Lugubrious

From Realms Beyond — An Isekai Crossover RP (Now Accepting)

Lewa

Drawn by the visceral sounds of conflict, Lewa emerged from the treeline to find a village embroiled in chaos, and not just thanks to its attackers. After all, the deluge that had descended upon it was no ordinary downpour. He couldn’t help but pause for a brief moment in wonderment as he witnessed a torrent of elemental power polluting the airspace over the breached and burning buildings, raining not from the skies but from the Sanae as she floated aloft. Her use of the water element, a power exclusive to female toa in his world, did not surprise him so much as the sheer volume of her output. Already this hydrokinetic flood went well beyond any feat his sister Gali had ever achieved, and as Sanae had already demonstrated via her flight and barrier creation, she possessed a wealth of abilities on top of this. It was a little humbling, in fact. On the island of Mata Nui, the six toa -with their tools and abilities- were all that stood between the Matoran and the myriad dangers that threatened their way of life. Here though, this individual could do more than several toa combined with a mere snap of her fingers. Lewa watched as the enemy force scattered, their formation broken as they ran for cover from Sanae’s seemingly unstoppable onslaught, their weapons useless. What hope did someone like Lewa have?

As it turned out, though, the battle wasn’t over yet. Despite appearances, Sanae’s magic couldn’t saturate every inch of the village at once, and the Raven Heralds harbored ranged attackers of their own. Well-aimed shots from odd angles disrupted Sanae’s offense, and when followed up by javelins of elemental ice, her opposition displaced her enough to turn the tables. Suddenly a variety of spells, faster and stronger than her own projectiles, were keeping her from re-establishing air superiority. As much as Lewa wanted to see Kopaku right now (a sentiment that he admittedly would have never thought possible given his brother’s distant, icy disposition) he’d already learned that elemental abilities weren’t the domain of toa alone. When Lewa turned his attention back down to earth, he spotted better-defended soldiers elbowing past their more vulnerable peers, clearing the way for the casters. Though their robes and staves reminded Lewa of the Turaga, it seemed as though they were bending their wisdom toward destruction rather than cultivation. It had become clear that Lewa couldn’t leave this fight in the others’ hands. “Looks like I have a job to do, after all,” he said, hefting his axe. Despite his misgivings, it was time to prove himself as a toa -and a hero- to the people of this besieged village in combat.

When Lewa approached, the soldiers took notice. His remarkable size, not to mention the vivid coloration of his armor, commanded the attention of everyone present. From appearances alone, few would imagine him to be less of a threat than the horned woman or little girl already wreaking havoc in their midst. And naturally, they’d give this threat the attention they felt he deserved. The Raven Heralds’ marshalls quickly dispatched a cavalry unit his way, the heavy artillery of the medieval battlefield. With the defense of a knight but mobility and momentum that no infantry could hope to match, armed with an instrument of blunt trauma capable of treating a knight’s full plate like tin foil, the mounted warrior was the perfect tool for the job of quelling the armored giant before them.

Or so they thought.

Though the sight of a cavalier thundering one’s way on horseback was enough to make the average soldier soil himself, Lewa was more amazed than afraid. As someone with an intrinsic love for wildlife and the beauty of nature, he marveled at the sight of a four-legged beast with legs like pillars and a humanoid torso protruding from its back, all outfitted in metal as a weapon of war. Only after a moment did he realize that there must be two bodies, one riding atop the other like a Matoran on a Gukko bird. A silly mistake, no doubt, but who could blame him? Everything here was so unfamiliar. Regardless, he couldn’t afford to gawk for long. Strange as this world might be, he knew a weapon when he saw it, especially one wielded with killing intent. I’m sorry, he thought, his grip tightened around his axe. But I have to do this!

Hefting his axe, Lewa whirled around above his head, one, twice. Each stirred the air around him, creating and then intensifying a vortex around him. Even if he noticed, the cavalier did not change course; he was dead-set on running the toa down. “Wind…” Lewa steeled himself and swung his axe with all his might to launch the whirlwind forward. “Fly!” It tore across the soil, whipping up twigs and leaves in its wake, and slammed into the horseman as he closed the last couple dozen feet. On contact, it threw both beast and rider off-kilter, turning their speed and weight against them. In a mere moment the horse went from off balance to off its feet, its hooves kicking upward as the animal fell, shrieking. Caught in his stirrups, the cavalier went down along with his mount, one leg practically crushed beneath its weight. His yell was interrupted by his impact with the ground, concussing him as he slammed against the inside of his armor. A couple feet away his hammer had been thrown from his grasp as he instinctively put his hands out to break his landing, smacking head-first and partially sinking into the soil before it teetered over. Both of the fallen struggled, discombobulated by the forces at play and the intense pain of their unexpected collision with the ground.

When they went down Lewa had jumped clear, easily sailing to a safe distance without even needing to invoke his Kanohi Miru. He watched as his attacker and his horse suffered from their injuries, unable to disentangle themselves and rise. The sounds made by the horse in particular were just hideous, and they hurt Lewa especially. He hadn’t wanted to -or really thought he would- hurt the creature when he attacked. This wasn’t its fault after all, it was just being used. As he wondered what to do, the cavalier finally managed to take advantage of the horse’s thrashing and pull his trapped leg out from beneath it. Maybe it was broken, maybe it wasn’t. Right now he couldn’t be sure thanks to the adrenaline, and he knew things weren’t over. Still on the ground, he rounded on Lewa, expecting to be executed. Instead Lewa slid his foot underneath the hammer next to the handle and kicked the weapon toward his foe. To him, this made sense. He didn’t want to play the role of executioner. It was clear that his opponent could keep fighting. The honorable thing to do would be to give him a sporting chance. To the cavalier, of course, this was a humiliating taunt. He was wounded, possibly crippled, while his opponent possessed massive advantages. The fight was already over. All he could do was hope that his foe’s arrogance would give him the one-in-a-million chance he needed.

So the Raven Herald grasped his hammer, propped himself up with it as struggled to stand, and roared with everything he had as he stepped forward. He knew he was looking death in the face, and a primal fury possessed him. Lewa’s eyes were narrowed as he tried to gauge the threat, making no assumptions. It never occurred to him to taunt or showboat in any means; this was as serious as the toa of air got. As the cavalier swung his heavy hammer, Lewa stepped back. The weapon’s weight made its wielder overbalance, and as he struggled to bring the overswing under control, Lewa moved in. His two-handed chop caught the man full in the breastplate with the protodermis head of his axe, caving in the armor and leaving a long, narrow dent. On the inside this became an edge that parted flesh and bone. The man fell, his lungs crushed and his heart stopped. As he hit the ground Lewa stepped back, reading his axe again for the next bout, expecting his opponent to rise. Only after a few moments did it become clear that he never would.

The toa stared at the warrior for a moment, wondering why he’d just…stopped. Unaware of the concept of internal organs, he could only guess at what had happened. Had that clean hit really been enough? Lewa felt a chill in his veins, and the pulse of his heartlight didn’t slow despite the battle’s end. No good. No good at all. He forced himself to look away. There were plenty more Raven Heralds where that one came from. This wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot, and the sooner it came to an end, the better.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

There we go, the cheesemonger has arrived.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg

For the umpteenth time, the wheels of the Chuck Wagon rolled over an overgrown root that encroached on the Emerald Forest’s path, strongly jostling everything -and everyone- inside. It has been long enough since the last root that Gru had just started to relax again, daring to release his grip on his book with one hand as he reached for his mug of tea. The timing couldn’t have been worse; just as his fingers closed around the handle and brought it towards his face for a sip, the whole wagon jerked upward on the right side. Both his book and his mug flew from his hands as he jumped in surprise, spraying tea all over his clothes before both hit the ground close enough to douse the pages with spatters of murky liquid. Instantly aggravated, the wan cheesemonger flushed with anger, his uneven teeth bared like an animal’s.

“BLAST IT!” He seethed, pounding both clenched fists against his armrests before leaping from his chair with such a furious energy that he nearly hit his wagon’s ceiling. He moved toward the front of his mobile home’s forward compartment and smacked the wooden wall. “Can we stop! Hitting! Things! Already! How many’s that, now? If you can’t steer around it, could you lot give me some kind of warning, at least? Just, I dunno, squeak or…something!”

Gru got a chorus of squeaks as the small armies of rats inside all four of the Chuck Wagon’s front wheels addressed his complaints. Most were as angry and indignant as their master was, whether at him for being cantankerous, one another for making mistakes, or themselves for doing a bad job. While Gru couldn’t understand their words, he definitely got the message. “Ughhhh…sorry, lovelies.” With a heavy, groaning sigh, he crouched down to collect his things. “I know the road’s hard, you’re trying your best.” Was he being unreasonable? Probably. Why, then? Well, it wasn’t the book. He hadn’t treated it any better than its previous owners, as its torn, yellowed pages and frayed cover suggested. He might have if he really enjoyed reading it; it chronicled an old war on some other part of the continent, but its author prioritized statistics over drama to the point that it really wasn’t all that diverting to begin with. The mug wasn’t the crux of the matter, either. Forged from staunch metal and bound in insulating leather, it was a stalwart traveler’s companion and could take a beating. Not even the tea vexed him, despite this being the wagon’s ‘dry’ side. Lukewarm and largely depleted, it didn’t soak him or ruin anything, and it hadn’t been tasty enough that the loss would be missed.

“It’s this blasted forest!” Gru interjected suddenly as he rose to his feet. After slapping the book and the mug down on his little desk, he paced around his living quarters’ cramped interior, constantly forced to adjust his balance against the movement of his mobile home. “It’s been days in this godforsaken place,” he fumed, giving vent at last to all his built-up annoyance. “No farms, no fields, no customers, no quiet. You’d think it’d be a nice peaceful ride through the woods, but no. Just a complete and utter waste of time!” And as if to emphasize his point, the cart suddenly drew to a stop, its wheels -and their occupants- squeaking in frustrated protest. Moaning, Gru could only hang his head. By now, he’d come to expect unexpected stops like this, and they certainly weren’t the fault of his rats. Another breakdown, probably. He tottered over to his little closet and pulled it open. As he selected which jacket to wear, a gang of rats formed up on the top shelf, assembled from both those on break up above and those who’d been working down below. In the center of the mob stood his favorite four: Pepper, Rick, Wensley, and Reggie, all ready to receive and distribute his orders. “Take a breather, loves,” he told them, his tone one of resignation. “My gut tells me we’re gonna be here a while.” As he took his top hat with one hand, he held the other out toward Pepper, who jumped on with a little cheer, ran down his arm, and climbed up onto his head as fast as her little legs could carry her. Gru placed his hat upon his head, checking in the mirror bolted to the back of his closet door that it was perched just right, and as he did more rats climbed up him to cluster together and form his live fur collar. The rest scattered, and with a final sigh Gru shut his closet and headed for the door. “This despicable forest hates us.”

A moment later he stepped out into the cool woodland air. He took a deep breath, then shut and latched the door behind him. After climbing up onto the Chuck Wagon for a good view, he put a handkerchief to his mouth and surveyed the scenery. Sure, the Emerald Forest looked beautiful, with vibrant colors straight from a child’s storybook. But it had been nothing but trouble since the minute the Pilgrims’ Caravan arrived here, just as Gru expected. A tree didn’t grow overnight after all, and a forest this size took far, far longer, during which time it had more than earned its terrible reputation. Something was wrong with this place. The personification Gru applied early was by no means unwarranted–this massive place’s inhospitality wasn’t just undocumented, but tangible. It watched without eyes, listened without ears, and resisted its visitors every step of the way.

An ill wind blew through these trees, carrying ill fortune to all those who entered. Breakdowns, accidents, illnesses. Gru could hear the coughing from here, up and down the stalled caravan. From the beginning he’d been hesitant to send his rats out to forage, and not just because of their typical predators. In a forest that wanted to swallow up the whole caravan, nobody needed to be more careful than its tiniest members. Still, it was only a matter of time until supplies began to dwindle. The paranoia planted throughout the pilgrims would then start to fester. And then what? Only through unity did the caravan survive. It had survived countless hardships already, even in the comparatively brief time Gru had been with it, but only a fool would take that to mean infallibility. Anyone could die. Any day, any time, for any reason. But Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg intended to survive.

No matter what came his way.

News quickly spread of strangers in the pilgrims’ midst. Gru got the details from Hoogarth, a good-natured strigiform traveling with the caravan as a hunter. The owl-man spoke of woodsmen, lost in the woods they’d come to harvest, humbled and on the verge of starvation. Still agitated by the terrifying things they’d witnessed. “Hmph,” Gru huffed, his lip curling. “They must be stupid. Everyone knows these woods are cursed or some such. Why anyone would take such absurd risks is utterly beyond me. And now they’re begging for food? Well, if they’re planning to come crying to me, let's hope they haven’t lost their coin as they did their wits.” Getting the impression Gru was talking more to the rats than him, Hoogarth just shrugged and kept moving to let others know.

It wasn’t long before Gru got another visitor in the form of an airborne phantasm. He watched it flutter toward him on the breeze, hoping it would pass him by, but unfortunately he knew better. It was the work of Althuwin the Navigator, mainstay and fixture of the Pilgrim’s Caravan for as long as just about anyone could remember, and through magical means Althuwin greeted Gru from afar. Predictably, he seemed to be reaching out in hopes of appealing to Gru’s better nature.

Too bad I don’t have one. Under no circumstances could Gru afford to part with the fruits of his labor for free. His cheese was an incredibly finite product. Every one aging in his Chuck Wagon’s dry shelves was a masterpiece-in-progress, from six-week-old Muenster to twelve-month-old Parmesan to his famous ‘Cheddar of Rebirth’, made the day he first joined the Pilgrim’s Caravan and aged for well over two years since. When it came to making cheese, time was money. A single empty spot on his shelf was a huge problem. After all, he couldn’t make new cheeses without fresh milk, so by now his production had been stopped dead for an entire week. That had been part of why he’d so vehemently opposed Althuwin’s route through the Emerald Forest, but nobody outweighed the Navigator when it came to matters of opinion. Besides, many of his cheeses were already spoken for, custom made to satisfy orders he’d received. They weren’t for sale, much less charity.

Still, maybe something could be arranged. “Ergh…I’ll consider it. Perhaps we can strike some…ah, bargains.” Even if someone couldn’t pay up front, a savvy trader could find ways to get his due. Right now, these people were too hungry to read fine print. If they could read at all. Gru was a salesman, not a businessman, but he could wheel and deal if needed. And his rats made for excellent debt collectors in a pinch. Althuwin went on to compliment Gru’s cheese, which struck him as backward. Doesn’t he know you’re supposed to flatter before you ask favors? Establish a good mood up front. Otherwise the honeyed words fall flat. Of course, not everyone could cut it as a salesman. Althuwin also asked about Gru’s methods. The cheesemonger sprouted a thin smile. “Trade secret, I’m afraid.” He respected -and to an extent needed- Althuwin as a customer, but they weren’t friends. One gave the other money, and the other gave the one food. Besides, Althuwin had a ‘way of speaking’ that Gru didn’t quite like. This wasn’t the first time that the old man had asked how the proverbial sausage was made. Sometimes Gru wondered if the Navigator knew things that he shouldn’t. As the wind sprite left, he watched a handful of pilgrims arming themselves for an expedition off the beaten path. There are some secrets that should stay buried, he thought, peering warily through the ill-omened verdure.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Looking forward to it! I'll be traveling within the next couple of days, but I'll be putting together my first post too.

World of Light

Quarantine Valley - Empty Lot

Level 6 Goldlewis (87/60) Level 4 Sandalphon (52/40)
Karin’s @Zoey Boey, Blazermate, Roland, and Susie’s @Archmage MC, Geralt and Zenkichi’s @Multi_Media_Man
Word Count: 1393

After Jena offered the Seekers their two choices, a couple tense moments passed. Goldlewis wished that they’d passed in silence, a period of quiet and calm in which he could collect his thoughts, but Quarantine Valley was anything but silent. Strong winds whipped viciously around the strange contours of the buildings that formed Zone 09’s perimeter, carrying the distant echoes of roars, screams, collapses, and explosions. However, those same unsettling noises helped speed him to his conclusion, as the veteran realized that he really didn’t need to think about his decision much after all. Some of the others started questioning Jena, as if this preposterous proposition were some sort of interview. Reunion’s leader seemed more interested in the Seekers’ answers rather than their questions; between her terse manner and vague but ominous replies, nothing came of it, other than a solidification of the same inclination that everyone had been feeling since moment one.

Soon enough, Jena got her answers. Roland dismissed her coolly, not the first person to call the woman insane. Even if her goal was to overthrow tyrants, neither Geralt nor Zenkichi would abet someone who would cause such wanton catastrophe to achieve it, and they made their thoughts clear. Penance, initially surprised to see Reunion’s leader in person, bristled at the very suggestion that she’d cooperate. “I will not negotiate in any respect. By my authority as an Auditor of the General Affairs division, you are hereby under arrest.”

Jena ignored her, which prompted a smirk from Vigil. “I don’t think you’re going to get through to her, Lavi. You’re the Judge, why not skip all this preamble…” One bullet at a time, he refilled his revolvers to capacity. “And get straight to the death sentence?”

Karin rebuked Jena vehemently, pointing out the seriousness of her crimes and condemning the depths to which she’d fallen. She stated her scorn in no uncertain terms. Goldlewis didn’t start off quite as strong, but after he began to speak, he finished in much the same vein.

“Anderson!” he yelled, his face deadly serious. “You’re right about one thing. This city’s full o’ bad people in high places. They need to answer for their crimes, for each and every evil deed they’ve done, and mark my words, they will someday.” He clenched his fist and glared up at Jena. “Maybe at some point you really were doin’ the right thing. But at some point you crossed the damn line and fell right off the wagon. You ain’t some tragic hero, doin’ the right thing ‘cause no-one else will. How many innocent folks have you and the monsters you let loose killed, left homeless, or doomed to redshift? What about everyone able and willin’ to fight for a brighter future that you sacrificed? Look out there!” Furiously he pointed toward Quarantine Valley. “You see what’s happenin’? That ain’t a necessary evil. That’s just evil! You’re just as bad as the sonuvabitches you condemn!”

Sandalphon’s eyes were narrowed as she stared at Jena, her pupils shaped like reticles as she calculated for trajectory, travel time, wind speed. “Worse, perhaps,” she added quietly. “Evil for evil’s sake is deplorable, but evil for the sake of good is hypocrisy.”

“In my line o’ work, we gotta make hard decisions all the time,” Goldlewis continued. He thought of the choices he’d made throughout his political career. Every trade off. Every sacrifice. Trying to please everybody. Pleasing nobody. He extended his finger again, pointing at Jena. “This ain’t one of ‘em. You wanna know our answer? If we’re gonna throw out everythin’ we stand for? Well, lemme tell you somethin’. I ain’t ever gonna forfeit again. So here’s our answer.” With a dramatic scowl, he turned his hand to make a giant thumbs down. “Go to hell!”

“Yeah!” Hal echoed with an exuberant cheer. “What he said! We’ll never work with someone like you, Jena!”

After a brief moment, Jena’s lip curled. “I see. And to think-”

“Spare me.” Moving quickly, Sandalphon knelt down, tucking her gunstuff under her arm. By the time the Reunion trio realized what she was doing, it was too late. The archangel fired off an ether bolt that hurtled upward and struck Jena in the face. She staggered, surprised and in pain, and after taking the briefest moment to adjust her aim, Sandalphon fired again. That was long enough, however, for her black-haired subordinate to spring into action. He put himself in the line of fire and squeezed his weapon’s trigger just as his opposing sniper did hers. The two shots met in the air, destroying one another. Goldlewis activated his Wall of Light, creating an energy shield to protect Sandalphon, and the snipers traded shots once again. This time they flew past one another, the archangel striking the crossbowman in the chest and his unblockable bolt shattering Goldlewis’ shield to pierce Sandalphon’s shoulder.

Both fell back, and the next second, a huge sign plummeted in front of Jena’s balcony to slam down on the ground of the empty lot with a tremendous noise. The disruption stopped Vigil, who was about to join the firefight, and the others in their tracks. Everyone looked up to see what had caused it to fall from above, and there, cresting the ridge of buildings just beneath the roof of this enclosed underground space, they spotted an armored quadrupedal titan, whose assortment of bulging crimson eyes lit up the dark and whose coiled back-spikes raked the ceiling. It opened its entire head like a fanged flower and shrieked, the horrible noise reverberating through the whole area.

Sandalphon breathed in sharply through her nose and stood, wincing, to slam down the butt of her gunstaff and heal herself with Heavenly Praise. Ripples of divine water promptly washed away her pain. At almost the same time, however, Jena’s white-haired subordinate slammed down his odd cane to invoke his Originum Arts. A crimson healing pulsed in response, restoring Jena and the crossbowman. “...Thank you, Mephisto, Faust.” Holding her face with one hand, Reunion’s leader made a sweeping motion with the other, and a Gate opened behind her. “Let’s be off. We have a date with destiny, after all. It’s a shame our friends here won’t be alive to see it.” She, Mephisto, and Faust turned and entered the Gate, which vanished behind them. The next second, Homunculus β leaped down to land on the floor of the empty lot, its enormous size and weight sending a shockwave across the ground.

“What the hell is this thing? It’s huge, and like those weird ones earlier, it’s not even a true chimera!” Hal fretted, his drone flying back to a safe distance. “Well, whatever it is, we can’t go after Jena until it’s out of the picture. Let’s take it out!”

Sandalphon turned and ran toward a balcony of the side of the lot everyone entered from, and when she reached it she used Vigilant’s power to Vault right up to it. There, she could set up shop in a makeshift sniper’s nest and provide ranged support or hide inside the building as needed. From there, her healing could still cover a large range as well, so anyone in need could head toward her vicinity rather than call her in. With a snap of her fingers, she switched to Concentration Protocol. “Overwatch established. Ready for support.”

Meanwhile, while Goldlewis knew the others would need his help on the frontlines, there was something else that required his attention. Even if the team triumphed against this enormous monstrosity, they wouldn’t be able to pursue Jena if they couldn’t extricate themselves from this place. After sending a Thunderbird grenade to fly at the Homunculus and explode, he brought up his communication glyph and phoned a friend. “Come in, HQ!” he roared. “Jessie, Jessie, you there? Listen, we need extraction on the double! We’re in Zone 09, in the wall on the Detroit side near the old cable tram station! Get Duke down here, pronto!” He went silent for just a moment, then scowled, turning red. “Forget the doggone codenames, we need outta here, now!”

Without waiting for a reply, banished the glyph and pulled Skyfish from his coffin, then held down the trigger and riddled the homunculus with every bullet at his disposal.

Suoh - the Otherlobe

Midna’s @DracoLunaris, Sakura’s @Zoey Boey, Pit’s @Yankee, Roxas’ @Double, Luka, Yuito, Hanabi, Lili, Norma, Raz

After fighting for approximately a half an hour straight against Others, Psych-OSF soldiers, and even Septentrions, all capped off by a terrifying first encounter with a Brain Field, everyone was physically and mentally exhausted. Still, they’d seen and experienced so much in just one afternoon, out of which Zanotto’s mysterious murder somehow managed to be only the tip of the iceberg. Everyone had a lot to unpack, and they got to it as best they could. Unfortunately, despite their best attempts, their fatigue combined with the sheer amount of newness meant that they couldn’t find an answer to every burgeoning question. Still, the team was able to address their most practical issue: where to go from here. All signs pointed toward Arahabaki, the city’s computer, deep below the gigantic Shinra Building in Midgar’s center. Toward the the very end of the discussion, though, the Seekers did put together one thing: the identity of Zanotto’s killer. The revelation left those who knew Kagero unsettled. Anyone familiar with him knew his charisma and playful mystique, as well as his skill with knives when fighting Others. But killing a fellow human, much less Psych-OSF’s Grand Head? That came as a dreadful surprise.

One other tidbit mentioned by Raz did get Lili’s attention. “Wait, I think you’re right,” the girl remarked after a moment, once she was sure that her logic went beyond wishful thinking. “That couldn’t have been my dad. It had to have been an impostor. Maybe the guy in the spirit was a shapeshifter? Or…just really good at disguises? I don’t know, but I’m positive it wasn’t him.” She turned to look at the Otherlobe. “So I’m going to find Dad. Maybe he’s locked up somewhere while his doppelganger was running around.”

“I’ll help you investigate,” Norma ventured. She’d been pretty quiet up until now, seemingly overwhelmed by the situation, but she wanted to help. “Don’t worry, Lili. We’ll find him, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, me too!” Raz nodded emphatically as he jogged over. “From now on Lili, I’m gonna stay by your side. At least until we figure things out.”

Lili narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “Ugh. I can handle myself, you know?” As certain softness to her expression made it clearer than usual that she appreciated it, though.

Raz seemed to pick up on this. “Haha, classic Lili…”

Meanwhile, Luka turned a dubious expression on Roxas. “I don’t think we’ll have much luck going after Kagero. His Invisibility makes him almost impossible to track. Even if he went to Musubi’s to link up with Kyoka and Tsugumi, they’ve probably moved on by now. None of them are replying to my messages, either.”

That left everyone else with just one destination: Arahabaki. Of course, getting in there was a lot easier said than done. That meant descending below the Shinra Building, which meant breaching the Shinra Building, which meant getting past its outer defenses, which meant getting across Suoh. At least they had a checklist to go down, but even step one was daunting. The Sector 05 Plate was quite large, and thanks to the chaos caused by the Other deluge, fraught with danger. Public transportation wouldn’t be running either, so that left the team with limited options.

Luckily, Midna was ahead of the curve. When she suggested driving, Yuito agreed. “Yeah, given all that’s happened, we should be able to commandeer a couple cars. That’ll get us where we’re going, but getting in is going to be a lot harder.”

“You mentioned making portals?” Hanabi asked Midna. “It would be easier for just a few of us to get into Arahabaki than all seven. If you could put one inside, the rest of us could get in that way.” She smiled at Yuito as her friend failed to suppress a huge yawn. “Maybe after a nice break. We’re worn out, and it’s almost dinner already. Can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

Yuito nodded in approval at the idea. “In that case, the rest of us should probably find somewhere to hole up for the time being. I have…or, I guess I should say my family has a bunker north of here, near the Sector 04 border. We can use that.” When someone mentioned the Seekers’ own hideout in Seiran, Luka mentioned that the day’s events would probably lead to a complete lockdown of all means of reaching Seiran. Of course, that meant nothing to Midna’s portals. That sealed the deal, and once everyone decided who was going where, it was time to move.

Yuito and anyone else not on board with a strenuous infiltration could pile into a green hatchback with Hanabi behind the wheel. “I didn’t know you had a driver’s license,” Yuito ventured somewhat nervously.

“I don’t!” Hanabi replied with a little too much cheer.

With that underway, Luka and everyone else rolled on toward their destination. The trip involved a couple detours around obstructions, whether in the form of debris, hazards, or lingering Others, but within twenty minutes they were closing in on their destination. Vandelay Tower back in the City of Glass had been needlessly big, but no structure dominated Midgar more than than the colossal Shinra Building, which went past ‘absurd’ to land somewhere at ‘obscene’. Its hulking metal cylinders, stacked together like a child’s toys and aglow with countless tiny lights, each indicating the office of a single worker working late, pierced the stormy heavens and towered above the cityscape in every sense of the word.

The closer the Seekers got, the less Sector 05 looked like a normal city, and the more it looked like an industrial complex. They proceeded through the compounds and factories, still alight with warning Visions, until they came within view of the Shinra Building’s massive gate. At that point they ditched their ride and crept in for a closer look. The place was heavily guarded, seemingly much more so than the Otherlobe itself. Automated searchlights and security cameras roved the area, their lines of sight clearly defined against the dark by cones of light. A few turrets could be seen, patiently waiting for action. Those defenses were most concentrated around the entrances, of which there were a couple, most of them sliding doors that could admit vehicles. There were plenty of workers either performing repairs or transporting cargo in trolleys and trucks, some moving in and out of the doors under supervision. Most worrisome were the Peace Preservation and Psych-OSF personnel on guard duty, because there were a lot of them. Squads of both Shinra Troopers and Advent Troopers patrolled or stood watch around the area, similar in appearance but frosty toward one another in terms of attitude. There were even three Sectopods on hand. Luka also spotted a few people of interest. “Seto Platoon,” he whispered, recognizing Arashi Spring, Shiden Ritter, and Seto Narukami, Septentrion Fifth Class. Sakura would remember those three from the time they cooperated in the subway tunnels yesterday morning.

“Pick up the pace, you slackers!” A growly voice shouted out. It belonged to a mustached man shaped like a piece of candy corn, clad in dark clothes. “We gotta get these holes patched up on the double!”

“And Morceau Oleander,” Luka added, squinting at the Septentrion Seventh Class. “He must have dropped off Dexio and Sina, then come straight here, not sparing a single thought for Yuito, Lili, or the rest of his squad. What’s he up to…?”

Since this checkpoint seemed more corporate than militaristic, the abundance of guards was unusual, but then again, all signs pointed toward a huge battle in the area concluded only recently. The roads, chain link fences, and buildings in the vicinity all featured damage, and among the ashes the newcomers could see pieces of machines, equipment, and Others that hadn’t dissolved with their former owners. As a result, the defenders were scattered, wounded, and weary following what looked like a hard-fought victory. The gate itself had suffered some damage and even a few breaches, including a vent and two entrances. It wasn’t hard to imagine Karen surreptitiously breaking in during the heated battle. It was up to the Seekers to find a way to follow in his footsteps. Luka’s Teleportation would make things a bit easier for himself and Sakura, but the noise it made necessitated careful use. Everyone else had to find their own way.

The Under - Hollow Bough

Level 12 Nadia (109/120)
The Koopa Troop’s @DracoLunaris, Primrose and Therion’s @Yankee, Sectonia’s @Archmage MC, Artorias’ @Dark Cloud, Tingyun, Stetson the Scout, Paintbrush the Gunner, Overhard the Engineer, Cyclops the Scout
Word Count: 2513

With a game plan in mind thanks to Overhard’s mission briefing, everyone could hit the ground running the moment the Caretaker’s rippling bubble shield fell and the inverted pyramid roared to life. Knowing what to hit and what to look out for was a nice change of pace, so even when the alien machine came at the team guns ablaze, they could manage. True to Stetson’s guess as to the approximate hazard level, the Caretaker’s damage was no joke. Even a glancing blow from one of its robotic limbs, or a single shot from one’s laser cannon, seriously hurt. If someone took a wrong step and suffered the full three-round burst, or got pierced by a four-clawed tentacle in center mass, that grievous injury could very well put them down for the count depending on the target’s defense.

Unfortunately for the Caretaker, it had a couple major problems when it came to applying that lethal force. It had fourteen assailants, and only four limbs to split between them. Naturally, this only got worse when Bowser managed to catch one in his mighty arms and leverage his strength against the machine’s integrity until it failed and the ball joint, depriving the Caretaker of a fourth of its firepower. Its Shredders could tear through flesh like a mole through worms, but the aerial drones couldn’t take a hit to save their lives. Plus, with the threat of imminent electrocution keeping the melee fighters at bay, all of its opponents were staying mobile, meaning that the more agile Seekers could outpace the rather slow-moving shots and react in time when a limb telegraphed its lunge. Neither could two limbs gang up on one target to take one by surprise. And with Primrose’s defensive and offensive buffs, the odds were definitely on the Seekers’ side

Almost nobody showcased the weaknesses of the Rival Tech robot better than Nadia, who consistently kept herself one step ahead of its efforts. As big and formidable as the Caretaker was, it wasn’t fast, and for a fighter like the feral, speed was life. Her own strategy was simple: trigger the electric shock, then get in once it went on cooldown. If any Shredders caught up to her, she happily swatted them down. She darted around the battlefield, easily evading the attacks that came her way, and as tempting as it was to get tunnel vision on her target, her keen senses alerted her to stray shots as well. The plasma barrier wave took her by surprise, but it wound up being little more than a time-wasting annoyance as she weaved around the walls of orange light. With this plan Nadia helped chip away at the Caretaker’s vents, doing respectable damage for someone wielding claws and knives against refined metal, but it was only a couple runs that her ship really came in. Following the expiration of her last Benediction, Tingyun gave it to the cat burglar next, ringing her golden bell in a Soothing Melody. “All the best~”

A wreath of golden light manifested around Nadia, boosting her attack by 55 percent. “Su-purr-charge! Just watt I needed!” Grinning, she leaped into the air to dodge a robotic arm. As it slammed into the petrified wood beneath her, filling the air with dust, splinters, and clumps of lichen, Nadia planted her feet against the wall and kicked off. She soared onto the top of the Data Vault and scampered across it on all fours, ignoring the electrodes as they rose up in sequence around her. She waited a fraction of a moment for an open vent to spin her way, then shot upward with a Charge of her own. Her lightning blitz dealt the last bit of damage to disable the vent, and as she reformed just above it, Nadia beamed in satisfaction at the well-timed destruction she’d just wrought. “Now that’s what I call vent-elation!” The next instant, the vent cover slammed shut, catching one of her tails. Her eyes practically bugged out of her head. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

She fell and dangled upside-down from the Caretaker by the caught tail, struggling furiously. Between her pain tolerance and her tail’s composition, it didn’t actually hurt that much, but yelling about it helped a little. Remembering that she could just detach her tail helped even more. Her tail still hurt, but at least the rest of her could move. As luck would have it, though, she dropped right into the electrode array as it was about to fire. “Ohm my God.” Arcs of electricity covered the Data Vault, and she scrambled through the storm, yelping and yowling. “GET MEOWTTA HEEEEEERE!”

Unfortunately, her supporter Tingyun wasn’t doing so hot either. In general Foxian was getting way more attention than she deserved, with multiple shots and lunges coming her way. “Aah! Hey! Whoa! What did I do!?” Finally, one managed to swat her, dealing over half of Tingyun’s life as it knocked her right into a yellow Goo Sack plant. It burst on impact, covering her with sticky resin, but at least it slowed the Foxian’s momentum. “Oww! You’ll pay for that!” she cried, her typical decorum momentarily shattered.

Still, for the most part, it wasn’t the attacks aimed at the individual Seekers that they needed to worry about, but accidentally running into one aimed at someone else. In fact, with everyone constantly on the move and relying on ranged attacks to wear down the Caretaker’s increasingly hard-to-hit vents, the Seekers’ biggest problem for now was one another. Some bumped into one another or forced a swerve as they made their way around the Data Vault, especially when Bowser or Kuebiko was involved. Others almost shot each other, as Junior nearly did with Rika, or actually did. For the dwarves, though, friendly fire seemed to be nothing new. At the slightest suggestion that they might have been shot by an ally, they roared over the sounds of firearms, magic and mechanical mayhem, their cantankerous cries filling the Caretaker’s hollow. It was hard to tell if they were actually mad or just annoyed.

“Friendly, FRIENDLY!”

“...!”

“It’s me, you ARSEWIPE!”

“Watch your fire, or yer funeral’s gonna be a sober occasion!”

The ultimatum from Cyclops was a solemn reminder that these dwarves were still under Galeem’s influence. Whether triggered against their allies (or one another, for that matter) or not, however, the four kept their focus on the task at hand: the Caretaker. Everyone was laying into it, whether with guns, spells, thrown weapons, or well-struck melee attacks. Bowser’s attempt to use his newly ‘mounted’ cannon really didn’t work due to massive recoil, huge instability, and difficulty aiming, as the gun would be better used on a stationary mount or vehicle. At least Junior’s heavy weapon more than made up for his dad’s, what with the high accuracy and stability of Kuebiko’s bamboo chaingun. Once all four vents were disabled, the Caretaker’s eye opened, first on one side, then on another. Whoever was closest laid into its obvious weak point with everything they had, and before long the team was one-third done.

When the vents popped back open, Nadia quickly fetched her lost tail and stuck it where it belonged. Despite her little goof, the team had chewed through phase one easily enough, and she was ready to redeem herself in round two. Of course, that meant contending with the Caretaker’s reinforcements. In addition to producing replacement limbs, it belted out a whole swarm of Shredders, enough to actually pose a threat. The Patrol Bots numbered less, but could hurt a lot more, as well as switch to flight mode to evade grounded hazards. “More flyin’ minions?” Nadia groaned, already sick of adds like these thanks to that fake Wasp Queen. “Talk about a buzz kill!” Figuring she might as well use the same strategy, she waited for a crowd of Shredders to descend on her, then unleashed a Fiber Upper to punch through a bunch of them at once with an upward hyper-extended double kick. Then she snapped up to her legs and dug into the rest with an air combo, hitting a couple with every aerial kick and slash to keep the combo up. Once she landed, she figured out the real problem. Concealed by the Shredders, the Caretaker had dispatched a couple machines that rocketed toward the cave roof and anchored in the petrified wood before deploying sniper turrets. Their orange lasers cut through the cavern’s airspace, homing in on their targets. After taking a painful shot Nadia ran for cover behind a bloated red vine, scowling at the turrets well beyond her reach. “Now you’re takin’ it too far!”

“I gotcha, lass!” Popping out from behind a gnarled root, Stetson took aim with his yellow flare launcher and fired upward. A brilliant source of light flew up and attached to the ceiling, illuminating the turrets up there for everyone to see. Paintbrush narrowed his eyes and lowered his rocket launcher, withdrawing a handheld railgun from his pack. He took careful aim, and after the ArmsKore Coil Gun spooled up, it magnetically propelled a solid tungsten sphere with enough force not just to punch through the turret, but also the rock behind it, leaving a trail of red-hot air in its wake. “You rock!” Stetson praised him as he switched weapons, and with a satisfied look Paintbrush twirled his weapon before jamming it in his holster.

After dealing with the added suppression, everyone got to work on phase two. Not planning to let herself get pinched again, Nadia jumped back into action with a vengeance, albeit without Tingyun’s Benediction. Now that they understood the Caretaker’s patterns better, everyone could avoid their earlier mistakes and pile on the damage. Things got a little more interesting when the giant machine showed off something new a little early. Right after the closure of its vents forced its eye to open, the Caretaker began to manufacture phase bombs. The instant each explosive dodecahedron completed it got teleported directly on top of a random Seeker, floating as its one-second fuse counted down before a brutal explosion went off in a small area. What they lacked in range they made up for in sheer damage, and when Paintbrush sidled into some churned-up terrain just a fraction of a second too long, a phase bomb went off on him and downed him immediately and left him groaning.

“I’m comin’!” Cyclops ran toward him, but Paintbrush’s bad luck wasn’t over. Another phase bomb appeared over him just as Cyclops arrived, but with a roar the driller punted it like a soccer ball. It flew just far enough that it’s explosion only singed Cyclops’ beard hair, leaving him shell-shocked and singed as he poured his canteen out on Paintbrush to revive him. As soon as the gunner regained his feet, he dropped a shield generator, which Stetson promptly grappled into, leaving Overhard by himself. As the engineer fled the bombs along a ledge, a robotic limb plunged into the wood beneath it, causing him to fall amidst the cascade of debris. One more phase bomb appeared on him, and there was little Overhard could do to stop it. In her own panic to flee, the bombs, Tingyun tripped and tumbled painfully down a wooden slope to roll to a stop right next to the Data Vault.

For her part, Nadia opted to forget about offense for the time being and focus on not getting exploded. This barrage couldn’t last forever, after all. It went on for about twenty seconds, all told, and the realization that there were no more after the last one blew up made Nadia sigh in relief. If only that was the end. Thanks to those bombs, the Caretaker’s eye was about to close, and maybe even force everyone to redo the second phase. The feral wasn’t going to have that. “Eye’ve had…” Crimson Hydro power welled up around her, and she popped off her head to put into a headlock between her arms, tucked in against her stomach and her chest as she braced herself. “...Enough!” From her mouth surged a torrential beam of blood, her fearsome Cat-aract, that blasted into the Caretaker’s weak point. Her huge expenditure of Dramatic Tension burst the Caretaker down and into phase three.

As such, the Seekers barely got a break from the phase bombs before things went from bad to worse. The Caretaker called in reinforcements once more, and the robots that answered the call weren’t just for suppression. Instead the team got jumpy, chainsaw-equipped Choppers, bulky Smallfry, spider-legged Hot Rods with miniguns, and earth-carving Drillscrews, which made the tunnels that the rest funneled from in droves. While not powerhouses, the robots seemed to just keep coming, and whenever the Drillscrews made a new tunnel more flooded out of that one, too. It was another swarm, and this time the Seekers weren’t united in defensive positions. “This is bad, lads!” Stetson called out, his ammo running low as he hunkered in Paintbrush’s last bubble shield. “What’re we gonna do!?”

Before he even finished, the sound of squealing tired and a roaring engine echoed down an adjoining tunnel. After another moment, the dirt wall leading to the Stranga region exploded outward, and through the rubble drifted another Metal Attacker, sleek, pink, and unmistakably rabbit-themed.

Nadia, crashing down to the ground on top of a Smallfry she’d just decapitated, stared for a brief moment as Choppers converged on her location. “No way, don’t tell me that’s…”

“FLOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!” A familiar bubbly voice yelled from the loudspeaker of NORA MA-06 ‘Eir’. The Metal Attacker’s tired revved, kicking up dirt and wooden splinters, and it burst forward to crash into and through a number of robots. “I’m, like here to help, everyoneeeee!”

“Not like you helped us last time, surely!?” Stetson sounded miserable as he threw a Voltaic Stun Sweeper to keep the bots off his back. “We don’t need any more damn mutators, ya hear!”

Eir pulled to a stop, its cockpit popping open so that the plant alien Kanna could step up in all her glory. “That’s why I’m totally gonna do better this time! Like, watch this!”

She squeezed her drawn-on eyes shut and began to concentrate. From her pot she suddenly sprouted six four-leafed clovers, then another Wonder Flower. With everyone too belabored by robots to protest, she balled all seven plants into a single medicinal clump, which she stuffed into the mouth of her support animal, Yacopu. When it ate them and fired off a pellet, a wave of distortion rolled across the cavern, triggering another wonder effect. This time, though, the Seekers were in for a far more pleasant surprise.

Wonder Effect

• Allies: Bottomless Clip (Weapons never need to be reloaded)
• Enemies: Critical Weakness (Enemies take extra damage from weak spot hits and crits)
• Environment: Gift of Super (Pickup that recharge combat resources fall from the sky)
• Phenomenon: Gold Rush (Extra rich gold veins appear on cave walls)

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

If I had any friends, they would call me…Gru

Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Human (Supposedly), 34, 2 years 8 months and 1 day

Appearance:
Though ostensibly human, Gru possesses an odd assortment of shapes and proportions that make him seem less like a real person and more like a caricature come to life. Standing on the shorter side at a mere 5’7”, Gru possesses a somewhat unimpressive, heavyset physique, with thin arms and legs, a rotund middle, and not much neck, which his hunched posture certainly doesn’t help. His eyes are small, sunken, and a beady black. He bears a very prominent hooked nose, a strong chin made even stronger by his pointed goatee, and what might be termed a triple mustache with three tapered lengths extending to either side. It’s wenge, a dark drab brown, like his somewhat greasy hair, which is worn slicked back with a long, thin ponytail. Large, scruffy eyebrows and sideburns complete the look. His skin is quite pale, though it gets quite pink around his nose, ears, chin, et cetera

History:
For centuries, if anyone were to go searching around the world for a place they could call ‘paradise’, they might have very well ended up at Arcadia, the Valley of Plenty. Its famous black soil, rich with minerals and impossibly fertile, can be traced back to the activity of volcanoes that arose long ago thanks to the region’s fault line. Exactly when settlers first arrived to farm the valley is up for debate, but eventually people of all shapes and sizes would flock to the region in an unprecedented gold rush not for metal, but for grain. For a time budding nations fought over the Valley of Plenty, but after almost destroying the area’s natural beauty and abundance forever, wiser heads prevailed in the nick of time to strike a truce. The paradise became Arcadia, a no-man’s land and a shared blessing to all, governed by a council with representatives from various nations and hailed by many as the agricultural capital of the world. It would remain that way for an age, so valuable to surrounding nations that any threat to it would result in action from all the rest, keeping the Valley of Plenty in peace.

During that time, many mercantile guilds would come and go, managing trade both within Arcadia and with foreign countries. With so many competing interests, its economy was in a state of constant flux, but a few guilds endured. One was the Chemists’ Guild. It specialized in investment, repayment, research, and development, with fingers in countless given pies at any one moment despite the rather tight-knit, clandestine nature with which it operated. The Chemists provided miraculous fertilizers and other products that enriched their clients with harvests of unprecedented bounty even for Arcadia, with vegetables and livestock larger than usual, as well as cultivation of crops not typically climate with the region. Other suppliers just couldn’t compete. Despite the whispers about unconventional, even occult methods, official investigators found nothing amiss, and the Chemists became rich. Of course, they new this couldn’t last. In their underground laboratories they pursued ever more ambitious means to combat soil depletion and ensure that the perennial bumper crop never wavered. One day, things went wrong.

That night, there was no massive explosion. No destruction or indication of any calamity whatsoever. Yet in the morning, with no fanfare, the Chemists quietly packed their bags and left. Those who saw them thought nothing of it, for the Chemists often traveled to secure the rare and exotic materials for their craft, but in the weeks afterward things began to change. It began with the soil, as it became slightly discolored, adopting an odd, fuzzy texture. The crops planted at the time began to experience accelerated growth, initially celebrated by the farmers as the Chemists’ latest innovation made free to all in as a mark of respect for the age-old, often-forgotten tradition of Arcadian generosity. But as large as they grew, the crops weren’t quite right. They came out with strange colors and textures, tasting terrible. Livestock experienced madness and premature death. Soon, the people began to curse the Chemists for unleashing a plague upon them. Those with the means began to leave, but the rest did what they could to purge the disease and try again for the better. Instead, things continued to worsen. Strange, fuzzy growths appeared all over the ground. Animals began to experience grotesque deformities, dying or rampaging in large numbers. The people who remained were in denial, eventually to a delusional extent, and evidencing signs of infection themselves. Attempts at stopping the infection failed, and soon the whole valley was under quarantine.

Within months, fungal mold had infested all of Arcadia, taking over and eventually consuming everything that had ever eaten infected food. Few witnesses ever risked going into what would come to be known as Mycelia, the Valley of Blight, but disturbing rumors got out about what happened deep inside. They say that the mold eventually replaced everything that it killed. Mold birds singing in mold trees that bore mold fruits. Mold predators roaming mold woods hunting mold beasts that nibbled mold grass. Mold farmers tilling mold fields and selling mold grains. Mold men worshiping mold gods and dreaming mold dreams about a land of perfect peace and happiness with neither grief, nor disparity, nor greed.

Well before the point that the ruin of Arcadia became known far and wide, a man who called himself Gruyere E.C. Yarg, known to his friends as Gru (if only he had any, as he often jokes), joined the Pilgrim’s Caravan with a small carriage run by rats. Styling himself as a self-made merchant, he used his travels with them to run a small-scale cheese-making operation. Rather than horde money, he put most of his earnings back into his business, either improving his ever-evolving Chuck Wagon or purchasing milk, feed, rennet, grapes, salt, and cheese-making tips from the various farms he visited during his travels. Gradually he’d build up a reputation as a sleazy-looking but reliable itinerant merchant, his quality products (if not his attitude) earning him a good reputation. Like many members of the Caravan, he doesn’t talk about his past much, and if asked only ever mentions a boring and humble beginning in the small village of Stilton, never bothering to mention where it was. The past, as Gru says, is behind him. He wants nothing more than to practice his beloved craft, care for his beloved rats, and live a comfortable, quiet life.

Personality:
To most, Gruyere would appear to be the archetypal unsavory businessman or snake oil salesman. He’s greedy, cunning, jocular, and capricious, bitingly sarcastic one moment and an obsequious lickspittle the next. Whatever it takes to make the sale. In fact, his manner sometimes undermines the fact that his products are actually very high quality, made to his exacting standards. In terms of his business dealings, he’s actually pretty honest. He’s just not very nice. Highly secretive and private, both about his trade skills and life, he isn’t very social and minds his own business as much as possible. While he doesn’t like conflict, he’s competitive and vindictive, never forgetting a slight. He cares a lot about his rats, both for their own sake and for the joy they bring him, and he gives them all the love that withholds from his fellow man. A perennial miser, he never does anything for free, and he expects anyone he deals with to honor their word

Motivation: To continue building up his business and ‘family’ in pursuit of a comfortable life

Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:

• + Cheesemonger: Gru’s trade skill. He’s cultivated almost encyclopedic knowledge of how to make cheeses, from the chemistry of their creation to the tools needed to produce them. The cheeses he makes are of very high quality and nutritional value, and he prides himself on their appearances and flavors across a whole host of different styles. This is how he makes his money while in the Caravan; taking and orders while on the road, selling pre-made cheeses or taking orders for clients, then aging the cheeses he makes until the Caravan visits them again and he can fulfill those orders. Somewhat more recently he’s also tried diversifying into wine, a trade that demands even more patience but pairs well with his main craft. He makes these foodstuffs with a speed and efficiency few can match
• + Friend of Animals: Gru is much better with animals than he is with people. This extends to most (domesticated) animals, so whether it’s cows, goats, sheep, or even camels and yaks, they feel comfortable and affectionate around him, and he around them. This means he can often get top yield from whatever animals he encounters, and he’s a surprisingly good companion on hunts
• + Rat Authority - His natural bond with one animal completely transcends all the rest: rats. For whatever reason, he’s so completely in-tune with rats that they lack any fear of or hostility toward him, even in huge numbers. He knows how to take good care of rats, and ‘his’ rats listen to him almost unconditionally, obeying his orders like trained dogs and exhibiting unusual intelligence, strength, and dexterity. This goes double for his four favorite rats: Pepper Jack, Rick Otta, Wensley Dale, and Reggie Ano. If Gru is the general, they are the captains. Working as hordes under his command, his rats are capable of astonishing feats, so much so that one can’t help but wonder if this bond is supernatural
• + The Chuck Wagon: Named after his father Charles, Gru’s personal method of transportation is possibly the most impressive thing about him. It’s one of the largest wagons in the Pilgrim’s Caravan by far, and isn’t just a living space, but a mobile cheese factory that he’s put huge amounts of money into perfecting. It’s divided into ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ halves, each with their own doors on the right side. The wet half is essentially a laboratory, with multiple vats and tanks for liquid storage, milk coagulation, curd separation, brining, and so forth, all watertight and able to be locked down during travel. There’s even vat for the crushing and fermentation of grapes The dry half has shelves for drying and aging cheese (and also wine), and is where Gru lives. The top floor of the Chuck Wagon, about a foot in height and known as the ‘attic’, is a compartment reserved exclusively for his rats. They have little houses in there with straw bedding, food stores, etc, and on good days Gru can open up the top of the wagon to make the little village open to the air. On the left side of the wagon are two large silos, one filled with water and the other with rat food, including grains, seeds, and nuts. Perhaps most interesting is how the wagon moves; instead of being drawn by horses or other beasts of burden, it has eight enormous wheels, four in the front and four in the back. These are hollow and function as giant hamster wheels, making the Chuck Wagon entirely rat-powered. The rats work the wheels (and, under Gru’s supervision, the kitchen) in shifts and go up into the attic to rest
• - Noncombatant: Gru isn’t really a fighter. He doesn’t have the constitution for it, nor the interest. He prefers to get others -people or otherwise- to do his fighting for him, especially if there’s serious risk and/or publicity involved
• - Something Irreplaceable: Although Gru’s greatest strength, the Chuck Wagon is also his greatest weakness. It’s very important to him, and he’s extremely averse to any damage to it. Losing it is practically out of the question, and there’s very little he wouldn’t do to keep it safe. After all, it’s not just the source of his livelihood; it’s everything he owns, and without it, he’d be almost nothing. The same goes for his rats. While losing them isn’t the end of the world, they’re all his friends, and not just tools for him
• - Unlikeable: In contrast to animals, people generally don’t like him, and he doesn’t like them. His generally acerbic attitude makes it difficult for genuine relationships to form, and he prefers businesslike arrangements of give and take where expectations are clear and no strings are attached

Hidden Depths

Mycomancy
Gru isn’t just a businessman. He’s also a practitioner of a dark school of magic that manipulates fungi, especially mold–a fact he’s gone to great lengths to hide. He only ever practices it in the privacy of the Chuck Wagon’s interior, and even then in very small scale, manipulating mold to make cheese and the yeast that ferments wine to speed up the processes. In his time with the Caravan to date, he’s never needed to resort to using it for combat in front of the others, instead relying on his rats for self-defense. However, it’s possible for him to infest living things with mold that corrupt and weaken them from within, reducing their speed and defense so much that even he can kill them easily, let alone his rats. This mold can also be used to break down and dispose of dead organic matter, and create mold creatures under his control

Gru also owns four cheese-making tools that he keeps in his Chuck Wagon which happen to be usable as weapons. This includes:

• Two cheese knives the size of scimitars, curved and with double-pointed tips
• A cheese fork with a shaft so long it functions as a bident
• A spico, a kind of curd-cutting tool about the size and shape of a large mace, but with a head shaped like a round cage of blades
• A curd harp, essentially a shovel where the head is a square array of cutting blades

He could try fighting with these if he wanted, but they're mostly wielded by his favorite rats when they become Rat Kings. This is when Gru commands them to use swarms of their fellow rats to create large, bear-shaped rat masses that Pepper, Rick, Wensley, and Reggie 'pilot'. These Rat Kings are very strong, but since at least a few rats die whenever the Rat Kings take a hit, they'll typically fall back to regroup if threatened with serious losses

Extra Details

Greatest Desire: To never face the consequences of his actions

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Three Likes: His rats, his cheese, and his trade

Three Dislikes: Nosy people, unreasonable people, unmanageable people

Driving Organ: After seeing where his mind got him, Gru decided to follow his heart

Worst Fear: His secret getting out

Favorite Color: Wine red

Most Like The Animal: It’s hard to say

Favorite Time of Day: Dinnertime

Style of Dress: Gru dresses in the style of early industrialists, like the archetypal oil baron, with a rough, outdoorsy sort of formal wear. He’s given to large, heavy, long coats, expensive but still highly functional, worn over a pinstriped suit vest and pants with accompanying tie, ascot, or bow tie (his favorite). He prefers dark, desaturated colors, including black, brown, gray, and red. Most often he wears gray, accentuated by wine red. He’s seldom seen without gloves or boots, a mix of function and (perhaps questionable) fashion that nevertheless form a iconic aesthetic. Most iconic of all are his very small dark spectacles and his 'mad hatter' top hat. That hat's brim has upward-turned side flaps that are much larger and rounder than usual which together with its pink underside give the impression of big, floppy ears. One other thing to note is that all of his coats seemingly have a big gray fur collar. On closer inspection, this collar is actually a mass of live rats, so he literally has rats on him at all times (when possible, anyway). He also keeps one of his four favorite rats under his hat at all times, which itself wears a hat while doing so

Favorite Season: Spring, the best season for farm animals to feed on fresh growth, and thus the best season for cheese

Beliefs: That everybody deserves a second chance

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

I'm glad you guys like it. I was thinking of changing the hat to a top hat so it makes more sense that a rat could be beneath it, and yeah, the rat in question would naturally also be wearing a top hat. I made the requested edit. The Valley of Blight would be an interesting place to go and I'd be inclined to pick it, but we'd need a really good reason to go there IC, lol. Not to mention a way to preserve our food to prevent mold spores from getting into it (or someone who can manipulate mold to keep the food clean proactively). I'll admit that I did shamelessly crib from Color Out of Space for that one. It's a pretty good story.

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

Ok, here you go. I'm happy with how it turned out but amenable to suggestions.

If I had any friends, they would call me…Gru

Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg

Race, Age, Time in the Caravan:
Human (Supposedly), 34, 2 years 8 months and 1 day

Appearance:
Though ostensibly human, Gru possesses an odd assortment of shapes and proportions that make him seem less like a real person and more like a caricature come to life. Standing on the shorter side at a mere 5’7”, Gru possesses a somewhat unimpressive, heavyset physique, with thin arms and legs, a rotund middle, and not much neck, which his hunched posture certainly doesn’t help. His eyes are small, sunken, and a beady black. He bears a very prominent hooked nose, a strong chin made even stronger by his pointed goatee, and what might be termed a triple mustache with three tapered lengths extending to either side. It’s wenge, a dark drab brown, like his somewhat greasy hair, which is worn slicked back with a long, thin ponytail. Large, scruffy eyebrows and sideburns complete the look. His skin is quite pale, though it gets quite pink around his nose, ears, chin, et cetera

History:
For centuries, if anyone were to go searching around the world for a place they could call ‘paradise’, they might have very well ended up at Arcadia, the Valley of Plenty. Its famous black soil, rich with minerals and impossibly fertile, can be traced back to the activity of volcanoes that arose long ago thanks to the region’s fault line. Exactly when settlers first arrived to farm the valley is up for debate, but eventually people of all shapes and sizes would flock to the region in an unprecedented gold rush not for metal, but for grain. For a time budding nations fought over the Valley of Plenty, but after almost destroying the area’s natural beauty and abundance forever, wiser heads prevailed in the nick of time to strike a truce. The paradise became Arcadia, a no-man’s land and a shared blessing to all, governed by a council with representatives from various nations and hailed by many as the agricultural capital of the world. It would remain that way for an age, so valuable to surrounding nations that any threat to it would result in action from all the rest, keeping the Valley of Plenty in peace.

During that time, many mercantile guilds would come and go, managing trade both within Arcadia and with foreign countries. With so many competing interests, its economy was in a state of constant flux, but a few guilds endured. One was the Chemists’ Guild. It specialized in investment, repayment, research, and development, with fingers in countless given pies at any one moment despite the rather tight-knit, clandestine nature with which it operated. The Chemists provided miraculous fertilizers and other products that enriched their clients with harvests of unprecedented bounty even for Arcadia, with vegetables and livestock larger than usual, as well as cultivation of crops not typically climate with the region. Other suppliers just couldn’t compete. Despite the whispers about unconventional, even occult methods, official investigators found nothing amiss, and the Chemists became rich. Of course, they new this couldn’t last. In their underground laboratories they pursued ever more ambitious means to combat soil depletion and ensure that the perennial bumper crop never wavered. One day, things went wrong.

That night, there was no massive explosion. No destruction or indication of any calamity whatsoever. Yet in the morning, with no fanfare, the Chemists quietly packed their bags and left. Those who saw them thought nothing of it, for the Chemists often traveled to secure the rare and exotic materials for their craft, but in the weeks afterward things began to change. It began with the soil, as it became slightly discolored, adopting an odd, fuzzy texture. The crops planted at the time began to experience accelerated growth, initially celebrated by the farmers as the Chemists’ latest innovation made free to all in as a mark of respect for the age-old, often-forgotten tradition of Arcadian generosity. But as large as they grew, the crops weren’t quite right. They came out with strange colors and textures, tasting terrible. Livestock experienced madness and premature death. Soon, the people began to curse the Chemists for unleashing a plague upon them. Those with the means began to leave, but the rest did what they could to purge the disease and try again for the better. Instead, things continued to worsen. Strange, fuzzy growths appeared all over the ground. Animals began to experience grotesque deformities, dying or rampaging in large numbers. The people who remained were in denial, eventually to a delusional extent, and evidencing signs of infection themselves. Attempts at stopping the infection failed, and soon the whole valley was under quarantine.

Within months, fungal mold had infested all of Arcadia, taking over and eventually consuming everything that had ever eaten infected food. Few witnesses ever risked going into what would come to be known as Mycelia, the Valley of Blight, but disturbing rumors got out about what happened deep inside. They say that the mold eventually replaced everything that it killed. Mold birds singing in mold trees that bore mold fruits. Mold predators roaming mold woods hunting mold beasts that nibbled mold grass. Mold farmers tilling mold fields and selling mold grains. Mold men worshiping mold gods and dreaming mold dreams about a land of perfect peace and happiness with neither grief, nor disparity, nor greed.

Well before the point that the ruin of Arcadia became known far and wide, a man who called himself Gruyere E.C. Yarg, known to his friends as Gru (if only he had any, as he often jokes), joined the Pilgrim’s Caravan with a small carriage run by rats. Styling himself as a self-made merchant, he used his travels with them to run a small-scale cheese-making operation. Rather than horde money, he put most of his earnings back into his business, either improving his ever-evolving Chuck Wagon or purchasing milk, feed, rennet, grapes, salt, and cheese-making tips from the various farms he visited during his travels. Gradually he’d build up a reputation as a sleazy-looking but reliable itinerant merchant, his quality products (if not his attitude) earning him a good reputation. Like many members of the Caravan, he doesn’t talk about his past much, and if asked only ever mentions a boring and humble beginning in the small village of Stilton, never bothering to mention where it was. The past, as Gru says, is behind him. He wants nothing more than to practice his beloved craft, care for his beloved rats, and live a comfortable, quiet life.

Personality:
To most, Gruyere would appear to be the archetypal unsavory businessman or snake oil salesman. He’s greedy, cunning, jocular, and capricious, bitingly sarcastic one moment and an obsequious lickspittle the next. Whatever it takes to make the sale. In fact, his manner sometimes undermines the fact that his products are actually very high quality, made to his exacting standards. In terms of his business dealings, he’s actually pretty honest. He’s just not very nice. Highly secretive and private, both about his trade skills and life, he isn’t very social and minds his own business as much as possible. While he doesn’t like conflict, he’s competitive and vindictive, never forgetting a slight. He cares a lot about his rats, both for their own sake and for the joy they bring him, and he gives them all the love that withholds from his fellow man. A perennial miser, he never does anything for free, and he expects anyone he deals with to honor their word

Motivation: To continue building up his business and ‘family’ in pursuit of a comfortable life

Skills, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Tools:

• + Cheesemonger: Gru’s trade skill. He’s cultivated almost encyclopedic knowledge of how to make cheeses, from the chemistry of their creation to the tools needed to produce them. The cheeses he makes are of very high quality and nutritional value, and he prides himself on their appearances and flavors across a whole host of different styles. This is how he makes his money while in the Caravan; taking and orders while on the road, selling pre-made cheeses or taking orders for clients, then aging the cheeses he makes until the Caravan visits them again and he can fulfill those orders. Somewhat more recently he’s also tried diversifying into wine, a trade that demands even more patience but pairs well with his main craft. He makes these foodstuffs with a speed and efficiency few can match
• + Friend of Animals: Gru is much better with animals than he is with people. This extends to most (domesticated) animals, so whether it’s cows, goats, sheep, or even camels and yaks, they feel comfortable and affectionate around him, and he around them. This means he can often get top yield from whatever animals he encounters, and he’s a surprisingly good companion on hunts
• + Rat Authority - His natural bond with one animal completely transcends all the rest: rats. For whatever reason, he’s so completely in-tune with rats that they lack any fear of or hostility toward him, even in huge numbers. He knows how to take good care of rats, and ‘his’ rats listen to him almost unconditionally, obeying his orders like trained dogs and exhibiting unusual intelligence, strength, and dexterity. This goes double for his four favorite rats: Pepper Jack, Rick Otta, Wensley Dale, and Reggie Ano. If Gru is the general, they are the captains. Working as hordes under his command, his rats are capable of astonishing feats, so much so that one can’t help but wonder if this bond is supernatural
• + The Chuck Wagon: Named after his father Charles, Gru’s personal method of transportation is possibly the most impressive thing about him. It’s one of the largest wagons in the Pilgrim’s Caravan by far, and isn’t just a living space, but a mobile cheese factory that he’s put huge amounts of money into perfecting. It’s divided into ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ halves, each with their own doors on the right side. The wet half is essentially a laboratory, with multiple vats and tanks for liquid storage, milk coagulation, curd separation, brining, and so forth, all watertight and able to be locked down during travel. There’s even vat for the crushing and fermentation of grapes The dry half has shelves for drying and aging cheese (and also wine), and is where Gru lives. The top floor of the Chuck Wagon, about a foot in height and known as the ‘attic’, is a compartment reserved exclusively for his rats. They have little houses in there with straw bedding, food stores, etc, and on good days Gru can open up the top of the wagon to make the little village open to the air. On the left side of the wagon are two large silos, one filled with water and the other with rat food, including grains, seeds, and nuts. Perhaps most interesting is how the wagon moves; instead of being drawn by horses or other beasts of burden, it has eight enormous wheels, four in the front and four in the back. These are hollow and function as giant hamster wheels, making the Chuck Wagon entirely rat-powered. The rats work the wheels (and, under Gru’s supervision, the kitchen) in shifts and go up into the attic to rest
• - Noncombatant: Gru isn’t really a fighter. He doesn’t have the constitution for it, nor the interest. He prefers to get others -people or otherwise- to do his fighting for him, especially if there’s serious risk and/or publicity involved
• - Something Irreplaceable: Although Gru’s greatest strength, the Chuck Wagon is also his greatest weakness. It’s very important to him, and he’s extremely averse to any damage to it. Losing it is practically out of the question, and there’s very little he wouldn’t do to keep it safe. After all, it’s not just the source of his livelihood; it’s everything he owns, and without it, he’d be almost nothing. The same goes for his rats. While losing them isn’t the end of the world, they’re all his friends, and not just tools for him
• - Unlikeable: In contrast to animals, people generally don’t like him, and he doesn’t like them. His generally acerbic attitude makes it difficult for genuine relationships to form, and he prefers businesslike arrangements of give and take where expectations are clear and no strings are attached

Hidden Depths

Mycomancy
Gru isn’t just a businessman. He’s also a practitioner of a dark school of magic that manipulates fungi, especially mold–a fact he’s gone to great lengths to hide. He only ever practices it in the privacy of the Chuck Wagon’s interior, and even then in very small scale, manipulating mold to make cheese and the yeast that ferments wine to speed up the processes. In his time with the Caravan to date, he’s never needed to resort to using it for combat in front of the others, instead relying on his rats for self-defense. However, it’s possible for him to infest living things with mold that corrupt and weaken them from within, reducing their speed and defense so much that even he can kill them easily, let alone his rats. This mold can also be used to break down and dispose of dead organic matter, and create mold creatures under his control

Gru also owns four cheese-making tools that he keeps in his Chuck Wagon which happen to be usable as weapons. This includes:

• Two cheese knives the size of scimitars, curved and with double-pointed tips
• A cheese fork with a shaft so long it functions as a bident
• A spico, a kind of curd-cutting tool about the size and shape of a large mace, but with a head shaped like a round cage of blades
• A curd harp, essentially a shovel where the head is a square array of cutting blades

He could try fighting with these if he wanted, but they're mostly wielded by his favorite rats when they become Rat Kings. This is when Gru commands them to use swarms of their fellow rats to create large, bear-shaped rat masses that Pepper, Rick, Wensley, and Reggie 'pilot'. These Rat Kings are very strong, but since at least a few rats die whenever the Rat Kings take a hit, they'll typically fall back to regroup if threatened with serious losses

Extra Details

Greatest Desire: To never face the consequences of his actions

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Three Likes: His rats, his cheese, and his trade

Three Dislikes: Nosy people, unreasonable people, unmanageable people

Driving Organ: After seeing where his mind got him, Gru decided to follow his heart

Worst Fear: His secret getting out

Favorite Color: Wine red

Most Like The Animal: It’s hard to say

Favorite Time of Day: Dinnertime

Style of Dress: Gru dresses in the style of early industrialists, like the archetypal oil baron, with a rough, outdoorsy sort of formal wear. He’s given to large, heavy, long coats, expensive but still highly functional, worn over a pinstriped suit vest and pants with accompanying tie, ascot, or bow tie (his favorite). He prefers dark, desaturated colors, including black, brown, gray, and red. Most often he wears gray, accentuated by wine red. He’s seldom seen without gloves or boots, a mix of function and (perhaps questionable) fashion that nevertheless form a iconic aesthetic. Most iconic of all are his very small dark spectacles and his 'mad hatter' top hat. That hat's brim has upward-turned side flaps that are much larger and rounder than usual which together with its pink underside give the impression of big, floppy ears. One other thing to note is that all of his coats seemingly have a big gray fur collar. On closer inspection, this collar is actually a mass of live rats, so he literally has rats on him at all times (when possible, anyway). He also keeps one of his four favorite rats under his hat at all times, which itself wears a hat while doing so

Favorite Season: Spring, the best season for farm animals to feed on fresh growth, and thus the best season for cheese

Beliefs: That everybody deserves a second chance

Caravan: An Episodic Fantasy with Worldbuilding! [Always Accepting]

My idea might tickle your fancy in a similar vein then, Tortoise.

From Realms Beyond — An Isekai Crossover RP (Now Accepting)

Lewa

Thinking about it more critically, it really wasn’t all that reasonable for Lewa to expect that the others might have all the answers about the current situation. Nor that they could possibly understand or emphasize with his perspective, since everything that seemed totally foreign to him must be taken for granted by them. Still, the Knight Witch offered him a thread of hope: the possibility that the same power that brought him here, the ‘goddess’, could send him back. Of course, that meant that his fate could very well be at the mercy of this unknown entity. That left Lewa feeling very uncomfortable, his future completely uncertain. The only silver lining that he could see to this situation was that it seemed like he’d been brought here for an altruistic purpose, to save those who could not save themselves. Hopefully that pointed to this ‘goddess’ being a benign entity who’d live up to her end of the bargain. After all, she could be some callous manipulator who’d carelessly pull people out of the ether to do her bidding on the chance that she might someday send them home.

Some of the others broached a subject Lewa hadn’t really wanted to explore. He could tell as much from the sounds that reached him while he stood watch in here, but evidently those who’d ventured outside the church had taken a number of lives. As the protector of Le-wahi, he knew better than anybody the law of the jungle. “Kill or be killed,” he murmured. At the same time, though, it sounded like these were people that died. Thinking, intelligent beings. Did that mean they deserved special treatment, and to be given more of a chance? Or that they were more culpable for their acts of cruelty and violence than, say, rahi, and deserved to be treated in kind? Lewa had no idea. Matoran squabbled, sure, but in the history of his island home there had never been enemies like these. Not creatures like the Bohrok built solely for mindless destruction, nor rahi that knew not the difference between good and evil, but intelligent beings that chose to commit evil acts. Lewa didn’t feel like it was his place to act as judge, jury, and executioner. At the same time, though, he knew he wouldn’t sit idly by if some attempted to take his life, or that of a small, helpless creature. If doing so was the difference between going home or not, though…

It sounded like that was a matter he’d have to confront soon, too. Some of the others were ready to leave. Though those summoned here had managed to protect the little ones, it would appear that their task was far from over. There were evidently others that the ‘Raven Heralds’ could threaten in lieu of these youngsters, and the thought that his involvement could lead to others paying the ultimate price, even directly, made Lewa unhappy. It seemed like he had no choice but to press onward. Once that was decided, the toa started to move straight away. “In that case, we’d better go quick-fast,” he suggested. “The longer we delay-wait, the worse things will get.” He considered both Anne and Sanae’s suggestions. “I’d like to help keep the little ones safe,” he thought aloud, “But I am most swift-footed when it comes to swinging through tree-tops. I can join you as guide-scout, fellow green one. Besides, if innocents are in risk-danger, I couldn’t possibly take it easy-slow anyway!”

And there was not a moment to lose. After catching wind of the crisis in progress, Sanae quickly left the church behind, speeding off over the forest. Lewa was right behind her. As he passed the dead bodies, he barely spared them a glance. The gore of organic beings meant nothing to him, beyond the suggestion of a vaguely unsettling feeling. He sprinted toward the woods with long, quick strides, then jumped into the trees, where pushed his biomechanical body into overdrive. His iron grip, exact movements, and inhuman strength meant that he could swing from branches and jump from trunk to trunk with uncanny speed and precision, making only marginally worse time than Sanae did with no obstruction at all. True to the title of Spirit of Air, he moved like the wind. There were only two problems. One was that this forest was nowhere near as thick or lush as the tropical jungle of Le-wahi, meaning he had to push himself harder and caused more damage to his surroundings as he made his way through. Still, these were trees at the end of the day, and in a forest Lewa felt much more at home. The bigger problem was that he couldn’t always be quite sure where he was going. Every so often, while swinging from a branch, he engaged his Kanohi Miru in order to fly upward from the canopy and get a bead on the smoke. Eventually, though, he could rely solely on the sounds of terror and violence lancing through the trees, macabre as they were. Heartlight pounding, Lewa closed in on his destination, dreading not just what he might find, but whatever he might have to do.