RP: Fenrir's Escape From Azkaban, Part 4
Characters: Fenrir Greyback, Azkaban Prisoners (NPC), Azkaban Guards (NPC)
Date: 24 November 1999, Night
Location: Azkaban Prison, Ward 1 / Roof
Summary: The hour between 1 and 2.
Status/Warning: Closed/Extreme Violence
Completion: Complete
The top floors of Azkaban were filled with prisoners who had commited misdemeanors or slight felonies with short sentences. Without dementors, a sentence here was merely a slap on the wrist and a momentary restriction of freedom for a few months. Unfortunately some of them had decided to start a prison break once they had found out the guards were being knocked out somehow. One of them had rallied together quite a few of them and was now leading the mob to the roof, the only place where the wards of the prison allowed a wizard or witch to Apparate or use a Port Key.
They probably should have stayed in their cells this night.
Fighting the remaining guards as they were, their attention was all focused on pressing upward, forward. Not one of them thought to look back. Acting swiftly, Greyback came out of the shadows and quietly padded over and ripped out a woman's jugular. Blood spilled down her front, drenching her shirt so that it outlined her breasts. The werewolf turned to a man who had noticed the swift grey blur and crushed his face into a wall. Too easy.
"Hey, look ou--"
Some of the mob started gasping as a messy decapitated head flew above them. They had looked up just in time to see it look down at them, their expression of horror soon matching the one frozen on it. Some of them were still frenzied by the fight to get out, but others turned to witness the death machine.
"Move it or we're all dead!"
Screams and shrieks as men and women alike were torn apart, sometimes limb from limb. The werewolf knew every soft spot to strike, and the prisoners were absolutely defenseless. Finally the entire mob had changed from fighting to get out to fighting to stay alive. The few prisoners who did have wands fought hard to take out the remaining guards.
Curses and hexes flew through the air, ripping into both prisoners and guards. Soon the guards could see the line of prisoners thinning out. All hope leaving their minds of winning, they dropped back to survival and fled the last outpost. Anyone who could run did: all fled the path of the infamous Fenrir Greyback.
================
The storm still crashed above Azkaban, but the werewolf seemed indifferent to it. Perhaps it was even welcoming the lashing rain. It climbed a parapet and let out a howl of pleasure into the night. Free. Freedom. I am free.
A flash of lightning struck the North Sea, and he was gone.
Date: 24 November 1999, Night
Location: Azkaban Prison, Ward 1 / Roof
Summary: The hour between 1 and 2.
Status/Warning: Closed/Extreme Violence
Completion: Complete
The top floors of Azkaban were filled with prisoners who had commited misdemeanors or slight felonies with short sentences. Without dementors, a sentence here was merely a slap on the wrist and a momentary restriction of freedom for a few months. Unfortunately some of them had decided to start a prison break once they had found out the guards were being knocked out somehow. One of them had rallied together quite a few of them and was now leading the mob to the roof, the only place where the wards of the prison allowed a wizard or witch to Apparate or use a Port Key.
They probably should have stayed in their cells this night.
Fighting the remaining guards as they were, their attention was all focused on pressing upward, forward. Not one of them thought to look back. Acting swiftly, Greyback came out of the shadows and quietly padded over and ripped out a woman's jugular. Blood spilled down her front, drenching her shirt so that it outlined her breasts. The werewolf turned to a man who had noticed the swift grey blur and crushed his face into a wall. Too easy.
"Hey, look ou--"
Some of the mob started gasping as a messy decapitated head flew above them. They had looked up just in time to see it look down at them, their expression of horror soon matching the one frozen on it. Some of them were still frenzied by the fight to get out, but others turned to witness the death machine.
"Move it or we're all dead!"
Screams and shrieks as men and women alike were torn apart, sometimes limb from limb. The werewolf knew every soft spot to strike, and the prisoners were absolutely defenseless. Finally the entire mob had changed from fighting to get out to fighting to stay alive. The few prisoners who did have wands fought hard to take out the remaining guards.
Curses and hexes flew through the air, ripping into both prisoners and guards. Soon the guards could see the line of prisoners thinning out. All hope leaving their minds of winning, they dropped back to survival and fled the last outpost. Anyone who could run did: all fled the path of the infamous Fenrir Greyback.
================
The storm still crashed above Azkaban, but the werewolf seemed indifferent to it. Perhaps it was even welcoming the lashing rain. It climbed a parapet and let out a howl of pleasure into the night. Free. Freedom. I am free.
A flash of lightning struck the North Sea, and he was gone.