[hr][hr][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/01989753-c0d4-751e-94b6-ac932f65638b.webp[/img][hr][@Achronum][@Trainerblue192][@Morose][@Blizz][@Kirah][@PatientBean][@Teyao][@KazAlkemi][@kittyluna45][hr][h3][color=57F287][b]Late Morning - Sat. Nov. 2nd, 2040 [/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr]


[H1][center][color=Red]The Statue of Ardyon[/color][/center][/h1]
[sub][center]Connie, Barty, Jake[/center][/sub]

The light in the room flickered, the candles dimming for a moment before jumping to full brightness once more. Something tugged at Jake’s magic, sharp and demanding, and his magic welled up in response. It was too much, too quickly - a balloon filling without end. 

[H1][center][color=magenta]A Trip through Magic[/color][/center][/h1]
[sub][center]Willow, Nicky, Callaghan, Cassiopeia[/center][/sub]

Nicholas hadn’t known what to expect when Cassie had been handed the book. He was still distracted by the words, trusting the shifter to keep things in order with whatever Cassie experienced.  

He’d meant to offer Willow a response. He’d paused to consider it; to ensure it wasn’t sarcastic or rude out of habit, but the magic in the room was strange. It ebbed and flowed in a sickening contrast and Nicholas rested his forehead on the wall as his vision swam in front of him. He’d never felt nausea so strongly and he stumbled for half a second, tripping over his own foot he assumed as he didn’t see anything else in his way, when a loud [i]thunk[/i] hammered where is head had been but a millisecond ago. He froze as he saw his own reflection in Cassie’s magic, a five or six foot shard buried in the chalkboard. If Nicholas hadn’t stumbled, he was certain he’d be dead. 

Nicholas looked up as Cal gave his warnings, the injury on his face and the draconic shift to eyes certainly something they would need to explore later, but now was for more pressing problems. The room was a mess, furniture, books, and plants torn to shreds and Cassie on the ground with a quickly staining jacket wrapped around what Nicholas presumed was an injury. Willow stood with an injury of her own and he quickly followed Cal’s lead, tearing his waistcoat off and gently pressing around the edges of the magic piercing the moth to help stem the flow. 

[color=5b8a9a]“A bhràthair, feumaidh sinn neach-slànachaidh ann an seòmar-suidhe Mikkail a-nis!”[/color] Nicholas snapped, forgetting to keep the thought inside his own head as he sent it to Barty. [color=5b8a9a]“Hunted? [i]Hunted?[/i] What in the nine realms hunts a dragon, a moth, and two witches?!”[/color] Nicholas demanded, fighting every urge to sprint out of the door, snag his brother, and never turn back. He swore softly under his breath. 

[color=5b8a9a]“Keep the pressure on until my brother brings help.”[/color] He directed Willow, stepping back once he put her hands in place, and shuffled through his spell component pouch. Powdered mugwort, chicory leaves, stinging nettle oil, and chopped rosemary - he plucked them out with practiced ease, piled into his palm, and murmured softly into them before scattering them into the air, his magic consuming them and a thin blue sheen spiraled out from him and settled across the four of them. 
 

[H1][center][color=gold]Into the Unknow[/color][/center][/h1]
[sub][center]Rohan, Finley/Dysphoria, Annika[/center][/sub]

Her footsteps made no noise as she ran. Her heart did not pound in her ears, despite the burn of exertion in her legs and lungs. Her breaths, short and wild, did not echo here. 

Annika was alone. 

Lost. 

Forgotten. 

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The ground shifted beneath her feet, buckling upwards, as sound and color and light rushed back to greet her. The soft brown soil erupted upwards in a torrent all around as massive redwoods burst up around her and shed soil from their leaves. An ancient forest appeared in minutes as the earth trembled and groaned, winding paths settling where the trees did not emerge, and the faint scent of a rustic stew drifted through the small clearing that had formed. Soft, luscious grass and wild flowers reached towards the sunlight as the chill of nothingness faded away and in the far distance, a fountain babbled with vines growing up over the ancient stone work to dip its tendrils in the clear, cool water. 

The scent of stew and smoke drifted across the clearing from the other side across from the fountain - a homely Japanese cottage raised a few feet off the ground with a nure-en with spots of missing floorboard sat delicately framed by japanese red pines and a single stone lantern unlit out front, struggling to be seen amidst the overgrown grass and weeds.