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There was something almost addicting about going back outside the hotel, bow in hand, waiting for the birds to spot her and come at her. She held onto her personal motto, thus far anyways, of don't throw the first punch. Though how much longer she'd hold onto that motto, she really was beginning to question. Perhaps something to ponder another day--her distraction for now was incoming.

She could hear the screech of the birds before she saw them, and as a handful approached, Tara pulled out an arrow from her quiver and notched it against the bow string. Pulling back slowly, she closed an eye and took careful aim. She was getting better at archery. Though it was almost as much luck as skill to her at this point. This arrow flew fast, and hit with perfect force, piercing one bird's back and making it shriek before it retaliated by flinging one of it's sharp feathers at her. Tara tried to duck, but it still caught her shoulder, ripping her jacket and just causing her more reasons to grumble. Yeah that jacket was going to be nothing but slap job patches by the time this was all done...

Ernst wasn't much of a fighter, which really didn't explain why he kept finding himself back out here.

Maybe it was the hope that there were more survivors who they could squirrel away in the hotel, away from the ******** birds. Certainly he didn't like trudging through the bodies that by now littered the floor outside the hotel and lodge area: those of fallen civilians (he - ugh, he didn't want to say he was hoping for any sort of human death, but the thought that any of the human bodies might belong to Chosen was really quite frightening. He'd die in the pursuit of art, certainly, but this was a really indirect method. He hadn't even seen his latest film through to Sundance.) and those of felled birds. Those weren't as viscerally disgusting, but the birds still bled. They still had some kind of life in them.

And of course, any trip outside meant that birds circled above. There was a little group of people forming, with almost delicate-looking weapons: although of course that wasn't necessarily telling.

So Ernst came running. He wasn't much of one for fighting, sure, but he hated the idea of leaving anyone in the lurch. He pulled his shield up in front of the two women already gathered and smacked it upward vertically at the birds, which he'd found to be way more effective than just holding it above them.

The feathers were sharp, but his shield, and his Mark, could take the hits, for now.

HP: 51/56 DMG: 5
Swarm HP: 35/60

Mal had learned his lesson from the last swarm; this time he picked a group that looked like it had a lot of bodies in it. It didn't matter how well they hit if there were so many of them that they just kept hitting the damn things.

And he was actually quite chuffed to think that he'd done a not terrible job of weeding out some of the stinking pooping pretend birds. "After you," was all he said to the woman -- baker, the part of his brain that was still a detective said. Baker, business owner, books. "Mathilda."

He stepped up to meet a bird gliding down, and swung from the shoulders and hips; baseball approved technique, but it hit the bird solid and square, edge on, and it left him grinning as it screeched.

Even if he did lose another piece of his damn coat.

Mal's HP: 45
Overkilled Swarm: 27 - 6 = 21
Weapon: Sword - Balanced Melee

As people filled in around her--Ernst and Mathilda, she recognized, as well as Mal--she found that it didn't matter as much whether there were any mistakes in her fight. She was rallied by the group and she didn't even flinch when a metal feather went soaring towards her, sliding beneath the edge of her coat and slicing against her calf.

In retaliation, she threw her whip out and managed to wrap the leather around the offending bird's neck. With a harsh tug, it plummeted and crashed into the snow. It's neck broken and no longer able to harm anyone. For once, she didn't need rescuing or help from these mobs; if anything, she was finally doing as much damage as she knew she was capable of.

"Now this is more like it," she grinned.

Marisol's Health: 42 - 5 = 37 HP
Bird's Health: 9 - (200% x 4) = 1 HP

Marisol's Weapon: Whip (4 Base; +1 Hit)

Mathilda narrowed her eyes as a bird got too close. Pursing her lips, she swung her blade up, colliding the daggers dull side against its belly, ending it flying into the sky.

"Die birdie die."

Turing to the group, Mathilda grinned.

"These birds seem to be getting easier. I am the only one noticing that?"

Mathilda HP: 40
Soon to be dead swarm: -1 HP
Weapon: Dagger

Tara laughed, pleased as could be at how quickly that all went. Yes, it was definitely because of how many of them had been out there to take the birds out, but still! "Could be a mix of how many of us where here, and just a basic growing awareness of how to fight them," she chimed in. At least on her part, fighting the birds was becoming easier as she got more experience with her bow.

Moving over to one of the fallen birds, she noticed one of the metal feathers, long and sharp, was loose and managed to pull it easily from the bird. "I think I'll keep this. Seems fair after all the ones they've tossed." Looking back to the other Chosen, she smiled brightly. "Thanks again for the assist against them!" She'd considered adding it was fun! but wasn't sure if the sentiment would be shared and kept that quiet.

Mathilda grinned as she kicked the bird. It rolled over, falling into a hole in the snow. Nothing was left behind, but the birds were dead and that was all she cared about.

"Well, no matter what the case may be, I'm glad we are all still in one piece. It seems you all got some good items too."