It was what remained of it. Shards of the gifted vase scattered onto the floor, the gem that pulsed within in just as much ruin along with the flowers. It was a gift from Taighan to Thaeldren, a beautiful arrangement of flowers in an enchanted vase to prolong their lifespan. Though the mage would dare not destroy such a thing he came to adore to the state it was in now. Upon further inspection there was a hint of blood stuck to some of the shards. The gift that Thaeldren adored, in irony became the very weapon turned against him. It would easily disorient any unaware victim with a blow to the head. Yet it was only one part of what made the entire scene. With furniture knocked over, things shoved off whatever they decorated onto the floor in a heap. It looked like a break in that had evidence of a struggle. Some parts of the room and what was in it charred, no doubt by the very flames Thaeldren so expertly manipulated, but didn’t seem to be enough to prevent what had happened here. It would have been an assumed robbery if it weren’t for the blood that painted the floor into a grim scene.
A streak of blood made a path across the room to the open doorway like a slug trail. The reek of iron from the blood could nearly suffocate the oxygen from the room if there wasn’t a door open to aerate it. Clearly more had been done than just a strike to the head with a vase in order to apprehend a powerful magister armed with limitless arcane magic. No doubt the use of runic or enchanted bindings had to be used to keep Thaeldren spellbound even when he comes to. Precautions were taken as well by placing a similar binding as a choker around his throat, with the knowledge that the blonde is able to breathe fire. There was little memory of what occurred after losing consciousness once he was subdued. It was all muffled, incoherent sounds and total darkness. All the mage could recall was that he was in his study about to write an apology letter to Taighan Hawkfeather, as he still wanted to make amends with him. He wanted to prove that he really was sorry, that the guilt had hung over him like a shroud, making sleep difficult to come by. Thaeldren only wished he was better with things like this, but he hoped that the familiar feeling of quill to parchment would make it more comfortable and with time to think in order to explain himself. But what began of the letter was only of few words of careful and expert penmanship, the parchment vandalized with completely different use of calligraphy, the parchment stuck to a bit of blood on the ground that seeped partially through the message scrawled on it:
Stay out of this, Moonflame.
@tellanar, @aspect-of-the-pack
