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Lady Gilaen

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About Lady Gilaen

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  • Birthday August 8

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  1. It was nice; I didn’t have to split time with in-laws this year. Big family all crowded together in my aunt’s tiny house, but we’re all pretty accustomed to it. And my siblings and I aren’t the only vegetarians now, so there was more for us to eat this year lol
  2. Yeah. I’m in the middle of application/proposal season too. I don’t think I’m gonna make the deadline for the conference I’m interested in this year, but the grants and fellowships are more important anyway. How was the holiday? Big family?
  3. My stuff is pretty sorted now. I was only sick for a few days. Thank you for checking in tho. How’s stuff?
  4. “Oh, Wolf.” the witch let out a long sigh of relief as the little bird made itself known to her, “But how cute you are.. Are you sure you want to change back?” A light jab, but one that was glossed over in favor of reclaiming some of Arthur's pride. As afflictions go, his was possibly the most manageable. As the mage said, he was the best transmuter she knew. The panic had gone from her voice when it was clear that her friend was safe and well, and she returned to her flat monotone. “Do not touch my body parts.” she said when the soldier bent down to pluck up a limb. “To be clear, it is not appropriate to touch a person without asking first. I don't care to be handled.” The arm that had been waving from the floor felt around for the witch's head, eventually scooping it up to hold it in her palm. She couldn't balance the arm well, but she could at least use her wrist to rotate her head and see a little better. “And I will not be a dead weight. Besides..” she added, nodding to a leg cut just above the knee dragging ever slowly across the ground toward her torso, “I don't think it's permanent.” She could feel things pulling back together little by little, ever slowly, like weak magnets responding to an opposing charge. Little strands of tissue stretched between severed ends and pulled tight until the merge was seamless. It started with a leg, and then an arm, and when they were ready to depart, Enid was leaning heavily on Arthur, hobbling on one leg and holding her head under one arm that was still missing a hand. The other arm was slung over Arthur's shoulder for some semblance of support, lest it hang from her shoulder by the thin strands of sinew pulling it into place at a snail's pace. By the time they reached the entrance of a second dark and ominous hallway, Enid was able to walk on her own feet, one hand dangling at the wrist while the other held her head in place over her neck. The one called Darwin rushed ahead of them, and Enid followed just behind Arthur trying to dip her loose hand into her robe pockets in search of her wand. When she heard a yelp from ahead she stopped dead in her tracks and listened.. Then broke into a run. But they were far too late. “This bodes well..” she said sarcastically (though the inflection was slight and easy to miss). When she pulled out her wand, which looked more like a stiletto than a magically imbued stick, her other wrist was securely in place. Her other hand still holding her wobbly head in place, she tried her best to look down and inspect the body, poised for whatever had stuck the soldier clean through.
  5. The curse was only supposed to last 2 rounds, right? Because I'm very ready to put Enid back together myself.
  6. “Oofh!” Enid's head grunted as she felt (and watched) the confused, er...man stumble over her torso. She (or at least the core part of her) curled up in a hunched position and rolled onto its side like a pill bug. She wished her arms were still attached; She wanted to rub the sore spot where Henderson toppled over her. That was the second time another body had tumbled over hers that afternoon and she was weary of it. “Stop!” she shouted, wincing as she saw Henderson's foot unintentionally swinging in the direction of her head. She was mercifully spared a boot to the face, and when she opened her eyes she was staring up at a woman whom she'd never seen before, but whom was vaguely familiar. At this point she didn't think to question it. “Just...” the witch sighed, regretting to admit that she needed at least a little help in this scenario, “pass me over there.” Across the room a dismembered green arm waved in their general direction, propped upright on its elbow. “I heard Wolf calling. Where is he?” She couldn't turn her head on her own, but her eyes were darting about the room in search of some sign of her friend. She'd heard him at least, so that was a good sign. “Where's Gr- er, the duchess..?” she added, though it was something of an afterthought in that particular moment. The hand that wasn't waving to the soldier crawled carefully over the witch's torso, searching the folds of her robe for her wand by touch alone. Managing both hands at once was a lot harder when they were doing such different things so far apart.
  7. Enid could see the way his posture sank with every passing moment of silence, allowing his resignation to settle in.. It was almost sad to watch, but there was little the witch could do to remedy the matter. She meant what she'd said, and the stone would not budge on its terms. (It was far more resolute than either of them in that way.) Ainsworth leaned forward and Enid bent closer over the table, listening intently, though her eyes had shifted from her guest to the small rock on the table. It didn't do anything significant like spin or glow, or whatever it was that vaguely magical items were meant to do in ritualistic circumstances. And this was, for all intent and purpose, a ritual of passing, albeit a casual one. He went about making his own cup of tea and she found the tiny, subtle ring of ceramic brushing against the saucer almost as pleasing to the ear as the story he began to tell. It was not the personal truth she expected, but it was for more interesting than she could have guessed without first reading his tea leaves, or cards. Which was just as well; She didn't expect he would allow her to try at this point, anyway. The seer's attention drifted from the stone back to Ains, watching as he reached into the folds of his jacket to produce a charming little pendant of a bird. She didn't recognize the symbol, but then why would she? When it was done, she let the silence sit between them, pondering the story and what it implied about her increasingly unusual guest. It wasn't her policy to ask questions of a bartered truth, though she had many. Through all of this the stone sat unchanging on the table, giving off no immediate sense of having shifted in ownership or loyalty. When Ainsworth finally spoke up again, Enid shrugged. “Let's see..” she said, plucking up the stone and enveloping it in a closed fist. She considered its shape and slight heft for a moment before reaching back to tuck it into a pocket hidden in the folds of her black dress. She let it fall, and at about that moment something small and round felt as though it had dropped into Ainsworth's pocket instead. Enid fished about her pocket until she was satisfied that it was empty and smiled a real, if reserved smile. “Yes, that seems to have worked.”
  8. They came across the entrance to the forge, or what they could only surmise was the entrance. Enid plucked up one of the branches crudely covering the opening as though it were something distasteful and gave Arthur a look that didn't really say anything, but one could gather from her posture that she was not especially impressed. The witch reached into her robes and pulled out the pendant she'd used to scry over the map for guidance. She let it dangle for a moment, watching it intently as it began to sway ever so slightly toward the dark opening before them. All this while Abigail and her men went about the business of prepping for their journey into the dark. Enid accepted a torch and (presumably) followed Arthur's lead into the unknown, following the warm glow of torchlight down a series of twists and turns that fed directly into a bare room, and beyond that a long, ominous looking hallway. The whole beckoning stretch of the hall made the hair at the back of her neck bristle. She didn't comment on the duchess' aside with her marines, but the witch was more and more certain that the pirates ahead of them were being reasonably careless. Of course, so were they. As if to prove the point as it crossed her mind, the floor began to shift and tilt. “Wolf..?” she said (as though he would have an answer), bracing against his arm. They reversed course, losing traction the harder and faster they ran. Enid slid sideways down the slanted floor until someone, she couldn't tell who, tumbled over her and made the last few yards before hitting even ground painful. She'd lost her torch somewhere on the way down. “Ughh..” she groaned, pushing herself off the floor to get a better look around. No sooner had she found her footing than a strange...very strange man jumped out from behind a hiding spot. The gesture was not unlike that of a mischievous child: taunting and unbearably smug. “He doesn't seem like a pirate..” she noted, softly and mostly to herself (still a little disoriented). She saw him reach for a sort-of-wand and she instinctively reached into the folds of her light robe for her own.. but not fast enough. The witch felt herself fall to the floor as a blast of magic struck her square in the chest. On the way down, she thought maybe she had been immobilized. That was, until her head hit the floor and started rolling away from her body. Her eyes went wide with fear as she rolled to a stop at just such an angle as to see her limbs and torso lying in a disjointed heap on the floor. At first she thought she'd been chopped to pieces..which, more or less, she had been, but the longer she stared and waited for her breathing to stop, or her vision to go black, the more it seemed..off. Disconnected though it was from her head, she could see her chest rise and fall with every terrified breath she took, and she could feel her heart racing. On a whim, she curled her fingers into a fist, and her dismembered hand responded. What a relief. “Wolf?!” she called from the cold, dusty floor, “Grave? Is everyone alright?”
  9. My posts are probably going to be a little short for the next week or so. Sorry sorry
  10. Enid cocked her head to one side at Arthur's comment, then shrugged, conceding to his and Pickett's point. “I only mean to say that if I knew I was being followed in pursuit of a treasure, I would leave traps to delay or mislead anyone behind me, if not conceal the trail altogether.. Even in a rush, to do nothing seems sloppy.” Or overconfident, she thought to herself, though she did not voice it. The divining crystal stabilized over a point on the map that diverged somewhat from the beaten path, and sure enough as they reached the apex of their ascent, a narrow path revealed itself in the thick underbrush. It was easy to miss if one didn't know to look for it, or something like it, but once you'd caught sight of it at a distance it was hard to miss. The long line of cars and horses came to a stop and the pair of adventurers convened with the duchess ahead of the convoy to discuss their next course of action. The duchess seemed eager to follow the poorly beaten trail, though for all any of them knew it might have been an alternate route through the pass. That said, the path did seem to roughly coincide with the point Enid's pendant had indicated on her map. “Whether or not it's the forge, there's something along that route with an unnatural pull.” she had commented before Abigail gave out their marching orders. The witch stood next to her traveling companion and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, adding, “You had best go first.”
  11. Yeah, I’m on the bus line though. Takes longer, but I prefer it
  12. My whole life, yeah. I’m in the other twin city.
  13. Hey guys! I’m going to try and make it to a panel discussion in Minneapolis today, and I’m hosting for game night when I get back. I probably won’t be able to post until tomorrow.
  14. “Crude divination.” she replied, taking the paperclip before affixing it to the lower corner of the map in order to hold the torn paper in place. “The grave duchess has a better sense of what we're looking for and more ambition to find it. This will help me channel some of that desire when we're looking for direction beyond the pass.” She folded the map to take up less space on the dashboard, leaving only the first portion of their journey exposed for reference as they drove along a largely clear cut path (for a while, anyway). “Here,” she added, passing the paper of assorted clues to Arthur in the back seat, “That's what we have to work with for now.” The duchess had made note of the Lost Forge, which was only vague lore to the seer, but might resonate with her eager and more prepared friend. She returned Pickett's greeting with a flat introduction of her own and took to calling him Able for the duration of their ride. As the path narrowed and they had to begin carving their own way through the mud and brush, telltale signs of a previous disturbance continued to crop up along the way. They were essentially following the enemy that Abigail had (briefly) warned them of at the start of their journey. “Say, Able..” she referred to Pickett, dangling what looked to be a sort of crystal pendant over the map and watching is sway with each bump and rattle of the vehicle, “This enemy that we're following.. Am I to assume that they know they're being pursued?” The pendant swayed this way and that, but even as the terrain was getting rough and unstable, the motion of the pendant was slowing to a fixed point on the chart. They were nearing the pass.
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