swordlock

@championofgold

“HORSIES!”

This was the second best day of her life! Adora ran towards the field, nearly tripping over the fence that separated her from the horses. “Horsies, horsies, come over here!” She may have been scared when it came to petting her first horse, but petting Swift Wind had cured her of that fear and now all she wanted was to pet the multitude of horses in the field. “Come here, horsies!”

Perhaps it was raw, primal instinct that drew her to the open field. Perhaps it was fate itself playing a cruel joke on her. Either way, her dirt-gathering project’s put on hold. She’s a few yards away from someone trying so, so hard to pet these horses. Clíona’s willing to bet they’re not completely wild, but that didn’t mean they’d come near someone being so loud.

Despite her distaste for the creatures, she can’t help but be amused: this kid looks like a moron. Which was the perfect opportunity to stop doing actual labor and have a little fun. Maybe fate wasn’t playing a cruel joke on her, after all. And if it were, it’s nothing against her whims. Any excuse to get out of digging around in dirt, surrounded by horses, was excuse enough for her.

“Of course! I love trying new things or new recipes,” she answered brightly, continuing on her way over with slightly more care in her movements. She didn’t want to ruin someone else’s night by running into them while they carried something, and the offer to join Clíona wouldn’t take that long to accept.

She wasn’t going to stop and gawk at the few hooded people on their way through; people here dressed strangely and she’d mostly accepted it. Well, she wasn’t going to stop until they plowed through right in front of her, knocking the plate from her hands with just a rough brush of an arm.

“Ahh! The cake!” she cried, soon wearing a dashed expression and a hand over her mouth. There was no saving it now. 

She bobs her head in a nod, “There is no shortage of foods to try here--” And, unfortunately for her and several folks around her, there wouldn’t be much of an opportunity to try the rest. She’d been too busy watching Karen move through the crowd - and holding back a laugh - to notice some of those hooded figures standing at the ends of the table.

Karen’s plate hits the ground, and the table and all its plates follow not long after.

Clíona still has a fork in her hands when this happens - the scene itself is almost comedic. She’s sitting there, poised to take another bite, with a mess of food and furniture around her. And for once, she isn’t the one who did it.

“Why must it always be something? Can a woman not enjoy a meal in peace?” She stands with a grunt, placing one of her hands on the back of her chair and looking out among the crowd. And what is it with groups of hooded people being absolute bastards?

@championofgold

＞　He’s been seeing multiple versions of other people he knew were alive running around already, so Zaveid isn’t surprised to see himself; the form he takes is still a little jarring, dead and rotting, and running fast. He thinks for a moment that running would be a good idea before seizing the opportunity to do something he’s been wanting to do for nearly two millennia.

  Beat the shit out of himself.

  The seraph only takes a few hits before the runner is bound in the cords of his pendulums, swinging the creature around to one side. “Finally getting what you deserve,” he grunts, putting all his strength into sending it - him? - flying across the lot. “You stupid bastard!” 

Meeting up with Zaveid is something of a blessing, Clíona thinks, if only because it means she doesn’t have to get through the awkward initial conversation that comes with meeting someone new in combat. It also meant she could get right to fighting and ignoring the voice in the back of her head that told her she’d be seeing more literal ghosts of people she’s known and killed, or a combination of the two.

She flourishes her spear and watches the corpse fly across the lot, grinning with a sort of wild fervor as she dashes forward and sticks the bladed end upwards. [Attack Roll: 17+6=23] [Damage Roll: 5+3=8] The blade sticks through the Runner’s chest with a sickening combination of squelches and crunches, its weight causing it to fall deep onto her weapon.

Disgusting. It looks really fucking cool, but it’s disgusting. She brings the spear down just enough to leave the corpse’s feet hanging above the ground, pulling back some so that it isn’t completely impaled. Leaning her head out from behind its shoulder, she looks over at the Living Zaveid. “Would you like this back? It is fucking horrid.”

@championofgold

Ghosts. Sure, okay, she could comprehend that, after all.. she was all but one a while back. She could comprehend it but that didn’t mean she liked it. And she definitely wasn’t a fan of the situation.

Luckily for her, she hadn’t had a run in with… figures from her past; fallen comrades, defeated enemies and the like, she was lucky that most creatures she had crossed paths with were just random but… of course she managed to piss them off, too.

Shooting at them seemed to do exactly that; piss them off. And now, possessed inanimate objects flew at her head and all she could do was duck and hope for the best

Bumping into a stranger, she couldn’t even offer an apology before a trashcan flew over their heads as she forced them both to duck.

“Any idea how to beat these things, love? I think I pissed them off just a little bit.”

She’s pulled down and for a brief moment, sincerely considers some sort of violent response. Her grip on her spear is firm, and she bites back an insult when she hears the trashcan slam against another surface. Her free hand finds its way to her face and she rubs her temples, groaning.

Ghosts are such a bitch to deal with...

“Not unless you have some sort of holy powers, no,” She straightens her back and looks at the can that flew past them.  [Religion Check: 10+0=10] She shakes her head, “These kind seem much different than what I am used to.”

Gods above, how she wished she had her sword. “I could try attacking it with magic, though I do not know how effective that would be.” Might just be too bothersome to even try. “I would just hate to waste it on something that will not die.”

“…Heck.” Kara growled, skidding to a halt on the stairs. She was half-tempted to just stay inside through this ordeal, but a certain something told her these things could manifest anywhere, and there might be a safety in numbers.

She didn’t know how many times these things could return after being defeated, but she hoped the sweater thrown on over her uniform would deter RK800 from finding her again. In his zombified state, he was almost scary. But still, it was inconvenient to have to shove him into traffic over and over again.

Just as she considered their re-manifestation, she noticed more stirring at the bottom of the stairwell. While she wants to praise this new thing she’d seen called magic, she also knew not everyone could use their abilities countless times a day.

She scanned the surroundings.

GO UP/GO DOWN/SUPPLY CLOSET.

She wrenched open the closet door and scanned again, thirium pump pounding in her chest.

MOP/BROOM/SPONGE.

“Weapon?” She asked over her shoulder, grabbing the mop. 

“Me too,” she grunts in response, watching as the Shamblers at the end of the steps rise to their feet in an uncomfortable mockery of human movement. “Disgusting fucking things.” One manages to get just close enough for her to react, she brings a foot up, aiming for its chest.

[Attack Roll: 14+6=20] [Damage Roll: 1+3=4] Clíona kicks it hard, forcing it back down while her temporary companion opens up the closet near them. These damn things were far more resilient than they had any right to be; even the ones back home were doggedly stubborn when it came to being put back in the grave. An eternal, never-ending pain in the ass, fueled by rampant undeath.

It’s an odd thing, wading herself into the tides of combat and letting the undercurrent take her where it pleases. As she cuts down foe after foe - the physical ones, with sickening crunches and wet, gooey slicing noises as she sinks her spearhead into the undead that wander around.

It’s been a while since she last let loose - she never cared for societal norms, but this was about the only socially acceptable way to slaughter whatever came into her path. And when that path leads her further into the dead zone, as she’s decided to call it, she finds the flow of combat leading her in the direction of a very, very loud voice. The scene she happens upon is almost amusing: a bird, screaming so loud that the creatures around it get pushed back if they’re luckier than the others. If it’s speaking in a common tongue, she can’t parse a single phrase, even if the words are all there.

She should’ve known better than to relax, to let her guard down. She’s lucky enough that she’s already in the Archimedes ward - it’s a short jog to her condo, but she hates wasting what little magic she has available. Cantrips shouldn’t be on countdowns, but she’ll make do with what she has.

She scrambles her way into her condo building, her feet pounding up the steps. Her spear. Her armor. She’d face the undead with her bare hands if she had to, but to truly immerse herself in combat, she had to be at least somewhat safe.

The only noise in the empty stairwell - that is, aside from what handful of beasts drug their rotting corpses in - is her heavy breathing and grunting as she shoves them out of her way. Eventually her hand lands on something that isn’t the weird, slimey texture of the creatures who’ve struggled up from the inky sea. She turns on her heel and golden magic shines around her hands. [Attack Roll: 19+7=26, 10+7=17] [Damage Roll: 1+4=5, 3+4=7] Two beams fly out from her hand and connect with the closest Shamblers to them, knocking them back just far enough to give her time to throw a cocky grin at the woman she bumped into.

Clíona will probably be out reveling in combat, as she does

chances are she’ll run into several people from her world as specters or shamblers: her brother, for sure. also her mom and dad, and several party members. so if you wanna hop on that pain train, hmu

otherwise she’ll be very much enjoying swooping in and killing low-level mobs and blasting them with magic. as she does.

    狩人 ▐  She eyes the thing called burrito curiously, wondering how it might taste. A mental note to purchase this snack the next time she’s here. Even more peculiar to see someone just inhale food unbeknownst to them. A certain braveness.

“Most interesting. Where does this snack originate?” It certainly doesn’t sound like anything she knows. “This one is called taiyaki. A filled cake in the shape of a… fish. The reason for this shape, I certainly don’t know…” She turns the snack to show the other woman the filling. “There is some sort of paste inside, it’s also delicious.”

“That...is a good question,” Clíona replies, looking at the burrito with a curious gaze. She hadn’t bothered to ask, she simply ordered the food and ate it. Chalk it up to one of many times she’s rolled with her decisions. She shrugs, “I did not ask. Wherever it is from, though, they certainly know how to make good food.” It’s hard to find good food when she traveled as much as she did, but now that she’s in a city full of opportunity, it’s hard not to.

The second night of the celebration was a dream come true: food everywhere! All kinds! All free! Karen had already had two plates of assorted savory bites. Despite that, she was still half-skipping through the ward in search of the right sweets to top it off. Partially into her energetic collection, she spotted a stand-out familiar face and immediately lifted a hand to wave with just as much enthusiasm.

“Clíonaaaa~! Are you having a good night?” she greeted as she bounded over. Her left hand held a plate with a precious slice of strawberry shortcake. “It’s much easier to appreciate people in our lives when we find them personally, isn’t it?”

Despite the warm welcome, they were still only acquaintances, and Karen meant hardly more than that. The festival was a time to make friends, though!

@championofgold

Clíona’s properly hunched herself over a large plate of food, surrounded by a broad assortment of dishes she nary knows the names of. Not that it matters, seeing as she’s having a great time and enjoying it all. So far, she hasn’t eaten a single thing (aside from sweets) she doesn’t like.

She makes eyecontact with a member of the crowd, and realization dawns on her face when Karen approaches with a broad wave. A broad grin immediately spreads across her lips and she waves back, “I am indeed. What of yourself?”