04-25-2016, 05:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-12-2018, 04:20 PM by The Vision.)
Dr. McNinja's iPhone purred, searching for scraps of signal in this god-forsaken world. He was sitting by an abandoned campfire, Yoshi snoring gently nearby. He had long since given up on reigniting the ashy twigs, and instead resolved to sit through the cold night.
The Pale Moors. He'd never been here before. It was simply a delightful place. The area outside of the gate was a swamp, straight from the recipe: start with the stereotypical stink of eggs old enough to enjoy whiskey, and add the ominous gurgle from swamp gas that the muddy gunk rudely emitted. To top it off, sprinkle in a thick mist which limited your vision to arm's length and coated your face with uncomfortable humidity. And, of course, mix in the crowd of tiny flying insects, too small and fast to catch or identify. Dr. McNinja counted at least four diseases he could catch just from sitting here.
Even Yoshi, who could normally maintain a quick speed, was exhausted by the grueling quagmire surrounding them. The main path had disappeared about half a trek ago, so forfeit was not an option. Though, frankly, it never was from the beginning. Not when King Radical was involved.
Doc couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something very sinister about King Radical. He just knew that the man was planning on something. Something evil. Otherwise, he probably would have made a beeline for the forest paradise he called home; but he had to stop whatever plan Radical was cooking up.
He crossed his legs gingerly. He considered swapping out the white labcoat in favor of clothes that weren't so hard to keep clean. While it demonstrated his doctorates, it was not fit for adventuring. To at least keep it relatively clean, he had draped it carefully over a less soaked log.
Dr. McNinja straightened his back, let his eyes close, and began to hum.
Ever since he arrived in the Omniverse, Dr. McNinja lost many of his abilities. Of course, he regained some of it, and learned new ones. Like the chainsaw nunchucks - a fairly recently invented branch of ninjutsu, but very powerful. Only Mongo the Uberninja could wield it with any serious threat. And Mongo, well, he was an Uberninja.
Yet Doc's translation to this place cost him one ability which he sorely missed. Back home, Dr. McNinja could channel his life energy to shift parts of his body into an ethereal state. This technique allowed him to strike other ethereal beings, evil spirits like the ghost that stole his grandfather. The ghost that stole his name.
Patrick.
Doc felt the word roll in his mouth, leaving a sharp taste of copper. He was never really part of the family, and that was understandable. His disregard for his grandfather's orders led to John's death. And his lack of a first name strangely estranged him from his parents, which was a bizarre experience altogether. He didn't just lose his name, he lost the right to having one entirely. It was almost a relief to get his Ph.D.; at least now people had something to call him by.
"Damn," Doc muttered, "That was a while ago."
He pulled out his phone, finally getting connection. Doc was usually not this sentimental. Maybe this was some sort of psychic phenomenon about the place. Or maybe that was just the gross, foggy swampiness strangling his direct vicinity. The swamp was bubbling intensely, as if the swamp had been holding in a fart for about a week.
Nurse Matilda was right. This place was horrible. The entire Verse seemed more or less overrun by monsters. Which was, you know, charming. A harsh swamp area, filled with horror movie cliches. Just charming.
Dracula Castle was here, apparently. Doc frowned. This meant, he supposed, that this Dracula was probably not a resident of the Moon. He hoped that this didn't mean he had to kill more vampires. Well, okay, he sorta did. Well, okay, he definitely did.
But then... he read something disturbing.
Doc looked up.
There was a thick fog everywhere.
"Oh no."
The swamp started bubbling even more.
"Oh come on."
The Pale Moors. He'd never been here before. It was simply a delightful place. The area outside of the gate was a swamp, straight from the recipe: start with the stereotypical stink of eggs old enough to enjoy whiskey, and add the ominous gurgle from swamp gas that the muddy gunk rudely emitted. To top it off, sprinkle in a thick mist which limited your vision to arm's length and coated your face with uncomfortable humidity. And, of course, mix in the crowd of tiny flying insects, too small and fast to catch or identify. Dr. McNinja counted at least four diseases he could catch just from sitting here.
Even Yoshi, who could normally maintain a quick speed, was exhausted by the grueling quagmire surrounding them. The main path had disappeared about half a trek ago, so forfeit was not an option. Though, frankly, it never was from the beginning. Not when King Radical was involved.
Doc couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something very sinister about King Radical. He just knew that the man was planning on something. Something evil. Otherwise, he probably would have made a beeline for the forest paradise he called home; but he had to stop whatever plan Radical was cooking up.
He crossed his legs gingerly. He considered swapping out the white labcoat in favor of clothes that weren't so hard to keep clean. While it demonstrated his doctorates, it was not fit for adventuring. To at least keep it relatively clean, he had draped it carefully over a less soaked log.
Dr. McNinja straightened his back, let his eyes close, and began to hum.
Ever since he arrived in the Omniverse, Dr. McNinja lost many of his abilities. Of course, he regained some of it, and learned new ones. Like the chainsaw nunchucks - a fairly recently invented branch of ninjutsu, but very powerful. Only Mongo the Uberninja could wield it with any serious threat. And Mongo, well, he was an Uberninja.
Yet Doc's translation to this place cost him one ability which he sorely missed. Back home, Dr. McNinja could channel his life energy to shift parts of his body into an ethereal state. This technique allowed him to strike other ethereal beings, evil spirits like the ghost that stole his grandfather. The ghost that stole his name.
Patrick.
Doc felt the word roll in his mouth, leaving a sharp taste of copper. He was never really part of the family, and that was understandable. His disregard for his grandfather's orders led to John's death. And his lack of a first name strangely estranged him from his parents, which was a bizarre experience altogether. He didn't just lose his name, he lost the right to having one entirely. It was almost a relief to get his Ph.D.; at least now people had something to call him by.
"Damn," Doc muttered, "That was a while ago."
He pulled out his phone, finally getting connection. Doc was usually not this sentimental. Maybe this was some sort of psychic phenomenon about the place. Or maybe that was just the gross, foggy swampiness strangling his direct vicinity. The swamp was bubbling intensely, as if the swamp had been holding in a fart for about a week.
Nurse Matilda was right. This place was horrible. The entire Verse seemed more or less overrun by monsters. Which was, you know, charming. A harsh swamp area, filled with horror movie cliches. Just charming.
Dracula Castle was here, apparently. Doc frowned. This meant, he supposed, that this Dracula was probably not a resident of the Moon. He hoped that this didn't mean he had to kill more vampires. Well, okay, he sorta did. Well, okay, he definitely did.
But then... he read something disturbing.
Quote:"Travelers leaving Darkshire are advised not to eat or drink anything they find in the wildness and avoid any dense fog they may encounter, particularly around the abandoned city of Silent Hill in the mountains."
Doc looked up.
There was a thick fog everywhere.
"Oh no."
The swamp started bubbling even more.
"Oh come on."
![[Image: 665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/3590/f/2018/193/c/8/665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg)
Odd hours. Call for appointment.