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.
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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.
back to Peril:
Checking and asking a few Ne'er-do-wells leads the party to a close brothel when they are done with the scroll (and the kissing). It is a cozy little place of old polished wood covered in silky fabrics called the House of Learning. Pen is found seated on a decadent velvet in the midst of a gaggle of hovering women, asking about this or that, laughing warmly at the flustered and outnumbered wizard. "The Pentella Cole!" one pretty little halfling cooed leaning over the chair arm to run a finger along Pen's robe at her thigh. "Never pictured you an elf." a human brunette nipped at the tip on a blazing pointed ear. "My old textbooks have been passed down through each owner of the place, it seems." she explains to the others when they arrive, looking embarrassed and looking down at the worn leather book, tight in her hands, titled 'Linguistical You'. "It ain't for the boring prattle inside mind you" the gingered halfling tells, reaching out to get ready to snatch the book out of Pen's death grip, while the brunette and two of her friends quickly tickle the poor wizard in various places to surprise and distract. The book is freed, the halfling quickly bounces over to fan the leather tome to interested eyes. Quickly past the neatly written 'Property of the Scholar Pentella Cole' to page after page of notes written into the margins, along with many little illustrations. All bawdy as heck and back, and DETAILED. The notes are little descriptions, musings, and delights, each either love sick or whimsically dirty. Pen manages to disengage, somehow (magic might have been involved), though not unscathed as bits a red lipstick dot her neck and ears. "I... I was much younger and Professor Tandalwist was... um... both uninteresting and Very interesting, all at once. So my mind wandered in class. A lot." Pen rambled, her hands clenching and unclenching, reaching like she wanted to snatch the book away or burn it to ash and was having a hard time deciding which to do. At her admission, knowing giggles erupt, and somehow make the wizard flush even brighter. She offers to buy the book back for quite a lot, but is refused. "Its a treasure, and you're a legend Ms. Cole, please stay a night or two with us, on the house!" they all attempt to woo the wizard, but Pen is ready to flee so much she almost teleported, so declined and wished them well. Pen is happy to get back to their quest. Watches the curse breaking with interest, taking pages upon pages of notes, and asking both Vehanezhad and Visna copious amounts of questions. At Usilket's enclave she hovers over so many items in the collection, helping others with identification or explanations of use. For herself, she let out a little gasp at a folded set of light blue robes. Grasping them with reverance, she holds them to her chest and says "I will take these, please. Thank you."
Pen had settled her thoughts, which she admits to herself, does seem harder for the old soul than in previous years. Forcing her mind back into its normal observation of details, as many as possible, meticulously recording them in her shorthand. In this, she got distracted on the docks, looking at the second floor of an old building, now a brothel it looks like. Back then, way back then it was school, kids laughing, her attempting order, a warm place. Then pirates did as pirates did... She shook her head away from memories, but not before noting a detail that made her feel a variety of emotions. The brothel still had the simple carved sign she had made with her own hands. Practical in its simplicity.
Pen forced her attention back to the meeting, only to see the sudden attack on her companion. Gripping her staff in both hands she almost started chanting fire and lightning... to protect, not to stop the... yes kissing. Oh. The buildup of elemental destruction fizzed out of existence, popped out of being, as other muddled memories burst into her mind. Memories she was not sure of since they had involved way too much wine. No. Not here, not now. Pen did not reject memories, they are as precious to her as the sun to wildflowers, but sometimes she needed to tell them 'Later, please'. "Excuse me" she addresses the waiting Tengu and Aiuvarin with the profound nose, with barely a hitch in her own voice, which she is proud of "Would you kindly tell Ms. Oarsnapper... " Vizzy? "... and your mistress, when they are less engaged, that I will return within the hour. I used to live here a long time ago, you see, and wish to see how things have changed. While we have time." it looked like that kissing might go on a while. Getting away was not the reason. An a slightly annoyed flick of her mind reminded her falsehoods, even to herself, was NOT allowed. Not the only reason, she mentally amended.
Oh, no... Pen blinks as the sun smile beams toward her, followed by the possessive pronoun that shuts down her mind every time she hears it, even though a profession of nothing other than companionship... where was she... Oh, yes, admitting she can do nothing "I... don't know anything about curses." her cheeks flush, rising up to her pointed ears. "I mean I know a significant about curses, from various types, reasons to use, so on. I wrote notes on how that affect the fabric of..." the embarrassment of not being the person to solve this, makes her more flustered than normal, making her start ruffling around in her pack for some of her consolidated notes. But stops. "I've never studied the methods to remove them, other the more general concepts." Pen slips her pack back on and sighs "I am no help here."
A blue halo burst around Pen's head as she touched the Vision always at the edge of her feeling. The wizard studies the dragon "A stone to flesh spell could alleviate the symptoms, but not the curse." Pen does not consider lying. "We could attempt to counteract it but it will be difficult"
Pen casts Tongues on her comrades, along with the familiar telepathic bond so they all can share conversation. Her eyes scan all around the visible interior of the tower, the light filtering through in near chaotic twinkles. Near chaos is not chaos so Pen follows the patterns. Their greeters keeps her from pulling out her notebook, scribbling and sketching. |