Current
Now running: World of Light: The Tale of the Dark Itself
4 mos ago
Forever and ever, amen
7 mos ago
Calling out from Scatman's world
1
like
10 mos ago
Called into action - by threats that seem harmonized
1 yr ago
Tomorrow comes
Bio
Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
Shortly after Schnupfen arrived and lent his efforts to the chaotic clamor, the dungeon keepers really started getting results. For one, the cleric quite suddenly found himself a head shorter. The reason for this wasn't immediately apparent, but it stood to reason that it related to his contact with the guillotine shrine, and Schnupfen wasn't about to argue with the results. With the majority of the invaders' magic-users down for the count, they were almost out of adventurers who could actually do anything about the semi-corporeal shadow. This was simply the reality of hyper-specialization; although Schnupfen's holy weakness and magic allergy meant that he could be easily countered and completely shut down in most situations, any party that lacked (or happened to lose) its counters would inadvertently give the specter his win condition. Of course, he wasn't strong enough right now to completely trounce his foes once the scales tipped in his favor, but now Schnupfen could cease his toothless sideshow and actually get in on the action.
Still, the continued presence of one mage amongst the remaining would-be heroes gave Schnupfen pause. A single spell could still leave him a snotty, sobbing mess, sprawled out on the stone floor in a puddle of his own ectoplasm and vulnerable to attack. Now that the dungeon keepers had the numbers advantage, he didn't actually need to throw himself into the melee and start clawing, so he loomed overhead a moment to think. As much as the supposed creative Schnupfen didn't want to rehash his greatest hit, dropping a rock on someone did strike him as a pretty great idea. Good old rock. Nothing beats that. He was a bit paranoid that the same trick wouldn't work on the boy wonder again, but in truth it was his internal bias that persuaded him to target the final mage instead of the high-priority Hero. Even better, it seemed like he and Zogi were on the same wavelength as the goblin snatched a knife and ran forward to shank the spellcaster. To Schnupfen it seemed very, very likely that he would meet his end once more on Danny's sword as the wannabe rounded on the goblin to protect his ally, but even if Zogi's efforts were doomed to fail, they were just the distraction that the shadow needed.
Floating above the marauders with a grapefruit-sized chunk of granite in hand, Schnupfen took aim and dropped a rock once more, his psychadelic eyes bulging in gleeful anticipation of that delicious sound of stone cracking skull.
I'll post what I have of my character so far - an old, blind jazz artist, well past his prime but keeping his spirits up through the modern magic of podcasting. Confirmed with Lug that he is, effectively, immune to what's happening, though I'm sure hanging around outside long enough is bound to make something happen to 'im.
And while there's no sheet for it now, he DOES have a guide dog, who definitely HAS looked outside...
Name: Julien Roy State: Coward Personality: A reserved man in his old age, Julien tends to keep his thoughts to himself, preferring that if anything needed saying, his actions would make it clear. What he does talk about is usually matter-of-fact, with few opinions, clear and direct and curt, nothing but facts if he can help it. He keeps others at a similar arm’s length, trying to maintain a wide emotional gulf between him and the world, though he can’t not listen to people - and for all his curmudgeoness, when he hears someone in need, his first instinct is to help. He just won’t make it obvious that there’s a part of him that cares and prefers if you didn’t bring it up yourself. The one thing that always gets him rambling, however, is music, jazz especially. Old habits. Appearance:Like so. Approximately 5’9”, not particularly tall, but broad shouldered and heavyset. Near entirely bald. Behind his glasses, his eyes are murky white, the skin around them and across the bridge of his nose warped with ancient scars. Biography: Julien is Louisianan born-and-raised, growing up in the bayous of New Orleans. His childhood was uneventful; the main thing to take from it is that he grew to have a huge interest and appreciation in music. Talents:
That's a very good start. I'm working on a character myself to hopefully help give examples to interest checkers, and I've got to admit that I was originally considering an old fart with a dog myself. I'll see what else I can think up, and I'll look forward to any other work-in-progress sheets.
Compared especially to Primrose, Nadia didn’t have the same knack for the art of expression, either in terms of cultivating and controlling her own, or reading into those of others. She tended to gloss over conflict, stress, and anxiety with lighthearted cheeriness and corny jokes, but other than that, the catgirl usually wore her heart on her sleeve. Of course, that was easier on some days than others, and today was clearly a difficult day for her. It didn’t exactly take someone with Primrose’s social perceptiveness to tell that Nadia was troubled, if not outright guilty. Her new outfit, despite its face-obscuring hood, didn’t actually disguise her identity all that well; her fighting style, and tendency to show her face by using her detachable head as a weapon, saw to that. Instead it more seemed to symbolize her desire to hide, to run away from her mistakes -and those who could hold her accountable- so she could try and fix things on her own.
Even if Primrose could more or less tell all this at a glance, though, the onus was on Nadia herself to come clean, to try and dispel doubts while clearing up her good intentions. As scary as it could be, she did intend to take responsibility, at least in her own way. Plus, if she couldn’t bring herself to confront the angry faces and accusatory fingers of the Seekers, maybe Primrose could put in a good word for her. Lend her a little much-needed credibility. After all, Nadia never meant for this to happen. It might be a stretch to call what she did an ‘honest mistake’, but she never wanted anyone to get hurt. That counted for something, right?
Nadia followed Primrose’s questioning glance to Robo-fortune, but didn’t dismiss her doppelganger. In truth, she didn’t really care what Robo did or didn’t know. By her very nature, the two of them were a package deal, stuck together. Hopefully she wasn’t making a mistake by putting so much faith in her ‘evil clone’ to do the logical thing. “Yeah, we’re fine. Making it work.” Was that true? Eh. It was unfortunate that everyone had definitive proof she was alive, since the pathos of returning from the dead could have worked in her favor. In the end though, it was probably better to play things straight. Earn her way back through deeds, not schemes. After all, Nadia’s grand plan wasn’t anything secret or special. She assumed it was the same one harbored by every other competitor in her tournament.
“It’s simple. We’re gonna win Mortal Kombat and take out Shao Kahn.” Nadia offered the dancer a determined smile, the mark of a supposedly indomitable spirit. “Regardless of what happened, I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to. Can’t argue with results, right?” The catgirl didn’t seem to consider the possibility of failing, however close she’d come during her match with Maya and Mira. Right now, she couldn’t afford to entertain that possibility. She wouldn’t even allude to it, as if it were some boogeyman that would manifest if talked about.
Although she hadn’t intentionally ditched her original linkpearl, Nadia considered her loss to be a blessing in disguise. It was the perfect excuse for avoiding the other Seekers, and she did not want that to change, even if Primrose’s offer now meant that the feral would be willfully irresponsible. “Uh…I’m good without a pearl for now. And I wanna stay off the others’ radar. Need to…tsk. Focus. You know.” A harder taskmaster could have easily exploited the openings in Nadia’s armor, but the catgirl was relieved to have Primrose confronting her rather than anyone else. The dancer was no narc, and she knew the value of discretion. Some space, as Primrose put it, was exactly what Nadia desperately needed. She was beyond thankful for her friend’s leniency, so much so that mere words didn’t feel appropriate. After fidgeting for a moment, Nadia stepped forward and embraced her friend in a quick but intense hug. Hopefully that said everything that she couldn’t.
A brief moment later Nadia pulled back, untouched by either embarrassment or regret. Still, she sighed, shaking her head. “Hah. I don’t deserve a friend like you. But I’ll try and make you proud. All of you.” With that in mind, she’d be fighting for a lot more than an empty title or championship belt. When did the plucky underdog heroine, hungry for redemption, ever lose? Now that she knew someone still had faith in her, Nadia genuinely felt a lot better. She crossed her arms. “I’m tourna-meant for big things, ya know. See ya ‘round, Rosey?”
With Big Band following along, Leduc eagerly led the way toward home base, steadily navigating counter-clockwise through the Low Tier’s mazelike streets, around its southern area and back toward the east. Remembering that Empty Space ought to be south of Esaka according to the three-dimensional holographic map of the World of Light aboard the Avenger, Band cast his gaze southward a couple times when sufficient gaps happened to open between buildings, but he never saw anything other than mountains. A small range, featuring forested foothills, seemed to stand between the Tiered City and the gargantuan pit that scarred the center of the continent. Band wasn’t terribly interested in the area or anything, even though the Seekers’ campaign dictated that they’d venture there eventually, but he couldn’t help but be a little curious. Oh well.
It was more worthwhile for the detective to pay attention to the city streets as he and Leduc went along. Band hadn’t been in Esaka for long, only about thirty hours all told, but he’d already begun to really hear the ‘whispers’ of the city, steadily giving him a better idea of Esaka and its people. He wasn’t on Acucena or Chloe’s case right now, but such accumulated background information served as the crucial frame of reference through which all investigations were conducted, so the more he knew, the better off he'd be when it was his turn to actually figure stuff out. Of course, there was no shortage of detectives on the Gold Team’s roster, but Band had an old-fashioned work ethic and wanted to show Kim, Harry, and Zenkichi that he could pull his weight, even if his enormous chassis did weigh five thousand pounds.
After about ten minutes, the two cyborgs reached an old warehouse on the southeast edge of town, right up against the wall. Although rather dingy, with plenty of wear and tear, it seemed to be in use processing shipments of goods newly arrived to Esaka. Rather than enter the warehouse, Leduc descended an adjacent flight of stairs to a large cellar door. Though cumbersome and rusty in appearance, the door featured heavy-duty locks and a security terminal sophisticated enough to scan the young man’s eyes before a couple loud clunks signalled that the lockdown had been lifted. When Band followed the boy inside, the passage turned out to be longer than expected, leading even farther downward. He barely fit, often brushing up against the brick walls or the many pipes that protruded from the arched ceiling.
Just when the detective was starting to get incredulous, the two made a turn and the tunnel opened up into a big underground chamber, comparable in size to the warehouse sitting above it. There were grungy conveyor belts, apparati, pipes, computer desks, screens, and so forth all over the place, making it the very picture of a mad science lab. Compared to Anti-Skullgirl Lab 8, it was much less shadowy, oppressive, and heavy, all copper sheets, green tubes, and bright spotlights instead of steel girders, orange tanks, and pitch-black shadows. Still, the whole place still felt familiar. It was a fitting retreat for the misfit refugees of Lab 8, and as he stomped in, he could see a handful of recognizable faces turn his way.
“You’re back!” At the sight of Leduc, a strange girl buzzed over, floating with the help of the Synthetic Parasite wrapped around her arms. Hive had been so fixated on her fellow teen that for a brief moment, she didn’t even seem to notice the trench-coated titan behind him, but when she realized just who she was looking at Hive went bug-eyed. “Omigosh. Ben!? You found us!”
Her high-pitched squeaks drew the attention of the others, and in no time flat Big Band found himself swarmed. The primary offenders were the youngsters Leduc referred to as ‘the littles’, a collection of orphans taken in by Lab 8 to become weapons against the Skullgirl threat that left them without anywhere else to turn. Those who recognized Band were universally delighted to see the gentle giant once more, climbing all over him like hungry kittens. And as always, wherever the littles could be found, Ileum was nearby. One of the few older ASG experiments, the masked bundle of intestines often played the role of ‘mom’, similar to how Band played the role of ‘dad’. That wasn’t to say that Band and Ileum were close, but the detective was happy to see her again, and despite her mask he could tell that the feeling was mutual.
Of course, there was no mistaking one of the figures who strode over to greet Band with a smile: Stanley. Even before joining Lab 8, the Dagonian had been outstanding in his field, and his involvement with the ASG program had allowed him to work his magic without regard to budget or ethics–there was no cost too great when it came to stopping the Skullgirls, after all. Today, Stanley was just the shark Band wanted to see.
There was one scientist Band didn’t recognize, though, who floated toward him at Stanley’s side. This masked woman sported a white lab coat, a swoop of green hair, and two large mechanical arms of coiled brass instrumentation not too unlike Band’s. Thematically, she was a perfect fit here, though even if the others seemed to trust (or at least tolerate) her, something about her made Band a little weary. After he greeted the others, this woman introduced herself as Dr. Coyle, the owner of this lab and the boss around here. Band raised an eyebrow at her claims to leadership, although he supposed that in Dr. Avian’s absence another strong-willed (and morally dubious) individual was necessary to run the freak show that was Lab 8.
Rather than waste time reminiscing or questioning, Band got down to business at the first opportunity. “Stanley, my man. When I heard you were here, I came runnin’.” He gave a wry smile as he deployed a small mechanical arm to lift up the dangling tube of his broken respirator. “As you probably noticed, I’m in need of a serious tune-up.”
The shark nodded, adjusting his glasses. “My mind’s already racing. I think I’ve got just the parts for the job. Come on over to the back, we’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
As Hive and Leduc went off together to put away the groceries, Band gently dislodged the kids clinging to him and stomped after Stanley to his workshop, aware that Coyle was silently (and eerily) floating after them. “So what’ve you been up to?” Stanley asked. “You look like you got mauled by a bear.”
“Close. A tiger. Either a mutant or pumped up on steroids,” Band told him. “I’m fightin’ in the World Warrior tournament, actually. Kinda a long story.” As he considered what to tell his old friends (in light of the persistent presence of Dr. Coyle) something occurred to Band that they really ought to know. Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t keep it secret, out of loyalty for someone he’d come to consider a friend, but Band knew the stakes.
He took a deep breath. “I got some bad news. There’s a new Skullgirl at large. Last seen in Edinburgh MagicaPolis.” At the deadly word Stanley inhaled sharply as he paused, his eyes making contact with Band’s. The detective was not joking, however. Even Coyle seemed intensely interested; the ASG refugees had no doubt filled her in about their world’s greatest threat. “Her name’s Linkle. She’s a tough cookie, fightin’ the Skull Heart as hard as she can, but she’s already in a bad way. Half skeletal, brimmin’ with blue fire and raisin’ the dead wherever she goes. Only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose.”
Stanley swallowed. “That is bad news. Catastrophic, even. I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. Even with you back, we’re at a fraction of our former strength. But even if we somehow mobilized every fighter in Esaka, it might still not be enough…”
“I know, Stan, I know.” Band shook his head. “First things first, though. I ain’t gonna be doin’ much for anyone if I ain’t fightin’ fit.”
Coyle seemed to be smiling. “Don’t worry, Detective. We’ll fix you up even better than before. In fact, I’d be more than willing to throw in a little tech of my own. It sounds like we’ll have great need of you in the days to come…”
Well, that was ominous. But in his current state, Band voiced no objections. He found his way to Stanley’s sturdiest worktable, and with both doctors in attendance, the operation began.
After glancing back at the Gigas, Azucena put her hands on her hips, her expression one of aloof condescension. “My coffee’s success speaks for itself, mister. Maybe all your smoking has killed your taste buds.” She rolled her eyes, exaggeratedly playing to the crowd. “As for my bodyguards, they haven’t interfered once with any of the battles I’ve had so far. This isn’t some Low Tier street fight; the Heavenly Principles are making sure the fun and games are fair for everyone.”
The Peruvian martial artist then crossed her arms. “They’re mostly for thugs and wannabes trying to steal my spotlight and make a scene for no good reason. If you’re not here for the Coffee Challenge, maybe you wanna make their acquaintance?” Harry’s bad attitude and groundless derision had prompted Azucena to give him an ultimatum: put his money where his mouth was, beat it, or learn a harsh lesson about manners in the High Tier. With all eyes now on the detective, the choice was his to make.
Kim’s initial comment prompted a snort from Eddy. The capoeirista was initially wary of the man who approached him, neither recognizing him nor expecting any kind of casual pleasantry from any of Chloe’s goons, but Kim’s casual manner convinced him to let down his guard somewhat. “Wish that I could. But no. That’d get me in a whole lot more trouble than it’d be worth, and he knows it. Not gonna let some has-been get his jollies from me.”
When offered a cigarette, however, Eddy raised an eyebrow before waving him off. “Fighters don’t smoke,” he said pointedly. Since Kim didn’t light his own, there was a chance that he was just ‘wearing’ the cigarette for style points, but it still seemed to make Eddy take him less seriously. What he said made sense, after all; one couldn’t engage in such an exertion-heavy sport with the reduced lung capacity and impaired breathing common to smokers. That naturally begged the question: if Kim wasn’t a fighter in the city of fighters, he was either someone’s lackey…or a tourist.
Kim went on to turn the conversation toward Eddy’s least favorite subject: Lucky Chloe. Telling him that he could beat her in a fight only reminded him about the reason he was in this whole mess to begin with, which happened to be losing a fight to her. Still irate, Eddy couldn’t help but be suspicious about why one of Chloe’s employees would be trying to fan the flames (or working for ‘some dive’, as he put it, in the first place). Regardless, there was a reason why he couldn’t take action against her, one that everyone here ought to be able to guess at if they didn’t actually know.
“G-Corp’s got me on a tight leash,” he told Kim flatly. “If I don’t play along with this crap, or if anything happens to her, they’re gonna make me disappear.” He didn’t expect to get a solution, or any pity for that matter. As far as he knew, Chloe only wanted him for her next gig, and if she got bored of him, G-Corp ought to leave him alone, since their only concern seemed to be making their little superstar happy.
Pretty much as soon as the troop of Jack-5s touched down on solid ground, things got chaotic. No strategies had been discussed on how to deal with the robot mob beforehand, but it quickly became obvious what the Seekers and their associates needed to do in order to come out of this clash on top: divide and conquer. On paper, they were outnumbered only about two to one, but if four or five Jack-5s managed to converge on a single target, their iron fists would pummel that target into oblivion without much chance of fighting back, no matter who it might be. Even out here, the rule of hitstun seemed to hold sway, and so did the Jacks’ ability to block, allowing them to reduce almost any attack to chip damage if they could react in time.
After they more or less dealt with Therion’s stunning roar, blocking was the Jack units’ primary response to Rika and Junior’s withering bombardment, and even if a couple got hit, the inconsistent barrage usually resulted in a dropped combo that gave struck robots a chance to recover and start blocking. As a result, while only one Jack-5 got atomized by Peeka’s Lifeform Disintegration Ray, the whole squad got more or less softened up by the kids’ bullets, bombs, bolts, and blasts. Those in front received substantially more damage than those behind them, while those toward the rear escaped largely unscathed. Still, the cannonade did leave the Jacks either stuck in blockstun or stuck hiding behind those stuck in blockstun, which left them grouped up like sitting ducks for Yayama’s joyride.
Her Chopper was what really wrecked havoc on the Jacks’ formation, forcing them to scatter or get reduced to scrap metal beneath a grinding wheel that would’ve put a road roller’s to shame. The explosive payloads of brutish war machine’s cannons were icing on the cake. Yayama’s vehicle proved difficult for the melee-oriented robots to hit, especially without getting plowed the next second themselves, and even those who did manage to land a solid punch achieved little thanks to Yayama’s aetheric shield.
Without too much risk to herself, Yayama managed to destroy four Jack-5s in quick succession thanks to her Chopper, and drive a fifth into the muddy ground where it would be an easy target for anyone who could spare a moment or two to deal with it. However, as she slowed down to make a turn for another crash through the enemy’s thinned ranks, one of the daunting Jack-8 units managed to catch up to her. Rather than just try and hit the Chopper, the black-armored juggernaut grabbed onto the fuselage near the cockpit. Then he attempted to boot her out of the driver’s seat with a leg bigger and heavier than Yayama was, and hijack the Chopper for himself.
As a result of Junior, Rika, and Yayama’s efforts, only eight Jack-5s remained to challenge everyone else, although two still seemed intent on going after Yayama regardless of how her tangle with her hijacker went. Now regrouped, Anji, Dolores, and Darli moved forward to challenge the others, with Therion waiting in the wings. The thief’s timely intervention prevented the other Jack-8 from leading the charge, so the UN agents got the first strike against the rank-and-file. Anji covered their approach with a handful of summoned butterflies, which fluttered forward. Whether they hit or got blocked, each would transform into a bird that flapped up to dive down before dissipating. These Shitsu projectiles were handy for locking opponents down and forcing them to guess, and Darli definitely appreciated the chance to cut loose.
Though not as mobile as the machines, the carpenter could deal huge amounts of damage with individual swings of her giant saw. Its savage teeth could tear through the Jack-5s’ artificial skin and the endoskeletons beneath. She scored a quick kill, her quarry reduced to a pile of sparking limbs. Soon after, though, two more Jack-5s ganged up on her and quickly put her on the back foot. Their mobility allowed them to circle around Darli, split her attention, and overwhelm her. Rather than just sit there and block until she keeled over from chip damage, Darli fought back whenever she could, even as the counterhits and bruises mounted.
Of the three, Dolores seemed most adept at fighting multiple enemies. Using her geomancy, she could soften the ground beneath the Jacks’ feet to slow them down, or cause spikes of earth to emerge and either strike or entrap her foes. If a single Jack reached her, her CQC abilities were nothing to scoff at, but if sufficiently pressured she could sink into the earth herself using Altariq to emerge farther away, her spotless skin inexplicably untouched by the mud. With her skills she held off three Jack-5’s at once, even managing to crush one within a miniature landslide.
Meanwhile, Anji focused on the Jack-8 shackled by Therion. His fighting style turned out to be a tricky mix of elegance and strength, making use of moves that could pan out in different ways. His Suigetsu No Hakobi was a twirling flourish that could evade an attack, and his Fujin windblast offered a number of different follow-ups, including a low, an overhead, a jump into downward projectile, and a side-changing hop. He had to be very careful against Jack-8, though. The war machine’s fearsome strength and toughness allowed him to fight like a belligerent brute, blowing through Anji’s little tricks and punishing his Fujin follow-ups if he recognized the correct response to each. Anji could hold his own, but this Jack-8 demanded all his focus, and he did not go untouched.
When the egotistical Ice King revealed himself, haughtily condemning the festivities and then issuing a threatening proclamation, Sandalphon steeled herself for battle. Her muscles, steadily relaxed by hours of peacefully productive or fun activities, tensed again in a heartbeat as she prepared to take the initiative and organize a defense. A quick scan backed up her visual assessment that the surly sabertooth’s forces were really nothing to write home about, especially given the sheer number of Seekers who had barely engaged in combat today, but the Ice King himself concerned her. He seemed to be responsible for that blizzard barrier, after all, and if he could control -or even summon- a snowstorm of that magnitude, he possessed an alarming amount of power. Even if her team could withstand his withering cryomancy, the odds of the Christmas Village -not to mention its populace- escaping intact were abysmally low. She needed to construct a battle plan, create a diversion…
…Or maybe change her perspective.
Sandalphon watched, quietly alarmed, as the unassuming and amicable Professor Layton strolled straight toward the self-professed winter sovereign, a platter of warm food in hand, with plentiful portions of meat. The Chilfos turned their horned heads to observe him, their warning for Layton to watch himself implicit since they did not dare to move without their king’s command. The Ice King himself did not bristle or raise his hackles, sufficiently intrigued by Layton’s boldness to entertain his approach until the aromas of pan-seared golden salmon, shucked snow crab, and spit-roasted Gammoth reached his nostrils. ”Hmm…’ he murmured, licking his lips.
Layton then beseeched him politely, begging his forgiveness. It would have been more proper if the man addressed him as ‘your Highness’, but the choice offerings greased the wheel, so to speak.”Indeed,” he replied sharply as Layton admitted his mistake, raising a paw. He unfurled his pinky toe, then extended a shining claw the size of a cutlass. With utmost refinement and delicacy he speared the golden salmon, brought it to his lips, and sampled it. ”Oh, hm.” He listened, savoring the fish as the professor extended him an invitation, then tried the Gammoth and found it to his liking as well. ”Well…” he motioned for Layton to set down the plate. ”I suppose it’s a start.”
The Seekers had plenty more in store, though. Next Edward stepped up, offering a precious gift he’d only just received himself, along with praise, in a sophisticated tongue no less. ”A present?” The Ice King stared at the box imperiously, his tone a little derisive. ”How quaint.” Still delicately eating one item of Layton’s tribute at a time, he motioned for a Chilfos to deal with the present. The icy lancer marched over, stooped, and unwrapped the gift in order to reveal the picturesque poke puffs, all bright and jubilant colors. They seemed to please the Ice King’s discerning eye. ”Sweet little treats of some sort?” He tried one, which disappeared like a snowflake on the big cat’s tongue. ”Pleasing. But rather paltry. Such morsels hardly satisfy. Still, I might as well.” The entire lot disappeared in one gulp.
Next, the illustrious feline turned his eyes to Sectonia. Her size, regal bearing, and plentiful baubles marked her as a noble of some repute, although she did not attempt to address him as an equal. Good for her, knowing her place beneath him! Instead, she summoned a few underlings and bid them to attend the Ice King. They elicited an even stronger response from the Chilfos and Ty-foos, but in light of their lord’s supreme confidence, the winter soldiers stayed their hands. When the Antlers began to pet the Ice King, they evoked a strong, immediate response.
”Ooh…yes! Goodness me. Right there…and there, yes. Stronger…not that strong! Ah. Yeeeees….” The Ice King stood, then laid down to permit the Antlers -an Ace- better access to his favorite petting areas. ”Finally, some attention fit for a king! Lavish me with your finest pets and scratches, mmm…”
As Sandalphon watched the others’ efforts, she slowly let go of her tension and banished the half-formed battle plans in her mind. Having dealt with mindlessly violent (or irredeemable) foes so often, she had assumed a violent solution would be necessary without considering the possibility of appeasement. Yet the denizens of the Christmas Village had plenty of delicious food and good cheer to spare. And come to think of it, giving the Ice King a warm welcome was in keeping with the spirit of the holiday.
The archangel suddenly froze as a new, striking thought occurred to her. Was this the trial of the Christmas ritual? Was the magic of Christmas not a spell to banish a blizzard, but a spirit warm enough to melt the Ice King’s frozen heart? There was no way to know for sure, but it made too much sense for her to ignore. If that was the case, she needed to help.
Sandalphon thought quickly. Lying wasn’t an angel’s strong suit, but recontextualization was a tactician’s forte. She stepped forward as Sectonia’s Antlers continued to pet the Ice King, holding a hand to her heart as she bowed her head. “If I may, Your Majesty. It was no coincidence that our singing reached you through the frozen storm. From the first to the last, our songs were sung in your honor–the outcry of many hearts overflowing with admiration for the resplendence of winter’s king.”
“Were they, now?” The Ice King raised a furry eyebrow. He hadn’t actually paid attention to the words, so he couldn’t be sure one way or the other.
“They were?” Maeve squeaked, giving Sandalphon a quizzical look. Then her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yes! They were! Uh!” She fluttered forward, clearing her throat. “Um, oh glorious Ice King! On behalf of the Christmas Village, allow me to welcome you to…a grand party dedicated to your honor! The King of Christmas!” She gestured toward the blazing fires and laden tables. “Please, help yourself to whatever you like as you listen to our carols! Everyone is welcome here!”
Try as he might to seem above it all, the Ice King looked rather pleased. “Hmm…I see. I suppose if you’ve gone to all the trouble, it would be a shame if it all goes to waste. Very well!” He gestured dismissively to the Chilfos and Ty-foos, which shrank back into the dwindling snowstorm. He rose and padded forward into the village, swaggering as if he owned the place. “Onward, then. Now that your guest of honor has arrived, and you’re all very honored to have me I’m sure, let the revelry continue!”
With the situation disarmed, Heismay let out his breath, released his grip on his longsaber’s hilt, and emerged from the shadow he’d sheltered in. Like many of the Seekers he didn’t have much to add by way of appeasement, but he’d been ready for a fight in case things went south. Still, if the sheer size of that blizzard was anything to go by, a nonviolent solution was probably best for everybody. Given how pleasant the Seekers’ day here had been (Heismay’s brush with the Dark Itself being the one exception) it would’ve been a shame to end on a sour note, up to and including the destruction of the Christmas Village itself. After watching the Ice King settle himself down by the fire, where he feasted on Gammoth meat before rolling onto his side for Antler belly rubs, Heismay sauntered over to get another cup of warm cider.
The festival had already been starting to wind down, and with the Ice King commandeering what was left of it, it wasn’t long before the Seekers’ elected leader made a judgement call. Her sigil manifested by the ears of everyone in her network as she announced their next plan of action. “Attention, everyone. Now that the way is clear, we should proceed along the Midnight Walk. Today was pleasant, but today’s progress toward Moon Mountain pales in comparison to yesterday’s. While the night is still relatively young, and everyone has plenty of energy, we should make what progress we can. Let us pack everything up, say our farewells, and prepare to move out.”
Of course, Sandalphon made this announcement from the stagecoach’s interior, so she was ready to go. Even if it would take a little while for Edward to hitch the Reindrix back up, it paid to be prepared. Now that she was here, a quick inspection of the vegetubes confirmed that the team’s crops were fully grown. The carrots would be helpful in the coming days, of course, but much more important was the mistletoe. Those spiky sprigs, according to Consul L herself, would prove quintessential to defeating the Highlands’ Guardian. This was an excellent development; the Seekers were one step closer to finishing their mission.
Footsteps atop the stagecoach heralded Heismay’s arrival. As usual, the sharp-eyed eugief would stand sentinel (or sit sentinel, when possible) atop the Seekers’ wagon, facing the wind as the team pressed forward into the howling dark.
Hi all! I briefly joined the original RP, like, years ago - while I was still in high school! Unfortunately due to a variety of factors (mainly school, other commitments and the lack of a proper PC) I had to drop out. But now I’m older, much better at time management and I’d like to give things another go, if you’ll have me (assuming I’m remembered, haha).
I’ll get my sheet out shortly, once I’m settled!
Welcome back. It's funny how many old players end up returning. Happy to have you, and eager to see your new application.
On September 29th, at 6:14 AM Central Standard Time, something entered the sky over Louisiana, the United States, and indeed the entire Western hemisphere. It arrived suddenly and without warning, preceded only by a dark blot in the night sky that steadily blocked more and more stars, its coming foreseen by very few and kept a well-guarded secret by those it stunned into silence. What it was, nobody could quite say, thanks to the thick storm clouds that amassed to veil the heavens.
Nevertheless, that instant was the beginning of the end of civilization as humanity knew it. Within minutes, most of continental North and South America went dark. Confusion and panic spread like wildfire, taking the rest of the globe by storm. Worldwide news networks were unable make contact with the affected areas, and social media offered very little in the way of concrete information. Speculation ran wild. Was it meteors? Violent weather? Alien attacks? Nuclear war? Nobody knew. The most anyone got were vague warnings for people to stay inside. And over the course of the next twelve hours, the steady rotation of planet Earth introduced the same phenomenon to every corner of the globe.
This story covers just one tiny part of the world: an affordable apartment community called Drakes Landing, not too far from the renowned State University in the balmy city of Baton Rouge, capital of Louisiana, sitting pretty on the banks of the Mississippi River in the subtropical deep south of the United States. It stars a handful of ordinary people from different walks of life, who awoke on that fateful day to find their world -and maybe themselves- forever changed. The power's still on. The water still flows. And the internet still functions, even if strange plant roots seem to be sprouting from all the computers, tablets, and phones, and a haggard voice leaks unprompted from speakers and headsets alike to assure those huddled in the dark that this will all blow over in fifteen days. Warning them to hide indoors, block their windows, and not. Look. Outside.
So...did you?
What happens if you look outside?
Anyone (whether human or animal) who witnesses the sky in any capacity, including a reflection, an image, a painting, or even a vivid description, no matter how cloudy the sky is, is subject to dramatic and often horrific transformation. These mutations are infinitely variable. They can take place over the course of seconds, hours, or even days, depending on the severity of exposure. One's mental state is also a factor; the more you panic, the worse it gets. The transformation isn't purely random, though. They can seemingly be based on specific themes, like teeth, hands, creatures, art forms, and more, potentially linked to the victim's thoughts at the time. Witnesses can also merge with foreign objects in their vicinity while transforming, which affect their final form. The same person can take different forms depending on their circumstances.
Once witnesses reach their final form, they're essentially inoculated against further transformation caused by viewing the sky again.
A small subset of witnesses become infectors. This usually takes the form of a transmittable disease or parasitization of some kind. Infectors can change other living things independently of Cursed transformation, creating amalgams. Unfortunately, this means that even if you do manage to avoid looking outside, you can still fall prey to an infector. Maybe a mutant wasp slipped in overnight and stung you while you slept, converting you gradually into a living hive.
An even smaller subset of witnesses become warpers, who somehow inadvertently affect reality itself in an area around where they transformed. This can range from merely making an apartment bigger on the inside, to creating infinite corridors, to making indoor jungles, underwater apartments, or even war zones. It's weird.
Some witnesses gain abilities that their new biologies (and even modern science) simply do not explain, like illusions, invisibility, and mental suggestion. The most common is shapeshifting to some degree, with rare cases even able to affect a mostly human appearance again. This is even less common than becoming a hundred-headed monstrosity the size of a building, though. Most Cursed don't become that much physically stronger or tougher, and are vulnerable to conventional weapons and even certain household items.
The Curse really is a lottery, and very few people win.
Becoming Cursed also tends to affect your mind. About 30% of witnesses suffer a total loss of sanity, either as a result of their minds physically becoming inhuman, or due to the sheer mental stress of their drastic and illogical transformation, and these Cursed usually become mindlessly violent. About 40% are mentally altered to some capacity, resulting in alien emotions, changes in functionality, and possible violent tendencies. About 30% remain 'lucid', although depression, anxiety, dysphoria, self-loathing, instability, and stress are all pretty normal responses to what they experience.
The RP
This ought to be a relatively short-form, character-driven RP. I'm not planning for this to be an extremely long-form RP like my other RP, World of Light. If you know me, though, you know I don't half-ass RPs. The task is to survive for fifteen days, exploring Drakes Landing and the areas around it as much as possible, collecting supplies and dealing with all kinds of messed-up stuff, including combat. Once the fifteen days are up, the RP will be done. Still, I'd be looking for as many players as possible willing to commit for the whole period, with no limit on applicants. I'd be willing for players to have up to two characters apiece. In order to get off the ground, I'd like to have six confirmed players. Requirements would be pretty chill in terms of length, but for consistency one post a week would be ideal. I'd probably update on Wednesday evenings.
At the start of the RP, you can start yourself off at basically any time in the morning of September 29th, depending on what angle you want to take for your character. Maybe you're an ambitious young business owner already out of bed and on your way to work when the sky changed. Maybe you're a shut-in out of a job and fresh from a bad breakup, and you slept in 'til 10 AM, unaware that anything happened until a horror busts down your door. You can start at the moment you're transformed, or start a few hours into the apocalypse, whether already Cursed or not. Depending on what you want for your character, you can include the various facets pre-change or post-change in your sheet, or both. If you want to apply with two characters, they can be roommates, family members, a couple, an owner and a pet, or whatever. You can also coordinate backstories with another player. You're the boss.
Name: State: (Coward, or Witness. If you want to play a Witness (Infector) or Witness (Warper), these roles will be limited and have increased narrative weight. And keep in mind, even if you start as a Coward, anything can happen...) Personality: Appearance: (Note on becoming Cursed: the results are NEVER pretty. If you're even symmetrical, or even mistakable for an actual animal, you're lucky. No elves, vampires, catgirls, or fantasy creatures allowed) Biography: Talents: (If you do have any abilities from becoming Cursed, they go here)
The U-shaped apartment complex has nine buildings, D1-D9, as well as a front office building, which surround the inner courtyard. The front office has the fitness center, kitchen, and business center, as well as a small (and overpriced) shop for basic amenities. There are small parking lots in front of each building. The area is fenced in, and there is a sliding gate that requires a code on both ends of the U. Each building has three floors. Each first floor has four large apartments with three bedrooms, while the second and third have eight apartments with one or two bedrooms apiece. Room numbering follows this schemed: building-floor-apartment (IE The fourth apartment on the second floor of building 8 is 824, even though there are only there are only 180 apartments total).
To the immediate south is a strip mall with a pizza place, some fast food, a hair salon, a laundromat, a liquor store, and so forth. To the north is one of those massive cell phone internet towers (some residents complain of a low hum). North of that is the Baton Rouge Refinery, a massive oil refinery that forms most of Baton Rouge's industry and employs a crapton of people. Business 190 (AKA Florida Street), a popular touristy area with plenty of food and entertainment, is pretty close by to the south. So is Louisiana State University, to the west. Two blocks to the east is the Mississippi River, including the Louisiana Naval Museum, where the battleship USS Kidd is docked
Final note: the theme of the RP isn't horror or torture, but the power community and compassion to overcome even the darkest of circumstances. It's inspired by the excellent game made by Francis Coulombe. Any questions?
Fast-paced, eye-catching matches continued to rage on all throughout the Pools tier, the stakes higher than ever now that over half of the tournaments’ total roster had fallen to the Losers’ Bracket if not completely eliminated, but right now Big Band couldn’t get distracted. Despite claiming victory, he felt beat after his last match, thanks in large part to the respirator tubes sliced through by that freakish tiger’s claws during his second bout. And unfortunately, he wasn’t done fighting for today just yet, with at least one more pools match in the cards before he could call it quits for the day.
That was simply the price to pay for registering in the Tiered City’s most popular tournament; in retrospect, that decision seemed like a bad idea for him in particular. With over two hundred and fifty competitors to chew through before the top sixteen were decided, the World Warrior tournament demanded up to ten pools matches from its participants (over the course of two days, but still), compared to the three or four that faced King of Fighters or Mortal Kombat aspirants. And judging by the ambient chatter from the yokai and other spectators, this week’s tournament series was actually a slow one, with markedly less involvement than usual. Then again, even if the ‘kombatants’ looking to upstage Shao Khan had fewer fights to get through, any bout in that lethal league could be their last. Band was no stranger to putting his life on the line, but in his line of work a man only reached middle age if he knew how to pick his battles. Better to leave deadly duels to the likes of Ms Fortune, if the feral hadn’t flown the coop.
The bottom line was that the detective’s schedule permitted him only a small window in which he could try and get some much-needed repairs, so he had to hustle. Moving as quickly as he could given his large size, the man once known as Ben Birdland made a beeline for the nearest lift to Esaka’s Low Tier. He didn’t have the money with which he could solicit the services of even Mid-Tier engineers, after all, so he’d have to make do with some cut-rate craftsman. As a proud and somewhat old-fashioned fellow, Band didn’t consider the possibility of calling up a fellow Seeker or even home base aboard the Avenger for assistance, not when he considered himself more than capable of figuring things out on his own. He had yet to really open up to any of them, after all, even if he’d been getting along with Zenkichi so far. What I wouldn’t do to have Peacock around right now, he thought to himself glumly. The little scamp was no end of trouble, but as one of the few older adults at Lab 8, he’d naturally assumed a quasi-parental role for all of the experimental children brought into the ASG program, and Peacock was no different. He wondered if she was still in the Metro, causing problems for the local Nyakuza or that meddling Consul N. With her zany powers and cadre of cartoon companions, Peacock could more than fend for herself, but Band would have liked to know she was okay.
Within a few minutes, Band reached the Low Tier. Compared to that morning it was a little less hectic around town. By now, plenty of Low Tier fighters -generally the least favored in every tournament- had been eliminated. For those brave (or foolhardy) enough to test their luck in Mortal Kombat, a number had no doubt been killed, but the prevailing mood seemed to be one of disappointment rather than horror. It was a chilling reminder to Band of the warped perspective most Esakans seemed to have on death. There were still a few hubs of activity here and there as spectators and yokai kept an eye on the few Low Tier fighters still in the running, but for the most part this tier seemed to be back to business as usual, the same as yesterday when the Seekers of Light first arrived. Band assumed that once the tournaments progressed to Saturday and especially Sunday, things could get more heated again, but for now he could focus on the task at hand.
The detective busied himself scouring the streets, hunting for any sign of a workshop where he could get fixed up. As he’d come to expect, the Low Tier was a bit of a mess. Inconsistent and poorly organized, it was the result of organic, haphazard growth over any kind of urban planning. Many buildings were so repeatedly repurposed that one could easily walk into what looked like a hair salon and find a laundromat, or see a two-story home converted into a hotpot restaurant. It didn’t help that whatever phenomenon translated Esakans’ speech didn’t apply to written words, and that no standardized language reigned down here as it did in the higher tiers. Band could read the signage of about one building in five. This made for slow going, and as the minutes flew by, his frustration began to mount.
That changed, whenever, when Band spotted an oddly familiar mop of spiky blonde hair while tramping through an outdoor market. It belonged to a boy of about fifteen years of age, with electric blue eyes, scars, and robotic limbs that featured distinctive copper coils. Band blinked, his eyebrows rising. He recognized the boy, not just as someone from his own world, but as someone he personally knew. “Leduc?” The kid was too far away to hear him and, judging by the bags on his arms, headed home with some fresh groceries. Of course, that begged the question of what the young man’s home was, since in Band’s experience there had only ever been one answer: Lab 8.
Band began to tail Leduc, following him from the market through the dingy, cluttered labyrinth of Esaka’s Low Tier. A massive cyborg like him wasn’t exactly subtle, especially when his labored breathing sounded like an industrial AC unit, but Band was no slouch when it came to doing his job. Leduc was by no means oblivious, though. From afar Band saw him put into practice the lessons that he himself had taught him, so it was only a matter of time before the boy spotted Band a ways behind him. For a moment he froze, not believing his eyes, but after a second or two he came running, carefully maneuvering around pedestrians. With a broad smile, Band headed his way, aided by the tendency of the average pedestrian to carefully maneuver away from him.
The two cyborgs met with a clang in the middle of a hazy street as Leduc tried (and failed) to wrap his metal arms around the detective’s bell-shaped chassis. “Ben!?” The boy exclaimed, uncommon joy spread across his face. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I thought we’d never see you again.”
“Been a while huh, kid?” Staring up at the sky as he extended spindly mechanical limbs to hug Leduc back, Band thanked his lucky stars that something in this insane, messed-up world had conspired to reunite the two misfits once more. “How you doin’? You out here on your own?”
Leduc shook his head. “No, there’s a bunch of us here. Hive, Stanley, Ileum, the littles…”
“Avian?” Band ventured tentatively.
“No…” Leduc seemed disappointed himself. “What about you? Have you seen Peacock?”
A pang of guilt stabbed at Band’s heart. “Er…yeah. We were together for a good long while, fightin’ side by side. She wanted to stick around in a town full of cats, though.” He paused. “Don’t you worry though, she’s in good hands. Or good paws, I guess,” he lied.
The boy seemed relieved. “That’s good to hear.” When he stepped back, though, he noticed the state of Band’s instruments, and concern spread over his face. “What happened to you? You okay?”
A wheezing chuckle escaped the detective. “It’s a long story. If Stanley’s around, though, I really oughta pay him a visit. Think you can lead the way?”
“Leave it to me.” With a nod of understanding, as serious and mature as ever, Leduc turned and jogged away. Clonk, clonk, clonk, clonk. Big Band followed him, never imagining he’d be so eager to see that old shark again.
As Harry filtered through the crowd, sowing unrest and dissatisfaction with Azucena and her shady backers, Amaterasu approached the polar bear. She found him highly disgruntled, and while he wasn’t happy about Es or the other Coffee Challenge participants who’d blown him off, the bulk of his dissatisfaction seemed to be directed toward Azucena. When the goddess gave him an inquisitive head tilt, the bear looked down at his fellow white-furred creature with a smile. Though of comparably human intelligence himself, he ironically didn’t seem to consider the possibility that Amaterasu was sentient as well, as he unabashedly spilled his guts.
“Hey there, wolfy. You’re a pretty one,” he complimented her, before slouching down and sighing with a mean look at Azucena. “Much prettier than her, both inside and out, I reckon. It’s just not fair, damn it. The company sponsorin’ that Azucena lady is downright crooked. First they set up a new shop right across from mine and undercut me. I’ve gotta make a living so I can’t lower my prices any, but they could take the hit if it meant stealin’ away my business. And when that wasn’t enough, the bastards went and bought out the buildin’ I’m leasin’ to run my shop in and jacked up my rates. Now I’m stuck sellin’ coffee outta my truck on the street corner, and just when customers are finally startin’ to find me again, guess where she decides to hold this stunt of hers?”
The bear hung his head, disconsolate. “It ain’t fair, man. Big companies just don’t play the same game us li’l guys do. At this point I’d be better off findin’ a zoo an pretendin’ I’m a dumb animal.” Rubbing his face with one massive paw, he held up the other placatingly. “Uh, no offense. Anyway, it looks like she’s got everyone eatin’ out of her hand. If I had half a chance, why, I’d stuff her in my truck and give her a nice vacation in Everdream Valley to get her damn priorities straight…”
At the same time, Azucena was playing the crowd, looking for more challengers to take her on. Terry didn’t seem to be in any hurry to challenge her, though, so with nothing else going on it was only a matter of time before she caught wind of Harry’s rabble-rousing. “Ay, cabrón!” she called out angrily, jumping down from her podium. “What’s the big idea, huh? I treat my employees like I treat my coffee: with all the tender love and care they deserve! If you’ve got something to say to me, why not let your fists do the talking, eh?” Although Harry seemed to have been making a little headway, the celebrity’s straightforward and larger-than-life manner seemed to be winning the crowd back.
With a winning smile, Azucena crossed her arms. “And I’ll have you know, even though we don’t make kopi luwak in Peru, ‘cause we don’t have civets in South America, that coffee’s the most expensive in the whole world. A real delicacy! Not as good as the Azucena Blend, of course~” She winked.
Using a variety of means, from Kim’s guileful disguise to Roland’s anomalous equipment to Grima’s charismatic charade (plus sheer dumb luck), a handful of people who really had no business being there managed to infiltrate the opera house. At this point, with Chloe’s performance over a day away, it was still very much in the setup phase. It took a lot of legwork and elbow grease to convert a stage for classical performance into the venue for a pop star’s concert, after all. There were a number of both human and robotic staff members around, attending to various preparations, but overall the mood appeared to be pretty casual, neither too secure or too strict. If it had, Kim and Grima’s efforts probably wouldn’t have cut it. As things stood, though, Chloe’s staff seemed to reflect her own happy-go-lucky nature. Just from looking around, the only indicator of the pop star’s shady financiers was the scale of her upcoming performance.
The three infiltrators made their way throughout the structure, visiting different groups of workers. Getting any concrete information about Chloe herself, especially while remaining relatively inconspicuous, wasn’t exactly easy. The number one reason for this seemed to be Chloe herself, who seemed to be a rather whimsical and irresponsible person, troublesome even for her own staffers to keep tabs on. Most of the people here, when not concerned with their immediate tasks, seemed to be more focused on the tournaments. Some people were watching on their phones (whether or not they were currently on break) while others chatted with one another or yokai haunting the opera house, in keeping with the giant skeletal creature that occupied the main theater. As for Chloe’s whereabouts, most folks assumed that she was out somewhere in the High Tier taking a late lunch, but where was anyone’s guess.
About twenty minutes after the Seekers arrived, though, there was some commotion in the front lobby. A tough-looking Brazillian with stylish dreadlocks and a leopard-print jacket made to leave, only to be stopped by a couple of Chloe’s security bots, headed by an American in a black suit and gold jewelry. “This is bullshit!” Eddy exclaimed, venting his frustration. “It’s ridiculous that I’m stuck as a second-rate backup dancer for some ditzy little girl in the first place, all ‘cause she beat me one time. Capoeira isn’t just a dance; it’s a martial art, a cultural tradition! Not some cheap sideshow. And to demand my presence for her rehearsals, only to not show up all day…I’ve had it up to here!.” He scowled at the singer’s head of security, his scorn clear as day. “And to have you here standing in my way, ‘brother’. All that gold, and you’re still just a common sellout. Where is she!?”
“Back it up, Gordo,” Bruce snapped. “You ain’t no brother of mine, and I ain’t gotta tell you where Chloe is. She’s out to lunch, and that’s as good as you’re gettin’. If you don’t like this little arrangement you got goin’ on with G-Corp, maybe you shouldn’t-a gotten your ass whooped by a ditzy little girl to begin with. Now how ‘bout you scramble like an egg, ‘fore you get folded like an omelette?”
Eddy looked like he wanted to beat Bruce to a pulp there and then, but some unseen factor seemed to stay his hand. He turned away, swearing in Portuguese so vehemently that the Heavenly Principles didn’t even bother translating, and strode away to fume elsewhere.
As expected, Dolores’ geomancy alone wasn’t enough to halt the APC thanks to its heavy-duty treads. The shifting, softened earth did, however, slow it down enough to give her new allies a chance to spring their trap. With a whole host of different abilities under their belt, the Koopa Kids had just the tools for the job. The mitt of a massive mechanical Striker lifted one set of treads off the ground, which left the APC a sitting duck for the subterranean assault of Rika (metamorphosed into a giant centipede by her special cassette player) and her albino abyssal striker. Their combined strength, even though Junior’s iron shield just sank into the mud, was enough to tip the balance. Due to its rather broad weight distribution, the armored vehicle couldn’t really tip onto its side and stand on its axle, no more than a coin could stand on its side. Instead it tipped all the way over, completely upended, and slammed back into the sticky sediment upside-down, helpless as a flipped turtle.
“All right!” Darli Dagger’s boots hit the dirt as she hefted her oversized saw on her shoulder. Reconfiguring her weapon into an enormous drill, she sprinted forward toward the APC. “Time to crack this can open…huh?” Of course, the moment she got too close her boot sank into the soil softened by Dolores powers, stopping her in her tracks. “Oh, yeah. Dolores, hurry up and get the ground working again, will ya?”
The elegant lady looked annoyed, her measured irate expression suggesting a long line of similar interactions in the past. “Just give me a moment, it takes time to wring out the water content…”
“Ladies,” Anji chided jokingly. With a flourish of his fans, he summoned a cloud of radiant blue butterflies to ride upon and soared toward the APC. “Allow me.” After swooping down, he leapt from his butterflies, using the momentum to launch himself over the transport. At just the right moment he performed a spinning maneuver, buffeting the APC’s exposed underbelly with some sort of wind magic. On contact, the dark steel began to glow blue, and after a second it burst into a swarm of butterflies that scattered in all directions before dissipating. Anji landed behind the vehicle, just beyond the mud slick, and wiped a smudge of dirt from his abdominals with a polite smile. “There we are.”
Of course, mere seconds after he opened the APC, Jack units began to pour from within like clowns from a clown car. They climbed out, then launched themselves away from the stranded vehicle in a bizarre long jump, making it all the way to solid ground. In total, there were fourteen Jack-5s in their camo cargo pants and green tank tops, but there also seemed to be two top-of-the-line Jack-8s in black tech armor with glowing red lines, which really amplified the bad-guy energy they gave off.
Darli whistled. “Hoo boy. Welp, time to earn my paycheck!”
Dolores slid to a stop alongside her, her expression severe. Even if somewhat outdated by today’s standard Jack-5s were by no means incompetent fighters, and Jack-8s were strong enough to fight -and win- in Esaka tournaments. If the Seekers and UN agents were going to take this, they’d need to work together. “Anji, get back here!”
“On my way.” As the gentleman hurried over, the sixteen robots sprinted straight toward their enemies, perfectly synchronized and very intimidating.
By the time Heismay finished opening his gift, the aromas wafting over from the tables laden with food were too much to ignore, so the eugief shuffled over to find some grub. Dinner tonight was a buffet-style occasion, and with all of the various dishes spread across multiple tables arrayed around the communal bonfire where the giant Gammoth haunch spat and sizzled, there was never too much of a line for anything in particular. Only once he approached a table, plate in hand, did Heismay realize how hungry he really was. Without really noticing he’d subsisted off the spoonfuls and morsels he’d tasted while cooking in the kitchen early that afternoon, foregoing any actual lunch, so he was actually pretty famished.
Luckily, there was plenty for everyone. When he sliced off a length of freshly-seared Gammoth steak, medium-rare, the meat below it could begin to cook. He helped himself to some grilled vegetables, roasted chestnuts, fried fish, and of course, Benevolent Bread. Even if the flour here wasn’t quite the same as that of the grain belt in Euchronia, he’d remembered enough of his family recipe to achieve a loaf very similar to that of his hometown, and the result was sumptuous. When he first bit into a warm bun, he expected a light, airy, and sublimely fluffy loaf. He did not expect a wave of homesickness to inexplicably wash over him, almost bringing a tear to the old bat’s eye.
For a brief moment he was so choked up that he couldn’t even swallow the mouthful of bread, but after a couple seconds gulped it down, that strange and melancholy feeling subsiding with sniff. He did not always look back on his childhood as the ‘good old days’, especially with the wisdom and perspective brought by age, but still…it had been so, so long since he had a family. People to call his own, with whom he could share a wonderful occasion like this. Though surrounded by festive merriment, with joyful laughter and good feelings all around, in some ways Heismay felt more alone than ever. After losing everything, the notion that life had no more joy to offer had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he’d judged it to be for the best. Convincing himself of that had enabled him to while away his remaining days in solitude as he waited to die, tucked away in the sandworms’ lair. Of course, Will and the others had reminded him there were things worth fighting for, and in this world the Seekers filled the same role, but allies were not the same as friends. Would be ever grow close to anyone again? Could he, even?
Heismay had no idea. He looked down, not realizing that he’d unconsciously clutched the amulet hanging around his neck. He took a deep breath, downed a cupful of cider, and picked his fork back up to continue his meal. The meat, the vegetables, the fish, the bread…it was all very, very good. He watched with a smile on his face as some of the younger partiers attempted Flea Juggle, trying to keep increasing numbers of young fleas (protected by bells worn like hard hats) aloft at once. When Blazermate got a high score on Flea Dodge, Heismay clapped in appreciation.
On the other side of the fire, Sandalphon finished her own dinner alone as well, eating not too far from where Edward’s beasts were chowing down on pokepuffs. The process reminded her of the meals she’d shared with others over the past few days, mostly those in the Avenger’s mess hall and in Everdream Valley near Midgar. The ones she remembered best all had one thing in common: Zenkichi Hasegawa. Although she wasn’t fully equipped to understand it, Sandalphon knew that her bond with that man was something special. Becoming more human at heart had opened the door to wonderful things, but it also allowed her to experience a new, exquisite form of pain, arguably worse than the physical damage that her miraculous incantations could heal.
Being apart from him just as they’d begun to grow close hurt, of course, but it didn’t hold a candle to the knowledge that their bond was doomed to break, thanks to the archangel’s looming expiration date. Rather than spend her last week or two with Zenkichi and Akane, cherishing what little affection she’d managed to cultivate, here she was in a frozen wasteland. The Christmas Village was a welcome relief from monster-infested zoos and complexes, but having so much joy and warmth in proximity also reminded Sandalphon exactly what she lacked. That she was consciously cutting short what little time she had left, betting everything on a hare-brained scheme with precious little more to go on than faith. Every movement she made was a reminder of the grievous task she’d undertaken, a reminder that there was no going back now. Even with a full mug of hot cocoa in her gloved hand, her fingers still felt cold. When she drank it down, warmth flooded through her system, but was gone the next moment, like a misty breath in the wind.
Her relationships, this holiday…it all felt so futile. Destined for ruin. If she hadn’t become more human, would she still be hurting like this? “A heart,” she murmured. “Is nothing but pain.” Unfortunately, even trying to tell herself that her feelings didn’t matter felt futile.
When everyone had, by and large, finished eating dinner, desserts showed up to replace the entrees and side dishes. Peppermint bark, chocolate chip cookies, and fruit cakes appeared en masse to be enjoyed by the festival-goers, and perhaps galvanized into action by the ensuing sugar rush, the carolers went into overdrive. Dozens of voices joined together in song, filling the cold night air with riotous jollity. Even Heismay got caught up in the excitement, tentatively lending his underused voice to each chorus.
Eventually, Sandalphon lent her efforts as well, less out of good cheer and more out of obligation. Tonight’s goal was, after all, to dispel the blizzard that impeded the Seekers’ journey, and Maeve had not been specific about how the festival would accomplish this. As more and more voices united in festive harmony, however, Sandalphon began to observe a change in the obstructive snowstorm. When her team arrived, the blizzard had practically been a wall, a vertical cold front in motion but largely cohesive, like a calm sea. Now, though, its surface seemed turbulent, roiling and stirring as if all the Christmas carols were disturbing it.
”Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells All seem to say, "Throw cares away" Christmas is here, bringing good cheer To young and old, meek and the bold
Ding-dong, ding-dong, that is their song With joyful ring, all caroling One seems to hear, words of good cheer From ev'rywhere, filling the air…”
”ENOUGH!”
A furious shout, louder even than Maeve’s voice when amplified by the rock soup, resounded over the village. A cold wind, also projected from the direction of the blizzard, seemed to accompany it, extinguishing candles and sending chills down spines. Though many festival-goers were frozen in silence, the more combat-capable Seekers went on high alert, Heismay reaching a hand to his longsaber’s blade while Sandalphon stood, summoning her gunstaff. All eyes followed the Midnight Walk northward from the village to the great longitudinal canyon as the blizzard abated, losing its supernatural speed and density as it weakened to the level of a regular snowstorm. Anticipating contact with some sort of enemy, Sandalphon cautiously approached, with Maeve fearfully but bravely following her.
As the protectors of the Christmas Village approached, a procession of tall, skeletal soldiers, sporting horned heads and lances of ice, appeared from the frigid haze, marching two by two out of the storm and across the stone bridge. After stepping onto the ground, their ranks split, half fanning out to the left and half fanning out to the right. They planted the shafts of their spears in the ground and stood motionless at attention. Above them, bulky Ty-Foos appeared as well, staring down at the festival-goers. Finally, at the very end of the procession, there emerged from the snowstorm…a cat.
It strode down the Midnight Walk toward Sandalphon and the others, then sat, glaring. “Who dares disturb me?” he demanded in an imperious, somewhat flamboyant British accent. “And what’s all this…ruckus? Feasting? Singing? Without my say-so? Preposterous! I should devour you all here and now…but in my gracious mercy, I, the Ice King, will grant you peons a second chance…”
Absolute cold began to emanate from the cat, enough to freeze the air around him. After a moment, the ice shatter, and in its place stood a saber-toothed tiger as tall as an elephant, crowned with a glowing pearly diadem and long horns. ”Love me…or die!”
As one might expect, Ms Fortune and Robo-fortune differed in their opinions about what to do next. Nadia wanted to celebrate in some way, since even if she was only two rounds into her tournament run, she was still afloat in the Winners’ bracket in the most dangerous tournament Esaka had to offer. Keeping her spirits up was critical, she argued, especially after coming dangerously close to a loss at Maya and Miras’ hands.
Meanwhile, Robo reasoned that if Nadia still had energy to burn after her last competitive match for the day, the two should spend some time on their teamwork. The half-sisters they’d narrowly beaten had demonstrated the terrifying potential of clever Kameo use in combo. Sure, the computerized catgirl’s assorted Theonite Beams made her a strong zoning assist, but if they actually practiced combo extensions, Nadia’s number-one strength (aside from her fast and unpredictable mixups) would be even stronger. Although the feral was by no means the most diligent person around, she wasn’t totally deaf to critique, either. Over the last day she’d been shown her own fallibility plenty, so she couldn’t deny that Robo had a point.
Before the two could come to a decision (or even get all that far from the stage of their last clash, for that matter) a familiar figure flagged Nadia down. She’d recognize that rich red dress and huge brown ponytail anywhere, and though the beautiful Primrose was always a welcome sight, the cat burglar still didn’t really want to see any Seeker of Light right now. Not until she’d won Mortal Kombat, and hopefully redeemed herself after witlessly inviting the catastrophe that befell Banishing Flats and its tenants last night. Nevertheless, if it had to be any Seeker, at least it was Primrose. The dancer had already found her once that morning, breaking the ice somewhat, and even beyond that the dancer understood her better than anyone else, except maybe Ace. By now, Nadia trusted Primrose to be fair and give her a chance to make things right. As such, while she froze for a brief moment when she recognized her comrade, the catgirl did not flee, but sheepishly made her way over.
“Found me again, eh?” Realistically speaking, her new outfit did very little to obscure her identity, even if its hood did hide her face. Of course, that hadn’t been how Primrose rediscovered her; it was Esaka’s organizational bulletin boards that betrayed the location of every tournament competitor. “Maybe I shoulda entered under an alias. Crafted a purr-sona, if you will.”
Robo-fortune lacked context for the pair’s interaction, but she could put two and two together. “A friend of yours?” the android inquired.
Nadia nodded, her tail flicking behind her. “Uh huh. Or…I hope so, at least. Robo, meet Primrose. Primrose, Robo-fortune. Wonderin’ why I’ve got an evil robot clone? Me too.” She scratched at her neck self-consciously and shifted to move out of the way of a barrel mech piloted by a purple-haired dwarf, which took up most of the walkway as its pilot hurried toward a nearby stage for his next match.
“So…what can I do ya for, Rosey?”
With a little encouragement from Chel, Big Band deployed his mechanical arms and pushed himself laboriously back to his feet. After that last round, he felt drained, both physically and emotionally. He’d made a lot of mistakes, both in overall game plan and moment-to-moment reactions. It wasn’t like the detective didn’t have a fighting chance, since he’d taken the first round handily, but fighting with a broken respirator was a massive hindrance. If he was going to triumph here in his third Pools match, he couldn’t take the same approach that he did in round one, not without burning out again. At the very least, Band’s many years as a beat cop and an Anti-Skullgirl agent meant that he was well-equipped to adapt to evolving circumstances, and no stranger to unlikely victories. He knew he could do this. It was just a matter of…well, doing it.
Chel, at least, seemed excited to trade blows once more. “¿Listo para pelear de nuevo?” Ready to fight again? The Mexican mech performed a nimble backflip, then assumed her fighting stance. “Bien, ¡hagamos esto!” Good, let’s do this!
FINAL ROUND: FIGHT!
When the Heavenly Principles initiated the combatants’ last clash, Band held his ground, so Chel did what she did best. “¡Estrella!” Eyes narrowed, Band stood firm as if to block the plasma shot, only to seemingly push forward into it right before impact. He grunted in muted annoyance, shrugged off the splash of searing energy, and kept moving. Chel leaped backward, fired at a downward angle in midair, then landed and launched another Sun Void right after. This time, though, Band unfurled his high hat cymbal at just the right time to soak up his foe’s Sun Voids and give himself a little extra Dramatic Tension, one after another. Chel had only the one projectile, after all, and it was high time that the detective put a lid on its brazen overuse.
For now, though, Chel wasn’t convinced. She continued to fire off Sun Voids, retreating from and circling around her opponent to slowly build up a life lead. Although Band’s Noise Cancels weren’t perfect, he’d grasped their timing well enough to parry four out of five, allowing him to close the distance between himself and Chel one big step at a time. He didn’t even throw out Brass Knuckles as a shortcut, but patiently walked her down. After a few seconds, and getting rather close to one edge of the arena, Chel realized that this wasn’t working anymore. After another plasma shot, she jumped forward rather than back, hoping that Band was so focused on his intensive approach that he’d be blindsided by the change-up.
Unfortunately for her, this was exactly what Band had been waiting for. Before Chel’s jump-in could clock him on the head, the machine found herself caught between the halves of Band’s tambourine. “Gotcha good!” He pictured in mind the combo he wanted, an effective but simple sequence, not so strenuous that he’d run out of gas before cashing out with a finisher. Without shaking to inflict Sound Stun, he let Chel drop into a trumpet whack, then hammered her higher again with a saxophone uppercut. Band jumped after her, serenaded her with baritone and then bass soundblasts from his side caps, then leaned back to send Chel sailing with a 5000 lb Slam. “HMPH!”
His opponent flew away and rebounded in a wallbounce, despite the conspicuous lack of wall around the combatants’ stage. At the same time, Band landed flat on his back and teched forward, bounding to his feet in order to meet the mech in the middle. His Pneumatic Slide picked Chel up off the ground so that he could follow up with his Jelly Roll, that aerial tambourine spin of his keeping Chel captive as he reached the top of his low arc and began to fall. “Shake, shake!” He let off a baritone blast as the two fell, hopped back up for a tenor blast into another Jelly Roll, then thrust downward with his giant clarinet to plunge his target down. “Swing it!” Thanks to his large frame, though, Band touched down before her and caught her with Hot Socks just before she hit the ground. A hit from that tiny drum pedal was enough for him to follow up with Bass Drop, then lean back on a music stand for a double kick. Finally, before she could fly off, he slid forward with his anti-air command grab Take the A-Train. “Slow train rollin’!” The next second, he caught her inside his giant mechanical arm. BAM-BAM-BAM…CLANG! After striking like a pile bunker three times, the built-in trombone slide finally belted her out.
Chel hit the ground hard, but sprang up the next second, as lively as ever. Now that Band had the life lead, it was on her to make a move. “¡Me llevo este baile!” She jumped forward, too far away to land a jump-in or be anti-aired, then canceled a plasma shot with Kinetic Advance to close the distance quickly. The mech battered Band’s guard with a couple light chops, the first of which Band blocked standing before hunkering down to crouch-block on reflex. His good habit paid off when Chel transitioned into a low kick, although the pushback left him too far away to strike back with Hot Socks or his musical triangle. He blocked a thrust kick at the edge of its range, at which point a half-step back put him beyond the range of the next one.
A short hop backward coaxed Chel forward, only for him to lash out with a hugely disjointed Cymbal Crash. She reacted just in the nick of time and blocked, even though the tremendous clamor left her ears ringing. Eager to apply pressure, she decided to fire back with Night Sun, then Kinetic Advance forward again. A string of energy swipes from her blade fed into another plasma shot, but this time Band decided to exploit her habits. Rather than let her reset the neutral, he bulled forward through the projectile with a medium Brass Knuckle and drove his fist straight into Chel’s chassis as she recovered from the shot’s recoil. She yelped as Band went for an early spend himself and canceled into Super Sonic Jazz, plowing into her as a giant French horn for maximum unscaled damage. He’d lost his Bagpipe Blues buff from last round and couldn’t follow up with a punch barrage, but as Chel skidded away Band took the chance to reapply it.
Chel regained her feet to the strident, blaring notes of Band’s bagpipes and immediately shot a Night Sun at him to shut him up. Running after her projectile afforded her relative safety, and when Band tried to jump over her plasma to try and tag her with a Jelly Roll, her Crush Breeze successfully anti-aired him. After he hit the ground, she managed to catch him with a throw. “¡Sonríe!” A quick shoulder bash allowed her to flip his massive weight over her back and onto the ground, slightly closer to the stage’s edge. “¡Allá voy!” She charged into melee range as he rose, but stopped at the last moment to back off, anticipating a reversal. Band did challenge, but with his trumpet instead of Beat Extend, which she blocked but could not counterattack.
That left the two to spar with normals and try to open each other up once more, with the unseen match counter slowly closing down all the while. As the seconds ticked by, Chel’s attacks gradually became more frantic. The playful mech was a great grasp of spacing, and she excelled at punishing mistakes from foes forced to chase her down, but Band’s new style, defensive and low-risk, forced her to quit lobbing Sun Voids and go after him instead. Able to conserve energy, Band took a few pokes and projectiles but maintained his life lead. And when the opportunity finally came, he had enough energy to hit hard.
It happened when Chel overused her Kinetic energy and then got a little too cautious, allowing Band to throw her, and after ringing her ears with his bell he launched into a full combo. A Giant Step pedal slam dragged her back into close range, where a Bass Drop set her up for his Air Mail Special. “Saximum!” A brief air string led into the same extender he used before, then a similar but distinct air string followed by a second 5000lb Slam. Rather than follow through normally, though, Band deployed a set of drums and unleashed Timpani Drive. “You’re gonna get beat!” With each strike of a drum, a pulse of sound energy blasted out, resulting in an aerial beatdown that left Chel flat on her back at the stage’s edge.
“Ohh…metí la pata.” I put my foot in it. Gritting her metaphorical teeth, Chel dug deep for a second wind and launched an uppercut to blow through Band’s meaty attempt. That was a welcome surprise for her, given how patient he’d been so far, but it would take a lot more than that to make up the life difference between them. Her mental clock was counting down–just about fifteen seconds left. Could she even win in that time? She had to try.
Chel charged forward, using Kinetic Advance. Unwilling to abandon her courage, she pulled off an overhead, a move so wildly unsafe and unexpected that it somehow worked. A forward heavy double energy blade lunge paved the way for a low thrust, Night Sun, Kinetic Advance cancel, rising blade slash, and Crush Breeze. After the final axe kick, she put all her power into her Overdrive: a massive plasma blast that struck Big Band head-on. “Supernova!” As he hit the ground, she closed the distance with her Stinging Wind Kicks, only for the detective to quick-rise, block, and reversal with Beat Extend. That sealed the deal, and long before Band’s ensuing combo even finished, the Heavenly Principles interceded to decide the match.
TIME UP! BIG BAND WINS!
Straightening up, the cyborg let Chel fall from his grasp. “Saved by the bell, eh?” He let out a heavy breath, his respirator wheezing.
The mech sprang to her feet the moment she could, stomping one foot in a pout. “Ay, estoy tan decepcionado.” I’m so disappointed. She shook her head, then shrugged and stuck out her hand. “Bien jugado, señor.”
Band extended a spindly mechanical arm, careful not to pinch too much, and shook the mech’s hand. “Well played yourself, little lady. Good luck out there.” As the two drew apart, Band’s physical and mental exhaustion began to set in. Chel had been skilled enough to make him take the fight very seriously, but not so skilled that she could change up her own style successfully. He needed a break after a fight like that, but more than anything, he needed his apparatus fixed. And ideally, the temporary solution engineered by Junior replaced with actual repairs.
After double jumping back from the stage to one of the Pools’ many bridges, he set off in search of a lift to the low tier in hopes that he could find an affordable technician. A couple yokai, drawn by the musical commotion of his fight, trailed after him, perhaps hoping that he’d be heading for another brawl they could watch. Their presence reminded Band that he’d rely on donations from spectators like them to stay afloat in Esaka, especially now that he needed money for repairs. Unfortunately, the mutters and remarks of the yokai suggested that they had mixed feelings about the defensive style he’d ended up using. While impressive on a technical level to more competitive watchers, defensive fighting seemed to dissatisfy the casuals. He didn’t know what to do with this realization yet, but it was something to keep in mind as he made his way further through the Winners-side bracket.
On the subject of discretion, Hilde made sure to remind her new associates about one of Esaka’s many dangers. “Keep in mind that if we create too much of a scene, like attacking Azucena or the Gigas outright, the Heavenly Principles will summon Aurumatons to suppress the disturbance.” She seemingly assumed that the Seekers knew enough about Esaka’s guardian constructs to get the weight behind her warning. When Terry second-guessed Harry’s ability to take Azucena on, Hilde gave a tentative nod, somewhat dubious of Du Bois being combat-ready right now.
She considered Terry’s alternative suggestions, though the lady knight appeared to be in favor of a more expedient course of action. “There’s no telling what’ll happen once her publicity stunt is over with. We should take advantage of her Coffee Challenge while we still can. It’s a golden opportunity.”
Hilde kept her eyes on the Peruvian MMA fighter as she accepted another challenger and prepared herself for another match. The crowd drew back from the combatants as they squared up, creating a perimeter that made use of nearby objects like phone booths, planters, traffic barriers, and hot dog stands to create the boundary for an impromptu stage. With all the pedestrians around, not to mention the people involved, these bouts were drawing more attention than most Pools matches. Her prospective opponent, a short blonde woman with an elegant black-and-blue dress and a white greatsword, was Es, allegedly an upper Mid-tier fighter of some renown. With an immovable deadpan expression and rather robotic body language reminiscent of Sandalphon, she remained impassive until the challenge began. Then she unleashed an impressive array of acrobatic sword slashes, revealing superhuman power, speed, and reflexes. At first it seemed as though Azucena, unarmed and without any special abilities, was hopelessly outclassed. It didn’t take long for her to mount a comeback, however, using special taunts, dodges, and counters to toy with her opposition. Her flair didn’t seem to faze Es, but it did excite the crowd, which in turn almost seemed to empower Azucena. In the end, the coffee magnate narrowly claimed victory to a chorus of claps and cheers.
“¡Parece que mi café era demasiado fuerte para ti!” she declared with a huge smile, the Heavenly Principles’ decree automatically interpreting her words from her native Spanish. Looks like my coffee was too strong for you! After helping Es up, though, Azucena waved her toward the table next to her promotional banner, laden with goodie bags emblazoned with her business’s logo. “Pero me gustan los luchadores atrevidos igual que el café atrevido, así que, por favor, ¡sírvete de un premio de consolación!” But I like bold fighters just like I like bold coffee, so please, help yourself to a consolation prize! Es nodded, still expressionless, and walked over to be carefully handed a bag by a Gigas. Without another word she then marched off down the street, and Azucena launched into her usual advertisement, extolling her coffee’s flavor and power as she sought additional challengers.
Folding her arms, Hilde considered the situation. “After so many wins, she’s definitely getting cocky. Maybe we could appeal to her showmanship and change the terms of the fight.” She glanced at Terry. “You might be our best chance. Just big enough of a name to make it happen.”
As she spoke, one other event unfolded not too far away. There was a disgruntled-looking polar bear in a blue apron, leaning against a white van with a logo on the side reading Polar Star Coffee. He attempted to talk to Es as she walked by, but Es ignored him, eliciting a disappointed grumble. Afterward, the bear crossed his arms and sat back down to continue watching Azucena’s Coffee Challenge from a respectful distance, a grim frown on his furry features.
Darun Mister looked Kim up and down. “I don’t recognize you, so I doubt anyone else would. But tricking your way in there won’t be easy. If the production crew is a tight-knit bunch, they’ll sniff you out right away.” The Indian wrestler shrugged. “Also…there’s no telling if Chloe’s even in there right now. If her people are still setting up, I doubt it.” He turned and looked over the area around the opera house. There didn’t seem to be anyone out of the ordinary, though given how many oddball fighters populated Esaka, that wasn’t saying much. “Perhaps if we ask around, we’ll find someone who’s seen her. Then again, ask the wrong person and she might get tipped off. It’s a tough call!”
A few minutes after Junior and Rika reached the agreed-upon meeting spot outside Esaka’s northern gate, Anji showed up in what Dolores had assumedly referred to as the ‘company car’. Looking at it, though, one could only imagine that the Darli Dagger had been the one to pick this vehicle out. The Frying Dutchman appeared a miniature pirate ship on giant offroad tires, completely with a sail and a fishy figurehead, not quite as big as a monster truck but still more sizeable than an everyday SUV. A look at its cabin from the back revealed that it was essentially a stylized, souped-up food truck, though whether or not the UN agents ever used it for its intended purposes was highly debatable. Anji, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely as he drove the unwieldy thing over to the rendezvous.
“Haha, yes!” Darli grinned ear to ear at the sight of the Frying Dutchman. “I LOVE this stupid thing.”
Dolores tried to hide her embarrassment behind a sophisticated adjustment of her gold-rimmed glasses. “It was…the most affordable option that could cover our bases.” The look on her face suggested that she wanted to add the word unfortunately, but the elegant lady kept herself composed as she followed her excited comrade over to the truck. While Darli climbed aboard and parked herself atop the poop deck, Dolores paused beside the vehicle and made a flourishing motion with one hand. The earth beneath her high heels suddenly began to shift, becoming malleable and muddy as it rose upward, lifting a very unfazed Dolores along with it. After a moment she could step onto the truck’s main deck with minimal effort, and the earthy spire sank back down into the ground. “If we’re all present and accounted for,” she announced, looking around. “Let us depart.”
A Chopper, the Kuebiko, and the Flying Dutchman made for a very strange and rather intimidating convoy as the vehicles proceeded north, then hung a left at Ashwat Village. The dirt road took them west, gradually angling more south as the fields of lush farmland gave way to bamboo forest, the long stalks getting thicker, taller, and more plentiful the further the vehicles went.
As they drove south, of course, the Seekers and their new associates were well aware that the APC they were after was coming the other way, full of deadly Jack-5 robots meant to reinforce the G-Corp personnel still in Esaka. There was no telling when the opposing forces would meet, so to maximize their chances of success, Dolores called out to suggest that their caravan stop in a clearing where they could lay in wait for their foes and ambush them once they arrived. With her powers over the earth, she was convinced that she could bog down any vehicle long enough for her allies to strike, no matter how much horsepower it had.
In less than half an hour, Team A’s patience would be rewarded. The Seekers heard their target before they saw it thanks to its loud, heavy-duty tank treads, and a moment later the APC itself roared into view. It stood a solid twelve feet tall, with thick, black armor plating and a forward-mounted cannon. Those treads meant that it would have an easier time escaping Dolores’ mud trap than she would have liked, but they also limited the APC’s top speed. That gave the Seekers a few moments to put together a plan of attack, then put it into practice.
After she and the others finished placing all the gifts they’d wrapped beneath the tree, Sandalphon straightened up and took a deep breath. Between wish inquiry, letter-writing, snowball fights, and gift-wrapping, she’d been doing something or another for many hours now. Her body was stiff and aching all over, with especially creaky and unpleasant joints. Despite her new garments, courtesy of the Christmas clothiers, as well as the parka purchased in Snowdin, she still felt uncomfortably cold. From what she’d gathered about what lay ahead for her, she wouldn’t be feeling much warmer anytime soon, either. Trying not to shiver, the archangel made her way to a bonfire and stood by the roaring flame, her hands gingerly extended for warmth.
There she stood, still as a statue and uninterested in making conversation, until Maeve fluttered out of the workshop with a little cup of soup in hand. The pixie steeled herself, quaffed the foul liquid, spat out a pebble into the snow, and cleared her throat.
“Ahem…is this working?” Thanks to the magic of the Loud Soup, Maeve’s voice resounded throughout the whole village, perfectly audible to everyone. Although it possessed a booming quality, it wasn’t deafeningly loud, so fortunately poor Heismay didn’t need to cover his sensitive ears. “Oh, great! Well, I just wanted to say, thank you so so much to everyone working hard to get the festival ready. It’s now six o’clock, and you know what that means! It’s officially Christmas time! Eat, drink, make merry, and don’t forget to check under the tree to see if you got a special surprise! Merry Christmas, everyone!” Maeve then turned to the elven chef as he strode out of the workshop, trying to lower her magically boosted voice. “Okay, haha, so, how do I…stop being loud now? …Wait, how long!? Oh no…”
Within minutes, the Christmas Village was full of people. All the travelers passing time inside their igloos and lodges emerged in holiday outfits, joining the elves, fleas, and Seekers to mill around what was essentially a festive fairground. Well-fed fire pits all over the place kept pots full of cocoa, cider, coffee, siegbrau, and fleabrew toasty, while stalls offered sizzling fried fish, roast boar, and sumptuous fluffy bread fresh from the ovens. Thanks to Geralt spearheading a team of elven hunters, including the surly Iorveth, the feast even had an awe-inspiring centerpiece: a gigantic Gammoth haunch the size of a sedan, spit-roasted on a tree trunk over a giant bonfire. Once they’d eaten their fill, festival-goers could embark on reindeer sleigh rides, assemble snowmen, sing along with jubilant carolers, and more, all without having to worry about snow implings impeding them.
Perhaps best of all, with the return of his caravan’s thirty youngsters, Fleamaster Mooshka could treat everyone to the grand unveiling of the Flea Games from his newly-constructed stage. With the help of the energetic young fleas (some turbo-charged by overconsumption of fleabrew) attendees could compete for top scores in Flea Bounce, Flea Dodge, and Flea Juggle, with prizes promised for first, second, and third place in all three games.
And of course, at any time visitors to the Christmas Village could check out its titular tree, a towering pine covered in lights and baubles and crowned with a cheerful living star. Presents of all shapes and sizes, colorfully wrapped, were piled high beneath its boughs. Whether by luck or some Christmas miracle, there was actually something there for everyone. When Heismay stopped by, he was surprised to discover a package addressed to him. After tearing off the paper, he discovered a fine anklet that bore the visage of a falcon. Touched by the gift, but without anyone to thank for it, the eugief donned the anklet right away. Just wearing it made him feel a little stronger, a little faster, a little hardier–in short, a little better all around. It was a nice feeling.
Falcon Anklet A fine accessory that fills one’s heart with valor. All stats (Strength, magic, agility, endurance, luck, health, magla) +5
Conversely, Sandalphon did not join the merriment immediately, instead content to watch the others enjoy themselves by her fire. After a few minutes, though, Maeve flitted over with a gift in her hands. “Um, hi?” she greeted Sandalphon tentatively, perhaps afraid that her voice would still be amplified by the Loud Soup. When it wasn’t, she sighed with relief and continued. “I wanted to thank you and all your friends in particular! You guys put in a LOT of work to make the festival possible. Thanks to you, I’m absolutely sure there will be enough Christmas spirit to melt the blizzard!” She held the present out to Sandalphon. “Here! I saw this one was for you!”
Taken momentarily aback, Sandalphon carefully accepted the package. “...You’re too kind. Thank you, Maeve.”
“Aw, it was nothing!” The pixie looked away abashedly, a bright smile on her face.
Sandalphon unwrapped the present, her motions opposite the ones she’d done many times before. After a moment, a small scroll of parchment unfurled in her hands. “Seguiriya to your Eyes like Stars,” she read.
“It’s a prayer!” Maeve explained. “A hymn to the night skies. I don’t exactly know what it does, but if anyone can make it work, it’s a miracle-worker like you.”
Silently thinking, Sandalphon slipped the paper into her pocket. She could indeed feel some semblance of holy power in that hymn, not quite what she was used to, but something she could work with. Right now, though, something else was on her mind. “Maeve, may I ask you a question?”
She nodded, smiling. “Of course!”
“What is the meaning of Christmas?” For a moment Maeve floundered in silence, confused by the question, so Sandalphon elaborated. “I can see and appreciate the costumes, the decorations, and so on. I have partaken in festive activities like the gift-giving process, and I would like to enjoy both food and company. But there is…I don’t know, something about Christmas I just don’t quite grasp. Something missing…a reason for doing all this.” She looked over her shoulder at the great blizzard that obstructed the Midnight Walk. “It isn’t just to dispel snowstorms, is it?”
Maeve fidgeted, uneasy. “Well, no…we do it every year, snowstorm or not.”
“So…” Sandalphon could only shrug helplessly, then wince at the aching pain. “What does this celebration…well, celebrate? Is it just for companionship and communal happiness? Giving for giving’s sake?”
At that, Maeve brightened up. “Yeah, sure! I mean, isn’t that enough? Buying people gifts, getting gifts back, fun clothes and decorations, good times and good food with friends and family…it’s all good, right? What else do you want?”
“...I don’t know.” That was a good question. Try as she might, the archangel couldn’t articulate the strange feeling inside her. In the end, there was no reason to overthink or analyze. Everything Maeve said was true enough. There weren’t enough people doing good things in the world just for goodness’ sake, so this festival afforded the Seekers and other travelers alike a chance to strive for everyone’s happiness, even if just for a few hours. That in itself was a precious thing, and Sandalphon decided not to question it further. “Thanks again, Maeve. Please enjoy yourself, I know you’ve been working hard, too.”
The tired pixie beamed at her. “Thank you! And merry Christmas!”
Sandalphon watched her go, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Merry Christmas.”
By the time Heismay set foot outside the village’s workshop lodge again, he’d been baking bread and frying fish for so long in the toasty warm kitchen that the cold came as something of a shock. The eugief shivered as he pulled on his parka, stuffed his long ears into the hood, and then layered his new red coat atop it. Much better. By virtue of the snowy gusts and biting windchill, it was easy for him to believe that it was colder today than yesterday. Hopefully the townsfolk back in Snowdin were staying warm as well, and hopefully the Seekers would be prepared to venture even further along the Midnight Walk to Moon Mountain. Though he looked to the north, he couldn’t see that mountain right now, not with that huge blizzard in the way. Something told Heismay that the Christmas Village would be the last bit of hospitality they’d see before reaching that desolate peak. Everyone had better make the most of it.
Speaking of the night’s festivities, preparations were now well underway. Somehow it was around three o’ clock in the afternoon already–time had flown by while fishing and cooking. He’d definitely spent some quality time with Mokou, Layton, and Ramattra, even if he didn’t get to know the other two as well as the Phoenix. Nothing to do but talk and wait while fishing, he supposed. That did get Heismay curious about what everyone else had gotten up to today. He expected that Geralt would be out hunting monsters to keep the village safe, or perhaps going after less dangerous game for once, in the hopes of adding some extra meat to everyone’s evening meal.
While looking around, Heismay happened to see one person whose very nature made him curious: the automaton, Blazermate. She seemed to be flitting here and there as if searching for something, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what she was doing. Tracking down lost fleas, perhaps? Well, since he couldn’t see any other ways to make himself useful at the moment, Heismay figured he might as well help. Jogging over, he waved to get the Medabot’s attention. “Ho, there! Looking for something?”
Nearby - though he hadn’t spoken up yet - was Ganondorf. For the moment the man was taking bites off of a fish that had been fried a little while ago and was just now cooled enough to be safely eaten. Something about the nature of the Gravemind spirit had increased his appetite as of late. It likely had something to do with how his biomass regenerated but the Gerudo couldn’t be sure as he was not particularly knowledgeable in those topics. Either way it meant he was here at this moment and munching on a fried fish. He too had seen Blazermate flitting about but for the moment was still keeping to himself.
”Oh hi Heismay, I’m looking for those snow imps. They’re in all kinds of weird spots. Wanna help?” Blazermate said, following a set of tracks to the location of another one that seemed to be hiding inside a pile of snow.
When Blazermate reached the spot, however, she was in for a surprise. Even though she heard mischievous giggling coming from the snow bank, sifting through the snow turned up no sign of any imps, and sure enough a scan reported that the signal she previously detected was no longer present.
In the silence that followed, a familiar voice reached the three Seekers. “Oh, did someone say snow imps?” The pixie, Maeve, flitted over from the direction of the village center. “You should’ve asked me first! These imps, like all implings, have the ability to teleport! Not to mention, they also fly, so if you see any ‘imp tracks’ you can bet it’s a trick. Even if you do somehow get your hands on one, they’re not gonna stay caught for long!” Blazermate would quickly realize the truth behind Maeve’s words as she checked on the implings she’d already obtained, only to find that they’d all disappeared without a trace. “If you’re going to catch them, you need impling jars to nullify their powers,” she recommended. “Plus, you can’t go wrong with an impling net. Luckily, I’ve still got all the equipment I ordered a couple days ago. Everyone who’s tried imp hunting so far has given up pretty quickly…” Although she looked very weary and annoyed for a moment, the Pixie quickly perked herself up again in an unconvincing manner. “So, uh, good luck!”
After handing Blazermate and Heismay a set of four nets and twelve jars, she zipped away to attend some other duty. The eugief gripped the net he’d been given like a sword, testing its balance and heft. Much lighter even than his fishing rod, it would lend itself to quick, accurate movements. He glanced at Ganondorf nearby, then turned his attention to Blazermate. “I’m willing to give it a try. Six jars apiece, then?”
”Make it four apiece.” The Gerudo said, slowly standing up. ”This sounds rather similar to catching fairies with bottles in the world I hail from. How hard could it possibly be?” The man wasn’t normally keen to do these kinds of side games, things had been rather dull since the Seekers’ arrival to the village and he needed something with which to alleviate his growing boredom. May as well do this, he decided.
He grabbed a net and tested its weight and heft. It looked no different than the kind of Bug Catching Nets some Hylian lads would play with. But from the description of it he had to hazard a guess that the net was enchanted somehow to be effective against these, what were they, snow imps?
“Very well.” Heismay hadn’t expected the huge warlord to join him and Blazermate in netting pests, but he wasn’t about to object. “Oh, and let us keep a sharp eye out for fleas while we’re at it. There are a fair few still to be found, I believe.”
The trio spread out, searching for snow implings. With the creatures’ propensity for making mischief, it didn’t take long for them to find one of the festively-dressed gremlins gnawing at the cord of some Christmas lights strung between two candy cane poles. At that altitude, it lay beyond even Ganondorf’s reach. Blazermate could fly up to reach it, but the medabot wasn’t the fastest, so it would probably have plenty of time to flee. Still, it was worth a try, so rather than jump to conclusions about his allies’ abilities Heismay waited to see how they’d handle the situation.
Well, Blazermate was simple at the end of the day, and rushed the imp. But as she got close and it juked her by moving around, taunting, Blazermate got an idea. She got into range of it once again as it flew around making fun of her attempts and Disrupted it to get next to it with her net as it was banished into a plane of shadow for a few seconds. Once it came back, it met her net that caught it and its 2 illusions, the illusions poofing soon afterwards.
Heismay raised an eyebrow at her achievement, impressed. From the outset it looked like Blazermate would be outmatched and made sport of by the wily little fiend. If anything, Maeve had undersold the impling’s evasive abilities. It turned out, though, that Blazermate had a trick up her sleeve that could restrict its movements. “Well struck,” he called up to her. That gave him an idea of his own to try on the next imp they found, based on his brief but memorably strange encounter with that frozen thing from the coal chute.
With Blazermate’s scanning abilities, and Heismay’s sharp hearing, it didn’t take the hunters long to spot a second impling. This one had infested the fishing pond, attempting to gnaw through the fishing line. This time, the eugief stepped forward, but not to pit his own agility against the imp’s. “Allow me.” He focused, geometric streaks of orange light spreading across his body, and assumed his new Gunner Archetype. Taking aim with the cannon he hefted on his shoulder, he waited for the imp to stop moving, then fired.
His first shot whizzed by a few inches to the right of his target. It struck a tree, and the noise alerted the imp as it stared in the impact’s direction. “Damn,” Heismay muttered beneath his breath, adjusting his aim. When he pulled the trigger again, his next bolt struck the imp dead-on. Rather than doing damage, it instantly put the gremlin to sleep. Heismay had plenty of time to revert to normal, stroll over, pluck the imp from the snow, and jam it into a jar. “Simple enough,” he commented. “Although my magla is limited, I should have enough to subdue three more.”
After another minute of searching, a third imp was spotted trying to sabotage the ornaments of a Christmas Tree. This time it was Ganondorf who stepped forward, though the man had no desire to chase down an imp on foot. Instead he summoned one of his strikers, the Maverick Reploid known as Blast Hornet. The Reploid in question had a tool in his arsenal that could be helpful for situations like this, and so Ganondorf chose to rely on it for this instance.
He let Blast Hornet do his thing, and the Reploid took a moment to lock its crosshairs onto the snow imp before unleashing his bee drones in a Search Attack. They were seekers, and so they’d continuously chase and close in on the imp regardless of how it tried to zig and zag. Eventually it slipped up and got tagged by one of the bee drones, which in this instance didn’t attack or explode. Instead the drone latched into the imp and carried it back toward Ganondorf and Blast Hornet where it was then stashed into one of Ganondorf’s jars.
“Twould seem we’re all well-suited to the task, in some way or another,” Heismay remarked. Sure, professional hunters like Geralt and Ace probably would’ve had even better ways to nab their quarry, but it was comforting to know that the Seekers could accomplish a task like this without them. More than anything, this experience seemed to underscore the importance of having a variety of spirits under one’s belt. Heismay’s Archetypes were born of his own power, of course, but still.
With everyone capable of capturing implings, there was no need to stay together, so the three split up to cover more ground. Over the course of the next half hour, each tracked down another two imps up to no good around the Christmas Village.
Heismay identified one snow imp at the to-do sign, bullying Maeve. After discussing strategy with the pixie, the two successfully baited the imp and knocked it out with a Sleep Shot. The hermit found another bothering the reindeer, which proved difficult to tranquilize without hitting the beasts themselves; eventually, he gave up and tranquilized everything in the area, exhausting the rest of his magla. He also found a flea cozily snuggled up against a sleeping reindeer, which he gently prodded awake and encouraged to return to the caravan.
Blazermate now with a net in tow, could continue her hunt for these imps. She remembered one of them she had found that had escaped her loved candy canes, so with an inspired idea, she grabbed a candy cane out of one of the barrels and put it in the middle of an intersection clearly in view of many houses as she hid in a snowbank. Hunters laid traps like this right? Although it took a little while, eventually that snow imp took the bait. Blazermate let it eat its candy cane for a little bit before catching it, letting it get a bit full and thus lethargic before she caught it so it wouldn’t run away.
Ganondorf’s efforts were comparatively more dull, though not without at least some minor incident. The first snow imp he located was simply trying to tangle up some colorful Christmas lights that somebody had strung across the roof of their cottage, and Blast Hornet’s Search Attack was enough to snag it as before. The second one? That one was darting around a local cafe spiking people’s hot cocoa with salt and pepper to ruin their flavor. And unfortunately Blast Hornet’s drones weren’t a viable option here since a sudden appearance of mechanical bees might cause a small panic. So for that one Ganondorf had to pursue the imp the old fashioned way, which took him a frustrating amount of time compared to how simple his previous catches were.
After about an hour, Heismay chased down Blazermate, then Ganondorf so the imp hunters could compare notes. With nine of the ne’er-do-wells snagged, that left only three at large, and fortunately Heismay had an idea where they might be hiding. “Twould seem that a few of them realized that we’re hunting them down,” he reported. “I followed one away from the village using my ears. I spotted a lonesome cottage amidst a copse of tall, slender pines, all bowing toward it in an eerie manner. The whole place was of a rather loathsome aspect, and I suspect they’re hiding there.” He left it implicit that he’d decided to round up his comrades rather than braving a potentially dangerous location on his own.
”Huh…. Well if any are on the roof then I’ll be the one to get those I guess.” Blazermate said, shrugging. Finding these things was kind of annoying just due to the whole ‘hunting’ part. Why were they faster than her? That wasn’t fair!
”Hmph, trying to make a last stand?” Ganondorf scoffed, ”Let them try. It won’t work.”
The three set off, quickly leaving the bustling activity, colorful lights, and festive warmth of the Christmas Village behind. Heismay followed his own tracks in the snow, literally retracing his steps as the sounds of chatter and laughter gave way to the low roar of wintry wind. Finally, after a couple minutes of walking, the Seekers caught a glimpse of their destination.
That house on the hill, and indeed the whole scene surrounding it, were exactly as Heismay described it: eerie. The house itself, gutted and half-ruined by a disastrous fire, stood atop a set of four chicken legs as thick as tree trunks, and a crooked staircase of worn stone wound up to the red door, like the gullet of some nightmarish creature. To the side of the house lay a well without a pulley or bucket. Even with two allies at his side, Heismay curled his lip at the odious house. “I strongly mislike this place. The wind…tis as if it whispers, but I cannot make out its meaning.”
”The sooner we find the imps, the sooner we won’t have to look at this place anymore.”
“Right.” Although Hismay didn’t like taking the lead, neither Ganondorf nor Blazermate pushed forward, so he steeled himself and climbed the staircase, one step at a time. At the top he inhaled, though pushed open the old red door.
In a chair opposite the door, immediately visible, was a dessicated corpse. Burned, then left at the mercy of the elements for who knew how long, it has skin like leather stretched over gnarled bone. It sat in a moth-eaten chair, motionless, but in the deathgrip of its upraised hand struggled a single snow imp, pale with fright.
Heismay stood, stock-still, half-expecting the cadaver to lunge any second. When it did not, he carefully circled around it to let the others in, then peered around the ruined hovel. Precious little remained of the interior, though the barely-audible sound of whining led him to the kitchen table. Underneath it cowered a young flea, shivering in fright. Heismay pursed his lips, then bent down to carefully remove the flea so he could toss it through a broken window, sending it on its way.
He could not see any more imps. The only other thing of note within the house was a strange gizmo laying on a countertop, a shell made of metal. When he picked it up, it buzzed, and the sound of raspy breathing began to emanate from the shell’s hole.
“I lost my way again. It’s getting dark now. But the dark is a well of ideas, a blank canvas full of possibilities. The dark itself is the key. All I need is a little spark, and then I get what I need. It hungers for fire, so I take a match, I light it, and I offer it. I give it freely. I have to…surrender…”
He swallowed, set the shellphone down, and unceremoniously hopped back out through the window, not even bothering with the door. He landed next to the well, disturbing a snow imp that had been hiding behind it. With a yelp, the imp flew upward, then darted down into the well. When Heismay approached and looked down into it, however, he saw only darkness. Roiling, bubbling, pitch black nothingness, darker than a moonless night.
While Ganondorf wrested the caught imp from the corpse’s grasp, Blazermate followed Heismay out, just barely able to spot the fleeing imp before it disappeared. Taking the words delivered by the shellphone literally, she put her new firemaking skills to work by using her tinderbox to turn a pine branch into a makeshift torch. After Ganondorf joined her and a tentative nod from Heismay, she dropped it into the well. Immediately, the darkness began to stir. For a brief moment, the Seekers could see what looked like a single white eye staring out from the abyss, garbled with static distortion as spine-chilling white noise issued from the depths. Then the eye vanished, and up from the well flew two snow imps, comatose with faces frozen in expressions of abject terror.
As he fought to control his breathing, Heismay nudged one imp into his last jar with his net, careful not to touch it directly. Blazermate did the same with the other one, and the moment she had the impling captive, the Seekers left the house on the hill behind.
For a fleeting moment, the movement of the remaining mage suggested that Schnupfen's ploy was about to pay off, but the next second the shadow's anticipation fell flat as the intruders' ringleader rallied his team to focus on the more tangible threat posed by Zogi. Through no real fault of his own, his ruse had failed. How did that wannabe hero know that his fallen ally was safe in the hole? He didn't, but humans were easy to convince to prioritize saving their own skin. Schnupfen needed to think of another scheme, and fast, before Zogi paid the price for Schnupfen's failure. That goblin was no stranger to death, of course, so Schnupfen wasn't really concerned for his sake, but he could not allow these invaders to reach the dungeon core.
When Zogi realized that his own plan wasn't panning out, and the terrible position that left him in, he took cover behind the cursed guillotine. The adventurers, smelling blood, were about to rush in to finish him off when another dungeon keeper finally showed his face. Muste announced his presence with an eldritch incantation and forceful spell, taking the marauders -and especially his clerical target- by surprise, then hightailed it back the way he came. That was Schnupfen's cue to take action, to further confuse the adventurers, scatter their attention, and perhaps most importantly, terrify them with the impression that they were surrounded. Stay calm. Stay calm. The show must go on. Slipping out from the shadowy pitfall, Schnupfen cast himself onto a wall to the south of his enemies' group, quickly manifesting a number of additional hands and assembling his long, clawed fingers into devilish shapes. After a moment, he began to let out a cacophony of frenzied, predatory barks and baying howls with his many mouths, quickly getting louder as his shadow puppets got bigger and bigger, as if drawing closer. If he played his cards right, it would seem to the intruders as if a pack of rabid hellhounds were barreling toward their position, their mouthfuls of vicious fangs ready to tear the hapless humans limb from limb.
Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.<br><br>Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.</div>
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