Lugubrious

Overlord: Momento Mori

It's not that Graft just decided to deprive those three. He doesn't know which Mamoru is the real one, only that there are so many that he would max out Open Line and cause himself mana burn before reaching them all, so he contacted none of them in favor of making sure everyone else got one. He knows that Charme's domain blocks skills like Open Line and didn't know she was out, so he didn't try contacting her. And since Open Line only works on those who are explicitly (not just technically) his allies, which in the New World is a culmination of several mental considerations and factors both giving and receiving, he couldn't contact Chuunitrixx.

Tabula and Papillary are also following orders and going to Climax Hour.

Overlord: Momento Mori

The Team Lead wasn't actually outside and only knew about Chuunitrixx firing. Graft can't actively see what the TL sees, and can only get information through reports. The TL, of course, only obeys his orders. Graft wouldn't know to tell TL to get Rodias out, and TL wouldn't do it on his own. So that's why.

World of Light

Tora, Geralt, Cuphead, and Donovan Lee

Level 6 Tora - (36/60) and Level 5 Donnie (13/50) and Level 4 Geralt and Level 2 Cuphead (2/20)
Location: Lumbridge Stockyard, Land of Adventure

Before work could begin, Tora needed to find a suitable place. With the comfort of his home an impossibility, he made a quick circuit of Lumbridge with Poppi. After a good few minutes spent power-waddling around, checking out various potential sites where he could set up shop, Tora ended up at the stockyard near the smithy. An outdoor distribution center and marketplace, with loads of awnings stretched over various collections of goods, it served as the dumping ground for whatever materials the adventurers gathered while out on their quests. Everyone was entitled to what they collected, of course, but not everyone could use what they picked up; by piling their resources here the adventurers could ensure that everything got put to use. Anything left beneath the main loot tent got accounted for, sorted, and sent off to whoever could refine it or make something of it. Not everything could be gleaned this way, naturally, which accounted for the quantity of fetch quests that ran through the Adventurers’ Guild. Still, the stockyard was the beating heart of Lumbridge, and with a number of tradesmen already established there, Tora decided it would be the perfect place to get to work.

He claimed a vacant corner and started setting up. If his friends wanted something done, they could find him here, but he wanted to attend to his own project first and foremost. A better understanding of some technology in this world plus his own inspiration left him itching to resume work on Poppi’s third form, and really make some progress. Once he put together a workstation the Nopon instructed Poppi to lie down on it, and after she went into sleep mode, he opened her up with his toolkit. “Meh, mehmeh…” His wings and little arms got to work as if they had minds of their own, disassembling and reassembling in a flash. First came the check-up, ensuring that Poppi’s chassis and systems functioned as intended with no deficiencies. Once satisfied that the existing framework seemed intact, Tora cleaned it up and then began to take it apart. His mind raced with ideas, postulating functions and weaving together solutions to accomplish them. Croagunk stood by the whole time, and after getting over the sight of its trainer being engineered, it helped Tora out by getting new materials and components as he required them--a clever Pokemon indeed.

Meanwhile, Donnie, as he had promised, came striding over from the Guild Hall, straight here. Grabbing a folding chair from his Luggage (part of his camping supplies), he parked himself near Tora, sitting in on the session. He idly palmed the orb for the Dwarven Flying Machine, not sure if he should interrupt the Nopon who was clearly deep in the clutches of some kind of engineering fugue. Right now, what Tora was doing was all Greek to him (not that he knew what Greece was), but soon, very soon, those memories would come flooding back, at least enough to get him started.

Still though, looking at Poppi’s innards, she reminded him of the Blingtron series of Gnomish robots, only far, far more sophisticated. Poppi had the language capabilities of her master, for one, rather than coming off as blatantly non-organic. If it weren’t for the mechanical bits on her, she could actually pass as human. It was fascinating, and he hoped he’d get a better idea of how she worked once the arbitrary amount of time had passed for him to remember what he was hoping to.

Donnie’s arrival went largely unacknowledged as Tora hunkered down to tackle the biggest project of his career. The jump from Poppi α to Poppi QT represented a minor upgrade in power versus a massive change in hardware capability, and now he aimed to achieve a more drastic overhaul plus an impressive leap forward in power. Poppi’s ability to change forms stemmed from her capacity to deconstruct to ether and reconstruct into pre-designated designs, much like the weapons of real Blades, so the first step was to build the new chassis. To get the output he wanted, Tora needed harder and lighter alloys, higher-yield servos, higher-capacity circuitry, more robust systems, and -to be honest- more expertise than he possessed right now.

Tora sighed, tossing aside a splintered piece of inadequate exterior metal, and rubbed his head. “Meh, meh, meh...backwater town too low-tech for Tora. Not have good enough materials. Wish Grampypon Soosoo here right now.” He refused to accept inferior materials or an inferior final product; only the best would suit his vision for Poppi. Oh, well. Even if he couldn’t assemble a whole new chassis, he could put together a few components that could be used later, and labor a little on her code. He began manufacturing a couple odd ends, from joiners to shock absorbers to chip housings and a few decorative pieces, and when those lay finished he attached his little computer pad via a cable and started tapping await. His little hands moved in a blur, writing line after line of new code capable of handling the functions and systems that would eventually be, as well as a sizeable update to Poppi’s personality that’d install along with the new chassis.

And finally, it clicked. Weeks of work came back to Donnie in an instant: Making functional dynamite, machining an arclight spanner, creating a basic blunderbuss, even crafting a mechanical squirrel that could follow him around on its own. Some more came back as well, including crafting mechanical sheep that exploded on their own, and the delicate work that went into creating such a lifelike automaton, coupled with the cost-cutting measures it took to get a dozen of them out the door in less than an hour.

Along with…painful memories of his Gnomish inventions backfiring spectacularly. A particularly bad memory involved him blowing off his hand due to improperly handling a copper bomb. Thankfully he knew Vivify at that point so that he didn’t go into shock before the priest got there….

He shuddered thinking about that horrible day.

In any event, he replayed Tora’s engineering session in his mind and realized that he was doing what he was doing because he didn’t have the metal he needed. The monk could fix that problem handily.

Summoning, unzipping, and fishing around in his Luggage, he pulled out several chunks of empyrium ore, a kind of metal mined from Argus and one of the few substances on its surface not hideously corrupted with Fel magic.

“Hey, Tora!” he said, interrupting the Nopon. He placed the heavy chunks of ore onto the table without even breaking a sweat. “Use these for her chassis. Empyrium. Strong, durable, and never rusts. There’s a blacksmith over thataway”--he pointed in the general direction of the Sisters of the Anvil--”who can probably work it into a fine plate in under a few minutes. Tell them what you want done and it’ll be fine.”

After jumping in surprise, Tora went to examine the ore. He had a suspicion about it from its presentation alone, however.

In a puff of smoke someone new arrived on the scene. The little cartoon cup flitted about to and fro with crazy speed, almost literally bouncing off the walls. ”Wowzers!” he’d say, looking at one piece of machinery before moving into the next. ”Swell!” he’d say to the next, so on and so forth until he came to a screeching halt (literally, his feet kicked up smoke and screeched like a car slamming the breaks) in front of Poppi.

”Gosh! Isn’t that the cat’s pajamas!” he exclaimed, peering real closely at her.

Donnie just stared, completely unsure how to process the living teacup. But of course, he’d seen a lot of things. Why was this one kid such a problem for him? Cuphead wasn’t even new: He’d seen the kid at the Devil’s Casino.

He supposed it was just a lot to get used to. The boy’s...physiology...was one of the strangest things he’d ever seen.

He shook it off. It wouldn’t do to get bogged down in appearances. He was a fighter first and a scholar second, and he had a god to kill. But he didn’t really get to introduce himself before the Nopon intervened.

“Meh!” Tora protested, trying to wave Cuphead away. “Don’t look at Poppi while under construction! Not decent!” He’d already forgotten the new arrival’s name, having not been paying attention while in the Devil’s Casino. Once that got sorted out, he turned inquisitively to Donnie. “While grateful for gift and definitely going to take without repay, meh, ore seem too heavy. Poppi need to move and fly ultra fast. Unless cutey-cutey smith sisters can make much lighter alloy with good resistances, it not useful for Poppi chassis, meh.” The Nopon ran over a mental checklist. “Plus, there whole bunch of parts Tora can’t make. When making Poppi first time, used lots of salvage parts. Now, need top-of-line goods for top-of-line Poppi. Golden cogs, cubic diamonds, ambler stigmas, genbu-weave cloth, dynamo turbine, gold condenser, digital filament, screw coil, fifty-volt battery....or equivalent. But none be found in low-tech place like this.” Tora looked morose. His circumstances stifled him.

Cuphead’s eyes lit up like sparkling stars, actually shining light! ”She flies? Hot DOG! Does she come with a plane mode? I can pilot her no problem!” The little cup stood proud, hands on his hips in a dramatic pose.

Tora shot him a look. “Poppi pilot self, meh! And not have plane mode. Modes are Alpha, Quixotic Tutelar, and now soon-to-be Quantum Technochampion π.” He perked up, smiling in a self-satisfied way. With his eyes closed and his little nub-hands on his ‘hips’, which evidently existed at the widest part of his egg-body, he explained, “Friends like name? Tora came up with when deciding which foot to set in gambling portal first.”

“Shame the ore won’t help,” Donnie said. “Though it might not go to waste after all.” He threw the Dwarven Flying Machine’s orb to his side with a flourish of his hand. The rickety Gnomish autogyro poofed into existence in a cloud of magical smoke. “If you can’t complete the upgrades to Poppi today, do you think you can fit in time to upgrade the machine?”

Now that his principle project needed to be put on ice, Tora found himself looking at the comically primitive flying machine with mild interest. “Maybe. If Tora motivated. What beardypon want done to it?”

Donnie chuckled at ‘beardypon,’ then got more serious, “Well, it’s Gnomish engineering. And Gnomish engineering is unsafe. The propeller is only a few feet from my head, and there’s not even a seatbelt or a roll cage. So some kind of safety overhaul is top-priority. Second is a weapon of some kind. I think Kamek still has the weird gun from the giant clown robot we fought a while ago, that could work..Use your best judgment though. If it’s going to be a combat machine, it’ll probably need some armor too. And it’ll need to be able to carry all of this, so maybe an engine upgrade? I think that’s everything for right now.”

During the explanation the industrious Nopon had already started getting familiar with the contraption, waddling all around to look at its components. It did not leave much to the imagination; the thing was practically a one-chopper war on the concept of sophistication. As Donnie finished, however, Tora shook his head disapprovingly. “Why waste bullets and storage space on fire mode that hard to aim, sure to miss, and crazy inefficient? Meh, meh, meh! Instead, should be underslung biter cannon! Tora homemade invention fire boom biters that only blow up after chomping target. Zero percent failure rate, very safe.” He waved a wing at the flying machine dismissively. “Safety features easy, and can redo engines using drill shield engines no problem. Nice and strong and reliable, meh, but maybe less good for long flights.”

”Unsafe? Well that’s my middle name! Cup-Unsafe-Head! Who needs to supe this baby up when I can take the wheel?” He hopped up on top of the propeller and began to dance a jig on it. When the propeller started rotating he switched to the Russian dance, sticking his legs out to kick off the blades as they spun by. Of course this got faster and faster and faster, and Cuphead matched the speed until his legs became a motion blur! After a few seconds it was almost moving fast enough to take off and finally, finally it moved too fast and sent him flying off, crashing into a large pile of junk. Parts and pieces scattered and flew up in the air from the impact. A few seconds later and a little gloved hand stuck up from the pile giving a thumbs up. ”I’m ok!”

Tora blinked twice, dumbfounded, then shook his head. What he just saw defied physics, but now wasn’t the time to start getting bothered by strange stuff. Only going weirder as time go on, he reminded himself.

A white-haired man, his face impassive and obviously unimpressed, reached down into the pile and gave the hand a tug. “I have no idea how you do that, kid, but you might want to be careful. A workshop’s no place to be messing around.” Nodding at the others, Geralt frowned. “I was just sharpening my sword when I overheard some of your conversation. Had a question, Tora. Guess you as well, Donnel.”

“Meh, sure.” Tora looked the Witcher up and down. “What want?”

“My crossbow. It’s served me well, but I see all you folks and these...explosive...crossbow...things. It’s got me interested. They shoot more quickly and they seem deadlier.”

The observation provoked a laugh from Tora, as if Geralt was taking something common and well-known very seriously. Despite his chuckle, however, Tora knew that a great number of people in the World of Light came from worlds without the technology that he and many others enjoyed, so he didn’t mind explaining. Plus, it gave him a chance to show how smart he was. “Exactly right, meh. Projectile weapon that use string weaker than gun and cannon, which made of metal and use boom-boom to send small bullet flying very fast, pierce straight through. Tora use Boom Biter in shield to shoot explodey balls with teeth, call Jet Biters. Also use Mech Arms, which fire missiles. Missiles explosives that fly on own using...um, streams of fire.” He tried to explain using terms Geralt might be familiar with. “Like bombs friend Geralt throw last night! Except fly on own, and sometimes guide self to target.” Looking happy with himself, feeling full of knowledge and very helpful, Tora finished his exposition with a question. “Peach-Peach already ask Tora for new gun. Geralt want one?”

Well. That was easy. “If you’re offering. They seem extremely useful. Especially if there’s anything as small as my crossbow.”

Tora nodded. “Okay, meh. Tora can make handgun, probably incorporate ether technology. Like mini ether cannon. Will be up to friend to keep supplied with bullets, though. And maybe in return friend buy Tora lunch sometime? More than fair trade, mehmeh!”

Geralt’s eyebrow rose. If that was what he considered a fair trade, he wasn’t going to argue. “Sounds good to me.”

Tora jumped up and down, pleased to make a deal. He did not, of course, plan on asking Geralt for lunch just once. After all, now that the two both fought alongside one another, exchanged a few words, and did business, they were friends for real. And friends could always lend friends a meal. “Okay! Tora have much work to do, so will get to it. Sleep nice, Donniepon. See friends later!”

Peach

After a little fiddling around the steering wheel, pedals, and controls to get a feel for the giant machine, Peach came to realize that she didn't need to force it. Once she relaxed and allowed her hands to move where they wanted, the multi-ton metal monster moved like an extension of her own body. It just came naturally, as it had the night before. The princess sighed. She smoothly guided Brother Grimm from where Poppi lay it to rest the night before to bring it around Lumbridge's southeastern side, where those intrepid few planning to take on the G-ranked hunt could embark. Ever since word got out that her crew would be making an assault on the little-traveled part of the Land of Adventure known only as The End, townsfolk spoke in hushed tones. Some looked at her or the others with awe and admiration, others with pity. Peach, meanwhile, continued to try and steel herself. She knew nothing of the threat her team was to face, other than that it at the very least equaled Megadragonbowser -who she herself had not fought- in power. And he, from all accounts, had been an idiot playing with massive power. This would almost certainly be harder.

Well, she knew that, and that the deed must be done. As one of Galeem's thirteen champions, it stood in the way of making things right. For the sake of this world and all worlds, this enemy would be taken down.

...Still, despite her new powers, and all her allies, Peach felt very small. Anything could be waiting out there. Anything at all.

She put Brother Grimm in park, took a look at the dashboard, and began the more-than-usually arduous process of getting out of the oversized vehicle. When she reached the ground, she spotted a couple familiar faces approaching. Tora and Poppi made their way over, together as always, albeit with the Nopon fairly dingy-looking and the artificial blade in pristine shape. Only after Tora held up an item for Peach did she remember the request she made for him. “Oh, thank you,” she said, accepting the weapon. It resembled her old boomshot, but even a cursory glance turned up a number of differences both inside and out. She looked it over thoroughly, then held it in her hands to get a feel for the thing.

“Tora call it 'Kanagawa Powa!'” the rotund inventor declared. “Based it off of Peach-Peach's old boomshot. But this one alloy fiber like ether cannon. Not break easy! Also have ice core, so shots freeze baddiepons solid! Not work all time, but still.”

Poppi scanned the princess's face. “Does Peach like it?”

Peach allowed herself a slight smile. “Yes, this should do nicely. Marvelous work, Tora.”

“Ohoho, meh meh!” Puffing out his chest proudly, Tora closed his eyes and put on a big smile. “Not even tip of Tora iceberg! Have even greater greatness in store!”

By now the others had started coming in, and the arrivals split off cleanly between those planning to go on the mission and those just wanting to see the first group off. Captain Howard was taking a well-deserved break, but came by to watch the go-getters get going. Nero, V, and Miss Fortune had already returned to the Dead Zone, with the first two going north and the feral headed south from the Argent Tower, all by herself. Euden and Ryu arrived together, who'd been sparring from the looks -and sounds- of it, but while Ryu hung back Euden joined Peach, Tora, and Poppi. Something seemed different about him after his battle against the wandering martial artist; his big eyes seemed especially blue and innocent, somehow. “That makes four,” Peach noted. “The others should be here any moment.”

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

The intervention of the security guard, and resulting moment of clarity, changed at least one guy's tune. He went from strident wannabe day-saver to downcast, self-depreciating mumbler in two seconds flat, and immediately started making reparations by jumping down to help shovel the sword girl out. Noting the little gnome workers, the guard stood by with his arms crossed, allowing Jude his attempt to make things easier on himself. While that wouldn't have flown for a real crime, this scuffle didn't feature any obvious injuries or illegalities, so things were dicey to call—especially from where the guard originally stood. One thing was for sure, though: a grown man didn't need to involve himself with a couple of teens. “You hear me?” he asked Mark, pointedly. “Beat it!”

At that point Jude asked about the others, who hadn't escaped the guard's notice. “They left,” he replied, not indicating where they left to. “Didn't see either of them using epithets or getting hands-on. How about that story, now?”

Penny, freshly extricated from a mightily unpleasant rendezvous with the sand, obliged. What she said lined up with what the guard observed, but he gave no sign whatsoever of what he thought about her explanation. His thoughts lay hidden as his eyes behind those darkened aviators. Her swing toward odd verbiage at the end prompted a raised eyebrow, but after she finished he glanced down at the kid Penny pleaded with for an eyewitness report. However he felt about the testimony of the child, the guard watched her expectantly, willing to entertain what she said.

“Um...” Maggy looked pretty afraid and overwhelmed by everything going on. The guard knew to keep her at a distance so that he didn't scare her, but he couldn't just turn off his imposing appearance. Maggy clammed up, and a few moments passed without anyone saying much of anything. Then the guard sighed, removed hit hat, and knelt. Off came the aviators, revealing a pair of big, watery brown eyes.

“Hey there. I'd be happy if you could tell us what happened. If nothing's wrong I'll be on my way, and you and your friends can keep playing.”

Another quiet second went by before Maggy pointed up at Penny. “Her dwarves built me a new sandcastle! Then...those guys came. A-and then she fell over.”

“Hmm.” Blinking to get a few errant grains of sand from his eyes, the guard glanced at the sword. “What was that for?”

Little Maggy bit her fingernails. “Um...she pulled it out of the ground. Then her dwarves came.”

The guard rose to his feet, glancing between the assembled guests. “So, some sort of command-type epithet. Probably something medieval.” He looked at Penny for confirmation. “Well, it looks like nobody's hurt. I'm going to have to note this incident, so please give me your names and epithets. Once that's done, you can go your separate ways.”

Down by the rocks, Haywood gazed at Jessica with newfound admiration. “Whoa, cool. And you're a captain? Guess that makes you my boss. Or one of 'em. Seems like there's no end to the people who can tell me what to do.” He leaned back on the rock, looking out across the beach to where security was resolving the scene they just left, and farther still to where the volleyball game neared its conclusion and the first few children were starting to finish the kids club race, and the bubble pit getting filled up. “So, what brings you here, Mad Dog? Some kind of mission? Where are your Blasters? I'm here with Milo and Liv just to hang out, but a captain like you's gotta be up to something, right?”

His eyes drifted back to the kid club race, landing on the auburn-haired, glasses-wearing woman standing by the water's edge. While everyone else looked happy or bored, the way she moved suggested some kind of distress. Haywood wondered what she could be thinking.

As it happened, 'distress' was something of an understatement. Noelle paced back and forth in the sand, watching the surf with worried eyes. “He should be back by now,” she murmured, putting voice to what both she and Heath knew. “We haven't even seen him. Heath-”

“I'll take a look.” The vacationing salesman was already on the move. He jogged into the water, more urgently than someone eager for a swim, and pushed through the tide in the direction of Lydia. The actress saw him coming in and waved, blissfully ignorant. “Where's Tucker?” Heath shouted. “Have you seen him?!”

Lydia heard him, but her friend had to repeat himself before she understood him. At that point she started looking around too, scanning the waves from atop her board. “I just saw him,” she yelled. “Just a moment ago!”

Noelle didn't hear her. Kicking up sand behind her as she ran, she made it to the lifeguard's elevated chair. “'Scuse me?” she called to get the long-haired man's attention. “I can't find my son. He swam out on the water for the...for the kids' race. He could have gotten swept out!” She almost choked saying it. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Can you see him?”

“Ma'am, calm down,” the lifeguard said, stony-faced. “You lost your child? That's incredibly irresponsible, ma'am.”

“Excuse me?” Noelle's voice was hard, flat, and incredulous. “I didn't...”

The lifeguard cut her off. “Where'd you lose him?”

“I didn't lose him!” Noelle insisted, pointing out toward Lydia. “He was swimming around that buoy.”

Following her direction, the lifeguard's eyes hit the actress and the nearby buoy, then slid right on toward one of the orange safe zone buoys farther out. “How could you let your child swim that far out?”

Noelle sputtered something, close to a panic, but the lifeguard cut her off again. “Don't worry ma'am, I'll save him for you.” He slid from his chair, hit the sand, and took off toward the water. A moment later he swimming steadily, headed toward where Lydia and Heath searched. Noelle watched for a moment, on the verge of tears, before running in herself.

World of Light

Given the existence of a couple unresolved collabs, I'm pushing my update to tomorrow night.

Overlord: Momento Mori

A calamitous noise from the other end of one Open Line blew away any conversation percolating among the others, and it got Graft's attention quite readily. “What the devil?” He selected the glyph that the noise resounded from and centered it. Everyone else attached to his network could have heard the blast, and so they could also hear his reply.

Of course, since Light had been included in the call, the collective sound came from her as well, interfering with her stealth.

“TL!? Report!” Graft demanded.

“Heavy firearms discharge from downrange,” rumbled the Team Lead into the network, with a sense of urgency belying his typically ponderous speech. “Intruder stunned. Mamoru dying. Butterfly attacking.”

Graft grit his teeth. Another ally down, but the Stalker -supposedly overwhelming in its power- was incapacitated by a shot from what could only be Chuunitrixx. His preparations would go to waste; any facade of subtlety had been shattered and the time to act had come. “Get in there! Pin it down, protect the boss!” The Director knew that Rodias knew that every Team Lead, essentially a customized Flesh Juggernaut, boasted innate Second Chance. That skill, possessed by Guardian Angels, Death Knights, and the like allowed such monsters to survive any attack that would otherwise kill them in one shot, and remain at 1 HP instead. If nothing else, the Team Lead, taller even than Rodias and many times heavier, could serve as his meat shield for two attacks, the first to take him down to 1 and the second to kill him.

At that moment, the door to Graft's office burst open to admit Tabula and Papillary at the head of a squadron of Specialists, the captains of his legion of Guards. Two Team Leads loomed outside. Papillary's head beat like a drum, and Tabula looked close to tears. Chaos erupted as everyone started talking at once, and Graft was having none of it. “Shut up!” he growled, invoking his Special Orders skill to force their mouths closed. A course of action had already formed in his mind, and he would not be brooking any objections. “You two,” he addressed his assistants. They might want to stay with him, but they weren't going to. “Get to the Climax Hour, now.”

“Sir,” Papillary insisted. “The failsafe?”

Graft shook his head and slammed his cane into the ground.. “No. Do what I say. All of you...” he looked over the assortment of minions. “If our gate-crasher makes it past those at the front door, and comes here, do not stand in its way. Simply direct whoever it is to me by pointing. Spread your forces out throughout the Factory; do not present a unified target. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the collection of Specialists garbled.

“Then why are you still in my office? Go!”

In a few moments Graft was alone once more. Less than twenty seconds had passed, but it was enough time for anything to happen. The fact that Chuunitrixx successfully crowd-controlled the intruder was an encouragement, but Graft wasn't so bold as to believe someone who could take out Isolde and Mamoru could be cowed so easily. All he could do was hope that the intruder did not plan to rampage through to the Chateau and take it apart piece by piece, but that didn't mean he shouldn't plan for it. Yet, even as he continued his preparations, he felt confident in his principal hypothesis. No logical reason existed as to why anyone should desire a warpath against the Chateau this early, and with so little observation. If someone wished to approach an unknown nation or organization diplomatically, however, the place to start was at the top—with its leader.

Graft guessed that the intruder wanted Rodias, and that the last Sable Lord had played straight into enemy hands.

Epithet Erased: Use Your Words

All of a sudden the 'scuffle' started drawing eyes like nobody's business. First came a boy with long brown hair, trying to defuse the situation that now looked awfully serious from a first-timer's perspective given the presence of Penny's sword. He sprinted from concrete to sand and interposed himself right into the conflict's middle. Next on the scene, and right on Jude's heels arrived an actual adult, who also ironically sided against the bespectacled girl. As he started chewing her out the first kid did something to her sword that made her topple over beneath its weight, which sent her serfs into a tizzy. Another look around confirmed a third person incoming—the black-bearded security guard from before. With another two people in the mix, and both inscribed, this situation was poised to escalate out of control and it was time to stop it in its tracks.

In such a circumstance, getting the heck out of dodge suddenly struck Jessica as a very good idea. With Penny as the subject of attention and herself the victim of Penny's terrifying brandishing, she hightailed it in the direction of the rocky shore, and her new friend followed behind. They escaped just in time to hear the guard start shouting before they firmly dissociated from the proceedings. “Hey, hey! Stop right there! Cancel your epithets immediately!” He power-walked up to the group, one hand on his holster to get the troublemakers' attention. “If you're a bystander, get lost. Vigilante epithet use is not allowed!You!” He scowled at Penny, his thick eyebrows framing his aviators. “Explain what's going on right now.”

The yellow-eyed boy threw one last look at the commotion before parking himself on the rocky edge of a tide pool. “Yeesh. Some inscribed just can't help but jump in on other people's business, huh. Must think they're some kinda heroes, straight outta the comic books.” He let his feet dangle in the pool, stirring the snow-white silt. A cheeky grin rested on his face. “Not like us.” With a confidential air he lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “You're a Blaster, right? You act just like this guy I know in the city. You his sister or something? I'm Haywood Chalmers, by the way. But you can call me...” He made a roaring face, with his hands like claws on either side of his mouth. “Hellmouth!” After that, he couldn't help but chuckle, though he seemed earnest enough. “I got the name 'cause me an' Oil Slick got caught smoking in a non-smoking area once, and I hid the lit cigarette in my mouth until the teacher went away. Hurt like...well, like hell!” He reached out for an evil handshake. “Who're you?”

A good distance away down by the shore, near where the newest wave of swimmers incoming from the hotels splashed into the water, Noelle turned her attention away from the where security was in the process of restoring peace. Just as she thought, the mean girl continued to rain on others' parades, but the next person she riled up turned out to be an irresponsible inscribed, and from there things got hectic enough that it required an official's attention even after the true instigator slipped away. Noelle shook her head, sighing. Not everything needed to be solved via epithets. Nowadays, with almost twenty percent of the population boasting hidden or not-so-hidden powers, such happenings turned up far too commonly. The teacher looked out over the water, squinting in the sun. “I lost track of Tucker. Where is he?”

“Saw him just a moment ago,” Heath told her, holding a hand over his eyes to keep the rays out. “Just about to pass by Lyd.” When she looked, however, Noelle couldn't see her son's orange-streaked black hair bobbing above the surf. Only other children, and Lydia. For some reason, a pit was forming in Noelle's stomach. She tried to assure herself that it was silly, that this was normal and that she'd see him again in any second. But she couldn't shake the feeling.

The feeling that something was wrong.

World of Light

Downtime is going to end pretty soon, potentially as soon as Wednesday night. At that point I'll gear up to embark to the final battle for Land of Adventure, and everyone planning to go will have the chance to register / finish other stuff off before we actually go this coming weekend. If you'd like to go some stuff around Lumbridge, don't dawdle! And don't hesitate to ask if you'd like me to use some NPCs for you to talk to.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Unless the two most recent posts took place in a prior timeframe, neither mentioned Graft contacting them via Open Line to tell them about the Chateau being attacked. If it's not convenient that he call, let me know, but otherwise I feel like that bears acknowledgment.

Overlord: Momento Mori

Tabula's Tour: Part Four

From one side of the Factory to another: the next location on Tabula's itinerary appeared to be Chapter One. Visiting there after Chapter Three demanded a somewhat circuitous route so as to approach through the front entrance, but Papillary made it happen. This domain, at least, Tabula could boast a little knowledge of. Salem, a doll with a host of potent abilities, presided over the aptly-named City of Lost Things. It was a dreg heap, a resting place for rubbish, but not in the conventional sense. Ruling over a landfill, after all, carried neither practical nor metaphorical weight. Rather, Salem watched over the discarded, the unwanted. An agreement existed between Salem and Graft that established a constant loop of resources being taken from the City for use in the Factory and then various dolls and things being made in the Factory for dumping in the City. To Tabula it seemed like activity just for the sake of it, but she felt sure that it represented a subtly genius tactical move on Graft's part.

She also knew a little about Salem. The doll featured at the grand meeting, of course, but she also remembered it from way back when everything was fuzzy. Along with Light and -of course- Graft and Papillary, Salem had been there when she first woke up. But something had been off. She couldn't remember everything the hetero-chromatic child said, but she remembered a feeling of unease. Plus, Graft wrote down a specific warning for her to heed, which brusquely and matter-of-factly read, Salem has a warped perspective. Act like you understand and consider whatever is said, but disregard anything that contradicts your common sense or what you've been taught.

With that warning in mind, Tabula knocked on the door to the City of Lost Things.

The entrance that led from The Factory to The City of Lost Things was a gate attached to a wrought-iron fence, above which stood a juxtaposed arch, decorated in garish colors, and inviting designs. Due to the pre-arranged nature of the visit, a threadbare plush bunny holding a ridiculously large timepiece stood at the gate to greet Papillary and Tabula. "W-welcome to the C-City of Lost Things, d-domain of Salem Vicarious. Lord Salem will be out to greet you shortly, but in the meantime, I can show you around the City. Though there aren't any major features of note, save for the newly constructed Amberden replica, and The House That Salem Built, which is City Hall and Salem's mayoral residence in the center of the City." The plushie stopped speaking as it looked at the guests expectantly, creating an awkward silence that was only interrupted by the distant sounds of toy NPCs brutally murdering each other.

Of all the places Tabula visited so far, Chapter Two turned out to have the strangest greeter. Compared to Miss Mikoto, Mr. Whately, and even the bone butlers, a stuffed rabbit with a giant clock and a stutter that quickly wore off struck her as particularly odd. Given how much she liked rabbits, she realized that she should probably like this thing, but something about it didn't seem quite right. Instead of soft and friendly it seemed haggard, raggedy, misused. He announced that only a couple actual features dotted the place, with everything else -Tabula imagined- boiling down to atmosphere. The kinds of noises that reached her ears after the living toy said his piece left her little doubt as to what sort of atmosphere it was.

Still, she did not waver in her intent to visit the place. If the Dreamlands, a realm far scarier and more mismanaged, couldn't turn her away, this place couldn't either. "That's okay," she told the toy. "We can stop by both those places, and maybe do a loop around the place? Even if there aren't any landmarks, I still want to see what its like." Smiling down at the little thing, she did her best to look enthusiastic despite the not-insignificant chance that her tour would be as threadbare and wanting as this plaything.

"V-very well, we can stop by the replica of Amberden first, since it's along the way," the rabbit declared. Clearing its throat, the rabbit went into tour guide mode, "As you can see and hear, the City of Lost Things is a place of endless wonder. We are born in The Factory, which you are doubtlessly familiar with, but upon arriving in The City, we gain individuality; each of the denizens of the City is unique and different from the other denizens. We compete in various games and challenges, not only for fun and entertainment, but to vie for favor from the Lord of The City. Though Dr.Drd is no longer here, it matters not, as Salem has been Lord since even before the Sable Lords left. Though our actual levels of strength do vary, it comes down to the attributes that we gain upon entering The City and how we use them that is often the deciding factor in who wins and who loses. In the City, abandoned things have purpose, to provide 'data', whatever that means. Though I've heard that everyone in the Chateau is an abandoned thing now..."

"That's quite enough," Salem silenced the plushie while hovering into view. By now Tabula, Papillary, and the rabbit had passed through several of the desolate Victorian streets of The City and had arrived at the Amberden replica. The rabbit plushie bowed deeply before excusing itself. "Welcome, Papillary, and Tabula," Salem greeted. "This is Amberden. I'm not sure if Graft will ever let you out of the Chateau, but if you ever want to know what a 'human town' in this world looks like, or the layout at least, you can learn about it here. BUT. I'm so disappointed in you and the Good Director. Not once have either of you taken up my offer of access to the wardrobe! Though Graft and I had our disagreement, my offer was not revoked and remains open, no strings attached. Honest to goodness." Salem giggled at their own puppet-related pun. "I'm sure Graft would love to see you wearing an assortment of lovely dresses. After all, my creator liked seeing me in cute clothes too. Ah, but Graft is not your creator, is he?" Salem looked quizzically at Tabula, wondering if she was aware of this fact. "Even though he's your boss and Papillary's boss, if anything, the three of you are equals!" Salem watched Tabula carefully for anything resembling a rebellious epiphany, something, anything to prove to Graft that she was a threat to him.

Together Tabula and Papillary followed along, listening to the rabbit's explanation as they meandered through the City of Lost Things. Every so often they saw toys engaged in brutal conflict, ripping one another to shreds in a vicious display. It seemed so pointless; even in the horrific Dreamlands, where every door and hollow held some gruesome surprise designed for maximum torment and terror, the residents didn't engage in such senseless butchery. When the rabbit mentioned data, though, Tabula guessed she could understand it. Graft prized 'data' highly as well, and collected it ravenously, albeit in a different method. I guess this is just how Salem earns data, she concluded. It wasn't her place to judge his operations.

Speak of the devil, the doll appeared, floating no less. Salem quickly detailed the purpose of the reconstruction the two found themselves in, which definitely intrigued Tabula. While she hadn't thought of it before, learning about how humans lived sounded really interested. Unfortunately, Salem followed up by expressing his displeasure with his visitors' choice of clothing, which rubbed Tabula the wrong way in an instant. Her garb was a gift from Aurora, a learned cleric and a valued mentor, and it had been painstakingly adjusted by Graft himself so that it would suit her perfectly. It constituted a culmination of her teachers' efforts, and symbolized their care for her. She didn't feel even a little bad that using it prevented her from using whatever clothes Salem offered. Whatever they were, she felt sure, they couldn't possibly be as good.

He went on to say something strange about her creator. Though faceless Papillary looked somewhere between angry and wary, and she glanced at Tabula to see her reaction. Tabula, meanwhile frowned, furrowing her brow, and opened her mouth to say something before closing it again. Confused and clouded, she remained at a loss until Salem suggested that she stood on equal footing with Graft or even Papillary, which was something she could refute. She shook her head emphatically. "I'm afraid that is nonsense. Origins don't matter. The Director and Miss Papillary stand so much higher than I, in power, in experience, in purpose. I am truly blessed that they reach down to lift me up."

The statement took Papillary by surprise. It sounded an awful lot like Tabula really respected her. All of a sudden she felt bad about her jealousy and minor sabotages. She kept silent for a moment, before putting a hand on the Nightgaunt's shoulder.

"Well, at the rate Graft is training you, you'll equal him in power and experience in no time!" Salem giggled, but the doll was sure there was no ambition to be elicited from Tabula. Perhaps Salem ahd misjudged Tabula. If Salem could be considered Dr.Drd's 'child', then Salem was an 'only child'. Despite this, Salem believed very strongly in the concept of 'sibling rivalry', likely due to Dr.Drd's obsession with 'competition', survival of the fittest, and evolutionary pressure; and were Salem in Graft's shoes, Salem would never allow a rival to exist.

"Well, it seems the White Rabbit has explained the function of The City of Lost Things, more-or-less, so there's really not much more for you to learn here. If you would like to explore 'Amberden', you are free to do so, but before you leave, I would like to at least show you my wardrobe to see if you find any dresses you like. Obviously, what I have would be only for recreational purposes, nothing I have could compare with the utility of what Graft and Aurora could gift you with, but not everything you own must be for utility. Some things we wear or own for enjoyment. take for example, those rabbits you seem so fond of. Utterly useless except as sustenance for the living, yet pleasing to look at. And I take it you've visited the Shadowtower Shrine already? The place is built to be pleasing to the eye; I'm sure you enjoyed the beauty of the scenery, and the grace and dignity of Ashara's fox maidens? With the pieces from my wardrobe, you could make yourself exude a similar charm, without needing to use any spells." At this point the choice Salem offered Tabula and Papillary was clear: continue inspecting the Amberden replica, or allow the doll to escort them to Salem's manor where the doll could show Tabula Salem's wardrobe.

After a little thought Tabula decided to take what Salem said as a compliment, in regards to her learning ability. "Oh, thank you. I have a very long way to go, though."

Salem let the visitors know that little else remained in Chapter One for them to discover, essentially confirming their suspicions. This place, simple in both form and function, featured a lot more in common with the Bone Butler quarters than with the Dreamlands of Lord Chompy Bits. Both areas accomplished their purpose with neither frills nor depth, though the entire Chateau benefited from the labor of the skeleton staff, while Tabula didn't really know what Salem's realm did for the whole. Then again, according to what she'd learned of the Chateau's hierarchy, each Chapter served as an obstacle for potential intruders to overcome. As the keeper of Chapter One, Salem served as the first line of defense against invaders, barring whoever might be on guard at the main entrance. That, Tabula figured, was an important role--and certainly one that Salem could perform regardless of any mental issues.

The doll, however, gave Tabula and Papillary a request. As per Graft's direction the Nightgaunt went on guard instantly, but Salem's suggestion seemed harmless enough. She didn't even need to try wearing anything; just looking at it would apparently be satisfactory. A look around confirmed that there wouldn't be much more to the fake Amberden than met the eye, it being a soulless imitation devoid of any actual human activity she could learn from. Besides, the doll's words rang true. Her visit to the Shadowtower Shrine had helped her realize that things could exist for aesthetic reasons alone. "Alright. We'd be happy to look at your clothes," Tabula agreed.

Salem clapped their hands in glee and led The City's guests a short distance to The House that Salem Built. Though The House was nicer than the rest of The City, it was still a jarring juxtaposition of clashing art styles, and remained as unorganized and disused as the rest of The City. Salem led them further into the back until they arrived at a lavish bedroom. Salem threw open the large double doors on the side, revealing an enormous walk-in closet. It was filled with actually organized, well-kept, clothing, while extremely realistic looking mannequins of various body types stood at attention. These mannequins were not NPC's of The City, they were in fact, replacement bodies for Salem. "I can see us having so much fun in here! Everyone's always so busy with work, nobody stops to have fun or play!" Using telekinesis, Salem brought over a lifeless mannequin and wig that approximated Tabula's physique and hair, along with a slew of dresses the doll thought would fit the Nightgaunt, placing the dresses in front of the mannequin to show off how they would look. A tall standing mirror was also brought over, along with a table, chairs, and a mobile clothes rack to let Tabula have her own agency to sift through the clothes that Salem was presenting to her. However, Salem arranged the furniture in such a way as to mimic the doll's memory of the room that Tabula had been found in, or at least, how such a room would have been arranged prior to becoming disheveled.

"It's been so long since I've had such fun, let me join in!" Salem declared, before the Eye of Dread, Salem's single red eye, popped out of the doll's head, leaving the child-like body floating limp and lifeless. Another female mannequin, also paired with a wig, that matched the physique in, Salem's memory, of Lady Brushen Penn was pulled over and the eye inserted itself into the new mannequin's head. Clothing somewhat closely resembling what Brushen Penn used to wear were also brought, which Salem, in their new body, put on. "So, Tabula, do you remember anything about your creator?" Salem asked, dropping the mannequin of Tabula on the ground in a pose resembling the manner in which Graft, Salem, and Papillary had found her. Salem watched Tabula carefully, gauging her level of discomfort or obliviousness to determine whether or not to continue with what the doll had planned.

Although nice, or at least nicer than pretty much everything else in the City of Lost Things, Salem's house struck Tabula as perfectly representative of his realm's chaotic, haphazard nature. Crossing its threshold made her think of the nightmares described by Mr. Whately in the Dreamlands, with its horrific galleries hidden behind the most innocuous of facades, but no gruesome scene sprang to life as Tabula passed through this door. Instead she followed the doll to a bedroom, the first that the Nightgaunt had ever seen, and watched as Salem revealed a huge, well-stocked collection of garments. She noticed as well the abundance of mannequins, eerily lifelike. Feeling more than a little out of place, she stood still as Salem began the presentation, happy to let the doll show off rather than sort through anything herself. An odd feeling began to come over her. She couldn't identify it, or its cause, but she couldn't brush it aside. "Bothersome..." she whispered, drawing a glance from Papillary.

Salem then went a step further. The doll's true form broke free from its container, a mere crystalline eye. Everything that Salem was, Tabula realized, was inside that crimson orb, just floating there in the open. Naturally the sight of it suggested a glaring weak point, ripe for exploitation, but Tabula thought more about the sort of existence that Salem led. To be an intelligent object, a self-aware magical artifact, unliving, with everything beyond that single eye a falsehood, an imitation. How awful, Tabula thought, that must be.

But she couldn't ruminate on Salem's existential condition for long. After socketing into a new body, Salem started doing something peculiar. 'She' gathered together fine black boots, a black overcoat, a flowing gray robe. A silver wig floated onto the mannequin's head, and the hair levitated in tubelike bunches to form shapes like tentacles, or branches. That feeling...it was growing stronger. A ringing inside Tabula's skull, an ache behind her eyes. Random itches broke out across her neck, arms, and back. Her softhorns began to writhe. "Bothersome..." the Nightgaunt repeated, more intently. This time Papillary glanced at her sharply, before turning her attention back to Salem.

Of course, the secretary had figured out what the lunatic was doing, even without the question laying Salem's plans bare. She'd been there, after all, and gotten a better look inside that room than Salem thanks to her proximity to Graft. The doll was trying to torment Tabula, to force her buried trauma to resurface and wreak havoc. As the Nightgaunt's ally and protector, it fell to her to stop this cruelty in its tracks.

...But wouldn't the girl tearing herself apart be oh-so-sweet?

Papillary's heart was beating. She could imagine Tabula clutching her throbbing head, trying to stuff the pain back away, and shrieking when it would not be stopped. She imagined Tabula falling to her knees, her softhorns flailing around, pulling out that gorgeous black hair and raking her nails across that flawless gray skin. The sound of agonized weeping filled her mind. And then what? Would Tabula go berserk? Ruin all the hard work put into shaping her? Maybe even strike at Papillary, and invoke retribution? She pictured Graft's face, filled with disgust and disappointment as he put the wretched thing down, making Papillary number one once more.

But...

Papillary's heart rate slowed. She could see the anguish emerging on Tabula's soft features. That same eyes that gazed with such amazement at the wonders of Shadowtower Shrine, and twinkled with excitement at the unknowns of the Dreamlands, and shone with determination every day at the Factory, and looked at Papillary with such trust and respect...they were filled with fear. "This cannot continue," Papillary said, convincing herself as she said it. Tabula was like her little sister. She could not allow her to come to harm. Besides, Graft would kill her if she did, and he of all people would know how.

She stepped forward, wrapped an arm around Tabula, and raised a hand toward Salem. "TRANQUILITY!"

A chime sounded; there came a wave of light, filling the room with a soft radiance, and everything went into slow motion. Floating droplets filled the air as an absolute quiet took hold. The droplets gathered together into a single point in the air, and a drop fell to the ground. Plop. The sound echoed, as if through a cave, and then there was peace.

Papillary sniffled, her ragged breathing growing calm. She hugged her savior tightly. "Th...thank you...thank you, Papillary."

"You're welcome," the secretary said, her voice flat. Even without a face, she looked mighty hostile toward Salem. "...little sister." She lowered her hand and gave a curt nod of farewell. "Salem. We're leaving. I'm sure the Director will have a lot to think about." Together, the pair started toward the door.

The Eye of Dread immediately popped out of the 'Brushen Penn' look-alike and reinserted itself back into Salem's original, child-like frame. Meanwhile, Salem telekinetically tossed both the Brushen Penn and the Tabula mannequins in a heap, and draping a tablecloth over them to hide them from Tabula's view. "We are shackled by our memories of our creators!" Salem declared, hoping to keep Papillary and Tabula for just a moment longer. "All of us wrestle with our memories; some more than others apparently. Each Chapter but The City of Lost Things serves a real purpose, and therein lies the problem. We serve, and without question, no less. Graft wants you to grow, but there is only so much you can learn in sterile, controlled environments. That is the core of what The City of Lost Things represents. Not growth, but evolution, and evolution requires pain and competition. All of us need to confront our creators and the scars they have left us with in order to truly transcend. Though she still haunts you, you barely remember your creator, and that puts you in a unique position. You have no pre-designated purpose. You are, as Graft called you, a clean slate. But even Graft is blind; he still reveres his so-called, 'board' and has hidden your past from you, has not allowed you to confront it. For having hurt you...I truly am sorry. But if ever you have the courage, if ever you have the curiosity necessary for real growth, have the willingness to evolve and transcend, you know where to find me." As far as Salem's face could be gauged, the doll's apology seemed sincere.

Salem then turned their attention to Papillary. "And do not take this as a sign of rebellion towards Lord Rodias. After all, though he is a 'Supreme Being', he is not a creator. Perhaps he does not share in their sins, or in their arrogance. That is something we will have to figure out for ourselves." Beyond speaking to them, however, Salem made no move to prevent the guests of The City from leaving. As they left, Salem turned and felt something resembling remorse. Had the doll gone too far? Salem had thought that they would have to mime Brushen Penn beating the Tabula mannequin before Tabula would exhibit a reaction. Salem thought that what they were doing was ultimately for Tabula's, and the rest of the Chateau's, own good, but perhaps that was just a symptom of cyclical abuse, since what abusive parent doesn't use the excuse that what they are doing is for their child's own good?

---

As the alarm sounded, Graft snapped out of his state of concentration and jolted upright. The tool-arms of his operating table, extensions of his body thanks to the somatic link in the table's console, flailed wildly. A few trays of materials, disconnected components, and globs of flesh splattered to the ground. “An alert?” he cried, pulling his hands free from the warm clutches of the somatic link. He shook off the clear, viscous fluid and threw on his coat. “We're under attack?” he asked his attending Specialist as if the minion could offer any further insight, and who could only nod in bewilderment. Graft snatched his cane from the masked mage and sprinted from his lab across the hall into his office. He dashed behind his desk, flinging his chair aside in the process, and pressed a switch that elevated the whole desktop to a position suitable for standing. He took a deep breath, in and out, to calm himself, and then he opened a Direct Line. “TL,” he barked, “What's going on out there?”

“Unknown threat...approaching quickly. ESPers...returning,” rumbled the juggernaut assigned as captain of the Guards posted to the front entrance. Graft's technoorganic soldiers had detected the incoming entity not long after the Bone Sentries managed to, but long enough for the skeletons to get into gear first. “Butterfly...moving...to intercept.”

Graft's face was a stony mask. “Stand back then, and let him handle it. It could be that the Stalker is making its move. This is too soon, damn it. Someone must have done something to get its attention.” He moved the glyph around to his left side and swiped the air to open another, this one straight to the head honcho. “Sir, we have a potential hostile on approach. The alarm is sounded. Your orders?”

He listened intently. Rodias told him. “Emergency mode it is, then. First things first: let's make this a Collect Call.” Graft thrust both hands forward, palms out, then spread them apart. An entire array of Direct Line glyphs appeared, each linking to an important member of the Chateau. Salem, Light, Kath, Flan, Zouyu, Aurora, Kaldorna, Violet, Talim, Papillary, and Tabula all received one. Even Ashara, Gromgard, and Chompy Bits, smack dab in the middle of a grotesque confrontation received a link. Only Charme, Chuunitrixx, and Mamoru went without.

“Good day, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the latest episode of Chateau Gothika is Under Attack. I, Vitaphagas Graft, esteemed entrepreneur, will be your host and master of communications. This is no ordinary invader; sources say that may be the mysterious individual whose power dwarfs our own. Our Sable Lord, Rodias, has commanded that we all gather in the Climax Hour while he deals with the intruder personally. If you're not at the Chateau, either return instantly or stay away. I urge you to comply. Stay safe out there, folks! ...You're less use to me dead.” He muted himself and grinned. “As for me...” A number of tentacles snaked out from beneath his overcoat and got to work. Preparations would not make themselves. “I think I'll arrange a meeting with out newest client, should initial negotiations fall through. A performance evaluation, yes...and should results fall below expectations, only termination can follow.”