[ It's one of those restless nights where sleep won't come to Adrian easily. Even so far from Barovia, Strahd's mark remains on him, and at times it's as if he can feel the vampire's very touch. He's weary of closing his eyes and seeing that face swim into his vision.
In truth, the interruption from laying awake is almost a relief. There's no mistaking the voices, nor their ill intent. Adrian is on his feet without a sound, his steps careful as Fern has taught him (or scolded him). He feels Shump's absence keenly as he moves through the door; he isn't armored or equipped to draw the aggression of intruders.
Thankfully, he isn't the only one here. He meets the other man's gaze — they seem to be of one mind about their new houseguests, which is a blessing. Adrian nods at the gesture and falls into step, following him towards the staircase while trying to get a look past the banister that wraps around the upper level's hallway. The thieves have mistaken the darkness for cover enough and are moving through the open foyer. Foolish for the thieves, but good for them.
Adrian taps his companion's shoulder with a gloved hand, and gestures for him to wait a moment. He creeps a bit closer to the banister, and ever so deliberately flexes his fingers. ]
I pray for your guiding hand. [ The incantation is as quiet a whisper as he can manage.
A spectral hand appears before him, and Adrian conducts it by gesturing with his own hand. It moves above, and then behind the pair. The hand retrieves a bit of broken debris from the door they've destroyed, then proceeds to lob it at the back of the leader's head.
Adrian closes his fist, dismissing it instantly, as if it was never there to begin with. ]
"Oi!" The man yelps, turning. He's more angry than hurt. "What'd you hit me for?"
"I didn't! Someone threw it — f-from behind me!"
"There ain't nothing behind you! This is about Tilda, isn't it?"
[ Adrian raises his eyebrows at his companion. Perhaps a haunting is in order? Or, if he has something more final in mind, their would-be assailants are certainly distractable. ]
power outage
In truth, the interruption from laying awake is almost a relief. There's no mistaking the voices, nor their ill intent. Adrian is on his feet without a sound, his steps careful as Fern has taught him (or scolded him). He feels Shump's absence keenly as he moves through the door; he isn't armored or equipped to draw the aggression of intruders.
Thankfully, he isn't the only one here. He meets the other man's gaze — they seem to be of one mind about their new houseguests, which is a blessing. Adrian nods at the gesture and falls into step, following him towards the staircase while trying to get a look past the banister that wraps around the upper level's hallway. The thieves have mistaken the darkness for cover enough and are moving through the open foyer. Foolish for the thieves, but good for them.
Adrian taps his companion's shoulder with a gloved hand, and gestures for him to wait a moment. He creeps a bit closer to the banister, and ever so deliberately flexes his fingers. ]
I pray for your guiding hand. [ The incantation is as quiet a whisper as he can manage.
A spectral hand appears before him, and Adrian conducts it by gesturing with his own hand. It moves above, and then behind the pair. The hand retrieves a bit of broken debris from the door they've destroyed, then proceeds to lob it at the back of the leader's head.
Adrian closes his fist, dismissing it instantly, as if it was never there to begin with. ]
"Oi!" The man yelps, turning. He's more angry than hurt. "What'd you hit me for?"
"I didn't! Someone threw it — f-from behind me!"
"There ain't nothing behind you! This is about Tilda, isn't it?"
[ Adrian raises his eyebrows at his companion. Perhaps a haunting is in order? Or, if he has something more final in mind, their would-be assailants are certainly distractable. ]