A Sorcerous Summit

Log Info

• Title: A Sorcerous Summit

• Emitter: Telamon

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: University District - Shining Chalice

• Summary: Telamon takes Ravenstongue to the building where the Shining Chalice meets after some of the members express a desire to get to know her. While the conversation between her, the acting Chairman, and the other Shining Chalice members starts off tense, it soon relaxes as Ravenstongue allows herself to drop her guards somewhat. She even dispenses advice to a young member of the Chalice named Tomas about researching and meeting the progenitor of his bloodline. The conversation concludes as there are no more questions to ask her, and Ravenstongue returns home with Telamon and a well-fed Pothy.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Ravenstongue         5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.                       
Telamon              5'6"     140 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes
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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-    
Stiger                                   Human             Male      Acting Chairman of the Shining Chalice. An older human.
Tomas                5'2                 Human             Male      Young human man. Member of the Shining Chalice.
Hanu                 Ferret!  Ferret!!   Ferret!!!                   Familiar to one of the Shining Chalice members. Adorable.
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University District, early evening.

The sun is just dipping down over Alexandria, the streets gradually clearing of people save for the occasional small group of students or a pair of patrolling watchmen. Still, the district is fairly safe even in the dark hours; no footpad wants to get turned inside out by an aggravated wizard or sorceress.

The half-elf couple walking don't look too much different from any other passerby, in fact. Telamon is dressed quite neatly, in his preferred ruffled white shirt, leather trousers and sash, and boots. Walking arm in arm with Cor'lana, as the two approach a well-maintained townhouse, a sign hanging from it depicting an elaborate chalice in gold with silver accents. "Here we are. It's a little further out because some of the members live in the nobles' quarter and hate to travel too far."

He looks at Cor'lana with a smile. "Ready? They're not completely lacking in social graces, but expect some strange questions."

Cor'lana's arm is wrapped tightly around Telamon's, violet eyes peering around nervously. Telamon may be dressed in his usual finery, but she's wearing the dress that Aryia made for her, looking much the same as the night that she met her future mother-in-law. Without glasses and with her hair down, she certainly looks like a sorceress.

Especially with Pothy on her other shoulder. The white bird is occupied with the task ahead of them, thankfully, and not currently begging for snacks, but both Cor'lana and Telamon are aware that could change at any moment.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I think," Cor'lana says after a moment, gathering her mental steel for the occasion. "Let's go." She offers Telamon a small smile to assure him that she is, in fact, ready.

Tel leads her up the short steps to a very sturdy looking door, heavy wood with iron banding. He raps the door knocker twice, briskly. "Let's see who drew the short straw tonight for door-warden," he says with a wry smile. "It's always fun to see who greets us..."

There's a clunk, and the door swings open smoothly, letting out light and voices, good cheer. Standing in the doorway is a human youth, probably fourteen, dressed in a tunic and trousers. Of course, what really draws attention is the wild, spiky hair in fiery red and gold, making his head look like the business end of a morningstar. His eyes are large and bright blue, and he's actually shorter than Tel, though a couple inches taller than Cor'lana.

The lad stares at Cor'lana for a moment, before flushing to the roots of his hair and clearing his throat. "Master Telamon, Mistress Cor'lana. Welcome to the Shining Chalice."

Telamon inclines his head, "Thank you, Master Tomas." Then he grins impudently, patting the boy on the shoulder as the lad gives way to allow the two entry. "Thank the gods you don't blush like that at cards, Tomas. You'd never win a hand."

Cor'lana blinks a couple of times as she observes the blush on Tomas's face, followed by an increasing look of worry in her eyes. "Thank you, err--it's nice to meet you," she finally says. "Please don't, umm... Please don't worry. I'm sure Telamon is only teasing."

She gives the boy a smile, though the worry in her eyes remains. Pothy, meanwhile, regards Tomas with almost utter indifference in his blue eyes. Finally, the corvid demands, "Snacks!"

Tomas closes the door, throwing the bolt again. There's a spark in his eyes, as he retorts to Tel, "You're still mad that I managed to fool you last week with that bluff." The boy lifts his chin, a willful look on his face...

And Telamon just grins. "That you did. No, I'm not mad, I'm just teasing you, Tomas. We all need a little humility now and then." He gestures for Tomas to lead them onward, which the boy does after flashing a grin.

The trio travel down a short hall, and despite the evening going on, the rooms are still very well lit -- lamps glowing not with oil or torch but mage-lights. The decor is somewhat eclectic, reflecting the varying influences of members, but it's not overdone or crass. Tomas opens another door, into a large salon with chairs and couches, announcing, "Master Telamon and Mistress Cor'lana."

The room is occupied by eight other people -- mostly human, though there are a couple half-elves as well. Of course, there are... curious traces of something more. Hair with strange colors, eyes that glitter oddly, a sense of crackling power, however limited. One man, an older human male, stands and bows. "Welcome to the Chalice. I am Master Stiger -- Mistress Julica is away on family business, and so for my sins I am acting as chairman."

Pothy seems somewhat put out at nobody is fetching him snacks. In the walk down the short hall, Cor'lana produces a handful of dried fruit from the pockets on her fine dress, the embroidery of the golden thread that represents the initial curuchuil mark on her body glinting a little in the light as she moves. This bribe buys Pothy's silence as they enter the salon.

Cor'lana looks around the room, sticking close to Telamon as they walk. She looks a little curious about the exchange between Tomas and Telamon, but her nervousness keeps her from firing back any retort.

Then Stiger introduces himself, and Cor'lana finds herself in a situation where she has to talk. There's an interesting process where the nerves in her violet eyes melt away rather suddenly as she says, "Good evening, Master Stiger. You may call me Cor'lana Lúpecyll, Lady of the Feathered One's bloodline and Inheritor of Apotheosis."

It's an inkling of the sort of formidable aura that Telamon witnessed from Nadina in the inward dream walk. The child walks in the path of the mother--and the grandfather.

Telamon leads Cor'lana over to a couch, seating her before taking his place next to her. With the pair seated, Stiger shows teeth in a slightly-overbroad grin. "Indeed. We all have titles of sorts here -- don't take it too personally if we're unfazed. Before we start, may I offer either of you a drink?" Stiger seats himself, rubbing his leg surrepitiously, as Tomas takes up a position just behind and to the side of the older man.

Telamon nods. "A glass of the white wine, if you would. 'Lana, would you like anything? Oh, and some mixed nuts for Pothy."

While the initial back-and-forth commences, some of the assembled members are pulling out journals, scrolls, and writing implements. They almost look like students about to take notes at a lecturer's class. One of the half-elves swears softly at his inkwell, and crooks a finger at a desk, which pops open and sends another bottle of ink floating to him.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/Arcana: (3)+15: 18

"I'll have some white wine as well, please and thank you," Cor'lana replies to the question, scooting close to Telamon on the couch. Pothy hops off her shoulder and sits off to the side, the raven also just as unfazed as Master Stiger appears to be.

Cor'lana takes a cursory glance around at the members taking out their writing implements before her violet eyes settle back onto Master Stiger. "It's no offense to me," she replies, almost smoothly. "These titles were not earned. They were placed upon me by the circumstances of my birth, even if they were not discovered until recently."

Probably a bold thing to say in the Chalice, especially in earshot of some nobles, but Cor'lana's attention isn't on them. Only on Stiger. "You probably understand as a dragonkind descendant, I imagine." A slight smile.

Stiger's grin never falters, and instead he flicks a glance to one of the other members, who glares at the man and fishes out a purse, tossing it to him. The impression is that Stiger placed a bet, and just fleeced one of his cohorts. "We all have that problem," he says. "Well, those of us who are 'first in line' as it were. We're not all due to inherit a title, so..." He seems quite pleased with 'Lana's responses, eyes glinting.

Once the wine and nuts are placed, Stiger claps his hands. "Let us begin. The rules, of course: Mistress Cor'lana may opt to not answer questions. Questions are to solely pertain to her arcane background and ancestry." He gives one of the human men a flinty look. "No wild tangents. We don't have all night to spin moonbeams." Tomas brings the older magician a glass of wine as well, before settling down with a scroll and quill in turn.

The half-elven woman -- dressed in heavy silks, with a curious veil that only shows her eyes, starts. "When did you first discover your aptitude for the Art, Mistress Cor'lana?"

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (19)+2: 21
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (19)+2: 21
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (14)+2: 16

Cor'lana observes the magicians and takes an experimental sip of her wine, picking it up to drink and then setting it back down rather shortly thereafter. It's a cordial sort of gesture, an acknowledgement of the effort that's been put in here to receive her, and she nods--another gesture that could really mean anything. The wine's flavor could have been agreeable, or she could have consented to the process, or she was acknowledging the veiled woman's question as one she wanted to answer--or any combination thereof.

"I'll be blunt," Cor'lana replies. "I don't think I'm like any of you. I inherited my 'talent' from my mother when she conducted a ritual and died before my eyes. Disintegrated into nothing, no body, no ashes. Just magic that went into me and activated what laid dormant within me--passing Apotheosis here onto me. Everyone in my mother's family has the potential to inherit Apotheosis and awaken the magic, but only one person can at a time."

She looks back to Master Stiger. "If anyone is curious about whether or not that constitutes as sorcery, I invite you to look at me through magic sight," she says. Clearly and firmly. She'd anticipated someone throwing concern her way.

"Of course you're not like us," one fellow quips. "You're a lot prettier than me for starters!"

Whatever tension might've been building promptly sputters out again. Telamon rolls his eyes to the ceiling, Tomas lets out an adolescent snicker that he tries to stifle, and Stiger heaves a sigh.

"This is what I'm saddled with," the dragon-blooded sorcerer says. "Gods save me. But Master Turow makes a point. We all have different backgrounds. My ancestor didn't dally with a dragon -- he killed one, and was doused in its blood. But every journey -- whether physical or magical -- has a beginning, Mistress Cor'lana. Your mother's passing -- a tragedy, yes, but it hardly makes you..." He searches for a word.

"Not a sorcerer?" another of the onlookers suggests. His comment is punctuated by a soft squeaking sound, as a small ferret pokes its nose out of his sleeve.

"I was trying for something more polished," Stiger replies. "Please, Mistress Cor'lana, be at peace. We are not here to question your 'talent' as Master Telamon calls it. Only to understand."

Cor'lana's gaze softens just a bit, and the smallest sigh leaves her. She shifts a little as she sits and takes in a breath.

"Forgive me," she replies. "I am... used to being questioned and denied on account of things that I cannot control, such as my lineage. I'm used to being defensive--which is a step up from how I used to be, which was to simply run and hide."

Which wasn't that long ago. She gives Telamon a little look and the hint of a smile. He's seen that transformation happening. Perhaps the memory of charming Lady Ainasse with a single spell and directing her to fuck off is coming to mind for her.

Pothy raises his head at the sound of the ferret, looking over at the man curiously. Another little creature, vying for snacks and attention? Say it ain't so!

The tension dissolving away seems to bring spirits back up again, and drinks are refilled. A stoic, dark skinned fellow taps his pencil against his journal. "Your capabilities are also entwined with your fey heritage, though, which is curious. Do you find such a dual nature to run in conflict, or does one complement the other?"

There's some hurried scribbling on books and scrolls, as Telamon takes a sip of his wine, his free hand stroking Cor'lana's. "Doing fine, love," he murmurs. "Be polite, and don't give an inch."

Meanwhile, the ferret slips out of his master's sleeve, and perches on the arm of the chair, peering at the large white raven with interested dark eyes.

"They complement each other rather well, I find," Cor'lana replies. The smile on her face widens as she begins to speak on her fey heritage, a clear sign of the work she's done with Grandfather coming to light. "Grandfather, as I call the Feathered One, has put in a lot of effort to make sure that I don't feel left out, and I have found my gifts from my mother's bloodline have intertwined with the... shall we say, enthralling nature of being feytouched. Grandfather believes with time, I will go beyond my mother's capabilities at enchantment magic."

Pothy stares at the ferret face-to-face. Blink. Blink. "Merp," Pothy finally says to the ferret in greeting, defaulting to his usual raven-croak noise. The ferret is not trying to eat his snacks yet, so he's neutral... for now.

"Chirp." The ferret seems perfectly happy to respect Pothy's snackboundaries, a wriggling furry length that slithers back and forth, inspecting the raven with intense curiosity.

"There is of course considerable precedent for such outside influences to leave their own mark," Stiger comments. "Hence the tracking of such abilities and study of how they interact." Next to him, Tomas is scribbling away furiously, taking copious notes. "It's interesting that you are bonded to a familiar yet have such fey influence. Usually only those with direct connection to the Art develop such bonds."

The owner of the ferret nods in interest. "Indeed. I'm a bit surprised, I've never felt any bond stronger than between myself and Hanu... Hanu, stop making eyes at him and come here." The ferret zips back over to his owner. "Sorry. In any case, I'm a bit surprised the arcane resonance doesn't drown out everything else."

"Apotheosis is inherited from my mother," Cor'lana says, patting Pothy as the ferret Hanu is summoned away, leaving Pothy suddenly without a new possible (pothyble) friend. Any sudden loss that Pothy might have felt is placated with the affection of his mistress.

She scratches the thick throat feathers that all ravens have, and Pothy's clearly appreciative, as he croaks happily. "Pothy, as I call him, is a... repository of knowledge for every inheritor. Or he's supposed to be. It appears that through the centuries, he's become rather devoted to one sort of knowledge: food. He eats snacks like they're nothing."

"Snacks," Pothy croaks. As though to prove a point.

"I still don't know the full origin of my mother's bloodline," Cor'lana explains, "but I believe an entity of knowledge created Apotheosis and blessed my first inheritor ancestor with strong magic, binding Pothy to them. The fey influence is from my father's bloodline, and... it has been amplified through family rites, but it hasn't interacted negatively with my mother's bloodline."

Her wording choice is careful here. There's a reason she didn't wear a dress with a low enough cut to show the curuchuil mark, although magic sight would reveal it anyway.

Lots of scribbling sounds and murmured discussion at that. "Fascinating! I wonder if..." "...but surely one would overwhelm..." "Something to ponder, but it's not like we can..." Stiger lets the muttering and chatter die down. "It raises certain interesting possibilities. That bloodlines could be blended to produce new ones, hopefully with all the advantageous abilities of both."

Stiger makes a face. "Of course, this is not the sort of thing you really want to discuss in polite company, so for now it will remain academic." The older man inclines his head to Telamon. "I presume, from the glint of gold on her finger and yours, the match is still on?"

Telamon nods with a grin. "Of course." His fingers interlock with hers. "I keep telling her she should've traded up, but she won't hear of it..."

Cor'lana's smile finally lights up and becomes truly genuine as Telamon's fingers intertwine with her own, looking at Telamon with that usual adoring gaze in her violet eyes. "Tel, just a life with you is easily a trade up from what I had before," she says. "I won't tolerate any implication otherwise.

And she leans in to kiss him on the cheek, which probably dashes the hopes of anyone in the room who was hoping that Telamon's mysterious feytouched lady had any inclination of being 'back on the market' anytime soon.

"As for the possibilities of bloodline blending, that's something that Telamon and I will have to see for ourselves in...mmm, maybe a few decades or so. We have plenty of time, after all. But I won't have our children being harassed then for experiments." Cor'lana's smiling, but there's a certain threat there in her last few words.

(Maybe Cor'lana isn't that far removed from Grandfather after all.)

There is a certain level of disappointment radiating from a couple of the members, though the ladies seem quite pleased -- whether it's removal of a possible rival or just a happy appreciation for romance, well, they're not saying.

Stiger nods. "I understand completely, and agree with you, Mistress Cor'lana. As I said, such discussion shall remain academic." His brow furrows, and for a moment his own heritage crackles in his eyes. "We are thinking people, not cattle to be bred, and anyone with such notions had best keep them to themselves."

He lets that hang in the air, before relaxing again. "You speak of the Feathered One. I've seen references to this entity in my own library -- a power, to be sure. What are his current wishes in this matter, if I may ask? I will presume he approves of your match, but I admit to some interest as to what a fey lord might find of import these days."

Cor'lana is at least visibly happy that Stiger is not arranging a clinical cattle breeding business. "I am appreciative of that, Master Stiger," she says. "People ought to have children for love and care for the next generation, not out of some disgusting notion of furthering some ideal quality."

She picks up the wine glass in her free hand--as she's very happy to keep holding onto Telamon's hand with her other one--and takes a sip. "Grandfather thinks similarly to me, which is why he's never expressed a single ounce of thought indicating disappointment in my mixed heritage. He wants my happiness, and he was pleased I found someone like me who can understand what I've been through. He's very happy with Telamon, although I have to admit Telamon's father was... unnerved, at first, by the revelation that I have a fey ancestor who enthusiastically participates in my life. Grandfather likes to drop by and visit us fairly regularly."

Telamon jumps in to elaborate. "There are certain... concerns about becoming tangled up in any extraplanar entity's plans. You've voiced as much, Master Stiger, as well as others. Our lives can be complicated enough as is."

Stiger leans back in his seat, steepling his fingers. "There's always a certain amount of... interest in good matches. But I agree that too much emphasis on such can lead a person down some dark roads indeed. Hence why I'm unwilling to entertain the subject." He chuckles at Telamon's commentary. "Yes, yes I have. There are plenty of tales of those who cut deals with such entities -- and I'm not singling out the fey, mind you -- and come to regret it."

"I'm well aware of what fates can befall people who make pacts with extraplanar entities," Cor'lana replies. She puts her wine glass down, and her freed hand goes to rest on top of the embroidered curuchuil mark almost unconsciously. "Grandfather is not that type of person. He loves me intensely--to the point where he has named me head of the Lúpecyll family despite the fact my father is still alive. The only arrangement that we've made is that one day, when I am ready to leave life behind here, I will join him in Quelynos to live out the rest of my days in peace, as members of my bloodline have done for ages."

Cor'lana smiles. "He's a lonely old soul, not a man worthy of loathing or suspicion. I am proud to be his child."

Pothy, meanwhile, digs into the nuts that were brought out for him, finally just letting himself dig into the snacks. He was really only holding out from a sense of decorum, perhaps a thought of, "I'd better not screw this up for Cor'lana or she'll really hate me."

Murmuring, and some worried expressions, as well as the scratching of pencils and quills. Stiger hmms. "Lúpecyll... wait, your father is Glórenacil Lúpecyll, is he not? I had heard he had left the city suddenly -- something about a disagreement with his wife. I won't ask for details," he hurriedly continues. "This is the kind of tangent I was lecturing about at the start. But..."

Telamon clears his throat, "I believe you were about to say 'Don't elves know better', Master Stiger? Yes, they usually do. I suspect I have the same copy of 'On Planar Entities' that you do, and it was written by an elf who was very specific about her warnings." He shakes his head. "But there are no end of people -- man or elf -- willing to think they can be the ones who will come out ahead."

He sips his wine. "There is a lesson there for all of us. We are better off cultivating and developing the power we do have, rather than making deals with entities from outside Ea. Even if one means well, you could wind up being in debt to such an entity, and at the least it could be uncomfortable."

"My sire," Cor'lana says rather flatly, "is a waste of a life masquerading as a man who knows what he's doing. He's gotten into the trouble he has because he was not open about the fact that my ancestor is the Feathered One and because his ambitions consisted of grasping at fleeting stabs of importance in the eyes of Llyranesi nobility--a wild elf whose call to keep to honor our ancestor he ignored to dally with a Son'doriel dawn elf. Certainly, I feel that extraplanar pacts are not advisable--but my father's ruin was not because of my Grandfather. It was because he kept running from him. I consider my Grandfather's blood in my veins to be my nature that I cultivate, not an obligation--because I have seen what happens to those that ignore it in search of mortalbound things."

Her hand over her curuchuil mark balls into a fist. "So the lesson is not mine to learn. I am the head of the Lúpecyll family and I honor my Grandfather as I ought to, and ruin will not fall onto me for doing so."

One of the assembled sorcerers raises his glass. "Hear hear!" before downing it in a single pull. Even Stiger seems impressed, eyes glinting. "-Well- now. And I thought I had opinions," he quips with a grin. "Are you sure you don't have any sisters, Mistress Cor'lana?" His voice is playful, though Tomas blushes again. He's clearly impressed as well.

Telamon, of course, grins. "And that, my friends, is one of many reasons I wish her as my bride." He lifts her hand, still in his, and kisses the back of it. "But yes. As Cor'lana says, if you find yourself in such a situation, you might try to face it rather than flee from it. Such entities do not age, they rarely sleep, and they can catch up to you easily. So you might be better off trying to deal with the problem."

Stiger taps his fingertips together. "We are moving afield again. You said you felt you were more competent with enchantments. This is interesting, as the bloodlines do not normally seem to favor one school of magic over another. The influence of your fey ancestry, I presume."

"No sisters, although I do have a cousin turning thirty soon on my mother's side--meaning, of course, she's not magical herself, but could be in line to inherit Apotheosis if I die suddenly and tragically without children of my own. Her name's Adelaide Branfeax, and she makes some really great cookies over at the Cheerful Corvid Coffee Shop. Go give her a visit--she's single and she looks almost exactly like me." Cor'lana can't help but grin at plugging her cousin's shop and marital status. Maybe she's picturing poor Addy getting swarmed by sorcerers. The grin's certainly not hampered by Telamon's show of affection, either.

Cor'lana then nods to Stiger's question. "I think it's a combination of that, and my mother's own specialization in enchantment magic. She was rather powerful in her time and used her power to influence people. She explained that the power that she inherited was... malleable, and could be used in different ways, but she chose to manifest it as a force of her will."

Scribble, scribble. Lots of notes being taken. One of the sorcerers -- Turow, in fact -- chuckles and stage-mumbles, "...Cheerful... Corvid... Coffee." as he's writing. "In all seriousness, though, that seems to be a common unifying pattern among sorcerers -- what Master Telamon calls 'talent'. Our powers do not spring from study -- though it never hurts to do so, as it broadens one's capabilities in other areas -- but from application of our will and focus to the arcane power we sense within. But it expresses quite differently from one person to the next."

"Indeed," Stiger notes. "Both Telamon and I know the incantation to call forth a fiery lance -- but his manifests as a beam, where mine resembles a gout of barely-focused flame. More evidence that despite similarities, our spells are reflections of ourselves."

"I've noticed that, too," Cor'lana says, smiling as she looks at Telamon. "We both know a noxious spell--a glittery dust spell. We like to call his stardust and mine is pixie dust."

She then takes a moment to say, "Maybe that's why Mirabilis and Lily-of-the-Valley set up shop in our garden." This sentiment is chased down with a sip of wine, as Cor'lana presumably doesn't feel the need to hover over the mark hidden under her dress to draw up the conviction to speak anymore.

Pothy looks up. He's eaten all of his nuts. Tap, tap, tap...

And he's staring at Stiger. "Snacks," he demands. It's like going up to a man and saying, "You're the boss of this outfit, gimme what I want."

"The conjuration of blinding sparkles," Stiger remarks. "Not my preference, but a reasonably effective one. But yes, it illustrates the point perfectly." He chuckles, and gestures, very similarly to Telamon, and another bowl of nuts is brought forth by invisible hands for Pothy.

Tomas clears his throat. "Ah... Mistress Cor'lana, do you have any advice to those who might find themselves encountering their... well, for lack of a better term, progenitor? In cases where one's talent comes from an entity or creature?"

Telamon raises an eyebrow at that one, and regards Tomas with an interested look. Waiting for Cor'lana to speak though, as the question wasn't directed to him.

Cor'lana looks over at Tomas with a raised brow, too, violet eyes filled with curiosity. "Well, I can tell you--when I met Grandfather for the first time, it was in the Mythwood forests. A group of trusted friends and I summoned him from Quelynos, using a ritual we discovered that used my family curuchuil--in my case, a mark painted on my chest, and no, I am not showing anyone that--to make the rite easier. What I wasn't aware of was that... Well, that Grandfather was Grandfather."

She smiles a little. "In recent generations, my family had come to speak so seldom of Grandfather that my father wasn't even fully aware that Grandfather was our ancestor. He simply saw him as a monster that the family was indebted to. At any rate, we took the protective measures. I arranged a summoning circle that would keep all of us safe. And... that was pretty quickly apparent when Grandfather appeared and started crying, calling me 'child of his blood'."

Cor'lana sighs a little, still smiling. "Telamon was there. He even stood between me and Grandfather, demanding to know Grandfather's intentions for me. That's when I fell for him, of course--anyway," she says, getting back on track, "I recommend doing something similar. Speak through messengers, then summon through a protected rite circle with trusted friends and spellcasters. Do you happen to know what your entity might be, Master Tomas?"

Tomas actually starts to stutter a little, before Stiger reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, quelling it. "Breathe, boy." He looks at Cor'lana, "The lad's parents are old friends and I sponsored him for membership here. Better to learn earlier than later, I say."

Once Tomas has gotten himself under control -- it was probably the 'I'm not showing anyone the curuchuil' that rattled him -- he swallows hard. "We're not sure yet. There have been portents. Um... it's easier to show..." He picks up a candle in a plate, setting it before him. That done, Tomas's face takes on a look of concentration, and he speaks a word -- and the candle ignites, a perfectly normal flame.

Tomas then holds his hand above the candleflame, and the flame... seems to stretch a bit. As he moves his hand around, the flame seems to weirdly bend towards his hand, until he takes his fingers away.

Stiger nods approvingly at the demonstration. "We believe it to be some elemental power of fire, obviously. But we don't know what. I've commissioned an augury with the temples, but such things take time."

Telamon nods. "Then my lady's advice is probably good for the moment. A protective ward is a good way to keep something like this at arm's reach till you've ascertained their intentions."

Cor'lana briefly looks a bit guilty about poor Tomas losing his composure. "Probably should have specified it's on my heart," she murmurs. But the boy recovers and she watches him demonstrate with the candle with interest.

"How odd," Cor'lana says as she watches the candle's flame bend towards the boy's hand. "And interesting... How do you feel when you interact with water or ice? I've found that I feel uneasy if I'm close to cold iron, for instance.--But yes, the protective ward is the best way to go until you get further details. Until then, you'd probably do well just doing research on elemental beings and getting an idea of what your progenitor might be like--and what they might want. Although you can always be pleasantly surprised."

She grins. "I was, after all."

"Wouldn't help," Telamon murmurs in response. "He's fourteen. His mind's going places regardless. Mine did." He winks at Cor'lana, grinning, before looking back to Tomas.

"Not really, no," Tomas says. "But... I read that sort of thing starts to only show if you work on developing your talent. The more 'talent' you've got, the more that sort of thing starts to appear." He snuffs the candle out with a puff of breath, before putting it aside. He sighs and looks to Stiger. "I guess we have to wait for the results of the augury to come back."

Stiger looks sympathetic. "We'll work it out, lad. Never fear." He smiles at Cor'lana. "Trust me, he gets more than a fair share of studywork. At the rate he's going, I may have to sponsor him for a place at the Academy. He's just about read all my books on the subject and a few that aren't."

Cor'lana's cheeks briefly color in response to Telamon. But--and perhaps it's her following in her mother's footsteps as she was earlier--she finds herself drawing close to Telamon, leaning into his ear, and she whispers, "Are you going to be thinking about my mark, and the rest of me, the whole time now?" with a little conspiratorial grin.

She doesn't let him answer. She just draws back and coughs into her fist, looking a bit pleased and perhaps even impressed with herself. "Well," she says, "it took me a while to develop my talent. It was slow going at first... and then it just sort of snowballed in a way I didn't anticipate at all once I knew who I was and where my magic was coming from. Hopefully you'll have the same result."

Telamon manages to keep a straight face and the blush off at her whisper, but he grins back at Cor'lana. "I'll get you for that later," he murmurs, before turning his attention back to the others. "Any other thoughts, friends?"

Stiger turns his gaze to an elaborate, artifice-driven clock standing against the wall. "I don't think so. Mistress Cor'lana, you've given us much food for thought, and several intriguing ideas to research." His eyes glint. "And it didn't even involve bloodletting. How that rumor got started, I have no idea..."

"Probably Master Kelev, sir," Tomas volunteers, his young face set in an irritated expression. "He's kind of a--"

"Yes, Master Tomas, I agree, but let's end this on a cheerful note, shall we?" Stiger stands up. "I do thank you for your time, both of you. Mistress Cor'lana, if you need to speak to us, please feel free to do so. Master Telamon, it's been a pleasure as always."

Cor'lana rises up from the couch, taking Telamon with her. She smiles pleasantly at the group of sorcerers--an odd and potentially dangerous group to be in, mind you, but that could be said of the Society for Progressive Arcanists, as well. "It was lovely to speak with all of you and contribute to your ideas," she says. "Thank you for your hospitality, and I hope that you have a good evening."

Pothy flies onto her shoulder after having hurriedly gurgled more nuts down his gullet. He makes a little noise like a corvid-burp, which earns him a snicker from his mistress as she walks out the door with Telamon in hand--presumably to return home so Telamon can follow up on his bride's whispered suggestion.