Vlantian heard - no, felt - a summons by who he suspected to be the host; the prince.

He distrusted the style of summons; perhaps it was because he was slightly old fashioned? [i]Nonsense, everyone can take the time to summon the right way...[/i]

He didn't have any love for the 'prince', for he was most likely another who had no aptitude nor appreciation for the oldest form of practiced civilized magic. Unless he somehow dug runic mages out of mountain caverns, he doubted anyone else in the place would either. If they even knew a thing about it; he alone was only known in the underground sectors and by reputation of what was termed 'The Ruined Castle'. Ruined it was not, as it served him for... [i]never mind[/i]. A little too long, and he quickly shoved the age out of his mind.

He reasoned that he could leave his now completed tablet in here, but decided to put it under the bed. He wouldn't be the latest by any means, and he felt in no rush. he put the robes of his grandfather on; they contained almost every low and mid level rune to be known, and a few higher ones as well. It was truly the work of many focused minds to create it. Certainly more detail and more dangerous than the so called 'modern magics'.

With that in mind, he shouldered on the rest of the robes and kept his runic daggar at his side. One couldn't be too careful. He would leave the sword reluctantly, but he was not a fool to go with no offensive protection. His robes could take a number of blows, physical and magical, but the runes were getting old.

Stepping out into the walkway, he began to make his way to the private chambers of the Prince. How? He wasn't entirely sure... he just was.