westfallcorndog | Chat of Mythology

Harrow knows when not to get between two bickering siblings, and so stays suspiciously well-mannered until Viatorus says his name. He nods and smiles at his friend and starts to step away, but it's not long before Isidor slides up to say her piece.

"Yes I would be," he says to her in all innocent sincerity. He would be sorry after all – not that Isidor knows (or believes) that.

He sets his stance like he's ready to physically grapple with Viatorus despite the distance between them. "Start in three... Two... One..." He's sure to count slowly enough that Viatorus has a moment to collect himself, just in case, and then... "Go!"

Without moving too quickly he sweeps his arm upwards, and just as before it draws that bubbling blackness up from the ground, heavy with the stench of rot. The spell is centered around Viatorus' feet and grows quickly in size. If he's fast enough he may be able to jump out of it, but if he's not, the oozy skeletal hands will grab him by the calves and ankles. Their grasp is strong, but not painfully so, and they tug with some strength to try to pull whatever they grab into the muck with them. Just as Harrow promised, though, the spell doesn't hurt or burn in any way. It doesn't even eat away at his clothes despite the way it destroyed the grass earlier.

Even though he knows what's about to happen, his stomach turns when he sees Harrowheart take up his stance. Putting his feet shoulder width apart, he takes his own resting position, hands in front of him as if holding a small invisible ball. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prick when Harrowheart starts, but he does his best to delay his reaction to make this all seem more believably natural. Once he looks down, though, he reacts quickly, pulling much more water much faster from the air and directing it around the rot, willing the ooze to vanish as hard as he can.

The moment he sees it recede, he turns his attention to conjuring that distracting whirlwind and looking for some cue that Harrowheart appears adequately disoriented so that he can move behind him.

All of this, quick as it feels, keeps him focused on Harrowheart and the theoretical danger they're dealing with. Not on his sister, who watches from the sidelines, arms by her side, fingers and facial muscles twitching at every motion the two make. Give her one reason, guys, just one...

Dueling is a serious matter, and Harrow does take it seriously, but when he sees how quick on the draw Viatorus is when the moment comes he can't help but smile faintly. It's hard not to be proud of a good performance... Not that he expected anything less, of course.

As the oozy hands sizzle, pop, and disappear into the ground once more he readies himself for Viatorus' counterattack. He knows it's coming, but there's still the matter of how strong and from which direction. When it finally hits him his surprise isn't fully feigned, though he allows himself to be swept up in the spell more than he otherwise might. The crook of his arm shields his eyes from the whirlwind; the perfect opportunity for Viatorus to take his place behind him.

And just like they'd practiced it, that's when Harrow wheels around. He turns a theatrically baleful look on Viatorus and, just as before, his hands glow blue as they begin to conjure up an ice spell. Thank goodness it sin't a fast cast, though – the perfect time to summon up a shield, eh?

The sight of the glowing hands kicks his shielding instincts into gear just as they did before. There's no hesitation like there was with the water. His sister would know it was fake if he summoned a shield slowly, or else he'd be getting a long lecture about it afterwards.

He braces himself for the spell, and waits until the ice chains have begun to break before he drops the shield. It's with surprising enthusiasm that he slings the sleep spell at Harrowheart. He's eager for this to be done, for him to prove to Isidor that he's strong and capable, and to stop fighting with his friend. Though he intended to keep the spell light, more of a dazing spell than a sleep one, his sudden excitement may have put more power into it than he'd intended.

The chains grow out of the ground and strike with speed directly at the shield, but they shatter and break before doing any damage to it. Harrow raises his arm and clenches his fist and appears to begin a second cast as Viatorus drops his shield, but whatever he had planned doesn't come.

The sleep spell hits him and works in an instant. His arm immediately drops to his side and the momentum of that movement lurches him forward. Eyes half-lidded, he falls to his knees. But rather than topple forward onto his chest, he crumbles backward, bent at an awkward and painful-looking angle with his legs beneath his rear and his shoulders touching the ground. His arms, with his hands bound to his wrists, lay at odd angles at his sides. His dimly-glowing eyes remain open, staring sightlessly off across the arboretum, and his slack jaw angles toward the ground. There's really not much difference between sleep and death when you already look like a corpse.

But Viatorus, you've done it! You defeated the beast! You won a duel!

"OH-O-Oh, gods!" Viatorus flails when Harrowheart crumples. He doesn't flail in a productive way. It's closer to useless, startled flapping more than anything else. He hadn't been sure the spell would work at all let alone apparently render the death knight comatose.

Isidor also lurches towards the two of them, decidedly calmer than her brother. She rests a hand firmly on his shoulder to get him to calm down, and then turns to his corpse friend. Her balanced stance is taken instinctively as she faces him. With a deep breath, she draws herself up to full height, her hands to her stomach... and then her wrists twist, her palms facing out at Harrowheart. Almost touching his face. The spell sweeps through Harrowheart, a much nicer version of how she dispelled the stun she once placed on him in Viatorus' study.

As soon as it's cast, her arms are folded tightly. "Are you two done with showing off now?"

Having been woken by the dispel Harrowheart, slightly disoriented, turns his head slowly to see who's standing over him.

Isidor.

His smile is instinctual, quiet and sweet. He listens as she demands in her familiar way and closes his eyes gently. What a wonderful angry woman to wake up to. A few seconds pass before he thinks to readjust his body so he looks less like a crumpled heap and more like any other park-goer enjoying the summer sun.

"Would I still be me," he asks, "If I was done showin' off while Isidor Durant was here?"

He opens one eye then and watches her with a stupid, smug smile. Oh! But it doesn't last long before his eyebrows rise and he sits up suddenly with a realization.

"Viatorus knocked me out!" he says, grinning between the two. "V, ya did it! How's it feel to win a duel? Isidor, can you believe your brother's so crafty and powerful?"

Just as Harrowheart's playful reply is close to instinctive, so is the narrowing of Isidor's eyes as she shakes her head, the roll of her eyes and the pull of her lips the only things to soften it. She has to show her disapproval at his being smart with her, and showing any interest in her. That doesn't mean she has to shut it down entirely. Her expression vanishes in startled confusion as he moves suddenly. Until he explains his burst of enthusiasm of course.

Her expression turns to one of uncertain thoughtfulness as she looks over her brother. "Those are not two words often used to describe my brother."

For his part, Viatorus starts to turn red. "I-I didn't mean for it to... Are you alright, Harrowheart? You looked... That looked... uncomfortable."

Harrow hauls himself up from the ground and brushes stray leaves and strands of grass from his pants and skin. "Uncomfortable?" he asks as he moves toward the blanket where he'd left his folded shirt. "Viatorus, you worry too much. I don't really get uncomfortable, especially not when I'm asleep. It's different from livin' sleep. I'll have to tell you about it some day when we're not revelin' in your victory."

He slips his arms into his shirt and begins to button from the top down. A few buttons later he realizes he's got them uneven and has to redo his work, but at least he's dressing.

"Who taught you how to duel, V? They did a good job." The little white lights in his eyes dart toward Isidor and back to Viatorus again. Was it her? "Taught you good instincts. You cast fast and hard when you're in the thick, and that sleep spell could probably put anyone down. It was a good duel, but I sure would love to see whoever trained you in action."

With the threat of a duel gone wrong over, Isidor can relax a little. Which means that by the time Harrowheart goes to redo his buttons she realises that she's been staring and she pointedly looks away while he finishes up.

Thankfully Viatorus is too busy trying not to look disappointed at missing out on sleep talk to notice where his sister is placing her attention. As an expert Viatorus-friend, however, Harrowheart is soon distracting him with questions. "Oh..." His eyes slide over to Isidor, her face now so purposefully blank that she's almost looking a little embarrassed. "Well... We both have had many tutors for the different schools of magic, but... Isidor trained me in a lot of it. Made sure I understood, made sure I practiced."

She straightens, finally schools her expression into something semi-normal, and looks at Harrowheart again. "Being a patron isn't just about doing all the defending for him. I have to make sure he can defend himself too."

It must be Isidor's lucky day, because while she's staring at him Harrow is busy 'nonchalantly' looking in other directions in an attempt to be casual... Or maybe in an attempt to enjoy the strange trees planted throughout the park.

When Viatorus finally says Isidor's name he stops his daydreaming. He raises his eyebrows and turns his attention once more to Isidor. She's so stoic, so self-confident. That's what that dead-eyed stare she's got going on is, right? He tries his hardest to mimic her ultra-seriousness and for once doesn't smile.

Arms crossed, face blank, he says, "If you taught your brother that well, I gotta wonder what it'd be like to see you in action."

He pauses a moment, shifts his weight. "How about another duel? You and me this time. Set a couple'a ground rules and then..." He tips his head and shrugs one shoulder. It speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Edited (sentence clarification) 2016-10-24 03:20 (UTC)

Viatorus' face drops and he goes pale, eyes flicking between Harrowheart and his sister. The first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of his sister's magic is also something that he knows terrifies Harrowheart...

Isidor, ignorant of this, narrows her eyes at Harrowheart, considering his proposition. She is wearing flats, and she would like to get a good go at figuring out Harrowheart's abilities...

She shifts her weight to her other leg, giving her time to glance at Viatorus and his sickly expression. Looking back at Harrowheart her mouth twitches as she resists a smirk. "I don't think you could handle me."

Harrowheart drags a hand across his mouth but fails to wipe away his massive grin. He shakes his head and gives a long, high pitched "Whewwww," at her total confidence.

"That's exactly why I gotta try!"

He shifts his weight again and tries to return to the composure he had before, but the notion of a good fight with a mage (and lady!) of her caliber has him all too excited. There's no use trying not to smile now.

"If it makes you feel better, pretend the rules are there to handicap you. Help you go easy on a poor lil' charity case like me."

He jabs a thumb against his breastbone and says, "I won't use my runeblades. I won't give you any diseases. I won't summon up any ghosts or ghouls or gargoyles... And I won't shift into my worgen form."

Then with a casual gesture at her he suggests, "You won't use any fire magic, and no holy smitin'. That's all. Everything else is on the table. I'll even let you count down to the start. We'll quit when one of us can't go on or calls it. Sound fair? Or should I make it harder on you?"

Oh good, Harrowheart is enforcing no-fire rules. Viatorus gets to exhale and relax again. A little.

Slowly, Isidor unfolds her arms and rests her hands on her hips instead. "That sounds a lot like you're more handicapped than I am. I'm not my brother. I won't go easy on you like he did."

Harrow reaffirms his own arms crossed over his chest. "No corpses around here for me to raise, so that means no ghosts and ghouls. I'll put gargoyles back on the table. But if I give you a disease, who's gonna cleanse it? And you got no armor, so I'm not gonna use my axes."

His mouth shifts uncertainly from side to side as he mulls over the last concession. No worgen form...

"I don't know if I could curse you if I bit or scratched you as a worgen. I won't do it. But if it makes you feel better, I think you're underestimatin' the advantage of bein' undead in a duel. I promise you won't think I'm handicapped once we get down to it."

He begins to undo the wraps that hold his hands hostage against his wrists. When his hands are free to float they hover with their palms near his wrists and begin to conjure some kind of heavy ice around his wrists. As the magic continues it becomes apparent that he's making a set of heavy gauntlets formed like fists, and when he's through he holds them up, ready to punch. His real hands hover at the ready just in front of him.

"C'mon," he goads, "It'll be fun."

Unfortunately for Isidor's ego, those are all valid points. If she were to get cursed or diseased because of a frivolous fight her family would not be pleased. She inhales deeply as she thinks about it and then wrinkles her nose up at the sight of the ice gauntlets. No fire while he has ice? Now that is a handicap.

"Fine," she announces so suddenly that it makes Viatorus jump. Turning to the picnic blanket, she takes off her jacket, shoes, socks, and even removes her blouse in favour of the vest underneath. As she moves opposite Harrowheart, she reties her hair into a bun and then shoos her brother out of the way. Once Viatorus has skittered over to the picnic mat she takes up a fighting stance: Fists up, shoulders tight, legs stable.

"Three!" It's almost as if a switch has been flipped. She barks loudly, aggressively, authoritatively. "Two! One!"

And because she is not the type to work from the defensive: Three quick-fire force strikes are thrown his way in a one-two-low strike combination.

Harrow prepares himself for whatever spells may come, but what does eventually happen was completely out of his expectations. He's seen instant magic, he's seen unspoken magic, but that's the thing. He's seen it. Magic that's instant, unspoken, and unseen? Yeah, he definitely takes those hits. Invisible punches to the face, chest, and gut all hit him in rapid succession and he staggers back, doubles over. He doesn't cry out in any pain, though, despite her well-placed blows.

He rights himself quickly and decides he'll repay her for the strikes. One of his hands grips the air and twists, coalescing the shadows around Isidor and dragging her with force toward him. The other conjures ice around his own feet to brace his stance as he waits for her to collide into him, one frozen fist at the ready to strike her in the stomach with equal-opposite force. Two can play at the game of punches.

Just as he didn't expect her strikes to be like that, she didn't expect him to fail to react. It surprises her, but she's quickly brought back to the present as Harrowheart makes his own move. Shadow magic is not something she's used to. She's only seen a little and it was barely touched on. The smallest spark of panic glints in her eyes as she does her best to resist the pull.

One thing she's certain of: In a hand to hand fight, she wouldn't stand a chance against someone big, strong and trained like Harrowheart. So close quarters aren't a good idea for her.

Taking a chance, her hands twist parallel to each other and with a yell she pulls them apart suddenly, she throws an arm up to shield her eyes from the blast of light that she summoned. If that doesn't scare off the shadows, she might be in serious trouble.

The pull of the shadows stops abruptly with the summoning of the light, saving Isidor from being forced too close to an icy fist. It's not just the shadow that stops, though; Harrowheart himself sways like a drunk, his eyes blinking fast as he tries to regain his vision.

He can't see her, but he knows he can't hesitate any longer. With the world still a white blur he swipes his arms upwards in the air, and with it follow the motions of his floating hands. Two tracks of icy stalagmites burst violently from the ground and dart forward: one to where he last saw Isidor and the other to her right, where he assumes she might leap to dodge.

The light attack doesn't put her at too much of an advantage. She's still a little disoriented as she lowers her arm. What she doesn't expect is blindly thrown lines of icy spokes. With a yelp, she ducks and rolls out of the way of one, only to get caught by the second. Another cry springs from her lips, but when she stands and touches the gash in her shoulder, she stares Harrowheart down with a glare burning so furiously that she might not even need fire magic.

She sweeps her hands, earth bursting up at an angle to push up at Harrowheart's chest. At the very least it will block her from him. Hopefully, though, it will push him back.

The sound of her cry alerts him to her position and his blind eyes whip immediately in her direction. He parts his lips to say something, but just as his vision returns he sees the look on her face. That's probably not good.

He fails to dodge the sudden impact of the earth that rises up to hit him in the chest. A dull and hollow thump reverberates from his chest when he's hit and once more as his body hits the ground. Both sound like they ought to hurt, but other than the sounds of his surprise and a grit-toothed gasp as he falls, Harrowheart remains mostly silent. That is until he sucks in his first breath and starts to cough and gag. He rolls to one side and spits up some kind of bitter, black bile with the acrid smell of rancid meat. Something inside of him must be damaged, if not by that last strike then by her first few.

Though he starts to rise up he finds that the wall of earth is still there to keep them separated. He can work with this. He crawls backwards a few feet from it, still sitting on the grass to keep his profile low and protected by the wall. Once more his floating hands are blindly gesturing toward where he last knew Isidor to be.

This spell should be familiar. The grass around her dies as oily, skeletal arms rise from the ground dripping with shadow like melting flesh and smelling heavily of rot. The hands grope sightlessly, determined to pull something living into their grasp. But these shadow conjurations are not as kind as the ones Viatorus stood over. Their touch seeks desperately to steal any tiny shred of life force it can, to pluck away at the energy of the living with the magic of death and time.

Unsurprisingly, as someone who specialises in fire Isidor is not as skilled in water magic. So when she sees, and feels, the hands pulling at her, hurting her, a second of panic hits her. And then she grits her teeth angrily. With a furious shout, she sends a burst of banishment magic down at them and steps away from where the hands had appeared.

Eager to get to Harrowheart while he's down, she hisses old Germanic words and summons a one handed battle axe that shimmers with a purple sheen against what appears to be dark metal. She crouches and with another gesture the earth beneath her surges upward, allowing her to step onto the wall that had attacked Harrowheart. With a height advantage like this, she fully intends to jump down at her opponent, bringing the axe down on him with both hands to exact some delicious revenge.

Even if she can't fully see what he's doing until she jumps over her earthen structure.

And over that earthen wall she finds him mostly on his side, legs primed to spring up, arms braced against the ground to push him to his feet. It seems, though, that he had expected she might come from one side of the wall or the other, not over it. He springs to his feet as soon as he hears her, but her movement from an unexpected direction distracts him and he misses a prime opportunity to swing at her by having to turn her way.

She has an axe! Just the sight of it makes his own axes on the blanket tremble and shake with a lust for battle, a desire to prove themselves. Their runes blaze, but they don't rise. They aren't allowed in this fight and they must obey their master.

Their master who takes Isidor's summoned axe right in the sternum. He howls in agony and looks down in shock at what she's done. He tries in vain to paw at the wound, but icy fists are useless to remove a weapon from his chest.

Then he stares at her in shock and sadness, his eyes full of betrayal, his lips parted to speak. He whispers some small word too hard to hear... And then a bubble of black blood wells up in his mouth and pops. He falls to the ground convulsing and coughing on his own blood.

And then he's still.

His dead and motionless eyes stare up at the sky.

Holy shit, Isidor! You killed him!

Edited 2016-10-27 15:42 (UTC)

Isidor's shock is plastered across her face. Her eyes, wide and horrified, are fixed on Harrowheart's. As fierce as she had been a moment ago, she had fully expected him to not only anticipate her move but to block it. Even when her usual opponents didn't physically block her strikes, they had magical shields to defend with.

When he falls, she lets him, the axe handle slipping from her hands. Has she... actually killed him? She's never killed anything before. Not even for sport or food. The axe disintegrates, vanishing to leave the gory wound clear to see. Isidor just... stares in shock.

To the side, Viatorus watches. Small, terrified sounds trickle from his open mouth. He tries to speak, tries to motion, tries to breathe, but the sight of friend dead at his sister's hand is overwhelming. He takes a few steps vaguely towards the two of them and then the light headedness rushes over him. Darkness clouds his vision and he falls to the ground.

With the thump of her brother hitting the grass too, Isidor looks slowly between Harrowheart and her brother. Though still in a daze she starts to wander to check that Viatorus has fainted like she suspects and not actually gotten hurt.

Oh Light. Viatorus fainted, didn't he? When Isidor is finally away from him Harrow's eyes shift sideways to see what's going on. And there he is, sweet and delicate V taking a stress-induced nap in the dirt.

Should he move? He should move, right? Or would that scare him more, seeing him rising up? Without realizing it Harrow starts to frown. What should he do?!

His hands are still floating in the air not far from his body, palms pressed tightly together in worry. Oh dear, oh dear... Perhaps it's best to let the brother and sister have a moment together before he rises, bloodied, from the grave once more.

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Throwback Sunday: Ancient Old Icon

Love it! <3

I really need a heart-eyes icon one of these days...

For when he sees Isidor or a beautifull cooked steak

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Meanwhile, Viatorus: Sweating

& Hyperventilating

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