In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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There aren't enough praises in the world I'd like to give to wonderful coders for the Proboards community. The following have contributed to World Destiny in some way: W3 Schools for countless how-tos and countless of other souls who have helped get WD up to where it is.
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The Arderian woke in a daze, her lead lolling back and forth as she tried to take stock of her surroundings. Something seemed off, aside from the fact that she was no longer fighting for her life. She was sitting down … when had she last been sitting, if she had ever sat at all? … and her body ached at least three times over, which wouldn’t have been bad, except for the fact that each ache was of a different kind. Her shoulders were sore, her body burned, and her arms and legs had been reduced to a dull throbbing. At least her head hadn’t decided on joining the party, until … wait … there it was—a splitting headache.
One of the things Zephyr hated most about waking up was the false pretense that your head had actually survived the night. Then the pounding would resume its course, the hammer hitting harder and harder with every strike, until you wished you had never woken up at all.
Pulling the goggles from her eyes, she dropped her head in her hands, thinking that if she could not stop the pounding she could at least absorb some of the shock and transfer it elsewhere, but this was an idiotic notion and she abandoned it after a few good solid minutes of ineffectiveness. That was not to say she lifted her head. It was far too heavy, and if her headache did not want to dissipate, at least she felt somewhat comfortable.
“Not comfortable enough!” said the low groan that escaped her, which seemed to will her body into some sort of action.
She pulled the alaban glove off one of her hands, reached around and felt until she found the place where she had slammed against the rock wall. It was still damp, and she scowled as red glistened before her eyes. She looked around, wiping her hand on her stomach while the other instinctively came up to block the bright colors that assaulted her vision. Where was she? The hard stone ground and bright colors gave her the impression that she was somewhere in the underground caverns of the Underneath, which—if she was not already—put her in a rather foul mood. She hated the Underneath, if only because it was too cramped down there and it gave her no room to fly without scraping her wings against the walls. But then, if this was the Underneath, then how did she get down here? The last thing Zephyr recalled was zipping through the mountainous region of Kybar's Teeth, trying to lose whatever creature it was that had her in hot pursuit. Had she really been taken underground? It seemed brighter than usual. Zephyr frowned and shook her head, then let loose a cry as sharp pain jolted through her skull. Her eyes opened again, and she looked carefully around but gave up trying to figure out where she was; everything was more blurry than usual and she just did not want to deal with it.
What had been that thing, while creatures that looked like sinister olum fiends—if olum fiends could look any more sinister—grew from pools of darkness attached to the mountain. Zephyr had never seen dream creatures materialize like that before, and her gloves were ineffective. It was almost as though they weren’t dream creatures at all….
Whatever they were, they had made a fine mess of things, Zephyr grimaced as she recalled their sharp nails clawing her as she lost consciousness, pulling at her belt, spilling her rings.
Another groan escaped her as she remembered the last noise she heard before blacking out, the plink, plink of her rings as they were pulled from her belt pouches. How many of them had she lost? If they had taken Jispo from her, or Thera, she would make them all burn.
But no, praise be to El, she was still wearing her flying hinko and warlum. She picked up her discarded glove, removing the rings from the fingers and bringing them close to her face. Her thunder hyren was shattered, the animite cracked and broken where it was set. Zephyr tossed it away. He had always given her attitude, anyway. Her yarothis, though. The Arderian’s breath caught in her throat. He was always one of her favorites, such a sweetheart, and he handled those things like no other creature she could summon. She drew back her arm, paused, thought for a moment, tried to see some sort of hope in the situation, and listened as the metal plinked over the cobblestones.
She blinked back hot tears as she fished for the rings left in her belt pouches, but she only came up with three. No vemment, no ayebaw … the grand epik that had been her crowning achievement, gone. All that was left was a vellup, a flutter yup, and a xyx. Zephyr hated xyxes. What an idiotic creature; it was nothing more than a cloud with eyes! And maybe a mouth … sometimes.
The tears came freely now, wet and hot down her face as she brought her legs close to her body, her wings curling around herself as sobs wracked her pitiful frame. She had lost almost everything; she couldn’t even bring herself to summon Jispo, she was so upset. All she wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and die.
Apr 8, 2010 12:45:29 GMT -4
Last Edit: Apr 14, 2010 0:18:33 GMT -4 by Bluebird
Opening the doors leading to the first district, he winced, a low moan escaping his lips. Damn, those little bastards had totally kicked his ass. Fortunately, he had escaped the third district for the sake of his own scrumptious heart. He could barely walk, his body completely dressed in wounds. His pants had several cuts and his shirt was torn at some parts. Fortunately, the man hadn´t brought his white jacket as those were extremely hard to find. He would normally heal himself with a few cure spels, but his mana pool had been depleted due to an hour or two of pure fire manipulation.
"Fucking Sniperwilds... they mate like bloody bunnies." Mikael sighed, looking and limping around the area. The shops were closed and no people were outside at the streets. Had he taken that long to come back? The first district was awkwardly deserted.
His mind suddenly flashed back, rubbing on his face how he had grown overconfident, concentrated on only the Invisibles and let the monkeys call more of their friends. He had been surrounded by the time he had slain the last Invisible. The Sniperwilds started to shoot him while their Powerwild lackeys launched their claws on his body. Sure, he had surely taken more than eighty down, but more and more kept popping up.
Fortunately, the birdbrains had cornered him right IN FRONT of the door.
He continued walking (more like limping), the image of a bright, naive girl coming to his head. He couldn´t die... not yet, anyway. Antique needed him to keep her out of trouble. He wouldn´t bare seeing her in the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. Dead. Heart-less. Mikael cared too much to leave her to that fate. Besides, the promise to take her to Destiny Islands remained standing and unfulfilled.
Stopping by an alley he sat down, moaning in pain once again. Well, somebody ought to stop by and see him soon anyway. Traverse Town was no ghost town, and there were many good people in it. Suddenly, however, his ears managed to here some... strange, sorrowful noises. Were those... sobs? The man looked sideways, staring deep into the alley. A woman was sitting down, curled into a ball and mysteriously weeping.
Zephyr’s wings unfurled in alarm, her knees dropping to the ground with her hands between them. She had heard the voice between her sobs, and she did not want to be caught defenseless. She was in the middle of a war, after all.
“Who’s there?” the Arderian asked as her bare hand curled around her remaining rings. She squinted her eyes, but they had not quite adjusted to the change in lighting. Phosphorescent splotches and smears littered the backdrop as though someone had spilled ink on paper and made a poor job of cleaning it up, and every time her eyes shifted, wicked afterimages were burned in her head. That did not help her aching skull.
There was no way of knowing what side this guy played for, although the fact that he did not begin by all out attacking her might be counted for something. Still, Zephyr was not about to take any chances. She flexed her hand, making sure that each ring was accounted for, while her other reached around and picked up her discarded hammer.
She tried to weigh her options quickly. She might be able to defend herself with her hammer, but she was already so exhausted; she didn’t think she could swing that thing around for long, not to mention it was in the wrong hand. She would have to summon a creature. But could she? She didn’t even think she had the energy in her to summon Jispo, who usually materialized in the physical plane on sheer unconscious thought alone. There was nothing to it, though—she needed him now more than ever. Focusing her thoughts, she reached her mind out to Jispo, his animite crystal beginning to glow on her gloved hand … and couldn’t find him. Zephyr let go, panting as though she had just flown a marathon, and the glow faded.
Her heart sank like a ballistic baldar, past her stomach and into the deepest pits she dared not imagine. She couldn’t sense Jispo. She could always sense Jispo! She must be too weak, she had to be too weak. But … even when she had been too exhausted to summon her flying hinko, she had always at least been able to sense him. Forgetting her aches and pains, forgetting the predicament she was in, forgetting the potential enemy that already had her at an advantage, she brought Jispo’s ring so close to her face it looked as though she was about to hit herself. There were no cracks, no chinks, nothing that she could see, at least. The flying hinko’s crystal was the same as it was when she had forged it all those years ago. What was the problem?
It had to be exhaustion. Sheer, utter exhaustion. She would figure it out later. Her gloved hand gripped her hammer, now her only means of defense, while her bare one manipulated each ring onto her fingers. Zephyr hoped this guy wasn’t looking for a fight, but if he was, she’d be ready.
Words remained unspoken for a few moments. Perhaps it was better to abandon the interaction there; Mikael was in no condition to fight if she turned out to be the unfriendly kind. Still, if he was lucky enough, perhaps this woman was carrying a potion or two. He needed the medicine, and he remained still, hoping she was an ally with all his heart.
“Who’s there?”
A low whisper, full of sadness and panic. This woman didn´t seem to be a threat after all. He would need to trust his instincts after all. "I´m an ally... Mikael Darrow." he weakly replied, pain invading his voice. His body burned like hell, and he was beginning to wonder if he had broken one of his arms.
"Are you a healer?" he asked, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he tried to stand up. He couldn´t. "If you are, I may need some- ahh!" Mikael winced in pain, holding his arm as if he was trying to lessen the pain. Much like what someone in desperation would do. The pyromancer looked up, gazing at Traverse Town´s starry sky. He silently prayed to the goddess of life, begging for rescue and salvation.
"Dwayna, I beg you, like the forefathers did before me, for protection. Spare me, oh Goddess of Life, from this terrible fate. Shield me from Grenth´s grasp, using your everlasting wings of hope. A second chance is all I ask from you."
Mmm, that would be so good right now, dripping with syrup and starberries, and topped with a fresh grilled weebo. Oh El, that would be so delicious! The mere thought of it sent Zephyr's mouth watering, and she had to swallow a few times just to keep herself from drowning.
She shook her head, sending forth fresh bolts of pain through her skull as she tried to bring herself back to the present situation. That was not to say she did not allow a slight pass of confusion to take hold of her, as she tried to think exactly how and why an image of short cake appeared in her mind. The idea of it was quite delectable, though, and the girl agreed with herself that she would much rather be enjoying a sweet than finding out she had lost everything dear to her or defending herself against an unknown.
Speaking of which, he called himself an ally, though Zephyr had never heard of the name Mikael Darrow before, but that was of no consequence. She wasn’t expecting a familiar face. His next words, however, were the ones that put Zephyr on edge.
Are you a healer?
The Arderian’s head slowly fell to one side as though her neck had decided it was a very good time to take a nap. A healer? Really? Were her wings not a big enough tipoff that she was Arderian? Did he think she was Naroomese? The girl didn’t even have pointed ears. On the contrary; they were round and normal and cute.
What was this guy playing at? It was clear he was unaware of the regional differences between the Moonlands races, which meant he either allied himself with Agram and the Core, or he had no allegiance to begin with. It was quite rare for a magi to lack an allegiance. Her hand fidgeted with her hammer, trying to get a better grip with the way she was sweating inside her glove, and she rocked back to her feet, her wings catching her as she almost lost her balance.
The Arderian wasn’t sure she could afford a fight—she didn’t even want one; her limbs felt like rubber, her body was scratched and bruised from her encounter at the mountain pass, her head felt like it was going to explode, and she didn’t even have the energy to summon Jispo. That last one had her wondering how she was even conscious. All she wanted was to cry over her lost creatures and wallow in self-pity.
Still, the kid seemed to be at just as much a disadvantage as she, but it could easily be a trap. The Core was quite known for their tricks and deceit. She wouldn’t put it past them to pretend to seek aid, just to turn it around and ambush the good Arderian. If she could at least get a measure of what his skin color was, she’d have a better idea of what she was dealing with. She squinted her eyes, trying to get a good look at him, but they were still not cooperating, just now getting used to the bright lights and colors.
She leaned forward again, grabbing her discarded glove, and pushed herself off the ground. Despite every part of her that screamed it was too tired and weak to move, she rose to her feet—shaking, her knees threatening to buckle, but successful. Her wings expanded—another cry of tiredness and exhaustion, but she had to give an image that she still had fight left in her, which she did, if she had any say about it. Her right arm hung limp by her side, incapacitated by the weight of the mallet. She just hoped she would not have to lift it.
“Who are you? Where are you from?” she barked. If she could not defend herself, she might be able to scare him off. If he was not allied with the Core he wouldn’t attack or run, and she could relax. The different regions of the Moonlands always had their quarrels, but now was a time of unification if they wanted to see their world survive.
Oh god, how would he love to have one right now! With its sweet juices and tasty flesh... a world of sugar rush on every bite! (No pun intended!) He rarely had coconuts back home since most of Elona lacked vegetation, but every time he visited the Hydro Kingdom he sure enjoyed them! Yeah, he became a bit spoiled when it comes to treasuring coconuts once he got to visit Destiny Islands, but he would stil cherish one in his current situation.
When the coconut daydream suddenly decided to vanish, Mikael opened his eyes once more, turning his head to try to take a better look at the stranger. He was too tired and exhausted to focus on her psyche's details, so he was pretty lost on her appearance. Her aggresive reaction did not shake him even one bit; actually, not many things scared the man. Sure, he was arachnophobic after all, but Grenth had not sent a gigantic Heartless spider boss after him yet. And if that time finally came, Mikael would be doomed.
However, she did not seem to be some sort of spider queen of some sort.
"I already answered that first question about... a minute or two ago? Anyway, I was born at the world of Elona, which isn't currently receiving any visitors as it blew up some time ago."
Mikael's voice was a bit stronger, and his tone was icy cold, like his usual self. Regardless, he was trying to be "nice" enough to this woman, who hadn't cared to even give out her name. Even though she was probably scared, manners were supposed to be used at all times.
"So, who are you? By the looks of it, you are either new around here or completely insane... perhaps Jadis had some fun today, but I doubt it..." He remained still, his right arm being held by his left one as he tried to focus on the girl once more. The man caught glimpses of violet, but he couldn't be sure. Whoever this woman was, she got a ten out of ten in the mystery scale.
That was the mess Zephyr’s brain would have made had it not been trapped within the confines of her skull. As such, the only indication that anything was wrong was the trickle of blood that came from her ears—metaphorically speaking, of course. There wasn’t really a trickle of blood coming from her ears, but with the way Mikael had just blown her mind, there might as well should have been. Zephyr found herself peering at her free hand after it had touched the sudden dampness by her earlobe to check if she was dead or dying, but she saw no scarlet, smelled no iron, tasted no metallic tinge. As far as she knew it was just water.
Another raindrop hit her, and she realized she was not in the underground caverns of the Underneath, but outside—but that was no longer of any consequence. The Arderian stood motionless as utter confusion sought to dismember the puzzle that she was trying to piece together. She had thought that Mikael had said “the world of Elona,” but that couldn’t be right. He must have meant El. Her eyes went to the sky, searching for the huge blurry purple object that was El and what the Moonlands revolved around, but it was nowhere to be found. Her teeth grabbed her lower lip in an attempt to soothe the unease that was gripping her while she reasoned that the planet was just obscured by clouds, or had set for the night. Surely it hadn’t been destroyed.
She ignored the comment he made about repeating himself, taking from his response that he simply lacked a title, such as Voice of the Storm, Tracker, or even something as ridiculous as Most Cunning Scout. Was he an Invader? Had they finally been able to breach the dream shield, and perhaps destroyed the planet in the process? No, they couldn’t have. That was impossible. He didn’t look like the Invader that had crossed over—Zeel, his name had been—and as bad as her vision was he still looked decidedly Eliwan, but perhaps there was more to the Invaders than she or anyone else realized.
“Zephyr,” she said after he had asked for her name, hesitation clear in both her voice and mannerisms. “I’m the Arderian Ringsmith.”
Her hand continued to fidget with her hammer, and she was becoming more and more uncomfortable not having it in her left, which was her primary. If Mikael was not Eliwan, than he was an Invader, the ones who had driven them from their home world all those millennia ago, and therefore not to be trusted. Besides, she didn't like the tone of his voice. It was hostile to her, and even though it was she that initiated the hostile confrontation, he had no right perpetuating the mood if he did not mean her harm.
“Who is Jadis, and where am I?” It was not so much a question as a demand, as Zephyr was still putting forth a surprising effort to show that she was stronger than she really felt. She was unfamiliar with the name, and she had to admit the place she found herself in was strange and foreign—her eyes were still fighting the bright lights that continued to blur and burn afterimages into her vision like disappearing dream creatures—and perhaps she could divine some more information about where she was and who exactly she was dealing with.
Mikael raised an eyebrow at her title, finding it quite amusing. He had stopped making up titles for himself some time ago, and he believed it was better that day. Kept him alert and humble, pushing overconfidence away. But oh well, he had gotten a bit too overconfident that day, piercing through the enemy lines and thinking they were weak and easy to handle. Truth to be told, he should have done the same as he had with Caxnon some days ago; the hut cave had proven to be a good hiding place. He frowned a bit, feeling the raindrops hit his head; he hated rain.
It was so... cold.
Nothing like the warm oceans <3. The rain gained strength and intensity, making it hard for Mikael to understand what this Zephyr had to say. Regardless, he managed to get all of it... or at least most of it. But now, how could he be sure that she was trustworthy enough to manage the answers to her queries? The pyromancer was stuck between blindly trusting her or fighting her. Eh, the latter wouldn't end very well.
"You're at Traverse Town!" he shouted back, speaking loudly so that she could understand. This was general information, and he didn't think before continuing. "This is where all the people who have lost their worlds live... or at least most of them." The man looked at her, ignoring the water splashing against his body.
He nervously bit his bottom lip.
"Jadis is Traverse Town's guardian, and a very powerful sorceress. You wouldn't want to get on her wrong side."
This was true. Besides Kefka, Jadis was the only god-like being in the world. And she had hounds (apprentices, Mikael included) all over the place, locating people becoming a child's game for her. No one could escape Mama Jadakiss's wrath, not even that stupid god clown known as Kefka.