[ In her own way, Qetzi'ah does not expect the magus to return. She hopes that after seeing the basement and Haran's pathetic sense of 'amusements' that he has thought better of this entire game, reported to his masters that there is nothing worth their time nor flattery. It wouldn't be entirely true, there are generations worths of arcana and magick collected, some of them utterly invaluable. But... she would slit his throat long before she parted with a single piece of it, and were that feckless slug Haran to attempt to undermine her-- Well. Everyone is curious to know how far he will have to push her before the rage bubbling just beneath the surface will finally spill forth. Does she have it in her finish him?
No, not yet.
But as she throws cards and bones the image the knife comes again and again, precarious and too close to the past, present and future. It is all roads.
In her own way, Qetzi'ah also hopes desperately that the magus does return. He is the wind of change in the air, disrupting the stagnant routine that she and Haran have fallen in to. A catalyst and distraction, something that might pull Haran's attention away, might weaken him enough for her to drive the dagger home. But then what would she do with the magus... Morrisons are hoarding folk, it seems a waste to simply kill him but he's far too sickly and weak for breeding. But what other choice would she have? He was what was left. No villagers remained in the hovels of the surrounding hills, where once this would easily have been solved.
The crystals and entrails show her nothing in that regard, she even grows desperate enough to go out into the meadow in the dark and ask those pretty things that dance beneath the moon.
WAITING
[ In her own way, Qetzi'ah does not expect the magus to return. She hopes that after seeing the basement and Haran's pathetic sense of 'amusements' that he has thought better of this entire game, reported to his masters that there is nothing worth their time nor flattery. It wouldn't be entirely true, there are generations worths of arcana and magick collected, some of them utterly invaluable. But... she would slit his throat long before she parted with a single piece of it, and were that feckless slug Haran to attempt to undermine her-- Well. Everyone is curious to know how far he will have to push her before the rage bubbling just beneath the surface will finally spill forth. Does she have it in her finish him?
No, not yet.
But as she throws cards and bones the image the knife comes again and again, precarious and too close to the past, present and future. It is all roads.
In her own way, Qetzi'ah also hopes desperately that the magus does return. He is the wind of change in the air, disrupting the stagnant routine that she and Haran have fallen in to. A catalyst and distraction, something that might pull Haran's attention away, might weaken him enough for her to drive the dagger home. But then what would she do with the magus... Morrisons are hoarding folk, it seems a waste to simply kill him but he's far too sickly and weak for breeding. But what other choice would she have? He was what was left. No villagers remained in the hovels of the surrounding hills, where once this would easily have been solved.
The crystals and entrails show her nothing in that regard, she even grows desperate enough to go out into the meadow in the dark and ask those pretty things that dance beneath the moon.
They giggle and they tell her nothing. ]