a library."
After changing into her new outfit, Iromae has a far more serious look than any of these have known before. With her hair pulled back into a neat and orderly ponytail, it is very strange not see her characteristic stray strands of hair in her face. She mentions the coming masquerade. "If it requires invitation, we will have to figure out how to handle that part." She doesn't have the slightest clue at the moment how they would manage that.
When all are ready, she agrees, "Let's head out." She watches from behind as Vorenus makes a few little dance steps. Knowing he can't really see, she frowns slightly, a bit annoyed at his carefree moment when so recently his big secret had been revealed. She knew she had to put it behind her so they could work on what was going on. But she couldn't help that thoughts came to her mind now and then.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Shenua traces a finger over the crescent moon mask and the deep blue and silver tunic. The woman at the shop clearly had an exquisite taste, and the tiefling cannot wait to try it on. She has to remind herself that the masquerade is not meant for fun, but for investigation. Still, she can't deny her excitement—she's always wanted to attend something like this and, even if just once, experience a world so different from her usual activities.
They still need to get an invitation, of course, but Shenua is certain they'll figure that out somehow.
When Diego replies that he'll riot if poetry has been banished, she lets out a loud laugh and quickly covers her mouth so as not to draw attention in the quiet streets—streets that have almost grown devoid of talk, and even more so of laughter. Then she adds quietly, "I'll riot as well. To banish magic! I still can't believe it. That is preposterous!"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
As the group leaves the safety of the hidden cellar, the sounds of the city morning have fully returned — measured footsteps on cobblestones, distant market chatter, and the steady chime of a bell tower in the square. Suzail lives and breathes as any city would. But here, it feels … quieter. Not hushed in volume, but in tone. Conversations are clipped. Expressions subdued. Even the city watch — clad in slate-gray uniforms trimmed with silver — walk without excess motion, eyes trained forward.
The route toward the center of town reveals more changes. The Academy of Magic, once a proud dome of pale stone and arcane brilliance, is nowhere to be found. In its place looms the Crown Spire, the towering watchtower you saw last night — narrow, tall, fortified with black iron and white banners. Shimmering white flame still burns along its parapets.
Following signs carved discreetly into stone walls — a practice that feels familiar to Shenua, like something learned long ago in rogue circles — you finally find what might have once been a library. Not the Grand Archive, but a Lower Registry, set along a side street and flanked by two iron lamps.
The arched doorway is open. Inside, it’s quiet. No one guards the entrance.
But there is a woman behind the desk, her black robe cinched neatly at the waist. She looks up as you enter. Her eyes rest a second longer on Diego — then Vorenus — and then she nods once.
“Catalog access is permitted,” she says plainly. “Reading permitted. Reproduction not.”
She gestures to a sign written in Common and two other languages none of you immediately recognize: NO COPYING. NO RE-INSCRIPTION. MEMORY ONLY.
The stacks are dimly lit. Thin windows let in filtered light, and shelves line the walls in two long rows. There is a quiet, deep smell — dust, leather, old ink. It smells like a forgotten past.
What you don’t see are arcane volumes. No runes. No histories of magical theory. No wizard treatises. Nothing bound in the silver-threaded spines used by the old Guild press.
But there are books. Histories. Civic records. Chronicles of royal lineage and law.
As you are about to start looking through, the woman in black says, "You have two hours."
You turn toward her with clear confusion, and she repeats: "You have two hours."
SKILL CHALLENGE in TWO ROUNDS
Goal: Uncover key truths about this alternate Suzail, the White Flame Accord, and Royal Advisor Amarinth.
Each character will make two skill checks — one per round.
Each character must use a different skill each round, and you must justify how you’re using the skill in a way that fits the setting (the library, quiet observation, social subtlety, and study).
For each repeated skill between players, there will be a penalty. So, if eight different skills are used, there would be no penalty. I'll let you three decide which skills Diego uses.
Each round represents about one hour of research.
Vorenus nods, then starts to look through the books, at first not sure where to begin, he starts with looking for anything that has a white flame logo on the cover. Large tomes, perhaps with pages that are dog-eared, well used, stained over years with the oil from many hands opening the cover. He looks for the name Amarinth and he skims for any written histories.
Perception : 13
After his initial look through, he approaches the librarian again and says, “Hey, Miss? I'm doing research to write an essay about the history of Suzail, I really want to make it impressive, well researched and even flavored with a little seasoning of some long forgotten and saucy knowledge that will have the reader on the edge of their seat! So to speak. And being proper and all. So. From one page turner and researcher to another, can you point me to your best volumes? Pretty please? Anything about the White Flame Accord or the Royal Advisor Amarinth would just be sauce for the goose. Please, dear, can you help me?” *flash big grin with dimples, stage left*
Deception : 22
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua barely contains an eye-roll at the woman's instruction. "Reproduction not. You have two hours," the tiefling repeats in her mind, mimicking the woman's tone, but more shrill and mocking than necessary. She has to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying, "And are we allowed to actually touch the books? And breathe? Would you prefer if we read them from two meters away, just in case we spoil them with the weight of our ignorant gazes?"
After a few seconds of mental theater, she simply gives a nod and a dry smile to show she understands.
With that, she begins her research. First, she focuses on gaining a general understanding of the city—its customs, common trades, social etiquette, and anything else that might help them pass as natives of this version of Suzail. She also wants to prepare a convincing reason to request a meeting with Advisor Amarinth.
(Investigation: nat20, 26)
Once she has the basics, she turns her attention to magic. It's banned, yes—but has it vanished from written records too? Is there any mention of why it was forbidden? Are all schools of magic prohibited, or just some? How is the ban enforced? Are the enforcers capable of detecting all kinds of magic and magical items? Can lesser spells—like cantrips—be detected as well?
She also recalls the mention of the Queen being unable to speak. Are there similar cases documented? Could they be magical in nature? If so, how might such enchantments be broken—without a fight, and without being detected?
(Arcana: 17)
As she works, Shenua quietly shares her thoughts with her companions, in case they have other topics worth researching she might have forgotten.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Iromae considers the task ahead of them and immediately starts to go through books, focusing on those that will give her a sense of the history of this place. She scans the books for titles likely to inform her about the three topics they are interested in. And she quickly skims them for relevant sections, only taking time to pour over them more closely once her initial search suggests something that might be of interest. She tries to compare what she finds with what she knew of history from the Suzail she had been familiar with. She tries to understand how it matched and where it veered away.
(History: 19)
Once she has her proper sources, along with a sense of what has happened historically, she starts to study the people within those histories. She tries to piece together motives and bits of understanding which may not have been explicitly stated but which are revealed between the lines. What she hopes to put together a sense of general character of this new Suzail and the people who have shaped it.
(Insight: 25)
Before their allotted time is up, Iromae would go and check in with her friends. With that last time, she hopes they can all put together a coherent picture of this place, the White Flame that seems to control it, and about this Amarinth.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
OOC: "Diego" rolled a 28 for persuasion and a 24 for performance.
The Registry is quiet.
Only the scratch of fingers across paper and the soft creak of shelves mark the passage of time. The woman at the desk sits unmoved — like a stone set into the architecture — and the ambient chill of the chamber begins to settle into your bones.
But between dusty covers and long-forgotten margins, truth still breathes.
Vorenus begins by scanning for the sigil of the White Flame — and though he doesn’t find it engraved on the covers, he spots it in other places: inside title pages, embossed onto official seals, or stamped into the corners of copied proclamations.
The books themselves are formal, even dry, until Vorenus turns up the charm. With a confident grin and a line about “saucy knowledge,” he earns a brief but unexpected response from the librarian — the faintest twitch of a smile. She steps from behind her desk and silently pulls three slim volumes from behind a barred shelf.
They are more personal than the public histories: excerpts from the journals of “Princess Caelthorn, before the Crown,” essays attributed to the “Precepts of the Flame,” and a faded manuscript containing an essay attributed to “A. Amarinth.”
They are just real enough to hurt.
“Princess Caelthorn, before the Crown” is a diary-like volume. Though names are never used directly, it’s clearly the personal reflections of the woman who would become Queen. Must of it is meditations on duty, power, and the weight of expectation — yawn — but Vorenus notices a shift in tone around what the writer calls "the Splintering.” She describes a sudden, unexplained loss of power within her bloodline. She writes of a vision she had — a tower aflame, voices lost to silence — and a mysterious figure who “restored what we had been promised.” That figure, unnamed, is only referred to as “the Threadwalker.”
“Precepts of the Flame” is more ideological — a sort of theological/philosophical treatise that lays out the tenets of the White Flame Accord. Most of it is deeply rigid. Magic is framed as a divine burden. Only one line — the Caelthorn line — may wield it, and only by “ancestral right.” But it’s clear they were struggling to maintain this claim — the bloodline no longer naturally produced casters. Vorenus spots a line that’s been underlined many times: “The Flame may be inherited by oath, not just by blood. In this, the Advisor is the Crown’s right hand and hidden voice.”
“The Amarinth Addendum” is strange — a scholarly addendum stapled to the back of an unrelated volume. It contains notes about magical stability, Weave resonance, and the ethical ramifications of magical displacement. There’s a diagram that catches Vorenus’s eye: five tools, suspended over a fractured leyline — one of them shaped very much like a needle. A final scribble reads: “Not broken. Not yet. But I feel them drawing closer.” This volume, Vorenus realizes, was updated recently.
Shenua, meanwhile, dives into the structure of this world.
She finds that Suzail here is not entirely different from the one she knew — but its course bent hard following a singular fracture in time. The records call it "The Sundering," a term rarely explained. It is not described in arcane terms but civic ones — a shift, a national trial, a calling for consolidation and strength.
After that moment, the Academy shuttered. The ruling house shifted. The flame — literal and symbolic — rose as the White Flame Accord was signed into law.
The magic ban is not described as fear — but duty. A solemn sacrifice that only one line was permitted to bear. The Caelthorn line.
But her second line of questioning reveals a contradiction: several civil documents describe advisors offering "aid" during crises — and one entry, signed by the Queen’s own hand, praises “Royal Advisor Amarinth’s swift and miraculous response during the Ember Market incident.”
No detail is offered on what that “response” was.
The Queen’s silence is more recent. It is called “a necessary devotion.” Not an illness. Not punishment. Just necessity. The populace believes it is ritual — something sacred and symbolic.
But Shenua recognizes the signs of magical silence. A permanent one.
The suggestion — unspoken — is that even the Queen is not permitted to wield what Advisor Amarinth still does.
Iromae flips through city histories with a precision that borders on priestly discipline. She notes each divergence in the timeline — each name where the bloodlines don’t align, each noble house that fell or rose differently. The Flame did not conquer, she realizes. It was accepted.
There are no signs of rebellion in the last fifty years.
But when she looks between the lines — examining the actions of the people described — she sees the deeper story: a city worn down, not by cruelty, but by resignation. The White Flame isn’t just law. It’s a belief. A burden. Magic was given up to protect the world, they say — though from what, no document explains.
Then, one name catches her attention: Kalis.
Not as a noble. Not as royalty. Not even as an outsider.
But as “the Steward of Illumination,” a phrase repeated several times in the court records. It is never explained. Yet in every mention, she is listed not beside the Queen — but just behind her.
Not a puppet master. Not a symbol. A secret.
Diego, meanwhile, plays his part.
The bard, with his soft charisma and noble bearing, earns the librarian’s trust just enough to gain access to a set of sealed meeting records — heavily redacted, but recent.
His charm paves the way.
His voice — reading softly, echoing just enough to draw other researchers' attention — performs like a scholar giving a lecture. And in doing so, he unlocks the subtle rhythms of the court’s structure.
Diego learns that audiences with the Royal Advisor are rare. And that her circle is tightly controlled. Yet … there is one way in.
At the Queen’s masquerade.
Once per year, an invitation is extended to select citizens and dignitaries. Many wear masks. Some dance. Favors are whispered. Promises are made. And sometimes — just once a night — the Queen appears.
Never speaks. But appears.
Amarinth is always nearby.
As the bell tower chimes the midday hour, the librarian stands and approaches.
“Time is up.”
You gather what you can. No notes. No copies. But your minds are full.
The voice of the woman in black echoes through the chamber, and it hits Shenua like a bell marking the end of an exam. She closes the volume in front of her with a frustrated click of her tongue. They'd done well. Maybe even very well. But if they'd just had a few more minutes...
Her mind is a storm of questions. A. Amarinth — who is that? An ancestor of Kalis? One of her parents? And who exactly is the Threadwalker? What does the vision of Princess Calthorn mean? Why were their artifacts sketched in that schematic, and how did someone feel them coming?
The tiefling massages her temples, weary from the sheer weight of everything they've just uncovered. Without notes, it's hard to keep things straight, and harder still to make connections. Maybe, she thinks, the best place to start is by placing the events in order. So Shenua rises and approaches the woman in black.
"Excuse me," she says — respectful, but not meek. "Would it be possible to ask for a bit of clarification? We've read so much, so quickly, I'm worried some of it's getting mixed up. Could you remind us of the dates for a few key events?"
She pauses, and casts a glance toward Vorenus and Diego, a silent plea for backup, since they've clearly had success in getting responses from the woman. Maybe, together, they can press their luck.
Then, carefully, she continues: "The Splintering. The Sundering. And the Ember Market incident. When did they happen? Even rough estimates would help us place everything in proper order."
Shenua falls silent, waiting to see if the woman will answer even this first question. If she does, perhaps it will open the door to more. And maybe, if they all ask together, they can begin to make sense of all this before leaving this place.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
The woman in black looks up from her desk, quill pausing above a small slip of parchment. Her expression doesn’t shift — no warmth, no irritation. Simply blank assessment. Her gaze settles on Shenua, then flicks once to Vorenus, and then to Diego, who had earlier charmed her with subtle eloquence.
For a long second, she says nothing.
Then, with a voice as clipped and precise as before, she replies:
“The Sundering occurred in 1096 A.W.F. That is, After the White Flame. It marks the formal sealing of uncontrolled leylines beneath the Crown’s authority.”
“The Splintering is not an official event. That word appears only in speculative materials. No endorsed accounts recognize it as historical.”
“The Ember Market incident was suppressed. Unofficial sources place it between 1121 and 1123. A number of unregistered casters were discovered in the Lower District during Festival season. The Crown Spire was expanded the following year.”
She pauses just long enough for you to think she’s finished, then adds:
“Chronologies beyond 1140 A.W.F. are no longer publicly curated.”
And just like that, her attention returns to the parchment.
Seeing the manuscript attributed to 'A. Amarinth' was a disappointment to Iromae. She had foolishly hoped that this advisor would be Kalis. But later when she sees the name 'Kalis' as "the Steward of Illumination' she is much more excited. But what does it all mean?
Shenua's question about dates is a good one. She listens closely when the woman explains more. 'Now if the White Flame had risen in our own Suzail, what year would it have been now?' she wonders, trying to calculate the number. Before she goes, she pauses next to where the woman is sitting. "This will sound silly, but what year is it now?" she asks. Once she gets a response, whatever it is, she says to the others, "Probably time for us to get going."
When the group finally makes it outside she comments. "We learned a lot. But there's many more mysteries. Do you think the 'threadwalker' was Kalis? I mean, our Kalis. And how does that relate to 'the Steward of Illumination'?" She shakes her head. "We should sit down and make notes about this. Put the timeline together."
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Before leaving, and noticing that Iromae is boldly asking what year it is—a question they most definitely need answered—Shenua decides to be bold once more herself. She points to one of the volumes Vorenus had been reading, The Amarinth Addendum, and asks, "One last question, please—I promise. That addendum stapled to the back of a completely different volume… it was updated recently. When did that happen? Who did it? Can you name, or at least describe, that person for us, please?"
The tiefling puts on her most amiable expression, hoping it will encourage the woman to respond. Still, she's ready to defer to Vorenus or Diego once again if she doesn't succeed.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
“Not broken. Not yet. But I feel them drawing closer.” Vorenus commits this to memory, pausing at that section for a while, memorizing the script, the ink, the way it is written. His eyes go wide and he points this out to the others. “We are being tracked. Someone is aware of our presence, likely.” He continues in his studies, amazed at their findings.
He watches with a smile as Shenua presses the librarian, giving her help with his smile and by saying “My ah, assistant, here is helping me with the story, please forgive her directness, but she is a most studious sort, keen for detail, invaluable really.” He gives a satisfied look to Shenua, like she is his star employee. When the librarian turns her head for a moment, he gives her a subtle wink.
As they leave, Vorenus agrees with Iromae, “I agree, we need to sit down, write this down before we forget everything, and compare notes. I think our Kalis is the threadwalker. Maybe, maybe she called us her, for help? Someone is silencing the Queen? There is much, much more to this story, and we need to find it out quickly and carefully, without being outed and locked up. Or worse.” He looks from one face to the other as they are walking away with a grave expression. “Back to the safe house for a debrief? It sounds like this masquerade ball is crucial, after all. I hope we can get in.”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae sighs, "Yes, in any other situation a masquerade ball would be so much fun! But it does seem like our only way to even have a chance to get close to any of these folks to unravel what is happening." She nods in agreement with Vorenus to continue toward the safe house. "How in the world do we get ourselves invited though? Who decides on those invitations? And what in the world could we do to make that person consider us. We didn't even exist here yesterday!"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
"Your assistant?!" Shenua exhales sharply—inwardly, of course—as Vorenus addresses the librarian. But she plays her part, smoothing her expression into a polite smile that says, "Of course, boss. I'm so lucky to even be allowed to be here!" She waits patiently for the woman's response, then follows the others outside.
Once in the safehouse, Shenua nods in agreement with Iromae and Vorenus. Well, to most of it.
"To be fair," she interjects, glancing toward Iromae, "I plan to enjoy that masquerade—at least a little. We'll have to mingle, right? Which means drinking at least one fancy cocktail, probably dancing, and definitely sharing a few bits of gossip, even if we have to make them up on the fly. I don't know what you plan to do, my cleric friend, but this artificer fully intends to find the most handsome Alternate Suzail noble she can —well, not that I'll know what his face looks like, but you get the idea—and, as I live and breathe, I will get at least one drink or one dance. Preferably both."
If anyone so much as raises an eyebrow, the tiefling just shrugs. "What can I say? I've been dying to go to a masquerade since I was little. And it's not like I'll ever get another chance."
Shenua pauses then, turning thoughtful. "As for how we get in... well, do we really have to be invited ourselves? Maybe we can find a way to... acquire someone else's invitations?" She taps a clawed finger against her chin. "Why don't we pay a visit to the Feathered Silence? We can pretend we're there to buy masks, and while we browse, we listen. We might catch wind of how the invites are handled—maybe even who's expected to attend. I wonder if it'd be enough to get one invitation, and the rest could pass as serving staff?"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Iromae narrows her eyes at Shenua. "Well, maybe I intend to enjoy the masquerade too!"
The others were all quite aware that Iromae was the shyest amongst the group. And as well as she got along with people generally, she was pretty awkward when it came to personal relationships. There was the one young half-elf boy she was seeing their first year where she could barely get out a complete sentence when talking to him. It worked well because he wasn't that interested in talking anyway. He took advantage of her, and she never saw it. They were all glad when that had ended.
The rest of her time at the University went similarly. There were a variety of boys interested in her, but it seemed she always let the ones she truly liked slip away - Iromae was just too nervous and timid to go after them. She just wasn't much for flirting and soon found her time devoted to her three - well, four - friends rather than romantic pursuits. Well, and she was fairly serious about her studies as well.
Silent for a moment after her pouting she added, "And maybe I'll just find an even more attractive non-nobleman for myself!"
At the mention of acquiring someone else's invitation, her eyes go wide. 'I never thought of that!' she thinks. She blurts out, "Could we really do that? Take somone's invitation? What if they really had their heart set on going?"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
In their safe house, where Vorenus can speak freely, he says “And who would want to dance with an illegal grand wizard, the Great Vorenus? Nobody, that’s who. No, no, no, I need to adopt another look, another persona for this setting. Yes, I agree, to the Feathered Silence. Perhaps I will play the part of said Noble from a Far Away Land, I just need to concentrate on my dashing good looks and my silver tongue… you know I can clean up quite nice you know? And if there are no gentlemen about to take your hand…” he pauses, look at both Iromae and Shenua, “Then I certainly will. Either way, we will have a ball! But let’s remember our focus and keep thinking on ways we can get near the Queen and Amarinth. Besides my stellar dancing skills, that is.” And Vorenus starts to mock a ballroom dance by himself all around the safe house, including lavish dips and twirls..
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"That is great, whatever suits you, of course!" Shenua says to Iromae's remark about finding an even more attractive non-nobleman, then rolls her eyes at Vorenus's theatrical offer to dance with either of them.
The tiefling rises with a sigh, quietly hoping that whatever is brewing between Iromae, Vorenus, and Diego will sort itself out—preferably while she's off drinking and dancing with a complete stranger. And, ideally, without dragging her into it.
"To the Feathered Silence, then? Let's see what we hear. And once we have a plan, we can all cry real hard about some poor noble missing their chance to attend the masquerade, if it comes to that. It would be tragic. Truly devastating. I can barely stand the thought."
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
The woman in black doesn’t lift her head this time. She finishes the stroke of her quill with slow precision before setting it into the inkwell.
To Iromae’s question, she responds without pause: “The current year is 1165 After the White Flame.”
To the best of Iromae's reckoning, that amount of time matches with her memory of history.
The librarian begins folding the parchment neatly into thirds. Her motions are slow. Controlled.
To Shenua’s question about the Amarinth Addendum, there’s a pause — a longer one this time. She lays the parchment aside and finally looks up. Her eyes flick again to Vorenus. A single raised brow.
Then, with absolutely no change in tone: “That volume is not part of our publicly endorsed catalog. Its presence was ... not corrected, due to its use in a local literacy program. Additions to non-catalog texts are not recorded.”
She lets that hang for a beat.
Then, in a clipped afterthought, she adds: “If you are interested in its author, you may find mention of her in older neighborhood registries. Those can be requested from the south archive. Exit, turn right. Follow the archways.”
She does not offer a farewell.
Iromae:
The woman’s answer — that additions to non-catalog texts aren’t recorded — seems evasive.
But it’s what she doesn’t say that draws your attention. She doesn’t acknowledge the name Amarinth at all. Not as an author. Not as a royal advisor. Not even as a rumor. And certainly not as someone in a position of power, publicly known across the city.
You glance at the others, but they seem to be reacting only toward the new directions.
Everyone in Suzail knows the name Amarinth.
And yet this librarian — who speaks with total confidence about protocols, volumes, and archives — pretends the name means nothing.
It’s not ignorance. It’s deliberate.
And that raises an unsettling thought: If the people working in this city’s records and knowledge centers have been told not to acknowledge the name Amarinth, what else might be hidden — or erased?
You suspect there is something about the name Amarinth that is not supposed to be spoken of. Not even in a whisper.