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Vindictas Ghost Banishing 241121
On an eerily calm day at Arkwright Cemetery, a fierce confrontation between two ghostly armies emerges, awakening the dead to resume an ancient conflict. Amidst this spectral chaos, a group of determined individuals, Iris, Elora, Vindicta, and Isolde, band together to halt the ghostly onslaught. As the battle escalates, the quartet employs a range of tactics to engage the spirits. Vindicta, armed with her revolver loaded with special shotshells, directs the group to target the ghostly generals to weaken the armies. Elora, using her magical prowess, attempts to draw protective runes, while Isolde and Iris contribute with gunfire and tactical support, each showcasing bravery and resilience against the overwhelming spectral forces.
The climax of their encounter arrives when Elora completes a powerful ritual chant, causing a shockwave of energy to expose one of the ghostly generals. At this decisive moment, Vindicta seizes the opportunity and fires a critical shot. The combined efforts of magical incantations, strategic attacks, and sheer determination culminate in the gradual retreat of the ghostly combatants. Their forms flicker and fade as they return to the earth, leaving behind a cemetery restored to its quiet solemnity. The triumphant yet weary group witnesses the dissolution of the ghostly armies, their mission accomplished. The air settles, and an eerie peace envelops the graveyard once again, marking the end of Vindicta's ghost banishing, a testament to the power of teamwork and resilience in the face of unearthly adversity.
(Vindicta's ghost banishing)
[Wed Nov 20 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is noon, about 36F(2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. Waist high mist flows through the area.
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.
A loud fingersnap and a wink sees Iris say "For once, yes."
"This one is not an easy banishing," Elora hisses. With some urgency she rushes toward one of the monuments in the old stretch of cemetery. She hunkers down behind it as the ghostly armies surge and take shape, using it for cover against the likely incoming blasts.
Iris steps up to a nearby tree, sliding against it to use as cover before giving Vindicta a quick glance "So, how do these things go? I doubt we just shoot them or something."
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.
Isolde dives instinctively behind a tombstone of an old DJ-'something,' his named carved out by ghost bullets in the distant past. She begins to draw her legs up to herself, then stops, catching herself. It is thus, a short distance to fly as she smacks against the dead epitaph.
Once Isolde and Elora make an appearance, the wait is no longer a wait. Pallid pink eyes stare over them both, then shift to Iris, considering this a good enough gathering for Vindicta's liking. "Here come," warns the albino quietly, her voice feminine and sweet as the earth beneath the women's feet begins to rumble and crack, spectral warriors and mages rising in opposition of one another. The tiny Deputy gives Elora a firm nod, then reaches towards her holster, withdrawing her revolver and giving its cylinder a quick spin with her thumb. Bullets empty themselves onto the grass and are quickly replaced with peculiar-looking shotshells instead.
"Find generals and kill, or take out army-" she starts to explain to Iris, but then that gust of wind picks her up off of her feet and sets her flying, her back smashing into a gravestone with a crack that makes her face screw up after she yelps in pain.
Although latched on to the tree and holding for dear life, Iris is waved like a flag by the blast of air, eventually letting go. What followed next was Iris being rammed into a tombstone, taking a few moments to stand back up. "Got it, win the battle for one side."
"You can shoot them with iron!" Isolde calls to Iris. She then pulls out a glock from her white handbag and begins to fire, safety never on, stacatto rounds into the wind.
Elora hunches low behind the ancient monument, her sharp teal eyes narrowing as the fog thickens and the spectral armies clash with increasing intensity. The moment the ghostly archers nock their arrows, her head dips further, her wild neon and turquoise hair spilling like a cascade of glowing threads over her shoulders. Her body seems to tense a fraction of a second before the wind tears through the cemetery, the stone shielding her from the force that might have otherwise sent her sprawling.
As she sees Vindicta get picked up and thrown into the tree, she winces. Prior to it, she looked as if she might say something, but now whatever words she had in answer to Iris They're dead on her tongue. The staccato of shots ringing out has her wincing again. Yet she sets her teeth against the scock of the noise and settles down amid loamy soil in which she begins to draw out a perfect circle using her blue painted finger nails.
Iris shoves a hand into her workbag to pull a maglite and turn it on, shedding some light about to give herself a better chance at aiming. One hand shone while the other aimed with her own firearm, squeezing the trigger several times in the direction of ghosts and noises "Going live."
Isolde's peeks out- *ARROW*, she ducks back. She counts, an image taken out of context of the wider world showing a flurry of hair in a hurricane, hitting number that feels right before peek- *ARROW.* She ducks back.
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.
Tossed around almost like a ragdoll for a few moments, Iris manages to get a grip on things by holding on to a nice little fencepost surrounding a tombstone. Hugging a nearby stone cross to use as cover, Iris lets loose bullets towards the advancing cavalry, having them whizz out at quite the cadence. "For being incorporeal, they sure have mass."
Cracks in the gravesoil form beneath Vindicta's feet, but the woman is both dexterous and quite nimble- she leaps onto a nearby gravemarker, landing demurely on her toes before darting from stone to stone, dancing across their tops without missing a beat as she finds a more steady portion of the graveyard to alight herself upon. "Can't see general! Only warriors!!" she calls out, aiming her massive revolver at one of the war mages that has caused the ground to crumble and firing off a shot.
The shell bursts in midair, sending a sharp spray of crystalline white to pelt not only her target, but many nearby spectres as well. They hiss and roar in agony as steam begins to billow from their forms, and then sizzle, melting away into nothingness under the barrage of what appears to be shotshells chock full of salt.
Elora is already on the ground when the heaving starts. She stares in dismay as the soil shifts about disrupting her circle. "No," Elora complains. Yet its too late. The work, already destroyed. So she sets back to getting it remade, hands moving in the familiar motions they once went through as she traces in loamy soil beside the monument. The small woman kneeling in the dirt in a wrap dress is almost as out of place as those firing guns within the cemetery at wraiths that might go unseen by mortal eyes.
Isolde's little shield of the long dead was not made to withstand or protect against cavalry charges. The world shakes, but she's long been brought on her knees. It's a lifestyle choice, most days, to duck under lest one is removed of their head. But some days an incorporeal steed tramples you, striking the core of your spirit as his lance runs harmlessly through a distant dead tree. She cries out from the shock, the estranged, wild pain of being struck incorporeal- and then she fire the mundane at the immaterial and splatters his ghostly helm with lead and iron. The cavalryman disappears into a fading mist that disparates like a fog machine.
Pierced by quite a few spectral arrows, Iris looks like they were a pincushion at this point. What were initially groans of pain turned into a bright, flashy laughter. A clumsy reload later, Iris continues shooting while cackling. "This hurt is so real, I love it, we need to really fuck up ghosts more often!"
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.
Vines spin up from the ground and begin to wrap around Iris, tearing at the clothing and trying to drag Iris into an earthen tomb. A hand is pulled this way, a shoulder that way, a foot lifted some other way. It looked like Iris was trudging through water at this point, very slowly sinking into the ground more and more.
Elora tucks a strand of vivid turquoise hair behind her ear with a dirt-smeared hand. With a flick of her fingers, small orbs of will-o'-wisp light spring into being, hovering like tiny, ethereal lanterns above her head. Their pale blue glow illuminates the disturbed soil, casting eerie shadows that dance across her face and the ruined runic circle shes painstakingly trying to restore. And then vines reach up from the circle, wrapping around her. She's clearly startled by this and being on her knees she is in no position to avoid it. They grab her, wrapping about her. With a cry of some alarm, she finds herself wrapped up even as she tries to rise away. Her feet come out from under her and the small woman is pulled back down into the dirt as the vines continue to wrap about her more thoroughly.
Isolde glances over at Iris, dejected from pain that, within the torso, cannot be literally shaken off. Then as vines wrap around her legs, a thought and a loaded clip are shunted and she turns her weapon on at Iris's feet- spattering the vines attempting to drag someone who stands to need their mobility.
"Not again!" Vindicta cries out as those brambles wrap themselves around her tiny arms and legs, this time dragging her down off of the grave stone she had perched upon, forcing her prone on her back as she clutches her handgun for dear life with her left hand. "Don't let vines pull under dirt! If do, gone forever!!" she warns, struggling with her right hand to reach the officer's knife at her hip.
Seeing Iris starting to sink, the albino's pale pink eyes go wide. She opts to let the thorns tear through her delicate flesh in favor of reaching her blade more swiftly. "Hold on Iris!!" she calls out, carving through lengths of foliage again and again until she can just manage to belly crawl towards Iris. She grunts with effort, struggling to free herself as much as she struggles to start sawing through her coworker's own vines, working to keep them both above ground. It forces her attention to swap back and forth between them both instead for now.
Elora has a panicked, harried look about her as she gets free a dagger and cuts at the vines sinking her into the soil.
"No, no, not like this," Elora whines.
Sinking further and further, it looks like Iris might be about to fully sink when aid came. Emboldened by assistance and with renewed energy, Iris bursts through the ground, flinging about bits of dirt while tugging harshly at the vines, even biting at them with near animalistic fervor "Ahn, I've got so much more to do up here, can't go down yet."
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.
Isolde, coiled by vines, moving over her head, is emanated by cold glow. Ice wraps around her hand in jagged, sharp edges, and she rips her arm out with a quick slice against the roots.
Elora cuts through the vines and scrambles away from the monument just in time to be blasted by a wave of heat that throws her onto her side.
Iris can easily rise once the vines are torched by the firemages, her shirt apparently also being torched. Back up to her feet but slightly toasted, Iris decides to resume firing, unloading into the spectral beings.
Isolde waves a hand in a long arc with her free hand. Cold can only be seen in warmth- it is the dichotomy thereof that gives sight to its polar opposite. It's a cold morning.
Elora pats at herself in alarm, dress singed, skin pinkened, tears now unshed in her eyes before fleeing to a different monument and sheltering beside it. She peeks out her head over the tombstone. Then her choker is glowing with a faint blue light.
Elora summons wisps that move over and begins circling the monument she was initially behind while she settles in. Her movements are rushed, desperate things now, as she quickly draws out another runic array in the soil.
Somewhat fire retardant, Vindicta's clothing singes and starts to smoulder, but is able to resist the full effect of the gout of flames that wash over the teeny albino, who lifts an arm in order to shield her face from the blast. "Keep pushing!" she encourages the other women, a quartet of Girl Power as the ladies fight back against the spirits in their own way, a display of versatility and teamwork as they somehow manage to keep both armies contained together, whilst each mostly working separately.
Iris looks like a toasted chocolate bar at this point yet continues to fire towards the ghosts, shining a light on them as if they were actors at the Oscars.
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.
Thrown once again towards the tombstones, Iris flies out like an arrow herself and smacks into a nearby mausoleum entrance. After a series of sickening cracks come from her body, Iris wobbles back to her feet to begin unloading further into the ghastly army.
Elora is a pitiful sight. Dress singed, skin pinked, hands and dress caked in dirt, though not as thickly as her boots which had been partly consumed by the soil. Lines have formed where her dress ends and skin begins, with ugly marks where the vines had gripped and dragged at her shins. This time after completing some of the circle and a few runic arrays she takes her blade out and cuts it across her palm, letting drops sprinkle down which serve to ignite the runic symbols she has drawn. The monument serves to block some of the wind, but many droplets are caught by the currents, carried away. Frustrated, she lowers her hand, pushing it into the soil.
Isolde sits still for too long a loud moment. A cavalry charge strikes around her, bullets fly, she's picked up off the ground gently and then harshly slammed into the ground. It's a harsh, absurd world that everyone chooses to live in. To live without ignorance is... To lie prone in a graveyard as an ancient and modern warzone crashes around you. A hum of blue glow later, and she peeks out, dead in the eyes, and begins to fire. A spiritual arrow cuts through her hair- and does nothing! Hair is already dead, who cares?
Fog and wind does not make for a good shot- Vindicta starts to line up the barrel of her weapon with the head of a nearby war mage general, only to find a dense mist obscuring her vision, offering the sniper only passing glances of her target, in a different position each time she finds their view. "Not good!" she reveals, only for her pallid gaze to go wide as a volley of arrows starts to block out the sun even further, forming a shadow over her head that would surely see her becoming a pincushion.
The petite femme is both saved and destroyed by the sudden gust of wind that sweeps through, knocking the arrows out of the air but at the same time sending her flying backwards into yet another gravestone, a shriek of pain escaping her plush pink lips.
Isolde fires both like the street child that hasn't known a childhood, and the old soldier that has stopped caring about where the bullets land. She sends the bullets at the targets, and she is rewarded when they fall. She moves the crosshairs across the line of mages- those who still make active conflict to this side of the graveyard.
Iris seems quite spent already, nearly dropping to the floor as Iris advances up to a nearby headstone. Leaning against it like some victorian era sculpture, her hand is raised up to aim at the ghosts further, a few more taunts erupting past her lips "Back to where you came, you worthless ghouls."
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.
Elora has a low, hissing quality to her voice as she begins to chant. Her words are laced with a cold authority and a bitter rage. With the crash of armies and the loud report of gunfire one might think that the words would not be heard. Yet they are. "Glacies aeternum, vincula animae alligate in tenebri," the teal eyed woman calls out, coaxing brightness from the circle even as her hands move to add further symbols which glow even as she draws them out their icy blue light casting sharp shadows across her face.
"Umbrae glaciales, vorate spiritus errantes!" Elora continues, her voice steady despite the tumult around her. The will-o'-wisp lights orbiting not near her, but at the other monument, accelerate. Some ghostly arrows slap near that monument, as if spectral archers had tried to fire at her. "Tenebrae frigidae, exsugite spiritum et redite ad abyssum!" she declares, her bleeding palm pressed firmly into the soil. A ripple of power emanating from the circle as the spectral army closest to it wavers under the power of the building ritual.
With closed shut eyes, Iris turned off her flashlight and reached to start rubbing her eyes. "Ack, you bastard, third time this week!" was shouted out in anger.
The air around Isolde spatters in a white, hissing mist. Fire splits around her for a moment like she were entering atmosphere. Her eyes don't dilate as her palms cook from the superheated glock. She fires within the flame, aiming for the spectral- shooting at the sounds. The lack of organs, and the broad lack of frontline, makes this a task without danger of friendly fire. Mostly.
As Elora reaches the climax of her chant, Eloras voice drops to a commanding whisper. Mors glacialis, animas vagantes percutite! The runes blaze with a sudden brilliance, and a shockwave of energy blasts out clearing the area. It isn't enough to banish all the ghosts, but it banishes enough for one of the generals to come into view, no longer hidden by a mess of spectral warriors.
As Elora reaches the climax of her chant, Eloras voice drops to a commanding whisper. "Mors glacialis, animas vagantes percutite!" The runes blaze with a sudden brilliance, and a shockwave of energy blasts out clearing the area. It isn't enough to banish all the ghosts, but it banishes enough for one of the generals to come into view, no longer hidden by a mess of spectral warriors. (fixed)
A shot rings out in the air at the same time that flash of blinding light sweeps across the cemetery, Vindicta unleashing a bullet towards her target in a sudden squeeze of the trigger. The general of the mage-side of the battle has one headed straight between his eyes, though whether it lands or not is unseen- the women are blinded the moment Vindicta's gun fires, and by the time their vision recovers, it all seems to be over, or slowing to a crawl.
Iris remains slumped against the headstone, rubbing her eyes passively.
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.
The climax of their encounter arrives when Elora completes a powerful ritual chant, causing a shockwave of energy to expose one of the ghostly generals. At this decisive moment, Vindicta seizes the opportunity and fires a critical shot. The combined efforts of magical incantations, strategic attacks, and sheer determination culminate in the gradual retreat of the ghostly combatants. Their forms flicker and fade as they return to the earth, leaving behind a cemetery restored to its quiet solemnity. The triumphant yet weary group witnesses the dissolution of the ghostly armies, their mission accomplished. The air settles, and an eerie peace envelops the graveyard once again, marking the end of Vindicta's ghost banishing, a testament to the power of teamwork and resilience in the face of unearthly adversity.
(Vindicta's ghost banishing)
[Wed Nov 20 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is noon, about 36F(2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. Waist high mist flows through the area.
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.
A loud fingersnap and a wink sees Iris say "For once, yes."
"This one is not an easy banishing," Elora hisses. With some urgency she rushes toward one of the monuments in the old stretch of cemetery. She hunkers down behind it as the ghostly armies surge and take shape, using it for cover against the likely incoming blasts.
Iris steps up to a nearby tree, sliding against it to use as cover before giving Vindicta a quick glance "So, how do these things go? I doubt we just shoot them or something."
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.
Isolde dives instinctively behind a tombstone of an old DJ-'something,' his named carved out by ghost bullets in the distant past. She begins to draw her legs up to herself, then stops, catching herself. It is thus, a short distance to fly as she smacks against the dead epitaph.
Once Isolde and Elora make an appearance, the wait is no longer a wait. Pallid pink eyes stare over them both, then shift to Iris, considering this a good enough gathering for Vindicta's liking. "Here come," warns the albino quietly, her voice feminine and sweet as the earth beneath the women's feet begins to rumble and crack, spectral warriors and mages rising in opposition of one another. The tiny Deputy gives Elora a firm nod, then reaches towards her holster, withdrawing her revolver and giving its cylinder a quick spin with her thumb. Bullets empty themselves onto the grass and are quickly replaced with peculiar-looking shotshells instead.
"Find generals and kill, or take out army-" she starts to explain to Iris, but then that gust of wind picks her up off of her feet and sets her flying, her back smashing into a gravestone with a crack that makes her face screw up after she yelps in pain.
Although latched on to the tree and holding for dear life, Iris is waved like a flag by the blast of air, eventually letting go. What followed next was Iris being rammed into a tombstone, taking a few moments to stand back up. "Got it, win the battle for one side."
"You can shoot them with iron!" Isolde calls to Iris. She then pulls out a glock from her white handbag and begins to fire, safety never on, stacatto rounds into the wind.
Elora hunches low behind the ancient monument, her sharp teal eyes narrowing as the fog thickens and the spectral armies clash with increasing intensity. The moment the ghostly archers nock their arrows, her head dips further, her wild neon and turquoise hair spilling like a cascade of glowing threads over her shoulders. Her body seems to tense a fraction of a second before the wind tears through the cemetery, the stone shielding her from the force that might have otherwise sent her sprawling.
As she sees Vindicta get picked up and thrown into the tree, she winces. Prior to it, she looked as if she might say something, but now whatever words she had in answer to Iris They're dead on her tongue. The staccato of shots ringing out has her wincing again. Yet she sets her teeth against the scock of the noise and settles down amid loamy soil in which she begins to draw out a perfect circle using her blue painted finger nails.
Iris shoves a hand into her workbag to pull a maglite and turn it on, shedding some light about to give herself a better chance at aiming. One hand shone while the other aimed with her own firearm, squeezing the trigger several times in the direction of ghosts and noises "Going live."
Isolde's peeks out- *ARROW*, she ducks back. She counts, an image taken out of context of the wider world showing a flurry of hair in a hurricane, hitting number that feels right before peek- *ARROW.* She ducks back.
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.
Tossed around almost like a ragdoll for a few moments, Iris manages to get a grip on things by holding on to a nice little fencepost surrounding a tombstone. Hugging a nearby stone cross to use as cover, Iris lets loose bullets towards the advancing cavalry, having them whizz out at quite the cadence. "For being incorporeal, they sure have mass."
Cracks in the gravesoil form beneath Vindicta's feet, but the woman is both dexterous and quite nimble- she leaps onto a nearby gravemarker, landing demurely on her toes before darting from stone to stone, dancing across their tops without missing a beat as she finds a more steady portion of the graveyard to alight herself upon. "Can't see general! Only warriors!!" she calls out, aiming her massive revolver at one of the war mages that has caused the ground to crumble and firing off a shot.
The shell bursts in midair, sending a sharp spray of crystalline white to pelt not only her target, but many nearby spectres as well. They hiss and roar in agony as steam begins to billow from their forms, and then sizzle, melting away into nothingness under the barrage of what appears to be shotshells chock full of salt.
Elora is already on the ground when the heaving starts. She stares in dismay as the soil shifts about disrupting her circle. "No," Elora complains. Yet its too late. The work, already destroyed. So she sets back to getting it remade, hands moving in the familiar motions they once went through as she traces in loamy soil beside the monument. The small woman kneeling in the dirt in a wrap dress is almost as out of place as those firing guns within the cemetery at wraiths that might go unseen by mortal eyes.
Isolde's little shield of the long dead was not made to withstand or protect against cavalry charges. The world shakes, but she's long been brought on her knees. It's a lifestyle choice, most days, to duck under lest one is removed of their head. But some days an incorporeal steed tramples you, striking the core of your spirit as his lance runs harmlessly through a distant dead tree. She cries out from the shock, the estranged, wild pain of being struck incorporeal- and then she fire the mundane at the immaterial and splatters his ghostly helm with lead and iron. The cavalryman disappears into a fading mist that disparates like a fog machine.
Pierced by quite a few spectral arrows, Iris looks like they were a pincushion at this point. What were initially groans of pain turned into a bright, flashy laughter. A clumsy reload later, Iris continues shooting while cackling. "This hurt is so real, I love it, we need to really fuck up ghosts more often!"
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.
Vines spin up from the ground and begin to wrap around Iris, tearing at the clothing and trying to drag Iris into an earthen tomb. A hand is pulled this way, a shoulder that way, a foot lifted some other way. It looked like Iris was trudging through water at this point, very slowly sinking into the ground more and more.
Elora tucks a strand of vivid turquoise hair behind her ear with a dirt-smeared hand. With a flick of her fingers, small orbs of will-o'-wisp light spring into being, hovering like tiny, ethereal lanterns above her head. Their pale blue glow illuminates the disturbed soil, casting eerie shadows that dance across her face and the ruined runic circle shes painstakingly trying to restore. And then vines reach up from the circle, wrapping around her. She's clearly startled by this and being on her knees she is in no position to avoid it. They grab her, wrapping about her. With a cry of some alarm, she finds herself wrapped up even as she tries to rise away. Her feet come out from under her and the small woman is pulled back down into the dirt as the vines continue to wrap about her more thoroughly.
Isolde glances over at Iris, dejected from pain that, within the torso, cannot be literally shaken off. Then as vines wrap around her legs, a thought and a loaded clip are shunted and she turns her weapon on at Iris's feet- spattering the vines attempting to drag someone who stands to need their mobility.
"Not again!" Vindicta cries out as those brambles wrap themselves around her tiny arms and legs, this time dragging her down off of the grave stone she had perched upon, forcing her prone on her back as she clutches her handgun for dear life with her left hand. "Don't let vines pull under dirt! If do, gone forever!!" she warns, struggling with her right hand to reach the officer's knife at her hip.
Seeing Iris starting to sink, the albino's pale pink eyes go wide. She opts to let the thorns tear through her delicate flesh in favor of reaching her blade more swiftly. "Hold on Iris!!" she calls out, carving through lengths of foliage again and again until she can just manage to belly crawl towards Iris. She grunts with effort, struggling to free herself as much as she struggles to start sawing through her coworker's own vines, working to keep them both above ground. It forces her attention to swap back and forth between them both instead for now.
Elora has a panicked, harried look about her as she gets free a dagger and cuts at the vines sinking her into the soil.
"No, no, not like this," Elora whines.
Sinking further and further, it looks like Iris might be about to fully sink when aid came. Emboldened by assistance and with renewed energy, Iris bursts through the ground, flinging about bits of dirt while tugging harshly at the vines, even biting at them with near animalistic fervor "Ahn, I've got so much more to do up here, can't go down yet."
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.
Isolde, coiled by vines, moving over her head, is emanated by cold glow. Ice wraps around her hand in jagged, sharp edges, and she rips her arm out with a quick slice against the roots.
Elora cuts through the vines and scrambles away from the monument just in time to be blasted by a wave of heat that throws her onto her side.
Iris can easily rise once the vines are torched by the firemages, her shirt apparently also being torched. Back up to her feet but slightly toasted, Iris decides to resume firing, unloading into the spectral beings.
Isolde waves a hand in a long arc with her free hand. Cold can only be seen in warmth- it is the dichotomy thereof that gives sight to its polar opposite. It's a cold morning.
Elora pats at herself in alarm, dress singed, skin pinkened, tears now unshed in her eyes before fleeing to a different monument and sheltering beside it. She peeks out her head over the tombstone. Then her choker is glowing with a faint blue light.
Elora summons wisps that move over and begins circling the monument she was initially behind while she settles in. Her movements are rushed, desperate things now, as she quickly draws out another runic array in the soil.
Somewhat fire retardant, Vindicta's clothing singes and starts to smoulder, but is able to resist the full effect of the gout of flames that wash over the teeny albino, who lifts an arm in order to shield her face from the blast. "Keep pushing!" she encourages the other women, a quartet of Girl Power as the ladies fight back against the spirits in their own way, a display of versatility and teamwork as they somehow manage to keep both armies contained together, whilst each mostly working separately.
Iris looks like a toasted chocolate bar at this point yet continues to fire towards the ghosts, shining a light on them as if they were actors at the Oscars.
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.
Thrown once again towards the tombstones, Iris flies out like an arrow herself and smacks into a nearby mausoleum entrance. After a series of sickening cracks come from her body, Iris wobbles back to her feet to begin unloading further into the ghastly army.
Elora is a pitiful sight. Dress singed, skin pinked, hands and dress caked in dirt, though not as thickly as her boots which had been partly consumed by the soil. Lines have formed where her dress ends and skin begins, with ugly marks where the vines had gripped and dragged at her shins. This time after completing some of the circle and a few runic arrays she takes her blade out and cuts it across her palm, letting drops sprinkle down which serve to ignite the runic symbols she has drawn. The monument serves to block some of the wind, but many droplets are caught by the currents, carried away. Frustrated, she lowers her hand, pushing it into the soil.
Isolde sits still for too long a loud moment. A cavalry charge strikes around her, bullets fly, she's picked up off the ground gently and then harshly slammed into the ground. It's a harsh, absurd world that everyone chooses to live in. To live without ignorance is... To lie prone in a graveyard as an ancient and modern warzone crashes around you. A hum of blue glow later, and she peeks out, dead in the eyes, and begins to fire. A spiritual arrow cuts through her hair- and does nothing! Hair is already dead, who cares?
Fog and wind does not make for a good shot- Vindicta starts to line up the barrel of her weapon with the head of a nearby war mage general, only to find a dense mist obscuring her vision, offering the sniper only passing glances of her target, in a different position each time she finds their view. "Not good!" she reveals, only for her pallid gaze to go wide as a volley of arrows starts to block out the sun even further, forming a shadow over her head that would surely see her becoming a pincushion.
The petite femme is both saved and destroyed by the sudden gust of wind that sweeps through, knocking the arrows out of the air but at the same time sending her flying backwards into yet another gravestone, a shriek of pain escaping her plush pink lips.
Isolde fires both like the street child that hasn't known a childhood, and the old soldier that has stopped caring about where the bullets land. She sends the bullets at the targets, and she is rewarded when they fall. She moves the crosshairs across the line of mages- those who still make active conflict to this side of the graveyard.
Iris seems quite spent already, nearly dropping to the floor as Iris advances up to a nearby headstone. Leaning against it like some victorian era sculpture, her hand is raised up to aim at the ghosts further, a few more taunts erupting past her lips "Back to where you came, you worthless ghouls."
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.
Elora has a low, hissing quality to her voice as she begins to chant. Her words are laced with a cold authority and a bitter rage. With the crash of armies and the loud report of gunfire one might think that the words would not be heard. Yet they are. "Glacies aeternum, vincula animae alligate in tenebri," the teal eyed woman calls out, coaxing brightness from the circle even as her hands move to add further symbols which glow even as she draws them out their icy blue light casting sharp shadows across her face.
"Umbrae glaciales, vorate spiritus errantes!" Elora continues, her voice steady despite the tumult around her. The will-o'-wisp lights orbiting not near her, but at the other monument, accelerate. Some ghostly arrows slap near that monument, as if spectral archers had tried to fire at her. "Tenebrae frigidae, exsugite spiritum et redite ad abyssum!" she declares, her bleeding palm pressed firmly into the soil. A ripple of power emanating from the circle as the spectral army closest to it wavers under the power of the building ritual.
With closed shut eyes, Iris turned off her flashlight and reached to start rubbing her eyes. "Ack, you bastard, third time this week!" was shouted out in anger.
The air around Isolde spatters in a white, hissing mist. Fire splits around her for a moment like she were entering atmosphere. Her eyes don't dilate as her palms cook from the superheated glock. She fires within the flame, aiming for the spectral- shooting at the sounds. The lack of organs, and the broad lack of frontline, makes this a task without danger of friendly fire. Mostly.
As Elora reaches the climax of her chant, Eloras voice drops to a commanding whisper. Mors glacialis, animas vagantes percutite! The runes blaze with a sudden brilliance, and a shockwave of energy blasts out clearing the area. It isn't enough to banish all the ghosts, but it banishes enough for one of the generals to come into view, no longer hidden by a mess of spectral warriors.
As Elora reaches the climax of her chant, Eloras voice drops to a commanding whisper. "Mors glacialis, animas vagantes percutite!" The runes blaze with a sudden brilliance, and a shockwave of energy blasts out clearing the area. It isn't enough to banish all the ghosts, but it banishes enough for one of the generals to come into view, no longer hidden by a mess of spectral warriors. (fixed)
A shot rings out in the air at the same time that flash of blinding light sweeps across the cemetery, Vindicta unleashing a bullet towards her target in a sudden squeeze of the trigger. The general of the mage-side of the battle has one headed straight between his eyes, though whether it lands or not is unseen- the women are blinded the moment Vindicta's gun fires, and by the time their vision recovers, it all seems to be over, or slowing to a crawl.
Iris remains slumped against the headstone, rubbing her eyes passively.
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.