The gallery is packed with people-sitting in rows on the floor, the guards crowded against the walls by the mass of prisioners, so many it's hard to move.
That Is impressive-the way he doges and pins her down in a single move. There is a need to fight off a girlish urge to sigh, so instead Angelika turns to one of the guards. "You're not needed here. In fact, if you don't want to have your stomach turned over, perhaps it's best if you step out. We may be about to see a field-interrogation. I've seen the inquisitor work before and-well, it put me off meat for months."
The guards gulp-and one says "But if you're hurt-" before Angel points at Harlock. "I want you to look at him-really look at him. Do you think, that this lot can do anything to hurt him? Cannonballs cannot hurt that man." The guard's throat bobs-before he turns and retreats out of the gallery, followed by his fellows, the last pulling a door shut as they take 15 for a smoke break.
Angelika waits a beat pulls a long scroll out of her coat, and then points her fingers at two points on it and concentrates. "Right. I need to make it sound like a butcher's shop in here. Give me a bit to create the illusion." Silvery magic shines out from her, as power builds and a bubble pushes out to the walls of the gallery, washing over everyone within it-and sealing them off from the outside. The wig-and Angelika's clothes, dance in the phantom wind of high magic, before it settles down. But her concentration remains-and she holds it absolutely with all her might. Near the edges of the bubble, one might hear cries for mercy-and none given. But maintaining the illusionary magic, not her normal speciality, but a borrowed scroll of pre-made formulas, is still taking her entire attention. It's up to the others to rouse the people to rebellion. She's just blocking the ears of any who might listen.
no subject
That Is impressive-the way he doges and pins her down in a single move. There is a need to fight off a girlish urge to sigh, so instead Angelika turns to one of the guards. "You're not needed here. In fact, if you don't want to have your stomach turned over, perhaps it's best if you step out. We may be about to see a field-interrogation. I've seen the inquisitor work before and-well, it put me off meat for months."
The guards gulp-and one says "But if you're hurt-" before Angel points at Harlock. "I want you to look at him-really look at him. Do you think, that this lot can do anything to hurt him? Cannonballs cannot hurt that man." The guard's throat bobs-before he turns and retreats out of the gallery, followed by his fellows, the last pulling a door shut as they take 15 for a smoke break.
Angelika waits a beat pulls a long scroll out of her coat, and then points her fingers at two points on it and concentrates. "Right. I need to make it sound like a butcher's shop in here. Give me a bit to create the illusion." Silvery magic shines out from her, as power builds and a bubble pushes out to the walls of the gallery, washing over everyone within it-and sealing them off from the outside. The wig-and Angelika's clothes, dance in the phantom wind of high magic, before it settles down. But her concentration remains-and she holds it absolutely with all her might. Near the edges of the bubble, one might hear cries for mercy-and none given. But maintaining the illusionary magic, not her normal speciality, but a borrowed scroll of pre-made formulas, is still taking her entire attention. It's up to the others to rouse the people to rebellion. She's just blocking the ears of any who might listen.