The familiar, Rubenesque, flame-kissed lass would be seen between the late hours of morning and the earlier ones of the afternoon down along the roiling fields of the Southern Glen. Curious bits of quakes and shaking jolts of power were to be felt by those nearby to the vicinity of the lovely lakeside RhyDin was so fond of. T?was the site of Mokksha and Fen Stridar?s impending date of hand-fasted bliss, and Lilli was casting quite the witchy fair across the entire perimeter of the roiling fields and glassy lakeside.

Having struck a fair bargain of a trade with the Blushing-Bride-to-Be, the gypsy and she had come to an understanding; a blessing and bit of extra protection in exchange for a hefty healing should the red head ever need it. Lilliana had insisted no real payment would be taken, for protection over a pair of lovers on their most precious of days was something she couldn?t bare to tax. The Fiery buxom was good as her word though, and went about her exploration of the Glen not too early the following day, boon for a rainy day in the back of her mind.

Clever fingers wove a series of movements, molten amber eyes flared with an otherworldly light; and had any at all been peeping upon the Botticelli Buxom while she worked, they?d see for once all her flirty banter and amiable demeanor was not the only side to her. The earth did indeed quake a bit as those fingers cracked and gnarled, the flame bright flare of her kinked hair fluttering out as if caught by a troublesome wind. Had the sun not already been shining bright, one would swear there was no doubt this witchy woman would be bright as any gaseous ball of flame in the cradle of space. Though she was no mage, and there were limits to her casting abilities, a power ebbed from this lass that was not to be trifled with.

Though the enchantments and bits of flaring spell work Lilliana cast was impressive and downright scary looking at some points, the ground eventually stopped it?s quivering, and an aura of the utmost sweetness had taken over the already enchanting Glen. Now it was truly enchanted, blessed with good will and strengthened against unwanted presences who would otherwise show up to spoil the loving event that was soon to take place. Evil would find itself hard pressed to enter here on this day; at least evil that was actively harboring ill will towards the event at the time of their appearance to the edge of the Southern Glen. The area seemed almost ethereal, kissed with a warm, rippling glow of the utmost care and love. Yes? This was an aspect of the witchy gypsy?s power, and one she was near infallible with; protection spells and wards.

With a pair of pale hands resting gently on the full swell of those skirted hips, a slow, serene smile of pride blossomed across the Buxom witchling?s face. Her hair had settled, the swirling flare had left the molten hue of her eyes, she?d done the best she can. Though her power was not god-like and completely without it?s chinks in it?s armor; the wards would hold. Evil would find an invisible barrier of sorts, or might even feel compelled to turn around and conduct awful deeds elsewhere, suddenly forgetful of why they were on their way to the Glen. It was a tricksy bit of work, and it was sure to give even the most powerful force a minute pause in their tracks at the very least. The ?sheilds? could not be eradicated in any manner, but if there WAS a force powerful enough to breech her clever work, that?s all they would do; breech, and any might they may have as a malignant force, they would find supremely inhibited when trying to do anything overtly evil.

That done, a silent nod accompanied Lill?s smile, hands fell from her hips, and matte leather boots began their treck back to the Red Dragon. It was still early and the Fiery Lass was thirsting for a good wine with her afternoon meal.

'Something wicked this way came... And he left a present.'

This was the thought that plagued the normally boisterous buxom's head. Pale, fire kissed brows were knitted in an uncommon frame of concentrated concern. Boot steps so normally jaunty and carefree were quiet and paced; something was off with the fiery witchling, and if anyone was a the kind to place bets, they would lay there money on the ominous, dark, minute looking pouch newly tied to her petal skirts. It wasn't much bigger than a money pouch, sagging, cushed, tied tight with a black bit of sewn in leather straps, though for all it's innocent appearance, there was no doubt that, that particular pouch wasn't something a pick pocket would like to snatch.

Earlier in the morning, not too long after the wedding party had made their last bits of clean up and good ale drinking, Lilliana had made it a point to visit her fine work cast upon the Glen to do a bit of 'clean up' of her own. Never let it be said the gypsy did not pick her toys up! But alas, she found her clever charms torn into a complete shambles; the sensation hit her like a wall to the face. Stock still, amber hues slowly dilated, widening, sharpening, as if seeking on a plane less that worldly.

Then, without warning, a fire sparked; fast and furious. Molten eyes snapped back from wherever they'd sunk to, turning this way and that, a dark snarl curling at the lush, bonny ripeness of her lips as she searched the immediate area. "Who dares trifle with my magic!? What arrogance does it take fer someone to use a taint'd mage's power to thwart mine?!"

Fuming was a good word, because if anyone had been around to see this enraged, reactionary state, they would have swore that the luster of her fiery hair had turned to a God's fire; it could have been the sun, then again, it could have been she was really pissed and highly distraught. A minor search commenced, and minor was a fine word, because the echo of the thing so purposely left behind drew her like a magnet.

Small and still faintly crackling on some other plane of ether, molten hues traced the small, seemingly harmless features of the coin with it's hole and neat, tiny scripture. Like any good witch, she knew the power objects could hold, and that small, aforementioned, black pouch came from the depths of her skirts. Quick work was made, and the fiery buxom scooped up the coin from the ground with that curious pouch as a buffer. Eyes narrowed as they inspected further, and that very unbecoming snarl came out to claim her mouth once more. Muttering something to herself, the coin found a home in the pouch, leather draws pulled tight and tied.

It was later then that the gypsy witch had all but kicked down the doors to the Red Dragon, voice and body in a fury of fire as she sputtered over towards the bar. Later it was said that this whirlwind of anger had scared a few of the patrons with weaker constitutions, and after a short, clipped word with the local Quiet figure of Tag Sentry, the hell cat was back out the door, only later to return when her rarely shown temper had reigned itself in and she was quiet enough to venture into cluttered public again.

Furious and vehement was traded for subdued and darkly contemplative, and a bottle of rum was acquired in near silence from the bar upon her return. Equally quiet boots thunked an unobtrusive path towards the hearth, away from the normal clamor and fray. Firelight encased her features from the merry hearth so close, turning pale skin to a palette of porcelain fire, and the vibrant hue of her hair exploded in a dance of stained glass. Of course, being not her normal bouncy self, this was sure to turn some heads; particularly those of her favorite pair of birds, Brishen and Niamh.

Their notice caught her notice and Lilli beat them to the quick, motioning for her lankier half. Niamh, though concerned, say this was something of the utmost privacy for the gypsy siblings, and nursed her drink while they huddled. Brishen squatted close, hands dangling loose between his long, bent knees as Lilli obliged his closeness, leaning forward and tossing the dark pouch between the gap in his feet.

"Ya' know the drill... Don' touch it with yer' hands, there's a reason that disgustin'ly dark trinket is in that sachet." Molten eyes gave the grave bit of warning to her brother, and the slinky Tomcat managed to oblige his sister with a knowing nod. Good, he hadn't forgotten the gravity of this pouch.

It was a trinket of the utmost power, and it had the air about it of generations' worth of owners. When observed by one with a magic eye, the complexity of containment and preservation attached to the dark sachet was scrupulously incomprehensible. Endless layers of protection, meant for what was ever being held on the inside from getting out, and unknown fingers or destructive influences from getting in. Impervious as mithril, yet soft and lightweight as a regular bit of cloth sachet; it was quite the handy little treasure. The Garridan clan passed the pouch to it's youngest witches, for they often found the most trouble, and indeed, it was being put to good use at the moment.

Lilliana knew when to exercise caution, and if this thing had all but extinguished her wards, it no doubt had enough of whatever malevolence left to pass something unpleasant along to her skin. She was first and foremost always approaching anything magical in her witchiest of mindset, and was well versed in magic of other practitioners, both higher and lower powers. From Swamp Crones to Immortal Enchanters, Lilli made it a point to know her peers and their potential; and she sure as hell wasn't giving this thing any room to cause more trouble.

The rest of the conversation between the siblings was quick and mildly productive to say the least. Yet when Brishen extended back up to his full height and went stow away the pouch in his room before reclaiming his pretty Rose of a companion, foreboding things still lingered in the fiery witch's mind. Niamh of course couldn't help but feel the linger of concern either, but the Raggle Taggle male half of those gypsy siblings knew how to smooth over a lass' concern with lavished affection.

Making it a point to calm the fae lass herself, Lilli joined the pair at the bar and tried to make the best of the rest of her evening. Jovial was an expression she catered to best, and with good rum, and great friends, that was soon on the rise along her sunny features.

Foreboding was kicked to the back burners for now, rum flowed, merry times were had, and a kiss was surely in the Botticelli witch's future as she saw the infamous Dread Captain saunter in!

Turn about was fair play, and though the game held a potential danger, it was nothing that the fiery Garridan witchling could not handle. Many a road she'd traveled, and many a culture, both hostile and genial, she'd met. Slavers were a race unto themselves no matter what their biology or hailing, and Lilli had her encounters before. Clever creatures when they wanted to be.

Ruthless, spoiled, comforted by their own cleverness and self empowering natures. To each their own, from lowly grunt to Dark Jedi; there were ways of gaining respect where there was once only prior intrigue and the underlying desire to writhe beneath another's skin that'd caught their eye.

Lilli would come between the hours of late evening and the earliest pinks of dawn. Flame bright hair shone like fine rubies cast and spun into the fiber of a curly mane. Molten eyes glinted, magmatic, strong, and fathomless. There was no lingering trace of fury or childish outrage, only an aloof amusement and the crunch of steady footsteps upon loose, gravely road. Before the oddly calm gypsy lay the large, dark loom of the infamous Chained Inn.

Pale hands emerged from the deep encompass of her forested green cloak, slow and careful. Between the neat, hollow cage of her fingers hovered a small, round, holed token. Where there was once a pitch black, electrically charged bit of inscribed stone work, there was now an ardorous streak of shocking blues, yellows, oranges, and reds. The meld of twilight and sunset, all shocks of pale, pastel streaks that intertwined in an endless dance through the once charged token.

Not a word, not a single note of clamor escaped while the witch came and went. The only trace of her visit were in the tokens she left and the lingering trace of her perfume that wove it's spell through the very fibers of the scroll she'd left tacked to the door.

Oranges, cloves, the whisper of night's silken, summer warmth upon a gypsy's caravan canvas. Sweet things, spicey things, exotic things of the intangible and the witch's corporeal nature.

Whomever found the note would find her scrawl neat and tidy, whorled and as flamboyant and vibrant as the witch herself. It also lacked the husky, world grown accent she catered to with her husky voice........

Travanix,

Clever, clever... Light begets darkness as darkness gives to light. Had I a hat, I would tip it to you, sir. Blacker arts are things I do not dabble in, but make no mistake.

I do my homework well.

Needless to say, whomever you charged to make you this meddlesome token was not expecting my rather extensive knowledge of a Mage's craft. What kind of witch would I be if I did not know the in's and out's of fellow power wielders?

What is undone can be redone, and light is ever a balance to the darkness it cast's in it's wake. You will find your little trinket much changed, yet the same. Oh, by the by... I hope you like flowers!

Blessed be your days,

Lilliana McClae

Upon the last little scrawled ink of the note, one would find their nose quite entranced by a field of summery delights. Flora in abundance, but thick, cloying, and incessant. A breeze one could not quite close out, the kind that lingered and teased the senses only to soon turn mischievously bothersome

Lilli was a fairly kindly soul though, and though efforts to disspell her charm might go arwy, or even be successful, the smell itself would leave by the end of the week.

Then again, the field of poppies that mysteriously began to sprout about the grounds of the Inn would not leave so easily. More drastic and tiresome measures of old fashioned weed picking would be needed for that particular pest to go away.

And as for that little charm she'd regifted? Well... Let's just call that meddlesome little thing now a complete circle. No more would it be used for either power, but a neutral token of infallible harmlessness; no better than a piece of stone for to serve as a piece of jewelry.