Lugubrious

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>

And there's no way to make it later, is there? I wish I'd known it was that early before my first post. I had them heading to Ted's house at about 9:30-10.

@Rockin Strings

I did mention that it was after eight in one of the first sentences in my post, the events of which transpired over the course of about fifteen minutes total, but I could have made it clearer. It's actually important to the setting that the beach isn't that populated yet, so making it later wouldn't be the best option.

World of Light

@Dawnrider, Fox is good to go!

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

@Octo That's an awesome character! You really made a quality application lickety-split, and I appreciate the hustle. Jessica is accepted; you may put her in the Characters tab and post at will.

@Lugubrious Sure. What time of day is it gonna be? That's gonna change his reason for leaving early.

@Rockin Strings

It is morningtime, a little after eight.

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

Are you still accepting because I would totally be interested! This looks fun!

@Kaggs

Yep, I'm still looking for applications. I'll take the liberty of outfitting you with a few words.

For Kaggs

-Olive
-Smooth
-Somatic
-Fresh
-Bunt

A reminder to everyone interested to check out the Discord server. It's not very active, but it's a great place for quick chatting.

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

I've recently found myself with a little free time and this seems sufficiently ridiculous. Toss me a few words, if you would. I'm interested. Love EE.

@Octo

You got it.

For Octo

-Wavy
-Cultured
-Mongrel
-Remote
-Iodine

In other news, I'll be updating today. @Rockin Strings, would you mind navigating your character to the beach at Otterpoint in the next cycle? Having Mark separated from the others at a house off the resort property is less than ideal.

Overlord: Momento Mori

@Lugubrious
I almost forgot about it, but did Tabula keep the cat? xD

@BurningDaisies

Nope.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Tabula's Tour: Part Three

Chapter Three. Despite the Factory having an exit that led directly to its neighbor's threshold, and one rather close to its most active area to boot, Tabula had never even seen its front door. In fact, she rarely heard anything about it. No description, no reports from Specialists or Team Leads, no business dealings from Graft, nor mention of its Keeper. The first she'd ever learned of it came during that meeting from before, where a certain feline named Lord Chompy Bits made himself known. Apparently he'd disgraced the tiger boy, Zouyu, too. That didn't sit well with Tabula, since Zouyu was a nice kid who'd helped set up her rabbit pen in his garden, and all residents of Chateau Gothika were supposed to be on the same side anyway.

That potential danger plus the mystique of his unknown realm made walking up to its entrance a tense and exciting affair. Still, Tabula reasoned, she had Papillary along to handle any problems and even defend her if necessary. This time, when the Nightgaunt took a deep breath before knocking on the door, she did so with real trepidation.

The entrance to the Dreamlands was perhaps the most innocuous thing about it. A petrified wooden door was framed by a simple stone archway. The knocker was fashioned after a snarling beast and it's wrought iron eyes glowed dimly. Upon Tabula's knocking, the door swung upon silently, revealing a long corridor. Shimmering yellow mist poured out, enveloping the two. It swallowed the light and with it came inky, cloying darkness, which crawled along the floor and turned the ground pitch black. A tall, bearded man with a regal posture emerged from the mist. A firm, precociously shaped nose united with two large, piercing eyes, both dark and gleaming with intelligence. His face was framed by well-groomed beard and combed hair, but there was something animalistic about his appearance, something wild. The mist dissipated around him as he stepped into the archway, revealing his bent legs and the cloven hooves of his feet. A sheath of black fur coated them as did numerous small, fleshy tendrils.

"If you wish to enter the Dreamlands, please state your business," He said firmly, but politely. His hands rested in the pockets of his fine wool jacket. "I hope you are aware this is a place where even the inhabitants tread lightly."

At Tabula's touch the door swung open in total silence, and from inside flooded a spine-chilling miasma. Murky fog filled the air, and even the floor itself became stained, as if horror were bubbling up from within the Dreamlands. Tabula's eyes were wide, and she'd started shivering, but not from the cold. She stared into the pitch until a portion of the darkness detached itself, resolving into a humanoid shape. The Nightgaunt squeaked. Through the nebulous haze strolled an eerie, solemn figure, who invited the visitors to state their business. His distinct lack of warmth, especially compared to that radiated by her welcomes in both the Shadowtower Shrine and the Bone Butler Quarters, did nothing do diminish Tabula's worry. As far as she knew, Graft contacted every Chapter Keeper to ask if Tabula could come and to ask they prepare for her coming. So why did this satyr treat her like a stranger? And why was the entrance so scary? "I...um...hello?" she stuttered. "P-pardon me. I'm sort of doing a tour of the Chateau. I was hoping I could visit and learn about Chapter Three?"

Papillary stepped forward to stand even with Tabula. She crossed her arms. "If Lords Bits or his dominion aren't a welcoming mood, we can pass this place by and move on to the next stop." She turned her head sideways to speak to Tabula, though loud enough that the Dreamlands' greeter could hear. "Don't worry, Tabula. Cats are known for just doing their own thing. Even if showing us around would ingratiate himself to Director Graft and demonstrate solidarity with the Chateau."

"I'd still like to go in," Tabula ventured. "It...seems terrifying. But they're not allowed to hurt us, and I want to experience everything the Chateau has to offer."

The man scrutinized the two in turn, calmly evaluating them from head to toe as if appraising livestock destined for the slaughterhouse. His gaze finally met Tabula's and rested there for long, uncomfortable moment. His attention never wavered as his eyes bored through her.

"Ah. That must be it." He said at last with shake of his head. He suspected his Lord had simply not bothered to inform him, or anyone else, of these visitors. Otherwise, he would have prepared for their arrival.

His annoyance became apparent with a long, heavy sigh. "The Dreamlands have never been a welcoming place, my dear. Lord Graft should be well aware of that." He stepped aside and his gaze drifted toward the corridor. "In any case, if you wish a tour, then I will oblige you in my Lord's stead. My name is Wilbur Whately, and I am the chief curator here. My duty is to ensure all the inhabitants maintain their proper theatrical roles, and that the aesthetic and atmosphere of each gallery is not disrupted."

He weaved an elegant symbol in the air with his crooked, gnarled hands, and slowly the foreboding atmosphere disappeared; the clinging mist, the writhing shadow, it all evaporated into nothing, yielding to a ornate, stone corridor, fashioned from marble slabs. Sconces of magical light cast emerald shades along the wall, and spread an even lighting across the entire corridor. Though almost dim, it was hardly dark or threatening. At the far end, the incandescent glow of lamp posts could be seen lighting a distant night.

"I will notify the other curators that we have new guests to our Gallery of Horrors." He produced a small notepad and from his coat pocket, began scribbling erratically. Magic pulse from him and cascaded down the corridor. What he neglected to mention is that this would also deactivate all the traps and curses on the main road. With a flourish, he stowed the utensils, and turned back to the two visitors with a severe and stern expression.

"There are rules here in the Dreamlands, and you break them at your own peril. So, remember this: never, ever interact with the inhabitants without a curator present. Every creature has a divine mandate from our master to act their part, and they cannot deviate from their script under any circumstances. Only an order form the Lord or a curator such as myself can permit them to act freely." He stared blankly at the distance for a moment and then turned back. "Oh, hmm... you must also pet at least one of the cats. It is our Lord's will, you see." He said with a stiff smile.

"Any questions?"

For a long moment there existed nothing but silence and the severe gentleman's piercing gaze. Then, at last, the tense moment broke. His reaction to the news was a reassuringly human one, the relatable feeling of being left out of the loop by a less-than-exacting boss. He started to explain, and Tabula started to listen. A lack of knowledge on Graft's part was a little concerning, but not that abnormal after a moment's thought; after all, if someone or something didn't present an opportunity for development or profit, he seldom gave it much attention. Whately decided to give the visitors a tour and began dispelling the hostile atmosphere, a very welcome turn of events.

Papillary nodded, content with the change of pace. Tabula relaxed, releasing her held breath, and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you very much, Mr. Whately. It's good of you to step up and take care of us, despite it not being your responsibility." He remained as serious as ever, and after performing some magical act with a notepad, informed the women that there would be a few rules to follow. Tabula nodded with gusto. "Yes, yes, certainly. I will follow these rules to the utmost." The hint of a smile on his face evoked a much broader one on her own. "And I would be happy to pet any cat we come across, especially if they're anything like rabbits." She had no questions, so instead she decided to punctuate her assurance of compliance with a polite bow, the sort she'd copied at Shadowtower Shrine as a gesture of politeness. "Not yet. Please lead on!"

The corridor opened into quiet village still shrouded by the dark of night. The silhouette of a the forest was stark against the bright moon above. The treeline loomed and encircled the small menagerie of cabins and farmsteads like a snake coiling in. Every shadow and sound was sinister, threatening. The eerie, dark atmosphere was punctuated by motes of warm, orange light. Caged lamps hung from the awnings of each house and from black iron posts which lined the only road leading out of the village.

Wilbur stepped into the thoroughfare and surveyed the area casually. "This is Kingsmouth. This is where intruders begin their journey through the Dreamlands. Every door and wooded trail you see is a portal to one of the many galleries created by our master." He gestured to an old shack across the street. The mouldering wood sagged with age like it had weathered too many summer rains. The door had swollen shut, but one of the windows was open; the view inside was obscured by tattered curtains. "This wretched place, for example, houses the ghost of an evil witch, and swarms of intelligent rats skitter through its walls. If one somehow survived being eaten by rats, then they would have to contend with the witch's ire. Every gallery is an elaborate trap designed to provide theatrical entertainment for anyone watching." He looked wistfully up at the moon. "Yes, our master enjoyed watching horror unfold naturally."

"You may encounter a cat or two scattered throughout the Dreamlands. They may seem friendly and helpful, but they are trap in themselves."
A small calico kitten approached them. It sported blue and brown eyes and had yet to grow into its paws, which were a little oversized. It mewled expectantly at them.

"Ah, yes. Speak of the devil." He wrinkled his nose at the cat. "Pet them, be kind to them, but do not follow them. These playful little monsters will lead you not to safety, but to one of the many galleries where you can expect a truly, horrific fate."

The kitten stared at Wilbur blankly and started mewling.

Looking a bit annoyed, Wilbur rolled his eyes. "No, these are guests from the Chateau, not playthings for you to drag into woods. You will do as your told." He said, brandishing a stern finger at the kitten.

The kitten looked disappointed as it sat on his haunches, and let out a meek cry.

Wilbur threw his hands up in exasperation. "Lord Chompy Bits is not here, is he? So my order stands! Besides, our master would never allow us to harm a fellow cat fanatic." He stuck a crooked finger in Tabula's direction, while locking eyes with the kitten. "You would do well to remember your place."

The kitten averted its gaze and started moping.

"My apologies, this precocious little furball is still too young and hasn't learned the pecking order of the Dreamlands yet." Wilbur picked it up with a sigh and offered it to Tabula. "Here, its quite harmless. I assure you."

The sight of an entire forest in the clutches of nighttime, with a village at its center, astounded Tabula. A similar sort of simulated environment existed in Shadowtower Shrine, of course, but its elements were clearly cultivated, its purpose ceremonial. Carefully raked sand, spotlessly maintained gates and statues, and attentively pruned flora all demonstrated the theme of fastidious, dutiful labor. This, however, was different. These trees, paths, shacks, and lamps, every detail from the highest crooked, fingerlike branch to the grasping roots below, had been fashioned for the purpose of fear. Clearly the inhabitants of the Dreamland possessed a magnificent stage on which to enact their theatrics.

Thrilled, Tabula followed Whately into the village. He explained how one of the ramshackle abodes functioned, its exterior a mere facade for the horror housed within. "Whoa..." the Nightgaunt breathed. It sounded horrific, and that was just the start. And not just each of these huts, but every place of interest in the entire Chapter served as a portal to a unique nightmare of its own. She couldn't claim to know anything about the sort of 'intruders' that would be living those nightmares out, but she did know that anyone who entered the Chateau by force deserved whatever fate they got. Her imagination racing, Tabula followed Whately's gaze toward the moon. "Your master must have been so creative! To be able to come up with all this and make it reality...the Supreme Beings are incredible."

A cat appeared. Remembering the rules, Tabula resolved to pet it immediately, but first it interacted with Whately. It quickly became clear that he could understand its speech and it his, and he managed to make the adorable little thing sound a lot more menacing than it looked. He ended up grabbing it and holding it out for Tabula to take, who did so with relish. "Aww!" She hugged the small creature close to her chest and stroked its back. "It's so cute! Rabbits are cute and dumb, but these cats are cute and smart. Dangerous too, from what you said." She stopped to think for a moment. "Lady Ashara said that I was cute as well," she mused. "But what did she mean? I'd rather be like a cat than a rabbit."

Papillary sighed. "Funny thing to hear from a demon." She reached out to scratch the kitten behind the ears and get her cat-petting quota taken care of. It received a look from her that would have been contemptuous had she a face; while doubtlessly not in its true form, the beast clearly didn't know what it was messing with if it thought it could play around with her. She looked around and ended up with her focus on Whately. "This place is pretty impressive. Still, I doubt we've seen much of anything yet. Right?"

The kitten pouted childishly while being petted. It liked the attention, but was in sour mood. Still, a job was job, and it would soak in the affections of any visitor. It challenged Wilbur one last time with a contest of intense stares, but in the end the curator won out. The kitten eventually gave up and started purring obediently.

Once satisfied with the kitten's behavior, Wilbur turned his attention to Tabula. "Many conflate being cute with being harmless, but they are undoubtedly independent of one another. If you must choose between being cute and harmless, and being cute and dangerous, I may suggest the latter. As for Lady Ashara..." He contemplated the name for a moment. "I am not aware of her intent, but I suspect she was simply being... affectionate. Such behavior seems common among the females. Our master was no different. She considered Lord Chompy Bits cute..." He scoffed at the idea openly. "somehow."

His severe gaze floated to Papillary. "We've hardly even scratched the surface of the Dreamlands, my dear. Perhaps, you two would enjoy a trip to the observatory, hmm?" Wilbur looked at the moon again and fumbled in his pockets for something. A ring of talismans appeared in his hand. They jingled and clinked strangely like off-key chimes.

"Master C.L. had a knack for showmanship. She directed many plays and wrote many scripts, all of her own devising. Every set and every actor had its place. From the observatory, she could see it all, command every stage." The slightest of grins tugged at his dour expression.

With wave of his hand the corridor behind them melted into the background. A wood cabin appeared in its place, with pale light spilling from its windows and plumes of smoke rising into the moonlit sky. He stepped towards the door, and presented the mummified remains of a tiny shoggoth. An odd glow emanated from behind sewn-shut eyes, and the cabin door swung inwards. Inside was not a rustic hearth, but a baroque temple-like complex sprawling surrounded by a courtyard of white stone and exquisitely carved statues. Pale silver light radiated from the ground and cast long shadows on the marble columns and made every statue appear grave and foreboding. A titanic mass of tentacles writhed along the horizon far beyond.

"Ah, wrong one. Sorry."

Wilbur closed the door hurriedly, locked it, and presented a different talisman from his ring. A metal ingot hanging from a thin chain, unfolded itself into a tiny, metal spider. It leaped from Wilbur's hand and dove into the keyhole of the door. The knob turned three times, and the door swung open again.

"This is it." He stepped in without hesitation.
A few ghouls dressed like movie ushers stood at attention next to two doorways at opposite ends of the a spacious, circular room. Ruby shadows danced around sconces of crimson flame. Their light was reflected by enormous flat mirrors which blanketed every wall, breaking the light into mesmerizing shards. A curved couch encircled an altar at the center of the room. And among the pillows lie a small stone tablet with glowing runes and an unfinished bucket of popcorn. Just as their master had left it.

"This~" He said with a flourish. "This is the Observatory! Each mirror you see is a window into one of the Dreamland's many galleries. It does nothing, if you pay it no mind, but if you look into one directly, you can see into the gallery as if you were standing there yourself. From here you can watch the grim fates of all who intrude here from the comfort of our master's lounge." He gestured toward the couches and pillows. A flicker in his vision caught Wilbur's eye. He glanced at a mirror and saw a vampire lord reclined on his throne, picking at his nose vigorously. He looked bored. Wilbur made a mental note to reprimand the Count later for breaking character.

"Above is the Oculus." He pointed to a small hole in the domed roof, which showed a starry night sky. He spoke as if recalling a fond memory, and his typically stern and distant expression softened. "It is unique. The Oculus is attuned to every gallery, and through it, you can view any part of the Dreamlands. It can even replay images the mirrors have reflected before. Our master would lie on the couch and watch grim fates unfold above as she ate snacks and indulged herself in the company of several fluffy creatures. Sometimes she would watch it for hours. 'Marathons' she called it." He let out a small laugh.

His firm demeanor returned quickly as he shot his guests expectant look. "So, what kind of horrors would you like to see first, hmm? The Dreamlands can provide almost any nightmare you can imagine." For the first time since their meeting, Wilbur seemed... excited.

At Whately's urging the two followed him, with Tabula tying off her contemplation of Ashara. Affection simply being a trait of females made sense--good thing too, given how she herself had been acting of late. Hopefully she was doing a good job, though the thought of overdoing it didn't seem appealing. Whately confirmed her suspicions regarding his master's creativity, even honoring his visitors with his Supreme One's name. To be frank, it inspired a little jealousy in Tabula. He seemed to harbor a strong bond with his creator, while she knew so little about her own. What was her name again...? Tabula blinked, her head aching suddenly. She couldn't remember. Besides, didn't Graft create her? Or something? She put the thought out of her head and watched Whately producing his second key, having totally missed his mistake with the first. Papillary, who hadn't looked mildly unnerved.

He admitted the women to the Observatory, where they strode between well-dressed ghouls to approach a comfortable-looking couch at the epicenter of an awe-inspiring spectacle of light and reflection. As Whately explained, Tabula glanced between the mirrors, taking in scene after scene. "Wow!" She spotted Whately looking into one himself and, figuring it must be a good one, followed his gaze. The subject of this gallery seemed to be a vampire, but his manner indicated anything but mystique and menace. It occurred to her that he must be bored because no enemies were around for him to torment. Could he really not leave his post and do anything else, consigned to wait at a single spot to do his duty? "It must be awful for your performers if a long time goes by without any intruders," she remarked. "Even I got tired of the Factory after a while, and it's pretty varied. Having to stay in one spot forever, with nothing to do and no change of scenery, sounds just horrible." She considered the purpose of her own vacation from Chapter Two. "Maybe they'd like a break? I mean, I know it's not my place to give any suggestions, but if your workers are stimulated and happy, they'll probably perform better, right?" It was no question that such a line of reasoning played into why Graft allowed her this very tour.

Whately listened intently to Tabula's innocent suggestions. His brow arched up further and further as she continued. He looked dumbfounded by the end. "Giving them breaks wouldn't change anything, my dear. What stimulates them are fresh victims. Each has their own dark desire or gruesome purpose, and without a victim, there is little for them to do. It's quite troubling really. If our Lord didn't bring in new blood to the Dreamlands every other day, we would be in the midst of a riot."

Feeling a little awkward for having stepped out of line, Tabula tried to turn the conversation back to the matter at hand. "So, a place where someone can view all the torture and terror across the whole floor...isn't there a word for someone who likes that, Papillary?"

The secretary looked about as defensive as a heart could get. "What? Why me?"

"Well, you know a lot more words than me," Tabula explained, brows furrowed. Plain to see, she didn't know what might be wrong with her question.

"Uh...I guess the word is 'sadistic'." Papillary said. "Or 'macabre', maybe."

Tabula nodded. "Yes, doesn't that sound horribly sadistic?"

The flesh golem shrugged. "Nah. Sounds tame compared to doing it yourself. That's where the real fun's at." She turned her head sharply toward Tabula. "I mean, for someone...sadistic." Looking for an out, she decided to accept Whately's proposal. "Sure, let's see what you have. Something bloody."

That thrilled feeling returned, and Tabula raised her fists by her chest. "Oh, or dark and tentacle-y! If I'm going to have a sinister side, I should watch what monsters kind of like me can do to learn from them." She stretched her wings and wiggled her softhorns to punctuate her suggestion. For an alien-tinged demon creature, she did seem remarkably harmless and benign.

He show Papillary a knowing look as she hurriedly changed the subject. Whately lived among monsters and sadists. They were easy to spot.

"The Dreamlands has almost anything you can imagine." He began as he slowly paced around the room. "If you prefer some bloody then few galleries would be better than the rustic cornfields outside Kingsmouth. I understand a flight of small children prowls the stalks with jagged knives, but the truly bloodthirsty ones are a family of cannibals that claim the farmstead adjoining it. We have a few 'volunteers' in the cellar we could let loose. I can make arrangements so they're alive when Rufus introduces them to the slaughterhouse. Perhaps blood and tentacles? hmm..." He stopped next to a picture frame hanging on the wall, and stared at it as he contemplated the nigh endless options.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Whately." A calm, sultry voice boomed across the room. A tall woman stepped into the fractured light. She wore a crisp white labcoat over her blouse and skirt. Long, black hair framed the soft lines of her face. Glasses rested on the bridge of her nose which magnified bright amber eyes. She carried herself with the sort of casual confidence and poise one would expect of a noblewoman.

"Basilisk..." Whately wrinkled his nose with disgust, but his expression remained otherwise solemn.

"You can't cut into our rations to entertain guests, Whately. The rituals must stay on schedule. They snuck into the dungeon and ate the ettercaps last time. They'll do something much worse, if you don't keep them fed."

"How good of you to remind me." His eyes held a sharp gleam as he glared at the woman. He gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement. "Apologies madams, my colleague here is correct. We lack the surplus necessary to conduct a proper theatrical performance. Do forgive me." A slight frown pulled on his lips, perhaps the closest Whately could ever get to pouting.

"I suppose introductions are in order. This is Doctor Basilisk. She is the curator of the hospital wards and apocalypse zones."

After listening to his guests' suggestions Whately appeared to be preparing to arrange a show, but a new arrival cut that line of thought short. An austere-looking woman appeared and shut down the possibility of viewing any gallery, citing the necessity of conserving resources and sticking to the necessary schedule. It made sense; neither of the visitors could object to her reasoning. So long as the Chateau remained in a state of isolation and secrecy when it came to the outside world, resources would remain scarce. Papillary looking disappointed, though Tabula didn't seem to care that much. "Oh, that's alright. We need to...er, 'leverage our assets' properly, I think the phrase is. It's good to meet you, Doctor." She gave Basilisk a smile.

"Likewise," Papillary said. Crossing one arm, she placed the other's elbow on its wrist and raised an index finger. "You know, being in Chapter Three puts you in a rough spot when it comes to getting new subjects. After all, any intruders would not only have to make it through Salem's City, which is a far less subtle murderhouse than yours, and the Factory, which I believe has the highest mortality rate among the various floors. Plus, the Director negotiated first rights to anyone captured or killed in his Chapter. Your Chapter might be starved for new blood." She shrugged. "Not as bad as, say, Chapter Six, though."

The Doctor greeted the two with a slight nod. "I'm sure Whately is overjoyed to have visitors to the Dreamlands."

As Papillary began dissecting the root of their current resource problems, Basilisk and Whately exchanged a knowing look and shrugged. "You're assessment is quite accurate Mistress Papillary. Our supplies are few and our inhabitants are dreadfully demanding. Unlike Kaldorna's pens, many of the monsters here are too intelligent to be tamed, so we must bargain while the Lord is away."

Basilisk took a seat on the couch and sank into the pillows. Dark bags underscored her eyes as she massaged the crown of her nose. "I've been exsanguinating our Lords most recent victims, then healing them, over and over, just to keep a steady supply in the blood bank. If I had my way, there would be plumbing between here and the Factory, so we could siphon the run off. The Dark Young will eat anything as long there's some blood in it." She adjusted her glasses, and laid her head back to stare listlessly into the Oculus. She heaved a defeated sigh. "Nothing was ever this hard when C.L. was around..."

Whately said nothing, but his expressive eyes seemed to agree. "This might be a good opportunity to tighten relations between the Dreamlands and the Factory. If the Director is well-inclined to help solve our supply problem, I'm certain we provide something of commensurate value. There are things in the Dreamlands which exist nowhere else in the Chateau, perhaps even the whole world."

Realizing what her colleague was scheming, Basilisk perked up immediately, and looked to the visitors for answer.

Basilisk's description of what exactly 'keeping a steady supply in the blood bank' meant made Tabula's own blood curdle, evoking an uncomfortable expression. Her unease didn't last long, however, as the doctor mentioned the Factory again. For better or worse, being around Graft made her attentive when others talked about things they wanted, and when her hosts suggested potential business between their realm and hers she got excited. Not out of passion for the craft, of course, but Tabula boasted both pride in her home and a duty to the Director, and even if she was on break she was glad to be able to repay Graft's kindness by helping out in any way. Doing right by others, especially those who did right by her, was a tenet of her faith.

"Of course! I don't really know much about cutting deals, but I'm sure the Director would be more than happy to do business with you guys. As far as I know, we've never interacted with the Dreamlands, probably because of your master."

Papillary nodded. "Lord Bits never struck us as the commercially-inclined type. And for some reason Penn seemed to really dislike C.L. Can't say why." She shrugged.

A dark expression flashed across Tabula's features, but she shook her head to clear it and came up smiling. "Um...so, you wanted people and blood, right?" She spoke slowly, putting each piece together to try and reach a useful conclusion. "Graft, I mean the Director, can make people, but they wouldn't be...real, I guess. I don't think that they would think and act like normal, as far as I understand normal." Her hands couldn't stay still, instead constantly fiddling with her hair as she thought. "I bet he could spare blood though. Thing is, what would he want in return? Hmmm..."

After a moment Papillary chimed in. "Think about what he's working on right now."

The comment sparked an idea. "Oh, the collection! Or 'database', as he calls it." She faced Whately and Basilisk. "If you could send people from different species over bit by bit for him to examine, he could add their information to his database. He might be able to use that to make new products, or improve the ones he has." While she looked happy that she'd thought of something, Tabula knew she didn't know much about value and exchange, so what she said might not make any sense. "Or money, I guess. He really likes the stuff. Unless you have any better ideas?" she ventured.

"A collection, hunh?" Basilisk closed her eyes, and sank into her own thoughts. Ignoring the unique ones, we have few residents to spare. It's not like having a few less mouths to feed would be bad thing. Huang and the Yellow Priests won't like it though. A sprawling tree of options unfolded in her mind as she explored her memory of the residents in her care. The personalities of the intelligent monsters in her care and in the other galleries were diverse, many unpredictable. She could afford the spare samples to Graft, but she wasn't sure how the residents would take it.
Her gaze switched from mirror to mirror as her thoughts slid together like beads on an abacus. Everything was being weighed and measured for its worth. "We can do that."

Whately stroked his beard thoughtfully, lost to the conversation.

"Take one of the Dark Young to start." She began. "It'll keep the Driders happy for awhile. They're still sore about the ettercap incident. We can spare a few of the Nephilim and Mind Flayer larvae was well." She turned to Tabula. "What do you think? Will that be enough to get started?

While Basilisk considered her options and outlined them, Tabula seemed more entertained than engaged. She didn't seem to consider that the doctor would ask her to seal the deal. When Basilisk did, her eyebrows shot up. "Huh? Uh...I don't..."

At that point Papillary stepped up. She might not be able to get down to business herself, but she knew the procedures and could save Tabula from some floundering. "While that sounds good, we don't have the authority to broker any deals," she told Basilisk. "Everything has to be official. We'll mention it to the Director and he can call you with Open Line to find out the particulars, arrange the terms, blah blah blah. Shouldn't take long. He never lets an opportunity sit by."

Tabula breathed a sigh of relief. Her companion's experience bailed her out after she went too deep. "That should work out nicely. If we're finished with that for now, will the tour resume? Or is that about it?" She looked inquisitively at Whately.

Whately had been deep in though for a long time, so deep that a low thrumming had begun to pound the air. Curls of chaotic mana rolled off of him, the space nearby became warped, twisted. The light bent around him as it would through cracked glass. He seemed oblivious to the strange effects he had on his surroundings.

"Chief?" The Doctor's eyebrows crept up with mild concern.

After a long, arduous pause, the thrumming stopped, and Whately appeared normal again. He turned to Papillary. "Forgive me, your tour must continue later."

"Something wrong?" Basilisk ventured.

Whately offered a sly grin, like a fox that had just stolen a meal from the chicken coop. "Not at all. I'm preparing a few interesting samples for Director Graft. The Black Filth is spreading through hospital as we speak, infesting everything, including the zombies."

"Why would you summon the Black Filth for something like that?" The Docter's brows pinched together in confusion. "Isn't that a little overboard? Also, why are you making a mess in my backyard?"

"Our guests asked for blood and tentacles. I am merely providing it to them." He said smugly.

Basilisk scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, at my expense!"

"I will supervise the infestation so it is ready when they return, and so it does not reach the blood bank." He nodded towards two of the ghouls standing at attention. At his signal, they both closed the double doors of the entrance they guarded. One produced a jagged shard of obsidian and stuck it into the keyhole. When the doors swung open again, a familiar lantern-lit hallway appeared beyond them.
"You two may leave through that doorway anytime you like. I must be going." He waved politely as space twisted and collapsed into him, creating a tiny bead of perfect darkness which then winked out of existence.

Without a guide to help them around in the treacherous and deceptive Dreamlands, the visitors decided that they should be on their way after a brief exchange. "Goodbye, Basilisk!" Tabula said as she waved. "Thank you for your help! Make sure you message the Director about this proposal, since nothing can happen without his approval...!" She disappeared into the dark hallway, and left the Dreamlands behind.

World of Light

Tora and Poppi

Level 6 Tora - (33/60) EXP and Level 5 Poppi - (35/50) EXP
Location: Guild Hall, Lumbridge, Land of Adventure
Word Count: 1486

A second glance at the situation made it apparent that the construction of a lift would have to wait. People wanted to get up now. After a brief exchange Poppi left Tora to start helping people up. With her prodigious mechanical strength she could pull up ropes with multiple adventurers holding on at once, and when she saw that Michael and Franklin seemed less-than-confident in the ropes, she flew down to help them herself. She needed to dodge Bowser on the way, whose own extraction looked to be encountering a few difficulties on account of his size. Provided neither of the men felt inclined to try out the Ace Cadet's slinger instead, or let their pride get in the way of being carried by a short machine girl they'd be back in the guild hall in no time. A pink-haired girl with an axe requested that she be carried up as well, and Poppi saw no reason to refuse.

Meanwhile, Tora just watched, peering over the edge. Croagunk crouched down beside him. He waved to Nero after the devil hunter hauled himself up, evidently haven taken their brief meeting amid the chaos down in the casino as the beginning of a lasting friendship. When Louis pulled himself up, looking haggard and panting, Tora waddled over with a concerned look on his face. “Edgypon not look so good. Is friend okay?”

“Fine.” Louis said before he instantly collapsed on the Nopon, who grabbed hold of him and pulled him away from the hole. It took a little doing but he managed to prop Louis up in one of the chairs. Croagunk followed, hopping up onto the nearby table to sit.

Tora stepped back and fixed the young man with a stern expression. “That not fine, meh. Spill beans.”

After a moment of raspy breathing Louis relented. “Fine. Truth is...I need blood. Human blood. It's been too long since I drank...much longer, and things could get...very bad.”

Tora looked alarmed, but after a moment of thinking he realized that in the greater scheme of things it wasn't that weird. “Meh meh! Edgypon some kind of vampire?”

Louis shook his head. “No, I'm a revenant. When...a BOR parasite reanimates a corpse, it regains...” he trailed off after noticing Tora's blank expression. “Er, actually, yes. Pretty much.”

Nodding knowingly, Tora told him, “Well, Tora would love to help, but am actually not human.”

The revenant stared at him. “No kidding?”

A few footsteps, nearer that the rest, made Louis look up. From behind Tora approached Nero, who'd heard the whole thing. “I thought you looked a little pale. Well, more pale.” He snickered. “So, you need some blood, huh? Why didn't you ask?”

Louis looked at the floor. “I...didn't want anyone to think of me as a monster.”

Nero gave a dry chuckle. “You know, that angsty teen stuff won't do you any good. You fought like crazy to make sure a bunch of strangers made it. You're pretty much a hero.” He grabbed an empty flagon, reached up, and cut his palm on the blade of the Red Queen. Some blood dripped in, but the wound healed itself almost instantly. It took another few passes to get enough, after which his presented it to Louis. “There. You don't have to suck it, right? 'Cause I'm not doing that.”

Shaking his head, Louis took the flagon. “No, this is fine. Thank you, Nero. I'm beyond grateful.” He drained the cup, and blinked twice. “Hmm. A little...spicy. It should be fine, but are you sure you're human?”

“Mostly,” Nero said. “You're welcome, kid.” With that, the devil hunter was off in search of the Mysterious One.

Not long afterward, the fairly entertaining elevation of Bowser came to an end. It took the combined effort of Kamek, Blazermate, and the newly-arrived Sectonia to do it, but at last he stood on Lumbridge ground once more. He wasted no time stomping over to the Guildmarm to join the Ace Cadet, who'd made the climb on his own a little before.

His shout made the poor woman jump, and she landed on her feet. “It-it-it-it's around here somewhere, I'm sure!” Clearly she didn't remember the rewards offered by the quest, but she more than made up for it with the renewed vigor she used to sort through all the quest cards piled up on her desk. After a few moments she seized one, holding it up in triumph. “Got it! Right here! Your rewards were...” She brought it closer, peering through her glasses. “One thousand rupees, the spirit of the monster, a free visit to all the facilities in the town, and celebratory status.” She looked between Bowser and the Cadet. “I...don't have the monster's spirit. Did you...collect it when you hunted it?” A lightbulb went off in her head. “Oh! By the way, since you completed an H-rank hunt, you're officially qualified for G-rank. There's only the one, which the Guildmaster kept in that box,” she pointed to a very small, locked safe sitting on the desk. “But if he went crazy, no reason to keep it secret. Quest's yours. If...if you can open it, of course.” She gave a nervous laugh, looking at Bowser's claws and teeth. She had no doubt they could open many things.

Too far away to hear Bowser's 'conversation', Tora and Poppi instead paid attention to a red-haired individual heading out the guild door. “Wait, meh!” Tora took off after her, and Poppi followed behind. They caught Din with her Gogoat outside the guild hall, headed toward the inn. She looked embarrassed. “Hello, friend!”

Din did not meet either of their gazes, her red eyes lingering on the door instead. “...Hi.”

Tora beamed at her, too bright for her to miss. “Din-Din came to save us! Tora saw it! You drop from sky with keyblade, ready to fight and protect us! Din-Din really is hero! Can come back with friends, join quest to save world!”

“No!” Din said, firmly. “I can't. I'm not fit to be a hero.”

Just like that, Tora's fire went out. Crestfallen, he asked, “Then...why did...?”

Din's voice wavered. “I don't know. I heard everyone was in danger. You two, Bowser, Linkle...” She looked sad. “Then all the adventurers rushed to help. I got...swept up in it all.” Shaking her head, she crossed her arms. “But I can't rejoin you. I'd just keep getting in the way. I can't fight, I can't protect anyone...” Downcast, she stroked her Gogoat. The memory of fallen allies plagued her.

“Din-Din too hard on self.” The Nopon insisted. “Tora not real fighter, either. Just inventor who want to help, meh. It Tora job in party to protect, but also couldn't stop others getting hurt. But still we keep going.” He beat his wings emphatically. “As long as Din-Din want to help, that enough! Everyone like Din-Din, think very useful, want to stay with us!”

The dancer shook her head again. “You're just being nice, but it's useless. I'm useless. There's no point in trying. So I'm leaving, okay?”

Tora frowned. “Din-Din need to snap out of it!” He reached up and, without any warning, slapped her.

“Ow!” Din's eyes burned. “What was that for?!”

She found Poppi glaring at her pointedly. “You not act like Din I know at all.”

Croagunk hopped up to slap her too. Though small, he dealt a meaty smack, one that made Din stagger and Gogoat snort dangerously. “Ouch! That's...that's the last straw. You guys just won't listen. I can't be a hero. I'm just a dancer!”

Poppi stepped forward, raising her arm. Her actuators shook and her pistons steamed; she balled her metal fingers into a fist. “Now is not time for excuses!”

Tora's eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Poppi!?”

Din flinched, but Poppi's fist came in slowly, touching her head in a barely-perceptible tap. She opened her eyes to find Poppi looking mournful. Her tense nerves went slack.

“Poppi is hurt to see Din like this. It okay to have doubts, and to feel like giving up, but it not okay that Galeem stop you changing mind again. That why drastic action must be taken.”

The tension came right back. “What?”

A pink heart blossomed to life above Poppi's hand. For a moment the artificial blade looked elated, but then her face became determined. She grabbed the heart, closed her hand into a fist, and slugged Din square in the jaw.

“Guh!” Din sputtered, flying back as she blacked out. As she fell, the redness blinked out in her eyes, and the light around her seemed to shatter. Croagunk caught her before she hit the ground, and Tora hurried to ease its burden. A few moments later Din started to stir, slowly opening her eyes. “Oooh...what...happened? Tora...Poppi?”

Tora smiled. “Friend Din-Din take wrong turn. C'mon, meh, let's get to Blaze-Blaze.” Working together, the three carried her back toward the guild hall.

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

And here we go! Use Your Words has officially begun. I'll look forward to reading posts and finished applications when they come.

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

By eight o'clock the meager cloud cover that slipped in overnight cleared away, leaving fair skies, a scattered few fluffy cumulus, and another beautiful day. The strident rays of a southern west coast sun beat down on the colorfully concentric umbrellas and white sands of the beach at Otterholt Point. Already a number of footprint trails besmirched the sandy shore, swept clean of yesterday's traffic by the night winds, but not that many, as people weren't out in force yet. And why should they be on vacation? No school, no shifts, no deadlines, no worries—for a little while the resort's guests could take life easy.

And Otterholt made it easy to take it easy. Lovely pools, rows of comfortable deck chairs, fluffy white beds, and a stretch of nigh-pristine beach made relaxing a cinch either in water or on terra forming, giving visitors ample opportunities to soak up the sun and let their cares drift away. If feeling more active, and not inclined to swim laps, they could head over to the sports courts, gym, or archery range instead. Thirsty patrons could stop by any number of the small bars, which readily served a wide variety to anyone with the blue wristband denoting adulthood. And of course, there were the restaurants. The red-roofed Cornucopia, a buffet open breakfast, lunch, and dinner, would be open for another hour before the platters and vats went away to prepare for the midday meal.

Out on the beach, the by-now familiar group of Texan college buddies were gathering to practice volleyball, attracting other sporty folks and a few past-their-prime but dependable dads to get a game going. Out on the water bounced the Floating City, a vast, inflatable raft seldom without a bevy of children jumping about in glee. Resort staff currently worked to set up nylon barriers and a foam machine, which would soon become a bubble pit for young and not-so-young to romp in to rousing music. The speakers belted out an assortment of classic high-spirited tunes, not too loud, but notable enough to fill the shorefront with energy.

Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand...”

Today, of course, was also bazaar day. A half-dozen stalls from the local area had set up shop on the beach, about halfway between the volleyball court and the work-in-progress foam pit. There was Diversion, manned by one Harry Heddlon, whose long, scruffy beard never went still owing to how much he talked. For sale he offered decks of cards, board games, books, and even some movies. Nearby stood Mejor de Mexico with its rows and rows of Spanish-flavored knickknacks, trinkets and souvenirs for people wanting to capture a slice of their current enjoyment and be reminded of better days it whenever they looked over their dresser or desk. Abuela Garcia, pleasant but a hard bargain. Next door was its big sister, Taste of Esperanto, which peddled similar wares of a more worldly nature. Little could be gleaned about its quiet manager, Emest Blauerstein, except that he'd traveled the globe in his younger years. Miss Tabby Pernickle and her Dalmatian, Ruby, ran the jewelry stand, taking a pretty penny to help people look and feel fine. Lastly, Mila Lister's excursion booth offered day trips to the farms outside Sweet Jazz City, where interested parties could pet some animals, pick some berries, and see the renowned countryside.

...Just like that river twisting through a dusty land...

She couldn't exactly say why, but seeing all the activity below made Noelle happy. She took a long, deep breath of the clear ocean air, and gave the lotion bottle one last squirt before rubbing it thoroughly across Tucker's back. A moment later it was done, and he raced away to grab his things and join his sister at the door. Noelle reached down to grab her beach bag and hoist it onto her shoulder, ready to travel. With one last look at the soon-to-be foam pit, she turned to follow her family out of their room. The last time she'd seen one of those, she'd kept out of it, thinking it'd be a mucky mess. This time, she wouldn't miss her opportunity.

A few minutes later the kids charged out onto the beach, making a beeline for the Floating City. Noelle watched them leap into the surf with a smile on her face before heading to the umbrella where Heath had staked his family's claim on the way back from breakfast. On the way she stopped short to avoid a volleyball zipping in front her. A lanky, sandy-haired twenty-year-old barreled past her to grab it, calling, “Sorry, ma'am!” but she only smiled. With a grateful nod for her goodwill the dude ran back over, hollering, “Nice serve, Pete! You tryin' to hit people?”

“Y'ain't even gotten yours over the net!” His friend shot back.

Noelle spread her towel over the beach chair and lay down. She squeezed Heath's shoulder before reaching into her bag to pull out a book. “You should get in there again today,” she told him, indicating the volleyball game.

Snorting, Heath turned a page. “Nah, I'm not in the mood to get covered in sand again.”

“You wouldn't have gotten sandy if you didn't do that crazy dive,” Noelle pointed out.

Heath shrugged as if he'd had no choice. “Couldn't be helped. Had to do it.” Without even looking he could feel Noelle's eyebrow raising in incredulity. Clearly she remembered the ball bouncing off his head and out of bounds as well as he did. Grinning, he changed his tune. “Just not my thing. Besides, it's our last day. Want to take it easy.”

“Dad!”

Lucy ran toward them and stopped in a spray of sand, almost falling over. She pointed toward the Floating City. “Lizzy's dad was pulling the whale around but he had to go get a drink. Could you do it?”

Heath glanced where his daughter pointed. He couldn't miss the trio of expectant kids on a big, inflatable whale, all with pleading looks on their faces. “Well, if you insist.” he agreed, getting up to save the day. Noelle stretched her arms, glanced at a staff member with a toucan snapping a picture with a visitor, and turned to watch the volleyball game. Another long, deep breath. This, she thought, is paradise.

If only she knew how much longer it would last.