[hr][h1][color=f7976a]Arya Briarwood[/color][/h1][hr] 

[hider=Beethoven's 9th Symphony][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-mvutiDRvQ[/youtube][/hider] 

Arya had always been defined as a 'bookie', or a recluse, or even a nerd. It had come as a surprise to her that after so many years of study, she was suddenly a knight. Despite the aforementioned descriptions, if there was anything that described Arya- it would be immature. She was in her forties, but was around half that age mentally all things considered. Fairfolk tended to mature slower than most other races.

She had always done basic research over the applied sort. She specialized in information that the academy just [i]wanted[/i] to know. She wasn't as much of a field worker in training as her job description had required. [i]THAT[/i] had come as a somewhat unwelcome change to her lifestyle. So here she was, traveling around the lands and maintaining order by culling evil-doers and removing the rule breaking filth. Or at least, that's what she told herself. She had been told of the many moral dilemma's she was likely to face at one point or another.

Speaking of change, she hated the number system people used to rate things. One-to-ten was so... boring.

So, on a scale of seven-to-eighteen, the situation she was in was currently a solid sixteen. Which probably translated to a nine out of ten or something. Arya had been traveling with a swordsman and a fellow fairfolk (who's attitude wasn't quite up to par 
on her knowledge- at least not where she acted like it was). They were good company- and made the chores easier and the night's safer. It was a comfort knowing that people were watching your back, after all. They had traveled to Maceron following a herd of wights, and she had split off to restock for more traveling, only to find that the wights had become [i]very[/i] hostile very fast.

Now, the undead were of no real issue to Arya. She marched through the streets, unharmed and unattested. Both of her arms were outreached, her blue skinned hands being the only skin visibly exposed. She was waving wildly with one arm, creating rings of rock that forced wights into tight clumps or six or seven at a time. With the other hand she was snapping angrily, causing small explosions to erupt seemingly out of thin air.

"It was such a good day,"

An explosion the size of a car bomb- sending flaming undead body parts in all directions.

"And I was enjoying myself shopping,"

Another explosion, like an incendiary grenade went off. Smaller but more intense than the first.

"And I was thinking to myself- today is such a nice day,"

Another eruption- almost entirely flames, incinerated a few nearby wights.

"I was going to talk to talk to an old lady, maybe do some painting,"

Another explosion.

"But nooooooooooo!"

Arya stepped forward to a lone wight, which she had separated and pinned with rock. She pulled the wight down to it's knees in stone and pressed on the wight's forehead.

"You [i]had[/i] to mess it all up today!"

She made a gun shape with her hand and pressed her thumb down, as if she had pulled the trigger and the hammer had come down- and a jet of flame spewed from her fingertips. The inferno burnt through the wight's face, and when she was satisfied Arya relinquished her hold on the corpse. She whipped a few droplets of sweat from her forehead that resulted from the heat.

What was she doing again? Oh, right, Pietro and Anna.

"Alright, here's to hoping you two haven't died yet." Arya muttered, continuing her destructive mid-day stroll down the road in search of her traveling companions.

[hr][h1][color=orangered]Theresa ot an Bol’hjar[/color] and [b]Benedict Kaspin[/b][/h1]
[i]Written with [@SepticGentleman][/i][hr]

[b]"This is actually kinda' fun!"[/b]

"Ben, shut up and help."

Ben and Theresa had been fighting their way through the streets. Wights were nigh unkillable, but they did get incapacitated easily enough. Their undead bodies were frail, and Theresa's sword cut through them as if a hot knife would through butter. Benedict's strength and size granted him equal invulnerability to any weapons the wights used. Theresa however, was not as durable as her companion. Her skill and agility could not trump numbers with the same efficiancy Benedict could. She was a warrior however, and she knew her abilities and how to use them.

"Ben!" Theresa called, cutting the head off of a wight, and pivoting away on her heel to face her friend.

[b]"Aye?"[/b], the scaled Behemoth called back turning his attention away from the small horde that had concentrated around him.

"Headin' your way! I need a lift!" Theresa finished, pushing off of her pivoted foot towards the great lizard. The aggressing wights were obvious obstacles, and Theresa worked around them by dodging and weaving around their grasping hands. She aimed to maim rather than kill, settling with cutting off arms and hands that reached a little too close to her over taking the time to go for the head. They had dealt with the undead before. Running water, and fire were the only things that could permanently extinguish the undead life of a wight.

"Hand!" Theresa shouted, sliding under the wild arm of a wight that attempted to strike her as she approached Ben. The behemoth in question had began coughing jets of fire around him- as if burning a spotty ring that stated 'do not cross'. The wights directly in front of the broken jets were knocked back like rag dolls with caved in chests. One the path was clear, he stuck one hand out for the woman to use to jump onto. Once he felt the familiar weight of Theresa on his appendage, he pulled his arm upward in an effort to throw the woman onto his shoulders. It was a manuever they had practiced and executed hundreds of times. Benedict had a huge barrel chest, even for his size, and despite his sometimes erratic movements she often had no trouble maintaining solid footing.

"Get me to a buildin'!"

[b]"What?"[/b]

"Buildin', you brute! Get me to a buildin'!"

[b]"You dont have ta be so mean about it!"[/b]

As instructed, Benedict worked his way to the edge of a street. Theresa placed her hand on the side of his head, and gently pushed it in the direction she wanted him to strafe. She was aiming for a pub, and for good reason. She had a plan.

"I'm hoppin' off into the pub's second story! Keep the horde off me while I'm in there!"

[b]"Makin' me job, woman!"[/b]

Ignoring Ben's comment, Theresa took hold of the wooden bars on the balcony of the pub's second story. With Benedict defending the main entrance, she would have a much easier time executing what she planned. There was a trick she had picked up. It was fairly well known- a petrol bomb was one of the easiest weapons to create a use after all. But the pub was the best place to find the kind of alcohol that burned.

She traveled down the stairs and into the pub's main room, sword in hand. The wights inside were few- and were focused for the most part of the bodies around them that they had felled. Theresa pressed her back to a wall, and began feeling around her, eventually settling on a half empty sack of potatoes. With bag in hand, she approached the wights- who were busy beating the fresh corpses or were now standing again now that they sensed her. With an indignant cry, the redheaded monster hunter beheaded the wights and stuffed their bodies into the potato sack. She rushed away from the bodies and threw the sack down into the pub's cellar in an effort to distract the monsters while she worked.

Vodka and rubbing alcohol were her main quarries, and were easy enough to find. She sheathed her sword and grabbed her choices and as many bottles of alcoholic beverage that were over 100 proof. Dry rags were simple enough to find- she simply tore apart one of her spare tunics. Nothing she couldn't replace. She found and emptied another sack of potatoes, and placed the bottles inside of them. She shouldered the sack and began treking back up the stairs to the balcony- grabbing a candle stick as she walked.

Almost as soon as she got up the stairs, she was jolted out of her objective induced stated of drive, and nearly dropped the sack, by a manhole cover very abrupting slapping into the wall less that two feet from her face. She turned to the direction the cover had come from to see a very pissed off looking Ben facing an incoming horde of wights. The behemoth was hunched over and was roaring- looking more genuinely pissed off than she had seen him in a while.

"Watch 'here your throwin' that thing!" Theresa called from the balcony angrily, depositing the sack of petrol bombs on the balcony floor next to her. Benedict's state of anger dissipated momentarily, and he turned fromt he looming wight horde to look at his friend. He narrowed his eyes and blew smoke from his nose. Theresa produced a single bottle from the bag and lit the cloth with the candle stick and prepared to throw- only to realize that there was a manhole not far from her.

[i]A manhole.[/i]

The manhole meant that there was a sewer, which meant that there was running water right below them.

"Ben, the sewers!" Theresa called tossing the molotov in her hands and preparing to throw.

[b]"What 'bout em?"[/b]

" 'Means there's running water right below us!"

Benedict's expression went from confused to understanding- and he quickly moved over to the opening. He hammerd his fists down, and began tearing hunks of the street away from the weakend opening- exposing more of the sewers below. Theresa was chucking molotovs into the street, doing her best to land them in a funnel like formation around the opening Ben had made. As wights pressed onwards- their instinctual fear of of fire funneled them directly to Ben- who made short work of their bodies- depositing their shredded corpses into the running sewage behind him. The process continued for several minutes, with Ben eventually adding wood and other constructs to the fire to keep it burning. Theresa however was running low on bombs, and settled on cutting the wight horde off by creating a line of fire only a few meters away from the balcony.

A makeshift safe zone for the two of them. The fire would die if they didn't fuel it- but it bought them time to think and to rest. Something that had saved them many times before.