A member of Forces — captain of the guard, habitually and heavily armed — it is inevitable that much of the work Gwenaëlle is here to do will speak to that. Neither a mage nor a Templar, she has nevertheless found herself on a battlefield riddled with demons often enough to consider it at this point a relatively usual part of her job. She has, moving through the wrecked village, her cleansing blade loosed of its sheath and in her hand, anticipating any number of suitable and effective places to put it—
but that isn’t what she’s doing right now, her head tilted with curiosity, following the bodies of who had been two young women, carrying a broken bucket between them, spilling water faster than they can take it wherever they mean to.
the spirits
The third time the — spirit? thing? — tugs at the edge of supple red leather, Gwenaëlle narrowly avoids slapping it into an entirely new form. She’s been crouched, studying the charring pattern about a corpse that the soaked rag against her mouth and nose isn’t really disguising the smell of as much as she’d like, and it has taken its time about bothering her, each effort worked up to and then delaying the next,
best not to think too hard about why it doesn’t seem to like grasping at the strange-warm armour she found in the Crossroads. It’s probably fine. She curbs her irritation, sets her hands on her hips, and stares down at the wisp of a thing,
“Fine. What do you want?”
— so if you weren’t already there, you might a few moments later see Gwenaëlle striding after a glowing, bouncing thing she’s pretty sure she shouldn’t be interacting with.
the survivors
“I’m sorry,” she’s saying, later, to a woman that same wisp had led her (and you?) to, “I think I found him. It looked like he’d lost control of a spell—”
Bewildered, the villager — Marith, she’d introduced herself — says, “He didn’t do spells.”
wildcard
( throw something else at me, add a twist, or hmu if you want a ~bespoke~ starter! )
gwenaëlle baudin | open
exploration
the possessed
A member of Forces — captain of the guard, habitually and heavily armed — it is inevitable that much of the work Gwenaëlle is here to do will speak to that. Neither a mage nor a Templar, she has nevertheless found herself on a battlefield riddled with demons often enough to consider it at this point a relatively usual part of her job. She has, moving through the wrecked village, her cleansing blade loosed of its sheath and in her hand, anticipating any number of suitable and effective places to put it—
but that isn’t what she’s doing right now, her head tilted with curiosity, following the bodies of who had been two young women, carrying a broken bucket between them, spilling water faster than they can take it wherever they mean to.
the spirits
The third time the — spirit? thing? — tugs at the edge of supple red leather, Gwenaëlle narrowly avoids slapping it into an entirely new form. She’s been crouched, studying the charring pattern about a corpse that the soaked rag against her mouth and nose isn’t really disguising the smell of as much as she’d like, and it has taken its time about bothering her, each effort worked up to and then delaying the next,
best not to think too hard about why it doesn’t seem to like grasping at the strange-warm armour she found in the Crossroads. It’s probably fine. She curbs her irritation, sets her hands on her hips, and stares down at the wisp of a thing,
“Fine. What do you want?”
— so if you weren’t already there, you might a few moments later see Gwenaëlle striding after a glowing, bouncing thing she’s pretty sure she shouldn’t be interacting with.
the survivors
“I’m sorry,” she’s saying, later, to a woman that same wisp had led her (and you?) to, “I think I found him. It looked like he’d lost control of a spell—”
Bewildered, the villager — Marith, she’d introduced herself — says, “He didn’t do spells.”
wildcard
( throw something else at me, add a twist, or hmu if you want a ~bespoke~ starter! )