First Morning Session

[mightymorbid]

Who: Mozenrath, Severus Snape
Where: The Gym
When: About 7 am, the day after assignments.
What: Snape wants to meet for an hour every day, to train Moze's magic up without using the gauntlet. Mozenrath doesn't know this.

He'd never gone to a first meeting with a Warden with such optimism, really. But then -- a little magic went a long way, and a lot

Comments

[mightymorbid]

Identifying a new man with a teacher he'd ultimately murdered and turned into an undead slave was probably not the healthiest response Mozenrath could have, but it was odd how certain things just immediately came natural. Being drilled as he did his best to act quickly and effectively created ripples and echoes he hadn't felt in a long time.

He knew he might be able to take him by surprise if he got behind him and managed a full blast, but he was still uncertain just how much he had left in him. He'd never been able to translocate without his gauntlet back in his own world -- largely because it took so much power to do that, and on top of that he had his hold on the army to maintain, or to summon from wherever he had been before. Without the gauntlet, he had to actually concentrate on it, and it could have ended with him embedded in a wall, or underground, or somewhere worse.

But here, there were no Mamluks. He could try.

Mozenrath pulled his cape around himself with a flourish and vanished in a burst of blue-black flame.

He reappeared behind his Warden, flinging his arm out to toss another shot of fire toward him, but it burnt out before even reaching him.

His stance shook visibly when a dizzy spell caught him.

[emptyyourself]

Snape spun on his heel as Mozenrath vanished; not because of some instinct or sixth sense which told him the man was behind him, but because generally, when teleporting (or Apparating) during a duel, it was a good bet to catch someone unawares if you went directly behind them rather than three feet to the left.

He was just in time to see the blue-black fire burn out and Mozenrath's stance shake; not particularly promising signs. He had strong natural abilities, but tired too quickly - like a runner who had been sitting on the couch for years. He waited a moment, his arms folded across his chest, watching his inmate to see how bad off he was, then conceded. "I've seen enough. We're done."

No more than twenty minutes had gone by. Tomorrow, he thought cynically to himself, they would try for thirty minutes.

[mightymorbid]

Mozenrath reacted before he was even certain of what Snape was saying, as though rather than an end to this exercise, again, he expected attack, even despite the fact that none had come yet. He rose to his full height and retreated a step, but then the words struck home, and he realized nothing else would be coming. He didn't wish to admit that he probably could not have gone on from there; what would have followed in the old days would have been a good deal less pleasant.

Xerxes, who had been maintaining an odd perimeter around the two of them, swam to the younger magician's side, despite really not able to offer much in the way of aid.

"Master all right?"

"Away," Mozenrath uttered, waving him off.