Cold Moon |
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Sunday 15 December, 2024
11:13pm, Outskirts of Durmstrang Grounds, Northern Europe
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11:13pm, Outskirts of Durmstrang Grounds, Northern Europe
The castle had long gone quiet and without a trace of life save for the sparks of those very few watchers who stayed up at night for vigil over the castle's walls which were the means of protection for the countless students within. I was awake, at my worktable, scratching down the last set of notes that I had wanted to take for my homework that day--those last little bits of knowledge from lectures on my selected study of combat magic--with my tongue in my cheek. It was pressing against that large leaf that had been reduced to mush over the span of a month from November's full moon until now: a mandrake leaf.
My eyes flicked to the window, towards the dull light that was flittering across the flagstones. The moon's rays were hidden behind clouds. I had been waiting for hours for that cloud cover to clear up, hoping that the storm that had blustered its way through earlier in the day would finally shove off and give me a clear night to work with so that I wouldn't have to go through another full month with a brand new mandrake leaf in my face and the subsequent attempt to hide it for any longer than I had already managed to hide it for. The longer I tried to do so, the more suspicion I would surly attract to myself--and then everything would be for naught, this little taste of rebellion against the 'rules and expectations' that I had dared to pluck the fruit of for my own personal desires. The little taste of rebellion, which felt as if it was the first I had ever had the nerve to fully pursue. That wasn't going to do. That wasn't going to do at all.
The pen gently fell from my fingers, lightly clattering to the side and then being pushed to the top of my desk with a firm finger. Perhaps the weather was local. Perhaps Durmstrang had simply attracted this little mirth of Stribog to itself by nature of its magic and its unknowable majesty, and perhaps somewhere else the skies were clearer, the moonlit rays purer. God willing, perhaps there was a location somewhere on the grounds or near enough to them that I would be able to spit this disgusting little piece of brown tobacco-like vegetation into a phial for good along with the Death's Head hawksmoth chrysalis and the silvery teaspoon of unblemished dew-water in the light of the moon at.
I was keeping this little ambition from my fellow Horntails, from even those that I kept close to my chest, a secret mostly because I wanted the ace card up my sleeve for once. Something unexpected, something useful. Something secret. It was, after all, no secret that things were rapidly changing in the wizarding world--tides were shifting, politics were turning. What I had once trusted about the Ministry as a whole, about the political structures of the wizarding world, were slowly crumbling apart--fragmenting and chipping at the edges, fraying at the corners. Something big was coming. I didn't know what, I didn't know how: something was coming.
And I being me: I was a planner. I knew full well that the Ministry already had a bit too much information on me already for my comfort. It certainly didn't help that it seemed that whether it be blood status or an unlocking of a skill the system seemed to put a marker down on the individual that had unlocked its ability: Apparition, Occlumency and Legilimency at times, Animagi, conditions of health when it concerned bloodborne diseases such as lycanthropy, and particularly if the individual was of mixed heritage or of unclear lineage as a whole. Too many boxes. Too many nice, neat, and orderly ways of placing a person into a role or into a lineup.
My brother had managed to become an Animagus, and though he had failed in his desire to similarly be 'unregistered'... I believed that I had found the shortcomings of his plans and execution and had found a way to correct for them. I had found a way to take his plan and expand upon it--shore up the weak areas and plan for a certain flexibility of errors made. One of his errors was a lack of haste: he had been unable to catch the first full moon, had not done that part of the potion properly enough to be expeditious in its execution and therefore avoid the piercing gaze of those watchful professors at his school. If I were to have a better chance to succeed, I would have to execute tonight or put off the process for longer--perhaps for another year or years: and who knew how long things would be stable enough to oblige? If I would be able to find the materials all over again without arousing suspicions?
The door would close, the latch not falling completely shut as the dormitory room with its bunks only slightly but freshly thinned by the events of the Pyre was obscured from my sights. Valentin among them, other students my age and skill among them. I would be back tonight. It wasn't going to be forever. Only a few minutes--just long enough for everything to occur when it had to.
My cloak was fluttering behind me heavily without a sound as it swept the ground, my footfalls occurring from heel to toe like a hunter on dry leaves. Minimal sound despite my footfalls, attempting to remain light on my toes despite my notable bulk. Down the stairs, towards one of a few exits from the castle proper that I remembered and had sketched out in my mind over the course of my years here. Potential exits. Ways to leave. The golden metal detailing of Hugo Schnell's Oakshaft reflected webbed light onto the ground in the shadows, but in a matter of only a few minutes they were gone. Gone, and so was I.
I had a small pack on my shoulder, just large enough for the supplies, and I was flying through the bitterly cold air just beneath the cloud cover. The potential of a recurring storm was far from being a concern, but the winds and their chills were quite nasty indeed. Thick and heavy the clouds billowed over the clear light of the moon, too impure to attempt the ceremony where I was. Beneath me white snow, iced lakes, white-topped pines and trails made by human and animal alike flew past like a fleeting thought. Mountains rose in the distance, a fringed edge of Durmstrang were storms loved to squall and where survival was for those who were best suited for it whether it be by the staunchness of human soul or the determination of animal spirit benefitted only by the gifts that evolution had gifted to them.
All of Durmstrang and her grounds were hidden beneath these dark clouds. Bone-frosting winds forced my head down and made it near impossible to rise above the black nimbi. With a sharp twist of the Oakshaft, I spun into a barrel-roll and careened towards the gap of the mountains. There was a slightly depressed area in between them, and on the far side there was a relatively quiet lichen-filled forest area that protected the vicinity from avalanches. Far away from the known grounds of Durmstrang--the known grounds that were expansive and often enough room for any necessary activity or practice that the schooling would call for--potentially within and potentially outside of the school's boundaries, the exact location of it was quite unclear and never fully shared. The repelling magic was oft enough to dissuade wizards from finding it, the cloaking magic prevented muggles from stumbling across it.
It was magic that simply existed for the sake of magic. None questioned it. It simply existed, and the boundary was--similarly--never questioned.
My feet sank deep into the newly-placed snow in the midst of that evergreen forest on the far side of the slopes. Scraggly brush that struggled for life amidst the harsh cold and the ravenous herbivores that would use them for sustenance rattled lightly in the wind that caused large branches high overhead to creak in their moaning, groaning ways. But, unlike the rest of Durmstrang's grounds, the clouds had not been able to pass over these mountains--they were stopped, contained in that vicinity. Here the moon's light was clear, unblocked. If I could find a place to fully expose the phial that I had brought with me to the moon's rays, I could quickly add the rest of the necessary materials and then quickly head back to the castle to get out of the biting cold.
Blowing into my hands and rubbing them together, I glanced around the vicinity for the best way to cut through the underbrush before dedicating myself to a path, my footsteps leaving deep imprints in the virgin snow and my hands causing branches that fell in the path that I had taken to snap lightly as I passed them by. There was a sense of eeriness in the stillness and the slight breeze that passed me by--the creatures that were either hiding or running lightly through the snow or throughout this little ecosystem that was their home: the home that I was, at least for a little while, invading for my own purposes. A still silence, a peacefulness. Eerie perfection of moon on snow, the glitter of ice and the perfect way that it stacked itself on the stems and bark of plants.
Winter at its most beautiful and most cruel.
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Stam10| Eva10| Str20| Wis12| Acc18| Arc0
Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I | Muggle Condition─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Wandmaker: 9.75 inches Blackthorn & Dittany Stalk, Unyielding Reducio
Dittany Stalk
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Blackthorn Wood
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Image Created by RevelBlade
Kavi Kattimani & Valentin Schnell
@Haven Bohannon & @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
@Haven Bohannon & @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
Cold Moon |
Stamina: 10 Evasion: 7
Strength: 10 Wisdom: 15
Arc Power: 5 Accuracy: 8
Romeo Marchonné (@Piérre Marchonné)
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodKavi was sure Jason was trying to get away from him for the full moon... again.
"We're going to head up north this week to continue your focus with survival. No matter your career, it is very possible that you may end up having to fend for yourself in a different place, or one with a different climate."
That, and there was less of a chance that they'd run into each other... or someone else... than on the isle of Tenūsa. It was big, but it couldn't be big enough, unlike the vast forests of Northern Europe, the mountains creating an ethereal backdrop for what would be a terrible night. Nothing could have prepared him for the cold, the thick layers of snow that wanted to seep into his boots and his bones. At least it kept his mind off his impending transformation.
"Be sure not to wait too long to take this," Jason had instructed when he had handed Kavi the vial. He had turned it around in his hand, feeling the liquid of his last dose of wolfsbane for this moon cycle slosh about in the glass. Kavi nodded, slipping it into his coat pocket and setting off in a separate direction from Jason.
Now, he took the vial in his hand, twisting it to and fro and letting the sound of the air bubbles calm him. He felt a bit shaky. His stomach still twisted in knots, and his bones ached. His mind was running wild, thinking about a million things, but especially the challenges the night would pose. It would be nice to be able to run around, especially without an animagus friend to keep him company. Hopefully the open space could make the transformative toll on his body less- he spent hours nursing the wounds he had accidentally given himself during last month's transformation, still not used to it. But the location did prove to be difficult- they shouldn't run into anyone, which was nice, but Kavi's clothes hadn't survived any of his previous transformations, meaning he'd have to brave the cold for a while and track back down his possessions in the early morning. It was truly a test of survival- physical, and mental.
It was still rather early, but the sun was starting to meander towards the horizon, meaning the moon was not far from appearing. With one breath, Kavi enjoyed his last few moments of warmth before shedding his coat on the forest floor, the harsh, bitter cold hitting him immediately. He carefully set the vial on top of his coat as he tugged off his spare layer so he'd have something to slip into in the morning, and leaving him a layer so he wouldn't freeze to death before the full moon. He tossed his boots to the side when-
CRUNCH.
"No! No, no, no!" Kavi realized at once, rushing over to his belongs and tossing them aside, praying it had been the crunch of the snow and not what he dreaded. But there he saw the broken glass, droplets of potion making their way towards the snow.
Kavi frantically picked up the snow, trying to get to where the wolfsbane had seeped in. He took handfuls of glass, although it cut his hands and left behind droplets in the snow. He was desperate, frantic, trying to get enough for a dose, but he knew it was not enough.
"Jason? JASON?" he bellowed as he ran, trying to get his dukun's attention. But there was no way of knowing how far away the man was now, and he didn't respond to Kavi's cries. His wand was tucked squarely away in his coat, no use to him now. The wind howled, nipping at his hands and face. He was freezing cold, out of ideas. The full moon was quickly approaching, and Kavi was out of luck.
Don't panic, he told himself, panicking. Remain calm. Deep breaths. Moon, loon, June, cartoon, weather balloon.
A sharp pain erupted in his bones, sending him to his knees. The blood from his hand created crimson droplets in the pure white snow. When he looked up, Kavi saw the full moon, slowly rising.
He let out a yell of pain as his bones contorted and shrunk, pulling and contracting themselves into shape. He didn't remember it hurting this much. He didn't remember the blinding pain that clouded his vision, fogging up his brain. Kavi dragged himself over to a tree, trying to feel the bark to ground himself, but only ended up hitting the tree over and over as the pain became too much to manage. He let out a painful sob, feeling the changes to his anatomy that wracked his body in pain. His limbs shook, blood still dripping from his hand. Sweat coated his brow. He tried not to scream and cry out, but the pain was too much. He sunk his nails into his arm, trying to feel anything other than the way his bones bubbled and boiled. Kavi began to grow restless, trying to run around as he changed, thick hair sprouting from every follicle, his fingers contracting into his palms as his hands became paws. His face lengthened, forming a snout. All he felt was immense pain, trying to hold on to his last slivers of humanity before his consciousness fell away, parting to the back of his skull as it bowed to the beast.
His clothes fell away, ripped from the actions of his transformation, and didn't survive much longer underneath the claws of the werewolf. He ran through the woods, feeling the cool breeze through his thick fur and the snow sinking in to let his paws through, leaving prints in his wake. His hand, now paw, was still sticky with blood, the scent driving him crazy.
As a human, Kavi had restraint. He didn't eat meat, and certainly not raw, red meat like he craved. But he wasn't Kavi anymore. All human inhibitions were gone. The forest was alive with scents, the beautiful smell of what he had been deprived of for so long.
Some said that werewolves would not typically lust after animals, preferring their companionship instead. But he had been deprived for so long... he had no troubles giving in to that animalistic desire.
It was freeing, running through the dense woods, tracking down your prey. The feeling of euphoria as you overtook them, watching them succumb to your bite. When he was finished, no one would be able to tell what the poor, mangled thing had been.
But it was not enough to satiate the werewolf for the night. Oh no, he wanted more. And nothing could stop him. The human morals were long forgotten, tucked up and locked away where they couldn't be reached. As he continued walking through the forest, his desires only grew. He craved the soft, supple meat of human flesh.
Kavi would be appalled by his actions and desires.
But Kavi was not in control.
The beast
had taken
over.
Cold Moon |
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Snow crunched beneath iron-toed black boots, my brow furrowing as I pulled the wolf fur-trimmed cloak around me a bit tighter. It was frigid cold, numbingly cold, but despite having been raised in an environment diametrically opposed to this one I had come to adapt to the northern breath of Boreas over the course of six years rather well indeed. The air itself smelled frozen, the scent of fresh artesian well-water refined.
Errant clinging branches scrabbled for a hold on my clothes, hooking in every now and again as I pushed my way through the scraggly underbrush. Low laying pine branches left sap and needles on me as I passed, but it would be nothing that couldn't be fixed with a little magical help. The clouds were breaking up here, letting moonlight drip onto the forest floor between thick pine tree crests that reached greedily for the light of the sun in lunar form--it would be clear enough for me to finish the potion if I just found a clear enough area. Open field, open grotto, grove, glade... it didn't matter where, just so long as the moon could cut through the boughs on all sides and strike the crystalline glass that I had prepared.
My foot crunched on something that didn't sound like branches, and instinctually I pulled back and whipped out my wand--blackthorn crowned with its spines in the form of a pistol-grip--to observe it. My footprint was deep in the snow, a harsh cut into the virgin powder that left the soles of the shoe obvious and discernable. In it were spots of red turned darker with age--time having passed since the spilling--and... glass?
Stooping down to observe it, I scooped a handful of it in my palm and watched as the snow slowly melted around it. It could very well be some of the algae I had learned of here at Durmstrang, Chlamydomonas nivalis, which thrived this far up north... but the splatters were too irregular... and it had been melted--no doubt by the heat of a body of some sort. And not only that, but the snow had been heavily disturbed.
And it certainly didn't explain the glass.
A chill ran down my spine for a moment, sprinkling the blood and snow back onto the ground again and then beholding the gouges in the rest of it that kicked up foliage and dirt and sent it across the snow in spatters of black and brown. There had been a little ice that had swirled over the area once again, discernable markers of time that had passed from the time in which they had first been displaced, yet not enough so to make me believe that whatever had happened here had occurred longer ago than the past twenty-four hours.
Wind whistled and squealed once more through the trees, to the soft flapping sound of fabric slapping against itself. My eyes were drawn to a pine upon which a scrap of fabric had been caught at the base near the roots. In my hands it was damp--smelled faintly of mire of some kind, though I couldn't place the exact scent. It was dirty, a texture of something softer and less coarse than tent material or gortex... similar to clothing, I thought.
A brief wonder flickered through my mind: had this been the path by which Nikolai had returned to Durmstrang that fateful October 31st? I couldn't remember... I was getting too much information here, and yet not enough to make a proper assessment that made any particular sense to me. The markings of struggle were too recent here, the blotches of crimson like that of blood too recent and not devoured by the earth like it should have been months ago.
My breath puffed once more in the air as I stood still and listened to the creaking and rustling. I was starting to get an uncanny feeling, one that did not strike me often. Something that tugged me deep in my gut, something that told my heart to beat a little faster, to anticipate that something new was coming--something big, something worrying. A bolt of electricity that tingled down the back of my neck and into the tips of my fingers caused me to tighten my grip on my wand once more, before piquing my ears and allowing myself to let my other senses take over. Smell, hearing, touch of the wind on my skin...
I purposefully took a path away from the trail that had gone off in another direction, forging my own as I tried to find a place filled with moonlight and--now--with a quick and easy way to abandon the area as soon as I had used it for my purposes. Hugo's Oakshaft still strapped to my back, I pushed through more branches and clinging brambles, trying and most likely failing to stay as quiet and as subtle as I could so as to let my feet fall softly albeit heavily--I couldn't control the deepness of the impressions my feet left, blaming my build for that, but I could maintain care in where I placed my feet: to try to scramble or alter the footpathing pattern as I went along.
Down a particular hill that further led me to slip and slide a bit, I caught myself on an evergreen and then edged my way horizontally towards another clump of grove. There was a crop of slate rock that stuck out of the ground arching further down the hill, and it was to that spot that I made my way to with the moon shining cold and sparkling on the snow that threatened avalanche if the snowfall had been any greater this past week. With a light glide assisted by the Oakshaft, I climbed up the rest of the rock and then hunkered down on the top--there was a path behind me in the snow leading back into the grove, a drop off ahead of me and a shallower drop on either side (with one of those edges being the one by which I had originally climbed up).
Shrugging the Oakshaft from my shoulders as well as the satchel I had brought with me, I pulled out the ingredients one by one, inspecting them as I placed them in the order in which I would use them. Once completed, I let out a shaky breath before glancing around once more--listening and smelling for something... anything that threatened immediate danger--and then turned towards the moonlight and proceeded to cleanse my palate of the taste and texture of the foul mandrake leaf that had been a month in the making, stewed in my own saliva.
Spitting on the ground a few more times to alleviate my tongue of the taste, the next ingredient in my hand was a bit of my own hair, which was quickly plucked and then placed into the phial with the leaf. Silver teaspoon, phial of pure and untouched water--neither by sun nor human feet--this was poured in excess into the teaspoon to ensure I had enough and then it too was added. Death's Head moth chrysalis, the only ingredient that I had had to have imported to Durmstrang via an order from Diagon Alley, was last--in the light of the moon it too went into the mixture.
Pearlescent in the light, the potion was ready to be maintained for however long it took for a new lightning storm to roll about Durmstrang Instintute. Knowing the area, knowing the legends of Stribolg... I didn't anticipate it would be very long before all of this would be complete. That this little escapade would be unremarkable and unknown to anyone other than myself and to those rare few that would likely ever behold my animal form. And, now, I was finally finished here myself. I was ready to go, to take off after collecting my things.
Avoid the strange things I had seen, or the dangers that was potentially likely to be hand in hand with it.
I began to collect my things, hastily but carefully. The wind was starting to kick up again, blowing from my location back into the grove. Upwind... not a good place to be... Exposed... also not a good place to be. The potion, carefully wrapped in dark fabric that had once held the preserved pure water, was replaced in the satchel... the phial as well, the box I had brought that had contained the moth's chrysalis...
An itching sensation began to present itself in my left hand. Was it because I was starting to feel warm under the collar? Like I was buzzing with energy as the uncertain sensation in my chest began to grow?
I had to get out of here. Now. I didn't know why...
But I had to leave.
Now.
───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Stam10| Eva10| Str20| Wis12| Acc18| Arc0
Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I | Muggle Condition───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Wandmaker: 9.75 inches Blackthorn & Dittany Stalk, Unyielding Reducio
Dittany Stalk
|
Blackthorn Wood
|
Image Created by RevelBlade
Kavi Kattimani & Valentin Schnell
@Haven Bohannon & @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
@Haven Bohannon & @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
Cold Moon |
Stamina: 10 Evasion: 7
Strength: 10 Wisdom: 15
Arc Power: 5 Accuracy: 8
Romeo Marchonné (@Piérre Marchonné)
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodThe werewolf bounded through the snowy forest, the wind rippling through his dark brown fur. He was experiencing a freedom unlike any other. He had endless space to run around, burrowing into the deep snow. It was almost peaceful there, in the light of the full moon. Not full of fear and uncertainty, like it has been in the past. He was actually enjoying this transformation, free from the bounds of terror, anxiety, and confinement. He could roam as he wished, not having to worry about running into a child or a townsperson and being ridiculed and attacked for who and what he was. Out in the barren wilderness, he could just be a wolf, which would put his human mind at ease.
Though it was not in control.
The beast was.
He was sprinting through the snow, leaving deep imprints as he went, when suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, sniffing at the air. Something smelled different. ...off, even, not like the same scent of fresh pine and fresh snow that layered the forest. But oh, it smelled good. The werewolf couldn't help but lift his snout to the air, trying to discern what it was he smelled. His steps grew faster as he bolted, trying to find the source. It wasn't until he reached a clearing that he understood what the scent was.
The unmistakable scent of human flesh.
The werewolf could feel his stomach grumbling, a low, guttural howl emerging from his lips, dripping with pure, unadulterated hunger.
In the distance, he spotted something. A figure, vaguely humanoid, and with a scent strong enough that meant he left toward it, the need for blood clouding his vision.
Werewolves craved human flesh.
Kavi was no exception.
As he came closer, he could tell that his nose had not steered him wrong. He snarled as he approached his prey, a giddy feeling in his chest as he stalked his way forward. Oh, this would be so fun.
Romeo could hear the werewolf approach him long before he saw him, but luckily for him, he spotted the wolf in time. The two locked eyes for a brief moment, as if sizing each other up. But it was only for a moment.
The werewolf lunged for the boy, bloodlust resting on his fangs, stained from their earlier use but still hungry for more. He tried to sink his teeth into the boy, but lucky Romeo had spotted the wolf, allowing him just enough time to dodge the werewolf's attack and start running.
It became like a game to the werewolf, running through the trees in pursuit. The wind blew in his face, but only blew the boy's scent to him, further egging him on as he pushed his legs faster. Oh, he couldn't wait to tear into his flesh, separating skin from bone...
The boy was fast, enough to give the werewolf the thrill of the chase, but not fast enough. It only took a moment, a slight falter in his step, for him to seize the moment and jump, using the boy's bodyweight against him to take him down, fall cushioned by the layers of powdery snow. They struggled against each other for a moment, Romeo trying to avoid razor-sharp teeth and claws, while the werewolf was only concerned with getting his next meal. Their eyes met for a moment, Romeo looking into the eyes of a hunter. Somewhere trapped inside there was Kavi, but the moment would be nothing but a haunting memory unlocked the next morning.
After a struggle, the werewolf emerged victorious, his teeth sinking into the boy's flesh, relishing in the taste as blood dripped down his jaw. His claws scraped the boy's arm, feeling the skin tear away like it was butter.
Oh, how wonderful it felt.
Cold Moon |
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There was something on the wind, something that was tasteable in its looming presence. Somewhere on the breeze, something in the echoing of the low winds that blew stern and constant, there was a harmony that sang with it--a foreign intonation that twisted its music with that of the skies. There was still the moon, which I watched leerily as I finished packing away the last of my things and muttered to myself as I made ready to take flight for good and get out of this Godforsaken place before danger became too great: full at that, which I knew full well. Lycanthropes would be turning tonight, but as far as I knew there were no werewolves at Durmstrang--and surely there would be no werewolves this close to the school, the barrier would surely prevent them from getting too close... even if I had found myself outside of it for this brief moment, right?
There was a snap on the woods side, and my hand with wand were immediately turned to the noise. My senses were heightened only because of the fact that I knew how exposed I was. The Oakshaft was at my feet, but I dared not stoop for it. Wolf eyes glowered at me from the darkness, set at a higher altitude than a normal wolf's would be. My face turned pale save my cheeks that blushed due to the blustering wind alone.
"Merda. Shit." I breathed, a cloud of mist puffing from my lips as the creature lurched forwards into a full sprinting lunge in a maelstrom of claws and teeth open wide to reveal gaping maw. It was something directly from a horror movie--the gleam of moonlight on saliva-coated ivory and the enormous mass of muscle and fur that carried the creature at full speed towards me.
Without thinking, my left hand led and twisted to take the creature by the scruff on the side of its neck, pushing its mouth away from both my arm and my body as my wand in hand averted the left paw. I was essentially trying to slide around the creature and adjust its momentum to one side of me in a pseudo-throw, getting low and letting it roll off of my shoulder to one side while I scrambled on all fours to get my footing and prepare for a mad run. My fingers scrabbled for the Oakshaft, hoping that I would be able to take it with me--a fumble once before my hand wrapped around it meant that I wouldn't have the time to properly mount and fly it right away, I would have to depend on my footwork for the time being until I was able to properly get some breathing room to take to the skies.
So, into the woods I went, allowing myself to be swallowed up by pine and the scent of fog mingled with the aroma of immediate danger. Heavy paws were behind me as I jumped a felled log, my foot catching slightly on the top of it as I leapt due to the encumberment of the broom in my hand and the bag at my side. The other two I managed to duck under and side-jump over with ease, warming up my reflexes as the epinephrine finally took hold and told both my heart and body what it needed to do right now. But the creature was still coming, and I was feeling the strain of not being ready for this level of exertion and the exhaustion of having had little sleep the past few days. My limbs were going to give out and the stitch in my side was only going to get worse if I couldn't regulate my breathing or find a way to recover on the move.
A knot of bramble about as well placed as concertina wire when it came to hindering movement hooked into my clothes and items as I pushed through, trying to find the path of least resistance but wasting notable energy as I did so. Eventually, at the price of cuts on my cheeks and little barbs of the thorn likely still left in my skin even despite my clothes, I pushed through--stumbling before trying to regain my canter only to feel the sudden crash catch up with me. There was no more running for me now.
I could only turn and fight.
The thing that rammed into me took me to the ground almost instantly, the breath knocked from me for a second before I did the same as before--trying to keep its teeth away from me by manipulating its corded neck and using my leg to lift it at its stomach, to disorient it, to disturb its balance. I had to let it take me with its movements, back and forth, up and down like the Fortuna's Wheel of Carmina Burana--sometimes I was up, sometimes I was down, always in tandem from where it had been. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to look it in the eyes as parrying ability began to falter as it simply laid more muscle into me after every attempt.
It was only one wrong angle on my arm--a slip of my left hand from its neck that carried my momentum too far and allowed me to pass right in the range of its teeth, which instantaneously clamped down on my upper shoulder with reckless abandon.
Dog bites--specifically their teeth--not only pierce, they crush in the cases of large breeds and large canine species. The true additional measure of the animal's jaw strength is in the form of how it subsequently shakes and twists the flesh in its grasp to rip it away. Wolves are exceptional at this, especially when taking soft fleshy spots and dealing rapid damage.
I was learning it first hand as the teeth sank deep into my left shoulder--I lost feeling in my fingers almost immediately in that hand as the jaws clamped on the tendon, dealing both seen and unseen damage that would have to be fully discovered at a later, horrible time. Provided, of course, that I survived the damage at all to begin with. My right hand, on the other hand, while immediately scratched up due to the massive paws and black claws the came ripping through my upper arm, swung wildly anyhow, clocking the beast upside the head and forcing it temporarily off of my shoulder as I attempted to kick upwards into its belly. Anything to knock it off--anything to temporarily stun it if I could. The attacks were more of a flurry, a rushed motion, but there still was subsequent force behind them. I didn't pull punches as a rule.
The injuries burned. It felt less like a bite, and more like some kind of additional stinging agent like that of a level of venom had been introduced to the wounds through my now shredded red cloak and the uniform beneath it. Despite myself, a sharp bite of a cry left me, a sort of muted yelp caught between not consciously wanting to scream and knowing that my entire psyche was subconsciously screaming at me to get out of here immediately. This was a very real danger, especially to face alone. I could die. I might die.
There was a very real possibility that I would become the next missing persons come the dawn.
My wand was still held in a deathgrip in my hand, so tight I didn't dare to relinquish my hold. The Oakshaft had tumbled away a few feet, out of reach unless I could get myself clear. The longer the mouth of the wolf hung on, the less I was feeling in my left arm, limp as a doll's.
The sudden thought hit me, one that I had never realized I had never had before. A very real, and terrifying thought for that reason alone: for the fact that it had never been evoked before since I was the one that had prevented it from occurring to others. 'I'm going to die. I don't want to die.'
And the thought was chilling enough to make the snow feel warm and my blood run cold. My God, the thing I had promised to others that I would never do to them, and I was going to fail them in that one, small task. I was going to leave. I couldn't leave, not at a time like this.
My teeth grit again and this time a second howl left me, not a cry of anguish but a cry of brokenly ragged desperation. My fist pounded on the ribs of the animal once more, willing it to fall away from me and scrabbling my way backwards on three working limbs into a tree's tangle-rooted base. Cold was starting to make itself apparent, something dripping down my side and back as a shaking right hand pointed my blackthorn wand crowned with crimson at the great wolf. "I DO NOT DIE TONIGHT!" I growled defiantly at it, my blue eyes turning wild with self-assurance. "NOT ALONE. Your flesh will be stuck in my teeth as well if I do!" Insanity, shouting at a wild animal, a creature as opposed to a human--I was starting to think that this creature was more than a mere wolf simply by nature of its size and the level of its aggression and savagery.
Wolves usually liked to stay away from humans, but werewolves...
The blood on my neck, sprayed across my face, indicated that the damages in those regards if those perquisites were true were already done. I needed dittany... I needed to find a way out. Some way I could survive with magic, or by moxie, or by muscle, or by sheer luck. My shaking hand, however, accompanied by the fact that my left laid limp in my lap despite my rigid and terse stance, indicated I was much more feeble than my brave words were indicating.
I couldn't die. I wouldn't let myself.
I can't.
I won't.
Granted, of course, it was something that I would be able to control at all to begin with.
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Stam700/8501000| Eva10| Str20| Wis12| Acc18| Arc0
Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I | Muggle Condition───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Wandmaker: 9.75 inches Blackthorn & Dittany Stalk, Unyielding Reducio
Dittany Stalk
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Blackthorn Wood
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Image Created by RevelBlade
Kavi Kattimani & Valentin Schnell
@Haven Bohannon & @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
@Haven Bohannon & @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
Cold Moon |
As December wore on, Valentin was only growing more paranoid that something terrible would happen. After all, “the Christmas Curse” had never failed to strike him or his loved ones once it began. From this heightened vigilance, Valentin’s usual passive observation of others twisted into a simmering quiet paranoia. Romeo was acting strangely lately, and unable to read his mind about what exactly was going on, Valentin decided to visit him. Yet, as the seeker stood in the doorway poking his head in, he saw the russet-haired boy in deep concentration. There was some kind of vegetation and a bug chrysalis in his hands, and the entire operation looked delicate. Unwilling to distract Romeo in the middle of some ritual, Val simply stood there watching without entering the room nor raising his voice. After a while he grew tired of the slow pace of the activity and decided to return to his bunk, but the question of what Romeo was doing still wormed around in his mind. Though closing his eyes, Val was not asleep when the dormitory’s door closed behind Romeo’s departure.
Sighing, Valentin sat back up in his bunk. The only thing worse than waiting was not knowing. Grabbing his broom and coat, the seeker followed at a substantial distance as Romeo made his way out and away from the castle. Hiking was always such a dreadfully slow method of transportation to Val, but he couldn’t deny the allure of the mystery. Where was Romeo going at such an unusual hour?
Eventually Romeo came to some place whose significance Valentin could only guess at, surrounded by evergreens on a moonlit slope. Observing from a distance only a keen-eyed individual could enjoy, specifically to allow Romeo some space to do whatever it was that he needed to do, Valentin watched over him. There was some phial in Romeo’s hands, presumably the concoction he’d just been making back in the castle. Yet, from Val’s vantage point he didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular. After a while Romeo collected his things and began to leave. In the end Val would just have to ask him what was going on, it seemed. Yet, an intuition began to prickle on the back of Valentin’s neck. The pace at which his co-captain was beginning to move suggested that this was not going to be a safe spot for very long.
--
Valentin was fast, but he had positioned himself far from Romeo specifically to not interfere. Now this would work against him as the seeker had to launch himself into the air and weave about as he tried to not lose sight of the fleeing Italian beneath the sprawling canopies of conifers. At some point the brush became so thick that Val had to descend below the tree tops in order to try to locate him again. If it weren’t for the distant sound of attempted escape and then the beginning of fighting, it could have taken much longer to relocate him.
By the time Val was able to catch the red burst of color that was Romeo again, some beast was already on top of him. Valentin, sneering with anger and more than a little jealousy, sped towards the brawling pair with his wand arm outstretched.
«Отстань от моего Ромео!» Russian: “Get off my Romeo!” There was no time for eloquent verbal sparring. This was their time to fight.
It was not the first, nor would it be the last time Valya saw Romeo’s blood, but its rich color had an effect on the seeker. As if the risk of fighting some unknown creature was not already thrilling enough, Romeo was on the line, and with such copious blood gushing from the beater, Valentin’s heart raced with the urgency of performing under pressure. He could not let what could have been a pleasant midnight outing turn into the nightmarish fulfillment of the annual Christmas curse.
“Ebublio!” Shouted Val, to the point. He couldn’t afford to play around when Romeo could potentially be ended within the span of a second. With the gesture of an ‘e’ Valentin conjured his spell successfully [d20 : 12]+24= 36 > 9 and with well-practiced aim [d20 : 7] + 19 = 26 ACC. [d20 : 6] + 7 = 13 EVA. 26 > 13, success. The bubble jinx soon encapsulated what was apparently a werewolf, surrounding him in a bubble that could not be burst by physical force.
Barely bringing the broom to a halt in time, Valentin dove into the fray and threw his arms around as much of Romeo as he could grasp.
“What.” Val growled with bitter amusement, “Are your dating options at Durm so bad that you’d prefer a tryst with this ill-mannered furball?” Scoffing as he sized Romeo’s aggressor up from the werewolf’s place within his bubble, Valentin shook his head with bitter ice in his eyes.
“How bad are your wounds?”
Basic Stats:
STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 20 [24] - ARC 1 - ACC 19
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue & Veela
Interacting with: @Haven Bohannon @Piérre Marchonné