3rd Bethas, 2718
Dice Rolls and Explanation
Like a shield, the mona became a resistant force, crushing the roots that attempted to crawl from the ground in rapid growth, reaching for his legs but unable to do so against the sudden weight of so much Physical mona gathered in one place as if it suddenly had gravity of its own. The ground dimpled at his feet, roots gnarled before they could even push entirely through the grass, strangled by his defense. Her pull fizzled against the invisible barrier, a few rain drops dribbling down mere centimeters from his person revealing its presence before being lifted away by her spell.
Murmurs of surprise rippled through their small but committed audience once everyone felt the ringing in their ears from the force of his barrier, the young Siordanti's speed with his Conversation of choice underestimated by those who'd assumed him still stuck in form school.
This satisfied the junior professor greatly, though he had little time for smug appreciation, the monite on the Giorian Ambassador's lips far too familiar. Party tricks, indeed, he knew exactly what she was asking of the Living mona and he'd had just enough to drink to know that her success would be ugly. Like the tide washing out while standing on the beach, Naul felt the motion of mona as the petite blonde communicated with it, the left side of his face itching and his stomach churning up all that alcohol even before she'd finished her words, the acidic burn of vomit already tickling the back of his throat.
No clocking way.
The junior professor spoke in tandem to her casting in defiant resistance, not begging so much as firmly requesting his counter, aware of the level of slight intoxication that most likely made him more susceptible what was building in her words. Unwilling to brail his counter in spite of the wave of nausea that dragged over him with the sudden weight of feeling guttered and tired, exhausted even, as if he'd been out all night crawling through taverns in the Stacks with his housemates instead of studying, he felt the sting of resistance as the mona responded to his authoritative counter, a pain that tingled its way sharply from his left hand and roared up his arm, dissipating the nausea that had almost left the contents of his stomach on his clothes and on the Lawn, stopping short to leave nasty liquid welling in his mouth and a dizziness, the successful counter spell leaving a few seconds of numbness in its place, the ravages of Living magic always having their way with his damaged nerves,
"Whose arsenal consists of childish duel favorites? Really now. Not just mine, it seems, Miss Bruthgrave."
Naul turned his head to spit what remnants of almost-vomit soured his mouth and unceremoniously wiping his chin with the back of his hand, aware that this could be a hint of her success, and while he wavered for a brief moment on his feet wanting suddenly to sit down because her spell had been strong and his counter barely enough, the ginger galdor chose to keep casting, narrowing his gold-rimmed eyes at Athrym and turning the tables, not through conversing with Living magic, however, but through the playful deception of Perceptive, attempting to overwhelm her olfactory senses with the acrid stench of bile and alcohol that burned his nostrils, only amplified, an illusory moment of being far too close what could have happened.
As a child, the young Siordanti was a demanding caster—he expected things, just as he'd expected things at home before he was sent off to school in the first place. As a bully on the Lawn, the youth had considered himself the superior, had built his conversations with the mona as one-sided tirades that the particles of magic had tolerated for only so long, patiently waiting for him to change. When he didn't, when victories and age and made him more of a monster instead of a better student, he found his own end—brailing, backlash, all of it unraveling into permanent damage and social ostracism. He'd been forced to start over from the beginning in his fifth year, but the strength of his magical abilities as a high-scoring galdor padded his fall without him knowing. Now, a graduate, a professor, an adult, the tall red-head's casting was full of a warm confidence, one without demands and with a tempered expectation. His was a tone of exploration and curiosity, a mutual Conversation instead of his childish one-sided one.
Finally, even as he spoke to the Perceptive mona that gathered in his field in hopes of turning that nausea back around at Athrym in a totally unexpected way, he returned with more Monite words back to the Physical, deciding to use the drizzle to his advantage as he asked the mona to amplify what light reflected off of every drop in front of her vision, creating a sudden, dazzling display of tiny, blinding bright flashes with each drop in a radius within hand's reach around the Giorian Ambassador, seeking to both overwhelm her senses with a mockery of the nausea and to dizzy her with too much sudden light.
