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Isibel lives in her enchanted village, in a hollowed and conveniently-shifting great tree. She travels from it frequently, when she has a new enchantment or elfspell designed that will help someone, or when she meets with the leaders of this or that culture to learn more about their needs, or when someone accepts her offer of torching. The population of Thilanushinyel is not as large as that of Origin, and it may even contain fewer political units, but certainly there are more species; she has a steep learning curve and she throws herself into it.
Today, she is at home. She is not in deep meditation, but she might look like it, eyes closed, floating crosslegged in the air, not paying attention to the weight of the clothes on her body or the wreath of sunny yellow-berried blue-leafed holly resting on her hair, just thinking about hurricanes and the most efficient way to prevent them from forming over the sea. (She can channel immense spells. She is not sure how immense, and it would be very dangerous to lose hold of one. She retains some concern for limiting the size of her enchantments.)
When she is busy with something she cannot interrupt, her door is locked. Today it is not. There were no hurricanes when she last checked, and if any form in the next few hours, she will be able to address them on the spot, she knows; this spell is not urgent on that scale.
If anyone needs her they may come in.
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small_magics
small_magics
Kisses.
She missed kisses. She misses her beloved too - but kisses are nice elsewise.
She missed kisses. She misses her beloved too - but kisses are nice elsewise.
small_magics
She would never be able to do this if she couldn't feel her beloved's unreserved approval in the back of her mind; it would feel like a betrayal of the soul-sympathy whatever he said, but she can feel it, and knows it's all right.
small_magics
It is not much time later that Isibel elects to spend the hex from her supply minting Lycaelon. (It's not, really, that small a supply - the only trouble is she has no idea how long it will need to last her. Even if he can make no sustained hex output he can probably at least replace the one it took to mint him.)
"Moving pain across your mind should make sense now," she tells him, when she's done it.
"Moving pain across your mind should make sense now," she tells him, when she's done it.
wildlymagical
He bites his lip experimentally.
"Strange," he says, examining the resulting triangle. It's mostly black, with a soft buttony shine, and has thin white lines radiating from the hole in the center out to each of its points.
"Strange," he says, examining the resulting triangle. It's mostly black, with a soft buttony shine, and has thin white lines radiating from the hole in the center out to each of its points.
small_magics
"My beloved and his alts have invented a more - sophisticated version of the agony beam. I have not upgraded, due to a need to conserve coins and because I had nothing to use it for anyway, but it does work reflexively, if you find that it would be useful."
wildlymagical
"Yeah, that does sound handy. I can replace the coins you're using now, too," he offers. "And then go make some more."
small_magics
Isibel nods, and takes another hex out of her sorter and lets out a sigh and spends it.
wildlymagical
"Interesting," says Lycaelon.
He makes a pentagon. Then several more pentagons. Then a small pile of hexes, with a slight thoughtful frown but no other sign of pain.