Recent Statuses

20 days ago
2 yrs ago Well... I've been on a fighting game kick anyways. I guess this is as good an excuse as any to pick up another one.
2 yrs ago
[Relevant meme]
2 yrs ago


Age: 24

Interests: Art, anime, music, video games, cinema, martial arts, parkour/free running, combat sports (i.e. paintball), etc.

Aspirations: Animator, writer, voice actor, artist, martial artist, musician, and whatever else I need to/want to/can be.

Current RPs: Project Crossover

Gamertag: Etherean Fire
NNID: LordNinth

I chose him knowing full well he wasn't exactly deep or well developed. However I saw this game as a chance to expand on his character/personality. Getting to play grizzled, punchy, loose cannon cop who is a virtual nobody in the world of videogames alongside wisecracking skeletons and Gem Fabio from LoL sounds like an amazing experience.

tfw anime turns your ancestor's god into a big tiddy anime girl

Most Recent Posts

@CAWs For AlarmSee you in battle, bruv! Have fun fighting us.

Level 1 - (0 -> 2/10) EXP
Location: Scrapyard - Endzone
Word Count: 1193 (+2 EXP)

How did she ever arrive at this? What happened leading up to the present moment for this cute, stylishly behatted adolescent to find herself being chased down by a digitally corrupted semi-chelonian dragon king who had sent her space-worthy glorified clubhouse (which one could technically refer to as a “mobile home”) on a downward collision course towards an already wreckage littered knoll outside of what looked to be an apparent house of royalty? Had she any recollection of her previous exploits, this might not have sounded like such a strange start to a new adventure; just a more dramatic one. She wasn't exactly sure what she did to make herself an enemy to the terrifyingly powerful aberration that was the MegaDragon, but given her circumstance and the creature's obviously malevolent nature, it probably didn't make much difference to either of them.

The hasty pressing of buttons on the console and clumsy attempts to steer from the seat of a swivelling chair in a ship on an uncontrolled descent, unsurprisingly, yielded no favorable results. The force of the vessel’s impact against the castle tower closest to it caused the child to be violently flung from her seat and left at the mercy of the careening spacecraft to tumble haplessly about its interior. As she fell forward from the back wall of the cabin, Rumbi, her trusty, overworked vacuum bot/unwilling mobile pedestal, was helpless to stop himself sailing through the air and striking his master in the forehead like a projectiled hockey puck, knocking her end over end. She bounced face-up against the ceiling then off the floor before finally planting cheek-first into the glass as the ship crash landed straight into the waters below. Fortunately, its wooden build kept it from remaining submerged, and the windshield, while cracked, managed to somehow stay intact well enough to keep most of the water out and prevent further interior damage. For the window to have survived everything it had just went through, it would make one wonder about the strength of the last guy who broke it.

The battered child peeled herself off the window as she reached for the handle to its door and swung it wide open, collapsing to the floor from dizziness with her motion. She then pulled herself up over the lip of the open glass and out of the cabin, unable to do much more than daintily fall forward into moat with naught the energy to so much as doggy paddle her way to shore. For all of her outstanding traversal ability, she already wasn’t the most proficient or long-lasting swimmer to begin with. Thankfully, a young, kindly ranger who just happened to be nearby rushed to lend her aid, towing the child from the blue onto land and tending to her as best she could before summoning help. To answer her question, no, she wasn’t okay; not really. She lay just outside of her now wrecked ship soaked and concussed on her side coughing up a faceful of water, all the while not even being present within her own mind to give her volunteer caregiver anything resembling an answer. Appearances would suggest as much about the latter part, for if the scarlet shine in her eyes and desaturated colors everywhere else were any indication, she was still under Galeem’s influence… whatever that may entail.

All things considered, though, she was still alive and healthy, even if she didn't quite feel like it. Her condition, however manageable, was relieved somewhat when a medical/repair droid showed up to administer some minor healing, which rejuvenated her at least enough to help her senses readjust more quickly, if nothing else. She sat up and began to survey her surroundings, but she could scarcely get a half decent look at anything before being alerted by the sudden, thunderous appearance of her draconic aggressor making good on his declaration of dominance. It was made abundantly clear in no time at all that he didn't see anyone in attendance as an honest threat, but if that was the case, why did he bother taking her ship down? Was that simply his idea of a demonstration, or just added flair for his grand entrance? Talk about demeaning! To make matters doubly confusing, it turns out there was two of him, only he was (slightly) less imposing and dressed more sharply (or at all)--adorned with a nice hat not much unlike her own. Of course, he seemed no less shaken by the occurrence than any of the others, and who could blame them.

Needless to say, Kid wanted nothing to do with any of it. For all she knew, one of them may very well have made ready to offer her up as tribute in accordance with his demands for possible lack of having any better ideas for appeasing or subverting him. Had she retained her sense of rational thought, she would have outright dismissed the notion as unlikely. However, her mind wasn't her own here, nor was her body, soul, “heart”, nor any other aspect of her being. In essence, the foundations of her very existence were utterly compromised, leaving her hopelessly at the dominating whims of blind instinct with no reliable sense of guidance in an unfamiliar and seemingly unforgiving world, where she was now but a hollow, lesser facsimile of her true self.

Understandably frightened by the prospect of all but certain doom that the encounter looked to promise, Kid started to back away from the scene, crawling in reverse on the flats of her palms as however fast (or slow) her her tiny limbs would move her in her seated position before righting herself to her feet to take off in a proper run. She barely made it three steps intp her retreat before stopping herself mid-sprint from almost bumping into a short, portly, red and overall clad Italian man (also with a nice hat) to observe him curiously as he passed by, heading in the opposite direction towards the threat. He bore a countenance and demeanor of bold intent that betrayed no sign of fear or intimidation, and chances were that he was the only one among them who actually meant it (initially, that is). If there was anything that might compel the rest of them to try something heroic, it would probably be whatever he decided to do first.

Normally, Kid would look at this and second guess if it was something she really wanted to bail on, but normally, she was still herself. She had no clear objectives or priorities at present beyond self-preservation, and was conflicted with the possibilities presented to her. Fight, or flee? Band together with the ragtag group of heroes to take down a tyrant, or leave them to their devices and escape with her life while none would notice? Both options hosted fairly equal odds of success or failure, so there really was no “better” option in here eyes; it was just a matter of which chance she'd rather take. Either way, she would have to come to a decision now. Into the fray, or out of it…

Which way would her hat lead her?

Level: 6
Day/Time: Day Three; Mid-Morning -> Evening
Location: Unknown airspace; In pursuit of the Halberd
Tags: None
Mentions: Rosalina @Holy Soldier

Having been preoccupied with the Major's safety and all other matters that ran concurrent to it, Rosalina's telepathic response (or whatever intrinsic means she had by which to communicate) hadn't registered Fox's departing transmission until some time after he had sent it, which meant he was already well out of reach by the time she voiced her objections that would go unheard and unheeded by him. In his haste, he hadn't time or the presence of mind to clarify his intentions--not that they were all that extensive or well-planned, as they seldom were. He meant simply to follow the Halberd to its destination, not intercept it. Though, he wasn't shy about engaging it, he would only do so when (not if) it became necessary. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to--or the second--so save for maybe a few additions, upgrades or surprises, he had a fair grasp of what to expect in the event of combat. For now, his interests lay in postponing the inevitable and ill-advised rematch, so he would try to keep a manageable pace and distance behind the battleship, hoping to stay off its sensors and exploit its limited field of view as well as their size disparity to go undetected for as long as those factors would allow.

Of course, Fox had a bad habit of not thinking things through before acting on such bold impulse, and this time was no different. He had no clue where his pursuit would take him, how long it would take, what he hoped to find there when he arrived, or what he would do afterwards. If he was being honest with himself, past experience told him that he stood little to no chance in Hell of successfully facing down that level of opposition on his own; it just wouldn’t stop him from trying if it came down to it. On that note, whatever reinforcements were being sent would have some serious catching up to do if they were to be of much help while it still mattered. Fox made sure to leave his communication channel open to HQ while live transmitting his coordinates so as to make himself easier for them to find. Hopefully, that wouldn’t somehow, conversely, tip the enemy off to him giving chase, but he wasn’t exactly expecting he would be able to keep them blind to him forever anyways, even if it would be preferable. As was the order of things for him, he anticipated that they would eventually catch on to him sooner or later, and battle would shortly follow. Whatever may be the case, he would be ready for it.
Looks great! I'll eagerly anticipate her arrival in the near future.

I just hope I can do the character justice.
@LugubriousSubmitted for approval.

Level: 5 -> 6
Day/Time: Day Three; Dawn -> Mid-Morning
Location: Smash Arena - Tunnels -> Tetris Castle: Council Chamber -> 75th Floor - Personal Quarters -> (X)rd Floor - Hangar Bay -> Platform City Airspace; In pursuit of the Halberd
Tags: Rosalina @Holy Soldier
Mentions: Naija @DracoLunaris, Guile, Kirby, Meta Knight @Holy Soldier, Varrock @Zarkun

The entire campaign up to this point had been little shy of disastrous. The System lost its greatest, most iconic, longest-lived hero, who was subsequently grave robbed at his own funeral, forcing them to align (albeit temporarily) with a villain in order to recover his stolen soul, and the one place in which they sought to seek brief respite in healthy competition brought only chaos and extensive, unnecessary civilian casualties… all just within the first two days. This all weighed heavily on Fox’s mind for the next few hours following the latest incident, flooding him with an array of emotions that he still managed to keep mostly well hidden, as he tended to do. These included some degree of guilt for having unwittingly encouraged the team’s participation in the night’s events with his own (having been tasked with keeping them conditioned), regret for those he couldn’t save, doubts about the heroes’ cause and his part in it, anger enough to compel him to leave a faint impression with the outermost of his fist in the elevator wall when he was alone to do so, and the sense of melancholic grief that came with all of it. At the moment, there was little else to be felt about it, and the meeting that was called did no favors on that front.

Fox hadn’t spoken to or even made direct eye contact with anyone since leaving the tunnels, not even at the meeting (which he failed to notice that Slayer was absent from, despite being the last one present to have seen him), during which they were admonished for taking part in underground sport with nonsensical talks of “punishment”, which were thankfully reconsidered, but simultaneously thanked for having coincidentally put themselves there in a position where they could act to prevent a potentially greater disaster from sneaking up on them. That was certainly more than could be said for the incompetent containment force over-eager to act prematurely on kill orders, who should have been held accountable for their actions, but instead got off seemingly uncensured with some of their own still working the case, despite doing arguably more harm than the actual enemy. Fox might have had the mind to protest as much, had his mind not been somewhere else wondering what he could have done better or differently or why the hell he even still bothered doing what he did by continually re-assuming his “hero” mantle. With a little time, he would be able to answer that question for himself. For the time being, there were more urgent matters that demanded his attention with only one person around who could answer the questions that needed to be asked. Having said that, he wasn’t exactly interested in asking them right now--not while his wits weren’t about him.

It had occurred to him that he was going on two full days with almost no rest, so any interrogation from him would have to wait until that changed. Besides, Moneybags was safely within the Council’s custody with forty-eight floors of heroes and armed forces between him and escape, should it cross his mind; he wasn’t going anywhere. Implicitly assured of that, he retired to his personal quarters to turn in for what he expected would be the remainder of the morning. Having brought virtually nothing with him besides what he had equipped, the room was short on personal belongings. However, it came sufficiently pre-furnished well enough to keep it from being too sparse while leaving room for any requested additions. It was even designed with a space-age aesthetic to give it a comfortable sense of familiarity for the spacefarer. It was likely that all of the heroes’ rooms were similarly tailored to their occupants. Needless to say, they were all reasonably well accommodated for.

For now, the weary pilot would only be making use of a few square feet of the space he was provided. Immediately after the door shut itself behind him, he removed his belt with all of the adjoining effects (his blaster and reflector) and hung them from a spare loop on the wall next to the newly furnished flight jacket that was waiting for him. (Apparently, some kleptomaniac made off with his previous replacement during the ensuing chaos back at the arena.) Motioning a few inputs on a touch-based atmospheric control panel, he dimmed the accent lighting and replaced the outside view through the window with a simulation of space to obscure the encroaching daylight that would otherwise disturb his sleep before gently positioning himself on the semi-firm mattress without so much as untucking the blanket or removing his boots. With some light shifting in place to adjust for comfort and a deep, heavy sigh, he let his eyes relax themselves shut, allowing no further thoughts of the previous days--or those due to come--to pass through his mind as he drifted off effortlessly into peaceful unconsciousness.

Sadly, he wouldn’t even enter his first REM cycle before being alerted awake by the alarm system. The vulpine sprang to his feet, grabbed his effects, and made a dead run out the door, throwing on his belt and jacket on the move. He would arrive on-scene a few steps (or hops, in her case) behind Naija, but not before drawing his sidearm and getting off a few pot shots at the invaders at the end of the hall, which he now recognized as denizens of Dream Land through their peculiar getup. He had to take special care to not hit the wounded Major or Ambassador Rosalina, and at that distance, his accuracy suffered as a result. His shots found no purchase against any of the minions before they could make off with Moneybags, nor against the one leading them. Fox angled down his weapon when Kirby called out to the familiar figure, an expression of curious sobriety coming over him at the realization that gave him pause.

Though it probably shouldn't have, Meta Knight's apparent involvement in this came as something of a surprise for the mercenary. Thus, he was reluctant to take any shots at the spherical warrior; not only because he understood what he was capable of, but because he only ever knew him as an ally from during the Subspace Incident. He sent himself off with a challenge to Kirby (and, by extension, everyone else present) to seek him out just before disappearing into the translucent teleportation ray. Fox began to assess the situation more closely as he took in the scene that transpired around him. In his contemplative daze, he neglected to answer Varrock's call. He was thinking that there had to be some greater reason for everything that was happening--for why a known ally of the System would suddenly make himself an enemy of it. They were short on much needed answers to be found, and with the efforts of the healers faltering, he concluded that he could do no good were he was.

Fox sprinted off back in the opposite direction he came from towards the warp elevator, giving a firm pound on the control panel upon entering so that it may take him down to the hangar bay as quickly and expediently as it was capable of doing. There, his old aircraft would be waiting for him. He had put in the request to have it brought in shortly after the first mission, which was little trouble for them considering that they could reach across the universe for recruitment, and he spent most of that night into the late morning hours before the funeral assisting the resident engineers as he could just to keep himself busy while getting it back into working shape. While it wouldn't come fully loaded out or upgraded, all of it's basic functionality would be restored to have it flight-ready again. As soon as it came into view for him, Fox beelined for his Arwing with alarming haste, entering the cockpit with more of a leaping step and a somersault than a climb. The windshield lowered around him and the propulsion systems whirred to life as he hurried through all the preparatory steps to readying for takeoff, skimming through the diagnostic prompts that showed up in his HUD.

Although he was going alone, he thought the better of relaying as much to no one, and apropos of that, he could at the very least inform the gracious celestial that represented his corner of existence. He opened up a comms line to Rosalina, unsure of how she would hear it, but knowing she would regardless. “Ambassador! This is Fox. Do you read me?” He would await her confirming response if she had one, and wouldn't if she didn’t. “I'm going after him,” he declared calmly. He knew what he was getting himself into acting on bold impulse like he did, but they weren't soon going to have another chance like this to get a better look at their real enemy. He wasn't going to argue with anyone about it, wait for orders, or ask permission, nor would he be daunted or deterred by the frankly suicidal odds against him if it meant doing what needed to be done. If she knew anything about him at all, he trusted that she would understand that. Regardless, he would be well on his way by the time anyone would find out that he had left.

With his piece said, and without further delay, Fox gradually engaged the throttle until it was a full. The docking rail did the rest, carrying him to the bay exit at speeds that could make most faint and slingshotting the spacecraft into a spiraling ascent. The jet's momentum briefly slowed upon unfurling its wings before suddenly quadrupling with an energetic burst to send it into escape velocity. A violet, radial flash of boosterlight and the bright report of overdriven g-diffusers signalled the start of the spacefarer's likely perilous pursuit of the Halberd as the Arwing vanished into the sky.

Level: 4 -> 5
Day/Time: Day Two; Evening
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 1st Floor
Tags: None
Mentions: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki, Alicia @Zarkun, Cloud @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 491
Blue Eggs: 94/100
Red Feathers: 48/50 (<---I might have had this wrong before.)

With the encumbering effect of the gravity spell relieved, Banjo set off in a dead run towards the creature, both to continue providing a distraction and to get him and Kazooie closer. Banjo may have been slower on his own feet than Kazooie’s, but no farther than they were away from the boss, they should still be able get in the monster's face in time to make an honest move against it. Ideally, they would have been able to scoop up (and possibly use) the now hostless winged greaves, but with the boss readying its next attack, evasive action demanded their focus. With a choice between retrieving the armor and defeating the boss, the former could stand to wait a little longer.

Originally, they intended to simply pummel away at the creature as they were able until it went down--as they usually do--but the results of Frisk’s mysterious analysis method opened up a few possibilities. All the talk abouts SOULS was a tad morbid and confusing, but what mattered was that the king could still be saved, which by itself was worth hazarding. Of course, that didn’t stop the Pacifist and the Titan from picking a bad time to debate their morals, par for the course. Alicia exclaimed that it was a problem that couldn’t simply be dealt with by force (exactly what she was doing, ironically, but in a different sense), but if Dedede really was still alive, it was worth entertaining the possibility that she was wrong. However, the duo wouldn’t do that by TALKING the virus out of him. They had what they considered a slightly better idea.

While Alicia shot at the boss on one side, the bear and breegull would take to the other, taking care to dodge the sweeping laser as they made their approach. However, if the Titan succeeded in throwing it off-balance, that could cause it fall one way or another and alter the beam’s angle, so Banjo would (have to) attempt to dive over or under it accordingly. In the same motion, the duo would land into a roll towards the monster’s other free arm in an effort to barrel into it and knock out its other point of balance. If it worked, Banjo would try to grab the creature by that arm at the “wrist”, wrapping his own around it as tightly as he could manage as he began to pull backwards in the hopes of physically extracting the parasitic amorphea. If the other arm was knocked out as well, he would attempt the same with both, clenching one under each armpit. Kazooie started to vigorously flap her wings to assist with the likely strenuous effort. As long of a shot as it seemed, it was probably the best idea any of them had at the moment, given the circumstances, so they would (and possibly could) do it on their own if they had to… but wouldn’t mind a little help.

Level: 4
Day/Time: Day Two; Evening
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 2nd Floor -> 1st Floor
Tags: Wario @Holy Soldier, Alicia @Zarkun
Mentions: Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki, Cloud, Waluigi @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 1078
Blue Eggs: 100 -> 94/100
Red Feathers: 98/100

The look of devious contemplation that came over Wario said everything they needed to know even before sliding every square inch of his fat ass oversized posterior down the high-stacked mound of bullion to give them his answer--they had him convinced. Despite the doubts everyone seemed to have earlier on, the amount of trouble the team had been saved versus how much they’d been in up to that point spoke volumes of Frisk’s overtly diplomatic approach to every situation--no matter how hopeless--and that they were able to persuade a likely adversary to ally with them in to coming battle (especially after what they pulled with him at the start of the mission) only further testified to that. Even amongst heroes, it doesn’t seem to occur to most just how beneficial it is--for all--to have a charismatic, rational, and DETERMINED pacifist around to do greater good where it can be done. It’s not as if Banjo had never attempted diplomacy himself, but on account of his mouthy companion and a myriad of contrivedly absurd misunderstandings, it never quite did pan out that way for the two. To say the least, it was nice to see that change for once.

While Wario was eager to lend his talents and abilities, even if it was motivated solely by the prospect of personal gain, his brother(?) didn’t appear to share his enthusiasm. One would think Waluigi had a little more fighting spirit than he was showing here, considering it was no secret to anyone that he would routinely and obstinately re-submit his candidacy for Smash numerous time a year in light of repeated rejections. Given the cartoonish, embarrassing, and arguably uncharacteristic show of stubborn cowardice on display, it was hard to believe that this was the same guy… unless, of course, the new Dedede truly was that frightening. With the farcical antics concluded, the party began their march down the last flight of stairs to the final boss.

A familiar theme queued as they took their first steps into the deep, winding well of pitch vapor that gradually thickened on the way down until it all but replaced the oxygen in the air. Thankfully, it wasn't enough to actually present itself as a prevalent environmental hazard. However, they did all still have their gas masks (a spare for Alicia) from mission start that they could re-equip on a moment's notice should that change and the need arise for “Hey, Banjo, you hear that? The music's changed again,” Kazooie remarked to the non-diegetic sound that seemingly only they were aware of.

“Yep, I recognize it,” Banjo acknowledged. “Usually, something bad happens when it does. I have a particularly bad feeling about it this time.” He wasn't the only one. Everyone in attendance seemed visibly and understandably nervous or on edge--especially Wario, who seemed like he was already starting to regret his decision to accompany the party. This inspired a justifiable concern in Frisk about the fat man’s willingness to participate that forced a call for change in their formation that would ensure it.

“Relax, Gas Bag. You're immortal, remember?” Kazooie casually reminded in an almost mocking manner just how little the villain had in the way of excuses. Banjo simply smiled and gave him a firm, prodding, but non-aggressive pat on the back with to urge him forward. They eventually arrived at a vacuous, unlit chamber (at which point the music would stop) to find the King himself brought low with sickness, supported only by a set of stolen armor.

“Hmmm… I don’t know about this, guys,” expressed Banjo with misgivings about fighting one with potentially terminal illness. “He doesn't look so good. We should probably get him a doctor.” After having made her own observations, Alicia whispered her thoughts to the duo.

“I'm not sure which one is ‘Fatso’ anymore,” Kazooie replied to the stalwart, whose stoicism made it difficult to tell if she was joking. “This guy can't even stand up on his own.”

“Come to think of it, aren't those the boots that fish lady asked us to bring back for her?”

“You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Beating a helpless sick patient while he's weak so we can steal back from him and try them on?”

“Something like that.”

“Then no.”

“Just asking”

Unconvinced that the penguin's condition could be reversed, he had his weapon readily brandished in anticipation of a battle, but respectfully waited for Frisk to attempt a peaceful resolution before acting. It took the child practically nothing to get Dedede to confess to everything. If anything, he seemed ready to talk; he was desperate. His compliance did him sadly little good, however, for it was apparent by then that no one there could help him. His agonized cries for mercy from a nightmarish episode of impending body horror were cut short by the sound of snapping vertebrae as his mouth was forcibly stretched open to proportions unfathomable even for him. Kazooie recoiled at the sight with slightly puffed cheeks and a wing covering her mouth, choking back the urge to vomit, while Banjo simply squinted his eyes shut and averted his gaze as he sucked air through gritted teeth.

A blinding flash--from which the bear and bird shielded their eyes (and each other’s)--accompanied the emergence of a dark, oily, cycloptic ectoplasm from the king’s gruesomely contorted form. It promptly began sizing up the group before training its sight on the duo and picking them as its first target. The boss’s eye constricted, and the unseen force of threefold gravity bore down on them, forcing Banjo onto all four points and leaving a concave dent in the floor where he stood. In a prime position to do little else until they regained full mobility, they opted to fire two sets of three-round egg volleys at the creature’s in the hopes that stunning, blinding, or distracting it would do the trick, but this assumed that the magic was concentration based. Either way, if this proved successful, Banjo would begin rushing to close the gap to get within melee range, where him and Kazooie where more effective. Talon Trot could theoretically get them there faster, but the start-up and end lag on it was too great to risk standing still in front of and enemy whose pattern they had yet to discern for. For now, standard mobility would suffice while they took care to look out for any attacks they could actually dodge, in the event they had to.

Level: 4
Day/Time: Day Two; Evening
Location: Butter Building; Interior - 3rd Floor -> 2nd Floor
Tags: Wario @Holy Soldier, Frisk @Guardian Angel Haruki
Mentions: Alicia @Zarkun, Cloud, Waluigi @Holy Soldier
Word Count: 728
Blue Eggs: 100/100
Red Feathers: 98/100

The group barely made it out of the 3rd floor and into the stairwell before moral quandary began to call itself in again, and a short-lived debate of ethics ensued once more. The bear and bird kept silent during this (uncharacteristically so, in the case of the latter) because they were, quite simply, out of their element. In the past, there was never any question of them being in the right, what with having a very clear evil to face, and never before have they been challenged with any ideas to the contrary. Then again, they’ve never had a boss willingly sacrifice themselves for their sakes--a fact that their child leader seemed visibly unhappy with. The soldier urged everyone else onward while he attempted to console the child. Just as well. There was more emotional tension in the air than the duo was used to or comfortable with, let alone would they know what to do, so it made the most sense that it be left up to with some experience (mostly personal) in such matters.

The soldier and the duo wisely pressed on while the other two stayed back to regroup amongst themselves. The path downward was lit with a gilded radiance that shone through the doorway with such brilliance to announce itself before they could see it. The bright, tintinnabulous clattering of soft metals running across itself told Banjo and Kazooie that what lied ahead was none other than a treasure hoard--something they had seen before. They expected this time, however, that it would be substantially larger, that they wouldn’t be welcomed there (obviously), and that they would be in for a fight when they arrived. Naturally, they were surprised to find their expectations subverted when they showed up only to find their work already done for them. Even more surprising a sight than the quartet of floor bosses having been laid out prior to arrival was that of the two presumably responsible relishing in a bountiful victory.

Sat upon a makeshift throne of bullion and precious gems was none other than their unwilling IED from earlier, Wario, and his ambiguously related partner in crime--his “brother”--Waluigi, performing the physically impossible (for most). They broke from their celebratory immersion upon taking notice of the heroes to inquire--with an inordinate degree of surprise that would suggest offense to the very fact--as to how they made it there… as if there was really much of a question that they could.

“Honestly, we’re kind of wondering the same about you,” Banjo remarked, genuinely curious as to how the two could be left at the top of the building and still manage to beat the group nearly to the bottom.

“He probably rolled… or bounced,” snarked Kazooie at the portly villain’s expense.

The true answer to the riddle of how they made it there so quickly was probably closer to them simply taking “the short way” and jumping down, which was more than certainly in the realm of feasibility for them, but that hardly mattered at the moment; they had a pair of winged boots and the bottled soul of a legend to look for. Once the rest of the group rejoined them, Banjo and Kazooie set to scaling and rummaging through the stacked hills of gold, much to Wario’s chagrin. They ignored the greedy doppelganger's protest, but he did have a point about their chances of finding what they were looking for. Their history suggested that they were particularly good at finding things (if the Ice Vault was any indication), yet they were having no such luck here. After about the fourth or fifth time sliding downhill, Banjo started to concur with Wario’s testified doubts.

“I think he’s right. I doubt the king would leave something that valuable behind knowing we were coming for it,” Banjo reasoned. After a moment, Frisk proposed to the brothers (perhaps against everyone’s better wishes) that they ally with them for the upcoming battle, which seemed both a good and bad idea, given their potential utility as well as their character. The child rationalized with Wario a personal incentive on his part for lending his aid, and their reasoning, while not entirely bulletproof, was convincingly solid. Now it was just a matter of finding out whether or not Wario was convinced. The bear and bird awaited attentively for whatever answer may come.
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