3331/This Is Only A Test

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This Is Only A Test
Date of Scene: 05 November 2015
Location: The Secret World <TSW>
Synopsis: A mysterious signal breaches the Solomon Island fog and is doing who-knows-what in the process. Two groups investigate. Part one of The Broadcast arc.
Cast of Characters: Kotone Yamakawa, 40, Staren, Riva Banari, 513, Wuyin Tsai, Inga, 707, 886, 900


Wuyin Tsai has posed:
            THE BROADCAST
        Tier 2: This Is Only A Test


Solomon Island.

The island looks as gloomy as it ever has. The Fog hasn't lifted, and tonight, the haze of grey seems more oppressive than ever. The tendrils of black that sweep back and forth in the distance, obscured by the fog, look more and more like tentacles grasping at the edges of the island than ever. It's unsettling.

But this place has never been anything else.

The portal from Agartha leads to a ruined viking longship sticking out of the side of a mountain, and a path from there opens up to a paved road into Kingsmouth Town proper. The town hasn't changed one bit in the year it's been since anyone was here in force: the dead still roam the streets, and signs of life are minimal at best. it is perhaps for this reason that Wuyin Tsai, the erstwhile leader of this expedition, does not enter the town itself just yet.

He pauses in the treets, just as the path opens onto what was a main road, and turns back to the group. "Remember: we are here looking for the source of the signal. The numbers station seems to be piercing the fog. If we knew why..."

Wuyin looks down at his phone. "The signal looks to be coming from this direction, further into town. Stay on your guard. I do not think things have gotten any better since last time."

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    Much like last time, Eleanor has forgone any of her heavy armor or the Sister Suit, relying instead on her lightweight armored jumpsuit, her medic's bag of tricks... and that man sized pipe spanner she found on one of her tips here in the past. Everyone likes man sized bludgeoning weapons. Right?

    Though, she does have an old school Off Brand Walkman with a tape deck and a tuner that's listening in to the shortwave, the headphones hanging around her neck. "I still don't like this. If it's someone like those suits that were manning the black helecopters... those people didn't seem like the sorts to be trifled with..." She dusts off her pants with her free hand, and hoists the wrench over her shoulder. "Lead on, though, fearless leader."

Staren has posed:
    Staren is here again... has it really been a year? Those poor locals... but... "But why did it only start now? What has changed?

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
"So how bad were things last time?" Xiaomu wonders, on behalf of those who are new to this part of the Multiverse.

She's busy checking the current loads in her handguns as she asks that question; seemingly more or less content with her findings, she slips the pair of pistols into their holsters under her vest, then lifts the carrypack she's toting around and settles it across her back, the strap running from right shoulder to left hip. A moment's fiddling ensures that both sides of her vest are relatively free - the better to get at her handguns in a hurry. She's also got her usual Buddhist monk staff, and once she's finished settling her gear for the trip into town, she picks it back up from where it was somehow perched vertically on the ground. Maybe she wedged the bottom of it into the ground somehow ...

Either way, she's basically loaded for potential heavy combat. What she *doesn't* seem to have, at first glance, is a way to follow the signal on her own.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva's been out and about since then, clearly doing some additional research on the issue. She's even taken up tinkering, the fruits of her labor clearly visible as she approaches the group. "Oh YEAH, Wuyin? Well, I'm getting an entirely different signal!" She thrusts her phone at Wuyin with a triumphant look on her face.

The phone has a bent coat hanger with tinfoil on it taped to it. "And it says there's a signal coming from THAT way!" She says, pointing in the general distance of the Savage Coast. "So what do you say to that, huh?"

Looks like Riva's being particularly beliigerant today. Is it just Wuyin, or something else?

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa knew she would back here and here she is once more on Solomon Island, she's far stronger than she used to be but it own't be enough she knwos that but the good thing is she's not alone. Shes' also got her own comm system open as she's trying to track down the signal.

"Roger that I'm going what I can to track it Wuyin."

Still Kotone was on edge she wonded now about Jack would they have to deal with the soul so wretched not evan Satan wanted it in his collection?

"A soul so wretched that hell and heaven didn't want it and they preyed upon children."

She notes to Xiaomu as she falls in with Riva.

"So to the Savagte coast?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    "I don't know how radios really work." Finna remarks in a complainy tone, whilst walking alongside Wuyin. She's doing nothing at all to hide her nature now. Her Tattoos shimmer and seemingly glow faintly in the hazy light, tail flicks back and forth happily enough... and yet she's adopted a somewhat skimpy, highly flexible outfit in local style that bares her midriff. But she's switched out her sword for a pistol holstered in her side. Why has she bothered swapping out gear and clothes?

    Probably... just for shits and giggles. Or maybe to impress Yukihana or make Riva double-take.

    "Does it mean there's some kind of magic involved? Whatever's making these numbers?"

    As for staying on guard... with eyesight being of limited use in certain parts of town, she's instead focusing on her hearing. Both her fuzzy ears periodically swivel like radio dishes for stray sounds. The slightest zombie shuffle will NOT get past them!

Lancer of Black (886) has posed:
     Unsettling though it may be, Solomon Island is more like Wallachia than even Doncaster, the town Lancer of Black currently has been administrating after a disasterous fiasco involving a serial killer. The Fog that greets him is not the same as the mist, but the small town has a rustic, isolated sort of atmosphere that greatly reminds the Impaler Prince of home. A small place that time seems to have forgotten, nestled away in the midst of a vast geographic feature, edging up against a huge set of mountains...

     Small towns always seem to be the same, Lancer reflects.

     Except for the zombies.

     Those are not the same as home.

     Lancer looks from Riva to Wuyin with his predatory golden eyes. He says nothing, his eyes eventually turning down the street.

     It would be a nice place, he reflects, without the zombies. The tentacles of fog leave something to be desired, but it could be a nice place. A real fixer-upper, in modern parlance.

Yukihana Masamune (900) has posed:
    Solomon Island is... A place Yukihana Masamune has never been before. Mostly here as a courtesy and favor to Wuyin, who has been very kind to her, the kitsune swordsmith arrives on the old longship looking very out of place, before making her way to join the other. Rather than her usual kimono she's settled for... A serafuku. It was an attempt to seem more modernized. It really does not help, considering the red tint to her cheeks. At least it's easier to move in than her kimono, if inifinitely more embarassing to wear.
    Does she seem impressed with Finna?
    Not particularly. In fact, the other fox-woman's garm earns something of a bewildered frown. "Ah... I apologize if I am late." She's fairly on time though, it's just a matter of politeness as she folds her hands together in front of her. Really, no one mind the out of place fox-girl.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin pauses as he gets another phone shoved in his face. He looks at the screen, and then at the bent coat hanger and tinfoil, and finally at Riva with a look of mild exasperation.

"Well, gosh, Riva," Wuyin says, "then I guess we'll just have to split up, gang."

"I'll follow this one." He holds up his own phone a little. "We'll communicate on the local frequency. As long as we are all on the island, it should not be a problem." Wuyin starts to stride down the road, apparently ready to do this himself -- or expecting people to follow in his wake.


ROUTE SPLIT
WUYIN is heading to KINGSMOUTH TOWN to investigate. Given the urban undead, COMBAT is all but assured.
RIVA is heading to THE SAVAGE COAST to be contrary. As unexplored territory, TERROR is practically guaranteed.

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    There's a glare cast between Wuyin and Riva. What's all this about?

    Nevertheless, Eleanor smiles at the group and falls into step behind her erstwhile Sister, hopping in time to Riva's beat and murmuring something in the woman's ear as she catches up.

Lancer of Black (886) has posed:
     A choice is cast.

     Ordinarily, the Impaler would go with the Templar. His Order is descended from - well, organized after - that one. They are Crusaders most high, holy soldiers who bled for the Holy Land. That lends them a certain weight with Lancer of Black, weight only really matched by the Saint of France.

     But Lancer of Black does not particularly trust Wuyin. (This is not an uncommon scenario among the Multiverse, though Lancer doesn't know that.) Riva is a Templar, and thus can certainly handle herself, and will probably tell him anything he needs to know and not hold anything back. Wuyin, by contrast, is a slippery serpent, prone to couching his words in lies and misdirections, and Lancer might never learn anything that lies down that path - nor does he entirely trust Wuyin to make good decisions. (Again, not uncommon among the Multiverse.)

     Lancer turns and heads down the path after Wuyin.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Xiaomu looks between the phones with the apparently-conflicting signals, then leans her staff against her shoulder, fishing around in her carrypack for a bit before she pulls out a package of fried tofu. She closes her pack again, then carefully tears open the plastic bag, taking out a piece of fried tofu for herself before offering the bag, in turn, to Finna and then to Yukihana.

"Xiaomu, agent of Shinra, liaising to the Union," she introduces herself - to Yukihana primarily, but also to the rest of the group's members whom she doesn't really know yet. Sure, it's interrupting some of the attempts to determine who's going where, but she might as well be SOMEWHAT polite before the groups go their separate ways.

If that is indeed what's about to happen.

Inga has posed:
     Just a bit tardy, Inga arrives through the portal, outfitted for the weirdness of Solomon Island. A myriad of talismans hang from her belt and around her neck, her short knife ready, staff in hand. She's worn her less than nice clothes, knowing she'll get covered in blood and who knows what else. Her white hair is neatly braided.

Inga looks around, locating the group a short distance from the portal. "Hail!" she greets, limping forward, leaning on her staff for support.

Staren has posed:
    Staren raises a scrutinizing eyebrow at Finna's choice of clothing, and considers Yuri's hypothesis. She's not going to put zombies off-guard with flirting though. Maaybe she just doesn't like wearing clothes.

    Staren considers as the group splits up. "I guess I'll follow the original signal."

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa cringes as they have to split up but she knows they have to. She'll look over to Riva and speaks up.

"I'll head with Riva."

She'll fall in making ready to go she does have a few new things like her remote drones but the little spy came is going to have issue like all wireless thing seem to around here and she also look to see Inga catching up.

"Inga, should have expected to see you here."

Yukihana Masamune (900) has posed:
    Phones and technology are things Yukihana is slowly- slowly- beginning to try and get herself accustomed to. Living on a mountain practically alone for so long means it's not particularly the easiest thing for her. Still, introductions must be made, and when Xiaomu does so, the silver-haired fox-girl dips into a low and formal bow. ... Before accepting some of said fried tofu and beginning to nibble daintily-- though with something of a relished gusto. "Masamune, Yukihana. A pleasure." Given as her own introduction.

    Finna however receives something of a mild glower, after her antics the last time Yukihana had met her. Nevertheless, she rests her hand on her katana and quietly sidles into the group headings along with Wuyin, while munching fried tofu along the way.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva leads TEAM TEMPLAR out on an ADVENTURE! They pass through the tunnel into the Savage Coast, following a road strewn with corpses. A couple of them are less dead than usual, but they're so slow that even Riva just shoots them in the back of the head as they try to get up, putting them back down.

As they pass over a bridge, a massive woodland is visible to one side, but it looks... Dead. The sight of long, thick webbing can be seen on some of the trees, and ominous-looking totems hum with energy as people might or night not stray near them. However, the group passes without incident, Riva leading the way down the street through a small, peaceful-looking subdivision.

Finally, they come to a specific house in a back area of the subdivision... but house is kind of a misnomer. The burned, charred husk of a home stands slowly crmbling to the forces of time, the area feeling... weighty. It's only now that the sound of the birds singing is noticed to be gone, only split with the occacional raucuous call of a crow or raven to break the low creaking. Even color itself seems to be pale and wan, the area bearing a powerful spiritual presence. The scene of charred flesh barely tickles the nose with its sickening sweetness even now.

And yet, there is something else vaguely audible. Is that someone talking?

The house itself appears to have two floors, the windows shattered. There is no front door, the porch as scorched as the rest of the area.

Riva frowns, looking to the others present. "This is not a nice place. But it's where I'm getting the signal from."

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    Eleanor comes up short behind Riva and... and lets out a breath. "Miss Banari, Halloween was this weekend. It is not today. Why are we at an actual haunted house?" She grips her wrench tighter, the business end of the spanner starting to crisp over with ice crystals. A glance at the wrecked porch though, and she steps forward.

    Ghosts are just fleeting manifestations of the past... right?

    Right?

Inga has posed:
Inga has decided to go with Riva, wanting to explore more of this Savage Coast. Upon reaching the house, Inga is not sure she made the correct decision. The place has a choking aura of terrible evil. Inga reaches up to touch her mjolnir pendant. "Thor protect us," she says, coming to stand beside Eleanor. " Inga would have offered wards to anyone who wanted them on the way. So long as one is not adverse to being smeared with a bit of Inga's blood, they were very effective.

Inga's grip on her staff tightens. "Are there any nice places around here?" she asks Riva sourly. "We will do what needs to be done...gods know this place is under a terrible curse," she sighs. Alright, so she probably had picked the right group, if by right one meant most horrifying and thus where she was most needed.

Inga is already on guard. She expects the Bees might speak soon, and she will become their unwilling loud speaker.

Riva Banari has posed:
"This house is definately registering on my Scale of Excessive Spookiness." Riva replies. "Too bad some things are spooky year-round, Ellie."

Eleanor mounts the front porch, leading the way. The air seems to thicken around her, tension growing. Is something going to attack her? Fear nauseating hatred and choking sensations grow...

And then something snaps, the air visisbly bending as Eleanor is suddenly physically launched away from the house to a distance of a dozen feet.

Riva eeps. "Okay, this house is /excessively haunted/." She declares as she hugs Inga. to comfort her, absolutely, and not because she's scared. That's silly.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
The part of the party led by the (unconfirmed) Dragon starts into the town proper.

The road up to Kingsmouth Town is paved, strewn with abandoned, bloodied cars, and always within earshot of the wandering mobs of the undead. Wuyin walks up the road and around, skirting the immediate notice of the worst of the zombies by way of what looks like a well-practiced route among the low, wooded hills that border the road on the right. On the way in, they pass by a green sign with white lettering, two letters marred by a splash of blood and streaks forming a crude replacement letter:

         KINGSMOUTH TOWN
         DEAD

Wuyin bypasses the road beyond the sign, moving off-road into the dark woods. Green motes of light dance in the deeper woods, tempting those with him to go see precisely what they are. He keeps on moving around the outskirts, eventually coming to a toppled fence into a suburban house's backyard. He steps over it, pausing by a gently creaking swing set. A red stain covers the seat.

He holds up his hand, a finger extended, and checks his phone. There's a quiet beeping. "We're getting closer. That way." He points around the side of the house, down a paved town road flanked by houses on either side. In the distance, around a bend, the vague shape of a church steeple stands out against the fog.

Behind them, withered hands grasp the edge of the toppled part of the fence. A second later, a trio of the walking dead rush around the corner, charging into the group with a hiss of fetid breath.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
So Team Team Templar is on an adventure. That is such a loaded word for this place. Kotone keeps with Riva and the rest of Team Templar, she pays note toi Eleanor whom she's not seen in some time and pauses at her words.

"Eleanor has a very good point, why are we at an actual haunted house after Halloween?"

She sighs and she'll keep checking her own comms to see if she can confirm the signal or not.

"Wait excessively haunted by your standards?!"

She looks to Inga again for a moment.

"I think it's just this region is Hellsmouth I don't think this entire earth is this bad but we need to get going."

Kotone takes a deep breath what was waiting for them inside?

Finna (513) has posed:
    Hooray tofu! Finna's never had any before, but she grabs some and starts munching, expression turning rather pleased and happy Xiaomu's way! "Looks like it's our night to have fun here!"

    But oh, it's time to split up. How harrowing!

    Finna very visibly ponders on this one, rubbing her chin. But then she dashes off for Riva's team!

    "Take care of the newbie for me, Staren!" She answers Yukihana's gaze with a shameless but friendly little grin and is off like a start, tail curling oddly and wagging ever so briefly in the catboy's sight before she's off.

    It's so weird, watching that. As if, for whatever reason, one can just imagine the tail tickling them in the back. It might induce a mild case of the willies. But it's over in a flash.

    Yeah, Finna's totally trolling Staren.

    BUT HOW.

    ONWARDS!

    Finna's still on high alert with TEAM TEMPLAR and the moment she spots that house her casual, easygoing pace is jarred to a halt. Her whole body refuses to move onto the lawn grounds for a moment.

    "It just HAD to be a place like this. Is it a GHOST radio? Can that happen?"

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    "BLUH." is the sort of noise that escapes Eleanor just before she's bodily hurled from the porch. Thankfully she's nimble enough to plant her wrench into the ground and stop her flight too far past the front porch and into the asphalt of the street behind them.

    She grumbles and gets back to her feet and hisses. "Ghosts... proper ghosts, are simply energy and thoughts left behind, Finna. It's not uncommon, actually, for them to leave traces of noise in static and radio.

Staren has posed:
    Staren shivers briefly. Exalted magic? It's not importantt right now. He nods slightly. "have you foughtt zombies beforee?" he asks Yukihana.

    Staren follows Wuyin. By this point, the undead-filled city is a familiar sight, so his thoughts are focused on what could be making that signal...

    Until suddenly, he hears a noise behind him and turns--

    AAAH ZOMBIE IN THE FACE

    Staren blasts it point-blank with his beam cannons, then tries to shove it off of him!

Inga has posed:
Inga looks to Riva as she is hugged, reaching up to pat Riva's shoulder. "There there, I am here to protect you," she teases. "Are you alright Eleanor?" she asks, frowning gently. Eleanor can certainly handle herself. "If it is ghosts here, the spirits are powerful indeed. This is a cursed place...a cursed place we have to find a way inside, it seems," Inga replies.

To Kotone, she nods, but still looks doubtful. "If you say so, Kotone." Inga still hasn't seen much of their world outside Kingsmouth and London.

Grumbling, Inga approaches the house, stopping about where Eleanor was thrown. She takes out her small knife and pricks her finger, reaching up to draw a symbol upon her brow in blood to aid in her sight as she tries to examine the barrier, looking for what sort of evil ward this might be, it's source, and how they could perhaps get around it or bring it down completely. She'd overloaded magical circles before...maybe it could be done again.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Not remotely creepy at all, thinks Xiaomu, heading along with Wuyin and the rest of TEAM DRAGON. Then again, zombies are roaming hereabouts, and you kind of expect creepiness in the shadow of a zombie apocalypse.

She's doing her best to keep alert in basically every direction, although 'directly behind' isn't a particularly high priority - been there, done that, moving on, right? That's why it's behind -

SUDDENLY ZOMBIE RUSH

Okay, so it's only three zombies (to start with), but Xiaomu immediately draws Suiren's blade free of the staff's shaft, and attempts to cleave the closest zombie to her into a giant block of ice containing two zombie-halves. "Should've known it seemed too quiet ..."

Finna (513) has posed:
    DOWN goes Eleanor. Finna frowns. She -hates- ghosts. Or rather... she hates ghosts she can't see. Some ghosts are great, like ancestor spirits helping their families. But all too often, 'some random ghost' turns out to be trouble.

    And she knows that any ghost that can do THIS is powerful indeed. But she claps both hands together and leans forwards. "Come on out, spirit. Show yourself, if you can! Unless you'd rather we kick you across the yard too. What happened here?"

Yukihana Masamune (900) has posed:
    That is a creepy sign.
    No seriously, the old congealed blood splashed on the board does not help matters in the least, and that might be perhaps why Yukihana is clutching at her katana a little more tightly while wandering down the road, ear pinned back as she dips her head and keeps somewhat close to Wuyin through the trip. But then her ears give a twitch.

    Did she hear something.

    "I have not." She admits to Staren quietly. "I know of legends of the dead that walk, but I have never encountered them myself before." Added further. Before she'd given a chance to test her resolve. It's nearly just as she honestly answers that she's never encountered the walking dead before that they approach. Swift. Silent. Deadly. As the round the corner, it's almost too late by the time she registers them, earning a startled yip of shock and terror. And as a result, the action is almost wholly reflexive. The way her hand snaps to the tsuka of her katana, delicate fingers curling around the grip and drawing the blade from it's sheath. The draw and cut are two actions put to the same motion, a lightning fast draw and cut all at once, the silver-pink bladed ornate blade yanked from the saya and put into use in a neat, clean, and well-practiced stroke. Even in haste it is an elegant and swift motion that follows up after the initial cut, shifting the blade into a proper stance, held out to her side, grip held high at her shoulder, with blade perpendicular to the ground in a high stance. She's already panting from being startled, but won't be caught near flat footed again. Probably.

    Hopefully.

Lancer of Black (886) has posed:
     Lancer glances at the splashes of blood, the ignorant zombies, the streaks on the sign. He does not care for zombies, but wasting too much time and energy would just make more problems. Lancer is well-experienced in doing what he can with what he has, and in conserving effort for better points later.

     When Wuyin diverts, Lancer raises an eyebrow, but continues his silence. The Church is a welcome sight, one that is unreflected on Lancer's face, but *is* reflected in the sudden change of posture. There's a bit of relief there, as his shoulders sag a tiny bit, and his spear dips downwards, and-

     -Zombie Rush.

     Lancer turns, the stake whirling off his shoulders. Like a predator he lunges into the onrushing crowd, meeting the zombies head-on to cut them off before they reach the rest of his party. He was not surprised - not because a horde of zombies is not surprising, but because urban combat is something Lancer is *extremely* skilled at, along with ambush tactics, and everything about this place is set up for exactly that sort of thing.

     Lancer's three-headed stake meets the first zombie with the force of fourty men behind it. Superhuman strength meets rotten flesh. Lancer whirls, dragging the zombie along with him on the spear as he jams the hunk of wood into another of the filthy beasts. His free hand snaps outwards, ripping a chunk of the useless fence away and driving that into the skull of a third zombie as his furred cape whirls around him.

     The Impaler Prince is primarily concerned with stalling the zombies and protecting his allies. He slings the impaled zombie off the spear, hurling it into the masses like a bowling ball into pins - an ugly, smelly, fleshy, airflow-resistant bowling ball into walking, groaning, running pins.

     Fast zombies, Lancer decides, are awful.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva has the dignity to look super embarassed when Inga pats her, and she lets Inga go to do the Wisewoman thing. The spiritual force is intensely heavy. Finna can almost /taste/ the Resonance of Death on the air as she challenges the force. There is hatred here, hatred that burned bright. That faint sound seems to continue on as Inga investigates. What she does notice is that this.... isn't a complete circle. It seems to be focused towards the front door. Whatever supernatural force is acting here, it doesn't seem to want to... Or is incapable of answering Finna. Nothing manifests to savage the Lunar, nothing comes to challenge her.

Riva seems to be sort of hanging out over near the side of the porch, clearly Spooked Out.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
The first three undead rush forward, and Lancer of Black is there to meet them. The Servant's speed is hard to match in most circumstances, and in this one, it's enough to get him out in front while the rest of the group is taken by surprise. Lancer lifts the first zombie off the ground, coming up for the second --

-- which Staren has already perforated, his beam cannons dissolving dead flesh and ragged clothes. He tears off one arm with the shots and throws it backwards, into Lancer's swing. The third is intercepted by Yukihana, whose iaijutsu leaves a deep rend in the creature's body and staggers it long enough for it to be pinned to the ground by the Impaler, where it writhes as its body slowly gives out. It does not stop trying to reach for her, jaws snapping uselessly and greyed fingers clawing at the dirt.

This is, of course, not all of them.

The fence, further damaged by Lancer's actions, collapses with a loud creak and a distinct 'thump.' The rest of the mob that was behind it scramble forward over it, another half-dozen of the creatures rushing in on the small group. Xiaomu catches the first of them with her own strike, cutting it from shoulder to waist. Ice spreads over it, freezing whats left into two pieces that get trampled under the others.

Wuyin's response to the whole affair is to hurl lightning at them. Bolts of electricity fly from his outstretched hand, slamming into the ranks of the dead and leaping from each one of the creatures to the next. They spasm, but only one more falls, the smell of cooked and rotten meat drifting over on the sea breeze. Of the other four, two pile onto Lancer of Black, swinging their arms like clubs, while the other two, mouths open wide, lunge for Yukihana and Xiaomu with nothing resembling tactical thinking and everything pointing to their unnatural, unending hunger.

Anyone who cares to look will see Wuyin beating a hasty retreat towards the front of the house. "More will come," he says. "We need to keep moving towards the church!"

Inga has posed:
Inga freezes her knife, ready to touch the barrier with cold iron. She freezes then, eyes going wide, muscles tensing as the Buzzing invade her with their broadcast.

     "Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see. TRANSMIT - initiate New England signal - RECEIVE - initiate the burning cadence - EXIT HERE IN CASE OF FIRE - initiate the forgetting mantra - WITNESS - The Black House," she says, her own voice and yet not.

Inga moves then, tracing her knife in the air close to the entrance of the house as trying to draw aside a curtain. She begins to move away from the front entrance, walking slowly.

"Come with us. To the abandoned house at forest's edge, not far from the Overlook Motel. Come with us. Ravaged by fire thirty years ago, it hunches in blackened, twisted agony, charred like an ant husk under the searing sadism of childhood. The house is quiet, an ugly aftermath. But we can read the writing of scars," she says again, that particular cadence belonging to the Buzzing, most here would recognize it now. Riva would of course, be intimately familiar.

Inga stops then, turning toward the others. "It is not a complete circle. The energy is concentrated at the front door. I believe we may be able to enter from another way," she says, herself again. She'll let someone else lead the way there, then if she needs to throw some of her anima around to punch though she would do so.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa is not shocked Finna's barged in first then again she's glad to let her to be perfectly honests and is keeping with Inga for the moment. She looks to Eleanor with concenr but Inga's already seeming to have it handled. She can't help but cringe with how Eleanor got tossed like that.

"Doesn't it depend on the world?"

She's now heading in she's going to try to find another way around the barrier.

"There's got to be another way in.... I... Do we even want to go in here?"

Well she's cut off as the Bees start speaking through Inga and she heeds wht htye say.

"The Bees want us go go in, /lovely/"

With that Kotone's going to move out and about trying to head around the back and find a spot where she can get in even if she's got to leap to do it.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Wow, that sure is a lot of zombies. And their skulls are clearly as full as their stomachs (i.e. 'not remotely') if they're lunging at a foxgirl who's got a sword in her hand already.

Xiaomu tends to prefer fast-draw attacks too, but she's learned not to be picky; monsters are rarely so kind and thoughtful as to let you implement your aesthetically ideal fight against them. She stabs the zombie that's headed for her, aiming for its throat and attempting to encase it in a whole lot of ice as well; then she gives the resultant ice block a *KICK* that should send it flying back into the next wave of zombies like a bowling ball into a rack of pins.

Staren has posed:
    The three zombies are dropped almost as soon as they attacked. Staren blinks at the brief calm moment. Is it over?

    The fence collapses in. It is most definately /not/ over. Xiaomu mentions grenades -- this seems like a good plan. Staren unshoulders his laser rifle, flips a switch on it, and then fires the underbarrel grenade launcher into the horde, far back enough that his allies won't get hit at least. The amount of zombies on them now looks like an amount they can handle, so he'll keep moving and focus on thinning the horde.

    Staren starts jogging towards the church, one-handedly firing more grenades wildly back into the crowd. Glancing back at Yukihana, Xiaomu, and Lancer to confirm that they're doing alright.

Lancer of Black (886) has posed:
     The fence collapses. That was fine. That let them see what they were dealing with. The fence didn't really keep the zombies out and it didn't really aid the party in dealing with them. It was an obstacle that kept them from targetting their enemies. That is bad.

     The splinters fly everywhere, and so do the zombies. Two of them swing their arms like clubs at the Servant. He meets the first one head-on, taking a rake from their claws along his face in order to jam the spear up through its jaws. Blood trickles down the cut. It'll heal shortly - Servants never remained cut for long - but it would take up valuable prana, prana he could've used for something else. Annoying.

     As the second one comes in, Lancer twists the spear round to meet it. Its claws slash against the first zombie as Lancer jams the stake into the ground, a makeshift flesh-and-wood barrier.

     One of the shattered fenceposts leaps up into his hand. The second zombie gets a face full of this, as well, pinning it to the previously-impaled zombie by the chest cavity. Another two fence posts slam their arms together at the shoulder/elbow.

     Lancer collects the last of the fenceposts and, with an almost criminally casual air, flings it into the next wave of zombies. It streaks through the air with false aerodynamicity, and will probably pierce the head of the leader of the new wave - and possibly the second, too, especially if Xiaomu's kick is successful. Lancer is *very* strong.

     "Agreed," Lancer says, "This place is poor for defense."

     He starts moving backwards, still firmly in front of the party to soak hits and tank blows, but urging for them to move away. He wipes the blood off his face - both his own and the zombie's - with handkerchief apparently concealed in his coat's pocket.

     "Quickly, now," he urges.

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    Well if you wanted action from Eleanor... "Not a complete circle? What about a complete /sphere/?" Oh my.
    She smiles rakishly at the others, trying to hide her fear behind false Dreamworks Smug Face, and /leaps/ up and onto the roof of the building. How does she know it's not going to collapse under her weight? Call it a hunch. She then tries to duck inside one of those blasted out window into the second floor.

Finna (513) has posed:
    After pushing forward and calling out the spirit... then getting nothing... a shudder goes through Finna and she takes a few steps back, now uncertain over this matter. "Never run into a ghost that only just hurls you away from a place. Creeeeeeepy." Yeah Kotone might have something to fear indeed.

    But she's not scared of a ghost getting a little rough and hurling her around. She starts pacing the grounds, circling the old ruins towards the right. She's looking for a window.

    Looking for a window, and suddenly adding after INga's explanation...

    "Inside the Trauma cadence. A bad thing happened here." Once her lips briefly pause utter SHOCK shows on her face but she lets the voice continue.

    "Do you see what we see? Fire burns away so many guilts, but the ashes remain." Arms held at her sides and tail now flicking about, she cants her head and gives the group a sly, knowing look, tone shifted from her usual bounciness to a storyteller's recitations. "Do you see what we see? No one goes to the Black House. Kingsmouth still feels the guilt, and the guilt has a name. Have you heard the story of Carrie Killian, sweetling?"

    But the voice is also weird. After a bit it shifts further into someone else's. Or no, much weirder than that. The voice of the Buzzing itself comes from Finna's mouth, not her own. Somehow.

    That of the voice in her head.

    "She came to Kingsmouth and built the house in 1974. She worked from home, offering consultation and help through pagan practices. In those days, everyone liked her."

    Then both her arms raise up high in alarm! "Malefactor detected! There, in the pattern of the ashes. Eye and Pyramid. Do you see what we see?"

    The hands lower down and spread out more welcomingly. "Carrie Killian was no fraud, but an independent practitioner of magical arts. This concerned the Illuminati. They did not like the way she observed the Innsmouth Academy."

    And just like that the strange theatrics die down. Finna is silent for a good five, seven seconds...

    "... Iiiiiiinga, you're contagious!" The foxgirl blurts, waving a hand ineffectually over at the wise woman. It's a silly manuever, but she gazes more fiercely at the old house than before now.

    "Maybe there's something this Carrie doesn't want us to encounter..."

Yukihana Masamune (900) has posed:
    Quick as she was on the draw, this does not mean Yukihana wishes to remain and continue a fight. Her very first experience with the walking dead and... Let it be said it is perhaps what she hopes to be the last. As soon as the zombie she cut is pinned and impaled she's already backing away, sword caked with congealed blood and zombified fluids, she's a little more concerned with trying to get AWAY than clean the blade.
    She's already panting by the time she rushes to keep up with Wuyin, daring not glance back unsure if it is the zombies she's truly terrified of...

    Or the Impaler and his brutality..

    Towards the church, then. And not even bothering to turn on the zombie chasing her she's already on the move, until she suddenly wheels around, drawing a deep breath. Immediately the stench of rotten flesh makes her regret the decision, illiciting a wretch and gag, before she exhales. And what she breathes out is a plume of white fire, the colore of snow, but with all the heat of a roaring forge furnance, as she tries to make a wall of flames and buy just a little more time on the path to the church.

Riva Banari has posed:
Eleanor has a clever idea and leaps onto the crumbling roof. Somehow, her expectations are correct: She doesn't immediately plunge throug hthe cracked, decrepit shinglework, and she can swing in through one of the windows. The close one, however, happens to be missing something important:

The floor.

Meanwhile, Kotone penetrates the back of the house. Surprisingly, the back of the house does not cause the same reaction as the front, allowing her to investigate inside.

Within the house, all color seems to drain away, the imprint of horrific pain and terror deeply staining the area. While it does not seem to be actively trying to harm anyone, the atmosphere is intensely stifling. the inner rooms are just as wrecked as the outer ones, with deep scorchmarks and blackened bits of furniture littering the area. There is a stairwell down into the basement, while another stairway, lacking a bannister and several steps, leads up to the second floor, the only intact room appearing to be some kind of bathroom.

Up there, the sound is more audible:

"It clicks!" A boy?

"It Clicks!" A man?

"It clicks!" A crowd?!

"What clicks? The Eversharp-Shick Ejector Razor, made by Evershark-Shick, purveyor of Eversharp blades and fine shaving..."

Is that a radio announcer? But the broadcast sounds like it's straight out of the 60s!

Inga has posed:
Inga's eyes close, but it is Finna the Buzzing decides to speak through now. The Buzzing doesn't want anyone to feel left out. A shudder runs through Inga as all the words register, a sense of extreme terror gripping her at what almost feels like a memory...the heat, the smoke, the complete sense of betrayal, the sounds of her screams...

Inga begins to hyperventillate, not realizing what she is doing for a moment. She reaches up to touch the iron of her pendant, whispering a charm, trying to dispel the vision.

The fact that she is here is here seems entirely intentional now. She thought she could feel the norns pulling at her fate.

"Witch," she says quietly. "Eye and pyramid...Illuminati?" she asks, looking to Riva for confirmation. Bloody Illuminati!

Inga sighs to Finna, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "Unnerving, isn't it?" she comments, then begins toward the back of the house after Kotone. She certainly isn't going to be doing any roof leaping.

Once inside, the overwhelming feeling of fear and pain intensify. For someone like Inga who is extremely sensitive the spiritual world, it nearly bowls her over. She reaches out to whoever is nearest to steady herself, her head swimming. Everything in her wants to quit this place.

Shaking, she forces herself to push it back a little so that she can function, looking around, wondering if they will be going upward or down. "

There's a sound coming from upstairs. It sounds far away. A radio? "Is...this the message you were getting?" she asks Riva, face pale.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Xiaomu handily dispatches the monster coming at her, freezing it solid with a skilled stroke and then kicking it forward. Lancer does about the same, but more brutally disposes of the pair first, catapulting another into the mob with something sharp attached. Xiaomu's frozen corpse (someone else's corpse, mind, but her freezing of it) smashes down the lead, and Lancer's hits the second, making a gap in the oncoming and growing mass of the dead crawling in from out of the woods and behind houses.

Staren starts firing grenades. This is a terrific idea and a terrible one. On the one hand, the blasts start to scatter the groups of the undead, blasting pieces and parts forward and backwards and all over the place. Some larger zombie-bits actually keep moving, if they're attached to the head. They seem to obey that 'law' of the undead, anyway.

On the other hand, that is very, /very/ noisy. Shapes start to pull themselves along from the beach, further away, cresting the hill and briefly visible as they join their brethren coming out of the woods. The swelling ranks of the dead grow, pushing inward as they move between two houses to get to the front yard, with Lancer between the dead and the rest of the group.

Yukihana has a solution to that problem: foxfire, billowing up into a wall. The wall of flames cooks the undead as they get near it and try to push through it, filling the gap with burned corpses and still-flaming undead. Their numbers are severely diminished from that side, and they're terribly slowed even if they aren't destroyed in the chokepoint.

Another lunges out of a bush on the side of the street at her exposed flank. Wuyin is abruptly there, intercepting its open mouth with his left arm. His clotheslining attempt turns into him getting bitten, hard, but he follows through, pivoting on one foot and swinging it into the side of the house. It loses its grip, and he rotates back the other way, his macuahuitl coming up in his other hand. Obsidian teeth slam through the creature's neck, putting an end to it in short order.

He jerks his head towards the church. The path is clear. Up a few short steps, across the lawn, up a couple steps more and into the building... and there's safety. The wards on the door, small sigils in red near the bottom, will take care of any of the dead that follow.

Except that the sound of the transmission's source doesn't come from /inside/ the church.

A tinny voice comes from beyond it, audible in the otherwise-quiet night. There's a bang, like a gunshot or something being blown down, and a crash. A man's voice comes up a second later, an announcer of some kind:

"Calling all adventure fans; calling all Dick Tracy fans. Stand by!"

The sounds of police sirens, or someone's impression of them, fill the air. The announcer's voice continues over the sirens. "Here comes Dick Tracy now!" The sirens get louder, and louder... and it's becoming clearer and clearer that whatever the source is, it's coming from /behind/ the church.

In the graveyard.

Of course.

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    No florr is fine because Eleanor plants one foot against the Windowsill, snags the top of the window with her hand, and holds there like a ninja. Thanks Sports Boost. She's looking around though for the source of that radio signal. It's not the numbers station. It's... it's advertising. Awful awful advertising.

    Though as she hangs there, and then hops to a 'good' bit of floor, she can feel... the Narrative bubble up through the floor. it's seeping out of this place.

    This place /wants/ its story to be told, despite all the rest of this awfulness and haunting. There's a grudge on this place.

    "Rumors turn to fact turn to certainty. This is the place of a devil worshipper, a witch, a barginer of men's souls. The pretty home is now a den of evil and house of iniquity." The words escaping her lips are hers, but the knowledge is not. She looks almost cross as her brain transits the Sweet Flowing. "One foul little monkey decides to come and poke the hive and then runs right on back to the rest, screeching about the horrors within." Even as the words come out and echo through the home, Eleanor's looking for the radio. It's got to be here.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Unwilling to be left behind, and intensely rattled by that experience, Finna puts a hand on Inga's shoulder in return. It seems Inga is not alone in feeling creeped out by this place. "Could be worse. I think your spirit's being helpful. This place, though... aaaaalmost feels like a Shadowland. Same awful shivers! Wwwwwwwuuuuuurgh." A SHUDDER goes right through her... and just like that Finna transforms into her fox form within a few seconds. White fur replaces clothing and she's vastly shrunk in size... but seems to have NO trouble at all simply LEAPING up onto Inga's shoulder. "We'll be fine!" She hopes.

    As Inga's circling around, Finna LEAPS AGAIn, right through the second story window that Eleanor located and--

    She yips in midair! NO FLOOR!

    But it's not a problem. The little fox comes tumbling down through the air but executes a stunning spin manuever, going skidding daintily over the scorched floor and collapsed debris... SOMEHOW without breaking anything or even so much as disturbing more than a single cough of dust. It's an incredibly light landing and incredibly light steps she takes pawing through the house...

    But this probably doesn't take her far from INga and Kotone's entry after all.

    "... Should've guessed the floor would've collapsed..."

    But Fox-Finna starts pacing around... and in almost no time at all beelines towards the basement. She has no torch or flashlight, but foxes have excellent nightvision. A silvery Moon sigil burns on her forehead and her brilliant anima kicks up just as she steps foot near the stairs... and freezes.

    Both ears straighten alertly. "What in...? Carrie?"

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    There's a moment when Eleanor can find her own voice. "...She was a Chosen. She was one of Gaia's children."

    And then the Voice blurts again, though now the Words are tinged with malice, somehow, something deep within Eleanor letting itself out. "Sometimes fuel gets spilt on the fire." A twisted, awful look on her face as she gazes down at Inga and Riva, an... an awful look in her face, dour and soul seering, as if death itself is being wrenched out of her brain.
    "Almost 30 years ago, several guests disappeared from the Overlook Motel, and then the talking monkeys went riiiiight back to chattering. New rumours. New /truths/. The investigation proved Carrie Killian innocent, but the seed was already planted in the simian brains of the townsfolk."

    A lilting lift to the voice, as Eleanor twirls her hair in a finger. "We visited a few of the mundanes, hovered over their beds and tried to warn them off the coming disaster, but they saw us...."

    Malicious glee springs in her face. "...and lost their simian minds."

Staren has posed:
    Staren stops long enough to sight a shot on the zombie chasing Yukihana with his laser rifle if her white fire didn't finish it. Then he runs for the church.

    ...Which turns out not to be the source of the transmission, which has become an OLD TIMEY RADIO DRAMA. There will be time to wonder about that later. He shoulders his laser rifle and pulls out a spraycan as he runs for one corner of the church. "This can contains tiny machines!" he exposits loudly while running, "which are specially designed to detect the contagion and attack it!" After reaching the corner, he runs for the fence and starts spraying at the ground, a mist of water and disassembler nanites. "Although the filth does not seem to be composed of conventional matter, its physical presence combined with complete /lack/ of a chemical signature can be recognized!"

    Hopefully, the science holy water trick still works, and any draugr that try to go around the church on that side will also catch fire.

    Staren turns to look into the graveyard...

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Xiaomu raises her eyebrows at Yukihana's display of power. Actual, genuine, honest-to-heaven foxfire?

Xiaomu can't do that nearly as easily as Yukihana apparently can - she probably wouldn't rely so much on Suiren's ice magic if she had fire at her beck and call. More importantly, between the foxfire and Staren's grenades, it seems like the zombies are sort of under control for now ...

And then the Chinese sage fox's ears prick straight up at the sound of the radio program. "Dick Tracy?" she echoes. "What year is it supposed to be around here, anyway? I haven't heard this program since -"

She LOOKS way too young to have ever heard Dick Tracy on the radio; that was back in the 1930s and '40s. But then, given that Xiaomu's not as human as she (mostly) looks ... yeah. She cleans Suiren's blade quickly, re-sheathes it, and draws one of her handguns as she heads around to the graveyard, following Staren.

She seems skeptical about the 'solution' Staren's spraying around, but if it doesn't work, she's ready for more zombies to show up and prove it.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva skitters along with the others, bringing up the rear. It totally wouldn't be proper for them to get ambushed by errant zombies now, would it? Yes, totally. It is not Riva being still Spooked The Hell Out at all.

On the other hand, when Inga starts to collapse, Riva is there at her side, helping to steady her, even if she's a little shake herself. "This place is terrible." She mutters, and then looks over at Finna, stretching out a hand as the foxwoman not only turns what would be a faceplant into a graceful fox landing, but immediately zoomes into the basement.

The basement, for what it's worth, is the worst of the area. If there is a such thing as a Shadowland outside of Creation, Finna might just be standing in one, as she stares directly at a faintly sooty spot. Is this where Carrie died, choking to death? Patterns seem to grate along her senses like electric teeth, trying to mesh into a whole. This entire area is full of a terrible story... And as Eleanor comments, a story that demands to be told, decades after it took place.

Sometimes, reality is far worse than what our imaginations conjure up.

Riva looks up at the unpleasant expression in Eleanor's face, shuddering a bit at that glimpse of what Eleanor /could/ have been instead of what she knows Eleanor to be. "That's messed up, Ellie... But the Bees... Like Agartha, regular people can't be exposed to them."

Meanwhile, Riva looks at the stairs and moves to pick up Inga in her arms. "Hold still." She cautions, and then leaps up over the broken stairs to get up to the wrecked second floor. The radio continues to play, clearer as it seems that it is hidden in an area that is still intact up here.

"Well, it doesn't sound like a numbers station." Riva comments. "But this is definately a broadcast."

She pauses. "Waaaaait a minute. There's no power in here. How is it playing radio? Batteries won't last 30 years!" When Inga looks in an alcove near the shattered bathroom, she'll find a shortwave radio transciever in perfect condition, tuned to 6587 kHz.

There are no batteries in the radio.

Lancer of Black (886) has posed:
     The broken bits still move.

     Lovely.

     Lancer falls back into the church last of everyone. When everyone else has already gone in, Lancer remains outside, smashing through zombies with pure strength. Russian bare-knuckle boxing is a brutal thing even without the strength of a Servant behind it. Lancer does not move forward, only backwards, each step back accompanied with a fierce punch. Each punch is rewarded with claws and scratches raking across his arms, tearing at his coat and drawing mystically-emulated blood from his body. It only strengthens his willingness. The Impaler Lord smashes his fist through a head, spears another with a flat-palm strike through the jaws, and knocks a third from its feet by blowing out its knees with a fluid one-two. He holds the line, for that is what the Lord of Wallachia always did and shall always do. Holding the line against superior numbers is what he /does/. What he *is*. It is the core of his Noble Phantasm, the center of his very legend.

     Finally, *finally*, Lancer crosses the wards. He is battered and bloody, though already Servant regeneration is kicking in, healing his wounds. None of them were to his spiritual core. He'll survive.

     As the zombies collapses in front of him, Lancer stands, sweeping out his handkerchief again and wiping his arms. A brief, detached motion tears the ripped cloth from arms. He ties the cloth around the wounds as he starts walking, largely because no matter how great his regeneration is, old habits (like battlefield dressing) die hard.

     He rounds into the graveyard, where the radio speaks. Staren runs past him with a watering can.

     Holy water. The Lancer nods, thoughtfully. He has no idea what Staren is talking about, but holy water isn't hard to figure out.

     He's currently unarmed, but that'll be rectified...shortly.

Yukihana Masamune (900) has posed:
    It can't be called much of a 'solution' and more of a wild panicked and half-formed idea. But when her foxfire seems to actually be helpful, Yukihana does not intend to push her luck by gloating about it. Merely pausing to rest her hands on her knees and pant as soon as there is a free moment by the church and graveyard.

    "What is a Dick Tracy?" Asided to Xiaomu.

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    ...Eleanor, for her part, slumps against a scorched wall and sags. This was not what she wanted, not even in the slightest... and even if the Buzzing was... well, not an all out psychic attack, her brain in throbbing and all the /usual/ voices that crowd into her mind are screaming ever louder now.

    She retches, and falls to her bottom, holding the sides of her head in an effort to keep the voices in.

Inga has posed:
Inga looks a bit startled when Finna turns into a fox and leaps onto her shoulder. Hey, that's not how this is suppose to work! The fox then leaps upward, only to apparently falls back down again upon discovering there is no floor.

Inga looks up then at Eleanor, eyes widening. She was a Chosen? Then...how could she have been killed?

Inga sways as if physically assaulted by the words, the story seeping into her bones. She already knows it, doesn't she? What a terrible place this is. What a terrible time.

Inga leans on Rive for a moment, glad of her presence. She lets out a small sound of protest as she's scooped up and carried up the stairs, clinging to Riva in surprise. "Goodness, I knew you were strong..." she trails off, shaking her head.

While Inga knows very little about how radios work, she can understand Riva's confusion. Following the sounds, she reaches toward the radio...

Just when it seemed the Bees were taking pity on her, Inga feels their buzzing voice seize her again. Her spine straightens, a small gasp escaping before their words beging to broadcasts using her vocal chords. "When two mangled children were found near Ms Killian's house, it was too late. The torches. The mob. The intent to frighten away, warped by the compiling misunderstandings." Inga raises a hand, palm raised toward the roof, a flame appearing to dance brightly in her hand. She stares into the flame as she continues, dark eyes mirroring the flickering light. "The roar of fire out of control. The screams of a woman. The shocked silence of a mob that sees hell reflected in the flames," she continues, quieter.

"Guilt distills into stories until it is palatable. A story formed in every mouth by the time the fire died. "House was already on fire when we got there, and she was at the window, cackling," mumbles a man over his drink. The city council arranged a quick funeral." Inga grows angry now, the flame in her hand growing larger. "No mourners showed. Carrie Killian was cremated and buried beneath a cheap gravestone," she adds, the fire winking out as she closes her hand into a fist.

Inga lowers her head, shoulders slumping, her face disappearing into shadow.

"The Black House still stands. No one wants to tear it down. No one wants to pick at the scab of their guilt. They cover it up with stories of wicked witchcaft. We listen as the sweet children sing the name Carrie Killian in their jump rope rhymes, the way they used to sing about the Black Plague," Now, Inga turns in a wobbly circle, spinning faster, her long braid whirling.

"Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down."

Inga collapses onto the floor in a heap, panting.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
"Fictional American detective," Xiaomu quietly answers Yukihana. "Out of Chicago, I think - the Americans brought some recordings of that program with them after the war. Didn't really catch on in Japan, but it might have inspired a few things."

Finna (513) has posed:
    Seeing Eleanor's face get all twisted up is enough to make Finna prefer getting far away. And that happens to mean leaping down the basement stairs. Her sense of hearing is currently sharpened so conversations upstairs are still audible, easily.

    But it's rather hard to focus on them. Scuffling around a lot and pawing at the soot and the dust and dirt.... she starts pacing nervously around a patch in the basement. "How... did a mob of angry townsfolk corner a real sorceress with a mere burning house? Could she not command the rain come and extinguish it, or shield herself...?"

    But then she gets an idea. In a few moments she's once again in her human form, with a knife in her left hand and right hand outstretched, resolve on her face.

    This might lead to nothing at all. She cannot be sure that the ghosts of this land will listen the way Creation's do. She cannot be sure that anything is around to answer... or even if whatever answers will be a good thing.

    But Finna is prone to acting on instinct.

    There's a flash of moment and Finna BURIES THE KNIFE IN HER OPPOSITE PALM. The knife's immediately bloodied... and she holds the bloodied hand over the place, letting a fairly copious amount spill.

    In about ten seconds though the wound stops bleeding... not only that, but the flesh mends and seals as if there were no wound to begin with. And Finna claps her hands together.

    "You who have fallen, answer the call of Finna Snowdancer. With this blood I beckon... appear before me, Carrie Killian!"

    It's a simple ritual that almost anyone in Creation hears about as a child. But only a few people are brave enough to do it and for good reason. Ghosts are SCARY and the ritual is very unpredictable. Sometimes OTHER THINGS answer. Sometimes the target answers and is very uncooperative.

    But no power actually compels the ghost to come. Only the sweet smell of life. Finna has no time to try burnt offerings and a more elaborate ritual... but the blood and call alone might be enough.

    It is exceptionally potent blood, after all.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
No draug chases them up the street. The undead seem to be held at bay for the moment, but there's movement in the side roads and further down the hill. It's hard to tell if they're circling around or if they're amassing for an attck... or maybe the holy ground actually /does/ do something. It is diffult to tell if it's the church grounds or the 'holy water' Staren has deployed, but one of the pursuing zombies hits the fence-line and starts to burn, falling with a hiss and slowly burning away without a flame.

It's not very pleasant to watch.

"After that program's time," Wuyin remarks, when asked the year. He moves around the church, keeping against it, and looks around the corner, joining the rest.

The graveyard is, while not an enormous cemetary, quite large for an island this size. A number of graves appear to have been dug up, leaving holes and wandering corpses amidst the tombstones. Larger statues dot the back end, and a picket fence seems to have been erected around the graveyard, only to be pulled down on either side by what looks like enormous, hulking undead, at least ten feet tall, hunched over, and made of too-much muscle. There's two of them, and they're surrounded by normal-sized, milling zombies.

The radio is perched on the base of a statue of an angel, apparently weeping into its hands with its wings broken off. It's a yellow shortwave, playing endlessly.

"This electrically-transcribed series of thrilling Dick Tracy Detective Adventures is brought to you by Quaker Puffed Wheat and Quaker Puffed Rice. Those specially-delicious nourishing cereals that give you trigger-fast food energy -- because they're shot from guns!" There's a sound like a staged gun going off.

Something else fades in for just a moment: a hollow-eyed spectre of a woman, rendered in black and white, stretched too thinly to be mistaken for a normal person and drifting like a leaf in the wind above the radio. The ghost fades out again, and another appears, a man this time, on the opposite side. They seem to be staring at it with rapt attention.

Wuyin looks at it quizzically for a moment. "We need to check that radio. I wonder..." He trails off. If Inga were here, this would be far simpler. Lacking her particular gift for this sort of thing, he walks back around the corner of the church, out of sight of the rest of the group, reaching into his pocket.

There's a quiet click, a muted gunshot, and the sound of something heavy hitting the dirt.

The monstrous undead in the graveyard look up towards the group as one.

Staren has posed:
    Staren considers the scene before him. Ugh, the dead have literally risen from these graves. Clearly, the radio has meaning to those two ghosts. But what? And how did it get there?

    Staren turns his head towards the sound of the gunshot. What? ...Oh. He looks back towards the radio. "Cover me, I'm gonna try something stupid." He starts making his way towards the radio, trying to avoid the aggro radius of the zombies shambling around if he can.

    Once within conversation distance, he says, "Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs... Ghost. I see you enjoy stories... I enjoy stories too." He has to half-force a friendly smile. "But can I ask why you have not passed on?"

    If the ghosts don't talk but also don't attack, he removes his gauntlets, pulling a pair of black-cloth-and-clear-crystal gloves from his bag and slipping them on. He holds up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture, "Let me get a better understanding... I'm not here to hurt you." Slowly, gingerly, he touches his fingertips to the radio.

Lancer of Black (886) has posed:
     The zombies burn. Lancer watches. He's seen and done many more horrible things in his life. This is just another tiny little footnote in the grand scheme of the Impaler Prince's life. The radio holds little interest for him - it's rambling nonsense from long after his time, meaningless drivel from an age of swing. What *does* hold his interest are the massive musclebound undead - nightmares in fleshy form. Lancer suspects that they're about to turn on the party.

     There is a thump. Lancer is proven right.

     Never about anything he'd like to be right about.

     The dead start moving. Lancer lets out a quiet sigh. He is unarmed, wielding nothing. The nearest stabbing implements are behind walls of muscle and milling monsters. He is wounded, though not cripplingly, and while he could feasibly leap over them and get to the fenceposts, he has doubts about their veracity as weapons against the musclebound monstrosities. Those things look...bothersome. Like something you wouldn't want to fight in close-quarters. Given that everyone else in this party was close-quarters...

     No. No, not everyone.

     Lancer gives some orders over the radio as he starts walking calmly forward. Though he is unarmed, he seems remarkably unbothered by that fact.

     Lancer plants his foot upon a stone (it is not a headstone. He is not blaspheming. Indeed, Lancer is avoiding stepping on a *single grave*.) "Savage beasts that Heaven rejects, rejoice! Sing the Lord's hallelujahs, for salvation comes to you this night."

     Lancer gestures, a grandiose motion sweeping outwards along the battlements. "Let my faith in God Almighty become the instruments of yor salvation, and tremble with joy as your souls are cut free of your blasphemous form! KAZIKLI BEY ~ LORD OF EXECUTION!"

     There is no rumbling. There is no thunder. There is no *warning* whatsoever, except to the magically-sensitive, who might detect the huge upsurge of Lancer of Black's prana.

     There is no warning.

     Then there are spears.

     Wicked stakes, identical to the one he was wielding earlier, explode out of the ground. They skewer the milling zombies, raising them into the air to wriggle helplessly. They tear apart the dead piece by piece, stakes dragging zombies apart forcefully at the seams. There are stakes emerging from the ground, stakes emerging from the fenceposts, stakes emerging from *other stakes*, pinning and hemming in and *shredding* as many of the dead as Lancer can target.

     The musclebound ones get a special treat. Lancer spares no less than ten stakes per *limb* for them, stabbing at every joint he can find with pinpoint precision. Fingers. Shoulders. Elbows. Knees. Groin. Eyes. Jaw. Everything Lancer can target *is* targetted, every piece of soft and pliable flesh he can find filled with wicked wooden stakes.

     Lancer himself does not move a muscle. He simply watches the unfolding, *brutal* horror with a dispassionate gaze.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Overkill has its uses, but that doesn't mean it's not cringeworthy. Xiaomu herself is cringing as she sees Lancer summoning lots and lots and lots of spears, stakes, or whatever they are. And a *LOT* of zombies get speared through as a result.

'Cringeworthy' is honestly an understatement here. The sage fox has seen some bloody death in her time - and occasionally been the one to inflict it - but that doesn't make it any easier to watch what Lancer is doing. She doesn't have the leisure of looking away, though; Lancer 'asked' her and Yukihana to lend some elemental support.

So Xiaomu hefts her monk staff, slamming its butt against the ground to raise a loud jangle from the rings on its headpiece, and starts focusing ice magic against the largest of the pinned zombies. For good measure, though, she also draws a handgun from her vest -

Not one of the pair whose loads she was checking earlier, but a black handgun with a white spot on the handle.

Why depend solely on one source of ice-elemental power when you have a second source on hand, and one that's designed for use at range for that matter? She hasn't made much use of the Roc's Icebrand before, but this seems like an excellent time for it.

So she uses it. Suiren's magic for the closer of the biggest zombies; Roc's Icebrand is used for the further-away targets.

Riva Banari has posed:
The Black House is a traumatic place. It is not selfish, however.

The Black House is more than happy to share that trauma with anyone who cares to look closely enough. Eleanor looked, and she is left to the mercies of her reeling mind, having glimpsed again into the cruelties that Man inflicts upon Man.

Inga glimpsed, and the Wisewoman was shown that no matter how far mankind progresses, there are always throwbacks, history repeating over and over in the shrieking fires, simian brains unwilling to let go of the freedom and cruelty of mob mentality, to punish the Other and the Outcast. Riva kneels next to her, hugging her and whispering words of comfort. Perhaps only Time can mend those wounds, however, before it cruelly tears them open again. Later, Riva will take the radio with them on the way out to show to Wuyin and compare notes. Provided he's not dead at the time. You never know with him.

Finna, however. the clever fox. The crafty fox. The fox who played at being wolf. The Lunar cries out, half-remembered rituals and incomplete incantations sweetened with the delicious scent of life. There are reasons why the rituals exist.

THE LINES EXIST FOR YOUR PROTECTION.

There is a rumble in the house as it creaks, then shakes as a flame explodes in the air, a howling, burning spectre rippling before the foxwoman for moments before it plunges into the wall. The apparition vanishes.

The fire does not. Quickly, the flames begin to spread against reason and logic, consuming that which is already burned, travelling up walls that do not exist.

The Black House burns once more, a rapidly spreading ghostfire that water will not quench.

Riva promptly picks up Inga and the radio and explodes towards the door with anima-quickened speed, rushing to get the wisewoman to safety. The others can take care of themsevles, she is sure.

If they can't, she'll be back for them.

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    If there's one things simple simain brains can remember, it's that fire is bad. Fire is really bad, and that is enough to shake Eleanor from parts of her mental cacophany. Enough of the voices are screaming at her to run that she wobbles up and looks around at the rapidly burning room, staggering up to her feet and gasp-choking out.

    And then she's rumbling stumbling through the way she came, the heavy weight of her spanner an anchor rather than a shield now. More of a stumble than a rumble though, as she mis-judges a jump and pitches right through a wall of flames and into the first floor of the house... and then is catapulted out the front door of the ruins, smouldering.

    Her skin crisps and boils, but does not burn away. A living candle that smells like bacon.

Yukihana Masamune (900) has posed:
    So the radio is making about zilch all sense for Yukihana. Even with Xiaomu's explanation. The graveyard is ominous and eerie to her even despite the small size, and perhaps for that reason she's lingering somewhat closer to the other fox when she hears the click.

    The gunshot makes her shump, scarlet eyes darting wildly for the source. "Did... Did not Wuyin go in that direction?" She does note.

    There is, however, apparently little time to ruminate on the thought. Ordered thusly by the Impaler to await instruction and then douse someplace with her foxfire. And then she cringes. The sudden blooming eruption of spears from the very earth earns another wince, but she draws her breath regardless. A deep breath, this time with less of the wretch from before as she expels it- into the mass of impaled undead, long plumes of white fire reaching out in a burning cloud of foxfire forge heat.

Inga has posed:
Suddenly there is fire again. Inga isn't sure anymore if it is real or if she's slipped into a vision of the past. Perhaps she'll relive Carrie's terror and pain again and again.

Riva scoops her up again, Inga clinging to her staff to make sure it isn't left behind.

Inga is set down on the ground by Riva, staying where she is, looking at the burning house. Flames that don't consume, only remind. "Let it. Let is burn, let it stand. Let it /scream/ a reminder that will never be forgotten," Inga says with venom.

Needless to say, she's pissed, feeling something of a personal connection with the victim. She's not in any mood to try to purify the place. She has a curse on her lips, ready to fly.

There were people still inside, however. Friends. They may be hurt. "Riva...Eleanor, Finna..." she says, looking from her to the house.

Eleanor launches out, so there is that. She's hurt. She's on FIRE.

Blood is kind of like water, right? Inga reaches for her knife and plunges it into middle. She's going to need a lot of blood for this. Crimson soaks her dress, but is then pulled from her wound by her will, flinging outward in a fine, shimmering mist toward Eleanor, trying to both heal her and put out the flames.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna has heard tales of strange things answering the beckoning call. The wrong ghost. Too many ghosts. Sometimes plasmic animals that are scary but mostly harmless. MOST of the time the right ghost answers in ideal circumstances.

    But there are things and phenomena in this world that Finna did not account for. Phantoms of power and freakish violence that do not manifest as she's expecting and do something she didn't think a ghost could do.

    Oooooooooooops.

    At first, eyes go wide. She takes a few steps back, knowing that this should not cause the HOUSE to react. Or start a fire. Her lips peel back in that very universal 'oh crap' way, a nervous fight or flight grin sparking up...

    And then the worst possible vision of burning HORROR erupts-- "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

    ... And scares the bezoozles right out of her.

    It is a rare thing indeed, but everyone upstairs gets treated to the rare sight of Finna, in HUMAN FORM, scampering up the stairs in an impossible 'four legged' style, not even thinking about what form she's in. She vaults and leaps, shrieking at the top of her lungs!

    "OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUTOUTOUTOUTNOWNOWNOW!!"

    And bolts for the nearest window!

Eleanor Lamb (40) has posed:
    The blood... well yeah, the healing field with extinguish Eleanor. She's healing just fine on her own though. Her body always heals.

    There's a dull, pained look in her face though, and she doesn't much feel like moving.

Inga has posed:
Inga moves over toward Eleanor, staying near to comfort her, offering a hand. "Yes...I know," she says quietly. "I know."

Inga looks to Finna as she runs out, eyes widening slightly. She shakes her head, motions her over. There might need to be some kind of group hug of support.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna's very shaken. Like a kid who's about to face parental judgement, that's how she looks at the moment. But she saunters over to Inga and Eleanor and plops down near them, grasping both. They're outside and it's apparently safe, but she's not letting her guard down...

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
A forest of spikes envelops the graveyard.

Wooden spikes erupt from the ground in every direction, filling the bounded space meant for the dead. In a way, it still is -- the undead are there, and trapped within... because they are pinned, impaled, spiked and, in all ways, rendered immobile by the precision use of Vlad the Impaler's Noble Phantasm.

The scene is gruesome. The zombies aren't even necessarily killed when the spikes strike upwards into them. They're twitching, flailing and writhing, suspended in the air and born downward by their own weight and the motion of their bodies as the stake presses deeper into their decomposing forms. Blood and other things slide down the stakes, the innards of the worst of them emptied onto the ground. Very few have their heads struck clean through, and are still.

Forgefire heat and frigid cold reach out to encompass them. The cold freezes their bodies to the bone, frost and ice forming on the bodies and the stakes. The fire burns, scorches and sizzles, the moist island air condensed and then flash-boiled off their bones. It turns into a mixed vision of white fire, tinged an unnatural blue by whatever it is burns in the dead, and immobilizing cold, preventing the largest from going anywhere.

The behemoths, the hulking corpses, are stabbed from dozens of angles until they resemble insects on a board pinned by an overenthusiastic child. They still move, bodies tearing as they try to fight their way free of the mass of stakes. It isn't until the cold and then the fire reaches them that they stop, reduced to blackened husks standing on frozen, cracking ground.

A light mist, unrelated to the fog, settles over the graveyard from the conflicting elements. It, thankfully, obscures the worst of the carnage from the outside.

Staren, though, goes to find the radio. The ghosts don't respond, but he can see two things about it immediately. The first, its frequency, set to '6236 kHz'; the second, the total lack of any sort of batteries or power source. The radio program has carried on with gusto, recounting adventures not heard from one of these in decades.

The ghosts manifest all at once. A dozen of them, spectres all, surrounding him. They look down with hollow, blackened eye sockets and mouths that are a terrible void. Each moves with an odd fluidity in the air, unrestricted by gravity. They slowly descend...

His gloves take hold of the radio. He doesn't see anything. Dawn, his Muse, does.

"Entities made of signals. Beings made of message." Dawn's voice is dischordant, multitudinous, glitching madly. It takes up all his awareness. It plays out over his short-range radio. He can't seem to stop it. "It tickles our empathy! We flirt with those heady strings of numbers, those cosmic sonnets - we blush - we burn - a strange melody - a beep - a child's voice - a woman's voice - synthetic - distant - valentines in slinky static. We'll cop your cipher."

The phantoms, as one, look at a point next to the radio where there is nothing. Staren can see this clearly. Everything is in focus. Then, again as one, they vanish, flickering out of sight like the film reel had run out.

All is quiet, save for the continuing adventures of Dick Tracy... or maybe his ghost, instead.

Staren has posed:
    Lancer of Black just straight up /IMPALES ALL THE ZOMBIES AT ONCE. Staren stares for a moment. "Wow. /That/ was cool."

    Once he makes it to the radio, Staren has mentally braced himself for something horrible and dreadful. What terrible fate these two met, or perhaps, being put in direct telepathic and empathic contact with an evil spirit...

    Nothing happens.

    For a split-second. As Staren's about to take his hands off the radio, his radio is hijacked by his own support AI's voice. HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK?! He steps back, holding his hands to his helmet, sending mental commands to Dawn to terminate this process, then telling his headware to force-close it, then telling his headware to turn off the radio, then sending commands to all his devices to lock down, then trying to reboot the headware. Nothing works.

    He's forced to listen to it. What does the message mean? Is it a warning that the radio signal was the Filth itself? Or are the bees just showing off what /they/ can do?!

    If his systems start responding again after the message is over, he tells Dawn to shut down, archiving this iteration of her to a tablet he pulls out of his bag for later analysis. He'll make do without a muse till he sorts out how much of his stuff is contaminated. If his stuff isn't responding, then he's /extremely nervous/ until it is.