Cimetière Notre-Dame-des-Neiges (Open by request)

Necromancers. Damned spooks. I've met some good Necromancers. Men and women who believe their art the most holy of all magics. That they respect the dead by giving their bodies purpose after death. Bullshit. Sure those people were good people, but you don't go messing with a man's bones just because he's done with them. Those old bones deserve their retirement. But at least those Necromancers don't hurt the living. They have some ritual to it to honour the dead. The others? The ones that horror movies are written about?

Those bastards make my skin crawl...

-From the desk of Phillip Edwards, Chief Officer of Planes Watch


"Michelangelo's Pietà. What a beautiful piece of art. Our Lord Jesus Christ, draped across the lap of his distraught mother after the Crucifixion. If ever there was a piece of art that should receive His protection it would be this. But unfortunately, the Pietà in question is a replica. A life sized marble one in the "La Pietà Mausoleum." One of many, many grave sites within the "Cimetière Notre-Dame-des-Neiges".  The single biggest graveyard in Canada, located just outside of Montreal. Guess what's right next to this massive bone yard? Another ever loving Graveyard. Half as big, but half a million is still half a million." With a grunt Mr. E shoved a walking Cadaver off of himself and onto the ground, a boot on the chest and a bullet through the head, he was on to the next contestant.

"Anyway. Why, might you be asking, am I giving you this brief art history lesson? Well. That is because I am standing at the base of this beautiful piece of art, knee deep in gore, and I find talking to myself cathartic. And if it weren't for my magic bullet, I'd have checked out over an hour ago, so forgive me if I'm a bit stressed. As it stands? Well. I'm about three hundred zombies down. One million four hundred ninety nine thousand seven hundred more walking corpses to go." A arc of the arm brought the hatchet he found on the grounds keepers cart outside, splitting through yet another undead servitor. It wouldn't be enough.

"At least, if Pierre Gaspard gets his way. Eh fella?" He seemed to be asking the zombie who was kindly holding the barrel of his Magnum for him. In it's mouth. "A D list spell slinger," He continued as he blew the creatures cranium clear off. someone who faked speaking to spirits on the other side for three times as long as he's known they were real. He was on Planes Watches short bus list of minor talent in the Occult. We never thought he'd be capable of something like this. But here he is, raising an army of dead a Lich King would be proud of. How did he get the juice to do all this? I'd be damned if I knew. Maybe literally honestly. Some knowledge you just cannot get any other way than by pulling a Faust." One, two, and three, one, two and three. Moving like equal parts brawler and dancer, Mr. E navigated the crowd of undead like they were groupies at a rock concert. Though he was beginning to flag.

"But what I do know is, there are twelve girls set up in some ritual circle somewhere in this graveyard, and Pierre is going to slit their throats like a holiday ham if I don't find him and soon. I thought for sure this Mausoleum would be his HQ, but I guess I gotta keep heading up hill. And this god damned fog? How is he doing all of this! When I get my hands around that conman's throat, he'll have wished he was one of these damned Zombies."

As far as audiences went, you can't do much worse than a horde of zombies. Always moaning, no matter the quality of your performance, and constantly trying to shove you off stage and take control of the show, normally though, they were manageable. So long as they were the shuffling slow kind, the good kind, as far as rotting abominations could have a good kind. But there were too many. For all of his bluff and bluster, if some miracle didn't happen soon, Mr E would be joining the legion of rot that would soon be descending upon Montreal, like a biblical plague.

Joshua was in his room pacing. He looked at a photo, and planned to open a portal there. It was a game he played to keep things interesting, but he had a very bad feeling about trying this time. He looked at his watch before pacing some more. Finally deciding to go through he closed his eyes picturing a graveyard before him. He didn't know how he got that picture, but he always wanted to visit Canada. After a few seconds of concentration ge opened his eyes to reveal a purple glow as a door materialized before him. The door was old and wooden. It had a ovular doorknob, and emanated a green light from the sides. Joshua stepped through.

He had been wearing his gear just in case the place was off limits or something, but THIS was something else entirely. There were freaking hordes of zombies. ZOMBIES! Terrified the Red Raccoon turned back to his corporeal door, but it gad vanished due to his frightened state, and lack of concentration. Turning back he felt a creature grab at him. In response Joshua jumped into the air whipping out his tonfa. The first reaction was to grapple to higher ground. From there he saw someone fighting a little farther away. Shrugging Joshua began to slash his way through to his fellow combatant. The creatures were rather gross he thought as blood and saliva splashed onto him. He used the sides of the tonfa to push them away with his elbows, and cut off their head with his blades. "How ya doin'?" The The Red Raccoon asked the shrouded man.

This was perhaps not his best of days, and that was putting things mildly really. Originally, Colin had wanted to just take in the large graveyard, either through some morbid curiosity or something else, but regardless this was not what he was expecting. That aside, he was one minute just looking over the ornate graves, and the next thing he knew the dead rose like some kind of George Romero flic, complete with the shambling corpses letting out strange moans. His first time back in Canada since being forcefully enrolled in Chicago, and now here he was being attacked by Goddamn zombies. Luckily, he had enough foresight to actually plan ahead, gripping the hilt of the knife carefully and flicking off what looked like grimy black gore. Two of them had been taken down with some brutal knife work, but he knew that his weapon would not be enough to take down an army, meaning that he would have to get the hell out of dodge.

The problem with that was there being an army between him and the exit. Okay, so all he needed to do was try to radio in his suit, and then work from there, however the one problem was that something was interfering with the frequency, leaving him with something that sounded like demonic chanting. Another would stumble towards him, Colin groaning inaudibly, and without much time wasted, he would latch onto the things shoulder and jerk it forward, roughly jamming the blade of the knife into its forehead. A wave of revulsion would wash through him, as well as pity for whoever it was that he was stabbing. They were zombies though, which meant he should not feel too bad about dispatching them. Its body would grow rigid, before falling back like the corpse it was supposed to be.

”I fucking hate zombies.” He growled before taking note of more shambling towards him, around a dozen. Not wanting to get munched on, he ran in the opposite direction.