McPhearson didn’t know how he felt at the moment. He’d been blue-balled something fierce, the woman he’d been trying to get lucky with in Kingsmouth had turned out to be an Illuminati agent… Here he thought she’d just been a fan of his Darkside Arena Pay-Per-View events…
Annoyed, he stood from the thicket he’d been sequestered within, hands working to slowly redress. First his shirt, tucking it in so the belt he wore could be clasped shut - following with his Paladin-issued jacket. His broadsword, still stained with the dried blood from the Zombies from earlier, was hoisted back up. The rusted, chipped blade cleaned rather slightly, only serving to smear the wet bits of blood and the mud from where it’d lain in the ground.
The Scot strode quickly about to work his new frustrations out on some zombies, big ones - or perhaps some of the nearby Wendigo population.
He loved being more ferocious than them, it was truly the thrill of being powerful and deadly the thought alone was starting to fill him with a primal sense of anticipation.
With a vicious grin the large man began shifting his weight, he did his best to push the tryst that had just happened from his mind for a bit so he could focus on some simple, mindless killing.
Employing tricks he knew would gather up the enemies he wanted, the man first started making noise with a thorough clanging of his sword against the armored bracers he wore.
Some fresh drops of his blood for the smell to attract the Zombies, whom were not what he was really after. No, they would in turn become fodder for his true targets. The shuffling and sprinting dead barreled towards him, something he had certainly anticipated – no matter the number, he took his sword in both hands and began cutting through them till they were in a pile of gore before him.
This easy prey did nothing more than make him hungrier, his heart burned, his reflexes twitched almost agitated like when an annoying itch refuses to go away. He had to pause from his work to hold the back of one of his hands against his temple, rocking back and forth some on his heels. Bouncing up and down with a light shadow box before he managed to cool off enough to continue.
Moving in a pattern to drop the pieces of Zombie bodies so that they would catch the wind and drift up into the hills. Death and Rot all that filled the clearing before the howls would be heard.
Ghastly, chilling, and exhilerating - reaching into his jacket, into the thick, inner pockets he fitted his hands with jagged, sharp claw weapons and gripped his sword like before - always be prepared right?
Well, let’s say he wasn’t quite prepared for a surprising number of Wendigo to come thrashing down the hillside, a small pack (which was unusual for a monster created by willing cannibalism), possibly winding down from the mass graves where they ate their content alongside the risen dead. The smell of fresh blood and death too much to pass up, it was like a dinner bell being rung into the cold, empty night.
There was a pile of zombie gore, half a high as McPhearson was tall, right beside him. The Templar started to step himself away from it, readying a position to defend himself from all sides. Wendigo typically used their strength and speed to swarm and maul their opponents, to attempt to terrify them and kill them before they could defend himself… He knew quite a bit about them some of his scars came from a few.
But the first one to lash out lost their hand, while they were swift - so was he. And since such creatures relied on all four to hold themselves up, it found itself squirming like a cockroach trying to get away - and it was then that his blade was like lightning, surgical and remorseless. Though his fists came like thunder. Sinking the blades till the force of his punch let out sickening crunches, the anti-thesis of his bladesmanship with how raw and vicious the blows were.
If it wasn’t for the white fur of his coat or the lining pants and boots, it’d be impossible to tell where he had blood if it wasn’t dripping or being slicked off his weapons. McPhearson seemed to be favoring dismemberment for the Wendigo in this fight, only stopping his hacking and slicing to dodge a few close swipes that aimed for vital parts of his person.
He made no sound through the carnage, outside his heavy breathing to keep him going and the slight grunts associated with heavy chops and sudden side steps. Quiet… at least up until he beset upon the last one, the Wendigo screeching for freedom and life before he roared right on back, it’s arms halved around it’s elbows, giving it no way to defend itself as he clampered down onto it and began to strangle the life from it; his face was a grim excitement, grinning with manic intent. Watching the life leave the creature with his hands around it’s thin, skeletal neck, his jade eyes dared flicker with flashes of crimson, the voice in his head telling him to rend, tear, shred, and feed…
The man fought with his inner beast and just barely managed to contain it… He wouldn’t release his prey till it stopped it’s death throes, and whatever slight twitches it had as it lost full brain function came to an end. Finally, with a slow exhale, McPhearson rolled his shoulders as he released the thing’s neck - it’s eyes buldged out and bloodshot from him cutting off it’s oxygen.
Though he was still kneeling half on it’s chest, arms tiredly, loosely laying at his side as he heaved. The grin now gone, but there was still a sort of malice permeating the air, his senses dulled; he could not hear any of what happened around him, having been in the heat of the moment - so the woman nearby was safe for now.
While he remained kneeling with one leg to the ground and the other on the Wendigo’s chest in victory, he wiped the back of his weapon-covered hands on his face like he were getting rid of swear. His bloodied fists dripping with fresh, thick blood just wound up smearing the liquid over his pale skin…. His sword was still imbedded in the chest of another one a ways off, but while the thing was usually inseperable from him, he seemed to be frozen in place, almost like he was basking in what he’d done here.