NPF Avatars IV, Chapter II: The Doom That Came to Earth Temple

[PhoenixFlame]

Phoenix exited the car and took a gander at the cultist wannabes hanging out in the valley's makeshift encampments. They were, as Flare had said, almost cute, but something about cultists made them less so than fluffy bunnies and small puppy-dogs. Vampire-Phoenix strode foward with an almost cordial glee toward the cultists, her massive handgun swinging playfully in hand like a cheery schoolgirl.

"Watchy'a doin?" she cheerily asks the first cultist she came across, a haggard young man in a crimson red robe, perusing a bookstore copy of "The Necronomicon" while chanting something in sumerian over a very un-perfect circle. In addition, his sumerian was very poor.

"ECAH... Um... Uh, IA! SHENBUNNINUG GWUI!" the man tried to proclaim, glaring angrily at Phoenix.

"Oh-kay!" She cheerily said, shooting the cultist wannabe a thumbs-up, and jumping inside the red sidewalk-chalk pentagram etched into the stony ground.

"H-hey! You're messing up my Ctulthu summoning!" the man whined, drawing a silver dagger... Okay, so it was a silverware butterknife, which, not being silver, was rather nickle-plated stainless steel. But the cultist in question THROUGHLY believed it was silver. "Now I've gotta start all over again from gate one. Man, you suck!" He whined some more, his overly-overdone goth face-makeup running down his cheek as he appeared to fight back tears.

Phoenix smiled.

"Oh! I'm sorry." she replies innocently, "Here, lemme give you a hug..." extending her arms.

"Nobody loves me..." The cultist moaned, and lurched forward to hug Phoenix, who promply sunk her fangs into his neck. "Ghkt!" he exclaimed, and began to feebily struggle. Years of mountain-dew consumption and corporal morfication left the poor man very unable to combat a powerful vampire, however. His blood tasted something like rotten motor oil mixed with soy sauce, but Phoenix took what she could get. After all, it was probably the last time she'd get to feed for quite some time.

[Fenris]

When the car landed, Fenris got out, and being the gentleman that he is, offered Mauve a hand to help pull her out of the vehicle. (OOC: Mauve, if you want or don't want to accept it, either way is fine for me.)

Fenris stood by the car, and surveyed where they had landed, and he surveyed the wannabe cultists.

"Oh, great, we're already getting into a fight. Barely even have time to stretch our legs..."

[Flarecobra]

"Come on, it's not like they are any REAL threat." I said, grabbing one, spinning him around, and grabbing his wrist, while trapping his other arm between his body and mine. "Hell, his knife is just a rubber one painted Silver!" I kicked him away. "Come back when yoOW!" I said as I felt a shock. I turned, saw another one mumbling, as I nailed him in the face with a fireball, the Tazer that he hit me with flying.

[Dragonsbane]

"CHILDREN OF DARKNESS!" Dragonsbane boomed in a magically amplified, world-shaking voice, deep and roaring like some mighty behemoth, "Know thy master, for I have come to instruct ye!"

He ignored Mesden, pillars of eldritch green flame erupting from the earth at the feet of the cultists. Dark shapes stirred within, forming themselves into immense, winged figures holding massive swords, clad in molten armor.

He raised one hand, and continued, "Yet...only one thing prevents this. You must first toss off the shackles of life. Fortunately, I am here to help." he gestured, and the Doomguard, the demons he had summoned, tore into the cultists, taking care not to damage their bodies too greatly.

[Mesden]

"Why're we even bothering with them?" Mesden said, walking right into the crowd.

One of the cultists lashed out and assailed her with his seemingly exquisite katana.

...which kind of just hit her shoulder without so much as a noticeable crease in her dress.

"They're using fake weapons! What the hell!?!" she said, snapping the wouldbe weapon in two with her fingers.

With a thrust of her palm, the cultist wannabe keeled over. With a snap, the next one to assail her fell lifeless.

"Oh GOD! They're sentient and so pathetic they can't even hold on to their souls!"

After he last display, she just kind of made her way aways from the mass, only opting to kill those that assaulted her.

"You guys are idiots if you expect me to fight those...things."

[Darth SS]

Darth was a bit wobbly. He ran over to an open chunk of ground and punch out a small crater. Then he threw up into the hole, filling it up to the brink. A small cultist was running at Darth, so Darth just back handed him. Unfortunately, the cultist landed in the little bowl of vomit.

"Oh...oh god..." said the cultist, "Oh GOD, it's everywhere...it's...oh god, it's in my ceremonial cuts...oh god..."

The sheer grossness of this just made Darth vomit more. And, unfortunately, he didn't have another hole, forcing him to reuse the same one again. This, obviously, compounded the problem. Darth spun and ran away from the horrible icky mess he'd created.

"Clean up on plane of existence 4!"

Of course at this point, Darth noticed the rest of the cultists. His hand drifted by his handgun. Nah. He opted instead for his katana.

"Tremble, ye little men, lest ye find thyselves in a punch bowl of stomach contents, as your friend has!"

The first cultist was actually submerged and drowning. In the vomit. It was a...horrifying sight, one assured to haunt Darth's nightmares for years to come. The rest had the fight taken right out of them.

[Tarrin]

The NPFers were in fine form, Not one of the offending wannabes stood behind the line of scrimage.
Tarrin looked to the left where a bunch of the enemies were massing ....Kind of massing, A more acurate way of describing it would be huddeling in fear, But details arn't important.

"You know the others can clear them out just as fast without ou help for this encounter" the spirit guide whispered in Tarrins ear.
"Meah...But i wanna help" Tarrin answered the voice, Spirit melding a natural set of armor weld up on his body, Reaching thru the thin veil of the astral plane he pulled out his spear and headed into the masing group of cultists.

[Steel Shadow]

Steel was merrily slicing his way through the "cultist" masses. Unfortunatly he wasn't paying all that much attention, the exploits of his fellow NPFrs far more interesting than this lame excuse for sword practice. This was unfortunate because, although the cultists were laughingly pathetic, it was possible one of them had half a brain-cell somewhere amongst their masses.
Steel was watching a particularly skillfull gutting-and-stragling-with-spleen (and trying to ignore darths whole vomit thing entirely) when a rock bounced off the back of his head. In case you've never been hit by a rock before, I'll tell you this. It hurts. Not as much as say, a building or a particularly heavy breadbox would if it was thrown at you, but there's still pain involved. And Steel did not like pain. After all, who does?
He turned, anger welling up. Now he was paying attention. And that meant that he was focused on the fight. And so, his blade became sharper. A lot sharper.
"Who threw that?" He said in the kind of way that no one could misinterpret. Someone raised a hand. Almost no one.
The crowd between Steel and the soon to be ex-cultist cleared rapidly. Those that weren't smart enough to move, which was admitedly most of them, were suddenly missing some very important life preserving limbs.
The rock thrower, slightly smarter than those around him, began to realise that here was not a good place to be. He turned to flee, a harvest of flying limbs following him.

[Flarecobra]

"Hey Dragonsbane!" I called out. "Seems some actually have brains and surrendered....after seeing one burned into jerky." I said, gesturing to the smoldering remains, while five more were tied up with my spear, looking quite subdued. Then three of them came up and tried to attack me, but ended up tripping over their robes. One cracked his head open, while the other two were tangled up.

[Bailey]

Syttulg clapped his hands over his ears and dove into the car, slightly bruising himself in his haste. He quickly buckled up and began to writhe into a position in which he could block out all sound.

Once they arrived, he looked around at the group.

"Mother, do these sad excuses for life count as sentient?"

It was while he was saying this that a strange energy emanated from a cultist who was singing the alphabet while standing on his hands (no, really standing on his hands, not just upside-down using his hands as feet) and arced out to strike the cultist who was drowning in vomit.

The hideous half-digested creature that emerged could only be described as alpha-bits made out of meat and suspended in cottage cheese. It oozed over to the still-chanting cultist and swallowed it whole, then turned its sights on Syttulg.

"Nevermind, they're probably sentient, just incredibly stupid."

He charged forwards and drove his left hand into the creature, intending to run a current between his fingertips, but he pulled his hand back out almost immediately, and gripped it in pain. As the nannites set to work, he called out.

"Does anyone have anything on the incredibly basic end of the Ph scale?"