Citrine Three is the infrastructure district. If it’s conjured, constructed, enchanted, or encoded, odds are it started here. The Fabrication Quarter builds the parts and prototypes. The Infuser’s Quarter binds spell to object. The Sensory Quarter fills the city with sound, vision, and illusion. Oversight runs through the CCC, perched above a canal of cycling anti-magic. The people of Citrine believe in the structure of Wuh-Zhei, because they built it. Literally.
The CCC (Citrine Coordination Council)
On the intersection of the Fabrication Quarter, Infusion Quarter and Azure Three South, the CCC building handles routing, oversight, and contract fulfillment across Citrine. Each Authority, Fabrication, Infusion, and Sensory, has its own office in this three-pronged complex. Fabrication is overfunded and meets every standard. Infusion is faction-split and constantly redrafting its own rulings. Sensory? Businesses in the Sensory Quarter mostly ignores the CCC entirely. This is not the public-facing Authority Hall in Azure. This is the internal one. The one for managing the machine, not appeasing the citizenry.
The CCCSea
Cracked like a drained canal and curled beneath the CCC campus, the CCCSea isn’t water. It’s liquid anti-magic, cycled and ward-locked to strip enchantments, neutralize unstable conjurables, and drown out dangerous constructs. Officially, it’s for cleansing and testing. Unofficially, it’s where revoked conjurations, cursed artifacts, and illegal replications are dumped until Obsidian comes to fish them out.
Infusion Quarters
On the western edge of Citrine, pressed up against Ruby Ward’s fireproof trade lanes, sits the Infuser’s Quarter, a dense, humming enclave of enchantment. This is where Plate Three Transneuroclasts do their work: enchanters and transmuters who specialize in the binding of spell effects into objects, materials, and scrolls. It’s an industry as regulated as it is indispensable. Under the strict jurisdiction of the Infuser Authority, every licensed company here is audited for safety, legality, and rune stability. From bespoke sigils to battlefield payloads, this quarter powers daily life across the plates. It’s not just a craft. It’s infrastructure. And for better or worse, it runs through Citrine.
Trustrunes
There was a time when Trustrunes was the center of Citrine. The Transneuroclasts owned the Senate, Goliath Sunspot enchanters lit the city, and Gnomish Luxcalla transmuters etched the original completed runes that keep Wuh-Zhei suspended. Those days have long passed. Trustrunes now traffics in shorter-lived infusions, scrolls, trinkets and sigils designed to be replaced. Built to fail, priced to move. The Luxcalla family still owns it, but nobody’s fooled. It’s a legacy brand that isn’t technically a front only because it still produces, and produces a lot.
The campus squats beneath a skyline of its own making: cracked sandstone towers and Neon stamped sigils flicker blink out. Every other Citrine company offloads to Azure or Rhodonite. Trustrunes, proudly, doesn’t bother. They keep an open bazaar just outside their factory gates, cheaper that way. Fewer middlemen, fewer questions, fewer illusions. And while they don’t export across plates, plenty of local wholesalers, startup merchants, and even Plate Five freight chains rely on moving Trustrune bulk.
Scrollworks
Not all Transneuroclast families are on the out and out. Exchanging hands between a board of various, mostly Catkin bloodlines the last hundred years, all of them strive hard to meet the goals of the senate. They live good little Paragon adjacent lives. They raise good little enchanter children who go on to enchant the scrolls, textiles and civic emblems that everybody needs to live. Scrollworks doesn’t just produce light scrolls, sanitation wards, and daily sustains. They handle trinket batches, minor enchantments like warming rings, whisper tokens, and reminder charms.
Their branding is pristine copper foil, their safety slogans borderline charming. “Don’t Spark Without Us!” is this season’s campaign. The campus itself is five atrium buildings of brass and frosted crystal, connected by sigil suspended walkways. Visitors can tour polished galleries showing off the latest civic infusion prototypes while onboarding enchantment classes scroll slowly across public viewing boards.
My Brother’s Keeper
Once a small boutique known for designer infusions, My Brother’s Keeper is an abjurist driven company under the Infuser Authority’s industries traditionally dominated by enchanters. What began with elemental resistance cloaks and leathers has grown into a high end, heavily vetted household name. If you want something that lasts, you go to MBK. Notably, they refuse to infuse trinkets, maintaining that such small-scale magic is “below their standards.” They specialize in textiles, scrolls, formalwear glyphs, and have recently expanded into select Ruby contracts. Their rise has been heavily backed by Senate patronage over the last 80 years. Their Citrine campus is all white stone courtyards, sheer-edged halls, and designer shopfronts that smell faintly of sanctified ink. Their sigil vault is underground and hexproof, and every room is warded against divination. It’s immaculate, clinical, and surprisingly warm.
Farshot Unlimited
Founded 90 years ago by Sutherland Dash, Favian Underhill, Crol the Crimson, and Amy O’Vine, Farshot began as a reckless dorm-room experiment in evocation delivery. Today, it’s the most trusted name in spellweapon technology. After Dash entered politics and Underhill vanished into exile, Crol and Amy wed. Their son, the Red Dragonborn Orfu the Crimson, now runs it. A Paragon born enchanter revered by Plate Three approval with corporate charisma and just enough pedigree to scare the old Transneuroclast houses into civility.
In Citrine, Farshot handles warhead infusion, ensuring spell payloads are stable, targeted, and campaign legal. They import weapon chassis’ from Plate Five and work closely with Paragon R&D. The campus is a fortress factory hybrid with security glyphs scanning all who enter. The scent of scorched sigildust lingers in the halls. Most workers wear wanded vests. It’s sharp. It’s lethal. It’s working exactly as designed.
Sensory Quarters
On the eastern edge of Citrine, wrapped around Rhodonite’s sharper slope, the Sensory Quarter blinks, pulses, and speaks. This is the domain of illusionists, diviners, and branding casters. The magic here is seen, heard, and felt, projection over payload, sensation over substance. You’ll find OGRE towers beaming state media beside basement studios pitching snack enchantments. The Sensory Authority technically oversees it, but no one pretends they outrank the Gilded Gaze. From daily feed news to animated wall ads, from soup can labels to mind-linked memory films, this is where attention gets captured, curated, and sold. Fast.
O.G.R.E.
Omnidirectional Guidance & Reality Engineering (O.G.R.E.) has bloated into the largest Sensory conglomerate in Wuh-Zhei, with offices on every Plate and influence strong enough that the Sensory Authority now answers to OGRE. Not technically part of the Gilded Gaze but certainly synonymous. At the top: Sixth Oracle Fontane Troidaecus and Third Oracle Gloria Bhutané. OGREvision, OGREfilms, OGREfeed, OGREsecurity. Official history, daily braodcasts, state-backed marketing, slogan spinning, and even public-setcor contracts. If you need a projection that lasts (and reports back to the Senate), there’s always OGRE. I mean, they’re always there. OGRE.
Griffon Seventy Seven
Funny how things change. A century ago, Griffon was a scrappy illusiostudio with big ideas. These days, they produce the safest, most celebrated blockbusters in Wuh-Zhei, and the Plate Three public still feel artsy for loving them. At any given moment, half the Grand Illusioplex is screening a Griffon Seventy Seven flick. Their studio lot hums day and night: floating scene platforms, ambient sound spheres, Halfling-run catering carts, and four different weather domes. It’s slick, spotless and fully booked until next year.
Metamagic Studios
They don’t make art. They make things better. Slogans that sparkle, illusions that hold frame, packaging that pings the limbic. Metamagic Studios doesn’t win awards, but every award show uses their promos. OGRE controls the narrative, Griffon 77 defines taste and Metamagic sells the sizzle. Branding, commercial illusioncraft, spell slogans, public-facing sensory.
Plate Three Press
Wuh-Zhei’s most trusted name in newsprint and live-feed journalism, Plate Three Press rose to prominence eighty years ago breaking the Sunspot Scandal, and hasn’t stopped since. Their daily editions feature minor memorylink enchantments, letting readers relive key footage and psychic statements firsthand. Live broadcasts are staffed by rapid-scry anchors trained to interpret and contrast conflicting oracle divinations in real time. Truth, as they say, is fast talking and cross-referenced.
Comprehend Languages™
Not to be confused with Comprehend Languages, the spell. Comprehend Language™ is the paper of record, business circular, and branded poster printer, all in one. If a story breaks and the message matters more than the facts, they’re already printing it because an elite purposely leaked it. Trusted by boards, Senate offices, and Enforcer firms alike, their copy reads clean, fast and never off-message. Their diviners don’t predict scandals. They prevent them.
Fabrication Quarter
North Citrine runs clean and quiet. Dominated by conjurers and proud of it, the Fabricator’s Quarter is the rare place where Authority and workers see eye to eye. No old-money tension. No cross-faction drama. Just work. If Wuh-Zhei had a monarch, which as an oligarchy it does not, it would be Conjurer Matilda R. Brightside. Infrastructure-minded and famously philanthropic, she’s led the city into its Silver Age of Fabrication. In a city where people need their stuff and things, Citrine fabricators are happy to oblige. The louder half of Matilda’s slogan? “If you need it: Have it.”
Haveit Co.
The oldest fabrication firm in Wuh-Zhei. When it started, it was called Herman and Sons and they made their name in mattresses. With the influx of socialized conjuration contracts that came in under Matilda Brightside’s Senate Bloc, the company renamed to Haveit Co (after Matilda’s slogan “Want it? Have it”). These days, they fabricate anything non-magical that’s too refined for mass production on Plate Five but still needs to be affordable. Furniture, dishware, signage, streetstones. The reliable objects. For the unreliable times.
Firstdraft Fabrication
Get it right on the Firstdraft, and you won’t need a second. These conjurers are pragmatic, deadline-driven, and modest to a fault. They conjure the bones of buildings, the scaffolds of stages, the base forms of everything. From blueprint to baseline, Firstdraft handles structural and prototype conjuration across the plates. With overlap into metallurgy, they answer to both the Fabrication and Metalwright Authorities. On Plate Three, the campus splits clean: Firstdraft Citrine, Firstdraft Ruby.
BloodrootFoci
The result of several mergers, Blood Spells Ltd., Wormroot Components, and FociX, BloodrootFoci now controls the city’s entire arcane focus fabrication from its Citrine campus, while sourcing and packaging all standard spell components from each vertical Plate of Jade and Ruby. Heavily subsidized by the Senate, their prices stay low enough that most wizards don’t even think about illegal imports. Well, unless you’re on Plate Four or Five. Or a Transneuroclast. But hey… BloodrootFoci’s doing fine. Really.
Summon Polish
If it could use a little fabrication to shine brighter, have you considered Summon Polish? Often working hand in hand with Firstdraft, they refine what the drafters start. No overlap with Herman & Sons’ everyday staples, Summon Polish handles the flair. From stained glass to stainless lacquer, they fabricate the extras that turn a room into a home.
Supernormal
Snap it. Spell it. Stack it. Need a desk that’s also a table, sometimes a bed, maybe even a skateboard, but not a magic item that costs you an attunement slot? It’s not infused. It’s Supernormal.
What started as a flashy startup for flexible conjured furniture has exploded into a fully integrated fabrication firm. Edging into Sensory contracts they use reactive sigils and gesture reading to shift form on user intent. Despite the ad campaign, it has undoubtedly become infusion by another name. Either way, the company has backing. At the top sits extremist innovator Spontaneous Ignition Coil, great-grandnephew of Senator Sintetra Coil. Outspoken against the Senate Bloc, Spoign proudly touts his products as superior to Scrollworks’ “Lap”-Catkins.
R.J. Milestones
Let’s be clear, most clothing isn’t made on Plate Three. Most jewels are from Ruby, and mass textile comes off conjuration lines in Five. But if the base is meant to last, or is destined for infusion, then the Fabricator’s Authority contracts Milestones. They make the blanks that make great enchantments possible. And if you want it local, want it stylish, and want your little boyscout to wear it with pride? It has to be R.J. Milestones. Their flagship in Azure stocks the best accessories and garments fabricated right here in Citrine.
Simulacrumbs Replication
They’re not forgeries or knock-offs if there’s an Simulacrum Replication seal of approval on them. Most of the company operates down on Plate Five, but their Citrine Three office has grown steadily over the years. What started as a drop-off point for design specs and magical molds is now a full-blown consignment hub, rush-order station, and delivery depot for perfectly legal replications of perfectly original products. Don’t worry. The S.R. prefix means it’s certified.