[center][color=lightblue][h1]Donnie[/h1][/color] Word Count: 2,391 Location: Argent Tower Lobby → Argent Tower Kitchen → Aftermath of Doomslayer Rampage → Lumbridge → Great Ton Pu In → Mina’s Restaurant → Adventurer’s Guild EXP: Level 5 --> (7/50) + 3 = [b]10/50[/b] [b]New Spirit Acquired![/b] Black Mage (Striker): Through a desire to save his ally, Donnie has turned the dead, zombified Black Mage into a Striker. Vivi retains his mind, and will help Donnie when called upon, casting his offensive magic. He currently only knows [b]Thunder[/b] and [b]Stop.[/b] [/center] Donnie, Ratchet, and Clank killed monsters left and right, but it was eventually clear that none of them could keep this up forever. But the tower was so close he could taste it! He only had to keep up this effort for a bit longer. He threw chi projectiles, Clank driving the motorcycle from his perch on his lap, while Ratchet let loose with more firepower than some platoons. Clank even used the blades from time to time. It made him proud. Right now, the three were working together as a perfectly-synchronized team, purging the horrors of the Dead Zone and making sure that none of these abominations got close to the civilians. But all good things must come to an end. And Donnie was personally glad this one did, because then he got to see the man who he had heard so much about: A hulking man in green power armor. To say he looked dangerous was an understatement. Everything about him dripped menace and lethality, from the visor that obscured his face (seemingly stripping away his humanity), to his bearing, to the weapons he wielded. And as the man took a step forward, Donnie contemplated whether he’d have to fight, a grin emerging on his face at the idea of going toe-to-toe with this man. But then he completely ignored them instead, choosing to fight the entire oncoming horde by himself. It seemed the height of stupidity, but the Doomslayer had earned his reputation over eons of demon slaughter, a record that made Donnie’s scant time fighting the Burning Legion look like nothing by comparison. Then there was the sheer brutality of how he dealt with the monsters ahead. The way the Doomslayer murdered an arremer got him particularly interested, what with how he ripped off its wing and jammed one of the wingbones all the way through its eye and out the back of its head. Distasteful, maybe, but [i]incredibly[/i] effective. The monk whistled. “Holy [i]shit![/i] I wish [i]that guy[/i] was around when the Burning Legion attacked. He would have made it ten times easier!” Then he walked inside, chuckling at the amazing display as Clank used the Treadblade to barricade the door behind the van. As per Nero’s recommendation, Donnie began to disinfect everyone he could. Especially Ms. Fortune, who had taken several bites. Poor girl was likely halfway to turning by this point. Then he realized something. The blood! Everyone was covered in bodily fluids from all the zombies! “EVERYONE, BEFORE YOU LEAVE, LISTEN UP!” he yelled authoritatively, getting their attention. He cleared his throat, and then spoke in a normal--but still far-reaching--voice, “My spells can disinfect [i]people.[/i] Not objects. Everyone here is probably covered at least a few droplets of zombie fluids. Gene got infected with a zombie plague on the way to the police station, when a fat zombie upchucked on him. He’s cured now, like everyone else, [i]but[/i] that means that we know it spreads through fluid transmission. We all need to have our stuff disinfected. Clothing, equipment, bags, [i]everything.[/i] And that means I’m going to need people familiar with zombie plagues.” “Leon, Jill, can you help?” The rookie cop and the special agent lent their aid, the latter in particular confirming Donnie’s assumptions about viral transmission and taking charge to organize a cleaning detail. Argent Tower featured a small cafeteria, thanks to its remote location prior to its reuse in the World of Light, and its kitchen offered enough sanitation to get everyone cleaned off prior to teleportation. Soaked and cold was, after all, better than dangerously infectious. A line formed leading toward the kitchen, with its sinks, sprayers, and cleaning agents, and before too long the decontaminated survivors could escape through the teleporter. Donnie, after the exhaustive cleaning operatijon, desummoned the Treadblade as he prepared to go through, opting to preserve it for future use by placing it in the Luggage. He desummoned the Luggage then, safely placing it in a parallel dimension, and then made to step on the teleporter, only to realize something. That Black Mage, he had died, right? He didn’t trust the zombies and demons that infested this place with that spirit. They’d either consume it outright, turn it into one of themselves, absorb it, or turn it into an item. And, as much as the prospect of absorbing someone else’s conceptual essence horrified him, what those demons would do with it was [i]worse[/i]. He was [i]so close[/i] to salvation. All he had to do to get out of there was step on the teleporter and he would be free. But no. He had to do this, if no-one else would. So, after a quick conversation with Nico, he had the van moved far enough out of the way that he could once again step into the street that had been filled with so much bloodshed not so long ago. He strode forward with purpose, scanning the ash piles that comprised the bodies of the fallen for the Spirit he was looking for. And eventually, he found it, clear as day. It floated right next to a random demonic Spirit. He crushed the demon’s Spirit under his boot. He cared not for its existence beyond what he could take from it, and hopefully that thing would be useful for what lay ahead. In pure contrast to the way he had brutally crushed the demon’s essence, he took the Spirit of the Black Mage in his hand, holding it tenderly, like it was a priceless artifact or a sacred text. He contemplated what he was going to do with it. He definitely didn’t want to make it into an item. Should he take the mage’s form or knowledge? That would be cruel to do to an ally, even if it was reversible. And besides, Donnie had always been a physical attacker. In battle, the mage would be better served at a distance while Donnie got in the opponent’s face. So it was decided. Strikerhood would be his fate. He would save his ally from an eternity of oblivion, no matter what. That sentiment seeped into the prismatic mote of light before him, little by little, and the strength of the monk’s amplified the essence that he found. Like a torch lighting a sputtering candle, or water making a flower bloom, Donnie’s compassion restored that which had become almost nothing. He brought the spirit back, if not quite to life, then at least to existence. It was...oddly beautiful. He hadn’t really expected something like this, but...he’d done it. He’d truly brought Black Mage back. That was...incredible. He’d have to do this more often. It wasn’t long before the Black Mage appeared before him, as a specter. He didn’t speak much, apparently, but bowed gratefully before disappearing back into...wherever Strikers went when they weren’t manifested. His Spirit, maybe? He felt a magic bond of some kind between himself and the Black Mage, now. Like he had a guest of sorts. Then as he walked back to the tower, he began stomping on more demon and zombie spirits along the way and scooping up the items. He was up to ten by the time he reached the doorway. He’d thought of a few things he wanted. A Mistweaver weapon or two, maybe a polearm or staff for if he ever got his Brewmastery back, probably a few guns for Ratchet, he figured Jak needed some Eco, and general reagents for his enchanting and engineering work. Unknown to him, Resonance was kicking in with every idle thought. Then he put the items away, got his armor cleaned off for the second time, walked into the teleporter, and the world became a bright white. [hider=For Donnie][center]You have acquired: [b][url=https://wiki.guildwars2.com/images/thumb/b/b5/Spear_concept_art.jpg/59px-Spear_concept_art.jpg]Spear[/url][/b] [i]A well-made polearm, decently light. Lends itself to both graceful and aquatic combat.[/i] and: [b][url=https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/monsterhunter/images/9/93/Weapon363.png/revision/latest?cb=20120512063948]Bone Scythes[/url][/b] x 2 [i]Impractical and unwieldy but sharp and savage, they make for an impressively brutal pair of hand weapons.[/i] and: [b][url=https://gamepedia.cursecdn.com/minecraft_gamepedia/f/f6/Rotten_Flesh.png]Rotten Flesh[/url][/b] x 4 [i]Even if it weren't somewhat toxic, it would still be disgusting. But if it's eat or be eaten...[/i] and: [b][url=https://bloodstainedritualofthenight.wiki.fextralife.com/file/Bloodstained-Ritual-of-The-Night/demon-horn-material-bloodstained-wiki-guide.png]Nyabon Horn[/url][/b] x2 [i]A horn from a giant demonic cat. Possesses magical properties, with a special affinity for fire and relocation, making it a valuable alchemical ingredient.[/i] and: [b][url=https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/h66jshBolmXRoblqzyLiMKklZH_jS3R8qqF8HeU_LgVJKdirVAVqfXwM-q-kIW9tx5qzL3IxqftQsu9K9YWC0yNbq2u5Cqpn15gJ19Hi13rREXDWYT_pQDkwkg8WTs2x9MvxvOX6gdcZ7XdUSXs22FUV]Mire[/url][/b] [i]A toxin sword hailing from the Great Plague, hewn of flesh, and yet its bane.[/i][/center][/hider] [center][b]* * *[/b][/center] Donovan hadn’t seen daylight since noon the previous day (not that he knew how much time had passed). The blazing sunlight nearly blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes as they adjusted. He stepped off the teleporter, the sunlight becoming a bit less dazzling as he walked forward through the town. It was a peaceful, idyllic-looking place. The polar opposite of the hell he had willingly, and stupidly, walked into. But he’d think about that later. FIrst, he needed to get some food and board. He was exhausted. [center]* * *[/center] The first thing Donnie did was head to the local inn, the Great Ton Pu, and use a fraction of his copious reserves of gold to rent a room for the day. Once he got inside, he performed the annoying task of taking off his armor and putting away his weapons. The armor was kept on by a series of straps, all over the body. Most people wearing heavy armor, like knights, usually had someone else put it on, but Donnie’s gear was designed to be removed by the person wearing it. The monk was left in his undersuit, a padded outfit meant to attach the armor to. It was sleeveless. That was something he was going to have to fix, what with how often his arms were getting hit these days. The extra padding would at least protect a [i]little[/i] bit more than bare skin. He collapsed onto the bed, completely spent from the harrowing ordeal of the Dead Zone. His undersuit was drenched in sweat, and cold and damp from the cleaning it got, but he was too exhausted to put on anything else. He lay there for a good, long while, barely moving. He could feel the minutes ticking by. But he did not sleep. He was only somewhat tired. His muscles needed the rest, though. He had missed a nice, soft feather bed [i]so much,[/i] and it had only been a day. How much time [i]had[/i] he spent in the Dead Zone, anyway? He didn’t wear a watch with his armor, he had no idea how much time had passed. He had certainly spent more than a few hours in the Police Station. Then there was the time spent in transit. It had probably only been past noon when he arrived there, and they had spent some time fighting zombies and demonic insects, then the battle with the massive treant...a lot of things happened even before the police station. Then there was the mad dash to the futuristic tower…. Gods, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the [i]next day already![/i] And come to think of it, he hadn’t seen most of the Land of Adventure crew since he got here! One thing was clear. He needed to get his bearings. With all the energy and grace of an ancient, dying ogre with three limbs missing, he pushed himself off the bed and to his feet, staggering a bit as he did so. After putting his armor in his Luggage and changing into a set of town clothes, tying the sheathed Fists of the Heavens to his belt, he unlocked the door after briefly fiddling with the key, and then repeated the process as he managed to lock it behind him. He took a deep breath as he turned around and took the stairs, arriving in the lobby to find that the inn did [i]not[/i] serve food. He’d have to go elsewhere. And so, he walked around the town that he now knew was Lumbridge due to his talk with the innkeeper, and headed for the nearest restaurant. They paid for everything with gold around here, right? He had plenty of that. He sat down in his [url=https://www.wowhead.com/dressing-room#sz0a0zJ8z9co9MR9m87oX15808FOo87Vzfr808zPz808zaV8zkK8vxh808Cuo808DST87c]town clothes[/url] at Mina’s restaurant and ordered some...wait what the fuck was this menu?! Steamed hydra rolls?! [b]BBQ DRAGON SHANK?![/b] He had [i]all[/i] kinds of questions, most of which MIna put to rest by claiming that those items were only on the menu in [i]her[/i] world, because over there, dragons weren’t intelligent and adventurers could hunt hydras for food consistently. “Screw it, give me the dumplings, the steamed buns, the lizard tail, the curry, the gourd soup, and the sponge roll. And two glasses of ice water and a cup of coffee.” “That’s...a lot. Are you sure you can eat all of that?” Donnie looked at her flatly. “I have spent the last [i]twelve hours[/i] without food, water, or sleep, fighting off hordes of zombies and demons inside of a destroyed city where the sun [i]literally[/i] doesn’t shine. I helped kill a gigantic tree monster, calmed a rampaging ghost, and rescued a bunch of survivors trapped in a city garrison. [i]Trust me[/i], I can eat that much. And probably more.” Mina laughed. “Well! After a story like that, I think I’ll give you a discount!” One gorging later, Donnie was feeling...moderately full. To be honest, he was known to eat tons of food, both due to his upbringing on the Wandering Isle and the insane workouts he put his body through in the course of adventuring. But last night had been insane even by those standards. He was hoping he could take some time to at least sleep in the Brothers Grimm once this was over. Then, he heard a commotion behind him. Turning his head, he saw a small army of what looked like adventurers passing him by. He quickly paid for his food and walked over to ask about the commotion. A young man in plate armor responded, “Didn’t you hear? The Guildmaster turned evil and kidnapped a bunch of adventurers!” “I’m new around here,” Donnie replied, “But I get the picture. I’ll go.” “You’re not even in battle gear--” “Trust me. I can help.” And so Donnie went, following the crowd. Not having his armor would hurt when dealing with this “Guildmaster,” but he had a feeling that his friends were the ones kidnapped. If so, he couldn’t allow this to continue.