Post by Professor Frost on Sept 22, 2013 12:47:10 GMT -6
How did i get here?
A clamour encroached upon him in this moment of stillness, and two students held the arms of a struggling soldier. Was he putting on this bandage or removing it? His hands buzzed with the pins and needles of recent spell-casting. His heart-rate was accelerated. How thrilling. The students looked at him expectantly and the soldier groaned.
"I think you understand. Excuse me, please." He stated blithely, dropping the bandage. It lost its yellowish glow as it fell from his grip. He got to his feet and began walking from what appeared to me a makeshift healing station. Fifth and sixth years buzzed here and there, rather beautiful in healer greys, busy determination in young faces. He could year the two third-years he'd just abandoned calling for him behind, unable to leave their post at the soldier's side.
Some sort of battle, then? A memory scratched at his mind, an old one. Last time he's been down this way. Exiting the tent he found the carnage. Not so terrible. In the distance a shattered wall beyond the Pearlmist bridge. Funny that in the heat of a battleground an old man should be walking blindfolded right down the centre of it. Somebody should stop him and tell him that there are monsters out there. Distracted he turned, and with a moment to spare he ducked out of the way as a great chunk of masonry fell where he had just been standing. Shaken he picked himself up, eyes to the sky, watching a tiny, pale figure, flanked with blades taking on a behemoth of a mistling.
Theodore grabbed a medicine bag and headed for higher ground. He observed by the this point that he was wearing combat boots, a long coat, with a healer's arm-band on his right upper-arm. Good to know he knew he was coming here. All evidence pointed to the fact that he had existed before the moment he had woken back in the tent. And he knew what he was going. He was heading to the top of the wall to assist the Headmaster. Now that wasn't so difficult, was it?
He remembered suddenly the old man on the bridge and whipped round to see what had become of him, the put of his stomach dropping out to see that nothing was there. He blinked. He blinked again. Will the mighty Dragon of the Fifth not bestow protection unto the faithful? Maybe the man had never been there in the first place. Or maybe he had, but at another time. Yes. Another time. Comforted, Teddy continued his ascent to the top of the wall.
He arrived as Varana departed, sparing not a glance for him. He watched her go for a moment then turned back towards the tactical meeting in front of him. In the time it had taken him to get here, the behemoth had been taken down, and the warrior responsible stood atop this wall, The Headmaster, gloriously bloodied.
"By the grace of the Fifth, sir, you appear to live still." He said, by some way of introduction. Was it night, or a sunny morning as he held his mother's hand? Somehow he thought it could perhaps be both, looking out over the carnage, towards that distant bridge. Its importance seemed to scritch scritch scritch at him. "Might i be of some assistance to your injury?" he asked, unhurried, distant, distracted. "I understand there is some manner of conflict occuring."
A clamour encroached upon him in this moment of stillness, and two students held the arms of a struggling soldier. Was he putting on this bandage or removing it? His hands buzzed with the pins and needles of recent spell-casting. His heart-rate was accelerated. How thrilling. The students looked at him expectantly and the soldier groaned.
"I think you understand. Excuse me, please." He stated blithely, dropping the bandage. It lost its yellowish glow as it fell from his grip. He got to his feet and began walking from what appeared to me a makeshift healing station. Fifth and sixth years buzzed here and there, rather beautiful in healer greys, busy determination in young faces. He could year the two third-years he'd just abandoned calling for him behind, unable to leave their post at the soldier's side.
Some sort of battle, then? A memory scratched at his mind, an old one. Last time he's been down this way. Exiting the tent he found the carnage. Not so terrible. In the distance a shattered wall beyond the Pearlmist bridge. Funny that in the heat of a battleground an old man should be walking blindfolded right down the centre of it. Somebody should stop him and tell him that there are monsters out there. Distracted he turned, and with a moment to spare he ducked out of the way as a great chunk of masonry fell where he had just been standing. Shaken he picked himself up, eyes to the sky, watching a tiny, pale figure, flanked with blades taking on a behemoth of a mistling.
Theodore grabbed a medicine bag and headed for higher ground. He observed by the this point that he was wearing combat boots, a long coat, with a healer's arm-band on his right upper-arm. Good to know he knew he was coming here. All evidence pointed to the fact that he had existed before the moment he had woken back in the tent. And he knew what he was going. He was heading to the top of the wall to assist the Headmaster. Now that wasn't so difficult, was it?
He remembered suddenly the old man on the bridge and whipped round to see what had become of him, the put of his stomach dropping out to see that nothing was there. He blinked. He blinked again. Will the mighty Dragon of the Fifth not bestow protection unto the faithful? Maybe the man had never been there in the first place. Or maybe he had, but at another time. Yes. Another time. Comforted, Teddy continued his ascent to the top of the wall.
He arrived as Varana departed, sparing not a glance for him. He watched her go for a moment then turned back towards the tactical meeting in front of him. In the time it had taken him to get here, the behemoth had been taken down, and the warrior responsible stood atop this wall, The Headmaster, gloriously bloodied.
"By the grace of the Fifth, sir, you appear to live still." He said, by some way of introduction. Was it night, or a sunny morning as he held his mother's hand? Somehow he thought it could perhaps be both, looking out over the carnage, towards that distant bridge. Its importance seemed to scritch scritch scritch at him. "Might i be of some assistance to your injury?" he asked, unhurried, distant, distracted. "I understand there is some manner of conflict occuring."
