04-17-2016, 10:33 PM
Harry woke early the day of the assault, not so much eager as determined. He'd be working with serious forces today. It reminded him of Chichen Itza, and this time he didn't have three Knights of the Cross, his fairy godmother, and the Blackstaff as backup. That said, he was going into it with, among others, an eldritch Power, Lord Voldemort himself, and what might possibly be an honest-to-God Sith. As Harry lay in his bedroll staring up at the ceiling, he wondered if it said anything about him that he was working with all the bad guys now. Still, nothing to be done about it but get to work and get it done. Traditional morality aside, they were going to embark on a great and terrible undertaking today; the banishment of one of the stronger Primes in the Omniverse. A reminder that they were still mortal, after a fashion. And that meant that Harry would need to prepare to work some major-league forces.
The entity had summoned quite a few facilities, but part of Harry's preparatory process was going to involve being a short ways off from the camp. After leaving a simple note; "Gone to prepare for the day, back in an hour," pinned to the obsidian frame of his little shelter, he grabbed his staff and coat, checked for the blasting rod in the coat pocket, and moved down the side of the mountain a short ways, summoning a small camp shower, the kind with the jug of water and a shower head instead of plumbing. Used to cold showers, the wizard didn't bother to warm it. The cold water hadn't really bothered him since... well, since he took a bit of the Winter into himself, really. It's not like a cold shower could hold a candle to the sheer chill of Arctis Tor. Harry disrobed, hanging his clothing over the door and stepping under the shower head, opening the flow of water with a pull of a cord and letting it run over him.
Harry didn't pay much attention to the routine ritual cleansing at this point, slowly and methodically washing himself both literally and spiritually, excess magic draining away with the water. That was the real reason he was doing this; someone else's energy clinging to his own could interfere with some of the larger spells. With this many Primes in the area, the less contamination he started the day with, the better. After he showered, he extracted the Omnilium from his clothing, leaving the spell-wrought duster, and resummoned some denim jeans and a soft white T-shirt along with the towel he used to dry himself.
Now dressed, calm, and clean, Harry returned to the camp as the day began in earnest. A simple breakfast of eggs and toast preceded the final strategy meeting, wherein Nealaphh went over everyone's final assignments and Harry spotted a familiar face. Gildarts Clive, one of Erza's friends and a short-term ally of his during that... mess that was Dante's Abyss. He nodded towards the familiar man with neutral determination, focused mainly on the task ahead of him and the way he'd have to go about it. Harry made a token objection to the entity's blatant usage of telepathy with a tap of his staff, the sarcastic comment almost second-nature to him now, and continued planning. Colonel and Connor were unfamiliar. He had met Miranda, once, but they'd been separated soon after and he hadn't seen her fight. Still, Connor cocked a gun, which made it pretty evident what he'd be doing. Much like his rune-carved staff made it blatantly obvious what his own specialization was.
The wizard drew his blasting rod as the group began the trek uphill, the shorter length of carved wood resting in his right hand with the staff in his left. He marched with the other members of Gamma, attempting to hammer out a more specific team strategy. "Alright, I've got a couple spells that I can use on groups, but I'll need the enemy grouped as close together as possible for the best effect. What about everyone else? What's your specialty?"
The entity had summoned quite a few facilities, but part of Harry's preparatory process was going to involve being a short ways off from the camp. After leaving a simple note; "Gone to prepare for the day, back in an hour," pinned to the obsidian frame of his little shelter, he grabbed his staff and coat, checked for the blasting rod in the coat pocket, and moved down the side of the mountain a short ways, summoning a small camp shower, the kind with the jug of water and a shower head instead of plumbing. Used to cold showers, the wizard didn't bother to warm it. The cold water hadn't really bothered him since... well, since he took a bit of the Winter into himself, really. It's not like a cold shower could hold a candle to the sheer chill of Arctis Tor. Harry disrobed, hanging his clothing over the door and stepping under the shower head, opening the flow of water with a pull of a cord and letting it run over him.
Harry didn't pay much attention to the routine ritual cleansing at this point, slowly and methodically washing himself both literally and spiritually, excess magic draining away with the water. That was the real reason he was doing this; someone else's energy clinging to his own could interfere with some of the larger spells. With this many Primes in the area, the less contamination he started the day with, the better. After he showered, he extracted the Omnilium from his clothing, leaving the spell-wrought duster, and resummoned some denim jeans and a soft white T-shirt along with the towel he used to dry himself.
Now dressed, calm, and clean, Harry returned to the camp as the day began in earnest. A simple breakfast of eggs and toast preceded the final strategy meeting, wherein Nealaphh went over everyone's final assignments and Harry spotted a familiar face. Gildarts Clive, one of Erza's friends and a short-term ally of his during that... mess that was Dante's Abyss. He nodded towards the familiar man with neutral determination, focused mainly on the task ahead of him and the way he'd have to go about it. Harry made a token objection to the entity's blatant usage of telepathy with a tap of his staff, the sarcastic comment almost second-nature to him now, and continued planning. Colonel and Connor were unfamiliar. He had met Miranda, once, but they'd been separated soon after and he hadn't seen her fight. Still, Connor cocked a gun, which made it pretty evident what he'd be doing. Much like his rune-carved staff made it blatantly obvious what his own specialization was.
The wizard drew his blasting rod as the group began the trek uphill, the shorter length of carved wood resting in his right hand with the staff in his left. He marched with the other members of Gamma, attempting to hammer out a more specific team strategy. "Alright, I've got a couple spells that I can use on groups, but I'll need the enemy grouped as close together as possible for the best effect. What about everyone else? What's your specialty?"
![[Image: u17lb3R.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/u17lb3R.gif)