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Fayads Ghost Banishing 240912
In the eerie, moonlit expanse of Arkwright Cemetery, an ancient conflict between ghostly armies erupts into chaos. Amidst the spectral violence, Fayad and his demonborn ally, Novel, engage in a macabre dance of death, aiming to banish the restless spirits. Fayad empowers Novel’s blade with pyromantic energy, turning him into a formidable ghost-reaper. The battlefield becomes a maelstrom of elemental fury as the ghostly generals—with their powers of fire and ice—clash in a devastating explosion, setting the stage for a night of supernatural warfare.
As Novel gleefully plunges into the heart of battle, Fayad focuses his mastery of mancing to bolster Novel's onslaught, their camaraderie and mutual admiration evident even amidst the chaos. Meanwhile, Ash, attempting to conduct their own form of magical intervention, is thwarted by the tumult, yet persists in their efforts to aid in quelling the infernal uprising. In a dramatic conclusion, Novel confronts the ghostly general, disillusioned by the anticlimactic end to their anticipated duel. Ash completes a potent ritual, significantly weakening the spectral forces and allowing Novel to indulge in his violent reaper's dance, much to the amusement and appreciation of Fayad. Amidst the dangerous and unpredictable flux of magic and mayhem, the lines between foes and allies blur, leaving the living participants to ponder the true cost of their victory against the dead.
(Fayad's ghost banishing)
[Wed Sep 11 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 72F(22C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
An eerie stillness settles over the graveyard, the fog thickening like an otherworldly veil. The ground trembles, and two ghostly armies surge forth, locked in a battle that defies time. One side, draped in ethereal armor, charges with spectral weapons, while the other hurls crackling bolts of elemental magic. The air is alight with haunting energy as the spirits, long dead, resume their eternal battle, heedless of the living who are caught in their spectral warpath.
Fayad runs his hand along Novel's blade, causing the edge to glow with pyromantic power. "There you go, Novel. Go fucking nuts," he instructs, having given the demonborn a weapon capable of harming spirits.
Two spectral generals lock eyes from across the battlefield as their armies collide in a chaotic whirlwind of steel and spell. One of them has a blade wreathed in fire; the other conjures a vertex of ice-cold magic around him - their collision sends a shockwave rippling through the graveyard that knocks everyone off their feet and cracks all nearby gravestones right in half.
Novel remarks back to Fayad, continuing the conversation, "All I had to let her know there was some dude that would let her cry and then hide the body after and, let's be fucking honest, literally a dead rat would have been better than Solomon - oh SHIT," And then his bowie knife appears in hand and he flashes a thankful grin at Fayad. "Awwh yeah, thanks boss! You're the best! Always giving me something to stab and stab with." And then he lunges towards the ghostly armies, tackling down one of the many minions and acting as a horrible gremlin reaver, slitting ghost-throats and reducing them back down to fading mist and generally just being murderous... wait, they're ghosts. So... re-murdering? Putting them to rest? Cleansing? Sure, whatever. All he knows is pointy end goes into ghost.
Fayad kneels against the shockwave, his gauntlet digging into the gravedirt to keep him 'upright' in his position with one knee against the ground. He wobbles back up to his feet, clicking his talons together. Clutching his dragonscale pendant with his good arm, he focuses intently on Novel, the heat haze surrounding Novel evidence of Fayad's mastery of mancing - the ritualist is treating Novel like a minion, performing every spell required to enhance Novel's performance.
Ash looks *very unhappy* with their company, but they don't complain - everyone here probably knows the deal without having to speak. Instead, they hold their hands up, and out palms up, as they lead their fellow twink behind a tombstone... at least, they almost do. Until they find that their backless dress is beautifully perfect for displaying bruises. There's even the letters T. B. marked into their back from the tombstone that gets busted by their body.
Novel might have also smoked something and loosened up the dosage on his meds on the way here, but the power of bath salts isn't sufficient to stop him from being flung backwards and sending him sliding through the dirt in a homerun slide right into a broken grave with a THUMP. "FUCK." He says, cleverly, the warmth and heat twisting and crackling and tightening around him like armor alongside his actual abilities. He levers himself up. Then he notes the two others - Isaiah and Ash. He gives them a brief, energetic wave, before he shoves himself up and knifes another ghost, kicking it into another and starting to apply a bit more cleverness by attempting to reaver the lines so they start crumbling against each other.
A phalanx of ghostly knights charges forward, their spectral lances aimed at a line of mages, who summon a wall of fire in a desperate attempt to halt the advance. The resulting explosion sends waves of heat blasting throughout the graveyard, setting plants and clothing on fire.
No sooner does Isaiah arrive behind Ash than he is flung backwards by that shockwave of power that washes over the space, striking all around and flinging them back away from that central point of spectral impact. He grunts, climbing up to elbows and knees to clutch his stomach with one arm. The other digs fiery fingers into the grave dirt, the area around his touch blackening and beginning to smoulder as he calls upon his faithful companion. "Sh-Shovel!" he yells out, eyes watering from pain as he tries to stand up on wobbling legs like a newborn fawn. He breathes heavily, his stomach his soft spot- or perhaps that fresh piercing that dangles from his navel is still sensitive. Either way, that one left him in slight agony, but he's not leaving any time soon- despite getting blasted with ghostly magic a second time. At least his body is used to the heat of flames, the power washing over him and barely managing to spare his newly-bought attire. "Sh-Shit!" he cries out. "Let me stand up, you bitches- this isn't fair, impatient fucking spectres!"
Novel walks through the fire and flames, Fayad's early enchantment protecting him from such nonsense, rippling off him like so much water - he brushes himself off, briefly baffled, then flashes a grin back to Fayad and a thumbs up right before he hamstrings some poor knight's horse which sends it flying into ANOTHER group of the charge, and then it turns into a collapsing mess all ontop of the mages.
Ash groans, but rolls over immediately, looking around for Isaiah. Crawling over to the nearest *upright* tombstone near their femboyfriend, they look him over before getting to work. They sit back against it with a hiss and a wince, but starts over with their magic. Light... will o' wisps... rising from the flames that rise as much as from Ash's power. They form a circle around the battle field, and in this instant, Ash isn't a dancer, but a conductor.
Fayad returns Novel's thumbs up from his position blasted back against a gravestone, looking somewhat concussed. "God you're so fucking awesome," he mutters to himself. "I don't know how I lucked into finding you," he states, about Novel.
Ash says "Hot. "
Ash says "Now, kiss."
Ash says "What's up, Vic?"
Ash summons another will o' wisp onto their lap before them, only noticing then how much they've been flashing everyone with their stockings... then curse. "Anyone near you? Can you tell which alley?"
Ash says "Anyone near you? Can you tell which alley?"
Novel leers horribly at Ash, "Why don't you try it first?" As he regards the mayhem with open glee and malice and a roll of his shoulders. And then he laughs at Fayad's words. "Hey, we BOTH fucking lucked out. My life has been FANTASTIC since I've met you, and this magic stuff is GREAT."
Ash says "You want company? Are you feeling alright?"
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
Ash says, drawls with growing concern, "It wasn't one of mine, was it? Someone... well... you'll tell us if you need anything, right?"
Ash finds their legs sliding open, their crack hanging preciously over a crack, as they try to focus back on their ritual.
Fayad flips a little bit onto the ground as the quake rumbles through the earth, and then using the cracked headstone to get back to his feet. He splays out his fingers towards the ongoing war, focusing on empowering Novel. He's smiling a bit ferally to himself, a rather terrible expression that doesn't match his soft face. Evidently he is pleased with what Novel has said, even as he does his best to ignore Ash and Isaiah.
Ash says "I'm Hand, Vic - I'm going to focus on this ghost ritual, but I'm still listening, and can leave at any time."
"I'm not watching Blender and Fayad make out," Isaiah tells Ash crisply with a roll of his eyes, though a smirk accompanies, not quite so vicious with his words as his lover is. "I'd get jealous of Fayad; I've been stalking poor Blender for weeks hoping to catch him in an alley so I can steal a shoe or something. Unacceptable." The words are heavy-laden with humor, and yet; Isaiah is Isaiah. Who fucking knows just how much he really is joking. He goes to continue his ravenous, psychotic shit-talking and banter but is promptly interrupted by the ground splitting beneath his feet. He topples to the ground yet again, but tucks and rolls to a more stable portion of the graveyard as that fissure continues to grow, a grunt of annoyance splitting his lips as, finally, those flames he left behind congeal into the form of a sniggering, flaming Imp. It hoots and hollers like a wild chimpanzee before leaping at the closest spectre, clawing at its face and attempting to devour the ectoplasmic flesh there.
Novel is not protected from earthquakes, which causes him to be flung down to the ground and bouncing away - and then caught up in the stampeding legs of the ghosts that he was trying to murder. Whoops. It doesn't stop him from putting more holes in things but there's an "Oof!" and then an "Ouch!" And then a bunch of thumping and whapping as he disappears under hooves for a brief moment. And then there's a painful cry from a particular flank and another jumbled mess that the man pops out from again, the smell of searing, burning horsemeat and the stink of burning rot - an echo of Fayad's own magic, the blade gleaming in hand and the fire seeming to have crawled up across his body, contrasting white with horrible, burning red. He looks like he was just summoned from the pits.
Isaiah says "I am- I'm right here."
A ghostly battlemage hurls a ball of fire, deflected mid-air by a phantom knight's shield, causing an explosion that sends searing heat and blinding light across the battlefield.
Fayad shields his face with his gigantic, gaudy and impractical gauntlet against the explosion. Well, hey, guess it is practical for some things after all.
Ash turns over, flipping onto their knees as they look over the top of the gravestone. The will o' wisp becomes a paintbucket, Ash dipping their fingers in, before they start their somatic incantations. Geometric shapes formed in their fingers and with them as their finger tutting carves symbols in the air, then gives them a push, assigning each to a will o' wisp before starting on the next. Then, they blink, frowning. They might have been blinded if they were not wearing SUNGLASSES at NIGHT like a BOSS.
Ash says "I just used my walk, too - did you set one up yet, Chamoy? So you can let her in?"
Ash says "Is she feeling like she needs company, Chamoy? I'm too autistic to tell if she's okay or just saying it."
Isaiah says "I think she'd like a ride home when one of us has time- sadly Dean is still repairing my bike.."
Novel roars in blindness and in rage, not running away and instead charging straight in, like the homicidal maniac he is. Someone forgot to put his shades on. But... it's night time. What sort of person wears sunshades at night? Maybe some sort of cool tactical goggles... Anyway. The fire around the man is beginning to fade, to cool, though the demon-blooded man only seems invigorated as he calls back to Isaiah, "Fuck you! Don't steal my fucking running shoes! They're the only non-boots I have!" When people were saying he didn't have much of a closet apparently that hit rather close to home.
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
Novel is speckled, spackled, cut by flying shards, leaving him grinning and hooting and hollering much like Isaiah's imp as he dives right in. Perhaps that's what his lineage is. An imp. Or some sort of tiny, extremely angry devil.
Fayad takes cover behind his own gravestone, listening to the PING PING PING of the shrapnel bouncing off it. "Fuck," he mutters. "Almost killed that general, yet, Novel?"
Ash quickens their casting as they talk, trying to finish it off so that they can have their cake and finish it, too. Their fingers contort and twist with glowing trails, patterns rippling as they rapid fire empower their will o' wisp servants, one after another. As they do, the living orbs pulse, growing stronger and stronger. As they do, the ghosts are able to become weaker and weaker, allowing Novel to perform that much more mayhem.
Ash says "Yeah, we'll come, and I'll take you home, or Chamoy will while I get my stuff from his room. Hopefully, Dean will wake up in that time."
Ash says "Oh, then we'll head over now. Lemme finish this circle for him, then we'll go. You're not standing out there for 15 minutes."
Ash says "It's Novel and Fayad here, they'd be who we're abandoning. And Fayad fucked up bad earlier, so I'm not really losing anything."
"Collecting pieces of my friends' clothes is how I deal with my separation anxiety!" Isaiah yells back at Novel as though they were an elderly couple bickering about what temperature the thermostat should be on. "I literally have a whole Dean outfit, I've got... /So/ much of Ash's painter stuff- don't tell them that's where it's been going missing at-" No need, Isaiah literally just shouted it at the top of his lungs over the sound of multiple explosions firing back to back to back. "Your stingy ass can't spare a shoe? A single sock? It's not a request, I'm taking one!" he warns, only to be shut up as he's pelted with shards and shrapnel, yelping and ducking down, covering his head with his arms and waiting for it all to be over. "God dammit let me cast a spell besides summoning, you shits! Stop blowing shit up!" says the King of Blowing Shit Up. The hypocrisy tonight.
The air thickens with an unnatural fog as ghostly archers let loose a volley of arrows. The projectiles are swept away by a whirlwind conjured by spectral windcallers, and the gust of wind sends everyone alive flying against tombstones with bone-jarring force.
Novel hollers back to Fayad, "FUCKING no. There's too many - I'm ALMOST there..." as he hacks down another. He definitely wasn't killing just for the sake of fighting. Nope! He totally had the objective to kill the leader. He swivels his head around, trying to figure out where they are in melee, utilizing Ash's advantage unthinkingly to shove an entire line of horses over and collapsing it into another set of mages as his eyes alight finally on the general. And then there's an urk as he's picked up, whirled around, tossed, and bodied into another boulder that knocks the air out of him with the winding up. "I only have ONE set of socks," He wheezes back at Isaiah as he struggles to roll over and get unpinned and then he blinks. Oh, hey, the mage-general is right there, shouting orders.
Fayad rolls his eyes hard as he puts his metal gauntlet over his head to shield himself from stray arrows, shielded from the wind by his position. "'Fucked up bad' like we both don't know we'd kill each other if we could," he snorts. "We're at fucking war."
Novel puts a knife between the ghost's shoulderblades. It produces a soft sighing noise and then collapses. The demonblooded looks incredibly disappointed.
"Ghost don't bleed enough," Novel complains, as he disappears into the crowd again to hunt down some more for violent sport.
Ash speeds up even more, their trails becoming less like artistic afterimages and more like dirt squiggles from Charlie Brown. "Saying I should have killed you when you offered? Some of these days, I consider it... I'm too nice for my own good, I know it." They finish, then start pulling the ring close, and closer, tighter, making it easier to kill even more at once - or fucking mosh it up.
Fayad responds with confusion. "What?", he asks, apparantly completely unaware of whatever the hell Ash is talking about. "You're a fucking Hand goon. I kill Hand goons."
Novel pops up next to Fayad as Ash completes the circle and destroying the entities, openly admiring the destruction. "Discombobulate," He corrects Fayad.
Ash rolls their eyes, safe behind their gravestone as they pull the threads of light together, and squeezes them as they pop like balloons.
As Novel gleefully plunges into the heart of battle, Fayad focuses his mastery of mancing to bolster Novel's onslaught, their camaraderie and mutual admiration evident even amidst the chaos. Meanwhile, Ash, attempting to conduct their own form of magical intervention, is thwarted by the tumult, yet persists in their efforts to aid in quelling the infernal uprising. In a dramatic conclusion, Novel confronts the ghostly general, disillusioned by the anticlimactic end to their anticipated duel. Ash completes a potent ritual, significantly weakening the spectral forces and allowing Novel to indulge in his violent reaper's dance, much to the amusement and appreciation of Fayad. Amidst the dangerous and unpredictable flux of magic and mayhem, the lines between foes and allies blur, leaving the living participants to ponder the true cost of their victory against the dead.
(Fayad's ghost banishing)
[Wed Sep 11 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 72F(22C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
An eerie stillness settles over the graveyard, the fog thickening like an otherworldly veil. The ground trembles, and two ghostly armies surge forth, locked in a battle that defies time. One side, draped in ethereal armor, charges with spectral weapons, while the other hurls crackling bolts of elemental magic. The air is alight with haunting energy as the spirits, long dead, resume their eternal battle, heedless of the living who are caught in their spectral warpath.
Fayad runs his hand along Novel's blade, causing the edge to glow with pyromantic power. "There you go, Novel. Go fucking nuts," he instructs, having given the demonborn a weapon capable of harming spirits.
Two spectral generals lock eyes from across the battlefield as their armies collide in a chaotic whirlwind of steel and spell. One of them has a blade wreathed in fire; the other conjures a vertex of ice-cold magic around him - their collision sends a shockwave rippling through the graveyard that knocks everyone off their feet and cracks all nearby gravestones right in half.
Novel remarks back to Fayad, continuing the conversation, "All I had to let her know there was some dude that would let her cry and then hide the body after and, let's be fucking honest, literally a dead rat would have been better than Solomon - oh SHIT," And then his bowie knife appears in hand and he flashes a thankful grin at Fayad. "Awwh yeah, thanks boss! You're the best! Always giving me something to stab and stab with." And then he lunges towards the ghostly armies, tackling down one of the many minions and acting as a horrible gremlin reaver, slitting ghost-throats and reducing them back down to fading mist and generally just being murderous... wait, they're ghosts. So... re-murdering? Putting them to rest? Cleansing? Sure, whatever. All he knows is pointy end goes into ghost.
Fayad kneels against the shockwave, his gauntlet digging into the gravedirt to keep him 'upright' in his position with one knee against the ground. He wobbles back up to his feet, clicking his talons together. Clutching his dragonscale pendant with his good arm, he focuses intently on Novel, the heat haze surrounding Novel evidence of Fayad's mastery of mancing - the ritualist is treating Novel like a minion, performing every spell required to enhance Novel's performance.
Ash looks *very unhappy* with their company, but they don't complain - everyone here probably knows the deal without having to speak. Instead, they hold their hands up, and out palms up, as they lead their fellow twink behind a tombstone... at least, they almost do. Until they find that their backless dress is beautifully perfect for displaying bruises. There's even the letters T. B. marked into their back from the tombstone that gets busted by their body.
Novel might have also smoked something and loosened up the dosage on his meds on the way here, but the power of bath salts isn't sufficient to stop him from being flung backwards and sending him sliding through the dirt in a homerun slide right into a broken grave with a THUMP. "FUCK." He says, cleverly, the warmth and heat twisting and crackling and tightening around him like armor alongside his actual abilities. He levers himself up. Then he notes the two others - Isaiah and Ash. He gives them a brief, energetic wave, before he shoves himself up and knifes another ghost, kicking it into another and starting to apply a bit more cleverness by attempting to reaver the lines so they start crumbling against each other.
A phalanx of ghostly knights charges forward, their spectral lances aimed at a line of mages, who summon a wall of fire in a desperate attempt to halt the advance. The resulting explosion sends waves of heat blasting throughout the graveyard, setting plants and clothing on fire.
No sooner does Isaiah arrive behind Ash than he is flung backwards by that shockwave of power that washes over the space, striking all around and flinging them back away from that central point of spectral impact. He grunts, climbing up to elbows and knees to clutch his stomach with one arm. The other digs fiery fingers into the grave dirt, the area around his touch blackening and beginning to smoulder as he calls upon his faithful companion. "Sh-Shovel!" he yells out, eyes watering from pain as he tries to stand up on wobbling legs like a newborn fawn. He breathes heavily, his stomach his soft spot- or perhaps that fresh piercing that dangles from his navel is still sensitive. Either way, that one left him in slight agony, but he's not leaving any time soon- despite getting blasted with ghostly magic a second time. At least his body is used to the heat of flames, the power washing over him and barely managing to spare his newly-bought attire. "Sh-Shit!" he cries out. "Let me stand up, you bitches- this isn't fair, impatient fucking spectres!"
Novel walks through the fire and flames, Fayad's early enchantment protecting him from such nonsense, rippling off him like so much water - he brushes himself off, briefly baffled, then flashes a grin back to Fayad and a thumbs up right before he hamstrings some poor knight's horse which sends it flying into ANOTHER group of the charge, and then it turns into a collapsing mess all ontop of the mages.
Ash groans, but rolls over immediately, looking around for Isaiah. Crawling over to the nearest *upright* tombstone near their femboyfriend, they look him over before getting to work. They sit back against it with a hiss and a wince, but starts over with their magic. Light... will o' wisps... rising from the flames that rise as much as from Ash's power. They form a circle around the battle field, and in this instant, Ash isn't a dancer, but a conductor.
Fayad returns Novel's thumbs up from his position blasted back against a gravestone, looking somewhat concussed. "God you're so fucking awesome," he mutters to himself. "I don't know how I lucked into finding you," he states, about Novel.
Ash says "Hot. "
Ash says "Now, kiss."
Ash says "What's up, Vic?"
Ash summons another will o' wisp onto their lap before them, only noticing then how much they've been flashing everyone with their stockings... then curse. "Anyone near you? Can you tell which alley?"
Ash says "Anyone near you? Can you tell which alley?"
Novel leers horribly at Ash, "Why don't you try it first?" As he regards the mayhem with open glee and malice and a roll of his shoulders. And then he laughs at Fayad's words. "Hey, we BOTH fucking lucked out. My life has been FANTASTIC since I've met you, and this magic stuff is GREAT."
Ash says "You want company? Are you feeling alright?"
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
Ash says, drawls with growing concern, "It wasn't one of mine, was it? Someone... well... you'll tell us if you need anything, right?"
Ash finds their legs sliding open, their crack hanging preciously over a crack, as they try to focus back on their ritual.
Fayad flips a little bit onto the ground as the quake rumbles through the earth, and then using the cracked headstone to get back to his feet. He splays out his fingers towards the ongoing war, focusing on empowering Novel. He's smiling a bit ferally to himself, a rather terrible expression that doesn't match his soft face. Evidently he is pleased with what Novel has said, even as he does his best to ignore Ash and Isaiah.
Ash says "I'm Hand, Vic - I'm going to focus on this ghost ritual, but I'm still listening, and can leave at any time."
"I'm not watching Blender and Fayad make out," Isaiah tells Ash crisply with a roll of his eyes, though a smirk accompanies, not quite so vicious with his words as his lover is. "I'd get jealous of Fayad; I've been stalking poor Blender for weeks hoping to catch him in an alley so I can steal a shoe or something. Unacceptable." The words are heavy-laden with humor, and yet; Isaiah is Isaiah. Who fucking knows just how much he really is joking. He goes to continue his ravenous, psychotic shit-talking and banter but is promptly interrupted by the ground splitting beneath his feet. He topples to the ground yet again, but tucks and rolls to a more stable portion of the graveyard as that fissure continues to grow, a grunt of annoyance splitting his lips as, finally, those flames he left behind congeal into the form of a sniggering, flaming Imp. It hoots and hollers like a wild chimpanzee before leaping at the closest spectre, clawing at its face and attempting to devour the ectoplasmic flesh there.
Novel is not protected from earthquakes, which causes him to be flung down to the ground and bouncing away - and then caught up in the stampeding legs of the ghosts that he was trying to murder. Whoops. It doesn't stop him from putting more holes in things but there's an "Oof!" and then an "Ouch!" And then a bunch of thumping and whapping as he disappears under hooves for a brief moment. And then there's a painful cry from a particular flank and another jumbled mess that the man pops out from again, the smell of searing, burning horsemeat and the stink of burning rot - an echo of Fayad's own magic, the blade gleaming in hand and the fire seeming to have crawled up across his body, contrasting white with horrible, burning red. He looks like he was just summoned from the pits.
Isaiah says "I am- I'm right here."
A ghostly battlemage hurls a ball of fire, deflected mid-air by a phantom knight's shield, causing an explosion that sends searing heat and blinding light across the battlefield.
Fayad shields his face with his gigantic, gaudy and impractical gauntlet against the explosion. Well, hey, guess it is practical for some things after all.
Ash turns over, flipping onto their knees as they look over the top of the gravestone. The will o' wisp becomes a paintbucket, Ash dipping their fingers in, before they start their somatic incantations. Geometric shapes formed in their fingers and with them as their finger tutting carves symbols in the air, then gives them a push, assigning each to a will o' wisp before starting on the next. Then, they blink, frowning. They might have been blinded if they were not wearing SUNGLASSES at NIGHT like a BOSS.
Ash says "I just used my walk, too - did you set one up yet, Chamoy? So you can let her in?"
Ash says "Is she feeling like she needs company, Chamoy? I'm too autistic to tell if she's okay or just saying it."
Isaiah says "I think she'd like a ride home when one of us has time- sadly Dean is still repairing my bike.."
Novel roars in blindness and in rage, not running away and instead charging straight in, like the homicidal maniac he is. Someone forgot to put his shades on. But... it's night time. What sort of person wears sunshades at night? Maybe some sort of cool tactical goggles... Anyway. The fire around the man is beginning to fade, to cool, though the demon-blooded man only seems invigorated as he calls back to Isaiah, "Fuck you! Don't steal my fucking running shoes! They're the only non-boots I have!" When people were saying he didn't have much of a closet apparently that hit rather close to home.
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
Novel is speckled, spackled, cut by flying shards, leaving him grinning and hooting and hollering much like Isaiah's imp as he dives right in. Perhaps that's what his lineage is. An imp. Or some sort of tiny, extremely angry devil.
Fayad takes cover behind his own gravestone, listening to the PING PING PING of the shrapnel bouncing off it. "Fuck," he mutters. "Almost killed that general, yet, Novel?"
Ash quickens their casting as they talk, trying to finish it off so that they can have their cake and finish it, too. Their fingers contort and twist with glowing trails, patterns rippling as they rapid fire empower their will o' wisp servants, one after another. As they do, the living orbs pulse, growing stronger and stronger. As they do, the ghosts are able to become weaker and weaker, allowing Novel to perform that much more mayhem.
Ash says "Yeah, we'll come, and I'll take you home, or Chamoy will while I get my stuff from his room. Hopefully, Dean will wake up in that time."
Ash says "Oh, then we'll head over now. Lemme finish this circle for him, then we'll go. You're not standing out there for 15 minutes."
Ash says "It's Novel and Fayad here, they'd be who we're abandoning. And Fayad fucked up bad earlier, so I'm not really losing anything."
"Collecting pieces of my friends' clothes is how I deal with my separation anxiety!" Isaiah yells back at Novel as though they were an elderly couple bickering about what temperature the thermostat should be on. "I literally have a whole Dean outfit, I've got... /So/ much of Ash's painter stuff- don't tell them that's where it's been going missing at-" No need, Isaiah literally just shouted it at the top of his lungs over the sound of multiple explosions firing back to back to back. "Your stingy ass can't spare a shoe? A single sock? It's not a request, I'm taking one!" he warns, only to be shut up as he's pelted with shards and shrapnel, yelping and ducking down, covering his head with his arms and waiting for it all to be over. "God dammit let me cast a spell besides summoning, you shits! Stop blowing shit up!" says the King of Blowing Shit Up. The hypocrisy tonight.
The air thickens with an unnatural fog as ghostly archers let loose a volley of arrows. The projectiles are swept away by a whirlwind conjured by spectral windcallers, and the gust of wind sends everyone alive flying against tombstones with bone-jarring force.
Novel hollers back to Fayad, "FUCKING no. There's too many - I'm ALMOST there..." as he hacks down another. He definitely wasn't killing just for the sake of fighting. Nope! He totally had the objective to kill the leader. He swivels his head around, trying to figure out where they are in melee, utilizing Ash's advantage unthinkingly to shove an entire line of horses over and collapsing it into another set of mages as his eyes alight finally on the general. And then there's an urk as he's picked up, whirled around, tossed, and bodied into another boulder that knocks the air out of him with the winding up. "I only have ONE set of socks," He wheezes back at Isaiah as he struggles to roll over and get unpinned and then he blinks. Oh, hey, the mage-general is right there, shouting orders.
Fayad rolls his eyes hard as he puts his metal gauntlet over his head to shield himself from stray arrows, shielded from the wind by his position. "'Fucked up bad' like we both don't know we'd kill each other if we could," he snorts. "We're at fucking war."
Novel puts a knife between the ghost's shoulderblades. It produces a soft sighing noise and then collapses. The demonblooded looks incredibly disappointed.
"Ghost don't bleed enough," Novel complains, as he disappears into the crowd again to hunt down some more for violent sport.
Ash speeds up even more, their trails becoming less like artistic afterimages and more like dirt squiggles from Charlie Brown. "Saying I should have killed you when you offered? Some of these days, I consider it... I'm too nice for my own good, I know it." They finish, then start pulling the ring close, and closer, tighter, making it easier to kill even more at once - or fucking mosh it up.
Fayad responds with confusion. "What?", he asks, apparantly completely unaware of whatever the hell Ash is talking about. "You're a fucking Hand goon. I kill Hand goons."
Novel pops up next to Fayad as Ash completes the circle and destroying the entities, openly admiring the destruction. "Discombobulate," He corrects Fayad.
Ash rolls their eyes, safe behind their gravestone as they pull the threads of light together, and squeezes them as they pop like balloons.