Lugubrious

The Good Guys - A Hero Academia RP

Pardon me @Vinsmoke Goji, but did you get my application? I sent it through a PM.

The Good Guys - A Hero Academia RP

I'd like to apply. Working on a sheet now.

World of Light

Lumbridge

Location: the Land of Adventure

Din's initial response left Menat feeling a touch put off, since 'confidence and practice' was something anyone could tell her, if by some incredible fluke she didn't realize it herself. When the dancer launched into more thorough advice, however, the fortune teller listened at rapt attention and with gleaming eyes. Clearly, the enthusiastic girl was no stranger to instruction. She made mental notes of what Din said about how to approach fighting versus dancing, and when Din mentioned using her sash as a literal veil to mask her movements, Menat nodded vigorously. “Ah, that makes so much sense!” However, before she could say anything else, a number of other strangers appeared from the guildhouse, not too far away. Din headed over, beckoning, so Menat followed behind.

As she got closer, she recognized Geralt, though not from having met him personally. The witcher's entourage had subsided by now. Everyone had got their fill of him, it seemed, which meant he could enjoy more professional company. Apparently the man would be aiding the strangers with a quest that involved the restaurant owner, but not before Menat -at Din's suggestion- would be reading them a fortune or two, despite the scar dragon-turtle's irritating attempt to tug everyone along.

While not yet an expert, the purple-haired girl was happy to help as much as she could. “Of course! I may look young, but don't underestimate me.” With a flourish, she threw up her hand, and a see-through orb of bluish-purple energy, like a glowing bubble, appeared above it. “I shall present your prophecy!” Lowering the orb, she caressed it with her other hand, causing its energies to spin and undulate. When they settled, they took form without changing color, leaving a little bit of interpolation to do with the figures that appeared within the orb. The shapes moved and flashed in quick succession, offering just a momentary glimpse at the future.

First came a tall, slender figure with what appeared to be long sleeves. Menat narrowed her eyes. “I see...fear. You'll come to understand the task you've been given.” She appeared to be running from something, and after a moment, a wave of flame blanketed her, consuming her completely. Next came two humanoid figures, both with long ears atop their heads. The one with thinner ears had a smaller cape, while the other, with ears more like a giant cat's, wore a cloak that obscured her body. “A betrayal that will somehow work in your favor.” As the heroes watched, two giant blades lashed out from behind the cat-eared one and into the other, but then the scene faded. After that, a large shape that could only be Bowser stood atop some promontory, with Kamek hovering by his side on a broom. “Taking sides. A discovery, long avoided, of your own nature.” Many other shapes surrounded them on all sides, some familiar. After that, a glimpse of a smaller, stubbier shape staring at a bright spark in its hand, which it then placed into its heart and began to grow. “Becoming not what was supposed to be, but what was meant to be.” Finally, a man and a woman talking a short ways apart, matching swords drawn. “A single thought: how could it have come to this?”

Menat blanched. “Whoa!” Hastily, she shoved the orb aside to float behind her, devoid of any contents. “...Sorry to say, it looks bad. B-but don't worry. Fortune telling can be a guide, but the path is yours to walk. Just be careful, alright?” Looking sheepish, she took a step back. “Er, maybe I should...you know, be on my way. It was nice meeting you, especially you, miss Din. And thanks for the advice. But I need to find my master.” With that, the fortune teller left, leaving nebulous fates hanging in the air.

It didn't take long for Geralt to lead the others to the cookhouse. Stylish and cozy, it was a home and restaurant combined, not the sort of thing one would expect in a civilized place but not too unusual for the World of Light. There, a number of patrons were wrapping up their midday meals, and Mina herself could be found in the kitchen working alongside a fellow chef. A server bid the newcomers remain in the public space while she went back to fetch Mina, and the battlechef appeared a few moments later. “I'm so glad you're here!” she sang, clearly thrilled. “I was starting to think nobody would take my quest! I've been so busy that I haven't gotten a chance to go out and restock, but the best dishes need the freshest ingredients. And for the adventurers taming this land, I'll accept nothing less. I do have a list for you, here.” She produced a rolled-up parchment and, rather than giving it to Bowser, handed it to Geralt.

“Aptonoth meat is...fine, but it gets bland quick, and it's a bit gamey. Food needs to have spirit! So, the number-one thing on that list is Baurun meat, both ribs and steak. They're actually from my home world, so I'll really be able to whip up something special. There forest near the mining canyon out east that'll have plenty, plus beans and herbs. We've got some wheat fields around town, but the scouts found wild wheat a way south-southeast of that forest. That'll be just the stuff for my noodles. Get everything together, and I'll treat all of you,” she gave Bowser a sidelong glance, “to Baurun spare ribs and steak noodle soup. Please bring back as much as you can!”

A thought occurred to her, and she crossed her arms. “I forgot to tell you. If this is your first time, you should know how hunting works. Getting one portion from breaking a spirit isn't enough. The most important thing is precision. If your rough an animal up, its body will dust quicker once it's dead, so you need to be careful. Take it out without a lot of damage and you can get pieces before they dust.” Mina looked a touch worried, no doubt unhappy to be putting so much of a burden on these strangers. “I'm sorry to make you do this, but I'm so busy that there's really no other way.”

Grocery List

Canyon forest: baurun steak and ribs, king beans, cheepchi eggs, ginger, rhubarb, basil

Plains: wild wheat, basil, bay leaves, turnips, chocobo meat, tropius bananas

Caves: slime gelatin, spotted red mushrooms, low brown mushrooms, candle gourds, lantern fruit, lapizard meat

---

The guildmarm answered Agoston's query with a nod. “Yes, I believe he spends most of his time training around the hill by the town's eastern edge. It has a couple trees on it, there's a pond nearby, and water flows from a spring in the hill.” She pointed the Centurion in the right direction, helped him sign the quest card, and waved him off.

True to the guildmarm's word, Ryu could be found on the hill across the town's titular bridge, resting in a meditative position in the shade of the nut tree growing from the hilltop. Even at peace he looked intense, as though strength and fighting spirit filled his entire building, and when the Centurion approached Ryu seemed to sense it. With a grunt, the man rose from his position, no consideration given to the long white bag laid beside him. Turning to look down at Agoston, Ryu crossed his arms. While stern, he bore no trace of aggression or boisterousness, instead wearing a polite smile and giving the impression of a quiet, steadfast, humble soul. “Good afternoon. Are you here to help me on the path of my destiny?”

Chronicles of a Lost War

After draining a portion of his tankard, Malachi answered the bartender's question with a nod. "Ya got me. From way down south, actually. Thought I'd roam 'round the country to see what's goin' on." He wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand, then took a giant-sized bite of the first sandwich. Even simple ingredients tasted great when one was hungry. A few chews later, he maneuvered the food into a cheek and replied, "As for why I'm here, I spent a looong time wanderin' out in the wilds, survivin' on my own."

He paused to wonder why he was taking pains to construct a story when it would be easier just to be honest. Did it really matter, after all? Strange things happened all the time in a magical world, and it wasn't like he was going to just out himself as a one-time enemy of the empire. An old Sydane fairy tale came to mind, and he started work on an idea. After a moment or two spent with his mind in overdrive putting together what he wanted to say, Malachi continued. "To be honest, I'm real lost. Was up in the mountains when I heard these loud cracking noises. Found these little bearded men playing...some kind of game. Seemed alright, so I joined in. Had some of their drink, too. Guess I fell asleep. When I woke up, they were gone, and things were different. So, if you can tell me anythin' about the country, what's going on, even what year it is, I'll be real grateful." Wearing a distressed look, he put his sandwich down, and looked to the bartender for help.

World of Light

Forest Temple

Location: the Land of Adventure

Confused by its brush with an intrepid child, the parasite spider was on edge, but that didn't mean much when two men arrived with guns. It released a horrific hissing noise from its mouth as it advanced, only to be met with a torrent of small arms fire. While it took a good few shots, the carcass-spawn went down without much of a fight, oozing vile ichor from its wounds. The smell, if not the very sight of the wretched thing, drove the two men to figure out a way around the collapsed staircase and into the next room.

There, the same scene awaited them that Hat Kid beheld not long before. Within a bizarre, rather unnerving arrangement of colorfully-burning braziers, the still form of a young girl could be glimpsed. To someone with their modern sensibilities, the hazard seemed minimal, but any amount of inspection would prove the flames uncommonly difficult to breach, let al one quash. Whatever the solution might be, it lay not in this central chamber.

Without the kid's familiarity with such flames, however, the two friends were at a loss long enough for the fires to begin contorting in fascinating shapes. In a matter of moments, distinct creatures could be seen dancing within the blaze. They twirled and frolicked in merriment, and over the low roar of burning, eerie voices sang out one after another.

“We want to die...! Yaaaaay! We want to burn bright, then burn out. Become a cloud of smoke...! Our bonfires needs more fuel...only the finest paintings will do...” So saying, the fox spirits laughed and whirled about their respective fires, eagerly awaiting their demise.

---

The orange flame brazier pointed Hat Kid down a corridor, straight and bare of obstruction save for plant growth and cobwebs, until the hall opened up to a larger, cavelike room of dirt and stone. Well-lit by torches, it sported a single distinct furnishing: a tall hut of irregular stone bricks bearing ancient -in fact, nonsensical- machinery of rock and wood. On its side were a number of large wooden buttons, each adorned with a painted depiction of a pizza with some sort of topping, including pineapple, bell peppers, sausage, mushroom and cheese. Heat, noise, and light from inside the hut indicated the presence of an oven. Beyond the pizza hut, three trolls could be seen languishing atop some boulders, which along with the painting hanging above, suggested some semblance of a living room.

Upon seeing Hat Kid, however, the shortest, roundest troll leaped to his stumpy feet. “Fleen!?” he exclaimed, before narrowing his eyes and getting a better look. “You're not a fleen,” he remarked, confused, before giving an exasperated shrug. “Well, whatever you are..” he knelt, wringing his hands in a desperate plea. “MAKE ME A PIZZA!”

The others looked on, probably not hungry. Smirking, the thin one announced in a creaky, female voice, “I'd hop to it if I were you, miss. Arno gets awfully cranky without his pizza.”

Stuttering slightly, the last one piped up, “B-but he's very picky! W-well, we all are, really...” he gave a bashful grin. “He'll only likes one t-type, though he won't know it 'til he gets it. B-but you can probably figure it out. If you do, I'm sure he'll be r-really grateful.”

Nero

Location: Intersection outside fire station, Dead Zone

With the Tank primed and ready to explode, a short window had opened for someone else to get in there and show his stuff, and Gene stepped up to bat. The sight of him caused Nero to look twice in disbelief. Just what was he wearing!? His eyes widened. Had...he used the van's shower? That meant possibly infectious zombie gook in the plumbing, and more likely than not he hadn't cleansed himself of the disease, either. Gene could present quite the problem, Nero guessed, if his party ignored the chance of contamination. For now, however, he stood back to watch Gene fight.

At first, his blows practically bounced off the monster, even in its weakened state. Once the brawler dodged out of the way and collected himself, however, he re-engaged the raging Tank with a comically-effective move aptly named the 'ball buster', compromising the rotten hulk completely. Nero snickered, unable to deny the technique's humor, if not its crassness. He kept his eyes on the visibly-glowing, beeping Exploder, however. Gene proceeded to unleash a cascade of blows, growing in strength and volume, but not in situational awareness. Seeing this, Nero furrowed his brow. “Hey...” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Don't you think...?” Beep-beep-beep-beep. “You oughta get outta there, pal.” Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.

He put out a hand, but the Exploder went off with theatrical aplomb, reducing the battered Tank to odious chunks and sending Gene hurtling off to the side. Waving at Blazermate to come over, Nero jogged to the fallen fighter's resting place, worry etched on his features. When Gene's first sounds were a complaint, however, the demon hunter knew he'd be fine letting the medic patch him up. “You saw me stick it on,” Nero replied, incredulous. “Plus, I thought you were a professional. If you can't avoid one bomb with a ten-second fuse, or survive being near it, you should ride back to Hammerhead.” Nero didn't exactly mean for his Exploder to serve as a test, but if worked well enough, and Gene failed it. That sort of situational awareness would make him zombie chow before nightfall.

Nico's van pulled up, and the four friends gathered near. One by one, they expressed their thanks to the heroes, while Nero slid up to the van's window to receive a new arm from its driver. The green-colored device socketed neatly into its port, and he flexed its fingers experimentally. Once the kids' leader said his piece, Nero strolled back over. “Yeah, yeah. Look, you're good fighters, but this place is a hellhole. We're not here to save anything or be heroes, so if something looks rough, you run. Okay?” Noctis nodded. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he offered a hand. Nero shook it without a second thought.

The silence that followed proved awkward, so he pulled away, raising his voice to give instructions. “Alright, people! Let's move out. Street are stuffed, so we'll go slow and quiet, takin' out whatever gets too close.” Using his new arm, he pointed out a twisted organic spire rising into the sky not too far away, near the steeple of a large church. Though like the towering Qliphoth in appearance, it was clearly much, much smaller. “Over there. Guy I'm meeting said to meet by the closest one.” It lay on the other side of the market district, which would no doubt have more clutter, but fewer cars. Three such spires dotted the city, roughly equidistant around the unholy tree in its center.

Visiting them, however, was not on the four boys' radar. “We'll find some other monsters to take out. Not getting sick if we can help it,” Noctis told him. After a few moments, he returned to the Regalia, and the fancy car sped off the way it came.

As everyone else packed up, Nero happened to glance at the remains of the Tank. Even in pieces, the wretched thing kept moving. A couple things had emerged from the remnants of its torso, little pods with lots of legs and a few red-fronded antennae, like those protruding from the monster's belly early. Sighing, Nero pulled out the Blue Rose and fired, turning them one after another into flesh-colored splats. “Time to get lost,” he advised before climbing into the van. Before long the noise from the Exploder would bring a horde here, but there would be no heroes left by the time it arrived.

The Master of Masters

Location: Peach's Castle, the Mushroom Kingdom

The loss of Kamek's attention led the Master of Masters to assume he'd be stepping out and warping right back to his master's side, but instead he gave the room another thorough look. From the start the Master noticed his guest's interest, not too unlike the curiosity of an apprentice upon his or her first admittance to his old study. His remarks provoked a pleased chuckle from within the black hood. “Heh, well, I'm glad you think so. From one magician to another, I know you mean it. Betcha woulda blown your mind seein' my old stomping grounds.” Beyond that, however, he did not seem eager to recall it. Instead, he called upon his full focus to answer Kamek's next question.

“Darkness, huh? Ya don't know? Well, it's a subject near and dear to my heart, so pull up a chair while I bend your ear.” After standing up himself, the Master of Masters flipped his chair around and leaned forward across its back. Straightaway he began gesticulating, using his hands to punctuate every point. “Well, it's basically a universal force, opposite light. There's a whole realm of it, but it can be found anywhere. Even in here.” He prodded the koopa's shelled chest with his finger. “There's dark and light in every heart. It's natural, but that doesn't mean ya get to rest easy. It can be dangerous, ya know. Certain people might use it for power, throwin' crazy dark spells! A sure road to great power, if one's willing to lose oneself along the way. But it can be tricky for normal folks, too. Slow knife cuts deepest, and all. If people give in to darkness, they become Heartless. Then there's Nobodies, and...well, I could go on.:

Laughing, he gave shrug. “To put things short, it can be a kind of magic, influence, or place. Corridors of Darkness, through the dark realm, are a real easy way to get around, but'cha need something like this if you're gonna waltz around in there. Capiche?”

Chronicles of a Lost War

After drawing near enough to the settlement to catch a glimpse of its guards, Malachi slowed up a touch, inadvertently letting Byron steal ahead. Whoever got there first concerned him not, but something had occurred to him upon seeing a couple ordinary-looking strangers. The huge man carefully removed the Heavies, one after another, and stowed them in the pouches he wore on each hip for that purpose. While the 'heroes' might not think to give the onyx-black cestus a second glance, they were not meant for the eyes of normal folk. Just the sight of them could render some people queasy, or unnerved, like something in their midst that just didn't fit in. Malachi only hoped that the townsfolk couldn't feel them.

The brief delay allowed Byron to take the initiative, and it was he who spoke for their bizarre party. Clearly quick-witted, the catman played off the lucky tidbit of information the gatekeepers let slide, working up a just-vague-enough story to explain their group. As sure as death, however, came taxes, and while Malachi carried a decent sum with him, he remained taciturn long enough for Byron to foot the bill instead. Of course, he noticed straightaway the taken-aback looks on the guards' faces, which told him that Byron just forked over a much larger sum than they ever expected. Fluctuation in currency didn't come as a surprise, but did one silver coin really spark that much of a reaction?

As the party advanced, he followed up the beastman's weak smile with a hearty one of his own, giving the gatekeepers a wink. "Don't spend it all in one place, kids!" he joked, knowing as well as they that it'd be their bosses raking in the bonus. Perhaps they'd resent him for that, but a little personality went a long way. Once within the village, Byron suggested a split-up, which suited Malachi just fine. He had, after all, never conceived of himself as 'together' with these illustrious heroes, after all. Izel suggested pairs, but after she'd ignored what he had to say completely a few moments ago, he didn't care much what she thought. With a casual wave, Malachi set off by himself. The others could pore over all the records and consult all the officials they wanted, while he got down to brass tacks.

A moment later, Malachi pushed into the local bar. The sign outside, remarkably plain and ordered, read 'Croaking Duck', and the inside lived up to the name. With deep brown and pale green wood, it was full of earthy, dark colors, yet not so stark as to be depressing. His eyes fell on the long shelves behind the counter, where multicolored candles and bottles created a singularly gorgeous display of light and color. It seemed like a place where people could come to be alone or together, to fill an evening or to regain strength. Business must be good, Malachi reflected, for a small-town establishment like this to be able to achieve any kind of atmosphere other than 'place to die'. At this hour, what patrons sat at the bar were chowed down on lunch, mostly thin sandwiches with sliced produce and cured beef. Food and drink sounded pretty good after a long rest, and conversations often followed.

Malachi treated the few curious individuals who looked his way with a broad smile. "Now that's more like it!" he exclaimed, swaggering up to the counter. "Bein' out in the wilderness for so long, I came in expectin' dirty water and smelly bread, and instead I find a bonafide country tavern. Hey, mister!" he called out as he seated himself. The portly, gray-whiskered fellow behind the counter sidled on over, put at ease by the stranger's gregarious manner. "Two plates o' the best ya got! And a tankard of your sourest beer!"

Chronicles of a Lost War

Scarcely had Malachi announced his intentions and marched off in the direction of the unknown hamlet than one of the little ones from earlier confronted him. His long, industrious strides forced her to exert some effort to not just keep up with him but stay ahead of him, though she remained merely in front rather than in the way. Given what had issued from Izel's mouth so far, Malachi expected from her more harmless but ultimately less-than-useful, abstract ramblings, but this time she spoke intelligibly. For all the impact they had, however, she have just as well not.

He looked at her askew. "I've got no 'cause', and there's no 'our'. You can handle things however you want. I got my own business t'take care of." For a moment he looked stern, surly even, but after a second or two his hard expression mellowed out into a halfhearted grin. "'Sides, big doesn't mean stupid. If I needed t'walk on eggshells, I wouldn't break a single one. Never been someone I needed to do my talkin' for me." The girl brought up a good point, and it got him thinking as he walked. Given the situation at the time of his burial, the Empire most likely overran the whole continent. He could expect its influence no matter where he went. Still, that didn't really matter to a man like him. Unlike some of these others, maybe, as well as the desires of those who sealed him away, Malachi wasn't here to wipe the Empire off the planet in some grand crusade. Since the beginning of time, men fought and died for whatever they wanted, justifying it however they needed. The hunger for a better life filled every soul. He didn't see himself as an enemy of the Empire.

With that in mind, he offered Izel some clarification. "Look, I don't wanna be part of this mess. Gettin' mixed up in it was a mistake. I just wanna find my family, or...or what happened to 'em." Closing his eyes for a moment, the huge man exhaled, then picked up the pace.

Chronicles of a Lost War

After doing a little bit of stumbling around in darkness himself, Malachi thought the world of the automaton's suggestion, but it was Byron who made their wish a reality. For a moment the brawler almost wondered aloud why the catman didn't do that sooner, but it occurred to him just before he started talking that Byron could probably seen in the dark a whole lot better than he. With that settled, he put aside the distraction and, walking close behind, absorbed what Byron had to say.

Unfortunately his words provided little in the way of comfort. Malachi frowned deeply, thinking about just what it would mean if the sealing procedure went as planned. Thirty...years? The thought made his head swim. If his family was still alive, his beloved daughter wouldn't be much younger than himself, and his wife would be twice her age easily. That by itself didn't matter too much, but a few problems existed that filled him with guilt and needled him with sorrow.

Neither of them knew what happened to him...no, what he'd done. They would have waited for him for weeks, then months, then years, until they had no choice but to conclude he'd either died or abandoned him. What could have happened in those thirty years...? Malachi's mind raced. His wife might have remarried. He would have missed his daughter growing up. Hell, he could unwittingly have grandchildren by now.

He couldn't deny the dire possibility, however, that his family had died in the Empire's vicious war. They might have perished as merciless soldiers set their home ablaze, or ran them down from horseback as they fled. Even if the Volstiniens let them live, this could be a cruel world. Famine, disease, bandits...any number of tragedy could have befallen them, alone and unprotected, abandoned by the man who loved them most. As the light at the tunnel's exit drew near, Malachi buried his face in his hands. What had he done?

Emerging into the sunlight made him feel a little better, compared to the claustrophobic mountain corridors, but it did little to settle the turmoil within him. Malachi wore an utterly distraught look as he swept his gaze over the horizon, beholding a changed world. Granted, when he came here, he hadn't exactly been committing the environs to memory, but nothing about this view struck him as familiar. When Byron spoke, Malachi glanced his way, aghast. “What's this about a forest? 'Worst case scenario'? What the hell are you talking about?” He zeroed in on the village relatively nearby, not recognizing the implications of the new forest, and without waiting for an answer began to hustle in its direction. “C'mon, let's find someone to talk to.”

Chronicles of a Lost War

Despite his fondness for the idea of a decisive, immediate departure, Malachi found his exit attempt short-lived. The sealing chamber's only doors sported a seal of their own, magical in nature. As he drew close to the sorcery, the Heavies hummed, almost hungrily. Malachi considered walloping the door with them, but if they simply devoured the magic without actually opening anything, he could very well be stuck in here depending on how much stone surrounded them. With an exasperated groan, the brawler turned about to see the others. Surely one of the 'heroes' got proper instructions on how thing whole thing was supposed to go down.

When he looked, however, he didn't see many heroes. Another girl, not quite as little as the last, had awoken and begun to unwind. More perceptive than his brutish look might suggest, Malachi caught the wary glance she gave him, though caring about it didn't even occur to him. To such great and mighty heroes as these, surely his appearance didn't intimidate. One well acquainted with the magical arts, however, could probably feel the Heavies' aura, like someone constantly breathing in. Apprehension from someone like that was understandable -mutual, even- but anyone who stood for peace and the innocent had nothing to fear from Malachi Ghundrach. Still, hearing suggestive words from the child set him on edge.

Next, yet another little girl, also white-haired, earned from him a curious glance. This one, at least, didn't lead with improper speech, instead commencing the other girl's chiding. Her criticism died in her throat, however, as she turned to sudden, somewhat astonished introspection. For his part, Malachi looked incredulous. This was a gathering of the Alliance's most legendary figures, right? Not a children's academy? Not that he knew any of them. Celebrities and rumors never occupied him, after all. In short order he rerouted his attention to the slab of stone hurtling through the air. After a narrow miss with Byron it exploded against a wall, hurting nobody but coming too close to making the catman to catpaste. Malachi snorted. “Gonna squash a little girl pullin' stuff like that.” Only after saying that, however, did he see the near-accident's perpetrator. A living statue of gleaming metal appeared from the sarcophagus, moving with such poise as to render the brawler impressed. “Whoa, that's somethin' ya don't see everyday.” Forgetting the lid incident, as it hurt nobody, he gave the automaton an approving nod.

Then, the teeniest mite summoned a sword, preparing to throw down, and so earned Malachi's express disapproval. Before he could properly express it, however, she completely lost focus thanks to whatever was going on with the third girl. He guessed he could thank her childishly short attention span for the moment, though there was no guarantee that she wouldn't haul off and start fighting any moment. Malachi liked a good throwdown as much as anyone, but here...?

An escape from his quandary presented itself in the form of the catman, who'd approached the door with an expression Malachi couldn't quite place, but nevertheless related to. Out of everyone so far, the fuzzy-eared one seemed to be most sensible, remarking on how weird everything was. Malachi heartily concurred, telling him, “You can say that again.” He watched, hopeful, as Byron began to work at the door. Not wanting to interfere, he took a step back and pulled his hands behind his back to keep the Heavies away. A few moments later, the exit came open, revealing the same stark mined-out mountain corridor he'd strolled down maybe an hour before. Byron, who Malachi already internalized as a comrade, let out a puzzling, subtly disturbing statement before he proceeded forward. Leaving the children to their bizarre conversation and potential infighting, Malachi hustled after him.

Catching up after a moment, the huge man gave vent to his thoughts. Whatever his conclusions, he was far from stupid, and evidence was piling up. In a low, heavy voice, he said, “You...think it worked, do ya? I thought it didn't, but it makes sense. There'd still be people here if not.” He took a deep breath, fixing his eyes on the passing rock wall. “Maybe I didn't want to think so.” For now, he said nothing more, mulling over worrisome thoughts. Before he could come to any conclusions, he needed some real proof. He couldn't just accept as it was that his rashness had propelled him into making a terrible mistake.

Chronicles of a Lost War

A pair of eyes opened in the dark, followed shortly by a furrowed brow. Malachi felt neither stiff, nor groggy, nor particularly well rested. “...Did it work?” If not, he didn't mind one bit. Jumping in on the whole 'being sealed away' ordeal had been a rushed and, now that he'd had a few more peaceful moments to mull it over, pretty bad idea. Sure, the idea of being locked away to escape an inevitable demise harbored a certain appeal, but did it really matter? Sooner or later, no matter how vividly he lived, he'd die anyway. Better to do it in defense of those he loved than alone and unknown in some vague future. A death like that at least would have some meaning, for once in his life. The more he shifted about in his cramped casket, the more Malachi felt sure that no time at all had passed. “Alright,” he murmured. “Time to get outta here. Hold tight, loves. I'm comin'.”

A little force prompted the coffin lid to slide open, and Malachi pulled himself free, reveling in his freedom of movement. “Aaah!” He stretched luxuriously, twisting about to crack his neck and back. Even a short rest, it seemed, could settle the bones. A couple others were up too, both fresh-faced and ready to greet the day: a suave-looking beastman and a tiny girl in grandiose attire. In the brief time before his uncomfortable entrapment, Malachi caught wind of the seal's subjects being great heroes meant to save the day in a coming age. The memory coaxed a chuckle out of him, more wry than amused. That damned status brought him nothing but trouble. Always messing up people's expectations, setting up rash assumptions, and all in all, getting in the way of a good life. And now it'd almost cost him his life—the only life he knew worth living, that is. If they hadn't been singing his praises as they corralled him into a casket, he might've put up more resistance. But no matter. That was then, and this is now.

“G'morning,” he greeted the others. Paying them no further mind, he stood up from his temporary resting place and made to head for the double doors. The moment he took a step, he felt a twinge from behind him, a subtle pull like the feeling of forgetting something. Turning about, he rested his eyes on a pair of ugly black mitts, their uneven, assymetrical stone surfaces drinking in the low light. Those who wasted their time assigning him a 'legacy' or 'mythos' called them the Dregs of the Planet, the Deep Dark Fists, the Hands of the Abyss. To him they were the Heavies, and while he could life them easily enough, they made for quite the burden. “...Right.” Couldn't forget those, even if he wanted to. With a sigh, the huge man bent down and retrieved them, fitting them over his hands. They slid right on, almost eagerly, a perfect fit, a flawless and natural extension of his body. Malachi shook his head, and turned back to face the door.