Charlie plays Guerrilla
Who: Charlie Weasley
Where: In the North
When: Evening, 28 January, 2001
Status: Complete
The snow fell heavy, only slowed a little by the thin branches that threw skeletal and faint shadows, and it fell silent. Each snowflake seemed to strike the ground with such a deep noiselessness that it was impossible not to listen for it - the tens of thousands of un-sounds that fell one after the other 'till the silence seemed to reach critical mass and...
...the sky to the North lit up. The hissing roar came a moment later, and one of the shadows detached itself from the trees, it's shape no longer hid within theirs. It moved down the hill slowly, carefully, a pair of muggle binoculars swinging from side to side around the figure's neck. It jumped nimbly across the small stream that ran in the cleft between the hills, paused, and began to ascend again. The crest of the next hill was covered in dense scrub, and the figure army-crawled the last three metres, taking care to make as little sound as possible.
He needn't have been so careful.
Looking through the binoculars, Charlie saw that the camp below was in an uproar, groups of men running around tying things down, while others stood in more or less coherent clumps with wands raised, trying to subdue something large and black. Despite himself, he whistled. As if on cue, the thing raised it's massive head and bellowed, bowling four or five of the men over and sending most of the others running. A thin stream of flame followed immediately thereafter, and to Charlie's horror, one of the men was caught by it directly. The deep roar of oxygen being consumed very quickly by the dragonfire (which took longer than the regular sort to go out) and of men shouting almost drowned out the hysterical, curt scream... but Charlie heard enough to make his teeth grit in painful memory, and to make his leg twitch.
A group of men hit the beast broadside with a salvo of spells, most of them mediocre stunning spells that usually only served to aggravate any dragon of good size. But this one was small - a Hebridean... juvenile and female, by the look of the horns - and it staggered sideways. Another wave of red darts lanced out from the group, and this time the dragon fell. One or two of the men immediately walked forward, and were nearly decapitated by a swinging claw. Charlie smiled behind his binoculars.
A Hebridean Black was a nasty, ugly, cunning creature - willing to do just about anything to achieve it's ends. And if that meant playing dead so that a couple of dumbass death eater wannabes would wander within striking distance? Absolutely.
Charlie'd seen much worse, usually from large old matriarchs with broken scales and chipped horns, and eyes filled with weariness. They'd lure wet-behind-the-ears dragon enthusiasts who'd worked with nothing but Welsh Greens into complacency by letting them close, letting them touch them and tend to wounds and into rubbing the great beasts in the soft spot just inside the eye socket. And then they'd eat them.
It was a lesson you learned early, when you worked with Blacks... they liked the taste of human flesh. No matter how docile they seemed, or how careful you were, all they saw you as was a tasty meal.
The men below seemed to be learning quickly, mostly because of the help of their leader, who was now lecturing the pair who'd strayed forward. The rest let loose with more stunning spells in the meantime, having already learned caution via example.
Charlie saw his chance. The loose perimeter of guards - about five men - had long ago become part of the struggle to subdue the Hebridean, and now everyone was involved in the effort to treat injuries and tend to what was left of the man who'd fallen to the dragonflame. The dragon itself was still a problem as well, still dangerous even when rendered completely immobile. Cables had to be re-lashed, wards reestablished. Charlie waited a moment longer, watching the men do the work he'd done for years... then stood smoothly and made his way down the hill, into the camp.
A man came out of one the first tents Charlie encountered, and went down quickly with a wordless body-bind. Dragging the man roughly by the shoulders, Charlie went into the tent the man had emerged from. It was larger on the inside than the outside, but still modest. A cot in the corner served as the only furniture, and he leaned the man against it.
"Hello. I'm Mr. Marten. You're Shite. Any attempt at heroism or wasting my time, and you will be Very Dead Shite." Charlie smiled cheerily, a hint of madness in his eyes. "I'm going to release your body, now. I suggest you try not to move."
He did as promised, and the man collapsed limply against the cot, sucking in a deep breath. Charlie quickly slapped a hand over the man's mouth, and gave him a warning look. The man nodded vigorously. Charlie smiled, and removed his hand.
"Good. Now... tell me, Shite. How is it that you come to what is still technically dragon reserve property? No... don't answer that. Just listen, Shite. I'm not in a very good mood, and in a few minutes I will probably be in a much worse one, 'specially when I find out that you fucks are the ones what left that baby Welsh back there with it's throat cut clean open and it's insides all burnt out." He kneeled, still smiling. "In the meantime, I'm going to set your camp on fire. With your wand."
He leaned forward, and deftly plucked the man's wand from a pocket in his vest, and looked at it critically. He shrugged, gave the man an equally critical look, then pointed the wand at the corner opposite. "Incendio"
. . .
The tents were clumped together a good hundred metres from a sizable pit, where the men were currently trying to levitate the stunned dragon. It was fairly easy to set each of them aflame in succession, and soon the entire group of thirty-odd tents were either burning in various colors, or piles of ashes.
Charlie slunk off behind a clump of fairly sizable aspens when the men started to come running, and before long he was close to where they'd left the dragon lying, with only a few nervous men taking watch over the great beast. He smiled to himself in the darkness, tossed the man's wand into the bushes, and then began to make his way toward the great sloping bulk of the recumbent Hebridean. "Renervate!" He commanded it as loud as he could, knowing that it would take some great force of will to put enough power into one spell to rouse the dragon, even as small as she was.
One of the guards turned quickly at the sound of his voice, and fired an ill-aimed stunning spell at where Charlie had cast from, but he was already running as fast as he could (which, admittedly, wasn't that fast) up the hill, knowing that he only had so much time if he had indeed awakened the dragon. And if he hadn't... well. If it came to that the night would be longer than it had been already. He could only hope that he'd been successful.
And then he heard the first angry cry, reverberating through the valley, sending columns of snow swirling upward. The beast had been awakened, and as the screams started in earnest, Charlie turned to watch as men were consumed by his fire.
Where: In the North
When: Evening, 28 January, 2001
Status: Complete
The snow fell heavy, only slowed a little by the thin branches that threw skeletal and faint shadows, and it fell silent. Each snowflake seemed to strike the ground with such a deep noiselessness that it was impossible not to listen for it - the tens of thousands of un-sounds that fell one after the other 'till the silence seemed to reach critical mass and...
...the sky to the North lit up. The hissing roar came a moment later, and one of the shadows detached itself from the trees, it's shape no longer hid within theirs. It moved down the hill slowly, carefully, a pair of muggle binoculars swinging from side to side around the figure's neck. It jumped nimbly across the small stream that ran in the cleft between the hills, paused, and began to ascend again. The crest of the next hill was covered in dense scrub, and the figure army-crawled the last three metres, taking care to make as little sound as possible.
He needn't have been so careful.
Looking through the binoculars, Charlie saw that the camp below was in an uproar, groups of men running around tying things down, while others stood in more or less coherent clumps with wands raised, trying to subdue something large and black. Despite himself, he whistled. As if on cue, the thing raised it's massive head and bellowed, bowling four or five of the men over and sending most of the others running. A thin stream of flame followed immediately thereafter, and to Charlie's horror, one of the men was caught by it directly. The deep roar of oxygen being consumed very quickly by the dragonfire (which took longer than the regular sort to go out) and of men shouting almost drowned out the hysterical, curt scream... but Charlie heard enough to make his teeth grit in painful memory, and to make his leg twitch.
A group of men hit the beast broadside with a salvo of spells, most of them mediocre stunning spells that usually only served to aggravate any dragon of good size. But this one was small - a Hebridean... juvenile and female, by the look of the horns - and it staggered sideways. Another wave of red darts lanced out from the group, and this time the dragon fell. One or two of the men immediately walked forward, and were nearly decapitated by a swinging claw. Charlie smiled behind his binoculars.
A Hebridean Black was a nasty, ugly, cunning creature - willing to do just about anything to achieve it's ends. And if that meant playing dead so that a couple of dumbass death eater wannabes would wander within striking distance? Absolutely.
Charlie'd seen much worse, usually from large old matriarchs with broken scales and chipped horns, and eyes filled with weariness. They'd lure wet-behind-the-ears dragon enthusiasts who'd worked with nothing but Welsh Greens into complacency by letting them close, letting them touch them and tend to wounds and into rubbing the great beasts in the soft spot just inside the eye socket. And then they'd eat them.
It was a lesson you learned early, when you worked with Blacks... they liked the taste of human flesh. No matter how docile they seemed, or how careful you were, all they saw you as was a tasty meal.
The men below seemed to be learning quickly, mostly because of the help of their leader, who was now lecturing the pair who'd strayed forward. The rest let loose with more stunning spells in the meantime, having already learned caution via example.
Charlie saw his chance. The loose perimeter of guards - about five men - had long ago become part of the struggle to subdue the Hebridean, and now everyone was involved in the effort to treat injuries and tend to what was left of the man who'd fallen to the dragonflame. The dragon itself was still a problem as well, still dangerous even when rendered completely immobile. Cables had to be re-lashed, wards reestablished. Charlie waited a moment longer, watching the men do the work he'd done for years... then stood smoothly and made his way down the hill, into the camp.
A man came out of one the first tents Charlie encountered, and went down quickly with a wordless body-bind. Dragging the man roughly by the shoulders, Charlie went into the tent the man had emerged from. It was larger on the inside than the outside, but still modest. A cot in the corner served as the only furniture, and he leaned the man against it.
"Hello. I'm Mr. Marten. You're Shite. Any attempt at heroism or wasting my time, and you will be Very Dead Shite." Charlie smiled cheerily, a hint of madness in his eyes. "I'm going to release your body, now. I suggest you try not to move."
He did as promised, and the man collapsed limply against the cot, sucking in a deep breath. Charlie quickly slapped a hand over the man's mouth, and gave him a warning look. The man nodded vigorously. Charlie smiled, and removed his hand.
"Good. Now... tell me, Shite. How is it that you come to what is still technically dragon reserve property? No... don't answer that. Just listen, Shite. I'm not in a very good mood, and in a few minutes I will probably be in a much worse one, 'specially when I find out that you fucks are the ones what left that baby Welsh back there with it's throat cut clean open and it's insides all burnt out." He kneeled, still smiling. "In the meantime, I'm going to set your camp on fire. With your wand."
He leaned forward, and deftly plucked the man's wand from a pocket in his vest, and looked at it critically. He shrugged, gave the man an equally critical look, then pointed the wand at the corner opposite. "Incendio"
. . .
The tents were clumped together a good hundred metres from a sizable pit, where the men were currently trying to levitate the stunned dragon. It was fairly easy to set each of them aflame in succession, and soon the entire group of thirty-odd tents were either burning in various colors, or piles of ashes.
Charlie slunk off behind a clump of fairly sizable aspens when the men started to come running, and before long he was close to where they'd left the dragon lying, with only a few nervous men taking watch over the great beast. He smiled to himself in the darkness, tossed the man's wand into the bushes, and then began to make his way toward the great sloping bulk of the recumbent Hebridean. "Renervate!" He commanded it as loud as he could, knowing that it would take some great force of will to put enough power into one spell to rouse the dragon, even as small as she was.
One of the guards turned quickly at the sound of his voice, and fired an ill-aimed stunning spell at where Charlie had cast from, but he was already running as fast as he could (which, admittedly, wasn't that fast) up the hill, knowing that he only had so much time if he had indeed awakened the dragon. And if he hadn't... well. If it came to that the night would be longer than it had been already. He could only hope that he'd been successful.
And then he heard the first angry cry, reverberating through the valley, sending columns of snow swirling upward. The beast had been awakened, and as the screams started in earnest, Charlie turned to watch as men were consumed by his fire.