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ooc: The action in this post initiates roughly simultaneously with Morguerat’s use of his staff.
Joseph? Larry? Echo? The Modding Mage?
No! Not him, you fool! ….. You fool! ….. Fool!
That’s not the one we seek! ….. One we seek! ….. We seek!
That’s an imposter! ….. An imposter! ….. Imposter!
Echo’s voice calls out even as the strangled cry of pain from the were-tigress’ victim fades. The cry, however, is not the only thing that fades for the shape of the young man grows suddenly malleable and even his scent disperses as if it had not been there at all. The warmth of blood, even its taste, these too dissipate, and the solidity of flesh, of bone to be broken and sinew to be torn, gives way to something other. Something familiar. Something dark……
--- Morguerat’s attack takes place here. ---
…… Shadows - cold, silent and insubstantial, a sharp contrast to the all too palpable sensation of sturdy wood swung with no small force impacting upon the lycanthrope’s body. There is a familiar feel about these shadows, a feel of barely restrained power not unlike that which lies about other things within this tower, a feel not unlike the touch of Master of this place. A feel so close as to be that of a brother ……
“Shut up, Echo!” The tone of command is unmistakable – spontaneous and powerful and moving immediately from order into threat. “I made you and I damn sure can unmake you! Now leave us alone!” The threat is not so firm, nor so cold as the Master’s, but there is something of the Master within it ……
Be that as it may, there is a tentative “But …. but ….. but….” And then Echo falls silent.
The tone of threat changes with a natural, even spontaneous, abruptness to a more familiar voice even as the movement of shadows reveals the presence of Larry standing some distance away. “You were right, Morg! It is coming back – it just takes practice!”
He looks at the puzzled were-tigress whose nostrils flare in recognition of familiar scent about him. “And you…..” His voice is nervous, but firm after the manner of those who seek not to show their fear. Frustration then shows on his face as he cries out, “Ah! Damn it, Morg! You used the wrong end of the staff!” Indeed, plain wood struck the creature, when the other end of the staff bears a sturdy silver cap. As he says this larry glances out of the corner of his eye to the left of the lycanthrope.
There is a movement within the shadows, faint, but real and a scent that moves as well, the scent of one she does not know. And there is sound as of venom being smeared on a blade…..
Fear, valor and nervousness, all of these things show in Larry’s face. But his fists are clenched. And shadows begin to gather about his closed fists.
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