Lugubrious

World of Light

Whoops

World of Light

You could fight Ryu.

@Gentlemanvaultboy

That's not a bad idea, @Stekkmen. We could collab it, or if someone else is particularly interested in playing Ryu, you could do it with them. What do you say?

Chronicles of a Lost War

The Man who Returned

Name: Malachi Ghundrach

Appearance: Malachi is a man of imposing stature, standing at 6'8” and weighing over 350 lbs, solid of physique and feature, with enough muscle and scarring for a small army. However, an extravagant hairdo and easy smile prevent him from coming off as brutish or scary. While his dark eyes and steely gray hair don't do much to offset his desaturated palette, he does have a few dyed streaks in his 'do and the green of his outfit catch the eye, specifically the green cloth decorating his steel-ridden leather armor over murky black cloth pants.

A friendly face

Age: 42

Race: Half-elf

Abilities: Malachi possesses the upper limits of human strength and constitution. His is an almost supernatural fighting sense; acutely aware of his surroundings and himself, he wields astonishing finesse and martial prowess. Thanks to magical stimulants, he also boasts great regeneration and not half-bad magical resistance.

Skills: Malachi's ability is more than skin deep, not just natural talents and magical enhancement. His origins and the ensuing life of fighting, long before he rose to the status of 'champion', demanded unwavering, constant education and training. He worked hard over decades to become a masterful brawler and whispered-of warrior, filling himself with expertise, tactics, and mastery. However, fighting is not at all who he is. Malachi is a skilled hunter, builder, charm-maker, and companion. He boasts a number of mundane skills related to upkeep and mending, though none terribly extraordinary, despite his own extreme overstatement of his cooking ability.

Personality: Powerful, genuine, and full of life, Malachi is a vivacious warrior. Though respecting of strength, he doesn't believe it is anything more than a tool, and though lauded as many by a hero, he decries heroism and his own status. Malachi desires no particular glory nor strives for any particular ideals. Instead, he only wishes to live truly and fully, and for others to do the same.

To that end, he's both critical and dismissive of ego, secrecy, dishonesty, supremacy, and propriety, as such sometimes coming off as rude, compulsive, selfish, and disrespectful. Those who display such qualities find him a man of brutal and unrepentant honesty, who doesn't find it necessary to deal with the slightest lick of nonsense. However, he's a true friend for those who show him strength of will and heart, putting his empathy and intelligence toward helping them live better lives, too.

He loves fighting, in particular fair fighting, but not killing, though he will harden his heart and do so if there's no other way. Despite the good he's done for others, he insists he's not anyone special, and doesn't in fact go about making others' benefit his goal. As such, he doesn't often see the big picture, and requires direction in order to accomplish big things.

In short, he's a straightforward fellow, a fighter at heart who wants to live life to the fullest.

History: Hailing from Sydane, an industrious nation of mountainous islands linked by natural bridges and abundant shallows in the southern sea, Malachi found himself surrounded by war at a young age, owing to Sydane's neighboring nation-states Ishkigal and Venbajeer. As the scion of a prominent fighting family in a culture that prized martial ability, he drilled from a young age. Though essentially a commoner, his larger-than-life, straightforward attitude landed him an unlikely friendship: Ephraim, Sydane's crown prince and future king, who found him a refreshing change from the nobility. Their camaraderie thrust Malachi into the forefront of the action when war came to Sydane's shores.

Too soon, he found the wonderful life he so enjoyed under assault. Fellowmen, friends, and eventually family fell in that six-year war, and while Malachi's innermost values remained firm, the war never left him. His love of peace and plenty served him well, but he found himself growing bored. Fighting, he had learned, was a part of life. To that end he served as a mercenary, powering through thick and thin, until the day of his old friend's coronation. After that, he left his land behind, roving across Unira to see what the country had to offer. He ate, drank, fought, and made merry, fighting heroic battles and taking care never to lose his life. Uncaring of what others thought, he lent his strength to whatever cause he believed in, and grew both rich and famous as a mercenary. Eventually, with the reckless abandon of his youth faded away, he settled down in the fortress town of Giltersain, married, and had three children. Thoughts of his homeland had faded.

Everything came rushing back, however, when news reached the town of a catastrophe not far from Sydane. The latest expedition into the furthest reaches of the mine below Ishkigal, now an economic powerhouse following its defeat and reconstruction decades ago, had broken forbidden ground. Nightmarish creatures, twisted mockeries of man, surged from the ancient, chiseled passageways to slaughter all in their path, their plagued fangs twisting their victims into gibbering minions to join the flood. Heroes from across the continent flocked to the city and delved below, and despite his wonderful life Malachi joined them. Old friends by his side, he adventured into the lowest depths imaginable, where the nighmarish bones of an eon-forgotten civilization sprang to life to annihilate their disturbers. No word exists of what exactly happened down there, since those few who returned -irreparably changed- refused to speak of it, but those who came carried with them ancient weapons, found and used by necessity. Malachi wielded fists of stone, or perhaps fossil—pieces of Those who came before. They served him as both weapons and as reminders: that heroism was a foolish fantasy.

When war erupted across Unira not long after, spurred by the ambitions of Emperor Lucius, the former hero took no side. Leaving the nightmare beneath Ishkigal far behind, he took refuge with his family in the far north of Alliance territory, fighting bandits and undead, and eventually, Empire soldiers that came to claim his life for their own. Eventually, Malachi did take up arms for the Alliance, his campaign culminating in the Tiarden Alliance's surprise victory. One battle did not win the war, however, and Malachi -grievously wounded- knew his limits. Faced with death in battle against the Empire, Malachi panicked and chose to be sealed away for the sake of the future, leaving his family behind.

Other: Malachi wields a pair of gauntlets, perhaps more accurately describable as shield-fists, that he casually calls the Heavies despite their remarkable -and perhaps abominable- nature. Made of pitch-black stone, they take substantial strength to wield, though the grace with which Malachi does so wouldn't suggest it. Far more remarkable is the Heavies' origin, which has led tale-tellers to hail them as the Dregs of the Planet. Brought forth from the Utter Depths, the deepest dark known to the world, they are freakishly dense and resonant. They absorb all manner of magic, flat-out nullifying most spells and curses that Malachi even comes near, let alone blocks with them. Strong spells that strike them are 'eaten', empowering the gauntlets with their magic temporarily. They resonate with their wielder, allowing weighty blows to create directed tremors and shockwaves. In fact, they seem somehow linked with him, in a manner eerily parasitic. They are resilient -not impervious- to harm, but they visibly regenerate when damaged, and pieces of them possess toxic, degenerative qualities.

Chronicles of a Lost War

@Lugubrious: It's Vandham! \o/
Well, not really, but close enough.
There's one tidbit that seems a bit off:
<Snipped quote>
I think it'd be 'against' here.

But, like, other than that weird hiccup, the character should be fine. Edit that, then accepted.

@PKMNB0Y

Whoops, I did in fact mean 'Alliance' instead of 'Empire'. Good catch! And thanks for the accept. You're a quick reader!

Chronicles of a Lost War

Here is my application. I hope it's good, but if not, I'm happy to fix whatever need be.

The Man who Returned

Name: Malachi Ghundrach

Appearance: Malachi is a man of imposing stature, standing at 6'8” and weighing over 350 lbs, solid of physique and feature, with enough muscle and scarring for a small army. However, an extravagant hairdo and easy smile prevent him from coming off as brutish or scary. While his dark eyes and steely gray hair don't do much to offset his desaturated palette, he does have a few dyed streaks in his 'do and the green of his outfit catch the eye, specifically the green cloth decorating his steel-ridden leather armor over murky black cloth pants.

A friendly face

Age: 42

Race: Half-elf

Abilities: Malachi possesses the upper limits of human strength and constitution. His is an almost supernatural fighting sense; acutely aware of his surroundings and himself, he wields astonishing finesse and martial prowess. Thanks to magical stimulants, he also boasts great regeneration and not half-bad magical resistance.

Skills: Malachi's ability is more than skin deep, not just natural talents and magical enhancement. His origins and the ensuing life of fighting, long before he rose to the status of 'champion', demanded unwavering, constant education and training. He worked hard over decades to become a masterful brawler and whispered-of warrior, filling himself with expertise, tactics, and mastery. However, fighting is not at all who he is. Malachi is a skilled hunter, builder, charm-maker, and companion. He boasts a number of mundane skills related to upkeep and mending, though none terribly extraordinary, despite his own extreme overstatement of his cooking ability.

Personality: Powerful, genuine, and full of life, Malachi is a vivacious warrior. Though respecting of strength, he doesn't believe it is anything more than a tool, and though lauded as many by a hero, he decries heroism and his own status. Malachi desires no particular glory nor strives for any particular ideals. Instead, he only wishes to live truly and fully, and for others to do the same.

To that end, he's both critical and dismissive of ego, secrecy, dishonesty, supremacy, and propriety, as such sometimes coming off as rude, compulsive, selfish, and disrespectful. Those who display such qualities find him a man of brutal and unrepentant honesty, who doesn't find it necessary to deal with the slightest lick of nonsense. However, he's a true friend for those who show him strength of will and heart, putting his empathy and intelligence toward helping them live better lives, too.

He loves fighting, in particular fair fighting, but not killing, though he will harden his heart and do so if there's no other way. Despite the good he's done for others, he insists he's not anyone special, and doesn't in fact go about making others' benefit his goal. As such, he doesn't often see the big picture, and requires direction in order to accomplish big things.

In short, he's a straightforward fellow, a fighter at heart who wants to live life to the fullest.

History: Hailing from Sydane, an industrious nation of mountainous islands linked by natural bridges and abundant shallows in the southern sea, Malachi found himself surrounded by war at a young age, owing to Sydane's neighboring nation-states Ishkigal and Venbajeer. As the scion of a prominent fighting family in a culture that prized martial ability, he drilled from a young age. Though essentially a commoner, his larger-than-life, straightforward attitude landed him an unlikely friendship: Ephraim, Sydane's crown prince and future king, who found him a refreshing change from the nobility. Their camaraderie thrust Malachi into the forefront of the action when war came to Sydane's shores.

Too soon, he found the wonderful life he so enjoyed under assault. Fellowmen, friends, and eventually family fell in that six-year war, and while Malachi's innermost values remained firm, the war never left him. His love of peace and plenty served him well, but he found himself growing bored. Fighting, he had learned, was a part of life. To that end he served as a mercenary, powering through thick and thin, until the day of his old friend's coronation. After that, he left his land behind, roving across Unira to see what the country had to offer. He ate, drank, fought, and made merry, fighting heroic battles and taking care never to lose his life. Uncaring of what others thought, he lent his strength to whatever cause he believed in, and grew both rich and famous as a mercenary. Eventually, with the reckless abandon of his youth faded away, he settled down in the fortress town of Giltersain, married, and had three children. Thoughts of his homeland had faded.

Everything came rushing back, however, when news reached the town of a catastrophe not far from Sydane. The latest expedition into the furthest reaches of the mine below Ishkigal, now an economic powerhouse following its defeat and reconstruction decades ago, had broken forbidden ground. Nightmarish creatures, twisted mockeries of man, surged from the ancient, chiseled passageways to slaughter all in their path, their plagued fangs twisting their victims into gibbering minions to join the flood. Heroes from across the continent flocked to the city and delved below, and despite his wonderful life Malachi joined them. Old friends by his side, he adventured into the lowest depths imaginable, where the nighmarish bones of an eon-forgotten civilization sprang to life to annihilate their disturbers. No word exists of what exactly happened down there, since those few who returned -irreparably changed- refused to speak of it, but those who came carried with them ancient weapons, found and used by necessity. Malachi wielded fists of stone, or perhaps fossil—pieces of Those who came before. They served him as both weapons and as reminders: that heroism was a foolish fantasy.

When war erupted across Unira not long after, spurred by the ambitions of Emperor Lucius, the former hero took no side. Leaving the nightmare beneath Ishkigal far behind, he took refuge with his family in the far north of Alliance territory, fighting bandits and undead, and eventually, Empire soldiers that came to claim his life for their own. Eventually, Malachi did take up arms for the Empire, his campaign culminating in the Tiarden Alliance's surprise victory. One battle did not win the war, however, and Malachi -grievously wounded- knew his limits. Faced with death in battle against the Empire, Malachi panicked and chose to be sealed away for the sake of the future, leaving his family behind.

Other: Malachi wields a pair of gauntlets, perhaps more accurately describable as shield-fists, that he casually calls the Heavies despite their remarkable -and perhaps abominable- nature. Made of pitch-black stone, they take substantial strength to wield, though the grace with which Malachi does so wouldn't suggest it. Far more remarkable is the Heavies' origin, which has led tale-tellers to hail them as the Dregs of the Planet. Brought forth from the Utter Depths, the deepest dark known to the world, they are freakishly dense and resonant. They absorb all manner of magic, flat-out nullifying most spells and curses that Malachi even comes near, let alone blocks with them. They resonate with their wielder, allowing weighty blows to create directed tremors and shockwaves. In fact, they seem somehow linked with him, in a manner eerily parasitic.

Chronicles of a Lost War — Interest Check

I'm down.

Help! My Whole Town Is Stuck In This Fantasy World! (Interest Check)

I'm interested. The community aspect sounds cool, and having agency to do some worldbuilding in a CS is always attractive.

Re:Unison

In that case, I wish you well.

World of Light

Lumbridge

Location: Lumbridge, the Land of Adventure

For Bowser Jr

You have acquired:
Steak
Tasty, nutritious, hearty, and as fresh off the range as it gets: beef cooked on the spot by a blazing fire attack. Good on its own, but better with seasoning, and downright excellent in a proper dish.

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.

Wiggler Capture

Quest Giver: Endemic Life Researcher
We're on the verge of a breakthrough—a way to scatter things like potions and powders across a much greater range, allowing one member of a team to support the whole with ease and efficiency. But to finish our prototypes, we need Wigglers. Find them in the highlands waaay to the south, sneak up real quiet, and net them
Reward: Wiggler Helmet, pet Wiggler, First Wyverian Print

Double Ore Nothing

Quest Giver: Ramona
A new week means new orders, repairs, you name it. My sisters and I are never idle, unless we've run out of materials. Scouts say there's a fine-looking ravine to the east. Bring us as much ore as you can carry, and we'll make sure you're well paid.
Reward: 10 rupies (per unit of common ore), 25 rupies (per unit of uncommon ore), 45 rupies (per unit of rare ore), 80 rupies (per rare gemstone), 200 rupies (per magnificent gemstone)

Missing Person

Quest Giver: Malo
Important client went missing. Last heard of heading toward the southern temple scouts found yesterday. Find her and bring her back. Or at least her satchel.
Reward: 300 rupies, magic hourglass

Dangerous Catch

Quest Giver: the Houndmaster
Slimy, sag-mouthed, glassy-eyed things crawl through the murk of the southeastern lake, rising from unseen depths. Fish that walk like men now haunt its shores, perils to travelers through the region and omens of still more worrying stirrings. I would wipe them out myself were they more easily bled; those scales confound my the teeth of my hound and blackjack alike. Exterminate these pelagic fiends.
Reward: Bleed Amulet, Heavy Boots, Steady Bracer

Where the Answer Lies

Quest Giver: Ryu
I've wandered far in search of opponents. Fight me, and I'll give you something I picked up during my travels in return
Reward: Notable Spirit or Notable Spirit

Food for the Hungry

Quest Giver: Mina
Stat-boosting, motivation-maxing, quest-beating meals don't make themselves, you know! Satisfy this grocery list of vegetables, spices, and other stuff by harvesting the land and I'll give you these weird boxes I found on my last foray, plus a homecooked dinner on the house!
Reward: 3 Lootboxes, empowering meal

Terror of the Plains

Quest Giver: the Guildmaster
It's about time someone put the kibosh on that rampaging saurian. Put it down however you like, but don't bring it nowhere near the town. Think you got what it takes, fella? All bets are off on this one-of-a-kind showdown!
Reward: 1000 rupies, the spirit of the Monster, a free visit to each of the town's facilities, and celebratory status

Nero

Location: Dead Zone

For Ratchet

You have acquired:
Survival Knife
Its durability is limited, and the gummy flesh of the undead tend to get it stuck if stabbed in, but the knife is nevertheless a quintessental tool for checking tricky 'corpses' and breaking free of the grip of zombies allowed to grab hold

and
Green Herb x2
Originally from the Arklay mountains, this herb possesses astonishing medicinal properties. Its consumption stimulates natural healing and eases fatigue, not terribly strong but vital in a pinch. Plus, it even has temporary immunizing properties. Yet, one can't help but feel as if it could somehow lead to greater restoration.

and
M1911 Pistol
Dependable, if not strong, this pistol is a backup weapon with a 15 round magazine and above average accuracy. Somehow, a person wielding it will always find more ammunition on his or her person, but only for the M1911. Since it takes two headshots and five body shots to incapacitate a single zombie, however, it's inadvisable to employ it against hordes or special foes.

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.”

World of Light

Tora & Poppi

Level 5 Tora - (7/50) EXP and Level 4 Poppi - (6/40) EXP
Location: Lumbridge
Word Count: 835

Peach did not let the vista offered by the Land of Adventure to distract her for more than a few moments. After letting out a small sigh, she returned to her vehicle and put it into gear, and down the hill she went. Though the village lay only a short drive away, she caught up to Agoston, and the two reached Lumbridge together. They found themselves greeted immediately by a trio of appointed guardsmen: a purple-robed warrior, a little mage, and a youthful swordsman. While not the most talkative bunch outside of the girl, they seemed welcoming enough, and in an odd turn did not seem at all repulsed by the idea of a bunch of strangers entering their town. Once they felt reasonably assured that the visitors would do the place no harm, they allowed the convoy to enter, once they left their vehicles behind.

After exiting behind the mercifully near-vacant rabbid truck along with Linkle, Tora lent his egg-shaped body to help Poppi walk into Lumbridge. The place featured every conceivably trait of a cheery beginning-of-journey town, complete with numerous useful facilities and an atmosphere of potential. The foremost guardsman suggested that the heroes check in with the Guild, which occupied a central position in Lumbridge not just physically, but in all its affairs. A walk there brought the heroes past a few different stores, a couple fenced-in paddocks with livestock, numerous houses, and businesses like a tanner, blacksmith, and apothecary.

From the moment that Hat Kid first started down the main path, the familiar activity of her hat suggested the presence of a nearby Time Piece, and a little searching brought her to the doorstep of the town's General Store. Its sign, on a wooden board near the steps to the door, identified it as 'Malo Mart'. From the moment she entered, a little, round face peered at her from behind the counter. Though Malo looked like a toddler, there was no mistaking the intellect behind his eyes. “Buy something..” he told her, gesturing at the shelf behind him. A number of items were on display with their prices, with several of denominations accepted. Above all of them was the Time Piece, with no listed price. The savvy entrepreneur caught his visitor's gaze. “Interested in that thing?” he asked, his tone remarkably deadpan. “Can't just sell it. Quest reward. Ask the guild. Or me, since you're here.”

Meanwhile, Peach led the main group toward the rather squat castle at Lumbridge's center, which constituted the Guild Hall. The transition from driving to walking allowed her to get a look at her team, however, and while she did assess the group's strength post-split, she found herself somewhat worried by Din. Dropping back to walk alongside her, Peach treated the dancer to a furrowed brow and concerned frown. “That's quite the drastic change,” she observed. “If you don't like it, I could try pulling the spirit out of you. Hopefully it'll put you back to what you were before.”

Her conversation allowed others to take the lead and approach the guild hall. They passed by the town sheriff having a few words with a young, eager-looking deputy, the both of whom fell silent to eye the new arrivals but did nothing further. The lawman's enormous, fearsome-looking hound looked at them most pointedly, but with no word from her master she patiently restrained herself. Inside the hall, across a large common area with open floor surrounded by tables, the guildmarm doled out assignments and reward vouchers from behind her desk with the help of her catlike palico companions.

The appearance of strangers, some pretty tough-looking, earned more than a few interested, wary, and awed stares from the hall's population. Nearest the door, a boy looked up from his lunch with shining eyes, and not far away, a genial duo exchanged hushed words. A mercenary watched with cold eyes, while a bizarrely-shaped man looked up from some woodworking for only a moment.

As fascinating as all the new faces were, Tora turned back from the guild's entrance to head toward the blacksmith. Even if they didn't have materials he could use to patch up Poppi, the felt sure that the ambient energy from the forge would help restore her supply of ether. After a few minutes of hauling his companion along, he struggled inside the smithy and keeled over in exhaustion. “Meeeeeh! So tired! Poppi much heavier than she looks.” Wiping sweat from his brow, he picked himself up to state his intentions, only for his jaw to hit the floor. The smiths, hard at work in the middle of a three-person project, were a trio of astonishing sisters, now looking up at the Nopon in a mix of irritation and curiosity. All of a sudden, Tora found himself flabbergasted, utterly unable to speak, and the next moment he keeled over once again. “Poppi...” he gasped. “Get Tora out of here! Cannot...function!” Since Poppi couldn't either, however, he soon realized he'd be getting out of nowhere fast.

Nero

Location: To the Dead Zone

Nero watched as, one after another, a couple of Gene's friends pledged to join him on his divergent path. First to lend their support were the two techy duos, Ratchet & Clank and Jak & Dakster. He shook his head with pressed lips, hoping the pairs fought harder than they looked. Next, a antiquated but tough-looking monk showed himself, claiming a record of demon slaughter. If so, Nero imagined he'd be an asset, but fists, feet, and simple blades wouldn't do much against anything tougher than an empusa. Last to join was another partnership, half bear and half bird. Their competence the demon hunter found himself doubting very much, despite not wanting to think ill of them. It already felt like he was back home with the orphans, trying in vain to keep them organized and safe, but this time he'd be herding chickens on a battlefield.

“If you're serious, well...I guess we'll get going.” He climbed into the passenger seat of the van, then leaned out the window. “I'll keep you safe, but please, if things look bad, you gotta turn back. No sense letting pride get ya killed.” Only at that point did he realize that the weird-looking robot girl would be coming along as well, piling along with the animal partners in their trolley.

He said nothing though, leaving Nico to follow up on his rather genuine advice. “Ya don't got yer own ride, hop in with us. Let's get this show on the road, folks!”

And in a matter of moments, she did just that.

---

The sky grew noticeably darker, bit by bit. Dark clouds seemed to surround the Dead Zone, lending it an appropriately dire atmosphere. As the incoming vehicles grew closer, sharp eyes could begin to better identify a looming tower of darkness within the city center. Too cylindrical to be natural, or a building, its monolithic coils spiraled high into the dusky air, leaving little doubt as to the dire nature of the phenomenon dominating the city. Nero and his friend remained quiet as they got closer, the presence of strangers putting a damper on what would otherwise be occasional friendly banter, but they left the radio on, and Nero did consent to light her cigarette despite clearly hating the smoke. Of the two, only Nero glanced at the sign that passed on the right heralding the ruined metropolis' name: Redgraccoon City.

Almost immediately, the zombie attacks began. Shambling, ragged, rotting things stood on the road, wandering among the wreckage in a vain, endless search. Nico showed no compunctions whatsoever about pancaking the things, crushing them into vile brownish-red pulp under her van's weight, but the smaller vehicles following behind had no such luxury. For a couple, in fact, a collision meant a totaled kart or a closer encounter of the vicious kind with a struck zombie's upper half. However, the road wasn't as full as it might have been; a few other nauseating stains suggested the passage of another sturdy vehicle a short time prior.

Nero leaned out the window, examining the road ahead. A handful of shapes loomed a short way in front of a burning truck, larger and stranger than the dead things all around. In a flash, he produced a handsome silver revolver of prodigious size from his jacket, and fired. A hole appeared in the head of one of the demons, and a second the next instant dropped it to the ground. Another, clinging to an exit sign, was too far to the left for a good shot, so instead Nero aimed for a nearby traffic sign. His bullet sheered through the metal, sending the sign spinning through the air, and with uncanny precision its sharpened pole impaled the demon straight through. While not terribly hurt, it fell from its perch with a shriek, and the pole stuck in the ground, pinning it. Nico's van hurtled by the next moment, and another demon leaped onto the driver's side. For the first time, the heroes could get a good look at it. The monster was grotesque, a lowly mockery of human flesh. Without so much as looking Nico plucked her cigarette out and smushed it against the empusa's nose, and the thing tumbled away with a shriek.

“First things first: find those kids,” Nero shouted into the rushing wind. “Once they're good, we need to meet up with a guy named V. Then, straight for the Qliphoth. I think.” The last bit he didn't enunciate quite as well. After a few twists and turns, the van came to a stop at a wreck-glutted intersection with an especially high number of zombies.

From the other side, up the street, echoing shouts could be heard and the glow of magic could be seen. How exactly the four friends from before managed to clear this infested intersection was a mystery, particularly given the presence of a couple interesting specimens, both more conspicuous and less. A few had been re-killed by empusa, who were busy harvesting blood from the corpses. “I'll get those,” Nero asserted. “Rest of you wipe out the shmucks. Let's clear a path.”

Casting him a glance, Nico leaned over. “Y'know, I could prob'ly just ram straight in, won't hurt the van too bad.”

Nero shook his head and whispered, “This'll be just a second. Plus, I need to get an idea of their abilities.” With that, he stepped outside. On his back was a gorgeous greatsword, picked up from somewhere inside the van. When he brandished it, it flowed in his hand like water, or maybe liquid fire. In that moment, before the demon hunter even took a swing, his new friends could catch a glimpse of just what sort of man they'd tagged along with.