[center][h3]Tora, Poppi, and Big Band[/h3]
[b]Location:[/b] Sandswept Sky - Graveyard of the Peaks
Level 9 Tora (138/90) Level 9 Poppi (138/90) Level 5 Big Band (76/50)
Midna’s [@DracoLunaris], Fox’s [@Dawnrider], Sectonia’s [@Archmage MC], Primrose and Therion’s [@Yankee], Raz’s [@TruthHurts22], the Phantom Thieves, Braum, and the Scout
[b]Word Count:[/b] 1581[/center]

To walk forward was a simple thing, but as the gathered group took the first steps of their arduous final ascent, they knew that this time it would not be easy. None of them, however, marched forth under any delusions about the task ahead. This may well be their most grueling challenge so far, the coldly impersonal elements of Split Mountain a more terrifying foe than Megadragonbowser, the Ender Dragon, or the rebels of Al Mamoon. But in their unity the Seekers of Light could be one another’s strength, the heroes that Master Hand challenged them to be, and overcome even the tallest mountains set before them. So they walked, pushing and shoving and plodding through the snow, their V formation leaving behind a streak of trenches carved through the heavy carpet of light like the musical score that flowed so adamantly from the instrument on Big Band’s back.

The wind buffeted them, rigorous and relentless. It forced the climbers to lean into it and ply their strength, their every footfall a small achievement in its own right. At irregular intervals, every few minutes or so, the blizzard would quicken to such an extent that no progress at all could be made. The Seekers could only hunker down, shield themselves, and endure for seconds that seemed like hours until the gale subsided to less unmanageable levels. The issues with linking hands the whole way through would become apparent early on, for the vast morphological differences among a number of party members made it regrettably unfeasible. For fear of their friends soaring away into the snowstorm, close-knit subgroups like the Phantom Thieves, Octopath Travellers, or Tora and Poppi continued to hold together, but the rest had to focus on holding formation instead, and praying that nobody disappeared.

It was impossible to gauge how much time passed, or how far the climbers got. The radiant rift in the peak above never seemed to get closer. At times it would seem like the team wasn’t making any progress at all, if not for the reassurance of the trail left behind, and the tombstones passing by. Knowing that any deviations or delays could lead to one or more party members joining them, nobody stopped to inspect, loot, or pay respects to the fallen, other than to grab on to an opportunistic handhold, maybe. Whether or not that handhold snapped off under the duress of holding someone’s weight against the wind was another matter.

Gradually, the Seekers realized more and more of the truth behind Master Hand’s decision to spawn no enemies for them, for the blizzard itself attacked them like a living thing. It howled, it bit, it roared, and it stung. At times outcroppings of stone rose to the left and the right, their surfaces carved by unknown hands into mournful faces with frozen tiers, and across their contours the wind twisted into strange cadences, oddly suggestive of a wild and half-sentient piping, as if the mountain itself sang the heroes’ funeral dirge. It seemed to Tora like the faces were staring at him, waiting for him to fall like vultures. [i]Those stupid faces will be disappointed. Whoever put them there won’t scare me![/i], he insisted to himself, grabbing hold of any spite that would help fuel his next step forward, and the next.

After some time, Big Band realized that no more landmarks seemed to be forthcoming. The stone faces stopped, and even the steady smattering of tombstones petered out. Snow fell hard and fast, piling up on the his shoulders and hat, as well as on the hoods and head of everyone around him. Behind them, their tracks vanished within minutes. It was as if the team had left the mountain behind, and become trapped in a void of withering cold, a white abyss where no sign existed of progress either forward or back. His face numbed by the cold, Band lifted his vision to the slope before him, peering past frosted eyelashes for any sign of either Midna or Fox. But just like every time before, there were none to be found. With no other options at this point but to trust in them, though, he grit his teeth and pushed on.

The loss of landmarks, however, seemed to precipitate a new degree of turbulence in the storm. The beast of the winds lashed out with ever greater fury, and after a certain point its teeth weren’t just biting at the heroes, but ripping at them. Rips and tears began to form in their protective gear as the wind sliced into their scarves, their coats, and the borrowed cloaks from the Tostarena sports store. Entire strips and shreds of cloth and stuffing disappeared into the storm, including Primrose’s scarf, and as the heroes’ defenses broke down the cold flooded in.

As conditions and the collective team health continued to deteriorate, stress began to mount, even for the team members most acclimatized to extreme conditions. It wasn’t too long before the short-tempered Scout decided he’d had enough. His environmental suit had been the difference between life and death in the depths of Hoxxes IV’s Glacial Strata and Magma Core, and to feel it being cut to pieces around him pushed him over the edge. “Roight, bugger this!” he declared, reaching down to his gear. He yanked loose his pickaxe and grapple gun, took aim, and fired it up the mountain. The moment it snagged on the stone beneath the snow he zipped off. When he arrived he smashed his pick into the ground for purchase while his grapple gun re-pressurized, then repeated in the process. In no time at all it was gone, blitzing through the blizzard with the remarkable power of Deep Rock’s industrial technology.

Many of his fellows, however, neither saw nor heard him leave. They were having troubles of their own. The frigid wind that numbed Mona’s paws also meant that he didn’t feel himself slipping from his grasp around Braum’s neck until it was just a little too late. “Can’t…hold on!” he gasped, straining his near-nonexistent muscles, until he lost hold. He yowled in fear and, on instinct, sank his claws into the Freljordian’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to avoid sailing off into the storm.

“Hrrk!” Braum jerked in pain and surprise.

“I’m sorry!” Mona cried, his eyes streaming tears.

“It’s…okay!” Though the big man tried to reassure his hanger-on, the sudden attachment hurt a lot, and for all his valor Braum wasn’t doing so hot himself. While he fought through the pain as best he could, Mona came to a worrisome realization. Braum’s natural defense meant his claws didn’t sink that deep. While the rest of him flapped like a flag, the wind worked him free, and after only a couple more moments the little thief popped out in a spray of Braum’s blood.

“Nyaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!” he cried as he hurtled backward, his scream washed away by the wind. Spotting him, Panther broke formation to try and grab him with her whip. It was a one-in-a-million shot, and she didn’t make it, but in the nick of time Mona summoned Zorro to blast him in the direction of the whip with a burst of wind. He grabbed hold, only for his weight to  push Panther past her tipping point. With a yelp she fell face-first into the snow, then immediately began to slide. She and Mona tumbled a couple hundred feet before they came to a stop in a drift of snow.

“ANN!” Skull bellowed, already on his way after her no matter what any of the others might have to say. He practically threw himself down the slope after her, tumbling end over end until he plopped into the drift beside her. Lacking Panther’s ice weakness, he’d been in a much better condition before the fall, but now a thorough soak in the snow plus a bevy of bumps and bruises left him dazed. “Are you…okay?” he asked, searching for any sign of injury on his fellow thieves even as his head swam.

“...Yeah,” Mona replied, his voice weak. “Man, this isn’t going so good, huh?”

“It’s too much.” It looked like Panther was on the verge of collapse. “Can’t we stop a moment…? Take a break?”

After shaking out his dizziness, Mona tugged at her sleeve with urgency in his voice. “No, no, no! If you lose consciousness in the snow, you’ll never wake up!”

“We’ve gotta push onward, no matter how shitty it is,” Skull confirmed.

Together, the three strove to pick themselves up and resume the climb. Up above, Joker, Fox, and Necronomicon watched, relieved that their friends weren’t lost but still terrified. Big Band, Tora, Poppi, and the others had proceeded a short distance before Band realized the loss, setting off a chain reaction that paused the whole group. Staring down at the kids struggling to make their way up, the detective continued to play, hoping that his sweet jazz would reach the Thieves through the storm.

Of course, it was at that time that the wind picked up. Everyone hunkered down in a hurry as visibility dropped to just a few feet, and Big Band’s music got drowned out. Down below, Skull and Panther fought with everything they had for each step, arms interlocked, with Mona plastered against the lock by the wind. “Gotta…keep…goin’!” Skull rasped. “Gotta…keep…!

Just twelve seconds later, the storm died back down. When visibility returned to normal, however, the three thieves were nowhere to be seen.

[center][h3]Convent of Our Lady of the Charred Visage[/h3]
Laharl and Flonne’s [@Dark Cloud][/center]

At this point, it had been almost a full week since the small but solemn party of ministers, clerics, and acolytes set off from the warmth of Tostarena Town on their journey to the lonesome monastery that, according to rumor and hearsay, dwelled in suffering silence not so far from the snowy summit of Split Mountain. Swaddled like babes in heavy furs and possessed of fiery censers to keep themselves warm, the eight chose to make the dangerous climb for a variety of reasons, be it penance, evangelism, the desire for relics, a vision quest, or -in the case of one young lady- simply in the name of love. And now, having found at the end of her journey that whole trip had been in vain, Flonne was all alone.

For a while the trip had gone as well as one could have hoped. The reckless Riders gave the party a few bruises, and as they trudged through Baur’s Reach in wonderment of winter the wind nipped at their faces, but patience, miracles, and wisdom allowed them to reach the sanctuary of High Hrothgar without much trouble. After spending the night, they began their climb anew, but tragedy struck early on into their climb around the mountain. An ice-encrusted monstrosity barred their path, savage and insatiable, whose hideous head of twisted spigots blasted them with streams of freezing water. Three of their number became trapped in the ice, and after the creature bit off one poor man’s head, the rest of the party could only save one more member before fleeing for their lives.

Farther up the ill-fated group encountered yetis and other fearsome creatures. Despite their best attempts to lay low, they reached an impasse where their most stalwart warrior chose to challenge the giant in their way. When he was launched into the stratosphere, the others were forced to make a mad dash for safety up a dangerous incline. Higher still, one more cleric would succumb to her wounds from the cold.

Despite the odds, the surviving four managed to reach the Convent. At first the sisters welcomed them as pilgrims, eager for their supplication and offerings, and in particular the angel Flonne was heralded as a messenger of the Grievous Miracle come to stoke the flames of their faith. All too soon, however, the sisters realized the truth; that Flonne and her cohort would rather take away their holy suffering rather than deepen and glorify it further. For the newcomers’ blasphemy the sisters sought to snuff out what remained of their fire for good.

After the first murder, the remaining three split up, fugitives in the Convent’s desolate halls, lost amidst streams of lava and bloodthirsty nuns, and unable to leave. How long it had been since then, Flonne couldn’t say. All the boundless love in her heart couldn’t keep her warm or fed, and unlike soft-spoken Father Armen or brusque Sister Rosaria, she couldn’t fight back that well against her assailants, either. Desperate for escape, the girl kept a sharp eye out the abbey’s frosted windows as often as she could, and during one such plaintive search she caught sight of movement through a lull in the storm. A procession of people -as well as a giant wasp and some sort of wolf?- across a distant bridge, thousands of feet away, but still visible through the storm. Then, a few minutes later, a fiery fury. Was it a signal that help was coming? Maybe she could somehow signal back? If she was going to do anything to get out of this dire place, it would need to be now.

[center][h3]Ms Fortune[/h3]
[b]Location:[/b] Carcass Isle - Where All Things Must Come
Level 7 Nadia (73/70)
Koopa Troop’s [@DracoLunaris], Blazermate’s [@Archmage MC], Hat Kid’s [@Dawnrider], Geralt’s [@MULTI_MEDIA_MAN], Ace Cadet’s [@Yankee], Sakura's [@Zoey Boey],  Link’s [@Gentlemanvaultboy]
[b]Word Count:[/b] 1588[/center]

Peach leading the Orphan on a not-so-merry chase in the direction of the sea meant another headlong sprint across the sandy beach for Ms Fortune, but this time she found herself slowing down before she so much as reached the halfway point. Though at an annoyingly inopportune time, it was beginning to dawn on Nadia just how incredibly tired she was. Her body was one big ache, with her muscles sore and bones weary from constant exertion. This wasn’t the time for reflection, but it made sense; it had been one hell of a day, to say the least. The sheer chaos of the morning’s naval battle on Blackwater Bay had given way to the nightmare circus that was the Maw, with only an all-too-brief lunchtime break in the paradisiacal Luma Pools between them. Then, as if literal warfare and her own personal horror story weren’t enough stimulation for one day, there was the shipwreck on Carcass Isle followed by the back-to-back slugfests on and beneath the island itself. It had to be past midnight at this point, maybe hours past. She was hungry, hurt, filthy, and exhausted, and the others couldn’t be much better. Realistically speaking, it was a wonder that Blue Team was still standing. All that remained was to keep it that way–and make sure that the Orphan went down.

Reasoning that she’d be more of a liability than an asset if she rejoined the fight too hastily, Nadia came to a stop for a brief moment. She bent forward and, hands on her knees, focused on taking deep breaths. All her mobility and copycats left her somewhat low on blood, and if she was going to be at her best, the feral needed to get it pumping once more. Still, she kept her eyes on the fight.

Everyone wanted to keep the Orphan as far away from Sakura as they could get it while she recovered, and the Koopa Troop didn’t waste the initiative that Peach’s decoy effort offered them. A whole armada of spiritbound shells, painted with electrified slime for extra oomph, set off across the water with Junior in the middle. Judging by the ground the Orphan covered so far with the sea never higher than its calves, the water remained shallow for quite a ways. As the summoned shells cruised in, the Princess narrowly evaded a brutal overhead smash from the abomination in pursuit of her, but before she could get far the wave kicked up by the ensuing eruption knocked her legs out from under her. The Orphan ran toward her, but before it could reach her the first wave of shell ramped off the wave and smacked it across the side with a [i]bip-bip-bip-bip[/i]. Though their voltaic coating dealt only negligible damage on top of the already tame impact, the Orphan of Kos reacted nonetheless, wheeling around to see Junior’s shell cut through the wave and careen in direction.

Snarling, the monster ripped out more meat from its placental cleaver and lobbed it out over the water. Geysers of accursed blood and noxious tidewater erupted across a wide area, but just a little too late to stop Junior in his tracks. Flying in before the blasts, the Koopa Prince’s shell bonked the Orphan in the shin. A flurry of suppressive fire added insult to injury, and though staggered for only a second, the screaming horror let its weapon fly. The cleaver carved through the shallows in a spiral around it, and before either Peach or Junior could get clear both got clipped. The princess managed to block with Chao Ho’s giant fan, but the force of the blow cracked her elegant weapon of war almost in half as she slid a dozen meters backward across the water.

The exchange made Nadia wince, and with a final deep breath she straightened up. With Ace and Hatty taking up defensive positions around Sakura and Bella, Link not in her eyeshot, and Blazermate off on a risky attempt to collect some ubercharge, her team needed her on the frontlines. Trouble was, at the moment they had less of a ‘line’ and more of a wing and a prayer. [i]Well, at least I won’t be alone up there,[/i] she thought ruefully, keeping her copycats in mind. She crouched down at the water’s edge to gather herself for a water-pressure superjump, watching with furrowed brows as Blazermate went on the offensive. She swooped in and, despite her optimistic goal of hitting its weakspot both times, managed to strike the Orphan twice at the cost of her shield arm. Her limb was in shambles as she backed away to a safe distance, but now that her gambit paid off, the Medabot had everything she needed to pull off a Blockbuster of her very own–everything except a guarantee that she’d hit her target. Blazermate called for help, asking that her allies put the fearsome Orphan of Kos on lockdown. It was a tall order, and as much as Nadia wanted to fill it, she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how.

Luckily, someone showed up who could. As Geralt passed Nadia by on his own journey to engage the Orphan in combat, a sudden idea struck him like a bolt from the blue. Nadia saw the genius in the Witcher’s plan straight away, and given how well things turned out the last time Geralt threw her at an enemy, she was more than willing to lend a hand. “Nyaow we’re talkin’! I mean, I’d prefer a bola noodles, but this oughta work. Lemme at ‘em, Gary!” She cut off her charge and stood, extending her hands for him to take. As the swordsman lifted her up she allowed the rest of herself to go limp, so that when he began to spin her around like a meteor hammer above his head, she automatically extended to about twice her usual length.

A moment later Geralt let her rip, and the elongated feral flew across the water like a chain shot from a cannon. She whipped through the air with the murky seashore a blur around her, yowling her heart out the whole time, then struck the Orphan right on the money. Her momentum sent her into a breakneck bright blue spiral around the confused monster, her ropy muscle fibers winding around and around its ghoulish husk, tighter and tighter, until it could barely stand. Unlike Bowser’s dog-pile where it could clearly register both the attack and what it could lash out against in turn, the Orphan seemed baffled by the phenomenon that had befallen it, and could only flail around as it sought to regain its balance with skeletal legs bound together. The feral’s eyes blinked open. “Oh hey, it worked! Didn’t think I’d get this far…hurk!” The Orphan’s burgeoning strength tested Nadia’s muscle fibers sorely, but they held for the crucial moment it took for her to hatch up another scheme. “Remember, remember…” She opened wide and, despite very strong reservations, bit down on the horror’s grisly neck. With a grunt she unleashed her pent-up water pressure from her limbs, and in an burst of vital fluid her constituent components [url=https://i.imgur.com/npEhvUZ.png]blasted off[/url] in all directions, leaving the off-kilter Orphan spinning for a moment in the water. As they flew, her bloody rockets turned back around, headed straight to where her head held tight. She let go, spitting out traces of the Orphan’s execrable flesh, and as her head rolled down its back cried out, “...The fifth of dismember!

Her body smashed together in a [url=https://i.imgur.com/4IjaIJj.png]gruesome explosion[/url], a level three Blockbuster that left the Orphan dazed for one critical moment as Nadia sailed out of out the carnage. She landed in the she shallows with a roll and hopped to her feet like a gymnast, all in one piece and ready for her perfect tens, only for the power of Blazermate’s Medaforce Beam to nearly bowl her over. The baleful ray of light fell upon the Orphan like an orbital laser, blowing back the tidewater in a radius around it, and in the midst of its radiance the shadow of the wizened abomination contorted in agony, filling the beach with the echo of its haunting scream. A moment later and the lightshow was over, and the Orphan of Kos stood with smoking flesh as the watcher filled back in around it. Its head hung down, but only for a moment. 

Its head snapped back up as it howled, its cry even more hideous than the first time it assaulted the heroes’ ears. A pillar of lightning dropped from the sky, but this time Blazermate -not Kos- was the eye of the storm. It slammed her down into the surf before a wave of lightning spread out from her position to roll across the area once more. When it rebounded, it would coalesce on her as well, no matter where on the beach she went. For a brief moment Nadia’s shoulders sagged, the look on her face a silent plea for someone, anyone to end her suffering, but she shook it off. This time she knew the Orphan’s tricks, and after everything it had suffered, it couldn’t be long for this world. [i]Could it?[/i] Nadia swallowed and got ready to dodge, already thinking about what to do next. Hopefully she and the others had bought enough time to get poor Sakura back on her feet.

[center][h3]The Chalk Prince, the Fallen Child, the Skeleton, and the Skullgirl[/h3]
[b]Location:[/b] Frozen Highlands - Snowdin
Linkle’s [@Gentlemanvaultboy], Frisk’s [@Majoras End], Papyrus’ [@Dark Cloud][/center]

As Albedo backpedaled out of the range where the Dollmaker’s frenzied swipes could hit him, Linkle stepped forward with her shiny new crossbows in hand, courtesy of Frisk. The alchemist felt like he could sense a modicum of reluctance in her, but possibly due to the disadvantage of her prospective target, but it paused her for only the briefest of moments. Like him, she recognized that this ghastly creep, a definite stalker and at the very least attempted murderer, deserved little in the way of pity.

In a better world an act of undeserved mercy might prompt a bout of introspection, and maybe plant the seeds of understanding that could bud into beautiful blossoms at some point down the line. But this was the World of Light, and once begun any fight must necessarily end by force, however much Frisk and this pacifistic Papyrus might want otherwise. Any leeway granted to the Dollmaker would only serve the purpose of getting everyone else hurt, maybe even killed. It could be this way even in a hypothetical scenario where Galeem’s influence didn’t exist as a factor. Some things, Albedo knew, simply came out wrong. Even if their hearts of darkness yearned for the light of warmth and companionship, deeds of cruelty would forever stain their vows of virtue, and those they hurt couldn’t be blamed for fighting back. That was the nature of the world, whichever world that might be.

Even after Linkle dealt the decisive blow, the ghoulish giant clung to life a few seconds longer, possessed of such a festering desire that the pieces of his riven body continued to move. They grasped, desperately, longingly, for the lives that the Dollmaker could never obtain for himself. Then the dreary basement fell silent, the golden light of Albedo’s flower shining softly on unhappy faces and piled-up ash. The Skullgirl collected her attacker’s remains, turned to the others, and offered them an apology.

Her new friend’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression one of guarded concern. If anyone should be sorry, it should have been him. This world was one of limitless surprises, and he should have known there would be more to the story of Treat’s current domicile than met the eye. Just how much power did Linkle have to tap into because of his oversight? How much deeper had the day’s events allowed the Skull Heart to delve? Misadventures like this were the last thing she needed.

Papyrus was yelling about the situation, and it intimidated Albedo. He didn’t know what to say, so he skipped over it and addressed the star player. “Don’t worry about it, Linkle,” he told her. “It looks to have been quite the troublesome situation. Are you feeling alright?”

With the matter at hand settled, the Skullgirl’s consideration turned to those around her, and quickly Treat came to mind. Albedo decided to take the liberty of answering for the skeleton for the sake of expediency. “This is Papyrus. Treat is okay, though I regret to say she had a sprained ankle. She’s waiting for us in front of the house, so let’s get her away from this place.”

The group was all too eager to leave the dingy, eerie darkness beneath the Beneviento House behind. Once outside, the crisp alpine air helped get them together again, and they made for the cliffside manor’s main gate. There they found the lonely wolfgirl seated atop Linkle’s sled, with Albedo’s Corgi dutifully reclined in her arms, all four little paws in the air as he tried to lick Treat’s nose. “Aw, stop, stop,” she gasped, unable to suppress a smile despite the dire circumstances. Her attempts to crane her neck away from the living loaf’s eager tongue meant she spotted the incoming quarter straight away, causing her to perk up instantly. “Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

She made to rise and greet the other properly, but Albedo held out his hand. “Stay right there and take it easy. We’ll get your things, then push you down to the village and get that ankle looked at by a professional.” He looked over the sled, wondering if he and Linkle together could lift it like a stretcher.

“Oh no, no need to do that,” Treat grimaced, shaking her free hand. “I don’t want to be a bother or anything.”

Albedo ignored her and took up a position behind the sled. “While I would not presume to know what’s best for you, I know that there’s no shame in asking for help. People aren’t made for living alone, and I believe you’ve been on your own long enough. Please, let us help you.”

Embarrassed, Treat held still so long that the Corgi managed to lick her right on the mouth. “Ugh, gross!” she sputtered. “I mean, uh…sure, I guess. I-if it’s not too much trouble.”

As if to gather empirical evidence, the alchemist looked between the others, hoping to hear their thoughts.