Amber - Kirin Tor Interlude P.2 (Patreon)

Modera looked up from her small divination array, a scowl on her face at her complete failure to locate their missing prophet despite a personal connection to her, and watched as Prince Kael'Thas arrived at last. The whole of the council was in attendance, their disguises dropped due to the lack of necessity without an audience.

"Well," Kael'thas said, his voice bitter and brittle as he brushed off imaginary dirt from his shoulders – a nervous tick Modera had seen from him before, one he only allowed to happen when he was severely frustrated. "I do hope the rest of you have had more success than I, for my father has refused to listen to reason and will not commit a single soldier to combating the Plague nor the Scourge. And without the permission of the Convocation, Ranger General Sylvanas has refused to allow a single Farstrider to act outside of the confines of Quel'Thalas. I had hoped her past sympathies towards Humanity would lead her to listen, but..." He grimaced and shook his head slowly. "To no avail. Even as refugees pile up upon the borders of Quel'Thalas, seeking protection from the undead, she follows the will of the Convocation in keeping them far from any elven settlements. They will undoubtedly be the first casualties, and reinforcements, for the Scourge if they turn north towards my homeland as prophesied."

While it was regretful that the Windrunner who had advocated for the first human Ranger Lord followed the line set by the Convocation and King of Silvermoon, the rest of Kael'thas' report was of little surprise to any of them. Even so, Modera joined in the collective sigh of disappointment at the news.

King Anastarion may have never been a strong supporter of the Alliance of Lordaeron, nor any form of alliance with the human kingdoms, but there had still been a faint hope his son might sway him otherwise.

Even Dalaran's close relationship with Quel'Thalas, the oldest alliance amongst any of the nations on the continents of Lordaeron and Khaz Modan, was more founded in individual elven magisters who studied in Dalaran in their youth than official records or agreements. Many of Silvermoon's greatest had at one time or another been Archmages of the Kirin Tor, or even members of the Council of Six as Kael'thas now as, and influenced decisions but it had never had the official backing of the King.

That had been set to change when Prince Kael'thas took the throne...

But, despite the rumours of King Anastarion's ill health, none expected that to occur within the coming century. Or even the next two centuries. And, if by some tragedy it did, he would be a very young king by the standards of Quel'Thalas and see his power greatly curtailed by the Convocation.

"I cannot claim to have had much more luck, I am afraid," Mordera said, restraining herself from sighing deeply. "Neither Adept Alana nor Adept Trysa had more actionable information than was provided to us by Magus Calebren, little more than comments on Gwyneth's obsession and idolisation of Jaina Proudmoore, for the most part." She had initially hoped Trysa's attempt to mentor Gwyneth at times had meant they had a close relationship, but it had turned out to not be the case. "However, Adept Trysa was able to provide the name of Gwyneth's teacher in Gilneas; one Celestine."

"Unusual name," Drenden commented.

"Adept Trysa only remembered because she thought it might be an elven name, and she hadn't thought there were many elves in Gilneas." Modera said, waving a hand. It was unimportant trivia, but at least it had caused the elven girl to remember the name. It hardly provided them much to go by, nor more knowledge from which to work from, but it was still of use. "The only other morsel of interest they could provide me was Gwyneth's veritable obsession with Jaina Proudmoore."

Not in scrying this Celestine directly, a single name with no context behind it and learned second hand was insufficient for such a thing. But with it proving entirely impossible to scry, divine, or even douse for Gwyneth in any shape or form having the name of her former teacher would give a starting point for finding her.

"Whatever ship Sorceress Goldensword took to flee the city must have had a Tidesage on board," Ansirem said, crossing his arms and scowling as he mentioned the Kul Tiran order of 'priests' that was something of a rival to Dalaran's magical monopoly. "They were not aboard any ship on the lake or within the canal, and as searching the open ocean for a single ship is a fool's errand I withdrew the adepts I had set to the task. Instead, I have sent a letter to the Grand Admiral, demanding that she return and present herself to us."

"If Goldensword wishes to not be found and hide out this storm she is unlikely to encounter the Grand Admiral." Kael'Thas pointed out. "And such a thing would have been better left to his daughter, the opportunity to take part in our efforts would have been of benefit to her and Daelin Proudmoore is more likely to take kindly to a request from his eldest child."

Modera nodded in agreement. After meeting with Modera after the council session in which they had both lost their composure and speaking all she knew of the Raven Prophet, the young sorceress had thrown herself into work. It was a delight to answer Jaina's questions on divination, to have her in her own classes for once, but with the additional drive of learning all she could of the Plague and ancient Kalimdor...

It was clear she was driving herself beyond her breaking point in an attempt to drown her grief and guilt in work.

Something that was not sustainable nor which could be allowed to continue for long. Jaina Proudmoore had been singled out by two prophets as a subject of importance and would have a part to play in the future, for better or worse.

Taking part in their investigation, even if only to ask her father for a favour, would have aided in her recovery.

Ansirem shot a glare at the prince. "No matter the family relation, the order coming from a mere Sorceress does not have the authority of the Council behind it. We require the Sorceress' return and I have little doubt the Admiral will comply."

Antonidas shook his head but didn't speak, but even that small gesture drew Modera's gaze towards him and rekindled the fury in her eyes.

He had been the best of them, the unofficial first amongst their order of equals.

Tamping down on her anger she was glad, at least, in this he was not acting the harebrained fool. Unlike Ansirem he understood that even though Admiral Proudmoore would comply with their demand, he would do so cautiously and reluctantly. A request from his daughter would have ruffled far fewer feathers.

"King Terenas was dismissive of the belief that his son could possibly be a threat to him, but he was at least willing to consider protective measures upon Arthas' return from Northrend." Drenden said, bring them the first bit of good news with today's meeting, even if it was not the news they had been hoping for. "I, along with a number of Knights, will be guarding the King during his reunion with his son when the time comes."

"That is not ideal," Modera pointed out, though she was overall relieved the King was even willing to consider that much. Much like she'd had, King Terenas had a blind spot for his son and heir. "We had discussed moving the king to safety and using a projected illusion to allow him to meet his son from afar, had we not?"

Drenden closed his eyes and nodded once, leaving his head bowed. "We did," He said tiredly. "However the king was adamant that he could not abandon his people and retreat to safety, nor that he could use a cold and hollow projection to welcome his son home. He considers our belief in this new prophecy over the old ones made for Prince Arthas... bemusing."

"Much the sentiment of my own father," Kael'Thas sneered, his eyes still bitter.

"There is some better news, at least," Drenden said, though the smile he put on still felt somewhat hollow. "The Plague appears to have been... contained, for the moment. With the knowledge of how it is spread the Church of the Holy Light and the Order of the Silver Hand have begun to gain ground in preventing its spread, and much of the undead forces that had been marauding through the Eastweald have been dealt with."

"And what of the thousands of corpses that litter Stratholme, merely waiting for activation?" Antonidas said, tugging on his lengthy beard. "It matters not that they were killed by the prince, so long as they remain intact they can return as a threat."

"They are being dealt with, pyres were already in use but to ensure that the dead are truly incapable of rising I recommend a cadre of Pyromancers be put to the task of incinerating the corpses." Drendan said, his voice stiff.

Modera bit back a retort at the barbarity of burning bodies. It was... it wasn't tradition. All deserved the peaceful repose of the grave until their souls were carried onward. But, but... "I second my fellow Councillor's recommendation." She said woodenly.

What other choice did they have? More than eighty thousand dead, perhaps some eight thousand survivors, an unknown amount of whom were infected with the Plague. Even if they were all to become common ghouls it was a force which could drown the six thousand-strong cordon of the Second Legion in bodies.

"Much to my regret, I must concur." Kael'thas bowed his head, holding his hand to his chest. "May their souls find rest as we free them from this curse."

Antonidas bowed his head as he clenched his staff, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. "Agreed." He sighed, sounding tired and broken. "If my current studies did not show promise I would see to it myself."

"Agreed and done," Ansirem declared with a solemn nod. "I will oversee the work, the dead must be treated with proper respect. May the Light give them peace."

A silence fell over the Chamber of Air as they each contemplated the fallout from such a decision. There would be pushback from the Silver Hand, no doubt of that, and fury emanating from the Kingdom of Lordaeron.

But, to Modera, the worst would be her own guilt. Her cousins would never forgive her. They had wished to be buried at sea, cast down into the depths and given to the oceans they loved– had loved. Just as their grandfather had been upon his passing.

And she had condemned them to the flame.

After several minutes, Archmage Elise, the youngest and newest of their number as Archmage Krasus' replacement, broke the silence. "What of Princess Calia Menethil, Drenden?" She asked, her awkwardly girlish tone unfitting for the council chambers.

Modera wished the rock of stability that had been Archmage Krasus was with them, the girl had failed to yet fill the old dragon's shoes.

"Calia was convinced to depart the city, taking the opportunity to spend more time with her husband and daughter. She was reluctant to inform me of their location, but by the preparations made the distance is not small." Drenden answered. "Perhaps as far as Tyr's hand.

At least the sweet and clever girl would survive should the worst come to pass. Unless they failed utterly. "Hillsbrad Foothills, she asked my aid in disguising herself as she purchased a home in Southshore." Modera said.

"Have we had word from Stormwind yet?" Anirem interjected, changing the topic. "With how much we have provided for their reconstruction they should send aid for our growing troubles."

"Stormwind has its own difficulties, Archmage Runeweaver." Elise countered testily. Ah, Modera had almost forgotten the girl had been chosen as a representative of the Conjurer's Guild following the Second War. A vain attempt to drag the other rival to Dalaran's magical monopoly into the orbit of the Kirin Tor. "While Stormwind has been rebuilt as a city the surrounding lands remain in ruins and her armies are needed to ensure the security of those resettling our lost lands."

"And we will soon lose our lands if Modera's prophet is even half right!"

"Now, let us not argue." Kael'thas stepped in. "I am sure King Wrynn will offer what aid he is able."

Modera frowned as the other councillors began to fall into minor topics, arguing over the necessity of bringing Stromgarde back into the fold or finding Aiden Perenolde's heir and having them stabilise Alterac. Discussions they had had countless times before.

All useful, all pointless. Even if King Magni was willing to pay for an extension to the Deeprun Tram northward, to Dalaran or Lordaeron, it would not be complete in time.

They were all grasping at straws, any possibility that might offer a solution, and from which develop a plan. The truth of the matter was that they had far too little information to work with, Prince Arthas would return, end the line of Menethil kings, and lead an army of the undead across to Quel'Thalas and butcher its people before making his way to Dalaran to summon a demon.

But how and why? What steps would he take along the way? What method would he use to bypass the vaunted, nigh impenetrable, defences of Silvermoon? The Horde with all its Fel might, even with the aid of the trolls who knew the elves' weaknesses well, had failed.

"We should demand the gnomes cease their isolation, we will need them–"

"I will go to Gilneas and find our missing prophet." Modera declared, shouting over Ansirem's latest suggestion. "We know too little, I will go to Gilneas and find her. Even if it means dealing with Genn Greymane, needs must and we require more knowledge." She looked over the Archmages, Kael'Thas nodding his support along with Drenden.

"Perhaps taking Arugal–" Antonidas began, only to be interrupted.

"That hack?" Ansirem scoffed. "The man chases shadows."

"No, I will go alone." Modera shook her head, she wasn't taking Arugal with her. The man was an annoyance with an overinflated sense of his own abilities. "Unless there are any objections?"

"Remember that after Jonas' blunder, King Greymane has legitimate reason to disapprove of us for once." Drenden reminded her. "What that man was thinking going after one of Greymane's vaunted Inventors I will never know."

Modera grimaced and nodded. The bumbling fool had ruined talks of Dalaran gaining control of the Amberwood, and from what she recalled he had simply packed up and left the city again on one of his journeys rather than explain himself. Stripping him of his rank had been too little of a punishment in her mind.

With no further comments forthcoming Modera stepped back and vanished from the Chamber of Air. Within the hour she had packed her bags and set out from the city; while she did not possess a gryphon, a tireless horse from the stables of the Violet Citadel would see her to the folly that was Greymane's Wall within two days.

-oOoOo-

"Fred, need you to keep an eye on the fields again tonight." Robin said as he walked up to one of his farmhands, "Some of Alberton's boys've been lurking around, I think they've got half a mind 'Tina is responsible for the drought."

Fred rolled his eyes and snorted as he slung his pitchfork over his shoulder. "Idgits,"

"Ayep, idiots." Robin agreed, nodding his head, "But still our problem 'til she comes home. Take a nap and breather; you've a long night ahead o' you."

"Getting out o' the heat? Can't say I mind!" He laughed and walked off, waving.

Robin laughed with him for a moment before looking at the sky and frowning. There were a few clouds, out west and over the Bite but they were headed north by the looks of things. They'd had some proper rain yesterday, at last, but it were too late for most of the farms around them. Dry soil didn't take water well and it just ran off into the rivers. One poor bugger who built too close to the creek got his house flooded.

It'd still helped a little, which meant 'Tina's work was holding up while she was gone better than he'd thought it would, but it weren't gonna last. Had to hope she came home soon.

Little Gwen were right though, weren't just them that were having problems. Alberton's boys lurking around and thinking 'Tina were at fault, or just being envious–

Robin's thoughts ground to a halt as he saw someone walking up the road into his farm, a lady in fine robes with a bright pink eye on the front. If that weren't enough of a giveaway as to what she was, the shimmering purple light around her staff was plenty on its own. 'Course, knowing where she was from was good; a few weeks back he wouldn't have known what the sigils meant, but it weren't like Rosa ever shut up about the Krin Tore or the Violet Eye after that first wizard came around and got her hooked on the idea of being a Mage.

The Mage stopped and asked a hand, Dennis, something and he pointed her his way. Robin scrunched up his face into a scowl. There went the rest of his day.

Better not be about dragging his Rose off to their fancy city, he were happy enough they got to follow their dreams but it still hurt that neither of 'em were gonna follow in his footsteps or marry boys that did, but they were both too young to leave home. He'd have refused to send Emma to Gwen if 'Tina'd suggested it, even though he knew Emma'd have begged to be allowed to go.

"Ma'am," He said, bowing his head and doffing his hat, "Robin Tolbecker, owner of Tolbecker farm. What can I do for you today?" Ruddy typical that someone like this'd show up while 'Tina weren't here to handle the magic stuff.

Up close her red hair caught the light, and her robes were even finer than he thought. More than the mage that came by before, or even the Spellwaker girl Gwen brought with her. Not just rich with the purple and blue dyes that were used all over but literally glowing with magic in places. Not to mention it fit just right, which could be magic too. Probably just a pricey tailor though, 'Tina would look great in something like it.

"I'm here looking for someone, someone by the name of Gwyneth Arevin." The lady mage said, not introducing herself. "My investigations have given me reason to believe she resided here for a time."

Robin raised a brow. "Ayep, she did. But I would've thought the last bloke of yours that came by this way told you she ain't been here for six years or more."

Her brow furrowed as she frowned at some thought of hers. "I am unaware of any... 'bloke' that came this way." She said slowly.

"I didn't catch your name, Lady mage...?" Robin said, feeling mildly suspicious. His hands tightened into a fist at his side, Gwen'd confirmed the last one as a mage of the Krin Tore, so if this one didn't know him... could be bad.

The lady mage blinked at him then shook her head, her frown vanishing as she smiled wanly. "My apologies, I forgot my manners." She said, "Archmage Modera, member of the Kirin Tor and representative of Dalaran. I am seeking Gwyneth in regards to–"

She kept speaking but Robin stopped listening properly. He knew that name, it were the name of the lady that threw Gwen out of Dalaran. Ruddy broke her heart; she may not be his girl but she were one of his kids. Near enough to count anyway. A good girl and she didn't do whatever they thought she did to deserve getting thrown out.

"–vital importance that she meets with the Council." The bitch who hurt Gwen finished.

"Can't help ye," Robin said, letting his accent grow thicker. "Me wife kept in contact, they both got their shared magic to talk abou' right? But she's gone for a while." He held a hand out apologetically. "She'd've been tha one ta meet ya if she'd been here, her and the girls are all off elsewhere."

"But they do keep in contact." The bitch said, looking towards the house. "Perhaps an address to which the mail is sent?"

Robin screwed up his brow as if he were having trouble understanding. "Lady mage, parchment an' paper be expensive. I don' know about you, but any letters we get sent gets cleaned and sent back for the reply. Got a ledger an' a couple books, but if me wife has an address it be in her head."

Emma kept every single letter Gwen sent her. He'd tucked in a note once, saying it were hard to afford the price of paying for mail back to her and she'd sent the coin to cover it.

But whatever the bitch wanted from him, she weren't gettin' it. Not like he could fight her, or stop her doing her magic shit, but he weren't telling her where Gwen went. Girl didn't deserve to get hurt again. An' his wife and daughter'd kill him if he let some stranger into their private things; Emma thought he didn't know she kept her letters with her knickers. Silly girl forgot who did her washing – 'cause it sure weren't 'Tina.

"I see." The bitch said, sounding sceptical. "I will be remaining for a while as I cast divinations to try and ascertain the location of Gwyneth, or perhaps Celestine, but I shall remain out of the way of... your work."

Robin couldn't stop himself from scowling. "I'd rather ye didn't, lady mage. Me wife put a lot of work into keepin' our fields healthy." He waved a hand over his own, still tall and proud fields of wheat, barley, and rye. The vegetable patches were further off, closer to the creek this year, but near just as lush despite the weather. "Wouldn't want yer magic disturbing her work."

The bitch rolled her eyes. "I assure you, my efforts won't interfere–"

"This be my farm, ma'am, and I be asking ye not to." Robin stated firmly.

It was as far as he could go. More would be dangerous, and his foot was tapping at the ground from nerves as he said it, but he wasn't going to let her do whatever it was without protest.

Wouldn't be right.

Scowling the bitch looked him dead in the eye, her gaze fierce and angry. There were stories of what happened to men that wronged mages, being turned into sheep to be cooked and eaten, or having their homes set ablaze with no sign of tinder or match, and even being frozen alive; aware and thinking but unable to move until someone broke the ice and shattered them to pieces.

Mages weren't to be trifled with. But Robin wasn't afraid of magic, he would never of married 'Tina if he were a coward like that.

"Very well." The bitch said, a bitter glower on her face and in her voice. "I will merely speak to others to try and find any who might remember."

"We've work to be doing..." Robin started, only to see the anger flare in the bitch's eyes again, "So don't disturb 'em too long. I'll round up those that ain't busy for yer." And tell Markus and Thomas to keep their ruddy mouths shut over where Gwen was living now. The farmhands didn't know, weren't their business, but both Mark and Tom asked after her sometimes

"Thank you for your assistance," The bitch said without a shred of sincerity. "I won't trouble your men long."

True to Robin's expectations, and untrue to the mage's word, it was a long and trying day as she badgered every single one of his men over what they knew about Gwen. Thomas, good brother that he was, kept blathering on about how he taught her how to use a spear and dagger in a fight. Kept her occupied long enough for Robin to find everyone and explain what was going on; the mage got nothing.

If she'd offered a bribe some of his boys might've blabbed, but she didn't. Probably didn't even think of how far a single gold crown could go for folk like them.

-oOoOo-

Genn Greymane leaned back in his seat as he matched the gaze of his guest, one who had so flagrantly disobeyed his ordered quarantine and forced her way past the wall through the use of magic. Godfrey had already advised him to punish Crowley for failing to prevent her passage, and with the growing rivalry between the two it was to be expected, but he would not. The power of an Archmage was not something easily denied.

Loyal men and women who ensured that Crowley did not overstep his bounds as Warden of the Wall had made clear that the Archmage had been received as his decree dictated: asked to present her business, wait for his – the crown's – approval of her entrance, and a two-week quarantine to ensure the Plague afflicting Lordaeron did not spread to Gilneas.

Eminently reasonable in these trying times. And she had refused to wait, apparently departing to return to Dalaran only to reappear deep within the boundaries of Gilneas days later.

When one considered the power at the disposal of an Archmage of Dalaran, their ability to conjure elemental forces to obey their command, it could be argued that her trespass constituted an invasion. Then there was the insult levelled by the Kirin Tor against one of his inventors to consider, destroying one of his patents.

Godfrey had been truly apoplectic as he described the events, the water elementals that scoured and flooded the poor girl's home and ruined her work in search of dark magic that didn't exist. True, it had been Godfrey who had been foolish enough to give the man the pretence of legitimacy, but he had been deceived by the meddling Mage and suitably punished for his foolishness.

In light of such insult and arrogance on the side of the Kirin Tor, even for such a minor matter as what she asked...

"No." Genn said, his moustache quirking as he allowed a satisfied smirk to form. "I will not waste my people's time searching for a misplaced apprentice that the Kirin Tor chose to dispose of themselves."

Of course, he could point the Archmage in Crowley's direction in an instant. Unlike much of the court, who merely knew the story of the Inventor accosted by Godfrey in Crowley's lands and falsely accused of Witchcraft, Genn knew the whole of it; the fact that the girl was, in fact, a Witch and that they were not all the stories spoke of them to be. That she was also an apprentice expelled from Dalaran for being Gilnean...

There were many reasons to deny the Archmage's request. He would not allow them to steal a valuable Inventor, those his father had worked so hard to cultivate, simply because the Kirin Tor wanted her back.

"I see." Archmage Modera said coldly, her eyes piercing like the chill of winter as they bore into him. It was not a new sensation, all who worked in the realms of Kings and Queens grew used to the effects of Will, Faith, and Magic that could be felt from the presence of others. Genn himself could freeze a man in place with little more than a glare if they were weak enough. "You are truly committed to this course of isolation, even as a threat looms in the North that will engulf much of your country."

Genn scoffed. "Whatever dangers this plague brings, walking dead or not, the wall shall see my people safe."

Liam, from his place by the fire, shot Genn a look. One that spoke volumes. Genn knew the arguments he would use, that the people beyond the wall were theirs as well – and he was right. And yet, scarcely a twentieth of their people lived beyond the wall. Of seven million souls that called Gilneas home less than five hundred thousand dwelled north of the wall. Less now with Crowley's attempts to draw all those he could within it to safety.

It was good the man had come around to the understanding that the wall was the correct path forward for Gilneas, the only way they could achieve the greatness his father had desired for them. Without the other kingdoms holding them back, without the likes of Dalaran preying on their talented youths, Gilneas could achieve things unthought of before.

Good enough that Genn was willing to forgive his smuggling operation to bring more people through so long as they kept to quarantine.

His association with the Silverlaines and their usurpation of the fleet was another matter, but... the fleet would be disposed of properly. A grand exploration was a suitable send-off for the navy, and the tax levied against Lord Candren for the sale had been a boon for the Kingdom's coffers.

"And what of those beyond your vaunted wall?" Modera said icily, her expression frozen still. "Do you condemn them to die as those in Stratholme did?"

"Unlike Lordaeron, the Prince of Gilneas is not the sort to set about murdering his own people." Genn said smugly, ignoring her accusation entirely.  Liam, for all it had been praise, tensed, but Genn didn't let his son's discomfort dissuade him from driving the knife in further. "Or does the Kirin Tor cling to the story that the Alliance's prodigal son did not slaughter the inhabitants of its third largest city to the last?"

Genn did not know the truth of the rumours, which were certain and which were lies – not yet. But he trusted Crowley's word when he said that it had been the act of the Prince in a foolish attempt to combat the plague.

The man was crafty and had cultivated sources and contacts throughout his tenure as Commander of the Gilnean Army in the war against the orcs.

Likely the source of his daughter's gryphon, a marvellous beast and he was already considering how it might be turned to Gilneas' advantage. Could the young Lady Crowley raise more from their eggs, teach others to ride, and steal the monopoly of flight from Dalaran and Aerie Peak? It would have to come under the Royal umbrella, of course. Such a powerful position could not be left solely in the hands of a noble family. Not even one as able as the Crowleys.

"Father," Liam spoke up, catching his eye. There was concern there, concern for their people. "We must consider what will occur if this plague reaches our borders. How we might handle the danger."

After a moment Genn nodded. "The quarantine will continue, of course." But what might be done beyond that was a matter for another day; likely he would have to clamp down on Crowley's smuggling efforts. He understood why he was doing it, but he could not allow his friend to damn them all out of kindness.

"And that is it? You hear that tens of thousands, more than a hundred thousand people have died, and you refuse to offer any aid at all?" Modera spat, heat finally entering her voice. Her eyes shone violet and the guards gripped their halberds more tightly. "The Council asks little, and you deny even that. "

"Gilneas is not beholden to the whims of a foreign nation." Genn said unflinchingly. "I know not why you seek this girl, what arcane plot you have in store for her, but I do not care. You violated the sovereignty of Gilneas and are not welcome here." He stood, bringing himself up to his full height to stare down at the woman. She was not diminutive, it did not have the full effect he might have hoped for, but he still stood tall over her. A flaw in sending a woman such as her to negotiate; too proud to lean into her feminine charms, too unimposing to stand as man does. "I demand that you depart my city, my nation, at once."

Her eyes smouldered with fury. Without another word she whirled and stormed out, her staff leaving trails of arcane energy in the air as she marched away.

Liam stood. "Father, may I take my leave?" He said, and Genn raised an eyebrow at his son. Normally they would discuss the ramifications of such a meeting to aid him in his growth to being a great king. Liam obviously noticed Genn's curiosity, as he smiled and chuckled lightly. "Our... guest was unexpected. I promised Tess I would play with her this afternoon, and I am already late."

Genn smiled faintly. "Ah, of course." He chuckled as well, nodding his head. "Hurry along, don't break your promise to your sister. Or Mia will have words with you."

"Indeed, father." Liam bowed his head before leaving.

With a sigh, Genn thought briefly of intruding on his children's play... but unfortunately the demands upon a king's time never truly ceased. He rifled through his papers, hidden away upon the arrival of their undesirable guest, for what he had been reading before.