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.
Whoops, Graft thought. Had he said 'benefit to himself'? A slip of the tongue, of course, since his modus operandi was all for the benefit of Chateau Gothika and its residents. If Salem harbored any real understanding of his position, that implication would be crystal clear. Still, it was a minor gaffe, since getting the wrong idea was understandable and a good leader took total responsibility for clear communication. As such Graft consented to hearing Salem out, folding his arms over his planted cane to listen, despite his embarrassing misuse of irrelevant words like 'tantrum'. He did not expect to profit in this exchange of his time for the puppet's 'advice', but given the status of his fellow Chapter Keeper and creation of the Bandersnatch Lords, he could not discard the possibility of something worthwhile slipping out.
The two of them examined the Nightgaunt, readying herself to leave and train. When Salem spoke, he used hushed, serious tones. When he implied her to be Brushen Penn's favorite, however, Graft knew that his very young ally could not possibly be speaking in earnest. As if adults cared about silly things like favorites. There was successful and unsuccessful, useful and useless, debit and credit. Affection did not factor into the equation. Besides, what did Tabula have that he did not? By definition she had no ability, talent, experience, or even personality. All she had were her scars and her sex. Now, judging by the vastly-skewed ratio of female to male creations in the Chateau, the Sable Lords did seem to prefer females, but none of them played the essential role that he did. That just left Tabula's all-but-confirmed abuse at Penn's hands, and surely Salem couldn't mean that.
Graft stroked his enormous mustache, looking at Salem in a new light as the kid made senseless recommendations about Tabula's fate. Or could he? The director ran over his stockpiled information in his head. Alone, abandoned, unliving, unimportant, an item that had been thrown away, and not by circumstance, but by design Maybe any kind of attention, especially physical, counted as love in his eyes.
Graft smiled. Everyone had a weakness, be it a physical spot, a type of damage, a special spell, or even painful figments of the past. Those were fine, but they could be covered up and accounted for. Graft preferred to exploit Want. Want was a straight shot to the heart. With one's wants revealed, they could be exploited in full.
A few moments later the director watched Salem go. The mannequin had left a bomb behind, its payload far more dangerous than the secret it oh-so-kindly agreed to keep. Even Light seemed amazed by the kid's behavior. “Such curious thoughts. He thinks he knows me so well, yet he does not comprehend how utterly irreplaceable my Factory and I are.” A sinister light filled his eyes from within as he raised one hand. “Nor the depths of my control.”
He snapped his fingers, and the nearby Guards seized up. In a matter seconds they fell to pieces, their flesh neatly detaching and unraveling to leave behind neat piles of biomatter. Graft scooped one up and worked it with his claws, molding it like clay. “Nanoflesh is the ultimate asset,” he told Light. “It can create, it can consume, and it can destroy. Nothing that has partaken may defy me.” The glow faded, and he gave a chuckle. “Pardon me, you were saying something about a spin?”
Brevity was the soul of wit, and Light managed to say more in fewer words than her fellow guest had. He did feel a sense of freedom, an increased license to choose for himself how best to carry out his work. Investing in Tabula was just the start. “Corporate overlord, hm?” An amusing notion. Though a boss in his own right, Graft ultimately served the interests of the Board. Even if only one member remained, he intended to perform his duty, the very purpose for his existence. Anything else would be inexcusable. Light offered an alternative, her manner playful and alluring. Smiling, he played along. “You flatter me, dearie. To think that I, a mere inventor and businessman, would receive the attentions of such a mighty and exquisite creature.”
Of course, she got straight to business afterward, and Graft was more than happy to accompany her. “As a temporary solution I can sell you Guards or technoorganic homunculi that you may do whatever you want with. If you do not have the money now, I trust you sufficiently to allow you to pay later, albeit with slight interest.” He turned his head away, grinning in an almost bashful manner, as if the interest were some sort of inevitability that he couldn't do anything to stop and was embarrassed about. “As for something that could permit you contact with your fellows, I may be able to think of something. Like a perfect ledger, the world's balance exists so long as there are countermeasures for every measure, so just as you have an aura, there must be an effect that annuls it.”
Light's mention of gold piqued his interest, as money so often did. “So, you want to be eld-rich, do you? Well, gold must be found, earned, or taken. Deep below the earth it forms, occasionally winding up in mountainous riverbeds, at least in the old world. It can be exchanged for goods and services, or simply stolen from the less powerful. However, I despise petty theft and do not condone it.” He flashed a scowl, metal teeth locked together, as he mentioned theft. However, his earnest personality returned quickly. “If you don't want to dig in the ground, I suggest finding something that people want and giving it to them. Naturally, until we know the lay of the land, such options are off the table.”
Later on
Graft gave an amused chuckle at Kath's reaction. As knowledgeable as she was, she must have known about his Open Line skill, and that plus her typically unflappable bearing made the act of startling her fairly significant. “Pardon me, I must have taken you by surprise. Is everything going well on your expedition? I wanted to ask your help to complete the task given to me by Rodias, for which I will gladly reimburse you.” With an appeal to authority given and an offer of recompense affirmed, thereby creating a formal contract, Graft took for granted the aid of his previous coworker and continued. “I require as much information as can be gathered on the inconspicuous fauna of this world. Equivalent to the old one's rats and birds. Visual and behavioral details are the primary concern. If you and Ashara could keep an eye out and report back, I would be most appreciative.” Leaning back in his chair, he listened for Kath's reply. If today was really his lucky day, she could at least give some details right now about creatures she'd spotted to get him started, but the promise of a full report later was good enough.
Graft is not going to actively seek conflict, since while some discourse and disagreement are unavoidable he views actual infighting as actively detrimental to the organization as a whole, as well as liable to lead to negative consequences for himself.
I'm currently waiting on Guess Who's Kath, since Graft contacted her last round, but I'm planning for him to call someone else, probably Kaldorna or Zouyu, to get information on the wildlife.
There! After many hours of work, by biggest post to date is ready. It deals with everyone in the RP, in their various situations, and gives everyone a chance to do stuff. People in the Land of Adventure can describe what they did during the night and interact with NPCs or one another in the morning, and people in the Dead Zone have their own situations to deal with in different parts of the police station before uniting together. To that end, everyone is free to autohit and control to a reasonable degree. I would encourage everyone to read the whole thing, as things are more integrated than they might appear. I hope you all enjoy!
Level 6 Tora - (5/60) EXP and Level 5 Poppi - (13/50) EXP Location: the Land of Adventure Word Count: 1614
Through hill and dale, over river and plane the Brother Grimm rumbled, followed by the Centurion's drill cart and the Courier on his chocobo. Some snoozed away the relatively-peaceful ride despite Poppi's driving inexperience, but some remained too wired by the night's encounter to relax. Euden found himself in the latter group, instead sitting between Linkle and Geralt in the bed of the monster truck, still riding the high of giving Linkle a high-five. With the Witcher more than a little taciturn, the prince contented himself with watching Linkle experiment with her ice powers, up until the point she broke the silence to start talking to him again. He felt pretty confident he understood why she was asking her question, but he opted to settle it before getting to the crux of the issue.
“Well, I don't really 'want' to stop. Shapeshifting takes energy, and when it runs out, I'm forced back into human form.” He watched her last little ice sculpture bounce off the ground behind the truck, glinting in the startlight, and when it disappeared looking at Tora snoring right next to Ace Cadet instead. “Since it seems like your hair changed when you started making ice, though, have you tried not making ice for a while? Might be something like my eyes. They turn red when they I'm ready to shapeshift.” The irony of his eyes always being red in the World of Light escaped him.
Some time later Brother Grimm arrived in Lumbridge, and it did not find a sleeping town. Even if a number of townsfolk hadn't stayed up hoping to see everyone return, the lightshow that evidently went off over the distant steppe, visible from the town, drew a lot of attention. There was no grandiose celebration, but after Poppi stopped the truck with the help of a shed on the town's outskirts, the disembarking heroes found an assortment of townsfolk waiting for them on the bridge across the river Lum and its riverbanks. With most of the overly enthusiastic kids in bed, the onlookers presented a mature response, offering things like water and blankets to the heroes as they passed. Poppi, holding Tora like an exercise ball, could scarcely contain her joy as she walked through the space in the crowd. Moments like this, ones in which she felt like a real hero, were what made it all worth it.
The Houndmaster and his trusty dog met the returning heroes in the middle. “Incredible,” he told them, his gruff voice carrying an awestruck tone. “We saw it all. The scouts reported an area that reminded me of the Farmstead, but we harbored not even the faintest inkling of the extent of the blight's development. I held such certainty that the beast would avoid such a tainted region, as well. Yet here you are, having survived the worst that the Land of Adventure can offer. I am speechless.”
“Well, I'm not!” A burly, red-haired man approached and crossed his arms. “You all must be pooped. If you wanna rest, ain't a better place than my Great Ton Pu Inn. Free tonight for heroes, extra-soft beds 'n everything!”
Poppi nodded gratefully and headed in the direction that the Innkeeper indicated. The inn was close, sitting right on the edge of the river Lum. Inside Poppi found a small room for herself and Tora to lay the Nopon to rest in. Once he was comfortable, she sat down and went into standby mode, drawing ether from the atmosphere into her furnace to replenish herself. The others could follow the pair's example and bed down for the night, or travel throughout the town or beyond. Even with most of its populace abed and its facilities closed, Lumbridge offered more than enough to keep an insomniac interested. While the guildmarm couldn't be found in the castle Guild at this hour, the job board offered a number of smaller tasks that anyone could pick off at any time.
Though greedy and gluttonous, Tora was not lazy, and he woke at an early hour of the morning with the fleeting essence of a wonderful dream on his mind. He struggled to hold on to it, but it slipped through his wings like sand, leaving him with a tinge of melancholy. With a yawn, he rolled upright, blinking as he examined his surroundings. He appeared to be in a small room, homely and without presumption, and he felt like a million bucks. It must, he reasoned, have something to do with the amazing bed he found himself in. Whatever it was stuffed with, it felt as soft and comfortable as a warm cloud, and it had blessed him with one of the best nights of sleep in his whole life. That stood out as particularly poignant given what he did last night—that mad struggle beneath jeering stars. And yet now all his troubles had melted away, leaving him ready to start the new day.
Of course, he couldn't begin without Poppi. His artificial blade sat in a chair by his bed, still running a restoration routine. The sight of her sparked some sort of remembrance in Tora, and an idea struck him, another step toward bringing an illustrious vision to life. “Ooh, Tora getting closer to think of design for third mode. And new upgrades for this mode,” he murmured. Better than any coffee, inspiration surged through his mind, and before him unfolded dazzling arrays of components, circuits, and code, as clear as the approaching day. Tora bounced to his feet, landing on the floor with enough of an impact that Poppi felt it and awoke from her subroutine.
“Good morning, Masterpon,” she greeted him, before rising to her feet. “We in Great Ton Pu Inn. Rumply man say we can spend night without paying.”
Tora beamed. “Meh, meh meh meh!” he sang, before clapping a hand on Poppi's shoulder. “That great news. Tora have some too: after great sleep and dream, idea for implementation of new mode come into head, meh.”
Curious, Poppi considered what he said. “Did Masterpon finally come up with design?:
The Nopon shook his head. “Sort of. But Tora keep brainstorming until one day new design appear over head like ether bulb.”
Poppi looked unimpressed. “If Masterpon say so...”
“When inspiration strike, Masterpon power up Poppi ASAP! Please, trust in Masterpon!”
“Understood.” Heading over to the door, Poppi opened it to lead Tora downstairs. “But if Poppi had breath, Poppi would not hold it.”
Tora waddled through, shaking his head. “You not trust Masterpon at all. Well, let's go to smithy and get to work. After breakfast, meh.”
Some time later, after a few adventurers trickled in, the two gathered in the guild hall. At seven in the morning, the sun shone cheerily down on a Lumbridge already going about its business, and on heroes preparing for another challenge. Tora was already a bit smudged and singed by his work in the smithy, though not nearly to the degree of the newly-returned Courier 6, who had evidently not slept one wink in the night as he backtracked to Hammerhead to do some engineering instead. Still, the Nopon had made good on a few of his ideas and improved the capabilities of both himself and his blade.
Overclocker – a new Strength for Tora. His mechanical abilities and increased capacity for adapting to new systems has allowed him to develop a potent support skill. As long as he is able to constantly tinker with some technology, be it a device, a weapon, a vehicle, or even a sophisticated machine lifeform, he can increase its operational speed and strength by a lot. He needs Poppi on hand for power and a toolkit to make modifications with.
Super Poppi Swap a new Power for Poppi. Now that Tora's made an elemental core of every elemental type (fire, water, wind, ice, electric, earth, light, and dark) and added supportive hardware and software to her system, she can switch elemental cores on the fly. This allows Poppi to take advantage of enemy weaknesses and engineer her own Blade Combos.
From the sound of it, there had been some excitement in the night, so late in fact that it was not only this morning but only a few minutes before Tora and Poppi got up for the morning. A few people had appeared from the teleporter Blazermate left behind here, needing help and babbling about a horrible situation in a place called the Dead Zone. After that, however, nobody came for a time, which meant a hefty double dose of worry and confusion. There were still some people with the survivors now, trying to piece together a coherent picture of what was going on based on their shared testimony while watching the teleporter.
One face stood out as the heroes gathered, and even thought it was hidden, its owner did not seem pleased. Leaning against the quest counter, the guildmaster drummed his gloved fingers on the wood with his other hand a fist on his hip. In fact he looked downright furious, but Peach approached him anyway. “We have completed the F-rank hunt, guildmaster. But it wasn't the strongest enemy in this land, was it?”
After grinding his teeth, the black-robed highroller gave a strained reply. “...No, there's one more. G-rank. But let's not get ahead o' ourselves, huh?” His manner suddenly changed to relaxed and cocksure. “Bumped off the Brach, did ya? That's what I keep hearin' on the rumble, pal, but I ain't a chump. Where's your proof, sister?”
Peach opened her mouth, then closed it again, frustrated. There was no proof, obviously, since the monster turned to ash when killed.
Germ Warfare
Location: Clik Clak Diner, Lumbridge, Land of Adventure @TruthHurts22
Germ stared at Phoenix, his yellow eye wide. A case based on how someone could fly. “Neat.” Then, after a moment of silence, he blinked, a little let down. The lawyer seemed ill at ease for some reason, and less-than-eager to carry the conversation with details of his case. Since Germ was not at all willing to carry the conversation, he let it dissolve and slid back down into his booth. A few moments later he took a hike, leaving Phoenix, his scaly client, and the Clik Clak diner itself behind. Things were tough without his friends, Mae especially, and even tougher without his family.
The worker behind the diner's counter watched him go. With the place even quieter now that Germ was gone, she felt obliged to make conversation. “Funny egg, that one,” she remarked. “Never talks to anyone except to ask about stuff. Usually about family. Touchy subject for just about everyone, it seems.” From the way she talked, she made herself sound like an exception. Not everyone had family to lose, of course. Those who did ended up needing to confront the possibilities: their loved ones could be somewhere else in the World of Light, not brought over, dead, and so forth. She glanced at her customer's drink. “Want a refill?” she asked, still not sure whether or not she should be asking Pat if he wanted anything.
Ratchet and Death
Location: Lounge, RCPD, Dead Zone
For a brief time Ratchet and Clank wandered the police station, as much searching as they were brazenly daring the killer to attack them. He was in the library, unintentionally having drawn close to the Preta disposal crew as he wandered around, when Death caught up to them. It had been a few days, but the two couldn't help but recognize one another from that morning on a cliff, where over a half-dozen fighters sought to end the life of a little pink puff called Kirby ad were instead awakened to justice. Still, regardless of their collective efforts so far, the murderer evaded them. It was only after the two went into the lounge that hell broke loose.
The wall exploded in a ball of flame, and through the opening they could see three pyrobats and a demon. Without so much as an introduction the flaming fliers attacked, with the squawking demon strafing around to swoop at the heroes when safe and the bats alternating between fireballs and flame beams. The lounge didn't offer much room to maneuver, but Death could climb to the roof easily and Clank could keep Ratchet in the air. Thanks to the opening, both could see the sheer size of the horde currently attacking the police station's front, with some zombies starting to form physical piles, but there was no sign of their real target.
Jak and Daxter
Location: First floor east side, RCPD, Dead Zone
Alongside Tess and Eddie, Jak and Daxter hurried through the east side, without a moment to lose. First they hit the press room, where a number of survivors holed up, and Eddie yelled at them to get a move on. The civilians complied, spurred on by terror, with the last of them -a portly dragon with a wide-brimmed hat- trundling toward the main hall only a few moments later. The fighters kept a close enough on the survivors lest they let the killer through, but none of them fit the bill, and the four didn't exactly have the time for a close inspection. Next up was the break room and nearby guard room, where the last couple survivors they needed to gather would be.
They heard the commotion before they saw it. When the fighters rounded the corner in the eastmost hall after passing through the empty watchman's room, they spotted a fight going down by what remained of the barricade to the basement stairs. Brandishing dual pistols, the hooded man encountered by Ratchet and Clank, Jones, was fighting against a hooded wraith with dual swords. The lack of room, as well as the ability of the wraith to phase through walls, made it a tough fight, but somehow Jones kept himself in one piece. He moved around constantly, firing one or two shots before dodging again. The tactic used an enormous amount of energy, leaving him almost constantly tired, which was where his friend came in. Standing down the hall, out of immediate danger, a majestic-looking dog barked at Jones whenever he started to slow down, causing blue-green glimmers to appear around him. Somehow, the dog kept giving him a second wind, inspiring him to keep fighting.
Eddie reached out a hand. “Stand back!” He raised his fearsome double-bladed axe, only for a nearby window to burst and a wiry-looking zombie to jump in. “Watch it, lame-o!” Eddie cautioned, as he cleaved it in half instead. Another zombie stumbled inside, falling right by the dog and clutching at his flank. The Pyrenees yelped and hightailed it out of there, running between Jak and Daxter. Outside, more zombies approached, with a wave of skeletal soldiers right behind. Tess and Jak couldn't use their guns in such a tight space with melee fighters like him around, he knew. Eddie bisected a marauding zombie before jumping through the window himself to bring the fight to the invaders. “C'mon then, you gross disgusting mutants!” he yelled. “Rock can heal, but sometimes it hurts!” He planted the axe in a zombie before pulling out his guitar and starting to play. A few strums of its string sent electricity arcing through the crowded enemies.
Jones dove out of the way of the wraith's swing and slid down the hall toward the others, firing upside-down as he did. One bullet zipped into its hood, illuminating for a split second a ghastly, skeletal face. “Man, am I glad you guys are here! Let's go!” Unwilling to let that happen, the Wraith teleported behind the group. More zombies clambered up the stairs, including two Spawn, at the head of the pack, one of which tore a normal zombie in half on arrival.
Nero
Location: Displaced Bungalow, RCPD, Dead Zone
Things went south fast. Naturally, the stress got to Donnie and he went about the ritual a little fast. When the Preta made a grab at him, he maneuvered out of the way without much of an issue, but that very alacrity sent components flying. Some food, the tablecloth, and the incense sticks scattered about, and all of a sudden the monk was on the run, dodging this way and that just to keep himself a hair's breadth out of the giant specter's grip. After a moment, Nero realized that he was doing it to buy the others time, and with a nod slid out from his hiding place to lend a hand. He went for a handful of spilled salad, only for the Preta to notice, and to be safe Nero ducked under another table. A moment later the ghost grabbed the one he'd previously been under and took it away into the dark, where it was lost from view.
A round thing rolled out from a different table, which Nero realized with raised eyebrows was Ms. Fortune's detached head. Flapping her ears like wings and jetting blood from her neck, Fortune guided her head toward the salad. The Preta seemed to ignore it, and Fortune wasted no time chomping down on the food and carrying it up to the partially-filled plate on the cabinet below where the monster loomed. “Blech!” she spat it out into the bowl, hopefully no worse for wear, then rolled off.
Working off a spur-of-the-moment idea, Nero shot off a wire snatch at the wall on the other side of the incense sticks. Its claw dug into the wood, and the reel dutifully retracted, pulling the devil hunter across the floor. It dragged him too quickly for the Preta to nab him, and he managed to grab one stick as he slid over them. Just before reaching the wall he released the snatch and rolled under a nearby table. He grasped the hilt of the Red Queen with his left and held the stick against the engine with his right, then revved it. Just as he hoped, the momentary burn ignited the incense, filling the air with fragrant smoke.
Meanwhile, Joker took advantage of the commotion to sneak close to the cabinet. In the dark, his black clothing and stealthy bearing made him almost invisible, and he used his chance to gently replace the colorful tablecloth on the makeshift altar. One he placed the bowl on top of it, he glanced to Nero. The devil hunter held his breath, glanced up at the screeching Preta, and then flicked his incense stick at the thief. Nimbly Joker caught it from the air, stuck it into the cup by the bowl, and slunk back into the shadows.
A moment passed as the smoke drifted up to the Preta, but once the fumes reached it, it immediately gave up its attempts to maim Donnie. Instead it looked downward with that one scarlet eye, illuminating the altar like a deadly spotlight. With those enormous spindly fingers it reached down, grasped the tiny bowl, and pulled it up to its face. Desperately it sucked the food through its pinhole mouth, and Nero couldn't help but shudder at the slurping noise. This went on for a few tense moments, the only other sound being the plop of Ms Fortune's head as she stuck it back on her neck. All eyes were in the Preta as it finished its meal, leaving its arms to dangle, and then turned away. It vanished into the dark, and a couple seconds later its tortured breathing disappeared too. A door on the other side of the now table-deficient room swung open, and the heroes could depart.
V
Location: Main Hall, RCPD, Dead Zone
Whatever it was that kept the horde stalled, it did not lost for long, just as the voice had said. Barely a minute later the wall of monsters lunged forward, as if an invisible dam had broken. The survivors stood ready, having blockaded the front door with furniture and armed themselves for a fight, but the horde hit the front of the police station like a tsunami of bodies. Instantly several windows gave way, and the barricade almost collapsed. Zombies spilled in through the windows, and the whole situation turned to chaos in an instant. V commanded Shadow and Griffon to attack, and the demons sprang forth to decimate the first handful of undead through the a window. Long-range fighters let off an opening salvo of projectiles to deal some damage before the close-range ones ran in. Louis and Ukyo attacked with speedy slashes, aiming to deal with enemies in single strokes by severing limbs to slow them down. Ghalt started blasted, each shotgun slug reducing a zombie to pulp, no kill was a victory; each shot was also a step closer to running out. Voices were shouting while weapons fired and monsters howled, creating an impossible din. For each monster that went down, two took its place, and there weren't just zombies. There were a whole host of demons, from imps, ghouls, goblins, lemures, Baykok, and Kwancha to Cainas, Antenoras, Stygians and Hideous. Some posed only marginally more threat than the zombies, but some attacked with huge, deadly weapons or dark magic. Ghalt blasted one Antenora onto its back, only for it to bellow and get back up with wormlike purple tubes pumping through it. He shot it again only for the Antenora to bulldoze straight through and hack into him with both cleavers. Grunting and bleeding, Ghalt fell back, but Louis shot him a heal only to be engaged the next moment by a Hideous. For a few moments it seemed as though the survivor's defenses might be broken under the weight of the first wave.
Then Blazermate, holed up in her new position, resounded her howls across the incoming horde. A large portion of the nearest zombies responded, pivoting to attack their allies. While dealing little damage, they served as obstacles for the station windows and door, forcing their former allies to tear through them first and buying the survivors some time. V, wracked by fear, gave a sigh of relief. He took a step forward to slide his cane into the body of a wan lemur, which he then threw to the ground and held down with his foot to pull the blade free. “The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.”
Using the time they'd been given, the fighters battled on. For all intents and purposes, their foes were endless. Blazermate could only control so many undead, and while she could seize more when hers fell, she couldn't hope to stop the monsters from reaching the inside. In the middle of the hall, the crowded civilians watched the chaos, prepared to fight or flee should their protectors fall. Kai and Leon arrived with the kids and small, sentient animals who'd been secured in the waiting room, adding to their numbers, and survivors from the press room appeared soon after. On their heels came a dog in armor, big and friendly if a little scared. Another minute or so of furious struggle followed, the rain outside becoming steadily harder, before something changed. The warm, humid air suddenly grew more tolerable, and the impenetrable pitch-black darkness surrounding the police station gave way to ordinary night. Jill shoved a grenade into the mouth of a zombie crawling through her window and ducked out of the way for it to explode. When she popped back up, she could see for a brief moment that the dark had faded. “I can see the street!” She yelled. “The Preta's gone!”
Sure enough, V watched Blazermate's teleporter whirl to life, a blue disc of energy forming above its spinning top. Howard saw it too. “Alright, we're out of here!” he bellowed. Against all odds a way out had revealed itself. “Step on one at a time, don't crowd, stay calm!” First onto the teleporter was Feng Min, one of the survivors rescued by Joker. She could help coordinate on the other side, after all, and get whoever was in this 'Lumbridge' to help. The moment she stepped foot on the device, she blipped away in a flash, and one of the kids stepped on right after. To the collective horror, however, the teleporter didn't work. A couple dozen pairs of eyes watched for ten whole seconds as the machine span back up to speed, started to glow, and then teleported the kid.
Howard's jaw hung open. “Damn,” he sword. “Thirty to forty people, ten seconds each. This isn't gonna work.”
As if to illustrate his point the front door and its barricade exploded in a shower of wood and metal. Howard reacted on instinct, leaping on top of the main desk while summoning his Axe Legion, invisible to everyone but himself, to put up a shield and protect everyone from the shrapnel. A huge demonic machine rolled inside, carving up debris and lesser monsters alike. V panicked and summoned Nightmare, who broke into the world through a glass veil and shoulder-charged the Pain to keep it at bay. The two hulking constructs faced off with their enormous arms, their fight spilled out into the courtyard in front. Howard gnashed his teeth and straightened up. “Alright, plan B! Everyone, out the back!” He pointed toward the large window on the second story of the main hall, far side. If the horde was at the front, spreading around the building, the back might just be their way out of this place. “Let's MOVE!”
Everyone began to move. Survivors and fighters alike turned their backs on the embattled front of the police station and ran for the back. A couple tripped in the mad scramble, a few too close to the front got charged and went down, and one or two stayed in hiding. One survivor, a surly-looking living coin, stood on the teleporter up until the moment a demon attacked, warping just in time to avoid getting destroyed, though the device itself wasn't so lucky. The fighters, meanwhile, did their best to help the survivors up and out. Jill grabbed the intercom at the reception desk and yelled into it, “Attention all personnel, we are leaving the building out the back. Go now!” She threw it down and started running herself, making for the second floor back wall. Fox, the first one there thanks to his quick feet, kicked through the stained glass and jumped down to the ground outside. Behind the police station was the perimeter wall, and beyond that the street. There were two problems: the drop was too much for many of the civilians, and they could not get over the wall. V could see both from where he stood, with so many crowding on the stairs and second floor landing. He had an idea.
“Griffon, clear a path.” He pointed out the direction.
“Everybody GET YOUR ASSES OUT OF THE WAY!” the demonic bird screeched. V teleported on top of Nightmare, a technique called Promotion. He commanded the golem to punch Pain backward, then turn inward toward the back of the station. A special command caused the entire demon to teleport a few feet, landing in a kneeling position in the middle of the receptionist's desk. A magic circle appeared in front of its core, where a single pink eye glowing brilliantly. The circle grew larger and larger, until a gargantuan pink beam blossomed first, blowing through everything in the center of the main hall first floor, through the back wall, through the perimeter wall, and through half of the building across the street. No sooner had the beam faded away than the survivors were on the move, fleeing from the doomed police station. Fighters worked to surround the civilians as they made their escape, providing protection from all angles.
Nightmare then fell, too wounded from the zombies and demons attacking its back to maintain its presence any longer. A half-dozen groping claws lashed out at V, clashing and gouging, but Griffon carried him away to the second floor. He landed heavily, wounded and panting, and looked down at the mess below him. With only Blazermate's undead cronies holding the horde back, and only then by the physical obstruction of their bodies, monsters were sweeping into the building. Some already piled beneath him, and others were heading for the stairs. At this rate, the horde would reach the survivors before they could get away, burdened as they were by ordinary people and young ones. He couldn't do anything to stop them. He was going to die.
Griffon landed on his railing next to V. He'd taken a few hits, though he fared better than Shadow, who had been stalemated. “You okay there, V?” he asked, warily eyeing the incoming monsters. “We, uh, gotta go. Like now. C'mon, V, get up!” The mysterious one tried, but could barely stand. Clenching his teeth, he tottered in the direction of the stairs, even though monsters stood between him and the others' escape route. Griffon started firing lightning shots at the, but both knew it wouldn't be enough.
Then the library door burst open. Nero, Joker and Ms. Fortune charged out, the former charging his prosthetic as he did. A glance flew V's way. “Now, you look like you need a hug,” the devil hunter told him. “But you won't get one from me. Stand back.”
He held out his Gerbera, which unfolded into a circular formation. “Hey, scum!” he called down at the demons. “Here's a little taste of the GOOD SHIT!” Another beam sprang to life, sweeping back and forth through the horde. “What're you waiting for?” he demanded of the others. “Go! Now!”
Fortune gave a grateful nod and sprinted off, moving like the wind. V started off, moving at a slow pace until Shadow broke his stalemate and could be summoned beneath him to ferry him on. Nero stuck around to see the others off, firing off a few shots with his Blue Rose. Then Pain reappeared. “Never a dull moment,” he complained, switching to his Helter Skelter arm and starting to charge it, too. A jump into the open air followed by a Wire Bound took him to the third floor, at which point he ran toward the station's back. Once more he leaped into the air, and this time he unleashed his Helter Skelter's Breakage. The tapered helix unfolded into a gyrating golden spiral of whirling blades that carried him through the air in an enormous corkscrew attack. He drilled straight through the ceiling, causing massive damage before flying out into the night. Behind him the police station's roof began to collapse, falling in on the horde and blocking the survivor's exit. Smirking, he landed a moment later, surrounded by the sparking and clattering pieces of the ruined prosthetic, and ran off after the fleeing crowd.
His headlong sprint brought him to the head of the group in relatively short order. “So, where are we headed?”
“Away,” Howard panted. Though in great shape, he'd been doing this sort of thing for too many years, and carrying a kid under one arm and a penguin under the other took some doing.
“Saw somewhere on the way in,” Fox advised. “Looked like a highrise with some futuristic machinery and architecture stuck on. There was this big guy standing outside with a bunch of monster corpses, didn't say anything, but real scary. I saw these lifts that can probably boost us upward. Maybe we can get in.”
Howard nodded. “Yeah! We just need a place to hunker down while we send everyone through a new teleporter.”
Running a little ways back, and carrying a cat on her back, Fortune shook her head. “Not me. Got business to attend to here.”
“Whatever!” Howard grunted. “Nobody's going anywhere unless we get to this tower.” Fox's direction took the whole group east at the next opportunity. The fighters fanning out in a circle around the survivors encountered constant attacks, but nothing too major for the moment. Once around the corner, everyone could see the building in question, but an entire earthquake-stricken market avenue stood between them and the tech-touched tower. Two fissures had torn the place into three tiers, each at slightly different elevation. Either side held one half of the market plus some of the avenue, while a serpentine chunk of avenue stood between the two crevasses, totally exposed and with perilous drops but safe from grounded threats. Unfortunately, both other tiers sported a number of monsters lurking around, with the left side especially infested, and there were more than met the eye. “Chimeras,” Howard growled, pointing at the right side. “Only someone with a Legion can see 'em, and I'm the only one.” All three routes, then, carried substantial risk. The group could not deliberate for long, with the horde bound to catch up eventually.
Personality: Owing to the nature of her creation, Papillary has a simple personality somewhat affected by her juxtaposition to Graft. She is generally earnest and hardworking, if a bit of a ditz, but she takes immense satisfaction in seeing others come to ruin, particularly by their own hands. To that end she'll do her best to assist in others' downfalls, and she derives a very sadistic pleasure from others killing themselves by attacking her.
Notable Equipment: Papillary possesses a number of items that support her unique build, none of them very rare, but all helpful. One, the Razor's Edge, is a cursed dagger that increases damage dealt by skills, abilities, and spells but increases damage taken, both by 25%. She has a few rings and bands that increase her max HP, including Fragile Abundance, a harness worn under her vest, that decreases her physical and magical defense by 15% but boosts her max HP by the same amount. Her only rare item is Second Chance, which makes an OHKO attack leave her at 1 HP instead, which she got from Tabula.
Notable Skills: The lynchpin of Papillary's skillset, and arguably the only thing she has going for her, is the signature skill of the Karmic Priestess class: Karmic Retribution. When damage is dealt to her, she can spend SP to activate the skill and deal the full total damage value against her as true damage to whoever dealt the attack, ignoring most defenses. One other, sometimes overlooked skill is Tranquility, which provides steady percentage-based HP regen as long as she doesn't take any offensive action, which Karmic Retribution doesn't count as.
Creator Information: Brushen Penn created Papillary to capitalize on a a game mode in Yggdrasil commonly known as NvN, an NPC battle arena where players pitted their creations against one another, in order to try and cheese its high-end rewards. She created Papillary in order to abuse a little-known but hilariously cheap build and cheese as many matches as possible. In essence, she created a character with maximized HP and minimal defenses to purposefully take massive amounts of damage from enemies and then deal it back to them. Penn did not put much effort into the 'character' part of the character, though, going to such little effort as to name her after a disease her sister had at the time. However, a little over a week after Penn finished and started using her -to great effect-, a patch was released that straight-up banned the Karmic Priest/Priestess class from being used in NvN, and Papillary was thereafter never used again, instead left to rot in the Factory.
Due to her relatively low level, she does not pose as much of a threat to much higher-leveled entities, especially those with ways to get around her gimmick, but against lower-level or straightforward enemies or those she manages to take by surprise, she can be an effective nuke
Just a question about Graft's Direct Link-thing - is there any sort of limit or restriction to it? Because it seems to function like a /whisper or /message command, but if you look at Maruyama-Overlord, Message Scrolls (which were finite and consumed on use) were used for this purpose... Of course, characters with spellcasting classes, like Ainz, seemed to be able to send mental messages without said scrolls, so I'm just curious if its something along those lines, or an actual skill/ability with some kind of limit? :o
In his sheet's skill section, I have it outlined as such: "a special Commander skill that allows Graft to initiate a two-way auditory flow with any ally over any range, barring interference. He can open multiple at once, but each imposes a constant albeit small drain of MP." There are a couple limiting factors to it, like it targets having to be allies specifically, but range isn't one of them. I would have thought that that ability of Ainz was a skill or ability like this.
Instead of anything remotely helpful, or tactful for that matter, Salem started telling Graft how to do his job. That soured the director's good mood “You must not know a great deal about business,” he told Salem. “Maximizing benefit to myself while minimizing cost is its very quintessence.” When Salem suggested blackmail, he crossed a line that one should not cross with Vitaphagas Graft without a willingness to deal with the consequences. Of course, the doll assured him of a lack of sincerity, although Graft doubted the kid ever got serious about anything in the first place. Salem would do whatever it felt like, without regard for things like agreements and allegiance, based on capricious feelings and wants. No doubt the doll entertained delusions of being a puppet master, toying with those around him.
Graft stepped away from the Nightgaunt and raised a hardened nanoflesh claw for emphasis as he began to speak. He found himself cut off, however, by Light. He treated her to an irritated look as she requested more stuff before giving the first real suggestion, which seemed to Graft to be worth what he was paying for it. The deep one then said something else so wholly out of left field that he didn't for a time understand what she meant in the slightest. A sharp mind enjoyed residence in that skull of his, however, and it raced to connect the thoughts. When he realized what Light was saying a few seconds later he gave a heavy, crackling sigh, then a helpless laugh. “Forget your aura,” he chuckled, “Your thought process alone could drive men to insanity. Perhaps I can interest you in a reasonably-priced seminar on biology sometime.”
His humor dried up as he turned his attention to Salem. He knew it wad partially Light's pressure that egged him to stick it to the impertinent mannequin, but he figured the little snot could use a dressing-down anyway. Lenses swapped in over his eyes that gave off a flickering spark, and he spoke in an icy voice. “As for you, if you do not value my cooperation, we can always cut off the production agreement feeding that trash heap you use as a playpen. I wouldn't mind repossessing everything of the Factory's that's in there, either.” As he spoke Graft walked closer, moving without suddenness or malice, until he was close enough to casually pluck the hat off Salem's head. He turned it over in his hands as he continued. “The contract benefits me only with its dissolution, you see. I had thought I was doing you a big favor by keeping it, but if that's not the case, why bother?”
Abruptly Graft put the hat on, switching it for his own beret, then summoned a nanoflesh grenade in his other hand. Peering at its somewhat-reflective surface, he admired himself for a moment before shaking his head. “Wrong color,” he murmured, as an aside. When he took it off he slipped the grenade inside, and a second later it burst in a spray of fibrous, technoorganic meat and rank, mechanical odor. It infested the hat completely, changing its texture to hard and rubbery and its color to a greenish-gray. Graft held it up to the light for a quick examination, found it to his satisfaction, and placed it back on Salem's head. A less-than-gentle pat smushed it down. “In the business world, there are spiders, and there are flies. I pride myself on treating my allies well. But only my allies. Are we clear?”
He deactivated his lenses and stepped away. “Now then. Shortly I'm going to begin R&D. It will include framework for the dolls and some traps that might suit the vault. If you want to keep watching, the first half hour's free, but I will charge by the quarter-hour after that. I imagine you two have duties to attend to anyway. Before that, however...”
With a flourish Graft turned to Papillary. “Please take Miss Tabula to the Production Center. Manufacture a handful of Guards as weak as we can make them, and incite Tabula to fight them. Before anything else, we must determine if she is capable of gaining XP.” Turning to the Nightgaunt, he said, “Hear that? Your name is Tabula. Say it.”
A Forced Order. One of a Commander's skills, it could extract obedience from weaker underlings, even for things they could normally not do themselves. The woman's meager muscles tensed beneath her gray skin. “Name is Tabula,” she repeated, her voice accented. Were a Sable Lord here, he or she might have identified it as Welsh.
Graft inclined his head. Curious. “Speak when I speak to you. Listen to others and learn how to talk yourself. My name is Vitaphagas Graft. As of today, I am your boss.”
“Boss,” the Nightgaunt repeated. “Graft am boss.”
“'Is' boss,” the director corrected. “You might say 'Graft is the boss.' But you can think of me as...an older brother, perhaps. Our creator...our 'mother', one could say, is the same. Lady Brushen Penn, the Starlight.” He leaned on his cane, his attention elsewhere. “Cooperate with Papillary to gain experience. Yes?”
The woman nodded. “Yes.”
She and Papillary left soon after, and Graft bent to his work. All of his ideas from earlier came flooding back, and he began conceptualizing, researching, and developing as fast as his faculties could take him.
The hours of the night seemed to pass by in a blur. Graft never took a moment's rest, constantly putting things together, testing them, tinkering with designs, and requesting more materials delivered. One idea, that of replacing his static deployables with ones attached to living biotech drones, he deemed too revolutionary to sink his teeth into just yet, but just about everything else had at least seen some progress. A few projects stood out above the others. He'd managed to put together working prototypes for Adrenaline and Melatonin Shells, recycling various body parts into mollusk-like creatures that could be thrown down and trusted to fire chemical-rich spikes into targets to amp them up or put them under. An electromagnetic shielding array was successfully stopping light blows and thrown objects, but would need a lot of improvement to see battlefield use. The basis for a long-range terrain imager lay assembled on his table. And yet he'd barely scratched the surface. So much to do, so little time. Fatigue and hunger were starting to nibble him, too.
Of course, he had yet to get started on Rodias' order. By now, however, a privileged few would surely be able to give him the information he needed to begin. Graft pictured in his mind his enigmatic, reserved acquaintance and coworker, and after a moment created an Open Line to Kath Erine.
“Hello. Graft here,” he spoke quietly, in case Kath was somewhere where people might hear. “Doing something for Rodias. I have a question for you.” If she needed, she could get somewhere more private before replying.
In quick succession the four teams departed. Nero, Donnie, and Ms. Fortune went to hunt down and banish the Preta, while Jak and Daxter joined Eddie and Tess going east to round up civilians. Ghalt opted to throw wide the door to the west office and call it denizens in. Kai and a roughed-up but still-determined Leon led the way up the stairs toward the hall prefacing the fortified safe room where the youngest and most vulnerable of the survivors had been stashed. Ukyo and the Black Mage remained with Ghalt, Jill, and the Captain to keep an eye on everyone in the main hall, along with the newly-returned Joker. If the killer was hiding among civilians, no shortage of precaution could be taken. The rumble of thunder rolled down from the sky, shortly followed by the patter of raindrops on the roof.
With all thoughts on spirits and psychopaths, nobody was prepared when the front door flew open to admit nothing less than a terrifying reaper. V's eyes snapped to the intruder, and Griffon perked up. Bearing gaunt greenish skin over lean muscle and molten orange eyes glowing in a mask of bone, the ghoulish invader carried twin scythes by his side and a cold, inhuman bearing. Instantly the survivors trained a dozen weapons on him, even as the stranger stood still to demand their leader. X-baton in hand and wearing a grim expression, Howard stepped forward. “I'm the one in charge, but if you thin..!”
A collective gasp went up as someone stepped out from behind Death. From tooth to toe, there was no mistaking it. “Louis?” Howard murmured. “But...Blazermate said you died.”
Louis closed the door behind him and shook his head. “Not really. You see, I am a Revenent. A corpse stimulated into reanimation by a BOR parasite in my heart.” His clinical tone cut through the others' amazement, encouraging them to regard this knowledge as nothing special. Before long, a couple were nodding as if what he said made total sense. They'd seen weirder, after all. “When about to die, I disperse and regenerate at the mistle I rested at last. It so happened to be in the basement laundromat across the street.”
V closed his eyes, the hint of a wry smile on his face. “'A dead body revenges not injuries,' hm?”
“Well, thank God you're okay,” Howard exulted. “That means as far as we know, this killer has no real casualties. And...it's good to have you back, son.” In a more peaceful situation the Police Captain might have walked forward a couple yards to clap Louis on the shoulder, but instead he took another look at Death. Throughout the commotion the Horseman hadn't done anything aggressive, or even suspect. “Friend of yours?” he asked, curious, before offering an explanation. “There is, somewhere. Teleports, freezes things with his camera, has a knife.” His eyes fell on the teleporter constructed by Blazermate. An inert metal device, promising safety somewhere far from here, if only it worked. “But we're getting out of here soon. Right now, some folks're on their way upstairs to deal with the ghost that's trapping us here. In fact, they could probably use another person or two.” Joker, the only one present who could be spared aside from the new arrivals, received a couple looks. “But if you want to find the killer, be my guest. There's this furry yellow guy, Ratchet, who went with his medic to find him. You could catch 'em if you hurry.”
A minute passed in relative quiet. Rain continued to fall, drumming steadily. Survivors and present fighters conversed in low tones, with some distribution of supplies going on. To prepare for evacuation the last of the stockpile in the east office had been brought to the main hall. At first nobody noticed something different, but gradually the sounds of shuffling, thumping, and rattling became too loud to miss. The crowd fell silent, straining to hear, and when familiarity rang within that noise a jolt of cold terror lanced throughout the room. Maybe it was the dead quiet, but the rain seemed to fall harder. Outside, a flash of lightning. Taking a deep breath, V moved toward the main door and peered through the keyhole.
Outside the wind whistled through the wrought-iron fence, but he could see only the bulbous, haunting dark. Its nebulous contours, touched with a sort of bluish distortion -from the moon, maybe- contorted into every ghoulish visages imaginable, playing devious tricks on the eye. “Whew,” breathed Griffon, looking out through a crack between two of the boards on the door's window. “Nothin' but the heebie jeebies, huh V?” Then V blinked twice, refocused, squinted, and found that he didn't need to imagine.
There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Zombies, demons, and things still worse. V's heart beat wildly, and his breath came ragged through clenched teeth, but after a moment he saw they weren't moving.
“They'll keep for a short time,” came a low, exotic voice from the other side of the door, so faint that V wondered if he invented it. “See that you use it well.”
The advice shocked V into activity, and he staggered backward from the door, fighting to keep himself upright with his cane. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” shouted his familiar. “Easy there, champ! What, you see something?”
The poet rounded on the assembled survivors. Assuming the voice -if it existed- belonged to an ally, he concentrated on the bigger picture. “Stay. QUIET,” he told them, looking around while the command lingered to make sure there would be no panic. “A horde. A gigantic one. It's holding still for now, but not for long.” Tapping his cane, he summoned Shadow to join him. The survivors, having already more or less known, erupted into action, some preparing and some panicking, and some just trying to keep the whole situation under control. This wasn't the first time the station had been attacked, but without some sort of miracle, it would surely be the last.
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.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">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.<br><br>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.</div>
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