Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	Ascetir. The Highlands of Scotland. A green light flashed in the deformed crater that Ascetir occupies, illuminating the swirling mists that dampen sound or sight. Something tremendous happened down there, creating a moment like the full brightness of day in the desert. Wormwood green radiance still hangs in the air around one of the few intact buildings of any size in the lost village, either reconstructed by the archaeologists or somehow surviving unknown through the years. St. Elmo's fire dances off the domed roof and winds around the tall pillars. Nowhere else does it burn. The ground shakes, tremors running through the dense, green-speckled stone. Smaller, unmortared blocks break free from a low wall, a partly reconstructed home. The smithy and the stables rock and shed dust, but don't lose collapse. For Daisy, it's like being in the center of a very loud rock concert. Emphasis rock: all the sounds rolling together form the missing chorus very loud indeed. For everyone else, any bruises or scrapes they take from falls -- or bites from wildcats, scratches from birds, or other harms -- fade away in minutes, if that. But perhaps the fact the world went extremely bright without any obvious source is concerning. Or Red Sonja bellowing a challenge that goes answered by the lake water running around their feet.
Mary Jane Watson	On the ground as they shake, Red Sonja goes to heft her weapons up and holds them in front of her. "Come out wizard. You hide yourself in the ground, then I will simply have it dug out. Come out spirit, whatever you are!" The challenge goes out, and Sonja is ready for any oncoming attack. Whether or not there is something hostile, ambivalent, conscious.. Or merely just an ancient fog of magical memories inherent to the realm..     Openly antagonizing it probably isn't helpful.
Vic Sage	"Hrmmm," grumbles a concerned Victor "Vic Sage" Szasz, a.k.a. The Question. His blank face twists into a frown and he looks to the other gathered members of his posse. The blood running down his leg from the dog's bite trickles to a stop, adding even more questions that he's woefully ill-equipped to answer. He hates that. Everyone else should, too. The smartest guy in the room is stumped, at least that's how Vic sees it. His pistol is drawn from its holster and the empty clip is dropped into a waiting hand, soon to be replaced with a full one. The slide is pulled back with a satisfying metallic clink and he stands there, waiting for the inevitable revelation that's no doubt just outside of his mind's eye.
Daisy Johnson	The sudden beam of light, along with the chorus of vibrational 'music' that Daisy senses is overwhelming for a few good moments, the Inhuman staggering briefly and reaching for the nearest person for support, catching hold of Jemma's sleeve. "Ugh .., reminds me of my dark metal days..." Daisy's goth phase. We don't talk about that. She rubs at her forehead as she wills herself to block the vibrations from being too overwhelming. "A wizard? Did you see anything?" she asks of the Red Sonja before pointing. "Whatever that is seems to be a source. But we also need to mind our wounded.." she looks over to the professors to check if they are mobile again or not.
Angelo Tampambulos	Bright light flashing... it is akin to a lightning strike during the blackest of nights. Angelo finds himself standing up straight and reaching to pluck his spear out of the ground. Not a word is spoken, but he has a feeling... something out of memory that may not really -be- a memory.     His shield comes up as if being braced against a potential attack. His horsehair crested helmet holds steady as his green eyes traverse the area. The flashing images reflect on the celestial bronze of his helmet and breastplate... the Grecian warrior standing stock still as the images flow about and past him.     His spear is gripped tightly for just a moment, and then his grip changes to a more relaxed one. The sort one should use when in a real fight. Good grip, but loose enough to move about freely. His elbow cocks in near his hip as he prepares for a spear-thrust if needed. Then he takes a step, then a second one... slowly moving in the direction of the pillared building.
Jemma Simmons	A challenge bellowed from a Hyborian age female barbarian? One would think that would be unique and catch Jemma's attention. However, a bright green flash, followed by what seems to be accelerated healing on a massive scale? Yes, sorry Sonya. Jemma's interest has been piqued...and with biochem involved, red-haired barbarians just cannot compete. Eyes wide, Jemma turns to Daisy. "Did you see that?" A glance to Daisy's leg is all that Jemma needs to see to prove that she wasn't imagining the healing surge. "A sudden burst of luminescence and an accelerated rate of cellular repair? They have to be related." The excitement in her voice cannot be hidden, despite being in a most dangerous situation. But, that excitement has to be tempered. And so, Jemma turns to check over her patients, the two professors. "still comatose. They are stable and they can be moved...but they are not regaining consciousness and I am unsure as to why at the moment."
Jane Foster	In his defense, Vic isn't technically in a room so much as a deformed and slightly weathered geological landform. Only ten percent of the surviving structures have roofs. Odds ever in his favour? The ground shudders and bucks for another sequence of ten second intervals lasting about two minutes. In that time, dirt flies in the air. A wall crumbles into dust and unmortared stones. Dark lake water forms a turbid, shallow creek running down the cobblestoned path bisecting Ascetir. Wet shoes and boots are entirely a risk, along with a dead trout or salmon carried along to slap against Jemma's foot. It, like so many other animals outside the crater, harbours signs of violence. Regular pulsations run through the flashing, narrow ray pointed into the sky through the domed well building. When it hits the underbelly of the clouds, the cloudy haze starts to evaporate. They might rather wish it hadn't. Will-o-wisps the size of basketballs flit through the village, clustering around the 'monastery' and the smithy building. Several shadowy hounds lurk in the woods at a far distance. A human figure in the well building darts away.
Mary Jane Watson	Going to flick her blade along Red Sonja goes to gesture wehre she sees something humanoid. As the shadows gather and darken, and go to advance on them.. Red Sonja is going to leap along. There's something moving through there and her hunter's instincts give her guidance. She's not yelling as she would challenge.. She's moving quietly all things considered. Presuming that she's not immedaitely noticed bolting along by the thing, it's actually rather quiet.     She would be running along if not intercepted, using bits of debris and the area as cover to try and keep things between line of sight of the shadowy humanoid figure. And she's going there at a full, almost silent sprint.
Vic Sage	Vic's nostrils flare within his mask. While Vic may smell of rubbing alcohol to most folks, he's long sense become accustomed to the scent of his chemically-treated clothes, and it's no longer a detractor from his senses. His hat is adjusted and he looks to Jemma, adding, "The bite on my leg is gone, too." Returning to his hunch, Vic's eyes scan over the crater before they come to light on where Mary Jane is moving to. He moves to run along after her. It's much less dramatic-looking since his trench coat is in tatters on the ground.
Daisy Johnson	"It's a gigantic piece of that metal we have been investigating, Jemma." Daisy tells the doctor. "It's the big piece from where all the others came from. It completes them." a small frown comes to her features but she is set in getting to the bottom of this now that the two professors are being taken care of by Jess. "It beats me on why we were healed though.." A glance to Vic's leg then to Jemma, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. Answers though? They seem to lie ahead so that's where Daisy goes, remaining close to Jemma just in case there's more attackers. But now she is ready, focusing her vibrations to look for any ambushers.
Angelo Tampambulos	Okay. So it's ominous and mysterious. Angelo is a warrior. Sure, he's been around for a long time. He knows a lot of languages, and a lot of useful (and useless) facts about history. He never really needed to be much of an investigator.     So he advances cautiously, trying to keep himself between the domed well building and the others as he moves. His spear point never wavers as he moves, the celestial bronze -almost- glowing with power. I mean sure, it doesn't actually glow, but the afterimages of the green lightning doesn't seem to fade from the blade as quickly as it does from most other things around. While he advances, he -is- waiting to be given a command by someone in authority.
Blackagar Boltagon	The procession beginning it's forward movement is enough for Blackagar to nod a bit as if acknowledging an unspoken consideration. He hands remain almost passively at his side as he starts to step with the others, but once more he does so keeping himself to the ack as a rear vanguard while they proceed further ahead. There is a soft consideration of several people in the party as they do so. ~If this were to be some kind of pocket reality, or a shift then it would stand to reason, would it not, that the normal movement of time or other expectations could be skewed?~ The question is given to any that may glance at him, signing away. Do you know how long it takes to sign some of those words? Hell, he has to spell them out in a few cases for ease since they may not have easily recognizable symbols.
Jemma Simmons	"It is?" The metal that Jemma and Daisy were investigating was intriguing...but there was nothing in the initial examination that would explain the cellular regeneration. Jemma herself mutters softly "but...we identified the magnetic properties. Nothing to this magnitude. It doesn't make sense." Still, if anyone would know, it would be Daisy. The metal had a unique harmonic that Daisy would certainly know. "But....you would know. You felt the vibrations. Still...a piece of that size. We need to retrieve that if at all possible." Still...something is nagging at Jemma's thoughts. She regards the professors. Not just looking at them...but almost seeing through them, as Jemma tilts her head in thought. And....a flash of inspiration crosses over her features. But, instead of announcing it to everyone, she turns to Daisy to murmur something within her hearing. Well, Daisy can hear anything she wants...but yes, Jemma whispers.
Jessica Drew	Jessica honors the saying of last but not least. But first the professors need to be moved. As gently as possible she picks up the injured woman with her considerable strength to carry her over her shoulder, leaving one hand free to defend herself if need be. She joins the procession attaching herself to Angelo who will serve as a buffer in an attack. The other professor is left to Clint's tender mercies.
Jane Foster	Ascetir is roughly bowl shaped, bisected by a long road and many crooked lanes punctuating tightly packed 'neighbourhoods.' The only straight route for Sonja, Angelo or the Question to run takes them literally through the middle of town, perfectly visible to everyone. Otherwise, to maintain stealth in the soft dawn shadows, they are forced to crouch or weave around partly excavated buildings. The largest ones still standing offer a good deal of cover, the largest being the 'monastery' as Professor Iain called it. Going around it means being lost from sight where Jemma, Daisy, and Jessica remain. Dashing into Ascetir offers different distractions. Eldritch fire wrapped around the well building throws weird shadows hard to distinguish as a shadow or possibly a black hound-like shape snapping at Sonja's leg. A short, sharp spear gets hurled in the Question's direction, slamming into the rock past the metal leaf-shaped blade and killing a tattered lappet on his coat. Angelo has the advantage to knowing how to fight through tight streets, for what was Troy if not the worst urban battle in the ancient world? There's another draugr out there waiting for his moment to strike. They do indeed like stealth as Blackagar warned before. Bronzed armour may be tested if he doesn't close first by a distinctively-swirled steel sword. The sounds of battle, though, barely extend 2 meters. While the mist is gone, the eerie quiet around the warriors isn't. What was a silhouette before resolves to a warrior wielding a glowing green fire in his hands doesn't bother with stealth, running through Ascetir for the forest on the other side. The crater wails in audible reverberation with him, motes lifted into the air. When the breeze catches it, the evergreens burst into full spring growth, pinecones fattening in heartbeats. Flowers burst forth.
Mary Jane Watson	The hound going to lash out at Sonja is something she can deal with. Mace snapping down over at the head of the beast held in one hand, cold iron metal no matter how ancient. Sonja would then lash out with the blade in the other. Attempting to use the two in combination to hopefully break the neck of teh hound. Hopefully even for an ethereal thing if it works having it's spinal cord cracked and it's upper head slashed off if she can get in the brutal hits will be enough to. She calls out a warning towards Question as the spear is launched.
Vic Sage	Something catches Vic's eye as he runs and he's sliding to a stop, bearing his pistol towards the smithy. "Something here!" he shouts, firing a few shots into the workspace. "Old. Thirteenth century. Dead. Undead, I guess," Vic explains, waiting to see if the bullets had any effect. He can't stop his natural curiosity, of course, and moves closer to the forge, squinting. "What the hell are you things?"
Angelo Tampambulos	Not just Troy. Angelo has fought in nearly every condition, on every type of battleground, with nearly every type of weapon ever invented. Hey, it's what you do when you are a warrior who cannot die. But he does know one truth that a lot of modern people seem to have forgotten.... The spear is not just a stick that is not as romantic as a sword. It's a weapon that dominated the field of battle for millennia. Why? I am glad you asked that... because it has reach. You are putting the blade all the way over there before the sword-wielder can get into reach of you.     And then there is the fact that he is not even trying a little bit to be sneaky. He is walking out in the open, wearing gleaming metal armor, with a gleaming metal shield. It's difficult to be stealthy when flashes of light are reflecting and refracting off of so muchg shiny celestial bronze.     However, the fact that he is -trying- to be the focus of attention from the enemy(s) means that he fully expects to be attacked. His eyes follow the fire-handed man fleeing, and his eyes narrow. His immediate thought is... why run unless you want your enemy to give chase. Tactically, it would be stupid to just run after the guy. And so Angelo simply lets that guy go for now, figuring that sure, he might be a threat later, but right now... he needs to figure out -why- the guy wants people chasing him.     And so the armored warrior slows to almost a stop... waiting for the other shoe to drop. If he were planning this, the withdrawing target would be trying to draw its enemies to.... this spot, for an ambush. So he prepares for the surprise. . . feet planted and taking one step every second or two now. It's a creeping awkward looking almost duckwalk that lets him keep spear and shield steady.
Blackagar Boltagon	Blackagar is definitely attempting to be sneaky as he walks in the back. Not stealth for his own sake, the idea is humorous, but for those of the others. No need to draw additional attention forth and it is better for him to spot things that are happening. Granted, being able to give some kind of alert would help. Blackagar's hands fly together in a sharp clap of noise as he draws attention to himself; the pains you have to go to in order to make sure people see you when trying to get them to notice something else. Yelling out 'Hey everyone!', while extremely humorous, would certainly be a quick exit out of whatever space they occupy via annihilation. So instead, the drawing attention comes and then he holds up two fingers, moves one hand behind the other, then indicates a different location up ahead. ~Two figures, moving behind that building.~ The structure indicated being the monastery.
Daisy Johnson	"I remember having told people that we should stick together." A frown is appearing on Daisy's expression, but with everyone mostly now disappeared into the fog there's little she can do to call on their attention but to move forward... She pauses at something Jemma says though. Eyes wide going her way, then looking around. She gestures at Blackagar, < There may be something here related to Jane > she informs him through sign-language. At least until there's the motion for those beings hidden behind the building. She quirks a brow. "Our goal is the green light ahead. Not chasing shadows." stubborn Daisy. To Jemma she says, "Lets hope we can find some answers."
Leopold Fitz	Scotland. The highlands roll with a majesty that one simply can't describe. It has to be experienced. The depth of history is all in those rocks and stones, the tufts of grasses, the ruins of lives past. How does one get there directly? Not via Range Rover, though that is possible, and not by horseback. Not possible. Nope. Far up in the air, and in an area far from the zone, a bit of dark silk might be seen obscuring the bits of stars in the early hours of dawn. The sun's rise over the ruins and hills peek, but doesn't give off too much light, allowing for something of a stealthy arrival. Other than the 'oof' as Dr Leopold Fitz lands. A couple of hops of pain at landing and slight tweaking of an ankle on a stone gives a hint, before testing it and finding enough stability to stow his gear and set his backpack right. He's in black SHIELD gear, ICER on his thigh, and with small tablet in hand, he's beginning his march to the site, more led by that unearthly green light than anything on his screen. His approach, from the south..
Jemma Simmons	A nod is given to Daisy in agreement. Yes, Jemma wants to investigate that green light. But, also, Jemma wants to help the prone professors. "We need to see if we can restore the professors. In their current state, they are prime targets for the disir." The current state....that phrase has a different meaning at least for the two. Jemma turns...regarding the light...and seemingly two separate sources? "Daisy. It seems to me that there is a concentrated source over in that direction." A finger points towards the well. "But, green fire...that unknown entity running away. Which one does the harmonics resonate the most?" Because Jemma knows Daisy senses more than Jemma does...and might be able to identify which green light to head to.
Jane Foster	Attack and the honour guard of a Norse king answers. From the south side of the crater, bullets fly through the open doorway to the smithy. A rather short man in rusting armour with new bullet holes bolts out after the first target he can see: The Question. No blood; that face is a rictus of withered hate. A sleek, green-tinted sword to deliver heaps of stabbing answers the attack. To the northwest, Red Sonja's vicious ripostes cleave through partly amorphous hounds. When she breaks one's back, black feathers spill from the wounds. Blackagar's clap might warn her about the axeman draugr climbing up a waist-high wall to jump at her before she gets cut down like a pine tree. The second draugr by the monastery that Blackagar spotted is sneaking up on the spear-toting Achilles, awaiting the opening to stab him. Jessica is possibly the easier target (thanks to medieval biases); he will not hesitate to stab her from behind if she comes into reach with that curiously swirled sword. Jemma and Daisy head for the flame-lit well to the northeast. It's hard to miss, the domed roof aglow in patterns depicted on many of the Pictish carvings. Beyond is the forest in its lush and very sudden growth, the clamouring warhounds circling around. The soldier with his orb of green light elbows past a fir and shouts in archaic Norwegian, broken by a baying laugh. <<Finally. You blighted bitch, hear me in your icy hall. The task is done and your oath must be fulfilled. We live again!>>
Jessica Drew	Shifting the professor slightly for the woman's comfort, Jess hugs the wall, ready to climb it in her version of spider stealth. Angelo's armor is her bright anchor in the gloom as he plays deadly decoy and impenetrable shield. Would-be attackers will be surprised when their weapons of the same material cannot pierce his shield or breastplate. Barefoot, barelegged, and burdened, Jess looks vulnerable, but she carries a concealed weapon that attackers will find shocking. They make an excellent team. Bare feet give her an advantage; she can feel the subtle vibration of running feet, the first harbinger of an attack that will test Angelo and her theory. She hisses a warning to Angelo, "Incoming!"
Mary Jane Watson	A slash to the back of the head of the hound takes off a lcump of it. A bash with the mace caves in a skull. But within moments the thing is regenerating. Red Sonjag oes to brutalize it again, a hack gone at a foreleg removing it, just as quickly having it grow back. A smash done at the spine that would crush it like an eggshell, bones snapping back to flesh within moments. Flesh regenerating.     A claw of the thing slashes Sonja across the gut as she howls. A swing of the mace hits the skull of the beast again. It's head starts to immediately regenerate as Sonjag oes in with the sword, slashing at the neck. What follows is her taking the thing apart quickly as she would have more slashes hit her, her own body clawed up as she would rise.     "I hate magic. Come out spirit."     Right as the axeman comes behind her and the warning. Red Sonja would slap back her mace to block the swing at her, twirl around with the parry to try and stomp ehr foot into the man's knee. Attempting to strike it to twist it and then bring up the flat of the sword to the man's head. Presuming she can, then mace going down to try and hit him in the solar plexus.     They do need him conscious to answer questions. OF course, this is if he's normal. And even then, she has to hit him.
Vic Sage	"Hell," utters The Question as the draugr rushes him down. He'd expected it to limp, at least. The draugr's blade is ducked and dodged for a time, but it eventually finds purchase just to the left of Sage's stomach, the ancient zombie hefting the detective off his feet with the blade and tossing him back. Vic slams into the wall behind him with an 'OOF!', knocking a few stones (and his hat) loose before he's collapsing to the ground, hands clasped over his bloodied side. "Losing blood. Back's...not broken...don't go into shock don't go into shock don't go into shock," he commands of his will.
Jane Foster	Blood that slips from the Question's side turns into a streak of chrome against the green-speckled stones, the red almost immediately becoming the colour and consistency of metal.
Angelo Tampambulos	Much like rainstorms that start as a light sprinkling, one draugr, two draugr, three draugr a lady.. okay, wrong reference. When one begins its charge towards the -very- obvious armored Grecian warrior... several others follow it in what can only be called a swarm.     Patience on the field of battle is often rewarded. But as the lead draugr begins moving -past- Angelo and towards Jessica, he intercepts with a thrust of his spear. The spearhead enters the torso at the side of the chest and is withdrawn just as quickly. It diverts the attention of the attacker if not disabling it.     And then Angelo becomes a defensive blur. His shield flickers with motion as it moves to block one attack, and then another. The spear used to pierce the chest of another... twisting the shaft and blade to keep that one back and away from his body. He even uses that to maneuver the guy around and shove him towards Jessica with the creature's back to her... making him quite open to an attack from her...     Doing so leaves him a little bit open, a clawed hand raking along the cheekplate of his helmet. His head turns with the blow before he comes back around to slam the spear into that creature's torso from the side... sending it stumbling back.     While his feet -do- move... footwork being huge in battle, he gives no ground... holding his line as he waits for the others to figure out how to put a stop to all of this. The only question is... whether his godly augmented celestial bronze weapons have more effect on the enemies than normal mundane weapons.
Leopold Fitz	Dr Fitz enters the fray, and upon arrival, he's in full 'oh great' mode. His expression is one of great concern as blue eyes widen at the scene before him, the scene in which he's just inserted himself. It's dark, shadowy, the hints of natural light blend in with the green eldritch-fire. Leo will tell any and all who might look askance at him in the field that he is also an Agent, and as such, begins to move around in a crouched, ducking pace in an attempt to keep a low profile. He doesn't have a weapon in hand; not his ICER, not a sword, nothing. Nothing but his tablet, which is weapon enough as it attaches itself to different frequencies and resonances in the manifested magic. Where there is sight, there is sound, as it were. (Or should be!) As he moves, the ankle isn't giving that twinge anymore. The scrapes and bruises of insults past that were healing are gone, and with it, the slight discomfort. No time to consider it, could be the adrenaline, as the man does look as if he's been giving all of this second and third thoughts. His path, however, is to the well.. as if Jemma and Daisy needed the added encouragement that direction was the way? Well, it's drawing him, anyway. Moving around the loch side in an attempt to give the road a wide berth, and all the battles over it, he's trying to make his approach as stealthy as possible.
Blackagar Boltagon	A tie to Jane, those words snap attention from Blackagar towards Jemma, a small narrowing of his blue eyes. Protective much? Still his hands flash momentarily in sign ~Yes, it may at that.~ Vague, non direct, but still he falls in to walk with Jemma and Daisy. The sounds of conflict about coming to his ears but keeping an eye on the two becomes a necessary task for several moments; if anything happens to them the couch will be awaiting. Still, he falls behind, lags some and taking a steadying silent moment, turns slowly and stomps his foot into the ground to cause it to rumble, to draw attention. Should the others wish to sneak ahead, then he apparently has decided to beacon attention back; a distraction to aid the tasks of others.
Daisy Johnson	As all heck breaks loose all around the area there's one beacon that seems to be keeping Daisy's attention though and that 's the green flame the man carries. "There." She confirms Jemma's suspicion. "That's the focus of the vibrations." And it's where they need to get to. "I am going to knock him down if I can.. And you go wide and intercept the flame?" she suggests to her partner-in-crime-Jemma-Simmons. Though did she just sense another rather familiar vibrational signature in the form of a Fitz? There's a brief glance towards his way but it's not like she can see him.. Maybe it was just one of those feelings.. She shrugs it off and nods at Blackagar when he starts the distraction. She understands it. "Alright, go!" She focuses and places her hands on the ground, eyes closing as she lets her powers spread through the ground. She joins in with the vibrations coming from the green stones already inbedded within the earth, creating a vibration of her own to disrupt them until there's a shower of earth coming down underneath the guy screaming in Norwegian. Perhaps enough to knock him down and provide an interception!
Jemma Simmons	There are few people that Jemma is completely in tune with. One of those people just dropped into a hot zone with nothing but a parachute and a tablet at his disposal, with Jemma none the wiser. Another is somewhere...perhaps still in New York, at the planetarium. But there is a third...and when Daisy gives the ad-hoc plan of essentially a snatch and grab, Jemma nods. It may not be her usual method of operations...but desperate times and all. And there's a strong sense that whatever that flaming object is will be needed in the not-so-distant future. And so, Jemma is already sprinting almost before the word 'go'. She may be a scientist, but she is also a senior agent of SHIELD, trained by some of the best...and it shows. Jemma sprints, paying little heed to terrain and possible predators. With Daisy's vibration distraction, there is just a short window to obtain the object. A misstep and a twinge from the ankle. The pace falters...but doesn't stop as the accelerated healing takes effect. Snaps from the pack of hunting dogs as they catch wind of the running Simmons. Scrapes from the claws as Jemma somehow sidesteps a lunge from one of the closer hounds. All the while, her eyes remain on the prize. Will Jemma be able to reach the emerald flame before the mystery individual recovers?
Jane Foster	Staying on their feet is tough with another earthquake emanating from the Inhuman king, ringing the stones like a bell. Celestially baked stone and dawn-gilded forests heave, torn as the living soldier with green fire in his hands is flung backward onto the slope. His hounds scramble for footing. It's such a narrow opportunity for Jemma to seize, colliding with a warm-bodied black dog and the man in his dry-rotted garments. The green orb launched from his burning hands rebounds off her chest and rolls into the needle-strewn soil. All that fuss for something the size of a perfume vial. Bone cracks. No blood flows, save from the SHIELD agents, transformed to a chromed sheen across the ground. Broken flesh knits only to be rent again in an endless cycle of destruction and creation. Sonja's axeman throws a reinforced elbow at her face as she breaks his knee, his voice a howl beyond the grave. Dust flecked by emerald sparkles shakes above the Question, whose stomach rebels but resumes its general shape. The draugr headbutts the faceless man, possibly confounded why he has no features. Clashing metal and feverish strikes create a dull noise where Achilles takes on draugr in a haphazard patchwork of armour. The undead have dreadful strength. Even Jess deflecting a punch might knock her off-kilter, and the Greek hero's bound to see a few stars when a blow gets through. Fitz might catches glimpses the melee sparkling in the morning light through the partially reconstructed buildings peppering the crater's north rim. The lake sloshes up in an explosion of water. Oh, and three full-grown, waterlogged spruce logs flung with splintering force at the draugr, Achilles, Daisy, Red Sonja, and Jessica where they cluster in the streets. A giant's caber toss comes courtesy of a half-dressed ghostly woman swinging that long-tongued whip of many tails. And for good measure, the wildcat that Sonja tried to tame, straight at Blackagar. "Mrowr!"
Mary Jane Watson	Red Sonja can tell the way that the battle is going. They're spread out and engaging separately. She goes to snap, "Form a perimeter!" The axeman cometh for her as she would pick out the location where the Question was, where Angelo was.. She goes to call out at Question, "Duck!" A hand goes up to twist about, take the blade that she had been using in the fight, an old, rusted weapon as she moves to hurl it at the draugr attacking the Question. Hopefully to knock it away or to give the Question a bit of space to rally himself. Sonja goes to sweep the battlefield.. Then she is going to advance on the one that is going towards Achileos, mace in hand. She goes to call out in what little bits of Greek she knows.     "On your left!" Then she's going to charge on in, going for the other side of Angelo. Her intent being to take as weeping smash at the attacker on one side. It will have to block her and leave itself open to Angelo, or go fully defensive to give him some time to recover. Sonja is charging like a freight train. Even if her attack misses or is braced for, sheer momentum should hopefully voercome the enhanced strength of the thing.. Or at least drive it away!
Vic Sage	His head lolling back from the headbutt is enough to snap Vic back into reality. Or his version of it. He's not dead and that's wholly unexpected. Even more unexpected is the blade hurtling in under Mary Jane-power and slamming into his assailant. Vic hops to his feet, scooping up the draugr's blade as he does so. Richard Dragon trained him how to fight using all sorts of conventional and unconventional weaponry. His swordsmanship is surprisingly top tier. Not that that can be really told right here and now, Vic just hefting the draugr's emerald-flecked blade high in the air again and again as it chops at it. Maybe if it's in enough pieces it can't hurt him anymore.
Jessica Drew	Perfect! Angelo sets them up for her to finish. A last-minute doubt assails her. After quickly depositing the Professor against a wall, Jess lifts both hands, palms outward in what could be mistaken as the universal plea to stop. She unleashes a stream of bio-electricity - a nimbus of bright chartreuse that plays up and down her assailant's body, enrobing his head and entering his mouth. He staggers. When he does not fall, she wreathes him with another blast and steps close behind him. A quick wrench snaps his neck so far that she can see the vicious hatred in his eyes. Grunting, she pushes the man back toward Angelo. "Will his head grow back if you cut it off?" Another locus of vibration comes through the ground, coming from Daisy and Blackagar. After assuring herself that the Professor is still alive with a hand to the pulse in her neck, Jess leaves her, returning at a dead run to Daisy's location, rocking drunkenly on the heaving ground. Instinctively, Jess ducks at the bright green object lobbed into the air toward Angelo and herself. Hands lifted, the agent barbs what appears to be a giant glowing tree trunk with a spike of bio-electricity. Is it flammable? She can only hope.
Angelo Tampambulos	Combat -is- chaos. Only those able to keep their cool and hold it together when everything is falling to pieces about them can really come out on top. Achilles finds himself fully engaged. But there is more going on. He lets his hands move to defend himself almost without really paying attention to them. It's muscle memory and reflex... lift the shield to redirect that intense strike... lean back to avoid this one.     But he has noticed the disir... the one focusing on Black Bolt. When your enemy is focused elsewhere, that is the best time to strike. So after leaning back, his right arm lifts, and the grip on his spear reverses. Then he takes one stride, shield bashing a draugr in the face before taking a second stride and hurling his spear. He is strong... not superhuman, but -very- strong... and the fact that he grunts from the effort of the throw should tell people something about it. The gleaming spearhead whistles through the night. The celestial bronze almost singing and actually glowing a bit. Perhaps without knowing it, Achilles is able to impart just the hint of his own divine power into his weapons now and then.... okay, more now than then. But the spear sinks into the right cheekbone, and into the skull of the disir that was so focused on Black Bolt.     As he backs away then, he barely hears Jessica's voice.. the sound of the area still muffled, "I've no idea. But I am game to find out! Try focusing your blasts on their necks!"     Then out comes the Xiphos sword of Achilles... starting its dance of death. Stepping back away from the draugr, he cuts and parries with incredible speed... speed being what he was really known for back before there were speedsters out there. Sure, he is taking hits himself... his armor not damaged, but force transferring through. But with his own toughness and healing factor, augmented by the energy of the area.. he is nearly unstoppable here.     He is doing his best to keep a half dozen of the things occupied, so others might attack them from the flank. But then Sonja is there beside him, and he uses his shield between the two of them while cutting one draugr from crotch to neck.... yes, it's disgusting, but war is messy... and the armor of Achilles gleams a bit less brightly now. Mostly due to the gore covering much of it.
Leopold Fitz	*rumble* *shaaaake* *rumble* The ground moves beneath Fitz' feet as he ducks and runs, causing the man to stumble, his hands catching his fall forward. Picking himself up and steadying himself, the dark colored backpack on his back shifts and shakes as he runs, the contents within his prized cargo. Darting figures move through his periphery, and their manner strikes him as familiar. If he needs any hints, the ground rumbles beneath his feet, on his end, more subtle than the directional she'd laid out for the fleeing figure, which is really just a bit of dancing green along a different path than his own. "Oh Daisy," he mutters beneath his breath, "y'better be careful.." before he looks back around, searching for the second, as familiar form and figure. Still, he's got his direction picked, and as the fray seems to happen around him, he's sprinting for the well. Upon attaining it, Fitz drops down to a crouch, his practiced hand pulling the backpack from his shoulders and opening the zipper in a single, fluid action. Pulling out a flat bit of firmware, the man begins to set things up, his blue eyes firm on the task at hand, so used to knowing 'the others' have his back so he can work. Teamwork? He pushes it against one of the pillars of the lovely, pictish well, and leans back from his work only to focus on the next task, that is, programming it from his little tablet. Spectrum and freqencies. Frequencies and oscillations. Light, heat, magnetics and harmonics. They all tell a story that begins to fall into a regular patterns for the engineer to suss out. Thumbs move furiously across the pad, and soon enough, the fruits of his labor may become evident as he dials in, closing the distance between variables to hone into one that would work the best. Time to weaken that green light, bring it to heel.. and perhaps the rest of the folly will follow.
Jemma Simmons	The earth moves. The ground shakes. And not all of it is expected. As the emerald orb hits Jemma in the chest, she fumbles it. The surprise, coupled with the unstable earth, causes attempting to catch the idea to be rather fruitless. However, it is out of the grasp of the individual with flaming hands. Wait...flaming hands?! Daisy's usual recklessness must be rubbing off onto Jemma. Then, a slam from something black and furry causes Jemma to tumble. Yet, the tumbling is somehow to her advantage, as Jemma falls towards the same section of damp earth that the orb itself fell to. To the layman, it would look almost intentional. A fumble recovery from that American sport that they dare to call football, but has nothing resembling what true football is. It looks almost planned. Too bad it wasn't. Nevertheless, when Jemma falls, she ends up on top of the green stone. Her arms encircle it, pulling it close. Even as Leo strives to wrangle the light at the well, Jemma fights to maintain possession of the other anomaly....the singing stone that Daisy has homed in on. Oh....there is the angry dog and the flaming fists of the North to contend with, too. Jemma's little dive to the dirt is dramatic...but short. Already, she is rolling to try to get to her feet.
Blackagar Boltagon	Here, Kitty Kitty Kitty. The creature bursting forth with the whip of tails swirling about it in menacing fashion pulls the King's attention immediately. He knows when something is for him. The sensation of an assassin or direct threat coming far to often of late. A smile cross his face, far from cocky, but not lacking in confidence as he almost bows in an informal way towards the whip wielding fiend. Cracking of one's knuckles is so cliche, and tempting to do, but the amused almost entertained smile from the Inhuman grows as he begins to jog forward towards the creature, slowly pulling up momentum until he sends himself skyward with a jump. Oh to see the energy around him, the radiant glow of it as it surrounds his body then into his arm, traversing the energy as he lands striking the ground with force to send shockwaves towards the creatures. All for the name of distraction, all for the others to succeed.
Jane Foster	The violent green sparks fly into the air, and the dampeners strain to contain the luminous ray beamed high into the sky. Strobing light flashes and weakens as its connection to the source weakens. The process works well, albeit disrupted when the entire crater shudders to yet another projectile, Black Bolt, slamming into it. Shocked quartz can't get a break. In plain sight of Ascetir, Jemma turns turtle around the glowing green stone. The living draugr wrenches her shoulder to pull her back, fire around his rotting leather gloves going out. He crashes down again in the shaking ground, spitting words that spiral the ground beneath him with a magical gateway. While she struggles for footing, the black hound bays and jumps around to keep her from running. Other draugr being mown down like swaying summer grain -- complete with knives and axes and blades -- don't stand against the onslaught choreographed amidst splintering trees and smashed wood. Every time they get up, great, they fall. Sonja and Achilles might need to be careful they aren't smashed down by falling trees in their bloody work. Daisy deflects a log while Jessica nimbly evades the huge projectile tossed by a trash-talking Asgardian murder hobo that Odin really ought to get a better leash on. The undead warriors don't seem to be rallying to the disir, slain and scattered over a killing field. Then goes that bronzed spear, hurled straight through the screen of the hypersonic whip that she's already snapping out to collapse the well and several stone homes. The spear moves through her -- albeit so very, very slowly -- and emerges like it passed through Jell-O. Ectoplasmic ichor hits the ground, a fusion of realms, and she throws her head back. The ululating banshee wail can rob a man of sense, ears ringing in lyric agony, hauling on the very stuff of life itself to spare her the end of ends. Celestial bronze quivers. The green light in Jemma's arms shudders, flicker-flashing like a tiny hellish disco ball. Cha-cha-*boom*, when the mad burst passes again, the ghost-woman is hurtled back over the black loch and the illusions of a hundred people celebrating, praying, going about their lives are superimposed on everyone. Just a few seconds, a memory of the past, and then they wink out again.