The effect of Dworf grasping hold of Bembry is complex, for it is not simply Bembry that he has grasped. Hood, seeing Dworf’s outstretched hand rise up to snag Bembry’s leg manages to unhitch the aetheric threads from his left hand in time, but not so for his right. Magic, as we know, is not simply some inconsequential endeavour, and any and all spells involve a complicated interplay of forces. It is not for no reason that Hood has set himself, or earlier when summoning a shield that he adopted a bracing posture. And it is not for no reason that with the sudden capture of Bembry and the sheer strength and weight of Dworf that Hood’s fingers in his right hand, twisted and clawed as they were, suddenly pop and break. Hood screams in pain, falling to his knees, the pain not only in his hand but in his throat also from screaming, for it is not for no reason that Hood seldom speaks. Realising, within this maelstrom of pain, the mistake of his automatic response, the scream fades to a squeak and then a whimper as Hood sobs silently, falling onto his side, clutching his damaged hand in the other. For an instant Hood closes his eyes, hovering on a knife edge of potentiality. He can feel the exhaustion in every fibre of his body, can feel the pain in his hand, in his throat, in his brain. There is a darkness there, beckoning, a place of rest, of solace, a place and state that smiles at him, promising the end of everything, a place, patient and waiting, a place that he could go to right now, a place he could drift to if he just gave up. Hood breathes deeply and allows his eyes to state his intent. Allows them to blaze open so that anyone who looked would understand that he still has things to do. With a steely resolve and an iron will, Hood pushes himself up into a cross legged position, his damaged hand in his lap, as he surveys the situation below, waiting for his opportunity.

As Hy-Jinx and the guards land on Dworf and the screaming from many locations starts, Dworf, his mind overrun and confused, decides to strike himself first upon the head, even though a large section of his brain is shrieking about the uncomfortable and bizarre sensation that is currently unfolding twixt his buttocks. Striking himself thus - an attempt to actually dislodge the unwanted guest that is clinging precariously by Dworf’s hair to Dworf’s head - he misses the first time, the guard twisting out of the way, but manages to grab him the second, tugging the guard violently, thereby tugging his own hair. Thus, Dworf manages to almost unbalance himself completely, crashing shoulder first into another supporting column, crushing the guardsman on his shoulder like a wheezing bagpipe, leaving him stuck to the pillar in a bloody mess.

All the while Bembry is screaming, being waved in the air, occasionally ducking to avoid having his brains bashed in by the floor or ceiling, depending on one’s perspective.

Seeing the gruesome demise of her comrade, the guardswoman, who has been trying to draw a sharp looking dagger whilst simultaneously clinging to the bulging bicep of Dworf’s left arm, makes the rational decision to simply let go and take her chances with the drop and the melee below. As she falls she manages to pull said dagger out from its sheath and thrust it into Dworf’s arm, tearing down his flesh, and using it as a means of slowing her descent.

“Aaaaarggghhh!” screams Dworf again, thrashing and writhing, crashing again into the same supporting column as previously, which cracks and strains under the assault. As he does this - blood spraying from the cut in his arm - the shock and pain causes him to let go of Bembry mid swing, and Hood, having bided his time, seizes the moment, and with a single hand begins again his rhythmic chanting, catching Bembry mid flight, slowing his momentum and lifting him gracefully through the air to place him carefully onto the baseless staircase.

BONG!

To any versed in magic, witnessing what Hood has just accomplished would be to have recognised and understood why what had just transpired was a virtuoso performance. Madeleine for example is simply stunned. To manipulate the threads of the real, threads which require balancing and weaving, with a single hand is unheard of. The complex, subtle adjustments that Hood has had to make were done intuitively and with a feeling for the aetheric flux that verges on artistry. Even within his exhausted state, Hood experiences a certain grim satisfaction with the spell he has just performed but also glimpses something that might set him apart in the future from most if not all of his contemporaries. But he has little time for reflection for although Bembry is now seemingly safe, the drama is still unfolding.