[Location & Visual: Somewhere in the City]
Godric had long since lost count of how many sentinels he'd destroyed when his luck had run out. One of the bombs had gone off behind him. It was a few minutes premature and he never saw what triggered it, but it didn't matter. The way it ripped into him and threw him to the ground had been a more pressing concern. The inflicted wounds would have been instantly fatal on any mortal; flesh ripped up in long strands to reveal bone, extensive burns and shrapnel buried in his shoulder. One of his arms had been rendered near useless, though it had remained attached.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Godric had dug into the ground at a blurred speed. He had already begun healing, but by the time he was useful again, the bombs would have already gone off. He had prayed quickly and silently to nothing in particular that he'd done enough, that enough bombs could be disarmed, that Judith would find the psychopath who'd planted them before he could hit the trigger, that the Uroc and whatever other shelters there were could withstand the blasts. As the dirt had fallen in behind him and encased him in darkness, he had hoped that Taxon wouldn't be a city of one when he next woke.
When Godric drags himself out of the ground, fully healed but caked in dirt like a proper zombie, a wave of relief washes over him. Taxon is still more or less standing, despite sustaining quite a bit of damage, and he immediately wants to know what's gone on in his absence.
He doesn't know who to contact first, so the broadcast is public. To anyone who doesn't yet know him, he just looks like a teenager covered head-to-toe in dirt. It's hard to tell he's even undead with his white skin so camouflaged.
"I've been incapacitated for the past few hours, but it seems the worst of all this has been averted. What happened?"
A pause as he searches the skies for the Uroc. "Kinsman, is your boat still in one piece? Judith, are you well?" There are a number of other people he wants to ask after, but he'll take things one at a time.
[ooc: This is dated to maybe six hours or so after the Doctor got caught, before everything programs itself back to normal. Anyone and everyone is free to tag into this with their two cents, though it's not any kind of official aftermath post.]
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Godric had dug into the ground at a blurred speed. He had already begun healing, but by the time he was useful again, the bombs would have already gone off. He had prayed quickly and silently to nothing in particular that he'd done enough, that enough bombs could be disarmed, that Judith would find the psychopath who'd planted them before he could hit the trigger, that the Uroc and whatever other shelters there were could withstand the blasts. As the dirt had fallen in behind him and encased him in darkness, he had hoped that Taxon wouldn't be a city of one when he next woke.
When Godric drags himself out of the ground, fully healed but caked in dirt like a proper zombie, a wave of relief washes over him. Taxon is still more or less standing, despite sustaining quite a bit of damage, and he immediately wants to know what's gone on in his absence.
He doesn't know who to contact first, so the broadcast is public. To anyone who doesn't yet know him, he just looks like a teenager covered head-to-toe in dirt. It's hard to tell he's even undead with his white skin so camouflaged.
"I've been incapacitated for the past few hours, but it seems the worst of all this has been averted. What happened?"
A pause as he searches the skies for the Uroc. "Kinsman, is your boat still in one piece? Judith, are you well?" There are a number of other people he wants to ask after, but he'll take things one at a time.
[ooc: This is dated to maybe six hours or so after the Doctor got caught, before everything programs itself back to normal. Anyone and everyone is free to tag into this with their two cents, though it's not any kind of official aftermath post.]