Lugubrious

Epithet Erased - A down-to-earth modern adventure with funky powers

Having a random selection is an option based on player feedback. I've got high hopes for this and would be glad to have you, Majora. I actually didn't know there was another EE RP, despite keeping an eye out.

Part of my goal with this is to make it an attractive prospect for people with no knowledge of nor interest in the source material; to present it as an interesting world with interesting ideas in their own right. That pre-involvement should by no means be necessary to enjoy this.

Epithet Erased - A down-to-earth modern adventure with funky powers

Know I sorta left a bad taste in your mouth from World of Light, but I've been obsessed with Epithet Erased and would absolutely stick to this RP like glue. I-If you'll have me, I mean.

@TruthHurts22

Well, I'm in the business of forgiveness, even to my own self-detriment. Just make sure you're serious about this, and we'll see what you've got.

Fire Emblem: Ashes of Sacrifice [Fall of the Empire]

Artemisia

Alymere Fort Interior

After a little provocation from Einer, the goons approached. Artemisia exhaled sharply, then breathed in, trying to focus. In a matter of moments the first couple of bandits reached her allies, and a frenetic fight in the confined space ensued. From her position in the back alongside Alnard she could enjoy relative safety, but she knew that lasted only as long as the front line held. As such, the dark mage refused to stand by. She whipped up and shot Flux after Flux, spacing them out evenly to take careful aim, trying to weave them around her allies to explode on the ground among the enemies. It was a tricky maneuver, not without the risk of friendly fire, but Artemisia was no ordinary spell-slinger. Whatever her quirks, she was a professional with a job to do. These thugs would not stand in her way.

__________________________ Status: Embattled Class: Occultist Inv: Vulnerary, Book of Secrets

Overlord: Momento Mori

Hey everyone! I got permission from Irish Tree to let you all know about an interest check I put up for a new RP. Knowing you all, I'd be very happy if any of you took a look. Thanks!

https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/181280-epithet-erased-a-down-to-earth-modern-adventure-with-funky-powers/ooc

Epithet Erased - A down-to-earth modern adventure with funky powers

Long have people dreamed of power, but who could ever have dreamed of this?

Welcome to the world of Epithet Erased. It's a modern world, united in a single evolving language, where about one in every five people has a special gift known as an Epithet, but it's far from the typical superpowered society. An Epithet is a single word tied to an individual's soul, like 'Coupon', 'Parapet', or 'Bellybutton', and that person can develop powers tied to both the popular and individual concept carried by that word. Thing is, Epithets are completely random. Who gets them, what they are, and so forth. And most are weak, requiring both prolonged training and lots of creativity to use well, comparable to that of a sport or art. Those with the dedication, imagination, and luck can, however, pull off incredible feats, but most of those who even discover theirs seldom get any more use out of them than party tricks.

As such, society on the whole really hasn't changed much. But things are a bit more colorful, a bit more interesting, and a bit more special. And sometimes, remarkable stories emerge from unlikely places.

That's where you'll come in. The details of the event aren't ironed out yet, since this RP will go nowhere if there's no interest, but something's going down in Sweet Jazz City, a cheery town situated on the west coast of the U S of A. Maybe it's at a grand hotel the night before a valuable award is going to be given out to a high-profile Epithet user. Maybe it's after a rockin' concert headlined by someone with dubious ties. Maybe it's just after the launching of a new cruise ship, with all sorts of colorful characters aboard. Or maybe it's field trip day to the zoo, where the first-ever animal with an epithet is housed. Whatever the event, you can bet there's going to be interested parties, goons from the 'criminal' organization Banzai Blasters, shady operators from the Mundie terrorist group Bliss Ocean, police, and innocent bystanders aplenty. What could go wrong?

Imaginative character designs, both appearance and personality wise, are encouraged. Basically anything goes, in a sort of anime-ish way. Colorful hair, uniquely-shaped irises, you name it. You'll be able to adopt any sort of role in the setting once it's established, with whatever motivation, which can put you in conflict with other player characters. You could be a mostly-harmless Banzai Blaster mook, out to steal and vandalize a little, and stuck in a bigger operation by accident. You could be a headhunter from Bliss Ocean trying to take down a prominent Epithet user, a bodyguard for that user, a police officer just trying to keep people safe, or hey, just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time doing your best to stay out of the crossfire.

More about Epithets

People are born with epithets in a completely random fashion, having nothing to do with inheritance or circumstance. Those with epithets are known as 'inscribed', and those without are 'mundies', short for 'mundane'. Due to their random nature, some people go their entire lives without realizing what theirs is. They can be any word that encapsulates a concept, from antiquated terms like 'balderdash' to the newest of slang like 'yeet'. Discovery of one's epithet -known as an epiphany- is a 6th sense sort of thing; like having a metal detector in ones brain, beeping more and more as one gets closer, one might find oneself clicking with a certain word, drawn to think about it and its synonyms.

This does lead to false positives, and even is a person figures out how to use an epithet he or she might take a long time to figure out the word itself. For instance, it could be months or years of a dude generating horribly poisonous spit before he realizes his epithet is 'strychnine'. Epithet use can be accidental, or discovered during moments of great stress.

Once you find out you have an epithet, you can start developing it. The powerset itself relates to whatever concept the word carries for the user, and can vary wildly depending on your character's personality backstory. For someone with a free spirit or a love of planes the epithet Sky might confer flight. Someone terrified of stormy could potentially wield clouds and lightning. Someone who associates the sky with birds might be able to control and even summon them. With training and creativity, what someone's epithet means and what they can do with it can grow a lot, offering new techniques/spells. Even a weak epithet can be made strong with enough practice and imagination; it's all in how you use it. Consider some examples:

A shy girl with low self-esteem and little willpower with the epithet Dumb might have the power to silence. To start with she might just be able to nullify sound in a radius, but Dumb also means simple and low. She could 'dumb down' things like the damage done by attacks or the summons of other inscribed, making them weaker or dumbing them down to nothing. She could also temporarily drop the intelligence of unlucky targets.

A bombastic Banzai Blaster, wanting to come off as cool, might make a lot out of the otherwise-lame epithet Soup. He could hurl hot soup orbs as projectiles, but he could also jet himself around with bursts of soup steam, conjure delicious soup to heal himself and allies, and lay down thick fogs of soup vapor to move about in unseen.

An extremely well-trained savant with the epithet Drowsy can really flex what epithets can do. Of course he could make people sleepy, but he could also summon sheep, manifest others' nightmares, and even manifest his own dreams while asleep.

A few more notes: given their random nature, epithets can be both blessings and curses. All take training and creative application to excel with, but some are easier than others—you can see how 'Fiery' might be easier to cultivate than 'Grumble', for instance. All epithets take stamina to use, essentially operating on a mana pool. Some epithets actively harm those who possess them, like 'Fragile' giving someone the power to make things easier to break but also making herself break easier, thereby making her life constantly painful. Highly-developed epithets affect their holders' appearance irrevocably, though not to an extreme degree. Epithets are not informed by the individual's history or personality whatsoever, but they will almost certainly inform the individual's story.

More about Factions

Banzai Blasters - an infamous criminal organization in Sweet Jazz that runs on a pyramid scheme. It has seven ranks, in descending order: Baron, Senpai, Valedictorian, Associate Justice, Vice Principal, Captain, and Blaster. Each has authority over the lower ranks, a portion of their dues, and higher ranks confer greater customization privileges for the organization's characteristic yellow uniform, including capes, gloves, and whatnot. To become a Blaster one must pay 49.99 a month plus tax, but everyone gets some of the money paid in dues by people they recruit. Blasters, who make up the vast majority of the organization, are mostly harmless, committing small-time crimes, and are typically made up of the dissatisfied members of society, typically youngsters or outcasts, seeking to belong and also get back at the system. Those with brains and ability tend to move up in the organization, but infighting is encouraged for ranking up.

Bliss Ocean - a terrorist organization run by mundies, for mundies. They oppose epithets and their usage, holding that the world is better off without them. To that end they suppress and sabotage inscribed, usually the high-profile, even going as far as to eliminate ones that really stand out. They are not opposed to using inscribed to this end. The organization is highly mysterious and deals with its operators secretively.

For this RP, there would be some expectations concerning participation. I would ask that players not apply at all if they don't intend to stick with it for the long haul. If a player decides after joining that they can't or don't want to continue, I would appreciate notification rather than just disappearing. It's just common courtesy not to get people's hopes up or leave them hanging. There wouldn't be any posting requirement, but I plan to update at least once a week, and it will be using my Reaction Prompt system. If a character is put in a situation necessitating a response, especially in terms of combat, and you don't post one or get a continuation, the results will play out as if your character just didn't do anything, which can range from other characters just thinking yours is weird to getting a free hit from an attacker.

By the way, considering the random nature of epithets I'm considering the idea of randomly assigning a selection of possible epithets for each player to choose from. I figure most people wouldn't spring for it, but it would flex your writing/creation skill in terms of making and playing characters, and really lean into the core idea of using creativity to make the most of whatever hand life has dealt you.

Oh by the way, you can play a mundie too, if you like. They might not have special powers, and are often underestimated by inscribed, but people are still people. A sharp wit and a strong punch are stronger than many epithets on the market. And, if you're a cop, you'll have Eraser Cuffs to even the playing field.

All credit to Brendan Blaber and the amazing Epithet Erased team!

Please let me know what you think. I'd love to hear any interest, feedback, what have you. The scenario event for the RP is open to suggestion from whoever's interested. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to this hopefully coming to fruition!

Sheet Template

(If you like, you can begin concepting a character. Since the method of assigning epithets, either random selection or free choice, is not decided yet, you can decide if you want to leave the epithet section blank or put the one you'd pick if we go that way. Since one's epithet or lack thereof can determine one's course in life, the backstory section works that way, too.

Name:

Age:

Appearance: (Image, description, or both. If you use an image, it always helps to add extra details a single snapshot doesn't encapsulate)

Personality: (The dazzling array of traits, quirks, affinities, and so forth that make your character unique. Make someone compelling, someone that you'd like to play and will have fun doing so)

Background: (Your character's history. Doesn't have to be exhaustive, but be sure to touch on formative events)

Motivation: (Why your character is at the scenario event. This will be what drives your character forward through it)

Assets: (Where your character shines, in terms of physical ability, skills, and personality traits)

Flaws: (Where your character falls short, in terms of physical ability, skills, and personality traits. You must have at least as many as you have Assets)

Epithet: (If applicable)

• (A list of capabilities conferred by your character's epithet. The first will probably be its 'base use', the first and most fundamental application of the epithet stemming from your character's original conception of it, but other spells/techniques, including special tricks and even secret/ultimate moves, can follow. Feel free to name them! Not every character will be highly capable with his or her epithet, but those who are often expand to other meanings of the word.

World of Light

Outside Argent Tower

Location: Dead Zone
@Majoras End

During the Phantom Thief's response the hooded stranger maintained a polite silence, though his comment about light versus shadows elicited a slight tilt of the head. Joker finished by turning the question back on his questioner, which was fair, although the man in black could not guarantee reciprocity. Couched within his words, however, was another revealing piece of information, useful indeed.

“Well, I have nothing to fear from the vermin of this area,” the black-robed savant explained. “So I have no reason to waver from my assigned post. Just like those new friends of yours, I'm here to ensure the demise of Galeem's champion.”

He looked upward, to where a light shone in the distance, faintly visible even through the clouds. “Ah...the Lord of Light. That which made dreams a reality. Should we all be so fortunate!” He let slip another laugh, his accented voice low. “A pity you left before someone could free you from his grip. Still, far be it from me to turn you back. In fact, I may be of some help.”

The savant rose to his feet. “It just so happens I know where this man...this 'killer', has your friends. I've been tracking him too. He took a number of people, thinking that he might arrange a beautifully gruesome spectacle, but his heart was not in it. They're alive in a hotel, not far from here.” He extended a hand to Joker to shake. “With the two of us, we can save them. Me as the decoy, you as the operator. Shall we go together?”

World of Light

Bowser and Kamek

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle
@DracoLunaris

Koopa king and royal wizard traversed their next portal to wind up on a colorful table in some sort of tent. Will starry patterns and royal silks, it gave an air of mystique only enhanced by the flowers and bones arrayed on the table's corners. Roses and playing cards floated aimlessly in the background, with one large ace of spades in particular hovering above the tabletop as a sort of platform, and an upside-down black top hat stood in a prominent position. Before any questions could be aired, Gneidxick's hand reached down from above and, with very little ceremony, pulled a rabbit from the hat.

This bunny was anything but cute, though. Wearing a bright blue suit and a demented grin as he rocked back and forth, he waved around a magician's wand. “Woohoohoohoohoo...hoohoo!” He span his wand and rabbit skulls faded into existence in circle formations around the intruders. A final flick of the wrist manifested them and started them closing in, with the grin of Hopus Pocus widening to reveal a mouthful of needle fangs as he did.

Michael and Franklin

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle
@thedman

As brave as they'd been to confront the unknown by stepping through the portal, the friends had not been prepared for the bizarre scene found within. Maybe it brought back visions from last night, of a vast and phantasmagorical cosmos swirling with madness, or maybe they just had a phobia of billiards, but neither Michael nor Franklin took action before Mangosteen's glimmering projectile burst at their feet. The kinetic force and spraying colors knocked them off their feet, at which Mangosteen's great grin got even wider. “Bah hah hah? You lunks ain't never seen the likes o' me, huh? Get 'em, boys!” At the 8-ball's urging, the chalks bounded toward the two soon-to-be pancakes with glee on their faces.

Courier 6 and Geralt

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle
@ProPro @MULTI_MEDIA_MAN

Thoroughly sloshed and by no means a combatant to begin with, Martini offered minimal resistance to Gaige-tron as the pulled off her maneuver and toppled like a bowling pin. Her booze flowed around the robot's shield as planned, and its depletion plus the impact left her dazed and sluggish as she lay on the ground. Her olive rolled out and lay on the stained tablecloth, no threat at all, and judging by her lack of motion Martini seemed just as harmless.

That left Whiskey. The defeat of his fellow Tipsy Troopers didn't appear to stir him up or anything; he continued to rain down whiskey bombs. While Geralt focused on evasion, the Courier took every hit that came his way—a glutton for punishment, it seemed, or maybe just intoxication. As high as his resistance was, 6 didn't get away scotch-free, thanks to the chemical burning and the raw impact of the heavy liquid orbs. With the power of Inferno, however, he gave Whiskey some burning back. “Whuh...aaaaah!” the glass bellowed, struggling to break free of the gunslinger's dogged grip. “Off! Off! Ow, ow, ow ow!”

His top came off and whiskey started to flow at a low pressure, gushing out to drizzle like a waterfall over the glass and his fiery hanger-on. A crossbow bolt to the eye, however, put an end to what precious little composure Whiskey had left. He fell over backward and hit the table hard enough to knock him straight out, and just like that the last member of the Tipsy Troop had been beaten.

Organization XIII Gneidxick

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle
@Gentlemanvaultboy @Yankee

Something about what Linkle said before leaving to challenge another one of his fights left Gneidxick staring after her, his near-two-dimensional face pulling together to form a morose expression. “That's where you're wrong, doll,” he said aloud and to nobody in particular, instead confirming it for himself. “I surely have to. If I don't keep on doin' what he did...what I did...that man, that 'other', is gone. Like he never existed. An' what does that make me, now...?” He laid his hand against his chest, teeth clenched like he knew they should be. No beat, no warmth, no signs of life. A hollow shell, an elaborate masquerade. “Nothin'. Nothin' at all.”

Peach and Ace Cadet watched, confused. The entire character of the former-guildmaster-now-known-as-Gneidxick had completed changed. He spoke in a flat tone, barely moving, and acting in stark contrast to the over-the-top, constantly active fellow from earlier. What emotion he did show seemed forced, like he knew that he should be acting a certain way, but didn't actually feel like it. The two looked at one another for any sign of comprehension, but neither knew what his deal was. Maybe he didn't notice the two were there? They had retreated behind one of the giant poker chips to recovery without drawing his attention. Peach in particular raced to try and figure out what he meant, but Gneidxick's words carried no import to her, only vague existential angst. Still, there had to be some clue.

After a minute or so Gneidxick turned his attention on Bowser Jr, deep in the clutches of a drug-induced sleep on his table. One of the casino's patrons, a white-haired demoness with one wing, a tall glass of purple liquor, and elbows on the table, had been watching for any action but fallen asleep from boredom. Gneidxick fixed his eyes on the young koopa without any sort of sign as to what he was thinking. “Would he...er, I have kicked a child while he was down...?” he ended up asking himself. Junior's guards did not appear to factor in to his calculation. Still, the matter took some thought to sort out. “...Naw, I don't think so. Hear that, half-pint? It ain't in the cards, so you can sleep easy.”

More time passed. Eventually one of the portals divulged its challengers, and Gneidxick whirled to look in eager anticipation. Unfortunately, while Tora was semi-conscious as best, neither he, his artificial blade, or her diminutive pet seemed much worse for wear. That meant another minion down for the count. Gneidxick sighed. “Cleaned Chips' clock too now, have ya? Big whoop. Odds were stacked from the start.” He shrugged an arm at the pink die. “Hurry up an' roll, chumps.”

Poppi laid Tora down by Bowser Jr and approached. Gneidxick found himself treated to a serious, determined look. “Big cube man have weak goons. Feel more like chore than boss fight. Why have to ruin perfectly good morning?” She punched the die.

“Three.” Gneidxick remarked, mildly aghast at his bad luck. With that, the challengers' point total rose to seven, just a half-dozen spaces away from victory. Since fights with Mr. Chimes, Mangosteen, Hopus Pocus, Pirouletta, and the Tipsy Troop were already in progress, it seemed impossible that the game would last more than another couple minutes. “Applesauce!” Huffing, the highroller turned up his nose at Poppi's question. “Like a tin can like you would know your onions. Machines ain't got a self to lose. Betcha wouldn't know a heart if it caved in that fake face of yours.”

Croagunk burbled angrily and looked at Poppi, asking to let Gneidxick have it. The blade, however, looked crestfallen, staring at the fuzzy green ground. After a moment, though, her brow furrowed. She thought about Rex and Pyra, Nia and Dromarch, Zeke, Pandoria, Morag, Bridghid, Vandham, Haze, and the rest. About Tora. A pink heart blossomed above her metal palm. She looked into the eyes of the purple-suited giant, unwavering, and told him, “You'd lose.”

Gneidxick was quiet. His lip curled, and he glowered down at Poppi. “You's lucky I ain't the envious type,” he said. “But you can bet I ain't forgettin' about this, either.”

It was a good time for a snappy comeback, but Poppi couldn't think of anything, so turned and went back to Tora to wait for the others. Peach, meanwhile, remained on alert. For a moment it looked as though Gneidxick would attack Poppi, but instead the highroller chose to bide his time. For now, she could only continue to rescue with her questions. Just as Linkle pointed out, Gneidxick did not have red eyes, yet he hadn't been freed by a Friend Heart and Galeem's attack had decimated everything in existence. Could he, like the Master of Masters who wore the same coat as he did, have been in a sort of non-existent limbo at the time? Peach knew that she would get her answers, one way or another, when this dangerous game was over.

Linkle

Location: Devil's Casino, Inkwell Isle
@Gentlemanvaultboy

Linkle's portal brought herself onto a roulette table in the midst of a great black void, curtained in red and carpeted by fog. Countless white gloves floated in the space, holding martini glasses, betting chips, and money. Three extra-large chips floated just above the table itself. Before the girl posed a tall dancer of golden metal, the frill of whose dress took on the shape of a roulette wheel. With her opponent present and ready to battle, Pirouletta bowed before starting to move. She whirled around in a dangerous waltz across the floor, threatening to strike Linkle down with swift, focused blows.

Argent Tower

Location: Dead Zone
@Archmage MC @ProPro @Dawnrider @Majoras End

Jak's scattergun made short work of the glass holding tank before him, allowing the liquid suspension to rush out through the rupture and carrying the alien along with it. Exposure to the air garnered a reaction from the thing, but it began weakly, thrashing and writhing a little. It wasn't until about the fifteen-second mark that it levitated into the air. It barely moved in the physical sense, but it started generating an odd humming noise that undulated in pitch. All of a sudden the noise surged massively and a wave of psychic energy radiated outward, inflicting confusion on those who remained too close but doing no damage otherwise.

The last of the survivors, however, were evacuating well away from where the heroes were messing with aliens. Once everyone else went, the corpulent dragon tried his luck, and thanks to the engineering of both Dell and Ratchet the teleporter held. The dragon breathed a sigh of relief before vanishing to safety. After him, only fighters remained. Leon went next, then Val, then Kai, then Ukyo, Jill, Louis, Ghalt, Death -who'd been speaking with Jones in low tones before Jones' departure earlier-, and Eddie. Finally, it fell to Captain Howard to head through himself. He looked back at the heroes, who'd gotten the zaurum alien under control. “I wanted to thank you all. You really came through for us. If not for you folks, all these people would probably be dead. Come through whenever you like, but make sure you get some rest.” Joker told everyone that he'd be staying behind to take care of some unfinished business. Clearly Howard disliked the idea. “That's a terrible idea, son. Going back out there alone? I insist you come with us to safety, even if just for a while.” But Joker would not be swayed, and he was on his way before Howard could consider force. “Well...you stay safe,” he said, his tone suggesting exactly how likely he felt that was.

Joker stepped outside a moment later. Ahead lay the sundered market avenue, awash in the ashes and fading spirits of hell's legion. At the far end hell's janitor fought still, picking off the last few survivors of the horde. The Doom Slayer ripped apart the belly of a Mancubus, inserted the barrel of his shotgun, and sent the demon's vile head flying into several places at once. A Qliphoth Root stood to the north, and another to the south, and a good distance further in the southwest towered the immense Qliphoth itself. The branches of the colossal demon tree snaked up, up, up, through the perennially dark sky and disappeared into the clouds. With the monsters disposed of and the stench of death absent from the air, this stretch of the Dead Zone enjoyed a brief moment of peace. If not for the visage of ruin everywhere Joker looked, this could have been any other night in the city. But the peace did not set him at ease. Somewhere out there were his friends, Ryuji and Ann, and they needed his help.

“Admiring the view? A different sort of artist, seeing this, might want to make it a vista for a painting.”

To Joker's right, a man in a long black coat and gloves sat at the top of the stairs leading to the main door. He must have been looking at the young man given the direction of his head, but nothing could be seen in the darkness beneath his hood. He was leaning against a crate of some kind, his elbow on its top so that his hand could prop up his head, making him seem altogether comfortable despite the nightmarish atmosphere of the Dead Zone.

“Alas, I feel so hollow nowadays.” The stranger's voice sounded mournful. “Nothing inspires. Not even the bloodbath wrought by that savage.” He chuckled, dry and humorless. “I don't imagine that's why you're still here, though. Alone you stand no chance of clearing the way to this region's lord, let alone dethroning him. You must have a purpose of your own.” A wistful sigh issued from him. “I'm jealous. Tell me...what do you seek, if not the light?”

Overlord: Momento Mori

Would you guys consider adding in one more character?

I know I'm fairly late to the party, but I figured I'd ask anyway. :P

@BurningDaisies

I'm sure that'd be fine!

Overlord: Momento Mori

Act I

A rapping sound came from the door to Graft's laboratory. High frequency plus less-than-strident volume, with the inclinations of his various minions in mind, meant it could only be one person. “Come in, come in,” he said, not looking up from his work. Using the magnification function of his spectacles, he kept his eyes on his subject, the recycled head of a Guard half-melded with one of his devices, in this case a Bionic Regenerator. The procedure he was performing, being plugged into the operating table and able to manipulate its myriad arms, was by no means easy, but he could still spare the effort to listen as his visitor slid open the door. A heavy thing replete with bones and solid, calcified gristle, it took some effort to move for someone without his ability to command mechanisms, but no effort on this visitor's part was wasted. As he connected a wire to a neurode bundle and started welding them together with nanoflesh, he heard the sounds of swishing fabric and clinking metal grow louder as the source drew nearer.

After another moment Graft wrenched his hands free from the connective innards of his terminal, leaving his project suspended. “Tabula,” he greeted, speaking first as always. “Are you not in the middle of your studies?”

She nightgaunt nodded. With the suit Graft originally gave her since replaced by garb given by Aurora, including white cloth and light armor, she looked every inch a fledgling cleric. Of course, her flexible purple-black horns, wings, and tail might sour that impression in the eyes of some. As the days went by, the listless emptiness on her face and the dull misery in her eyes had been replaced by interest, inquisitiveness, and even eagerness. She remained soft-spoken and generally low-energy, but she gave of an air of real engagement that made her boss proud. “Yes, sir. Actually, I have a question for you.”

“Well then, ask away. Do you mind if I operate while you do?”

“Not at all.” With her blessing, Graft resumed his work on the specimen. She kept silent for a few moments, trying to find the words to express the matter her curiosity fixed her upon, and holding tight the holy book from Kath's library. “Well...I wanted to ask you about your faith. Since I'm trying to become a paladin, and all.”

“Hmm,” the Director remarked, using a tiny grabber to test the strength of the connection from before. It would need more reinforcement. “Go on.”

“The root of all faith is strong belief, as I understand it. In our old world, the gods people worshiped were beings whose presence was clear as day. They gave signs, granted miracles, and even appeared sometimes. But apparently, some people worshiped gods who did not do such things. They worked in mysterious ways, so subtle that it was hard to tell if they were doing anything at all.”

“That sounds about right,” Graft prompted her to continue.

“So I wanted to ask, which type is yours? How does...your god manifest?”

Graft narrowed his eyebrows, confused. “...My what?”

Tabula scratched her head with one of the claws on her right wing. “Er...a while ago, you told me that you worshipped a powerful god called Profit. You seemed very...enthusiastic.”

“Oh!” the Director laughed. “Of course. Well, profit has signs, and it grants miracles, and it can definitely appear before you, or in special places. Some might think its workings mysterious, but it really is a concrete and logical matter. So, the first, I suppose.” He snipped a tendon and stretched it around an actuator.

For a moment Tabula stared at the project, thinking hard. “So, your belief is not that it exists, but that it is righteous. The one true path to the good life. Or...is it eternal life?”

Her musing got cut off. “That's exactly right! Nothing is more righteous than profit!”

Tabula crossed his arms. “So, why aren't you a Bishop or something too? If you're such a strong believer, you should be able to do all sorts of incredible things.”

Graft sputtered, missed a connection, and scratched a circuit. “Drat! Hmm?” Drawing back from his operation, he considered what Tabula said for a moment. “Well...profit doesn't work that way. It's not really a god, see. It's a set of principles. Take in more than you spend, invest intelligently, accumulate wealth and power. It's a way of life. Much better than some capricious deity in my books!”

Putting her free hand on her hip, Tabula asked, “That sounds pretty easy to believe in. If...you don't mind me asking, sir, what does believing in profit actually do for you, or those around you?”

Graft clenched his fist, then raised it upward like a grasping claw. “Simple! It allows me to keep advancing, keep reaching, keep striving for bigger, better, more, more, more! And it gives me power over others, to compel them, to make their lives better or worse as I choose!”

When he calmed down, he found Tabula looking deflated. He patiently waited for her to speak, highly interested in whatever came next. “I understand why you're not a cleric,” she said after a few moments.

Her boss laughed a metallic laugh, smiling widely. “So you do. I must say, you're speaking and evidently reading just about flawlessly. Your Intelligence must have developed a great deal.”

Tabula blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

He continued. “And I hear that you're sparing all of the opponents you're being given to grind experience with, correct?” She nodded. “Any reason why?”

The nightgaunt thought for a moment, her horns and tentacles wiggling rhythmically, then replied, “Out of all the gods I read about in Lady Kath and Lady Aurora's books, I've chosen to believe in the Forerunner. The god who's seen and lived every lifetime in existence, and who embodies love, compassion, and understanding even in hardship and suffering. He says that everyone deserves mercy.”

Graft ruminated on that, and twiddled his claws as he did. “I see. Can't say I agree, but I see nonetheless. Your Faith is also growing well, and I can see that your Strength has not suffered for it.” He spent a moment feeling her muscles with his talons, causing her to giggle. “I am most impressed.”

“I am so happy to hear it!” Tabula sang in elation, overjoyed to have pleased her boss. A hopeful look came over her, and she hugged her book tight. “If that's the case, I was wondering if I could ask for something.” After a nod from the Director, she made her desires plain. “I was wondering...if I could go outside again sometime soon. On a break, or something. I've been training in here for a long time. I know that you really, really like to work, but...I might not be the same way.”

Graft considered it. “Hmm...I don't know....” He didn't think of himself as a workaholic, but her words did ring true. Compared to just about anyone, he pursued his job with a tireless fervor, to the point of neglecting his basic needs. As much as he wanted quick results out of this project, he reasoned that the results would suffer if he applied too much pressure. While he did not intend to be any less protective of Tabula, he supposed he could allow her some time to relax. “Ah, very well then. But see that you return to your duties all the more spirited afterward.”

Tabula didn't run off cheering, but the Director could see her happiness writ upon her features. She left him soon after to return to her room, and he continued with his operation. “Truly remarkable,” he murmured. “It's about time a certain someone else started pumping some numbers up, too. And after that...” He chuckled. “Who knows?”

Act II

Graft approached the Final Chapter with one aide on either side flanking him. He walked upon his cane with pep in his step, looking as impeccable as he was dressed. To his left walked Tabula, dressed in the elegant white cloth and silver armor of a war priestess, with her long black hair braided behind her and her wings hanging low like a cloak, their hands clasped about her waist. On Graft's right walked Papillary, who didn't look quite right. There was a certain slackness to the way she moved, reminiscent of exhaustion. She also seemed...not just taller, but larger overall. She was practically stuffed into her characteristic physician's garb.

Graft paused in front of the skeleton butlers before the throne room door. “Why, that's just the ticket,” he exclaimed, taking a drink from one of their trays. After downing it, he smacked his lips in relish. “Mmm, mmm! Just can't get quality sustenance in the Factory. A shame you lot don't have the...stomach...for it, hohoho.”

He pressed on. Papillary, not-so-subtly irritated by her boss's implication, took two drinks and splashed them against her head, where they could absorb straight into her bloodstream. “Whoa,” she gasped, reeling, before falling on Tabula. The nightgaunt struggled to hold her up, but managed to steady Papillary until her healing kicked in a moment later and the secretary could follow after Graft. Tabula herself, however, remained behind to stare at one of the fuzzy, plump creatures dozing off in a butler's arms.

Her eyes were shining. “What is that?” she asked.

“A rabbit.” Papillary had turned back and fixed her blue-vein eyes on the animal. “I thought you read Lady Kath's biology texts?”

Tabula leaned closer to the rabbit. “It makes me feel strange. Like I want to touch it. Squeeze it. Hold it close.” The butler complied, holding out the pudgy beast for the demon cleric to take. Gingerly she scooped up the beast, and after a moment without it struggling at all she hugged it against her chest. “Oh! I love it! It is wonderful.”

Papillary snickered. “The more you love it, the harder you should squeeze, you know.”

Without thinking Tabula squeezed harder, causing the rabbit to squeak and contort in pain. Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no!” Frantic, she waved her hand over it, muttering a panicked prayer. For a moment it seemed like nothing would happen, but then a green light wove between her fingertips, and the rabbit was restored. It stopped struggling, and after petting it Tabula glanced at Papillary with accusing eyes. “How could you?”

The living organ shrugged, giggling. “It's just some dirty rodent, silly. No need to get worked up. C'mon, we'll be late.” She turned to run after Graft, and Tabula followed, the rabbit still in her arms.

---

The initial briefing concluded, every handcrafted chess piece given its role on the great board for the game that would be played, and Graft leaned back in his chair. With an aide to either side and his cane across his lap, he considered the task he'd been handed and found it unsatisfactory. Now that Rodias had ceded the floor to any questioners, he felt it only natural to speak first and air out his concerns, as well as to offer his own suggestion.

“My assignment sounds very passive. Given Salem's involvement, Intravis Type S will be used, so I'll have almost nothing to do. I do, however, have a proposal that I can only hope you find worthwhile. You plan to gain the locals' favor by dealing with the cultists, as it stands. A good idea, since they are a threat to such low-level humans, but what about the long term? Once the lurkers in the shadows are gone and that threat is listed, their lives will continue as normal. Things will be better with that incompetent lord out of the way, but if you really want the smallfolk in your pocket, there's an easy and effective way.”

He rubbed his claws together, creating a steely whining sound. “Their wallets. Perhaps once this younger relative takes over, he brings in friend of his, a member of the 'Welfare Commission' or some such. This friend overhauls the town's industry, providing a host of jobs with salary and benefits of the likes these poor souls have never seen, and offering special goods. Nothing too costly for us, but a whole new world for mere villagers. For decent pay, good food, and discounts on remarkable wares, they'll be climbing over one another to work the land and mines to supply the Chateau.”

Graft grinned. Evidently, he'd given the whole matter some thought. Either he'd been keeping eyes and ears out on his own, or he was just that intuitive. He stroked one end of his mustache. “Of course, this 'friend' would not be me, as I'd be far too busy, but I know just the person for the job.”

Overlord: Momento Mori

Graft's Guards and Production Specialists are not able to speak, instead using a sort of animalistic communication, and while TLs can talk, they barely do. If anyone would be gabbing, it'd be Papillary, Tabula, and the Supervisors.