Scene #8273: The World Beneath

Owner	Pose
Trudy Grimm	The stone walls and slate roofs of Hamarrheim disappear over the southern horizon as the Paladin airship travels north. Despite the morning sun and crisp air that greeted the elites at the warp gate (itself a large gnarled hoop of braided yew inscribed with glowing orange runes), the further North the party moves, the darker it gets. The sun itself even eventually dips below the horizon, only casting its light by reflecting off the clouds above and the unforgiving ice below. This casts the landscape in a sort of grim early-evening twilight at all hours, giving the illusion that time itself has slowed to a crawl; stopped, even. Eventually, after a rather uneventful hour or two of opportunity for polite conversation, the airship circles and puts down in the snow, dropping the rear hatch for disembarkment into a frozen wasteland. It must have once been a battlefield, strewn with the ice-encrusted remains of warriors in armor, run through with spears or hewn by great axes and swords, prickly with arrows, rusted and dessicated, faint blue lights glowing in place of eyes. The countless figures are strewn between or dashed against monuments of stonework since covered in snow and ice, the barest indication of metal fences and stone cairns, some pulsing with ancient esotaric runes in a variety of colors. The convergence of leylines produces a palpable energy in the air, though it also feels ancient-- almost stagnant. Visible in the icy mist and snow is a stone structure resembling an ancient cathedral, tall peaked roofs and iron-wrought windows set with cracked panes of colored glass, depicting ritual knots in green, blue, and crimson. There is the definite sensation of Being Watched, here. None of the slain warriors move; the presence is unmistakable but does not seem to come from their empty gaze. An unnatural chill up the spine through even the warmest of clothing. Trudy, the first to disembark, exercises an unusual amount of restraint while in the presence of frozen corpses. Rather, she walks precisely ten paces from the aircraft and fixes her gaze at the top of one of the stone monuments. Perched there, its joints ice-locked, is a skeletal crow. When spotted, it lets out a raspy cawing of its own, to which the witch smiles that shark-toothed smile of hers. Turning in place, she casts her hands out to either side, "I do believe we have arrived! Do be careful what you touch, though. Everyone here is quite restless."
Ishirou	Ishirou showed up today, partially under some duress. His throat is a bit raspy but slowly gets better as the trip goes on. Also with plenty of water. He's definitely been upset today but has gotten things under control enough to be here. Also, today he's wearing a new outfit! His outfit consists of a lightweight black sweater, with the fringes of what seems to be a plain white shirt beneath it. It's the kind of comfortable ensemble that one could wear around the house, tidied up into something more professional by the lower half - a pair of relaxed-fit pants in dark gray, belted and finished off by a pair of black, casual-lean dress boots. He rather likes this one and feels pretty comfortable...though seems underdressed for the situation. He's got a simple jacket over the outfit, mostly to make it seem like he's not showing off. When they touch down, Ishirou looks over everything, making initial scans for...well magic. He wants to know what is and isn't 'unalive' so he knows what not to touch...or look at too much. He gives Trudy a look when she mentions restlessness. "How much are...undead and how much is...just aesthetics?"
Seras Victoria	Arrangements have been made, and Seras Victoria's arrival to the transport is carried out by some workers. Workers who carry a coffin aboard, and are also hauling a few cases. As the plan is travel in transport by day, operate by night... This is, no doubt, somewhat embarassing for Seras. But it's necessary for such a long journey... necessary to keep her strength and alertness up. When the sun sets, the vampire awakens, unlatching and swinging open the lid to look around, stretch, adjust her outfit, and joins the others in some chatting and looking around at the great outdoors. But as soon as they're outdoors and she hops down onto the frozen snow, wearing nothing different than she normally does... and with her usual weaponry dangling from some back straps... Well, she isn't even shivering, but her nerves are certainly on edge here. She gulps, looking over the surroundings. She's dealt with zombies and vampires, but how do you kill a skeleton, which has neither a brain or a heart? She hopes the warriors stay down... Though she also fixes her gaze at the weirdly skeletal crow. Her jaw steadily creaks open with growing awe and a bit of horror before she shuts it soundly. "So... Miss Grimm. Just... what HAPPENED here?"
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Regard COLLECTION OF CORPSES Arthur, having finally gotten off the airship, squats near one of the fallen frozens, staring into the dim blue light and grimacing. "Nnnh. DAMN. We gonna be CORPSEMAXING on this adventure, lady? I know you got a GIMMICK, but gimmie some WARNING before I see anything TOO FRESH." He stands up, shifting uneasily. "Not that I can't KEEP MY COOL. I'm the COOLEST COOL-KEEPER in this COLD-ASS COLDSVILLE. Just, y'know." He rambles. "For the VIEWERS." It's more that viscera and gore on a dead body tends to put him off. But luckily, this is just inhuman enough to stay out of his gut-feel zone. "Doesn't feel like there was a lot of AUTHORIAL FOCUS up in this biz. Just lots of POPSICLE WAR. That shit be FORENSIC for real, yo."
Tamamo	Tamamo is, naturally, wearing her now-usual winter coat. It's soft and fluffy on the inside, and very warm, besides, though for an environment like this, it might not be enough. She certainly acts like that's the case, moving to tightly take Lilian's arm once the outside air hits her, a shiver descending down her tails. "They do seem rather... attentive, Ms. Grimm. Are they guardians, do you suppose, or have they merely been abandoned here, and yet wait for some monk to arrive and recite the prayers that would allow them to rest? If it is the latter, I may stand in for a priest." It's not like she's planning on praying. That would just be silly. She can handle putting spirits to rest on her own.
Lilian Rook	Lilian has thrown on her double breasted and pleat-skirted peacoat; the wine red and black fur-lined one with the slightly loose sleeves and long hem, accommodating knee-high lined leather boots and mittens with pull-back fingers. Aside from a scarf stuffed under the high unfolded collar, she hasn't so much as put on earmuffs for her head, and the way she looks around seems to suggest she thinks she'll need the hearing. Though 'thrown on' is a bit of an overstatement, her winter wear looks considerably less carefully pieced together than it usually does. Which is to say that it lacks her uncanny, character designer precision, and simply appears 'neat'. The way she scans the terrain is less enthusiastic than usual, too. As if she were only three quarters attentive. Her stare wanders. Her reactions to Trudy's speech are slightly delayed. Her armament isn't cleanly at hand. Her bag looks a little overstuffed. Really, it's only the way that she holds her Tamamo-arm closer to her that seems the same as usual. "As if anyone would be stupid enough to dig up skeletons just to fight them." she says, drifting in the vicinity of the church with only a glance spared to the crow. "Odd. That's . . . well, this is a different world. The stained glass and steeped roof; is that a foreign design, or local? Modern, or ancient?"
Trudy Grimm	> "How much are...undead and how much is...just aesthetics?" "Most of them," Trudy comments to Ishirou. Turning, she gestures with one hand. It's confirmed by his scans when she points out; "If the lights are on, somebody's home." It's nearly every carcass here, frozen in place and mangled by weapons, but staring out with blue-tinged embers of consciousness. > "DAMN. We gonna be CORPSEMAXING on this adventure, lady? I know you got a GIMMICK, but gimmie some WARNING before I see anything TOO FRESH." The witch returns her attention to the skeletal crow. A skeletal arm made out of several arms extends from her shadow, crawling up the monument and collecting the creature at the top. It's drawn down into her waiting arms, where it rasps out another caw. Brightly, Trudy comments, "You did really well, thank you." and then drops the bird into her shadow as well. "Fortunately," she speaks up for Arthur's benefit, "These warriors died a long time ago." She turns her head towards the cathedral-like structure in the center, "If we're to test my theory that someone other than my father wrote the Grimoire, though-- it's going to be places like this, no? Don't worry about it." > "Just... what HAPPENED here?" > "They do see rather... attentive, Ms. Grimm." "If you're going to believe old legends, people have been trying to get into this place since the world was young," Trudy comments. She waves a hand across several still-inhabited carcasses, their armor and trappings drastically different from one another, "Seeking riches, seeking power, trying to recover what was lost... All kinds of reasons. All reached the same ending." > "The stained glass and steeped roof; is that a foreign design, or local? Modern or ancient?" "I couldn't tell you," Trudy admits to Lilian's questions, "There's nothing like it in Hamarrheim, that's for sure. Nor any of the villages in my family's territory, or their tower." She skims over the surroundings one more time, then turns to approach the building proper, "I'd venture ancient though. Unless these guys have a job they're not telling us about."
Trudy Grimm	Something cracks like ceramic dinnerware. Admist popping and snapping, the carcass slumped against the building's door lurches to life, lifting his head at the party's approach. Blue-glowing eyes scan across the group from left to right, then back to center-- the witch who leads them. What can be seen of his face is sunken, but he still possesses a beard and a wild mane of hair, each sporting several small braids and beads and charms. His helm and armor is less corroded than the others, still gleaming silver in places even though it bears cracks and holes. His helm only sports one feathered decoration on the side, the other long-since lost. Wordlessly, the man shifts, his joints cracking and snapping, frost breaking away as he rises to his feet. The bear-fur cape fills out his mountainous eight-foot physique's silhouette as he squares his shoulders, rolling his neck from side to side. Eventually, the grotesque grinding of ice ceases. "Draugr," Trudy states, lifting a finger to her lips in thought, "You must be. . . Deya." There's more sounds, quieter than those made by the great warrior. Other corpses begin to rise, those with that blue glow in their eyes, clutching their weapons and shields. There is no overt hostility, just the dead showing their restlessness. It's not lost on Trudy, casting her eyes across the monument-strewn field and the figures lurching out of the snow. -There is no place for Gravewalkers here.- His voice-- what must have at one time been a rich baritone-- comes out as a raspy, contemptable hiss with a faint echo to it. Reaching down, he collects the shield resting by the door where he had been resting; a round, wooden affair with iron banding, numerous weapons lodged within the sturdy wood. -Leave.-
Ishirou	"Uh..." Ishirou says, pausing as the corpse starts animating. "I think we attracted company.." he says quietly to the others as it starts to approach them, and speaks. "Oh, I'm not...that, I'm Ishirou," Ishirou says, with an upbeat tone. "If anything we're looking for answers! The lady next to me here.." he motions towards Trudy, "Is looking for the source of something..." He looks around more, trying to get telemetry of the inside of the cathedral, before turning back to him. "...Can I ask what happened here? If you would be so kind as to tell me your story.."
Tamamo	Tamamo remains on Lilian's side throughout, even as the corpses stir. This is, if only for her, a usual amount of attentiveness. She still looks a bit cold, though being near her is still enough to warm someone up. She radiates a fair bit, even through that coat, perhaps as a reaction to the cold. "Oh... 'gravewalkers,' is it? I do not believe I am such a thing, by intent. I am Tamamo-no-mae, bunrei of Amaterasu-omikami, She of the Pale-Gold Face, Goddess of the Sun. Would you mind explaining that which is permitted, if this is not?" She looks around, then back to the eight-foot-tall corpse. "If any here are awaiting the services of a priest, I may offer the same. Is your rest comfortable?"
Seras Victoria	Seras takes another good long at her traveling companions for the journey. Most she recognizes. As they walk, she shifts her position by walking faster or slower between people... Coming up next to Ishirou (and, she certainly shows up as very magical, and very undead), "Are you going to be alright in just that? It looks nice on you... but is it warm enough?" Says... says the police girl who's not wearing anything different for the occasion, and isn't shivering. Glancing over towards Arthur, she remarks, "There might not be any warnings... there's no telling what might pop out of all this snow and ice." She seems to be settling for a position in the middle of the group in the end, and so comments towards Lilian, "Nobody here, at least." She says in a bright and slightly relieved tone. "Though a few people come to mind... oh." "One can only guess what gods or spirits these poor people believed in. After waiting this long though, I imagine they'll gladly take whatever blessing is offered." She completely agrees with Tamamo's compassionate idea about sending them off, however that works, it seems. Of course, eventually they're all in front of the cathedral... which is guarded. She has to crane her neck back a bit to gaze up at the gigantic draugr, and the man's height is certainly awe-inspiring. She looks around, spotting the movement in the ice and snow a bit nervously. Still, she doesn't go for a weapon, since the guardians have not advanced. "Wow... I'm guessing you're lingering here to guard this place, then? Just... how long has it been, then? How many have come? I wonder... what makes it a worthy cause?"
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Don't worry about it. "Hey, you're the BOOKS KNOWER." Arthur grins as he shrugs. "I'm just here to lend the COOLNESS. But, you're thinkin', what? GRIMOIRE gonna have a weird REACTION? I don't know DOOM ASPECT stuff, that shit's a good ways TURNWAYS on the ASPECT WHEEL." >Arthur: Experience Deya Arthur looks up as he regards the door's guardian. He pulls down his warm furred hood and takes in the guy's size as he summons the restless. "NOT SURE 'BOUT THAT. Talkin' about ya girl TRUDY?" He says, gesturing at Trudy. "I mean, I never WALKED A GRAVE in my LIFE, aside from the time I got STABBED TO DEATH. Speaklin' of, NICE COLLECTION." He laughs about the shield, a nice way of defusing his thoughts about how it'd probably be too sturdy for most of his broom attacks. "Seriously, though. Little lady gotta get her LITERARY HISTORY on. And maybe y'all got that RIGOR MORTIS up in this bitch, but I gotta WARM UP if you're tryin'a TUSSLE 'bout this." He's already stretching and bouncing on the soles of his feet, as well as prodigiously displaying various bars and UI elements filling up. What's that, ArcSys pre-fight announcer? https://i.imgur.com/XsYSoLF.png Well, we'll workshop it later. Anyway, Arthur draws his BATTLE BROOM and pulls the ripcord, causing the metal bristles to spin viciously. The minute this goes hot, he's rocket-blasting straight towards the big guy with the biggest overhead swing he's got.
Lilian Rook	<J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "So, are we dispensing with them, or honouring the dead?" <J-IC-Scene> Ishirou says, "...I mean, they're not attacking, and giving a fair warning? So why not start with politeness?" <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "'Gravewalkers,' is it?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Politeness?" <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "I thought we were here to recover a different lost art." "I anticipate he means Miss Grimm, Tamamo." says Lilian. She glances over her shoulder. "A word for necromancers, perhaps. I can imagine why someone of the undead persuasion, guarding some dread arcane secret, might take exception to one." She sighs, already seeing the way this is going. "We'd all do best to remember that Grimm is burdened with representing her rancid father as long as she carries that grimoire, whether she would like to or not." In situations like that, you can't your talk out of people's preconceptions. No matter how clearly you explain who and what you are, no matter how rationally you describe what you want, it won't work. If they want to bar you, cast you down, destroy you, for what you are and where you come from, they will try." Lilian detaches her arm from Tamamo in typically smooth fashion, drifting acute to put herself firmly between her and Deya as she approaches. "Alas, you'll have to make one." she says. "We can discuss it like wise men and women; that our intentions here are besides what you expect, that the book is in different hands, and that you should be certain to try and gain something from this exchange, seeing as you won't stop us. Would you like to?" Direct contradiction of her own take. Making the effort regardless. "I am Dame Commander Lilian Rook, disciple of Scáthach and Winter Bloom of Humanity. I have business with your mistress. Seeing as I've made the first offer, if you can't see the obvious benefit, I'll let you have the first blow."
Trudy Grimm	To Ishirou's scans, the Cathedral-like structure is more of a shell building. It covers a great hole. A shaft that dives deep into the earth, lined with stairs and outcroppings. It appears to be a natural formation rather than something dug by mortal hands. That's likely the next leg of the journey...because right now there is a colossal undead viking and related garrison of warriors growing more and more ambulatory.> "Can I ask what happened here?" -I happened.- Trudy glances towards Ishirou with a shrug. This claim lines up with what she said earlier, at least, about people coming here and meeting the same end. Deya, it seems, is that End. As Tamamo and Seras address him with their questions, he turns his shield slightly and reaches into the forest of weapons lodged in it. With a wrenching motion, he pulls free a long spear. This is turned around twice and then planted on the stonework beside his foot. -The sick and unchosen dwell here under Her guardianship.- -No goddess or priest shall release what does not wish to be released.- -My service to her is Absolute.- Lilian speaks in that tone that commands attention. To her words the ancient warrior listens. He even nods once or twice in consideration. He seems to weigh as well what Arthur shares. Those hollow, burning blue eyes rest on Trudy herself and he lets out a rumble of thought. -Gravewalkers of the past would not use words.- -They come here with their armies and their thralls to break against me.- -Only one has surpassed me through their treachary.- His eyes close for a moment, or 'close' in so much as the blazing blue light within those sockets disappears. -I am inclined to believe you.- -To move from inclination to certainty, I shall take your measure.- His eyes blaze back to life, his voice raising to a roar. The icy blue glow of his eyes burns into a fiery, hostile orange. -I am Deya. I was the First.- -Stand tall and face the First Death.- The fiery orange color in his eyes spreads like wildfire through the animating warriors across the field, each and every one raising their weapons. Trudy lets out a noise, drawing forth the rune of Death Eiwaz and expanding her shadow, "--An army for an army... I'll tie up these guys while you give him what he wants!" Skeletons are already crawling out of the void at the witch's feet when Deya lurches forward. It's a short, fast jump after which he lands with far more force than should be possible, right in the middle of the group's formation, accentuated with a primal roar.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: STRIFE!! The roaring of the broom intensifies as the challenge is more clear. Its holder finishes limbering up. "Alright, BIG AND TALL DEATH EMPORIUM." Arthur's grinning and wide-eyed. "Let's see you HAPPEN AGAIN. Name's ARTHUR LOWELL! MAGE OF SPACE, ROCKET POWERED JERK, and the MOST RESPECTFUL KNEECAP-BREAKER YOU'RE GONNA SEE ON THIS MORTAL COIL, MOTHERFUCKER! You want some CERTAINTY 'bout our INTENTION, I got PLENTY TO SPARE." He stomps one foot dramatically, brandishing his broom. "COME GET SOME!!" He screams with an eager mania as he rockets forward with his prepared action, leaping into the arc of that jump and taking it dead-on before he even lands. "YYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHH!!" His broom screams on contact, going for the first strike with a rocket-powered overhead, expecting that the guy has rarely taken such a strike from a higher angle given his massive stature. He winds up taking the impact dead-on, but readied, enduring it all for the sake of a big, heavy counterblow. He may not have the health bar for tanking, but he's got the super-armor for it, so to speak! He continues this strategy of huge, sweeping swings, ready to power through strikes rather than dodge in order to hit back. Nobody escape's death, especially not Arthur Lowell, so the best thing to do is to take one's lumps respectfully and offer up something to the challenge of life. Or maybe Arthur's just in a manic type of mood, encountering a guy like this after so many espionage-style operations.
Seras Victoria	Seras Victoria... gulps. The moment that Deya claims his service is absolute. She just knows. She can feel it in the air. Her instincts scream at the rising tension. And, of course, as the undead warrior arms himself and brandishes his weaponry, she inhales a long, frosty, and entirely unnecessary breath, exhaling it slowly, eyes closing... And, at the very exact second Deya's eyes blaze open, so do Seras's. They are glowing blood-red. A bold smile spreads on her face for once, strangely, cutting through her usual composure and trained focus. "That loyalty's inspiring, Mister Deya." She proclaims respectfully, sensing that the First Death merely wants to see what she's made of - she doesn't need to try and end him. "But I'm sure standing around here for ages would have a warrior like you bored to tears." She brandishes the Harkonnen with both arms, slamming a shell into the barrel and slamming it shut. Something tells her that he can take a few shots, easily... She sees him jumping towards them all and expects that he's going for a specific person. She drops down to her knees to brace herself and takes aim for exactly where he's going to land... And pulls the trigger. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! What she doesn't expect, though, is the SHOCKWAVE. "What-" Her instincts warn her a split-second too late. The raw force blows her tumbling backwards through the ice and snow like a ragdoll, smashing against ice outcroppings and rocks and the occasional bits of battlefield debris. Quite possibly plowing through a few undead soldiers, too. When she rises, she's bloody, but quite intact. "Hehe. Eheheh. This rush... I wonder if it's why my Master's always having fun?" Oh yeah, she's definitely feeling it. Something she normally keeps horribly suppressed. The monster inside.
Ishirou	Ishirou is quickly learning it's going to be one of /those/ days. He sags slightly, getting the typical old monster lingo. Why is everyone always excited about this sort of thing..? He really didn't want to fight, it was always a last resort. However, the creature rev's up to swing. Two things happen in quick succession, first, there is a bright light, as the armor that serves as the base of the R.E.S.C.U.E. unit appears over him, POD no longer around. The second is that out of his subspace pocket, the flight unit soars out, aiming to catch the weapon in such a way that Ishirou can roll out of the direct swing, but get caught on the shockwave. The air unit splits apart, each part connecting to Ishirou's body as he takes flight to get some distance from the undead. Already, two 'options' fly out, one hovering near Tamamo, and the other near Arthur. These support their offense in some way, rather that is feeding data for better accuracy, or enhancing the attack to make it much more potent. Ishirou himself releases a warm of missiles that fly into the air before releasing their flack payloads all over the undead, aiming to show the power of modern weaponry...by using overwhelming fire.
Tamamo	Tamamo isn't able to get out of the way in time, but she can at least blunt and redirect the brunt of that force around her, as her Eightfold Blessings materializes in a defensive posture at the impact. It causes her to lose her footing on this frozen land, and she teeters on her snow boots (somewhat safer in this environment than her usual geta) before regaining balance. "Oh, my! Well, if you cannot otherwise be certain, I suppose there is some sense to that. I shall be magnanimous in victory, of course." Given the company she's keeping, she can't imagine losing. "That will serve as evidence of our pure intentions, no?" Proving they could have just forced their way in without trickery at least provides the suggestion that they're not attempting a trick. The thought of simply enjoying a pretext to fight doesn't immediately occur to her. She's a bit worried about what Arthur's planning, but she does have plenty of healing supplies available. It should be fine. "I would not speak ill of your determination to serve your duty, and yet, for these others, I wonder if it is the same? Your attachments to this world hold firm, and may so long as your mistress remains. Is it the same for all those here?" Talismans circle her, held firmly upright without being touched, hovering in the air as she leaps for distance, and then driving against the ice and snow with a rolling rhythm like a rapid drumbeat. The lines circle and cross her own position, extend around her, leaving walls of sublimated steam as the domain of the Sun takes hold. She'll be prepared for the next attack, and anything that makes it past Trudy will have a harder time crossing that wall, as well. On the other hand, her own efforts, those she blesses, and especially Lilian's borrowed power will gain that field advantage.
Lilian Rook	Lilian laughs. Not like she usually does. It grates in her throat, more wintry than the biting cold air. She speaks without her usual degree of thought and precision, simply saying something because it came to mind. "If it's the way of the sick and unchosen speak to your mistress beyond that door, then that's all the more reason I should go through." Pulling Night Mist from her collar by its chain, Lilian stares at the pendant dangling from her fingers, for severa long moments, before her eyes drift to the exposed edge of her bracelet, between her glove and her sleeve. A little more confidently, she says "Well, measure away. At least on my part, you won't find any dimension lacking." A linear blossom of swirling inky blackness becomes her sword. A buzzing starburst and spiral nebula of black-gold light and matter condenses into the skin and plates of armour. Her bag falls halfway to the snow, then diverts sharply away. Lilian grips her weapon with both hands spaced at the grip's full span, lowering it flat to her side, the point nearly touching the ground. She's ready for the very instant Dreya lunges, reading it in his body language, the air, or perhaps his mind. Given her stance; an adapted dragon's guard; she might have read it before it even happened. Her feet leave the ground the instant before the shockwave craters the snow, cracks the ice, and raises the jagged stones; not away, but towards. A spherical burst of snow-dusted air, where she just was, flashes white at the clashing edge of the shockwave. A raven black blur, streaked with liquid gold, jumps between the ground and Dreya's shoulder like an arc of electricity. The ringing sound of Night Mist's impact; a rising cut from the ground turned into a hewing slice through neck and collar and shoulder orbit by speed and elevation alone; blows away the falling snow with its force, and clears the air for a full second. The strike bleeds off a burst of white vapour, then passes through, like a moment of hit-stop. The sword contrail is easier to see than Lilian, corkscrewing through the air behind Dreya, and sharply reversing back down, irrespective of momentum and inertia. A matching hawk strike gathers ice vapour and cracks down across the opposite side in the same way, blowing away the snow on the ground where Lilian lands, cracking the ice with the flex of her legs. The opposite side of him, she intends to turn him around and away from Tamamo.
Trudy Grimm	Arthur meets Deya in midair with his own overhead swing, coming face to alarming face with a screaming viking. The DoomBroom glances off his helmet and into his shoulder, grinding against metal armor, fur, and frozen flesh. It doesn't-- stop him, though, as he bowls into the Mage of Space with maddened laughter and the distinct threat of crushing him on landing. When Deya impacts in the party's midst, it sends Trudy for a tumble. Skeletons scatter on the shockwave, quickly reassembling themselves and taking up their weapons. The witch scrambles back to her feet as well, redrawing Eiwaz and pushing it down into the snow at her feet. Her shadow grows to match the runic circle that forms, and more skeletons begin pouring out. Amongst them, the taller and more distinctive Cute Friends begin appearing; first the Black Knight, and then the Samurai. Within minutes, the field around the cathedral is filled with the ringing of steel as draugr and skeletons engage one another, all as a backdrop to the duel with Deya, the First Draugr. A high-calibur shell punches into his body, bursting as it exits the other side and lighting his cape ablaze. He remains in a low crouch when missiles explode against and around him, surrounding the warrior in flames and shrapnel. It's in this obscuring mess that Lilian's sword strike carves across armor, flesh, and bone. He draws the spear in a wide circle, scattering debris around him through walls of sun-blessed steam. The spin promptly stops when he plants his foot, spinning the weapon around and hauling it back, then hurling it after Ishirou's flying armor. It trails a cable, and should he manage to harpoon the RESCUE, he wrenches on the line with a roar to forcibly alter Ishirou's flight path towards Tamamo. He keeps that rope wrapped around his forearm even as he reaches to his shield again, pulling free a bearded axe. Hunching forward, Deya unleashes a roar into the steam-filled air, scattering clouds of mist with the force of an oncoming train. The first person he sees-- he hurls the axe, directly at Seras. In the recovery motion of the axe-throw, the warrior wrenches a sword from his collection; a northern greatsword. Wielded one-handed, his body twists about into an overhead arc that brings it directly down on where Lilian stands. Predicting a sidestep-- he leans into it with a shoulder rush at where his experience suggests she should be.
Ishirou	Ishirou's eyes widen, that thing came out of nowhere. The Harpoon is /fast/! Warnings come at Ishirou and he has only a few moments to try and figure out what he's going to do. The flight armor moves just enough, the harpoon catching it, but only glancing across the wing. However, the force along is enough to yank Ishirou in a direction of his choice. If that had been a direct hit, it'd be so much worse. He goes flying... And right down towards Tamamo! In the meantime, both drones dash towards Lilian, aiming to enhance her aim by feeding her data on the creature directly to her mind, so she knows everything Ishirou's scans have figured out, while predicting its next moves based on data he's collected. The other enhances her magical power, making sure that her next strikes will be more potent. As he falls, Ishirou ejects from the flight unit, allowing it to crash, and his fall is going to hurt a lot if he's not caught. However, as he falls he reaches out with his telekinetic force, aiming to wrap electromagnetic forces around the weapons of downed undead...and fire them towards the back of the drauger, aiming to both distract him, and pin him down.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Dramatically stick the landing Fuck no. Are you kidding? Arthur's kind of exciteable, he's not suicidal. He winds up at the edge of a crater, not the bottom, still hollering loudly. "Fffffrrrrhhhh... FUCK!" He continues his sweeping swipes, panting heavily as his bruises sizzle with strange black and white smoke. "COME ON, DRAUGR! I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT I'M HERE TO DOOOOOO!!" Ishirou's benevolent aid has given him cues to work with, enough to shift his styles. Thrusts of the blender-bristles meant to force him to use lighter, short-grip weapons. Swings of heavy strikes to force the use of the shield. Shifts to heavy parrying and blocking stances to force the use of heavier weapons. Arthur is starting to rotate his stances repeatedly, eyes gleaming with the mania, as he seeks to physically embody the intentions. It's a demand that the berserker show off every technique, every weapon, every maneuver. "WE'RE HERE TO GODDAMN LEARN! GIVE ME A GODDAMN SCHOOLING FOR WHAT YOU'RE GUARDING, ROTTING BASTARD!!" He roars, eventually reducing his dialogue to something more savage despite his scholarly intent: "DEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" The shout is full-throated and coincides with the massive shockwaves blasting out his clashes and swings.
Seras Victoria	The battle rages like something out of an ancient epic, though few of those likely feature vampires. Seras spots the axe and the warrior's eyes on her and she reacts with blinding speed, bringing up the Harkonnen, braced with both arms... and gives it a mighty swing, as though the axe is a ball and her weapon the bat. Steel meets steel. Strength is pitted against strength just as this world's warrior gods are so deeply fond of. Sparks fly and blood flows. Unfortunately for Seras, it's hers doing the flowing. For in the clash, her attempt to deflect the axe off to a side was only a partial success. The sheer force of it staggered her, knocked her backwards several body lengths, and resulted in the axe striking her at a lopsided angle and drawing a nasty gash across her side, a mighty chunk of flesh taken from her arm - it's a gruesome sight, Arthur had best avoid looking - and she's also knocked clean off her feet and goes tumbling again. There are crunching and cracking noises. And quite a few agonized screams. She rises though, a bloody sight... but still mobile. Through the cuts of her mangled clothing, one can even see the wounds she suffered steadily closing. Still, her left arm is mangled and dangles limply, either dislocated or broken. Thankfully, being knocked away that keeps her very, very clear of Tamamo's sunlight shenanigans. She winces and looks away, shielding her face with her working arm, but doesn't burn. Using the Harkonnen with just one hand is a challenging prospect, but Seras manages. Bracing the barrel against the snowy ground she slams a fresh shell into the barrel and locks it closed. This time, she braces the weapon under her good arm to help hold it steady as possible, and takes another shot. An explosive shell goes flying for Deya! But no sooner is it a meter from the barrel than she drops the weapon and swings her rifle around and into place, and starts opening up with a full clip of semi-automatic bursts with deadly aim. As soon as it's expended then she drops it and pulls out a sizably heavy pistol, flicks off the safety and BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM! When it needs reloading, she braces the gun in her mouth, fangs biting down to hold it steady while she slides the new clip into place... and goes at it with yet one more barrage!
Tamamo	With her field setup complete, it's more than warmth that flows through the land, but that warmth is what lets Tamamo twirl in place and, like a stage trick, her coat is discarded, her miko-like robes replacing it, as if they were always present underneath, though that surely couldn't be the case. Her motion continues, as a folded fan drops from her sleeve and into her palm, then snaps open. It flutters, her arms extend and draw back as she turns, her geta tap the ground, and she dances. It is not, of course, the same as that time concerning the secret technique of Chi Li Ding, and her equipment would be all wrong for that particular art, but the effects aren't so dissimilar. Energy like embers in the air flows from her, there for the taking by all other living members of the party (and Seras). Where she steps, even to this dead land, the faintest beginning of life emerges. Grasses wish to break the ground beneath her feet. Talismans fly, and provide the tiniest reverse impulse as they impact Ishirou, righting the rotation of the RESCUE unit caused by Deya hurling it, and pulling his trajectory just slightly up. Tamamo's dancing steps carry her up into the air, landing on the back of her mirror, where she sidesteps Ishirou's trajectory with her handstretched, grabbing onto his midflight. The two spin, and Tamamo releases his arm from the dance with another upward motion, letting him fly out and back rather than strike the ground. Returning to the ground, Tamamo's fan flutters and her hands clap. She marks the beat, punctuated with both the sounds of talismans striking the ground and of her voice, saying only, "Ho!" at every eighth step. The small bells that ring are tied to her fingers. With Lilian in the way of direct assault, there's little to stop her from completing the full array. From the air, it's easily visible. Lines of talismans marking crossing orbits, lines of comets and moons included in this paper orrery. The ink scrawls all turn and glow at once as she stands herself in the very center of this landed solar system. The bells ring. The orbits shift, paper rising and again laying flat. Tamamo claps, once, and stands still. The cloud of embers swirls and flares to light, swirling together, darkening as they coalesce into a series of orbiting spheres. Tamamo's arm extends, and each drives at Deya, striking like semi-solid masses before exploding with deceptively massive impact. Avoiding even one will reveal the sort of impact crater they'd otherwise make in this terrain, like so many falling stars, with speed and force to match.
Lilian Rook	"No you don't." Where Ishirou's power armour comes crashing down out of the air, directly to the backline caster that is more than sensible to aim for, Lilian is already on it. The subtle watchwork click of her armour's myriad fine seams replaces the sudden tension of the muscles they conceal, speaking aloud her body language with strange honesty. She disappears in a puff of swirling snow, spiralling together and filling a short-lived vacuum. The icy mist-wave ravages where she was the very next instant, colliding with nothing. Her entire weight clanks against the side of the falling RESCUE frame; the sound hard boots on its outer skeleton. Its course diverts away from Tamamo, and her ritual below, but as Lilian springs off from its side again, it swerves away from the ground entirely, repelled by the equal and opposite recoil to the lunge that takes her right back to Deya swiftly enough that he can't see, with enough force that Night Mist slamming into his shield explosively exposes the bare stone around the both of them. The tremendous blow comes from overhead. His quick switching back and forth, mastery of many arms, reminds Lilian of her master in the martial arts. Her mind goes back to that very time. Those grey and gloomy days at the Fortress of Shadows, learning the touch of a blade to human skin, hers and the other. She moves to dodge; tactically sound, with ample time; and stops. She remembers other words as well. 'Strength, enough, to choose how.' The shift of her weight stills in an instant. Night Mist rises pendulum, flat upturned. The impact against the blade causes Lilian's grip on the hilt to crash against her own shoulder, nearly driving the wind from her. Her back foot grinds smoothly through the stone in an expert quarter circle, with the vector of the greatsword. The hanging tip of Night Mist tilts. The colossal blade slides along its length and smashes into the ice. Deya charges head on. Lilian breathes in the incadenscent light of the sun, and allows it to fill her veins. "Cleasanna Lilí Dubha" The ice and snow vapourizes where she stands, tinting an alien near-red in the corona that glows from her like forge heat. The steam glitters with dark stars. Night Mist's runes overflow with fiery gold radiance. "Fáinne Gréine Óir!" The flash of is like a stroke of lightning at point blank, painting the world whiter than the snow, erasing shadow and snuffing out the lesser light of undead blue eyes. It lasts for even less time, without lingering in the back of the eye, perceiving the snap back as a moment of utter blackness. Like the explosion of a star. Lilian's sword revolving through space looks like the slash of a black ink brush against the white. It looks like a streak of a falling star against the black. A tremendous wave of heat, light, energy; martial spirit made tangible; speed and precision made geometric; expands outwards from her in a perfect circle. Razor fine, hot as the sun, cutting with the smoothness of glass and colliding with the force of a meteor, it crashes against Deya's shield straight on, and near-instantaneously lops the top off the stones and the torsos from the legs of skeletal warriors in a ring of effect that extends thirty meters in all directions. It passes through her allies like a wave of summer heat.
Trudy Grimm	Weapons dropped or discarded by skeletons and draugr fighting on the outskirts of the battle are seized by Ishirou's VRCS, oriented, and hurled at Deya's back while he's busy with Lilian. He yanks on the cable wrapped around his forearm, dislodging the harpoon from the RESCUE unit even as swords and axes embed into his back and cape. This does not cause Deya to fall. The First Death would hardly be worthy of his station were that the case. He instead hunches forward, his teeth clenched and face cast in shadow save the blazing flames pouring from his eyes. Arthur's onslaught is met with a sword wrenched from Deya's own back, a short, one-handed affair that meets the grinding blades of the DoomBroom in showers of sparks. Hauling up the greatsword from his attack on Lilian, the warrior suddenly leans into one of his parries with a shout, throwing it aside enough to drive his fist straight for Arthur's face, using the hilt of the greatsword as a fist-pack. He doesn't have a chance to follow up with something more lethal, though, as Lilian's thrust herself back into his sphere and has already proven to demand a great deal of his attention. With heavy shells from Harkonnen bursting against his armor, he discards his smaller sword as he turns around to face the Immune demanding his attention. Night Mist clashes with the ancient Draugr's sword, sending out waves of force. At this distance, she can see through the braided, bead-laden beard that Deya's grinning. It's the mad smile of a berserker, with those coals burning in his eyes when he brings his weapon-laden shield against the celtic sword. As stone is exposed beneath them, and cracks from their clash, he laughs. Skeletons and Draugr are bisected. Monuments are cleaved. Deya's shield survives, though several of the weapons embedded in it are cut or knocked loose from the force of an exploding star. It's enough to stagger the warrior, right into the barrage of exploding orbs produced by Tamamo's divine dance. The fighting around the area sequestered by Tamamo's orrery comes to a stop, the eyes of the draugr fading from orange to blue once again. Trudy's skeletons, confused by the sudden cessation, stop as well. The Black Knight, holding a draugr up by the neck, swivels his helm to the fight but does not stop punching the creature in his grasp. The dust and mist clears around Deya-- who rests flat on his back, sizzling and even on fire in places. He releases the greatsword to reach up, using his hand to extinguish his beard. Only then does the First Draugr sit up, lifting one leg at the knee, folding the other in, an elbow resting on his raised knee. His eyes, likewise, have faded to the blue from earlier. -Such invigorating might.- -I shall yield.-
Ishirou	Thanks to both Lilian and Tamamo's quick movements, Ishirou doesn't get crashing into Tamamo, but rather is redirected UPWARDS. Instead, he recovers and flies straight up after the flight unit reconnects to him. Moving to hit the ground in hover mode, he draws weapons and is already thinking of his next moves... Until he stops fighting, deciding that their show was enough. He sighs, in relief, and dismisses the flight unit so that he can hit the ground, and POD and he disconnects, returning Ishirou to his normal outfit. POD now floats over one shoulder while he looks toward the other. "Well...we did it. Good job!" he says, with a sunny smile to the rest of the group. "I guess we get to go in...also uh..." he says, motioning toward the structure, "To answer your earlier question Lilian...that wasn't made by human hands. It seems to lead to a structure deeper underground, but its...construction is less independent pieces and just one large piece." "...So it's also good to know we did get an answer about who made the book...and it seems your father stole its secrets."
Tamamo	Having come away something not quite so grand as 'unscathed,' but certainly in good health and full of vigor from her exertions, Tamamo takes gliding steps from her position toward Lilian's, and near her, Deya. "How gracious, when I am certain you could have continued, had you so chosen." It wouldn't change the most important aspect of the outcome, but it would... very possibly keep her busy a fair bit longer in what she has to do now. "Are you quite alright, Lilian? Did you take that earlier blow solidly? Please allow me to see." Even if she's probably fine, at least to the extent that Tamamo's fine, it's absolutely required to fuss over her. That's very important. If Tamamo didn't do that, Lilian might eventually start thinking it was alright for her to get hurt, and Tamamo can't have that happening. Arthur's the next to get Tamamo's attention, thanks to a lingering worry based on his earlier request. "Mr. Lowell, are you well? You were not in my sight throughout the battle, with your flying movements. The same is true of Ishirou, however..." She looks up, then glances over to where the RESCUE unit had been thrown. "That much is fine, I suppose. Such days as this leave many broken weapons, yet that is far better than to leave broken bodies." "And... Ms. Victoria? I suppose my magic is not well-suited to your own needs, yet I still have such as may assist you in recovery, should you need it. Ms. Grimm, shall I assume that your dear friends remain in good spirits, as well?"
Seras Victoria	A mighty tension holds Seras upright, her limbs frozen in place with determination even as her body grows weak from bloodloss and the struggle to regenerate. Said regeneration is slow especially for the arm, roughly a cubic inch of flesh mending per minute. And, of course, she is not breathing. She's still as a statue for the most part... only periodically showing a shudder while the dust and mist is clearing. Her finger's still on the trigger of that pistol. When those three words she was so hoping to hear are said though, a wave of relief washes through Seras and she inelegantly topples to her knees, dropping her weaapons and heaving a thankful sigh of sweet relief. Sure. The battle was sort of fun. A part of her even elated in it. In retrospect, she's not sure whether to be happy about that or not... On the other hand, GOD THAT ALL HURT and, if anyone's watching her face, they'll see waves of shock and nausea sweeping across. It's a wonder she doesn't puke. Of course, this doesn't last. All that energy Tamamo sent her way has been steadily absorbed, bit by bit, her cursed body devouring and consuming the offered life, turning it into unholy fuel. For blood is life and life is blood. Tamamo may as well have just given Seras a mighty reservoir of blood to imbibe. The Draculina's strength rapidly returns, her body mending at a far quicker pace and spring returning to her step as she rises, the gashes on her body are swiftly healing and should be gone entirely in half a minute... Of course, she's still covered in big blood splatters. Eww. "It.. it's... better suited than I expected, Miss Tamamo." She exclaims with refreshed brightness and enthusiasm, l ike a kid on sugar. "I feel better than I have in months." ...probably not a great thing for allies to hear.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: End the strife Arthur takes the shot dead-on. That's gonna leave a mark, not to mention Arthur being driven back into, one hopes, probably a snowbank or something of the sort, and not some kind of pile of dead warriors. By the time he's back on his feet, things are over. Panting and sweating, he keeps his broom at the ready until it becomes clear that Deya is settled. Arthur stumbles forward, rubbing his bruises and taking deep breaths. He grabs a chunk of ice, careful not to grab a chunk of icedead, and wraps it in a small gravity envelope before he presses it against his freshly forming black eye. Tamamo gets a quick reply. "Yeah, homie kept it to the blunt hits on me. Got my shit a little rocked but he didn't gut me or nothin'. Little heal won't be turned down though." He winds up grinning at Deya. "Nice moves. Your assbeating is pretty invigorating too. Nice tests, what's it look like when you go all out?" Then he stops for a moment, before looking back where he came from, the field of magical corpses. "Uh, actually, guess I already got that answer." He takes a moment to catch his breath, sitting down as well. "Alright, you wanting my backup on this part too, Gothy? We goin' in there?" Ishirou explains its structure, and he makes a groan. "Real goddamn dungeon from the sound of it. Let's hit it, huh? Maybe a clue about your shitass dad's artifact-theft biz? Bet you anything he raided a bunch more shit and cached it."
Lilian Rook	Lilian lowers her sword, each fresh flake of snow, catching up to earth, sizzling against the side of its blade. The ground glows dull cherry beneath the tip; same as her footprints. A few seconds later, she releases her held breath, steaming in the frigid air. A spray of tiny stars caught within. She breathes in again only when Tamamo enters her bubble. A little start, and a flinch from the air's icy coldness. "Ah, no, no, it was a close call, but I'm fine." she says, taking an entire sentence to exit her state of distraction. She, of course, does not stop Tamamo from looking over her anyways, because she knows better. "Yes. My thanks for the brief and honest test." she says to Deya. "I'd have little liked to continue that battle all the way to its conclusion, after seeing your strength. I have allies to protect." She looks over her shoulder, away from Tamamo and Trudy. "Any of those idiots might have died." Speaking of the necromancer; "Well. That's that. Shall we descend? Or is there something else we have to take care of first? I have high hopes." She's sounding a little better.
Trudy Grimm	With the assorted draugr pacified, Trudy lets out a little sigh of relief and raises her hand. The skeletons she'd summoned turn and return to her, marching into the void spread out at her feet. The Black Knight glances at her, as if locking eyes, and punches the draugr he's holding again. The Samurai gives his helmet a ringing smack with the pommel of his o-dachi, which finally prompts the Knight to release his victim and return to his summoner as well. The warriors called forth by Deya are just...milling around. One by one, they start to lay down where they stand. It'll take a while for them all to find places they want to rest again. While this is happening, Trudy rejoins her comrades, "If that was the might of the First Death, I'm quite humbled. Thank you, Deya." She swivels green eyes towards Arthur, then sweeps across those gathered from Seras to Tamamo and Ishirou before settling on Lilian. The smile she puts on is a bit forced, like she's conflicted but feels she can't back out now, "Yeah. Let's press on." -It is as the bloodfeaster says.- -My loyalty to Her is absolute. However the years are long and lack excitement.- -I was the First Death. Before the Hallowed Halls. Before the Underworld. I stood when these halls were erected and I will stand until the war at the end of the world. -You have my thanks for indulging an old warrior in the meantime.- Deya finally hauls himself up, his weapon-laden shield lifted up and hung across his back. He turns, approaching the building and, with a great heave, shoves the doors open. A miasma seeps out, staining the stone at his feet before dissipating. Stale air blows out from deep within. -Proceed into the underground. You will undoubtedly find my Lady.- -Know that I am one guardian. In the descent you are likely to meet my counterpart.- He turns and slouches down, looking every bit as tired as an ageless undead warrior can look, slumped against the yawning gate. -You will soon face Grima. As I am the First Death, she is the First Slain.- -She is every bit my equal. Proceed with caution.-