To anyone that would have known what Marondaria was attempting was impulsive, extremely dangerous, and possibly the most stupid thing anyone could possibly consider. However, they would also know that this was exactly why she was still alive and as powerful as she was after all this time. She was like a fire hose, either dormant or maximum flow. Only her time in Eustland seemed to temper her impulses and that only barely. To Marondaria it was a simple problem. Her student needed a focal in order to connect to the magical universe and thus give a channel to convert that power to a physical effect in reality. While once she herself had and needed one she had never learned how to make them, and by the time she would have needed to learn that skill it was no longer a viable channel. Thus, the art of focali became lost to the ages that followed....Until now. The art still existed and could be used and allow her student to progress. All Marondaria needed to do was get it. She knew who had it and she knew she could get there. It didn't matter that the who was once the most powerful mage of her time and since he still lived was likley still more powerful than ever before. Nor did it matter that there were many a time this very same Wizard tried to destroy, somehow enslave, or dis-enchant her. Instinct always ruled her and it told her now this was the way to go. Marondaria blended several affects to deliver her to her old nemesis as there was in true no single spell that would give her what she required. She had cleared her mind and allowed it to fill with his visage and the place she once had been until she felt a connection, like someone answering a phone call. Then she, like electronic signal followed the connection to the desired device. To the other party it would look much like a normal teleport spell. She felt the cool breeze and the scent of entril as she materialized into a huge space. She knew she had made it. She also knew that he had not prevented her. Marondaria found herself standing a room that was familiar from dim memory. Filled with ancient books and scrolls and other magical items not unlike a dragons horde, except far more tidy and kempt. She could feel the heat of the fire in the fireplace grow a bit as if adjusting to her presence. Also there, standing in the middle of the room next to book stand was the subject of her focus. Lord Blackhearst, Arch-Mage of old Tanhyre. She was slightly behind and just out of physical reach to him. His black blue hair, slightly longer than she remembered was a beautiful as ever. He was dressed not in robes but clothing more fitting the current time, yet still giving a regal appearance. He seemed not surprised or startled, almost expectant. He turned slowly, likley because she was after all a spell-fire wielder but possibly allow his full visage to be admired. He dropped one hand to his side the other still resing on a large book on the stand. His steel blue eyes fell on her and seemed to study her every atom, his face remained it's normal slightly peeved look she knew all too well. Marondaria looked at him with a guarded confidence that she always attempted when in his presence. For what seemed an eternity of silence Marondaria spoke. "Lord Blackhearst.." she said in a greeting tone her arms at her side. He continued to simply stand there a moment. Likely thinking of ways to dispatch this unwelcome dangerous guest, or perhaps attempting to remember who it was, or even more remotely, pleased to see an old adversary from a time so removed it could be challenged to have never existed. "Sir..I need your help, not a fight." She blurted out unable to wait for his possible reply. Blackhearst stifled a smile as he had confirmed she was still quite the impulsive half-elf. "Indeed." Dur Silme' said in a measured tone, allowing the vagueness of his response settle on her.