<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Miriel Vitale</div><div class="spoiler_body">"And you're Miriel Vitale, now are we done naming names...?" the man grinned, and his tongue once more slipped out to caress the blade of his knife. This time though, he allowed it to dig in, and the knife came away slightly bloodied. "And as for why you..." he opened his mouth dramatically, the blood-soaked knife mixing with water before entering his mouth once again for another lick, "If I kill you, I will gain great power as it was foretold by my mentor!" he giggles. Suddenly he jumps forward with inhuman speed, and a meaty hand clamped on her mouth, pushing her head back until it collided with a strong impact against the boards from the fence behind her, causing stars to spring in front of her eyes. "Nah ah ah, no screaming, now," he smiled, incisors showing clearly as his tongue slipped out once more and licked her face up along her scar. "The longer I enjoy myself, the longer you remain alive, even if it's only for a few minutes... though it'll last little..." another insane giggle spills out of him.<br/><br/>With a suddenly motion, he pushes even harder on her mouth in an upwards motion and brings her a few inches above the cold floor, while the other hand grabs the front of her top and wrenches down, exposing her breasts. Rain continues drenching both of them, and with a soft sigh he places his face close to her ear and licks the nape of her neck. "Shhhh, shhhh... It's all just a bad dream... don't struggle and it will all be over soon," he says, one hand still keeping her up against her mouth, the other going for his belt before proceeding with Miriel's skirt which is pulled down. She can feel the back of her head warm and wet, probably with blood. "Who knows... you might even enjoy it," he breathes heavily, and Miriel can see something strange moving behind her eyes--and within his skin. His skin begins to ripple and stretch, almost as though there were another creature within fighting to break free from the enclosure of his skin.<br/><br/>A single thrust and he penetrates her. "What, not even a little wet? And with all this rain too," he chortles. The chortle turns into a roar as the shirt along his back splits open, and a gray-black monstrosity reveals itself--one of the abominations from the Wasteland. It's clearly in no way human, its serrated teeth and misshapen body bent, the vertebrae from its back jutting out like some kind of strange dinosaur from ages past. The hand around her mouth split as well, and felt slimy and sickening to the touch, almost as though it could corrupt her as well just from skin contact, a thousand voices shouting into her mind to let it all go and fall to insanity.<br/><br/>It's only a beat later when the creature who was once Neville is interrupted midroar. He quivers a little and looks down, drawing Miriel's eyes as well. <strong>"What!?"</strong> he shouts, the voice echoing itself four or five times in a strange discordant tone as it looks puzzled at the sword through its midriff. Another beat passes, and suddenly the sword disappears. A quick whistle through the air and a moment later the beast is in pieces. Above Miriel stands a tall woman, unnaturally thin with snake-like eyes and platinum white hair who looks at her with nothing but disdain in her eyes. "Sister Superior," she calls out, her voice high and a little thin, but with a form of resolve too strange to understand. "I've got one. Area appears..." she focuses on Miriel, and her nose twitches, "clear. Though it's hard to sense anything with all this rain." Another figure comes out from the shaded lamp light, flanked by another of the women. While their faces are obviously different, all of them sport the same snake-like eyes and alabaster skin. "Very good, Sister Yarella. Continue sweeping the area." They ignore Miriel, not even acknowledging her presence, nor what she's been through.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Make two Watchfulness checks, DC 12</div></div></div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Anli Revell</div><div class="spoiler_body">Both the Sergeant and the Corporal nodded their thanks, both seeming genuine in their wish not to be soaked by the rain. "Well, you know what they say miss," the old sergeant replies, shrugging his shoulders as the younger man begins to fold the oversized umbrella. "The rain ain't right. Ain't been right for a long time now, I reckon since my gran-pappy's time. Get some splashed on you and it stings, and does worse depending on its strength. Some people even show an allergic reaction that can get them killed if they're not careful--makes their flesh swell up so they can't breathe right. Soak in it for too long or take some into your body, and you turn into one of the accursed beasts that roams the Wastelands--though them girls of the Silver Hilt will get you before you can say, 'jumping jack-rabbits'. Not that I've ever seen no rabbit--though again, my gran-pappy told me what they look like. But mayhaps he was making up stories--who knows," the old sergeant shrugs, fishing a razorvine cigar out of one of the pockets that lined his coat. "You mind?" he asks, more out of courtesy than to get permission.<br/><br/>"Good thing the razorvine grows," he continued, lighting a match and beginning to puff at the cigar inside Anli's home. "All the water's gone bad, all the food's gone bad, and almost nothing'll grow. But at least the razorvine can be used as a sieve to filter water, and its fruit supports us. Without the farms that circle the city, we'd have been lost a long time ago," he rambles before Anli leaves to change in order to brave the weather outside. "Just too bad it's such a pain to harvest it. I swear, sometimes more die from the thorns than live from the fruit," he mutters to himself in consternation as he waits for Anli to come down and join him and the Corporal to the Watch station.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Sarya Melisandra</div><div class="spoiler_body">The man gasps, and scrambles in vain at the wound at his neck, rain and blood mixing on the ground after falling wetly to the ground and struggling like a beached fish. "Wh--what, right now!?" the man's jowls shake. "My house is nowhere near here--it's almost a quarter of the way across the city! I--I--," he tries to gasp for words, but the breath appears stuck in his throat. The rash continues to spread, and Sarya can see the swelling now prominent around his face and throat, and probably more under his clothes which must also be soaked. Her own elvish resistance to the corruption that covers the land lessens the effects of the rain to something almost unnoticeable, but the man has no such protection, and appears to be slowly dying from asphyxiation. He scrambles desperately at his throat, though only a vague moan escapes it.</div></div>