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You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!

PAY-Fire-and-explosion-at-Thorn-Tree-Farm-in-Yorkshire
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There is a loud pop and a flash and the massive form of the barbarian warrior, Cu Chulainn appears in the main bar of the Blue Moon Tavern accompanied by a mysterious figure. Cu Chulainn was massive of course, the man had muscle upon muscle and looked every bit the Celtic hero that he was, but the fella with him stood head and shoulders again above him. The creature, all clothed and helmeted in a hard carapace of red metallic armour that showed not a bit of flesh. It was eight feet tall and carried what would have been a small canon to anyone else but a space marine of this dimension, was his regular standard issue asskickery of choice. On his back, a huge pack that would have had Cu staggering with the weight of it, but this terrifying space marine held it easily. Inside- all manner of goodies, mostly high explosives, sophisticated claymores and others toys that would be used in their night of reconnoitre and sabotage.

Cú Chulainn

The Celt moves quickly to the window and very gently moves one of the drapes. A second, nothing more, and he turns back to the space marine- assigned to this task by the Captain of SpArk and makes a face at the massive warrior who stands motionless behind him. “There are feckin’ hundreds of them out there!” he exclaims before he sees the other two in the tavern. Suddenly a grin is planted across his face and a casual wave. “Don’t mind us eh” he says stepping up to the bar and dragging the space marine with him. “We are just here for a wee dram is all” but only a fool would believe that lame explanation. “Harry!” calls the bare chested barbarian Cu Chulainn. “A bottle of yer finest gutrot and two glasses” he says, nodding once to Nantz and giving a double take at the gorgeous woman that appears to have just arrived. His eyes gleam a little when he sees her- but for once, this was a night when he was not allowed to think with his prick- he and his comrade had work to do.

 

Cú Chulainn

The Celt would be a strange sight to the modern surrounds of the Blue Moon. 6’8″ and built like the proverbial brick shithouse, he was bare chested and wore just his plaid wrapped about his hips and a pair of boots. Strapped to his hip was a short bladed gladius, a sword favoured by the gladiators of Rome but chosen by the Celt for it’s superior keen double edge. Tucked in a wide leather belt that held his kilt like attire to his hips, the hilt of a dagger, worked in bronze and gold. Upon his left arm, a bronze torc, wrapped about his bicep to signify that he once again was the Captain of the Warriors of the Red Branch- a band of fighting brothers and sisters synonymous with the early iron Age Celts of Ireland. In his hand, a shield. Round, crafted from wood and leather, stiffened and hardened and gleaming white with lime and upon it in resplendent crimson, the figure of a hound howling to the moon. Upon his pale skin, was smeared the dark blue of wode, across face and belly, thigh and calf in great wide bands that would break up the pale flesh to the casual eye and create a rude kind of camoflage. Tattoos were etched darkly upon chest and formed a sleeve down his sword arm. Symbols of Celtic design that signified every battle, every victory, every one of his get including all bastards (that he knew of). The hulking great barbarian took the whiskey bottle that harry left for him, uncorked it and poured a glass for the marine. It remained untouched before that most disciplined of warrior. Cu Chulainn had no such compunction, raising the bottle to the soldier and stated “Give me glory or give me death!” before sucking on it like it was a mother’s tit.

Cú Chulainn

He moves once again to the window, sucking on that bottle as he goes and necking premium Irish whiskey like it was water. He jerks his head to the space marine. He follows and looks over the Celt’s not inconsiderable shoulder as he once more draws back the drapes. Both peek out at the motionless horde that surrounds the tavern with an army of stinking undead. They were all in varying states of decay. Some appeared not much better than skeletons festooned in rotted ribbons of flesh- long dead and should by rights be tucked up in their beds of dirt and enjoying eternal feckin’ rest. It was a travesty to see them like this. Others, were obviously more recently deceased. Seemingly whole but for the wounds of past battles that had opened them up as they became the unwilling but compelled army of that freak o’ nature- Giovanni. They appeared ordinary folk. Dressed in civilian clothes, men, women even feckin’ children. Now this made Cu Chulainn angry! There were even a few uniforms in there- the casualties of an army squad that had been transformed into those walking undead but the bites of the other zombies- whose only thought was upon feeding upon the living flesh of whoever was left inside the tavern. The slit of light that appeared at the window became their focus and they all suddenly became very alive indeed, shifting, staggering with movement. They did not attack which was something Cu supposes, but they would have to fight their way through to get to where they were going. “What yer reckon?” the Celt asks the space marine, who points to a potential way through should their attack be coordinated correctly. Down the block, along the streets south to the merchants quarter where they would lay their wee bits of mischief and fight their way back before it all went boom.

Cú Chulainn

The Celt nods his agreement and takes another slug from the bottle of whiskey before throwing it across the room where it smashes and spills the remains of it down the wall and onto the floor. It might have appeared disrespectful, but there was a ritualistic reason for it. He was giving tribute to the Gods of the Household and asking them in a weird kind of way, to look kindly upon this escapade as the Tavern would ultimately benefit from it. Cu himself whispers a quick prayer to the Gods of his world and asks particularly his father, Lugh Lamfhada- shining down upon them from the heavens in all his golden glory, to protect his hide. “You ready then Big Fella?” he directs to the Space Marine. The giant of a warrior, grips the firearm in both hands and gives only one single nod, and with that, Cu Chulainn draws his gladius and starts a slow beat upon his shield. The tempo increases as does the volume and he joins in with the bellowing and screaming as he whips himself up into a frenzy. “Hit me!” he orders the Space marine, who pauses for a moment, a little perplexed by these rituals and tilts his helmeted head nonplussed before his hand whips out from where it holds his firearm and backhands the Celt across the face. The blow takes the Celt off his feet and skidding across the floor. It has power behind it that the Celt had not expected, but getting unsteadily to his feet, bleeding from his lip and thinking a wee tap might have done the trick just as well, he says “Right then- lets go!” and kicks open the door of the tavern and goes screaming out to meet the horde with the space marine following. So much for a “wee little looksie” as he beats a path into the midst of the undead.

Bannoc

Some distance from the tavern, beyond the horde amassed around the building, there’s a battle raging in a narrow welter of crooked streets. Streets now running red with cold blood, piled high with mounds of the butchered undead. A fearsome figure fights alone, surrounded by swathes of ravenous, decomposing monsters! The figure is a monster himself. A man, tall and lean, wild and savage in countenance. A disfigured face, surrounded by a thick, greying beard, mapped with fading tattoos and a plethora of ugly scars that lend him a permanent sneer, spits with the same vitriol as the mindless horrors that would feast upon his leathery flesh! Grey eyes, as hard and cold as freshly quenched steel, issued a defiant challenge to the beasts that swarmed him. – Bannoc had portalled into Consequence on the back of a rumour he had been chasing, utterly unaware of the madness that awaited him in the streets. Had he known he would be venturing into the very jaws of Hell, he might have armoured himself and brought along a shield. No matter, he always has his trusty sword, Widowmaker, whose broad, pattern welded blade flashes back and forth as lightning, the runes and lines coursing its silvery surface like flashing veins carrying the sword’s life-force, urging it on as it hews the undead left, right and centre. Rotten blood showers every which way, splattering Bannoc in crimson warpaint. He feels no fear for the predicament he has stumbled into. On the contrary, an intrinsic elation overcame him from the start. Sacred battle-lust, an euphoria at the prospect of bloodletting, born from a perpetuity toiling in the cesspit of war. It courses his veins like fire, bellowing in his core, driving him through the thick of the fray like a demon possessed! It is moments like this that rip –

Bannoc

through his dark and stoic demeanour, when he feels more alive than ever! As he ducks, dips, stabs and slashes, enacting the famed martial dance of his kindred, he ROARS at the height of his lungs! In the native tongue of the Getae, an outlandish language of wolves and bears, not humans. As he loses himself in the thrill of battle, he forgets that his warcries mean nothing to the undead. Intimidating the enemy psychologically is a habit he has never truly abandoned. As more and more foes crumble before his might, their severed limbs and decapitated heads flying, he begins to realise that he needs to find a way out of the narrow streets. He’s a veritable warrior through and through, but he’s also a realist. There’s no way he can keep this exertion up indefinitely. Sweat is already cascading down his forehead. His muscles are just beginning to burn. At some point, he will be overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. He’s fortunate, lucky that the undead are incapable of fighting with the intelligence or precision of the truly sentient. Grabbing a overturned chair left out in the middle of the street, he uses it as a shield to hold back the snarling tide, pushing foes away so that he can retreat down the only clear alleyway. He needs to find a way out into open space. He’s sure he can hear the carnage of battle echoing nearby. Perhaps there are allies he can join with. Calculated thrusts of Widowmaker, now slaked with gore, dance in tandem with his improvised shield. He back-pedals, fighting furiously every inch of the way. Any ground the zombies gain, they shall pay for dearly!

Cú Chulainn

The sun shines bright upon the killing fields. Perhaps with the face of his ever loving father, Lugh Lanfhada shining down upon him, this quest may be blessed after all. He swings into action with no more than a few steps from the stairs leading up to the Blue Moon. He can hear the Space Marine coming behind him. Straight away, the zombies, as though programmed to move with something akin of a hive mind, all turn to the pair and sprint towards them. Whatever happened to the lumbering, shuffling, staggering kind of zombie? These bastichs were quick and as arms set to grab him, Cu Chulainn steps into a defensive stance, swings that short blade on the backhand and upwards, taking both the hands from the nearest creature that reaches for him, slavering, which sadly, appeared to be a woman in her 40’s who looked a little like Cu’s mother as he remembered her as a child. The Gladius slices easily through this wrists, again a surprise to the Celt as he was actually expecting something a little more substantial, something that would offer a little more resistance. It did not deter this woman however, and sans hands, the bitch kept coming. Cu knows then that one handed would be better, as the force required to do some damage was not actually as much as he had intially thought. He keeps the sword in his right and unsheathes the dagger from his belt with his left, protecting his defensive facet with his shield. He had to use that almost immediately as two more came at him from that direction and a shove with that protective disc sent them both staggering backwards and falling on the floor entangled. The female kept coming, even though all she had to grab the Celt with was two shattered stumps with thick black blood oozing from each. It was hardly blood. Cu didn’t know what to call it, but the resemblance didn’t stop the Ulsterman striking downwards with his sword and splitting the zombie’s skull as far as the bridge of her nose. This seemed to do the trick, and at that point, she drops to her knees like a quayside hooker and falls sideways. He yanks the blade from her skull as she goes down and with a twitch, finally stops moving. Cu Chullain calls behind his shoulder. “Thats done it! Ye’ve got to take ’em in the…” but he didn’t get any further than that as there was the ear splitting sound of whatever high tech weapon of light the space marine was using, discharging three times in succession and right on target, every time- three zombies had their heads destroyed in a matter of two seconds, exploded like they were melons dropped from a great height and they too hit the deck. A grunt from the space marine, but it was clear, he didn’t need any advice from a barbarian. Cu looks at his goo smeared blade before calling after the astarte “Oh yeah! Way to make a fella feel inadequate!” before he follows with the zombies that were pushed to the ground with his shield. Plants a dagger into the brain stem of one and takes the other’s skull completely with his sword as it lifts its head to get it’s bearings. Both stay down and whats more important- still. However, the space marine was coolly creating a swathe through the crowds of zombies- every discharge- a head shot. Every hit- a kill. “Oh feck you- now ye’re just showing off!” as he struggles with a guy that looks like a copy machine salesman, round belly, fat jowly neck, a bite mark clearly seen at his ragged throat, his larynx torn out and the flesh flapping as he moves. Why he was having trouble, he didn’t know. The guy seemed infinitely stronger in death than he probably was in life- His face came close to Cu’s face- pale, cloudy eyes- like a dead fish stared through him, but that mouth was all gnashing teeth and a zombie future if it torn through the skin. “Get down!” calls a monotone voice and Cu, struggles to hold him off, drops to one knee just as the copyman’s head explodes courtesy of the space marine and Cu Chulainn is showered in black zombie goo.

Bannoc

Bannoc thanks the father of Storms that this narrow alleyway he’s retreating down funnels the surging undead, forcing them to crash against him only two abreast. Two bodies press up against him, separated only by the chair which serves as a makeshift shield. The buffer between living and dead. The pair are caught between the straining chair-legs and pinned in place, Bannoc unleashes a scything blow down at the tallest, a gaunt, sallow faced woman with hair like wild fire. Putrid black ooze froths from her mouth as she clacks her terrible teeth in anticipation of the bite that shall sate her unquenchable desire for flesh. The unholy light glaring behind her milky eyes dissipates as Widowmaker’s keen edge bites through rotting flesh and carves into bone, splitting part of the brain. She falls still, but remains fixed in place. Frantically, Bannoc attempts to pull his sword back, but the weight of the hungry automatons behind the pinned pair, crush up against them. Battle-bitten hands slick with foul black gunge nearly slide from the ridged bone handle of Widowmaker! For a split second, shock screams in the pit of his stomach, like he had just missed a rung going up a ladder. By some miracle of fate, he manages to maintain his grip. But the weight smashing against him makes it harder and harder to wrench his weapon free. These bastards were surprisingly strong considering life no longer filled them. Come on, you lazy fuck, he chastises himself fiercely, you can do this! Man up. Find strength! – He is forced to stop back-pedalling and stand his ground. Anchoring himself, he gives one final almighty heave, ripping Widowmaker loose in a tumultuous shower of scathing black blood. By now, the weight of the unholy waves has grown too much. He releases the chair and leaps back, whirling in a heartbeat on his heel so that he can flee. He runs like the hounds of hell are behind him, sprinting as fast as his legs will ferry him! There’s no shame in running as long as long as you survive to battle another day. He doesn’t dare look back. The racket of his chair and the slaughtered redhead being crushed under hundreds of pounding feet echoes in his wake. He can hear the undead tide gnashing and moaning, snarling and spitting only a short stone’s throw behind him. His heart is pounding like a drum of war! Boom boom boom! It’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying, and he relishes every moment of it. He makes a turn into another alley, then another and another, desperately trying to lose the storm cloud hugging his heels. That’s when he spots his life line! A series of abandoned crates stacked up against the wall. He can use it to climb up and escape onto the rooftops! Yes! – Bereft of the time to pause and think this plan through, he jumps onto the nearest crate and rears his arm back, tossing Widowmaker up onto the roof with all the might he can muster! He swiftly follows the singing steels as it sails out of view, clambering onto the next crate and making a jump for the roof! That moment seems to trawl for an eternity…he falls through the air, hand grasping frenziedly for the tiles! …

And he latches on! His shoulders groan from the awkward landing, but his purchase is sound! Willing himself on, he manages to hoist himself up onto the roof. Hungry grasping fingers brush against his boot in the dying seconds of his climb, reminding him as he rolls onto the tiles, just how close he came to being dragged down into thejaws of Hell. They would have torn him to shreds. The horde crashes up against the crates, smashing them to pieces, uncertain of how to follow. It was a slender escape indeed… Bannoc takes a few seconds to regain his breath, staring up past the spires of nearby buildings. Given what he has just been faced with, the deep blue sky looks so beautiful. When his muscles no longer burn like there’s molten lava churning inside them, he climbs to his feet and sets off across the roofs, jumping from one to another. Until he comes to the edge of an old office building, some two stories high. Down below he witnesses two fighters, contending with a horde of their own, one wielding a short sword and shield with deadly purpose, the other sheathed in plates, blasting away with a piece of high tech weaponry. Allies!

 

Cú Chulainn

 

The street seemed to be filling with them. despite the Space Marine taking them out at a ratio of 5 to every 1 for The Hound. Where the feck were they all coming from? And whats more- who was controlling them? “We gotta move Big fella!” the Celt roars, using his shield to beat back four others who all attempt to reach over the protection and tear off his head, while he fight off another two, fearful to lunge and give the four a space to move but realising that this clever bugger was staying just out of reach of that deadly blade. This fecker was a tall, skinny athletic looking fella in a track suit and running shoes. Wires with ear buds attached hung from his shoulder, still playing some jangly bloody shitty house music- like that was going to make him run faster. Hadn’t worked for him obviously as the pale suit was covered in a multitude of bloody tears and bitemarks, like the poor sod had been feasted on by half a dozen of the walking dead. The guy still had the flush of life about him. Unlike the others, his flesh was still a relatively normal colour, certainly not afflicted with the pale grey of the interred deceased, some of whom still wore the filth of the grave about them, dirt, worms and insects crawling through their disheveled hair. No- this one had a bit o’ savvy left in him- Cu could see him testing him out, having a cognitive run through of possibilities. Feinting to his left and as Cu Chulainn reacts, dropping and coming at him from the right. The Celt only managed to step back and avoid it and the return hack aimed for the runner’s head, did nothing but open up a shallow gash down the front of his trunk. This was getting him nowhere. It was clear- as crowds of them were coming from side streets, that the sound of the Space Marines weapon- still firing in a regular stream and deadly accurate every time, was attracting more of them. “Have ye not got anything more feckin’ subtle?” he bellows to the Astarte fighter, and finally pushing the four to the ground and spinning on his heel immediately to sink his blade through shattering ribcage and spongey pink lung until it gets caught in the runner’s sternum. The exercise freak merely uses the blade to pull himself along it and closer to Cu, filthy nails rake down Cu Chulainn’s face, strips of living flesh come away in the zombies hands and Cu Chulainn cries out. Not so much from the pain, Gods he was used to that but there was no denying that it did sting a wee bit. No- blood poured from his brow and filled his eye socket with blood, sticking to his lashes and making it impossible to see from it. Blinking it away didn’t help, he’s need to wipe it, but how as the felled zombies started to stagger to their feet. The narrow streets of Consequence would aid him in this endeavour and he swings his blade with the jogger attached to it and smashes him against the wall- holding him there. The shield still attached to his left arm, he brings that heavy disc, made of steamed oak frame and hard boiled leather and slams it repeatedly into the head. The first cracks it like an egg, the second and the Celt would see the skull beneath relatively healthy flesh shatter into jigsaw pieces beneath it, the third and blood poured from nose and ears all the while the head cracked against the bricks like a Hurley ball. The fourth and finally- it shattered and burst like an overripe grape, spilling brain matter and red blood that was still warm dammit- leaving a splash upon the brickwork and the white shield of the Hound covered in blood. It was all he could do to plant a foot upon the zombie’s chest and wiggle his sword from the properly dead guy’s breastbone and finally it was released with a sickening crack. He spins to take on the four, but talking about sickening crack’s, the Celt looks up to see the space marine, having relinquished his primary weapon as too noisy, suddenly has produced a warhammer the like of which Cu Chulainn had never seen, and was playing an horrifying game of croquet with zombie heads as the ball and more zombies as the pegs. They were dropping like bowling pins and Cu Chulainn could see the astarte was making a way out, jerking his head down a side street and telling Cu to make a run for it.

 

Korven

Watching the hordes of undead – and the display of the Celtic Warrior and the Astartes-Pattern Space Marine, was a new face, or rather, new mask as he watched the streaks of gore, body parts and chunks of flesh, brain and bone being swung through the air. Besides the figure, who was donning a full black robe with a visible iron chest plate, gauntlets and upper arm plating, along with some rather hefty looking greaves, was a pile of corpses, smoking and burning. Luckily, he was pretty hard to notice due to the amount of chaos going on below – but watching the Astartes Pattern warrior and the Celtic legend struggle with such… well, to say it amused the figure was an understatement. It made him laugh at times, as a zombie tried to crawl onto the roof only to be burnt to a crisp upon trying to touch the man, a dark runic pattern visible across the plating and mask he wore. “Seems I should provide some assistance.” A quiet mutter, and the runes on the figure’s left arm sparked and came to life, creating a long line of flames across the street, which quickly grew and consumed plenty of the walking dead in their place, giving Chulainn and the Astartes Pattern warrior an easier time dealing with the walking dead – namely since plenty of them were suddenly burnt on the spot, culling their numbers a decent bit, but no doubt it wouldn’t be long before they were reinforced again. As if to try and get his attention, the figure waved to Chulainn, and then moved onto the next roof top, no doubt looking for another vantage point to provide more fire from above. A slow burn to cull their numbers, but a help none-the-less.

 

Kida Le Morte

 

From the tavern, teddies would pour out, mounds of them rolling over the horde of undead as the ones on the bottoms explode. Clearing a path for any. Smoke and burning teddies begin to fill the area. Ogres follow behind the flaming bears as they swing cleaners and axes, cutting down any who get on the pathway, then spreading out from there. The three towering giants stay behind and fight off the ones surrounding the tavern, slowly expanding the radius of protection. Massive hands swinging and throwing ten to twenty zombies at a time.. Diving below the horde, teddies open portals and suck down any undead that are close. More explosions here and there. Once in the fray ruga and torga portal back. Ruga carrying a massive gun as he unleashed a volley of bullets into the masses. He was angry. Torga was calmer but he dives into a group, swinging his doubled edged axe and slicing zombies in half on one swipe. Twine forces were being covered in blood and gore as they fought. All giving off the air of rage and bloodlust.. The flaming teddies continued on. Alighting all who entered they fury. Another explosion. Then another a few feet away. The teddies may look cute and cuddly but they had a hankering for death. And this was the perfect place for it

 

Cú Chulainn

The Space Marine was fighting a rear guard action- and Cu Chulainn- well, Cu Chulainn was just hacking at anything that moved and using a hunk of his kilt to wipe the blood from his face. His lashes adhered stickily together but he could just see a blurry image from that eye and was thankful that the zombie hadn’t clawed that pale hued occular from out of it’s orbit. “Come on!” he called to the space marine who appeared to be overwhelmed as scores of zombies leap at the mechanised warrior and form a writhing, gnashing coat of dead flesh upon him. There was no way they were ever going to get through that armour, but it didn’t stop the Space Marine spinning about blindly like he was about to go down, smashing himself into walls to crush the murderous cadavers and leaving smears of blood along the narrow alleyway. The fighter was still swinging though, that mighty war hammer was sending bodies flying into the air first one way, and then the other. Then- out of nowhere, a roaring steak of flame bursts into life onto the street that they need to be. There were dozens of zombies blocking their way and all of them were in the path of that mysterious flame which burned so hot that even Cu had to shield himself. Where it had come from- he did not know. But the effect was instantaneous and seemed to turn the tide of this current struggle. The zombies in it’s path exploded with fire, becoming flaming torches that ran in all directions, sizzling, crisping, spitting fat in all directions until finally consumed, they would sink to their knees and become spot fires that lit the way for both Cu Chulainn and the Space Marine- finally getting the rest that they so richly deserved. It was enough to make Cu Chulainn sure that he wanted to be cremated. Then- he sees a lonely figure upon a roof, shrouded in a robe and cowl. His face unseen, but clear by the way he was gesturing with his hands that he was a wielder of the flames of death- and most certainly an ally to Cu and Ole Metalhead. A hand was raised momentarily to the mysterious spellcaster and then a gesture, pointing to the Space Marine and an expression of entreaty, wanting the same treatment for his friend. He would not burn through the armour, the warrior inside would be protected, but it surely would save some time. What was a quick rekkie, had turned into an all out frontal assault, and they still hadn’t managed to get more than a klick away from the tavern. AND they still had their job to do. Any help to get them there from ANYONE would be thankfully- gratefully- received.

 

Korven

 

Almost as if the man understood the silent request, another bright stroke of energy came forth – but it wasn’t flames this time. Instead, a pure white energy that hit the Space Marine’s undead menaces, and froze them into solid blocks of ice. Whilst it would no doubt be more cumbersome – a simple smash against the wall would no doubt destroy the ice cubes with ease, and the figure was hopping from roof to roof, making sure to create a small path for Chulainn, with streaks of flames and the occasional bit of lightning fired from his hands, the gauntlets he wore rapidly lighting up with runes from his magical strikes. No doubt, whoever it was, was potent with the energy they used, making sure to burn everything to a crisp in it’s path, or freeze them and allow Cú and the Space Marine a much easier time. However, even with the assistance – the horde were many, and ranged from shambling, massive horrors to rapid, fast menaces, which eventually caught up to the hooded figure, only to be burnt – none-the-less, the preoccupied the figure, making it an overall even fight for all parties again, instead of a one-sided battle.

 

Bannoc

Bannoc considered calling out to the pair fighting tooth and claw against the abhorrent tide below. He swiftly abandoned this idea, as advertising his presence to the gluttonous whoresons they were butchering could make it more difficult to descend from the rooftop unopposed. He opted for the pragmatic approach, taking to a knee and making himself a smaller target. He doubted the endless rows of dilapidated zombie heads would turn away from their intended quarry and spot him up there, but if they did, at least he wouldn’t be some sort of beacon calling them to feast. He surveyed the carnage beneath him under a dissecting gaze, simultaneously pulling a rag from his belt so that he could wipe away the repugnant streaks of malignant black ooze from Widowmaker’s ravenous blade. The ornate web of pattern welded lines and venerated runes emblazoned on the steel had almost been utterly washed the shade of night. – It seemed the combatants below had crashed head-first into the same dilemma he had. There were simply too many of the gnashing monsters. They spilled from every conceivable angle like plague bearing rats. Where in Uroc’s name were they all coming from? He suddenly noticed the soldier encased in plates indicating to the other. He barely caught the fleeting flick of the futuristic warrior’s helmet, as the titan was lost in the volanic heat of battle, swinging his monumental warhammer to and fro as if it were a child’s toy, crushing rotten skulls like melons… That’s when a great wall of flame billowed through the howling masses! Entire swathes of undead biters burned to ashes like chaff in a furnace. Then came the roaring ogres, crashing into the fray! At this point, Bannoc knows it’s time to throw caution to the wind. The tides are turning as more allies join the fight. Peering over the precipice, he discerns the safest route down. There’s a skip down there, and Uroc be praised for such unlikely convenience, a decaying mattress piled atop a huge collection of waste and unspeakable refuse. Bannoc tosses Widowmaker down onto the mattress first, then swiftly follows. Moments later, Widowmaker is singing the song of bloodlust as it chimes the air! The savage, spittle spewing barbarian with the disfigured and tattooed face hurtles into the thick of the battle to lend his aid! One zombie, an old crone with a barely-there pencil neck, turns just in time to watch Widowmaker take its head from its bony shoulders in a single monstrous blow!

 

Kida Le Morte

 

The ogres swing their axes hard and fast, cutting through the undead as they fell, the flaming teddies following behind and igniting the deceased bodies, Torga charges forward leading the ogres further into the rotting masses, then a large man was there swinging his blade. The ogre nods to him as they keep trying to press the advantage. Ogres shouting and roaring as they communicate to each other. Blood spewing here and there as the flames behind consume more. By now the teddies that were on fire and exploding had been trying to widen the path using the portals. Where the undead went was a mystery. But it seemed to be working well. With each portal large groups would be sucked down and vanish out of sight. The lovely gift of twine magic at its finest. Of course tho, some teddies are caught and ripped apart at their seams as their inside fluff blows around. As ogres go down, their heads would be taken off to ensure the undead masses don’t grow. And then more would replace them.

Cú Chulainn

 

The way forward was clear- as clear as it had ever been and littered with the still burning bodies of zombies, courtesy of the shrouded angel on the roof. Cu Chulainn sees this and roars “Come on!” to the Space Marine and then runs like his arse was on fire. Cu Chulainn sprints down the smoke filled street, arms pumping so hard he almost hits himself in the face with his shield and certainly does slice his own thigh with the dagger that is gripped within the shield arm’s fist. It happens. But he wouldn’t feel it until much later, when the adrenaline was wearing off. Slack wet lips suck in air. Wet with his blood and the black zombie goo that filled the rotting enemy. He hears the whir of servos, the squeak of joints and the earth shattering pounding of the space marine’s gigantic armoured boots upon the road, catching up in a few paces and then streaking ahead as Cu Chulainn puts his chin into his chest and pushes on.

Bannoc

 

Bannoc makes straight for the original duo he had spotted. Why? Because they seemed possessed with purpose. He is unsure of what it is they strive for, but perhaps they can clear some of the murk and explain more intimately what the Hell is happening. The city he once recalled so fondly has descended into undead anarchy! Chaos and the repulsive stench of death reign the streets. With a gnarled palm straddling the flat of his blade, he wields Widowmaker in both hands like a form of archaic lever, pushing and prying any snatching monsters out of his path, using body mechanics and a deep-seated comprehension of fighting against numbers to bully his way through. Before long, he’s right on the tail of the pair! “Hey! Wait for me!” He roars in their wake, a guttural, accented voice, deep like thunder, forged of pipe smoke and hard liquor.

 

Zoey Ryder

Its….strange, the uniformed creature thought, strange that she was coming to a place where sheer chaos ensued without regard for rules or regulations that society had set in place. And perhaps that’s why she was here. She needed a little mass hysteria, a little smash, bash and destroy. The woman had been away from it for so long that she had almost forgotten the sight and smell of spilled blood and jutting bones. Donned in an all-black suit of field armor, quite reminiscent of something one might find in war the officer had stolen away a few key pieces. Her favored M4 slung low across her back, and two handguns lay in wait against thighs. Pockets for all kinds of random things were carefully placed on her vest lying in wait as she worked to ready herself for what was ahead. Here, now, though it all remained, being put on the backburner instead to make way for a machete she was gleefully working with to decapitate and maim. Gratification lay in a huge grin behind that mask of hers which a pair of bright amber eyes peeked through. “Stupid fucking zombies….why the hell does it always have to be zombies?” She grunted as a swing and hit took to shattering the jawbone of one particularly nasty looking fellow in front of her. Another swing severed the head at the spine with a sickening crunch. Sure, she’d catch up eventually to the group that she’d heard was making headway. In fact, if she took a few seconds she could make out their frames some leagues ahead of her.

 

 

Cú Chulainn

 

Cu Chulainn almost skids to a halt at the sound of the rough male voice, almost to his detriment as a zombie lurches unnoticed from an alleyway but before Cu has even seen it, a warhammer arcs through the air, seemingly from nowhere and purees the zombie onto the wall behind it. Cu looks up at the space marine with a grateful thanks- breathless, he probably wouldn’t have seen it until it was way too late. He didn’t know who the fella was following them, but by the look of him, he was in the same business as himself and like Cu- covered in zombie by product. “Move!” is all he roars, seeing a group of zombies behind him in the distance, moving through the smoke and sniffing the air for fresh meat. “We got to move- lets go! Lets go!” looking fearfully back over his shoulder. And then he saw a figure and thought for a moment he was hallucinating. “Nah!” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. His eye was still gummed up. It couldn’t be her. He had persuaded that it wasn’t, grabbing the new addition to their team and shoving him forward before breaking into a trot but pulling up slowly for a second glance back. Was it her?

 

Zoey Ryder

 

Another hard swing, another crunch left resonating guttural cries spew out around her as she took to felling another. “Satisfying to the millionth degree Tollinger.” She narrated to an unforeseen eye that managed to walk with her thanks to the technology in her helmet. “Hmm, well….if you need anything you know where to find me…..but other than that I’m good right where I am…” He quipped in his horrible dry humor. Tollinger. Her transport and favored helicopter pilot. If the woman wasn’t already married, she would have taken up his sweet ass and told him he’s marrying her, if only for his skills as a pilot alone. Something that she joked about often to the man who had been interested in men alone for the better part of…well, his entire life. “Tell that missus of yours he’s lucky he got to you first…” She cooed as she stuck her foot into the chest cavity of the flailing zombie. “Ugh.” With a hard yank she made every attempt to gain her weapon of choice back, but here and now this wasn’t going to be a cleaner kill. So she did what she always does. Left hand on the machete, the right one on her glock she made a swift draw and pointed the thing at the creature’s head. “One shot, one kill, hun. Learn it, live it, love it…” More narrations filled dead air as the gun’s pin struck home and let a hot round of lead find a brain pan. Pink goop slung out the back with along with bone fragment and a grapefruit sized hole. “God I love these things….” It was far easier now to yank away to retrieve the sharpened metal.

 

Bannoc

 

His adrenaline pounds, echoing the rhythm of his heart in his ears. A raging fire roiling in his veins! This is the breakneck pace that has been lacking in his life of late. That same innate euphoria induced by the bloody hack and slash of conflict nearly lands him trouble. He has to stop himself from instinctively lashing out when he’s shoved forward. It’s reflex with pain and exertion rubbed into the seams. Luckily he’s able to cling to reason through the rampant fog. There was nothing in the shove. The man isn’t the enemy, he’s pushing him away from doom’s hungry jaws. He charges onward, gulping down great lungfuls of air, composing himself. The fog of war begins to lessen, allowing him to keep a closer eye on the horrors all about them. Now is not the time to launch an inquiry about what’s actually going on. If the fell hordes continue to swarm and grow in might, it will be a miracle if they don’t meet untimely ends in the mouths of monsters.

 

Cú Chulainn

 

Cu Chulainn was held for a moment- still- not going forward- not going back as the other two- Bannoc and the SpArk Space marine sprinted ahead. The smoke filled the street behind and obscured the figure that had looked all too familiar. If it was another survivor, then- they couldn’t run back to help them and they were already dead. “WAIT!” he calls to the duo ahead. “This way!” pointing down an alley that was essentially the back of a row of houses. He has calculated that at the end of that row, was the merchants quarter and the first focus of their mischief tonight. The duo would skid to a halt and watch him disappear. When they both had caught up the Space marine- growled an impatient “What are you doing?” Cu Chulainn looks down the row of walls and fences that separate the properties, right to the end of the row. He turns and gives the warriors a rather smug smile and then says “Whats the matter Marine?…You never taken a short cut before?” and with that takes a run and vaults over the first wall and then onto the next fence, moving inexorably down the row and closer to their goal.

 

Bannoc

 

At the behest of the Celtic giant, Bannoc screeches to a halt. He doubles back and hurtles down the alley alongside the marine. He was about to echo said marine’s concern. Why the Hell had they stopped here? Bannoc joined the duo in order to increase his likelihood of survival and garner some answers, not stop in his tracks and become barbarian lunch for the horde. But the leader soon answered. A shortcut. Bannoc vaults the first fence and takes a run at the second…only to mistime his leap and go crashing through the second in an explosion of splinters and shattered shards. While not as tall as the leader, he’s still a considerable lump himself. That puny fence didn’t have much of a chance faced with his full speed. Picking himself up again, he managed to fluidly clear the third barrier and follow on the leader’s heels.

 

Zoey Ryder

 

More of those disgusting things passed her and more fell, until like the troupe ahead of her Zoey was running hard. Running to save her life, to make sure she got home, and running because it simply felt good to be under that weight, in those circumstances, being able to bash and maim. She was an adrenaline junkie through and through, no matter how many years she tried to rid herself of it she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop finding herself in these situations. Cu had made it a million times worse as they’d trekked through the adventures during their long courtship, showing her that the world that she’d known was far from the true land of the living. “Fucking hell Toll, I’m married….” She notated, as if the man hadn’t known….sounding like an epiphany had come front and center. “Ok, yes. Not new news. What’s your point?” He didn’t really get internal dialogue well and would often prompt her to speak so she’d key up and make note of where on the map she was. “Yeah…well I’m just thinking about stuff. It’s not bad, in fact, it’s just something I never thought I’d…” She paused to turn a corner, effectively taking her out of the line of sight of the people ahead of her “Never thought I’d find myself saying.” Or playing the part of, happily, contentedly. Peering around a building she realized there was little in the way of movement, just a sea of backyards and fences. An easy pass if she was to going to find herself a few moments of respite. “I need a pint…” She sighed. Couldn’t she find just that since it was the end of the world after all?

 

Cú Chulainn

 

The Space Marine- whether because he was a wee bit less agile in the armour, or perhaps didn’t understand the concept of putting a few walls between the trio and the zombie horde, runs straight at the remaining walls and fences and ploughs a route right through- sending bricks flying in a tinkling mess and wood splintering into bits. But still, their objective was reached and they find themselves definitely in the Merchants quarter. Cu Chulainn roars “Charges!” to the mech warrior and the behemoth in red shrugs the solid cased pack from his back and starts to retrieve great bound packs of explosives and the map of Consequence. The points have already been marked out and with a quick glance to reference, the Space marine moves along the curved streets that form the natural boundary to the rest of Consequence. Cu Chulainn is real glad that the Marine knows what he is doing. The Celt and the unknown warrior hold the line as a few stragglers work their way through the route they have taken and come upon the trio. The place is deserted but for them. All creatures with a beating heart retreated long ago to the sector surrounding the Blue Moon. Soon- all the charges have been laid and the Space Marine joins them in fighting a rear guard action away from the Merchants Quarter and towards the dock. Just one task left. The few zombies are dispatched. The charges will be for another time and controlled explosions from a place far from here. However, the do have a clear run now- and run they did- through the streets that were dimming with approaching night. The Space Marine, the unknown battler and Cu Chulainn.

 

Zoey Ryder

Dead ends. Always with the dead ends. Zoey was tired of this. Especially because she was running low on ammo and the need to find what was tasked to her. She’d be damned if she would lose her life over a few measly items. This, this wasn’t worth all the hassle this time “Toll, cancel the day, it’s a scrub. Not gonna find our way as far down as we wanted with this route.” She needed the money, but not like this. The prick could wait. “On my way, gonna have to make a climb for it though…buildings are too tall to land…” Of course they were. It was like him to not want to make a stupid move and crash one of the few remining passenger helicopters left. She didn’t blame him one bit. “See ya soon then…” It took some time to make her way to the planned rally point, and more so it took time for him to get to her, but a roped off ladder with a harness hook came into view, while in her helmet the nearly monotone voice warned. “Got a large group of incoming, and another pickup. Lets hurry it up.” And you bet that sweet tattooed ass that’s exactly what she was doing as she made a running leap. “Don’t you dare leave me behind Toll….I’ll kill you and your pretty metal bird if you even think about doing so…”

 

Cú Chulainn

 

The three sprinted like their arses were on fire, their eyes dead ahead on the docks. They could see the cranes in the distance, but getting closer. There was a sound coming up behind them and fast. Cu Chulainn flicks a glance over his shoulder and sees a helicoptor, flying in low and heading in the same direction as they. He watches it as it goes overhead and quickly moves on. They were soon running over the vast expanse of the quayside. vast for it would normally have held great metal containers for transporting goods by sea. Sadly, trade was at an all time low and they were very open and vulnerable sprinting across that unprotected concrete field. The Space Marine knew what to do- he was busily setting explosives, of a different kind because these would be used straight away. The helicoptor is seen to land the other side of the quay. There was a roar behind them. More Zombies! Damn- had those bastards been sneakily following them all this time? Cu Chulainn was exhausted but still pushing on with determination, pointing to the coptor that seemed to be waiting for them and signalling the marine to follow. He and Bannoc were reaching the end, but it was with well deserved respect that the two finally dragged themselves to the waiting bird. The Marine soon followed, a century of zombies chasing him. He leaps headfirst into the coptor, sliding across the floor of the craft to distribute his weight evenly, a small control held in his hand. Bannoc is next, clambering over the beast and Cu finally pulls himself up into the bird screaming “Go! Go!” He was aware of another figure seated inside of the transport, but his gaze was on the retreating sight of the ground and the zombies that howled with frustration.

 

Kida Le Morte

 

*while the others were off doing their bit, the ogres and teddies kept fighting their way through the main streets. at this point they were in a frenzied murderous state. igniting the dead and leaving blazing trails behind them. ogres continued to cut and swing as the bodys would fly, a few ogres surrounded and then devoured as teddies streak over lighting them up as they explode and consume the mess. the destruction in their wake was attempted to be kept to a minimum as they tried to clear as many streets as possible, only to fail as more of the horde pressed on… back at the tavern however, some head way was being made as the few giants surrounding it had managed to press the monsters back a building or two and clear the alley behind. Rugas bullets still firing off as more and more of the beings drop to the ground. ruga looks to the others as he nods a bit. holding their position now.. turning to look at the ogres and teddies, they have managed to clear a about 2 square blocks so far. torgas axe continuing to hack away, his eye looks back to ruga for a second then away to the blood covered streets

Zoey Ryder

 

It was a shock of epic proportions to see such a towering man, because they weren’t common here. More of a shock as she began to recognize that height matched with a color of hair all too familiar to her. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as a Plaid that she had seen and wrapped her hands around many days and nights when she wanted to be close was mere inches away from her. But Zoey wasn’t the type to shriek like an idiot and babble. Instead she was the kind to keep herself together and watch the amazement stem in his eyes as he would quickly realize what and who was near him. “Fancy seeing you here, hound….” She teased. Of course that memory of who he was had been replaced with an entirely different meaning for the moniker he’d hated so much, and in true Zoey fashion she’d twisted the name into an oh so more intimate word. Her voice rang in a sultry key as she moved to pull the motorcycle style helmet from her head. Tattooed digits worked to untangle a thick black plait that was bound up against her neck, and grin began to form as she followed up by moving towards him in a crouch. “Off to fight zombies without me again? MM?” A brow raised in question as she slid herself over large knees to use as a newfound seat.

 

Cú Chulainn

03:26AM

The voice came to him as though in a dream, so intently was he watching the horde below and trying to hang on for dear life, only now discovering that it wasn’t heights he had a problem with- but falling. Slowly, he turns his head, his expression one of dumb shock and awe and his jaw as slack as a quayside whores… well, it doesn’t matter. His eyes blink and he does not move for a second or two. His face is no doubt a picture as he takes in the most beautiful sight in this world and the next. His woman. How she had got there- he did not know- or rightly care. The movement of the bird didn’t lend itself to grace and he staggered- clambering over the Space Marine in his rush to get to her. Arms that were as solid as oak, pumped with the kind of action that he had been craving in those months of solitude at the roundhouse now wrap her in an embrace that draws her roughly to his chest and it was only then- when he could feel her slender body fitting against his in an oh so familiar fashion, and detect that singular scent of flowers that made her always smell so damned good- that he truly believed she was real. His mouth opens to speak but what could words say that his lips couldn’t silently communicate and he kisses the woman. Avidly, passionately desperately, just as the Space Marine turns that dial and the whole world explodes beneath them and the zombies are vaporised and the precious docks of the Giovanni whoremonger are pounded to dust.

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