Rebirth Keybladers

In the village, not far from the tallest mountain in the whole of the land, there is a noticeboard where all the new teams, clubs and annoucements are pinned. Aside from all the usual junk about 'Warrior Skills!' and 'Party Tonight...', there is one notice of interest.

Large, on pale blue card with an inked picture of a mountain, it is pinned in the centre of the board under the heading 'PEAK SCAVENGERS'. This is what it says:

Sign up here for the Peak Scavengers Team!

Danger of Death.
Ten scavengers maximum.
Three scavengers minimum.
No guarantee of magics or keyblades - but it's very likely.
Sign up at the notice to join.

Darión was naturally attracted to the Land of the Dragons. Some sort of strange, forgotten memory drew him there frequently. He could remember to magnificent Dragons fighting a battle above his head. And that was about it. He was walking through the village, shoulders hunched and long coat flowing, when he spotted a notice. Scavengers? To the top of the mountain? Why not, ey? He'd split from the main group and go up alone. He sorta lived in the mountains, so the Heartless there would be no problem. It was like walking home and getting given a pize for it. He stood under the notice, wondering who to would tell him what to do. Then he noticed the bottom of the card said sign here. He obliged.

The Land of Dragons was said to house people of honor, respect, and truth... Such values were not as common in some of the other worlds within this universe. It would not be surprising that a certain Kuraida-Ryu would come here.

The Corridor of Darkness opened up near a cave, just outside of the village. Leon calmly stepped out from the vortex, which closed after his second foot had left its space. Quietly, he entered the village and examined it. Not many people were out and about today, it would seem. But something did catch his eye, as he neared the center of the village...

'PEAK SCAVENGERS', a heading for a notice, pasted on a bulletin board.

Leon sauntered over to the board, eyeing the notice and taking in all the information. Essentially, it was a long trek through the mountains, to develop one's skills... Perhaps it would be worthwhile. So Leon snatched up the attached writing utensil, and took it upon himself to pen in a false name for himself where he was instructed to sign; 'Richard Hellson'.

After all, no one needed to know his real name.

_{"Mountains?" questioned in Pink Ninja as he read over the notice, "That will be different." After a moment consideration Pink Ninja carefully looked over the requirements for the quest. He had often signed up for things and found that the quests were sometimes almost impossible to complete, with death more than likely. Luckily however Pink Ninja had survived with nothing more than serious injuries, even potentially fatal injuries at one point, and him signing up for yet another quest proved that injury did not change his mind in the slightest. Pink Ninja was a money maker. It was his profession and he would usually do it in anyway possible. Pink Ninja finally brought up a quill to the parchment where he marked his tag, 'PN'. It had been some time since Pink Ninja had been part of a quest with everyday questers, the last two years had been quite strange, but a part of him wanted what he used to have all those years ago. Pink Ninja's life was quite comfortable at that stage, there was no harm in testing new waters.}

Pidgin. His friends called him Pidgin affectionately, his enemies insultingly. A peculiar name? It was not spelt Pidgeon, or Piggin, but Pidgin, and he was called that because he simply could not speak English as well as most. 'I no spik Ingeese!' he would say, beaming, to a new acquaintance. Indeed, his beaming smile seemed to be painted on, or fixed. Perhaps the wind had changed while he had been laughing. Nobody knew, but his sunny smile was as well known as his lack of talent in the language department. Nobody knew his real name.

He was a familiar sight in these parts, coming to the village regularly every week to get the groceries and meet friends and colleages. He had grown up in living high in the peaks, where snow and ice were like grass and flowers to the children there, and he remembered his childhood as 'much much good!' Mind you, optimistic Pidgin remembered everything as 'much much good'.

He wore a furry leather coat large enough to fit a bear. His hands and feet were lost in the folds, and his face was hidden deep in the warm parka hood. The coat was also 'much much good', and reliable and hardwearing, it had saved him from frostbite many a time. Underneath the coat, it was unsure what he wore as nobody had seen it. Rumour had it, he wore sparkly gold spandex tights, but as yet even the bravest and fiercest of warriors had quailed before the sight of The Coat, and been unable to brave its depths.

As for weapons, he had quite a nice keyblade. The handle was wrapped in fur, as was the blade. This meant that he couldn't actually stab anything. However, he was a dab hand at the 'conk on the head' maneouvre and used it many times to his advantage on any enemies he encountered. The poor Nobodies, Heartless and Keybladers' last sight on this earth was Pidgin's happy smile, even as the light faded.

Poor them.

But some people did not trust dear old Pidgin. It was said that he really had thousands of munny stashed away somewhere in that Coat, and was actually a thief of assassin. Of course, that was only a small rumour, but it circulated fast and in the last couple of visits he had made to the village he had come upon suspicious glances and scowls instead of the smiles of greeting he was used to. That was why Pidgin had decided to bring some 'much much good' people up to the mountains, so as to prove he was really trustworthy.

Pidgin was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, as you may or may not have figured out by this time. Nevertheless, he was determined to succeed in this scheme and succeed, hopefully, he would.

Beaming, as per usual, he stumbled and slid his way to the sign he had written out a week or two ago. He resembled a beaver, or a similarly fat and furry animal, as he made his wobbly way, and his little jump in the air and tumble to the ground when he saw three names did nothing to deny it. He rolled over on the cold ground like a round soft ball, and only managed to get up with some clever techniques he had perfected with practise.

"Ah! Three names! Much, much good! Where is they?" And he looked around searchingly, still beaming, rather comically. "Ah! There are they! Alloo! I am Pidgin!" he introduced himself amiably, trundling over to meet the three scavengers. "We go mountain top, soon yes?"

Darión nodded curtly, and regarded the scruffy looking young man with something bordering on interest. He looked like many people he'd met in the Land of the Dragons, squinty-eyed, clad in a huge fur coat to keep out the cold. Funny thing was, it had lots of strange bulges in it at many points. Probably a trapper, thought Darión contemptuosly. He spoke, his voice as cold as the thin mountain air. "Yes, now preferably. That would be good." He looked at his companions. Richard and 'PN'. The last letters rang a bell. A small bell. Some sort of cage flashed through his mind. Then it was gone. He returned his attention to Pidgin, waiting for him to say what was happening next.

Leon mentally cringed as their would-be guide, 'Pidgin', would approach and greet them, offering a meager introduction. Already he wished for this trip in the mountains to end, and he hadn't even begun the trek yet. Sighing once, he merely nodded to Pidgin in response to the inquiry, otherwise remaining silent. The Nobody took a moment to eye his other accomplises, Darion and 'PN'... They looked sturdy, as if they'd had plenty of battle experience, so there were no forseeable problems in his eyes with them.

Yet.

[Need third member. Ta.]