Quidditch Hogwarts vs Durmstrang - Summer 2023

It had indeed gotten worse. Badgers were being reported plummeting from the sky, one after another. Whistles were heard, more penalty laps being assigned. Roaring of the international team's benches was pounding, like a drum in her skull. Haaa.. She'd close her eyes, exhaling. The bench lifted beside her, signaling the last of the badgers taking to the field. Then the name blarred out. Atlas had been knocked off her broom. Collecting herself, she'd tighten her keeper gloves and toss her leg over her trusty silver arrow. Three. There were three badgers left. Daphne who had miraculously found the snitch, Tesla and herself. A gutrual roar boomed from her throat as she pushed off the ground into the sky.

This very well could be the last round, might as well go out with a bang.

Reducio

Position: Second String Keeper
Stats without broom:
Stamina | 15
Evasion | 13
Strength | 10
Wisdom | 7
Arcane Power | 8
Accuracy | 16
Stats with broom:
Stamina | 18
Evasion | 16
Strength | 13
Wisdom | 10
Arcane Power | 11
Accuracy | 19
Abilities: Obnoxiously Strong | Blindvision | Perfectionist | Savior
Broom: Silver Arrow [+3 all stats]
Action:As Strategized

all dialogue in russian unless specified otherwise
interactions @Valentin Schnell
mentions @Romeo Marchonné, @Vyacheslav Preobrazhensky (minorly)

Typically never directly placed into the action-embroiled thicket of the other positions, Johannes depended upon the input of their sports narrator to guide his knowledge of the match before he was faced with it head-on. Perhaps in this function, he missed Plott’s peacocking (for at least it provided some amount of information amongst the chatter) but every moderator was different. With their announcer reduced to anxiety-inducing silence for everything but to call penalty laps, he could now only see the weaknesses in his reliance.

Yet another full set of quaffle points bagged for Team Dandelion, aiming only to raise his justified disdain for an opportunity well-spent. If Johannes believed his benched successor to be even capable of disappointment, this was definitely the time for Slava to recognise his positional faults. Had he not been amongst the majority of first-string members speeding through their metaphorical yellow cards, perhaps he might have found some greater pleasure in their seeker's uncharacteristic blatch. It was a fine move, worthy of their perpetually cheating chasers. Yet even the echoing impact of Romeo's bludger hit could not completely protect the remnants of Durmstrang's thinly spread team.

If their immortal king maintained himself as the far-reaching lighthouse amongst a weather-worthy storm, then Romeo surely would have taken on the role of the dependable anchor and navigator rolled into one. Yet their crew must have lost its way sometime during the journey, for even a hit opponent had somehow found the strength to retaliate against their beater in some last-ditch attempt to make a mark upon the Quidditch Pitch. Two birds with one stone in the worst way possible as Romeo was knocked clear off of his broom, falling net and saviourless to impact heavily with the unforgiving ground.

Deadlocked into the match, Johannes could only stare helplessly down at the team of healers immediately swarming their unshakeable Kapitän like frenzied ants— like snakes, like vultures scavenging the remnants of a good kill. Horrified at the turn of events, he met Valentin's searching gaze with only desperate incapability, as if their remaining leader could wrangle their situation back into submission by will alone. Abandoning the skies only to disrupt the well-meaning healers doing their jobs was simply out of the question... But how could he maintain peace of mind with their #4 lain prone amongst foreign hands? It was completely remiss to expect Johannes to trust in a makeshift wizarding Hippocratic Oath when they had been neglected once before. After all, the aftermath of their first Hexwizard task had only reinforced Durmstrang’s misguided call to self-sufficiency in the face of imminent danger. He, never quite as capable as their resident downed paramedic even between his extra lessons, could not trust that Romeo would be in good hands until the team had ensured it themselves.

Caught within Hogwarts’ Quidditch pitch, Sárkány had pridefully invited themselves into the enemy’s den and seen only falsified safety after decimating their British opponents. Romeo’s fall had been a strike against their morale — a parting gift from Team Dandelion to cure them of their growing hubris. With its players shaken into acknowledging the true brutality of Quidditch as a team sport, the bloodthirsty crowd remained ever-oblivious to Durmstrang's internal conflict reigning its ugly head. Johannes contained only vague sympathy and little true mercy for their flailing opponents, yet he had simultaneously never known the mounting dread of his own leaving the pitch without conscious volition.

Was this how the enemy team felt all the time? It was a wonder that they could maintain their confidence while their teammates dropped like caught flies. Johannes could complain about the wizarding world's lack of muggle ethics regarding sports safety protocol all he liked... Still, a hypocrite could only speak so much before they rendered themselves useless. It was clear: He, placated by sheer numbers and the general safety of his Keeper position, had been thrown into a false sense of security and rendered complacent in the name of assured patronage. He had deluded himself into simply accepting magical murder, for even the simple suggestion of removing himself from the systematic cycle of aggression could not be considered a viable alternative.

(That was it: He had stacked evidence against himself for proof of his immorality. Surely, a well-adjusted person would aim to protect themselves from the guarantee of trauma? Fallen into the trap of believing his Kapitäne invulnerable to Quidditch's violence, he had unknowingly crafted his expectations into his own greatest enemy. But simultaneously, they had always claimed to have Stribog’s guiding hand at play— so would recognising this weakness count as blasphemy?)

Johannes was but a pawn in the grand strategic scheme of life, but even he — unbelieving and scarcely significant — could only hear ringing. The phantom church bells of his youth, the chiming windchill of Stribog’s distant fortune… A funeral toll for the cruel existence of mortality itself. The rainswept crowd, between their tireless cheering, surely must have heard it just as clearly as he did, if not in authentic sound than in the tense line of his figure as he folded back into the pitch’s activity. In an intense, wholly Durmstrang sense of the word, Sárkány had offered their opponents some spare modicum of mercy throughout the match by virtue of a quick dismantling. It was clear now that even early action could not stem the growth of weeds.

Cruel as it seemed, they had little choice but to cast a plague of devastation upon their presumptuous opponents and supporters — hunting down the straggling survivors to wring every last drop of enforced remorse from their mindless optimism. He had hoped they could avoid opening Pandora's box of total slaughter, but Hogwarts had dug their own grave. Resigning himself for the collection of Durmstrang's grand compensation, the sharpened blade of retribution gleamed wickedly in his mind’s eye.

Action: As strategised.

The game was, not so smoothly going on, with more than half of Hufflepuff's team kicked of their brooms. Durmstrang was leading in awake players, but Hufflepuff was a hundred points ahead.
And then, Romeo fell. Astrid's eyes opened wide as she saw the boy fall of his broom. That... That was not good for them but they could still win. The girl looked up a few moments later, only to see that Daphne, Hufflepuff's seeker, had found the snitch.
— Fuck
Astrid was not worried for her team. She was never worried, or afraid. She knew that Durmstrang wanted to win - obviously - and that when Durmstrang wanted to win, they would do anything to win.

Stats: sta ● 8 (11)| eva ● 8 (11)| str ● 5 (8)| wis ● 10 (13)| arc ● 7 (10)| acc ● 8 (11)
Abilities: Fearless - Obnoxiously Strong - Keen Eye
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to every stat)
Action: As strategized

Greta (@Evelynn Decipio), Johannes (@Astrea Soleil Neptune), Lysander (@Phaedra Stavrou), Valentin (@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood), Romeo (@Piérre Marchonné)

As Johannes joined the revelry and Greta bumped into their ranks, Madhup beamed, an expression equally measured in mischief and affection. He was not as fast as Jo, nor as ferocious as the Valkyrie, but the cheating Chaser new how to have a good time in the midst of chaos. He laid into his broom, yet used this penalty lap to spy the game from afar. He hollered over the wind whipping around them: "Look there! Even pretty boy Lysander is getting in on the bully spirit. They must think we are brutes." He almost sounded proud of the fact, though his malicious amusement did well to hide the nugget of pity he felt. Some of those Hogwarts kids looked awfully small....

Pity for the multitude of Hufflepuffs they had sent to the earth was gone as soon as Romeo joined their ranks. Madhup's cheers and jeers ended, and he loosed a very small, very stiffly spoken "Shit." through clenched teeth. As the blatchers coaxed back in, he was quick to resume the jester's role in an effort to recover, saying sweetly: "Greta, break some bones in the co-captain's honor, pretty please?" It was no secret how immensely invested Valentin was in his team, his right-hand-man in particular, and Mad made a point to shout through a cupped hand: "Keep your head, Val! We need you!" In true miscreant fashion, he reached to high-five the incoming lappers as if tagging himself back in, undaunted by the heel reputation Durmstrang must be building for themselves.

Back in the Game - Per Strategy

Silver Arrow broom (+3 to all stats)
STA: 9 12 | EVA: 13 16 | STR: 12 15 | WIS: 3 6 | ARC: 3 6 | ACC: 15 18
Foulplay, Interception, Fearless, Calming Presence
Calming Presence Allies: Team Durmstrang!

*Stats in Banner are Post Ability/Broom Augmentations

¤ | Ω | ¤

Nec Temere, Nec Timide. Durmstrang Institute's

Romeo Giovanni Marchonné [6'6.5" | 199lbs]

"English." "Italiano. Italian." "Russian."

| Faint Scar on Left Eye & Mangled Right Ear | \ Fingerless Glove on Right Hand, Bite Scar on Forearm / | Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |

Team Sárkány & Team Dandelion Hufflepuff

The thunder continued to roll in the back of my mind, my left hand locked to the ebony shaft of the Firebolt as the maple bat in my right continued to shiver with the force of my tightening muscles. The game had to go on, it had to continue. At this point I had willingly signed myself up to be the curator of this madness, to be the one conducting the actions of my own team. Of course I had to be there to watch the fallouts, to observe the destruction that I wrought. This was the responsibility that I had subjected myself to, I would be damned if it was the responsibility that I was going to reject simply because it did not taste good.

Valentin was beside me in a matter of heartbeats, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his forehead to my temple. Soothing words in my native tongue came from him; words of the duty of both a healer and the fighter. Their duties were indeed extreme, their tasks seemingly always at odds with one another as they vied to have control of the battlefield and of those that were beneath their commands. They did so much more than fight when they sensed they were threatened by the other; and oh how they were threatened by the strengths of the other. They knew just how much one undermined the purpose of the other, how it made themselves obsolete if all sympathized with one or the other’s cause completely. There was supposed to be a realm in between both powers, a place where both cooperated and yet could not overpower the other, yet that realm seemed so far away and impossible to obtain in this place, in this situation, at least in my mind anyways.

’Che cosa è un guaritore senza uno che rompe un altro? What is a healer without one who breaks another?’ Came the musing. ‘Non puoi guarire senza ferire gli altri. You can't heal without hurting others.’ A curl of dark amusement. ‘Oh bene. Almeno questo significa che sei bravo a fare qualcosa. Oh well. At least that means you're good at doing something.’

Closing my eyes for a second to let the fuzziness in my mind dwindle away, only Valentin was in the immediate that I cared about for the moment. The bludgers were still whistling elsewhere, boomeranging somewhere else before attempting to strike out at someone on our team again. With a deep breath, I opened my eyes again and wrapped my bat-bearing arm about his back, hugging him tightly for a moment as his further words ran over me; ’No hell will claim you so long as you have me by your side.

Pain lanced through my heart at the words, spoken so bravely and with so much conviction and yet in and of themselves being at such odds in a perfectly paradoxical representation of the warring halves both within and throughout, internal and external, secular and theological alike. God, just please make that true. Make that one statement true. If even that is not possible, then surely show some other way, some other possibility that I can’t see. Something else that can be done.

“Just keep flying, Valentin. Keep going.” I muttered to him, forcing myself out of my reverie even as the swirls of shouts from the audience and the sounds of flying about me continued and indeed did seem to heighten instead. I willed him to look me in the eyes as I spoke evenly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” My gaze flicked to the part-giant and his current broom-mate, sure that Valentin saw what I saw. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to knock them down, not with the literal shield of flesh aiding the smaller of the two riders…

But a well-timed blatch, just like Madhup had performed…

“Fly like an arrow, Niffler.” I pressed my forehead to his. “Fly like an arrow and make your mark count.”

Timing wouldn’t allow us to dally any longer. Still shivering a bit with the anticipation of the violence yet to come, I pulled away with a ‘spur’ to the Firebolt and sought out my next mark; the next bludger that I would have to sent spiralling towards the adversary. The young chaser on team Hufflepuff began to bag more Quaffles, but even as she finished her final easy shot thanks to our current lack of a Keeper I wound up and with everything in my body undid my tensions like a spring converting from potential to kinetic energy, releasing everything upon the cast iron ball that had had the misfortune of coming my way.

As my bat hit the ball, I became aware of a sickening snap that reverberated all the way up my forearms and left a shock in both of my hands as the bludger hurtled off with a scream that came from the whistling of air across its divots and cracks. Faster than the eye could track did the ball crash into the girl like a stroke of lightning and then violently thereafter did it bounce and utilize the rest of its incessant power to collide with the remaining beater. Bones crunching in both my ears as I realized that there was indeed a high potential that the blow I had inflicted upon the soft first party could have killed or at least damaged the internal organs of that poor player, I clapped both hands over my ears and furrowed my brow with a grimace as I saw in my mind’s eye how it looked when a joint was dislocated and how a bone pierced flesh when fractured just right. I had seen these things before, as well as inflicted some of these.

What I had not seen was the bludger that was coming for me at the hand of the beater who had struck their own bludger at me just as mine had hit them full force. I heard the distorted whispers of the displaced air closing in instead, and as I opened my eyes I beheld my maple bat–or what remained of it, anyways. Upon a fracture that left stringy maple wood sticking out of the break, I was only holding a third of the former length of the bat, the handle useless in my hand as there was hardly a surface left upon the wide radius of the bat. Maple fibers so far still barely attached to the jagged splinters fluttered in the wind, and I felt my eyes crease in a hybrid expression of grief and disappointment as I realized that my only weapon had been stripped from me at the cost of the most powerful blow that I had ever dared to inflict upon a helpless victim.

Served me right, I supposed.

Without a weapon, I was dead weight. Without a bat, I wasn’t much use to my team besides that of another body in the skies. It would be better at this point for Arjan to take my place instead, even as much as my instincts of self-preservation screamed at me to disobey such destructive trains of thought. Continuing to fly for as far as I could in an attempt to shake off the bludger, at least I was kiting it away from my allies so that there was no chance whatsoever of bouncing it back at them and bringing down more of us that was necessary. Eventually, I knew I couldn’t outfly it.

Bracing in anticipation of the blow I spun towards the cast iron ball and threw out my arms, flinging the remains of the useless bat to the skies. Perhaps a raging, insane fan would get their hands on it and get to add it to some weird fan-collection of theirs. I didn’t know, I didn’t really care. Eyes glowing with vengeance as I beheld the methods of my destruction hurtling for me, I made myself an enormous target, almost inviting the bludger to find a place where it could strike true in my chest. Despite myself, I found myself grinning wide and laughing at the circumstance that was now before me. Oh how ironic and how perfect. How lovely a turn of this circumstance was now, as I willed my team to keep playing without watching this downfall befall me. “Veni, vidi, et cecidi in faciem meam! Latin: I came, I saw, and now we shall conquer!” I cried out one last time as the bludger knocked the breath out of me and cut me off no sooner than I had finished my words.

It was a strike, to be sure. It was a strike, and it was a rather strong beater that had caused me to topple from my seat and send me plummeting towards the ground. My vision blurred in and out and faded for just a second before I became aware of my surroundings instead. All of my potential savers were too far away, not that I felt that I could hold on for long even if someone did swoop in to save me in the nick of time. Blood continued to pulse incessantly in my ears as I shook off the weight that seemed to be dragging on my limbs… or perhaps was that simply the flow of air trying to make its way past my stubborn, wider form? The world seemed to move in jerks and choppy photos; the brooms of Valentin and Alaric, the only teammates of mine not circling the pitch, the girl and her giant companion also falling to the ground alongside the beater that had felled me. There was only their seeker left in the sky for the time being… no doubt searching for that elusive golden orb that Valentin had not seemed to spot yet for himself.

I lazily tracked Valentin in the skies with a dizziness that kept dragging me down just as much as my physical body was. He had done it, he had actually done it. At what cost, perhaps, but he had actually done it.

The colosseum rose up around me, though no faces were able to be clearly seen, and at that strange moment right before I knew that I would be smote upon the ground like all the others that I had crushed and ensured their fall from grace, I felt strange giddiness; a lilt of freedom and thrill that there was a chance… there was a chance that this would be the very last thing that I would ever see. The vision of a stormy sky overhead and the broom racing like comets beneath those clouds. I found myself so deathly curious, so intrigued; I had promised Valentin that I would never let him go, that I would never abandon him.

“Keep flying, Valentin…” Came the whisper from me that felt as if it did not come from my own body. “Fly faster and faster you magnificent hell-chaser...”

Was this the fracturing of my promise? Or was this perhaps what our hell-seeker felt as he chased higher and higher ambitions; faster and faster paths and more dangerous trails. Was this thrill, this excitement… was this what he sought after every dangerous effort and attempt? Mastery over the thrill, anticipation and terrifying thrill of the thought that this was the last time; the last moment before the end. How freeing to live these final seconds free of burden, knowing that this could be the end. Seconds before the final breath, nothing mattered except for the moment in which one still lived: precious moments before eternity.

How gorgeous. How ruthlessly, incredibly–

The body of Romeo Marchonné hit the ground back and left forearm first, and its subsequent hollow *THUD* would be lost to the cheering of the crowd and the noises of the announcers overhead. In a reflexive movement the body would turn and roll onto its stomach, seemingly uncaring of the fact that the arm of the young man was completely limp halfway past the elbow and twisted in an unnatural direction. Those sadistic enough to enjoy watching the medics taking care of the bodies of the fallen players would observe that Marchonné bravely attempted to raise himself from the ground; he got himself just high enough to lift his chest from the earth, but shivered and collapsed once more as too much weight was placed on the currently ruined left forearm. Medics would find him fluttering between awareness and senselessness, strangely enough he was aware enough to detect the stimulus of pain as they attempted to maneuver and prepare him to be taken care of in a more suited location.

As they moved the titian-haired human titan, the medics would hear the incoherent words and phrases that came from him. Delirious bits of stratagem mostly, but mixed in here and there was broken words of encouragement seemingly angled at the skies and towards the returning Durmstrangians that were finishing their laps and the Durmstrang seeker that was just beginning his own. These were short lived, of course, and eventually things became a lot easier to handle as soon as the six and a half foot tall beater finally relinquished his mind and went out like a stroke of lightning returning to the clouds.

What a piece of work this was going to be…

Being Toted off to the Medical Tent
Ciao, Plebs!

Reducio

Stats:

Ω Stamina 0/900 | Evasion 8 | Strength 17 [19.55 OS] Ω
Ω Accuracy 18 [+3 MC, +4FB] | Wisdom 10 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Ω Muggle Condition Ω

Broom: Firebolt (+4 Accuracy, +2 Broom Abilities)

Ricochet: In the role of Beater, if you hit an opponent with a bludger the bludger will then ricochet off that user and target a second opponent of choice (must be declared, if not declared the target will be random and can be an ally but not yourself).

Counterstrike: In the role of Beater, if an ALLY dodges a bludger during the round, there is a 20% chance that you catch that bludger with your bat and you send it at a RANDOM enemy target.

Note: For the rules lawyers out there: you are not considered your own ally.

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Interacts. @ // ═══════════════════	xx	EN #664d00, GR, RU #A57865 29/07/2023 | In uniform [x] ═══════════════════	xx	Mentions. @Durmstrang Team ═══════════════════

This extreme tactic wasn’t the nicest, but Quidditch wasn’t a nice sport. How could it be, with bludgers of solid iron aiming to crack players’ skulls? Anyone with sense would prefer a bit of fouling to that. But while their cheating as a collective dwindled Hufflepuff’s population, the numbers on the scoreboard climbed steadily. Lysander’s once celebratory chest-beating deflated, as if a balloon robbed of its air, his features taking on an intense expression. Alright, play time over. 100-0 was too risky for even a risk-taker of Lysander’s caliber, and now they were down Romeo and with Valentin on penalty. He knew what he had to do—strong, yet elegant hands grasped onto the Oakshaft’s handle, and he applied his weight forward to accelerate. Hogwarts could not catch that snitch.

BROOM: Oakshaft 79 | Three chosen skills under reducio STATS: STA 13; EVA 22 26; STR 14; WIS 5; ARC 0; ACC 17 21 ABILITIES: Evasive Maneuvers I, Evasive Maneuvers II, Charmer, Fearless

ACTIONS: N/A

Roleplaying as Durmstrang iNPC Arjan Oberoi

Interacting with no one really. He looks at Slava.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he saw one of the beaters fall. He didn't even want to play anymore, he was so angry at everything. This was not going according to the badass plan of just having him going in, knocking everyone off and winning instantly. Of course, that only happened in his dreams but a boy could dream.

On the plus side, it would be a lot quieter up there and he wouldn't have to listen to the people on the bench talking all around him - or worse, to him. He shot a glare to Slava in response to the chaos but made no comment on that. Though he did smirk. Maybe he should show the newbie how it was done! Or at least, he could dream of that. With his luck, he would probably fail immediately.

Grabbing his Oakshaft, he mounted it and took to the skies.

ACTION: Whatever the team says

For Moderation --

Reducio

Arjan Oberoi - Second-String Beater

STATS:

Stamina: 15
Evasion: 10
Strength: 17 + 15% [2.55]* + 4 = 23.55 (24 Rounded up)
Wisdom: 5
Arcane Power: 8
Accuracy: 12 + 4 = 16

* From Obnoxiously Strong

BROOM:

Oakshaft 79
Stats: +4 to two stats (Strength and Accuracy)
Abilities:

In the role of Beater, if you hit an opponent with a bludger the bludger will then ricochet off that user and target a second opponent of choice (must be declared, if not declared the target will be random and can be an ally but not yourself).

In the role of Beater, if an ALLY dodges a bludger during the round, there is a 20% chance that you catch that bludger with your bat and you send it at a RANDOM enemy target.

Note: For the rules lawyers out there: you are not considered your own ally.

In the role of Beater, if you critically hit with a bludger, instead of doing double-damage you do 2.5x damage. If you critically fail with your bludger attempt to hit, rather than having your bludger randomly target another user (including yourself or an ally) the bludger cannot target you on a critical fail (but it can still target your allies). On a re-target, there is a random roll for target and then a fresh accuracy roll.

ABILITIES:

1. Obnoxiously Strong: Extra 15% Strength
2. The Martial Artist: N/A
3. Spell Spread: N/A
4. Charmer: -1 accuracy to all opponents (Team classed as allies, everyone else is an opponent)