Got an ask about the first things I considered about Harper. It's been so long since I started thinking of them that I had to go back in my WIPs to figure it out. This is their first appearance.
It's the very first draft of Untitled Fantasy Game. I'll probably use some version of this in the final draft. A lot's changed since this version, so it'll need some tweaking.
This was supposed to be a quiet night; A routine check-in.
The building was burning when you arrived.
With a stifled curse you duck down behind an overturned table, narrowly avoiding the fireball lobbed at your head. Heat sears across the fine hairs of your arm, and you breath out assessing your position.
Your opponent is easy to track. Judging by inane, uncontrollable cackling, and the fireball you just dodged, you'd place the creature by the far wall to your left, blocking the exit. Damn.
The once-elegant ballroom is in shambles. Fires have erupted across the carpeted interior, and furniture lies in haphazard piles. Black smoke chokes out the light from the chandeliers, and the ominous orange glow of the fires lights up the chaos of the room. A few unfortunate guests lay dead in the debris. You arrived too late for them.
To your right, you notice Landrian cowering behind a food cart. Their gray eyes are open wide, dark skin ashen in the glowing embers. They're chanting quietly, a sickly purple light pulsating between their long, trembling fingers.
Beside them Harper raises his pistol and fires two rounds into the creature, hitting center mass. He’s broad where Landrian is slim, and a head taller than them, short, blonde hair loose and framing his face.
You look around for Avery, but can’t see her. You could have sworn—
You start when Harper ducks behind your makeshift cover. He's flushed red from the heat, but smiling, wide grin dimpling his cheeks.
"Never a dull moment, huh?" He chuckles, and reloads his pistol.
"Not with you around." You return his smile, winking.
Harper's always been something of a magnet for trouble. Ever since you were kids.
He chambers another round, and you duck behind him, stepping out of cover to aim at the creature.
You fight fire with fire, and launch a spell.
It hits dead center, the creature's pale, sickly skin bubbling and blackening as your spell burns across its body.
It shrieks in agony, clawing at itself with enough fervor to tear its own flesh. The sound reverberates through the room and you have to steady yourself as a wave of magical force slams into you. A chair chatters to the floor beside you. To your left a scorched corpse lurches upright, and you take a startled step back, hand pressed to your chest. It takes you a moment to remember the source.
You pause, twisting to glare at Landrian. They mouth “sorry”, but continue their chant and move the abomination forward. It shambles toward the still shrieking creature, dead fingers clasped around a discarded steak knife. With unnatural speed, the corpse stabs the creature, dragging the knife up its torso as black blood oozes out over the carpeted floor. The creature babbles out a deranged laugh then slices through the corpse with razor sharp claws. The corpse drops and the creature turns, tossing another fireball at your position.
How the fuck is this thing still standing?
With an irritated sigh you aim another spell at the creature, but your concentration falters when an enormous panther leaps from the shadows.
