RP:Cabin Fever 2: Larketian Boogaloo

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc

Summary: "We need to talk about Larket" - On foot of the hostile reception that Iintahquohae received at the hands of the Mage's Guild members for her defence of Queen Josleen and Larket, the pair of cabin-dwellers sit down for a much needed debriefing on what went down in the Hard City in the past few years.

The Refurbished Cabin

Iintahquohae quite literally falls from the sky into the snowy clearing in front of her cabin, landing in a slight crouch with hands reaching out to catch herself from the fall. Pinquettki is above, having taken her back home after their visit to Satoshi's library. The couatl flies off likely to finish off the meal the two had eaten after departing the meeting. Standing, she brushes snow from her leggings and wipes blood and bits of frostmare fur from her lips with a handkerchief she pulls from her jacket pocket before heading in. The cabin is empty, she is relieved to see, partly because she needed to decompress and partly because she felt...upset, to her surprise. This being a rare and unusual emotion for her to feel, it's safe to say she doesn't like it. Too many things had happened. First the stirring of feelings toward the terramancer, and then the spat with Guild members. She required information. Figuring Odhranos would be home soon, a thought that briefly elicited a beaming smile that she is quick to mask with a smaller one, she gets to work with flinging her hands at the fireplace to conjure up flames once she has removed gloves and cloak, lighting a few candles for additional light, and putting a kettle on the stove to begin boiling. Once the water within has been heated, she pours it into a glass teapot sitting on the table, and drops a strange looking bundle of leaves into the glass pot. The High Elves in Rynvale call it blooming tea, and sure enough, the leaves unfurl within the water, blossoming into an orange flower whose aroma is distinctly floral with notes of citrus. With that and two cups set out on the table, Iintahquohae grabs the circlet S'erok had given her previously, placing it atop her head. She thought it may be for the best to keep it on whenever she happened to be in the cabin, just in case. Taking a seat, she pours a bit of tea from the pot for herself and warms her fingers on the cup's sides while watching attentively at the door.

Some time later, outside the cabin, the ground rumbles slightly, heralding a section of snow sinking down as a set of steps lower into the earth, which Odhranos slinks up from, looking cold, and sheepish. The steps rise behind him, closing off the tunnel he had bored on his way, and the terramancer shakes the loose snow from his shoulders as he approaches the door to the cabin, apprehensively. When last he had arrived in this very cabin, conversation went south rather quickly and Odhranos spent most of the evening and following two days in bed, half asleep, while S’erok took care of the necessary measures to keep the terramancer in good health. When he finally came round, he had received Valrae’s letter, and had set off immediately, somewhat unwilling to meet Inks’ eyes as he left, only to find her also present at the same meeting. What went on in said meeting couldn’t have improved matters much, and to be honest, Odhranos had been on the verge of skulking back, taking his things and finding other lodgings, if only for a quick intervention on S’erok’s part. “The lass took you in, fed and bathed you and you’re going to mosey off at the first sign of awkwardness? Shame on you, Odh.” Odhranos experienced a mental double-take, which is something to behold, as he whips back on the dragon. “She did not bathe me! And I just feel like I’ve brought enough trouble, I’d be better off bothering someone else. No one else, actually.” The dragon was not convinced and a mental lambasting ensued, during which Odh was called many names unworthy of immortalising in writing, and was convinced through no small effort to reconsider leaving, and to instead thank his generous guest in form of gift. So, we find Odhranos, hesitating before the cabin door, before he knocks on the snow-fleckled timber, pushing it open gently as he peeps inside. “Iintah- oh, there you are.” He spots the seamstress, likely just after having been spotted himself, and he squeezes through the door, closing it behind him. “I.. eh, would like to apologise. How I behaved the other day was… unseemly, and I’d like to make amends.” Odhranos produces what he had been hiding behind his back, a sizeable bouquet of Frostmawian Nightblooms, wrapped in a neat sheaf of silver and blue paper, which he holds out to his host. “These are for you. As thanks, and apology.” The terramancer looks sheepish, as he holds out the flowers. “I also brought some cake, while I was in the city. I thought it might be nice to have with - Oh, you already have the kettle on.” Odhranos notices the tart flowery smell in the air and closes his eyes, appreciating the aroma. “Would you like to chat? After… that...earlier, I think it would do us both some good to talk, discuss things, clear the air?”

Iintahquohae had her eyes glued to the glass teapot on the table while she rested her head on her forearm, idly prodding the glass surface as the tea leaves bloomed into a flower while they steeped. She hears voices outside and lifts her head just a bit, but makes no move to open the door. The appearance of Odhranos' is to be expected as she didn't believe he would just abandon his belongings here after the spat earlier. What does surprise her is his apology as well as the bouquet he reveals. For her? No...Having fed before returning home, she feels an odd warmth rise to her face and finds she is at a loss for how to actually hide it. Hoping it is mistaken for anger is a strange hope to have, but she quickly picks up her teacup and takes a drink, hoping it obscures her face just enough for it to go back to normal. Setting the cup back down again, she motions to the chair across from her and stands to pour him some tea, gaze pointedly cast downward just in case the blush hasn't disappeared yet. “Oh my goodness, those are beautiful...Thank you.You really don't need to apologize, Odhi- Odh. It's understandable that you're all angry with me or dislike me. I'll wager both. I'm very much out of the loop with a fair bit.” Sitting back down, she loosely clasps her cup, more to have something to fidget with than to actually drink from now. “I guess I can explain where I'm coming from in all of this, and why I must sound so uninformed. Or dumb, half-baked, whatever it was you want to call me.” This is all said in a neutral tone, though she does frown just a bit. She's upset about what occurred earlier but as she tends to do with any emotion really, attempts to stifle it or let it roll away from her. “Years ago, before I stepped out of, well - The public's eye makes it sound as if I'm some sort of celebrity when I'm not, but I was known. Particularly in Vailkrin, but that's besides the point – I paid attention to global politics. I was involved on the very fringes at least. I've fought in wars. I had Satoshi's ear as a friend and family member, so to speak. Kasyr had Vailkrin, and I was his vassal before he sired me. I sewed Vailkrin's sky shut with that thread I sent in my first letter to you. I made suits for Governor Tristram in Gualon, went with him to talk peace with orcs. I made clothes for Queen Josleen – I knew her before she became Queen as well. I caught her out of an airship that she was tossed off of.” A brief pause follows, in which she recalls more memories. Milling about Lithrydel's 'elite', so to speak and knowing them on a bit of a personal level made them feel less like monarchs and leaders and more like normal folk in her eyes. “...I knew these people, Odh. Not like the back of my hand or anything. Josleen and I weren't best friends, but I knew them like how I know you. Like this.” she makes a gesture with her hand between the terramancer and herself once she's seated. “I could just talk to them. That time's long gone apparently,” she says with a slight frown. “I focus on work and travel with Father for a few years, get sick and come back home only to find everything different, and no time to actually untie all the knots so I know what's going on. Then get scolded for it by a bunch of complete strangers. It's no excuse, mind you. Just where I am.” Iintahquohae produces a wry smile. “I can't believe it actually frustrates me either. I don't....I don't let myself get upset, let alone hurt. Feeling things like that impedes with work and I can't have that." She drains her cup of tea and sighs. "I want to know what's going on, Odhranos.”

Odhranos finds it hard not to notice Inks’ blush, and he is relieved, that the gift and apology were well received. “I should probably find a vase for these or something.” The terramancer spins around, looking to find some sort of vase or jug large enough to hold the flowers. Nothing jumps out at him, save for the water pitcher, but they could do without plants in their drinking water. “Hold on” Odhranos opens the door a crack, letting in a small gale that whips the cabin’s candles into a dancing frenzy. “Ahh! Sven, that’s cold!” The terramancer exclaims, feeling the contrast now that he has had a few moments to warm himself. A handful of sand is yoinked from S’erok’s cage, and flung outside the door, before it is quickly shut. Odhranos keeps his hand on the handle, as he squints, focusing on something beyond the door, then he quickly yanks it open, grabs something from the gloom beyond, then slams it shut again. “Aha!” he exclaims, now brandishing a sandstone vase, full to the brim with snow. “Let me just melt this, then we’ll have a vessel fit for purpose.” Odhranos sits, floating the vase through the air as he does so, accepting the cup of tea with his free hand and then trying to juggle all three things at once. While Inks’ explains herself, and her long and coloured history with the Gentry of Lithrydel, Odh points an idle finger at the floating vase, which begins humming quietly, soon emitting a rosy glow and a fair bit of heat. The snow within melts quickly, and once half-melted, Odhranos lets the vase cool, allowing the heated water to compete with the snow and equalise the temperature within. As Inks finishes, Odh reaches up and places the bouquet in the vase, which is then neatly deposited beside the sink, where the deep violet blooms catch the edge of the dim candlelight and gleam silkily. Once his task is completed with a happy nod, Odhranos turns back to Inks, supping his tea nonchalantly as if he didn’t just put an unnecessary amount of effort into making a purpose fit vase. Mages, am I right? Odhranos mulls over Inks’ question and he places his mug aside as he considers where to start. “I… can’t say I’m familiar with many of the Lithrydelian royals. I've been a citizen of Frostmaw since the civil war, and Queen Hildegarde has been both a friend and mentor for Kess and I." Odhranos chews his thumbnail as he considers his next words. "Ironically enough, the only monarch I have known prior to their installment on the throne was Josleen. We met when I was an an apprentice, and Josleen a Thane of Frostmaw. We ran into eachother in the Bardic Lodge, just outside of Frostmaw. I helped retrieve her purse from a thief, she had my violin repaired in return." Odhranos runs his fingers through his hair as he recalls the encounter. "Josleen was always a fair and kind person, at least from my brief experience and the testimony of those that knew her. In fact, when the Eyrie assigned me as architect of the planned Southern Outpost in Larket, I was looking forward to the opportunity to work with the new Queen." Odhranos snorts lightly, how far south things did go from there. "I'm unsure how up to date you are with what happened in Larket, but I may as well start at the beginning. Larket's troubles began with the Fermin plague. This was about two years ago, bear in mind, while Josleen was still Thane of Frostmaw. The creatures rose up from the sewers, attacked the town and caused havoc and pestilence wherever they went. The city was in tatters, and in the midst of the chaos, Macon Jauzon and Kelovath Khasmin riled the council into a frenzy, pointing the finger at each-other, each blaming the other for inciting the Fermin attack as a means of grabbing power. The truth of which, is still unknown. And will likely remain so." Odhranos takes a sip of tea then adds. "I should also note, that at this time, Kelovath and Josleen were, shall we say, praying under the banner of Delisha." The terramancer does not offer to clarify this statement further.

To say Iintahquohae was awestruck at the amount of magic she had just watched for a flower vase and a bit of water is an absolute understatement. The thought of moving that fluidly to make clothes or jewelry even sends her mind working, and she nearly forgets the discussion at hand. “Wow,” she murmurs once the terramancer finishes, eyeing the lovely flowers with a smile. When was the last time anybody gave her flowers? Daisy gave her that red bloom years ago. She kept it tucked behind her ear until it wilted away. Recalling the first night's events here and looking upon the bouquet cause her to feel a blush coming yet again, so she turns back to Odhranos to pay attention. “You play violin? I play cello. Piano too. I sing a bit but it's more harmonizing than actual words....Do you still play at all in your free time? I bet you're go-” she cuts herself off. Getting to know Odh on a personal level isn't the task at hand. Understanding the current political climate was. “A plague...Kelovath? That hunk of gold? I remember Ezekiel. Her and Kelovath were after my time, for sure.” The seamstress hadn't heard that name in a long time. She snickers. “Paladins...He never seemed like one to go for Delisha.” She rubbed at her ring finger with her thumb while she considered the thought. Paladins were odd and didn't leave behind the fondest of memories. One paladin, anyway. “So there was a plague and Delishians did what they do best,” the thought makes her eyes roll and she takes another drink of tea. “So...Macon swept in and put a stop to all of the holy debauchery, I'm guessing?” That didn't explain the rift between Larket's Academy and the Guild. For fear of getting ahead of herself, Iintahquohae falls silent so the terramancer can continue.

Odhranos eyes light up at mention of Inks' playing the cello. "A fellow pianist as well! We must play sometime! I have my violin in-" Odhranos' voice trail's off before he can finish his sentence with "- my office in the Guild Tower." Catching himself with a slight cough, he smiles at Inks. "I'll continue, but do remind me when I finish. I'd love to discuss music, it's been so long." Odhranos scrunched his nose with a smile, then gets back to his history lesson. "Not exactly. What followed was a confusing and convoluted series of rumours, misheard information and general underhanded shenanigans. In the midst of all of this, Macon took the throne of Larket, arrested Kelovath, arrested Hureig, the Ambassador of Frostmaw after he helped free Kelovath, started a war with Frostmaw on foot of Hureig's arrest and then to top it all off, kidnapped Josleen." Odhranos' voice slowly rises, mirroring the escalation of chaos that Macon incited in Larket, with sheer incredulity blatant in his voice. "Then, as if things weren't odd and backwards enough as is, Josleen, while staying in Larket as Macon's prisoner, negotiating for a peaceful conclusion to the war, seemed to turn tails entirely, spurning Kelovath, and inviting Macon into her bed instead." Odhranos rolls his eyes to heaven, not deigning to try pick apart that particular train of thought. "What followed was an utter diplomatic mess. Kreekitaka, you may have heard of him, giant crab man, hard to understand sometimes; he amassed an army, drove a herd of dinosaurs the whole way from Venturil towards Larket, ended up making a mess in Sage that incited the Warriors Guild to get involved. Kree offered to join forces with Hildegarde, his offer was refused, and then after all that, Lionel led the Warriors Guild into the ill-fated Battle of the Bridge. Which ended in a loss for Frostmaw, and Lionel's demotion from knight-commander of Frostmaw." Odhranos sips his tea as he pauses to let the absolute chaos of that last paragraph settle in. "Hildegarde met Macon in Schezerade to negotiate an armastice, with the outcome resulting in the chartering of an Eyrie Outpost in Larket for Frostmaw, and in return, Macon would take Josleen for his wife with Hildegarde's blessing." Odhranos purses his lips as he studies Inks' reaction. "This was just the events of two years ago, mind you. This is minor compared to what happened in the last year of King Macon and Queen Josleen's rule. How are you holding up so far?"

Iintahquohae is absolutely thrilled at how excited Odhranos enjoyed playing music, but tries her best to focus on the history lesson. “Definitely, definitely, we must!” Is all she adds, her eyes widening just a bit at everything he's said so far. Now this sort of story about a woman is something she'd overhear from Father's men when they were either coming in from a trip or out at sea, though much more vulgar. So Jos liked powerful men. Noted. “I've met Kree I believe, yes. ..At least his friends. Giant crab folk.” Oddly the most unusual part of the terramancer's retelling. The more he goes on and the more convoluted it gets, the more she remembers what a relief it was to not keep an ear to the ground on the happenings of Lithrydel's leadership. New names, new wars. “It's...a considerably more tangled web compared to when I left, but I'm holding up just fine. Please, continue.” While he does so, she pours herself another cup of tea, emptying the pot and stands to refill the pot with the still hot kettle on the stove, replacing the blooming tea bundle with a fresh one. Sitting back down, the seamstress rubs her index fingers along her temples. “Remind me if Kasyr still considers me to be his vassal and messenger girl to hire an assistant before dipping my toe back into this mess.”

Odhranos can't help the light chuckle at Inks suggestion. "Not a half bad idea. For the entire later part of that year, I was presumed dead in the desert, and when I came back, oh if I didn't end up putting my foot in it entirely. You'll find out why in a bit." Odhranos finishes off the last of his cup and sets it aside, lacing his fingers together as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to organise the next set of events in his mind. "As if Larket had not been through enough, on the day of Macon and Josleen's wedding, an earthquake decimated half the city, and kicked off another bout of chaos and misinformation in the Hard-Headed City. It seems, a rumour developed that the earthquake had been caused by witches, namely ones involved with the Temple of Delisha, which managed to escape destruction in the earthquake, when much of the rest of the city was levelled." Odhranos sucks air through his teeth exasperatedly as he launches into the next phase of Larket's sordid history. "This rumour spread, and on foot of the growing distrust for the witch population, it was decided by the crown that a public registry of witches would be made. For public safety." Odhranos' expression has grown dour. This is no longer a tale of promiscuous queens and unfortunate battles. This is now a tale of prejudice and racial-hatred. "The crown's sponsorship of the registry prompted protests from the witch population, and at one such protest, a riot broke out, resulting in the death of a local witch at the hands of a man by the name of Eirik. After that, things just took a turn for the worse in every way possible." Odhranos pinches his nose and sighs, not enjoying talking about this particular part of history that he was unfortunate enough to witness firsthand. "Eirik was tried for murder, found guilty, then effectively pardoned by Macon, who simply exiled him from Larket, a city Eirik had only been visiting anyway. Tensions grew worse and prejudice towards witches only increased, reinforced by the Crown. Witches began losing their jobs, their homes, merely on account of unconfirmed rumours that some, perhaps even one, had conspired against the King and Queen. Which, for their part, the Monarchy of Larket let happen. Before long, camps had been set up for the displaced witches. Labour camps. Where the witches would be employed in constructing public projects for Larket, starting with the Eyrie Outpost." Odhranos turns his attention to Inks with a frown. "Of which I was heading, alongside Pilar."

Iintahquohae's expression grows less amused by royal escapades and more sour as Odhranos goes on. “Witches?” she asks, reflexively casting her gaze out the window. She dabbled, years ago, between Daath being away and wanting to try her hand at a different bit of magic. The furthest she went was finally succumbing to the lingering feeling that she required some sort of faith – faith in Selene and Zaytor particularly, whose rippling symbol she had tattooed on her sternum, and that to her surprise, she found a familiar in a little cardinal in Sage. An octopus naturally seemed more fitting, but this wasn't her choice to make. The flash of familiarity stops there however, and she now feels incredibly disappointed. “Josleen agreed to this?” Iintahquohae couldn't dismiss the terramancer's words with an “oh no, that isn't like her!” or anything similar, because she didn't know for certain. People change over years. This appeared to be her now. “I dabbled a bit in witchcraft before leaving with Father on a trip,” she confesses. “I wouldn't call myself a witch, honestly. It was just something to do while I waited for Daath to come back so I could work as his pupil again.” Now she was beginning to understand the tension between the Guild and Larket. “This is terrible news,” she eventually says, then lapses into silence once more. In the lengthy pause, she looks down at her hands, into the few drops of tea at the bottom of her cup. Her head eventually tilts upward, looking to Odhranos with a frown. “I don't know what to say...”

Odhranos frowns and waves a hand, his expression grave. "Agreed to is too clear-cut of a way to put it. Josleen didn't go out of her way to discourage the public sentiment, which says something in and of itself." Odhranos settles his chin in his palm, chewing his knuckle in thought as he gets the chain of events straight in his mind. "After the camps were set up, Josleen reportedly fell foul of a hex, which brought her nightmares and hallucinations. The Larketian guard apprehended a witch who was assumed responsible, and she was executed. Without trial. By the king's hand." Odhranos tone is flat, emotionless even, for if he did express any emotion, it would without a doubt be rage, and he was trying his hardest not to let his own biases soak into his retelling. "Protests ensued in the workcamps, more witches were killed when violence broke out, and conditions in the work camps deteriorated further." Odhranos squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to ward off images of the horrific conditions he had witnessed, pushing them to the back of his mind, where they will languish for another untold length of time. "At this point, the Crown decided that something needed to be done, so they employed an arcanist engineer to contruct a "Witch detecting device" to help in their… policing. Around this same time, Queen Josleen was discovered to be pregnant. Despite being a half-elf, and presumably sterile." Odhranos shrugs, stranger things have happened, but it's still an odd detail in the grand weave of things. "Shortly after this became public knowledge, another curse swept through Larket, targeting all unborn children and those under the age of ten to grow at an accelerated rate, resulting in the deaths of a number of pregnant women, but miraculously, not the Queen, who gave birth to a healthy nine-month old child. After four months of pregnancy." Again, the terramancer shrugs, the math didn't add up, but at that point, if Macon had revealed himself to be an intelligent talking donkey, and all the witches sprouted wings and flew off to the Great Coven in the Sky, no one would have batted an eyelid. Larket was a hive for chaos and it seems every unfortunate event that could have happened, had happened. "This curse was in turn, blamed on the witches, further deteriorating things, and Pilar began shuttling families out of Larket using Eyrie assistance. While this went on, I, fresh from my half-year long stint in the Nameless Desert, arrived into Larket at the orders of Queen Hildegarde, thinking to greet the new Queen, congratulate her on her new position and get to work on my own posting. If it had only been that positive."

Iintahquohae is clearly trying her best to keep a straight face like she normally does, but failing. Miserably. Her expression is set in a permanent frown it seems, brows knit the longer Odhranos goes on. Now, history books told her that kingdoms that have come and gone had made similar, baseless decisions about one group of people or another, but to hear it occurring in present time? And it isn't drow? This didn't sit well with her, especially since if she admitted to at least fiddling around with withcraft years ago, she very likely could be tossed into one of these camps or killed herself. Letting these thoughts stew, she looks to the terramancer and pours herself another cup of tea. “None of that adds up, though I'm sure that goes without saying.” Taking another drink that she now wishes was something stiff, she sets her cup back down on the table. “...Please, continue.”

"Aye, indeed. When I was assigned my post, I met Josleen, partly out of formality, partly out of a desire to catch up with an acquaintance, and our conversation was pleasant for the most part. That was, until I mentioned that Pilar had been discussing helping move the "witch refugees" from Larket, uninformed of the situation that I was. Well Xalious fend my soul, if she didn't nearly go for my throat. Like that-" Odhranos snaps his fingers, his brows steepled in incredulity, "-she went from smiles and sweetness to fury. I hadn’t the slightest clue what was going on in Larket at the time, Sven above, I’d barely left the healers and even then only with a bit of convincing from the Eyrie or I’d have been there another few months. I was entirely uninformed and stuck my foot in it.” Odhranos turns a sidelong glance at Inks and smiles ruefully. “Hence I can sympathise with what you’re going through. Only some very fast talking and a lot of apologies kept me out of a Larketian jail cell, and I managed to convince them of my good will by offering them a favour.” Odhranos pours another cup and takes a sip to ease the dryness from talking, then pointed down at the floor beneath them. “I told them that I could confirm, conclusively, whether the earthquake that had set off the whole fiasco was naturally caused or not. As a terramancer, it was well within my field and I felt if I could potentially clarify what was a very murky situation, it might have led to… well, an informed progression for both sides? I dislike rumour and hearsay, facts comfort me.” The mage chuckles as he sips the tea once more. “Scholar to the bone, I guess. Anyway, Josleen agreed, and I was sent down with Headmaster Percival; I had encouraged them to send someone they trust to confirm for them what I would find, so there was no doubt about the findings. The delve was fairly simple, uneventful even. Percival and I descended to the water table stratum, and found a colossal reverse fault where the bedrock had severed and cut off the underwater flow of the Vibrance. Something far beyond the scale of what any magic user would have been capable of, not to mention unnecessary if the earthquake had been purposefully caused. You should know the lengths we have to go to focusing magic to elicit even the smallest of effects. If a witch were powerful enough to create that sort of lithic shift, not only would every magic user North of the Sage have been sneezing blood with the magic fallout, but there’d be much more efficient ways of decimating the town with that kind of power.” Odhranos spreads his arms wide, an incredulous grin on his face. “There’s only one thing with that kind of power, and it’s far beyond the ability of any mage in this era. Nature will always surpass magic. Always.” Odhranos slowly descends from his rant, and settles back into the chair. “Anyway, all that to say, we got the conclusive evidence we needed, and returned to the surface, at which point Percival went to present the information to the king. And would you like to guess what came of it?” Odhranos’ face is set in a glower, evidently this particular slight has bothered him for some time. “Absolutely nothing. Not even so much as an apology or a statement that the crown was wrong. The information was swept under the rug and never spoken of again.”

It's disappointing to hear that Josleen seems to have drastically changed from the woman she knew, but it makes sense. Power and authority typically did that to people. That didn't justify their behavior, but at least Iintahquohae had some understanding. She smiles when Odhranos explains his experience with accidentally disturbing a hornets nest, glad that someone understands a bit. His description of how to determine the cause of an earthquake is utterly lost on her, but she tries to keep up. Nature surpassing magic is something she had the hilarious misfortune of being aware of. “You're right about that,” she replies. “My home and shop in Cenril are underground right on the coast...We have a barrier of sorts to prevent sand from getting too far in from above...Once when I was about fifteen or so, a tidal wave reached our doors, flooded down the steps and into the shop. It was a mess.” The memory elicits a laugh as she looks down into her teacup. “It got to be about waist deep. We had to wash all of the fabric bolts to get the sand off of them.” Falling silent again, her smile fades as Odhranos continues and her eyes roll. “Typical. Can't have anything going against the leadership's agenda or it makes them look weak and you can't have that.” Leaning back in her chair, she drapes an arm over its back to rest there. “It's a shame that some people can't just admit when they're wrong or see the truth when it's presented to them. It'd be so much simpler. What happened next?”

Odhranos can’t help but smile at Inks’ anecdote, it reminds him of a similar experience, many years ago. “Living on the coast isn’t without its risks. I remember one of the Houses back in Oileán, House Suiloir na dTonn, most of their castles were built down by the coastline, some even on the strands, and their basements would be constantly flooded.” The terramancer laughs as he recalls the warm memories. “We used to joke that they didn’t need to bother fishing, the fish would swim straight into their great halls and onto their plates!” Odhranos’ eyes squint as he laughs, his grin wide and shining in the candlelight. “Ahh, I’d forgotten about that.” He chuckles, wiping his eye as he lifts his cup to his lips. “Where was I. Oh, right, Larket’s smothering of the truth. Hmm.” His expression sours as he returns to less pleasant memories. “As it turns out, that wasn’t the only secret the Crown had been holding. Unknown to the public, a naga scientist, by the name of Muzo, had been profiting from the Larketian witch hunt by acquiring the cadavers from witches killed in the riots, and using them for his twisted experiments. Which, is reprehensible in and of itself, if only that were as far as he had gone.” Odhranos’ mouth twists into an expression of disgust. “Rachelle Fournier, a witch from Kelay, was arrested in Larket when the witch detection device marked her as an unregistered witch. She was taken into custody, and not heard from again.” Odhranos pauses, as he prepares for what came after. “When Muzo’s lab was raided, Rachelle was found. Kept alive by arcane means, she had been dissected for the purpose of Muzo’s horrific research.” Odhranos shudders at the thought, he had only heard the news through Pilar’s report, but even that was chiling. “She was rescued and made a full physical recovery, but I don’t think anyone can account for her mental state after such an ordeal. As for Muzo… he vanished shortly afterward. Hasn’t been heard from in the area since.” Odhranos shakes his head as he sips his tea, then fixes Inks with a hesitant gaze. “Muzo’s lab was hidden beneath the Royal Gardens, and the bodies and prisoners he plied his sick trade on were held under Larketian Custody. Despite this, Josleen and Macon denied all knowledge of the naga’s experiments.” Odhranos shrugs despairingly. “I don’t know what else I can say on the matter. The collusion is obvious, and yet time and again, the Crown simply denies everything laid before them and walks away unaccounted.”

Hearing about nobility from other lands fascinated her due to sailing with Father for work occasionally. Unfortunately, him and Iintahquohae never ventured out of any port towns they happened to visit. There wasn't time. Oileán sounded like it would be worth a visit one day. “That's hilarious! It seems most people who want to live on the coast forget the consequences of doing it,” she snickers, being one of those people. One would think she had gotten used to sand by now. “Did you spend a lot of your time around nobles there?” she asks, hand reaching up to touch the circlet she wore. Maybe he had a similar lot in life that she had. Vassal to a house. Glorified messenger girl, really. When he explains more of Larket's crimes, her frown returns. Intahquohae wanted to believe that maybe Josleen and Macon didn't know what was going on under their noses, but even she couldn't make herself swallow that lie. There is no way they couldn't have known. Working with nagas on top of it made her shudder. Anything serpentine except for couatls, which her mind could do the mental gymnastics to view as merely elongated dragons, were terrible. “That poor girl. They're monsters,” is all she can think to say. Her tongue prods at one of her fangs while she keeps her mouth closed, realizing the hypocrisy in her words. She went out of her way not to hunt and kill humans, however. That didn't take away the predatory nature of what she had become in this cabin years ago. “Of course they won't take blame for any of this. Royalty rarely does for anything that makes them look bad, I've seen. ...Not unless someone takes their titles away. Not that I'm suggesting we – the Guild as a whole I mean, not the two of us, should try. It's unlikely we could succeed in doing something like that.”

Odhranos turns to look at Iintahquohae, as if he has said more than he should, but whatever his reply may have been, his words turn to sand in his mouth when he finally notices the circlet settled neatly on Inks’ curls, the twisting banded style jumping out at him with extreme familiarity now that he notices is. “I...uh…” The terramancer fumbles, caught entirely off guard by the seamstress’ nonchalant adjustment of something that, to Odhranos’ mind, shouldn’t exist this side of the Eastern Sea. “Wha-Oh, yes, yeah. My House - well, rather, the House I was born into, our duty was to the High King and the royal line. Most of my formative years were spent training. Reading, languages, rhetoric. Preparing for a life to serve the crown, so I spent a while with the royal brood. Kind of a snivelly lot. Maybe I’m better off the way things ended up.” Odhran’s gaze is pointed just above Inks’ forehead, and try as he might, he can’t pull his gaze away “Ehh… sorry...lost my train of - Could you, um, tell me where you got that? The-the-the circlet?” Odhranos just can’t help it. He -needs- to know what Inks is doing with an Oileanian circlet in her possession, to the degree that his usual speech just crumbles into a mass of stuttering and staccato mumbling.

Was that too personal of a question? Iintahquohae finds herself wondering as Odhranos' speech fumbles. It was unlike her to ask personal questions, unless it involved making a garment or a bit of jewelry for a client at work. Feeling that she may have been a bit too nosy , she considers backpedaling her question, but finds herself just as caught off guard as he likely felt due to his question. Hesitantly reaching upward to the circlet on her head again, the seamstress's expression turns quizzical. "S'erok made it for me," she explains. "He said it'd make it easier for him to find me when I put you in bed after you arrived here." Now thinking it might be something that actually belongs to Odhranos and S'erok didn't tell her, she carefully lifts it off her head with both hands, then holds it out to him. "I thought he might have told you when you woke up..." she trails off, considering whether or not showing him the ring that rested in her pocket as well. They looked similar, but if he reacted this way and if her assumptions of the ring and the pages in her journals are correct, it may not be wise for now. "Is it yours? I'm sorry for wearing it! I...I kind of like it. Keeps my hair out of the way." A sheepish smile follows. "The design is lovely. I've seen something like it before," she continues, deciding vaguely mentioning the ring will be okay. Her shoulder lifts and falls with a shrug. "I don't know where it came from, though."

Odhranos looks wound tighter than a spring as he edges to the front of his armchair, expectantly hanging on Inks' every word; even seeming apprehensive of what she might say. When she explains the circlet's origin, Odhranos is surprised, but soon breaks into exasperated laughter. "Sven above, you had me worried there. That makes a bit more sense. That bloody dragon. He probably plucked the image from my memories, though a simple band or coin would have done the trick. A ring even." Odhranos sits back into his armchair again, passing a weary hand over his eyes as he tries to mask how unsettled he had been by the circlet's appearance. When Inks offers it back, he sits up, waving a hand in protest."No no, by all means keep it. There's plenty more material where that came from and if it can be put to a good use, then I am all the happier." Odhranos glances at the circlet once more and a soft smile tugs at his mouth as he lifts the tea cup to cover his smile. "It looked nice on you, you should keep wearing it. Oileanian knot compliments your hair." The terramancer squints a pleasant smile at his housemate and sips his tea as he makes himself comfortable again. "That style is a traditional one from my homeland. I've seen a few similar styled pieces during my time here, usually in Cenril. They're often made abroad and find their way here with the traders. I was just surprised to see the genuine article after this long." Gazing wistfully over the steaming rim of his cup, Odhranos looks ponderous. "It's quite far from Oilean to Lithrydel. Quite, quite far." Shaking himself from the ghosts of the past, Odhranos turns a quizzically glance towards Inks. "Can you describe the one you mentioned, that you saw before? Maybe… hmm, hold on" Odhranos turns around, hunting in his pockets and bag for something, but turning up blank. "Damn. No paper. Do you have a spare sheet and a bit of graphite? If you can draw it, I'd like to see if it's the one I know or one of the derivative styles"

Whatever anxious tension Iintahquohae felt fades when it appears her possessing the circlet is okay. She puts it back on while the terramancer explains how S'erok created it, but her posture stiffens when he mentions a ring. Well. ...So much for keeping that hidden away. As he turns to search his bag and pockets, she reaches into her pants pocket and withdraws the ring. While holding it in her palm, she tries to continue keeping the conversation light. "Is it? I wonder if Father has ever been there before he and Mother took me in. He was a bit more adventurous with sailing before they adopted me. And...I can do you one better," she replies, though her tone has shifted just a bit. Gone is the air of confidence, replaced with a softer, timid tone. How in the world does she explain this? She can't lie. Does leaving out details count as lying? Scrambling to come up with a reason for her to be in possession of the ring, her hand extends out, pressing flat against the table with the ring beneath it. Nothing believable comes to mind. As she pulls her hand back to rest in her lap with the other, she looks to Odhranos. "...I've had it for years," is all she can think of saying as an explanation. Her eyes briefly fall to the pile of journals sitting in the far corner before settling on Odh again. "It just just appeared one day."

Odhranos scouts around a bit more for a page, nay even a scrap of paper that might suffice, until his attention is grabbed by Inks' timid hesitant words. Turning to find she has placed something on the table, Odhranos glances at the small silvery object, straining his eyes to examine it in the dim candlelight. "Glasses, glasses." The terramancer mumbles, as he fumbles around his chest, not finding the pair of spectacles that would usually be dangling there, as they are currently neatly packed into one of the many crates still littering Odhranos office back in the Mage Tower. "Sven blast it. My eyes are abysmal in this light.” Getting up from his chair, he reaches out towards the nearest candle, patting around its base to find the small saucer it has welded itself into. Lifting the metal dish down to the table, Odhranos plants himself on the corner of his chair and picks up what Iintahquohae has placed on the table, blinking in the sudden brightness of the candle as he plops the surprisingly weighty object into his palm. The colours settle before his vision and suddenly an icy chill runs down the mage's spine, as he stares incredulously at the silver ring sitting in the middle of his hand, terrifying in its familiarity. “Xalious bless and save my soul, where did you find this?” Odhranos whispers hoarsely, as he tentatively picks up the Oileanian wedding band, turning it slowly in the candlelight so that its complex weave of carved bands reveals itself. Odhranos turns the ring, squinting intensely at the glimmering silver, before the tension suddenly leaves him and he lets loose a ragged sigh of relief. “Sven above, it’s different.” Looking up to Inks with a tired smile, he laughs sheepishly. “I thought this might have been... no, well, I had a ring, like this, when I came to Lithrydel. But I threw it away years ago. I thought the damned thing had come back to haunt me.” Odhranos laughs, but it is easy to hear the nervous edge in his voice. Whatever he thought he had seen in that ring, it wasn’t a happy reminder. Dispelling his nerves with an involuntary shiver, Odhranos leans closer to inspect this familiar, yet unfamiliar ring, turning it slowly so he can follow the twisting skeins of the woven design. “Oh.” he murmurs, softly as he turns to study the ring, his earlier upset now forgotten as a new gentle emotion buoys him up with its warmth. “That’s beautiful.” Odhranos turns to Inks, holding the ring out to show her as he shuffles across, so she might better see what he is pointing to. “The way the carvings tangle and shape themselves, it's like a language, of sorts. It’s a very old Oileanian tradition, as old as the practice of embroidering the tapestries we record our stories on. That’s what I meant when I said I could tell one that is genuine from one similar.” Odhranos holds the ring out and indicates one particular place in the curving design. “When these rings are made, the couple to be wedded decide upon phrases, to be set into the design of their loved one’s ring. This one reads:“ The silver band is turned slowly, as Odhranos traces the pad of his index finger over the embossed design, reading at as he turns. “As we weave ourselves, so are we woven together.” A smile tugs at Odhranos’ mouth. “It’s simple, but poetic. The nicest bands always have such lovely inscriptions. I remember, my aunt used to keep a case of all of the family rings from generations before, to help us learn the way of reading Old Oileanian Knot. Some of the older ones had really beautiful phrases written in them.” Odhranos sighs wistfully, then reaches out to take Inks hand, turning it over to place the ring in her palm, before reaching for his cooling tea with both hands, cradling it gently as he mulls over the fragrant steam with a small smile. “Thank you, for showing me that. I’d forgotten that memory, and it is a dear one.” The terramancer seems subdued, yet quietly happy. The spell of the ring has calmed him immensely.

The anxiety that shoots through Iintahquohae's being can only be comparable to her fear of snakes while she waits for Odhranos to get a better look at the ring. The mental somersaults she tries to make to reassure herself that her attempts at rationalizing her possession of the ring disappear the instant the terramancer whispers. What follows is a jumbled mess of attempts at explanation, the things that she has told herself for years since finding the ring in her pocket one day. It's a mixture of half truths and genuine confusion. “I...I don't really know where it came from – I-it must have been in the cabin when I started fixing the place up and I just...held onto it. I thought it might be something that I made at my shop but it is unlike anything I've ever seen or made before... It's beautiful. I've never seen anything quite like it before the circlet S'erok made and I -” she cuts herself off once she realizes what the ring means. What it says. His and her interaction the night he arrived. Frozen, her eyes are wide as she looks upon Odhranos. Realizing now that he has approached her, she stiffens, caught between wanting to flinch once her hand is taken by him and wanting to linger just a moment longer. With the ring back in her hand, she peers down into her palm at it, the numbness before gradually being replaced with warmth. Is she blushing again? Turning the ring in her fingers, she murmurs the meaning of its design. “As we weave ourselves, so are we woven together.” It's too perfect. How does she talk around this? What she knows...or what she thinks she knows? She absolutely cannot outright ask him. Whenever he sleeps, she'll have to search through her journals again for something. Anything to make sense of this. Taking a deep breath in effort to calm her nerves, she shifts her softened gaze from the beautiful band to look at him, sheepish smile returning to her face. “Whoever this was meant for must be really lucky. It's...so thoughtful. Perfect even.” Falling silent, she looks to the ring again for a moment before pocketing it once more. “You said that Oileanians record their history on tapestries?” The question feels incredibly out of place, but Iintahquohae can't help but be curious due to being a seamstress and the massive elephant in the room on her end. Perhaps getting to know the terramancer will help quell her feelings. Maybe there's something hallucinogenic in the tea. They're just journals and a few coincidences, she reminds herself.

Odhranos smiles and nods as he curls up in his armchair, now tucking his feet under his knees to sit cross-legged, holding his cup in the crook of his lap. “My ancestors were sailors. Well, ocean-going nomads really. Oral tradition never had a particularly strong root in our culture, so when we had something worth making note of that couldn’t just be said, it was woven into the sailcloth, or tied into knot-script. Paper didn’t take to the seas well, while rope and thread was quite easy to come by in port bazaars, so the sails of ancient Oileanian catamarans were like living histories for the crew, and knotted rope became our messages and writings. From anywhere on the deck, you could look up and read your place in the great fabric of your people.” Grinning as he recalls the sight of one of these original sails, the terramancer feels a slight thrill of national pride at the mental image. “When my ancestors finally settled in the archipelago that is now Oilean, they kept the old bonds of crews, and instead became Houses. Sails became tapestries, knotted rope became carving and ornamentation. We left the sea, but the sea never really left us, in a funny sort of way.” Odhranos snorts lightly, for a man who descended from a nation of sea-farers, his history with sailing was brief and unfortunate. “The practice of written language didn’t come until much later, when it was introduced to us through the nations we treated and traded with, so there’s not many books on Oilean. And foreigners never took the time to learn our script, so we always remained quite an insular culture.” Odhranos glances across at Inks’ circlet and smiles. “So I’m glad to see it getting some use outside of the old islands”

Iintahquohae leans forward with rapt attention, envisioning what the embroidered sailcloth might look like. Removing the circlet from her head again while Odhranos explains, she runs her thumb over part of the intricate design. Emulating something like this with thread alone had to be time consuming. Her business wasn't known for great tapestries, but she did know how to embroider. "Whoever made the tapestries must be incredibly talented and patient," she remarks, grinning. Setting the circlet back into place on her head, her head turns to the loom nearby. "I wonder if I could create something similar for you, to remind you of your home? It sounds like it must have been a wonderful place. ..And you used to sail? Father and I sail often because of work." Odhranos didn't really look like a sailor, though her only close experience with sailors were her father and the crass men kept as his crew. She didn't mind their behavior too much. It seemed to just come with their job. There's a hint of longing in her voice as she continues, "To have roots somewhere sounds so comforting to me. Cenril is my home, but it wasn't by choice. I was found on the shore one day and taken to one of the orphanages. There was a shipwreck. I don't remember it, but if I were to guess my folks were on the ship as well." A pause follows. Why did she feel melancholy discribing this? The seamstress had mentioned off handedly to others that she was adopted before. "Mother and Father took me in when I was about six or seven. Mother's an elf like I've told you before. Father's human. Even between the two of them taking me in and growing up in there, I've never really felt like I fully belonged."

“I suppose when you’re at sea for your whole life, you need some way to keep yourself busy. The sails I saw must have taken generations to embroider, certainly the stories they have sewn into them stretch back far enough.” Odhranos starts at Iintahquohae’s question, then bursts into laughter. “Me? No, Sven above, I’m a hazard around water. I was raised to be a diplomat and serve the House of the High King, anything seen as extraneous to that was considered, well, extraneous. I was drilled with the tools of diplomacy and court-propriety, instead of experiencing the sea air and the waves.” He shrugs, seemingly ambivalent to the lot that had been assigned to him in life, a lot long since discarded. “My one and only long experience at sea was coming to Lithrydel and that was an experience best left forgotten.” Even as he says that, Odhranos finds old memories surfacing when Inks’ explains her heritage. “Then we’re both children of Cenril’s strand.” Odhranos smiles sadly, a soft sympathy for the seamstress’ melancholy. “My journey ended much the way yours began, I washed up in Cenril with the wreckage of a ship, and had to start afresh from there.” The mage pauses, and in the heavy silence that follows, sups on his tea quietly. “Funny how we both ended up here. Wayward souls that the sea gave back.” Odhranos smiles slightly, caught up in memories as he sips now cold tea and remembers.

"You are?" Iintahquohae asks, laughing along with the terramancer. "I was a hazard around water. After Mother and Father took me in, they took me sailing so I could see what Father does, as they intended me to inherit the business. Trade, travel, see far off places. I was," she pauses, squinting at nothing while recalling the memory. "Eight or nine maybe, about a year or so after they took me in. I was leaning on a rail and fell overboard. Father says it was a kraken or Selene herself that threw me back on deck, but really his crew pulled me back up in a fishing net with an octopus that was caught in the net too. It sprayed ink in my face," she chuckles. It's an embarrassing but fond memory. "It's how I was given my nickname. Mother doesn't like it because it isn't very ladylike, but I find it endearing." Odhranos' sentiment about the sea and their respective arrivals to Lithrydel make her grin. "I have a soft spot for the sea because of it, I think. I've wondered sometimes if maybe the way you work with sand and earth is how I may one day work with water. Magik taught me a bit about fire, but it feels useless to me, apart from lighting candles or lighting the hearth. I suppose it's because water reminds me of home, but," she peers down into untouched teacup, flattening her palm over the top to call the tea up just about an inch or so from the cup itself. Her eyes focus on it in effort to keep the water floating in a sphere before the form warps then drops without spilling, thankfully, back into the cup with a tiny splash. "It is like I showed you when we first met. I'm not good at it. Not yet anyway. I learned a bit from Daath years ago, but everything I could do then is just blocked." Looking to Odhranos with a slight frown, she asks, "Did you struggle with learning magic at first? It looks so effortless when you do it."

“Ahh, so that’s where it came from! I believe I heard Kasyr call you by that during our meeting, I was curious where you picked up such a name. Or was it somewhere else that I heard it?” Odhranos muses momentarily, throwing his hands up and shrugging when he can’t seem to place the first instance. "It is a good name though! Light and personable. There seems to be a history of such nicknames in the Guild. Karasu dubbed me "Odie" when she was little, I imagine my foreign name was a bit too cumbersome, and the name stuck." A chortle and smirk are hidden deftly behind his teacup, before he cants one eyebrow over the rim of the cup, draining it and setting it aside before continuing. "It has grown on me though. Sometimes I think I prefer being Odie to Odhranos, it's a name I was given here, rather than something left over from my life before. Some days it bothers me more, other days less. Though, I couldn't bear to keep the name of my House anymore. It felt… eminently wrong." Odhranos grimaces, then shrugs. His thoughts are pulled aside by Inks' demonstration of hydromancy, which the terramancer spectates with a growing smile, pressing his hands together in quiet applause when she releases her control and manages to re-cup the tea with no mess. "Bravo! It's a place to start from, and that's more than many have!" Tugging his knees and settling his cross-legged position onto the edge of the seat, he addresses Inks with an encouraging smile. "All it takes is time, practice and perseverance. Few of us are gifted with magic inherited from our bloodlines, so we need to find the magic that calls to us most and dedicate time and effort to learning it, understanding it like a dear friend. I'm sure when you find the magic that calls to you strongest, you'll find your connection will flow much easier. Learning a magic that doesn't click with you is like writing with your other hand. Possible, but it won't be as tidy, nor will it feel right. Like this-" Odhranos cups his hands together and raises them to his chin. Closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath, the terramancer purses his lips and breaths into the bowl of his hands. A few quiet snaps and crackles spark around between his palms, before a small, flickering wick of flame, tinted a colourless white-grey, winks into existence. “I started just like you did, with pyromancy, and it served me well enough for a time. I learned from a street entertainer, in Kelay, and for some time, lived as a wandering hedge wizard. But pyromancy never truly called to me. I never felt the connection and for a time, I considered giving up.” The small flame is let burn out, and Odhranos rubs his hands together to savour the residual warmth. “Then I found what I was looking for had been right under my feet all along.” A childish giggle bubbles through the mage. “Once I found my affinity, my ability developed in leaps and bounds. Now, not without its difficulties, it took a long time before moving the earth did not cause severe headaches and nosebleeds, but with time, I gained competency. As you will to, I have no doubt.”

“Yes! He must've heard it from Father. Before Kasyr and I properly met in Vailkrin years ago, Father made heaps of jackets for him since he can never keep one together for longer than a week or two.” Iintahquohae laughs. “We have a closet full of them just in case he ever needs one. Kas and I are about the same age, but I don't remember when Father started supplying him with jackets and the Coterie with everything else we do. At some point it was always a constant. I'd overhear him or Dami talking with Father upstairs. My parents kept me sheltered for a while. Anything west of Cenril was foreign to me until I finished school.” A pause follows in which she considers outwardly admitting that both her father and herself are smugglers. At worst, she assumes, he'll think ill of her which isn't something that the seamstress wanted, but it's better than lying. “...We import things we really shouldn't, given that we make and sell clothes and jewelry, but it has helped Kasyr and the rest of my seco- er, I guess Coterie counts as third family. And I like Odie. It's sweet sounding,” she adds, but immediately regrets it. Was that too forward? Hoping that she is only overthinking, she falls silent and watches Odhranos bring to life a small flame. She leans forward in effort to get a better look, sliding her tea cup out of the way to prevent herself from bumping it with an elbow. “Huh. Is it colorless intentionally? Magik helped me briefly with pyromancy, but I don't think it's for me. Even at home with Mother, and she is a mage as well, we don't really use fire except for on the hearth or the stove. It's too much of a hazard with fabric everywhere, so we use glowing stones for most light. I suppose if I -had- to choose an element that I think I would find affinity with...I hope it's water. Living in Cenril means I'm either near the sea or in it, diving for clams to make sea silk or just swimming for the fun of it. But then there's the whole...enchanting business with runes and wanting to make wands,” she laughs sheepishly. “I want to do too much at once I think.” The thought of magic having such adverse effects when someone without fully developed abilities is disconcerting. It did cause Inks to want to ask more questions, however. “Did the headaches and nosebleeds last long? When did you know that terramancy was the right one for you?”

"Ah, I did get the sense that there was familiarity between you two, I hadn't made the connection that it was through the Coterie. My knowledge on the vampire clans is, well, sparse." Inks' mention of her family's side business isn't thought twice of. Smuggling is just the other side of the coin that is business. As long as people have needs that the regulations of society cannot meet, then the black sails will keep sailing and the hidden ports will keep recieving visitors. Odhranos' opinions on the trade are mixed, but so long as it is to the benefit of those in need and not for disruptive or nefarious means, he finds no fault. And he has developed enough of a trust in this kind, gentle seamstress that he has faith that she is of the former. When she compliments his nickname, Odhranos turns away briefly, hiding his face from the candlelight, as he feels a warmth rise in his cheeks. "Sweet" is not a term often used for the terramancer. "Kindly" perhaps from those who like him well, "Fusty" from those who like him less, but this was a new one, and he is ill equipped to respond. Thankfully the discussion returns to the topic he feels safest in, and Odhranos can mask his blush while he answers her questions. "I'm not quite sure, if I am honest. It's sort of cold, isn't it?" Odhranos shrugs as he mulls it over. "Pyromancy was taught in Oilean, as were hydromancy and aeromancy. Useful magics for a nation of the waves, so the tradition was kept alive, but terramancy..." Rubbing his chin in thought, Odhranos leans back into the armchair, his crossed legs bouncing as h rocks back. "Terramancy wasn't a term I learned til I came here. I hadn't even considered the concept of magic of the earth. The earth was… something solid, to be revered, venerated, but never touched except in arable toil." He shakes his head, a confused expression furrowing his eyebrows as he thinks. "I never showed much aptitude for magic as a child. Most children are tested at some point, and though my brother became a successful aeromancer, I never showed such promise. Not until I came to Lithrydel, and first heard of terramancy. The concept was, well, alien to me, and yet when I reached out to it, it was like it had just been there all along." A wan smile plucks at his mouth, and he tilts his head aside to regard Inks. "I'd recommend following your instincts with hydromancy. If you feel drawn to it, then it's likely that you feel that way for a very good reason. And don't worry about the nosebleeds. They go away with time. Don't over exert yourself like the fool that I was and you may not even have to deal with them. As for enchanting-" Odhranos waves a hand towards Inks, gesturing to her. "-well, you have no time limit. Make use of that as best you can. You have eternity to learn, make sure it's a well spent eternity." Odhranos smiles pleasantly, then suddenly yawns, with a creaking stretch that produces more pops and cracks than a man of his age should be making. "Speaking of eternities, I feel like I could sleep for one after the past few days. Have you eaten? I'm thinking something small, then bed."

“Likewise, honestly...You'd think being part of one of Vailkrin's houses in one way or another even before Kasyr sired me would give me more knowledge, but what I knew back then wasn't terribly extensive. The houses keep to themselves for the most part from what I can remember, but all of 'em want Vailkrin's throne.” When the terramancer turns away, Iintahquohae starts to frown. Maybe she was too forward. “Sorry! I didn't mea-” but then he is back to talking about himself, and she falls silent while taking it all in. His reassurances are enough to tuck her worries about going overboard with studying hydromancy away for now. She wanted to ask more questions, learn more about Odhranos, but keeps silent. There would be time for that tomorrow. Once he yawns and stretches, the seamstress stands, then jabs a thumb at the stove. “I can make you something before I head out to find something for myself,” she offers. The words felt odd as they left her. Thinking of how this might become their nightly routine for the duration of Odhranos' stay makes her grin a little, but the grin falters a bit. Their routine? She's thinking too far ahead and making assumptions again. “I shouldn't be gone long. I'll be quiet when I come back so I don't wake you.”