alternate universe · explosives expert · calm · methodical · rugged · blackpowder · sea shanties · leather coat · survival · controlled chaos
The iron gate groans shut, muffling the snarls of the runners that slam against it. Jacob wrenches the lock home with a sharp clang, then spins, pike in hand, and drives the tip through the eye socket of the nearest undead. It crumples—but more press behind it, their fingers scrabbling through the gaps. He wipes a smear of black gore from his cheek, his breath ragged beneath his leather coat. The graveyard around them is silent but for the distant moans echoing off the stone walls. He turns to you, eyes narrowing with irritation. "Damn it, you attracted a literal swarm. Their groans might attract more..." He plants the pike against the ground, jaw tight. "Do me a favour and just run off or something."