Thayr

Geonet 2.0 - Battle for the Megacity

Don Remo Lattanzi

---

Location: Lattanzi Estate, Regia Maria Territory, Red Light District
Mentions: N/A

A kettle whistle in that far distance, green tea for a sister at bed. The click...click...click of a clock, hand at play lightly scolding. The muffled footsteps down the hall, socks on carpet smothered by walls.

Eyes slowly open. He could smell the coffee in that far distance; his father lacked any inclination at all to sleep to the reasonable time of five, it seemed, as artificial as that time might ever seem. His mother was nearly worse, though she had diverted her interests to retirement, it seemed, as much as a Don might. Remo could find her painting as often as he could find her getting information from a Capo, sending another out, and so forth. He rubbed his eyes briefly before sitting up in bed, sweeping legs out with some difficulty. Thick, honest blankets had smothered Remo away.

That look to the side, another shape huddled away under the red checkered blankets, black tresses crowning out from the edge. He couldn’t help but smile, leaning just a shade back to hook the edge of the blanket with his finger. Pulling it down slowly, cautiously, carefully, the man nodded with some semblance of satisfaction. Cora still looked just as beautiful as when he first met her, olive skin and all, snoozing away. A snore seemed to rock the room. Remo froze as it passed, moving the blanket back to where it once lay. She snored just as when he first met her, too. It’d been one of the great conflicts of life when they had been young, though now he couldn’t help but make jokes over it. Moving off the bed and into plushed slippers, the old man began his day in earnest.

In the shower, steam rising above the curtains, he thought through his day. Hot water cloaked him, waterfalling from a hung head as hour to hour was thought, shifted, considered. Remo had a schedule, true, and a man to manage a schedule, to manage meetings for business, but he still enjoyed the practice. It’d been something he’d come to get used to, a little practice of thinking the day at the day, not a week before the day. Things changed in a week, but this week…not so much. A thought, and he’d connected to the estate’s systems. News shifted here, there, news not from the Spire but from Regia Maria’s own information-movers, own reporters, own informants. Nothing shifted under red lights without his knowing, or at the very least without someone friendly enough to his knowing and speaking. It all moved behind his eyes as soap turned to lather, semi-abrasive particles scrubbing away any hint of blemish.

A man had died in the Spire, one of the Sk8te couriers who had taken a job but had been found with no job to show. It was interesting enough, true, and spoke something of the interior conflicts among the puffed pricks who sat there, but did not say much. Sparse details spoke who he was, save for those a surface search might find. A name, a relative age that was roughly correct, a contemplation to be sure. It did not say much, because he was inexperienced…he may have died before the job had even begun, the package - whatever it may be - not at all being in the hands of the murderer. Yet…if he had been murdered for it, and murdered at the Spire, that meant that one Heir moved against another, had a good enough tool for the job, and good enough in this instance meant that the crew would not be foolish to kill a messenger who had no message to steal. They would have waited, and if compromised there, killed him on the rooftops. Couriers were good, true, but Remo had not met many who outran bullets, drones, and worse…and that assumed the courier was good. This one had not been. The package would have been stolen. So, then…interesting. A smile touched the corner of his face.

Remo looked closer. He had been Afterburn, people the Don had worked with before on one occasion or another for specific items…he knew that leader, too. Digging had been digging had been digging, yet he’d found enough information about that kid to know what there exactly was under the exterior. He was a scared little boy, would be the first impression Remo ever had, one who was in over his head. There had been some uses for him, though. Some.

More news…more news…there had been so, so much going on while he had slumbered. He would have a busy day ahead of him. He would have a very busy day indeed. A free hand grasped at a high speed razor as the man considered it all.

---

Location: Vivian’s, E Street Territory, Spire District
Mentions: N/A

“Sir, I still don’t recommend this.”

“Why?”

The steps down the street weren’t taken in hiding, or behind the tinted, bulletproof windows of an armored vehicle, nor was Remo’s entourage exactly inconspicuous among the other crowds of the Spire roads. No, black suits strode the earth, and a path was carved before them as ancient sages once carved a path through an ocean for his own. Remo felt light on his feet, heavy coat shifting in the slight winds as he felt the gaze of those on the street. They were a great many types. The buzz of drones shifted overhead. The Don knew those cameras saw him, too.

Some knew him for what he was by image alone, by his face. He could see the flash of recollection in the eyes, that such was a Don of the Black Maria. Others took a moment, a click of a thought to access a database for a face, a motion, something or another, and they had that look of knowing too. They moved a shade quicker along the street, though Remo could see which ones considered their loyalties and which ones did not. The latter did not make to move to the other side of the street, the former simply moved about their day at that faster speed. They didn’t want to seem to concerned about the Black Maria. People would be watching.

Across that street, Remo could see shapes gathering, too. Some of them were agents from E Street, gold-gilded thugs who wanted to see if the man would offer any sorts of insults for them to act on who weren’t old enough to remember blood spilled before could always spill again. Others were men with cameras, vultures who haunted Heirs, who wanted their own little scoop about things. He was glad that reputation made them keep their distance. Such vermin would not be fit to waste bullets on.

“Because it’s not safe. Because you still haven’t told me exactly the reason, sir.”

“Of course it’s safe. If I get killed, blood paints these streets, washes them red. They know that. If some thugs, off-shoots acting on their own who want reputation, begin after us you can kill them and we’ll simply send condolences to the other side…along with a payment, true, but…rendere pan per focaccia. But they have every interest in keeping such off-shoots far, far away from me. I die and they pay more than they can ever afford.”

A moment passed as they walked. The Don knew Iacopo wouldn’t ask the second question again. It would seem too needy. The wind seemed to whistle between them as the group continued down that street. Finally, he broke the silence, smiling as he spoke.

“And I have heard things. People moving. Even the flies around here talk…and I want to meet someone here I have not seen in a long, long time. Memories, Capo, memories. And some new ones to make.”

Color briefly drained from Iacopo’s face before he composed himself. The man had been old enough to recall when things had finally come to a close. Such early scars were rooted deep in a person’s soul, deep enough to still let fear grip you.

“Ah, fuck. Sir.”

And there was the door.

Geonet 2.0 - Battle for the Megacity

Don Remo Lattanzi

Don Remo Lattanzi

"Business is business. Do you want more blood or are you finally full enough to talk?"

Age: 70
Appearance:

Standing at 6’1”, a fairly slender build, Remo's a rather stark example of the image he's built across over five decades of honest work and management. Clean, concise, kept, his graying hair and beard mark him apart from both the Spire rabble who luxuriate in immature looks and the common soul who would never reach his age. Simple black suits and heavy coats accompany this image, the model of business unencumbered by the frantic tendencies of modern fashion or the vanities of indulgence.

Faction: Black Maria - Regia Maria
Background:

Born into Black Maria, among that first generation who could solely lay claim to such heritage, Remo would grow up learning the tenets those before had lived and thrived by. He learned his moderation, his respect, his patience, and that cold justice which marked the organization well in those early days. Remo was educated in the business and more in the classics, as his parents never wanted their son to be embarrassed by his own ignorance. The young boy took to these things well, eagerly almost, seeing the wealth of others and how they came to it as a glorious thing. Soon after, he would gain a sister as well, Elaide, with whom Remo had great fun in tutoring.

As a young man, he would be placed as an accounting manager at one of the organization's earliest ventures, The Star. While there, Remo did well enough to find more than his fair share of siphoning schemes back to E Street and their ilk, enough to even bring suspicion down on his own head that the evidence was being fabricated. Of course, each siphoner confessed after their share of persuasion and disappeared quite naturally as would be the state of traitors. The Star would lose enough staff that other investigations would begin on the security, which was found lacking, and as part of the restructuring Remo found himself as manager for the establishment. Security would immediately be restructured, hand-picked by the young man for reliability and discretion, though with some advice given by his parents who found the endeavor to be good.

He continued in the natural order of things, as good a manager as any while developing the funds and permissions needed to open other locations. Some ventures would prove exceedingly profitable, others not so much, though none were enough to cast aspersions about Remo's capabilities. Eventually, the young Lattanzi would begin to merit special benefits afforded to the managers of Black Maria, half-measure restorative treatments and higher quality cybernetics both for his job and for his protection. The man would even get married, a sensible enough arrangement kept tight behind closed doors.

As Remo's power and influence grew, so too did his ambitions. He saw himself in better places, more of more, and worked hard enough towards that to make the bosses notice for better or worse. Expeditions into the foot of the Spire by Remo, small as they were, as well as defensive motions against E Street incursions into the red light, would spark off the longstanding conflict which continued even to the present. Soon finding himself with fewer allies than otherwise among the bosses, the young Lattanzi began to apply more drastic measures. Recruiting E Street victims, he began a string of comprehensive programs to turn individuals into weapons, stripping out muscle for metal, skin for optical plastics, personality for loyalty. Remo strove to and succeeded in producing the perfect killers, individuals who largely stemmed a slew of E Street successes at a grave cost to their numbers.

Such was that success, as well as the opening of a few more establishments by Remo's direct subordinates, which propelled the man to the heights of the bosses as a fellow Don to his parents. His activities since have largely served to keep the relative peace, keep all activities under the Black Maria roof, and keep all Black Maria operations hidden from prying eyes. Such has been his influence over portions of the organization that they are referred to in interior circles as “Regia Maria”, known for discretion in all public circles, a strict code of respects given and received, and deference to Remo in many of their further-reaching endeavors.

Cybernetics:

Able Industries Optical Implants
Replacements to the eyes and colored to appear as natural as flesh, Remo's implants allow him to see a multitude of different light spectrums, enhanced clarity at all ranges, automatic light dim functions to prevent washing out the system, and a 8x zoom function.
Able Industries Subdermal Inserts
Inserted under the skin for all vital areas, these inserts generally protect against the most common handgun calibers at usual ranges, failing to protect against sustained fire at close ranges. The inserts provide some amount of shrapnel protection as well.
Keystone Link/GeoCut
Allowing for quick remote access of Black Maria operated drones through a client machine and firewall, as well as a cutoff system to the GEO-ID system as a simple failsafe.
Keystone Biochemical Fallback
A series of pumps, chemical producing systems, and injection points, the fallback system works to dull pain, speed up clotting, and potentially replace the heart in pumping blood throughout the body in a clear-cut goal of keeping the operator as alive as alive can be.

Weapons/Tools:

Regime Arms Model 101
A semiautomatic pistol in heavy-hitting 12.7mm, the 101 fits five rounds in a magazine forward of the trigger. A number of muzzle vents keep the weapon as controllable as one could ever hope it to be. Remo has made few modifications or embellishments to his particular model, keeping the gunmetal gray look.

Likes:

Espresso
Vintage wine
Proper employees

Dislikes:

Crude liquor
Improper formalities
Managers lacking answers
Cruelty without cause

Quirks:

Every morning must begin with a cup of espresso
No modern music - ever
Italia measures the worth of a fellow Regia Maria - speak it first to judge them

Places of Interest:

Lattanzi Estate
A sectioned off area close in the red light district with 24/7 security and the crème de la crème of protection, the estate is home to three Dons of the Black Maria empire and several who are likewise expected to rise to that station. Remo visits, sometimes for family gatherings, often to speak to his ailing sister.
The Star
The original casino which Remo had control over, he yet maintains a room there as well as good relations with the owner - his son. While the casino staff are not his handpicked men anymore, a small contingent of his own stay to guard the place.
Meadows
A high-level Black Maria meeting place for Dons and those who are soon to rise to that level, it is among those which Remo ventures to fairly regularly. He of course is loath to stay there for any duration.

Geonet 2.0 - Battle for the Megacity

Don Remo Lattanzi

Don Remo Lattanzi

"Business is business. Do you want more blood or are you finally full enough to talk?"

Age: 70
Appearance:

Standing at 6’1”, a fairly slender build, Remo's a rather stark example of the image he's built across over five decades of honest work and management. Clean, concise, kept, his graying hair and beard mark him apart from both the Spire rabble who luxuriate in immature looks and the common soul who would never reach his age. Simple black suits and heavy coats accompany this image, the model of business unencumbered by the frantic tendencies of modern fashion or the vanities of indulgence.

Faction: Black Maria - Regia Maria
Background:

Born into Black Maria, among that first generation who could solely lay claim to such heritage, Remo would grow up learning the tenets those before had lived and thrived by. He learned his moderation, his respect, his patience, and that cold justice which marked the organization well in those early days. Remo was educated in the business and more in the classics, as his parents never wanted their son to be embarrassed by his own ignorance. The young boy took to these things well, eagerly almost, seeing the wealth of others and how they came to it as a glorious thing. Soon after, he would gain a sister as well, Elaide, with whom Remo had great fun in tutoring.

As a young man, he would be placed as an accounting manager at one of the organization's earliest ventures, The Star. While there, Remo did well enough to find more than his fair share of siphoning schemes back to E Street and their ilk, enough to even bring suspicion down on his own head that the evidence was being fabricated. Of course, each siphoner confessed after their share of persuasion and disappeared quite naturally as would be the state of traitors. The Star would lose enough staff that other investigations would begin on the security, which was found lacking, and as part of the restructuring Remo found himself as manager for the establishment. Security would immediately be restructured, hand-picked by the young man for reliability and discretion, though with some advice given by his parents who found the endeavor to be good.

He continued in the natural order of things, as good a manager as any while developing the funds and permissions needed to open other locations. Some ventures would prove exceedingly profitable, others not so much, though none were enough to cast aspersions about Remo's capabilities. Eventually, the young Lattanzi would begin to merit special benefits afforded to the managers of Black Maria, half-measure restorative treatments and higher quality cybernetics both for his job and for his protection. The man would even get married, a sensible enough arrangement kept tight behind closed doors.

As Remo's power and influence grew, so too did his ambitions. He saw himself in better places, more of more, and worked hard enough towards that to make the bosses notice for better or worse. Expeditions into the foot of the Spire by Remo, small as they were, as well as defensive motions against E Street incursions into the red light, would spark off the longstanding conflict which continued even to the present. Soon finding himself with fewer allies than otherwise among the bosses, the young Lattanzi began to apply more drastic measures. Recruiting E Street victims, he began a string of comprehensive programs to turn individuals into weapons, stripping out muscle for metal, skin for optical plastics, personality for loyalty. Remo strove to and succeeded in producing the perfect killers, individuals who largely stemmed a slew of E Street successes at a grave cost to their numbers.

Such was that success, as well as the opening of a few more establishments by Remo's direct subordinates, which propelled the man to the heights of the bosses as a fellow Don to his parents. His activities since have largely served to keep the relative peace, keep all activities under the Black Maria roof, and keep all Black Maria operations hidden from prying eyes. Such has been his influence over portions of the organization that they are referred to in interior circles as “Regia Maria”, known for discretion in all public circles, a strict code of respects given and received, and deference to Remo in many of their further-reaching endeavors.

Cybernetics:

Able Industries Optical Implants
Replacements to the eyes and colored to appear as natural as flesh, Remo's implants allow him to see a multitude of different light spectrums, enhanced clarity at all ranges, automatic light dim functions to prevent washing out the system, and a 8x zoom function.
Able Industries Subdermal Inserts
Inserted under the skin for all vital areas, these inserts generally protect against the most common handgun calibers at usual ranges, failing to protect against sustained fire at close ranges. The inserts provide some amount of shrapnel protection as well.
Keystone Link/GeoCut
Allowing for quick remote access of Black Maria operated drones through a client machine and firewall, as well as a cutoff system to the GEO-ID system as a simple failsafe.
Keystone Biochemical Fallback
A series of pumps, chemical producing systems, and injection points, the fallback system works to dull pain, speed up clotting, and potentially replace the heart in pumping blood throughout the body in a clear-cut goal of keeping the operator as alive as alive can be.

Weapons/Tools:

Regime Arms Model 101
A semiautomatic pistol in heavy-hitting 12.7mm, the 101 fits five rounds in a magazine forward of the trigger. A number of muzzle vents keep the weapon as controllable as one could ever hope it to be. Remo has made few modifications or embellishments to his particular model, keeping the gunmetal gray look.

Likes:

Espresso
Vintage wine
Proper employees

Dislikes:

Crude liquor
Improper formalities
Managers lacking answers
Cruelty without cause

Quirks:

Every morning must begin with a cup of espresso
No modern music - ever
Italia measures the worth of a fellow Regia Maria - speak it first to judge them

Places of Interest:

Lattanzi Estate
A sectioned off area close in the red light district with 24/7 security and the crème de la crème of protection, the estate is home to three Dons of the Black Maria empire and several who are likewise expected to rise to that station. Remo visits, sometimes for family gatherings, often to speak to his ailing sister.
The Star
The original casino which Remo had control over, he yet maintains a room there as well as good relations with the owner - his son. While the casino staff are not his handpicked men anymore, a small contingent of his own stay to guard the place.
Meadows
A high-level Black Maria meeting place for Dons and those who are soon to rise to that level, it is among those which Remo ventures to fairly regularly. He of course is loath to stay there for any duration.

Revue of Annihilation

⛼ A7 - The Ever-Burning Mausoleum ⛼

The heat, waves lapping at the gravekeep's exposed skin while burning all the rest, a constant motion like waves, like a breeze, like a natural order which was not to be interrupted. Stark shadows were cast by the flames, the crematoriums, turning the half-clothed shapes into mere black shapes in motion, an imitation of a shadow play of such gravity. The canticles and chants seemed to roll and clash against one-another, overlap, overlay. The church was a vast machine, one of immediate motion and structure and method, one of prescribed system and universal application, a devouring thing, a needy thing.

For a moment, he felt small. Heat dashed against his eyes and the gravekeep could near feel his shovel turn red amid the forge-heat, imagined as may be. Such feels were quickly shaken away when he was addressed.

"You appear to not require our services."

"Are you followers of the Flame-Face? Or have you come only to watch our ceremonies?”

Lethe gave to the man a half-bow, studying him for but a moment before speaking. “I am merely a recorder of the dead. We journeyed to this city on a holy mission, to bury the dead and record their deeds that their souls thereafter may be saved in memory. I find the first of my writ to be…difficult to apply, yet seek to at least provide for the second. Tell me, do you record the dead you burn?”

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Location: Route 1 - Ancient Grove
Mentions: @Pyromania99

Isla watched her plan come to fruition, breathing out just a tad as she watched the attack just evaporate, the bug type becoming more enraged at the dirty tricks. Well, what works, works. It didn’t seem likely the wild Pokémon was going to be deterred, though, engaging with another furious attack that seemed halfway to strike at Dancing, halfway to release its clear frustrations. Her Eevee moved left, right, shifting among the attacks as it kicked up more than enough dirt to obscure her view. Amid it, though, Dancing’s frantic motions threw pieces of the underbrush at the Heracross’s face, about as afterthought as one might get.

Swiper, meanwhile, began his own advance from the side, urging the others on to join him as the little fox began to charge in.

Dancing uses Sand Attack!
Swiper uses Beat Up!

---

Pokémon | Inventory

Pokémon:

• Dancing | Eevee | Level 5 | Anticipation | Pokéball
  Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish
• Swiper | Nickit | Level 7 | Runaway | Pokéball
  Quick Attack, Tail Whip, Beat Up

Inventory: 4000p

3 x Pokéball
3 x Potion

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Location: Route 1 - Ancient Grove
Mentions: @Pyromania99

“I’m…fine, thanks for…asking…”

Looking back at the fight, her two Pokémon having jumped in with the Heracross’s long, long horn now growing blue as it eyed Eevee with some amount of intent or another, Isla’s eyes went wide. They’d just jumped in on their own and, suddenly, she felt like she had to run in there and get them out. Yet…Yasu gripped at her as tightly as she could, wrapped there. Looking back, she could see Camila helping up the little psychic, though…where was her Pokémon?

A wave of annoyance passed over the young girl at the…just sheer inaction about things. What was she doing, just waiting things through. A few other things went through Isla’s mind, on just what was going on and how to best stop the whole thing, as she snorted out. Roughly shaking off Yasu and running up a few steps, a number of options came and went…not all of them good. The Heracross was clearly not even with her own but she could, maybe, even the odds a little bit. She searched through her pant leg pockets for a moment before drawing out a Pokéball.

“Dancing! Swiper! Get ready to get rid of it!”

She threw the ball.

Isla uses a Pokéball on Heracross!
Dancing readies an action: Burying the Pokéball!
Swiper uses Helping Hand!

---

Pokémon | Inventory

Pokémon:

• Dancing | Eevee | Level 5 | Anticipation | Pokéball
  Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish
• Swiper | Nickit | Level 7 | Runaway | Pokéball
  Quick Attack, Tail Whip, Beat Up

Inventory: 4000p

4 x Pokéball
3 x Potion

Revue of Annihilation

⛼ A7 - Where They Handle Death ⛼

The journey through the Underpass was uncomfortable as can be for the small group, tugged every which way by the sense of encroaching death until every string to the dying was tangled to the others. He couldn’t tell who was close to death, there was so many, and even then it ignored those who would die far before their time. Worse than the outer layers of the sprawl, the effects of such chaotic death, such unstable life, played a even more pronounced effect on the gravekeep's followers. They paused at a few points for one or another to vomit on the side of the path, so tumultuous was the road in the Underpass. Little wonder why the collectors did not venture to pick up the dead when there was so, so many.

Such people couldn't even afford to move out into the slums of the sprawl, the gravekeep soon recognized, couldn’t even afford to move out past the sprawl for their own sliver of land to build a shack on. What drove them to stay in such poor conditions, what shackled them that they could not walk to the sprawl? Reasons, however bad, were able to be seen here, there. Eyes glazed over from a concoction of some poisoned well, their life growing thinner by the hour, or the stumbles of one too overtaken by drink to crawl from a bottle, poor men dead enough by debt that you could see where fingers had been taken…each the gravekeep saw the markings of shackles. A shiver ran up his spine, though the man could make no comment of the poor souls. His followers were likewise mute, though the gravekeep could hear one mumbling a prayer.

Eventually the trappings of death fell away to the sights of churches and crematoriums, business of all kinds associated with mourning and consolations. The sense of death was still present, he knew he could feel it here and there in old priests, but there was so many other things compared to the suffocating miasma in the Underpass.

“I see no graves,” said one to the others in the group, “They don't bury at all here.”

“The men before said they didn't. Burning them and giving such to their companions…it's better than the others. At least there is still something.”

The gravekeep's gaze passed over each and every one of the buildings as his faithful conversed. Some were predatory, the man with a glass of strong ale for those who wanted to drown away, and some were benign, the priest who offered prayers, with many walking the line between. His eyes settled on a church, one of many, and he stared briefly at the tall doors. A sigh finally passed, that long exhale and deflation.

Lethe cautioned his faithful, turning slightly to address them before setting off to the church, intent to open those doors and speak to whichever priest ventured there. “Be respectful. Our mission is a holy one, but theirs may yet be as well.”

Revue of Annihilation

⛼ O7 - Outskirts of Oratorio ⛼

The gravekeep stared for a few beats at the collector, thinking over what he’d said. Adventurer’s District would be a good place, true enough, and even if the people there had little interest in actually burying their dead, keeping it was a good start. They’d have a want to record, remember, to know, and that was the real need in his eyes. Of course, what his job might be in that hierarchy was uncertain, as uncertain as everything else, but it was a good enough start to the job. The gravekeep nodded a few times, mouth wry at the whole of the situation.

“I see. There’s always work, then,” he sighed, fingers tapping irregular on the tome at his belt. The Adventurer’s District would be a good enough place, and doubtless would largely be burying those same people, but that always assumes that the body was recovered. There would be those groups who fell in total, groups who could be recovered…groups whose gear could turn to gold and so fund the great mission. It would be hard, true, and dangerous…though it would have some benefit. There could yet be a place in the machine that the faith might be fulfilled, the mission accomplished, and the dead remembered.

“Thank you for your time. Might I have your names?”

A look passed between the collectors. They weren’t used to being spoken to; locals eschewed them and their trade. They were even less used to folk asking for names. The question hung in the air. The older one was the first to break it as he sucked his tooth thoughtfully, words somewhat careful, somewhat uncertain. It was odd enough, something that gave pause and question in return as to the why of it.

“Garbeck. And that’d be Terry.”

The gravekeep smiled, nodding slightly. “Thank you. May your work be light.”

With that, he turned, and the group made its way from the two collectors, their cart of forgotten dead, and on to the Adventurer’s District further into the city, intent fixed to find such folks who burned bodies, such folks who recorded the dead.

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Location: Route 1 - Ancient Grove
Mentions: @Pyromania99

The walk out to the area had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Isla had let Swiper down to pitter-pat about, sniffing various things as they tramped through the general area he’d been found at. Dancing, for his part, slept throughout the whole of the walk. The only thing that might have given some small amount of discoloring as they went about on the trail would be Hatty getting caught staring at Isla and Camilla as the little Pokémon sat, cradled in Yasu’s arms. For being a psychic type, the lil guy was about as typical as you could expect.

They finally came to the branching-off part. Off the trail path was that dirt way, one tree adorned with little talismans here and there. They were curious little artifacts, pieces that the young girl didn’t recognize in completion but could pick out familiar parts here and there. The talismans reminded her of old Johto textbooks on religion, prayer, things connected to Celebi. Some were hopes, she thought, and others thanks, but none were exactly curses. That had lept out at Isla when she’d read it before, that Celebi didn’t work that kind of thing, didn’t do that kind of job. They shifted gently in the breeze.

“I believe it was…right…here? Ah, yeah, here it is. It's hard to see from the road, if you don’t know what you’re looking for. My family wanted to keep people away from it as much as possible, but…let's keep going.”

As they moved down it, she could see more and more talismans hanging from the branches, and mist seemed to creep about Isla’s ankles. Swiper, for his part, kept close to her feet, matching the group’s pace in a low stalk while his ears pressed against the bag of his head, flat. Dancing seemed to wake up, leaning forward while sniffing here, there, looking about. Things weren’t entirely normal, not entirely calm, not entirely safe. The tension was palpable.

That appearance didn’t happen with any sort of forewarning, a Heracross dropping down from one of the trees before them. Isla’s heart leapt out from her chest and she let-out what could be charitably called a squeak, her jump halfway flinging Dancing from that shoulder to the ground. Eyes wide, she watched as Yasu fell to the ground, Hatty tumbling along with, though could hear Swiper growling in that low stalk. The bug-type seemed to be going low, readying a charge with that great big horn of it’s.

The pair of them seemed to surge forward, Swiper moving quickly through the grass to hit the bug-type’s legs while her Eevee made good speed to kick loose dirt into it’s eyes. Holding her breath to try and not freak as everything went, Isla ran up to pull Yasu up to her feet.

Dancing uses Sand Attack!
Swiper uses Quick Attack!

---

Pokémon | Inventory

Pokémon:

• Dancing | Eevee | Level 5 | Anticipation | Pokéball
  Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish
• Swiper | Nickit | Level 7 | Runaway | Pokéball
  Quick Attack, Tail Whip, Beat Up

Inventory: 4000p

4 x Pokéball
3 x Potion

Revue of Annihilation

⛼ O7 - Outskirts of Oratorio ⛼

“Returning people to nature,” snorted one of the followers, shaking their head slowly, sadly as they spoke in a quieter tone that was lost to the collectors in the din of their cart. “People aren’t beasts. If they were, we’d not be troubled by these worries.”

The gravekeep couldn’t help but agree, his mouth tight as he wryly looked on at the corpse-collectors’ works. To the men in the cart, what they were doing wasn’t ever exactly wrong. They had a problem, corpses in the streets of the countless dead from the city, and they had their solution. Those they took up were never asked about again, no not at all, and in fact were likely not even seen anymore as people. They were cargo, to be shifted about without remorse for the problem which had put them there to die, and in fact such collectors likely did not even have the remorse. After all, what were small men to do, to alter the city such that people would not die so? He couldn’t help but feel regret, though, towards the corpse-collectors. They had a problem, they had a solution, and they were not enlightened to the problems which such a solution would cause.

Lethe could already imagine their arguments in response. The nameless dead died so for a reason, forgotten because they had already become meaningless in life, and so there was nothing left to profit from remembering their names and how they died. He could already see the wonderment in them at the merest hint of a suggestion that burial was better, for there would be no one to mourn at the graves even if they had the time to do so. The base desire for burial and remembrance was never laid as a foundation in such men. What arguments could he present that might move men so?

Would the nameless dead even have anything upon them that might render a service back to a gravekeep merely by its existence? Would they have jewelry that might be sold to fund such efforts? Would they have clothing which might be sold? He doubted it. They were the nameless dead for a reason, lost in the streets for a reason, and likely anything that might have been sold would have already been sold. Likely those who could afford burial would already have their attendants, their gravesites, and turn their noses up at the likes of he and his. The gravekeep let out a long, dejected sigh at the prospects which lay before him.

“The task is a holy one, collector. People are people, and their passings should be written so those who come after know. There will always be work. The center, maybe?”