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Eloras Ghost Banishing 241126
In the eerie quiet of Arkwright Cemetery, under the dim glow of a waning crescent moon, Elora and William find themselves encircled by sinister, smoke-formed creatures, their eyes burning red with malice. With the air thick with the scent of brimstone and their surroundings barely illuminated by the ethereal light of will-o'-wisps, the pair quickly realize they are outnumbered and lacking the third arcanist they had hoped for. Elora, demonstrating quick thinking and familiarity with the occult, devises a plan to keep the spirits at bay using her wintery-light emitting choker to create illusions, distracting the smoke-monsters and causing them to attack each other. Meanwhile, William focuses on preparing a complex ritual, his actions precise despite the quickening cold and the difficulty of using his own blood as a medium for the sigils necessary to banish the spirits.
As the ritual nears completion, the tension escalates with the emergence of a particularly menacing figure among the smoke creatures, wielding magic that seems to strike directly at Elora's heart, causing her immense pain. In the midst of her suffering, Elora manages to dispatch the creature with a desperate attack, though she is left weakened and in agony. William, pushing through his concern and the physical strain of the ritual, continues his incantations. The power of the ritual crescendos, the symbols drawn in blood illuminating the cemetery with a brilliant light that draws in and eradicates the malevolent mist and its denizens, leaving the siblings in a hard-won silence. Their mission, though fraught with danger and personal sacrifice, concludes successfully with the spirits banished, at least for the time being.
(Elora's ghost banishing)
[Mon Nov 25 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 45F(7C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
There is the sudden smell of brimstone that fills the area, and along with a rising, black mist: smoke, coiling along the surface of the graveyard. It seems to form strange whorls and shapes, and as they draw close to %n they begin to look more and more like creatures -- horned creatures, with red eyes full of menace.
Elora looks about as the smell of brimstone fills the area. Black mist rises about her She has wary teal eyes for the horned creatures that surround her and William. The dark of the midnight cemetery doesn't help matters, though its a dark lit by the will o'wisp light which fights against the dark mists. She looks into the red eyes. Glares. "We will be doing this without a third arcanist, it seems. One of us will need to keep the spirits off the other so that we can focus on the ritual itself."
A trio of horned smoke-monsters advance out of the mist. They have twisted weapons formed of smoke, and they descend on Elora, howling in an incomrephensible, devilish tongue.
William is about to answer to his sister, before the spirits start to manifest, glancing around at the figures starting to take shape, he begins to retreat slightly, eyes scanning around, looking for the tallest gavestone or statue laying around, aiming to use it as a place to take cover "I've- The one I did last was also one of these- They are made out of smoke, we can't exactly keep them at bay with normal means"
Elora moves to a stretch of ground where a monument is. The gray slab she puts between her and some of the dark horned creatures. As a trio of the smoke-monsters approach, she has light shining from her choker in wintery color. A moment afterward the charging wraith directly ahead of her turns toward its partner and rakes claws through them. This provokes the third monster to attack its fellow, devolving into a brawl. "Get to work on the ritual," Elora orders William. "I will protect you."
William nods his head at his sister, moving behind the already spotted place to take cover. He rushes his way over behind the tallest of gravestones, as if that would keep him away from the smoke creatures, and reaches for the knife concealed within his clothes, pulling it out of its hidden sheath and driving it towards his palm, making a bit of a cut on it to get some blood start to pool on it, wetting the fingers on his other hand before starting to draw on the ground, like many of the rituals he performed, starting first and foremost with a sizeable circle that will later contain everything else
Elora holds herself with a quiet confidence born of experience in this graveyard. The old stretch of cemetery with its half covered stones swallowed up by the grass and plots crammed so near to each other has become a familiar place to her. "I've dealt with something like these before. When I was teaching Isolde. One of them got away, she encountered it, I think, with you. It was its banishing that put her in the hospital for nearly a week. Its banishing, which very nearly killed her." As the mists dissolve under their violence toward each other she has eyes roving around the darkness that has formed, looking for the new threats. The air seems to be growing colder as it often does around ghosts. Frigid. Her breath mists out in front of her.
A trio of horned smoke-monsters advance out of the mist. They have twisted weapons formed of smoke, and they descend on Elora, howling in an incomrephensible, devilish tongue.
William takes his time with the circle, blood being something harder to draw with, and not wanting to mess up the shape, it was important to have a proper circle. Not only that, but the coldness, it led to the blood drying up faster, he had to be precise with it, or he wouldn't be able to correct the mistake. "These just reform after you destroy them- And change forms, beings of mist and awfully annoying" He soon enough finishes the drawing, casting a side glance to Elora to make sure that she's alright, but after confirming it, simply going back to working on the ritual, this time, drawing a second circle, this time inside the bigger one, but placed on the center, a smaller version within the bigger one, and after that, he goes for a third, it was almost like drawing a target to shoot at the floor
Elora spares a moment to glance at William in his sigil work. She eyes the painting of blood he is working on with consideration. It is just a glance though. So as the trio of smoke-monsters form she seems them coming. Their howling would have seen to that anyway. Moving with quick steps she leads the trio away from William and his work, passing over tombstones as she rushes. A ritual blade comes out from a hidden sheath, held in a confident grip. In the moment before the first of the ghosts arrives her choker glows. The spirit seems to react to something at his side. Her dagger takes it in the neck as it dissolves into blacky nothingness. Then the other spirits are upon her. Weapons, slashing for her. She steps away from them in a rush, barely keeping out of the range of the descending blade. Then she is rushing back in. The melee is a confused jumble with the spirits seemingly lashing out at times not at her, but at something beside her. Illusions, fooling their otherworldly senses.
Elora stays back from William after dispatching the spirits, though she waves one hand toward him -- it causes one of the wisps to peel off and move to hover over where William is drawing in his blood upon the graveyard soils. "Quite annoying, yes. Even moreso, that it will likely return to be banished once more, on another night. The spirits here cling so to their ways."
A twisted figure forms out of infernal smoke, shaped like a terrible canine shape. It's a hellhound, leaping towards Elora with an awful snarl. When its mouth closes on %n, it has some phantom force, sending a vision of suffering in hellfire.
Finishing the inner circles seems to be much quicker, the difference in size seemingly aiding on that realm. William keeps on working after that though, not sparing a single second, treating the circles drawn like layers, he begins drawing between the inner-most and the second, at first a triangle, touching both of the circular drawings only thrice each, the outer with the edges, while the inner in a single tangent point for each side of it. Then comes a second triangle, inverted, treated much like the first, soon enough the drawing seems to take the shape of some six-points star. "Again, and again..." William simply comments, almost muttering to himself
Elora doesn't look the part of a warrior in the human sense. She has a scarf on, knee-high boots, a skirt. Her jewelry, while not gaudy, is still extra enough with the bone ring and silver choker like brambles to make her look unserious to some. Yet on this night she is wearing a green wig. And it suits her. The woman is small like many fae born tend to be: a diminuitive creature. And she moves with a quickness that is a bit beyond what one would guess on seeing her. More like an athlete, than a common person. So when the twistged figures form once more into canine shape and her choker is once more glowing and she is lashing through it with her dagger with a fierce expression upon her face: for someone who knows the sort of things that a green haired or blued haired girl can tend to do, it is not so shocking. "That makes it no less dangerous. Keep your wits about you. If I slip up, I may need your support. I do not wish to be mauled be spectral dog."
Elora takes a moment while the mists are regathering themselves to check on the sigil work of William once more. She gives it an approving nod. "You're doing well. Do try not to pass out from the blood loss."
Elora takes a deep breath as she readies herself for the next wave of forming mist monsters. The dagger she wields, covered in runic symbols, held more like a rapier than a stabbing thing. Her form shifts subtly as she adopts a fencer's stance.
William glances at his hand again, the blood was drying up quickly in the cold of night, letting out a sigh he drives the balde of the knife back to his palm, aiming to reopen the exit that the dried substance might be closing, letting out a pained complain and a bit of a grimace. But once more, wetting the fingers on his other hand, determined to keep advancing the ritual. He seems to draw some symbols along the outer side of the second layer, spacing them carefully one from another, simple in nature, none seem complex enough to be unable to be replicated even by kids, it is something that one could easily memorize if they were intent about it. "In my experience the break and reform whenever they would take damage... If you need support at any time, do tell me, I have the gun with me, I can shoot at one to have it reform if it's giving you trouble" He comments in a rushed and forced manner, as if preoccupied with working on something else to have to explain the whole thing, not that Elora needed the explanation really "I'm good... It's not that much blood" He outright lies, the drawing was quite sizeable, and one cannot simply draw with something like that without using lots of it
For a moment, the dark smoke is still around Elora ... but then a low, evil laughter begins to echo. It takes only a second to realize the laughter is echoing inside the heads of those who fight here, and with it comes a sudden urge to give into everyone's worst sin.
It is dark in the graveyard. Cold too. Each breath mists. The chill would have many people concerned, but Elora seems to savor it. "Brother, mine," Elora lilts out. Elora smiles, attention drifting to the bleeding young man. "It has been a while, hasn't it? You've been sick for so long. But we still have a game to play, don't we? Tell me, brother, mine... what is my name?"
Elora begins to get some dice from her bag as she waits for her brother's answer. All held in the hand that doesn't already hold the knife.
Seemingly left out of the mist that is surrounding Elora, William seems oblivious to what is going on, moving to draw some more complex symbols within the center of the inner-most circle, seemingly the finishing touches for the drawing itself, but midway through them, he freezes in place, hand stopping to move, and eyes slowly turning up to look at his sister
Elora pauses and shakes her head. "No, no... this is not the time. People watch. They watch." She looks out toward the darkness at the likely scouts. "I shall not play while being watched." Her eyes, hateful and angry, search the darkness for those scouts.
William nods his head "Yes... Sister, this is not the time... I thought that was over..." He says with a little gulp, taking a deep breath to try and calm down, to focus, though for the first time since they arrived, and even despite the heavy winter clothing, he does seem to be cold right now. He forces his gaze back to the ritual, slowly finishing the symbols, maybe a bit slower than he would have been before, hand trembling at times, and forcing him to take it away to avoid messing up the whole thing
A twisted figure forms out of infernal smoke, shaped like a terrible canine shape. It's a hellhound, leaping towards Elora with an awful snarl. When its mouth closes on %n, it has some phantom force, sending a vision of suffering in hellfire.
Elora looks back to William. "You're right. It is not the time. Right now we --" And then the creature is rushing for her. Her eyes widen. Her choker glows. Then, she steps aside and the ghostly thing snaps at open air. A moment later it is looking around. Its eyes alight upon William, seemingly ignoring the small woman standing next to it as the cloak clouds its senses leaving it unable to see her. Smell of brimstone thick in the air, it charges toward William.
Elora gives chase, moving alongside the creature. Even as it reaches William, she is reaching him too. Her dagger rips through it and the mist dissolves into black that rushes forward with the momentum slamming through without any real force as the cool of it passes through where William is.
Elora skids in the grass as she barely manages to stop her rushed motion just before touching the bloody circle.
With a look towards his palm, blood already starting to dry up on it once more, and the wound for some reason already seeming to be in the process of healing, despite how little time it had been since he originally opened it, he takes a deep breath. Then another look from William towards the blood drawing on the ground, making sure that everything was ready and looked good, almost like a student making sure the homework are all good before handing them in. His eyes move to the creature approaching him though, distracting him, having him reach for the knife once more, ready for impact, but just before it happens Elora seems to manage to have the beast go back into being smoke
Elora backs away, eyes once more searching the graveyard.
"We need to- I need to-" William simply shakes his head, not needing to state it out loud, his voice lowers, a lot at that, almost to a whisper, like he was trying for only himself to hear, and even if others were to do so, they would probably only listen to gibberish, muttering in some unrecognizable language.
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Elora, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Elora can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
It takes a moment for whatever William is doing to start taking effect, but when it does, it becomes noticeable quite fast. The drawing, originally made with dark red blood, was starting to light up, at first weak, red light, like it was coming through a filter, from behind a colored window. But as it starts gaining intensity, the color seems to shift to something white-ish, painting the ground, tainted with some blue and green details here and there, barely perceptible to sight
Elora grasps her chest, eyes going wide, mouth opening in quiet horror as she gazes at the figure with the gnarled finger pointing at her. Small, diminutive, and caught caught off guard by the unexpected strike, she spends long moments trembling in the pain of it.
Elora makes a keening noise of pain, rising, higher and higher, "AhhhhHHHHHHHHHH!"
Elora has a choker which glows with a wintery light. the chanting breaks off for a moment as the figure across from her glances to the side, hand coming up in warding fashion as the illusion of a two-tailed fox leaps for him.
William continues with the whispering, to himself, to the ritual. The light growing stronger, almost seeming like the blood had been replaced by the light itself, like it was a stain of bright white on the ground itself. And it takes a couple seconds, but soon enough, the beams of light seem to reach out, towards the smoke and the mist surrounding them, almost clinging at it, siphoning, forcing it towards the ritual, as if to swallow it all towards the very earth beneath their feet
Elora is suddenly rushing forward, closing the distance between the figure and herself. It realizes the illusion is just that, ignoring it after a moment. Its gnarled finger raises once more. She lets out another cry of pain, face contorting in agony. It isn't so much a stab as a stumbling fall that happens to slam the dagger through the figure. It seems almost surprised as it fades. For her part, Elora doesn't seem fine at all. She sinks to her knees, clutching her heart again, tears in her eyes. "Blood mushroom patches. Blood bloody mushroom patches." She pants, teeth set in a grimace.
Elora looks to William, "End it! Banish them."
Elora seeing someone is doing just that, relaxes minutely, some of the tension in her draining.
Elora seeing William is doing just that, relaxes minutely, some of the tension in her draining.
William doesn't bother to answer to his sister, it would ruin the whole thing if he did, he simply continues with his gibberish muttering, having the beam of light coming from the ground take care of the dark mist surrounding them, if the ritual was indeed a success, just a moment later they would have nothing to worry about, spirits banished for good for at least a couple days
The smell of smoke seems to peak, and then, with a rush of magical power, it's gone. The smoke monsters in the cemetery disappear, banished -- fading away as wisps of mist in the air around $n.
As the ritual nears completion, the tension escalates with the emergence of a particularly menacing figure among the smoke creatures, wielding magic that seems to strike directly at Elora's heart, causing her immense pain. In the midst of her suffering, Elora manages to dispatch the creature with a desperate attack, though she is left weakened and in agony. William, pushing through his concern and the physical strain of the ritual, continues his incantations. The power of the ritual crescendos, the symbols drawn in blood illuminating the cemetery with a brilliant light that draws in and eradicates the malevolent mist and its denizens, leaving the siblings in a hard-won silence. Their mission, though fraught with danger and personal sacrifice, concludes successfully with the spirits banished, at least for the time being.
(Elora's ghost banishing)
[Mon Nov 25 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 45F(7C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
There is the sudden smell of brimstone that fills the area, and along with a rising, black mist: smoke, coiling along the surface of the graveyard. It seems to form strange whorls and shapes, and as they draw close to %n they begin to look more and more like creatures -- horned creatures, with red eyes full of menace.
Elora looks about as the smell of brimstone fills the area. Black mist rises about her She has wary teal eyes for the horned creatures that surround her and William. The dark of the midnight cemetery doesn't help matters, though its a dark lit by the will o'wisp light which fights against the dark mists. She looks into the red eyes. Glares. "We will be doing this without a third arcanist, it seems. One of us will need to keep the spirits off the other so that we can focus on the ritual itself."
A trio of horned smoke-monsters advance out of the mist. They have twisted weapons formed of smoke, and they descend on Elora, howling in an incomrephensible, devilish tongue.
William is about to answer to his sister, before the spirits start to manifest, glancing around at the figures starting to take shape, he begins to retreat slightly, eyes scanning around, looking for the tallest gavestone or statue laying around, aiming to use it as a place to take cover "I've- The one I did last was also one of these- They are made out of smoke, we can't exactly keep them at bay with normal means"
Elora moves to a stretch of ground where a monument is. The gray slab she puts between her and some of the dark horned creatures. As a trio of the smoke-monsters approach, she has light shining from her choker in wintery color. A moment afterward the charging wraith directly ahead of her turns toward its partner and rakes claws through them. This provokes the third monster to attack its fellow, devolving into a brawl. "Get to work on the ritual," Elora orders William. "I will protect you."
William nods his head at his sister, moving behind the already spotted place to take cover. He rushes his way over behind the tallest of gravestones, as if that would keep him away from the smoke creatures, and reaches for the knife concealed within his clothes, pulling it out of its hidden sheath and driving it towards his palm, making a bit of a cut on it to get some blood start to pool on it, wetting the fingers on his other hand before starting to draw on the ground, like many of the rituals he performed, starting first and foremost with a sizeable circle that will later contain everything else
Elora holds herself with a quiet confidence born of experience in this graveyard. The old stretch of cemetery with its half covered stones swallowed up by the grass and plots crammed so near to each other has become a familiar place to her. "I've dealt with something like these before. When I was teaching Isolde. One of them got away, she encountered it, I think, with you. It was its banishing that put her in the hospital for nearly a week. Its banishing, which very nearly killed her." As the mists dissolve under their violence toward each other she has eyes roving around the darkness that has formed, looking for the new threats. The air seems to be growing colder as it often does around ghosts. Frigid. Her breath mists out in front of her.
A trio of horned smoke-monsters advance out of the mist. They have twisted weapons formed of smoke, and they descend on Elora, howling in an incomrephensible, devilish tongue.
William takes his time with the circle, blood being something harder to draw with, and not wanting to mess up the shape, it was important to have a proper circle. Not only that, but the coldness, it led to the blood drying up faster, he had to be precise with it, or he wouldn't be able to correct the mistake. "These just reform after you destroy them- And change forms, beings of mist and awfully annoying" He soon enough finishes the drawing, casting a side glance to Elora to make sure that she's alright, but after confirming it, simply going back to working on the ritual, this time, drawing a second circle, this time inside the bigger one, but placed on the center, a smaller version within the bigger one, and after that, he goes for a third, it was almost like drawing a target to shoot at the floor
Elora spares a moment to glance at William in his sigil work. She eyes the painting of blood he is working on with consideration. It is just a glance though. So as the trio of smoke-monsters form she seems them coming. Their howling would have seen to that anyway. Moving with quick steps she leads the trio away from William and his work, passing over tombstones as she rushes. A ritual blade comes out from a hidden sheath, held in a confident grip. In the moment before the first of the ghosts arrives her choker glows. The spirit seems to react to something at his side. Her dagger takes it in the neck as it dissolves into blacky nothingness. Then the other spirits are upon her. Weapons, slashing for her. She steps away from them in a rush, barely keeping out of the range of the descending blade. Then she is rushing back in. The melee is a confused jumble with the spirits seemingly lashing out at times not at her, but at something beside her. Illusions, fooling their otherworldly senses.
Elora stays back from William after dispatching the spirits, though she waves one hand toward him -- it causes one of the wisps to peel off and move to hover over where William is drawing in his blood upon the graveyard soils. "Quite annoying, yes. Even moreso, that it will likely return to be banished once more, on another night. The spirits here cling so to their ways."
A twisted figure forms out of infernal smoke, shaped like a terrible canine shape. It's a hellhound, leaping towards Elora with an awful snarl. When its mouth closes on %n, it has some phantom force, sending a vision of suffering in hellfire.
Finishing the inner circles seems to be much quicker, the difference in size seemingly aiding on that realm. William keeps on working after that though, not sparing a single second, treating the circles drawn like layers, he begins drawing between the inner-most and the second, at first a triangle, touching both of the circular drawings only thrice each, the outer with the edges, while the inner in a single tangent point for each side of it. Then comes a second triangle, inverted, treated much like the first, soon enough the drawing seems to take the shape of some six-points star. "Again, and again..." William simply comments, almost muttering to himself
Elora doesn't look the part of a warrior in the human sense. She has a scarf on, knee-high boots, a skirt. Her jewelry, while not gaudy, is still extra enough with the bone ring and silver choker like brambles to make her look unserious to some. Yet on this night she is wearing a green wig. And it suits her. The woman is small like many fae born tend to be: a diminuitive creature. And she moves with a quickness that is a bit beyond what one would guess on seeing her. More like an athlete, than a common person. So when the twistged figures form once more into canine shape and her choker is once more glowing and she is lashing through it with her dagger with a fierce expression upon her face: for someone who knows the sort of things that a green haired or blued haired girl can tend to do, it is not so shocking. "That makes it no less dangerous. Keep your wits about you. If I slip up, I may need your support. I do not wish to be mauled be spectral dog."
Elora takes a moment while the mists are regathering themselves to check on the sigil work of William once more. She gives it an approving nod. "You're doing well. Do try not to pass out from the blood loss."
Elora takes a deep breath as she readies herself for the next wave of forming mist monsters. The dagger she wields, covered in runic symbols, held more like a rapier than a stabbing thing. Her form shifts subtly as she adopts a fencer's stance.
William glances at his hand again, the blood was drying up quickly in the cold of night, letting out a sigh he drives the balde of the knife back to his palm, aiming to reopen the exit that the dried substance might be closing, letting out a pained complain and a bit of a grimace. But once more, wetting the fingers on his other hand, determined to keep advancing the ritual. He seems to draw some symbols along the outer side of the second layer, spacing them carefully one from another, simple in nature, none seem complex enough to be unable to be replicated even by kids, it is something that one could easily memorize if they were intent about it. "In my experience the break and reform whenever they would take damage... If you need support at any time, do tell me, I have the gun with me, I can shoot at one to have it reform if it's giving you trouble" He comments in a rushed and forced manner, as if preoccupied with working on something else to have to explain the whole thing, not that Elora needed the explanation really "I'm good... It's not that much blood" He outright lies, the drawing was quite sizeable, and one cannot simply draw with something like that without using lots of it
For a moment, the dark smoke is still around Elora ... but then a low, evil laughter begins to echo. It takes only a second to realize the laughter is echoing inside the heads of those who fight here, and with it comes a sudden urge to give into everyone's worst sin.
It is dark in the graveyard. Cold too. Each breath mists. The chill would have many people concerned, but Elora seems to savor it. "Brother, mine," Elora lilts out. Elora smiles, attention drifting to the bleeding young man. "It has been a while, hasn't it? You've been sick for so long. But we still have a game to play, don't we? Tell me, brother, mine... what is my name?"
Elora begins to get some dice from her bag as she waits for her brother's answer. All held in the hand that doesn't already hold the knife.
Seemingly left out of the mist that is surrounding Elora, William seems oblivious to what is going on, moving to draw some more complex symbols within the center of the inner-most circle, seemingly the finishing touches for the drawing itself, but midway through them, he freezes in place, hand stopping to move, and eyes slowly turning up to look at his sister
Elora pauses and shakes her head. "No, no... this is not the time. People watch. They watch." She looks out toward the darkness at the likely scouts. "I shall not play while being watched." Her eyes, hateful and angry, search the darkness for those scouts.
William nods his head "Yes... Sister, this is not the time... I thought that was over..." He says with a little gulp, taking a deep breath to try and calm down, to focus, though for the first time since they arrived, and even despite the heavy winter clothing, he does seem to be cold right now. He forces his gaze back to the ritual, slowly finishing the symbols, maybe a bit slower than he would have been before, hand trembling at times, and forcing him to take it away to avoid messing up the whole thing
A twisted figure forms out of infernal smoke, shaped like a terrible canine shape. It's a hellhound, leaping towards Elora with an awful snarl. When its mouth closes on %n, it has some phantom force, sending a vision of suffering in hellfire.
Elora looks back to William. "You're right. It is not the time. Right now we --" And then the creature is rushing for her. Her eyes widen. Her choker glows. Then, she steps aside and the ghostly thing snaps at open air. A moment later it is looking around. Its eyes alight upon William, seemingly ignoring the small woman standing next to it as the cloak clouds its senses leaving it unable to see her. Smell of brimstone thick in the air, it charges toward William.
Elora gives chase, moving alongside the creature. Even as it reaches William, she is reaching him too. Her dagger rips through it and the mist dissolves into black that rushes forward with the momentum slamming through without any real force as the cool of it passes through where William is.
Elora skids in the grass as she barely manages to stop her rushed motion just before touching the bloody circle.
With a look towards his palm, blood already starting to dry up on it once more, and the wound for some reason already seeming to be in the process of healing, despite how little time it had been since he originally opened it, he takes a deep breath. Then another look from William towards the blood drawing on the ground, making sure that everything was ready and looked good, almost like a student making sure the homework are all good before handing them in. His eyes move to the creature approaching him though, distracting him, having him reach for the knife once more, ready for impact, but just before it happens Elora seems to manage to have the beast go back into being smoke
Elora backs away, eyes once more searching the graveyard.
"We need to- I need to-" William simply shakes his head, not needing to state it out loud, his voice lowers, a lot at that, almost to a whisper, like he was trying for only himself to hear, and even if others were to do so, they would probably only listen to gibberish, muttering in some unrecognizable language.
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Elora, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Elora can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
It takes a moment for whatever William is doing to start taking effect, but when it does, it becomes noticeable quite fast. The drawing, originally made with dark red blood, was starting to light up, at first weak, red light, like it was coming through a filter, from behind a colored window. But as it starts gaining intensity, the color seems to shift to something white-ish, painting the ground, tainted with some blue and green details here and there, barely perceptible to sight
Elora grasps her chest, eyes going wide, mouth opening in quiet horror as she gazes at the figure with the gnarled finger pointing at her. Small, diminutive, and caught caught off guard by the unexpected strike, she spends long moments trembling in the pain of it.
Elora makes a keening noise of pain, rising, higher and higher, "AhhhhHHHHHHHHHH!"
Elora has a choker which glows with a wintery light. the chanting breaks off for a moment as the figure across from her glances to the side, hand coming up in warding fashion as the illusion of a two-tailed fox leaps for him.
William continues with the whispering, to himself, to the ritual. The light growing stronger, almost seeming like the blood had been replaced by the light itself, like it was a stain of bright white on the ground itself. And it takes a couple seconds, but soon enough, the beams of light seem to reach out, towards the smoke and the mist surrounding them, almost clinging at it, siphoning, forcing it towards the ritual, as if to swallow it all towards the very earth beneath their feet
Elora is suddenly rushing forward, closing the distance between the figure and herself. It realizes the illusion is just that, ignoring it after a moment. Its gnarled finger raises once more. She lets out another cry of pain, face contorting in agony. It isn't so much a stab as a stumbling fall that happens to slam the dagger through the figure. It seems almost surprised as it fades. For her part, Elora doesn't seem fine at all. She sinks to her knees, clutching her heart again, tears in her eyes. "Blood mushroom patches. Blood bloody mushroom patches." She pants, teeth set in a grimace.
Elora looks to William, "End it! Banish them."
Elora seeing someone is doing just that, relaxes minutely, some of the tension in her draining.
Elora seeing William is doing just that, relaxes minutely, some of the tension in her draining.
William doesn't bother to answer to his sister, it would ruin the whole thing if he did, he simply continues with his gibberish muttering, having the beam of light coming from the ground take care of the dark mist surrounding them, if the ritual was indeed a success, just a moment later they would have nothing to worry about, spirits banished for good for at least a couple days
The smell of smoke seems to peak, and then, with a rush of magical power, it's gone. The smoke monsters in the cemetery disappear, banished -- fading away as wisps of mist in the air around $n.