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Lady Gilaen

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About Lady Gilaen

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  • Birthday 08/08/1988

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  1. Lady Gilaen

    Quick, wash out the blood! [closed]

    Enid leaned forward intently as she watched Jericho rearrange the pieces on their improvised war table. Whether or not either of them had intended it, they had transitioned from total strangers to co-conspirators inside of an hour (though the latter did not specifically negate the former). The witch would later reflect in hindsight that the shift felt so natural she might as well have been discussing afternoon plans with a friend over tea. In a way, she was, though the details around that sentiment were a bit more complicated. She regarded him with an apprehensive nod as he expanded on her initial suggestion, hammering out the details as they loomed intently over what was, at this point, a very messy table. “You do not know their route?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically to one side, though her tone was quite flat. Upon consideration, she supposed one could know their intended route without knowing the specifics of its terrain. She continued, “Some things are not possible to divine. That said, I would ask you to focus your thoughts specifically on your targets while you drink your tea.” She led by example, taking up her cup once more and closing her eyes in a meditative gesture before taking a long sip of tea. One did not need to maintain this contemplative posture for the duration of their tea, but Enid chose to for this occasion. When the witch was done with her tea, she opened her eyes and peered down into the jade vessel with a blank stare that shifted into a subtle wrinkle between her brows. She placed the cup down and regarded his plan with another slow nod. It was getting a bit complicated, but still well within the realm of possible. “That's more than I can do alone, I think.” She paused. “Yes, it is.” Enid met his gaze and it looked as if she were searching for something; as though looking long enough in just the right place might reveal something she'd missed. Without another word she reached across the table with an open palm. She was ready to perform the reading.
  2. Lady Gilaen

    Quick, wash out the blood! [closed]

    That dramatic shift in tone as Jericho spoke set Enid on edge all over again. Who was this man really? Did he stumble through her door by chance, or did he know the shop would be there when he wandered in? And why did she not know he was coming? She'd performed her usual reading with her morning tea, and it showed nothing, not even a hint of this clandestine meeting. She could have asked these things outright, but as her guest had openly surmised, it was not in her usual nature to do so. She wasn't trying to be coy exactly, she just did things in her own way and in her own time (often for her own curious purpose). She was silent on the matter of where, to whom, and why he had set about planning this task. Either she was choosing to ignore it, or she didn't think it warranted much of a response. If it was so important to him that she know his intentions, he should have expressed them openly. Not that she didn't care what he was doing and why, but what truth could she hope to glean from his words alone? This was why she insisted upon this reading. She watched his hesitation about the cup and the tins of herbs as she went about her explantation. His pointed interjection concerning his own capabilities was not unexpected. He'd shown that he was familiar, or at least very comfortable with her wares already. It was the mention of names, or naming magic rather, that caught her attention as she was sprinkling a pinch of mint and ceylon into her cup. Her own (apparently) particular rules about when and how and what names to use were a very different thing. But still, the topic caught her attention. “You don't seem very much like Wind to me.” she said, the thought interjecting on their conversation quite suddenly as she thought back to his proposed pseudonym, “It's too fickle. Reckless, even.” It was about then that the kettle whistled from the kitchen, signaling Enid's departure from the table. She returned with a jade teapot to match the cups and filled them, guest first, then her own. The witch eased into the chair opposite her guest, giving more attention to her tea than him as she plucked up her cup and blew over the hot surface. It caused the leaves to swirl beneath the rising steam before sinking to the bottom. She took a brief sip and found that it was still too hot, then winced for just a moment as she set it back into the saucer to cool. When he returned to the matter of the trucks she offered him a small shrug. “I suppose there are many things that would do the job, but were I in your position-” she reached out to one of the tins and tipped it over, causing the loose top and all of its contents to spill out into the table in a rough trajectory. The tin could have represented a tree, or a rock slide, or another vehicle; anything, really, so long as the point came across well enough. “I would block the road.”
  3. Lady Gilaen

    Quick, wash out the blood! [closed]

    It should be made clear that Enid had acquired the human parts second-hand, so to speak. She was more inclined to make good use of valuable components that would otherwise go to waste than she was to seek them out deliberately; which is to say that the body attached to the hands had been long dead before she took them. If her guest thought otherwise.. well, that misconception worked in her favor (not that the truth was any less disconcerting). He introduced himself and it gave her a moment's pause. She was turned away from him, but something about her posture, a subtle bristle, seemed to suggest that she felt defensive, maybe even a little offended about the introduction. “Apologies. I realize how that must have sounded,” she said, her shoulders relaxing, “but I was not asking for your name.” Not his proper one, anyway. As for the pseudonym, well.. If she had heard it, she was choosing to ignore it for now. After a pause she let out a long breath, not quite a sigh, and returned the favor. “I am Enid.” She watched after him as he passed through the doorway, tilting her head quizzically at his apparent skittishness. It was almost enough to make her smile, though she did not. Not that she enjoyed his discomfort (she didn't... much), but the uncertainty that he postured about accepting her invitation sort of mirrored her uncertainty about him. Funny, that. She followed through the curtain door and passed him, gesturing to two large, soft chairs seated on either side of a round table. Enid stopped behind the far chair and turned to address him, noting that he had yet to sit down. She was poised to speak, but he beat her to it. Just as well, she thought. She was a gracious host, but not always a sociable one. She had only a moment to think about his question before another followed. She could feel a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and this time she allowed it to show. “Is it usual for you to be so forthright with your secrets?” she leaned forward into the back of the large chair, resting on her elbows as she laced her fingers together and looked him over with a more critical gaze. “You were very direct about your plans when you described them to me just now. You gave me your name. Which, I suppose, could have been a lie, though I suspect not. You're making an effort to trust me, despite every instinct that tells you otherwise. Your actions speak well of you. “Mind you, I do have many questions; about you and the uncertainty ahead of you. I find it quite exciting, to speak truth. But I need a different sort of clarity before I can know which questions to ask. For that I have Tasseography.” Enid stood upright at the word, her posture rising with a small swell of personal pride, “It's my specialty, actually. Now, do you have a preference for tea?” She was moving again, drifting into yet another room beyond an arched doorway (presumably the kitchen). She returned a short while later with a serving tray, several small tins of leaves and herbs, and two jade green teacups and saucers (the kettle had yet to boil, thus remained in the kitchen). She placed them gingerly at the center of the table. “We were talking about thresholds before, yes?” she wasn't really asking so much as clarifying, “For most people a threshold is a door, but the definition is contingent on the person using the charm. It has its limits, but those can be stretched by someone with imagination, or an exceptional grasp of certain magics. One can, in theory, draw a circle to define their space, and simply step over the line to cross its threshold.” The witch illustrated her explanation by tracing an invisible circle on the surface of the table around the serving tray, then walking her fingers over the proposed line. “It would be very difficult,” she added (and that was putting it lightly), “but possible. Or plausible, anyway.”
  4. Lady Gilaen

    Chasing a Dream

    Dreams were an unusual thing. However strange they may be, however devoid of cohesive imagery or pattern, we still recognize meaning in the flurry of information that spills forth from the unconscious mind and beyond. Enid's dreams had been unsettling for a few nights before she called Arthur to meet about their meaning. It was a subtle nudge in her mind at first; the lingering sensation that somebody else was there while she slept, standing in shadow at the periphery of her vision. But no matter how far she turned to look at them with her mind's eye, they were always in that distant corner, content to be noticed and otherwise unknown. It persisted through the next evening despite the wards she'd put in place to prevent such an invasion of her deepest, unfiltered thoughts and emotions. On the third night, when she'd resolved to let her guard down, the dream figure finally approached her with a message.. for Arthur. She'd called him immediately the next morning to say, “We've been summoned,” before getting on with the specifics of what she'd been told, a little irate at being put in the middle of this whole exchange. (To be fair, it was really a message for both of them, but it still felt like she'd been relegated to the status of unofficial receptionist.) Suffice it to say, it wasn't long before the two of them were seated in her parlor to discuss the matter in more detail. (Details that he would no doubt clarify in the next post, but more on that later.) The parlor was usually a dark place; one of deep, rich colors that soaked in the warm light of candles as though inside it were eternal night. But not today. Today Enid had pulled the velvet curtains away from the windows to let the light of day spill in (from two of them, at least). Of three large windows, the first looked out over an urban landscape where people walking by were too absorbed in their own lives to look in. The second showed a broad, sprawling landscape of sun scorched grass and scattered tufts of vegetation. The third window, a bit smaller, showed a distant moon beaming in the night sky, casting shadows over a scene that was difficult to make out at a glance. Enid was nestled comfortably into a a high-backed chair seated at her round table, the one she used for tea and readings, shuffling a deck of cards. She was lounging about the shop (her home, rather) in fitted slacks and a white blouse; her travel coat thrown over the back of her chair as though it were ready to be worn at a moment's notice. She'd let a silence settle over the room while she shuffled the cards, their dry patter filling the void until she thought to ask, “What do you think they want?”
  5. Lady Gilaen

    Quick, wash out the blood! [closed]

    Enid allowed that first string of silence to linger a bit while she assessed her potential patron. That off-kilter feeling he gave her made it feel like the floor was slanting very slowly beneath her feet. She opted to move over to the stool behind the counter when she did address him again. “A catalog would imply a different sort of service, I think. There are some items one must be in want of before they can be acquired.. if that makes sense. Regardless, if you are here, then I have what you need.” Her tone was meant to be reassuring, but whether or not it showed was hard to say. The witch waited quietly through the man's pointed explanation of what he intended to do; her expression little more than a gentle mask of indifference. For one who had such particular wants (and who seemed quite comfortable with the arcane nature of her wares), he did not appear to know his actual needs as far as the items in question were concerned. Finding the right thing for the job would be a challenge, she thought. “Interesting..” Enid rifled about under the counter and brought out a pair of scissors to snip the wicks on her wax hands. As she did so, she continued, “It sounds as though there are many variables of uncertainty you must contend with. I will need a moment to consider this Evocation. What I can offer you now is a Hand of Glory.” She set the scissors aside and presented him with one of the hands, which had cooled and hardened by then. When lit, the Hand of Glory would incapacitate everyone but the holder the moment he walked over the threshold into, say, an occupied home, or a bank. It was a thief's tool made from the hands of a thief that came before, but it could almost certainly be appropriated for this task. “Assuming you can catch one or more of these trucks in a hangar, you can simply light the wick and walk right in. This would, of course, leave your “cargo” as vulnerable as your targets. Now, if you knew who your targets were personally, or if you had something of theirs, I could modify these hands to affect them specifically...” she paused, thinking a moment as she picked up the second hand, “Well, ten of them, anyway. Since that does not appear to be the case, I have another suggestion.” She tucked the hands under the table, then smoothed her dress as she stood upright. “Can I offer you some tea, Sir..” She lingered after the last word a moment, attempting to punctuate a question mark with a small hand gesture and a shrug. She hadn't asked his name, but it was not a habit of hers to do so. It occurred to her then that that was what seemed off about him: His name. She didn't know his proper name; she didn't care. But the kind of name she was looking for showed itself in a person's manner and general aura. A person with a hearty laugh and warm disposition might have a name like 'Jovial' or 'Labrador' while someone with a sly gaze and short temper might be 'Mink'. Yet, despite his clear and vivid personality, Enid could not discern such a name. “The parlor is just through here.” she continued, leading the way through the curtain door as though running from her previous thought altogether, “Please, make yourself comfortable.” She wasn't allowing him much of a choice, was she? The parlor was a dark space by design. It was accommodating, but cozy; made smaller by sweeping velvet curtains that swallowed even the smallest crack of light that dare attempt to beam through the windows. The wallpaper was old, too. Not garish exactly, though it was hard to tell for certain in the dim glow of a few shaded lamps, but noticeably dated. The upholstery was large, soft, and burgundy. And, over years of absorbing the smoke and scent of incense, smelled faintly of sage and something else. Cinnamon maybe? This atmosphere was, of course, for show. The prospect of having one's fortune told carried with it a certain expectation, at least from the layman's perspective. To be frank, Enid thought the space looked like an old opium den, albeit a nice one (if such a thing ever existed). In fact she preferred the light of the afternoon sun spilling in with the breeze through an open window, but such warmth and illumination did not lend itself to the mysterious atmosphere she was aiming for. But while the whole set felt a little disingenuous at times, the trinkets, charms, and divinations were all quite real.
  6. Lady Gilaen

    Quick, wash out the blood! [closed]

    The shop bell sustained a gentle, high pitched knell as the door opened and then shut behind the newcomer. Its lovely, ringing voice called to the back of the store, the sound seeming to travel across the room before fading behind a curtained doorway beyond the clerk counter. Apart form his own voice echoing after the shop bell, the place was still and quiet, and apparently unsupervised. An ornate emblem of two intertwining W's were carved into the front of the counter; made of the same dark and polished wood as the shelves that lined the walls, and lettered in the same style as the writing on the front door. Welcome to Wandering Wares, it read. The space itself was lit with a greenish artificial light emitted from hanging lamps that sort of dripped from the ceiling in an asymmetrical pattern. Apart from the circular window set into the door, there was no natural light to speak of, and no general sense of warmth at all. If there were any windows here, they were sufficiently hidden behind shelves stocked with books, bottles, and jars of things that if watched for too long would look right back. In fact, they were looking; little eyes in little jars staring at a form they didn't recognize from the moment he walked in. An entire gallon of preserved toads beamed up at him from a low shelf with foggy, sunken eyes while a taxidermy owl, eternally frozen in flight, had its sight trained on him as he moved about the shop. Even the books were watching, the lettering on some spines shifting to form new words from old titles. The clearly more sophisticated books formed whole new sentences on their spines to ask Who's This? and How May I Help You, Sir? while lesser tomes could only rearrange the formation of their titles (a copy of Wolfsbane -or- Monskhood? became so Who Man be? -forks -noodl in a desperate, if endearing attempt to communicate). A moment can feel like hours in the wake of expectation and silence, but just when it seemed like there was no one to answer his call, the sound of the bell returned, passing overhead to reunite with its vessel, which shuddered before fading into a proper silence. “I'm very sorry about that,” came a slightly muted voice from behind the curtain at the back wall, “I didn't think anyone would come today, so I busied myself with other things.” A woman emerged from the back room, pushing the heavy curtain aside with one hand while the other held a stick that was weighed down on either side by what appeared to be human hands. Hands dipped in beeswax, to be more specific; each hung at either end of the dipping stick by a wick protruding from the middle and pointer fingers. The wax was still cooling when she set them on the counter, causing some of it to pool at the base..or wrist of each. “Now then,” she said, adjusting her posture to meet his gaze, “How may I help you?” The light in the room, and the subsequent mood shifted with her presence, turning warm (and less ominous at least) as the unusual trinkets about the shelves settled into a passive state of comfort. The woman wore a long black dress with long sleeves that were rolled up to the elbow. The length and sweep of her skirt made her seem taller than she was (and she was already quite tall to begin with), but it was an otherwise plain dress; almost a uniform. She had a firm, even stare and strait black hair cut short to frame her features with somewhat sharp angles. Otherwise she was, from her face to her fingertips, entirely green. Spring green, in fact; fresh basil and parsley green that wasn't just a trick of the unusual lighting. She didn't smile or shift her expression to match the sincerity of her words; only looked on and waited patiently as he spoke, thinking in the back of her mind that there was something off about him... She didn't think anyone would come today.­ @supernal
  7. You have a nice profile picture. 

    1. Show previous comments  6 more
    2. Grubbistch

      Grubbistch

      I can definitely understand that. Hope to see you around when you decide to get writing. We can even work on some stuff together if you want.

    3. Lady Gilaen

      Lady Gilaen

      Yeah, maybe! I’m just taking my time getting back to it for now.

    4. Grubbistch

      Grubbistch

      No problem, taking your time is perfectly all right. I'm glad I was able to have this conversation with you. It's pretty nice to just have an impromptu chat with a stranger once in a while lol

  8. Lady Gilaen

    Exploration into the Damned (Quest)

    “Mm....” she hummed, the impression of a glower coming across more in the hum of her voice than her face. Common man's goop indeed. Her disgust was short lived, however, as their wolfish companion seemed well enough prepared for every member of their small party that morning. “Ah,” she said, catching the star fruit he'd tossed in her direction, “Cunning Wolf; you remembered my favorite.” She spoke with enough of an inflection to suggest excitement, and bore into the yellow green fruit with a surprisingly pointed section of teeth. “You'll regret that-” she said with a mouthful of fruit before pausing to swallow. “Pardon me,” she excused herself after such a display of manners, “You will regret that statement when these plants and roots save you from poison, venom, or whatever curse awaits you in the thick of the forest. The Labyrinth clouds my vision; I can't be certain which it will be.” The Spring Witch stretched her arms wide and arched her back, her shoulders popping with the gesture. The uncertainty of what awaited them excited her, and she made little effort to hide it. Still, there was no doubt in her mind that danger, even disaster lay over the horizon. Enid looked to Xartia as he spoke, largely (but not entirely) oblivious to his irritation. She did not grant names lightly, and his was not so unkind as he'd perceived it. Still, she couldn't deny a certain pleasure at watching his eyes roll to one side in what was sure to be a familiar fashion. “Wise.” she said in reference to his initial plan. “The path ahead is thus far uncertain, but that may change as we progress deeper into the labyrinth. Mystical obstacles and traps aside, there is a simple trick to navigating a maze, and it will serve us well enough on the first leg of our journey.” She wiggled the fingers of her right hand meaningfully, sort of waving at the two men before plopping into a comfortable seated position on the ground. @Voldemort @Al Sa-her
  9. Lady Gilaen

    Exploration into the Damned (Quest)

    (Bonus (rough) sketchbook comic) Blades of grass whispered to one another in the morning breeze, gossiping about the weeds and wild flowers, as they are wont to do. Enid found their collective voice light and soothing, not unlike flowing water. She was foraging, gathering odds, ends, and the inevitable necessities she would need for the journey ahead. They (she and Wolf and their newly befriended Wyrm) were venturing into a wild unknown that clouded the seer's foresight. It was thrilling in a way; moving through time and space without certainty, knowing fear and excitement in the moment it is born. Despite the perils ahead and a generally collected demeanor, Enid was elated to venture into the Labyrinth Forest. It was an entirely new and, at the same time, familiar place. It looked and smelled and sounded something like home. Such idilic thoughts swam through her head as a low buzzing sound met her left ear. It grew, then faded with a stirring breeze, waxing and waning as it moved with the air current. A spot of black, like a blotch in her vision hovered just past her peripheral before she could discern its shape. With a satisfactory sigh, she stood up from her work gathering plants and herbs. The black spot, a fat little beetle with short wings and a sleek, polished shell, hovered just past her vision once more, glancing her cheek as if to give her a gentle, buzzing kiss there. “Yes, I know.” she said to the beetle, more resigned than annoyed. “We don't want to be late, after all. Come.” She opened her shoulder bag, one of magical (though not infinite) capacity, and gestured for her insect friend to nestle into it before she shoved her last handful of twigs and berries in after it. It was time to go. The pair didn't have to wait long for Enid to appear from the brush. A few small, prickly spurs stuck to her clothes and hair, standing in stark contrast to her usual dark clothing. She plucked them off gingerly one by one, collecting them in her cupped hand as she approached the two men at the center of Arthur's campsite. “Wolf.” she greeted Arthur with a subtle nod as she pulled another plant spur from her hair. She didn't look especially disheveled, and by the way she handled and collected the prickly pods, one might assume she'd acquired them on her person by intention. “Wyrm.” she addressed Xartia, her tone somewhat uncertain, but no less polite. “I trust you are well this morning?” It was more of a statement than a question, due in part to her trailing attention as it drifted to the oatmeal boiling in Arthur's pot. “What,” she asked flatly, pausing a moment to consider the sweet smelling slop, “is that meant to be?” @Voldemort @Al Sa-her
  10. Lady Gilaen

    Port Caelum Festival Free Thread One

    The clash of one metal striking another resounded with a dull, anticlimactic clang across the barge. Enid was standing now, knees bent and pushing up from below as her partner stood his ground, the threatening edge of their blades scraping together like grinding teeth. The seer's smile was equally broad as Arthur's now, and twice as wicked. This, she thought, was a welcome change of pace. But just as the spark of excitement threatened to set them ablaze, the fun police (whom had been introduced to her as Xartia) arrived to scold them in their play. The seer's smile slipped away, fading into her features like memory through time. She held her footing a moment longer, too willful and proud to back down after instigating the whole thing. It was about then that a rumbling voice boomed out toward them from across the barge. The golem was an endearing enigma, though his timing was inarguably terrible. If he had bones, there wouldn't have been a single malicious or aggressive one in his body. With that in mind, the seer couldn't very well maintain her frustration. She heard Matti, but looked to Xartia instead, offering only the briefest of looks before relenting to his pragmatism. “Damn you, Wyrm.” she sighed, reluctantly easing away from Arthur as she withdrew her sword. “Fine.” It was wasted energy, anyway. There was more important business to attend upon their arrival and their spat was little more than a distraction. Mind you, Enid wasn't truly angry with her companion, only anxious for what awaited them at the main event. Like the faint line of a distant shore, their future was inevitable and uncertain. The cards had said as much upon her last reading. “I fail to see the 'fun' in food and formality.” she replied to the devilish man in the silver suit. She could not deny that has latent power was, in itself, intimidating, but his presence didn't exactly inspire fear. He looked like he was dressed for a dinner party in space, but she wasn't about to say that aloud at the risk of inciting another argument. “Who would we approach wi-” Whatever she meant to say, the words were lost as the boat began to tip quite unexpectedly. “Steward!” she piped, referring to the golem, her tone firm and almost chastising. When they were properly balanced she placed her hand over her heart and let loose a sigh of relief. “My life for a plot of land.” she muttered to herself. “May I sooner be buried in soil than endure another hour on the waves with this motley crew”.
  11. Lady Gilaen

    Port Caelum Festival Free Thread One

    “I take it back. You're a child.” the seer scoffed audibly, breaking her usual even tone. His display was grotesque and immature, to say the least. If it was playful, as his smile suggested, Enid didn't quite see it that way. True, she wouldn't murder her dearest friend over a simple spat, but she would most certainly think about it. Wiping that smug grin from his twisted face would almost certainly put a smile on hers (which was a feat in and of itself). She sat adjacent to her friend, eased back in a folding chair in what should have been a very relaxing position. She held her sword to the side of her chair, tapping it on the deck in a slow, arrhythmic pattern. The witch hated waiting, and relaxing was a rare luxury that required tea, time, and a bit of personal space. At being told he would 'take his time', the seer raised an inquisitive brow ever so slightly. “You know little of time.” she stated, so matter of fact that it might have been set in stone. It was true enough, though if he was wise he would have learned a thing or two from the seer over the years. For what little he know of time, he understood even less of fate. Of that much she was certain. “If you did, you would not be so confident in your tomfoolery.” She tapped the tip of her sword on the floor once more, then stopped, allowing the breeze to fill the silence in its wake. When she moved it was with swift precision. Her sword whispered on the harbor wind, a sharp hiss as it left its scabbard and lashed out at Arthur's midsection. It was a quick, precise slash meant to put a tear in his jacket and, if she were so lucky, his pride. Despite her obvious irritation with her dear, disgusting friend, she bore a subtle grin then.
  12. Lady Gilaen

    Port Caelum Festival Free Thread One

    Disgust was an insufficient word to describe the rotting feeling in her gut as Enid failed to tear her eyes away from her companion's slovenly behavior. He ate like an animal. No, not even that. Animals had enough pride to forage or hunt; they devoured with pattern and precision, however feral. Arthur ate like a beast. He was a beast, a monster in his own right. The seer offered him a rare and genuine expression of distaste. It wasn't a deep frown, but enough to set the lines in her face. “You are a true abomination.” she said in her flat way of speaking, “I could run you through for such behavior. I should run you through for making us late.” An idle hand tapped the hilt of her weapon set firmly at her side. An idle threat, of course. Probably. Enid was a tall, athletic woman with a slight hook nose and noticeably green skin. Her sleek black hair was cut short and sat strait, framing her face in sharp angles. Arthur had cautioned her against wearing a proper dress for the event, as most of their social excursions ended in some disaster or other. She wore everything in black, from her boots, to her pants, and the long elaborate coat that was better suited to the ship they sailed in on than the atmosphere of a party. Still, it had a certain class about it, especially in how she wore it. The witch carried herself with a regal bearing. She had a serious look about her most times, but at this moment especially. What nerve, she thought. Whatever sense of pragmatism the mutant had was lost on his stomach and pure sense of vanity. It took him ages to dress for the occasion, and longer still to fill his stomach, which was a bottomless pit in its own right. Perhaps they'd been cooped up in a small space together for too long. The trip was beginning to wear on the seer. Some time to mingle with other, more sociable beings would do them both some good. “Are you quite finished?”
  13. Lady Gilaen

    Bale Apocalyptica

    Enid felt the impact of Ilohim's telekinetic blow before it struck (along with a stinging barrage of flying rubble); not with enough time to conjure a proper counter spell, but she had at least a second to curl into a defensive position in preparation for the worst. It was difficult to focus with an enchanted insect burrowing in your frontal lobe. Whatever damage the wall was about to do to her body wouldn't hurt half as much as the bug currently in her brain. The seer stood just barely in the alleyway. A few steps back and she might have avoided the impact altogether, but as it was the force of the giant's telekinetic sweep slammed the witch's side into the wall. She felt and hear a few audible pops and crackles as she hit the brick, then slid down the wall to her wobbling knees. "Alright then," she hissed, mostly to herself, "have it your way." She forced herself onto her feet, sure, or at least hopeful that no part of her was too damaged to stand her ground. Damn Aurthur for staying her and. Damn this regal stranger for not making the killing blow. The seer was beyond compassion by this point. At least, she would be unless the connection between their minds didn't take. The cicada in Ilohim's ear didn't have to wriggle and squirm too hard to break through her ear drum and burrow its way into her brain. The cicada charm was one that the seer usually reserved for accessing memories and information from recently dead hosts. The dead weren't especially easy to harm, but for a living person the sensation of a bug crawling through their skull was especially painful. The giantess might have been the exception. She was so wild and out of her own mind that Enid couldn't know for certain whether she felt anything at all. The seer stood and drew her sword, wasting no time in charging for the giantess while she awaited Aurthur's airborne descent, distracted. Her weapon was not unlike a rapier, though it was slightly shorter, and the whole of it seemed to be made of thorny vines. Rather, the hilt of it was a decorative flourish of vines while the blade was a long, deadly sharp thorn; it seemed to extend itself as she charged past the other wizard and toward the giant, ready to run her through. She made to stab the mad woman through the stomach when the cicadas in both of their heads finally settled and formed a solid link between their minds, memories, and emotions. Perhaps it was too little too late. Only time would tell.
  14. Lady Gilaen

    The Eldritch Society of the Surreptitious Noose

    The breeze wasn't as charming at such an altitude as Enid had imagined. It was cold as autumn and flowed seamlessly without trees or buildings to buffer it. She wore a long, somewhat formal coat that flared at the hip, catching the wind in a flurry of dark, fluttering fabric. She looked like she belonged there (on a ship) with a long coat and a sword at her hip. She was not unaccustomed to sailing; one could tell just by her stride as she crossed the deck. But a boat on water was far different than...well, this. “They will come.” she assured Arthur as she approached with a plate of small, pretty, and unusual foods. The seer offered the plate to her friend, gesturing for him to partake of the selection. They were all bite sized portions; some even less than that. Enid took a raw, pink slice of salmon spread over a crostini and popped it into her mouth. She rarely ate meat, and when she did it was raw. The irony aftertaste of it would inevitably upset her stomach, but it was worth the inconvenience. “It's funny,” she said without so much as a hint of a smile, peering over the starboard, “that we are made to enter a gilded cage before ascending to flight. What strange birds we are.” She took another treat from the plate before setting it on the rail. Her short, black hair washed over her cheeks as the breeze stirred. Her green skin appeared as jade under the bright light of the sun. If she could stand perfectly still and appear anymore regal, she might have been carved from it. @Voldemort
  15. Lady Gilaen

    Bale Apocalyptica

    Enid had half drawn her sword when Arthur stayed her hand. He was a predator in his own right (though the word held a very different connotation than he might have liked), and he had claimed the mad giant as his prey. Of course he was not robbed of his senses as Ilohim was. He had enough compassion and curiosity to abstain from using lethal force...for the time being, at least. Enid would not have been so kind. Reluctantly, the seer sheathed her weapon and confirmed her companion's request with a subtle nod as he darted into the alley. In another time and place she might have disregarded his instruction in favor of her own swift, largely painless solution, but Arthur had proven his intuition to the seer over the decade or so that they'd worked together (however annoying that might have been to admit). Releasing her grip from her side, Enid took two steps back and began to fiddle with the cuffs of her black, buttoned coat. She'd undone one of her cuff links when another arrived on the scene. He was well dressed with a sort of elegance about him, and long hair that only served to emphasize his rather short height. He hardly regarded the green witch as he stepped past her to join Arthur in the impending fray. But as the two cast their varied elemental spells, Enid was at a loss for how to handle the mage's request. “You're better suited to figuring out what's wrong.” she muttered to herself, mocking her friend's words in a tone that sounded nothing like him as she unfastened the other cuff link. “You're better suited to a body bag if you think a little water is going to...” again she muttered, though the thought trailed off as an ill stench invaded her inner senses. Enid wasn't a true psychic in the way that a telepath or an empath was, but she recognized the impression of an unseen presence all the same. Possession? She couldn't be sure without making a direct connection with the giant. Pieces of cement from the alley floor had magically lifted and converged to form a wall between them and their target. It seemed their threat was not merely a physical one. This will be interesting, the seer thought grimly. She glanced briefly down into her hand. The cuff links, now resting in her palm, were a polished silver and shaped like fly nymphs with gleaming emerald eyes. She closed her hand over them, squeezing tight until the papery crunch of something breaking met her ears. It was difficult to hear beneath the splash and buzz of the other spells being cast upon the giant woman. When she uncurled her fingers, two fat, adult cicadas flew from her grasp and went about orbiting her head in erratic flight patterns. A mad mind was a difficult thing to control, but maybe the seer could calm it with a direct link to her own. At the very least she might gain better insight into what they were facing. “The giant.” she instructed one of the cicadas, looking back to the alley and pointing a finger in Ilohim's direction. The sight of her now gave the seer pause. The wall had fallen, and two figures now stood at the end of the narrow passage, one looming over the other as if the first was casting a tangible shadow. Looking at it, one couldn't be entirely sure that it was really there. There was little time to linger on the mystery as the other of two cicadas landed on the seer's upper lip and crawled quickly, painfully up her nose. “Gah!” she huffed, reeling back a moment before the thing crawled past her sinuses and settled somewhere in her head. Gods damn! She thought. She knew the unpleasant cost of her little charm, but she had expected it to burrow in the ear. Rather, she'd wanted it to, but neglected to hold her nose after waking the mischievous little things. The other cicada flew past Xartia and Arthur, and through the alley, buzzing about an unpredictable path on its way to meet the mad giant. All it needed to do was crawl into an ear or nostril and settle into the mad woman's head to make a link between their minds. Though large for an insect, it was still quite small and unnoticeable in the midst of any attack that would distract from its presence. It would try first for the giant's ear. @Al Sa-her @Voldemort @Sings Through Pain
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