Lugubrious

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

Artemisia

Alymere Fort Interior

Her sorcery came through just in time. Artemisia gasped as her enemy's glancing blow left a small tear and a light cut in her robe, but the trade went far worse for the bandit. Her destructive energy rocked his world, leaving him barely able to stagger to his feet, and before he could go about paying the dark mage back, an ally blocked the way. With his focus divided and his adrenaline frustrated, the vagabond proved easy prey for a quick Mire that bubbled to life around him, a miniature storm of caustic toxins. With that sorted out, just one foe remained. Before moving on Artemisia muttered a quick, yet still over-elaborate thanks to Hadrick. “I am grateful your succor arrived at such a fortuitous moment.” Starting to feel the fatigue of depletion owing to her many spells used, Artemisia nevertheless prepared to advance. Alnard and Einer dispatched the last brigand, which left the way clear for her force to proceed. She let out a hearty breath, appreciative of even a quick reprieve. Unlike these trained soldiers, she didn't possess the stamina to just keep wading on through battle. The clatter of hooves heralded the arrival of Kyran, no doubt having fought through a similar situation near the fort's proper entrance. He seemed ready to proceed, pausing only to ask the plan. Artemisia gave a blank look, not exactly sure herself. Following wherever the prince went seemed like a good option. She rubbed at the cut on her shoulder, waiting for whatever came next while Einar offered his view on the group's position. While she did not particularly appreciate phrasing her magnificent, ancient magical arts as harassment, she felt confident she could obliterate anyone who found a way past the front lines, even if a little winded. Soon enough, Artemisia heard the tramp of hasty feet and the shouts of rough voices, the bandits' reckless behavior indicative of their mounting desperation. A few bodies on the floor, a couple feet of hole in the wall, and their shoddy plans had gone to hell. The dark mage grinned, feeling magic coursing through her. “Our victory is certain. Let us seal the deal.”

__________________________ Status: At the ready Class: Occultist Inv: Vulnerary, Book of Secrets

World of Light

A note for everyone in the Land of Adventure: Gniedxick's game is not mandatory. If you have other stuff you'd like your character to do, feel free to abstain. However, those who do participate can request fighting any of Gniedxick's minions in particular. They include the Tipsy Troop, Chips Bettigan the cowboy stack, Hopus Pocus the magic rabbit, Phear Lap the skeletal racehorse, Mr. Wheezy the cigar, Pip and Dot the domino, Pirouletta the roulette wheel, Mangosteen the 8 ball, and Mr. Chimes the toy monkey. In addition, Pokemon and strikers do not count for the 3 allowed challengers per minion, provided the Pokemon are in their pokeballs.

Soul Eater: Apple of Discord

Sealed Star

Name: Sloane Vinicula Maddox

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Role: Demon Weapon

Special Trait:
Power Amp – While Sloane has a very narrow range of compatibility, her ability to boost the soul wavelength of a meister is actually very strong, allowing a strong resonance to be built in very little time, which in turn supports potent soul-enhanced techniques.

Strengths:
Sloane's strengths typically only see the light of day if she is able to overcome her mental hurdles. If somehow able to apply herself to a situation and extend effort without fear of failure, Sloane is a fairly talented individual. She's observant, intelligent, able to learn quickly and solve problems, physically fit, and a good fighter. A natural affinity plus lots of training allow her to partially change into her weapon form, manifesting her halberd's axehead or spearhead almost anywhere on her body. Overall, she's pretty strong offensively if she can be coaxed into it. Around friends -people who've treated her well and supported her, with patience and kindness, despite her shortcomings and built up mutual trust- she feels able to try and be the person she wishes she could be all the time, a good friend and companion who's always there for those she cares about.

Weaknesses:
Under the weight of a self-imposed pressure to be flawless and brilliant, she can't stand to fail and let people down. As such, she appears reluctant to put any effort forward, gets moody if she has to, and even moodier if she messes up. Sloane's typical standoffish attitude makes her difficult to deal with as a person and difficult to handle as a weapon. Her behavior makes her unlikable as a companion and teammate, and when in weapon form, she's poorly balanced and unwieldy at best but literally caustic to a wielder's hands at worst. It's difficult for her to get along with others. In addition, her ability to take hits is pretty poor.

Partner:
Witch Meister Judea

Soul Type and Appearance:
A maroon, disinterested soul. Its eyes are downcast and its face scrunched-up, while there's a bow behind it.

Appearance:
Fairly tall and overall slender (except where she shouldn't be), Sloane cuts a striking figure only further aided by her choice of attire.

With and without coat

Weapon Appearance and Description:
As a weapon Sloane takes the appearance of a gleaming halberd, a weapon that combines the strength of an axe with the reach and precision of a spear. With vivid color and masterful contours, it makes for a dazzling weapon, but it's actually fairly impractical. Its shaft is hard to get a good grip on, and with a lot of weight in the axe-head the halberd's balance is pretty unusual, making the weapon unwieldy.

Beautiful Disaster

Personality:
Cold, unapproachable, pessimistic, snappy, sarcastic, even churlish—Sloane is all these things and more. She gives off the air of someone fixated on Number One, uncaring about anyone else. However, she wishes this wasn't the case. If she could, Sloane would be outgoing, supportive, friendly, humorous, and enthusiastic, but instead her natural perfectionism fills her with anxiety and inadequacy. Having convinced herself by numerous incidents and failed attempts that she can't be a better person, and that her only inherent qualities that make herself worth anything in the eyes of others are superficial, she possesses rock-bottom self-esteem. This sustains the surly, morose mood that leads her to be unkind to others, be it by assuming the worst or making fun. In most situations she would rather not try than risk failure.

Despite all this, if able to get past her own mental hurdles to apply herself, she is both a kind and principled person, even cheerful and funny, as well as an intelligent and capable problem-solver. In order to manifest this side of herself, however, she needs the unflinching goodness of others.

As side-notes, Sloane is fond of sleeping, clothes, cars, horror and monsters, history, and poetry.

Backstory: Ambrose Maddox and Millicent Roads suited one another perfectly. Ambitious, smart, headstrong, vivacious, hailing from poor families, and perpetually down in their luck, they found in each other the perfect partner in their shared vision of the good life. Married fresh out of university mostly paid for by scholarships and looking to square their debts before making it big, they started up a daring business and got to work. Years passed and business fluctuated wildly, sometimes landing the couple a few months of blissful comfort and sometimes sending them sleepless nights in crippling debt, counting on that next shipment. They worked hard, demanding the best from one another, and though it strained their relationship at times, they finally achieved something like their dream of success. It wasn't quite the peak they hoped for, but they were happy. When they had children, a son and two daughters, they sought to bring them up as just the sort of hard-working, self-made successes they themselves had been.

Unfortunately, their luck did not hold. Their son Verne, a kind and self-effacing soul without any more ambition that helping out others, proved to be a disappointment to them. Their oldest daughter, Minette, turned out startlingly like Millicent's mother, who'd been a primary factor for her drive to earn a better life; she was lazy and a slob, and frightfully overweight. That left Sloane, quiet and smart, clearly gifted, and eager to achieve. The cost of raising three children plus a sudden downturn in the couple's ever-changing business gradually brought around tough times for the family, and so it was that the parents' ambitious turned to Sloane.

Sloane's parents raised her with sky-high expectations. Having fallen short of the good life they sought, her mother and father strove to make her into the perfect, golden child. They imposed high standards and seldom rewarded her successes, instead punishing and correcting her mistakes. She was taught to be the best and settle for nothing less, and for a long time she tried very hard. Eventually, however, Sloane hit her breaking point. In her teens, with the pressure mounting of getting into a good school with huge scholarships, her attempts to be perfect started to backfire. She started getting angry with herself and those around her when she failed, and refusing to try when success wasn't assured. Her parents, worried that their star was burning out, increased the pressure. In time the bright girl became standoffish, rude, and withdrawn, unwilling to open up and brutally critical of herself. Despairing, her parents wrote her off as another failure.

It was at that time, however, that her abilities as a demon weapon manifested. The product of a recessive gene long-hidden in her father's family line, she revealed herself to be a stunning weapon, and suddenly a new avenue was open to her parents. They reached out for meisters about her age, making offers to try and get her paired with an up-and-coming meister bound for success. If their daughter could become a Death Scythe, after all, no shortage of fame and fortune would be forthcoming for her family. Sloane tried one match, regretted it immensely, and promptly abandoned her mother and father. She wandered for a time, finding shelter and work where able. She spent some time with her brother and sister (working toward becoming a butler and a chef, respectively), her only confidantes for many years, but ended up at the DWMA.

Soul Eater: Apple of Discord

Well, after much work, here is my sheet. I hope it' alright.

Sealed Star

Name: Sloane Vinicula Maddox

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Role: Demon Weapon

Special Trait:
Power Amp – While Sloane has a very narrow range of compatibility, her ability to boost the soul wavelength of a meister is actually very strong, allowing a strong resonance to be built in very little time, which in turn supports potent soul-enhanced techniques.

Strengths:
Sloane's strengths typically only see the light of day if she is able to overcome her mental hurdles. If somehow able to apply herself to a situation and extend effort without fear of failure, Sloane is a fairly talented individual. She's observant, intelligent, able to learn quickly and solve problems, physically fit, and a good fighter. A natural affinity plus lots of training allow her to partially change into her weapon form, manifesting her halberd's axehead or spearhead almost anywhere on her body. Overall, she's pretty strong offensively if she can be coaxed into it. Around friends -people who've treated her well and supported her, with patience and kindness, despite her shortcomings and built up mutual trust- she feels able to try and be the person she wishes she could be all the time, a good friend and companion who's always there for those she cares about.

Weaknesses:
Under the weight of a self-imposed pressure to be flawless and brilliant, she can't stand to fail and let people down. As such, she appears reluctant to put any effort forward, gets moody if she has to, and even moodier if she messes up. Sloane's typical standoffish attitude makes her difficult to deal with as a person and difficult to handle as a weapon. Her behavior makes her unlikable as a companion and teammate, and when in weapon form, she's poorly balanced and unwieldy at best but literally caustic to a wielder's hands at worst. It's difficult for her to get along with others. In addition, her ability to take hits is pretty poor.

Partner:
N/A

Soul Type and Appearance:
A maroon, disinterested soul. Its eyes are downcast and its face scrunched-up, while there's a bow behind it.

Appearance:
Fairly tall and overall slender (except where she shouldn't be), Sloane cuts a striking figure only further aided by her choice of attire.

With and without coat

Weapon Appearance and Description:
As a weapon Sloane takes the appearance of a gleaming halberd, a weapon that combines the strength of an axe with the reach and precision of a spear. With vivid color and masterful contours, it makes for a dazzling weapon, but it's actually fairly impractical. Its shaft is hard to get a good grip on, and with a lot of weight in the axe-head the halberd's balance is pretty unusual, making the weapon unwieldy.

Beautiful Disaster

Personality:
Cold, unapproachable, pessimistic, snappy, sarcastic, even churlish—Sloane is all these things and more. She gives off the air of someone fixated on Number One, uncaring about anyone else. However, she wishes this wasn't the case. If she could, Sloane would be outgoing, supportive, friendly, humorous, and enthusiastic, but instead her natural perfectionism fills her with anxiety and inadequacy. Having convinced herself by numerous incidents and failed attempts that she can't be a better person, and that her only inherent qualities that make herself worth anything in the eyes of others are superficial, she possesses rock-bottom self-esteem. This sustains the surly, morose mood that leads her to be unkind to others, be it by assuming the worst or making fun. In most situations she would rather not try than risk failure.

Despite all this, if able to get past her own mental hurdles to apply herself, she is both a kind and principled person, even cheerful and funny, as well as an intelligent and capable problem-solver. In order to manifest this side of herself, however, she needs the unflinching goodness of others.

As side-notes, Sloane is fond of sleeping, clothes, cars, horror and monsters, history, and poetry.

Backstory: Ambrose Maddox and Millicent Roads suited one another perfectly. Ambitious, smart, headstrong, vivacious, hailing from poor families, and perpetually down in their luck, they found in each other the perfect partner in their shared vision of the good life. Married fresh out of university mostly paid for by scholarships and looking to square their debts before making it big, they started up a daring business and got to work. Years passed and business fluctuated wildly, sometimes landing the couple a few months of blissful comfort and sometimes sending them sleepless nights in crippling debt, counting on that next shipment. They worked hard, demanding the best from one another, and though it strained their relationship at times, they finally achieved something like their dream of success. It wasn't quite the peak they hoped for, but they were happy. When they had children, a son and two daughters, they sought to bring them up as just the sort of hard-working, self-made successes they themselves had been.

Unfortunately, their luck did not hold. Their son Verne, a kind and self-effacing soul without any more ambition that helping out others, proved to be a disappointment to them. Their oldest daughter, Minette, turned out startlingly like Millicent's mother, who'd been a primary factor for her drive to earn a better life; she was lazy and a slob, and frightfully overweight. That left Sloane, quiet and smart, clearly gifted, and eager to achieve. The cost of raising three children plus a sudden downturn in the couple's ever-changing business gradually brought around tough times for the family, and so it was that the parents' ambitious turned to Sloane.

Sloane's parents raised her with sky-high expectations. Having fallen short of the good life they sought, her mother and father strove to make her into the perfect, golden child. They imposed high standards and seldom rewarded her successes, instead punishing and correcting her mistakes. She was taught to be the best and settle for nothing less, and for a long time she tried very hard. Eventually, however, Sloane hit her breaking point. In her teens, with the pressure mounting of getting into a good school with huge scholarships, her attempts to be perfect started to backfire. She started getting angry with herself and those around her when she failed, and refusing to try when success wasn't assured. Her parents, worried that their star was burning out, increased the pressure. In time the bright girl became standoffish, rude, and withdrawn, unwilling to open up and brutally critical of herself. Despairing, her parents wrote her off as another failure.

It was at that time, however, that her abilities as a demon weapon manifested. The product of a recessive gene long-hidden in her father's family line, she revealed herself to be a stunning weapon, and suddenly a new avenue was open to her parents. They reached out for meisters about her age, making offers to try and get her paired with an up-and-coming meister bound for success. If their daughter could become a Death Scythe, after all, no shortage of fame and fortune would be forthcoming for her family. Sloane tried one match, regretted it immensely, and promptly abandoned her mother and father. She wandered for a time, finding shelter and work where able. She spent some time with her brother and sister (working toward becoming a butler and a chef, respectively), her only confidantes for many years, but ended up at the DWMA.

World of Light

Lumbridge

Level 6 Tora - (8/60) EXP and Level 5 Poppi - (16/50) EXP
Location: the Land of Adventure
Word Count: 1489

Down the road from the guild hall, the area surrounding Blazermate's teleporter had become quite the center of attention. Three total strangers, looking harrowed and smelling funny, were being attended to in close proximity to the device. Shortly after his arrival on the scene, the Houndmaster had observed his trusty wolfhound balking at the odor coming off the survivors and ordered that nobody get too close. During his time venturing through the perilous bowels of castle, warren, weald, and cove in preparation for assaulting the Darkest Dungeon, the lawmen encountered no shortage of blights, poisons, and plagues, and the villagers had heard enough vague but horrifying recollections to trust his insight in such matters. Visitors could talk to them, however, and that was just what they did.

The oldest of the escapees, an animate coin with arms and legs, treated any inquirers to an endless tirade that fluctuated between rattled recounting of events and ornery complaints. Cooper Chance, spurred on either by adrenaline or stress, babbled excitedly. Feng Min, who looked the worst for wear but somehow seemed the least mentally affected, did her best to explain to the Houndmaster and the others what happened, but there was a problem. When Linkle dropped by to ask about her friends, the survivor shared what little she could. “I'm sorry, but I was barely with anyone else. I...I was trapped in a different nightmare, a pocket dimension or something, until this kid in a mask rescued me and Dwight. Then we were in a big hall in this museum place with a bunch of people.” She paused a moment, trying to remember. “I...saw the bear, and the robot girl, but nobody else you mentioned. A giant horde of zombies was attacking, and everyone was going crazy. The police chief picked me to get on the teleporter first, but...” she glanced at the machine, motionless and nonoperational. “Something must have happened to stop the others.”

Her voice shook for the first time as she finished speaking, dreading the thought that she could help but entertain: that everyone else, including Dwight, who'd been through hell alongside her, was dead.

---

“Broggypon look...cagey,” Tora observed.

Poppi nodded, frowning. She and her masterpon sat on opposite sides of a small, circular table, and on the table stood the little creature that had been encapsulated in her pokeball for almost a whole day. Though small in stature, the Croagunk managed to be imposing in temper, treating the pair with nasty, distrustful looks after its initial rage wore off. The purplish marks on Poppi's unliving face and Tora's mech arm, hastily used as a shield, stood as testament to the little guy's fury. For her part, Poppi didn't quite understand the problem, since she figured that it couldn't have possibly been starving or dehydrated in that time. While no expert on pets himself, Tora took up the task of explaining.

“Erm...well, it like this,” he began, his voice prompting the Croagunk to turn on him. “Animals not like machine, which give good results so long as fueled properly. They need affection, exercise, stimulation,” he listed off the points using his wing-feathers to count. Since they stopped at three, so did his list. “Tora not know how little ball work, meh, but quite possible little Brog been bored, cramped, and alone for many hours.” Saying it aloud, the Nopon couldn't help but feel sorry for the little guy. With how busy he'd been with the karts at the time, he actually had no idea that Poppi went and caught herself a pet. The idea that she kept something from him didn't sit well with him, but Tora put that feeling aside for later.

The news made Poppi's face fall. “...Oh.” After a moment she stood up, drawing the Croagunk's attention. “Poppi is very sorry, brog. Not know enough about animals to take care of Croagunk.” As the pokemon watched, she moved toward the guild hall's door and opened it. “If brog want to leave, brog can. Poppi understand. But if brog stay, Poppi will do much better!” Brows furrowed, she nodded in a determined way.

For its part, the Croagunk looked unconvinced. It shot Tora a sketchy look, but for the moment did not move. Tora took that as a good sign and produced his last Tasty Sausage from his pocket. “Here!” he said, unwrapping the dried meat and offering it to the pokemon. “Tora love Tasty Sausage! So yummy-yummy! But because of that, Tora giving it very meaningful, meh!” Skirting away from his wing, the Croagunk refused to take it, so Tora laid it down on the table. Poppi reached the table and watched with intense eyes. The Croagunk huffed and turned up its nose, only for its belly to rumble, crying out for sustenance. At first the pokemon tried to pretend it didn't happen, but after a moment it hung its head, sheepish, and took the food to eat. Tora smiled ear to ear and clapped Poppi on the shoulder, who looked overjoyed. Even if she and her Croagunk didn't get along yet, there seemed to be a chance to make up for her ignorance and become friends.

Someone barged in through the open door, prompting the three to look. None other than Courier swaggered in, flanked by a bulky machine riding high on one tire. “Ooh,” Tora said appreciatively, assuming the robot to be the gunslinger's own creation. Of course, with that inelegant chassis and rudimentary framework it was nothing compared to his Poppi, but something about it prevented him looking away in disinterest. The face plastered on its screen seemed awfully familiar, but Tora couldn't remember a name or anything. Someone he'd seen for a short time, perhaps, to whom he was never really introduced. 6 gave an introduction now, but it didn't ring a bell, so all Tora said was, “Drinking in morning not healthy, but par for the course for druggypon, meh.”

Another commotion brought the trio's attention over to Bowser, who'd just made a show of slamming down a jar full of colorful spirits onto a table in front of where the guildmaster and Peach seemed to be talking. In a twist of irony he was coming to her rescue, both offering the proof the smarmy guildmaster asked for and trying to impress her. For his efforts he earned a snicker when he needed a reminder from his own kid to properly showcase the Brachydios spirit. He made a bit of a mess retrieving it too, allowing the others to pick over the selection.

For Hat Kid

You have acquired:
Lens of the Comet
A trinket fashioned from otherworldly crystal. With it equipped, one is able to ignore the effects of stealth, but its malign presence makes one much less likely to turn virtuous under duress

and:
Topshelf Tonic
Brew crystallized by maddening alien phosphorescence. The bizarre blend bleeds through to whoever carries it, making him or her much more evasive if the carrier also possesses herbs with any medicinal properties, and increasing his or her speed, but also making the carrier more susceptible to blighta and making said blights last longer.

and:
Attentuation Field Generator
A dream of a far-off world with a metal sky and creatures with bones of light surrenders an object capable of creating pulses that strip energy shields and disrupt electrical systems.

Still, regardless of its clumsy delivery, the monster's remnant was just what the doctor ordered. The sight of it struck the guildmaster dumb for a moment, but after the Ace Cadet egged him on, the dam broke and he smacked his palm with a fist. “Drat!” he muttered, fuming. “Double drat! Why, I oughta...”

All of a sudden his anger evaporated as if it had all been an act. Clearing his throat, he stood up straight, placed his hands on his hips and looked between the assembled heroes, all watching him. "Well, lookee here! You seekers actually pulled it off...but you made me lose a bet!! And for that, you ain't seein' the big cheese just yet. We're gonna play a little game first!"

The guildmaster grabbed his collar and pulled. His coat came off in one motion, impossibly smooth, and leaving him a silhouette surrounded in darkness. He whirled the coat around himself, wrapping it up before clapping it between his hands. When he held his fingers up, a pitch-black coin lay nestled between two of them. Using his thumb he flipped it into the air, and when it hit the ground, it expanded into a huge black circle that covered a wide section of floor. Bowser, Junior, Peach, the Courier, Gaige-tron, Tora, Poppi, the Croagunk, Ace Cadet, Hat Kid, and Geralt were all above it. The next thing they knew they were falling, plummeting down, down down through infinite darkness.

Then came bright lights, and a moment later the falling heroes hit something soft and green. Tora hit it face-first and bounced, confused and alarmed but unharmed. “Mehmehmeeeeh!” he wailed, bouncing one more time before coming to a stop. Poppi, having used her boosters to land, would have rushed to help him up if she wasn't utterly amazed.

Carpet, nylon, booze, smoke, and sweat. Suits, cigars, chips, and cards. The heroes appeared to be an utterly enormous casino, so gigantic that what they might have mistakenly thought to be grass was in actuality the surface of an immense poker table. Stranger than the casino, however, were its occupants. Instead of people, a throng of well-dressed skeletons and demons patronized the place, jostling and chatting as they filled themselves with liquor and fumes and thoughts of winning it big as they tried their luck at slots, craps, roulette, blackjack, poker, and baccarat. Worse still, while nobody seemed injured by the fall, a quick look upward would be just in time to catch the hole they came through closing up as though it never existed.

An ugly laugh resounded from one side of the table. A figure rose from behind a board game, the last of the darkness draining away from his body to reveal the guildmaster's true form.

A lanky man in a tacky purple suit towered before them, but instead of a head a die rested on his shoulders, and its front bore leering seafoam-green eyes and a villainous grin. He slid a deck of cards from his sleeve to perform a card trick, flitting them back and forth between his hands. “Nahahahaha! Well now, how d'you do down there? The name's Gneidxick. Things're different in this world, but I'm still the devil's right hand man.” He clapped his hands together, crushing the cards into a pink die that hovered just above the table, spinning. “Lemme introduce you to my friends. Rough 'em up and you can roll for points. Get ten, you win. Keel over, you lose!” He laughed again, eyes gleaming. “Let's open the game!”

Around the edges of the giant table, ten oversized poker chips rose up to become portals. On their other sides lay a diverse assortment of arenas, and various enemies waiting within.

All bets are off! Gneidxick is untargetable until his game is won, and he's pitting the heroes against his gallery of minions. The portals to their arenas will close after admitting three challengers. While the heroes can't escape Gneidxick's casino, reinforcements can arrive through the portable hole still present in the guild hall.

Ratchet and Death

Location: Lounge, RCPD, Dead Zone

A bonk on the head from Ratchet's wrench left the fire-spitting pyrobat dazed, which meant easy pickings for Death's scythe. That left only the red arremer, who looked more put out than angry or afraid. Unlike the myriad zombies and demons assaulting the police station, this monster did not seem hellbent on the heroes' deaths. In fact, Firebrand felt like his parade has been rained on. With his playmates down and these two a little too combat-capable to be any fun, Firebrand decided he could get his kicks elsewhere. He spat out a few well-aimed fireballs to get Ratchet and Death dancing, then flew backward out of the ruined lounge with a burst of mocking cackles. The next moment, he was gone, and with the horde overrunning the RCPD, the heroes needed to beat it, too.

As Firebrand took to the darkened sky, he could get a good view of the dilemma facing the police station. Survivors and fighters poured of the backside, a tight-knit group moving quickly, while a staggering abundance of monsters smashed into the station's front, a ravenous, malevolent tsunami. Two more arremers rose from the throng to join him, and together the trio took off after the interesting group. Firebrand was excited. It'd been so long since he'd crossed paths with real, living people. While an endless sort of fun, they also provided a potential path out of here and back to the Demon Village. If they got killed, that was that, but he was interested to see how this struggle turned out.

Jak and Daxter

Location: First floor east side, RCPD, Dead Zone

As electrifying as his performance was, Eddie's rhythmic devastation did not help his allies still inside the station. Worse still, he quickly found himself taking on far greater numbers than he expected. He'd assumed only a contingent coming around the police station from this angle, but like a crashing wave the gigantic horde seemed to spill around the station front, no doubt bottlenecked at the main entrance by those still in the main hall. His righteous lightning fried wave after wave of undead and low-level demons, but the tide showed no sign of stopping. As his fingers got sore from his furious playing, Eddie started backtracking toward the window. He needed to pull back.

Just a feet feet away, on the other side of the station wall, Jak recognized the quickly deteriorating situation himself and called upon the darkness. A roiling energy ball of dark eco blossomed to life between his palms, and with a bellow he hurled it through the incoming zombies to blast apart the wall and reveal another avenue of escape. A moment later a rain-soaked Eddie flopped through the window and rose to his feet, bleeding from the broken glass. “Too many. Let's blow this joint!”

The group started to move, but the wraith had other ideas. Having been floating behind the survivors, wary of the new arrivals, she seized the perfect chance to act. As the four ran for Jak's improvised exit, the wraith swooped forward toward Tess. It happened in an instant; Jones and Eddie spotted it in time to witness, but not to prevent. The cruelly hooked, heavy silver gleamed hungrily as it flashed through the weak light. Tess screamed as the blade cleaved through, not just lopping off an arm at the elbow but cleaving straight through her torso as well. Her lower and upper halves hit the floor in a murky pool, and Jones ground his teeth. “No!” he growled, reaching into his coat. He withdrew a heavy-barreled revolver of exotic make, leveled it at the wraith, and fired.

A thunderous rapport and withering flash signaled the annihilation of the wraith's head. With a spectral shriek her ghostly body faded away, leaving a spirit behind. All around zombies were incoming, swarming like piranhas. Jones moved with uncanny composure and grace, sliding forward to grab the spirit as it floated softly to the floor. He span around, took a step, and knelt to jam it into Tess's chest. A brilliant, prismatic light burst to life inside the infested corridor, pushing the horde back for just a moment. Jones looked down into the light, watching Tess's face disappear into formless radiance. “I hope you'll forgive me,” he murmured before standing, his face grim. Another couple second's hesitation and he'd be overrun. Without looking back he ran after the others, stuffing the unusual pistol back into his coat as he went. Behind him, unseen, the dying woman changed, becoming something altogether different. For better or worse, Jones knew, she would remain.

Nero

Location: Sundered Market Avenue, Dead Zone

Hearts pounded, and heavy breaths tore through ragged throats. The cluster of fighters and survivors paused for a brief time while its leadership discussed which route to take, making use of every second to try and recuperate some stamina. Every single one of them knew that the horde could not be far behind. Only one person kept running: Nero, who made a beeline for a nearby phone booth. What could ever be important enough to warrant a phone call in this situation, few could guess.

The debate itself was very brief. Blazermate and Donnie recommended the left, and with every second on the clock counting, Howard agreed immediately. “Alright, we'll do that. No sense tangling with Chimeras, not with a group this size.” Kazooie took the opportunity to announce -with an understandably coarse undertone, given the circumstances- that she and her partner would be taking the middle route, which would get them to the tower first. While he hadn't seen those wings in action, Howard wagered that they'd protect the pair from falling, but the same couldn't be said for the survivors. An overly-strong gust of wind, or a sudden attack by flying demons or chimeras, could spell messy ends for anyone too intrepid for their own good.

Jill approached him next with troubling news, the look on her face telling the police captain that a few more moments were necessary to share it. “Sir. We lost four civilians in the escape, the Black Mage, and the masked kid. There's also no sign of Olivia or the new guy she was with.”

Howard exhaled. The weight of lost lives hung around his heart like leaden chains. “We'll have to mourn them later. We gotta move. Everyone!” he raised his voice to address the crowd. “We're going left! Stay close and move fast. We're almost to safety!” His strong heart was cold with fear. Even if everyone made it to the tower, would it be the haven he described it as? It could be inaccessible, or worse, defended. Maybe it had automated defenses. Maybe the 'big guy' fox mentioned would rip and tear the survivors limb from limb. Maybe it was full of more monsters. I don't know a damn thing, he agonized. Was he driving these people toward their deaths?

An uproar from down the street forced him to look back. The horde was coming. Its interminable mass filled the street, just a couple thousand feet away. He shook his head and bellowed, “GO!” Anything could be waiting at the tower, but death itself was lurching the survivors' way. Anything was better than that. He led the charge as the group swerved left, headed for the infested left side of the sundered market avenue. His Legion manifested beside him, and when the undead came his way it cleft them into pieces with its immense axe. If Blazermate held true to her word, she could at least neutralize most of their undead attackers, allowing fighters to take them out with little effort and keep the survivors moving.

Nero drew up alongside Howard, firing his Blue Rose at any zombies that drew too close. His demonic bullets tore them apart, allowing him to converse with the captain remarkably casually. “Cheer up, old man. Things could be worse, huh?”

“People have died,” Howard growled through gritted teeth. He delivered a horizontal swipe to a zombie with the blunt edge of his heavy gladius, which shattered its bones and left it lying in a malodorous heap. He looked back and winced. The horde was gaining. Those in the back would not survive. “A kid has died. Your friend!”

The devil hunter shook his head. He took aim at a flood combat form, then adjusted it to hit a nearby streetlamp. Two bullets glanced off the metal and hit the flood from the opposite side, knocking it into a trash can. As he ran by Nero swung at it with the revved Red Queen, setting the contents ablaze. “Emergency pickup. I know someone.”

There came a terrific series of crunches and impacts from behind. A look back would turn up a familiar van plowing through the left wing of the pursuing horde, pulverizing undead beneath its fender and tires. Even from this distance the survivors could see the wide, white smile of the woman behind the wheel, and inside the van beside her were Joker, and Olivia. Zombies clung to the van, and demons lashed out it with claw and spell, but it shook off them all. “Woooooohoo!” Nico cried, breaking free of the horde and streaking toward the survivors with wet tires.

A few moments later she pulled up alongside the rearmost survivors, and slowed down, her doors flung open. Inside, Gene was ready to help people in. “Come on, come on!” he urged, and they came. The overweight, hat-wearing dragon climbed on top of the van instead, but Nico's vehicle bore the burden without complaint. Snarling and gnashing, the horde bore down upon the van, but the last civilian piled in and Nico hit the gas just in time for the frontrunner demon's claws to close around nothing but air. She accelerated toward the tower, maneuvering around the rest of the survivors and pancaking more zombies. The van would reach the tower first, but the runners were still vulnerable. More attacks came from the side, and the horde was never far behind. If the fighters could slow down the horde and fend off the attackers, it suddenly seemed possible that everyone could make it. One final stretch.

Soul Eater: Apple of Discord

I'd be down for this.

World of Light

@Stekkmen, @Majoras End, I'll be holding off the next update until Wednesday due to <50% posting over the week, but I thought I'd remind you that while things will have to continue if you do not post, I'd be very happy to have posts from the both of you.

In particular, the horde will catch up to anyone that does not keep moving in the Dead Zone, with potentially disastrous consequences.

Overlord: Momento Mori

When guests were over

Whoops, Graft thought. Had he said 'benefit to himself'? A slip of the tongue, of course, since his modus operandi was all for the benefit of Chateau Gothika and its residents. If Salem harbored any real understanding of his position, that implication would be crystal clear. Still, it was a minor gaffe, since getting the wrong idea was understandable and a good leader took total responsibility for clear communication. As such Graft consented to hearing Salem out, folding his arms over his planted cane to listen, despite his embarrassing misuse of irrelevant words like 'tantrum'. He did not expect to profit in this exchange of his time for the puppet's 'advice', but given the status of his fellow Chapter Keeper and creation of the Bandersnatch Lords, he could not discard the possibility of something worthwhile slipping out.

The two of them examined the Nightgaunt, readying herself to leave and train. When Salem spoke, he used hushed, serious tones. When he implied her to be Brushen Penn's favorite, however, Graft knew that his very young ally could not possibly be speaking in earnest. As if adults cared about silly things like favorites. There was successful and unsuccessful, useful and useless, debit and credit. Affection did not factor into the equation. Besides, what did Tabula have that he did not? By definition she had no ability, talent, experience, or even personality. All she had were her scars and her sex. Now, judging by the vastly-skewed ratio of female to male creations in the Chateau, the Sable Lords did seem to prefer females, but none of them played the essential role that he did. That just left Tabula's all-but-confirmed abuse at Penn's hands, and surely Salem couldn't mean that.

Graft stroked his enormous mustache, looking at Salem in a new light as the kid made senseless recommendations about Tabula's fate. Or could he? The director ran over his stockpiled information in his head. Alone, abandoned, unliving, unimportant, an item that had been thrown away, and not by circumstance, but by design Maybe any kind of attention, especially physical, counted as love in his eyes.

Graft smiled. Everyone had a weakness, be it a physical spot, a type of damage, a special spell, or even painful figments of the past. Those were fine, but they could be covered up and accounted for. Graft preferred to exploit Want. Want was a straight shot to the heart. With one's wants revealed, they could be exploited in full.

A few moments later the director watched Salem go. The mannequin had left a bomb behind, its payload far more dangerous than the secret it oh-so-kindly agreed to keep. Even Light seemed amazed by the kid's behavior. “Such curious thoughts. He thinks he knows me so well, yet he does not comprehend how utterly irreplaceable my Factory and I are.” A sinister light filled his eyes from within as he raised one hand. “Nor the depths of my control.”

He snapped his fingers, and the nearby Guards seized up. In a matter seconds they fell to pieces, their flesh neatly detaching and unraveling to leave behind neat piles of biomatter. Graft scooped one up and worked it with his claws, molding it like clay. “Nanoflesh is the ultimate asset,” he told Light. “It can create, it can consume, and it can destroy. Nothing that has partaken may defy me.” The glow faded, and he gave a chuckle. “Pardon me, you were saying something about a spin?”

Brevity was the soul of wit, and Light managed to say more in fewer words than her fellow guest had. He did feel a sense of freedom, an increased license to choose for himself how best to carry out his work. Investing in Tabula was just the start. “Corporate overlord, hm?” An amusing notion. Though a boss in his own right, Graft ultimately served the interests of the Board. Even if only one member remained, he intended to perform his duty, the very purpose for his existence. Anything else would be inexcusable. Light offered an alternative, her manner playful and alluring. Smiling, he played along. “You flatter me, dearie. To think that I, a mere inventor and businessman, would receive the attentions of such a mighty and exquisite creature.”

Of course, she got straight to business afterward, and Graft was more than happy to accompany her. “As a temporary solution I can sell you Guards or technoorganic homunculi that you may do whatever you want with. If you do not have the money now, I trust you sufficiently to allow you to pay later, albeit with slight interest.” He turned his head away, grinning in an almost bashful manner, as if the interest were some sort of inevitability that he couldn't do anything to stop and was embarrassed about. “As for something that could permit you contact with your fellows, I may be able to think of something. Like a perfect ledger, the world's balance exists so long as there are countermeasures for every measure, so just as you have an aura, there must be an effect that annuls it.”

Light's mention of gold piqued his interest, as money so often did. “So, you want to be eld-rich, do you? Well, gold must be found, earned, or taken. Deep below the earth it forms, occasionally winding up in mountainous riverbeds, at least in the old world. It can be exchanged for goods and services, or simply stolen from the less powerful. However, I despise petty theft and do not condone it.” He flashed a scowl, metal teeth locked together, as he mentioned theft. However, his earnest personality returned quickly. “If you don't want to dig in the ground, I suggest finding something that people want and giving it to them. Naturally, until we know the lay of the land, such options are off the table.”

---

Later on

Graft gave an amused chuckle at Kath's reaction. As knowledgeable as she was, she must have known about his Open Line skill, and that plus her typically unflappable bearing made the act of startling her fairly significant. “Pardon me, I must have taken you by surprise. Is everything going well on your expedition? I wanted to ask your help to complete the task given to me by Rodias, for which I will gladly reimburse you.” With an appeal to authority given and an offer of recompense affirmed, thereby creating a formal contract, Graft took for granted the aid of his previous coworker and continued. “I require as much information as can be gathered on the inconspicuous fauna of this world. Equivalent to the old one's rats and birds. Visual and behavioral details are the primary concern. If you and Ashara could keep an eye out and report back, I would be most appreciative.” Leaning back in his chair, he listened for Kath's reply. If today was really his lucky day, she could at least give some details right now about creatures she'd spotted to get him started, but the promise of a full report later was good enough.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Graft is not going to actively seek conflict, since while some discourse and disagreement are unavoidable he views actual infighting as actively detrimental to the organization as a whole, as well as liable to lead to negative consequences for himself.

I'm currently waiting on Guess Who's Kath, since Graft contacted her last round, but I'm planning for him to call someone else, probably Kaldorna or Zouyu, to get information on the wildlife.

World of Light

There! After many hours of work, by biggest post to date is ready. It deals with everyone in the RP, in their various situations, and gives everyone a chance to do stuff. People in the Land of Adventure can describe what they did during the night and interact with NPCs or one another in the morning, and people in the Dead Zone have their own situations to deal with in different parts of the police station before uniting together. To that end, everyone is free to autohit and control to a reasonable degree. I would encourage everyone to read the whole thing, as things are more integrated than they might appear. I hope you all enjoy!