In which detention serves a useful purpose for once. (closed RP, for now)
All in all, Lezard Valeth felt his Sorting had gone rather well. He had met a kindred spirit of sorts. More than one, really, for the Sorting Hat had recognized his potential and Sorted him into Slytherin. Lezard decided he very much liked the Sorting Hat: its mindset was so very much like Lezard's own.
(Read: perverse and more than a little insane.)
Now there was the silly business of detention to deal with. Lezard had no immediate plans to overthrow the current system of order at Hogwarts, and therefore would humor its bureaucratic machinations for the time being. Turlough's threats of torture at the caretaker's hands meant only amusement for Lezard, since the things he'd done to himself with the aid of the Philosopher's Stone (no, not like that!) had rendered him impervious to such attacks. Indeed, when the very Lord of the Undead had rushed at Lezard to halt the Sovereign's Rite, the Lord's bulky body had passed right through Lezard, as though the mage had become immaterial. Which in fact he had, selectively. He could be as solid as he wished (how else to hold his valkyrie love?) or dissolve into motes of light.
He looked forward to baffling the Hogwarts staff.
Therefore he was less than thrilled when, at the end of his Sorting, a little green house-elf came shambling up to present him with a note: Schedule change. Report immediately for your detention to Groundskeeper Vislor Turlough at the mangosteen grove.
Irritated, he followed the elf out of the castle and onto the grounds. What he beheld pleased him: the edge of the grove was perfectly regular, a crescent seen on the horizon, and he knew that a view from above would show it as a green circle, unnatural, his mark on the landscape of this country. A summer breeze fluttered his cloak and wafted the scent of tropical trees toward him.
As he entered the grove, he tapped his fingers in a light rhythm along the Wand of Apocalypse's shaft.
The groundskeeper awaited.
(Read: perverse and more than a little insane.)
Now there was the silly business of detention to deal with. Lezard had no immediate plans to overthrow the current system of order at Hogwarts, and therefore would humor its bureaucratic machinations for the time being. Turlough's threats of torture at the caretaker's hands meant only amusement for Lezard, since the things he'd done to himself with the aid of the Philosopher's Stone (no, not like that!) had rendered him impervious to such attacks. Indeed, when the very Lord of the Undead had rushed at Lezard to halt the Sovereign's Rite, the Lord's bulky body had passed right through Lezard, as though the mage had become immaterial. Which in fact he had, selectively. He could be as solid as he wished (how else to hold his valkyrie love?) or dissolve into motes of light.
He looked forward to baffling the Hogwarts staff.
Therefore he was less than thrilled when, at the end of his Sorting, a little green house-elf came shambling up to present him with a note: Schedule change. Report immediately for your detention to Groundskeeper Vislor Turlough at the mangosteen grove.
Irritated, he followed the elf out of the castle and onto the grounds. What he beheld pleased him: the edge of the grove was perfectly regular, a crescent seen on the horizon, and he knew that a view from above would show it as a green circle, unnatural, his mark on the landscape of this country. A summer breeze fluttered his cloak and wafted the scent of tropical trees toward him.
As he entered the grove, he tapped his fingers in a light rhythm along the Wand of Apocalypse's shaft.
The groundskeeper awaited.