As the Aasimar teleports away, Lord Wero narrows his gaze on nothing in particular. An earthquake, even one as minor and short as that, is not something to simply scoff at, and to use magics that would cause a panic, even as an unintended side-effect, is a serious offense. Not wishing to be underinformed, the High Lord glances towards the gargantuan sized exit, and towards where his son lays, shocked after the unexpected tremor. Such shock that is reflected in the crystalline golem.

I will not be uninformed! My son, alert the Governor, and inform him to stand by for orders. In an impossibly swift motion, the High Lord stands and walks (to call it a walk would be foolish, since that walk was faster than most beings can fly) towards the exit, leaving very little to suggest his ever being there save for a door that threatens to barrel off its hinges after the sudden display of quickness. The Prince himself moves off deeper into the mansion in search of the principality's governor/planetary lord.

Moving outside, nearly flying through the oversized front entrance of the mansion without ever actually having taken wing, the High Lord is outside, glaring daggers at Rahja.
Healer, you are here as a favor to an associate of mine. He speaks bitterly. If your magics have resulted in the sundering of the ground beneath my feet and the...uh...cracking...of...the sky... He trails off, just now looking up and noticing a distinctive slit. There is also a distinct change in his tone from barely contained anger to a mixture of fear and curiosity may swiftly realize there are...limits to my hospitality. However...I would still like some answers as to the current goings-on as you seem to know more than you were willing to say. Spare nothing.