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The Multiverse

Gypsy Camp

70 INK

a part of The Multiverse, by Remæus.

The largest gypsy clan this side of Terra, the [url=http://www.roleplaygateway.com/roleplay/the-multiverse/groups/the-mistwood-gypsy-clan ]Mistwood gypsy[/url] camp is a bustling place of activity and cheer. Though beneath the backdrop of color and prosperity lays something far more sinister. The Cursed Wood. Both superstitious and wary of strangers, these gypsy outcasts have long learned to take care of themselves.

lostamongtrees holds sovereignty over Gypsy Camp, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

762 readers have been here.

Setting

The largest gypsy clan this side of Terra, the Mistwood gypsy camp is a bustling place of activity and cheer. Though beneath the backdrop of color and prosperity lays something far more sinister. The Cursed Wood. Both superstitious and wary of strangers, these gypsy outcasts have long learned to take care of themselves.

However, outsiders often believe that this clan's deviations from their ancestral ways brought about their blight. Dubbed 'Cursed' by their compatriots, few other gypsy clans will mingle with the gypsies of Mistwood.

The Mistwood Gypsy Clan serves as a haven for other individuals of like mind. Outcasts of the gypsy people who have carved out a name for themselves despite their unorthodox ways.
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Gypsy Camp

The largest gypsy clan this side of Terra, the [url=http://www.roleplaygateway.com/roleplay/the-multiverse/groups/the-mistwood-gypsy-clan ]Mistwood gypsy[/url] camp is a bustling place of activity and cheer. Though beneath the backdrop of color and prosperity lays something far more sinister. The Cursed Wood. Both superstitious and wary of strangers, these gypsy outcasts have long learned to take care of themselves.

Minimap

Gypsy Camp is a part of Cursed Wood.

9 Characters Here

Ciara Corrigan [20] Free spirited and rebellious, Ciara lives by her own rules.
Crystalline Sprite [1] This great rarity flickers and glimmers in the sunlight.
Kyre Syme [1] Winged, flying like a bat out of hell, without a care in the world
Manami M. [1]
PO-WD [0] A middle sized robot designed to mount and carry offense. He can take reasonable punishment, and can dish out rather large amounts of damage in return with ranged or close combat. Very chivalrous.
Kenji Tatsuya Shen-Ryu [0] "This is the life we chose."

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1 NPCs Here


Setting

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Character Portrait: Mahdi
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#, as written by Vyral
No answer. He heard no movement inside.

The horse made known its feelings. Mahdi spared a glance over his shoulders, wondering if others could hear the horses racket. He saw nothing that gave him cause to panic, but he would not tarry in any instance. He thudded the door again, and again the horse trumpeted its displeasure. No answer. Impatient, Mahdi moved towards one of the windows. Thick swathes of fabric hung over it, obscuring his vision, but his keen eyes cut the shadows within. He could see no-one inside. He shifted his gaze. On a surface he could see a pestle, the mortar discarded beside it. Something was smeared across the end, crushed against it. Mahdi raised his nose and inhaled. Wolfsbane.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

With no further thought for courtesy he tried the vardos doorhandle. It gave. The large man stopped slightly to enter the tiny wagon, grunting his irritation in unison to the tethered horse. Mahdi stopped. A woman was sprawled on the ground, head twisted in a way that suggested she wasn't simply sleeping. Mahdi approached, taking to one knee beside her body. She was pale, sweating lightly despite the chill than sunk into the vardo. He pressed a hand to her throat. A faint throb. His fingers retreated, damp with perspiration. Cautiously he stroked away the hair from her face and studied her features. A pretty girl, if plain to the eye. Perhaps he was unfair. She was not her best, he expected.

Mahdi stood, bumping his head on the vardos ceiling. With a grunt he cursed the cramped wooden box, and turned towards the womans cuboards. A jug of water rested on the surface, half emptied. An indication of the situation, perhaps. Perhaps not. He dipped a swathe of bright fabric into the water - he doubted Ileana, if it was her, would mind - and then draped it over her forehead.

He took one knee again. "Paprika," he confirmed. "Do you hear my voice, girl?"

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#, as written by Tiko
As Mahdi shifted the unconscious gypsy woman to administer the damp cloth, her hair further fell away from her face, revealing that though pretty enough at first glance, her facial features had been marred heavily and were dominated by the damage to her left eye. The tissue around it was scarred and the eye itself was a blood shot milky white hue. Though, it didn't appear to be an animal bite, and that it had scarred at all was peculiar, given the nature of the woman.

Meanwhile back at the main camp, Mahdi's arrival had created quite a stirring. He was the third stranger to come by this week to see the reclusive Ileana. It had taken them time to muster up the nerve to question the situation, but given the recent disappearance of two of their own number, they had just been waiting for a catalyst to do something about the situation.

When it came to matters of the Cursed Wood, even discussion of what went on beyond those borders was taboo, but in regards to a young woman, bravery was easier to come by. But such was the way of superstitions, and often it is the most undeserving who get caught in the crossfire.

A small number of men had begun to gather in heated debate.

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Character Portrait: Mahdi
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#, as written by Vyral
Mahdi furrowed his brow at the scarred eye, ran a gentle finger around its edge. A fresh scar, he thought, but nearly healed nonetheless. If the woman was truly one of his kind she would not be scarred, he knew. The wolfsbane, though... He couldn't be sure. The plant was potent, and he had never cared to explore its capabilities. Mahdi shifted his weight onto his other leg and slipped one arm beneath the unconscious womans back. He heaved the woman up and slid his head beneath her arm to support her weight. With a noticeable lack of grace, and much bumping and banging, Mahdi turned around and steered them out into the open air.

He inhaled deeply, hoping to be rid of the stench of wolfsbane. What he could smell though, was a change in the atmosphere. Less anxiety and more hostility. The smell of smoke was still in the air but it seemed fainter. Uncared for, as though the thought of breakfast was lost to some of the camps inhabitants. Mahdi set his jaw.

He did not favour a walk back through the Mistwood camp. The sinking feeling had returned.

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#, as written by Tiko
Sure enough as Mahdi exited the vardo, a gathering of a good dozen or so men had gathered there to meet him, though they kept their distance.

Nervous glances were exchanged as they took note of the nature of the situation, and of Mahdi carrying Ileana. But after several awkward moments of deliberation, one finally stepped forward to speak up. “Leave the girl, she's one of ours. None of your concern.”

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Character Portrait: Mahdi
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#, as written by Vyral
Mahdi stopped walking, Ileana still supported over his neck.

He sized up the men carefully with flint eyes. He could smell the nervous tension in the group. There was only a trace of aggression; it could grow, though. He must tread carefully. Twelve men posed a threat even to a werewolf, and he had no wish to spill blood this morning. Mahdi resumed walking forwards slowly, trying to appear relaxed.

"She is sick. Perhaps she will die. With help, perhaps not." He closed the gap to the men slowly, eyes restlessly searching their faces, watching for any change in feeling. "Me, I can help, perhaps. Then she can return if she wishes," he smiled, trying to placate them. "You should speak to your Ciara, the pretty young woman. She showed me to Ileana. She will tell you I can be trusted, I am sure."

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#, as written by Tiko
“You can't help that girl. She's cursed. Better she die here with us, as a human than live as a beast. Leave her and go stranger,” the man instructed.

More gypsies had roused from their slumber and several were observing the happenings warily. Even the fiery Ciara could be spotted in the distance, alongside a vardo, but she simply turned her head away. Perhaps it was shame she hid, or something else, but it seemed unlikely she would offer her assistance a second time.

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Character Portrait: Mahdi
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#, as written by Vyral
"You are wrong. I can help the girl, Ileana. Her illness is from a plant. There is no curse, and no-one shall be living as a beast." Mahdi chuckled, but even he felt it was hollow. He was concentrating too hard on the group, weighing up who might strike and who would flee. "As I say, perhaps she will want to come back anyway."

He made his choice. Adjusting Ileana's weight on his back, he strengthened his gait once again and headed for the center of the group. He would pass through them, he hoped, unmolested. Perhaps there was enough fear left in them that they would sooner see them gone, so they could forget it had ever happened.

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#, as written by Tiko
The group parted and allowed Mahdi to pass, but the tension was more than audible in the air. The man that seemed to have taken head of the situation was the most likely to spark something off, but rather than act out aggressively, he instead chose a different route.

“If you leave here with her, she won't be welcome back here. If you take her from here, from her family, you make sure to tell her that.” Something about the tone of his voice when he said family seemed more than passing. A father perhaps? No too young. A brother or a cousin? It seemed odd that if there was a relation there, that the man could be so callous, but fear of what is not understood has long driven men to extremes.

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Character Portrait: Mahdi
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#, as written by Vyral
Mahdi passed through the crowd, eyes roaming and muscles stiffened with expectation. The gathered men parted for them, though, and soon Mahdi had his back to the crowd even while the man - a relative, perhaps, though he bore little physical resemblance - spoke. Mahdi did not turn to reply.

"Perhaps you speak true. Perhaps there are those here who feel differently, though. Perhaps her family will overcome superstition and realize that their lives are too short to stand in the cold and shout at a kindly stranger in aid of a dying girl." Mahdi chuckled, his gaze resting on Ciara as he passed her. "Perhaps not. She has no say, either way."

With the danger passed, Mahdi shifted Ileana so that he carried her over his shoulder. The edge of the camp neared. Many people watched, and though none barred him passage, he thought that today he had made enemies were before he could walk safe. The girl might die yet still, and he would be left with a corpse and daggers in the dark.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Ileana Nicolae Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by Tiko
(Post co-written by Tiko and FizzGig)

Ileana was in a right state as she dug through her herbs and vials that had been scattered about her vardo. The place looked like it had been all but overturned, and she had a solid suspicion as to who had done it, but the larger concern was that he had made off with most of her wolfsbane supply.

Fortunately, amongst the mess, she found an upended box with a few intact vials and syringes that had been scattered across the floor. With unsteady hands she managed to administer the wolfsbane concoction, before sinking to the floor to lean against the wall. The potent poison was rapidly making its way through her blood stream and her whole arm felt numb, but there was something more amiss. She could feel it, crawling beneath her skin, trying to get out.

With the moon on the rise, it was only a matter of time. Her skin was flushed and sweating, a combination of the wolfsbane poison and her accelerated metabolism. Outside, the horse that was tied to a post stamped its hooves restlessly. Its instincts warned it of danger, and before long it was making a quite ruckus as it whinnied and snorted, trying to free itself from the post.

It was dusk. The third sunset since she’d returned to the Mistwood Gypsy camp. Caitrin stood outside of her tent, leaning on her cane, lost in thought that circulated mostly around the case of her missing friend. Ileana, they had told her, had come into contact with some sort of curse. She was no longer welcome.

It was distressing to think that her clan had sent Ileana away, worse to think that she’d walked out of camp with a stranger, on the promise that she would never be welcomed back. Caitrin had been angered, disgusted with her own people. Cassier, whom she’d left on bad terms anyway, she’d distanced from herself even further. He’d been against her pursuit of locating her friend. He was afraid of the curse.

She’d visited the vardo, only to discover that it was empty. She’d considered going into Wing City, but walking was difficult for her. The wounds in her leg made normal movement unusually painful.

With a light sigh, she turned to go back inside her tent, but the sudden, loud interruption of a startled horse had her frozen. She straightened, looking in the direction of the vardo, and immediately began to walk.

She didn’t know what drove her, whether it be some kind of insanity or worse, but the moment she came within sight of the hut, and spotted the horse, she lifted her voice, a spark of hope causing her to cry out her friend’s name.

“Ileana!”

Leaning heavily on the cane, she made her way to the door of the hut, nearly losing her balance with the shock of what she found.

“Oh, spirits, you’re here! What’s wrong?” She didn’t think. She simply acted. It didn’t take long before she was at Ileana’s side.

Ileana's expression reflected Caitrin's own. Shock and dismay at the arrival of her old friend. “Caitrin!” she exclaimed before she hunched over, an arm wrapped around her stomach in pain. Her other arm hung loose, numbed by the spreading wolfsbane.

“Caitrin, you shouldn't be here, you need to go,” Ileana gasped. She felt sick inside, her skin was crawling as if there were bugs worming around beneath it, trying to make their way to the surface.

The thick sheen of sweat on her forehead coupled with her physical distress made it clear that Ileana was unwell, though the exact nature of what was wrong was harder to discern.

“I heard about what happened,” Caitrin reassured her. “I don’t care. I’m not going to leave you here..what can I do?”

She put a hand to Ileana’s forehead, alarmed to discover that she was sweating, feverish, trembling all over. “You need a doctor,” she murmured, scooting back a moment. She had to get the others. Surely they wouldn’t really leave her here like this when she was in such a state.

Ileana grit her teeth and moved to try and retrieve another of the fallen vials, but the sickening wrenching feeling in the pit of her stomach had her doubled over again. “The vials,” she managed to gasp out, indicating the overturned box of vials and syringes that lay scattered about the floor.

A higher dosage would likely prove lethal, but desperation drives people to desperate measures. And as a cry of pain was tore from her lips, desperate was an understatement for the distressed gypsy woman. Internally, despite the poison that wracked her blood stream, her body was undergoing painful changes. Muscle and sinew writhed beneath skin, and though the disconcerting effects weren't yet visually prominent in the murky confines of the vardo, the unsettling grinding and popping sounds of her skeletal structure beginning to rearrange itself was audible.

Caitrin nodded, trying hard not to panic as she went to grab for the vials. But the sound of Ileana’s bones cracking had her on her feet, backing away, staring in horror as she tried to comprehend what was going on.

“Ileana,” she gasped. “What’s happening?!”

A snarl tore free of Ileana's throat as fur sprouted along the length of her skin, black and course. Once she gave herself over to the process the rest happened quite quickly. Soon, a large wolfish beast crouched where Ileana had been only moments before, heated saliva dripping from her maw to spatter across broken glass upon the floor.

The werebeast's eyes locked on Caitrin, the sound of her voice, the smell of her fear, the rapid pulse that fluttered beneath her skin. The vardo was small, only designed to house a single individual, certainly not an individual of the size and heft of a werewolf, and with the two of them in there, it was quite cramped with little room to maneuver.

Outside, the horse had managed to break free and took off into the nearby camp in a panic that had many of the gypsy roused from about the evening campfire in alarm.

Caitrin was frozen with fear, eyes wide in her skull as she stared at the animal that took Ileana’s place. She reminded herself to breath, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out of there fast enough.

But, perhaps she wouldn’t have to run…perhaps she could talk to her. It was Ileana after all. They were childhood friends…surely she wouldn’t hurt her, right?

“Ileana..” she breathed. “Ileana...it’s me. Caitrin…it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

It was hard suppress the scream that was building in her throat.

The werebeast gave a loud snort at Caitrin's words. They were familiar and yet so very foreign. It gave her pause, but the beast within was not so easily placated. With a bone chilling snarl, it was upon Caitrin in a rush of snapping jaws and rending claws.

For a moment, it seemed as though Caitrin was going to get through...

But Ileana's paws slammed into her shoulders, shoving her into the wall that buckled and threatened to collapse. She screamed, throwing her arms up to protect her face as they both fell to the ground, with housing and debris collapsing to the rear and the side. Caitrin swung out, aiming to smack Ileana's maw with her balled-up fist, and screamed again, this time for help.

The sounds of shouting met her cry. In the dim, fading light, the glow of torches could be seen making their way closer.

In spite of her efforts, however, she watched in horror as Ileana lunged forward, her jaws sealing around her shoulder. Caitrin screamed in pain, striking Ileana's maw again and scrambling away, pushign herself out of the vardo and managing to get to her feet. She clutched her bleeding shoulder, panting for breath just as the other clan members came rushing forward.

The werebeast threw itself after Caitrin, claws raking the air behind her, but her massive bulk got caught up in the doorway and the blow fell short. Meanwhile, several gypsies rushed in, to try and aid Caitrin away from the vardo, while more still waved torches at the beasts face. Snapping her jaws at the fiery brands, the werebeast stepped back further into the vardo to escape the painful heat.

Shouts of alarm and cries for help were sounding all around. That is until someone threw a torch inside the vardo. Following his lead, more of the gathering clan began to set light to the vardo, flickers of flame and smoke filling the air, with Ileana caught within.

"No!" Caitrin screamed, fighting as a few of the members held her back, safely away from the vardo. "No! Stoppit! That's Ileana!"

Her screams were drowned out in the cries of the others. "Monster! Murderer! Cursed!"

"Ileana!" Caitrin cried, tears slipping down her cheeks. "No! Please!"

The stench of smoke assaulted Ileana's nostrils, and she snorted as she backed up deeper into the vardo. Flames were flickering along the walls and one torch had landed atop the roof and the orange glow quickly spread into a rapidly growing inferno. Fire and heat drove her back, but there was no escape within the confined space. The only route out was the doorway, where there were nearly two dozen men armed with more torches to keep her at bay. Each approach was met with the flaming brands thrust into her face, forcing her back into the burning wagon.

"Beast! Burn it!" the shouts continued to ring all around.

Caitrin broke free of the arms that held her, shoving her way towards the door. Wrestling a torch out of one of the men's arms, she brandished it like a weapon, kicking a few other smoldering torches away from the doorway.

"You are no better than she is!" she screamed. "Monsters! All of you! The beast inside of you is ten times more vicious than she could ever be, BACK!"

She swept the torch in front of her, and a vage trickling of her own magic caused the flame to expand, to linger, like a visible barrier between them and the gypsy clan. Caitrin's eyes glowed, disgust, hatred for their behavior making her body rigid. "GO!"

It was the opening Ileana needed. With a surge of adrenaline, the werebeast slammed into the doorway of the vardo, splintering through the burning wood, and into Caitrin. As the young gypsy went down, so too did her flames. Standing over the fallen woman, the beast snarled a warning as the gypsies tried to close back in. Unfortunately, with Illeana out in the open now, they had little hope of driving her back into the burning vardo.

However, they had numbers on their side, and as shouts and flaming torches were thrust at Ileana, she growled lowly and backed away from Caitrin. Emboldened by the werebeasts retreat, the shouts grew louder and more confident and Ileana turned and fled into the Cursed Wood.

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
It had been a long year. But a year away was well worth it, considering the fact that she'd nearly died in that horrific attack all that time ago. What did it matter now? She was home, walking with a cane, no less, and just as spirited as she had been the day she'd left to go back home.

Coming into the Mistwood Camp felt like walking into a dream. She glanced around, trying to find a familiar face, one in particular, though it didn't seem as if he were around. Perhaps in his tent?

His ring was still on her finger, but that, like so many other things, had been up for consideration.

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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It had been a year. A year! He had been in limbo the entire time, wondering what to do, where to do it. On this day, of all days, he wore naught but white and red and remained in his tent, absorbed in the mourning. He had been mourning for some time. What did it matter? The non-roma he fooled didn't know the significance of the white and red he wore in his clothing, somewhere, at all time.

A year and no word. Surely she was dead and gone. Her spirit didn't even seem to have lingered, though he had no clue, as she would have died away from the caravan.

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
She slowly approached his tent, relieved to discover that it was precisely where she had left it. Sighing, she stood outside the door, leaning on her cane, and paused to wait, to look and listen. Then, in a voice as soft as birdsong, she began to sing.

"Where you going? Where you going? Can you take me with you?"

She couldn't help but smile. "My hand is cold, and needs warmth. Where are you going?"

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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That voice, that song! He knew the singer to be sure. Cassier set up with a wry laugh. "So! You're spirit has come to me at last? Ah, wandering Cait, so long since you have been home." For surely it must be a spirit. Cait was dead, must be dead. She wouldn't have stayed away. Still, there was a small flame of hope, and he, dressed but ungroomed, stepped our of his tent to greet the spirit of his lover.

"A strong spirit you made Cait."

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
"Strong enough to survive the impossible." she replied quietly, straightening as best she could. She leaned on that cane heavily, knowing that baring weight would be a long time in coming. Her legs had been badly damaged.

"Forgive me for not coming sooner. I was not strong enough to walk." she explained, searching his eyes. "Will you stand there and continue to stare, Cassier?" She held out a hand for him.

"Come here."

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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The spirit did torment him, but he hardly cared. He was a long time past caring. Cassier stepped closer and took her hand. If this were the angel of death, then at least he would not die in his tent, and at least they had sent the image of his love to take the much thinner gypsy male. "You are solid, for a spirit. Have I left my own body behind?"

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
She almost laughed. "Cassier, you cannot possibly stand before me, hold my hand, and still think me a spirit." she admonished, stepping up to his chest and reaching with long, thin fingers to push his hair back away from his face. "Are you well?" she asked in a quiet voice. His appearance was beginning to worry her.

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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"You are real?" He asked in disbelief, then pulled her against him, holding her tight in a hug. "You are real!" He declared, clearly overjoyed. "I am well now, that I promise." How could he not be well! His fiance had returned. "the others must not know you are here. Otherwise, I would have heard the cries."

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
She wrapped her arms around his chest, smiling into the fabric of his shirt before leaning to gently kiss his cheek. "Precious heart, of course I am real." she whispered. She needed her cane to support herself, otherwise she'd be clinging to Cassier. This she was sure he wouldn't mind, but it seemed best to not overwhelm him.

"I came in quietly. The others, is everyone alright? Rae, Ileana?" She searched his eyes.

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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He hesitated, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he merely held her close and spoke whatever would pass his lips. "Rae is gone from here, a spirit now. Ileana...she is gone too, though is cursed, not dead. She is mahrime." At best, mahrime. Worse to tell the truth.

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
Caitrin's eyes flew wide, her fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt. The news of Rae broke her heart, but hearing that Ileana was cursed...it was a whole different kind of agony.

"Has anyone seen her?" she whispered. "Ileana? Is there no one who could help her?" Ileana was very capable of taking care of herself...but still. To be alone...

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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"She was declared unclean. Among the roma, none of us can even approach her." Not without a lot of extra work put into it. They could designate one person to speak to her of course, and deal with her, but...the purity of that person would be tainted as well. It would be a constant ritual cleansing. "Perhaps some outsiders cured her curse." He hadn't seen her.

"I haven't paid the camp much attention though, so am not one to ask details of."

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Character Portrait: Caitrin Fell
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#, as written by FizzGig
Though still clearly distressed, Caitrin nodded. Without making mention of it, she decided she was going to go look for Ileana later on. She had to. The girls had grown up together, and she couldn't just let her friend run around without someone to be concerned for her well-being. She embraced Cassier again.

"You have no reason to stay inside anymore." she murmured to him. "I've missed you."

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Character Portrait: .Cassier Corrigan
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"And I you." He admitted and smiled holding her. "Ah, but you are here, which means I need not mourn." Which meant he needed to brush and trim his hair, and shave, and any number of other small things. "I sppose I should share you with the others, but first, come inside, while I...clean up?"

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Character Portrait: Ciara Corrigan
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#, as written by Tiko
“In here! Bring her in here!” Ciara's voice yelled over the din of commotion that had errupted over the gypsy camp in the early hours of dusk. In the distance, the thick stench of smoke could still be detected from the burning remnants of Ileana's vardo.

Everyone knew what it meant to be bitten by a werebeast, and many were unwilling to assist Caitrin, but Ciara had never been one to follow tradition over her stubborn self-will. Cassier's bed was quickly swept clear and the unconscious woman laid upon it.

“Someone find my brother,” Ciara barked. He hadn't been present during the drama that had unfolded, and there was no telling where he had gotten to, or when he would be back. But he was to be wed to Caitrin, and should be here with her until she woke.

The majority of the gypsies were beginning to clear out, leaving Ciara and Caitrin with only a few stragglers. “You know what this means,” one of them said before turning away with the rest. Soon even the stragglers had left the pair alone.

Fortunately, Caitrin's injuries seemed minor. She might have a headache for a few days, but she wouldn't require any intensive care, beyond cleaning up the bite wound, which Ciara quickly went to work at. She grit her teeth through the worry of contracting something from contact with the wound, but deft and nimble hands rapidly finished the task at hand, leaving the bite carefully bound in pristine bandages. The dirty ones she tossed in a bowl that was resting beside the bed and went to a basin of water to wash her hands.