The lift sign stopped at the thirty-fifth floor. Donar came out of it with a somewhat sluggish face. In the depths of his mind, all he would do to end the day was to take the kids to dinner, have a warm bath, sleep, then head back to Trinketshore for a short weekend. Parents never asked for grandiosity.
He was already at the door. The movement of the doorknob was twisted, then stuck after an eighth turn. Donar rummaged through the bag's contents before a key click could be heard.
"Welcome back home!"
Donar suddenly threw his bag on the carpet and pointed his wand at the door!
To be more precise, towards the “deer-headed” human who kindly welcomed him!
"My lord, please calm down…," coaxed the Deer Head. "We don't want to cause a fray in your residence. It will be bad for the neighbors … and your son.”
“Where is my son? What have you done to him?” Donar’s tone rose, and his face was boiling with fierce.
No emotion was shown from the deer’s snout, but whoever was inside the mask gave a signal for Donar to remain calm. "Your son is fine. Come on in, we can talk more inside."
It seemed Donar did not have any choice but to comply with the request of a stranger with the head of a forked-horned beast. His wand was confiscated, and he slowly entered the room guided by the Deer Head. As he entered, he saw more wizards dressed in all black with masks filling every corner of the house. Donar flinched again when he found Leith petrified with a pose like he was about to shoot magic. As uncertain as the father was, he presumed that his son was trapped in a known wizardry spell that made its victims petrified. Leith was unable to move, but he was as conscious as the cantankerous mad stallion. His eyeballs were still adjusting to the light, especially when his father had just arrived.
"My lord, there is no need to be upset…, your son is just trapped in a spell… what was the spell just now?” The Deer Head turned to one of the wizards.
“Motus Captionem! I know that," said Donar.
"Exactly! Glad you already know."
Donar scanned his surroundings again. He did not find his eldest daughter, Alicia, and her two best friends.
“My daughter,” said Donar, “Nadine, and Gilmore. Where did you keep them?”
"Oh, that girl?" The Deer Head immediately laughed wheezing. “Ah, Lord Donar, that's precisely why I'm waiting for you. They are not here. We don't lock them up. But some of us are dealing with them right now."
“What do you mean dealing with them?”
“Please have a seat, Lord Donar. I insist."
It was hard not to lose one’s composure at a time like this. So was Donar. He took a deep breath to steady himself, yet his heart kept racing like a galloping horse, weighed down by the grave peril his eldest daughter faced. The father could only hope Alicia could still fight her way from them with Orb. Thus, Baron Trinketshore pulled up a chair and sat at the dining table, joined by the Deer Head.
The Deer Head then addressed Donar, saying, "I'm sorry, Lord. Donar. Let me shed this deer's head first."
The Deer Head was no longer the “Deer Head”. A middle-aged woman figure with curly hair was the one behind the mask all along.
A woman well-known to Donar and Leith.
Leith's eyes immediately gleamed at the Deer Head's true form. He wanted to shout the woman’s name while delivering a taunt. But how the Divine had cursed him, for the gesture he could do apart from roaming his eyes was blinking them.
“You….” Donar represented Leith's heart, “Florence Crimsonmane, you deceitful scoundrel!”
As Donar rose again, the other wizards took their positions, ensuring he could not lunge at Florence from any direction.
Florence opened her mouth. In contrast to the polite and humble Deer Head persona, Florence … became Florence—the lady whose hissed tongue dripped with scorn, lashing in condescending tones. “Is this the Donar I've known all along? A tranquil man, now easily provoked by emotions? I'm so disappointed for our first time speaking face-to-face."
“You'll get more opportunities to talk to me when you languish behind jail!”
Florence could not help but chuckle in satisfaction. “I retract my words, I prefer you now! If only you were always this expressive, the relatives wouldn't find you boring."
Although he blurted it out by mistake, Donar immediately closed his lips. Knowing that being snared in Florence’s provocative play would not bring any good expectations, he sat back down. “You shouldn't have taken that mask off,” he said. “You count your sins. Spreading Protos particles all over Camelot, a string of murder and magic abuse cases, and now, confining the members of the parliament. After this, it's impossible for you to run away, no matter where you go!”
"Not if I kill you first," Florence replied casually. “But no, I don't care if you catch me or not. There’s no use anyway because it's not about me. So luckily for both of you, I have no intention of getting rid of you… if you gentlemen don't act so annoying.”
Donar looked back at every magician hiding behind a mask, guarding the corners of the room. "Dinnae tell me they are all part of House Crimsonmane too."
Florence sipped a glass of lemonade on the table she had already prepared. He handed Donar a glass, but the man had not shown any signs of thirst. “Are they? Who cares, Donar, it doesn't matter."
“It's all because of Orb, isn't it? If you really aim for that thing, just take it from my daughter and put her in a stupor. But I beg you to spare her life!”
“Oh, will you kneel down and kiss my feet for that?”
“Florence!”
"Alright, alright. Calm down, old man. It will hinge on my stoater niece's disposition later. If she’s willing to hand it over without coercion, there probably won’t be any need for bloodshed." Florence sipped on her lemonade again. "That, if that happens, which is very unlikely because you know… a child of puberty. We were the same at their age; defiant, naive, lacking rational thinking.”
"Alicia is the most rational compared to all her other kin," said Donar. "I should have listened to my daughter not to take her back to Alasdair's house, knowing that her grandfather would do something bad to his own granddaughter if he didn't get what he wanted."
A gush of pale, cloudy yellow liquid spouted from the woman's mouth. “Damn it, Donar! Where are your manners not to make someone spit at the dinner table?” Florence rushed to find a napkin and wiped up the spilt lemonade. She still had a sense of responsibility apparently.
"That fossil? We don't care what the old geezer tells us to do," cried Florence, cursing the House Patriarch. "What an old, archaic man. No wonder his mind is narrower than a pinhole. All inside his stodgy skull is only power, power, power, glory, and power! After all, what will he do if he rules the entire kingdom? Apart from lying weak and coughing up blood on the bed like a dying monarch?”
Florence rose from her seat and then expressed their true purpose in an exaggerated fashion. What a pity for Leith who had to watch his ludicrous aunt without being able to look away. If only the tip of his wand could fire magic at one of the most famous tub-thumpers in the Crimsonmane family, and burn her to ashes.
“We have a soooo big design, Donar and Leith. Bigger, and greater than just holding a piece of land," said Florence. “You won't understand the Grand Design right now, but soon, everything will be revealed, and you will all be glad and grateful to us.”
Leith murmured in his thought, Who would’ve thought this glaikit aunt have ambitions too, apart from just hoarding fat on their buttocks while contesting fate with celebrities at a fancy penthouse?
“And you need pure Arcane to realise that 'Grand Design' of yours?” asked Donar.
Florence approached Donar, thrusting her face in close proximity to Donar's which was about to tense up. "Oh, we don't need it. On the contrary, we want to destroy it! Along with all the pure Arcane all over the face of the Earth! When I read Ailsa's journal from the Magisterium and heard about the owner of the Arcane in Trinketshore, that's when I knew we ought to destroy the source of Arcane and its wielder. Your daughter's Arcane's just... exceptional."
A wide grin escaped her already wrinkled face, making Florence's demeanour many times more disgusting than before. Not to mention the cracks that appeared from her dry makeup. “But of course, as I said, there might be no need for bloodshed. Taking Arcane from her was enough to render her defenseless, innit? But no promises, though. You see, many want the child to die. Many have compassion on her, too, but she is doomed to die after all!”
If one other impression came when chatting with Aunt Florence—other than a twenty-four-hour socialite—then that impression was: Florence Crimsonmane was a lunatic. She sang an old Caledonian chant and put her arm around one of the mages for a forced dance. How optimistic she became, thinking that she could snatch the Divine Grace from Alicia's hands with almost no effort. It was surprising that no neighbours were disturbed by the noise and banged on the door to keep her mouth shut. Both Leith and his father changed their minds. Both preferred when Florence was in her Deer Head mode. At least she behaved sane, although her mask choice was quite questionable.
Donar surveyed at the frozen Leith. Two magicians stationed like sentinels at either end. Another figure was on standby just a few inches from the concerned parliamentarian. Donar retained a glimmer of cunning that might yet see him and his son escape from the flat. It was foolish of them not to seize Leith's wand—a misstep born of overconfidence, and one that would prove to be their undoing.
“How long are you going to keep us here?” Donar asked Florence, whose body was circling in the centre of the room.
“Relax, Donar!” replied the mad woman. "Why such a hurry? At least until we hear the news about the magic orb, then we'll do something.”
"Let's just say I'm done with your hackit face and jobby dancing. We're leaving."
"What did you say—"
Donar summoned his ability of martial arts, which turned out to be quite capable. He overpowered the nearby wizard plopping their head firmly against the dining table. Donar snatched the wizard's wand, brandishing it with a quick flick of his wrist at Leith.
“Dimittere!“
At once, the stone's curse lifted from Leith. Donar unleashed a surge of energy towards the wizard to Leith's right, while his perceptive son, reciprocated with his own brand of magic, striking the second mage to his left.
“Motus Captionem!”
The malign wizard had drawn breath to unleash a fatal blast of Khaotic magic upon Donar, but in a cruel twist of fate, the spell died on his lips as his tongue froze, rigid as stone. His hands, too, had become paralyzed, rendering him powerless to complete the incantation.
Donar chased away the mages in front of him, then leapt behind the sofas and chairs that Leith managed to overturn. The magicians started barraging the sofas, only to discover too late that they had been imbued with powerful enchantments, a clever measure devised by Leith in preparation for this very moment. The once-peaceful flat was transformed into a miniature cast and clash.
Leith tried to stretch his aching body after leaning it with one leg for almost two hours. "Okay, Papa. I hope yer script isnae only setting me loose from the statue’s curse."
"Oh, I have some ideas, don’t fuss yourself." Donar twisted his wand so that the tip emitted a dancing glow around the tiny twig. "Protect me!" []
The lift sign stopped at the thirty-fifth floor. Donar came out of it with a somewhat sluggish face. In the depths of his mind, all he would do to end the day was to take the kids to dinner, have a warm bath, sleep, then head back to Trinketshore for a short weekend. Parents never asked for grandiosity.
He was already at the door. The movement of the doorknob was twisted, then stuck after an eighth turn. Donar rummaged through the bag's contents before a key click could be heard.
"Welcome back home!"
Donar suddenly threw his bag on the carpet and pointed his wand at the door!
To be more precise, towards the “deer-headed” human who kindly welcomed him!
"My lord, please calm down…," coaxed the Deer Head. "We don't want to cause a fray in your residence. It will be bad for the neighbors … and your son.”
“Where is my son? What have you done to him?” Donar’s tone rose, and his face was boiling with fierce.
No emotion was shown from the deer’s snout, but whoever was inside the mask gave a signal for Donar to remain calm. "Your son is fine. Come on in, we can talk more inside."
It seemed Donar did not have any choice but to comply with the request of a stranger with the head of a forked-horned beast. His wand was confiscated, and he slowly entered the room guided by the Deer Head. As he entered, he saw more wizards dressed in all black with masks filling every corner of the house. Donar flinched again when he found Leith petrified with a pose like he was about to shoot magic. As uncertain as the father was, he presumed that his son was trapped in a known wizardry spell that made its victims petrified. Leith was unable to move, but he was as conscious as the cantankerous mad stallion. His eyeballs were still adjusting to the light, especially when his father had just arrived.
"My lord, there is no need to be upset…, your son is just trapped in a spell… what was the spell just now?” The Deer Head turned to one of the wizards.
“Motus Captionem! I know that," said Donar.
"Exactly! Glad you already know."
Donar scanned his surroundings again. He did not find his eldest daughter, Alicia, and her two best friends.
“My daughter,” said Donar, “Nadine, and Gilmore. Where did you keep them?”
"Oh, that girl?" The Deer Head immediately laughed wheezing. “Ah, Lord Donar, that's precisely why I'm waiting for you. They are not here. We don't lock them up. But some of us are dealing with them right now."
“What do you mean dealing with them?”
“Please have a seat, Lord Donar. I insist."
It was hard not to lose one’s composure at a time like this. So was Donar. He took a deep breath to steady himself, yet his heart kept racing like a galloping horse, weighed down by the grave peril his eldest daughter faced. The father could only hope Alicia could still fight her way from them with Orb. Thus, Baron Trinketshore pulled up a chair and sat at the dining table, joined by the Deer Head.
The Deer Head then addressed Donar, saying, "I'm sorry, Lord. Donar. Let me shed this deer's head first."
The Deer Head was no longer the “Deer Head”. A middle-aged woman figure with curly hair was the one behind the mask all along.
A woman well-known to Donar and Leith.
Leith's eyes immediately gleamed at the Deer Head's true form. He wanted to shout the woman’s name while delivering a taunt. But how the Divine had cursed him, for the gesture he could do apart from roaming his eyes was blinking them.
“You….” Donar represented Leith's heart, “Florence Crimsonmane, you deceitful scoundrel!”
As Donar rose again, the other wizards took their positions, ensuring he could not lunge at Florence from any direction.
Florence opened her mouth. In contrast to the polite and humble Deer Head persona, Florence … became Florence—the lady whose hissed tongue dripped with scorn, lashing in condescending tones. “Is this the Donar I've known all along? A tranquil man, now easily provoked by emotions? I'm so disappointed for our first time speaking face-to-face."
“You'll get more opportunities to talk to me when you languish behind jail!”
Florence could not help but chuckle in satisfaction. “I retract my words, I prefer you now! If only you were always this expressive, the relatives wouldn't find you boring."
Although he blurted it out by mistake, Donar immediately closed his lips. Knowing that being snared in Florence’s provocative play would not bring any good expectations, he sat back down. “You shouldn't have taken that mask off,” he said. “You count your sins. Spreading Protos particles all over Camelot, a string of murder and magic abuse cases, and now, confining the members of the parliament. After this, it's impossible for you to run away, no matter where you go!”
"Not if I kill you first," Florence replied casually. “But no, I don't care if you catch me or not. There’s no use anyway because it's not about me. So luckily for both of you, I have no intention of getting rid of you… if you gentlemen don't act so annoying.”
Donar looked back at every magician hiding behind a mask, guarding the corners of the room. "Dinnae tell me they are all part of House Crimsonmane too."
Florence sipped a glass of lemonade on the table she had already prepared. He handed Donar a glass, but the man had not shown any signs of thirst. “Are they? Who cares, Donar, it doesn't matter."
“It's all because of Orb, isn't it? If you really aim for that thing, just take it from my daughter and put her in a stupor. But I beg you to spare her life!”
“Oh, will you kneel down and kiss my feet for that?”
“Florence!”
"Alright, alright. Calm down, old man. It will hinge on my stoater niece's disposition later. If she’s willing to hand it over without coercion, there probably won’t be any need for bloodshed." Florence sipped on her lemonade again. "That, if that happens, which is very unlikely because you know… a child of puberty. We were the same at their age; defiant, naive, lacking rational thinking.”
"Alicia is the most rational compared to all her other kin," said Donar. "I should have listened to my daughter not to take her back to Alasdair's house, knowing that her grandfather would do something bad to his own granddaughter if he didn't get what he wanted."
A gush of pale, cloudy yellow liquid spouted from the woman's mouth. “Damn it, Donar! Where are your manners not to make someone spit at the dinner table?” Florence rushed to find a napkin and wiped up the spilt lemonade. She still had a sense of responsibility apparently.
"That fossil? We don't care what the old geezer tells us to do," cried Florence, cursing the House Patriarch. "What an old, archaic man. No wonder his mind is narrower than a pinhole. All inside his stodgy skull is only power, power, power, glory, and power! After all, what will he do if he rules the entire kingdom? Apart from lying weak and coughing up blood on the bed like a dying monarch?”
Florence rose from her seat and then expressed their true purpose in an exaggerated fashion. What a pity for Leith who had to watch his ludicrous aunt without being able to look away. If only the tip of his wand could fire magic at one of the most famous tub-thumpers in the Crimsonmane family, and burn her to ashes.
“We have a soooo big design, Donar and Leith. Bigger, and greater than just holding a piece of land," said Florence. “You won't understand the Grand Design right now, but soon, everything will be revealed, and you will all be glad and grateful to us.”
Leith murmured in his thought, Who would’ve thought this glaikit aunt have ambitions too, apart from just hoarding fat on their buttocks while contesting fate with celebrities at a fancy penthouse?
“And you need pure Arcane to realise that 'Grand Design' of yours?” asked Donar.
Florence approached Donar, thrusting her face in close proximity to Donar's which was about to tense up. "Oh, we don't need it. On the contrary, we want to destroy it! Along with all the pure Arcane all over the face of the Earth! When I read Ailsa's journal from the Magisterium and heard about the owner of the Arcane in Trinketshore, that's when I knew we ought to destroy the source of Arcane and its wielder. Your daughter's Arcane's just... exceptional."
A wide grin escaped her already wrinkled face, making Florence's demeanour many times more disgusting than before. Not to mention the cracks that appeared from her dry makeup. “But of course, as I said, there might be no need for bloodshed. Taking Arcane from her was enough to render her defenseless, innit? But no promises, though. You see, many want the child to die. Many have compassion on her, too, but she is doomed to die after all!”
If one other impression came when chatting with Aunt Florence—other than a twenty-four-hour socialite—then that impression was: Florence Crimsonmane was a lunatic. She sang an old Caledonian chant and put her arm around one of the mages for a forced dance. How optimistic she became, thinking that she could snatch the Divine Grace from Alicia's hands with almost no effort. It was surprising that no neighbours were disturbed by the noise and banged on the door to keep her mouth shut. Both Leith and his father changed their minds. Both preferred when Florence was in her Deer Head mode. At least she behaved sane, although her mask choice was quite questionable.
Donar surveyed at the frozen Leith. Two magicians stationed like sentinels at either end. Another figure was on standby just a few inches from the concerned parliamentarian. Donar retained a glimmer of cunning that might yet see him and his son escape from the flat. It was foolish of them not to seize Leith's wand—a misstep born of overconfidence, and one that would prove to be their undoing.
“How long are you going to keep us here?” Donar asked Florence, whose body was circling in the centre of the room.
“Relax, Donar!” replied the mad woman. "Why such a hurry? At least until we hear the news about the magic orb, then we'll do something.”
"Let's just say I'm done with your hackit face and jobby dancing. We're leaving."
"What did you say—"
Donar summoned his ability of martial arts, which turned out to be quite capable. He overpowered the nearby wizard plopping their head firmly against the dining table. Donar snatched the wizard's wand, brandishing it with a quick flick of his wrist at Leith.
“Dimittere!“
At once, the stone's curse lifted from Leith. Donar unleashed a surge of energy towards the wizard to Leith's right, while his perceptive son, reciprocated with his own brand of magic, striking the second mage to his left.
“Motus Captionem!”
The malign wizard had drawn breath to unleash a fatal blast of Khaotic magic upon Donar, but in a cruel twist of fate, the spell died on his lips as his tongue froze, rigid as stone. His hands, too, had become paralyzed, rendering him powerless to complete the incantation.
Donar chased away the mages in front of him, then leapt behind the sofas and chairs that Leith managed to overturn. The magicians started barraging the sofas, only to discover too late that they had been imbued with powerful enchantments, a clever measure devised by Leith in preparation for this very moment. The once-peaceful flat was transformed into a miniature cast and clash.
Leith tried to stretch his aching body after leaning it with one leg for almost two hours. "Okay, Papa. I hope yer script isnae only setting me loose from the statue’s curse."
"Oh, I have some ideas, don’t fuss yourself." Donar twisted his wand so that the tip emitted a dancing glow around the tiny twig. "Protect me!" []
