small_magics | what brings you here?

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

small_magics

"It looks as though you may harbor thoughts on this subject."

From:

pythbox

Lycaelon laughs. "You caught me," he says. "I'm thinking that seems kind of ambitious."

From:

small_magics

"I am," says Isibel, "kind of ambitious."

From:

pythbox

...He cracks up.

From:

small_magics

From:

pythbox

Still giggling.

From:

small_magics

"All of me are. It is a Bell thing," Isibel volunteers.

From:

pythbox

"Well, good luck rooting out the Dark," he snorts. "Maybe you can get tips from the rest of you, if you see them again."

From:

small_magics

"Yes. Or from my unicorn friend; he is routinely helpful."

From:

pythbox

"You're friends with a unicorn?"

From:

small_magics

"Yes. His name is Liselen."

From:

pythbox

"I don't have much to do with unicorns," says Lycaelon. "I've healed them a few times. Uncomfortable for everybody. They sure are pretty, though."

From:

small_magics

"Oh, Liselen in particular is not uncomfortable around the things that bother other unicorns."

From:

pythbox

He gives her a suspicious look.

From:

small_magics

"One of my friends wished it, when they first came here," she explains.

From:

pythbox

"I thought it might be something like that," he says. "Does it work the other way around, do you think? Wishing someone not uncomfortable to unicorns even though...? Because that would make a big difference when it comes to healing them."

From:

small_magics

"I don't know. And I should ask Liselen before I try it; Thilanushinyel magic can react oddly with the offworld kinds. But potentially."

From:

pythbox

"Well, keep it in mind," he says. "It would make a big difference if more Wildmages could heal unicorns easily."

From:

small_magics

Isibel nods. "I would need to think about it for a while to try to design an enchantment to accomplish it, and I cannot afford to spend coins of that size on the project, but it will be worth doing if I can."

From:

pythbox

Lycaelon nods.

"It seems to be the kind of thing you were looking for," he says.

From:

small_magics

"It is! Thank you."

From:

pythbox

He grins. "There's more where that came from, believe me."

From:

small_magics

"I have a very long to-do list."

From:

pythbox

"It's about to get longer," Lycaelon predicts.

This turns out to be extremely true.

He has been a lot of places, and seen a lot of kinds of people, and healed many of them from injury or illness that would have killed them if he hadn't been there. And in between these events, he has spent a lot of time alone in various kinds of wilderness. He is personally familiar with every climate on the continent he calls home, from the Madiran Desert to the Lost Lands of the north.

After several hours of rambling discourse on the subject of people and their preferences and problems, he concludes an explanation of centaur architecture and stretches. "About time for me to hit the hay," he says. "We can pick this up tomorrow."