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Status

Recent Statuses

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

Ivonbraids' small, slef-employed company, got crushed by cruel, cruel reality. Hence why he had to stop playing the game. :P

On a different note.

@Lugubrious
Graft's Open Line... Is it only able to be disconnected/turned off by Graft? It doesn't say anthing about it in your sheet, and given how he used it to essentially spy on Kath, without her knowing, I'm curious whether only Graft can terminate the line, or if the other person can do so themselves. Because if not, that seems a bit unfair, considering Graft could just open lines to virtually anuone and spy on them simply by staying quiet, and they wouldn't ever know he was lsitening. o_O;

... Not that I'm implyng that the good Baron would ever do such a thing... *cough*


It's Graft's skill, so I figured that was implied. Since its not a strong one I imagine anyone who wanted to could both detect it with Detect Magic and dispel it with an appropriate spell. It can also only be opened with people explicitly allied to him, so it wouldn't work on anyone who didn't consider themselves as such. But yeah, only he can terminate it otherwise. Unfair? I wouldn't say so, but if Irish deemed it thus, then sure. Irish hasn't approached me about it yet and knew about it since at least our collab.
Drumming his index and ring fingers against the side of his head, Graft reclined in his office chair and reread the list. “Status, learning, trade...er…” So many thoughts electrified his skull that a couple were bound to slip out here or there. Oh well. If he forgot anything, he could simply call again. Pulling about the airborne glyph that designated a muted Open Line, he drew his finger across it to reactivate the magic. It turned from transparent cerulean to a bright, active blue, and Graft used his voicebox to generate a cheery tone.

Doot doot doot doo, doo-doot doot doot!

“Good day, Kath Erine,” the industrialist greeted immediately. In telecommunications one typically waited for the person who was contacted to give a greeting first, but so few denizens of the Chateau harbored any conception of it that Graft always went first to take charge of the conversation. Maybe that identified him as bossy, or as a control freak, but Graft did not care much to disguise those aspects of himself. “My apologies for disturbing you on short notice, but I was hoping to inquire about borrowing some of your books. I also reach out to you prepared to negotiate payment for all the more-than-generous favors you’ve been doing me.”

After her conversation with Chuunitrixx, Kath had become distracted and returned to her library, deciding to take her mind off things by going through its many hallways of books and making sure that none had been misplaced while she’d been gone. It was during this period of reorganization that a familiar voice would return within her head.

“Oh, Graft. No need to apologize. In fact, I was thinking of saying sorry myself. I’ve been so scatterbrained after returning from the village that I had forgotten about bringing to you my book on this world’s flora and fauna,” she replied, before recalling another task she had forgotten. “I seem to have forgotten to bring Lord Rodias the text I had written on this world’s language as well. We’ll have trouble communicating with any outsiders if I don’t release this information to everyone as soon as possible,” Kath said, distracted as always. She hadn’t even paid attention to her fellow floor guardian’s mention of payment.

Graft chuckled. “No need to worry. You overwork yourself so, it’s surprising you remember what you do. And this last day has been full of such interesting developments…” he cleared his throat and triggered a playback of what he said a moment before, taking it easy as his voicebox did the rest. If not for a touch more static, it was indistinguishable from his real voice. “I was hoping to inquire about borrowing some of your books. I also reach out to you prepared to negotiate payment for all the more-than-generous favors you’ve been doing me.”

Kath would nod as thanks for the compliment before recalling that he could only hear and not see her, replying with a quick, “Thank you.” When he repeated to her his request for books and compensation, she would say, “Oh yes, if there are any other books within the Athenaeum of Historia that you would like to borrow, you need only ask and promise to keep them all within good condition. As for payment though, there’s no reason to worry yourself about that. My services are free to all as long as they treat my library and its tomes with respect.

“Splendid, though I meant payment for a service, rather than for books. It is the function of a library to loan out books for free, after all!” Graft chuckled again. “But since we’re on books, I’ll go ahead and make my request.” There came the sound of rustling paper through the Open Line. “First, I am currently training a new protege. She is learning to read, so on the off chance you have any easy material, I would appreciate it. After that, I’m interested in exposing her to religious texts so that she might grow in the Faith skill. For my own purposes, I’m looking for two documents related to Supreme Beings. The first is any chatter regarding abominations known as ‘endgame bosses’, specifically ‘raid bosses’ or ‘world bosses’. If there is any mention of such monsters’ status effects, that’d be even better. I would also highly prize some trade logs. I’m sure that there’s a great volume of those, so two or three is enough.”

He fell silent for a moment before exploding in excitement. “Oh! Forgive me, I just remembered. I’m currently trying to upgrade my scanners, among other things, so I’ll need to collect a great deal of data on various species’ biology. Undoubtedly there’s too much for one trip, so perhaps some sort of circuit would suit you. A steady stream of biology texts from the Athenaeum of Historia to the Factory and back. This is a large request, of course, but would that be acceptable?”

As Graft began to list out the very texts he was in need of, Kath would walk to her reading chair and approach the nightstand she kept next to it, opening one of its drawers to use a piece of paper and quill to write out everything requested. She didn’t want to leave out anything from his order. She would even begin writing the names of books that she might recommend later if he were to ask for more texts similar to these.

Upon request of biology books, Kath would beam. She was so happy to see others within the Chateau Gothika so excited to read so much. “Certainly. Though you might be surprised by just how much my arms can carry within one trip,” she joked. Mostly. Her dragonoid attributes did give her quite a lot of strength after all, even in human form. The hardest part wouldn’t even be trying to balance the books upon each other as she walked them to Graft’s domain. No, it was being able to get the large stack through doorways that would cause the most trouble. “Is there anything else you might need?”

“Ah, Kath.” Graft marvelled. “Truly an indispensible specimen. While it cannot be touched, bagged up, or spent, knowledge is its own sort of wealth, and you are obscenely rich. You need not concern yourself with carrying, however. I anticipated just this sort of response and dispatched a number of Guards some time ago. Perhaps you saw them gathered by your library as you entered. They can do the grunt work.” The line went dead quiet for a moment, as if shut off so that Graft could speak to someone else without Kath hearing. It came on a moment later, though. “As for anything else, unless you’re crazy enough to take a physical, I don’t think so. After all, you already provided me with such fascinating insight into what our moody friend Chunnitrixx is up to, with those mimics of hers. It appears I am not the only one cultivating new life…” He trailed off with a snicker before continuing. “That service, and of course the spirit of goodwill, are what I seek to repay you for. It is my turn to ask: is there anything I can do for you? Any items you need made? I have an inimitable collection, and I do take custom orders. Oh, I have just the thing! Emel Shells, which can inject a sedative. Why, they’re just the ticket if, say, transgressions upon your sacred domain have made your gorge rise.”

“Oh lovely. Yes, I’m sure they will be a huge help for transportation,” Kath said, peering from her position in the library over to the front door to see Graft’s Guards standing by. Upon him mentioning providing a service to repay her for all her efforts though, the polite librarian would turn him down again. “No, I can’t say I’ll need such a thing. Traps and servants are not necessary here in the Athenaeum and any… hmm… troublesome visitors I might have I should be able to handle on my own. I appreciate the offer, but I promise it isn’t necessary.”

Graft started talking again quite quickly. “Well, if you insist! With the Guards is a Team Lead who will help keep things organized and running smoothly. I shall look forward to cracking open these tomes of yours. Thank you kindly.”

“And thank you,” Kath would say before Graft cut the line. Now with a new task in front of her, she would begin collecting all of the books and texts that he had requested, bringing to the Guards several stacks within minutes. She focused on the first few things Graft had asked for, before moving on to the Biology books, not wanting to forget any from the smaller order before moving onto the bulk one.

Despite just how many texts had been requested, Kath would clear out her library of anything related to Graft’s order within the next half hour. It was mostly thanks to just how well organized she had her library as well as her encyclopedic knowledge of what was housed within its shelves. With several stacks piled high near the door, she waved to the Guards as they struggled to keep up with how many texts she handed off to them. “Make sure to not drop any,” she said with a smile.

The enormous, heavily armored Team Lead, burdened with many tomes in both his arms and tentacles, nodded his helmet. “Count. On. Us.” He turned and lumbered away, and the Guards followed as best they could.

In the Factory, Graft stood to his feet. He’d been tempted to keep the Open Line on again, but this time he decided to dissolve it. Too much to do to spend time snooping. He thought about Kath for a few moments as he leaned over his desk. Utterly dedicated to her job, without any hint of hesitation or restraint, and willing to do it wholeheartedly without recompense, but uninterested in what he had to offer. Unlike with Chunnitrixx. The pair’s interaction was the only anomaly, the only evidence of Kath going beyond her duty. Mentioning the surveillance she unwittingly carried out for him had been a gamble, but either she was less clever than he would have thought, or a lot more . Altogether, the results of this test were conclusive: Kath could be wholly relied upon for the sake of his R&D. “And that,” declared Graft, causing Papillary to look at him in bemusement, “I can take to the bank.”
Nero

Location: Argent Tower, Dead Zone


Untouched by exhaustion, Blazermate permitted herself no delay in heeding the police captain's suggestion. She summoned Dell to start the new construct building, and this time, thanks to his dispenser, he had the resourced he needed to upgrade it fully. With Donnie and his disinfectant abilities on hand, the teleporter was soon operational. With a little corralling from Howard, Jill, Ghalt, and Leon, the survivors formed an orderly line and began to evacuate. One by one they stepped on the platform and disappeared in a shower of sparks. Only a few of the heroes knew where it led, but the others all figured that anywhere would be better than here. Dreaming of rest, plenty, sun and safety, they stepped into the unknown.

Of course, the fighters hung back to ensure the civilians got to safety, though with the cacophony of howls, moans, and explosions still outside, it did not seem like the Tower would be breached. A few of the better-off civilians stayed back as well, including the portly dragon. “Don' wanna risk breakin' that thing bah steppin' on it,” he explained in a thick Louisiana accent. “'Least, 'til the uthas git t'safety.” That left him, along with the others, the liberty to look around the lobby of the Argent Tower. Expansive, futuristic, and well-furnished, it managed to be utilitarian and sophisticated at the same time. Perhaps most impressive of all the lobby's features were the four great tanks arranged symmetrically, serving as the bottom of pillars that stretched upward toward the ceiling.

Inside each was a remarkable creature, either dead or kept in stasis to serve as decoration. First among them, in the tank closest to where the teleporter went up, was a four-eyed, large-headed saurian with vivid dark red scales. Going clockwise, the next tank contained a bizarre, white, apostraphe-shaped alien with drifting tentacles and a floating yellow orb. The next housed a three-legged beast with a long tail, a second mouth on its end. In the last resided the most beautiful specimen, a majestic insect with wings like wrought gold.

As the crowd of survivors thinned, Nero approached Ms. Fortune. The moment she arrived she'd plopped down with her back against a desk, breathing heavily. While the devil hunter ran at the front of the crowd, she'd helped to guard the left flank, nearest to the infested market and the buildings beyond that. That meant constant fighting, and from the looks of her it had taken quite a toll. Gashes, burns, slices, tears, and bite marks covered her, and she had been bleeding heavily. Whatever it was that kept her alive despite being dismembered clearly allowed her to feel pain and take more damage. Blazermate healed her wounds, but they healed oddly, and it appeared that she'd lost a lot of blood. “You don't look so hot,” he told her.

Fortune looked at him blearily, then puffed up her cheeks in a pout. “Aww. I'll have you know I'm a real head-turner in Little Innsmouth,” she joked weakly.

With a roll of his eyes, Nero stooped. “C'mon, let's get you through the teleporter. Won't do anyone any good to have you fall apart on us.”

The unintentional joke made her chuckle. “Heheh, you're funnier than you look. But I can't.” Her face got serious. “I need...to find the Skull Heart. Beneath the tree...in the library. For my friends...” She tried to rise, but instead ended up falling apart into a heap, unconscious. Her head rolled across the floor briefly before a black boot gently stopped it.

“Goodness. How...visceral,” the accented stranger said, reaching down to pick up Fortune's head. He held it up, peering at the girl's exhausted features from the inscrutable inside of his coat's black hood. “Poor girl,” he murmured. “After all she went through to defend us.” Nero walked up to him and the stranger gladly passed the head over. “Keep her safe, and give her a chance to rest,” he told the devil hunter. “If she means the place I think, she'll be headed for the root a way south of here.” He extended a gloved finger to point at the southern wall. “There's something strong there. To the north, too. As long as they remain planted, the demon tree is locked up tight.”

Nero treated him to a long, narrow look. “...Thanks for the tip. Knew that already, though.” The crowd near the teleporter had thinned, and soon the fighters could head through as well. After a moment of silence Nero turned away, activating his Buster Arm to sweep up all the pieces of Ms. Fortune. He rummaged around behind the desks for a while, eventually turning up a carrier bag, which he deposited the pieces into. When he placed it on the teleporter a minute later, she went through without a hitch. When Nero looked around for the coated civilian, he could not find him, so with a shrug he went through the teleporter himself soon after.

He emerged into blinding sunlight, almost falling over. Nero rubbed his eyes with the knuckles on his left hand, then looked out across the Land of Adventure. Idyllic fields and countryside, green trees, blue sky, white clouds. All around were the other civilians who'd escaped from the Dead Zone, some celebrating, some collapsed in fatigue and relief, some just sitting back and taking it in. Nero took a deep breath of fresh air, and allowed himself a smile. The nightmare was over.

For now.
The others were talking, assessing the situation and making plans, but Sloane scanned the various unwelcome faces for dull teal hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy smile. Instead, their owner found her, placing an arm over Sloane's shoulder. A simple gesture, but just like that the mounting despair clutching at Sloane's heart began to subside. She gave Judea an appreciative look, watching her rifle through her pockets and pouches. Level-headed, good-natured, and caring, she helped prop up those around her like a big sister, especially Sloane. Being the subject of Judea's responsibility rather than being the responsible one herself didn't feel good, instead sitting high on the infinite list of her failures, but being around Judea did. Patient, warm, and not blind to failure, but understanding of it. No wonder the two went together.

With her partner found, albeit without pertinent alchemical mixtures, Sloane could refocus. An unknown island with no means of escape, for which their information was at the very least out of date, laden with curses capable of rendering people completely incapacitated and populated with what might as well be dolls. Judea lent her voice to those suggesting that the students find shelter, which sounded reasonable, and started to move the sheep. Sloane lent a hand, employing her strength to help the less-than-willing ewe along. While no brute like Kathy, she could definitely move things around. Speaking of which, the much-lighter-blue-haired girl was just now agreeing with Judea, adding the campsite as a potential destination. “Okay, let's go,” Sloane said, loud enough to get more eyes on her than she bargained for. The sudden attention made her skin crawl; she wasn't trying to grab Evan's coveted leadership position for herself or anything. She felt pressured to say something. “Um. The longer we stay out in the open, the more dangerous it is. Sure, we can fight, but as we can see with Opal here...” she patted the sheep on the head. “You get morphed, you're done.” Though her voice sounded pretty sure, Sloane was groaning on the inside. What a stupid, obvious thing to say. Now everyone's going to think even worse of me. She ended up scowling, looking as if everyone else wasn't moving fast enough. “So let's. Go. To the campsite.”

Kathy's partner had a map, so it fell to him to lead the way.
Tora and Poppi

Level 6 Tora - (11/60) EXP and Level 5 Poppi - (19/50) EXP
Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle
Word Count: 1787


Poppi nodded to the Ace Cadet's question, as might have Tora if he had any neck to speak of. Both knew that might not be the case if not for Gneidxick's discretion, however. The Courier really had some guts to just volunteer their spirits like that. Tora got the impression that the man loved gambling as much as any other vice, but no matter how talented he might be, such a move reeked of irresponsibility. In this world, the rules were different. Completely unforeseeable abilities lurked around every corner. If they wanted to save the day, heroes couldn't afford to brazenly rely on whatever tricks got them through in their own worlds. Of course, Tora doubted that 6 cared much for saving the day. During the trip so far his mentions of payment, typically from Bowser, did not go ignored. Being a greedy Nopon himself, Tora could relate, but this was different. The stakes were higher. This world needed heroes.

6 got his dues and the group began to split up. Given the language used by Gneidxick, who didn't even seem to want his casino's newest patrons dead, the driver-and-blade pair felt pretty confident about handling one of his bozos all on their own. Tora waddled off toward one nobody went to yet, but Poppi remembered something important and knelt to entreat her Croagunk. “Hello, little brog,” she said, getting its attention. The change of scenery seemed to distress the Pokemon, putting it on edge. Poppi beckoned to it emphatically. “Come with Poppi and Masterpon. Help beat up goons, work out frustration.” It neither seemed to fully trust nor understand, but in this alien place any familiarity was preferable to none, so the little monster followed the Nopon and Blade toward the portal. Tora led the way, pausing at the threshold to decide which foot to enter first with. It took him a moment, during which his face lit up with excitement at something, and then he plunged in.

The three stepped out onto what appeared to be a racetrack. Tora's first thought went to cars, but the dilapidated track appeared to be a checkered wooden board, bordered with a mere railing, and surrounded by both dead trees and grass. With a start Tora noticed the ghosts floating around among the weeds and in and elevated stands, spectators for the event soon to begin. Bizarrely, beyond the grass and trees were cave walls lit up in hellish hues of red and orange, as if the entire venue took place deep inside the bowels of the earth. “Meh...” Tora breathed, wondering just what he got into, before finding out just a couple seconds later.

A loud clattering noise forced Tora and Poppi to look up, and together they spotted their enemy. A large skeletal horse in a bright green visor and red bow tie sat in some sort of floating craft, not too unlike Bowser Jr's clown car. As they watched, a hole opened in the ground nearby, and Gneidxick sprung out with a starter's pistol in his hand and a grin on his face. “Ladies and gentlemen, we're off to the races!” he exclaimed. “Ready, set, go!”

Tora and Poppi readied themselves as he fired the pistol, and straightaway normal-sized skeletal horses sprang from the ground with brightly-uniformed skeleton jockeys on their backs to race down the track. Their bone-hard hooves threatened to wallop and trample the intruders, but Poppi had other ideas, and Tora knew just what to do. He jumped toward his partner as she boosted into the air, hesitating only long enough for the wide-eyed Croagunk to jump on. She managed to jet up and out of the way just in time to avoid the sepulchral stampede, but Phear Lap looked more than pleased for his challengers to have entered his domain. Immediately he started backing up, his hovercraft bucking like a wild bronco, and when Poppi flew toward him he ejected a blue gift from his ribcage. The present hovered through the air, using the ribbons in its bow like helicopter blades. Tora positioned himself on Poppi's upper back, holding on with his little arms while his wings reached forward on either side of his head, Mech Arms equipped. The first gift the pair evaded easily, but soon after they passed it the present exploded with the sound of ricocheting bullet into a hail of golden and pink horseshoes that flew out in every direction. They smacked the three challengers across the back, hurting a fair bit, but they kept moving forward. Soon they got in range, and Tora opened wide the Mech Arms' missile pods to start firing rocket after rocket at Phear Lap. After realizing what was going on, Croagunk started using Mud Slap, hurling globs of mud at the retreating skeleton. One by one the projectiles exploded against his bony body, but Phear Lap rode on, undeterred.

Tora kept at it until something surged upward from the track below, forcing Poppi to evade. They veered out of the way as a cyan-cloaked ghost flew upward. Both partners looked down. Below galloped an endless parade of calcium-rich horses and jockeys, but after every handful of jockeys, there came a horse with a ghost on its back. As they watched, one such specter springboarded off its mount and shot straight up at them. Poppi expertly maneuvered away, but at that moment an unnoticed gift launched by Phear Lap exploded, showering the challengers with painful horseshoes once again. “Ow, meh!” Tora exclaimed. “That going to leave bruise. Flying hard enough without pesky minions jumping around. Poppi, let's seal reinforcements.”

“Roger, roger!” A series of sharp clicks came from Poppi, and a dark aura flared to life momentarily around her core and weapons. “Hold on.” Tora complied, and Croagunk learned to as the artificial blade rocketed forward, her thrusters set to max. Phear Lap yanked a roll of dollar bills from his ride to use as a makeshift club, but before he could so much as raise it Poppi hurled Tora at him like an oversized dodgeball.

The Nopon his the skeleton in the face, dropped onto the flying machine's rim, and faced Phear Lap down with Mech Arms at the ready. “Okay, Nopon boxing time!” He threw out some body blows, one, two, then ducked as the bone horse swung his bill roll horizontally. Another few punches landed before Phear Lap swung again, this time adding a follow-up second swing that clocked Tora in the noggin. Shaking off the blow he kept at it, hitting until he needed to swerve right to avoid a hand smash. Meanwhile Poppi and her passenger Croagunk faced off against marauding ghosts, dodging and attacking until Tora gave her the signal. “Okay, juice stored! Let 'er rip!”

He tossed Poppi the Mech Arms, and she caught them before reading one large rocket each. “Poppi Missile!” she called, darting forward to audaciously bomb her enemy. Phear Lap reeled back, his skull spinning on its vertebrae, and Tora took back the Mech Arms to start the routine of gathering energy again. The racehorse attacked with newfound vigor, forcing the rotund engineer to his limit. Jab, jab, hook, uppercut, duck, jab, jab, duck, duck, hook, hook, hook, dodge right, dodge left, double hit. Poppi kept an eye on her masterpon, watching but not taking action until Phear Lap slammed both arms on his flying machine to make it rock back and forth, putting Tora off balance. With enough opening created, the horse manifested another exploding present point-blank to blast Tora away, but Poppi was ready.

She channeled her ether into him to create a shield around him, withstanding the blast easily, and Tora delivered an uppercut to Phear's jaw in recompense. The Mech Arms then sailed Poppi's way. “Now, Poppi! Round two!”

Poppi snatched the weapons from the air as she sprang forward into action. “Behold power of Poppi!” A spinning punch smashed into Phear's jaw, sending chips flying. Croagunk jumped forward and jabbed Phear in the nose with his poisonous orange finger before leaping back to grab Poppi, who then finished with a darkness-infused uppercut. It exploded in a burst of black and purple energy, throwing both Pear and his ride backward. Tora grabbed hold of the flying machine as it span vertically, completing two whole rotations before evening out. A moment later the gauntlets fell into his hands, and not a moment too soon.

The ghosts renewed their assault, and Phear struck back with a vengeance. He rained down blows on Tora, but the Nopon had a plan. Putting no effort at all into defense, he put everything he had into a constant barrage of punches all over his foe, barking constantly as he did. “Mehmehmehmehmehmehmehmeh!” Bruises, cuts, and welts covered him, but still he fought on, trusting in pure constitution while Poppi dealt with the spirits. Croagunk clung to her, flinging Mud Slaps mostly in vain. Tora finished the barrage by readying the Mech Arms and unleashing a nebulous blast. “Pow-pow Cannon!” Phear Lap clattered his teeth, dazed, and Tora stopped panting long enough to pass the Mech Arms one more time. “Here finale! All power to weapons!”

This time Poppi said nothing, instead zooming forward to equip the Mech Arms and hold them up. Ether energy flooded through her, and when she opened her weapons' missile pods, countless dark missiles shot out in a torrent that swept Phear Lap away. He fell to the ground in a spiral, catching himself just above the track, and. With a chatter he thrust a finger at the wear challengers as they approached, a command for his racers to take them down. But nobody came. Baffled, Phear looked around, but not so much as a single jockey appeared to help him. As he looked this way and that, confused, Croagunk leaped from Poppi to use Astonish as it fell, striking Phear with a startling sound. It proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back, as the horse fell back in defeat, sobbing with his money clutched in his hands. He looked as though he'd lost his life savings in a horse race, and certainly not in any condition to fight. Tora and Poppi landed about fifty feet in front of him, wondering if the brief but fierce brawl was theirs. “Whew, meh! That fun fight,” Tora said. Poppi, having had to put up with constant annoying ghost attacks, was unconvinced. Croaguk looked pretty pleased with himself, though. With the track clear and Phear beaten, Tora turned around to head back toward the portal, but not before giving the racehorse a wave. “See later! Next time, bet on Tora and Poppi!” he laughed before heading through, his friends in tow.

Koopa Troop

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle


Father and son stepped out into a white void crisscrossed and layered by vast arrangements of white and black dominoes. However visually striking their new surroundings, they did not get long to admire it. The ground beneath them, a rather narrow bridge of white dominoes laid side by side, started to move. Behind the koopas was a wall of spikes, an ever-present threat lurking behind them to skewer them should they not mind their pace. Every few dominoes as well came one with spikes on the top, requiring a hop to get over unless skewered feet ranked on their priority list. By itself the conveyer belt provided a danger if not a real problem, but the real problem wasted no time in presenting itself.

A swing descended from above to stop over where the domino conveyer began. Atop it sat a domino with arms and legs, its upper half sporting a male face and its lower half featuring a female one, complete with skirt and heels. “Pip!” the top shouted, to which the bottom added, “And Dot!” Together, in one uncanny voice, they said, “We're gonna have some fun!”

Pip raised his hat as if to greet the challengers, but beneath was a domino bird, with one eye on each half and a beak in the middle between its wings. It flew out with an angry tweet, trying to smack Bowser or his son and force them toward the spikes. A moment later, Pip leaned back as the living domino almost split in half, revealing a fanged mouth that spat out a glowing dodecahedron. It shot around, completely uninterruptible as it bounced off various dominoes, threatening to smack the koopas into peril.

Courier 6 and Geralt

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle


The living glasses eyed 6 as he approached. “Wha? ...Who're you?” the shortest one slurred, full of rum and as red-nosed as one could get.

His much taller companion fluttered her eyelashes at the newcomer. “Heeeey there, darlin'.” She hiccuped, the stem of her martini glass wobbling precariously.

The biggest of the three scowled at him. “Hey,” he growled, his voice full of whiskey. “If you ain't...ain't gonna party, you ain't welcome 'ere!”

“Yeah!” the little guy agreed. “Have a...have a drink!”

He lost his footing and flopped down, face-first, in 6's direction. A tide of rum surged from him, rolling over the tablecloth to slam into 6. Rummy stood back up afterward, albeit anything but steady, and rocked back and forth on his feet. A second or two later, Geralt appeared from the portal, and after getting over his shock he chucked a grapeshot bomb at the Tipsy Troop. It exploded in their midst, blasting all three with a clearly painful wallop, but their glass did not just up and shatter. In reply Martini straightened up, trying to focus, and after a brief moment her olive divided in half. The second half flew up, sprouted purple wings and a red eye, and started flapping around and shooting eyes. Whiskey's eyes became spirals as he shot a beam of liquor upward to fall straight down toward the Witcher like a pillar of light.

Ace Cadet and Linkle

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle


The situation changed with stunning rapidity, but after Gneidxick revealed himself and explained, the heroes' task became clear. More fighting would be in order, and though things didn't seem anywhere near as dire as they had last night or even in Paved Wilderness, Peach treated the highroller to an icy glare. After the Courier's forced rejection, everyone took the hint to get on with the game, and dispersed toward the various portals. Peach took a chance to steady and look over Hat Kid, but found no sign of injury. Whatever their nonsensical means of conveyance, they appeared to take no injury from the fall. When she looked up Peach saw Ace Cadet motioning at her, which she took to be a sort of beckoning wave. She nodded and hustled after him, following into the poker chip portal with her shotgun at the ready.

After stepped across the two emerged. Instantly they were assaulted by hot, sooty air, feeling it, tasting it, breathing it in. They stood on a giant ashtray, about thirty feet across, that stood just a short way above a blazing inferno. Around the fiery arena swung a shifting, smoky miasma of well-dressed casino patrons, placidly watching the proceedings, and a hefty jump across open air stood another ashtray tower. In its ashes rested a giant head shaped like a cigar butt, complete with comedic long nose, waxed mustache, and teeth as yellow as his eyes. From above an oversized arm reached down, the purple suit sleeve implying it to be Gneidxick's, and in his hand he held a lighter. Mr. Wheezy leaned forward for Gneidxick to light him, causing the gray top of his head to flare up, and after Gneidxick removed his arm the living cigar grinned. “You folks,” he said, his voice a dry, gravelly grumble. “Look like you could use a light!”

He cackled as the flames turned up a notch. Cigarettes with bat wings, horns, and leering eyes flew up from the fire below, swooping lazily around the arena. Wheezy, meanwhile, puffed up his cheeks before releasing the first of many crescent fireballs, which span through the air in an unpredictable arc. Peach let off a scatterblaster shot at the cigar, but the distance rendered it ineffective, and the next moment she had to take a dive into the ash to avoid the fireball as it wheeled toward her.

At that moment Linkle appeared, having arrived to the Devil's Casino as the first of the heroes' reinforcements and chosen a fight to join. She arrived just in time to take a flame wheel almost full in the face, and the cigarette bats fluttered over to give her a proper greeting.

Nero

Location: Argent Tower, Dead Zone


The survivors' mad rush to the tower fending off ambush after ambush, from all sorts of monsters and from just about every direction conceivable, staying ahead of the ravenous, unstoppable horde. Each fighter made every second count, every swung and every spent round of ammunition; with the stakes high and a gruesome death -more than likely followed by grotesque undeath- only ever a few seconds away, nobody could afford to give anything less than their all. Nero made the most of the Blue Rose's unlimited ammunition, blasting monster after monster as they reared their ugly heads, and his tidy handiwork allowed him a brief window every so often to glance back. There came the horde, terrifying and inexorable as ever, but he spotted something else, too.

He saw his companions at work, and what he saw invariably made him proud of those who'd accompanied him into this hell. From his vantage point atop Nico's van Jak rained a brutal fusillade of projectiles on the encroaching zombies and demons, cycling through mode after mode as he strove to protect his friends. The portly dragon also occupying the roof watched with wide eyes, not minding in the least that his hero used his corpulence to help deaden his morph gun's recoil. Ratchet and Donnie together manned a vehicle, usual-looking but still recognizable as a bike, and between them wreaked havoc on the speedier among the group's pursuers. With attached blade, projected ki, or overwhelming arsenal they carved up the monsters, helping to ensure the survivors could proceed safely. Joker kept the skies clear with his gun and the aid of his persona. Blazermate's converted undead fought tooth and claw alongside the defenders to fend off attacks coming from the side. They proved an invaluable asset; by lunging at incoming fiends and grabbing hold, they kept them still for a single well-aimed shot or slice from a defender to lay that particular threat to rest. Of course, Ghalt's shotguns typically vaporized the friendly undead as well, but there were plenty more where they came from.

Nero refocused, eyes on the prize. Not far now. The tower loomed ahead, a four-sided technological monolith with imposingly spiky battlements at the top, reaching up toward where the tower lights lit up a whirling centrifuge of dark clouds in red.


As he and Howard led the survivors nearer, they simultaneously noticed the carnage. Strewn all around the base of the tower were countless carcasses, most mutilated beyond all recognition. The pavement itself was slick with murky fluids. Nero took a deep breath and pushed on, readying the Red Queen. Ahead stood the main door, a giant sliding affair that lay barely ajar. The van had stopped close to the entrance, its riders and passengers disembarked. He couldn't see much within the building, but he could see something gleam as it moved. It stepped through the atmosphere, menacingly slow, and the devil hunter slid to a stop.

To call him a man would have been to do him no justice, but what else could it be but a man, beneath that heavy green armor, and featureless helmet? Yet danger seemed to radiate off him, hitting the survivors in the face like an overpowering odor. Maybe it was the gore that drenched his gloves and boots, or the shotgun held in his right hand, or just his deafening, inhuman silence. The group stopped cold, suddenly caught between a rock and a hard place, only about ten seconds ahead of the horde.

Nero said nothing. He couldn't think of a damned thing to say. But the big man started to move. He walked forward with a purpose in his stride, no sign of overt hostility. Nero and Howard stepped to the side, letting him by, and the survivors got out of his way. The horde approached, and the stranger picked up speed. He materialized a rocket launcher into his hand, leveled the end at the shrieking throng, and he fired.

Flame blossomed in the night. An entire swath of the horde blew to bits. The armored man said nothing, already making his next move. Two more rockets flew out to enact devastation before he switched to a LMG. Excessively large rounds ripped through the ranks of zombies and demons, blowing chunks out of the stronger ones before blasting them apart, too. He finished with a salvo of mini-missiles from an attachment on the weapon before stepping forward to confront an Antenora personally. A shotgun blast at the last second messed it up and sent it flying, but he caught it out of the air, pulled it back toward him, and punched clean through its midsection with a hook. More zombies raced toward him, but he used another gun to shower the horde with balls of electricity, then charged forward to rip an electrocuted hell razer a new one. A red arremer swooped down, attempting to pick him up, but the man proved heavier than it expected and pulled it down instead to tear off its wings. Whenever he got hands-on with a kill, various packets spilled out of the fresh corpse, replenishing his health, armor, and ammunition. He disappeared into the horde, but the slaughter continued, decimating monsters by the dozen. When Nero heard the roar of a chainsaw, he couldn't help but last. “Well, I guess he's got it covered,” he said, trying to break the ice. “Let's go in.”

Howard nodded, exhaling heavily. One man stood where nobody else could have, turning the tide against an entire horde on his own. Out there were bloodthirsty bugs, reapers, mechanical monstrosities, ghosts, and countless kinds of zombies, all the stuff of nightmares. But he was worse. “Yeah, let's. C'mon everyone, get inside!”

In a few moments the survivors all crammed inside. Nico managed to squeeze her van through the entrance, after which she pulled it up alongside the door as a barricade. It didn't seem so crazy that the man from before could finish with the horde and come wandering back, so V stayed behind as a lookout, but everyone else could breath a sigh of relief. They were safe.

“Blazermate, let's get a new teleporter up and running,” Howard said. “And if there's any way we can decrease the cooldown, do it.” Survivors stood by, collectively exhausted and hurt but ready to escape.

Nero waved to Donnie. “Hey, start disinfecting people. Don't wanna send any plague bombs to...uh, whatever place is on the other side.”
Before he had even received the opportunity to be rid of his robes and finish his coffee, Rodias quickly found himself in an audience with Graft, the sight of the Sable Lord in his sleep wear no doubt proving odd, but with a snap of his fingers Rodias’ very shadow swept across his being as a spiral, trading cloth for cloth as he fully changed his clothes while barely moving a muscle. Displaying no response to it outwardly, Rodias would think: ”Thank god...thought I was going to have to have a meeting while hiding my morning wood.” MMO armor thankfully was pretty good at hiding genitalia.

Standing with a dramatic wind blowing his cape behind him, Rodias would carefully examine the hidden outlines of the items that Graft’s factory had completed, smiling in satisfaction as he said: ”Efficient as always Graft. I-...Wait, who are you?” as he turned to Tabula. Poise gave way to pure confusion, cape twisting into a question mark behind him as he observed Tabula from all angles, walking in a circle around her. Looking to Graft, Rodias would ask: ”Is she one of your employees, Graft?”

Aware of Tabula’s discomfort and confusion, Graft smiled. “That is correct, sir. She is the cornerstone of one of my new endeavors, Project EVO. Meet Tabula Rasa. Tabula, meet Rodias, my boss. Say hello, Tabula.”

“Hello, Tabula,” she stuttered, shaking. Rodias’ very presence seemed to affect her severely, unsurprising given the vast gulf between their levels.

Graft chuckled, which came out as a burst of static. “Allow me to share the details. The primary goal, or mission statement if you will, of research and develop is to make Bandersnatch more powerful. Some might think of power in terms of numbers, resources, and territory.” His AOI mask switched to projector lenses. Images of Mamoru and Gromgard flashed, then Chunnitrixx, then her mimics moving cargo to and fro. All things he himself could not possibly have seen. “I looked somewhere else. Where is the greatest source of potential?” The projection emitted by his lenses changed, showing an array of different species, including animals described by Kath and retrieved by Kaldorna and Zouyu. “Within living things. As you well know, every entity carries a metric that we observe, a measure of overall ability called ‘level’. That measure takes into account attributes like HP and abilities such as skills and spells. For some reason most entities remain stuck at a constant level, but Supreme Beings such as yourself are capable of increasing your level through experience. I wanted to see if a created being could do the same.”

He laid a clawed hand on Tabula’s shoulder. “Enter Tabula. I repurposed the leftovers of...my former authority as a study to try and guide development myself. I am ecstatic to report that she has already gained about five levels in the fighter class from training against my Guards, and exhibits heightened HP, Defense, and Strength. My current goal is to train her as a paladin and eventually valkyrie.” As he talked, his projection changed to show diagrams and relevant images. He’d been speaking matter-of-factly, if impassioned, for a time now, but as he clasped his hands together Graft’s voice grew excited. “My studies have a long way to go, but surely you can imagine the possibilities. We would be able to raise new personnel to suit any role, cultivating whatever skills we might need. Perhaps even we could ourselves attain new heights. An invigorating notion, is it not?”

Rodias paused to take in all this information which, frankly, was a bit overwhelming for the Sable Lord. So...this girl was created by Brushen Penn? He’d never seen her before...nor had he ever even heard mention from Penn of another NPC being created beyond those in the Factory Floor. He didn’t know how to feel, especially given the fear in the girl’s eyes as she looked at him. It was...strange, to say the least. Was this how “normal” people were going to react to him?

Shaking that thought from his mind, Rodias would instead address the premise of Graft’s “grinding” in order to strengthen the Chateau, the likes of which was in and of itself a very sound idea, and already provided an answer to a question that had been bothering Rodias since he’d engaged in his melee last night. That being, whether they could grow stronger at the same pace as when it was all a game. However, perhaps either because Graft’s life had mostly been spent at his current level or near it given how guild NPC creation worked, or simply from how seldom the factory director engaged in direct combat, there were nuances that needed to be addressed.

Clearing his throat, Rodias would say: ”It is indeed invigorating. But, it does have a few holes in it...at least, as far as you’ve explained it to me. To begin with, Tabula, was it? I suppose she started from an early level...say, anywhere below ten. Gaining experience from levels 1 to 10 is a simple matter, the type of experience that can be gained simply from enough sparring matches or training sessions. But once you grow past level 20 cumulatively, that’s when penalties begin kicking in. Put simply...in order to actually grow your Level, you need to not only work longer and harder at it, the actual experiences need to grow in peril.”

Walking to the window, Rodias gingerly opened it, looking outside for a small bird, perhaps one intent on soiling the rooftops with its feces, before a glint of steel would emerge from his cloak, a squawk echoing through the sky, before Rodias suddenly held the bird’s neck in his hand, tenderly held betwixt two fingers that could so easily snap it in two. ”I could kill a million of these birds, and never once see myself grow in strength. Even if it was my first time picking up a bow, it would need to be a challenge to shoot something down with it. Many people in YGGDRASIL would focus their levels on singular purposes; Base classes advancing into High classes, then Rare classes manifesting from their specific choices. My Shadow Class, for example, is only attainable by one who not only specializes in stealth classes, but skills to debilitate. Poisoner and Blood Drinker let me debilitate those I fight, but in terms of Rare classes, Shadow doesn’t increase my offense very much. I’ve heard of there being countless Rare classes that are unobtainable if you don’t follow a very specific Leveling routine...and even if you do, they may not be worth it for you as a person.”

As he spoke, the bird held in his grasp seemed paralyzed in fear, before it vanished completely inside of Rodias’ shadow, the Sable Lord’s now free hand brushing itself off against his cloak. Smiling slightly, Rodias said: ”However, knowing you, you already have an idea in mind to deal with this. Its worth noting as well, that just because it is hard to do something, does not mean it will make you stronger. If you, for example, tried to and managed to kill me here in this room, despite the difference in our levels, you’d maybe only gain about three. A large amount at once to be sure, but not enough to be worth the effort and risk. As such, its better for one to face numerous foes on their own level.

Graft listened at rapt attention, claws tented. Not only did Rodias seem to approve of his project, but he offered a whole heap of priceless information to help with it. When Rodias got to the point he stroked his mustache in contemplation. “Hmm, fascinating.” So, he would need to change the routine often. And he would need to do research to figure out the exact leveling path that could take Tabula from nothing to Valkyrie. He continued to absorb the Sable Lord’s advice up until the point he outlined a hypothetical fight between the two of them, at which point Graft sneezed. “Oh, pardon me. The very idea…sniff...of contention between us fills me with aversion. But thank you, thank you a thousand times for the guidance. I will put it to good use. Tabula will become a shining star in our guild.” He squeezed the Nightgaunt’s shoulder. Tentatively, she extended one of her wings, and the oversized hand upon it clasped Graft’s own.

Clearing his throat, Graft then tilted his head at his Guards. “Now then, I have much to show. Shall I proceed, sir?”

”Go right ahead Graft. I’m curious, since you’ve made these devices and kept them shrouded,” Rodias would reply, taking his seat upon his throne. He was poised with his back arched forward, waiting expectantly with his hands folded beneath his chin. All the while, he was thinking of how to make himself more...approachable. Was it the green skin? The ears? Both? What had Tabula so on edge?

Graft, meanwhile, looked almost giddy. He motioned a guard carrying two items forward. “Excellent. First, your order. I contacted my compatriots in the field and gleaned the necessary details from them to make two surveillance organisms based on this region’s animals. This one is Intravis, Type S.” A flick of the wrist unveiled a simple case made of the same greenish organic metal as the Factory, which popped open with a hiss. Inside was a small rodent, with coarse grey fur and beady black eyes. “Like all products in the Vis series, it’s designed to mimic the animal’s behavior while serving as a discreet surveillance drone. Salem’s eye would go inside its mouth.” The second small case swung open to show a larger rabbit creature, dull-eyed and listless. “Agravis, Type G. While the other is meant for environments where humans dwell, this one is more suited for fields, forest, and roads. G types are an alternative to your proposal that necessitates the use of Salem. This Agravis is actually a technoorganism, capable of storing everything it sees and hears as encoded data in its brain. I am able to interface with it to extract the data and view it for myself. I have a hypothesis that in the same way my Open Line and the various Message spells transmit information across great distances, I may eventually be able to route G types’ data into a machine, from which it can be absorbed mere moments after it’s experienced. It will take time, but I believe it to be the superior option.”

He waved the Guard away, who took the two little spies to the back of the group. Another took its place, also with two covered items. “I also have for you some navigational equipment. Spyglasses and compasses already exist, so I simply modified existing schematics for Factory production; if mine prove inadequate, I recommend order more sophisticated devices from Oz.” Without much interest he unveiled the tools, but the second veil he removed with aplomb. “This, however, is something truly exceptional. In Yggdrasil, bats and whales discovered their surroundings through sound. Surely, I thought, a technoorganism can do the same.” From the case he produced a wide, roughly circular object like across between a drum and a lung. Its top was sleek and smooth, glittering faintly in a multitude of colors. “Behold, the Scanner. Simply agitate the organism, like so…” He squeezed a bulbous growth on the thing’s side, making it wriggle.

After a moment it compressed, releasing a loud, spine-chilling tone that echoed throughout the Final Chapter and the floors beyond. Atop the Scanner, the prismatic surface began to generate light, gradually creating a three-dimensional projection that soon resolved itself into the shape of the Chateau Gothika in its entirety, and a bit of the mountain it sat upon. “Voila! That tone filters through its surroundings, touching everything and bouncing back to the Scanner. Then the integrated projector, reverse-engineered from the technology in my mask, displays the information it receives. The result: a topographical map of the surrounding area.” The Director looked very pleased with himself. “Of course, it is neither the most inconspicuous nor the most accurate, and it would need to be run constantly to keep users apprised of entities’ movements, but it is only the prototype.”

Rodias was looking very impressed, but at hearing the sound that the Scanner made, Rodias would seemingly freeze up, shivering where he stood. ”Erm...the technology sounds quite together but...would running it constantly not wear the device out quickly? Other than that concern though, very well done on the Intravis and Agravis. I would say to hold off on constructing something as elaborate as the G series’ central bank until we know it is needed, but I wouldn’t want to ruin your fun. “

Something about that noise was clearly aggravating...then again, he doubted that anybody could stand such a noise, save maybe for Graft. Looking over the navigational equipment, Rodias would hold up a spyglass and test its magnification, before putting it back down, looking satisfied. ”Fantastic work, Graft.”

“Why thank you, sir.” Leaning on his cane like a dandy, Graft talked through an enormous smile. The only flaw Rodias pointed out was something he conceived of as well. “I daresay that if you’re pleased now, you could very well blow your top in a minute or two. I’ll run through my other works.” As he listed his products his Guards showed them one by one. “Aydi and Emel Shells, able to shoot adrenaline and melatonin injectors, respectively. Useful for strengthening allies and sedating enemies. Iyes Shield, capable of wide-range defense via interception of incoming projectiles and spells with lightning bolts. Iyes Pylon, repurposing lightning for offense. And a particularly potent little problem solver, the Enar Patch.”

He held up the device in question, staring at it through half-lidded eyes. Roughly the size of a snuff box, it features a glass tank, a pump, various pipes and wires, and various needles on the bottom. “Short for Nanoflesh Rewrite. As you’re no doubt aware, I possess an incredibly potent ability as a Technoorganic Bioengineer: nanoflesh. While it looks like a mere fleshy putty the color of sea foam, I can control it at a near-microscopic level. I work constantly to increase my mastery of manipulating matter with it. The Enar Patch will help in the future as we seek to expand our influence. With a bit more R&D, I foresee being able to distill small amounts of programmable, high-performance Nanoflesh that this device can deliver into a host body and extract once it’s done its work. You see where I’m going, of course. We could surreptitiously alter people in this new world, changing allegiance, personality and even appearance, to a limited extent. Just sneak it onto someone, from a hero or a king to a particular guard or merchant, and watch events unfold from the shadows. A few changes in the right places and the courses of entire nations could shift to our advantage. Power and secrecy both, in the palm of your hand..”

Graft replaced the device in its case and held up his hands in placation. “At this point, were there any dullards around, they might ask if this was necessary. But you and I know better.” His voice became low and confidential as he stepped forward, his grin and eyes intense. “Our arrival in this world has set things in motion. We did not drop into a blissful and unaware paradise, no. Already, powerful entities skulk in the shadows, their ears and eyes on the unfamiliar newcomers. And we have not been subtle. Our scouts left the Chateau with no info-masking measures like False Data Life or Jamming, some flagrantly showing off their power or filling the countryside with noise.” His projector lenses flashed images of his comrades, seen through the eyes of his Guards. “Whoever it was that stole a peek at Kath in the village today was just the beginning. There were many beings stronger than us in the old world, and there are mostly likely many here. For that, we must be prepared.”

Still smiling that indelible smile, he raised a clawed hand from his cane and motioned the last few Guards forward. The four of them carried two large cases between them, lugging them into position behind their boss. Graft stepped out of the way, extending tentacles to pull both covers away, and the coffin-sized cases hissed open.

“Here are the firstfruits of Project REPLICA.”

Inside each was a body, white as porcelain. One was young, thin, and neither discernibly male nor female. The other would have been that of a somewhat thick-bodied woman if not for her pointed legs, overlarge hands, and faintly piscine features. “Body doubles. The most effective insurance policy. While little more than shells now, they are almost totally organic, and can be completed with the help of personal examinations and Kath’s archives, then developed into serviceable approximates and put to work. They can be sent out to deal with the unknown, or take a fall. Offerings to sate whatever would wish us harm, while the real prize slips away. They can be made of any of us, and act just like us. Even you.” Graft stepped back, bowing his head, and closed the cases. “I assure you, I make no pretensions of equaling the Supreme Beings in station. My meager creations pale in comparison to the works of the Board. I only endeavor to serve Bandersnatch, and to ensure its prosperity and future. I hope that you approve.”

Rodias looked over the adrenaline and melatonin injectors, the likes of which he recalled being uncommonly used buffing items in YGGDRASIL Online. They were fairly effective, but were limited in use due to the wielder needing to have ranks in Alchemy to even use them...though he had to assume Graft had improved upon the design considerably. The Iyes Pylon was impressive, seeing as he could imagine how effective it could be in a massive battle.

When it came to the Enar Patch however, Rodias’ mind started racing to wonder if allowing such a thing to be mass produced would be a mistake or not. It was without a doubt, objectively useful, but Rodias wasn’t short sighted enough to assume that it could purely be used to benefit him. The reality of it would be that any under its influence were under Graft’s influence, a prospect that bode some consequences given his enthusiasm for his work. He didn’t expect Graft to betray him in the slightest -- Far from it, he assumed that perhaps the most terrible thing that could arise from this is Graft using it to force the entire world to bend to the will of the Chateau. Rodias had no such grand ambitions...not yet, at least. Currently, just having a warm bed and delicious meals three times a day was bliss in and of itself, given the slop he ate back home. Keeping his subjects happy of course was another high priority. He’d have to discuss the nanoflesh later with Graft...but he could raise no objection to it. Not after he’d already condoned torture, grand expansion, and espionage on the innocent.

...Thinking back on it, Rodias was now growing more and more unsure of when he decided that those were okay. Not in a chronological sense; Each date was so recent that there was no way he could forget. It was more the...moral, sense, that he was entirely unsure of where he stood. Was this how his character would have viewed such issues? With indifference, or a single-minded self-serving interest in the preservation of the things he liked at any cost? It was frankly confusing...but...some part of Rodias deep down started to wonder…

Had he ever truly been a good person to begin with?

Standing from his throne, Rodias would loom over one of the REPLICAs, softly pressing a gloved hand into the side of its arm, testing the feeling of the flesh. It was uncanny. Almost a perfect recreation of humanoid skin. And yet, on the surface, Rodias couldn’t help but smile as he realized just how useful all of this was. ”No need to belittle yourself, Graft. Amongst all beings in this world, I doubt that regardless of strength any of them could think of something on this scale. No one’s loyalty is in question until it comes time to ask,” Rodias would say, looking to Tabula. Stooping a bit to be on eye level with her, Rodias would smile ever so lightly, easing his stance to let her know that he meant no harm as he held out a hand. The shadow of his head crept along it, before the bird from before, now dyed an inky black signifying it as a permanent resident of a Vampire’s Household emerged, obeying silent commands to chirp and sing for Tabula. ”I forgot my manners in all this excitement. I am Rodias. In a way, I am your Boss’ Boss,” he would explain, being as simple and brief as he could to make it easy on her.

As Rodias approached Tabula, unease filled Graft. He could not say with certainty what she would do. So far she’d been meek and passive, but anything could happen if he continued to agitate her -whatever his intentions-, and that could spell disaster. Fighting the urge to say something, he watched as Rodias attempted to show her a friendly face. To that end he resummoned the bird from earlier to beep and tweet, which might have been macabre had Tabula any real understanding of what happened. At first the Nightgaunt looked equal parts worried and defensive, but a curiosity replaced it. The Sable Lord introduced himself, and Tabula could respond of her own free will.

“Hello, sir,” she told him, her voice low but faintly melodic. Though silent, she’d been listening this whole time, and managed to pick up that ‘sir’ was something one called a boss. Papillary did it for Graft, and Graft did it for Rodias, so she should do it, too. Faced with such a strong presence, she felt an almost petrifying urge to do things she ‘should’, so as to make sure nothing happened to her, or to Graft.

Rodias felt a bit awkward, given that Tabula didn’t seem to react much at all to the songbird in his hand. Clearing his throat, Rodias would take a step away from her and withdraw his Household bird, saying: ”Well...let’s see, I believe that now that we’ve reviewed your current projects, is there anything else you’d like to go over with me, Graft?” as he turned to the factory director.

Bandersnatch’s last Sable Lord received a shake of the head. “No, that just about covers it. I will be working to improve upon these prototypes and ready them for mass production. In the future, I imagine Tabula will study with Aurora, but that may be a way off. Should you have any need, please do not hesitate to call upon us.” He bowed his head, followed by Papillary, and after a moment Tabula rushed to mimic the gesture. The Guards began to head out, carrying their various loads. “Farewell, sir.”

Rodias would nod, bowing slightly as Graft and his entourage left, leaving the Sable Lord alone to ponder just what was going on with his own mind...and whether it was something that needed to be cared for in the first place.
A dingy boat and a somber haze did little to dampen Sloane's spirits. Even if it didn't look it at the moment, this was after all basically a tropical vacation. No homework, no sparring, no tests, no expectations or responsibilities. Just relaxation in the summer sun of an island paradise. There were a few chores and things, she knew, but she also knew from Ms. Opal's frantic repetition that there ought to be only a fourth as much as the student body, sixteen teens strong, might typically be assigned. At that point, some do-good go-getter like Kathy, Cameron, Evan, or Tony would probably do it all. That meant a good long while without having to do much of anything, which sounded like a welcome change from the constant stress of school life. After a hellish flight from America to the Mediterranean, she could definitely use it.

The ferry trip passed by uneventfully. Extremely uneventfully, even. Stiff and bored, Sloane sulked about the passenger area with an ornery look on her face, warning everyone else to steer clear. Judea's company she didn't mind, but just about everyone else was not only either a dork or a jerk, but also her competition. They were the people she was to measure up to and surpass, and here they all were getting ready for a nice communal vacation like normal people. That's not going to fly. Of course, out of everyone poor Ms. Opal was the worst off. Sloane pitied the woman, so suffocated by anxiety. It didn't stir her into a babbling busybody like it did for the teacher, but Sloane could relate. Pressure bore down on the both of them, like the weight of the ocean on a deep-sea submarine. Some people -idiots- thought of Opal, and even Sloane herself, as cracked, but they knew nothing of the kind of toll it took to be and do not just their best, but the best. Unfortunately for Opal, it looked like what would be a time of relief for Sloane would be a time of suffering for her. Godspeed, miss, Sloane thought.

Time wore on until the ship's bell heralded land. Rays of sun finally started to pierce the fog, and Sloane lifted her weary head. “About time,” she grouched, getting to her feet. She stopped briefly to grab her travel case, loop her arms through the straps, and settle it on her back. Given the remarkable heat at both point of departure and destination, that crimson coat of hers seemed more and more useless, but there it was stuffed into an exterior pocket regardless. She slipped a mirror from a pocket and took a quick look at herself. From an early age she'd learned to associate success and perfection with attractiveness, and so even in cruddy situations like this, she paid close attention to her appearance. Even with the oversized backpack she managed to look good, but her reflection only made herself depressed. Awful. It's a wonder anyone can stand looking at me. She stood there, miserable, until Opal called everyone to order. Sloane gave a slight sigh but complied without further complaint. The teacher then pronounced her certainty that the students had read her book on the island. Sloane blinked. “Uh, yeah.” Reading was something she enjoyed anyway, and history in particular struck her as interesting. She couldn't speak for the others, though.

Like the others Sloane glanced out at the terrain at Opal's prompting. What she saw surprised her almost as much as it did Opal, since she read the book and all, but Sloane hid it a whole lot better. “Huh.” Not only was the place simultaneously restored and overgrown, but something wasn't quite right. These weren't at all the sort of plants outlined in the book. Deadpan, she extended a hand to place on Opal's shoulder to try and assuage her mounting stress. One deep breath and shaky smile later the teacher attempted to move on, trusting the students to wait in line for her signals to depart. Sloane planned to do it, since she didn't want to let the teacher down, a few of her peers had other plans and once the dam broke, nothing stayed behind. Moving with the others and maintaining her frosty glare, Sloane advanced into the age-old marina without spotting any kind of welcome committee. No DWMA personnel, no local contacts, not even any pushy hawkers. “Hot day to get a cold shoulder,” she muttered, looking around with furrowed brows. Everyone in this place looked dull and lifeless, even the security guards, who let the newcomers right through their checkpoint. “Way to make an effort,” she scolded as she passed through. “We're all armed, by the way.”

From there the weird stuff just compounded. Neither Sloane nor the others were strangers to strangeness, given their monster-hunting duties as meisters and weapons, and for her part Sloane didn't care if nobody cared about her. No judgmental glances and disappointed looks. A nice change of pace. It got to Opal pretty badly though, especially when she tried approaching a few locals for help and got zilch for her efforts. Looking pretty close to a breakdown, she bravely outlined a plan before taking a brief detour to a nearby drinking fountain for water.

A drink sounded pretty good to Sloane right now too, but this fountain seemed...odd. Various warning signs seemed plastered around it, though 'keep out' was an unusual thing to say about a drinking fountain. Opal, bless her heart, went right for it. Sloane watched as she stood up, ready to get the trip back on track, and turned into a sheep.

Sloane blinked twice, and raised her eyebrows. “Whoa.” One of the dudes, a guy who looked familiar but whom she'd never interacted with, took the sensible route. He tried to talk to sheep-Opal, but she exhibited no overt understanding. Great. Then Arle -Sloane knew her for sure- pointed out the ferry, sliding away from the docks out to sea. They were trapped. Double great.

Meanwhile Evan had started babbling, heroically taking charge to unite everyone against the nonexistent panic, then offered everyone a compassionate shoulder for all to lean on. Like these people weren't all able combatants who hunted down and killed evil souls. Everyone else was just talking among themselves, alerted but hardly afraid. So awkward. Sloane groaned. “Uuugh, pipe down already. We'll live somehow.”

Proceeding carefully in search of the local DWMA chapter seemed to be the order of the day. Sloane scowled, practically feeling her chances of a peaceful vacation slipping through her fingers. “Ugh.” If nobody else did, she resolved to grab and carry the sheep, feeling like she owed Opal more than most. For the moment Sloane crossed her arms, looking around for Judea. Where was she?
It looks like Gromgard's going to be slapping them with whips. Just as effective, I suppose, though maybe not as interesting as what might happen in one of Graft's operating rooms.
Organization XIII Gneidxick

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Island





Gneidxick sneered in displeasure as the Courier befouled his table, though the expression did not linger. Instead of running off to play, the gross man started talking. At least it looked like he understood his predicament, that he wasn't going anywhere without rolling some dice, but evidently 6 wanted to up the ante.

“Ohh, mmm, hmhmhmhm,” the sleazy manager snickered while Courier paused to take a drink. “A kindred spirit, eh? Now we're talkin'.” As interested as the words made him sound, he spoke without real enthusiasm. Perhaps the Courier was the bigger high-roller after all.

6 proceeded to state his proposal, wagering the spirits of his entire crew against all the information Gneidxick could must, plus his own spirit, much to the astonishment of Tora, Poppi, and the others. He extended a gunk-soaked hand to shake on it, but Gneidxick's was up twisting the end of his pencil 'stache in contemplation. Without a hood to hide his face his features were plain to see, and he looked conflicted. “Hmmm...temptin', temptin'. That's sure somethin' I'd do, ain't it...?”

His brows furrowed and his hand went still. Already, cracks were forming in the Courier's plan. This wasn't some thrill-seeking lunatic who'd bet it all just for the rush. He was thinking it over, weighing losses and gains. Worse still, Gneidxick displayed no hint of want when 6 mentioned the heroes' spirits. After a moment, he clapped his hands down on the table. “But things're different here. What's your grift, huh? I ain't jingle-brained. If ya knocked off the Brach without losin' a soul, my guns ain't hard enough to do it, either. An' finger my cohorts if I lose? That ain't gonna fly.” He put his hands on his hips. “I don't like them odds, bo. An' I play to win.”

For no particular reason he followed his speech up with a chuckle. “An' even if I didn't, I don't want your grubby li'l spirits. Jus' a few black eyes. So go climb up your thumb.” A playing card appeared in his hand, and with an expert's precision he slid it across the table. It went right under the Courier, sweeping him off his feet and onto the card, before flying into one of the portals.

6 emerged onto another large table, this one covered by an immaculately white satin sheet. A quick look around made him out to be in a dining area of the casino, with giant demons, ghouls, and a few people exchanging conversation over food. Directly opposite him, however, stood three oversized glasses of liquor, unruly and ready for a swell battle.
Like clockwork, Kath took Graft's prompt and let loose the floodgates. At once she began a nonstop torrent of description, relaying every pertinent detail and an abundance of irrelevant ones. If the rabbit she described typically inhabited wild areas, any facsimiles endowed with Salem's eyes would be out of place in a civilized setting, thereby being useless for the Director's purpose and good for little more than biomass. Admittedly Graft needed a lot of it for everything he had in mind, but in business efficiency was everything. No point in taking pains chasing after little rewards when better resources could be found elsewhere. So Graft attempted to steer the conversation toward fauna Kath might have spotted while in the village, creatures equivalent to the rats, pigeons, and other such tolerated vermin of Yggdrasil. It took the patient, dedicated effort of redirecting a raging river, but he managed to get her on track. After a few more minutes it seemed to Graft that the stream of information had devolved to more of a circular whirlpool, going nowhere and devouring his time, so he chose to cut it off. “Alright, that should suffice. Thank you for your cooperation.” He paused for a moment to hear her offer, smiling. “Ah, I would greatly appreciate that. Have a pleasant journey. Farewell.”

Going quiet, he made to dispel the Open Line, but on a spur of the moment impulse decided to leave it open. Almost immediately he heard the recognizable voice of Ashara. From the exchange that followed between her and Kath, he garnered that there had been some sort of unwelcome presence about. The way they talked about it, specifically its aura, made it seem significant. To hear uncertainty and a little alarm in the tones of beings whose strength rivaled Graft's own was disconcerting. “Such power not only exists here, but reared its head so soon after our arrival?” he murmured to himself, his end of the Open Line muted. His duty to ensure the success and safety of Chateau Gothika demanded that he treat any potential threat with utmost seriousness, and this event kickstarted an explosion of possibilities in his mind. It could be that the region the Chateau appeared in was under the watch of some sort of authority, and that already eyes and ears hastened the guild's way to gather information about the intruding anomaly.

An unlikely possibility, to be sure, but Graft could not afford to brush it aside. As one of if not the most intelligent denizens of the Chateau he harbored a responsibility to explore possibilities that others couldn't so much as dream of. That was what it meant to be the Director. The Overseer of Operations. He should be the one standing at Rodias' right-hand, not that trigger-happy flibbertigibbet.

Of course, to prove it he needed results. Until now, he'd been tinkering and experimenting out of his own passion, filling time while he waited for the data he needed to accomplish the task given to him. But now he felt fire flooding through his veins, the drive to achieve a higher station and be able to accomplish more. The drive to be recognized, appreciated, and rewarded. Graft bent to his work, and his genius began to flow.

The machine of industry whirred to life once again. Graft barked orders as he labored at his table. His manufactories received new schematics and configurations, groaning and grinding into action, and deliveries started to pile up at his tableside. He sank deeply into his table's interface, moving its myriad arms as extensions of his body. Filaments and pincers smaller than a grain of rice manipulated flesh and technology on a minute level. Tissue and bone, muscle and nerve. Artery, organ, tooth, and claw. Circuit, diode, coil, transistor. He pulled apart, stitched together, and made new. A picture lay in his mind, clear as day, and like the sculptor freeing his vision from the block of stone he worked steadily to bring what he imagined into reality. Graft was in the zone. When speech came through the Open Line attached to Kath, he listened without breaking his focus.

All the while, his dutiful guards patrolled the Chateau's entrance and the various floors, watching in eerie silence. They knew not to delve too deeply into Enderall, but what little they saw they stored neatly away.




At last, Graft pulled his claws free from the table. They gave resistance, shlorping wetly as he pried free of the connecting neuron-filled tendons that had sunk into his nanoflesh and joined him to the table to make one organism. He sighed in contentment, looking out over the smorgasbord he'd created. An Open Line connected him to his assistant. “Papillary, bring me some food and water. Prepare to show me what you've achieved with Tabula.”

A few minutes later her assistant found him reclining at his desk in his office. She approached quickly, placing the trey on his desk. Behind her, following her like a shadow, was the nightgaunt. Something seemed different about her. As he picked up and bit into his sandwich, trying not to accidentally catch mustache-hairs in his mouth in his hunger, Graft affixed her with the gaze of his mask's special lenses. Just one of his many achievements, it sported updated firmware able to run diagnostics like his operating table, taking stock of a target's attributes to return fairly accurate approximations of level, HP, and MP. With more testing and fine-tuning it could improve a lot, but he knew that a better option would be to procure enchantments from Oz. A visit to her domain occupied a lofty position on his massive mental life of things to do.

Then again, why go in person? He held up a finger to his visitors to tell them to hold on, swallowed his sandwich, then created an Open Line to Oz. “Hello? Hello? Oz? This is Director Graft. I'd like to place an order. Two glass lenses, an inch and a half in diameter, both enchanted. The enchantments I desire are Life Essence, Mana Essence, and Statistic Essence. We can discuss compensation at your leisure. I will send a Supervisor to pick up the items once they are ready.” A few moments later the Line went out, and Graft turned his attention to the others.

Even without the reliability of magic made for the purpose, he could get a pretty good idea of Tabula's status. Data from the mask flowed through his skin and into his mind, allowing him to guess her growth. Ten levels, he concluded, frankly amazed. Her health and mana had increased substantially. Of course, he'd enhanced her growth rate, and his setup for giving her experience was basically cheating—a higher-level Guard with its mental state switched to hostile but its body physically inhibited so that it couldn't fight back made for easy and bountiful experience. But this was a revelation. It was possible for those other than Supreme Beings to grow like they did. Entities not born, but made.

He rose and approached her, feeling her arms. Where before there had been nothing, he could tell there now existed some muscle, and his knowledge of biology told him which it was. Not the lean sort that lent itself to Dexterity, but the thicker sort indicative of Strength. “What weapon did you give her?” he asked Papillary.

“Um!” the assistant bubbled. “We didn't have any melee weapons lying around, and she couldn't figure out how to use one of the Guard's guns, so I gave her one of their gas tanks.”

“I see. Was there any change to her behavior?”

Papillary nodded. “She started out completely blank, just mindlessly doing what she was told. However, as she kept smashing Guards, she...well, got more into it. Enthusiastic, even.”

Graft thought about that. It explained the subtle differences in Tabula's manner from her arrival. When he touched her, she had jerked a way a little, as if angry. “Of course. Starting with a blank slate, her character is molded by her experience. If violence is all she knows, violence is who she is. If her opponents do not resist, she will acquire a taste for beating on the helpless.” Now that would be ironic. Graft started rethinking his strategy. He did not want to make her into a killing machine. A far more impressive and revolutionary achievement would be to cultivate a sophisticated, intelligent individual. He considered what role she could play in the Factory, and the Chateau. A dark knight, maybe? A lady berserker? An elegant assassin? A malignant caster?

An idea came to him, and he knew in an instant it was the right one. Ambitious, risky, maybe impossible. But all the more glorious for it. If he could do this, he could do anything.

Graft thought about how to approach Tabula. She stood before him, tired and sore, addled into agitation by combat, maybe resentful. She stood at a fork in the road, and he needed to guide her the right way. What would Rodias do? Well, he could guess. Graft stepped forward, put his arms out, and pulled the woman into a close embrace.

“Please forgive me,” he said. “I thought that I could just build you up, not thinking about how it would affect you. You will not turn out the same as your creator. Not lonesome, spiteful, distant, and brutal. Instead you will be righteous. Strong, but deliberate, and kind to allies, working for the good of the guild. A Paladin, and then a Bishop. We will train you in Faith in addition to Strength from now on, and in less cruel ways. It will be tough, but it won't be suffering, and it will be worth it. You will soar on those black wings of yours.”

Tabula was confused. It was an information overload. But she felt Graft's warmth, and his intentions. With nothing to go on but his actions, she chose to squeeze him back. Pleased Graft let her go and stepped back, hurrying to make preparations for his grand presentation. Papillary, wrestling with feelings of jealousy, asked him, “Sir, if we're going to train her in Faith as a Paladin, won't she need some god to believe in?”

“Of course!” Graft exclaimed. He extended a single claw, pointing upward. “She will worship the same god I do, the one true deity that governs all, orchestrating the movements of nations, forcing hands and filling minds to the point of obsession.” An unsettling, wide grin dominated his features. “Profit!”

He then hurried to make the last of the preparations. “Tabula, drop by the lab,” he said at one point. “I made something for you in particular. The first and only of its kind. An easy task by my standards, but anything is more presentable than what you have on. I hope you enjoy it.”

One last task awaited Graft before departure. A number of Guards had assembled in front of his lab. Standing before them, he extended his tentacles to plug into their skulls. For a technoorganism, memories were ultimately mere fluctuations in the brain, data that could be accessed if housed in the right medium. In a matter of moments he assimilated the visual and auditory data accumulated during their patrols, adding their memories to his own. "Interesting." Over the course of the trip, Graft mulled it over.




Some time later, after Rodias had awoken from his night's repose and found a Guard at his door requesting a meeting, the doors to the Final Chapter opened wide. In marched Director Graft, flanked on either side by Papillary and Tabula. Behind him marched three ranks of Guards, all of them carrying something, with a few of them working together to carry larger items. Rubbery veils covered them all, keeping the various items hidden from view.

After nearing Rodias, Graft and his aides knelt. “Good day to you, sir,” he said. “I am pleased to say that after many hours' slavish work in my laboratory through the night, I have accomplished not just your task, but a number of other things besides. It was obvious to me that the assignment you gave me, so simple and mundane, was really a test to see how far above and beyond I could push myself. Just the sort of thing one might expect from a true overlord. I can only hope that I met your expectations.” Head bowed, he gestured at the Guards behind him. “I have for you an array of prototypes, projects, and proposals, awaiting your inspection and approval. Shall I begin the presentation?”
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