[Twi]Chronicles of the Impaler: Crisis of Infinite Draculas OOC

[doliest]

I like my method personally. And what happened to the good ol' days, when I was able to hijack threads for a few pages with some over-powered monster and not have someone else do it, I swear, you whippersnappers, I was here in the first thread when we had to use one character! And we didn't have no fancy canon-melding, nope, you either didn't bring it up or by god you handwaved it away. And when someone introduced an over-powered character, like the Archangel or Alucard, the rest of the game united to fight them. And it worked, damn it!

And another thing, we didn't have none of this fancy-smancy easy movement. WE went by turns, d***it! And when your turn was up, you waited in a back alley for your next one.

*Incomprehensible rambling*

[Cracklord]

Good times.

...He's got some plans. And you joining forces with him would acknowledge the already implicit fact that Cracklord is the big Villain of this game: sorry, Cracklord

I'm sorry for hijacking your scene. I blame the fact that I don't have a game to run anymore, and I'm getting restless.

Yes, Dracula is going out of his way not to fight. Mixture of the 'Friendshipping' and more importantly, Alucard's seeming invincibility. No reason for him to exert himself in some massive confrontation that would serve no purpose, other than to waste energy.

Well, yes, but after what he went through, Alucard is in a mood to pick a fight with anything and everything that can hit back. He'd be trying to force the puppet to feel pain, except Dracula makes a better target.

Here' my suggestion for "Putting him on a Bus": ship him off to the Kingdom of Crystalia, to be implanted with a Fleshstone that'll substitute for his PAK.

Saves his life, but the Royal Knights of Crystallia aren't going to let him out of their sight for a good long while.

I'm more a fan of the military disecting him personally. But I think that's because I'm potentially a maniac.

[industrious]

Just started watching Crest of the Stars.

It's pretty good.

And in terms of some suggestions for how to beat Alucard...

you could ask Van Helsing for help.

...He's got some plans. And you joining forces with him would acknowledge the already implicit fact that Cracklord is the big Villain of this game: sorry, Cracklord

That's what you think, anyway.

The Count's behind all of this, I tell you. All of this!

[Colesign]

but Of Course!!!!!!!

[Colesign]

Just had a thought:

One alternative to using the Exalted System to represent the characters of the Lynching Mythos...

Is using This System!

[Draxx]

That's what you think, anyway.

The Count's behind all of this, I tell you. All of this!

Sure he is. But just because you set something up, it doesn't mean it stays yours.
Personally, I'm rooting for Dracula and Alucard to fuse, or something.

[doliest]

Sure he is. But just because you set something up, it doesn't mean it stays yours.
Personally, I'm rooting for Dracula and Alucard to fuse, or something.

....And presumably destroy the world?

Though, that could happen if Alucard made Dracula a familiar, or Dracula absorbed Alucard using the Crimson Stone. Of course, I'm betting both are so strong that either of those would corrupt the other and make it a fusion of personality as well as power.

[Cracklord]

....And presumably destroy the world?

Though, that could happen if Alucard made Dracula a familiar, or Dracula absorbed Alucard using the Crimson Stone. Of course, I'm betting both are so strong that either of those would corrupt the other and make it a fusion of personality as well as power.

I like this plan.

Just had a thought:

One alternative to using the Exalted System to represent the characters of the Lynching Mythos...

Is using This System!

I still like a modified Dresden Files System. If there is a drive to actually create this game, I have no shortage of material, and could easily make some more.

[industrious]

I like this plan.



I still like a modified Dresden Files System. If there is a drive to actually create this game, I have no shortage of material, and could easily make some more.

The problem is that the Dresden Files System isn't suited for the level of play we're at.

Dresden fights off against Necromancers, White and Red Court Counts, and the like. The system is tailor made and perfect at that level of play.

The Last Order faces multiversal threats, Elemental Beings, and all manner of ungodly powerful things. Including Faerie. Both Courts. The level of play where the system simply reads "plot-device."

Mutants and Masterminds is another option for an actual system for the Knights, though.

[darkblade]

Mutants and Masterminds is another option for an actual system for the Knights, though.

In pure point values the Knights are still 17-20 which is pretty much plot devices. Exhalted is probably our best bet since it's designed with over powered in mind.

[Draxx]

Or a D20 based system. They're refreshingly without a cap. Or at least, third edition was. Of course, that would require us to learn an entirely new system.

[doliest]

I'm good with a 3rd edition based creation. I actually know those rules.

[industrious]

Only 3rd edition doesn't have quite enough in the way of versatility unless we add to it. I mean, Superman is...what? A Fighter? How do you account for his heat vision? Invulnerability?

I mean, no single system really works. We're trying for a best fit.

[Cracklord]

Race related Extraordinary ability and Damage reduction 30/magic or kryptonite.

Personally, I think the best bet is still a modified Dresden Files system, as by the time we'd converted Exalted, we'd have reworked everything. Actually, a better bet might be World of Darkness, now that it crosses my mind.

[industrious]

No reason not to have it both ways. World of Darkness for the more street level and Exalted for the Knights?

[Cracklord]

Problem is, that's only relevant to those who know how to play all those games. I can play Exalted, but World of Darkness is something I only have a vague knowledge of.

[darkblade]

Okay thinking on this more I've come to two conclusions.

1) If we have to stat our big characters out Hero System might be our best bet since it can cover the full range of characters ranging from Uber-Tier cosmic entities to petty street level. Even then some characters (Fracking Decade with his thirteen forms and sub forms therefore of) will be difficult but not outright impossible (I can't figure out Seaton for any of the suggested systems).

2) I'm not sure stating them out is a good idea. I can't see much demand for our characters all stated out by anyone except our small group and we've done just fine with no stats for them thus far.

[Colesign]

Seaton's a Gadgeteer Genius...

Times 9000.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Cracklord]

I think you do have a good point. I just like the idea of making a system based on all this, and understand that converting an already existing one is a lot less work.

[Colesign]

I'd be down with homebrewing a system.

Perhaps we could even makes some innovations along the way.

[Cracklord]

Well alright. Anyone who wants to be part of homebrewing the ultimate Urban Fantasy System, then put your name and email address down, and take a job.
We need someone to write up the material, someone to work out the progression and character creation system, someone to write up the combat and conflict systems, someone to work out the suggested antagonists, someone to do the research and decide priority (Neil Gaiman and Robert E. Howard trump everyone, naturally), and everyone to make sure it all fits together somewhat smoothly.
Naturally, there is a lot of overlap in the jobs, but I figure we can work something out. Now, is there any particular system that we should base it on? I like an expanded Dresden Files, since there aren't many rules, but that's as limiting as it is beneficial.

Anyway, while I was writing the bones of the material, it occurred to me there was something I always wanted to write but never got around to.
Here's my attempt of writing the confrontation between Solomon Kane and Nicodemus, on that lonely shore in Africa. Yes, Nicodemus was a little different in the eighteenth century, but not too much, I hope, from Industrious's exceptional portrayal. Mostly a matter of dress, anyway (wonder what he looked like during the seventies?), and more inclined to card-carrying evil.
No flying train unfortunately. We'll have to deal with that as it comes. As for Solomon Kane, I'm going back to the roots in this story, rather then the movie.

Spoiler

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The man was of medium weight and build with raven dark hair streaked with silver, drawn back into a single braid. His expression was mild, calm, that of a careful and thoughtful man seldom roused to emotion, and his dark eyes were calm and unfocused, giving him a perpetual sleepy look. He himself wasn't tall, nor particularly well-built. But he still carried a Presence, like an Old Testament Prophet, a magnetism that demanded attention.
Hauntingly handsome, he cut an incongruous figure, lurking in the wild and savage jungle, dressed in his expensive shirt of scarlet and gold, his fine calfskin gloves, polished boots with golden buckles, and long black cape edged in the palest ermine. A slender grey tie made of old rope hung around his neck. A rapier was belted at his hip, made of Damascus steel with an ivory hilt. But it was no showman’s piece, it had known little rest and had served him well for a long time.
He’d finished his work, and turned, his eyes meeting nothing but the sullen, shadowy reaches of the unmapped jungle. Shouldering the shovel, he went with the stealth and easy movement of a leopard, feeling his way cautiously, every nerve alert and straining, but the way was not easy. Vines tripped at his legs and slapped him in the face, impeding his progress and forcing him to grope his way between the huge boles of the towering trees. All through the underbrush sounded vague and menacing rustlings, shadows of movement, and he glimpsed the baleful glimmer of eyes amongst the trees.
He spared it not another glance. The night held nothing more terrible then him.
Imperialism! He could almost believe he loved it! The more advanced cultures decided that they were superior, and therefore had an obligation to enslave and destroy everyone else, loot them as much as they could, all in the name of the greater good. Mankind had changed, now it could no longer loot and pillage honestly. Currency reigned supreme, and that suited him fine. He hadn’t had so much fun since the crusades.
He’d come to Africa to kill missionaries, and doing his best to stop the church from getting a foothold in the Dark Continent while he was at it, while encouraging the slave trade as much as he could. Of course, once he’d gotten to the jungle he’d found dozens of other interests to pursue, the relatively lawless British ports he’d stayed at had given him all the distraction he could wish for. There was so much that felt new here, on the frontier, and that suited the Dark Apostle very well.
Limbs and vines lashed at his face as he made his way out of the jungle and back to what could generously be called civilization. The oppressive steam of the tropic night rose like mist around him. The moon, now floating high above the jungle, limned the black shadows in a white glow and patterned the jungle floor in grotesque designs. And the he came to a path, little more then an unpaved trail of trampled dirt and small plants, that led back to the port where the ship would be awaiting him.
Moving out of the growth, he stares out to the port, and is hit by an unexpected silence and stillness. No light, no sound, nothing. The Queen Anne’s Revenge was still docked in the bay, and the crew should be helping themselves, and yet nothing. No light in the windows, no sound but the dock rats, squeaking in anticipation and scuttling about.
For all the conquest of the white man, it was the rats who truly benefited, spreading to the few places in the world that had not already been forced to adapt to them by the exploration.
The silence is disquieting, but nothing but a slight tightness in his posture betrays any feeling one way or another about it. He simply follows a path worn into the un-paved road by the eager footsteps of many bow-legged sailors, up along the beach to the cluster of dark buildings –where the beach ends and the taverns and inns begin, yet where there should a tumult of sound and light that cracks the rusty night in debauched celebration, there was but the silence of the grave, the whistling of the ocean breeze and the sounds of the jungle.
The pirates were all dead. Thirty corpses with their tongues torn out were scattered about the place, not his men, but loyal enough for what he was paying them. The rest were nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t hard to note they’d met a similar fate. Edward Teach was in the center, an almost comical look of surprise on his face, his sword on the ground, having slipped from his nerveless fingers. He’d put up a fight, of course he had, the old necromancer would never go quietly into the night, but it hadn’t been good enough.
Kneeling, he took a look at the wounds, and noted a sharp blade had done them all. As impossible as it seemed, this was the work of a mortal, no supernatural creature had been involved. A man had done this. He turned slowly, and found himself facing the perpetrator.
A tall, grimly-attired man, towering above the newly-made corpses, clad in black from head to foot, close fitting garments that suited his somber face. Long arms and broad shoulders marked him as a swordsman, as plainly as the rapier in his hand.
His features were saturnine and gloomy, so gaunt he looked as though he’d been boiled until all the flesh had fallen off him. But he didn’t look weak. Quite the contrary, he looked as though he didn’t need size for strength and so discarded it. His eyes deep-set and unblinking, and looking into them it was impossible to decide what color they were. They were cold, but deep, gazing into them one had the impression of looking into countless fathoms of ice. A high, broad forehead, marked him as an idealist and dreamer, but even so he looked tough enough to make Nicodemus feel like a soft-boiled egg.
His other hand holds a plain staff, with notches in pleasing patterns and a rough approximation of a cats head on the top. It looked old, but little more. It was the rapier that concerned Nicodemus.
“I looked for you in Ireland. But you were nowhere to be found.” Said the grim apparition, his voice resonant and powerful, flicking his blade, a line of blood appearing on the wall beside him, then resting it on his shoulder.
“Well, I wasn’t there for long.” Nicodemus replied, sounding for all the world as though he was talking about the weather. His eyes were sparkling with contempt, as though it was the puritan and not the murderous heretic who was the deviant. “I got restless, and the famine was not what it had promised.”
“And again in Paris. I thought I’d found you again. I missed you by hours, and killed a dozen horses tracking you across the continent.”
“Ah, you almost cornered me in Florence. And you did manage to keep my trail? I congratulate you on your determination. Then again, it can’t have been hard. I stay in the most expensive accommodations available, I am generous to the help, and leave no shortage of bodies behind. It seems inconceivable you did not meet me on the road. If you had, that would have been the end of you wanderings.”
“Then in the Orient. India.”
“Yes, that sounds about right. I take it you are the one who accounted for Le Loup? Went out laughing, I trust? Shame, he showed so much promise. But then, this environment you have created gives me no shortage of followers. I have recently rediscovered my love of Empires.” He replied calmly. “Particularly in their opening stages. You justify your greed and kill anyone who has something that you want. Indeed, after watching civilization come so far forward I am almost reassured to see how little has changed. I could grow to love what you Englishmen are doing to their neighbors. It’s certainly more interesting then the last years have been.” He scratches the side of his head. “Why have you followed me like this?”
“Because you are less then a man, and it is my destiny to kill you.” Answered Kane, no more understanding the question then Nicodemus could understand the puritan’s single minded pursuit of him since that day in Ireland.
All Kane’s life he had roamed about the world, aiding the weak and fighting oppression wherever he found it, he neither knew or questioned why. That was his obsession, the driving force of his life. Those that preyed on the weak sent a blaze of red fury in his heart, fierce and lasting, through the soul. If he thought of it at all, and he rarely did, he considered himself a fulfiller of God’s judgment, a vessel of wrath to be emptied on the souls of the unrighteousness. But he was not a man given to introspection, and more then he was to compromise.
“That’s hardly the actions of a good Christian boy like yourself.” Nicodemus chuckled indulgently, though Solomon didn’t even seem aware of the mocking tone. “If I’d wronged you personally then perhaps I could understand, I too would follow an enemy across the world, but I’d never even heard of you before you declared war upon me!”
Kane was silent, his still fury overwhelming him. Though he himself didn’t realize it, Nicodemus was more then an enemy to him, he symbolized all that Kane had fought against all his life, cruelty, outrage, oppression and the suffering of the weak.
“You have no chance against me, you know.” He continues, his shadow moving between them of it’s own accord, not moving so much as flowing, reforming once more to a vaguely human appearance in the pale moonlight. “You have only survived so long because I have allowed it. Some lingering trace of courtesy, and because I found our game interesting. I know I could kill you whenever fancy took it, but I have not had a liking to confront you, and enjoyed the chase, I who thought I’d long since exhausted all the thrills of life.”
Kane was silent a moment before he found his words. “No. It is by the grace of God that I have you here, and it is by his grace that I shall end the infernal existence you’ve sustained.” But doubt had wormed it’s way into his mind, and a certain fatalism held him in it’s grip. Perhaps he would die. All who had tried to kill Nicodemus Arcleone before had, their bodies scattered across the world. It was not death itself that he feared, it was the knowledge that this Black Apostle would continue after him, that once he was dead Nicodemus would go on to commit atrocity after atrocity. It was the thought that all he had done would go unpunished that made him feel something not far removed from fear.
There was more of the pagan about him then the Puritan, whatever he himself might claim. Death did not frighten him, but the thought of this death, the thought of failing did grant him a brooding sort of anger at the world for allowing this to exist.
Nicodemus laughed at his momentary uncertainty. “Insight! To think I despaired.” He said. “All of it, all the misery and fear, all the suffering and sorrow, it’s simply because I enjoy tormenting men like you. “ He studied the back of his hand for a moment, then looked at the warrior who had sought him out once more. “If you ask nicely, however, I might be persuaded to let you leave this place alive.” He glanced at the dead pirates particularly at their captain, and his lips narrowed. “You should be quick in your begging, however. You have inconvenienced me quite a bit.”
Solomon stepped back, the tip of his sword dipping a hair towards the ground, then he tightened his grip. “Are you quite done? Your craven begging diminishes us both.” A man of faith did not meet the works of the Fallen with wizardry of his own. He did not challenge the Dark powers of Old Night with weapons as steeped in depravity and wickedness as they. No the weapons he relied on was courage and determination, to never allow fear and horror to take command of his heart, to never allow doubt and regret to weaken his resolve.
“I am a servant of God.” He snarled. “And I shall make you answer for your crimes, though I perish doing it. Doom and judgment are upon you, you blasphemous slattern!” Kane, not being a man given to profanities, his rare curses having double the effect and always startling those that heard, no matter how vicious or hardened they might be.
Nicodemus went very still, then he sighed softly. “I see that I was mistaken. You are an idiot afterall. Perhaps I shall one day answer to your ineffectual concept of justice, but not for considerable time, if at all. There is much I must achieve first.”
“We have spoken enough this night, interloper. The hour grows late, and I have little time to bandy words with a corpse that should have died long ago.” Kane said, advancing towards the shadowy figure, his sword held before and across his body, his arm steel and knotted oak. Nicodemus steps back, and lifts his arms. His shadow leaps around his arm, flowing out from his hand to reveal a Hellfire-forged rapier. Behind him, his living shadow rises, wings of purest night, and the moonlight seems to dim.
"En garde."

Well, that was fun, wasn't it? I don't know about you, but I really want to know how it turns out (for those who can't wait, Solomon beats him up, then the chase resumes, Nicodemus kills his wife, then gets him brought in by the Inquisition).
What next, the forming of the White Council (yes)? Stay tuned.

[industrious]

If Nic is going to lose, I'd recommend emphasizing the Staff. In fact...

How about Solomon steadily loses ground to Nic in the fight, then the Staff works its magic. Nic gets interested, and rather than lose, retreats. No need to have him become our Wolverine.

EDIT: Also, finished the last Nightside book. Taylor is going to be played differently next game...

[Colesign]

Sanya's back!!!!

...But I thought this game wasn't part of the standard Twlight the Lynching Continuity

...And It's saying something that we can talk about the continuity of our games in a serious light.

Speaking of which, I'm willing to work on any part of the game system that you think I'd be good at.

(And I concur on using a modified FATE system: no necessarily because it's not rule heavy, but because it emphasizes Story in it's gameplay mechanics.

After all, that's what the Lynching Mythos is about, really: all the great and sympathetic, and awe-inspiring and on the whole bad-ass character of human fiction facing off against the poorly-defined, self-absorbed, overpowered Mary Sues of the Dark Side of fiction, used as pawns by some of the foulest villains ever to be conceived in their quest to pull down the very lynchpin of creation, and dot down those most dismal and wretched of words...

The End.

It's literally not only battles between different stories, but battles over the process of writing a story.

...Anyways. I'd recommend mainly that the mechanic to be reworked would be the Stunt System: the skills probably don't need too much tweaking (more science-based things, maybe), and the Aspects are flexible for a reason, but Stunts mechanics could be nailed down and modified to allow for more powerful characters.)

Anyways...your fictional entry has reminded me of my own responsibilities: first thing tomorrow, I'm going to start writing up the next part of my Seaton snapshot.

[Cracklord]

Continuity? Our games are more tangled then Hawkman's origins, by this point.

If Nic is going to lose, I'd recommend emphasizing the Staff. In fact...

How about Solomon steadily loses ground to Nic in the fight, then the Staff works its magic. Nic gets interested, and rather than lose, retreats. No need to have him become our Wolverine.

EDIT: Also, finished the last Nightside book. Taylor is going to be played differently next game...

Look, I got that, and I intended that. I was planning on an operatic fight, probably taking place on the ship as well at some point, and maybe an explosion as well, since that's the purpose of these stories. Then, he gets revenge. Serious, serious revenge, that left Solomon almost broken.

But as to the fight itself? Solomon Kane is a Robert E. Howard character. Which means rated M for Manly. I looked at what I've seen Solomon do, and what I know and imagine about Nicodemus, and to be honest? I couldn't justify Solomon not winning, unless Nicodemus had a posse. And if he did, then it would hardly be a duel, would it?

But Nicodemus is smart enough to know a fight is not over until you win, whatever the other person might think.

That aside, happy with the content?

[industrious]

Sounds good to me.

[Cracklord]

Oh, and by the way? I'm once more updating the Novelization. If your interested, take a look. If you have any requests, make them here.

[industrious]

You know who really needs to be in this game?

Milo.

This needs to happen somehow.

[darkblade]

What's with the glacial rate of posting from everyone lately?

Anyways here is the second Chapter of Marcone's story.

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“No way in Hell Marcone.” Karren Murphy growled. Between the power vacuum created by the fall of the White Council and President Luthor’s deputation of every super powered individual with anti-social tendencies Chicago was not in good shape. The former police Captain was forced into an alliance with the Crime Lord to keep as much of both wars out of Chicago as was possible. Even with that in though she did not approve of Marcone throwing in with Foundation X, what little they knew about it did not sound good.

“What choice do we have? Sonozaki is uninformed but he is not a fool. He will call my bluff unless I follow through.” Marcone replied calmly, if anything the forced alliance amused him more than it really bothered him.

“Then follow through. Send some Berserkers to his front door and burn the factory down. We don’t need to join the Legion of Doom.” Murphy said.

Hendricks smirked. “Awfully brutal for one so into law and order.”

Marcone shot his man a glance which kept him quiet for the time being.

“As much as I’d like to see that it’s not an option. Amatersu does not take well to my kind coming on her turf. Even if it’s not divine business.” Gard spoke up. Unlike the others who started to feel the state of two cold wars crush their spirits and bodies, she looked even more lively and able than usual.

“I for one agree with Marcone. With Michael gone to Nightside and Molly on her little rampage in Europe we need some heavy hitters.” Bob the skull said from his place on Butter’s lap its eyes alight with amber glow. “Not to mention they got assassins like that Hopper woman,” followed promptly by a distressingly accurate replication of a grasshopper rubbing its legs together.

“Why did Planetary mail you back to us?” Gard asked with a slight sigh, while useful for unraveling magical mysteries Bob’s perverted tendencies were incredibly grating.

“Elijah said one perverted genius was already too much to deal with. Besides, The Drummer had already read all my information.” Bob explained.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Marcone said sternly to silence the derailed discussion. “I have no intention of letting Foundation X control us. This meeting is primarily to gain more information on them and to keep them out of our backyard until they can be dealt with. Is that satisfactory, Ms. Murphy?”

Karren ground her teeth as she got to her feet stepping away from the table. “I don’t like this Marcone, but go ahead. Meet with Sonozaki.”

***

Marcone was almost glad that the Foundation was based in Nightside, the mystical heart of London was just as alien to Sonozaki as it was to him. They were both men of windy cities, the hostile cold rain of Nightside was disconcerting. The small Japanese man stood at the entrance to the sub-city with a wide smile and a slight bow. “Marcone, I was worried you got lost.”

“Afraid not.” Marcone said as he returned the bow, another bit of unfamiliar custom but one he could get used to in time. “Lead the way.”

Sonozaki nodded and lead the gangster into Nightside. Marcone tried to internalize his reactions to Nightside's 'colorfulness'. To not let his horror show in the face as they were nearly run over by a truck with headlights blazing with the same hellfire as Denarian magic, the locals cursed it's name “Highwayman”. He managed to hold back for the most part, the only time he hesitated was when a stray line of anger crossed his face as he watched what appeared to be a Toddler insert a Gaia Memory into the back of it's neck to become some kind of anthropomorphic snake. A child barely alive had one of Sonozaki's memories, all the external destructive power of a gun with all the internal devastation of narcotics. It took all his might not to end the Memory Kingpin right then and there.

They made their way to a rather plain office building. Anywhere else it would be entirely inconspicuous but in Nightside amidst the overarching Gothic cathedrals, rundown pubs of soccer hooligan nightmares, post sanity Neo Art deco and other alien feats of impossible architecture a clean and orderly office building was by far the oddest sight. “We're here.”

“Not exactly subtle.” Marcone said as he made his way into the building. With no more than a foot in the door the influence of Nightside on the building was made apparent. It was halfway between a corporate board room and a war room. Hundreds of beings from ordinary humans to alien beings the likes of which Marcone ran from one room to another with a direct mindset that boarded on hive minded. Everyone of them had a purpose and knew it quite well, for someone who fought so hard to bring about order to the chaotic world of crime Marcone couldn't help but feel a certain sense of respect for the Foundation.

“It doesn't need to be. We control almost every shadow in Nightside, those that don't hold too close to their home worlds. We are expanding into the worlds but that will take quite some time.” Sonozaki explains.

“I see, well take me to whoever is in charge of this.” Marcone demands.

Sonozaki chuckles and shakes his head. “You don't just get to meet the leader. You have to prove you are serious about joining us.”

“Need I remind you who has the phone number of your local Warden?” Marcone threatened as he reached under his jacket for a gun.

Sonozaki smiled wider as he lifted his shirt to reveal a large metal belt with a USB slot. His other hand went for a Memory that declared it's function to be Terror. “We're not in your world anymore, nor is my local Warden a threat to my operation seeing as she was killed by a member of Nightwatch last year. It is your choice you can either join us or you will join the countless dead littering the back alleys of Nightside.”

If there was one thing Marcone doesn't like it's being played. Sonozaki had known the whole time that calling in the Japanese Wardens was a bluff and now Marcone had fallen into his trap. The gangster lowered his weapon and sighed. He could try to shoot the man but knowing what the Hopper dopant could do it is unlikely his weapon could do much here.“What do you want?”

“We seek to maintain a certain order amongst the dark side of the multiverse. Despite being a pure human with no special abilities you have kept order in Chicago.” Sonozaki explained. “We have many places that require order.”

As of right now I am opening the doors for membership into Foundation X. You guys get to help fill it's roster. I am looking for villainous men and women who do not want to watch the world burn nor do they want it to flourish but instead wish to see a status quo maintained. They are not omnicidal maniacs or terrorists who want to change the world but the Friendly Neighbourhood Gangsters of the whole multiverse. They are gangsters, dictators, kingpins and just about anyone who will save the world solely because "No Earth is bad for business."

Right now I have three members.

Leader -To be revealed later
Division head in charge of transformative narcotics - Sonozaki "Terror Dopant" Ryubee (Kamen Rider W)
Division head in charge of mundane Organized Crime - "The Gentleman" Johnny Marcone (Dresden Files)

I need some more members.

[Cracklord]

That is interesting. I'll get back to you on that.

[Colesign]

As of right now I am opening the doors for membership into Foundation X. You guys get to help fill it's roster. I am looking for villainous men and women who do not want to watch the world burn nor do they want it to flourish but instead wish to see a status quo maintained. They are not omnicidal maniacs or terrorists who want to change the world but the Friendly Neighbourhood Gangsters of the whole multiverse. They are gangsters, dictators, kingpins and just about anyone who will save the world solely because "No Earth is bad for business."

Right now I have three members.

Hmmm. Very interesting indeed.

And here's the next part of my Seaton interlude. One more part, I think, until it's done:

Spoiler

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The bridge of the Skylark of Valeron was a lovely little two story colonial house.

But of course, that was the point. At the core of that moon-sized battleship, it's complete mastery over the 6th Order Forces allowed anyone of sufficient scientific knowledge, will, and imagination to rewrite reality: matter and energy could be summoned up at will...and in the case of the bridge of Richard Seaton's greatest creation, he chose to recreate his countryside home, white painted, freshly shingled, with an eternal fresh spring breeze blowing from the west, and an eternal sunny day shinning down from above.

Or at least, that was how it used to be.

Not a large piece of machinery that reminded Dorothy Vaneman-Seaton of nothing less that a giant observatory telescope turned the wrong way around poked down from the false heavens like God's finger, occupying the entire dome area and poking through the shingled roof of the two-story house, rubble and splinters of wood scattered across the yard where the giant device had presumably been ramned right through the roof.

Dorothy inhaled sharply.

What is going on? Think, you molly-coddled excuse for a heiress. Use some of that Super-Science you've picked up. It's some kinds of scanner...in fact, I think I recognize a neutronium Lens as part of it's workings. So it can analyze all type of energy and matter ranging up to the 5th Order of Radiation...and perhaps beyond. But what would it be scanning?

...I really hope this isn't some kind of trap. That would take the cake.

Dorothy pulled out an automatic pistol from one of her pocket, chambered a round. The rounds were purely ordinary jacketed lead: using an X-plosive bullet in such tight quarters would be a ticket to suicide.

She held the gun's barrel down at her side.

And then she walked up to the front porch, sidestepping a shattered wooden beam, and pushed open the door.

The main hallway was filled with sawdust and shattered glass. Dorothy stepped over the glass and followed the rubble right into the living area.

And there she found her husband, slumped in a chair, clothes so ragged that the sum total of their remaining fabric area wouldn't make up a thin jacket, hair tousled and shaggy, bathed in pale blue light as some of the most advanced machinery in existence whirred and whinned right over his head, the very tip of the scanner Dorothy had seen outside pointing right at her husband.

“Full Order Spectrum Scan Completed.” The Brain of the ship concluded in a level, polite tone, it's voice emanating from nowhere. “No prescence of Contanimation detected. Results conclusive to the degree of 99.91 % assured accuracy.”


“Run it again.” Seaton rasped.

Dorothy stayed in the shadows, listening.

“Sir, we have run this test 987 times, and all these tests have been negative. The total possibility of testing error is now only .09%.”

“That's not enough.” Seaton said flatly, rubbing his face. “Keeping running the Scan until the possbility of error is at a nice, big, fat 0. You got that?”

“Sir, as I have stated earlier, achieving 100% accuracy is impossible–“

“Damn the ****ing impossible!” Seaton roared suddenly, surging to his feet. “I violated Relativity when I was twenty-five by accident!!! I've journeyed to the far end of the universe and back, beat down Gods, blown countless invincible star fleets out of the Ether! I've forged machine parts in the heart of a star, and unraveled the mysteries of the 4th Dimension! So why can't I tack a couple more decimals onto that 99.91 percent of yours!!! Do you know what could happen if you are wrong? Do you–“

Seaton slumped down into his chair, and picked up a headset from the ground at his feet, placing it over his head.

“We'll convert the analyzer of the Full-Spectrum Scanner into a dual-based Quantum Computing unit. That should increase the accuracy a bit more.”

“Affirmative. Sir, I think I should remind you that you have not eaten in–“

“I'll materialize the ATP right into my cells.” Seaton replied. “Now let's do this.”

Dorothy's mouth thinned into a tight line. Then she took several quiet steps back around the corner, and pitching her voice, called out:

“Richard! Richard, where are you?”

Dorothy heard a loud thump and clatter from around the corner, then a:

“It's okay! I'm right here! Hold on a second...”

Dorothy walked around the corner and into the living room. She saw Richard place the headset on a nearby table and frantically comb his hair into place.

In a matter of several seconds, Richard had used his spaceship's 6th Order Tech to shave his stubble, clean his hair, and restore his wardrobe to a clean-lined leather jacket, jeans, and a Hawaian T-Shirt.

He tried to smile. Dorothy could tell it was meant to be a gentle, reassuring smile.

And he failed horribly at it. It took all of Dorothy Vaneman Seaton's formidable grit to down break down herself as her mind imagined all the foul things that could have affected her husband to this extent.

But she kept herself composed.

“Richard.” She said quietly.” Please tell me what happened.

Richard's travesty of a smile, faded, leaving a hollow-eyed, grey expression.

“I...” He walked over to a nearby couch, brushed the shattered glass off, and sat down.

“Dorothy, I know I was away for far too long...my God, is Richie alright? Is he...”

“He's fine.” Dorothy hastily confirmed. “Normalon was the best possible place for him, especially after Earth. He's...so like you. And those armbands of yours have been working just fine.”

The incident...she decided not to mention.

Richard let out a huff, and his shoulders straightened. “Thank God. I'm...glad to hear that. Dottie...”

He looked up at Dorothy.

“I'm so sorry I wasn't able to see you two...but believe me: it was truly, deeply, utterly for the best that I didn't come back until now.”

He inhaled and pressed his hands together with such a violent paroxysm of force that Dorothy could have sworn she heard bones grinding.

Then he exhaled and began to explain.

“I was roving beyond the Magellnics in the Skylark III, examining a piece of derelict machinery I'd found...a strange, non linear design...and I inadvertantly exposed myself to a...a strange contaminent.”

Richard's voice grew more level and measured as he went on.

“It had the consistency of engine grease. So I thought nothing of it...I...if I'd been more cautious, worn a pressure suit...in retrospect, it was a rather strange infectious agent, with characteristics similar to certain viruses and certain strains of Molecular Technology...but also some...mystical aspects to it, thought I hesitate to use that most unscientific term. Very very slowly, to the extent that my mind didn't pick it up, this agent began subverted my mental processes at the neurological level, subconciously influencing my engineering projects, which gradually aqquired a bizzare technological paradigm. By the time I noticed that something was wrong...the subverted portions of my mind were dictating the actions of my body, and even with my mental training and the support of those sub-personalities that remained unaffected, I was unable to orchestrate an effective resistance. Say Dottie, could you materialize some tea? Just like Shiro made it?”

Quietlym Dorothy put on a nearby headset and thought. Two steaming mugs materialized, one in her hand and the other in Richard's hand. Dorothy sat down next to Richard, who flinched for a moment, then covered for it by sipping his tea and grunting in appreciation

“This contaminent was a threat unlike anything I've encountered before. A aggressive mental and technological paradigm that spreads like a virus, subverting technology and civilizations. If it had gained control over my 5th or 6th Order Technology...the consequences would be too horrible to think about.”

Dorothy nodded slowly. “So how did you beat it?”

Dorothy would later come to regret that innocuous question.

Her spouse had overcome so many threats in his span of existence, and she had grown so used to him pulling technological miracles out of his hat to save the day.

Richard closed his eyes. “I didn't. Some outside, unknown force intervened and caused my body to reject the contaniment. I recovered onboard the Skylark III, which had been...altered. Thankfully the ol Number 2 was unaffected. I took it out, and used the Attractors to dispose of the Skylark III in a black hole. Then I redevoused with the Valeron, and...well, here I am.”

His voice quavered a bit.

“I wanted to go back. But I had to make sure I was...was uncontaminated. It wouldn't have been safe otherwise. I tried to–“

Seaton rubbed his face, and slowly exhaled.

“Well, it's all done with.” He said with another fake smile, straightening his posture. “I suppose we should return to the Green System. I'll hide the Valeron again, you can show me around your own ship–it looked marvelous from the outside!–and I'll be sure to catch up on lots of family activities. It'll be a vacation, and I won't even do any work! It's gonna be all good–“

“Richard.” Dorothy said in flat, jarring tone.

Richard fell silent.

Dorothy reached out and grasped his hand. With her other hand, she reached out and touched Richard's chin, and turned him to the right to meet her eyes.

And then she calmly ennuciated three words.

“Don't. You. Dare.” She said.

Richard blinked several times. “Red–”

“Don't you dare. Not with me.” Dorothy replied gently.

Two tears trickled down Richard Seaton's cheeks, and the metaphorical mask he had been wearing for the entire conversation finally dropped.

“I tried to fight back, Dottie.” Seaton rasped, clenching Dorothy's hand in his own. “I really, really did. But when I tried–“

He bowed his head and did what men of his fiber and determination only do under the most unique and rare of circumstances.

He wept. Without restraint or control or conscious thought.

“Shhhhh.” Dorothy said quietly, pulling him into a close embrace, clutching him like a wailing babe. “Shhhhh.”

“I tried...” Seaton mumbled as he buried his face in Dorothy's shoulder. “I tried...”