smartass_captain

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Felix bows and beckons her into the circle. Once she steps inside, however, he moves away; his hands flicker in small gestures as he makes a circuit of the bonfire, and when he stops facing her again, the lines of magic around them spring to shimmering life, an iridescent net of wards. To Isidor it probably feels like having a safety net draped around her, but it's less restrictive than she might fear. When she tests the magic around her, she'll find she is free to act, to leave if she chooses. But the people outside the circle will be protected from any stray fire or magic.

Their lupine sentry is still prowling the boundary as Felix spreads his hands. The lines of magic around their feet flare with purple energy as he draws forth the spell between them. A silken hiss as the air warps and yawns apart with a snap. A burning feminine shape takes form, whirling a pirouette on feet that never touch the ground.

"Isidor Durant," Felix murmurs, too quiet for anyone beyond them to hear, "Magdra Sakris." He's backing smoothly out of the circle, satisfied the reins have been handed off to Isidor.

The elemental turns its horned head, eyeless gaze focusing on the mage. And Isidor will find that she can feel its thoughts, pressing almost as near as her own. They're alien, shifting, hard for a human to grasp and yet shockingly intense. Were it not for the wards buffering her, they might threaten to overwhelm her at first touch. She is not in control of this ancient, primal being- she is merely in communion.

But Isidor Durant knows fire.

Beyond the unlit bonfire, one of the Breton knights sounds a hunting horn, strong and sweet and clear, summoning all and sundry to turn their attention to the circle. Isidor might not even hear. The fire elemental's stare seems to ask a question, twofold: What are you? What do you ask?