In truth, there is very little he could do to be prepared for this. Seeing a trap in this smoke would be a challenge, but he has one flask of holy water at least. He can sprinkle it on the ground below him, listen for the sound of the droplets hitting the floor, be ready to move if there's hissing when they do.
(A Simon Belmont, it was, who first documented this trick. He used it to find places where Dracula's magic hid false floors that led into traps or the jaws of monsters.)
It's a slow process, but they make progress nonetheless. One step at a time, until even Trevor's non-vampire hearing can pick up a low gurgling. Only visible almost too late through the smoke, a three fingered hand launches toward the three of them, and Trevor puts himself between it and the other two before it falters and breaks apart and sinks into the ground, like a wave crashing against the shore.
And beyond it, he's there. Bound to a chair that's fallen to the ground, beaten half to death. His mouth is still filled with that red tonic and he can't seem to turn his head fully enough to let it spill out. He breathes through his nose, but occasionally with a horrible gurgle he swallows more of his terrible medicine. And just as the tonic bubbles in his mouth, so his shadows bubble on the ground like tar, lashing out but breaking apart too early to do any damage.
no subject
In truth, there is very little he could do to be prepared for this. Seeing a trap in this smoke would be a challenge, but he has one flask of holy water at least. He can sprinkle it on the ground below him, listen for the sound of the droplets hitting the floor, be ready to move if there's hissing when they do.
(A Simon Belmont, it was, who first documented this trick. He used it to find places where Dracula's magic hid false floors that led into traps or the jaws of monsters.)
It's a slow process, but they make progress nonetheless. One step at a time, until even Trevor's non-vampire hearing can pick up a low gurgling. Only visible almost too late through the smoke, a three fingered hand launches toward the three of them, and Trevor puts himself between it and the other two before it falters and breaks apart and sinks into the ground, like a wave crashing against the shore.
And beyond it, he's there. Bound to a chair that's fallen to the ground, beaten half to death. His mouth is still filled with that red tonic and he can't seem to turn his head fully enough to let it spill out. He breathes through his nose, but occasionally with a horrible gurgle he swallows more of his terrible medicine. And just as the tonic bubbles in his mouth, so his shadows bubble on the ground like tar, lashing out but breaking apart too early to do any damage.
Forgemastery is human magic, after all. ]