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18 days ago
Current Now running: World of Light: The Tale of the Dark Itself
4 mos ago
Forever and ever, amen
8 mos ago
Calling out from Scatman's world
1 like
10 mos ago
Called into action - by threats that seem harmonized
1 yr ago
Tomorrow comes

Bio

Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.

Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.

Most Recent Posts

Sorry for a lackluster post, but I got a thing up. :'D


Nothing wrong with it, I say. Good to have you in! Just as a note, since Joker hasn't been exposed to a serious Darkest Dungeon fight, he doesn't have to worry about stress. Well, quantified stress, anyway. I'll look forward to the other Dead Zone members getting to know Joker.
@Lugubrious

Yeah, I haven't really made time to start on it, so thanks!


In that case, go ahead and move Joker to the characters tab and at the first opportunity I will PM you about am entry point.
@Majoras End, its been another week. Background is not super essential, so I can accept Joker as is so long as it gets finished later. That work for you?

Nero and V

Location: RCPD, Dead Zone
@Archmage MC @ProPro @Dawnrider @Genon


After a few seconds, everyone dispersed. Blazermate and Donnie went together toward the stairs leading to the second level, in the direction of the infected quarantine. V slunk off quietly, but Nero remained just long enough to give Ratchet an incredulous glance for his pronouncement about ghosts. “Well, we don't exactly deal with ghosts, either...” Still, if some thought their talents best used elsewhere, he couldn't really object. While V went west, Nero went east, leaving the three duos still in the main hall to go about whatever business they deemed best. The survivors nearby received Jak's words of encouragement with weary, halfhearted appreciation, and watched as he smashed a spirit against his morph gun.



The last fighter into the RCPD, Gene, had meanwhile reunited with the hatchet-wielding lady from the roof, and the two disappeared into a side room in a heated debate.




About twenty minutes later, everyone rendezvoused in the main hall. Nobody could avoid noticing that something was amiss with the lights; power fluctuations had begun to occur, and the air had gotten warm and humid. Fresh from the makeshift medibay, the Observation Room on the first floor east side, Donnie presented his findings to Blazermate, Captain Howard, and anyone else in earshot. While he spoke, Nero came through the west side door to the reception room, a bundle of papers in his hand. After sidling up he listened to the remainder of the explanation, and once it concluded, cut it with his own report.

“Might not need to,” he interjected. “Found this in the Records Room. Listen.” Holding it up, he read aloud for his companions. “Illegal race ends with a steel bar through an eye. At 2 AM tonight, Yasothorn police force was chasing illegal racers through Yasothorn highway. The capture took place with some had fled the scene.” He swallowed, shaking his head. Evidently, the grammatical errors were part of the material. “One of those is Mr. Pichai Manapaiboon, who ended up with a steel bar piercing his left eye through a skull when crashing into a truck. Mr. Pichai or Tae was the main suspect in many motorcycle theft cases and the police are gathering all the crucial evidence...blah, blah, blah. Point is, it sounds like the sort of violent death that might cause a ghost.” Suddenly aware that everyone was looking at him, he glanced around with a stern expression before adding, “I don't know much about karma, but if this guy hurt his family, he's prime ghost material according to the radio. Right?” Not normally one to talk so much, he looked around for confirmation.

Louis and Ms Fortune, having been listening closely, nodded at the same time. “That follows,” the Revenant confirmed. “Still, it leaves us without any concrete information about to how to stop this apparition.”

“We'll just have to turn the place upside-down,” his Feral friend suggested. “And fast. Whatever this thing is, it's coming soon. Fur-st stop, the library.”

“I'll go down to the garage,” Louis declared, apparently unconcerned by the danger that entailed. “We cannot afford to leave any stone unturned.”

Captain Howard chimed in after that. “Interrogation, break room, east and west storage, dark room, operations, safety deposite, chief's office, and private collection rooms need checking to. I've got to stay here, but you...” He pointed at Leon. “And you.” An extended finger indicated Lucatiel. “Take a look around.” Howard waved at the newcomers. “And you all can take your pick. We need to get this dealt with before the next wave comes.”
Salem's response provoked a chuckle from the Fodder Baron. “Pardon me, I meant no insult. Merely that more experience and maturity might better suit the task at hand.” The word 'orphans' bounced right off the bespectacled man with no effect, and he gave an appreciative nod of his head when Salem praised his idea.

Negotiations among the Chapter Keepers as to who might offer the best package for scouting the village came to an abrupt halt as an unwelcome voice expressed itself in an unpleasant tone. Rolling his eyes, he allowed his gaze to settle on its source, being none other than that vermin Chuunitrix. In what could only be considered a tragic display of lacking gravitas, she dismissed their talks before giving each a piece of her mind. Her words soured the mood in the room, raising hackles and baring teeth, not stemming from any real wounds caused by her words but instead the sheer impertinence of it all. Placing both hands on his cane, Graft heard her out with half-lidded eyes, his manner mocking. After spewing her insults in a show far more childish than anything Graft had seen Salem conjure up, she took a potshot at Rodias before storming off in a huff. Shaking his head, the businessman clicked his tongue. Bad enough that the shrew impugned upon Rodias' good nature to litter the ground with dangerous toys and threaten her allies, but his tolerance seemed to have gone straight to her head. Well, no matter. A farmer did not heed the braying of the ass. More now than ever before, Graft wondered exactly why Lady Traptrixx made her creation this way. A cruel joke, perhaps?

With that disruption out of the way, discussion could resume. Gromgard seized the chance to passive-aggressively reassert himself, hypocritically calling out the others on trying to suggest plans of action while extolling the abilities of his green-skinned grunts. Clearly, he would not see sense. Balderdash. His creator should have saved a few points for intelligence, at least. Sighing, Graft resigned himself to the necessity of an arbitration from Rodias. Aera the cleric said as much, taking a holier-than-though stance while also managing to demean the words of Graft and the others as bickering and screeching. Screeching? he mulled over the word. Perhaps there's too much fluff in those ears of hers. Chuunitrixx might be gone, but plenty of sniping remained.

A moment later, Rodias came to the rescue to save his underlings from their doldrums. That startling humility, it seemed, would be coloring all his interactions henceforth. Graft made note that Rodias didn't want to see his employees arguing, then -as the Sable Lord addressed Gromgard in a manner that indicated his goblins would be utilized elsewhere- permitted himself a slight, smug smile. When he made mention of a plan, Graft seated himself to listen with bated breath.

As he suspected, violence would be a last resort. That made sense, and his pronouncement of who would be visiting the village worked well enough. A delicate touch would be necessary, and Graft supposed that he might be a little much for ordinary townsfolk at the moment. At the very least he would not want for work, since Rodias seemed to have a plan for everyone. The director nodded understandingly. “Naturally. I can scarcely wait.”

In fact, Rodias presented his job first, as the second part of a collaboration with Salem. The pairing made sense, given their shared proximity, mutual affinity for objects, and the relation of their creators. Salem received vagueries, but Rodias delighted the director with a specific order. Bowing along with the Sable Lord, as if to a business partner, he declared, “I'll begin straightaway. And sir?” He endeavored to meet Rodias gaze. “Scum thrives on the complacence of its betters.” That said, he whirled away in a flurry of cloth to get to business.

His mind raced, driving his body to act. Holding an empty palm to his ear, Graft opened a Direct Line back to the Factory, and spoke through it in authoritative tones. “Papillary, fire up the machines. We have a new order. Navigational and surveillance instruments, compasses, telescopes, and the like. But don't go overboard, I've already got a few ideas to do one better. Why, the very moment I am excused, I will come straightaway to the laboratory...” A voice came back to him through the communication spell, garbled to anyone but him. Graft's brows furrowed, and his mustache twitched. “Are...you quite certain?” Another burst of chatter. “Well, whatever's in there, we have a job to do. Once things are in motion we'll check it out.” He cut the line and stood up straight, having been hunched over for privacy.

By that time, Rodias was gone, so Graft began making his way to the elevator to meet him. Salem floated along beside him, striking up conversation. His tone, somewhat less impulsive than normal, went observed but unremarked upon while Graft heard him out. “If you recall, I am already making dolls as per our creators' agreement. In fact, we've got a whole room dedicated to it: Junk for the Toybox.” He drew his arm horizontally through the air, palm out, as if dedicating the plaque above the room's door. Speaking matter-of-factly, and with no trace of ill will, he continued. “So between us we've plenty of inventory. I could sell them, certainly, but poor villagers haven't the money to spend on frivolities, and I fear unusual products in the Chateau's vicinity might arouse suspicion in a period we are to be discreet. However...” he tapped a nanoflesh finger against his chin. “I reckon such curios would do just fine in a city, where interesting commodities can reach a wider audience, provoking rarer curiosities. Yes...that could work.” A glance at Salem revealed a face alive with excitement. “These are invigorating times. I'm afire with ideas. Resonant imaging...electromagnetic shielding...adrenaline shots...vocal repetition! So much to do, and so little time!”
Ancestral Farmstead

Level 5 Tora - (34/50) EXP and Level 4 Poppi - (32/40) EXP
Tora Stress: 95/100 and Poppi Stress: 35/100
Location: the Land of Adventure
Word Count: 969


In defiance of the hypnotizing whirl of the emerald heavens, the battle against the Brachydios continued. Finally stirred from his paralysis, Courier 6 acknowledged a newly-reactivated augmentation and prepared himself for a daring maneuver. While Geralt, the Cadet, and Euden kept the monster busy, he used his bird and both his strikers to boost himself sky-high, then kicked himself into overdrive. A blur of gunsmoke and muzzle flash, he pounded the surprised Brachydios with slug after slug. His bullets pierced scale, flesh, and the muscle beneath, and the monster howled. A moment later the Courier touched the ground, disoriented and unstable, but his foe was in no place to respond and Bastion picked up where he left off.

Flying into a blind rage, the Brachydios charged at his metal assailant and bulled into Bastion head-on. Unable to avoid the collision Bastion vanished on the spot, but his brutal fusillade made its mark on the beast. The others seized the chance to capitalize on the monster's outburst, starting with the Cadet, who slung his clutch claw at its hide to latch on and zoom in for a wild ride. Suddenly aware of its unwanted burden, the Brachydios started to struggle, trying to force the Ace Cadet off. Meanwhile, Euden rushed in, leaped up, and came down with a fiery plunging attack into the monster's tail. His blade bit through it, but it didn't leave behind a great cleft, and its blaze bore no visible effect. The Brachydios swung its tail, but while Euden dodged backward, Geralt pushed forward. Picking his moment after its momentum stopped, the Switcher swung full-power and finished where Euden left off, slicing the appendage off in a spray of blood. Another bellow heralded the achievement, and the monster bucked wildly, stomping this way and that as it scattered explosive slime. A globule stuck to Euden, who -having seen both Bowser's punishment and the Cadet's struggle- dove to the ground and hurriedly rubbed it off in the gray dirt.

On the other side of the battlefield, the Thing from the Stars reveled in the haunting halflight of its new environs. Looming like impending doom, it prepared to strike Bowser Jr again, only for a little, patchwork thing to stand in its way. Tendrils of darkness snaked into the ground, hidden for a moment, before rising beneath the Thing en masse. Its manifold, insalubrious arms lashed and clawed at the twisted flesh, and when their beating proved ineffective, they ensnared the thing in a crushing embrace. The Thing, however, wasn't the only problem on the field; the farmhands, spurred on by the state of the Thing, had regrouped and were pushing forward. Kamek summoned Dry Bones to find them off, while Linkle devoted her full attention to them. New husks made themselves known, including a couple foremen Stirring the Rabble to hit harder and striking from afar with vicious whips. Scarecrows also floated among their ranks, their hollow keening instilling a virulent Horror into those who heard it. Tora and Poppi, having rejoined the fight, winced at their terrifying faces but forged onward, fighting with all they had to keep the husks away.

Everyone takes 10 Stress damage from the Scarecrows.


Even with its enemies divided, the Thing was stalled long enough for a true avenger to appear, one empowered by red-hot, righteous fury after seeing his beloved son laid low. Despite his wounds Bowser thundered onto the scene and assaulted the Thing from the Stars with reckless abandon. His claws, both energy and real, gouged into its protected meat, and his blows smashed it in. The Centurion followed him into the fray, striking low as a whirlwind of punches and slices in a mad bid to bleed it out while Bowser went high. The Thing struck back, surging with sidereal lightning in the color of madness, but its frenzied assailants would not relent.

Grounded heroes take 15 Stress damage from Return to the Stars. Airborne heroes take 25


The battle reached a fever pitch. Bowser and Agoston attacked wildly, their for the only thing in existence, every cell in their bodies screaming for its absolute destruction. Linkle, Kamek, Tora, Poppi, Hat Kid, and the others staged a desperate offensive against the husks, madly beating back husk after husk, and all the while the stress mounted. Finally, something broke. Something essential. The sound, a single note of clarity in the chaos, rang across the battlefield, and the Thing's mephitic flesh sagged.

Limp, useless meat turned gray and stony as it sloughed off, falling to the ground. Along with it went the crystals, becoming clear and soft as the color left them. A great mass of the color welled up, bunching into one mass of madness that hummed and shook in the air before shooting skyward all at once. The lunatic ray cut through the void of green, the night sky surging back to replace the trappings of another dimension. Finally the color departed in a brilliant flash, but as it rose, a singular portion of the color fell back to earth, like a climber slipping from a precipice, and bled into the hilltop's soil.

The husks remained, as did the color, but the beast was gone, as was much of the farmhands' vigor. Slain for now, but it would live again in another time, another place. Nestled in the middle of the grotesque mass it left behind was its spirit, the chilling visage of the Thing from the Stars.

Tora went limp, falling flat on his back. His nerves were brutalized, and his head swam with the color. Dazed, reeling, and about to break, he could fight no more. Poppi knelt be his side, holding him close.
Considering the Factory is semi-autonomous and Graft is remarkably criticism-proof, he might need some convincing unless Rodias steps in.

And I'll have you know that those fumes are perfectly benign. Beneficial, even. Free samples on offer.
Hey, unlike some, Graft doesn't have the free time to go around learning the ins and outs of everyone's job and racial classes. Too busy!
@Lugubrious You do realize he said scout, not raid. He's the closest to being a Chapter Lord without being a Chapter Lord because he's more useful outside the Chateau collecting information, funds, and inventory. I think your character would know this about Gromgard.


I realize that, but Graft extrapolated what Gromgard said using his own opinion of Gromgard and his goblins in order to put them down. So, while Gromgard said 'scout', Graft concluded 'raid' as a sort of correction, like if a rogue said, "I'll go and borrow that artifact" and in his internal dialogue Graft said 'the rogue offered to steal the artifcact' because he figured that's what he'd do. What he said reflects his perception.

@Lugubrious wait, can Director Graft pass as human?


Yes. Homunculi are made to look convincingly human, and his technoorganic features are all hidden beneath his clothing.
Still sorting through his befuddlement concerning Rodias' self-debasing pledge and how it contradicted the natural and assumed order of things, Graft fell quiet to let everyone say their piece. He anticipated a chorus of pledges, not imagining that anyone would miss their chance to get on the last Sable Lord's good side, but a few went above and beyond. Without even offering any vows, that dunce Gromgard offered to send goblins to raid the settlement, directly contradicting Rodias' implication that the humans ought to be handled delicately. That, or he just missed the obvious. If the Factory had half as much meat as Gromgard has in his head, we'd be in perpetual overdrive. After his master pledged her loyalty, one of Kaldorna's underlings wasted no time in trying to one-up the shadowy one's offer, which earned him an incredulous glance from Graft. The no-name upstart, no doubt here thanks to Rodias' arbitrary level requirement and an uncharacteristic bad judgment call from his friend Kaldorna -who should know better-, the fellow clearly thought highly of himself to make bold impositions in the face of such an esteemed assembly. Graft wouldn't do anything, of course, but he wouldn't be at all surprised if Gromgard sank that longsword of his into a lung or two.

The Director's attention landed next on Light who, after spouting something intriguing close to sedition, opted to pull both Gromgard and Kaldorna into one of her trademark agonizing embraces. Graft sighed, envying neither his allies' position nor Light's remarkable lack of self awareness, and shook his head. After that he tuned in to Kath in the middle of some exposition pointing out the scenario facing Chateau Gothika, presumably for the sake of the slower-witted among those assembled. She finished with a tentative suggestion and something a little disturbing: a recitation of one of Brushen Penn's own bylines. After a moment Graft overcame his surprise and lowered his eyebrows, remembering Kath's exhaustive collection of every word uttered within these walls. A truly impressive potential monitoring system, he made note. Why, anyone able to freely access her records could soak up all our dialogue, from foolishness to insurrection. I must remember to keep tabs on who pays her sanctum a visit. He also wondered if he might be able to purchase an exclusivity deal for Penn's wisdom, keeping it out of the mitts of anyone not deserving.

Next to speak was Salem, who Graft observed through narrowed eyes. That little telekinetic stunt from earlier, subtle but profound in its implications, did not slip by him. In a very real sense, the little lord of the Chateau's first chapter embodied the very essence of a petulant child granted incredible power. With that in mind, everything put forward by him warranted scrutiny, and Graft found no shortage of problems in Salem's proposed plan.

“Oh, certainly,” he chuckled through closed teeth in a dry smile. “Two unusually-dressed youngsters by themselves, about eight years apart in age and of remarkably disparate appearance for siblings, walking around in an insular community where everyone knows everyone else and asking odd questions with no alibis.” He shook his head, leaning sideways on his cane with one hand. “Frankly, I don't think even I could sell that. Looking human is not enough, kiddo. If one must go, it should be someone with a believable look, story, and I daresay a little tact. Maybe a traveling merchant, trying to peddle his wares. Only natural to try and get friendly with townsfolk then.” At that point, he sent a sidelong glance at Rodias, eyes half shut. “Of course, I hesitate to presume. Only our illustrious boss knows the best course of action.”
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