Final Countdown Gryffindor Adventure PV

Anger. Could this be considered anger? An emotion clarified in the way it burned, in how it consumed one’s breast with voracious flame, feeding on the contents until all that remained was that greedy blaze. This. This bit like fire, certainly, yet the aspect of greatest prominence was its lack of heat. Gone was the searing lick of passion he’d grown in ability to contain. Missing were the coals that would sit in his belly, fueling what burned above. In their place, instead, was pure vacancy.
Much like a jack-0-lantern on the eve of its concurrent conception and demise, it was as though he’d been gutted of all that made him who he was. Compassion, loyalty, restraint, identity. Humanity. It was merely a moment, or perhaps several, but for those eternal seconds he was hollow. Nothing but cold, a marionette governed by its master’s certainty that the thing before it would be done away with.
Hatred, not anger, might have been the antithesis of emotion, and yet it paradoxically dominated them all.

No shout of fury was thrown at the boy as he was set aflame, reaping quite literally what he had sown. No snarl of derision contorted Marshal’s features, that same emptiness he felt within seeping through his expression, and through his very movements. Uncanny reticence colored his gradual approach in gray, morbid and stark against the flicker of fire. Against the inferno of his adversary’s response.

Numb as he was, the sixth year had formulated no true plan of attack, aware only of his desire for extermination. There was little room for thought or expectation, but whatever remained of his mind failed to predict the boy’s next move. The lunge was so unlikely, so far from the realm of consideration that it caught the upperclassman by complete surprise, yet even still the shove did nothing to halt his progress. The first punch, however, was a different matter.
The blow, if it could be called that, landed squarely on Marshal’s jaw. While the force behind it left a number of things to be desired, it still turned his head slightly to one side, the effect similar to being smacked in the face with a wet paper towel.
Had the emotion holding his strings been the fiery lap of anger, the action might have spurred him to further extremes, serving to stoke the flames. But it was not, and instead the weak assault made him pause, momentum fractured like the mask to which he’d once clung so firmly.

A pair of fingers lifted to trace his jaw where the boy’s fist had made contact, addressing the sting that his mind had instantly snapped to. The movement was the first since he’d seen fire streaking toward Evelynn that had been dictated by will and not strings. The second was a halfhearted attempt to block the boy’s following punch.

"Do you know what burning flesh smells like up close? I do now."

The smell was the next thing to hit him, sharp and pungent, almost tangible on his taste buds. The sensation was sickening, undercut by a sweet note that threatened to make him gag. He looked at the boy now pressing toward him with all the force he could muster, saw the flames which ate at his clothing, painting his form and crazed features in a grotesque depiction of a younger student. The only emotion he felt now was horror. At the smell, at the image, at the fact that he had been the one to cause all of it. In the moment the realization was tempered by the boy’s continued attack, but further contemplation regarding the state he’d entered would undoubtedly breed deeper dismay.

The boy before him spat more venom, but Marshal’s thoughts — now returning — shifted elsewhere. He’d left Evelynn. In a way, it had been for her sake, to stop her attacker before any more damage could be done. But said attacker had now been… neutralized? Frankly, he wasn’t sure what to make of the storm of flying noodles being thrown his way, but if he was being assailed then that meant Evelynn wasn’t.

His gaze lofted momentarily to the sky as another voice rained from above. The thief? No. Another student, berating him for not chasing said thief.
His hands lifted, palms to the air in disbelief as he sidestepped yet another punch, as if to say ‘Dude, does that seem important right now?’
Evidently it was, seeing as the student spared only a moment before whizzing off to confront the thief who was -- what — watching this whole thing in silence? What was even happening anymore?

Finally he’d had enough of the aimless strikes being thrown his way. Not that they hurt in any particularly notable way, but it was time for it to stop. That said, how ought he to go about incapacitating such a specimen? It would have been laughably easy to put the boy in some form of headlock, or simply push him to the ground, but Marshal did have a vested interest in not catching on fire.

His ponderings on the matter were interrupted, however, as a scream cut through the dissipating fog in his head, perhaps registering now for the subtle change in pitch. He recognized the sound, yet there was something about it in this instance that made his blood run cold. It rapidly grew nearer, and the Gryffindor had the sense to step nimbly out of the way.
Not a moment too soon.

Just after he vacated the immediate area, the violent, flaming boy disappeared beneath the equally brilliant form of a mountain lion. The sight of the animal, fur alight with dying fire, was horrific, mystifying and baffling all at once. Stunned momentarily by the dazzling appearance, Marshal simply watched, mentally scrambling to catch up to what, exactly, had taken place in the last minute.

Nothing could prepare him for two results of things that were to come. The first being a wave of humiliation that washed over his pitful self covered with nothing but scorched clothes that hung on with every grip and strength it could possibly hold. The humiliation was not necessarily from being burnt, nor the fact that he dared threaten that Mozar.

It was the fact that he was so belligerant that he would throw down his best method of fighting and insisted on trying to land a shot on this poor, naive boy that stood in front of him. After series of failing blows that couldn't even be considered blows due to the fact that he could not land a single shot, he decided felt hopeless.

He couldn't threaten and deliever on his threat. He was weak. Pathetic. That's what Marshal thought of Vlad right? It's not that Vlad knew what he was thinking, it was the fact that it was obvious, Vlad had enough common sense to know that what he was doing was wrong, and that it only made him look more frail and cowardly, if not idiotic.

He continued staring into Marshal's eyes, his face contorting as he thought about his actions, as his punches finally drew to an end, and nothing could prepare him for searing pain as fangs chomped into the skin, the muscle where the shoulder met the neck. He gasped, failing to catch his breath steadily a few times as he fell on his knees and his eyes went wide.

Vlad didn't know what hit him. He didn't want to turn around. What if there really was a wampus and it had a taste for Vlad blood. Now, Vlad may have been named after a vampire, but he most certainly didn't have that same taste for blood, so he couldn't fathom why anyone would go after him, especially at that very moment. With him catching his breath and covering the bitten spot with his left hand, he reached back trying to grab his wand.

He wasn't turning around. He looked up at Marshal helplessly then looked back down to the ground.

---
Action: Trying to retrieve wand

Mod Post

The scene was somewhat chaotic, Marshal having suffered from Vlad’s attempts to engage in a physical fight, wands ignored or forgotten. And the cougar that had landed a decent sized wound on the other student did not help. It seemed to cause the flight of the younger students after the thief above to have been forgotten about for the moment, the main action happening below. But what would happen now? Things had escalated and it seemed that it would continue to occur.

Vlad had forsaken his wand earlier to attempt to attack Marshal the muggle way. The torment of being on fire from the Incendio Duo cast earlier would finally come to an end, the flames seeming to have been put out by Vlad falling to his knees in the snow. The physical signs of the fire, the soot, would remain but the flames at least would disappear. He turned to his wand, perhaps going to choose to heal himself or perhaps cast another spell against his opponents, whether offensive or defensive. Luck seemed to be on his side as Vlad reached out, catching the wand with the tips of his fingers, and pushing it slightly to the side. But it was still within arms reach and that was all he needed. Now that he knew where it was, Vlad wrapped his hand around the wand. It was anyone’s guess what he would do with it.

Rolls in Post Order


1. @Marshal Mozor – No Action

2. @Vladislav Liam Gunther – Attempting to Retrieve Wand

a. 8

1-5: Failure
6-10: Success

b. Success
c. Vlad’s health: 473 - 60 (Remaining Incendio Damage)= 413/1000 damage

The next mod post for this thread, Stolen Rewards, Encounters at the Edge of the Forest and Hop, Hop, Hop Away will be posted on March 13th, 2026. Even though Evelynn and Marshal have successfully gained a House Cup (and currently unbeknownst to them, the correct one), the thief is determined to cause more mischief. Mod posts will continue until March 31st.

His hands still clamped over the two things that mattered to him right at that moment; the hand clasping the wand and the wound being covered.

His brows furrowed intently, as if there were nothing more he could do except want the pain done and over with. He could try to conjure up bandaids to help, but he had personally felt like it would be as helpful as letting your toddlers write your professional article for the newspaper.

Vladislav screamed again, an internal grunt of pain, tears burning hot as they streamed down his cheeks. His eyes reddened, his flesh turned red. He felt angry, but he couldn't just act on it in the heat of the moment.

Could he?
He turned to face the cougar, kneeled down and said the following words with as much intent as he could place into his tone, to truly try and sound genuine.

But while he was doing so, he was mentally trying to focus and had his wand off to the side, not directly in front of him, but to the side of his body as if he were trying to do something subtlety.

"I'm sorry I taste like..." He paused for a second, wondering what the heck he could've tasted like, because if he were being attacked by a cougar, there had to be a reason. But he couldn't think of a taste, so Vlad stopped his sentence there, looking into their eyes. He had hoped that Marshal was behind him, especially as he was planning something that would put him in further risk. "I taste awful, stay away."

Wait, did boggarts attack people? Could he cast the riddikulus spell and ward the cougar off?

No, surely that wouldn't work. That pain felt real, and with as little training as he had with Boggarts, he didn't remember them attacking people, other than making them so scared they might wet themselves.

Vlad wasn't scared of the cougar, but he could feel the throbbing wound. He didn't want to attack, no, especially if one of those paws came up to scratch his face off.

So, what could he cast that wasn't a direct offensive move from him? He wasn't sure but the words slipped from his mouth before he could further contemplate it. "Flipendo." He incanted, not sure what was going through his mind but perhaps it was the best course of action, the best decision he could make in that mere sliver of time he could have before the cougar could attack again. He had to do what he could to save himself.

--
Attempting to cast Flipendo on the Cougar

Mod Post

The chill in the air and the darkness of the night did not help the battle on the ground or in the air. The thief continued to evade the other students that had taken up the chase while below the older students did battle. Injuries were taking their toll in addition to the chill, and perhaps individuals were moving slower or struggling through to do their best to do more damage or protect themselves. Meanwhile the castle loomed over everything, it’s windows mostly dark, and silent, almost standing as a sentinel. Whether that sentinel would be a protector or the cause of detection would remain to be seen.

Vlad did not seem to have the best of luck, having been set on fire, and then bit by the cougar form of Evelynn. But he was determined and the Animagus form did not scare him. The pain on the other hand was a distraction. He cast a rather decent Flipendo, the spell leaving his wand and heading in the general direction of where Evelynn remained. However, as the spell left his wand, the pain must have caused his arm to drop slightly, the trajectory of the spell altered just enough to have missed Evelynn altogether. Now what could he do?

Rolls in Post Order
1. @Vladislav Liam Gunther – Flipendo (WDC:9) at Evelynn in her transformed cougar form

WIS: 3+10=13
Spell Succeeds
b. ACC: 5+10-1 (Marshal’s Charmer)=14
c. EVA: 17+9=26
d. 14 is lower than 26, so the spell doesn’t land
e. Evelynn’s health: 320/1000

The next mod post for this thread, Stolen Rewards, Encounters at the Edge of the Forest and Hop, Hop, Hop Away will be posted on March 23rd, 2026. Even though Evelynn and Marshal have successfully gained a House Cup (and currently unbeknownst to them, the correct one), the thief is determined to cause more mischief. Mod posts will continue until March 31st.

It was too much. This night, the uncertainty that clawed at his mind, the wrenching emotion which entangled his heart. This jumble of events that sought to meld into a complete picture, yet whose edges failed to match, like puzzle pieces in disarray. Try as he might, Marshal could not seem to organize the chaos, to find pieces that fit together in the hope of creating a reference point.
He never had adopted his mother’s love of puzzles, though the preference had not been influenced by a lack of trying on her part. She had done her best to share that passion, but he simply hadn’t the patience for it. Now he wished he’d paid more attention to her quiet efforts, and less to his father’s ramblings of romance and recreation. Perhaps the monotony of gaining knowledge carried more merit in the long run after all. But then, had reaching this conclusion been worth the pain endured through its inadvertent pursuit?
In the long run? Perhaps it would be after all.

What was it she’d said to find when beginning a new puzzle? The foundation that would provide a constant base upon which to build. Yes, he remembered now. A corner piece, with two solid edges that could not be argued, nor misconstrued; two absolutes, two less variables to breed confusion.
He searched for that piece now, returning to the common room where all of this had started. The house cup had been stolen, and he had set out with Evelynn at his side — not to find the cup, but to protect their housemates from potential harm, and perhaps ascertain if the culprit posed a real threat.
These were his absolutes; now came the task of connecting another piece.
They had followed the trail to forest’s edge, where battle was done with a Wampus, and Evelynn had suffered a dire injury. That had been where the turmoil began. One more piece in place.
He had carried her to relative safety, then healed her wounds. She had taken a few minutes to gather herself, refused his insistence that they return to the castle, and they’d continued toward Hogsmeade. Another piece in place.

From there the pieces began to fall, until finally he reached their current situation, which frankly did not seem to fit no matter how it was oriented. So many variables remained, so many unknowns. Why had the thief taken the cup and dropped this convoluted trail of bread crumbs leading to his location? Had the plot been malicious in nature, and if so, was the boy who attacked Evelynn seemingly without reason his accomplice? The more Marshal tried to make sense of this final piece’s edges, the less it seemed to fit with the rest. Yet despite his continued inability to complete the picture, the exercise had brought the present moment into sharper focus within his muddled mind, and highlighted the aspects of greatest importance.

He took in the cougar before him, analyzed the patches of missing and smoldering fur, winced at the grotesque state of the skin underneath. He thought of the enfeebled state the girl had been in prior to the fiery assault, and noted animalistic desperation in the actions of her feline avatar. These wounds, on top of what she had already endured, were dreadful, these movements of a predator that feared it was going to die.
He understood little to nothing about what had transpired that night, but if he did know one thing, it was that he would not allow that fear to become reality. She needed medical attention. She needed warmth. She needed safety. And that meant dragging her from the throes of instinctive fury.

”Evelynn!” The desperation in his voice rivaled that which was written in her crazed pupils, punctuated by a step taken much too close to a cougar’s current prey. He’d done all but push between her and the boy, though he was well within range of a stray claw. The action was bold — no, certainly stupid. But he needed her to see him. ”Leave him now! I need to get you to the hospital wing immediately!” He doubted whether the words would be sufficient to break through what had already been set in motion, but what else could he do? He supposed he could cast a spell, but refused for fear of exacerbating the situation further. Evelynn was in no state — physically or mentally — to endure such a thing, and he doubted whether the boy in her grip required deeper sedation.
He tried to meet her gaze, to convey the sincerity behind the following promise. ”I won’t let him or anyone else hurt you again.”