Lugubrious

World of Light

Nero

Location: Charnal Lane, Dead Zone

It took only a glance for Nero to come to a conclusion. “That's a can of worms we don't need to open,” he told Nico, and with a nod of agreement the woman began to back up. A few feet in front of the van lay the edge of a giant crater, caused perhaps by some incredible underground collapse. A whole block of cityscape had sunk down into the earth, about eight stories at the very center up to three or four near the edges. Enormous roots, their branches adorned with blood-red leaves, grew from the cracks to snake through the air. Their presence, plus the warm, red glow of bio-luminescence, made it a pretty scene, but this rose boasted more than its fair share of thorns. Zombies utterly swarmed the area, more than likely trapped by the terrain. Going in there would be extremely hazardous, provided the team could get their vehicles back out. Unlike the streets, where one's vision served one well and some semblance of order could be had, deadly foes full to burst with infection could come from any angle in that tangle. Better, thought Nero, to take a detour.

On the other side of the deadwood crater rose the spires of a noble cathedral, and higher still towered one of the Qliphoth's roots. Left, further along the street Nico led the way down, lay a path around the crater and the office buildings that bordered it: the charnel lane. Along the ruined city's left edge lay a strip of land that traced the edge where world ended and Empty Space begin, home to a solemn park bearing countless gravestones, monuments, and mausoleums. Nico's van burst through the wrought-iron gates and jostled down the steps. Turning northward, the party proceeded through the graveyard. A number of zombies wandered about, joined by a new variety, dry and lethargically slow. Nero, walking at a brisk pace in front of the car, cleaved one as it turned to lurch at him. As its bisected halves hit the ground, they turned to ash and sank in, only for the ground to roil a moment later and bring forth a new corpse. Already having moved on, Nero shook his head in bemusement. “Damn things don't wanna stay in the ground.”

Nico opened her mouth to reply only to be cut off by a deafening howl. She and her friend tensed, looking in every direction to anticipate an attack. The sound resounded from everywhere at once, and the heroes weren't the only ones it provoked a reaction from. All around them, the eyes of the wandering undead lit up a foul, unholy greenish-yellow. Together they turned to face the heroes and began to advance.

A moment later, a rumble came from the entrance of a nearby mausoleum, which already appeared to be in shambles. From its mouth burst a huge monster, four-armed and wreathed in skulls, with a large corpse in its hand. Nero sized it up, snickering. “Now that's a demon.” He watched as it chomped on the cadaver, only to frown as a green glow overtook it. Bony protrusions emerged from its flesh, becoming weapons and armor, and when the monster released it the thing barreled at Nero faster than any zombie he'd ever seen. In plenty of time he brought up his right arm and unleashed it, creating a booming shockwave that launched him up and backward onto the roof of Nico's van. He landed, pulled out the Blue Rose, and watched as everything went to hell.

With a thunderous howl, a second Suffering exploded from the wall of the office building on the graveyard's right, bringing all four fists down onto the top of the van. A mighty CLANG rang out, but miraculously the incredible vehicle held firm. Confused and angry, the beast simply thrust its hands beneath and flipped the van over. Nero went flying, and with a terrible racket the van rolled toward the cliff's edge. He watched, helpless, as it barreled straight for certain doom. “Nico!”

“Here!” From inside, the plucky woman hurled another arm. Nero detonated his instantly and sent out his wire to snatch the buster arm and reel it into place. Using his sword's flames, Nero spiraled toward the ground, and ran forward just as the van went over. With a cry, he extended his new arm, blue energy surrounding it as it expanded into a larger, clawed hand. Its talons sunk into the van's siding, Nero dug his feet in, and with a colossal effort he slid to a stop.

It took all of his strength to hold the van there, growling through gritted teeth, but the Sufferings weren't about to let him off the hook. The forward one howled, rallying its undead around it to engage the heroes, and the one in back began snapping up corpses to add to its obedient Swarm.

Forested Canyon

Location: the Land of Adventure

The forest, neither too high nor too dense, contained a wealth of life and beauty. Birds sand, squirrels leaped through the trees, and all sorts of vibrant plantlife filled the underbrush. What chiefly concerned Bowser's party, however, did not take long to find. A small herd of baurun grazed the low-lying plants, evidently not partial to ordinary grass. They munched on roots, herbs, and berries happily, some of those herbs also on Mina's list. No bean bushes could be seen however; no doubt 'king' beans grew somewhere a little more remarkable in this forest.

Only one fully-grown bull appeared among the ranks of baurun, but the females -while lacking horns- looked almost as fierce and sizable. Although without Geralt, Linkle, the Courier, or Din, Bowser and his entourage could still take these beasts on if they used their wits and some caution, but those who remained didn't exactly steal the show in terms of precision. Whether or not they could acquire much meat was the question that hung in the still, cool air.

A few hundred feet farther on, the giant crevasse purported to dominate this area began. Roots and vines curtained its sides, but it nevertheless posed a potential hazard any hunters and gathers would need to be aware of. From within, the distant but remarkably frequent sound of explosives could be heard.

World of Light

@Gentlemanvaultboy @Stern Algorithm, what do you two say to your characters (who are planning to head down to the Forest Temple for the missing persons quest) getting diverted by the giant ape monster Territorial Rotbart on the way south and end up closer to the lake, where Pelagics are attacking? There's nobody currently on that quest minus Phoenix Wright (this was decided via PMs) and the Forest Temple would be overstaffed were anyone else to go there.

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

I'll take you up on that. Yeah, I'd never seen these weird sidepanels used before, so I had some trouble getting one to look good.

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

Artemisia

Garleton

Intent on the mesmerizing spectacle offered by the lady dancer, Artemisia remained wholly ignorant of her surroundings. A practiced eye might have caught discreet repositionings or vague momentum, but the dark mage either didn't notice or didn't look in the first place, which to a sharp observer no doubt suggested inexperience. Her blithe unawareness allowed an unseen sneakthief, having identified her as a likely mark, to draw nearer and nearer, until the viper was poised to strike. Before he could, however, Trace made his move, walloping the vagabond with his spear's solid shaft. Startled, Artemisia jerked away, thinking for a moment that he'd meant to hit her, but instead of an assailant she found a scrawny kid on the ground, struggling to get air back into his lungs. She watched him scurry away for a moment before giving her full, albeit dubious attention to the lancer. For someone who'd just assaulted a man in broad daylight, Trace seemed incredibly casual. He greeted her with nonchalance before looking away, simply placing his back against the wall where he stood and resuming his observation of the dancer. Baffled by his manner, Artemisia stared for a moment before looking back down at her book. In the pregnant silence that followed, she awkwardly entered another few lines in her journal to describe what happened, putting together something to say at the same time. She didn't like talking to people for no reason, particularly people who looked as boring as Trace did, but unless she missed her guess he'd just saved her from a pickpocket. That warranted some kind of gratitude, but why did he act so indifferently? It wasn't like she was gregarious to begin with, and it put her off. “Good...morning,” Artemisia greeted after way too many seconds, her voice stilted and just as flat as Trace's. Whether or not it was still morning was the least of her concerns. “Um. Thank you very much. That fellow...slipped my peripherals. I was fortunate...to be under your vigilance.” Perhaps, she reasoned, she had better get moving. The dance had to be just about over, after all. Yet, fleeing right now would be more than a little impolite after this stranger just helped her. “Is...is there something that I may do for you in recompense?” Forcing herself to look at the uninteresting-looking man, she gave her best smile. His helmet's shadow obscured his eye color somewhat, but they sure weren't pink.

__________________________ Status: Awkward Class: Occultist Inv: Vulnerary, Book of Secrets New entry I just witnessed a bizarre occurrence. A stranger approached whilst I, spellbound, absorbed a gorgeous dancer's performance, and attacked some miscreant sidling up behind me. Then, rather than initiate normal conversation, he just stiffly bids me well and stands there, not even looking at me. Was what just happened not unusual? His demeanor is so freakishly casual given the abnormality that just transpired. I would say something if I could, but this silence is rock-hard. I fear I must try anyway.

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.