02/20/2026: The Trouble With Quentillius

The party reconvenes at the Hex and discuss needs for their upcoming trip to the past.

Titania heads to a Mardac’s Pawn Shop. From a safe, Mardac the pawnbroker brings out a flannel bag and pulls from it a Helm of Teleportation. “It’s in pretty rough shape, so I’ll knock a few gold off…”

Titania tips the helmet to and fro, considering. They pull 50 platinum pieces and places them on the counter. 

“That’s a start,” declares Mardac, “to purchase this Helm of Teleportation, you’re going to need more gold.”

The fey narrows their eyes, “How much?”

Mardac grins mirthlessly,  “64,000 gold, new, but I’ll knock 500 off for the dents and scratches.”

“I have no such funds!” 

“Not now, maybe, but payment‑over‑time? Give me 50 gold per month for how many years?” Mardac pokes a calculator, “Ninety nine year and eleven months, and you can bring it home!” She looks up, smiling broadly.

“No.” 

The pawnbroker scratches her stubbly chin, “Well, instead of buying outright, how about a short term lease? Rent it. But I’ll need your 5 platinum and something as collateral.”

Titania stares hard at Mardac, and removes a slender chain with a locket from around their neck and drops it into the pawnbroker’s hand. She squints at the necklace. “This was given to me by the woman I love. She died.”

“I can get a couple of gold for this, maybe.”

Titania pulled off a fat golden bangle and puts it down. “This was given to me by the woman I love. She died.”

“Another woman? She died, too?”

Aghast, Titania sputters, “It was the same woman!”

”Either way, not enough. What else do you have?” 

They settle on Titania’s locket and gold bangle, Alister’s rusty crown he wore as the Rot King, a Ring of Sustenance, a Bag of Tricks, and their Strixhaven student ID. All returnable if Titania brings the Helm in one week. The platinum, however, would stay with Mardac.

Hester, Reyna, Debbie and KFC find some chairs in the Common Room. Quentillius is sitting across from a man who bears a striking family resemblance to him. It must be Quentillius’s father. The man is pressuring him to join the family business instead of pursuing writing. Quentillius attempts to show a notebook with his writings and samples of the Strixhaven Times, his newspaper. 

Quentillius’s father pushes them back at his son. “Writing is impractical—as a hobby, maybe but USELESS if you’re trying to earn a solid living! I wasn’t much older than your age when I had already drafted my first property enchantment contract! And you? You write your little articles. I can’t imagine what your grandfather would say! That’s the reason I haven’t given you a nickel to keep your ‘newspaper’ going.”

He takes a breath, visibly trying to control himself, then continues in a coldly measured tone: “The family business is magical contract law, Quentillius. We don’t study magic for its own sake - we study it to understand how to regulate it, profit from it, protect our clients’ interests. You’ll join at the end of this semester, or you’re cut off. Completely.”

He pushes back and turns without looking at his son. Qunetillius is left at the table, surrounded by his scattered work. Both KFC and Hester can see his eyes shining. He stands and turns to go upstairs, looking at no one.

Later, Titania visits Quentillius’s hex on the sixth floor, where he has been living without roommates since Rampart moved out. They offer him encouragement about writing and self‑reliance, sharing their own experience of financial hardship. 

“I don’t know, Titania,” Quentillius says quietly. “I don’t have the magical skill that you and your friends have.”

”Maybe a non-magical school, one where you might study writing?”

Sadly, Quentillius tells them, “That all takes money. I would have no money at all. How would I pay tuition? Buy books?” 

Titania gently suggests scholarships or writing workshops. “If you want it to happen, it will!”

”I’ll consider it,” he shows them to the door. One the way out, Titania notices a large, handwritten manuscript. “Yes,” says Quentillius, “I wrote it. It’s my first book. I need a publisher. And an agent. And an editor.”

Quentillius thanks them again, and closes the door. Titania thinks she hears him begin to cry.