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Priscilla     The journey, if it can be called that, through Archdragon peak can only continue one way. Allowed within the paradoxical walls by some dint of magic, following the ringing of the old bell and the defeat of the ancient wyvern that responded to it, it seems it would be unwise to find an unintended exit and height and venture outside and back down again. Though being cloistered within dim chambers of inexplicable masses of candlelight, surrounded by old implements of iron, threadbare mats, and the eerie forms of petrified once-disciples, is far from emboldening, the ways of navigating around are simple this time.

    Stairs around the tremendous statue of uncanny draconic gravitas, rising to a floor above with a right angle corridor to each side, and a doorway that is only a rectangular gap in the wall behind, leading down a shaft of square spiral steps chiseled into the stone. The shaft is dark and unlit. The corridors up high are at least open to sunlight through tiny slit windows, visible beyond the slightly arched frames.

    The east leads to a strange, broken labyrinth of staircases attached to the walls, seemingly a majority of them being useless. They're supported by pillars in various shades of disintegration, and mostly seem to hover over a foggy abyss, turning all the way around a crumbling exterior wall, and onto a dangerously high and exposed walkway that runs around a tower, hopefully above, rather than at, jetstream level.

    The west leads to long rows of, finally, identifiably monastic arches and pillars, though whether one should call them Gothic or Hindu is impossible to identify, in their strange shapes. Beyond it, you can see where it opens into stairs that cross a level of the monastery's roof and walls, partially blocked with crumbled higher walls having slid down, and a watch tower of sorts around the edge, where some of the mountain rises high enough to 'pierce through' the path.

    There are no particular signs of anything lingering down the shaft, and no noise but the low moan of the wind. To the east, you can hear the creak of stirring wood, the scrape of wind against the walls, and a faint, tinkling ringing sound. To the west, there are the obvious footsteps and restless hisses of more serpent men, and the plodding footsteps of other creatures you have yet to lay eyes upon.

    Searching visually in either direction confirms the occasional corpse, of ages long passed, likely either mummified or skeletonized inside their ancient suits of armour of many different styles, still clutching old weapons and cracked and dried packs of items, surrounded by rusty streaks where blood had oxidized on the stone forever ago.
Raziel 'The Wyvern, terrible and powerful lay dead at our feet.  However, it seems that the monster was but a door to enter deeper into the depths of this lost ruin.  Fog rose slowly to cut us off from the place we were at, and a sense of vertigo overcame me, a familiar sense of being transported in location.  When our surroundings became visible again, I could tell by the structure of the room we were in one of the towers, but why or how we came to be here was still a mystery.  Still, it saved us at least half of a trip, so perhaps it was a boon in disguise.'

Raziel spent time looking around, as the Dragonslayer explained just what a dragon, a /true/ dragon was.  Ornstein's title was not just for show, it seems, and for that Raziel's respect grew for the man.  However, the emaciated figures were more of an interest to him.  However, try as he might he could not get them to rouse.

'These figures, lifelike in appearance, seem to be nothing but stone statues.  Perhaps these were men, or something akin to men a long time ago, but now they are nothing but stone.  This place seemed to be one of worship, perhaps they simply worshiped until they turned to stone.  This could be either a shrine to their devotion...or foolishness.'

Raziel moves out of the door, and into the stairs.  A choice became visible to them now, west or east.  Raziel takes his time to try and observe each direction, considering the next choice of action with some gravitas.

'Before us lay a fork in our path.  To the east, I could see a broken array of staircases secured to the walls of this tower.  However, time had claimed many of them, making the journey treacherous.  However, that might put us above the fierce winds of the castle.  To the west, rows of stonework that I could not quite identify.  Strangely shaped, but leading to the roof of the monastery.  Past that, a guard tower beyond the part of the mountain itself.'

Raziel also hears the bell, thinking to himself.  The bell was rung to lead them to this point...was it a key to where they had been before, or where they should go?  While they decided on their course, Raziel moved to the corpses.  Perhaps the spirits of the dead were still here, and perhaps he could glean some knowledge from them.
Seifer Almasy      A place to seek transcendence. To seek a power that surpasses humankind. A place of meditation and training, of exploration of the soul. A place to escape the transient world and become something other, something beyond, something no ravages of time or tide can touch. A maddened dream.

     Seifer knows a thing or two about mad dreams and pursuit of perfection. He knows a thing or two about wanting to escape the terrible dreariness of an unfair world. About working hard at something until you can break free of the circumstances of your birth.

     His fingers brush against one of the statues as they pass. Dead stone.

     The sling itches. The Gunblade Knight scratches at it occasionally. Most of his favored arm is broken and useless. One of his eyes, though that's hardly an impediment. Some of his stomach. Bandages tighten around chest wounds.

     But he wasn't gonna let that stop him, right?

     He's excited. This is a place that is elementally Seifer - a place of challenge and pursuit of martial excellence for the sake of a transcendental, maddened dream. The whole place is seeped in it. He'd be bouncing on his heels if he was less disciplined, if he was...hm, that asshole. Chik'en Wuzz? Something like that. Somebody that useless.

     Seifer's good hand grips Hyperion as he heads west. He's looking for patrol routes beyond the walls, at least if they're close enough. His blade sense isn't enough to see through walls, but if he sticks close to the walls he might be able to pick up somebody directly on the other side, or something big enough that it brushes up against the wall by accident.
Tomoe The journey isn't over heck Tomoe is pretty sure what has been till now was just the warm-up. The statues unnerve her, old habits somewhat come back to her as she starts to glance around looking for possible traps that might be lying in wait for them. Thoughts of the Wyvern still danced about her mind it was a dangerous foe and nowhere near where a true dragon from this world would be in terms of power. She looked at the paths that laid out before them.

She ends up like Seifer heading west curious to what she might find if she gets to the roof of the monastery. So off she goes with the Dawnbreaker once more in hand, as she expects trouble.

"So keep alert for traps."

She may not need to say it to someone as experienced as Seifer? Still, it's something she feels compelled to say if only from her experience in this world. She will keep an eye out for any signs of traps as she heads further West. She also keeps ready for the likely patrols that roam this entire place more of the beastmen most likely. Or knowing this world? Even worse things await them.
Starbound Flotilla     The Starbound Flotilla are on the move. Biteblade is busy giving the gang a bit of medical attention after their run-in with the burning heat of nuclear glass. Moonfin makes haughty noises, provoking little hostile hisses from the Floran, but soon enough they're in working order. Albert is welding bits of his armor back together as quick as he can.

    Clank, clank, clank. A scan to the right, a scan to the left. A quick tactical huddle. George makes the compelling point that the bell demonstrated some qualities of interest, so a ringing sound means more.

"Like, that just seems to be progression. You go somewhere and you do something with a bell. I think that's kind of how this place works."
"Increduous. That seems reductive of the culture."
"It's one hundred percent of our sample."
"Our sample size is one."
"That didn't change what I said."
"Let us follow the chimes, lest this drive me to seek out more snake-man swords, to fall upon for freedom from this buffoonery."

    They pull the bolts on their grappling hooks in near-unison, test-burst a few microthrusters to make sure it all still works, and head for the broken labyrinth, intending to navigate where they can and simply repair where they can't. This is a reasonably solid fundation to build on, after all, even if many support pillars are crumbled. Why not simply /rebuild/ the stairs and make it easier for everyone to pass through this when they choose to?

    Moonfin taking care to expertly recreate the precise architectural styles is just extraneous bullshit. The fact that Seft helps him is mostly because of her cultural connection with this place.
Guzma Guzma needs a moment before he can continue. After all the events of last time, he's still getting used ot being teleported by fog and also wyverns. Wyverns are fun!

Not really.

The petrified disciples get poked briefly by him and the Trio, all poking different ones, Rapp waving to them and trying to talk to them and presumably getting nothing. So instead, things go to which path they take. West? East?

Both!

Guzma turns west on a dime as soon as Seifer heads down that path. "Man, you really got a number done on you. Good that you're still fighting through, though. Let's give them hell." Guzma's assistance is sending out Ariados, the red spider, and having it start building thin webs down the path. Something might notice them, but Ariados will sense them through touch first, and be able to chitter to the others how many are in 'web range'.

Meanwhile, Tupp, Rapp, and Zipp head east. They're very careful as they move to go towards the exposed walkway and stick to it, trying to navigate forward and find out what cool things are on the otherside. Hopefully the jetstream doesn't send them flying to their deaths!

As they head that way, they move along any pathways the Flotilla makes. Tupp, the blue-haired leader, is the one who speaks to them. "Yo! Are you guys like, the future version of Majima's construction company? Houses, but in space?" He's genuinely curious!
Yuuki Kuran The ancient wyvern, a 'false' dragon, fell because it was in the way. Now, the path clear, there's... Two directions! East and west. One, into strange staircases and a spining tower. The other, arches and columns and pillars.

EAST:

Arbitrarily deciding to continue through the more familiar crests and archest, Yuuki adjusts her scarf to hang looser around her neck with the indoor air, following the sound of the chime.

She immediately is distracted at the first corpse they find, crouching down to poke at old armor and rummage around in clutched packs. "I wonder if there's anything good on these poor ones' packs. Doesn't it ever interest you?"

Yuuki addresses whoever's near - most likely Zero, but also to the Goonsmas. "What people take with them on adventures? On quests? What's so important that they can't leave without? What's so important they had saved a little even in a desperate, life-or-death situation? It tells you about people."

It is a rather pure reasoning for going through a dead guy's pockets and parcels with her nimble fingers.
Captain Flint      Thus far, the Walrus crew have lost three men, possibly four. Morale could best be described as 'grim.' The men will be paid for this. Silver has assured them of that. It's his way, his manner of speaking, of somehow appealing to a man's basest instincts, which manages to keep the disquieted murmuring from fomenting into anything further. Flint is nearby. Always, nearby. He knows this well, and doesn't intend to allow his men a moment to themselves. Not until he can smooth things over with another success.

     As soon as it appears Silver has things in hand, he speaks up. "Up there," says Flint, nodding at the top of the stairwell, from his position near one of the little solidified pools of melted wax. When they reach the top, the he and his men first decide to check out the hall on the east. "We'll not safely traverse this," Flint announces, attempting to stay on top of the narrative. "To the other end," he continues. There might be another way around.

     They find the pillars in the west room much more reassuring, given there's suitably solid ground beneath them. The rubble is a problem, but it's one they can deal with. Under Flint's command, they begin to carefully clear the rubble, hefting it back down the staircase until the way to the roof is more easily accessible. Those that don't clear keep watch, facing both sides of the rubble to keep the others from being taken by surprise. This, too, was Flint's order. It calls to question why he doesn't take such pains all the time.

     Once they're able to, they'll cautiously advance to the rooftop, a mixture of swords and anachronistic firearms ready to be used. "Look there," says Flint, pointing with his sword to the guard tower.

     "Rifle," Silver is tossed a rifle, using his crutch as a crude kind of stand for it. He looks down the sights, with only the eyesight of an average person to tell him whether there's a foe in there. Is he close enough to see if the tower is occupied with the naked eye?
Zero Kiryu It should go without saying that Zero Kiryu walks alongside Director Kuran. It's rare for him to stray far from her in situations like this, and as recent evidence has shown, when he does it's never without the ability to hurry 'home'. He comes to a halt as she stops next to a long-deceased questant and begins to rummage through their belongings. He glances down towards the skeletal -- perhaps mummified -- corpse.

He reaches down to take whatever rusting weapon was inevitably left within arm's reach. Things seem to linger like that, in this place.

"Sometimes. But usually..." He turns the weapon over in his hands, "I'm too busy to be bothered thinking much about what my prey has in their pockets. An error in thinking, I suppose. But we can both find plenty of those things before they expire, if we want."

"What got you to thinking about that?" He wonders.
Guzma As they head east, Zipp lingers briefly to talk to Yuuki. "Yo...if I was going on a dangerous journey, I'd take more than the necessities. I'd take things that remind me of home, so I never feel forever lost without it. A picture, a memento, even something that brings back the faintest reminder, y'know?"

He nods to himself. It is probably the most thoughtful thing any of them have said in a while. Zero gets a hmm to his reply. Zipp doesn't understand enough about them to really get what he's saying, but he knows they're super, having partaken in Zero's blood and got brief superpowers.

It was honestly pretty rad.
Starbound Flotilla "Oh, looting corpses is good fun, I love it! But--"
"Exasperated. Forgive me, it's a bit of a cultural thing. Scavenging the bodies of old knights feels... excessively greedy. As if, maybe, demanding something of the world."
"World isn't gonna get /offended/, you know."
"Tense. It's not about the crime's victimlessness, it's about the crime. This world is exhausting. It took them a lot of work to earn rest like this. Disturbing it for a few extra shards of titanite feels wrong. That's all..."
"While the Flotilla respects the wishes of Seft, we will not expect you to share her... unique feelings on the topic. Feel free to regard the remains of the past in whatever way suits you best."
Yuuki Kuran Yuuki continues her rummaging. "Oh, I don't need any of it. Mostly I'm curious. Isn't that our privelege, as living in this space, at this momet, to experience it as fully as we want?"

"I think Seft is right, though. It'd be cruel to part them of their things when they've finally earned a break. It's not necessary for our survival for me to take their stuff."

She peers under the fallen bulk and feels around lightly. "But maybe a journal or notes would be illuminating?"
Starbound Flotilla "Whistful. Journals of the past... I think I agree with that. Some memory to attach here. I have to admit, I'm a bit curious as to why so many people would adventure to such an out of the way place."
"You don't build this close to heaven unless you want the mortals to fuck off. Is this what happens to our old bunkers? Random people just... go there and fight?"
"Floran thinksss, no. Mussst have more than jussst old feud reassson to visssit."
Raziel Zipp's words cause Raziel to fall silent for a time.

Raziel finally answers Yuuki's sort of question.  "I could not tell you what I brought with me when I had to travel as a human.  As a vampire, my children often brought pictures of their living families...or the new families they had made.  Some brought the sigil of the clan...thankfully, none of us needed to bring food with us."

The ghoul considers Seft, "I respect your beliefs on the matter, though I do not share them.  I believe it gives honor to the fallen to use their items after their death.  The dead rarely has a need for them, and it is a waste otherwise.  Especially if it is needed, as opposed to taken due to greed."
Priscilla     Poking and prodding the statues begets no reaction. They really do feel like cold, hard stone. The only thing of note is that some of them feel brittle and porous to the touch, while a handful of them, usually but not always, those that have developed the budding stubs of non-human features here and there, have an extreme, unyielding hardness to them.

    "I wouldn't." says Ornstein, in his gravely tenor. "It likely makes no difference, but some may still be alive. As 'alive' as it is possible to be, chasing the path of the Dragon."

    Corpse looting is a time honoured tradition of those who earned 'still being alive' here. They've long gone cold and dry, without a hint of rot. Their packs contain nothing in the way of rations, nor maps, nor even ropes. What availed them on their quest, until it didn't, are the depleted remains of iron spikes, faintly glowing pebble markers, scraps of preserved herbs and tinctures in vials, depleted belts of slender knives, ropes carrying black ceramics that look like cherry bombs, sealed, palm-sized urns, and clinking pouches of mysterious metal shards, mostly black, some glittering white. On some surfaces, there look to be tiny fragments of engravings. Collected alongside them, are what look to be singular, beastly scales, as if found discarded somewhere, though they're all either petrified or made of some rough, blued metal, clearly inorganic.

    The relative times of their deaths are, strangely, very apparent. In the weird workings of this world, the physical, tangible remnants of the souls that once animated these bodies and gave them life and consciousness still linger on the dead. Scraps of spiritual essentia that comprised a soul, yet never were one, like a human is made of flesh, yet no longer a human when dead. The oldest are clearly those to which only faded wisps still cling to, pale, thin, greyish mist rising from gaps in armour when disturbed, but some still have the glow of a pale nimbus within them, or even a tiny, colourless candle flame.

    They can literally be touched, though handling them is like trying to scoop up and carry heavy fog; possible in only the most inept and fumbling of ways. These bits and pieces have little to be questioned of. The spirits of the dead are long gone, wherever they go. The remainders of their souls carry only pieces of impressions and memories. Mostly feelings of struggle, exhaustion, pain, determination, battle after battle, adrenaline, and brief, violent deaths, or the gradual and depressing experience of bleeding out.

    A few have fragments of their reason for arriving. Texts deciphered on ancient walls. Obsessions that struck with an old, immaculate scale found in some far flung corner. Passages of old divine tomes, scattered or excised. Word of mouth from exclusive warrior orders. Though most have signs of wear and age on their equipment, and many, obvious battle damage, much of the decay seems to be superficial. Picking up a sword or spear finds it surprisingly firm in the hand. Agile and hard. Detritus scraped away with some effort, to reveal still-polished metal beneath, if chipped and worn at the edges. These men, and even a couple of women, are those who had not come to become dragons in the spiritual sense, but to become one by besting the peak.

    A tiny handful of them have small scrolls or leather-bound journals with them, not dedicated to logs of their ventures, seemingly on purpose, but rather, host to amateur maps of the areas they've explored, rubbings of old runic carvings that lead them here, and strange diagrams of carved pictographs of abstract, almost cave-painting-esque dragon-shapes. Spiritual or textually, all of them believed that there is something of great, transformative value at its end, in some cryptic mention or impression.
Priscilla     EAST: The stair-maze leading East subjects you to a buffeting gale right from the start. It's not quite as severe as the nearly impenetrable channels of brutal wind shrouding the walls outside, but it's enough to be extremely unsteadying. The groan of shifting wood comes from an alarmingly unsafe arrangement of roughly carved planks as thick as cars suspended by primitive ropes that bridges a massive gap where a balcony-style external walkway has broken away, seemingly by violent force, and not the occasional decay sighted around other places.

    The bridge looks strung together with the intention of rebuilding it at some point, but how anyone would is a mystery.

    A ladder, that looks fairly temporary, scales the wall here, and another across the bridge scales to a second layer of stone walks on supporting pillars, before the lower walk turns back inside a completely different tower. You can tell you're several storeys off the ground already, and this side faces a drop straight off the mountain.

    There is no shortage of serpent men here, both man-sized and larger, seeming to be an inescapable reality of making it around any part of this fortress. Their placement seems to be no accident: an individual, or small party, would face far less resistance than a large offensive. Bringing a hundred men to assail the fortress would likely end in a one-sided bloodbath, but a single warrior would only need to take on many small engagements in a row, as a test of martial endurance.

    However, the Flotilla's efforts to repair the walkway, as absurd as it would seem, seem to stay the snakemen's hands for a time. A handful assail the Eastward group before they begin, and the first third of the bridge is a repair job against an advancing tide of strangely seeking fireballs, but by the halfway point, they've oddly faltered out and stopped. For at least a short while, the serpents only stare menacingly, striking only if one enters the reach of their arms

    That ringing, though; it carries on the wind. It comes from far away and through that doorway, back into the dark. Any who work their way across the bridge and up to that entry find another assembly of stairs and landings, odd statues and empty plinths, worn rugs and clusters of candles illuminating cross-legged shapes in the dim shadows, petrified in lotus position, but also, a hunched figure in deep purple, black, and gold-hemmed robes, slightly tattered with age. It has a broad, stooped form, wearing heavy layers, but the long, scaly neck that exits its hood leaves no doubt as to its nature. Though, even then, it is clearly different from the others, possessing tawny scales, longer and more slender limbs, and the head of a cobra, rather than a python of sorts, black-patterned hood and all.

    It meanders along with a staff like a mendicant's crook, affixed with a dull gold bar and tall, thin bowl at its tip, around which a metallic snake is coiled as some kind of decoration. In its other hand, it carries a bronze chime with surprising delicacy, clinking and ringing as it walks. It frequently stops on its trip around the landings; it stops to stoop low and, with flickers of its tongue and hissing breaths, light candles where the wicks have burned away or guttered out, and been replaced.
Priscilla     WEST: The monastic arches leading West take you through a straight and narrow path, but one which impresses the reality that the presence of hulking man-serpents, their fiery spit and their oddly patterned weapons, are an inescapable constant. You're assaulted from dark arches by dual wielded kukris and dynamic entries looking to take your heads. Ways forward are blocked by ranks of those strangely patterned, battle-scratched and weather-worn shields and shotels. Massive chained axes with the weight of entire trucks crash down from on high in surprise attacks, adding new criss-cross scars to the stone, and ranks of fireball spitting lesser snakes hold the walls, their form of traps being the tipping of troughs of jagged stones, the dropping vases of oil that they then set alight, and bursts of what seems to be crude incendiary gunpowder from ceramic jars.

    Reaching the rough terrain of the mountain break, clearing away rubble gains access to a coiling chunk of the plateau which the construction has been built to allow, rather than build right over, with handfuls of wild grasses and rocky teeth dotting the way once again.

    Here, ahead of time now, you begin to see what can only described as six-legged lizards seemingly made purely of rough hewn stone, plodding around and scraping their tails back and forth, the size of a large dog or a small pony, each with dull crystal formations growing from their backs. Even these mobile pieces of petrified scenery are hostile, aggressively belching sweeping flamethrowers at those who try to cross the path, of unusual intensity, and in other cases, curling themselves into crushing boulders and barreling down the too-narrow paths, crushing and breaking bones with their weight and force.

    Beyond them is one more gate into an especially tall and broad, square battlement, important enough to have its own portcullis so high above ground, beyond which you see a statue of a hunched, resting drake, its scales like thorns and its horns twisted in spirals, amongst a sea of ceramic wreckage. At the foot of the tower, directly in the way, is an obstruction of enormous, hexagonal crystal growths, jarringly standing straight out of the rough mountain stone, with the colour and consistency of blue diamond covered in a rime of white quartz residue. Nestled inside of it, you can see the curled shape of some new scaled monstrosity, blending in with the advanced crystals sprouting from its hide.

    At the top of the tower, you can see the wings of another wyvern, very similar to the one you'd fought before, draped over either side, wingtips curled down over the sides. It'd be smaller, but not by much. One could assume it to be asleep, albeit in an unusual, sprawled position, rather than the posture of winged terrestrial animals. Portions of the battlement lip are burned and broken, leading to scattered debris and treacherous footing down beneath.
Raziel 'These 'souls' carried little of what the person was in life.  Perhaps in this world, the 'person' is gone once the body is dead, or passes on?  However, the bits of memory remain, though as fleeting as they were in life.  All of them tragic, and all of them pursuing power, prize, or fame.  However, it seemed that these whisps would have very little to show me.'

With the aid of the Flotilla, they are able to ascend.  Harried by more of the lizardmen, Raziel reaches out with a clawed arm.  These things were stronger than he once gave them credit for, so instead of stripping them of weapons, he instead aimed to try and grip their legs, attempting to trip them off the side of their ledges, and to their doom at the bottom.  

Thankfully, the assault would stop, allowing them to reach the top.  Across the bridge, they come, and more stairs and landings.  More than that, more men in poses petrified.

'Coming to the plateau of this place, more people petrified or statues built in effigy.  However, this time we detected movement that was not more aggressive lizard men.  This time, an older looking creature, seemingly moving about and lighting the candles that adorned this shrine.  Perhaps he was the keeper of this place...or someone who too sought to reach the height of what it meant to be a dragon?'

"Excuse me, could you inform me as to what you are doing?" Raziel asks, curious to what end does this man continue these rituals.  Especially when either there are only statues, aggressive lizard men, and failed dragons all about them.  Perhaps this one still has his wits...or perhaps he is just a different form of the Lizards.  Instead of homicidally aggressive, and obsessive about this location.  It would be foolish to think he is no less dangerous than the others.
Starbound Flotilla     The Flotilla know their combat-building. And it seems to be...

"Huhhhhh, Floran isssn't being attacked as bad! Mussst be ssscared!"
"Perhaps, little weed, they have some respect for our craft."
"Could be /scared/ of /how good our architecture is/."
"That's moronic."
"Interjecting. No, wait, he's got a point."
"/What?/ What point?"
"Elucidating. Architecture is frequently dangerous in this world."
"We must be a frightening bunch. Got all the power they've learned to fear."
"I shall hope their drift towards reducing their attack is rooted less in fear, but I shall accept it regardless."
"Floran isss hungry again though..."

    While they keep on-guard -- mostly Albert and Biteblade -- the others focus on rebuilding. It all matches the local look, as best the Flotilla can. Stone might be imported, wood from trees not native to this land, but they keep it mostly unified. Until they come to the candle lighter. They don't attack until or unless provoked, of course. Moonfin is the one who approaches. Glancing around, he checks the environment. "Seft, if you would please, a candle." The Glitch offers one up from her stock of medieval light sources, and Moonfin deftly twirls it around a webbed finger and looks for any candles that have burnt out.

    As a wordless means of interacting with what seems to be a crucial duty here, Moonfin places the candle at the nearest burnt-out older candle he can find -- more, if there seem to be more of them. Bells are for ringing. Fires are for lighting. When one embraces the obvious systems and logic in this world, one makes progress. Right? Or maybe, at least, get some of this lizard-intruder tension defused.
Seifer Almasy      "Yeah, I was laid up for a while," Seifer says, "But there's only so much layin' about a guy can do, yeah? Not that it's bad to get doted on for a little bit."

     He taps the side of his head with the butt of Hyperion. "I'm the kinda guy who can't take that for long, though. Eventually I start practicin' in my head, an' then I need to get out of bed and start practicin'."

     "Drove the nurses crazy. They threatened to strap me down like twice."

     As they carry on, the serpent men get worse. There's a *lot* of them, constantly. Seifer's skill will only carry him so far wounded and using his off-hand. Quietly he curses Staren under his breath.

     For Seifer it is aggressively sloppy. He's paying attention to every strike, parrying with the butt of his gunblade, sliding it along straight blades up into curved heads in an inefficient weapon-pin. He's ducking under shotel strikes rather than knocking them aside and going for the kill, forced into a situation he doesn't want to be in. He can't snap his fingers to punch through the fireballs so he just has to weather them on the side without the sling.

     For anybody *else* watching, it's a ballet. Every motion Seifer makes is flawless. Falling chain axes are cut through with rising stabs precisely-targetted at minute cracks in the bladework. Bricks from forced entries are either knocked aside or ducked and woven around as they come.

     When the rock dogs show up, though, Seifer has to fall back and let somebody else handle it. They're too big for him to casually deflect - he might break his *other* arm - and he can't split the flamethrowers or attack at ranged with his soul force with a broken hand. It's probably one of the more careful moments Seifer's ever had, showing that he's fully aware of his limits when he's this injured - yeah, he *could* just barrel ahead, and it'd *probably* work out alright, but he'd be doing thrice the work for half the return, and it might risk people with him.

     The crystalline monstrosity, or the giant wyvern?

     The wyvern looks maybe asleep. The crystalline horror looks also asleep.

     But Wyverns...they're humans, right? Ascended humans. They're transforming into dragons and stopped there. That Wyvern....well, it's something that pursued excellence until it reached it.

     OK. Well.

     The rest of the party is here, right? They can reach the West in time if something goes wrong. Seifer's confident in his, Guzma's, and Flint's ability to hold it off. He has no idea who Tomoe is, but, hey, maybe he can throw her to the Wyvern if necessary.

     Seifer walks towards the Wyvern nonthreateningly.

     "Hey."

     Yeah, he's talking to it. "Hey, guy."

     "...this place. It's where people like us go to chase something nobody else will. Take a step closer to an impossible dream, yeah?"

     Another step. "I bet a lotta people told you this was impossible, and you kept goin', right?"

     Another step. He's lowered Hyperion entirely. Not that that means much for him, but Seifer's good enough to make himself utterly nonthreatening even holding his weapon. "I respect that. People tell me the same. That my dream is friggin' crazy."

     "I wanna know more about this place." Another step. "Can you still talk? Can you still communicate at all?"

     "I wanna know about your romantic dream."
Captain Flint      Flint's men face the lizardmen with surprising competence. From the moment they jump out, he orders them to fall back , dropping smoke bombs to cover their retreat, as those pirates armed with weapons fire at any who pursue. Through relentless press-and-fade tactics, they force the issue into one of attrition--they can pursue, but only by entering a crossfire around one of the very blind corners they are so fond of using.

     When the fighting stops, though some bear wounds, none are gravely wounded--all are standing. They're wary, but things went well. Clearing out the rubble, they step up only for Flint to nearly be incinerated. Hitting the deck immediately, the captain rolls across the ground, his coat nevertheless set ablaze. The heat singes his skin, but he forces himself to his feet. "Billy!"

     Bo'sun Billy Bones, a younger pirate (perhaps mid-twenties) steps forth with a weapon in his hands. It's a modern, high-powered machine gun, belt-fed with bullets designed to blast apart thick armor. Flint distracts the beast, circling it and firing his pistol to keep its attention. The pirates in front of Billy drop prone, as the boatswain unloads into the stony lizard. In this way does Flint attempt to clear a path with his men to the second gate. The rolling attacks take them by surprise, knocking a few over before they can gang up on the creature. As a result, one of them claws and pins Flint, before they can catch up to him. He escapes, but not unscathed. By the time they meet him at the first gate, his right arm sports an obvious gash.
Guzma EAST: The trio talk with the others, watching as Yuuki loots cool stuff, but mostly hang around the Flotilla. Space Majima, Tupp decides, having not been answered. As the walkway gets repaired, they send out their three pokemon, Salandit, Zubat, and Garbodor, as ranged toxic attackers, spewing poison at the lizardmen and their fireballs even as they get hit and burnt and almost knocked off into the abyss by sharp winds and flames, with the trio holding on for dear life, but in the end...

They stop attacking.

As Raziel approaches the hunched man, and the others start lighting candles, Tupp, Rapp, and Zipp go towards the petrified figures, and bow for them briefly. A little bit of prayer for having tried so very hard, or whatever happened to them. "Sorry this happened to you, yo. We'll try to remember you."

And then, moving over to Raziel to listen in on if the medicant man responds. If not, they'll have their Pokemon at the ready for self-defense, if needed.


WEST: As the ambushes come down, kukruis and maxe axes and fireballs knocking Guzma backwards and grazing his shoulder, he sends out a pokeball. "Golisopod!" The huge armored bug comes out, blasting through fireballs and strikes with diamond-like armor to keep the rest of the group from getting demolished, before it goes for the big dogs. This is where Seifer can rely on Guzma, as Golisopod starts clawing into them, trying to rip them apart as best as it's able.

When they reach the tower, and Seifer starts talking to the wyvern up top, Guzma sighs. "Really, Seifer?" But he doesn't try to stop him. No, Seifer will get the impression that Guzma's gonna let him do what he needs to do, while the thug eyes the crystal growths. "Something's alive in there, yo. Golisopod, on defense."

Golisopod shifts forward, ready to be the first to take any blows the group might receive. Especially Seifer's - he's already wounded. He doesn't need to be the first ot get hit.
Zero Kiryu Zero doesn't like this maze very much. He doesn't have a problem with the wind -- he's simply strong enough to cope -- but he does 'overwrite' certain terrain features for simplicity. Mostly, he spreads vines across the precarious hodgepodge bridge, at least until the Flotilla are prepared to deal with it. As soon as they are, the bits they're working on recede at their command.

He doesn't trouble himself with an excess of aggression, but the first of the snake men to cause a problem he subdues with a collection of vines, immobilizing and draining all of the blood from his body in what is in fact an admission that he should probably eat something while he's up here.

His expression while setting the dessicated corpse aside is rather disgusted. Apparently the taste doesn't suit him.

After that he hangs back, only really fighting if he's absolutely forced to. If there's an indication of a clear one-on-one between a group member and a lizard, he seems inclined to honor it.

Instead, he turns his mind's eye towards the snake men -- particularly those whose aggression has faltered off.
Tomoe Tomoe was with Seifer. Guzma, Flint and a good deal of The Walrus' crew. They were quite good at getting things done as Tomoe creeps forward with the rest of the group trying to keep up in the front for the event that something jumps them0Or worse she ends up face checking a trap of some sort.

Better her than any of them,m which is how she sees it. She does take note of the various terrain here in this strange place. She takes note of the of more hostile she'll end up fighting her way through them doing her best to help cover Flint and his crew or anyone else that seems to need it. She is also thankful for the unexpected heavy machine gun support from the crew.

The traps had also taken a bit out of Tomoe but once the fighting is down it seems to be smoother sailing from here. Wait?! Is that another Wyvern? Oh, Sweet merciful Cardinal this could be bad. She much like Guzma races after Seifer and will fall in to protect him. She does not want to lose anyone in her party, and well she darn well knows Lady Priscilla would be rightfully unhappy if Seifer got turned into Wyvern snacks.

"Seifer!!!"
Tomoe Tomoe had been a bit behind so she'd picked up speed long ago in a death game and further adventuring. She just got to move she's the tank as Seifer calls his warning to her, Tomoe will pause and slow down matching Guzma's pace as she moves in at a far more sedate pace also looking embarrassed.
Yuuki Kuran This must be... a way of respecting the content even beyond respecting the content.
"Wow... Captains, you really do have a way of things, don't you?" Yuuki asks, shining with smiles and joy as the tide of lizardmen is stymied and their fireballs turned aside by positive, cozy cooperative building activity.

"I can always rely on all of you to find the best way through things, can't I?" Yuuki praises, careful to avoid provoking lizardmen attacks of opportunity as she continues, watching over Moonfin's candle-setting with pointed interest, respectful looming... and a little bit of protective overwatch.
Priscilla     It's unfortunate that the Flotilla don't get quite that lucky twice in a row. Rather, they don't seem to achieve a quiet understanding of sorts by relighting candles in the even more unusual cobra breed in its wake, but are merely quietly ignored, like they're pieces of the scenery, or very charitably, like they're meant to be here. This doesn't appear to extend to full on 'acceptance' of their presence, however, because when the advanced, or perhaps clergical, breed of manserpent is interrupted in its work by Raziel's noble but poorly placed attempt to communicate, it reacts with as much violence as any of the others, even against the Team Skull kids who aren't doing anything but paying their respects.

    There's a deep, dull sound, like someone running their finger around the inside rim of a big brass bell, like an empty wine glass in reverse. The serpent waves the tip of its crook over its head in circles, and from the bowl at its tip trails a thin haze of black and yellowish fog, coalescing into static blobs that roil like burning flames. Thrusting its staff towards the group at the East, the blots of discoloured fog, clearly condensations of magic, race forward in all directions, choosing targets and madly spiraling towards them with unerring accuracy. They have a weighty, tangible, sort of extreme force of impact, and though they clearly are not, they burn like seriously intense fire where they land, rupturing and spraying their dark and incendiary magic everywhere.

    Not content with just that, the serpent rings its chime again, and then another is echoed far away and up more stairs, and another away from that, like some kind of warning signal. Choosing more strange varieties of hodgepodge weapons, this one puts away its chime and uncoils an excessively thick and long whip of braided reptilian hide, studded with spiked rings of hard brass. Rather than cracking it in any traditional fashion, it whirls it around in huge, dangerous sweeps, cracking bits of stone off pillars it whips across, liable to take a head off if not dealt with.

    The sound of ringing bells, more substantial than just a little chime, carries on at a higher plateau, past the sorcerous serpent man. Zero had sensed little in the way of supernatural power save some very, very distant, extremely diluted semblance of draconic blood, and a curious lack of general aggression, in the snakes they'd passed by with the Flotilla's aid, this one isn't much different in that regard; rather, it feels like it's calling on a power that isn't its own. A dull, thin-blooded replica of something grander, in primitive effigy, with a dim, reptilian sense of hostility that coldly resembles 'duty'. He is, however, starting to get ripples of more substantially potent energy up above, where that bell rings. It's hard to place exactly, other than a sense of 'distortion'. Something being moved and altered and 'brought out' in an unnatural way.
Priscilla     That sound can be heard from the West too, almost equidistant, beyond the battlement tower and its gate those westward are currently stalled at. The ethereal toll is more at their level, but behind many thick, fortified walls, still a serious impediment even after many of their 'men' have been driven back by combined attacks from the ground and air.
    Blasting through whatever the lizards could be called, be they fauna, creations, outgrowths of the mountain, or some other kind of much lesser failed dragon, with heavy machine gun fire and Pokemon attacks, is more a matter of driving them off with excessive force, or knocking them down the mountainside, than it frequently is actually killing them, barely held off by Tomoe's dedicated tanking until enough fire can be put on them to 'dissuade' them.

    The racket causes the crystalline obstruction at the foot of the battlement to stir. The wall of blue diamond and white quartz vibrates, shudders, and then breaks apart like so much sugar glass. An Advanced Reptile, six legged as the stone lizards, but both much larger and somehow more slender in proportions, stands up on its two hindmost legs, balanced with its lengthy tail, its thick, crocodilian head roving side to side to find the source of the noise that'd awoken it, with four, beady eyes. Pale crystal juts from its spine, its elbows, its tail end, the back of its head, and even forms a 'beard' of sorts, though it bears little dragon-like resemblance, perhaps only in a different direction of long divergence that a snake could.

    Spotting the assembly of Elites, it opens its mouth and makes a very un-lizard-like howling sound, if raspy and coarse. It flattens itself and surges forward at a serpentine sprint with astounding speed, trickles of white flame leaking from the corner of its jaws--

    And then Ornstein blurs out from behind the group and charges it head on with his spear braced like a lance, taking it through the shoulder, planting his feet, and leveraging it upright again, exposing its underbelly. His left hand releases the spear, and then a clenched fist crackles with bright gold lightning, winding together into the shape of a coruscating long stake, which he slams into its chest with a burst of light and sound. He tackles the writhing monster over onto its back, and begins essentially murderizing it badly enough that it is far too occupied with fighting him off for the Obvious Miniboss to halt the group at all from climbing to the wyvern atop the battlement.
Priscilla     As another unsettling disappointment, Seifer crests the edge of the tower to find that his words fall upon deaf ears; because the sprawled wyvern is already dead, draped over the top of the tower in a crash landing posture, a leg obviously broken, half its horns snapped off, chunks of shell completely crushed, its neck crooked at a lethal angle.

    Instead, he is talking to a man with nearly the same 'texture' as the great beast. A hulking figure decked in armour that can only be called entire slabs of dense, granite grey stone, lashed together by thick webs of chain beneath, instead of any sensible articulation or padding. Though they're obviously carved pieces, several inches thick, the exterior of his chosen armour is the same colour, and has a similarly weathered texture, to those stony scales, matched by a shield taller and broader than Seifer is, in a slight hourglass shape, carved to *appear* to have radiating ranks of diamond scales from its center.

    The helmeted figure has just succeeded in yanking out one of the wyvern's incisor fangs, flipping it over in his grip so that his fist clenches around the last foot, forming an incredibly awkwardly curved, yet certainly incredibly heavy and hard, club of gigantic size. There is a slab of stone or metal chained over his back, rough but dark and reflective, covered in rows of runes, but Seifer, along with those who follow him, lose sight of it when the man turns. Probably the only still-living warrior around, hardier than the others before.

    However he contextualizes Seifer trying to socialize with a wyvern, it probably isn't great, given that he advances on the gunblade wielder and his allies with strong, purposeful strides, each footfall a minor earthquake. His wake of air shimmers a pale white, enshrouding him in a translucent, head to toe, man-shaped field.
Seifer Almasy      Well.

     That's probably A Problem.

     The Dragon Hunter doesn't get any shouts or cries or demands of vengeance from Seifer. Honestly, Seifer doesn't care that the Wyvern is dead. He didn't know it. He didn't know anything about it other than its dream. Seifer's never been the type to really get caught up in that kind of thing.

     The place was resonant in its purpose, but he's not gonna go get mad at some other dude for smashing through it.

     When the man starts coming forward, Seifer also does not back down. Hyperion's blade tips to the ground. "You don't wanna mess with me, man."

     "Just think about it like this."

     "If I'm the kinda guy who'd walk up to some monster like that in no armor, without a shield, with a wounded eye and a wounded arm, after gettin' through all the crap this temple has to offer..."

     The look in Seifer's eyes is absolutely fierce. It's straight out of a Kung Fu Movie Moment, one of those Killing Intent glares where there's ki being focused right at the approaching guy. The grin on his face is a predator's grin - the grin of a man who does, in fact, love a challenge, who built an entire relationship (Squall, not Caster) on the idea that he and that dude really wanted to kill the shit out of each other. As the Dragon Hunter in white approaches, foosteps shaking, Seifer starts walking towards him. Hyperion's tip sparks along the stone.

     "If I'm that kinda guy and I'm still walking towards you..."

     The grin widens. "Don't you think you wanna think twice about approaching me?"

     "Don't you think maybe you wanna say 'hey' before you attack?"

     "But if you can't talk an' you're just some mindless zombie or whatever...then hey."

     A roll of the shoulder. "We get to have a little fun."

     He tilts his head back over his shoulder at Golosipod, Tomoe, and Flint's men. There's a plan in his eyes.
Raziel The aggressive action at his attempt at parley was...disappointing.  It would have been nice to understand what exactly they are doing from their own perspective.  Or the idea that they all were not just crazy cultists, and had some underlying reason for it.  It was, as always, too much to ask for.  

Raziel jumps back from the serpent, as he summons the miniboss, which is thankfully handled by the dragonslayer.  This leaves this creature to them.  The Reaver blade comes to life from his right arm, igniting into the greenish flame that is associated with the spirit realm.  

'It appears, even here madness runs through these creatures.  Was the reaching of power so strong to these creatures that they have lost all sense?  Or perhaps this was sense to them.  Crushing all with your might, all that is not yourselves.  It is no wonder there are so few of these creatures.'

As magic flies out, Raziel attempts to maneuver around the blasts.  However, he notices the Guzma's kids.  He instead, changes tactics and holds his ground to provide them cover.  His blade snaps around attempting to deflect magic away from himself and them.  However, despite his skill, even a few would get too close, choosing to suffer the burning himself.  The fire clings, causing him to beat it out.  

Of course, it doesn't stop there, as the whip moves to try and strike their heads off.  However, Raziel swings the blade around to try and deflect it once more from him.  This time, however, he takes his chance and charges the Serpent, attempting to drive the Reaver blade right into the body of the Priest Serpent.
Starbound Flotilla     "Urgent. Get behind me!!" Seft's eyes light up with a bright, desperate !_! and she rushes forward shield-first. This only blunts the impact of the incendiary airburst fogblasts, which wash over her in a burning, melting wave. "*BZZZZT* Pained. Nnnnh! It hurts!"

    The others are stunned by the blasts, but Moonfin keeps his head enough to keep it from being decapitated. Swift bladework moves to parry the whip-strikes, though this blunted impact jars his arms badly. "Hhhhh! Second Sea Hylotl Style: Unyielding Sails!"

    Albert yanks Biteblade off the ground by the scruff of her neck. "Put the guillotine downrange! Twelve, one-fifty units, draw, draw!" He calls out. While she scrambles to get her bow ready, Albert throws her a custom tungsten bolt. They /do/ remember one important thing about how this world works, having seen Priscilla's obsidian greatbow before. "OPEN FIRE!" The lesser elseworld child of a dragonslayer steel lance screams downrange towards the closer-to-draconic foe.
Zero Kiryu There's something about it all that annoys Zero Kiryu in a deep and primal way. He hadn't tasted the blood the way he normally does, but that doesn't mean he hasn't got a sense of it at all. The distant echo of something truly immortal is there, but it's like comparing an asteroid to a gas giant. The principles are similar, but the end result is anything but. The troublesome thing is that he's not really picking up minds, exactly. Mindsets, yes. Aggression is there, after all. He wonders if one of the steps of attaining this immortality /has/ to be a loss of Self as an interim step.

Or if that's just one of the stages of failure. Could they actually be something more, or is it such a farflung hypothetical that it's not worth considering?

He steps forward into the noxious chemical flame conjured against him. It sets him alight-- sets him alight, but he doesn't burn. The flames linger and lick, blackening the surface of his skin... but not in the way it /should/. It's like somebody set a hard surface on fire, like stone, or metal. The actual visible damage is minimal-- the faintest beginnings of first degree burns.

"Explain your rudeness." Zero commands, his eyes becoming points of red within the effects of the spell. He doesn't expect enough of a communication ability to get a response, but that's not really the point.

There's a part of him that just wants to subjugate right now, and doing so mentally appeals more to him than doing so bodily at this exact moment.
Captain Flint      Upon having fought their way past the lizards, and having the outcast among them handled thoroughly by Ornstein, Flint and his men end up at the base of the tower. Under Flint's command, one of the pirates, accustomed to his station in the crow's nest, begins to scale the tower in manageable increments, taking it slowly and following largely the same path Seifer did. To make it easier, there is a sound of hammering once he crests the peak. A rope ladder is thrown down to the others, who promptly ascend it, one after the other.

     Flint climbs up first, followed by Silver, then the rest. Upon seeing the approaching dragonslayer, Flint begins to formulate a plan. Seifer wants him off the tower. He's fairly certain they can do that, but with his size, it might take more than just force.

     He nods towards Silver, who immediately begins recovering the explosives they'd brought from one of the pirate. They're a modern invention, the kind that come as bricks able to be stuck to a surface. Retreating backwards, he affixes them to the upper wall of the tower. He's hoping that when they blow, it'll be enough to snap that portion of the tower off, sending their foe off the edge.

     "Keep your distance!" Calls Flint to his men. They form up to assist him as he pulls Silver off the ground. Once Silver's back on his feet and on his crutch, they all head back towards the center. Flint reaches into one of the supply packs the crew carry, retrieving a handful of nails. He's not sure how much good they'll do, but he likely can't match this opponent in brute strength.

     Dirty tricks will have to do. He bides his time, aiming to hurl the nails in the dragonslayer's path, once he's in danger of falling. Maybe it will keep him from easily getting up, once he's on the ground--or maybe his armor and his weight will just crush the nails flat.
Guzma EAST: Death is a scary thing. The trio stops praying when Raziel gets a reaction. It's a bad reaction.

The fireballs come surging out. Straight for Rapp, Tupp, and Zipp. Tupp and Zipp quickly grab their Pokeballs, but Rapp -

She freezes up. She can't move. She's gonna die, she realizes. After she killed that guy, maybe this is karmic payback? The surging flames come for her, and-

Raziel jumps in the way. Rapp is spared a grisly fate, but her knees grow week, and she drops onto them briefly, as the others fight.

Zipp moves to grab her, while Tupp sends out Salandit. It begins spitting fireballs at the snakeman, but they're not nearly as hot as his. The trio don't have the firepower.

They need to get stronger.


WEST: The crystal horror comes out, and Guzma's about to fall on his ass from slight surprise, when Ornstein tackles it out of the way so Seifer can go on his crazy journey. "Thanks!" Guzma shouts out to him, because he almost got killed, when...

The wyvern is actually dead. There's a dragon-slayer in wyvern skin there, and he's coming at them. The miniature quakes from his steps send Guzma off-balance AGAIN, as Golisopod holds its ground. Seifer shares a plan, and if the dragon-slayer attacks...

He waits. Waits for the others to blast their explosives, to knock him off balance. Once everyone's moved with their part of the plan, Guzma signals.

"Go!"

Golisopod shifts into a shoulder tackle stance as the explosives go off, and runs at superior speed. It's going to crash straight into the warrior, and try and knock him off the ledge. Golisopod will probably go down as well, but the diamond shell and a quick pull of a Pokeball as soon as it makes contact should minimize any falling damage.
Tomoe There's a sound which can be heard in the west it sounds like something else is going on with the bell. The Lizards? Serpent? Whatever they are press Tomoe pretty damn hard but she's just able to keep them off before the crew 'dissuades' them form causing more trouble.

However something else wakes a massive creature has awoken it's kinda crocodile-like at lest with ut's head and it's' going to be trouble. Thankfully Ornstein jumps in and keeps the thing busy all alone on his own.

Then someone takes the Wyvern in a very impressive fashion and now there's a staredown going on between Seifer and this new person? She's not sure just who or what they are just yet but it's clear Seifer is hatching a plan to deal with this new situation.

A quick radio conversation is played out and a plan is made, she has a skill that will do just the job that Seifer wants, a Shield bash which is made for knocking people off balance. With the plan cast and her knowing what she is needed to do? She will act she will move in triggering the skill which has long since become like second nature to slam her shield into the figure with enough force which is hopefully strong enough to knock him off balance. If it's needed she'll try to trip figure as well. Hopefully, this will set up for the rest of Seifer's plan, and she will attempt to get clear shortly after she makes her move not wanting to be caught up in Guzma's of Flint's maneuvers.
Yuuki Kuran Seft's callout saves Yuuki from straight up getting immolated, scarf and all. It's a thankful thing, though a bit guilty when Yuuki thinks about it for too long. Seft's pained cries and the ringing of Moonfin's blade against his arm.

"Wait, you have a guillotine?" She asks, suddenly, as Albert calls the play. "You're going to build a guillotine, as an attack?"

She's almost sort of not really dissatisfied with the end result anyway. She kind of wanted to see an attack guillotine... or a guillotine attack. Both have possibilities!

Raziel saves the Goonsmas from a rather terrible fate, earning a 'good work, Raziel!' as Yuuki breaks off the general fight to address the stunned Rapp - and Zipp, carrying her. "Hey, do you need to leave? If it's too much, you can say so. It's okay!" Her smile is supportive and understanding, though 'just leaving' is a bit of a strange proposition in the middle of a Lordran 'fun time', AKA being bombarded with fire by assholes that are hard to target.
Priscilla     Though they have the skill to wield weapons, execute tactics, and patrol routes, the snake men seem to lack some spark of complex intelligence that contextualizes them as more than intelligent beasts. The typically alien nature of reptile brains, developed to the point of homuncular control, but still somehow all their actions are more instinctive than they are crafted and perfected. It feels like, to Zero, they can't possibly be a sort of natural demi-human race. They must either have been people who washed out and burned up at some very early juncture, or some cultivated or made race, solely for this purpose. Perhaps the latter, if they're related at all to the humanoid serpents that once guarded the Duke's Archives. All he gets back is a rough, primitive sense of being told something that is perhaps outside of what he might expect; he glimpses the idea that the petrified mendicants, meditating in every corner, are the snake's 'responsibility' and not to be disturbed.

    It doesn't really change the fact that it, and all its kind, are trying to murder them. It is, for all intents and purposes, an elite mook. It deals some early alpha strike damage to the Eastern group, and takes several hits in a row, surviving the reaver blade and Pokemon fire just long enough for swinging its whip again in a second circle and casting another set of projectiles, until the tungsten bow-lance impales it through the chest and finally finishes it off. Licking tongues of misty soul-dregs faintly appear at the corners of its outline where it falls, of meaningful enough strength to be briefly visible as the spiritual energy dissipates.

    The way beyond is cleared to a zigzagging series of high, windy steps, this time cut into the mountainside before it reaches another stone plateau above. A wide, circular area, open to the sun, bearing ranks of standing pillars that once held up a far grander roof, now smashed to half height at best. Circular stairs run down in an amphitheatre arrangement, branches to either side leading to the last set of watch towers, barely any taller than the plateau itself, and further walkways that cut around the highest levels of the walls.

    Looking Southward, the grand space descends a broad flight to one last enormous portcullis, which leads into a deeply shaded, mendicant-free, grand hall with a vaulted ceiling, terminating at the sight of one more enormous bell, matching the one at the grand courtyard. Looking Northward, the broad, scorchingly sunny and yet bitingly windy floor begins a wide, pillar-studded arch that extends over the edge of the mountain peak, but which is abruptly terminated by a thick wall of clouds, brushed by a dark tower of charged cumulonimbus, encircling the Northern horizon, rumbling faintly when you arrive at the open air. The formation is clearly somewhat unnatural, though all the clouds in the sky hang 'low' here, as if the mountain is high enough to scrape them on its own. Walking through it *feels* like a bad idea.
Priscilla     On the Western side, Seifer PvP slow walks up to the hulking man in multiple tons of gear. As he speaks, the man hefts and taps the recently acquired wyvern tooth on his shoulder, like a bat, making loud clack-clack-clacks as he walks. There isn't a word, until right up at the last moment, wherein Seifer hears a Basso Profundo resonating from within the helmet grille. "There is little to think about. I cannot crush you from over there."

    There is a certain tone that indicates this man -- this lone warrior atop the peak of a secret mountain dedicated exclusively to the Strong -- is not talking shit. The nails squash into little discs of metal under his stone boots. Tomoe flies in and executes her shield bash sword art at an opportune moment -- and the man doesn't so much as lean back. He doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. He walks right through it, with the power of incredible, unbreakable Poise. Golisopod rams up against him as well, which is where he is forced to actually contend with the extremely strong pokemon by extending the greatshield to block its claws and then push against it, grinding it slowly backwards toward Seifer, for a few seconds, before deciding to wind back the half-ton club and swing it through a crushing overhead arc on the Pokemon.

    Golisopod instantly returning to the Pokeball the second it takes damage, serendipitously works in their favour. The massive club strikes the tower ceiling with an utterly thunderous impact, splintering meters of unnatural thick and hard stone with one blow. It also lands just as the explosives go off, multiplying the effectiveness of the demolition blast, and caving in part of the battlement, sending the warrior dropping, literally, like a rock, crashing through the floor below (alarming some serpent warriors in the process) and landing in a crater on the floor below that.

    That chain of ringing, leading to the ethereally extended chime of singular, ancient bell, can be heard from this battlement as well. Looking over the edge, past the dead wyvern sprawled out across the roof, one can gain a similar glimpse of the same plateau as the Eastern group faces, both branches having gone around its edges and converged at its Eastern and Western sides. The battlement has a higher vantage of the area, albeit no easy way down, and is further from the gate.

    Both groups, now, can lay eyes upon the distortion directly. A whole cloister of staff-toting serpents have gathered loosely around the circular depression at the plateau's heart, wielding their magic in unison. Between them, a vortex of black and sulfur yellow fog rises from the primeval stones, in a similar way to how you were brought in from the courtyard. Where it builds upwards, crests, and then washes away, you can see a completely different group take shape, though all of them are cast in a strange, photographic negative darkness, black at their viewer-facing surfaces and limmed in a penumbra of yellow at their edges.

    A man in royal finery, a dueling guard over his left arm, a metal sallet over his head, and an especially long and ornate rapier in his right hand.

    A woman in white and black hunter's garb, with an unusual feathered hat, stringing a polished black recurve bow of equally unusual proportions.

    A man clad head to toe in fine plate armour with no surcoat or crest, carrying a dinged up blue and gold shield depicting a grand tree, and a clearly two-handed sword with angular prongs slung over his shoulder with one hand.

    And the exact same warrior that'd just dropped two floors. He is most assuredly alive, already picking himself up out of the crater, yet a perfect doppelganger is summoned to the plateau all the same, easily identifiable by the wyvern's tooth.
Guzma EAST: Rapp manages, once the enemy is slain, to get out of Zipp's hold and reach her feet. She shakes her head, having talked to Yuuki on the radio. "I'm gonna...keep going. If something happened to them because I left, then I could never..." She doesn't finish the sentence. She remains in the middle of the two boys as they proceed, trying to regain her nerve. It seems something really scared her there.

Zubat is sent out to scout ahead, and chirps when it sees all those people. But it looks like they'll be regrouping soon.


WEST: Golisopod is a coward. The second it takes damage, it flees into the Pokeball, allowing the plan to go off without a hitch. As the dragon-slayer falls, Guzma watches, and turns to Seifer. "Probably not a good idea to plunge after right now. Let's get down there and see what's going on." And then he squints, out at the distance. "Is that...another one?! What the heck's going on out here?"

Guzma will proceed with the others. Hopefully he can regroup with the trio. He's worried about Rapp, even though he doesn't show it.
Raziel Raziel's blade continues to work, keeping to the defensive and waiting for a moment to strike.  Thankfully, the thing goes down with a well-aimed tungsten shot.  Raziel would sigh a bit in relief, and in fact, does despite his undead nature.  The Director gets a nod at her commendation, accepting it but not dwelling in it.  

There was not much he could say to Rapp that he had not already said. That and Yuuki would probably be better at it, somehow, than he.  Perhaps being an Ordinary Girl, makes these things easier than being a creepy undead vampire thing.

Instead, Raziel offers Seft a hand up should she need it.  "Brave of you, ...I actually do not your proper honorific, so forgive me Seft," Raziel says.
Seifer Almasy      Seifer's grin widens as the knight approaches. "You know what? I like you. Real friggin' honest, ain'tcha?"

     And then the plan goes off, and the knight plummets, and Seifer leans over and shouts down, "An' if I wasn't injured, I'd take you up on that brawl legit!"

     He's about to do a PLUNGING ATTACK when the distortion occurs.

     "Alright," Seifer agrees in Guzma's general direction, "That's a problem."
Starbound Flotilla     Biteblade falls to a knee, batting out fire. "Ahhhh! Hey! Hey!! Floran isss burning!" George immediately unloads a fire extinguisher on her. Looks kinda silly.

    "Relieved. Ahhhh, thank you." Comes the synthetic voice answering Raziel, gripping his hand. "Introducing. Most people consider me a knight of the Concord, if you want something like that. But the duties are more important than the prestige." She works her shoulders, trying to relieve the strain. "Humble. It's less brave when you can trust your allies to help as much as we help each other, or as much as you help us. Less to fear, after all."

    "Don't flirt back with the zombie, we won't be able to tell if you lose your soul 'cause you're a robot." George says, puffing the last ounce of fire extinguishing foam at Seft's head.
    "Annoyed. I'm reciprocating kindness, a girl can do that without it being flirting! I don't need to take sass from someone's lifetime incel uncle." Seft flicks some of it off at George's visor. They bicker like best friends as the Flotilla heads on through...

    They reach the next fork in the road. "Floran thinksss bell-path, to sssouth." Biteblade speaks up, regarding the bell. She gives the foggier northern path a... heavy frown. A foggy barrier like that? No way, buddy! Not without knowing the extent of the business first.
Tomoe The timing is on point she strikes when she's supposed to yet? This foe? He's able to walk through it. It looks like it does help to set up Golisopod's action. She moves to reach to aid the pokemon, thankfully. Guzma is fast on the draw and recalls his teammate to the relative safety of their Pokeball. Tomoe leaps back from the mountain of a fighter as Seifer does his part. Which ends up working smashingly as the fighter goes sailing over the edge and she'll take a look at it as they go over and lets out a whistle.

"That should slow him down for a bit."

She doesn't count someone like that as dead from a fall like that.

She's about to say something else as she will behold another group a party, yup there's the warrior.

"I have no idea either but that is indeed a problem."
Zero Kiryu "I see." Zero says, in response to the mental reaction he gets. Not people, then. He heaves a heavy sigh. They're less useful to manipulate, though perhaps that makes their minds simple enough to make them gloss over intruders so long as nothing is disturbed. The lack of aggression during repairs seemed to suggest that on some level.

He moves to re-join Yuuki, firmly leaving the front line of the fight to take her flank. A quick glance is cast towards Rapp.

"If you require borrowed power..." He doesn't complete the thought.

It's not until Biteblade speaks to suggest a path that he weighs in again. He nods, with a faint affirmative hum. Then, he asks, "Doesn't feel right, does it? Feels like you're about to get struck by a bolt of lightning, but it doesn't let up."

"By the way... I know it's an uncomfortable subject, but are all of you 'up-to-date' with what transpired in Hugo's world, now?" The bodyguard inquires, gently.
Starbound Flotilla     When Zero mentions the Mortis realm, every single member of the Flotilla instantly stares at George. This is a point of awkwardness. George, of course, just rambles like it's nothing at all. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Broad strokes and all, but it's basically fit together when it comes to continuity." Pause. "Of mind, I mean, continuity of mind and memories and stuff. Average brain doesn't remember things in order anyway. I mean heck, think of two things you had for breakfast last week and then tell me which one came before the other one."

    Seft holds her side as if putting pressure on a wound. Moonfin briefly has a look he never has on: Shame. Pavo sneers tensely. Biteblade looks off in the distance, enraptured by memory. Albert glances around, as if briefly struck by paranoia. Only George seems easygoing about this. Same old "George", same old feelings. The tide is long out, if Zero felt inclined to check, but anyone with even the most basic intuition could tell that.

    George has always been post-annihilation this way.
Yuuki Kuran There's a moment, hanging between the heartbeats of the clock, where Yuuki looks at Rapp very sadly. She rests both of her hands on either of Rapp's shoulders, and looks her straight on in the eyes.

"Don't undervalue yourself. Ask for help when you need it. Trust in everyone else to compensate, because you'd compensate for us. It's worth it to try, but you're irreplaceable."

Her distant sorrow breaks leaving only a gentle smile. "And love yourself. That's the most important."

She squeezes her Rapp's shoulders. "Are you Okay now?"

The two parties join. "Hey! There's Guzma, heyyyyy Guzma!"

Yuuki, next to Rapp, waves.

Zero had long since fallen back to her side, a familiar feeling. Addressing both Zero and Raziel with her eyes, she sighs as she splits off from the Skull grunt. "Please keep an eye on them, you two. It's not acceptable to lose anyone in these expeditions. I'm counting on you."
Zero Kiryu "That question doesn't work for me... but I get what you mean." Zero says to George, nodding. He turns his attention towards all the others, "There is nothing I can say to make it sting less. And I... am not built to feel the sting of one murder or the murder of whole universes. Even so, there is something about those times that I've been wondering. I know what George wanted."

"Did the rest of you... think that Hugo could be fixed, or did you just want him to be?" He asks.

At Yuuki's request to keep an eye on Guzma's goons, he immediately applies a series of artful twists of vines to their bodies. Bracelets, anklets, a necklace. Whatever seems to blend into their style more. They grow flowers with an appropriate color scheme, even.
Captain Flint      Flint follows the descent of the club-wielding dragonslayer. His impact with the ground level is hard to miss.

     "Captain," one of the pirates says, startled, pointing at the distortion.

     Flint looks up, first at the distortion, then at the figure currently forced to the ground. He flattened those nails, as Flint guessed he might. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. That isn't really the problem. The problem is that there are two of them--plus three other people. There's only so much tower to blow up before he'd just end up blowing them all up.

     There's no other option left but a straightforward fight. Not ideal. He and Silver share a look, each of them drawing a saber. Their focus is locked on the same figure--the fellow with the rapier.
Starbound Flotilla     "Needed more guard against danger. Could have done it. No excuse for soldiers failing civilians."
    "Balance is an inevitability. The Hylotl only seek a peaceful return to it, rather than a violent one. Whatever balance meant... it could have been more peaceful. It could have been more elegant, more noble. A child's death could have been worth more."
    "Resolved. A knight doesn't even think about what's achievable. A knight thinks about what's /right/ to do. Thinking about what's impossible or possible is for lords, thinking about what's right and wrong is for heroes."
    "I can do anything. Even miracles. Little more time and effort and I'm sure I'd have done it. Kid should have tried praying to /me/. Or at least... to himself..."
    "Floran could sssmell dying on child from moment meeting. Isss terrible. But, short, nasssty, brutish life, ssstill worth protecting. Floran essscaped it, maybe sssomething from that place could have."

    George lights a cigarette. "Children carry the regrets of adults. It's kinda like a curse, y'know? When you've got so much future to burn and so little past to hold you back, everyone wants to carve a little message of their own on ya, and hope it'll get seen. Misery ain't love company but it sure does have a way with kids. Even weird, thousand-year-old god-toddlers ain't immune to it." A heavy sigh. A cloud of smoke.