Naul grunted as he hit the soggy ground roughly, catching himself from completely splaying across the grass with the palms of his hands. The effects of the Depth Perception spell didn't assist his recovery at all, leaving him dizzy and disoriented, though slightly thankful he wasn't still standing.

The dark-eyed boy remained seated for a few moments, eyes closed, perhaps attempting to keep an expression of anticipation from creeping lopsidedly across his sharp features. Surely, his spell was more than a little uncomfortable for his opponent. He also tried to concentrate past the mind-altering affects of the spell he was under, knowing that to be too disoriented would completely hinder his chances of successful casting.

Mulling over what to do next while he desperately wrestled to clear his head, he cautiously gathered his field and opened his eyes to watch Vincent's moves, unwilling to invite backlash upon himself in his wobbliness.

The towering albino stumbled backwards, grunting in not unexpected pain. He took a moment to gingerly prod his large wound underneath his clothes. The sharp initial pain of separating skin had felt like a hot knife lancing across his torso. It now had receded into a smoldering pain on the surface of his chest, coupled with a steady pulse coursing throughout his body; a cut that had gained a heartbeat.

Blinking away the red that was gathering in the edges of his vision, Vincent stood for a moment contemplatively bleeding into his clothes. The red eyed boy himself was in pain, but not cripplingly so. It seemed that the other boy was still reeling from the spell that had taken effect on him.

He had eyed the crowd that was gathering. A noisy crowd. Perfect.
The Lashing only delayed what the red eyed boy was going to do next.

Sucking in a deep breath to momentarily shrug off the dull pain, he sang in a baritone prayer the spell for Auditory Assault.

Hoping he had enough focus, Naul struggled to stand, hearing the words of a familiar Perception spell and choosing to ignore the audience. There wasn't anyone who clocking impressed him in the bunch, anyway, and a crowd just wasn't even close to an audience without at least Athrym around. He didn't need their approval.

Field gathered, he huffed some of the white streaks of his bangs that had fallen into his view and spoke carefully the counter for Vincent's spell, moving his hands as he did so in preparation for his own casting. Just as he finished his last phrase of monite for his rebuttal, Nauleth decided not to wait for the results, choosing instead to add Rigor to the end of his casting as if it belonged there. Though his success with the spell had been limited before, he'd hoped the edge of authority he'd tentatively put into his tone would be at least an educational experiment.

Sure, it was a clocking intermediate spell. The tall albino had questioned his abilities after all. He could surely handle the truth. Here it was, one clocking spell at a clocking time.

Naul's counter was careful and presice, and the mona acted in kinda, rebuking the Auditory Assault with a sharp taste of rancid butter in the older students mouth. As the follow through of Rigor was placed, there was a change in the air. Both duelers and spectators would feel it, a hush fell over the Lawn. Advanced spells could be messy business, and there was something more. Naul's extra curricular activities had changed the feel of his casting. It was more of an order than a request.

And it almost worked.

Vincent would feel his legs stiffen, like two solid planks of wood. The feeling traveled up his body slowly, tensing every muscle painfully, but it was slowing, reaching his hips before it stopped completely. Around them, the mona hummed quietly, almost like a scolded child, and Naul would feel a slightly familiar ache in his teeth as the spell worked, but not quite right. The occupants of the Lawn could feel the suprise in the air.

It seemed everything waited for the next move.

One day, he'd get that clocking spell right. He winced, one hand straying to his jaw for a moment as he regarded Vincent curiously to judge the extent of his success or failure,. Still wavering a little under the unsobering affects of the Depth Perception spell, he had to squint in a slightly undignified manner, but there wasn't much he could help about that. At least he'd managed to stave off the Auditory Assault spell. Countering was a little more useful than he'd ever bothered to give it credit for.

Nauleth tried to steady himself and regather his field, mind churning over a few possibilities. Deciding that turnabout was fair play in Lawn exercises, he extended a hand in front of him, opening his palm in action that echoed his spoken monite for Push, twisting Depth Perception carefully into the end. Just for the tocks of it.

Frederick was having an unusually pleasant day. The sort of fake pleasant that was required of him if he planned to succeed at Brunnhold. He’d convinced two of the braver souls in the unofficial fencing class to spar with him, and picked up some of their more polished mannerisms. Oh, the practical techniques Master Stephanus had taught him would help him survive an actual assault, but it seemed survival in society demanded a more ornamental flare. Sure, Fred had had to wince once or twice as the older students had flaunted their superior status, but at least he could start to fit in better among the student athletes.

The practice foil clanged softly against his belt as he walked the Lawn.
Truth be told, the non-brutal method seems to have been just as much exercise as Old Harte’s bashing. Uses completely different muscles. Maybe I’ll go for a run later to loosen up. But first, some practice with…

Small crowds on the Lawn were nothing new. Nauleth being at the center of one was also fairly common. Still, the reactions seemed to speak of something more impressive than the normal.

Ah, that fellow… he’s as much duelist as Naul. Maybe this is worth a look.

The towering albino clenched his teeth, giving a moan in pain at the legs that did not want to move. Today was a pain bonanza, and it seemed like Vincent was now an owner of more than his fair share. Gods, he was going to be waking up sore tomorrow morning.

He glanced up at the swaying boy in front of him. He was a strong one indeed. His red eyes eagerly widened. The grimace of pain became one of manic calculation. The problem in front of him was fascinating, and he was going to solve it. His mind was racing in a whirlwind of possibilities, pain temporarily dimmed towards his senses.

A Depth Perception with a Push? That would be an irritation and a half to get out of on top of the fact that he was paralyzed standing in one place also on top of that any sudden impact on his body would send a fresh wave of shallow pain throughout his body. Irritating indeed.

A conventional counter would take too long, and Nauleth was about to finish. Vincent did not have time to come up with such a combination.
The albino gathered his field as much as he could in preparation and whispered Counterspell to cut through what was about to hit him.

The Counterspell weaved, building as Nauleth finished his casting, perhaps a fraction too slow. It caught the Depth Perception as it landed, whisking the vision altering spell away like so much blown dust. The Push spell however, had reached Vincent before it could be stopped, and like a giant white tower, he fell stiffly backwards, crashing to the grass. His legs stuck out straight from the hips down, but he was still capable of upper body movement.

Excited, some of the students cheered, others mumbled and hissed disapproval. It seemed they were taking sides. The crowd was growing.

Vincent did not hit the ground softly, nor gently. His legs prevented him from from even the respite of twisting as he fell and catch himself with his arms. The albino landed on his back with his long arms flailing for something in the air to break his fall. His fingers found nothing in the drizzling air.

For a split second the red eyed boy lied on the damp grass, contemplating what on earth to do next. He luckily wasn't very winded for someone who had the ground pound on his back squarely between the shoulders. That at least was something. A burst of pain flared brightly on his chest for a moment, and then faded again to a dull throb.

He was definitely going to be sore come tomorrow.

Vincent's red eyes glanced involuntarily at the growing crowd, then back to the boy that he was dueling.

"Quite the fix you have me in, Siordanti," the older boy offered unsarcastically. That was a good Rigor spell, even if it only partially worked.

Vincent offered a polite request for Pull to get him back up firmly onto his feet, like a helping hand. Without skipping a beat he channeled all the aches and pains in his body to amplify his purring intonation of Pain, aiming to cast at a level beyond the basic norm.

Nauleth smiled wanly, aware that a spell that wasn't a total failure or at least not a backlash was still some kind of success. He knew the second spell that escaped Vincent's lips quite well, and while he understood that turn about was fair play, the dark-eyed boy wasn't necessarily willing to take a Pain spell lying down. So to speak.

Rigor didn't seem to be wearing off right away, which was somewhat useful. Naul decided to vary from the norm and take advantage of the slight physical trap he had the tall albino in for a bit. So, very aware of the discomfort in his direction, he calmly spoke the monite for Nausea, smile broadening into a mischievous grin as he did so.

Vincent Pull request had nothing to hold onto, like throwing a grappling hook into thin air. Vaugely, he felt an ache in his jaw and a tingle across his cheeks as the mona gathered and dissapated with slight irritation. Fortunatly, the Rigor spell had begun to wear off, and the albino would find he could move his legs, stiff as if post-cramps. His Pain spell on the other hand, had excellent results.

As Nauleth rattled off the Nausea spell, he would find himself hit with the full agonizing force of Vincent's Pain. It would feel like every nerve in his body had just been ripped apart. There was still part of the Nausea spell to complete, and it would take a good deal of strength to finish it with pain wracking his entire being. The mona gathered, waiting and ready, pending release.

Around them, more students gathered, audiably cheering and taking firm sides. Some of the older students began to place bets.

Taking a precious moment, the towering albino finally rolled into his heels to the keening complaints of his calves and thighs. By this time, blood was definitely noticeably seeping through his jacket. Wincing as he once again stood up to his full imposing height, he knew full well that he was going to be sore come tomorrow morning. But now was not the time to give it any more thought. For he had a duel to win, and pride as a sorcerer to uphold. The younger student was good, but it was time for a finish.

Vincent wasted no time while the other boy was still in agony from the albino's Pain. He recognized that Nausea was coming, and he really did not want to vomit his lunch. He liked today's lunch, thank you very much. He had to push himself further into the upper hand that he had gained, and it would not do to miss this opportunity.

With the Pain spell still having effect on Nauleth, Vincent decided to offer a respite. In a single movement, he carefully recited the counterspell for Nausea. It wouldn't do it that spell brailed on the dark eyed boy during what the albino was going to do next. The older boy chased with the counter with an intonation of Sleep.

Nauleth was determined not to brail. His voice wavered and his vision blurred, the searing strength of Vincent's spell impressive and uncomfortable and certainly unexpected, but he wasn't about to just roll over. Attempting to focus above the strength of the spell, the dark-eyed boy clenched his hands into fists and sought to finish casting Nausea.

Brailing was worse than leaving a good spell unfinished, though he could only grasp wildly at his own thought process through the pain, unsure if his attempt at authority would really shine through in his monite given the current excruciating circumstances.

It was still worth a clocking try.

(( i am dice rolling this one..2 counter spell...5 sleep ))

In his haste to cast his next spell, Vincent's monite for the counterspell was off, only slightly, and the mona almost cringed in disgust. Briefly, he felt like he might have escaped the horrid onslaught, but as Nauleth finished his casting, determined through the pain, Vincent would feel himself go cold and clammy all over, hands shaking and stomach reeling. His lunch was probably nice going in, but it was disgusting and smelly coming out.

The Sleep spell, he spoke clearly, and like a ton of bricks, Nauleth would begin to feel its effects, eyelids drooping. There was still time to fight if off before Vincent finished, but it was anyones guess to how effective it would be. Through both agony and exhaustion, it would be a miracle if the salt and pepper haired boy could find his way out of this one.

Vincent could already feel the bile rising thickly in his throat. In a hurry, the albino desperately checked at his options. If he attempted anything at this point, he was definitely going to brail or misfire. Neither were good options, and he was out of time.

The older boy dearly hoped that he wouldn't develop a taste aversion to chocolate pudding from this.

Oh, for the love of clocking - he managed a half a thought before his knees buckled and he leaned over gripping his thighs to stop himself from falling over from the force of his retching. After a moment it came up in relentless tides, burning his throat and tongue on the way out onto the ground in a putrid and horrifying pool in front of him. It was not a pleasant, nor a dignified sight.

As quickly as his vomiting erupted, so it subsided. If there one good thing that took the bite out of issuing the contents of one's stomach, it was the endorphins that flooded the red eyed boy's system immediately afterward. It was cool and comforting, like a breeze on his heaving body. His legs and even his chest wound hurt a little less because of it.

Nauleth was robbed of any satisfaction at watching the results of his successful spell on Vincent, so flooded with conflicting sensations that his head swam and his nerves howled. It would've been terribly brilliant to watch someone else vomit their lunch at the expense of a few words of monite instead of himself, but the dark-eyed boy was too busy trying to gain control of his senses and his consciousness. Nothing seemed to quite be willing to come into focus—it hurt too much or he was suddenly too tired.

Unable to smile, he simply groaned.

How in Alioe's name was he supposed to get himself out of this mess? Gods, he didn't know.

Watching the towering albino slowly recover, Naul sought to fight off the Sleep spell, willing himself somewhat reluctantly to focus on the fire that ached in the very nerves of his body. That pain would have to serve to keep him awake, regardless of just how excruciating it was. The spell had been cast exquisitely enough that under any other circumstance, he would've appreciated it. Right now, it could only be a tool. It had to serve a purpose.

Gritting his teeth and attempting to gather his field, he slowly steadied himself and let his suffering be the force behind the monite he spoke, carefully weaving together Olfactory Assault and Dullness, attempting to take advantage of the results of his previous spell Vincent had so uncontrollably sputtered onto scorched, soaked grass of the Lawn.

To say Pain can motivate even the weakest of souls is probably an understatement. To say that Naul's woven spell worked perfectly might have been called an understatement too. When the story of the duel was retold later that evening, those who were there to witness it still gagged at the memory.

A buzz filled the air, and a tightness could be felt in the back of Nauls shoulders as the two spells merged, leaving him, forced on by his Pain. Even as the agonizing spell began to thankfully wear off, the casting was already done. The salt and pepper haired boy would feel a sudden weakness all over, and sense of heaviness would drag at him. Black spots would swim in his vision and he would find himself unable to stand any longer. There was nothing left for him to give.

From beside Vincent, the steaming pile, disgustingly innocent, suddenly seemed to assult the boy's sense of smell with a violent and unrelenting persistance. His head would feel cottony and the smell would turn his stomach. Unfortunatly, the Olfactory-Dullness Assult did not stop there. Pushed on by Nauleth's Pain, it reached the spectators. A unified groan rose from the students, some clasping their noses, others turning to vomit on the nearest set of shoes. And so it rippled through the crowd, bile-eaten chunks escaping through fingers clamped on mouths, screams and gagging coming from within as the galdori tried to escape the onslaught of smell. Groggily, they stumbled away, teachers looking on perplexed as they began to approach the scene, stopping short and clamping their hands over their noses at the sight and smell.

As the students left, the spells began to fade, leaving the two battle-weary boys on the lawn alone. Around them, the mona seemed to sing triumphantly. It might not have been pretty, but it had been a fantastic duel.

Oh gods above, the smells were awful.

The Olfactory Assault was a thorough spell in taking it's time in fading away. It was almost exquisite, the way that the albino's vision was all but completely blurry through the tears that welled up in his hawk eyes and leaking out in tandem with the force of his retching. Slow but sure, the strength of Nauleth's last spell petered out and the commingled stenches of vomit pulled back in its intensity. The smell was still godsawful, but at least now somewhat bearable. Vincent suspected the only reason he was no longer vomiting even now was that he had gagged up even the last vestiges of stomach acid. At this point, he had nothing left to give.

Still shaking from his labored breathing, the older boy pulled himself up off his hands and knees and into something that resembled a person still in proper control of his legs. Gods, that was exhausting. He looked down upon his jacket with dismay at the strings of bile and spit clinging to its arms and midsection. He numbly flung his arms in attempt to get some of it off, with no such luck. Disgusting.

Taking another deep breath of the horrifyingly awful air that was layered around him, he finally focused his attention on something that was not his person: the young man who challenged him.

That fight was quite challenging, especially from someone that much his junior.

With a careful eye at the ground, he wound his way through the proverbial mine field over to Nauleth's prone form. Pausing over the fallen boy, he hovered for a moment in indecision. He didn't want to stick around in what now turned into a sewer any longer than he needed to, and he was not going to carry the dark-eyed boy to the infirmary. He continued his indecisive hovering, unable to reach through his own exhaustion and decide on precisely how he now intended to aid the fallen.

As much as Naul would've wanted to gloat and bask in the glorious wave of disgust he'd managed to create with a single spell, but any hint of enjoyment was stolen from his senses in a rather excruciatingly painful way. Instead, he could only sink to his knees and slowly sprawl backwards into the wet, spell-scarred grass.

At least he was out of range of any danger from projectile stomach contents, but the sounds of an entire audience losing their lunch was both brilliant and disturbing at the same time. It would have been a rousing victory had it not been for the fiery protest of his nerves and the somewhat conflicting dull tiredness that seemed to flog at what senses weren't burning in agony.

Then the taller, older albino was hovering over him—or so he assumed by the movement visible from behind his heavy eyelids.

Nauleth groaned, sputtering a little in the rain, "If you're going to be clocking sick any further, I'd really prefer it if you didn't stand so close." One eye cracked open, the other squinting further shut in a half-wince, half-cautious expression that was both very lopsided and slightly comical, "However, if you're conceding, I whole-heartedly accept."

He struggled to his elbows, slightly smug.

"I have nothing left to heave, Siordanti. You made sure of that," came the rumbling from behind the albino's mouth. The rain was starting to pick up now, as if the sky had been waiting for the afternoon's proceedings to finish. It was almost poetic, really. It vaguely reminded Vincent of a melancholic scene, right before the make-up from that certain something that he hid away in his sock drawer...

He shrugged lazily; he was too drained to challenge the younger boy's jibe. He scratched the back of his head absently, trying to clear his head faster in the wake of post-vomit endorphins. He was starting to feel less tired already. The pain from the wound on his chest was still throbbing dully.

"Well," he started in a tone that was too serious to match up with the humorously conspicuous amount of vomit spittle at the corners of his mouth. "that ending was quite ambiguous. And I," he extended a hand for the dark-eyed boy to grab onto. "think that it is better off to call that one a draw. After all, we were clashing together in the spirit of debate. I will give you props though for making the bystanders vomit alongside of me."

His greek nose was wrinkled in bemused amusement at how evenly things were cut just minutes prior. Perhaps it was a mistake to take a leave from dueling, even for such a paltry amount of time as a few months. How quickly did juniors nowadays catch up with him. How curious...

"You were stronger than I remembered you being."

"I like ambiguous endings." Naul quipped, eying the offered hand to make sure it was actually clean before accepting any assistance to stand. He was wobbly, and standing hurt. After a groan, he smirked, "Sometimes, anyway."

Making somewhat of a faltering effort to straighten his jacket in the rain, he took a groggy moment to bask in the glory of what had transpired, messy and gross and terribly exciting. The dark-eyed boy might have grinned a little, subtle and lopsided, but it was short-lived through the slow ebbing of the pain spell.

He hummed almost absently at Vincent's complement—at least, he hoped it was a compliment and not sarcasm,

"Well, I have been seeking to advance my studies outside of class. It's good to know that there's some evidence of that somewhere in my casting after all these years." Naul's expression was something between wolfish and smug, though the tone of his voice revealed less pride than his face. He knew where he'd come from, at least.

"Not all of us have graduation to worry about right away. Though, surely, you haven't been neglecting independent study, have you?"

(( Tiiiiif I'm sorry for taking so long dear god it's been a month forgive meeeee ))

"Oh, I have not. Not in years," the snowy-haired boy glanced around his current vomit covered environment, wanting to vacate as quickly as possible. The smell was starting to get to him. "Let us away. All of this puke in one place is unsettling."

He started making in way out of the field through the literal minefield of stomach acid and chunks of half-digested food in various states of solidity and color in lieu of waiting for a response.

"But going back to what we were discussing, I have been studying on my own. It really does win brownie points with the teachers when you previously had a reputation for indiscriminately knocking off blocks down at the Lawn."

Vincent did voice the fact that knocking off blocks was code for bullying kids who used to nag on him and then proceeding to beat the tar out of them. Nauleth would probably know this without saying.

"So I suppose my independent works for me, though this fight has called that into question," he stated wryly.