These are the dark woods, just north of the Castle Schwarz. These can be dangerous woodlands at night.
A creek runs through it. With time, it's eroded a gorge. It flows a lot. Downstream, it powers a lot of Muggle water mills...
On either side of the creek, Black, Zwart, and Schwarz teleport onto either side of the creek. Black and Schwarz are clad in green robes; Zwart's in a blue one.
One at a time, other neighboring pureblood wizards teleport on either side of the creek, among Black, Schwarz, and Zwart. All in all, seven wear green robes, and seven wear blue ones. They're the Avery twins, Flint, Slughorn, Rowle, Greengrass, Crouch, the Carrow twins, Bulstrode, and Abbott.
Besides Schwarz and Black, the elder Carrow, the younger Avery, Slughorn, Abbott, and Bulstrode all wear green robes. All the others wear blue ones.
They stand on either side of the creek, glaring at each other. Tonight, they're here to settle a score...
"There's only so much room in Old Germany," Schwarz shouts across the creek, "for pureblood wizarding families! We're a national treasure. If there are too many of us, our treasure will lose its value!"
"Fuck you all," Rowle yells. "The whole damn world needs silver, diamonds, and emeralds. The whole world needs to be more like us. Otherwise, who are we to the wizarding world if we can't overbreed, and outcompete all the Muggles and Mudbloods and half-breeds?"
"If that's truly your answer," Schwarz shouts, "then in retaliation, we must do what's necessary. If we can't settle this like wizards...we might as well settle this like basilisks and raptors!"
"So be it," Rowle shouts. "It will be as it is in chess. White will move first...and then...WE'RE AT FUCKING WAR!"
"HOOYAH," the green robes shout.
"HOOAH," the blue robes shout.
With a flick of their wrists, they all summon their broomsticks, one by one. All of the green robes fly Njordstrom Silver broomsticks; the blue robes fly Coelus Bronze ones.
Icily, they both stare at each other. This is going to be a bloodbath; they can both tell.
Rowle breaks the ice, by holding up a Quaffle. Next, he beams. "Let's play!"
With that, he throws the big ball into the air. From the ground, the fourteen wizards take to the sky. A Chaser takes possession of the Quaffle, and leads the charge onto a nearby Quidditch pitch.
In each end zone of the pitch, three rings stand, atop tall poles. At one end, the poles are silver. At the other, the poles are bronze.
The green-robed team calls themselves the Basilisks. The blue-robed team are the Raptors. They play like hornets, dogfighting one another for possession of the Quaffle. The Keepers hover here and there, between the hoops, daring one of the Chasers to try to take a shot...
Abbott plays keeper for the Basilisks; Crouch plays the same position for the Raptors. Both are extremely prejudiced against the Quaffle; they prove it, each time the block a hoop. As usual, Abbott seems more gifted at doing so than Crouch.
This fight is intense. They could go on all night, like this. And BAT'S the way (uh-huh, uh-huh!) they like it...
In the boxes, the High Council of Hydra watches the match. Very seldom, to Muggles ever get to witness a Quidditch match in action.
Fennhoff seems fascinated, by how the process works. He's sure like to know how to get his victims to hallucinate something like this...
Manfredi seems obsessed with the aerodynamics of the game. His obsession seems to run in the family; he's already got a son who's obsessed with bats.
Vermis seems fascinated. She almost wants to put on her Spider-Woman suit, and throw the Quaffle around with them...
Shishido grins, as he's almost tempted to stare one of those players in the face, and watch them fall off their brooms like rocks... Alas, he manages to resist that urge, somehow...
He does petrify one Beater, though, before the match ends. (The Beater was one of the Raptors...)
Lascombe smiles, as he imagines Tactical Force and Hammer playing in this game. Neither one of them would need broomsticks... But then, with that said, they'd both have an unfair advantage... So, instead, he imagines a Quidditch team starring the Tactical Forces and the Hammers; seven replicas of Tactical Force vs. seven replicas of Hammer, that is...
Sinclair seems fascinated. This is almost enough to inspire her to go back to broomstick-flying, in her own Sight sorcery...
All Zola does is analyze the scientific minutae of the game; airspeed of the brooms, angles of their travel relative to one another and the balls, etc. There's lots of geometry, trigonometry, calculus, and physics in this game...whether the two teams want there to be or not.
Rüdiger stands and applauds, each time one of the Beaters knocks an opposing player off his broom. Now THAT'S what Hydra Supreme calls sportsmanship...
Fisk has already gone around, collecting bets on both teams. It seems that most of them are betting on the Basilisks...
Tonight, they leave the Castle Schwarz unattended...hosts and all. At least the lady of the castle is still there to man the battlements on the wall...if she's even good for that sort of thing.