What is the First Rule... Slytherin Event

Mentions: Jack Burnett, Dan Palmer, and Victor Moore

Bridget was just... staring. Just watching a boy die. This wasn't happening. But of course it was. It had just been a matter of time until one of these disasters had a more fatal ending, hadn't it? And now she was watching it happen and it was partly her fault.

The sharpness of Jack's response cut through the shock. Her surroundings, which had faded to muffled noise and the sickening stench of blood, came back into focus. She watched as Jack disappeared out of sight, carrying Victor down into the ring, but didn't follow. She was not just going to look on as Victor died. She had to do... well, something. There had to be something she could do to give them a better shot at getting out of this place. Besides, Victor wasn't necessarily dead yet. He was dying, that much was clear, but if they could get help in time, maybe the damage was still reversible.

But how was she supposed to even get help? They couldn't leave the tent; they were trapped. Her answer came from Dan Palmer. With a cry of Diffindo, he tore open the top of the tent, revealing a star-filled sky. Was it really that late at night? Was this just another part of the trap they'd walked into? Maybe the sky wasn't real, maybe they couldn't escape, but she had to at least try. And even if they couldn't leave, maybe people outside could hear them, and maybe those people could still get in. The brunette got back to her feet.

Bridget wasn't a particularly vocal person. There was no reason to be; the people she wanted to hear her would, but what was the use of adding another shout to the cacophony of competing voices? If there was ever a time to be loud, though, it was now. Cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify the noise, she hoped that if it was indeed night, someone would be awake and in earshot. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

Beyond just screaming, there was a magical way of attracting attention, of sending out an SOS. A little shakily, she pointed her wand towards the exposed sky. Dan had proved spells worked, so there was no reason to believe hers wouldn't. She could not let one failed spell get in the way of trying. Swallowing down a lump of worry, she said the incantation of one of the first spells they'd ever learned. "Periculum!"

Action: Calling for help and casting Periculum.

2nd Year Stats (3rd Year changes colored):
5 (6) Stamina | 9 Evasion | 3 (7) Strength | 9 Wisdom | 7 Arcane Power | 8 Accuracy
Race/Abilities:
Full Human | Sixth Sense | Evasive Maneuvers | Prodigal DADA Learner

Jack's demands would fall on deaf ears. Vladimir did not materialize in the arena. there was no dramatic arrogant moment where Vladimir wrestled control of the madness with a snap of the finger. Despite the pomp and circumstance, Vladimir was still a boy. A highly unusual boy in the center of terrible circumstances that he seemed to take in stride.

Jack would only get a voice.



There was a waver in the voice, a loss of confidence. A tone of pain. It would seem as if he had already come to the correct conclusion on his own.



Then there would be silence. The voice would cease to be heard. The spirit had already left Victor. Then, everything else would start to fall apart. The crowd would fade, nothing but an illusion. No cheering. The scent of human filth replaced with that of a musky basement. A basement that was lit with a series of oil lanterns that hung from the fasters.

The stairs still led to a tent above. The tent would not look the same, a bit of frail canvas flapping in the breeze, the roof torn asunder. There was no floor, just trampled sod and a doorway. There was a single table and chair. A single oil lamp. The appearance of a floor, well more of a floor than the ground now gone. The teapot and cup, gone. This was the true space, it seemed smaller. More confined.

@Bridget Collins would shoot a burst of light through the ripped roof and a burst of light would explode in the sky. She would cry for help, but 'help' was an overused term. Children would scream in terror and cry out for mercy or assistance when playing a harmless game of tag. No adult would come rushing in and even if they did, what would they see? A barren tent and a gaggle of Hogwarts students bloodied and battered by one another's fists. One dead.

[] Want some more immersion? Listen to these: The mind Electric, and TV static[]

"What have I done?"

He could feel it.

Victor was dead.

A sticky slick feeling was covering his hands, he swore he could feel it, the red, the blood. The scent of copper was filling his nostrils, choking him alive. His brain was loud with static, white noise blurring together as if he were surrounded by thousands of televisions blaring out electric fuzz. His eyes were wide, his breaths were rapid, as if he were running a marathon, as if he were gasping loud for breath while drowning in a sea of red, red, red, red.

He had killed someone, it was his fault, his madness had gotten out, his paranoia had finally lashed back at the world of shadows around him, manifesting as a shade from one of Selim's nightmares.

He had killed someone, they were dead, dead, dead, dead.

His hands moved, he didn't tell them to. They were clawing at his face while something loud burst from his throat. His silent sobs had dissolved into blood-curdling screams, as if he were being tortured.

Something touched him, he heard no words, the static was too loud, it was screaming at him too, everything was screaming.

His mind conjured up twisted versions of that time. That time of pure suffering, of helplessness.

He lashed out, he had to save himself-

His fingers were removed from his scratched face, his hands groped for something to defend himself, they clutched tight around a shard of shattered porcelain, from when he had thrown that tea set off the table in a fit of emotion.

Or was it the shadow that had done that? He couldn't remember, he had no time to, he had to escape from that dungeon of nightmares that smelt of death and iron.

He lashed out blindly at the being that had touched him, tried to grab him- Everything had warped, like he was in a funhouse of horrors, nothing looked the same, he was alone with the captors of his memory and mind.

Oh god he had killed someone, he had killed someone, not even an enemy, just a sickly, scarred boy, like him-

He was still screaming, he thought, he could feel his throat becoming overcome by that familiar sense of rawness, of torn flesh born from his cries of pain.

Whether or not his attack had hit his invisible enemy, he didn't care. There had to be more, more that he couldn't see with the black tunnel vision hindering his sight, with the distraction of the wails and static in his mind, the clamor of noises made by reality distorted into something that wasn't real, wasn't there.

But it was real to him, it was real to Selim, and he was scared.

In that moment calamity was all he knew.

He scrambled to his feet, hand slick with blood, real blood, the porcelain had cut through his skin.

Stumbling back he crashed into the wall, (The tarp). He fell to the ground again, crude weapon skidding away from his hands.

It was too much, everything was too much, he wanted it to end (But he was in danger, he was going to die, die just like Victor did, uncared for. No one cared about the broken dolls in the gutter of humanity)

Dead, dead, dead, dead-

Flashes of a white rabbit stained crimson, in a puddle of its life, wasted.

He curled up tightly, nails digging into his skin, his screams were gone, silent hissing sobs remained.

Just a child.

A child that had murdered someone in cold blood.

Because that shadow was him, that shadow was his truth, and now it had come to light. His twisted form bared for everyone to see.

And all he heard from it was static.

Actions: Unknowingly attacking Opeilia with a shard of whatever that tea set was made of.

Despite the lack of any breath, hot or cold, on the back of his hand, it was the loss of confidence in the telepathic voice that answered him that well and truly convinced Jack of the realization of his greatest fears at that moment. The pain might have struck him as odd, but he wasn't of the mindset to contemplate it. His own pain had numbed him to almost all else.

When Jack had taken Victor up the stairs before, he'd noticed on the edges of his perception that the roaring crowd in the basement had fallen silent and somehow had seemed to simply disappear. He had wanted to investigate later, but other events had taken his attention. Now, however, he likely wouldn't even have been surprised to notice that the crowd was gone again after flickering strangely. He wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been in a state to notice at all, but he wasn't. Not just then.

His mouth had fallen open slightly, slack-jawed in his mental vacancy. Downcast hazel eyes stared, unseeingly, at the husk of a damaged body before him as he knelt there on the floor. He didn't look up at Dan's incantation, nor Bridget's. He couldn't even bring himself to do so when Selim, his own dorm mate and contractual partner, began to scream. Jack simply sat there, as if dead to the world himself.

Gone.

Victor was gone.

What...what did that mean?

He could hardly think to process it. After all Victor had been through; all his suffering and years of pain, it was all over. And for what? It might have been different if it had been his choice to go...but it hadn't been. And if there was one thing Jack knew right then and there, it was that he wasn't properly ready to let go of Victor just yet, either.

"NO!" he cried out in a feral rage, his voice hoarse like a growl as if passion alone had made it raw. It was difficult who he seemed to be addressing, if anyone. The voice in his head, perhaps...? "WHAT WAS ALL THIS FOR THEN?!"

"WHAT DID HE DIE FOR? WHAT WAS HIS GAME FOR? WHY DID HE LIVE ONLY TO BE KILLED HERE AND NOW?!" Drops began to darken the ground near Victor's body and Jack became only faintly aware that they were dripping from his face. "WHY DID YOU LET HIM IF HE WAS YOUR FRIEND?!"

Though the last sentence was spoken with Vlad in mind, Jack doubted it would reach the crafty coward, wherever he was now. Still, he couldn't help but ask it aloud. A part of him wanted to simply stay there, wailing and keening, over Victor's dead body for as long as his misery lasted. Another part wanted to call out to his adopted brother, Ruka, but no. Even Ruka, close as they were, would not know what Jack felt at the loss of Victor. Did Marion, even? Did Vlad?

I should have put him back sooner, Jack thought as his breathing began to come quick and ragged. Maybe never brought him up in the first place. Then he wouldn't have died.

Wouldn't he have? another part of him asked.

What does it matter? 'What-if's make no difference. He's dead for real, now. He's gone. Out of reach. And nothing you can do will change that.

...But...why?!

He had no answer. And he wasn't sure he'd ever get one. So, tears still streaming, he could only sit there, slumped and vacant as a broken manniquin.

Action 1: Try to process what's happened to Victor.
Action 2: Scream and yell.
Action 3: Sit there limply.

Health: 185/500
Stats: Sta: 5 || Eva: 7 || Str: 3 || Wis: 8 || AP: 6 || Acc: 6
Ability: Prodigal Charms Learner

Interacting with and mentioning: @Bridget Collins, @Selim Faust, @Dan Palmer, & @Vladimir Athanatos

Opeila's head shot up when she heard Jack shout that he wouldn't let him. Her eyes widened when he took Victor back down through the trapdoor, down to the horrors in the basement.
She had to follow, she couldn't let him go back down alone. Though she agreed, if there was any help for the boy, it would probably be found in the basement.

When Selim attacked her, Opeila couldn't say she didn't expect it to happen. Wouldn't she do the same, in his position? Could she even imagine his position? Probably not. She would try to dodge the thing he tried to hit her with, the movement came so fast, she couldn't really see what it was.
Her hand would leave Selim's shoulder, she would back away.

If Selim misses/only hits her lightly so she would still be able to move:

Opeila backed away further. She couldn't help him, she couldn't. The Slytherin didn't know her housemate really, but she had guessed months ago, that his mind had been in dark places that didn't even exist in her dreams. She couldn't help him. She couldn't help him.

But maybe there was someone she could help. Someone she now heard screaming in the basement. She sent one look to Dan and Bridget, before she stumbled down the trapdoor again, after Jack and Victor. Her knees were shaking, multiple times she tripped on her way down. The screaming stopped.
"Burnett?" She looked around. Where was he, where was he?! There he was. On his knees beside the ring. A look at the boy's face told her all she needed to know. Together with his screams it was clear what must have happened.

She would slowly go towards the boy, trying not to look at the body next to him. "Jack..." She swallowed, trying to surpress the shaking of her voice. "I am so sorry..." What was she apologizing for? The part she played in everything that happened since February? Would it have ended like this without her interference? It didn't matter anymore. The damage was done.
The pain on Jack's face was clearly visible, making her want to hold him, help him carry that pain. But she couldn't. "Jack...", she tried again. "We have to get out of here. We have to get him out of here."

Him? He was gone... It was only the body they could save now. The shell. Opeila's lips trembled and finally there were tears as well, streaming down her cheeks and dropping on the ground. Burning in the scratch on her face. Keeping her from drifting off into the horrors they experienced the past hours.

Actions: Trying to dodge Selim
(Following Jack into the basement)

Stats:
Stamina: 5
Evasion: 4
Strength: 4
Wisdom: 7
ArcPower: 5
Accuracy: 5

Abilities: Seer

Interacting with @Jack Burnett @Selim Faust

Mentions: Jack Burnett, Opeila Seilun, Selim Faust, and Victor Moore

The spell worked. She'd shouted as loud as she could. Certainly help would come any minute, surely someone had been in earshot. But as time ticked on and she didn't hear any sounds from outside the tent, whatever small hope she'd held that someone would show up and save them faded. They were trapped. Victor was dead.

This wasn't so much the shock immediately following the shadow stabbing Victor but more just plain disbelief. It was like she was trying to convince herself that Victor was still alive even though everything she'd seen and heard pointed to the opposite. There was nothing else to do, was there? Numbly, Bridget sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. She just wanted this to be over. And it would be, eventually. At some point the Professors would find them. They would find Victor's dead body and it would be too late. And regardless of what anyone else said, Bridget knew this was her fault. Not entirely, but partially. Partially had been enough to get Victor killed.

Jack was crying. The boy who'd been called Fangs earlier was screaming and then he was coming at Opeila with a shard of something. Bridget wondered if she should have helped, but what if she just made things worse again? Besides, it didn't look like anything the younger girl couldn't handle at this point. And so Bridget just sat there, silent. They were just kids and they couldn't fix any of this.

No Action

2nd Year Stats (3rd Year changes colored):
5 (6) Stamina | 9 Evasion | 3 (7) Strength | 9 Wisdom | 7 Arcane Power | 8 Accuracy
Race/Abilities:
Full Human | Sixth Sense | Evasive Maneuvers | Prodigal DADA Learner

The sparks had been flown. The plan had come to fruition. Red sparks would call for help. Excellent. Adults would show up, they could get everyone out of this dump, and they could get help for-

Dan looked at Jack, and noticed what appeared to be sobbing. He also noticed an unnatural stillness on Victor.
No, that... But Jack took him back where he needed to be, how did he...

This... wasn't right, Dan had JUST apologized. He was going to get him help, and try to foster a friendship, he couldn't just... After everything that had happened, Victor had no RIGHT to...

Dan glared at Jack, for having brought Victor right to a shadow monster that impaled him. That wretched little ginger threw blame around where it didn't belong, and on top of that, he got someone killed.

Yes, Dan knew that Jack did not intend to do that, nor was it actually anyone's fault. But, Dan needed an outlet. First Ozzy, now this. Dan decided to see if the Palmer family had connections to a therapist when he got home. He was probably going to need one.

Then, he saw Selim take a shard of something and attack Opeila for absolutely no reason at all.
Dan's face twisted in fury. He was NOT in the mood for anyone's stupid bullshit right now.

Dan pointed his wand at Selim, and performed the right movements necessary.

"Immobulus."

As much as giving Selim a nice wallop would help him blow off steam, Dan decided that enough violence had happened here. Selim could just sit quietly, and motionless until help arrived.

Action:
Casting Immobulus on Selim.

@Selim Faust had realized the gravity of what he, well the darkness that came from his own, had done. Murder, not kill. There was a difference, this was purposeful even if he was not fully cognizant at the time. The question of course was why? Why had the shadow he now presently lacked had done what it had? This was the consequence of a murderous intent. Perhaps he did not fully fathom the truth of the living darkness, that the darkness was something you did not control with your mind but rather your heart. In his heart, he had wanted Victor dead. It did not matter if he regretted the death, if he felt Jack's sorrow and the girl's guilt and pain. In his heart, those sentiments did not truly matter. That was just static in his head.

Selim was scared and cornered. A sense of self-preservation pervaded his being. It did not matter that the boy, Victor that is, was something to blame. That Victor had known something, but exactly what they would never know. He had withheld that knowledge to their expense, but it was easier to sympathize with a martyr. They would feel bad for Victor, the twisted monster now that he was dead and Selim was the monster that slain a defenseless youth.

How defenseless was he truly? How much of this magic was his own? How much did he facilitate? He could have warned them to leave, but he never did that. He goaded Opeila and Nico to come to blows. Strange how easy it is to build sentiment and how Selim had little to spare. The anemic youth would lash out at the girl [Opeila] who tried to comfort him.

Selim attacks Opeila.
Attack 19 (+9 accuracy)
Evasion 17 (+4 evasion)
Auto-dodge Chance: 21
Damage Done: 75, 420 health remaining. Bleeding 5 damage per round.

Selim would strike the girl, a shard of razor porcelain still in his already bleeding hand. Opeila was not about to get a break today, not in the basement or in the tent. Her skin would be cut, but Selim was bleeding more. His hand had a death grip on that bit of shattered porcelain, his hands hot and sticky. The pain was minimal, barely recognizable. Like noticing you stubbed your toe seconds after it happened, some things take longer than others to register in such a chaotic haze.

Selim is bleeding (he RP'd it), 25 damage per round. 375 health remaining.

@Dan Palmer had tried to stop Selim from causing more harm than he had already but to no avail. As quick as the irishman was, he was not fast enough. The girl was already bleeding when he called out his word of power. "Immobulus".

Dan casts Immobulus on Selim.
DC 15
Wisdom 10 (+wisdom)
Attack 3
Evasion 15

He also missed the wily youth but it was a sufficient distraction for Opeila to escape. And escape she had to the very place she had only recently fled. The basement.

In the basement the air felt hot, no longer cold. The crowd was flickering, dying just like Victor. Yet the space was filled with noise, Selim's screams. Jack's own. Damning the teen that was likely behind it all. Did this magic belong to Victor or to Vladimir? The cheering and jeering crowd that was here to watch a bloodsport of a game.

As @Jack Burnett looked down at the boy, it was hard to believe the youth had ever been alive at all. This human sense of eerie denial. It was a vessel, not a boy. The strange, smooth skin. All those burns had warped his features, making the teen a monster rather than a young man. His body, still cool but no endothermic sense. He was just a bit cooler than the slowly warming basement. Indeed, Victor's presence was all the kept the basement cool. In death, the air grew thick, hot and heavy.

It was senseless, this death as was his suffering. There was no cure for that poison that ran through his veins. If he did not die today, there were nearly a dozen other ways he was likely going to die. The boy made of glass, he was simply too easy to shatter. The black blood covered the floor beneath him like a broken inkwell. Of course Jack had presumed the boy was already dead, just bound to this world of the living by either stubbornness or a powerful magic. Perhaps that death was metaphorical or impending without a chance of avoidance. It did not matter what those circumstances were, he would never know. Victor was dead.

"NO!"

Who was Jack screaming at? The crowd had dispersed, they did not walk away, but rather they faded away.

"WHAT WAS ALL THIS FOR THEN?!"

There were some things that were out of his reach. Beyond his power. For all of the ambition of the snake and all the cleverness of the Ravenclaw, Victor was still dead.

"WHAT DID HE DIE FOR? WHAT WAS HIS GAME FOR? WHY DID HE LIVE ONLY TO BE KILLED HERE AND NOW?!"



The voice was quiet, almost inaudible. That voice that seemed to linger in Jack's head sounded pained. It lacked the arrogance before. Perhaps there was some love between them. Of course there was, an attachment that Jack would understand. He wanted to possess what he loved, love was not always romantic. On this day, a heart did shatter.

"WHY DID YOU LET HIM IF HE WAS YOUR FRIEND?!"

Jack cried. This was not like those fairy tales that had a happy ending. Where true loves first kiss would revive him. Where salty tears would gently awaken the battered youth. There was also no showdown, nothing to focus his pain and ire into. Vladimir was a lightning rod for animosity, yet he was not there. Jack had no place to direct his rage, but he could focus his blame.

Comfort came from a girl. Another future paramour for Opeila? Possibly. For whatever reason @Opeila Winters returned to the basement that she fled. There was a token apology, just words of course. The meaning lost some time ago, it was just something people said. Something people expected to hear. People did not need to mean it and few actually did but it 'made things better' if you did not think about it. If you were not interested in fixing the problem, dealing with the circumstances that led to the tragedy.

They needed to get out of here.

The magic had faded in that basement, it was just a hole in the ground. A hole that led to a rather unassuming tent. @Bridget Collins was there, on the floor with her knees to her chest, braced by her arms. They called out for help but nobody came rushing in. In the flurry of activity that was the London tournament, the diversions of children were hardly of concern to the passing wizards.

There was enough death and blood for one day.



The disembodied voice, again just for Jack to hear, and then silence. The silence more troublesome than the strange buzz that people normally feel throughout the day without ever noticing. That droning white noise of daily life, of thought and of consciousness. It was because something was there and now it was gone. A voice left in its wake, but soon that nothing would fill again with that bubbling buzz that people are so accustomed to. The existence we take for granted.

| Outfit |

Percival wasn't very sure what was happening anymore. His team had dispersed leaving him by himself. Though, all things considered, he hadn't really tried to stay with the others. Percival had been the one to leave the others behind. Turning and leaving them where they stood as if they meant nothing to him. Yet that was a clear cut lie for some of them. Hanako... Bitterness was at the tip of his tongue, and thinly veiled aggression curled tight in his chest. Percival turned his thoughts towards Ileen. Inwardly, hoping she stayed safe even if he had separated himself from her.

He made his way over to where he abandoned his shoes and guitar. He turned and slowly sat down on the floor of the basement. His hand throbbed as he pulled on his shoes, and he began to wonder if he may have actually injured his hand during the fight. The throb in his hand only reminded him more of what had taken place only a few minutes ago. He and Hanako... Percival huffed angrily tying his shoe in aggressive movements. He would accidentally drop the shoelace in his haste. Slipping from his fingers just like Hanako had. Percival scrubbed at his eye as he inwardly told himself he just had allergies. The boy refused to acknowledge that he was crying over Hanako. He had told himself he would never do that again. Percival didn't want to be weak especially in front of others.

The boy finished tying his shoes, his usually well-groomed hair hung limply against his forehead. His appearance looking just as disheveled on the outside as he was on the inside. From his position on the floor, a distant lump caught his eye. Curious the boy moved to stand up, gripping the handle of his guitar as he stood up. Walking over, it took him a second to realize that what he was seeing was a human being and not some disgusting monster. The boy's eyes were closed, and it appeared as if he had been knocked out. His face was swollen and covered in a red liquid. Blood... Percival swallowed hard in disgust as he took in the boy's deformed features. He couldn't help but wonder who had beaten the boy so senseless. It awed the boy at the raw display of power that was needed to screw up someone so badly. Percival couldn't help but feel a spark of jealousy. The most he had done to Hanako was make him disoriented. It irked him to no end.

Percival glared down at the unmoving form. The boy raised his right foot and lightly kicked the boy's side. "Hey wake up." he snapped. The boy didn't stir in the slightest, and he would have thought he was dead if the boy's chest didn't rise every now and again. Festering anger brewed in his chest, and he could not help but feel like a guitar string that had been tightened too much. He felt like he was about to snap in half. Percival raised his foot back and kicked the boy again this time harder. "Hey!" he called his voice raising in annoyance. This felt just like that time at the lake. The thought occurred to him. The feeling of being ignored and rejected lit his nerves on fire. Looking down, he could picture Hanako instead of the random boy in front of him. Instead of closed eyes, they were open and glaring at him. Instead of lax lips, they were pulled up into a sneer. Percival's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed together as he glared down at the disgusted-look on Hanako's face. "I hate you!" he yelled his voice sharply cutting through the air. Percival brought his foot back swiftly before kicking the unmoving body with as much force as he could muster. The boy's unconscious body had moved a few short inches from the force of the kick.

crack

He instantly froze in place his eyes widening slightly as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard. His body felt tense unable to move an inch from his position over the unconscious boy. A part of him wondered if he had just imagined the sound, but the truth was undeniable. His stomach rolled and he wondered if he was about to be sick. It felt like his foot had been glued to the boy's shallow rising chest. Blankly he wondered if the boy's ribcage would burst open wide and clamp down around his foot. Keep his foot locked in so that everyone would know what he had just done. Despite his wild imagination, Percival pulled his foot away from the boy with no resistance. He stood over the boy's body, swaying slightly, before dropping to sit next to him. Feelings festered about in his chest as he tried to discern them from one another. He felt trapped in his guilt, but free from letting out his anger. His adrenaline wore down and his hand began to throb again, and accompanying it, his foot began to ache. The boy's aches and pains made themselves known only weighing him down more. Percival absently sat waiting for everything to just be over. Hadn't the boy said they would get to eventually leave? Or had that just been a trick of his imagination? Percival wasn't too sure anymore. All he knew now was that he was done. He was done.

Actions: Cracking Calvon's rib. Before accompaying him on the floor

Godmod of Calvon Faux was allowed by one Calvon Faux.

Interacting with: @Calvon Faux
Mentions: @Hanako Tone, @Wyatt Starkey, @Ileen Knight

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

Ability: Foul play