Into a Rising Wind

[handsofwinter]

Winter holds the Nexus in its jaws, and its teeth sink ever deeper.

A month into the storm, the snow has yet to stop falling. The number of mouths to be fed has stopped dwindling, almost. Occasionally people go missing, and those who notice hope they’ve found a way back through their portals. It’s not enough to change the maths on their food supplies - all their supplies. Nobody is getting a full meal at a time, not any more. Isidor and Lyall have begun to enforce the rationing with iron hands. Both ignore the look that crosses Captain Kirk’s face when they upbraid a volunteer cook for being too generous – the look that lingers on Runa’s face if she’s close enough to hear. They’re doing what they must. They need a tight hold on their supplies if they want to get people through this. They need supplies even to send expeditions after more.

And expeditions are a difficult prospect now. Those who ventured into the storm and returned have brought stories that spread faster than Isidor hoped. The Crossroads Cafe has become a semi-official hub for those travelling outside or keeping watch on the bounds, a safe resting place kept warm by the combined power of Pokemon and Persona. In the long dark nights, people sit around the tables and share what they've seen, what they've heard from this scout or that refugee. Whispered tales of the creatures out there hunting in packs, hounding people from rooftops, even tearing open walls to reach them…

No-one goes out alone, now. Those brave enough to take the risk go in groups and arm themselves with the best weapons they can find. Sometimes they’re a risk to themselves. Not everyone knows how to handle that black market plasma pistol they picked up two days past. Not all of their team-mates keep their nerve when a figure looms out of the snows beside them. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s run afoul of monsters, and who of their own folly. Safer, but little less brave, are the people recruited to keep watch on that shifting line of torches. Just a precaution. The creatures don’t come past it, everyone says. But quietly, everyone doubts.

There've been bright moments, too. A strange alchemist comforting a lost child. An expedition team fighting their way home, back to back. Families brought safely through the snow by soldiers and wizards, by heroes young and old and sometimes surprising. A volunteer cook stepping up to prepare, if not quite a hundred thousand meals, then something that feels close. A young man saving the life of a stranger who'd threatened him. The past weeks have seen people who may never have known one another before come together to offer a blanket, or guiding words, or a helping hand in a search. Small moments, glowing reminders of how much good the people of the Nexus have on their side. But the Winter goes on, and the winds never get less bitter, and the smiles get more strained with every day.

Slowly the line of torches close on the Plaza, a noose no-one can afford to flee. Sheltered space is at a premium. Most of those who remain are settled as close to the centre as they can be. Whether in the big public bunker or the Cafe, people find themselves crammed all together, and tempers regularly fray among residents not too cold and exhausted for fighting. The more responsible Nexus-goers find themselves trying to duck out of (or break up) fights, or spending hours stuffing drafty accommodation with any insulation they can find. There’s snow to be shoveled from doors, pipes to be defrosted, bandages to be changed. Anything’s better than dealing with the problem of working bathrooms.

At one end of the Plaza headquarters, a makeshift screen has been dragged into place to give a semblance of privacy to Isidor’s desk. It’s painfully early in the morning, though the nights are so long and the days so dim beneath the storm clouds there’s little sense of time any more. There’s no-one around yet to wonder about the meeting going on. The only people present are Isidor, Lyall and a handful of senior volunteers – those who remain. Blaze-37 crouches by a makeshift fireplace, stacking the salvaged wood just right before she punches it lightly, setting it alight with the flames that ripple over her fist. The other robot, Ghost, is hovering over the desk playing flashlight for them, shining a pale beam over the maps and reports laid out there. Light, too, is a precious resource, as batteries die and outlets are lost to encroaching Winter. It’s the only reason those here have gotten sleep. They work until they have no light to work by.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Suou?” the Guardian asks when Isidor says they can begin.

“Officer Suou won’t be coming.”

That’s part of why they’re here, Isidor explains. The torches’ march has taken them past the Grand Library. The Crossroads Café is now on the very edge of the safe zone, along with all the people sheltering there. Katsuya’s magic is the only thing that will protect it. He can’t leave. It’s a turning point that only drives home the larger problem: they’re running out of time. They’re running out of everything. Most refugees are in some kind of shelter by now; what they lack is food to keep them alive and fuel to keep them warm. Isidor’s volunteers have counted heads and counted tins and counted everything backwards and forwards and the numbers never get better. Either they do something now, while they have the strength, or the meals will run dry in two weeks. Less, if anything goes wrong.

She lets that sink in. Nobody looks surprised: she’s confirming their worst suspicions and that gets a few flinches, but they understand. They talk, instead. By the time there’s a hint of daylight outside and someone knocks on the door for the first shot at rations, they have a plan. They need an expedition, bigger than any before. They need enough arms to discourage attack, the skills to get them to any buried supplies and the numbers to haul them back in quantity. Each of them walks away from the table with a mission in mind and an air of grim determination.

They have a job to do, and they’re going to need help.

((As before, so below: the main missions/subquests for the expedition prep are listed below. Tag any of them, threadhop, or post with your own character. I suggest putting your character’s name in the subject to help keep things clear. The OOC Post can be found here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))

Threads of Note

Scouting the Expedition | A Fistful of Torches | Scrapyard Sweep | The Home Front | Medical Attention | Isidor's Expedition Call | Main Expedition: The Raid

Comments

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley was at the epicenter of Azwel's explosion. One moment she was near him, promising to stay with him... and then the next minute the explosion forces her body through the air, landing on hard ground a far distance from where she was.

It is some small fortune that her body had landed near the rest of the convoy, close to the far back, as the others push forward towards the new opening in the Fallen enemy lines.

Her body lands with a cracking thud. And for a moment, her eyes roll back in her head... Her pink winter coat -- a gift to her from Loki -- is in near tatters. Her bat had snapped in half, since it had been the one thing keeping her from actually having contact with Azwel.

In her mind, she sees the back of a purple coat for a moment. And hears a familiar voice. Keep her tied down. But let her struggle. I like watching her struggle

The ground shaking stomps of the Giant Fallen make her eyes snap open. And Harley remembers where she is. And she feels a pain in her chest, where she is sure she has a broken rib, as she pushes her self up and... ouch... to her wobbly legs... fuck is her ankle twisted too?

She stares at the broken bat on the ground. And stumbles forward. As her healing abilities start to kick in, a small quiet and desperate laugh shakes from her lips. Her baby blue eyes are dark with a scary determination, as Harley limps forward towards the Captain and his pack that are still attacking her friends.

She reaches back... fuck... that hurts... and pulls out her fire sword, flames covering the metal of the blade. And favoring her good leg for the moment, Harley spins forward, attacking like a savage beast. Laughing with every slash, as she fights through the pain.

[coldsong]

At last, finally, some of the answers he has sought. These beings, the Fallen, are far from kin to him, but they're interesting in their own right. When the largest of them lands to fight, he pauses in his tracks to watch, fascinated. A lord or a king, he judges, based on the reactions, but one who is not too high and mighty to stand with his army.

It's a hierarchy not unlike Asgard and Jotunheim, actually. And in their kingdoms' heyday, both Odin and Laufey took to the field with their armies, to conquer. Odin erased that history of his, but Laufey leaned into it. They were both fools in that respect. What's been done cannot be undone, but dwelling in past glory is pathetic. What, he wonders, does this kingdom hope to gain here, aside from territory?

The explosion shocks him from his distraction, and he senses rather than observes Harley's body go flying. For a second his heart is in his mouth: that would unquestionably kill a normal human. Thank the Norns, then, that she is not one of those. He makes a move toward her side, but some of the newly-dropped foes are in his way. Whether they intend to face him or whether they are merely milling, seeking places to join the chaos, he cannot tell, but the moment of frustration snaps the thread of his patience.

The glamour hiding him sizzles and snaps like sparks on a hearth as it drops. And as it drops, his cobalt skin glimmers in the light from gunfire and glowing eyes. Drinking in power, he lets himself grow, unfold. He is a runt of a Frost Giant, but he's a consummate shapeshifter, and if he wants to be more, he will be. When his height matches his murdered progenitor's plus a little extra, he reaches out and down and swings, batting aside any of the Fallen small enough that he can do so.
Blades flash in either hand, and he makes for the spot where Harley landed.

He needn't have worried, perhaps. She's up before he closes in on her, laughing and pulling out her own sword. The flames dazzle his red eyes and he finds himself laughing with her.

Because he is not merely Laufeyson, not merely a Jotun, but also Logi the fire-god. An etymological accident, perhaps, but reality is so malleable when it comes to the divine and its providence. One of his twin blades vanishes, tucked into hammerspace, leaving his hand free. And then, as he runs a few steps to catch up with her, scarlet flames streak around him, clearing his path.

He is ice, and he is fire, luminous from within, warring contradictions turned outward against whoever, whatever, he chooses to strike at.

[brother_alone]

"WHY IS THAT ONE SO BIG?!" Okay, no. No on so many levels. No times infinity plus one because Nothing about this scene is okay. The smell of blood and viscera and whatever it is that leaks out of these things when they're injured that smells somewhere between coolant and something greasier that leaves a film in his mouth whenever Joshua breathes in is everywhere but even that is being flooded with the smell of burning flesh that coats his lungs and makes Josh gag even over his own pain.

He's crying, though his gear hides the tears. How did any of them think they were going to walk out of this alive? Who were they kidding when they thought this was a good idea? But it was the Only idea. The only one left.

All around him his own team are falling to blasts or blows. Running off into the forest--but the convoy has an opening. They can get the supplies out of here, at least. The few that are with it, at least. Josh can escape with them. He could stop to help up his downed comrades but that takes a kind of heroics the Canadian just doesn't have after everything he's seen. He sees his chance to see the mission done and to get out of here. With a jerk of his arm Josh swerves into the woods to give him some cover from the snipers while he circles round to catch up with Furiosa.

He's not going to get a better chance to escape.

[handsofwinter]

The farther he gets from the battle the more those awful sounds are covered by the wind and the rumble of his bike. It may feel like a blessing, for a little bit. But without the noise to orient him the storm is disorienting. The trees look much the same. There are rocks and more snow and- shouldn't he have come back round by now? Where are the others? If he circles back around too fast he'll-

Something cracks above his head, splinters flying out from the nearest trunk. He's come back almost to the battlefield. To the left a pack of those four-armed snipers have seen him. He glimpses one taking aim while the others scurry up the bank, horrifyingly fast on those many limbs of theirs.

[brother_alone]

It's better this way. The burning pain all down his right arm isn't going away but he feels safer already. Out of the view of anyone who'd want to shoot at him and out of range of the stench of the fight. Joshua's used to horrifying scenes, images of gore and death. Sights and sounds that aren't real but so awful. He can feel every frenetic beat of his heart down his arm though, and Joshua knows this is real.

All of it.

It's so much worse when the monsters aren't just in his head. He's only been this afraid before once, and even then, he was blissfully numb from delusions for a chunk of it. This time? This time he's aware. It's not an improvement from where he's sitting. Has he been this way before? He couldn't have gotten lost he was just ducking out of sight. The tree line and the road should be right her--

"Fuck!" The branch that explodes into a shower of fibers and singed wood nearly makes him crash the speeder. It certainly hasn't taken them long to pick him out again once he's close to open ground. He can't take a look over his shoulder but the movement in his peripherals is more than enough Bad. He feathers the throttle while he darts around a large rock but still flinches when he hears the shot clip the stone as he darts by.

He's almost out in the open now and much faster than the convoy. He can catch them.

[handsofwinter]

He's running almost parallel to the road now, though more fire from that direction forces him right, onto ground that's rockier and rockier. There's something about that. A nagging memory in the back of his brain. Between the trees ahead it looks like shadows move, forcing him to veer hard to the right.

And then the haze gives way and he'll see the ground ahead crumbles into nothing. The cliff edge rushes to meet his speeding bike...

[brother_alone]

The speeder vibrates rather than a rough shake over the uneven terrain but it does make steering a tricky thing. Especially with his right arm damn near useless the longer this drags out. He's not weaving as sharply as he was before which means those shots are grouping tighter and tighter. Grazing him and the speeder as the snipers close in. They must know where he's going.

So why have they stopped shooting all of a sudd--

The gorge races toward Joshua, filling his vision.

His right hand slips on the speeder's handle before he gets a solid grip and throws his weight into the turn, nearly rolling the vehicle over entirely. The back end turns over nothingness and very nearly tips before the thrusters push him back onto solid ground. The speeder fishtails but the Canadian doesn't even care as he fights to get his ride back under control.

"Shit...oh shit." His breathless laugh is pained, but full of relief. There they are, just down the way.

[handsofwinter]

He’s on solid ground again and better yet there’s open space just beyond these trees. He’s practically home and free back to the convoy as he breaks out of the shadows and into the clean white expanse-

It’s hard to process what just happened.

A shadow moving, looming in front and above. A guttural sudden snarl above and beyond the snarl of his engine. A bone-rattling shock to his chest, slamming the wind from his lungs as the ground drops away and he rises-

The pain registers afterward. Comes with the desperate gasping and the realization that he’s staring into four glowing blue eyes. A mighty three-fingered hand is wrapped around his throat, his feet kicking uselessly feet above the ground. The Fallen commander’s face is impossible to guess at behind its impassive helm. But it speaks to him, deep strange words not meant for human vocal chords, and he feels something like high contempt in them, or perhaps that’s just the way its eyes narrow to brilliant slits. Somewhere behind him is the struggling whine of his speeder’s engine, left upturned helplessly in the drifts. In the corner of his eye he glimpses other masks, other sets of eyes. All watching.

And then, as Josh kicks and gasps and struggles for his life, the Fallen lord turns. Away from the road. Toward the cliff he narrowly escaped. It roars something in his face, too loud to comprehend.

And he feels it as that powerful arm starts to fling him, and then that terrible grip lets go.

Beneath him there is only wind, and the freezing void.

It’s going to be a very long way down.

The rocks are waiting for him.

[lady_sif]

The chaos of the battlefield is difficult to navigate, even for an experienced warrior, and Sif is untested in many ways. She's bleeding from a few nicks and scratches that she's earned, but she is a force of nature in her own right, and she has gleaned the blood of her enemies tenfold for each drop that she has bled. It's easy, in many ways--she finds herself spoiled for choice here, surrounded by foes on all sides.

There are friends as well: she fought, laughing, side-by-side with one of Loki's ghostly clones for a spell before their paths diverged, but they are outnumbered now. She doesn't fear her own death, for surely Valhalla awaits her if she falls this night, but the lives of her compatriots are not so easily dismissed. Certainly there is no shame in dying for so great a good, but is it not better to live and partake in the good as well?

Explosions and blasting beams and gunfire all vie for her attention, but it's hard not to notice when allies and friends are sent flying through the air like paper dolls, when their bodies crash and crumple. Being a warrior means respecting your comrades to fight their own battles, but it also means never leaving someone behind if it can be helped.

Her swords rejoin into their singular form, a double-ended spear she can swing with one hand as she runs to check on those who have fallen. Harley is up on her feet with surprising speed, and Loki is with her. Instead, Sif singles out Matt's masked face and braces his body with hers. "It's me," she says, in case his senses are too overwhelmed for him to ascertain her identity. "Come on."

[walking_on_fire]

Seeing a forward attack is one thing, but getting surprised by a flank assault should've been predicted. There's a shocked reaction from Pokemon and trainer alike when the fire gets reversed back at the targets, thankfully not doing much harm. No, that's the job of the grunts, who begin shooting at Incineroar and Emboar mercilessly. Shots gets dangerously close and actually do graze the Pokemon, causing them to cry out in anguish before attempting a return attack.

Natalie, however, dives down among the forces, Volcarona covered in searing flames. The shanks don't stand a chance, but a wild shot hits Volcarona's wing in desperation. The Pokemon is able to recover, but Natalie gets thrown to the snowy ground, immediately feeling the wind escape her lungs. Every one of her Pokemon more to protect her, but instead of giving commands, she recalls everyone back to the safety of the Pokeballs.

Volcarona and Politoed are the only two left, the frog Pokemon throwing up a protective shield to deflect any attacks. It won't last long, as Volcarona hovers close, quietly urging her trainer to stand once more. In that moment, Natalie looks around weakly, hearing a haunting voice calling out to her in the back of her brain.

Is this what you wanted to see? It's a reminder that you're not a hero and that all things must die.

Her head is raised enough to see Blake and Natasha rushing towards the giant, it's terrifying eyes burning into her psyche. Now she understands what they mean. Chaos. Destruction. She's seen that glare from humans, enemies and allies alike. Beings that care about only themselves.

"This is what I signed up for..." She gets to her knees, coughing up blood, while pocketing the pokeballs in a safe spot. Off comes her coat, driven by a feverish heat within, most certainly adrenaline. Stumbling to the snowmobile, she's going to make sure the rest of her team gets handed off to Furiosa before they depart. It's too easy to run right now, but she's of no use to people on the convoy.

This is the place where she plans to make her last stand. Win or lose. Do or die.

She reaches for her radio, hoping her message can reach the Guardian. "Blaze. I have a trump card up my sleeve. I can't use it while moving though. Tell me what position to take and I'll unleash it on the Fallen."

[outpostcook]

Kinner's startled when the Fallen strikes him, and he finds himself falling off the snowmobile. He barely has time to register that he was able to land a hit on the vandal that was attacking him, pretty good for someone against a larger, armored opponent. At least he went out fighting this time. That's a relief for him, if only a small one. Furiosa said she woudn't be able to go back for him. If he's lucky, he'll survive the fall, but then again the Fallen are waiting for him on the ground.

He's going to die, he's pretty sure. With any luck he'll be able to take one of them out with him.

When Furiosa grabs him, he scrabbles back onto the snowmobile, helping her as best he can. He still has his gun, turning to her with a small smile. "Hey, tried. And thanks. I woulds been a goner, huh?" He turns back to the battle, ready to do whatever she orders him to.

radioing in

[rekindledtitan]

It’s not Blaze who answers Natalie first. It’s Ghost, butting in with concern in his voice. The little bot has been at the side of an impulsive, often self-destructive Guardian for more than seven years now, and there’s something in the Pokemon trainer’s voice that has him on edge.

“Stay with the convoy! We're here to retrieve the food, not to slaughter Fallen!”

“Ghost’s right,” Blaze chimes in. The Titan is well out of view of the convoy by now, lost among the trees. “It’s a supply run, not the Battle of Twilight Gap. Stick with the others and get out of there. Anything threatens your retreat, do what you’ve got to do. But you’re not a soldier. Don’t get yourself killed.”

She can no longer see the convoy to know if anything yet stands in their way. Last she saw they had a clean shot out of there, save for those fighting that big captain. It it comes to it, they should use all the firepower it takes. But she’s not ordering a civilian to stand and die without a damned good reason, and the only objective here is the food.

[handsofwinter]

The big leader's arrival has signaled a return of order among the enemy ranks. No more Fallen are dropping onto the field now: those that remain are grouping up, focused on trying to attack the convoy or reinforce the big captain holding most of the team’s attention. If Furiosa can pick up speed and ram through the handful of dregs trying to shoot at her, she’ll make it to the open snow of the road. Leave behind the screams and the fire. It’s a reprieve. It’s freedom. But they’re a long way from home yet…

Whether the rest of the team follow or not, the big captain remains. Outnumbered, now, even with the aid of his lesser kindred. But whether bloodlust or desperation compels him, he fights on. He teleports out of the melee as his shields falter, weakened by that explosion and hammered by Harley’s fire sword.

With a snarl of challenge he draws twin swords of his own, long and crackling with energy. His lower hands pull pistols from his bandoleer, and as a couple of vandals dash to flank him with their swords he charges back into the fray, blades flashing and surging, pistols hammering out energy bolts at any opening. He slices and whirls, moving in tandem with his smaller comrades. Neither fire nor blade nor the Jotunn towering over them seem to give them pause. Nor does it stop the smaller dregs from leaping with their knives at anyone caught on the fringes. They’re fighting for their lives – but maybe for more than that, too.

[eumenis]

Trouble is, it may be both a supply run and the Battle of Twilight Gap. Or, perhaps, the first Nexus Road War. Furiosa is all too aware that breaking through the line doesn't mean they won't be pursued, that conquering pursuit doesn't mean they won't meet a whole new line of resistance closer to the Plaza, and that when they hit the safety of the torches--assuming their magic holds--they won't continue to be under siege afterwards. This is far, far from over. This is only beginning.

She switches the flare gun for the Glock again, and while she's focusing on the drive, she's not too shy to fire off potshots at anything in her way. She'll blithely plow over the dregs.

"Keep on the ones on our tail," she tells Kinner as they break free. Her shoulder's bleeding but it's nothing as far as she's concerned, storm-green eyes bright and feverish with adrenaline as she surveys the landscape ahead and pushes the vehicle for all it's worth. "Watch for anything coming up from the side."

She's choosing her path, taking steep open ground rather than risking going past anywhere that might provide shelter for an ambush. But even without Blaze and Ghost's orders, she's dead-set on her job now. She stopped for Kinner once, but she can't let herself worry about anyone else, certainly not anyone out of her reach. All she can do is fang it and let the snowmobile fly across the icy ground.

Dimly she's aware of Josh catching up behind them, but the fact that he threw them a gun tells her he's in no shape to fire on their behalf. Still, he's a pair of eyes.

"Kinner, tell the escort bike there to watch our 3 and 9 if he can," she says. She can't take the time to turn up and back and shout.

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Matt's sensitive ears are still ringing when he senses someone looming near him, putting their hands on him, and he goes to strike out on reflex before he recognizes her voice. "Sif?" He leans against her, good arm slung around her shoulders, and she feels reassuringly solid and strong under his touch, a touchstone as he slowly gets his bearings back. Thank God.

"Sif, the convoy, we have to protect it," he says, only now becoming aware that he's lost one of his batons, his injured arm no longer willing to hold anything. But he's still clutching the other one in a white-knuckled grip, and he's on his feet, and they have to protect the payload or everyone is fucked. He can deal with being injured later, right? He's got one arm working, he can still fight.

Everything else is just noise, still, and he tries to narrow down his focus. ...there! There's the snowmobile, its engine roaring as Furiosa spurs it on, getting the hell out of the warzone that's erupted all around them. Matt turns his head in that direction, listening for sounds of pursuit. "We have to help."

[walking_on_fire]

Blaze's message isn't what Natalie wants to hear. In fact, it only lights the fire within her via anger. That's the harsh reality of the situation. It was never about helping the team survive, but only ensuring the people of Nexus won't starve. Some of the people here aren't heroes, just people. Only getting the food to the camp matters, so in reality, only one person has to survive: a driver of the payload.

The critical decision she'll have to make is whether her life is worth sacrificing, and the second, if she can bear the loss of her teammates during this mission. Abandoning comrades is a selfish move, one that will weigh heavily on her heart, already clouding her judgment.

"I should've never come out here..." Said to no one, before she sends out last message to Blaze via the radio. "Understood. Only the food matters." Bitterly resigned to this fate, she jumps onto Volcarona's back. Politoed is recalled to his Pokeball as she flies high above the convoy, not staying close to her allies in the slightest. Her eyes are only on protecting the convoy as she flies. If any of them fall off or aren't directly slowing the vehicle down, she doesn't care.

[rekindledtitan]

Somewhere on the other end of the channel. Ghost might sigh breathlessly in relief. Last time they went into battle with civilians, Steve didn't come back with them. Sacrificed in a diversionary tactic gone awry. Neither of them are eager for a repeat, and even Blaze's cavalier attitude doesn't extend to non-Guardians dying.

"We'll catch up as soon as we've drawn off the heavies. Good luck!" Unaware if she's heard or not, Blaze clicks off the open channel. Someone's got to get that commander and its massive scorch cannon pointed away from the supplies - and the team. At least long enough for Furiosa to get out of range, and the others to get a head start. She knows what she's good at. She'll get it done.

[outpostcook]

Kinner obeys Furiosa's order, yelling to the support bike, before turning back, gun trained on the Fallen who are tailing them.

"Our first priority," Kinner says between shots, "is getting our butts outta here. We've gotta get the food back to the folks back home. I trust Blaze. She'll be fine. We've gotta handle what we can." He turns to Furiosa. "That big guy...I hope they can handle him. Those varmints are from Blaze's world. She's the only one who knows what the hell we're fighting. All I know is they're pirates and they ain't from these parts."

Kinner's used to human opponents, and he's used to killing. Back at the research station where he worked, there were a handful of former or current military men, himself among them. He doesn't enjoy killing, but he also understands that there are times when it's necessary. The Fallen, whatever their reasons are, won't let them take the food without a fight.

"Maybe we'll find out what they were trying to kill us over once the dust's settled. Awful cunning of them to starve us out. Mean, but effective. They're going through a lot of effort for food they weren't even gonna eat for all we know. Assumin' they even eat."

[handsofwinter]

There's a shout from the Fallen troops, far behind - impossible to say if it's victory or rage at the snowmobile escaping over their downed comrades. Josh has long disappeared into the snow, but there's a couple of other escorts nearby, and out in the open they're free to move in and support the snowmobile without getting bogged down and trapped in a melee. Rifle fire lances after them for a bit, but they and the Pokemon overhead are moving swiftly, and the swirling snow veils their escape. Soon the smoke and the shouts and the fire fall behind, and they've only rocks and snow to contend with.

It doesn't last.

From the mist comes a chorus of hums, building suddenly into the whine of antigrav engines. A pack of hoverbikes arrows from the haze, smooth and heavy-built in their brown armor, like the dropships. The jets at their rear snap with unsteady electricity as they swing in easily behind the convoy's tail and fan out around it. One of the dregs driving ducks a little lower behind his bike's armor to avoid a shot from Kinner.

And then they open fire, because of course the bikes have mounted energy weapons. They're trying to herd the convoy onto rougher ground and harry away the escort bikes.

So. Road War.

[outpostcook]

Oh, great. A road war. And of course they have motorbikes. Kinner stays with Furiosa, groaning when he sees the bikers approach. And there he was, daring to hope that they were home free. No such luck - go figure. It looks like there's more fighting to do. How many Fallen are there? He's starting to wonder where they'll all go once the winter ends.

"They really don't want to let us go, do they? Determined bastards if nothing else." The cook grits his teeth, firing whenever he gets a clear shot at one of the bike riders, also aiming to destroy the weapons when he can. If he can't hit the pilots, he can sabotage the energy weapons. "Can't imagine why it's so important to them that they stop us. But clearly they aren't telling us anything."

Kinner, thinking as a soldier, wonders whether taking a prisoner would be a good idea. They have people who could translate, and it might be a way to learn what the Fallen want and why they're attacking so violently. Then again, capturing one alive would be anything but easy, and they're sapient. He wouldn't put it past them to kill their wounded or even themselves over surrendering to the Nexus people. They seem downright fanatical.

[sweetcandygirl]

When they started this mission, they were debriefed about how important it was to get the food, and make sure the food got home. All that food is now on the convoy... which is speeding away on snowmobiles... and Harley can not do one damn thing to keep up.

Not with her ankle still not healed.

So she stands where she is, fighting with all her fury. Really it is the only thing she can do right now. The 'Generals' who gave them this mission -- Durant and Kirk -- are not here to provide any guidance. And their 'Commander' has run off after the Giant Fallen, breaking her own rules for protecting the convoy.

So who is in charge now?

At least she still has Loki within sight, even though he looks different now. Harley knows she can count on him and that is a comfort. And still within sight are Sif and Matt. Oh... and wait... is that Palmer too?

"The convoy is too far ahead of us." She calls out over to Matt, as she continues to fight any of the Fallen close to her. "Group together, protect each other. There are others who are protecting the convoy and we have to put our faith in them. Let's get ourselves out of this situation!"

[coldsong]

Loki could keep up. He could ride the wind, teleport, move through ice and shadow, but he can't carry the others that way. He can also wear the shape of a horse, but that won't run at the speed the snowmobile races. Even as he flings darts of red flame into the surrounding enemies, he glances up and around, checking for the scouts with bikes and seeing none.

That means they're on foot for any potential retreat. Whether they win or they lose, that's a hard slog back to the Plaza, unless they can somehow commandeer one of the enemy ships.

Red eyes flicker toward Harley as she speaks, and--she makes sense. He doesn't have to stay with them. He doesn't have to assist them. But here he is anyway.

He can spare a few minutes.

He'll clear a path for the remaining Nexus fighters to draw closer together, lunging and weaving through the front lines with surprising agility given his increased height and bulk. Dagger and flame bite and harry at the Fallen who are close enough, making space for his allies.

[readvondaniken]

There's someone else nearby, trying to keep out of sight while aiming his pistol at the target. That Fallen is so big that Palmer can't possibly miss his shot, and with it distracted by the fight he might have a chance to get in a few good bullets. He's got plenty left. He can't do this all day, but he can do it for a while, and he's determined to show the Fallen that underestimating him was a mistake. He wonders if the one who laughed at him is somewhere in the crowd.

He hopes that Fallen saw him down the vandal. Hell, Palmer didn't even know he had it in him. He'll have to tell MacReady about that one - he doubts Mac ever fought space pirates.

Palmer's slithering closer to the big Fallen. He knows better than to attack head on, but he has a gun, and it's probably suffered some damage in the fight so far. He probably won't be able to take it down, but he's going to try his best to go unseen and get in a few shots while he can. Harley, Matt, and Sif need his help, and he's still flushed with adrenaline after killing his first Fallen. He hides, aiming his handgun before firing at the giant.

[lady_sif]

Sif is fast but she knows she isn't capable of running with enough speed to keep up with the convoy now. She shakes her head and tightens her grip on Matt just so. "No, my friend. They are beyond our help now. We must defend those our weapons can reach."

Speaking of which, she can't help but notice one of the Fallen approaching Loki and Harley from an angle. She drops her sword point-first into the snow to draw a double-ended throwing knife from her boot, throwing it with devastating accuracy.

She picks her sword up again and hefts Matt enough that she can run with him. There's no way the two of them can fight the massive Fallen like this, but she won't relinquish her hold on him, instead focusing on slicing and jabbing at any of the smaller ones that are foolish enough to come within the range of her blade.

[handsofwinter]

The Fallen close in as the group moves together. Some of the smaller ones seem to sense weakness and try to go for Matt directly, but he’s not as out of the fight as he looks – and Sif certainly isn’t. Blades clash and swipe and Matt’s baton cracks down on bone and the hissing, squalling dregs are held at bay. Their compatriots have other – one bigger problem in particular, as Loki in his larger form moves back and forth amid the battle, forcing the Fallen to scatter around him. The chemical smell of their blood hangs in the air with the burnt ozone of discharged weapons, and some of their bodies are slumped in the muddy snow. But they haven’t stopped fighting. Their outsized opponent only seems to inspire greater fervor in their assault, and it’s a good thing for the group that both Sif and Harley’s blades don’t waver.


In the melee Palmer’s managed to sneak closer to the big captain. It helps a bit that the Fallen officer is striding for the others, pistols firing to try and scatter the group again. Palmer’s fire from the side comes as a surprise. He hits the captain in the side and arm and pale vapor wisps out from the wounds. The captain snarls his anger and whirls to shoot at Palmer. At the same moment a loyal vandal spots the human and lunges for him- only to be cut off by Loki’s advance and a slash of his knife. It gives Palmer the opening to rejoin the others and garner a little more safety.

There’s scant chance for the humans and Asgardians to look around. But across the rest of the field the Fallen seem to be disappearing, pulling back. A few are perched up the slope by the trees to watch the show below. But this small portion of the army fights on. The captain flexes his wounded arm, howls to the air, and starts toward Loki with grim fury. His underlings clear a path before him. The team is surrounded, and it’s clear now it’ll be a fight to the death on both sides…

Then something changes. There’s a shout from one Fallen, that ripples through those remaining. The captain halts, eyes on Loki and swords in a guard as a vandal calls out to him. Impossible to read his masked face, but everything in his posture, every guttural syllable he growls out in answer screams frustrated anger. Then, reluctantly, he crouches down, blue cape crumpling against the mud. Immediately his subordinates spring away from their opponents and do likewise. In a glimmer of white light, every living Fallen around them dematerializes- followed by every other Fallen in sight. Only the corpses and scattered equipment remain. And then, as engines roar above them and the ships reappear hovering overhead, the dead and the broken too begin to vanish.

The battle, it seems, has been won. But as to who is victorious…