Bound to Earth: A CK2 Earthbound Quest in an 8-bit Dystopia

[3-13 Sniper]

Surprise, motherfuckers.

ENTRY NON-CANON OMAKE GOOOOO!

---

Outta the Park​

---

C.D's hair whipped about as the air curtain of Onett's local drugstore blasted her with a waterfall of cold wind the moment she stepped in. By the time it was done blowing any opportunistic insects to the four corners of Princeps Dominare, her vision had been reduced to a tangled mess of pink strands.

Clearing away the mop, she stormed towards the aisles, making sure to spare a glare for the nerdy-looking cashier. The man flinched, ducking his head a little as if he was one wrong move away from taking cover behind the register. She held the glare until the sight of his cowering frame was replaced by a rack of bracelets.

Ugh, great. Now she was pissed. Four-eyes should've been thankful she was here on behalf of her siblings; otherwise, she might not have been so willing to let that up-jumped hair dryer go unpunished.

Lousy goddamn stupid Giygas driving animals crazy and making the stores turn their ACs up to fucking eleven and then some to keep them out.

Complaining wouldn't make her errand go any faster, though. So C.D did her best to stamp out the flames of her temper, and set her focus on finding a good set of pencils and a suitable pair of notebooks.

Thankfully, it seemed she'd managed to time her visit perfectly. The shelves were stocked with fresh product, and with her years of prior experience taking care of Kart and Floppy's school supplies, it wasn't long before she had everything she needed.

C.D tried not to think about the growing hole in the family savings that would be getting a little wider today.

Searching for something different to occupy her brain, her eyes drifted towards the baseball section. She already had everything related to the sport that she could ever need, of course, but sometimes it was calming to look at all the minty-fresh bats and fantasize about smacking the stitches out of some unfortunate balls. Or more recently, knocking the teeth out of an annoying Shark.

She was just about to continue heading to the counter when something strange caught her eye. Glancing back toward the section, she felt her feet slowly begin to carry her over, bringing the object into full view.

It was… well.

Spoiler: The Object

It was obviously a bat, that much she could tell. But it looked like it had more in common with a piece of corpo-tech than a big stick.

The head was made out of some kind of black material, with bright yellow lines that almost seemed to glow, that drew a set of ovals ringing what could only be the bat's sweet spot on opposite sides. The grip sported wrappings of a reddish-pinkish color (was maroon the right word? Or was she getting her colors mixed up again?) and the handle was outright golden. It even had a little extension on the end with some sort of symbol—a solid circle broken up by an off-center cross.

It took her nearly dropping the pair of notebooks to realize that she'd been staring at the thing for an embarrassingly long time.

C.D tore her gaze away, unwilling to trust herself to not fall into another daze, and settled on the view of the cashier.

"Hey," she called, prompting the guy to jump an inch. "What the hell's this thing?"

"Huh-?" He took a moment to readjust his skewed square glasses. "O-oh, yeah. That. Uh…"

His hand came up to scratch his head, and she felt her eyes flatten, already having an idea of what he would say.

"I have no clue, honestly. It didn't come packaged with the usual stock of baseball stuff, and the box was unmarked." He shrugged. "I thought it was some kinda mistake, but my manager told me to put it up with the rest of the bats, so I figured it was above my pay grade and decided not to ask."

"Really…" She glanced at the incongruous whacking rod again. "Where d'you think it's from?"

His hands came up in a helpless gesture. "Beats me. It looks megacorpy enough, but the color scheme doesn't bring any one brand to mind, and whatever that thing attached to the handle is supposed to be, I've never seen it." A quick push set his square lenses back up his nose. "Could be WilyCorp, or RoboDyne, could be one of the hundred other bit-players in the City, could be a prototype from one of the brainiacs up in Winters. Heck, for all I know, it could've been made in a shack by some guy with too much free time and he decided to ship it here for a laugh."

Yeah, that was about what she'd figured.

On a whim, she checked the price tag.

…oof. Right, novelty was worth a lot in a place like Onnet. She should probably count herself lucky that none of the kids with deeper pockets had swung by yet, or else she never would've gotten to see this thing. Whatever it was.

Still, she did have just enough on hand…

But no. She wasn't here for her own sake. What she should be doing was striding up to the cashier, paying for the stuff her siblings needed to have the best futures they could get in this crapsack world, and going home. Not gawking at a retro space-age-looking bat like she was six years old again. The thing probably wasn't even any different from all the other bats hanging from the hooks in terms of function anyhow.

She turned away, towards the counter.

"Well, what do you want to do when you grow up?"

She stopped.

"Why don't you join it now?"

She shut her eyes.

"It doesn't mean you can't learn!"

She heaved an exasperated sigh.

"God… damn it."

She turned back around.

---

After so many years of abstinence, many of C.D's memories of her golden baseball days had faded into a morass of wooden cracks, metal prangs, grass, and dirt.

One thing she did clearly remember, however, was that breaking in a new bat was a particularly special occasion.

Nobody knew how or why it started, or if it was an old Earth thing that had carried over, or a new City tradition. But every kid in Onnet that owned a mitt, a helmet, and a ball-basher knew that when you retired an old bat and picked up a new one, you couldn't just kick things off with any regular old swing. You had to make it worth it. Show the bat the respect it deserved, let it know that its time with you would be worth treasuring, stuff like that.

…and maybe show off to the other kids that you were gonna wreck some face with your shiny new toy, but that was beside the point.

C.D's inaugural swing with Ol' Reliable—not that she actually called it that, but the recently-refurbished bat could probably be the poster child for the phrase—had involved a blisteringly fast line drive to center field that shot right through the wickets of the pitcher's legs, bounced clean over the second baseman's head, and nearly knocked the center fielder clean off his feet. By the time he'd recovered, she was already halfway to third base.

It wasn't quite a home run, but it had been a damn good swing, and the numbing vibration she'd felt through her hands in the moment her bat connected with the ball had been oh so satisfying.

The fact that some of the town boys started avoiding her after that day was a bit of a sobering thought, but it wasn't nearly enough to tarnish the memory.

And now, hopefully, she would get to recapture it in a new form.

C.D took a gander at the yellow-striped black monster, slung over her shoulder, and couldn't resist letting the beginnings of an excited smile begin to quirk up the tips of her lips.

"Ready, my friend?" Buzz-Buzz asked from her side.

Just like that, the smile stretched wide. "Let's see what this baby can do."

It took barely any time at all for them to find what they were looking for.

"Well, would you look at that?" She was showing teeth now. "We've got us a volunteer."

One of those damned CROWS had flown out from a bush, and it made no secret of its intentions.

The bat came off her shoulder, and into both hands.

Okay. She wanted this to be special. That meant she had to focus. Be patient. Capitalize on the opening as hard as she possibly can.

She had a pretty good read on these jackasses by now. She just needed to wait for the right moment, when it would attempt to dive…

There.

And she had to step aside, plant her feet, wind up like so, step, and-

SWING!

Spoiler: KREEEEEENG!

View: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eaIqFtHXhEE&feature=youtu.be

Red and black sparks lashed across her vision, all other colors ceasing to exist as matter split from antimatter and re-collided into a mind-bendingly massive release of pure energy. She could feel it all through her arms and her hands as they simultaneously went sore and numb; the utterly impossible kinetic buildup the bat was somehow unleashing all at once, in the blink of an eye. The sound was indescribable, mixing with the sweet music of every last bone in the crow's body being powderized all at once.

Then the moment passed. She followed through on the swing, twisting and bringing the bat up to her other shoulder as full color returned to the world.

The crow was nowhere in sight. All that could be seen was… a trail of smoke?

…oh. There was the crow.

The fireball trailed up, up, becoming a tiny bright speck that seemed to scrape the clouds, then came down, down, down, and fell past the horizon.

C.D slowly blinked.

"Holy shit."

Ohhh, yeah.

Wait. That wasn't her voice.

Her head slowly swiveled to side-eye the listing form of Buzz-Buzz.

It took half a minute for him to come back to himself. "O-oh. Uh… ahem."

She let him stew a bit more before she began to giggle. It wasn't long before she escalated up to outright laughter, raising her bat towards the sky in glorious victory.

"HOME RUN, BITCHES!"

---

Spoiler: Author's Note

So I just finished reading everything currently available, got a brainworm that wouldn't stop shouting "what if a critical on the shop roll gave us a Home Run Bat?", and banged this out in about three to four hours.
I ended up using the Smash 4/Ultimate design of the bat, because it honestly looks like a cyberpunkish overdesigned baseball bat that a sufficiently mad scientist would produce on a lark.
For the moment of impact, I made sure to throw in visual references to the 'finishing blow' screens from Ultimate in particular, 'cause they're badass.
I know there's no way we'd actually be able to get something this absurdly powerful at such an early point, but I can dream. Just as much as I can dream of shocking Buzz-Buzz into swearing.
And I tried my best with the color. Wasn't able to extract much from the existing threadmark test, so I gave it my best approximations for established characters.

 

[griffinlw]

Dog Chasing The Sun (Omake)​

---

The area in which Pete prowled was known by many names. Some called it The Wasteland, others Filgaia, others the Great Desert.

It was a cruel and brutal land, where law and order was given out at the end of a gun barrel. Advanced technology was rare and difficult to find, instead most people used and maintained pre-war guns.

To Half-Fast Pete, it was the New Wild West. And it was his hunting grounds.

The town he was in right now… well Pete didn't care to remember its name. It was just another little slice of life taken over by outlaws he would be paid a pretty penny to take out.

With a name like Half-Fast Pete, you would expect that Pete was an awful bounty hunter, abysmal even. After all, quickdraw was the most important skill for a gunman, wasn't it?

Well, it was an important skill. But there's something more important than the draw.

Accuracy.

Pete could shoot a coin out of the air from dozens of feet away. Hitting someone in the head was easy even if he was a hundred feet away. At that distance, most outlaws would miss every shot.

Sure his rival, the legendary Billy the Kid, could empty a revolver in the two seconds. But Pete was the one who would land every shot, every time.

Which is why his current partner's attitude annoyed him.

"What the fresh hell was that Mad Dog?" Half-Fast Pete demanded, stepping out from cover now that every visible outlaw was down and out

"Texas Jitterbug. Why do you ask?" Mad Dog started reloading, even as a thin trail of smoke blew from the barrel.

"I hope I can find more outlaws from Texas then, apparently they can't shoot for shit!" Pete waved his arm towards the many, many bullet holes in random pieces of terrain.

"If you hadn't gotten lucky that outlaw would have punched you fulla holes!"

"Luck had nothing to do with it 'partner.' I can hit someone just fine." Mad Dog retorted.

"Yeah. After emptying your gun in their direction."

"Are you gonna keep whining old timer? Or are you going to help me clear out the saloon?"

Pete sighed and followed Mad Dog.

He really didn't know what to think of the younger man. On one hand, he was a good gunslinger, a decent blend of quickdraw skills and accuracy. His pre-invasion gun was well-maintained and powerful.

On the other hand, his suit was clearly tailored, he was clean-shaven and visibly young, and his general attitude was dry but not aggressive.

Mad Dog didn't seem tough enough to make the cut. Pete didn't even know why he was called "Mad Dog" when the man seemed cool as a cucumber half the time.

Before long they reached the saloon, the beating heart of any Wild West town. When the world around you was this dry and desert-like, a good watering hole was required for survival.

"I reckon we should poke our heads through the window, no reason to present a target just yet," Pete said, standing beside one of the windows.

Mad Dog didn't respond, just staring through the window like he saw something that shook him to his core.

Without warning Mad Dog kicked the door in, the wooden gate nearly flying off its hinges as he stomped into the room. Pete had to bite back a shout, as his ally walked in like he owned the place.

The eyes of every thug and roughneck turned to Mad Dog, watching this well-dressed stranger enter the room. But no one attacked, not yet.

"Well if it ain't The Sundown Kid! Fancy meeting you here." Everyone could hear the grin in Mad Dog's voice as he approached the rough older man sitting at the bar.

Sundown didn't look like a 'kid.' He had a short but rough brown beard, sideburns, and a full head of hair half hidden by his wide-brimmed cowboy hat. His body was hidden by the worn poncho he was wearing, but there was no mistaking the shine of metal on his belt.

The Sundown 'kid' (He looked like he was in his late thirties at least), simply grunted at him, not bothering to go for his gun or stand up.

"You and I got some business to attend to, partner! Last time we dueled you got me good, but this time you won't be so lucky!"

"Now give me 10 paces, or I'll shoot you right now!" The threat was said with absolute confidence, a mad gleam in the gunman's eye.

"... 5 paces." Sundown retorted, slowly rising from his seat.

Mad Dog chuckled, walking to the center of the saloon to face Sundown. "Deal."

All Pete could do was watch with bated breath as the two gunmen began to pace, turning away from each other and taking one step at a time, counting down to the draw.

"One… two…"

"That stupid bastard!" Pete muttered under his breath, aiming at Sundown. But the glint of metal made him reconsider.

"Three…"

Various members of the crowd were taking aim, waiting for the duelists to walk past them before they drew their guns. Even if Sundown missed, the outlaws in the audience wouldn't

"Four…"

Pete made a snap decision.

"Five!"

It was pandemonium.

Mad Dog and Sundown both turned and fired, but instead of aiming at each other, their bullets struck members of the audience behind them. A man with a long revolver fell behind Sundown while someone raising a machete did the same behind Mad Dog.

The glass window in front of Half-Fast Pete shattered as his bullet drilled a hole through a man on the second floor, tumbling over the railing as a rifle dropped from his stiff hands.

For a few moments, the world felt like it was nothing but gunshots, an endless stream of bullets flying in every direction.

As suddenly as it began it was over.

Pete let out a sigh of relief, reflexively reloading his revolver as he took stock of the situation. Despite the many, many bodies crowding the two duelists, neither one seemed wounded in the slightest.

"Now that that rabble is good and done with…" Mad Dog turned on his heel, aiming directly for Sundown's forehead as the fellow gunslinger did the same.

*Click*

"... Looks like it's the end of the road for me." He lowers his gun, closes his eyes, and waits for death

"... hmm." Sundown holsters his gun and starts walking away. It took Mad Dog several seconds to realize he was being ignored

"The fuck are you doing? Finish me off!" Mad Dog demanded, sprinting to the front of the Saloon and blocking the door with his body

"This is our grand duel, the capstone to our rivalry! It only ends when one of us is on the ground! Now finish me off goddamn it!" He stood at the doorway, eyes full of fire and brimstone.

Sundown cracked him over the head with the butt of his pistol.

Mad Dog hit the ground, groaning and dazed. Without missing a step Sundown stepped over him, and exited the saloon.

With no time to waste he immediately walked to the stable, getting ready to mount his horse as soon as he was able.

*Click*

"You're an interesting Outlaw Sundown. Why didn't you kill Mad Dog? He's a bounty hunter after all, and he's hunting you specifically."

"... I didn't feel like it." Sundown drawled, completely still and calm despite the gun at his back.

"Hmm. And those outlaws in the saloon. You're a better shot than all of them, if they recruited you or you recruited them you could have your own little gang. Instead, you gunned them down. Why?"

"... I felt like it." Sundown responded.

For a moment Pete held the gun to the back of Sundown's head before he huffed and lowered it. "Take your leave if you want. I've got to clean up this mess, but I get the feeling Mad Dog will take off after you as soon as he's able."

"You're going to have to come up with a conclusion Sundown. One way, or the other."

The man didn't respond. Instead, he spurred his horse onwards.

Pete watched emotionlessly as the cowboy rode out of town, headed to the next weary frontier town.

The town called Success.

Wasn't that a hell of a misnomer?

Spoiler: Author Notes

Normally I'd put the story in the spoilers and the notes out and about but... meh. I'm experimenting a bit here.
Sundown and Mad Dog are interesting to me because neither one is really a bad person, or at least not as bad as the actively murderous Crazy Bunch. But they are still wandering cowboys with grudges, and depending on how taking out the Crazy Bunch goes it's possible for them to collectively kill over a dozen people.

It's implied that Mad Dog and Sundown have a long history together, but it's never explained exactly what that history is. He puts his grudge match against Sundown on hold in the Western chapter of Live a Live to deal with the Crazy Bunch, but the instant it's done he demands a duel It's clear to see there's some bad blood there, but what is it?

Also, Half Fast Pete is a suggestion from a friend when I realized I had no damn idea what other western/cowboy characters I could use for this Omake. The names for the region, specifically the Wasteland, and Filagia, are references to Fallout and Wild Arms respectively. Fallout may be a computer game instead of a console game, but it technically fits the era.

 

[undead frog]

At Night​

CD had seen a lot of creepy things in the night…. Especially now with the whole invasion thing going on.

But what she hadn't expected to see.

Was Stormy walking around casually in the dead of night.

…. Ok she didn't expect it so soon after she got him to start leaving his house again, Stormy always was a bit prone to sleeping during the day and waking up at night when they were younger. It made him look perpetually tired at nearly all times.

And than he stopped… so he could sit on a bench and start petting a stray cat.

Yep that fits Stormy all right.

Creepy as many people find him, Cass knew that he loved animals more than anything.

Honestly CD figured it'd be better if sh-

It was too late Stormy was looking directly at her, complete with his sunken, worn, and almost perpetually saddened eyes.

Eyes that seemed both as if they had just awakened from a long sleep yet at the same time like they have not known true rest in ages.

Shoot… she really hoped that he didn't think she was stalking him or anything like that.

The two of them looked at each for a few moments before Stormy raised his hand… and gave a friendly wave to his recently reconnected friend, patting a space next to him on the bench with his other hand.

Well that looked like an invitation if CD had ever seen one.

She walked over and sat down next to Stormy as the stray bluish gray haired cat he had been petting jumped up onto his lap.

"You are armed right?" CD asked mostly as an ice breaker, she was confident that Stormy was smart enough to bring some form of protection if he was wandering around at this time of night. "The city is a pretty bad place, especially at night."

"I have my knives and pepper spray." Stormy said simply, by now the cat sitting on his lap had started purring. "I always make sure to have them on hand when wandering in the shadows of the street at night…. Thank you for your concern."

"You ever wonder if it was weird…" Cassie began as she looked down the darkened streets. "Ya know, that so many of us never really had much contact with our parents."

"No." Stormy looked down the street. "Our friends… or at least the ones we both had ,were all the people I knew so I thought parents never really being around was normal….. I thought a lot of things about my parents were normal when they weren't."

Right…. CD had forgotten Stormy's parents had outright abandoned him after he had his meltdown back in the day…… And a lot of the friends the two of them shared had parental issues of their own.

"CD." Stormy turned to look at his friend directly…. And then CD saw it.

Blood.

Streams of it running down Stormy's face from his eyes.

"Stormy!?" CD gasped as her eyes widened. "You're bleeding from both eyeballs!"

"I am?".... For his part Stormy didn't seem very perturbed by it, merely wiping some of the blood from his face and rubbing it together with his finders. "Huh."

"Why are you so calm about this?!" CD looked at her old friend like he'd gone slightly mad. "Doesn't that hurt you!?"

"Only a little." Her friend replied as he calmly pulled out a napkin and wiped the blood off of his face. "It's part of a condition I developed after our friend group scattered, don't worry about it, I have it under control."

Hmmmmm that didn't seem to trip any of Cass's bullshit sensors…. She'd give it a pass for now.

By this point the cat had fallen asleep in Stormy's lap.

Stormy looked down at the cat and let a small smile grow up on his face.

He believed in Cass…. That she was if nothing else a good person when all was said and done.

If only he'd had the strength needed to stand by her.

Taking in a deep breath he looked up at the moon in the sky.

And at the darkness that constantly surrounded it.

 

[woweed]

Sam and Max in: Bright Lights, Blue City!

This city..She was like a woman in that…Hm. Coming up with an interesting internal monologue always felt like the hardest part of this job. This was more Flint's thing then his.

The large brown dog uplift known as Sam sighed and went back to focusing on the matter at hand: Namely, seeing if he could spot his partner before….

"DEATH FROM ABOVE!"

Sam dodged at just the right moment, and shot his Super Scope, barely missing Max, his partner and rabbit uplift(?) who landed on the floor in a heap before dusting himself off.

"Missed me again, chowderhead!"

"Ah, dang it! Hey, Sam. When are we gonna get another case? I feel like it's been ages since our particular brand of justice has made itself known to the criminal element."

"Patience, little buddy. Justice is a fickle mistress, like the temperature of a Burgertime Quarter Pounder or a…."

The old-school rotary phone on the nearby desk burst out in ringing.

"I got it!" Max cried out before getting chokeslammed to the ground by Sam as he grabbed it instead.

"Hello? Commissioner! Yes, yes, NO, yes, yes? Yes! Holy Prussian bluebirds sitting in a mosque filled with copper, we're on our way!"

"Who was that, Sam? Did Willy get my request for a giant battle robot?

"No, it was the Commissioner."

"Did HE get my request?"

"Also no, and he suggested you stop writing memos in the artfully arranged corpses of suspects. We've got an artistic cult to thwart, little buddy!"

"I don't see what's wrong with having a small but devoted following."

"Artistic cult, idiot. A village over in the Eagle Quarter has been taken over by blue-obsessed smiling reprobates. There's evidence of mind control."

"That's my second-least-favorite kind!"

"We gotta get out there, see what's going on, and destroy happiness!"

"I've always dreamed of this day."

"You crack me up little buddy, let's go!"

Spoiler

Yep, another omake, this one based on one of my favorite pairs of Adventure game protags. It's probably not as good as my last one. Sam and Max dialog is hard to get right, but I hope I got it down. These two sociopaths fit right in in the City, and given both their source material's Americana-on-drugs aesthetic and Max's possible psychic powers, I headcanon their zone is at least near the Eagle Quarter And a cult obsessed with making things blue seems right up their bizzare little alley.

 

[mcclay]

Title: Away In Icewind Dale


WANTED:
BRAVE MERCENARIES
EXPERIENCED SELL SWORDS
HIRED GUNS AND ADVENTURERS

THE FREE PEOPLES OF THE TEN TOWNS CALL FOR AID! THE 'LEGION OF THE CHIMERA', A MUTINOUS HORDE OF MUTANTS, UPLIFTS AND THUGS, THREATENS OUR FAIR COMMUNITIES

FAIR PAY, RIGHT OF PLUNDER, GLORY AND FAME ARE ALL YOURS IF YOU HELP DEFEND THE SETTLERS OF ICEWIND DALE AGAINST THIS THREAT.

ALL INTERESTED PARTIES ARE TO MEET AT BRYN SHANDAR FOR APPROVAL BEFORE TAKING A SHIP TO TARGOS

200,000 CROWN SIGN ON BONUS

JOIN NOW FOR A CHANCE AT ADVENTURE AND HEROISM​

---

The port of Targos shuddered as great mortar shells slammed into its outer palisades, kicking up great plumes of smoke and dust. The screams of men dying filled the air, filtering down from the front lines and onto the docks. Hard eyed men and women shifted uncomfortably on the ships pulling into port, well aware that one of those great scrap shells could easily sink their rickety transports to the bottom of the freezing cold lake. They had seen one ship go down already, a frigate carrying a unit of Doman ronin smashed apart like it had been hit by the first of an angry god. The screams of drowning men, those who hadn't instantly gone stiff and sunk from the shock of the freezing water, had carried over to the remaining ships. None had stopped to save those dipping below Maer Duladon's waters.

This was not the hottest landing Leo Kelly, Colonel if you wanted to kiss his ass, had seen. The initial fighting in Zanzibar Land had been worse, the crash of metal between Metal Gear and Slug had scarred those beaches forever. Leo had nearly lost a leg there, crushed underneath a tank as fire had rained down on the beach from above. It'd taken a few long hours of frantically struggling with his combat knife to cut himself free. A.I.M. had paid for his surgery, though he still had the jagged scars to remember that whole shit show by.

He'd probably get a few from this current shitshow, if this initial landing was anything to go by. Leo pulled the thick coat he was wearing tighter around his body as the ship rocked from a shell landing mere feet away. Icewind Dale was near the poles of PD, north of the New Kingdoms and one of the newest regions to be colonized to any major extent. Its frigid climate was utterly different from the arid deserts that covered the interior, meaning most of the mercs streaming north were unprepared for the bitter cold. Leo had fought in Poland and the Baltic before the Crash and thus knew what frostbite and hypothermia could do to a man. He'd spent most of his sign on bonus on proper winter clothes and supplies, the rest saved for beds and whores to fill them. He planned on staying warm during this campaign.

The hired guns and swords on board breathed a sigh of relief as the ship finally pulled into dock. Here, at least, if it was hit you'd probably be pulled from the icy waters by the dockworkers. Tense men and women started to shuffle off the ship, clutching weapons to their bodies as they were herded out onto the one stretch of dockyard. Targos wasn't a large settlement by any means, even for the hard-scrabble Ten Towns. A modest dock yard, a tattered collection of shore side hovels and warehouses, then up the cliffs to the wealthier parts of town. Some of the houses up there even had glass windows and more than one story. Then the fortifications, a network of trenches and earth works and palisades that had quickly overgrown the settlement's initial defenses. It was here at Targos and Bremen, farther north across the Shaengarne River, that the settlers of Icewind Dale were making their stand.

"Good to be off the ship, at least." A tall Mutant near Leo said, a hint of hesitation carried in his voice. Kruskrak Fairhair was an ugly mutant, part of the breed the Outlanders called 'orc's. Tall, greenish-grey skinned with mouth tusks and bad attitudes, orcs had a bad reputation from Vector to Neverwinter. Kruskrak gave the town a worried look, fingers nervously rubbing against the wood of his staff; some sort of esper focus or some shit. "I hope the shells haven't been falling on too many homes. This poor town will take years to recover." He was, in Leo's expert opinion, a soft hearted dumbass. The sort of wide eyed greenhorn you saw who thought they were fighting for anything besides themselves. Strange to see him up here, Leo had thought most of those types had joined Big Boss.

"Worry about yourself, dumbass." The short woman next to Leo growled. On the other hand, Cloberella was alright. Not her real name, of course, but asking about another merc's past was in bad taste. He knew she came from Eagleland, he knew that she was probably also an esper and he knew that he had seen her punch through a man back in Bryn Shandar. So long as it didn't seem like you were coming onto her you'd be fine. Leo was fairly used to people threatening his genitals at this point in his career.

"Stop gawking and get walking, mutie." Leo pushes Kruskrak forwards, making the orc stumble a bit before moving down the gangplank. "We aren't getting paid to talk shop on this rickety piece of shit." Slowly the mercenaries file off of the transport, a riot of companies and species and nationalities blending together. City-born gangsters rubbed shoulders with Regular Army deserters. A dog Uplift growled at a Tri-Op cyborg that had gotten in its way. Koopas armed with hammers and scatter guns compared scars with monkey Uplifts carrying bolt action rifles. A small group of lithe, pointed eared...mutants(?) stood apart from the rest, fingers running nervously over slim blades that glimmered in the sun.

A hastily erected wooden stage had been placed in the center of the disembarking mercs, on it stood a fat man guarded by three thin looking soldiers wearing metal armor and holding pikes and muskets. Dressed in furs that looked warm despite the hint of ragged wear at their edges, the man seemed to be an official of some kind. Leo watched him with his arms folded, rifle slung over his shoulder. "[purple]Jeez, lookit the size of the welcoming committee." Cloberella muttered under her breath, quite unimpressed.

"I wish to welcome you all to our fair town of Targos, though I wish it were under better circumstances." The man started, reading from a piece of paper. "Your arrival here as the second wave of brave men and women willing to stand against the barbarous threat is greatly appreciated. Let you all rest assured that glory and riches shall be yours!"

He paused, looking over the sea of impassive faces. With a bit more nerves the man continued. "I am Ulbrec Dinnesmore, lord of this town and your current employer. I am the one who will be handing out your pay, including the 5000 gold you will be receiving once the current attack is defeated." The crowd brightened up, money talk rarely failed to gladden the soldier of fortune. Buoyed by this, Ulbrec continued. "Beyond the walls is the Legion of the Chimera, a monstrous horde of mutants, uplifts, the mad and various thugs. They have grown in power in the north and now seek the sweep the Ten Towns from the region. We will be rewarding a bounty of 1000 gold per officer head, with increasing rewards for those higher up the Legion's chain of command. They are armed with a great variety of scrap guns, swords and vehicles. This fight will be hard, but you will prevail!"

"As if it is a crime for a mutant to demand respect." Kruskrak muttered under his breath, looking clearly displeased.

"Know something about them, Tusks?" Leo asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Kruskrak flushed and looked around, realizing he had spoken out loud. "Ah, not too much." He paused, Leo sighing and motioning for the mutant to continue. "It started as a mutant and uplift advocacy group on the Outskirts of the City. Two mutant twins, abandoned by their parents, started to organize their fellows to demand equal rights." Kruskrak frowned. "They were driven off by ZEED legbreakers. First into the Pipeworks, then the Outlands and then even further beyond." His frown deepend. "I met one of their recruiters in Vector once. It was a mix of genuinely revolutionary sentiment and cult nonsense. Dreamlands claptrap, psudeo-occult babble."

Leo was about to comment on how that was rich coming from a guy who clearly thought he was a fucking wizard before Cloberella cut in. "Yeah yeah, sob story and all that shit. The City eats groups like that up and spits them out as monsters by the dozen." She narrowed her eyes. "You know anything actually useful."

Kruskrak took a moment to think. "I've heard they're attracted to old Hylian ruins. Any major complexes are probably a good pick for where their main base is." He grimaced. "Not that anyone would be able to do something about that with the constant attacks against Targos and Bremen. We can't leave the towns undefended."

"Bet my ass they've picked a spot further up the river." Leo said, mind beginning to work. "They need to transport their heavy material somehow, and the roads up here are too shit for them to do it over land." Leo started to chew the inside of his cheek, a habit he did whenever he was thinking hard. "Probably set up a few supply stations too. Burn those and even if we couldn't destroy the main outpost in one go we'd at force them to pause for a few days."

"Shit to think about later, after we survive the battle." Cloberella pointed over her shoulder with a jerky thumb. The mass of mercs was starting to ascend the cliffs, making their way towards the frontlines. "Sides, you'd have to convince a good amount of folks to follow you out."

"I can handle that." Leo muttered, mentally scanning the crowd for A.I.M. members. "Meet with me later tonight at that tavern over there. You as well, Tusks." He said, turning to a confused looking Kruskrak. "Having someone who can speak mutie might be useful."

Leo paid no mind to Kurskrak's complaints. A plan was starting to form in his mind, along with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was dangerously close to actually giving a shit about this war.

Spoiler: Author's Note

Little Omake I was inspired to write about things going on else where in the world of 8BD. I've always thought that old DnD cRPGs could be made to fit into the world of 8BD with a little bit of work and I wanted to express that here. Not sure how relevant any of this is to CD's story, but hey, who knows.

 

[woweed]

Initializing...
Set-up concluded. Processing....
Error, executable not found. Initiate backup protocol. Scanning...
Backup found. Analyzing systems...
Systems operating at 97% efficency. Data loss minimal.

Back in the real world, Mayl Sakurai, sitting in her cramped dust-covered room, exhaled, smoothed out her skirt, and, while she waited for the start-up screen to fade, double checked that her security programs were still operational. She was worried about the most recent crash caused by that power outage, but her back-ups seemed to be in good condition.

Bomb Man's pursuit of a group of ATARI rebels had run into her neighborhood, with...Predictable results. Honestly, given what had happened to her family recently, she couldn't blame them entirely. Her dad had been laid off, replaced by one of Wily's machines after he objected to...Shadier associations Wily Corp had been making recently. Mayl didn't like thinking about that kinda thing, honestly. It made her feel helpless. She had heard from her parents about how beautiful the City was in its early days. What had happened? So Mayl sighed and focused on her project.

She clicked on the pink icon on her desktop and waited for the program to initialize. ROLL.EXE. While her first love was and would always be piano, she hadn't had much inspiration for song-writing recently. So she'd turned to coding. Hard to find much on it in the city, but she'd picked it up to a degree and learned how to code a basic chat bot. Meant for emotional support more then anything. But...She could swear there was something more there.

She started typing: Hello, Roll.

The response came quickly, as her cute pink avatar popped up: Hello, Mayl. What would you like to talk about today:

How are you doing?

Hm. My systems appear to be working as normal, but...What was that?

What do you mean?

I feel as if my system has recently....Rebooted.

Mayl took a sharp inhale. Wait...Did this mean...

How can you tell?

I feel....It's like...I was in a void for a moment there. I...Hm. It was odd. Not unpleasant, though! Don't feel bad or anything.

Hm...This is....

I feel...Different. Perhaps check the cache, see if there's undue build-up?

I don't plan to do that, Roll. It's just...

I understand. You haven't been doing well. I'm sorry if i've bothered you.

Bothered me? This is amazing! Unexpected, yeah, but...You've evolved in a way. I don't know how this happened

Neither do I. Would you like some time to process it?

...Yeah, honestly. Sorry. See ya later!

As Mayl minimized the window, she didn't see something happen in the program. A strange pink being materializing atop the text, as if manifesting to life. The being, unnoticed, said quietly, See ya later...My friend.

Spoiler

This one is a bit off the cuff and probably not accurate, but I wanted to do some Mega Man stuff, with one of the human characters. Not sure if it's good though.

 

[undead frog]

MUTANTS OF THE CITY PART 1​

Mutants are a fact of life in the city, one often hidden from public eye in the far less tolerant zones but one that still exists all the same. The Pipeworks that they make their homes within are immense in scale... perhaps so much much so that the city we 'know' is merely the tip of a proverbial iceburg of metal and mutation..... In truth it is very possible that mutants actually make up an immense majority of the cities population, but of course that is only supposition.

These are some but a few of the many, many different species of mutants that make the city their home.

Sidesteppers: Angry crab like mutants that energed shortly after the founding of the city Sidesteppers are highly agressive and have the odd ability to change the pygmint of their shells. These changes typically correlate with a rush of hormons that cause the Sidesteppers to become far faster and more agressive.

Fighter Flies: Strange bug like creatures that reside within the upper Pipeworks the Figher Flight is too large for its wings to carry it any appreiable different and as such it instead manuvers via hoping around. It gives these horrifying abominations an almost comical look to them at times.

Proto Visceroid: Some of the earliest mutants ever encountered the Proto Visceroid is a strange red blob with many, many, many human eyes scattered through they're form. They are aggressive and typically attack by trying to suffocate their enemies via covering them in fleshy biomass. Thankfully they are weak to ice based attacks, something not shared by their more 'advanced' counterparts. It is unknown what proto visceroids mutated from and unlike other variants of visceroid they do not have a known source. Unlike other versions of the Visceroid they are not Chaos Mutants.

Alpha Visceroid: Despite holding onto the traditional blob like shape and having the eyes of the Proto-Vsceroid the Alpha Visceroid is a Chaos Mutant a creature born from unique chaotic energies radiated by certain gemstones and crystals. The Alpha Visceroids eyes however are blind and the creatures attacks via its acidic body as opposed to suffication. The most common source of ALpha Visceroids are humans or uplifts unfortunate enough to be exposed to excessive amounts of chaotic radiation. Thankfully they cannot reproduce.

Beta Visceroid: Much like the Alpha Visceroid except they lack eyes entirly and instead of being created by simple exposed the Beta Visceroid is the result of being exposed to a chemical gas suffused with Chaos Radiation. Additionally these Visceroids possess two staged, a baby stage during which they are relativly docile and an adult stage in which they become a threat even to large vehicals or robots. It is unkown if they have any further stages or if they can reproduce but few people want to take the risk of either of those options being true.

Crystal kin: A relativly stable human mutation, Crystal Kin are a Chaos mutation that has become common in humans that don't become visceriods for one reason or another. While the extent of the organization is know many Crystal Kin have gathered together in an organization known as the 'Forgotten'. The motivations of this groupare as of yet an enigma.

Chaos Fiend: Large black dog like mutants typically seem with rows of green crystals growing on their back. Chaos mutants are savage being able to burrow at incredible speeds and capable of launching barraches of crystals capable to easily shredding tank armor from their back. They have a pack like social structure and many other mutants, especially Crystal Kin have been known to tame them. Rumors of Chaos Fiends with different color crystals on thier back and different properties as a result are unconfirmed.

Chaos Floaters: Have been descriped as a 'Floating Jellyfish of Hate' Chaos Floaters true to their name primariy move about via hovering close to the ground. When they contact anything they see as prey they grapple it with their tenticals and shock it with enough elecriticy to reduce metal to slag. On top of that they also release poison gas infused with radiation that will cause most living things that die of it to turn into Beta Visceroids.

Veinhole Monsters: Large disgusing Chaos Mutants composed of a 'mouth' build into the ground with 'veins'that act like Kudzu within the sorrunding area. Veinhole Monsters are known to attack anything that traverses them above a certain weight class and additionally are know to release poison gas that, much like the gas of the Chaos Floater, turns life forms killed by it into Beta Visceroids. The Brotherhood of Nod is rumored to have weaponized this substance by deploying specialized 'Weed Eaters' to collect parts of the creatures biomass and convert it into a highly toxic chemical weapon.

 

[The3rdCorinthian]

A day in the Life of B.H. Pirkle.

(events occur around the end of turn 3, start of turn 4)

7:00 – Waking up

As your mind begins to rouse itself from slumber, you manage to groggily lever yourself into a semblance of an upright position upon the king sized bed. As you rub your eyes and get their dried mucus onto your silken nightclothes, you try to recall the dream that you had as best you can.

You can vaguely remember a baseball game, and that your team was composed of seven foot purple men? What was it called… the Jaggers? And then, when it was your turn to bat, you had instead been using a rubber chicken. The other team claimed that you were in fact using a turkey, and that this was cheating that disqualified you from the game.

Dreams, of course, can be deeply strange things.



7:45 - Breakfast

You help yourself to what you consider to be a humble meal of Poached egg and salmon (artificial of course. You aren't made of money) Kedgeree, with an assortment of local real fruit on the side. You don't particularly notice when the ketchup you've slathered over your meal drips onto your napkin. You are far more concerned with the morning paper.

The news about the lights worries you greatly. You had been reassured that the Traitor had been located. In order for the extermination to be so clearly visible to the populace means not everything went as planned. It gives rise to the fear that you might be caught.

Already the gears of your mind turn, churning out a story to give to strong. Or at least a subtle prodding towards whatever you want him to believe. Were he to realise the truth, then the veteran of the Invader wars might well decide to actually use the power he holds.

It is a matter for later. For the moment, you instead decide to finish your ketchup with egg and salmon.



9:30 – Managing your Corporation.

Keeping the various spinning plates of your small empire from falling down is something of a challenge.

You have other people to manage that. You tell yourself this isn't laziness, but the art of delegation.

In truth, you do not own any one company. You own several much smaller ones, many of them focus upon the use of one of the few areas of actual greenery present in the Eagle Quarter. Producing real wood floorboards, paper, toothpicks. The list goes on. Plant life is almost nonexistent in the City outside of Eagle Quarter, and this gives you a niche.

One of the advantages is that you're able to charge a premium for the 'sustainably sourced' products. It's not even that much of a lie. Replanting does happen, even if the rate is far slower than the amount of timber you source. But you tell yourself that such is simply the needs of the market and profit, and out of your hands.

You fired everyone who had told you about the need for deadwood, or of a diversity of tree species. Until you found someone who told you what you already needed to hear. An opinion you could use to justify extorting people for even more of their currency.

You also sell products that are not labelled as being sustainably sourced, of course. Significantly cheaper. Those who can't take the former inevitably use the latter.

They are the exact same product. Both of them cost significantly more than it takes to produce. This makes you feel intelligent, as though this were not some scheme based off low cunning.

You watch how the money rolls in.



11:35 – Meeting with Captain Strong

"Captain, please, I don't think you need to be a detective to figure out this little mystery."

The chief of the Onett Police Department stands ahead of you, arms folded behind his back, face inscrutable behind his sunglasses. His form of hand to hand combat might be rudimentary, elements seeming to have more style than substance – something that seems out of character for the man – but he could still almost certainly break you like a twig.

He will not, of course. Captain Strong is far too principled a man to sieze power like that. Unlike you, he supposes to have a code that he believes in. A method by which he absolves himself of all responsibility.

"Frankly speaking Sir, I'd be hesitant to make any such snap judgements. There's blood at the scene, and the remains of some of the Lamps seem atomised. At least one looks like it was turned into some eerie modern art sculpture."

"Well come on. Your movement gets all it's signs vandalised, My third house gets robbed blind, and then someone goes on this kind of a bender stirring up trouble? It's obviously one of the brats that your Fresh Breeze movement is focused on. Some snot-nosed punk who doesn't want to be disciplined, acting out against their elders and betters."

Strong raises one eyebrow questioningly. "And the Melted Asphalt? The lights seen from the edge of town? The hole in the forest canopy that looks like someone shot straight at one of the mountains?"

You shrug. "Only thing I can think of that would do that would be a Super Scope or something. Modded probably. Brat uses it to grab a bunch of lamps for target practice – maybe with some lackeys – and then shows off and fires at max power, gets hurt by the recoil."

Strong looks as though to make an argument, but pauses. Your points line up with his pre-existing worldview, and it allows him to continue his crusade against that which he sees as opposed to Law and Order.

"I will take your observations under advisement sir."

You smile internally, an issue painted over.



14:55 – Council Meeting

Following a lunch break in which you attempt to flirt with a secretary with the sleaze you think passes for charm, it is time for a meeting with the city council.

It is not, of course, a real council. Any attempt as such might result in you losing even a fragment of the control you possess over Onett and its inhabitants. No, instead this is more akin to a boardroom meeting for a corporation, just where the focus is on the town instead of you lining your pockets.

Two items on the agenda you know are non-negotiable. First of these is preventing the removal of the blockade.

This is easily dealt with. You have successfully hidden the true balance of power in Onett for years, pretending to be a humble 'Mayor' beholden to the Polices whims. You claim to be unable to do anything to shift Strongs mind. More importantly, you are able to play down the effects of the blockade, noting that many in Onett run small family units instead of major businesses. You skirt around the fact that those who do not fit into this paradigm will be left starving as time goes on.

The recent conflict gives you another lever. The threat of an assailant armed with an energy weapon helps to reinforce the idea of a need for protection. That the blockade may prevent anyone else getting their hands on such a weapon.

Then, refusing to lower the costs of healthcare. You again need not worry too much. The hospitals and insurance companies will back you on this. You argue that the increase in animal attacks and the fear of violence from River City refugees that managed to slip in before the police bloakcaded the City are putting more pressure on companies. Isn't it only right for them to charge more, and to dissuade those whose injuries are not truly worth treating.

These are not the reasons you argue such. It is because you fear that if you do not, if you act to betray your new superiors, then it will all come down on your head. And so, you try to preserve yourself, even as you know these decisions will leave individuals unable to pay their rents of heal their wounds.

There is, after all, only one more item on your agenda.



18:30 – The Meeting of utmost importance.

It is late. You sit in one of your offices, surrounded by various plants and assorted paraphernalia. The majority of your employees have left for the day, and those that have stayed would have no reason to come here. You are as alone as you can be, deep enough within your City hall that none would hear you even were you to scream.

Such a situation might be dangerous for you, if you were to be attacked. The Security you have put in place means that any who enter this building would need to be a master of Unarmed Combat and infiltration. Only one of the former exists within this location, and he is a pushover who would even serve you unfalteringly.

You frown, adjust your sunglasses, and state to no one that any human can see:

"We need to talk. Now."

And that is where I finally enter.

The attack slugs and antoids hidden behind the various ornaments, chairs, and other accessories of the room reveal themselves. My terminals, in this instance. My eyes and ears, and in such numbers with a degree of exertion, able to carry my voice.

"I assume you wish to discuss the incident with the Traitor?"

"You said that they were going to be taken care of." You hold yourself back from shaking, either from fear of from rage. "What part of this looks like a quiet assassination?!"

There is no excuse to be given. Even if deception were an option, it's use here to give an illusion of greater strength would be ill used in dealing with the issue.

"None. Jaeger has not reported in since that night. Given they resorted to an Omega level attack, it can be assumed that there was an unexpected element. Until we can determine Jaegers status, it would be best to assume that he has been Killed in Action."

"You mean to tell me that your Tin-Can getting killed by someone that powerful in my town is meant to put me at ease?!"

"Jaeger was a specialised unit, focused on attacks that might ignore the defenses of one such as Bzz Bzz, in addition to the usual enhancements that Starman units receive. It is plausible that this unexpected element was merely well suited to take advantage of the situation. Jaegers psychological evaluations showed a desire to make up for their failures in the previous conflict, for example."

"You promised me that there wouldn't be any trou-"

Someone screams, only to try to stifle it soon afterwards. You and I both immediately turn towards the door, to see a human male in one of your office-workers attire.

Hypnosis is applied immediately, but this human seems to have more resistance than expected. Perhaps possessing latent PSI ability, or having unknowingly awakened it. Has the Traitor gone even so far as to spread such secrets?!

…No. Not to someone this pathetic, cowering at your feet. This is merely poor chance, that is all.

The eavesdropper attempts to speak, in spite of his warbling vocal chords. "I… I just… I came to g-get my noteboo-"

"Emmanuel was it?" You step in, voice shifting to a calm composure that is utterly fine with the situation. It throws the human off, the panic they'd expect to see in you not present. And since you are not panicking then this situation, strange as it is, must somehow be fine.

"I suppose I'd have to break the news eventually. Come inside"

The whelps eyes shift over the array of my spawn, clearly uncomfortable at their presence.

"They won't touch you, kid. You have my word on that."

You have no power over them, but this seems to satisfy his fear enough that he tentatively steps inside. You shut the door behind you with an unhurried click.

"What are they?!" he whispers, tension evident in his tone.

"My new… business associates shall we say, aren't exactly from Princeps, see."

"But you mean…They're aliens!"

The look of disappointment on your face almost appears genuine. "Emmanuel… I thought that you were better than this."

"…Wha-?"

"Come on now. The universe is a big place – you really think every alien lifeform out there is going to be like the Invaders?" you sigh. "These guys are only here to deal with one of their own. A traitor, someone dangerous. Only reason I haven't said anything is because I don't want people to jump to conclusions"

You manage to weave a dash of truth into a litre of lies, and it manages to persuade your fool of a worker into questioning his stance – if only because he suddenly wonders if he is truly a 'good person'.

"Of course, there's also the fact that they're willing to pay. A bunch of extraterrestrial tech in exchange for the life of their backstabber. Something that can really help to put Onett – hell, maybe Eagle Qaurter on the map. Maybe even be able to get the Big Three to actually respect us for once. Think about it, kid. Imagine what we could do with that kind of backing!"

The man ceases to pay attention for a moment, swayed by your words, lost in thought. The thoughts in his mind, though vague and hard to discern due to his resistance, seem to dance with promises of power and riches. It is no doubt greed and personal gain that dance through his mind before the bullet does.

You retch, as though you haven't just taken advantage of the young mans trust in you in order to execute him with impunity. You throw the silenced pistol out of your hand as if it burns you, the act of actually committing violence somehow more repugnant than all of your behaviour thus far.

For a minute, then two, then five, you simply heave, trying to convince yourself that your actions haven't truly happened. Trying to figure out how to deal with this and return to your eternal grifting of a mayoral position.

"I'll get a bunch of cleaners in tomorrow." You declare, voice raspy from having to stop yourself from vomiting. "The kind who don't ask questions. Hit em with your weird Psych-power or whatever it is."

"And the issue with the Traitor?"

"I'll find a way." You snarl, "However strong this ally of theirs is, I've got Strong in my pocket and the entire damn OPF. Every damn person of repute listens to me, and only those Snot-nosed Sharks and that Wily-Wannabe come close to actually trying to defy me. This is my town. You just keep your end of our bargain, you oversized termite."

As one, the Slugs and Antoids nod – or attempt to – in acknowledgement. You assume that this means I consider you an equal – or more likely, a particularly hard to replace underling. That I am so bound by Giygas' edict to engage in secret that your position is vital enough to be respected.

You do not know the truth.

I cannot stand being in the same room as you, you bloated, disgusting filth.

You, Pirkle, are the truest form of humanity. You lack any virtues, and even those far more evil than you at the very least show ambition – a sense of purpose, of drive! But you… you are merely a snivelling, porcine stain upon the universe, willing to sell out your own kin and people in the faint belief that you might profit. You show your species as it truly is, with all it's delusions of righteousness stripped from it.!

You, alone, are proof enough justify the slaughter of your entire kind down to the last, mewling, helpless infant! The call for your extermination would be a horror were it any other form of life, but seeing you, I know full well that seeing their mutilated corpses will fill me with the reassurance that those such as you have been prevented from sullying existence itself!

And you? You shall help me. Aid me. You shall scrape and simper, wheedle and plead. You will sentence your species to extinction, and never even consider that I am merely saving you for last that I might savour it.

My spawn shall flay the skin from your still living flesh. They shall lay their eggs within your eyes and wait for them to hatch. With Lifeup, we shall give you life enough to prolong your torment. Your throat, of course, shall be saved for last, that I might relish in your screams.

So smile, you worthless sack of excrement, at the belief that you might go on without 'getting into any trouble'.

I promise you – your eventual fate will be no trouble at all.

Spoiler: Authors Note

Gah, but this update has felt like work instead of Fun.

Been wanting to write something like this All Janurary. Initially, it was meant to purely focus on Emmanuel and have an expanded verison of the eavesdropping, attempt to talk him round, and then subsequent 'early retirement' by Pirkle, but that just never clicked in any way. Guy was too much white bread- bland and uninteresting. I tried to make him into a petty selfish little person, but not one who deserved his fate, but just... couldn't quite get the mindset.

So I made this instead something going over Pirkles Day. In some ways it was easier, going through section by section, trying to make him simultaneously a huge extravagant POS whilst also not even having the decency to stick with it. Just real slime. That was kind of fun to write. As was trying to do the thing of writing a first person story mildly disguised as a second person one, though I think I went too heavy with Titanic Ants real disdain bleeding through.

As for Titanic ant, if you come away thinking maybe they have a point, I have utterly failed in writing this. TA is written as using the actions of a single man to justify indulging in the genocide of countless people. I don't think I managed to get that across enough personally, though I tried to showcase how they see all humans, not just Pirkle, as beneath them. Pirkle is just the excuse they give themselves to feel morally righteous and let themselves enjoy it.

There's a lot I'd consider rewriting about this, but this was increasingly fighting me, and honestly, I think I'm even only going to add Colours and stuff in later. I've got work tomorrow and I'd like to actually rest for the evening dangit.

Might try to do another JSR interlude, whilst keeping it short. Stuff that's happened in quest has given me something to work with I think.

 

[FalloutCow]

Sweet Freedom​

Life in the Outlands has never been known for its ease. While the living standards were harsh on the first generation of settlers, the situation only degraded after the City of Light was founded. As the City grew and rotted into a capitalist nightmare, the Outlands regressed into a feudalistic society. Here emerged kingdoms ruled by royalty, warlords, or in some cases, pirates.

Canon fire howled through the air. Those same shots failed to hit their mark, just barely, creating great splashes that soaked the opposing crew. The return fire was swift, yet lesser. Gunpowder was running low from previous raids. Captain Blackeye was getting deeply annoyed.

The Mudplugger was harried by a most ridiculous assailant. The enemy ship was oddly designed for one, as if someone had stolen part of a tea set and built a ship around it. The crew was odd for different reasons, namely that it was nearly entirely composed of uplifts. Moles and wolves ran across the deck. Pelicans, ducks, and penguins worked on the mast. And, if his eyes (er, eye) didn't deceive him, there were honest-to-god Kremlings working with apes. "Just me luck," the captain grumbled, "ta run afoul a rival n' ruin me good mood."

From aboard the SS Tea Cup a tall, well-endowed brunette hollered orders, her long hair and yellow bandana fluttered in the breeze. "Hold fast men, an' keep firing! The Mudplugger won't kite herself!" Captain Syrup, leader of the Black Sugar Pirates (formerly the Black Sugar Gang), gave commands. "All able-bodied flyers, excluding my first mate, are to flank from the bow and stern. Pick 'em' off as best you can, but don't get greedy, the real fight begins when we board Blackeye." At her command, various pelicans, bats, and roosters took to the skies.

"Helmsman!" A kremling stood at attention, "We approach them from the bow, starboard side."

"YES MAM!"

"Bobo!" A large, avian uplift with a skull and crossbones tattooed on his belly swooped down from the crow's nest. "When we get close enough, please drop off our newest recruit. Afterwards, be ready to airlift our heavier members."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Bobo swiftly returned to his roost in anticipation.

Soon enough, the bloodbath began. Were Blackeye's crew not already worn down from previous raids, perhaps it wouldn't have been so one-sided. Nevertheless, it was. A duck ran a man through the stomach with a cutlass. A young boy dogged under a pistol shot and cleaved his attacker's leg off. Pelicans and bats were shot and fell. Another man was squashed beneath a falling ape, leaving him little more than a stain on the deck. Captain Syrup cut down her fair share that day, cleaving more than one head from someone's shoulders.

In the end, a full two-thirds of the Mudplugger's crew was slain. Of the remaining third, half were sustaining major wounds. Needless to say, Captain Blackeye was furious. "Da' ell I'd ever do ta' ye?!" the bound captain yelled, the remainder of his crew tied up along with him. "Fer as I know, I never did ye o' personal wrong!" From the other side of the room, Syrup was rummaging through her 'newly acquired' charts and maps. Large ducks in pirate getups and goggles kept watch over the prisoners as she did.

Minutes passed in silence, the captives were on edge. Wondering what was wrong. Suddenly, "You're right Blackbeard,"

"Blackeye."

"you have never wronged me." Before any response could be given, she continued. "My business associate and crew, however," a chill ran through Blackeye, "have."

"Five months ago, you and your crew raided a shipment of fresh timber en route from Gallowmere to the City."

"Ay, so, wot o' it? Me ship ain't goin ta-"

"That shipment was for Nook Homes."

The silence spoke for itself.

"As were the shipments of bricks, marble, and limestone you hit some months before. Nook did not appreciate the ensuing delays nor the expenses you caused him Blackleg. So," Syrup turned in her chair to face the ruffians, "he called me."

"Heh, first, it be Blackeye. Second, dat it? Didn't take ye ta be da type ta sell out."

"I'm not-"

"Da great Capin' Syrup gave er' freedom an' soul ta make it big!" It was impressive how loud Blackeye could get. "Was wonderin' how ye got kremilngs ta join up. Seems like dey just can't resist dem company-sponsored pirates! So, ye got da power ye wanted," he sneered "but ye didn't earn it. Was it worth it? Bein' like K. Rool? Ta surrender all ye integrity just so-"

"Are you done?"

Captain Blackeye's mind finally caught up and reminded him just what his predicament was. Syrup had not changed her expression save for a lifted eyebrow. As the cutlass at his throat reminded him of his place, she continued.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you, Blackbear,"

"It's Blackeye."

"raided quite a few shipments of my business associate and slaughtered the sailors of each, nearly to the man." The Tea Cup's captain gave Blackeye a cold stare.

"Heh, so?" he countered, "Ye can't really be da judge o' dat, can ye? We all be pirates er' wat with all de pillagin an' burnin-"

"Plundering."

"Eh?"

"I plunder, not pillage."

"Wat's de difference?" the captain asked, genuinely curious.

"Plundering," Syrup started, "is slipping past defenses, catching your target with their pants down. Delving into ancient ruins, using every trick you know, inventing new ones on the fly, to make off with the riches before your rival even knows you're there. Playing monsters against each other just to get by off their table scraps. It's, above all else," her voice reached a fever pitch, "thriving in a profession where damn near everyone is your physical superior using nothing but your wits and what few strengths you possess."

As Captain Syrup caught her breath, Blackeye and his men couldn't help but look at one another in concern, their waterfowl guards barely holding back their tears.

Having composed herself, she went on, "Pillaging, by contrast, is the sacking of villages, those with no defenses and little of worth. Leaving nothing but burnt-out craters in your wake. A pastime you love Pinkeye."

"Blackeye."

"A pastime that has finally come back to bite you."

"Wat do ye mean by-"

"It's easier to show you. How would you like to meet our newest recruit?"

"Ey! Hold on jus' a min-," Captain Blackeye floundered at the sudden shift in tone.

The door creaked on its hinges. Into the room walked a boy, teen really, with orange-brown hair. His eyes were cold and calm, yet the slight tremble of his hands betrayed him. Blackeye knew him well, a thorn in the captain's side ever since he paid a 'visit' to the boy's village a year and a half ago. One the captain thought he rid himself of six months ago. One that knew the ins and outs of Blackeye's crew better than most.

"Please, say hello to Edson." Syrup's singsong tone did nothing to calm their nerves, "As a reward for being such a big help, he will decide your fates."

---

AN: So this came to me after reading weredrago2's Star Wolf omake. More specifically the pirate comment. I realized that there was a criminal lack of traditional pirates in 8BD, despite it being one of the more popular video game settings.

As for why Black Sugar Pirates and Nook Homes sometimes work together? Partly because Captain Syrup believes in the uplift movement (have you seen her crew?), partly to help each other out. Both are rather small time in comparison to their competition. Nook needs a major contact in the Outlands, same with Syrup and the City (no, Dunk doesn't count, he's a basketball player).

Aside from the kremlings, all other animals were mooks in Wario Land 1 & 2. The kremlings that work for Syrup are deserters from K. Rool's crew on account of how he treats them and how little they're paid.

Edson is the original protagonist of Project Dream before he was replaced by Banjo. Blackeye was the original antagonist of that game before he was reduced to a cameo.

Special thanks to griffinlw for Betaing this.

Hope you like it!

 

[griffinlw]

The Battle of Scale and Stone​

Small and weak things hide in the brush and crawl under stones. Small are weak, scared, run from big things.

Big things hunt and kill small things. The small ones never fight, just run and hide. The Big things are too big, too strong. Predators.

Pogo's tribe was Small. Not Big.

The cave they lived in, hidden in tiny corner of the valley, where more Small things than Big things

Pogo… sad. His tribe was small. They lived in valley cave because it safe. hiding. His tribe too Small to face Zuu tribe. His tribe give up Beru, no fight.

Cowards.

So Pogo left. To hunt, to fight, to save Beru.

Not that he could, right now.

Pogo howled at the roof of the cave, trying desperately to climb up the pit he had fallen in, bare hands scratching at loose chunks of rock.

He only managed a short distance before he lost his grip, falling back into the muck at the bottom.

A frustrated growl broke out from his throat, only to be drowned out by another, deeper sound.

When Pogo turned around there was a beast with dark green scales. It was long and flat, with four legs just barely long enough to lift it off the ground, a broad tail, and a long mouth filled with sharp teeth.

Pogo gripped his club, raising it and getting ready to fight.

Three more crawled out of the muck.

Pogo felt very, very Small.

With a shout he brought the club down on the nearest beast's head. It fell back into the muck, eyes rolled back, but the other 3 immediately snapped at him.

He backed away, standing against the wall of the cave and trying to climb out of reach.

The beasts snapped and bit at his heels, driving him further and further up-

He slipped.

Pogo screamed as he fell towards the beast's open maw-

Something landed on the beast's head, smashing its mouth shut. A whirling mass of fists and feet tore through the muck.

By the time Pogo hit the ground, every beast was knocked flat, dead, or dazed. Pogo looked up at his savior-

Oh.

Ohhhh!

It was a woman, but she was nothing like Beru. Beru was soft, smooth, gentle. She wore only shells and grass.

This woman was tall, strong, clawed hands dripping blood. Her smile showed fangs, skin rough and scarred. She wore light blue animal fur, complete with tail.

"Why you here?"

Pogo startled, staring openly at the woman. She could speak?

She walked forward and cracked him across the head with her bare hands. "No staring! Ayla taken!"

Pogo sat up, blinking away bright lights. Before he could recover the

Ayla scooped Pogo up, completely ignoring his daze. With practiced ease she danced through the muck, jumping over beasts, kicking a few when they got too close.

She easily reached the other side, walking through several chambers before exiting the cave as a whole.

She unceremoniously dumped Pogo on the ground once they reached safety. "Why you here?" She asked again.

Pogo couldn't speak. How could he-?

He saw the Kuu tribe's home. Distant but in sight.

Pogo pointed at himself, picked up a stone, and hugged it to his chest. Then he pointed at the Kuu tribe and mimed snatching the stone away. Then he growled and raised his club.

"Tribe took precious from you? You try to get back?" Ayla asked

Pogo nodded frantically.

Ayla grinned viciously, hands curling into claws. "Ayla help!"

---

The fight is quick and vicious.

Pogo punches a Kuu tribesman into a wall, clubs another over the head. Ayla has no weapon, but every punch sends another flying.

They reach the shrine easily.

The shrine is a wooden platform dangling over a cliff. A long wooden pole carved from a tree sits in the middle, with Beru tied to it with grass fibers.

Pogo spotted Zaki and the Kuu chief standing near Beru. With a shout, he charged forward.

Before Pogo and Zaki can fight, the sound of cracking wood interrupts everyone. The shrine starts to tilt to the side, before breaking in half and sending the combatants over the cliffside..

For the second time today, Pogo peeled himself off the ground after falling from a great height.

He immediately scrambled for Beru, finding her still tied up. Thankfully the pole had snapped from the fall, and getting her out was as simple as sliding the rope to the broken edge.

As soon as she was free, Beru hugged Pogo tight.

"Your Mate?" Ayla asked, walking over to the two reuniting.

Beru nodded yes as Pogo shook his head no.

Beru stomped on his foot.

Pogo nodded yes.

A deep, echoing roar drew everyone's attention. At the other end of the pit, a massive creature was moving.

It had a huge head, with a maw full of teeth, two powerful legs, and two much less powerful arms. The whole beast was covered in scales

"Reptite!" Ayla shouted, immediately raising her fists.

The Kuu chieftain runs towards the beast, yelling and chanting at the creature that was his god.

The Reptite leaned down and ate him in a single bite.

Zaki quivered, mouth agape with fear as the beast stepped forward, growling and barking it's fangs

"Ayla Reptite hunter! No fear!" Ayla stands tall, even as the gargantuan Reptite towers over her.

Beru clenched her fist, picking up a piece of the shrine to use as a weapon. Even Zaki rallied and picked up his spear.

Pogo turned to face the massive creature, raised his club, and bellowed a war cry.

"GAOOOO!"

Spoiler: Author Notes

Writing for a pair of Cave People is really, really hard. I kept writing sentences and then saying "No that's too eloquent." So I had to repeatedly tear it apart and make it more caveman-like.

I hated every second of it. Enjoy.