Out Of Range S.W.A.G Closed

Katrina’s face contorted into a frustrated scowl. Nothing was working. So much for all of her practice since last game, obviously this was useless. She lowered her wand and tried to look invisible. The chances of targeting her were small. So far, she at least hoped to not be an easy target. Katrina addressed the game so far.

A few people were stumbling around, one with something covering his eyes. Katrina felt a pang of, was it sympathy?, as she saw Piérre flung backward. She stifled a wince as he crashed on the ground, that couldn’t have felt good. She tried looking for the attacker, but they must have moved on to another target. Something flew through the air and a burst of noise erupted as the boy from the Masked Ball went to- tackle? Hug?- the girl from tree-planting. The amusing scene caused a ghost of a smile on Katrina’s lips.

It took Katrina a moment to realize the laughter was fading away. It was like hiccups, they only disappear when you stop paying attention to them. Hoping to finish the hiccups entirely, Katrina followed another girl into Range 2. Hopefully she could capture the Quaffle before time ran out.

Katrina walked, senses alert, closer to victory. If only she could be invisible, that would make this infinitely easier. Someone seemed to dive into the ground, and it was Katrina’s hope that they weren’t going for her same destination.

Action: Enter Range 2

@Aurelia Notrésvace

The first time that Piérre had ever cast Flipendo, he had been harshly thrown backward and had hit his head on the door of his dorm with the force of a kicking horse. It had knocked the breath out of him and almost knocked him out outright. Now was no difference, for there was a streak of blue and a horse's kick to his back, which knocked the air of the little boy and caused him to freefly through the air into a patch of grass nearby. If it had been a different situation and perhaps if it had not been with the use of a knockback Jinx, Piérre would have cheered like a child as he flew with the wings of many different kinds of birds....

But as he collapsed on the ground, unable to intake another breath, a nausea overtaking him as he was unable to gag, anxiety and adrenaline viciously tugging at him, Piérre lay shaking on the ground, unable to move or even breathe. His fingers curled into the ground, digging into the soil as the little boy attempted to bring himself to his full senses. He had to focus, he had to come around.

Dragging himself to his knees, he felt the pain in his back, and suddenly was filled with the thought that there were probably welts forming there already. Piérre had never been a stalwart or tough boy, and he had depended on his litheness and agility to drag him out of many issues, as well as his tongue and charisma. He was helpless in a one on one fight or in a situation which required him to take more than one punch at a time.

No, no... he couldn't give up. He was so close to winning... maybe. Blood pounded in his ears and Piérre slowly staggered to his feet. Another hit like that and he wouldn't be able to stand up again. Perhaps he should just give up.... perhaps...

No... No.

Ambition had been something that Piérre had never given a name to. An urge to make something of himself, an urge to prove himself worthy. It was more like a drive, a personal vow. Pride and honor was something else that was important to the Britalian. A promise made was a promise kept. he had made a promise to win this game. He was going to win this game.

First step; Remember the promise. He wasn't going to be bulldozed over or forgotten. He wasn't going to be made a joke of unless he wanted to be. He was going to prove them wrong. He was going to prove that he could make something of himself. He was going to prove that he was able to fight more powerfully than any other person. Without violence. Without attacking other people.

Second steps; Staggering as the throbbing in his back become more evident. Now Piérre was beginning to regain more control of his lungs, his breath becoming more and more strong. Imagination was something he prided himself on. The ability to imagine himself in a place which was not the truth. He was on a special battlefield of his very own. He was an Auror, on a dangerous mission, trying to save the world from an evil that the world itself hardly understood. He was going to save everyone, and he was going to have stories told of him, almost like Harry Potter... But better.

Third step; Almost there. Almost back to where he was. A line evident. He needed to make it there. He prayed that there would be no spells cast his way during his weakness. Indeed, two or more people were already going for the balls that were left in the areas that Piérre had been quick to flee from. That fight was not his. His fight was for himself. His own self preservation. This had been the first time he had actually been caught by a spell. Was it always going to be like this in a fight? The boy would never stand a chance in a duel. Though, he wanted to an expert duelist as much as he wanted to be a world-renowned Auror.

Eyes lifting; Game on. Piérre was ready. Though he had made himself a target in his travels, he would not be caught off guard again. Hit me once, shame on you; Hit me twice, shame on me.

Piérre travels back to Range 1

cast Flipendo at Pierre

A friendly reminder to get your post in by 21st April 10 am GMT / 6 am EST. If you require an extension please inform me ASAP (at least 18 hours before deadline) via owl or discord.
@Xailah Alptraum @River Dewlight @Thora Larkston @Bridget Collins @Ruthie Greer @Pericles Dralt @Anastasia Beckett @Rafael D'Spacito @Astrea Neptune
@Emma Hill

Mentions | @Aurelia Notrésvace | @Ruthie Greer | @Rafael D'Spacito | @Astrea Soleil Neptune |

Anastasia was one of those people who could laser focus on a goal. Generally, it was a good thing. However, when she was so laser-focused on obtaining the Quaffle that she didn't hear someone cast a Knockback Jinx at her, it wasn't a good thing. She heard someone running towards her and glanced over her shoulder to see Rafael get hit by a Flipendo that could have only been meant to Ana. She didn't have much time to consider the fact that he took the spell for her though since he was now flying through the air right at her and his taking the spell for her would be useless if he crashed into her like a muggle bowling ball. Her instincts from dodging bludgers for years in little league Quidditch practice kicked in and she ducked as the Gryffindor boy flew over her head. Despite the fact that she had seen it coming and ducked in time, she couldn't stop a "Holy shit!" from escaping her lips. It was understandable, seeing as people generally did not go flying over her head.

She was rather surprised that he would have done that for her, seeing as they had just met. She was also seriously wondering about her choice of allies. With one of them attacking the audience and now the other one getting flipendoed for someone he'd just met, she was pretty sure she had chosen the most impulsive people she could have possibly chosen. That was perfect.

As she began to try to formulate a plan, she realized something. She had cussed and it had made a noise! She didn't think she had ever been this thrilled at being able to cuss. And now that she thought about it, her tongue seemed to be behaving itself now. That must mean that Aurelia's spell had worn off. That was excellent.

Taking stock, she began to come up with a plan. It would require the entire team to use their brains at the same time, which, between Ana's faceplanting, Ruthie's aggression, and whatever it was Rafa was doing, she wasn't remotely certain was something that they could actually do. Nevertheless, she believed they could. "Ruthie, I would greatly appreciate if you would not do whatever that was again," Ana said matter of factly. Turning back to her opponents, she decided to go after the girl who had flipendoed Rafael. She didn't recognize the girl beyond the fact that she was a Slytherin third year that Ana was sure she had seen around. For once, Ana's attack was purely strategic and devoid of emotion. "Flipendo!" she said, smiling slightly at the older girl as she cast her spell. Alright, it wasn't completely devoid of emotion - she would be lying if she said she wasn't at least slightly motivated by the idea of getting back at someone who had hit her teammate that was willing to take a flipendo for someone he just met.

Action: Anastasia is casting Flipendo at Astrea

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interactions @Aurelia Notrésvace, @Anastasia Beckett, @Rafael D'Spacito,
mentions all, spectators
word count 552 | text colour #274E13
abilities terrible presence
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The tip of Astrea's wand lit with ice-blue as it fired off a successful knockback jinx towards the hot-headed brunet, the other vulnerable and absolutely zoned into picking up a ball. Yet a large form had hurled themselves in front of the other, taking the full brunt of the flipendo and flying back closer to the rock-lined boundary with a solid collision. Blindfolded, there was no doubt that it was Rafael who had defended the girl, throwing himself in the way in much the same way that he had done for her in defence of Erik last game. If Astrea hadn't been the one who had just cast the spell, maybe she would have winced in sympathy at the no doubt painful move, but all she could maintain was a reluctant hum of half-impressed half-disappointed emotion. The boy was self-sacrificial- that would not bode well for him in the future when duels gained their sharp edges and true danger factor.

She cast a calmly expectant side-eye at her teammate, both a check over and a silent question on a surprise change in plans. Both Aurelia and her were a formidable casting duo, but when it came to strength Astrea was not one to be so forthrightly aggressive- in physical prowess, she severely lacked compared to the other players- and already almost half the rounds were over. There were only two ways to win- to snatch away the balls and keep them for the entire time, or to be the last man alive in the circles by the time the 6 rounds ended. Unless everyone else was gunning for each other and there was a significant up in pushbacks, there would be no way for most people to even have a chance at winning unless they were close enough to grab the ball.

Her attention was wrought from her as her vision filled with silver, eyes opened wide in surprise at the sudden intrusion. The surprise quickly edged into stifled terror as a crawlingly cold and tingly sensation bloomed upon her abdomen- it reminded her all to well of the numbingly frigid spider venom that had stuck the Slytherin Commons, where the bites only left room for agony- leeching her strength and having her doubling over with the claustrophobic feeling of tickling- her brain short-circuiting as everything felt like it was rearranged, not quite painful and yet not quite blissful.

Peals of laughter began to erupt from her mouth as the spell took its intended effect, one hand flying up in an attempt to muffle the traitorous giggles. They sounded fake even to her own ears, growing louder in volume, higher in pitch, and hysterically eerie as they continued on unhindered- the spell was powerful, very very powerful and Astrea was its unwilling victim. Between the tingly feeling of merciless forced paralyzation, a building sense of feral vengeance surfaced as her head snapped toward the poor fool who had dared and succeeded, glaring eyes silver bright with a deep desire to attain revenge even as cherry sweet giggling spilt from her lips like sugar.

There- a raised aspen wand, deep brown hair, and dark coffee eyes. Perhaps in another situation, they could have been friendly with each other. She was good with a wand, but Astrea was just as apt.

"Flipendo!"

Action: Casting Flipendo at Emma.

Bridget's dash closer to the balls went completely uncontested. Spells criss-crossed the area around her, some hitting their intended targets and some missing entirely, but not one came remotely close to her. The Slytherin stopped before reaching the ball, pausing to think. To strategize. She didn't believe she could win this game, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try. And trying involved not doing anything rash.

No one was targeting her, so sending a spell at one of the other players and making an enemy (or multiple enemies, what with alliances) was not the way to go. One of the participants, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, was dangerously close to the circle's border, meaning one solid Knockback Jinx could eliminate him, but his location also made him such a big target someone else was sure to go for him.

That left her with one other choice: to grab the Quaffle mere steps away from her. She knew full well that doing so would practically paint a neon target on her back, but it was a logical action. Depending on who else claimed the ball, the brunette wouldn't necessarily have the strength to rip it from their grasp. So why not take it now when all she had to fight against was gravity? She was pretty agile, after all, so she stood a decent chance of eluding the attacks that were sure to come her way.

Hoping her pause in the middle of the field hadn't ruined her chance, Bridget sprinted the rest of the way to the leather ball, hands reaching down to grasp it. She was no Chaser, but today the Quaffle would be hers.

Action | Snatching the Quaffle

Interacting with @Xailah Alptraum

There it was: the first spell to strike Pericles since his arrival at Hogwarts. The first-year was grievously short in experience compared to his seniors on the field, though that was not to say he was entirely unprepared.
_{((Fluff flashback for dramatic purposes))}

Reducio

His father- Isaac, a tall Gothic tower of a man- had done more than simply twist old tales into inappropriately violent bedtime stories. When his son was still small, he'd sit the lad on a knee and flip through spellbooks, exploring all manner of titles from Charms of Defence and Deterrence by Catullus Spangle to Curses and Counter-Curses by Vindictus Viridian. The auror alumni would describe, in explicit detail, the sensations of each and every spell. "D'you recall last summer," he'd said to a tiny Pericles, perhaps six or so, "when you fell from the saddle? You struck the ground with such force, you could barely breathe." Owl-eyed, the child had nodded. "A well-placed Flipendo feels very much the same. It will strike your center-" he tapped above his heart with a long spindly finer "-and knock you down. Yet it is hardly fatal. What did you do when you fell from that horse?" The heir fiddled with a button on his shirt, staring off into nothing while he dredged up the memory. It was clear to him, even now: that stunning moment in which he was all too abruptly flying through the air, then the shock of earth, the panic of breathlessness, and finally, his father, crouched overhead. He was not an uncaring man, but he hadn't coddled him either. "Get up, boy." Pericles gawped like a fish, fighting to inhale. "Find your breath and get up."

An attempt to dodge out of the way saw the spell clipping his shoulder. Pericles twisted terribly in midair, rolling and striking lawn, tumbling into the third range. He was placed precariously close to the outermost field. Yet that jinx hadn't hit heart's center. While his shoulder smarted something fierce, the sensation of flying through the air and hitting hard ground had his nervous system sparking. Get up was the first thought running through his head, and as he scrambled to stand, his Fight or Flight instincts flared next. Peri rose with wand in hand, expression unreadable thanks to those goggles of his, though his lips were drawn into a thin tight frown of focus. The aspen wand was drawn back. Fight was the kneejerk decision, and the Ravenclaw was prepared to cast at the nearest competitor.

Xailah's voice filtered through to him like an echo through water, bringing him back from the haze of adrenaline, and the frown faded. He held up a hand both to indicate he was alright, and to dissuade her from following him into the danger zone. A broad grin sprang to life. He called out, voice sharp and clear in contrast to his typical sleepy drawl, "Keep going!" She was absolutely right: it was best to get back into range two while he still could. But what if he was simply struck for trying to return? It seemed Pericles' plan had altered, for he started to sprint across the grass, weaving and glancing hastily around for any other incoming spells.

Action: Dodge

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Interacting With: TDB
Mentioning: @Emma Hill @Anastasia Beckett

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[font=Segoe Print]Pain.

A simple concept to grasp, yes, but so complex in so many different ways. He’d felt it many times in his eleven years of life, perhaps more than a child his age should have had to suffer such a feeling – it was the agonizing jolting that struck your arm when you fell out of a tree, the blunt of a fist in the stomach, or the throbbing of a facial feature after a good punch. It was the unforgiving kiss of a bludger, or the impact of the ground underneath one’s body when they fell from their broom. It was the burning of fire on skin, a Flippendo in the back of the shoulders. Or to the chest. To put it simply, it was the gentle kiss of death, deafening yet fleeting, gracing the body of a mortal with its icy tendrils and alluring whispers, a result of the sins committed by man and their likeness.

Death was only dangerous to those who feared it.

Though the boy couldn’t see the spark of light emitting from the caster’s wand, he knew the spell had hit him by the pressure that had hit his chest at the speed of a bullet, causing him to become airbourne for a few quick moments, the child flying much like the bird his nickname suggested. The pain had blinded what little he could see through Emma’s cursed blindfold, stealing his vision away as his line of sight, once black from the mask upon his features, blossomed into ever color of the rainbow, spots dancing in the darkness right beyond his grasp, leaving him weak and reeling. It seemed as if his Ana-tuition had been correct this time. Though, he supposed, that wasn’t the most reassuring fact to his battered resolve – he found himself sprawled upon the ground only moments afterwards, his lungs working overtime to regain the breath that had been acutely knocked out of his lungs.

“God,” he gasped, rolling himself over onto his stomach. His vision was clearing up a bit, revealing a more visible line of sight, green grass stretching out from beneath his hands as keen eyes darted about, taking note of his new surroundings. There seemed to be no one in front of him, shouts of the impending game all resounding from behind his back. However, this was shortly dismissed from his attention, as his eyes quickly caught something new – a rugby ball, one of the very items he were meant to grab. Were you really blasted that far into the field, you bloody moron? No matter. When life gave you lemons, you squeezed them. Hard. The ball was well within grasp, now all he needed to do now was grab it before someone else – [/font]

Action • Snatching Rugby Ball