Out of the Gate and into the Renaissance Fair

[Okor]

Rebbecca twirled around the makeshift campsite, sky-blue dress swirling around pale grey skin, the colourful cloth a hope of a life above the darkness of Rapture. Well, she had it. She danced under the setting sun, surrounded by what she considered to be normal friends. A slumber party! How exciting! How naive. One of the twinned voices seemed enraptured with some device, and another came from his feet. Leaning forward, the object of his attention little more than a strangely purple blur in his damaged vision, Okor spoke, his voice laboured, distorted by damage, disease, mutation, age, and the mechanized suit of armour he had bonded to. It was a voice that had antiquity built into its very essence, its timbre like that of pus-covered mahogany. "Yes." Shambling forward, he refocused what could barely be called his vision on the rapidly moving, bright blob that was his Ward. Within a few moments, the young child had sat down on the cool grass, the shadows beginning to lengthen as the sun began to disappear over the Horizon. The rotting giant stood over her, his necrotic arms crossed over his chitinous chest. The child clapped her hands together, glowing eyes looking towards the trio with hope. "What are we gonna do first?" She asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

Meanwhile, Okor sized up the others. He was outnumbered, true. While it pained him to say so, it was impossible to properly gauge the strength of his foes. The nature of this realm meant that even small children such as these could pose a challenge.

The first two. Twins, judging by the voices. They would be individually weak, but they would be highly attuned to working with each other. Several blades could peel back his carapace, given time, and opportunity. He would deny them that chance, to be sure. It was worrisome, but they could be overcome. Pin one down, end them, take advantage of the other's grief. Such pairs were far from unique.

The other one, however, was far stranger. They had a strange sound to their voice, one not entirely mortal. Strange protuberances emanated from them, which was far from usual. Their strength could easily be on par with Okor's if they were some form of Daemon. Damnable.

For now, he wheezed in another death gasp, tendrils squirming within his eye as his passengers worked to rebuild their host. He looked to the other three strange shapes around the fire, waiting for their next move.