EVENT LOG: WINTER IS COMING

[asgardmods]

Who: ANYONE leaving Asgard to face the Army of the Dead
What: the Winter is Coming event log
When: October 18 - 21 (& 23)
Where: beyond Asgard's territory
Rating: PG-13 for violence and gore; please take anything above this to a private log, and remember to use content warnings as needed!

❧ october 18: departure.

october 18

Those willing to join Asgard in their quest to stop the Army of the Dead will be leaving at the crack of dawn alongside a huge caravan of wagons lead by every available eight-legged horse in the city. Characters are welcome to ride in one of the wagons on the way out, although they are intended to carry refugees and the injured on the way back. There will also be horses made available for single or double riders to travel alongside the caravan, generally to serve as watch guards and survey the surrounding area for danger as they travel. Everyone else will be asked to travel by foot, and the caravan will travel slowly beside them.

When everyone is prepared to leave, Honir and Sigyn will open a straight path through the forest, granting the caravan easy access to the outside world. Those that look down the path without joining the caravan in travelling down it will only see a distantly bright light at the other side of the clearing, with no other discernible details from within the kingdom. Those travelling with the caravan will have a vague, creeping feeling of being watched by something within the trees as they pass, despite the mostly common knowledge that there are no living creatures in the forest.

As soon as the caravan breaks free from the treeline, that distant light becomes a glaring brightness that stings at unprotected eyes. It was dawn when they left Asgard, the sun barely rising and the air comfortably cool - but out here, the sun is blazing in the sky and an intense heat crawls across exposed skin. It's almost immediately unbearable until Honir's voice advises everyone to "take a deep breath;" the inhale burns and almost tastes acidic, but the exhale is slow and steady and calming.

After that, while still bright and hot, it becomes much more tolerable to pass through this starkly different environment from the familiar calm of Asgard. The ground is hard packed with random splashes of greenery attempting to push through cracks in the surface. Colors are inordinately vibrant, like the entire world has been overexposed and deeply saturated beyond what anyone might consider "normal." There are still trees around, oddly placed and scarce, whose leaves are changing colors and falling to be picked up in winds that howl and shriek as they pass through.

This isn't quite the picturesque autumn reaching Asgard right now, if it can even really be called an autumn at all - and this is all that can be seen for almost an entire day of wearisome travel, until they finally come upon a small grouping of roughshod houses in what could barely be considered a township by nightfall. A few dozen humans seem to live here and many come out to greet these new arrivals with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. While no danger seems immediately present here, they've been on edge in recent days with passing news of trouble not far away. The caravan stops here for the night, both to rest before continuing their journey and to discuss the possibility of these villagers returning to Asgard with the offer of protection.

❧ october 19: preparation.

october 19

Travel picks up at dawn again with not a moment to waste, especially given confirmation that something must be nearby. Grass becomes patchy in odd sections along the harsh earth, growing defiantly wherever it can at varying lengths and some with blooming weeds or bushes. It's almost like the ground is… confused, growing inconsistently and failing as often as not. The weather stays the same: bright, hot, and stinging slightly despite whatever clouds or shrieking winds might pass over them.

They reach the next settlement by midday, not much more developed than the last one but overcrowded by far. As they stop to speak to them, the Wanderers will learn that many of them have fled here from neighboring areas without actually having seen anything for themselves, but they are afraid and unsure of where to turn next. The ones that have seen something for themselves are frantic and fearful as one might expect after barely escaping what they are certain is an all-devouring doom.

Tyr stops here to provide some emotional relief and a sense of safety with any Asgardians and Wanderers willing to stay and reassure these terrified humans of what it means to be under Asgard's protection. Secondary precautions are set up to protect this area (henceforth referred to as Settlement One) while the rest of the caravan continues onward.

When they come upon the next grouping of buildings - what might've been the start of a township given enough time, and what we'll call Settlement Two - the sun is already setting, and the only humans that remain are those too injured to travel and those too stubborn to leave them behind. The gods decide that this is where they'll make their stand against the coming Army of the Undead. The natives begin unloading the dragonglass from the wagons, and the Wanderers can help them build barricades or start digging hasty trenches in a perimeter around the area.

Honir insists on continuing on despite vocal protests and takes a small number of riders out into the night with him. Mimir and Heimdall walk the grounds to make sure everyone is as prepared as they possibly can be, and everyone buckles down for the evening with thoughts of war not far ahead.

❧ october 20: bloodshed.

october 20

Morning never comes for those expecting it as the sky remains darkened and a storm approaches quickly. (cw: violence, gore) Within minutes, a sudden winter (cw: violence, gore; stop at 1:30 to avoid a jumpscare) overtakes the surrounding area with sheets of snow and blistering cold. As visibility drops to nil and everyone struggles to prepare themselves for what they know is coming for better or for worse, Heimdall's voice calls out clear and firm despite the raging of the winds around you. "Hold the line," he roars, "For Asgard!"



From this point on, the battle is on! Scaled to player response and requests, there are 1000 undead wights attacking from the shrieking darkness of the storm. Many of them seem well into rotting, while others seem disturbingly fresh. On Asgard's side, there roughly 40 Wanderers, 130 human natives, Mimir, and Heimdall. Odds may look bleak, but you are geared for this fight with everything you possibly could be. The rest is up to you!

As Wanderers die in this battle, they fall to the ground lifeless and their bracelets dim a little bit. Several humans fall alongside them and the wights show no sign of slowing. 12 White Walkers watch from the far side of the battle, seemingly searching for something. And as Asgard's forces are beginning to be overwhelmed through sheer number alone, the Night King appears and decisively turns the battle in their favor by raising the dead (cw: gore, child (un)death) once more. All Wanderers and human natives that have died up to this point return as a wight and begin attacking on the side of the dead.



The White Walkers use the following chaos to pursue their true targets: the Game of Thrones cast. Realizing this and their dwindling numbers, Mimir sends every living mortal back to Settlement One with instructions to prepare whatever they can to stop the Night King while he and Heimdall hold the Army of the Dead at bay. You have roughly 8 hours to prepare, whether that's coordinating traps and defences, tending to injuries, or calming yourself enough to survive another round of combat.

Mimir and Heimdall return ahead of the coming army with just enough time to warn them and prepare before the horde floods into them once more. Their numbers seem to have greatly dwindled, however, and only 8 White Walkers remain. It gives Asgard's forces leverage but it is still a battle hard fought (cw: gore, violence). Wanderers that die in this battle, whether alive or undead, disappear by fading away as they fall; the human natives simply fall. Honir and Helga return from their scouting mission with the grim news that the Army of the Dead has scorched through Yggdrasil for miles and possibly months.

Through the combined efforts of the Wanderers against the remaining White Walkers and a long string of distractions, sacrifices, and one lucky strike with a fallen comrade's blade, the Night King is finally slain by Daenerys Targaryen and all remaining undead fall to the ground. Some disperse into golden motes of light in a fashion some might recognize while other bodies simply remain there, lifeless at long last. The battle is finally won, but not without great losses. The gods afford a few hours of rest and recovery as the unnatural winter fades away before putting the caravan back on the path to Asgard - to safety.

❧ october 21-23: return.

october 21

The ride back to Asgard is perhaps jarring for some. Where the night had been long and dark (and certainly full of terrors), the sky is near-painfully bright and colorful. The sun blisters in sharp contrast to stinging cold and only the living remain, injured and weary though they may be. It's startlingly ordinary in comparison to the nightmare you've all lived through, and it leaves a heavy tension hanging in the air for the entire trip.

As they reach the first grouping of houses and continue on towards the kingdom, a total of roughly 230 surviving humans journey with them. They are profoundly grateful for their lives but quiet in their appreciation and their awe. What happened here and those that stood nobly against it will be remembered in the histories of Asgard, draped against a dark background.

The city is prepared for the caravan's return, a solemn celebration spreading throughout the populace even as they leap right into the task of caring for those that need it. There are tearful reunions for those relieved to see a loved one survive and desperate cries for those that did not. The injured are carted away while others still are treated right there in the streets, so dire are their wounds. And the rest passes in a blur as people find their districts and hopefully a new sense of normalcy.

It isn't until October 23 that the Wanderers that died in the battle reawaken in the castle to a concerned but relieved Frigg. From that point onward, something is just a little off for them, but they are otherwise healed and whole again. It breathes an ounce of hope and joy into a grieving kingdom, as the natives regard them with awe and reverence, celebrating again the might of Asgard and the wonder of the Wanderers.

[OOC NOTES: This is the mingle log for the Winter is Coming event! Going up a few days late because I am busier than anyone's bee, thank you so much for your patience. Given all of the plotting and discussion, we upped the stakes for this one a little bit to give you one epic fight to win. This means there are more White Walkers to kill and more wights to join them! Please note the updates to the event description, including that the lore around PC death was adjusted a little bit and that only characters that die at Settlement Two are turned into wights. In the end, Asgard lost over half of those that initially left the city but returned with another 170 survivors, which nearly doubles the city's population overall. Remember that characters that die in this event only receive one death consequence, regardless of how many times they are actually killed. Please let us know if you have any questions about how any of this works. Enjoy!!]

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NPC TOP LEVELS

[asgardmods]

Please don't respond to this comment!

HONIR

[asgardsflight]

departure

[ There is a private but deeply amused smile that remains on Honir's lips as he rides alongside the caravan on a horse of his own. Those paying attention might notice him trotting along at a slightly faster pace from the end to the beginning, keeping an eye on things along the way. Is everyone feeling okay? Is there anything nearby? Is the path clear ahead?

You might even see him ride past multiple times, sometimes without ever catching him doubling back. Sometimes he cuts a sharp path away from the line of wagons to do a broad sweep before returning, sometimes disappearing for minutes at a time.

He's on watch duty. Which makes him giggle just a little bit, just to himself - because Heimdall is nearby, and Honir is being quite vigilant indeed. There is a humor to it that he can't quite fully contain. ]

preparation

[ They've barely even brought the caravan to a complete stop by the time Honir is already bouncing and anxious to go. He paces back and forth along the length of the wagons and between his brothers. He surveys the area with a faint daze to his eyes like you're not quite certain he's seeing the same things you are. Something is very obviously eating at him, and it isn't long before he admits loudly to both Heimdall and Mimir: ]

I need to keep going. We can't see far enough from here, and we have to know where this ends. Or where it started. What if there are still others out there?

[ They need to know for certain - and Honir isn't really asking for permission so much as making his claim. The God of Travel stands on a path of death with a fire beneath his feet. He needs to go. ]

bloodshed: near the end of the battle when Shit Is Bad

[ Honir and Helga reappear at Settlement One quite literally out of thin air. You might watch their horses slow from a gallop to a sudden stop, even though there couldn't possibly have been enough space to get two horses through the thriving mass of the living versus the dead. The poor creatures collapse the moment they lose their momentum, the god and the human tumbling out with them. They look a deeply troubled kind of exhausted, and their eyes are weary but free of any mystical blue.

Alive, then. Alive and back from wherever they went, whatever they saw. Back with news most likely, but there isn't really any time for that now. Wights still swarm in far greater numbers than the living mortals standing to face them. The Wanderers are giving their all to stopping the White Walkers. There isn't enough time to do anything else but join in the fray.

Your character might see Honir throw what almost looks like the glittering trail of a firecracker towards a group of undead that explodes into long, splintering shards of dragonglass at the center of them. You might watch a rouge colored arrow zip past you and into a nearby wight before racing off towards enough, tracing a bright path between many of them before returning to Honir's quiver. You might even catch him in the act of scrubbing his face roughly with both hands as he walks, just shy of outright yawning, before drawing his silver bow and firing the arrow again.

He's moving way too slowly to be out here. But it's hard to argue that he isn't being effective all the same. If only he could wake up and pay more attention... ]

return

[ Honir makes the same rounds alongside the caravan on the way back to Asgard, and still again with a smile. It's quieter now and somewhat distant, but ever the unfortunately honest one, it's there all the same. Lives were saved. Information was gathered. A mighty threat was defeated. The war is won. And here he is, remaining vigilant.

It's just not quite the same joke the second go around.

Still, Honir checks in where he can at each leg of the caravan. He'll ask questions that might seem strange like: ]

Is it still too bright for you? [ OR ] Is the air too loud? Does it hurt? [ OR ] Is there anything I can get for you?

wildcard!

[ Got any other ideas or places you'd like Honir to make an appearance? Let me know! I'm down for all of the things, although tags will be on the slower side as per usual. ]

HONIR'S EXPEDITION

[asgardmods]

Please don't respond to this comment! We'll create a thread for the three that die and a separate thread for the one that survives with a description of what your character experiences so you can thread it out at will. :)

FOR GAIGE, DANTE, JIM, AND HELGA

[asgardmods]

[ This is a fool's errand and they know it. Honir knows it. The vocal protests they get before departing makes sure everyone knows it. But they have a goal, one singular purpose to drive them as far as they can go, no matter the consequences: find the end of this nightmare, wherever it may be.

Honir gives each of them an appreciative smile before they leave, simultaneously proud of them for taking this leap and knowing sadly that it's likely they won't all reach the bottom.

And then they're off. Five riders race ahead into the darkness of night, knowing a threat lies ahead of them as they seek answers behind them. After Settlement Two has faded from sight along with any open source of light, a glittering cloud of black and rouge dust casts out to either side of Honir and cascades back on each of you. It doesn't actually touch your skin, instead suspending midair in a faintly shimmering barrier around you and your horse. Suddenly, you can see the area around you with darkvision through the curtain of dust, but as you look down at your hands and your steed, you'll find them cast in a cloudy shadow beneath it.

A seemingly thin veil of protection by many interpretations, but it keeps them silent and apparently hidden over hard earth and through grassy fields for the next several hours. Even riding at as quickly as possible, it takes them some time to reach the next signs of human presence. Only a handful of houses, already broken and shattered beyond anything salvageable by some great, passing force. They ride past more of the same without stopping for hours longer before something remarkable begins to come into view.

It's a city. A rather large one. Not as big as Asgard by any means, but in comparison to the small settlements you've passed so far, this is sophisticated. Developed. Or it was - now, it's in ruins. From this distance, you can make out the unmistakable outlines of buildings burnt and violence wrought. While no visible flames remain, smoke rises in pale columns against the darkened sky.

Honir leads them slowly down a paved road into the city. The horses' hooves make no sound on the solid ground as they pass through protective (decimated) walls and the hollow shells of empty houses. Despite blood stains and scorch marks on every available surface, there are no bodies left behind by the carnage. At least, not until the riders reach what might've been the center of this lost city to be greeted by a bloody, macabre mark of what passed through here.



Severed body parts are arranged in a neat, intricate design across the ground. Following their agreement to keep moving no matter what, Honir stares in dismay but otherwise keeps moving around the display to get past it - only to be blindsided as the utter silence is broken by the wailing shriek of a wight running straight past the symbol in their direction. While the god's magic prevents their passage from making sound, the horses' terrified whinnies break through loud and clear, summoning a wave of undead that separates Honir and Helga from the rest of the pack as they barrel in their direction and are forced to flee.

The remaining horses thrash in fear as well, flailing and bucking their riders from their backs. More wights begin to rush towards them as well as the enchantment on them is broken, revealing their forms as they dart off through the city. As you look down at yourself, you'll see the glittering barrier remains faintly around you, granting you a slim chance of escape while the frenzied horde thins out and leaves restless sentinels behind.

You are alone, now. You are far from any of your allies. And you don't know how many undead are hidden throughout this abandoned city. Your only option is to try to stay stealthy, stay quiet, and hope you can find a way out before they find you. ]

[OOC NOTE: This is where the scouting party is split apart, leaving Gaige, Dante, and Jim behind in hostile territory. Honir's protective spell will make sure they can see each other and their surroundings, as well as making their footsteps silent while any other noise they make breaks through the barrier. The illusion is broken by making any loud or sudden movements, thus shaking the dust loose and ending the spell. For the purposes of this event, it is assumed your characters do not escape the city alive and will be killed at some point. Please feel free to play around with this! Perhaps they make an unfortunate amount of noise and get swarmed; perhaps they think they've found the city limits only to be met with a wall of undead waiting for them; perhaps they stick together to fight back only to be overwhelmed by the wights' numbers. All options are good options! Please let us know if you have any questions or need any help! ]

FOR HELGA

[asgardmods]

[ It all happens so quickly. The illusion is broken on them both as the horses reel back in terror from the flood of undead that rush toward them unexpectedly. They have no choice but to flee, cut off as they are from the other riders. The horses barely skirt past rotting, clawing hands as they desperately run the other way.

Honir turns almost as though to go back for them, eyes wide with upset as they're lost from sight behind the swarm of wights. But this was a trap of some sort. The Army of the Dead has already passed through here, which means - somehow - they're behind them. The Army has already gotten between them and Settlement Two, and to turn back now would undoubtedly end with all four of them dead for no reason.

They continue on. Miserable but determined, they ride past the city and deeper into the night. Honir gives Helga a glance, a silent 'okay?' to confirm she's here with him before looking ahead of them and crying out with a sharp, "Hyah!"

The horses pick up speed in a way that doesn't quite make sense. All eight feet stomp rhythmically against the ground as they have this entire time, but the scenery around them seems to pass in a disproportionate blur as though they're moving through physical space faster than they logically should be. Honir doesn't seem to acknowledge the change in any other way, charging forward with a laser focus. They pass more sporadic clusters of devastated houses. They go hours without seeing anything at all. They skirt past more wights. And more often than is worth dwelling on, the only times they slow from their impossible speed, they find more symbols.

But they continue on. And on. And on. Through more of the same, on and on for what feels like days, even though the dreary, darkened sky never once changes color. They keep going without stopping for anything, not food or water or rest. It doesn't make sense, and might even begin to feel dizzying or nauseating by the time they finally come to a stop as they find what they were looking for.

The end of the road. While the air is still freezing cold and the sky is still dark as though there is no sun above it as it has been for the entirety of this journey, the presence of winter here is… different. Instead of passing through as a storm, it's like it exploded outwards, casting snow and sleet in a wide radius.

At the outer rim of its influence, where the first glimpses of sunlight begin to break through the enchantment of the storm, there is a single tree bearing the same macabre symbol pinned to its trunk. Severed limbs arranged in a seven-pointed spiral, with the dead body of a child impaled at the center of it. Honir dismounts from his horse for the first time since they set out from Settlement Two, his movements slow and his eyes entranced by the grim sight before them. When a few moments have passed, when they're close enough to feel it on their skin as it shatters the silence around them, the child screams.

A second later, it bursts into flame with a swift wave of Honir's hand.

A second after that, Honir sinks to the ground, weary and exhausted as he watches the symbol shriek and burn. This is it, whatever it is. The end of the nightmare, knowing full well they have to ride right back into it. For now, they stop in the dark and the cold, the silence only broken by the nearby flickering of flames and Honir's hushed: ]

Oh, Mother...



[OOC NOTE: This concludes this part of the scouting mission! Congratulations(?) on surviving to the end, Helga. They will eventually ride back to Settlement One at a similarly irrational speed, arriving just in time to catch the tail end of the combat against the White Walkers. Please let us know if you have any questions! ]

Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones | cw: blood, gore, violence, death

[dorzalta]

I. High in the halls of the kings who are gone // preparation
"This reminds me of the Red Waste." The sun isn't kind, nor is the air with its searing bite of heat.

This is why it comes as a relief when they reach their first stopping point. It's not where she intends to remain; nevertheless, knowing some of their allies will linger for those who call this place home surely must set frayed nerves at ease.

Whether it's in the moments remaining in this place, or venturing on to the next stopping point, it won't be difficult for her to strike up a conversation about her time in Essos with you.

"I could do without the reminder. My dragons only just hatched when we'd gotten lost."


II. Jenny would dance with her ghosts // bloodshed
( a. ) The swarm of wights is nothing like she imagined, being on the ground. She doesn't charge ahead like the others, knowing full well it would be death to do so.

Which is why she sees what she sees, and only by chance: a line of them. She recalls how they stood out whilst on Drogon's back. The Night King's generals, were they?

Soon, there's no time to focus on them, for a cluster of wights charge her. Are there — no, those are children. She knows to swing, but it becomes clear when even more come that she may need some help...

( b. ) Reappearing in a new place is jarring. She stumbles backwards, falling onto her arse hard enough for it to seem as if her teeth rattle in her head. The dragonglass blade she'd held in hand tumbles a few feet away. So many fallen and rising again... Those unnatural blue eyes turned toward her, limbs scrambling, some sort of guttural growl as they charged after her fast enough to have her backpedaling.

Her hair's long since fallen out of its braids, and she's covered in scratches, cuts, and blood — none of which she notices.

"He's here."


III. The ones she had lost // killing blow
— And then he shatters. It's by sheer luck and the rage coursing through her blood like fire. It's the chanted names of all the fallen, drumming in her mind like a wild song as she handles Widow's Wail and swings with all her might, just as ser Jaime taught her. Swing hard, like you mean to kill me.

She swings harder, for Viserion. For Jon... Even for Jaime.

And then she stumbles forward a few steps, into the spot where the Night King stood. The skies clear, from dark and violent, and it's almost too much brightness as she looks away from the sun and to you.

"It's over?" That doesn't quite register in her mind, numb as she is.


IV. And the ones she had found // aftermath
( a. ) She expected to see a pile of corpses around them. Not of the dead — his dead — but their dead. Fallen Wanderers and Asgard's natives. Faces she's come to know, faces she's seen in passing.

But there's none. Only scattered weapons on the ground and rotting corpses. Jaime's sword is in her hand as she makes her way to where she'd seen Jon fall. There's no sign of him, only... a smear of blood. Perhaps she imagined Jon dying, and he managed to limp his way back to the others. This isn't the spot. It can't be.

"Where did their bodies go?" Her own voice sounds fuzzy and dead to her ears. Like someone's shoved her head beneath water and is talking above. Shock, maybe.

( b. ) She spots his cloak back at the caravan, left behind in the midst of all the chaos. It stands out like a sore thumb: one of the few things that's other in a realm so foreign to them. Whoever stands in her way gets jostled as she rushes past.

Widow's Wail clatters to the ground beside her as she sinks to her knees. No, he can't be gone. The fabric is covered in a light dusting of snow, easily brushed aside as she lifts it and stares at the furs.

He wouldn't leave this behind. He wouldn't leave her behind. Features twist: nose scrunching, lips twisting. When black and brown blend together, and she can no longer see each hair, she lets out a shuddering breath and buries her face into the collar. It fails to muffle the eventual sound of her crying as she hugs the cold fabric against her.

Someone may need to fetch Dany. She's far too preoccupied to notice when their group is readying for return back to Asgard.


V. And the ones who had loved her the most // return
( a. ) The return passes in a blur. Her arms are heavy with a sword and cloak carefully handled. Her eyes are distant, red after any moments where she's able to stop and think for a short spell (a time where, if she's alone, she cries). Otherwise she continues to walk, feet moving of their own accord as she blindly follows those in front of her. There's far too many others in need of a rest for her to take a seat or a horse.

So she walks, and she walks, and she walks. And she never initiates talk — though you may catch her eye, might even hold her stare. This isn't the angry Dragon Queen, or even Daenerys. This is something much sadder.

( b. ) The city's weather is much more welcoming, as are its people. There are cries of happiness, of sadness, even some of upset. Each sound bleeds into the next, until it becomes a buzzing in her ears. Annoying, maybe, if she had enough mind about her to pay it much notice.

"They're not here." Not the people she's fixated on since the battle ended.

There's others to look for. The ones who remained behind. She wonders where Naminé, Eleven, and Alice are and thinks to go look for them for only a passing moment before she turns away.

There's too many faces she doesn't recognize. Too many that aren't the faces she hopes to see.


[ ooc: will match prose vs brackets! also feel free to poke if you'd like to write out a scene not listed above C: ]

III

[sanityinruins]

"It would appear so."

Ye Zun's voice was a sharp rasp, his words spoken through teeth stained with blood, some of which was smeared on his face, though most came because of an earlier blow. In one hand he still held the dragonglass sword he was given, the edge showing it was near the limits of usefulness. He dips for a moment to pick up the delicate hairpin he had thrown earlier - a distraction almost as fine as the fireball - and slid it into his sleeve to deal with later.

Bending start him to cough again, fresh blood appearing on his lips, but he ignored it as he reached over to steady her stumbling in the sudden light.

"Breathe," he said. "You did it."

IIII

[momsboy]

To say that Peter is pissed off would be an understatement. He's bleeding from several places, the worst of his injuries courtesy of wight Ivar, and he's taken his helmet off because it made it harder to breathe after a resurrected Gaige broke a few of his ribs with a blow to his side. He's exhausted and the only reason he's still upright is sheer anger and pure spite.

Sandy, his familiar, is nowhere to be seen and that's another telling about how much damage she and Peter have taken. And yet there he is, cutting corpses left and right to try to get closer to the Knight King now that the other White Walkers had been dealt with. He lost count of those who had fallen, he tries not to focus on that even if Jon's death is impossible to miss. But fighting it's something Peter's know how to do all his life and he's not about to stop now only because of something trivial like suffering from blood loss.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar shade of green and a sharp blade cutting undead as Gamora does her own fighting. It makes Peter grin despite the dire situation, there's always been something really beautiful in the lethal way his girlfriend fights. There are others around them, equally hurt and still fighting, and he recognizes most of them as well. His scythe cuts through another group of wights, they seem to come in endless waves now that they're closer to the Night King, and among them, there's a flash of familiar silver-white hair.

Daenerys.

What happens after that is a bit of a blur. Peter knows that he uses the last grenades he got from Gaige to break a big group of wights, knows that there are pained sounds and growls filling the air but for the life of him, he can't tell who is making what sounds, if the humans or the zombies. He's trying to hold three of them back when they suddenly drop dead (again) and the battle ends. Blinking, both in confusion and dizziness, he turns to looks at Daenerys and allows himself to slide to the floor, too tired to keep himself upright anymore.

"I think we win this time?"

2a CW for slaughtering murderous undead children, cause yep.... yep.

[mindseer]

Oh look, someone decided to turn human grublings into canon fodder. That's nice of them.

[It was kind of hard to tell whether or not the white eyed girl who lunged in to slash with a sword cane at one of the creatures, taking a position at Dany's back, was being serious or facetious when she said it. She certainly didn't seem at all put out by killing a youngling that was undead. If anything, she was as blase and snarky as ever, only a hint of contempt in her voice.

Then again... she'd killed plenty of trolls their age back home in the culling games of her world, so killing younglings probably wasn't nearly as big a deal for her.]

Can't smell any of those big fish near us, just so you know. I'll meet up with John so we can start hunting... just... as soon... as we're done here!

[Grunt. Seriously, these things were tough for children.]

return wildcard

[353]

[ It's the day after the caravan's return when Mike wakes up in the same white room in the castle he first arrived in. For a moment he thinks he's in the afterlife until he's met with the familiar face of Frigg. It becomes clear to him he's been resurrected and the Goddess isn't particularly happy about it...

And neither is Mike, though not because he isn't grateful for being brought back. Mostly he just feels embarrassed, like he failed everyone by dying. He thought he was stronger but he was obviously weak all along, otherwise he would have survived.

Upset by his failure, he wants his mom but he knows she isn't here. The closest person he has to a mother is Dany - was she okay after the battle? He has no idea what even happened after he died. He figures they must have won, otherwise the city would be full of monsters right now...

He knows he should go see El but he's not quite ready when he's feeling so emotional. Instead, he uses his device to call Dany. ]

I don't know why they brought me back. [ The tone of his voice suggests he doesn't think he deserves his resurrection. ]

for jaime

[dorzalta]

A second wave comes at their initial resting point. Doesn't matter how much time the gods tell them they have — it's not enough. It will never be enough to properly prepare for the dead... neither here, nor in Westeros. How could they prepare for something which charges with a tireless rage? The chaos of their swarming is no less violent than the first time, and despite knowing to stick to the rear, she's still dragged into the fight sooner than she anticipates.

Clearer still is that the Westerosi are being targeted far more heavily than the other Wanderers. This sort of mayhem makes it impossible to keep track of her allies, not if she wishes to keep her head intact. So she leaves the others be and, with Ye Zun, carves their own path as best they can. Even so, there comes a point where the Night King's appearance demands attention — even surrounded by wights as she is. It's like a silent anticipation. A coldness which transcends that of the storm, seeping deep into bone. The others are warring with the generals, last she saw.

Soon as she catches sight of him, he disappears again... and on and on the slashing goes. Not for the first time during the storm, she's cut and bruised from a blow. The leather ser Jaime insisted on goes only so far, but it does much more than anything else she'd have chosen, while still allowing her precious movement.

Such a shame that she's unaware that the Night King's approaching....


[ ooc: switch to brackets if you prefer that, i'm easy ]

I

[ragnarsson]

"Red Waste would be an appropriate name for this place. I have never been anywhere this hot before in my life," Ivar complains, shading his eyes against the burning sun. He's one of those fortunate to have a horse, for Ivar couldn't keep up otherwise. "My brother Bjorn is the explorer in our family. He told me of a place covered in nothing but burning sands where men traveled on strange beasts that were like both horses and goats."

He takes off his vest, folding it, and then stuffing it under the back of his saddle. At least it will provide something of a cushion while they continue traveling. "You know, back home we would have called any woman with dragons by her side a witch. Were you able to find aid in such a place?"

lalli hotakainen (honir), top-level dump

[skittering]

❰ so i'm not doing an open starter since the plans i've already got are pretty intensive, but i'll be tagging out into others' top-levels and if you want some lalli just hit me up and i can fling him at yours! ❱

20th, for emil & klaus.

[skittering]

❰ they've been fighting for hours now - at least that's how it feels. to their credit, they've done spectacularly so far (by lalli's standards, but those are fairly high in the first place). emil's fireballs are impressive entirely on their own, but watching one burn through waves of the undead like tissue paper, well. lalli can't fathom ever being more proud of his friend than he is in these moments. honestly, emil is doing the majority of the work, with lalli focusing more on dodging this way and that to keep the wights off of the swede while he works.

klaus, too, seems to have taken up the same general task. carefully minding the fireball, stabbing or tk-ing whichever rogue wights manage to slip through. having him here is comforting, if anything can be right now. three sets of eyes are much better than two, and two people protecting emil (whether or not emil or even klaus quite realize it) are much better than one.

now, three wights find a gap and charge in all at once. it's fine, he can take three wights, he just needs a bit more space to do it. so he darts out away from emil - not far, just two or three yards - for what might be the first time since this fight began. one wight is stabbed through the skull, then the next, and he's closing in on the third wight with what seems like no real incident.

little does he realize the mistake he's made. ❱

Peter Quill | Open | CW: undead, injuries, death, lots of disregard for personal space...

[momsboy]

❧ I SEE FIRE - October 19: preparation.

After spending the last hours of the day helping build up barricades and making sure the trenches are deep enough, you'd expect Peter to sit down for five minutes to rest. No such luck.

"Have you not seen horror movies, guys? Splitting up, really? Next time run upstairs instead of out of the house when a murderer is chasing you."

Looks like someone's bitter because of a few of his friends are leaving in watch looks like a stupid suicide mission with Honir. Peter's still trying to talk sense into them, not like they're listening, so he's also here to say goodbye. He has a bad feeling about this, so he's crossing his arms over his chest and looking positively pouty and annoyed.

❧ LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR - October 20: Settlement 2

A) It's as bad as he imagined and maybe that says a lot about Peter's life. The only thing he didn't expect is the annoying snowstorm and he's glad that he asked one of the locals to craft him a copy of his helmet. It doesn't retract or filter the air but it keeps his face and eyes protected.

He adjusts his grip on the scythe with a valyrian steel blade that the Gods provided for him as Sandy stands close to his legs. She's in the form of a caracal, covered in leather armor adjusted to her size to give her a little bit more protection. Peter doesn't have to look at her to tell the familiar what to do before charging, the telepathic link does that for them. As he fights, she keeps an extra eye on Gamora, Mike, Terezi, Klaus, Karkat, and some others. The network isn't accessible but the music player in it still works, because it is just projecting data from a single source. So anybody near Peter will hear a catchy song playing while he starts slaying wights left and right, trying to get closer to one of the White Walkers.

When not specifically keeping an eye on their friends, Sandy is tackling corpses a generally messing the wight's groups as much as a creature of her size can. It's all a distraction and it doesn't last long before there's a perfectly aimed grenade hitting one of the wights in the chest before it explodes in a rain of dragonglass shards, nails, and shrapnel. Peter needs to be careful when he throws Gaige's grenades, lest he hits a living person, so he focuses on the larges groups or corpses approaching them. It's almost fun.

A wight swings his sword a bit too close for comfort and Peter blocks it with the scythe. The angle makes it impossible to maneuver such a big weapon at this distance and there's an skeletal face growling a few inches from his own. Peter rears his head back...only to snap it forward a second later, hearing a satisfying crunch when a skull meets the metal of his helmet and the wight falls back. He stabs the corpse with the blade at the end of his scythe for good measure and then moves on.


B) The numbers are not on their favor so it shouldn't be as surprising as it is that everything goes south once the Knight King makes himself known. Peter is staring at him when something - because a creature with a head half caved in by an axe is not what he would call a 'someone' anymore- grabs his ankle.

A single, unnatural blue eye looks up at him as the creature digs bony fingers into the open cut at Peter's thigh. Burning agony shots up through his leg as he's pulled down, cursing when the scythe slides off of his blood-smeared fingers.

"Shit..! You goddamn thriller wannabe..." The weapon is only a few feet away on the ground but Peter is trying to stop the corpse attacking him from tearing open his neck, so his hands are rather busy. Any immediate help would be really welcome, especially because it looks like they need to start retreating.

❧ NOW YOU'RE JUST SOMEBODY THAT USED TO KNOW - October 20: Settlement 1

If they survive all this, Peter decides as he uses the blade at the end of the scythe to stab one of the corpses that came at him from behind, he's got a question to ask Gamora. It's a big 'if' but it's also a big question. He pulls the scythe out of the wight and then turns, using the momentum to cut the zombie in half with the blade.

They seem to be coming from everywhere and the snow and wind only make them harder to spot. Sandy hisses loudly to his left, her hearing and sense of smell much better than his own, aiding Peter in battle. He swings his scythe again, lifting it to deliver another blow when the face that appears in front of him is a familiar one. And undead, familiar one. Green eyes widening, Peter freezes on the spot.

❧ NIGHT KING BATTLE SHENANIGANS

Happens this way - Feel free to threadjack Peter.

❧ TAKE ME TO CHURCH - Return

A)Caravan. During the first day traveling back to Asgard, Peter doesn't have the energy, not the will to conjure back his familiar or even talk to people beyond Gamora. Him being so quiet is probably the first sign that something's really amiss, but having to kill your friends because they turned into zombies has this effect on someone.

His whole body aches, he's still feeling dizzy and his chest hurts every time he takes a deep breath. Or moves in any way. Or generally tries to stand straight. Gaige packs a really mean punch and broken ribs are a fucking pain in the ass. There are also black circles under Peter's eyes and dark bruises around his neck as if someone really strong had tried to strangle him. He probably should be resting in one of the caravans but he's too anxious even to take a break, checking to see how is everyone else and if he can help in some way.

That's it, until he trips and falls on his face. Usually standing up wouldn't be difficult but the cut in his thigh and the stab in his shoulder are hurting something fierce. Little black spots dance in Peter's vision and he lets out a low moan. "...shit..."

B) Asgard - Peter's ship. Peter is not feeling the most sociable after the battle and the regret of having killed people he considered friends, as well as the general dislike for being in Tyr house right now, prompted him to hide in the Benatar. He's in his bedroom, trying to nurse his injuries and forget about the world for a bit, curled in the bed in a pair of sweats and a loose shirt as to not make his injuries worse.

Sandy, now finally present and in the shape of a fluffy fox, sneaked under Peter's arm and curled next to him, her furry nose pressed to his neck as if she's some sort of big teddy bear. It's comforting and Peter's too tired to really care, there's a kind of cold in his chest that isn't going away no matter what he does. He never handled losing people he cares about well and today is no exception.

October 20: A

[demonicbeauty]

Everyone underestimated Ariadne, and that was often her greatest strength. The other was the fact that people rarely had the good sense to look up in the middle of battle. As bald and as spread out as the pathetic trees were, they were enough for Ariadne to shimmy straight up, the second the sounds of battle reached her ears.

She was fully aware of the fact that her little sling was a pathetic weapon, compared to the swords and axes and explode-y things the others were wielding. But it wasn't in Ariadne's nature to deliver the killing blow. No, she was more attuned to the art of preventing killing blows. Specifically those aimed at her friends.

And if anyone in this strange new world was a friend, it was Peter.

There were stories that ancient Alastrians used to march into battle to song. So something about his music was strangely comforting. And she always found herself turning back to him, between fierce throws with her sling.

She saw him stabbing at one of the dead creatures. And she saw another one lurking behind him.

No need to think. She had the trajectory she needed instantly and threw herself down from the branch, cracking it, and cracking the skull of the monster as she landed with one foot right on the base of its neck.

Ariadne didn't like to kill. But that didn't mean she couldn't.

Héctor | Coco

[vagabone]

more life from the dead

[It's probably not the wisest decision he's made, presenting himself to those returning after they spent the better part of the last week fighting undead things such as himself, though he's not quite sure what the Walkers actually look like. But his time to shine has come and he's willing! The gods of Asgard gave him one thing, and he's going to use it!!

He's right there waiting when the caravan comes in, trying to work out who might be the worst off. And quickly giving up, what does he know about doctoring?. Walk right up, shamelessly, to whoever doesn't seem to be busy at the moment, and ask.]

Do you know who's worst off? I think I can help keep them going, at least.

work yourself to death

[After the fourth healing has been done, he's about done too. He's a pitiful sight at his best, limping along like he's puppeting his shoddy collection of bones through sheer willpower, never moving in any natural way. Now he doesn't seem to have the strength to get back onto his feet, kneeling on the floor not far off from his latest 'patient'. No shimmering, though. No golden glow. He doesn't think he's gone too far. How is he supposed to tell...?

He should stop. Four people who were dying will probably live now, he's done some real good today. It's been a long, long time since he's felt good for anything, he'd be thrilled, but he doesn't have the energy for it. But he was told five could be saved in a day. If the gods themselves are wrong and this does him in, what is one shabby faded spirit in comparison to five living people? (They would have been brought back, of course, but then wouldn't he be too?) He's surprised he's lasted this long, honestly. Might as well make it worth something.

Whoever's nearest is getting recruited into his idiotic plans whether they like it or not.]

Hey. Hey. [He sounds exhausted, of course.] I think I can save one more if you help me.

work yourself to death

[beefaroni]

[hey buddy. Asterios looks down at Hector, then up, down, up, down. Inspecting him silently, trying to make a decision.]

... Can you?

[Not accusatory, and as gentle as someone like him can make it - Asterios would never claim to be smart, but... dude. You look exhausted. You sure you're up for one more?]

Ye Zun | Guardian | will match format

[sanityinruins]

18th
[ It was not unlike those first steps onto the lands of Haixing when he was a child. Ye Zun pulled the hood of his robes up to cover his face more, hunching under the white silks and cotton in an attempt to keep the sun off his skin. He was a creature of the deep dark and while the heat was welcoming, the sunlight was not. Irritably he shook his sleeves down his hands and huffs. ]

Daylight. Why must it be always daylight?

[ But he uncoils at night, waking from his doze to prowl around the caravan, checking the weapons and others who might still be awake. And for someone dressed in blinding white, he still was surprisingly hard to spot until he was right there, standing in front of a person. ]

So, are you ready?

19th
[ Let others build on the defenses and set up their boundaries, Ye Zun was busy marking a line and stockpiling about half the arrows and some of the grenades from their weapons cart. The rest he advised that they took back to the first place, knowing that once they run out of arrows on the line, it would be a waste to let any opposing force reach the cart. Then he made sure he had a sword of dragonglass and one of the dragon's teeth - he had edged it with silver and dragonglass as well and while it wasn't as long as the sword, it still felt far more sturdier than the sword.

Next he added small clay pots next to each bundle of arrows, the clay almost cherry red at the bottom. If opened, they reveals small embers, useful for lighting arrows especially once they were dipped in the small pots of tar nearby. They may not have had enough pieces for dragonglass arrowheads, but tarred arrows burned through nearly everything. Mere ice and snow could not put it out easily.

That done, he headed among the others and stopped everyone he came across. ]

Are you a capable archer?


20th
Settlement Two
[ The night did not bother him. The snow and wind did. Ye Zun hissed under his breath as he rubbed his hand against a warm clay pot, watching the swirling winds and snow. He didn't pay any heed of the gods or their words, instead he set the pot down and unwrapped his bow from its protective covering and slid the string into place. He plucked one of the arrows and dipped it into the pot, letting the tiny wick awaken the magical fire. ]

Don't try for a clear shot. [ Some of these people were warriors and knew how this worked, but others weren't as comfortable with war in any form. ] Aim as high and as far as you can. This wind will have the arrows fall among our own if we try anything fancy unless it's at close range. Once the lines break, grab your melee weapons and join the rest. We're only here to provide some staggering in their lines.

[ He raised his bow and set his arrow, aiming high and then higher still. A moment pause as the wind whips around and then Heimdall's voice called out. Ye Zun grinned and released, lighting more arrows to follow the first. ]


Settlement One
[ The arrows lasted slightly longer than he had dared to hope, but still they were useless once the hoard was upon them. His bow was quickly slung over his shoulder before he charged through the wrights, his movements flowing like the wind around them; over and under, body as well as weapons cutting into the lines. While he usually would have fallen back, he had some curiosity as to what was driving these zombies and needed to get a clear enough line to a leader. In the wind and snow, his white robes blended far easier, allowing him to slip around and head up, taking to the roofs with ease until he had one of those White Walkers in his sight. It was close, back turned to him, not that it matter as he dipped a little into it's mind.

It's only a sensation, a moment of foreign impulses and then the creature turned to look at him, eyes glowing, narrow slits. Ye Zun grinned in return, taking the last grenade, lighting it and tossing it towards the creature before sliding off and down. Rolling to his feet, he was quickly cornered by a sudden swarm of wrights. ]

What? Did I make your boss mad?

[ He misses his powers, the ability to pull and direct and blind, but he didn't let it stop him as he set sword spinning into the skull of one wright. The dragon tooth cleaved off an arm of another and he was spinning again, running up along a wall and flipping over before dashing into the melee. The White Walker had noticed him, but Ye Zun still had a piece of information. They were looking for someone. He had an idea who.

Daenerys. Wasn't she a queen in lands these creatures come from? It would make sense for her to be a target among them. What friend was he if he didn't give her some protection in this madness. A wright grabbed him and he hissed, his mouth stretched into an inhuman grin ans he stamped his foot down, grabbed the gripping arm tight and spun, his dragon's tooth, the edge lined with dragonglass and silver, neatly cut the offending head off. He bows in the direction of the White Walker and took to the roofs again in his search. ]


Return
[ He should have looked into getting a healer, but Ye Zun was not going to trust just anyone. As it was, riding had him coughing harshly in those familiar, tearing, deep coughs that made him almost fearing that he would regain his childhood aliment. But once they stopped, he was able to slide off his horse and move to a spot where he could sit and breathe for a few moments. And then he went through a normal healing routine, at least what was normal for him. Hitting spots on his body with thumb and fingers, digging deep into points and drawing his skin taunt.

After a moment, he finally spits up a large amount of black blood and then leans back panting. Then eyes cracking open, he frowns. ]

What?

18th

[mindseer]

Because glob hates us, probably. Or something like that.

[Mutter mutter. She had her head shielded with as broad brimmed a hat as she didn't feel silly, and was still wincing at the brightness of the light. Gah, it wasn't Alternia, but stiiiiill.]

Could they have the decency to murder us at night?

Asterios | Fate Grand Order

[beefaroni]

Preparation

Asterios stays away from the locals as best he can - he doesn't want to frighten them after all they've been through. So instead he sticks to building up the barricades and digging trenches, the latter with his bare hands. As usual, he's silent in his work, not even sparing a glance to anyone nearby that is passing along or glancing at him.

He continues his work long into the night, when everyone should be resting. But he can't sleep - so he keeps at it, not stopping for a moment. Every second counts, he figures.

He might yawn, occasionally, but he's fine. Really.

Bloodshed

Now the good news is that Asterios, as a Berserker, is very strong. With the dragonglass weapons in hand, he has no problem going through his enemies, roaring like a wild animal and taking down plenty at a time.

The bad is that Asterios, as a Berserker, easily loses his mind to bloodlust. That means he's going to start fighting people who are on his side, unable to tell foe from friend, even when it's time to retreat. Mere words can't get through to him (Although calling his name might help?) but fortunately Berserkers have weak defenses. A few good hits will take him down - if he doesn't take you down first.

"RAAAAAAUGH!"

Return

To be fair, Asterios does feel really guilty about what happened on the battlefield. Without his Master to reel him in, he's truly a monster. As such, he makes sure to stay wayyy in the back of the caravans, away from people. He's still very injured from the battle, but he's been refusing any and all medical attention.

As such, when they all return "home", he's going to find himself a nice dark corner to sit in to wallow in his guilt.

Prep Work

[mindseer]

[He wasn't the only one who was working long into the night. There was a bit of a difference with the white eyed, horned woman working beside him quietly, digging earthworks, making sure spikes were in place to murder some already dead stiffs when they came down here.

Nah, she was nocturnal. She was doing a heck of a lot better with this at night than she did at day. She grunted and glanced over, whispering when she saw him yawn.]

Need a purr beast nap before the strife?

vergil ; devil may cry ; mostly closed prompts

[cecidit]

[ Lalli has a great idea so I'm totally cramping that style. there'll be an open prompt coming later, probably! we'll see. ]

NERO + DANTE

[cecidit]

The swarms of creatures facing them are nothing. They look to be human, may have been once upon a time — now, though, they are strange, shambling nothings, and so dispatching them is a simple enough matter. It's easy enough to cut them down, prevent them from reaching the city. Even easier with Nero fighting alongside him, and Vergil has little doubt that if Dante were present, the three of them would be force enough to utterly decimate these numbers. If Dante were present.

It's irritating that he isn't, especially in the face of these these things, but it's fine; he and Nero are more than enough. It will simply be another point to hold over his brother, much like the dragon tooth he has stored away, waiting for a place of honor in the building he's claimed.

He doesn't think about his shadow, back in the city and utterly defenseless without his nightmares. He doesn't consider the devil with his mother's face, though it grates to know she's out here somewhere. He's honestly not sure where he'd prefer her to be, but some small part of him doesn't want it to be here, staring down the undead.

(He ignores that part of himself, refuses to look it in the face like so many other things.)

Instead, he focuses on the undead, on how they cannot be allowed to reach the city. He lives there, for the time being. His family is there. And what self-respecting demon does not stand firm to guard what is theirs? Pathetic creatures such as these are not permitted to lay a hand on it. They're not worthy.

The sword he'd commandeered from the city's stores sits strangely in his hand, a far cry from the familiar weight of the Yamato; still, if this is the only way to kill these creatures, then so be it.

Vergil casts a glance at Nero; irrationally, he finds himself wondering if his son is ready for such a challenge. It's unnecessary, of course; he'd seen the boy in action as both V and Urizen, and fought him as both Urizen and himself. Nero is strong and more than capable, and any concern he may feel would just be an insult to voice aloud.

So instead, he takes a deep breath, relishes in the drive for combat currently stirring in his veins. He may not have access to the abilities granted by his demonic heritage, but this at least remains. ]

Nero.

[ It's a sharp grin that sits on his face then, something edging close to feral. ]

Don't forget to keep a count.

Lan Wangji | The Untamed

[lan_wangji]

The Fight:

Fighting without his abilities is maddening. He knows that comparatively he is still a fast, skilled fighter. His sword is in constant movement as he spins and ducks and slashes his way through the dead but he is tethered to the ground in a way that makes him rely more on defense than he ever has, before.

It is also exceedingly obvious that a body without a proper Golden Core cannot absorb a blow in the way it ought to. He wonders, nearly constantly, how Wei Ying is holding up and tries to maneuver himself close whenever he spots the familiar black hair among the fight. This is not where their path together will end.

He squints into the cold, blustering wind and presses forward towards the snarling and clanging of steel.


Return Home

Death in this place does not make sense to him. There should be bodies of the fallen, of their comrades. One man he fought alongside simply vanished after a killing blow with no body to bury or mourn over. It seems particularly cruel.

The hanfu he had procured for the fight is soaked in blood and gore, only patches of light blue remaining as he turns back towards the city. He aches, his back not having been tested in such a way since the whipping and he hopes very much he can get away with not having to visit the healer. His own injuries are minor compared to many he has witnessed but still he finds himself longing for the small pool along the river. He must find Wei Ying.

return

[yiling_laozu]

He only means to rest against the rock for a moment, but his limbs are heavy and his body aches, and the chill of the rock leaches the worst of the pain from him so efficiently that Wei Wuxian stays there for quite some time.

Long enough to feel guilty for not helping others towards the city, long enough to watch as they shuffle past him, nearly all of them in as sorry a shape as he, and not a one of them Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian is just beginning to panic, tired enough that the fear he's kept at bay all day in favor of duty is creeping back in, and then, blessedly, he sees Lan Wangji's battered form. He's so covered in blood that the normally pristine man is nearly unrecognizable, but Wei Wuxian would know that rigidly set back anywhere.

"Lan Zhan!" he calls, pushing off the rock. "You kept me waiting long enough!"

[keybearing]

Departure:

[If there is room, Sora will sit in the back of the caravan. When he gets that feeling of being watched, his bright, wide blue eyes glance around, trying to spot movement in the trees of whoever -- or whatever? might be staring. Watching them. It creeps him out, as he asks and wonders:]

Is it just me or is someone or something watching?

[Or maybe he was just being silly? There were numerous people that were coming to help, after all. But Sora can't entirely shake it, exactly, as they proceed through the forest to the other side.

Then he cries out when they leave the shade of the trees, as his skin burns where he is exposed from not being entirely in the shade of the caravan. The breathing helps, though Sora isn't quite sure how that works. He's just grateful it does. Not that he isn't used to sunburn, living on the Islands back home and his penchant for naps on the beach and all, but even so.]

Preparation:

[Sora can't help but to fidget, to be restless. Mostly because he isn't used to all this time before a fight. It just kind of...happens, most of the time, back home. Which is why he offers to help out while they are at the area for the night or so. As best he can at least. And he might be uneasy about the scouting group leaving. Any of them. At least they weren't alone but....he still isn't sure they will manage much against an army. Even if this was only to scout ahead to see what was going on.]

Be careful.

Bloodshed:

[Sora has fought in many battles. This is not new. What is new is really putting himself in this situation without his usual abilities. Against an entire army of undead. He isn't alone, but with each one of his friends, their allies, that goes down, Sora can't help but to break a little more. Getting more and more desperate and furious and worked up as more and more of them are killed, as they are outnumbered all the more in spite of his attempts to protect everyone with his Mage Armor ability here. Not that this will do much against the sheer numbers. Let alone Sora's limits on using this too many times will exhaust him as well.

At one point near the end of it all he might just end up falling to his knees, watching with tear filled eyes as the battle rages on, as the Night King brings back their friends as part of his army. He shakes his head in denial, his weapon dropping in his hand to scrape against the ground as he watches his friends come back like that.]

No.....No!

Return:

[He's quiet, on the way back. Mostly because he isn't sure...what to say. What could be said? After such an experience? Sora has no idea. This was...different. From what he experienced back home. Especially overwhelming when he doesn't even yet recall rescuing Aqua, the events of the Graveyard or what came after, back home. He walks back in silence unless spoken to, more or less.

And when they make it back to Asgard, the first thing he does is to check in with the friends he had left here. To make sure they were alright. To catch up with them. Depending, he might just all but tackle them in a hug, or just ask how they are, depending on how close the two are. If he hugs them and updates them on what happened, he probably starts to break as he tells the story. Clumsily wiping at his tears with his gloves.]

Prep Time

[mindseer]

Always. Always gotta be careful.

[She said it in a low murmur. It was dark out, so she was more in her element. No need to shield her eyes right about now, after all. She could handle this. Advantages of being a nocturnal creature. White eyes glanced to regard him and she gave a quick nod.]

You got guys you going with when the crap hits the fan?

Tuuri Hotakainen || Stand Still Stay Silent

[skaldish]

Return
[ As soon as word gets around about the caravan's return, Tuuri, grabbing some relief supplies haphazardly and stuffing it into a rucksack, rushes as fast as she can to the main gates of the city. It's a somber sight to see the battle-weary and injured come into the city, but she manages to tune all of it out and scan the crowd with a single-minded focus - Finding her family and friends in the mass of humanity.

There's a sense of unease she can't seem to shake, but she's hoping it's just nerves and that it'll be relieved as soon as she spots someone. ]

[yiling_laozu]

"Don't worry, mèimei," Wei Wuxian calls when he sees an anxious young woman casting glances over her shoulder. She looks young to have been in battle, but then, likely so does he, and how many has he fought by now? "All the dead have fallen."

robb stark | asoiaf

[needsnoheadsman]

[getting on this closed starters wagon because I haven't got the brains to put together a whole top-level, lmk if you want one!]

for theon and vergil.

[needsnoheadsman]

[They did not meet an empty field.

Robb wishes they did. Living men he knows how to fight, how to kill, but what do you do when you're up against someone who is already dead, and knows nothing more than to kill? There's a story Old Nan told about this, she's told so many stories, but they all fly out of Robb's head the moment battle is joined. The dragonglass sword glints in the dim light as it cuts down a wight, and out of the corner of Robb's eye he takes note of an Other, watching them.

Then he ducks, before a wight (that had been a native he had shared a meal with on the way here, what was his name gods what was his name) tries to strike at his neck. Robb parries off the thrust and replies with a savage slash, and pushes down the sick feeling in his throat.]

We need to get to the Other. [he says this while nodding at the nearest Other.] If it dies, that's one less we need to worry about.

[Easier said than done with the horde of wights coming at them.]

If one of us dies instead—well. I trust we know what to do.

Naminé | Kingdom Hearts

[lethechained]

[ Return | After arrival in Asgard ]

A. [ There's a sparrow flitting amongst the injured. Spectral and translucent, it darts from place to place, stopping here and there to light on anything that's handy, chairs and tables and bedsides, to watch carefully in that twitchy way of a small bird. It stays only long enough to complete its work, the soft warmth of the healing magic that accompanies it doing what it can to ease wounds and aching bodies, before it's off again. It might be of use for anyone hanging around the area where injuries are being tended, regardless of whether their own are severe or not.

If one watches carefully, the source of the bird might eventually become apparent; as the magic fades, it flits back over to a young lady helping care for the wounded. She raises her head from her work, lifting a hand, and the bird lands on her finger only to almost instantly disappear, dispersing into specks of light. ]

B. [ Or perhaps it's the girl herself which approaches, medical supplies in hand. She's tired, it seems from the look of her eyes, with a haggard expression on her youthful features, but she offers a gentle sort of smile - the best she can manage - as she asks, ]

Do you need any help?

C. [ Wildcard! She'll be mostly helping out with the wounded, but if you'd like to play out any other type of interaction during the return, such as a reunion somewhere else, this would be the place for it. She's gotta go home sometime, after all. ]

B

[mindseer]

Ngh...

[The troll looked officially like crap. The ride back with her arm in a sling and a bandage covering one eye wasn't exactly the most reassuring, especially if someone checked her midriff and saw her wince, but she was alive and none of that damage she'd take was permanent. A nasty gash on her forehead when she'd taken a fall and a broken arm were the worst of it, but she was still kicking.

When she looked up, she offered Naminé a little thumb's up and managed a cheeky grin.]

Told'ya I'd come back, right?

[For all that many were pretty haggard getting back, she was emotionally almost entirely there. This... simply wasn't the first time she'd seen it bad.]

gaige the mechromancer | ota

[machinamentum]

i. we always knew it would end like this (last goodbyes)
It's not a surprise that she is going with Honir. Not least because she had promised to always stand by him, no matter what. But because it was unacceptable to her - to any vault hunter - to hear that something might result in certain death and not do it. It was never about the money, not really, not for any of them.

No, she was going, because that was what she did. Slinging her extra packs down to stop burdening the horse. Of Grenades, other weapons she thought might be useful. Hammer and the short dagger it was now from here on out, nothing that dared to risk their cover. Her shoulders rolling as the sword is stabbed into the ground for someone else to take when they came by.

But what might be strange, at least to anyone that had ever been in her general vicinity, was that it was not loud. It was not crying and shouting that it wasn't fair or that she was brave or scary. It was methodical. It was eager. Each movement, even now as she prepares, is methodical. As direct to this as she was in building destructive devices.

She is going to die, she knows that. But that is what she does. Vault Hunters don't live forever. They just live longer than anyone ever thought they should when they were always determined to do things like this. And there is, somehow even now, so far from home, comfort in that.

ii. i have the shiniest meat bicycle ( wight!gaige )
When Gaige comes back, she comes back wrong. She does not think or feel as herself, for all she sees as herself. This cold that has sunk all the way through her bones, she no longer knows what it feels like to be warm. Mindless, thoughtless, all there is, is cold. Her lips blue as her eyes, like her skin had frozen thin to her bones. Sightless and staring, torn apart and untouched in how she madly scrambles forward.

What she was, who she was, the friends she had made, no longer matter. Only to reap. Only to take. Only to rip and break and kill as she had been killed. It doesn't matter who it is, nothing matters anymore but the cold as she grabs onto what is closest, and goes to rip with her bare hands, limb from limb.

The Shiniest little Meat Cycle in the Land (CW for injury/putting a zombie out of its misery)

[mindseer]

She'd been busy working with John Snow and others. Near misses, near scrapes. Her nostrils had flared and she'd been helping to hunt down White Walkers over and over again, which had left her deep in the mess. But she'd been separated, now that John and Dany were off on their date with destiny. Separated wasn't good, and she was slinking her way back into the ranks of the others when she saw her.

Oh fuck, did she ever see her. She'd known that some hadn't come back from the scouting mission and it stung a tiny bit that the crazy lady with the bombs wasn't among the ... one who'd come back, but seeing her like this? that just sucked, so what did she do? She had to get the wight's attention somehow.

She started to sneak up, to try and get a little closer, just close enough without being seen by any of them. She wanted to make dead sure she didn't lose Gaige, and she had a trick that... oh, and maybe one of those grenades they'd lovingly prepared to go with the dragonglass.

What? She wanted her to see her handiwork at work first hand, ok?

Ivar "The Boneless" Ragnarsson | OTA

[ragnarsson]

I. October 19: Preparations

Ivar seems to be the only one who isn't grim and/or terrified out of their wits at the prospect of the upcoming battle. Instead, he's sitting down and supervising a group of natives on how to set up a perimeter made of trenches lined with sharpened stakes. It might not kill the wights or maim them as they would with ordinary fighters, but it will slow them down as they get close.

If he sees someone he knows, he will gesture them to come closer, clapping them heartily on the back. "Have courage, friends. If you die, perhaps you shall go to Valhalla or Folkvangr for fighting bravely!" Yes, because that is such a great consolation prize for being, y'know, dead and all. Really, there is something quite earnest about how much he seems not to fear death. One can almost take heart from it.

II. October 20: Settlement 2

When the fighting starts, the Viking is in his element. He's got a dragonglass spear as his main weapon with a few other daggers besides for closer combat. He's not stupid enough to charge right into the wights and be overwhelmed, instead letting them come to him. It's not long before they do, giving him plenty to kill.

He's in the midst of battle, reins wrapped around one hand, and spear in the other as he stabs away at either side of him, roaring like a madman with the thrill of war running through his veins. He's a Viking and he doesn't scare easily, even when surrounded by the undead.

If he's near you, expect to get some assistance. He stabs a wight coming up on the unprotected back of whoever he's near, rearing up his horse so that the front four legs can flail out and smash the skulls of some wights. When he slams back down onto the ground with a spine-wincing jar, he looks over. "Are you alright?"

III. October 20: Settlement 1

When he falls, Ivar has no fear in him, just an acceptance that borders on eeriness with how calm he is. Dying as he did now would certainly get him into Valhalla. The only thing he feels sorry for is the friends he leaves behind, some of whom seem very upset. The last word upon his lips is "Valhalla" and he closes his eyes knowing he'd died as he always wanted to.

But then he is brought back with the wave of the Night King's hand as a wight. Pale and with the stab wounds he had still oozing whatever now passes for blood in his system, he rises. Well, as much as a crippled wight is able to rise to begin with. Only one thing doesn't change. Those eyes, already brilliantly blue, stay their icy shade. But there's nothing left in them, no humanity. Just one thought in mind. Kill. And though he might not be as mobile as some wights, that in a sense just makes him all the more dangerous.

This becomes very apparent when the wights attack the first settlement. The problem with fighting all those undead is that quite a few people fail to look down. That costs them their lives when he stabs their foot or hamstrings them, bringing them down to his level so he can maul them.

Good luck facing off against him. Though he cannot walk, he will be a formidable opponent nonetheless.

Settlement 2

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne had been trained to fight. It was a critical skill for anyone living in the world she'd come to inherit. But the emphasis of her training had been less on combat and more on being incredibly sneaky. True, there was less honor in it. No one sang songs or drank toasts to the spy who smuggled information. But that spy was more likely to fight another day. And know exactly where the next battle would take place.

For the most part, Ariadne kept to the periphery of the battle. Being underestimated was her first, greatest advantage. Her second was that people rarely thought to look up.

There were only a few trees on the battle ground, but Ariadne made ample use of them. From up high, she was able to monitor the battle, strategically taking out wights with her sling. A rock might not kill (re-kill?) them, but a blow between the eyes was enough to knock most people off their feet. At least temporarily. Long enough for her companions to deal with them properly.

When needed, she launched herself from tree to tree. Unfortunately, without her talons, it was harder to grab on. And it was only a matter of time before her grip failed and she fell hard. The timing was doubly awful because of the wight straight in front of her. She rolled out of the way and heard a sickening thud behind her. When she looked back, she saw Ivar--bloodied and dirty--dispatching of the creature.

"Thanks," she said weakly, embarrassed by her fall. And her green skin, of course. But that was a given.