A Meeting Post Blossom Ball PV Closed

One spell. Any of several single spells and the girl would be stopped cold. He could hoist her up by the ankles, freeze her where he stood, or just shoot ropes to tie her up and there would be nothing she could have done. He had her dead to rights and he knew that she knew it. But she ran anyway. Casting the spell wouldn't have slowed him down, he heard the scream, he would have been able to apprehend the Gryffindor girl and make it to the others in no time flat.

But she sounded like she knew what she was doing. Or, rather, that she thought she knew what she was doing. He could remember what it was like to be young, to have the adults run to and fro, at a loss for what to do, with not enough hands to handle all of life's problems, but still being too stubborn to let the perfectly capable children help. They were too young, too ignorant, too weak, they said. Well, Griffith was a full grown man in body only. He enjoyed star wars and cartoons, had watched gravity falls twice and was looking forward to summer break, where he would finally be able to continue adventure time.

He heard honesty, or at least he thought he did, in the girl's voice, and in the split second before he turned around, he decided he was going to give her the benefit of the doubt. Griffith hated trusting people, it kept getting him in to trouble. But he kept doing it. She had probably started the fire, but he didn't actually know she had for sure. He had just heard stories from some kids, he had no reason to trust them over her, did he? And besides, she maybe had her reasons. Maybe.

As he started to sprint towards the yell, he called to dinara while motioning for her to follow the Gryffindor girl.

"Tell your friend I expect her to come to me no later than the end of this week."

If he was right to trust her, then she would come to him. Hopefully. It sure would make finding a rational explanation for all of this a lot more simple. He clenched his jaw as he ran, but this time the worry was suppressed successfully. He knew what he was doing, after all. He was a professor, a professional. He knew Occlumensy, so he should be able to use it. He knew how to practically radiate calm, so why was it sometimes so hard to calm himself.

His questions didn't have long to mull over in his mind before he came face to face with two children, and a figure in a black cloak. If that was what he thought it was...

It didn't matter, he didn't care. He was a paranoid man, the type of man who casts finite incantatem randomly, just to be sure. His long legs shifted, forming a solid stance as his wand arm extended. He focused on a wonderful, perfect memory. His first day home from Hogwarts after graduation. Hugging his parents and knowing he hadn't screwed up, that he was a perfectly fine son with the most wonderful parents a child could possibly ask for, and that everything in his life was going perfectly for the first time since he was born.

"Expecto Patronum"

His voice was calm, and steady, as blue wisps shot forward, coalescing into the intimidating form of a large butterfly, roughly the size of a dinner platter, which flapped forward at the dark form aggressively, if butterfly flapping could be considered aggressive.

Moderation of the environment.

The darkened wood was no place for teens. In fact it was also no place for men such as Morffran either. The canopy of leaves would obscure the blackened sky, silvery slivers of moonlight would peer through the leaves but nature itself would leave them in only darkness. There was something off about these woods and it was not the usual darkness is fearful or the nightmarish notion that blackened terrors lurked in the shadows would come for them. No... there was something else at play here. This sense that eyes were on them, that the words that they were saying were overheard, this lingering sense of dread that was more primal than reasonable.

The light from the tip of a wand would illuminate something in the darkness. Something wrong and something vile. It was more than paranoia that suggested that even the trees had grown wrong. The landscape reflects a noxious nature. The trees were twisted by an unseen but certainly felt darkness, and that was not their imagination when they thought they saw something that moved. The branches where moving but not in accordance to the breeze. No, they were turning, bending, craning their 'necks' as they watched these students amble further into the darkness. 

Dried leaves and old brush underfoot somewhat hid it, the sound of something moving, something slithering underfoot. Snaking vines, almost forgettable were underfoot. Xailah  Alptraum had decided to try to leave, she might have left the party but she would would not leave the wood before something would come for her. A tendril made from a thorny vine would reach up for the second-year Gryffindor, trip her at the toe of her boot as if she had scuffed her boot against an upturned root. Like a viper's bite, the vine would reach for the girl's ankle, the centimeter-long thorns would attempt to embed themselves into Xailah's leg. 

Roll Evasion: 9 (success)

The thorns would prick her skin, rending flesh as a brutal tug would attempt to pull her in a direction that the youth had not intended. If she screamed her cries would be heard by the others in the forest, but certainly not from beyond. She was too far from the ball to alert any of them. She was too far to alert a random traveler that had decided these woods were the place to be rather than the lakeside, the dance-floor or the castle itself.

The fog itself, it had a strange yet foul scent. It was hard to see beyond a few feet radius. It was easier to startle in this place, the croak of a toad, the skitter of a spider the size of a dinner plate. Neither a concern for @Morfran Griffith, they were harmless but there was a proliferation in their population. The glint of eyes, the presence of web that snapped as he walked through. Yet that would not be the queerest sight, rather it was the strange carved figurines hanging from trees that the Professor would notice.

Did they mean anything?

Of course they did. 

If he touched one, plucked one from the tree -- he would hear a muted cry, like an injured child that lasted mere seconds before there was silence. Yes, there was some sort of terrible magic at play here. Would he recognize it? No, he would not. Perhaps the Professor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor could glean some truth from this. [If you contact the DADA Professor, she would recognize the item as a Hag icon. That he is likely within a mile of a Hag Coven lair and you would then have access to this information.]

The girls, @Illowy Magnard and @Dinara Lucey  were in mortal peril, but this is not a story where some prince such as @Isaac Ambrose would save them from a wicked threat. He was in just as much danger as them, but all three of them were going to play heroes. Beyond the choking fog and the strange carved icons that they would not recognize, the oddities would not end there. There would be a familiar sight in this murky darkness, as if it was waiting for them in their path. None would find their own but rather the face of another. Rag-dolls, roughly stitched with sinuous string and tattered clothes that resembled what the person they represented was wearing at that very moment. 

Illowy would find Isaac's
Isaac would find Dinara's
Dinara's would find Xailah's


Would they recognize what they were? No, not really. They might come to their own conclusions. They might even be right, but again they would need to ask some questions and learn more regarding these dolls and what they might represent. These symbolic dolls are a bit more common than the carved icons, they do not necessarily represent hags but they are often tied to some sort of dark magic. This is something any Professor (including Morfran) could identify. They were poppets. The sympathetic magic they represented was dark.

You have not come upon a Hag Lair but the terrain here has become treacherous. There is evidence that there is something not only wrong but also evil. The danger here may be beyond your present power-set without more allies and information but many victories are built upon the corpses of failed heroes. Will you be one of the corpses? Will you be the victor? Will you find allies and build up a force to contend with this threat?

@Morfran Griffith | mention:@Xailah Alptraum | @Illowy Magnard

The cold clattering noise grew even louder, and his breathing grew stricken as the faceless creature loomed. Its grey scaly skin poked out from beneath its tattered black cloak, and from a misshapen head sprang a black hole for a mouth - absent of light. The cavernous hole expanded, sucking inwards with powerful lungs, stealing his soul.

Limp, weakened, Isaac fell to his knees. A blurry voice told him something. A rough tug on his sleeve.

"Bloody idiot!...Run!"

But the words swam as if he were deep beneath water, barely stirring the torrent of his mind. Illowy's mane of dark hair and running figure swirled in his blurry vision. Nothing mattered, not even breathing. Blind and unseeing to his horror, the creature seized its chance swooping to inhale more. Eyes glazed over, Isaac saw and heard, and worse yet, remembered nightmares.

The shattering of glass. Screams and shouts. The dark pattering of rain was muted by howling and the demonic flash of lightning.

"You bastard!" came the unearthly scream, splintering the silence.

Slicing, a sea of blood, raining down and staining the walls. Another slap, clapping louder than the thunder in the sky. Another yell of rage, shaking the paper-thin house.

Pressed beneath his bed, curled up, heartbeat rapid. Praying, praying for it to stop. Please.

The creak of footsteps on the stairs. Tears in his eyes, dribbling down his face. A heart-attack as the noises came closer. Crushing himself deeper into the blackness and dustiness of a too tiny room, never wanting to come out.

Waves of rain and lashing wind beating on the window. The pressing weight of a girl holding him, sobbing into his hair. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Red smeared all over her summer dress, red coloring the fragile veins in her hazel eyes, red outlining the contours of her bony face.

"Will it be okay?" he cried, gasping for breath, shaking hard.

"I don't know."


I don't know.

He was crumpling onto his knees. Why try? His eyes could slide shut, then and there. It would block it out, he wouldn't hear this anymore, couldn't see it anymore. No more creatures, no more nightmares. No more pain. Isaac let it happen. He let himself lower to the ground, let this creature do what it wished. What kind of wizard was he? No magic on earth could save him. Pathetic.

His eyes closed and darkness filled his mind. But slowly, bit by bit, it changed. The darkness morphed into a bright blue, playing behind his closed eyelids. He opened his grey eyes only to see something unbelievable.

A butterfly, glowing spectrally, flew through the air. Intricate patterns marked its wings, winding in all kinds of shapes. A soft shimmering noise drifted into his ears, and the shining creature slammed into the scaly fiend, driving it back. On his knees, he watched in shock as the butterfly plunged into the darkness again fiercely, fighting the ghoul until it fled into the shadows of the night.

Wordlessly, he watched the butterfly, unaware of the tears streaming down his cheeks. Slowly, the spectre disappeared fading away. It saved him. It saved him.

Isaac struggled to get to his feet and stumbled, falling over into the moldy litter. Bracing his hands against the ground, he then got up more carefully.

A familiar man stood in the murk and gloom of the forest. In a sturdy defensive stance, with eyes like icefire was none other than...

"Professor Griffith?"

His voice quavered and he winced, knowing that no doubt the welshman would be furious at him. Wiping at the soot lingering on his cheek from the fire, he suddenly felt terribly small. There he was before, thinking that he'd be fine no matter what happened, acting 'brave' and charging off. But all in the end, he was only a coward. He didn't even put up a fight in front of the dark creature. Worse yet, Griffith had to save him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot. he thought, holding back the rest of his tears. He put Illowy in danger, and all of them in danger, just to explore a flare. And Xailah had probably had gone off to the Ball by now, confronting giants all on her own.

If he was given the worst detention of his life, he'd accept it. Hell, he'd accept it if the rest of them hated the airheaded kid who'd ruined the plan. He had.

"Isaac!" she kept crying out, trying to break his attention from the creature, "Issac, please!"

He fell to his knees, dragging the weaker girl down with him. She wouldn't leave him here alone, helpless. They were in this together, she'd promised him they'd get out of this together. Illowy could feel its presence over her. The cold biting at her bare shoulders, sucking the very heat from her burns as a sharp, bony hand gripped the back of her neck, as though trying to force her to turn. It was there behind her, even as she tried to pull the boy's gaze away. The cold was seeping into her though, and it was becoming impossible to ignore in the slightest. The worst feelings were washing over her like a wave in December. Her common sense told her not to look, her body told her to run, and yet all signals were pushed aside as she dared turn her head. It was there, inches from her nose, looming, face contorted and decayed in a way that she was sure would be burned into her memory for years to come.

Every terrible memory, every bad feeling she'd ever had of pain, guilt, sadness, it over took her to the point she didn't think she could move if she tried. All nerve and adrenaline that had carried her here, kept her mind strong in her weak state, it was gone the moment she'd turned her head.

Magnards dont cry.

A phrase her mother often said in times where one would think it perfectly rational to be upset. It was second nature to Illowy now, but in this moment tears were pulled from her. They were going to die tonight... no, they were going to endure a fate worse then death.

Her hands fell away from the boy, leaving her there only to watch and endure the attack as it feasted on them, taking the very breath from her, reaping the very essence of her. The girl who prided herself on her ability to be stone, who believed she could be brave, she retreated into herself. Her mind was to the point of being so overcome, she couldn't have fought, even if she'd wanted to.

As the professor burst through the treeline and into the clearing, Illowy stayed perfectly petrified with fear, the only thing truly catching her attention was the growing blue light that entered her peripheral vision. A wing, a massive wing, flew towards the horrible creature in attack, the pure amount of love and happiness being enough to drive the creature and the cold away.

It was as though she could suddenly breath again, if barely. The air felt like burning ice in her chest. The coldness of the ordeal still chilled her to the bone and, unlike her friend, she feared even trying to get to her feet, opting instead stay down and hug her knees close to her chest, hiding a wet face in the ruins of her skirt, trembling. Had she ever known a point where she trembled like this, she couldn't recall.

The Proffessor had no hope tonight to strike fear in the girl over something as trivial as detention. Punishing her with staying inside the school, in a room with a teacher where she was safe and protected? She'd take that in a heartbeat, put up no argument or defense on the matter, she'd take it gladly.

Xailah wouldn't make it back to the ball. She was running as fast as her little legs would carry her, but she just didn't make it. She didn't notice the vines, she heard them, but she had no idea where the sound was coming from.

She often stopped and listened, thinking that maybe the forest was getting to her; but when she put her hands over her ears, and the noise stopped. When she uncovered her ears, the noise started up again. So it's not in my head- at least I don't think it is. But if its not in my head then where- Fwump!

Snake-like vines shot up, sending leaves into the air. Were they there the whole time? Of course they were- they just went unnoticed because of the leaves. The vine wrapped itself around her boot, grabbing her by the ankle. She fell forward, landing flat on her stomach.

She couldn't scream, she couldn't voice any actual words in that moment; seeing that the fall was hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs. The thorns pricked her, drawing red lines on her porcelain skin. She frantically kicked at the reaching vines, making weird little wheezing noises as she did so. Kicking at them only made the cuts worse, but somehow she managed to slip free. She got up almost as quickly as she had been taken down.

She leaned up against a nearby tree, panting, and disoriented. The vines continued to squirm like earthworms that had been dug out of the soil. And instead of running, or calling, for help; she charged at the writhing things. She was not frightened, nor worried, she was angry. Very angry. Xailah wasn't a very violent person when she was angry, but this- this infuriated her. She ran over, tearing up the vines, thorns ripping through her black gloves. "You chickenssshit! SSSSTUPID! SSSTUPID CHICKENSSSHIT!" Her umbrella came down, smashing a vine into a sticky pulp.

They reached up, clawing at her, like hands, but she smacked them back down. And when she was done, they wriggled and pulsed, like a dead snake. She took a second to collect herself. Leaning against the same tree. She looked at the pulsing mass, knowing that she did not completely put an end to the thing. Thats when she got another brilliant idea. Before she had said to use the forest to their advantage. And thats just what she would do.

She picked up one of the severed vines, rolling it between her fingers, like she did with the blindfolds from before. Elastic, but not too much. Sturdy. They would be perfect. She crabbed up a cluster of them, and pulled, yanking their roots out of the ground. They started squirming again, but she fought them off with her umbrella. She tried to remember how big this half-giant was exactly; as she tied one end of a vine to a tree. She walked the other end to another nearby tree; pulling the vine tight, she tied it. A makeshift tripwire. Yes she was booby-trapping the forest. Would it do any good? No, most likely not, but what else was there to do? And after some time she sat down to think. She figured that Rosie was gone by now, but that didn't mean that the half-giant was.

She had got to thinking what the giant might do to Rosie. And all her thoughts had for some reason, come back to murder. If I were a serial killer half-giant where would I go? Where would I hide the body? Obviously not the party. Too many witnesses. What about the lake? No. The body would float back. Just like all your paper boats. The forest? Now we're getting somewhere. No one would ever look here. No one ever looks here. So here she would stay, and turn the tables. Let him know that he was not above her on the food-chain. She limped around a bit, her wounds didn't hurt as much as she made them look, but they stung nonetheless. She found her way to a flat little spot on the ground, a handful of thorny vines in one hand, her umbrella in the other. She cleared the spot of leaves, and made sure there was nothing in the vicinity that would try to grab her up. She sat down , and dumped out the contents of her little black back. There were of course the bottled beetles, and the silverware that she had snagged from the party, and a small spring that she took from a old Jack-in-the-Box. She returned the beetles to the safe darkness of the back, and began working away. If undisturbed she would produce a greatly modified- but hopefully effective steel-jaw trap.

OPEN to interaction by whoever is close enough

Elizabeth stood at the edge of the forest, gazing into the darkness as far as she could. It looked like a regular forest. She took a step forward, then hesitated. But it didn't feel like a regular forest. It felt sinister as if all the powers of darkness were crammed within it, ready to destroy the first unsuspecting person to enter. If I were up to no good, this is where I would go, Elizabeth thought, pulling her blanket around her tighter as if it the thin fabric had the power to shield her from danger.

And yet, she wasn't up to no good. All she wanted to do was make sure her friend was alright. She had come back to where the Ball had taken place, expecting to see Illowy among other students, simply telling the professor what she saw in terms of the fire. Instead, she was greeted with smoldering remains, no professor, and no Illowy. She was about to return to the castle to find her friend there when she saw the clothes in the shrubs near the forest. They looked familiar. She had seen them on someone at the party but couldn't quite remember who. Then, just a short distance from that she had seen the sweater - Illowy's sweater. They were all leading toward the Forbidden Forest.

But why would they go in there? Would they go in there? she wondered. She wracked her brain, trying to find some logical reason why multiple students' clothes would be found near the Forbidden Forest without those students being in said forest. She could have just dropped the sweater on her way to the castle, Elizabeth thought hopefully. But why was it near the Forbidden Forest, and why were the other clothes hidden, albeit poorly, in the shrub? She shook her head. No, something was wrong. She felt it in the pit of her stomach back in the hospital wing, and she felt it even stronger now. The Hufflepuff didn't know what was going on, but she felt the answer, and her friend, could be found within the forest.

She forced herself to take a step into the menacing darkness of the forest, then another, then another. There were footsteps on the ground. Not the small ones she would expect to see from her friend. These were large, and for one hopeful moment, the little girl imagined a professor bounding in and saving the day. But then a more troubling thought entered her mind. Or it could have been an older student, luring her friend in to trick her. The thought made her blood boil, and she began walking faster, keeping a careful eye on the tracks.

The air was getting colder, and it was getting harder to see the farther in she walked. How long had she walked now? 5 minutes? 10? 20? She had lost track, having been preoccupied with fear once again as she heard many sounds - a snapping of twigs, a rustling of leaves despite no wind. An owl hooted in the distance. Owls are good, the girl told herself as she continued to ignore all reason and walk deeper into the forest. We use owls for letters. If they are in here, it can't be all bad. Yet, she couldn't ignore the other, more sensible part of her brain, which told her that the forest was forbidden for a reason, nor could she ignore the shadows, which seemed to loom closer and closer to her, only to disappear when she looked toward them. Twice, the thought she heard a distant howl in the distance.

"Hello," she whispered, though it sounded more like an almost imperceptible squeak than a girl's voice. She continued to follow the footprints but kept a careful look at her surroundings in case anything should try to attack her.

Did Griffith notice the signs all around him? Yes, he did. Did he recognize them, or have any idea what was going on? No, he did not. Not even a little bit. He liked the forest when he knew what the forest held. He appreciated the edge of the forest, and the small glades that he had established small foot paths to and from. Here? He had never been here. It was beyond the safety he knew, and it worried him.

Griffith had spent a large portion of his life running from things, from all manner of things and people, and was very good at it. A few spells and tricks, and a brisk jog would take him out of the forest in no time. Why did he have to watch these students? Whatever was here, whatever hung those bizarre icons in this forest, it was evil, and he was scared.

But he also knew that the two children in front of him must be terrified. There was no way that they wouldn't be, after something like that. He had to remain calm for them, at the very least. Griffith cut an imposing figure, with broad muscular shoulders, a long heavy leather coat, wild hair and eyes that reminded some of glaciers. He reached up with his off hand and wiped away most of the dirt from his face. It was time to earn that paycheck.

His heavy boots crashed through the brush as he neared the two students. When he got to the shivering pair, he smiled softly, confidently. The same smile he reserved for his nervous creatures, the smile that said that he was in control, that this was going to be fine, and that they were safe. Not all of that was necessarily true, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to smile, all the same.

He thought of calling for help with his patronus, sending it off to warn and summon one of the other professors. His mind thought of the Slytherin Head of House first, pointing out how she was clearly competent, clearly dangerous. But he dismissed that idea, he had never actually seen her fight, or do something useful, so he went against his better judgement. His pride coming up with reasons to not be swallowed.

He had hardly spoken a word to the other professors, had no idea who they were, and didn't care in the slightest. He would have to handle this on his own, there was no one out there smart or competent enough to ask for help.

He slipped his wand up his sleeve, and held out one hand per student. They were going to go back, he was not going to fight whatever this was, period. He came here to run, all he did was run. He would run with two children this time, he would make sure they made it out safely. But he was still going to run.

"Alright. I want each of you to look at me, breathe in deeply through your nose, and then slowly out through your mouth. We're leaving now, and we'll find all your friends along the way. I know it doesn't feel like it to you right now, but both of you handled yourselves pretty well, considering the circumstances."

Assuming they had taken his hands, he would give theirs a reassuring squeeze before standing up, pulling them up with him.

"Let's go"

Griffith is going to start leading the two students away, assuming they allow him to, headed for the grounds.

Elizabeth would wander into the woods, they were big and they were dark. She would likely quickly get lost. There was a reason you did not travel alone, it was dangerous to go alone. the twisted roots would almost trip her underfoot, but that was not the greatest peril that awaited the pre-teen. Foolishly children think nobody can hurt them, that as long as they are 'good' nothing bad would or could happen to them. it was a childish bargain, this belief that the world was fair. The word was not fair... people were not nice.

On the ground, facing downward would be a ragdoll that was facing downward. If Elizabeth bent down to pick up the doll and turned it over she would recognize the strange features of the doll resembled her friend Illowy Magnard with uncanny detail. 

The forest, normally so full of sound and so full of life was dead quiet in the place that Elizabeth would find herself. If she looked around, a bit deeper she would notice strange bundles of twigs, twisted with twine and vine -- arms outstretched. Yes, they took the rough form of man or woman. and they were scattered about, perched in trees, hanging from branches and tucked beneath the brambles and up-curled root.

The girl only dared to peer up when she heard the Professor's voice in her ear. Quietly she followed his instruction; In as deeply as she could bare through her nose... and out once more through her mouth. It was hard to believe that they had handled it well. She'd never felt so small in her life, so helpless. Perhaps that was simply because she had been a fairly sheltered child, having never had to bare witness to many terrifying things.

Timidly, the girl took his hand, shakily climbing to her feet as he rose. It was a small, but well placed comfort when he gave her hand a small squeeze. A strong reassurance that at least now they were safe... well, safer. Feeling more like a child then ever, the girl couldn't help but cling close to him, keeping her head down, eyes low as he started leading them away to travel back through the woods.

It made her shudder to even place a toe back in that brush, and she dared not let go of her teacher. Eyes flickered nervously through the trees, noticing something she'd never noticed before; possibly because she'd been so hyper-focused on finding her friend, "Professor... what are those?" she asked quietly, unsure if he'd even hear her. Whatever it was, it didn't sit well with her.

Distracted now, she didn't notice something underfoot that nearly tripped her, stopped Illowy abruptly as she turned to find something half buried in the dead and decaying foliage. Prying one hand from the Professor's sleeve, she bent to pick it up. All over again, her blood ran cold.

"Professor Morfran..." her voice shook.

In her hand was a ragged doll. Surely there could have been a reasonable explanation for some child's lost toy, only... it was clearly made in the image of Isaac. From the combed out yarn to make his curls, down the the exactly outfit he was wearing this moment.

¥

Interacting with @Morfran Griffith

Elena Jones shot through the forest, covered in bruises, dirt all over her suit, she’s stripped down to her shirt ages ago, and her hair was back up in a battle bun. What kind of insane child was this? The kind that had run off in the wrong direction entirely. Of course.

A light flared through the trees, barely visible to anyone with a torch or Lumos charm, but Elena was running by what little moonlight could be seen through the trees, so it was clearly visible in the corner of her eye. The girl rapidly spun and raced in that direction instead.

She tripped at one point, before picking herself up and continuing on, Elena needed to change her clothes before continuing much further, the pants already being ripped. The girl stopped and rummaged through her bag, throwing the dancing heels and cupcakes away, no longer caring what she lost in this adventure, near the bottom was a pair of jeans, because you never know when you’re going to need to do something cool.

This, was not cool, by any stretch of the imagination, but Elena pulled them on anyway, pulled back on the black sneakers she’d substituted for dress shoes, and kept running.

There was the sound of heavy boots through brush, and Elena, believing it to be the kidnapper, raced out into their path holding her wand in one hand and knife in the other.

Permission to enter given by Morfran Griffith.