Lugubrious

The North Road

Going to put one out today.

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

Artemisia

Though maybe mundane for the others, the journey to the woods kept Artemisia's wandering mind occupied. Unlike Alexandria natives or traveled mercenaries, after all, she was seeing this land for the first time. Something as simple as how commonfolk -both in the city and beyond- conducted their lives, or the pastoral scenes of this region's flora, interested her. One footstep at a time, she could fill in bits of the grand map of the world that floated about in her head. If she learned anything during her tour of the Free Cities and Bellas as a whole, it was that reality contained so much more than she could possibly imagine. To truly live, she felt sure, meant to experience that abundance.

So she did not grow distant or bored, but she did grow something else, and it quickly became a problem. About halfway through, her breathing started to get heavier, and by three quarters she started wheezing. By the time the group came to a stop at the border of the uncommonly grim and foreboding forest, Artemisia was wheezing and sweating. “Guh!” she sputtered. “You all...certainly keep...a brisk pace.” Straightening up, she took a few deep breaths. “Aah....ahh...ohh. Goodness.” While pretty defenseless as she tried to recover, she figured one of the fighter-types was looking out for her. Otherwise, what were they good for?

Only after composing herself did the mood of the place really settle in on her. Just peering between those murky trees tickled her fight-or-flight response, telling her survival instincts that perhaps some coins could be better earned elsewhere. She glanced at Balder for reassurance only to find a pall of apprehension floating over the team's veteran hunter like a dark cloud, which helped to tank her confidence. Things were not as they should be. Everyone could tell that, let alone feel it, but it seemed as though they would be advancing anyway. Small wonder about that meager life expectancy. It would be foolish not to expect a fight. As the others formed up, with the melee fighters constructing a reasonably sturdy front line and Avaddon in particular bullying a tree to show off, Artemisia hurried after them.

Once close enough for comfort she rummaged around in her supply sack for the fragment of wind aldite, which she weighed in her hand and gave an expert's appraisal. A sigh and a shrug made clear her opinion on its quality, but nevertheless she pulled up her sleeve to pop the relatively worthless decorative quartz out of her bangle so she could insert the aldite instead. “Such an unwelcoming gloom typically portends the congregation of fiends,” she advised. The others no doubt expected an attack to be a possibility, but Artemisia supposed she might as well confirm it just in case. While unhappy that further exertion seemed unavoidable, Artemisia kept a cool head. If forced to fight, her enemies would not find her wanting. The same couldn't be said for Luna, however, who wanted for more than a little calmness right now. Ianthe noticed it too, even going so far as to leave point duty to her fellows and fall back to give the archer some comfort. Artemisia couldn't help but wonder how comforting Luna found Ianthe's compliment, though.

The farther in the group got, the less at ease the black mage became, little by little. “Whereee are youuuu....?” she whispered, scanning between the trees.

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

Artemisia

Much sooner than she would have liked, Artemisia found herself diverted from her ongoing attempts to make up interesting backstories for these people, and by that spear-wielding Mitra girl nonetheless. She looked pointedly at the black mage while suggesting the general conversation get back to introductions. Nice try, Midriff. You don't have the room with you, so I'm not taking the hint. If she didn't want to put up with the self-aggrandization of Avaddon and Blaike, she could either space out like Artemisia or learn to love it.

Luckily for Mitra -and everyone, really- the center of attention shifted away from the one-upping between Blaike and Avaddon as Edgar gave his name, profession, and shortly thereafter a declaration of earnestness. The spotlight then fixated solely on the proctor, one Balder Grescott, who took control of the situation in order to brief the group of would-be hunters on exactly what their assignment entailed. From the sound of it, they would be wiping out a cluster of ravenous juvenile plant-monsters called Miniboros, which sounded like a real problem in a swarm, with the added bonus of a potential mommy or daddy 'boro nearby. The man sauntered about the room, scanning each of them with his eyes as if he could figure them out by their looks alone. Artemisia smiled sweetly at Balder when he looked her way, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. If nothing else she appreciated him condoning a hasty retreat if things got out of hand, which had been a card already stashed up her sleeve anyway. She took her form and began to write.

Everyone mulled over the new information, but it was Edgar who spoke up first. He'd already done well enough to establish himself as the eager, probably naive young go-getter, but what came out of his mouth next provoked a giggle despite Artemisia's best attempts to mask it. “Pffff...!” Well, maybe not her best, to be honest. But how could she keep herself together after that? The line was so adorably goofy. The black mage hoped Edgar lived to come up with a better one for next time. Artemisia penned her signature at the bottom of her form: The Skybound Sorceress, as Witty as She is Pretty: Artemisia. By the time she handed it back, Blaike had managed to pump out a few sentences' worth of attempting to convince the others that slaying the senior Malboro would be the altruistic thing to do. Artemisia agreed; that did not mean that she would do it. Heroic ideas about doing what's right got people killed, or as a totally random and non-specific example, turned into hideous fiends while trying to spare loved ones the same fate. Blaike seemed pretty damn pleased with himself about his wordplay, but as a follow-up to the spontaneous charm of Edgar's attempt it just came off as trying too hard.

As the group got up in preparation for departure, a few strings of conversation endured. Mitra pledged her support for everyone, which earned her an appreciative look from Artemisia. Her impressions of the unexpectedly chipper dragoon might be off, she realized. I'll hold you to that! After another moment or two the black mage rose from her seat and followed the other hunters out the door, happy to lag behind at the group's rear.

She thought about the mission ahead. Was she worried? Not really. Should she be? Maybe. Six souls would be standing between her and the monsters they needed to slaughter, but in the woods just about anything could happen. Yet she felt pretty confident that her story would not end today, not in such an inglorious fashion. A book of many pages did not end in chapter one.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Director Vitaphagas Graft

For a moment Graft believed. He believed that his words would reach the ears of the last Sable Lord, and haul him up from the depths he'd immersed himself in to reclaim his rightful place. It fit with everything he knew most fundamentally, after all; a Supreme Being stood over all created things, an entity from beyond bearing an innate mandate that set it at a different echelon to those of the world. They were not infallible, Graft understood, but they harbored limitless potential. If they so chose, such beings could accomplish anything they set their minds to. They could exhaust every modicum of content that reality had to offer, surpassing every possible challenge. While these immortals might experience setbacks, true defeat -a final end to their paths- came only if they so chose.

Graft's speech had been one of encouragement, but also ultimatum. Every carefully selected word led up to the choice he laid before Rodias, an intricate trap for the dhampir to foil or spring. If he was the leader of Gothika, he had no choice but to lead. If he did not step up to do that, here and now, he was no leader. Yet the Director did not think that could actually happen. He merely needed a prod in the right direction, and all would be well. In times like this, the boss turned to his number two to right his course, and Graft happily obliged. He waited with bated breath for Rodias to throw off the cloak of despair laying heavy on his shoulders and wrap himself instead in the mantle of sovereignty.

But that moment never came.

Dull-eyed, Rodias said nothing. He made no response to Graft's words. Instead his remained quiet, the cloud of depression hanging about him like a foul smog, and listened to what Salem had to say. Graft's mouth hung open for a moment, his mind electrified with astonishment. What? He's...not doing anything. He should have been roused to action! After a moment Graft meandered away and plunked into a chair, numbly allowing the others' words to reach him. Salem suggested subterfuge on the part of Rodias, relinquishing none of his authority while pretending to do so in order to infiltrate the ranks of Morgan's group. The doll also, with a knowing look at Graft that went unacknowledged, mentioned that Rodias' lofty ideas about the character and value of the guild might be misplaced. For once in its life the First Chapter Keeper spoke sense. It understood that the fragile bonds keeping Gothika together liked back to a single source, Rodias himself, and that letting go of any more slack meant a total collapse of order.

It had to be clear what Rodias needed to do at that point...it had to. But still he did nothing. He would do nothing.

Kaldorna said something next, mostly complaining about the state of the guild's organization. Graft agreed, although since his 'friend' seemed to lay a lot of blame on himself, he did not do so in good spirits. “It's thanks to me we have any semblance of communication or cooperation at all,” he grumbled, enunciating the last two words. His epiphany about Rodias staggered him, but anger bubbled beneath the surface. Kaldorna also suggested a council for the governance of Gothika, which did not gel with Graft. As if the majority of our number deserve any sort of authority, he thought. And what would such a council do, composed of servants with no master? What bound them all together? If there were no Sable Lords, as he made quite plain, there was no Bandersnatch.

Even gloomier than before, Rodias conceded to Salem and entertained the idea of a council before dismissing everyone. While others got underway, Graft continued to sit. He stared at the empty thrones. He sat until all the rest had gone, thinking, thinking, thinking.

Graft stood up, and approached the thrones. His lenses snapped into place, and they gave forth streams of light. Shapes wrought themselves into being upon the thrones, evidencing the vanished Bandersnatch Lords. Even with hazy details and holographic distortion they looked magnificent in their varied glory. Graft wished that he could have spoken to them like this before they were gone. He wished they were here now.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Board...” he said to the mirages. “...What is your will?” Graft sought answers in the faces of the Supreme Ones, and in the visages of those with no faces. His eyes ended up on Brushen Penn. Did her mistreatment of assets seem like that much of a crime now that he'd been faced with betrayal? “Would you want to see the culmination of your endeavors driven into the ground...?”

A rhetorical question of course, which worked out well considering the lack of prospective response. “No...” Graft whispered. A company was a like a ship. When it was going under, and the chain of command fell through for the sake of survival, there existed only two kinds of people: sinkers, and swimmers. Rodias was supposed to swim, but he chose to sink. The king meant to lift Gothika up became an anchor to weigh it down. A couple seconds passed before he cleared his throat. “The resignation of Rodias has been tendered and accepted. With it, the dissolution of the Board is complete. Yet its legacy will live on through its successors. I have already started down your path, my lords. Now I will follow in your footsteps.”

The images disappeared, and he turned away.

---

Much later...

After just a couple moments the scan completed. Graft nodded in satisfaction. “Forty-five and forty-five. You're dead even. Anything to report?”

Standing side by side especially, Papillary and Tabula looked very different. Before, Tabula had been nothing but soft and dumb, but now she looked like a fighter, a real priestess of war. Papillary, meanwhile, had continued to develop nothing but her HP, and looked like a bloated sack of meat stuffed into a mightily-stretched doctor's garb. She stood half a head taller than Tabula now, and at least three times as wide. A dozen gallons of blood coursed through her with every beat of her heart-head. Before Graft stood a strong beauty and a grotesque monstrosity, each well-suited for her purpose.

Papillary replied first, her voice a bit deeper than before. “Yes, sir. Both of us experienced severe diminishing returns on the way to forty-five. We agree that it'll take exponentially longer to keep growing from here.” She both looked and sounded haggard.

Graft crossed his arms. “That'll be because our Team Leads, the strongest of my generic employees, are uniformly level forty. My research on the development processes of the Supreme Beings indicated they must continue to seek stronger and stronger opponents, with the rewards increasing drastically. In fact, I found several records of complaints that in some cases it takes more total work to go from a level like fifty to fifty-one than it took to go from one to fifty.”

Both underlings groaned; their training had already been arduous. Graft chuckled. “Now, now! Don't you have any faith in your Director, girls? With my Trading Commission proposal on ice, and no new orders coming in, I've had a lot of time to figure out a better way to make you stronger. Walk with me!” In a flourish Graft stood up from his desk and stalked toward the door, walking with his cane. Tabula followed right after him, excitement writ on her features, while Papillary huffed and puffed as she struggled to keep up. Graft led to the way to the Factory's west wing, where he picked out one chamber in particular. The bio-scanner peered at him closely before sliding open the door, and Graft waltzed right inside. There was a momentary delay as Papillary struggled to squeeze through. “Hmm, we'll have to get that widened,” he murmured, before clearing his throat. “Anyway, feast your eyes upon my latest and greatest innovation. This...is the Experience Farm.”

The huge room stood as nothing less than an epitome of the Factory's design. The dull green of its metal, on every inch of its walls and even the floor, curved and swung in organic formations. Dozens of pens lined its walls on two separate floors in neat rows, their gates clasped together like interwoven fingers. Support pillars stretched from floor to ceiling like giant limbs, their gnarled, finger-like flanges eternally locked on their purchases. Wonderful in its order, horrific in its uncanniness, the place was a cathedral of living matter, and in it would sound a bloody hymn.

Neither Tabula or Papillary, already pretty used to this sort of thing thanks to the rest of the Factory, spared much attention to the architecture. They looked instead at the things inside the pens. They contained monsters of every shape and size, many of them strong-looking indeed. “Impressive, yes?” Graft asked, smiling toothily from ear to ear. “I secured these beasts from Kaldorna's pens. They run the gamut of strength from levels forty to seventy.”

“Whoa...” Tabula breathed. She approached one of the pens, inside which a many-legged lizard three times the size of an alligator could be found. Its appearance made her giggle. “What could she have demanded in return for all these?”

Graft leaned on his cane. “I'm glad you asked! In exchange for these creatures I offered to eliminate her fodder problem. I took several specimens gathered from the local region and bioengineered them extensively, utilizing Light and Gromgard's findings on IIHM, or insanity-induced mutation. The result...” From his mask's holographic lens he projected an image of a nightmarish monstrosity. “The Inexhaustible Thing, or IT, for short. IT is a ravenous organism with remarkable regenerative abilities and a truly exceptional digestive system, quite possibly my finest yet. As long as it is continuously fed anything with nutrients, it remains docile and will regrow any tentacles that are cut off, which serve as fine meat for beasts. So, it's essentially a living garbage disposal and infinite food stock all in one! Brilliant, huh?” He shrugged. “Of course, it's not recommended for consumption by anything sapient. I'm pretty sure that if a sapient being were to eat IT's meat, they'd go bananas before becoming an IT themselves. But hey, that's progress for you! And...I'm pretty sure I told Kaldorna and her crew about that, so it's nothing to worry about...probably.”

Papillary and Tabula exchanged a worried glance.

“Moving on!” Graft continued. “Defeating Farm animals will serve as your training regimen to take you higher. Each pen is equipped with Emel Shells and Softening Gel sprayers that will make the animals easier to kill, since status effects do not effect experience rewards. I do not recommend getting Softening Gel on yourselves unless you have the whole day free.” He took a moment to chuckle. “The Farm's not ready just yet, since I'm still compiling their data. Once I'm done, this room will automatically collect their remains, feed them into production, and create eggs that will be shipped back here and hatched into new, fast-growing instances for fresh slaughter. In this way, the Farm will feature an endless supply of enemies to farm for experience.”

As messed up as the whole thing was by conventional standards, it didn't really surprise Tabula and Papillary all that much. “Incredible!” the Nightgaunt remarked. “This should make getting stronger remarkably easy. And when we begin experiencing diminishing returns, we just move up to the next, higher-level monster, right?”

Graft clapped her and Papillary on the shoulders, his cane held by a tendril. “Exactly right! It'll take some doing, but we'll be working at maximum efficiency!”

If Papillary had an eyebrow, she would have raised it. “We?”

“Oh, yes,” Graft said, his voice low. He stepped back and bowed, a number of ripjaws emerging from beneath his overcoat. “It's well past time I started pushing forward as well. I will be training alongside you in the future, when my other duties allow me the time.”

Tabula looked happy. “That is wonderful! It will be the first time we fight alongside one another, in a way. I will look forward to it.”

“Excellent.” For a moment, Graft looked happy as well. Then his eyes turned toward the pens again. “Let me give you the run-down, before we go. The animals are sorted by level, ascending from left to right, bottom to top. First we have the Dagonians, at level fifty.” He pointed out the bipedal, marine monsters in pens one and two. “Then the Carrion Fiends, fifty-two. Your Sand Dragons, Tabula, fifty-four. Venobeasts, fifty-six. Scikords, fifty-eight. Scidrawds, sixty. Moldmouldra, sixty-two. Volt Manticores, sixty-four. Smilodons, sixty-six.Tormentors, sixty-eight. Ruby Hydras, seventy. Nice bunch, huh?”

Tabula seemed to be staring at the Venobeasts. “I cannot say I like that one, no sir.”

Once he followed her gaze, Graft found himself agreeing. “Hm, yes. They're hardly pleasant to look at, but prime subjects for you to improve your Faith with by curing those it poisons. All in due course, naturally. You have a promotion in order soon, right, Tabula?”

The Nightgaunt nodded emphatically, just now remembering after all the stimuli she'd taken in. “Yes, I do. Now that I have ten levels in Paladin, I can work with Aurora to promote to Bishop.”

“Excellent,” Graft said again. He turned and started toward the door, ready to leave the roars and shrieks of the Farm animals behind. “Let's be off, then. There's much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it in.”

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

For a moment or two it looked like class was in session, with every good student learning their lesson. Lou grinned, living it up as the absolute center of attention. Nobody seemed too happy about his display, judging by screwed-up faces and angry, pained shouts, but what were they going to do about it? Get closer?

On second thought, however, that seemed to be just what they were doing. And not just one or two, but all of them. At first Lou thought he only needed to worry about the big, muscle-bound man in shades fighting his way, but even the kids were getting in on the action. Somehow they got a hold of several pair of sunglasses, whereas a moment ago only one sported eyewear of any kind. While Lou figured it must be the work of an epithet, that didn't exactly improve his situation. Now at least five people were coming at him, all with protective gear to mitigate his gaudy glare. Quicker than he should have been to try and assert himself, he might have bit off more than he could chew. Still, the shades failed to totally solve the problem. As their wearers got closer, the strain would pick up once again, putting their strength of will against the raw power of Blingish.

Just as Lou settled in for the long haul, however, something moved to his right. He turned to look only to receive a face -and mouth- full of sand, kicked up by someone he'd assumed to be in his corner. "Kuh! Pfah!" he spat, wiping at his face wildly. The radiance flickered like a light bulb in a power surge, given his opponents a moment to gain some ground. A moment later, however, Lou shoved Haywood to the ground with his forearm. He landed in the mucky beach river with a splash. "Back off if ya value your eyesight, chumps!"

Lou turned his attention back toward his visitors. With free reign to approach and blink for just a couple seconds, the kids now stood a little too close for comfort. Built like a boar, Lou figured he could rough up a few scrawny teens pretty easily, but one of them held what by all accounts appeared to be an actual sword, and who knew what epithet powers the others hid. One of them held some sort of contraption pointed at him, which seemed to be tugging on his embellishments a bit. Having no doubt refreshed themselves the moment the chance came, they could probably force themselves through the last couple yards single-file and dogpile him. Luckily for him, Lou himself didn't need to keep their focus.

He released his epithet's hold on most of his bling, redirecting the power into his gold chain as he pulled it off. "Ya want it so bad?" After whirling it over his head like a lasso, he slung it the kids' way. It sailed toward Jessica's electromagnet, the agonizing brilliance of its luster growing much stronger as it came closer. "Here ya go! At that range, couple seconds and the pain'll knock ya out cold. Sweet relief, jus' around the corna!" The adults, too, could now only look at his chain. Lou himself was a good as invisible. Confident that the chain would incapacitate his foes by itself, he turned to sneer at those spared by his attack, daring them to try and challenge him like Haywood did. "'Ey! Any a' you wise guys try any funny business, ya get yer corneas blasted, ya hear?"

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

Artemisia

Today was the day for becoming a hunter, it seemed. In no time at all the designated waiting room filled with all manner of prospective guild members, each far more memorable than the average Joe or Joan. Nobody seemed too eager to get familiar, which suited Artemisia just fine now that she'd spent her social energy, so she got down to overanalyzing them, trying to pick up story threads.

Now that she got a good look at Spear Blondie, Artemisia wondered why she seemed so uncomfortable. She sported a real mercenary look, all that leather and those scarves giving her a potent frontier flavor, a visage that would've been right at home in the saloon of some dusty Bellas village. Like a soldier put somewhere she didn't belong, she carried herself in a way trying to be both casual and cool at the same time, as if she couldn't really relax. Could she have recently parted ways with some mercenary band following a job gone wrong? Maybe a fallout with a fellow fighter, or the cohort's leader? A betrayal, perhaps. A lost love? A pretty face like that paired with a rough getup seemed just the sort for a tragic end to some battlefield romance. Or...maybe she just didn't know what to expect from this test, and didn't like strangers. Honestly, Artemisia could relate.

The lady in metal looked far more at ease. Composed, relaxed, no fish out of water there. Thinking back to what Oliver said, Artemisia realized that this woman ought to be able to fulfill the role of protector. She cut a gallant figure in that armor, to be sure, and her weaponry bore unmistakably quality. This must, Artemisia conjectured, be a lady knight. No doubt a veteran of long service to a lord, or the captain of a guard. With unerring loyalty and strength she must have inspired all who looked upon her. Her look and bearing suggested abject seriousness, probably not a lot of fun at parties, maybe even a steadfast practitioner of chivalry. Such an attitude no doubt broke many a heart. Maybe hers was a story of mellowing out, of learning to love life and enjoy time with others. Well, if she defended Artemisia valiantly and helped her play her starring role, she figured they could get along.

More obviously less self-assured was the young man with goggles. On the shorter side, standing just a little lower than Artemisia herself if she had to guess, he did not cut an imposing or even battle-ready figure. Wondering if the guy knew what he was getting himself into and why, she couldn't help but picture the studious son of a well-to-do merchant or noble, perhaps. Hardworking and obliging, he pursued scholarly interests to win the approval of his father...and to escape the shadow of his more talented older brother, yeah! But even as he cultivated clerical skills and honed his mind, the young man yearned for something more. There was more to life than meeting others' expectations and trying to show up loved ones. So on the eve of his graduation, he slipped away, giddy with excitement, to enlist in the Hunter's Guild for a life of whirlwind adventure and heart-pounding danger! Perfect! Artemisia felt like she could write out the whole book in one afternoon.

And whoo boy, that was one big dude, not leaving a lot to her imagination. Still, to Artemisia's credit she set it working anyway. What could his deal be, other than being extremely well built and exotically dressed? And who was that rather similarly underdressed woman on his shoulder, with long ears and an intriguing physique? The black mage couldn't exactly boast a sweeping knowledge of...well, anyone north of the Underoad. Hell, even her knowledge of Bellas itself wrung out pretty thin. 'Insular' described her upbringing pretty well, though she still got a lot more exposure to the outside than most of the other kids. Still, a lack of knowledge never stopped her making stuff up before. This burly fellow surely hailed...

...Oh. He was the super extroverted type. That pretty much killed Artemisia's thunder; anyone who couldn't appreciate a nice silence tended to get on her nerves. I talk when I feel like it, she thought without actually responding, since she didn't feel like it. Still, he wore a nice smile -among other things- so she couldn't get that put out. He went ahead and tried to get everyone talking by introducing himself and proclaiming best wishes for everyone, and to Artemisia's chagrin it seemed to work. First Mitra, then Luna. For some reason Luna's very appearance suddenly struck a nerve with the black mage. She looked too perfect. Too exquisite, too sweet and pure. Like someone out of a fairy tail. And what was with that getup? Artemisia knew she wasn't one to harp on about practicality when it came to dress, but this girl looked one stiff wind away from a serious wardrobe malfunction. And Garuda forbid it rained.

After the other ladies introduced themselves and Artemisia consciously abstained, content to relax on her chair in a corner well out of the limelight, Luna took the brunt of one of the other applicant's attention. The philanderer -or Blaike, as he came to be known- wasted no time in buttering her up, without so much as acknowledging her or the lady knight's existence. He did seem to know Mitra, which fit the narrative. Artemisia rolled her eyes, leaning on her chair's back with her jaw resting on her propped-up hand. Well, not my fault I was raised on a mountain and not in a beauty parlor. Better off without such attention anyway.

For all his angling, however, Blaike, received the attention of someone he didn't likely intend. Avaddon started talking and just didn't stop, first explaining that he'd literally just picked Luna up before coming here and then doing some analysis himself. Hey, that's my thing! Well, I didn't get to him anyway, so whatever. He seemed pretty enthusiastic about his deductions concerning Blaike's character, but something about his speech made Artemisia wonder if he going a really roundabout way to slight him. Artemisia caught herself staring at what she now felt pretty sure were real scales on Avaddon's body. Ooh...an alter? She regarded him with new interest, but remained quiet, and resumed entertaining herself with the possibilities.

World of Light

Tora & Poppi

Level 6 Tora (49/60) and Level 5 Poppi (44/50)
Location: No-man's Land, the Land of Adventure
Word Count: 586

For Koopa Troop

You have acquired:
Long Gun Bullets (10 pack)
Ammunition to replenish physical projectile weapons that take two hands to use

and:
Bullet Sticker x2
One of many fun sticky images. Plastering them on a weapon marginally increases bullet damage

and:
Scorpion Tail
Tough black shell and a burning, paraytic sting. Even in death the scorpion's lethal injecting days aren't over

and:
Flare x2
With a burn time of fifteen seconds, these chuckable flares are good for lighting up dark places

and:
Glyphid Slammer
An adventurous mix of a cheap, powerful ale with an equally cheap, powerful energy drink. The result is almost, but not quite, entirely undrinkable. But it sure does put a spring in your step

and:
Beetle
Might look like a bug, but it's just décor. Still, it's got a little heft to it

and:
E Honda Sticker
One of many fun sticky images. Plastering them on oneself marginally increases palm attack speed and power

and:
Battery
Sometimes paired with assault, but best used for small electronic devices

and:
Borboras Trophy
A lovely little desktop memento of your fight with a Borboras. This one won't revive if you touch its base, but if it did, it'd be pretty cute

and:
Molotov Cocktail x2
What do you get when you combine gasoline and fire? A lot more fire. Light the cloth before throwing.

and:
Fire Materia
If embedded in equipment designed for it, and used by someone with at least a little affinity for magic, this allows them to cast bursts of flame so long as they have the MP

For Sectonia

You have acquired:
Battery x2
Sometimes paired with assault, but best used for small electronic devices

and:
Little Fluffy Cloud
Somewhat more plastic than a normal cloud would be, it's actually a hat, and is 'worn' by floating an inch or two over the wearer's head

and:
Teps Oceus Shard
A shard of crystallized demonic power. If implanted into a Shardbinder, he or she becomes able to expend MP to use the spell Teps Oceus, a powerful but random and hard to aim lighting blast

and:
Feyesh Fillet x2
A cut of monster meat. Tastes pretty tingly, and should probably be cooked. To ash.

For Geralt

You have acquired:
Beam Sword
Pretty and easy to use but far less damaging than being a blade of pure energy would suggest, the Beam Sword makes for a handy, dependable melee weapon. It also flies through the air remarkably well, enabling it to be effectively thrown.

and:
Primid Sticker
One of many fun sticky images. Can be plastered on oneself to marginally increase barehanded strike power

and:
Sword Primid Sticker
One of many fun sticky images. Can be plastered on a sword to marginally increase its cutting power.

and:
Roman Helmet
This finely and sturdily crafted protective headware is sure to weather many a blow. The pride of its wearer is symbolized in its crest.

The sudden, drastic increase of danger, along with the instantaneous elimination of Euden, hit the newcomers like a sledgehammer. They collectively rushed behind cover. Two shots spaced mere milliseconds apart missed Bowser by just a hair, narrowly missing his head and shell as he pivoted directions. If two sharpshooters hadn't happened to pick the same target, one would have struck Banjo and Kazooie as they went up before taking shelter. Instead, one of Link's arrows arrived just late, pinging off the stone by Banjo's feet. Given the travel time of black arrows fired by the bow, he must have guessed their path and barely misjudged it. In a few moments everyone was gone, and the game had begun. The situation looked grim. Yet, the challengers would not be heroes if they let themselves be rocked by the realization of the challenge now facing them. Instead they rolled out, a number of the heroes immediately deploying their minions and proxies to distract and work against the snipers.

One of the trees swelled with magic, growing many times its size. Kameks flew beneath its branches, one of which took a shot the next instant from the Sniper. “Pah,” he snorted as he reloaded his bolt-action rifle. “Decoys.”

“Don't waste time on anything with more than one copy,” Imani advised, having just destroyed a Toadie. With no spirit of its own, the summon poofed into nonexistence like the Kamek clone her ally shot. A pack of zombies advanced from where Blazermate holed up, Geralt hidden amid their ranks, unknown to the snipers. She figured that Gough and Link together probably could take down the tree, but their focus would no doubt be better spent elsewhere. “Pick your targets.”

Wordlessly Quiet shifted her aim from the beetle attempting to lug Euden's trophy from where it fell, just as a couple Toadies arrived to help. Any hero spending time on recovery wasn't spending it on offense, narrowing down the number of threats the snipers needed to deal with and creating a neat order of priorities. If the heroes focused on revival, they would not win the race. She watched a transformed Bowser scamper across the open ground, almost fall to a led shot from Gough, and then disappear behind the tree. Everyone could hear the racket he created while climbing, making his course of action obvious. She did not worry. Despite the tree's newfound size even the reach of its thinnest, high branches fell short of the tower. If Bowser reared his face, he wouldn't be able to feel it for long.

A few sounds reached the snipers' nest, including the yelling of Banjo and as he floated up behind the protection of the mountain spires bordering the area, and the ringing of Bowser's bell, not nearly as loud as its wearer might have hoped. First to show up however, was the Koopa King's son, popping out from the canopy of the embiggened tree with a Pokemon at his side. The End locked on only to find out his quarry appeared with an attack already loaded, nothing less than a mimicry of Gough's own greatbow, and it fired the instant it hit sunlight. Copying a move at full power did not mean copying the skill it took to use it, however, and the speed with which Mimikyu loosed the arrow meant it didn't get any time to aim. Momentarily wary, the End judged that the arrow would miss the second it fired, and he pulled the trigger. He didn't even need to think about his choice of target; only one of the attackers showed off the ability to fly. Junior and his clown car went down a half-second later, Mimikyu flying off the rigid trophy as it plummeted. Its arrow hit the tower itself, lower than intended, shaking the structure and dislodging a few stone bricks. For a brief moment, the snipers could not fire as they focused on keeping their footing.

A couple seconds later, Banjo and Kazooie flew out from behind cover, having reached the apex of their Trowlon juice-assisted ascent in safety. The high walls surrounding the valley itself allowed them to get high enough without risk of getting shot, but now it meant they needed to cover a lot of air to reach the Tower. Imani scoped in on them and started to fire. Her shots came close -too close- but the duo kept up a constant torrent of aerial maneuvers to throw off the sniper's aim. Imani missed several times, reloading between each shot. The Sniper smirked, his gaze otherwise trained on where Linkle was hiding, and he shifted to the left to avoid a thrown Bytan Ball that bounced off the floor and over the other side. “Ya need a hand?”

“Shh...” Gough whispered. He seemed intent on something, but wasn't aiming at anything in particular. A Bytan ball bounced harmlessly off him, and he didn't even notice. “Someone talketh to herself. An attack hitherto unseen, thought to be able to eliminate us.” The giant briefly pointed at the boulder behind which Blazermate prepared her assault.

The End grunted, then shifted his aim to watch out for her. He didn't flinch as the last couple Bytan Balls hurled by Banjo rebounded off the battlements with twin pongs. Gough, however, wasn't done listening. “Thou art moving swiftly...” he murmured, albeit to nobody who could hear him. “Staying, it would seem, out of sight. Yet I need not see thee. The beat of thy wings...” After confirming his target, he nocked a great arrow and pulled back on his bow's mammoth string. “Betrays thee.”

He loosed his arrow at the hat of the giant Gruntilda head. It ripped through the old, improfessionally-laid bricks, collapsing the hat's entire upper third in a shower of dust and green rubble. In so doing he flushed Sectonia from her cover, perhaps even stunning her with the shock. In that moment Quiet took her shot.

Meanwhile, Banjo and Kazooie got a little too close. Link turned and loosed an arrow that practically grazed Kazooie's head. Imani stood unwavering in their path, her scope trained on Banjo. This time she wouldn't miss, and Kazooie knew it. Rather than take the shot she dove downward, narrowly escaping elimination as she went for the moat. Link stepped toward the edge of the tower and shot downward, his arrow exploding in spherical blue blast when it hit the surface of the water.

Next up, Blazermate emerged to unleash her medibeam. With nothing to go off but her own intuition, her attack turned out to be inopportune. Having lain in waiting, the End put her in his sights. She would fire the next second, and the End could have shot just then, but instead he gauging her trajectory with an expert's eyes. “Down,” he grumbled to Imani.

Having been frustrated with her inability so far to hit Banjo and Kazooie, the huntress was out of the zone enough to hear him, and she ducked just in time to avoid a brilliant ray of pure power blazing forth. “Whoa!” For a solid couple of seconds the beam remained, radiant in its deadliness, and the moment it petered out the End fired. Weakened by her attack and not yet back to safety, Blazermate went down.

Tora leaned back, having been using a bush by the cliff wall to shield his surveillance, and plopped down with his back to the rock by Linkle. He took a deep breath, unsteady. Already some of his friends had leaped into the action, and a couple paid the price for it by becoming trophies. He knew he missed the chance to rush out and start doing something along with the first wave, when the snipers' attention would be the most divided. Unfortunately, he just couldn't think of anything to do. Even Geralt, just about as close to an ordinary man as you could get with this group, used his brain by joining Blazermate's zombie pack. Tora couldn't exactly do that now, although even if he did he figured he'd stand out pretty strongly among that group. More or less on his own, with his steadfast partner Poppi several hundred feet away behind a hill, he lacked options. “What to do, what to do? Meh, meh, meh!” he fretted, watching Linkle drag Euden in. When he got close enough Tora moved over to help pull the petrified prince behind cover, at which point he took Bowser's advice and smacked the trophy on the base. A golden light shone from it as it dissolved, and with a vwoooooo Euden turned back to normal.

“What in the world was that? Some kind of cursed arrow?”

Though poised to shake his head, Tora thought better of it and just nodded. “Shootypons taking down anything that moves. If friends stand still in open for even short moment, we cooked.” He glanced over to where Poppi hunkered down. The artificial blade waved to him, so close and yet so far. Without her to channel ether into it, his drill shield retained only a fraction of its former power. After the way the black arrow went through Euden and his armor, Tora did not want to see if blocking worked. For the first time Tora regretted not getting any new powers or strikers.

At about the same time, Peach stepped out from behind Bowser's tree. Using a broken-off branch as a bat, she wound up and slammed a grenade in the direction of the tower, then dove for cover as shot from the Sniper blasted the ground between her feet. For that stunt time she called upon her vast sports history as Peach rather than any power of Mr. Grimm, and it did not fail her. The grenade zipped through the air to explode against the base of the stone tower, a home run by anyone's account. It didn't directly harm the snipers, or even leave them unsteady, but every little bit helped. And Peach couldn't really do much else.

That lit a lightbulb over Tora's head. “Meeeh,” he murmured, thoughtfully. “If friends keep at it, maybe can knock over tower. Am going to try it.” The Nopon gave a resolute nod, only to glance nervously at Linkle a moment later. “If Tora get hit, please bring back and cure!” After taking another deep breath, he re-entered the bush by the side of the boulder and prepped the drill shield. A moment later, a boom biter soared out to detonate against the base of the tower, doing a little more damage. There was a long way to go, but it could conceivably be done. Unfortunately for Tora, he didn't get the chance to celebrate. Instead a Sniper shot nailed him square in the face, and his trophy fell forward out of the bush.

The North Road

I anticipated things might go bump in he night, hence 'whenever Goodmade awakens us'. But indeed, we're pretty much all down to camp. All that remains is for it to happen.

The North Road

Little bit of a lull, eh? Maybe we ought to get to camping, even move ahead to whenever Goodmode would want the party to awaken? A bunch of uneasy strangers probably wouldn't have much to chat about, after all.

Final Fantasy Crystallum en Absentia

Artemisia

“Don't tell me. I betcha lost track of time?”

With a chuckle, Artemisia winked. “Bingo.” A broad smile spread across the face of the man sitting at her table, growing almost as wide as his bushy black mustache. He seemed thoroughly engaged with her story, and as ever the girl's way of telling stories tended to get everyone into it. “Before you know it, the whistles sound from the tradeyards signaling lunch break for the miners, and I just about leap out of my seat. I sprint out of there, hurling the record toward the front desk as I go by and nearly clobbering the poor woman working there...you should have seen her face!” She put on a scared expression, arms held up in terror.

That earned her a laugh from her audience, including a few weary hunters the next table over. “But I sprint out of there, and hightail it down the street, dodging left and right past burly shoulders and the pickaxe hazards atop them!” Artemisia jerked in her seat side to side, miming the act of evading workers. Her companion glanced downward, which did not escape the mage's notice, but she could hardly blame him. She was, after all putting on a show. “I just about trip over this wagon, but by the grace of Garuda I stay on my feet. In my head I'm thinking, my train's leaving in like, five minutes. I have to do this smart. So what do I do?” This time her question was rhetorical, and she cut off the hunters thinking they'd been given another chance to respond. “I grab a shortcut, of course. With the miners getting off work, the nearest Commission lot is wide open, so I say goodbye to crowded streets and hello to the fast lane. I get through in a jiffy, but there's just one problem...” Clamping her hands on her pink-blonde hair, Artemisia adopted an face of anguish. “The Coffer.”

Her audience's collective silence and unknowing stare broke her flow, and she looked around as though they were doofuses. “Uh, Golem's Coffer? The number-one attraction in Hardside, its life's blood? Well, it's this gigantic pit in the ground. All day every day miners from the Excavation Commission descend into its depths, with drills, pickaxes, and heavy equipment, using ropes and cranes and ladders, to bring up all the riches of the earth. It's a gigantic operation, super impressive. But just then it stood between me and the train station, hundreds of meters of open air above a bottomless pit. Impossible, right?” Crossing her arms beneath her chest, Artemisia smirked. “Well, not for me!”

She waved her hand, spinning up an air current that lifted her empty tea mug into the air. All eyes lay on the magical display as she held it aloft. “The wind, you see, is at my back. I swooshed across the whole Coffer...”

“You can fly with wind magic?!” the mustached hunter exclaimed, incredulous.

Artemisia grinned and released the mug, which hit the table and fell sideways. “Well, not fly so much as boost up and then slowfall, but sure, basically! About halfway across I was getting a little low, so I landed in this cable car full of busted gear being moved across the Coffer for repair. Flew up again, then made it the rest of the way. I went right over the head of this old dude eating a sandwich. Fell right out of his mouth!” When she laughed, her audience laughed with her. “Made it to the train just before the doors shut. Relief at last.” She leaned back in her chair. “'Course, I ended up getting thrown off that train, but that's a story for another time.”

After a brief exchange most of the hunters went about their business. Not an exciting story to people who tangled with death in the wilds, necessarily, but she knew how to tell it, and lots of people were happy for a little wholehearted socialization. She joined the table of the mustached man in the first place because he looked lonely, and like a man with a story to tell. He ended up being a far better listener than talker, but both enjoyed the encounter. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it so much that he didn't want to let her go just yet. “Man, first I say I'm not much of a talker and then you go spinnin' a yarn like that? You tryin' to show me up or somethin'?”

Artemisia shrugged, more in a 'maybe' sort of way than uncaring way. Body language told half the story, after all. Her friend continued. “Well, that was mighty fine. I ain't one to just take hospitality and give nothin' back, so what do you say to lunch? There's this joint on the river with the most amazin' fish, smoked and perfectly seasoned...”

Despite herself Artemisia felt her stomach rumble. Flat broke since lunchtime yesterday, she really did feel hungry. Looking at her would-be companion, she figured she could do a lot worse for a date and a free meal, but swapping tales with a stranger was a far cry from going somewhere with one. Besides, she had other business to attend to. Artemisia groaned, and replied, “I'd love to, you know, but I've got this certification deal any minute now. Apparently these dopes don't know a Black Mage when they see one and need a little demonstration of my windpower.”

The hunter nodded sagaciously. “Makes sense. With fatality rates so high anyway, the Guild don't want anyone who can't put up a real fight.”

Artemisia leaned forward. “Any tips? You oughta know a thing or two about what it takes to become a hunter.”

Another nod. “Yes, ma'am. The secret's composition. Find the toughest sonuva bitch in the group and put 'em between yourself and the monster. If ya get hit, tell the healer to fix ya up. That stuff's their job, after all. The others do their thing so we big hitters can shine!” Artemisia shot a glance at his pike, leaning against the windowsill. He, meanwhile turned around in his seat and looked toward the waiting room. “Heard it'd be a large group today, so ya oughta have a good choice.”

“Thaaanks,” the sorceress said, rising from her seat to head toward the designated room. On the way she gave the fellow a pat on the shoulder. “You're a real gem.”

“Not half as pretty as you,” the man said. “Name's Oliver Soreldart, by the by. And you're...?”

“Why, I'm Artemisia.” She looked back, her smile only slightly strained. “If and when we meet again, I'll by expecting a real story, 'kay?”

Oliver nodded emphatically. The man sure liked doing that. He might have been about to say something else, but Artemisia moved on, mimicking his voice. “See ya 'round!”

A few moments later she arrived in the waiting room, and barely had she come than she plopped down in another chair. Her hair spread out behind her, and she crossed her legs. Composition, huh? That blonde looked like another dragoon, so Arty doubted she could rely on her.