The Silent Runes of Suzail

Vorenus is walking along, listening and nodding, a million thoughts racing through his head.  "My father... I never really knew him.  I told you all of that... who knows, he could have easily been from another world.  So damn mysterious.  All I wanted... all I wanted was to know him.  What he could do.  Walk a day in his footsteps... I dunno.  Yeah, it could be Diego.  Or Kalis.  Or.. me.  I have no idea, and things back then seem so fuzzy."  He walks along, jaunt in his step as they return to the store and Merienne.  

"Whatever the truth may be, I'm glad I have you two here to uncover it with me.  I feel like we can tackle it together.  Whatever may come - "  The stubble faced "wizard" has the forming of a smile on his lips as he saunters down the lane, hopeful about what comes next.  

"Well, no use thinking about that now. Let's just keep advancing. One step at a time," Shenua says. "And yeah, we'll tackle it together. Just like we have been doing so far." She smiles.

"Come on — to Merienne's. And hopefully soon, the ball."

The narrow street outside Veil & Vellum is quieter than the market avenues you passed on the way here. A pair of apprentices from a nearby print shop carry bundled broadsheets past the door, speaking in low voices. Somewhere farther down the lane, a shutter bangs once in the breeze and settles.

Veil & Vellum’s windows remain partially curtained from within — not closed, but filtered. The painted sign above the door hangs straight and still.

When you step inside, the familiar scent greets you first: pressed linen, sizing starch, lavender oil, and something metallic beneath it — faint, like cold silver.

Bolts of fabric line the walls in careful gradients of shade and weave. A mannequin near the center of the shop now wears one of the half-finished garments you saw before; the cut is sharper than before, the stitching more advanced. Someone has been working.

Merienne stands at the long cutting table. She does not look startled when the bell above the door chimes — but she does look up immediately.

Her eyes move once over the three of you. Not hurried. Not warm. Measuring. “You were not followed?” she asks plainly.

She waits for the answer before she gestures toward the back of the shop. “Come. We will not speak here.”

She leads you past the hanging measuring tapes and into the rear workroom — the same chamber where fittings are done. The shutters here are closed fully. A single lamp burns on the central table, its light steady and controlled. The air smells faintly of ink and heated wax.

Merienne closes the door behind you. The latch clicks.

Only then does her composure shift slightly — not to friendliness, but to candor. “The thread?” she asks.

Once it is produced, she steps forward and examines it without touching at first. Her gaze traces the weave, the enchantment along its length. After a moment, she exhales — small, contained satisfaction — and carefully gathers it into her hands.

“Well done.”

She sets it aside — not carelessly, but decisively — and then reaches into a drawer beneath the table.

From within, she withdraws a small object wrapped in dark cloth. She unwraps it slowly.

Inside is a smooth, palm-sized weight — shaped almost like a tailor’s pattern weight, though heavier than it appears. Its surface is matte silver, etched with a subtle ring of sigils along the rim. They do not glow. They simply exist — precise and deliberate.

Merienne rests it on the table between you.

“If we are to continue,” she says evenly, “I require certainty.”

Her gaze moves from one of you to the next.

“This object carries a very narrow enchantment. While it is held, deliberate falsehood becomes … difficult.”

She does not smile.

“I will ask each of you a few questions. You will answer plainly. Then I will decide whether our association deepens.”

She nudges the silver weight slightly forward.

“Who will begin?”

Vorenus steps forward, seeing himself wrongly or not as the leader of their little band.  He places his feet shoulder width apart and crosses his arms behind his back in a relaxed "attention" pose.  "I am ready.  You can begin with me.  Ask me your questions, I will not prevaricate, as may be my style.  We are to a point where we must be straightforward.  We need your help, clear and true.  So... ask away, and I will answer."  He tilts his chin up, almost as a challenge to Merienne.  

Iromae watches as Vorenus steps forward. She can't help but give Merienne an appraising look as she somberly suggests they prove themselves to her. "I understand your caution. And we really have no choice. But we've already risked ourselves. And we have little reason to trust you." She halts though, trying to decide what more to say. "Sorry, I already said we have no real choice here. I just want you to realize that true trust will have to go both ways. Your little test will not achieve that." 

She folds her arms, ready to see what these questions are that Vorenus will be subjected to. 

"Well, I certainly have no intention to lie," Shenua says. "I just want to see this through as best and as quickly as possible."

When Vorenus finishes, she extends a hand. "What do we have to do? Do we have to hold that weight? Whatever it is, I am ready as well. Ask away."

She watches the weight with curiosity. Such an inconspicuous little item… no one would think it has been enchanted to force people to tell the truth, which is rather useful in a city where one has to hide magic as much as possible. Again, her scholar curiosity takes over, and she observes the weight as closely as she can, almost not paying much attention to the questions themselves, as she is not worried in the slightest about her answers.

Merienne does not rise to Vorenus’ posture or tone. If anything, his squared stance seems to confirm something she already suspected.

“Very well,” she says. She lifts the silver weight and holds it out toward him. “You must hold it. Skin to metal.”

Once it rests in his palm, the sensation is subtle but unmistakable. The metal is cooler than it should be — not painfully cold, but steady. Grounded. There is a faint pressure behind the eyes, like the awareness of being watched by something that does not blink.

The etched sigils do not glow. They do not flare. But they seem … attentive.

Merienne folds her hands before her. “First: Are you agents of the Crown?” She watches Vorenus’ face, not the weight. “Second: Did you recover my thread for any purpose other than the agreement we made?” A pause. “Third: Do you intend to betray me to the Silvershroud, the inspectors, or any arm of the monarchy?”

The room is very still.

If Vorenus answers, the words come cleanly — or not at all. The enchantment does not choke. It does not burn. It simply resists the formation of deliberate falsehood. Evasion would be possible. Omission might be possible. But an outright lie would stick in the throat like unformed breath.

Merienne studies him a moment longer after his final answer, then extends her hand. “The weight.”

When she takes it back, the subtle pressure in the air lessens immediately.

She turns to Iromae and offers it without ceremony. “You are correct,” she says calmly, “trust must run both directions. This is not trust. This is verification.” Her eyes sharpen slightly. “Are you here for coin alone? Would you turn on your companions if doing so secured your safety? “Do you serve any patron — arcane or otherwise — whose interests conflict with mine?”

Her tone is level, but there is something under it now. Not suspicion. Assessment.

When she is finished, she waits for the answers, then takes the weight back once more.

Finally, she looks to Shenua. The silver rests in her outstretched hand.

“You, in particular,” Merienne says quietly, “interest me.”

The metal is cold against Shenua’s skin. The faint mental pressure returns — steady and impersonal.

“If your curiosity conflicts with our agreement, which will you honor? Do you act first and consider consequences later? Is there anyone in this city you would choose over this cause?”

When Shenua finishes her final answer, the room holds still for a breath longer than necessary.

Merienne studies her — not unkindly, but with the same measured precision she gives a seam before cutting. Then she extends her hand. “The weight.”

As soon as it leaves Shenua’s skin, the faint pressure in the air dissipates. Merienne wraps the silver piece once more in its dark cloth — but instead of returning it to the drawer, she pauses.

Her eyes fall upon Iromae, clearly contemplating something. Then, without commentary, she unwraps the weight again and places it in her own palm.

Her fingers close around the cool metal. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly — the only sign that she feels the same subtle constraint you did.

“You are correct,” she says evenly. “Verification is not trust.”

She looks at each of you in turn. “If we are to proceed beyond transactions, you may each ask me one question. As you know, I will have no choice but to answer plainly.”

No smile. No flourish.

“Choose carefully.”

Shenua waits until it is her turn, arching her brows in surprise when Merienne shows particular interest in her. Why? she wonders. But then the weight is already resting in her hand, and she focuses on the three questions.

"If my curiosity conflicted with our agreement…" she says after a beat, "…I would honor the agreement. I am curious. In fact, I think my curiosity has led me to be the person I am today. But that doesn't mean it controls me. I know when to set it aside and focus on what is necessary in the moment."

"As for acting first…" she continues, hesitating only briefly. "I admit I've sometimes acted before thinking things through." She shrugs, then adds lightly, "What can I say? Nobody is perfect. And I’m just human a tiefling, you know."

The last question catches Shenua off guard. Had Merienne asked it before seeing the alternate version of her father, she wouldn't have given it much thought. Now, however, it feels pointed — as if Merienne assumes there is someone important to her in this city beyond the three of them.

"Well… there are people in this city I care about." She glances at Iromae and Vorenus. "Like them. And I admit we came here to find a missing friend." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "I don't intend to undermine this cause, but I would never allow any of them to be harmed, if I can help it."

Shenua has the sense that this may not be exactly what Merienne wanted to hear. Still, she believes it's important to remain true to herself. Besides, the enchanted weight would not have allowed her to lie anyway.

"Now, my question," she says at last. "What do you know of Lirae? You seemed aware of her activities."

Later, Shenua asks Iromae to hand Merienne the alternate Cael Deamhain's personal signet.

"Do you recognize this signet?" she asks. "Who is this person? Is he a noble, or something?" She hesitates, then adds more quietly, "He's… familiar to me. I'd like to know more about him."

Once Vorenus has answered his questions, Iromae takes her turn holding this interesting weight and responding to Merienne. 

"Am I here for coin alone?" she is puzzled at the very start. Was this a trick meant to throw her off? How did the magic work? If she thinks she's answering truthfully but there is a misunderstood part of the question will the magic know that?  "I don't think I am here for coin at all? We came to the shop to acquire attire for the ball that will help conceal us. And we don't really have the coin to purchase it outright. So, I guess the answer is 'yes' that we are just trying to get coin, if you mean in some way our efforts are to make payment for the items we don't have coin for?"  She shakes her head, worried that she's not really doing this right. "Or is it 'no' because we don't want coin at all. Just the garments. And just so we can get to the ball and try to talk to someone there." 

Assuming the first question is answered completely, she goes on to the second.  That one is much easier. "I would most certainly do whatever was needed to help my friends even if it meant my death. I care not for my safety if there is something I could do for theirs."  

The last question then brings her much the same worries as the first. Another trick question?  "To be certain Merienne, I have no idea what your interests are in all of this. You seem to be running this shop, and the items have certain uses.  But I cannot say why you are in this business.  I don't think it is for profit alone. We're kind of here on blind trust really.  I can only say that I am a servant of Deneir. I would not waver in my service to my god and my faith, even if it conflicts with your desires. But so far as I know now, I know of no conflicts. Again though, I know little of your goals." 

She pauses a long while, waiting to see if what she has said is sufficient or if it meets with Merienne's approval. 

When it comes time for them to ask questions, she idly comments. "Again, we're here a bit on blind faith. You say you must answer plainly. Yet, we are relying on your word and your magic for that. But it's the best we are going to get."  She would hear Shenua's question first, listening to the response before asking her own. "Why are you helping us? What do you imagine will come of our efforts?"  Technically two question she supposes, but essentially the same thing in her mind. They already took great risk in bringing her the thread. Only now she puts them to a test?

Vorenus holds it just as proposed, skin to metal.  "Am I an agent of the Crown?  Heck no!  Far from it!"  he pauses, awaiting the second question.  "No, we just acquired this thread for the purpose you told us.  It was rather difficult to obtain, I hope you know.  And... necessary, for us to be doing whatever it is we are doing right now."  He locks his jaw in place, awaiting the remaining questions.  

Lastly... "The Silvershroud?  Inspectors?  No!  That's who I'm hoping that you can hide us from!  Good grief."  He breaths a sigh of relief, awaiting further questions, unnecessary as they seem.  But then... her questions for him seem to be over.  She takes the metal from his skin, and he steps back, watching the next steps in the process.  

The last.. a question from each of them.  He nods with the questions asked by Shenua and Iromae.  When it is his turn, he looks Merienne straight away in the eye and says, "How do we get back to our world... and set this one aright?  Find Kalis and Diego and set things back to the way they were, and free you people from this horrible stranglehold on spellcasters?  I know there is a lot to that question... but it is the one burning inside of me."

"What do you know of Lirae?" Shenua asks. "You seemed aware of her activities."

Merienne considers before answering. “Lirae is affiliated with the Silvershroud. She is meticulous. Observant.” A slight pause. “She is not as comfortable with the Crown’s tightening grip as she allows others to believe. We are ... in business together.”

Iromae asks, "Why are you helping us? What do you imagine will come of our efforts?"

Merienne does not hesitate. “I am helping you because you are already involved. You invoked Lirae's name. That makes you either an asset or a liability. I prefer the former.”

“As for what I imagine will come of your efforts ...” She exhales softly. “Pressure. Exposure. Instability in structures that have grown too rigid.”

Her gaze narrows slightly. “If you succeed, you will help loosen the Crown’s hold on arcane regulation. If you fail, you will reveal where the cracks already are.”

The faintest hint of something — conviction, perhaps — edges her voice. “Either outcome has value.”

When it is his turn, Vorenus looks Merienne straight away in the eye and says, "How do we get back to our world ... and set this one aright? Find Kalis and Diego and set things back to the way they were, and free you people from this horrible stranglehold on spellcasters? I know there is a lot to that question ... but it is the one burning inside of me."

Merienne studies him, taking several seconds before responding. “You speak as though the world has been altered. If you believe that, then you are not the only one.” A beat. “If something has shifted at that scale, it was not an accident. And it was not done by seamstresses.”

She shifts the weight slightly in her palm, and a faint, incredulous smile touches her lips. "I'm sorry, but I'm no oracle, and you're speaking in riddles. The only Kalis of note in Suzail is the Royal Arcane Advisor, and Diego not an uncommon name. But as for freeing us, working with Lirae and helping me are steps toward doing just that."

After answering Vorenus' questions, Merienne rewraps the weight carefully in its cloth.

It is at this point that Shenua asks Iromae to hand Merienne the ring.

"Do you recognize this signet?" Shenua asks. "Who is this person? Is he a noble, or something?" She hesitates, then adds more quietly, "He's… familiar to me. I'd like to know more about him."

Merienne's eyes narrow slightly as she peers at the ring.  “How,” she asks evenly, “did you acquire this?” Her gaze lifts slowly to Shenua’s face. “This is not a common trinket.”

*Insert player(s) response.*

“This bears the mark of House Deamhain,” she says. The name lands quietly in the room. “Not a noble house in the traditional sense. Civic authority. Inspectorial oversight. Quiet influence.”

Her eyes flick once between you. “Cael Deamhain serves under the Office of Arcane Compliance.” She looks back to Shenua. “He is not a lord. He is not a mage. He is a functionary.”

A slight tightening at the corner of her mouth. “And functionaries, in this city, can be far more dangerous than nobles.”

She holds the ring out, requesting one of you to take it.

“You have done what you said you would do,” she says. “And none of you reached for the convenient falsehood.”

Her gaze settles evenly across the group. “That is rarer than you think.”

She sets the wrapped object back into the drawer. “Then may we speak of the second task now that we can trust each other?”

When Merienne asks how they came by Deamhain's signet ring, Shenua exhales deeply, considering how best to answer.

"Cael Deamhain was the one guarding the parcel with your thread. We—" she glances toward Vorenus, "—tricked him into leaving the buildin and leave his belongings behind. He complied… diligently. That’s how we came into possession of both the thread and the ring."

Since Vorenus has already told Merienne part of the truth about their predicament, Shenua decides that expanding on it won't cause further harm. Perhaps the seamstress will even take it as a sign of trust.

"Look. Vorenus has told you the truth. And you've probably already noticed that we're not from around here. This isn't our world. We came from another version of Suzail. Kalis was our friend there." She hesitates, then adds more quietly, "And… Cael Deamhain is my father. Only this one isn't him, not really. He's an alternate version. One who never had a child."

Shenua finds Merienne's answers satisfactory enough, and regarding Lirae she says, "I hope we can find out where she is. Such an ally to the cause will surely be missed."

When the seamstress speaks of House Deamhain and Cael's position, Shenua frowns thoughtfully. “Even if he's not a noble, do you think he'll be attending the ball? If functionaries can be that dangerous, then it's best we keep our distance from someone like him. Still… it would be useful to have him identified once we're there, if he does attend."

She does not say the rest aloud — that some part of her hopes she will see him again, despite everything. As though her mind has not yet accepted that he is only another stranger in this strange city.

"What's the second task about, then?" the artificer asks. "I hope it's a quicker one. I worry the night of the ball is approaching fast, and we're not quite ready yet."

OOC: Do you not have a response to her question:

Merienne's eyes narrow slightly as she peers at the ring. “How,” she asks evenly, “did you acquire this?” Her gaze lifts slowly to Shenua’s face. “This is not a common trinket.”

OOC: Sorry! I understood that the characters answered that by omission /facepalm I've edited my post and included a response!

OOC: Finishing the bit of conversation inserted within my last post.

Merienne does not interrupt Shenua. She watches her very closely as the words unfold — especially at the name Cael Deamhain.

When Shenua finishes, the room feels smaller. The silver weight remains steady in Merienne’s palm.

“You used magic on an inspector of Arcane Compliance,” she says quietly. It is not accusation. It is assessment. “And he will report it. Did he get a good look at any of you? Enough to identify you?”

Shenua and Iromae turn to Vorenus. The sorcerer explains with a mix of bravado and caution that he suggested Cael forget he ever met them.

“You told him to forget you,” Merienne says evenly. “Suggestion compels action. It does not rewrite recollection. If he is diligent — and if Cael Deamhain is anything, he is diligent — he will remember everything. Including that he felt compelled.”

She pauses, then adds: “The more disciplined the mind, the more disturbing that sensation becomes afterward.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, then her gaze settles on Shenua.

“As for being from another world ...” She exhales once through her nose. Not amusement. Not disbelief. Calculation. “I cannot confirm what you claim.”

“But I can confirm this: the Crown has been rewriting records for months. People reassigned. Archives amended. Names removed from rolls. If reality has shifted, it would not announce itself. It would look administrative.”

“And if the man you encountered resembles your father in another life ... that is either coincidence ... or evidence.”

She does not elaborate.

“Understand something,” she says evenly. “If what you say is true, then you are not merely displaced. You are inconvenient. And inconvenient anomalies are precisely the sort of thing the Office of Arcane Compliance exists to contain.”

Now the ring. She looks down at it again — more carefully this time.

“This bears the mark of House Deamhain ...”

Iromae shakes her head as she hears Vorenus mention making Cael forget. "No, no, no. She's right, the spell suggests.  But only as long as the spell lasts! When it ends, he will stop forgetting! Are you still concentrating on the spell?"  She pauses a moment, "It is something you have to actively hold in your mind to maintain, right? That's how the spell that I know works." She gets a worried look on her face. "He did see us! I'm sure he had a good look at all of us." 

And she of course handed Merienne the ring when she asked about it. And she offers it back she again takes it. The news about Cael is rather disturbing. Maybe Merienne was right that it would take him a while to piece everything together again. But she was worried it would be far more immediate. "We're going to have to hide," she mutters. "Is there even any point of doing this second task? What's the chance we could even disguise ourselves now at the ball? Surely they would be looking for us and find us." 

She had so many more questions. So many things to consider from Merienne's answers. But at this point, she's just worried that they have exposed themselves as magic wielder in a world that strictly prevented such things. 

"Wasn't the ball a masked one?" Shenua asks. "I did buy a mask. If not…" She exhales. "Then we're in trouble. How else are we going to get to Kalis? The ball was our only option."

She pauses, then looks at Merienne. "But there's something else that worries me. What do you mean exactly by people being reassigned, or archives amended? It's one thing to do that within the scope of your own Suzail. But do you mean he's shifted things to the point of affecting our  Suzail as well?"

Whatever the answer, Shenua rubs at her temples for a moment before asking, "What do we do now...?"

Vorenus looks at Merienne, Shenua and Iromae, back and forth from one to the other.  “But I thought… I thought that it would make him forget us, by compulsion!  Damn!  Why didn’t I think of that…” Vorenus hits the side of his head with his hand. Then he starts to calm down, looking up, slowly.  “I can.. well, I can hide my appearance, change what I am, I think I can keep him from recognizing me again.  But these two?  Rather memorable, I’d say.  Hmmmm, what to do.”  He scratches his head, thinking.  “Well, that spell lasts 8 hours.  That is an advantage.  We should act quickly on this second task if we must accomplish it before the spell wears out.  I am concentrating on it…”. 

“What does the second task involve?  And how far away is it, can it be done quickly?  What can we expect in return from you…”  Vorenus rests his chin on his hand, looking at Merienne with curiosity.  

Merienne listens without interrupting as the three of you speak, concern and realization passing back and forth across the table.

When Iromae finishes, Merienne inclines her head slightly toward her.

“You are correct,” she says calmly. “Suggestion requires concentration. If Vorenus loses that focus, the spell ends immediately. Otherwise it will hold for several hours. Or until the compulsion is completed. Either way, you will know,” she says, turning to the gray-bearded man. “But even while under the spell, the man still sees and hears what happens around him. The magic bends his choices — it does not blind him.”

She folds her hands together. “When it ends, he will be able to think clearly about everything that occurred.”

The seamstress pauses for a moment before continuing.

“Whether he reports it immediately depends on the man. Some officials rush to their superiors. Others take time to convince themselves they were not fooled.” Her eyes flick briefly to the signet ring still resting on the table. “Cael Deamhain strikes me as the latter.”

Then she looks back to Shenua. “And your question about the archives.” Merienne exhales softly. “I do not believe whatever has altered your world was done through clerks and filing cabinets.” A faint hint of dry humor touches her voice. “Even the Crown’s bureaucracy is not that powerful.”

She rests one hand lightly against the table. “But records do shape reality in quieter ways. If someone powerful enough changes who is permitted to practice magic ... who holds authority ... who is recognized as legitimate ...” She tilts her head slightly. “Over time, the world adjusts around those decisions.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “So no — I do not think a clerk in Suzail has rewritten your history.” A beat passes. “But whoever changed things in your world may well have benefited from the kind of order this one has built.”

Only then does she shift the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“You asked what to do now.” She leans back slightly. “The second task I mentioned earlier.”

Her expression grows more thoughtful. “The one I intended to offer you is ... direct.” She lets the word hang for a moment.

“There is a man who will attend the royal ball tomorrow evening. A quiet official whose work helps maintain the Crown’s control over arcane practice.” She meets each of your eyes in turn. “If he were removed from the equation — quietly ... permanently — the machinery he oversees would falter for months.”

Her tone remains matter-of-fact. “I would consider that service sufficient payment for the mirrorcraft.”

Silence settles briefly in the room. Then she lifts a hand slightly.

“If that is not something you are willing to do ...” Her voice softens a fraction. “... there is an alternate task.”

She nods toward the city outside. “A courier will be moving a sealed document tonight from a restricted archive to the Crown’s internal registry. If that document arrives, several investigations into arcane regulation will quietly disappear. Names will be reassigned. Records amended. Questions buried.” Her gaze steadies. “I need that document intercepted and brought to me instead.”

A small pause follows.

“I estimate the difficulty of this task to be higher ... but ... no killing required. And whichever you choose, the official will be dealt with.”

She gestures toward the unfinished garments behind her. “Complete either task, and the mirrorcraft is yours before tomorrow night’s ball.”

Merienne studies the three of you carefully. “So. Which sort of trouble are you prepared to cause?”

"Removed permanently!" Iromae says, her eyes wide. "Killed? You mean to have us just go kill someone?"  She looks at the others, clearly concerned. The suggestion that there is an alternate task relieves her. A little. 

After a brief pause, she then asks, "And how will we get this document from the courier without violence? Without them knowing who we are? I mean, I suppose we could come up with a plan. But it wouldn't be easy."  She eyes Merienne. "This might be something we should discuss among ourselves, if we could. I get we don't have unlimited time. But a minute or two?" 

She looks to her friends, hoping they would agree.