SORRY ABOUT YOUR POSSESSED CORPSE The first dead body Abby sees walking around isn't attacking — only because it isn't looking at her. The man catches her off-guard as she rounds a corner and, instinctively, she kicks him hard in the calf. He goes down yelling a very human, upset sort of wail which is the only thing that stops her from continuing the momentum, and driving her boot heel down into the back of his skull.
"Owwww," says the corpse.
He's very, very obviously dead, made obvious by his smell and the way half of his face has been melted down to almost nothing, something she notices when he flips over on the ground like a fish to look at her accusingly. It makes him seem even more mournful than he already is; he groans, pale hands descending to his leg, clutching it. "What was that for...?"
Abby has never had this happen to her. She opens her mouth and nothing comes out.
CLEARING OUT THE CHANTRY It's the busiest place in the entire town — Abby has been back and forth across the length of it a few times now, hauling wreckage aside to free survivors, sending the odd possessed corspe scrambling in the other direction, helping anchor-less members of Riftwatch get to where they're going without puking all over themselves. The chantry is in the middle of it all, sitting exactly where it is in good condition, innocent and small. Consistently spawning demons.
"We have to go in there," she says, wiping her brow as she looks at it. "Fuck."
And later, in the middle of the fray —
throwing rift-energy projectiles over her shoulder at anything in her periphery, reserving cruel mace blows for the corpses that stumble and jerk across the floor, their juddering arms outstretched as they get in close —
she shouts aloud, breathless and furious. "How many more?!"
Abby, OPEN
The first dead body Abby sees walking around isn't attacking — only because it isn't looking at her. The man catches her off-guard as she rounds a corner and, instinctively, she kicks him hard in the calf. He goes down yelling a very human, upset sort of wail which is the only thing that stops her from continuing the momentum, and driving her boot heel down into the back of his skull.
"Owwww," says the corpse.
He's very, very obviously dead, made obvious by his smell and the way half of his face has been melted down to almost nothing, something she notices when he flips over on the ground like a fish to look at her accusingly. It makes him seem even more mournful than he already is; he groans, pale hands descending to his leg, clutching it. "What was that for...?"
Abby has never had this happen to her. She opens her mouth and nothing comes out.
CLEARING OUT THE CHANTRY
It's the busiest place in the entire town — Abby has been back and forth across the length of it a few times now, hauling wreckage aside to free survivors, sending the odd possessed corspe scrambling in the other direction, helping anchor-less members of Riftwatch get to where they're going without puking all over themselves. The chantry is in the middle of it all, sitting exactly where it is in good condition, innocent and small. Consistently spawning demons.
"We have to go in there," she says, wiping her brow as she looks at it. "Fuck."
And later, in the middle of the fray —
throwing rift-energy projectiles over her shoulder at anything in her periphery, reserving cruel mace blows for the corpses that stumble and jerk across the floor, their juddering arms outstretched as they get in close —
she shouts aloud, breathless and furious. "How many more?!"
WILDCARD
go hard