Manor of Origin (REDUX)

Faux: For the briefest instant, her mouth twitches upward, as she reaches for the pendant with a slightly trembling hand. It’s a slow process, as if she’s waiting for you to snatch it away. You don’t, and she takes it, such a little thing, yet she looks at it like you’d just given her the world.

Inquisitor: Magic tends not o have a feel to it, depending on the origin or system used to produce. The magic in this particular garment feels Greek and old. However by running magic through the weave, an unforeseen consequence occurs. You feel as every magical circuit in your body activates, your eye burns the crest within it stirring to action. Then all on its own, the loom begins to move, at a frantic pace under Inquisitor’s gleaming eye, the garment begins to take its final shape.

The magic in the cloak seems to require time to resonate with, that is if it was doing what it was as suppose to do. As it stands the thing just doesn’t want to connect to you. It does bestow some minor benefits, but certainly not it’s full power.

Inquisitor seems pretty focused on whatever he’s doing, the loom must be pretty interesting.

Upon Chariot’s question, the loom comes to a stop, it’s product finally complete.
Lying in front a now very tired and sweaty Inquisitor, is a small lilac colored dress. A frilly little thing that seems to shimmer and blur every so often. The final work of a long dead artisan.

Perhaps it’s the fact that the dress is newly completed, perhaps Banshee just happens to have an affinity for the magic inside the thing, but she suddenly knows far more than she should about it after running some of her magical energy through it.

The dress is safe, well at least for the girl. After all it was made especially for her, using some of her own blood and magical energy.
A protective item with almost no rival, providing a high amount of the regular magical protection, as well as something similar to the blur spell.

A witch of legendary caliber is responsible for this.

Danzig: Archie just rolls his eyes and walks back to the other room. From a cursory glance it seems the way you came is the only way into this particular room.

Banshee: The girl looks just a tad bit overwhelmed, but upon looking down at her rags she nods if a bit hesitantly. She doesn’t take it though, her eyes dart from person to person in the room, excluding you, and she shuffles from foot to foot nervously.

In the other room Archie is leaning against the wall next to the cabinet. Upon Chariot’s entry he nods his head to n acknowledgment. Lance trudges out of the room behind him.

As soon as the rest leave the girl seems to loosen up a bit.
Leaving Banshee to hold the dress, she tugs at the hem of her ragged gown and slips it over her head.
It is at this moment Banshee gets a good look at the skin underneath.
It is not a pleasant sight.
All across her torso and lower abdomen are raised burn tissue. The flesh obviously at some point was melted and allowed to heal naturally, slowly. The height of the lines make it look as if metal tubes had been shoved under her skin and wrapped snugly with burnt flesh. All of these scars are set to a certain pattern, straight lines and branching paths. The raised lines don’t seem to extend to the limbs or head, but her right arm is still concealed in bandages so it’s hard to tell.

All this information, processes in but a moment as the girl takes the dress from Banshee’s hands. She slips it on over her head, at this point the dress seems to move on it’s own, fitting her form perfectly, it shimmers for a moment then settles.
The girl looks at Banshee and nods in thanks. Then tentatively, reaches for her hand.

It’s small, it’s brief, but it’s a smile.
The emotional wall is crumbling, being torn down at an almost frantic pace.

She shakes her head, but grips the hand just a bit tighter.