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The metal doors slide open, mechanically perfect. They give way to the press of bodies within it's confines. Unsteady steps bring those souls into the hall. Their cries of pain, and blood painting the carpeted ground their heraldry.
Stumbling, they walk.
Stumbling, the search.
Stumbling, they find two doors open....
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Striking Looks
PresenceHamia's thoughts compress the seconds into moments: multiple unknowns, cries of pain, location hallway. Think fast. Move.... faster. Right, faster. Her hands perform a series of deft movements, all broken by the skip and overlap of Hamia's Nimbus. Sections of cyan glyphwork form and spin - sometimes seemingly at odds with the placement of her hands in multiple, overlapping fragments of time.
0 Suxx for Paradox
Then it finally flares into existence. You've got this, Lidnsey. The matter settled, she steels herself for what comes next: keeping her companions safe.
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Allies (City Hall)
Allies (Criminal)
Allies (Culture)
Allies (Finance)
Occult Skill
Campanella shuffles behind Hamia.
When his eyes fall on the shambling corpses, an image of a rain soaked park and a crawling, lumbering, horde strikes him cold. Like a blade of ice in the heart.
He freezes for too many precious seconds...
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The men and women stumble forward, drawn to the picture perfect limbs of the Wise. Tears stream down blood spattered cheeks. They sob and gasp and whine. Their hearts still pump blood to spatter on the ground.
But they move, ever forward.
Hamia INT 7 (Acceleration) ● Campanella INT 7 ● Poor Souls (7) Will Act Last
Please make your DEF and Armour ratting visible so I knows!
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Striking Looks
Presence
A sense of purpose dispels the (quite natural) feeling of horror and revulsion. These shambling, pained creatures will only spread more pain if she allows it. She, decidedly, will not. Feet aided by preternatural speed, Hamia races towards the closest thing in the mob. Regrets would come later. Her fists come now.
4 successes for fists of (relative) fury!
Date Action Roll Result 2018-05-22 14:58:07 Hamia rolls 9 to Str 3 + Brawl 5 + Specialty to bring the hurt (10 Again) 7, 4, 9, 1, 3, 9, 2, 10, 9, 5 4 successes
Hamia's effective defense this turn is 9, owing 3 to Time Armor and 3 to Acceleration. No armor. Her speed is 11, increased to 14. And, not that it matters, Initiative is also increased by 3. Also of note is effective Strength of 4 during grappling maneuvers (but not initial grapple).
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Occult Skill
Campanella moves as well - as fast as he can while his hands weave a spell.
The dead burn in his mind. He will not let this become another Granite Park.
His spell is no rote, not dance of gesture and sound: there is only the raw power of his Awakened soul ripping into the fabric of floor under the undead horde's feet - weakening it, corroding it, annihilating it.
Somehow he shrieks "Get Back!" as his Will manages to hold the complexities of his working together. No one can say if it is a yell of triumph or a warning, least of all the Moros himself.
He draws down the Supernal free of Abyssal taint - this time. The floor... shudders and groans...
Date Action Roll Result 2018-05-24 04:41:53 Campy Paradox rolls 2 to do something insignificant (10 Again) 2, 2 failure
Date Action Roll Result 2018-05-24 04:38:25 Campy to cast Annihilate Matter rolls 3 to Gnosis + Matter - 6 (8 cubic meters) -1 spell tolerance (10 Again, WillPower) 10, 6, 4, 6 1 success
Well here we go again
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Acanthus. Talon. Protector. Hamia. Time is her wings, and the poor wretched soul is not match for the force of her strike. Staggering under the force of the blow, blood spills out between snarling lips.
Moros. Mystagogue. Alchemist. Campanella. Burns with righteous rage, voice loud, and desperate enough for the preternatural speed of the Talon to fly her to safety.
Stygia's Entropy, it's Transmutation weaves into a unpractised spell, the Will of the Wise greater then the Abyss, greater then any lack of knowledge...
The floor beneath these poor souls doesn't move. Nor does it groan. It simply, isn't. Destroyed as if it never was. These Wretches fall to the hallway beneath...
....into the writhing pain fuelled bodies of their fellows.
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Striking Looks
PresenceHamia huffs a breath out in satisfaction as the wretch flies backward from her strike. She doesn't enjoy the wreckage of the once-normal person's face - but she does take comfort in protecting the others.
Something Campanella more than shows her up in. Why else would the entire floor beneath the mass of bodies suddenly disappear? Entropy.
Hamia lets a breath out slowly, to calm her breathing one more. "That was... Wow. Good, uh... good job." She flashes a brief, embarrassed smile back at Campanella. Who'd just (basically) single-handedly solved the problem with his head. Not his fists. Hamia's focus returns to a normal speed and she takes a second, creeping forward carefully, to assess the damage.
"I don't mean to be negative or anything, but what now? Circle around and check on the others?" She wouldn't suggest trying to climb out a window or anything. Campanella seems the gentlemanly type. Not the spelunking type.
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A bellowing cry of rage and fear so profound the Magi could feel it resonating within their own Souls. The writhing mass of bloodied, maimed limbs squirmed in a frenzied orgy of bloodlust, though their attention was not fixed upon each other...
Bloodshot eyes glared balefully up at them from between the mass of bloodied skin.
The Magi were safe...but for how long?
Let's drop out of Initiative for the time being! The Poor Souls are below you, as is the exit! What will the intrepid Magi do?
Hamia Campanella Aurora Vauban Winter
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Campanella, his nimbus glowing a faintly ghost light behind his head walks over to the lip of the destruction he has wrought.
"We find the others and look for the source," he said with a determined sigh.
"The dead are but pawns. Dangerous ones. Their abuse will not stand and I am in no mind to let another Necromancer escape us. Not like last time." He seemed to be talking to himself, rather than his companion.
"So yes, circle around. Find the others."
He was staring at the floor below, noting numbers.
"We may not have much time."
Exactly how many undead are we talking about, by the way Cayce Saber Sloth
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