What is the First Rule... Slytherin Event

When the last girl get branded and the branding - ticket handler boy done with his task, the boy look a bit longer to make sure that the girl was the last person on the line. When he is satisfied with his observation, he stand up from behind the desk. He pushed the table and underneath where the table was located what look like a trap door.

This can not be good, Cassie thinking internally. "The ring" he said. "Wand magic won't work here,"The boy inform the patron. "You will leave, once we have a victor..."Added the black marked face boy. After he said that he is the first person to descend the flight of stairs. One by one their house mates followed the boy instruction.

When it is the time for Cassie to descend the stairs, they can not see anything because how dark the stairs is. Cassie take a deep breath and start descending the stairs. They put their hand to feel anything to help reducing their increase anxiousness. Good thing Min is one person before them. Min voice guide Cassie in the darkness.

Once whatever it is over, Cassie will tell Min their gratitude. "Esto plantea muchas preguntas, no? (This raise many questions, no?)"Cassie nodded their head but because how dark their surrounding is, they open up their mouth. "Seguro. Tengo un mal presentimiento sobre esto (Definitely. I have a bad feeling about this)"The green eyes girl said to their counter conversation partner.

After that sentences left Cassie's mouth, it is like they jinxed it. After the descend of the stairs, they eyes met to what look like a cage. With rope and there is an audience on the bleachers. "Welcome to Fight Club!"The boy said to all the people in the room. Cassie took their surrounding. Cassie gritted their jaw and their eyes looks like ready to fight.

Cassie did not know anything about fight club but no one need to know about that. So they pushed down their fear and take a deep breath. In instance their facial expression change. There is no expression or whatsoever on the purple haired girl face. They boy then tell what is the rules for this fight club. Cassie hears it attentively.

The boy recited the first rule until the eight but what captured the young Serpent attention is rule number seven. "Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to."Victor express. Fight will go on as long as they have to? Until when? Until one of them tapped out or meet their ultimate death?, Cassie shook their head.

The more they tried to analyzed and rationalized the situation, it is getting worse every ticking minute of it. Then Victor divided them into the number they been given earlier. Cassie look at their team mates. The girl that usually always by Ileen's side, now is their team mate. Three boys and two girls, that the composition of their team for this barbaric sport.

Cassie might as well get to know their team mates if they want to survive this. With new determination, Cassie walk towards where the Ravenclaw girl stand. "This is rubbish! I can not believe someone enjoy watching something as barbaric as this. I'm Cash by the way"Cassie introduced their name after the ranted out their anger.

Interact with : @Dealla Prince | Mentioning : Emmanuel Min Requiza, Victor Moore

Ability : Parselmouth
Stats - Stamina : 6 Evasion : 4 Strength : 6
Wisdom : 4 Arcane Power : 4 Accuracy : 6

Ezekiel listened quietly as the rules were explained, the premise sounded very familiar but he couldn't quite figure it out though, he was probably too young. As teams were announced he scanned the room, most people looked very against whatever was happening. Not wanting to beat on their friends, but if what Victor said is true, they would have to fight regardless of what they wanted to do.

Once Victor finished his little speech Ezekiel began to look for his "team". This day would not end as he had originally hoped it would.

Stats - Stamina: 3 Evasion: 8 Stamina: 2 Wisdom: 8 ArcPower: 8 Accuracy: 6
Abilities: The Muggle Condition

_{Outfit | Shoes}


It was when Wyatt’s shoe first touched the staircase to nowhere that he knew this was no quidditch game. He turned around, but a stampede of kids his age were toddling behind him, and he couldn’t get out.

I’m going to die in a damp hole, he thought. This is it, then.

You could say he was being dramatic, but you just had to be there. When Wyatt heard the far too familiar boy say “wand magic won’t work here,” Wyatt almost lost his mind. He was starting to panic, wand magic won’t work here? Why would you have to address that? It’s a dark hole, but shouldn’t there be light at the end of the tunnel?

Unfortunately, no. No light, just a giant crowd surrounding a roped-in area, that looked like a ring. Is that a ring!? Wyatt’s questions were just piling on top of each other, filling up his mind bucket and toppling over the brim.

Soon, an answer Wyatt didn’t even know he was dreading was spoken aloud. “Welcome to Fight Club,” that boy had yelled. The crowd, the horrid crowd cheered. They yelled, they stomped their feet, they clapped. Wyatt and his peers, they were the entertainment. The ENTERTAINMENT!

The dark-haired Slytherin had never seen the movie, fight club, but he knew the famous line, “the first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.” From there, it was what he assumed to be a blatant rip-off of the monologue from the movie.

The hilarious idea that the criminals who set up this entire shitshow hadn’t thought to make up their own monologue was crushed by the reality of the situation. It wasn’t long before the strange boy began listing teams of… numbers? At first, Wyatt was confused, but then he remembered the sting he felt at the desk. He pulled down the collar of his hoodie to reveal a 12 branded into his shoulder.

He was in group one and was going to be in the first group to fight. Bloody Hell. He remembered something the boy had said, “no shirt, no shoes, no weapons.” Was he being serious? Wyatt was not a fan of taking off his shirt in front of people. He had about a hundred scars on his face, he couldn’t hide those, but he had one long scar, starting at his collar bone and reaching all the way just below his right shoulder that no one had ever seen, not even the person who inflicted it.

He turned and saw someone he’d never met or seen before, which was odd since he was obviously a Slytherin as everyone else seemed to be. The boy was wearing a tank top, and on his right arm, a branded 14. 14 was in group one, and so was Wyatt. His group was 18, 26, 8, and 14. Whoever they were.

But he was looking at 14 right now, still, his feet were glued to the ground. He couldn’t move. He decided, he wouldn’t be the first to walk over to 14. Wyatt would move when he saw others doing the same. Was this all an just an elaborate prank?

What a sick prank this would be. His identity was being erased in front of him, now what was he? Wyatt Starkey was now 12, so dehumanizing. His peers were numbers too, now. Everyone was just a number now, and these sick people in the audience were cheering at it, and why were there so many people in the audience? What the HELL!?

“F*cking hell,” Wyatt said aloud. No other word would work well enough as the one Wyatt used. This was not quidditch, and Wyatt had a feeling no one else would want to go to a quidditch game ever again after this shitshow. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his stomach flipped upside down, he felt like he was about to throw up.


<sub>Stats: Stamina 4 | Evasion 5 | Strength 3 | Wisdom 6 | Arcane Power 7 | Accuracy 5
Abilitie(s): Parselmouth

Mentioning: @Emmanuel Min Requiza
Team: @Percival Rainwood @Ileen Knight @Selim Faust</sub>

Selim shrugged without emotion at Jack's question, but his attention was quickly pulled away from his dormmate when the teen who had indirectly branded him walked forward and began speaking, leading them down some stairs revealed by a trap door.

Selim glanced at the Fox with hooded eyes, before waiting for mostly everyone else to go first, following the teen foolishly down those dark stairs. He lingered far at the back, tense as a bowstring, contemplating just turning around and ripping his way out of the tent to find someone who could contact the authorities.

But he didn't, he watched his peers disappear down those stairs, and couldn't help feel like they were all puppets, dancing to the strings of some darker force. One thing he disliked was playing into someone else's hands.

Still, he followed, reasoning that there was probably something about the brands that wold prevent him from escaping, reasoning, and refusing to think that he was merely too curious, too intrigued to think about self-preservation.

An almost-crippling thought hit him then.

His father would be diappointed

He stopped halfway down the stairs, breath catching, eyes wide... but then kept going, like some inconceivable force was making his legs move against his will.

The teen led them onto a dirt ring. A crowd surrounded them, clapping, cheering, and Selim couldn't help but narrow his yellow eyes in something that could be seen as disgust.

He didn't have to listen to that teen to know what was happening, some idiotic little fight club that they, children, had unknowingly become, most likely, illegal contestants of.

Their guide pulled off his robes, and Selim knew who he was. Yes, he knew that mutilated boy, he watched him burn, not like Selim could've helped the boy anyway, the fire had already been extinguished. Selim knew first aid, but he had nothing on him that could've helped that teen, no one did, other than that Gryffindor that had confronted him in the hallway once.

Was this some kind of misguided revenge? Did this boy do this because of some kind of idea that everyone at the ball didn't care about him as he burned? If so, Selim couldn't help but think this boy was foolish. Everyone had been busy fighting for their lives, and those that weren't at the time couldn't do much to help the boy with the chaos that had been going on around them.

So a few peers had wronged Victor, and that immediately meant that everyone in Slytherin deserved to be forced to fight like dogs?

He listened to the rules, immediately planning to break the first two, and when he heard what the 'reward' was he couldn't help but scowl. He didn't know why, exactly, but it probably had something to do with the tense, hot feeling that coiled in his chest.

Vladimir... Vladimir Athanatos.... did this boy think Selim cared about him?

"Beat him and he will answer one question of your choice over dinner."

One question? ONE question? That was the 'prize' they earned if they beat a third-year while already most likely injured?

Idiocy.

Selim saw right through this. This fight was clearly rigged, this fight literally helped no one. It earned them nothing beyond being amusement for the scum around them, but Selim knew... he knew that the majority of his peers were either blinded by arrogance or terror, that most of them would probably go along with this little game like blind sheep to the slaughter.

He knew, and he felt something ugly writhe in his mind.

Surrounded by children, Selim scanned everyone's faces, most were afraid, some were excited, and some were as smug, like they thought they could take on everyone without breaking a sweat.

He glanced at the prefects.... and knew that they would do nothing.

Something flashed through his amber eyes. If these children wouldn't think of alternative choices to try and escape this pit of worms, then Selim doubted he could do anything to help them. He only hoped that the Fox wouldn't follow along with these sheep.

He recalled a few rules, no weapons, no shirts, no shoes, and that if they tried anything there would be some vague consequences.

That wouldn't stop Selim.

Ignoring as numbers were called out Selim turned away slightly, basically ignoring Victor as the spiteful teen spouted paring for fights. He didn't care, and he most definitely wasn't going to strip down to only his pants and underwear (that was foolish, and literally helped no one, nor evened really anything out).

He looked for escapes, glancing back at the door he came from. How high were the walls? Were there ladders or Platforms leading to the stands? Was the door that they entered from closed? Was there anything he could climb to escape? What was separating him from the crowd? Were there any doorways behind the bleachers?

He scanned for answers, and if he found none.... well, then Selim would go for Victor. He was now a threat that needed to be eliminated, perhaps, if he was successful, it could cause enough chaos for them t escape.

Selim pulled out his daggers.

Besides, after dragging them into this, Selim no longer saw Victor as a peer.

If nothing worked, he'd just refuse to fight once he was thrust into the ring like an attack dog, consequences be damned. He had nothing to gain from his mess, and therefore, no reason to cooperate.

Mentions: @Victor Moore @Jack Burnett @Vladimir Athanatos

Actions: Looking for an Exit. If there are some, He'd head towards the closest one and try to escape. If there's no way to Escape, Selim would make his way through the crowd and try to attack Victor with a knife, going for Victor's back.

[If the knives somehow magically disappear, or something along those lines, Selim will grapple Victor and try to, go for his eyes]

Team: @Percival Rainwood @Ileen Knight @Emmanuel Min Requiza @Wyatt Starkey

(OOC: This is definitely not going to go well XD)

Stats & Abilities:

Reducio

____ ____ ____

/35

Stamina: 4
Evasion: 9
Strength: 3
Wisdom: 7
ArcPower: 3
Accuracy: 9

____ ____ ____

Abilities:

Martial Artist

Interacting with @Hanako Tone and possibly @Percival Rainwood
Part of G r o u p | 2 |

Margo couldn’t get the memory of the strange boy’s scrutiny out of her head. The gaping black hole of the trap door provided the perfect canvas for her imagination. Hints of green irises swirled in the darkness and the imaginary sheen of skin pulled over boney cheekbones crowded her mind. The boy had already disappeared, his lean form lost to the dark. But Margo felt as if his figure loomed behind her, his breath agitating the back of her neck as she hesitated. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip and she pulled back her jumper to see her number once again. 15. The dark ink irrevocably tied her to whatever twisted game was going on here. She had been marked - tainted. It was too late to turn back now.

With a scowl, Margo descended into the darkness, just catching the resounding echo of the man’s voice.

Victims. Collateral Damage. Now those were not the words of an ethical man. And yes, Margo had decided he was a man. Boys had the promise of a future, the tangible air of decisions yet to be made. But this man possessed a level of indifference that Margo had yet to see in another, and the scars on his skin told a tale far beyond boyhood.

The roaring crowd was practically insignificant in comparison to the dark patches on the his skin, even more so in comparison to the blow of his words. Margo felt slightly queasy as he explained their fate. Strings of numbers branded themselves behind her eyelids - some friend, some foe. None of numbers linked to faces she knew, but the small tinge of relief she felt was overpowered by disgust. The horror she felt at her predicament weighed on her heart like lead and dread started to seep its way into her very pores.

But Margo had never been one to give into complete moroseness. She slowly raised her chin in a stubborn show of defiance, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears as fear threatened to overtake her confidence. For once her bravery was not foolish — she knew she couldn’t win — but maybe the scarred man didn’t have to either. She just had to take things one step at a time. First thing first: identify someone in her team.

”I believe we’re supposed to be pummelling people together.”

Margo’s victim was a boy with a mass of dark hair across his head. More importantly, however, was the number 10 etched on his skin. She grimly showed the boy her own number, eyes scanning over the boy’s companion as she did so.

Margo felt a stab of pity for the obvious friends... but not enough to inspire any subtlety. ”Yes, it’s utter BS. But what other choice do we have?” Margo turned her glare to the hundreds of people in the crowd, until it finally rested upon the scarred man. I’d rather be unconscious than dead. The words rang sharply through her head, but her courage wasn’t potent enough for her to say them out loud.

She turned back to number 10 with a grim smile. ”The name’s Margo White. Let me tell you, I much prefer it to 15.”

Reducio

Stats:
Stamina: 6
Evasion: 7
Strength: 5
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 8
Accuracy: 6

Abilities:
None yet

Mentions Thora Larkston and Flash Holmwood

It was not much longer until they were moving. The boy rose up from his seat and opened a trap door. Bridget's stomach was officially in knots; this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Because if a tent with a basement wasn't worrying enough, the trap door meant no one would be able to find them. If help somehow did come, if someone came looking for them, they might not find them. And if they did, it would be too late.

At his announcement that magic wouldn't work down there, Bridget decided down there was the last place she wanted to go. But... she'd watched Thora try to leave, only to enter from a different flap. There was no leaving. No help. No escape. No magic. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine, and it wasn't from the summer heat. It was from panic. This time, they'd gone too far in search of answers. Speaking of which, what had the invitation even said? With another jolt of dread, she realized she couldn't remember reading the slip of paper, much recall less its contents. And now the only clue to what she'd gotten herself into was a pile of ashes.

As her housemates trickled after the boy, she had no choice but to follow. She waited so she was towards the end of the line; there was no point charging into something so obviously dangerous. What was this he was saying about victims and collateral damage? That they didn't care? She wasn't about to waste her time deciding on the verity of his statement, not with their much more imminent doom, but she did note the fact he knew about them, what they'd done, which pointed to him likely being a Hogwarts student. Certainly she would recognize someone so disfigured, though, even if she'd only passed them in the hallways. Well, she did recognize him, not that she could put her finger on how exactly. Still, the marring she didn't recall.

All too soon, the passageway ended. As they emerged, Bridget decided she would have rather stayed in that corridor forever, full of trepidation for what they would face, then actually face it. It was too loud. People yelling, cheering, laughing. At them. They were here to watch them. If she was worried before, now she was near being sick. Crowds... she hated them. Hated the feeling of all those eyes on her. It was a miracle she'd managed to play Quidditch, although certainly not without nerves, but the truth was, Quidditch was her element. Flying through the air, she could forget about the audience. This... this was not her element at all.

Beyond all the spectators of whatever this was, one other thing caught her eye. The ring. So the speculations of the other kids were right. This was a fight club. The boy removed his hooded cloak and stepped into the roped-off area. That's when she realized who she was. The scars. All over his body. Or, more accurately, the burns. This was Victor Moore.

They were divided into teams. It really was dehumanizing, their identities belonging exclusively to numbers. Still, for what they were about to get into, maybe it was better to just be a number. It was clear caring about others was not going to get her through this. Unless she willingly let herself be beaten to a pulp, which Bridget knew she couldn't do. She would fight. Not to win, necessarily, but just to get out of this awful place. She was even more sure the boy was Victor Moore when he declared that the victorious group would face off against Vladimir and, if they won, ask him any question they liked. Now, of course there were things she'd like to ask the older Ravenclaw who was somehow caught up, or perhaps the reason, for the terrible things that kept happening at Hogwarts. But at what cost for what, one question? Hurting everyone in her House? It wasn't as if she had some undying loyalty to her housemates--in fact, Thora was the only one she couldn't attack, and maybe with their recently achieved status as allies, Flash--but she'd rather fight any of them.

Besides, they wouldn't win. They would never get the chance to eat dinner with Vladimir and ask him anything. By the time anyone got to him, they'd be bruised and exhausted. The Blossom Ball had proven at full health, they barely stood a chance of defeating him, what with the Ravenclaw making it through a fist fight and several Knockback Jinxes and still seemingly completely unfazed.

Flash was calling for everyone to refuse to fight. While she had to hand it to him--it wasn't a bad idea--she knew it would never work. Already Slytherins were gearing up to fight, not giving a second thought to another way out of this. And even if they did all refuse, everyone in the bleachers would surely be able to force them. She was about to walk over to him, recommend they instead conspire to leave one group unharmed so they could face Vladimir at their best (Flash surely had more connections, so could help spread the word), but she stopped. That, too, would be pointless. Some people were either too stubborn or too stupid to ever agree.

So what options did they have left? To fight? It seemed so. Bridget was filled with even more dread as she realized, chances were, they'd all be left unconscious after this. Was that the point of it all? To make them vulnerable so they could serve some sinister purpose? It wasn't like they could defend themselves all too well when they weren't knocked out anyways--how could a bunch of first years, a handful of second years, and a token third year?

At this point, her hands were shaking. Bridget was terrified. All she could do was put on a brave face, though, or at least an indifferent one. She was going to have to fight her housemates. In front of all these people. And probably be left unconscious to their devices. But what choice did she have?

Stats:
5 Stamina | 9 Evasion | 3 Strength | 9 Wisdom | 7 Arcane Power | 8 Accuracy
Race/Abilities:
Full Human | Sixth Sense | Evasive Maneuvers

Nick stood around in the back, watching everyone interact with each other. He didn't really know anyone here so he didn't think there was a need to interact with them. Ironically, he recognized most of these people's faces, in fact, he thinks that everyone here goes to Hogwarts, and most seemed to be Slytherins. He wondered why they all got the same invitation as he occasionally rubbed the area on his arm where the "29" was imprinted.

Walking towards the boy that was just behind the desk, the words that he was saying were confusing to Nick. "Wand magic won't work here"? He knew that you could put hexes onto an environment to make magic not work there but this was the first time he was ever in one of those areas. After a year of having magic at the tip of fingers every single day, it made him feel... vulnerable.

When the boy asked them to go down through the trapdoor, Nick didn't raise any questions and just followed him. Maybe if he got weirded out by what they were doing down there would try to escape, he knew he would probably lose the chance to do so at that point, but he wasn't quite worried right now. He had always just known when he was going to be in danger and he just wasn't feeling that right now.

Walking down through the trapdoor Nick was expecting some sort of "don't drink the punch" kind of cult thing, but what he actually saw was very, very, very far from what he could ever imagine. The arena itself was weird enough, but there were bleachers FULL of people. Nick kind of just stood there gaping at the sight.

The boy that was apparently pulling the strings of this operation disrobed and revealed his body. The way Nick's brain processed the boy was weird, almost as if he recognized him but he would instantly recognize as disfigured of a boy like that. it wasn't that he was extremely disfigured in any one way, it's just that every little thing about him made him look... different.

Then it hit him like a potato sack, it was that boy! That boy that was hallucinating the night the spiders came and the boy that got Nick involved with the spiders in the first place. If it wasn't for him, he would've been fast asleep that night, wouldn't have started a fire and injured a bunch of people, and wouldn't have had one of there most traumatizing experiences of his life that nearly cost him it.

The boy started going on a "Fight Club" monologue and Nick clenched his fists. 'I didn't sign up for this muggle crap' Nick thought to himself. He was good at casting spells and avoiding other people's spells. He was not good at giving or receiving punches. At least he was on one of the five-player teams so he guessed his team had a slight advantage, at least if they won the first round.

"10, 27, 5, 29 and 15". Nick wasn't about to be all morally just and try to fight back against this weird game, he knew that would be a futile effort, so he decided the best thing to do was find his team. He was 29 so that meant everyone else on his team was already in the tent when he went in, that didn't eliminate many people though. He supposed he was just going to see if he could spot anyone with the other numbers on their arm.

To at least make it easier for his teammates to find him, Nick rolled up the sleeve of his shirt so the tag was very visible. It made Nick feel really uncomfortable that they were all degraded down to numbers. He wondered if the audience was betting on them like they were racehorses as he rubbed the mark.

Looking around, everyone was running around or sticking to each other so it was hard to keep track of everyone's number. He thought it an extra cruel bit of torture for the boy to not show them who's who. Nick decided, for now at least, to stay put in the relative center of everyone so his teammates would have an easier time finding him. They were the first ones up, so they really needed to find each other quickly.

Ability = Seer
Strength = 3 | Evasion = 8 | Wisdom = 4 | Arcane Power = 4 | Accuracy = 7 | Stamina = 4

Mentions: @Dealla Prince @Erik Tharaldson @Søren Silverwood @Cassandra Ironwoods

Ileen felt panic rising within her. Even though she wasn’t able to cast many helpful spells so far, she felt kind of unprotected without a working wand. On the way down, she had tried to stick with Dee and Erik if possible, also with Søren, their latest group member.
She was very happy that her two friends were with her as they listened to the completely absurd rules while the audience made a deafening noise. Ileen lost all the color from her face - she felt sick. Her thoughts rotated while her gaze glided across the room looking for some form of exit - some way out of this situation! This was literally her worst nightmare, but she was paralyzed listening to the strange boy with the injured and thin body. Automatically she grabbed Dee's hand with one and Erik's hand with the other and clasped them tightly. Apart from that she was completely unable to move.
There was only one thought in her head: I can’t do this.
Was this some sort of punishment? And if yes, what for? And who were these mad people, enjoying being an audience of forced child fight? Madness!

She didn’t even listen to the so called ‘price’ – it didn’t matter. For nothing in this world would she hurt her friends. Nothing.
The whole year she had been searching for the mistakes her parents had done. She had avoided all things where she could have done something that made her even slightly a bad person. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder, if her parents had been in a similar situation. What if they had been in some sort of fight club as well – and they had been the winning team, hated by all the others?

The first number that was called was 18. Her number. She flinched, her eyes wide open. Other numbers were following: 26, 8, 12 and 14.
The hand that was already clutching around her stomach grabbed even tighter. She did not know exactly what numbers Erik and Dee had, so she let go of their hands and turned to them. She grabbed their pullovers, torn them down at the shoulders and had a look by herself. First Dee, then Erik. Her heart sank. 20 and 23. They were not in her group.
“I won’t fight you.” Her voice failed and she stared at them with panic in her eyes. The fear was clearly written on her face. “I – we should – “ She couldn’t even stand the thought of anyone hurting them. But herself? Never. “If we can’t escape, you have to survive this. Don’t you dare to leave me.” Her voice was a frightened squeak.

Could she refuse to fight? Would the others refuse to fight as well? Because that was the thing they should do. But as far as she experienced the temper of her Housemates so far, she wouldn’t bet on that. She exhaled, and with a trembling hand brushed the hair out of her eyes. “If we have a winner in the end, we are all losers.”
In that moment she decided something. If there was no escape and she would face Dee or Erik, she would rather get down than hurt them. Not Dee. Not Erik.

In that moment Dee was approached by another Slytherin student. Ileen recognized the face from the party, but they had not spoken since. Cash, that was the name to the face. Well, at least one more who thought that this was madness. She didn’t even bother to look for her group – she was still in shock and not ready to leave Dee and Erik.

Team: @Percival Rainwood @Selim Faust @Wyatt Starkey @Emmanuel Min Requiza

Ability: Sixth Sense
Stats: Sta:5 | Ev:7 | Str:3 | Wis:7 | Arc:6 | Acc:7

Opeila sent her boyfriend a sharp look. "Don't you call me that again!", she said, raising one finger in his direction. She nodded at his question about the invitation. "Yes. I guess yours didn't have a lot of info on it either?
Oh and let that party topic go, would you?" She shook her head. This was clearly not the right time for this, was it?

Flash seemed to feel her slowly increasing nervosity and put a hand on her shoulder. It only took a second to calm her down again. Right. They needed to keep a clear head in this and find out what was even going on here. Flash said they would stay together unless they were split up to fight one another. Opeila chuckled a little. This was highly unlikely, right?

How wrong she was. The first year's smile faded when the guy explained why they were here. Fightclub? Her horror grew when he announced that there would be no magic. Suddenly, especially surrounded by a group of boys that were either taller than her or knew how to fight, she was very aware that she would be an easy victim in this game. If people went with this, she would totally get hurt.

And when he mentioned Vladimir, she no longer doubted that the teachers were not involved in this. "... Is that Victor?", she murmured, but went silent again, when he read out the numbers. Group 4. 2, 11, 24, 25. None of the boys she had only just asked to stay together, were in this group. Who were 11, 24 and 25? Opeila looked around. They would fight against group 3? Although she had not heard the numbers, she had realized, that group 3 had five people. That was totally unfair!

But no one would agree to this, right? "...They can't expect us to actually participate to get an answer from Vladimir. That is rubbish! Most in here don't even know him, do they? What do they get out of this?" Opeila once more felt panic grow inside her. She was far from fearless and shemost certainly didn't want to fight her housemates. At least she had practiced how to throw punches without breaking her hand after the incidence with Warren.

She heard Percival say something, seemingly just as disbelieving as her. She just nodded. This was not what she had expected.

Special Race: Seer

Stamina: 5
Evasion: 4
Strength: 4
Wisdom: 7
Arcane Power: 5
Accuracy: 5

Reducio

Percival had barely realized that Opeila had scolded him for calling her a nickname.

The boy was too distracted as he watched his dormmate, Selim Faust, disappear towards the back of the crowd.

Worry hit the boy as he tried to keep an eye on the dark-haired boy. It would do no good for their dorm to split up. Especially after just finding out they had to fight one another.

Though it seemed like fate had other plans for him.

Percival soon lost track of the dark-haired boy in the sea of faces. It did not help that his dormmate was shorter than the average male.

Though Selim did prove taller then Hana, but that wasn't exactly the hardest height to beat.

Percival's gaze caught on a boy, that he did not know, with the number '14' burned into his shoulder.

'18, 26, 8, 12 and 14'

It did not take long for the boy to realize that this unknown boy was on his team.

The unknown boy seemed to be getting ready to fight. Something Percival hadn't even thought about doing.

Percival glanced back towards his friend by his side with a mild look of worry.

In a way, Percival had trouble letting go. He couldn't protect him this time, not like the other cared, and it irked the boy.

Percival felt tense and uneasy. There was no good way to apologize for what might happen in there.

How was one supposed to apologize for something they are being forced to do? Something they despised doing.

It felt like he was going against his moral compass, and they didn't hold much power to stop it. They didn't even have working wands for ##### sake.

"Sorry." he mumbled simply as he wrapped his arms around the other in a makeshift hug.

Percival didn't hold it for long not wanting to get punched before the match even started.

The boy stepped away from the other, and let his gaze linger for a second.

Before turning to look towards the boy he had spotted earlier. Grouping with his teammates was probably a good move. Seeing it might be less of a chance they would hurt you.

Percival walked up to the boy with a weary look on his face.

"You're 14." the boy stated waving his hand towards the other's right arm.

"I'm 8. My name's Percival." he said trying to hopefully spark a conversation with the other.

The boy for the time being kept his shirt exactly where it was. Though to avoid any trouble sat down on the ground and peeled his shoes and socks off.

Interacting with: @Hanako Tone @Emmanuel Min Requiza
Mentions: @Opeila Seilun
Teammates: @Selim Faust @Wyatt Starkey @Ileen Knight

Stamina: 6 | Evasion: 5 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 4 | Arcane Power: 8 | Accuracy: 5

Ability: Foul play