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[i]"Hush now Quilla or you're going back in the box."[/i]

Telepathic communication is a little different to simply talking, as the messages don't carry a verbal tone but instead pick up moods and associations from the mind that sent them. Quilla's message, for example, had come with lazy malice and a touch of boredom. Zevemar's, meanwhile, had none of the irritation the actual message would imply and felt more like half a message, sent as an automatic reaction to Quilla's poking.

It was strange coming back here, it always was. The Spire was, for all it faults, full of a diverse selection of races and beings. Humans there rubbed shoulders with Gnome Wizards with no more friction than they did with Dragonborn Sorcerers or even other humans. Most of the trouble came from elitism in other ways, like the Illusion specialists looking down on the inelegant Evocation casters or the well educated, hard working Wizards turning their noses up at lowly Sorcerers, only able to use magic by luck of birth.

Not that Zevemar shared any such prejudices, of course, he thought quickly. Even inside the privacy of his own head, the young Wizard was careful not to disparage Io's discipline, that would cause far too much trouble if it slipped out and you never knew who could cast Detect Thoughts. And if Io should decide he didn't respect her magical abilities (which of course he did, few more) then she might decide he need a demonstration and start throwing Chromatic Orbs around. Worse, she might take some real offence and stop talking to him, leaving him only with Quilla for company and unsympathetic company at that.

Shaking off such nervous thoughts, Zev pulled a small smile onto his face and turned properly to his Elvish companion.

"I'd forgotten that sign altogether, we painted it together when I was about seven. And then again a few weeks later when it was torn down one night. And then again and again, every few months, till I left for The Spire. It's no wonder he's gotten so good at making it look nice."

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Zevemar stepped up to the door, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height. And then, with the tip of his staff he rapped heavily on the door and prepared himself for the hug that Quilla had predicted. It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to seeing his father but, well, he wasn't looking forward to a lecture that was inevitably coming for him on 'having a good work ethic' and then the father/son chat about "when I was at The Spire, I didn't go gallivanting off to who knows where for a year"...