Harlan had stumbled upon The Almanac of Weeping Herbs, a book that dared to describe plants as more than mere environmental ornaments. There were many books that celebrated horticulture, but they often focused on the aesthetic or the medicinal effect. To the Almanac, plants were living things, sometimes thinking, often feeling, and occasionally hungry. Not every bloom was meant to heal, nor every stalk a cosmetic aid. Some plants bit back. Some represented death, and others, inevitable irreversible change.

Professor Toussaint likely knew of many of these plants. But there’s a world of difference between reading about a deadly blossom consigned to myth, and witnessing its tendrils creep across stone in real time. Many of these plants were rare, not merely because they were dangerous, but because of where they had to grow. These were war-plants. Battlefield flora. The sort that bloom where blood has been spilled and screams have lingered too long. But wars end. School walls are rebuilt. Gravel paths are laid over bones. Eventually, the pain that nourishes such plants is diluted. Forgotten and these plants wilt away. These plants require enduring suffering over the eons to truly thrive, not just survive.

But one such specimen, the Widow’s Griefcap, had been seen by more than one of Harlan’s classmates. One unfortunate child had even consumed it. Harlan had no interest in tasting these plants. He was drawn to something darker: to wielding them. Commanding them. Bending their latent cruelty into power.

So when the three women emerged from the now-cold hearth, he sensed wrongness instantly. And they sensed his.

They were elegant. Graceful. But the kind of grace that moves like ice over a grave. From the adjacent room, Howard White, locked in tense conversation with his brother in blood, saw only a flicker of their profile as they glided across the reading room. Eerie. Beautiful. Wrong. But he knew them, it would just take a moment for him to place them.

Harlan shouted, drew his wand. But his cry was swallowed by the adjacent room’s enchantments. Soundproof. Unheard to the North. To the South, those there were engaged in something else. There was a brewing battle between the men at the bar and the monster that had broken through their front door.

Perhaps the women knew this when they approached. Or perhaps, they did not care. The men to the South were otherwise engaged, they had not the time, the intention or the desire to deal with three women and a child.

So close now that he should’ve felt the heat of their breath, but all he felt was cold. Cold on his skin. Cold behind his eyes. They spoke. The words were soft. Alien. Not Latin. Not French. Not Veela. Hag.

It is important for all to know that not all hags are hideous. Some wear sin like silk: vanity, pride, lust, gluttony. Others are grotesque. All are strange. Howard would know them, these beautiful hags. Hogwarts had more than one coven tucked into its darker corners, a hidden buffet of soul and bone. And while one of their kind had been slain years ago, they had a continual system of recruitment and their coven was once again intact.

They took Harlan, the boy with the innocent face and the dark heart. And they didn’t need his power. Just his flesh.

Harlan's mind screamed. He tried to speak, to resist, to cry out. But his body betrayed him. His will was his. His thoughts were his. But his limbs moved on strings pulled by hands he could not see. He staggered forward, marionette-like, out of the reading room.

@Evelynn Decipio and @Mathias Pride would hear it before they saw him. The silent scream made real:

"What the hell is going on! What the fuck is this? What are you doing to me? Give me back my body. What did you do? Why? Who are you? What is this? What language were you speaking? Why me? Oh fuck. Why me?"

But the women were no mind-readers. And even if they were, they owed him nothing. They had only one use for Harlan now. To 'kill' Thaddeus Athanatos. The patriarch. The sorcerer. The monster. The last man any sane witch or wizard would pick a fight with. And the first name on poor Harlan's list.

@Solomon Lear

When Howard broke through the threshold of the powerful silencing spell it would seem that he had entered a war zone. He could hear the screams and shouts of pain and the building itself was shaking as if under bombardment. All that was missing were the sirens warning of the Blitz, but it was not bombs and ammunitions blasting through the air. It was a battle of brute strength and magic that he had only read about in the history books. It threatened to shake his resolve, but there was something about horror that pushed the young man into action. The innocent were always caught in the crossfire when men warred and his urge to protect outweighed the terror.

However, he was still a room away from the smoke and the rubble. Howard could see Thaddeus just there in the bar and he could hear him shouting at his enemy, but it was the smell that made him freeze. His eyes looked to the three women that had appeared through the now dead hearth. Through it all his nose would draw in their scent once more and with it he would remember. They had fed on Howard's fear and anger. Their influence had seeped into him and he had tiptoed on the edge of too far gone. The hags were supposed to have been destroyed, but some things could not be truly forgotten. They were back and pain and destruction were again floating in their wake.

Howard was no longer a boy. His strength and skills had grown, but he knew he could not take on three hags alone. His crimson eyes would look back to the room he had just come from. Howard would search for Vladimir's gaze. Words could not reach him, but his expression called the other dhampir into action. Would he heed his brother's call? Howard turned back to the hags. "Ladies." The word was laced with venom. "Long time, no see." The dhampir launched through the air.

Action: punch (martial artist maneuver) blonde hag with the glasses!
Stats: STA - 17 | EVA - 21 | STR - 17 | WIS - 1 | ARC - 0 | ACC - 21
Abilities: Fangs, Claw & Bite | Martial Artist | Unsettling Aura | Blindvision | Keen Smell | Terrible Presence | Blood Resurrection
Note: Unsettling Aura and Terrible Presence active!

Green flame wrapped twistingly around his legs consuming his body as it twisted and grew like gnarled branches across his body. This magic was unlike anything Matthew had ever experienced before, there was no incantation to grasp his lips or intentional thought, just the stumbling words of "Augury Cloister" he no doubt butchered in both pronunciation and accent. Matthew was nothing if not unrefined on a good day but with the knowledge he had chosen magic over his father he lacked even basic refinery.

If the twisting of his mind was not disorienting enough, the stomach wrenching pull as he hurled through unknown ablaze space separated his very understanding of reality. Teleportation was the kind of magic he had fantasized about so often upon the discovery of its existence but experiencing it left little to the imagination. Often times it hurt his perception of self when he let himself be conned into the delusion that the wizarding world. or magic in general was good. For every time he stumbled upon something new it seemed determined to prove that it came costly. Perhaps that cost was simply the price of living, after all nothing good had ever happened to him that he didn't end up paying for in some respect.

It had been a split second decision, with the flames seemingly begin to flicker away he had made another choice, and no doubt another foolish one. As a muggleborn the boy knew he would always be a mistake forged between two worlds that had no interest in cooperation, but in his heart he yearned to bridge such foreboding waters and remain unscathed. That devouring optimism that constantly let him down on full display, for, as much as he liked to deny it, Matthew knew that he would always choose magic, just like he had and just like he always would. In the muggle world Matt was a nobody, but with magic anything was possible; even travelling thousands of miles in space.

Much like the rest of his manner, there was nothing graceful about the way Matthew was expelled from the fireplace of the Augury Cloister. There was a sense of animosity to the arrival that marked him as unwelcome and for all its ancient history, it had certainly never discovered subtlety. So as the green flames burned away transporting him into a world no muggleborn should have ever stepped foot in, he found himself directed head first into the corner of the fireplace. Smashing against the ancient tile with some force Matthew immediately succumbed to both the disturbing knots of his stomach and the grating pounding of his head, falling to the floor of the reading room.

There, curled in a tight ball of regret and despair he would go unnoticed by the attendees of the event until danger presented itself and his instincts, sharpened by the crux of fear, pulled him back to whatever senses he still possessed. Before all that could happen, however, Matthew once again came face to face with the disastrous choices of his misplaced intentions. It was as if the boy could do no right, that in attempts to solve any problem he could only magnify its carnage. His own mind a plague on everyone he wished to keep safe; hurt the only thing he found himself capable of. Harsh tears would fall from his eyes as he held himself in the depths of his suffering.

Until the very ground beneath him seemed to crumble with the weight of him, mother nature heaving and cracking alongside the young boy. Deafened by the screaming cacophony of self loathing and with his train of thought destructively derailed he failed to fathom the danger that had entered the room, let alone the entire building. To the constantly failing child, this was just another low to complement his bleak history and unwind him further. Yet when the shaking began, the hellish collapsing like tremor, Matthew's body unfurled itself and demanded his presence to focus. The boy was no longer shattered but awoken with adrenaline from a survival instinct he wasn't sure he deserved or wanted.

Surveying a room powdered with the dust of the rapidly declining structure around them the Scot watched as three seemingly elegant woman of high society descended upon a boy like the monstrous nightmares he had read only in storybooks. And yet, that was the thing about magic; what once were deemed stories no longer lived in the pages of fantasy any longer, for Matt now knew their lingering stain in textbooks. Whatever these beings were he had no idea, but Matt's calming aura paled in comparison to the malevolence that radiated from them. Unaware that he had ran headfirst into a war frontier, Matt's only focus could be survival.

So why was he still thinking about others? The ceremony had held hundreds of doting guests but as far as he could see very few were still here by the time he had arrived. Had these women hurt them? Nabi, Winnie, hell even Gideon and Aamon crossed his mind as worry crept back into his fragile spirit. Matthew couldn't help but feel scared for all of them. When the world was falling around him and real monsters seemed feasible it was like his perceived view condensed and all of the meaningless fights and drama seemed ridiculous.

Would the last words he spoke to Nabi still linger with grievance? Would Aamon be gone before any sort of rectification could ever be made between them? Could Winnie really die on a day that was supposed to be her happiest? And what complications would this add to the distress he was overwhelmed with in regard to Gideon already? The shock grasped him so deeply and he could hardly breath until his body forced his hand and a staggered gasp of air filled the room. Knowing it would reveal his presence his body didn't hesitate; legs carried him out just as another entered with a presence that felt just as treacherous. A monster to fight the monsters, or another danger he would have to flee, no answers were clear and his head felt so disconnected he was sure it had remained in the Sanctum far from his body.

Still, time was imperative and distance even more so. The more he could put between himself and this place the better. Though with no idea where he was, Matthew clutched the amber ring that hung from his neck and in remorse for the suffering he would inflict upon his father, whispered gently to his mother, "At least I'll meet you soon."

Mentioning: @Aamon Athanatos | @Nabi Park |@Gideon Athanatos | @Winnie Harper
Stats: STA 8 | EVA 10 | STR 1 | WIS 9 | ARC 9 | ACC 10
Inventory: Wand | Crocs | SPEW Badge | Sgian-Dubh (Traditional Kilt Knife)
Action: Fleeing To Sitting Room
Notes: Calming Presence is only in affect for himself at present

____________________________________________________________________
Permission to join this event late was expressly given by the moderator

Vladimir had been in the middle of a rare, unguarded conversation with Howard White, sharing fragments of Athanatos family history that no book, cursed or otherwise, would ever commit to ink when Howard's gaze shifted. Howard referenced the beautiful women, something any man could appreciate. But as a wealthy wizard, with the means and the magic to create whatever aesthetic most pleased him, they were not much more than that... nice to look at. Howard truly came from the muggle world he reasoned, failing to grip it was not their appearance but their scent that drew the dhampir.

Three blonde women stepped from the hearth. And yes, their beauty was arresting, almost unnatural. Their sudden appearance drew the breath from the room. Vladimir hadn’t noticed the fire was dead, its embers long gone cold; Vlad had no reason to look. Beyond them, framed in shadow, stood Vladimir's father Thaddeus Athanatos, watchful, poised, and on the cusp of making a scene so grand it could only end in calamity. Something had gone wrong. Badly wrong. And yet Vladimir still didn’t grasp how near the danger truly was.

Vladimir thought they were rushing to his father's side. To whatever melee was about to erupt in the small bar, perhaps as brothers. But the moment shattered when Howard lunged at one of the women. Horror gripped Vladimir, sharp and sudden.

"Howard. Stop! What are you doing?" The command tore from his throat before Vlad even registered moving. Instinct took over; wand in hand, he snapped through the motions of a binding charm, aiming to arrest Howard before the dhampir’s hunger could push him to something irreversible. He thought it was bloodlust, Howard’s dhampiric nature overcoming reason, and acted as if it were. "Petrificus Totalus!"

In truth, he hadn’t considered the possibility that the compulsion wasn’t hunger but rather recognition.

Action: Cast Full Body Bind Curse on Howard.

Mundane Action: If Howard tips over, catch him.

Communication. Something Howard and Vladimir both needed to work on. Howard White was right, those women were hags and at least one of them carried the scent that had crept into the casement stone in Hogwarts. A coven that they had been told was destroyed. They had no reason to believe that they were lied to and in truth, they probably were not lied to, but hags replenish their ranks.

Howard was the first to break the soundproof barrier of the sitting room. They had already sent Harlan off on an errand. Murder the old man. A task the boy would surely fail, but success was never intended.

The three women moved as if the shaking floor of the ballroom was their stage. The cold, dead hearth was their entrance. While the ballroom had devolved into chaos. While master wizards were battling it out with terrorists, these three had broken away from the fray. The easiest means of egress had been extinguished and these three had taken the most direct path to the Hogwarts graduate.

The three spied the duo in the next room and spread without a word, their movements a practiced geometry: one behind, two to either side. The air thickened with their perfume, not floral but feral, carrying an undertone of copper that did not belong to any flower. Howard knew it, this strange wrong scent that reminded him more of graves than greenhouses.

Howard had come to meet them, “My, my…” murmured the tallest, tracing the line of her own throat as she studied his eyes. So... red, with that internal fire of repressed rage. “You’ve grown so… present.” The second, the smallest continued where the other had left. With braided hair and tan skin, tilted her head, gaze flicking from the tension in his jaw to the curve of his hands. Their words mute to the sitting room, a space of complete audial isolation. Even if Vladimir heard the words, he would not know the context.

But Howard White was already on the attack. "Ladies." The word was laced with venom. "Long time, no see." The dhampir launched through the air without warning or ceremony.

Howard attempts to punch (martial artist maneuver) the blonde hag with the glasses.
Unsettling Aura and Terrible Presence active
Attack 3 (+21)
Evasion 3 (+15)

Howard's fist connected with the woman, spending her glasses across the room and leaving an angry red mark on her pale face. It was not nearly enough to take the woman down, but she was going to be feeling that. She staggered back, manicured hand to her cheek when Vladimir, the erroneous white knight rushed into the room. "STOP. What are you doing?! ...Petrificus Totalus!"

Vladimir casts Petrificus Totalus on Howard
Attack 13 + 20 Miss
Evasion 15 + 21

Vladimir missed his mark. He was not able to prevent Howard's assault only look on in horror. But his horror would shift when the women spoke with such familiarity.

“Look at those hands. Not a boy’s anymore." The third, the one who was struck by White. Her voice like midnight rain, she laughed where most would have wept. They drifted closer, when others would have fled. A semi-circle about him, not touching, but close enough that he might feel the cool exhale against his flesh.

“You shouldn’t be here, sweetling. Not with all… that…” She nodded toward the battle’s din, though her eyes stayed fixed on the vein in his throat.

The first extended her hand, palm facing and a blast of unseen but certainly felt force would attempt to launch the duo back into the next room. Through the invisible veil of silence. For once, they did not want the others to hear the screams.

Hag 1: Knock Back (Similar to Flipendo) using SpellSpread
Attack [Vlad] 13 (+20 - 3) 30 Hit
Evasion 12 (+15) 27
Attack [Howard] 6 (+20 - 3) 23 Miss
Evasion 15 (+ 21) 31
Autofailure chance: 57 No effect

Vladimir, surprised perhaps that hags could be so... pretty, he was launched back. His would find himself on his back staring at his ceiling. Howard rushed out of the way, more agile than his counterpart. Perhaps there was a benefit in those years of sports.

Undeterred, the second mirrored the first. “Let the grown men play at war. Come with us. We’ll show you how it ends before it even begins.” They were not there to fight him. Not yet. But they would, just for the fun of it.

Hag 2: Knock Back (Similar to Flipendo)
Attack [Howard] 16 (+20) Miss
Evasion 15 (+ 21)
Autofailure chance: 54 No effect

Frustrating, when did the boy become so damned nimble. "Enough of this," the last hissed.

Hag 3: Subjugate
Attack [Howard]: 15 (+20) Hit
Evasion: 17 (+1)
Autofailure chance: 75 No effect

There was blood to be spilled in the next room, but that would feed them later. What they wanted, what they always wanted, was the claim. The hunger for ownership eclipsed any interest in the duel beyond the wall. Once the spell took hold and Howard's will had become her own, the third hag leaned in just far enough for her lips to nearly graze Howard's ear.

The din of battle seemed to recede, not because it had quieted, but because their voices were suddenly everywhere, silk-threaded and inevitable. And though they made no move to strike, it was clear: the fight in the other room was merely noise. The true war was here, in the space between their eyes and his pulse.

“Defeat him…” whispered one.

“…take him from this place…” sighed another.

“…and bring him with us.”

The three voices merged into one in his mind, a low command wrapped in silk and steel. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was the truth, suddenly as undeniable as breath. Howard is being mind controlled (like Harlan).

The hags stepped back as one, the circle opening like a door. “Go,” the three breathed. “Make him yours. Make him ours.”

@Solomon Lear

The fact that the Athanatos family and the hags were connected didn't come as a huge shock to Howard, but their presence here surely was. He had thought them destroyed and perhaps it was Howard's ignorance that he thought that would be permanent. The most shocking fact however was that Morgantha was most likely working directly with them. Had his creator been doing so all the way back when she turned him? Was she there at Hogwarts that night to allow the hag corruption into the school? How long had their influence been a part of his life and how long would this evil continue? All those answers would need to be sought out, but for now Howard had his eyes one those vile creatures and no pretty face would save them from his wrath.

He was no longer the boy they had preyed upon. Howard was a full grown dhampir and while he could not overpower a coven of hags, he could surely leave a mark. When the tallest of them began to speak, Howard would not wait to listen. He launched through the air with practiced precision, but voice would command him to stop. The scene would have looked insane to anyone that witnessed it. A full grown man was about to attack a lady with all of his might. Even one as questionable as an Athanatos would try to stop it, but Howard twisted midair to avoid the spell. "Vladimir! They're hags. Smell them!" It was all he could get out before he renewed his attack.

Howard's fist slammed into the blonde with the glasses. The sickening thwack of flesh and bone crunching together meant his strike was true, but it did little to harm the foul creature. The three of them would quickly form around him and she only laughed at his assault. Howard knew he could not win this fight, but with the help of Vlad they could at least hold their ground and perhaps stop whatever plan they were putting into action. He ignored their words, but their attacks came swift and with force. Vladimir would be launched backwards, but Howard narrowly avoided the first two blasts. A wicked smile found his lips as his crimson eyes narrowed towards the hags. Not so easy anymore now was it!

His hubris would be his undoing. The third hag would not approach with a physical assault and Howard did not see the mental attack coming. The spell would hit him square on and then everything went white. Surely he had just been dealt a fatal blow. The pain the ruptured his mind would be the last thing he felt before everything went dark. Howard's limbs would go limp, his head drooping forward, but he would not fall. Crimson eyes would pop open again. He could see the scene, yet it was as if he were watching it through a camera. Like a marionette his body would sway and twist on the spot, his arms swinging about as he lost control of all motor function. Soon the spell would take him completely and he would face Vladimir. Howard's jaw slowly fell, long canines burst forth from the gum line. His masters voice's would propel his body into action.

Action: Howard attempts to claw (dhampir action) Vladimir.

There was nothing he could do to stop himself. This must be what Vlad was talking about. Aware, but someone else at the wheel. He could not scream, he could not fight it, but his brother could. Howard's body was not his own. Would his mind save him? "They have mind control. They are here for you. Save yourself! RUN!" Could the disgraced Athanatos hear his brother's internal plea?

Stats: STA - 17 | EVA - 21 | STR - 17 | WIS - 1 | ARC - 0 | ACC - 21
Abilities: Fangs, Claw & Bite | Martial Artist | Unsettling Aura | Blindvision | Keen Smell | Terrible Presence | Blood Resurrection
Note: Unsettling Aura and Terrible Presence active!

The words 'they are here for you' was enough to split through the chaos like a blade of cold iron through the space between the ribs. His mind was clogged with so much noise. The jabber and wonder of guests, the snark and conceit of his brothers and cousins. Everything had gone cold and silent, a moment of wonder in the sitting room. A place intended for secrets, not spies. While legilimens were rare, they were also a dangerous threat and the very reason a room such as this was charmed in such a way.

Vladimir’s mind snapped taut. The hags, here, for him. His father’s shadow at the edge of the hall, Morgantha’s absence, the unspoken warnings passed through blood and whispered corridors, it all slammed together into one choking truth.He and Howard both were absolutely wrong. Vladimir was not nearly as important to this story as people credited him. He was but one of many failed protagonists. The hags had already won, they did not need or want him dead. Their plans were much bigger than the fate of a middling former heir.

But there was no time to think it through.

Howard moved like a predator unchained, but the thing puppeting this body wasn’t Howard. The lunge was inhuman, feral. His claws sliced through the air with the intent to rip. The stink of hag magic clung to him, thick and rancid, and in the split-second before contact, Vladimir’s instincts overtook reason.

Vladimir didn’t run.

Instead, his hand flashed to his wand, the motion more reflex than conscious thought. “Incarcerous!” The ropes burst from the wand’s tip, twisting in midair to intercept Howard’s assault.

Action: Vladimir casts Incarcerous on Howard White.

Did Vladimir really think he had a chance with the three women? Well... yes. Just not in the clash-of-wands, duel-until-bloody sort-of-way. Dinner. A long broom-ride someplace isolated. A smile lingering in candlelight. That kind of chance.

It wasn’t until the first curse left their lips that the truth snapped into place. The perpetual white knight, when Howard lunged first, Vladimir thought the man had lost his mind. But when the air warped, an invisible force slammed into the former Ravenclaw's chest and he was hurled backwards into the sitting room. The world fell eerily silent for a single, ringing heartbeat.

He liked the sitting room for its silence. It was one of the few places he truly felt isolated. When you exist in every waking hour wading through the mental conversations of every stranger, friend, potential lover, or family member, one comes to appreciate the quiet. But he was not able to linger there, on his back. Vladimir staggered upright, his head swimming. He ripped his wand from its holster. His eyes found the one with the glasses, sharp, cold, and almost amused. Target her first, he told himself. Pair with Howard, whittle them down, force an opening.

He moved forward and he breached the threshold. As he did, Howard’s mind-voice crashed into him like a struck bell. They have mind control. They are here for you. Save yourself. RUN! That was all the warning the dhampir would give before he came for Vladimir.

Howard attacks Vladimir with a claw attack.
Attack 3 (+21) 24
Evasion 4 (+15) 19

Howard lunged, claws flashing. It was a part of their shared cursed blood: these gnarled hands with thick claws instead of manicured digits. Dhampirs were part-man of course, but they were also part-weapon. Agony bloomed across Vladimir’s ribs as flesh split under the strike, burning and wet. He staggered back, shock sharpening to fury.

Four-on-one. And one of the “one” was Howard. Vlad should have run. But Athanatos pride, one of their family's great sins, or stupidity held him.

Vladimir swung his wand towards Howard, snapping the incantation.

Vlad casts incarcerous on Howard.
Attack 3 (+20) 23 Miss
Evasion 3 (+21) 24

Ropes erupted from the tip of Vladimir's wand, twisting through the air like hunting snakes, snapping for wrists, elbows, throat, anything they could seize. The ropes coiled and strained. The bindings bulged under Howard’s unnatural strength, threads fraying, splitting. Howard's thrashing was jagged, marionette-like, pulled by a crueler hand than his own.

The hags laughed. Merlin, that laughter... sharp as glass dragged over stone. That already had Howard, he lacked the psychic fortitude to deny them. In spite of all of Howard's physical power. In spite of enduring a curse of thirst in exchange for power, there was always a weakness. At this moment, it is important to mention, it is very hard to control the mind of most Anthanatos members.

Hag 1: Cast Rasprorus (Similar to Sectumsempra)
Attack 11 (+20)
Evasion 1 (+ 15) critical failure
Autofailure chance: 3 Effective

Invisible claws tore at him. Pain exploded white-hot across his side, the wound raw and wet. If not for his menacing aura, Vladimir might have been a few inches shorter.

Hag 3: Cast Rasprorus (Similar to Sectumsempra)
Attack 3 (+20)
Evasion 20 (+ 15) critical success
Autofailure chance: 34 No Effect

He rolled aside, finding his footing, a low snarl curling from his throat. The second strike cut air. The stature behind him, beheaded. The stone face would slide off the proud statue and roll across the floor. Eerie, the familiar angular Athanatos features. As if the statue was once a man now slain.

Hag 3: Cast Rasprorus (Similar to Sectumsempra)
Attack 8 (+20)
Evasion 20 (+ 15) critical success
Autofailure chance: 52 No Effect

The third curse slashed wide, catching nothing but the afterimage of where he’d been. His eyes locked on the coven, blood in his mouth and fury in his chest, every nerve screaming for him to either flee or kill. But the ladies... they seemed more amused than concerned. One glanced back at Thaddeus, too wrapped up in the battle in front of him to see his investments meters adjacent getting toyed with.

@Solomon Lear

Howard had strength that outmatched most humans. All apart of his predatory nature. He needed to chase. He needed to rip and tear, but hardened muscle and sinew would do nothing to help him against the mental assault from the hag. With all of his might he would try and stop his legs from moving. To halt his fingers from flexing so that claws could shred flesh and spill blood, but one foot fell in front of the other as he sped towards Vladimir. The very strength and killer nature that marked them dhampir would now be turned against his brother. Howard winced as his claws made contact with Vlad's ribcage. Not a fatal blow, but a wound that would need tending to to stop the bleeding.

The only saving grace was the expression that now crossed his brother's face. One Howard knew well. Back a predator into a corner and the fury they showed could be breathtaking, but still the fool should run. RUN! GO! He could only hope that Vlad could hear his thoughts, but still the other fought on as ropes bursted from his wand. Howard tried his best not to evade the attack, but again his body was not his own. Damn these vile creatures and their wicked magic. His own rage would begin to bubble in his core. Oh how he yearned to tear them apart. The hag magic would now lash out at Vladimir. The man was skilled, but the odds of a four on one assault stacked up against him as the hag magic slashed at his flesh.

The situation was turning dire. Vlad could not withstand the constant barrage of attack coming his way. Howard had to do something! It was no use however as his body began to move again. This time his jaw would drop. His elongated canines would flash and in a quick flurry Howard would attempt to bite Vladimir. While his body was not his own, Howard had at least enough of his mind to think on his own. He mustered as much mental will as he could and again tried to force himself out of their control!

Physical action: Attempt to bite Vladimir!
Mundane Action: Mentally trying to break the Hag magic if this action is also allowed.
Stats: STA - 17 | EVA - 21 | STR - 17 | WIS - 1 | ARC - 0 | ACC - 21
Abilities: Fangs, Claw & Bite | Martial Artist | Unsettling Aura | Blindvision | Keen Smell | Terrible Presence | Blood Resurrection
Note: Unsettling Aura and Terrible Presence active!