Lugubrious

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Artemisia

Garleton

With a heavy sigh, Artemisia placed the stack of scrawled-on papers back inside the drawer they came from and slid it shut. Disappointing. While unsure if these documents even existed, she'd put all her efforts into chatting up anyone in the treatment ward with the lung capacity to do so, but now that she got her hands on these records they substantiated what her investigation suggested. Nobody bearing pink eyes and any sort of illness came through this place within the last few months. That meant another week of her time wasted, and her search no closer to its end. Worse, Artemisia hadn't the slightest clue where to look next this time. Before she could pay any mind to her next destination, however, came the hardest part of her time at this one: saying goodbye. A few minutes later, Artemisia poked her head around the corner of a doorway leading to the main ward. In front of her and unaware of her guest, the Sister appeared to be changing the wrappings of a man Artemisia knew to be suffering from gangrene. In his lucid moments -'lucid' being a quaint term for 'so stuffed full of painkillers as to be delirious- he'd told Artemisia about the battle that left him lying in a ditch, his flesh rotting while he still clung to life. It had been a dispute between two minor lords, with one catching wind of an assassination plot and sending his keenest ranger to take the assassin out, only for that bowman to fall victim himself. As part of her infiltration here, Artemisia helped to debride the dead tissue and wrap the sites to prevent infection, but the Sister knew the art of healing far, far better. Still, places like this never turned down help, which was the only reason why the dark mage's method of searching worked at all. As Artemisia watched now, the Sister wrapped a layer of soft, salve-soaked wrappings around the man's leg, then covered that with a thicker, dry layer of coarse bandage for sealing. Without looking up from her work, the blue-haired woman murmured, “You're not scheduled to come in for another few hours. I applaud your dedication, but I must wonder why.” Artemisia flinched. Sheepishly coming out from behind the corner, she took her hat into her hands and held it flat across her chest. “Y-your senses remain startlingly potent, ma'am. Well, since you inquire with exactitude, I have no alternative but to oblige your requested candor. Regrettably, given your choice of words, this must contain a barb of irony, but I...I am afraid that I must depart posthaste.” Whirling around, the Sister affixed Artemisia with stern, gray-green eyes. The winestain birthmark across her face gave her a mildly menacing visage, but those eyes held no wrath. Only disappointment. “You're leaving?” A genuine sorrow commanded Artemisia's features, but she did not avert her gaze. “That is...accurate. I am pointedly aware of your clinic's urgent need for additional healers, and my heart does pang for the ill and afflicted, but I cannot remain. My ultimate duty is inescapable.” Knowing flitted through the Sister's eyes. She said nothing, but she knew thanks to her proximity to Artemisia that she harbored an overriding devotion to her deity—a deity she suspected was not her own. Realizing this, Artemisia wanted to crumple in on herself. The Sister, so dedicated to her faith, tolerated the presence of an outsider without question? The urge to say something rose within her. “You have my deepest sympathies, ma'am, but I cannot stay. It was never my choice to make.” For the first time, the knowledge that she was doing the right thing wasn't enough, and Artemisia faltered. Looking at her feet, she muttered, “Hate me if you must.” She didn't realize what was coming until it was too late. Out of nowhere, white-robed arms wrapped around her, and the Sister pulled the shocked mage into an embrace. “Never. We all have our duty. Thank you for helping us here, child. Someday I hope you will return.” Something bit at Artemisia's heart. It caused a bubbling sensation in her throat, and water pooled in her eyes. She was a charlatan. She didn't deserve this love or forgiveness. Every ounce of help she'd provided came under the sole pretext of gaining access to information that might help her find her target. Hadn't it? Another few minutes passed, and Artemisia emerged from the ward onto a street lit by the noonday sun. After dabbing at her eyes, she replaced her hat on her head and glanced around. It looked like a very busy day, which meant getting ready to travel again would be difficult and tiresome. She took a few steps, then turned to look back at the entrance to the ward. What would become of its patients without her? Would the Sister, worked ragged when she first arrived, be able to take care of them without running herself into the ground? Artemisia forced herself to look away. “I cannot afford to let myself get attached to each stop on this journey,” she said aloud, trying to convince herself. “The show must go on.” With that, she stepped into the street. Avoiding the biggest crowds for fear of being jostled or otherwise put upon added to her travel time, but before long the dark mage reached the plaza. She meant only to cut across it on her way to the market, but something caught her gaze. A strangely-dressed woman danced to music, her rhythmic motions wholly unfamiliar and fairly enchanting. Fascinated, Artemisia stopped to watch from a distance, making sure to place her back against a wall so nobody could come up behind her.

__________________________ Status: Melancholy Class: Occultist Inv: Vulnerary, Book of Secrets New entry The investigation in Garleton is concluded. No hint of my target, and no leads. Yet, I have gleaned more about non-magical healing, and something besides: the Sister is an unequivocally wonderful individual. A true commoner, unremarkable in anything save her spirit, yet surely kinder and tougher than the most revered cardinal. She deserves to be remembered. I wish I could stay, but my mission beckons me indisputably onward. Still, I am determined that time will not stain her face from my recollection. One day, when my mission is done, I will return.

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Artimisia, Cordial Cultist

Name: Artemisia
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Personality:

Artemesia's character combines a number of traits that would typically be seen as diametrically opposed. She's usually quiet and can be reclusive, lazy, and withdrawn, but never surly or defensive, and in moments where her passions shine through she can become a completely different person, enthusiastic and talkative to a fault. Though empathetic and considerate, Artemisia tends to also be spiteful, vengeful, and short-tempered if wronged. Her passions include knowledge -trivia in particular-, stories, and drama, and it's no surprise that those plus her good memory and quick wit incline her towards large words, formal speech, occasional babbling, theatrical behavior, and interesting people. Eloquence plus her notable wits allows for some persuasiveness when she wants, but she's surprisingly naive about normal things. She's a believer in karmic justice, including paying violence against violence, but more than that she's a believer in Gwynism, the rare but ardent faith in the ancient King of Night's Blaze that idolizes him as a deity. As such, she is rather Machiavellian. In short, while she might seem like a passive, silent shut-in, she often exhibits intense bouts of enthusiasm or violence, as the situation calls.

Backstory:

The strongest fires leaves lasting embers.

In a remote valley between the misty mountains of the Lothian Empire's northern border lies Charna Bog, a perennially overcast mire of mud, water, plantlife, and cruelty. Few venture to such a inhospitable, nigh-malicious land, but deep within that dark, damp shroud a certain bowl of embers has blazed for centuries. Known to myth and rumor as the Charnail Coven, the society buried deep within the swamp claims to be descended from Gwyn, the infamous tyrant known to history as the King of Night's Blaze. Though insular and isolated, its appointed Wayfarers often travel abroad, gathering information, developments, magical knowledge and artifacts from the outside world before returning. Nevertheless, the Coven is a community steeped in decadence, its cult feverishly devout to their legendary ancestor, revered as a god of cleansing flame. It was into the Charnail Coven's domain, elevated above the swamp on trees and stilts and sustained by mad fervor, that Artemisia was born.

From her early years, in the manner of all children whose gifts in magic were identified by the village elders, she was trained in sorcery. Like the others, her parents raised her as a wholehearted follower of Gwyn, adored savior of flame. Yet, she received something the others didn't thanks to her father, and outsider who 'converted' to Gwynism following his own salvation at the hands of the woman who'd go on to become Artemisia's mother, who had plied her talent for White Magic to save his life. A wyvern rider of a nearby kingdom, Solomon could visit the village and his daughter regularly, bringing goods to trade to endear himself to the locals while keeping up the guise of being a devoted Gwynist. He helped reel her back from sinking too deep into the cult, and once in a while managed to sneak her out of the swamp to visit civilization. Her love for knowledge and drama bloomed during this time, and she longed to learn more of the outside world. As a result, she grew more worldly than her peers, so it came naturally that when she came of age Artemisia would be given the duty as one of the Coven's Wayfarers. Big things were brewing—for some time now, the prophecies of the elders foretold the existence of eight extraordinary individuals in the world, descendants of the Eight Heroes, who are necessary catalysts for the ceremony that would supposedly revive Gwyn from his age-long slumber.

Artemisia joined the seven other Wayfarers on their hunt for the children of prophecy, taking the chance to leave the Charna Bog behind. Even as she's begun truly exploring the outside world, however, she struggles with the duty she's been given and her misgivings about both the Coven and Gwynism itself. Yet, the mark of the swamp has never left her, burned into her mind to deep to be ignored. Her primary goal in her travels is to identify her mark and bring him or her back to the swamp (she only knows that her target has pink eyes and some kind of illness), but she doesn't mind dawdling a little to experience what the world has to offer on the way. After all, Gwyn's slept so long already; surely he can wait just a little longer.

Class: Occultist
Affinity: Umbral
Inventory:

Vulnerary, Book of Secrets (a journal containing interesting stuff she reads or witnesses and writes about to not forget)

Abilities:
Personal: Eye for an Eye – if struck, Artemisia's next attack increases in potency.

Spells/Weapon Arts:

Flux, Miasma

Stats

END: E
STR: E
MAG: C
DEX: E
SPD: D
DEF: E
RES: D
LCK: C

Talents: Dark Magic
Experience: 50
Support:

None

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

@Lugubrious Looks good. Just note that personal ability doesn't count towards the total of 5 abilities you can equip. Furthermore perhaps message me more info about the cult too. Lastly your talent should be Dark Magic based on those spells. I may have failed to add that to the list of talents so I'll take care of that once I'm home.

@Sho Minazuki

Sounds good. And yeah, I didn't see Dark Magic in there, so I figured it wasn't a starting talent or something and put Black Magic.

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Here's my application.

Cordial Cultist

Name: Artemisia
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Personality:

Artemesia's character combines a number of traits that would typically be seen as diametrically opposed. She's usually quiet and can be reclusive, lazy, and withdrawn, but never surly or defensive, and in moments where her passions shine through she can become a completely different person, enthusiastic and talkative to a fault. Though empathetic and considerate, Artemisia tends to also be spiteful, vengeful, and short-tempered if wronged. Her passions include knowledge -trivia in particular-, stories, and drama, and it's no surprise that those plus her good memory and quick wit incline her towards large words, formal speech, occasional babbling, theatrical behavior, and interesting people. She's surprisingly naive about normal things. She's a believer in karmic justice, including paying violence against violence, but more than that she's a believer in Gwynism, the rare but ardent faith in the ancient King of Night's Blaze that idolizes him as a deity. As such, she is rather Machiavellian. In short, while she might seem like a passive, silent shut-in, she often exhibits intense bouts of enthusiasm or violence, as the situation calls.

Backstory:

The strongest fires leaves lasting embers.

In a remote valley between misty mountains lies Charna Bog, a perennially overcast mire of mud, water, plantlife, and cruelty. Few venture to such a inhospitable, nigh-malicious land, but deep within that dark, damp shroud a certain bowl of embers has blazed for centuries. Known to myth and rumor as the Charnail Coven, the society buried deep within the swamp claims to be descended from Gwyn, the infamous tyrant known to history as the King of Night's Blaze. Though insular and isolated, its appointed Wayfarers often travel abroad, gathering information, developments, magical knowledge and artifacts from the outside world before returning. Nevertheless, the Coven is a community steeped in decadence, its cult feverishly devout to their legendary ancestor, revered as a god of cleansing flame. It was into the Charnail Coven's domain, elevated above the swamp on trees and stilts and sustained by mad fervor, that Artemisia was born.

From her early years, in the manner of all children whose gifts in magic were identified by the village elders, she was trained in sorcery. Like the others, her parents raised her as a wholehearted follower of Gwyn, adored savior of flame. Yet, she received something the others didn't thanks to her father, and outsider who 'converted' to Gwynism following his own salvation at the hands of the woman who'd go on to become Artemisia's mother, who had plied her talent for White Magic to save his life. A wyvern rider of a nearby kingdom, Solomon could visit the village and his daughter regularly, bringing goods to trade to endear himself to the locals while keeping up the guise of being a devoted Gwynist. He helped reel her back from sinking too deep into the cult, and once in a while managed to sneak her out of the swamp to visit civilization. Her love for knowledge and drama bloomed during this time, and she longed to learn more of the outside world. As a result, she grew more worldly than her peers, so it came naturally that when she came of age Artemisia would be given the duty as one of the Coven's Wayfarers. Big things were brewing—for some time now, the prophecies of the elders foretold the existence of eight extraordinary individuals in the world, descendants of the Eight Heroes, who are necessary catalysts for the ceremony that would supposedly revive Gwyn from his age-long slumber.

Artemisia joined the seven other Wayfarers on their hunt for the children of prophecy, taking the chance to leave the Charna Bog behind. Even as she's begun truly exploring the outside world, however, she struggles with the duty she's been given and her misgivings about both the Coven and Gwynism itself. Yet, the mark of the swamp has never left her, burned into her mind to deep to be ignored. Her primary goal in her travels is to identify her mark and bring him or her back to the swamp (she only knows that her target has pink eyes and some kind of illness), but she doesn't mind dawdling a little to experience what the world has to offer on the way. After all, Gwyn's slept so long already; surely he can wait just a little longer.

Class: Occultist
Affinity: Umbral
Inventory:

Vulnerary, Book of Secrets (a journal containing interesting stuff she reads or witnesses and writes about to not forget)

Abilities:
Personal: Eye for an Eye – if struck, Artemisia's next attack increases in potency.

Spells/Weapon Arts:

Flux, Miasma

Stats

END: E
STR: E
MAG: C
DEX: E
SPD: D
DEF: E
RES: D
LCK: C

Talents: Dark Magic
Experience: 0
Support:

None

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Hey there @Sho Minazuki! I think I'd like to join you here. I'll begin putting together a character if I may.

Chronicles of a Lost War

Thanks to Byron's help, the realization that he was making a spectacle of himself went a long with towards sobering Malachi up. Coughing a few times, he wiped his eyes and straightened himself up. It was painful, and he had no intention of letting go of this woe, but a man like him had an image to uphold. With an irate, “Don't you lot have anything better to do?” he marched off, headed back in the direction of the entrance through which he group arrived.

Not that he knew why he walked that way, or really, much of anything to begin with. He looked back toward Byron as he went, but he said nothing. Questions came to him, of course, like where do we go from here? but why would Malachi ask them? More than likely, the catman lost family of his own thanks to this catastrophe, but that didn't mean they were instantly companions or something. Malachi supposed that in a situation like this, the survivors ought to band together and work over their feelings, but these heroes were strangers at best. The happenstance that placed him with them constituted the sole thing in common that they shared. What became of them following his revelation didn't really concern him, even if it sort of felt like it should. But what did matter, then? This world harbored neither friends, family, or home. There was nothing for him—no reason to continue on.

Malachi heaved a sigh, hanging his head. Such thinking would get him nowhere, or perhaps even lead him to a dark place. Even with the far more severe situation, it wasn't the first time he'd lacked for purpose. He'd wandered the mainland for ages before settling down. Back then, of course, he hadn't tasted the sweet nectar of meaningfulness and developed the thirst for it that roiled him now, but that meant he'd be even more driven to find it, right? The only question: where to begin. He decided to address the catman after all. He turned to Byron and said, “Thanks. Took it a little hard, but...I'll be fine. Gonna find a reason to keep goin' on. First stop...” He sifted through his memories. What entity possessed the greatest chance of having remnants in this new era? An idea came to him, and he seized it greedily. “Sydane. Maybe that ol' kingdom's still 'round. If anywhere's got a record of me, it'll be that. Good luck out there, fella.” He needed to procure a map and some supplies first, but with the apparent conversion rate of his currency, that wouldn't be an issue. With that in mind, Malachi looked around for any structure that resembled a general store or merchant row. A smaller man might have enjoyed an expedited journey thanks to a horse, but the brawler doubted he'd find a steed large enough in this place, and he was plenty used to long walks besides.

World of Light

Hoping to jump in here! Since, uh, there's slots open, supposedly?

From The Ashes

Name: Phoenix Wright

Game Origin: Ace Attorney

Appearance: "Objection!"

Personality: Phoenix is calm, cool, and collected, an easy-going guy who likes to roll with the punches life deals him and go with the flow. Or, rather, he'd like to be that. In low-stress situations Phoenix is as relaxed as he seems, his guard a bit too down and a tad gullible, though when the stakes get raised or he comes to task, any semblance of 'chill' quickly leaves him. While this does mean that he's fairly reliable once things get serious, it also drives him to bouts of internal panic and impulsiveness. His natural cleverness and sharp intellect tends to make any quick judgement the right call eventually, however, and despite his seeming immaturity in most situations, Phoenix is capable of stunning feats of competence and intelligence! Even when he bluffs his way through everything...

Background: It might not seem like much just by looking at him, but Phoenix has gone through quite a lot. Everything started when he was a young kid, a day in elementary school when his entire class labeled him a thief after a fellow student's lunch money went missing. At the time, he felt utterly alone, at the mercy of a group who would never believe him... And then the very same student whose money was taken came to his side in defense, one Miles Edgeworth. The two were quick to become friends.

Miles soon left school, him and Phoenix growing apart. As he grew older, Phoenix took an interest in law and the arts, and during his time at college (studying for the latter), he once more ended up accused of a crime he didn't commit: murder. He was defended once more, this time by rookie attorney Mia Fey, and from then on the young Phoenix grew a passion for being an attorney just like her, and soon became her apprentice. The time came when Phoenix, a newly-minted lawyer, went to court, where he met his long-gone friend Miles Edgeworth, a prosecutor now, unlike his defense attorney father. After his first trial, Mia was killed, and her younger sister, Maya Fey, was the suspect. Phoenix defended her, of course, and the two grew a liking to each other, becoming partners in (un)crime.

As Phoenix waged legal war against Edgeworth, the two traded blows both in and out of court, with Phoenix wanting his friend to return to his normal, justice-seeking self. Things took a turn for the dramatic when Edgeworth himself was accused for murder - the murder of his late father! - and Phoenix defended him, exonerating him of his crimes and guilt.

His reputation made, and strengthening as he took bigger cases and went up against harsher prosecutors, Phoenix was on the rise to become an incredibly successful attorney. And just before the trial that would have dashed his career on the rocks, things got a lot brighter...

---

Specialty: Tactics, figuring things, people, opponents out. And, uhm... moral support?
Level: 1
Experience: 0/10
Powers:

• Psyche-Locks: Phoenix possesses the power to see Psyche-Locks, a psychic manifestation of a person's lies, taking the form of chains and locks. The more a person has, the closer the secret is being kept, or the harder the person is trying to keep it. They break as Phoenix delves closer to the root, though the act of breaking them doesn't force the person to spill - rather, it's just a representation of how tight-lipped they are. They only appear in response to a question Phoenix asks, too, and depending on how he words the question, could not appear at all.

Strengths:

• Sharp Wit: His time as an attorney has left Phoenix with a very sharp head, metaphorically speaking. He's quick to catch on and notice things others miss, and his sense of deductive reasoning is unmatched.
• Bluff: Flying by the seat of his pants more often than not, Phoenix has an impeccable poker face. Sudden shocks, surprises, and etc still make him react - he is human after all - but it can be pretty hard to tell what he's thinking, especially if he doesn't even know it himself.
• Born Lucky: It seems that along with his stunning spiky hair, Phoenix was gifted with immense luck at birth! It isn't the "find 50 bucks on the ground" kind of luck, but things tend to fall into place for him, or seemingly fatal accidents and injuries could leave him with little more than a scratch.

Weaknesses:

• Only Human: For all his quirks and lucky breaks, Phoenix is just human after all. He's not particularly strong or sturdy, incapable of anything truly impressive, and can go down in just a few solid hits. He's not much of a fighter!

Spirits:

Kindred Spirits:

• Maya Fey, the young spirit medium. Phoenix's closest friend and trusted partner.
• Miles Edgeworth, the determined prosecutor. A friendship from childhood newly revived, and with added rivalry.
• Mia Fey, the late mentor. Phoenix's role model, and as helpful beyond the grave as she was above it.

Inventory:

• Attorney's Badge: Proof of his status as an attorney, and symbolic of what it means to be one. Loves to show it off, though usually by accident.
• Magatama: A special stone ornament imbued with spiritual power. It allows Phoenix to see the Psyche-Locks, though anyone who holds it can see them as well. May or may not be needed anymore.

@TruthHurts22

There are indeed open slots, and I'd be happy to have you. The application looks good. I'm down for you posting him over in the Characters tab, and I'll send you a PM soon about getting Phoenix into the mix, as well as an invite to the discord if you'd like it.

The Good Guys - A Hero Academia RP

The GM's been quiet for a while now, though I can't speak to the Discord server, since I felt it would be inappropriate to join until my character was accepted. Vinsmoke and I were reviewing her for a while, but he stopped talking to me before it could be finalized.

World of Light

Tora & Poppi

Level 5 Tora - (8/50) EXP and Level 4 Poppi - (7/40) EXP
Location: Forest Ravine, the Land of Adventure
Word Count: 734

Powered by Poppi's energy, Tora's drill tore through the earth and stone, ripping heaps of it from the ravine walls. After trying with astonishingly little success to excavate without her Blade energy, and realizing the incredible tedium that would be, Tora was having fun now. A bit too much fun, in fact; Poppi watched with an annoyed expression as the bit veered through some exposed iron ore, cutting a groove into it. “Masterpon, please stop playing and focus on not damaging ore.”

“Tora know, meh.” Sighing, the Nopon reigned himself in and focused his energy on extracting the iron from the cave wall. With the current dig site only a dozen feet below the ravine's top, the plentiful sunlight -even through the trees of the forest that surrounded the ravine- made it pretty easy to see what he was doing when he wasn't in his own shadow. After a few moments, the energized bit lopped off a load-bearing prong of rock to send the ore chunk tumbling to the ground. Poppi lurched to get it, expecting Tora to fall off the nearby edge in his attempt to save the material from falling to the canyon bottom, but he scooped it right up in his wing. “Nice! Meh meh, three down. Still, even with Poppi power, job is tedious, meh.” He offered it to Poppi, who held open her burlap sack for her partner to dump it inside.

Tora turned around to find a pillar-shaped green creature staring him in the face, dead silent. “Muh!?” It didn't move, its empty black features fixated on the Nopon before it. Composing himself, Tora gave a weak wave with his free wing. “Uh, hello...?”

In reply, the creature began to hiss, swelling up. Tora held up his shield, drill extended, just in time before the creature exploded. The force sent him flying out over the edge, eliciting a cry from Poppi as she dropped her sack. “Masterpon!” She snatched at his wing, but her metal fingers closed just short, and Tora sailed -screaming- into the void. A second later he smacked against the ravine's opposite wall, sticking there for a moment before he started to slide down. Poppi grit her teeth, mind racing, and grabbed a rock. Energy flooded her systems, charging it with the power of earth, and with explosive power she hurled the stone at the wall below her master. The impact blew apart the rock, creating a crater, and as he fell past it Tora reached out with his wing to latch on. When the dust cleared, Poppi spotted him hanging there, breathing heavily.

After a moment, he grunted from the exertion, then called out, “Am okay! But grip not going to last, meh.” Nodding, Poppi launched from the canyon wall she stood atop, carefully maneuvering in the cramped space to get close without a collision. Once near enough, she simply grabbed Tora and carried him back. After setting down his drill on the solid ground, Tora wiped at his brow and gave Poppi a solid pat on the back. “Whew! Great thinking, Poppi. Not know what would do without.”

Poppi smiled, closing her eyes. “Poppi not know what Tora would do without, either.”

Ignoring the snark, her companion pointed at the wall. “Look! Boomy thing destroy rock like was paper.” He stepped forward and peered at the remains. Instead of normal debris and dust, the blast left behind perfect cubes of stone, and a few of ore. “Ooh. Boomypon blast excavate ore very easily!” Excited, he scooped up the ores and turned to Poppi. “Tora know exactly what should do!”

Brows furrowed in disbelief, Poppi ventured a guess. “...Masterpon want to get blown up more to make digging easier?”

Tora flapped his wings in anticipation. “Meh meh meh! Poppi right on money. Find enough boomies and we get back in time for lunch with motherlode of metal!” The shake of Poppi's head prompted him to wave a stubby hand dismissively. “Meh! Poppi know we can take it, no problem. Is great idea!”

Discreetly, Poppi peered over the edge of the ravine cliff. At the very bottom, red-hot lava churned and sputtered. She then glanced back at Tora, her dubiousness more than apparent. The Nopon had, however, resumed his descent, the promise of untold riches obliterating what little common sense he possessed. With a breathless, theatrical sigh, Poppi transformed into QT mode and followed him.

Forest Temple

Location: the Land of Adventure
@Dawnrider

“Thank youuuuuuuu!” Sang the orange spirits as Hat Kid flung the troll painting into their flames, shortly before combusting themselves. The demise of the orange fire marked Hat Kid's trial one-fourth complete, and with all haste the left the central chamber and its frolicking fire foxes behind in favor of the one indicated by the blue brazier. At the end of the hallway, empty except moss, mushrooms, and the odd crab, she found a dark curtain she could push through in order to entire. Inside, an incredible sight filled her eyes.

On the chamber's domed walls and ceiling lay the image of the cosmos. Planets, meteors, and countless stars dotted its curved surface, glimmering in the dark. From the central point shone a single, larger light, meant to emulate the sun. It was a far cry from the dingy cavern of the first puzzle. The child knew space well, of course, so what lay beneath held more intrigue. The entire floor appeared to be a perfectly flat plane of glass, and beneath it lay a world in miniature. Rolling waves, islands, active volcanoes, and more formed an area that would have stretched miles were it real size. In the very center of the room a mountain rose from the see above the glass floor, and on it rested a tablet.

The villagers await you: the Breath. Answer their summons by placing your hand over their ritual, and bring their god to life. You must guide them to the passageway, but it is a long way away, and will open only once the totems have been reclaimed and the earth blanketed with green. Shape the land, give commands, and beware the coming disasters.

At the foot of the mountain, on a large bank of vegetated sand, lay a village, its people not an inch high. Nearby, a group of them surrounded a floating black orb with lanterns and horns, inundating it with prayer and song. Not far off, the sea turned restlessly, trapping the people on their island home. To the south, across the shallows, a desert island lay with a pool of water at its center, a long white totem within. In the map's northwestern corner, on the other side of a volcano island, stood the vital passageway on a tall, lonely isle.

---

The green brazier lit the passageway into a third chamber, small and square in layout with a grassy floor and walls of impenetrable hedge. The ceiling extended upward so high that it might as well have contained the sky, but other than that the room sported just one anomaly: the five black monoliths arranged in a semicircle near the room's middle. On the ground in the semicircle's center was a giant, five-petaled blue flower, upon the center of which words were scrawled in chalk that moved ever so slightly in an impossible jitter.

Puzzle is five. Five is win is you is winner.”

A few seconds after arrival, drawings began to appear on the first monolith, in the same living chalk. First, there appeared a flower, which broke apart to reveal the word 'BABA' in red. Immediately after, a white rabbity thing appeared on the monolith. Next, the word 'WALL' with an accompanying stone wall drawing extending in horizontally both above and below BABA. 'ROCK' appeared from another flower, and three rocks materialized in a vertical row to block BABA's path. 'FLAG' heralded the arrival of a glittering gold flag on the opposite side of the rocks from BABA. More words came after all together, creating 'WALL IS STOP', 'ROCK IS PUSH', and 'FLAG IS WIN'. Lastly, a big red flower appeared near BABA, and when it came apart the words 'IS YOU' were left behind. After that was nothing, leaving the visitors to make the first move.

Ryu

Location: Lumbridge, the Land of Adventure
@Stekkmen

While his potential challenger's look didn't bother Ryu, the subject of a fight to the death constituted a cause for great concern. The fighter crossed his arms and, with a worried look, explained, “I do not know where you hail from, stranger, where that would even be a question, but this is not a fight to the death.” Raising a fist, he clenched it. “There is nothing like a fair fight. It improves both competitors.” After moving down the hill to the flat ground, Ryu held his fist out for Agoston to bump. “Let's begin.”

When the Centurion accepted, Ryu stepped back into a ready stance, his well-trained muscles filling with power. Immediately he jumped, vaulting over Agoston's head and twisting about midair to fall with an extended kick on his opposite side. After landing, Ryu transitioned near-instantly into a one-two punch. For a moment it looked as though an opening had appeared, but with incalculable expertise the wandering warrior rerouted all of his momentum into an uppercut, rising from a crouch. “Shoryuken!” His fist blazed with flame as he launched upward, impervious to attack but vulnerable after as he came back down to earth.

Chronicles of a Lost War

With a heavy heart, Malachi swallowed. The food, so good moments before, tasted like ashes on his tongue. And it wasn't the booze that roiled his guts. He kept a hold of himself, but it took a lot of strength—almost everything he had. While he could never boast that he knew a lot, Malachi kept track of the year in order to be aware of people's ages, and on this fateful day he stood on an earth three hundred years older than he'd seen it last.

A few still moments later, Malachi gave the bartender a weary smile. “Yeah, sounds great. If I'm still 'round, I'll be 'ere.” Fishing some coinage out of his pouch, he recalled how much Byron's silver piece astounded the young village guards. It'd been why he opted for large quantities of the establishment's priciest fare. Placing a single silver on the counter, he explained, “For this time, next time, the information, and this. Cheers.” So saying, he swiped the half-filled tankard itself, trusting in his payment to cover its cost, and headed toward the door. “Be seein' ya.” With a wave, he stepped outside.

The huge man got one step before collapsing against the side of the building. Suppressed emotion washed over him like a crashing time. “Three...hundred...” he wheezed, cackling at the insanity of it. And to think he'd been worried about his family getting older. No, no, no. His wife and daughter were dead. Long dead. He'd be lucky if a single person drawing breath today knew had ever heard his name. Every friend he'd ever had was history, and so were their great grandchildren, from the kindly villagers to the royalty of his homeland. Hell, Sydane itself might have been conquered, reduced to rubble, or swallowed by the sea during those centuries. Delirious, Malachi looked around. Things looked so similar, but this wasn't his world. It wasn't his land, nor his sky. He buried his face in his hands. How had he let this happen!?