Small Bar

There was no sound. Or rather, there was only sound. A sharp, piercing hum filled Mikey’s ears as he pushed himself off the floor. Every breath rasped through dust and terror. He blinked hard and saw only silhouettes at first, sharp edges, colors dulled by smoke, the faint glint of shattered glass like fallen stars. Then movement. Then Avery.

His heart convulsed in a defeated attempt as he stood by and saw her griping the bar, shaking hand still outstretched. She's alive. Was all he could think. He stood up with palms burning and shoulder bruised from where he'd hit the floor. "Avery," he breathed gruffly. "Hey—hey, I've got you."

In two steps he was beside her, grabbing her hand like it was the last solid thing in the world. She looked dazed, unfocused. He knew the feeling. He squeezed her fingers tight, grounding himself. “Stay low,” he murmured, already crouching. “Stay against the wall. We’ll move together.” He didn’t wait for permission as they moved down against the wall.

Not a dash for an escape. Just a steady creep along the edge, crouched shoulders, careful feet. Mikey led on ahead in desperate stealth, leading her by the overturned stool and cracked stone. He kept his head down close to his knees but glanced back frequently at the bar, at the destruction, at Elizabeth. It looked like she was casting Fumos. That was a relief. Hopefully the smoke would hide them better while they looked for Dylan.

The ballroom lay out before him, the tunnel of an archway like a gate to a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. they paused at the entrance, a moment to look within the throng. His voice was tight and low, breathing fast.

"Look for Dylan."

He did not mention that he may not be here. He did not mention that we could be next. He simply changed again, flowing along the edge of the the Door to the ballroom like a ghost, close to the wall. Low. Quiet. Invisible in the chaos, if fortune permitted.







Mundane Action: Leaving the bar with Avery sneaking into the ballroom

It took less than a second after she had uttered the Smokescreen spell that she had formed the rest of her plan. It was simple really, and it wouldn’t require any thought process before hand. She stood up, sliding off the stool, and glanced around the room one last time.

She decided against grabbing anything extra, something she might regret later, and tore her attention back to the doorway leading back to the Ballroom. Taking a moment to steel herself against what she might find, she adjusted herself.

She took a step forward, then another. Slowly but surely, she made her way towards leaving the room. Thoughts ran through her mind. Is my dad okay? Is he looking for me? Where is he? Those thoughts were the main ones to circulate her mind. Others were also, but they weren’t related to the situation at hand.

Slowing her steps as she approached the Ballroom, she didn’t dare look up at what was there. She’d wait until she’d enter the room before looking up to see the state of things. Only after she made sure that her dad was alright would she act according to what she found. She didn’t dare think of how bad things might look.

Mundane Action: Entering the Ballroom
Magic Action: none

The smoke clung to room corners like spectral fingers, and the sound from the previous explosion still resonated in his ears. He was shifting against the ballroom arch, attempting to locate Dylan in the destruction, when he detected something else off with this already crazy night. Harlan.

He did not really know Harlan. A fourth year. Gryffindor. Taller, stronger likely, older definitely. But it was not whathe noticed first. It was the way he walked. Not like a boy. Not like a human. A puppet. His limbs moving all wrong, too stiff and mechanical. His face, too empty. As if something was standing in his skin and tugging at levers that it didn't know. And then he lifted his wand.

Mikey saw the lift of Harlan's hand, not slow and defensive, but precise and directed. Straight towards Thaddeus Athanatos. His eyes flickered once briefly in Thaddeus's direction. The man who he heard could kill with a word. Who could ruin lives without moving from his drink. Mikey wasn't scared of him for the first time tonight. He was scared for them if he didn't act soon enough.

"No" The word was not more than half-out of his mouth before sense was lost to instinct. His hand shot to his wand, drawing it out so quickly he had trouble keeping a grip on it. Fists clenched white on the hilt, he didn't even think about the incantation, it just came "Expelliarmus!" nearly simultaneously with when he thought he heard Flippendo from Harlan.

His voice broke as he said it, halfway to desperation, but loud enough. Clear enough. Mikey's heart hammered in his ears. He didn't even know if this was the right thing to do. But something had to be done. Something now. Not for Thaddeus, but for Avery. For all the others there. His heart thudded in his ears louder than the previous explosion. He didn't move. Didn't draw breath. He stood, wand shaking, suspended between hope and terror.






Magic Action: Casting Expelliarmus at Harlan

"You would compare my company to that of Mr. Connor? You wound me, Thaddeus."

His gaze found Orion now, as cool and precise as the first cut of a blade. "Do I?" His eyes flickered as if he was taking in a memory he chose to not share. “I see you in the boy," he claimed. "And it would seem that he does not yet understand the difference between chaos and choreography. They believe all noise is rebellion, and all defiance makes them immortal.” He paused, bringing the deep amber fluid to his thin lips. Just a taste. Then after a moment of feigned thought, "maybe that's true, you are still around."

He gestured lazily toward the door that Finnegan Connor, or Conner, or whatever little spelling war he insisted upon, had ambled through on the heels of his nephew. He retreated into the wake of his memory. “I am not troubled by cleverness. I am troubled by cleverness that is wasted. That boy... he opens his mouth like a prophet, but does not know whose altar he’s kneeling at. He follows breadcrumbs, and leaves loaves, calling it all strategy. But every crumb leads back to me.” How utterly convenient. How bloody obvious. Not that any man in this room was innocent, even a little.

"I have some work if time permits," Thaddeus would continue when it was the two of them and the help. So essentially, they were alone. But the opportunity was fleeting. No sooner had the words escaped his mouth had a small group of juveniles crowded the bar. He had no way of knowing they had the less than clever plan of sparring inches from their professor. At a venue that cost more than their combined familial annual wage for an evening.

He stepped past the bar now, the ruined wall framing him like the mouth of a cave. Magic coiled faintly in the air around him, the dim scent of parchment and grave roses rising in his wake.

Fortune and circumstance prevented a lethal error. Thaddeus did not flinch when glass sprayed the ballroom, like a hailstorm of shrapnel from a grenade. He did not rise when the brute of a man emerged through the front door, plowing over his part Veela niece who was apparently less durable than the rumors claimed. Nor did he move when the heath extinguished in the room adjacent. No, he swirled his glass once, slow and methodical.

The shadows about him lengthened. The room dimmed. A physical weight could be felt, it was merely the old man's formerly restrained aura. A ripple of darkness pulsed outward from him, barely perceptible. Like shadowy feelers, touching the places light would not. The candles flickered, not from the wind or the blast, but from reverence. The veiled ones would walk on by, bidding Harlan, a child to die for them.

When the part giant addressed him with foolhardy bravado. "To lay threats in my presence," his voice louder now than it was when he spoke with the good Professor, but his words carried like a curse. "Within reach of my seat, at my gathering. Before the patriarch of the House Athanatos... demonstrates not just foolishness." His gaze swept the space, heavy and absolute. "It is sacrilege."

The floorboards and tile would break underfoot, a fissure would rip the ground.

Magical Action:
Fissure: Event NPC spell, tears the ground apart. Tearing the very earth asunder.

Mundane Action:
Put his drink on a coaster. Some of us know manners.

'I see you in the boy.'

"Do you?" A knowing smile formed on Orion's face. He did not look over at Thaddeus, instead staring down into the amber liquid in front of him. He saw it, of course he did; he and Finnegan shared the same shadow, the same insatiable hunger. Why else would Orion not indulge the boy when he came knocking and asking questions?

Finnegan couldn't follow in Orion's footsteps.

"Perhaps he is in more trouble than I thought," The professor said, his eyes flickering over to where Finnegan had been standing, "I remember when I was his age and believed the only difference between chaos and choreography was applause."

He paused, a sip of whiskey kissed his tongue.

"He is bright, but stubborn," he continued, nodding when Thaddeus called him clever, "I can talk to him, but I cannot promise he'll listen."

When Thaddeus mentioned he had work for him, his spine straightened subtly. It was an instinctual move—like a dog hearing the whistle of its master. The glass was lowered onto the counter. He nodded, his gaze meeting Thaddeus', not with defiance or fear, but the weary look of a man who had already signed his loyalty over to darkness. His fate had been sealed years ago, but only in February was he aware his contract was signed in blood. So many seasons had passed, and yet he had been called to duty, made into a weapon once more.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask Thaddeus to send the usual owl when he was ready. But whispers came before he could, a juvenile buzz of excitement over an apparent duel. "For fucks sake," he mumbled under his breath in French. Of all places, why here? They were in the middle of a tiny bar with their professor sitting right there and they were about to preform underage magic.

But before Orion could turn and lecture the crew, there was a clap of thunder. No, wait—the front door was slammed open. Orion didn't flinch, but he tensed when he saw Erin Ryan get plowed over. His hand found the pocket his wand was tucked into, his fingers twitching against the hilt. He did not need it, his magic had long learned to obey without the use of it, but tonight he wanted precision and he found his spells hit a bit harder when using it.

He did not move. The brute barked something foolish.

The room dimmed, stretching and bending. Thaddeus. He watched in silence as Thaddeus' shadow stretched, seeming unphased. It was terrible, but not unfamiliar. He did not glance at the flickering candles, nor at the fractured floorboards below them, but towards the students still gathered in the room. He was about to cast a shield over them, to protect them from whatever the brute had planned, when he locked his eyes on Harlan Montgomery.

He watched as his wand rose, as the light gathered at the end of it, heard as Mikey Forville cast to disarm him. With a quick flick of his wrist in a straight line towards Harlan, Orion cast a spell he taught his fourth years, "Impedimenta."

Action: Casting Impedimenta on Harlan
Mundane Action: Drinking

The part-giant did not cower. True power, unlike the authority these wizards carried, needed no ceremony. The pressure in the room grew suffocating. Shadows clung to the walls like claws, and Thaddeus Athanatos’s voice rang out with the weight of ancient curses and older blood. Still, the giant stood firm.

Brock was used to being outmatched. In a world built for wizards, those born with the right name, the right wand, the right blood, Brock had clawed his way forward without any of it. The truth was simple: if you weren’t born fortunate, life had no obligation to be fair.

Brock bared his teeth in something that might’ve passed for a grin if not for the fury behind his eyes. His teeth were too large, but so was everything about the man. A broad chest. Limbs like trunks of trees. Even men appeared as children before him.

“You call this sacrilege, old man?” Brock slammed his fist to his chest with a crack that echoed through the shelves, rattling loose bottles in their dusty nests. “I see no gods here. Only tyrants in silk.”

Brock turned slowly, deliberately facing the ballroom and all those stunned guests. A room packed with wizards drunk on their own self-importance. They had spent the day preening for an evening where they celebrated themselves. There were so many of them, like roaches infesting this world.

But this was also Brock's first mistake. He should never have turned his back on his actual opponent.

Thaddeus, ever pragmatic, did not hesitate when he saw the opening. No warning. No words. He lifted his wand, and the very earth responded. A [Fissure] ripped through the ballroom floor like a judgment. Stone screamed. Wood snapped. Tables, guests, and would-be rebels vanished into the yawning dark.

Thaddeus casts Fissure
The ballroom shatters. A rip through tile and wood. Most fall. Few escape.
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 14 (+25) 39 Hit
20% auto-hit 19 Success
Brock (Evasion) 15 (+15) 30
Damage: 187
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 1 (+25) 26 Hit
20% auto-hit 48 No Effect
Harlan (Evasion) 14 (+7) 21
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 6 (+25) 31 Miss
20% auto-hit 17 Success
Dealla (Evasion) 19 (+16+2 Felix felicis) 37
10% (becomes 15% from Felix) auto-dodge 17 No Effect
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 10 (+25) 35 Hit
20% auto-hit 25 No Effect
Nabi (Evasion) 9 (+6) 15
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 18 (+25) 43 Hit
20% auto-hit 97 No Effect
Winnie (Evasion) 16 (+14) 30
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 2 (+25) 27 Hit
20% auto-hit 58 No Effect
Taylor (Evasion) 5 (+10) 15
Damage: 233
10% auto-dodge 15 No Effect
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 9 (+25) 34 Hit
20% auto-hit 62 No Effect
Ava (Evasion) 13 (+10) 23
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 18 (+25) 43 Hit
20% auto-hit 65 No Effect
Dylan (Evasion) 6 (+6) 12
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 13 (+25) 43 Hit
20% auto-hit 68 No Effect
Damage: 233
Evelynn (Evasion) 13 (+17) 30
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 7 (+25) 32 Hit
20% auto-hit 38 No Effect
Sayaka (Evasion) 9 (+8) 17
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 7 (+25) 32 Hit
20% auto-hit 84 No Effect
Mathias (Evasion) 2 (+16) 18
Auto-dodge: 98 No Effect
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 8 (+25) 33 Hit
20% auto-hit 73
Erin (Evasion) 2 (+16) 18
10% auto-dodge 77 No Effect
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 9 (+25) 34 Hit
20% auto-hit 64 No Effect
Stinky (Evasion) 14 (+5) 19
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 6 (+25) 31 Hit
20% auto-hit 28 No Effect
Nubby (Evasion) 20 (+5) 25 Critical Success
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 14 (+25) 39 Hit
20% auto-hit 77 No Effect
Gopher (Evasion) 9 (+5) 14
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 14 (+25) 39 Hit
20% auto-hit 6 Success
Lally (Evasion) 18 (+5) 23
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 9 (+25) 34 Hit
20% auto-hit 26 No Effect
Frumpy (Evasion) 1 (+5) 6
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 12 (+25) 37 Hit
20% auto-hit 69 No Effect
Kilbert (Evasion) 14 (+5) 19
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 15 (+25) 40 Hit
20% auto-hit 8 Success
Aly (Evasion) 20 (+14) 34 critical success
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 3 (+25) 28 Hit
20% auto-hit 39 No Effect
Valentin (Evasion) 5 (+5) 10
Damage: 233
Accuracy (Thaddeus) 20 (+25) 45 Critical Success Hit
20% auto-hit 80 No effect
Avery (Evasion) 4 (+6) 10
Damage: 466

This was not a duel, this was Brock's execution.

Thaddeus had decided the price of disobedience. And with magic? Consequences were flexible. Injuries could be reversed. Bones could be mended. But this moment would be remembered. You don't stand up, you sit down and listen. No, you bow.

Dealla Prince and Aly Salinger barely made it out, her dramatic slide tearing the hem of her pink, frilly gown that she probably hated anyway, but saving her life. Nubby, the house elf and the only other to avoid the fall, stood beside her in a rumpled pink suit, quiet and forgotten... until now.

Years of servitude had made him invisible. Years of being less to thankless children that could barely contain impulse. They were made of filth, oddly he could swear that he could smell shit in that moment. But not today. Not any more. The little elf raised a kitchen knife, glinting in candlelight. Not conjured. Not magical. Just steel, a bit of poison if one noted the strange sheen, and rage.

Nubby murmured, “you don’t see us. But we see everything.”

The knife came down, fast and ragged. Not elegant. Not practiced. A servant’s blow. A reckoning in miniature.

Nubby attempts to stab Aly
Attack 13 (+5) 18 Miss
Evasion 8 (+14) 23

The blade missed by inches. The other guests were not so lucky, having fallen into the yawning darkness, the hard, jagged ground meeting them without mercy. They would have to climb to free themselves (Mundane Action or Magical Action can be used with or without a spell to interface with anyone in the Augury.)

Harlan’s heel hit the edge of the fissure. The ballroom light twisted, flames dimming, shadows dancing around the tear in the world. His wand glinted once in the candlelight, then vanished behind his back as he spun, not toward the threat, not toward the part giant, but away from Mikey’s disarm.

Mikey Forville had to put a stop to it, he cast Expelliarmus at Harlan.
WDC (+9) [would always pass]
Attack 11 (+8) 19
Evasion 20 (+7) Critical Success

Mikey’s [Expelliarmus] blazed across the space like a flare. Harlan's response? A one-handed cartwheel (critical success, the boy gets drama). The kind only an absolute lunatic, or a duelist possessed, would attempt. His dress shoes kicked up shards of tile as he rolled along the edge of the crack in the floor, his wand clenched in his grip as he prepared to cast his attack on the wrong (or maybe right) opponent.

Harlan landed in a crouch. Just not on the ballroom, as there was no ballroom beneath him anymore. Harlan's hand reached for footing. It found nothing. Only air. Only... down. Yes, the pit. The environment betrayed Harlan, the boy disappeared into the abyss that Thaddeus had carved into the earth. His jacket followed like a funeral banner, fluttering after him.

Elizabeth Stonewall, still in the small bar, so outside the perimeter of the fissure, was not a brave girl, nor a clever one, but perhaps like other wizards in this very wedding, she would have a talent for surviving situations far above her magical grade level. It was not tact. It was not foresight. It was sheer, luck-laced panic.

When the ballroom cracked open like an egg and shadows screamed in a language older than fear, Elizabeth chose the worst possible option. She moved toward it. She didn't look at the angry part giant, the murderous elf, or the fissure. She whispered, “Fumos” to evade being seen by her own allies.

Elizabeth cast Fumos
Wisdom 2 (+7) 9 (WDC met)
3 random victims: Orion, House Elf, and Mikey
Attack (Elizabeth) 9 (-3 +9) 15 Miss
Evasion (Orion) 20 (+15) critical Success 35
20% auto-dodge (not needed)
Attack (Elizabeth) 3 (-3+9) 9 Miss
Evasion (House Elf) 8 (+5) 13
Attack (Elizabeth) 16 (-3+9) 22 Hit
Evasion (Mikey) 13 (+7) 20
10% auto-dodge 8 Success

The spell hissed from her wand like a startled cat. A cloud of thick grey smoke billowed forward, curling like a living thing. It rolled toward a random handful of the crowd: Orion, her Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the house elf bartender, and her soon-to-be-former friend Mikey. It wasn't meant to hurt, just disable them during a catastrophe, just to give her cover as she ran into danger.

Orion's instincts were sharper than any twelve-year-old's spell. The former Hit Wizard spun into a handstand and flipped backward out of the fog like some cursed gymnast, not even singed by Elizabeth’s attempt. Somewhere in the smoke, someone muttered “show-off.” This is why Orion had landed himself a head of house fiance...

The house elf, affronted and ancient in his own right, clapped his hands. The smoke vanished in front of him. Just gone.

But Mikey? Mikey Forville nearly tripped into it. The smoke caught the boy. But his reflexes, those evasive maneuvers were going to save him today. A sharp slide, a tuck, and he was clear of it.

As for Elizabeth, she ran into the ballroom, to the edge of the fissure. The little girl was standing in plain view. No cover. No dignity. And probably no idea what to do next.

Brock was climbing back up to the ballroom. The part giant pulled himself over the crumbling lip of the fissure, he was barely harmed.

Strength Check: Brock punches the pillar
Strength: 9 (+25+15%+30%=36.25) 45.25

“I will not bow to the House Athanatos!” Brock declared. his voice thick and angry. Brock hefted his massive arms. And drove a clenched fist into the ballroom’s pillar with a growl that rattled the bones of the building. The pillar bowed, a crack formed across the center of the pillar and ran across the marble.

He was not about to flee, he was fearless in the face of mutually assured destruction. Brock's eyes burning like a forge, voice rising above the chaos before the ceiling came crashing down. Over the roar of falling detritus, “you want your heir’s wedding quiet and clean? Then maybe you shouldn’t have buried your rot under rose petals.”

Ceiling Crumbles DC 25
Brock (Evasion) 3 (+15) 18 Hit
Harlan (Evasion) 2 (+7) 9 Hit
Dealla (Evasion) 11 (+16+2 Felix felicis) 29 Miss
10% auto-dodge: Not needed
Nabi (Evasion) 20 (+6) Critical Success Miss and protecting another user (Nabi chose Giddy, as Giddy is not in the thread shenanigans dictate that she protects him somehow so the falling roof will be redirected at Clark next round as an attack.)
Winnie (Evasion) 2 (+14) 16 Hit
Taylor (Evasion) 13 (+10) 23 Hit
10% auto dodge 20 No Effect
Ava (Evasion) 17 (+10) 27 Miss
Dylan (Evasion) 16 (+6) 24 Hit
Evelynn (Evasion) 15 (+17) 32 Miss
Sayaka (Evasion) 7 (+8) 15 Hit
Mathias (Evasion) 18 (+16) 24 Hit
Erin (Evasion) 13 (+16) 29 Miss
10% auto-dodge 78 No Effect
Stinky (Evasion) 19 (+5) 24 Hit
Nubby (Evasion) 15 (+5) 20 Hit
Gopher (Evasion) 16 (+5) 21 Hit
Lally (Evasion) 4 (+5) 9 Hit
Frumpy (Evasion) 8 (+5) 13 Hit
Kilbert (Evasion) 18 (+5) 23 Hit
Aly (Evasion) 5 (+14) 19 Hit
Valentin (Evasion) 9 (+5) 14 Hit
Elizabeth (Evasion) 18 (+7) 25 Miss
Avery (Evasion) 3 (+6) 9 Hit
All take 300 damage if hit

As the ballroom gave its final groan and the ceiling began to collapse like the top tier of a cursed wedding cake, chaos reached operatic levels. Most of the guests were trapped in a pit and about to be buried alive.

The support pillar gave way with a crack like a lightning strike, and the entire room bowed. Plaster rained from above in sheets. Screams mingled with the shattering of glass. Wooden beams moaned, splintered, and began their descent into the pit where guests were already struggling to breathe under debris and ruin.

And rising from the rubble like a man reborn, or a demon dragged back for round two, Harlan clawed his way up the edge of the pit, wild-eyed and dirty, his wand clenched (ideally in his teeth) like some sort of overdressed pirate. Harlan was no longer just a boy. He was the villain in Act Two.

Meanwhile, Nabi, the most fearless mediocre-strength student in the history of accidental heroism (with a strength of 5), saw a massive chunk of molding crashing down and punched it.

Not blocked. Not dodged. Not magicked. Punched.

Nabi's fist met the beam with an almost comedic ka-thunk, karate-chopping the wood in such a way that a singular, sharp slab of it was launched skyward, not down or sideways, but skyward, defying both logic and architecture. The chunk arced dramatically out of the collapsing ceiling and, like a guided missile, shot directly at Clark Baird, who had just emerged from the bathroom and was utterly unaware of what had happened in his absence. Taking on a kinship to pepe le'pu, he was in pursuit of a gilded Prince who had fled into a warzone over kissing the teen.

Nabi Punches roof at Clark
Attack (Nabi) 19 (+6) 25 Miss
Evasion (Clark) 16 (+15) 31

And with the unthinking grace of a man who had not avoided death or digestive disaster in a single afternoon, Clark stepped aside. The wood whooshed past him, grazing nothing but air and pride, visibly wilting midair like it, too, had lost the will to fight once it got a whiff of the teen. It landed harmlessly, impaling the wall behind him.

Brock charged Thaddeus attempting to jump over the widening fissure, shouting to the others:“Fall back if you’re scared! Fight if you remember what you came for!”

There was something wrong with Harlan. It was not just the bloodied face or the way his eyes no longer blinked in sync, but something deeper. Something hollow in his gaze, wrong in his expression. The kind of wrong that had marrow-deep consequences. He climbed like a revenant, all purpose and no soul, fingers clawing at the edge of the pit with the determination of someone who didn’t care if the world collapsed as long as he got one last spell off.

Orion stood tall, his wand already raised. He had seen this before. Maybe not here, not with this boy, but he knew that look. The madness that comes when a mind bends too far and breaks beautifully. He aimed. The spell left his wand like a thrown blade. “Impedimenta!”

Orion cast the Impediment Jinx on Harlan
Attack 7 (+20) 27
Evasion 19 (+7) 26

The jinx connected, cleanly, perfectly, decisively. Harlan jerked mid-motion, limbs freezing in violent stillness. But Orion had picked the worst possible moment to stop him. Because Harlan wasn’t on solid ground. He was on the edge. And the edge… was breaking.

The very foundation cracked beneath Harlan’s boots, slowed to a statuesque halt by the spell as the floor threatened to give out. The boy became the centerpiece of a catastrophic architectural tantrum. Around him, the ceiling cried out, another insult it would not bear. Beams splintered like ribs being bludgeons by a crudgel. Dust and ash erupted in clouds. Debris rained with such fury it was no longer clear where stone ended and bodies began.

And Harlan stood there, suspended, frozen mid-stalk. A statue sculpted from fury, magic, and someone else’s tragedy.

Note: Yes, this could be considered lethal to faceless NPCs and dNPC family if you so choose.

Note 2: If you fell into the pit, you will need to climb out to interface with those that had not fallen in (either a magical or a Mundane Action can be used).

Mikey's back was against the small bar wall, air trapped in his throat as another loud crack boomed. Dust poured down from the ceiling like a threat. The floor had already split once, and now it creaked on its way to doing so all over again. The ballroom outside was havoc, a shattered nightmare with too much smoke and too many screams, but still, he knew his friends were out there.

He'd seen Avery. Just long enough to see the look in her eyes as they got separated. Just long enough to realize he couldn't just leave her behind. An avalanche of a dust, timber and stone ripped through the ceiling as Mikey ducked low, covered for a moment by the the bar's shattered arch. A chandelier shattered from the rafters of the ballroom and dropped like heavenly wrath, the shards exploding on the tiles like shrapnel.

He winced and pulled back in closer, covering his head, heart racing so wildly it was going to burst out of his ribcage. He dared to look over the open floor, his eyes fogging with dust and terror. Bodies covered the ballroom, some of them writhing, some still. But he didn't see Avery.

He needed to get to the ballroom. His eyes searched the area once more, shattered tiles, a broken drink table, a thin lip of floor that wasn't yet broken. That would have to do. "Alright," he growled to himself, clenching his fists. "Alright. Move." Mikey sprang out from behind the bar walls and ran low, back against the wall at first, then out, weaving through wreckage, along the edges.

Smoke washed over his lungs, making him cough, as he staggered over the broken beam. He regained his feet fast, palms scraping tile. He thrust himself on into the ballroom.







Mundane Action: Leaving the bar into the ballroom trying to stay out of the way and find Avery and Dylan.

Thaddeus regarded Orion for a long moment, savoring the respite from his unpredictable and rebellious kin. They were as they were bred he supposed. The faintest curl of a smile tugging at the corner of his thin mouth, it was not an expression of warmth or amusement, but recognition.

“You speak of trouble as if it is a thing that finds the boy,” he said at last, voice low, each word measured and deliberate. “It does not find him, Orion. He seeks it. Like a moth to flame… or like something hungrier, that prefers its prey already burning.” The glass in his hand shifted, the amber liquid catching what little light dared creep into the room.

“Occasionally bright. Mostly stubborn,” as if he was trying to surprise the narrator rather than defeat them His gaze drifted toward the doorway where Finnegan had vanished. “Two qualities that either shape great men, or bury them. Which way he tilts will depend on whether he learns who conducts the music… before he mistakes himself for the conductor.”

He set the glass down with a quiet click against the bar’s surface, a sound that landed like punctuation. When Orion straightened at the mention of work, Thaddeus’s eyes caught his, pale and still as deep water with something hungry beneath. “Speak to him because I have told you to, and because” he leaned forward slightly, his shadow stretching long across the polished wood between them, “you and I both know that sometimes the lesson is not meant to be learned. It is meant to be survived.” Sometimes it was hard to identify the difference between concern and threat with Thaddeus. Sometimes they meant the same thing.

“As for the work," there were too many eyes and even more ears. "I will send word when the time comes. You will answer and you will be precise." He exhaled, I need someone who understands that choreography and chaos are not separate stages… they are the same dance, viewed from different seats.”[/b][/color] Thaddeus straightened, the glint of that faint, knowing smile returning. “And we,” his voice even in these mundane moments in passing seemed to barely contain some sort of ancient power, “never sit among the audience.”

Thaddeus did not move when Brock’s shadow fell over him. Rather, the world shifted around Thaddeus instead. Thaddeus was the sort of man that the world itself bent to. The air thickened, shadows congealed in the corners of the small bar and parts of the ballroom until they dripped down the walls like oil. The world outside had become dark, a storm had rolled in since the start of the reception. Rain pelted the windows, sucking away the little light the rest of the world could offer.

The fissure had swallowed the half-giant as well as many of the guests. A cacophony of screams echoed from the newly found depths. Some made the climb quickly, easily even. Brock among them. The part-giant leapt from the fissure. The giant’s bulk blotted out the wreckage behind him, his roar a blunt instrument meant to rattle, to shake, to own the space. He was but a brute with crude instruments of destruction. Brock was utterly and completely outclassed.

Thaddeus raised his head. A gesture, small and precise, turned the air into teeth. Shadows peeled from the floor and climbed Brock’s charging legs like hunting dogs up a stag’s flanks, slowing him with their sheer hunger. “I am the ground you stand on. And I can take that away.” Brock’s momentum carried him forward despite the drag of conjured darkness, his fist raised to crush, to shatter. The floor beneath him liquefied into a pit of writhing, ink-black stone, the fissure widening into something alive, breathing in time with Thaddeus’s pulse.

Action: Shadow-craft (event-based spell)

Beyond them, Harlan stood locked in Orion’s spell. Thaddeus did not recognize the youth, but Orion saw the teen's ill-intention. the chaos and falling debris framing him like some grotesque altar piece. Thaddeus’s gaze flicked to him once. What was this one about? His moment of suicidal action appeared short-lived at the very least.