  DoMVeela
Join Date: Sep 2007 Location: Themyscira
Posts: 37,610
Hogwarts RPG Name:
Nerissa M. Tate
Sixth Year
  x8
|  Wowza!
When nothing came out of the bushes, the Gryffindor was left wondering if it'd been a product of his imagination. He'd have been willing to chalk it up to nerves had there been any at play just then; mostly, Levi found it difficult to be nervous when it was so bloody hot. Sweat continued to build up just about everywhere he thought it could possibly cover and the boy, perhaps recklessly, gave his back to the bushes and turned back to focus on the carvings in question.
It was, as he'd previously deduced, runes. Runes that he'd spent the entire term studying with Declan and hadn't really come into play in the competition. Not until now, anyway, though he'd heard Brent Westwood had managed to use them all the same. It was not a particularly long message, but to his modern roman alphabet accustomed eyes it appeared to be, at first. No amount of time studying Futhark would ever make him an expert; it just wasn't meant to be. But Levi did not think needed to be an expert at Ancient Runes to identify the letters presented before him, nor to decode what was clearly a message.
He he used aguamenti, again, for refreshment, though it also cleared his head, somewhat, an added effect he hadn't been counting on but welcomed all the same. He cast diffindo to cut the grass around him, and aguamenti here and there to create a light layer of mud he could use to write on. When the ground beneath him was soft enough, Levi squatted down, craning his neck from one side to the other. Foolishly, he wished for a ruler, which wouldn't help the outcome of this at all, nor his transcription; but there was always something very clear and precise about the way in which the runic alphabet had been designed. All lines and hooks. Snappy and clean.
Though, of course, there was some interpretation involved at times, the meanings were always quite--well, transparent wasn't exactly the word, here, but. Plain! That was the word. The meaning was plain if one knew what to look for.
Levi sat back for a moment, forgetting the mud and how it was now most likely spread all over the back of his trousers. He licked his slightly dry lips, and moved forward to scribble down on the mud with the tip of his wand, sweat making him lose grip, momentarily. He caught it just in time, right before it slipped completely out of his grasp and onto the mud. A little disgruntled, he switched his wand to his left hand and cast prehenso on his right one. When he took it again, his palm was still sweaty and honestly, a little muddy--but the grip was significantly different. Almost like an invisible hook attached his wand to his hand, which was fortunate, of course, considering the message that he was about to discover.
The lines of concern touched with some confusion were clear on his face when he sat back again. Somewhere, strict english language teachers dedicated to teaching spelling were rolling in distaste at his transcription. But the message was clear. This door remains closed while the snake roams free. There was no snake as far as the boy could see, but he was also in a strange forest that looked and felt a lot like what he thought an African forest might feel and look like. Snakes were--slippery and smart and they knew when and how to make themselves known.
For all he knew he had one resting atop of his head. Which, he didn't, but paranoia made him brush his hair just in case.
There was very little doubt in him that the message in question was, not what would open the door, but a warning of what was to come before the door could be opened. He was under no delusions that transcribing was the end of it; he had the three previous challenges under his belt to know that it was never easy. And this was the final one, too--there was no way the competition would not end with a bang.
Levi stood up, nerves finally beginning to settle in, and looked around. His shield remained in place thanks to his usage of fianto duri, but he felt horribly exposed, all the same. Locaritus had served him well back during the second challenge--even if it had been just a dream--so he cast it again upon his chest, loud and clear, as if by choosing the verbal route of spell-casting would make it more powerful. He willed it to spread over his chest and legs and arms. To balance out the weight of the invisible armor, he said, "Featherlight.".
Now the question was--what kind of snake was coming from him? A basilisk? He shuddered, visibly. The rustling behind the bushes had been the initial warning, surely. And would confringo or defodio come in handy? He had suggested both, in the past, when answering Hirsch's questions in Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. Time to put his money where his mouth was.
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