Dare The Fast and the Fiendish

[Wistric Willoughby]

"Some of my qualifications, you see, well," Wistric said with a smile, repeating his sales pitch for the thirtieth time that night; hands gestured towards the stall where each person participating in the Hallow Race would choose a item to be their steed.

"Are that I am well learned in various sorts of magicks, like enchantment, which I've heard is the key to success in winning the Hallow Race. And I know many enchantments from all over Khurun and, you see her, that witch over there with the stupid pointy hat, nonono, don't turn your head like that it's so obvious." A dramatic sigh before continuing, almost conspiratorial now, "Nezi only knows Northern Ilican enchantments, so yes, she's popular but if you want to beat her then I know quite a few tricky spells from Suldaza -- wait, come back!"

Another potential customer lost to the smug Nezi who would surely win their personal gamble if only because not a single person here trusted Wistric to enchant their uncanny stead!

[Let's play a game! Every post cannot be more than 5 sentences and the thread will end on October 31 no matter what! ]

 

[Walter Thornley]

"The what now?"
A woman whose rather unladylike athletics are barely hidden by the flattering cut of the bronze-detailed blue dress appears in view, clearly having heard everything uttered up to the point, a leisurely intrigue burning in her deep forget-me-not blue eyes.
She tucks a lock behind her ear, and looks back to her brother, clearly a twin, a heavier presence of the two as he does not lift his nose from some papers even on this leisurely stroll, even as he clears his throat to speak.
"Good afternoon, my good sir. Would you care to elaborate a little for us on the event's rules?"

 

[Wistric Willoughby]

Wistric lifted his eyes to the siblings, mahogany brown gaze alight once more with the opportunity before him.

"The Hallow Race, it's a tradition around these parts," Wistric said with his best customer-service voice that unfortunately still a pitch too high. "You pick a item from that box at random and then you must ride it to the finish line, the winner is gifted something spectacular; of course, only the winners know what it is. You may only use three enchantments, one is to have the item come to life, the other two are boons you wish for your strange steed to have. Last year's winner got a frog that could jump so far they reached the finish line in mere seconds, but because of that frogs are now banned from the item box." A shame, really, Wistric had quite enjoyed frog racing as a child and would have loved to try a few spells on such a creature, like giving it the gift of flight.

 

[Walter Thornley]

With the man looking up for a moment, they both studied his whimsically emotional presentation, listened to details that, by the faint smiles on them, brought back some nostalgic sort of charm, from childhood mayhaps - and once they exchanged glances, it was clear as day that they've decided to humor the endeavor.

"Ah, it's been so long since we've had the pleasure of watching a craftsman at work," Dolores almost purred, her voice lilting with mischief, and drifted closer alongside the faint sweet scent of oranges and rosewater, low heels of her boots clicking as they met the cobblestones just so; her brother seemed to chuckle under his breath, looked away for a moment, in thought, carefully folded the papers, seemingly content to just observe as his twin touched a finger to her cheek in thought and widened her smile, "and you seem to be in search of a - patron, is that right, to be represented? Or am I wrong, and it is good sport opponents that you're looking for?"

"We'd join you for the race either way," the man spoke, half-cape draped over his right side moving as he put a hand at his waist, "but shouldn't introductions come first, be it partnership or competition?"

 

[Wistric Willoughby]

"I have no need for coin," Wistric smiled, once friendly now tight with quiet seriousness as he took a pointed look at the stupid woman pretending to be a bog witch while using glamours to enhance every pretty feature she had. "I only wish to prove to a certain street magician that her assessment of me is wrong and I am no coward, which one could argue is worth more than gold."

But the smile returned to the two siblings, and though his posture wasn't terribly bent, Wistric's back was straight as a rod when he held out his hand first to the man, a slight nod of his head.

"Wistric Willoughby," Brown gaze fell down to the ground, noticing the fine handiwork of their boots, and when he looked back up he caught on to the fine stitching of the cape, the lack of frayed edges or quick mending with cheap thread. "I hope partnership is what you both prefer, and if so I am at your service despite not having a sword my... fair people?"

 

[Walter Thornley]

There is a history there, it is easy to see - the twins parted, like silver foxes circling a white-eared pheasant, their dark doublets bearing the leaves and buds of sweetbriar in lavender-grey thread, their shirts - a rich lapis blue derived from coral cultivated in the azure waters besides their lands.

"Dolores Thornley," the woman's voice fell less vivacious by the time she mouthed the family name, though the smile remained, and a hand was extended, mid-gesture for a shake or kiss, while her eyes tracked her brother moving almost between Wistric and the unknown witch, to un-divide his attention, "and this would be Lord Walter Thornley, baron of Bremen and my brother, formerly notorious for his dueling skills and poor handling of engagements."

Walter offered an inclination of the head, a slow blink, and though his gaze drifted over the contestants he was clearly far away, despite Dolores' forceful effort to drag him from his studies and negotiations for just one afternoon - to her continued description, he only shrugged, not expecting the stranger to have any clue, not in capacity to care for the little power tug that it was.

"Either way, depending on what we end up working with, I'd likely be the one to pop off spells - I excel at paint-on burn-off acceleration charms I'll have you know," Dolores beamed, and offered her counterpart another short glance, "And my lord brother might have the luck of the draw from the box, how about that?" Something to drag the dour dummy from his rumination, even against his will.

 

[Wistric Willoughby]

Wistric's hooded eyes widened, looking between the two with a frisson over taking him giving him a deep, dark pit for a stomach that only released worry and unease into the rest of him.

"My lord," a bow of his head toward Walter, then to Dolores the wizard took her hand, making more of an effort in bending his waist to press his thumb gently before bringing it to his lips that hardly grazed it, "my Lady." Wistric let go of Dolore's hand and stood up straight once more, suddenly adjusting any belt or buckle, plucking at his breeches and wiping his boots on some grass.

"That sounds marvelous," he said to Dolores in regards to her speciality, he always had wished he could say there was something he had been honed in, it would have saved him a lot of headaches when he was compared to his older brother. "Then let me lead the way to the item box, come Lord Walter, you must show me how lucky you truly are, whether it be natural or with a charm," Wistric said with a radiant smile -- not daring to grab the man and drag him over to the item box but instead with a gesture of his hand for the pair to both to follow after him -- as he led them to the wooden stall with a great large box on top of it.

 

[Walter Thornley]

The lord offered a faint smile, and though his mouth curved just a little, his eyes softened for a beat - and then he looked past the gesture, and followed suit, his keen gaze swiping across the stalls and competition in silently taking stock and aim, his right hand folding behind his back as he walked almost unconsciously, right until the moment arrived that his good hand dove into the box and found that fingertips wrapped around something larger than a frog or a hairpin or other such trinket.

"Jinx," a sole word that left him under the breath, lips moving air more than voice embodying opinion, not directed at anyone at all though it was meant for Dolores - the gloved hand extended symmetrically to the left one, fingers wrapped around the skull's horns to lift the partial skull out, the sweeping gaze assessing the missing nose and part of right cheekbone.
He looked at it for a long moment, face glacially still, then heavy lids sunk closed, chest compressed slightly in a measured huff of humor, and once that slow blink was complete, he turned, skull held by the horns, to present it to Wistric, "Three enchantments you say, master Willoughby?"

Dolores seemed slightly disappointed it was not an object that could be launched forth in the way certain crossbow bolts were made in the hold, but held together splendidly, "Looks closer to necromancy than graviturgy," she offered as she flicked the side of the skull, forget-me-not gaze then trained on the magician, "what do you think?"

Walter's eyes lit up, for a moment, features briefly visited by levity with some idea that must have visited him in that beat of a heart passing by - and yet, a moment later, he glanced away, pretending the side of the drawing box had his attention.