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Salem Vicarious, Lord of Lost Things

As the body-horror form of Salem waited in the Climax Hour for battle to commence, Salem watched the events unfolding outside through the doll heads decorating the facade of the Chateau. Salem tsked in disapproval; the command was to wait in the Climax Hour to engage the enemy together, yet so many had decided to meet the threat at the entrance. While Salem could not fault those who went up for the purpose of engaging in diplomacy or distraction, like Rodias himself and supposedly Graft, the shot fired by Chuunitrixx ensured that combat would begin with the Chateau's forces even further divided that they already were, given that half the major players were out on mission, and half of those that remained were in the Climax Hour. Salem had a mind to go up themself, but was significantly less mobile in this bulky form. Besides, combat seemed to continuously begin and end abruptly as fight-ending ability was used after fight-ending ability, only for the golden-eyed gorgon to survive or counter. And in the chaos, Light had brought a partially petrified Rodias inside, who despite his injuries, requested the World Item of Bandersnatch. For the time being, it seemed those outside were attempting to stun-lock the enemy, though it was uncertain whether they would succeed or not.

While Light was getting E Pluribus Unum and the Shadowtower mikos were setting up a major buff, Salem spoke on Graft's Open Line, "Aurora! Ratta! Someone! Get in here! Lord Rodias is being petrified and I don't know if Mamoru's panacea is working." But then Salem turned their attention to Rodias. "My lord, it might be too late to say this, but I wonder if it would be wiser to surrender? I mean, you'll get to meet other supreme beings again, and they probably won't harm us or the Chateau if you join them. Besides, though the rest of us have had a taste of freedom, we clearly don't know what to do with it, leading to a lack the maturity to even defend ourselves properly." Salem's grotesque form gestured with their many limbs towards the emptiness of the Climax Hour, indicating how few actually followed Rodias' order. "Consider myself; this form is ugly and distasteful, but by combining, I become stronger. Surrendering might seem distasteful, but we protect ourselves in the process. And the rest of us are used to following orders, so the real question is; is servitude an unthinkable prospect for you?" Salem wanted to know if Rodias was hypocritical in allowing the denizens of the Chateau to serve him, while refusing to himself serve others.
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The door to the Climax Hour swung open to admit one Vitaphagas Graft, fashionably late. His shiny black shoes clacked off the floor, and the length of his trench coat swung rhythmically with every step he took. With his mask deactivated and no lenses over his eyes, his own milky-yellow peepers with their shapeless pupils were bared to all, but he did wear a polite smile. Behind him, like a sorcerous cloak, floated the array of glyphs that constituted his Collect Call. The sight of him set off both Papillary and Tabula, who'd been waiting with bated breath for their boss to arrive. “Director!” cried Tabula, forgetting her company as she ran his way to wrap her arms around him. Papillary followed behind her, but maintained a little more decorum.

Graft looked down at his new assistant a mite embarrassed. “Tabula, please,” he murmured. “Think of the others.”

As soon as she did, the Nightgaunt withdrew, hastily trying to compose herself. She cleared her throat, glancing between the various onlookers. “Hm-hm! Ex...excuse me.” As Graft started moving again, heading toward where his peers gathered around Rodias, Tabula walked behind him to the left and Papillary naturally took up a mirrored position on the right.

“Where were you? We were worried sick,” the flesh golem asked.

“Just getting ready,” Graft assured her and by extension the others. He wasted no time in taking the floor of Rodias' meeting, as was his custom. “Trying to keep track of the situation. Unlike some I couldn't keep an eye on the proceedings personally, but our resident mannequin elected to preserve the suspense for the rest of us.” The Fodder Baron tipped his head to Salem, his manner belying his implication. “By now, however, I am well apprised of what occurred. I'll go ahead and make a formal update.”

He waved his hands, and the array of glyphs split in half to rotate around him in either direction and reconvene before him. After a little finagling, he pronounced in a clear voice, “At this time the threat to the Chateau Gothika and its members has been repelled. Thank you for your cooperation, and remain vigilant; things will only get worse from here. Over.” With a final flourish he scattered the array of glyphs in a burst of bright blue particles, and when it faded away Graft could be seen leaning upon his cane, very casual.

“So, out of everyone in the Chateau, codename Stalker -hereonin referred to as Morgan- was vanquished by none other than our master butler, Butterfly. An individual half our average level.” He bowed his head toward the technological skeleton, offering a sign of respect. “Most impressive. And despite our adversary's overwhelming power, we suffered only two casualties. A clone, and our chronomancer. Not bad at all, all things considered.”

He dismissed his attendants and looked pointedly at Rodias. The Bandersnatch Lord appeared remarkably unwell and unhappy, and Graft knew his condition stemmed from more than the statuses inflicted upon him by the fight and his attempt to wield E Pluribus Unum. “Of course, this would be tragic if we did not possess the means to revive her, utilizing Bandersnatch's accumulated wealth.” With a smile Graft approached until he stood by the Dhampir's side. He drank in Rodias' presence, his powers of observation astute. It felt odd, overwhelmingly odd in fact, to see such human emotions etched into the countenance of his overlord, a mighty ruler and supreme being. Given what he knew of his fellows, supposedly liked by station alone, it interested him intensely. “You, Lord Rodias, are truly a kind soul to grieve so even over a subordinate's impermanent death. Still, if I may offer advice, it would be not let feelings of gloom and failure destroy you. This encounter, New World Invasion Event One, or NWIE-1 for short, taught us a valuable lesson.” He looked around at those gathered. “We are on the map, so to speak. Our foes are out there. They will surely come again, and in greater numbers. We must put our energy toward preparing for next time. You need not be sorry, Rodias, but if you are, then that is how you can make right.” With that pronouncement, he surrendered the floor.
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In the palpable silence that settled over the whole assembly following the Fodder Baron's speech, Graft waited silently as Rodias kept his attention fixed upon Chunnitrixx. As one might expect from so soft-hearted a lord, the Dhampir had eyes only for his critically wounded subject. Of course, that left a decidedly counterproductive lull in the flow of the grand-scale meeting that the Bandersnatch Lord had assembled here, which left at least one of them feeling somewhat ill-used. The interruption got to a point where Graft was on the brink of clearing his throat to offer to render first-aid, for which he'd be happily repaid at a later date, but one of Chuunitrixx's attendants beat him to it. In a way, then, he did help, and without any effort on his personal part, which suited him just fine. He didn't exactly appreciate that loathsome organism borrowing his appearance and felt owed some sort of usage fee, but the act was not without its merits; it proved that his was the premier biotechnological skillset on call at Chateau Gothika, as if that needed proving. Imitation, as they say, is the sincerest form of flattery.

Still, it took some time for Chuunitrixx to get patched up and sent packing by none other than an extension of the reclusive Enderall entity. Unafraid to demonstrate a little boredom with his relegation, Graft summoned into his hand a vial of nanoflesh and set to manipulating it with his Remote Control skill alone. A much more difficult feat than programming it at his workbench, it served as ample mental occupation until the point at which Rodias addressed him personally. “Hm?” Looking up from his distraction, Graft quickly banished it and crossed his arms, his cane left standing upright with its end stuck in the tile. Rodias confirmed what Graft suspected about his mental state before confirming that he had the right of it in general, which was satisfactory. He mentioned a proposal that would require another Collect Call, and the Director quickly assented. “Oh, certainly. Coming right up.” After another flourish, the Lines blossomed forth once again, forming a glowing array linking the greatest of minds across vast tracts of land. Graft narrowed his eyes at the noises coming from two of them. “Miss Ashara, Gromgard, and Mr. Bits seem to be engaged in combat,” he remarked idly.

With communications online, Rodias proceeded. He explained his reasoning before delivering his suggestion. So, he planned to spare his subordinates by offering himself to the enemy? Personally, Graft was 50-50...on whether or not the proposal was a test, that is. Until recently he would have wholeheartedly assumed it to be a clever ploy to gauge the positions of Rodias' subjects, but insight into the Supreme One's behavior as of late actually had Graft questioning if he was serious. Of course, in terms of the contents of the proposal, there was no question. For a lord to surrender himself, particularly the sovereign of Chateau Gothika, was to entertain nonsense. It was a violation more gross than any wretched thing to be found in the Factory's most neglected waste-bins. Since nobody else seemed to want to speak, and since none so suited the spotlight as he, Graft consented to give an unrestricted opinion.

“From on high this no doubt seems like a compassionate, even heroic course of action. Were this a fairy tale, with you the noble lord of some town and we its hapless citizens, you might be speaking of a woefully necessary sacrifice.” He leaned on his cane, smiling. “But we are not little people leading little lives...are we? What use have we for peace?” As he spoke, tentacles extended from beneath his coat, furling out by the dozen to gnash and writhe. Graft's tone grew intense, every word accentuated. “We are vicious souls, made to cut and tear, crush and gouge, to annihilate all comers and burn our name into the minds of who survive. We are Bandersnatch, now.” He spread his arms, gesturing at all those present. “That name has known hardship. We have not won every battle, no...but we have fought them.” Several tentacles planted on the ground, and they lifted him into the air. Graft rose up, held aloft by his arms. “That is who we are! Fighters! There is a world of difference between having our lives taken from us, and giving them up! Were we to surrender our only lord, we would be forsaking our pride along with him. The name Bandersnatch, a name etched into our dark souls, would be...mud!” The array of glyphs spread to either side of him like wings, and they shone with activity. He looked around at his allies, his gaze questioning as he pointed his cane. “And then what would we have? Having sold off our lord, our pride, and our name? Idleness, infighting, total dissolution. We are not without strife even now. What would become of our merry gang with no unity or duty, no common cause? I daresay our camaraderie would not last.”

Graft descended to the ground, his tentacles retracting. No longer intense but fully serious, he approached Rodias, a frown on his face. “You may think that this plan means doing right by us, but in truth it is the ultimate betrayal. Abandonment...trusting us to the mercy of those fiends, while you survive as their thrall. Servitude...is not unthinkable, no. It is our lot. And leading us is yours.” With that he withdrew, having laid bare the proposed contradiction. Everyone present, now, could wonder how someone who thought of them as the children of his dearest friends, who treasured each and every one of them, could possibly betray them to those who would make him a slave.
Hidden 7 mos ago 7 mos ago Post by Stern Algorithm
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Salem Vicarious, Lord of Lost Things

“Trying to keep track of the situation. Unlike some I couldn't keep an eye on the proceedings personally, but our resident mannequin elected to preserve the suspense for the rest of us.”
Graft

"I'm sorry, you didn't tell me you wanted the play-by-play," Salem snarkily replied in an attempt to deflect responsibility, "I thought you went out to talk business with the gorgon, didn't think it would take you so long to get there yourself." The truth of the matter was that Salem had simply forgotten about the Collect Call as well as their role as surveillance. Just seeing how easily Morgan had scared away Chuunitrixx in Amberden and not having enough time to formulate a proper response was enough to fluster Salem to the point of forgetting their duties.

But the more pressing question was, 'what do to now?' Graft made a fair argument, but Salem still thought their own idea held water. No longer needing their boss monster form, Salem reconstructed their usual boyish doll's body, leaving the pieces of their hulking horror in a heap, and hovered casually towards the group. "I'm not suggesting that we simply bow our heads, relinquish Lord Rodias, and become henceforth ungoverned and disorganized. But the fact of the matter is: we barely know what this other guild even wants. Surely you understand the importance of negotiation and discussing terms. It seems they want to recruit Lord Rodias. I don't see how that's mutually exclusive from Rodias remaining as Lord of Bandersnatch, so long as Lord Rodias can convince them that his remaining as Lord of our Chateau makes him more useful to them than not. Instead we elevated hostilities based on petty pride. Yes, I saw it. Our Chuunitrixx went into Amberden for a little fresh air and ran into the gorgon, who proceeded to scare our little Chuunitrixx shitless. I'll admit, I was scared just watching. Anyways, she returned to the Chateau with her proverbial tail between her legs. So the shot she fired, which set this whole thing off, was no doubt in retaliation for the slight of being intimidated. But I don't exactly blame Chuunitrixx. She was just doing her job."

Salem then turned their heterochromic gaze upon Rodias, "While we're on the topic of 'petty pride'; you talk about 'respect', you talk about 'the children of your friends'. Do you know what your 'friends' did to their 'children' behind closed doors?" Salem shot a hard glance over at Tabula, then another hard glare at Graft, before continuing, "Even your most logical Chapter Keeper refuses to acknowledge it or address it. Maybe for you, Rodias, the Chateau was built on mutual effort and camaraderie, but for us, it was built on pain, sacrifice, experimentation, and expendability. Maybe the things that this Guild stands for don't deserve to be protected. You wanted to defy those who would 'disrespect' us and treat us like 'insects'. To that I have two things to say: first, this is the result," Salem pointed at Ratta's head, "And secondly, we were 'disrespected' long before Morgangorgon showed up. Confront the sins of your 'friends' before telling us that you care."

Salem turned away, realizing that they were shaking, and that the pile of discarded body parts and cheap weapons also rattled in anticipation of a fight. Salem's facade of flippant disregard and childish irreverence had fallen and the doll realized this. Despite the building resentment, Salem's memory of their past before coming to this world had themself being ever obedient and faithful; patient, believing that everything Dr.Drd did was for some 'higher purpose', and simply accepting whatever was done to themself. Even after Dr.Drd's disappearance, Salem waited patiently, longingly, for his return. This world had changed them. Salem's voice, now shaking, said, "Graft is right. We're disorganized, and our priorities are all a-jumble. You say you want to protect us and ask us for our thoughts, but we are supposed to protect and obey you. We haven't been fulfilling our roles properly anymore since we came to this world. None of that matters right now. What we should do first is use the guild's gold to resurrect Ratta." Resurrection was a luxury not afforded to Salem. Dr.Drd had created Salem with too many item properties for resurrection to be viable on the Eye of Dread. So it stood to reason that Salem would see Ratta's death as more than a little threatening. But the more Salem thought about it, the more Salem remembered how often Dr.Drd abused the resurrection mechanic, to the point that other guild members would chide him for wasting guild money. Dr.Drd sometimes preferred to die in the safety and comfort of the Chateau and be resurrected just to cleanse himself of a particularly nasty debuff, since negative statuses did not linger after death. He would claim that it was easier and cheaper than crafting or using a panacea. Salem had no way of knowing what this unfortunate tendency ultimately meant for Dr.Drd in real life, but it did give Salem an idea. "And assuming resurrection still works the same in this world; Gods, Chuunitrixx is going to think I have it out for her; but assuming its the same, I suggest we kill Chuunitrixx and resurrect her. Or, I don't know, she kills herself? Or Enderall or Karynn kill her if she doesn't trust us to do it, or maybe she'd rather die in the arms of 'her Lord Rodias'? Whatever the case, she's suffering from a dismemberment that wont heal. But lingering negative effects like that don't persist after death and resurrection."

After making this suggestion, Salem fell sullen. The time for fun and games was over. Salem looked again at Tabula. Surely there were more members of the Chateau who had suffered abuse and would agree with what Salem had said, unless Salem and Tabula were just the unlucky ones. No, Chuunitrixx must also have suffered similarly for her to behave as immaturely as Salem. The only advantage Salem had when it came to impulse control and logical thinking was that Dr.Drd created Salem with certain aspects of a computer, not that it really helped much at all. If anything, Isolde better exemplified what a computer-like character was, and even she had her quirks and idiosyncrasies. On the topic of Isolde, Salem realized something, "Isolde was defeated by Morgangorgon, right? I saw Morgan chase the ESPER Wings into the forest where I lost track of them. We should find her remains and resurrect her with Ratta. Assuming they traveled in a straight line, I have a vague idea where in the forest she might be, though the ESPER Wings likely have a better idea than I do. I can go pick her up, I have to move some trash around anyways." Salem lifted their pile of mannequin parts into the air, signaling that they were preparing to pack up and return to The City of Lost Things, yet Salem lingered, deciding not to leave until the conversation was well and truly over.
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Hearing Charme's advice, Kath would take a moment to calm herself. When just standing still and trying her best to take her mind off things didn't work, she did as suggested/ordered and took a seat before counting to ten. Well she ended up counting to twenty when she felt like the adrenaline in her body was still coursing through her veins and she needed even more time, but the effort was there. Eventually, it would take effect and the draconic librarian would start to think clearly again.

"Okay... Okay, just gimme a moment to think," Kath would say as she would try to be helpful and think of a possible solution. It wasn't an easy thing though. Despite her pacifistic tendencies, the best strategy she could think of was to transform into her dragon form and just let loose. By the time it would take to get there though, one side would have been able to deal with the other. Not only that, but her and Charme could probably say goodbye to their current cover in the city. No, she needed to suggest a solution from here.

"Um, maybe if the invaders were led to the Athenaeum, they could be trapped within its maze and simply starved out? I'm not sure. I can't think of anything better at the moment. I'm sorry," Kath admitted, struggling for a solution to this problem. Now she was beginning to regret not reading more books on strategy and tactics like the Art of War and Vom Kriege.
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Kaldora

By the time the hunt returned it was all over. The invader was defeated and the gardens were devastated, and upon seeing them, so too was Zouyu. Attempts to console him proved futile and so after a final hug and a promise that “Whoever did this. They will pay.” Kaldora left the Druid to his mourning. Afterwards she caught the scouting party from the Beast Pens and got something of a summary of the end of the fight before getting them to send a report to take the pens off of high alert after Graft gave the all clear. No one had any interest in simply going back down when there was still so much confusion going on and so when Kaldora arrived at the climax part way into Graft’s speech it was at the head of both the hunt and the scouting group.

Despite the vampire’s curiosity about the situation, only Kaldora and Arthanar entered the climax hour and joined the discussion properly, the rest of their kin lacking the nerve to fully butt in and instead hanging back outside the entryway to observe the meeting.

The vampiress nodded to the others in greeting as she came in, but remained quiet while Graft and Salem spoke despite the clear irritation on her face. Her patience was rewarded by a villain’s speech from Graft and the first coherent description of what was actually going on she had received since the entire debacle began.

“Thank you, Salem, for actually explaining what the blazes has been going on here to everyone.” Kaldora said “or rather thank you for letting everyone Graft deigned to add to this line of his, which, considering most of the people who have been called to these discussions are outwith the Chateaux at the moment, likely does not include the majority of the individuals who were actually in a position to help fight off this incursion. Legions of undead, hordes of gobines, my kin down in the Beast Pens. With the highest level individuals of their floors away they were left completely in the dark despite the fact that the invader was killed by a level 30 skeleton butler.” she glanced back at the scouts who had seen the end of battle for confirmation “Level 30! And yet dozens and dozens of people of that level who might have helped who could have prevented the death and destruction brought to our home were given not a second though because like Salem said: we are a mess.”

“That's not to say Graft's line was unappreciated, or that it's even his fault so many where left out, it's simply indicative of a larger issue we have right now. We need better lines of communication, proper chains of command so the buck doesn't stop at the highest level person in a section and most of all...” Kaldora took in breath and voiced the concern her people had been discussing offhandedly for a while, and which had come to a right up to the forefront of that discussion while they had been traveling to the climax hour “I don’t know if running the Chateaux like a bunch of independent kingdoms only tied together by a single leader is working.”

She raised her hands as if she could ward off any angry disagreements before she explained herself “Hear me out! The Sable lords, our leaders, creators, our… parents,” she glanced at Salem before adding “However you feel about them, their number has been cut down to one. Just. One”

She turned to the man who the gorgon had come to capture, “Rodius… Rodius Darling,” she paused, trying to find the words “It’s a heavy burden you’ve taken on your shoulders, trying to fill all those vacant thrones. Graft is likely right, without you we might fall apart entirely, but that doesn't mean you need to be the only one holding us together.”

“Which is why I wish to suggest the formation of a council to manage the Chateaux. If we want to wield the power our comrades are apparently fighting to acquire do right now, if we want to take revenge against these people who dared attack us, if we want to avoid tearing ourselves apart, then we need a proper, official mechanism by which we can work together. All of us. Not just the people on this call but all of the people of the Chateaux. We are broken, ladies and gentlemen, we are a hydra with only one head left and apparently we almost lost that final one today. So do we hunker down and pray our foes fail to strike down that least head every time they come at us, or are we going to grow new heads, spitting in the face of cruel fate as we do so, to take the places of those that have fallen?” she said, concluding her own little speech with growing volume and passion, before stepping back and relinquishing control of the floor.
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With her only option to sit and wait, Kath would situate herself by the windowsill of their room and look out upon the horizon in the direction of the Chateau. She wished she could see its magnificent architecture from there, but its splendor was so many miles away that nothing short of thermonuclear detonation would give her an accurate bearing for where to look. It was probably for the best that she was paying so much attention to what was outside their room, as she otherwise would have felt the piercing gaze of Charme's disappointed stare. It would have been enough to send a chill down the dragonoid's spine had she taken notice.

Finally, the battle would come to a close. A victory, taken with only a single loss, and said loss could be easily rejuvenated, but it was still a punch to the gut of all the chapter masters that they weren't the most powerful beings around. A less empathetic woman might have thought that this attack would be helpful evidence for any future debates she might have with the others of taking the more cautious approach rather than showing off their might and striking with maximum ferocity, but Kath was no such woman. All she could think about was how she hoped Ratta's resurrection wouldn't prove too traumatizing. The same prayers went to those who had witnessed her fall.

Then Charme would remind the librarian of her presence. It was a legitimate question. Here they were separated from their main forces who had just been ambushed, on a reconnaissance mission that ultimately mattered very little in the grand scheme of things. Not to mention, whoever had attacked Chateau Gothika had found it rather quickly after their arrival. Who was to say that she and Charme wouldn't be attacked as well? Still, it didn't take Kath very long to form an answer.

"Rodias gave no order to abort the mission. If that were his wish, he could easily order Graft to communicate to us to do so. Until we are notified otherwise, I plan to perform the task given to the best of my abilities and continue my research of this city." Perhaps if she had considered the possibility of the other chapter masters going rogue and making plans for their own benefit, turning against Rodias, she may have given the question more consideration, perhaps even given a different answer. However, Kath was much too naive to consider such an outcome. Even if Rodias had made a mistake, he was just as perfect as the rest of them, that being not at all. The thought of revolt due to events none of them could have even planned for was inconceivable.

As Charme made her way to bed, Kath decided it was best that she follow suit, changing into clothes that were much more comfortable before lying down in her own uncomfortable bed. That wasn't what would keep her awake through most of the night though. Instead, it would be her ever working imagination. Like a supercomputer thinking of ways to win a game of strategy, her mind stayed active through most of the night as she kept considering different responses she might have been able to give to help support Gothika from afar. It would take many hours before she came to the same conclusion as WOPR, that sometimes the only winning move is not to play. The past could not be changed and it would be best to sleep so she could consider instead how to improve the future with a fresh mind.
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