Member
DancesWMonsters
Archmage MC
Dyelli Beybi
TruthHurts
FujiwaraPhoenix
Bingelly
XoXKieroBombXoX
darkred
Zoey Boey
StarlanceForbidden Kingdom - Fields of Gold
Lvl 15 Ms Fortune (120/150) Level 11 Big Band (23/110)
Junior, Rika & Amaterasu’s @DracoLunaris Roland’s @Archmage MC Zenkichi’s @MULTI_MEDIA_MAN Pit, Primrose & Therion’s @Yankee Sakura & Juri’s @Zoey Boey Captain Falcon’s @Double, Harry’s @Eviledd1984
Word Count: 1719
A breezy race through the fields back toward and along the southern path quickly dried Nadia off from her bout with the demon catfish. While it wasn’t quite the same as sailing the open ocean, with salty seaspray in her face and the cries of shorebirds over the rhythmic waves, it was always a blast to use her rigging. Junior and especially Rika offered the feral stiff competition in their impromptu race to rejoin the others, but Nadia was built for speed. She lost and retook first place a couple times until the rice paddies happened to peter out, forcing the three to sprint across solid ground. At that point, the race was effectively over; Nadia’s high base speed and pressurized long jumps quickly gave her a big lead, and the Koopa Kids were left in the dust to figure out who’d be the rotten egg for themselves.
By the time the trio reunited with the main group, tired but elated, the other Seekers had finished giving Malon and her mule a much-needed hand. They continued their trek to Esaka with the milkmaid’s gratitude ringing in their ears, making steady progress toward the tiered city. Out of excess energy for the time being, Nadia settled in at a brisk jog to match the mob’s slower members, and together they forged through the pastoral countryside. The workers and wanderers with whom they shared the road all slid to one side as the team tramped along, exchanging polite greetings or simple nods. Occasionally some Seekers would shoot snippets of chitchat back and forth, or glimpse something remarkable out in the fields like a strange farmhouse or an unusual beast of burden, but for the most part the trip remained relatively quiet and peaceful. The minutes flew by as Esaka slowly grew larger and larger in the distance, anticipation building all the while.
About twenty minutes away from Esaka, though, the Seekers ran into another roadblock. This took the form of an outlying rural village, its thatch-roofed huts elevated on sturdy timbers to guard against the perils of the fertile floodplain. Its market ran alongside the main path, and normally its merchants would be there showing off their fresh produce in expertly-woven hand baskets, but even from a distance the Seekers could see some sort of ruckus unfolding in the town’s center. Band slid to a stop at the town’s perimeter with his eyes narrowed, squinting at the commotion as he tried but failed to make either heads or tails of the belligerents. Some of the townsfolk seemed to be watching the disturbance from a safe distance, so Band stomped over to the nearest villager -a colorfully dressed weaver woman- to inquire. “‘Scuse me, ma’am. D’you know what’s goin’ on? Is the town under attack?”
“Oh, uh, not exactly,” Asiri gave him an apologetic look, seemingly more embarrassed than threatened. “It’s just a seethe. Should quiet down in a little while.”
“Seethe?” Band raised an eyebrow.
The lady looked him over. “You’re new here, hm? Well, not to worry, dear. It’s just some yokai from the city, throwing a fit. They’re fickle beasties, always excited or mad about something or other, but usually they just stick around and complain in the spirit world. Piss them off bad enough, though, and they’ll show up in the real world to make a fuss. Yelling, throwing things, carrying on. It’s a real hassle.”
Band nodded, remembering what Sakura said about the yokai. She mentioned that they’d give high-performing fighters donations if entertained, but it stood to reason that spirits who loved watching fights could get violent themselves if displeased. The important part was that the people here didn’t seem to be in serious danger. “Interestin’. D’you know what’s got ‘em riled up?”
Shrugging offhandedly, the lady shook her head. “One of the Four Kings’ tournaments, no doubt. Maybe a favorite lost, or someone they didn’t like won. Could be anything.”
“Sounds like they’re yokainda a nuisance,” Nadia supplied. “If they’re botherin’ the villagers, maybe we oughta break it up.”
With that, the catgirl jogged down the road into town. The closer she got to the hubbub, the easier it became to make out the strange forms of the cantankerous yokai rioters. Most populous were little green gremlins that the villagers scornfully called Gaki, which crawled around, stamped their feet, and used their big mouths to yell about all kinds of stuff. Only about as big as children, they seemed much more annoying than dangerous. The same could not be said for the one-legged Ippon-Datara. It wielded a huge hammer that it brandished in a threatening manner, mostly hitting the ground as it raised a hullabaloo. It evidently had some sort of beef with the largest and most threatening yokai, a centipede spirit the size of an ambulance, which had overturned a cart and smashed it to bits. With a handful of other yokai in attendance, more for an excuse to cause trouble than anything, things looked pretty chaotic. It didn’t help that most of them were constantly yelling vitriolic, nigh-unintelligible jargon that made it just about impossible to get a word in edgewise, much of it outright disingenuous, if not outright fighting one another.
“Yokai who bet on busted-ass, cheesy-ass Choi love to pretend that spamming mixups makes him good. Mixups are crutches for bad fighters! One hundred anti-guard tools in this tournament and he’s too bad to use them, so he spams unpunishable RNG mixups because he’s BAD!”
“All the moves Leroy does are punishable by sidestep or hop kick! Spamming random strings doesn’t work for real tournament fighters!”
“This version of Tager is by far one of the smartest fighters I’ve ever seen! Honestly I think Tager’s game plan is such a majesty. I think he’s honestly one of the best trained fighters in any dojo I’ve ever seen. He’s just a walking casino. It’s so nice!”
“The Heavenly Principles HATE Manon! How could they break her legs while Rashid’s dumbass Yssar continues to run amok!? You’re all CARRIED!”
“Ermac is so cheesy! Just handing out braindead sixty percent combos like it’s nothing!”
“Combos like Beowolf’s are clearly an exploit! Most tournaments have preventative measures to make infinite stun loops impossible! To ensure there is actual counter play! So sure, he won, but he won by cheating. A very very dull way to win.”
“RPS is just the dumbest thing in the world! As an honest low-tier Ky main, I just hate it so much! I’m sick of him losing to these goddamn coin flips!”
“I’m sick of fighters who use rage art to win rounds. They’re scrubs! I can’t respect those who use rage arts in the first place, but to win a round!? Different kind of trash. Get better and stop going for cheap wins!”
“I don’t care how salty I sound! As long as Omen exists, I will never respect these tournaments as competitive. There is no such thing as being ‘good’ at a fight with Omen in it. This tournament is the exact same thing as Balan’s Big Top until Omen is removed!”
“How could they gut my character like this!? It’s an actual slap in the face to us Helena mains!”
“WTF? That cash-out damage from Stronghoof was disgusting! What are the Heavenly principles on!?”
“I don’t enjoy betting on pussies who spam crouch and block, or spam armor! I place bets to enjoy them! You’re all insecure cheating cucks!”
“It should be illegal to complain about zoners! You’re just showing how scrubby you really are!”
“Get cancer, you little prick! Let’s throw down for real!”
“You top tier lovers don't know or understand, or actually better yet, comprehend what the fuck it means to suffer, what the fuck it means to lose over and over and over and fucking over!”
Nadia hesitated on the periphery of the mayhem, scratching her head and not sure where to begin. “Holy smokes, what is with these guys?” For a few moments she just watched a couple Gakis ineffectually flailing at one another, trading insults that would make a sailor blush. She knew that tempers could flare between tournament fighters, but between the stream monsters that spectated them? Sheesh!
A mild tremor announced Big Band’s approach, and after he stopped beside Nadia he let out a sigh. “I wasn’t gonna get involved, but after seein’ these yokai goin’ at it, I’m gonna have to change my mind. Only a matter of time ‘til someone gets hurt.” He breathed in deep, then deployed an enormous saxophone to shake the whole square with a blast of sound. “Hey, punks!” Band bellowed. “Break it up! Before we break YOU up!”
The Gakis recoiled from the noise, their claws clamped over their ears, but bigger yokai like the Ippon-Datara recovered quickly. “Shut your big ass up!” the one-eyed brute snarled, raising his hammer. “We yokai have every right to complain! The Heavenly Principles treat us like garbage! And no matter how much suckups like you suck ‘em off...” With a roar, he leaped forward. “They won’t save you, either!”
Already stanced up, Band burst forward with Brass Knuckles, tanking the hammer swing to plant his enormous fist in the Ippon-Datara’s center mass. It flew backward with a yelp, landing in a daze, and all around it the Gaki stared. “That guy…” one of them said. “That was super armor!”
“That’s cheap!”
“He’s a fighter?”
“One of those no-skill neutral skippers!”
“Get ‘em!”
As the yokai mob bristled, Nadia stepped up alongside Band. “He’s not the only one! Run home to mama, or you’ll cat-ch these hands, too!” The belligerents did not back down, but that was fine by her. These stream monsters were about to learn that there was a big difference between watching fights and being in them. She sharpened her claws and assumed her fighting stance. “Okay then, let’s see if you’re up to scratch!”
Frozen Highlands - Snowdin
Lvl 8 Sandalphon (49/80) Level 5 Heismay (13/50)
Edward’s @DracoLunaris Blazermate & Sectonia’s @Archmage MC Geralt’s @MULTI_MEDIA_MAN Ace Cadet’s @Yankee Roxas & Ganondorf’s @Double, Celica’s @Sadu Chosen Undead’s @Simple Unicycle, Ramattra’s @XoXKieroBombXoX
Word Count: 631 / 608
Once Edward assembled a troop of rudimentary golems, the artificial regiment got to work. As one might expect from a giant metal box the size of a small bus, the stagecoach demanded both power and coordination to move effectively, but the tactician’s constructs were up to the task. The hellhounds’ labor had revealed two sturdy lengths of chain attached to the front, and though that seemed like an unusual arrangement for horses based on Heismay’s limited experience, those chains allowed the golems to pull the carriage past Snowman Row and back to Snowdin’s main street. Edward stood on the promontory at the wagon’s front, coordinating his crew, while Heismay paced around up top. Progress was steady, but slow; if forced to make do with beasts of burden like these, the Seekers might actually be better off walking.
If nothing else, though, the vantage point allowed Heismay to get a good look at the surrounding area. He could have scaled a snow-capped evergreen or the little mountain to the south for a better view, but this worked well enough, especially with eyes adapted for low-light conditions. Though the cloudy veil over the Frozen Highlands made it as dark as night, the landscape was almost as clear as day to Heismay. Of course, few Snowdin residents were out and about at this hour so there wasn’t much activity to observe, but the eugief did spot one thing that he might not have otherwise. Until now the village seemed to Heismay like a total sitting duck, completely vulnerable against any prospective attack, but now he noticed two riders returning from the nearby forest. They appeared to be two dogs, each armed with a hatchet, dressed in a warm black hoodie, and astride a fluffy blue caribou with impressive cerulean antlers. They could be Snowdin’s defenders, or maybe just woodsmen out to stoke the villagers’ hearth fires, judging by their choice of armament. What interested him most wasn’t the dogs themselves, but their mounts. Large, solidly built, and clearly tame, the caribou struck him as an excellent (and maybe the only) alternative to horses when it came to hauling the stagecoach. “I’ll be right back,” Heismay called down to Edward, and just like that, he was gone.
A moment later, Dogami and Dogaressa found their path obstructed by an arcane golem that appeared out of nowhere, his gleaming armor reflecting the red-and-green holiday lights of Snowdin. Their mounts skidded to a stop, and the dogs -anticipating danger- reached for their axes, but Heismay quickly shed his archetype form and returned to his much smaller, less threatening self. “I beg your pardon for getting your attention in such a manner,” he called to them, bowing apologetically. “I feared that you might trample me elsewise. I am a mere traveler, short of stature and sore of foot. I wanted to ask, if I may, how you came by these magnificent beasts of yours. Such creatures would be invaluable to myself and my travel companions on the long road ahead.”
The dogs informed him that their mounts were called Reindrix, and they could be found all over the Highlands in small herds of three or four, especially around juniper and evergreen huckleberry shrubs. Though dangerous if provoked, with antlers that could freeze almost anything with just one touch, they could be broken in and tamed with arcane items called Pal Spheres. Unfortunately, the dogs had forgotten where they got their Pal Spheres. Heismay thanked them for their time and returned to Edward, with whom he shared what he’d learned.
While Heismay and Edward braved the wintry winds outside, Geralt settled into Grillby’s, with his eyes on the diner’s fiery proprietor. Grillby gave the Witcher a wordless nod and set about fetching his coffee, heating the water simply by holding a metal cup of it in his hand. When Geralt asked him about Baldur, though, the elemental gave him a curious look.
“The tattooed man?” Grillby’s voice was raspy and dry. “That thug…he doesn’t feel heat, cold, pain, or much of anything. He cares about just one thing: a worthy challenge. Any big lightshow draws him like a moth to flame. So just lay low, don’t go looking for trouble, and that tattooed hooligan will pass you right by.” Grillby slid Geralt’s steaming mug across the counter, then adjusted his glasses. “Of course, he doesn’t come by this place much. No worthy challenges ‘round here. Snowdin’s probably the safest place you can be.” With that, Grillby went back to cleaning. Right now he had only a few patrons besides Geralt, all quietly minding their own business over bowls of hot porridge and sweet, wild-grown bilberries.
Meanwhile, Blazermate’s aerial wandering had led her to several discoveries, of which the stately mountainside manor was only the first. On the way there, she happened to make the chance acquaintance of a fellow machine, the itinerant monk Ramattra. His appearance was unexpected but welcome, since the medabot didn’t have any other company at the moment, and once introduced the two could proceed along the southern path together. On the other side of the twisted deadwood tangle, an old path led upward along the precipice that loomed over the half-frozen southeastern lake. At the end of the well-worn steps stood a tall, creaky wrought-iron fence, and past the withered gray garden within lay the ]mansion itself, veiled in misty spray from the waterfall behind it.
The two robots would find the door unlocked, and inside lay a once-lavish estate, ravaged by time and looters alike. Winter’s chill had taken up residence in the dusty halls and parlors that bore traces of relatively recent habitation, but no signs of life, not even mice. The place was as eerie as it was drafty, not helped by the dozens and dozens of dolls that inhabited its shelves and moth-eaten futons. When they visited the basement, they found evidence (such as a modern sleeping bag and a number of discarded wrappers and water bottles) that at least one person had been living there for some time, in large part thanks to a peculiar installation identified as a Little Inferno Entertainment Fireplace, according to the logo that marked it as a proud product of Tomorrow Corp. A handful of random burned items could be found therein, some with a gold coin or two hidden among the ashes.
Of course, it was only a matter of time until things went south. The old house itself creaked and groaned unnervingly often, but eventually the creaking directly beneath Ramattra and Blazermate became too loud to ignore. It was at that point that clawed metal hands ripped through the floorboards, and a handful of robot zombies made their presence known. Eager to sup on oil and sink their teeth deep into circuit boards, the ambushers went after the uninvited guests, their metallic screeches quite horrible. Though they numbered only five strong, they could continue to function without their limbs or even their heads, and their claws could cut through iron like butter. If they could clear the manor out, though, it would be perfect to use as a temporary base.
One Sandalphon requested assistance, Celica volunteered with understandable speed. Knowing that the rather lightly dressed gunslinger would be eager to take shelter from the cold, the archangel agreed right away. Without a moment’s hesitation Celica then sped toward Morshu’s Emporium with Jack Frost nipping at her heels, and Sandalphon followed behind at a more measured pace, her expression one of mild amusement.
An elaborate gong announced the visitor’s presence as they entered. Inside the aptly-named emporium the Seekers were treated to an intriguing cross between a general store, pawn shop, and private gallery. Alongside every batch of everyday goods was some one-of-a-kind artifact or trinket, many of debatable value but unquestionable visual appeal. Such was the sheer quantity and disorganization on display that Sandalphon -who happened to be more than a little OCD- found herself baffled and quite overwhelmed. Ironically for the team’s newly-minted leader, she defaulted to following Celica’s lead through the store. It took the bombastic entrance of Morshu himself to bring her to her senses.
Of course, by that point the challenge became getting a word in edgewise as the salesman showed off his wares, putting his powers of deductive reasoning to work. Unfortunately, many of his offerings were well outside the Seekers’ means. Once Morshu’s verbal avalanche came to an end, Celica glanced expectantly at Sandalphon, indicating that it was time for her to take charge.
“You’re very astute, Mr. Morshu,” she began. “We are indeed here for apparel, and we can pay with zenny. However, our funds are limited, and we have eight people in need of winter clothes. We require no special gear effects beyond insulation against the cold. Do you have anything more affordable?”
Morshu did not hide his disappointment, but after a moment he tapped his nose twice with a broad, knowing smile. “Ah, not to worry, not to worry! I cater to even the…mmm, HUMBLEST of clients. Right this way, ladies!”
Trying to stay focused amidst all the visual chaos, Sandalphon followed him as he shuffled a few shelves down to where more ordinary outfits dangled from clothes hangers in bulk. “Behold!” Morshu gestured proudly. “These parkas are everyone the average winter wonderlander could want! Soft as silk, lined with synthetic Topi fur, and highly adjustable, with hoods and complimentary mittens. They’ll keep you as warm as a summer’s day, satisfaction guaranteed! And as you can see, available in a wide variety of colors! All for a su-PREMELY affordable price–why, I dare you to name me a better bargain in all the Highlands!”
Sandalphon zeroed in on the price tag and calculated the total cost instantaneously. “These are suitable. Would you mind giving us a few minutes to make our selection?”
“But of course!” Morshu bowed his head and backed away. “And if you have any questions, you have but to ask!”
Once he disappeared, Sandalphon let out her breath. She stepped to the other side of the parka rack in order to look them over with Celica, then glanced at the other woman with her pupils in the shape of carets. “Thank you for your assistance. I find clutter extremely distracting…the urge to organize in here is almost overpowering.” Her pupils became stress marks. “Vociferous people can be difficult to deal with as well, so a quiet presence is comforting. That said, this is quite the conundrum.” She looked between the different parkas, just a little bit distressed. “What color would everyone want? Sectonia might want purple, the color of royalty, but she could want gold, or perhaps even pink like her crystals. Would Ganondorf want an ominous black, or aggressive red…?” Celica might not be any better equipped to solve this problem like Sandalphon, but sometimes, difficult choices had to be made.
Outside, all of the Seekers had split up to spread throughout the town and accomplish their various tasks. All but one. Accustomed to a world of ruined and long-dead civilizations, with only a handful of sane people to talk to and only monsters inhabiting its decrepit hamlets and keeps, Kit was probably feeling a bit overwhelmed himself. Not everyone had declared aloud their intentions before going their separate ways, so he didn’t know what still needed doing.
Kit wasn’t alone, though. The Soothsayers still stood by their burn barrel, and with nobody else around, they had been staring at Ki for quite some time now. Eventually, they turned toward him, and though a couple dozen feet away, began to speak. Both heads took turns talking, completing one another's sentences in identical reedy, garbled voices.
“Dreadful was the day…that the sun vanished. The waters…dried up. The birds…went quiet. And the darkness itself…seeped, unchecked, into the Highlands.” Their necks suddenly twisted sideways, both heads separating at ninety-degree angles, before twisting upright again. The night that followed…would be long. As long as…the Midnight Walk.”
The Soothsayers’ crimson eyes seemed to bore deep into Kit’s being. “You…chosen one. Destined, it seems…to be kindling. The days…are getting colder. If the night continues…the cold will be our doom. Your fate awaits you…at the end of the Midnight Walk. At the top…of Moon Mountain. There, you must do…what need be done.”
Having said their peace, the Soothsayers returned to their fire, but they continued to stare. And stare. And stare.
