06-14-2014, 12:17 PM
Bob's camaraderie, such as it was, did wonder's for Harry's mood. After a few more hours of bouncing ideas back and forth, including a rather dismaying 15 minutes wherein Bob examined raw Omnilium and concluded that it wasn't ectoplasm or, in fact, anything that he'd ever seen before, the wizard was ready to go to bed. "I don't know how many romance novels I'll be able to find here, but I'll see what I can do to give you a little fresh reading. I'm going out tomorrow. There's a kid named Blues, or Proto Man, and a woman named Samus who are allowed into the Halls. Don't let them know who you are." Bob sighed, though Harry still wasn't clear on how a skull could sigh, and replied with a bored-sounding "Yes, boss." Harry grabbed the notebook, ascended out of his subbasement laboratory (mua-ha-ha-ha) and hung his flannel robe on a hook before retiring to his bed and sleeping soundly for the first time since he'd gotten here.
Morning came and his trusty Mickey Mouse alarm clock rang its cheery tones straight through Harry's skull. Harry left the halls, taking care to shut the door behind him very tightly, and maneuvered the tunnels to emerge into the early dawn light. Consulting the notebook and the sun to determine that Minas Tirith was a few hours' walk that-a-way, Harry pocketed the little bundle of pages and started jogging. He didn't have the benefit of Intellectus here like he did on Demonreach, but he could still jog for a very considerable distance. In fact, a couple hours later the wizard slowed to a walk just as the woods gave way to farmland and the city of Minas Tirith loomed over the cleared fields like a massive watchtower. Harry planned on continuing straight until he found a path that led into the city, but, of course, nothing could ever be simple.
"Help!"
"Quiet, you!"
The voice that had silenced the human cry for help was anything but human in itself, and Harry groaned as he set off towards the source of the noise, the sun making the run through the fields hotter and more uncomfortable to the duster-clad wizard than the jog through the shady forest had been. He vaulted a low fence (Parkour!) and found the source of the sound; a ghoul, much like the kind that Harry had to deal with back home, canine muzzle and long claws and wiry muscle and all, was toying with a farmer, chasing the poor bastard like a cat played with a mouse.
Harry had issues with ghouls.
The wizard strode forward, staff and blasting rod in hand, and thrust the staff forward first, calling on Soulfire. His voice rang out with power and anger as he yelled the incantation; "FORZARE!" A phantasmal hand, burning with cold blue Soulfire, seized the ghoul by surprise and flung it away from the man, who looked twice as fearful now that magic was being used. He recognized the mark of a wizard at work, though the presence of a friendly mage didn't seem to comfort him much. Harry would worry about that reaction later.
For its part, the ghoul didn't seem to know about Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, since it decided the best course of action was to run straight at the interloper. It was fast, but Harry's next spell was already rising to his lips as he raised his blasting rod. "FUEGO! PYROFUEGO!"
There were a lot of ways Harry could deal with ghouls. Many of them were less extreme and would probably result in less pain. That was exactly why he'd elected to burn the damn thing alive. Ghouls had taken two of his young Warden trainees from him, at Camp Kaboom. He wasn't about to forget that.
The world turned white for a second. You could almost hear a ghoul screaming over the high-pitched keen of the brilliant blast of flame. Almost. Harry blinked a few times to clear his eyes, and saw the ghoul's feet standing in a patch of scorched grass about fifty feet wide and sixty feet long. Overkill? Yep. Harry was breathing heavily, but damned if that wasn't therapeutic. Maybe that was just the Winter Knight talking, but roasting ghouls had felt good even before his deal with Mab. Call it a vice of his.
The farmer, for his part, was screaming imprecations at Harry. Apparently, he wasn't overly fond of "blasted magicians" with their "unnatural conjurations" and "damned feuds" getting "good, normal folk like me" caught in the crossfire. Harry turned to face him, and the sight of his face silenced the farmer almost immediately. He briefly considered turning to face away again to see if the yelling would resume, but instead he needed to ask a question. "What do you mean, feuds? Someone's making ghouls?" The farmer nodded as the sound of clanking plate mail came into Harry's perception, coming closer. Ah, the authorities. At least there aren't any buildings on fire this time.
Morning came and his trusty Mickey Mouse alarm clock rang its cheery tones straight through Harry's skull. Harry left the halls, taking care to shut the door behind him very tightly, and maneuvered the tunnels to emerge into the early dawn light. Consulting the notebook and the sun to determine that Minas Tirith was a few hours' walk that-a-way, Harry pocketed the little bundle of pages and started jogging. He didn't have the benefit of Intellectus here like he did on Demonreach, but he could still jog for a very considerable distance. In fact, a couple hours later the wizard slowed to a walk just as the woods gave way to farmland and the city of Minas Tirith loomed over the cleared fields like a massive watchtower. Harry planned on continuing straight until he found a path that led into the city, but, of course, nothing could ever be simple.
"Help!"
"Quiet, you!"
The voice that had silenced the human cry for help was anything but human in itself, and Harry groaned as he set off towards the source of the noise, the sun making the run through the fields hotter and more uncomfortable to the duster-clad wizard than the jog through the shady forest had been. He vaulted a low fence (Parkour!) and found the source of the sound; a ghoul, much like the kind that Harry had to deal with back home, canine muzzle and long claws and wiry muscle and all, was toying with a farmer, chasing the poor bastard like a cat played with a mouse.
Harry had issues with ghouls.
The wizard strode forward, staff and blasting rod in hand, and thrust the staff forward first, calling on Soulfire. His voice rang out with power and anger as he yelled the incantation; "FORZARE!" A phantasmal hand, burning with cold blue Soulfire, seized the ghoul by surprise and flung it away from the man, who looked twice as fearful now that magic was being used. He recognized the mark of a wizard at work, though the presence of a friendly mage didn't seem to comfort him much. Harry would worry about that reaction later.
For its part, the ghoul didn't seem to know about Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, since it decided the best course of action was to run straight at the interloper. It was fast, but Harry's next spell was already rising to his lips as he raised his blasting rod. "FUEGO! PYROFUEGO!"
There were a lot of ways Harry could deal with ghouls. Many of them were less extreme and would probably result in less pain. That was exactly why he'd elected to burn the damn thing alive. Ghouls had taken two of his young Warden trainees from him, at Camp Kaboom. He wasn't about to forget that.
The world turned white for a second. You could almost hear a ghoul screaming over the high-pitched keen of the brilliant blast of flame. Almost. Harry blinked a few times to clear his eyes, and saw the ghoul's feet standing in a patch of scorched grass about fifty feet wide and sixty feet long. Overkill? Yep. Harry was breathing heavily, but damned if that wasn't therapeutic. Maybe that was just the Winter Knight talking, but roasting ghouls had felt good even before his deal with Mab. Call it a vice of his.
The farmer, for his part, was screaming imprecations at Harry. Apparently, he wasn't overly fond of "blasted magicians" with their "unnatural conjurations" and "damned feuds" getting "good, normal folk like me" caught in the crossfire. Harry turned to face him, and the sight of his face silenced the farmer almost immediately. He briefly considered turning to face away again to see if the yelling would resume, but instead he needed to ask a question. "What do you mean, feuds? Someone's making ghouls?" The farmer nodded as the sound of clanking plate mail came into Harry's perception, coming closer. Ah, the authorities. At least there aren't any buildings on fire this time.
![[Image: u17lb3R.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/u17lb3R.gif)