Post by Damien Anderson on Sept 9, 2017 14:28:54 GMT -5
[[22 August]]
It was now. It was today. The roar had been building all day, from the near silence of the early morning to the rumble of the late morning and now. Now.
The roar of thousands of voices, all raised in conversation, or in song, or to shout at the other team. Now the Kelpies were checking their equipment, double testing buckles, inspecting their brooms. Damien tugged his leather helmet down over his head, buckling it securely. The leather had charms built in to repel bludgers, preventing a fatal blow to the head. Even with their lightening charms, Bludgers were extremely heavy and solid, a straight hit with the solid iron object would obliterate a head. As bloodthirsty as quidditch fans might be, no one wanted to see brains scattered across the pitch.
They walked out into the tunnel, Damien fist-bumping Wash, his fellow beater. The signal was given, and they all mounted their brooms and shot out of the tunnel into the sky.
"--FACING OUR CHAMPIONS, THE SCOTLAND KELPIES!"
The announcer roared over the crowd, rocketing to its collective blue and white feet. The announcer went on to describe the team, each member peeling off as his name was called to show off for the crowd on his broom. "AND YOUR FAVORITE BEATER, DAMIEN THE STING!!"
Damien did a loop-de-loop for the crowd, swooping low over his family and waving to his brother. "WITH HIS PARTNER, THE STRAIGHT-SHOOTING WASH THUNDER!"
It was now. It was today. The roar had been building all day, from the near silence of the early morning to the rumble of the late morning and now. Now.
The roar of thousands of voices, all raised in conversation, or in song, or to shout at the other team. Now the Kelpies were checking their equipment, double testing buckles, inspecting their brooms. Damien tugged his leather helmet down over his head, buckling it securely. The leather had charms built in to repel bludgers, preventing a fatal blow to the head. Even with their lightening charms, Bludgers were extremely heavy and solid, a straight hit with the solid iron object would obliterate a head. As bloodthirsty as quidditch fans might be, no one wanted to see brains scattered across the pitch.
They walked out into the tunnel, Damien fist-bumping Wash, his fellow beater. The signal was given, and they all mounted their brooms and shot out of the tunnel into the sky.
"--FACING OUR CHAMPIONS, THE SCOTLAND KELPIES!"
The announcer roared over the crowd, rocketing to its collective blue and white feet. The announcer went on to describe the team, each member peeling off as his name was called to show off for the crowd on his broom. "AND YOUR FAVORITE BEATER, DAMIEN THE STING!!"
Damien did a loop-de-loop for the crowd, swooping low over his family and waving to his brother. "WITH HIS PARTNER, THE STRAIGHT-SHOOTING WASH THUNDER!"
