“Against those that watch them… just so.  Fluid motion, fabric that moves just so.. to hide things… extra weight?  Chubby hips?  Or other items perhaps.  You have the right of it.  We are interested in mirrorcraft.”  He tilts his head and waits, turns to Shenua as she speaks and watches the man’s face for a reaction.  He seems trustworthy.  No sign of deception or guile that he can tell.  

He waits to see what the proprietor says in response to her words, but with his lack of any evidence to the contrary, Vorenus decides to trust the man, but just so far.  If there is no recognition or acceptance after Shenua’s words, Vorenus leans in and with a whisper, says “A good friend name Lirae recommended we find you here, if that name helps…”.  ((Acting on an insight of 2)).  “And since we are speaking of names, what is yours, my good man?  I am Vorenus, some would say Vorenus the Traveller, some would say Vorenus the Great!  And for what reason is this Greatness assigned?  Why my dancing, of course!  I have been known to do the shimmy shimmy Lindy hop with such a fortitude and vigor that it would make all of the ladies swoon!  This is my delightful Iromae and my talented Shenua, students of the dancing arts, along other notable skills and handiwork.”  Vorenus starts to give him a little of the knee dance shimmy but stops himself, regaining his composure and leans into the man.  “So please, do help three excellent dancers who have such skill and need to find something suitable for the masquerade, if you can help us, dear sir.  Your skills in the weave of these fabrics and mirrorcraft are much desired and needed, my friend.”  Vorenus gives a knowing smile and wink at the man, making it clear that while he can dance with the best of them, there are many other tricks and skills behind what Vorenus is saying that he has in his toolbox..

Persuasion : 15

Following Shenua's comments to the proprietor, for a moment, the only sound is the low whisper of enchanted cloth sliding against itself — like water folding over silk. The proprietor watches the three of you in stillness so perfect it’s almost unnatural. Then, a single silver brow lifts.

“The Royal Research College,” they repeat softly. “Now there’s a name that still opens doors … even the ones people pretend are locked.”

Their gaze drifts briefly toward Shenua, as if appraising her with new understanding. Then to Vorenus — and the faintest smile touches their lips when he says Lirae. It’s there for barely a heartbeat, but it’s unmistakable.

“Ah. Lirae.”

The name is spoken with something between amusement and exasperation.

“So she’s still meddling in the Crown’s threads, is she? I wondered why she hadn’t been in to collect her last commission.”

That subtle recognition seems to shift the air in the room. The shimmer in the fabrics calms; the flicker of warding sigils at the door dims slightly. The proprietor’s posture loosens, and when they speak again, the tone carries the faintest warmth.

“Then it seems we do, in fact, have business. You’ll forgive my caution — these walls have ears, and not all of them are sewn with thread.”

They turn, gesturing for you to follow toward the rear of the shop. As they walk, the customers near the front take their leave, the noble’s soft-voiced aide murmuring something about “reporting back to the Duke.” The chime rings again as the door closes behind them, leaving the three of you alone with your host.

Iromae, as you glanced at the masked noble before he left, you caught a gleam of a signet on his glove — a silver crest marked with three stars above a crown. The emblem of House Rhynn, one of Suzail’s oldest and most loyal families to the Crown.

The back room is smaller, quieter, and layered with privacy wards that make the air feel heavy but safe. Rolls of fabric are stacked neatly beside a low table. Here, the proprietor finally gives a proper introduction.

“My name is Merienne Thestrel. Proprietor, designer, and, on occasion, confidant to those who prefer to stay unnoticed at royal gatherings.”

They study each of you in turn.

“If you came by Lirae’s word, then you already know mirrorcraft is not fashion — it’s shielding, misdirection, concealment. Each piece tailored to its wearer. What she neglected to mention, I suspect, is that it requires a resonance to the Weave itself.”

Their eyes linger on Shenua and Vorenus — longer than on Iromae — as though sensing the faint echo of what happened the night before.

“You’ve touched something recently, haven’t you? Something raw. Fractured.”

The statement isn’t quite a question.

“That will make this … complicated. The Weave around you isn’t stable — but it can be shaped. If you still intend to attend the Masquerade, I can make you what you need. But you’ll have to decide what kind of reflection you want the garments to carry: to hide what you are … or to reveal it.”

You each sense a subtle test behind Merienne’s words. How you answer will determine the nature of the mirrorcraft that’s made for you — and perhaps, what Merienne will truly think of your cause.

You may each respond in your own way, with:

• Persuasion or Deception to influence Merienne’s trust or protect your secrets.
• Arcana to show you understand the concept of mirrorcraft and the Weave’s resonance.
• Or Insight to gauge whether this offer is genuine help … or a trap stitched in silk.

Edit: Shenua, as you glanced at the masked noble before he left, you caught a gleam of a signet on his glove — a silver crest marked with three stars above a crown. The emblem of House Rhynn, one of Suzail’s oldest and most loyal families to the Crown.

With her inspection of the plain customer, Iromae notices just enough to feel uncertain, but not enough to be sure. The plainer customer, a human man in simple traveling clothes, appears mostly disinterested — at least on the surface. He’s fingering a roll of deep blue cloth, pretending to study the stitching. But twice, Iromae notices his eyes flick toward the party — once when Shenua mentions the Royal Research College, and again when Vorenus says Lirae’s name. It’s subtle, easily missed, and he doesn’t linger long. He makes no move toward them, no attempt to intervene, and even pays for a small length of fabric before leaving. Still, something about his quick exit feels a touch too casual. She can’t tell if he overheard enough to matter — or if he was merely curious about new customers in an exclusive shop. But the seed of unease is there: someone might now know they invoked Lirae’s name inside the Veil & Vellum.

Iromae carefully watched the customer leave, uncertain as to whether they actually overheard them or not. But it does make her a bit more anxious to move things along. She listens carefully to Merienne, nodding at some of her statements. As the woman's eyes linger on first Shenua then Vorenus, she too looks at each with a touch of worry. She knew the strain their encounter with the node had put on her. But she had not really altered the Weave, more held things together. 

She speaks up first, her tactic clear from the start. It seemed pointless to not trust the woman now. She clearly had a sense of their purpose here. It was just a matter of showing she understood the arcane aspects of this mirrorcraft. And to articulate what they would need. "Madame Thestrel, I think it goes without saying that our benefactor need not have explained the need for resonance. I think most important is to conceal the true nature of our facility with that resonance. To divert anything that might be ascertained from divination."  She goes on to give her best explanation of the nuances of arcane theory behind the mirrorcraft. (Arcana: 15) 

Shenua takes mental note of the signet ring — three stars above a crown — though she's not entirely sure what to make of it yet. If House Rhynn is truly one of the Crown's most loyal families, then that Duke is likely someone to avoid at the Masquerade, not a potential ally. Once again — and surely not for the last time — the tiefling feels the absence of Lirae, who would surely have been able to tell them more on that matter. She glances at Merienne, wondering whether the proprietor can be trusted enough to ask directly.

As she's thinking this, Shenua notices how Merienne's gaze lingers on Vorenus and herself. The comment about having "touched something raw and fractured" makes her frown.

"Excuse me, Madame Thestrel," she says cautiously, "what makes you say that? Is it because you know more than you let on, or because something about us stands out so plainly to the discerning eye? The latter would concern me more, because it would mean we'll need mirrorcraft not only for the Masquerade … but for the rest of the time as well."

The artificer, who had relaxed somewhat when Merienne led them into the rear of the shop — a place that at least felt private — now feels that tension return. If this proprietor could read so much from just a glance, what could they expect at a Masquerade full of people who made deception their art?

(Insight: not great, a 9)

Vorenus gives a smile to Merienne and follows to the back room, clearly more comfortable here.  He is relieved when he has the feeling that finally we have found someone who can help.  He does not notice the pitch of his voice when saying the name nor the manner in which the other patrons left the establishment.  He is laser focused on getting help with their problem of hiding their magical nature.  He nods absentmindely when the term "fractured" is mentioned, thinking to himself and agreeing with what he hears.  Then turns when he hears Shenua ask the question that was in his mind.  

"You must know that we wish to hide our magical nature.  Also any small magic items that might be on our person.  We have a sense that there will be ... detectors... at the masquerade.  And we need something that can shield our nature from being discovered.  I feel that you are here, put in this place in time to help us.  That we can trust you.  I hope that is not misplaced.  You don't want to come down on the wrong side of history, do you?  For I feel that we can accomplish something extraordinary, to help everyone here, if you will help us.  Sometimes there are moments in time, time cruxes, decision points, whatever you may call them.  What you do right now is one of those points.  Please... no more dancing around.  Help us, won't you?"  Vorenus stands to his full height, in case he is to be measured, and to let the guise of the old teacher guiding his two star pupils go.  He feels that we are well beyond that now ...

Persuasion : 24

Merienne Thestrel listens to them all with the stillness of one who has seen far more than she ever admits aloud. Her pale eyes fix on Iromae as she speaks of resonance and concealment, and there’s the faintest lift to one corner of her mouth — not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment.

"Your grasp of the theory is sound," she says quietly, her voice low and measured. "Resonance can be muted, redirected … but it cannot be erased. A mirror must always reflect something, even if it shows only what the viewer expects to see. What you ask is possible — though costly, and not without risk to the weaver. But the pattern can be held."

She glances toward Shenua then, and for an instant, those discerning eyes sharpen with something like pity. "It is not your stance or speech that gives you away, my dear. It is the Weave itself. It hums differently around those who have been near a wound. To the trained senses, it is … unmistakable. You carry that mark now — all of you do, in your own ways."

When Vorenus straightens and speaks from conviction rather than charm, Merienne’s attention returns to him. She watches him in silence through his entire appeal, weighing his words with a gravity that stretches the moment thin. Then she exhales, almost like someone conceding to inevitability.

"You are right," she says at last. "History has already turned, and this city has not yet realized how sharp the bend will be. The Crown would cage anything it cannot understand — and the Guilds would bind it in silks and sell it by the yard. Neither path suits me."

A subtle gesture follows: she draws back the shimmering quicksilver fabric, revealing a locked coffer beneath. The air around it ripples faintly with abjuration. She unclasps it with a whispered word, producing three folded garments — simple at first glance, yet catching light in strange ways, as though they were woven of reflected dusk.

"These are unkeyed mirrorcraft. They have no attunement yet — safe to touch. They will mask your auras, blur scrying, and confound the city’s detectors, for a time. But you will need proper fitting, and a resonance trace from each of you. A thread of hair or drop of blood will suffice. Once I’ve anchored the pattern, they will serve you through the Masquerade … and perhaps longer, if the threads hold."

Her gaze flicks toward the shuttered window before lowering her voice another notch. "Know this: the Duke of Rhynn has ordered new garments of his own, and his envoy reports directly to the Spire. Whatever you are walking into at that Masquerade, he will be there — and he will be watching."

She straightens, eyes returning to them, the faintest wry smile ghosting across her lips. "So — shall I begin your fittings, then? Or would you prefer to discuss the price first?"

Iromae had nodded at Merienne's comments to her. 'Yea, there is a question of what to reflect,' she thought. Then she watched a bit uneasily as Shenua questioned Merienne. 'So, our experience at the node left a mark. Just how many though could see such a thing?' She wondered, 'Is it something I might have been able to see?'  She considers her knowledge of the Weave and tries to think of how she might do that - would it require active spell casting or just the right observation? (Arcana: 11)

Finally focusing back on the tasks at hand, she replies to the woman's question. "Maybe we ought to speak of price first," she says shyly, a bit of a blush coming to her face. "I know I'm not particularly wealthy. Not like the Duke of Rhynn certainly."  Her gaze moves to look towards the door. "The Duke is an ally of the crown, is he not? Why should he need worry about concealment? But who was your other patron? I'm not sure, but I fear he may have heard a bit of our conversation before he departed." 

Her eyes fall on the garments, physically complete yet waiting for the fitting that would be needed to complete them magically. "A thread of hair would be easy enough to provide. Or whatever works the best," she says.