Lugubrious

Fairy Tail: United we Stand REMAKE

A graveyard. Just super. Sanguin's exuberant run slowed to a jog as she approached, less out of fear than out of respect for the place's ominous portent; no matter how powerful she became, Sanguin didn't think she could ever be truly comfortable in the presence of the dead. As she crossed the grass-devoid soil, she cast a glance around for the source of the sudden noise and blinding light. Could it have really come from here?

A word she did not recognize, ejected like a command, reached her from beyond where her mask permitted her peripheral vision to reach. Quickly she turned, weapons now at the ready. All at once she took in the scene: an array of fresh graves, a couple of boxes, and a large man in heavy armor that gleamed crimson in the setting sun. Before anything else, the Blood Moon Child's thoughts turned to combat. From behind the inanimate face of a wolf, she observed the man's armor, physique, and -most especially- his grand spear. If this was the threat that endangered Haven, she did not know that she could take it alone. Ha! She scoffed at the thought. I'm never alone.

Now that her thoughts had slowed down enough, the idea struck her that this warrior might not be her opponent after all. The realization presented a troubling choice: squander the advantage of surprise by holding back and talking to him, or risk beating (or conceivably getting beaten by) an innocent. As much as she hungered for a good fight, she knew that there was only one option for a Fairy Tail wizard.

She adopted a non-threatening stance. “...hello!”

Legends of Zelda... and Everyone Else

Turning tail and running was the last thing Midna expected from the demon. While she longed to summon a trident and impale Dark Link from behind, she was forced to content herself with simply imagining it, given the company. After doing so, she turned around and walked back toward the fountain. “That was unfortunate. I am grateful that the demon fled and no-one else is hurt.” Her voice had lost its steely, tranquil fury, and she seemed to be at ease once more. Her confidence helped the remaining people to overcome their trepidation. With the intruder gone, a few of the skittish townsfolk returned from the fringes of the plaza. Along with them came a new arrival to the scene, a massive, swarthy man that struck Midna as a true warrior. Rather than floating up into the air once more, Midna -figuring that the Hylians had enough of magical displays for the time- lounged casually on the fountains edge. “Let us hope there are no more such surprises.”

That, however, didn't seem to be the case. Before the Twilight Princess could continue to speak, a tunic-clad figure rounded the corner of a nearby general shop and came barreling into the square. For a moment Midna was alarmed, but the leaf-green of the young man's clothes made her reconsider. After a moment she realized that she stood before the real deal, even more perfect than the myths described. Her lips parted slightly, and she was at a loss for words. Swiftly, though, her mind caught up with her. As much as she wanted to talk to Link, she knew she would have waited until later even if the encounter with his doppelganger hadn't left a bad taste in her mouth.

Somehow, it didn't surprise her when he, too, questioned her motivations. It seemed oddly appropriate, come to think of it; in all the legends, the hero of time had defended Zelda. Though opposition by combat and opposition politically were very different, Midna supposed it was the same case here. Does that make me...his enemy? She watched him sharply. He is shorter than I expected. Shorter than I.

A new voice, resonating with masculine baritone, swept away her reply. The 'true warrior' she had marked only moments before now spoke. Her yellow eyes narrowed to behold his visage. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, though not out of prior association. In fact, she felt as if she had seen him somewhere before. It came as a surprise to hear this man openly and unabashedly declare his support for her. Her mind raced to come up with words appropriate for such an unexpected circumstance.

“And I, uh, warmly thank you. Sir! You need not bow before me...just yet, at least. Allow me to make myself no longer a stranger to you.” While she sounded elated, she subtly failed to return to him any gesture of respect. Her voice rose as she began to explain.

“I hail from a land called the Twilight Realm. Sound familiar? No? Well, if you were to look east, west, south, and north, for all your years, you would not find it. It lies on another world, one perpetually shrouded in the half-light of dusk and dawn. It is a beautiful land, in its own way, but it is a lonely place without the life and variety of Hyrule. My father is King Mizorant, but his kingship is one quite different from the one imposed on this land. You see, my father is the proud leader of a system of government called an Elective Monarchy. Every few years, the Twili -my people- gather. Competitors to the throne, from all walks of life, appear to challenge his position. How do these competitors do battle? With words and deeds. Each strives to prove that he or she is more worthy of ruling than the next, and to their favored competitor each Twili gives a voice. The one with the most voices becomes the new ruler. As such, to stay in power, the ruler must make certain that they maintain the favor of the people. The boundary between noble and commoner shrinks, and the Twili and their King share the same will. That is what is called Elective Monarchy. My proposition is this: I give to you, and every citizen of Hyrule, a voice. I will strive to win your hearts, and if you deem me worthy of ruling, I shall strive to be the greatest ruler Hyrule has known. And should you choose Zelda? She is yours, and the consequences of her rule, yours also. Questions, please!”

Legends of Zelda... and Everyone Else

Luckily, the timeskip has enabled you to change the situation, Watermelon.

Dungeon Keepers (This one's done. Go to The Horde of Evil instead)

Cyclone said
I tried twice to write an opening post and hit writer's block hard. In any case, I have the character fairly fleshed out and should at least post the sheet soon.

I'm in the process of Fleshing out my character as well. Heheheheheh

Dungeon Keepers (This one's done. Go to The Horde of Evil instead)

The Progenitor awoke.

The sun was shining, but it was not uncomfortably hot, even though the quarry's stone amplified the heat. That was a pity, because the hotter the air was, the faster the Flesh would spread. It rose to its feet, wobbling unsteadily. Since it had fallen asleep, its body had bloated up substantially, and all around the Progenitor lay the reason why. Surrounding it lay the bodies of roughly three dozen men, each of which had been in life either a slave or a master. The slaves were distinguishable by their ratty overalls, and the masters by their white cloaks that were more for show than guarding against the elements. Seeing the bodies intermingled, their status in life now meaningless, the Progenitor felt a twinge of anger. It gargled slightly, the giant maw on its torso rumbling. Abruptly, its gag reflex kicked in, and the Progenitor unceremoniously retched out a pile of sludge onto the ground twice as big as it was. Momentarily weakened by the effort, the monster collapsed into a sitting position, and lazily observed the vile mound of waste.

Meat. Living matter, broken down and fused together, redesigned to play a part in the ultimate organism. Alone, a living thing would eventually die and be forgotten. When coalesced, however, when seized and embraced by the Flesh—that was forever. The Progenitor dully mused over this, sitting on the stone. What it knew of life indicated that it was imperfect, but it could be cured. That...was its mission.

It rose laboriously and navigated to the nearest corpse. After several hours in the daylight, the body was visibly infected. Its skin had become entirely covered in scabs and sores, and it was ready to be molded. The Progenitor's maw yawned open, and from the cavity several bluish tentacles shot out. They snaked through the air and wound around two of the carcasses, seizing them and yanking them into the Progenitor's belly. A foul, magic-infused vapor escaped from between the teeth as the Progenitor processed its meal, speeding up the infection and forcibly altering its course. When the maw opened, it spat out a bulky creature about three feet long, two feet wide, and two feet tall. This thing oddly resembled a vaguely reptilian tube on legs, complete with a long head that sported a mass of facial tendrils useful for manipulating the Flesh. On its back were several tendrils, more served for grabbing and carrying than for delicate operation. The Progenitor felt no satisfaction on seeing its first Scab; they were weak, inferior fusions only good for construction. For now, though they were required.

The Scab, quite devoid of thought, stared dully at the Progenitor with a bloodshot eye on the end of a specialized tendril that served as a stalk. Deciding that here was as good a place as any for Nirvana to appear, the Progenitor outstretched a hand and touched the Scab with his own hand, imparting to it his will via chemical signaling. Without hesitation the little abomination began to work, to create the Heart that the Flesh would call home.

Status

-=-The Flesh That Hates-=-
Territory: None
Volume: The Progenitor, 1 Scab
Infection Progress: Negligable

Compendium Entry
Scab - imp equivalent. Small, utterly unintelligent, repulsive beasts only good for overseeing the spread of the Flesh. Deaf, blind, and weak, totally not suited as either combatants or carriers. In a pinch, they are barely serviceable as cannon-fodder. Often, they'll be used after a battle or on the environment to gather biomass and transport it back to a central hub.

Dungeon Keepers (This one's done. Go to The Horde of Evil instead)

Thanks. I'm anxious to see your character, Bbeast, as well as Kabal's and Cyclone's.

Legends of Zelda... and Everyone Else

Well that didn't last long.

Is shapeshifting a power of Dark Link's?

Legends of Zelda... and Everyone Else

Upon seeing his long, windswept hair, his signature hat, the longsword and shield, and the robes, Midna sharply sucked in her breath. Could it be...? No. It didn't take a keen observer to notice that the approaching figure was not the hero of legend. Something was dreadfully off, and it wasn't just the clothes' somber color scheme. As he approached, drawing the gaze of the crowd that had been bemused by Midna's silence, the Twilight Princess figured it out. It was his eyes.

The townsfolk seemed to receive his dark vibe even more than she did. Though neither of his weapons were in hand and only a smirk plastered his face, the people hurried to get away from him. One man, a soldier or at least a guard judging by his equipment, moved forward to halt the threatening figure. In an instant, the man was flung several dozen feet away to smack, unconscious, into the plaza's nearest wall. For a moment Midna was taken aback, open-mouthed in astonishment. Her shock continued through his little speech, though her mouth closed so that her teeth could grind in suppressed fury as the shadow questioned, derided, and then insulted her.

Not everyone present was as meticulous in their restraint. When the guard was thrown, they scuttled back from Dark Link in terror. Some of them simply fled the scene, and quite a few of them shied toward Midna, whose genial manner and less frightening visage made her the more comfortable between her and the shadow. Ironically, Dark Link's next move was to try to appeal to them via reason, which belied incredible bad judgment. Finally, when the shadow was done ribbing her, he fell silent in reply. Those who had grown to perceive this event as a debate looked at the Twilight Princess for a reply.

She made none.

Instead, the vanished in a spray of black specks and reappeared next to the limp form of the guard. She knelt and laid two fingers on his throat, feeling for a pulse. A steady beat beneath her pale fingertips indicated that his helmet had done its job. When Midna rose to her feet, she began to walk toward Dark Link, a look of eerie calmness on her face.

“This is most interesting.” The sudden monotony of her voice starkly contrasted its earlier liveliness. “An evil spirit, wearing the face of a beloved legend, attacks an innocent man, then mocks me while defending the goddesses. Once we are done here I will explain myself to the people, but I will not make conversation with a demon. Suffice to say this: I have the wisdom to know what is right. I have the courage to change the world. These people are under my protection now, demon. If you do not turn around and leave Castle Town this instant, I will show you the extent of my power.”

A look of determination now resided on her face. Her hands were slight raised, spaced about a foot away from her waist on either side, in a clear gesture of 'try me'.

Dungeon Keepers (This one's done. Go to The Horde of Evil instead)

After a little consideration I think I'd rather leave Dahlia to be a rogue being and get a new idea for a Keeper. I believe I want to do something truly monstrous this time.

Compendium Entry:
The Flesh that Hates - An eldritch abomination. The Flesh that Hates is technically the name of everything infected by it, be it plant, animal, or human, but most easily definable is the core being, the one in which this vile virus originated, referred to as Progenitor. The Flesh that Hates is a virulent skin disease, spreadable by contact, that causes flesh to undergo massive growth and mutation within a few hours of infection. Once the infection has thoroughly taken root, the infected individual will become stationary and can mutate further. Biomatter slush can be channeled along large vein and into specialized structures where it is shaped into other forms. The way in which the Flesh that Hates was released in this age indicates that it has existed, sealed away, for hundreds if not thousands of years. In short, the Flesh that Hates is a magical pathogen that makes a mockery of life.

The Progenitor - The one in which the plague began. This being was once a man, who labored as a slave along with dozens of others under the dominion of a Cypriot fief roughly sixty miles southeast of Amplus. In the process of his work on a massive excavation, the man stumbled upon a strange jar covered in disgusting pictures. When he broke the seal under the order of an overseer, he found a twisted hunk of meat inside. Before he could react, the thing sprang to life and bit him on the hand, burrowing into his skin and making him into the Progenitor. While he is the same size as a normal man if not a fair bit fatter, the key difference lies in his skin. All hair has fallen off and his skin is rough and calloused. Down the front of his chest, from navel to throat, is a vertical mouth lined with teeth. The Progenitor has the ability to control the mutations of the infected to a degree and command them. He wears a navy blue, hooded cloak that falls to his ankles.

Fairy Tail: United we Stand REMAKE

For some time now, the real Sanguin had been walking with Ben. Their sojourn in Haven hadn't been a very social one; along with not speaking to any of the locals -which was a foolish choice in retrospect because one might have been able to tell them about the malevolent force threatening the town- they didn't converse with one another. It made for an uncomfortable and excruciatingly boring couple of hours. Finally, with her feet aching, Sanguin decided that she could no longer bear walking.

“Ah!” She plopped down on the ground, leaning against a building. Her armor clanked as she did so, and even though she wore a mask it was obvious she somewhat fatigued and very irritated. “The least these people could do is give us some info about whatever this threat is. I really hate waiting.” She pulled off the mask and watched the dreamy town slide closer to dusk through her own eyes. A bead of sweat trickled onto her nose, and she wiped it off angrily, as if it was responsible for the void of progress. “This just sucks.” She was talking to herself as much as Ben, seeing as for a while the boy had been in a near-catatonic state of inactivity.

After a brief rest, Sanguin hauled herself up to her feet. A slight tug on the edge of her mind made her pause momentarily. She opened her mouth, but decided that Ben wouldn't be very much interested in how one of her copies had been hit by a ball and dispelled, so she promptly shut it again and replaced the crimson wolf mask on her head. The pair resumed their patrol, the Blood Moon Child in the lead once more, harboring the hope that Ben would emerge from his trance should anything unusual happen.

As it so happened, though, exactly such a thing transpired. By now the sun was a semicircle peering over the horizon, taking a quick look over his shoulder and the lands his descent was leaving behind. Sanguin took a moment to try and stare directly at the sun to see if her abilities had somehow developed in such a way to allow her to do so without hurting herself. It took only a couple of seconds to deduct that they had not, and Sanguin squeezed her eyes together to recover. Just then, a dazzling flash erupted two streets over, swiftly followed by a sound of thunder. “Finally!” Exclaimed Sanguin, and without hesitation she produced her shield and scimitar and broke out into a sprint, sure that the disturbance was caused by the threat she had been sent here to investigate. In her exuberance, Ben was all but forgotten.