Items on their Person:
→Asgardian Armor & outfit
→Mjolnir

Samples;
First Person Sample: (I'm pretending he doesn't come in with Mjolnir for the point of making this sample work, just fyi)

[ The feed opens on the very close, too close, face of Thor Odinson, blinking from the camera to the picture on the screen and back up to the camera. ] Fascinating mortal bauble... [ There might have been a little bit of glee in that. But anywho, on to business. He coughs, like he wasn't just completely caught eyeing the phone like a five year old in a toy store, and continues, voice proud and slightly booming. ]

I know not this term 'zombie' the Midgardians have coined, yet I know of the shambling undead and while I cannot surmise how they have made it to this realm from the shadows of Hel, the threat shall be no less tolerated. On my word, friends, you have the hammer of Thor at your aid.

As for what is stated in these documents, 'What To Do If You Aren't Real'... [ A soft chuckle leaves him, a grin slipping to his lips as eyebrows raise ] It is hardly the first time Midgardians have told tales of us and certain not to be the last, though the accuracy of the record is... ineffable. [ Perhaps a little disturbingly so, down to private conversations with Loki, Odin, and Jane. He takes a moment to clear his throat. ] Still, it matters not. While flattered your people would go to such lengths to glorify us in legend still, it is unnecessary. As Prince of Asgard and sworn Guardian of Midgard, I am bound by honor to assist in this task you've summoned me forth for, and will proudly do so.

Which I shall get to as soon as a proper weapon be found. As it is, I have found only this in my arrival package. [ And here Thor looks severely unimpressed as he holds up a goddamn shotgun. ] How I am expect to defend the people with metal tubing and a collection of small beads, I cannot say. [ looks like he's taken apart one of the shells to inspect it, too, but either way he's clearly not happy with this outcome as he tosses the gun and disassembled shell back into the duffle bag unceremoniously. ] Should one find themselves in possession of a hammer, ax or sword, I would wish a trade.

Third Person Sample:

Thor had fought frost giants, massive mystic beasts only held in Midgardian legend, he'd fought legions, fought wave after wave and decimated armies with Mjolnir at his hand, but he would not be able to tell the difference that day. The swarms came and went - always something to call them, set them off. A light left on too bright, a misfired weapon, an argument too loud. It wouldn't matter at that point, not with him past the rest, in the middle of the funnel created by the break in the barricade they'd set, those capable of longer range behind, picking off any that came through and attempting to thin the crowd. Thor had the misfortune of a weapon that required him to be up close and personal, but he would not complain - he would take his station with pride and valor and he would defend the point, hold the line, until someone could clog that whole in the defense. The people behind him counted on him to, and the people farther still inside - those not capable of fighting like this - civilians, friends, companions needed him to hold them until a patch could be made.

A roar of a cry ripped from his throat as Mjolnir slammed into the side of one of the grotesque undead's head, knocking the thing back into the throng, hopefully not to rise again. He didn't have time to check - onto the next. It's not a battle for glory or reputation, not in the name of honoring Asgard or earning a place in Valhalla. It's dirty, perverse, wrong - it's a battle for mere survival. If they make it, it will be by the skin of their teeth, clawing their way on a driving notion of self-preservation - the screaming need to live. And a couple weeks later? The same. Another rotted corpse slammed back to the masses and Thor's head whipped to check the sides of the barricade, seeing another abomination crawling along one side of it, raising up below were one of the long ranged fighters stood. Senses screaming urgency, he called to him, focus split between the legion and the warning shouted.

"Archer! They come to your left!" The man didn't appear to hear over the rabble and his own mind's panic. A gritting of the Thunder God's teeth and he called again, hoarse and gruff - soreness the least of his worries at the moment. "Archer!"

He wouldn't hear him. Not now, not during the desperate struggle to defend the broken point. If left unchecked, if another point would be broken, it would be the end of them. You cannot fight a war on two fronts, and Aesir as he was, there Thor was merely a man with a particularly hard swing, nothing more. An curse spoken in an ancient lilt was lost in the static roar of screeches and groans of battle, and power thrummed around the once-god, pulling electricity to himself, and it expelled - not nearly what it should be, what it could have been, but enough to grant him room to send Mjolnir sailing at the enemy encroaching on the archer, slamming it away and off the barricade.

But it wouldn't be enough - enough to save one, but not two.

Hand still held out to recieve Mjolnir as it boomeranged back, his skin nearly crawled and time seemed to freeze as he felt grubby, blood encrusted, dirty matted hands with jagged nails wrap around an arm and it would be in a kind of paralyzed horror as time seemed to drip by like molasses, that a sharp pierce of teeth sinking in came to him, followed by a ripping that pulled up an intense burn and unease with it, a sickening pull of muscle being torn as the teeth drag. And as slow as time had been in that moment, an instant later it sped - hammer in hand and the offending ghoul already beaten to a pulp along with several around it before Thor could spare a moment to glance at the wound.

A cold chill traveled up his spine, scratching and jarring each vertebra on the way, and it was like a hand around his throat as the realization of infection set in. Even should he fight off the lot, should the barricade be mended, should the horde be thinned to nothing, Thor would not survive this battle. Not now. He was only allotted a fraction of a second to make the decision - he would defend. He would protect. There would be no retreat to die slowly and change in something heinous. Another roar, like the one before but with a pitch of abandon to it, came pulled from the man as lightening surged in a compact web around Mjolnir and he threw himself full at the crowd, unconcerned for the danger of a scratch or bite any longer, there was only the spirit of a warrior of Asgard in it. A true warrior of Asgard - not the naivety he'd had before in thinking that glory in battle was merely waging war and getting the highest death count, but of a man possessed with the burning need to serve his purpose, to bring an iron fisted finality to end the conflict, to preserve those that needed him to stand between them and the oncoming forces.

He would be that heavy, absolute, protecting wall, and should he still live after that, he would walk into the wastes and hunt what he could until overwhelmed or unable to go on. I death truly worthy of Valhalla.

Additional Information: Aside from looking for help with power dampening, nothing :3 hihi