Patrollogs
Illyanas Ghost Banishing 241123
On a chilly night in Arkwright Cemetery, amidst the unsettling melody of a spectral piano and the looming threat of a storm, a confrontation unfolds that feels ripped from the darkest corners of supernatural lore. Illyana, an angelic figure glowing with incandescent fury, signals the start of a battle against three ghostly pirates, with her companions Irene, Sam, and Eric poised to assist with their own mix of skills and arcane abilities. The ghostly pirates, adorned in a grotesque blend of ballroom and buccaneer attire, brandishing flintlocks, cutlasses, and knives, attack with relentless vigor. The response is swift and tactical: Illyana declares roles; she's to create a barrier for protection while Sam and Eric handle the arcane aspects of their counterattack. This moment marks the beginning of an intense struggle for survival and dominance in the otherworldly onslaught.
As the battle rages, Illyana takes a spectral bullet, igniting the protective fire within her, forming a circle of blistering flames to guard her allies. Irene and Eric lend their prowess to the physical fight as Sam prepares a dark, blood-fueled ritual to banish their ethereal assailants. Despite the exhaustion from sustained use of her powers and the additional burden of suppressing her darker urges, Illyana's resolve remains unshaken. Sam's ritual takes shape, harnessing ire and opposition to draw forth a hunter from the shadows, their collective efforts aiming to turn the tide. In a tense alliance of firepower, arcane energy, and angelic might, they confront the spiraling ghosts, whose own unity becomes their undoing; they're consumed by the very ground they hovered above. In the aftermath, beneath the watchful gaze of a waning gibbous moon, the cemetery falls silent once more, the night's eerie harmony broken, the ghosts of Arkwright banished—at least for now.
(Illyana's ghost banishing)
[Fri Nov 22 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
"No, I believe you, I know that's very hard," Irene tells someone with a nod, hands loosely in her pockets. Whatever they were talking about before, however, is put on hold when she hears the sound of that spectral piano. She turns this way and that, warily, and draws a knife to clutch in her hand. "Well at least these are ghosts we can actually fight."
"Oh, lovely, pirates." Sam grabs his knife, and pulls out a finger-bone on a silver chain from under his jacket. "Leggo, then. Who's doing the banishing?" He looks between Irene and Illyana
"No, I believe you, I know that's very hard," Irene tells Illyana with a nod, hands loosely in her pockets. Whatever they were talking about before, however, is put on hold when she hears the sound of that spectral piano. She turns this way and that, warily, and draws a knife to clutch in her hand. "Well at least these are ghosts we can actually fight."
"Oh these ghosts." Illyana grimaces. "Sam, I'll barrier, you're on arcana, I'm on protection." With a look to Eric and Irene, Illyana adds, "Try not to die, Eric. I think Irene is capable of dealing for herself. She's competent."
Illyana's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
"That's surprisingly nice of you, Yana," says Irene, with her back to the bohemian woman. She's keeping a wary eye out for those ghosts, and doesn't notice until it's too late that some magic fuckery is going on, her shoulder aflame. Wrinkling her nose, she eventually catches whiff of the telltale smell, and then turns back to her with brows raised in alarm. "Shut! Yana, your shoulder! You're on fire!"
About to generate a circle of fire, Illyana drops to her knees at that shot. A hiss of breath, and she flips the gunman ghost the bird before heat and light bursts around her, thrusting the chill air away from the group and manifesting into a circle of burning incandescent fire as a protective circle.
"Shit!" Irene said, even.
Eric does, in fact, opt to try and not die. He listens in to Illyana long enough to grimace a bit when she's shot at, and then shields his face some once the flame rises to the point of heating the place up so much
"Gotcha." Sam nods to Eric, and smiles. "Ya know the drill." He draws a hunting knife, and rakes it across his palm, kneeling down to draw a rough triangle of blood on the floor.
"Aight." He stands on one of the points, waiting a moment, nodding firmly to Eric. "By my blood..." He mutters, letting more blood trickle onto that ritual form.
"Fire isn't a problem." Illyana points out to Irene. "And I'm actually very nice. People just tell me I'm things I'm not and I get annoyed." Her attention goes to Sam, checking he's working on his blood magic ritual- Then to Eric, ready to path to him if he needs protection
Eric does know, and Eric does join Sam's attempts at bringing forth magics. That impromptu triangle has a spot for him, and his gaze wanders to the speed at which Sam's hand heals even while eyeing his own knife, which he opts to just leave be for now. No need for it, probably, maybe
Irene turns her focus sharply over to Sam and Eric, observing their ritual magics with a furrow of her brows. She doesn't try to intervene, but it's clear from her expression that she finds this disturbing. For her part, she lunges quickly towards the flintlock-wielding ghost, grabbing them by the wrist and forcing the pistol in a wide arc away from Illyana. Although it's enough to temporarily disable them, moments later, the spirit dissipates from her grasp, and she twists back around with an air of frustration.
After Eric gets in position, Sam clasps that finger-bone in a hand, placing the other one on that form. "By our will..."
Runes on his focus start to glow, the air around him and Eric starting to shimmer with energy as the shadows around the jock start to twist and lengthen.
"By the distaste of the unwitting..." He smirks to Irene, clearly unsurprised by her opinions.
The cutlass-wielder attacks Illyana, driving her back as the flintlock lady appears behind her, using the distraction to go through her pockets.
Eric seems, for whatever reason, more comfortable with Sam's particular magics than Irene does. Even with his shadow distorting, with the distant lights seeing his shadow warp to a point that it slithers moreso than moves with the light, he does not move from his spot. The magical shimmer gets to envelop him just as well as it does Sam
The cutlass wielder is in for a shock. Illyana snarls, her fists balling and fire generating, a ball of angelfire tossing him towards Irene for the woman to disbatch as she handles the gunman with a burden of weight that forces it below the earth as it manifests again. "This," Illyana curses, "Is why these guys piss me the fuck off." Her attention returns to Sam and Eric and their ritual again, and expression unreadable, she notes that it's under way, and she paths over to the casters, widening the protection circle.
"I'll have you know I am very fucking witting," Irene seethes to Sam with a clench of her teeth, cutting him a quick, snide glance. Even if she is, in fact, playing whatever role he intends of her hateful life force whether she intends it or not. She jogs back over to Illyana when the flintlock lady magically reappears behind her, after having dissipated from Irene's grasp. "Yana look out!" she calls, wrapping her arm around the ghost lady's throat to try and yank her back.
"Speed it up." Illyana tells Sam. "And as you're at it, learn something that doesn't need so much blood. That sets me off and I do not like giving into the demon."
The three spirits surround Illyana, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
"By the blindness of Ma-at..." Sam smirks, seemingly quite amused by Irene's reaction. "I invoke the inverse, and turn the unwitting into the unknown."
"By the chaos of opposites, I open the Maw of Duat!" Sam lowers his head to the triangle, shadows starting to deepen within it. He just gives a nod to Illyana, energy crackling around his focus and slowly seeping into that form.
Well, whatever Sam just did seems to turn Irene, the unwitting, into the unknown. Inexplicably, she vanishes from sight, and now even the ghosts cannot actually see her. "Oh, umm!" comes her telltale Hispanic accent from behind Illyana, "that's one way to do it!" Her knife, likewise invisible, slices across the necks of two of the spirits encircling Illyana, temporarily banishing them, and forcing them to reform a short distance away for another try.
Has three others to be attentive of, and so she cant employ something more destructive. That leaves her disadvantaged, but an angelborn is an angelborn, and there is always that subconscious need to care for others. To that end, Illyana doesn't create more fire; She drops the circle. The spirits have entered the ring anyway and it's redundant. Instead, she focuses on one, the cutlass wielder. The musket is an issue, but someone seems very capable of dealing with that one. But focusing on her it means they're not bothering Sam and Eric, so reaching deep, she snarls with an enraged burst of adrenaline, her flaming punch hammering into and disburcing that single spirit, letting her turn to the next in line. At the same time, she shines with incandescence, though this is more instinctive, and likely does nothing to the spirit's vision like it would a mortal or supernatural.
Has three others to be attentive of, and so she cant employ something more destructive. That leaves her disadvantaged, but an angelborn is an angelborn, and there is always that subconscious need to care for others. To that end, Illyana doesn't create more fire; She drops the circle. The spirits have entered the ring anyway and it's redundant. Instead, she focuses on one, the cutlass wielder. The musket is an issue, but irene seems very capable of dealing with that one. But focusing on her it means they're not bothering Sam and Eric, so reaching deep, she snarls with an enraged burst of adrenaline, her flaming punch hammering into and disburcing that single spirit, letting her turn to the next in line. At the same time, she shines with incandescence, though this is more instinctive, and likely does nothing to the spirit's vision like it would a mortal or supernatural.
The three spirits surround Illyana, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
All three dealt with and Sam's ritual under way. Illyana looks around, notes Eric is being left alone, and waits for the next attack in line. The incandescence around Illyana dwindles, and all that remains is the literal fire in her eyes and the flames that lick up her arms.
Eric closes his eyes, color draining from his features to a point that he looks more grayscale than anything else. It suits him, perhaps, as the reopening of his eyes reveals no panic or discomfort on his features. The ebbing of flames and the ghosts turning away from him has his head turn, gaze moving to cast a look on over at Illyana "It is your turn." He sounds collected, more firm, and more focused than he often does. "End them, Yana. You can do it- we all know it. Do not let them stay here."
Leaving Illyana to deal with the cutlass-wielding pirate, the presence of Irene focuses on taking out the flintlock-wielding pirates. This now invisible, 'unknown' figure darts through the graveyard, detectable perhaps to those with a supernatural sense of smell by her scent. But even the ghosts can't see the hidden figure coming at this point when, from behind, they move to disarm and disable, redirecting their line of fire away from Illyana. Another fiery bullet streaks through the graveyard, just past the angelic woman.
"Ignorance is the servant of Isfet, and through their actions, your wrath is called. From the depths you rise, through my body anchored... " Sam continues to speak, his head pressed against the floor in prostration as he hears Eric speak.
"LEt the wrath of the duality strike out from the depths, and be a conduit of the Law of Duat!" Shadows flicker, and two yellowish eyes seeming to look out from the center of that triangle, hissing echoing from the very earth itself.
The cutlass-wielder attacks Illyana, driving her back as the flintlock lady appears behind her, using the distraction to go through her pockets.
Reappearing in front of Illyana, Irene shakes her head. "The ghosts have no shame," she says, lifting up her gun in the direction of the flintlock lady. Narrowing her eyes, she adjusts her aim this way and that, trying to get a bead without risking hurting Illyana. "You're dead! Why are you stealing! You can take nothing with you to the grave."
"You're deluded." Illyana calls to Eric with a smirk. "I'm able to one on one, but I cant handle groups without hurting people around me." Smelling that Irene isn't near, there's another burst of heat as Illyana's aura extends, then retracts in a scorching burst of light. Her attention sweeps around. "And I'm sick, so I'm not at one hundred percent either fucking way. This is more tiring than it should be and I'm fighting these and a need to try to feed on all of you that I'm doing my best to resist." Then, the cutlass wielder shows again. Trusting Irene to handle the spirits again and Sam and Eric with the ritual, she kangaroo punches the wielder, yeeting it into the middle distance.
Irene looks fairly impressed by the sight of Illyana punching the ghost away from her, and it gives her just the right opportunity to fire a shot at the one that's behind her. She turns to look at Eric for a moment, visibly concerned, and furrows her brow. "Sykes?" she calls him, "You don't care at all that they're using your life-force for this? You just happy being food?"
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Illyana reaches out with a single finger for Irene, and some of that angelic fire leaps from her to Irene's weapon, enhancing her shot like a Nick Cage Ghostrider, though even that is draining her. "I am not touching his life force." Illyana frowns, apparently hurt by the accusation. "I'm a monster. I'll not deny it-" And Irene's shot disrupts the spirit, "But I'm not willing to touch the innocent." Glancing to Sam, she watches the arcane working with a look that hints at her opinion of that casting, but she knows that Sam and Eric are friendly, and if Eric is actively involving himself, that's his choice. She can do nothing.
"Get down!" Irene calls out, flooring herself on the dirt between graves as the spectral bullets rain overhead. She looks over at Illyana with a frown, back at the greyscale Eric, and then back one more time towards the angel-lady. "Someone is," she tells her, "And I still think he's fool enough to let you feed on him, if you asked. Did you ask?"
Eric is an upright contrast to Sam, more impressive - this once - than the man twice his width. Gaze kept on Illyana, he watches the ghosts go reeling, the spirits fumble to try and get some manner of attack off. "Your best," he judges, confident in this somehow, "Will be enough." What magic Sam calls on keeps all color drained from him, to the point he is all gray, black, white, eerie gaze turning for Irene. He has fairly few words for her also: "I am happy around those. Who ask." A couple bullets smash into him, and blotches appear upon his grayscale hide before he does duck, dropping to a knee if just to see most of them go overhead
"Irene, respectfully." Sam smirks. "You are the one who put him in a brain-chair." He pauses. "Did you /ask/, Irene, DID YOU REALLY?"
"By the hate of those that oppose us, by the hypocrisy of the righteous... Come forth, hunter of the depth..."
He ducks lower, seemingly content in letting those bullets rend his flesh. More blood to feed into that hissing, coiling shadows within that triangle. He turns to Irene. "So hate me, if you must. It only makes me stronger, Adler."
Coiling shadows start to lash out at the spirits, a dark hissing emminating from the very graves around the trio.
Irene briefly notes that her Adler who title is a joke, and a Sherlock Holmes reference! Not her name in any means found IC.
Sam would have said Irene, then, apologies
Illyana tucks, drops and rolls, once more angelic heritage easily working to her benefit and in the order given by Irene, who clearly has a better idea about this. Then, she paths over to Eric, guarding him with her body from that peppering of spectral amunition, glowing with incandescence again, her form sagging before it rejuvenates with an effort of will, though she seems even more exausted after that, even the flames around her fists beginning to gutter as she sinks to a knee again. But this is nearly over, and Sam's ritual is ramping up. Surely this cant go on much longer... surely.
"I did that for his own good, because YOUR kind brainwash gullible humans like him," Irene hisses to Sam, twisting on the dirt to pull back to her feet once the spectral bullets have cleared the air. She turns and fires off another shot at the ghost who fired them, causing him to dissipate in a puff of smoke.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.
As the battle rages, Illyana takes a spectral bullet, igniting the protective fire within her, forming a circle of blistering flames to guard her allies. Irene and Eric lend their prowess to the physical fight as Sam prepares a dark, blood-fueled ritual to banish their ethereal assailants. Despite the exhaustion from sustained use of her powers and the additional burden of suppressing her darker urges, Illyana's resolve remains unshaken. Sam's ritual takes shape, harnessing ire and opposition to draw forth a hunter from the shadows, their collective efforts aiming to turn the tide. In a tense alliance of firepower, arcane energy, and angelic might, they confront the spiraling ghosts, whose own unity becomes their undoing; they're consumed by the very ground they hovered above. In the aftermath, beneath the watchful gaze of a waning gibbous moon, the cemetery falls silent once more, the night's eerie harmony broken, the ghosts of Arkwright banished—at least for now.
(Illyana's ghost banishing)
[Fri Nov 22 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
"No, I believe you, I know that's very hard," Irene tells someone with a nod, hands loosely in her pockets. Whatever they were talking about before, however, is put on hold when she hears the sound of that spectral piano. She turns this way and that, warily, and draws a knife to clutch in her hand. "Well at least these are ghosts we can actually fight."
"Oh, lovely, pirates." Sam grabs his knife, and pulls out a finger-bone on a silver chain from under his jacket. "Leggo, then. Who's doing the banishing?" He looks between Irene and Illyana
"No, I believe you, I know that's very hard," Irene tells Illyana with a nod, hands loosely in her pockets. Whatever they were talking about before, however, is put on hold when she hears the sound of that spectral piano. She turns this way and that, warily, and draws a knife to clutch in her hand. "Well at least these are ghosts we can actually fight."
"Oh these ghosts." Illyana grimaces. "Sam, I'll barrier, you're on arcana, I'm on protection." With a look to Eric and Irene, Illyana adds, "Try not to die, Eric. I think Irene is capable of dealing for herself. She's competent."
Illyana's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
"That's surprisingly nice of you, Yana," says Irene, with her back to the bohemian woman. She's keeping a wary eye out for those ghosts, and doesn't notice until it's too late that some magic fuckery is going on, her shoulder aflame. Wrinkling her nose, she eventually catches whiff of the telltale smell, and then turns back to her with brows raised in alarm. "Shut! Yana, your shoulder! You're on fire!"
About to generate a circle of fire, Illyana drops to her knees at that shot. A hiss of breath, and she flips the gunman ghost the bird before heat and light bursts around her, thrusting the chill air away from the group and manifesting into a circle of burning incandescent fire as a protective circle.
"Shit!" Irene said, even.
Eric does, in fact, opt to try and not die. He listens in to Illyana long enough to grimace a bit when she's shot at, and then shields his face some once the flame rises to the point of heating the place up so much
"Gotcha." Sam nods to Eric, and smiles. "Ya know the drill." He draws a hunting knife, and rakes it across his palm, kneeling down to draw a rough triangle of blood on the floor.
"Aight." He stands on one of the points, waiting a moment, nodding firmly to Eric. "By my blood..." He mutters, letting more blood trickle onto that ritual form.
"Fire isn't a problem." Illyana points out to Irene. "And I'm actually very nice. People just tell me I'm things I'm not and I get annoyed." Her attention goes to Sam, checking he's working on his blood magic ritual- Then to Eric, ready to path to him if he needs protection
Eric does know, and Eric does join Sam's attempts at bringing forth magics. That impromptu triangle has a spot for him, and his gaze wanders to the speed at which Sam's hand heals even while eyeing his own knife, which he opts to just leave be for now. No need for it, probably, maybe
Irene turns her focus sharply over to Sam and Eric, observing their ritual magics with a furrow of her brows. She doesn't try to intervene, but it's clear from her expression that she finds this disturbing. For her part, she lunges quickly towards the flintlock-wielding ghost, grabbing them by the wrist and forcing the pistol in a wide arc away from Illyana. Although it's enough to temporarily disable them, moments later, the spirit dissipates from her grasp, and she twists back around with an air of frustration.
After Eric gets in position, Sam clasps that finger-bone in a hand, placing the other one on that form. "By our will..."
Runes on his focus start to glow, the air around him and Eric starting to shimmer with energy as the shadows around the jock start to twist and lengthen.
"By the distaste of the unwitting..." He smirks to Irene, clearly unsurprised by her opinions.
The cutlass-wielder attacks Illyana, driving her back as the flintlock lady appears behind her, using the distraction to go through her pockets.
Eric seems, for whatever reason, more comfortable with Sam's particular magics than Irene does. Even with his shadow distorting, with the distant lights seeing his shadow warp to a point that it slithers moreso than moves with the light, he does not move from his spot. The magical shimmer gets to envelop him just as well as it does Sam
The cutlass wielder is in for a shock. Illyana snarls, her fists balling and fire generating, a ball of angelfire tossing him towards Irene for the woman to disbatch as she handles the gunman with a burden of weight that forces it below the earth as it manifests again. "This," Illyana curses, "Is why these guys piss me the fuck off." Her attention returns to Sam and Eric and their ritual again, and expression unreadable, she notes that it's under way, and she paths over to the casters, widening the protection circle.
"I'll have you know I am very fucking witting," Irene seethes to Sam with a clench of her teeth, cutting him a quick, snide glance. Even if she is, in fact, playing whatever role he intends of her hateful life force whether she intends it or not. She jogs back over to Illyana when the flintlock lady magically reappears behind her, after having dissipated from Irene's grasp. "Yana look out!" she calls, wrapping her arm around the ghost lady's throat to try and yank her back.
"Speed it up." Illyana tells Sam. "And as you're at it, learn something that doesn't need so much blood. That sets me off and I do not like giving into the demon."
The three spirits surround Illyana, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
"By the blindness of Ma-at..." Sam smirks, seemingly quite amused by Irene's reaction. "I invoke the inverse, and turn the unwitting into the unknown."
"By the chaos of opposites, I open the Maw of Duat!" Sam lowers his head to the triangle, shadows starting to deepen within it. He just gives a nod to Illyana, energy crackling around his focus and slowly seeping into that form.
Well, whatever Sam just did seems to turn Irene, the unwitting, into the unknown. Inexplicably, she vanishes from sight, and now even the ghosts cannot actually see her. "Oh, umm!" comes her telltale Hispanic accent from behind Illyana, "that's one way to do it!" Her knife, likewise invisible, slices across the necks of two of the spirits encircling Illyana, temporarily banishing them, and forcing them to reform a short distance away for another try.
Has three others to be attentive of, and so she cant employ something more destructive. That leaves her disadvantaged, but an angelborn is an angelborn, and there is always that subconscious need to care for others. To that end, Illyana doesn't create more fire; She drops the circle. The spirits have entered the ring anyway and it's redundant. Instead, she focuses on one, the cutlass wielder. The musket is an issue, but someone seems very capable of dealing with that one. But focusing on her it means they're not bothering Sam and Eric, so reaching deep, she snarls with an enraged burst of adrenaline, her flaming punch hammering into and disburcing that single spirit, letting her turn to the next in line. At the same time, she shines with incandescence, though this is more instinctive, and likely does nothing to the spirit's vision like it would a mortal or supernatural.
Has three others to be attentive of, and so she cant employ something more destructive. That leaves her disadvantaged, but an angelborn is an angelborn, and there is always that subconscious need to care for others. To that end, Illyana doesn't create more fire; She drops the circle. The spirits have entered the ring anyway and it's redundant. Instead, she focuses on one, the cutlass wielder. The musket is an issue, but irene seems very capable of dealing with that one. But focusing on her it means they're not bothering Sam and Eric, so reaching deep, she snarls with an enraged burst of adrenaline, her flaming punch hammering into and disburcing that single spirit, letting her turn to the next in line. At the same time, she shines with incandescence, though this is more instinctive, and likely does nothing to the spirit's vision like it would a mortal or supernatural.
The three spirits surround Illyana, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
All three dealt with and Sam's ritual under way. Illyana looks around, notes Eric is being left alone, and waits for the next attack in line. The incandescence around Illyana dwindles, and all that remains is the literal fire in her eyes and the flames that lick up her arms.
Eric closes his eyes, color draining from his features to a point that he looks more grayscale than anything else. It suits him, perhaps, as the reopening of his eyes reveals no panic or discomfort on his features. The ebbing of flames and the ghosts turning away from him has his head turn, gaze moving to cast a look on over at Illyana "It is your turn." He sounds collected, more firm, and more focused than he often does. "End them, Yana. You can do it- we all know it. Do not let them stay here."
Leaving Illyana to deal with the cutlass-wielding pirate, the presence of Irene focuses on taking out the flintlock-wielding pirates. This now invisible, 'unknown' figure darts through the graveyard, detectable perhaps to those with a supernatural sense of smell by her scent. But even the ghosts can't see the hidden figure coming at this point when, from behind, they move to disarm and disable, redirecting their line of fire away from Illyana. Another fiery bullet streaks through the graveyard, just past the angelic woman.
"Ignorance is the servant of Isfet, and through their actions, your wrath is called. From the depths you rise, through my body anchored... " Sam continues to speak, his head pressed against the floor in prostration as he hears Eric speak.
"LEt the wrath of the duality strike out from the depths, and be a conduit of the Law of Duat!" Shadows flicker, and two yellowish eyes seeming to look out from the center of that triangle, hissing echoing from the very earth itself.
The cutlass-wielder attacks Illyana, driving her back as the flintlock lady appears behind her, using the distraction to go through her pockets.
Reappearing in front of Illyana, Irene shakes her head. "The ghosts have no shame," she says, lifting up her gun in the direction of the flintlock lady. Narrowing her eyes, she adjusts her aim this way and that, trying to get a bead without risking hurting Illyana. "You're dead! Why are you stealing! You can take nothing with you to the grave."
"You're deluded." Illyana calls to Eric with a smirk. "I'm able to one on one, but I cant handle groups without hurting people around me." Smelling that Irene isn't near, there's another burst of heat as Illyana's aura extends, then retracts in a scorching burst of light. Her attention sweeps around. "And I'm sick, so I'm not at one hundred percent either fucking way. This is more tiring than it should be and I'm fighting these and a need to try to feed on all of you that I'm doing my best to resist." Then, the cutlass wielder shows again. Trusting Irene to handle the spirits again and Sam and Eric with the ritual, she kangaroo punches the wielder, yeeting it into the middle distance.
Irene looks fairly impressed by the sight of Illyana punching the ghost away from her, and it gives her just the right opportunity to fire a shot at the one that's behind her. She turns to look at Eric for a moment, visibly concerned, and furrows her brow. "Sykes?" she calls him, "You don't care at all that they're using your life-force for this? You just happy being food?"
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Illyana reaches out with a single finger for Irene, and some of that angelic fire leaps from her to Irene's weapon, enhancing her shot like a Nick Cage Ghostrider, though even that is draining her. "I am not touching his life force." Illyana frowns, apparently hurt by the accusation. "I'm a monster. I'll not deny it-" And Irene's shot disrupts the spirit, "But I'm not willing to touch the innocent." Glancing to Sam, she watches the arcane working with a look that hints at her opinion of that casting, but she knows that Sam and Eric are friendly, and if Eric is actively involving himself, that's his choice. She can do nothing.
"Get down!" Irene calls out, flooring herself on the dirt between graves as the spectral bullets rain overhead. She looks over at Illyana with a frown, back at the greyscale Eric, and then back one more time towards the angel-lady. "Someone is," she tells her, "And I still think he's fool enough to let you feed on him, if you asked. Did you ask?"
Eric is an upright contrast to Sam, more impressive - this once - than the man twice his width. Gaze kept on Illyana, he watches the ghosts go reeling, the spirits fumble to try and get some manner of attack off. "Your best," he judges, confident in this somehow, "Will be enough." What magic Sam calls on keeps all color drained from him, to the point he is all gray, black, white, eerie gaze turning for Irene. He has fairly few words for her also: "I am happy around those. Who ask." A couple bullets smash into him, and blotches appear upon his grayscale hide before he does duck, dropping to a knee if just to see most of them go overhead
"Irene, respectfully." Sam smirks. "You are the one who put him in a brain-chair." He pauses. "Did you /ask/, Irene, DID YOU REALLY?"
"By the hate of those that oppose us, by the hypocrisy of the righteous... Come forth, hunter of the depth..."
He ducks lower, seemingly content in letting those bullets rend his flesh. More blood to feed into that hissing, coiling shadows within that triangle. He turns to Irene. "So hate me, if you must. It only makes me stronger, Adler."
Coiling shadows start to lash out at the spirits, a dark hissing emminating from the very graves around the trio.
Irene briefly notes that her Adler who title is a joke, and a Sherlock Holmes reference! Not her name in any means found IC.
Sam would have said Irene, then, apologies
Illyana tucks, drops and rolls, once more angelic heritage easily working to her benefit and in the order given by Irene, who clearly has a better idea about this. Then, she paths over to Eric, guarding him with her body from that peppering of spectral amunition, glowing with incandescence again, her form sagging before it rejuvenates with an effort of will, though she seems even more exausted after that, even the flames around her fists beginning to gutter as she sinks to a knee again. But this is nearly over, and Sam's ritual is ramping up. Surely this cant go on much longer... surely.
"I did that for his own good, because YOUR kind brainwash gullible humans like him," Irene hisses to Sam, twisting on the dirt to pull back to her feet once the spectral bullets have cleared the air. She turns and fires off another shot at the ghost who fired them, causing him to dissipate in a puff of smoke.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.