Gathering in Defense of Darkshire

[Okor]

A steady stream of rain fell from the forsaken heavens, the constant impact of water droplets against the chosen’s carapace serving as an ersatz heartbeat. A veritable cloak of airborne contagions and scavenging vermin coalesced around him, shifting as he turned to face the oncoming individual, the stench of Omnillium cutting through the miasma surrounding him, the all-too familiar reek of Omni’s energies. Prime.

Syphilitic saliva flowed between his fangs, a pavlovian response to the proximity of pure power, the innate desire to tear the raw energy from the new arrival’s flesh suppressed by what little humanity remained within the rotting hulk. Hiro’s eyebrows rose in a questioning manner, the swordsmaster noting the lack of blades upon the modern mage’s person.

They extended a hand, the slight figure clad in denim and cotton a stark contrast to Hiro’s leather jacket and Okor’s ancient armour. “Kelly MacAryn. A pleasure to meet you both.” They spoke in a carefully measured tone, each syllable deliberately enunciated, giving the impression that they were choosing their words from a vast library of responses, rather than actually talking to their equals. A calloused and scarred hand gripped Hiro’s glove, a lazy pulse of luminescence flowing across the circuitry embedded within its make. “Dimensional traveller, psion, part-time monster hunter, and full time... Problem Solver.”

The Samurai of Semur responded in kind, his dark eyes still bloodshot from the pleasant night of self-pitying debauchery they had been torn from. “Hiro Protagonist. The greatest swordsman in the Omniverse, Hacker, and agent of the Empire. The Big Guy’s Okor. He comes from some dark future or other where they trade hygiene and air fresheners for badassery. S’quite tragic. Don't fuck with him because he can get his head cut off and completely regenerate. Also, he does this freaky thing with his rib cage, it's like watching a car accident, you can't look away.” Hiro shuddered, the memory of Okor’s savagery unleashed upon Dante’s abyss scarred into his mind.

Hiro yawned and stretched, the blades upon his back rattling as he took in his surroundings, his relaxed demeanour a stark contrast to the fear and worry permeating the atmosphere of the walled city. “So, what brings you to this beautiful little slice of the Omniverse?” Kelly laughed at this question, his mirth a mirror of Okor’s earlier attempt at humanity. “I was contacted in Coruscant. Apparently they’re going that far abroad for allies. I’d imagine it’s looking rather grim. What about yourselves?”

Hiro sighed as he pulled a flask from his jacket, draining it in a brief instant before throwing it into the rain-glutted gutter. “Y’see, I had just finished brawling with a little lightning rat that came up to my damn knees. I was all set to continue a night of drinking, trying to forget what it’s like to have a chubby yellow hamster coming at me, when this damn heap of shit comes out of the sewer, talks me into coming with him on this damn fool’s errand, and now I’m here in this damn swamp, about to relive Dante’s fucking Abyss all over again.” He turned and spat, a phantom pain revisiting his groin, the steel girding his loins a result of a hard lesson within the undead-infested island.
”The Abyss was not that terrible,” spoke the rotting raider, redundant lungs forcing out a deep, rasping voice, the infectious tones bouncing off of the cobbled stone walls as they continued their journey through Darkshire. ”There were a few unfortunate deaths, but in all, it was an… interesting experience. Our time there hardly left us unprepared for this.” He ended his sentence with a hacking cough, the corruption within him consuming him at a pace matched only by his regenerative abilities.

Hiro shook his head, dreadlocks gently shifting. “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to put ‘Experienced Zombie Slayer’ on my resume.” He sighed, kicking a discarded, rusted helm to the side of the worn dirt street. “You know, I thought of something. We’ve got a wizard, a warrior, and a rogue. Add in a cleric, and we’ve got ourselves a half-decent adventuring party.”

Okor coughed in a polite fashion, the runes carved deep into flesh and ferrous armour alike burning a sickly green. Hiro scoffed, slapping Okor’s back before what little sobriety remained could scream in terror at the thought of touching the gangrenous giant. “Well, I suppose you reek enough for two unwashed vagabonds. Look, Okor, we’re gonna go get in contact with the local authorities. Are you gonna come with us, or are you going to head off and do something vague and sinister?”

”The latter. I must find my… flock.”

“Well, that’s about par for the course. I’m sure you’ll show up once there’s blood in the water.”

Okor turned, departing the Psion and Protagonist, footsteps echoing down the graffiti-ridden walls as he stalked down into the slums of Darkshire. Fear, despair, and disease all combined, a beautiful bouquet to his warped senses. The lost and the damned, calling out for salvation.

And what kind of a hero would he be if he denied them?