[center][h3]Red Team Neo[/h3]
[b]Location:[/b] Hammerhead, Paved Wilderness
Banjo/Kazooie’s [@Dawnrider], Pit’s [@Yankee], Yuri’s [@Gentlemanvaultboy][/center]

Like the others Nero stepped out of the van to stretch his legs, appreciative of the clear sky. The whole ride back had been overcast, figuratively when not literally, by what they’d encountered in the ruined land where the plague-infested Dead Zone once stood. Just age-accelerating rain by itself, and the long sessions of self-examination undergone by its victims to determine the extent of the damage, would have been heavy, but that wasn’t all. During their hasty escape something else had gone done in the back of the van while the others were getting thrown around. Not being privy to whatever it was in the slightest, Nero couldn’t even hazard a guess, but it only intensified the solemnity that settled over the vehicle. Not even listening to the radio lightened the mood. Now, at least, far from the tar-splattered crater and the moss and the rain, the mercenaries could put the experience behind them.

He did feel some curiosity about what exactly Yuri might have in mind when she went off, and watched with discretion from afar as she solicited the mechanic girl for help. Cheerful and bubbly as ever, Cindy was only too happy to lend a hand. “You betcha!” she replied, straightening up from her current project without an ounce of hesitation. Being the quintessential extrovert and not by any means lacking empathy, Cindy quickly got a sense for Yuri’s trepidation, and did her best to be as sunny and inviting as she could. “You ain’t by any means talkin’ about that rabbit-eared gal, are ya? Sweet-thing with crossbows on ‘er boots? We figured she’d be back to grab that cute li’l bike o’ hers sooner rather’n later, but we kept it clean as a whistle, don’t you worry! Over this way, c’mon!”

After watching Cindy lead Yuri off to where Hammerhead stored its vehicles, Nero went a different direction on business of his own. He found somewhere isolated and took a deep breath, shaking his head as he couldn’t believe he got roped into whatever he was about to do. “Well, guess I’ll give it a shot,” he muttered, then in a louder tone asked, “...Moogle?”

A poof of smoke promptly went off in front of him, revealing just the [url=https://www.kindpng.com/picc/m/709-7093161_moogle-png-download-moogle-final-fantasy-transparent-png.png]fluffy white creature[/url] he’d hoped, if not expected, to see. This one, however, seemed to be none too animated, and just flapped there with arms crossed. “...Need something?” she said after a moment, her tone deadpan.

Emboldened by the idea of dealing with a no-nonse, sensible Moogle rather than a cutesy, whimsical one, Nero proceeded right ahead into his report. “Yeah, I was gonna relay what we found out for the Dead Zone survey.” He paused as the messenger produced a notepad and pencil with which to write down his account in a quick but elegant hand. “The whole place is one big crater. That bomb destroyed everything but the Qliphoth. It’s still standing, right in the middle, same as ever. We didn’t see any monsters or anything, and it would be a straight shot there if not for the rain.” Scowling, the devil hunter scratched at a sore spot on his neck. “The rain in and around the crater is cursed or something. It makes anything it touches age real fast. We got out of there alright, but anyone headed that way’s gonna need to figure out a way to deal with it.”

A moment later, the Moogle’s scribbling came to an end. “Uh huh. I’ll pass it on. The boss wanted to ask your group something though. We still don’t have anywhere to put the cars, and we don’t wanna make everyone drive all the way across the Land of Adventure again and again. So he was hopin’ you do some recon while in the Wilderness.”

“Another mission?” Nero considered it. Although his priorities lay with the Dead Zone and he didn’t want anyone wasting his abilities on busy work if he could help it, he couldn’t make any progress on his goal at the moment. Just about anything sounded better than another huge stretch of driving, too. “Vandham just want us to look around or something?”

Even with closed eyes, the Moogle looked bored, maybe even regretting a role where she had to explain so much. “I mean, kinda. He doesn’t want you wastin’ time fartin’ around empty space. Wants to check out the Rocket League Arena. Northwest. Maybe see if there’s any other points of interest.”

“Okay, I’ll tell the others.” Without further ado the two parted ways, the Moogle back to Alcamoth and Nero back to the van. Once everyone got back from their various breaks or other excursions, he mentioned the assignment, as well as the recommended locale. “We could ask the people here about other places,” he pointed out. “So let’s ask around. Grab a bite to eat, stock up on supplies, whatever. Then we’ll head out. Sound good?” He looked around the motley crew of angel, bear, bird, and schoolgirl, and wondered when he’d accepted the responsibility of chaperoning these people. He didn’t want to lead, but if he had to, he didn’t want his team going hungry.

[center][h3]Wildwood Glades[/h3]
[b]Location:[/b] Frozen Highlands
Linkle’s [@Gentlemanvaultboy][/center]

Albedo observed the reaction Linkle’s contact with the rune caused with his interest piqued, although an explanation that readily sprang to mind removed a lot of mystique from the interaction. “These must be bone,” he observed, reaching the same conclusion that the Skull Heart provided to his companion. “Not human, of course.” Linkle’s request for him to smell the things bemused him, making him wonder if he should have stuck to the technically untrue but easy-to-understand concept of elemental sight after all. [i]Does she think I’m a dog or something?[/i]

Still, he consented to examining the artifacts without a word, turning them over in his hands. “It’s faint, but I do think it bears traces of Hydro. Maybe these bones belonged to a sea creature before they were carved. There’s something else though, an unusual sort of magical signature, as subtle as it is strange. I’m afraid it’s beyond my power to identify.” With nobody around to suggest otherwise, he followed the example so earnestly set forth earlier by Linkle and pocketed the anomalous objects for further study.

The alchemist then watched his new friend free the captive grub, and though he might have wondered what purpose the bulbous creature served either in captivity here or in being released, the topic failed to interest him. Besides, if its disappearance into the earth meant that he’d missed his opportunity, what purpose did it serve to entertain idle what-ifs? A much more important matter still lay before him, and with it clear by now that the Witch spoke the truth in telling her guests that they’d find nothing here of value, both young blondes planned to move on.

“Modern…” Although a foreign concept to him originally, the idea had indeed taken form during his travels of the world, cultivated into not just an aesthetic but an identifiable sensibility by a sharp mind all too used to differentiation and categorization. This idea went beyond the fact that Survive or that hotel featured various remarkable devices capable of incredible feats of mathematics, utility, and convenience; rather, it was the incredibly nonchalant treatment of such things by those whose worlds they came from as totally mundane, when for comparatively less ‘modern’ worlds, such achievements would be looked upon with awe and even reverence. Making sense of the anachronistic World of Light was no mean feat, but Albedo understood enough of the modern perspective. “Not the dungeon, not by a long shot. It’s a dangerous place, buried and best left forgotten. The Mystic doesn’t fit either, and bears some thematic overlap with the monastery, anyway. The hospital, however…” Albedo ran a hand through his voluminous hair, brushing off the cave’s dust. “A term that refers to a large-scale establishment where many patients receive medical treatment. I did not like the look of that place, so I cannot say for certain, but I believe it best fits this idea of ‘modernity’.”

Having reached a decision, the duo began to retrace their steps. They left the witch’s cottage and its overseer turtle behind, but as soon as they reached vegetation they found out that their former host had left behind more parting gifts than lukewarm tea and stinging rebuke. Her hostility seemed to have seeped into the woodland itself, at least within a certain range, creating a nigh-impenetrable obstacle through which every step was a terrific hassle. Grass snares sprang up underfoot to grab and tie together one's feet, while vines and creepers dangled dangerously, just waiting to lunge at and wrap around unwary limbs before hauling their owners into the canopy, like fish on a line. Fruits and nuts rained down to pelt and splatter the duo, while roots rose to bar their way. Even if liberal use of Linkle’s cryomancy would do wonders for clearing the way, it was slow going until the two finally broke free of the witch’s domain and back into the forest proper, where her vengefulness held no dominion.

From there their objective became the flagline that brought them into the misted valley in the first place, since scaling the mountains by hand was a prospect that not even an undead would savor, let alone an ordinary human. With each crimson copse and wildflower runway rather similar and few landmarks to guide them, they ended up wandering a little despite continued attempts to get above the treeline and see what’s what. Luckily, they didn’t get too lost, and arrived back at the flagline quite early in the afternoon.

Before they could ascend, however, something else caught Linkle and Albedo’s attention. An ugly blot on the landscape drove their eyes away from the tree that anchored the flagline, since neither remembered it being here before. Their detour brought them to a sprawling patch of twisted black briars, with thorns the size of wolf fangs that blazed a fiery red toward the tips. As they circled around the mess, trying to make out the odd heap that lay crumpled beneath the briars like a dying animal, they spotted a familiar figure on the far side. “Mr. Tuley?” Albedo asked, recognizing not just the bearded little badger fellow sitting before him on a tree stump, but that there was something wrong. Tuley looked crestfallen, utterly devastated, slouching limply like a child’s toy, his cheeks tamp with tears. Around him were scraps of vegetation, ruined vegetables and discarded flower petals, amid a field of weeds. A lone, unused dagger lay in the brush a stone’s throw from the stump. Only then, following the gardener’s hollow gaze, did Albedo realize that the thorn-ridden wreck before him must be his home, destroyed as if by giant limbs like a galleon in the grip of a tentacled sea beast, and then viciously overgrown.

Already weighed down inside by a sinking feeling, Albedo asked, “Mr Tuley...what happened?”

Sniffing, the gardener looked up at the sky, as if to blot out the destruction that surrounded him. “It...it was ‘er. The witch. She said...said I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Then she...she went mad.” He gestured weakly at his surroundings. “Tore it all up. Replaced all my hard work with weeds and thorns.” His eyes watered up once again as he looked between Albedo and Linkle. “I...I don’ blame you or nothin’, it’s just...why?” Burying his face in his claws, he shook his head from side to side. “She’s always been kind to us li’l folks. What’d she ‘ave to go an’ do this for? All the power in the world to give and grow, an; she chooses to... I don’ understand what I was s’posed to do. She never said anythin’...why take it out on me? This place...this garden’s a part of me. I can’t...I can’t…”

Tuley lapsed briefly into muted sobs, unable to speak any further until a little comfort helped him pull himself together. Then he cleared his throat and glared at the knife in front of him. “The witch said she’d put everythin’ right back to how it was if I cut the rope once you left. But I’m not about to throw myself on the mercy o’ someone so cruel. Wouldn’t be the same anyhow. Not the house I built, not the garden I grew.”

The realization that this little old badger had an infinitely stronger moral fiber than a supposed goddess almost made Albedo laugh out loud, though not quite. Even he, a stranger to social convention, knew that now was not the time to be insensitive. Still, he couldn't deny that this tragedy lit a fire inside him, and he felt rather positive that Linkle's burned far brighter. If the encounter at the witch's hut didn't make Freya's character clear, this certainly did; she would do whatever she could to accomplish her goals, even if it meant traumatize and manipulate a helpless old gardener. "You're a fine fellow, Mr. Tuley," he said simply. "Maybe we could arrange for you to stay in Goat Village? The townsfolk seem friendly, and could help you cultivate a new garden." As Tuley said, one couldn't simply replace what had been taken from him, but maybe this could help him move forward. Or maybe Linkle had a better idea.