Hogwarts Summer Camp Chess Combat, Game 1

Thomas had similarly been about to move C2, ready to win the square by any means necessary, but before he could, the announcement of the match's end rang out. The Ravenclaw's attention snapped back to his teammate, what was his name again...? No matter, the boy was clearly unwell, and despite the initial anger he felt at the match's sudden conclusion, ultimately he wasn't some unempathetic monster. The fire in his heart subsided, and he lowered his wand as instructed. Rather than enraged, he just seemed visibly disappointed that he couldn't continue his personal victory streak.

While he didn't exactly experience a sense of camaraderie with his team, Thomas largely focused on his individual success rather than winning the match itself, he did feel for Theo. Fainting in such an undignified manner, succumbing to a curse he weathered several rounds of spells ago, was likely rather humiliating. At least, it was in the Ravenclaw's eyes. Perhaps others had a different view on the matter, but Thomas' sympathy didn't necessarily derive itself from Theo's condition, but from the embarrassing experience of being the first to lose consciousness. He was prideful, perhaps too prideful for his own good.

Which is why his first reaction towards Santario's genuine olive branch was one of confusion. Thomas paused for quite a while, staring at the Slytherin in search of any signs of guile. Seeing none (it's not as if he was particularly good at reading people anyways, he didn't know why he bothered with the attempt), he slowly took her hand and gave it a shake. "Oh uh, yeah. Good game." For now, he was still bewildered by the gesture, but later Thomas would certainly be gloating about how he took out Mars.

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By SK

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Dee had been, once again, preparing to cast the Knockback Jinx at the opposing team's Queen, and once again half-expected to follow Mars off the field unconscious if she didn't manage to dodge the spell that was certainly going to come her way in time. She hadn't really expected to see the end of the match after being hit by that third Incendio - in fact, she had already much outlasted her own expectations, considering how close to collapsing she'd felt for the past few rounds.

But also once again, it seemed that fate had different plans for her. Dealla hadn't really noticed Theo fainting at all, too busy focusing on aiming, preparing to dodge, and all the while ignoring the increasing pain from her burns, but just as she raised her wand to cast her spell, Professor Vernatis's voice snapped her out of her concentration. Stop... the duel? When there were only two rounds left?
It gave her a small pause, wand still up an pointed at Greta, while her head turned to look for the source of the sudden commotion, and only then she spotted Theodore, being carried off by Professor Vernatis.

Oh. So it seemed Santario's curse had gotten the best of him, in a way that hadn't been intended in the range of the Chess Combat rules.
Feeling a little lost, a little confused, Dee lowered her wand. A draw... maybe she should be glad for it, as it had seemed that their team was on the losing side, and a draw was certainly better than a loss? But instead, she just felt incredibly unsatisfied. If they weren't allowed to finish the match, why had she suffered through the past few rounds? Why had Mars been knocked out?

With the tension of the match gone, her exhaustion suddenly hit her like a wave, and she swayed on her feet, her energy reserves depleted. Dee blinked. She was holding her arm at a somewhat awkward angle, trying to not touch any of the burns. Maybe she should go look for medical attention, too - although they were likely busy with Mars and Theodore right now.
Trying to ignore the pain a little longer, she turned to Everett, a somewhat strained smile on her face. "Thanks for being my fire extinguisher, Princess," she told him, a hint of teasing in her voice despite it all. "I should go and see if they have Burn-healing Paste or something." Her smile widened a little, and she looked over at Jack, and at Santario. "At least our team wasn't boring, right?" With a small wave, she turned, and started off towards the medical station.

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH: @Willow Anderson (as Everett) | MENTIONING: @Jack Warren, @Opeila Winters (as Theo), @Dealla Prince, @Santario Martin[/font]

It was nearing the end now, the heat of the battle quickly drawing to its climax. So strong was the tension and so thick was the air with the trailing glimmers of fired spells it could nigh on be cut with a diffindo. Despite the chaos, however, a quick glance about showed that every member, white or black, remained focused and determined. Even the boy in the back who'd made an attempt to speak with Greta at the start of the match was making a valiant effort to push past the compounding layers of mucous and phlegm to make his mark before the whistle rang. So, too, did she have to make hers.

But where? By the looks of it, her team was closing in to strike at the centre figure of the white team, perhaps attempting to take him out and clear lines to target the rest. She'd chanced a cast towards the enemy rook ahead of her, but to no result. Annoyingly, her wand seemed to be failing her far more in these past minutes, than it had any right to. No.. Brows pinched as she shook that notion clear from her mind the moment it had been conjured. She could hardly blame the wand. And doing so marked her as weak. It was she that had failed herself. Between the lapse in focus and delays in taking decisive action, she'd missed several opportunities, sacrificing them to dodge when in reality, she ought to be able to do both.

Taking her team's continued efforts to heart, Greta steeled herself, and in a split decision ignored the girl. Sure, she'd been tenacious enough to avoid her own team's attempts to finish her off, but that seemed to be all she was capable of. Not that the little Norwegian could really mock her for that when her own spells had failed as many times as they had landed. Something she intended very much to make right. Ducking to make herself a smaller target for the attack she expected from ahead, she sliced her hand out to the side, tip pointing over her team mate's shoulder directly at her previous adversary. Screened as she was from view, she doubted he'd see her attack coming.

She was just about to chant, lips parting with the word already formed on the tip of her tongue when she heard the dull thud followed sharply by the call to stop. The baritone of the professor quite unexpected given the relative silence from any but the players for the duration thus far, Greta's chin snapped in the man's direction. Confusion quickly marred her features. She'd understood 'stop', but the rest of it had been a jumble. In fact, she leaned around her teammates, gaze hunting for the one boy who knew at least a modicum of German, intent to request clarification. Her eyes flashed wide a moment later as they settled on his prone and unmoving form.

But when had… She had seen no spell trail towards him. And surely he couldn't have succumbed to the imposed illness so soon… Clarification presented itself quickly enough as the Hogwarts professor hurried to her collapsed teammate to bundle in his arms.

"Ehm.. Is end?" She wondered, still moderately confused as to what was happening and searching the faces of the others for direction, wand arm still raised but sinking slowly.

It became clear quickly enough that the game, for better or worse, was over. Wands were lowering and the various players were moving from their squares. She even observed the other rook go forward to offer a shake to her counterpart on the black team. Taking queue from that, and listening carefully to hear what had been said, Greta moved to do the same. A good impression was important, after all, and she didn't intend to disgrace her school by withholding from the expected customs at the conclusion of a match. As the rook ahead of her [Dee] moved away, she assumed it wasn't her whose hand she was supposed to shake. Instead, Greta hesitantly approached the opposing team's queen.

"Ehm…" With the mask of a warrior vanished in the ebb of the waning battle, a timid gaze lifted to seek the boy's. A moment later and the wand had been swapped to her opposite hand, allowing her to wipe her palm dry on her skirts before holding it up and out to him as she had seen the others do. "It is.. Ehm… Good game.. Yes?"

[font=century gothic]ACTION: Offering to shake Everett's hand[/font]