Sun rose above the village, calling human and pokemon alike to rise and face the trials of the day, just as it had done every other dawn since their first.
Well it did/had done so for most of them anyway.
For a certain houndour this whole raising with the dawn thing was quite new, what with his kind being nocturnal and all. For his new owner it certainly didn’t seem like something she was planning on doing, the giant woman simply rolling over in her room in the Ryokan (inn) in response to the sun peeking its way in through the curtains.
Sanzoku had held off from catching her own pokemon for a long long time. Her bandit clan hadn’t exactly had the resources or know how to build the newfangled pokeballs. They relied on guts, brawn and foolhardiness to get through, just as their ancestors had, and although she had left them behind, for a long time that was something she had stuck to, and proudly too.
It had been a mark of strength to stand alone on the battlefield when so many others relied on their partners to see them through the day, but recent events had made her rethink this point of pride. To have the strength in a changing world to protect those who had otherwise fallen. To have a companion who wouldn’t leave your side. Both things she wished to have, and so, at the age of 37, the woman had finally acquired her first pokemon.
Initially she’d been weary, and had intended to only let the wild beast out of his ball when she needed him. This resolution had lasted all of a day, which is why the houndour she had caught just beyond the city on a recent night, who was now named Marrow, was perfectly free to clamber up onto Sanzoku’s futon and start licking her face to get her to wake up.
The sell-sword grunted at first, and then her eyes snapped open and her body tensed for violence, only to see and feel what was going on and relax, all in a fraction of a second
”Bleh, down boy, down” she lightly told the mon, gently pushing his head away from her face. Then she sat up slowly, giving Marrow time to scoot down to sit in her lap, looking up at her while panting with his tongue hanging out curly while she wiped her face dry and fully came to her senses. Then she looked down at him with a stern look that quickly relented.
”Ach, I can’t be mad at you about this can I, you cute little thing” she said, smiling down at the mon and giving him a pet and a scratch behind the ear before asking ”So what is it you want, hmm? Food? Outhouse? Just want to go out into the sun some more… oh,” she seemed to only take in the fact that it was morning at that point and then continued ”Or were you just letting me know the sun was up? Good boy. We have lots of training ahead of us today after all”
She gave marrow another little pet and then gently scooted him off her lap so she could actually get ready to face the day. She stood, stretched and flexed to get some of that stiffness out before getting properly dressed. She tossed on a komono, leaving her armor packed up because she wasn't exactly expecting trouble in the capital. Still you couldn't ever be 100% sure you’d be safe and so the sell-sword strapped her Kanabō to her side as both a precaution and signal of her occupation. True, she could break the average mon or human with just her hands, but her trick weapon never hurt to have on hand.
On the other hip went a pouch containing some of her money (the rest was surreptitiously buried out in the wilds) and a few personal items. Last things last she slipped her eyepatch over her old wound, gave her hair a quick and futile brush with her fingers and then she was done.
Now dressed and ready she hauled her pack containing all her possessions up in one arm, leaving nothing behind in her room at the inn, not even the empty bottle of sake from last night, and then exited it to go tramp through the corridors with Marrow padding along at her heels.
First item on both of their agendas: breakfast!
For that they headed for a communal dining area found in the inn, the sell-sword sliding open the door to it, politely getting out of the way of a quite intimidated looking traveling merchant who was just about to rush out that very same door in-order to let him out first, and then heading inside herself to get some grub.
The room was adorned with several long low tables with cushion based seating, which currently housed a half dozen travelers and a few of their pokemon, all chowing down their first meals of the day. The newbies gave her looks inline with the rushing merchantman, but the regulars simply gave her a wave, a nod or other simple greeting and then got on with their days. Serving them was a lady named Ikoma, along with her two meter long Furret. Upon seeing Sanzoku enter the woman smiled and gave her a polite nod before saying “Good morning Sanzoku! The usual for today as well?”
”Hello hello Ikoma, that’d be grand thank you!” she replied with a warm smile as she settled down at one of the few remaining empty tables and plopped her gear down beside her. Marrow sat himself down beside her, very much looking forward to the still novel prospect of having grub served up on a platter, while Ikoma sent her own pokemon off to get his and Sanzoku’s breakfast.
The two women traded a few pleasantries and then in swift order the sellsword’s usual order arrived, consisting of a hefty portion of rice with an equally hefty portion of fermented soybeans for protein, an assortment of steamed vegetables as a side and a much much smaller portion of rice and sausages for Marrow. All of this came in carried on the back of the long, long Furret, who with practiced ease scampered through the room and parked himself next to the table without spilling a grain of his nutritious cargo.
”Ah there we are, thank you for the meal!” Sanzoku told the pokemon, something she would not have done a short while before.
She unloaded Marrow’s dish for him first before piling her own onto the table and finally giving the Furret a pet between the ears as thanks. Then woman and houndour tucked into their breakfast together.
Having no time critical time commitments, the pair of them noshed their way through their meal at a leisurely pace, gradually fueling up for the rest of the day.
wordcount: 1,109 (+2) Midna: level 7 EXP: ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// (41/70) | Fox level: 6 (54 -> 56/60) Location: Sandswept Sky - Graveyard of the Peaks
They did have a point, Midna conceded, with how far and how much of a coin flip it was that the abbey would still have people and heat in it. But it wasn't like they had any better ideas. Midna could have joined in Raz’s suggestion about the magic hand based wind shield, but the physics of that situation got it shot down too. She missed the remaining back and forth (not that there was much to miss), because after Raz’s suggestion, Joker shouted out to Fox, the actual fox looking one not the teen’s fellow partner in crime, who was already starting to soldier forwards into the blizzard, like the hero he was.
Alone.
”What in the- what is he- uuuuurgh” the imp threw her hands up in frustration, unable to find the words for her exasperation at the pilot’s stubbornness.
”Goddesses damn it… I’m going after him” she declared with a resigned tone to the rest of them. Then she waved a hand, summoned her Wolf-dran, mounted the beast and then, clinging to its body with her chest pressed to its back to reduce drag, urged the wolf to chase after the fox. Taking off at a sprint, that quickly slowed to reserved padding once the wolf-dran got a full understanding of the situation it was in for, twilight princess and beast disappeared into the white wall after Fox.
The wind tore at them both, but, being lower to the ground and a bit better suited to the weather, just a bit, they caught up with him soon enough via following his scent, rather than sight or sound of which there was only the raging passage of the frigid flakes to be seen/heard, carried backwards to them on the stormwinds.
Having already drifted shortly out of earshot before anyone took notice, partly on account of the wind-howl that buried any voice that tried to carry against the current, Fox failed to hear or heed Joker (or anyone else) as he attempted calling out to him. Incidentally, he and his troupe of Phantom Thieves were a passing subject of his active ruminations that he passed the minutes with to psychologically avail him of the adversity he presently faced; a motivating distraction. How long ago had it been since he occupied the same fresh pair of leadership shoes—at the same apparent age, no less—and how far had t/he/y come since then? He knew a worthy leader when he saw one, and in the boy he most certainly saw one. It was plain to see, as was their potential; how much greater they stood to become, together. If anyone was to find an alternate solution to safely crossing the snowfield, it would be him and his gang, thanks to him. He almost managed a proud smile at the thought, had he the feeling left in his face to spare for one.
That, he thought, may have marked the difference in their actions, given the circumstances. If the Thieves’ leader hesitated at all, it was understandably for their sakes. Might Fox have done the same had his own team been there with him? To set aside an extra moment of consideration for their preservation and well-being, concerned secondarily (if that) with his own? Or might he have changed nothing at all, pressing on just as he had chosen to, but with even greater confidence that they would make it through the storm, together? The lasting words of both rival and idol echoed in his mind as ever-present reminders…
“Don’t hesitate! When the time comes, just act!”
“Never give up. Trust your instincts.”
One he came to recall in times of need, the other he had always lived by. What his instincts told him now… was that their enemy rightly feared them. They touted astronomical odds, insisting on their impossibility, acting to talk them out of their crusade at chosen points, monologuing self-assurances at them that they would surely die trying, knowing better than to think that it should stop them. The truth was, whenever it came to that, it came invariably as a sign that they were afraid. The better interest of the Seekers was axiomatically absent from their intent; they were just scared that they might actually try… and succeed.
Be that as it may, the unforgiving reality of their quest bore credence. They faced down perceivably impossible challenges wherever they went, and were due to continue to, should they survive them. Even with the not-so-immediate end (literally) in sight, in the grand, overall scheme of everything, concerning their mission, the cruel fact remained that they were just getting started. The early point they were at in their journey was no time to lose heart or hope. No time to give up. No time to hesitate.
Fox less heard than saw, ‘felt’, or vaguely noticed another from Yellow Team somehow managed to catch up with him, laboring to join him at his side—one moreso than the other. Astride her transformed mount came the Twilight Princess, evidently the first to come after him.
”You're going to die, trying to do this alone” Midna shouted at him over the wind and snow, as she rode up to move alongside him.
The protesting words found him this time, but he said nothing in return. What was he to say? That he knew, but had no better ideas? Ask her if she did? Tell her that he was glad to have her there, so then they didn’t have to die or do anything alone? What would have been the use? She was already there with him, on the same path, so there was nothing to be said; nothing to convince her of. As he saw it, practically, his numbing breath was better saved (as much as he was able) for managing his energy than spent on a belaboring word to one who already understood, whether they said so or not.
As such, he continued to hike wordlessly onward, at a momentary loss for words, or any perceived need for them. All the same, and though he didn’t say, he was glad to have her there with him. It proved, in spite of expressed doubts, that someone shared his faith.
The princess’s sigh of resignation was lost to the wind and the cloth and kevlar covering her mouth, though the little shake of her head got across some of how she felt about this fool's errand. After that, she wasted no more breath, and instead simply moved her mount in closer such that they could move as one, forwards, into the white.
Because what else was there to do, but keep on pushing forwards?
Kamek’s down payment was an explosive hit with the ancient infant, the super sized stone throw crushing it into the sand and then blowing it up for good measure. Of course, that wasn't going to take it down, not by a long shot.
Fortunately the others were there, storming into bringing the hurt to the orphan in two closely collaborating pairs. Unfortunately, the troop were not in a state to help them, a crisis that began with Rika’s scream.
From the sand her sea beast rose, and for a moment Kamek was sure it was a source of yet more pain for their team, just as it was for Rika. Then Jr scooped the collapsing shipgirl into his arms and fled, while leaving his minions to escort the hulking beast. They marked it as friendly in doing so, but that was about it. The devastation that rained down on them demonstrated aptly why jr had not brought any out till it was the only way he had on hand that he could use to try and have an impact.
As the minions fell and the warriors fought Kamek rushed to the side of the two young people in her care telling them ”Hold it together, I’ll do what I can” as she re-summoned his clones and started the process of powering them up to heal. It wasn't exactly a quick process, and it was hampered a bit by the fact that she and Jr (who was carrying Rika) were having to keep on the move to avoid being caught as collateral damage of one of the Orphan’s erratic and sweeping attacks.
The ship girl coughed and then said “thanks Kamek” as vitality returned to her, before her rescuing prince asked ”What even happened back there?”
“Urg, Pacific whale took something out of me to get out. I hope it’s at least being useful” she explained, just in time for them to look over and see the sea beast's brains being splattered all over the beach.
While Rika groaned with exasperation at this seeming failure, it had gotten an all mighty chomp in on the Orphan, one that the other’s capitalized on, especially Sakura. With an enviable ease the heroic seeker’s started their dance with death once more, darting in and out of combat, but unfortunately the newborn horror had finally found a solution, and that was to underhandedly throw sand in their eyes. Or rather an entire section of beach.
Before anyone could react, least of all the beleaguered Troop, the Monster had grabbed Sakura and began mercilessly smashing her into the sand. Anyone but Bella, who surged forwards to protect her savior and first friend, sharing her with her body and a screen of aircraft. The seaplane tender princess saved the street fighter's life, and then Peach’s cry broke through the moment of helplessness gripping the troop and spurred them into action.
“Go help her!” Rika demanded as she forcibly hauled her weakened from out of Jr’s carry and jerkily pointed the two white mage clones to go help her fallen friend instead of her.
”But-” the mage attempted to object, but the shipgirl would have none of it.
“I’ll… get out on the water like Peach is” she said, as she saw the princess darting away from the horror that became beleaguered in the shallows of the dead sea “it’ll be safer. I think”
That was enough of a plan to get them moving, the two koopas nodding in agreement before moving to assist. Jr gave Rika a goop trail towards the sea, over which the ship girl skated over and then onto the waves. Once there she sailed towards Peach, linking up with her and adding her firepower to whatever the princess used the space her new mobility and endless moat gave her space to do.
Meanwhile, Kamek directed her two white mages towards Sakura, to lend her a burst of healing magic. The simple spell-matrices that where their minds did notice something odd about her vitals, but they weren't smart enough to do anything with that information, and simply stuck to the plan, giving her what restorative power they could.
Both their pieces of aid rendered, Kamek and Jr linked up and raced after the Orphan. Inorder to not have a repeat of the Densil situation, they needed to actually pin it down, not just engage it and hope the fighting stayed away from Bella and Sakura.
But the question was, how.
Running low on tricks, gadgets and mana, however, the best they could come up with was encouraging it to keep bogging itself down in the water. The first problem with that plan was making sure Jr didn’t get struck down due to being bogged down in the water as well. A problem solved by Kamek suggesting the ape the antics a certain plumber had used during one of their many battles with him.
The prince ran towards the orphan, summoning his koopa korps, and getting them to launch themselves forwards towards the monster, turning them into a barrage of shells. That wasn't the main point of the summoning however. The main point was having Kamek beef up one of the shells by about 50%, making it as big and sturdy as a shiny shell, after which Jr hopped onto the back of that shell and started surfing using it.
The barrage flew forth towards the orphan, with Jr sweeping a swift brush of shocking goop over it for added stunning damage. Then as it closed in he swung to the side, out onto the water and from there he, Kamek, kamek’s two clones and Mimi (still riding the prince’s shoulder) provided close fire support (netting Kamek another 40 gold in the process) from the water, trying to draw it deeper into the waves.
► AGE 37 ► HEIGHT 6'7" / 200cm ► WEIGHT 242lbs / 110kg ► HAIR Chestnut ► EYES Chestnut ► CLASS Oni Senshi (Berserker)
APPEARANCE
The first thing you will notice about Sanzoku is that she is tall. Very tall. To the extent that she is sometimes referred to as an Alpha lady as a joke, insult or compliment (depending on the deliverer). The second thing of note is her eye-patch, that covers a heavily scared and now useless eye. The other eye is still fine, a soft brown that matches her unkempt neck length hair. Her body is highly muscular, worn and crisscross with a few other, less noticeable, scars.
She is most often seen wearing her armor, a combination of chain mail, chest plate and waistcoat like gambeson covered in green cloak with a fur lined hood. Strapped to her sides are a pouch of supplies and a pair of Kanabō, a heavy metal club used for breaking weapons and bodies, which has a sneaky flail function built into it.
PERSONALITY
Sanzoku is loud, boisterous and very friendly outside of battle, doing her best to spread cheer and laughter among her friends while also doting on her pokemon like a loving mother. She also gives great Ursaring hugs. In battle, the cheer doesn't go away, but it takes a darker edge as the woman jovially does battle with worthy foes, and is sympathetically apologetic as she crushes lesser ones.
Being an ex-bandit, she lacks much in the way of formal education, which she makes up for with worldly experience, having trekked from the western mountains all the way to the eastern sea during her travels in an age when many would never leave their village, let alone their local area.
BIOGRAPHY
Sanzoku Shōkan grew up in a bandit camp somewhere in the western mountains. It doesn't matter which one and it might not even exist any more, which is what the woman will say if asked, in order to separate her past life from her present one. Her parents died, or rather got themselves killed, in a raid when she was young, and so the girl was raised communally among the banditry, trained from a young age to fight, raid and pillage. As she grew up it turned out she had a real knack for combat, mainly thanks to being massive compared to most people. After years of preying on the weak however, the women grew tired, and instead turned to preying on the strong.
She left her bandit clan behind, though not before killing its strongest members who tried to stop her from leaving, and took up the life of a sell-sword, gradually traveling east to escape her past and leaving a trail of bodies, friend and foe, in her wake.
Up until recently, she was the leader of a moderately successful mercenary band (the Ekans’ Tongues) who made mint in the ongoing civil war, at least until the indiscriminate flames of war consumed them as well during a particularly bloody battle. The remainder of the band have broken up on poor terms, either retiring or joining other bands, leaving the bandit turned sell-sword as a one woman show once more.
► AGE 37 ► HEIGHT 6'7" / 200cm ► WEIGHT 232lbs / 110 kg ► HAIR Chestnut ► EYES Chestnut ► CLASS Oni Senshi (Berserker)
APPEARANCE
The first thing you will notice about Nomura is that she is tall. Very tall. To the extent that she is sometimes referred to as an Alpha lady as a joke, insult or compliment (depending on the deliverer). The second thing of note is her eyepatch, that covers a heavily scared and now useless eye. The other eye is still fine and is a soft brown in color, which matches the hue of her neck length hair.
She is most often seen wearing her armor, a combination of chain mail, chest plate and waistcoat like gambeson covered in green cloak with a fur lined hood. Strapped to her sides are a pouch of supplies and her Kanabō, a heavy metal club used for breaking weapons and bodies, which has a sneaky flail function built into it.
PERSONALITY
Nomura is loud, boisterous and very friendly outside of battle, doing her best to spread cheer and laughter among her friends while also doting on her pokemon like a loving mother. She also gives great Ursaring hugs. In battle, the cheer doesn't go away, but it takes a darker edge as the woman jovially does battle with worthy foes, and is sympathetically apologetic as she crushes lesser ones.
Being an ex-bandit, she lacks much in the way of formal education, which she makes up for with worldly experience, having trekked from the western mountains all the way to the eastern sea during her travels in an age when many would never leave their village, let alone their local area.
BIOGRAPHY
Nomura Mitsu grew up in a bandit camp somewhere in the western mountains. It doesn't matter which one and it might not even exist any more, which is what the woman will say if asked, in order to separate her past life from her present one. Her parents died, or rather got themselves killed, in a raid when she was young, and so the girl was raised communally among the banditry, trained from a young age to fight, raid and pillage. As she grew up it turned out she had a real knack for combat, mainly thanks to being massive compared to most people. After years of preying on the weak however, the women grew tired, and instead turned to preying on the strong.
She left her bandit clan behind, though not before killing its strongest members who tried to stop her from leaving, and took up the life of a sell-sword, gradually traveling east to escape her past and leaving a trail of bodies, friend and foe, in her wake.
Up until recently, she was the leader of a moderately successful mercenary band (the Ekans’ Tongues) who made mint in the ongoing civil war, at least until the indiscriminate flames of war consumed them as well during a particularly bloody battle. The remainder of the band have broken up on poor terms, either retiring or joining other bands, leaving the bandit turned sell-sword as a one woman show once more.
”Someone needs to supervise all the gear, so yes, if I’ll fit on I’m coming with” The bot insisted as she did some fussy last second triple checks on the dragon rider’s harness. You could never be too sure with these things after all. The last thing she wanted was the captain, who she noted had simply ignored her protest about this being dangerous she noted, falling off of the dragon to her death because her harness wasn’t configured properly.
If the bot wasn't in the midst of rushing around in the high intensity atmosphere of the improvised op, she might have considered the fact that a 300 year old woman in this line of work who took the kinds of risk she seemed to do without a hint of fear probably knew how to handle herself just fine. As it was, the stressed out Ai was instead a bundle of nerves, or circuitry rather, as she too climbed her way up over the dragon’s wings and onto her back.
Once there, she mentally fiddled with a few of the settings of the harness she and the captain were wearing. This caused a subtle change to their experience of gravity, both lessening the actual pull of it, and directing a new, secondary, pull towards the surface they were sitting or standing on. Atop the landed dragon, this didn't do much, but once they started moving, banking and being blown by the wind, it would prove invaluable when it came to anchoring them onto the dragon.
Speaking of the dragon, well. She was on one’s back now. That took a little bit to settle in, but once the bot was quite sure she and everyone else wasn’t going to fall off the moment they started moving, she got to take a moment to actually marvel at the majesty and absurdity of the situation. Her sensors drank in every inch of the fantastical creature, finding every inch a wonder and denial of biology all at the same time, and then she crouched down and touched the scales, ostensibly to better support herself when they took off, but also just to confirm that yes, this was, as far as she could tell, real.
This was happening.
”And yet I still can’t quite believe it is” she murmured to herself as they prepared to take off to the skies upon the dragoness’s back. All that remained were a few last second checks and orders, and then they would be skyward bound.
”Rise and shine princess, now is no time for beauty sleep” Kamek told Peach as magikoopa minions and medical medabot all put their healing power to work into getting her back into tip top shape. Some might have thought this a bit excessive, but Kamek was quite sure Peach’s death could quite literally break her king's heart, and so the mage was all to happy to go the extra mile when it came to preserving the apple, or peach, of Bowser’s eye.
While Kamek herself got all the help she needed on her resuscitation mission, the white mage clone she had sent to try and resuscitate Delsin needed all the help it could get to achive it's task. This was a problem, because it was taking all the effort of the team to simply stay alive, never mind pinning down the Orphan for long enough that the healer construct could do her thing. Bowser had quite possibly been the only person who could physically restrict the orphan, and look where that had gotten him.
Rika and Jr joined the party late, and once there it took most of their effort to simply stay clear of the flailing monstrosity, ducking, weaving, belly sliding (Jr) and sailing (Rika) across the goopy terrain the prince was spreading everywhere simply by attacking. Even with the ground burning and slipping away beneath its feet, the Orphan would not be slowed, let alone stopped.
And then it was too late.
The monster threw itself skywards, ripped a globule of meat from its blade and hurled it down into the sand. And then the beach exploded, ripping the clone that had been trying to sweep the ash into a pile to pieces, and blowing its efforts to the four winds in the process.
”Gahhhhhh” Kamek raged wordlessly at this upset and then bit off several curses to instead turn her anger into aggression. The mage joined in with the princess at his side’s fire, blasting shadow empowered fireballs at the monster (and gaining 60 gold in the process).
Down below Rika and Jr picked themselves up from the ground and immediately got back to pouring on the fire, but it really didn’t feel like it was working. The monster would not stop matter how many shells or electro balls smashed into it and so there was no stopping it from completely annihilating the cliff-side and taking some of gravity along with it.
Being much too close to the center of the calamity, Kamek went hurling upwards into the air, robes fluttering in the wind as she desperately regained control over her flight and weaved to avoid being splattered by the shower of boulders. Her duller minions were not so skilled, being reduced to puffs of smoke one and all by the carnage.
Even with her daft broomstick-womanship, the last in the volley of stone looked like it might claim the mage anyway, till she thrust out her wand at the oncoming stone and cast a glimmering bolt. It struck the stone, shrinking it several times over to merely rock sized, after which the mage caught it like a baseball.
”Ah drat that still hurt” the mage cursed. Then she became consciously aware of the strange antigravity affecting everything, and came up with an idea. She tossed the rock up like the start of a tennis serve, resized it, planted a dark mine in the resulting boulder, shrunk it again, and then whipped around on her broom, grasping it like a tennis racket and batting the pebble back down towards the Orphan with all her might.
”Here, you can have this back!” she shouted, resizing the stone (and the dark mine implanted in it) as they flew, and then adding ”with interest!” as she supersized her projectile moments before impact.
Down below, Rika merely had to pick herself off the ground a second time, having been standing well back from the site of the detonation, but the sight of the Orphan seemingly just… walking away, made her absolutely furious.
“Don’t you dare run away you… You.. You JERK! RAAAAGH!” Rika screamed, first in rage and then in pain as she tapped into the Pacific Princess’s power. Raw vitally was ripped from her body, causing her to stumble to the ground as the sand beside her erupted, and a white whale hauled itself onto the beach. Unlike its beached (and rotten) kin however, this one had two things that let it rumble forwards towards the Orphan rather than simply founder and die. The first were the pair of stocky and disturbingly human arms in place of its front flipper. The second was that someone had turned down the gravity, and so the earth’s crushing’s grip on the sea creature was softened enough that it could haul it's bulk across the sand, its massive jaws hanging open in a roar that was felt rather than heard. At the same time the entirely audible roar of its naval guns barked out as they spat fire at the orphan as it approached.
Jr, who had been closer and had more or less joined the hail of rocks as a dangerous projectile by withdrawing into his shell, ran over to support the collapsing Rika as soon as he was able, more or less scooping her limp form up into his arms so he could carry her out of danger.
Not that that meant he wasn't going to let the Orphan just walk away without doing anything either.
”Primids party, Murlock marines, Gooma swarm! Escort that whale!” he commanded, summoning a small army of stickers to support the white whale's lumbering advance towards the Orphan. The assorted minions, armed with massive boomerangs, crude cubs and raw determination respectively, fanned out to either side of the whale. They were there mostly to act as tarpit to bog down the orphan with the weight of their bodies in order to give the actual threat among them, the hulking whale, enough time to turn on and chomp the Orphan with its multiple rows of teeth.
wordcount: 780 (+2) Midna: level 7 EXP: ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// (39/70) Location: Sandswept Sky - Graveyard of the Peaks
Up and up they went, higher and higher, and while Midna learned a bit more about the things she had misidentified as bat-ish monsters they, fortuitously, did not return. As far as the twilight princess could tell they weren't being hunted by them either, her darkness adapted eyes not picking out any further movement out in the frozen caves.
Indeed, no further foes assailed them. Other than the ever present cold of course, which gnawing at them, wearing them down, and only increasing in intensity as they ascended, to the point that even Poppi’s flame production stopped working due to the ever increasing exertion needed to keep it going outpacing her ability to supply it with mana, or at least that was Midna’s understanding of the problem.
As they arrived at the top of the lift and slowly headed for an exit to the caves, it became clear that one else was really doing well. Even those who were used to or adapted to the cold, like Braum, were feeling the chill, though it was honestly impressive that the big man had gotten this far without any clothes. Shame they didn't have any to give him and let him carry on unbothered.
Midna meanwhile found herself curled up and hugging herself in an attempt to withhold as much of her dwindling reserves of heat that she could as she floated in the air. It was a position that wasn't quite fetal, but it would likely have gotten there if the blast of wind caused by the two big guys of the group throwing open the door hadn’t sent her tumbling backwards through the air, swearing as she went.
For a bit after that, she joined them on the ground, but her lack of friction caused by the mag-lev mod meant that she had to spike each step with dragon clawed toes. They trudged across the bridge beyond the caves like a line of pilgrims, though ironically enough the monastery the man who’s thimble she had in her possession had talked about seemed to be off to the side of their path. Given the state of herself and the party, the princess was in little mood for side-questing.
That mood changed when they finally reached the far side of the bridge and passed through the stone gateway beyond and found a void of white, spotted only by a few frozen corpses and a star-field of what might be gravestones, neither of which boded well. Oh and, hiding in plain sight, there was also a giant white glove floating in the wall of white filling the air. Mind dulled by cold, it took Midna a moment to realize that this must be the so-called master hand, which spoke with bone shuddering words and more or less spelled out their doom, before confidently stating that they’d push on regardless, because that was what heroes did.
Midna disagreed. Not about never surrendering, she wasn't about to call this a lost cause because of some very very very bad weather, but sometimes you found a impassable barrier that you needed a certain tool, or a power that was not your own, to bypass that you needed to get from somewhere else, and that was the framework she approached this wall of wind and white with.
”The guy in the tree said something about scolding hot oil when talking about the monastery. Not going to engage in whatever crazy cult stuff is going on over there, but if they can heat oil, and, you know, live up here, then they have the fuel to warm people right? Clothes to stay warm? Magical resistance? Something to deal with this. Because if we try to brute force that as we are, it is not going to go well” Midna suggested, hoping there would be a key to this to be found nearby. If they could get around to the monastery in the first place.
If they did vote to soldier on together, well, she was not going to try and shove through the snow herself. That was quite literally impossible, the lightweight and low friction princess would be slid backwards if she tried to go under her own power. So she would summon her wolf-dran, the only one who had taken power from a mountain denizen for its own in hindsight, and then hide in its shadow as the cold adapted beast with its clawed grip and low quadrupedal form made the trek for her, the princess saving her strength for if, or rather when, she would need to try and bail the others out of the nightmare that was, goddesses willing, the last part of their accent.
Runt, cherry top, humilover, knightstabba, horserida, the greenest knight, the strangely honorable, rusta o chains, rebel of green, god mounta, the demon lord, the goblin queen, the goblin formerly known as queen, champion of the small folk, devil slayer, she who would break the heavens, first among mortals, the eternal liberator.
Age
Rita is 36, which is impressive for a goblin as while they can live to about 70 at most, they basically never get anywhere close.
Race
Rita is a goblin, one of the most pathetic species ever to have been made, or at least that is how the prejudice goes. They have green skin, very large ears, eye and hair color trending from yellow to red, and generally stand three feet tall, with none of the brawn species like the dwarves have to compensate. Their only real positive traits are an excellent set of senses (having decent night vision, an enhanced sense of smell and exceptional hearing) used to detect danger, coupled with rapid breeding and maturation rates. Oh and in the eyes of anyone looking for minions, the art of enslaving goblins being older than recorded history is quite the boon.
Form
Rita has long red hair that she styles into a set of braids and equally red eyes. She stands at about 2.6 feet and has the functionally muscled build of a lifelong warrior. She has several scars, the most notable being one on her left temple along with several more scattered across her body.
The goblin is most often seen wearing a practical set of relatively plain plate armor adorned with a flowing golden cape.
World
Rita comes from a pretty bog standard fantasy world all things considered. A variety of species, from humans to dwarves dragons and, of course, goblins, dwell in a magically infused medieval stasis. Slightly more of note is the unusual way in which faith and belief impact the world.
In Rita’s world, if enough people believe a thing is true, then it becomes so. If enough people believe a being exists, be it a god, devil or monster, and that can do certain things, then it’s existence and capabilities become fact. Similarly, if enough people are confined another person can do a thing, then they are able to do that thing. More specifically, the act of telling a story about that truth is what engraves it into reality, be it telling it within a person's head or spoken and shared among the people.
This also extends to things like magic and basically any supernatural phenomenon, where functionally you trick large amounts of people and in doing get them to fool reality for you, but in terms of Rita’s story, only gods, devils and heroes are relevant to go over.
Gods are supernatural beings spawned by faith who live in their own higher domains known as heavens, but make no mistake, they are gods, not Gods. They are powerful, but they are not masters of creation, nor sharpers of it. There are many gods, and once formed they do not die, nor do they base their power or vitality on continued belief. Instead, without belief, without their stories being told over an over and mutating and modernizing as the world changes, a god becomes immutable, stagnant, even senile in the worst of cases and, in the games of gods, ultimately easily out maneuvered. A god can still do things of their own accord but, if no one talks about it, if no one believes that it happened, then the very impact of that action will fade, being forgotten or even undone.
Inorder to maintain any kind of fluidity and relevance then, a forgotten god must attach themselves as a bit player in another god's story, generally, though not always, as servant. This means that the equivalent of angels in the world’s heavens are simply gods who are no longer worshiped on their own, and simply play a role in another god’s court.
The dark reflections of the gods are known as devils, beings born of tales of fear, as the pure evil antagonists of gods, as explanations to why bad things happen to good people, etc. Of course, no one wants to worship a being of pure malice, and the other gods don't wish to associate with them either (that would be antithetical to their tales and/or bad pr) and so they are generally confined to their own subset of realms know as hells, where they plot, scheme, bicker and fight amongst each other, all while coveting the power of the gods are freely given, and the source of that power, the mortal realm. The best devils can hope for to remain relevant is to be feared, bought off or bargained with. People believing you are a horrible monster that will bring about the end of days is still belief in the end.
These devils’s most noticeable form of influence on the mortal world is via proxies known as demon lords, mortals made nameless by their pacts with and/or enslavement by various devils, and who’s ultimate purpose is to gather enough power in the mortal realm, spread fear of their master’s name, and to eventually to summon their dark patron into it to wreak havoc. All that stands against them is the might of mortals and their heroes.
Heroes are mortals who, similar to gods and devils, draw power from stories of their exploits and deeds being spoken or sung over and over. A legend about a powerful feat they once performed circulating will make performing that feat again more straightforward with each retelling till it comes with ease. If the story gets exaggerated, or even has details added out of whole cloth, as so often happens when stories are traded around orally, then so much the better, as the hero will eventually be able to do something they never could have done before. As with gods, a hero whose tales fall out of circulation will also not be weakened, they simply don't get any stronger. However, as mortals are people, operating in a purely physical world and using their own hands to do things, they do not suffer the stagnation or fading influence of gods, which is quite the advantage.
Generally however, heroes don’t gain anywhere near the prestige of gods, especially highly worshiped ones, and so the fact that mortals can be empowered by belief is mostly unknown, and the gods, who need and crave belief, aren't exactly interested in sharing the details on this little facet of their universe. The gods are more than happy to insert themselves into the tales of heroes, and to claim credit for their remarkable abilities, as a way of feeding off of their tales and becoming stronger however. Of course, tales of gods granting boons mean that gods can gain the ability to actually grant boons, meaning that their relationships with their heroes isn't purely parasitical.
Mortal lifespans also prevent them from benefiting from generations upon generations of retellings and mutations of their stories as gods do, and instead after their death these tales will generally be co-opted either by an existing god if one has not done so already, or cause the birth of an entirely new god made in the image of the hero.
Legend
Rita was once a faceless minion of a demon lord, until she was forcibly adopted by an adventuring party when she was just a teen (after said party hacked their way through the rest of the various minions in the patrol she had been a part of). From them she became more worldly than any goblin before her in living memory, and was effectively trained and treated as the squire/daughter of the knightly adventurer who had adopted her.
After several years in their company, the adventures aimed to strike down the demon lord themselves, but were hopelessly outmatched. To save her own skin Rika backstabbed them, (specifically her adopted father with one of his spare blades) when it became clear to her that they were doomed, and in so doing reentered the demon lord’s service and gained a minor position of leadership, along with ownership of her dead father’s armor and his horse. She took these, and a burning resentment for both her forced betrayal and the general abysmal treatment of her people, and used them fuel a climb up the ranks through a combination of conquests in her lord's name and the assassination of her superiors.
As she climbed, she effectively dragged goblin kind up with her, empowering them, organizing them and protecting them from poor treatment. In doing so she became their dark folk hero and, as in her world, people believing something makes that belief closer to reality, their belief in her heroism allowed her to perform greater heroic feats.
Eventually her power and influence grew so large that the demon lord began to fear she would attempt to usurp him as well, and moved to strike her down before she could do the same to him.
Rita was beaten but not killed in the resulting clash, yet her near death at the demon lord’s hands sparked the revolution against him she had been kindling.
While recovering from her wounds, the goblin was lured into the realm of the goblin king, a fading god who coveted the faith her kind had in her, and attempted to force her into marrying him to take if for his own. After a dance of words about how she would ‘mount him’ and ‘take his sword’ the Rita exited the goblin king’s domain riding atop a new divine mount and carrying an equally devine blade.
Armed with this new power she rode out and struck down the demon lord, freeing her kin from his bondage at last. She founded a nation out of the remains of the demon lord’s empire, and then quickly resigned her position as its leader when it turned out she was only really good at war. She couldn't find it in herself to retire either, and so instead struck out, racing across the world on a campaign of liberation. First fell other demon lords and corrupt kings. Then as fatih in her built to absurd levels, she launched a crusade directly into the hells and, finally, took to the heavens and made even the gods, who had grown fearful of her power, kneel to her might.
Rita began her life in a goblin clan who were, like many if not most of their kind, enthralled to the service of a demon lord. Though goblins are weak by nature, they breed quickly and the art of their enslavement is older than history, making them perfect cannon fodder for any being higher up the food chain than them (which is basically everyone). Most often they are employed alongside other slave races by demon lords, servants of devils whose names are expunged from existence upon entering a dark pact with their vile masters.
Rita was the runt of her litter, smaller than even the average goblin, but that didn't really matter much other than getting ribbed for it on occasion. During her early years Rita’s life was unremarkable for a goblin. As soon as she could walk she was put to work, toiling away in the small mine she was born in, a slave to the schemes of her dark master.
All that changed one day when she was barely a teen. She was randomly hauled away from work, got a spear shoved in her hands and told to match out along with a patrol of other dark minions, mostly orks whom she and her kin were explicitly acting as cannon fodder for. This wasn't exactly unusual, but what was unusual was that the patrol actually ran into something. She’d fought before of course, but rather than monsters or unfortunate hunters the patrol hit an adventuring party.
For most of the minions, things ended as you might expect, the adventurers slaughtering their way through the patrol with ease. For Rita however, who was hurt but not killed in the opening moments, things ended strangely. Perhaps it was because so small, maybe it was because she made made an effort to make her hair nice today in order to impress a now corpse, maybe it was how she just coward among the dead once the fighting was over, maybe it was pure whim, but for whatever reason, the knight (a man called sir Reginald) among the adventurers took pity on her and decided to, for all intents and purposes, adopt her.
Thus began Rita’s crash course in the human world, a bewildering barrage of sights, sounds and experiences during which she acted as something between pet, daughter, squire and mascot for the party who she traveled with for many a moon as they slowly got stronger and better equipped. To protect her own skin, she played the role they wanted her to play perfectly, but inside she hated them. They had, after all, killed her friends and family without mercy. So she plotted revenge in secret but as her worldliness grew, and her very presence among the party resulted in them and others questioning the validity of their ruthless actions against her kind in their war against the demon lord, the need to scheme fell from burning necessity to reluctant burdening commitment.
Maybe if time had been on her side she would have eventually dropped her plans entirely, but in the end her hand was forced. The party, partially out of overconfidence and partially out of a growing sense of guilt about killing more and more of Rita’s kin, went to directly challenge the demon lord. They were not the first to do so and, tragically, they would not be the last.
As the battle began to go poorly Rita saw the writing on the wall and so she executed upon her schemes and stabbed her team in the back. Quite literally in the knight’s case, sliding one of his own spare swords through a weakness in his armor she knew about from helping him put it on before battles. The revenge did not feel good, but it did save her skin, the goblin being able to honestly say to her old master that she had simply been buying her time while traveling with the heroes, waiting to strike at the perfect moment such as the one presented to her now.
For her cunning she was rewarded with a lowly position of command, barely one step up from common underling. She also, however, got to keep the possessions of the knight, including his horse, Sandy. Cobbling together a suit of armor for herself out of the fallen knight’s own, she became the first goblin knight, and swore a silent oath she would take down the demon lord herself, and end his cycle of death that had taken her first and second family from her. To do that, she would have to become stronger.
She rose her way up the ranks of the demon lord’s forces through force of arms, first by slaying her superiors in one on one combat to get a true command (an entirely permissible and even encouraged act), and then by forming an order of green knights, wolf riders armored with hydra scale leather who hunted both the demon lord's enemies (focusing especially on rival demon lords) and various neutral monsters that stood in the way of him expanding his realm. In doing so, and in focusing her efforts on empowering and actually caring about the survival of her goblin kin, she became something of a dark hero, one who protected the weak minions both from the forces of light and from the cruelty of their dark masters.
As she build up her influence among her people, she also built up something of a repertoire with the forces opposing her lord, changing the name of the game and forcibly ‘civilizing’ their conflict, making herself into someone who was seen as a reasonable, even honorable opponent who could be expected to show mercy and, importantly, expected that to be shown in turn. She built a significant worthy foe relationship with the knights of her deceased adoptive father, one that would eventually prove vital. Casualty rates massively dropped among those who fought in her name even as they remained an effective fighting force, and soon enough she had risen to the top of the demon lord’s ranks. Despite being near indispensable at this point, the lord did not trust her. As he was right to do.
Things came to a head when three of the other right hand minions of the lord attempted to dispose of her, an act that cost them their lives at her hands. The resulting power she would gain was too much, and so the demon lord himself aimed to strike her down. He only succeeded in wounding her, and preemptively sparking the revolution she had been fostering beneath his nose. As civil war erupted among the demon lord’s forces, and it raged the wounded Rita made contact with the forces of light, and convinced them to actively side with her force rather than simply let the war burn to its end and then swoop in to take down the battered victor.
Gazing down upon this war was the goblin king, a lesser deity who was worshiped by the peoples who now saw Rita as their savior. He took notice of their adoration of her and hatched a scheme to take it for his own. As the war raged across the continent, he lured the goblin, exhausted from the stress of brokering her alliance while also being wounded, into his domain. There, in a twisting labyrinthine forest, he challenged her to a series of trials that, should she fail them, she would submit to him and become his bride, tying her influence to his. The game was rigged from the start, of course, and so it ended in a game of words where Rita put on the airs of a flustered maiden who refused to talk of consummating a marriage in straight terms out of embarrassment. Thus, after a dance of words about how she would ‘mount him’ and ‘take his sword’ the Goblin exited the goblin king’s domain riding atop Sandy the 17th and carrying the blade known simply as Fang.
Upon her return to the land of mortals, she learned that the humans had sent a daring force driving into the heart of the war to try and strike down the demon lord, but their fate, it seemed, looked as if it would be going the same way as the adventurers who had adopted Rita. Hearing of this the goblin, still not yet fully recovered, rode to their aid upon her new divine steed. She stormed the demon lord’s fortress with her own knights, linking up with and fighting alongside heroes who were led by a knight who proved to be her adoptive father’s sister. Working together they brought down the demon lord, with Rita striking the final blow that ended his reign once and for all.
The end of the right of the demon lord lasted for all of a minute, as soon as the news got out Rita was immediately hailed as the new demon lord by both sides of the war. As this supposed betrayal threatened to tear apart the alliance of man and goblin, the devils of the many hells that had empowered the old lord to attempt to slip their malignant tendrils into her in his place. In the end, the knight who Rita had only just discovered was her aunt who sacrificed her life to prevent Rita’s corruption, allowing her to beat it back and seal this one piece of access the devils had to the mortal world once and for all.
Rather than a demon lord then, Rita was instead hailed as the first goblin queen, though she swiftly also became the last, as it turns out having the most powerful warrior in the nation be your leader does not result in good stateswomanship. She, fortunately, recognized this before it was too late, and, after transforming her new kingdom into a democracy, resigned her position as queen.
For a time she stayed and helped ensure the peace between the new nation and the human ones it now lived among, but before too long she grew tired of peace, unable to sit still knowing that there were other demon lords out there and other peoples enslaved to their will. Soon enough the goblin set out on a journey of liberation, traveling across the continent and then across the world, freeing her people, and all who were like them, from the bondage of tyrants of all shapes and forms.
As she fought more and more for the people’s freedom, their faith in her grew and grew and, thanks to her godly steed she learned how to harness this power as a god did (a moment that carved their begrudgingly built friendship in stone, for the god did not attempt to steal this power all for himself as Rita feared he might do) and in doing so she became a near unstoppable force on the mortal realm, which only fueled the people’s adoration of her even further.
Armed with the will of the people the goblin looked beyond the demon lords themselves, and instead took aim at the source of their powers, the many hells from which all evil seeped. At the head of a mighty crusade made from all races, and with the backing of their gods, she plunged into those fiery pits and against all expectation succeeded in rooting out the darkness within. The gods, both fearing her powers and empowered themselves by the deaths of their dark kin, attempted to force the liberator of all to kneel to their will. A mistake they soon came to regret.
Rather than kill them however, for they were the embodiment of good things, just lost in their power, she taught them a lesson in humility as she had the wolf god, forcing them to respect a mortal as an equal, and in doing so getting them to respect all mortals in a way they had never done before.
Her story might have ended there, or perhaps in some calamity caused by her being unable to simply sit down and retire after a life of war, if the overwhelming faith and belief in her from all the peoples of the world, combined with the submission of all the gods to her will, had not breached some threshold of power, and ascended her (and her trusty steed) to the wheel.
There, new tyrants stand tall, waiting to fall to the hand of the meekest of creatures.
Will
Rita is driven by the need to end the mistreatment of the weak. She is mostly focused on what she calls ‘the small folk’ (your goblins, imps, kobolds etc) but ultimately she wishes to see all tyrants fall, and all peoples to be free.
Mastery
Rita is the hero to end all heroes, a goblin of a thousand tales, the ultimate underdog. On paper she does not seem particularly impressive, being a goblin in armor with a glowing sword and an unusual steed. In practice Rita has far surpassed any mortal limits long, long ago.
Defensively, her natural senses have been sharpened to such a fine point that she functionally has a 6th sense for danger. The goblin also has an intense resilience in a way that, while she can most certainly be hurt, actually putting her down is frightfully difficult. The stubborn little creature will take her licks and just keep going and going, and if it looks like you've got her pinned down she’ll escape to train and scheme, and then come back for a rematch at the most appropriately dramatic moment.
Offensively Rita’s primary strategy is to stab people with a sword using blows with hundreds of times the strength her body should be able to produce behind them. Failing that she has a small pile of tricks up her sleeves gained from various exaggerated tales made true. She can form lances of light, breath fire (thanks the kobold's for that one), tame any beast, leap across battlefields like a grasshopper and create improvised explosives from basically anything (imps for this one), along with a few other party tricks kept up her sleeve from her more obscure stories.
The ability that is perhaps her greatest and yet also her most often dismissed is the ability to inspire and empower others, particularly those considered meek. This is both a psychological thing, seeing a tiny goblin stick it to those far more imposing than her can't help but inspire, as well as an actual faith fueled power. Those who join Rita’s order of Green Knights, for example, can tap into her legend and the previous exploits of their organization, gaining the speed and power to keep up with Rita’s wild charges. Even more generally, those fighting alongside Rita or in her name can tap into the legacy of the army that broke all the hells and heavens of her world, gaining increased strength, bravery and resilience.
Finally, Rita has been taught the secret power of stories and faith, a frightful power in her home world, one less useful beyond its confines. Functionally the barrier between her soul and the souls of others is soft, resulting in external perception lightly warping her flame. By influencing how others see her, she can use them to mold herself into a stronger and better being.
Ascent
Rita took on her world’s gods, the final tyrants and made them bow their heads to a mortal, and one that she forced them to broadcast to all their followers, predominantly to prove both that she wasn’t going to kill them all like she had all her other foes, and to end their dominance over mortal kind. The unprecedented event made even those ignorant of her invasions of the hells aware of her and in awe of her. Yet what was a heroic liberator with no more tyrants to face in battle? That was the question asked, the universe answered, and ascended the rebel knight to the wheel, where her quest of liberation can continue.
Ephemera
Inherited Platemail Originally cobbled together from her adoptive father’s armor, Rita’s platemail is a simple and unadorned affair that over the years has been ship of theseused into actually fitting her like a glove. It is technically very mundane, but belief in its resilience has given the armor supreme stopping power, withstanding blow after blow without a care. If part of it does break it will shatter rather than buckle, the struck section acting as ablative armor in its last moment and entirely sparing Rita from the blow that breaks that part of her armored shell. Any replacement metal also gains this ability, as long as it does not clash with the rest of the metal aesthetically.
Fang A fine blade the color of dawn. Not remarkably sharp or possessing of any exotic enchantments, but the goblin king’s sword is the only blade that has proved again and again that it can handle being swung around by the pint sized powerhouse, and for that she has kept hold of it for all these years.
Sandy the 17th (aka sandy the last, formally known as the goblin king) Sandy is, or was, a god, born of legends of a long dead king of goblinkind. He now acts as Rita’s mighty steed, uninstalling his innate shapeshifting ability to provide her the perfect mount for any occasion, be it the traditional war wolf, a dashing stallion, a mighty elk or more exotic rides like sharks, giant spiders, lions, rocs, wyverns and so on. All of these forms are absurdly fast, strong and unerringly beautiful perfect specimens of their kinds
As a being of pure belief he is difficult to permanently kill. Which is a good thing, because Rita managed to go through 16 other steeds in the few years before he met her. The fact that she named all of her replacement steeds Sandy, in tribute to the first, means that even if the latest of their name falls, he can tap into the story that Rita always rides a mount with the same name, and can use that to simply return to life near her whenever it is narrative convenient.
Fun fact: in the lore for a board game (Kingdom Death: Monster), the closest thing to their world's ultimate evil is an "Entity" called the Goblin. There's content forthcoming for battling the Goblin Dragon (as dragons are the physical manifestations of Entities), but for now its entire relationship with the game is a random event where the Goblin looks at you, and you instantly die.
I don't know whether to be in awe of the detail or disappointed that the ultimate evil in a world more Lovecrafian than Lovecraft isn't just a regular ass fantasy goblin.
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