Front Lawn

August VanCleaf had always been good at pretending he was in control. So good, he honestly believed it. It was his specialty: confidence so loud that it drowned out true consequences.

So even now, as the bolt of energy smashed into his chest and threw him backwards, skidding across wet stone like a discarded god, his voice still rang out, hoarse but grinning. He had no doubt that he would be able to take on the trio, but it would be a challenge. He just needed to make sure he did not lose his winning style of muss up his hair too much. The Daily Prophet is going to want to hear his take on what happened.

“Didn’t even buy me dinner first!” he roared, coughing through smoke and pain, chest armor scorched and steaming where the spell had struck. His coat was ruined. It was a gift: crimson dyed dragonhide. His coat bubbled and peeled, the inner runes flickering, one or two of them sparking like dying stars. But he was still standing. The attack had barely scratched the surface.

August couldn’t breathe deeply. The smell of ozone, roses, and his own smoldering shirt filled his lungs. But he didn’t run, because August VanCleaf had never run in his life.

The Augury Cloister trembled from the second spell as it shattered the glass window next to him. The detonation sent a shockwave of glass, broken wood, and divine chaos into the ballroom beyond. Cries from startled guests, a wine goblet bursting in someone's hand, the thud of someone being flung into a centerpiece. It was all very theatrical. Just the way August liked it.

Except, this time August wasn’t directing the play. He was just trying not to get killed in the first act.

August flicked his scorched wand with a snarled flourish, aiming not at the giant that had rushed past him, Erin could deal with the towering wall of meat. He was all brute force and no sense. The girls, they were the real threat.

“Expulso!” he shouted, summoning a localized explosion powerful enough to rupture the cobblestones under the two women’s feet.

Magical Action: Vancleaf casts the Expulso Curse on the two strange women using spell spread.

August bent low, scooped up a chunk of broken door. The hardwood had splintered as if it was a hill made of marbles when the part giant crash through. August stepped over Erin and hurled the hunk of limewood with every ounce of spite and showmanship at the part-giant’s exposed back.

“You forgot your bloody invitation!” He shouted as the jagged stone chunk flew like a warning shot, more symbolic than strategic.

Mundane Action: Throw wood at part giant.

August spread his arms wide, a mess of smoke, blood, and ego, rain now soaking his ruined shirt to his skin. A dramatic silhouette cut in rose petals and sparks. His voice rang out again: “That’s the thing about parasites… they live in every system. Ministry. Mansion. Rebellion. And the worst part is?” He spat to the side. “You can’t kill us without infecting yourselves.” The smirk came back. Cocky. Suicidally confident.

Erin Ryan had been caught off-guard by the part-giant’s rampage. One moment, the tension on the lawn was thick. She had no idea why the egotist was at his cousin's wedding, or at the very least his reception, but he was not there for the bride and groom that much she could be certain of. When the strangers made themselves known, the threat became real. Not that imaginary sort of thing that plagues her dreams and made her see monsters in mirrors and shadows, in blood and in the empty spaces between things.

The tension turned physical and arcane. Brutal as the part giant plowed through her like she was a symbolic barrier. A blast of arcane shot across the lawn. Glass shattered above her like thunder.

Erin dropped low, ducking beneath the leaded window as shards rained down around her. Instinct had no time for heroism. She shielded her head, heart hammering in her throat. She didn’t shout a warning, there hadn’t been time. Just the scream of ruptured glass and the percussion of something big tearing through the sanctity of the Cloister.

When she raised her head again, she was in the shadow of him. The stranger. Towering. Broad. Radiating force like a siege engine made flesh. Tall things always made her uneasy. Too much reach. Limbs too thick. What if he fell on her, she would surely be crushed! Suffocated by a felled mountain.

The part giant was speaking to Uncle Thaddeus.

"Seriously? He’s here for him?" ((@Evelynn Decipio & @Mathias Pride's wands))

She blinked, baffled. Her thoughts scrambled through fear and fury like marbles in a jar. If this brute thought he could waltz in and turn Thaddeus Athanatos into a footnote in some blood-soaked crusade, then "he was aiming to cut his life expectancy down from years to minutes." ((@Evelynn Decipio & @Mathias Pride's wands))

Erin shifted to rise just as a leg stepped over her. "Too close. Too fast. A dangerous boot!" ((@Evelynn Decipio & @Mathias Pride's wands))

No time to think, even if the limewood was being particularly chatty.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care whose leg it was. She bit.

Her teeth would sink through fabric, skin, muscle until someone yelped above her. Hopefully not a priest.

Mundane Action: Bite August VanCleaf's leg.

Success? Irrelevant. Satisfying? Absolutely.

She scrambled backward regardless, palms scraping across broken glass as she pushed herself away from the chaos. Her long blonde hair had gone wild, strands catching in the shards like gold caught in thorns. Blood beaded along her knuckles, but she didn’t notice. She was already drawing her wand. She came to her feet in a single motion, arm extended, tip of her wand aimed squarely at the part-giant.

“Don’t take another step.” She knew better than to expect a single spell to stop a creature of his size. Giants didn’t flinch at Stupefy. They swallowed it. And mundane attacks? Like that hunk of wood the owner of the biteable leg just threw. Those barely registered. The man was a walking fortress, brute force wrapped in meat.

Still, she was almost an Auror. She could stand, even if her first act of resistance had been biting August's thigh like a feral garden gnome.

As she attempted to stand, pushing through August next round if he did not move out of her dang way, she would cast a relatively well known spell "Alarte Ascendare". Out-muscling him was out of the question. Pelting him with her magic, near-useless. Make the man a living pinata? That might work she reasoned, make him easier to hit.

Magical Action: Ascension Spell (Alarte Ascendare) on the part giant.

The air was thick... too thick. With dust, smoke, and magic that crackled at the edge of sanity. The ballroom was gone, the bar was shattered, and the boundary between indoors and outdoors had been violently erased. There was no more safety. Only sides.

August was standing over her, not to protect her but to make a statement. She was not even a prop piece, her presence on the ground was irrelevant to an egotist who believed, potentially rightfully, that the world revolves around them.

Erin attempts to bite August's leg
Attack 13 (+15) 28
Evasion: 4 (+15 - 2) 17
damage: 400

Erin, bruised and reckless, had taken a bite out of a man twice her size and disappeared into a pit she hadn't planned to dive into. Whether she meant it as a distraction or just a primal act of rage was unclear, but her teeth had landed true. Moments after, Erin would be caught in the rift and fall. She would hit the shale floor hard, the sound of bone on rock lost in the cascade of destruction around her.

Erin would partially wrap around his leg and sink her teeth into his calf and then scramble from under his legs further into the ballroom. A place where the floor would give way and she would plummet 20 feet to a shale-covered unforgiving floor.

Erin did not matter, the ballroom had taken her. Outside on the front lawn, August had to deal with the two women about to invade the Augury.

The sound that left that strange, inhuman woman's throat was not made for human ears. The sounds she came were too wet. Too old. Too hungry. The syllables slithered together: harsh consonants that struck like bones on metal, vowels drawn out like breath through rotting gauze. Words and sounds were not meant to be good or evil, they just were, but these sounds took on some sort of deeper meaning that was felt in the bones. It was not Greek, nor Latin. Not even Gobbledegook or Trollish. Whatever she poke, it was a buried language, something spoken when the world was younger, crueler, still dreaming of too many teeth.

As eerie creature dressed like a human spoke, the air turned sour. Damp. As if something had died beneath their feet long ago and had just now remembered how to claw. Then the ground responded. It bubbled. As if boiling beneath, a low groan like the earth was waking up from a bad dream, and then...



A surge of jagged stone and soil tore upward, then lunged forward at August like a beast. Not a wave. Not a blast. This was a maw of granite and shale with the shape and intention of something that wanted to break bodies and devour bones. This earthen torrent roared toward Auror VanCleaf, not as a spell, but a verdict of death. One pronounced in a tongue that hadn't been heard since before wands were carved or the Ministry was built.

All August VanCleaf had was seconds, less than that in truth, to move or to meet this spell head-on.

Woman 2 casts Stream of Earth
Attack 18 (+15) Hit
Evasion 5 (+15 -2)
20% chance of bleed: 50 No Effect

August had nowhere to go. Not in time in any case. The earth hit August hard enough to knock a lesser man unconscious. The earth didn’t simply strike August VanCleaf, it tried to claim him, to bury him alive. The wall of soil and stone collided with his body like a landslide birthed from nightmare, lifting him off his feet, crushing air from his lungs, and almost tearing his wand from his hand. But August's instincts were sharp, honed by years in the field, refined by danger. As the earth tried to bury him, he pushed back. Too skilled or perhaps too proud to give in.

Regardless, August's body slammed into the ground with a sickening thud, bones jolted, muscles screaming. A shard of blackened stone grazed the proud auror's temple, opening a ragged gash that spilled warmth down his cheek. Before significant vital fluids could be lost mud packed what should have been a wound.

The earth tried to cover him over, to leave him in a newly built grave, but August VanCleaf rose like a revenant: bloodied, bruised, and absolutely furious. Dirt fell from his shoulders in chunks. But his pride? Unbroken. His flair for the dramatic? Alive and kicking.

He spat blood onto the stone and straightened his carriage with a pained grimace, eyes flicking not to the two monstrous women. With a sharp breath, August snatched the jagged beam, staggered a step, then summoning every ounce of remaining strength and theater, heaved the hunk of wood like a javelin across the sanctuary. he was not aimed at the ladies, but rather at their pet.

August throws a hunk of wood at Brock
Attack: 1 (+15) critical fail
Evasion: 10 (+15)
Damage: 100, -2 to accuracy and dodge (mono-vision)

Only, the bar of splinters and wood did not get very far. It spun wildly through the air, end over end, splinters flying like shrapnel. The improvised projectile, like all things performed by VanCleaf was utterly majestic, but only for approximately two and a half seconds. Then, reality struck. The doorframe clipped the corner of a toppled table, spun sideways in midair, and like some cursed boomerang whipped back around in a humiliating arc.



A blunt edge caught August square in the eye. His eye would immediately swell and close.

The worst of it was still to come.

The sky, which had only grumbled and spat before, now roared. The air cracked with that particular kind of pressure that made hair rise and instincts whisper run. But no one had time to listen, because it wasn’t just rain beginning to fall.

It was raining men.



OK, not men but boys. From above, like some unholy weather pattern conjured in a moment of madness, one came tumbling from the sky, gangly, flailing, most certainly falling. Likely in a state of confusion, wetness, or probably existential regret.

It was raining boys. OK, boy. As in one, singular, really curious, troublesome boy. Not a grown man, mind you. A boy. Hogwarts-aged, certainly not of-age, considering his choices potentially half-drunk and entirely underqualified for war. A deluge of limbs and bad decision-making.

Finn falls off the roof but casts Arresto Momentum attempting to slow his landing.
WDC 11
Roll: 6 (+5) Success

It was not graceful, but the spell was successful. The spell went off inches before impact. The change was abrupt, like a boulder suddenly deciding it was a feather. The sickening velocity that should have turned him into pavement paste softened in an instant. His descent slowed just enough to change the outcome from SPLAT to WHUMP, and even that was a generous description.

He still hit the ground. Hard. His bones or ass would be muttering complaints later. But it was the kind of impact you’d get from being thrown onto a couch by a bigger sibling, jarring, bruising, but survivable.

The other strange woman, the twin or echo or sister by pact, smiled at August without teeth. Such a damned idiot. A reverent hush fell between them, as though this was a prayer. A hymn only monsters sang. With a flick of her wrist, her wand gleamed, and in that strange old language of groans, she slashed the wand through the air as though drawing a line between this moment and August VanCleaf’s end. From the wand’s tip erupted a pillar of fire, searing-hot and violently fast, aimed squarely at the spot where August stood.

Woman 1 cast Pillar of Fire
Attack 14 (+15) 29 Miss
Evasion 19 (+15 - 2 - 2) 30

It wasn't elegant magic, it was ruthless. The kind of spell cast not to incapacitate but to obliterate. The flame roared as it tore through the battlefield, the sudden heat curling the very air around it, cracking stone and blackening earth in its path.

Still reeling, August's vision was blurry from the rebounding shard of doorframe, ears ringing from thunder that hadn’t come from the sky. August VanCleaf was not at his best. And yet, he moved.

As the pillar of fire licked across the doorframe, scorching it black and showering him in embers, August staggered behind what little cover remained. His breath came hard, uneven, but his hand remained steady.

They underestimated him. People always did.

"Expulso," he snarled, slashing his wand in a tight arc.

Magical Action: Vancleaf casts the Expulso Curse on the two strange women using spell spread.
Attack 1 18 (+15 - 2 - 2 - 2) 27 Miss
Evasion 1 12 (+15) 27
Attack 2 8 + (15 - 2 - 2 -2) 17 Miss
Evasion 2 13 (+15) 28

The Expulso curses detonated: loud, impressive, but ultimately useless.

A burst of light flared around the two women. One woman skittered to the side in a way no human should, too quick, too low, like a spider in heels. The other bent. Not ducked. Not crouched. She bent backward, right at the center of her spine, folding in half like a doll being packed away. Her head nearly brushed her calves.

Order of Operations
2.8 seconds | Erin attempts to bite August's leg
3.4 seconds | Strange woman 2 attacks August with a torrent of stone.
3.8 seconds | August throws a hunk of wood at Brock
7.2 seconds | Finn falls from the wet roof, casts arresto momentum to prevent impact.
7.3 seconds | Strange woman 2 attacks August with a pillar of fire.
9.2 seconds | August Vancleaf casts the Expulso Curse on the two strange women using spell spread.

F I N N E G A NxC O N N O R
omnes magni homines primum fuerunt pueri

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Like a car slamming the breaks and veering into a crash barrier to prevent a worse collision, Finnegan hit the ground with a jolt. It hurt, but not nearly as much as it could have. There could have been broken and dislodged bones or punctured lungs, or limbs bent at unnatural angles like a poor impression of Aamon in the dungeons. Instead there was just a dull thud and a groan as he forced himself up on his feet. Chaos had erupted all around him. The part-giant had stormed into the ballroom and all things considered, it was probably a good thing that he had been blasted off the roof, because at least there was solid ground where he had landed. The same could not be said for those guests stuck in the ballroom. His mind flickered toward Eve, Harlan, even Aamon, but what could he do? Danger wasn't just present inside the ballroom, past those shattered doors. It was outside too, held back only by a very angry, very bloodied man who seemed to be hated by women. One had bitten his leg, anoother had tried to bury him, and a third had tried to set him on fire. Getting called vermin by @Meiyu Xiang seemed rather mild in comparison for the sheer vitriol that the stranger had to contend with. Vancleaf's enormous ego would have to hold the line. Because no help was coming, not yet, not while this window of opportunity was open. Finnegan had spotted his chance and would not let it go to waste. Gideon Athanatos had left the safety of the bathroom and entered the ballroom at the worst possible time. Who was to say in this chaos which spell sent him flying into the fissures, burying him with shale and bone? There was dust and debris and agony everywhere. All it took was one jet of light, carefully aimed, which could have come from anywhere. No one would know who had done Gideon Athanatos in, and no one would mourn his passing (except clark). “Petrificus Totalus!” While his wandwork sometimes left to be desired, his aim didn't usually let him down. The intention was murderous, revenge at last for that stabbing at the ball all that time ago. Gideon had started something then that was coming back to bite him now. No knives, no poison - as had been considered, no strangling or drowning. Just a petrification spell, carefully aimed and timed so that Gideon would (hopefully) fall deep into a hellish pit and remain there. This cursed place would be his burial site. Mundane action: aiming at Gideon in the ballroom Magical action: casting Petrificus Totalus at Gideon

@August VanCleaf @Gideon Athanatos | Veni, vidi, vici Undated Augury Cloister

Front Lawn
Augury Cloister

It was a difficult to thing to be both hasty and stealthy. Foolhardy, even, as the two were typically not compatible. Such was why the phrase slow is smooth, smooth is fast had such universal applicability. Although not formally trained in moving stealthily, he had read enough books on hunting and adventuring to know the basics. The theory part of it, at least.

In practice, he had only really been stealthy a handful of times. His trek into the Forbidden Forest had been a good trial run having evaded detection and danger even with a curly-haired redhead accomplice. There were also the times he used his cloak to sneak up on unsuspecting students during his prefect patrols. The final, a journey-turned-shoplifting visit to a Tesco, had also worked out although the success was entirely unintentional. He had been tricked by a small, two-handed rogue of a Welshman. The same one that he was now risking his life to rescue. Except...

The boy was standing. Unbothered. In his lane. Flourishing? Hadn't he fallen? And why was he pointing his wand into the ballroom and not at the hags spawned from the pits of purgatory? Was he targeting one of the guests?

Finnegan Connor, you little shit.

You know what, Cassius didn't even want to save him anymore! The boy wasn't right in the head. If Opeila was looking, she would have seen Cassius roll his eyes as the pair climbed out one of the shattered windows of the Private Space.

Finn was now forsaken in Cassius' eyes. At least until they attempted their next livestream together or another hellish muggle activity. So the Ravenclaw duellist instead turned his attention towards the hags who had just effortlessly defeated the few who stood against them.

Keeping his voice the faintest whisper, he turned his head towards Opeila. "So are we fighting or following?"

They could engage the hags or follow them long enough to hopefully find out what the heck was going on. The options were somewhat limited.

Action: Entering Thread from Private Space (Stealth)
Mundane Action: Rolling his eyes.

Stats & Items

Reducio

CHARACTER STATS
Stamina 11 - Evasion 15 - Strength 0 - Wisdom 20 - ArcPower 10 - Accuracy 14

ABILITIES
Advanced Casting | Perfectionist | Perfectionist II | Spell Spread | Wandmaker |
Occlumency | Wandless Magic

ITEMS
Wand, Invisibility Cloak, Locksmith's Knife

@Opeila Winters @Finnegan Connor

It felt weird being invisible. Like when one put on music through headphones on the train and felt that everyone else was surely hearing it too. Opeila did her best to stay close to Cassius without accidentally tripping him, so the cloak would fully cover them both and it made moving pretty difficult.

Who... what?... were those women? Who so easily defeated the man standing against them and Finn- Finn... was aiming his wand at the ballroom. What was he doing? Undecided, Opeila stood still, trying to figure out the best course of action.
She wasn't even going to try to understand whatever Erin was up to, Opeila had never understood her classmate. Except... if she was here, did that mean... Aamon. Vladimir had told her Erin was protecting him, but... she was here and Aamon was nowhere in sight. Dammit, where is he??

"So are we fighting or following?"

Fighting seemed foolish. Following would likely give them more information, right? Except... Opeila looked at Finn again. Would the women kill him if they didn't interfere?
Which spell, which spell... Opeila knew a spell. Of course, what the hell had she spent all these hours in the library and forbidden section for? Maybe, just maybe, she really knew a spell or two that the man did not.

"Let me try something.", she whispered back and quietly drew her wand. Aimed it at the women. She had never used the spell on people, what if she failed? "Me Vide." If everything went well, maybe they would get some information out of the women without much of a fight.

From the private room off to the side of the ballroom's window, Cassius and Opeila slipped out onto the front lawn. The rain was getting heavier, the light sprinkle had progressed to a heavy drizzle. On the lawn, just to their right was Finnegan Conner, a familiar Gryffindor student looking into the war-zone that was the ballroom. He had fallen off the roof, but he seemed unbothered by the descent and he was already on his feet. That made three of them, plus August VanCleaf, the celebrated auror egotist, standing between SCAR’s vanguard and the ballroom beyond.

Or at least, that was how it was meant to look.

Their stealth faltered almost immediately. They were in plain view upon exiting, only vanishing under the cloak after they hit the grass. The brief, heated kiss between Cassius and Opeila served as both distraction and hindrance, the shimmer of the cloak betraying their outline to anyone with sharp enough eyes.

The stealth was not wholly effective considering the fact that they were not hidden when they exited the window, but they did flicker out of sight for a moment. Their kiss, while brief, obfuscated a direct line of sight for Opeila also. A faint shimmer where the cloak was.

Simone, for the sake of giving the construct or creature a name, was the taller of the pair. With a neck like a heron and eyes that did not blink enough, she shifted her aim away from August. he was not long for this world once her partner broke him. Simone's wand came up, angled toward the not-quite-invisible pair that had snuck onto their lawn. The air shivered with the onset of her curse, thin and slicing, meant to shear the cloak apart and reveal them whole.

"Woman" One: Attacks Opeila and Cassius
Attack 1 (+20 -2 (spread) -3 (cloak)) 17 Miss critical failure
Evasion 2 (+15) 17
Attack 14 (+20 -2 (spread) -3 (cloak)) 32 Hit
Evasion 4 (+14) 18
10% auto-dodge Opeila 53 No effect

The spell fizzled violently, flaring back into Simone’s own hand in a burst of blistering heat. She hissed, recoiling, but recovered quickly, snapping her wand forward again. The curse arced invisibly, the only sign of its path a faint ripple in the air like heat over stone. It still struck, despite the fact that they were harder to find. It was not enough to fell either of them, but their attention was no longer split between August and the duo.

Meanwhile, Twofer, the second creature with a human-like face, kept her focus fixed entirely on August. She did not hurry, VanCleaf was not, in her eyes, a threat worth rushing for even if she wanted to make short work of him. She advanced like a hunter closing on a wounded bird, her crude wand humming with a dangerous, unstable energy.

“What if,” she said softly, “wizards were the powerless ones? What if your kind were the ones denied wands in a world that thrives on power?”

Her aim was precise, not at August himself, but at the heart of his magic: his wand.

Contested Arcane Power
VanCleaf 3
Woman 2 16
Knocked Out

The detonation was instant. August’s wand split in his hand with a sound like a thunderclap, shards of wood and a spray of molten core bursting outward in a flash of fire and smoke. The recoil jolted up his arm like a live wire, stealing the air from his lungs. His knees buckled. His wand had revolted against him, rejected him in that moment.

Still, August got off one last shot. A fraction of a second before his wand was split in twain. A final desperate lash.

Magical Action: Vancleaf casts the Expulso Curse on the strange woman.
Attack 10 (+15 - 2 - 2)
Evasion 10 (+15)

In a final, desperate act, VanCleaf moved as though he might turn the tide of this battle that was lost before it had even begun. A flash of motion, a flare of intent, in truth it was all smoke and arrogance, the shadow of a man inflated by his own myth. VanCleaf's ego was a fortress, his legend a cathedral… both far larger than the man left kneeling in the rain.

The fire in his eyes burned hotter than the pain searing through him as he forced himself upright just enough to glare at his attacker. His voice came low and venomous, every syllable dipped in spite.

“You’ll remember my name when it’s carved on your bones,” he rasped.

And then the pain took him. The legend crumpled, hitting the ground with a dull finality, leaving only the echo of his words behind. It was easy. Laughably so, considering the stories attached to him. The woman, or whatever she actually was... pressed the sole of her boot to his ribs and kicked him into the fissure with casual contempt.

Mundane Action: Kick Vancleaf into the pit.
No roll necessary.
Death Saving Throw 1 of 3 failed.

Finnegan Conner was not about to let an opportunity pass him by. It was in this particular lion's blood. Some men were born soldiers, others kings; Finnegan Conner was born an opportunist. And here, in the shadow of chaos, the perfect opening had fallen into his lap like a gift from the Fates themselves.

Finnegan was about to attempt a felony. He was going to murder Gideon Athanatos. Not directly of course. Just a stray spell, seizing the boy up, allowing him to perhaps fall. To force him to watch as the walls of the Augury crumble around him. As the part giant rampages, stampeding over his fragile ribs, crushing his black little heart into a dark paste.

Finnegan's relationship with the Athanatos was a labyrinth of grudges and half-forgiven sins. Finnegan had been stabbed by the very boy he would later kiss. He had shed blood for him, literally, in a ritual that, by some cruel poetry, had been orchestrated by the same women now haunting the halls of the Augury. And it had all been for nothing. The ritual failed.

Their bond, if it could even be called that, was a reckless, fragile thing forged in violence, tempered in deceit, and polished with fleeting moments of heat neither of them cared to name aloud. They’d hurt each other in ways that couldn’t be undone, and yet, the threads between them had never quite snapped. Not until now. Now Finnegan intended to sever them permanently, cut them clean, like a knife through a vein.

Finnegan costs Petrificus Totalus at Gideon
Attack 2 (+19) 21
Evasion 8 (+15) 23
10% Auto-dodge 34

The curse skimmed past Gideon like a bullet through smoke, missing by a margin so slim it almost hurt to watch.

Finnegan didn’t breathe. A hit would have ended it. Ended him, Gideon Athanatos, right there. The young lion's sin, his near-murder, went unseen by the boy who, at that moment, was too far away, rushing toward his cousin Taylor, the Koldovstoretz student unconscious at the base of the pit. Gideon slid down the sheer cliff face to reach her, all of his focus swallowed by that single point.

Had Finnegan been truly cruel, he would have aimed for the heart and took the girl instead.

Opeila had a plan. A Seer by birth, she had an innate talent very few wizards possessed. Seers were masters over the fates, manipulators of minds. Her plan was simple enough, to cast a restricted spell she had taught herself not long ago. A spell that forged friendships into the minds of targets, making their enemy, at least temporarily, her friend, perhaps even lover for a short time.

Opeila casts Entrancing Enchantment (Restricted Charm) using spell spread to target both women, using Fate Spin (Seer) to ensure effectiveness.
Attack (Contested Wisdom) 1 critical failure (fatespin) 2 (+17 - 2) Miss
Resistance (Contested Wisdom) 10 (+15)
10% auto-hit 12 No Effect
___
Attack (Contested Wisdom) 14 20 critical success (+17 - 2) Success
Resistance (Contested Wisdom) 17 (+15)
10% auto-hit No need
Duration is a 1d3 but due to crit she has the maximum duration.

Opeila's first attempt fizzled, the magic slipping sideways. Fate itself yawning in disinterest. Those red threads had been drawn taught. This fate, for Simone at the very least, had been written in what appeared to be stone. It could have gotten worse. Merlin, it was supposed to go poorly. When they pulled at that thick thread, she shifted something in the cosmos ever so slightly.

It was the second strike that had more potential. She had just barely failed. So close, there was a moment's hesitation in that -thing's- strange, dark eyes. But it was not supposed to be enough, but this time Opeila twisted the thread, pulled it taut, and rewoved the moment in accordance with her will. The second strike hit with precision born of knowing exactly how it would end.

Apparently Opeila did not want the narrator to write a love scene. Smart. It would have gone poorly. Finnegan was not quite so clever to see where love would get him, he is now simultaneously an attempted killer and one of the more likely to catch the garter.

The magic hit Twofer like sunlight through dirty glass. She was there, her reaction.., happened, but everything was warped and perhaps a bit dim. Her head jerked slightly, a twitch too mechanical to be natural. The lids over her rarely blinking eyes half-lowered, as though some invisible weight pressed down on her.

For a heartbeat, she seemed to sway, her crude wand drooping toward the ground. The edges of her waxen smile softened, her posture loosening into something almost human. Almost. Then, without warning, her neck tilted far too far to the side, bones, or whatever she had in place of them, making a faint, grinding sound. She froze mid-motion, gaze fixed on Opeila.

When she finally spoke, her voice came slow, each word dragged out like a phonograph winding down: “There you are…” And then the smile returned wrong. The enchantment held, for now.

F I N N E G A NxC O N N O R
omnes magni homines primum fuerunt pueri

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He missed. Not by much, but still. Instead of cursing or stomping his feet, or even trying again, his wand-arm faltered until it hung loosely at his side. Disbelief tasted bitter in his mouth. The perfect opportunity had zipped past him like a snitch in Quidditch match. He'd seen it, he'd reached for it, and he'd grasped nothing but air. Gideon had vanished into the fissure, sliding into it like he was pursuing something or someone. Finnegan wasn't afforded any time to ponder Gideon's motives or to even consider giving chase when a loud bang sounded behind him. He turned around just in time to see the man who'd held the line so far, slump to the side and get casually kicked into a hole in the ground. What a cruel tease from the universe, to show him what should have been Gideon's fate that evening, yet put a different face on it. Despite not knowing whose side August Vancleaf was, or had been, on, there was no doubt that the two women intended to advance into the Augury, and now he was the only thing standing between them and it. The chaos that had erupted in the ballroom had drowned out any noise that might have signalled the arrival of Opeila and Cassius to him, and there was nothing to draw his attention in their direction. He was rather preoccupied with the two women with their dead eyes, their pool noodle joints, and above all, their destructive magic. A fully grown man and far more capable wizard had just been defeated by them in all the time it had taken him to fling one spell at Gideon. He backed away, almost tripping over his own feet as he did so. Bravery was merely the ability to not be paralyzed by fear, but it did nothing to ease the terror of what he saw before him. They hadn't just defeated August Vancleaf, they had broken his wand, stripped him of his magic, and that was a fate almost as terrifying as being buried alive. “Eve!” he cried over his shoulder, his voice cracked. There was little hope she would hear him over the noise. A spell whistled past, had it been aimed at him? No, not at him, but there wasn't time to check who else it could've been targeting. Eve, help! Yet he still held one advantage, however slim it might be. He'd overheard the conversation prior to Brock's entrance, he'd seen August's wand break. The source of these creatures's power was plain and it was in their hands: their crudely made wands. He could have raised a protective shield, delay the inevitable, but instead he chose to fight fire with fire. It would not stop the creatures from advancing or from using their claws and teeth to tear their opponents to shreds, but he could weaken them, at least one of them, at least for a while. He could not afford to miss again. “Expelliarmus!” One of them had faltered, like something had made them hesitate. She spoke, but Finnegan did not care for what she said, did not even hear it or consider who or what may have caused it. Ever the opportunist, he merely saw two threats and targeted the bigger one first. Reducio Mundane action: retreating away from Simone and Twofer Magical action: casting Expelliarmus at Simone Cassius & Opeila: I would've liked to acknowledge your characters's presence more but since you're both hidden, it didn't seem appropriate. Mundane action: aiming at Gideon in the ballroom Magical action: casting Petrificus Totalus at Gideon

@Evelynn Decipio, @Opeila Winters, @Cassius Eden | Veni, vidi, vici Undated Augury Cloister

Front Lawn
Augury Cloister

So much for stealth.

As Helmuth von Moltke the Elder was oft to say, 'No plan survives contact with the enemy.' That much was obvious as the attempt by Cassius to remain undetected failed miserably. Instead, the pair of them had attracted the attention of the hags who were none too welcoming to their arrival.

In his defense he was distracted. What was he thinking declaring his love like that? What did he know of love? It was foolish and brash -- traits uncharacteristic of the usually calculating and measured Ravenclaw. He was embarrassed, but now was not the time to be flustered.

The disformed women attacked first. The taller of the pair attempted to send a wicked duo of curses in their direction. One fizzled out but the other struck Opeila. Cassius winced and spared a glance in her direction. It looked like it hurt like something fierce but she was still standing. They were duellists. They knew how to take a hit.

The only plus side to their reveal was that now he did not need to conceal his actions instead giving him an opportunity for some showmanship. After all, August Vancleaf was not the only one who could make an entrance.

Cassius took a step forward and with a single sharp roll of his shoulders, he sent the invisibility cloak sliding down his back. His wand was already in hand, held it to his side in a duellist's stance. Silver lime and rougarou hair. Like the creature from which the core was derived, the creatures in front of him, too, needed to be put down and he was happy to oblige.

"Oculitumescere!"

The Ravenclaw duellist whipped his wand forward at Simone, casting the conjunctivitis curse at the hag that had dared attack them.

Action: Casting Conjuctivitis Curse at Simone. (Rougarou Crit Secondary Target: Twofer)
Mundane Action: Removing his invisibility cloak with a flourish.

Stats & Items

Reducio

CHARACTER STATS
Stamina 11 - Evasion 15 - Strength 0 - Wisdom 20 - ArcPower 10 - Accuracy 14

ABILITIES
Advanced Casting | Perfectionist | Perfectionist II | Spell Spread | Wandmaker |
Occlumency | Wandless Magic

ITEMS
Wand, Invisibility Cloak, Locksmith's Knife

WANDMAKER (ROUGAROU HAIR)

Reducio

• 10% of the damage done by a "dark" spell is done to a target that was successfully hit by a dark spell every round for the duration of the thread. This is considered to be "bleeding" and can be countered with the bandaging charm.
• In Duelling: This bleeding effect is limited to 4 rounds. If hit by another dark spell in the meantime, the bleeding effect is replaced with the new one.
• On a critical success with a "dark" spell, a second target (only if defined by the caster before this has been rolled) can be targeted, if no secondary target is declared then nothing happens.
• -10% damage done with non-dark spells.

@Opeila Winters

Dammit. It seemed that the two 7th years' plan was doomed to fail from the beginning, starting with their exit from the window. It seemed that the liquor was affecting her more than expected- or was it the kiss and the unexpected declaration?- maybe it was just the dress, the probably most impractical item of clothing to climb out of a window with. Her foot caught on the sill and then she hear felt the tug on her hem, followed by an audible snap. Opeila didn't stop to check, they had to get under that cloak now.

Their attempt to hide felt like a joke when they reached the front lawn, as they were immediately attacked. The cloak didn't hide them, if anything it hindered them in their movement. While Opeila was still thinking, the women cast curses their way and the moment she cast her spell, something hit her shoulder. Quickly, Opeila clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the shriek of pain she couldn't hold back. One look at the now blistering skin on her shoulder immediately made her feel nauseous. What was that, some kind of acid curse? Her shoulder felt like a caustic chemical hit it.

Opeila was caught for certain. Twofer's head turned... further and further, causing a new wave of nausea to wash over her and spoke with her. The Slytherin was about to slip out from under the cloak- Cassius would be able to hide and she wouldn't give them away with her clumsiness- when her boyfriend just shrugged the whole thing off.
... With a pretty badass move, admittedly, maybe Opeila would have to ask him to teach her how to look so cool in battle sometime.

It was what it was. Opeila moved a few steps to the side, exactly so far that Twofer was between Simone and her. Clear the stage for... "Yes, here I am. What the hell-", she answered with the best tone of exasperation she could muster and pointed her wand at her injured shoulder. "Reparifors. Now please stop attacking me." It was worth a try.

Whether it worked or not, Opeila turned back to Twofer, doing her best to smile back convincingly. "Apologies, I am late, how can I help? I wasn't briefed." She nodded her head towards the building. "I am here undercover, the guests won't attack me." ... Here was to hoping that Finn wouldn't buy any of this and attacked her, actually.