The Secondary Saga

[Gildarts]

Stage 4 - PART 2 just happened! Below will be the RP'd version of how everyone stumbles on together. Feel free to give your own interpretation as well as impact the group with your own character.

[spoiler]The following have received a "bonus" item. Check yo' inbox, beasts.

Lyra, Christa, Grobdum, Isaac, Klaud.

As for the next phase (5), if anyone gets a bonus, I will personally make you the best item imaginable.[/spoiler]

Remember this phase still prioritizes character interaction and will last until Monday Evening (a little earlier than midnight, but I will take requests, possibly.)

As for anything else, next phase will be *intense* I'll probably let that one last 4 days as well. I'll be writing up the hints after this post, so I will definitely be looking for how you all apply them to your posts (should you choose).

//OOC: to Zack, and crew wondering why only our pair is not yet at the rendezvous, we WILL be at my next post (or zack's), but part of the reuniting "arrival" involves mainly that we are delayed because we don't have "the (prized) map" it makes sense that everyone gets a slightly different challenge and we're about to show up. its not like we got lost or went astray or anything ;)

<Context: it's mainly a balancer effect to reinforce the actual advantage that winning the map has brought>

Extra: Ghost girl won't be seen until after phase five, unless Urg or Abner choose to see them in their next posts.

Happy writing everyone!

Raw Onion used a demure voice as she guided her group with the occasional glance from Lyra to make sure they were going the right way. Of course almost everyone had wondered what had happened to the others, there would be no real way to search –especially through the armies is the undead– for the survivors of the temple's destruction. There was no way to be sure they were even alive, as the group had just barely managed themselves. So, they carried in the torch, perhaps if they were able to find Omni, it would bring meaning to their deaths, or he would even wave his divine hand and resurrect those who had sacrificed all for their cause.

Their guided wanderings from the map brought each of them *safely* to a location with curved trees with empty black branches that clawed at the sky. The location had been some distance away from the Blighted Dell and appeared to have suffered from a horrible fire, yet the cursed trees still grew into the sky, lifeless.


IRIS computed an accurate route using some internal mechanisms –such as data the robot had sifted through on the web– and soon the winding paths all converged into one. The group was lead among the strands of direction, and delved deeper into the forest, where they met some not-so-friendly faces. They were bombarded with the undead, all weapons blazed in the massacre as the group drew near to the blackened and charred area. Rictoffen's mind was send rushing back into the past, where he had once dealt with a problem too similar to this. Their group was surrounded, yet the group's willpower thrived and the determination showed in their eyes.

It was Crow who had wandered a little ahead, who first was quenched with a wave of relief, surely their group was done for, however the glowing sight of a pony restored his hope. And while the group had drawn an entire horde of zombies to the others, with restored numbers, they could overcome.


Klaud rose in the face of strife. Her charisma thrived off of her own willingness to lead others and to survive. Yet the words of the flickering apparition still dwelled in her mind while bullets spiraled into the brains and guts of the undead. Occasionally, as they fled and fought with the ebbing throes of battle, the child would reappear and whisper, "This way."

The monsters grew less frequent and while there was no reason to trust the child, escape was a better option than death. The followed the mysterious child into the distant forest, before catching sight of a distinguished zombie, who was fighting one of his own brothers.

What had happened to cause two undead to battle one another? This place was seriously screwed up.

However it wasn't hard for her to guess which monster was on her side, as nearby, there was someone on the ground. Urg had saved their life in a surprise attack. Upon closer look, it was Roger, who had lagged a bit behind the group and was caught in a swell. Had Urg not come from no where to assure Roger didn't become meat, his death would have been ensured, and his fate, sealed. Klaud wondered if the others were nearby and with another glance over her shoulder as the others covered her, in the battle her eyes caught on a horde of zombies that they were heading straight for. Some help that ghost girl navigator was.

The general's eye's widened as she realized what was at the center of it all.

The rest of the survivors.


...

Meanwhile.

"I'm not your sister." The Ghost Girl repeated, her words haunted the night as the chill of the air crawled beneath Christa's skin.

"Who. Are. You." A flat tone nearly snarled at the child, who tilted her head out of curiosity for such a seemingly passionate emotion.

"I could say the same to you. An answer at this time however, would change nothing. " The child seemed to toy with the Christa with wisdom beyond her years.

"Don't avoid the question." Christa's eyes flashed to Abner's who still looked at her, a question pending on his lips.

"All in good time, Christa."

The girl smirked with a smug content before she swiftly vanished with the swirling sound of a flapping wind; Abner cursed, Christa's own expletive followed. Mutually, Christa mentioned, "At least we can agree on one thing."

Abner's eyes fell on the woman, too arrogant and self serving to be considered honorable, however he agreed with a nod and another taste of his cigarette. The smoke stung her nose, as her tired eyes scrolled the empty landscape. Screams in the night continued endlessly and restless undead came and went, but never in numbers they couldn't fend off.

They staved off hunger, thirst, and sleep before eventually stumbling upon a large pack of wild dogs. The pair would have had no idea they still remained askew from the rest –of those who had survived– as their guns pointed against the nearest ferocious threat. A circling canine dodged Abner's bullet and leapt forth, only to be ceased mid-air by Christa's immaculately readied rifle.

No, she wasn't the least bit honorable, but her determination to survive was undeniably admirable.

[Gamzee Makara]

I do not know what is happening. My body is not mine to control, though I know for a fact it is me controlling it. I am not where I am. The others, they are all saying words and plotting strategies, but their voices are not loud enough to rise above the din of the dead. Before I even realize what is going on, Crow and his symbiotic friend are leading a charge through a route that is clearly less populated with the undead. We are making for the woods. Even I, in my present state of mind, know that it is impossible to fully destroy all of these creatures, and that survival is the ultimate goal here, as it always has been. Still, I find it almost irresistibly tempting to open fire and unleash hell on the hordes.

This is not an option. I must tell myself that. Such fool-hardy a foolhardy action would lead only to the waves of beasts converging on our group all at once, and then ultimately to our deaths. I distract myself by holstering Boomhilda, and unlatching the staff from my back. I nervously flip an errant switch up and down, back and forth.

And then I join the charge.

I flip that very switch into an upward position, press my thumb down on a button, and then squeeze the lever style trigger on my staff. It begins to charge with a high pitched whine of electricity, the violet crystal emitting a luminous glow. It crackles with the raw, primordial energy of lightning. A strange, sickening grin returns to my lips, and I begin to laugh again, laugh as though I was having the time of my life. I soon will be.

I run to the others, catching up before we are separated. At once, scores of undead begin an assault on our retreating group. I doubt the safety of these scarred and burnt trees, but so be it. It matters little in the end, so little. By the time I reach the group, the staff has been fully charged. I unleash a two orbs of deadly static discharge twenty yards from the treeline that we were running to. They sink into the scorched earth, grounding themselves. Immediately, arcs of electricity begin shoot from the masses of energy, latching on to undead everywhere. Their sickening, dead eyes begin to glow as their weak earthly bodies are overloaded with the immeasurable power of lightning. This attack clears the area of which we are headed, and shall hopefully cover our exit. I spin the cylinders in the staff, rekindling the energy that feeds into the crystal. I point the staff at the hordes behind us, keeping our flank clear of peril. Bolts of lightning fly out at a rapid pace, vaporizing the damned blighted creatures left and right.

"I will not succumb to your sickness! ICH BIN AUCH FUCKING PISSED TO DIE! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
The smell of plasma and burning flesh is intoxicating. My laughter becomes hysterical as it floats into the sky, above the racket of the battle.

Soon we made it to the forest. It was...Less safe than it appeared. Untoten surrounded us at every step. It become a much more close-ranged battle, and as such, I decided to switch back to Boomhilda. I did as I had done earlier, keeping our flank clear of threats, at times, coming to the aid of one of my allies. It was second nature. I would hear a sound of distress, whip around in its direction, and take care of the problem via combustion of the problem's skull. The cursed woods hid so much danger. So often did fractured memories pass through my mind: rescuing an over-run Dempsey, healing a downed Nikolai, Takeo coming to my aid in a time of need.

I will go home. I will return, and fix what has been broken, seize the Aether from that brat Samantha. Omni will hear me out. I only seek to leave this wretched world, not cause him pain or trouble.

Even if I am enjoying every second of this chaos.

-----

I suck in my breath. We have finally found a main, singular path. No longer are we forced to take these winding, twisting, precarious trails. Still, even with this discovery, the dead still come out of the woodwork. So be it.

"I fear for the well-being of our group," I say to no one in particular. A smile creases my lips.

"So, who wants to be the first noble sacrifice? Eh? Eh?"

I receive some curt glares, but this, just as everything else, ceases to matter. It never did. During my steep descent to madness in the woods, I reached a realization: We're all going to die. There is simply no hope. This Omni character has no reason to speak to us lowly secondaries, much less 'grant our wishes'. We are but pawns of the pawns, the Primes. I do not even know who took the time to summon me into this world. They certainly didn't stick around, and they certainly didn't give me any answers. I'm sure I am not the only secondary in this expedition to have this dilemma. I'm also sure I am not the only one to realize that this entire charade is an exercise in futility.

We are all going to die.

Why then? Why are we putting ourselves through this hell? Why am I putting myself through this hell?

Because It's better to die having fun, of course. And gottverdammte is this fun.

In my musings, it would seem that we are about to be overrun. I had been running on auto-pilot this entire time, shooting whatever is in front of me. I've had to change clips twice now. I am down to my last fifty or so shots. Excellent. Wunderbar. VERDAMMT GUT! At least the staff still has charge left. At any rate, I hear something from Crow. A shout, a cry, a promise of hope. It would seem there are friendly faces ahead of us. My fellows yell and issue battle cries, their vigor renewed. I cannot help but laugh along with them. The game continues.

Our group begins to grow even louder and rowdier, so as to attain the attention of the others. Jan, Crow and IRIS, Grave, and even myself all shout and make as much noise as possible, trying to raise our voice higher than the clamor and screeches of the damned.

Today, our voices will be louder.

Translations:
ICH BIN AUCH = I AM TOO
Untoten = undead
gottverdammte = goddamn
VERDAMMT GUT = FUCKING GREAT!

[Mickey Mouse]

The creatures would not let up.

Despite all of Isaac’s efforts to mow them down with his strange but effective blood-whip technique, the undead creatures continued to follow them through the forest relentlessly, trying their best to end the group’s journey before it had even really begun. Clayton was able to occasionally blast a shotgun shell in their direction, but between running and reloading, his chances were few and far between.

The hunter harrumphed a bit as he once again spun around, aiming his shotgun for another mindless zombie creature. Why in the world had he gotten himself into this? Trapped in this group with a bunch of idiots, trying to find another coalition of idiots they’d somehow gotten themselves separated from. Was this what he had been reduced to? The great hunter, Clayton, running through the woods trying to find some scrap of a clue on where to find his next prey, not having any idea where the hell to go and relying on these pathetic excuses for secondaries to show him the way? He felt pathetic.

All of a sudden, he tumbled toward the ground, his boot caught up in some sort of root or something. His ankles twisted and he slammed into the foresty floor of the Tangled Green, his face collecting mud as it sank into the ground just slightly. His shotgun rolled away, and once again he reached for the hilt of his machete as he heard the unfortunate growl of a zombie closing in behind him.

He spun around, taking the machete to the creature’s abdomen and watching as it sliced all too easily through the thing’s decayed skin. “Hmph,” he vocalized, raising an eyebrow as the creature’s upper half slid cleanly off its lower. “Too easy.”

His eyes fell to the thing that had tripped him, and he discovered that it was not, in fact, a root at all, but rather a little bag; tied at the top, Clayton could only see the shape of the item inside: a small, spherical orb, just big enough for him to hold in the palm of one of his hands. Without a second thought, he swept it up and shoved it in his pocket. Even though he didn’t know what it was, his philosophy was always that treasure would be best served in his own hands than in anyone else’s. A quick survey of Klaud, Isaac, Zora, and the unfortunately profusely-bleeding Roger confirmed that none of them had seen him pick up the item, which was for the better; they wouldn’t need to know. Later on, perhaps, he’d try and figure out what it was.

“This way!” the General bellowed, and reluctantly, Clayton followed after picking up his shotgun. He truly hated taking orders—but Klaud had proven herself capable of giving them, so he would continue his ruse begrudgingly for now. One day soon, he would have his chance. Once these people had exhausted their usefulness, he would be done with them for good. Until then, he would use them to get to where he wanted to go, and the General would lead the way. The thought brought a smirk to his face that he quickly stifled.

Clayton sped past Roger as they ran from the zombies, not noticing the fact that the man seemed to fall behind rather dramatically; Klaud spun around to check on them, and her widened eyes alarmed the hunter. He spun around to see Roger on the ground, cowering up against a tree as zombie fought zombie before their very eyes.

Clayton had to laugh a bit.

“More this way!” the elderly tenor of Isaac called, and the gentleman sprung into action, lifting his shotgun and firing a blast toward a zombie that approached the old man. Through the field of undead, Clayton began to notice the familiar forms of some of the people who had originally fled into the temple with them—finally, at long last, they had reached all of the other survivors. Klaud seemed to notice, as well, and began to make for the group. Isaac followed quickly, Zora still trying to help the injured Roger off the ground. The hunter stayed put.

After a few steps, Klaud and Isaac noticed Mr. Clayton’s absence and turned back to see him standing, staring into the horde that stood between them and the rest of the survivors. The zombies closed in on the other secondaries, certainly outnumbering them. Without the help of him and his two most well companions—and undoubtedly the assistance of Zora, Roger, and the “good” zombie would turn the tide—the group of secondaries probably, by Clayton’s estimation, would not last all that long. And that proposition was fine to the hunter. Leave these secondaries to die, and continue on their way to Omni; find that ghost girl again, and get her to lead them where they wanted to go. After all, they had Isaac, and he seemed to know a little bit more about this quest than any of them—did they really need the others?

And then, when they had finally reached the pearly gates of Omni’s fabled home, Clayton would take what was his. He would slay Klaud, and Isaac, and Zora, and Roger if he hadn’t already keeled over by then from his litany of wounds, and he would greet Omni with a smirk and a shotgun shell right in his shiny white teeth.

“Clayton!” Klaud called, breaking him from his thoughts, from his plans.

“Son, come on, we’ve got to help them,” Isaac urged, stepping toward the hunter as if he’d known the man’s thoughts. The older man glanced back at the horde, and then whispered under his breath, “I must find Christa.”

So this was it. The first big decision. To play the hero or not?

Clayton slung his shotgun over his shoulder. Klaud scowled. “What are you doing?!” she yelled, storming toward him.

All too quickly, his machete was out and much too close to the General’s face. His lips curled into his most polite smirk as he lightly pressed the cold metal to Klaud’s neck. Isaac’s face grew just the slightest bit pale. Was the hunter going to turn on them? Now, of all times?

No.

“Just switching weapons, General,” Clayton smiled, removing his blade from Klaud’s neck and brushing past her. “Wouldn’t want any of you lovely people to get caught in my friendly fire.”

Clayton surged into the horde.

[Deadpool]

Pinocchio ran as fast as his flimsy, wooden limbs allowed; his legs almost tangled a few times (almost sending him straight into another nostril bath of dirt and gunk), but he managed to keep himself upright and going forward, flailing his arms and yelling like a banshee.

He could only hope Top Man and the others were as fortunate. He didn’t dare look back to check, not even a brief glance; the horde of Darkspawns could be trailing still. And if he turned to look too harshly . . . he could barely keep his balance now.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about his surge of adrenaline leaving him debilitated, and if his mind wasn’t preoccupied with staying the fuck alive, maybe he’d find solace in that sole trump a wooden body had over a flesh and blood one.

Somewhere deep inside, behind the terror and panic he felt, suspicion loomed.



So far, the little Ghost Girl had led him to suicide.

[Yu Kanda]

The skull split open, blood splashed everywhere. The skin was soft, their bones are weak; these undead creatures were nothing more than cattle being driven to the slaughter. Having this many skilled warriors around her Klaud saw one undead corpse destroyed after the other. It gave her hope; hope that this quest might actually reach a positive outcome. Even creatures, no, people like Urg were giving it their all and looking after each other. She had to thank him later once things settle down, for now she has to focus on slaying these walking dead and creating a path for the wounded as she followed the whispering voice.

There was just one problem, Clayton. Klaud has noticed his behavior and did not trust him a single bit. She couldn't let her guard down around him. With her whip flying through the air, separating head from limb as the energy coated popper seemed to slice through their rotten little necks, she pressed forward. Klaud then saw it, a larger horde of undead surrounding the others that they lost in the temple. They survived ! Even in this dire situation Klaud felt relieved, they weren't alone. Now all that remained was meeting up with them and face this threat together.

On her side Isaac was giving it his all. She turned to her other side but did not see the hunter. She turned around and noticed him standing back daydreaming. What was he doing ? At a time like this."Clayton !" Klaud yelled towards him. The hunter seemed to have been ripped out of his weird trance. Isaac also spoke wise words towards the hunter as he passed him towards the horde and assist his allies. The General followed quickly, as she neared Clayton he slung his shotgun over his shoulder. " What are you doing ?!" Klaud yelled agitated as she was still heading towards him only to meet up with a machete inches from her face. She froze for a moment. Was this it ? Was Clayton betraying her ? The cold metal was slowly pressed against her skin, the hair on her neck stood up; he had her, there was nothing she could do without getting cut.

“Just switching weapons, General,” Clayton smiled, removing his blade from Klaud’s neck and brushing past her. “Wouldn’t want any of you lovely people to get caught in my friendly fire.” He spoke with a slight tint of satisfaction in his tone and rushed towards the group leaving Klaud standing frozen for a moment. Isaac came back to her "Are you alright ?". It took a moment for the General to recover from what just happened. She let her guard down. He could've cut her without a problem. It's been a while since she felt this helpless and she did not like it. "Are you alright ?!" Isaac asked again and placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch triggered her back to the moment, she saw Clayton charging, turned towards Isaac. "Yes, yes i am fine. Time to help the others." Both Isaac and Klaud followed Clayton's charge and started fighting their way through the horde of undead.

"General ! General over here !" A familiar voice shouted out from the group. She kicked an undead away from her and looked over to where she heard it. Within the chaos she saw Jan fighting off several undead himself as he fought his way towards the General. "It's great to see you again General. For a moment there I thought we lost you in the temple." He quickly saluted her when he got next to her without any undead in the direct vicinity.

" Likewise soldier, glad to see you are still up and about. " Klaud casually lashed her whip at an undead coming up behind Jan and splitting its skull. "We do seem to have a problem though. Remember the hunter, Clayton ?"

"That big fella with the shotgun, that is currently going berserk with a machete over there, obviously enjoying it a little too much ?" Jan shot two walking dead through the head as he nodded over to the hunter's position.

Klaud nodded once."That's the one, he appears to be allot more dangerous as I thought and it could lead to problems"

"Problems ? what kind of problems? "

"The kind that gets us killed " The exorcist replied as she let her whip fly through the air once more. "He had his blade against me earlier."
Jan stopped shooting for a moment and gave Klaud a certain look.

"Yes, as i said, a problem" Klaud responded to the soldier's look.

"What's a problem ?"Another voice said from behind a nearby tree. Graves came walking up, apparently hearing their conversation. To avoid any more conflict Klaud decided to keep this between Jan and herself.

"These freaks, that's what's the problem" She replied to the gunslinger

"That's not what you said" A higher pinched voice said from up in the tree. A smaller wooden creature that also went missing in the temple was hiding up in the tree. "You said the hunter might become a problem"

Klaud sighed as she looked up and saw Pinocchio holding onto a branch and replied to him "yes, that too. Thank you for reminding me"
"You also said he had a blade against you" The wooden puppet continued.

"Yes i know what i said, thank you for sharing it" Klaud sounded a bit irritated and looked over to graves to see what he would make of it.

The undead horde seemed to have thinned out a bit. would they be running out of corpses ? She quickly looked around and saw Crow slashing through some of the creatures and seemed to have a piece of tech ? Allot has happened with the others it seemed. But from what she could see, most of them were alive.

[Jak Mar]

Funny how things work. Whether it's fighting against the tyranny of the red-eyed Halghast empire or fighting thousand year old corpses, it doesn't matter now. Even the strangest things get blended into one.

Our melting pot of a group was occupied with pressing mater over and over again, but everyone showed dedication to our cause. Captain Crow and IRIS kept us on the defensive edge, Grave and Alice stayed back, I held our back line and Richotoffen took two roles as the medic and the fighter. Lightning flowed from Richotoffen's staff and it kept the undead off us.

The undead came at us from all sides as the area shield would only keep us safe for a short time. I just happened to catch Crow and IRIS's speech about there being 5 minutes left. Survival was key right now and I didn't need my military training to tell me that I needed to keep myself and the group safe. I felt my M-84 Assault Rife as I ran following the group, holding my ground. Things seemed to be going alright currently even though I have been using it a little more than usual lately.

Our group had ignored our hunger, thirst and sleeping patterns to endure through it all. Running through this battlefield, reminds me of an old time. I was there in a overwhelming situation and my crew was hungry for a fight against the Halghasts at the time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well that didn't last long..

As we finally made it to what seemed like a safe spot, we were greeted with another site of the creatures of the dead. The burned trees weren’t helping.

Just our luck, we were greeted with nothing but two black, charred trees. But what made my day was that quite a few familiar faces greeted us. Raw Onion and her group had made back to us. The others who had survived the temple had made it back to us…

What was even better was a familiar face showed herself. I saw Klaud again. As soon as I was able to kill the undead near me, I put on a straight face and saluted her “General Klaud, it’s great to see you and the others again.”

I delved deep within my mind and tensed up at the thought Why did Omni send me of all people? To see me suffer? To see my group suffer? Why?! I just wanted to ask him why did he revive me of all people.

As our groups started to become almost reacquainted in the art of killing zombies, old allies and enemy secondaries showed their faces once more. But there was a little bit of a problem there. My head swerved over as I shot another undead and saw Klaud with a knife at her neck by none other than the hunter named Clayton.

Clayton was acting a little too crazy for his own good. What the hell WAS he doing?

I shook off that terrifying thought of my superior. A general who I knew as a father and he was killed in cold blood. I wouldn't let this happen to another general. Not Klaud.


I stared over at Clayton and frowned “General, you need me to keep an eye on him? It’s the only way I can help our group, I’ll make it count.”

Maybe it was better if the others didn’t know what me and General Klaud had to say to each other. Maybe it was for the best. It was more like a “soldier to soldier talk”

It was then the wooden man interfered in our conversation. He happened to blurt out everything Klaud said.

Jan then frowned trying to show no emotions “General...”

Klaud tried to reply to Jan and said “Colonel, what happened in the temple?”

Jan shook his head “Not here Klaud…”

[Zack Fair]

Abner grunted in annoyance. He spit a little bit of tobacco into the dirt as he raised his rifle, listening intently for more of the undead canines. None of this made a whole lot of sense, anymore. He'd seen the ghost girl before, of course. She'd led him to this miserable jungle, and put him in this ridiculous team. Then again, that was only one assumption. In the back of his mind he was also considering that this creepy ghost was trying to get him killed for whatever reason. Her apparent connection with the woman who seemed to still be restraining herself from outright killing him didn't help, either.

He spit the used up cigarette to the ground, next, and followed it up with a little bit more of his dip. He considered lighting another cigarette, and only didn't because he was pretty certain he didn't need to remove either hand from his rifle at the moment. He didn't often double up on his tobacco intake, but the current situation made it feel more than necessary.

Some sort of canines were prowling through the woods. Christa had shot some, and Abner had taken care of a few of his own. Despite that, they could hear the prowling. The beasts were breathing, snarling, and lurking. They were being hunted by these unseen creatures, and all they could do was keep moving forward. They were back to back at this point, each walking forward and covering a side. It was a silent agreement, and they had just fallen into it so that neither was walking completely forward or completely backwards. Abner was responsible for one side, and Christa the other. They were in rough shape, with their wounds loosely patched up and the injuries taking their toll on their minds as well as their bodies, but they both had the frame of mind to press on.

A shot rang out as Abner dropped a canine that thought it might be able to ambush them. Their formation was effective, though. It wasn't entirely practical, but it was the best they could do with their limited resources.

"Who's that girl?" Abner couldn't hold the question in any longer. That ghostly being was responsible for them being here and she knew Christa. If he died in this jungle, he wanted to begin to understand why.

"She looks like my sister," Christa was curt with her response, as she was much more interested in making it through this deathtrap of a forest.

"Looks like?" Abner asked just as fast. Another shot echoed into the woods. Christa had downed another beast, but he didn't turn to confirm it. He was forced to trust her skills.

"My sister was killed by you and your Empire," Christa spat back as she scanned the tree lines. The dogs were coming from above just as well as as ground level. She had to stay alert.

"I thought we went over this," Abner snarled in response. His patience was beyond it's limit, and the last thing he needed was a reminder about how infuriated he was with the people that sent him here.

"Make all the excuses you want," Christa replied, ignoring the sounds of Abner putting down two more attackers as she scanned her own area. "Your life's work went to the service of those monsters. Everything you've ever done made it a little easier for them to do what they did to my sister, and plenty others like her."

"Some of us don't have a choice. Some of us have to make due in this fucked up reality however we can," Abner replied, though he was clearly pushing aside the sting of those words.

"If that helps you sleep at night," Christa answered as they began to move a little faster, with the silent understanding that the terrain had changed just enough to allow a faster pace.

"Why'd you have to mention sleep?" Abner bluntly said.

They were in quiet agreement on that one. They were both hungry, thirsty, and downright tired. There seemed to be no end to this madness. One challenge after another, and each answered question brought it's own mystery.

Regardless of their drive and motive, they both understood that their bodies would give out long before their minds would. Their injuries were still fresh and their blood loss apparent in their movement and even their speech. Neither of them were as quick as they would be on a typical day, in reflex or in wit. However, the mind was a powerful thing, and their drive alone kept them going. They might have had different purposes, but the basic goal was the same. Live.

The sounds of battle suddenly echoed in the woods ahead of them. The sounds of gunfire and shouting were a welcome relief, because in this hellscape anyone could be an ally. The groaning of the undead permeated it all, and they could tell that they were walking into another battle. The chance of friendly reinforcements was enough for both of them to want to take the risk. To both of their displeasure, they were in sync with their tactics.

"Don't get in a goddamn rush," Abner ordered as their pace rapidly accelerated. "Hold this formation."

"Then hurry the fuck up," Christa responded quickly.

The sounds of battle were close, and they were about on top of the others. As they got close, they pushed off each other's backs and advanced side by side, their firearms ready. They both shouted as they entered the clearing so that they would make it apparent to the others that they were not of the undead.

The sight of their allies rejuvenated them, even if they barely knew most of them. After all, Abner and Christa knew better than anyone that in this place anyone could be friend.

[Smith]

The temple started to come down around me and all I could think was that I needed to get the hell out of here. If not for the danger of a stone smashing my head open like an over-ripe melon, then to spare my… well, friends might not be quite the right word… allies? To spare my allies my hunger. Hell, there they were, both too focused on the other to even acknowledge the zombie in their midst. It would have been easy to have made them into my next meal. The feel their muscles tear between my teeth and to hear their bones crack in my hands.

The scary thing is… It didn’t even seem like all that awful a thing to do, anymore. I mean, I’d long ago gotten used to having no control over my actions. I guess I’d been disassociating what my body did from my true self. Back then, it had been easy to say that it wasn’t my fault. That Dracula was making me kill all those people. But, since being freed of his control, I’ve started to suspect that maybe it was Dracula who allowed me to keep my sanity and humanity. Sure, he turned me into a monster, but HE was controlling my actions and in essence, he protected me from the horrors of what I was capable of.

But now… I had barely been able to get myself under control back there. I had almost EATEN the closest things I had to friends in years. And there was no Dracula to blame anymore. It was all me. The truth of the situation struck my soul like a bullet to the heart. They had nearly died because I couldn’t control myself. Because I was a monster. That was the reality of my existence now. That no longer was I a beast leashed to the will of another. Now I was something far worse: a feral animal fueled by gluttony and rage.

I shambled through the corridors and tunnels of the temple, my only guide a slow brightening of the area as I moved along. Somewhere along the way, either that guy or just running had managed to free me of my porcupine-esque arsenal of weaponry, so running was a bit easier without all that extra weight dragging me down. Part of me hoped I was going the wrong way, that I would stumble into a trap and end it all. But a larger part of me wanted to continue on. I guess you could say I was just a fool, following a dim glimmer of hope that Omni would be able to restore me. Still, I was starting to wonder if I’d ever reach him, and even if I did… would I even have enough of myself left to WANT to be human again?

Needless to say, I was in a bit of a funk when I finally staggered out into the openness and light of the outdoors. Blackened and dead leaves crunched under foot as my body took a moment to realize it was no longer in danger and slowly came to an awkward halt. Jeez… I kinda wish I had just stayed in the temple. I guess someone COULD call this a forest, but they’d hafta be some kind of sadist… The trees had bark as black as the night, matching the darkness of their few, scattered leaves. Their branches twisted in unnatural way, splitting at the ends like the claws of some creature out of a nightmare. Even the wind sounded dark and sinister. The whole place looked like something straight out of the Moors, and if I’m being honest here… I got a little homesick. Sure, I was around back in the Moors glory days, when it was full of light and hope. But I could barely remember what that was like anymore. For me, this twisted glade brought back more memories of home than the green glen we had fled when entering the temple.

Like a drunk, I turned back to the temple and gazed upon it with dead eyes. They were still in there. Blondie… that Guy… even the skeletal robot. I wondered if they’d be able to make it out. I wondered if they were ok. I wondered if maybe it would be better for them NOT to come out here. After all, nothing in there was trying to eat them. I shook my head, and turned from the ruins behind me. No. They’d get out. They were tough. Survivors. And I needed to be long gone before they did. I… I’m not sure if I’d be able to hold myself back again. It was tough enough the last time. The next time I might not be able to turn off my zombie instincts in time.

One step after the other, toes dragging in the dead brush, leaves, and twigs underfoot, I left the temple behind me and wandered off into the wilderness. It was kinda strange but I didn’t really hear any of the sounds you’d expect in a forest. Perhaps that temple really did drop me off in the Moors again; a suspicion strengthened by what I soon came across. It was a pack of guys like me: Dead-eyed, shambling, moaning, decaying zombies. And, as I soaked in the scene, it looked like ‘pack’ might have been a biiiiiiit of an understatement. Hell, there might have been as many zombies HERE as I’d ever seen in the Moors.

A normal guy’d probably be pissing his pants right now, but… well, like I said. They were like me. They didn’t even register that I had walked up on them. Yup. Brain-dead zombies. Even after bumping into a few on my way down to the group, they didn’t so much as pause their endless moaning to give me a second-look. You know… maybe I didn’t come across these guys by chance. I wanted a chance to be normal again. And maybe this was as close to normal as I’d ever get, a normal zombie hanging out with other normal zombies and doing normal zombie things. Maybe I should just give up on being a human and join these guys. Didn’t seem to be much around to hurt. Might even be peaceful.

Welp… I guess I spoke too soon. No sooner had I resigned myself to being a zombie, than a near unanimous moaning issued forth from the host, its volume far louder than the sporadic sounds they had made before. A gunshot rang out in what passed for a forest here. And then I remembered. SHIT! I forgot about those guys I came with. I suppose I mighta gotten a little carried away with my melancholy mood and shit… Well fuck me sideways… What am I gonna do now? I should probably warn those guys about the MASSIVE army of undead heading their way, but hell. I ain’t really no faster than they are. By the time I reach the others, and they figure out what I’m trying to say (IF they figure it out), it’ll be too late. And besides… I’m a zombie… maybe I should just resign myself to my fate and eat the poor bastards.

While I was busy trying to decide what I should do, my body went ahead with the peer pressure and followed along towards the food. It’d be easier if I was as brain-dead as those other zombies. Having a conscious sucks… Soon enough, I started to spot folks dashing through the trees, and the entire mob I was a part of broke into a staggering run. Branches slapped against our bare skin and faces, but we didn’t give a fuck. All we cared about were those juicy, tender, delicious creatures running before us. It was obvious they were exhausted, their bodies smelt of sweat; an aroma that sent the undead behind them into an even more ferocious feeding frenzy. It was a mostly human group, though there WAS this weird looking dog thing that I remembered seeing back at the start of all this. The safari guy was there too, and the grizzled older guy. The other two didn’t really stand out too well in my memory, but when one of them began to fall behind the others, my attention immediately turned to him.

Unfortunately for the mulleted guy, a vindictive root suddenly snagged his foot and sent him sprawling. Before he could arise again, we were upon him. Not all of us, of course. Most continued to chase after the other prey when it became obvious that there wouldn’t be enough left of this guy to feed them. Just a handful of us fell upon him. He fought back valiantly, I gotta give it to him. But in the face of the five of us, there was little he could do. I bit into his shoulder, eliciting a scream of pain and rage from the guy. A fist swung and knocked me off of him, though I took a bit of his flesh with me. A bit dazed, it took a moment for me to regain even MY relatively poor senses. And when I did, the horror of what was happening struck me.

I was EATING someone. Not an enemy… but someone who should have been able to trust me. And I hadn’t even TRIED to stop myself. So, this was it… I had succumbed and there was nothing left of the human I once was. A part of my shattered at this realization, and my body began to make its way back to the feast. Suddenly, a voice broke me from my trance and my eyes searched the woods for the source.

It was her. Not the Ghost Girl… not even Blondie. My wife… Samarintha. The woman I had left behind when I joined the fight against Diablo’s forces. And the woman I had killed on my return as a pawn of Dracula. Clots of blood clung to her blond hair, and her greens eyes were dark and dead. Yet her words… they yet remained full of that life I so remembered from the days before I was this beast. Time froze as she spoke to me, the color draining for the world and seeming to infuse itself into her.

“Mark. This isn’t who you are. You have to fight… not just against yourself. But for these people. They need you.”

Fight? She didn’t know what she was asking of me. She had always been the stronger of us. Had she not been with child when the war broke out, she likely would have fought alongside me. She moved closer to me, passing through the still frame around us as though it were mere mist. A hand found its way to my cheek and at first I flinched away from the touch. But slowly, my heart calmed and I lay my head against her palm.

“I’m sorry,” I said, eyes wet with tears I could not shed. I didn’t say what for, and I didn’t need to. She knew. Her eyes, still as dim as before, showed compassion as they held my own. They dug deep past my decayed flesh and implored me to do what I knew to be right. I couldn’t speak again… all I could do was nod. And then, as suddenly as the world froze, it lurched into motion again. And I leapt into action.

That man was still being swarmed by the other zombies, and I could see he wouldn’t last long without help. And while I still didn’t know if I could be strong enough… I knew I had to try. For her. A zombie leaned in towards Mullet, its jaws snapping as they moved ever closer to his neck. I reached over its head, my desiccated fingers easily puncturing its optic orbs and with a show of strength I threw it aside. The wet crack of a skull splintering open confirmed its death, but the others were still upon the man. One by one, I relieved him of his burden, shattering necks with my bare hands, bashing their heads open against whatever surface I could find, and tearing their bodies to shreds with my teeth. After all… who better to kill a zombie than another zombie? I knew their weaknesses like the back of my decayed hand.

Soon enough, the guy was freed, but it seemed that I took a bit too long to act. Though he was still alive, and conscious, the effort of having fought off five undead at once seemed to have drained the poor guy. I held out my hand, and he understandably recoiled from it. My attempt at a smile might have been closer to a sadistic grimace and only seemed to make the guy more put off. I struggled with myself, forcing my jaw to work, lungs to push air, and mind to form the words I needed. In the end, it was both more than I expected and less than I hoped for.

“Leeeetsssssss...” I said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Goooooooo…”

A wave of confusion passed over the guy’s features, and once again I couldn’t really blame him. Up until now, I’d been little more than an animal. A weapon as likely to turn on them as to help them take down a threat. My words showed that, perhaps, I could be a bit more than that. And that maybe, one day, I could be human again. That glimmer of hope in my heart shone a bit brighter, and this time, my smile seemed less menacing.

[Dark Link]

Group 3
Grobdum, Lyra, Pinocchio, Raw Onion, Top Man

The waning sun painted red streaks across the darkening sky, its last rays postponing the shadow of the night. But the intense twilight that blanketed the decaying forest had already made it difficult to make out whatever was hidden amongst the tree trunks and bushes. With only torches to light their way, the stalwart companions made haste deeper into the woods, running as fast as their short legs could carry them.

Lyra kept a firm grip on her bow, having handed over the torch she was carrying to Pinocchio as his own improvised one burned out. She glanced at the deformed and sometimes leafless trees that stretched alongside the path. Fear gripped her heart, though she did not know what unnerved her more: the Darkspawn that had pursued them or whatever manner of creatures were lurking in the forest. The archer was certain that any being that still remained in this accursed place was as sickly and twisted as the plants that concealed them.

The girl was reminded of the fate that had befallen the forests of Hyrule during Ganondorf's reign. As bad as life in the cities and villages could be, it was still vastly preferable to trying your luck in the woods. Though the plants were largely unaffected aside from the poor and unstable weather, the Gerudo king's evil had resulted in dark creatures inhabiting them, preying on any who ventured deep. Even Ganondorf's servants — the pig-like moblins, the dark-skinned Gerudo and the others — did not dare go beyond the outskirts.

As the literal shrieks of their adversaries grew ever distant and eventually died down entirely, the group came to a halt at a section where the forest path widened. The biological members took this opportunity for a bit of respite, drawing heavily the surprisingly cool dusk air. Meanwhile, suspecting that he wasn't going to get another opportunity soon in all this madness, Top Man decided to engage with his audience: "Ladies and gentlemen, once again, our brave heroes have cheated death! With every step, we come closer to reaching the Man in White himself!"

Shifting the camera's attention to Raw Onion, the orange robot continued: "Let's hear it from our heroes! Raw Onion, why don't you say something to all our Dataverse viewers?"

"Dataverse? Oh, oh!" the brown mare responded, attempting to adjust to this sudden shift. Though unsure if this was really the right time, the pegasus nonetheless proudly saluted: "Thank you for watching! We really appreciate your support!" As the online celebrity anticipated, this elicited the expected response from the live feed, becoming filled with comments of praise and adoration.

"Oh, that reminds me! If people are watching, then some of them might have left comments on my Twitter account!" the armoured pony continued. Seemingly out of nowhere, she pulled out an electronic device of her own. After a few presses with her nuzzle, Raw Onion received the information she desired...and audibly gasped: "Oh my gosh, this is amazing! Over a 100,000 people have started following my Twitter feed! I only had fellow ponies on there before!"

Wondering how many more followers she would earn through this inadvertent advertisement of her account, Top Man shifted his attention to Grobdum, who had been awfully quiet during their flight: "What about you, magic lettuce? Got anything to say?"

"...N....No more Waaaagh....." was all that came from the robed shaman, who seemed almost heartbroken at the fact that they fled from the Darkspawn.

"Okaaaaay...." the robot responded before turning to the other lady in the group: "Lyra, do you have something to say to our wonderful audience?"

Blankly staring at the sentient automaton, she uttered with a puzzled expression on her face: "Dataverse? Twitter?" To her, it was almost as if her companions were speaking in a completely different language. The Hylian girl wasn't even entirely sure that they hadn't gone mad. Audience? What audience? There was no one there aside from them and the Darkspawn! But in spite of her inability to wrap her head around the concept of people watching from afar, said audience didn't seem to mind. In fact, her confused look only served to endear her to even more viewers. Though it was only up for the briefest of moments thanks to the constant influx of text, Top Man was certain he saw a comment stating in big, bold letters: "MARRY ME, LYRA-CHAAAAAAAAN!"

Suddenly, the teenager gasped. Noticing something, she aimed her bow, taking her companions by surprise. But they quickly discovered the cause of her sudden alarm — from the shadows of the trees emerged a tall figure, As the rest of the group prepared for combat, the unknown entity came within range of the burning torch, its featured becoming recognisable. It was a Darkspawn...but it was unlike the ones they had fought before. The flesh on its muscular body was covered with symbols, all of which were unknown to the motley crew. It wore a horned helmet of steel that covered everything but its mouth, empty eye sockets staring back at them. It also held an oak staff in its hand, its grasp firm.

As the undead creature came to a halt, Grobdum responded in amazement: "Dis one 'ave strong magic..."

Quietly staring at the group that was ready to bash its head in at a moments notice, the dark magician opened its deformed mouth: "Turn back...."

The companions were all surprised by this. They did not anticipate that a Darkspawn could speak, let alone issue demands. Taking a defiant posture, Raw Onion answered: "And why should we listen to you? You've been trying to kill us! I bet you're just trying to prevent us from getting to Omni."

"No...." the creature said, clenching its razor-sharp teeth. "I am trying to protect you.......from her."

This was followed by a stunned silence. In spite of the vagueness of his words, the group strongly suspected they knew who he was referring to. After all, many unanswered questions still lingered about who she was and why she had brought them to this place. Lyra, attempting to regain her composure, inquired: "Her? You...you don't mean...?"

"She is not your friend," the spellcaster continued unabated. "She is deceiving you.....If you proceed down this path, you will only find oblivion."

The four of them exchanged glances, unsure what to make of this warning. Stepping forward, it was Top Man who decided to offer his response: "You're an Emissary, right? Listen, buddy...we have to see this thing through to the end. All of us want to see Omni. Even if this is a bad lead, it's the only one we got."

The Darkspawn snorted, though it was difficult to tell whether this was a show of derision or simply a force of habit. Pausing for a few moments, his raspy voice finally said: "The warning has been given. Your fate is now your own..." Before anything further could be said, the emissary's body disintegrated into a black mist, which was swept away by the wind. And with that, the group was alone once again.

"I wonder if the others we met at the temple are alright..." the blonde girl expressed her concern, the warning having reminded her of them.

"We need to worry about ourselves first," Top Man replied, turning around to face them. "Pinocchio isn't here. He must have run off ahead."

As the rest of them collectively gasped at this realisation, Raw Onion responded with determination: "Well, what are we waiting for?! We need to find him quickly!"

Nothing else needed to be said. Without delay, the companions broke into another sprint, hurrying to find their lost wooden friend. Lyra in particular pushed herself to run as fast as she could. Though she still barely knew the people she was traveling with, they had been reliable comrades and none of them could have survived this far without each other. This even applied to Grobdum — as grating as he could be, he still saved their lives with his magic.

One thing was clear in the archer's mind: she wouldn't let anything bad happen to them if she could help it. She had seen far too many perish as it is.

[Gildarts]

The mismatched group lead by the archer and filmed by a robot who streamed the live footage of the Darkspawn's warning mentioned how their fates were in danger of the same apparition that had united them. Each member felt the air thick a foreboding threat, yet soon after the terror and trepidation, their team once again returned to a healthy size.

With the greater size, everyone could now face the threat that was upon them, the great horde of zombies whose numbers tripled their own.

Little did the group know, the desperately thirsting zombies before them would be nothing compared to what soon awaited them.

Phase 4 has ended! Thank you *everyone* for participating, I appreciate all your hard work!

Everyone is now all together again.

The next phase will start tomorrow morning around 9:30 AM!

Phase 5 will last for four days, and end on Saturday evening!

[spoiler]Phase 6 *may* begin on the Tuesday after that.[/spoiler]

As always, if there are any questions, comments, or concerns, Guu knows I love getting PM's.

The next stage will be hardcore, but I want to see the challenge met with your best work! Use OMNI as your inspiration and may the force be with you.

I've truly enjoyed writing with each of you guys <3

[Ruby Rose]

I have a feeling some people are getting the wrong idea as to the 'nephilim' Grave is. He is not a vampire of any kind, but is instead the offspring of an angel and a demon, much like Dante from Devil May Cry

And we were off, taking leaps and bounds (and the occasional shuffle) through the masses of ink-skinned undead, Richtofen's lightning staff going just about as mad as it's wielder, Jan's rifle popping off shots left, right and centre and Crow blasting every tainted cranium he could see with his antique firearm, guided by the accurate navigations of the resident machine.

I couldn't do anything but run with the sole female in my arms. The whistling of arrows could be heard overhead - they started using bows? If I wasn't the offspring of a devil and an angel myself, I wouldn't have thought it possible, but I had to admit that I did see significantly more... Unusual happenings. One of the death-laced missiles sliced through my bicep, right above Alice, but I didn't bother looking down, not yet anyway.

Without warning, the blighted earth beneath my feet exploded like a minuscule volcano, flames expanding from the point of contact and licking at my legs, but to no avail. I was send staggering across the ground like a spider with broken legs by the impact of the fiery detonation, forcing my gaze upon the woman still clutched close to my chest...

Her lips were parted, painted red by the blood slowly dribbling from my wounded flesh. Why didn't I think of that before?! She was a vampire; blood, especially from a nephilim like myself, would help to attack the paralysis binding her body. I looked up to call out to Crow, but my voice was frowned out by the nightmarish screams and screeches of the infected, followed by the shouts of familiar voices. Our path had formed a crossroads with the other groups at last, and we called at the top of our lungs to our lost allies, trying with all our willpower to grasp their occupied attention.

Our push was not in vain. We broke through to the group; formed of the lady with the whip, the gentleman with the shotgun, the guy with one arm, the black and red creature and the soldier with the stylish do. It might not have been able to be seen on my face, but I was beyond delighted to see familiar faces. I could feel Alice loosening up in my arms and took cover behind one of the decayed trees before speaking to her.

"You think you're good enough to get on my back? Might allow me to help a little," I asked her. Her lips parted again and mouthed the words 'Sure thing' and I threw her a soft smile, but inside, only one thought kept resounding; I'm going to kill that Omni bastard and unravel this world. Then I'll be able to tie up the loose ends...

But why was I assuming that Alice had something to do with me before coming to the Omniverse? Was it instinct? Or did I recognise her? Okay, maybe questioning our dear god before killing him would be the sensible idea.

I was soon snapped out of my pensive state by a rather interesting conversation going on nearby. I turned my head to see the woman with the whip and our own Jan chatting about something. I laid Alice down and positioned myself to allow her ease of access to my back. Once she was safely secured and her arms and legs were tightly locked - a perk of the paralysis - I trudged over to the meeting. They were talking about a 'problem' of some form, and I decided to interject.

"What's a problem?" I asked, and the subject they had been speaking of was quite obviously swapped out for the encroaching zombies. It was a good try, I had to give her that, but it didn't escape me. A high-pitched voice rang from above, mentioning the hunter, and the fact that...

"Bullshit, he had a blade to you?" I asked, flames building up in my eyes again. The whip woman threw a venomous glance up to the source of the voice; a rickety, boy-shaped puppet. She sighed and turned back to me.

"Yes, that's correct," her voice almost sounded like it was seething with poison, towards both the hunter and Puppet-boy. Blazing flames could clearly be seen within my blade-silver eyes.

"I'll keep an eye on our trigger happy friend over there," I assured her before rushing off towards the man in the yellow coat, dicing the infected like they were dinner. I was abruptly halted by a clawed hand narrowly missing the bridge of my nose. In the position I was in, there was no way I was going to grab Infernum or Caelum in time, so I took the other option...

I pivoted towards the shadowy creature and planted my palm on its stomach. My forearm rippled and began to change, taking on a scarlet, bony form; the arm of a demon. Flames began to snake around my red wrist and absorb themselves into the ink-black flesh.

"Ire ad inferos!" I shouted at the zombie, and a plume of searing flames relinquished its head from its shoulders, splattering ink-black blood everywhere, showering me in the infection. I gazed down at the arm that did the damage; I wasn't going to be able to hold its form for long, but it would give me long enough to send more creatures back to hell by the flames summoned from that world.

I made my way to the hunter, holding my demonic appendage like a supernatural firearms, flames crackling and swirling in its palm. The hunter seemed to be rather efficient with his machete, but that didn't stop one of the mindless pack to break off and attack from behind. I came to a sudden and heavy halt and raised my arm, launching the ball of flame and sending it barreling into the zombie's abdomen. I rushed up to it and plunged the clawed limb deep into the dark flesh, like a drill into mud and threw him aside before coming back-to-back with the hunter, being wary of the vampire latched onto me.

"Thought you could use some help over here," I lied, blasting more spheres of hellfire at the monsters from the earth, "The name's Grave," I introduced myself. I had to stay on my guard; he could thrust that blade into Alice at any moment.

Translations:
All these strange words are in Latin, in case you were curious
Infernum: Hell
Caelum: Heaven
Ire ad inferos!: Go to hell!

[Gildarts]

The undead. One by one they fell into their eternal slumber. But not without casualties. Zora was bitten by a monster and the Pokémon's flesh seeped with contaminated saliva, despite the endless barrage of fist and kick combat that sliced through numerous zombies.

Soon, the female Pokémon would grow dizzy, illusions tainted the feverish mind, and finally the Pokemon vanished from sight, fled into the darkest depths of the forest.

Unfortunately for Urg, he wandered into the fight before it was over, the zombie blended in with his all too human group, but was nearly killed by Christa, who held her pistol inches from his brains as her finger teetered on the trigger. Eyes narrowed, in the dark, she could barely tell it was 'him' the one who only almost ate Abner's neck. And now, the distinguished zombie had returned – freshly fed – she noted due to the shade of bright scarlet staining his lips; yet the humane grief that touched his eyes, she identified as regret.

Ferocity growled from her throat as she kicked the zombie to the ground and pressed her heel hard against his sternum. Urg was pinned to the ground by the woman, however it also appeared she was protecting him from the others, who would have surely blown the zombie away in all this senseless brutality.

Flesh flung, gore splattered, and death surrounded them in piles of carcass. Flies soon congregated with the third sunrise their group experienced, and the hollow humidity in the air hung laden with silence.

Abner flicked a few chunks that had accumulated on his broad shoulders, while he took a drag on his smoking cigarette. Isaac heaved out a sigh and tended to some of his scrap wounds, glad that the madness that had lasted – at least what he could tell was the entire night – was over. Christa drew near, brandishing her large abdominal wound and offered Isaac what appeared to be a water from her pack. "There isn't much left." Her words implied more than the water as their own numbers had dwindled.

Meanwhile, Klaud and Clayton exchanged a lasting glance; the two alphas clashed, predator instinct taking over, and the unannounced threats could be tasted through their mutual disgust.

Roger was unaccounted for as Klaud took role, however he returned back to the group after a week of wandering. The horrors the man must have seen were unknowable, yet what the man must have seen in the forest, wandering alone with the horrible monsters. It would have been best to not ask about it. Because surely the gruesome memories were laying just below his eyelids.

Top Man and Pinocchio had certainly bonded in the time they had spend together. They had each others' backs in times of strife, and quite literally, the robot had saved the wooden boy's nose.

Lyra remained quiet, however formed an unlikely alliance with Raw Onion, Grave, and a few others.

Clayton and Grobdum had encountered each other with a normal predator-prey relationship, as Clayton soon found out after trying to kill the too powerful goblin, that the Hunter himself was the mouse.

Time passed in uneven intervals, there was no sign of the Ghost girl for many days. How long had it been? Christa had kept track, and wrote down in her letters that would never send to Katia, their time in the dunes had been longer than months, and without a lead. The rebel scoured her map of sticky-notes and soon the group headed in a fresh direction –having mastered the art of foraging thanks to a few suggestions from the same Goblin that had tried to kill her. Wrong foot, she supposed.

Over time, Grave's presence was eyed, due to the slight and notable monster tendencies the vamp/nephilium had. It made some of the group's members uneasy, but such was life. Rictoffen and Roger Krugman had bonded with stories, just the passing nights, they would tell stories that soothed the group's endless dread and fear of the night. Captain Crow too, had some adventurous stories of his time at sea. Each night they would share, it would make their time and the obstacles they had faced as they traversed all that way, seem like but another wave on their ship of mutual goals and unlikely camaraderie.

Jan and IRIS became close friends in this time. Something about how IRIS spoke reminded him of the good old days, and plenty of time had passed when they would simply converse about data, technology, and the time he had spent in the military.

It was hard to say how long their group had been together, but in the time that stretched with their trek across the Tangled Green, it felt as though their story was drawing to a close.

Christa held onto the infinite hope that had carried her group, which seemed to inspire some of the others when their determination was fading. The woman was far from an optimist, but she knew that no matter what lay ahead of them, they had almost reached the end.

...

How long had it been? Days, weeks, years? It certainly felt like it to Christa, who trudged in fresh sludge as she approached the point on the map that clued her. They had spent so much time chasing false leads in the last month or two, that she was once again skin-and-bones. Her face was gaunt and below her eyes were purple raccoon rings, showing how little sleep she had actually gotten, and how 'well' she had endured the horrors of the forest. She would admit, it was easier with a larger group, for she was able to catch at least a few hours of sleep a day.

Everyone else looked to be in better condition than she, except Urg, but well, that spoke for itself.

Their fatigue-ridden, hope-driven group came upon the land of the lost, how close they seemed to the end of this verse when once again they met an impassible obstacle. Something that would soon drown their chance at survival.

"Let's go around!" Someone shouted.

Raw Onion silently smiled to herself, her wings flapped as she took to the air for did reconnaissance over the stretch of land, before returning with news after some time. "There's no way around. And it there is a huge bank of fog, I can't see past it."

"Sounds like we need a need Rudolph." Eyes fell on Pinocchio as some smirked at the dry humor.

"Sounds like there's only one way." Christa spoke to Klaud.

"We don't know the dangers that lie ahead. But everyone willing to risk their lives for this should follow. Let's stay close together, shall we?"

"We should pass in a line, I'll try to pick some shallow places to step, everyone else follow suit. And those who are too cowardly to come, well, I won't be able to see you running through the fog. So you can trust there'll be no bullets in your back." Christa held up her handy pistol with a sadistic smile and cocked her weapon before becoming completely submerged in the smoke. Soon they would all be swallowed by the the murderous haze of despair.

Injury run down:
[spoiler]Christa is uninjured.

Urg is still undead. Sorry mate. (Uninjured).

Abner is still an empire soldier. Rebel with me.

Isaac received a minor injury.

Klaud got a moderate injury.

Zora was attacked by a zombie and /becomes/ a zombie !<Ghoul Zora>

Clayton got a minor injury.

Roger Krugman received a major injury.

Raw Onion is still flying, moderate injury

Top Man is moderately injured.

Pinocchio has a moderate injury.

Lyra is uninjured.

Grobdum is uninjured.

IRIS has a major injury.

Rictoffen has a minor injury.

Grave got a minor injury. (Your progress with writing/ display shows very much! You should see all the nice things I said on your scorecard ^.^ your effort paid off more than it shows here.)

Crow minor injury.

Jan is uninjured.[/spoiler]
---
This round I am SUPER impressed with the improvements you have made, some variables were taken into account, but they didn't hurt people's scores too badly.

Exemplary bonus:

[spoiler]Abner, Christa, Lyra, Grobdum, and Crow all receive a bonus item. Great work you guys!

For you, I'll inform you what you got later via PM, as I have yet to decide what you will get. Thank you for your effort and hard work![/spoiler]
---
Phase 5

This will be a little different! Swamp of sadness? HECK yes.

Your character has stumbled upon the swamp of sadness! Be inventive!

Extra knowledge: you may have noticed we DID have a time skip! Our group has fought many battles and become close, only making our gradual separation during this phases more *sad!*

I would LOVE for you to include stories of what we did in the meantime. How your character guided or overcame some hope stuff, as well as otherwise impacting things. (I myself may plan one with Abner.)

>The above will only be accepted on your first post, and they must be tagged under a spoiler and above the swamp of sadness story.
[spoiler]Example for coherency: (spoiler tag)~IN THE BEFORE TIME~ Christa and Abner got to know one another.(/spoiler tag)

The swamp of sadness was visible in the distance.[/spoiler]

---

I have a lot to cover this round with requirements and what I am looking for.

To start off. The phase runs 4 days and ends Saturday evening around 7:00 PST.

The post limit for this round is 3 maximum make it has LONG as you want, (minus myself, who has to implement judge stuff. As a balancer, every excess post I do *may* result in a penalty to my personal score, to make it fair.)
> the reason I am putting up a post limit, is so that you really consider the storyline/ plot following your character and how it is relevant to them.

Other requirements:

Reflection- I'm not going to tell you /what/ to post, but keep it interesting. If you don't want to include something about the character's history, you don't have to. But keep it personal, I want to really feel involved in your characters thoughts and actions. (SN: If your character does something that has relevance, note that. I have a lot to grade this section, and I would love the inclusion of relevance.
[spoiler]Example: Tennant held the picture of his family in his hand one last time, feeling the unnatural fold of the creased wrinkles before the fever overtook his mind.
everything is connected

>when mentioned in this way, Tennant brings importance to himself, his character's background, his family, and what he cares about. It also implies that Tennant may bring up his *reasoning* for leaving his family in the next post. Which to me shows you are being thoughtful to their story.

If your character is hard to pull off in *this* way, go ahead and do something like this:

Tennant took the time to straighten his tie one last time before the fever overtook him (relevant:) as a final, silent ritual to the way he lived his life. (A brief explanation of his job may be included as well.)[/spoiler]

I will be looking or a few things from you all, such as your characters motivations and motives for finding Omni, application of determination, and just simple originality.

Those of you with bonus items are urged to use them in this round.

Finally, write your best and have some fun!

One of the best things in the world is when writers enjoy creating a story and it is even better when we can make memories with others!

Happy writing, and good luck everyone!

[Mickey Mouse]

The flashback is at the top of the post, however for narrative structure, I’ve placed a note indicating where the flashback should be read if you want to get the flow I’m trying to accomplish. You can read the flashbacks first but I promise it’ll be more narratively satisfying if you don’t!

[spoiler]

Flashback 1: Clayton, Grobdum, Klaud, Christa

During the few weeks that he had been traveling with this motley crew of secondaries, Clayton had come to one firm conclusion: if left alone to their devices, they would undoubtedly get themselves killed. Now, the hunter spared no affection for any of the bastards, but certainly he needed at least a few of them, potentially more, to make sure that he reached the Oververse in one piece. He’d already had to be patched up twice now—once from the orc attack and once from fighting with the zombies—and he couldn’t afford to let these minor scuffs build up until they stopped him from achieving his goal. No, he would reach Omni, but to do it, he needed some other weaklings to climb on the backs of.

Unfortunately, he had managed to corral himself with a whole army of idiots.

They had let a goddamn orc into the group. Surely someone had to notice how terrible an idea that was besides him? Apparently not, though, because Grobdum had waltzed in and made himself quite at home amongst their little coalition. What reason did that creature even have to find Omni, anyway? Perhaps, Clayton considered, he was a little bitter, since once of his kind had been the cause of the arrow in his leg and a few others had tried to mutilate him, but he thought his fears were warranted.

Though, the hunter considered, perhaps the little orc could be used to his advantage. Certainly, several amongst the group trusted him little, General Klaud Nine principal among them. With a bit of wordplay, perhaps, he could convince the General that her dislike should, instead, be aimed toward their more ugly companion rather than his own handsome face.

“Oh, General,” his voice rang in the forest as he approached the woman. Klaud spun around immediately, the scowl on her face digging into Clayton’s soul.

“Clayton,” she growled, “what do you want?”

“It’s that fellow,” Clayton went straight for his business, “The orc… man… thing. I don’t like the look of him, General.” He continued to lean on Klaud’s title to give the woman the impression he respected her; of course, the opposite was true. He held no respect at all for her.

Klaud eyed him with the same suspicion she always did. Honestly, he was growing kind of tired of her eyebrow always waggling so unattractively. Didn’t she have anyone else to patronize? Someone who had actually proven that they didn’t have the cause in mind? “Why in the world would I believe the orc has any ulterior motives, Clayton? Your suspicions seem largely unfounded.” She scoffed a bit, and moved to leave the hunter in her dust.

“His people attacked us, General,” the British man raised his own eyebrow, “What’s to stop him from trying to get revenge? I may have held a blade to your throat, General, but those orcs actually tried to run you through. Let’s not forget that.” Klaud spun around to reply, but had nothing to say. She held up a finger as if that would do something to distract the gentleman from her hanging jaw, which swung just a bit too low. A smirk crept on the man’s lips. Klaud Nine was not so amused. “General? Cat got your tongue?”

“You have no proof,” she scoffed, “and besides—if you truly think he’s going to betray us, you should speak with Christa. I’m not going to help you any.”

Clayton shrugged. “I was just confiding in a friend,” he remarked, and the General scowled.

She was right, though. If he was going to make any headway pinning Grobdum as the most slimy secondary in this group, he’d have to find a way to get the head honcho to believe him. Only a few weeks into this whole journey, he hadn’t found much opportunity to speak to Christa; she’d seemed a little bat-shit crazy when he’d first met her, waving her gun around in that zombie’s face, but she had proven a capable enough leader.

After leaving Klaud Nine to her own devices, the hunter decided to take the General’s advice and approach their leader. He found her chowing down in what had come to be the group’s makeshift mess hall. What a civilization they’d formed here, in their hopelessness.

Of course, she ate alone today. The girl wasn’t the most social—she spoke with a few of the secondaries, like the old man Isaac, on a regular basis, but overall, she had little to say to anyone who didn’t have a lot to say to her. She intrigued the hunter, to say the least, but he had yet to figure out how to crack open her shell.

“Ma’am,” he began politely. Christa glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” He held out a large hand.

“You know who I am, I know who you are,” Christa responded curtly, turning back to her bowl, “Introductions aren’t necessary under the circumstances, Mr. Clayton.” The hunter frowned a bit. Definitely a tough egg to crack. “What’s on your mind, shotgun?”

Clayton huffed a little.

“You’re a good shot with that thing,” the girl commented, gesturing offhandedly to the huge weapon slung over his shoulder. “Perhaps that’ll come in handy.”

“Ma’am, I wanted to voice some concerns I have… about one of our compatriots,” Clayton mused, sliding into a seat next to their leader. She did not move a muscle, completely undisturbed by his intrusion. She simply waited for him to continue. “Ma’am, if it’s not too bold of me to say so, I have doubts about the loyalty of the orc… man… thing,” the hunter explained, “being that his entire tribe got us into that trouble at the temple. I mean, what’s to stop him from calling them in again? Revealing our location? What’s to stop him from doing that, ma’am?”

“That is too bold,” Christa noted, wiping her lips with her napkin, “But not altogether stupid. I’ll keep my guard up. Now if you’ll excuse me.” The woman picked up her bowl, silverware, and cup, and quickly got up to leave Clayton alone at the table. “Oh,” she said over her shoulder, “and don’t call me ma’am.” She left, and the hunter growled a little bit under his breath. It seemed that if anything was going to get done around here, he would have to do it himself. Or get Grobdum to do it for him.

The orc sat by a fire when Clayton first approached him.

The creature’s eyes stared into the flame, not even noticing the hunter coming up behind him. Clayton towered above the tiny goblin as he sat next to the raging flames. Grobdum heard the shink of Clayton’s machete leaving its sheath.

A quick glance behind him confirmed his suspicions. The hulking human stood over him with an unsheathed blade and a foul expression on his face. Clayton snarled, and for a second, the irony of the entire situation washed over him; for once, he felt like the orc, and Grobdum the tiny human about to get stomped. The creature stood up, its full size more intimidating than Clayton remembered from the last time he’d seen it but still not altogether frightening.

“Grobdum, is it?”

“I’z just sittin’ here,” the goblin sputtered, “why you got that thing out?” The orc’s eyes flitted from Clayton’s angry-looking face to the machete, which shined a bit in the firelight.

“Grobdum, if I may,” Clayton started, ever polite, “a few of us have grown… weary of your presence. I’ve been asked to inform you that you need to leave this group immediately and never come back.” For a second, Mr. Clayton thought he might have seen sadness flash over Grobdum’s ugly mug. “Or,” he continued, “I’ll make you.” He held up the machete, in case the intent wasn’t clear.

The orc considered this for a moment. “Who?” he asked, too cleverly for Clayton’s own good.

“Listen,” Clayton hissed, lunging forward and placing the blade of the machete next to Grobdum’s neck, “you need to go. Do you understand?”

But the orc quickly overpowered the hunter. One of Grobdum’s feet lifted up and slammed into Clayton’s stomach, sending him reeling backwards and finally plopping onto the dirt. His fingers released their grip on their machete, and the blade flew back into the darkness. The orc approached the gentleman, an unkind expression on his face.

“Clayton?”

Klaud Nine’s voice pierced through the darkness. Clayton and Grobdum looked up to see the General wading out of the bushes.

“General!” Clayton squealed, turning over and crawling, completely prone, to Klaud’s feet, “You must help me. This… thing… attacked me, with no provocation!” He spared a hope that perhaps Klaud hadn’t seen him advance on the orc. The General glanced from Clayton to Grobdum, uncertainty lacing her features. Several seconds passed; the goblin sputtered a bit, trying to formulate the words to defend himself, but before he could muster up the sentences, Klaud made her decision. She reached down and grasped Clayton’s machete, lifting it up and holding it threateningly at Grobdum. To himself, Clayton smiled.

“You should get out of here, Grobdum,” the General said, her voice shaking. Grobdum’s eyes grew wide with disbelief, and he took a few shocked steps backward before turning and rushing into the forest. Clayton had won this battle, today, but he would have vengeance. Meanwhile, on the ground, the hunter continued to play the victim on the outside, but relished in his victory on the inside. Klaud Nine, on the other hand, continued to shake. She did not know if she was making the right decision.

She could not know that she was making the very wrong one.

Flashback 2: Clayton, Christa

So this was it.

The past few months had been absolutely exhausting, and finally, the time was almost here. In the morning, they would be off, at last about to continue their conquest and attempt to make their way through the Swamp of Sadness. The hunter had grown weary of this seemingly endless quest for Omni, but he’d stuck with it because the prize the Empire had promised him was too great. For once in his life, he had decided to suffer through the idiocy of his companions and let them help him achieve a goal, rather than offing them when they had outlived their usefulness.

Of course, he still planned on doing so. When they reached Omni, he would murder them all in cold blood if they tried to stop him from taking the god and giving him a proper execution. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be the case. Hopefully the miscreants would die off on their own, or those that survived would not stop him from destroying the creator of this world once they’d had their questions answered and their wishes granted.

After all, he had grown at least a little bit fond of some of his compatriots—principally the old man, Isaac, gentle but not a moron; the girl, Christa, who seemed to become the group’s leader; and a few other selected people. At this moment, he approached Christa’s tent, determined to get the inside scoop on their plans for the next day and once again usurp any seeds of dissent Klaud had created in the group against him. He would not lose this game of chess to someone who dared to play him.

He brushed inside the blonde girl’s tent without knocking, finding her sitting with her legs underneath her on the floor. In front of her, a few different maps of the Tangled Green they’d come across were splayed out on the ground, but something else lay atop them; a picture, perhaps? Clayton couldn’t deny his curiosity.

Unfortunately, Christa noticed his presence quickly. Little got past her.

“Clayton,” she remarked without even looking at him, swooping up the photograph and stuffing it into her bag. She threw the thing across the tent and kept her eyes squarely on it, assuring Clayton would not reach it without her knowledge.

“Christa,” the hunter replied, kneeling next to her, “who was that a picture of?”

“You should be resting, Clayton,” the girl began to fold up the maps, “Tomorrow is a big day for us all. One step closer.”

Clayton nodded. “Of course,” he acknowledge, “that’s why I’m here. I want to make sure I’m incredibly prepared for tomorrow. Want to make sure I know the plan.” He placed a hand on Christa’s shoulder, and she recoiled at his touch. Her eyes looked up and met the gentleman’s, eyeing him with a glint of curiosity.

“You know the plan,” she frowned, “you’ve traveled with me enough times to know. Keep moving forward. Don’t stop.” She was, of course, referring to their many scouting missions together. It was true; Clayton had often been one of Christa’s first choices to be on her team when missions like that came along, if only for the fact that he seemed to be quite the expert with both his shotgun and his machete.

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of your stalwart determination, dear,” he oozed, and Christa scowled, stacking up the piled maps in one corner of her tent as Clayton eased himself into a sitting position. The girl had never been a fan of the hunter’s gentlemanly pleasantries.

“Then you’re well aware of the plan,” she shot back, “and details will come tomorrow morning. For now, you should sleep.” She did not look at him.

“That picture,” the hunter repeated, “who is it of?”

Christa paused. She turned to face Clayton, and for a second, considered him carefully. Then, after what seemed like the longest silence in the world, she decided to tell him. “My sister.”

“Does your sister know of your goal to meet the great Omni?”

“My sister is the goal,” she stated simply. Clayton resisted the urge to smirk. Trust.

The hunter took his chance.[/spoiler]

He had been on this quest far too long.

The sophisticated slicked-back hairstyle he’d grown accustomed to faded in the passing months into a mess of gray hair mopped up on top of his head. Stray strands hung in the hunter’s face, usurping his gentlemanly appearance for a more rugged one. His new demeanor betrayed his growing annoyance with the other secondaries that surrounded him—they were, as the expression went, grinding on his last nerve.

The bitch at the head of the pack was speaking. Christa; that was what she called herself. Throughout the past several months, she had quickly taken a leadership position amongst the other secondaries, and why not? She seemed to have a fiery sense of determination when it came to this quest, and if nothing else, she knew when to kill lest she be killed. The sheer sadism of her little speech gave that much away. Mr. Clayton had grown to like the girl, he would admit—one of the few fellows on the quest that didn’t strike him as absolutely, mind-numbingly stupid—but something about her still set the hunter on edge. Perhaps it was that fire that danced in her eyes, burning brighter and brighter as each day passed.

For some, the quest had begun to seem hopeless. Not for her.

Aside from that, though, she also seemed particularly good at handling herself in the wild. The hunter even had taken a few injuries—that arrow in the leg, and then again when he’d tried to take on the orc that had apparently joined them on their quest. He still didn’t think allowing Grobdum to accompany them was wise; after all, the very first obstacle they’d encountered had been a horde of his kinsmen trying their best to murder each and every last one of them. These idiots had thought it a good idea to bring him along, and then what had he done? Brought another fucking orc army into their settlement to try and kill them all.

Flashback 1 goes here.

Of course, he supposed being worried about that might be hypocritical—after all, he planned to do the same exact thing. Of course, his deception was a lot better masked; the fact that his fellow companions had been too stupid to see it merely served as a bonus. Oh, well. At least the fool was gone, now.

One of them may prove a problem, though. His eyes fell on the General—Klaud Nine. The woman had been suspicious of him from the start, for whatever reason. He supposed his whole personality might be a little abrasive, but he had done everything right; still, the bitch had questioned his loyalty back in the forest, just before they had all surged into battle with the mass of undead creatures. And yes, admittedly, he’d made a bit of a hostile gesture, but these past few months had given him more than enough time to prove his worth.

He had been a loyal member of the whole troupe, much to his dismay. He had helped scout out things with Christa and the others, and even not made a fuss about working with someone who so obviously mistrusted him. When he felt Grobdum was a threat, he had tried to handle it—perhaps in a violent way, admittedly, and yes, he’d failed, but still, he had proven his dedication if he had done nothing else. Yet she still looked at him with disdain.

Furthermore, she had also begun instilling other members of the group with that same notion; some of the other secondaries gave him looks that suggested their suspicion, and he was certain it must’ve come from her. Even the vampire (or whatever-the-bloody-hell-it-was) gave him looks, and Mr. Clayton was pretty sure that that sick creature shouldn’t even be let anywhere near any of these poor, pathetic fools. Christ, sometimes he really had trouble wrapping his head around how stupid this lot was.

No matter; the majority of them would be hanging on his wall in a few weeks’ time, if all went as planned.

Being back on the road did not agree with Clayton, either. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to reach Omni—the paycheck the Empire had offered him made him salivate a little bit more every time he thought about it—he had grown used to sitting around camp, showing off his hunting prowess when the need arose.

But perhaps that wasn’t all he missed.

Flashback 2 goes here.

Clayton sped up a bit through the fog, shirking the line to get to the front.

“Fearless leader,” his slimy voice hissed as Christa’s silhouette appeared before him. The girl paused briefly, turning around and catching the hunter’s eye. The eye contact held a bit too long before she scowled and turned back, stomping ahead. Perhaps he hadn’t actually accomplished anything during their escapades the previous night. He hurried after her, catching up and standing just past one of her shoulders. She refused to look at him. “Christa, dear…”

“If there weren’t people behind us, I would hit you,” Christa said, unamused, keeping her gaze focused forward. “Do what’s good for you and get back in line, Clayton.”

“Oh, come now,” the gentleman whispered, leaning close to her ear, “Surely you’d like a real man walking beside you to make sure the Swamp of Sadness doesn’t prove too much for you.” He gently reached out and ran his fingers down her arm. “After all, with what you said about your sister last night—”

Christa’s pistol slammed into Clayton’s wrist, fracturing it ever so slightly and separating it from her skin. “Speak another word about my sister and I’ll kill you without a second thought,” she growled, “and touch me again and you’ll lose the whole hand, fucker.”

Clayton frowned. “Christa…”

“You don’t own me,” she spat, turning and locking eyes with him. “Make no mistake: I chose last night. And I can choose to put a bullet in your skull just as easily.” The blonde woman chuckled ever so slightly, the first moment of humor Clayton had ever seen her experience. She spun around and began to walk away from the hunter, her silhouette disappearing into the fog.

The hunter turned to rejoin the line, but his eyes were met with nothing but an endless smoky night. The group of secondaries had either fallen incredibly behind Christa and Clayton, or something was terribly wrong. “Christa?” he called out, taking a few cautious steps backward. “Klaud?” He couldn’t believe that he was calling out for the distrustful general, but he would rather that bitch be here than the eerie feeling that crept up his spine.

In that instant, something leapt out of the fog and collided into him. A great black figure knocked him into the swampy waters, sufficiently ruining the only outfit he had left after months of being with these buffoons, and then continued to sprint past him. Seconds later, a whole conglomeration of the things began to trample him; he barely avoided their big hulking feet, and then finally, after dealing with the army of things, he managed to reach up and catch one by the fur. The thing continued to run through the misty air, but it turned around to check and see what new passenger had dug its fingers into its skin.

Suddenly, Clayton found himself face to face with a very angry ape.

[Yu Kanda]

The last couple of months have been peculiar to say the least. So many things happened. After that cursed temple and the undead attack things slowed down a little bit. They were stuck within the greens without any sign nor word from ghost-girl. The group grew closer together during these past months as they wandered, lived, hunted, fought and survived as a community instead of a bunch of strangers. Klaud felt like she belonged to something once again. After she came to the Omniverse and lost the black order from her own world she has been a loner; not any more. As the group followed Christa towards their new destination Klaud looked around at the familiar faces, her mind started to wander, thinking about the things that happened.

[spoiler]Her mind started to drift towards the beginning of this strange endeavor. After the undead horde were defeated the group came together and licked their wounds as they waited for word from the mysterious ghost girl. Unfortunately this took allot longer than any of them wanted. Days became weeks, weeks became months. During that time she got to know many people better, some of them even better then she would've wanted, nonetheless they all became a chapter in her new life here in the Omniverse.

Clayton part one

Of course it was inevitable that Clayton was a part of her memories, that slithering snake made his way into the community, trying to gain their trust. Some of them actually bought his act. In fact, Klaud might have fallen for one or two of his schemes herself. The hunter had a sharp and deceptive mind and knew exactly how to use it. Their first clash was fairly early. Out of nowhere Clayton came to where Klaud made camp and started accusing Grobdum of being dangerous. The hunter only came with accusations without a shred of evidence. Obviously Klaud attempted to get rid of the man as quickly as possible and send him Christa's way. For some reason the hunter agreed to this faster then she expected, but not before speaking his last confusing words. “I was just confiding in a friend." He said.

Friend, a word easily thrown around yet in a place like this you cannot survive without. As she watched Clayton walk off she turned her attention towards the others walking around going on with their business. Her eyes got caught on someone trying to fade into the shadows after he was obviously watching the conversation the General and Clayton were having. Klaud didn't think twice before heading his direction. She looked behind the tree and saw the silver haired man walking off.

It was the beginning of something bigger, even though they did not know it yet at the time.

Jan Part one

Everyone was slowly settling within the greens and started making shelters and places to sleep out of the rain and wind. Even though Klaud was a great strategist and warrior she had two left hands when it came to building and structural engineering. Dragging a couple of large leaves towards 'her spot' she looked at the pile that was previously referred to as junk. Now they were materials to build a place for her to sleep. Klaud started stacking stones and balancing several sticks on top of the two stacks of stones that would appear to be something that resembles a wall. The structure looked as if it was going to collapse every second.

"Do you need a hand with that General?" Jan asked while he was casually eating an apple leaning against a nearby tree.

"No I'm fine, this should work just fine "The words haven't left the blonde's lips or the structure came crashing down. Placing the woman in a pretty awkward position.

"It doesn't look fine General. How about setting that pride aside for just one moment and let me help you." He had a smile on his face, but Klaud didn't get the feeling he was laughing at her. Something about him calmed her.

"Alright, I could use a hand with this. But enough with the whole General thing, call me Klaud, please"

" Klaud, alright. Let's make you a place to safely sleep in."

The two started working on Klaud's shelter. The soldier was pretty handy, he must have had to do this in the field more often. The two worked and laughed as the sun was slowly setting but at the end of the day there it was, a nice shelter with an actual roof. The air started to cool down as night was setting. Jan was getting some firewood as Klaud grabbed two of the fish the others caught and were kind enough to share with everyone.

The fire was crisping as the two fish were hanging over it. Klaud and Jan were sitting on a large log near the warm blazing fire. The duo shared a drink and ate their fish. The moon slowly appeared in the sky as the stars were visible on this particular evening. After their hunger was stilled they just laid down and watched the stars as they started to share stories about their past.

Jan started off telling stories from his world, and how he experienced the time within the Omniverse. Klaud listened to his stories, he had been through so much. The woman started to open up herself as well, starting to share her past and stories with the man.

"In my world there are demons, demons that are under the control of the millennium earl. He uses them to destroy us, the exorcist. We belong to a military organization that solely exists to defend mankind from these demons. Not everyone is able to become an exorcist and fight these demons. Only people chosen can synchronize with something we call innocence, which allows us to fight these demons. The millennium earl is a fearsome opponent, he uses our grief against us to create these demons using the souls of our loved ones that have died. Not only that, he has the Noah clan on his side, descendents from the actual Noah from the biblical stories. Then again, i am not sure if you even know those stories in your world."

"So you fight these demons using only your whip?"

Klaud became a bit quieter after Jan asked her that. It was obvious that something was bothering her after that question.

"No, my whip became like this once I arrived in the Omniverse. Before i came here it was an ordinary whip. The energy you see coating it belongs to my partner, Lau Jimin. He was the innocence, we always fought together."

"Were you two close ? As in you know, together ?" Jan asked as he looked Klaud in her blue eyes. It was obviously something he didn't want to hear. But Klaud started to chuckle a little as for the first time she let out a genuine laugh. "What's so funny ?" Her conversation partner quickly asked, afraid he made a fool of himself.

"Lau Jimin is a primal beast, a monkey to be exact. He is a small capuchin monkey, the innocence allows him to transform into a killing machine. When we are not fighting he is my small friend who I always have with me, usually on my shoulder. " Jan seemed to be relieved for some reason and obviously felt a little stupid.

"I'm sorry, i must seem like a complete idiot"

"No, no, it's not like you could've know. But he is the reason why i am on this quest, i would like Omni to reunite me with my friend, my partner. It's a big place, and there were many cold nights where i miss him with me." Klaud's voice lowered in volume and sought comfort and warmth as she laid closer to Jan.

"I understand, but, you are no longer alone, we are here, i am here" And with those words a spark arose between the two. Underneath the moon and stars two people found each other's comfort and their lips touched while they held each other close. The moment lasted until Jan opened his eyes and pulled back. His eyes seemed confused as he seemed to realize something.

"I'm sorry, that was wrong of me. I will come see you in the morning Klaud" Without giving the surprised woman a time to respond, Jan got up and started walking to his own sleeping spot.

Klaud spend the evening alone but she wouldn't be alone much longer. Her and Jan only grew closer over the upcoming months. This was one of her more pleasant memories and she treasured it. After that day the mental games started within the camp and Klaud was reminded at the day they started.

Grave, Raw union, Iris and Jan ( part 2 )

It was just another day for Klaud, she was doing her usual chores. Washed herself and her clothes at the nearby river. Afterwards she filled the canteens with water before returning back to camp. Klaud wiped the sweat off of her head and turned around. Klaud startled as only a meter behind her there was Grave standing, watching her.

Klaud sighed as she calmed down from the initial startle. " You scared me there for a moment Grave, what are you doing here ?"

"I was actually hoping to catch you alone for a moment, Jan seems to be everywhere you are." Grave replied with a friendly tone and his face was hinting for something more. Klaud wouldn't respond to his subtle hint but she did engage the conversation with him.

" Well me and Jan work well together, it's a good thing getting to know each other better. Who knows how long we are stuck here. So what did you want to talk to me about ? " Klaud asked casually as if nothing was wrong.

"So you and him aren't together ? That means I have a shot right ?" Grave insisted with a smug grin on his face. It was a side of him Klaud hadn't seen before. He seemed more approachable this way, but she still didn't give him much to go on.

"No we're not together and in your dreams Grave. Now what did you want to talk to me about or do you intend to waste my time some more ?"

"Ouch, rejected. Well there was a more serious matter I wanted to discuss with you. I noticed you and the hunter have had words on more than one occasion."

"Yes ? What of it ? " She was intrigued by Grave mentioning the hunter. But was he on the hunters side ?

"Well it seems you two are not on the best of terms, and i would like to ask why, what happened between you two that you are so hostile towards him?"
Klaud seemed to think for a moment and decided that sharing her stories couldn't hurt. She told him about what happened in the temple, how reckless he was and how he actually threatened her by placing his machete on her skin. Grave seemed to be listening carefully to every word the general had to share.

"In the end, I do not trust him, I think he will betray us or even worse, kill us. That man is a menace. His silver tongue is gathering him allies, they just do not know they are being used. Jan and myself decided to watch each other's backs for threats from within." Klaud finished her story and awaited grave's response.

"I see " The only two words leaving grave's vocal chords leaving Klaud in suspense. She shared allot of information with him. Was it wrong of her to confide in this man ?

"Well, you are not the only one. I myself distrust the hunter's actions as well, and I am not alone in this" The words surprised Klaud, it seems Clayton had more enemies then she originally thought.

"Who are they ? what else has he done?" She continued to question him.

"We can talk more about it, but not here. I will let the people decide for themselves if they want to let themselves get known."

"Then i propose we set up a meeting, where we gather once and discuss this problem."

"A meeting sounds good, I shall ask the others. Where and when will we meet ?"

"We meet in two days, behind my quarters at midnight. And not a word to others that are not involved"

"My lips are sealed General, see you soon" He winked at Klaud and returned towards camp. Klaud was still a bit surprised it actually happened. It seemed she had more allies then she originally thought. This is good, this would give Jan herself and her allies a better chance of surviving this thing. Her thoughts were interrupted by a question coming from another direction.

"So what was that all about ? " Jan came walking up together with Iris.

"Just new pieces on the chessboard in our favor" Klaud replied confidently. " Where have you two been ?"

Jan smiled as he showed Klaud two rabbits tied up "We went hunting with great success."

"Finally a decent meal, I haven't had anything decent for weeks" Iris joked, tickling Jan's funny bone as he laughed out loud. Klaud shook her head with a smile on her face. Those two have been spending allot of time together so Klaud got to know Iris allot better as well over the past weeks.

"Now how about we get you two lovebirds back to camp before your hormone levels spike even higher" Iris obviously couldn't resist mocking the two.
Klaud didn't mind, she was after all an ally and a friend. A close friend to Jan who trusted her with these things. She will tell them about the meeting later.

Getting close to camp Klaud went towards another part from her own spot. The flying pony she got to know as Raw Union was laying in the sun, clearly enjoying herself."getting yourself a tan ?" Klaud said as she placed two canteens down in front of her. " I brought you some water"

"No no but the sun feels so nice on my skin, every once a while we got to enjoy the little things don't you think ? And thank you for the water Klaud" Raw replied with a cheerful voice.

Enjoy the little things. That was a good one, Klaud had to remember that one as things aren't always as peaceful as now. During this time, she was actually something resembling happy. Let's hope it would be still this way after the meeting

Clayton ( Pt2, more details in Mickey's post )

Klaud found Clayton and Grobdum during what seemed a heated discussion, she decided to intervene. This was a mistake, she was placed in a difficult position by the Hunter and decided to side with him against Grobdum. Was this a mistake ?

She returned the machete to Clayton with her hand still trembling, comprehending what just happened.

"Thank you, my dear. Thank you very much" The tone of the hunters voice made all of her body hair stand upright. This did not feel right. Clayton walked off with a satisfied smile on his face.

What has she done ? did she make a new enemy ? Should she go after Grobdum ? Many questions filled her head as Clayton got what he wanted. Klaud was played and she realized it after the damage was done. Best was to confess and ask the others for advice how to proceed, the meeting would follow quickly.

Grave( Part 2 ), Raw union, Pinocchio, iris, Isaac, Jan ( Part 3 )

The night of the meeting went a little different than expected. Not everyone showed up but the ones that did snuck towards the meeting spot at midnight. She was missing Lyra and Crow, for whatever reason they had. They talked for about an hour about the things that were troubling them. Klaud told them the stories about her encounters with the hunter, about Grobdum and how she hasn't seen the goblin after that happened and shared her worries about it.
Many idea's were shared and opinions given. Even though many agreed that an alliance was a good idea, not all were as willing to take part in it. Isaac had to think about everything he heard this night before making a decision and returned to his place of rest. The others agreed and decided to let it all sink in and reach their own conclusion.

"I shall take this before Christa myself and share these concerns." Before they all returned to their beds there was one more thing that had to be dealt with. Klaud turned to the wooden puppet.

"You cannot say anything about this to anyone, especially Clayton. Do you understand ?" Klaud spoke with a stern voice.

"Y- yes ma'am!"

"Promise me."

"I promise I won't tell anyone about this meeting that does not have a right to know about this meeting" The magical creature replied. Nothing happened, that was good enough for Klaud.

"Very well, i wish you a good night and stay safe" With these words the general closed the meeting. Jan stayed with her that night as they talked about what happened and how they would continue to watch over each other. Especially Jan, he has grown very protective over Klaud.

Christa

Klaud approached Christa a few days before they headed out again, only Klaud did not know this yet.
"Do you have a moment to spare for me Christa?" Klaud asked as she saw Christa was washing her clothes at the river.

"What do you want, Klaud ?" She seemed unimpressed and simply continued with what she was doing. Klaud did not befriend Christa but they respected each other on a professional level.

"I'm here to give you a heads-up about something. It's about Clayton."

"Shocker, you two have been going at it again ? "

" It's something more than that. There are more people within the community that share my concerns. If he tries anything funny i, no, we will not hold back"

"And you are telling me this why ?"

"Because we both know he can jeopardize the entire quest with his stunts" Christa stopped what she was doing, sighed, dropped the piece of cloth that she was washing and stood up facing Klaud.

"Ever stopped to think that the things you are doing might also bring this quest in danger ? You have been so fixated on keeping an eye on Clayton that you don't even see the damage you are causing yourself. So please get off your high horse and start thinking straight" Christa sounded annoyed as she stormed off. Did Klaud catch her in a bad mood or was there something more behind it all. She did not find an ally in Christa but she did got a wake-up call. And just in time as well because it would be a matter of days before there was news about the quest and a new destination. The swamp of sadness. She only heard rumors and what she heard wasn't good.

Jan (Part 4)

Their last night together they prepared for the tough journey ahead. It wouldn't be easy but they promised to each other to meet at the other side of the swamp. They will survive and they will see this thing through, together.

"Just promise me one thing Jan. Don't do anything rash or stupid out there alright ?"Klaud sounded uncertain.

"What are you talking about where does this come from all of a sudden ? We will travel through that swamp and find Omni, for both our sakes"

"Yes, for both our sakes." Klaud thought as she moved her hand over her lower stomach. She should tell him but it was too soon, too early to be sure. But if it was, then they needed Omni more than they could imagine at the start of all of this.[/spoiler]

Klaud enjoyed some of the memories of the past months and hoped everyone she got to know and love lately would make it through. She grabbed her whip and could still feel the gold colored sand from the temple stuck on the whip's handle, she should've cleaned it before heading here. Following Christa's lead they headed towards the dreaded swamp., everyone was walking in a single line as Christa didn't want anyone to get stray off the path. Stick together and emerge on the other side was the plan.

And there it was, up ahead the swamp of sorrows was awaiting it's victims. A bit ahead she heard Christa scowl at Clayton, Klaud actually enjoyed that little moment. It would be the last bit of joy she would feel before this ordeal was over. As they continued walking the mist became thicker and thicker. Jan placed his hands on Klaud's shoulder and calming her "Don't worry, I am right here". Her trial was about to begin.

[Gildarts]

[spoiler]... Damn. A lot had happened in such little time.

(Emails sent during the time passed)

Christa, Abner

Her palm pressed against the gooey blood, seeping from the wound, “More gauze! Come on, we don’t have all day here, his life is on the line!” Christa shouted to the nearest person, not bothering to turn her head back to see if they were still frozen in place at the sight of his blood covering her, or if they had been driven by the passionate haste in her voice.

“Hang in there.” She spoke in a low tone and her pale eyes ached with untold emotion. Not another soldier, not another friend. Christa wouldn’t accept death. Not today, not when he could be saved, and certainly not when it meant absolutely nothing.

Abner was loosing blood, and fast. In the war Christa had survived, no one ever lived to talk about how truly agonizing this kind of injury was. And yet it remained. All that pain, so much blood, and the last of the air in his lungs. A pulse continued to bring him life while the unconscious dog of the empire wore a wincing expression, nearly resembling that of a pout.

“You’re gonna live to tell me one more story.” She commanded as she pressed with all her weight into the deep wound.

Abner breathed heavily, his body convulsing beneath the blanketed darkness from his eyelids.

And then there was black. The room was dark, and the voice that called to him had ceased her siren’s song. His eyes opened to an empty room – or rather, tent – only to see fresh light streaming in.

“Ugh.” He hoisted himself up and propped himself painfully upright. “Tch..” he muttered to himself and collapsed against the makeshift pillows.

It was the infirmary. He wondered where his doctor was. The camp almost reminded him of the ones he had lived in during battle, however it was oddly lacking the scent of blood, suffering, and death.

It did however reek of, well... comradeship. Not many of these people were his friends by choice, even some of the more kindly ones would have agreed the alliance was out of necessity. So, Abner clicked his lighter and soon the fresh scent of smoke filled the room, billowing from his cigarette.

The wind gusted through and the smell of smoke woke Christa, who had fallen asleep in an unlikely location. She was roused by the taste, misinterpreting it from the contents of her dream, as smoke from fresh gunpowder.

“That’ll kill you, ya know.” She smirked in amusement at her joke and entered the room, she offered the injured soldier a water bottle, it was somehow chilled as he grasped it in his hand.

“Oh?” Abner implied the gaping wound in his shoulder, patched up by a certain pony.

“You look like hell.” Christa observed the pallor of his skin, and the youthful glow he had once had was lost due to days without eating; her comment however, creased a smile on his lips. “Nurse is out at the moment, as you can see,” the woman answered before he could ask.

"You nearly died." She stated, point-blank, and with toneless sympathy.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Abner wiped his face of grog, trying to recount how many days he had been out and his gaze asked her wordlessly what had happened the moment he lost consciousness.

“So, the vampire and the zombie both got a little crazy when we brought you into camp, luckily though, bullets are great incentive to insure survival. Before we carried you here, I improvised a small procedure, seeming as you had gone under from the pain. You wouldn’t have made it without it. Now, though,” she paused, “You seem fine. Whiskey?” She asked and poured herself a glass. Whatever demons she was battling, they were certainly keeping her up at night.

“You look like hell.” He retorted, finally and stole the bottle. The burn splashed the back of his throat and simmered on his lips.

“Been there, done that.” Her eyes caught his, as the two veterans shared a moment of mutual understanding.

“Richtofen will be around shortly, you’d be surprised to hear he has more knowledge than I do he has stitching people up.” Her voice strummed the thin walls of fabric that trapped them in.

“How long do you think it will last?” Abner peeled back the gauss, thick with blood.

“Oh, it’ll be quite a few more days until you are on your feet again. Believe me.” She spoke from experience.

“You got hit pretty hard back there too.” Her mentioned as he noticed a trail of blood trickle down her leg and ooze through several scrapes revealed by the holes in her tattered clothes.

“I think I’ll live.” She stole his cigarette and pridefully stood up from her seat, “I’ll be taking this with me.” She kept the plastic glass of whiskey and left the bottle in his hands.

...

Clayton and Christa

“Christa.”

“Clayton.”

Their eyes met as they exchanged a look. “Nice shot back there.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes held him hostage as the two marksmen enjoyed a day of recreation.

Target practice. Five shots each. One of the shells clattered to the forest ground.

“Y’know they aren’t reliable.”

POW.

“Oh yeah?” She shook the ringing from her ears and the next bullet snapped into the chamber. Her eyes swept a glance from their makeshift target and she imagined she heard the rattling of old cans in the breeze, each remaining can hung from thin lines of thread. “Next one’s for keeps.”

“I mean it though. You have to admit, not everyone in that group is your friend.”

POW.

“Oh, you mean mister zombie? What makes you say that, is it the whole, ‘I’ll eat your brains’ thing? Or is it just the fact that he loves my personality.”

He clicked another round in and centered his final shot.

POW.

“It’s true. How long do you think some of them will last? They lack experience, they lack knowledge. And when it comes down to it, how many do you think will have your back, or are willing to pull the trigger?” Every word, carefully selected. Hopefully, she would take the bait.

“I’ll admit, some of them are lucky. But their skills are useful. Some more than others.” Christa held off on her final round as her eye looked carefully down her scope.

“Some of them have use. Sure, and that’s great until it costs you a bullet to the head.”

“Your point, Clay’n?” Her eyebrow raised and her attention seemed to stray from the shot, however her finger still hovered near the trigger.

“I’ll just say, when the time comes, I’ll have your back.” He spoke as she turned her attention to the final hanging can, two hundred cluttered yards away, held up by a dirty thread. With an exhale, her finger gently touched the trigger.

POW.

...

Klaud and Christa

The two women had spent the day together, checking their route to the final destination. It had been long, and both of them needed a little girl talk. It was hard to find anyone relatable in camp, plus Klaud and Christa had plenty in common. Conversation strayed away from the town, away from it all, and finally it gently touched on the past.

Klaud nodded, “What about you, are you missing someone?”

“How’d you guess?” Christa offered a retaliating smile, her eyes chilled the room.

“It’s written on your face.” Klaud read her worry, “Don’t worry, the others can’t see. Only those in the same boat.”

“Who did you lose?” Christa seemed curious as her interest minutely grew.

“He was a friend - a partner - close, we were. It’s hard to find people you trust.. How about you?” Klaud prodded.

“My sister.”

They shared a moment of silence.

“Sorry to hear that. Sucks to be pulled away from our world, away from everything we ever knew, and for what? Seems purposeless, but you just have to keep in mind that they are probably still living on, without us.”

“I was sorry too, when it happened.” Christa fiddled with the gun in her hands, while Klaud offered some mutual sympathy. Kind words. That of a friend.

“Sometimes it’s sad how loss can make us grow.”

...

Richtofen and Christa

Madness.

Untamable, unquenchable, and she could see it plainly in the good doctor’s eyes. He had aided Abner’s injury and nursed it to a recovering state, and for this, Christa was oddly grateful. They sat down together and listened to the man ramble a bit.

The two were both veterans of war. Both lost, both had regrets, and both... German?

“Ve careful where you aim her,” Richtofen motioned to the weapon in her hands. It wasn’t like she had flagged him, but she shrugged and holstered it after sizing him up. She could take him, if she had to.

Both erred on the side of caution. Instinct, reflex, and perhaps just plain experience weighed into both their opinions of one another. Christa was a tactful soldier, a skilled strategist, and a master marksmen. Of what she knew of Richtofen, he was a scientist, she deduced his era as from World War II. It seemed like where they both came from, war was sensationalized. Lucky them.

He was the most useful one here, what with his extensive knowledge of human anatomy, and his application of it didn’t necessarily matter.

“Do you not remember?” his question beckoned her back to their one-sided conversation.

“Remember what? That time you almost killed me?”

“It vas only an experiment.” He corrected her with a coy, satisfied smile.

“Yeah yeah, oh great and mighty doctor, I remember you saying that a million times too. You ZAPPED me with LIGHTNING. You’re lucky I didn’t die, or I would’ve killed ya.”

“It vas not luck, darling. To someone oo’s body vas unaccustomed to torture, it vould have killed them. I ‘uppose your experience saved you zat time, did it not?”

“How did you...” Christa’s eyes narrowed at his immediate deduction as her voice didn’t pronounce the last word and her lips still mouthed, know.

“Oh, zee same way I knew zhat the twenty tousand vatt bolt vouldn’t kill you directly. However, as you noticed, it eliminated zee target, and zhat is all zhat matters, no?” Richtofen’s voice prodded her awareness, of the threat he could soon pose to her.

“Ah, well, I guess I should thank you for killing those zombies then?”

“It vas nothing dear. Now back to my story, zee youth can learn from some of zee experiences I ‘ave had during zee third war. Now un’to my discovery of zee element one ‘undred and zixteen.”

...

Top-Man and Christa

“Good morn’n, Top-Man here, documenting yet another day in the wilderness. T’day we are following Christa, one of the huntresses into the forest, in hopes to capture some footage of the marksman in action.” He paused as the camera zoomed in too close to her face, as the audience and viewers got a nice glimpse too close to her ear. “No no, pan out, pan out! Here we see-”

“Get the camera out of my face, unless you want it to end up like the Goblin King.”

“Oi, fine, just say hi to the viewers first.”

“Alright then,” She breathed, “Hey there, if any of you know where to find Omni, please tweet the Man here. If not,” She held up the snout of her gun toward his camera, but added a playful wink to the live feed.

“See ya.”

...

Captain Crow and Christa

“Fancy a drink, Cap’n?” She smirked as she revealed a bottle of the coveted ale that had only been mentioned in rumors around the camp. And now he had met its source. The only thing to note, was her angle... And well, there was no time to ponder that.

“Another!” The savvy seaman shouted, appealing to her amusement.

Christa liked the Captain, and they had formed an unlikely friendship. He told stories of the sea, happy, sad, and in every single one, their ship rolled on the waves, sails tattered, masts broken, but a smile always remained in the hearts of the spirited sailors.

Pirate stories, just like out of the children's books she used to read to her sister.

"The winds were howling louder than a kraken! And then, nothing. A slimy silence filled the air, which was thick with fog, so dense ye could cut it with a butter knife!

Alas the scallywags heard the sirens, and some of 'em dove off the edge! Beautiful, beautiful, mermaids. What was I to do, the Captain, when all me men were walking the plank? O'course I jumped in after them, but that was when m' leg got pulled under and water clogged my ears! After that, their illusion melted and I saw what truly awful creatures they were. Serpent-esque, with daggers for eyes!–Not to mention bloody gross and leaking with green slime!

And ye know what I did?" His voice beckoned her response as she guzzled her drink and raised her brows ever-so-slightly.

"I sliced 'er head off!" Laughter filled the night, and the Captain's hearty amusement was joined by Christa as they clinked their glasses together, enjoying the merry old times.

Crow's cheeks were cherry red, his eyes glowed vibrantly in the firelight, so Christa whispered a secret, "You know the best thing about Pirate Stories?"

The Captain responded with a curious smile.

"They are told with such good fun that it sets even me away for a good time. Like I'm at sea, cast adrift, part of the crew, seasick, or meeting the enemy's swords at the faint promise of treasure. I say... It's a pirate's life for me."

...

Isaac and Christa

“Today’s the day.” She held two plastic cups into the air. “Well, tomorrow.”

“Just like old times.” Isaac smiled and welcomed a share of her secret stash.

“Old habits.” Two words.

Two more. “What kind?”

“High quality stuff, as you can imagine,” she brandished the label, it was the cheapest brand on the market. “Just like the good old days.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Secret stash.” She muttered to her friend.

Ha. “I knew it.” He smirked and she placed the glass in his empty hand.

“Hit me.”

Bartender Christa filled their glasses. They kept watch of the camp in pairs; tonight it was cold, dark, and they could only see their drink by the dim moonlight.

“Y’know you haven't mentioned her once. But I can tell you miss her.”

Christa held her tongue. They had each downed three glasses, but there was not enough booze in the world to drown her pain. She wasn’t going to lie to her first ally, so she merely remained silent.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. I miss mine too.”

“My sister, her name was Katia.” She murmured, taking her eyes from his.

Isaac knew better than to ask what had happened, the grief drenched her expression and the alcohol’s potency barely touched her eyes.

Isaac responded in the like, “Her name was Carter.”

A few shots later, Christa exhaled a sigh, it seemed her wallowing had turned to relief. Isaac knew it wasn’t from the booze, so his gaze fixed on her curiously as she stated with her strong voice, determined and hardened by hardship and strife.

“I have to make it tomorrow. For her.”

...

A "Morning of" Leader Speech, (Audience - everyone) Christa, and Abner

The rattling of a bell starkly sounded through the mass of folded up tents. Camp, the closest thing she had to a home; each of her allies gathered in the clearing while Christa stood on a flattened stump, about to speak the only truth she knew. Facts.

"As you well know, we leave tomorrow at dawn. The Swamp of Sadness will be our greatest endeavor, yet together we will overcome... Everyone will carry their own weight." Christa assigned the others' their roles during the expedition they would soon embark on.

"We have lost people–friends, and we will lose many more before our trial is over. Fate never told you what I will speak now, that we have the power to choose life or death. The root of our willpower originates from our hope, and though we haven't always known the choice was easy, it has always been there and it always will be."

A small pause, while Christa effortlessly summoned the passion to warble with her voice while the inspirational fire in her eyes continued to blaze. "Each of you is here for your own personal reason, each of you seeks Omni. I can only hope that you all find what you are looking for. And I wish you the best of luck, and infinite courage when you are given the choice to fight fate as I once was."

"I wield my gun for you all, and the fallen lift their swords high with our own in spirit, so that we may succeed; so that we can finally track down that bastard, Omni."

"And I, with you." A friend from the audience clicked his rifle.

"Aye, and my sword!" A pirate-y voice responded.

More shouts of the crowd followed until the entire camp had joined the ample fervor.

It was a small speech, more words needn't follow. Short, sweet, inspirational, and perhaps even the enigmatic Christa seemed a little compromised by her own torn emotion..

Soon, she stepped down after she was rewarded by the united cheers of her motivated peers. Yet Christa entered the infirmary tent, saw Abner's eyes closed, and immediately assumed him to be asleep. She turned on a dime, only to have his grated voice call her back through the fabric of the tent.

"Nice speech." His hoarse voice commented.

A pained smile hid on the angle of her turned face, "Live or die?" She spoke as she gulped at the words she had heard before during times of war, it was motivating enough. But the woman didn't dare look at Abner in the condition he was in. She wondered if anything was that simple anymore. Once, she had cursed a gruesome demise to the Empire, death to every dog, and now it all had faded to gray.

"Oh and the part about fate." Abner spoke only as someone who had been to war could have, "Looks like fate got me good then. Why is it always the hot ones?"

Even in his condition, she admired before responding, "Oh, that was priceless. As if fate even exists."

"Some say the same about Omni." He commented, they both harbored unspoken words.

In the silence, she knew that her hope was worth dying for.

In contrast, her sister was worth living for.[/spoiler]

...

The thick, smokey fog was as gray as her judgement had become. Upon certain instances in her endless trudge through the muck, she could have sworn she tasted the smoke from Abner's cigarette.

A glance back affirmed her suspicion –that she had been separated from her group. This of course, was no surprise in such a dismal place of gruesome despair.

The Swamp of Sadness.

Christa waited for it to hit her. The rumored hopelessness, she expected the myths of enchantment that foretold revelation of feeling and being truly empty inside. And yet, nothing was felt.

Cold as ice, number than frost, motionless as stone. Christa felt absolutely nothing for the longest time as she stood there. Solitude had never bothered her, nor that she could barely see beyond three feet in front of her face. The ache of anticipation had set in as she braced herself for the challenge ahead and craved to face this obstacle head-on as though it were just like all the others.

Her pants had been raveled up and tucked into her boots and with each slopping step she convinced herself that she grew closer.

Temptation haunted her mind with the soundless whispers of doubt. Closer to what? Some illusion that a higher deity would take away her greatest regret? And for what? So she can live without the pain she deserved?

Oh what tempting thoughts, forlorn hope, and despairing willpower would soon come for Christa who had only just begun her journey through the swamp of unforgiven sorrows.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Time had not been kind to Isaac. His already aged body looked ancient, weathered from the day-to-day hazards of the Tangled. In his younger years, he would’ve relished such an adventure. Young Isaac would’ve found the challenge nothing more than a worthy crucible to mold him into an ever greater warrior. Now the old man silently despised the dangers threatening him, he had proven his worth time and time again and yet things had never gotten any easier. This quest for Omni truly was a quest fit only for Sisyphus himself. “Nothing is impossible with Omnilium” a phrase uttered at least once by every misbegotten prime looking to bend the world to his will. And yet Isaac knew he was no prime, he was not a chosen child of Omni and as such he held no affinity for the wondrous substance.

Three years, seven days ago Isaac’s wife was murdered for his disobedience against the Empire. Time certainly was not kind to poor Isaac, for in those three years the pain of loss had yet to fade. He loved her not for the way she danced with his angels, but rather for how she could silence his demons. Underneath the guilt of her death the old man could only crumble. And crumble he did, but in that strange silent way that leaves a man hollow. His soul was that of an ancient church, beautiful to those that see the surface, but inside -- hollow and gutted from the ages.

Still he pressed on, clutching tight to that most pernicious of evils -- hope. The sweet bitter lie that everything would be alright if only he could find Omni. Isaac held on for all that he was worth, spending every moment of his life pushing forward in hopes of reuniting with his love. Silently he wondered what the others hoped to request from Omni.

Power, fame, fortune? What would they sacrifice to achieve their goals?

Would Omni even grant their requests? After all they aren’t primes, they weren’t hand-picked by Omni himself. No, they were merely background characters in a stage ruled by primes.

And the most dreaded thought of them all, would they meet the same fate as Sector Eight?

The group had found a moment of respite between the constant battles of the Tangled. Isaac ate his rations slowly, savoring the dull flavor. He had found a downed tree away from the rest of the group. The silence was golden, it gave him time to think and more importantly he did not have to keep up his facade of eternal optimism while he was alone. His golden silence was broken by the soft moan of an animated corpse. Urg came stumbling through the underbrush, no doubt wandering aimlessly as he often did. The zombie froze when he spotted Isaac and the two met eyes for an uncomfortably long time.

Isaac smiled softly to break the awkwardness “you can sit down if you want.”

Urg responded slowly, the rusted gears in his decrepit brain turned sluggishly. With labored movements the zombie obliged Isaac’s offer and sat next to him. What a strange person, Isaac thought he had seen the undead before, but this one was different. Indeed, Urg was almost cognizant of his plight, he held a certain restraint that his kin lacked. Isaac offered the zombie half of his ration, which the creature greedily devoured. The two sat in silence, asides from the occasional groan or gurgle from Urg.

“You can understand me yeah?” Isaac asked, taking a long glance as his new found friend. Urg again responded slowly with a slight nod, it seemed that it took every once of his willpower to even nod his head.

“Well even if you can’t, I’m going to talk anyways. Sides its not like you can tell my secrets” Isaac chuckled. His face turned morose and he began to speak.

“I’m scared Urg. I’m real scared. What if this was all for nothing and we’re on a fool’s errand?”

Urg groaned and leaned forward, almost losing his balance. The zombie scratched at the moss-covered bark of the log and looked around slowly.

Isaac sighed “don’t worry, you don’t gotta say anything buddy. I’m just... I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone but Christa this, but I’m trying to resurrect my wife.”

At the thought of reanimation Urg moved more frantically and let loose a low grumbling moan.

“Oh, no nothing like you... I mean that in the nicest way possible. No I mean, bring her back to how she was before she... Before she was killed. Omni can do anything right? Can he fix a mortal man’s mistakes?”

Isaac looked at Urg, trying to find the answers in the zombie’s pallid face. He was met with a bewildered stare and a half-hearted shrug. A gust of wind howled through the forest and swept over the two. Christa called for Isaac, the group was ready to press forward. Isaac took one last look at Urg before standing up.

“Time to go, hey listen” Isaac paused for a moment to collect his thoughts “you’re the only one I can really talk to, you don’t mind if we eat together again do you?”

Urg shuffled his feet for a moment before making eye contact with the Bloodlance. His face muscles twitched and convulsed for a moment, almost breaking into a smile. The zombie nodded with a jerky spastic movement before shuffling off after the group. Isaac followed shortly behind his new found friend.

[Thaal Sinestro]

Thick, sludgy water, black and proliferated with bobbing debris, slopped around the goblin’s waist as he trudged through the swamp. His grubby clothing was soaked and tattered, most of it falling off of his lithe, green frame. The bone charms of his many fallen opponents were chipped and shattered, each of them once a testament to his greatness but now only a confirmation of his defeat. He leaned on the half of his staff which remained; the formerly perfect arcane tool still sputtering sparks and coughing clouds of prismatic magic from its snapped neck. On his back a large, ornate, chest was lashed, though even he had no clue what resided within it.

His head still glittered the gold that had allowed him to claim the title of “Da Golden Gobbo,” but now you could see the stark terminus of the magical dust beneath his ripped shirt, a perfect neckline where the collar had caught the powder as it fell from the mystical stones of the temple, preventing it from adhering to his skin.

His beady yellow eyes peered up into the gloom of the swamp, the dark limbs of decaying trees drooping low before him. The distant caw of carrion crows filled his long, pointed, ears, their discordant screeching somehow making the landscape even lonelier.

The small hole that had opened in his heart suddenly swelled, and the numbness of sorrow flooded through his body, the desolation of his spirit consuming him as his feet slowly began to sink into the mire.

[spoiler]

Flashback
Grobdum, Clayton, Lyra

Grobdum crept through the encampment, the ramshackle structures that had been erected by the troupe actually reminding him of his old home amid the orcs. Jury-rigged tentage stood beside buildings hewn of branches, mud and leaves, the odd scrap of metal forming a roof or wall. Improvised tools and stations were littered about the town, each of the members taking up some useful task or another. Lazy fire pits sat under the awnings of the shelters, protected from the frequent downpours of rain.

He clutched something in his hands close to his chest, his eyes nervously searching for suspicious eyes as he darted from cover to cover. The familiar shadows of dusk aided in his concealment, every shade of the camp well known to him by now. He listened for the rustle of people in their makeshift homes as he slunk between corners, bobbing and weaving as people walked along the muddy pathways.

At last he had returned to his target: a collection of shrubs just at the edge of the pointed wooden palisade that encircled them. Pushing the leaves aside, he revealed a small burrow and pushed his pointed face into it, his gangly limbs scrambling in after it.

Popping through the hole, he plopped down onto the dirt a few feet below. The fading light of the sun trickled in through the opening, though the rest of the den resided in darkness. Crawling forward, he bared his teeth and shuffled along, ingested by the unknown.

After a few minutes, the space opened up and he was able to stand. Reaching into the bleakness, he withdrew a large chunk of golden stone and closed his yes. His sharp tongue protruded from his lip as he focused on the power of the stone, shaking it back and forth as if to agitate it into action. It began to glow, slowly increasing in brightness and luster as he focused. Purple and blue light shimmered across every surface in the hovel, misty power breathing from the stone which was once a portion of the temple the adventurers had escaped so long ago.

He could feel the protest of the magical item, the sensation that it was meant to be used for more. As it was though, he had no compunctions about stealing its light for his own purposes.

Twisting roots crawled along the smooth, natural, black-granite walls, small holes in the floor giving rainwater somewhere to rush when the lair flooded. Small niches, what must have been at least three dozen, were carved into the rock walls by crude tools that the goblin had pilfered from the humans above. Each of the carved spaces was just large enough to hold what they held, creating an almost naturally artistic display for the treasures.

Grobdum placed the shining stone on a small plinth of lashed bone that stood in the center of the room, the space now filled with its light. He rushed over to the wall and found an empty cubby, checking his coveted item against each, trying to find just the right space for it. With a gasp, he compared the item against the niche and grinned, gingerly placing it down inside. It was perfect.

Lyra’s arrow caught the light of the stone in a way that particularly appealed to the goblin, the bright fletching creating to the potent purple and blue in a captivating way. He stepped back to admire the wall of stolen baubles: a magazine from Christa’s pistol, one of Richtoffen’s syringes, a scrap of Isaac’s red cloak.

Almost every member of the group had donated an item to Grobdum’s collection. Paramount amid the curios was the tightly rolled map which had been reclaimed from the temple. Frequently he would unroll it and study it, though he knew little of where it led or what it meant to the rest of the group.

Again his slender fingers reached for it, and by the stolen light of the stolen stone, he read his stolen map once again. His dirty nails traced the lines that cut through the Tangled Green, informing a clear road to a portal beyond the swamps that lie no more than a few miles away. His wandering distraction sated, he rolled the map back up and placed it back where it belonged.

Turning, he sighed and took a deep breath. Hopping up, he scrambled back through the tunnels of the burrow and into the encampment. He waited at the mouth of the hole, always careful not to reveal his little hideaway to the rest of the group. When he was sure that none could see him, he crawled out.

The sky had rolled fully into night by now, and most of the camp was already in their beds. He knew that Christa wouldn’t be, but for the most part he had the place to himself. He preferred to sleep during the first half of the day, if only to avoid most of the heat (and work). What few skills he had without the full use of his magic were best used during the end of the day in any case, and the brightness of the sun bothered him more than he was happy to admit. More than once he had gotten in trouble for casting the encampment into an unnatural shadowy gloom.

Grobdum wandered over towards his favorite place to sit and burn the hours, a fire circle that overlooked a small valley below the palisade. He plopped down on his favorite stump and reclined gently, a self-satisfied smile creeping over his face. For once in his short, violent, life, the goblin felt something like peace.

“Hey, gobbo,” a familiar voice rang, irritated as usual. He sat up and looked back, Lyra storming towards him. “Did you take one of my arrows?” she demanded bluntly.

“’Oo, me?” he stammered, eyes darting back and forth as he hunched into a miserable little ball. “I ain’t took noffin’!” his voice quavered as he folded his hands behind his back, his foot dragging back and forth on the ground. “I wuz jus’ sittin’ by da fire, Big ‘Un, I swears it!”

Scowling, she planted her hands on her hips, “You know, if you need something, you can just ask for it.” She walked over to the diminutive greenskin and knelt down to his level. Her eyes locked with his, and she offered him the smallest of smiles, “We’re not in a place like you were before. We’re here for each other, or at least most of us are. You can trust us. We all want the same thing: to find Omni. We all want to help each other to get there.”

Sighing, she stood and walked over to the unlit fire pit, staring at the charred wood and coals. “The way I grew up, I had to steal a lot too. I had to steal to survive.” She balled her hand into a fist as her mind drifted back to those earlier days of pain and suffering, “But now? Even in this place, with all the crap we’ve been through,” she looked back to the goblin and grinned, “I still have hope. If we help each other, we can make it there. Together.”

The goblin’s eyes were cast to the ground and for the first time in his life he felt bad for taking something. His fang-toothed mouth parted, but his words caught in his throat. He looked up to the girl from Hyrule, a pensive expression on his face. “I…” he muttered, but found himself unable to go on.

Lyra nodded, walking back over to him, “It’s ok. I understand.” Smiling she touched his arm once again. “I know it can be hard to stop. Just remember, I’m here if you need somebody to talk to.”

Her fingers gently left him and she walked back into the city of tents. He stared into the darkness, still too stunned even to think. Gradually, his heart fluttered in his chest, a sensation he had never felt before. His small claw reached up and grabbed at the grubby fabric of his shirt and he marveled at the warm feeling that bled into his limbs.

“I’z sorry,” he choked, the blankness of his expression failing to mask his emotion.

Dragging his feet, he stumbled back to his log, staring into the same burned wood that she had. With a wave of his wand, the kindling exploded into screaming flame, several chunks of wood careening into the sky with a billow of green smoke. He took a long, deep breath before wheezing it out, his face still caught in an expression of confusion and wonder.

Plopping down on the seat, he propped his chin up on his hand, considering the flickering of the fire. He sat there as the color of the sky grew deeper and the stars spiraled over their world on the hill, the nagging sensation of unease refusing to leave his belly.

And then the sound of steel being drawn whispered in the night. Turning, the goblin saw Clayton standing with weapon in hand. “Grobdum, is it?”[/spoiler]

With a shriek of anger, Grobdum lurched forward, wrenching his feet from the quagmire. A grim look of determination washed over his face, his eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared. He planted his broken staff and drug himself forward, driving it into the ground again and again as he moved, only the burning heat of rage pushing him onward.

The only goal he had left, the only meaning he had in his life anymore, laid ahead. The barren emptiness that threatened to devour him whispered in his ears, pulling at his feet. Every part of him wanted to sink, wanted to resign to the swamp, but even that seemed pointless now.

He would find it, because that’s all that was left to do.

[spoiler]

Flashback
Grobdum

It had been simple to find the Bonecrusha Tribe. They left a swath of destruction behind them, the broken bodies of their victims and their burning buildings an easy means of tracking the WAAAGH! as it carved through the Tangled Green.

As he drew closer to the rampaging orc army, he began to feel the overwhelming magic of their emotion wash through him, a beacon that drew him like a moth to the flame. The rhythm of war was in the goblin’s blood, and the drums were pounding on the horizon. It came easily for him to move to the beat.

The Warboss of the Boncrushas, creatively nicknamed, “Bonecrusha,” was a massive brute of a black orc. The black orcs were bigger, stronger, and many times more disciplined than their green counterparts, and this one was even bigger than the rest. Using a skilled team of black orc lieutenants, Bonecrusha kept the WAAAGH! war machine rolling with a sense of purpose and direction.

Even the famously deadly ninjas that dwelled within the Tangle were no match for Bonecrusha’s brutal but cunning tactics and his horde’s overwhelming size and power. Village after village fell to the Boncrushas, nothing to be said of their conquests but blood. The orcs took no prisoners and left no monuments to their grandeur. Death was their only legacy.

Grobdum’s prowess as a shaman slowly gained him a reputation within the group, his spells weaving through the battlefield like a plague of venom and hate. Entire troops of elves had fallen to his explosive green beams of power, devoured the sun in black clouds that spanned miles, imbued the warriors with horrible skill and accuracy, and transformed the horde into a sea of slavering, poison-fanged monsters. The world bent at the knee for Grobdum, and the Bonecrushas lopped off the head.

For all of his potency, there was one aspect that stood out even amid the austere black orcs: his fearlessness. When other goblins were turning tail and fleeing, Grobdum stormed onward, the tiny spellcaster standing alone in the face of the enemy. As the thick ranks of towering, muscle-bound orcs fled in terror, Grobdum marched with a warcry in his throat, magic flying from his fingers. Soon, the rank and file began to fear the forbidding gobbo, and rumors circulated that he had been chosen by the orcish gods Gork and Mork. The goblin never addressed those rumors and instead sat alone in his hovel as the horde reveled in his victories.

The Bonecrusha’s campaign had run along the Animus River for several days before finally it came to a crossing point. The bright wisps that circled the trees were the orcs’ first indication of a target and a brief but bloody encounter with a group of nightsaber-mounted huntresses confirmed Bonecrusha’s suspicions of a nearby night elf settlement.

The secreted city of Ashenvale was as prepared as it could be for the massive WAAAGH! when it arrived, Glaive Throwers and a sea of archers staring from across the Animus’ rushing waters. Planted along the riverbed were the towering Ancient Protectors, massive treants with a penchant for hurling boulders.

The river, the bottleneck of passable terrain and the army of highly-trained ranged fighters were daunting, even for Bonecrusha and his legendary WAAAGH! Apprehension won over the cunning black orc, and instead he chose to move the horde up river and find another crossing so that they could double back. Such a worthy opponent would be worth the wait.

Roaring orders from the back of his dire boar, Bonecrusha began to move the forces away, rallying them into the well-covered tree line before any elf had the audacity to fire at them. The entire army had moved, except for one frail goblin that stood on the beach.

“Oi, gobby!” one of the ink-skinned lieutenants roared at him, “Get ovah ‘ere ‘afore I gots’ta smash ya!” He brandished his choppa and stormed towards him, his dark eyes seeing the archers readying their bows. “Come’ on ya git!” he insisted, reaching out to grab him.

An arc of power flashed from the shaman’s flesh, green light burning the orc’s hand to a stump. As the lieutenant staggered back and howl in agony, Grobdum slowly lifted his trembling hands above his head. His eyes were rolled back in his head, the surging power of magic slowly turning the sky into a churning sea of boiling clouds, lightning sparking down in the distance. Wild winds began to whip around him, his piecemeal robes fluttering in every direction.

“Da Bad Moon,” he growled, a supernatural undertone echoing, “RISES!”

In a flash of green energy, a massive crescent moon formed over the night elf forces, a cruel, goblinoid face glaring down at them. Slowly, the huge moon’s tusked mouth opened, and a vortex of awful power flowed from it.

Without a change to move or react, scores of night elves were instantly engulfed by the vortex and torn into pieces. Their war machines were reduced to intricately carved shards of wood, and their venerable Ancients were almost instantly uprooted and destroyed in a howl of pain and destruction. Before the first volley was even fired, the entire night elf force was routed and left in ruin.

The convergence of mystical power slowly died as the shaman released his focus on the destructive spell, allowing it to spiral wildly out of control. The Bad Moon cackled as it vomited destruction down onto the world, its wide, white eyes growing bloodshot and insane. The horrible cyclone continued into the city, its arcane winds reducing the picturesque town to a blast zone. Grobdum stood on the banks, his expression blank, and watched.

When the moon finally had its fill, it slowly banked up from its downward stare, its cartoonish eyes wildly open. It turned to face the opposite bank, blood dribbling from its insane, fanged grin and down its hooked and cratered chin. Two smoldering black pupils met with its creators, the distorted goblin face frozen in a gruesome glare of unnatural madness. Grobdum stared back into it, his cold features unmoving and unmoved. Slowly the moon’s mouth opened and a cruel laugh bellowed out. As the deep guffaws echoed into the trees, it slowly faded away into nothingness, though the feeling of its gaze remained long after it was gone.[/spoiler]

There was no rest in the swamp.

For every step that Grobdum took forward, he the horizon crept one step further away. It was a never-ending sea of muck and darkness, his withered skin wrinkled and creased from the hours it spent submerged in the darkened waters. Silently, he pleaded to the world to offer him a patch of dry land, the tiniest mote of reprieve from the devouring silt that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Ya kin’t stop me,” he grumbled to the sludge. “Noffin’ kin stop me.”

His feet trod onward, heedless to the grasping hands that haunted him below the surface.

[spoiler]

Flashback
Grobdum, Everyone Else

Bonecrusha snorted as he twirled his massive Crushy Choppa between his fingers. “Ya ain’t know whatcha got yaself inta, lil’ ‘un,” he growled, his brusk tone unable to conceal his growing fear. His heavy steel armor clanked with every thunderous step, five hundred pounds of orc behind every step. “It’s such a shame ya gots ta get smashed like dis, maybe I kin forgive ya if ya swears ta be me shit wipah from ‘ere on out.” The insult inspired the thick ring of orcs that surrounded them to, “Ooo,” and hiss, provoking the encounter further.

Grobdum stood across from the towering orc, no larger or stronger than he ever had been. In his hand was a trophy from his most fabled victory: The Staff of the Verdant Circle. Perched amid its spiral of living vines and leaves sat the skull of Ashenvale’s Warden, lashed to his own weapon after the goblin had taken his head.

The goblin’s now legendary, cold stare, “Da Stare of Da Bad Moon,” followed the black orc back and forth as he bellowed. Grobdum had long since lost his fear of the tyrant’s size, lost fear of anything or anyone. He would not run from this man, nor anything else.

“You tink you da baddest?” he said softly, and even though his voice was quiet it cut through the crowd’s clamor.

Snarling, Bonecrusha spat, “Wot ya say ta me?”

Grobdum’s body didn’t move an inch. “I done asked ya: Do ya tink you da baddest?”

Slamming his choppa into the ground, Bonecrusha roared, “I’Z DA BADDEST DERE EVAH WUZ, AN’ EVAH WILL BE!”

A faint smirk grew on Grobdum’s lips. “You ain’t noffin’.”

Screaming in frustration, the black orc charged his miniscule opponent, the cheers and hollers of their orc peerage pushing him onward through his trepidation. The huge bar of steel and wood for which the Warboss had earned his name trailed after him, his tightly bundled muscles flexing in preparation to bring it down on Grobdum’s head.

“Don’t worry,” the goblin murmured, “Gork’ll Fix It,” and gently tapped his staff into the ground. The crowd collectively took a breath of shock when nothing happened and Bronecrusha’s choppa hurdled down.

The smashy log of a weapon created a huge crater in the ground on impact, dirt and stone flying up in debris and raining down upon the onlookers. The Warboss let out a grunt of shock when he saw the tiny greenskin looking up at him from the spot had been before, still unmoved. Tearing the choppa from the earth, he swung again, this time the attack soaring over Grobdum’s head. Howling in rage, he grasped the weapon in both hands and brought it down once again, narrowly missing the goblin’s head. “Wot’s dis magic!?” he bawled in bewilderment.

Withdrawing a long dagger from his belt, Grobdum lazily thrust it in the orc’s direction, his magic leading it to the thin gap in his breastplate. With a gurgle of blood, Bonecrusha toppled. The crowd hushed suddenly, too shocked even to applaud his bloodshed.

Crawling up onto the black orc’s body, Grobdum plucked his knife from the monster’s chest and held it aloft. Turning, he faced the burning sun, holding his arms out towards it. As the rays beat down upon him, something strange began to happen. At first, it was a soft glimmer that appeared upon his brow, but soon the glittering gold caught and reflected more and more light.

That ancient dust that had covered him at the temple so long ago flickered and glowed with mystical energy as Grobdum ascended to yet another pinnacle of magical power, absorbing the esoteric medium’s power in a wash of radiant golden light.

Looking upon his own transformation, Gorbdum turned his hands back and forth and admired his newfound luster. He could not claim to understand it, though the power that now flowed through him felt… right, somehow. He shut his eyes and once again basked in the once-hated light of the sun, taking in all of its glory.

Turning away, he opened his eyes and the gold-fleshed creature looked upon his horde. “No longah iz ya da Bonecrushas!” he commanded, his tiny voice stretching across the throngs of green skinned savages, “Now you’z da Golden Boyz!”

The WAAAGH! cheered and whooped in ferocious approval of their new Warboss.

“And I knowz jus’ where da Golden Boyz are gonna strike next!”

-----

Raw Onion’s shout could be heard from across the entire camp. “Something’s coming!” was all she could think to say, the expanse of rushing green and golden shapes worming through the dense forest that surrounded their hill.

Grobdum’s legions of followers had taken to painting wide stripes of golden war paint over their faces and armor, adding a layer of literal meaning to their moniker. In the center of the terrifying display sat Grobdum in a golden throne atop a gargantuan arachnid, the monster easily fifty feet long. Other forest goblins clung to the sides of the Araknarok Spider, perched on rickety altars and howdahs constructed of saplings and bound with spider’s silk.

Rushing to the palisades that surrounded their encampment, the group stared into the mob of orcs and goblins with wide-eyed horror. “Dear God,” Clayton uttered, loosely gripping his shotgun, his mess of oily hair tumbling around his face.

“Alright!” Christa barked, rallying the collection of combatants, “Everyone get to our defensive spots! Overlapping sectors of fire! Weapons hot!” She ran towards her own station, quickly taking aim and firing without a second thought.

Lightning split the sky as Raw Onion called down the clouds, Crow’s pistols cracked in rapid succession, Grave’s gunblades cast bright and dark flames in thick swaths, Abner’s rifle echoed and Richtoffen’s laser weapon sang as the melee combatants prepared for the inevitable swell of orcs over their makeshift defenses.

“They be comin’ up!” Crow shouted, unsheathing his blades and moving backwards, “Prepare yerselves for boardin’!”

Top Man was the first to leap into battle, spinning and striking with robotic efficiency and power. Klaud’s whip lacerated even the burliest orc down to the bone. Isaac’s forged blades of blood and sliced the hamstrings of a few orcs before being forced to put them down. Even Pinocchio contributed to the warfare, his strings and wit tripping up and misleading the brutal but not so cunning members of the WAAAGH!

Droves of the greenskins were pushed back from the edges of the camp, bodies piling up as every manner of weapon was wielded against them. The waves of greenskins crashed into them again and again in a seemingly endless stream of brutality.

These were no savage orcs with simple stone spears and axes, they were battle-hardened veterans, part of a much greater and better-equipped force. Gargantuan spiders skittered over their buildings and struck at odd angles, insane night-goblins spun huge spiked balls attached to chains at maddening speeds, Spear Chukkas hurled massive trebuchet bolts from the distance. For such a tiny number of heroes to face such an insane force was madness.

Retreat was an ever-tantalizing option for most of them, but Christa’s leadership held them firm. Still, Grobdum the Golden Gobbo sat atop his titanic Araknarok, watching.

Rushing past a troop of dead orcs, Clayton climbed atop the palisades. “Come on then!” he howled, his shotgun reporting into another target. “Come on, you damned orc thing! COME ON!” A gap in the orcish horde allowed Clayton to hold both his hands out at his sides, “Come on you evil, loathsome monster! Are you afraid to face me!?” The hunter’s body was wracked frenzy, the derangement of fear, exhaustion and the desperate desire to be trusted guiding his insane actions.

For the first time in months, Grobdum’s emotions were evident. His features snapped into a thing of fury, and he held the Staff of the Verdant Circle over his head, the Warden’s skull clattering against its wood. “WAAAGH!!!” he wailed, his war cry echoed by the newly reinvigorated horde of Golden Boyz.

The Araknok spider-god lumbered forward, the howdah goblins hurling spears and casting arrows in every direction. The enormous beast drove its spindly limbs into the earth and tore it apart as it mounted the hill, a huge burst of venomous spit spraying from its mouth when it reached the acme.

Grobdum’s eyes were filled were green power, his baleful stare casting a pair of bobbing, twitching green beams down upon his most hated foe. Clayton barely had time to move when the beams exploded into a plume of emerald light. The secondary force caught the hunter and flung him harshly against one of the large stones that formed the fire circle.

Leaping from the massive spider, Grobdum landed a few yards from Clayton, brandishing his staff. Groaning, Clayton rolled over and shook his swimming head, trying to focus through his latest concussion. The goblin slowly walked forward, ignoring the pandemonium that surrounded him, his attention caught on his singular prize. Clayton managed to get to his hands and knees and reached out for his shotgun. Grobdum kicked it away.

“You tink ya da baddest?” Grobdum asked coldly, looking down at his foe.

Clayton’s bleary eyes looked up to the golden shaman, fear and pain wracking him. He could think of nothing to say, nothing to do, in the face of this madness, this utter insanity that had arrived upon their doorstep. Instead, he sat back on his knees, straightened his back, and waited.

“You ain’t noffin’,” Grobdum spat bitterly and lowered his staff to Clayton’s face.

As the magic bubbled up in his chest, as he wove his hate into an animate power, as he prepared to destroy Clayton and wipe him from the face of the world forever, he heard a scream. He recognized the voice, and could not help but turn. Grobdum’s eyes fell upon Lyra, just a few feet from her tent, lifted from the ground by a choppa buried to the hilt in her chest.

His heart sank in an instant. His breath caught in his throat, just as it had on that night so long ago, and his body welled with emotion. His hands trembled and his knees went weak, his mouth opened but words refused to come forth.

The orc tore the blade from her and stormed away, only to be blown in half by one of Grave’s gunblades. She lay motionless on the ground, blood pooling around her. Grobdum took a step towards her, but was cut off as his staff was blasted in two with the discharge of Clayton’s shotgun. Spinning on his heel, Grobdum smashed the splintered half of the staff over the hunter’s temple, knocking him to the ground. Clayton attempted to bring his gun back to bear, but the goblin slammed the wooden haft into him again and again, screaming in pain and fury.

When finally Clayton lay still and quiet, the once glorious Warboss rushed over to the thief’s side. He rolled her onto her back, holding her head in his tiny clawed fingers. He looked down upon her as her life dribbled between her ribs and down into the earth.

“No,” he simpered, “No!” He clutched her body against his head, her blood smearing over the golden glittering surface of his skin. Pulling his head back, he whined, “I’z…” he coughed, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt bad for the death of a creature. A strange wetness formed on his cheeks, rolling down from his eyes, dapping on her cheeks and forehead. “I’z,” he tried again, raggedy voice choking on itself. “I’z sorry, Lyra,” he finally yelped, his voice small and powerless, “I’z so sorry.”

Looking up to the golden sun, he awaited some miracle to come from the heavens, some reprieve from the guilt and pain he felt cutting through his gut. Nothing came but the sounds of chaos and death, the chaos and death that he had brought to this place. His horde, his name, his WAAAGH! It was his fault.

Suddenly, his head perked up, and he looked to the far side of the camp, at the corner of the palisade. A sudden sense of purpose filled him, and he flicked the stump of a staff towards the small bush, and it erupted, taking the entire section of the encampment and a platoon of orcs with it. Sprinting as fast as his small legs could carry him, Grobdum leapt into the crater.

There, in the center of the hole, was the granite cave, and all the cubbies he had filled. The contents of the burrow were all but rotted away, like the memories of joy he had with these people, in this place, but one object remained whole. Snatching it up, he paused and glanced over at the map one final time, and left it behind as he scrambled up and out of the hole.

He clutched the item in his hands close to his chest, his eyes nervously searching for suspicious eyes as he darted from cover to cover. The familiar shadows of dusk aided in his concealment, every shade of the camp well known to him by now. He listened for the clamor of people at their makeshift defenses as he slunk between corners, bobbing and weaving as people raced along the muddy pathways.

Finally he reached he target, and knelt down beside her. He focused his mind, and allowed the magic to draw itself, uncaging what he had repressed before. Opening his hands, purple and blue lights shimmered outwards, dancing over Lyra’s face. The stone beamed as the magic flowed through it, seeping into her body, weaving together what once had been broken. The light grew and grew until finally it consumed Grobdum and Lyra both, blinding anyone who dared look upon them.

Lyra took a deep breath, but her eyes remained closed. Grobdum’s hard features broke into the faintest of smiles, and he touched her arm. “I knowz I didn’t do da right ting, but maybe…” he paused, nervously holding back his quavering voice, “Maybe we kin find it togethah one day.”

With that, the golden goblin slunk into the shadows and vanished, leaving his army to its eventual defeat at the hands of the brave adventurers.[/spoiler]

Tears streamed down the goblin’s face, his ragged sobs his only companion in the gloom. His steps grew slowly, but still he moved onward, onward towards the only goal he had left. Sadness consumed him, but it was this sadness that now defined him. No rage, no anger, no madness. It was pain that he was cast from; the pain of losing the only soul that might have ever called him a friend.

Maybe, somewhere beyond here, he would find her again.

Used: Healing Stone, Goddess’ Fortune

[Gamzee Makara]

I am unashamed to say I ripped off of Mickey's organization. A few things: Translations for each Memory will be at the bottom of that memory in quotes. Also, In Memory 1, All dialogue between Roger and Richtofen that is underlined is in German. In Memory 2, I heavily cut down on Crow's backstory. I don't want to cause repetition in Adam's posts, and besides! It's his character.

[spoiler]Memory One:

A feuer. Feuer? Fire! Un fire! I scramble away from the pile of flaming logs in front of me, hopping from my seat on a wooden stump. Wh-where am I? What is-

“Whoa. Take it easy there, freund. Sie befinden sich an einem sicheren ort. Well, sort of.”

Someone is speaking to me in my native tongue. At first, I am more than surprised. But then, I remember the Germanic fellow that came to my aid in the orc invasion.

Roger.
“Roger! What happened?! The undead, they-”

“Gone. We escaped. All of us.”

His features noticeably darken.

“Though not without trials and tribulations. Many were injured, some quite heavily. Fortunately, you were here, Dr. Richtofen.”

Roger lifts up the equipment and clothing covering his midsection, revealing a heavily bandaged wound.

“I would have died, without some sort of medical attention. You...You did me one better. That fancy staff of yours is a miracle machine.”

He’s talking about the healing function of my staff, the Vigor. I helped someone other than myself? With no ulterior motive? How contrary to my personality.

“Yes. It ah...Yes. That is a thing that I have done. Where are we, Roger?”

He stares at me as if I had just swallowed a meteorite, expecting it to give me superpowers.

Ha.

“This is where we have decided to lay anchor,” He pauses, shuddering at his terminology. “I’ve been spending too much time with the Captain. At any rate, yes sir, this is the Camp. We have been here for a few days, I believe. The days all run together now, so sometimes it’s hard to keep track. In that period of time, we have been establishing a perimeter, recovering, assigning chores and such. YOU have naturally been selected to be the Camp doctor. Done a damn good job of it too. The injured have just been recovering and what have you, but that’s certainly better than being dead.”

I need shock therapy. Where’s my staff? Kemat? Where did you go? Oh silly me he’s resting on my back. Obviously he has BEEN VERY BUSY!

“I...I see. Why are we dawdling in this pointless camp? I’m already beginning to feel like a sitting duck.”

My kinsmen strokes his chin thoughtfully at that.

“It was a group decision. We are at a genuine loss at how to progress further in our journey. For now we await further instruction from the ghostly girl that led us here in the first place.”

Samanth-

No. Not that insolent, paranormal brat. The OTHER insolent, paranormal brat.

After a few moments of silence, it is apparent there is little left to be said about our current predicament. So we begin to speak of home, and what it was like when we left it respectively. He is quite shocked to learn that I hail from the Germany of the Great War. To be perfectly honest, I’m just relieved he did not inquire into what my role in that atrocity was.

Then, we talked of the others.

“So, who has taken charge?”

“That would be Christa. To be fair, there are some ah, opposing forces, but ultimately it’s always been her. At least, from what I can tell.”

I spot the hunter in yellow on the edge of the woods, stalking some unseen prey I’m assuming. Clayton, I think his name is. Before I can say anything, Roger interrupts.

“Yeah. He’s a real ‘Alpha Male.’ Somethings a little different about him. I’ve worked with some sinister folks in my time, and he’s definitely exuding a similar aura. He hides it well though. Well enough that I couldn’t even tell at first. I am...Suspicious of him. And Cautious. But there’s not really much I can do about it besides be on guard. I advise you to do the same.”

“Duly noted.” I snort. “The size of his gun leads me to think he may be overcompensating for something.”

The professional mercenary barks a sharp laugh.

“There are quite a few other things at work here. Isaac remains an interesting party. He’s a nice enough old man. You patched up his wounds too. He is staunchly loyal to Christa, and I’m pretty sure they have some sort of history together. Klaud, the general lady, is also a part of that unspoken coalition. She and Clayton have butted heads once or twice. Normally, I’m not too fond of those in a position of military power unless they’re giving me a check, but she seems alright.”

I nod, silent for a moment. My new found friend sighs.

“What about your little squad? Tell me something interesting.”

“Crow was the leader of our team in the temple. I’m not sure if he’s just a few doubloons loose in the head or what, but he walks and talks like a pirate of old.”

“Haha! Yeah I met the guy. Nice fellow. He can hold his own in a trinken wettbewerb, I know that much! Something tells me though he’s just a tad touched in the head.”

It is my turn to laugh. Touched in the head is putting it lightly.

“Yes. The others are...Interesting to say the least. In truth, I do not know much about my unlikely allies. Our co-operation was simply a necessity. Ah...But what about the untoten among you?! Does he have a name? His machinations confound me! He is able to control his urges, enough so as to become allies with the living. It leads me to believe he may be capable of sentient thought. It is so fascinating!”

Roger chuckles at my sudden outburst. You’ll have to excuse me for having a love of science.

“I couldn’t tell you much about him, I’m afraid. I wasn’t born with a brilliant mind like you Dr. I usually just shoot’em.”

I swallow air, my mind travelling to dark places.

“Oh believe me, freund Roger. That is my first inclination as well.”

Translations:
Feur = Fire
Sie befinden sich an einem sicheren ort = You are in a safe place
trinken wettbewerb = Drinking Competition
untoten = undead
freund = friend

-----End Memory



Memory Two:

“Nein! Sit still scheißekopf!”

This pirate has proven to be nothing but an idiot! He gives me a terse glare.

“What in th’ hell did ye just call me? Watch your poisonous tongue bilgerat!”

I give him a dull look.

“You’ll have to excuse me, I can’t understand you on the account of your idiocy, you uncultured swine. Now, stay still! On the stump!”

I tend to this fool’s wounds. The story he fed me was that whilst traipsing around the surrounding woods, Crow had found a boar that he had sought to kill and bring back to camp for dinner. So caught up with this hunt is he, that he neglects to think about the fact that these woods hide more than normal game. In short, the pirate had managed to become enthralled with capturing a woodland spirit of some sort. The spirit did not take too kindly to this, and led Crow on a chase through the forest. Our esteemed captain blindly chased this boar through all manner of thorn and bramble, spider webs, drop-offs, and other natural dangers of the forest. The worst of his injuries was a dislocated shoulder and a venomous spider bite, the latter of which I have already cleaned and administered a natural remedy for. I concocted the poultice from native herbs in the area, so it was at no trouble or expense.

Currently, however, I am trying to set his shoulder in place, but the Captain doesn’t understand the necessity of remaining motionless.

So, I make him understand. In one solid movement, I grab his collar-bone and quickly sling his arm out and then sideways, the joints reconnecting with sickening cracks.

“AH! MOTHER OF BLEEDIN’ CHRIST THAT HURT!”

Captain Crow lets loose a slew of swears.

“It would not have hurt nearly as much would you have SAT STILL! I do not understand why you cannot trust the word of a trained doctor.”

My patient stares at me with cold daggers for eyes. It would seem I have struck a nerve.

“Oh I’m sorry? What was that then? You said you want me to shut yer fancy doctor mouth?”

I sneer at his idle words.

“Herr Captain, this is not the time for such trivialities. If you have a problem with me, I suggest you address it before we are forced to trust each other in the midst of combat again. Petty squabbles lead only to death.”

The stalwart Captain retains his death stare, but only for a moment. His face contorts in various shades of regretful and apologetic. When he meets my eyes again, he is wearing a mask of calm.

“It’s not you I ‘ave a problem with Richtofen. It’s your kind.”

He begins to weave me a story of how he was betrayed by his own ship’s doctor. The doctor had apparently tried to start a mutiny, and when that did not yield the desired result, he then resorted to poisoning and assassination attempts. They obviously did not work, as Crow is still here with a hatred for those in the medical profession.

Though to be truthful, I likely would have done the same after spending months at a time with this insufferable excuse for a leader. I do not say this however. It is obvious that it took the man a great deal of willpower to confide in his enemy. I can respect that, as crippling a weakness though it is. There is simply no point in squabbles like this, not when we still need to work together for an ultimate goal. There is a time for bonds, and there is a time for betrayal.

After Crow finishes his spiel, I offer him a hand from his perch on the stump that he was sitting on. He blinks, a tad surprised at first. He hesitantly takes mein hand, and I pull him to a standing position.

“Come.”

An hour of searching and mild bickering later, we have a collection of natural medicinal ingredients.

“And why have we been stomping our way through the bloomin’ woods for half a pint till sunset?”

“I aim to teach you medicine. To help you overcome your fear.”

“I ain’t fearful of no medicine, quack. I just don’t like quacks.”

“Quiet! The use of a mortar and pestle requires concentration.”

It doesn’t really. I just want him to shut up. We spend about another hour or so discussing different herbs and how to effectively use them and what for and so forth and so forth. Then, we go over practical things, such as how to set sprains and dislocations, how to tie a tourniquet, and general basic battlefield medicinal practices. Crow takes to it with a vigor that is pleasantly surprising. He improves at an astonishing rate, and even points out ways to improve techniques of my own.

The witty banter and jests are also refreshing. It is almost as if having a pirate version of Nikolai...How touching.

By the time the sun is touching the horizon, my lessons on practical medicine have concluded. We now sit around a recently erected campfire, tending it lazily.

“Those are the basics. Save lives or don’t, I really could care less.”

The Captain stares silently into the embers. It stays this way for a while, silent contemplation over absolutely nothing.

“Thank ya Richtofen. I appreciate yer listenin’ skills. You ah…” He scratches the scruff on his cheek. “I’m not really sure what ya did, but it helped methinks.”

I shrug it off. “It was a necessity. If I am to die in battle, then someone must carry the torch, so to speak. Think nothing of it.”

“Tch! Belay that talk. You’ll not be dying on my watch. No one will.”

I almost say it. I almost do.

Translations:
scheißekopf! = Shit head!
Herr = Sir
mein = my

------End Memory[/spoiler]

Time has lost all meaning in this universe.

Klischee to say, yes. But I cannot think of any other way to explain it. By the time I had finally built the staves, it had felt like I had spent a millennium fending off the undead. But this venture? This journey, this expedition? It feels like an ewigkeit.

At least I am in a somewhat more stable state of mind.

Ack! The fog, this blasted fog! We have only just now entered this “Swamp of Sadness,” already I feel the shroud of damnation attempting to bear down upon us.

Ah yes. It had almost slipped my mind. There’s more us now.

Our original group, Jan, IRIS, Crow, and Grave and his vampire friend, had clawed and scratched our way to the other survivors of the temple. When our teams had joined together, the untoten were hardly able to even TOUCH us, as it should have been. The farther we progressed down the path, the fewer zombies we encountered. Perhaps the symphonic sounds of combusting, frying corpses drove them off.

Hm. Now that I think about it, probably not.

Either way, soon we were in the clear of their reach. I am… Unsure of what exactly transpired between our exit from the temple and the establishment of our impromptu encampment. On moment, I am staring down the hordes of hell, awaiting the judgement that I deserve. Then, things were simply occurring naturally. There was no other possible way to explain it. My body, my limbs, they were all moving on their own accord as if guided by some preternatural force. As far as I knew, they were. I was no longer my own. I had been reduced to a mere spectator in a Kino, watching a schrecken film. I see myself mowing down the Darkspawn, lightning frying their desecrated bodies one moment, Boomhilda immolating their already-ruined faces the next. Mere snapshots; that is what my memories of that time span consists of. Then, everything is clear once again.

Memory One: Richtofen and Roger

I glance back at Roger, who was covering our flank. Our expedition travels close together, packed tight like ants in formation. With this thickening fog, we have good reason to. My thoughts are interrupted by a fit of loud coughing, as if I was trying to hack up a lung. I get some stares from my companions.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m fine.” I reassure them.

“Just getting used to being sane again.” I mutter under my breath,

No, no It’s just the mist. The mist was getting to me. I never did well in moist climates. The pirate Captain Crow turns around and gives him a cautionary look. Crow slows his pace to fall in line beside me.

“Who doctors the doctor, eh mate?”

I snort. “Do not fear for my health. My health is the least of our worries right now.”

Ah yes. Crow. Crow and I had dealings in the months preceding our final push into the bog. I don’t think. I genuinely do not mind his company anymore. It is acceptable. He has proven to be a bit more intellectual than I previously thought.

Memory 2: Richtoffen and Crow

I snap from my reverie, at Crow’s behest. Or rather, his lack of behest. I scan the immediate area.

The infinite fog has consumed my allies, and by default, me.

I am alone.

Translations:
Klischee = Cliche
ewigkeit = eternity
schrecken = Horror
Kino = Theater

[Zack Fair]

[spoiler]

Abner, Christa

If a month prior someone had told Abner White that he'd be a de facto politician, he'd have laughed. If he'd been drinking, he might have even fought that person over it. But here he was, the effective second in command of this strange village of people.

He wasn't sure why he'd been asked to take the position. He was Imperial, which made an easy excuse for the others to distrust him. It was even common knowledge among the group that the only reason he was here was by direct order from Imperial Spec Ops. He wasn't exactly charming, in fact he was quite the opposite with his blunt and easily annoyed demeanor. His best guess was that he wasn't interested in dealing with bullshit, so he was able to focus on the important things without distraction.

Whatever the reason for this role, he found himself in Christa's tent one quiet night. It was late, but the sounds of others milling about could still be heard. A few of them were doing basic chores and a few others were just socializing. Abner had come to Christa's abode to discuss the most effective patrol and defense schedule. It was simple logistics, but it had to be perfect. Every person that was patrolling the area wasn't guarding the town, and vice versa. The numbers had to be just right. The wrong people couldn't be teamed together. It was mind-boggling, but they were satisfied with what they'd come up with.

But that was hours ago, when they were still at the table.

Now they sat on the makeshift floor, passing a bottle of liquor back and forth. Abner was in the middle of telling a story, and Christa couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't sure if it was the story itself, the way it was being told, or simply the alcohol, but the serious warrior was softening up thanks to this ridiculous tale.

"...and so we're all hanging upside down, because somehow all three of us managed to get a leg, each, stuck in the same damn hanging snare trap," Abner was explaining, pausing to take a swig of some rum Crow had given him and then passing it back to Christa. "Remember, this is the middle of the Tangled Green and we're not even sure if there's another Imperial in the verse at the moment. And Barnes...you just have to meet this guy to really understand, but he's a total fuck up and a prankster at the same time. We never know if the shit he does is on purpose or not. Anyway, Barnes has the damn guide book out, and he's trying to talk with these crazy ass natives in their language while reading directly from the key travel phrases section."

Christa let out another legitimate laugh at that ridiculous image, and took a significant swig from the bottle.

"So there we are, all in full stormtrooper armor with a tribe of natives threatening to skewer us and probably eat our flesh or something, Avin and I are yelling at Barnes and he's screaming in some backwards language things like 'What's your name?' and 'Where is a public phone?'" Abner continued, laughing as he recalled the whole incident.

Christa almost shot straight rum from her nose at that one. If she'd had a bit of clarity she might have pondered on what she was feeling at the moment. Typically a story about Imperial Stormtroopers nearly getting killed was second only to a story about Imperial Stormtroopers actually getting killed in her eyes. As she heard tale after tale from this man, though, she couldn't help but feel slightly different about them. That wasn't all, either. She'd been in battles and adventures of her own, yet she could never recall them as fondly as Abner seemed to be able to.

"And that was the last time I was in the Tangled Green," Abner finished his story and took a deep breath. He followed it with another gulp of the rum when Christa handed him the bottle, and then tilted his head thoughtfully for a second. "I still don't know how we got out of that one alive. I think Avin's technically married to the chief's daughter, now."

Their laughter slowly died down, first into chuckles before fading into silence.

"We probably woke the whole camp up," Christa said, reaching for the bottle and missing outright. Abner went to hand it to her, but he had to close one eye and aim carefully with the other to make sure she was actually going to be on the receiving end of his reach.

"Ah, it's alright," Abner slurred in response. "Hear the way the crickets are chirping? It'll probably rain and no patrols will be able to head out in the morning."

Christa finally managed to get the bottle from Abner's hand to hers, only to realize that all that effort had been spent on a now completely empty container. It fell from her hands and rolled aside, and instead of picking it up again she simply hit it lightly with the back of her hand, causing it to roll far out of reach.

They both looked up to the table that had all of their plans and documents. All of the important things needed to keep this town running and this group together were all the way up there, but they seemed a lifetime away from where they were, even though it was really only a couple of feet. They knew they needed to get back to work, but in the middle of this chaos, this shot in the dark chance of meeting the deity that created all of this, it was nice to unwind for just one night.

Still, they knew they had responsibilities. It was Abner that spoke the burning question.

"Now what?"

Abner, Clayton, Jan, IRIS

It was a fairly foggy morning that found Abner, Clayton, and Jan standing around in the woods. Clayton was using a rag to wipe some dirt and grime off the wooden stock of his gun, while Abner leaned against a tree with one leg propped against it and smoked a cigarette. Jan stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he stared into the woods as far as he could see, which wasn't terribly far with this weather. The only sound in the woods was that of the light rain hitting the leaves and branches.

Clayton looked up, satisfied with the shape his firearm was in for the time being. He looked at his two companions and took careful interest in their facial expressions. They both appeared stoic and focused, like any good warrior would before a battle. Or, more accurately in this case, like any good hunter would before the hunt. Despite this, Clayton could see the doubt and discomfort they both tried to bury.

"I'm not going to have a problem with you two, am I?" Clayton sharply asked, his words cutting the almost peaceful silence. "We've got work to do."

"It's grave robbing. Plain and simple," Abner replied, turning his head to look at Clayton. "It may have to be done, but it's still wrong."

"You should be used to such moral dilemmas, with your Imperial service record," Clayton sneered. His facial expression was unimpressed, and maybe even a little disapproving.

"Easy," Abner cautioned the hunter in a stern voice with narrowed eyes.

The two simply made eye contact and held it in silence for a brief moment. Abner's experiences with this group of non-Imperials had certainly opened his eyes to a new way of thinking about his past few years, and it wasn't one he was exactly fond of.

"IRIS is back," Jan announced, getting the attention of his two companions. Thank Omni for that, because he was just as ready to be done with this assignment as Abner.

Their robotic recon droid hovered down to their eye level, scanning the three of them briefly. Abner stood from the tree and joined Clayton over near Jan and IRIS.

"What do you got?" Abner simply asked, discarding the used up cigarette by tossing it aside.

"I have a pack of approximately fifteen, a brief walk to our current northwest," IRIS reported. "Half of them have significant leg injuries, and are moving quite slow. They're also venturing away from a large portion that I estimate we cannot handle alone."

"Would the large group hear the battle?" Jan asked, wanting to make sure he had all the bases covered on this dangerous and somewhat foolhardy idea.

"It is possible, but unlikely," IRIS continued, turning to look directly at Jan while answering his question. "It is estimated that they will be approaching the bottom of a hill in a few moments. The optimal time to ambush them would be then."

"Fish in a barrel," Clayton said with a satisfied smile. He shouldered his rifle and kept the muzzle pointed to the ground, allowing ease of movement. "Let's go hunting, gentlemen."

IRIS was the first to move, followed by Clayton. Jan simply cast a single look to Abner, who gave a nod that sold far more confidence than he actually felt. The two of them followed behind Clayton, assuming rear guard positions and constantly scanning their back flanks as they moved.

It wasn't long before they were on the hill that IRIS had spotted, and quickly laid prone, with the barrels of their guns over the crest. Their prey wouldn't even see them coming. Abner was quick to put a pinch of dip by his gums while he had just a brief second.

Then they saw them. Zombies. Fifteen of them, just like IRIS said, aimlessly wandering through the woods. There was a small clearing with no trees directly in front of the hill, so the the group waited. Getting the jump on a zombie horde was a rarity, so they knew to be swift and decisive.

Abner shifted a bit as he waited. This whole thing was Clayton's idea. A simple run where they would ambush zombies, who were likely the remains of past adventurers. If they were traveling through here, then they had supplies to survive on their persons. In their zombified state they wouldn't be needing rations, ammo, or other equipment. That's what they were here to loot. It made perfect sense, but it just felt wrong.

"Remember, boys. Shins and heads," Clayton's hushed whisper reminded them. "We're here for the goods."

As Clayton was finishing that sentence the zombies entered the killzone. The three of them opened fire with their respective weapons, blasting the zombies in the head when they could, and taking their feet from under them when they couldn't.

The carnage was over just as fast as it started, with the zombies sprawled across the ground. A few of them were still moaning and grasping at the air with their arms. Other than that, the woods were simply filled with the simple, peaceful sound of the rain, again.

"IRIS, overwatch," Abner ordered as the three of them stood up. "Make sure we didn't attract anything else."

"Yes, at once," IRIS replied and began to hover away.

Jan was already moving down the hill, and Clayton followed. Abner watched IRIS leave before joining the other two. They stepped into the clearing, and Clayton leveled his shotgun at a downed zombie and blasted it in the head, finishing the mangled undead off. Abner scowled in disgust as how casual it seemed to the man.

"Let's hurry this up," Clayton ordered, loading a few more shells. "Don't be shy now."

Abner dropped his rifle, letting the sling catch it as he drew his pistol instead. He spotted the last few surviving zombies, and finished them off with quick head shots. By the time he holstered his pistol, Clayton was already digging through their pockets. Jan and Abner exchanged glances, then commenced to searching the corpses as well.

Abner pulled a few loaded magazines of ammo that appeared to be incompatible with any firearm the group currently had from one's belt. He kept searching and found an odd looking cigarette lighter. He had to find the humor in that, because he'd been worrying how much longer his would last. He stuffed that in his pocket, and continued looking through the remains.

They found some basic supplies across all of their victims. Small, various things that would fill several holes in their town's stocks. It wasn't much, but it would keep them going. Abner and Jan stepped back, watching as Clayton searched the last body.

Abner watched silently as Clayton pulled a small locket from the corpse. He turned it over and tapped it with his fingers as he inspected the material to determine it's value. The brief scowl on his face clearly spoke to the trinket's worth to him. The hunter opened the small memento, only to see a small picture of a man, woman, and two children. Obviously a small charm to keep the man moving, before the undead took him.

Clayton cast the object away in disgust, and began to move through the woods without a word to his comrades. Abner could only watch as the locket landed in a small puddle nearby. He looked down at the zombie, just barely seeing the resemblance to the man in the picture.

Abner looked at Jan, who staring right back at him, silently wondering what the stormtrooper was thinking of all this. Abner didn't know what else to say, so he just uttered a single sentence. He'd said it maybe thousands of times in his Imperial tenure, but had only begun to keep count in the past few weeks.

"This is fucked up."

Abner, Crow, Grave

In the dead of yet another night, a campfire roared and burned strong. Abner, Crow, and Grave sat around it, swapping stories and tales of adventure. Their laughter echoed far into the woods that surrounded the makeshift town, but no one had shown up yet to tell them to keep it down. Christa and Klaud both knew that when the troops were bonding it was best to let them build their bridges, even if they could stand to be a little quieter.

"Aye, there be three ways to hogtie an octopus," Crow was saying, tightly gripping his bottle of rum in his right hand. "I learned two that day. The third the next."

Abner and Grave looked at each other as they roared in laughter, then back at Crow. The pirate shrugged as he grinned sheepishly.

"What in the world made you think that was best idea?" Grave asked in between breaths.

"Transportin' 'em live isn't a fine art," Crow explained dismissively. "We made the best of it!"

"You're alright, you crazy old pirate," Abner laughed as he pulled his tin of chewing tobacco out. He hit it a few times to pack it before opening it and putting a wad in his mouth. "I don't care what anyone else says, you're alright."

Grave nodded in agreement, still chuckling a bit too much to actually say much else.

"Aye, mateys. And ye can sail the Deep with me any day," Crow said, raising the bottle of rum in toast. "To us crazy nobodies! Challengin' the world!"

"Here here!" Grave shouted, holding his empty hand up, mimicking like he was holding a glass.

Abner preformed a similar gesture, using his tin of tobacco as a surrogate for a glass. As they lowered their arms, Grave took his turn and began to tell his own story. As he was starting, though, Alice was approaching, apparently deciding to be the one to tell them to keep it down. Abner was lost in thought at their words, though. He'd yet to consider what would happen next, should he manage to crawl out of this place.

What if he found Omni, what would he ask? What would he say back? He'd been searching for all this time and hadn't really asked the question, yet. All these other people had goals but he was just riding the wave like normal. Regardless of if he found Omni or not, if it was even possible, there was no going back to donning his old white armor and trudging through day after day under Imperial rule again. It was a haunting thought, maybe because no matter how he made it back he knew his life was already changed forever.

Abner, Christa

Orcs.

Seemingly from nowhere, they'd charged the town. Everyone immediately heeded Christa's stern orders and formed a defensive line. They all knew that against numbers like that, however, it was going to get messy. The lines held as long as they could, but eventually the orcs closed in and created a melee.

Screams filled the area, and everyone could only hope that they were hearing the sound of dying orcs instead of the alternative. The scent of gunpowder was overpowering, dulling the usefulness of that sense as well. The battle raged, but the tide was turning. Slowly the numbers were thinning and the orcs were dropping to manageable numbers. The thing about orcs, though, was that even one could be a danger.

Abner kept his rifle shouldered and continued to mow through as many as he could. Their own defensive lines were broken by now so it was important to place each shot carefully. He moved steadily through the camp, shooting each orc he saw in chest and avoiding causing any friendly fire. He spotted Christa at a distance, making short work on any creature that dared venture near her. He couldn't help but give a smirk at the sight.

He approached a corner, and that was when one of the big ones struck. It had been lying in wait, and when Abner got near it leaped out and rammed him as hard as it could. Abner hit the ground with a thud, sending a cloud of dirt up on impact. He stayed on his back and blasted the orc repeatedly with his rifle, panting deeply as he did. The orc was riddled with the impacts from the gun, and simply collapsed backwards.

Cursing, Abner stood back up and spotted another orc, this one holding an axe in one hand. Before Abner could ready his rifle, the beast hurled the axe forward. The weapon immediately lodged into Abner's right shoulder. Abner dropped his rifle and screamed in pain as blood sprayed from his arm. The menacing creature approached slowly, a sick grin plastered on it's face. Abner stumbled back as the axe dislodged from his arm and fell to the ground. He put his left hand against the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

It took all the energy he had to pull his pistol from it's holster as the orc drew closer. He started to raise it, but then another shot rang out. The orc fell to the ground, dead, and Abner could see Christa standing behind it, her gun still smoking.

"Abner!" Chrisa screamed upon seeing his wound, surprising herself just as much as him at the emotion in her voice.

"What!?" Abner shouted back, his tone a mixture of defensiveness and bewilderment at her reaction.

Then he saw what she was looking at. He looked to his shoulder and saw the blood pouring out from between his fingers and around his hand on all sides. He couldn't stop the bleeding. The wound was simply too deep. He was fortunate it hadn't hit the joint and completely screwed up his arm, but the word "lucky" wasn't one he wanted to use, seeing as it had just barely missed his vest. Not that it would have stopped him from getting wounded, but it certainly wouldn't be this bad. Honestly, he wondered why he even bothered wearing the damn thing, still.

"Oh. Yea..." Abner's tone was apologetic, almost. Suddenly everything was blurry, and Christa was a lot harder to see. His energy was draining fast, and the next thing he knew he was on his back in the dirt.

Just as soon as it happened, Christa was right over him, pressing against the wound with her hands. This was good, because he didn't have the strength to keep his free hand on the wound any longer. Christa was shouting for a medic, but he could barely even hear her. His vision was fading along with all his other senses. Before long there was nothing but darkness.[/spoiler]

Drunks and fools.

There was an old saying about those two types of people, and Abner knew for sure that he fit into both categories. Not that he felt very safe or protected, here at the edge of the greatest challenge they'd face yet.

His arm was better, but not at full strength, either. The fact that he was able to stand and move on his own was a miracle in itself considering the blood he'd lost not long ago. He was a trooper, though. The group was ready to go once they had a good lead on where the next destination needed to be, so he'd thrown on all his gear and came wandering out into this swamp with these people he was surprised to be growing quite fond of.

He lit another cigarette, noting the difficulty the lighter took in getting started. After he was getting his proper tobacco intake, he flicked the lighter a few more times to see that it was all used up. He was running low on those as well as cigarettes and dip. In fact, he was pretty sure he only had one more portable flame source. He let out a sigh of annoyance, knowing that if that particular supply line came to a halt then he wouldn't be very pleasant to be around.

It was that thought that had him looking around, curiously. He could have sworn he was standing right next to the group a moment ago, but now he was apparently alone in the swamp. The mucky, muddy water came halfway up his calves, and there appeared to be no further obstacles ahead of him, not even the smallest of logs.

Abner took another look around, and saw no further sign of the others. He didn't know how he got separated, but he knew better than to stand around like an idiot. So, shaking his head and forcing up some conviction, he trekked onward.

[Roger Smith]

The order in which these flashbacks occur does not necessarily reflect the order in which they occurred chronologically. Just a note.

Also, in many of the flashbacks Crow may sing a little -- or a lot -- snatch of sea song. Words in italics are him singing by his lonesome, words that are underlined are other folks mentioned in the flashback joining in with the tune. They ARE work songs meant for a group, after all. For the most part, at any rate.

[spoiler]

Flashback One: Just about everyone

Familiar as he was with the sea and the waves, it had seemed like a given to send Crow off to go fishing. Get some food while people that had been dutifully elected by process of first come first serve in terms of responsibilities to go about doing...whatever it was. Crow had stopped paying attention much after he'd been given his duty, and immediately traipsed off to go about his work. A short while after that whole debacle with the temple and surviving that nastiness with the horde of Darkspawn, and someone had gotten the idea to erect a little settlement so they could all have a base of operations to recuperate in and have a sense of security.

Or something to that effect.

And as he came back from one fishing trip, it was to a sad sight. It wasn't that the work was progressing poorly, by no means, but it was definitely moving rather slowly. And no one seemed in a particularly pleasant mood, the recent events still being too fresh in mind and everyone clearly not so keen on getting along or working with each other just yet.

The good captain had seen it all before, both in his navy days and after he'd gone on account.

Tromping back into 'camp', as it were, he set his eyes to wandering, not at all liking what he saw. And as ready for a good rest as he was, it just wouldn't do to let things go about at this damnable pace.

"What's with this blasted foul mood hangin' about over everything, then?!" he called out to no one in particular. He felt several pairs of eyes settle on him, with a matching myriad of mismatched expressions. "Bad mood means bad work, me lads and lasses," he cheerfully commented. "And bad work done in a bad mood just leads to bad results, and no one wants anything to do with any o' that!"

The refined tones of the socalled gentleman Mister Clayton assaulted him from one direction with barely-contained venom and distaste for what Crow could only assume was the deterioriating state of his hairdo. Or quite possible just about everything about this situation. "And what, pray tell, would you suggest doing about it, dear Captain?"

"I would also like to hear any suggestions you might have, Herr Captain." The second voice was unmistakable, the doctor, Richtoffen, leaning on that infernal staff of his as he threw a searching stare at the pirate, his expression stern and unreadable for the most part. But that blasted spark of whatever it was that had taken hold when the dead had come crawlin' outta every bung hole the forest had to offer was still there, plain as day to see. It made Crow even less fond of the man than before.

But in response to all of the eyes on him and the general foul mood of things, Crow could only smirk, letting out a chuckle at something that he found very amusing, from the sounds of it. His eyes snapped from one face to the next, as he strolled across the site of their soon-to-be 'home', and deposited not only his latest catch, but jabbed his saber into the earth and hung his pistol belt on it, and even removed his gloves, tossing them among the pile of his discarded hear, turning a weather eye toward the sky, before settling his sights back on the others. "Well, I'd be a poor excuse fer a helper if'n I didn't lend me own two mitts to some help, eh?" He cracked his knuckles, but the grin on his face only grew wider.

"And b'sides that, I know me a surefire way to get the mood picked up and make the work go by quicker!" A twinkle flashed through his eyes and he announced cheerily, "Stretch yer lungs, mates, it be time fer a song!"

The collective eyes of everyone within earshot snapped to him, with just as many looks of amusement as of incredulity and disbelief. It didn't deter the pirate one bit, and with a deep breath, he was off and singing -- and figuratively running, taking to work with gusto, lendng a hand the the folks working on getting some means of shelter assembled.

"Way, hay, up she rises,
Way, hay, up she rises,
Way, hay, up she rises,
Earlye in the mor-nin'!"

The generally stupified looks from the others remained, but Crow called out cheerily once more, "Even if ye don't have a mind to sing, work to the tune! It'll keep yer mnd busy and make the work go by smoother!"

"What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
Earlye in the mor-nin'?"

With varying degrees of head-shaking and amusement -- and in at least one very notable case, dismissal -- the other went back to work, with the assistance of the pirate captain. And as he launched nto the next verse, he could swear he heard at least one other voice join in with him.

"Put him in the scuppers with the hose pipe on him!
Put him in the scuppers with the hose pipe on him!
Put him in the scuppers with the hose pipe on him!
Earlye in the mor-nin!"

Looking about, it was easy enough to spot the figure of Grave as the one who had lent his voice with some enthusiasm. It renewed the grin on Crow's face as he went on and on.

"What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
Earlye in the mor-nin'?"

Slowly but surely, whether just to join in on the growing ridiculousness of the singing, or actually getting caught up in its easing of the work, he heard another voice lift up to join in, and then another. Haltingly at first, still catching onto the words and the tune, but both were simple enough that no one was left behind for very long.

"Put him in the brig until he's sober!
Put him in the brig until he's sober!
Put him in the brig until he's sober!
Earlye in the mor-nin'!"

It went on and on, until the sun was riding low in the sky and the light was fading and making it all but impossible to work efficiently, even with the light of a handful of torches they'd managed to cobble together. And so Crow lurched into leading the last verse of the night.

"That's what we do with a drunken sailor!
That's what we do with a drunken sailor!
That's what we do with a drunken sailor!
Earlye in the morning!"

A general sense of amusement was shared as a round of laughing went about.

Flashback Two: Crow, Lyra, Top Man

"Ahoy there, me lovely little lass!" Lifting his arm in a wave to the pretty elf-like girl as he approached, Crow winced in discomfort, drawing a scowl of pain across his face as he quickly lowered his arm once again. He had regained the ability to mostly move hs arm with relative ease without howling in pain any longer, but stretching the limits fo his recovering range of motion still earned him no small amount of discomfort.

Seeming startled by Crow's usual boisterousness breaking the relative quiet background noise of jungle and campsite both, Lyra turned quickly to face its source, and seemed to relax somewhat upon realizing it was just the pirate. "Oh...hello, captain." Her eyes flicked from Crow's still-pained expression to his arm with an inquisitive look but said nothing, either out of respect or having an idea what it was. He hadn't exactly been quiet about it when the good doctor kindly shoved his shoulder back into its proper position, after all. "Did you need something?"

"Ah, yeh might say that, lass..." Crow seemed more subdued than usual after his initial outburst of greeting, eyebrows kitting together into a contemplative look. "That there bow ye got..." He paused, scratching at the increasingly-scruffy gray beard taking root on his face after so long out and about. "...yeh're a fair hand with it, aye?"

"Well..." Lyra tilted her head to one side, looking somewhat thoughtful herself. "I guess you could say that. I'm not really the best out there, I'm sure...but I'm good enough to survive..." She blinked, returning her attention to Crow. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, see...had me a little trouble out in th' trees a few nights back. Ran afoul of a nasty devil of a boar. Lead me all over hell and highwater, trying to get close to it and show it a taste o' steel..." The fingers of one hand traced the pommel of his sword in a familiar gesture, his expression twisting into a grimace at the memories of both his failure and stupidty, and what had resulted from it, and had it not been for his general lax demeanor, it would have looked as if he were ready to draw and flay someone then and there.

"That sounds unfortunate...but you seem to be in remarkably good spirits after it all." She paused, before a look of amusement touched her features. "Though I don't think I've ever seen your spirits ever drop too low."

Crow let out a genuine laugh at that, shaking his head. "I don't find much sense in lettin' things get ya down too much, let alone dwellin' on 'em. Surefire way to end up with a head full o' bilge...." He looked wistful for a moment, before snapping back to reality. "But enough o' that. 'Bout that beasty I mentioned....I'm lookin' t'have a rematch with the bilge rat. And I'd like it to not go to waste, which pretty much rules out me ol' pistols..." He cracked a grin, showcasing his confidence he'd be able to make the shot if that were the only issue. "...on account o' not enjoyin' the taste o' lead and black power in me grub. I don't reckon I'd have any more success in round two than I did the first time out with catchin' the beast, though...so I figured I'd need me another way to go about getting somethin' sharp and deadly to do the job from a distance, if ye follow me course, here, lass."

Lyra again looked thoughtful, tapping her chin in thought, looking moderately amused at something or other. Quite possibly Crow's accent and way of speaking, if the general consensus around the camp held true for every individual. "I think I have an idea what you mean..." She looked off to one side, presumably at her own shelter where her bow was likely safely laying while she was out doing whater task she had been up to. "...out to take up archery, captain?"

Crow cracked an uneasy grin, letting a mostly unseen shade of nervousness show in his normally implacable expresison, but folded his arms over his chest and nodded. "Ye got me dead to rights, lass."

"Why look so uncomfortable at it? It's not such a bad idea." The little elf girl seemed genuinely confused.

Crow turned his gaze away, looking off into the distance, not responding for a handful of seconds. "....s'a bit embarressin', really. But I just prefer to keep things that could do some damage in me own two hands where I can make sure they get where they be needin' to go..." He scratched again at the growth of gray scruff on his chin. "....also one of me mates may have put an arrow in me leg by accident last time he tried to branch out."

It took a moment for the implication to sink in, but after several seconds, Lyra let fly with a laugh of very obvious amusement, even if she did her best to conceal it. Crow was much less amused. Regaining her composure, she shook off the amusement, and spoke up again, "Well...I guess a little fear of something dangerous is normal after an experience like that. Nothing to be ashamed of." She took on a more serious expression and tone as she continued, "I can't promise I'll be a good teacher, but I can show you the basics...it's really all about experience more than training or learning, after all."

"Well, the basics be as good a place as any to start. Help an old sea dog get over a mighty embarressin' fear, if nothin' else."

As the unlikely teacher and student trailed off to see about finding something suitable to practice on, there was a stirring at the edge of the camp, a metallic figure of a bright orange color, standing out starkly against the relatively dull greenery of the jungle strolling into view. "Well look at that. Our dear old captain isn't without fear after all. Who'd have ever thought?" The top-themed robot was smirking with clear amusement as he flashed a look at his camera. "And on top of that, you saw it here: verifiable proof. You can, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks."

Flashback Three: Crow, Isaac

He was supposed to be keeping an eye out for anything that might fancy sneaking into camp to stir up trouble in one way or another. The steady, slow march of the moon across the starry sea above didn't much help Crow's attentiveness, nor did the mostly empty bottle of rum close at hand to the stump he was perched on. Addled as much by drink as by the solitude of watch and the lateness of the hour, Crow's mind had drifted to many a thing in his silent hours, and soon he had slowly and haltingly broken out into a faint murmur of a song, almost too quiet to hear. It trailed off into nothingness, and was soon replaced with a more solid, assured tune.

"As I roved by the dockside one evenin' so fair...
To view the salt waters and take in the salt air...
I heard an old fisherman singin' a song...
Oh, take me away, boys, me time is not long..."

His tone was melancholy, and he let out a deep sigh, snatching up the bottle of drink and taking a long draught from it before he continued, even more somber than before.

"Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankts...
No more on the docks I'll be seen...
Just tell me old shipmates...I'm takin' a trip, mates...
And I'll see ye someday on the Fiddler's Green..."

The relative quiet after things had relatively wound down from the excitement of their ordeal in the temple and subsequent flight from it and the Darkspawn battle had left Crow too much time to think. And he had finally come to admitting to himself a conclusion he'd reached before he even set out on this blasted trip.

"Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell...
Where the fishermen go if they don't go to hell...
Where the weather is fair...and the dolphins do play...
And the cold coasts of foul land are so far, far away..."

"That's remarkably melancholy for you, Captain."

The sudden voice gave Crow a start, and he whirled about on his perch, coming face to face with the one-armed soldier, Isaac. For a moment, Crow remained tense, his addled mind taking a bit to catch up, before he finally sighed heavily and sat back down heavily. "Yeh shouldn't sneak up on a man like that, matey..." he drawled, setting what remained of his bottle of rum back on the earth beside his perch. "S'not a good idea..."

Isaac let out a soft chuckle. "Yes...my apologies. I didn't mean to do any sneaking, I suppose the mood just naturally lends itself to being quiet at this time of night."

"Aye...s'pose so..." Crow mumbled. He seemed just as distant and distracted as he had distracted and somber before. "So what brings ye out here, then...? Thought only the ones on watch'd be awake voluntarily at this hour."

"Well, you don't need to be on watch to not be able to sleep." The old soldier settled into an easy seated posture on the ground a few paces away, his one hand resting on a knee. "Thought I'd take a little walk, see if it helped clear out some stray thoughts and help the sleep come."

"Mmmm....aye, aye...sens'ble enough, I s'pose..." Crow rubbed at his tired eyes with much agitation.

"I don't suppose that song had any specific meaning to it, now, did it?" the bloodlance inquired after nearly a full minute of silence. "It seemed awfully morbid and...final. Especially coming from you."

"....I s'pose it'd be a fool thing to try and hide there bein' meanin' to it," Crow admitted. "S'nothin' to be worryin' yerself over, though, mate..."

"Who's to say what I should be worrying myself over?" The old soldier chuckled, though his expression quickly turned more serious. "It sounds as if whatever it was all about has been troubling you. And not just a little." He turned weathered eyes on the old sea dog.

Crow let out a harsh bark of laughter, swatting at one knee. "HAR! Aye, it's been weighin' on me mind. Since before I set out to come join this whole blasted adventure..." Snatching up his drink, Crow drained the remainder of the booze before he let out a long, defeated sigh. "....I always did hate talkin' to folks like you, mate....always too many years, too much floatin' around in the head....too hard to hide things from yeh..."

"Well, we old folks have to make up for going a little crazy and getting tired so easily, you know." The amusement in his tone was clear, but equally evident was the fact that the old soldier wasn't going to let things get steered away so easily.

"One old man to another, matey..." Crow tok a deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh. ".....I'd planned fer this to be me last voyage, whatever way it turns out. Just wanted one last tale to tell me old mates when I get to where I'm goin'...."

".....that sounds suspiciously like you didn't plan to come back from this voyage, captain."

"Don't go puttin' words in me mouth, now, bucko!" Crow growled, his expression hardening. "Cap'n Crow ain't givin' up the helm that easily. I plan to come back as alive as I ever was." His stern expression remained for a handful of seconds further before it cracked. "....but if I don't make it back there's no one around anymore t'miss me, and least I got the luxury of knowin' I got no need to hold back or be afraid t'meet whatever's comin' to finally take me head head on."

Isaac slowly nodded his head, as if putting something together. "That's why you seem to get a little....crazy when you get into a fight, isn't it....you're just not afraid to die."

"I'm as scared o' dyin' as the next man, bucko...I'm just not about to turn tail and run from a shot across the bow."

"That's certainly quite an outlook to have...but don't let it make you reckless." Shaking his head, the old soldier let a faint smile grace his features. "I can't speak for everyone in this little group of ours, but I'm quite certain a few of us would miss you if you didn't come back from all this, to one extent or another. So take heart in that."

".....and that's another reason I don't much like talkin' t'other old folk..." Crow laughed with genuine mirth, the depressing cloud fading from over his posture. "...they're too good at makin' yeh feel better about yer lot in things."

Flashback Four: Crow, Klaud

Crow had never been a fair hand with selicate work. True, each and every one of his signature, pointy-brimmed hats had been made by his own two hands, their tattered and torn look as much by intentional design as by Crow just...not being very good at making them, and years of wear and tear. But it had been a great many years -- over a decade, in fact -- since he'd made the last one, and he was finding it remarkably difficult to remember old habits and get back into the groove of the busy work.

The sound of footsteps and the announcement of "Never took you for the haberdasher type, Captain." broke his concentration.

Lifting his eyes from his work, Crow's gaze fell upon the form of the lady general, Klaud Nine, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Not at all, me dear, not at all." Turning his attention once agan back to his attempts to restore his headwear to its former glory, he added, "Not that I mind ye payin' a visit, but it beats me what a lovely young lass as yerself would be doin' botherin' with an old lout like me voluntarily. So I can only be assumin' it be business that brings ye by."

"As astute as always, Captain." Klaud watched the old pirate's delicate work with an air of amusement for a handful of moments before she went on. "Just dropping by to let you know we're the lucky ones on watch tonight."

"Ah, lovely..." Crow drawled, setting aside his partially-assembled hat. "Little quiet time to watch a whole lot o' nothin'. Least the company'll be good, this time around, eh?" He chuckled, placing both hands on his knees.

Klaud looked unimpressed, fixing the captain with a deadpan stare.

Crow held up both hands in an admission of defeat. "Apologies, lass, didn't mean nothin' by it. Heard ye alredy got that run-up from that lad, Grave." His grin didn't fade. "If I were half me age, might be a different matter...but don't worry yer pretty little head, General. Me head's on straight, no need to be worryin'."

"Good to know." With a look of curiosity overtaking her impassive facade, she indicated Crow's discarded 'project'. "Any particular reason you're taking the tme to work on that, with everything else that could be getting done?"

"Old tradition, lass...old tradition." Crow cast a fond glance at the mess that would hopefully be his new hat sooner rather than later. "Me first quartermaster wore a hat just like the one I was wearin' before that temple nonsense. Accident at sea made him lose his head in th' most literal way, savin' me own in th' process... Took his hat out o' respect, wore it ever since. And I swore on me blood that I'd die wearin' a hat just like it if there was any chance." He turned his gaze back to Klaud, a distant look on his face. "And this whole adventure of ours is lookin' to be mighty deadly, if ye follow me course."

"Tradition is a good thing to follow... Best of luck in finishing it sooner rather than later, then. Best to have your attention focused on one thing rather than divided."

"Ye can say that again." Crow grinned broadly. "Well, I'll be seein' ye tonight fer guard duty, then."

"See you tonight, then, Captain."

Flashback Five: Crow, Christa, IRIS

"If it wouldn't be a bother to ask, cap'n -- excuse me...I mean captain -- why do you insist on using such primitive firearms? The level of maintenance seems to be quite high."

"Don't mind ye askin' at all, me mechanical lass," the old sea dog offered up in response, his tone cheerful as it almost always was. "S'mostly out of tradition, t'be perfectly honest... And familiarity." He chuckled. "Plus folks don't often expect t'actually be hit by these things. It's always been a right chore to go about aimin' with the blasted things."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the difficulty of landing a shot." IRIS's eye flickered in what Crow could only guess as distressed recollection. "But you did remarkably well even without me assistance, if I may say, cap'n. Oooooh, that's remarkably hard to put a stop to!"

Crow all but roared with laughter, slapping one knee with his mirth. "Aye, 'tis quite a hard thing t'get outta yer way o' speakin'. Can't say as I have any idea how ye picked it up, but it's been a right enjoyment while it lasted, if I say so meself."

"Yes. It is very amusing for everyone but me." Sarcasm all but dripped from the machine's tone. "But if it's so difficult to aim with your preferred firearms, cap'n -- captain -- how did you manage to get so good with them, then?"

"Like I said, just got familiar with 'em." Crow laid out another of the matching set of six pistols on the makeshift table before him, taking up another one to continue their maintenance. "They're sturdy, and pack a right mean punch. Plus, even if someone spikes 'em..." He turned the firearm to show the vent. "...ye can still beat 'em over the skull with it."

"Well that sure does sound handy, Cap'n," came the familiar voice of their fearless leader, Christa. "Useful up close and personal, even if someone thinks they've left it useless."

"Ye got the right idea there, lass," Crow affirmed with a grin. "Just one more reason I keep usin' the blasted things."

"Any particular reason you keep saying they're so hard to aim, though? You've got me genuinely curious."

"Oh, there's a reason, most definitely." Crow picked up one of the pistols, and with a deft series of movements, clearly well-practiced, loaded it and readied it for firing. With a click, he pulled back the hammer, and spun it in one hand, offering it to Christa. "Have a go with it; take a shot at me practice target downwind there." He gestured at a rough bullseye that had been carved into a stump. "Ye're a good enough shot. Shouldn't be too much of a chore to hit a bullseye from this distance."

Raising one eyebrow at the curious explanation, Christa nonetheless took the offered firearm. "It's heavier than it looks...and there's no real sights on it. Definitely makes it harder to aim in the first place." With as much skill as she could, she levelled off the primitive firearm and sighted at the target...and with the usual bang there was a cloud of smoke, a flash of fire, and the acrid smell of burning bunpowder in the area. "It's got a hell of a kick, too," she noted, before handing the weapon back to Crow.

"Aye, that it does. Now take a look at where yer shot went." He pointed at the target, where IRIS was already stationed to examine the aftermath.

"Remarkable. The shot has veered off nearly thirty-seven degrees from its necessary flight path to strike a bullseye. It is nearly two feet from its intended target."

Christa raised a brow, turning back to Crow with an expression that demanded explanaiton.

"Figured it'd be obvious by now, lass....especially with how much ye seem to know about guns. But maybe it ain't as common knowledge as I figured it might be." Returning to his work of cleaning out old power and properly oiling the barrel of another of his weapons, Crow continued on. "Smoothbore in the barrel. No spin on the bullet. Makes it more liable to go wherever it wants to. Ye can learn to correct it....to an extent."

IRIS had returned to float close by, and piped up. "That does make sense. But without knowing exactly which way the bullet will veer in flight, how can you know which way to correct?"

Crow grinned, something that looked ever so slightly like a maniacal glint flashing through his eyes. "Ye get lucky."[/spoiler]



It had been a long haul, this trip out here to these blasted woods... It was hard to keep track of the days and nights passing out here, so he couldn't give a certain call as to just how long it'd been. But if he was pressed into it, he could give a dead reckoning of at least reasonable accuracy. And that told him one thing: the entire ordeal was turning out to be almost as long as some of the voyages he'd shipped out on at sea, and turning out to be nearly as dangerous, to boot. Back in those days, he'd had an entire crew full of mates to help him, all of them rowdy and off the rails more often than not, but dependable and reliable. Familiar, and relatable. He knew each and every one of them by name, and only in times of emergency or when the main brace had been thoroughly spliced and the spirits of the crew were high did they ever even bother to call him Cap'n.

They were jolly days...never having the assurance that whenever you shipped out with crazy ol' Hell Wings Crow that you'd actually ever see land again. And no one ever minded. Well...no one except the not so dearly departed Doctor Falkner Thyme, may his entrails feed Davy Jones' fish.

When he'd arrived in the Omniverse, he was more than a little certain that he'd never manage to find a right proper crew again. He'd had a go of it in the Deep more than once, of course. He'd gathered a rowdy bunch of scallywags together under one flag, but it never really had the same spark. They were all too...altogether not right. All in it for the money, not for the thrill and the sheer joy of having the adventure and earning another scar and another story to tell to the lubbers back in port. There was no sense of magic sailing with what amounted to nothing but a bunch of murderous, thieving louts who had the audacity to call themselves pirates.

Just thinking about it make Crow's mood darken -- not to mention brought a look to his face as if someone had just poured bilge water in his drink.

But here he was, all the same, with an unexpected group of folk, all with their own personal motivations and reasons, but one specific goal. One grand ol' adventure to tie all of these unlikely folk together, even if was by random chance... And as irritating and impossible as some of them could be, blast it all, Crow had started to grow fond of them. Each and every one of them, to one extent or another. Some more than others, mind...but...

Flashback One goes here

Each and every one of them was alright... That wasn't to say he was entirely fond of all of them, but he was for the most part glad to have had the chance to walk by the side of this crazy bunch. The time hadn't all been pleasant -- in fact a great deal of it had been very far from it. He'd been forced to dredge up some rather painful memories on more than one occasion,but on the whole even as jarring and physically traumatic as this entire trip had been so far, he didn't regret it in the slightest.

It had been a learning experience for many involved, from the looks of things. Gatherng up his gear to set out for their final trek into the swamp, he was given pause as he went to grab the small bag of emergency medical supplies he'd taken to carrying with him of late. His expression twisted into something difficult to read, before he sighed, smiling wistfully. It certainly had been a learning experience... Packing that away as well, he had a much more pleasant reminiscence as he picked up the broken halves of a shattered, now-useless arrow laying among his scattered belongings. Well, at the very least not all of the learning experiences had been so...unpleasant.

Flashback Two goes here

The extent of his skill in THAT whol mess of a learning experience was finally managing to hit his target -- intentionally, at any rate -- from a respectable distance. Of course along the way he'd managed to hit several things other than his intended target. Thankfully no one had been injured, though there had been some perilously near misses. The ever-suave mister Clayton hadn't looked at him quite the same way after one such very near miss. Crow couldn't say he was displeased at that fact at all, if he was being completely honest.

It was getting mighty close to the deadline...soon they would all be off on the final push. Into that blasted Swamp of Sadness. Whatever it was, it didn't sound pleasant -- not by a long shot. It reminded Crow dreadfully of something he'd heard stories of in his early days on the account...and it was just as chilling to remember those days as it was to picture the coming trudge ahead of them. When he'd set out on this journey, Crow had always had one thing firmly in his mind. It had drifted into and out of the foreground of his thoughts, but as the lasy days were coming into clearer view it had taken to occupying most of his waking moments...

Flashback Three goes here

He was more ashamed of himself for being lulled into that sorry state to begin with. That he'd revealed something of that nature at all was bad enough, that he'd been swayed from his course even more so. Maybe he was just getting sentimental in his old age, but the prospect of there just maybe being even one person out there who might just think the world was a lesser place, in however small a way, with the passing of Captain Crow made him re-evaluate his entire motivation for coming on this adventure in the first place. He would never outright admit it in plain words, but there was one simple fact to it all: he'd come on this hopeless errand to die.

It was a sobering, depressing thing to ponder, but it made him realize just how different he was compared to some of the others in this group. Most everyone here had plans or goals of some sort. Everyone had something they were out for, when they finally reached Omni. It wasn't even an if for any of them. It was a when. It made Crow realize how crazed and down he had been, writing off his participation in events as a foregone conclusion that he'd never even reach Omni, and just add one last story of Captain Crow's final voyage to his book, one last tale to tell his mates wherever he ended up.

Of course...speaking of his mates brought Crow to a much more pleasant thought. He'd lost his hat in their mad dash from the temple, but he had since replaced it, and he plucked the replacement from its place amid his belongings. It wasn't quite as elegantly made as his original one, but it was still servicable. And it held a special place in his battered old heart, just as every one before it had.

Flashback Four goes here

With his usual flourish, Crow plopped his hat down on his head, the familiar, if very minor weight refreshing after so many weeks without it. Taking a moment to adjust it to its proper rakish angle, he couldn't help but grin. He'd have wished for a mirror to make sure he looked proper for setting out on the last leg of this trip, but he was fairly certain with how haggard he'd gotten of late he'd break it from taking a look.

Besides, since when were pirates concerned with their appearance?

He went about slinging his various gear and paraphenalia together, strapping it all down and making ready to leave once and for all.Grabbig hold of his pistol belt, he couldn't help but grin at another fond memory, buckling it around his waist, the familiar weight another welcome comfort, even after its short absence. Yes...even weapons had earned a place as the keystone of another particularly fond memory among this crazy group.

Flashback Five goes here

There would be plenty of time for all of these pleasant memories later, though.... Wasting time taking a stroll down memory lane wasn't what he should be focusing on right now. With relative haste he finished packing up and gathering the remainder of his equipment and trudged out to go join the others already getting ready to start the trek into the swamp proper.

And all too soon they were off.

Spread out in a line, with Crow just barely able to make out the forms of his fellow adventurers before and behind him, they plowed ahead into the fog. "Keep yer wits about yeh, now, mates....looks like trouble's just waitin' to get the drop on anyone who lets it." A quick glance off to one side at a sound Crow couldn't quite place distracted him long enough for his footing in the swirling fog to falter, and he staggered, dropping to a knee and ending up nearly entirely subsumed into the fog.

By the time he regained his feet, he let voice to his thoughts with a simple, "See what I mean?"

He was met with only silence.

A chill crept up his spine as he slowly turned in a circle, eyes wide and ears alert. But he didn't see anything. Nor did he hear anything, save the ominous background noise of the swamp -- not that there was a great deal of that, either.

And that was what worried him.

"......sink me."