RP:Maybe the Past does not Forget You

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Summary: At the urging of her new associates in the Ossian Order, Quintessa utilises her innate magic ability to locate the wayward Magister's hiding place. Slipping into Odhranos' troubled dreams, the spellblade finds much that surprises her, as the past that haunts the terramancer is laid bare in brutal clarity.

Library of Arcane Knowledge

Quintessa stares deeply at the ritual circle she has drawn with black chalk, mystic runes from several different alphabets utilized there within. In the center the changeling has drawn a five pointed star and placed black candles at each of the points, creating a focus directed at the object left in the middle; Odhranos Kerrigan’s teapot. A beloved and much used item, Quintessa was certain that an emotional connection still lingered between it and her target, the Magister. “Gwlad y freuddwyd…” She begins to chant, her sinister aura expanding from her body to darken the entire room as a delicate hand rises to snap her fingers five times, lighting a candle with a simple cantrip after each snap. “...teyrnas y tywyllwch…” Quintessa lowers herself to her knees upon a cushion, assuming a meditative posture before closing her eyes. “...dangoswch eich cyfrinachau i mi, Odhranos Kerrigan.” The circle glows with intense, lime-green energy upon the completion of her incantations, the air around the ritual swirling gently. Next, Quintessa’s delicate hands wrap around a vial of belladonna extract before she uncorks it and ingests the entire bottle. It doesn’t take long before she feels her astral form drift from her body, floating forward to enter the ritual circle before being shot upwards into the air over Frostmaw, being tugged by the emotional link between the terramancer and his beloved teapot.

The Refurbished Cabin

Odhranos rolls over in his bed of furs, as the snow laden winds howl with frigid anger over the roof of the cabin. Sleep has been eluding him more and more as of late. Not even the change of pace in Inks’ cabin managed to fix that, though it has done wonders for the mages constitution to have someone else keeping an eye on him, ensuring he eats and at least tries to sleep when appropriate. Odhranos sits up with a growl, it just isn’t any good. No matter what runic formulae he tries reciting, no matter how many frostmares he counts to try and ease himself to sleep, the soft embrace of somnus is denied to him. The terramancer crawls over his bedding, doing his best not to make much noise and disturb the sleeping seamstress on the far side of the bookshelf. He clambers from the loft and down the ladder, padding across the cold wooden floor in bare feet. The dogs raise their sleepy heads, but are crooned back to sleep with the terramancers soft whispers of placation as he shuffles across to his discarded robes, hanging from the coat rack by the door. Reaching into one of the pockets, he fishes out a small vial, which is held up to the small silvery light coming through the window. The purple liquid within sloshes about, its vivid colouration belaying its potent, and potentially sinister purposes. But, Odhranos is in desperate need of rest, and desperate times require equally desperate measures. Much as he was unsure about the spellblade countess, if Quintessa had wanted him dead, she had many many opportunities to do so before. Odhranos uncorks the vial, turns his nose up at the sickly sweet scent that uncoils itself lazily from within, and fetches a small mug from beside the little sink. A measure of water is poured from the pitcher, and two drops of purple tincture are carefully allowed fall into the mug, dyeing the water a deep and vibrant violet. Odhranos recorks the vial, and pops it back into his robe-pocket, then after a moment of consideration, downs the contents of the mug in one. Replacing it beside the sink, he trundles along to one of the armchairs and sits himself down, rather suddenly as his legs give out beneath him. “Oh… that is… potent.” Odhranos mumbles through a thick and heavy mouth, raising one hand which undulates before his darkening vision, before his head falls back against the cushioned back of the armchair, soundly asleep.

Quintessa can see all of Frostmaw laid out before her, the fortress and the town proper below her but tiny specs as she searches for the silvery thread that would lead her to her quarry. A feeling of exuberance fills her mind when she finally locates the link to Odhranos, and she zooms along the thread until she reaches an unfamiliar cabin. Quintessa’s astral form is invisible and intangible, but the pair of dogs can still sense her intrusion as she slips through the roof and drifts closer to the Magerster. The dogs look up and growl lightly, staring at an empty corner in the room before one hops off the bed to investigate, sniffing around for the intruder that could not be seen or smelled. Quintessa ignores them, instead focusing on the terramancer soundly asleep in his bed. “I found you…” Her body whispers back at the library, a small smile growing as her astral form moves to sit upon Odhranos’ chest as he rests, trying to induce sleep paralysis. The changeling watches him sleep for a moment, allowing the dogs to relax once more as she strokes his face, a sense of pity welling up inside her. “Such a troubled soul.” she whispers again, her hand trailing away from his cheek to place a finger upon his forehead. “I wonder what haunts you so…” Driven more by curiosity than loyalty to the OO, the hex blade attempts to press her hand inside of his mind to delve into his subconscious and invade his dreams. What secrets could she find hidden there? Quintessa cannot contain her excitement at the prospect of learning them for herself.

Odhranos opens his eyes to the rattling of chains. As his vision slowly grows clarity, Odhranos finds his cheek pressed against the icy surface of polished marble, sending a chill through his body from more than just the cold. The mage groggily tries to pull his arms inwards, to curl up small and stave off the chill, but his hands are held taught, as the jangling of metal clanks ominously in this cold world of stone. The terramancer pulls himself upright and gathers his bearings. Endless gloom, stretching off in every direction, while a cold white pool of light centres on the man, clad in threadbare rags, his wrists bound in iron and chained to a cruel anchor in the floor. Odhranos tries to get to his feet, but is bent double by the short length of chain, while the cold stone burns the soles of his feet with icy nails. After struggling, Odhranos slumps back to his knees, looking around himself in bewilderment and fear. “H-hello?” he calls out, his voice thin and frightened, even as it echoes around in the dark. Odhranos looks down at himself, the tattered silk pyjamas that hang from his emaciated form like loose skin, and a bolt of fear jolts through him like ice. “No. please, not again.” the terramancer whispers, naked fear in his voice, as whispers start hissing from the shadows.

Quintessa slowly manifests in her dream form, taking a guise she figures will be the least threatening to Odhranos; her 17 year old apprentice form. Dressed in her dirty and tattered mage guild uniform, the young girl slinks to the floor, a low sob coming from her as she crawls closer to the terramancer. “O-ranos?” she mispronounces his name on purpose, slipping into the naive little girl she used to be with ease. “W-where are we?” Quintessa's mismatched eyes are full of terror as she reaches him, her little hands gripping the length of chain before trying to pull it out of the floor. As expected, she makes no progress in freeing him, her body appearing as emaciated and weak as his own. “Why are we here, Steward Kerrigan?” she asks him, pleading for an answer as she brushes her long, matted hair out of her face. “Have you been here before?” Dream Quintessa slinks closer to Odhranos, curling next to him for protection as she gazes back, looking for the source of the whispers. “...We’re not alone…” The girl continues in a hushed tone.

Odhranos’ head whips about at the sound of a clear voice, his eyes growing wide as Quintessa stumbles from the dark towards him. “Oh déithe ar neamh, Quin.” The terramancer moves to catch her as she stumbles closer, but the length of chain stops him, almost pitching him to the ground. When she huddles behind him in fear, Odhranos looks out, following her line of sight and he draws a shaky breath, near-shuddering with fear as he prepares to name this abhorrent place. “This… is my trial.” He whispers, his voice a hoarse choke, and as if his admission held the power to make his nightmare a reality, the pool of cold light erupted, ballooning outwards. Hard stone walls are rendered in stark brutal white, a raised judge’s bench looming like some edifice of rock before him, while all around, the court is overflowing with a sea of pale, unidentifiable faces. Blank, save for the searing accusatory eyes, burning holes in the man’s back as he cowers against the stone floor, as if trying to push himself through the very stone to hide from their gaze. “The monster”, they whisper, cutting the mage with every sibbilant word. “The king should never have let them in.” Odhranos cowers, pressing his forehead against the icy stone to cover his ears, trying vainly to push out the voices, but the dream had no such mercy for him. On and on, they hissed, until one word struck through like a knife through the man’s heart. “The poor girl.” “No!” Odhranos jerks upright, dragging the chains taut with a twang as he cries up at the bench. “It’s not true! I swear! Please, for the love of the Gods, it’s not true!” However, the mage is beaten into silence by the earth-shattering crack of a gavel, which throws him to the ground with its intensity. “For the crime of defiling the purity of the Most High Princess of Kayvan, this court finds you guilty, and so you and your brethren are cast out from Kayvan, never to return!” Odhranos howls his protest, tears burning his cheeks as he tries to raise his hands in supplication. “No! It’s not true! Someone, please listen to me!” Odhranos looks around, his eyes wild with torment, before he spots someone. No, less than someone, he spies the barest hint of colour in this pale white nightmare, a curtain of vibrant red hair, beyond the bench, retreating into the distance, and the terramancer jerks to motion, tugging at his chains with a frenzy as he screams with agony. “Raeanna! Tell them it’s not true! Please! Raeanna!!!” Suddenly, the light retreats with the bang of a gavel and Odhranos crumples to the floor, sobbing violently as the small oasis of light returns once more.

Quintessa || “Trial?” Quintessa utters only a second before the courtroom manifests around her, filled with the faceless crowd that seems to close in all around them. The girl slowly crawls away from the accused, watching in grim silence as Odhranos is deemed guilty by the judge before them. A pang of guilt as the memory of Lanlan’s trial fills her mind. Didn’t she frame the drow by producing a false testimony? No, that was much different, right? The changeling wants to speak up in the terramancer’s defence but she is frozen by the gravity of this memory, this nightmare. “Defiling a Princess?” Quintessa gasps quietly, her eyes peeling off the judge to return to Odhranos. It couldn’t be true, right? Magister Kerrigan was one of the most pure people she had ever met. Still, the changeling does her best to remember the things she was witnessing. Kayvan must have been his homeland, and Raeanna the Princess he was accused of sullying. The last gavel falls and Odhranos crumples in darkness as Quintessa reproaches him to drape her arms around his shoulders, pressing her body against his back. “Everything is fine, O-ranos.” she whispers in his ear, trying to seduce him with hope for the future. “We’ll find a new home. Your story is just beginning, I promise. Lithrydel awaits you…”

Odhranos peels himself from the floor, scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, as he gathers himself in a sorry pile on the floor. When Quintessa drapes herself over him and whispers comforts in his ear, the tension in the mage seems to ease. “Lithrydel…” he murmurs, as if the word stirs some memory in him, and as Quintessa watches, the hazy outline of robes fade into existence, a familiar fabric that Quintessa would know swaddling the mage, as a modicum of composure returns to him. As if the very thought that Odhranos deserves some reprieve is anathema to this dream-scape, a spotlight snaps into existence, beyond the pool of light that Odhranos and Quintessa huddle in. A pair of figures are bathed by this new light, and as their footsteps echo across the stone floor, the growing memory of Odhranos’ robes fade away, as if in fear. “Mother…” Odhranos whispers, turning to greet these new figures, as their features grow more distinct with every step. “Father…” Clad in well-tailored robes, seamed in ornate stitching, the pair that approach both bear faces similar to the bedraggled terramancer. Where Odhranos’ rich brown hair falls jovially and his grey eyes sparkle with a happy warmth, this woman’s grey eyes are hard and unforgiving. Where the mage’s mouth is so often turned up in smiles, this man’s mouth is pinched in a scowl, wreathed in an iron-grey beard. “I… I’m sorry, Mhathair, Athair, ní raibh an locht ormsa.” Odhranos pleads, slipping back into Oileanian as they step into the light, and his mother crouches before him. “I - I’m so-” CRACK. The harsh sound of a brutal slap echoes around the empty void, as Odhranos reels back from his mother’s hand, who straightens, scrubbing her palm with a handkerchief as both Oileanian stare down at Odhranos in disgust.

Quintessa shrinks away from Odhranos as if they had been caught doing something they ought not when he addresses his mother and father, and the hex blade slides out of the spotlight into the comfort of the surrounding darkness. The look from his parents leaves a cold rock of ice in the pit of her stomach, recognizing the expression from when her own father used to look at her. Disgust. Disappointment. Quintessa knew all too well what was coming next. As the slap echoes throughout the dreamscape the changeling’s heart skips a beat, remembering all the times she had been beaten. Involuntarily her form regresses further in age, rewinding to a time when she was 12 or 13. Dirty and wearing in tattered rags, Little Tess cowers in fear that she would be next to receive such punishment. But they could not see her, not in the safety of the darkness. Her darkness. The changeling’s tiny hands bunch up in angry resentment of all the parents that mistreat their children. Quintessa wants to shout, to yell at them to leave Odhranos alone, but she cannot. She is yet again frozen in the terror brought on by a memory all too similar to her own.

Odhranos’ cheek burns with the impact, and he shrinks under the searing gaze of his parents as his mother speaks. “You’re a disgrace. I knew it was too soon for you to go with the diplomatic envoy, but even I couldn’t have predicted you’d bring such misfortune on our nation and disgrace on our House. If I weren’t so disgusted by you, I’d strangle you myself and wipe your stain of a name from our tapestries.” Siobhan ní Charraig an Ri spits on her son, before she turns and vanishes into the darkness. Clutching his cheek, Odhranos looks up at his father, with tears in his eyes. “Father… please” Not even deigning to glare down at him, Donnacha ní Charraig an Rí stares into the distance and turns up his lip. “Thanks to you, I have not a living son to my name. You are not of my blood. Filthy changeling you are, I’d wager.” Donnacha’s face contorts, then he lashes out with a savage kick, as he roars at the prone terramancer. “Why did Diarmuid have to die? For your tainted blood!? I’d rather you had died in his stead!” Odhranos curls in on himself, weathering the blows that his father rains down upon him. Finally, with seething spittle flecking his chin, Donnacha relents, taking a step back from Odhranos as his breast heaves. “You have brought nothing but ruin and war to Oilean, and my family. I would not wish the misfortune upon your owner to sell you as a slave, so instead the King has decreed you be cast out. May the world see fit to punish you and all of your tainted bloodline.” With one last kick, Donnacha vanishes into the shadows, leaving a beaten and sobbing Odhranos in a pile upon the floor.

Quintessa || With the threat gone, Quintessa finally crawls from the darkness to soothe the crumpled boy, feeling much more of a connection to Odhranos than she ever expected she would. How could someone who came from such pain be as good of a person as he was though? Quintessa has no answer for this. The hex blade had turned all of that pain and hate inside her outward and directed it at anyone foolish enough to cross her, but Odhranos? He seemed to have bottled it all up and it was devouring him from the inside. On the verge of the revelation that neither tactic was the best, she presses her preteen body against him and holds him, whispering small comforts that the worst part is over. “Shhh,” she begins, hushing his sobs as she hugs onto him, “You didn’t deserve that. You are a good person O-ranos, I can tell. You were always kind to me, kind to all the apprentices. We all look up to you… even me.” Quintessa’s little voice wavers when she speaks, on the verge of tears brought on by this new feeling of empathy, something she had no previous knowledge of before. All her years of pushing her own pain away hadn’t ever afforded her a chance to learn how to take someone else’s pain upon herself. It was a new feeling for the changeling, but she didn’t dislike it. It felt soothing to share in this agony, somehow. “You were wronged.”

Odhranos shudders as he presses himself to the floor, and a flinch racks his body at Quintessa’s touch, as if he expects further beating for his crimes. When he instead finds gentleness and compassion, he only cries harder, turning to envelop Quintessa in his arms, as he cries with abandon. The terramancer appears as a younger man, closer to Quintessa’s actual age now, and though his chains have disappeared, he wears the marks of their presence in scars that will likely never fade. Odhranos’ tears slowly subside, and his embrace loosens, as he sits back, wiping the tears and gunk from his face, a face younger, but every bit as scared, lost and sad as what the mage has been revealing in flashes to his colleagues. “I didn’t mean to.” He murmurs quietly, his voice halting and thick. “She said… she loved me but…” Odhranos kneads his face in a vain attempt to wipe the tear stains. “I never thought love would cause a war.” Odhranos stares into his lap, as his eyes swim with tears, splintering Quin and the cold light into a miasma of bleached colour. “I don’t want to lose my home again.” he whispers in a raw, vulnerable tone, and as if in answer, lights begin springing up in the darkness, revealing figures, in ones and pairs, staring with contempt at the broken man. There, Valrae turns her back in dismay, not wishing to look at the broken man. There, Karasu screams in silence, baring her teeth and claws at the teacher that dared tear her home asunder. Behind her, Magik folds his arms and fixes the terramancer with a flaming fury that could kill, while Inks curls her mouth in blatant disgust, at this kidnapper, child killer, monster of a man. One final light blinks into existence and Odhranos looks up to meet Lanlan’s gaze, causing a fresh torrent of tears to stream down his cheeks as the drow stares back. “Lanlan… I’m sorry!” Odhranos sobs, crawling forward a step, but the drow raises a hand to halt him. "Don't worry, I'm done," he says with disgust, before the light blinks out, cutting him from view, and one by one, the members of the Mage’s Guild step into the shadows, turning their back on Odhranos, casting him out once more. Odhranos’ shoulders hang and now, he appears as Quintessa would know him, an old bedragged man, too old for his years, tired and broken. “I’m scared, Quin.” Odhranos whispers, slumping into a pile of cloth. “I don’t want… not again.”

Quintessa pulls away from Odhranos if only to gaze at the fellow mages as they circle them, feeling their judgemental looks just as much as the terramancer was. As he returns to his original, present day form, so too does Quintessa, morphing slowly into her 18 year old body, complete with her cloak which she drapes over the man. The guilt she was feeling was unbearable, mostly because she knew some of the pain she had caused him was directly her fault. “Odhraons,” she speaks in a low tone, tears building in her eyes, “I’m sorry…” Quintessa wasn’t ready to admit her faults but she still endeavoured to do something about it. She wasn’t the weak little girl she used to be, she had grown powerful in her adulthood and she wanted desperately now to use this power to help him. “I’m not going to let them take our home.” The changeling speaks with the conviction of someone who doesn’t know the whole picture, of someone who thought they could change the world alone if they had to. “I’m going to fix this- make things right! I won’t allow them to destroy everything we’ve built!” Her eyes of sapphire and topaz look into Odhranos’ own, her hands placed upon his shoulders as she attempts to convince him he wasn’t alone. “We are all scared- Valrae, Karasu, Inks, myself- we are being pulled in every direction at once, but I promise I’m going to lead the guild to salvation. I know what must be done to save us, to save the guild. You’ll see that all hope is not lost, not yet.”

Odhranos pulls Quintessa’s cloak about himself as if it were a blanket, shielding himself from the cold of the now empty void. “I just want… to live my life in peace.” Odhranos shrinks inwards, a small man beneath the cloak. “No princesses or kings… or administrators. Just a simple life would be nice.” Odhranos passes his sleeve across his face, and it's evident how tired the man looks, truly worn out from the core. “I think I’ll just stay here, out of sight and mind. And trouble.” The terramancer’s mouth tweaks up at the edge, in a slight hint of a smile, a ghost of happiness. “But I would like it if the Guild were still there. It’s a home.” Odhranos raises his head and looks outwards into the darkness, where the vanished ghosts of their fellow guild members had vanished to. “A family.” The darkness seems to press in and Odhranos hides his head again, curling inwards on himself. “I just don’t want to cause any more misfortune.” As he bows his head, a faint roar in the distance echoes through the abyss, causing Odhranoss to perk up at the noise. “S’erok?” he murmurs, turning and getting shakily to his feet, as on the horizon, a speck of light appears, slowly growing as it resolves itself into the shape of two wings and a long snake-like body. A dragon, growing closer with every wingbeat.

Quintessa || “...A simple life?” Quintessa remembers the conversation she had with Lionel, about only wanting the warm embrace of her lover. How many times did the girl dream of running away with Karasu, far, far away from Great Insectoids and Drow Matrons that sought to destroy her? All of Quintessa’s efforts since the beginning had been made in an effort to carve out a place out for herself where she would be safe. Where her loved ones could be safe too. Quintessa can’t find the words to disagree with Odhranos’s desires before he says a name she has never heard before. “S’erok?” The changeling rises to her feet to spy upon the dragon drifting closer, leaving her cloak behind for the terramancer. Quintessa’s hair stands on end when she senses S’erok’s presence loom closer and closer. This was not part of her colleague’s dream. “What is that?” She inquires, mismatched eyes flicker back down at the man next to her.

Odhranos stands to his feet, and as the wind begins to pick up, it seems to empower the mage, filling him with strength that he has been missing for so long. “S’erok Lamaar.” he explains, in a voice that with every word, grows in strength. “Sand dragon of the Nameless Desert.” Odhranos sheds Quintessa’s cape, folding it over one arm as the hot wind blows the icy cold of the abyss away, while S’erok grows in size, tearing the air with another booming roar. “Imprisoned in a gilded cage for over a thousand years.” Odhranos spreads his arms wide, and in the rarest of emotions, laughs exuberantly. “Yet in me, he is free to fly again.” Odhranos’ face is a study in exultation, the smiles that have not graced his cheeks in so long, returned with force. As the wingbeats of the colossal saurian buffet the terramancer, he grins into the tempest, face upturned to greet his friend. “S’erok! You are awake again!” The stone shudders as S’erok lands with an impact that nearly bowls Odhranos from his feet, but the terramancer looks no worse for his stumble. “Aye. Fool that you are, leaving me to sleep when you needed me most. You’re lucky Runeweaver had the sense to call me before you did yourself more injury.” Odhranos steps in close to rub his hand over the rough beige scales that plate the saurian’s muzzle and he bunts his forehead against S’erok’s cheekbone. “I know. I’ve been a coward and a fool, and worse things beside. But I’m glad you’re awake again.” Odhranos turns back to face Quin, and a daze still hangs around him, that he doesn’t notice her true presence or questions why she alone remained out of all the denizens of his dream. “I’ve been thinking. I think a part of me is ready to start healing. Start hoping even.” Odhranos smiles at Quintessa, thinking her a part of his subconscious come to ease his fears and allay his doubts, but S’erok squints at the spellblade dubiously. Snaking his long neck out towards her, S’erok’s presence blooms outwards. Seeking, hunting, pursuing Quintessa’s presence, to determine who, or what this foreign invader is.

Quintessa squints her eyes as the dragon draws closer, a hand moving up to shield her face from the intense heat. She listens to Odhranos' explanation but it only causes more questions to bubble up in the changeling’s mind, questions that she would likely not have answered this visit. As S’erok lands and the terramancer approaches, Quintessa steps back, understandably wary of dragons. When the mage addresses the hex blade, she nods her head at him, parting her lips to speak as the dragon looms over her. “You must focus on that part of yourself,” Quintessa says, backing away still from S’erok, feeling that she had perhaps overstayed her welcome. She was more than happy to play the part of easing his fears, but now her own were surfacing. “Healing is necessary to move forward. We cannot remain trapped in the past.” Icy blue and warm hazel eyes peer back at the dragon and she swallows hard. “Hello, S’erok, of the Nameless Desert… I… You must be curious why I am here…”

Odhranos nods dozily, accepting Quintessa's words of wisdom, but S'erok presses onwards with suspicion in his large golden eyes. "Yes, Darkling, you could say that I am curious. Or suspicious. Odhranos may not be aware of it, but I have learned the feeling of another mind's touch. You are no figment of his imagination." S'erok leans low to the ground, his large muzzle tilting so he can fix Quintessa with the gaze of one large eye. "What is your purpose here?" Quintessa would feel S'erok's consciousness pressing at the edges of hers, seeking to discern a motive from the penumbra of her mind. "Mere concern for your friend? Or something else?" The gravelly tones of the dragon resonate with a growl in the air as his large lidless eye seems stare into Quintessa's soul. Before another word could be shared, a shudder runs through the ground. At the far reaches of this empty darkened world, a blast of light has erupted, chasing away the shadows as it's cleansing light purges the dream to motes of dust. "Ah. He wakes then." S'erok lifts his head into the air, staring down the impending dawn of consciousness and he spreads his wings wide, as Odhranos leans against his flank, dozing against the dragon's scales. "This dream is ending, and Odhranos will not remember what has transpired." S'erok rumbles, as he turns his muzzle down. "But I will. Tread lightly, Darkling. This man's mind is not for others to walk."

Quintessa is nervous, it is clearly written upon her pale face even before the light erupts into the dreamscape, signalling that her time here is over. With one last gulp, the changeling decides to answer truthfully. “I was here to… watch him- to spy on him, but what I discovered quickly changed my purpose I-” Quintessa’s form begins to fade from view slowly, like a cloud of dust being blown away. “I want to help him…”(Help him) (help him) she manages to get out before she is cast out and launched violently back into her own body. The changeling takes a deep, ragged breath before she opens her eyes to gaze upon her melted candles and ruined ritual circle, the memories of Odhranos’ dreams still lingering on the edge of her mind. Quickly, Quintessa takes her dream notebook and writes everything she can down before it escapes her. The terramancer’s mind had been illuminating, just not in the ways she thought they would. The only question that remained to her was what she would do with this information. Would she use it for good or for ill? Only Quintessa truly knew.