11310/Wanderers: Who Wants to Live Forever

Wanderers: Who Wants to Live Forever
Date of Scene:	11 June 2022
Location:	Ascetir, Sutherland, Scotland
Synopsis:	Ascetir, the land of resurrection, begrudgingly reveals its secrets to the brave. If they can run the gauntlet of horrors and a bestiary of sins first.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Mary Jane Watson, Vic Sage, Jessica Drew, Jemma Simmons, Daisy Johnson, Clint Barton, Blackagar Boltagon, Richard Swift

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Jane Foster has posed:
Scotland. The Highlands...
Dawn registered its brightening shade on the eastern rim of the sky over ancient, wooded mountains when the show began. Not so now. Those who pass through the cold mists are forced to stumble down an irregular path, one neither solid or particularly hard. To linger too long is perilous, leaving the breath freezing in the lungs and something sticky, almost like quicksand, tugging the body down. Lose sight of the person ahead of you, and what else awaits than certain doom wandering in the thick fog?

It must feel like a slog of an hour to emerge onto a barren slope partly screened in gorse and stunted pines. A glimpse of the black loch lies beyond, and not a trace of the sun anywhere. Twilight lingers thick on the ragged ridge. A misstep there means tumbling all the way down to a broken neck on a boulder or crashing into the water.

More significantly, something lies a little along the way of the first to emerge: a low shape, slumped over on its side, and the air thick and ripe with the scent of blood. No sign whatsoever of either missing professor -- Lizzie or Iain -- is present. If they're up from the loch, they obviously aren't in the crater.

Jane Foster has posed:
Hayden Planetarium. Central Park. NYC...
It all began well enough. Two respected Scottish archaeologists sharing the secrets of their little-known and highly protected dig ought to be the stuff of joy. Kicking off the Summer Horizons lecture series at the Hayden Planetarium, the "Pompeii of the North" indicates a remarkable discovery. Breathtaking monuments for a place supposedly devoid of any major communities until the 19th century stand in illuminated detail, the reconstructed ruins projected in luminous blue and white light that cuts weirdly. Cool, creeping fog bleeds around the central, mighty projector that often brings to life the mysteries of the universe. The temperature inversion is palpable, adding an otherworldly effect to the light-drawn stone walls, elaborately decorated Pictish archways, and domed Picto-Roman well.

Minutes ago, a blade cut down Doctor Lizzie Fraser. The connection shivered, and an undead face peered through the video link to Scotland. Her companion, Iain MacDonald, shouted silently into the screen before it went dark. Seconds ago, several SHIELD agents and a reporter just vanished into the curling, thick fog. Angelo -- Achilles, to the ancients -- led them, and Jane Foster, the director of the Hayden, was the last through. Staff are already shutting down the projectors, making calls, leaving the audience to stand among the ancient ruins and make a choice. Run or not.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Mary Jane Watson is walking along through the morass of the loch with the rest of the group. THe muck is lovely. Mary Jane is on 'alert' mode and is hunched rather low in the morass of things. It's making her a smaller target as she's going so along the route. She goes to take in the view in the distance as they approach where the scientists were, and goes to squint to get a better view along to try and evaluate the exact positioning. She's not able to make out anything specific.. But that's meaningless at this distance and this haze.

Vic Sage has posed:
Definitely not a reporter, The Question, decked out in his blue trenchcoat and featureless mask, showed up just in the nick of time (just as Vic Sage was leaving, if you can believe it) to join the intrepid group in their investigation. His voice affected for anonymity, he says, "I think this might be just a touch outside of my wheelhouse." He doesn't even have any long monologue prepared about the injustices of man and how best to punish the criminals who prey on the weak. Something's definitely awry.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica stuffs the chocolate bar back into her handbag, a little voice in her head whispering that it might come in handy if she is indeed no longer in the planetarium.

"Holy hell," she murmurs aloud. The mist instantly swallowing her words as she nearly loses a shoe to the wet greenery. So why did she wear a skirt this evening? Rueing her clothing choices, she pushes herself up the lip of the slope to stand next to Mary Jane and the man in the trench coat.

"Scotland, we are in Scotland," she observes more calmly than she feels. "Outside of everyone's wheelhouse, I'm thinking unless you're a magician."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Irregular path or not, Jemma Simmons is taking her time. The scientist in her wants to analyze everything and the SHIELD agent in her demands caution. And, at least for now, the two are joined in one common purpose.

Investigate and proceed on high alert.

Though, Jemma is quite unprepared for a mission. After all, she was sitting (well, walking around) amidst the holographic recreation of the Scottish dig. Jemma wasn't expecting that she would need her usual accruements for a mission. But, Jemma has her smartphone (should it be any use at all) and her mind. That should be enough.

Though, it is a good thing that she had a refresher for hand-to-hand combat. Jemma might need it.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
As they step out onto the fog and darkness there is a frown out of Daisy. "Priority should be to discover our missing professors. Anyone that can see or sense them?" she asks to the group, tone serious.

"We are SHIELD, JD. Everything needs to be in our wheelhouse.." a faint smile and then she closes her eyes to feel all around them, the vibrations surrounding them, trying to feel for any living (or less than living!) moving things in the vicinity.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint walks through Central Park looking at the device Dr. Abramovich gave him. She assured him manual scanning on the ground was the only way to investigate recent events. He was not so sure.

Mildly annoyed, Clint heads towards the Planetarium to use the bathroom. He pretends not to notice a man who recognizes him and is past before it was implausible, and so rude, for him not to notice. Clint is relieved the man is gone when he comes back out of the men's room. But that only lasts a moment. The sounds of commotion interrupt him before he can turn to leave.

Clint heads in the direction of the lecture and arrives in time to see fellow SHIELD agents go into this mysterious mist, and others heading towards it. Clint breaks into a hunched jog, pulls out his bow and extends it. He gives a sharp whistle to draw Jemma's and Daisy's attention as he falls in, heading in the same direction from nearly across the room.

"This wasn't in the weather forecast," Clint mutters. He catches one of the staff. "Might be a gas leak, should get these people outside," he says on the way past.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar had been drawn to the Hayden since one of the presenters had told him that he should come, and far be it for him to decline Jane's requests. As such, he had donned a rather unassuming wardrobe and simply lurked in the back with a few observers who had taken to watching the unfolding, his own gaze studious. Familiar faces were given polite nods of acknowledgement, understanding of not disturbing the event.

Until the event became an /event/.

The shift of matters has him pressing out from the lurking he had been doing and seeking those he had recognized prior, a clap of his hands to send out some sound to alert, since speaking up won't be happening.

Richard Swift has posed:
The shadows coalesce around a tall, dark, well dressed form. As they move and surround him he is gone...and arrives somewhere else. Stepping forward, Richard Swift aka The Shade, walks into the scene, and with a quick glance, takes a moment to tap his top hat with his cane firmly securing it on his head.

Staying in the background, hopefully out of the sight and minds of those present, Swift gets his barrings, and looks ahead - looking forward to this further exploration of what happened at the Hayden Planetarium show. "Fascinating."

Jane Foster has posed:
Accursed, clammy fog settles in the gloomy forest, reducing visibility to mere feet in any direction and shrouding the landscape. Murky twilight makes getting bearings difficult except for the irregular, steep slope down to the partly shrouded lake. Somewhere in the mist lies Ascetir, the two professors, and their leathery-faced assailant in poorly maintained medieval LARPing armour. Somewhere is Angelo or Jane, as neither are visible. Then again, twenty feet downslope, ephemeral curtains allude to shapes that may be real or only imagined. Even the conversations are preyed upon here, robbed of their volume and vitality, muffled to strained whispers.

Cellular phones provide a source of light, though no connection given a lack of towers to bounce a signal off. Stillness gathers. Not the quiet of a disrupted wood, but an uncanny quiet that extends over water, footsteps, and words. A beam sweeps over a cloudy, woolly body on its side atop dark, rotten soil, left under a pine bough. It does not move.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Oh, Red Sonja knows what this is. She knows very much. There's a sudden shift in Mary Jane's body as it goes fully tense and alert, arms going up to a defensive position in front of her as Sonja grabs for a nearby tree root. A sign that the two personas in her body have switched places. "This isn't natural. We're about to be attacked." Her tone is rather firm on the matter.
    She's rather cheerful. It's been too long since she's had the honest chance to slaughter anything.

Vic Sage has posed:
"Not a magician, no. Nothing at all," Question responds cryptically. It's okay, everyone. He's back to normal.

"Did you know that SHIELD was responsible for Pablo Escobar's rise to power?" The Question asks of Daisy, the spots where his eyebrows should be lofting up as he watches her reaction.

Vic pockets his hands and strides up to the fallen creature, examining it for a time before he's looking to the rest of the group.

"Blood's done pooling, but hasn't been for long. This is a fresh kill. Very fresh," he offers by way of warning.

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Always ready for the unexpected, Agent," Jessica comments abstractedly then takes a few steps down slope.

The air carries the copper tang of fresh death. Spider-sense heightens her sense of impending danger as she perceives shifting forms in the mist. Taking a few steps more, she joins Sage, the fog opening up enough for her to see the dead Highland sheep. She crouches next to it and pulls back the head to determine how it died.

Standing back up, she reports to the group, "Not a clean kill but fast. Are there wolves in Scotland?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The medical doctor in the group approaches the sheep carcass, that scientific curiousity taking hold for the moment. In those British tones of hers, strangely muffled, Jemma extends a finger, indicating trauma at the base of the neck. "This sheep was hunted and was killed via natural means. Here..." The finger circles around a particularly messy bit of flesh. "A predator. This rending was caused by teeth. And, judging from the lack of defensive wounds, this sheep did not fight back. That would suggest that the attack was swift and efficient, with no time to react."

Well, that probably did little to calm people's fears. It does, however, give a general idea of what might be out there. "Wolves are not supposed to remain in Scotland." Jemma turns to whisper towards Jess. "Official records state that the last Scottish wolf was killed in 1680, but there have been reports that there were wolves up until the late 18th century." How does Jemma know things like that?? As if to answer, Jemma murmurs back. "I read it once in a book during primary school."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Did Daisy hear Vic's question? For a moment it seems she didn't because she is focused in what's ahead, and around them. "I am sensing an heartbeat..." she tells them. The small frown lingering, "Downslope, in the direction of the lake..." she pointing in the direction she felt the tremor.

"Also, do I need an aluminum foil hat to talk with you?" A look over to Vic. She heard the question after all!

"Let's go down there." She suggests before she catches sight of Blackagar, "Were you lurking back there?" she asks, a touch amused. At least until she doesn't see Jane. "Where's Jane?"

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint glances at the others and the surroundings as he comes through into... somewhere damp and cool. The senior agent keeps moving. The mists shift and he sees something.

Clint changes direction sharply and slides wide of the group. He does his best to catch the eyes of his fellow SHIELD agents and makes a quick series of hand signs.

<contact, downslope of Jessica, armed, meta>

Clint notches an arrow with a transluscent shaft and a core of LEDs, tipped with a more common place steel alloy. He covers the direction he indicated while he moves for cover.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
When Daisy addresses him, Blackagar looks at her, almost sternly although certainly the expression could be any number of things before his hands begin to move. The sharp gestures seeming more urgent in the sign language than usual. ~Danger approaches.~ He indicates towards her by clapping hands together, then motioning across his wrists and then towards the surrounding space. Turning, he makes an indication towards some others, then lifts a hand towards his ears as if to indicate he heard something.

Even as he finishes the signing, the Inhuman turns and starts looking around brow furrowing in an expression of distaste.

Richard Swift has posed:
There was a moment when Swift considered staying the the background and the shadows, but something told him this was not the time. Stepping forward, moving to within 20 feet of the others, the Shade clears his throat and speaks in a loud voice. "Skipping to the end, I'm the Shade. This is not my doing. I am here to help."

A pause, waiting for his arrival to sink in. Swift continues. "I can sense...anger. This is unnatural." Swift closes his eyes, and concentrates, all this obvious to those looking at him.

"The darkness is...icy. Stagnant. Heavy. Cold. A hatred I do not recognize. The mist is...something else." The Shade opens his eyes, and raises his left eyebrow, very much quizzically. "Fascinating. Something is very wrong."

Jane Foster has posed:
That loud voice isn't enough from Swift -- it comes out as a croak, as if trying to shout only diminishes him further. Robs the strength of his syllables, one by one.

"Downslope" as Daisy indicates marks a treacherous path presumably going through the foggy hillside, sliding through dew-slick gorse and sound-deadening mist to the lake. Another oblong carcass hides in the lee of a fallen conifer, this one at least double the size of the sheep and reddish in hide even without the blood.

Not far past that, something moves unheard. The low line of its back proves not to be a rock. Ears pricked, the canid sniffs and turns its head to look back when the LED-tipped arrow springs to life. The ruddy dagger-point snout rises, jaws cleaving apart. No sound emerges. It hastens in a loping gait for the wall of fog, spearing downhill ahead of where they went. Another target for Clint's arrows, Mary Jane's blade or Jessica's venom?

The fog boils. Eddying tendrils sluice past around the feet, turning the world increasingly dim. What's a tree, what's a friend, what's a paw tipped in savage claws going for a person's hamstrings? A silvery shape takes advantage of distraction to slash at Daisy and dart away, a stalking blur that bursts from the greying cover.

It's a cat. A big cat, the kind that scientists say up and down never lived in the Highlands.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Red Sonja grins over at the cat from her position. She goes to just break into a full run, sliding along the skewered ground over and the rough muck. Using her boots to take the branches and her momentum to avoid cracking ankles. Red Sonja has run through far worse. Memories come to her. Instincts. Unstable ground, jump over. Branch, brace ankle. Slippery area, crouch down to ground and slide. Carcass of tree..
    Red Sonja goes to kick her ankle forwards, using the tree as a springboard. Going into a sommersault, moving to hopefully land over atop and against the cat and moving to try and if she can latch hard onto it while astride it's back.

"You, feline, are MINE." Cats are abominations made from the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Creatures of raw evil born without souls.
    Red Sonja is a similar creature of the damned. Like knows like.
    Time lost barbarian meets mystically altered and mutated cat as Sonja attempts to subjugate it to her will by feral growling.

Vic Sage has posed:
"She's right," Vic says, nodding to Jemma. He must've read the same book. "Wish it was a Wulver. Always wanted to meet a Wulver," Vic comments to nobody in particular.

Vic's expression, if you can call it that, is completely flat when he looks over at Daisy. "Oh, my apologies. I forgot our government agencies were above suspicion. Mongoose. Paperclip. MKUltra. Northwoods..." he trails off, finally, as the form swats at Daisy and bolts off.

Vic's hand stabs into his coat and produces the Colt 1911 tucked into the should holster there-in. The slide is pulled back quickly and he stands at the ready. "I wish it was just another serial killer..."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Threat becomes a reality in the time it takes for the fog to whirl about their feet. Red Sonja springs into action, following the cat. Making a quick choice, Jessica opts to follow the canid beast down the hill.

Dressy flats meet rough terrain as she nimbly springs after the beast. Heather and nasty nettles tear at her bare legs. She ignores it all in hot pursuit and then slows cautiously as her sense of danger flares.

Something heavy whirls toward her - Jessica ducks aside and turns to find a sizable axe has plowed a gouge into the ground not a foot from her.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The more they move further so does Daisy gets quieter, just focusing ... All until that treacherous cat attacks. She detects the movement in the air a half second too late which for a darn quick cat can be too much. The swipe catches the side of her leg, not the hamstring thankfully but still a gash that has her gritting her teeth. "Damn it.." no time to see the damage now, but she has a cat, she knows how it stings and she is used to it! It's just details that this is a much larger cat than the one she has.

Her arms lift defensively right after but before she can blast the cat to smitherens there goes a flying Sonja getting into a tussle with it. Someone clearly has hatred for cats. That has Daisy quirk a brow but she speaks up, "None of these creatures have heartbeats. Zombies."

Then finally a look to Jemma, "Think I might need you to have a look at my leg soon ..., but for now, lets go. Keep together and lets catch up to MJ."

Jane Foster has posed:
An axe composed from mist -- by the looks of it -- has the right shape and heft to be impressive. So is the ephemeral gauntleted arm and misty silhouette partially emerging from the fog. Tattered cloth and complex, archaic armour are barely visible in glimpses. The hate on Shade's tongue becomes an almost stifling taste, the air redolent with a parched dryness and stillness of the grave. The heavy weapon rips into the earth and effortlessly pulls away as the warrior draws it up, sending clods flying from a notched depression two feet deep.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Wait a minute. Cat? Signs of a canine/lupine attack? That seems awfully familiar.

The tumblers of Jemma's mind turn, clicking into place. "Improbable...." The smartphone is produced, the same one that she was using to take pictures of the holographic dig site, as she scrolls through her photo roll to track down a certain image. "Where is the bloody picture? There it is!"

There, on Jemma's phone, is a picture of the Pictish art in the ruins. And...the art shown? Wildcats, wolves, bears, falcons, hawks. All predatory animals. And all animals that, while once alive in the Scottish moors centuries past, are no longer a commonplace sight outside of zoos.

Then...Daisy adds the lack of heartbeats. Well...that's just great. "We are dealing with what seems to be a snapshot of Scotland as it once was. Out of time. Please be careful. If these Pictish carvings are any indication, there may be a great many species...undead, apparently...that will enjoy hunting us."

Then....Jemma notices Daisy's leg. "You are going to need that looked at sooner than you think. But, regrettably, not in the present situation. But...as soon as we can, you are having a seat." Yes, Doctor Simmons is in the house, err, moors.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint's eyes narrow as the motion starts. There is always this moment. The world slows down for him. Red Sonja is moving. Vic Sage draws his gun in almost slow motion. The cat, Daisy. Jessica.

Jessica.

The world speeds up again. Clint pulls and looses a glowing arrow at the hand holding the axe, just above where it seems to grip the weapon. He prays it is solid at that point.

Clint does not wait to see where the arrow lands, he doesn't need to. He starts moving for a new position. On the way he reaches into his quiver, notices the last two of his LED shafted arrows and fires them off. They thud into the ground in different places among the group, giving diffuse light and hopefully making silhouettes sharper.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
An axe. It holds a familiar form and then the rest of the being begins to appear. The arm, the cloth, the wardrobe. Flashes of the past come and the even more stern and serious look that Blackagar held moments ago becomes one of intensity.

*CLAP* The sharp impression of Blackagar's hands coming together with great force echoes as he steps up closer towards Daisy and Jemma, flourishing movements follow as he looks at them steadily. ~There is no heartbeat for they do not live. Not Zombies.~ He considers, searches for what to communicate before his hands turn over, first to paint a word 'Dark' followed by the associated words for 'Flying Female Heroes'. Or more accurately translated, Dark Valkyries.

Motioning towards the figure beginning to solidify with the axe, he expresses another moment. ~They desire life energy.~

Richard Swift has posed:
Richard Swift does what he does best. Oversight. His eyes scan the "horizon" looking for any clue as to what they were dealing with.

Sending out tendrils of shadow, the Shade tries to ascertain what was going on. His will was stretched to the max as he was pushing through the darkness and the fog, but as far as he could tell, this was beyond even his immortal experience in the craft.

"Well. That is...rude." Referring to his voice coming out as little more than a croak. The "taste" was...wrong. Dry and still as the grave, indeed. "Huh. Well. I will let the...muscles of the group do what they do best." Referring of course to Red Sonja and the others.

The Shade's eyes slide over Barton and Skye, Vic and Bolt, even Simmons and Drew. Wordless, he goes back to his concentrating on what they had gotten themselves into. The sounds and visage of hawks and falcons didn't disturb the Shade, as he embraces the darkness. Embrace the darkness...something there. Parched. Death. What was it? What did Black Bolt "say"? Valkyries? "Uh oh."

Jane Foster has posed:
Turbid disruptions boil through the fog with Red Sonja and the wildcat. Her momentum knocks them both violently down the hill, smashing through tree roots and loose gorse that rips away. Claws tear into the woman's limbs as the thing fights in a silent fury, hellbent on harm. Another animal drops through the light branches, harrying with talons and beating wings to batter Jemma and Daisy together, as one is wounded and the other there.

Jessica's timely leap after the hound puts her on treacherous footing as it delves deeper into the embrace of the fog, and the pack circles to close on any target coming closer to the waterside crater. So far away, the sounds of the hunt are middling. The living are good as deaf, mute, and blind. The canines have no heartbeats to track, only malevolent thought and brutal intent. Richard can feel the darkness knotting in a noose closing around them.

Blackagar's warnings may not amount to much. When Clint looses his glowing arrow at the ephemeral figure, the point ought to strike. It was a true shot. But the warrior catches it midway down, the illuminated arrowhead blurring when she hurls it straight at the Question's chest hard enough to go through solid steel. Her riposte.

Blue lips turn upward in a smile. She has two hands. Her reply is the long, ghostly lance unslung from her shoulder and hurled after at Blackagar. <<For Herja, you witless sheepfucker.>>

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Red Sonja struggles with the cat. It's claws dig into her and slash brutally through her light jumpsuit. She still has leverage even in the muck of the night and the depths of the loch. She's tumbling along with it, even while struggling and cackling over with mad glee.

"Come, Battle Cat! When we have shed enough of one another's blood we shall ride together into damnation!" That's.. Probably something Hyborean. Hopefully.
    The two struggling and tumbling even over loch towards the lake, Sonja attempting to keep a solid hold on the neck of the thing as they would roll, the airs filling with her cackles until they would fade away as sound was suppressed.

Vic Sage has posed:
"Hrmm," is Vic's response to the zombie's producing of an axe from thin air. This is /really/ outside of his wheelhouse.

Still, Vic Sage decided years ago, after he died the first time, that fear no longer served him. It's a shame that that guy in Hell's Kitchen took the whole 'Man Without Fear' schtick.

He's leveling his gun at one of the beats that Clint planted a tracker in when he spies an arrow heading straight towards him. Damn.

It's lucky for The Question that these undead animals don't share a hive mind, because one of them spears into him and sends both of them rolling down the hill, Vic's gun clattering down the stones behind them.

Richard Swift has posed:
The Shade watches and waits. Being in the background was something he was used to. As he was intimate with the shadows, the creatures seem to be avoiding him, which was fine by him. It was an interesting situation however, and Shade found himself becoming an observer in a darker story.

To get involved...or not...not. Trying to warn everyone about the malevolent intent of what was behind all of this was once again met with failure. Almost as if this was designed to prevent him from helping. Now that was an interesting conundrum. "Hmmm."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Normally, Jemma would dismiss such possibilities as undead predators and dark valkyries as figments of overactive imaginations. After all, that would imply that there was magic in the world...and really magic is just science that has yet to be defined. And...surely there is a completely rational explanation to all of this.

Nevermind the fact that Jemma walked into some mist in New York...and ended up in Scotland. Or is seeing signs of life (unlife?) of species that should have been long dead in Scotland proper. Yes, it is getting harder and harder for Jemma to deny that there may not be a perfectly reasonable explanation for any of this.

The rustling of feathers above Jemma is almost too fast for her to pick up on. Talons extended, swooping down upon Daisy and Jemma both. And Jemma armed with only her smartphone.

Almost without thinking, Jemma holds aloft her phone, back towards the descending avian monstrosity, almost as if it is a shield of her very own. Then, with a flick of a finger, the flashlight on the phone springs to life, a blinding beacon of radiance that should really do nothing. And yet...it does. It buys just enough time with the falcon surprised and unable to see for Jemma to dive down, pulling Daisy down with her, while sharp talons snatch at the space previously occupied by Jemma's head.

See...this is why one bandages wounds immediately.

On the damp ground, it is now a race for Jemma to find something, anything, that she can use to fend off an aerial attack.

Jessica Drew has posed:
No heartbeat alerts Jess to the ax's owner but a clap muted in the mists jerks her head to look upslope. By the time a hand appears to retrieve the ax out of the mud with muscular ease, Jessica has moved in an arc past its owner.

Clint's arrow clefts the fog, its LEDs creating a nimbus in the mist. She doesn't wait to see if it hits the target. Instead, she picks her way downhill, losing a shoe to sucking mud as she strains to hear her prey.

Jess nearly stumbles as she reaches the lip of the crater. The fog thins enough for her to discern shapes prostrate on the ground between low buildings. More sheep and deer dead in wholesale slaughter appear in a meandering path before the dwellings.

She slows, searching among the bodies for the professors.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar would normally be helping to fend off the foul fowl which bombard down upon Jemma and Daisy, but his attention has been drawn fully to the Misty Axe Wielding Wildman. The arriving Disir begins to drop so many of the various moments into alignment and the blue eyes lock down on that visage, eliminating from mind all the remaining presences.

The Mist begins to make sense, but that is a revelation for another time. No, this moment requires focus for these creatures had nearly hurt him. The irony of the conversation of arrogance versus humility bouncing around, the latter adopted quickly. As Blackagar's hands fold behind him he faces that Viking like wraith steadily.

Who is Herja? Why would someone fuck a sheep? These are mysteries that life has no answers to at the moment. Instead that blue lipped smile is observed and Blackagar stands with his feet steady waiting. It is the same as he has seen before, the creatures opting to fling their weapons towards targets. Just as he had seen from one of its sisters.

The Lance blends into the misty hued sky, phasing in his vision momentarily before he turns as it arrives, grasping it in his hand as it is about to pass him to seize the weapon, turn it about and fling it in turn towards the creature. Oh to give warning to the others. To tell them to seek shelter, to be wary of the creatures, but discipline keeps his lips sealed; for the moment.

Clint Barton has posed:
"Go scan the park, she said," Clint grumbles as he runs through the mist. The world is all but silent to him. The mist deadens his already weakened hearing and his hearing aid seems to be little help. His footfalls are just as silent.

The mists swirl, revealing shadows and shapes, some real, some imagined. The eyes too easily see talons where there is nothing and are confused by shapes when they appear. Teammates fade in and out of view, the LED arrows in the ground deepen shadows and making the the space even more surreal, more supernatural.

Clint catches a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. He slides to his knees and lays back. There is a rush of air and a flash of sharp talons. Clint pushes back to his feet and sees Jessica running down the slope. He reaches over his shoulder and fires a flash bang arrow. It whistles past Jessica's shoulder and goes off far enough ahead of her not to affect her, hopefully giving her the jump on anything in the mists ahead of her.

"Daisy okay?" Clint asks Jemma as he comes to a stop beside her.

Clint reaches over his shoulder again and takes careful aim. He looses two arrows in short succession. The timed concussive arrowheads are primed to go off in the air just wide and on the far side of where Clint thinks the mist warrior is.

"That should clear out some fog so we can see. If it's fog. Where are we?" he asks Jemma.

Jane Foster has posed:
The phantasmal disir is not restrained the same way as the living targets she preys on. She can move on the damp, rutted flanks of the ridge where others would crash to the loch's stony shore or break their necks in a perilous fall. Mist composes her body and swallows her from sight, only to part when she re-emerges with the ice-cold axe already applied as a guard and menace both. If Jemma and Daisy insist on being on the ground, then she will save them the trouble and bury them. Hers is a leaping dance of violence predicated on defying gravity, spinning full in the air, or alighting on a branch to perform a backbending arch to tear a branch down to deflect other weapons that might come her way quite casually. Blackagar gets a case of frostbitten fingers temporarily as he returns the lance, and it might just fully impale or fell a full-grown pine depending on how hard he threw it. There is no convention to her fighting style because having only one is the mark of a lesser warrior.

Gunvor's blue-tinged mouth and ashen visage aren't the same leathery face caught on camera briefly before Doctor Fraser was knocked off camera by a peculiar sword of impeccable Danish make that Red Sonja and Achilles-nee-Angelo both know wasn't any normal metal. Meaning the draugr is somewhere out there.

Bursts in the fog from Clint's arrows going off open up holes; glimmers to see. Dead animals. The tendrils snaking across the ground -- a second sister, armed by a deviously long length of barbed tendrils thin as a pencil each. The legend of Louhi or the Erinyes wielding scourges have to come from somewhere. Hrund just follows the tradition, snapping the tangling whips to send anything with flesh fleeing for their own good. If not? They're dinner.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Landing in amongst the bodies is Red Sonja along with her cat that she'se xchanging blows with. The wto end up in the water, which given it's the mug of the sea may or may not be particularly cleaner than the way the two had been before hand. She gets up and swears as she takes note of the bodies laying around and then gestures, "The staffers." The two professors. Who may not be dead. Just mostly. But they've been brought out so they may not last much longer..
    Red Sonja takes those few moments in the midst of the gunk to scramble over amongst the partially uncovered ruins and reduces more of them to ruins.
    She has found a rather large halberd however. The heavy cleaver that will be quite a pigsticker. Now with a weapon, she goes to charge out and over to put herself in a defensive position.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Fingers streaked with dirt and moss find a stone. Really, a loose piece of the makeshift path the group had found themselves on when holograms became reality. It isn't much, but it can be thrown. Jemma twists while upon the ground, throwing the stone in what she believes is the direction the predator of the skies had flown to. Does the stone hit? No...there is no satisfying thump of rock meeting feathers and flesh. And, with the auditory ambiance muted as it is, there is little indication if the mineral missile even causes a ruffling with the airborne menace.

Bloody hell.

The senior agent rolls to her feet, bending down to pick up Daisy from her prone position. Yet, even as Jemma moves, Clint's questions receive answers, albeit clipped and precise.

Is Daisy okay? "Yes".

Where are we? "Scotland. Dig site called Ascetir."

Before any other questions are asked, Jemma is already surveying the landscape...looking for a place of safety. She certainly is not intending on making the disir's efforts easy. "Down the slope. Need to head to the loch. It looks to be the most defensible position we have." The customary cliched response of being sitting ducks is not offered, as Jemma gathers Daisy and points the way. Down, down they go....through the mist and towards the loch.

Vic Sage has posed:
Reaching the bottom of the slope, Vic's kicking the zombie dog away and crawling through the rocks back to his gun. The beast, with uncharacteristic strength, latches onto Vic's leg and whips him a few yards back up the incline.

The Question 'OOFS' back onto the ground, a large stone digging itself into his back and causing no end of pain. Vic's field of vision fades to black for a time before he's instantly snapping back to consciousness, his senses nigh-overwhelmed as everything comes flooding back at once. He feels his lungs with air and rolls over, clutching at the pistol he was lucky enough to land next to. The dog is bounding up the hill, desiccated gums bared and ready to strike. A sextet of shots ring out, and it slumps your the ground, sliding a ways and kicking up dust as it comes to a halt just in front of Vic.

Sage's breathing is shaky and shallow for a few moments before he's willing himself back to his feet. His calf is bleeding and his back is pounding, but he's pushing himself to persevere. His eyes take in his immediate surroundings and he spies something just ahead during a short break in the fog.

He squints and begins limping hurriedly. "We need medics down here!" he shouts. "I've found the professors!" he adds, pushing himself to sprint through the pain towards the unconscious and bleeding bodies of the two archaeologists.

Jessica Drew has posed:
The curses hurled on the slope above are garbled in the fog, but she can hear the threat and blood lust in them. Jessica is not steeped in Scottish lore or Nordic myths. She is slow to make any connection to them. Then, in one chilling swoop, she understands that the mist is alive and actively hunting her and the other agents.

A misty form drifts from between two huts. Without waiting, she lifts her hands, sending a stream of bio-electricity at it.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The chill of his hands leads to a soft sizzle, immediate frostbite never something to feel pleasant but discipline keeps Blackagar from hissing out in pain. Rather he uses the moment of the lance shattering a tree with force as the opportunity to join the others in the retreat, following the voices towards where the others seem to be congregating. Down the slope is heard. Towards the Loch. Those are directions he can follow to stay with the others. Keeping the rear guard and attention for the wraith like figure.

Richard Swift has posed:
As per the previous several minutes, the Shade observes and considers what is exactly going on. Since no one seems to know he was even there, he remains silent. Leaning on his cane, adjusting his top hat, and frowning within the shadows that he called home. Until.

Moving a few steps towards Vic Sage, The Shade looks, frowns, and sniffs. "Indeed."

Wait. "Everyone. " This time he drops all of his shadowy protection and speaks in a quiet, deep voice. Hopefully everyone hears him this time.

"Ascetir is OLD. Dark ages. Medieval. Before that. Pict age. Symbols predate that by a good 300-500 years. -tir is a word for country, shared in Scots and Irish Gaelic. Asce- or a corruption out of that is tough, there are far more meanings, but one is plenty; satiation; fullness." A short pause. A smile, dark and full of dark amusement, "Just like "hungry disir"."

Jane Foster has posed:
To shout within the circle of the crater is not to make much noise at all.

A croak. A crow's gurgle. A mouse's sneeze. The loudest burst of a flash-bang is made into light and not sound. Vic can scream til he's blue in the face but the Devil will receive none of the sinner's words.

The dog shot through, the hounds struck low, they collapse into wrecks that utter no death rattle worth anything. Blood that flows from mortal bodies across the ground leaves a faint metallic sheen to the stone. Offerings from the Question's leg, under scraped hands, or stab wounds left as a mark of bitter possession on a sprawled woman or a collapsed man.

Beats sing to Daisy in her fugue, a chorus pounding louder as Jemma brings her close to the still, brackish loch. She might even murmur the nonsensical sounds to keep rhythm. The rhythm of retreat can be measured in a mute king's slip through the torn vegetation, dire warnings tied around their neck as facts collide on the Shade's forked tongue.

They have reached the lonely rim of the crater filled by the real buildings that light projected a hemisphere away. The half-constructed stables. The tidy smithy covered in dark, green-blotched stones. A dainty dome poised on slender pillars. Cobbled stone walls for a monastery or hall of some kind. Gaping holes cut into the ground, revealing lives lived well and a happy, prosperous little community stalked by two murder hobos, at least one undead soldier with a bone to pick nurtured over seven centuries, and a full Pictish bestiary of predators.

Welcome to Ascetir. Let's eat heroes.

Clint Barton has posed:
"Scotland? I didn't bring my clubs," Clint remarks dryly, but his eyes remain fixed at the gaps in the fog his arrows made. "Moving."

Clint twists his bow and thumbs the buttons, and breaks into a jog. He reaches into his quiver. The arrowhead is overly large with flashing red lights. The older agent counts to three, then notches and fires. The arrow streaks towards the second sister. Clint turns and fires a second one past Boltagar in the rearguard at base of the tree the Disir lands on. Napalm, or near enough, another trick from SHIELD. Searing hear draws in moisture from the air when it goes off, the liquid merrily clinging to and burning on anything it touches.