Zeroth

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

@ERode Then he just immediately discovers some exploit of his Class and becomes OP!

"Some Girl I Just Met Five Minutes Ago Kicked Me Out of the Party, So I Became the Strongest!"

Brought to you by Kadokawa. Instant anime of the season.

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

Noooo, Ying-tan, it's a trap! Don't let your guard down around the strange man in a bathrobe! Quick, a hoe to the face! HOE TO THE FACE!!! IT'S SELF-DEFENSE!

@Xaltwind

TOO LATE, HE HAS ALREADY PROMISED TO MAMORU! >:D

Once a guy says he's gonna mamoru you, you're nakama. No backsies!

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

--- Northeastern Edge ---

Akitsugu

Late Morning / Early Midday
@Rune_Alchemist

---

---

Karmic wrath? Is she saying she's...done something to deserve that? In response to such a question, Akitsugu could only shake his head with a blank look. As the girl explained herself, he took in her appearance and realized that she was holding a farming implement, not a staff. Why had he felt as if she should've been holding one of the ringed staves used by monks in his homeland? As if it were as natural for someone to carry such a thing as it was for a blacksmith to carry a sword. He eyed it somewhat warily, at least until her white knuckled grip on the hoe relaxed.

"Ah, my name is..." He paused. Traditionally one would give their family name first, but... Even if he was a foreigner, perhaps it was best not to risk recognition. "Akitsugu. I am a blacksmith by trade...or, at least, I'd like to be. It is a pleasure, Miss Yingmei." His waist bent slightly as his gaze dipped towards the ground. But, it seemed they were both mistaken---she wasn't one of the natives, either. Based on what she said Akitsugu also felt it safe to assume she was not with any of the others he'd seen thus far: the falling person, the couple in the wagon, or any of the other folks loudly traipsing about the place.

"No, I'm not---If this place has truly been abandoned until now, then it seems Fate, or something else, has called us all here." He folded his arms and sighed, as he turned his gaze back on the derelict buildings. "We can only hope none of them are bandits either." The most noise seemed to be coming from the group around the well, but Akitsugu imagined any band of cutthroats worth their grime wouldn't want to draw attention to themselves until they were ready to pounce. He gestured in that direction with a nod of his head.

"Shall we go see what the hubbub is about? If something untoward does happen, I give you my word I'll do my best to protect us."

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

Quick posts are good too!
But the dwarven huntress does not have a camel... ^^;

@Xaltwind

Be a lot cooler if she did

*mental image of smol person trying to scramble onto the saddle at the top of a tall humped camel*

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

<Snipped quote by ERode>

Do you have any idea the plans that would need to be situated just to cover the shere audacity of people who might come to chat? And if the v-tuber got famous? Oh gods have mercy!

@BunniesOfDoom

And the PORN!

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

--- Northwestern Edge > Northeastern Edge ---

Akitsugu

@Rune_Alchemist

---

---

Following the sound of the hammer only he seemed able to hear, he ended up making a wide circle around the edge of the village. He knew that certain professions---those who tanned leather, made charcoal, and so forth---often lived on the outskirts of a settlement because of the noxious smells, loud noises, or other disturbances their crafts produced. The blacksmith was one of these. He knew he had to be getting closer, because he could hear the echo of a crackling flame and the whoosh of a bellows now, too. He didn't know where these sounds, or the dreams, had come from. Only that they had started perhaps a few weeks ago, at the most, from what he could remember... He had already convinced an innkeeper or two that he was insane, asking about them. Even Miyusahime could not hear them. Her denial, of all things, made him believe he might actually be crazy... Until he had come here, to the source.

There was a shout, nearer to the village center. It sounded like someone else had arrived at the well? When he passed from the west to the east, crossing the major thoroughfare of the village, he had been able to see down the old road to the large wagon where a man and a woman seemed to be... either arguing or celebrating, he wasn't sure. So who was the third person? Another new arrival like himself?

A strangely shaped shadow, followed by a distant roar, made him jump in surprise and look up.

"Was that an airship?!" he wondered aloud---before his eyes next caught the small dot growing closer to the earth. "Is that a person!?" Panic caused his eyes to swell as he clasped both hands to his head. Should he try to... catch them, or something?! Was there anything he could do?! They weren't coming down on top of him---how had they fallen off in the first place?! He started to pace in circles, worried face looking skyward.

Then, a giant plant erupted from the person's back. Like a dandelion pappus, they slowly, calmly, floated down... and disappeared among the structures elsewhere in the village.

"... What the hell is up with this place?" came a shaky voice from the red-haired man's waist. Akitsugu simply stood there, dumbstruck, for several moments. Then, without a word, he turned and resumed his quest. At the very least, it seemed he was not the only victim of this village to undergo a loss of sanity.

---

He found it shortly. It was a decently sized building---or, rather, a combination of two small buildings. Divided into a working area and a living area, it was unmistakably a smithy. A furnace made of fired clay bricks and limestone mortar sat cold and unused, parts of its chimney and fuel chamber crumbling away amidst a pile of once-powdery ash that had packed itself into a sort of crumbly clod. There was a cracked anvil, a tilted rack whose rust-eaten tools had scattered all over the floor, and...not much else.

The living area had no furniture whatsoever, and its floor was naught but cold, stamped earth covered in a layer of dust so thick one could've planted seeds in it. An enormous hole allowed a bright shaft of sunlight into the otherwise dark chamber. What had probably once been a central firepit was now filled with debris from the roof. Whoever lived here before must have dedicated themselves to the workshop, and done all their cooking, sleeping, and whatever else in this same cramped house.

The combined buildings shared walls, of which only three remained standing. It was thus a sort of long rectangle, missing one of its square faces. It seemed the supporting timbers had either rotted or been knocked down somehow---broken boards, crumbling daub, and moldy thatch formed a larger pile of refuse here.

"Well...at least it can keep me out of the wind for a bit..." He walked all the way around it, examining the rest of the structure---just as someone came around the corner of a different house nearby.

@Rune_Alchemist He jumped back as they nearly collided, one hand going down towards his hip as his eyes narrowed. She--for it was a girl---shouted, and the fear in her voice stopped him from reaching beneath his coat. He blinked at her in confusion.

"...Swamp water and mud...?" he repeated, tilting his head. "Um...hello..." He gulped, and slowly raised his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. "Are you... from here? I'm a traveler, myself..."

I thought some of these figures moving around had to be actual villagers, but if every other house around here is like this smithy, the original inhabitants have been gone for a long, long time... His eyes nervously darted to and fro, as the possibility occurred to him that this girl might be a distraction for a clever bandit ambush. If they're not... Were they, too, somehow drawn here? If so... was there some purpose to it all? What manner of enchantments could be at play, and what was their source?

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

@Zeroth
Yasunami looked like he needed to be bothered so I deliver unto thee the farmer.

@Rune_Alchemist

:D

"HAEH!?" She'd shout, stumbling away from Akitsugu.

SHE'S NOT A FARMER, SHE'S MOCOCO!!!


And now that's what Yingmei's voice sounds like in my head forever.

Blackguards!

---

---

Auguz the Manslayer

---

---

In his dream, he was no longer a child. On an arched, wooden bridge he stood over a pond fully of brightly colored, gawp-mouthed fish. He still remembered this night, and would always remember it, with the clarity of pure, transparent ice. The moon was bright and white overhead. The night breeze rustled the great curtains of wisteria, above a mossy slope like an island in the white sands. To either side of the bridge, the finely raked sands rippled around great rocks just as cold and hard as the rest of the fortress; barren islands upon a dead, empty sea, an all too fitting image for the stagnant clan. The peace of their enlightenment had become complacency. And like a fish leaping from that sea, he had broken their placid laws.

The old orc, who had dared call himself a master at only that level of skill, seemed small now. The leathery skin and slender body still belied strength and sinew, and the thick white brows hid a deep intellect beneath their shadows. But now, as he was no longer a child, he could tell that the elder was exactly that---old. Withered. How had he ever believed this sack of bones, chained down by tradition and weighted by ignorance, to be the pinnacle of swordsmanship? The answer was simple. Like the fish that surged underneath them, eager for tossed crumbs whenever they saw a shadow pass over the bridge, as a child he had never known better. This fortress, carved into its unmoving mountain, looking only as high as its towers could stretch, had been his entire world. The elder had simply been a large, fat, and lazy frog at the bottom of a shallow well. As a child, he had been only a minnow. But he had feasted upon that frog's flesh and blood, and grown strong off its fattened carcass. He had climbed out of the well, he had descended the mountain, and he had seen far beyond the towers.

The so-called master drew his blade, and so did he. In the past, his weapon had been mere wood. Now, his steel gleamed so much brighter than the elder's, it was as if he held a sliver of the white moon above them in his hands. In his dream, the battle played out, as it always did, in the same way. The old orc came at him with the same tired, basal techniques. Yet, as a child, he had nearly died because of his weakness and stupidity against those same movements. But he had won, because what he lacked in body and intelligence had been compensated with familiarity, talent, and bloodlust. He had watched the false teacher from afar, and fought with the pitiful wretches the old orc called students. He had already picked up on their tendencies, their bad habits, their stylistic preferences that served no purpose but to differentiate them among the families of the same Clan who had used the same arts for centuries. His talent, some quality and quirk of his muscles and his nerves, some combination of his eyes and his reflexes, had already enabled him to grow rapidly---perhaps, in the end, it was only because his want to learn had been greater. Because he hungered for something beyond this diluted, impure bladework; for more of the glimmer, the spark, he had seen in one swing.

But his bloodlust, that was the deciding factor. Malice, overflowing, filled his muscles and burned his throat with the fire spitting from his lungs. His kills were fresher; how long had it been since the old orc had gone out to the field? In a matter of days, a child had whittled down a family's bloodline by an entire generation. His hateful onslaught had surprised his enemy. At that time, he had not yet learned to break down his opponents piece by piece, to cut them apart in mind and soul as well as body. He had only cared about doing as much harm, and more, to those that had harmed him first. When his wooden sword met the master's blade, he had not cared about preserving his weapon, and had pressed forward when the elder thought he would draw back. At the moment he was cut---a scar that had now nearly faded away, just below his eye---he had not flinched back or gained distance to assess the damage. He had let it bleed and had struck back with twice the ferocity.

Yet, as a child, he had still been an idiot. If that withered excuse of a swordsman had not let his emotions overwhelm him, if mere sentimentality had not overcome his training, then the child would have died that night. Instead, despite being the first to draw, he had pleaded to end their duel. The elder had finally seen the error of his ways. But because his young opponent was no longer young in this dream, he could look back on this moment with greater clarity. With hindsight, with wisdom and experience gained over long years of travel and many battles, he could look back at the old, pathetic fool who knelt before the whelp who had bested him.

He did not regret killing the other orc. If he had accepted the offer, if he had gone to train under such a pitiful master and atoned for his sins, he would not have come as far as he had. It was pointless to consider how much better such a life could have been, a life with his father and his mother still alive, a life where he had been permitted to practice the sword within the peaceful walls among his own kind...

And so, the dream continued to play out as it had for a length of time he could not recall. The battle played out as it always did. The old orc came at him with the same techniques. But this time, he questioned himself. To step to the left, and strike the foe's sword-arm off at his elbow? Or to plunge towards the right, and sweep off the exposed leg? The last time he had this dream he had done one, and the time before that he had done the other. This time he merely turned his body, letting the strike slide down the flat of his blade, and the elder ran into his elbow chest-first. As the old orc's image stumbled back, he looked at his opponent dumbly, without realizing he was a ghost. But, just as one who knew the false teacher's personality imagined he might, the fool became irritated, and attacked again.

This phantom duel continued, looping over and over again. Each time, he tried something new. Each time, he taunted his foe. Maimed him. Crippled him. And finally, with some maneuver he knew the orcs of his Clan had probably never encountered, he killed the withered memory. Over, and over, and over again. He had already proved that, as he was now, he was far beyond that fat, ugly frog at the bottom of the well. Yet still he tortured and killed the elder, again and again. Because it would never be enough.

And so the dream would have gone on, if not for...

---

You have woken.

"Nnnrgh..." How long had he been asleep? How long had he been within the Maw? His survival instincts fought with the glowing embers deep in his bowels that had never accepted this fate. Another memory replayed itself, this one far more recent. Knights died beneath his blades, though they were each of them quite skilled and well armored. He had worked for his victory, though victory it was...until she had arrived. He had been defiant to the last, yet he had been...crushed. The heat of shame filled his face, turning the green skin purple as scars stood out white. Shame fed the embers and threatened to flame up as rage. Yet that icy presence prickling his mind triggered all the dark thoughts his dream self had surpassed. Outside the dream, he felt as if he were a child again before this...this...

"_...Witch..." His parched throat croaked. How dare she stand before him! Why could he not move---this blasted, abominable magic, how could it hold someone down such that they could not even struggle? Ropes and chains, at the least, could be pushed against until one felt the bite and grind against flesh! No matter his efforts, he could not even feel the resistance against the binding force that held him in sway! It wasn't...it wasn't...

Patience. All in due time. They are waking.

It's not fair! screamed the childish voice deep within him. What right had the gods to bestow such sorcery to mortals?! To lose as one against an army, to have his throat slit in the dark or his drink poisoned---these things all existed, they were real! If he, as the strongest of all swordsmen, died to such a fate then he was, in his own way, still the strongest! But with mere words, with thoughts and intent, magicians altered what was real and what was illusion. They were liars, and cheats, and cowards! But he was too restrained, it seemed, even to rant and rave. He settled for glaring at her, even though his eyes kept drifting to the others in the room...

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

--- Northwestern Edge ---

Yasunami Akitsugu

---

---

To any side of the stony ridge, he could see a great distance. There was, most certainly, a strange power to this land, for in every direction the world changed in a manner more...swift? Smooth? Short? How could one describe it? So many different environments, all competing with one another as if to fit on the same page of the atlas. In other places, one could walk for days among the same trees, or along the same river. Here, it took mere hours. Why, if he were to look to the north this very moment, he could see snowfields just at the edge of his eyes' range; and if he were to look to the west, he would see the dull yellows and rocky ochres of a desert on the horizon.

Part of it, perhaps, was his elevation. He came down soon into the vale, leaving rocky mountains and cavernous ravines behind, following in reverse the path he had begun the previous day. The last village he had come through---the last real village---had told him of an abandoned mine in the region called the Cragstone Valley where he might find some worthwhile ore.

But, he dared not enter the place. He had come far enough to see the landscape with his own eyes, and that had been too difficult in its own right. He needed more preparations, more supplies...and he certainly could not stay in the wilds, not in such unfamiliar and seemingly bewitched environs. No, one night had been enough to tell him all of that. He looked towards the ruins, nestled almost too conveniently at the center of this lush, verdant dip in the landscape betwixt so many strange locales.

The ringing grew louder in his ears. He stopped, and looked all around, but to no avail. So it was this place, after all.

"I thought you said we weren't going to risk sleeping in some bandit's hideaway!" Almost at his left shoulder, a voice spoke up with all the air of an unpleased, spoilt young lady. "Why don't you go back to the other place?!"

"That," he answered, "would take far too long. I am already running too low on rations. At the least, I need water." He adjusted the weight of the pack on his shoulders, and glanced towards the hem of his long red coat. "I also didn't say anything about bandits."

"C'mon! A place that looks like that? Definitely bandits! Or goblins! Or...gh-gh-ghosts..." An odd rattling, not unlike that of teeth, yet with a distinct metallic tone, followed the trailing voice.

"If the mine was abandoned, it is likely the village was as well. If any remain there, surely they aren't enough to threaten us." He patted his own hip reassuringly. "Although, to be honest, I almost hope..."

He stopped, just past the subtle shift in the landscape where wilderness gave way to civilization. Footpaths, fence-lines, roads, and other things had long been encroached by the grasslands and brambles, but there was still a sort of "threshold" between the hamlet and its surroundings. But the village did not seem exactly the same as the last time he had passed it from afar.

"...There actually are people here?" the unseen voice whispered low.

"Indeed..." A small settlement like this, in a low plain like this, did not hide much of itself. Amidst ruined buildings to the west, someone was moving---a child, perhaps? That didn't seem right to his senses, though he couldn't say why. He didn't have a clear view of them at the moment. But further down the thoroughfare, a wagontop stood out against the covering of the old well. And...

There were others. He hadn't laid eyes on them yet either, but somehow, like the ringing in his ears---which had now grown not quieter, but more distant---he just had... a feeling.

What was this place? Why did it call to them so?

"Be careful, Aki-tan." The voice went silent. He hummed in acknowledgement, and folded his arms over his chest. Slowly, his head on a swivel, he began to walk through the village in search of the source of the ringing---for as it had grown distant, it had also grown clear. It was coming from somewhere. He stopped, and turned, and followed where the sound seemed loudest. Yet the moment he stepped in the wrong direction, it would nearly fall silent, and he had to look for it again. It was the ring of steel upon steel. A hammer upon an anvil. Tools against a table. And he intended to find whence the ghostly sound had come...

A New Day; Cozy Fantasy Village Life

Who needs guns anyways? ;3

@ERode

Ah, the latest batch of graduates from good ol' Vincent Clortho's Public School for Wizards! XD