Harrowheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
westfallcorndog) wrote2015-11-22 05:00 pm
westfallcorndog) wrote2015-11-22 05:00 pm
Magic Lessons for Steve and Verity
At the truly, rudely, ridiculously early hour of 3:30 in the morning Harrowheart sent the following texts:
Eleven and a half hours later, Harrowheart is exactly where he said he'd be. The destination is a large area of tall grass surrounded on all sides by woodland that remains leafy despite whatever season it may be on other worlds. The whole area is surrounded by a wooden fence of aged split logs. On one side, nearest the path that leads up to the clearance, is an old picnic bench. Laid out on the table are two thick quilts, two pies under glass covers, a sizable trunk, and one lidded black cauldron sitting above a candle that keeps it warm.
Sitting there at the seat of the bench is Harrowheart. He's dressed much differently today than usual, all done up in a heavy-looking suit of blue armor with a red cape on his back that flows down between his spread legs. His hands are attached to his wrists inside a set of gauntlets. A pair of icy blue axes sit against the bench at awkward angles, their handles attached to the belt of his outfit. He pats his thighs anxiously and often looks to the pathway while he waits for Steve to show up.
To Steve:
"Steve; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 11 and 1/2 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"
To Verity:
"Verity; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 12 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"
A quick follow-up text reads: "Do not text this number back. Tell that Steve person the same thing."
The texts each accompany a photo of a hand-drawn map with instructions to a place on the far, far outskirts of the Parklands.
To Verity:
"Verity; Borrowed a phone to let you know we will meet in 12 hours for magic lessons. Eat lunch first but there will be food. See you then! – Harrow"
A quick follow-up text reads: "Do not text this number back. Tell that Steve person the same thing."
The texts each accompany a photo of a hand-drawn map with instructions to a place on the far, far outskirts of the Parklands.
* * *
Eleven and a half hours later, Harrowheart is exactly where he said he'd be. The destination is a large area of tall grass surrounded on all sides by woodland that remains leafy despite whatever season it may be on other worlds. The whole area is surrounded by a wooden fence of aged split logs. On one side, nearest the path that leads up to the clearance, is an old picnic bench. Laid out on the table are two thick quilts, two pies under glass covers, a sizable trunk, and one lidded black cauldron sitting above a candle that keeps it warm.
Sitting there at the seat of the bench is Harrowheart. He's dressed much differently today than usual, all done up in a heavy-looking suit of blue armor with a red cape on his back that flows down between his spread legs. His hands are attached to his wrists inside a set of gauntlets. A pair of icy blue axes sit against the bench at awkward angles, their handles attached to the belt of his outfit. He pats his thighs anxiously and often looks to the pathway while he waits for Steve to show up.
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There is one thing he knows, though.
"That's my nightmare, man," he says, as if saying that is going to help the situation at all. "Being trapped underwater, like a prisoner in your own body forever and ever... Or long enough to lose your mind. Sounds like you had an awful dream? Prob'ly just feels more real than it is, huh? You moved to a new place, you're seeing all sorts of new things. You miss Bucky and you feel trapped here. It's got your brain all stressed out. Right?"
Right, Verity? Back him up on this, because Harrow's not too confident in it himself.
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"The important thing is that you survived. You and Bucky are survivors," she points out quietly. "Whatever happens. And you're going to be okay. Between Harrowheart's lessons and Samus', you're going to get home someday and you're going to kick ass and take names and win the whole damn war. You're not even going to need--"
No, not talking about that.
"...backup. Those finely crafted German tanks don't do so well in the Russian winter. Imagine what a master of ice magic could do to them." Totally nailed covering that up if you don't look at her face.
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Especially if it's his best friend's...
Then he'll kill himself to try. Figuratively. Probably.
"I can keep going." He's standing up again. Nodding toward Harrowheart. "I can do this."
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He stands, steps a few long strides away from the two, and nods once more at both of them.
"It's the same exercise, but this time you're gonna best it."
A wind picks up with a motion of Harrow's wrist and the cape he lent Steve billows, caught in the swirling gust that cyclones around them all, gathering speed and ramping up its icy chill. The sound of the tempest is enough that Harrowheart has to shout to be heard from just a few yards off.
"Go back to your memories, be in that freezin' place again! Imagine your pain! Imagine your helplessness... But this time, defy it! You aren't helpless to the cold! YOU have the power to control everything that happens! Find the determination inside a' you to reach out and control your dream! Take hold a' some part of it and make it yours! Use your power to reshape the world around you! Change your fate!"
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Defying the cold is easy, to a point. She's doing that every day. Every single day when she gets up, gets out of bed and out of the house, every time she talks to somebody, she's changing her fate. She's not that scared little girl anymore, lonely and alone; she's a scared grown woman with real friends. It's a vast improvement. It's maybe not so great for the grass when it starts to frost over around her. Maybe Steve doesn't want to join her down there anytime soon.
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Another thing Steve fundamentally doesn't understand, and can't do. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be imagining. He can picture the cold. Can picture fighting back, swimming to the surface, breaking free and screaming his accomplishment to the skies. But what would it matter? The cold has no master. Nature is it's own servant caring little for the wishes of men.
Steve's breathing comes in little puffs as the air around all three of them plummets, but it isn't his doing. It's Harrow's. Verity's. He keeps his eyes clenched shut and pictures. Focuses.
For one tiny moment there's an audible crack as though someone was falling through thin ice. And then Steve's dropping like a stone, fainted dead away from the cold and the effort of giving himself a metaphorical aneurysm trying to summon magic he doesn't have.
Worried About Steve: The Saga
"Verity!" he shouts, and then in a frantic whisper, "I don't think he should be doing this."
"Worried About Steve: An Original Lifetime Picture"
"No. This is officially bad. I don't suppose you know any healing magic?" Because she's only got basic first aid training. She can check for a pulse and do CPR if necessary, but will that be enough?
This is what happens when Warriors try to use Mana in WoW #Trufax
Along with the ability to stand, apparently.
His obnoxiously patriotic hat is askew when one eye peers open, glassy and unfocused.
"Did...we do it?" He sounds pretty out of it.
Steve Bluescreens. Or does he... Red white and bluescreen? B)
"Y-yeah, you did good." Is that a lie? Is that a pseudo-lie? A half-truth? It's a not-at-all-truth isn't it, Verity? Are you going to be the one to break the bad news to that hopeful all-American face?
"How 'bout you take a little breather, man? Let Verity tell you all about it while I get some stuff outta the trunk." Yes, officially shift the blame to the lady who can't lie.
He pats Steve's cheek, and then he's off to the table to root through the trunk.
Harrowheart the Cowardly Worgen.
It doesn't last long. When she looks down at Steve, Ver's got a smile going. His hat may be straightened, but that cape could definitely use some tucking around him. "You did something. I'm not sure what. I heard a crack and then you fainted. Or did you just want back into my lap?" It's just teasing, but laughter's supposed to be the best medicine. Maybe not when he can't breathe properly.
"What do you remember?"
I'm so glad you said red/white/bluescreens because i was thinking it too.
At least the crack wasn't any bones. He's all in one piece. Just disoriented.
"...My head kinda hurts a lot now though." Steve isn't bleeding out his nose or stroking out, so that's good. He's probably not hemorrhaging but it's impossible to tell at a glance. "...Did I Faint? Aww, maaan...."
Steve's an old man but he's too young to have a stroke. (Also cowardly worgen, I laughed)
He turns around after his excavation mission and returns with his haul: In one hand is an Erlenmeyer-style flask filled with a vibrant red liquid. In the other, some kind of training sword with a wooden rod where a blade ought to be. Wedged under one arm is a round, wooden buckler with a metal ring around the edge. It looks suspiciously like it once was the lid to a barrel.
Harrow crouches down, sets down the weapons, and offers Steve the potion. "Healing potion. It tastes like daisy stems, so get ready for a mouth fulla grass. It's worth it, though. Drink it, you'll feel better. It'll wake ya up, heal ya up, make ya go all day. Give Verity a sip if she wants to drink after you." Asthma's contagious, right?
"I realized I shouldn't'a been havin' you two fight me. You oughta be fightin' each other. You're both newbies, it'll be good practice. Verity's gonna work on conjurin' or wand work, and you're gonna try to block her spells. The activity oughta get you warmed up again. Sound good?"
:D
Healing potions sound great and all, and she's all for Steve getting one of those. But the rest of the idea... (that face, guys, that face). "Are you sure that's a good idea? How's a wooden sword going to stop magic?"
SHIELD HYPE
"Sword might not unless i can deflect them. But this should work." Steve slips the buckler over his right arm and smiles somewhat at the weight of it. It's not too heavy to lift with one arm, even his noodle arms. He feels kind of heroic with a cape, sword, and shield. And a might bit silly.
"I'm up for anything that isn't fainting again, so feel free to chuck ice at me Verity. I'm pretty good at catching!" Someone's recovered quickly. Healing potions are sweet.
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He motions for the two of them to stand and takes a step back himself.
"Verity, you and I are gonna work on a simple ice punch technique real quick. I'll provide ya with a little cold to getcha started, then you'll channel that coldness into the shape you want it to be. Think of it like a glove that'll go around your whole hand. Most of your focus is gonna go into containin' the magic so it doesn't hurt you. You gotta tap into that willpower to control your surroundings. The shape'll come naturally so long as you will it."
For a quick demonstration Harrow shapes his hand into a fist. A thick layer of crystal-clear ice forms around it almost instantly, and to prove how durable it is he beats it hard against his armored chest. Unfortunately it doesn't make a comical gong sound, just a violent thud. Then he flexes his hand and as quick as the crystals formed they're gone, falling off like grains of sand that disappear into the grass and melt away.
"Remember. Your focus goes into refusin' to be hurt by the cold. The shape comes naturally from the thoughts in the back of your mind."
As he promised he assists her with starting up the magic. Luckily he doesn't choose 'fucking cold winter tornado' as the spell du jour. Just a mini version of that, a channeled stream of icy magic localized around her hands that's cold enough to sting if she doesn't find the will to overcome it.
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"I don't want to hurt you." It's a stupid hope, but she's hoping Steve will not try to hit her. The minute she feels attacked, he's going down.
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Steve gives Verity a long glance, and then tosses the sword to the ground before moving his left hand to brace the shield already attached to his right arm.
"You won't hurt me. Toss some magic my way. I'll block or use the cape, don't worry."
Round One: FIGHT
"Steve, keep an eye on your left hand. Don't let your fingers get crunched. When she comes at you, don't just expect to block her punch. You wanna push against her." He pauses, sighs, and clarifies, "Not enough to hurt her. Just try to push her off balance or get the upper hand. Verity, same goes for you. Your ice glove is your shield. You wanna use it to deflect Steve's counter-blows, and you wanna use it to unbalance his shield. Strike for the edges, not the center... But for Light's sake, don't accidentally knock his teeth out."
He gives the two their space, pauses a moment, then claps his hands. Chop chop!
http://bit.ly/1QWN8Xt
"I never claimed to have any bloodlust," she points out. "But Samus has been trying to teach me to defend myself for a while now. The problem with only fighting defensively is you've got to be hella strong to push people off again and again and again." And she could probably pick Steve up by the shield and shake him.
She's not going to do that. It doesn't sound like fun for anyone. But she is going to fall into a fighting stance and start going through some of her usual routines. She's pulling her punches; this is a game of touching, not tackling.
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So the next time she swings Steve turns away, unclipping the cape as he does and letting Verity swing into that while he's trying to get around her. Neither one wants to hurt the other, but Steve is eager to see if Verity is going to be able to throw ice his way.
He'll circle around and try to gain some distance between them.
Those cats were too cute, my word. Verity Whiskers and Steve Meowgers (i'm bad at this)
He claps and beams so proudly. But not just for Steve! As the coach he's got to support the whole team, and it's easy with a fast learner like Verity.
"Verity, can you shake off that ice fist? Try to conjure some ice and throw it! If you can't do a projectile spell, make a snowball and toss! No sweat if you don't get it the first time, frostbolts ain't easy!"
Verity Williskers?
"Never give the enemy a weapon, Steve."
Then she'll take a step back and focus on trying to make some kind of projectile. Or at least a snowball. Snow pebble?
Steve Mrowrgers =^o^=
Wow she really is better at him at like everything. The thought fists itself into the pit of his stomach, and Steve turns back toward her--right into the oncoming spell. His reaction is more instinct than thought; Steve swings the barrel lid out like he's throwing open a door, knocking the projectile back toward her with as much adrenaline rush as he's got determination. It's a brilliant effort, except he's off balance from the effort, and with trying to right himself he slips on the frosted grass and falls back onto his backside.
Perfect target for snowballs! Chuck like there's no tomorrow Verity!
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"Steve, you're a natural!"
Buuuut if Verity wants to throw some snow on her prone victim, he's not gonna step in. The circle of nature must take its course.
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Prot Warrior all day erry day. You make me miss WoW Harrow.
Don't miss WoW until Legion comes out next year. It's gonna be tight as fel B)
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Racist Grandpa hasn't been fulfilling his public ranting quota lately. Tsk.
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Steve's out for the weekend and I'm gonna wrap the thread unless you've got something to say!
Yeah, we got ditched for a honeymoon. :P