RP:Morally Excusable Guildnapping

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: After a tentative peace, or mutual disregard that has lasted since the Academy's founding, the Council of the Mages Guild decide that enough is quite enough and they needn't concern themselves with the interests of lesser institutions. When Larketian-born Peter Ealhstan develops powers far beyond a boy of his age should, the Guild sends Quintessa and Odhranos to snap the boy up for a Guild education, before the Academy have the opportunity to bungle the training of a talented potential mage. However, support for Larketian Crown festers heavily in the Ealhstan household and father, Donald Ealhstan, may not be so keen on outsiders taking his good loyal Larket boy, to fill his head with crown-hating propaganda (free-thinking ideals).

(NPCing by the wonderful Valrae!)

Mage Tower

Odhranos curses under his breath as he picks up the shattered shards of his mug. The cold dregs of tea run along the grain of the floorboards, puddling in joints and seeping into the underfloor. Odhranos curses again, that would start to smell in about a week and he'd have to deal with the fetid stink of rotten milk for months. Odhranos reaches absentmindedly for the shards, flinching backwards when he slices his thumb on the sharp edge of the ceramic. Odhranos stares as the offending digit, watching with a dispassionate gaze as the line of dark crimson runs up along the pad of his thumb. He squeezes it, studying how the blood pools in small blobs, then bigger ones, before he realises what he is doing and shakes himself back to his senses, rattled by his own apathy. Sticking the injured thumb in his mouth, the terramancer collects the rest of the shattered mug together with his shoe, then scrapes it into the corner of his office. A problem for another time, perhaps. Right now he needed a bandage, and as he discovered last time, writing parchment just doesn't fit the bill. Thumb in mouth, Odhranos shuffles awkwardly out of his office and sets off towards the bathroom, which lay down the end of the corridor past Quintessa and Karasu's offices.

Quintessa has been growingly distracted as of late. Hours in her office that should have been spent studying, or perfecting the spell blade curriculum, were instead wasted as her mismatched eyes of sapphire and topaz gaze longingly out of the window, staring at the Xalious Tree. Was is guilt, a glimmer of her dwindling morality? Or was the odd girl simply plotting something nefarious for the Holy Tree? None but her knew, and Quintessa wasn't going to tell anyone her plans. Prying her attention away from her office window, the young hex blade makes her way to her door, the sound of Odhranos' approach catching Quintessa's attention as she closes the door behind her. Wordlessly, the changeling leans her back against her office door as her icy blue and warm hazel optics analyze Provost Kerrigan with curiosity. He appeared distracted too, but what could be bothering the Terramancer? "Odhranos," Quintessa greets, a smirk tugging on the corner of her pale, pink lips. "Aren't you a little old to be sucking on your thumb?" Her voice was teasing, but still friendly. For now, at least, Quintessa still regarded this particular Provost as a friend, even if she secretly coveted his rank and position.

Valrae || Melisende was a severe woman, known for her sharp tongue and low tolerance for laziness, mistakes, and particular lack of patience with newer, younger members of the guild. She was a tall, waifish woman with features that bordered toward harsh in their angles. Her eyes were dark, narrow, and almost feline. Her scowl was ever present and known for it’s cutting disapproval. The apprentices were often warned off with rumors that the only time the woman had ever smiled was years ago as one of the newer recruits had been thrown from the tower, the reason claimed usually for some small offence such as bungling a spell or speaking out of turn. Having recently been awarded her position, Melisende was none too eager to dispel these rumors as they kept the apprentices away from her and out of the halls she walked. She stood behind Brenwyn’s left, looming like the shadow of death in her dark robes, as she followed him toward Odhranos’s office. When Brenwyn changed courses, she followed unflinchingly. Eventually, they found him serendipitously with Quintessa, and he greeted them curtly. “Provost Odhranos, Steward Quintessa,” His eyes moved toward the door the Steward was leaning against. “A word? Perhaps behind closed doors?” While phrased as a question, there was little doubt they would move into the office. When they all seemed settled and the door was comfortably closed, Melisende moved before them both. “I’ll cut to the heart of the matter. There is a boy, Peter Ealhstan, showing great promise in Larket. The two of you have been selected to retrieve him.” If possible, her frown deepened. “His potential would be wasted at their Academy.” The word dripped disdain and condescension, “Your mission is simple: Convince his father to relinquish him into our more capable hands,” The mage paused carefully, “In the event that agreeance doesn’t seem probable or possible, you are authorized to use whatever force is necessary. It should go without saying that this matter is highly important and highly classified, for now.” Another pause as she watches her audience. “Are we clear?” Her tone implied that any follow up questions would be considered unnecessary at best. Brenwyn chuckles lightly, seemingly seeking to ease the tension. “We don’t foresee force being necessary,” He lies, “However, his father is rumoured to be highly…” There was a pause as he considered his words, “Patriotic and loyal to Larket. He might take some convincing, these kinds of people are often swayed quite easily by nationalistic propaganda. In any event, I’ll assume you two are both more than capable of handling this…” The council members seem to move in unison toward the door, Brenwyn pausing only to hand a slip of simple directions to Odhranos. He leans in slightly, offering a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your discretion on this matter will be appreciated and rewarded, obviously,”

Odhranos turns bleary eyed towards Quintessa and it takes him a moment for the cogs in his head to properly process what she said. "Oh." He mumbled around a mouthful of thumb, before pulling it out and inspecting it again. "I cut it while...cleaning, I'm just on my way to the bathroom for a tissue. I thought it better to seem a bit childish then to trail blood all over the floor. Might cause rumours." What rumours exactly, Odhranos wasn't even quite sure, he was flying on autopilot and even then at only half capacity. When his name is called out, the terramancer visibly jumps at Brenwyn's voice. Spinning in his heel, Odhranos wilts momentarily under the Administrators gaze before straightening his back and fixing the pair of councillors with as much focus as he could muster. "Administrator. Councillor." Odhranos parroted off the greetings with a mechanical fervour, not possessing the energy to elaborate further. When ushered into Quintessa's office, Odhranos stands to attention as the words bounce off him like turds on a wall, only the odd one sticking that is. Odhranos frowns instinctively at mention of the Hard City, but he raises no complaint, nor comment, until Brenwyn hands him the slip of paper on his way out the door. "The task is as good as done sir." Odhranos mumbles, managing to dredge up a weak smile, before the pair close the door behind them. Once their steps recede from hearing, Odhranos groans and shuffles backwards til his back hits the wall, which he then slides down, crumpling into a sad puddle of robes on the ground. He opens the slip of paper and squints at it, but his eyes are in such a state that he can't make out the fuzz from the handwriting. "I can't read this." He mumbled, as much to himself as to anyone, before lifting his head to look for Quintessa. "Um, you should take this. Important. I suppose." The mage climbs unsteadily to his feet and makes for the door, suddenly craving the isolation of his office.

Quintessa licks her lips slowly as she examines Odhranos' tiny wound, but before she can address it properly they are targeted by the Administrator and Councilor. The Arcane Stewardess is loath to allow anyone in her office uninvited, but it seems her hands are tied in this matter. Her smirk quickly vanishes as Melisende speaks (though secretly Quintessa really admires her) and she folds her hands behind her back to appear compliant. The hex blade cannot hide the sneer on her face at the mention of Larket, and thus the changeling's loyalty in this mission was assured. "Anything to weaken the Larket Academy." Quintessa says as she unfolds her hands to rest her left palm against the hilt of her katana. If things devolved into violence, she'd be ready, though the Countess knew the benefit of acting more clandestine in this matter. The tensions between Larket and the Mage's Guild could not be denied, and if it was discovered that two mages from Xalious came and murdered a loyal citizen, there'd be Hell to pay. The mention of a reward, however, turns Quintessa's lingering sneer into a cruel smile. "Of course, Administrator. We will handle this without fail." With the two of them gone, Quintessa turns to find Provost Kerrigan crumpled on the floor, and the strange woman nearly rolls her mismatched eyes at him as she reaches down to help him up. "Come now," she says, dialing back on the harshness of her tone, "I hate Larket too but it's just one kid. How hard can this be?" Quintessa really has no conscious. Delicate digits snatch the letter from Odhranos' hands, her eyes trailing over the words carefully as she half-mutters them out loud. The grin that grows on her pale features is undeniably sinister. "Oh? Now this is very interesting..." These directions would make this mission easier than she originally assumed it would be. Her eyes flicker up at the provost as he pushes her door open to leave and she nods her head at him. "Good thinking," she says, thinking that he was leaving to simply gather his things, "We should prepare to leave immediately."

Marble Manor, Larket

Valrae || The Ealhstan family’s history ran deep in Larket. Generation after generation had found success in stonemasonry in the marble city, amassing a sizable fortune and securing a comfortable life for themselves. They lived as flashy socialites enjoying and squandering the generational wealth. Their home was large and sprawling, settled neatly into a quiet, well to do neighborhood off of Rail Street. Donald Ealhstan was a heavyset man, known for his enjoyment of ale and near rabid Larketian patriotism, his fondness for King Macon and his policies particularly well known. Peter was young, nearing nine years mentally, and was confident to a point of arrogance in the way that boys who are never told when to be quiet are often want to be. Unfortunately, Peter had also been affected by the curse most all of Larketian children had endured, thus trapping his underdeveloped mind in the body of a slightly overweight, pimple faced teenager. The problems the boy faced only seemed to multiply when it was discovered he’d possessed a natural talent for the magical, despite, or perhaps because of, the climate toward witches that permeated the city. He had been briefly celebrated by his now late mother, much to the jealous annoyance of his older brother who possessed no such ability at all, and was a never ending concern for his father. While mage’s and the introduction of the powers of Vakmatharas were generally regarded as positive, the persecution of the witches settled an unconscious fear, of both magic and how those who possess it may use it or have it be used against them, inside of Donald’s mind. His family had been without a hint of magic for as far back as he could trace his family history, meaning it must have come from his mother’s side and begged the question of source. Could it be he’d married into a line of witches? These deep and unspoken fears tainted much of his interaction with his young son, carrying over into the years as his power only grew. It was unprecedented, from all that he’d known, which admittedly wasn’t enough, and it was rapidly becoming clear that he would need to enroll his son into the mage’s academy. They’d sort it out then, Headmaster Percival would hone his son into a fine mage and the suggestion of witchcraft in his family could be covered nicely by the approval of the Kings close, trusted magical adviser. For Peter, his need for his father’s ever elusive approval manifested as a bloated sense of superiority in defense of his deep seeded feelings of inadequacy. He lacked the emotional or mental ability to process the changes that had rapidly overcome his body, as well as the grief that damaged his very core with the loss of his mother, and so was prone to bouts of moodiness and tempers that left their sizable home in various states of damage, the worst of his tantrums maiming or otherwise seriously injuring the help. Today, the mages would be greeted and welcomed into the Ealhstan home by a member of the staff and led to a formal sitting room. They might notice the foyer’s ornate paintings of King Macon, along with portraits of Donald himself, displayed on the walls in guilt rubbed frames. There was the faint scent of smoke throughout the large home. Another woman enters, smiling but otherwise wordlessly offering a try of sweets and water in fine crystal. Eventually Donald enters, filling the room up with his strange, forward leaning walk and odd laugh. “Hello, hello, welcome!” He focuses his greeting on Odhranos, moving to weakly shake his hand. He lingers uncomfortably long over his greeting to Quintessa. Peter followed at his heels, moving to grab a handful of cookies and throw himself onto one of the high backed chairs, slouching. “Amazing, absolutely amazing! What can I do for you today?” Donald asks, sitting awkwardly on the edge of one of the couches.

Odhranos has cleaned himself up remarkably. Where once a lean, bedraggled and stubbled husk of a man once stood, swaddled in robes that may have well been repurposed draperies, now stands Odhranos Kerrigan, Provost Esoterica, in all his kindly splendour. "Master Ealhstan, I must thank you for letting us into your home. It's rare that I find the opportunity to visit a building of such exquisite design. The touch of the master craftsman reads from every wall, I must congratulate you." Odhranos beams at Donald, as he grasps the man's hand firmly in both of his own, shaking it precisely once, then releasing. Once the pleasantries have been dealt with, Odhranos folds his arms behind his back, segueing neatly into business mode. "Master Ealhstan, I've been informed that one of your son's has displayed a recent aptitude for the arcane arts. I was hoping to have the opportunity to talk to the boy. It's so rare for such a young fellow to display such skill, you must be so very proud." Odhranos' face is kindly, but to any familiar to him, it would be apparent that his teeth are gritted between each cloying word and his gaze bores into Donald with a cold intensity that would elicit unconscious shivers from the man.

Quintessa has done her best to appear attractive for this mission, her hair nearly groomed and styled and her makeup on point. The young changeling was good at being a seductress when she wanted to be, but even dressed in a corseted ebony and silver bodice left her looking a bit more dangerous than alluring. Then again, is that not what made vampires attractive to begin with? Like a blooming rose guarded by a dozen tiny thorns, Quintessa eyes Donald coyly, her bile bubbling in her throat as she smiles at him, holding her hand out like a noble lady should to allow him to shake it, or kiss it, if he was of the sort. "Thank you, Master Ealhstan," Quintessa says, her voice rolling like velvet off her deceitful tongue as she takes a seat, one long leg slowly crossing over the other. "Yes, as my colleague here has said, discovering such talent in one so young is a rare honor." The hex blade's sapphire and topaz eyes gleam as she shifts her gaze to the boy, her smile growing in a friendly manner. "You are a very special child, one who should be excited to develop these skills of yours." Already Quitessa was trying to work her charms on Peter, just as she had Prince Gillum when she met him at the Mayday festival. She knew all too well how to inspire a curious young mind.

Valrae || Donald peacocks under the praise, “Absolutely, it’s really something isn't it? Everyone says so!” And despite his hidden fears, projects that same grandiose pride in Peter. “It’s incredible, truly incredible,” He starts, nearly cutting him off. “Never in the history of Larket has there been a boy who has had as much power as Peter!” Peter looks away from admiring Quintessa, who sparkled like a dangerous, forbidden jewel to him, to look hopefully at his father. Donald doesn’t seem to notice. He shivers suddenly, but assumes the enchantment that controls the temperature of his home must be malfunctioning, rather than admitting to himself that another man could elicit the response. His own eyes slide toward the Steward, but not her to face. “He’s great, a really great kid. We’re going to send him to the Academy here - I don’t think there has ever been a better establishment or one that has done more for magic than Larket-” Peter rolls his eyes at this, shoving another cookie into his mouth before talking around it to interrupt him, “I’m NOT going there, dad,” He whines. “I don’t want to, I could already take them all on one on one no problem.” He eyes Quintessa, waiting for her to seem properly impressed with his boast. Donald’s face seems to redden, “Peter, you’ll do as you’re told.” He says abruptly, nearly forgetting the company. He quickly looks back toward the mages and smiles. “It will be great,” He says, making a strange gesture with his hands. “Peter is just going to go to his room now,” Peter sits up abruptly, “I will not!” He squeaks. “You will,” Donald argues. “Will not!” “Will to-” The arguing ends as smoke rises from the curtains near the boy. Donald sighs, calling for the help. The woman who welcomed them rushes in to shoo Peter away while another woman puts out the quickly growing fire, at ease battling the flames. This was clearly a common occurrence.

Odhranos raises an eyebrow at Donald's mention of Larket's Academy, but his smile remains unchanged as the altercation between father and child unfolds in front of him. "Teenagers. Such a handful, aren't they?" Odhranos jokes with the placid knowledgeability of one who has never had children and frankly, doesn't want to either. The terramancer coolly watches as the flaming curtain is beaten out and he turns his smiles back to Donald as if nothing untoward had just occurred. "The Academy, did you say? I do remember meeting Persimmon a year or two back, I suppose he is the headmaster now, isn't he? A fine choice for a fine establishment. As they say, responsibility can make a man, why can't it make a mage, eh?" Odhranos chuckles lightly, even as he deliberately plays the reputation of the Academy down. "Did Headmaster Persimmon talk at all about how he hopes to deal with Peter's potential volitility?" The terramancer raises his eyebrows in the epitome of innocent inquisitiveness, surely the educated Donald Ealhstan knows what he is referring to, no?

Quintessa raises a brow at the exchange, her smile fading into a thin, painted line upon her face as boredom replaced her false pleasantness. She lets the two men talk about the Larket Academy, her hands fidgeting upon her lap as she wishes she had a cigarette. Or a drink- a strong one. "With all due respect," Quintessa buts in, not really respecting anything about Larket at all, "The Academy here is more of a... tertiary school. They will not be equipped to deal with a mage with -real- talent such as Peter. Why do you think the Queen's own father, Kyl'oriel, resides in Xalious and not here? He understands the value of expanding one's horizons, that's why he asked me to personally tutor Prince Gillum." Quintessa smiles again, her finger idly twirling her hair. "Imagine it, your son studying next to to the Prince. Why, you'd be the envy of the whole city. Your son will not be granted such an opportunity if he stays here... besides," Her smile is suddenly gone as her expression becomes grave. "With the witch hunters roaming about, is it really safe for him here? In Xalious the Mage's Guild could guarantee his safety." The changeling reaches out to touch

Peter was led to his room in simmering rage. He didn’t want to be pushed off to some dusty old academy, being told what to do by people who knew less than he did. Could they do the things he could? He didn’t need spells or words or old dirty books. He could do it all on his own. When he was alone, he snuck out of his room with the intention of telling his father just that too. Only, no one was around when he neared the sitting room and if he leaned just right, he could look at the pretty one and listen to what they were saying without anyone sending him away. Crouched near an expensive bar and a fake plant, Peter listened carefully to what was being said about him. The small, secret part of him waited to hear his father say nice things again. He’d never admit it though. Donald, with Peter out of the room, seems to shift quickly from pride to disdain. He deflates a little, seemingly outdone by Peter. He rallies quickly though, nodding along to Odhranos even if he doesn’t know who Persimmon is. “Excellent man, I met him once - a great guy. He’ll know how to deal with Peter. He’s just passionate,” Donald stands, wandering over in his forward gate toward a portrait of Macon. “Like our King,” He nods to himself. “Larket is in good hands. Passion makes for excellent leaders,” He turns toward them again, straightening his shirt as he moves back over. “There is no better home than Larket. No finer people,” His eyes move over Quintess as she speaks, his face redding again as she challenges this view he’s deeply mired himself in and the reality he’s cultivated around it. “That’s not-” He seems to struggle to process all of the information that she’s thrown at him, until the carefully worded threat settles in the room like a dark cloud. “Fake,” He stutters. “False rumors, my son is pure Larketian and pure mage!” He takes a step back. “Whatever you two are selling, I’m not buying. You think I don’t know a con when I see one? I INVENTED these kinds of deals,” It seemed lost on him what that would be implying about his character. Peter, however, was suddenly very interested. He didn’t know anything about the Guild but getting to know the Prince seemed like fun. If he were learning there, they would have to be the best. How many times had he heard his father praising the royal family? Peter could make him a friend and then maybe his father wouldn’t seem so afraid of his power! Slowly, and idea formed in his mind. Distantly, he could hear his father’s voice rising and he knew he had very little time. As Donald shouted about Larket’s superiority and the power of it’s king, Peter collected a few things in a pillow case. (His favorite shirt, an action figure of King Macon, and a small stuffed bear his mom had given him.) By the time Donald had dismissed himself, saying, “My son stays in LARKET, that’s all.” Peter was slipping outside and hiding the prickly decorative bushes that weren’t far from the front door. He waited with all quiet and containment a boy of his mental age could muster, which wasn’t quiet at all, for Quintess and Odhranos to step out.

Odhranos is honestly not a hateful person, but if there is one thing that he unequivocally despises, it is the Larketian throne. And secondly only to that, is half-witted propaganda-swilling patriots that follow them. Resisting the urge to eject Master Ealhstan through the roof of his fine establishment by the very flagstones that he likely carved himself proves difficult, but Odhranos resists. Regrettably. Instead he decides to play a different angle. "Donald, tell me, this isn't the first time that Peter has had an outburst, is it?" The terramancer inspects his nails with a casual air, as he lets the question hang heavily in the air. "I'd hazard to guess that these occurrences have been happening for a while now. Oh, sure, they were small enough at first, the odd cracked windowpane, a rooftile out of place here and there. Boys are rowdy, a little damage here and there is to be expected. But it got worse, didn't it, Donald?" Odhranos turns his gaze slowly to meet Ealhstan's, his golden eye glinting with a brutal icyness that belays something feral behind the mage's stare. "Bedsheets started burning in the middle of the day. Windows banging at all hours of the night. You must have spent a fortune having panes refitted, I'm sure." By now, Odhranos' cold fury is entirely blatant, the polite facade has been discarded and what turns on Donald now would chill any sane person to the bone. "You see, Donald, things aren't going to improve. Peter is a passionate boy, you said so yourself. Will your maids be so keen to stay in your employ when roofs start falling down? Or, gods forbid, when someone dies. Accidentally, of course." Odhranos stands from the couch and paces the room, striding across to trail his fingers over the scorched curtains. "Will you continue to make excuses when he spirals out of control and more people die? Will you be so proud when your own flesh and blood brings the next earthquake down on your brutalised city and the blame lands squarely at your feet?" Odhranos has now made his round of the room and towers over Donald ominously, an apathetic edifice of dark grey, broken only by two points of gold and silver. "The Academy can't do a thing for your boy, they haven't the knowledge how to deal with errants as far gone as Peter. But you were right about one thing, Donald." Odhranos turns and begins walking towards the exit. "They can deal with him, if that's what you want for your boy. Might be rather permanent though. Come, Steward Dragana, we're done here." With that, Odhranos walks out of the Ealhstan residence, with a look like thunder on his face.

Quintessa is done with pleasantries, done trying to appeal to this fat, disgusting, short-sighted old man who was not only willing, but -happy- to lick the boots of the Larketian throne. While Odhranos' fury was cold, Quintessa's was boiling hot, and she has to excuse herself before she draws her sword and cuts down this ignorant fool. "You'll regret this," She says as she stands, the venom of the self-proclaimed toxomancer dripping in her every syllable as the Provost coolly explains what is in store for Donald and his estate. Her left hand grips tightly to her sword, her knuckles white as she lingers at the threshold, letting Odhanos' words linger in the air before she part her lips to speak to her guildmate, but the words never come. He had already said all there was to say about it. Pushing the door open for them, she slams it behind her with much more force than intended, the wroth clearly written on her face. "I'm not going back empty handed," she hisses in a low tone, unaware that Peter was waiting among the bushes. "The Guild would only use this as an excuse to hold me back- The Mage's Counsel will never trust me if I fail this." Quintessa's blue and hazel eyes scan the building for an easy way in, the prospect of breaking in later on the forefront of her mind. How far was the hex blade winning to go to elevate her status among the guild? Not even Quintessa knew the depravities she was capable of.

Donald had paled watching Odhranos, stunned into silence, which regrettably happened very seldom in his life. The accusation of his son’s outbursts were accurate, as chilling as the effect the mage seemed to have over him, and he could only stare open mouthed. It shut harshly, with the clacking of his teeth, when it was suggested his son could cause another earthquake. To Donald’s ears, it was another accusation of witchcraft. Something that could not be tolerated in his family, in his home, under his watch. The shade of white his face had taken blooms red with anger again, masking the fear in all but his eyes. “I’ll regret nothing. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” He replies toward Odhranos and Qunitessa’s backs, anger and hate dripping. His message was clear: If his son were discovered to be a witch, he’d do for his country what needed to be done. The sound of the slamming door nearly startled Peter into falling out of the bush, but he managed to peer out long enough to make sure the two strangers were the only ones within ear shot before he eventually rustled out, strolling up to them excited. “I don’t care what he says, I’m going with you,” He looks toward Quintessa more than Odhranos, caught in boyish affection, and only seems to stumble for a moment at the sight of their anger. “Father is old and dumb, he doesn’t whats best for me,” And didn’t seem to care. “I want to go where the Prince is and learn what he’s learning. I’m more powerful than him and one day I could be a king,” He shrugs. “In like a year or two when I’m old.”

Odhranos could feel the sweat running down his back in the aftermath of his furious rant, and he found himself suddenly tiring as the adrenaline left his system. How he had acted would have been unacceptable under any other circumstances, and to be honest, Odhranos had been on the verge of questioning the acceptability in this instance until Donald, in his fury, blurted his pseudo-archaism to the mage's departing backs. A toothy grin spread across the terramancer's face and as the door closed behind him, a low rumble crawled from his throat. "Then let the earth rise again in revolt of your sufferance." S'erok intoned, pausing Odhranos' body long enough to tap the point of his shoe twice against the ground. Just before the second impact came, Peter erupted from the bush and S'erok's control was shaken as Odhranos took the helm once again in surprise, wobbling on one foot before placing his shoe down gently. Glancing at Quintessa in confusion, Odhranos warily studied the boy. With a shrug he turns back towards the carriage that waits outside the house. "Hop in then. We'll be in Xalious by nightfall." Once Quintessa and Peter are safely ensconced in the carriage, Odhranos turns back to the house, and S'erok's grin re-emerges. With a swift double-tap of the point of his shoe, Odhranos kicks a small kinetic wave into the foundations of the house. By the time he has climbed into the carriage, a small shudder runs through the foundations of the Ealhstan residence. As the carriage turns off from the street, Ealhstan's house is experiencing a series of localised tremors. Not enough to cause any evident damage. But enough to give a witch-hater nightmares of grey wraiths for weeks.

Quintessa had never been privy to many of S'erok outbursts, and the odd girl scarcely knew he existed at all, but hearing his gravely proclamation of the 'earth rising again in revolt of your sufferance' sent chills down her spine. She almost didn't even notice the lad that had emerged from hiding to join them. "Such an intelligent child," she says as she removes her cloak to wrap around his shoulders, trying to hide the fact that the boy left with them from the casual prying eye. Once in the carriage, Quintessa relaxes, glad that her machinations at least worked on Peter. "I'm certain one day you'll get to meet the Prince," she lies, not sure when Queen Josleen was ever going to approve of Quintessa tutoring Gillum like had been discussed a month ago. "And who knows, maybe you will become King. After all, when I was your age I was a lowborn, and now I'm a Countess. Anything is possible when you learn you wield your natural born powers."

Peter balloons with pride under Quintessa;s praise, and was easily herded under her cloak, riding on adrenaline, infatuation, and pure excitement. He’d felt like this one other time, when he and his brother had gotten into a fight over something he couldn’t really remember now, and he’d run off to show him and his father how bad they would feel without him. It was like that again. He wanted to go meet new people, like an adult, and learn new things. He wanted to become friends with the Prince, because truthfully he didn’t have many friends. Maybe he wanted to get a girlfriend too. Peter hopes Quintessa will sit by him. In sweaty palms, the boy grips his pillow case tightly. He thinks of all the new things he might do and how much his brother would wish he was as cool as him. He’d be jealous, and he would miss him going to all his rugby games for sure. And his father wouldn’t see him anymore either, when he would come home sometimes and they would hang out in his study. And his maid, she would probably be happy she didn’t have to wash his clothes anymore. He’s busy with his own thoughts, too busy to study the sensation of power that came from Odhranos as he rocked the foundation of his family home. Slowly along the ride, the rush wears off and Peter remembers all the games he hadn’t taken, or the toys he could have brought. Without the adrenaline, he felt cold and tired and hungry. Would they cook for him where they were going? He didn’t know how to do that yet. And he’d forgotten the portrait of his mom that had been by his bed. And he was supposed to play cards with his neighbor on weekends. And he remembers his father hugging him when he was finally home the first time he’d run off. “I want to go back!” He exclaims suddenly, with all the surety and arrogance his life had previously awarded him. He looks between Odhranos and Quintessa, waiting for them to tell the driver to turn them around. When they didn’t, he shouted it louder. And louder, working himself up. The windows of the carriage rattled and started to crack.

Odhranos glances out the rear window of the carriage with a stern nod of satisfaction as he feels the first tremor rock the house, then he turns back to the new chaos unfolding within the carriage as the reality of Peter's decision starts hitting home. With panicked eyes, he turns to Quintessa, hoping that, by obscure reason, she might know how to deal with a rampaging child. You never know. Stranger skills have turned up in stranger places. As Peter's tantrum reaches it's peak, Odhranos find himself having to exert his magic to hold the carriage together, as the boy-errant's magic starts to pull apart the fixtures that keep the carriage intact. "Quintessa, you wouldn't happen to have any of the compounds from Chapter 5 of your book on you, would you?" Odhranos raises his eyebrows emphatically. Nestled neatly between "Chapter 4, Paralytics" and "Chapter 6, Hallucinogenics" of the last draft of the Compendium Toxicum that Odhranos had read, Chapter 5 detailed the many and varied soporifics that the plant world had to offer. Any of which would be most useful right about now.

Quintessa feels herself tensing at the raising magical prowess of the child. The changeling didn't fully understand the nature of the cursed Larketian children, but something was clearly not normal. There was talent and then there was whatever this was. When Peter screams that he wants to go back home, panic begins to rise within her. He couldn't go back! Quintessa was expecting a reward for this! The Arcane Stewardess nods at Odhranos as a hand stealthily slips down the front of her bodice to draw a small vial. She fills her hand with the greenish powder within before leaning close to the child's face, almost as if she is about to kiss him. "Peter~" she coos, placing a her empty hand upon his chin to tilt his face in her direction as her lips move together to form an 'O'. Before the boy could realize what was going on, Quintessa brought up her other hand and blew the green dust into his face, knocking Peter out almost instantly with her special blend of sleep powder. "Chapter 7," Quintessa says smugly as she sits back in her seat. "Medicinal stress relievers and sleep aids." The hex blade had already planned on taking the child against his will should he refuse, and her vial of knock-out powder proved that. "At least now the trip home will be peaceful."