Lugubrious

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

No amount of developing forehead armor could protect the young Ankou from the blade stabbed through its jaw. Though mortally wounded, the creature still struggled, its frantic slashes and spurts of flame growing weaker until the creature was still. It lay with its various limbs in disarray, as if it had been in the middle of an intense fight and suddenly dropped dead. The tension in the clearing dispelled, sliding out of the various students after being so suddenly stoked by the monstrous Riesen's unexpected appearance. Abel poked one of its hind legs with his Ampere, wondering if he ought to apologize for leading the creature here, or remain silent. He had just about made up his mind when the voice of professor Vorosky, not yet devoid of urgency, broke the silence.

"What are you doing?" He asked. From any other teacher, such a statement might have seemed demanding and highly critical, but Vorosky seemed oddly content. Before a single soul could respond to his rhetorical question, he continued as if he were giving a classroom lesson. "Can you not see the beast is not melting? Cut its throat, before--!"

As if on cue, the subdued Ankou let loose a skull-rattling screech. Evidently it had stopped fighting to save up enough energy to do so. Immediately afterward, the Grimm began to dissolve into smoke around Sangue's katana, but the damage was done. Abel groaned ominously, but he let the professor cheerfully explain what was in store. "The cries of the Ankou call other reptile Grimm to their aid. In moments we will be surrounded by Itzamna, and after come the Salamanders. It will be a good lesson in survival!"

A few moments raced by, with several students scrambling to make preparations for the incoming assault. While not very threatening, Itzamna were often deadly in large packs, and in this unidentified forest only Vorosky had an estimate of how many there would be. Fishing poles, crackling campfires, and marshmellows were either forgotten or quickly put to use as the steady tramp-tramp-tramp of many feet brushing through underbrush grew louder. All the while, the professor was happy to toss around some advice. "Don't let one clamp down on a limb! It will start pulling, and just like that, others will clamp down on other limbs and do the same. Make clean strikes with weapons! If your weapon sticks in one and it jumps away, you will be facing its brothers and sisters unarmed. Stay with the others! Even if you are not teammates, the person at your side might save your life."

The woods turned eerily quiet. Abel stood behind his campfire, Ampere in staff mode ready to electrocute the firs.t raptor he saw. Other students had assumed similarly defensive positions. There came a sound like the call of a sore-throated bird, and at once around twenty Itzamna appeared. The first wave rushed each student in twos and threes, but it was obvious by the now-constant noises among the trees that there were more waiting in reserve.

Skullgirls: Parasite's Paradise

Thank you sir.

Skullgirls: Parasite's Paradise

New Meridian was a city of many faces. At its apex was a gilded facade, stuffed to the brim with cinema, showtime, martinis, penthouses, lightshows, and business. Of course, there was also the negative: the Medicis, the fraud, the extortion, the intimidation, and other such abnormalities more pleasant for those at the top to ignore. Even the throes of organized crime, at least, were glamorous. Below the pinstriped cigar-chompers were their less cultured brethren, no more villainous but far less efficient, whose perpetual duty it was to ensure that the backalleys and slums and warehouses of New Meridian were inhospitable places for man and beast. It was in those conditions, the cesspools of the city be their contents criminal or not, that the hierarchy of law was forced to operate.

To be sure, much of the police force in New Meridian was -at best- a bad joke. Even a department that survived by allowing the big fish to have their way was swamped with trouble caused by the small fry. As such, the valiant NMPD only poked its head out of its shell for serious cases, and the reprehensible underbelly of the city knew how to operate it. Unbelievable it was, then, that there were still some police officers trying to stick to the code and make a difference.

Not for the first time, detective Camilia Henry wished that she wasn't one of those cops. Trouble was, this time she worried something fierce that this time it would be her last; she was running for her life, after all.

Breathing heavily and heart pounding against her ribcage like a bongo drum, Camilia ducked behind a dumpster. The smell didn't exactly appeal to her, but compared to forcible disembowelment pretty much anything was appealing. Under her breath, the tawny-haired detective vehemently cursed the Black Egrets. They were, after all, why she was here. The Canopy Kingdom's number-one anti-parasite task force had a lot on its plate, so whenever a particular case seemed uncertain, the communications staff seemed very willing to delegate the investigations down to the local police department, which the chief had delegated to Camilia. And now, a raincoat-wearing girl with four massive bony arms growing out of her back wanted her in pieces.

Camilia heard footsteps against the asphalt, and wished that she had been able to run farther. Unfortunately, with a gut like this, the detective ruefully thought, Ain't no way I'm gonna get far enough. For the millionth time she wondered where backup was—she had radioed the Black Egret's local com officer, saying that yes, the investigation was going well, the suspect was indeed a parasite's host, only now she wanted to beat the detective bloody for disturbing her. “Sorry, we're getting a lot of these calls right about now,” had been the gist of the operator's response, so Camilia figured that she was in trouble.

There came a noise several meters away, but rather than the girl shouting, 'Ah-hah, I've found you, say your prayers', it was a surprised cry followed by the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. Suddenly hopeful, Camilia heaved herself to her feet to get a better look, and instantly wished that she hadn't. Wrestling with the parasite's host tooth and nail was a creature far ghastlier, a corpselike being cloaked in black with a clockwork arm. As Camilia watched, the ghoul dealt a piston-powered punch to the girl that sent her reeling, and just like that, the fight was reversed. Realizing the precious frailty of life, the girl departed in a haste, using her extra arms to ascend the building. The monster lurched forward to follow, but abruptly whirled around when Camilia ventured to draw a breath. She stared at its black eyes and corroded bronze faceplate, looking with revulsion at the perpendicular scars on its chest and the open vertical cut all along its belly. She knew it only by local legend, but whether it was the Headsman, the Scourge, the Cleaner, or just 'Grumm' she had no idea. “You're...not...Egrets...are you?” Camilia managed, her formerly-dulcet tones quavering in suppressed fear.

In reply, the ghoul hacked up a wad of foamy yellow bile. When it hit the pavement, it sizzled slightly, and Grumm -bent over double by the force of its vomit- observed it for a brief moment. Then it straightened up, holding its clockwork had to the side of its head as if it were trying to think. “Egrets sent me,” it grumbled in a guttural voice that reverberated through the metal that partially covered its mouth. “Are you a parasite?”

In all her life, Camilia had never considered such a question, but the answer was easily enough obtained. Still, she answered with hesitation, as if she couldn't believe that Grumm's axe wasn't already lodged in her sizable stomach. “...no. I'm not a...no.”

Seemingly satisfied, or at least no longer in a murderous mood, Grumm turned away and fell flat on its face. Half a minute past before the thing pushed itself to its feet. Camilia got the impression that the event was less run-of-the-mill clumsiness, and more like Grumm's muscles briefly failing. With its back turned to her, she couldn't see very well what it did, but four mechanical tentacles the size of anacondas emerged from its torso, latched onto the face of the building that the parasite-hosting girl had scaled, and rapidly ferried Grumm upward in pursuit. Camilia might have sunk back to the ground in a mixture of relief and confusion, but the stench of the dumpster was unpleasant enough to send her packing, shaking her head in disbelief. Perhaps the Cleaner was one of those things best forgotten.

Skullgirls: Parasite's Paradise

Name: Grumm (Percival Botley)

Gender: Male

Age: 38

Race: Formerly Canopian human, now effectively undead with living weapon

Death Day: February 26th

Blood Type: B-

Height: 5'11”

Weight: 292 lbs

Likes: Desperation, not dying, karmic justice, underdogs, getting points across, and using the wild part of his brain

Dislikes: Pride, envy, wrath, greed, lust, sloth, gluttony, and having to use the human part of his brain

Living Weapon: Tick Tock – a clockwork heart of dizzying complexity, built to function like a parasite. Tick Tock has no mind of its own, performing an autonomous function. When Grumm's body is damaged, it goes into overdrive with tiny clockwork drones and chemical cocktails to repair the damage as quickly as possible. If part of Grumm is irreparably destroyed or separated from the whole, it uses scrap metal that Grumm has ingested to create new clockwork body parts.

Appearance

Blockbusters:
Level One – Rot Wrecker - Grumm springs forward, spewing bile, and delivers a crushing hydraulic punch with his clockwork arm that will often cause a wallbounce.

Level Two – Clockwork Carnage – All seven tentacles erupt from Grumm's belly, weaving through the air in search of a target. Upon contact, they chomp down on the victim repeatedly before flinging it away.

Level Two – Grave Filler – Grumm hurls his axe ahead, and when it embeds itself in the target, he rushes across the ground, grabs the axe's handle, and then punches the enemy off of it with his clockwork arm.

Level Four – Vigilante Justice – Reaching out with his clockwork arm, Grumm grabs a close-by opponent. He forces it to its knees, spewing disease-ridden bile over their head as he does so. Finally, Grumm performs an inside-out cut with his axe, dealing both incredible damage and a DoT to boot.

Bio:
The esoteric Gurghamstead Revolt failed almost as soon as it was started. The Canopy armed forces overran the small but petulant cluster of farming villages, crushing their one uniting factor -political conservatism- by taking out the ringleaders and then extinguishing any fire that remained. One noteworthy thing did result of the Revolt, however; Percival Botley. The cold-eyed man because a vigilant, taking justice into his own hands when the hard-handed government failed to serve the people that it claimed to. Cloaked in black, he sought out and brought unnecessarily merciful ends to the cruel underlings of corrupt officers, executives, and politicians; soon, he targeted the string-pullers themselves. Canopy Kingdom was better served for his illegal but morally justified activity, however bloody and unlawful.

Still, Percy deeply regretted what he had done. However just his actions, he had still killed people—which flew in the face of his own moral code and religion, making him a glorified hypocrite. In the early days, after leaving his wife and child behind for their own safety and pledging to return, he had told himself that he was doing what needed to be done, and that nobody else had the courage necessary...but now, the veil grew ever thinner. Percy developed a consuming fear of death and judgment, fearing he'd be sent to hell despite all the good resulting from his vigilante campaigns. Terrified, he sought out what some might term a mad scientist and begged of him a means to cheat death. The man he pleaded with turned a sympathetic ear to his claims; the corrupt officials Percy strove to remove had confiscated his medical degree (For what ultimately proved to be good reasons) and subsequently ruined his life, turning him from an esteemed doctor into a crazed tinkerer. At Percy's behest, the scientist created one of the first living weapons, a clockwork heart which he dubbed Tick Tock, and installed the device in Percy's body. The incredible machine was designed to sustain him from the inside out, replacing Percy's organs from the inside as they failed.

At first, it seemed lucrative. Thanks to Tick Tock, Percy redoubled his efforts, finding death would always ellude him. Poison was ineffective; being shot a minor inconvenience. Even when Percy was seized by a crooked police squad, tortured, and robbed of his left arm, bronze mechanisms replaced what was lost. Suddenly, no mission was too dangerous and Percy could cast out for the biggest fish to fry. Justice, though, awaited the vigilante too. As time wore on, Percy found himself changing. Tick Tock was malfunctioning. It made more and more errors, failing to keep him healthy. Percy's skin turned pale and bloated, his blood clotted and green, and when his intestines were torn out by a particularly vicious street gang they were replaced were clockwork tentacles tipped with fearsome mechanical maws. All this, however, failed to alarm him. His mind was withering too, leaving only feral, killer instincts where a brilliant psyche had been. And yet, Grumm could not die. Finally, the Black Egrets captured the monster and, unable to kill him, made him into a secret weapon—a loose cannon able to be thrown at an enemy as a last resort. This was achieved by tapping into the part of Grumm's brain that was still human, and helping it to forget what it was fighting for.

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

Surtr's outburst marked an ever-so-slight change in the attitudes of the assembled Travelers. Sen-sen, previously so content to stand right by Emily's side, retreated several steps, and the Journeymen who held domain over snow and ice -Kai and Elvilika, respectively- also flinched. The remainder of the young spirit-wielder's exposition entered restless ears, and when she finished, it was Kai who replied rather than Sen-sen. "You need not do such a thing. You can ask any Traveler the question 'for the good of the world, will you let me keep your spirit inside me?' and the answer will be the same. You might be thinking, how can Udo Koro Kai be so sure? The answer is this. Who we are does not matter. It is what we do. Each of us was reborn in this city without memories of our previous life. It wasn't until we became Travelers, which takes a very long time, mind you, that our memories were restored. Some of us decided to honor the past, by retaking our names in life and brooding over them constantly..." at this point, he flashed a meaningful look at Salvadore, who was looking at the noontime sun far above.

Elvilika took it upon herself to keep up the tempo of the speech in a way that did not deride any fellow Journeymen. "But most of us realize that we've been given a special chance, an opportunity for complete freedom. In a way, Diver is the wisest of us all. In her past life, Diver was a queen, some centuries ago before her soul was plucked from the aether by Salvation and bound to a Worker's husk. When she became a Traveler, all the memories returned. All the love of youth, all the hardship of both marriage and rule, all the pain of war, and finally the desperation that preceded the moment she was executed by the marauder who conquered her. Rather than dwelling on who she was, however, she transitioned completely to what her freedom allowed her to do--to revel in the joy that water brought her. We all have our stories, but they would be superfluous. If we were to be hosted inside you, to keep every ounce of ourselves locked in a room, unable to do anything but speak without vying against your other spirits for control of your body...it would be anathema."

At that moment, the ground began to rumble. The pressure and low noise persisted for only a few seconds, and following them came a broad, deep chiming sound from the general direction of up. The assembled Journeymen all started as if they had been shocked, then settled knowingly. Salvadore's words came in a slight accent, thrilling his r's, but his tone was one of matter-of-fact professionalism. "Providence has bestowed upon us another Blessing. In moments the white light will wash over Monolith and replenish the spirits of all the Workers." He fixed his sharp gaze on Emily, treating her to the permanent grimace etched onto his face. "I cannot say if it will affect you; to my knowledge it has never failed to affect a living thing it touches, but you are not exactly living. Perhaps when the holy light dies down you will have a hand made of opal, who knows. But if you let it affect you, you will be clued into the spiritual network that binds all Workers to the city, and then if you sojourn to the acropolis of Monolith you may be able to consult with Providence and get an answer that pleases you more. Providence is a holy spirit too large for you to host, but if it so chooses, your spirits may work in partnership. Or you might allow Providence to 'host' yourself. Hard to say." The shadows nearby began to recede. Above the Sestet, the city was glowing: the stones, the bricks, the metal, the wood, the buildings, the streets, and the golems all shone with a radiant white luminescence. In seconds it would be upon the Sestet. "You offered us a choice, but now, it is time for you to choose," Salvadore concluded with an air of smug finality. "Remain touching the city and receive the Blessing of Providence, or call upon your spirit Surtr to fly."

Phoenix Wing (A Fairy Tail RP-Always Open, Open)

Sighing in relief, Fleo finished securing the dusty bandages to her guild master's wound and stepped back. “Worrying! Gotcha, won't do that.” She willed the construct to hold together, which was difficult with her heart still pounding. If she allowed her creation to disintegrate, Jamie's blood would be free to run loose once more, which in fact worried Fleo very much.

Nevertheless, she felt obliged to step back and breath deeply. Her eyes slipped shut, and she timed the heaving of her chest to be in line with the beats of her heart, which reverberated in her throat. One! Two! Three! Four. Five. Six...seven......eight. Her eyelids fluttered open, and her consternation had subsided. Mercifully, her dust craft had remained in one piece. Fleo allowed herself to fall back on the nearest bar stool, smiling a faint smile. “Good to meet you, S-class Blades Magic Damian Gerard. I don't know what comes next, but I know I'll be along with you all for the ride. I don't remember if I told you all this or not, but I am Fleo Plector, an A-class sorceress. Surprisin', right? Who woulda thought that Dust magic was good for anythin' but making museum pieces look authentic?” Her magenta eyes held a glimmer of humor, but nothing on the level of full trust. If Damian really did suspect that she was keeping a secret, it would still be some time before he might be made privy to it. “If we're going after the council, and they're really corrupt, I'll be there to wash away their evils with the sand of time. Before that, but after you're rested, I might take you up on sparring!”

She held a bandage-embalmed hand up and declared, “Dust Craft: Blade of Phoenix Wing.” In her hand materialized a sword that appeared to be a near-perfect copy of Damian's Ares blade, just as she remembered it, except for the colors of course. As they watched, however, she let the replica crumble to mere dust, and winced. ”You'd have to go easy on me though, Mr. S-Class.”

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

Yep.

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

I feel as if Bal'Tazor and the Flesh That Hates would be good friends.

Let's say that Dahlia and her Iron Brigade are roughly six miles south of the northernmost Town/Small City on the map. I assume you're just curious.

Speaking of curiosity, are @Cale Tucker, @The 42nd Gecko, or @yoshua171 still around? I'd assume not, since they haven't even been online in some days, which is quite disappointing.

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

The enormity of what Emily requested was not lost upon Sen-sen, but he understood immediately. No attempts to seem more sagelike, no chewing the scenery or trying to make sure he had heard correctly—this Traveler was straight to the point. “You are effectively asking to take over the Monolith, to rule it in place of the Journeymen. Certainly to outsiders we may seem a bit...quirky, but I assure you we have governed well. I suspect that I need not launch into a mantra of how long our city has stood and how many perils we've overcome. I might as well tell you that, as of our Chronicler's latest report, we are the most prodigious manufacturing center in Cyprus.”

Now, Sen-sen was still. He and Emily had almost reached the end of the short bridge that led to the Sestet before they had stopped. “You say that you don't need resources or letters, which would have gained you allies. Allies are what fight wars, and resources are what wars are fought with. Strength comes from the sharpness of swords, the payloads of ballistae, and the might of magic. Power comes from those you have influence over. If you wish to use our city as a base of operations, fine. We never turn down someone seeking shelter, for the costs of living here are inherent. If you have new avenues of labor, so be it. Labor is what sustains this city; it is what our Workers do. We already have more industry than we do outputs for it, so a cause for it to be useful will be welcomed...as a suggestion. However, you cannot 'host' the Travelers. Workers are bound to Monolith in order to stay alive, a physical link. When a Worker becomes a Traveler the link is only mental. Travelers are free to wander the world, and all of them do. Some keep contact with us, like our Chronicler. Some return to Monolith to take positions as teachers or guardsmen. Some cut all ties and are never seen again, pursuing their regained memories.”

“Regardless, Travelers are spread across the planet.” Sen-sen held up his hands. “Uniting them is an impossible task even for the Journeymen, and the only authority higher than us in this city is a silent one. We have hundreds of thousands of Workers in Monolith, but fewer than a hundred Travelers. To be sure, they are warriors unlike anything else on Cyprus, with enchanted bodies and magic that easily rivals the strength -if not the versatility- of human mages and demons alike. But they are only a small part of the whole, and the whole is not organized. Monolith is not like the empires of Cyprus. It is like a nest. A world unto itself, in which incredible things can grow and take wing.”

Sen-sen bowed. “Forgive me, my eloquence is likely boring you to tears. The bottom line is, we will work for you, and you may construct your 'Heart' in our city, but you cannot rule us, and uniting the Travelers spread thin across the planet is out of the question.”

He looked to the side, and seemed surprised to discover that Salvadore, Kai, and Elvilika were all watching. They had come up, quietly but not attempting to be stealthy, while Sen-sen spoke. At a loss for words, Sen-sen bowed to them as well, then returned his focus to the little lady he had addressed.

Legends of Zelda... and Everyone Else

Midna, a hand against her ethereal forehead, nodded in distracted agreement with Ciela. While Zant managed to still his spinning head enough to pipe up with, "Sharing is a virtue," it was plain that he felt the same. When Link called his horse in for Zant to use, Midna's eyes lit up. She called upon her power of trichomancy--hair magic. A cluster of her locks formed into the shape of a hand, roughly the size of her face and aglow with orange light, which reached out of its own accord and stroked Epona's flank. It wasn't hard to guess that the Twilis' incorporeal forms could only physically interact with the world of light when imbuing a part of their bodies with magic. "I think we'll be fine to float along for now, though you do have a lovely horse," the Twilight Princess crooned. She then added, "Plus, in spirit form it might be more difficult for the spirits of these woods to get inside our heads."

Soonafter the small group was on the move again. The Twili drifted along much like ghosts, but both were highly attentive to their surroundings. While Midna suffered no more mental influence, she could still have sworn that she saw shadows moving at the edge of her vision, and voices whispering in the wind through the leaves. This alarmed her mostly because under normal circumstances she would have been one of those shadows. As it was, Midna grew more sure that the party was no longer alone. Zant, in particular, kept up a sharp vigil, looking around almost as frequently as the steady beat of Epona's clopping hooves.