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Knowing the speed of her companions is the most practical path to victory, Pen spins her magical staff in a complicated pattern and announces in arcane hexes that make it so.
As the empowerment settles, she then summons a simple shield of force.
The sensation of being eaten could be considered interesting from one such as Pen who catalogs everything. But it ISN'T so she responds with fire.
Pen opened her mouth to respond, but instead just tightens her hands around her staff and answers "There are dwarves, but I am unaware of their emotions."
Pen is quiet during the exchange, quietly amazed there was not a battle and that words have won the day. Once that became apparent, she rested her staff against her shoulder, pulled out her journal and started to take notes.
Pen's practicality prevails, preventing powerful projections, preferring precisely produced... fire.
In a confusing moment in the elven wizard's mind, time seemed to almost stop. Then it was back, dashing forward as it always does without a care of who might need a few moments. For some reason, Pen felt the need to help that dashing along.
The sound rocks her head back, sending thunder through her brain, spilling all her organized thoughts. One still remains, protect those she loves. So lighting is grabbed and thrown. Wildly.
"nine heads seems excessive" Pen mutters rather uncharacteristically.
Where is Marzalee the Stitcher? Pen thinks across the minds. There is no question they would help, her companions are heroes. But mentally she notes when asking for help 'teeth' would have been a better term to use than 'fangs'
Pen looks up at her friend, a softening around her eyes but a darkening remembered pain within in them. "thank you, all pain is relative and a shattering can come from many paths." Briar's words makes her be careful though, so Pen looks around the room, around the person, with her magical senses, testing for traps or spells before nodding to Briar and opening a path to the crocodile's mind. We can talk now her voice travels across all of their minds.
Pen was already in mid incantation, but stops at Briar's warning. Her cool gaze turns to the man.
Even with Molly's tired answer, Pen looks to Visna "I wouldn't know until we tried..." she then looks at the dwarf "... but the attempt would lead to conflict and a potential end. Sonnorae sounds like a better option." she gives the woman a promising nod.
Pen slips the card into her deck with a small smile. "Marzalee was an ant?" at first the wizard assumed the other woman said aunt, but in reaccessing the conversation she thinks Pen herself was mistaken about the verbal mistake and it was in fact meant to be ant. "Do you know of any way to return her to her ant form?"
Pen gives a soft smile at Briar and Visna's response. Pen would never classify herself as a hero, but heartily would agree they are. "Where is it?" she asks about the fortress "Any information would be useful."
Pen, while practical, collects data in all things. Chance is just another piece of fate, so she steps up looks at the target and says simply "Ten"
"It is wrong." Pen says simply. She lets her eyes shift to a glow, taking in magic in the area.
"I do not" Pen says simply, stating the obvious since all he has ever seen her do is wield her staff and magic. Pen had only paused a moment before she was in front of Visna, gently touching the reddening lump that is now her cheek, her eyes crinkled in concern. Her other hand brushes off this and that from the warrior's armor. Apparently being the object of the elf's affection comes with a tad bit of mothering. There is a flash of a smile though accompanying it, as if she realizes it herself but cannot stop.
Seeing the fiend's flail crash into her Visna... (the words thought cause the briefest of distraction)... makes Pen abandon practical resource preservation. Another bolt of unnerving green tears the air to remove the offending creature from existence.
Pen's insides twist in nausea as her skin splits in agony. But she keeps to her feet, points her staff into the air, hand to the enemy and wills for him to be gone.
Pen stores the fruit in her satchel "Maybe we could plant these in our lands? "[b]See if with proper care, the tree can be... better?" an odd spring of whimsy from the practical Pen.
With arcane words, raised staff, and fanned fingers, Pen brings winter to the tree.
Then she raises her staff to protect herself from poisoned fruit
Pen nods, simple and quick, and makes the group faster for the death of a tree.
In the morning there is a folded sheet under Visna's door. A small poem written with a precise hand and a small sketch of river stone in an ever-moving stream. Pen smiles at the warrior when she sees her "Good morning" she offers the same greeting to all, but the light color in her ears is only for Visna. --------------- At the tree, Pen uses her senses to search for magical auras and her knowledge to help decipher them.
Pen's eyes go wide before they slide closed,and she loses herself in the kiss. The points of her ears blaze an electric pink, as she responds to Visna's promise with a simple "Thank you"
Pen shakes her head, not breaking eye contact "It has been a long time since I lost someone I... cared about." Pen has not hidden her vast age, she just does not dwell on it much "Not the lost part, but the caring part. I had stopped. Now... now I fear a loss..." she stopped, a small choke in her steady voice, and then she does look away, only to return after several blinks "Do not die, Visna Crownbreaker, it is all I ask."
The elf stands, after setting a cat off her lap and setting down her tea. She moves to in front of the stunningly dynamic woman, looking up. She frowns at what she sees, the tenseness, the... doubt? Finally with a softness to her pragmatism she says "You are you, be nothing else." then adds with a pleading hope "Please"
"Is she..." Pen starts to ask something automatic, a is she well, when Well is never an word Visna herself would use to describe her being. So she reconsiders and continues the question to: "Is she upset about resting?" the elf takes a sip of the tea with her friend's herb sprinkled in.
"We need rest" Pen declares suddenly after Briar has the warrior up. Her tone is just a shade sharper than normal, so Belmount might not recognize it as the nearest thing Pen has ever gotten to a Command. Her unremarkable eyes track each of them, even her Puck, but only skims quickly past Visna. "Sanjana will want an update. And tea." her words are there, holding so much more back, but then she starts back toward the exit without waiting to see if anyone comes with her.
Pen smiles, one of those wide bright ones, that rarely cross her face. "Good." always practical, Pen uses as few words as necessary to convey her thoughts. That words does have a lot of emotion behind it, as does the sagging of her shoulders in utter relief. She lays the axe down within easy reach of the warrior while she and Briar see to her wounds. Then she rises, brushes herself off and goes about exploring the room, making notes, and answering Belmont (even though it is unnecessary) "Yes, she will be alright."
Pen barely notices their enemy becoming dust. Instead she finds herself on her knees, legs sprayed like a puddle, beside the fallen warrior, clutching Visna's ax of all things while Briar works to save her. The ace... Well Visna will probably want it when she wakes.... If... No, when
Pen's heart stops when she sees the vibrant light of the world collapse in blood and rent steel. The world narrows to the sound of a thudding echo, her last reverberating heartbeat bouncing out into encroaching black. Her hands continue on without her heart or mind grasping her staff, drawing its power, her mouth shouting the words of a spell sent shooting at the enemy that turned out that light.
More of Pen's flesh gets ripped off her bones so Pen focuses her ire on the duplicates. Lighting flashes from one to the other, with Pen's hopes it hits the master as well.
As the dark lifts, Pen ignores the shadow beast tearing into her flesh... well as much as anyone can ignore one's own skin parting and blood spray. She does scream, but also then pivots, trying to get a good shot, and fires her sickly green ray of undoing at the velstrac.
Dark with a pitch so thick she cannot see anything, every sound muffled as if she was a hundred feet underwater. Ingredients for Isolation, allowing the creatures to murder alone. Pen understands isolation. Hers had been self imposed until a Gnoll, a Kashrishi, and a old, um, acquaintance forced her back into the bubbles of others. She does not wish to return to the before. So she concentrates her magic, clutching her staff and attempts to will the dark away. Puck, her little ceru, also doesn't want to go back to just the two of them locked in dusty inns. The little one likes the cats most of all, so uses its own twist of fate to help its master.
Pen's lips thin, then frown, not at Belmont's question, more of her answer. "If they do not attack first... they give them a chance." the frown and the general tone of the answer says Pen does not agree with this at all. Too dangerous, not practical.
Pen might simply ask for the card, but she is not one to speak up in times like this. Instead she hovers behind the warriors, ready to fling spells to aid and destroy.
For a brief moment, Pen wonders, with a bit of awe, why anyone would stand against the brutal elegance of her companion's unstoppable attacks. That thought makes her pull out her notebook to make notes, rather quick and detailed notes, while the others handle the loot and get ready to continue.
Pen sees that these enemies are no match for her companions, so concentrates on conservation of resources. Her contribution is a spray of six glowing orbs shooting toward the Velstrac to end it as a threat.
As normal, Pen does not declare battle is joined. Her eyes quickly take in as much detail on the amalgamation of flesh and metal, and then casts a spell to increase her allies reaction time and another quick one to protect herself.
Pen simply nods to Belmont's question.
Pen is unperturbed with the ritual, but seems very interested in the slugs, asking many questions as they are administered. She does pull out a cloth of her own and wipes a small smudge of blood from her friend's cheek that was missed.
Pen points her staff at the giant, speaks her command word plain and loud, then a shaft of blue light forms, then disappears only to appear right before slamming into the towering wall of muscle.
Pen lines up her staff again, concentrates on fire and then three beams of molten flame rips towards all three.
Pain lanced through Pen as the chain slammed into her side, bruising, maybe cracking something, but she resisted the magics that seemed to come with the pain. The giants seem too much a threat to hold back, so Pen unleashes a searing bolt of lightning that jumps from one heartbeat to another giant, then another, until it smashes into each.
Pen rarely hesitates in battle. No declaration of intent, or attempts at diplomacy. A threat of significant magnitude coupled with obvious hostility means she reacts. Otherwise people die, and she does not want her companions to die. Her arcane words flow down her outreached staff, fire erupts from the end and explodes in the middle of the enemies.
These are shadow giants... her calm voice speaks into the other's minds, relating all she knows about their abilities.
Pen passed the story of the Rabbit Prince to the others, the sorrow in her mind going with it. "If we find what was stolen from you, we will return them." she promises softly before rising to join the others. She offers the boots to Visna "I think he would appreciate how you would use these."
Pen stares at the rabbit, then uses her magic to bring the corpse off of the briars. We should see him laid to rest first. her voice speaks in the other's minds.
Pen doesn't know the specific rites to perform to do so, humanoid rabbit culture is new to her. But if no one else does, she will perform the basics at least.
Pen nods are Briar's estimations. Her friend is much better at reading people than she would ever be. Her staff lowers and she gives a former bow "I am Pen" she trades her name for his. Then moves back over to her seat to collect a notebook, which she opens and starts jotting down notes.
"Why are you here?" the elf asks plainly, still standing ready to end a threat. Her cats destroy the image a little but rubbing against her legs. And a tiny winged elephant poking out of her hair.
An elven woman had been curled up into a soft chair, with not one but four cats lazily lounging in her lap. They have been spilling out of her room of late. At the intrusion, she hops up dislodging her charges with hisses and squeaks as she hurries over to a staff left leaning against the wall. The plain woman falls into a stance of stout staff and curled hand, as if suddenly about to rain fire and death from no where. A contrast to the casual sleepy skirt and frumpy sweater she is wearing. She doesn't say anything, since her companions does that most of the time.
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