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Eviledd1984
DancesWMonsters
Archmage MC
Dyelli Beybi
TruthHurts
FujiwaraPhoenix
Bingelly
XoXKieroBombXoX
darkred
Zoey BoeyLumbridge
Location: Lumbridge, the Land of Adventure
For the brief period he was with Linkle, Link seemed to be baffled. She spoke with such excitement and reverence, making him out to be a great hero, yet he knew he wasn't there yet. He didn't know whether to be bashful, proud, or what, but the end result appeared to be 'speechless'. Moving on like a whirlwind, Linkle left almost as quickly as she came, sending an entreaty before she rushed his way. Link answered her request to meet again with an energetic nod, then waved as Linkle went to help her friends. After a few more moments all the new arrivals were within Lumbridge, and the appointed guards were left to sort out their thoughts in curiosity and intrigue. Link knew one thing: if that girl liked people with his name and/or look, she'd be getting a kick out of this place.
In fact, on the other side of the Guild, another surprise lay in wait. While nothing of interest stood out to Linkle from the paddock she passed by on the way to her destination with her group, a brief journey beyond the castle would turn up another replete with birds. Anyone, but Linkle most of all, could tell the difference between chickens and cuccos.
Inside the Guild, Bowser's question scared the guildmarm half to death. In a whirl of papers she raced to answer the king koopa's question, settling at last on a contract card with a somewhat indistinct but still threatening drawing at the top. “H-here you are!” the poor woman stammered, not terribly assuaged by Kamek's interjection. “An F r-rank hunt, the toughest available right now!” So frazzled was she that she didn't even attempt to bring up the pool of bureaucracy and due process that adventurers were supposed to get through. Just handing out a dangerous quest to a bunch of newcomers not even signed up as adventurers constituted a despicable breach of professional procedure. The more she thought about it, the more the guildmarm couldn't bear to bring it up. After a few moments, against her every instinct, she cleared her voice to speak.
“S-sir!” she started, trying to get Bowser's attention. “I h-have to say, doing this is super...just, really out of line! There's a whole ranking system to go through, with certifications and such. Even the most promising newbies are supposed to start at C!” Despite her assertions, of course, the guildmarm couldn't to anything to enforce the guild's protocol.
Her situation did not go unnoticed. Well behind the counter, a robed figure turned to look with interest at the newcomers. Until now, he had evidenced no reaction to Bowser or his crew, but Kamek's words sparked a definite reaction. Walking over, he held up his hands in a show of surprise. “Weeeell, look what the cat dragged in! A whole herd of new faces, ready to put the screw to the rules and the baddest critters around, to boot!”
While anyone with half a brain could tell that outwardly the guy looked like the Master of Masters, given his garb, the fellow's manner was completely different. His voice, cheerful and quaint but with an unmistakable undertone of sleaze, harbored a certain compelling charisma, and the mystery man himself could not stop moving. Even with his features hidden, he looked every inch like an animated caricature.
The guildmarm's eyes went wide. “Guildmaster?”
Jiving up and down, he placed a white glove on the guildmarm's shoulders. She seemed to calm down, and her boss turned his attention to the others. “Now, normally it ain't how this works, but since it's a big week, I ain't afraid to make a bet or two.” He held up his other hand and twisted it about with a flourish. Nestled between his fingers were a number of cards, where none had been before. “See here, wheat? It's yer lucky number. Seven contracts, some easy, some tough. Last one's the hunt you seen already.” True to his word, the contract card given by the guildmarm moments ago was nowhere to be found but in the guildmaster's hand. One could picture the smug grin inside that hood. “In this neck o' the woods, things work a certain way, awright? You try that F-rank first, you'll be lucky to paint li'l missy Malon's new barn! Ankle on over if ya like, but don't come cryin' to me.”
He leaned forward, placing both hands on the counter. “But instead, howsabout youse folks wipe out summa these quests, huh? If I startcha at Rank C, anyone who participates in two of 'em gets to E, which ain't two shakes from F, y'know. Enough to give it to that monster but good!” Chuckling, he slid the cards across the counter, lining them up in a perfect row for inspection. “Plus, ya get all the quests' rewards. Betcha ain't seen a deal that sweet before! All I need's your Hancocks, right at the bottom.” His wiggling finger indicated one of the cards' dotted lines, where a signature or two need be signed.
Nero
Location: Dead Zone
Nero held back a moment before jumping into the fray, which turned out to be wise. While Ratchet display a refreshing inclination to trust the demon hunter's advice, Jak and Daxter held no such compunctions. Telling Nero that he asked them to come, which couldn't be farther from the truth, the pair just opened fire into the mobs. Nero sighed as the instant weapons discharge attracted every undead in the area immediately, also putting the empusa on guard—not that their vigilance meant much of anything to him. Worse, their aggression fired up Ratchet too, who sent a couple bombs hurtling at the empusa. The bumbling, insectoid demons took the blasts head-on and were sent sprawling to the ground, but a moment later they rose again. Jak's Morph Gun ripped through the zombie crowd next, and everyone else went to work.
From atop his hovering disc, Donnie struck down at ghoul after ghoul from a safe distance. Smart, given what Nero presumed to be a lack of immunity to whatever made these rotten wretched walk. Spending time to grab the spirits the zombies left behind left him low and open, and while it worked out for a while, he soon felt the sticky embrace of an abnormal zombie's tongue. It threatened to yank him from his ensorcelled platform and into the waiting, frothing maws of lesser undead beneath, but the monk held firm and put the disc into overdrive. One cunning maneuver later, the Smoker lay in a dubious pile against a crashed vehicle, filled the area with acrid fumes.
Nero watched as Donnie then found himself beset by an empusa, but just one presented little real threat. The fistfighter merely flipped it over and started pounding it, with Nero taking note of how many strikes it took to do the weak demon in. Even the weakest demons presented a non-insignificant challenge to conventional weaponry.
Meanwhile, Blazermate's turret plugged away the horde dutifully. It worked with mechanical precision, yet its inability to focus on more than one target at a time slowed its progress. That left Banjo and Kazooie with plenty of work to do, and despite their appearances they put their all into their closely-coordinated fighting. They dealt with a number of infected, barely avoiding bites on several occasions, and even dealing with a second Smoker that attacked from the flank without warning. In the end, the bear's instincts plus the bird's speedy pecks left the wretched thing dying in a cloud of stinging smoke. When he destroyed its spirit, Banjo received a stained paddle bat. While unremarkable, it would help make up for his lack of range, which against infectious enemies meant a world of difference.
Gene, staying away from Ratchet and Jak's wild shooting, wiped up his fair share of kills, too. His raucous brawling drew the attention of the obese shambler, however, and it vented its guts upon him in a nauseating shower. Its demise at Gene's indignant hand -or foot, rather- came next, but the Boomer left a parting gift in the form of a second helping of putrid sludge. Worse still, the smell seemed to aggravate the common zombies, the remainder of which flocked his way. Even with the efforts of his allies, Gene would have fallen beneath the onslaught were it not for the power of the God Hand. With its strength he laid waste to his attackers, their friends, and their friends' friends too. By the time he found himself back at the van, Gene had taken out the remainder of the horde thinned out by the gunners.
His foreboding words -a somber reality check- did sadly go unnoticed by Nero, who by that time took matters into his own hands. Walking with quiet confidence, the demon hunter approached the empusa. He placed one hand on the Red Queen's hilt and revved it like a motorcycle, complete with the roar of an engine and a spurt of flame. Then, in one motion, he shot forward, streaking across the pavement toward the demons to let loose a wide horizontal slash. Blood flew as his blade cut through, its force knocking the empusa down once more. Before the middle one could hit the ground, a wire hook zipped out from the elbow of Nero's prosthetic harm, buried itself in the demon's bad, and reeled it in like a fish on a line. An upward crescent slash carried it into the air, and Nero followed suit with slice after slice, hacking the demon into pieces. A final overhead blow through its body spelled its end and carried him downward into the empusa below.
The hapless demons could barely shriek before he renewed his assault. One, two, then two wide-reaching spin slashes that left them reeling. Gritting his teeth, Nero let out a cry as he extended his prosthetic hand. It thrust forward, opening up, and a burst of brilliant electricity thundered outward in a hand-shaped shockwave that blew them empusa into bloody chunks.
Exhaling, Nero turned to face the others. Everyone looked to be in one piece, with no serious injuries sustained. The gunk clinging to Gene, however, earned him a concerned look. “Yeah, get yourself cleaned. That stuff can't be healthy. Nico's got a shower in the van. After we reach the kids.”
At that moment, the vehicle rolled up, pushing through the cars and over corpses without much of a problem. Nico herself took one whiff of Gene and blached. “Wheeeew-ee! Yer one filfthy mister. I ain't havin' that stuff sittin' 'round in my van nowhere. Liable to be all kinds of diseased.”
Nero gave a sigh. “Well, we'll figure it out. First priority is that boy band.” He shook demon blood from his prosthetic and climbed in. The others could return to their vehicles if they wished, or just run up the street themselves. Nico didn't wait for them, instead forging onward in the direction of shouting and gunfire.
Cresting the hill brought the van onto the edge of a frenetic battle. A gigantic, swollen zombie had engaged all four, and while it sported a number of burns, oozing cuts, and bulletholes, it fought with outrageous intensity. Plain to see, the four could barely keep themselves out of its killer grip while sneaking a hit in every once in a while. Their fancy ride lay half-buried in a storefront and smoking, but right now, the Regalia was the least of their worries.
“Prompto, now!” the burly one yelled, barely wheeling out of the way of a brutal overhead slam while shearing off a chunk of gray flesh with a spinning strike. Seeing an opening, the straw-haired one fired shot after shot from his revolver, aiming for the Tank's comparatively small legs. It gave a snarl, tore a chunk of asphalt free from the street, and hurled it the gunslinger's way. Prompto dodged, and the greatswordsman, seeing his opening, made to hack at the Tank's damaged leg. But rather than chasing Prompto, the monster turned on the closer threat, poised to swat the boy's head into paste.
“Gladio!” Came a cry from afar, and in an arcane flash the messy black-haired one appeared, sinking his blade into the Tank's back. With a roar the monster reached up and threw the boy off, who tumbled across the hard ground with a yelp of pain. The Tank leaped after him, but at the last moment his target warped away, appeared near his glasses-wearing friend. “Guh!” he coughed, the wind knocked out of him. Too close, the Tank prepared to run the pair down, but a pair of bullets smashed into its shoulder from the side.
Gun smoking, Nero stepped up. He remained across the street, but now that he got a good look at it, the monster was even less pleasant than it seemed. A weird brownish patch of fleshy tumors and nodules dominated its chest and head, with red-bristled feelers extending from the mass. “Let's help 'em out,” he told his crew. “Watch your friendly fire.”
