OOC: Yeah, zombie-hunters and necrophiliacs have been chosen. Post as you chose. First postings will determine the post order. If you choose to give up your post at the moment due to some reason, please post in the "Braiiiins" topic telling us this so we'll continue. Onto zombies!

Note: This is not Estolad, just a small village in similar terrain/location as it.

IC: The morning sun had yet to rise and shake off the cold grip of night. The pale light given off by the yet-hidden sun had a blue-tint, like that normally found in the early morning. The dirt roads had been unusually silent as of late, the only sound being the creaking and shaking of wagons or the occasional sound of the horse making a frightened noise.

The mist-choked forest was devoid of sounds and life, beyond the rustling and creaking of trees from the few drafts that were slowly pushing the fog away. Traffic on the road was equally sparse, most people waited until dawn at least to travel. some were worried about bandits, a few were simply lazy. Others were afraid of things that could walk around when daylight was not present.

LaPlace and Triella were inside the cloth-covered wagon. It wasn't fancy, but it properly shielded them from the rain. Their horsemanship a bit more than lacking, they tended to borrow rides or LaPlace would somehow convince their target that the dirt he had was valuable. That silver-tounged demon was a little more than odd.

Stretched out on the wooden "floor" was a poorly drawn map. Much of it was mislabeled or out-of-scale. From the guesses she'd been making, they were supposed to be in the ocean according to how long they'd been traveling along this road. Obviously something wasn't quite right.

There was an odd expression about LaPlace. she couldn't identify what it was, but he knew something she didn't, and he'd most likely wait to tell her until the last possible moment. Her mouth half-opened to utter a question when she paused at her breath. There was a bitter scent on the wind. Something foul that reeked of the grave's decay and dark energies. Someone was obviously doing charitable work of some fashion or other!

Looking out the side she seen the first evidences of civilization. cleared land, stone pathways, a few buildings in the distance, some blood splatters and isolated screams to boot. Hefting her sheathed longsword she rapped the hilt twice to the wood just behind the driver, delivering the signal to stop. She didn't like speaking too much, her speech tended to switch at random between common and daemonic. Which tended to unnerve people, or result in a potentially bloody chase.

jumping out she stretched with a sigh before shivering with a gag. The stench was even worse here, and she felt herself enjoying the charnel scent. she'd caused it many times before during her time in the Underworld. Putting a hand to her head she closed her eyes and started muttering to herself, Triella's thought were rapidly becoming muddled from the rising sense of anticipation at this.

"Stop it. Focus. Focus on the rabbit hole. We're safe there."

The odd chant was something she'd gotten used to, whenever things were getting particularly bad they'd work on clearing their thoughts rather than dwelling on the new memory-paradox. Whether the mental-images of a rabbit hole had to do with LaPlace was a question she'd like to have answered, but knew she'd only get a mischievous grin in response.

during this little episode, he'd probably have used his trickery to convince the driver to stay there and hide while they investigated the town. Most likely bribing him with offers of loot from this dying place. Just another victim in their journey through Wonderland...

The swirling wind played it's soft music in the air, accenting the blood-curdling screams like percussion to a violin. LaPlace's tall ears perked in response to their rhythmic stimulation.
The tarp-covered wooden caravan rocked and jumped along the uneven path; wooden joints unhinging every so often, and just barely recovering. It had been a bargain, LaPlace was able to steal their ride by bribing the driver with somehting less than worthless. His salesman skills were always top notch.
Something was unjust about their destination, and LaPlace knew precisely what that was as he often did.
LaPlace himself was looking quite dapper, as always. His white fur was clean and his clothing it's usual formal black.

Triella, his Alice, was chanting her reptetitive calming words as they moved along. He never did tell her what the words were meant to say, and he knew she'd never ask knowing that he wouldn't answer.

"Ah, looks as though foul things are afoot." He uttered calmly through her chant. Vague as it was, it would catch her attention.

Not so far away... in a tradition as old as kids...

"You're my f-friend anymore."

"Gruh."

"I mean it! You're not! Just- just go away! I don't want to see you! Ever again!"

"Gruuh?!"

"You bit me! Friend-friends don't bite each other!" There came a vigorous nodding of a head. "I read it! In a biiiiiiiiig book. The Art of Friendship... Chapter 8, paragraph 3, sentence 2: 'Most friendships will experience their ups and downs, and there may be some nailbiting moments, but the rainbows and unicorns will always strive through to defeat the dragon!' See? It ex-pl-ic-it-ly says no biting!"

"Gruh."

"I asked Momma Bear and she agrees. Yupyup." One could hear Robyn's brow as they furrowed. "I asked Poppa Bear but he said that all men are the," the necropolitan's eyes got big and round, "the B-word." She shuddered. "And then, when I asked *him* if he were the B-word too, you know what he said? He said yes as well! Poppa Bear's a..." She shivered being able to go through that particular taboo. "A bas... a bas... a B-turd!"

"Gruhhhhhhag!"

"Oh, that's right. You're not a men. Or a man. Are you?"

"Gruh!! Gruuuh!!"

"Hmpf. Don't blame me for not being able to tell. It's not easy, with your hair all over the place. You really shouldn't be a meanie-pooh and force me to play hair-dresser." Fingers were waggled. "Hey, stop that! It's really nice hair! Even if it's a funny reddy color. Hey! That's not nice! Stop biting yourself!"

There was a pout. "Why won't you play with me? You play with you alllll the time and you won't even play with me a'tall! A'tall A'tall!"

It was about then that the little necropolitan, frolicking in places where necropolitans usually frolicked, felt the piercing pain as dull-edged teeth chomped into her neck, taking out a lovely portion. Robyn felt her neck with a hand, felt the wet slickness of what used to be her lifeblood. She was still rather partial to it, all things considered.

"W-?"

The funny looking cat scampered away and as Robyn turned she realized that something was not right. There were party-people everywhere, but it wasn't party time today. And that had not been nice no not at-

"Hey! You already had one bite! Stop it! Stop itttt!"

Roncho had been following the cart for hours, either the people in it didn't notice or care. The only reason was simple, he was lost. He went from the kamia inn out into the forest to hunt deer he came back only to have gotten lost and be nowhere near where he thought he was. He talked to himself as he did often due to people being scared of him just because he was a troll "I could have bought a map but..." he looked at his fists and his brand new brass knuckles. He gave a beastly smile at the though of using them on something. "I'll just stop where ever this cart stops at and I'll get directions there, simple as that." He was bothered by the smell of something rotting, it can't be the dear, there was no blood due to him killing it with his mace, and he dropped it off hours ago when he saw the cart. The smell had only been gotten worse "oh, god of nature what is that." When the cart paused Roncho paused as well, must be trouble. Roncho half heartedly hopped it was yet again staring at his precious brass knuckles, he even polished them as much as he could.

He walked over to where he could see a town, abandoned by the looks of it. Roncho wondered why the cart had simply stopped, "maybe they are just lost as well, I would not be surprised, it was worth a try following them." He walked closer and saw a woman and something furry and humanoid. Roncho didn't care what it was as long as he could stop following the cart from a distance. As he got closer he saw the nearby town more clearly, including a large blood spatter on a wall of what looked like to be an inn. Roncho had that feeling in his gut that something was going to happen, and soon. But for now he wanted to know why they stopped... "Oi, sorry to beg you're pardon, and I hope I didn't scare ya but I've been following you're cart in hopes of finding a town, but this place, there is something foul going on and Its been days since I've been in a good fight." Roncho paused for a second, "And whatever it is, as long as there is going to be a fight, I want in."

Kenith passed silently through the devastated town. The undead payed him no mind as he walked amongst them. He felt more comfortable around them then actual living, breathing beings. He snorted at the idea of having normal friends, and living a normal life, and being normal for a change. That wasn't for him, he learned that already.

His gaze drifted over an undead who was gorging 'himself' on a fresh corpse. That was one bit Kenith could care less for. He shook his head in simple distaste. Something caught his eye. Kenith looked slowly towards what he saw, two carts? Fresh meat for the undead surely. Kenith dropped onto the ground, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his arms over his kneecaps. This was about to become a whole lot more interesting.

OOC: Red text means she's speaking in daemonic/infernal xD If one is capable of understanding that, her words are slurred or sometimes lacking a few parts due to her confused grasp on the language.

IC:

Their mutterings stopped and they paused, removing their hands away from the front of their face. As if they wanted to shield themselves from the ever-present reality. It was obvious they'd calmed down, well more so stopped trying to sort out things that didn't matter. Whether or not they'd been present for the death of Gammon didn't quite help out the situation on hand.

The fact that foul things were about wasn't news to them, but it focused their attention. It could be any number of horrors that littered this world, and others. Or it could be something as common as raiders. The stench though indicates advanced decay, and that's not something you get without a couple weeks of rot. And seeing as screams still happened, with lowering frequency they noticed, this massacre was recent.

That and the tell-tale groaning of the walking corpses was carried to their ears, announcing a distant, but nearby location. Perhaps the fairly large troll was a blessing in an odd disguise. A very...very large disguise. Their head turned, more of a twitch motion that stopped to look at him.

Their pale blue eyes blinked a few times as they looked at him while brushing a few loose locks of her brown hair out of their face. If anyone looked at her, they'd assume she wasn't crazy. They kept well-groomed, bathed as much as often LaPlace's social occasion called for, maintained a well standard of working-class clothing and didn't constantly drool.

"Pardon be granted to those who travel by the light of the night-moon, you needn't ask of it. However foul is as those who claim it so. Eye of the beholder changes, are you the foul or fouled?"

Her head cocked slightly in the nonsensical question, shifting their hair irritatingly in their eyes. shaking her head slightly, they started wandering towards the left of the inn. Drawn by noise and shouts of some scuffle. Maybe they'd get there just in time to see the human get it! such a sad site that'd be, another life snuffed out by evil. which is as it should be! all of life should be burned to the ground!

There was a sliver of pain behind her eyes as her thoughts collided with each other. Her breathing became erratic, their footsteps swaying like a drunk. A soft hand had moved into the break in her grey cloak before drawing their longsword. The cool handle felt good in their hands. Reassuring, comforting in the fact that by swinging this blade, she could remove sources of confusion.

She half-looked back, her lip curling up slightly to make a twisted grin before she spoke, "Hurry now, we haven't much time to catch the curs of that life-mullet."

Rounding the corner her grin became a slight smile as a thin trickle of blood ran down her chin. they were biting into their lip to try and retain control of their speech. She'd messed up a bit, but such a thing was common. And it was in the middle of nowhere, who cares?

The scene was a bit more possessive of their thoughts though. There was a dark-skinned girl getting attacked by a walking corpse...with a good number of it's undead comrades coming to join the buffet. Finally! A chance to bring down some of the minions of darkness! A chance they've been waiting for! Their blade would be slick with their tainted blood before the day was over.

*dramatic pause/anime charge? XD*

Time slowed as the fourth or fifth friend-friend took its second or third bite out of Robyn's very precious self-self. Was it time for the thinking cap? Robyn wasn't sure. The thinking cap was a meanie-pooh and had a bad habit of trying to solve things 'lo-gi-cally'. Poppa Bear liked the thinking cap quite a bit, but Poppa Bear also liked Nihilism and Existentialism and big looooooong words that never made much sense and Robyn was pretty sure that him liking the thinking cap was a lot like snow liking ice. Momma Bear was smarter, prettier and said she didn't trust the thinking cap as far as she could throw it.

(Robyn knew Momma was strong- she could throw the thinking cap far, far, faaaaaaaaaar away. Probably.)

With a crunch, timed continued and Robyn was once again aware of the events around her. Robyn-rin was on the nice ground and her four friend-friends were grinning (with such red, red lips!) and happy but Robyn was _not_ happy. She was so not happy she was pouting. And then she had to start talking again even though all her new friend-friends seemed to be speaking in a secret language and Robyn didn't want to put on her thinking cap to figure out how to speak this secret language.

"Hey! Robyn-rin needs that finger! Friend-friend already has... four?" She shook her head. "Robyn still needs ten! Mommy gave Robyn those fingers! Please?"

Robyn's pinky continued along its way to chewdom.

The necropolitan started to get angry. "Give Robyn's finger back!"

With a mighty heave the necropolitan accidentally poked a nicer friend-friend who was only nibbling on her hair with the sharp end of her un-strung bow (Sorry!) but managed to grab onto the meanie-pooh who had taken her finger. He sure was an ugly meanie-pooh. Robyn wasn't even sure why she had considered him a friend-friend in the first place. It was a well-known fact that ugly friend-friends were only there to become backstabbers or finger-eaters.

Robyn remembered Momma Bear's favorite line: "An eye for an eye." But assumed that she had really meant 'An eye for a finger' because Robyn-rin sure as heck wasn't going to wait around until eyeball dinnertime and promptly poked out the meanie-pooh's eye out.

"Give it back!!"

"Am I really that scary?" he though to himself as he continued to catch up to where the cart was. The human woman gave him a glance, barely said anything and went off on her business. He tried to catch up to where at least the cart was but even his endurance was getting thin he started to pant but eventually he had enough. He bent over double "goodness,*huff huff* what is so important that you couldn't help out *huff huff* a fellow traveler, Is the sight of a mountain troll really that *huff huff* discomforting?." he said quietly to himself as he cought his breath. He stood back up and continued to run down the road. "This is going to be a bad day I just know it, I could have turned the other way and went to the town they came from, but nOooooo I had to follow them to where ever in the nine hells this was." He continued to think to himself as he ran down the path "and now some human lady and whatever that furry things was are now not even talking to you instead charging somewhere and you're here talking to yourself."

He was now withing the town and buildings were at his sides. But like a brick wall a strange smell hit him.He paused for a moment and sniffed the air. "Wait a minute, I know that smell, back when that one ranger needed some muscle... wait its the unde... HOLY CRAP!" a man gave a horrible moan as he lurched at him from an inn, his skin a pale grey and his jaw was sheered off but no blood flowed from the wound. Stepped out of the way of his cumbersome blow and threw a thunderous punch, the zombie's head vanished into a cloud of dust and skull fragments. "Gods its been too long, where is that lady I want some answers."

He continued to the corner where she turned being weary to keep an eye out for more zombies. He layed eyes on the woman, the furry thing, and a hoarde of zombies attacking what looked like a little girl. "ok, this going to be a bad day I can tell."

The sound of concentraited feeding caught Kenith's attention. He skiped over to where a number were surrounding somebody else. Looked a whole lot like the ones around her in Kenith's opinion. He moved into the swarm of zombies and sat down.
He stared at her, possibly challenging her to a staring contest. He figured it would be pretty hard to win one, but he often has as they look away shortly there after to look for more food. Short attention spans, big stomaches, little smarts, and good, gullible friends. That is Kenith's definition of zombies.
As he had done many times, he brought his knees to his chest and crossed his arms over them, his bare feet shifting mud about.

OOC: Blue = Triella's delusions. She(more so It than her) is thinking that they are currently fighting in one of Raku's hordes against one of Loth's hosts. So as she's fighting zombies, she's imagining them as elves xD

Time slowed to a crawl as Triella gripped their longsword tightly. The clattering of her soot-stained plate-armor had faded away. The cries of the dead, the thunderous charge of calvary, the bellowing of inhuman beasts. All of it, gone. what remained was what lay in front of her charging unit. A small detachment of elves had taken to frenziedly tearing apart innocents with their own hands.

At least they have devotion, just to the wrong side...

One of the zombies began to turn, its face a mask of ragged flesh and crusted blood. The filthy but intact nature of the clothing indicated it was once a villager, but the destruction to it's face and tatters covering it made its gender indistinguishable. not that it truly mattered, no quarter was to be given.

The elf's eyes widened with shock as the sweet metallic song of her blade sliced through the air. The sickeningly perfect blonde hair was cut with a whisper where as the muscle and bone gave a violent snap as it rended through the neck. The corpse swayed for a second, as if the expelled soul was desperately trying to will the useless flesh to strike down his killer, but alas it toppled front-first. A slight puff of dust from the ground and the edges of her steel-covered boots were pattered lightly by crimson.

Their leather boot stepped on the zombie skull before pressing down, the weakened skull crunching under her press before finally giving in to a wash of gore and grey-matter.

The longsword's grip was reversed and they swung it wide, severing the arm clean off of a zombie reaching for a child. The elf screeched loudly as some magic kept the thing alive despite her steel being buried within her chest. Blood oozed out and over her rapidly-whitening lips. She was dying, but was unnaturally continuing on with her worthless life.

Standing and chopping at each other mindlessly was good and all, but only so effective, particularly dangerous when one's foes were known as unparalleled marksmen with bows. Tended to suggest unorthodox, or downright stupid, actions.

She pulled on her sword, tugging the zombie slightly forward, while violently crushing her booted foot into it's kneecap. The soft and decayed flesh gave out with a popping sound, but Triella to started falling. Her free hand started scrabbling at the ground before wrapping gloved hands around a chunk of rubble that once belonged to a house.

Stifling a shudder or enraged curse, she swung the chunk of rock into the onrushing face of the undead creature, pulverizing it's decayed features while the improvised device pressed on through before pulping it's skull. Their grin was stretched to a near inhuman-level, even as her fair face was splashed with clotted blood and chunks of flesh still containing yellow and black teeth.

The elf maiden's now-ruined body collapsed heavily onto her. The dead weight was only kept at bay by her embedded longsword, which she was trying to hack out of the body and free before she was simply skewered by an opportunistic bastard. whispering a fervent prayer, they hoped the troll-mercenary recently purchased at the price of a few dozen slaves would prove worthy of payment and wade into the thick of this melee...

Robyn continued staring at the purdy friend-friend. Or at least he was purdier than any other friend-friend around and that counted for a lot. She had her finger back- that was good- and the meanie-pooh was now minus a head which was also good. So many good things were happening at once that Robyn didn't know if her poor little heart could handle the strain. It was almost too much to believe!

Purdy friend-friend was still staring at her. From somewhere up above, Poppa Bear deigned to come down and speak with her.

ChChAaAlEngE

Robyn scrunched up her face. Challenge? That hadn't happened in a long, long time. What was Robyn-rin being challenged at?

EvERY1 PaRTiciPApAtinG

Everyone- oh. Why of course. It all made sense now. In Robyn's head, a small little girl was smacking her fist into a palm with great glee. She hadn't understood what her friend-friends wanted at first but now, now she did. Of course she did. It all made so much sense! As Poppa Bear said, everything could be thought of log-ic-cally.

ChChAaAlEngE!

Yes, yes she would accept their challenge. What else could she do? It was only proper wasn't it? An eye for an eye like Momma Bear said. Which, besides meaning eye for a finger probably also meant bite for bite. Stretching her jaws open impossibly wide she grinned at Kenith and then bit the mouth off the friend-friend that was chewing her hair. She tasted funny. And there were lots of teethies. Ick. She swallowed. Choked.

More ick.

She was about to take another bite when-.

Something- no someone- came and started hurting friend-friends left and right. Was this another game? Robyn felt so confused. You couldn't have too many games going on at once or else...

Or else the thinking cap came on.

Robyn-rin shuddered. No! She wouldn't resOrt to the ThinkIng Cap. The thinking cap stayed off! And she would play this game properly! And by the rules! She took another bite out of her hair-eating friend-friend and considered the rule-breaker. For some reason the friend-friends around her legs seemed to be losing interest. Why? How? She was so confused! What were the rules?

RuLES?

A zombies skull was there one second, and then the next vanished into a spray of gore as Roncho stamped down. "Eat boot you undead son of a Bitc..." Roncho's words were cut short as another zombie slammed into him trying to get him off balance. Roncho gave a bit of ground away to the sudden impact but then braced himself and with a herculean effort hurled the zombie through the door of a nearby building. But before he could take pride in his show of force he saw the woman hit the ground hard. She was still fighting, and fighting well, she would hold her own.

He looked over to what the zombies were swarming, it looked like a girl. Roncho could not see the details but he yelled out to her "Oi girl, what happened here and why are still in this place?" After waiting a few seconds for an answer he turned to find the source of an inhuman scream. All he saw was about a dozen undead starting to charge towards Roncho as he was obviously the largest meal. Roncho charged while bellowing a warcry in his native tongue. Like a charging rhino he smashed into the zombies, old bones giving away under the force of a very angry troll. He swing left and right, he didn't even need to aim, the sheer density of bodies almost guaranteed a hit.

Pain lanced into his leg and he looked to see a zombie with only his torso, head, and an arm biting his leg. He lifted his boot and stamped down. Pulverizing "Back to you're graves you worthless, evil, undead monstrosities." He continued to punch, kick, and smash. While still waiting for the girl to finally answer Roncho's question.

Kenith watched the oddity moving about and bitting things. "Uh huh..." He tilted his head and watched as the zombie's attention shifted. "Must be the new arrivals. Fun." He stood up and turned to the commotion. "Aw, he is doing too well. No fun in that." He paced about, wishing he could figure out how to spawn the creatures. "If I could...that would be so much fun...wouldn't it?" He paced about, his gaze remaining on the troll.

Triella growled as she shoved the zombie's corpse off of them, irritated at how her clothes were ruined. Simple as they maybe, having to replace the home-spun clothing was always a bother. Their hands pressed against the dirt, digging small pebbles into her calloused palms as she raised herself to her feet. They'd normally be moving faster, but she caught sight of LaPlace. As unreal he might appear, he was her reality-anchor. and like a mirror shattered, the battlefield between the forces of light and dark fell away to the truth of a small town beset by zombies.

One half-decayed hand clawed at her chest, and Triella's hand shot out. Grabbing it by the wrist she twisted it, feeling the rotted flesh slip under her hand and the old bone snap and break with her force. Pulling her hand back she rammed the sharp bone into the creature's eye-socket while it's forward momentum pushed the now deader-corpse forward.

The head snapped back, flicking her face with cold-dew that had collected on it. This caused it's falling motion tot wist sideways, making it collide with a zombie to her left, sending it to writhe underneath the dead comrade. They felt a pair of cold hands with a vigor not meant for the leaving grasp their shoulder.

They tried to pull away, but the creature didn't let go. It dragged her closer, inch by inch, to give her one final embrace with only a brief moment of pain. Turning her blank face twisted into a sneer. The cold air delivered a wave of corpse-breath, smelling of grave-earth and rot. Their palm impacted with it's open mouth, snapping off teeth and crushing a portion of it's nose in a flush of ichor.

The, quite literal, death-grip did not relent. Even as her sword flashed true and severed it at the wrist. Her form pressed forward, pressing the blade into it's throat to burst out the back of the neck, sending a light spray of milky-colored liquid down it's back. Wrenching her arms the steel severed the head from the creature, even as it weakly pawed at her leggings.

Her booted foot raised up to crush the head in a redundant act of rage, but something nibbled on their right leg. It was more than a nibble really. The cloth rustled slightly, as if caressed by the wind's touch, then a flare of agony arced up her leg causing her to flinch and stumble. Flesh was giving way to a set of teeth, and their unbalance carried her back and on top of a squishy possessor of said teeth.

Ignoring the tears of pain coursing from her rebellious eyes she frenziedly clawed at the zombie's skull. Their fingers couldn't find purchase in the near-fleshless skull, and what little they did grab simply ripped away into gangrenous lumps under her touch. Each instant sending jolts of pain up her leg as it's teeth get digging into her flesh, coating the surrounding area with hot and sticky blood.

They felt It coursing through their veins, fueling her in the moment of desperation to survive. The veins along her arms and hands swelled slightly as blood flow increased. Likewise her open-wound on her leg began losing blood, while clotting, faster. This time she placed her hands around the skull like a vice rather than trying to dislodge the happily-feeding zombie. She'd have grunted or something with a passage of air, but they'd bitten down on their lip to stifle any yowls of pain from the living-devouring going on. As more force was being brought down on the skull, the gnashing slowed, and then stopped. Hairline cracks started developing in it before the audible snapping echoed loudly. A crunching noise rang out and she felt the bone give way to a goop-like grey matter that now coated her gloves.

Zombies were murder on your attire.

"Such a large meal Robyn! You've outdone yourself this time!"

Robyn grinned, pleased at the compliments. She couldn't see the her friend-friends (they were so shadowy and indistinct!) but that didn't matter. Everyone, everyone that was a friend-friend that is, luffed and luffed mud pies! No friend could possibly evah, evah turn down a mud pie as the Chef liked to say. Robyn was never sure if the Chef was Poppa Bear in disguise or Momma Bear in disguise. She was pretty sure it was one of them, but the chef was so... so clean that it was just hard to tell! Sometimes like Momma Bear and sometimes like Poppa Bear the Chef just seemed to like to cook and spout zanny wisdom-laced concoctions that tasted good.

Wait, hadn't Robyn been doing something before? Something important? She was distracted by a tangentially less fuzzy outline. The voice alone told her who it was though.

"Please sir, could I have some more?"

Of course you can Mr. Twist-Twist! She replied, laughing.

"Thank you Robyn-rin! You're the bestest friend a dead orphan child could have!"

Robyn oh-ho-hoed like she had seen high class women do and then playfully wacked his head off and they continued their mud cake tea party giggling and laughing all the while.

..........................

The thinking cap did not like being in charge. Meditating, discovering the forty-three hundred and thirty-second meaning of life, understanding the gods... those were things the thinking cap liked to do.

Oh, and butter. The thinking cap liked butter. Quite a bit actually. It was almost... illogical.

But anyways, the thinking cap could never be sure it wasn't the figment of someone's fevered delusions and being in charge always brought those thoughts to the forefront of the thinking cap's mind. The thinking cap could never recall the gaps between being... here... and not being here.

Ah, the Host only had eight fingers. Odd. The thinking cap distinctly recalled eight the last time the thinking cap had been called to the forefront there being ten. Five on each. Having three on one and five on the other gave it a curious sense of un-symmetricality.

Neologism!

Shut up, the thinking cap thought as it moved the host experimentally. So much slumbering vitality. Eyes blinked and then came back and then the thinking cap was completely connected. Senses roamed, there were... four, no five immediate hostiles. One was pegged as a potential threat while another was relegated to least imposing due to an incredible physical frailty. Functionality was slightly compromised though, the thinking cap estimated a twenty percent reduction in appetite for the next eight minutes. It seemed like the Host had already gotten started: two potential hostiles seemed to have been incapacitated while a third seemed to be missing its primary weapon.

The thinking cap opened up its own primary weapon and bit down into the unresisting flesh of the primary aggressor and ripped off a leg. Then it took the leg and started whacking things.

Hey, no one said that thinking was easy.

OOC: roncho is still bashin' zombies as he said. Kenith hasn't posted, and claims he did and such. So I will assume Kenith has abcked off a little ways while Robyn molesters zombies.

IC:

They made an enraged whine before punching the unanimated corpse again for good measure. Tossing aside the slick gloves, she grabbed onto her longsword and used it as a makeshift cane to bring her to her foot. They wobbled slightly, having only the sword and left foot to stand on. And a good number of fairly hungry zombies still within a couple paces.

The majority of them were flocking towards the juggernaut of a troll who was mulching the zombies like an ogre at a meat-eating contest. The others started getting distracted, if not torn apart, by the "little girl" who'd appeared to have tapped into some form of frenzy-strength and was...bludgeoning other zombies with a severed limb.

Obviously, don't tick off the little child. Second, don't get eaten.

With her leg unfit for walking for at least a week until the magic fully patched up the wound, the best she could do was swing, chop and stab while hoping she didn't pitch over. Granted trying to deal a blow hard enough to kill a zombie is a bit difficult while on one foot.

One of them started shuffling towards her, its arms outstretched and slow gait giving it a more peaceful appearance that was fouled by almost the complete lack of any face on it's insect-ridden skull. As it approached she drew her blade to over her left shoulder, when she swung the blade would be on her right side for a rapid-stabilization if she fell.

Holding it in a near stance like some nomads used to play an odd game called "baseball", she took a swing when the creature reached their zone of lethality.

The steel blade swung true, slightly causing her to lean forward and shift to the right. There was a slight jerk as the blade cut into, and through, the neck. They lost their balance and their one foot came out from udner her, causing her to pitch forward towards the ground.

Landing with the hilt and her palms pressed into the dirt, her knees had collided with the ground and she felt a new lance of pain from her wound, which had stopped bleeding thanks to a few benefits from the merged duality. It was in no shape better, just they wouldn't bleed out from the wound.

A shadow fell over her and the dirt gave out a low-scrape as they brought their blade up overhead and perpindicular to defend against the onslaught of the plunging zombie.

Only...the assault never came. There wasn't a giant-weight thrown onto her blade or the crushing of her skull. There was however a slight breeze as the zombie was thrown a good seven feet away by the sheer force of the little' girl's severed-limb attack. and judging from the four or five foot long trail of rotted gore, it was dead.

Blinking a few times in surprised, Triella wasn't quite certain if she was about to receive a fatal bludgeoning or not...

The symphony of battle dragged on tirelessly.
Ever vigilant, LaPlace was watching the events unfold with a bored expression. He'd seen this course of events countless times and it hardly altered for individuals, let alone groups.
He was a bit interested in the other two, as they were conveniently connected to the undead. Perhaps they could be utilized as potential weapons, even tools.
As he pondered, LaPlace observed enigmatically, almost like an illusion that only Alice could see. Or perhaps the others just ignored him. Regardless, he wasn't about to filthy his hands with a flock of reanimated corpses.

The thinking cap winced as a sudden, almost reflexive (but that was impossible, this body was dead!) jerk brought the Host to her knees, hamstringing the avatar of death The Thinking Cap had become and jerking the body to the ground. The Thinking Cap felt dust and grit enter the Host's mouth- combined with the blood, corruption and rot that it had partaken in in the last five or so minutes the Thinking Cap (or TC as he was called by the other Figments) felt the Host retch. Not out of reflex though, TC could feel the host willfully do it, apparently it still clung to the feeble illusion that it wasn't dead-dead-dead.

Or maybe the Host didn't like to eat dirt when it wasn't a mud pie. With Robyn it was always ever-so difficult to tell. Like trying to read a ancient manuscript written in an ancient archaic language with the mental faculties of a five year old. Nigh impossible, even if the five year old was really, really smart.

Things were happening faster than the Thinking Cap could process. Robyn was still busy wacking apart literary friends and imaginary crumpets while the venerable self was busy fending off ravenous zombie-like (they seemed awfully fragile for true zombies) creatures and more and more newcomers were entering the field unannounced and he was still busy figuring out the four thousand three hundred and thirty-third meaning to life which really wasn't quite as simple as the four thousand two hundredth which had been one bugger of a meaning nonetheless.

The TC realized he had been thinking a bit too much right then when a zombie nearly jumped onto the host and the Figment managed to awkwardly get up, evade the clumsy creature, and then send it flying away with a well aimed blow from the stolen appendage. Then The Thinking Cap noticed a possible hostile and asked what it always did and when confronted with an odd situation. It let Robyn come back.

Robyn blinked. Where had she...? Hadn't she just been having tea and crumpets with headless-

"Hiya!" She exclaimed, upon noting the presence of the injured friend-friend or meanie-pooh. Needing to get that particular distinction clear she then went on with the rather predictable: "Are you a friend-friend or a meanie-pooh?"

Kenith sighed, watching the zombies being pummeled left and right. He stepped back, looking around himself. "This is a little too hectic for me," he waved to the odd undead girl. She was really weird, but rather entertaining to watch, her personality changing so fast. A moment ago she seemed to be playing with the zombies, and then she began to pound them like some expert zombie slayer? He didn't understand that at all. No matter, things were getting too dangerous for the necromacer. He backed off slowly, watching for any moves made against him. Then, in a sudden whip of his cloak, he broke off into a run, speeding away.

(Really sorry about the length, but I just can't keep this up for this rp. Sorry.)

Not entirely certain of what a friend-friend was or was not, Triella hastily replied, hoping they weren't about to be eaten by the present zombies or killed by the berserker little girl wielding limbs of the undead. "Yes, I am a friend-friend, but I can not play right now. I was a little hurt by the...uh...meanie-poohs."

She felt foolish using such childish terminology, but she wasn't about to die here. Hopefully. If she needed to make baby noises to get the little girl to butcher the rest of the horde, so be it! Not like the dead tell tales as it is. what if the child killed friend-friends and helped "meanie-poohs" though?

Ignoring the slight, and odd, mental confusion caused by the child, Triella noticed her surroundings had altered slightly. There was a slight relapse in the swarm, as if the undead were halted by the random ferocity this child possessed, and the noisy troll nearby. There was a wounded human, but the deadly little girl was next to her. The troll however had a far stronger, and longer, swing to his blows. He was keeping their comrades well away away enough with just punches and kicks without any progress being made. The little girl, despite being far more capable than her appearances gave, was still limited just by her size if nothing else. The human's movement capabilities had been damaged critically, the child wouldn't be able to guard both itself and the other effectively. Especially if they swarmed all at once.

Granted that's what they'd been doing all along, but this didn't occur to the gestalt zombie mind. There was a ripple of movement and groans, and the horde of undead began shuffling towards the two smaller targets. Opting for smaller snacks instead of a large feast first.