Mark is quite concerned about his fellow wizard.
Lucian is, to Mark's eyes, running around like a chicken with his head cut off, panicking in an entirely undignified way about their situation.
"How about, instead of freaking out like that, you instead use your arcane abilities to try and get us out of here? I'm doing my best, but I'm sure you could try something I have not, or otherwise add your skills."
Although his arcane abilities may only be marginal, Lucian is quite adjusted to pretending that he could cast with the best of them. So he does one of the things he does best: he tells something that's true. Technically.
"I don't have any spells prepared that would do anything like that. Most of my magic is focused on people, and this—" He waves a hand at the world around them, from the sky starting to shade into blue to the gnarled and twisted trees. "—is not a person. Find me someone to talk to, and I'll 'add my skills'."
Mark looks at Lucian with a sneer. They're clearly disappointed, even disgusted.
"In that case, I strongly suggest you stay out of the way. The raw powers I will be handling will be too much for a mere enchanter to deal with. Perhaps look around and see if you can seduce a forest animal into giving me information."
Perhaps it was the stress of finding themselves several thousand feet off the ground, or the possibility that they may be all but alone in this world, with only each other for company; suffice to say they're feeling rather hostile.
Mark turns decidedly away from Lucian and draws, from the depths of their robes, a few crystalline marbles.
Mark takes a seat, cross-legged, on the ground. They set the marbles down in their lap and start quietly chanting and making strange gestures over them.
Nearly a minute later, the marbles disappear in a puff of arcane consumption and Mark casts Prying Eyes.
Number of eyes= 1d4+10= 14
14 semi-tangible eyes appear around Mark, floating in the air by no apparent means. Mark starts giving commands.
"Rise 800 meters, then go 1300 meters directly away from me, spacing yourselves with 770 meters between each of you. Return after eight hours exactly."
Note: The messy numbers are because Pathfinder's rules give units in imperial units, and I refuse to use imperial units on principle. Trust me, I did all the calculations.
That task done, Mark settles down to begin their requisite eight hours of rest.
"Hey, knife ears! Shouldn't you be doing something?"
Lucian's interruptions are making this nearly impossible. Mark's patience, never a particularly stable thing, snaps entirely.
"I am doing something, you numbskull! I have cast a spell that is considerably more useful than anything you could ever cast, and it will return to me with the information I desire in some time! Until then, I am preparing new spells, an act with which you should be well acquainted! In fact, there is no reason why you shouldn't be doing the same— you obviously aren't doing anything more important, and any of the other spells available to you would be more useful than those you have now!"
The feeble intelligence lurking behind some corner of Lucian's massive ego failed him, apparently. He forgot entirely that real wizards need to prepare their spells, and can't cast them on a spontaneous basis (like bards).
Bluff (Lucian): d20+31= 34
Sense Motive (Mark): d20+1= 14
This lack of knowledge flies way, way over Mark's head. They still believe that Lucian is exactly what he says he is: a wizard, if a rather idiotic and incompetent one.
