Patrollogs
Novels Ghost Banishing 241119
In the chill dawn of Arkwright Cemetery, the uneasy quiet is shattered by the resurgence of two ghostly armies, locked in an ageless conflict. Among the living caught in this spectral warpath, Vindicta takes charge, suggesting a focus on the enemy generals to dismantle their forces. Novel takes to the fray with glee, indulging in the violence with a bowie knife and a mix of eagerness and casual brutality, while Viorel, Sam, Eric, and Illyana grapple with their own reactions to the sudden chaos. The battlefield is alight with elemental magic and ghostly warriors, underscoring a clash not just between the ethereal forces but also highlighting the varied capabilities and tactics of the group of living interveners.
As the battle rages, Sam undertakes a ritual, bleeding onto the ground in a bid to invoke ancient powers, while Vindicta, having lost her revolver, retrieves it to take a critical shot at the spectral general. Their efforts are nearly thwarted by the shattering of a gravestone and the ensnaring vines summoned by ghostly witches, dragging both the undead and the living towards the earth. Amidst this tumult, Novel continues to find joy in the conflict, unfazed by the spectral assaults. Finally, Vindicta, supported by Sam's dark invocation, takes a defining shot, piercing the ghostly general and leading to the gradual dissipation of the spectral forces. The graveyard falls silent once more, the ghostly soldiers retreating into the earth, leaving the living to reckon with the aftermath of their eerie victory and the eerie calm that follows the storm of spectral warfare.
(Novel's ghost banishing)
[Mon Nov 18 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is dawn, about 33F(0C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
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.
"Alright, have enough!" Vindicta says cheerfully, giving both Viorel and Novel an eager wave of her gloved hand, darting over to stand between them, putting her hands on her hips in an akimbo pose of preparation. When she sees the armies form, a spark of excitement lights in her eyes as her petite chest fills with air. "This Vindi can do. Look for generals- take out those, armies crumble, good tactic," she assures.
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.
"Awwwh fuck yeah. First I get a delicious fucking meal and THEN I get to stab fucking things? Today's a great goddamn day," Novel announces cheerfully to the air, a certain familiarity with this - and then giving Vindicta a confused, slanted look. "Wait, seriously? I basically just start slitting throats until they give up. Huh." He contemplates this newfound wisdom of actually taking over the leaders - then sort of shrugs and punches a ghost-horse in the thigh, leading to a clash that ends up with an entire front crashing. "Hey, Yana," He offers, in about the same moment he bursts into flame.
Viorel glances over to Vindicta, eyes eventually trailing over the others present, "I wish I didn't leave my gear across town..." He murmured, eyeing the display with his hands dug into his pockets.
Drawing a hunting knife, Sam slowly cuts open a gash on his hand, letting the blood fall onto the ground below, in a rough, triangular shape. He nods to Eric, then Novel, and moves to stand at one of the points, his free hand clasped around a pendant around his neck: a human finger-bone.
"Good idea." He nods to Vindicta. He lets out a yelp, batting at his own clothing. "Ch... fuckin' just got a new jacket, too."
Eric casts Illyana a dubious side-eye, then glances over at all the fire getting cast about the place before ducking right down on the ground. "Fucking.. Fuck." He hisses, and squints in sheer annoyance while getting up, wiping grime off the sleeve of his coat
"Or slit throats until go away!" Vindicta agrees with Novel, giggling faintly as she considers the difference in their tactics. She's beaming a grin at Illyana and about to greet her eagerly when her clothes catch fire. Instead the albino yelps and drops to the dew-moist grass, rolling back and forth in attempt to smother the flames. "Hot! Bad! Not good!" she insists, squealing as a few pale white curls fall free of her balaclava.
With a light moment of attention, Viorel dips a nod over at Eric, "Really isn't quite your day, is it?" A grin cut through his lips right after he spoke, his hand clasped around a cross that had been hanging from his neck in a white-knuckle grip.
"Apparently fucking not," an irritated Eric mutters on out
"Go ham, Novel!" A grin passes along Sam's lips as he ticks the man a nod.
His jacket smouldering, he places his hands on the triangle of blood before him, and he shrugs to Illyana. "I think we're combining brute force with some tactics. Works for me." A soft hiss escapes the jock's lips as he closes his eyes, the shadows around him quivering in response to his actions.
Illyana eyes the ghost. "If this one is fucking with me, I'm going to have someone raise it so I can kill it again."
Novel pats himself down briskly with a wipe palm, wiping the flames off in a sort of distracted fashion, like one would from getting rained on. "All of us? I don't know. I don't really do the whole fucking... book, bell, candle garbage. I'm more of a knife, fist, in your eye, kinda guy." So saying, a bowie knife appears in his hand as he saunters behind cover, ducking himself down and dragging some halpless ghost down with him that dissolves into a pile of mist with a surprisingly organic 'schlurck' noise.
Novel says "Don't need to tell me fucking twice, Sam!"
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.
Something about the sensation of burning clothes doesn't quite get to Viorel until the scent carries to his nose. "Ah fuck- Fuck! These are /brand new/." He grumbles, patting away at the clothing with gloved hands until the blackened fabric underneath the flames are revealed. "This is going to take hours to fix..." Digits ran through his hair as he attempted to brush off the soot, to no real result.
Stands back just to observe. This is entertaining and it's not even vaguely dangerous. So saying, why not get involved anyway, so Illyana snaps her fingers, producing a ball of fire in each palm. Nodding to Sam and Eric who are magic types or else, she grins over at Novel.
"Tactics Bianchini's specialty!" assures Vindicta as she reaches towards her hip, and where Novel opts to enjoy his melee-style attacks, the little Deputy withdraws a massive revolver from its holster, opting for range without quite needing to dig her sniper rifle out of its safebox. "Bianchini try find leaders," she reports, both eyes open as she aims the barrel of that big iron into the crowd of mages. Apparently she's starting with the arcanists first. While she does, in fact, seek the leadership, she finds that several wards and glyphs and runes protect their leader from harm- and so, for now, she opts to start taking out the support mages one by one.
Viorel rolls his eyes at Novel, "I don't know why blood offerings would do the trick, aren't these spirits knights? Most at least /historically/ would have been of religious fervour... Although you'd think the faithful wouldn't end up lingering about." He muses, reciting after, "'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned.' No one who's true to the Lord would rise again."
Viorel ponders to himself, "But why knights would haunt about American soil is an entirely different thing." Lost in his own musings.
Remaining low on the ground as shrapnel cuts a gash along his face, Sam places both hands down on the ritual shape before him, taking that hunting knife and stabbing the bloodied blade into the center of the shape.
"By shadow and blood..." He whispers softly, straining as his body quivers, the darkness around him flickering, though the rising sun seems to weaken them by some. "I invoke the Maw of Duat!"
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 straightens up as his cover just explodes, leaving him revealed behind what was once a gravestone muttering, "Kind wish the fires were actually fucking warm," He says to nobody in particular and then gives Viorel a stare. "Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just quoting a movie. I don't know. Maybe because the weather is ass in Europe and we have better beaches?" He presents a surprisingly reasonable answer as he ducks down to go cause havoc, disappearing in the tumultuous battle-lines with delight and glee, his existence marked by collapsing bodies or crashing lines crumpling all over each other into chaos.
Eric grimaces, and stoops to pick up a piece of a gravestone made to shatter by some ghostly warrior. He eyes a bunch of the figures at war closely, and opts to toss it right at one of the spectres, figuring out at least one way to provide a little aid
Playing a game of eeny meeny miny mo, Illyana has no tactics in mind, but she does have fire. So taking pot shots, she simply aims for who ever Vindicta doesn't, magical artillery be dammed. "Who are you." Illyana asks Viorel between summoning and tossing fire, -completely- helpfully, and not to let off steam against spirits. Then the knight assaults the spiritual arcanist and Illyana has a new target. There's a whistle as Novel's grave marker explodes, but she can help with heat, so she does, leaving Sam and Eric to their pyramid power ritual as she skirts the outset of the phantom battle.
"Usually it's polite to introduce yourself first." Viorel sighed, relaxing ever-so slightly at the mundane question in a not-so mundane context. "I'm Viorel, or just Vio is plenty fine." He easily answered before returning to his mutterings of scripture and prayer.
"Bianchini have shot on war mage general," Vindicta announces to the group gathered as she stares down the length of her revolver's barrel. Her trigger finger twitches, then is about to squeeze when a spectral knight barrels into the gravestone she had been hiding behind for cover. She screams as shattered stone pelts her and she's knocked to the ground, tumbling a ways, tucking in on herself as she tries to avoid those ghostly horse hoves that clomp around her tiny form before returning to the battlefield proper. When she finally looks back up to where she had spotted the leader, more mages have piled in to lay down protective barriers around them once more. "No! Not fair.." she whimpers.
Leaning low against the floor, Sam presses his head against the ground, and mutters softly, quoting simular but different words of prayer compared to Viorel. "By light and shadow, by push and pull, by life and death..." He grabs that knife, pointing it at the warded general, growling low. "Yer protection is DEAD!"
Sam then slumps forward, steadying himself some. "Vin! Take the shot!" His eyes gleam with a black sheen.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
"Illyana Howlett." Illyana responds to Viorel. "Charmed." Mundanity in insanity is the name of the game though as she asks Viorel, Sam, Eric, Novel and Vindicta, "How's your mornings been so far? I slept in. This banishment woke me." So as Vindicta announces she has a shot on the general, Illyana focuses on the knights around that particular spirit.
Novel drifts closer to the flame and fire, producing a satisfied sigh as some of the shivering is deal with in exchange for violently dangerous heat, casually kicking an arcanist directly into the bonfire Illyana creates. And that's how he goes, shoving entities into that fire, creating a larger and larger conflagration without giving much care to what actually goes in there - then he yelps as he finds himself snared in his desire to cause mass pyres, his body momentarily bowed before he grunts - strains - and then tears free, rolling to one side and back into cover before a wayward ghost knight tramples his head into the ground. "Went to work. Wanted to stab things. Things to stab presented themselves." He considers. "Sucked that I had to walk, though, crashed my car yesterday."
With cross still white-knuckled in his already pale grip, Viorel mutters under his breath as he watches the knight, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of god..." The murmurs trail off as Illyana speaks, his attention drawn, "Not really the best place to meet-and-greet mind you." He flashed a light, measured grin before returning his gaze to the scene at hand- eyes darting between Sam's strange recital and Vindicta's shots at spectral creatures.
"That sucks." Illyana responds to Novel, ducking behind a grave and tossing another fireball out at a charging knight. "I went to Madrid. It sucked."
With a yelp, Sam finds himself basically stuck to the floor, owing to his already prostrated position. He squirms, the vines very much creaking, but in his case, physical might seems to be insufficient. "Ey! Lil' help?" He strains hard, runes on that finger-bone around his neck glowing angrily.
"O-Okay Sam!" Vindicta calls out as she drags herself behind another grave marker, catching her breath and then scanning the spectral army. "Three, she calls out, but before she can raise her weapon again, vines shoot out from the earth all around her. She cries out in pain as she's snared, then slammed back down to the ground hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. She tries to reach for her pocket knife, but instead finds herself slowly being sucked into the grave dirt, sinking, the only thing keeping her above ground being the way she thrashes her limbs and claws to try to free herself. "VIO!!" she cries out helplessly."
(fix sorry) "O-Okay Sam!" Vindicta calls out as she drags herself behind another grave marker, catching her breath and then scanning the spectral army. "There," she calls out, but before she can raise her weapon again, vines shoot out from the earth all around her. She cries out in pain as she's snared, then slammed back down to the ground hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. She tries to reach for her pocket knife, but instead finds herself slowly being sucked into the grave dirt, sinking, the only thing keeping her above ground being the way she thrashes her limbs and claws to try to free herself. "VIO!!" she cries out helplessly.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
Viorel clicks his teeth as the voice is called out to him and he kicks into a sprint towards Vindicta, "Hold on tight, not like there's much of you to stay above ground." He chuckles to himself, the tone strained as he attempts to make light of the situation.
With a gloved hand, Viorel clasps onto Vindicta's arm, tugging her enough to at least keep her above ground as he pries and tries to dislodge the roots with his boot. "Nearly got it-" He grunts, yanking and kicking in the same motion.
"Seriously? I thought Madrid was all sunny and warm and shit. Were there too many French people there or something?" Novel asks of Illyana as he stomps around, taking out his annoyance at the cold and the vines still grabbing into him on one of the nearby witches only to be YANKED back to where he was standing about thirty seconds go. He flips off said dead witch. Said dead witch ignores him. "Fuck you," He says, as more of a punctuation, as he's drawn back a few inches - and then grunts, tearing himself free with violence and blade flashing in hand.
Eric much prefers to provide some aid to Sam. He's not very strong, but then he does have two hands free, and with a look of frustration as well as graceless wrestling, struggling, he does his best to see Sam kept from the worst of the irritating nature spell by heaving away what vines may bother him
Lining up another shot, Illyana finds herself dragged down. "Fu--" she manages before dropping like a stone, the marker next to her shattering to dust as the bohemian loses control over that fire. Witches, why does it have to be witches... Struggling free, Illyana jumps atop another marker, only for that to topple, and Illyana is sent sprawling again. There's a struggle here though; Who should she help? Eric has Sam, and Viorel has Vindicta. That leaves Novel, who's just fine. So she picks herself up again, brushing mud from her palms and giving that fallen tombstone a solid kick.
At the very least, Vindicta isn't entirely helpless- once Viorel start to drag her back out of the earth, she reaches a hand down to her hip and grasps her officer's knife in hand. "Got it!" she calls out to him, one hand grasping at the crimson-haired male while the other holds her knife and starts cleanly slashing away vines. When more shoot out and threaten to drag them both below the topsoil, she cries out, but doubles down on her game of hack and slash. Eventually they are both free, and she starts looking around for her discarded revolver, pallid pink gaze frantic. She stares at the general- she has a clear shot, she just needs her gun.
"Appriciate ya!" Sam offers Eric a fist-bump, before returning to his spell-weaving. "Through conflict and anger, the cycle continues." He speaks, raping that dagger across his arm now. "And by the blood and shadow, that cycle shall be broken." He glares at one of the specters. "Return to the dark, yer existence is DEAD!" He states the obvious, to this long dead specter.
"Lessgo!" He grins to Vindicta.
As a battalion of armored specters marches forth, a group of wraith-like sorcerers unleashes a storm of arcane missiles, shattering the ghostly shields; the resulting shockwave threatens to make ears bleed, if someone gets caught without cover.
Novel is far better than fine. He seems to be in a blissfully happy good mood as he revels in the mayhem and violence, the struggling and clashing of human bodies and dead ones only seeming to bring genuine joy to his features and expression as he shoulder-checks one of the shoulders right into the swords of the armor spectres, a truly explosive clash of missiles - then he staggers as his ears go beyond minor injury to deafened, disorienting him at the rupturing. His grin, tinged with madness and delight, is unwavering, as he follows through that blast to drag down the shattered knights with a casual stab to the side as he slides on by.
Once the earth finally gives way, Viorel stumbles back onto his ass, dress-pants now caked in woody fibre and dirt. "I should have worn my work outfit..." He tutted to himself, brushing off the expensive fabric as he hoisted himself up to his feet. His gaze wanders over to the others about, features screwing up in a subtle sneer at Sam's words before he shakes it off.
"Vinny, do you-" The words are cut off by the abrupt shockwave that tears through the graveyard. Viorel's ears in particular quickly weep with blood as his expression clenches in pain. Both hands come up to cup his ears by the palm, lips murmuring in hushed prayer, "Submit yourselves to god. Resist the devil and he will flee from you." The words are barely under a whisper, mostly spoken to himself as he rambles in scripture.
Illyana Squeeks in panic. "Oh hell no!" she bellows, jumping behind another monument. It's unquestionably far too late for it to help, though the bohemian begins to glow with a radiant incandescence that enhances her protective abilities for the split second she's in the open, giving her time to pull herself to safety- If only just.
Eric ducks, and grimaces deeply as he can. Both hands cover his ears, and he damn near curls up to the very ground with how much he cringes as the noise bellows across the field so harshly
Quickly snatching up her revolver when she spots it, Vindicta tucks and rolls across the grass. She ends up behind a half-shattered tombstone, but that doesn't matter- what matters is that she has her revolver. "Vindi taking shot!!" she warns those who might be in her path, or could risk running through it as she brings that massive weapon up. "Both eyes open.." she tells herself quietly, lining up with the skull of the spectral general-mage. She calms her breathing, slowing it to a stillness, a calm, a casual breathing, as though she were doing little more that sketching in her her drawing pad. And then, hre trigger finger squeezes, slowly at first, and then all at once as she fires off a bullet, aimed true towards the leader of the ghostly arcanist's skull- right between his eyes as time seems to almost draw out into a crawl.
Sam lets out a pained hiss, and steps forward, jumping in between Eric and the shockwave, trying to take the brunt of it, blood trickling from his ears liberally as he has no real cover there.
"Fuckin'... DIE!" He speaks, louder than needed, perhaps in lieu of hearing his own voice. He points that knife towards the ghostly army, his rage seeping forth, coating that bullet from Vindicta's gun in a flickering shadow as it races towards it's target.
A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the graveyard, scattering the remnants of battle - ashes, shattered stones, and burned foliage - until all that's left is an unsettling calm. The ghostly combatants begin to falter, their spectral forms flickering like dying embers. One by one, they retreat into the earth, their energy spent, until the graveyard is once again quiet.
As the battle rages, Sam undertakes a ritual, bleeding onto the ground in a bid to invoke ancient powers, while Vindicta, having lost her revolver, retrieves it to take a critical shot at the spectral general. Their efforts are nearly thwarted by the shattering of a gravestone and the ensnaring vines summoned by ghostly witches, dragging both the undead and the living towards the earth. Amidst this tumult, Novel continues to find joy in the conflict, unfazed by the spectral assaults. Finally, Vindicta, supported by Sam's dark invocation, takes a defining shot, piercing the ghostly general and leading to the gradual dissipation of the spectral forces. The graveyard falls silent once more, the ghostly soldiers retreating into the earth, leaving the living to reckon with the aftermath of their eerie victory and the eerie calm that follows the storm of spectral warfare.
(Novel's ghost banishing)
[Mon Nov 18 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is dawn, about 33F(0C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds.
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.
"Alright, have enough!" Vindicta says cheerfully, giving both Viorel and Novel an eager wave of her gloved hand, darting over to stand between them, putting her hands on her hips in an akimbo pose of preparation. When she sees the armies form, a spark of excitement lights in her eyes as her petite chest fills with air. "This Vindi can do. Look for generals- take out those, armies crumble, good tactic," she assures.
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.
"Awwwh fuck yeah. First I get a delicious fucking meal and THEN I get to stab fucking things? Today's a great goddamn day," Novel announces cheerfully to the air, a certain familiarity with this - and then giving Vindicta a confused, slanted look. "Wait, seriously? I basically just start slitting throats until they give up. Huh." He contemplates this newfound wisdom of actually taking over the leaders - then sort of shrugs and punches a ghost-horse in the thigh, leading to a clash that ends up with an entire front crashing. "Hey, Yana," He offers, in about the same moment he bursts into flame.
Viorel glances over to Vindicta, eyes eventually trailing over the others present, "I wish I didn't leave my gear across town..." He murmured, eyeing the display with his hands dug into his pockets.
Drawing a hunting knife, Sam slowly cuts open a gash on his hand, letting the blood fall onto the ground below, in a rough, triangular shape. He nods to Eric, then Novel, and moves to stand at one of the points, his free hand clasped around a pendant around his neck: a human finger-bone.
"Good idea." He nods to Vindicta. He lets out a yelp, batting at his own clothing. "Ch... fuckin' just got a new jacket, too."
Eric casts Illyana a dubious side-eye, then glances over at all the fire getting cast about the place before ducking right down on the ground. "Fucking.. Fuck." He hisses, and squints in sheer annoyance while getting up, wiping grime off the sleeve of his coat
"Or slit throats until go away!" Vindicta agrees with Novel, giggling faintly as she considers the difference in their tactics. She's beaming a grin at Illyana and about to greet her eagerly when her clothes catch fire. Instead the albino yelps and drops to the dew-moist grass, rolling back and forth in attempt to smother the flames. "Hot! Bad! Not good!" she insists, squealing as a few pale white curls fall free of her balaclava.
With a light moment of attention, Viorel dips a nod over at Eric, "Really isn't quite your day, is it?" A grin cut through his lips right after he spoke, his hand clasped around a cross that had been hanging from his neck in a white-knuckle grip.
"Apparently fucking not," an irritated Eric mutters on out
"Go ham, Novel!" A grin passes along Sam's lips as he ticks the man a nod.
His jacket smouldering, he places his hands on the triangle of blood before him, and he shrugs to Illyana. "I think we're combining brute force with some tactics. Works for me." A soft hiss escapes the jock's lips as he closes his eyes, the shadows around him quivering in response to his actions.
Illyana eyes the ghost. "If this one is fucking with me, I'm going to have someone raise it so I can kill it again."
Novel pats himself down briskly with a wipe palm, wiping the flames off in a sort of distracted fashion, like one would from getting rained on. "All of us? I don't know. I don't really do the whole fucking... book, bell, candle garbage. I'm more of a knife, fist, in your eye, kinda guy." So saying, a bowie knife appears in his hand as he saunters behind cover, ducking himself down and dragging some halpless ghost down with him that dissolves into a pile of mist with a surprisingly organic 'schlurck' noise.
Novel says "Don't need to tell me fucking twice, Sam!"
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.
Something about the sensation of burning clothes doesn't quite get to Viorel until the scent carries to his nose. "Ah fuck- Fuck! These are /brand new/." He grumbles, patting away at the clothing with gloved hands until the blackened fabric underneath the flames are revealed. "This is going to take hours to fix..." Digits ran through his hair as he attempted to brush off the soot, to no real result.
Stands back just to observe. This is entertaining and it's not even vaguely dangerous. So saying, why not get involved anyway, so Illyana snaps her fingers, producing a ball of fire in each palm. Nodding to Sam and Eric who are magic types or else, she grins over at Novel.
"Tactics Bianchini's specialty!" assures Vindicta as she reaches towards her hip, and where Novel opts to enjoy his melee-style attacks, the little Deputy withdraws a massive revolver from its holster, opting for range without quite needing to dig her sniper rifle out of its safebox. "Bianchini try find leaders," she reports, both eyes open as she aims the barrel of that big iron into the crowd of mages. Apparently she's starting with the arcanists first. While she does, in fact, seek the leadership, she finds that several wards and glyphs and runes protect their leader from harm- and so, for now, she opts to start taking out the support mages one by one.
Viorel rolls his eyes at Novel, "I don't know why blood offerings would do the trick, aren't these spirits knights? Most at least /historically/ would have been of religious fervour... Although you'd think the faithful wouldn't end up lingering about." He muses, reciting after, "'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned.' No one who's true to the Lord would rise again."
Viorel ponders to himself, "But why knights would haunt about American soil is an entirely different thing." Lost in his own musings.
Remaining low on the ground as shrapnel cuts a gash along his face, Sam places both hands down on the ritual shape before him, taking that hunting knife and stabbing the bloodied blade into the center of the shape.
"By shadow and blood..." He whispers softly, straining as his body quivers, the darkness around him flickering, though the rising sun seems to weaken them by some. "I invoke the Maw of Duat!"
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 straightens up as his cover just explodes, leaving him revealed behind what was once a gravestone muttering, "Kind wish the fires were actually fucking warm," He says to nobody in particular and then gives Viorel a stare. "Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just quoting a movie. I don't know. Maybe because the weather is ass in Europe and we have better beaches?" He presents a surprisingly reasonable answer as he ducks down to go cause havoc, disappearing in the tumultuous battle-lines with delight and glee, his existence marked by collapsing bodies or crashing lines crumpling all over each other into chaos.
Eric grimaces, and stoops to pick up a piece of a gravestone made to shatter by some ghostly warrior. He eyes a bunch of the figures at war closely, and opts to toss it right at one of the spectres, figuring out at least one way to provide a little aid
Playing a game of eeny meeny miny mo, Illyana has no tactics in mind, but she does have fire. So taking pot shots, she simply aims for who ever Vindicta doesn't, magical artillery be dammed. "Who are you." Illyana asks Viorel between summoning and tossing fire, -completely- helpfully, and not to let off steam against spirits. Then the knight assaults the spiritual arcanist and Illyana has a new target. There's a whistle as Novel's grave marker explodes, but she can help with heat, so she does, leaving Sam and Eric to their pyramid power ritual as she skirts the outset of the phantom battle.
"Usually it's polite to introduce yourself first." Viorel sighed, relaxing ever-so slightly at the mundane question in a not-so mundane context. "I'm Viorel, or just Vio is plenty fine." He easily answered before returning to his mutterings of scripture and prayer.
"Bianchini have shot on war mage general," Vindicta announces to the group gathered as she stares down the length of her revolver's barrel. Her trigger finger twitches, then is about to squeeze when a spectral knight barrels into the gravestone she had been hiding behind for cover. She screams as shattered stone pelts her and she's knocked to the ground, tumbling a ways, tucking in on herself as she tries to avoid those ghostly horse hoves that clomp around her tiny form before returning to the battlefield proper. When she finally looks back up to where she had spotted the leader, more mages have piled in to lay down protective barriers around them once more. "No! Not fair.." she whimpers.
Leaning low against the floor, Sam presses his head against the ground, and mutters softly, quoting simular but different words of prayer compared to Viorel. "By light and shadow, by push and pull, by life and death..." He grabs that knife, pointing it at the warded general, growling low. "Yer protection is DEAD!"
Sam then slumps forward, steadying himself some. "Vin! Take the shot!" His eyes gleam with a black sheen.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
"Illyana Howlett." Illyana responds to Viorel. "Charmed." Mundanity in insanity is the name of the game though as she asks Viorel, Sam, Eric, Novel and Vindicta, "How's your mornings been so far? I slept in. This banishment woke me." So as Vindicta announces she has a shot on the general, Illyana focuses on the knights around that particular spirit.
Novel drifts closer to the flame and fire, producing a satisfied sigh as some of the shivering is deal with in exchange for violently dangerous heat, casually kicking an arcanist directly into the bonfire Illyana creates. And that's how he goes, shoving entities into that fire, creating a larger and larger conflagration without giving much care to what actually goes in there - then he yelps as he finds himself snared in his desire to cause mass pyres, his body momentarily bowed before he grunts - strains - and then tears free, rolling to one side and back into cover before a wayward ghost knight tramples his head into the ground. "Went to work. Wanted to stab things. Things to stab presented themselves." He considers. "Sucked that I had to walk, though, crashed my car yesterday."
With cross still white-knuckled in his already pale grip, Viorel mutters under his breath as he watches the knight, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of god..." The murmurs trail off as Illyana speaks, his attention drawn, "Not really the best place to meet-and-greet mind you." He flashed a light, measured grin before returning his gaze to the scene at hand- eyes darting between Sam's strange recital and Vindicta's shots at spectral creatures.
"That sucks." Illyana responds to Novel, ducking behind a grave and tossing another fireball out at a charging knight. "I went to Madrid. It sucked."
With a yelp, Sam finds himself basically stuck to the floor, owing to his already prostrated position. He squirms, the vines very much creaking, but in his case, physical might seems to be insufficient. "Ey! Lil' help?" He strains hard, runes on that finger-bone around his neck glowing angrily.
"O-Okay Sam!" Vindicta calls out as she drags herself behind another grave marker, catching her breath and then scanning the spectral army. "Three, she calls out, but before she can raise her weapon again, vines shoot out from the earth all around her. She cries out in pain as she's snared, then slammed back down to the ground hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. She tries to reach for her pocket knife, but instead finds herself slowly being sucked into the grave dirt, sinking, the only thing keeping her above ground being the way she thrashes her limbs and claws to try to free herself. "VIO!!" she cries out helplessly."
(fix sorry) "O-Okay Sam!" Vindicta calls out as she drags herself behind another grave marker, catching her breath and then scanning the spectral army. "There," she calls out, but before she can raise her weapon again, vines shoot out from the earth all around her. She cries out in pain as she's snared, then slammed back down to the ground hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. She tries to reach for her pocket knife, but instead finds herself slowly being sucked into the grave dirt, sinking, the only thing keeping her above ground being the way she thrashes her limbs and claws to try to free herself. "VIO!!" she cries out helplessly.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
Viorel clicks his teeth as the voice is called out to him and he kicks into a sprint towards Vindicta, "Hold on tight, not like there's much of you to stay above ground." He chuckles to himself, the tone strained as he attempts to make light of the situation.
With a gloved hand, Viorel clasps onto Vindicta's arm, tugging her enough to at least keep her above ground as he pries and tries to dislodge the roots with his boot. "Nearly got it-" He grunts, yanking and kicking in the same motion.
"Seriously? I thought Madrid was all sunny and warm and shit. Were there too many French people there or something?" Novel asks of Illyana as he stomps around, taking out his annoyance at the cold and the vines still grabbing into him on one of the nearby witches only to be YANKED back to where he was standing about thirty seconds go. He flips off said dead witch. Said dead witch ignores him. "Fuck you," He says, as more of a punctuation, as he's drawn back a few inches - and then grunts, tearing himself free with violence and blade flashing in hand.
Eric much prefers to provide some aid to Sam. He's not very strong, but then he does have two hands free, and with a look of frustration as well as graceless wrestling, struggling, he does his best to see Sam kept from the worst of the irritating nature spell by heaving away what vines may bother him
Lining up another shot, Illyana finds herself dragged down. "Fu--" she manages before dropping like a stone, the marker next to her shattering to dust as the bohemian loses control over that fire. Witches, why does it have to be witches... Struggling free, Illyana jumps atop another marker, only for that to topple, and Illyana is sent sprawling again. There's a struggle here though; Who should she help? Eric has Sam, and Viorel has Vindicta. That leaves Novel, who's just fine. So she picks herself up again, brushing mud from her palms and giving that fallen tombstone a solid kick.
At the very least, Vindicta isn't entirely helpless- once Viorel start to drag her back out of the earth, she reaches a hand down to her hip and grasps her officer's knife in hand. "Got it!" she calls out to him, one hand grasping at the crimson-haired male while the other holds her knife and starts cleanly slashing away vines. When more shoot out and threaten to drag them both below the topsoil, she cries out, but doubles down on her game of hack and slash. Eventually they are both free, and she starts looking around for her discarded revolver, pallid pink gaze frantic. She stares at the general- she has a clear shot, she just needs her gun.
"Appriciate ya!" Sam offers Eric a fist-bump, before returning to his spell-weaving. "Through conflict and anger, the cycle continues." He speaks, raping that dagger across his arm now. "And by the blood and shadow, that cycle shall be broken." He glares at one of the specters. "Return to the dark, yer existence is DEAD!" He states the obvious, to this long dead specter.
"Lessgo!" He grins to Vindicta.
As a battalion of armored specters marches forth, a group of wraith-like sorcerers unleashes a storm of arcane missiles, shattering the ghostly shields; the resulting shockwave threatens to make ears bleed, if someone gets caught without cover.
Novel is far better than fine. He seems to be in a blissfully happy good mood as he revels in the mayhem and violence, the struggling and clashing of human bodies and dead ones only seeming to bring genuine joy to his features and expression as he shoulder-checks one of the shoulders right into the swords of the armor spectres, a truly explosive clash of missiles - then he staggers as his ears go beyond minor injury to deafened, disorienting him at the rupturing. His grin, tinged with madness and delight, is unwavering, as he follows through that blast to drag down the shattered knights with a casual stab to the side as he slides on by.
Once the earth finally gives way, Viorel stumbles back onto his ass, dress-pants now caked in woody fibre and dirt. "I should have worn my work outfit..." He tutted to himself, brushing off the expensive fabric as he hoisted himself up to his feet. His gaze wanders over to the others about, features screwing up in a subtle sneer at Sam's words before he shakes it off.
"Vinny, do you-" The words are cut off by the abrupt shockwave that tears through the graveyard. Viorel's ears in particular quickly weep with blood as his expression clenches in pain. Both hands come up to cup his ears by the palm, lips murmuring in hushed prayer, "Submit yourselves to god. Resist the devil and he will flee from you." The words are barely under a whisper, mostly spoken to himself as he rambles in scripture.
Illyana Squeeks in panic. "Oh hell no!" she bellows, jumping behind another monument. It's unquestionably far too late for it to help, though the bohemian begins to glow with a radiant incandescence that enhances her protective abilities for the split second she's in the open, giving her time to pull herself to safety- If only just.
Eric ducks, and grimaces deeply as he can. Both hands cover his ears, and he damn near curls up to the very ground with how much he cringes as the noise bellows across the field so harshly
Quickly snatching up her revolver when she spots it, Vindicta tucks and rolls across the grass. She ends up behind a half-shattered tombstone, but that doesn't matter- what matters is that she has her revolver. "Vindi taking shot!!" she warns those who might be in her path, or could risk running through it as she brings that massive weapon up. "Both eyes open.." she tells herself quietly, lining up with the skull of the spectral general-mage. She calms her breathing, slowing it to a stillness, a calm, a casual breathing, as though she were doing little more that sketching in her her drawing pad. And then, hre trigger finger squeezes, slowly at first, and then all at once as she fires off a bullet, aimed true towards the leader of the ghostly arcanist's skull- right between his eyes as time seems to almost draw out into a crawl.
Sam lets out a pained hiss, and steps forward, jumping in between Eric and the shockwave, trying to take the brunt of it, blood trickling from his ears liberally as he has no real cover there.
"Fuckin'... DIE!" He speaks, louder than needed, perhaps in lieu of hearing his own voice. He points that knife towards the ghostly army, his rage seeping forth, coating that bullet from Vindicta's gun in a flickering shadow as it races towards it's target.
A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the graveyard, scattering the remnants of battle - ashes, shattered stones, and burned foliage - until all that's left is an unsettling calm. The ghostly combatants begin to falter, their spectral forms flickering like dying embers. One by one, they retreat into the earth, their energy spent, until the graveyard is once again quiet.