As Goodnight begins to lead them down a small side passage, more a crack in the walls than a true egress, she comments,
"Perhaps surprisingly, Isaint is more than likely exactly correct. London is a crossing for several great leys, the largest of which the lines starting at Giant's Causeway and the one crossing through Stonehenge, as well as a dozen smaller but still potent ones, veins to the great leys' arteries." Her voice is more level than the team has heard it so far, and if the hunch of her shoulders is tight and her movements overcontrolled, that could easily be put down to their circumstances rather than purely an emotional state.
However, with the astral shallow laying bare everyone's auras, she is surprisingly easy to read. Her deeper emotions are a mixture of fear, irritation, and sadness, with no one winning over the other two. Several things appear to be bothering her, but while her aura is a riotous chaotic mass of color, it is within sharply defined limits. Whatever she is feeling, she is controlling it, at least for the moment. Above those emotions lie her more temporal ones, concern directed at the girl beside her, apprehension at what lies ahead, and a bone deep longing for something beyond it.
Behind her emotions blazes her power, almost eyesearing in its intensity. No mere street mage is Goodnight. It is raw, inchoate, only barely defined, but it is intense, the sort of magic that takes a prodigious natural gift coupled with long or intensely brutal tutoring. The ring of light around her throat blazes with the broad power of a focus built to enhance everything, weapon, armor, and tools all at once rather than the sharply defined construct of a blade or a spell focus.
Finally, for the particularly observant, there are...patches, in her aura, wounds that have filled up and scarred over but nonetheless leave telltale marks for those that can read them. Some are nearly gone, older hurts long since healed while others are still vivid and raw.
Goodnight, of course, pays no attention to her own aura, nor does she look back to read the others'. She has a job to do, and if its the catacombs, then she needs to be chill. Null sheen, Radical Edward would say. She leads them down into the catacombs, and as she walks she consults what rumors, tales, and fragmented bits of map lore she can remember about the place, trying to assess the fastest way out that would dump them further into Widow's Way.
Knowledge Roll for Below - 12d6t5: 6