Second Task -- Emile Chevalier

[Deleted]

Hermione Granger stood in the center of the tent with the three Champions.  She did not envy what they had to face today, going through the four arenas, each so different from the other.  "Welcome Champions," she finally said, gesturing for them to gather around.  "Today you'll be able to see just how much your magical creature has come to trust you over the past month.  You'll be taking them through three arenas, each ones terrain and climate vastly different from the last.  If you successfully get them through the three arenas, you'll arrive to their natural habitats.  Your task is to get the jewel that's been hidden in their nests - let's hope that you've gained their trust."  

After the other two had finished, Hermione came back in to see the final champion, Emile Chevalier of Beauxbatons.  "Mr. Chevalier, it's now your turn. Please take your murtlap and wait for the sound of the cannon.  Good luck," she said, giving him a pat on his shoulder as she left the tent - this was the last of the three champions to go through the arena.  A few minutes past, then she gave the signal.

boom.


@emile , please post your introduction.  It needs to be 250+ words, and must be posted by Monday, May 22nd at 1:01am EST

[Deleted]

@hermionejean /co-admin lisa

Émile Chevalier, Beauxbatons Champion, tournament leader, and all around swell guy that was overly confident in his own abilities had a problem. The day before he had visited the tent that housed his new beast friend, Napoleon, the murtlap. Things were normal as usual. Normal meaning that Napoleon was as calm as always and didn’t even put up a fight as Émile observed the creature one last time before the second task started this very morning. Napoleon was still the same old murtlap, which was great, wonderful even. The issue didn’t lie with the murtlap though. It was Émile’s confidence. He had felt fine when he had stopped by the tent yesterday, like this was going to be another easy task for him to win. The butterflies that had existed during the first task had been nonexistent. Of course, the more he thought about how great he was feeling, the worse it got that night and carried over into this morning. Being nervous was all fine and dandy, it happened to him occasionally when he wasn’t exactly sure what he was about to go up against; the first time he had ever flown a broom or stepped onto a muggle airplane were some of the other occasions where he recalled having this same feeling.

He had arrived at the designated spot on time, which was only an indication of what his mental state was like. Normally he would have been there at least fifteen minutes early. The weight of his apprehension and capabilities to protect Napoleon only supplemented him being punctual. Now wasn’t the time to play games in his head though. He had a task to win. That was the normal Émile thought process. All he had to do was move his cautious thinking to the side for now. The woman who had introduced them to their creatures back in January was here again; Émile now knew that she was the new Minister of Magic. She explained the rules and regulations of the task, and how they needed to advance through the three arenas to end up in the natural habitat of their creatures, where their bond with their creatures would be tested one final time. Greyback was first, the Hogwarts girl second, and he was last. That meant he got to put on a show and keep everyone at the edge of their seats. Of course, he’d be the only one unaware of how the other two faired. After a few moments, the Durmstrang champion was on his feet and ready to enter the task. Off went the cannon, and with it the crowd. Now all Émile had to do was wait and think. That was great. On a more positive note, he felt a little better knowing that things were fine between him and Napoleon right now. That would hopefully mean getting the jewel at the end would be a synch. The problem, though, had to do with the actual process of getting to that point, and the distinct lack of his normal confidence in doing so.

During the first task, Émile had been gung-ho about running through the maze as fast as possible. If anything stood in front of him, he could run around it, climb over it, or jump through it. And it turned out that was exactly what he did, and it led to his victory. Barreling through the maze with no regard to his own well-being was perfectly fine. Carrying a bald creature that looked like a beaver mated with a sea anemone through multiple arenas, whatever that meant, with the same carelessness was exactly that: careless. This time, he wasn’t just responsible for his own safety, but Napoleon’s as well. That scared him, and he couldn’t place why. The more he had thought about it the previous night, the more he wanted to pin it on the fact that he was scared of failure. He knew that already though, which was exactly why whenever he lost a duel or a Quidditch match he doubled down on the training to produce a better result the next time. The maze was kind of like that, in a way. One turn was unique from the next, and what happened in one leg of the maze wouldn’t specifically apply in the next. That gave him the chance to take each new turn as a new event. He supposed that would work with these arenas too, but the damage and harm done to Napoleon was permanent in that sense. The goal was to progress through each arena successfully, whereas the concept of a maze was to make turns and figure out the layout through trial and error. There was only one shot with each of these arenas. There was no going back to fix a mistake once it happened.

Maybe that was the goal of the task. To perfect everything in one fell swoop. Whichever champion did that correctly would end up winning today. Émile knew he had the skill set to do it and that he had Napoleon’s trust. That much he was sure of. The problem was protecting the creature enough to maintain the trust through the entirety of the task. The ending relied on that bond being held so that the creature could hand over the jewel that was inside its nest. Émile liked the concept, but the fact that they were placing the well-being of creatures on the line was slightly concerning. If all went well, that thought would never become a reality. It all circled back around in his head though. Where he had failed to come out of the maze unscathed, who was to say he could do the same thing this time, but with Napoleon. These were thoughts that he should have had weeks ago when it was announced that they were supposed to keep their creatures safe. Instead he had focused on learning about Napoleon and creating a bond with it. At least he had half of the task finished already. The second part would be what they were about to be put through.

He was yanked out of his thoughts by the sound of the second cannon explosion. The Hogwarts girl had just entered for her shot at the task. That meant Greyback had finished already. Had it been that long already? Or was it fast? Being caught up in his own thoughts on the matter that lay before him, all Émile could do now was wait for his turn. He had the vial of Murtlap Essence and a container of the extra tentacles, though their utilization during the task would mean that he was failing to some degree. It was one thing after another for him today. After some time of thinking over this and that, the Minister entered the tent once again. That meant it was his turn and the Hogwarts girl was done as well. Émile crossed over to where Napoleon had been kept and made sure to slip him some of the lettuce that he had brought along just in case he needed a coaxing mechanism to get the creature to listen to him.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the starting area, Napoleon in his hands, and mentally checked off everything that he had done to get both of them to this point. Careful planning, research, dedication, and a lot of time had been spent to stand right here, and in the grand scheme of the tournament, every step that led him to being chosen as a champion had as well. There was a little bit of his confidence back again. It wasn’t all back yet, but all he needed was a smidge, enough to fool Napoleon into thinking that he knew what he was doing. He tried to contain a small laugh, realizing that he was doing exactly what the other two champions were doing; faking it until they made it. The best part was that he had already made it. He was Émile Chevalier, Beauxbatons Champion and leader in the tournament, after all.

Then the boom of the cannon went once again. Émile wavered slightly in his first step. He could feel the murtlap move in his hands, reminding him that they were in this task together. This time the task wasn’t just about him putting on a show, it was for Napoleon as well. “Time for the main act I guess,” Émile grinned. “Qui persévère réussit, Napoleon,” he stated as he walked into the first arena.

Word Total: 1,418

[co-admin lisa]

A hot, muggy heat engulfs the Champion as soon as they step foot into their first arena. The flora is thick and green here, so dense that the other side of the arena isn’t even visible. The jungle feels alive; bugs are buzzing, birds are chirping, but they get quiet as they sense someone coming in - an intruder to their home. The air grows still, the dampness causing condensation to trickle slowly down the wide leaves. The Champion won’t be able to simply walk across this arena; they’ll have to fight their way through the vines, trees, bushes, but all the while watch out for some of the creatures within - poisonous tree frogs aren’t named because of their color after all. If the Champion could squint in the distance, there is a door covered in vines that will lead them to their second arena. Can they get through the jungle without losing a body part? Guess we’ll just have to watch and learn!

INTRODUCTION SCORE: 9

FIRST ARENA WORD COUNT: 500 words

DUE BY: Wednesday, May 24th at 9:47pm EST

@emile

[Deleted]

@hermionejean /co-admin lisa

While Émile still had apprehensions upon stepping into the first arena, they were almost completely dashed away by the scene before him. The vast thickness of the trees and underbrush was indeed a spectacle; only a reminder to him that magic could do amazing things. This time, that was definitely an understatement. He had figured the arena would be a circular room of sorts, not an actual jungle. While it very well could be a small room, he had a hard time discerning that by looking at his surroundings. The sheer amount of trees, and the height they were at, for that matter, gave the arena the feeling that he was actually in a jungle. The climate too. Émile had been too concerned about trying to figure out where he was and how to proceed that he almost didn’t notice the humidity creeping up on him and Napoleon. Tiny beads of sweat started to prickle his forehead, and the automatic response to dab them away was what alerted Émile to the rising temperature and distinct climate of the location. Napoleon, being of the grandest of murtlaps, was from coastal Britain. Cool and rainy, living half in the water, half out of it. This room was the complete opposite of that. The tent that had housed his friend had been set perfectly for the murtlap, but this was different. Émile was unsure if that would have any negative drawbacks for the creature, though he supposed there was a reason it lived on the coast and not in a jungle. If he was already starting to sweat and get irritated by the heat, then Napoleon would probably worse, considering it had never been put in that situation before.

Tugging at the collar of his shirt to try and relieve his body of some of the heat, Émile started forward into the jungle. The ever rising humidity and constant drip-drop of condensation all around reminded him of sitting in a sauna. His father had a few of those installed in some of his hotels. Émile had never particularly liked them since it meant having to sit in obscene heat in nothing but a towel, forced to converse with whatever riff-raff happened to be in there at the time. On the flip-side, that was still more pleasant than this. Saunas were enclosures where he could leave at any moment. This jungle, not so much. He assumed there had to be a limit to the size of the arena, though that would be a fool’s guess at best. The dense foliage and shrubbery masked everything in front of him, keeping his depth of field at a few feet, sometimes inches, at max. Moving in a straight line would assure that he would eventually hit another wall, though after a few minutes of attempting to walk like that, he was noticing that it was going to be impossible. He had to remind himself that this was a Triwizard Tournament task, not a leisurely stroll through the jungle on a bright, muggy afternoon. If only.

Émile had thought that the idea of possibly anything being just around the corner while in the maze was a fun concept. That became a game while he was in there, peeking around slightly before continuing his mad run through the course. That was a different him though. This time, it was a slightly different circumstance. Holding Napoleon in one hand and pushing through branches, bushes, vines, and anything else that could possibly be in his way was not exactly a good idea when he had no idea what could be lurking behind the next tree trunk. Along with all the flora, a plethora of insects and birds did as well. Foreign squawks and hums encircled him at all times. A bug or two back home didn’t bother him at all, but when it got to the point of breaking his concentration as he tried to make his way through the jungle, it started to get on his nerves. Forget the fact that a vicious creature or two lying in wait would be completely muted if it decided to stalk him along his trek. That vine he just pushed aside to clear a path? There was the possibility that it could actually be a highly venomous snake. The same for the neon frogs hopping every which way. Émile didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out if they were actually dangerous or not. His gut told him to move as quickly and swiftly as possible to avoid bodily harm to both himself and Napoleon.

A stumble here and there, one causing him to trip on a tree root resulting in a minor knee bruise, was really all he had to suffer through aside from the heat and increased perspiration coming from his forehead and Napoleon. If he wasn’t careful, the next trip or fall could spell the murtlap slipping right out of his hands. Émile knew that would scare his friend, and trying to chase down a tiny creature in a jungle was quite literally like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Just another one of the many thoughts and scenarios he had to think about. Aside from the temperature issues, it seemed like Napoleon was enjoying it quite a bit. Every large leaf that they passed by that was within reach of his sharp beaver-like front teeth became a snack. At least something positive was coming out of all of this. Émile had tried to prevent the murtlap from munching on literally everything for the first few minutes of their journey, even handing over a bit of the good lettuce he had secured for the task, but to no avail. It was probably irresponsible to let it eat practically everything they passed, but nothing had killed the murtlap yet, and Émile had witnessed a few leaves and plants get turned away. Napoleon had a solid sense of good and bad. The worthy and the worthless. The murtlap clearly learned about that from the best.

A small chuckle at the realization that it was better to let the snacking continue, Émile turned his attention back to getting them through the jungle. Nothing had popped out of the trees yet, and that was starting to ease his mind a little. Napoleon was happy, he was content with the lack of danger, and the only irritation was the climate and constant visual of green. So far they were sweaty and hot, Émile had a bruise on his leg and a couple scratches from branches and twigs, Napoleon, a full stomach. But they were moving at a steady pace, or at whatever pace that one could do under these conditions. Émile knew that focusing on multiple things at once was what had kept him from getting complacent so far. The jungle wasn’t a threat as far as he was concerned, though hopefully he wasn’t getting too far of himself. Walking, pushing foliage aside, checking on Napoleon’s well-being, keeping an eye out for frogs that could be poisonous and larger beasts that had yet to show themselves, as well as trying to spot their exit were all on the forefront of his mind. His normal confidence was still gliding somewhere behind that. It hadn’t been necessary yet. Had this been the first task, he would have had his wand out, slashing vines and bushes every which way until he managed to find the path through. Recklessness. That was what that was. There were certain risks that couldn’t be taken with the murtlap in his hand. Slow and steady winning the race was most certainly not his mantra, but that was the only reasonable thing to do right now, and so that was exactly he decided to do.

After some time of wandering, pushing, and stumbling through everything in his path, Émile finally found himself at a stop. Ahead of him was a bundle of vines. He had spotted the strange shape a few feet back while moving a rather gigantic leaf to the side, the glint of the doorknob catching his eye. It was the only thing that wasn’t green in here other than him and Napoleon. Walking up to the door, he ran his hands along the vines. They were too thick to pull off; different from the ones that were hanging from the trees he had encountered so far. These ones were probably placed on with magic. Luckily he knew a little bit about that kind of thing. Stepping back a little ways, he sat down on a fallen tree and removed his wand from his pocket. This was the first time he had needed it so far today. Placing Napoleon on the ground with a handful of lettuce to occupy him for the few seconds this would take, Émile rose to his feet once again and moved to stand across from the door. “Reducto.” The blue light of the spell shot forward at the door, hitting the mass of vines square in the middle. He tried to keep the strength to a minimum, though destructive curses like that tended to have a mind of their own. Destroying the door as well was one way to advance to the next arena, but Émile didn’t feel like being showy right now. They were almost through the first arena without a hitch. There was no telling if that would be the same for the next one.

The blue mist disappeared, as did the vines on the door, a black dust being all that remained of them. Émile nodded his head contentedly and made his way back to Napoleon. “Up we go,” he said to the murtlap as he scooped Napoleon back up. A small squeal of protest was all Émile got in response, but that was because he had pulled the creature away from the remainder of the lettuce. He bent back down to pick it up, so as to keep his buddy happy. Hopefully the next zone would be quicker, because right now he was exhausted and hot. The humidity had worked especially well on him, draining his energy and causing a rise in his irritation levels. “Maybe we’ll get somewhere cold next. Or a lake so you can swim. Merlin knows I could use a small break and a dip right now,” Émile mumbled to himself with an exhausted sigh as he headed for the door. Grasping the doorknob, Émile twisted it and stepped through, into the second arena.

Word Total: 1,749

[co-admin lisa]

A change in the air is immediately noticeable as the Champion steps into their second arena; the light is blindingly white due to the vast amounts of snow piling on the ground and in the pine trees that seem to stretch high above them. A gust of wind sends shivers down the spine; the weather is frigidly cold and only growing colder. Stepping into the arena causes another blustery wind to rattle the trees, the snow balancing on the branches slide off the needles and plop onto the ground. It would be easy enough to get buried underneath the drifts of snow coming off the trees, and while it doesn’t look too far to get to the bank of igloos where the third arena door lies, the snowbanks may be deeper than they appear. There is also the rustling of a yeti who roams the snow, looking for its next victim, or victims. Will the Champion get to their third arena, or get lost in the snow forever? Stay tuned to find out!

FIRST ARENA SCORE: 7 + 1 REWARD = 8
WORD COUNT MINIMUM: 650 words
DEADLINE: Friday, May 26th at 6:53pm EST

*note that in order to attempt a perfect ten, the yeti MUST be encountered*

@emile

[Deleted]

@hermionejean /co-admin lisa

Émile wasn’t a firm believer in jinxing himself, but it seemed that this tournament had a way of giving him exactly what he wanted. His sly comment to Napoleon only seconds before opening the door that separated the first arena from the second about wanting to be in the cold wasn’t just a wish anymore, it was a harsh reality. Pine trees as far as the eye could see (which was a nice deviation from the trees in the jungle). Everything was cold, dead, and covered in snow. The only exception other than those trees being him and Napoleon. Quite the stark contrast from the jungle. Every few meters there had been another tree, each one having been surrounded by tangles of vines and bushes, and supplying a miniature ecosystem to boot. The constant drone of birds and bugs was replaced with the howling wind, every gust ripping through his outer jacket and hitting him as if his skin was fully exposed. While he had been overdressed for the jungle and suffered from the heat because of it, he could thank the February weather in Scotland for giving him a few more layers this time around. It wasn’t going to be enough though, and he was reminded of that with every new blast of wind.

There was an issue that Émile noticed almost immediately upon stepping into the second arena. The temperature, of course, was the opposite of what they had just been subjected to. He couldn’t get past the nagging feeling that this was going to ultimately have negative effects on both his body and Napoleon’s. Émile had pulled his wand out of his pocket immediately to try and remedy the cold, or at least hinder the wind slightly. There was a spell, or counter-charm rather, that could cease weather related charms: Meteolojinx Recanto. Things were never that simple though, and upon testing it out, it was pretty obvious that the weather was still the same as it had been, and the wind wasn’t going to die down anytime soon. That was unfortunate. While the cold had never really bothered him on a day to day basis, that didn’t remove the dreadful thoughts that came over him when he realized there could be issues going from extreme heat to extreme cold. Hypothermia for one, which was usually due to prolonged exposure to the cold and could easily happen if he moved as slow as he did in the first arena. The heat and moving of leaves and plants had exhausted him already, the slow plodding through snow and cold would only supplement that further. Never mind the fact that the sweat all over him was about to be instantly frozen if he didn’t take care of it. Then there was going into shock from the cold. If he didn’t keel over in the next few minutes from that, then the hypothermia would get him and Napoleon eventually. He had always been told going into cold shock was usually caused by dropping into freezing water, but he wouldn’t past the body to emulate the same thing by going from a humid jungle to a frigid wasteland of a forest. There were too many things to think of though, and he needed to take care of them one at a time.

The first was that his feeling of freezing was nothing compared to Napoleon, who had gone from being a mess of sweaty skin to a shivering ball of tentacles. Émile knew immediately what the repercussions of leaving the murtlap exposed to the elements would end up with, and that definitely was not a risk he wanted to take. Removing his right arm from his jacket sleeve, Émile tied it off in a tourniquet-like fashion while juggling Napoleon in the crook of his left arm at the same time. There were obvious risks involved in leaving the murtlap exposed as well as pulling off this balancing act, but the goal was to keep the murtlap inside the jacket with his right arm, while maintaining his dominant left arm and wand hand out for protection. It took a few minutes to do this though because his jacket wasn’t meant to be twisted in such a fashion. Eventually Émile was content with how it turned out and flipped Napoleon back over into his right arm, zipping the jacket back up. While he had hoped for an instant success in terms of warming the murtlap back up, he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

There were spells to fix that, and he was glad he was well-versed in fire elemental ones. Of course he didn’t have time to find wood to make a fire to warm up, because that defeated the purpose of swiftly moving through the arenas. Instead, he had a more ingenious idea. The basics of all fire spells lay in the Hot-Air Charm. It was a simple one thankfully, and Émile had no trouble exposing his left hand to the cold as he stuffed his wand down the front of his jacket, pushing out warm air every couple of seconds. This was going to be a process he’d have to keep up the entirety of this arena if they wanted to make it out without too much damage from the cold, whether it was frost bite or magic-induced freeze burns. Émile knew what those were like, having part of his body subjected to that during the first task. He couldn’t put Napoleon through the same thing, each shiver emitted from the murtlap only reminding him that the goal of the task was to keep the creature alive until the very end. That was ultimately more important than the trust factor. There would be no trust to be had if the murtlap was dead.

Every couple of steps welcomed another blast of warm air down his jacket. Some of it was lost from him in that same instant, a good portion going out the bottom just as fast as it went in, and the rest being lost from his head. Napoleon still shivered from time to time though it had lessened from when they first entered the arena. Émile knew the real trouble was going to be his wand hand and his face, and even though he tried his best to alternate blasts of warm air onto them, that only distracted him from what was before him. There were plenty trees and snow banks, yes, but in his ultimate wisdom, it had taken a good amount of time to spot the igloos out there as well. Even though they were a good distance away from his current location, there was some sign of hope that this would be the exit that he was looking for. They didn’t need to be subjected to this cold as long as they had been to the humidity of the jungle. Despite the possibility of the door being close to the igloos, Émile was still concerned about the effects of the cold on him and Napoleon. He was pretty sure the murtlap would be fine; it hadn’t been exposed for that long, and the constant warm air was definitely working to some extent. His walking pace had decreased drastically as his joints fought against the thick snow and wind berating him with every step. If he did end up with frostbite, he was pretty sure magic could fix it. That same thought had already occurred during the maze, though the effect had worn off by the time he finished. Maybe once he stepped into the third arena it would be the same thing.

The igloos grew larger and larger as Émile pushed on. By this point he could see the faint outline of a door between them. That was perfect! Wonderful, actually. He didn’t suspect that it had taken nearly as long to navigate this arena as it had the first, though that could have been a visual trick because of the mass of shrubbery that existed there. This time he was fine as long as the wind wasn’t picking up blistery pillows of snow and tossing it about every now and again. A few had hit him head on, replacing what was once sweat on his forehead with speckles of snow instead. A cold reminder that he did have a physical time limit before his body would be just as frozen as the snow. Some of those same gusts of snow seemingly took on a shape and mind of their own, moving about as if the normal laws of motion didn’t work on them. Émile had chalked it up to the magic that was causing the weather patterns. There was no way magic could actually mimic weather perfectly, at least not to his knowledge. Although, that would mean the clouds of snow were actually as they were, and not something else altogether. The frequency of the snow clouds picked up as he neared the edge of the tree, sometimes in accordance with the wind, sometimes not. What he had initially played off as a faulty spell was now moving closer to him. And it made a sound that was far scarier than the howling of the wind that he encountered upon first stepping through the arena door.

Then he saw it. The hulking white mass that had been passed off as a snow bank being tossed around was anything but. Émile only needed to see the orange glow of a pair of eyes look in his direction to know that whatever this thing was, it was looking to cause trouble. On a normal day, maybe he would have dashed headfirst at it, in a similar fashion to the maze. This was different though. He couldn’t make out what this enormous creature was, and without that tidbit of information could not effectively make a plan to get past it or defeat it, whichever became more convenient for him. Climbing up a rather large snow bank that led to a tree, Émile pressed his body up against the trunk. He could feel his heartrate start to become more rapid; whether that was caused by adrenaline or spelling his impending doom by cold shock, he wasn’t sure. The beast was somewhere nearby, because he could hear the crunching of snow underneath its weight. Trying to move as quietly as possible around the trunk to peek, his foot broke through the softer outer layer of the snow bank. Émile tried to yank his foot out, and upon doing so felt the rest of the snow below him give out.

Down he and Napoleon went, a cavernous hole, a tree well, having existed underneath where he had been standing only seconds earlier. The snow that he had believed to be a solid mass came tumbling down on him as well, leading to split-second decision making. If he wasn’t quick, they would be either crushed by the snow, die from hypothermia, or suffocate. Each of those was relatively slow and painful, and Émile had no interest in going out in that fashion. His left hand, which had been tightly grasped around his wand, was somewhat moveable still, whereas his right arm, which was holding Napoleon under the jacket, was firmly held down by snow. Émile tried to keep his breathing to a minimum, but that became increasingly harder to do as he felt the murtlap starting to squirm around. If he was under hear any longer, Napoleon was going to start biting him, which would only bring only death that much faster.

Arching his wand hand as best as possible, Émile set off a slew of Reductos, none of which accomplished anything. Snow apparently wasn’t as destructible as vines and other solid objects were. That only increased his now labored breathing. Fire could work, though he was apprehensive about shooting a trail of fire out of his wand in a position where he couldn’t easily escape. The only other option was to force the snow up. Expulso was worth a shot. If it could launch a person back in a duel, it could push back snow. Off the spell went, blasting a hole in the snow open. Émile struggled to pull his body towards it, but only managed a little before the weight of the snow still over him prevented any further movement. At least he had air now. Placing the wand close to his head and facing up towards the snow still on top of him, he let loose another Expulso. Quickly rolling to the side where the first hole was, Émile scrambled out of the tree well as fast as his legs would go. His body was cold and sore, but now was not the time to think about that.

The hole created by the falling snow was deep, and he couldn’t climb it only using one hand. Biting down on his lip, Émile made a rash decision. Tying off the left arm of his jacket, he took it off and rolled Napoleon up in it. A few more hot-air charms were pumped inside to help for the short time he’d be away from the murtlap. Wand between his teeth, he punched his hands and feet into the steep cliff face of snow that towered above him. The igloos were close, and probably the creature wandering around in the trees as well. He needed to climb fast, summon the jacket and Napoleon up, and run to the door. Getting to the top with some effort, he brought the murtlap up and cradled the jacket in his arms. Émile could feel the shaking through the fabric. “Almost there. Hold on.” Another round of charms on the jacket and his arms and hands, and Émile made a beeline for the door.

If only it was that easy. Between the end of the trees and start of the igloos was an open field of snow. He knew he could run the distance and get to the door, but how long did he have before that creature came back? The howl that came from behind him was a reminder that he didn’t want to get personal with any creatures aside from Napoleon today. And maybe talking with Greyback after he beat this thing and took home another first place victory. Émile found himself grinning as he broke into a run, wand in one hand, Napoleon wrapped up in his jacket in the other. The creature was hot on his heels, and Émile knew that if he got caught before making it to the igloos, it was all over. He still had no idea what the thing was, other than that it was big, white, hairy, and probably had really bad breath. None of which he wanted to get too acquainted with.

The first of the igloos was only meters ahead of him now, and Émile decided that it was easier to run through it than to go around. He was pretty sure the door was somewhere beyond a few rows of the structures. Wand pointed out in front of his body as he ran, he let fly a Bombarda as he entered the igloo, blowing out the blocks of ice that used to be the back of the wall. And then he promptly tripped over one of the smashed pieces and fell flat on his face. Napoleon and the jacket shot somewhere off to the side, his wand in the other direction but closer. The sound of the creature slowing up as it approached him scared him more than falling in the tree well did. Slightly dazed from hitting his head on the ground, he reached out for his wand as slowly as possible, hoping not to alert the creature that he was still alive. Another plan for another instance. That was what he needed right now. First was his safety since he knew he was a more deadly target than Napoleon was, if the creature even knew the murtlap existed in the first place. A few loud huffs from the beast told Émile that it was coming around the side of the igloo that the jacket containing Napoleon was on. That bought him a few more seconds to get the wand and blast the beast to kingdom come before running headlong at it to grab the murtlap.

Rolling over his wand, Émile grabbed it and hopped to his feet, wobbling a little as it seemed that the same leg he had bruised in the jungle was also the one that had taken the brick of ice full on. To add to that, he had a sizeable throb in his head as all the blood rushed to it. Needless to say, both of those thoughts were dashed when he finally turned to face the creature. “Well look at you. You’re a big one aren’t you?” Émile laughed out shakily. He should have guessed that it was going to be a blasted yeti. That was the only thing that made sense in this kind of climate. The yeti had a nice howling response back, and Émile knew it was pissed off now. That much could be said with the snarling face and bloodthirsty eyes. This was like a flashback to the manticore. He could feel his adrenaline pumping, brain moving at a million miles a minute. His confident smirk seemed ridiculous to be putting on right now, especially with a banged up leg and the odds forever against him, but he had a feeling he could scrape his way out of this one the same way he did with the manticore. These hulking beasts were killers, but stupid as well. He had an arsenal of spells and curses to keep them at bay, where all they had were claws and fangs that could only kill him if they were within an arm’s reach.

The yeti didn’t move immediately, which was long enough for Émile to whip up one of the ice blocks at its face. That only angered it a bit more. Not like he wanted this to take a long time, Napoleon was sitting behind the yeti somewhere probably freezing to death. He couldn’t risk that for his own pleasure of beating up this beast. Another ice block was sent up, this time being swatted away. That really pissed it off. Perfect. The yeti screamed once again, this time trying to charge at Émile. The Beauxbatons champion dove to the side, immediately flipping around to launch another brick at the creature. This one hit it in the back of the head. The goal was to get it a distance away from Napoleon, then to blast it with fire. Émile had put two and two together and figure that because the thing lived in snow, extreme heat would probably scare it off. Pushing himself to his feet again, he watched as the yeti turned around and ran at him again. Émile hopped back through the hole in the wall of the igloo he had destroyed earlier, and out the entrance, before looping around the side and heading towards his jacket and Napoleon, both of which were now in within spitting distance. Bending over to scoop the murtlap up, Émile bolted from the scene as the yeti crashed through the already destroyed igloo. A few more Bombardas on the igloos he passed effectively slowed the yeti down, but at his pace, Émile still wasn’t going to make it to the door in time. The broken igloos were more of an annoyance for the creature, only serving to enrage it more each time it happened.

Running around another row of igloos, the door to the next arena was finally in sight. And so was the yeti, chasing down Émile. Opening the door to the last arena, Émile dropped Napoleon inside before closing it again. He was positive that the yeti couldn’t chase him into the next part, but he wasn’t taking that chance, especially considering that it probably had its own obstacle to deal with. The yeti rounded the corner, and Émile made sure that he was set, wand pointed straight its face. “Confringo!” The curse hit the yeti square in the chest, causing it to explode and propel backwards into an igloo. Émile, not caring to see what the extent of the damage was, quickly turned around and slid through the door, and into the third arena.

Word Total: 3,393

[co-admin lisa]

The Champion stops short upon entering their third and final arena before reaching their creatures’ natural habitat. Good thing too, for the realize they are on a tiny island in the middle of what appears to be a vast ocean. The water is dark, marble blue with the glimpses of white seaform as the waves crashed together. Across the channel is another island, and there lies the door to their creatures home. But...there isn’t anything on the island to cross the channel with; no boat, no building materials, nothing. If they were to try and conjure up some building materials, they would find their spells blocked. That leaves just one option; swim across and hope for the best. The water is chilly but not paralyzingly cold, and besides, it’s not the water temperature they should be worrying about. The water is infested with kelpie, grindylow and merpeople, just waiting for the Champion to tire so they can drag them down to the depths below. Will the Champion sink or swim? Let’s watch and find out!

SECOND ARENA SCORE: 9
WORD COUNT: 800
DUE BY: Monday, May 29th at 9:55pm EDT

*to attempt a 10 you have to encounter the creatures listed*
@emile

[Deleted]

@hermionejean /co-admin lisa

Émile was quite positive that he had never closed a door as fast as the one that bridged the second and third arenas. He had just slipped through, making sure to only have enough space for his body and not the yeti’s. As the door slammed behind him, his body automatically went up against it, as if to brace the door in the freak chance that the yeti could make it through. That was hopefully a safeguard that the tournament organizers had thought of, though one could never be too sure. After a few seconds of silence from the other side, Émile slid down the door, cocking his head backwards, closing his eyes, and letting out a deep sigh. That had been the most danger he had been in since the manticore. The rest of the two tasks so far had been nothing compared to the yeti. The uncertainty of what could have happened during that would have been enough to unnerve anyone. He should have been unnerved. But something had clicked inside his head during that small battle. The exhilarating feeling of almost being crushed by an igloo, and Merlin knows what the yeti could do to him, had caused Émile to grin as he sat against the door. The potential to completely screw up and injure or kill him was what he had needed. The first task had been too easy in that regard. The second one was already making up for it. It was definitely masochistic, but that was what he had needed to gain his confidence back. Scraping through that meant he could do anything now.

Opening his eyes once again, he could see the sun poking through gigantic palm leaves. It was warm. Émile could find solace in the light breeze and skin tingling warmness of the sun rays. Unless the skin tingling was frostbite, which was definitely possible after the stunt he had just pulled. Diving across ice and snow in that temperature without a jacket on, even for a short amount of time, could have after negative effects on his body. He knew his ankle was bruised up, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. His face and hands had been exposed the longest, especially after he had tossed Napoleon and his jacket through the door. Speaking of Napoleon, the murtlap had to be around here somewhere. Émile hadn’t really taken the time to find the beast since he shut the door, but the jacket couldn’t have gone far from the door.

Émile looked around at his surroundings, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. His jacket was on the ground a few feet away, but it wasn’t moving at all. Why wasn’t it moving? Napoleon was in there. Émile felt his whole chest tighten up, his stomach dropping at the same time. Napoleon was supposed to be wrapped up in the jacket, but there was no movement from it at all. He tried to call out the murtlap’s name, but his throat caught. There was no way that it could be dead. Émile had made sure to keep the jacket warm the entire time. And then he realized it. There had been a few minutes where the two were separated. Right when the yeti showed up. He hadn’t thought that would be enough time for Napoleon to freeze to death, but the lack of hair and genetic make-up of the creature would probably say otherwise. After a few attempts to move, Émile dug his hands into the ground and pushed himself from a sitting position to his knees. Crawling slowly towards his jacket, he reached out for it, taking a fistful of fabric in his hand. He didn’t want to pull it back and see Napoleon dead. But he knew that was what was going to happen. Starting to feel nauseous, Émile swallowed, despite his mouth being bone dry. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the top of the jacket to the side to reveal what was inside it.

Nothing. No Napoleon. Not even a sign of the murtlap being there. Émile could feel his breathing return to normal, as the knots that had contorted throughout his body started to relax, albeit only momentarily. The shock of potentially killing his partner through his own idiocy was replaced with a sense of urgency. If Napoleon wasn’t in jacket, then where was it? Shaking his jacket for good measure, Émile spun his head around wildly. There wasn’t much that the creature could hide behind. The only surroundings consisted of a couple large palm trees, a rock or two, and then beach. He hadn’t even noticed that the first time either. Standing up, he dropped the jacket back on the ground and wandered towards the sandy coastline. He was on an island. The palm trees and sun apparently hadn’t been the best context clues for him to figure that out immediately. Sliding down a small embankment leading to the beach, Émile finally set foot on the sand. It didn’t take him long to walk around the entire island. It was small; almost ridiculously small, if he were to be frank. The door from the last arena was seemingly planted in the middle of the island through magic. There was no going back through it now, and nothing was coming from the other side either. That was a good sign. The brief thought that Napoleon had somehow managed to sneak back through the passage was quickly thrown aside. There was no way that the murtlap could physically open a door, seeing as it was barely a foot tall and did not have opposable thumbs.

Napoleon’s capabilities as a highly functioning murtlap did not need to be thought up at this moment. More pressing matters were at hand. The island that Émile was on didn’t seem to contain any kind of clue as to where he had to go next. All around him was ocean as far as the eye could see. Digging seemed to be a rather tedious task, so there was no way that would be it, and flying defeated the realism of the arenas. The first two had been relatively ‘realistic’, vicious yeti attacks and dense jungle aside. Émile went over the possibilities as he continued his walk around the island, all the while looking for his friend. It didn’t take long for him to get fed up with this technique though, and he immediately switched from checking behind trees and rocks to looking towards the water. Napoleon was a murtlap after all. Swimming was in their nature, their habitat existing off the coastal regions of Britain. This mock ocean was far from being coastal Britain, but it still had salt water, and that was the best thing for the murtlap after almost freezing to death. Émile figured there was some kind of osmosis process between salt water and murtlaps, the membrane-like amoeba tentacles on their backs taking it in to help rejuvenate the animals. That wasn’t something he had researched prior to the task though, and he couldn’t recall the magizoologist ever bringing it up in passing. It was merely a guess, and he figured that if his friend was alive still, the water would most likely be the first place the murtlap would go. That was part of its nature after all.

Every time a wave crashed into the beach, Émile found his attention drawn to it. He half expected Napoleon to come tumbling out of it content with life, as much as a murtlap could be after almost turning into a popsicle. One such wave, which was much stronger than the rest, reached the soles of his shoes from where he was standing halfway up the beach. The mesmerizing ebb and flow of the water captivated him in his stressed state, drawing his attention long enough for him to barely feel the slight tug of his pant legs. Émile figured the pull was from the water or wind at first, there being enough of both to cause that kind of feeling. After a rather hard pull, he finally looked down. There was Napoleon. It didn’t register at first, Émile taking the time to put two and two together. His friend and companion was alive still! Squatting down, he reached out to pat the murtlap on the back. The initial skeevy feeling of the tentacles that he had a month earlier was nonexistent now. All he could do was feel happy that the murtlap was still breathing. Losing the task would have been enough to push him over the edge; losing it because he was incapable of keeping a creature alive would have been inexcusable. Not this time though. This was the last arena before Napoleon’s ecosystem. If he excelled here, then there was no denying that he would win.

“Êtes vous prêt?” Émile asked the murtlap, hoping that there would be some understanding that he was being formal and asking it if it was ready to go. He had found that he switched back and forth between English and French quite a bit. It probably had something to do with the fact that he named the murtlap after Napoleon. Calling it Bill would elicit all English. Émile couldn’t remember the last time he had met a full-blown Frenchman named Bill. Patting Napoleon once again, he chuckled at the light-natured thoughts he was having now. The worry had passed over him the second he saw the murtlap again. The initial positive thought that Napoleon had been going for a swim (after the years he lost worried he had killed the more thing with his negligence), seemed to be exactly what had happened after he tossed the creature through the door. Nothing fixed up freezing to death like a quick dip in the ocean apparently. “Any idea where we’re supposed to go?” He asked the murtlap, figuring that they had gained enough trust at this point that the murtlap would help him out. Napoleon waddled into the water, letting a smaller wave pull it out further. Émile was hesitant at first, thinking that it didn’t understand him at first, but it started to swim a few meters at a time before stopping and looking back at the boy. Was it actually leading him in the right direction?

Émile squinted, hoping to catch a glimpse of what Napoleon was trying to show him. There was something out there, probably a large rock, at least, another island at best. If only he had the forethought of bringing his glasses with him. Assuming that the object in the distance was another island, or at least the location of the next door and Napoleon knew what it was doing, then that meant Émile would have to cross as well. He was decent at swimming, but not knowing the distance caused him to hesitate slightly. There had to be a better way to go about it without having to swim. He knew of a few charms that would help him breathe underwater, but that seemed like it would only become beneficial when he was about to drown and would need air in an instant. The physical stress of swimming would be what the most dangerous part about all of this. And if the yeti was any sign of what could be in the arenas, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what dwelled beneath the surface of the water. The dark blue that swelled all around his island was comforting, but it was also deadly in more ways than one. Keeping this in mind, he pulled his wand out of his pocket again and went to work slashing at some of the trees. Except it didn’t work. Burning, cutting, uprooting. Everything. From his quick tour of the island earlier, he also knew that there wasn’t a boat lying about either. So swimming it was then.

Napoleon was still floating out in the water, the shine from the buck-teeth glinting in the sun as it waited for Émile to make up his mind on what to do. He had asked for somewhere cold, and a place where Napoleon could swim while they were in the jungle, and now they had both of those. Kicking his shoes off and peeling back his socks, Émile grimaced at the bruise that had formed on his leg from tripping in both the jungle and on the igloo. He was positive that wouldn’t make a difference during his swim. He didn’t have the time to fix it up either. Rolling his pant legs up, he returned his wand to his pocket and made sure it was in it firmly. The last thing he needed was to lose his wand while he was in the middle of an ocean with an unknown amount of space between the first and second island. Making sure to pile his clothes and jacket together, Émile started to make his way into the water. He would summon them over to the second island once he reached it. There was no telling how cold Napoleon’s home would be, even if it was just the coast of Britain.

The water was icy, but nothing compared to the winter wonderland he had just trudged through. If anything, this was welcoming after that. Having the chance to rearrange the arenas though, he would have taken this one immediately after the jungle over the snowy forest. The exhausting march he had been through was leaving little left in his engine at this point, and while the water rejuvenated his body slightly, he knew that any aggravation from outside forces was going to be a real struggle for him. The other problem was that he had never practiced combat in the water. There wasn’t much time to undergo that while at Beauxbatons, and he couldn’t come up with a reason where any normal witch or wizard would need to know how to duel in the middle of an ocean. Regardless, now was time to focus on swimming and keeping his breathing paced. Wearing his body down any further now would only spell doom the second something came after him. Luckily he had Napoleon in front of him to guide the way. The murtlap was obviously comfortable in the water, and Émile assumed it would alert him of any danger that could arise before it had the chance to surprise him. At least then he would have a fighting chance to take something down with him.

The first several hundred meters of water went quick. Almost too quick. Émile realized that he needed to slow down to conserve energy. His swimming was rusty at best. The object in the distance was becoming much clearer now, and it was easier to tell that it was the next island. He had yet to see the door on it, but seeing as there wasn’t anything else anywhere, it was safe to assume that this was his final destination. Napoleon seemed to be pretty sure that this was also the correct way to go, and Émile certainly wasn’t going to question that while he was doing the doggy-paddle fully exposed in the water. His form could have been slightly better, but he wasn’t going to complain about anything at this point in the task as long as he finished and won. Taking a few more long strokes forward, he brought himself to a halt to gain his breath back. If he was a stronger swimmer this would have been easy; maybe even done by this point. Noting where the island was once again, Émile started once again, but was stopped immediately by Napoleon as the murtlap came swimming back in his direction. It was agitated too. Émile had a sinking feeling that things weren’t going to go swimmingly from here on out.

Small, subtle splashes from Napoleon drew his attention towards more objects off to his side. Whatever they were, they were going through the water fast, much faster than he was currently going, and definitely faster than he would ever be able to go. Attempting to start swimming again only resulted in Napoleon going in circles around him. The murtlap apparently wanted him to stay where he was, but that was going to get increasingly more difficult the longer he was subjected to wadding in one place. Contrary to popular belief, while Émile Chevalier was good at everything he did, he didn’t have an unlimited amount of energy, especially when he was out of his element and quite literally a sitting duck. As he watched the things get closer to him with a very vexed murtlap squeaking at them, Émile could make out the head of a horse. With his limited knowledge of seafaring creatures, he knew it was either a Hippocampus or Kelpie, depending on the region that the water was supposed to be based on. Then again, anything could be placed in these ecosystems, so he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a mix of both. The Hippocampus probably would leave him be as long as he wasn’t disturbing a nest, and as far as he was aware, that wasn’t currently happening. Napoleon’s growing agitation was also a tell-tale sign that something was off. Émile produced his wand from his pocket and pointed it in the direction of the oncoming creatures. He wasn’t going to take any chances this time. He couldn’t simply out swim creatures built for the water the way he could outrun those on land. A slew of Impedimentas were sent at the horse heads. The goal was to slow them down as much as possible and blow them away if they got close. Very similar to what he did with the yeti, but with less mobility and without his fire spells. The first two spells hit their targets, halting the creatures immediately. He wasn’t sure how resistant they were to it, so he sent more at them. The remaining two dodged those as well and made a beeline for Émile. “Stupefy!” The floating horse heads halted where they were, the other ones still moving slowly in the water behind them. Now that they were up close, he could tell that they were definitely kelpies. The creatures took on the shape of horses for whatever reason, and would drag swimmers under water. Then again, that was virtually every water-bred creature that had a taste for human flesh. There was no doubt in his mind that if kelpies were present, other things were as well.

Napoleon nudged Émile’s arm as if to tell the Beauxbatons champion that it was time to move again. There was no telling how long the kelpies would be stunned or subjected to their slow down, but he knew he could count on the murtlap to alert him of their pursuit again, should it happen. Switching into a much slower breaststroke, Émile inched closer and closer to the shoreline of the next island. In a moment he was going to be able to see what was below him. Currently it was a dark abyss, and while slightly unnerving, he knew that his friend would keep an eye out for danger. A few more minutes of swimming and Émile finally saw the first signs of rocks and seaweed below him. It was still hazy though, the blue of the water being swirled up by sand as he kicked by. The forest of seaweed thickened every now and then, and he found himself watching it rock back and forth underwater than where he was headed. Another prod from Napoleon as it came back to check on Émile brought this to his attention, and he returned his sights to the shoreline. The closeness of Napoleon was comforting, seeing as there was still a good distance between his location and the beach. Fighting the undertow was going to be interesting, but as long as he didn’t continuously exhaust his energy trying to get to shore, he would be fine. The seaweed wasn’t making it any easier either. Every now and again, Émile could feel it tug on his legs. There was nothing he could do to prevent it, other than making sure it didn’t pull him down. Getting dragged below the surface by a plant would be an awful way to go. Another few meters of swimming, and another tug on his leg by the seaweed. It was getting annoying at this point. Stopping where he was, Émile glanced down at his leg, the same one that was already bruised from his falls earlier. Wrapped around it from the knee down was an extremely long, thick piece of seaweed. He attempted to pull his leg up towards him so that he could peel it off, or at least try to rip it some, but the resistance made that impossible to do. Émile turned his head to see where the murtlap had gone, only to spot it reaching the edge of the beach. Someone apparently wanted to get out of the water fast. Wand tip set up against the seaweed, Émile blasted it away. Now he could finally join Napoleon on the beach.

Holding onto his wand just in case, Émile turned and started swimming again. A few more strokes here and there and he would hopefully be touching solid ground. His attention was diverted from this task though when he felt another small pull at his leg. This seaweed quite literally had a mind of its own. Pointing his wand down at his leg again, he hoped to blast away the annoyance like he just had. Except that this wasn’t exactly seaweed this time. There were tiny little hands grabbing at his ankle, and one was close to his knee by this point. What on earth were these things? Counting them quickly, Émile could tell that he had at least half a dozen climbing on his legs, and a few more swimming around underneath him. Émile brought his other leg up, attempting to kick them off one by one. The first one came off immediately, though it was quickly apparent that he had pissed the little buggers off. The ones that were circling below him were now crawling up both legs, sinking their miniature claws and teeth into him as they did so. Needle-like bites all up and down his legs caused him to kick, though they were all sufficiently dug into his skin by this point. More and more creatures came out of the seaweed, each piling onto the one before it. They were strong, and he knew that their goal was to pull him under, the same as with the kelpies. Émile sent a few Stupefys their way, but each one he knocked away was replaced by more.

Fed up with the strength of the little beasts, Émile reached down with his free hand and grabbed at one of them. It nipped at his fingers, but he had enough time to peel it away from his skin, little streams of blood coming from the holes that the thing had punctured in his leg with its sharp little teeth. Another grabbed onto his arm as he did so, but he was quick enough to rip his arm back out of the water to prevent any further ones from doing the same. On closer inspection of the one in his hand, he realized that these were grindylow. He had never seen one in person, but while researching Napoleon’s habitat, these things were often brought up. They liked to attack and eat murtlaps if they managed to catch them on their own. That pissed him off. Tossing the one in his hands as best he could in the water, it landed a few feet away and floated along the surface, watching him, before heading back down into the depths. He was sure it would be back to attack him any second now. The one dangling on his arm didn’t last much longer either, as he yanked it off and threw it as well. Being able to move his arms freely was the start of escaping the horde of grindylow, especially now that they had begun to force his head under the water. The first dunking was sudden, and arrived only seconds after he removed the second grindylow from his arm. His mouth filled with water as he tried to gain one last breath before going under, the suddenness making it almost impossible to do so. Keeping his eyes open, he could see the dozen or so clawing at his legs, as well as a larger swarm of them around him. They were definitely making sure this wouldn’t be a painless death. In between the strands of seaweed were larger creatures as well, though all he could make out was the yellow glow of their eyes. Whatever they were, they were biding their time until the grindylow were finished.

Forcing his head back above the water, Émile sputtered water out of his lungs, coughing a few times. He only had mere seconds to take in as much air as possible though, because they dragged him down again. At least he was prepared this time. Spinning his wand above his head, and making sure the grindylow didn’t snatch away his only form of defense, he used the strongest form of Aguamenti he knew, hoping that the pressure from the water would cause the nasty little beasties to loosen their grasp long enough. His go to fire spells were null underwater, so blasting them away or immobilizing was all he could do at this point. The swarm around him was caught up in the sudden slipstream of water, and Émile did his best to focus it in the direction away from him and the island. Off they went, and that only left the stragglers that were clinging to his legs for dear life. Repeating the process, he pointed his wand at the remaining ones, and blasted them off as well.

Gunning for the surface, Émile managed to crest through the water in time to see Napoleon swimming back towards him. He was happy that the murtlap was coming back for him, but it was too dangerous for both of them to be sitting in the water like this, especially with that many grindylow about. He could see the trees on the island now, a door frame situated snuggly between them. His heart began to race as the goal was now within reach. The squeaked warnings from Napoleon signaled that the grindylow were coming back at him with a vengeance. Émile spun around, launching a Deprimo at them, hoping it would send them off course, or even better, knock them out. A few did, and a good portion of the grindylow stopped then as well. Émile was close enough to the shore that he could walk if he wanted, and that meant he would be able to determine who was in power. The squid-like heads of the grindylow bobbed up and down with the waves as he stumbled through the water, getting closer and closer to the beach. Turning back one last time to see the creatures, larger heads surfaced, emitting a scream at him. It was clear now that the glowing eyes in the seaweed belonged to merpeople. Apparently they had employed the grindylow to do their dirty work, in which the smaller creatures failed miserably.

Sopping wet, numb from grindylow bites, and even more exhausted than he had been from the last arena, Émile still found the cockiness somewhere inside him. After reaching the beach, he turned to face the merpeople once again, making sure to give them a chin flick, grinning the entire time. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent creatures!” He shouted after the hand motion. Another screech and a few tail flips and the remaining merpeople were gone. Laughing to himself, Émile headed for the door, making sure to use another hot-air charm to dry himself off. Flicking his wand one more time, his jacket and shoes were summoned from the first island, and landed next to him a few minutes later. Blasting them with warm air as well, he slipped them back onto his feet and folded his jacket up underneath his arm. Napoleon was foraging in a bush near the door as Émile approached it. The murtlap looked happy now that it had been allowed to swim. Émile could have done without the water, but it was only another one of the many obstacles of the task. It definitely could have ended worse than it did. All that was left now was Napoleon’s habitat, and luckily Émile was well aware what that was like.

Kneeling down, he patted the tentacles on the back of the murtlap once again, signaling that they were moving on. “Merci, Napoleon. I would have drowned back there.” A small squeak from Napoleon meant that it understood him, or that it was hungry and wanted to keep eating the leaves on the bush. Émile was happy that the murtlap hadn’t been hurt, aside from almost freezing to death. The fact that it had easily traversed the channel and wanted to eat meant that it was willing to trust him as he brought it through each arena. Now they were at the end, and all of those experiences were going to be tallied up. He was either Napoleon’s best friend in the world and would easily be given the prize, and hopefully the victory, or he would be mauled by a pack of murtlaps. Seeing as the creature was perfectly fine with him picking it up, throwing it around, and had even saved his neck while swimming, he was confident that things were going to go his way. If not, well, he would find a way. He still had a pocket full of lettuce that Napoleon had deemed worthy of its stomach, so he was sure the same would apply to the other murtlaps as well. Returning to an upright position, Émile reached for the doorknob. This was the last door. Twisting, he stepped through with Napoleon at his side.

Word Total: 5,019

[co-admin lisa]

After three very different arenas, the champion finally enters the home habitat of the murtlap. A cool breeze greets them as they land on the coastal shore of a body of saltwater. There’s still a ways to go before the Champion can get to the murtlaps nest, and it seems there may be a thunderstorm in the difference. The murtlaps family is anxiously awaiting its missing members arrival, and are safely guarding the blue jewel that the Champion must take to reveal the door out of the arena. Will the Champion be allowed to take the jewel unscathed? Let’s watch and see!

THIRD ARENA SCORE: 8
WORD COUNT: 1,000
DEADLINE: Saturday, June 10th at 1:48pm

@emile

[Deleted]

@hermionejean /co-admin lisa

The click of the door closing behind him was more than a sign that Émile and Napoleon were on the final leg of their journey. This part was more than likely going to be the easiest of the arenas. That was, of course, as long as the murtlap family decided that they would trust Émile as much as Napoleon did. If the murtlap didn’t like him, then it would have been simple enough to ignore the peril that Émile had been in during the last arena. The merpeople probably wouldn’t have killed him, but the grindylow had been relentless as it was. Slightly more disadvantaged in the water and that would have been it for the Beauxbatons champion. Maybe that would have been the best way to go. Then he wouldn’t have been holding onto false hope that Napoleon actually had mutual feelings of trust towards him. Drowning by the hands, or fins rather, of vicious sea creatures during a task would leave a bigger mark in the history annals than getting bit to death by a pack of nearly naked beavers with sea anemone on their backs. That didn’t exactly sit well with him. Not that it would matter if he was dead.

Alas, that hadn’t happened, so Émile was stuck with whatever the murtlap family deemed necessary for his punishment, should there be one. Napoleon had suffered extreme temperatures in both the jungle and tundra, so if there was a way that it could convey those experiences to the other murtlaps, then Émile had an idea of what could possibly happen. He had a feeling that Napoleon was a straight shooter when it came to explaining things with the little yips and squeaks it gave off. Wanted lettuce? Two yips, no more, no less. It knew what it wanted, and relying that information to the rest of the family would probably happen in a similar fashion. Obviously Émile couldn’t speak murtlap, and probably never would, but it was a bet that he would be willing to place money on. Of course, it wouldn’t have been a Triwizard tournament task if there wasn’t some semblance of danger somewhere along the way. Émile had done his best to keep Napoleon as comfortable and happy as possible throughout their time during the task, so conveying those sentiments was absolutely necessary during this last trip to the murtlap nest.

Currently Émile and Napoleon were strolling along a rocky cliff face, having left the door from the previous arena behind a good while ago. The coastal environment was far different from the one that they were just in; the first notable difference being the stronger breeze (though not by much), then the roaring crash of the waves against the rocky coastline, and finally the feeling that he had been here before. That didn’t necessarily mean he had walked these exact same cliffs before. The setting gave off a very distinct vibe, déjà vu like, in a way, and Émile chalked it up to the fact that family excursions had been spent on similar coastlines when he was much younger. The majority of that time had been spent shacked up in a tiny seaside cottage with the rest of the family, pretending like they were normal people or something equally trivial like that. Émile was far from believing that his status as a pureblooded wizard awarded him special privileges, like some of his pureblood associates expected, but he still liked to live a certain lifestyle that was granted because of his father’s business. That quaint cottage was made for a family of three max, not one comprised of five and any remaining space going to Charles, the family’s Great Dane. Napoleon’s family would have easily fit in there, unless the murtlap had a couple dozen siblings. Then maybe they would have been in similar positions.

Speaking of the murtlap, Émile had virtually let Napoleon lead him along the coastline, since there really wasn’t much that the Beauxbatons student had to do this time around. Calling the area a barren wasteland wasn’t far from the truth; the windswept rocks from years of weathering were by far the most dangerous obstacle that lay before him. Aside from the possibility of impending doom at the buck teeth of ferocious murtlaps of course. From all the research that he had done prior to the task, Émile couldn’t recall if murtlaps had a sharp sense of smell, though from Napoleon’s maneuverability of the rocks, he was starting to think there was some kind of sign that there were other murtlaps in the area. Either that or they had very distinct nesting locations along coastlines, in which walking for any given amount of time would lead to one eventually. Either worked for Émile. He wasn’t exactly in a rush right now.

At one point, the cliff face that they were on started to round off and head back towards inland, or what Émile assumed would be inland if they weren’t inside the boundaries of a magical arena. Napoleon stopped as they came to this crossroad and hopped anxiously at the precipice. Émile followed the murtlap’s lead, and came to a halt a few inches from the face of the cliff. Peeking over, he could tell that there was land at the bottom of it. And by bottom of the wall, it was more like hundreds of feet below him. “We’re not going down there, are we?” He asked the murtlap. Napoleon didn’t budge from where he was, instead staring back at Émile with its stone-cold eyes. Man, this murtlap had a way with convincing him to do some crazy things. “Alright, fine. If that’s where we need to go, I can manage.” Heights weren’t exactly a problem, and neither was lowering Napoleon down. It was the actual climb that Émile was nervous about. If he had sufficient equipment to scale it, maybe that would make things easier. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t magically conjure of the necessary items, nor a broom, seeing as he hadn’t planned for it. That would be blasphemous, seeing as he knew he could climb it with his own skill.

Émile paced back and forth along the face for a few minutes, contemplating how to go about all of this. He hadn’t noticed the sky when he first entered this arena, but it was starting to look like a storm was brewing. If he was going to scale this wall, he would have to do it now, and fast. From his position at the top it looked like it was a sheer face. It was going to be difficult without the potential of having a slippery surface from rain. Adding to that, there was the wind that was still coming off the water, and there was no telling what would happen once a heavy storm rolled in. The pitch-black, billowing clouds that were inching closer and closer to his location were starting to threaten him with low, thunderous rumbles. That was most certainly a storm that he did not want to be caught in. Moving quickly, Émile decided to go with his first gut instinct and lower Napoleon down with a spell before he would attempt his climb. Danger wasn’t exactly a word he wanted to think of right now, and it wasn’t one that had stopped him before. The tournament had already granted him experiences that far exceeded anything Beauxbatons had done during his six years of schooling, and he was happy to acknowledge the tournament for that reason. Beating a manticore and escaping a yeti would make a death-defying cliff climb in ripping winds and bullet-like rain look like a joke. He was hoping he was right about that.

“Napoleon, I need you to stay still as I let you down,” Émile asked, more than stated. The murtlap needed to understand that this was how this was going to go, regardless of protests. “Ready?” Wand out, Émile cast a simple levitation charm on the murtlap. There were the squeaks of protest, which he had fully anticipated, but they weren’t anything close to soul-shattering. That was, until he brought the murtlap over the edge of the cliff and it spotted that the closest thing to touching its feet was hundreds of feet below it. The squirming wasn’t an issue with the spell, but Émile’s concentration wavered as Napoleon practically screamed on the way down. He couldn’t even imagine what that was like. Maybe their trust wasn’t as strong as he had thought. Keeping a watchful eye out for the ground, he felt the soft thump, if that made sense, of the spell around Napoleon touching the ground, and he spotted the murtlap bolt into the water nearby. As long as it was safe, Émile knew he could move onto his part.

Taking one last look over the water at the impending storm, Émile shoved his wand back in his pocket and took a deep breath. It was now or never. Finding another way around would take too long, if there even was a different route. The rain was coming fast, moving in visible sheets across the ocean. Sitting himself down on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling over it, Émile flipped his body around so that he could get a foothold. Climbing up walls was one thing, going down, another. This was going to be even more taxing on his body than the swim was. But it was also the end of the task. Mustering up the remainder of his strength, he started his descent. It was quick at first, but the further down he went, the harder it became to find pieces of rock that he could put his hands on. It was a race against the storm and his energy. If he didn’t get to the bottom before one of those, then they would make sure he’d reach it in record time. Not that he would know at that point. He would be dead.

One foot after the other. With each movement down, his hands went as well. To say that he wasn’t in pain would be a lie. The rocks weren’t exactly the smoothest things in the world, and the taxation on his muscles was starting to catch up again. There had been a short reprieve from the last arena to this point, but it wasn’t enough for him to gain back any kind of substantial energy that would be useful in this task. To make matters worse, the wind was picking up and the first spattering of rain was starting to hit the back of his neck and forearms. Pushing himself as fast as possible, in the sense that it was still somewhat safe to be climbing down this thing, Émile made quick work of the next part of the cliff. Though the steepest part was yet to come. There would have been no way of knowing exactly how precarious the cliff was going to be by looking down from the top. Napoleon may have gotten a glimpse, but the obvious language barrier made that communication null. Émile only had the pleasure of figuring it out once he felt his right leg place pressure on a small indent and then proceed to give out beneath his body as he lowered his weight down onto it. Had he been a professional rock climber, maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad, but he wasn’t, and it was.

Managing to hold onto one of the rocks as best he could, Émile felt his arms and knees scrape up against the rock face. That was going to hurt tomorrow. Kicking his hanging foot wildly around to find some sort of hold that could sustain his weight, his strength and energy to hold his body up by his arms started to give out. Trying to look over his shoulder in order to estimate how much he had to fall, Émile decided to take a chance with it. He was going down regardless at this point, whether it was by loss of energy, or losing to the storm by spending too much time looking for an alternate route. Closing his eyes and taking one last deep breath, he let go of the cliff and dropped. Gravity pulled him down instantaneously, and he felt his legs hit the ground in mere seconds. The pressure of landing from such a distance, in which he had no way to actually know how far up he was, knocked him onto his back as his legs buckled underneath him in a sickening crunch. It was the same leg as before, the one that had been landed on while tripping numerous times and grabbed by the grindylow herd that took to majority of the impact. For whatever reason his subconscious knew that was a part of him that he was willing to risk in order to stay alive. The pain told him it was broken, shattered maybe. His head told him that he needed to fix it immediately or he’d be behind Greyback at the end of this task. That was something he wasn’t willing to lower himself to. Wand back out, Émile stuck the tip to his leg and used Brackium Emendo. Enough duels and pick-up Quidditch matches in his younger days at school had taught him how to deal with massive injuries in an instant, this spell being one of the most effective and versatile when it came to bones. Though depending on the extent of the injury and his capacity to cast an effective healing spell under extreme distress and pain, he could very well end up hobbling to victory in a few short moments.

As Émile nursed his leg, Napoleon emerged from the water quickly upon seeing the Beauxbatons champion. Apparently the drop wasn’t too traumatizing. Unless it had decided in that span of time that enough was enough and Émile had to go. Now he had a busted up leg too; things were starting to look on the up and up for the murtlap family. “I’ll be fine. We’re almost done,” Émile struggled out as he pushed himself back to his feet. This was going to be tough. It felt like he hadn’t the leg correctly. Knowing the tournament runners, there would be healers at the end to fix him up. “We are almost done, right?” he inquired as Napoleon ran off in a direction again. Apparently so.

Hobbling down the narrow beach, using the cliff face he had just scaled as a man-made crutch of sorts, Émile kept the murtlap within sight as best he could. There was still a considerable walk ahead of him, and the rain had yet to let up. The sheets of rain he had seen before climbing down were now upon him, and suffice to say, it was hellishly miserable. He had thought that each arena had an exhaustive feature of its own, but now they had all added up and were really starting to take their toll. His leg was busted up, he had scrapes up and down his arms and legs from hugging the wall too tight, and he had been soaked through multiple times today. But he was stupid enough to still have a grin on his face. It hadn’t been present at the start of the task, but the yeti made him realize that this was still a fun thing to go through, even if death was a possibility. Émile knew he was cut out to complete the tasks with little to no struggle, so being granted a fight was more than he could ask for. This task had come through so far.

Émile rounded a small corner and was met with an alcove of some kind. Napoleon was sat on the ground in front of it, another murtlap sticking its head out from the darkness within, staring back at it. This was the nest. The negative thoughts were dashed away immediately. Now was the real goal of the task; to see if his trust and bonds with Napoleon pulled through. Situating himself a few feet behind where Napoleon was, Émile stretch his legs out to grant them some kind of relief. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remaining lettuce. If that wasn’t a sign of good faith, he didn’t know what was. “It’s up to you Napoleon. I won’t tell you what to do,” Émile stated, voice shaking slightly with anticipation. Gaining the jewel inside meant he passed the task at the base level, though communicating the bond he had create with Napoleon was even greater when it came to the overall scoring. The murtlap’s life over his. Émile was positive he had demonstrated that several times, despite some poor judgement from time to time. As he stated though, it was up to Napoleon to decide whether he was worthy or not, and all Émile could do was wait and see.

Word Total: 2,819

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The family of murtlaps seemed to discuss amongst themselves how they felt about Emile Chevalier, before handing over the blue gem to him! Hermione waited as, finally, the Beauxbatons champion made it out of his arena, blue gem clutched safely in his hand. She noticed him favoring one leg over the other; Madame Blacksmith would have to take a look at him and patch him up before he left to take a well needed shower. "Well done Mr. Chevalier," she said heartily. With one hand on his shoulder, she gently turned him in the direction of the judges tables. "You'll head on over there to get your score, and in the gold tent there our school nurse is waiting if you need any medical assistance. After that you can head back to the Beauxbatons carriage to wash up," she told him, nodding encouragingly for him to go get his final score.

FINAL ARENA SCORE: 9
TOTAL SCORE: 43

@emile , feel free to post a final, no word count reaction post then YOURE DONE

[Deleted]

@hermionejean /co-admin lisa

The murtlaps took a decent amount of time to deliberate on their decision to fork over the blue gem to Émile. Figuring it would take a couple of minutes, Émile slid down the rock wall that surrounded the murtlaps’ home. There wasn’t much else he could do at this point other than rest, and from there go to the door that apparently led to the end of the task. His mind started to wander to the arenas he had just completed, and Émile found himself physically shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts. This arena, and this task for that matter, wasn’t done yet. He would have months to look back and figure out how to improve before the final task began. There were obviously some mental hurdles he would need to get over. That much had been apparent during the first two arenas. If he entered the third task with the same mindset as he had during the first one, he would have his victory. He probably would anyways, but it was better to be prepared than not. That much was obvious.

After a few antagonizing minutes, Napoleon peeked its head out from the nest and squeaked a few times at Émile. Blinking at the murtlap, he scrambled to his feet and moved back towards the entrance. Napoleon was sat there with a decent number of murtlaps, each one moving out of the way to reveal a blue gem sitting near the back wall of the nest. Émile took that to mean they were giving it to him. Crouching down to his knees, he reached into the nest. He could feel the murtlaps reaching out to sniff his arm as it passed each one. A little voice in his head begged them not to chomp down on his arm all at the same time. He had been nice to Napoleon after all. That was the least they could do for him. Stretching a bit further, Émile felt his fingertips scrape against the wall at the back of the nest. Feeling around, they wrapped around something solid – meaning it wasn’t a murtlap. Retracting his arm, he produced the blue gem that was indicative of passing the task. Émile clenched his other fist in a small fist pump motion before standing back to his feet.

Napoleon and a few of the other murtlaps surrounded his feet, his friend hopping up onto Émile’s legs. Bending over, Émile stroked the Napoleon’s back one last time. “Merci. Time for you to go back to your family now Napoleon. Hopefully this,” Émile observed the gem once again, “leads us to victory.” Grinning, he patted the murtlap on the head and turned to leave. The door wasn’t as far away as he had initially thought. It was somewhat sad that he had to leave the murtlap behind, but that was where it belonged. Stepping through the final door, Émile looked back once more at the murtlap home.

Out he went, back the place he had started the day at. The Minister of Magic congratulated him for completing the task and pointed him in the direction of the nurse on hand. He simply nodded his head as he handed over the gem, not tearing his eyes away from the scoreboard for single moment. Greyback had a few less points than the Hogwarts girl, who was bosting a 44, whatever that meant. Probably individual scores for each arena. As he continued towards the nurse to get his leg checked out, he impatiently waited as the first number ticked over. A four. So that meant he was at least up there with the others. A quick spell and the leg wasn’t in pain, and another spell cleaned up all the cuts along his arms and legs from the jungle and grindylow. Hands gripped to the bench he was forced to sit on while receiving treatment, the second number ticked over. A three. Émile could feel an annoyed pressure take over his head. Only a 43? There was no way the Hogwarts girl did that well. Sure, she only finished the maze a minute behind him, but she had gotten an easier route than he had. Certainly the same happened this time. Probably the fact that it was her home course advantage. And not to mention the fact that the Minister was apparently related to her too.

Loosening his hold on the bench once the nurse was finished, Émile spun around and headed out of the arena where the onlookers were still mulling around. He didn’t have time to take any of their questions right now. Clearly he hadn’t been in the right mindset for this task, which he had already known about for a few weeks. Blaming his loss on Hogwarts or the committee was unlike him. Now he needed to figure out how to come back from this to pull out a victory in the final task. Greyback had been his competitor from the get-go, and Émile was starting to regret that. He had misjudged this girl. Molly Weasley was his target in the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Only a few short months remained before his victory. That was plenty of time to figure out how to take her down.

Word Total: 878

[THE END]