Scion 2e: The American Gods IC

[SuperWave]

December 18th, 1997

Enkh and Dr. Samantha Batbold had greeted and hosted you all graciously in the parlor of their spacey home in Dublin, Ohio (the upper-class suburb of Columbus); though obviously glumly and lethargically given they did so over the topic of their daughter Cynthia’s death. For the impromptu band it’s sad, but Kalla, it hits harder since the young Scion had considered college student a friend. The family though, almost look as lifeless as their recently deceased daughter is; moving and going through the motions as they fetch so tired and so half-heartily, like one of zombies from the Vodoun or those ones from the Romero movies. It was tragic enough for them to think their daughter had taken her own life, Enkh learning differently after seeing her in a dream…was even worse.

Doomed to walk the countryside, prey for wicked sorcerers and demons, it might be possible to talk to Cynthia in Mirocaw, Illinois, if she were there still there, and not one of her spiraling, weary romps round and around a vast area, encompassing more than a few states in the Midwest; as all the shades of the restless dead followers of the Tengri were forced to march. What limited info you all could gather currently had to come from her respected shaman father, Enkh and mother, the dentist Samantha. Last year, she had told her parents she was going to spend her winter break from the University of Chicago, with a boyfriend, Steven McAnally she was getting serious with, in his hometown of Microcaw. Apparently, there was some type of Christmas Yuletide festival that went there from the 19th to about the 21st (this being the 18th, it meant that it was almost to the day of her death), and being a member of one of the founding families, he and his kin were very active in the preparations and Cynthia thought it would be a great chance to spend some quality time with him, and get to know his family in the process. She went missing the final day and was pulled out of a local lake by local Lakur cultists who had decided to help in the search for her a week later.

At first they accepted what authorities told them; that it was a another holiday suicide brought on by “seasonal affective disorder”. Then the dreams and cries of help from their daughter followed. The Tengri followers in their community, fellow refugees who fled religious prosecution back home and their children, at first just helped pool together money to pay for Private Investigators, then shamans and priests from their and other faiths, like mambo and houngan. Nearly all were suspicious of the boyfriend at first, then ‘suspicious’ members of his family or friends (as is usually the case), then sex offenders or the like, only for each and every member to raise their hands and give up. Almost none of them bought the official story either after digging around, for example: toxicology reports eventually revealed she had been doused with chloroform before she died, but she had no wounds or markings, physical or spiritual in nature. They didn’t know what angles to cover here, and they didn’t want to waste the families money in vain attempts to find out: either due to their ethical code or a pragmatic streak in not juicing a man who spoke for the divine on Earth and incur the wrath of the gods.

Mirocaw itself…well is strange. Nestled between three hills, seven miles from Interstate 64, dab in the middle of nowhere in “Little Egypt”, southern Illinois. So named twice, once extremely late in the 18th by a Christian minister for it’s beauty and the providence and bounty provided by the fertile farmlands and again seventy years later, when during the slow Return of the sacred and divine during what at the time was called the Spiritualist movement in the West. As Irish, Greek and Italian, and Egyptian migrants fleeing discrimination for their race and newfound belief in their old cultural religions made them seek havens and new communities to live, trade or farm, and practice in peace. Unlike those communities and this region as a whole, it escaped the later fame or Revelation for being the largest (rural) center of belief and worship of Historical, traditionalist, new wave, or well any Old World European or Mediterranean faiths in North or South America before and after the World Wars. A stature and legend that continues well…despite equal or sizable equivalent communities having popped up in Texas, Louisiana, Florida, and Wisconsin; and two even larger one in California (the entire state being dedicated and honoring Athena as their patron of course helped). Indeed despite it being a relatively large town of almost ten thousand, there is little history to be gleamed casually outside of It having three sizeable employers: the Pluton Processing and Mining Company having large coal mine(s); a paper mill linked up by a freight train line; then finally the new Kindly Ones Correctional Center having just opening it’s barred gates little more than a year ago. While the Gods of various pantheons had been very good to what otherwise would be an impoverished area, Mirocaw didn’t boast of the triumphant and turbulent history of the desperate pilgrims and was richer, and more stable than most of it’s more devout neighbors.

A quiet little place.

For those of you traveling by land, it’s a confusing, bizarre venture. The exit, says the town was seven miles away, but the winding and branching roads creep out and intertwine with the slopes of the area, and you often have to make guesswork, some of you perhaps having to go back and take a different street up there, extending your journey. In any case, for all of you traveling by land, air, or other, you don’t see Mirocaw until the very last moment as you rise up above the horizon…and see it nuzzled on top of and in between three high hills like a moss. Almost every square inch of the village was slanted or at some sort of angle, making the entire settlement have a surreal funhouse vibe, with none of you really able to look straight forward. Houses, apartment buildings, and store fronts look like at points as you all make your way through, like they were floating atop the clouds. Mirocaw has a dreamlike, turn of the last century Norman Rockwell backdrop, but the tallest building in town, the converted and expanded clocktower with neo classical edged marble pillars and arches, Mirocaw City Hall and Community Center stands above the rest with this style, almost to the point of parody and seems to pin the town from drifting apart…and not just because it’s close to the center of it all

The sun is still in the sky when you arrive, so it’s not until you’re in the middle of the town you notice, but every single one of you is smart enough to know if you just made it up the slope the town was visible at nightfall, you’d have seen it glow a sickly lime and grass greens. Yuletide branches of noble fir and white pine wrap every streetlamp, almost entangled with green needle like Christmas light bulbs, and both dangle off storefront doors or around the gutters. Leafy wreaths dot doors, and small plastic or real saplings or miniature trees stand on stone benches or the sides of patios and doorways. Town festivities are underway! It’s just not kiosks, tents, being set up, but even a couple of stages and rides on Townshed Ave. Odd, there is very little red and even less gold though…

Spoiler: Other Info

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The Batbold’s have made accommodations at the nicer of the two hotels in town: The Beadle Family Inn, as the only other one is a Motel 6. Of course you can make your own little arrangements, but the outside of those two the closest lodge is more than a half hour away.

Feel free to explore! Of course roll in the Discord to see if you could find it…there are a few notable locations to complete outsiders like you can notice. Outside of the clocktower town hall, there is the large Catholic church on the main road into town, back behind it, on the grounds was a beautiful garden with roses, wild flowers, a large, sacred tree that has offerings off milk resting on it’s trunk, and a fairy mound. The other was what once had been a Masonic Lodge that had been gutted and repurposed into the headquarters of something called the Fraternal Order of the Adepts and Practitioners of Plutonic Gifts and Treasures. All of them are draped in green like everything else in town though.

OOC Link

[Inspector Valin]

Not too long ago Kalla would have been beyond excited at the sight of Mirocaw's budding festivities. The long drive would've certainly served to build her anticipation to a fever-pitch. Even the sickly radiation-invoking lime is something wondrous and bright when set against the muted shades of the Underworld. She'd have jumped from the Band's ride and torn through the town, inspecting every stage and booth with fervor and enthusiasm. She'd have some kind of snack food in her hands already, munching merrily away as she went, Namazu trying frantically to keep up with her young ward.

But no. The young Scion's stomach twists in nausea at the thought. She'd been full of rage back in Dublin, punching a crater in the ground outside the Batbold's home after the band had first assembled. Now though, her anger has given way to introspection. The little bundle of dark robes studies the town from the window curiously as they finally drive closer, her eyes lingering on the belltower. The positioning might be wrong, but something about it recalls the Seven Gates to Kalla. The tilted paths of this little picturesque town echo those ancient sepulchral roads she'd trod to reach the mortal realm, guiding the flow to ensure every soul must pass through each Gate in sequence. Kalla removes the old worn silver key from around her neck, tapping it once against the window while she looks out across the town. She thinks back to how it feels to pass those gates, and she ponders what it might feel like to stand in the heart of Mirocaw.

Behind her, Namazu places a hand to Kalla's shoulder, sharing a quiet look with the young princess. The older woman takes a second to straighten her tie and adjust her hair before they reach the town proper. She looks more like a Fed than a simple passerby, between her crisp black suit and short-cut perfect hair. It doesn't exactly blend in, but you have to keep up appearances when part of a Band.

[dreamking]

The charter bus had dropped off Warren near City Hall. As he stepped off the bus, Ratatosk hopped out of a pocket in his pine green overcoat, scurrying up Warren's torso and perching on his shoulder. "Great job, 'Tosk. I don't think the driver saw you for a second." Warren said with a smile, pulling a walnut out of his pocket and handing it to the bright red squirrel. The squirrel happily gnawed at the walnut's shell as the youngest Odinson walked through Mirocaw. He spotted the Beadle Family Inn, but kept walking. He knew where he was planning to sleep, he wanted to see the rest of the town. The rest of the band would catch up with him if he needed to. Besides, he could use a drink.

While the slanted roads of Mirocaw were odd, they hardly bothered Warren's step. He could hike more treacherous paths in his sleep, an uphill sidewalk was nothing. A quick look around at the shops lining the roads. Each one was decorated and each one only with the color green. Eventually, he came to a pub on a corner. He tilted his hat up and looked at the sign hanging above the door and smiled: The Mead of Poets. "Seems like my kind of place," He said to no one in particular, removing his hat as he stepped through the door, Ratatosk instinctively diving back into his coat with the walnut.

[SuperWave]

Kalla

As Kalla taps the window of city hall, a strange and familiar wave crashed over her. For a moment it's as if she somehow activated a Axis Mundi - a gateway between the World and either an Under or Over world counterpart (or at the very least a Terra Incognita), but the feeling passes for a moment, and the power that followed. Nonetheless, she knows her comparison was far from baseless.The clocktower was connected intimately with some type of underworld, like the gates of the Annua and her home. It hummed and hawed before her with the raw energies of the Earth, the grave, and Death itself...and the flowed out, expending it's energy elsewhere.

Somewhere a gate to the underworld opened; this was the lock! The door was somewhere else, however. Thanks to your other purview, you can sense it's out past the town and hills close by. No roads out there from what you saw coming in, so it'd take quite some time if you don't have access to an all terrain vehicle like an ATV or truck. But with one...you'd get there in about ten, twelve minutes.


Warren

As Warren makes his way through Townshed Ave, the main business street of Mirocaw, he quickly finds three bars: The Red Rooster, Martha's Cider and Brew, and finally the Mead of the Poets. The second was a small, classical hole in a much larger stone building containing a gym dedicated to Hermes, that seemed to date back to World War One...and therefore look the most modern out of the three, while the other had that colonial look that again looked so picturesque and Americana. The latter though, had runes inscribed on it's heavy oak doors and was engraved with two ravens. One of whom was very familiar to Warren.

The bar was already full of life. 4PM and it was filled with the sounds of heavy metal music and laughter; half filled with the swinging and dancing bodies of men and women having a good time. Wasn't that large of a place, but outside of the balding, tattoed bartender, that also left about thirteen or so people you could try and talk to.

On the window was a flyer that looked like it came from a cheap copy machine, ink and font barely readable thanks to the poor quality and the sickly green paper.

Mirocaw's Annual Fool's Feast! Please Join the Fun!
December 19th to 21th!

Events and Festivities

• Fool's Lottery 9-18th and March of the Harlequin 19-21st. Please Attend!
• Parade!
• Bands and live music!
• Carnival Games and Rides!
• Vendors and Food Trucks!
• Masquerade and Costume Party on the 20th and 21st
• Fool's Queen Beauty Pageant 19th-20th. Finals and Queen Coronation on the 21st at 10 PM! Please Attend! Prizes

A lot of those pleases sounded like genuine pleads for help...

[tonberrian]

Carmen arrived via taxi from the airport. Her mind had been occupied by the case since she had departed. Mindlessly paying the driver a good bit more than was his due, she lugged her luggage to the Beadle Family Inn. Carmen had accepted the Batbold's charity, it was the cost of doing business, but it was far from her preferred accommodations. No matter, she was here on a job, and the appropriate sacrifices for her help had been made. It was time to deliver results. And that meant.. what, exactly? Cynthia came here to visit with her boyfriend's family, perhaps it was time to talk to them again, to try and establish a timeline of Cynthia's stay, until she disappeared.

[CardTrick]

Phelan was a little more broody than usual, which was saying something. He'd made a complete ass of himself by offering to summon the Batholds daughter for them and then just utterly failing to actually do so. Normally, at a time like this, he'd just be swallowing the mild embarrassment of having to give a piss poor rendition of some lamenting tune, in this case "Ain't No Sunshine", just to summon a spirit, but getting the Bathold's hopes up, only to not then deliver at all, that was just a whole new level of balls. They had been so nice to him too. Thus, understandably, rather than catching a comfy ride on a charter like Warren, Phelan had opted to follow behind the bus in the same beat-up, half-rusted old Pontiac he'd driven into Dublin. Getting to really feel the bumps from every twig and bit of gravel along the road shoot up through his ass cheeks and occasionally gagging on exhaust fumes probably wasn't fair penance, but it felt appropriately contrite nonetheless.

Having lost a bit of pace behind the bus, due to the Pontiac being, well, a total piece of crap, Phelan arrives in town a few minutes later. He doesn't really spend much time taking in the town, other than mentally noting that the greenery was pretty impressive for not being part of the Otherworld, impressive and creepy as hell. Phelan, in fact, does little more get a room key from the place the Bathold's had set up for the band before heading out into the woods towards the lake where Cynthia was supposed to have drowned. While he was tired from the uncomfortable, winding trip, he was also still very pissed at himself and quite literally butt hurt, so he figure he'd use that motivation and get down to business.

[+5 Vorpal Bunny]

Marcus stood calmly and sharply aware throughout the trip. Talking occasionally, but far more often cramming on his occult knowledge before entering town. All this study wasn't his thing, he admitted to himself, he'd rather be in the fray. Still, there was a job to do. He checked occasionally on his companions, Kalia in particular, who he developed a fondness for after she nearly beat him in battle - a feat few could claim. The guardian kept a firm eye over the child, while closely watching his surroundings. Of course she didn't need protecting, he knew, but children always brought that out in him.

At last, they made it to town, and Marcus walked out, moving slightly ahead of Warren to divert attention from him and his animal friend. Attention, both for good and ill, had a way of finding him; being a literal knight in shining armor, with a gleaming titanium-silver gladius faintly glowing with white light by his side, tended to do that. The burly build, the aura of calm, firm confidence and the subtle poise of a vigilant warrior ready to spring into action at a moment's notice made this inevitable. But this served two purposes, he thought as he entered the carnival: first, it got his name out there fast; he could then turn his speech and deeds towards bringing them to his and his Band's side. Second, it drew attention away from those who preferred to pass unseen from prying eyes. Such as a detachment of the Custodes Aeterna militia heading into town on another road, for example.

And, of course, opponents tended to target the big shiny warrior with a big-ass sword charging towards them and screaming at the top of his lungs too. That was definitely a factor.

The fully clad man gazed intently at the flyers, noting the activities. The costume party sounded like a great way to 'blend in', as much as he could, and gather more information, although that was two days from now. There would certainly be many people, and he could learn something during the festivities. There were no shortage of pleases, and they could've just been to draw attendance, but a lot of them sounded more... desperate. That wasn't the only thing that was off. Where was all the red and gold? A small detail, but this was the holidays, and he trained himself to notice every little thing.

Something was wrong. Someone needed his attention, for certain, even if he didn't know who or why. And besides, there were so many people here. It was just like that werewolf attack on the auditorium all those years ago. If **** went down tonight, this would likely be the place to be.

[dreamking]

Warren casually takes the flyer off the window, studying it as he placed his walking stick up against the wall near a set of brass hooks for people's coats and walked up to the bar. Sitting on one of the stools, he placed the flyer on the bar table and looked a bit closer, noting the strange symbols along with the advertisement. Warren knew magic when he saw it, and while the flyer was clearly not some legendary relic like his Spear or Kalla's key, he knew the symbols had some kind of meaning.

He paused as the bartender came up, giving him a smile, "Hey, what have you guys got on tap?"

[Argus0]

Alex heads away from town after dropping his bag off at the Inn, thankful that he'd thought to ask the proprietors for directions. His contacts in the cult had given him the place's name, and nothing more. And like many such places, the Mirocaw Heights, Country Club & Golf Course is tucked away as best it can be, hidden from prying eyes and "riffraff", on the very outskirts of the town. He certainly doesn't quite look like he belongs here, walking up the path rather than arriving by car, but what's done is done.

Hopefully someone here can shed some more light on Cynthia's disappearance and death.

[SuperWave]

Warren
One Momentum added...

The flyer, as smudged and illegible as it is, has some runes and glyphs recognizable to him. None were the type to spell out or ward off bad luck or ask for blessings for a Winter Solstice. They seem to be more celebratory, the type that thank Gods and nature for their bounty and good fortune and offer gratitude and sacrifice in return, as usually associated with spring time jamborees and the like. Other than that you could guess the Egyptian hieroglyphs and Linear B markings at the edges generally offer the same general message. Odd.

The bartender looks up at you, cleaning a mug. "Miller, Blue Moon, and the good stuff: Kvasir Cove Light and Dark Ale. We also got our own homemade mead if you want some."

Kvasir Cove of course being the wealthiest town and local brewery in Little Egypt, and to be frank outside of a couple contenders in Wisconsin or Colorado, in America for beer or ale. You couldn't really get it out of the Midwest though; part of the reason for it's taste was the blessings of Kvasir himself, as the town was founded in his honor and followed some pretty strict Historical cult protocols. They sailed the beer up and down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers and their tributaries, and across the Great Lakes in locally crafted boats, selling them on towns by the way, and in St. Louis, Chicago, Detroit, Toledo and New Orleans. Efforts to extend were near impossible because of it, and a bar had to know some body or be strict Laukr adherents to get enough to be stocked.

The tattoos on his arms and neck took on a new meaning to Warren from this up close, they weren't those of a poser but an ordained priest, a gothi. If you recall a local cult in the area recovered Cynthia's body.


Marcus
One Momentum Added

Sadly, Marcus sees next to nothing out of the ordinary. Busy housewives and husbands getting in some last minute shopping, works off their shifts heading to bars or the like to start off what was going to be a long weekend, and busy locals fixing setting up vendors or the Ferris wheel, rotating tea cups, and bumper car rides to go with that swinging viking ship and the spinning UFO ride in the town center with the stage. Things to be expected with a fair coming up.

What does catch his eye is a costume shop briefly taking over what had been Tailor's shop right in the middle of this, now advertising on a big white sign: costumes for the local Masquerade and asking "Harlequin Outfit Pick-Up"

Carmen

As Carmen enters the Beadle Family Inn, she notes like the Clocktower that had become the City Hall, the Inn was trying to garner a Neo-Classic visage: white pillars with ridges, wide arch, the use of (faux) marble...but failing unlike it. It was far better than a Motel 6, but it definitely wasn't up to her high standards or indeed anyone who traveled well. Time hadn't be cruel to the business, but it hadn't be kind either. Clean as it was, and filled with antique or fitting mock colonial furniture, all of it looks worn or aged. Some of it, like the rugs, literally frying at the edges. Like the rest of the town, it too was stuff with green: mistletoe, evergreen branches, and cheap lights. Unlike them, it was half-haphazardly thrown around without care. Like it was done because it was expected or out of duty. In the trash were stacks of flyers, some ripped apart and nearly of them crumpled.

Behind the main office, Carmen could hear a grown man weeping, openly and fully. After a few seconds, he tries to muffle it, and stumbles out to Carmen, offering a fake smile and puffy, red eyes. Just like the Batbolds. "Hello Ma'am...are you going to be needing any help with that? Do you need me to go to your car for more, or take it up to your room?"

He rubs his eyes, again and snuffles his nose. At one time this man had once been handsome and rugged, though not nearly so as hers. Time and grief had changed that, his muscular physique sagging from booze, age or both, and poach stomach doing even more of the same. His face was lined with the sun and bitterness, and his smile didn't come close to being more than a false flicker. His eyes only meet Carmen's for a time before flashing to behind the counter briefly and lines and rows of pictures of him and his family.

Phelan

Almost as soon as he arrives, he starts heading out into the different direction. He knew from preliminary research and the Batbolds themselves, the lake they found their daughter's body and the hofgothi that found it was. Well past the southern most hill's slope, past a lightly wooded area (the off shoot of the thick forest that swallows up the western border of the town) and then to itself. Most cults presences were much lighter, but the Aesir's followers had a heavier one than most and owned most of that land. They had a live and let live policy, but despite the Mirocaw's and the state's best efforts, any hope of building anything on there but their temple was crushed and swept away. So it was a simple journey. But off putting.

Mirocaw seemed to have a slum, or ghetto, or what passed for it at this section of town. Where as other buildings in other neighborhoods rose or tilted above or across from one another, these ones sunk or lay extreme flat across the ground. They all look grimy, battered, and just shabbily put together. Quite a few clearly weren't up to code, and all the rest smothered the Rockwell vibe the rest of the town had, but clearly normal citizens ignored it, even as they drove through it or rather quickly walked through it and went to the stores or places they needed to go.

The actual residents here just walked around, slowly and lethargically. Swaying back and forth, in their often dirt and always poorly put together close, they wobbled around back and forth almost randomly and devoid of purpose. Occasionally one who look in Phelan's direction vacantly, but never at him. They always, without an exceptions, to be staring at something beyond or past just him. Wormy, pale epicene figured to a vault; Phelan never feels in physical danger from any of them, indeed he thinks even if Kalla wasn't a Scion, she could pummel them into submission rather easily. But their presence felt wrong; hell, their existence did.

Soon, about an hour later just as the sun sets, he finds himself there at the lake. The stave, wooden temple within eyesight on the banks. The place Cynthia was found.


Alex

Alex is barely admitted into Mirocaw Heights, stopped and questioned by security twice before being admitted and advised more than that to return in 'more fitting garments'. Never doubt the ability and charisma of a Scion however, as he does manage to talk his way in to what should be a semi-private gathering and shown the way to the bar (there are no tables available) as the elite and wealthy residents of Mirocaw and surrounding towns like New Memphis, Cario, Ksvair's Cove, and Sparta are let in for what is notably a Christmas Party NOT the festival (what patrons next to you whisper are call the Fool's Feast) and the celebration of Sheriff Joan Buocco's tenth year as Sheriff and her admittance to the Membership Admission's board.

Outside of a couple friendly pokes about filling up the drunk tanks because of the Fool's Feast, no mention of it is made, despite it clearly being a busy time for Mirocaw. They talk about a Santa here for the children to sit on his lap for the next few days, gifts to the kids that did, and the final stretch of the toy drive for needy children throughout Little Egypt but literally nothing else about festivity about to rage a couple miles away. Seems to be a conversation that has unofficially that has been banned. Though there seems to be a few members smiles or drinking too much that seems to be muttering about it to their spouses, parents, or children they brought with them, only to be shushed or shouted down.

[CardTrick]

Phelan was thoroughly creeped out by the village of the living dead vibe he received on the way to the lake and the wooden temple erected there before it. Since the grave her parents had made for some reason hadn't worked, this place seemed like a decent enough plan B. He wasn't sure if anyone particularly malevolent was present, but he didn't actually care either. Something had made him screw up and cause yet another mother grief, and if that something happened to be a someone, they had shot themselves right up to the top of a surprisingly short list.

Taking a breath, it suddenly occurs to Phelan that he didn't have the Pontiac and its cassette deck with him, so he'd have to go a cappella, and he grumbles at himself for having not thought of that. Oh well. And the only lamenting song that immediately comes to Phelan's mind is one that had been played heavily throughout the past summer and was generally well-liked, so he was kind of glad Warren and the others weren't around to hear him absolutely butcher its chorus too, "Every step I take, every move I make. Every single day, every time I pray. I'll be missin' you.", as he glanced around for any sign the summoning was actually working this time, "Thinkin' of the day when you went away. What a life to take, what a bond to break. I'll be missin' you."

Spoiler: OOC

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Investing 1 Legend to activate Unquiet Dead

[tonberrian]

Carmen internally sighs, but externally she reinforces her legendary beauty and gives the man a dazzling smile. "You seem so down! Nobody should be so unhappy this close to Christmas! What's wrong?"

Spoiler: OOC

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Imbuing a Legend for Lasting Impression, giving him +2 Attitude toward me.

[dreamking]

"Kvasir Cove Light, please. Oh! Unless you have bottles of Rauðrbrokkr Amber Ale?" He says, taking out a Yellowstone National Park velcro wallet and sliding him a twenty. "You can't usually get it outside of Wisconsin, but It's worth asking anyway cause that **** is good." Warren said with a chuckle as he absentmindedly looked at the flyer underneath his hand. Rauðrbrokkr was a brewery in New Glarus, WI that Warren happened to know was run and operated by a few Sons of Ivaldi who got into brewing instead of forging. Needless to say, it was one of Warren's favorites.

"This Fool's Festival sounds like it's a pretty good time. My hometown does something similar in June. Lots of food, chainsaw carving, big campfires built in tribute to Freya and Baldur, live music. We hold it int the summer though." Warren says, setting his hat on the table. "Kind of strange to have a Carnival and live music in the middle of winter, isn't it?" Warren found that most people would reveal way more in casual conversation than with direct questions.

[Inspector Valin]

Kalla takes a deep breath as she and Namazu step off the bus, both hauling suitcases. They bring them up to their room in the Beadle Family Inn without incident, the young Scion still toying with her key in one hand and trying to think the matter through. That had been... quite a strange experience. She can't put the sensation of the old clocktower and what it was into clear words, but the comparison was strange. A gate severed from the lock. She has to imagine dour and dogmatic Lord Neti would not approve of this - 'a defilement of what a door is meant to be!' She can't tell if this gate was barred or open, but she can feel its touch on the back of her neck all the same.

The little scion finally exhales as she puts her kit down in her room, taking a second to calm herself. It could be a coincidence. Little Egypt is no stranger to the touch of the gods, and assuming malice where none exists is a mortal's mistake. But... Kalla can't quite accept that. Cynthia is gone because of this stupid green place. Even she didn't know how it'd happened. And right at its heart is this twisted chain tying it to a land of the dead. She should share her findings with the others, the Band should go take a look at this gate in the rural wilderness, but first...

First she needs to understand exactly what she's found. And half of that is right here in town.

Namazu looks surprised to see her ward tugging at her jacket. Her expression falls as Kalla swiftly signs her way through her discovery. She'd been hoping for a chance to relax before things got more intense. All the same though, the demon nods. "If you're sure, your highness."

----------------------------

It's very easy for Annuna to stroll into a building like they own the place. They own the Universe, after all. Namazu takes the lead, pushing through the door to City Hall with an imperious swing, glancing about the room with a practiced eye. Kalla follows right behind her, hood far down enough to conceal her eyes and leave her unable to make out much of her environment beyond the floor, hands clasped in silent prayer. She walks slowly, confidently, every bit the image of a priest. She doesn't need to see clearly to know where she's going - she can feel the path to the point stretching out before her. All she needs to do is make sure she doesn't bump into anything. And with Namazu glaring daggers at anyone who takes so much as a step towards her, that shouldn't be too difficult.

Spoiler

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Multi layered effect time. ;) Assuming you're not going to hold me to the 'speaking' wording, Shuilá allows Kalla to not be challenged by trivial characters while apparently in a position of authority. This includes an informal position of authority, and a robed figure with a bodyguard looks nicely authoritative. Failing that, be it through you not finding that to apply or being challenged by someone non trivial, it comes down to a roll with Namazu to intimidate our way through. Epic Strength allows Kalla to use Might for intimidation, rolling with a follower uses their dot rating, and Namazu's Savage tag seems applicable for spooking folk outta asking questions, so... that's Enhancement 2! I also have Unbarred Passage to remove one complication from this.

Also, using the Journeys innate effect to guide Kalla and Namazu to the 'lock' within City Hall.

[SuperWave]

Phelan

A chilly winds blows his hair, and cries into the empty wilderness. For a moment, Phelan thinks once again he has failed, as Cynthia stands before Phelan. There is no rippling waves from the water, as a figure appears, she doesn't descend from the heavens or the like. Just light snowfall caressing his cheek, and a setting sun saying goodbye. Then Phelan feels the ground tremble beneath him, quaking back and forth, as if something or someone was burrowing right underneath him. Two pale, mud and ice covered hands suddenly grab his boots, pulling hard on them as even more hard ground breaks.

A face, gasping for breathe spitting out dirty and worms breaks free. Than her arms, and finally her torso and battered dress that had once looked like a grassy, sparkling green but had lost most of it's lust emerged from the ground. It was Cynthia, who now falls to Phelan's knees, coughing and crying as she tries to settle herself. Once, the Asian woman had been the beauty, the only trait that had surprised her keen mind, and the only equal to her golden heart, but while her flesh and frame remained untouched, her complexion hadn't. Her skin was waxy and slimmy, even the parts not crawling with maggots and worms. Her sleek, raven black hair was falling out, being replaces by serpents or patches of skin growing as mushy as the mud she crawle out of. She had once planned to follow in her father's footsteps, and had the traits to do so: bravery and perceptiveness. Now she looks around blindly, quietly begging for help. Crying that she wanted her mother and father, that she was terrified.

Slowly Phelan notices the ground was pulling her back in, sinking and unwilling to let her go.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

You have a limited time in more ways than one. Using this Purview also has drawn something else to you, I'll place in the OOC but you're going to have to roll for Initiative in a little bit

Carmen

The man rubs his eyes clean, finally looking at her. Carmen was of course totally used to this type of look from most men (and some women): that of total infatuation, not just lust or the transfixed graze of aesthetic appreciation. He even stands there, dumbfounded. What she is somewhat new is the man is still wearing his grief on his sleeve as he did so. He was clearly deeply wounded, traumatized somehow.


Warren

The bartender looks up at Warren and winks, "Rauðrbrokkr Amber Ale? Well damn son, of course I do...but considering we're neighbors with Khasvir Cove, we have that tap and just have that in bottles. You mind?"

As he slides one over to Warren, he nods along with the conversation, easy smile sliding slightly off his face. "Oh Fool's Feast? Yeah, always found that weird myself, to be honest. Tried doing doing a little research on the topic when I first moved here. Supposedly it was a Syrian festival, but I kinda doubt that. The Fool's Feast is older than Mirocaw, the place used to be named New Colestead, and even back than they celebrated it. And this town was whiter than Casper the Friendly Ghost if you catch my meaning. That's changed some, I think, we got a decent sized Latino community, working on the farms and now that new prison that came town. But the towns mostly German and Irish, solid Western Massachusetts types. Came over here in about...1801? 1803? I forget. I'd know if it was a Laukr ritual, so I got to assume it's Irish."




Kalla

Despite everything, it almost looks like someone in the building will stop try to stop Namazu or you, as you rush behind the counter with the two receptionists. A quick glance for her or you stops them from moving from their seats or even bothering you with another look. The 'lock' isn't far, right behind the middle, heavy set clerk, on the shelves with the boxes, upon boxes of lottery numbers, plushies and toys, banners and paint, and other supplies for the Fool's Festival.

A box of slashes and ribbons, designating 5th to 2nd place. Each trembles as Kalla and her key get closer and closer. The silver, frosty crown above them however, tumbles and rumbles back and forth openly. One of the women in the office ignores the two of you, staring at it in fear, but not surprised and takes a deep, worried breath.

[Argus0]

Alex chats up the bartender as he orders a cheap drink. "Christmas Party's really in full swing, huh?" he wonders aloud, surreptitiously looking around the room and at the other bar patrons, trying to see if any of them might be drunk enough to discuss the situation with him.

[tonberrian]

"You poor man! Tell me what's wrong, I'm sure I know someone who can help!"

[+5 Vorpal Bunny]

Marcus looked intently, looking for something, anything, out of place. He found nothing. 'Okay, Marcus. You were just being paranoid. This is just an ordinary carnival. Nothing to see here. Move along.' is what his head was telling him. But his gut was screaming. The sense of wrongness was, if anything, more intense. He recognized that feeling all too well - it was the same sense of deadly dread right before the auditorium was attacked all those years ago. Almost unconsciously, his eyes snapped towards the forest. It suddenly felt, there was no other word for it, evil.

That was enough. Bursting towards the forest, Marcus snatched the walkie-talkie and opened the channel. To his surprise, they already answered. Something was happening at the lake. And it did NOT sound good. A woman was there too, and it sounded like -

No time to think. Blasting further forward, charging through the underbrush and narrowly weaving around the trees, Marcus barked out orders to surround the place, focusing on forming a U-shape around who he was almost certain now was Cynthia. Others would be on either side, concealed in the brush, ready to spring into action and be defended by him and those in front in kind. The good old-fashioned 'Bull-and-Horn', they called it, with Marcus drawing attention as the big target and them ready to rip into their foe from behind.

With a battleplan drawn out, Marcus closed the commlink. The best strategies were always simple and followed by rote and gut. Seeing Cynthia at last, collapsed in Phelan's arms, with the dead rising from the lake spurred a last burst of speed, and with a rush of air Marcus exploded into the clearing, coming to a stark stop between them and the walking dead.

And he met them all with a slight grin. 'I see ya got into a right mess already bud. Looks like this night's gonna be fun after all.' And then he looked reassuringly at the slimed and decaying woman. She looked in bad shape, but he brought people back from worse. Observing she was beginning to sink, he spoke firmly as he extended one leg and planted deep the other: 'Hold tight, and stay by my side. I promise you, while I stand, you will not perish this night.' The gladius shone slightly brighter as a faint glow fell upon her, the manifestation of a Guardian's oath.

[CardTrick]

Looking down upon the moaning Cynthia, Phelan is suddenly profoundly glad his earlier summoning had failed. Sam and Enkh may have been accustomed to sad and macabre things given their professions, but they were also loving parents, and no good parent deserved to know their child was suffering this much. It likewise occurs to him that it was also probably a good thing Kalla wasn't around to hear about her friend's torment either. She'd already been in a rage once before back in Dublin, "Cynthia. Hey, remember me? Dog boy? Your mom and dad heard you. They sent help, because they love you, okay? Just let me... umm..."

Then, as someone suddenly began mystically pulling Cynthia back in the ground, and his primal senses also felt dead things being called up from the lake, Phelan realizes he can't really afford to accommodate Kalla or any of his other bandmates feelings. Focusing his thoughts he causes shades and ghostly whispers to relay his own voice: "I'm with Cynthia down by the lake... next to this temple, but someone is playing tug-a-war with me over her soul. They've also called some... I dunno... lake zombies, I guess. No clue where the one challenging me is though."

With Cynthia continuing to grasp his legs, Phelan is quite positive he can hold his ground and not be pulled down along with her, and he is almost equally as sure that he'd be able to levee his strength against the magical force pulling her. However, he isn't nearly as confident that he wouldn't end up just ripping her now otherworldly form apart in the process. Nonetheless, if he didn't do something quick, it felt likely she'd be reclaimed by her tormentor, "Its okay. Just don't let go. Just keep holding on. I got you. I got THIS.

Alright, clown, you want to play dirty? I can do dirty, hell, I can do bloody."

Forcefully jabbing his fist-clenched hand into the defiant ground trying to once more consume Sam and Enkh's daughter, Phelan hopes he paid enough attention during Cliodhna fancy pants trash-talking lessons, as he tries to magically break the Cynthia's cursed bondage, "Burrowed worm, squirming in mother's mud. Mold-crumb and cream-spoil of milk-toast worship. You would ground a child not your blood? Oh craven crawler, all too flaccid is your grip.", causing the ground to not only gradually quake and tremble, but also slowly discolor from its green shade to a crimson red, as the earth around his embedded limb looks like it is somehow starting to actually bleed and flow up his quivering forearm.

Spoiler: ooc

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Using Unerrying Delivery to inform band about finding Cynthia. It doesn't cost Momentum and is a reflexive action so, apparently its more useful than I realized.

Doing Phelan's once per session Fatebinding to bond with Cynthia, presumably an Imperiled role based on the current plot (unless the Storyguide has a better role).

Immediately Spending the Legend from that fatebinding to perform an Earth purview marvel to Resolve Condition (the Bound condition Cynthia has from the sorcerer). Tuatha motif is "magic comes from satire and verse", hence the poetic trash talking of the sorcerer to perform the marvel. The bloody description is just symbolic of him gaining access to the purview from a vampire sorcerer.

[Inspector Valin]

This was... at once much easier and much more difficult than Kalla had expected. The little scion blushes as she looks up at the crown. She's figured the mystic whatever it was would be hidden somewhere deep in the building - behind a closed door or secret passage, out of everyone's line of sight. That way they'd just have to get past the lobby and then they'd have it to themselves. Instead... nope! Right out here in the open. At least they'd been able to find it, but they probably shouldn't stick around to examine it. People might not look twice at them when just passing through, but trying to inspect it in front of everyone? It was only going to lead to questions. Awkward, awkward questions.

As such, the little bundle of robes takes a step back, pulling on Namazu's jacket before waving a hand up at the crown. The demon sighs, taking a breath before bowing to the clerks. "My apologies. My daughter gets overly enthusiastic sometimes. She heard something about a crown and a contest... you know how it goes." As she tries to cover the faux pas however, Namazu and Kalla hear Phelan's voice whispering to them. Things are about to get complicated regardless.

Spoiler

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We're on our way! But first

Kalla can use Journeys to find where Phelan and Cynthia are at - does that track with the Axis Mundi she sensed earlier? Is it close to Phelan's location, or outright at his location? If it were close, she might head there instead, hoping to catch the necromancer messing with stuff. If Phelan's straight up there though, she might try to roll to work out the deal with the crown in double quick time - see if it's playing a role here. It's suspicious that Phelan got hit by zombies just as she was seemingly getting close to the crown - so the theory that she accidentally triggered this can't be ruled out..

[dreamking]

Warren is a bit more than halfway through his beer when he hears the whispered message from Phelan. Leave it to the werewolf to be the first to sniff out trouble. He thinks to himself, putting his hat back on. "Thanks for the drink, but I gotta head out. Meeting a friend down by the lake." He quickly finishes off the bottle before grabbing his walking stick and heading out the door and heading south for the lake.


As he gets closer, he places a hand on his walking stick just below the top, where a single rune was carved into the wood. He whispered the phrase he was taught from his older brother when he first recieved the weapon: "Föra krig" As he whispered the words, suddenly the staff was transformed, the wood shifting to reveal the iron tip of a spear. His weapon now ready, he makes his way down to the lake proper, prepared for a fight.

[SuperWave]

Marcus and Phelan

OOC: Yeah I agree with that assessment. Keep in mind though, she isn't going anywhere until her murder is solved though! Also combat; the walking dead rolled zero successes on initiative but the two of you need to roll yours! Please place your initiative at the top of your post.


With both Scions at her side and aiding her, and Phelan's magik at work, Cynthia continues to rise out of the muck. Her motions less desperate and more assured and confident in her movements; where once she was a woman drowning and trying to suck whatever air she could before she was submerged again, she now was just a young woman who had an embarrassing fall and was helping herself off. The dirt and bugs that had once lined and covered her rotting body fell away, as her skin and form solidifies. Hell, even the smell of eat, festering earth floats away from Cynthia and into the background, and the wild like it belongs. The both of you only had slight familiarity with her, she's how you remembered her in life now, a bit a couple years older: slender like a twig, round checks and flat ears, and slightly tall for a woman standing at about 5'9 or 5'10. And a large dimple for an ever larger, pearly smile.

"Thank you so much, I..." Cynthia pauses for a moment, biting her lip in mild frustration. Her eyes open wide as dinner plates as she snaps her fingers. "Oh yeah! You're both...well Scions right? Jeez, mom and dad really sent out the cavalry for me, didn't they? I can't wait to see them...oh. Well..."

She looks back to the lake, shuddering. "Is that...well, where the dumped me? After they you know..."

The waves on the dark lake get more violent, rowing back and forth, more and more. The tide came in after as the moon rose of course, but seems very dramatic for what was happening only a few moments ago. The fragrance of insect filled, decaying soil grows stronger and fills everyone's nostrils each time the wave hits the shore, somehow growing stronger each time. Finally the crazy sudden current starts to come to an end, as the lake throws something towards you.

Odd vaguely human shapes, covered in slopping wet sludge made of grovel, dirt, grass, and hordes of pink and white, fat slithering worms that slowly crawl across the surface of each of their bodies. Soaking, tattered rags either hang off their bodies and begin slinking off or are fused to their frames and physiques, more apart of them than their flesh at this point. It's impossible to guess their races and genders, or rather what they were. All six of them were bone white or an unhealthy mossy green, eerily reminiscent of the lights glowing to your right in Mirocaw. Each was bloated and square in shape, but that was rapidly changing as more and more of themselves flaked off in large clumps, carelessly and easily. Either they weren't worried because they'd be shaped with more once they returned to the bottom of the lake, or they were incapable of such emotions in their current state. Most eerily though, is how they move. They don't make strides or moving their legs forward like humans, or shuffle them like the zombies of those Romero films. No, their feet seem lurch forward; it was if they were crawling, while standing standing up erect!

And they were moving fairly fast, like they were jogging instead of pushing themselves with their heels.



Carmen

"Sorry, again. Sam Beadle." He smiles sadly. "It's just...I lost both my wife and daughter around this time."

He looks over his shoulder to a bunch of pictures. For a moment you think they are all of the same woman, as not only they are so striking similiar in their appearance. both extremely regal looking beauties: knife sharp cheekbones, icy blue eyes, dignified striking beautiful features, but both there never is an older one to tell them apart. Just one of with a younger Sam Beadle and in baby in one of their arms in some pictures, and increasingly older one with a teenage and then adult one in the other. There resemblance is scary. Even scarier is that neither made it to thirty.

Kalla

The clerk gives a curt nod of false forgiveness, and goes back to placing what could back further on the antique shelves and what not. The rest of what was on there were cheap office supplies or nearly obsolete technology, but as comparatively rich as the town was, austerity was the name of the game on both the state and federal level. They might be using that printer from the 80's when it's 2000, or not be using one at all!

Spoiler: OOC

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The location of it is adjunct but not there. It's north to it's northwest. It's deep in the forested hills. And yes, you can go to the Axis Munda now and it will lead you to the underworld. You might want to be carrying one of those items though if you decide to do so.

OOC: The rest of you trying to get Marcus and Phelan, I'm going to need some survival+dex check!

[CardTrick]

Phelan is a bit taken aback, not by Cynthia's physical transformation, but rather her sudden psychological one, from a person in absolute pain and terror pleading for their mommy and daddy, to just sort of Cynthia. For someone who was aware they were dead and had been tormented as a spirit for almost an entire year, she was alarmingly chill. Nonetheless, he was still infinitely pleased by the fact that not only did Marcus seem to be able see Cynthia too, but also that with her tortured appearance gone, hopefully Kalla and Warren would get to see their friend again in a non-emotionally crippling way.

Phelan thus focuses his thoughts some more, once against reaching out through shadows and whispers to those bandmates not present to keep them apprised of Cynthia's situation, "Okay, won the soul tug-of-war... for now at least. Cynthia is better now, dead but otherwise fine. Marcus has shown up and the zombies are bum-rushing, so... guess its time to start punching zombies.", as he strides out to meet the nearest zombie-like creature that comes out of the lake and bare-fisted pummels it, the weird earth-born blood that had oozed up his forearm, splattering through the air with the impact.

Spoiler: ooc

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Initiative: 4 successes
Reflexive Action: Send brief message, excluding Marcus, via Unerring Delivery

Reflexive Action: Move to Nearest Zombie

Simple Action: Punch Nearest Zombie; Close Combat Attack, 6 successes. Since these are Foes (1 Def, 1 Health), the successes don't really seem to matter and considering Marcus and company are already in the scene, even if the Chew Bubblegum stunt could apply, it feels like it'd be pretty lame to use in this scene. I guess I'll just have Phelan apply Shove 5 times, and have Phelan send the zombie he punches flying 25 meters back into the lake. At least that looks cool. Edit: Obviously if these zombie have more than one health for some reason, he'll Critical Hit and only shove them 5 meters away. Less cool, but whatever.

Defense: Putting 2 successes into applying the Defend stunt twice. Phelan is Defense 3 this round.

[tonberrian]

"I'm so sorry! They look so beautiful. What happened to them, if you don't mind me asking?" Carmen's mind races. Are these related to why they're in town in the first place?

[Inspector Valin]

Kalla makes a brief effort to help the lady replace the fallen over items in the box, giving her a matching look of apology before the pair withdraw from the office. Hopefully it will take the woman at least a little time to note the fifth place ribbon is now missing from the box, concealed in the young girl's flowing robes. Namazu frowns as her mistress works swiftly to explain the situation, primarily adding context to the whispers Phelan's arts had spread between the group.

The two start off away from town, Namazu frowning as 'mother and daughter' split to run down different paths. This is likely a bad idea, but it's hard to cite a better one. If something is going on with this gate to the Underworld, this is a chance to catch the perpetrator in the act. They need to check the area right away. But someone has to go communicate that to the rest of the Band, get them to follow to the site. And that had to be Namazu. This left Kalla alone going towards the Axis - far more dangerous than Namazu would prefer but an attempt to argue will likely lead to Kalla simply running off. At least this way she can follow close behind.

[+5 Vorpal Bunny]

Marcus's calm expression turned into steely determination, subtly punctuated by a slightly feral grin as the zombies charged towards them. Finally! With a firm, commanding voice, he turned to Cynthia:

'Our oath holds true, friend of Scions. Move to the woods. My men will protect you. Now GO!' As Cynthia moved into the treeline into a boxed formation of militia ready to protect her, other militia charged out with weapons of their own, converging on the zombies in a U-shape separated down the middle.
Now to take their eyes off the pincer. The glowing silver sword hummed in anticipation. Marcus nodded.

A moment's silence, deadly and calm, fell over the clearing.
And then, carnage.

With a scream of sheer primal rage, the Guardian's Gladius seemed to suddenly extend in a shaft of silver light, bending around and striking six zombies from seemingly every direction at once! Aiming towards the first zombie, two sheets of silver light on either side lunged for its neck like giant guillotines; more sheets of light sought out the throats of the remaining zombies as warcries of 'AD VICTORIUM!', 'BETTER DEAD THAN ZED' and 'THAT'S A LOT OF DAMAGE!' rang across the battlefield. Finally, a last sheet of light lunged towards the remaining zombie, weaving around Phelan's blows to strike it in the back instead.

And as the battlecries of the Guardian's Gladius died down, the battlecries of the militia replaced them.
Marcus permitted a chuckle. He almost pitied the zombies. Almost.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Initiative: 1 success

Guardian (A Fortress): Use 1 success to command Cynthia to Disengage, moving away to just inside the treeline. 0 successes left.

Marcus's They're Everywhere activates against six zombies:
Zombie 1 - 6 successes. <--- Choose a zombie no one else is engaging first.
Zombie 2 - 3 successes.
Zombie 3 - 3 successes.
Zombie 4 - 3 successes.
Zombie 5 - 2 successes. <--- The zombie Phelan is engaging.
Zombie 6 - 4 successes.

Apply successes divisible by 3 on Critical stunts (Brutal weapon), with the rest allotted to damage.

Complex Action on Mob Heavy Followers:
4 successes (5 with Leadership - Lead from the Front)
Action 1 - Command a portion of them to form a perimeter around Cynthia just behind the treeline (preferably with them under some sort of cover); prioritize protecting Cynthia, with any extra turned towards:
Action 2 - Command a second portion of them to charge the zombies, focusing on those still alive after the other characters and Marcus have finished their attacks.

Reflexive Action: Move towards nearest remaining zombie.

[SuperWave]

Alex


As Sheriff Joan Boucco moves around the room, shaking hands with fake, professional cheer; the youngest of the two man at her table, no doubt her son, moves towards the bar and you. He lifts a finger towards the bartender, a little woman with a face as lined and friendly as a used baseball glove, who actually goes check his idea before pouring him a shot of Jack Daniels. He looks towards you, tanned skin and black raven hair with the same strong handsome features as his mothers. Indeed the only thing he seemed to inherit from his father was his broad, tall and wide athletic build. The disdainful look on his face was all his own.

"You believe this crap?" He quips. "Thanks for the great job...of letting person after person just off themself this time of year. Oh and making sure DUIs are handed out and no one plows into a tree to add to that."

He finishes his drink in one swig and asks for another. "You're not around here, are you. Paul Buocco, Deputy Paul Buocco."

He offers a hand, half heartily.


Carmen

OOC: He knows more than he's saying, he'll need a direct persuasion roll to say it though

Beadle grunts, "They call it Seasonal Affective Disorder. Ha, a dumb pun for suicide of all things; both of them, decades apart and almost to the day. I think they want to be cute but...excuse me, this is one of our busy periods. Thank you so much for your concern."

Sam Beadle turns to go get your luggage or to disappear back to his booze behind the counter, but instead he stops. "Just don't...don't take this the wrong way. You're a very beautiful young woman; I'm not flirting with you, just stating a fact. Stay away from the Winter Queen contest."



Phelan, Warren, and Marcus

OOC: Warren ROLL Initiative. Marcus is Brusied! Phelan manages to dodge the vomit attack. The next turn order will depend on what Warren Rolls

Phelan's fist plunges through the squishy facade of the water logged zombie's head and flesh. There was no bone to blow or slow down the blow; instead skin and what can only be described as goo filled with plants, dirt and mud, as gore and blood no longer existed inside it, catch on it. As the bugs crawl across your arm, the thing deflates and gravity tries to take the monster down to the ground with him.

Marucs' Gladius and orders ring through the lake front with typical clockwork precision. Cynthia falls back, flanked by some of his militia while others start charging towards the reaming two duos of the the walking dead. Cynthia looks deeply concerned, like she wants to tell your something, but she thinks better of it and follows your directives. Especially when your sword manages to swipe the head clean off the nearest zombie.

Just as your group charges however, two of the blocky, sagging corprses throats suddenly expand like a croaking frog's. A sudden whiff of terrible odor escapes it, as a crackling burp escapes their mouths and they vomit forth a stream of that foul black liqud. This was thicker and more lively though, moving in such a way that it looks like the goo had a will of it's own and wasn't just waving around thanks to momentum. Phelan uses the corpse on his arm as a shield, but the other manages to wing Marcus.

Warren arrives to watch this disgusting display!


Kalla

Just as Marcus, Warren, and Phelan tangle with the undead; Kalla untangles herself from her retainer and makes her way towards that Gate to the Underworld. To get there, she makes her way through the ramshackle shadow ghetto of Mirocaw's small town Americana facade. The shuffling men and women rub her as strangely familiar and yet utterly alien to the girl. Like those shades she met back home. Likewise, however briefly, their eyes lock onto her with a sense of nostalgia or respect, before hazing over and staring off dimly into the distance.

Odd

There is no clearing for Kalla to navigate or focus her sights or attention on outside the hills and the sixth sense Kalla had leading her there. She's pretty sure if she had gotten slightly luckier, she could have found a dirt road or something, as the area seems surprisingly well traveled with footprints and broken twigs occasionally appearing before her as she moved. Though with it having snowed, it wasn't buggy, and it helped tone down the whips of branches, thorns, and leaves against Kalla's skin and clothes. The green, brown, white hell disorienting as it is though, can't stop her.

Kalla finds the hill she's looking for. The entire journey she was moving up and down in between mounds and slopes, but at this juncture the ditch goes pretty deep. If she hadn't been as careful as she was, she could have taken a deep fall, rolling down it. The ditch in front of her almost looks like one of those trap that would clamp on her, with how steep it was again, but it was clearly here: not only was it emitting that weird aura that was setting off the key she used, but inside was a large man sized hole. Though not human shaped hole. It was too low and too wide, like something burrowed through it, up or down you couldn't tell.

Tall for her age, but short, she has to slightly bend over to make her way through it. A wind blows through her hair, but otherwise nothing happens as she makes her way down further and further. The opening was smooth and perfectly aligned, with almost no jagged stalactite or icicles at the edges of it; it slopped so low vertically it takes some effort not to slide down. Especially in the void of darkness Kalla found herself in. Like she was swimming not moving through it; it had substance to it. At the end though, there is a sudden burst of light.

Before her were two large standing torches, one made out of a eight foot long ivory handle and another the same length made of onyx. Kalla was in an large, auditorium sized space that just seemed to have teleported in front of the entrance. In the middle of them was a large, grey heavy stone altar, large enough to lay a cow on top of and sturdy enough to hold an elephant. It was lined in engravings of worms, strange markings of tentacles creatures each with odder more difficult features to make out, and a regal looking man grabbing a woman by the hands onto a chariot, while another tried to reach out and pull her back. And tons and tons of symbols and emblems.

Above it, on a large mound was terrible, twisted grey slab of stone fashioned into a podium. On it was a large, leather faced tome.

[Inspector Valin]

Kalla takes a second to examine the strange chamber she has found herself in. She's not too familiar with the plurality of mortal faiths but the design of this place matches nothing she'd expected to find in Little Egypt. The child of Nergal shudders in her robes - the darkened passage, the half familiar manner of the shades, the solemnity and paired torches of this room. It keeps making her think of home. It's like she'd stepped back into Ganzir... and yet not Ganzir. Familiar, yet alien. Above all else, disconcerting.

Taking a deep breath the young Scion steps hesitantly forward into the chamber proper, making for the podium. She tenses - it almost feels like the worms are writhing beneath her feet. There's no sign of anyone else here, but this... looks important. With luck, the tome might hold some information on the rites intended to be performed here. Though given the size of the altar and the engravings marked upon it... a little twitch of pain is beginning to claw at her heart. No matter how much she might prefer ignorance, a singularly dark thought can't help but play through her mind. Gritting her teeth and trying to ignore it, Kalla pushes on towards her goal.

[CardTrick]

Phelan visibly gags a bit when the zombie he punched slimily adhered to his arm rather than going flying, and then to make matter worse the bugs start crawling out of the corpse, "Uggh!!! Nasty!!!. In earnest, he'd fought titanspawn and the like a few times now, but this was a cut above the usual gross factor, even for dead thing. Then, of course. as he was trying to take glance back to listen to whatever Cynthia was saying, the other zombies started projectile vomiting, "Oh, come on!", and he was more or less done. After using the bits of the one he slugged moments ago as an inhuman shield, the grossed out young Scion begrudgingly charges at one of the spewers with an overhead strike, futilely hoping not to get more disgustingly all over himself.

Spoiler: ooc

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Initiative Slot: 4
Reflexive Action - Move to Another Zombie
Simple Action - Punch Another Zombie - 3 successes (1 rolled, 1 from Melee tag on unarmed strike, 1 from Earth purview), two excess successes will go to Knockdown (1 success) and Blinding (1 success).

[dreamking]

Warren steps out of the forested area just in time to see twp zombies vomit on his Bandmates. "S#!T!!!" He shouts, nearly falling back in surprise! Luckily he steadies himself rather quickly, his friends needing help. The Scion of Odin takes his spear in hand and flings it through the air, flying true towards the strange moss-zombie. The Spear hits with almost surgical precision, passing through the zombie's head like thread through a needle. It passes so cleanly through the zombie that the momentum hardly slows as the Sliver of Gungir strikes the second vomiting zombie, embedding itself at the undead monstrosity's shoulder and causing it to tumble back!!

"I can't leave you two alone for five minutes, can I?" Warren says as he jogs down to join them, raising his arm up into the air as his spear suddenly rises out out of the zombie's shoulder with a wet squelching sound. The weapon flies back to Warren's hand, which he catches expertly as he joins the group again. That's when he takes a double take at the young woman cowering behind Marcus. "....Cyn?"

Spoiler: OOC

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With Warren's nine successes, he'd like to do one of the following:

-(Assuming one success isn't enough to kill the zombie) 4s to make it a Critical hit and 3s to put a 3 rank Complication on the second vomiting zombie. Bank 1s as Momentum

-(Assuming one success is enough to kill the zombie) 3s to put a 3 rank complication on the second vomiting zombie and bank 5s as as Momentum.