Curiosity had a habit of killing the cat, or in this case the wizard, and much light cats, curiosity would normally bring at least this one back, or so Harry hoped. He hadn't trusted the mirrors from the moment they'd appeared, there were too many beings of the Never ever thst could use them to travel or to be witch viewers, and he'd been right.
Not long ago, another world had revealed itself through them, populated by strange, other versions of themselves, and honestly, he wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, at midnight, it had started vibrating, which had dislodged the wooden slat he kept over his in order to prevent just such a transferral. He'd initially moved to replace the cover, but the sight in the mirror gave him pause. It was a haunted and tainted version of his own room, which meant it was either a twisted reflection... Or something on there was waiting to do them in, probably through the mirror.
Hells Bells.
He'd gone to collect his staff, his blasting rod, a shield bracelet, and pulled on his heavy enchanted leather duster that made him look like an extra on the set of El Dorado. He completely the look of a vigilante cowboy wizard by donning a cawboy hat he'd acquired here from a charming snowman which he'd also enchanted to keep his head as safe as the rest of his body.
And then he stepped through. The environment was immediately oppressive, and there was a slight drain on his energy in the air that he couldn't place. He was looking around the dark reflection of his own bedroom, cursing the fact that the door had shut behind him, when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls from his window. Someone was being chased. He wasn't alone, here.
He raced to the window first, doing his best not to get distracted by the odd sight of blood-soaked streets lined by caskets, and immediately recognized the running man. He threw open his window and was about to shout when he saw the man-armed, deceptively fast blob of goo pursuing the man. He had no idea what it was, but he could see what it wanted.
He pulled his blasting rod, a length of wood about a foot long, carved with runes that sprang to scarlet life as he pushed his will through it, took aim through the window, and shouted the quazi-latin command that would give the spell shape.
"Fuego!" A molten fireball shot from the end of the blasting rod, careening through the gloomy night, and smashed into the pursuing blob, sending it momentarily to the ground in a roll. The flames clung to its gelatinous body as it struck and the thing toiled.
Cool. It didn't like fire. Hopefully it was down long enough for the wizard to get down two flights of stairs.
Running
Not long ago, another world had revealed itself through them, populated by strange, other versions of themselves, and honestly, he wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, at midnight, it had started vibrating, which had dislodged the wooden slat he kept over his in order to prevent just such a transferral. He'd initially moved to replace the cover, but the sight in the mirror gave him pause. It was a haunted and tainted version of his own room, which meant it was either a twisted reflection... Or something on there was waiting to do them in, probably through the mirror.
Hells Bells.
He'd gone to collect his staff, his blasting rod, a shield bracelet, and pulled on his heavy enchanted leather duster that made him look like an extra on the set of El Dorado. He completely the look of a vigilante cowboy wizard by donning a cawboy hat he'd acquired here from a charming snowman which he'd also enchanted to keep his head as safe as the rest of his body.
And then he stepped through. The environment was immediately oppressive, and there was a slight drain on his energy in the air that he couldn't place. He was looking around the dark reflection of his own bedroom, cursing the fact that the door had shut behind him, when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls from his window. Someone was being chased. He wasn't alone, here.
He raced to the window first, doing his best not to get distracted by the odd sight of blood-soaked streets lined by caskets, and immediately recognized the running man. He threw open his window and was about to shout when he saw the man-armed, deceptively fast blob of goo pursuing the man. He had no idea what it was, but he could see what it wanted.
He pulled his blasting rod, a length of wood about a foot long, carved with runes that sprang to scarlet life as he pushed his will through it, took aim through the window, and shouted the quazi-latin command that would give the spell shape.
"Fuego!" A molten fireball shot from the end of the blasting rod, careening through the gloomy night, and smashed into the pursuing blob, sending it momentarily to the ground in a roll. The flames clung to its gelatinous body as it struck and the thing toiled.
Cool. It didn't like fire. Hopefully it was down long enough for the wizard to get down two flights of stairs.