Wizard at War
18th of February 2007 A.D.
She has a bruise along the left side of her face, the inane thought ran though Donald Morgan's mind like water down a rain gutter.
She didn't seem to notice. He'd already looked up, he always looked up. A piece of concrete that size would have brained the unlucky and made the lucky wish for the sweet release of unconsciousness, if one was talking humans at least, which Margaret Carpenter had long since stopped being. A vampire could've taken it, but not so lightly.
Atrophied sense of pain? That wasn't as common as one might think, turns out pain was a useful warning sign for things that didn't just seem to heal right through it which the girl didn't seem to be doing.
The blonde...
woman, Morgan guessed you could call her that accounting for the shape she'd chosen to wear, was already reaching out to help her friend. She didn't flinch away, barely seemed to notice, her attention on the prisoner.
Not for the first time the warden wished he could have gotten Dresden alone in a room to ask him what the Devil was going on beyond that report he sent last month. Among his many other faults Dresden was shit when it came to covering his trail in reports, a fact for which he should have been grateful if only the shape of what had been left unsaid wasn't liable to make a third of the council piss their pants which of course was why Dresden fucking a Nephilim wasn't public knowledge. If there was one thing Donald hated it was covering up for Harry Dresden and what he hated most of all is that it was most likely justified. Some combination of powers that should by rights and by nature have been left still and sleeping had sniffed out the rot that the council had failed to find for decades.
"Spread out, watch for entropy spells," he signed to the others.
Ramirez looked like he was thinking of arguing with his judgement. Good, they'd need leaders not just followers when this whole mess was over.
"We outnumber them locally most likely," he relented. Of course how long that would be true for God Almighty alone knew.
Mass fucking enthrallment, Donald's stomach seemed to curl around his spine like an angry cat at the implications. They didn't have anyone good enough with mind magic to check without a risk of making things worse... which meant becoming more indebted to the girl. Girls maybe?
"Unlike the manipulation of forces or matter curses only need to overcome their selected target," Zadock explained adding for good measure. "As you were in their power at one point you are the most likely target, the one to which they probably still have some manner of fetish."
One of these days I'll explain the modern meaning of that word to him, another irrelevant thought, the price one paid, right up there with the sleepless nights, for being more used to
this, to fighting to the death, than to peace.
Sometimes he wondered if there was such a thing as peace, or if that is what it looked like when the other side was content and winning. A somewhat younger Donald Morgan had seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers in cinemas and the images kept coming back to him.
Are you still yourself, he thought looking down at the young warden trapped in stone or is
it already eating at your insides?
OOC: Good news you have something in common with Morgan, he too liked invasion of the Body Snatchers. Less good news, he's been having nightmares that feature it ever since it became clear how riddled the Council is with warlocks.