17155/The Siege of Dunkeld

The Siege of Dunkeld
Date of Scene:	10 February 2024
Location:	Glasgow, Kentucky
Synopsis:	An invasion of Dark Robotic Astral Zombies (intent on) eating the peasents who live in Glasgow is fenced of by Kitkat and Clint Barton!
Cast of Characters:	Kitkat, Clint Barton

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Kitkat has posed:
Glasgow is a town of just about 14000 people, located between such glorious places such as Cave City, Haywood and Wisdom. But in general, it's a somewhat sleepy town in Kentucky. A town well observeable from the surrounding rolling hills over the place dominated by farms surrounding the town.

How Kitkat ended up in the hills Northeast of the town, where the largest collection of trees for miles clung to the US Route 68 might be a story to tell in its own way, but that is not the tale of the day. Today, let's tell what transpired in the Dunkeld Auto Service, when the sun was about to kiss the western horizon, casting late orange rays of light over the landscape towards the west, from where tendrils of purple night reched for the town and the lone fortified position standing like a breakwater against the tide of the night...

Clint Barton has posed:
    How do Agents of SHIELD get anywhere? How do they KNOW where to be, when to be and in what capacity to be at any given time?
    That is the question of the ages, it truly is. It could be the almost magical foresight of its Director, aided by those eyes in the skies, both registered and un-.
    That also means that responses can vary, from large scale to singular. In this case? Totally singular.
    Previously seated at in a diner, sucking at a coffee mug is the incognito Avenger and SHIELD agent, dressed in jeans, boots and several layers of hoodies and jacket for layering, when the temperatures invariably fall in these thar hills. Now, Clint Barton is blinking into the fading light outside, hands in his pockets. His jaw shifts and there is an exhale of breath before he starts for his car, a red Challenger, to start to pull his equipment from the trunk.

Kitkat has posed:
As the night falls over the woods and the true sun creeps to hiding in the west, taking cover in mystical California, the woods west of the little autoshop turn even blacker. The last light of the day kisses the blade of the Warrior resting on the roop of the venerable tin sheet roof, stirring her to action. For a moment Kitkat's form is surrounded by almost the last fingers of daylight, then she drops, the Zweihander in Hand, onto the concrete of the car park.

"What drives you here, Archer?" the calico calls out to Clint while the small woods in the west seem to suck in specks of light from anywhere else. It's as if the light is ripped from the electric lamps around, and almost tangibly drifts towards the treeline, loosing its radiance on the way and then seeping upwards sickly, forming some sort of strange, arcane sigil. The best description might be as a burning black sun.

Clint Barton has posed:
    With quiver pulled from his trunk and strapped quickly and expertly to his back, there's a quick test of its systems. With a soft *wrrrrr*, the arrowheads shift and seat in place where its owner wished it. Once that is done, his collapsed bow is taken from the back seat of his car, and with the sound of a trunk closing and heavy car doors closing and latching, Clint looks back over his shoulder at the fading sun in the hills.
    It's the voice that speaks to him that gets his attention; it's not easy to sneak up on him. Movement catches the eye long before sound, and in his case, it's almost NEVER sound. Blue eyes move to the form and figure of... a cat. Not a //cat//, cat. But most decidedly //cat//.
    Right. Not the strangest thing he's seen, by far. Still, it does take him a moment to reconcile the talking and the form of cat. Not as long as it could, thanks to his acquaintance, Greer.
    "My car." Clint quips, the words taking on a lighter tone than perhaps his expression supports. "I'm actually pretty surprised it made it. And, I heard the camping was good here."
    His gaze moves towards the quickly darkening skies once again, blue eyes narrowing as if looking for something in particular. "Nice sword," as if it's a conversation starter. "Not good for starting campfires."

Kitkat has posed:
"You should have bought a better war steed if you feared it would break on your way." Kitkat anwered, the heavy blade shouldered like it was a child's toy. "But I wouldn't worry about it now. That over there reeks."

Like on command, the sickly glow of the burning black sun pulses, a wave of darkness running over the surrounding landscape and throwing up dust from the highway. The only sound that broke the silence after was the faint hum of the old lightbulbs illuminating the car shop's lot, increasing in pitch. Then, one after another they blew up in showers of sparks, leaving the place in deep darkness and utter silence for moments.

The sickly green light from the sigil over the forest did not help much to illuminate the area, but there was a shuffling sound of... something moving, intermixed with the faint whine of electric motors running at the limit of their power, changing direction ever so often. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then the wet sound of something fleshy hitting the tarmac of the road. And more. And more. Like a shuffling, slowly approaching group of... something was coming from the little group of trees...

Clint Barton has posed:
    "Everyone has an 'old faithful'." Apparently the car is his. To underscore it, Clint puts a hand out on the obviously 'well loved' vehicle, setting it down. There's a certain concentration that reaches his face, however, and as the thrum begins, the lights shatter, and the movement can be felt on the ground, the archer is spinning around with a speed that could be considered surprising for a 'mere human'. In that movement, the bow is extended and there's an arrow nocked; his fingers on the string but not yet pulled back.
    Clint is searching for a target.
    He glances over to the sword-wielding feline before he looks ahead. Flare arrows are right out, if he figures correctly. "Huh," he says quietly, "the Old Man was right."

Kitkat has posed:
Snorting at the notion of the old man, the Calico scans the dim area. The green dim is refracted in her eyes and they seem to glow as cattish grin runs over her face. "You were sent by a prophet? Tell him you fought side by side with a Warrior of the Land Within."

A second pulse of wind ran over the area, torching dozens of tiny flames floating over the ground. No, not floating. Each of them was socketed in the empty eyes of the skulls and rotting heads of twisted humans in various stages of decay. The hissing and whirring stemmed from limbs replaced by chunky robotic replacements.

"By the Balkatar and the Tigra, what ugly Abominations. To battle! By EBROK!" Charging forward, the steel in Kitkat's hand catches the glint from the undead's eyes.

Clint Barton has posed:
    "Oh, you bet I will. He'll definitely be interested," is followed up in something a great deal softer. Stupid AARs. Clint will be writing this up for hours afterwards.
    The soft *whirring* is picked up by StarkTech-created hearing aids, and for a second, there is that devout wish that it wasn't //that// good at isolating sounds. Yuck. The *whrrrr* with the sticky-noises of various stages of decaying flesh certainly make his night.
    "Okay, Tigra I know.." is offered helpfully, and when the cat-warrior pushes forward, Clint is mumbling his curses as the string is pulled to his anchor, and arrow is loosed quickly and effeciently. With unerring accuracy, it hits where he's aimed, and there is a muffled explosion as bits and pieces fly into the air. He doesn't rest, however, and another arrow is pulled, and the tip comes around to look for his next target.
    For the time being, playing backup until 'Ronin' needs to make his appearance. Hopefully it won't come to that.

Kitkat has posed:
How neat of the undead amalgimations to carry illumination of their position! As the first head detonates, eery blue lightning shoots from the decapitated corpse as its electronics start to fry and burn. The stench of decay mixes with ozone as more of his comrads join him on the ground, but the masses also start to speed up. Hissing and wirring, the taloned and clawed arms with replacement limbs hack at the feline warrior, even though she's still out of reach of most. The heavy blade swings in an arch that would cut down human fighters just as easily as it does cut these aboinations that join flesh, machine and apparently magic into a horrible creation. Many a beast falls...

But if there is one truth in Zombie films: The undead din't need skill or finesse. They only needed numbers. And numbers they had, pouring out of the little forest in an unorderly stream like it was a beehive...

Clint Barton has posed:
    It's true. In every zombie movie, those creatures just need time and numbers. That, and there is always someone that falls and twists their ankle, thus requiring any other member of the 'team' to stop shooting and execute a timely rescue.
    "I hate zombies," is murmured. Louder, Clint calls out, "Seriously? Zombies? Aw, come on." As the last words are spoken, the archer is loosing another arrow, but this time it's an EMP. If the mechanical parts aren't shielded, it'll at least slow them down. And, it has the added effect of 'area of effect'.
    Aw, yeah.
    Clint is never one to rest, however, and he's on the move now, another arrow in his arsenal nocked and ready to loose. "Fire in the hole!" Courtesy to at least give a heads up.

Kitkat has posed:
Kitkat looks to the quipping Archer almost quizzingly as she dodges a blow from one of the undead as chopped off limbs and robot parts start to pile around her feet. "That's your battlecry?" She yells back, just as the EMP detonates in a flash of light and radiating out in a circle of zombies sparking and arcing, mechanical parts failing and exploding into shrapnell, sprays of oil and catching fire. But ecen then, it doesn't halt the advance, at best slow it down and allow Kitkat to catch up with deanimating those that already are on the street before she is overrun.

Redoubling her efforts, Kitkat tears into a larger of the mechanical augmented undead, but the blade stays stuck in the chest of the monster. It doesn't stop her fully though, as she reaches for the same abomination's elbow, straining and stetching, until with a shower of sparks the connection breaks, leaving her with a club that has a crude, if effective, metal claw of some two feet at its end to fight back for the while. "Till Dawn I claim this night!" she yells into the darkness as the stolen weapon slices through a pair of undead monsters.

Clint Barton has posed:
    Clint's head quirks to the side slightly, though not enough to mess with his sight picture, and his brows crease for a second as he considers. "Don't have one. Would rather just be quiet and kill 'em." There's a pause before, "Unless I want their attention. Then, I just insult their mothers."
    As Kitkat gets deeper in, his arrows are giving her a little bit of breathing room until there.. her sword sticks. Cursing softly under his breath, the archer advances quickly and looses an arrow, just as his current partner in battle has her own solution well in hand... in paw? One, two more arrows, and Clint looks at the wave that still advances. "We gotta take a longer view on this. I have air support I can call in. Take out the trees and everything under it. Already, I've got people in place to evacuate those who are in the way." Clint's voice is soft and calm; obviously not freaked out by mech/zombie hybrids.

Kitkat has posed:
The improvised claw is used to butcher the undead by droves, doing her best to stay out of their clumsy but many claws. "This is OUR fight! If they want to take part, they shall get their arse down here!" she counters as the assault continues like an endless wave. The greenish sigil in the sky, the burning dark sun, seems to gain in power as they fight. Or just display the andger of their source. "But if you have time to quibble, give me my sword, I hold them at bay!"

Clint Barton has posed:
    "Yeah, it's our fight, but I'm not stupid enough to think that we can do this without close-up support." Clint shoots again, this time a dual arrow combination; fuel and fire, which sets alight the area by the trees from which the zombies are emerging. Flames shoot into the air, the heat of the fire bringing a warmth to the chilly evening, the yellow, orange and blue flames creating added light to the battle zone.
    This gives Clint the chance to reach for the sword in order to pull it from it's spot; and if successful, toss it to the cat-warrior before he shoots a 'regular' arrow, pinning a hand to a tree just behind it just as it was reaching out to swipe at the cat-warrior's back.
    "A couple of Quins should do it."

Kitkat has posed:
As Clint lights up some of the Zombies, it does set some of them on fite. There's one benefit to robot zombies: they have parts that actually care about being blown up or set ablaze, starting to halt their advance at least enough that Kitkat can stem the tide for a few minutes on her own, even using the improvised weapon, shielding Clint as he worked the blade free.

The battle raging, dozens if not a gross or more of the deanimated reanimated litter the road by now, their mangled remains strewn over the ground like debris after a storm. Even as Clint finally liberates the blade and tosses the blade to Kitkat, ensuring an upstart undead with a metallic face didn't catch her off guard, the warrior fights on, makign a quick gesture to the car shop before discarding the claw into the chest of another undead before using her sword again, smashing its blade through two others. "Whatever those Quins are, they better not destroy that building."

Clint Barton has posed:
    Over the sound of the conflagration now, the lights of an aircraft overhead blink into view. Red lights, white lights that outline the wing only gives a glimpse of the small fighter. The flames illuminate the rest of the plane as it hovers. It's there for a long, hanging moment before it disappears once again, headed towards the trees. With air support, it'll be a little bit easier to mop up the rest of the zombies.
    "Don't destroy the building, right. Yours?" Clint hasn't stopped shooting the creatures, but the urgency is a lessened a little. He's a touch more conversational and seemingly less engaged, even though every seemingly distracted shot takes out one, two, three of the zombies. "Cute little set up. What do you do in there?"

Kitkat has posed:
"Just a good spot to sunbath." Kitkat counters as she drives the zombies back as best she can, the gunk and dirt of battle clinging to her frame, dark fluids staining the fur and casting a reflection of ages long past.

Clint Barton has posed:
    Clint isn't far behind the cat-warrior, the arrows no longer the one thing in his arsenal that is dispatching them. A swing of his bow, followed by an arrow.. a good short knife for close-up work.. the man is nothing if not a fighter. Close in and distance makes him dangerous.

The Quin that has disappeared over the treeline makes its presence known, however, with the streaming of a missile. It's close quarters, and the concussion is certainly not only heard but //felt// all the way to where the pair are fighting, lighting up the sky in tandem with the flames earlier lit by Clint's arrows.
    The stench is real. The shards of metal poke up through grisled body parts that had supposed to have been long since dead and remained buried. The trees take flame, burning so as to give the creatures no place to hide. There is a perimeter certainly; fire and police have cordoned off the area once they saw the battle forming.

Kitkat has posed:
The explosion of rocketry in the little forest, where the darkest darkness had gathered, where the dark sigil had risen from, sends a fireball into the sky. The orb of manmade fire rips through the greenish sigil, distorting it in its heat and leaving behind a hole where the dark sun was, boiling up higher and higher in a trembling, roaring blast towards the sky. Shards of burning wood rain on the area and street, adding to the stench of heated metal, fire, ozone, spilled oil and decaying corpses.

As the fire rages, a metalic screech starts to emerge from the forest, the thrown over burning wreckages of former trees starting to shiver and then flipping over into the other direction, getting sucked towards where the warhead had hit some minute prior. Like a negative shockwace it is now a ripping gale towards the spot where the invasion came from. Like papers in a storm, tumbling undead follow the vacuum as Kitkat ram her sword into the tarmac to stem against the yanking force with one hand holding onto its hilt. As Clint passes, she takes hold of his quiver, holding them both as the galeforce seems intent to try and suck in every single mechanical undead it had spewn out earlier, corpses and bits likewise flying towards where the little forest once stood. It's like someone pulled the plug out of a water basin and everything that was put in now strives to get out again.

About a minute or two later, a loud, deafening pop hallows over the area and everything is silent once more. The wind was suddenly gone, and what remained of the nightly invasion were just a few pieces and the destruction of the two heroes weapons.

And from one of the churches down in Glasgow, Midnight tolls...