Shenua’s murmured incantation settles, and the world subtly changes for her.
At once, faint magic blooms into view.
The passage itself is mundane stone and timber, but farther ahead — below and left, exactly where Iromae feels the pull — there is a tight knot of restrained magic. Not a glow flooding the space, but something contained. Purposefully quiet. Like a spell wrapped around an object to keep it inert, hidden, or both.
Iromae’s spell confirms it: the thread is no more than 30 feet away now, and slightly down. The sense is sharp enough that she could guide you without hesitation.
Vorenus brings a sliver of light into being along his dagger’s edge. The dim glow reveals more detail without announcing you. The passage opens into a low junction chamber, ceiling arched but cramped, with two narrow continuations branching off. One slopes gently downward. The other remains level but is partially blocked by stacked crates and a folded screen.
The downward slope is the one calling to Iromae.
As you pause there, all three of you notice the same things: The floor stones on the sloping path are worn smooth, far more than the rest of the passage. One crate near the junction bears a chalk mark that has been scratched through, not erased — deliberately invalidated. The faint scraping sound Vorenus heard earlier comes again, briefly, from below — followed by stillness.
Shenua’s detect magic picks up no wards on the walls, no alarm glyphs at the threshold. Whatever protection exists is focused on the object, not the approach.
"There are no wards. No alarms,"Shenua murmurs. "The only magic I can detect is on the thread itself ... like it's being contained."
She glances down the sloping passage. "So, we should be clear to move."
As they start toward the downward path, she hesitates and turns back toward the junction. Her eyes linger on the stacked crates blocking the other passage — especially the one with the chalk mark scratched through.
"What if there's something else useful here?"she whispers.
She steps closer, examining the crates for any markings or labels — names, addresses, symbols, anything that might mean something. If any of the crates aren't sealed shut, she carefully tries to open a few just enough to see inside. If the light is too poor, she quietly motions for Vorenus to bring his glow closer. (Investigation: 15)
Vorenus freezes, grabbing Shenua’s arm. He reaches into his pocket and grips a small piece of copper, and then suddenly Shenua hears in her mind a message. He turns and looks at Iromae, repeating the same thing. “What is making that sound? The scraping sound. Is there someone else in here with us? If so, I don’t think you should start opening crates…. Let’s find out what is making that sound.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua freezes. "But, isn't that sound coming from below?"
If it seems like it is coming from this very same room, then she doesn't open any crate and tries to investigate where the sound is coming from, instead.
Iromae keeps focused on the path to find the string. Closing in on it, she looks along the path as it descends, trying to get sight of where the item must be. The scratching sound though gives her pause, but she hears Shenua's words, 'no wards, no alarms'. So, she continues on the path sloping downward. (Perception: 9)
There are two paths. One stays level with you, but the other slopes downward. It is from that direction that the scaping sound is coming.
In that case, Shenua does as said and spends a few moments investigating the crates. Who knows! Imagine there's something useful there belonging to any of the nobles attending the ball!
Vorenus is moving down, slightly behind, watching for any sign of movement, listening to that scraping sound, trying to determine the cause, if they are alone in here.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The sloping passage narrows as Iromae and Vorenus move down, the ceiling lowering just enough to make the space feel older than the buildings above it. The stone underfoot is smoother here, polished by long use. The scraping sound comes again — closer now — followed by the dull thud of wood meeting stone.
Rounding the bend, the source becomes clear.
Ahead is a small working chamber, no more than 15 feet (4.5 meters) across. A recessed shaft occupies one wall, its opening fitted with guide rails and thick rope. A wooden platform, waist-high, sits just below floor level — recently raised or lowered. One of its corner blocks is still settling into place, the cause of the scraping you heard.
Standing beside it is a lone figure.
He straightens as the light from Vorenus’ dagger reaches him, turning partway toward you. He is dressed plainly but well: dark wool, leather gloves, boots dusted with pale stone powder. A small lantern hangs from a hook on the wall behind him, its glow steady and practical.
He pauses when he sees you — not startled, but alert.
His features are sharp and composed. Red skin, dark hair pulled back neatly. His tiefling eyes catch the light oddly. He studies the two of you for a brief, assessing moment, gaze flicking to the light source, then to the passage behind you.
His posture shifts — subtly — placing himself between you and the platform.
“I wasn’t expecting company down here,” he says evenly. His voice is calm, practiced. Not a guard’s bark, not a priest’s cadence. Someone used to being obeyed without raising his voice. “This access isn’t public.”
As he speaks, Iromae feels it — the pull of her spell tightens. The sense of the thread is here, unmistakably so. Very close. Close enough that there’s no doubt it’s on or within the platform, wrapped and contained.
From above and behind, faint and muffled, comes the sound of wood shifting — Shenua moving crates — but the man hasn’t looked that way yet.
He glances once more at you both, then adds, more neutrally than the words suggest:
“If you’re lost, you should turn back now. This route doesn’t lead anywhere you’re authorized to be.”
At the junction above, Shenua’s careful inspection of the stacked crates turns up no treasures, but something far more telling. The containers are not sealed for storage, but fitted with temporary latches meant to be opened and moved again. Several bear small chalk symbols similar to the one scratched through near the passage mouth — some intact, some smudged, others deliberately crossed out — marks that look less like inventory and more like routing notes. The labels themselves list destinations rather than contents: minor temples, record annexes, interfaith repositories, all written in courier shorthand that prioritizes direction and timing over description. One crate near the back stands empty and recently opened, its interior still carrying the faint scent of treated cloth and resin. Pressed into the inside of its lid is a scrap of parchment bearing a partial catalog code, the final line struck through and rewritten in a format that harkens back to how Merienne described Silvershroud internal handling notation. Taken together, it paints a clear picture: this is not a cache, but a sorting point — a place where sensitive items pass briefly, are checked, reclassified, and quietly sent onward. Whatever came through here last was intercepted mid-route, its intended path deliberately invalidated.
You then hear the low buzz of a voice below that is neither Iromae's nor Vorenus'.
Shenua smiles to herself, satisfied now that she understands the purpose of this place and the meaning of the chalk marks. She turns to move downward, but before she does, she picks up the scrap of parchment she found on the empty crate—and notices that Iromae and Vorenus are not alone.
"What in the Nine Hells?" she mutters. "Have they run into someone?"
She moves carefully closer, just enough to catch the low buzz of the person's voice. Her mind races: what can she do to help her friends? Perhaps a little magic could give them an edge. They can't fail now, not with Merienne's thread within their grasp!
Nodding to herself, Shenua murmurs the words of a spell, picturing in her mind one of the guards from the Pale Fountain—the ones in charge of intercepting packages like this. Not the one who had helped her with the scattered coins, but the other, more experienced man, that was perhaps his superior.
The spell takes hold. Shenua feels her form shift, becoming the guard she imagined. Counting silently to ten, heart racing, she steps into the room. With her best deep male voice, she calls out:
"Excuse me, sir! There's been a misunderstanding. We're here to collect a very specific parcel that ended up here by mistake. Its rightful owner has made quite a fuss over not receiving it—so much so that she's called in a few of her friends, very important, noble friends, I might add—and I think they've made this the worst day of my boss' life. He sent me to retrieve it and reroute it properly, along with his sincerest apologies."
The human man glances toward Iromae and Vorenus. His eyes narrow, his voice sharp:
"And you, what did I tell you about coming here without your uniforms? I couldn't care less that this is your very first day at work. If someone has failed to deliver your uniforms, you should have asked any of your mates to lend you theirs! I told you you couldn't just come in here in ordinary clothes!"
He turns back to the tiefling, and his tone softens:
"I’ll make sure they don't repeat this mistake, sir"
The disguised Shenua glares at her companions with mock irritation, playing the part perfectly. Then she holds out the scrap of parchment to the other tiefling:
"I believe this is the parcel we're meant to take,"she says firmly. "Silvershroud delivery, sir."
(OOC - I had thought Vorenus intended to sheath the dagger thus covering his light source should he hear noise near at hand. I suppose the light from it could have been seen before we'd confirmed the source of the sound. But is the man looking at the dagger just a presumption that he failed to hide the dagger light source quickly enough?)
Iromae had frozen a moment as the man had spoken to them. 'How did I not notice the light!' she chides herself in her head. She is a bit startled again when a voice calls out clearly from behind. 'What happened to Shenua?' is her first thought. But when this man addresses her and Vorenus she starts to question what she's seeing. (Investigation if necessary to realize the person is Shenua in disguise: 25 - nat 20!)
((OOC : Yes, Vorenus would have sheathed the dagger with the sound of the voice, and with the lantern light becoming more prominent as they approach. He smiles when Shenua steps forward in disguise, recognizing the spell.))
Vorenus catches himself a minute, clearing his throat and visibly bumbling for a second, then straightening up and coming to attention. He bows his head, saying merely, “Yes sir.” Then stands with feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, waiting at attention to see what occurs from Shenua’s inquiry. He catches Iromae’s eye if he can, giving a slight nod, then watches the scene unfold.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
(ooc: Okay, I'm sorry for what's about to happen, but in light of recent events, I think I must. Pity, because I don't think someone with +0 CHA will ever get such a good deception roll!)
Her nervousness probably kept Shenua from paying much attention. After all, she had been rehearsing in her mind what she would say and how she would say it — with a deep male voice so unlike her own. But when she finishes saying her piece, and all that remains is for the tiefling to fall — hopefully! — for her little deception, that is when she truly looks at him.
That skin. That hair. Those eyes.
She gasps, and the gauntleted hands of the guard dart to her mouth ... all of it in a very feminine way.
"Dad!?" The shock has made her forget her male voice, and now Shenua’s own voice speaks clearly through the human guard’s disguise. "What are you—? How is this possible?"
But of course. Of course it is possible. They are in an alternate Suzail, and the fact that this is a parallel reality doesn't mean there can't be alternate versions of people they know in their own. It just hadn't happened before. And not with someone as close as her father.
The moment she breaks character, Shenua — still keeping her magic active — looks at Iromae and Vorenus, regret and apology written all over her disguised face. Then she looks back toward Cael Deamhain.
OOC: No problem retconning the dagger. It would have gone down the same way.
For a heartbeat, the chamber is still. Then the tiefling’s attention hardens.
His eyes lock on the disguised guard — on Shenua — not with recognition, but with focus. The moment her voice breaks character, his posture shifts. Not startled. Alert. The way someone reacts when a situation stops fitting the rules it’s supposed to follow.
“I don’t understand,” he says calmly.
He studies her again — the uniform, the stance, the illusion still holding — then flicks his gaze briefly to Iromae and Vorenus before returning to her. His expression doesn’t soften. It tightens.
“You just addressed me as someone I am not,” he continues. “And you did so while impersonating authorized personnel.”
He steps half a pace to the side, angling himself between all three of you and the platform. One gloved hand comes to rest on the wood near the wrapped bundle — not touching it, but close enough to make the point unmistakable.
“I don’t have children,” he says evenly. Not defensive. Factual.
The lantern behind him sways slightly, disturbed by the movement, throwing slow shadows across the chamber walls and down the shaft. The restrained magic around the bundle hums faintly, contained and deliberate.
“This is a controlled transfer point,” he goes on. “Items pass through here briefly. They are logged, redirected, and moved on.” His eyes return to Shenua. “No one retrieves anything from this chamber without cause, clearance, and paperwork that survives inspection.”
There is a pause — long enough to feel the weight of it.
Then, quieter, and very deliberate: “If you’re going to explain why you’re here,” he says, “now would be the appropriate time.”
Vorenus relaxes and crosses his arms, trying to release some of the tension in the room. "Nice try. Really. But I can tell it is not your forté." He looks over at the other tiefling with a smirk and says "Here's what you're gonna do." Vorenus opens his mouth and seems to talk, but nothing comes out. Just pure... energy. It is as if he is speaking to the tiefling, but no words are heard. He doesn't move, it just seems like he is whispering something to him, but nothing is there.
Vorenus casts suggestion on the tiefling, and he uses a metamagic point to do so without verbal or somatic components. DC 13 wisdom save or he follows the commands to the letter. To the tiefling, there is a sound that only he hears (think "the voice" in Dune), which says "Be a good chap, bring us that package and give it to us, empty all of your pockets right here, then walk your way back up the chute and leave this building. You are to walk all the way to the exit of this town with speed and purpose. If anyone says anything to you, just nod and wave to them all friendly-like, you're in a hurry after all! Walk as far as you can. You will forget that you ever met us..." (this effect lasts for 8 hours)
(Used one 2nd level spell slot and one font of magic point)
Rolling on the wild magic table : Nat 20! Yes!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae realizes that's this new 'man' that arrived is Shenua just as she starts talking in her normal voice. Again, she is stunned, but in a totally different way. 'What is Shenua saying?' Then hearing the man's reaction, she surmises what happened. And then he moves to block the parcel they were after. 'Oh no! She told him what we were after! And spoiled her disguise and it's not really her father!' She both is sad for Shenua and suddenly anxious he's going to snatch away the thread now that they're so close.
For a moment, she isn't sure what to do. And then Vorenus is casting some sort of spell. 'Another spell!' she thinks, worried at all the magic. 'But what else could we do?' She waits a moment to see what happens with his spell, while trying to think what to do next.
Of course. How stupid of me. How could it have been the same person…
As she thinks this, Shenua drops the spell — it's no longer necessary. This alternate Cael has already seen her friends' faces, so what difference does one more make? In any case, it's painfully clear now that her little deception would never have worked. They didn't know the proper procedures, and her story would never have survived scrutiny.
Looking at him again, this time through her turquoise eyes set in black sclera, the artificer can't help but stare at the tiefling in front of her. He looks so much like her father — and yet, not like him at all. Her father is warmer, more caring, more loving. Even when he doesn't say those things aloud, his tone alone speaks volumes about the kind of man he is. This one, by contrast, is cold. Authoritative.
"I…"Shenua begins, but her words falter. How could she even explain why they need the package? And even if this man believed them, why would he help?
Then Vorenus begins to speak, and Shenua realizes they may need a backup plan in case this fails. She slips a hand into her pocket, fingers brushing her lockpick, and quietly readies a spell.
"Please," she says, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Listen to him. We only need that thread. Nothing else…"
(ooc: Before doing anything else, is Shenua's Detect magic still active? Does it give any kind of reading on what the magic on the wrapped bundle does?)
For a moment, nothing changes. The chamber holds its breath. Then something subtle shifts in the tiefling’s expression. It isn’t slackness. It isn’t confusion. It’s calculation.
His gaze fixes on Vorenus — not in alarm, but in consideration. A thought seems to settle into place behind his eyes, smooth and inevitable. “Yes,” he says quietly.
He turns back to the platform. “That would resolve the matter efficiently.”
There is no hesitation as he steps aside. No visible struggle. He simply reaches down and lifts the wrapped bundle from the platform with practiced care. The abjuration magic hums faintly under Shenua’s senses as it leaves the wood.
He carries it toward you and places it into Vorenus’ waiting hands. “Transfer acknowledged,” he says, tone steady and official.
He then removes his gloves, checks his coat pockets, and empties them methodically onto the platform: a folded routing ledger, a graphite stick, a small ring of keys, two wax seals, a personal signet, and a pocket watch.
He does not look at Shenua. Without another word, he turns toward the shaft ladder and begins climbing upward. His boots scrape against the stone as he ascends.
The lantern sways again as he passes it.
Within moments, you hear the faint sound of a hatch above opening. Then closing. Then footsteps moving away overhead — purposeful, unhurried.
Shenua:
In your sight, the abjuration magic remains intact around the thread, quiet and contained. Whatever enchantment binds it was not keyed to him. It does not falter.
Also, upon inspection, you will recognize the pocket watch as the one your father inherited when his father died. And if this Cael is anything like your father, he will miss it terribly.
Iromae's eyes go wide as this man just hands the very item they were looking for into Vorenus' hands. She turns, watching as he oddly empties his pockets then leaves. She waits a moment, once she's sure the man is likely out of earshot, and asks Vorenus, "What did you do?"
There's a brief moment of relief that things seem to have gone well. But a moment later the reality of their situation hits her again. "We should go," she says. And then looking down at the floor, her eyes go over the items left behind. "We ought to take those with us. Who knows if something might come in handy. And, if anyone comes by here it is one less clue that something is amiss."
She's already leaning down to pick up the items, gathering them to put them in her pack. "Let's not press our luck. Hopefully there will be no more issues. Let's just keep a calm and unremarkable pace though once we're outside again." While it's a reminder to her friends, the words almost seem to be an admonish to herself as well.
Shenua’s murmured incantation settles, and the world subtly changes for her.
At once, faint magic blooms into view.
The passage itself is mundane stone and timber, but farther ahead — below and left, exactly where Iromae feels the pull — there is a tight knot of restrained magic. Not a glow flooding the space, but something contained. Purposefully quiet. Like a spell wrapped around an object to keep it inert, hidden, or both.
Iromae’s spell confirms it: the thread is no more than 30 feet away now, and slightly down. The sense is sharp enough that she could guide you without hesitation.
Vorenus brings a sliver of light into being along his dagger’s edge. The dim glow reveals more detail without announcing you. The passage opens into a low junction chamber, ceiling arched but cramped, with two narrow continuations branching off. One slopes gently downward. The other remains level but is partially blocked by stacked crates and a folded screen.
The downward slope is the one calling to Iromae.
As you pause there, all three of you notice the same things: The floor stones on the sloping path are worn smooth, far more than the rest of the passage. One crate near the junction bears a chalk mark that has been scratched through, not erased — deliberately invalidated. The faint scraping sound Vorenus heard earlier comes again, briefly, from below — followed by stillness.
Shenua’s detect magic picks up no wards on the walls, no alarm glyphs at the threshold. Whatever protection exists is focused on the object, not the approach.
"There are no wards. No alarms," Shenua murmurs. "The only magic I can detect is on the thread itself ... like it's being contained."
She glances down the sloping passage. "So, we should be clear to move."
As they start toward the downward path, she hesitates and turns back toward the junction. Her eyes linger on the stacked crates blocking the other passage — especially the one with the chalk mark scratched through.
"What if there's something else useful here?" she whispers.
She steps closer, examining the crates for any markings or labels — names, addresses, symbols, anything that might mean something. If any of the crates aren't sealed shut, she carefully tries to open a few just enough to see inside. If the light is too poor, she quietly motions for Vorenus to bring his glow closer. (Investigation: 15)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
Vorenus freezes, grabbing Shenua’s arm. He reaches into his pocket and grips a small piece of copper, and then suddenly Shenua hears in her mind a message. He turns and looks at Iromae, repeating the same thing. “What is making that sound? The scraping sound. Is there someone else in here with us? If so, I don’t think you should start opening crates…. Let’s find out what is making that sound.”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Shenua freezes. "But, isn't that sound coming from below?"
If it seems like it is coming from this very same room, then she doesn't open any crate and tries to investigate where the sound is coming from, instead.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
There are two paths. One stays level with you, but the other slopes downward. It is from that direction that the scaping sound is coming.
Iromae keeps focused on the path to find the string. Closing in on it, she looks along the path as it descends, trying to get sight of where the item must be. The scratching sound though gives her pause, but she hears Shenua's words, 'no wards, no alarms'. So, she continues on the path sloping downward. (Perception: 9)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
In that case, Shenua does as said and spends a few moments investigating the crates. Who knows! Imagine there's something useful there belonging to any of the nobles attending the ball!
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
So, Iromae is moving down while Shenua is investigating the crates. What are you doing, Vorenus?
Vorenus is moving down, slightly behind, watching for any sign of movement, listening to that scraping sound, trying to determine the cause, if they are alone in here.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The sloping passage narrows as Iromae and Vorenus move down, the ceiling lowering just enough to make the space feel older than the buildings above it. The stone underfoot is smoother here, polished by long use. The scraping sound comes again — closer now — followed by the dull thud of wood meeting stone.
Rounding the bend, the source becomes clear.
Ahead is a small working chamber, no more than 15 feet (4.5 meters) across. A recessed shaft occupies one wall, its opening fitted with guide rails and thick rope. A wooden platform, waist-high, sits just below floor level — recently raised or lowered. One of its corner blocks is still settling into place, the cause of the scraping you heard.
Standing beside it is a lone figure.
He straightens as the light from Vorenus’ dagger reaches him, turning partway toward you. He is dressed plainly but well: dark wool, leather gloves, boots dusted with pale stone powder. A small lantern hangs from a hook on the wall behind him, its glow steady and practical.
He pauses when he sees you — not startled, but alert.
His features are sharp and composed. Red skin, dark hair pulled back neatly. His tiefling eyes catch the light oddly. He studies the two of you for a brief, assessing moment, gaze flicking to the light source, then to the passage behind you.
His posture shifts — subtly — placing himself between you and the platform.
“I wasn’t expecting company down here,” he says evenly. His voice is calm, practiced. Not a guard’s bark, not a priest’s cadence. Someone used to being obeyed without raising his voice. “This access isn’t public.”
As he speaks, Iromae feels it — the pull of her spell tightens. The sense of the thread is here, unmistakably so. Very close. Close enough that there’s no doubt it’s on or within the platform, wrapped and contained.
From above and behind, faint and muffled, comes the sound of wood shifting — Shenua moving crates — but the man hasn’t looked that way yet.
He glances once more at you both, then adds, more neutrally than the words suggest:
“If you’re lost, you should turn back now. This route doesn’t lead anywhere you’re authorized to be.”
At the junction above, Shenua’s careful inspection of the stacked crates turns up no treasures, but something far more telling. The containers are not sealed for storage, but fitted with temporary latches meant to be opened and moved again. Several bear small chalk symbols similar to the one scratched through near the passage mouth — some intact, some smudged, others deliberately crossed out — marks that look less like inventory and more like routing notes. The labels themselves list destinations rather than contents: minor temples, record annexes, interfaith repositories, all written in courier shorthand that prioritizes direction and timing over description. One crate near the back stands empty and recently opened, its interior still carrying the faint scent of treated cloth and resin. Pressed into the inside of its lid is a scrap of parchment bearing a partial catalog code, the final line struck through and rewritten in a format that harkens back to how Merienne described Silvershroud internal handling notation. Taken together, it paints a clear picture: this is not a cache, but a sorting point — a place where sensitive items pass briefly, are checked, reclassified, and quietly sent onward. Whatever came through here last was intercepted mid-route, its intended path deliberately invalidated.
You then hear the low buzz of a voice below that is neither Iromae's nor Vorenus'.
Shenua smiles to herself, satisfied now that she understands the purpose of this place and the meaning of the chalk marks. She turns to move downward, but before she does, she picks up the scrap of parchment she found on the empty crate—and notices that Iromae and Vorenus are not alone.
"What in the Nine Hells?" she mutters. "Have they run into someone?"
She moves carefully closer, just enough to catch the low buzz of the person's voice. Her mind races: what can she do to help her friends? Perhaps a little magic could give them an edge. They can't fail now, not with Merienne's thread within their grasp!
Nodding to herself, Shenua murmurs the words of a spell, picturing in her mind one of the guards from the Pale Fountain—the ones in charge of intercepting packages like this. Not the one who had helped her with the scattered coins, but the other, more experienced man, that was perhaps his superior.
The spell takes hold. Shenua feels her form shift, becoming the guard she imagined. Counting silently to ten, heart racing, she steps into the room. With her best deep male voice, she calls out:
"Excuse me, sir! There's been a misunderstanding. We're here to collect a very specific parcel that ended up here by mistake. Its rightful owner has made quite a fuss over not receiving it—so much so that she's called in a few of her friends, very important, noble friends, I might add—and I think they've made this the worst day of my boss' life. He sent me to retrieve it and reroute it properly, along with his sincerest apologies."
The human man glances toward Iromae and Vorenus. His eyes narrow, his voice sharp:
"And you, what did I tell you about coming here without your uniforms? I couldn't care less that this is your very first day at work. If someone has failed to deliver your uniforms, you should have asked any of your mates to lend you theirs! I told you you couldn't just come in here in ordinary clothes!"
He turns back to the tiefling, and his tone softens:
"I’ll make sure they don't repeat this mistake, sir"
The disguised Shenua glares at her companions with mock irritation, playing the part perfectly. Then she holds out the scrap of parchment to the other tiefling:
"I believe this is the parcel we're meant to take," she says firmly. "Silvershroud delivery, sir."
(Deception: 17)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
(OOC - I had thought Vorenus intended to sheath the dagger thus covering his light source should he hear noise near at hand. I suppose the light from it could have been seen before we'd confirmed the source of the sound. But is the man looking at the dagger just a presumption that he failed to hide the dagger light source quickly enough?)
Iromae had frozen a moment as the man had spoken to them. 'How did I not notice the light!' she chides herself in her head. She is a bit startled again when a voice calls out clearly from behind. 'What happened to Shenua?' is her first thought. But when this man addresses her and Vorenus she starts to question what she's seeing. (Investigation if necessary to realize the person is Shenua in disguise: 25 - nat 20!)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
((OOC : Yes, Vorenus would have sheathed the dagger with the sound of the voice, and with the lantern light becoming more prominent as they approach. He smiles when Shenua steps forward in disguise, recognizing the spell.))
Vorenus catches himself a minute, clearing his throat and visibly bumbling for a second, then straightening up and coming to attention. He bows his head, saying merely, “Yes sir.” Then stands with feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, waiting at attention to see what occurs from Shenua’s inquiry. He catches Iromae’s eye if he can, giving a slight nod, then watches the scene unfold.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
(ooc: Okay, I'm sorry for what's about to happen, but in light of recent events, I think I must. Pity, because I don't think someone with +0 CHA will ever get such a good deception roll!)
Her nervousness probably kept Shenua from paying much attention. After all, she had been rehearsing in her mind what she would say and how she would say it — with a deep male voice so unlike her own. But when she finishes saying her piece, and all that remains is for the tiefling to fall — hopefully! — for her little deception, that is when she truly looks at him.
That skin. That hair. Those eyes.
She gasps, and the gauntleted hands of the guard dart to her mouth ... all of it in a very feminine way.
"Dad!?" The shock has made her forget her male voice, and now Shenua’s own voice speaks clearly through the human guard’s disguise. "What are you—? How is this possible?"
But of course. Of course it is possible. They are in an alternate Suzail, and the fact that this is a parallel reality doesn't mean there can't be alternate versions of people they know in their own. It just hadn't happened before. And not with someone as close as her father.
The moment she breaks character, Shenua — still keeping her magic active — looks at Iromae and Vorenus, regret and apology written all over her disguised face. Then she looks back toward Cael Deamhain.
The deception is certainly over.
And… what now?
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
OOC: No problem retconning the dagger. It would have gone down the same way.
For a heartbeat, the chamber is still. Then the tiefling’s attention hardens.
His eyes lock on the disguised guard — on Shenua — not with recognition, but with focus. The moment her voice breaks character, his posture shifts. Not startled. Alert. The way someone reacts when a situation stops fitting the rules it’s supposed to follow.
“I don’t understand,” he says calmly.
He studies her again — the uniform, the stance, the illusion still holding — then flicks his gaze briefly to Iromae and Vorenus before returning to her. His expression doesn’t soften. It tightens.
“You just addressed me as someone I am not,” he continues. “And you did so while impersonating authorized personnel.”
He steps half a pace to the side, angling himself between all three of you and the platform. One gloved hand comes to rest on the wood near the wrapped bundle — not touching it, but close enough to make the point unmistakable.
“I don’t have children,” he says evenly. Not defensive. Factual.
The lantern behind him sways slightly, disturbed by the movement, throwing slow shadows across the chamber walls and down the shaft. The restrained magic around the bundle hums faintly, contained and deliberate.
“This is a controlled transfer point,” he goes on. “Items pass through here briefly. They are logged, redirected, and moved on.” His eyes return to Shenua. “No one retrieves anything from this chamber without cause, clearance, and paperwork that survives inspection.”
There is a pause — long enough to feel the weight of it.
Then, quieter, and very deliberate: “If you’re going to explain why you’re here,” he says, “now would be the appropriate time.”
Vorenus relaxes and crosses his arms, trying to release some of the tension in the room. "Nice try. Really. But I can tell it is not your forté." He looks over at the other tiefling with a smirk and says "Here's what you're gonna do." Vorenus opens his mouth and seems to talk, but nothing comes out. Just pure... energy. It is as if he is speaking to the tiefling, but no words are heard. He doesn't move, it just seems like he is whispering something to him, but nothing is there.
Vorenus casts suggestion on the tiefling, and he uses a metamagic point to do so without verbal or somatic components. DC 13 wisdom save or he follows the commands to the letter. To the tiefling, there is a sound that only he hears (think "the voice" in Dune), which says "Be a good chap, bring us that package and give it to us, empty all of your pockets right here, then walk your way back up the chute and leave this building. You are to walk all the way to the exit of this town with speed and purpose. If anyone says anything to you, just nod and wave to them all friendly-like, you're in a hurry after all! Walk as far as you can. You will forget that you ever met us..." (this effect lasts for 8 hours)
(Used one 2nd level spell slot and one font of magic point)
Rolling on the wild magic table : Nat 20! Yes!
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Iromae realizes that's this new 'man' that arrived is Shenua just as she starts talking in her normal voice. Again, she is stunned, but in a totally different way. 'What is Shenua saying?' Then hearing the man's reaction, she surmises what happened. And then he moves to block the parcel they were after. 'Oh no! She told him what we were after! And spoiled her disguise and it's not really her father!' She both is sad for Shenua and suddenly anxious he's going to snatch away the thread now that they're so close.
For a moment, she isn't sure what to do. And then Vorenus is casting some sort of spell. 'Another spell!' she thinks, worried at all the magic. 'But what else could we do?' She waits a moment to see what happens with his spell, while trying to think what to do next.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Of course. How stupid of me. How could it have been the same person…
As she thinks this, Shenua drops the spell — it's no longer necessary. This alternate Cael has already seen her friends' faces, so what difference does one more make? In any case, it's painfully clear now that her little deception would never have worked. They didn't know the proper procedures, and her story would never have survived scrutiny.
Looking at him again, this time through her turquoise eyes set in black sclera, the artificer can't help but stare at the tiefling in front of her. He looks so much like her father — and yet, not like him at all. Her father is warmer, more caring, more loving. Even when he doesn't say those things aloud, his tone alone speaks volumes about the kind of man he is. This one, by contrast, is cold. Authoritative.
"I…" Shenua begins, but her words falter. How could she even explain why they need the package? And even if this man believed them, why would he help?
Then Vorenus begins to speak, and Shenua realizes they may need a backup plan in case this fails. She slips a hand into her pocket, fingers brushing her lockpick, and quietly readies a spell.
"Please," she says, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Listen to him. We only need that thread. Nothing else…"
(ooc: Before doing anything else, is Shenua's Detect magic still active? Does it give any kind of reading on what the magic on the wrapped bundle does?)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
For a moment, nothing changes. The chamber holds its breath. Then something subtle shifts in the tiefling’s expression. It isn’t slackness. It isn’t confusion. It’s calculation.
His gaze fixes on Vorenus — not in alarm, but in consideration. A thought seems to settle into place behind his eyes, smooth and inevitable. “Yes,” he says quietly.
He turns back to the platform. “That would resolve the matter efficiently.”
There is no hesitation as he steps aside. No visible struggle. He simply reaches down and lifts the wrapped bundle from the platform with practiced care. The abjuration magic hums faintly under Shenua’s senses as it leaves the wood.
He carries it toward you and places it into Vorenus’ waiting hands. “Transfer acknowledged,” he says, tone steady and official.
He then removes his gloves, checks his coat pockets, and empties them methodically onto the platform: a folded routing ledger, a graphite stick, a small ring of keys, two wax seals, a personal signet, and a pocket watch.
He does not look at Shenua. Without another word, he turns toward the shaft ladder and begins climbing upward. His boots scrape against the stone as he ascends.
The lantern sways again as he passes it.
Within moments, you hear the faint sound of a hatch above opening. Then closing. Then footsteps moving away overhead — purposeful, unhurried.
Shenua:
In your sight, the abjuration magic remains intact around the thread, quiet and contained. Whatever enchantment binds it was not keyed to him. It does not falter.
Also, upon inspection, you will recognize the pocket watch as the one your father inherited when his father died. And if this Cael is anything like your father, he will miss it terribly.
Iromae's eyes go wide as this man just hands the very item they were looking for into Vorenus' hands. She turns, watching as he oddly empties his pockets then leaves. She waits a moment, once she's sure the man is likely out of earshot, and asks Vorenus, "What did you do?"
There's a brief moment of relief that things seem to have gone well. But a moment later the reality of their situation hits her again. "We should go," she says. And then looking down at the floor, her eyes go over the items left behind. "We ought to take those with us. Who knows if something might come in handy. And, if anyone comes by here it is one less clue that something is amiss."
She's already leaning down to pick up the items, gathering them to put them in her pack. "Let's not press our luck. Hopefully there will be no more issues. Let's just keep a calm and unremarkable pace though once we're outside again." While it's a reminder to her friends, the words almost seem to be an admonish to herself as well.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer